Debbie: Howdy all. Today we are smack dab in the middle of a pastry kitchen visiting with author Eva Lefoy.
LJ: Sooo glad I brought my coffee with me today! (deep inhale) And everything smells so good. Nothing like fresh baked breads and pastries. I’ll try one of those cheese Danishes!
Debbie Yuck! Fresh baked crusty bread or maybe an apple turnover. No cheese Danish for me.
LJ: Oh good! Extra for me! J
Debbie: (cocks eyebrow)
LJ: Mmm…yummy. (offers a bite to Deb) C’mon. You know you want some.
LJ: Wonder if that hooded guy who’s always following us gets to eat pastries like this. I mean, he chases us everywhere. That would burn a lot of calories. You’d think he’d get hungry.
Debbie: Do you really think he eats???? He’s the hooded dude. All I’ve ever seen is a boney finger pointing out of his long sleeve.
LJ: Hey look! There’s Eva now!
LJ: Hey, Eva! Glad you’re here to talk with us today and tell us all about your book Sweet Cravings.
DEBBIE: Welcome to our humble, uh…kitchen. Let’s get right to it before LJ gets to full of Danish to think straight. So what’s with this fascination with whipped cream of yours?
EVA: It began at a tender age. In a hot attic room. During the summer. When we were out of Hershey’s chocolate syrup… And it tastes a LOT better than candle wax!
DEBBIE: Am I the only one with V.C, Andrews’ Flowers in the Attic flashing through their mind?
LJ: Was there whipped cream in Flowers in the Attic story? I thought it was arsenic!
DEBBIE: My question is why was she up in the hot attic and where the candle wax came in?
LJ: Maybe the bulb in the attic burned out and she had to light candles…
DEBBIE: Okay, we can go with that.
LJ: (Blinks) What, you’re agreeing with me this early in an interview? (shakes head) So, Eva, let’s talk about the heroine of Sweet Cravings. Give us three words that describe Violet.
EVA: Insecure. Enthusiastic. Spellbound.
DEBBIE: Ooooh, I like spellbound, intriguing.
LJ: (grumbles) Wish I could put you under a spell, so you’d get me a Danish and another cup of coffee.
DEBBIE: OMG! Like you need more coffee.
LJ: (Arches eyebrow) Don’t I? (leans closer to Deb) So, let me ask you this: Are you feeling lucky, chick? Do you really wanna see me without caffeine?
DEBBIE: Actually, yes. I think it would be hilarious!!!
LJ: You’re wearing a leather thong and brassiere under your clothes, aren’t you? Because only a dominatrix would be amused by inflicting something so utterly, horribly, unthinkably cruel.
DEBBIE: I’d never wear that to an interview. (grins) Tell us, Eva, where does Violet work?
EVA: She works in a major department store with a catalog department. She’s in catalog. I used to work on catalog at one time. It’s got everything. Except leather whips and ball gags.
DEBBIE: LMAO!!! (in my singsong voice) Eva has ADD.
LJ: Umm…I think that’s OCD.
DEBBIE: Nooooo, ADD.
LJ: Hmm…maybe it’s both. (Glances at bakery display cabinets) Look, fresh bear claws!
DEBBIE: I do believe it is both for you. Luckily I have the patience of a saint and am always here to redirect you. Eva, tell us something we don’t know about Violet.
EVA: She dislikes skinny men.
LJ: I can relate to that. If a guy’s too skinny, ya gotta worry you might break them during…um, fun time. You’re really into it, going at it, and then Snap! Aw, broke my toy. L
DEBBIE: OMG! Did you just say, “Aw, broke my toy??” Really?
LJ: Well, sure. You know men…they like to be played with like a toy. Not to be confused with “toyed with” which is a whole other thing.
DEBBIE: Hmmmm, another question for the hubby.
LJ: (grins innocently) On to Max. Eva, three words to describe him.
EVA: Open. Meticulous. Talented.
LJ: (chokes and blows coffee through nose) Oookay. Starting to worry about you. Where are you going with that comment, woman?
DEBBIE: In my experience guys who are Meticulous and talented are also very anal creatures. Ya know…goes back to that OCD that Eva doesn’t have.
LJ: Okay, first when she said, “It’s got everything.” It came across as though she’d studied it enough to know every item in the catalog – which if it is sizable, to know that information would be more obsessive than having an attention deficit. If she had ADD, she probably couldn’t have gotten past page 2 without getting distracted, much less known the fact there were no leather whips or ball gags. — HEY! Look, fresh bagels!
DEBBIE: Holy crap. I was just making a funny, because if you read the sentence, She works in a major department store with a catalog department. She’s in catalog. I used to work on catalog at one time. It’s got everything. She jumps from Violet working in a department store, to the catalog dept. That she used to work in a catalog, to…well you readers get it right…It was funny. Now Ms. Analytical LJ has had to pull a Sheldon again and obsess over it and now it’s just not funny anymore. Sigh.
LJ: (sets down coffee cup) What d’ya say? I zoned out at “crap”. Here, I got a bagel for you.
DEBBIE: Do you EVER listen to me???
LJ: Hey, Eva, so what I really want to know is why Max decided to become a pastry chef?
EVA: He likes women! Okay, men do eat pastry but look, who really needs that chocolate donut?
DEBBIE: I do, I do!!
LJ: Down, girl! Good gosh…wait, did you have some of that caffeinated hot cocoa you’re always going on about??
DEBBIE: Well, yeah! Can’t beat em, join em.
LJ: Now it’s all starting to make sense. Hey, you know, whipped cream is super good on hot chocolate…and café mochas for that matter. So, Eva, does Max like whipped cream, too?
EVA: It’s not a “thing” for him like it is with Violet, but he’ll swim in it if it will please her.
DEBBIE: Hmmmm. Wonder if that would work for my guy??
LJ: Oh, God! Now I have this image in my head of you and your new hubby…Arrrrgh! TMI!! Can’t…get…it…out. Where’s a hammer so I can knock myself out??
DEBBIE: (hands over a sledge hammer) Here ya go. Hammer away.
LJ: Hey look! Hot cinnamon rolls!
DEBBIE: When did you start writing?
EVA: Kindergarten? LOL I doodled little stories as a kid. Wrote oh-so-deep poetry as a teen (gack!) and later went to college. Although sis is the one with the journalism degree, I was the one that became a reporter. When that job ended about three years ago I found another outlet for writing … bwahahaha.
DEBBIE: And what an awesome outlet it is.
LJ: Yes, it is! Can be therapeutic, too. Killing people, blowing stuff up, torturing characters… Wait, did I say that out loud?
DEBBIE: Yes. So, Eva, what’s your favorite genre to read?
EVA: So. Not. Fair. I read historical, science fiction, urban fantasy and then all those in Romance and erotica too. As well as paranormal and M/M and ménage and ….. sigh.
LJ: Yes! There are soooo many to choose from. Neat that you don’t lock yourself in.
DEBBIE: Yeah, I’m trying to broaden my horizons. Eva, tell us one of your deep dark secrets?
EVA: Not a chance! I’m keeping them for myself!
LJ: Why do you ask that question? I mean, if she told us, it’s not like we have doctor-client privilege. We’d be obligated to go to the police. Then who would let us interview them, missy??
DEBBIE: One of these days, some sucker is going to answer. And I won’t go to the police. I’ll just tuck it away for future use.
LJ: Or we could use it in a book!
DEBBIE: That too. (looks at Eva) Do you believe in the boogieman?
LJ: OMG! Tell me your sweetie did NOT leave the basement door open again! Surely he learned his lesson from the first time!
DEBBIE: Nope he hasn’t and I think I’m bringing him around to my way of thinking.
LJ: Whew! Thank goodness! So, Eva…?
EVA: Nope. That doesn’t mean I don’t like to shoot though. Give me a nice Glock and I’ll find a boogieman to use as target practice.
LJ: Liking the way you think, Eva! I’d be right there next to you. Course, not sure there’s a firearm that would take down that hooded guy following Deb and me.
DEBBIE: I’m still researching that.
LJ: Gotta be an answer somewhere. Hmm…hey, we haven’t tried getting those cans of Reddi-Wip and spraying them at him….
Sweet or Savory: Sweet
Silk or flannel: Silk. I am at that age when flannel is a no-no.
Clam digging or squirrel hunting: Clam digging. I was a Seattleite for 15 years.
City lights or night country sky: Both. I’m a little Donny Osmond but I’m also a little Marie.
Boxers or briefs: I don’t care as long as they aren’t white.
Chocolate or vanilla: Chocolate. As if that’s a REAL question. Ha!
Steak or Eggplant Parm: The veg. Always the veg.
You’re on the SS WhippedAndCreamed, hurtling toward an interplanetary conference dealing with the latest styles in military uniforms. The topic: Loose and Flirty or Tight and Teasing? Why did the captain send me on this mission again? Oh yeah, it was this or a crash course in learning the language and history of the Bolognese…a slow, boring, unintelligent race of slugs.
You’re chatting with the food replicator, trying to get the dang thing to understand what you mean by hot cocoa – because for some reason it keeps giving you a bowl of steamy Marisian Plesic dung. Eew! Without warning, the lights dim and a horn blares. “Red alert. Red alert. This is not a drill.”
Pft. Security can take care of whatever that’s about.
A dark poof of smoke appears in the mess hall. Some freaky blob wallows on the floor. “Hey, Bob, what’s that?”
Bob leans over and touches the blob. He disintegrates into ashes.
“Bob!” Not that he was the brightest phazer in the armory, but still…he was pretty cute. What a waste of rock hard abs!
“We are the Bolognese. This ship will be annihilated.”
“Oh, frack!” The so called unintelligent race of slugs has got some balls…well, somewhere in that blob.
The slug shakes and steam curls into the air around it. Then the thing just disappears, a smoking hole left in its wake.
“Holy freaking frack!” The Bolognese can sweat acid? Who knew? You gulp. Well, if I’d gone to that conference, then I guess I would’ve.
The SS WhippedAnd Creamed lists to the starboard. You stumble and slam into the wall, another bowl of Marisian Plesic dung crashing against your feet, staining your sweet Kelli high-heeled boots. But then you notice the soothing rumble beneath your feet has stopped. “The bastard Bolognese slugs got to the engines!”
The intership com crackles to life. “This is the captain. The Bolognese have invaded the ship. They’ve jettisoned the escape pods, jammed communications, destroyed the shuttles, and are systematically burning out all critical ship functions. That means life support will be out soon. If anyone is still out there, you must save the crew. Fight these bastard slugs any way you can…but watch out for the acid. It’s dea—No! No! Stay back! Arrrrghhhh!” The com goes dead.
Well, frack. He had to get that last part in there about saving the crew. The damn slug couldn’t have acided him before that? Guess now I have to do something about all this.
You check your pockets and come up with lip balm, a small tube of perfume (which now that Bob is toast, you might not be needing), and a spoon (which you’d planned to use to stir your hot cocoa). The survival of the SS WhippedAndCreamed are depending on you. What do you do?
EVA: To save the crew and possibly all of humanity I made a rash decision. Hoping that the Bolognese needed air to breathe just as we do and environmentals would therefore be the last to go I hacked into the controls for the ship’s internal air system, setting the intake to the mess hall and closing all external exhaust. Then I got down to the messy work.
First I pried the replicator’s cover off and re-routed the food delivery chute to the inside of the nearest air vent. I quickly programmed the replicator for the maximum serving of whipped cream topping – no container - on an endlessly repeating cycle. I held my breath and punched the button.
The replicator dinged as the first giant serving of whipped cream shot into the air vent. Then whoosh it was sucked away, spreading droplets of dairy goodness throughout the ship. I inhaled the sweet scent. Suddenly, life smelled a heck of lot better than my boot. But who was I kidding? According to my internal calculations, one serving of whipped cream lacked the caloric density to coat the entire ship and everyone on it.
“Aaah!” The cry sounded as though it had issued from engineering. Another round of topping shot into the vent and I routed it directly to that floor. I heard a muffled groan and even with my limited culinary skills I knew I needed more.
“Cargo bay, this is the mess hall. I need every available canister of lactose replicator base opened and beamed directly to my location.”
The answer was slow in coming. “Excuse me? We’re under attack here, Miss … Miss…”
“The name’s Pantyduster and I’m well aware of the problem. If you don’t get those milk products here on the double, we’re not going to be able to save the ship. Do you read me?”
In the ensuing silence I could mentally picture him frowning in confusion. Clearly he didn’t understand only milk products could put out the fire of capsaicin, the source of heat in chili peppers and other fine weapons of destruction. He couldn’t make the mental leap, but I was way ahead of him. “Look, if we don’t drench this ship in whipped cream and half-and-half we’re all gonna die.”
“Okay, whatever you say Pantyliner.”
“That’s duster and get it here on the double.” I cut off communications just as another shot of topping whisked through the air vent. The sweet smell had me licking my lips, wanting to lick the walls. But I caught a dark shape coming toward me from my right and froze.
“Prepare for extinction, human.” The Bolognese ambled forward, using what kind of locomotion, I could not tell. I certainly wasn’t going to lift it up and look underneath.
“Back! Stay back, you … you … monster!” Ding. The replicator shot another load of white fluff into the air vent. I snagged it with my bare hands, and tossed the whole serving onto my attacker. It landed on his head like a Baked Alaska hat.
“Eeeeeee!” It shrieked and shrank back, halting its advance.
My culinary knowledge had at last been vindicated. I took a moment to bask in the glory, standing smugly with my arms crossed. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.” I pressed the communication button. “Attention crewmembers. This is lieutenant Pantyduster. I have found a way to disarm these creatures. Slather yourself with the nearest dairy product. Do not be afraid. Lactose has a counteracting effect on the creature’s acid sweat.” Eeew, even saying those two words together made me want to vomit.
The transfer beam appeared seconds before a large container labeled “milk-base, for use in 2210 model replicators only” arrived. The thing landed between myself and the creature who was now trying to rally. He sped toward me, and I dipped my hands into the white-ish liquid. “Get back. I’m warning you!”
He kept coming so I let him have it – flinging a good sized amount of milk-base right at its … er … head area. It splashed over him, running down the sides. “Nooo!” it moaned. His round shape caved in, looking like a piece of crumpled up paper and farting sounds issued from wherever its sphincter was located.
I held a hand over my mouth to keep from gagging and motioned to two nearby ensigns. “Come help me with this.” They scuttled up like nervous Aluetian Crabs. I snorted in disgust at their timidity. “We have to get this into to the air vent. Now.”
Finally they each grabbed a handle and we hefted the giant barrel up to the air vent. We poured the whole thing inside. Whoosh! The air vent sucked it away, circulating it all over the ship. Another barrel arrived, and then another. We sent those through the chute too. Pretty soon, the air was rent by squeals of fear and pain coming from those blobulous creatures. “Ha! Got you!”
“Abandon ship. Return to Bolognese sovereign vessel immediately!”
The ship rocked as the combined weight of the invaders exited the ship en masse. The pesky devils were finally gone.
In the ship’s emergency lighting, everyone glowed white. I licked a glob of base off my lips and wondered what the hell they put in the stuff. The ship’s internal comm. came on.
“Congratulations, Pantysmear, you’ve done it! The ship is saved!”
Over the applause I heard the replicator ding. I reached back to turn it off since we didn’t need any more whipped cream, and stopped. There in the air vent sat my hot cocoa.
With whipped cream on top.
LJ: HAHAHAHAHA! Awesome! Yep, you survived…sweet job, too! J
DEBBIE: OMG! But now they’re all covered in whipped cream!
LJ: And the problem is….??
DEBBIE: They’re all covered in whipped cream!
LJ: Yes, Deb. Go talk to your man. No, better yet, text him now. (turns to guest) Thanks so much for talking with us today about your book. Hope you come back and visit when your next story is released. It’s been great fun!
DEBBIE: Yes it has! Come back anytime!
LJ: Wow, I’m stuffed. All these pastries were sooo good. I just wish I could focus my OCD on weight loss but I guess the C part of the acronym is literal. (goes to counter and orders a dozen donuts)
Debbie: Seriously??? (rips bag out of LJ’s hand and shoves it in oversized pocket) Come on, we have brainstorming to do on ETE, demons to create, bad guys to wreck shit. H&H’s to torture.
LJ: Wait! (grabs Deb’s arm) I knew it. There he is.
Debbie: The hooded dude? How did he find us?
LJ: Quick, distract him. (grabs the bag from Deb’s pocket and throws it at Death)
Debbie: Crap. It went right through him.
LJ: Yeah, didn’t see that coming. Guess that answers the question of his tastes for baked goods.
Debbie: Shut up and run!
By Eva LeFoy
BLURB:….Riding the waves of a sugar high, Violet Cunningham seduces the town’s newest pastry chef, slathering him with whipped cream in his secret kitchen. But all that is made of sugar melts, and her brazenness vanishes along with it, leaving her alone once again with her insecurities. Deciding to avoid temptation, she’s mortified when her boss sends her back to sexy chef Max’s kitchen to ask him to cater a company dinner.
….After he turns the tables and seduces her, Max disappears the next morning. Violet blames herself but is it true or her old fears talking? When stray pastries show up at work, there’s only one man that could be responsible… and this time she refuses be distracted by creamy temptation. Well… maybe just a little…
Genre: Contemporary, erotic romance, rubenesque, foodie romance, BBW
Heat level: 4
Word count: 19k
Cover art by Tibbs Design
Heat level: 4
Word count: 19k
Cover art by Tibbs Design
BLURB:….His mouth formed me a soft smile as he unlocked the bowl from the commercial-grade machine and held it up for my inspection. It was full of gorgeous, buttery-smooth, almond-scented whipped-cream filling.
….I gasped as warm rushes of sugar-power surged through my veins once more and nestled in my nether regions. Bam! I was back in business. With my mouth watering, I hurried forward and dragged my finger through the fluffy goodness. Mmmmm. What texture. So soft yet firm. So smooth and creamy. I brought a big, thick glob of creamy whiteness toward my mouth. With sheer heaven inches from my taste buds, I paused to glance up at his eyes. They glowed with acceptance and approval, and I realized he had done this on purpose—given me my confidence back. The laugh crinkles around his eyes lent a generous warmth to his face, and my heart squealed its tires in amazement. All the sudden, it wasn’t sweets I wanted, but to dive into those deep brown eyes and find a different kind of satisfaction, one I hadn’t experienced in a long time. And never with such a dreamy-hot chef.
….Who was about to get stripped naked.
….I licked the filling off my finger damn fast and reached toward his shirt buttons. He sucked in a sharp inhale and dug his fingers into my hips as I pulled him toward me. Excitement jolted through me at having him so close. I liked the fact my boldness surprised him. Liked even more that he did nothing to stop me. Just watched wearing an ever-increasing smile as, one after the other, the buttons were undone. I flung the material back to expose a magnificent, well-built chest with two half-erect, succulent, raspberry-tinted nipples. My tongue longed, to lavish each one with personal attention.
….But first, I spread the whipped cream over his darkly haired broad chest creating a lip-smacking landscape as beautiful to me as a French Impressionist painting. He laughed. I stood back to admire my work and then leaned forward to taste my masterpiece. Mmmmmm. My mouth exploded with happiness at the intersection of male skin and flawless, honeyed flavor. I licked, moaned, and licked some more. He tugged my hips to his, leaving no space between our bodies. His cock ground against me, and I bit his chest, nipping with hungry intensity. Losing myself in the moment, my teeth scraped over a nipple and I savored his groan like a fine wine.
….Eva Lefoy writes and reads all kinds of romance, and is a certified Trekkie. She’s also terribly addicted to chocolate, tea, and hiking. One of these days, she’ll figure out the meaning of life, quit her job, and go travel the galaxy. Until then, she’s writing down all her dirty thoughts for the sake of future explorers.