Win an ebook copy of Night Moves by V.J. Devereaux!
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Good luck and enjoy,
Taylor
1. Can you tell us about how you began your writing journey and how many books you have published in your career to date?
This is my very first published book, which may not surprise some people! LOL I’ve been writing all my life. As I’ve told a few people, I wrote and illustrated my first book – about dinosaurs – at eight. (I got an A)
2. Do you write full-time or part-time? If you’ do or have worked outside the home how did your occupation influence your writing career?
I write part-time right now, I have the best geek job in the world, testing things like laptops and Xboxes. My previous job selling software was featured in two of my novels, one of them about a computer tech helping to uncover an Enron-type conspiracy with a really hunky PI who’s investigating the death of his friend.
3. How do you fit having a husband and animals, everyday tasks, into your writing schedule?
Oh, lord, I don’t. I juggle constantly. God Bless my husband for his patience, especially when a hot story hits or my edits come in… (laughing) He says it’s like having a different woman every night, so he’s not complaining.
4. Have you ever dealt with writer’s block, and what type of things do you do to keep the creative juices flowing?
I’ve never had writer’s block per se, there are times when the urge to write isn’t there, or the story just isn’t going the right way – the characters know when you’re trying to force it, and they’ll fight it. If it isn’t going well, I wrestle with it, trying different tacks. If that doesn’t work, I go edit another story or work on something else and come back to it. Which reminds me that there’s that western I was working on…
5. Are you a member of RWA or a local writers group, and if so how has that helped you so far in your career?
I am a member of the RWA, but I never quite fit into the local writers group, I don’t know why. I’m learning a lot from the RWA magazine articles, and hopefully the links to agents or publishers will pay off too someday soon. (From my lips to … )
6. Are you a night owl or an early bird?
(Laughing) I’m a strange bird! I’m both, some of my best stuff is written through the night, but I’ve been known to stay up until three, or get up at three, AM that is, to write.
7. Are you a plotter or a pantser? Do you plot things out or do you fly by the seat of your pants when you write?
Oh, a pantser all the way! One of the best stories I have ever written I wrote in a straight seventy-two hour marathon, an epic fantasy with Elves and honor, dark wizards and a (possibly) doomed heroine that ends with a trial and banishment. (That was the first, basic, draft. The rest took months, glorious months. I loved writing it.)
8. What sub genre do you write?
Erotic romantic suspense, horror, paranormal? Romantic suspense, paranormal, a contemporary, anything but horror, oddly. I’ve had enough of that in real life – but that’s a story for another day (called The Last Resort!)
9. Did you choose your genre or did your genre choose you?
Oh, they choose me, I have nothing to do with it. It all begins with ‘what if?’ Or sometimes it’s the guy. Sigh. My critique partner finds the best pictures. Don’t tell my husband. LOL
10. Can you tell us a little about your new release, Night Moves?
Sure! I wanted to write a slightly different vampire novel, with a strong heroine, and the idea of a vampire using the internet to find a date was intriguing. Why would he do that? The rest just came.
11. Do you like to read, and if so what are you currently reading?
I’m a book addict, and, at the speed I read I can clear a book in an hour or two, so I have really wide tastes – from straight fiction, mysteries and fantasy. Right now I’m reading a book from an old favorite, Dick Francis. He writes mysteries about the British horseracing world. Now that’s a classic love story. He and his wife used to write together. She did the research – learning photography, how to fly – and he wrote the stories, basic good guy against bad guy. I fell in love with his character Sid Halley, a jockey who lost his hand.
12. What is your favorite kind of food?
Mexican, Italian, Burgers and fries? Chinese, lo-mein, chicken with broccoli.
13. What writing project are you working on now?
I’m polishing a romantic fantasy called Song of the Fairy Queen and an erotic paranormal featuring an incredibly sexy demon called Ashtoreth – who’s actually the good guy.
14. What is your one guilty pleasure, non-writing related, of course?
Chocolate! Check out my upcoming book from Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Cherry’s Jubilee. (Although Cherry’s not the one who gets to eat the chocolate…)
15. Can you tell readers where they can find your work online?
Website address, blog, links, etc. Of course! www.vjdevereauxbooks.com and www.vjdevereauxbooks.blogspot.com, and of course www.jasminejade.com or specifically http://www.jasminejade.com/p-7784-night-moves.aspx.
Thank you so much for taking the time to be here. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you better, and I wish you many sales.
Taylor
Blur
b:
With her unglamorous job, crappy hours and limited choices, Rafaela finds herself reduced to internet dating. She just wants to meet a man she considers even remotely interesting. Or satisfying.
Her latest match-up is tall, dark and handsome Michael. He and his cousin and companion, Nico—gorgeous must be a family trait—are vampires. They’re getting tired of constantly hunting for a good meal and good sex. Too many complications. Too much danger of discovery.
They have decided to offer one woman—the right woman—an interesting proposition. An offer that just might fulfill all of Rafaela’s wildest fantasies.
Excerpt:
By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.
An Excerpt From: NIGHT MOVES
Copyright © V.J. DEVEREAUX, 2009
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Chapter One
Unlike her last internet date, she was meeting this man in a high-class bar. It was dark, as all bars were, but there was no plastic. The accents were brass, not chrome, and the bar was real wood—soft, warm wood. That was promising. Even better, they had a piano player softly singing old standards as background music, not Muzak or vapid fake jazz.
Raphaela—Rafi to her friends—walked into the room confidently, negligently tossing her chestnut hair over her shoulder, hoping to hide any indication of uncertainty.
She wasn’t intimidated by the luxurious surroundings, or even the circumstances. Not really. Though some considered her job blue collar, that didn’t mean she couldn’t handle herself in these circumstances. She was pretty certain she could handle most situations, certainly in a place like this.
Nor was she uncomfortable with men’s eyes on her. She had gotten used to that about the time she had grown breasts. While she had been something of an early bloomer, she had bloomed very…healthily…as someone had put it. She didn’t have a problem with it. She liked sex a lot more than most, it seemed. But sometimes men forgot that there was a woman attached to the body, a person.
What was worse though was that it sometimes seemed as if one man weren’t enough to satisfy her. She was affectionate by nature and that had become a liability, rather than a bonus. Her love life hadn’t been stellar lately and her choices were a bit limited. Her hours were unpredictable and her job not very glamorous.
Internet dating had helped to narrow down the options, except when people lied. They lied a lot. They posted ten-year-old pictures, took off coke-bottle glasses. How could you start any kind of relationship well when you started it with a lie, a lie that indicated that you didn’t like yourself that much? A few extra pounds did not mean looking as if you were trying to smuggle a basketball under your shirt.
Frankly, she was getting a bit tired of it all but she was lonely and there were days when it would be nice to have someone to come home to. And to play with. She was normal, more or less, and healthy, with a slightly overactive sex drive. She smiled a little at the thought.
Still, what was a girl to do? She wouldn’t meet anyone remotely interesting any other way.
There was the usual assortment of businessmen of various heights and sizes sitting around the bar, one or two who looked intriguing and were probably married. She wouldn’t mind making a little conversation though, if this didn’t work out. Intelligent conversation.
One of her favorite songs was playing as she made her way to the bar, sat and ordered a drink.
Michael watched her walk into the bar, pleased to find that there were no surprises there. She was exactly as advertised. If anything, the picture didn’t quite do her justice. The camera couldn’t capture that slight air of wry amusement. While she wasn’t classically beautiful, she was lovely, her eyes very pretty, bright and curious. Those pretty eyes were blue, a little stormy, her mouth finely shaped and firm.
She moved in rhythm to the music, her hips swaying, a small smile playing on her lips as she walked to the bar. He liked that too.
Her body?
He sighed in pure pleasure. That was very nice, just shy of hourglass, her breasts high and firm, hips rounded but tight, proportional. The dress was marvelous—fluid silk in a color to match those incredible eyes. It shifted over her body as she walked, the neckline revealing enough of her breasts to entice. Her legs were phenomenal, shapely and well muscled, with a dancer’s taut calves.
According to her online profile, she had eclectic tastes—everything from music to literature. That was important. He liked well-rounded women. He had to be able to talk to them. She liked almost everything he liked—most music but not the kinds he loathed, had read everything from the classics to fantasy and admitted to liking romance novels rather than acting as if she were ashamed of reading them. She seemed fairly open-minded as well as honest. That was also important.
Overall, he liked what he saw. Now, if only he liked what was inside the skin. He watched as she leaned an elbow on the bar to wait.
Michael walked toward the bar as she turned to see him coming.
Now, Rafi thought, that is very nice.
He was tall, a little shy of six feet or thereabouts, with a thick head of wavy black hair that fell nearly to his shoulders. A little long by today’s standards but at least he hadn’t buzzed it all off as so many men did these days. She didn’t want to run her fingers through something that felt like a horsehair sofa or a plush doll, she wanted to run her fingers through hair…and that was hair to run your fingers through.
Then there were his eyes, a brighter blue than her own, beautiful. His mouth was a little full, sensual. His features were aristocratic, his nose slightly aquiline. But that mouth…had she mentioned that she really liked his mouth?
He was undeniably handsome. Then there was his body. She took a breath. He moved loosely, easily, gracefully. That was very promising. Men who moved that well vertically tended to move that well horizontally too. There was a hint of muscle beneath the dress shirt, the suit fitting him beautifully, obviously tailored. She couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like naked. What was hiding underneath that marvelously fitted shirt? She wouldn’t mind running her hands over that crisp material to feel if those muscles were real.
Sex just seemed to pour off him, from the light in his eyes to the way he stood, the way he moved.
A rush of heat went through her. Maybe she’d get the chance to find out. There was a strong resemblance to the picture on the internet. She’d hit the jackpot. He was walking straight toward her.
It seemed that he was her date.
This would be interesting.
Michael wondered what had amused her, her lips curving in a smile, eyes lighting as he walked toward her.
Tilting her head sideways a little, she smiled more brilliantly, offering her hand, “Michael Niculescu?”
When she smiled, she went from lovely to truly beautiful in an instant and his heart caught a little.
She surprised him by not mangling his last name. Another point in her favor.
Michael smiled too, inclining his head a little in acknowledgement. “Then you would be Raphaela Carteret?”
Those stormy blue eyes assessed him for a fraction of a second.
Rafi was accustomed to making quick appraisals of people, it was necessary in her line of work.
He was handsome but not arrogant about it. There was pride, dignity without conceit, and strength underneath it all. Not just physical strength, although she suspected that he was far stronger than he looked. There was definitely muscle beneath that shirt. To her astonishment, she sensed honor and strength of character in him. This wasn’t a man who trifled…or one to trifle with.
His voice was marvelous, just a little deep, with the faintest trace of an accent. Her heart fluttered a little. Still…
“My friends call me Rafi,” she said, intrigued.
Lifting her hand to his lips in a courtly gesture that didn’t look stupid on him at all, he looked at her with those sexy blue eyes.
His warm lips on her skin sent a burst of heat through her.
“So, Rafi,” Michael asked, a rush going through him, “am I to be a friend, then?”
He watched as her lips twitched in response to the look in his eyes and to his mouth lightly brushing her knuckles.
“Oh, there’s a strong possibility of it,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
Michael very much liked that light in her eyes.
He also liked the slender curve of her throat, the way her hair fell back over it, the way she sat so straightly, so elegantly. So many American women slumped unattractively, most didn’t know how to walk properly either, clumping around in their expensive, uncomfortable designer shoes.
“Will you join me?” he asked, gesturing toward a table by the windows then nodding to the waiter.
No sooner had she sat down than the waiter arrived with champagne in a bucket. He poured the sparkling beverage into their glasses and left. Lifting her glass, she nodded to Michael and took a sip, sighing with pleasure at the taste. He had ordered some very good champagne, very expensive champagne and wondered at her reaction.
She looked at him, one eyebrow lifting.
The look in her eyes was far too wise, that mobile mouth twitching again. She was on to him already, refusing to be impressed by show.
“Oh, I like you,” he said, watching her expression turn impish, a smile brightening her pretty eyes again.
She had a lovely and engaging smile, truly beautiful.
Michael had watched her eyelids flutter at the taste of the wine, watched her savor it and was heartened even more. She was expressive and a sensualist. Even better.
As always in this country, a television played above the bar despite the piano player. Michael lifted his chin to indicate it.
The latest news ran in a scroll across the screen.
He made a comment about the current political situation and she responded quickly, intelligently, with quiet heat. Points for all three, especially the passion. That boded well too.
It was difficult to talk to some women, they seemed to gauge their responses to his. Rafi was forthright and honest. It made for a refreshing change.
Passion, though, was passion. To be passionate about anything meant there was the possibility to be passionate about many things.
He liked her quick smiles, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked, the way she would touch the back of his hand or his arm to make a point.
Rafi hadn’t had the opportunity to talk like this in ages and, although the champagne had loosened her tongue a little, there were definitely sparks flying between them.
The conversation wandered until the piano player began to play As Time Goes By.
“Dance with me?” Michael asked, his eyes level on hers.
A small curl of warmth went through her at the thought. While the bar wasn’t really designed for dancing, the music definitely was.
There was just enough space by the piano. She smiled as he stood and offered his hand. Taking it, she allowed him to swing her into his arms as the old romantic tune played. He danced beautifully, his hand firmly against her lower back, pulling her against him. Rafi’s throat tightened as his breath fluttered over her neck and shoulder. She’d learned that a man who danced well usually made love well. He’d just scored major points.
Even in heels, she found herself suddenly aware of her height—or lack thereof—but not in a bad way.
The soft, spicy aroma of his cologne seemed to surround her. Rafi was incredibly conscious of his body moving against hers, of the strong muscle of his shoulder moving beneath her hand. There was a sense of power in the body that was hidden beneath the crisp white shirt and dark suit. Every part of her was aware of him.
A rush of heat went through her as his lips touched her throat before brushing softly against her ear. She shivered a little, closing her eyes with a sigh, her pulse beating rapidly.
When she opened her eyes, he was looking into them, his brilliant blue eyes intense. Her pulse beat a little faster as his mouth lowered to hers. The kiss was warm, marvelous. He tasted lightly of the champagne. He could definitely kiss, his lips alternately firm and soft, his tongue exploring her, tasting her as well.
Breathing in, Michael found the scent of her skin to be soft, sweet. She moved gracefully as they danced, unconsciously enticing, her hips sliding against his in rhythm to the music. Michael hardened pleasantly just at that. Very nice.
Carefully, he lowered his head to her throat to brush his mouth gently against it. Her pulse beat strongly and rapidly beneath his lips. She shivered and gasped a little.
He closed his eyes and smiled. That responsiveness was another point in her favor. He wanted a woman with passion, desire, one who wasn’t afraid to show it.
And when his mouth found hers?
Michael’s heart pounded as her lips moved softly, sweetly beneath his. Her heartbeat increased when he drew her closer. She tasted delicious, clean, beneath the crisp tang of the champagne. He loved the feel of her lush body molding against his. It was intoxicating. He had never before responded to a woman with such intensity.
She pulled away a little and he was surprised to find himself feeling a twinge of loss. It shocked him that he wanted her so much and yet he did. After many disappointments, he braced himself for another, looking into those stormy blue eyes.
What he saw there wasn’t rejection, but a question.
Deliberately, Rafi drew back, her whole body humming in response to him. When had she felt such electricity in a simple kiss?
Kissing him hadn’t been simple, not by a long shot. She swallowed hard, looking into his brilliant blue eyes. Something called to her in his gaze. There was strength in him, not just in his body, a strength she sensed that she could lean on.
It shook her.
Taking a breath, she looked up into his handsome, aristocratic face—evenly, squarely.
He was so beautiful and his body felt wonderful against hers, the sheer power astonishing. She felt a shot of longing, of lust, that went straight to her core. And her heart.
She knew it would be easier to walk away now than it would be later. Much easier for her heart.
“If you’re looking for a one-night stand,” she said, softly, “I’m not interested.”
She’d been there, done that and she was tired of waking up in the morning alone. There were days when it was difficult enough to get up, much less to an empty bed.
“If you’re not sure you’re interested in a relationship right now,” she said, “come talk to me when you’ve made up your mind. I’m not looking for promises of forever, just honesty.”
Looking into her stormy blue eyes Michael almost smiled in relief. He liked and respected her directness. That gaze on his was steady and sure but he could also see in it the vulnerability she hid, even from herself.
“Neither am I,” he said.
It was nothing more than the truth. He wanted much, much more.
He drew her gently back into his arms. She felt very good there. With one hand, he brushed back the soft chestnut hair from her face and brought his mouth to hers for another taste of her sweetness and her spice. The taste of her was intoxicating. Already he longed for more.
If it had just been him alone…but it wasn’t.
That though was for later, hopefully.
If it had been in him at that moment to pray, he would have.
“Are you hungry, Raffia?” he asked, softly.
The original plan had been for a late dinner, but there was clearly no need for it.
Rafi searched his eyes, smiling at the play on her name. This wasn’t a game for him.
That kiss had made her stomach flutter. She was fairly certain she couldn’t have eaten a bite, even if the most enticing steak was put in front of her.
“No,” she said. “Are you?”
“A little,” he admitted, “but I can wait.”
Frowning lightly, Rafi said, “Are you sure?”
“Quite,” he assured her. “I’m not ready for the evening to be over but I don’t know that I want to stay here. Will you walk with me a while?”
She thought the cooler air outside would help her overheated body.
It did and it didn’t.
They walked through rain-washed streets, Rafi’s arm through Michael’s, laughing and talking. She could feel the muscle beneath the shirt, beneath the perfectly tailored suit.
He seemed to enjoy her company, bowing his head now and then to hear her reply.
There were moments when he would unexpectedly swing her into his arms to kiss her senseless and she would feel almost as if she were floating, as if she were…somewhere else.
The first time he did it, it surprised her. Unconsciously she wrapped her hands around his strong wrists as he halted, his unexpected motion bringing her around in front of him as he brought his hands up to cup her face.
By itself, the tenderness of the gesture alone nearly undid her.
His lips touched hers with such obvious delight, such obvious pleasure, that it caught her off guard.
One moment he was laughing and then she was in his arms.
For a moment he drew back to look at her, his hands sliding deeper into her hair, his eyes very intense. The intensity and heat in his gaze set off a firestorm inside her as his mouth settled to hers once again. Every time he did it—looked at her that way—she felt warmer, safer, as though she needed to get closer. He took her mouth deeply as his hands skimmed down her back to pull her closer, to mold her body against his hard one.
She skimmed her hands up into his silky dark hair as his hands settled on her hips. Her body seemed to be one pulse point, throbbing and aching. She had never reacted to a man this strongly, this quickly.
For the first time in a long time, Rafi felt a breath of hope. She had started to become cynical, jaded and she knew it. And hated it.
Rafi found that she didn’t care that it was getting late. She wasn’t on duty the next day so it didn’t matter how late she stayed out. The more they talked the happier she was, the more they kissed, the warmer she got. Excitement raced through her.
They came to a stop and Michael drew her into his arms once again, but this time the intensity and heat of his gaze nearly scorched her as he skimmed a hand into her hair. He studied her face as if memorizing every line of it, seeking something in her expression, in her eyes.
Michael gestured. “My car.”
It was a very nice Jaguar, dark green, with soft honey-colored leather inside.
Rafi looked at him, mesmerized.
“If you will trust me,” he said, “I would like to show you my home. I like you, Raffia, very much. I want you to come with me.”
She looked at him, at his brilliant blue eyes. She couldn’t say no. Didn’t even consider it. How strange. For a moment she felt disoriented but Michael spoke again and her world righted.
With a slight smile and a small inclination of his head, Michael said quietly, “I can always drive you back, Rafi, or we can call a cab for you.”
He wanted her to come far more than he had believed possible. Now, given how intoxicated he was with her, it was rapidly becoming imperative. She was the one.
To his surprise it was nearly dawn. They had walked and talked the night away, which should not have been a surprise. Most of the women he met were far too aware of his wealth. Rafi seemed not to care about anything except Michael Niculescu, the man.
More though, was the feel of her hot mouth beneath his, her sweet body so pliant against his. They fired his blood and made him hunger for her in a way he had never hungered for anyone.
If it were only him, there would be no question.
He wanted it to be tonight. He wanted it to be now. For this one, he could not wait. He really didn’t like to enthrall his women, the blood and sex was sweeter when the mind was free, but he’d started on Raphaela as soon as they were alone. At this point, she would do pretty much whatever he wanted. She might question—she possessed a very strong will, which made him worry what would happen when he released her—but she wouldn’t resist or fear. Or fight what he planned.
What will his home be like? Rafi wondered.
Michael had classic, old-world manners, a Jaguar and very good taste in champagne. Far more importantly, she enjoyed his company tremendously. She also liked the warmth, the desire in his eyes. She wasn’t ready for the night to be over. And she was a good judge of character. She had to be.
Surprisingly, she nodded, feeling very secure in her decision.
The Jag was comfortable. He drove it very competently and just a little fast. Was that normal or was he in a hurry?
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