Jane Godman Blog

It’s Blissemass! And for my contribution, I’m taking a look at some spooky Christmas traditions from around the world… ​

Belsnickel
The Belsnickel is from the Palantine region of Germany. He shows up a week or two before Christmas, looking very ragged and mean dressed in ginger furs. In addition to his torn, tattered clothes he carries a switch in his hand with which to beat bad children. He knows exactly which children have misbehaved. Traditionally he uses the switch to punish them for past wrongs or the threat of the switch to ensure good behavior until Christmastime. ​When the Belsnickel visits their homes to check up on children he announces his presence with a loud rap on the door or window with his stick. The children have to answer a question for him or sing him a song. If they are good and answer well, he will toss candies onto the floor. However if the children jump too quickly for the treats, they may end up getting a smack from the switch for being too greedy.

Grýla
Grýla was an ogre living in Iceland. Her third husband was a troll named Leppalúði. She also had a fiendish cat called the Yule Cat… and thirteen mischievous sons known as the Yule Lads.

Grýla, had a horrible appearance with hooves, horns and a tail. She also had a habit of boiling and eating the children she kidnapped. In her defense she only did that to bad children.

She used her supernatural sense of hearing to listen for misbehaving children all around the island. Around midwinter (Christmas time) she would leave her cave and collect the badly behaved children. The kidnapped children could repent their misdeeds and not be eaten.

Her story was so effective in traumatizing children into behaving that in 1746 a decree was adopted by the government to prohibit the use of Grýla’s story.

Kallikantzaroi
There is a belief in Southeastern Europe and Turkey of the existence of a race of underground goblins called the Kallikantzaroi. They spend the year sawing the roots of the World Tree trying to bring it to collapse and destroy the earth. Just as they are about to finish the twelve days of Christmas begin.

This is the only time of the year they can emerge and torment humans, so they abandon their sawing and head to the surface. In their absence, the world tree heals itself and the cycle starts anew after the twelfth day. Humans can protect themselves from the Kallikantzaroi during this time. One way is to leave a colander on their doorstep. As they cannot count to 3 (it is a holy number) they will spend all night on the doorstep counting up to 2.

Another method of protection is to leave the Yule Log or a fire burning in the fireplace so that they cannot enter through there. You can also put smelly shoes on the fire as an additional deterrent. Another way to keep them away is to mark your door with a black cross on Christmas Eve and burn incense.

And now for an excerpt from my featured Blissemass book, One for Sorrow…

“Dora.” Finn emerged from the narrow passage between the two cottages and stayed there, watching her. She wondered if he might have been waiting for her. She hoped he had. Very aware suddenly of the expanse of leg between skirt and shoes, she went to him. He drew her further into the shadows.

“I’m going to dinner at Eamon Archer’s house.” He hadn’t asked, so why did she feel the need to explain?

“I like this.” He slid his hand inside the sleeve of her blouse, caressing her upper arm. Dora had never been keen on relationships. The sense that her body was someone else’s to touch—to own—had never been a comfortable idea for her. How then, in this short space of time, had she reached a point where she never wanted Finn Brodie to stop touching her?

“I’d rather be here with you.”

“I know.”

Drawing her into his arms, he held her in that way that was unique to him. Exquisitely tender and yet heart-stoppingly stimulating. His lips, although they barely touched hers, told Dora a thousand things he could never articulate with his stilted speech. With a murmur of surrender, her own lips parted, allowing him to probe her mouth with his tongue, tasting and testing her. Breaking the kiss to move his head lower, he found her nipple, sucking hard through the thin fabric of her blouse. Weak-kneed, Dora leaned back against the cottage wall. Taking her hand in his, Finn placed it inside his jeans so that she could feel the taut muscles of his lower abdomen. Eagerly, Dora’s fingers travelled lower, seeking out his cock within the tight confines of his underwear. He was rock hard.

Dora groaned. “Is this what my life is going to be like from now on, Finn? I’m going to be soaking wet all the time, thinking of you?”

​One For Sorrow is available from Amazon

The Venetian lagoon is sprinkled with jewels, and one of them, of course, shines brighter than all the others put together. But just five miles from the dazzling gem that is Venice there sits a lonely, black opal. Its name is Poveglia. In contrast to its fascinating neighbor, it is silent and abandoned. An uninhabited, forbidden island. No tourists flock to these shores for romantic meals or gondola rides. There are no palaces or elegant bridges. And the differences don’t end there. Poveglia does not share Venice’s carnival mood, colors, heady scents and bright lights. There are no masquerades or festivals on Poveglia. No dancing in the streets.

Known as the most haunted place on earth, Poveglia’s history reads like a horror story. It has been a quarantine station, a dumping ground for plague victims, a mental institution where a butcher experimented on the inmates…

It is said that so many people were burned and buried there that the soil is mostly human ash, that the local fishermen will not trawl its waters for fear of netting the bones of their ancestors, and that the psychiatrist who ran the hospital was strangled by a ghostly mist. Rumors abound, fueled by the fact that, even though Poveglia is a mere boat ride from Venice, it is almost impossible to visit the island. What caused this island’s history to become so tainted that it is spoken of only in whispers?

The History of Poveglia
The first reference to the island can be found in the year 421, when people from Padua and Este fled there to escape the barbarian invasions. In 809, the residents heroically blocked the advance of the Frankish army into the Venetian lagoon. In 864, when Doge Pietro Tradonico was murdered by opposing Venetian nobles, several hundred of his followers fled to Poveglia. This increase in the island’s population earned it the status of podestà, or administrative municipality.

In 1015, the Romanesque church of San Vitale was built on Poveglia with an attached monastery, and under this stabilizing influence, a small community of houses, gardens and vineyards thrived. Poveglia knew peace for close to four centuries, due largely to the rights conferred on its inhabitants to guide ships in and out of the harbor of Malamocco on the Lido.

In 1379, during the War of Chioggia between the Venetian Republic (the Serenissima) and Genoa, the government moved the whole population of Poveglia to another island, Giudecca. It is not clear whether this was to protect them, or because they were conniving with the enemy. A permanent fortification called the Octagon, which is still visible today, was built on strategically important Poveglia.

Poveglia’s story took another sinister turn in 1468 when the Venetian Republic designated the island as a lazaretto. Named after the biblical leper, Lazarus, a lazaretto was a place of confinement and isolation for carriers of contagious diseases, particularly of leprosy and plague. Thus, Poveglia became a quarantine station for the many ships entering the Laguna Veneta. Any vessels that were suspected of bearing plague, or other potentially infectious diseases, were detained at anchor just off the island’s shores until the authorities were satisfied that no contamination would be spread to the residents of Venice itself.

Poveglia began to pose a problem for the Most Serene Republic of Venice. Fishermen shunned the lagoon waters around its shores. Despite the fact that the fertile soil was ideal for growing grapes and olives, farmers always found compelling reasons why it would be better to settle elsewhere. In an attempt to reverse its reputation, in 1527 the Doge offered the island to the Camadolese monks. The monks refused.

With the arrival of the Black Death in 1576, thousands of dead bodies piled up in the streets of Venice. The stench of disease was appalling. The solution was to take the bodies to Poveglia and dump them in large pits or burn them on huge bonfires. As the bubonic plague tightened its grip on the Serene Republic, people panicked, and those showing even the slightest symptoms were dragged screaming from their homes and into waiting barges. At least one hundred thousand people were said to have died on Poveglia, forcibly transported there from their Venetian homes. Once the boats reached Poveglia, the dead were taken over the bridge to the plague-pits while the living took their chances in the ruins of the medieval settlement. As the epidemic intensified, the island became so overcrowded that the living were flung into burial pits or pitchforked onto bonfires along with the dead.

In 1630, health measures were relaxed during the season of the carnevale, leading to another outbreak of plague. The city of Venice was severely hit, with recorded casualties of 46,000 people out of a population of 140,000. Poveglia was once more used as the lazaretto. In 1661 the Doge offered the descendants of the original islanders the chance to move back to Poveglia and to rebuild their homes. They refused.

In 1805, under Napoleon’s rule, the church that had been on Poveglia for centuries was destroyed and the bell tower converted into a lighthouse. This razing of the last testament of its inhabited past marked the island’s grim entry into the modern era.

In 1922 the island became home to a psychiatric hospital. The patients of the hospital reported that they could see ghosts of plague victims on the island and that they were kept awake at night by the tortured wails of the suffering spirits.

The story is that the doctor in charge decided to make a name for himself by experimenting on his subjects to find a cure for insanity.  Lobotomies were performed using crude tools like hand drills, chisels, and hammers.  Patients were taken to the bell tower where they were tortured and subjected to a number of inhumane horrors.

According to Poveglia folklore, after many years of performing these immoral acts, the evil doctor succumbed to the madness and began to see and hear the plague ridden spirits himself.  It is said that he threw himself from the bell tower, but he didn’t die.  According to a nurse who witnessed the incident, as he lay on the ground writhing in pain, a ghostly mist came up out of the ground and choked him to death.  The hospital was closed in 1968 and Poveglia has been abandoned ever since.

In 2014, Poveglia was put up for auction and bought for the sum of €513,000 (roughly $704,000) by Italian businessman Luigi Brugnaro. Opposition to Brugnaro’s bid from the community group Poveglia per Tutti (Poveglia for All), and the fact that Brugnaro is now Mayor of Venice, brought an end to his plans. At present, the future of the island remains undecided.

Poveglia is the inspiration and setting for my gothic romance Island of Shadows.

It’s here at last! I couldn’t wait any longer to share the cover for the third book in the Otherworld Series. What do you think? I hope you agree with me that it’s every bit as beautiful as the first two.

Otherworld Challenger will be published by Harlequin Nocturne in September 2016 and here’s a short extract, just to tempt you…

“I’ll do it.”

The words had the same effect on the assembled company as a volley of bullets fired into the ornate ceiling of the vast banquet hall. Every head turned in the direction of the man who had uttered them. Lounging back on two legs of his chair, his broad shoulders against the wall and his booted feet on the round meeting table, he returned their stares with his customary nonchalance and continued munching on an apple.

“You can’t seriously be prepared to listen to him. He’d sell his grandmother to the imps if the price was right.” The words burst from Vashti’s lips before she could stop them.

“The Crown Princess Vashti is reminded of the Alliance’s fundamental principle of respect for all species.” The condemnatory voice of the clerk echoed around the room. “Moreover, all speakers must first be approved by Merlin Caledonius, Leader of the Council.”

Vashti felt a blush of embarrassment turn the heat of rage already burning her cheeks a darker shade of red. It didn’t help that he was openly smirking at her humiliation. “I withdraw my remark.” She spoke the words stiffly.

“Thank you.” Merlin Caledonius, or Cal as he preferred to be known, inclined his head in her direction before turning to address Jethro de Loix. “What will you do exactly?”

“Exactly what you want. Find the true King of the Faeries and bring him back here to challenge Moncoya for the crown.”
​
A murmur of interest rippled around the table and Vashti smothered her derisive exclamation by turning it into a cough. Couldn’t any of them see Jethro de Loix for the maverick he was? Even the way he was dressed flouted convention. Everyone else around the table respected the formality of the occasion. Not Jethro. His white-linen shirt was unbuttoned a little too far, the waistcoat he wore over it hung casually open. Those long, long legs were encased in a pair of well-worn black jeans and the battered boots that rested on the conference table looked like they had walked the length of Otherworld and back. Perhaps they had. With his overlong jet-black hair tied at the nape of his neck with a leather thong and his hawklike profile he was too—her mind searched for a suitable adjective and could only come up with swashbuckling—for this solemn setting.

Otherworld Challenger is available to pre-order from
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I’m often asked to explain what a gothic romance is, but sometimes I find it easier to explain what gothic romances are not, rather than what they are:

• Gothics are not paranormal romances. As a rule of thumb, the main protagonists in a gothic romance should be human beings. They may be affected by the supernatural or the unexplained, but they are not supernatural beings themselves. It’s possible they may be reincarnated, cursed or affected by ghosts. If they are vampires, werewolves, shifters etc. you are writing a paranormal romance not a gothic.
• Gothics are not horror stories. They may have strong elements of horror, but it is implied rather than explicit. It’s a creaking board in the attic or a trail of blood on the stairs. If your story features a chainsaw wielding killer carrying a severed head, you are writing horror not gothic.
• New gothics do have strong elements of eroticism. This can be implied or explicit. Steamy is good in a gothic romance, hot sex scenes go well with dark secrets. But gothic romances are not erotic romances. If sex is all your story has, you are not writing gothic!

Welcome to the 139th week of My Sexy Saturday!

This week’s theme is My Sexy Love and it’s about one thing and one thing only. That special someone. The one who floats your boat, who is the wind beneath your wings… you know what I mean, the one you just can’t live without. For us, the reader, it’s that one person our favorite character lights up with, they can’t live without them and the story comes together as they fall in love with the right one.

Sexy can be different things to different people, such as romantic moments like walks on the beach, a home cooked meal or even take place in another galaxy. It’s all about those characters, the ones who can’t get enough of each other as well as ones who are fighting their way back to being part of the world once again. These are the types of characters we can’t forget, the ones we want to take home and keep forever. As readers we love the kisses, the looks or touch of each and every one of our characters. Sexy has nothing to do with looks or status or even wealth. It doesn’t demand perfection and it isn’t pretentious but it does make us want to keep reading those books.

As always, the rules of My Sexy Saturday are simple. Each blogger posts an excerpt that is 7 paragraphs or 7 sentences or 7 words that coveys true sexiness between their characters. My excerpt this week comes from my recent release Island of Shadows.

Excerpt
“Come here,” Raul ordered.

Responding eagerly to the sensual command in his voice, I swam obediently to him, covering the distance between us. I slid a hand behind his head as if to kiss him, then, laughing, licked the salt water from his lips before swimming playfully away again. His growl was a combination of surprise and frustration, and then I heard the sound of his determined overarm strokes behind me. Because I wasn’t trying too hard to get away, he caught up with me between two large rocks that rose like quartz sentinels out of the azure depths. I turned to face him, my breath catching at the purposeful look on his face. He was standing on the lagoon’s coarse sandy bottom now, but I was still out of my depth.

Raul reached out a hand and caught me by the waist, pulling me hard against him and then pushing me up against the rock, holding me there with his own body. His mouth moved down to nip at the tender flesh of my neck, and I gasped when I felt his instant erection pressing against the apex of my legs. I opened my legs wider, using my knees to hold either side of his hips. This action made Raul groan appreciatively. His fingers gripped my buttocks, lifting me against him, and I squirmed with excitement. Until now he had been so gentle, so careful with me. It was exactly what I had needed. But now I was ready for something more. I was ready for him. I knew he could see it in my face and feel it in my body. There was an urgency about my movements that wouldn’t allow him to be patient. He slid the top of my bathing suit down and I leaned back against the rock, gasping with pleasure as he rolled my nipple hard between his finger and thumb. Lifting me even higher so that I could wrap my legs around his waist, he freed his cock from the restriction of his shorts. His fingers tugged the tightly knitted material of my bathing suit aside so that he was pressed up against my naked sex, ready to enter me.

“Are you sure?” he asked, passion making his voice harsh.

“I want you. Now.”

The last word came out on an impatient breath and, for emphasis, I closed my hand around the thick girth of his cock. Guiding him into me, I shuddered with pleasure as he slid all the way inside. We might be hidden from the island, unable to be seen, but the fact that we were here in the open added spice to the encounter that was both shocking and enticing. I clung tightly to Raul with my legs around his waist, letting him do all the work while I relished the feeling of the powerful muscles of his thighs and buttocks clenching as he rocked his whole body, using the water to add momentum to his movements. At the same time, his thumb relentlessly circled my clitoris. I loved the way his gaze concentrated on the point at which our bodies connected, focusing intently on my pleasure even as he lost himself in his own climax. Drawing myself upright, I stayed entwined around him for the longest time while we exchanged sweet, deep kisses that went on forever.

“Having you inside me was the most wonderful thing I have ever felt,” I whispered. It didn’t feel disloyal to say it. Honesty couldn’t be wrong. This couldn’t be wrong.

Island of Shadows is available from Amazon

If you want to find out more about My Sexy Saturday, please click here

Readers, please visit us at our new Author Central where we’ll be sharing even more from our authors besides Saturday’s snippets. We’d love to have each and every one of you there as we’re starting new things this month with fun and prizes along the way.

Don’t forget to check out this week’s other My Sexy Saturday Bloggers!
Victoria Adams
Daryl Devore
Jessica E. Subject
Lucy Felthouse
Marie Tuhart
Sara Fields 
Lily Harlem
Author April Kelley
Ashe Barker
XtraOrdinary Romance
Alexis Duran
Sara Daniel
H K Carlton
My Sexy Saturday with Mr. Nash and Miss Jameson
Savanna Kougar Title Magic
Jennifer Lynne Erotic Romance
F. Leonora Solomon

Over two years ago, I wrote five gothic novels for Harlequin Shivers. They were what I think of as ‘true’ historical gothics, written in the first person and with all the shivery feel of implied horror. Of course, they are also very steamy love stories! For one reason or another, my favorite of those five stories never made it to publication. I’m pleased to say that I have now taken the decision to self-publish it.

Island of Shadows is set in 1930s Venice. Mussolini is in power and there is a dark undercurrent to the glamour of the masquerades. Even so, the dazzling jewel that is Venice, shines bright in the canopy of the  Venetian lagoon.

But it was the nearby island of Poveglia that drew me to write this story. Poveglia has earned the reputation of being the most haunted place on earth. Uninhabited and forbidden, it sits lonely, silent and abandoned, in complete contrast to its dazzling neighbor.

This is a romance in which two stories entwine. The love story between my hero and heroine, both of them characters who have been damaged by their past, is no less important than the love story between an island and its undead.

Blurb:
There is a dark undercurrent to the glamour of the lagoon and its lavish masquerades. The Ombra are a vampire-like race, living in the shadows. Instead of feasting on blood, they survive by feeding on the souls of the dead. The Ombra exist alongside the living without fear of detection. Having thrived for centuries, they are powerful, wealthy, fear no one and ruthlessly destroy those who stand in their way.

Maggie Forbes has come to Venice to see if she can discover what happened to her husband, Martin, who disappeared on a research trip to the island of Poveglia, the most haunted place on earth. Soon after her arrival in Venice, Maggie makes the acquaintance of two very different men. Torn between friendship and lust, Maggie must follow in Martin’s footsteps to unlock the secrets of Poveglia.

But time is running out. The Ombra lord is seeking a bride and the wedding day is looming.

​Island of Shadows is available from Amazon

One of my favorite romantic heroes of all time is also one of the most unlikely. Freddy Standen, hero of Georgette Heyer’s Cotillion, lacks the usual qualities necessary for a romantic lead.

At first glance, Freddy’s cousin Jack appears much more heroic and even Lord Legerwood, Freddy’s own father, has his doubts about his son’s mental capacity. Heyer doesn’t assist the reader to overcome our first impression of Freddy. We meet a Dandy who lacks the intelligence to be aware of subtleties and undertones. His value among his peers is as a graceful dancer, a reliable source of decorating advice, and he is such safe company for the ladies that not even the most jealous of husbands could resent Freddy Standen’s attentions to his wife. “Neither witty nor handsome; his disposition was retiring; and although he might be seen at any social gathering, he never (except by the excellence of his tailoring) drew attention to himself.”

Even Freddy himself doesn’t value his abilities particularly highly. Speaking of his brother, Charlie, Freddy tells his father, “I ain’t clever, like Charlie, but I ain’t such a sapskull as you think!”

Yet, Freddy Standen is the most charming, endearing hero I have ever encountered. I re-read his and Kitty’s story regularly and it delights  and amuses me every time.

As for Kitty, she explains to Freddy’s sister, Meg, part of the reason for her brother’s appeal:  “I daresay Freddy might not be a great hand at slaying dragons, but you may depend upon it none of those knight-errants would be able to rescue one from a social fix, and you must own, Meg, that one has not the smallest need of a man who can kill dragons!”

Whatever fix Kitty gets into, she discovers that Freddy will go to any lengths to get her out of it. And therein lies his charm.  Freddy, isn’t a typical hero.  But he loves her. He has resourcefulness, intelligence, and his own unique wit and he will never let her down.  Despite his appearance, he is strong and dependable and that’s what made Kitty (and me) fall in love with him.

There are so many laugh out loud scenes from Cotillion featuring Freddy. This is one of them:
​The Egyptian Hall, which had been erected four years previously, was otherwise known as Bullock’s Museum, and contained curiosities from the South Seas, from North and South America; a collection of armoury, and works of art; and had lately received, as an additional attraction, the Emperor Napoleon’s travelling-carriage. Its cognomen was derived from the style of its architecture, which included inclined pilasters ornamented with hieroglyphics. It was an imposing edifice, but it had not previously tempted Mr Standen to inspect its many marvels. Nor, when he had penetrated beyond the vestibule, did he waste time in studying the exhibits tastefully arranged around the walls. The only object in which he was interested was found seated primly upon a chair, a catalogue in her gloved hands, and her gaze fixed thoughtfully upon the model of a Red Indian chief in full panoply of war. Of Lord Dolphinton there was no sign, a circumstance which caused Mr Standen to exclaim, quite contrary to his intention: “Well, if this don’t beat the Dutch! First the fellow brings you to devilish place like this, and then he dashed well leaves you here!”

“Freddy!” cried Miss Charing, jumping almost out of her skin.

“And don’t you say Freddy to me!” added Mr Standen severely. “I told you I wouldn’t have it, Kit, and I dashed well meant it! Have the whole town talking!”

Kitty looked very much bewildered, but as it was plain that Mr Standen was filled with righteous wrath she refrained from protest, merely saying in a small, doubtful voice: “Frederick? Should I, in public, call you Mr Standen?”

“Call me Mr Standen?” said Freddy, thrown quite out of his stride. “No, of course you should not! Never heard such a silly question in my life! And it ain’t a bit of use trying to turn the subject! Not one to take a pet for no reason, but this is the outside of enough, Kit!”

“I wasn’t trying to turn the subject! You said I must not call you Freddy!”

Mr Standen stared at her. “Said you wasn’t to call me Freddy? Nonsense!”

“But you did!” replied Kitty indignantly. “Just this moment past! I must own, I think it was very unkind in you, for I had no notion it was wrong!”

Lovelady sees the colours of nightmares…

Forty years ago, five teenagers died in horrific circumstances inside the old house known as Lovelady’s Gwal. Now, the only survivor, Jake Merrion, has returned to tell their story.

Back in 1975, sixteen year old Lovelady Jones was a boy with no identity. A boy who knew he was really a girl. A boy whose life was dominated by colour.

Lovelady can’t ignore the strange hold the house has over him, or the way it appears to respond to his emotions. Or the strange painting on the walls of Lovelady’s Gwal. Is it coincidence a new colour brightens with each friend’s brutal murder?

Is Lovelady prepared for the final reveal? Are you?

Excerpt

​2015

Over the old house, the sky has a curious red-gold hue that causes the cameraman to click his tongue in disapproval. The interviewer flicks a strand of long blonde hair back from her face and begins her introduction. Behind her, steely shadows lengthen around a single, castellated tower.

“For the first time in forty years, acclaimed writer and director, Jake Merrion, is returning to his home town of Llanbach in North Wales. His mission? To finally tell the story of Lovelady’s Gwâl. For a few weeks in the 1970s, this quirky sixteenth-century lodge made worldwide headlines when five teenagers died in mysterious and horrific circumstances within its walls. Their killer was never found. Was it a cult? Even, as some have suggested, a bizarre suicide pact? Possibly a brief but violent psychic manifestation? Ghostly homeowner Lovelady returning from beyond the grave to express her disapproval at the noisy modern-day intruders who used her home as a drink and drugs den? Merrion himself has never talked about what happened to his friends. Yet, when the authorities proposed the demolition of Lovelady’s Gwâl it was Jake Merrion who stepped in and bought this property, believed to be the oldest in the ancient region of Clwyd.”

She turns to the tall, dark-haired man at her side.

“What was your motive in saving Lovelady’s Gwâl from the bulldozers?”

Merrion’s eyes are green and curiously catlike. He takes a moment to look up at the house before turning back to her. “Five people I knew and loved died inside that house in 1975. I suppose I wanted it to remain standing as a memorial to them.”

“Yet you must be aware of the attention this place gets from ghost hunters, goths, and conspiracy theorists. Then, of course, there has been the recent spate of teenage suicides that have taken place here, each one a grisly attempt to re-enact one of the 1975 deaths. Press and internet speculation abounds surrounding the negative energy that appears to emanate from Lovelady’s Gwâl. Have you any comment to make about that?”

One corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “No.”

In spite of her obvious annoyance at such blatant non-cooperation, his lopsided smile is irresistible. She returns it, before trying a different approach. “Who was Lovelady?”

For the first time he looks directly at the camera. “That’s something I don’t suppose any of us will ever know for sure.”

The interviewer responds to a signal from the cameraman, and turns to Jake. “The light’s going so we’ll have to leave it there for now. We have footage from 1975 to splice in and some of the newspaper reports. I also have some questions about the film you are making, but we can do those in the hotel.”

“Okay.” He starts to turn away, then swings sharply back round to face her. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing. I didn’t speak.” She takes a step away from him, startled by the intensity in the depths of his eyes. “Why? What did you think I said?”

He looks up at the house and laughs. “I thought I heard a woman’s voice saying ‘Welcome home, Jake’.” He runs a hand through his hair. “This old place can do that to you.” He doesn’t elaborate on what ‘that’ might be. “Look, unless Llanbach has changed a lot while I’ve been away, it won’t boast much in the way of decent places to eat, but would you like to grab some dinner?”

She smiles up at him. He might be in his mid-fifties, but with his cat’s eyes and black hair that has only lightly been touched by grey at the temples, Jake Merrion is stunning. She too glances across at the house. At the oddly named Lovelady’s Gwâl. A faint breeze stirs the unkempt grass. The blank windows reflect nothing back at her. And something—some primal instinct that she can’t explain—tells her it would be a very bad idea to accept Jake Merrion’s invitation.

“Sorry, I have things to do,” she says, stuffing her hands into her pockets and walking quickly away.

Lovelady’s Colours will be published on February 16. It is available for pre-order from:
Amazon
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Welcome to the 127th week of My Sexy Saturday.

This week’s theme is A Sexy Encounter

We want to show you, our readers, those characters, the ones who can’t get enough of each other. These are the characters we can’t forget, the ones we want to take home and keep forever. We love to share the kisses, the looks or touches of each and every one of these special characters with you. That’s what My Sexy Saturday is all about.

As always, the rules of My Sexy Saturday are simple. Each blogger posts an excerpt that is 7 paragraphs or 7 sentences or 7 words that coveys true sexiness between their characters. My excerpt this week comes from my forthcoming release Valley of Nightmares.
​
Excerpt
His body pressed impatient and demanding against me. Gently he took hold of my chin, angling my face up to bring my lips closer to his mouth. As he kissed me I could feel his pulse race, instantly in time with my own. Our tongues met and began to dance and play, confident now in our knowledge of each other, delighting in anticipation of further sensual exploration. Our breathing grew heavy and languid. My nipples tensed painfully, aching for his wet tongue to soothe and torment them. As he ran his hand gently across my cheek and down my neck, I caught hold of it and placed it on my left breast. He swirled his finger around my nipple, through the thin cotton of my nightgown and flicked it lightly. I gasped and lifted my hips off the bed toward him.

“Not so fast,” he murmured. With tiny, staccato kisses, he moved down the length of my neck, and along my collarbone to the neckline of my gown. The tip of his tongue ran teasingly along the line where cloth and skin met. I shivered wildly as he continued this sensual exploration; his mouth, almost rough against the smoothness of my skin, slid lower and into my cleavage. Interrupting this anointment of my body, he pulled my nightgown up and swiftly over my head. I cried out in triumph and relief as his lips at last closed around my nipple and his tongue flicked my maddened flesh. Hurriedly, he removed his own clothes while I lay on my side, watching him. When he returned to the bed, he gave me a mischievous grin, before tipping me onto my back and sliding a possessive hand up along the inside of my thighs. He lay on his side, propped on one elbow so that he could watch me. His cool fingers were like an electric shock against my moist warmth, and I sighed, opening my legs wider to allow him access. His touch flirted with my flesh, teasing and stroking before delving deep inside me. Circling my throbbing clitoris with his thumb, he brought his lips back to suckle my nipple. The invisible cord that bound the nerve endings in those two places together tightened inside me, and I bucked wildly against him.

My hand trailed across his hip, needing to touch him, to feel him. Holding his length in my hand I guided him, with infuriating slowness, inch by inch into me. Ignoring his groan of frustration, I continued to control him, until he was fully inside.

“You said, ‘Not so fast,’” I reminded him teasingly, whispering it against his lips.

Only then did I release him and raise my hips to meet his wild thrusts, pushing back against him so that I could feel him filling me. The steel of his cock slammed into me faster and wilder, and I wrapped my legs around him, deepening the sensation until I teetered on the edge of madness. He sensed my climax building and, with a wicked grin in the half-light, pushed hard and then held still.

“Do I have to say it again? Not. So. Fast,” he murmured, stopping my movements by clamping his hands on my hips and punctuating the words with kisses along my jaw.

My own hands beat wildly and helplessly against his chest until, taking pity on me at last, he lunged again, tipping us both—me gasping and him shuddering—over the edge and into a maelstrom of ecstasy.

Valley of Nightmares is available to pre-order from
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If you want to find out more about My Sexy Saturday, please click here

Readers, please visit us at our new Author Central where we’ll be sharing even more from our authors besides Saturday’s snippets. We’d love to have each and every one of you there as we’re starting new things this month with fun and prizes along the way.

Don’t forget to check out this week’s other My Sexy Saturday Bloggers!
Kacey Hammell
Jessica E. Subject
S. J. Maylee
Unrandom Randomness – Bronwyn Heeley
Victoria Adams
Daryl Devore
Lucy Felthouse
April Kelley
Angelica Dawson
Layna Pimentel
Naomi Shaw
Carly Carson Sexy Romance
Lily Harlem – Accelerated Passion
Sara Fields
Marie Tuhart
Hello Romance
Teresa Noelle Roberts
XtraOrdinary Romance
Carollina Valdez
Dee Ann Palmer
Christi Barth’s Blog
H K Carlton
Kisses, Caresses, Whispers in the Night
Dakota Skye –Indulge in Your Wildest Fantasies
F. Leonora Solomon
Maggie Carpenter – Spanking, Romance, BDSM
Savanna Kougar Title Magic

I have a confession to make. I am a synaesthete. It took me a long time to understand what that means. I see the days of the week, and to a lesser extent, the months of the year, letters of the alphabet and numbers as colours. I couldn’t understand why other people looked at me oddly when I said Monday was blue. Wasn’t it blue to everyone?

Monday is blue. Sunday is blue as well, but they are different shades of blue. Monday’s blue is dark and heavy, like an evening twilight, whereas Sunday’s blue is light, clear and dreamy.

Another synaesthete will understand what I’m trying to say. If they have grapheme-colour synaesthesia, the most common form and the one I have. They will argue with me, of course, because they will see Monday and Sunday as different colours to mine.

Perhaps one in every hundred people experiences this fascinating condition, described by the UK Synaesthesia Association in the following way:
In its simplest form it is best described as a “union of the senses” whereby two or more of the five senses that are normally experienced separately are involuntarily and automatically joined together. Some synaesthetes experience colour when they hear sounds or read words. Others experience tastes, smells, shapes or touches in almost any combination. These sensations are automatic and cannot be turned on or off. Synaesthesia isn’t a disease or illness and is not at all harmful. In fact, the vast majority of synaesthetes couldn’t imagine life without it.

To put synaesthesia in context… McConaughey’s character in True Detective is Rustin Cohle, a gifted sleuth. He has synaesthesia. On the trail of a serial killer, he can “smell the psychosphere” and he “tastes” aluminium and ash in the air.

Famous Synaesthetes
Synaesthesia is reportedly eight times more common among artists, musicians and writers. The creative connections between the senses are seemingly heightened in synaesthetes.

Pharrell Williams sees music in colour, describing his synaesthesia as a conduit to God.

Jimi Hendrix described chords and harmonies as colours.

Edgar Degas and Edvard Munch were both synaesthetes.

In his biography of Marilyn Monroe, Norman Mailer said, “she has a displacement of the senses that others take drugs to find”.

Tilda Swinton thinks in food. She explained: “The word ‘word’ is a sort of gravy. ‘Table’ is a slightly dry cake. ‘Tomato’ is not actually tomato, it’s lemony.”

Mozart said the key of D Major had a warm “orangey” sound to it, while B flat minor was blackish. A major was a rainbow of colours to him.

Vladimir Nabokov was a self-described synaesthete, who at a young age equated the number five with the colour red.

Why am I blogging about synaesthesia today? Well, today I’m celebrating the release of my young adult horror novella, Lovelady’s Colours. I always wanted to write the story of a synaesthete. In this book, Lovelady’s colour related synaesthesia has a profound effect on his life and on the lives of those around him. The tagline for this book is ‘Lovelady sees the colours of nightmares’.

One day science might unlock the mystery that is synaesthesia. Until then, maybe we should enjoy the products of some of the talented people who have this incredible condition. I’m humbled to be in their company. Now, since it’s Tuesday, I’ll get on with the rest of my pine-forest green coloured day.

Oh, and why does Derek taste of earwax? Click here to find out more.

Lovelady’s Colours is available from:
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MuseItUp
Barnes and Noble
Apple
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