Feature and Giveaway: The Rebel Princess by Anne M. Strick

Today I would like to welcome to RFTC author Anne M. Strick. Anne is here to chat about her book The Rebel Princess, but before I give the floor over to Anne, let's get to know her a bit.

Anne M.Strick has spent over twenty years in the movie industry. She has worked for Universal, Warners, Paramount and EMI, as a Unit Publicist, Project Coordinator and National Publicity Director, and with such Hollywood legends as Jack Nicholson, James Earl Jones, Sean Penn, Arnold Schwarzenegger, David Lynch, Sting and Dino De Laurentiis, among many others. She has published theater reviews, articles in Parents Magazine , Frontier and The Nation, and six books: two novels, two self-help books, one memoir (a best-seller in Italy); and a non-fiction, scholarly critique of our adversary trial system. (”remarkable”) . Born in Philadelphia, and educated at Bennington College and UCLA, she lives in Los Angeles.

Places to find Anne:

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An insider’s first-ever behind-the-scenes scoop on how movies are REALLY made: gritty, grinding, tunnel-vision labor, back-stage intrigue, explosive dramas, parties, and relationships that last a night or a lifetime.

Larger-than-life characters who live life with fervor, while contending with their own inner demons and one another, all in the pressure cooker of a location shoot in the exotic world of Mexico. This romp of a story follows the making of a movie from pre-production through wrap. A hotly passionate love story and a murder elevate the stakes.

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She may have made the first move then. He may have. They came together with a heat she had never known. Beneath the white satin robe whose belt he untied, she stood naked; glorious. The coral tips of her full breasts were heard. He caught his breath. For a moment his eyes luxuriated in her ripeness; and then he lowered her to the thick carpet. She was ravenous for his lips, his tongue, his hands everywhere: her mouth, her breasts, her navel, the mound that was already so wet and swollen. She wanted him inside. But still – his teeth on her nipples, his fingers probing her wetness, rolling her clitoris, - he made her wait. Made her wait until, writhing, almost out of her mind, all shame gone, all fear gone, she could only beg, “Please. Now, please.” He straddled and entered her and she gasped. Something irrevocable had happened. In her most private, secret places, in her center, she was open to this man as never to anyone before. She moaned, and in mutual frenzy they moved to driving, trusting, flooding climax.

The second time was slower. Now they had all the time in the world. He ran his tongue from beneath her ear to the hollow in her throat, played with it between her breasts and beneath them. With his tongue he circled her nipples and teased down to her navel, probing in till she shuddered, tonguing down further over her flat stomach to the rich chestnut hair. With his tongue he circled and teased and probed her still-swollen lips below, sucked them, thrust his tongue into the opening still running with their juices – and brought that tongue into her mouth so that she, too, could taste the two of them mingled.

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