Hello everyone! Today I am so happy to welcome author (and fellow redhead) Cate Ashwood to Joyfully Jay. Cate is here to share more about her release, Brokenhearted. She has also brought a sexy excerpt, as well as a copy to give away to one lucky reader. So please join me in giving her a big welcome!
Thank you so much for hosting me today. I am so excited to be here!
One of the questions I’ve been asked a few times is which are the scenes that I find the easiest and the most difficult to write.
As for the easiest scenes to write, the answer would probably be dialogue. I love writing dialogue. The words come really quickly when I’m writing a conversation between the characters, so much that I often forget to write anything other than their words and I have to go back afterwards and add in all the extra stuff that actually makes up the scene.
The most difficult scenes for me to write? The answer is easy. The sex scenes.
I’m not sure why, but for whatever reason, the sex scenes always take me three times longer to write than a normal scene. When I first started writing, I think the foreign-ness of writing that type of scene threw me off a bit. The rest of the words seemed to flow naturally, but then when it came time to describe the sexy bits, I got stuck.
People may not guess this about me (especially after reading a few of the scenes in my books) but I have a hard time talking about sex. As a redhead, my face turns an instant red when the topic comes up. I stutter and fidget and it’s just generally not very attractive. When I first started writing, I couldn’t write the sex scenes if there was anyone else home because I blush through the whole process (although I’ve gotten a lot more used to it now). I’ve just never been perceived as someone who has a dirty mind. One of my readers told me she was surprised when she met me because I reminded her of a kindergarten teacher.
I promise you, I’m less innocent than I look. 😉
Here is the official blurb:
Oliver Parrish has been alone in the world since he was born. So when Sheriff Owen “Mack” Macklin shows up on his doorstep to deliver the news that Oliver’s sister has died, he’s beyond surprised. Still, Oliver returns with Mack to Hope Cove, Maine, hoping to get to know the sister he never knew he had. As he tries to snap these new elements into his solitary life, he’s not sure how they might fit.
His life is shaken up further as he falls in love with the irresistible town of Hope Cove, and with Mack, its equally irresistible sheriff. But when he receives devastating news about his sister’s cause of death, Oliver doesn’t know whether to stay and fight for love and a good life, or cut his losses and run.
He turned to see Mack walk into the kitchen.
Oliver snickered. “I could have brought it out to you.”
Mack shrugged. “There’s something about eating it right from the dish that makes it taste so much better.”
He opened the cutlery drawer and pulled out a dessert fork. He walked over to Oliver, and reached around him to spear some perfectly softened apple and flaky crust. He was close again… too close. His body was less than an inch from pressing against Oliver’s.
Using his other hand to catch crumbs he offered Oliver the first bite, bringing the fork to his lips. Oliver looked at Mack. There was a dark hunger in his eyes. Oliver couldn’t breathe. He obediently opened up, wrapping his lips around the fork and doing his best not to choke on the bite of pie.
“Good?” Mack asked. His voice was low and gravelly. Oliver didn’t trust his own. He nodded.
Mack reached around him again, this time bringing the forkful to his own mouth. He moaned low. “So fucking good.”
Oliver stood mesmerized, held against the counter by Mack’s larger frame, pinned in place by the hunger simmering in his eyes. Mack placed the fork on the counter and tipped Oliver’s chin up to look at him.
“Most beautiful fucking gray eyes….” Mack trailed off. Oliver swallowed hard, and then Mack’s mouth was on his, pressing firmly against him, claiming him. The kiss was hard and punishing, demanding his submission. Rough stubble abraded sensitive skin as Mack licked against the seam of Oliver’s lips. Oliver opened to him willingly, kissing him back with complete recklessness. He had wanted this from the moment he had seen the handsome sheriff on his doorstep.
Mack moved closer, eliminating the margin of space that had existed between them. Their bodies were flush together, Mack grinding his hips against Oliver’s, Oliver melting against him as they kissed.
He could feel how hot, how hard Mack was. His hands were moving, pushed up under Oliver’s shirt, tracing along the smooth skin of his back, wandering to his sides. Then they were gone, pushing the dishes to the side before he grabbed Oliver, lifting him and dropping him down on the counter with force. His mouth never stopped moving, kissing, claiming him. His right hand lifted, carding through Oliver’s hair, pulling him closer, anchoring their mouths together.
They kissed for what felt like an eternity. The moment of hesitation that Oliver had experienced was barely a distant memory as Mack kissed him into oblivion. They broke apart, gasping to catch their breath. Oliver looked at Mack, his lips swollen and pink, his pupils dilated. They stayed like that, just staring at one another with looks of awe mirrored on their faces. Oliver’s cock was straining painfully against the fabric of his jeans, and if the ridge in Mack’s was anything to go by, he was feeling the same.
Fuck, he was turned on.
Mack moved toward him again, but Oliver’s conscience returned from its brief vacation and he pulled back.
Mack stepped away. The cool air of the kitchen moved between them, chilling the heated air they had created.
Oliver’s gaze trained on the floor. He couldn’t look. Couldn’t bring himself to watch the expression on Mack’s face. Whether it was one of disgust, confusion, or desire, Oliver couldn’t handle it.
“It’s getting late. I should get to bed,” he said, almost inaudibly.
“Oh… yeah… uh…. Sure, yeah. G’night, man.”
Oliver waited until he heard Mack’s bedroom door close before he hopped off the counter and escaped to his own room.
He collapsed on the bed and lay back. His heart still hadn’t slowed, and now his mind was racing, trying to catch up. What the fuck had just happened? Through Oliver’s muddled memory, he seemed to recall Mack initiating the kiss. He had, right?
It just didn’t make any sense. Oliver tried to remember what Mack had said right before, but all he could remember was the heat of Mack’s body, the intoxicating smell of his skin. Was it something about his eyes? Yeah. Something about gray eyes. Fuck. Maggie had had gray eyes.
Suddenly everything seemed to click into place. He missed Maggie. He loved Maggie. In some convoluted way, Oliver had become a second rate stand-in for the girl he had lost.
The realization left Oliver feeling cold and empty.
Cate Ashwood wrote her very first story in a hot pink binder when she was in the second grade and found her passion for writing. Her first successful foray into romance writing came five years later when she wrote her best friend, who was experiencing a case of unrequited love, her own happily ever after.
Cate’s life has taken a number of different and adventurous roads. She now lives a stone’s throw from the ocean, just outside of Vancouver, British Columbia with her husband and two cats. Her life is filled with family and friends, travel, and, of course, books.
Cate loves to hear from readers. You can find her at:
- Website: http://www.cateashwood.com
- Blog: http://cateashwood.blogspot.ca/
- E-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org
- Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/cate.ashwood
- Twitter: https://twitter.com/cateashwood
Cate is offering up a copy of Brokenhearted to one lucky reader. Just leave a comment to enter. The contest closes Wednesday, November 20th at 11:59 pm EST.
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- Void where prohibited by law.