1) Have you always wanted to be an author? I don’t know that I’ve always wanted to be an author. I’ve always been a storyteller. I could never just get to the point. I had to tell the story leading up to the event, the event itself and what happened afterwards! I probably made some people insane but never noticed anyone’s eyes glazing over. Except for my husband’s, lol. I’ve written all my life, from short stories as a kid to poems in high school. I wrote one poem in high school that caused the guidance counsellor to call my mom in for a “chat.” Apparently nice young ladies shouldn’t know that kind of stuff. I didn’t know it first hand, but I read a lot, so it was my mom’s fault! She let me read whatever I wanted.
2) What genre(s) do you write? I write contemporary dark erotic romance, no apologies. Love rarely comes easy-it takes hard work to maintain any relationship in my opinion. And I like a little kink. Or a lot. I don’t write humiliation or degradation. My heroines may have their hearts broken and repaired, but ultimately they have the power. The heroes eventually figure it out.
3) Have you ever self published? Not yet. I’m moving in that direction though, because I might not find a publisher for a novel I’m working on.
4) Who or what inspired you to write your first book? I read an erotic romance, quite by accident. Truly. I just bought an ereader and was scrolling through the options to buy when I saw a free download. And I devoured it. Holy smokes. I knew I could write one too and I did. I dithered over submitting it though. I don’t have that kind of self confidence. I broke a cardinal rule-don’t submit to more than one publisher at a time. Didn’t know the rule. I got an acceptance from two and went with the first one to be honourable. And I’ve written 15 more since. I write because I love it. The money is secondary.
5) How many hours in a day might you write? As many as I can squeeze out. Sometimes I write five or six hours, sometimes eight, around my part time job and life. The days I manage only an hour are sad days. But I do take weekends off. Discipline.
6) Are you a plotter or a pantster? I wake up with an idea or I’m driving and one pops into my head. Or I hear someone say something or observe someone or something and I’m off. I’m a pantster, big time.
7) Do you ever find yourself slipping away and becoming so immersed in your story it affects how you relate to others? I absolutely do. My husband will say, “One of those characters pissed you off again, right?” Right. And it’s almost always the hero. Sometimes I weep, literally, when I writing a scene of heartbreak and angst.
8) Are you in any of your books? Nope. Although I’d like to practice more of the erotic scenes in private!
9) What do your friends and family have to say about you writing? My family are fine with it as long as I can tear myself away to engage with them, understandably. They see how much I love to write and are supportive.
Thank you Allyson... now lets hear more about your latest release...
Kidnapped because of her father’s wrongdoings, Bianca Fontaine is interrogated for any hint of his whereabouts by a man she has no reason to be drawn to. Who falls for their kidnapper? Especially an arrogant, hard man who is bound by duty—with those intriguing soft and caring qualities he hates to show. She’s learned the truth about her mother’s disappearance and her reality is suspect, except for the one constant—Ellis Valiant.
Ellis Valiant is indeed a hard man, but he’s already destroyed Bianca’s world and could make it worse if he doesn’t send her away. But when he finds her exploring her submissive side in the sex club fronting for his organization, his noble efforts fall by the wayside and he steps up as her Dom. Except Ellis harbors a secret, an insurmountable one, and Bianca will surely hate him when it comes to light.
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Pushing her into the back seat of the closest SUV, his big hand on the crown of her head, between it and the door frame, invader number one climbed in beside her. The man who said she was worthless as a hostage got in behind the wheel.
Scrambling across the leather surface, Bianca huddled against the door, wondering if she might throw herself out and make a run for it. But where?
There was no ally in the traitor Mrs. Doucette and they’d probably shoot Max in retaliation. She prayed the housekeeper would care for her dog as she promised. The older woman had never been anything but kind to him, but then she’d been kind to Bianca too. Bianca chewed the inside of her cheek. Maybe her father would get Max back when he ransomed or came for her. She had to hold onto some kind of hope of rescue, maybe before things happened to her. Anybody with money at her schools was versed in possible kidnappings, and the lurid tales left a vile taste in the back of her throat.
The man beside her pulled off his hood, running his fingers through flattened hair. Bianca stared. She knew she was staring, but was incapable of doing anything about it. It was like looking at a carefully sculpted face of a Roman god. High cheekbones, deeply set golden eyes framed by a thicket of black lashes under dark brows, incongruous with the thick blond hair curling to his collar, and a chiseled set of lips. The door shut, plunging the vehicle into relative darkness as its light extinguished and deprived her of that rock star visage. Of a killer.
“Fuck, man. You let her see your face!”
His deep voice retorted, “It’s not like Fontaine doesn’t know who crashed his party, Dave.”
Over the grind of the ignition she heard the driver mutter, “And it’s not like she’s ever going home.” A shadow of fabric passed in front of the muted lights from the dash instruments for a moment as he too pulled off his mask, tossing it aside. Her chances of surviving this just narrowed from fifty to zero percent, and she desperately needed to pee.
They drove in silence, the other vehicles falling in behind to form a convoy as they bumped through the ruined gates and gained the main road. Aside from their initial comments, neither man spoke, and she too remained silent. Her thoughts clamored to be heard but she couldn’t put them in any real semblance of order. Kidnapped. Check. They were going to make her talk about her father. Check. They planned to try to ransom her. Check. Except they didn’t think that would prove fruitful. Wouldn’t her father move heaven and earth to get her back? Except he wasn’t a family-first kind of guy … she didn’t want to understand the inference but accepted it was huge. Nightmare. Check. She concentrated on her breathing and drew on her reserves when she really wanted to scream the roof down.
“What’s with her, Ellis?” The driver finally spoke up. “She hasn’t said boo since she gave up the old man. Must be her father’s daughter, eh?”
Feeling his eyes boring into her, she turned inward. Ellis. An unusual name. Had she heard it before?
“Plenty of time to talk later, Dave. You hear of shock?” Ellis spoke quietly.
“Maybe,” answered Dave. “Most women would be crying and carrying on though. Can’t say I don’t like her reaction. Easier to put up with. Although there’s a ball gag in the dash.”
Ball gag? She bit her lip and swallowed convulsively, an action so awkward it hurt her throat.
“You plotting, Bianca?”
Despite herself, she jerked when Ellis used her name. Had she really thought they wouldn’t know it? Especially when they seemed well apprised of other things involving her father. A thought right out of the blue struck her with the same impact as a blow to the face might. Did they know where her mother was?
“I expect an answer, little one.” The velvety threat wove through his voice.
She shook her head, not trusting her voice. His hand grasped her upper arm and dragged her closer. His scent overwhelmed her, leather, gun oil and male. “Answer me. Are you plotting?”
“No,” she whispered. She stared into his face, the flood of lighting from the other cars’ headlights giving him a faintly demonic look. Had Mike seen that look in his eyes before this Ellis struck him down?
He released her with a slight smile. “Good. Then I’ll leave you to it. If you try to escape you’ll be punished.”
Easing back, building distance between them, Bianca tried to get her shakes under control. So far he hadn’t hurt her, despite his obvious ability to do so. She decided not to think about what this Ellis meant by punishment, and instead considered what might lay ahead if she cooperated. They seemed professional, like her father’s bodyguards, although surely Mike had taken a stupid risk—and paid for it. She didn’t particularly care for the man, but now tears pricked. His sacrifice had been for naught. She could hope they would treat her like a valuable commodity—until she wasn’t.