You've heard me say it before, but it's worth repeating. One of the things I like best about being a writer is the people. No, I'm not talking about the people in my head--although I do love them too. It's the people I get to meet on this crazy journey. Amber Scott
is definitely one of my favorites. Not only is she just a genuinely nice person, she has a great sense of humor and is always warm and encouraging (even when we run into each other at the library, sans makeup and--in my case--with a coffee stained shirt.)
I'm really thrilled to have her here on my site and to spotlight this talented author! If you've never been to her blog (http://amberscottproject.wordpress.com/
) you should stop by. She has such interesting topics and fun stuff going on there. Read below for my interview with her, a fabulous excerpt and information on her giveaway!
Okay, so on to the interview.
: When did you first know you wanted to be a writer?
: I remember telling my mom I'd be a writer when I grew up at around the age of four. She nodded, seemed very impressed and asked me what I would write. Children's books? Poetry? I didn't know the answer until my first historical romance novel, A Gentle Feuding, and I fell in love with love. I've lived in "romance novel zone", a direct quote from my sisters, ever since. But I love my rose colored glasses and shall never give them back.
: You have a busy life with small children, how do you juggle it all?
Thank Heaven for cartoons! No. Really. After my daughter, my second, was born and my first stopped napping, I had a major struggle finding writing time. I'd grown spoiled by my first's clockwork like naptimes, an hour to two, every day, same time, same place. My husband's long work hours didn't help. I had two choices: Lose my marbles or sneak in some writing. So, I learned how to pound out a paragraph here, a paragraph there. I wrote Play Fling with each one hanging from a leg, typing while standing at my breakfast bar. Things are far more predictable now. My little ones have learned to share me, as long as they come first and get full attention in between. Ten minutes here, twenty there, child wrapped around me like a mink stole, it all adds up.
If you could write whatever you want and know it would be an instant bestseller, what would it be?
Whatever the latest sub-genre my muse has taken me to! I've finally learned to have faith and stop fighting Milla, the goth chick who lights my brain up with each new tale. She shall have her way, no matter how much I think of shoulds when it comes to what the right next story is. Whether it's an erotica, a paranormal or a romantic comedy, I'd love every one to fly off the shelves and into the hearts of millions of readers. Knowing I have given someone the same escape I live for gives me immeasurable joy.
Tell us about your latest release and what YOU love about it?
In Play Fling, playing cupid isn't a reward; it's Millie's punishment. If she doesn't find repressed, divorcee, Brooke, true love in the next thirty days, Millie'll lose the one thing in this life sentence worth fighting for, her partner. Just two problems: First, Millie sucks at matchmaking. Second, too young, too hot, Elliott keeps getting in Millie's way. What I love most is the strong reaction Millie gets from readers. She's a bit of the antihero who will have a tough run of it over the course of the series, but will ultimately find her own happily ever after. She makes me laugh out loud and I've had to talk her out of a couple seriously sticky choices. What I miss most, though, is spending all that time with my, er, Brooke's deliciously smart but sexy, Elliott. Thankfully, I'll more heartthrobs on the horizon.
Can you give us an excerpt?
Excerpt from PLAY FLING:
“Don’t go,” he said.
Brooke turned, ready to cut him with an icy remark. She fell short, her lips parted. He’d taken his glasses off. Her breath caught, seeing his undisguised attraction. The word smoldering came to mind. She’d never felt a man look at her the way he was looking at her.
He came around the desk. He shut the door. Locked it.
Her heart thumped up her throat.
“I think I’ve made a mistake,” Brooke said, amazed her voice didn’t crack. “I think I have to go.”
“Don’t go,” he said again, stepping close.
His words enveloped her. Had she thought his glasses made him irresistible? She’d been wrong. His lashes set off depths so blue, so intense, they might penetrate her soul.
Slowly, he reached up, pushed a lock of hair from her face. His finger ran along her cheek, to her lobe, down her neck and up to her chin. With gentle pressure, he tipped her chin up. Brooke’s hands shook. Her mouth watered. Her mind searched for words and found two: don’t go.
How could she?
His gaze captivated hers. He lowered his head. She closed her eyes. The tremble in her hands spread up her arms, down her legs. Yes. God, yes. Let him kiss her. Let her taste his lips on hers, his breath, his mouth.
“Stay,” he whispered against her lips.
She failed to shake her head, no, she wouldn’t go. He began at her chin, a graze, and in slow succession, breathed and kissed and wet her skin. Kisses. Tantalizing, sensual, tickling. Around her mouth, teasing her. Away again, torture.
Her knees turned to water. She almost whimpered. His mouth found her hungry lips.
Brooke gasped. His hands raked into her hair. He kissed her lower lip, moved to the side, never quite meeting her fully. Brooke moaned, awash with a full body shiver. Musk and sandalwood intoxicated her senses. Mint, sweet on her tongue. She swayed her weight toward his body. He slid his hand over her lower back, steadying her.
Her lips parted, begging entry. He took it. His tongue carefully delved, explored as her lips, suckled and pressed. Brooke returned each caress, mindless of all but each sensation coming over her mouth, washing her body.
Her hands rose to his chest. His roamed over her back, ever lower, inch-by-inch to her hips. He broke the kiss and pulled away.
Brooke opened her eyes. She could hardly think.
He swallowed. “I want you.”
A small ache jolted to life between her legs. She wanted him, too. Bad. Shamelessly. The realization sent her a step back. She couldn’t.
Elliott’s hands tugged at her hips. He shook his head. “I’ll stop. I’m sorry. But, please, don’t go. Not like this.”
The ramifications of what she’d just done, of what she allowed him to do, of where they were and who he was, rammed through her mind, penetrating her haze.
Brooke put a hand to her forehead. “I can’t do this.”
“No,” Elliott said. “Don’t say that. Just close your eyes. I promise. I won’t ask anything of you.” He moved closer, his eyes charming the fear snaking through her. “Stay.”
He leaned in and his scent, his heat, teased her senses. He made her thirst for more. One more taste. A small interior voice urged her to try it. What harm could a little bit more really cause? When had a man ever made her knees go weak? She deserved weak knees. Wet, hot kisses.
She needed them.
Brooke let him tug her closer. She shut her eyes. Elliott’s mouth met hers, sweet at first, then urgent, and pleading. Her hands dug into his clothes, her hips sought his. He felt so good. So hard, muscular. So good.
Her mind designed the flesh beneath her hands as she traced his contours. Not enough. She needed skin. She tugged at the hem of his shirt. Elliott groaned.
“God,” he whispered. His tongue licked magic over her collarbone. His hands cradled her waist, her neck. “You taste so good.”
Brooke whimpered. Her nipples peaked, aching for touch. He grabbed her by the hips and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him as he positioned their bodies onto a nest of papers. Her need thrummed harder. Moisture sprang between her thighs.
Elliott cupped her face. His body stilled above hers, inches from answering what her limbs begged for. His touch. “We have to stop,” he said.
Heaviness gathered back into her chest. “Stop?”
Elliott nodded. Emotion shone in his eyes. “I want you. Make no mistake about that.”
Then why stop? She couldn’t ask, though. She wouldn’t make more of a fool of herself over him. Not when she knew how rash she was being even coming to this office, let alone clawing his body like a sex kitten.
Her surroundings slipped back into focus. Elliott helped her to her feet. She ignored how wobbly her legs were. Had she been ready to give herself to him right there on Shope’s desk?
She should be thanking him, really. Good sturdy common sense had plainly exited her brain. If not for his clear head, they might be naked, limbs entangled for anyone to walk in on. No, wait, he had locked the door.
Still. “I should go.”
He took her hand, kissed it. “When can I see you?”
The weight in her chest lifted. “I don’t think you can. I’m not sure we should be doing this.”
He cocked his head. “Yes you are.”
She opened her mouth to protest. He brought her wrist to his lips and licked the sensitive flesh there, effectively shutting her up. She didn’t know what she could have said. An unstoppable prayer formed inside of her. Please, it said. Him, this, yes. Please. His lips caressed her skin, his fingers entwined hers.
Okay, I'm hooked!!!! You can order PLAY FLING at amazon now: http://www.amazon.com/Play-Fling-Amber-Scott/dp/1451588739/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
I just ordered mine. :)
Other ways to buy:
Smashwords (bestseller!): http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/8524
Amber is giving away a copy of PLAY FLING
to one lucky reader! Leave a comment (and don't forget to check back!) to be in the drawing to win!