I'm not a fickle woman. Really. I choose a color scheme for a room, go with it and I'm settled in for a good ten or fifteen years. It's not until the rug is thread bare and the curtains faded from sun that I finally break down and choose comething new. Heck, I still have a skirt I wore in high school (because it's a wrap around ... 'nuf said).
So it was kind of a surprise for me when I started writing that I bounced all over the genre spectrum. I mean, not completely. My books can all be classified as erotic romance. And many of them have some kind of suspense element. But the truth is, they bounce from contemporary to paranormal to futuristic. I guess my writing is eclectic as my reading tastes.
You're as likely to find an historical starring Dukes and mansions on my nightstand as a paranormal book featuring vampires or werewolves. Some times I just want to read a good murder mystery. But nothing gets my neurons firing like a good science fiction story.
You see, I grew up on the original Star Trek. I could name an episode after watching only a 10 or 20 second clip. Seriously. Total Trekkie here. So I guess it was no surprise when I woke up one morning with the need to write a love story set in deep space. Yep, it's complete with alien villains and some very hawt heroes.
So ... how do you like your romance? Set in the west? Modern day? Complete with demons and vampires? Or taking place out in deep space? Curious authors want to know!
A TOUCH OF LILLY is available from Ellora's Cave and was nominated as one of Siren Books "Best Science Fiction Books of 2010". Instead of the blurb, I'll share the book trailer with you ...
And please enjoy this Excerpt:
Lilly D’Angelo could have been walking into any of the seedier establishments lining Forty-fifth and Wester on Chicago’s south side. Except for the clientele, the tavern’s owner had managed to replicate nearly every detail right down to the blue haze and the soft crooning of a jazz band on the corner stage. The acrid stench and gruff hum of a Friday night crowd tripped Lilly down memory lane—a place she had no desire to travel at the moment.
Lilly pushed the sour thoughts of home out of her mind and focused her energy on the patrons at the bar. Morphing her features into her sexiest vixen pout, she moved gracefully toward the long bar on the other side of the room. Her voluptuous breasts, spilling temptingly from her silk blouse, led the way. The eyes watching her ass sashay around the battered tables were clustered on various life forms—none of them human.
Yeah, definitely not Chicago. Shit, this wasn’t even Earth for chrissake.
“Regent’s ale, straight up, hold the brenic.” She spoke English, hoping the two-headed Xerick behind the bar had a cochlear translator in one of those eight holes that passed for ears. Satisfied when one head nodded, she settled on a stool, making sure her fur jacket and blouse parted enough to offer a seductive view of her cleavage. Lilly shifted just enough to let the black leather skirt ride up her thigh and expose a little more silky real estate. Surreptitiously checking her image in the mirrored glass behind the liquor bottles, she was pleased she looked every bit the part. She wasn’t trying to attract anyone in particular, perhaps something on the less offensive side that could offer her a bit of entertainment to help fritter away the next couple of hours.
Lilly wasn’t a xenophobic bigot by any stretch of the imagination. But six months in deep space, working these kinds of joints, wasn’t really long enough to become accustomed to the scenery. The Nebulae Galaxy’s spaceports overflowed with aliens of all sizes and genders. Only that wasn’t really a fair term here in deep space.
Alien inferred the life forms didn’t belong. On the contrary, it was humans who were invading their territory. The treaties of 2253, signed well over forty years ago, had guaranteed the safe travel of humans in deep space. After the snafu of ’34, which saw the first major space disaster since light travel had been discovered, humans had insisted on protection for their species. They’d formed some bullshit board of security, guaranteeing humans could run roughshod over the universe like everywhere else. Though most people referred to them as the QAL, Lilly nicknamed them the alphabet mafia. At one point she’d actually considered working for them until they’d discovered who she was—or more specifically what she was. It didn’t matter. They could all go fuck themselves if they didn’t appreciate her gifts. Lilly had found a way to use her talents and still bring down the bad guys.
Of course in deep space, bad was a relative term.
There was the kind of bad that got a person lost on the ice caps of Dallas Eight without a backup plan. Or the bad that forced someone to stow away in the engine room of a Drikspa alien tanker bound for unknown destinations, praying not to get caught. Or the bad that got a human female imprisoned as a sex slave on the mining colonies of Krystallos Three, hidden from even the long arm of the QAL. Lilly shivered at that one. Even her talents wouldn’t free her from that kind of torture.
She was just happy to be here on Garalon Five where bad meant nothing more than crossing paths with every brand of space pirate, ex-con or fugitive looking for a new start. As one of the more recent colonizations in the Nebulae Galaxy, the G-5 government turned their collective back on past offenses on other planets and allowed anyone to start a legitimate business. It’s what had brought her here.