Behind The Curtain with EmKay Connor
Today I kick off the new format. Instead of work related questions, I’m asking questions that will help you get to know your favorite author or perhaps find a new one!
Welcome, EmKay Connor!
About the Author
EmKay Connor is a member of Romance Writers of America and several specialty chapters, including RWA-San Diego, First Coast Romance Writers, Yellow Rose Romance Writers, Outreach International RWA and RWA Kiss of Death. A firm believer in paying it forward (and backward and sideways), she has served as president, vice president, secretary, newsletter editor, workshop presenter and committee chair at both the local and national level. She also contributes her time and experience by volunteering to judge numerous writing contests each year.
Her manuscripts have finaled in numerous contests, including Spring Into Romance, The Unpublished Beacon and RWA’s prestigious Golden Heart. Her freelance writing has been published in print and online media, as well as being featured in several issues of the Romance Writers Report.
You won the lottery! But there’s a catch. You can only keep half and must give the rest a charity. Which one will you choose? How do you spend your half?
I’m not big on donating to formal charities. I even skimp in tithing at my own church in order to dole out money directly when I come across people who need it (like single moms, seniors on a fixed income, etc.). If I won the lottery, I would start my own foundation to help foster kids who are essentially left by the side of the road as soon as they turn 18.
I’d have no problem spending the rest! After buying modest but comfortable homes on the coast in Maine and Southern California, I would travel with my partner and children. First stop – Greece!
You’re having a Halloween party. What costume did you choose? Why?
My costume would be something vampy and trampy—exactly the sort of exotic costume I dreamed about as a teenager and never got to wear. My mom was one of those creative homemakers who sewed, hot glued or stapled me and my siblings into wacky costumes, which were usually covered by our winter coats (Halloween in Michigan). The worst was when my two younger brothers and I went trick-or-treating as a train. I was the engine and needed both hands to hang on to my “costume.” The three of us were ready to head home before our bag—carried by our mom—was even half full!
Is there something in your jewelry box of sentimental value?
I have several pieces of jewelry with sentimental value. The two pieces I wear every single day are a $20 sterling silver band with diamond chips that my partner gave me after dating for six months and a sterling silver-and-diamond “mother’s ring” my oldest son gave me for Christmas the year he flew me and his three brothers out to Los Angeles to spend the holidays with him. I have a pair of earrings that look like bows tied out of ribbon that my mother gave me when I first moved out on my own. Whenever I need a bit of encouragement, I wear the earrings to feel that maternal connection. My most treasured piece of jewelry is a big, bold blue topaz ring that belonged to my fabulously outrageous grandmother—she got her first tattoo when she was 65! I only wear her ring on truly special occasions.
What was your favorite TV show when you were a kid?
I was probably only 4 or 5 when I became a Trekkie. I adored Mr. Spock, so much so that my parents bought me “The Touch of Leonard Nimoy,” a musical compilation on 8 track tape. I remember having a meltdown one evening as my parents were dressing to go out (picture my mom in a short, short dress and yellow go-go boots and my dad in a leisure suit) after the TV station announced Star Trek was going off the air for the summer.
What is the first thing you notice about a man?
The first thing I involuntarily notice about a man is whether or not he’s wearing a wedding ring. The first thing I voluntarily check out is whether or not you can bounce a quarter off his arse. (Now everyone will know why I carry a roll of quarters in my purse!)
Okay! A couple of quickies:
Tennis shoes or sandals?
Sandals
Football or baseball?
Bowling
Color of fingernail polish?
French manicure for fingernails; bright red for toes.
Morning person or nite-owl?
Morning. I’m usually asleep by 10 p.m.
Now…tell us two truths and one lie about yourself.
I posed nude for an artist who used me as inspiration for a Viking queen.
I interviewed Pat Sajak and Vanna White for a community newspaper.
I went sky-diving to celebrate my 40th birthday.
Everyone! Try and guess the lie.
“Willing to Learn” (Boroughs Publishing Group, March 2012)
BLURB:
Meredith McKenna is neither graceful nor a beauty, but that’s never stood in her way. She knows who she is and, more importantly, what she deserves. Not one to wish on a star or hang her hopes on a fairy tale like true love, her practical nature won her the hand of a prince. That’s how she ended up here: Trésorier du Coeur. An island paradise.
But becoming a princess is no simple matter. Regardless of the mysticisms mouthed by the island’s proprietress, the jungle waterfalls and long, pristine beaches, the resort is first and foremost a school for seduction, an ancient tradition of her fiancé’s family, and she must select a man to be her “tutor.” Anders Collier is the most insubordinate and infuriating of the lot. But behind those cool gray eyes lurks a white-hot secret, and behind closed doors lies everything their hearts and bodies have yet to learn.
Excerpt:
Anders never knew there were so many different ways to be frustrated. And at the moment, he was experiencing most of them while seated in the kitchen of Meredith’s bungalow.
“You’re not even trying,” Meredith griped.
Blinded by a satin sleep mask similar to the one Meredith had worn just an hour earlier, Anders couldn’t see her displeasure but the sound of it came through loud and clear. “I don’t have a knack for sensory stimulation like you do. Can we be done now?”
“No, we can’t be done now.” She mimicked him like a spoiled nine year old who wasn’t getting her way.
Good. There was plenty of frustration to go around so she might as well deal with her share.
“Madame Duval said we were to begin practicing some of the material covered in the workshops. If you don’t like sensual touch we can certainly move on to bondage and domination. And before you get any ideas, let me warn you I’m something of a control freak.” Her flat tone carried the same unyielding steadfastness as a fence post set in concrete. “Come on. This is supposed to be fun.”
Anders pictured her jaw set and clenched, hands on broad, beautiful hips, brown eyes narrowed behind silver eyeglass frames. There was a hint of dare me in her voice, as well as a sibilant plea for his cooperation.
Which brought him back to the tangled web of frustration in which he was ensnared. Instead of tracking down information Sam and the Bureau could use to find Chai and the girls, he was playing touchy-feely games with a woman engaged to another man. And instead of disliking her more and more every day, Meredith was growing on him. She was by turns annoying and entertaining, courageous and reluctant, playful and serious, open and guarded. After spending hours together, he found himself attuned to her moods, fascinated by her quirky traits and attracted to her on both a mental and physical level. He was getting harder and harder, which was making it harder and harder to keep his distance.
“Hell’s bells, Meredith. Enough already.” Fabulous. He needed a bar of soap to wash out his mouth for all the foul words he’d been thinking, if not uttering, since making Miss McKenna’s acquaintance five days ago. Ripping off the blindfold, he shot out of the chair and, blinded by the glare of sunlight, banged heads with her.
“Ow! That hurt.” Her indignant shout blasted directly into his right ear.
“No kidding,” he yelled back.
“Stand still, you dolt, or we’re going to knock craniums again.”
“Dolt?” Anders blinked. “Did you call me a dolt? Who even uses a word like that?” As his vision cleared, Meredith’s face appeared. Her unhappy pout was overshadowed by a bright red lump swelling before his eyes in the center of her forehead. He probably had one just like it if the tender sensation between his brows was any indication. The absurdity of the conversation and the head banging struck without warning, and Anders burst out in a braying guffaw.
“What’s so funny?” Meredith demanded. “Just because I like a little variety in my vocabulary is no reason for you to laugh at me.”
Drawing in a breath to halt his hysteria, Anders saw she appeared just as he’d imagined: hands on hips, jaw clenched, eyes nothing more than narrow slits. That he had so accurately predicted her response triggered yet another bout of howling amusement.
In a matter of seconds, Anders watched her eyes widen, go shiny and narrow again. By the time he realized she had misconstrued his merriment as him laughing at her, not with her, she’d reached for something on the nearby table, upending a bowl of gooey, melted milk chocolate on his head.
“Goll-damn-frick-shit!” he bellowed, wiping the mess out of his eyes.
“Now that’s funny,” she said, forcing a humorless chuckle. She lifted her chin and swallowed hard, eyes raised toward the ceiling in an attempt to hold back the tears. “In case you didn’t get that last one, it was chocolate.”
“Oh, I got it,” Anders muttered, at a loss how to react. He should be furious. A temperamental Beverly Hills heiress had just doused an FBI special agent with chocolate sauce because he’d accidently hurt her feelings.
“I think we’ve had enough practice for one afternoon,” she said coolly. “Please show yourself out.”
As she turned away, Anders hooked a hand under her arm and pulled her back. “No way. Not when we’re finally getting the hang of this.” Startled, Meredith froze…just long enough for him to scoop up a handful of strawberries and crush them into her hair.
In a flash, the gleam of tears flared into fiery astonishment. Something shifted in Anders’s chest, launching twin rockets of reaction—one sexual heat, the other protective satisfaction. His cock hardened while his heart softened. In that moment, he wanted Meredith in so many ways. He wanted her fast and hard, soft and slow. He wanted her happy and smiling, confident and trusting. He wanted her over the back of the sofa, across the hood of his ’72 Chevy Challenger back in D.C., locked in a hungry sixty-nine position. The force of the lust and need flooding his body almost slammed him back into the chair.
“You. Did. Not. Just. Do. That.” She stared at him while thin rivulets of juice ran down her face.
“Your turn.” He held out a can of artificial whipped cream and grinned through the coating of chocolate.
Social Media & Buy Links:
Website: www.sexysassyromance.com
Facebook: http://facebook.com/EmKayConnor
Twitter: http://twitter.com/emkayconnor
http://www.amazon.com/Willing-Learn-T...
