I’m so glad it’s Wednesday because that means it’s time for What to Read Wednesday 🙂 Please help me welcome the amazing Samanthe Beck to the blog. She talking about naming her characters–one of my favorite subjects–and then sharing her release Compromising Her Position. I love, LOVE this cover and the blurb sounds amazing.
And, don’t forget to enter her wonderful giveaway 🙂
Take it away Samanthe …
First off, a big THANK YOU to the lovely and talented Christine Warner for having me here to talk about my latest Brazen, Compromising Her Position. It’s a super-sexy story, (it’s a Brazen, after all!), involving hotel executive Rafe St. Sebastian, competitor Chelsea Wayne, a Santa suit, and an epic case of mistaken identity. Basically, Chelsea shoves the wrong Santa into a supply closet during the company Christmas party and wishes him a happy holiday that is definitely NSFW! Oops. Talk about a compromising position.
What inspired me to do such a naughty thing to my characters? Well, I’m not saying I sit around Googling “David Gandy naked” all day, but I did happen upon an image of the insanely photogenic Mr. Gandy in bed, naked, save for a Santa hat. My initial reaction, of course, was, “Holy crap! Imagine the line at the mall to sit on Santa’s lap if he were in the suit.” Then I thought about the iconic costume, and everything it entails, and wondered if we’d even know there was a hottie beneath.
Boom. Inspiration for all sorts of naughtiness. I had a perfect vision of my hero. Now all I had to do was name him. Names are important. A good one grabs a reader’s interest, while a bad one can pull her right out of a story. Admittedly, it’s highly subjective. Maybe I don’t like a certain name because it reminds me of the kid who used to freak me out with his rubber snake in first grade? I can’t know everyone’s name peeves, but I can know my characters. For Rafe I wanted something that sounded as worldly as the man himself. I also needed a name that would work as the masthead for a chain of luxury resorts. Sadly, David Gandy was already taken, but I thought Rafael St. Sebastian had a nice ring to it. Rafe is only one letter away from rake, and that worked for me. The St. Sebastian sounded like somewhere I’d have to cough up $500.00 a night to stay. Done.
Naming Chelsea took a little more work. She’s a good girl…a people-pleaser working in an industry where those tendencies take her far, but on a personal level, result in her being taken advantage of. She’s ready to get tough with herself, though, and stop making the same mistakes. I liked the combination of Chelsea, (which sounds soft and sweet to me), and Wayne, (which calls to mind big, bad, take-no-bullshit John Wayne). It struck the right balance, to me.
I’d love to know what you think! Is there a name that ruins a book for you, no matter how awesome the story might be? (But wait, if it’s Rafe or Chelsea, don’t tell me)!
Do have a safe and happy Thanksgiving.
“There is nothing personal between us.”
“I beg to differ. In fact, I’m fairly certain I know your deepest, darkest secret.”
“I sincerely doubt that.”
He brought his mouth to her ear. “You knew I wasn’t Paul.”
“No.” The denial, though immediate, sounded slightly breathless, slightly desperate.
She had to have at least suspected, at some point. He refused to believe otherwise. “Not at first. But when I had you clinging to the tables, trembling so hard you could barely stand? You knew.”
“You-you’re delusional. If I’d realized you weren’t Paul, don’t you think I would have stopped you?”
“No. By the time you realized, you didn’t care.” The crowd around them erupted into a countdown.
Ten… He cupped her jaw in one hand… Nine… and slid the other down her back. Then lower. Eight… “You didn’t care about anything except my tongue tracing the path of your thong”—he let his fingers do the honor now—“all the way down until I could taste your sweet, throbbing little—”
“I thought you were Paul!” Her wide eyes darted to his, pupils huge.
Five… “Remember how you used your body to beg for more? There’s no f-ing way you’ve ever begged like that for Paul Barrington. No f-ing way. I could have you begging again.”
Her breathing came in quick, shallow pants. The hands she’d rested lightly on his shoulders tightened, bunching his jacket in a white-knuckled grip. She shook her head. “Not going to happen.”
Three… He was risking getting his face slapped in the middle of a dance floor on New Year’s Eve, but he didn’t care. For some inexcusable reason, he needed to know she wanted him, not Barrington.
Two… He spread his palm over the perfect curve of her ass and hauled her against him, so she’d feel just how well he remembered every damn detail of their last meeting.
“It’s not?” he challenged, and then crushed her lips under his.
Cheers of “Happy New Year” echoed around them over the strains of “Auld Lang Syne.” A flotilla of black and silver balloons sailed down from the ceiling. Guests laughed, and sang, and jostled them while he kissed her. Sparkly, star- shaped confetti rained over everyone and everything, and he kept right on kissing her. Her arms twined around his neck. Her lips parted. She flattened one hand against the back of his head and held on. When he bent her over his arm and swept his tongue into her soft, yielding mouth, she wrapped her leg around his hip. The heat of her body practically seared his thigh through his tuxedo pants.
He trapped her lower lip between his teeth and nibbled. There went his no biting promise, but her shuddery moan told him she didn’t mind.
The song ended. The house lights came up a few notches. He slowly drew her upright, and even more slowly relinquished her mouth. She stared up at him, dazed, her lips plumped from their kiss.
“You’re a terrible liar, Miss Wayne.”
Giving her a grin he hoped didn’t reveal how much the move cost him, he walked away.
searches for the perfect cabernet to pair with Ambien.