Lexxie Couper's Blog, page 24

Seven Ridiculous Questions with… Cynthia D’Alba

If you don’t know Cynthia D’Alba you need to. Her books are smokin’ hot, her cowboys so damn sexy and her romances so damn romantic! Cynthia agreed to be a willing victim of my Seven Ridiculous Questions a while ago and I love love love her answers. The thing I think I love the most though, and I can hear her answering them in the most sexy Southern accent


1/ When was the last time you went skinny dipping? hmm, probably high school. It involved my boyfriend, an inflatable raft and…wait…that’s more than you wanted, right?

2/ What’s you favourite swear word? I say it’s Shit. My husband says it’s the “F-Bomb”

3/ Your favourite Muppet? Why? Cookie Monster because we have so much in common!

4/ You’re having an affair with a famous historical figure. Who is it and why? This was the hardest of all the questions. I mean, there are SO MANY options. Like putting me in a cookie store and telling me to take what I want. I’ll take John Kennedy…the son, not the president. Handsome. Rich. Smart. Great hair. Chiseled jaw. Great bod. Unbelievably sexy.  Perfect bad boy material. 

5/ Who do you prefer, Snape or Dumbledore? Both as a Professor and as a lover?  As a lover, Snape. He’s got that whole bad boy thing going for him. As a professor, I’ll go with Snape because hey! If I’ve got to be in a class, at lease let me have a few fantasies while I’m sitting there. 

6/ If they made a movie of your life, who would they cast as you?  Dolly Parton. Southern. Big blonde hair. Very southern accent. Big boobs! 

7/ You’re having an affair with one of your characters (yes, I realise you’re busy with the historical figure as well *grin*). Who is it, from which book and why? Giovanni Vaughn (from unpublished WIP) He is the rich son of a Las Vegas mobster boss who turned his life on that life. How living in a small community in Arkansas breeding Thoroughbred race horses. (He wasn’t the original love interest of that book but my heroine fell head over heels for him and would have nothing to do with the original hero. Sigh. Ever have that happen? Your heroine reject the perfect man you’ve designed for her in favor of the man who supposed to be a minor distraction? BUT OMG! Is Giovanni sexy beyond description!) 

Check out Cynthia’s Texas Two Step at Samhain Borders Amazon and Barnes and Noble

What If Wednesday…Comic Heroes Posed Like Women

We all wanna see more of Thor’s butt, right? Right?

First Page – Crouching Tigress Horny Dragon

The third book in my Fire Mate series is shaping up nicely and I thought I’d share the first page with you all today. It’s unedited so there’s bound to be some typoes and mistakes. Feedback/thoughts/opinions more than welcome. Have at it

Chapter One

Ryan Conley left Australia to save his big brother from getting a punch to the jaw. From Ryan.

Every since Tyson—the country’s most revered dragon-shifter—let himself be seen just about every dragon with a grudge against the unwanted interest in their species decided to take it out on Ryan.

No one was brave enough to confront Tyson himself, especially not while his human Fire Mate was pregnant with their first child. (Seriously, how was that going to work? Egg? Baby? Who knew? Ryan still hadn’t worked it out and if Tyson and Sera had, they weren’t telling anyone.) Confronting Tyson Conley at this very point in time about the new hordes of dragon watchers running around Sydney with telephoto lenses pointed at anything in the sky with wings, not to mention the suddenly influx of Extraho Venator into Sydney since Tyson’s sighting basically meant you were lucky to walk away with your wings still intact. Not smart. Nor productive for a pain-free existence.

Which meant those miffed came after Ryan. Ryan Conley who had never let anyone see him in his dragon form. Ryan Conley who never shifted unless he knew there wasn’t a human in a one-hundred mile radius.

Ryan Conley who was the epitome of innocent dragon-shifter behavior.

Okay, that last one might be a bit of a stretch. He wasn’t exactly an angel and Tyson had, one more than one occasion, needed to step in and drag his scaly arse out of a pub fight or two, but Ryan never ever shifted when he shouldn’t, nor drew attention to his species. Unlike Tyson, who up and exposed them all because of his Fire Mate. So how was it that Ryan ended up bearing the brunt of the disgruntled dragons in Australia? Because Ryan was an easier target than Tyson. Ryan wasn’t the Alpha dragon. Ryan wasn’t the discipliner. And Ryan wasn’t a complainer.

But Ryan had got fed-up with all the grumbles and whining and carry-on from his fellow shifters, had grown tired of telling them all to suck it up. Had started to get down-right angry at their ingratitude for the efforts Tyson had gone to squelch the unwanted attention, and before he knew it, he was directing his anger at his big brother.

Which told Ryan it was time to leave for a while.

He loved Tyson and his wife, Sera, more than humanly possible. The love of a dragon-shifter was beyond powerful, but right now, with all the shit from the other shifters—and with all the hormones and territorial protecting from the expecting parents—Ryan knew it was better he vacate the country.

For two reasons. He needed to stretch his wings. Like, really stretch his wings and doing that in Australia at the moment wasn’t easy. And two, the lovey-doveyness between Tyson and Sera was making Ryan…unsettled.

USA Today Reviews Love’s Rhythm.

I was going to try and play it cool, but I can’t. Love’s Rhythm has been reviewed by USA Today. Can you believe it!

USA Today has reviewed Nick Blackthorne’s book and called it a “romance that is brimming with humour and emotion”, along with a whole lotta other wonderfulness. Can you see how big my grin is?

You can check out the whole review here and watch me Muppet Flail here

And in case you don’t know the book, here’s the cover (which I love sooo much) and a snippet…


 Snippet from Love’s Rhythm

She lifted her eyes to his, her tongue slipping out of her mouth to slowly swipe at the corner of her lips, the water from the shower flowing over her, dripping from her puckered nipples.

“You drive me crazy, Lauren Robbins,” he uttered on a wobbly breath.

She traced the treble cleft tattoo on his lower abdomen with one slow, steady finger. “You drive me mental, Nick Blackthorne.”

Her answer sent a wave of sheer happiness through him. He laughed. “At least the hot water didn’t run out. Might have been a touch embarrassing if I was suddenly standing in cold water.”

She grinned, rising to her feet to stand before him. “I doubt the cold water would have made any difference.”

It wasn’t at all possible—he was too drained—but his groin throbbed with delight at her response anyways. It throbbed with an interest, a need he knew he’d never quench.

He leant toward her, letting his chest brush her nipples as he reached behind her and killed the water. “You realize it’s my turn now, yes?”

She laughed, a throaty sound that made his groin stir again. “You think you have it in you?”

He snaked one hand up her wet body to cup her breast and rasp his thumb over her hardened nipple. “Oh, I may not be a spring chicken anymore, but I’m pretty fucking certain I can bring you to climax again and again while this old body of mine recovers.”

She leant into his kneading hand. “Prove it.”

He shucked his legs out of his wet jeans, not an easy task to do while still in the shower cubicle. Even more difficult when his attention was fixed so firmly on Lauren as she walked across the bathroom floor. Her lush body still glistened with water, her arse cheeks bunching and stretching with sublime perfection every step she took. She paused, looking at him over her shoulder as she reached for a fluffy bottle-green towel and wrapped it around her body. “Coming?”

“You fucking better believe it,” he muttered, fighting with the last leg of his jeans as it clung to his foot with possessive force.

You can check out more of Love’s Rhythm at Samhain Publishing, Amazon, Barnes and Noble and other awesome ebook resellers

 

What If Wednesday…Dr. Seuss Wrote Twilight

Dr. Suess makes everything better. Especially Twilight.

***

Ed-My-Vam, Ed-My-Vam!

Oh how I love you, Ed-My-Vam!

I don’t like the way I am,

Please bit me, BITE ME, Ed-My-Vam!

 

Bella-Sue, Bella-Sue,

I know what is best for you!

Biting you I will not do!

I will not bite you, Bella-Sue!

 

Ed-My-Vam, Ed-My-Vam.

I wanna be in your clan!

Where you’d do it, I don’t care.

Would you bite me here or there?

 

I would not bite you here or there!

I would not bite you ANYWHERE!

Biting you I will not do!

I will not bite you, Bella-Sue!

 

Would you bite me under the moon?

Or we can do it in my room!

 

I would not bite you under the moon!

Nor do I want to in your room!

I will not bite you here or there,

I will not bite you ANYWHERE!

Biting you I will not do!

Dare I repeat it, Bella-Sue?!!!

 

Would you, could you, here at prom?

So I can be Vampire Swan?

 

I would not, could not at the prom!

Where everyone can see? That’s so dumb!

I would not under the moon

Nor will I do it in your room!

I would not bite you here or there!

I would not bite you ANYWHERE!

I will not do it, no can do!

So just LIVE WITH IT, Bella-Sue!

 

Oh my perfect Ed-My-Vam,

You are the lion, while I’m the lamb!

But this lamb won’t give a … darn

I don’t mind you inflicting harm!

 

Had I not made it clear to you?

I WILL NOT BITE YOU BELLA-SUE!

You must take my word as truth!

Because I know much more than you!

 

Ed-My-Vam, Ed-My-Vam,

You don’t see how desperate I am.

If you won’t bite me at the prom,

On the neck or on the arm,

If you will not under the moon,

In the forest or in my room.

If you will not here or there,

If you will not do it anywhere,

Then fine! I get it… I’ll get back.

I’ll just go date Jacob Black.

 

Bella-Sue, Bella-Sue,

I’m glad I’ve finally got through to you!

…Wait, did you say Jacob Black?

I’ll do it now, oh Bella! COME BACK!

by ~Glowin-theSHARK

(Isn’t it brilliantly wonderful)

Which Superhero Would You Do?

Super heroes are meant to be sexy, right? I mean, all that tight spandex wrapped around bulging muscles…

 

I saw The Avengers at the flicks with my husband yesterday. I loved it. LOVED it! Better than Thor and Iron Man, much better than Captain America and Iron Man 2, infinitely better than the last Spiderman movie (emo-Spidey? I don’t think so!) Anyways, The Avengers was brilliant and it got me thinking about this post I wrote for the Down Under Divas when Thor was released. I remember falling instantly in lust with Chris Hemsworth and feeling monumentally proud of the fact he was an Aussie. I must admit, I was never a huge Avengers follower in my comic-reading days (I was a HUGE X-Men fan however, and had a fairly sizeable crush on Spiderman when younger) but after watching Thor, I began to wonder what I’ve been missing. Was Thor really as sexy and charming and cheeky as the movie portrayed? Was Thor really as…well, doable?

Oooohhhh…………..

Which leads me to this blog post. What superheroes push your buttons? Is it the strong, noble superhero or the sarcastic anti-hero superhero?

Let’s take a look at some options, shall we…

The Strong Noble Hero

Superman. You can’t get much more strong and noble. His moral compass would make the Mother Teressa envious. But is he sexy? Is he doable? What does he bring to the table that would make him an option? Is all that goodness a turn-on?

Captain America. Is there any more heroic and patriotic? (There’s yet to be an Australian superhero–unless you count Crocodile Dundee–which I don’t) so I’m holding up Cap’n America as the example of patriot pride and moral fibre. He fights the good fight for his country, but does he do “it” for you? Is all that high moral goodness a turn-on?

Cyclops. So, he’s got a killer gaze? But check out that blue and yellow spandex! Seriously, Scott Summer (aka Cyclops from the X-Men world) is noble of heart and tormented of soul. Caught in a perpetual love-triangle, Cyclops still does his all to be the better man at all times. Sexy? Doble? Or just too damn angsty?

The Nimble Sarcastic Hero

Spiderman. Ignoring the fact Peter Parker’s really only a teenager, Spiderman’s pretty damn sexy. He’s quick-witted, sarcastic and can fling himself around like a contortionist as a limbo party. But does all that red and blue put a dampner on the situation? And is there just a touch too much acne under the mask?

The Green Lantern. Sharp-witted, more than a touch cheeky and often-times rebellious, The Green Lantern is quite a few steps away from the likes of Supes and Cap’n America. He’s not altogether noble, but his actions are always governed by the want and need to do the right thing. Originally a fly-boy, is he the superhero to make you go “oohhh” (especially with Ryan Reynolds playing the part in a soon-to-be released film?)

Hannibal King. Speaking of Ryan Reynolds, you can’t list sarcastic, nimble superheroes without mention of Hannibal King. King is the smart-mouthed vamp killer from the Blade series and was perfectly depicted by Reynolds in the third Blade film. I have to say the original King never really did it for me (and as you know by now, sarcasm and arrogance kinda pushes my buttons–traits Hannibal King has in spades) but Ryan Reynolds’ King…oh, yeah, baby…

The Anti-hero Superhero

Wolverine. The classic anti-hero. He doesn’t give a toss about anything expect looking out for himself (at least, that’s what he wants the world to believe), is ultra-violent, ultra-sarcastic and so far removed from Superman and all that is good and golden and clean in superheroes it’s almost impossible to align the concept. But when the chips are down Wolverine will stop at nothing to wipe out the wrong tainting the world. Even if that means a bloody, brutal, savage body-count. (And yeah, I know I posted a piccie of Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine, but look at it…how could I not!? But just to keep with my own original-source rules, here’s Wolvie in drawn form too…

Ohhh, now THAT’S a sexy image…

Err….anyways…

Spawn. Aka Al Simmons. An assassin killed and sent to Hell who promises to work as a Hellspawn for one last chance to see his wife? How can that not be sexy? But would you want to y’know…with him? He’s dark and tormented and far from a ray of noble light. His name alone – Spawn – conjures up images of dark things born of darker things in dark places…but when needed he’s awesomely powerful. And his tongue is like a razor when it comes to cutting quips. Hmmm…potential, I’d say.

Batman. I wouldn’t hear the end of it from my webmistress if I didn’t include the Caped Crusader on this list, and honestly, he couldn’t fit anywhere else but in this category. He’s not one to bask in the glory of his crime-fighting, in fact, he started fighting crime for purely personal, self-centred reasons. He is tormented by his own demons to the point of being anti-social and his alter-ego Bruce Wayne is an arrogant bastard most of the time. But there is something very very seductive about that much dark mystery, about that much wounded soul, don’t you think?

There are endless superheroes out there I could draw on for this post, but the above give you all an idea to start from. In a fantasy world, where you are the heroine in the world where superheroes are needed, who do you fall for? The noble, pure hero, or the tainted, tormented anti-hero? (By the way, the one thing I noticed as researching this topic was the evolution of the superhero as decades have past. It seems it’s not just me that has a thing for the haunted, arrogant hero with a tenuous grip on his violent nature and a sardonic nature sharp enough to draw blood. The comic-reading world seems to have demanded heroes of this very nature: Priest, Preacher, the Comedian from the Watchmen, most of the X-Men…wow, there’s some seriously f*cked-up heroes out there!)

The thing that I’ve concluded from this blog post? At the moment, despite my normal gravitation towards the messed-up, conceited, tormented superheroes, I’d easily and happily pick this superhero…

…played by this guy…

…with all the cheeky charm, slap-stick goofiness and sexy strength the God of Thunder possesses. Well, at least in the latest movie anyway.

So, which superhero would you do?

Twister – Sneak-Peek Excerpt

Guess what I discovered this morning? The third book in the Party Games series, Twister, is now available for pre-order from Amazon. Yay. To celebrate, I’m giving you all a sneak-peek look at how the heroine (a fiesty ex-supermodel) and the hero (an arrogant media mogul) come face to face for the first time. Ready?

****

He saw the empty parking space three houses away before the belligerent thought could finish. Revving the Ducati’s powerful engine, he opened the throttle and propelled his bike forward…just as a beautifully restored black Mini swept past him straight into the empty space.

What the fuck?

He braked beside the classic car, planted his booted feet on the ground and yanked his helmet off, glaring at the driver’s side door. Waiting for the walking corpse about to get a piece of his mind—a rather heated piece of his mind—to climb out of the car.

The door opened. The distant streetlight reflected in the black window like a crazy streaming white line and a woman straightened from the car, a tall willowy woman with short shaggy hair the colour of midnight, full lips the colour of ripe plums and skin a flawless cream. A woman dressed in a bum-hugging black leather miniskirt and a…a thing that seemed to be made entirely from one strip of shiny silver fabric clinging around her body in such a way to barely cover her breasts. Breasts, Lachlan couldn’t help but notice, that were small and pert and the perfect size for cupping and squeezing in one’s hand.

He glared at her, but the overhanging Jacaranda tree shrouded her eyes in shadows. “That’s where I was going to park.”

“Did you indicate for it?” A soft accent laced the velvet-smooth words, the kind of accent a person develops when they’ve spent most of their time travelling around the world. No longer Australian, not really anything else though either. “Pretty certain I didn’t see any flashing yellow lights on that bike of yours before I passed you.”

Lachlan ground his teeth. Awesome. Attitude. Just what he wanted.

She’s right though. You didn’t.

“Doesn’t matter. You overtook me on a residential street to get to it first.”

A low chuckle fell from those plum-coloured lips before she swung the Mini’s door closed. “Would you like to make a citizen’s arrest? Slap me in handcuffs and rough me up a bit?”

The words sent a searing jolt of tension straight into Lachlan’s groin. Unexpected and very, very appealing tension. That his bike’s engine was still thrumming in neutral between his legs only served to highlight his sudden and unwanted arousal. He ground his teeth, killing the Ducati’s motor with a flick of his wrist.

The slowing tick-tick-tick of the bike’s exhaust system filled the night, competing with the laughter, music and raucous noise wafting from his house down the street. The woman laughed again. “Oh, does this mean you are going to arrest me? Do you have handcuffs tucked away in those exceedingly well-cut Calvin Klein jeans? Or is that bulge I spy something else far more interesting?”

Lachlan blinked. And did something he hadn’t done since he was a kid. He blushed.

The woman laughed once more, a throaty sound that sent fresh licks of tension into his balls. His cock stiffened, growing at an alarming rate given his situation. What the hell was he doing?

Straddling your bike while getting turned on by a woman who stole your parking spot. The question is what are you going to do about it?

He bit back a growl. What could he do about it? He had two options—one, go find another parking spot and take out his anger on the people currently enjoying themselves in his home when he finally walked back to it. Or two, climb off his bike, walk over to the woman in the shadows, capture those fuckable lips of hers with his mouth and kiss the smug attitude right out of her.

He climbed off his bike.

She made a hmmm sound, her lips curling into a smile Lachlan could only describe as the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, and stepped out of the shadows.

Lachlan froze.

Kole.

A whirlwind of memories lashed through his head. Memories of a seventeen-year-old boy caught jerking off to a poster of the Australian super-model by his hedonistic model-cum-trophy-wife stepmother. Memories of said stepmother sliding her fingers down the flat plane of his stomach to the waistline of his hastily zipped jeans and asking him if he wanted to fuck her while she wore a pitch-black wig?

He focused on the woman now standing before him, her lips curled in a smile he should have recognized. After all, he’d gazed at it every night of his life for two years until that pathetic, embarrassing night. Gazed at it and fantasied about the owner of that smile. The modeling world’s newest sensation, an eighteen-year-old Australian beauty known only as Kole.

The woman before him cocked a dark, finely arched eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re shy?”

Lachlan clenched his jaw. “You’re the model Kole.”

She laughed, a relaxed, humoured chuckle. “No. But it’s a common error.”

Lachlan studied her. The lack of light made the inspection tricky. He had never seen Kole in person and the model herself had dropped out of the public’s eye after only a few years in the modeling world. But not before she graced the cover of every influential fashion magazine, quite a few of them owned by his father’s media company. Magazines Lachlan now owned, accrued when he had overthrown his father’s strangling reign of the company five years ago.

Still, something in his gut itched, and he’d learnt a long time ago to listen to his gut. The woman looked like an older Kole to be sure, but Kole all the same. She was either lying or he was more under the spell of a stupid adolescent crush than he realized. Either way, he wanted nothing to do with her.

When it came to models, he had a strictly no-involvement policy, no matter how stunning they were.

She studied him, a confident calm radiating from her. It unsettled him.

Unsettled? For Christ’s sake, man, it turns you on so much your dick is as hard as a pole. Model or not, she turns you on.

***
Twister will be avialable July 3rd. You can pre-order it here at Samhain and here at Amazon.

So, hands up if you’ve read Suck and Blow and Truth or Dare?

Casting Couch – Aslin Rhodes and Ryan Conley

One is an ex-British SAS Commando, the other a dragon shape-shifter. One will come up against his worst nightmare, the other get knocked out when he least expects it. One will come close to crushing a person’s throat with his bare hands, the other will pop a person’s shoulder right from its joint. One rides a motorcycle, the other perches atop of the Willis Tower in Chicago.

Meet Aslin Rhodes and Ryan Conley, the heroes of my current WIPs, The Bodyguard, and Crouching Tigress Horny Dragon. Can you guess which one is which?

 

What If Wednesday…. Darth Vader on a Unicycle

Because Wednesday should always be about asking the most bizarre question and getting the most awesome answer.

Click here to view the embedded video.

A Deleted Scene from Love’s Rhythm

This was meant to be the prologue to Love’s Rhythm. I wrote it last year flying back from LA (apparently I was the only passenger awake on the plane at the time). I can tell now it’s the product of a sleep deprived mind, but I think it shows the dark side of Nick fame gave him early in his career. I’m glad I decided to cut it because it definitely doesn’t fit with the tone of the book now, but I do really like it as a piece of writing so I thought I’d share. It’s unedited and pretty much untouched since I wrote it on that plane 12 months ago. What do you think?

Prologue

Thirteen Years Ago

Nick Blackthorne stood on the balcony, the cold night air whipping through his long hair, making it dance around his head and in his eyes. He blinked, watching the screaming crowd thirty stories below. They were here to see him. He knew that. Here to see him, feast on him, devour him. He lived for their hunger and greed. It nourished him and yet, at the same time, drained him. This life he’d found himself in—almost by accident, he often believed—was not for the weak. It may propel him to the heights of the gods, but it cast him into the depths of hell as well. It was a contradiction that often vexed him. How could the life of a simple man of song be so confusing? When had finding the songs of his soul become so arduous? So empty?

When you left her.

The thought made his heart thump harder against his breastbone. He gripped the throat of his guitar and lifted his head into the wild wind. From below, the horde screamed for him. Chanting his name—Nick, Nick, Nick, Nick—until it became not a name but a sound, a tattoo like the repetitious report of a gun.

Nick Nick Nick Nick Nick

He closed his eyes, each cry puncturing his heart, letting what was left of its hope leak from its broken form. He wanted to blame the world for its emptiness, for his pain, but the world was not at fault. He had gladly, no, willingly, let it bring him to this point but it was not its fault. The world had made him a rock star, an idol, but he was responsible for this and only him.

Alone. Wanted by thousands, thousands, expect the only one that mattered.

His grip tightened on the familiar throat of his guitar—the guitar his mother had bought him for his eighteenth birthday. The guitar he’d been playing when the record producer from the US had found him playing in the half-deserted pub down the road from his parents’ home seven years ago. He’d owned many guitars since, worth much more than this one, but none sang for him like this one, none bleed for him like a weeping angel like this one. This guitar…well, he’d written his first song with this guitar. Hersong. And now he was expected to play it for strangers over and over again.

The wind lashed at him again—not wild, but frenzied, pushing at his back, making him stumble a half-step forward. As if eager for that which he contemplated.

Fly for me, Nick, it whispered, Fly for me, lover…

A moan left him, low and tight and strangled. Damn it, he missed her. So fucking much it didn’t just hurt, it rendered him…

“Empty.”

The greedy, pushy wind whipped the word from his lips, and as if it heard the very sound, the horde below screamed louder: nicknicknicknicknick

A cry of the feverish for a man cold of core.

His fans, thousands of them, over-running the New York street below, writhing like a single living entity, swelling and growing as his presence in the city became further known. Jesus, how had a kid from Australia come to this? How had it happened? When had it happened?

When you made the decision to let her leave you. When you chose the fame, the adoration instead of choosing her.

A knock came on the hotel suite’s door. Three quick, sharp raps.

They had arrived. The balm he’d told his personal assistant to pick from the eager, lustrous crowd below. The balm that offered no relief even as it feasted on his body and fed his reputation.

Another three knocks.

“Nick,” a man’s voice called through the heavy oak door, simpering and reverent. “I have them.”

Nick opened his eyes, his hair stinging his face, his fingers aching from his choking grip on his guitar. He stared down into the crowd, the thousands of screaming, demanding, ravenous fans—his fans—and saw her. Only her. Smiling at him, her lips soft and swollen with his recent kisses, her eyes shining with love.

Shining with tears as she said goodbye.

As she said—

***