Hello Natalie, welcome to my blog and thank you for answering my questions about His Beautiful Wench. I've just finished this lovely, sexy book and knowing more about it is hitting the spot for me!
What inspired you to write His Beautiful Wench?
I recall pondering the word ‘wench’ and whether I could get away with having it in a title. I decided to just go for it, and my publisher at the time didn’t bat an eyelid. Back then, I was still quite naïve about rude words and the use of them, shy actually, but now, the word wench doesn’t make me bat an eyelid either. God, I remember when using the ‘C’ word was difficult for me. These days it’s the same as any other word because I’ve used it so much. I suppose familiarity deadens the risqué feel of these things.
What made you choose to write a story that flicks from past to present (although it’s mainly in the past)?
I’ve always been fascinated with past lives and wanted to explore what would happen if a woman had fallen in love with a man centuries ago, was reincarnated, then in the present she was reunited with him. So I have this dual thing going on, where Amelia is living one life while awake but another entirely while she’s asleep. But her sleep world is very real—it happened many years ago, she’s just being shown that now in order for her to recognise her true love in the present when he finally appears.
Some books are special to authors, more so than others. Where does His Beautiful Wench stand on the Special Scale?
Quite near the top. #3 in the list. I really got emotionally involved in this one. When a certain thing happens in it, even as the author, as I was writing I was saying, “Nooooo! Don’t do that! Noooo!” and crying. I know a few people have also cried at that part, and while I apologised, I was secretly glad (LOL, wicked cow!) because it means they also got the emotion and were wrapped up in the moment. Invested in the characters, if you like.
Which book is at the top of your Special Scale?
So easy to answer. Without question, Denial. That book is so special to me I could cry haha. I was very emotional with that one—to the point that I had a few months away from writing it because I couldn’t stand how it made me feel. Overly sensitive and wanting to cry. Sigh…I do love it so. #2 on the list is Shadow & Darkness. While I didn’t get emotional in the ‘feels’ sense, this was my first real trot into erotica. I forced myself to use rude words and show many different kinks as a test. I used to be crushingly embarrassed when writing erotica to begin with, and Shadow & Darkness was my way of making myself not think about what I was writing and just be cool with the fact that the book is about sex.
Back to His Beautiful Wench. What can readers expect from this novel?
Hopefully an emotional journey that makes readers think about past lives and whether we’ve lived before. Also, I hope there’s a sigh at the end, where the happy-ever-after is so nice that it makes the reader get the warm fuzzies!
THIS BOOK WAS PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED ELSEWHERE. IT HAS BEEN REVISED FOR REPUBLICATION.
Drawn to the attic in her new home, Amelia finds a saucy nineteenth-century wench dress. At first glance, it’s just a dress, but once she puts it on, desire streaks through her and she’s transported to the past. Overwhelmed by lust, she is caught pleasuring herself, discovered by the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen, who turns out to be—her lover?
Amelia and Emmet join in an explosive sexual union, erasing the months—or is it centuries?—they have been apart as though they never existed. But suddenly Amelia awakes—alone.
Until the dress calls again.
Emmett’s not the only one lusting after Amelia. Lord Graham wants her and he doesn’t fight fair. He kidnaps her, sends Emmett on a deadly errand and forces Amelia to participate in his voyeuristic games. Although Amelia’s body betrays her, she vows to remain true to Emmett, but will he return? And can she escape the clutches of Lord Graham’s debauchery? Amidst subterfuge, treachery and murder, Amelia and Emmet’s love grows and they reach new heights of carnal passions.
He stood at the top of the stairs, arms held out for her. A sob caught in her throat and tears pricked her eyes. His sun-weathered face…God, how she itched to touch it, to run her fingertips over his full lips, to sift her hands in his thick wavy hair.
“Emmett,” she whispered, his name foreign yet so right on her tongue.
He rewarded her with a wide grin. “Ah, you couldn’t keep the game going, I see. Come here.”
She ran toward him, all fear gone, her past obliterated, replaced with the need to feel his chest against hers, his kiss on her lips. He pulled her into an embrace, one hand on her ass, the other roaming her back. She nestled her face in the crook of his neck and a strangled cry built in her throat then left her mouth. She touched her lips to his collarbone, the heat from his skin searing. His hand left her back and he weaved it through her hair, fingertips massaging her scalp.
“By God, I’ve missed you, wench.”
His voice sent shivers of desire through her, his use of wench an almost illicit, daring term that prodded her need for him higher. She hugged him to her, the planes of his back hard and recognizable beneath her hands. He smelled of sunshine, salt and that indefinable scent that was undeniably Emmett Dray. The smell she conjured on the nights she lay in bed after working at the saloon, hoping the remembrance of it would bring him into her dreams. The nights she tried to sleep unsuccessfully, the moans and sighs from the men and women in the whorehouse below making her wish she and Emmett created those noises. Tears spilled and she thanked God Emmett had returned to her safe—and prayed he would remain here for longer than his usual week between voyages. Those days sped by so fast she barely had time to become accustomed to his arrival before they once again held one another close beside the dock and prepared to say goodbye.
Don’t think of him leaving when he has only just arrived.
She sniffed and lifted her head, taking in the sight of him. More lines had appeared beside his eyes—him squinting due to the harsh sun, she’d wager—and he’d tanned darker than any other time she could remember. Where had he voyaged, this man of hers, to be so brown?
He rubbed his nose against hers then tilted his head, closing his eyes as his lips brushed hers. A thrill rushed through her and she tightened her hold on him, crushing him closer. She opened her mouth to invite his tongue in and it met hers. A groan cut short in her throat and she loved him with her mouth, pressing her pelvis into his. Hard cock greeted her and she moaned again, the need for him inside her paramount.
He broke the kiss, cupped her face and stared into her eyes.
Do they remind him of the ocean? Are they the same bright blue?
“It’s been difficult for you this time, Amelia?” He touched his brow to hers.
“It’s always difficult. Always.” She sighed and fingered his shoulder blades, ran her nails down his spine. “I’ll never get used to it. When will you—”
“Hush. There’s time later to discuss my next voyage.”
He lifted her into his arms and carried her over to a double bed, its head and footboards fashioned from iron poles. A multicolored patchwork quilt covered the mattress, a corner folded over, a sheet beneath. With one foot on the bed, he balanced her ass upon his knee, her back cradled in his arm, and used his free hand to fling the quilt farther aside. He lowered her into the bed and looked down at her, the rigidity of his cock evident underneath his shirt fronts. She held her breath at the sheer beauty of him, at the reality that he was really here. He raised his arm and slid his hand beneath her scooping neckline, lifting the material to peek beneath. He smiled, caressed her swells with his thumb and she released her breath. His splayed palm warmed her chest and he moved it toward her neck, one finger tracing the dip at the base of her throat.
“I love you, my beautiful wench.”
Emmett took his hand away and the loss of contact pained Amelia to such a degree that she reached out to grasp his wrist. He leaned to one side and took off his boots, her grip steadying him.
“Come to me,” she said, the ache in her all-consuming.
She pulled up her skirt and widened her legs, and he climbed onto the bed, kneeling between them. Amelia stared at him, wanting to read his expressions and remember them, shelve them for the lonely times to come. Warm hands smoothed along her calves, over her knees and up her thighs. Thumb tips brushed her mound and he cocked his head, one eyebrow rising. He shifted her skirt higher. His eyes widened.
“By God! Did you allow those women downstairs to fashion your undergarments?”
Amelia frowned and looked down, her head supported by pillows. A scanty piece of black material covered her thatch, familiar yet not. Had the women or Madam created her underwear? A moment of confusion lingered before dissipating completely.
“It’s nothing more than a strip of fabric!” His rich laugh filled her attic room and he gazed down at her, blue eyes bright. “My, you’re an amazing woman. So bold yet so innocent in allowing those females of the night to influence you.”
He grazed her lower belly, his fingertips feather-light, teasing. She tensed, waiting for him to ravish her, needing him to handle her with gentle roughness, yet his hands played over her skin with no urgency. She raised her hips, conveying to him that he move faster, but his grin told her he had taken charge.
Emmett bent his head, his breath hot on her inner thighs, day-old beard growth rasping her skin. Shock waves buzzed to her core and she fisted the sheet beneath her. He breathed in, his intake of air long.
Does he do what I do? Remember my scent when in his bunk at night? Does his throat thicken when he recalls it, tears close?
Love for him bloomed, her chest tight. God, how she’d missed him, and upon his return she realized she’d missed him more than she’d thought. Cool air bathed her as he pushed her underwear aside and parted her with finger and thumb. A puff of hot breath heated her a second before he swept his tongue up her slit, circling the sensitive nub at the top. She whimpered, his languid torment sweet yet maddening. She released the sheet and wound her fingers in his hair, the tresses coarse from sea salt, the feel of them heaven. He laved up and down, every so often dipping his tongue tip inside her.
Her orgasm came on swiftly, a raging burn that spread up her channel to the pit of her stomach. She clutched his head, willing his tongue faster, harder, but he continued with soft strokes, drawing out her pleasure. The tortuous abrasion nudged the intensity up a notch and she cried out as it spread through her lower body. Her nipples hardened, the peaks achingly taut, and she let go of his hair to massage her breasts through her dress. Orgasm at its peak, she lifted her hips higher and Emmett applied a little more tongue pressure, inserting two fingers inside her. She bucked, loosed a ragged moan and her juices spilled. The sensations receded and she stilled her hands, resting them flat on her chest.
Emmett raised his head and she gazed down at him, her eyes half closed, her heart rate fast. Aftershocks stabbed her and he shifted up, his body covering hers. His kiss tasted of her juices and she took what he offered, arms about his back. She moved her hands down to cup his backside and kneaded, loving the feel of him, loving the way he fitted against her. He rose, hands flat on the mattress beside her, and she mourned the loss of his mouth on hers. Licking her lips, she brought her hands up between them and undid his shirt. His flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes showed his desire and she snagged her fingers in the curls on his chest then swept over his skin to rest them on his shoulders.
He swooped down for another quick kiss, rose again and leaned on one hand while the other freed her breast. Rough with calluses from his ship’s rigging, his skin brushed over her nipple. The scuff of his coarse skin sent shudders of delight through her and she arched her back, pressing her breast into his palm.
“You’re a beauty,” Emmett whispered, his gaze meeting hers. “I dreamed of you every night and sometimes during the day.” His eyes moistened. “I had many a time when my mind wandered to thoughts of you.” He rolled her nipple between finger and thumb. “And sometimes my cock got so hard it ached.”
Amelia snatched in a breath and dug her nails into him. He pinched her nipple in rhythm with her pulse and she embraced his lower back, pressing his rigidity to her. His eyes conveyed so much—so many words and emotions.
“Being with you like this,” he whispered, “is all I want. All I’ll ever want.”
Her emotions betrayed her and a tear escaped, trailing a hot path to her temple then disappearing into her hair. Emmett released her nipple, leaned down and kissed the now cold tear-track, his soft lips peppering the shell of her ear.
“I missed you,” Amelia murmured, cupping his ass. “I wish—”
“As do I, my wench,” he whispered, his breath warming her ear.
Emmett reared up to remove his shirt then tossed it to the floor. A wave of longing encompassed her, so strong she followed her instincts and helped remove his breeches. He lay beside her propped up on one elbow and she caressed the small of his back, fondling her nipple with her other hand. She bent her legs and let her knees flop to the bed, their gazes locked. His fingertips swirled a circular pattern on the inside of one leg beside her knee and her hips bucked involuntarily.
“You like that, don’t you?” he asked.
Amelia nodded. “Please…don’t tease me.”
His eyes darkened and he moaned, swiftly ripping the thin side strips of her underwear and moving on top of her. His cock speared her hole and she cried out, clutching his buttocks. Wrapping her legs around his, she lifted her hips, urging him to fuck her hard and fast. Hands flat on the mattress beneath her pillow, Emmett raised his chest and looked down at her, his thrusts sharp. She let out a short, victorious moan, spanning his ass cheeks again, his pelvis grinding against her.
He kissed her with a hunger that matched hers then lifted his head, his eyes searching for hers. The intensity of his stare stirred her desire and the spiral of a second orgasm gripped her. He sucked on her nipple. A spark of bliss fizzled, heightening her steadily growing pleasure. She released a whoosh of groan-laden air then gasped as his cock swelled further.
Her cunt clenched around him, and the lust coil burst through her. She dug her nails into his ass and keened, heady sensations overwhelming her. Tears of joy spilled, as did his seed, the wet heat of it sending her orgasm to a higher level. Her head went giddy and she hiked in a breath that snagged in her emotion-swelled throat.
“Christ, I love you, wench.”