Friday, 30 November 2012

Edinburgh Fog for FREE, today and tomorrow!

I’m celebrating my Scottish-ness this St. Andrew’s Day, and to help you celebrate along with me, Muse It Up Publications is offering you the chance to download my contemporary short story, Edinburgh Fog, absolutely free! 
Today, November 30, and tomorrow, December 1, go to the Muse It Up Bookstore HERE and click on the Edinburgh Fog banner at the top of the page to download it free, gratis and for nothing. I hope you’ll love this tale of love lost and regained, with its mix of dry Edinburgh humour, a few tears and a few more smiles. Here's what some reviewers have had to say-
Night Owl Reviews:- If you’re looking for a feel-good story that will fit into your busy schedules, then look no further because this is the perfect short-story for you!'
Book Wenches:- If you're craving something sweet and charming set against a beautiful European backdrop, pick up Edinburgh Fog; it will warm your heart on a cold night.
Christine London, Author:- Edinburgh Fog packs more emotional punch and deeper characterization in its thirty two pages than most books do in three hundred. Every phrase, every word so perfectly chosen, it engenders both the joy in, and painful regret of a relationship ended too soon.
Still not sure? Try this excerpt and decide for yourself:-
'Threes. Never twos or fours. Things always happen in threes.
Greg Morton knew the day would go like this. Last night had been Tellers' `Happy Hour'—a polite euphemism for an evening of Edinburgh's junior accountants and giggling chain-store salesgirls knocking back all the expensive cocktails they could handle before they went out of fashion. The bar closed at one o'clock in the morning, but what with cashing up late and then sorting out a staff scheduling problem, Greg didn't get to bed till three. Next thing he knew, he'd overslept. Due back at work in less than an hour, he hit full panic overdrive.
That was Thing Number One.
Not the type to call on the perks of management and ring in late, he showered in three minutes flat and had a hasty shave, leaving the door wide open for Thing Number Two—a stinging shaving cut. Mildly cursing under his breath as he mopped his chin with a bud of toilet tissue, he flung on clothes and raced from flat to car. Negotiating the one-way traffic system through Edinburgh's misty lunchtime streets, he spied one of the few free parking spaces a minute away from the bar. Result! He wouldn't have to haul himself out in the rain every couple of hours to feed a meter with loose change. Cheered by the thought that he'd managed to hold off Thing Number Three, a record-breaking dash got him to work with a whole, smug minute to spare. He grinned at the heavy glass door of the former city bank building that now housed the best bar-bistro in the city—the one with `Tellers' etched in Times New Roman—pushed it open and went in.
Ben Hardie stared from behind the gleaming marble-topped bar, his enormous hand wielding a big glass coffee-pot.
"Hiya, boss. So where did you hide the body?" Ben's deep Edinburgh brogue lent itself
particularly well to sarcasm. Behind Ben, Chrissie Henderson, Greg's bar manager and secondin-command, gawped goggle-eyed around Ben's lofty shoulder.
"What body?" Greg looked down at his blood-spattered shirt front. "Aw, no, would you look at that! I cut myself shaving. I thought I'd staunched it."
Ben laughed as he tipped ground coffee into the pot and filled it with hot water. "Lucky there's a spare shirt hanging in the office."
Greg groaned. "But not so lucky, it's one of yours." The reason Ben could never do Saturday afternoon shifts was that he spent them propping up the back row of the Edinburgh Academicals' rugby third fifteen. Borrowing a shirt from a rugby player like Ben would be like draping himself in a beer tent.
"Maybe I can cover it," Greg suggested, adjusting his Tellers' staff tie. At three inches wide, it was still three inches too narrow to cover the stains.
"Aye, right." Ben grinned. "On the other hand, you could wear the clean shirt and just keep puffing out your chest for the rest of the day so it looks like it fits you."
Greg admitted defeat. "I'll go and put it on. Give me a minute." He eyed the pot of coffee. "Have you just made that for a customer?"
"Table six." Ben made to pick up the pot, and then caught the determined gleam in Greg's eye. He sighed heavily, and slammed the plunger down. "It's all yours, boss. I'll make them another." Five minutes later, ignoring Ben's hearty guffaws, Greg emerged back into the bar. He'd tucked the enormous shirt into his jeans as best he could, but it felt like wearing a bedspread. The sleeves bunched up underneath the arms of his waistcoat, no matter how many times he rolled back his shoulders to make it more comfortable. Ah, well. At least he could congratulate himself on his self-imposed and totally egalitarian uniform policy. Even though he was sole owner of Tellers', he still dressed the same as everyone else...even if he looked utterly ridiculous.
Lunchtime was the usual Friday affair, trainee lawyers and giggling office-girls from the Georgian-pillared businesses in Queen Street and Charlotte Square. The booze they knocked back made sure the most efficient thing they'd achieve that afternoon was a spectacular slump over a desk. Three o'clock came and went, bringing its throng of no-class-but-plenty-of-cash Edinburgh WAGS, all done in after hours of nail extensions, Brazilian waxes and clearing the designer concession rails in Jenners department store. They ordered sustenance in the form of Tellers' own coffee blend and plates of Danish pastries, which they prodded with forks but left
After they'd cleared out, Tellers' was at last blessed with a couple of hours' peace. The staff heaved a collective sigh and set to preparing the place for the Friday evening crowd. Nothing eventful happened except Chrissie tripping over Ben as he knelt behind the bar to re-stack the mixers shelf and tipping half a bottle of vermouth and a bowl of stuffed olives down the back of his neck. Ben took it in good part, commenting that while he smelled like a martini, he was only stirred and not at all shaken. Leaving them to clean up as he sliced lemons and limes for the bar, Greg mused on whether the olive incident counted as Thing Number Three, and was on the point of convincing himself that definitely, absolutely nothing else could possibly go wrong for the rest of the day, when she walked in.
Greg froze, hypnotized by the reflection shimmering in the long mirror behind the bar. It disappeared briefly, moving out of his line of vision and he stepped sideways, following the mirror along the wall, seeking her out if only to convince himself that it couldn't possibly be her —that Julia hadn't just walked back into his life four years after he'd walked out of hers.'
If you’re hooked enough to want to know more, go to LINK where you’ll find another excerpt to tickle your tastebuds as you treat yourself to a great big helping of helping of Edinburgh Fog. Enjoy!
Blurb: When Greg Morton returned to Edinburgh, it was to follow his dream of opening the smartest bar-bistro in town. Now Tellers’ is a huge success—but the truth is, deep inside, it means little without the love of his life. Four years ago, he left Julia Brady behind in London to realize his business ambitions in his Scottish home town. By the time he’d recognized his mistake and admitted to himself he wanted her back, the grapevine told him Julia had moved on—and Greg had to face the fact that he’d been a fool.When Julia appears out of the blue in Tellers’, he knows the only thing he should do is walk right up to her and say hello. But it looks like someone else has their sights set on her, and he’s a quick worker. Is Julia about to disappear from Greg's life a second time - this time, for good?
Find out more about Jane Richardson and her other published writing here at her blog, Home Is Where The Heart Is.  

Thursday, 29 November 2012

No Romance, But Very British

As some of you may already know, I write erotica and erotic romance, in a multitude of different genres and sub-genres. I just write about what I want to write about, hence the variety. And I love the variety.

One thing I particularly enjoy doing is writing from the male perspective. It was male friends that got me into the erotica writing lark in the first place, and I have lots of very honest male friends, so I can easily tap into what gets them going, I know how they talk, and how they talk about sex, too. I'm very lucky from that perspective, especially since I've been able to take this knowledge and weave it into my writing.

I've written quite a few stories now from the male perspective, and as I said, I enjoy it very much. So much so that I've begun a series of stories - the first will be published by Ellora's Cave on the 7th December. And what makes it so very British? Well, the fact that the lead character is British, and this particular instalment is set in London. It's called A Taste of London, and those that know London will recognise the Borough Market area, The Monument and various Tube stations.

Here's a snippet from the beginning of the story:

Chapter One

“Come on, mate, let’s go and grab our travel passes from the machine,” Ryan said, his familiarity with the locale apparent by the way he marched along the train platform toward the heart of St. Pancras Station.

“What? Uh – okay.” Kristian re-arranged his bag on his shoulder and scurried to keep up with his friend.

Bypassing the huge line of impatient, muttering people queuing for the manned booths, Ryan headed to one of the ticket machines. By the time Kristian caught up, Ryan already had a travel pass in his hand.

“So, um, what do I need to buy then, mate? I’m not as au fait with all this as you.”

“Been practising your French for the trip, Kris?” Ryan punched his friend on the arm playfully. “No worries. We’re only taking one trip tonight so you just need a single to London Bridge on the Tube.”

“All right,” Kristian replied, carefully tapping the relevant areas of the touch screen, feeding his money into the machine and triumphantly retrieving his ticket.

“Okay, I’m ready to go!”

“Come on then.” Ryan hoisted his bag back onto his shoulder and walked in the direction of the Underground, with Kristian close behind.

“Hey,” Kristian said, pointing as they passed a map of the Underground, “don’t you need to check where we’re going?”

“Nope,” Ryan said, without breaking stride, “I know London pretty well, plus I double checked all this stuff when I organised this part of the trip. What can I say, it’s the Boy Scout in me.”

“Cool. I guess it makes things easier when you’re not checking a map every two minutes. So how long will it take us to get to London Bridge station from here?”

They stepped onto the escalator. Rather than standing still and letting the moving staircase do its thing, Ryan continued to walk, eager now to get this leg of traveling over and done with so he could have some fun. It had been a long day, or at least it felt like one. They’d actually only traveled around one hundred and fifty miles from the outskirts of the Peak District to the centre of London, a couple of hours on the train, but it had felt like longer. Perhaps because he’d been so eager to actually get to London and start their adventure.

“Not long mate. Probably about ten minutes. It’s a direct journey and at this time of day it shouldn’t be too busy. We can dump our stuff at the hostel then have some drinks next door.”

“There’s a pub next door? No wonder I let you sort out this trip. You’re a fucking genius!”

By now, they’d reached the bottom of the escalator. Ryan stepped off, then turned to face his friend. Tapping his head, he grinned and said, “It’s not just a hat rack, mate.”

Kristian laughed. “You’re right there.” He paused. “It’s a fucking chick magnet, too!”

Ryan frowned, looking genuinely confused. “It is?” Then he shook himself and smiled. “I wish someone had told me!”

“Are you kidding, mate? Everywhere we go, women are checking you out.” Kristian grinned. “Why do you think I agreed to go traveling with you? I’m hoping some of your apparent sex appeal will rub off on me and get me some action!”

Ryan laughed, then started walking towards the southbound platform for their connection to London Bridge. “So that’s your ulterior motive, eh? Never mind being my best mate, or seeing the world, you just wanna get laid?”

This is part of the Ellora's Cave for Men range, so the language and the plot is much more male-focussed, but there's absolutely no reason why women can't read it too. I've read other stories from that range and loved them. So if this sounds like your kind of thing, you can grab your copy next week here. And don't forget to add it to your Goodreads shelves here!

Thanks so much for stopping by! :)


Lucy is a graduate of the University of Derby, where she studied Creative Writing. During her first year, she was dared to write an erotic story - so she did. It went down a storm and she's never looked back. Lucy has had stories published by Cleis Press, Constable and Robinson, Decadent Publishing, Ellora's Cave, Evernight Publishing, House of Erotica, Ravenous Romance, Resplendence Publishing, Sweetmeats Press and Xcite Books. She is also the editor of Uniform Behaviour, Seducing the Myth, Smut by the Sea and Smut in the City. Find out more at Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at:

Monday, 19 November 2012

Oh So Very British by Lucy Felthouse

I love me a drama. On the TV that is, not in real life. I watch all kinds of things, and find that they inspire me in my writing, whether it be settings, characters, storylines, etc. Mostly, though, I find it's characters that inspire me.

And one of the dramas I watch, Strike Back, has two particularly inspiring characters. Michael Stonebridge and Damien Scott are sexy, brave, elite soldiers, and the chemistry between them is brilliant. So much so that I thought it was time to pen my first gay erotic story - about them. Don't get me wrong, this is not fan-fiction. My characters look the same as Michael and Damien, and that's about it. Oh, and they're still soldiers. But instead of being elite soldiers that go on covert missions, my two are on exercise on Salisbury Plain. And they're oh so very British. They complain about the weather, they complain about their helicopter being late, they swear a lot, and say "mate" even more.

And you know what? Totally hot sex aside, I had lots of fun writing this story. It was something new, writing about two men together, but I just took what I've learned from writing lesbian fiction, and applied it to Ditched. I've had reader feedback asking for more about Damien and Michael (yes, I pinched the first names, too), so I may well go for it in the future. I look forward to penning more adventures about my oh so British sexy soldiers ;)

Private Damien Stone is living in a nightmare. He’s out on exercise on Salisbury Plain with Lance Corporal Michael Scott—who also happens to be a huge pain in the arse. He’s a teacher’s pet who seems to delight in bossing Stone around. But that’s not the real reason Stone appears to dislike him so much. It’s because Stone—who’s bisexual—is seriously attracted to his superior, but he can’t do anything about it, because Scott is straight. Or is he?

More info, excerpt and buy links:


Lucy is a graduate of the University of Derby, where she studied Creative Writing. During her first year, she was dared to write an erotic story - so she did. It went down a storm and she's never looked back. Lucy has had stories published by Cleis Press, Constable and Robinson, Decadent Publishing, Ellora's Cave, Evernight Publishing, House of Erotica, Ravenous Romance, Resplendence Publishing, Sweetmeats Press and Xcite Books. She is also the editor of Uniform Behaviour, Seducing the Myth, Smut by the Sea and Smut in the City. Find out more at Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at:

Thursday, 15 November 2012

Rosemary Morris' Novel shortlisted

I am delighted to announce that my novel Tangled Love, set in Queen Anne's reign, 1702-1714 has been shortlisted at The Festival of Romance. The results will be announced on the 17th November at the gala ball in Bedford.

Wednesday, 7 November 2012

Where is it set?

One of my books, The Gentle Wind's Caress, is set in an area of Yorkshire known as Calderdale. The villages that feature in the book are Hebden Bridge and Heptonstall.

Hebden Bridge is the little bustling village that the heroine of the book, Isabelle, visits to shop and sell her wares on a market stall, but it is the farming countryside around Heptonstall, high up on the moors above Hebden Bride, where Isabelle lives on a run down farm which she tries to keep from going under despite the odds being against her.

Hebden Bridge

The area is naturally beautiful and running through the valley is the Calder River. This part of Yorkshire, like most areas, is steeped in history, and you can enjoy many local attractions, whether that be sipping coffee in Hebden Bridge, hiking along the many walking trails throughout the valley, learning the villages' history at places like Gibson's Mill (this is also Isabelle's surname, as I've made her a fictional distant relative of the mill owners), or visiting natural beauty spots like Hardcastle Crags.

For more information on Hebden Bridge:
For more information on Heptonstall:

A snippet from The Gentle Wind's Caress:

The cartwheel fell into a hole, jerking her back to the present. She forced herself to relax. Yes, she had married a stranger, but what had been the alternative? Living on the streets would have been much worse and she had to think of Hughie’s future too.
Isabelle raised her chin and concentrated on her surroundings. They’d left Halifax immediately after the wedding tea and driven straight to Hebden Bridge, where Len stopped to purchase goods, which for some reason, he grumbled about. Now, they drove up the steep, winding Heptonstall Road and her new husband had barely spoken to them. She couldn’t blame him really. Obviously, the situation wasn’t easy for him either. She expected that men become equally nervous as women when they married.
Craning to look past Hughie, Isabelle marvelled at the magnificent scenery of the valley below. The grey stone terrace houses of Hebden Bridge hugged the slopes as though they had been hewn from the valley sides. The silver ribbon of the River Calder coiled through the town like a lazy snake. Beside it, caught in glimpses between trees and buildings, lay the Rochdale Canal.
Familiar names in a new and unfamiliar life.  
The muted noise of the small village of Heptonstall greeted them like a soft caress on the wind. The narrow, quiet streets reflected the lateness of the day; many would be inside enjoying their tea. Isabelle took eager interest in the Old Church and Weaver’s Square, and counted seven public houses, but all too soon they left the stone thoroughfare of Towngate and headed northwest on Smithwell Lane and out of the village. She would have to investigate the village properly at a later date.
Isabelle stifled a yawn, she had been awake since before dawn. The day’s toll flagged her strength. She still couldn’t believe she was now married. Opening her eyes wide to keep alert, she surveyed the countryside as it opened up on both sides of the road. The higher they rose, the cooler the weather became and the bleaker their environment. This was moor country. The crisp autumn air awoke her senses. Her gaze lingered on the hues of the heather covered moor. How beautiful it is. Maybe being married and living in the country would be an enjoyable experience. Surely, nothing could be worse than living by Matron’s rules and spending her time hiding from Neville?

To learn more about The Gentle Wind's Caress, which is available in paperback and ebook, visit online sellers such as Amazon, and my Facebook author page.