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.
Debbie: Nope.
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.
DEBBIE: Anal??
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….
Quickies:
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!
Sweet Cravings
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
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.
AUTHOR BIO:
….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.
Twice, Senior Airman Jason Moore let The Fixer, a maniacal bomber who’s fixated on destroying the Pararescuemen team, slip through his fingers. Last time, he was the hero for holding the killer captive. Now, he’s the goat for letting the guy escape…again.
