Ba Cottage, Catherine Cavendish, Dundee, Glencoe, Hard to Protect, Ian Fleming, Incy Black, James Bond, James Bond and Dundee, Newport-on-Tay, Peter Fleming, Robert Fleming, Shehanne Moore, The wrath of the ancients, The Writer and the Rake
AH and aw in equal measures. Firstly AH because this the long awaited third book in the Hard To series featuring Incy Black’s own special Black ops. Aw, because she says trilogy although I hope that the exciting Freya Dervish will feature somewhere along the line in another book. No pressure there now Incy, just saying. Although I’ve read the other two books in the series, in many ways this book is a standalone.
In true spy honey trap tradition, Will Berwick, secret agent hot and complicated, is asked to seduce the secret of her brother’s whereabouts, from Dr Treherne, ice angel extraordinary. Not the best thing to ask him to do when she’s been evaluating him for months re his suitability to return to service. Trust me when I say that you just know that in the not too distant future Angel will be evaluating other aspects of his suitability because it’s plain they are under one another’s skins. However, Incy Black’s skill lies in keeping them at one another’s throats. This couple don’t give an inch for very personal reasons and it makes for great chemistry. You want to know they will heal one another’s pain. A pain they don’t admit to. Add this to a plot full of twists and turns, Incy Black’s own unique voice, and the result is explosive.
Spies, no condoms by Incy Black
Nil illegitimi carborundum – don’t let the bastards grind you down. The bastards being anyone in authority worshiping the god of ‘red tape’, about whom I personally harbour deep-seated suspicions.
Which probably accounts for my thrill of a good conspiracy—lardy-arsed officialdom, the villain—and my cheering on of the men and woman who thumb their nose at the ‘rules’ but being smart, swallow their resounding ‘fuck off’ behind a grin—smiling crocodiles, if you like.
Hence my love affair with spies, spooks and secrets. The corruption of loyalties, the lies and deceptions, and the down right rude. Evident in one of my favorite quotes from Hard to Protect: “You stick your head any further up Butters’s arse, Berwick, and no one will be able to hear you singing Rule Britannia.” Angel, the heroine, is giving the hero a right gobful, at this point.
Whitehall and the British Intelligence Service, clashing head on, the perfect arena where the bad boys (and girls) get to behave outrageously, all respect for pretty much anything but ‘the win’ withheld. Insubordination and insolence paving the way. Must be why they call espionage ‘The Game’ because it’s fun and in it’s own way, heroic.
And who is responsible for distorting my view of what is mischievous?
Why Rudyard Kipling (Kim) and Ian Fleming (James Bond), of course. Both recognized the excitement of ‘finding trouble’, who cares that neither is now politically correct. The romance of bad boys is that they are virile, sexy, unapologetic, and defiant as all hell.
Bond with his fast cars, his smoking, gambling and drinking—dry martinis, shaken not stirred. His womanizing—not a condom in sight. The sanctioned killings—the bodies of opponents piled high. All for queen and country? My arse.
It takes a special kind of damaged to kill. A fierce addiction to adrenaline to put yourself in a position of doing so. And that in itself is fascinating.
Spooks and assassins, on the side of good or nefarious, like—or is it a need—to live as large as their stories. And long may they and their thrills clutter our pages, for they are the dash of colour in the Establishment’s grey.
Some Black Op missions are too dark—even for him.
Volcanic hot and ambitious Special Agent Will Berwick doesn’t give a damn what his orders are, he’s not taking the enemy—the lovely, but arctic Dr. Angel Treherne—to bed. Nor will she die on his watch, most certainly not by his hand. Oh, he’ll root out her secrets. But his own way—teaching her a much-deserved lesson while he’s at it: that no one messes with his career plan just because they’re a little peeved with him.
Caught up in a tangled web of deceit and betrayal, psychotherapist Angel trusts no one—certainly not alpha-cocky, cunning Will Berwick. First he’s hostile, then he’s charming, now he wants to protect her? Why? What’s he hiding? With her life—and heart—on the line, she needs to know.
With the risks high and personal, can Will and Angel agree the dangerous choices they must make?
Incy Black scary? Just when Incy thought it was safe to come back on here? Oh come on dudes, hamster up. Seriously, we are going to have a little Halloween fun. But today is a special day. The release of Incy’s second book, Hard to Forget. What do you mean…ONLY…when she’s a best writing buddy? SO we’re not going to hang about. We’re going to welcome her AND the contents of her new hero’s pocket.
‘Jack Ballentyne (spy/viscount/hottie/hard bastard/Josh Holloway lookalike) is flat out, an uncommunicative bugger. So, to gain a little insight into what makes him a man, I slipped my hand into his trouser pocket (front facing) for a grope about…AND SCORED! Oh the treasure, pure manhood…a survival kit. Tidy in a hand-sized (big hand) tin box…….
Oooo…a neat little knife, a CRKT Ritter RSK Mk 5 Lightweight Survival Knife, to be exact,
handy for… well, cutting I guess. Maybe some stabbing, digging a grave, at a push.
And this? A condom? Jack was once an opportunist (randy bugger), but I assumed Lowry had calmed him the heck down. Now for uses—hmmm, a neat little skull wrap for when it’s raining in the woods.
Though, it’s a bit of a tight fit (and no, not attractive in the least—a dinky mirror is taped into the lid of the tin, so I checked and can confirm, the donning of a condom to one’s head gives an ‘emerging larva’ look.
And what’s this? Cotton wool balls? Well, I suppose a man must care for his complexion. “For bloody tinder”, snaps Jack, as I reach to stroke his cheek, just testing for silky smoothness… I couldn’t help myself. (I can confirm that beneath the three-day stubble, his skin felt lickable.)
(yes, the heads have been dipped in candle wax. I need to remember that tip.
Plaited parachute cord?…would never have pegged Jack for a closet finger-knitter. I notice he has a complicated plait of leather throngs tied round his rather delectable wrist, too—nice wrist, tanned, easily thicker than a thumb-forefinger span, light dusting of tiny bleached hairs where wrist becomes more arm, muscles curving, very touchable…sorry, I digress.
Coffee filters? Christ, the man likes his little luxuries. “Helps with water purification,” Jack growls…as do those tablets. “Oh, and here I was thinking those were for stomach cramps and PMT,” I mutter, not at all impressed at his implication that I’m a bit thick.
Super glue (for closing deep cuts, apparently), tweezers—not for his eyebrows, I suspect, though they are beautifully shaped, plasters (for those booboos when Lowry’s not around to kiss them better), alcohol wipes (well, I guess you could suck on them at a pinch, but it would seem they double for antiseptic and tinder). Dental floss? Seriously? Jack’s obviously got a penchant for cord, thread and restraint.
Oh, how sweet, a dinky little torch…and a whistle…didn’t know Jack was into music and laser shows.
An ugly looking nail, heavily taped with gorilla tape (bright yellow)…more bondage for Jack…shiny pins, needles, and a button compass. “I got one of those in a Christmas cracker,” I tell him, proudly, using the mirror fixed to the inside of the lid to check my lippy. “So with all that’s here, I could fend off the walkers, come the zombie apocalypse?” I ask, slipping the tin into my handbag—Fendi, very sweet.
“No. You’d need a fucking baseball bat for that…
and preferably a gun, rapid firing, double loaded clips.” He digs (roughly) through my handbag to retrieve the little tin box, I’d tried to filch. “Lowry made that kit up for me. It’s precious,”
he shares, somewhat rudely. And then waves a sweetly wrapped tampon (no doubt, found at the bottom of my handbag) in my face. “I’ll keep this. Useful for bullet wounds.”
On which note, I beat a hasty retreat. “Nice growling with you, Jack. We must do it again sometime,” I lie.
Jack Ballentyne, hard bastard-hero, carves a place for himself in Lowry Fisk’s life in HARD TO FORGET. No small feat, it’s worth noting, given he’d shot her, and deliberately secured her dishonourable discharge from the British Intelligence Service. Their tale is best summarized in two short quotes
“He didn’t want her trust. What the hell would he do with it?” Jack Ballentyne
“Protective custody? What’s that a euphemism for, exactly.” Lowry Fisk
Hard to Forget
Free, Full Chapter 1 available here:Entangled Publishing
Connect with Incy Black
heroine. Oh come on, we get enough of the sumexy guys don’t we. It’s time to sound it for the galz. DO we write them good or bad? How do we create them? Which do we prefer and why?
Before we kick off though with the first
grilling so happy to be here she’s battering on the door screaming let me out dancing on the ceiling guest, can I draw some attention to two fabulous writer things? FANFARE…please the Dook.
One is a fabulous interview by Nancy Cassidy, Managing Editor of my publisher, Etopia Press. She shares some great inside tips re submitting to publishers. https://duotrope.com/interview.aspx?id=5235
The second is http://ce.savvyauthors.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=Page.ViewPage&pageId=697 a tough Publisher’s Blueprint Plotting Event Coming June 16-22 with Savvy authors.
Okay enough writer’s stuff, let’s hear it for the galz. Specifically for my first guest, the intrepid, the daring. INCY BLACK.
Oh, definitely ‘well, you know’. Life’s a bitch, and though my heroines are not—bitches, that is, the hard knocks have given them…uhem…character. With the number of crisis they have to face, and the hard bastards with whom they have to contend, being nice wouldn’t cut it. They’d go hoopy-loopy mental.
In a word, marmite—your either love them or you hate them. Smart-mouthed and ballsy are in there, so is damaged (though the hero has the superglue to mend them).In other words, they’re trouble.
I don’t choose them, they choose me. I prefer to mind my own business, but then bam, up pop these never-take-no-for-an-answer woman, mouths full of caustic soda, minds wicked with mischief and naughtiness, all demanding I find them, not a man…THE MAN.
Fast answer: Superglue carrying, sometimes foul mouthed, hard bastards. Because two wrong ‘uns make a right…though admittedly it can take a while (and a good few dead bodies) to get them there.
Considered answer: (see fast answer)
A line from the book to describe your current heroine, Anna Key Marshall, Hard to Hold.
She’d driven him insane most of the time, but fuck, it had been worth every single dangerous second.
Her favourite line or motto?
Motto: Fall down 7 times, stand up 8 (talking life here, not alcohol)
- Good or bad, write her like you love her…or no one else will.
- Make her thin, fat, buxom or flat, armless, legless, one-eyed if you wish. Holy or evil, super-gorgeous or pox-riddled, hot, cold, chaste or dirty, saint or sinner. Fanged,
tailed, furred or scaled, colour her bright blue for all I care, but please, please, please give her half a brain. In other words, avoid the TSTL (Too stupid to live) sinkhole.
though the hero should want to—flaw her! Give her faults, little things to tease the reader and make them wonder at the ‘appropriateness’ of her as a heroine. Then let her fly, full colours snapping in the wind—because no one like a limp flag, no matter how glorious.
OKAY Fellahs..you can take off the hair bows now….
‘Anna Key Marshall is about to get what she’s always wanted: a baby. Granted, it’s through a sperm donor instead of her ex-husband, but you can’t have everything. She has no idea why someone wants her dead, but she’ll do whatever it takes to protect her unborn child—even if it means turning to her ex, the Black Ops specialist who broke her heart.
Five years ago, British Intelligence agent Nick Marshall slammed the door on the woman who betrayed him. But now Anna’s back in his life with a vengeance, pregnant and full of attitude. He’d like nothing better than to walk away, but with her life on the line, he has no choice but to do what he does best—protect her at all costs.
As old wounds resurface, Nick begins to doubt his version of what went down with Anna so long ago. And he begins to believe they might have a second chance together. But with Anna’s would-be killer on the loose—it will take the full force and fury of his protective instincts, fueled by a powerful love he can’t leave behind, to hold on to the woman he still loves.
FIND INCE HERE>
‘GIRD YOUR LOINS AND SLAP ON YOUR CHASTITY BELT
5 Things You Should Never Do…With A VIKING
Firstly I want to thank the amazing Incy Black for (that tenner she sent me earlier) asking me here today on her superb new blog feature. Five things not to do with a Viking.Sorry, maybe I should specify before you get too excited here, haul off your undies and otherwise start waving them, it’s five things not to do with various things, people, whatever. You’ve got the Viking and you’ve got me because having been through pirates and hot Scots I thought let’s bring on the Vikings. Sort of, anyway.So, having researched them for my present manuscript in the making, what five things do I suggest NEVER doing with a Viking? Well, maybe we should ask Malice, she’s only the poor, little heroine, who gets to spend a lot of time with them after all. Malice…kid, or should I say,
What do yah think?What would you tell the Strictly Business galz in your employ, never to do with a Viking?
I was lucky, I had the book…although having said that it was no real advantage once I was actually there, in Scandinavia with them. To do to them is one thing. The list there might be endless and include things like using their helmet as a cooking pot, or vying for their attention against other women on a longship. It’s not the best place. They rock…the longships that is… and well, let’s just say it really depends on how good a sailor you are. But if you’re not, it then depends on how nice a Viking they are.However this is categorically five things never to do with them. So, having been strengthened by my ordeal, the advice I would give my Strictly girls is….
1 Never get in a kissing bout with them. Vikings are not only seriously over-sexed, they are also seriously good at dragging you upstairs. They may pretend this is only to annoy the hell out of their fiancées, let me tell you they are all of them, without exception, excellent liars, they are hot ones too, who really don’t care how much the bed creaks. In fact they want it to creak.
2 Never share any kind of bed with them. If you are so unfortunate as to find yourself in this position through no fault of your own, do not, under any circumstances suggest any fancy moves to them, especially when they’ve had a few noggins of ale at their best buddy’s homestead. That is asking for absolute trouble. I won’t say how. Only that it might involve a slave’s collar and being sold. Just lie far away from them and face the wall in the hope they won’t notice you. That way you won’t be going to the slave market in the morning.
3 Sharing any kind of bath is also an absolute no no.
Again, this is a ploy on their part to pretend to make their fiancées jealous. They may even pretend that is the sole reason they are carrying you in to their bathhouses. They may even pretend that you stink. Do not fall for this. Without fail they will then bar the door, make you take off all your clothes and refuse all offers to give you other ones. They may even make you walk barefoot across a yard in their tunic. So if one should throw you over his shoulder, you know where to kick him. Don’t think twice. Just do it.
4Under no circumstances should you ever have actual sex with them. They are not only notoriously hot and greedy, they don’t even care if they’ve just dragged you from the foaming waves. This plays havoc, not just with the cushion you may have stuck up your dress in a bid to make out you are pregnant, but it could ensure you are. What is more you may have no idea where you are going to end up. The best thing if a Viking wants to have sex with you, is to pretend you are a walrus, or infuriate him, by cooking seaweed in his helmet. Alternatively you could just pretend to be asleep.
5 Be shipwrecked with them. Especially not with an icy but hotly sexy one, with a ton of baggage. You just might fall in love and it could be very tricky.
“Well, that depends.”
She was clutching the tunic fit to tear it. The best thing was to put it on the floor, then she could consider the door. “What on?”
“The thing is Malice, I may not be the kind of man to put a thrall’s collar around your neck.”
“But I don’t want you thinking of escaping.”
Oh really? She would see about that.
“You give me any more grief that way, you’ll be beaten. Then, of course, there’s the fact I can kill you if I want. Or any of my family, or friends, can. They would have to pay me recompense of course. There’s a lot of them about in the yard right now. A lot of them about in all the neighbouring homesteads too. So…”
How nice of him to tell her. Was that why he’d let her face the door, to spell out his mastery of her? Why she heard him take a step towards her?
“…The rest of the clothes, Malice.”
HMMMMMM? You might say…
OKAY. Fine…maybe not.
Loving Lady Lazuli…review, ‘ferocious outbursts of anger or equally fierce bouts of sex.’
Kate Furnivall, author, The Russian Concubine, The White Pearl.
Hmmmmm Dudes…. answers next time.
AND, the fact WW3 was declared over point of view in a story. PLUS the signing of a publishing contract with Catherine Cavendish, author of to name a few AND a few to come soon too, keep your eyes peeled for Linden Manor,
DO step aside Mr Dickens.
You must have read the lovely Sharon Struth’s post on the subject.
SO….Point of view. Well, cards on the table, this is one of the things I found hardest setting out to try and get published. You see you think you can have as many viewpoints as you like in a scene and in a story. But to quote my heroine, her ladyship Fury, herself…
there are rules.
You can argue this all you like…
God wouldn’t have the scene or the story–sorry Ratsy–because the omnipresent is out of fashion. Yep and some of the best known writers ever, wrote that way too. Mr Dickens to quote but one.
The rabbit, if he’s a secondary character wouldn’t have the scene or the story either.
Don’t shoot me. I’m only the poor writer trying to get it right the very same as you are. The rabbit is just …..the rabbit.
There was the hooker, the hooker’s sister, the hooker’s jack of all trades, the ranch hand, the bank robber, the housewife. Each with a little secret in tow, plus the potential to blow the town apart.
Of course I gave the scene to the stage coach driver. Well. He was best placed to give us the low down, wasn’t he?
cos he wasn’t after that scene. Not only that he had a touch of the Clint Eastwood’s about him.
But there’s probably worse mistakes to make. There’s……
Head hopping in other words. You know where one minute we’re with one character and then with each successive paragraph we’re with another. Again you can argue it’s great to know what each person is thinking. Till you’re blue in the face too.
Yeah, yeah, I know. you look at books from 20 years ago and they are full of head hopping. But this is 20 years on. It’s a tough biz for those who want to succeed.
So? POV. What are the rules? Well, these days it seems you tell the story from one or two viewpoints. Probably, unless you’re Tonto’s horse or something, taking a new slant on The Lone Ranger, you tell it mainly from one with a dash of two.
You decide at the start of the scene whose head you’re in. You might stick in that head for the whole scene. The whole chapter, or chapters too. If you switch, the advice is don’t then switch back again in that scene. Do it afterwards by all means.
Personally, in terms of viewpoint I start the scene in the head of the character with the most to lose at this particular point.
Sharon Struth makes great points about why it’s good to have, or not have the other person’s viewpoint. Think of the suspense for a kick off if we don’t know what a character is thinking, while the other is busily
hamstering beavering away.
Then there’s the fun to be had from them coming at something from entirely opposing angles…….
extracts copyright The Unraveling of Lady Fury. Etopia Press.
No. That’s not her, hugging an inn sign. That is me. But you can see that after sticking the Wentworth emeralds on Dev, Saff’s been appearing all kinds of places… With the fabulous Antonia Van Zandt..
As you’ll see, the sisterhood are not part of a religious order, however they certainly lay claim to some odd, and even dirty, habits.
What a week and a bit it’s been. Setting out to do this, I wanted to thank some of the fabulously supportive writers and authors I’ve met in this business. I could have done doubled that amount. There’s the wonderful Sharon Struth, Faith Ashlin, Jane Hunt–who gave Fury the most amazing review on her First Steps blog the other day– Nikki Dee Houston, Cat Cavendish, Charley Descoteaux, Aimmie Duffy, Susan Arden. Oh well, wait till the next release!
Anyway, I must say everyone’s pulled the stops out to ensure my new hero Lord Devorlane Hawley, is going to enjoy his homecoming, as you can see… Whether he does or not, you can read here tomorrow when I share the first chapter with you, before it goes live on Amazon.
Today, after yesterday’s fun and games, https://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/14/let-elyzabeth-entertain-you/ we have a final guest, so the actual program looks like
You mighta guessed after Anne and I did that Naughty Days of Christmas bloghop, she’d be here somewhere. So why not entertain the assembled company with a little speech AND a reading from her book Friends With Beneifts, released on Friday 17th January along with Lady Lazuli. Well, cause them all to collapse on the floor anyway! Firstly I gotta share this… I heard about it yesterday and I was SO excited I was clog dancing. I must say a certain girl sure gets about….and not just in men’s’ pockets either…..
Now, Shehanne invited me to help plan this little recital of hers to welcome Devorlane Hawley home. I know she’s trying very hard to keep poor Dev on the straight and narrow. But the man has been away for ten long years. He’s ready to PARTY!
There is some wonderful food planned, and I simply love Italian.
http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/09/having-met-the-family/and I so do love to dance. Especially to those sultry songs, which are just divine for close-contact dancing. So, I’m wondering what type of dancing Dev would be interested in…
And I brought the wine, I wasn’t sure what he’d like, so I brought a few to choose from.
Now, I understand, security is well in hand. They do need a competent security team to ensure the Sisterhood doesn’t steal everything but the kitchen sink.https://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/10/when-security-is-at-stake-who-we-gonna-call/
You, know, I have to admit, I was a tad disappointed Shehanne appeared worried I might get my hands on Dev and steal him away before girls got to him. Really? She was worried about me and I wasn’t even here yet.
Well, okay, I will admit, it was an option. I am all about keeping the guy safe after all. I wouldn’t want those sisters to get their grubby hands on him. But all that said, I already have my eyes on somebody else. You see, I have an in with a member of the security team.
Well, all of them really, but it’s Will I’d do (almost) anything for. I just love his eyes, and he loves my…well… that’s between us.
Now, I know Marshall doesn’t want Dev disappearing with a lady (or two). But I heard Dev say to him the other day here…
“They’re the downfall of all good man, me included. Not that I’m complaining. It’s a hell of a way to stumble. Spent. Satiated. One’s skin still aflame with the remnant press of soft thighs and teasing tongue—”
So, I happen to have a couple interested in having somebody join them for the evening. She could scratch his itch, he could help scratch hers? It would give Dev that little romp he’s looking for. I’m sure Marshall and his men can keep things secure while Dev is busy. And what better way to welcome him home? Personally, I think the poor man needs to let off a little steam. I think it could take his mind off things, get him back into the swing of things after being away for so long. What do you think?
Now the Excerpt from Friends with Benefits for the benefit of the assembled guests….Warning, get the smelling salts out now, or don’t read further…..
Angie sat cross-legged on the window settee. The brightness of the moon belied the late hour, pushing the shadows deep into the corners. The faint murmur of Tyler’s and Connor’s voices rose through the floorboards from the first level. She looked over at the rumpled bed sheets and then down at the journal lying open in her lap. She re-read her entry.
We did it. I actually did it. How much must Tyler love me to have granted me this particular fantasy? Who knew my husband had a kinky side? And, even though he encouraged me to play with Connor over the weekend, which…WOW…tonight was different. Very different. Tonight the man I’m committed to watched another man make love to me. He helped another man make love to me. No jealousy. No competition. Only mutual excitement, sharing and exploring.
Honestly, it was a little weird at first. But, knowing Tyler trusted Connor made me feel secure. Though I guess I should have known he’d arranged the whole thing. I just didn’t think his surprise would include his best friend.
Oh, my. I can still feel their hands and their lips gliding over my body. The way they touched me, as if I were made of spun sugar. They kissed me. First their lips soft and sensual, and then demanding, scorching, as though they couldn’t get enough. I’ve never felt so alive, so beautiful, so treasured.
Few words were spoken. Few were needed.
“Let’s tie her up.” I’ll never look at Tyler’s silk ties the same way.
“Your skin is so soft, like flower petals.”
“You smell like vanilla, but you taste like some exotic brand of honey.”
They were so in tune to each other. Their hands guided me where and how they wanted me. All I could do was moan and sigh—until the end. Sometimes they took turns, sometimes they played with me together. At times it was almost too much. Having four hands or two tongues pleasuring me…my body hummed like a tuning fork. The energy they created…oh…I could almost feel the blood rushing hot and thick through my veins.
The blindfold hid them from me, and I so wanted to watch. But, I admit, I had no difficulty telling them apart. Their bodies are similar in build, but they are different in every other way.
The only thing that could have made it better would have been to feel both men inside me at the same time. Being sandwiched between two gorgeous men…that’s something I think many women fantasize about. I imagine my body would struggle to accommodate them, but in the end they would win. I think I’d forget to breathe.
My mouth’s watering as I write this. My body tingles. Should I be ashamed of how I feel? How will Tyler react now that it’s over? Was this a one-time event? How do I tell my husband I’m counting the hours until we can do it again?
Angela paused and raised her head when the bedroom door opened, and her husband walked in, a knowing smile on his handsome face.
That’s it folks, it only remains for me to thank Anne for her friendship and dropping into the recital when she’s so busy herself, to wish her mega sales with her new book….
Friends with Benefits
Available January 17, 2014 from Etopia Press.
Also that you can find her here
Connect with the Anne
and lastly just what really happens at the homecoming?
Find out tomorrow.