The #evernighties Thursday Weekly Author Blog Challenge is a once-a-week blogging adventure brought to you exclusively by Evernight authors. Each week, we answer a new question (listed below and borrowed from MFRW.org) and the answers will be featured on the Evernight Reader’s Group on Facebook, as well as our own blogs and social media platforms. Check out the group or follow the #evernighties tag to see how other authors answered this week’s question!

   
So, the topic of the day is, “A book that has influenced my life”.

More than a romance author, I am a suspense/thriller/horror author. More than steamy sex scenes, I love fast, hair-raising, edge-of-your-seat action scenes. I thrive delving in the dirty and the gory, I dig imagining blood and brain splatter, and I grin anticipating how my descriptions will make readers cringe. Yeah, I am that sadistical kind of author that goes for the kill, sometimes achingly slowly, building the tension, sometimes lashing out brutal words like a punch to your gut.

Where did I get all that nastiness from, you ask, in the world of litterature? Well, if I mention Mo Hayder, James Patterson, Lisa Gardner, Karen Slaughter (such a fitting name!), Ed McBain, Robert Ludlum, Jonathan Kellerman, Chelsea Cain, Ian Rankin, and of course Stephen King, to name just a few, you get the drift. But more than any other author, Cody McFadyen has lit my murderous fuse and given me the lethal inspiration I’ve been feeding on since, with his first book Shadow Man:
    

    
To answer the topic question – has this book influenced my life? I would definitely say so, as it has inspired me to write and thus helped me become a published author, an endeavor that has completely changed the “quality” of my inner, private being.

Here is what I wrote in a review a few years ago:

“This book is without a single doubt my all-time favorite, one I have read again and again, a true source of inspiration on so many levels. 1 – The writing is top-notch, intense, pulls you forward, urges you to read on. 2 – It’s so full of emotions and gore and frantic action and suspense, you’re constantly sweating and holding your breath as you turn the pages at ligthtning speed. 3 – The main character is so alive, you crawl into her skin and feel her pain and think her thoughts before they’re even put to paper.

I want more of this, so much more, and although the sequels are very well done, I have yet to read a book that has shaken me so thoroughly and torn, stolen my soul as I was engulfed in the story and taken away to a different world.

Whoooo! I’d give it 10 stars if I could. But let it be said – it’s not for the soft-hearted.”

Happy Wednesday, and thanks again to Angelica Dawson for organizing the MidWeekTeases!

This week’s tease is taken from my ménage erotica HIGH-RISK FEVER. In this scene, we’re continuing where we left off: Micaela is sick, so Anne brings him some medicine…

* * *

Pulse racing, Anne closed the window and faced Micaela with her hands clenched at her sides. She didn’t know what else to do with them. Nervousness and anticipation raced through her. They hadn’t been face to face since he’d approached her last night, naked and very aroused.

God. The memory sent sweet tingles to her inner thighs, and from the gleam in his eye, he seemed to be recalling the same sensual encounter.

Yet, she couldn’t help being pissed at him for trying to seduce her. Because she now knew he had a boyfriend—which meant he’d betrayed both Todd and her. His behavior ultimately was root to her immoral thoughts and Brian’s desperate reaction in the cellar. She could not let Micaela come close again. She could not slip.

He glanced from the unmade bed to the pile of folded sheets on the desk before slumping on the chair with a throaty sigh.

Anne bit her lower lip while searching for the right words to say. “How are you?”

He shrugged. Keeping his shiny black eyes locked on hers, he put a hand on his throat. “Sore.”

“Yes, I heard you cough.” She pointed to the bottles on the desk. “I brought you some medicine and pastilles for your throat.”

“Grazie.” He gave a weak nod, winced, and closed his eyes, as if in pain. In the next moment, he leaned forward to cough into his hands with his elbows on his knees. The coughing sounded like the barking of a big dog and shook his body. Long, black locks hung from his head like a curtain, jerking with each contortion.

Her stomach knotted. He might be a total stranger, but all that had happened last night inevitably connected them on some level. Which level, she wasn’t sure.

When the coughing subsided, he groaned and ran a hand along his flustered face, brushing aside a few hairs glued to his skin.

She took the box of pastilles on the table and went toward him, stopping a half-meter from his feet. Damp heat oozed from him. “Do you want a glass of cold water?”

He shrugged and clenched his teeth, as if speaking would be too painful.

“Cold water helps soothe the pain.” She opened the box. The sour-sweet scent of licorice rose to her nostrils.

Eyes feverish, he reached out a trembling palm.

She dropped the candy into it, careful to avoid physical contact—both due to the risk of contagion and because she didn’t want to know what it would feel like to touch his hot skin.

He put the pastille in his mouth and leaned back in the chair with his gaze fixed on her. Breathing deep, he sucked on the candy, but couldn’t seem to relax. Each intake of air caused his features to tighten. Tiny beads of sweat appeared all over his face and ran alongside his temples and bearded cheeks.

She closed the box and eyed him for a moment, trying to consider him as a patient and not an object of her fantasy. A difficult thing to achieve with the obvious tension between them and the way he stared into her eyes. At any moment, he could unbalance her.

Copyright @ 2018 Lea Bronsen

Two young and indecently handsome bicyclists visit a village in the French Alps during the summer holidays. Forced by a raging storm to spend the night at the local bed & breakfast, they invade the quiet lives of hostess Anne and her husband, Brian.

A power outage plunges the foursome into darkness, encouraging new liaisons to form, life-long secrets to be unveiled, and steamy lessons to be learned. But once the storm moves on, can the four find a balance and resume their normal lives?

Links:

Get the book on Amazon.com, Amazon.uk, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, iBooks, and Smashwords.

Add it to your shelf on Goodreads

See photos that inspired me to write on Pinterest

* * *

Thanks for stopping by!

Be sure to check out all the fantastic writers sharing Mid-Week Tease Blog

The #evernighties Thursday Weekly Author Blog Challenge is a once-a-week blogging adventure brought to you exclusively by Evernight authors. Each week, we answer a new question (listed below and borrowed from MFRW.org) and the answers will be featured on the Evernight Reader’s Group on Facebook, as well as our own blogs and social media platforms. Check out the group or follow the #evernighties tag to see how other authors answered this week’s question!

So, the topic of the day is, “What would I do if I couldn’t be a writer?”

There is no good answer to that. I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember, to create characters and situations (read: drama) is my personal getaway, and I’m so insanely lucky that there actually are people all over the world (!) willing to read the words I put onto paper and enjoying them, so if the means to relay my inner thoughts were to be taken away from me, it would be the same as to slowly drain me of life.

For fear that my mind, constantly bubbling with ideas, might implode, I would have to use my creativity in other fields. My inner voice does after all have a wealth of exciting new stories to tell and characters to develop, layer by layer. You can’t just ignore that.

Maybe I could draw instead, as I also used to do as a child. Or paint. Or sing. I did some pretty neat James Hetfield covers back in the day… 😉

But you wouldn’t want to hear that, would you! LOL

So okay, maybe I would do more sports, more cooking, more activities with my kids, more traveling, more reading… It would certainly give me a much more active life on the outside, but would it be meaningful enough on the inside? I hope I’ll never have to find out.

If you missed last week’s topic, “How much of me is in what I write”, I recommend you read the post here as it explains further why being a writer is so important to me!

Happy Wednesday, and thanks again to Angelica Dawson for organizing the MidWeekTeases!

I haven’t posted anything in a while due to losing my drive after our beloved friend Doris O’Connor tragically passed away a couple weeks ago. But I know she would have wanted us to “stay naughty, peeps”, so I will continue posting teases in her memory ❤

This week’s tease is taken from my ménage erotica HIGH-RISK FEVER. In this scene, we’re continuing where we left off: Anne’s husband had a “sex-emotional” fit in the cellar, and now she’s trying to recoup.

* * *

When she reappeared in the kitchen, Todd stood in front of the stove, cross-armed, staring at a boiling kettle. Yellow candlelight danced on his thoughtful face as he turned to her, features drawn.

“Hey.” She gave him an encouraging smile. He had more on his plate than she did.

“Hey. I’m making a cup of tea for Micaela. He hasn’t eaten anything since last night.”

She nodded, closed the cellar door, and clicked off the flashlight. “Of course, make yourself at home. How is he?”

“Not well. He has a fever.” Worry flickered in his deep-emerald eyes.

“I’m going to get you the aspirin from upstairs.”

Shuffling steps sounded behind her, and Anne jumped. She was on edge and dreaded facing Brian again.

Brian entered the kitchen and looked between her and Todd with a placid face, hazel eyes devoid of emotion.

Anne sucked in a breath. Hurt and shame lurked, threatening to burst out.

He nodded to Todd. “Your friend’s pretty sick.” His low voice sounded constricted.

“Yeah. I hope he hasn’t caught pneumonia.”

Brian turned to her, eyes still expressionless. “Anne, why don’t you get him some medicine.”

“Yes.” With an inward sigh of relief—glad she was off the hook and could leave—she made for the door.

He stretched out an arm and stopped her, blocking the exit.

Her heart leapt. What did he want?

“By the way, the French family is leaving. They’ve had enough of the bad weather and want to go south.” He nodded to Todd. “That means a room is available for you and your friend. If you intend to stay.”

Calmness washed through her. For a second, she’d believed he would bring up what happened in the cellar and scold her in public. But he’s not going to make a scene.

“That’s great!” Todd smiled. “It wouldn’t be wise to move on now that Micaela is sick.”

“But I have only one room for the both of you. The other tenants are staying a while longer. I’m not sure how many days, but—”

“That’s fine. Thanks.”

“It’s fifty euro a night.”

“Sure, no prob.” Todd broadened his smile. Probably one less stone for him to carry.

An ill loved one was so heartbreaking. In the past two and a half years, Papa had progressively suffered from Alzheimer’s, losing memory, messing things around in the house, and failing to recognize his own family. Maman’s decision to move into an apartment in town was the only wise thing to do, and though she never told Anne much about her feelings, watching her beloved husband reach the end stage of life in such a condition must be extremely painful.

I pray Brian and I never have to go through that.

Brian turned to her. “Would you mind changing their bed sheets?”

“Not at all. I’m on my way.” She exited the kitchen.

Her heartbeat slowed. Flashlight in hand, she went up the creaking stairs to the landing. Micaela’s hoarse cough sounded in the living room behind her, and she paused to listen, hand on the paneled wall, wondering what she could do to help. Not much, yet.

Brandishing the flashlight, she walked past the tenant rooms and entered her empty bedroom. Among a variety of medical supplies in a cupboard, she found a small box of licorice pastilles and bottles of soluble aspirin, vitamin C, and cough mixture.

She grabbed a pile of clean sheets from the bigger closet—the one against which Micaela had pinned her—and carried everything to the vacant tenant room down the hall.

The door was unlocked. She put the sheets and medicine on a small desk in the corner. The room contained a double bed with ruffled sheets, a small table on each side, and a chair. The distinct smell from the previous tenants lingered. Dim light peeked in from two windows overlooking the street. Rain clattered on the glass panes, and playful gusts of wind made the hinges shake.

She opened a window to let in fresh air. Her hair blew back and danced around. Horizontal raindrops whipped her face, but she welcomed each cold sting as if it could wash away her confusion. Chains of heavy black clouds moved from one side of the village to the other, weighing on the neighboring buildings before being replaced with new clouds. Thunder raged like some monster in the distance, threatening to crack open the skies.

The door handle clanked behind her. She froze then turned with her heart in her throat.

Micaela stood in the doorway smiling, wearing the same pullover and sweatpants as yesterday. He stepped in and closed the door. In the dim light, his pale face looked clammy and his dark eyes shone with sickness. Yet the straight, confident way he held himself revealed not only the stance of a dancer, but pride and inner strength. Beard stubble covered his handsome chin. He reeked of pure masculine hotness.

Copyright @ 2018 Lea Bronsen

Two young and indecently handsome bicyclists visit a village in the French Alps during the summer holidays. Forced by a raging storm to spend the night at the local bed & breakfast, they invade the quiet lives of hostess Anne and her husband, Brian.

A power outage plunges the foursome into darkness, encouraging new liaisons to form, life-long secrets to be unveiled, and steamy lessons to be learned. But once the storm moves on, can the four find a balance and resume their normal lives?

Links:

Get the book on Amazon.com, Amazon.uk, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, iBooks, and Smashwords.

Add it to your shelf on Goodreads

See photos that inspired me to write on Pinterest

* * *

Thanks for stopping by!

Be sure to check out all the fantastic writers sharing Mid-Week Tease Blog

The #evernighties Thursday Weekly Author Blog Challenge is a once-a-week blogging adventure brought to you exclusively by Evernight authors. Each week, we answer a new question (listed below and borrowed from MFRW.org) and the answers will be featured on the Evernight Reader’s Group on Facebook, as well as our own blogs and social media platforms. Check out the group or follow the #evernighties tag to see how other authors answered this week’s question!

So, the topic of the day is, “How much of me is in what I write?”

Obviously, unless you believe in reincarnation, I’ve never been a Viking in the deep Norwegian fjords or a Ute Indian fighting for his land during the Civil War. I suck at playing ice hockey, I will never willingly pose before a camera, I haven’t ever volunteered to heroically fight fires, and I certainly haven’t killed anyone (that I know of, anyway).

But my Alv Gunnulfsen is a darn realistic gay Viking avenger and my portrayal of Native American peoples and culture will plunge you into the past so effectively, you’ll think you’re in a Western movie. My hockey champion Slay will take both a Dark Captive and your breath away on the ice rink, romance author Andrea posing in front of a sly photographer in The Perfect Shoot will make you sweat (whether it’s the intense heat from lamps or her proximity to hunky top model Yushka is for you to decide), my firefighter hero Runo will give you multiple heart failures and heart aches in Fiery 10-16, and I swear if you smell blood while reading Wild Hearted, that’s me thrusting a knife between my victim’s ribs and snickering. Or pulling a trigger so brain mass rains all over me, punching his face until it’s an unrecognizable blob, or, after having carved out his carotid, piercing it with the thin tip of a blade, just like that, for fun.

Yeah, because my characters are me. Who did you think gave them a voice, a heart, a soul, a conscience? I’m the one fighting, longing, loving fiercely, getting off, and losing my mind. If you think my characters are malicious and arrogant, yep, that’s me, hello! living out who I cannot be in real life. Does a scene with fusing body parts and loud moans make you hot and bothered? You may point the finger at me: I most likely enjoyed writing that scene. Can you feel one of my characters’ soul bleed? Oh, baby, that’s me crying my heart out. Or maybe you hear a self-satisfied cackle? Yep, I’m the whacko typing away furiously, playing with words, juggling them, carefully gauging their place in a sentence. Eh, over six hundred thousand of them have been thrown out to the wolves by now and I’m still around.

How can I describe any setting or situation if I haven’t been there and done that, you ask? And how do I create – embody – persons I’ve never met, how can I know what they think, how they feel deep inside, and how they are going to react? Well, 50 % of writing a book is research, and I thank the heavens for the internet so I don’t have to travel to the Great Plains in the US or the Sahara desert in Africa to know what it’s like over there – and the other 50 % is me, simply. I’m human, and so I make my characters human. I can be both a man and a woman, or I can choose to be a feminine man falling for other men. I can be good and bad, gentle and terrifying, a slut, a thug, a sadist plotting a vicious murder and lovin’ it, or an angel out to save the world. I can feel young and old, devoid of life or full of it, tormented or thirsting for a fight.

All it takes to start developing a new persona – a new me – is a call from one of my beloved muses talking me into writing a new story, or a publisher offering to assemble stories for an anthology. And as soon as an idea begins to form, you can betcha my character is spending days and nights hovering over my shoulder, whispering into my ear, telling me his miseries and his cravings and his dreams. I know who he is, and come hell or high water, I’ll breathe flames of passion into his soul and bleed tears of love until his story is ready for the world to read.

Thanks to BookCoverZone for another gorgeous cover!!

Cover art: Book Cover zone

Ruthless drug lord Ricardo “El Loco” Ferrer launders his black money by investing in movie productions. As a teen, he learned to enjoy blow jobs in jail. Now a man of power, his favorite pastime is checking out new acting talent…and convincing them to “please” the team of producers.

Young wannabe actor Jaden Moore comes to a shady side of town to audition for a movie part. He longs to shine, wants to walk the red carpet with cameras flashing and a crowd cheering. He assures the film director and the investors he’ll do anything to reach the top, but is he willing to comply with their dirty fantasies?

Add the book to your shelf on:

Universal eBook buy link:

Or get the eBook on:

Oh! High-Risk Fever is #2 “Best Erotica Novel” in the Critters Annual Readers’ Poll 2018!

Thanks to all those who voted 🙂

Dear readers and friends, thank you for voting A Thorned Rose in the Sand for “Best Interracial Book” in the Evernight Readers’ Choice Awards 2018!

I’m humbled ❤

SHARE REQUEST:

💜~~~COMING FEB 14, 2019!~~~💜

Passion, Pleasure, Pain: An anthology of Dominance and submission

💜💜💜100 % of the proceeds will go to our friend Doris O’Connor and her family.💜💜💜

Participating authors and editors: Lynn Burke, R. Brennan, Jenika Snow, Lesli Richardson, London Saint James, Kastil Eavenshade, Jan Graham, Raven McAllan, Erin Leaf, Elyzabeth M. Valey, Katherine Wyvern, DC Stone, and Lea Bronsen. Cover art by Lesli Richardson.

If you’d like to help share the release, please fill out the Google Doc.

💜Thank you!!💜