Thursday, September 10, 2015

Carlos & Casey and When in Rome

Carlos & Casey and When in Rome
Ember Leigh

We are touring with Books 1 and 2 of the series, but there is also a sneak peek at book 3!!


Ember Leigh has been writing erotic romance novels since she was far too young. A native of northern Ohio, she currently resides in South America with her Argentinean partner, a detail she uses to justify her Bachelor's degree in Latin American Literature. In addition to romance novels, she also writes travel articles, maintains three blogs, and continually attempts to complete a mildly-gripping short story. In her free time, she practices Ashtanga yoga, travels the world, and eats lots of vegetables.
Twitter: @EmberLeighAuth
Instagram: @EmberLeighAuthor


Join two ex-lovers, four years after their last romp. When a work trip brings Casey back into Carlos’ territory, she knows she’d have him right there in the airport parking lot. But Carlos doesn’t seem so eager. Unsure of herself post-divorce, Casey knows only one thing: she wants this man as much as she did the last time she saw him. And she’s more than ready to relive every saucy adventure they had together. Can the sparks be salvaged, or has time left them behind?



Her breath caught as she followed him up the staircase, tucked to the far side of the house. Carlos had always been fit enough, but it looked like he'd taken up some new form of exercise in the past four years. He was beefier, yet still lean. His ass moved round and tight in front of her as they climbed the stairs. At the landing, he gestured in front of them.
"This is my studio, but it's all yours for tonight."
It was a rec room that took up the whole second floor, and far more standard male than the ground floor alluded to. Movie posters, gaming systems, books scattered on floors and coffee tables, and, off to one side, the trumpet, asleep in a bed of sheet music. In the corner there was an overstuffed couch just about as wide as she was long – it would be great to sleep on, even better if he could bend her over that armrest and fuck her until dinner was ready.
She cleared her throat, deciding adult friendships could be fun, even after four questionable years. "I thought I'd be sharing a bed with you?" She tried to keep her tone playful as she sauntered toward the couch. She tossed him a smile and she caught a glimpse of him looking very stricken. Shit. Too far. Things are too different now. Abort!
Maybe too much time had passed in general. Maybe he was courting a girl and wanted to take it slow with her. Maybe he no longer found her attractive, four years becoming the dagger in the heart. Maybe he'd become celibate, or found her life too normal and boring. There was a whole list of reasons why she shouldn't make the first move.
"I was just joking," she said after a moment, rolling her eyes. "Come on, lighten up."
He exhaled slowly, looking down at the ground as his tongue found the corner of his mouth. "I know it was a joke, Case."
"In case you forgot, we used to share a bed." She looked at him pointedly, already horrified that the words were coming from her lips. What was she getting at? Who had authorized this dialogue?
He squeezed his eyes shut and laughed softly. "Oh, I remember."


“When in Rome, do as the Romans do”…right? Alexandra is a travel junkie and foreign air aficionado. When she finally decides to do Rome, she never thought it would involve a hot Italian, too. What’s a girl to do when a desire to see the world and instant lust collide in the middle of one of the most popular touristic destinations in the world? Just DO the Roman!


He pulls me toward the inner rail, and points to the upper rim of the Coliseum. The heat of his palm against my low back sends shivers through me. A lip of arches is topped with a low wall, dotted with boxy windows. In one section, the wall has crumbled away. The clear blue Roman sky breaks through. “Now that is where, honest to God, they installed a …what do you call it? The device to listen to conversations about the dissolution of the Roman Empire.”
I snort. “Wiretaps in the 1500’s. I totally believe that.”
“Hey, I’m Italian.” He flashes a cheesy grin. “You have to believe me. It’s my country.”
“You should work as a tour guide.” I poke his belly, pleased by the hardness beneath his thin t-shirt. “I would pay good money to hear your bullshit.”
“Luckily, you don’t have to pay. Today. But tomorrow, full price.”
“Oh, you’ll be here tomorrow? I could call upon your Bullshit Guide Services again?”
He grins, dimples flashing. My knees weaken and I want to take that grinning face into my hands and kiss him until my lips hurt. And then he grabs my hand as we walk, and squeezes it. A gush of moisture releases between my legs and I know this is serious. Really serious.
We watch each other as we walk. His hand is warm and a little moist, but not the weird moist. Just-right moist.  I imagine the warmth traveling through my body like a snake, seeking out the farthest extremities and then circling back again to settle conveniently in my vaginal area.
About a minute later, he stops and pulls me into a dark corner of the corridor, behind a large stone pillar. His body connects roughly with mine as he pushes me against the wall, my chest heaving as I appraise the situation. I am startled and insanely aroused, like a woman caught masturbating in the shower by her sexy gardener. The parts of his body that connect with mine are like lightning, causing hot zips of painful pleasure right beneath the surface.
“Can I kiss you?”
I nod, and he presses his lips to mine. My eyes flutter shut and his scent consumes me, a mixture of aftershave and heady male. Our second kiss is deeper, and the third mind-boggling. The smooth texture of the stone pillar is cold through my t-shirt. He cups my cheek, fingertips connecting hot with my jawline.
We break apart. My mind is spinning like I just took a flying leap off a bridge. Was this actually real? I swear to God, thirty seconds ago I was just walking around the Coliseum like any regular person, mapping my trek through the anatomical eyeball. Then, this guy comes along and pins me to the wall and has his way with me. And I am notcomplaining. Maybe there’s something to the idea that if you want something hard enough, it will come. It seems that the past twelve hours imagining sex with this guy has paid off.
He smiles, his face so close to mine that his breath comes out hot against my cheek. It does not smell like olive oil, as I once callously suggested all Italians might.
“That was nice,” I say.
He nods, and kisses me again. His tongue meets mine hesitantly, and then we begin a round of sloppy, desperate kisses that could probably qualify for the lamest of chick flicks. I moan and then quiet myself, not wanting to tip off tourists or security guards. He tenses and breaks the kiss, peering around the pillar at something. I shift against him, and I swear his cock is hard as a rock against my hip. I glance down, trying to discern if it’s that or something else, like a belt buckle.
No belt on. That’s a good sign.




 All the female staffers go wild for Kadir when he arrives in the USA to compete in a reality dance competition. A Turkish soap opera star with eyes that could melt snow, he’s got the women clawing for his attention— except Jenna. She wants no part of the hullabaloo. Though she can’t help wondering if tasting this sexy Turkish Delight might be worth bending the rules a little...

Kadir emerged from behind the curtain of his dressing room in a skintight black suit with a startling array of bright blue sequins. It was like a futuristic space suit mated with the gaudiest of show tunes. He grimaced as her gaze fell on his costume.
“I can’t wear this on stage,” he said, sneaking a glance in the mirror. “I’ve never worn something so overtly gay.”
Jenna bit her lip as she looked him up and down. He was right, the costume was laughable. Though it might look spectacular under the lights and grandeur of the stage, up close it was a hilarious mess.
But it wasn’t all bad. Kadir was sculpted, a fact that wouldn’t go away no matter how much she tried to dodge the issue. And it seemed every way she turned, his biceps or an errant brush of his hands was waiting for her, tugging at her resolve.
It didn’t help that his cock was perfectly showcased in this get-up, caressed by the strange black satin in a way that made it impossible to look away. She cleared her throat, working hard to keep her face neutral and breathing even. He must be huge under there. Probably bigger than her favorite vibrator, the one she’d been using over the past few days as she entertained lurid fantasies about him.
“It’ll look great for the cameras,” was all she said. And every woman in America will be dying to put your dick in their mouths.
He watched her, a strange smile on his face. Without a word, he kicked the door closed behind her. “Can you help me out of it?” His dark eyes gleamed with mischief.
She jerked her head into a nod. “Of course. That’s what I’m here for.” And if you need me to touch any parts of your body, or use my lips in any fashion, please let me know.
He turned around. The wide expanse of his back still commanded her attention despite the glittering array of sequins. She reached for the zipper, tugged it down the length of his back. It stopped just above his ass, and the unexpected glimpse of his ass crack made her heart flutter. No underwear. None at all. His butt looked smooth, unexpectedly white, and even more round and firm-looking from inches away than all the distant gazing of recent times had suggested.
He faced her, grinning like a devil. He pulled his arms out of the costume, revealing a wide, fair chest dotted with dark hair. Her gaze followed the fabric as he removed the clothes— two dime-sized nipples, a pleasant convergence of chest hair into a happy trail, washboard abs.
Kadir paused when the costume was at his hips. “I can keep going, if you’d like.”
The moment hung heavy and confused before clarity burst through like sun after a rainstorm. “Yes. Please.”

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp? For this short story series, one of the best messages (if it makes it through all the panting and huffing, that is), is that the world is so amazing, and we should travel it as much as possible! One of the unintended messages might be to have sex with a guy from every country in the world, and I swear I didn’t plan that.
Was there an Author who inspired you to write? Douglas Adams!
How did you come up with the characters in your books? Like most writers—from observing life around me. Sewing together pieces of personalities and people that I’ve met along the way. In the non-literal way, of course.
What are your current projects? I’m wrapping up edits on a novel that will release with The Wild Rose Press later this year. I’m also working on the future installments of the short story series. The next one, Turkish Delight, should be out later this month.
Do you see writing as a career? Yes. At the moment, it’s a career I sometimes pay too little attention to, and often push to the side when other life-y things happen, but at the end of the day…still my career.
Do you ever picture yourself and one of your heroines?  If so, which one? Not usually. There are always parts of me in my heroines (again, the non-literal way), but some of my favorite heroines and I would straight up not get along. I’m thinking of Paige from A New York Minute (the forthcoming novel from The Wild Rose Press); she’s got a bitchy side that I would not be able to handle in real life.
Do you have a favorite heroine/hero from one of your books? If so, who? Lucie and Trent are my favorites, by far. They’re the couple featured in an NA novel I wrote earlier this year, and they’re both 25, trendy, cute, and totally head over heels in love. I can’t wait to share their story with the world!
What kind of research do you do for your books? It depends on the novel. Usually just a lot of frantic and intermittent google searching. Some of the search terms would look verrrry suspicious if anyone were to look into it. An unpublished novel I wrote features a baby bounty hunter, and I had to do a lot of research involving kidnapping of babies. Note to the FBI: I don’t have kids, and don’t plan on taking anyone else’s!
What is the hardest part of writing your book? I am a very sporadic writer. A novel will come gushing out of me like a geyser for the span of three weeks, in which time I very likely will finish it…and then I will write little or nothing for the next three months. It’s hard to be very prolific with patterns like this.  
If you could say anything to your readers what would it be? Thank you for being a reader! I am THRILLED that you have read anything I’ve written!
Do you prefer to write alone or do you like to collaborate with other authors? I’ve never collaborated with other professional authors, but I’d love to give it a go. I think it might be way more productive to have two minds working on a project!
Do you ever get writer’s block? If so, how do you get through it? I do, and I best cope with it by pushing ahead regardless. Writing more, even if it ends up being pure crap, is a good way to break through the writer’s block barrier.
Do you come up with the cover or does someone else do it? Always someone else. I love screwing around with Photoshop, but I definitely couldn’t produce cover-grade material. I’ll keep hiring the professionals—they’re so good at it.
If you could change anything in your writing what would that be? Probably would change it to best-seller status. Immediately.
Everyone uses computers, tablets, phones and no one uses handwritten form or typewriters, what do you prefer to use? My laptop, EXCLUSIVELY. I use my iPhone and regular, old-fashioned paper and pen to jot down ideas in that quick second before they totally evaporate back into the ether. But the days of hand-writing my novels are loooong gone.
What do you do when you finish your book and turn it in to the editor? Drink wine! Preferably a South American red.

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