Ramblings From This Chick: Guest Post with Author K D Grace and Giveaway

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Guest Post with Author K D Grace and Giveaway

Meet K D Grace, author of The Initiation of Ms Holly.

K D Grace believes Freud was right. In the end, it really IS all about sex, well sex and love. And nobody’s happier about that than she is, otherwise, what would she write about?

When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening. When she’s not gardening, she’s walking. She walks her stories, and she’s serious about it. She and her husband have walked Coast to Coast across England, along with several other long-distance routes. For her, inspiration is directly proportionate to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots. She also enjoys martial arts, reading, watching the birds and anything that gets her outdoors.

K D has erotica published with SourceBooks, Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, Erotic Review, Ravenous Romance, Sweetmeats Press and others.

K D’s critically acclaimed erotic romance novels include, The Initiation of Ms Holly, The Pet Shop. Her paranormal erotic novel, Body Temperature and Rising, the first book of her Lakeland Heatwave trilogy, was listed as honorable mention on Violet Blue’s Top 12 Sex Books for 2011. Books two and three, Riding the Ether, and Elemental Fire, are now also available. She was nominated for ETO’s Best Erotic Author 2013.

K D Grace also writes hot romance as Grace Marshall. An Executive Decision, Identity Crisis, The Exhibition are all available.

Find K D at:

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Myths and Malfunctioning Trains: The Inspiration for The Initiation of Ms Holly

First of all, I’d like to thank Ramblings from this Chick for having me over. It’s a pleasure to be here. My erotic romance novel, The Initiation of Ms Holly was inspired by two things. The biggest was being stuck in the dark in the Eurostar tunnel for 4 ½ hours. My husband and I were returning from a week in Paris in the middle of winter. A bad storm blew in the day we were to leave and for reasons, beyond the comprehension of the average rider of public transportation, the snow caused the train to stalled in the tunnel under the English Channel … beneath a gazillion gallons of water. My experience wasn’t nearly as sexy as Rita Holly’s. It was hot and dark and everyone onboard was nervous, as you can imagine. I was sweaty and thirsty and hungry. And I am slightly claustrophobic, though not as bad as Rita Holly is, so I staved off the panic and passed the time by imagining what it would be like to have sex with a stranger, whose face remained unseen because of the darkness in the train.

London was shut down by the blizzard, so we ended up in a hotel just on the English side of the Channel, where we promptly toasted our adventure with beer and sandwiches – the only thing available from room service in the wee hours. By that point it was already inevitable. Holly just had to be written.

The second thing that inspired The Initiation of Ms Holly was Psyche and Eros. Since I was a little girl I’ve been a huge fan of Greek Mythology, so when we were safely back home, the idea of sex with a faceless stranger got me to thinking about the myth of Psyche and Eros in which Psyche is not allowed to see the face of her lover, Eros, who always comes to her in darkness. Her sisters insist she’s married to a monster, and that’s why he doesn’t want her to see his face. When she finally gets bold enough to check it out, she discovers the man in her bed is none other than the god of love himself! But a drop of oil from the lamp she’s holding falls onto his face while she’s gawping at him sleeping. He wakes up, realizes she’s broken his only rule, and leaves. In order to win him back, heart-broken Psyche must undergo a series of grueling tasks leveled on her by Aphrodite, Eros’s mother.

I wondered what would happen, how the story would progress if, like Psyche, my heroine is not allowed to see her lover’s face until she fulfills certain tasks that are required of her before the two are permitted to be together. And of course, since The Initiation of Ms Holly is an erotic romance, sex is involved in those required tasks. With those two ideas in mind, I set about bringing that basic story into modern times. Once off the Eurostar, the rest of Rita Holly’s story takes place in London, in a very trendy, very mysterious dance club and restaurant called The Mount. The Mount is a place of sex and secrets and rules. Lots of rules. It’s a place where there’s a lot more going on than meets the eye. Our lovers, Rita and Edward have to follow those rules in order for Rita to see Edward’s face, and in order for them to be together.

Journalist, Rita Holly, never dreamed sex with the mysterious Edward in the dark of a malfunctioning train would lead to a blindfolded, champagne-drenched tango, a spanking by a butch waitress, and an offer of initiation into the exclusive mysteries of The Mount. Desperate to save her threatened job, she agrees, scheming secretly to write an inside exposé on the club that will make her career. But as she delves deeper into the intrigue of The Mount and the lives of its members, she soon discovers that her heart may have other plans.

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He practically fell on top of Rita, his hand grazing her left breast in the complete darkness. She yelped and grabbed him to keep from losing her balance.

“God, I’m sorry!” He gasped. “Bloody nuisance, this, isn’t it?” His voice was warm, melodious, by far the most pleasant thing that had happened to Rita since she left Paris. “Oh dear. You’re trembling. Are you all right?”

“I’m claustrophobic” her words were thin and shaky, as though she didn’t fully trust herself to let them out. “It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t know where we are.” For an embarrassing moment, she realized she was still clinging to him, but the embarrassment passed, and suddenly she didn’t care. If they were going to die trapped in a train in the Eurostar tunnel, buried beneath a gazillion gallons of water, she’d just as soon not do it alone.

He either understood, or was too polite to leave her in such distress. He wrapped his arms around her engulfing her in a muscular embrace, the scent of which was maleness barely masked by deodorant and some spicy cologne, both fading at the end of a day much longer than either of them had anticipated. “Don’t worry.” In the darkness, he misjudged the distance between them and his lips brushed her earlobe. “It’s just an electrical malfunction. Anyway we’re better off down here than in the snowstorm up above. Sounds like all of London is shut down. Who’d have expected snow this late in the spring? Never mind that, where else do you get the chance to cuddle strangers in the dark?”

He pressed a little closer to her, and she was relieved to find other thoughts, thoughts more welcome than those of their predicament, pushing their way into her head. He felt good, broad-shouldered and tall, easy to lean on.

“Why are you huddled here in the corner rather than hunkered down in your seat?”

She concentrated on his warm breath pressing against the top of her ear. “I was on my way back from the loo when the lights went out and…”

“And this is as far as you got.”

She nodded against his chest, homing in on the reassuring sound of his heartbeat.

“Shall I help you back to your seat then?”

The train lurched forward, and she yelped again, tightening her grip around his neck. “No, please. It’s better if I just don’t move.”

There was a long pause. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

She realized the poor man had little choice clenched in her strangle hold, as he was. “I don’t want to be any trouble,” she lied.

He readjusted his stance and tightened his embrace. “No trouble at all. I can’t think of a better way to pass the time than in the arms of a beautiful woman. You are beautiful, aren’t you?”

In spite of the stress she felt, she forced a laugh. “Gorgeous, actually. Too bad you can’t see for yourself.”

He ran a hand down the contour of her spine to rest low on the small of her back. “I don’t have to see you to admire you.”

The thought that the man was rather cheeky barely crossed her mind before he lifted her fingers to his lips and planted a warm kiss across the back of her knuckles. “I’m Edward. I’m from London. Clearly you’re not.”

“Rita,’ she replied. ‘I’m from Seattle, but I live in London now.”

“Well Rita, from Seattle, we’ve established that you’re an exotic beauty. Perhaps you’d like to return the favour.” He lifted her hand to his face and guided it gently over the slight stubble of his cheek. As her hand cupped his well-formed chin, he pulled her middle finger into his mouth and nibbled it, teasing the pad of it with his tongue. Suddenly her struggle to breathe had nothing to do with being claustrophobic.

“Well?” He asked pulling her hand away to massage her fingers. “What do you think? Am I acceptable?”

If he was cheeky, she was downright brazen. She stopped his words with her mouth, amazed at how easily she had found the mark in total darkness. Perhaps it was the darkness that made her so bold, but whatever it was, he didn’t disappoint. His mouth was warm, opening eagerly to the probing of her tongue, responding in kind, caressing her hard pallet, nipping at the fullness of her lower lip before pulling away just enough to speak.

“There, you see? It’s not so bad being in the dark, is it? The other senses are too often overlooked, which is very sad, since they offer such exquisite delights.” His hand moved up to cup her cheek, and he raked a thumb across her still parted lips. “Taste, for example. Few pleasures exceed that of the tongue.”

She heard him fumbling in the darkness, then she heard the rattling of foil. ‘Open your mouth,’ he whispered. “I have something that’ll make you feel better, guaranteed. Oh don’t worry, it’s nothing illegal.”

Reluctantly she opened her mouth, which he primed with a wet kiss, then slipped a chocolate truffle between her lips. It was covered liberally in cocoa and warmed exquisitely almost, but not quite to the steamy melting point of his body temperature, which only enhanced the sharp, edgy flavor that separates expensive chocolate from the cheap stuff.

She gasped her surprise, then moaned softly at the intensity of the taste.

“Don’t bite,” he kissed her jaw, then her throat. “Savour it, roll it around in your mouth. There are places on the tongue that taste only sweet and places that taste only bitter or salt, or sour. Chocolate can have all those flavors. Caress it in your mouth like you’re making love to it, and you’ll be amazed at what you taste.”

She cheeked the truffle, slurring her words as she spoke. “I thought I was tasting you.”

He chuckled softly. “Everything tastes better with chocolate.” Without another word, he took her mouth, plunging his tongue deep against the melting truffle, whirling it, lapping at it, sighing with the pleasure of it. The more liquid and heated the truffle became, the more liquid and heated Rita became.