The older I get the more I care about the story, the action, who my characters really are. I want you to feel the texture of their skin, to sense the flavor of the food they eat, to guess their thoughts as soon as they have them, if not before. If they cry, I want you to shed a sympathy tear. It’s like I’m writing a movie, only the visuals are completely abstract because I leave them completely to your imagination.
Because of that I find myself digging into the behind the scenes more. Good erotic romance is about sex, yes. Absolutely. Sexuality should be free, romantic, sweet, sensual, and of course – if the mood is right and the lighting is pure – it should be dirty. But for me, the story needs to be there too. Understanding who’s doing the fucking can only make the fictional experience better, I think.
In this unedited snippet, which picks up where my last blog left off, I give you a little behind the scenes action of our heroine at work – and our hero lays the first brick of their love story…LOL Let me know what you think!
Oh, and the picture is of South Korean actor Seo Kang Joon. I’m enjoying him in The Watcher right now. You’re welcome. *winks*
Oh 2, apologies I didn’t blog on Saturday. Bad writer! Love you…
Saint was having a great time scouring Seoul for the right shoes and accessories. Saint lived to shop and took bargain hunting to the absolute extreme. He was also using his contacts to get the members custom hats, rings, even one-of-a-kind backpacks. Well, one-of-a-kind until the public blew up a website trying to order something that didn’t yet exist.
“Do you know that motherfucker Bruce had the nerve to call and complain about the number of requests he’s gotten for that black studded back pack? I told that punk to find a factory. Dummy. Putting indies on is our virtuoso specialty. He shoulda got ready!”
“Did you warn him?”
“Of course. Stupid ass negro! Always gotta be hard headed until somebody puts their big, flat, ashy ass feat to the fire.”
“Saint,” said Jon. “You have got to learn to form an opinion.”
There was a beat, then they all burst out laughing.
But Sinna was definitely doing her thing, and people were noticing. She’d even been asked to style a photo shoot. Tan was starring in a romantic comedy, and she was asked to supervise his wardrobe for the film. So, she went on location to “direct traffic,” as she called it.
Things went extremely well. At the end of the day she often had a headache from watching her behavior and trying to understand the language, but Jon was there to translate. He laughed when he relayed that the photographer thought her presence during the shoot had inspired Tan to be sexier. She said nothing.
She’d noticed this particular 501K member’s eyes on her more than once. She ignored it, and nobody did stone face better than Sinna. The ability to appear emotionless had helped her tremendously in Korea. They thought her seemingly cold attitude was “chic.”
Whatever, she thought. As long as they kept doing what she needed done.
Then the tentative concert schedule was released. Somehow the public found out, and shit blew up. Tommy called immediately with offers. Vogue and one of the other prominent fashion bibles wanted to do editorials with her when the group came to New York, and several folks wanted an audience when she came through LA.
“Shit, girl.” Saint. “This gig got us poppin’ off like firecrackers!”
“You do the LA shit.”
Saint laughed. “They didn’t ask for me, pimpin’.”
Sinna grimaced. “Well, you’re still doing it. You do LA style better than me. If they cut up rough, tell them forget it. We’ve gotta split some shit up, or I’ll be dead.”
She didn’t really want to be bothered at all, but press was a necessary evil. She could just imagine what Tommy would say if she pulled her usual, “better to leave ‘em wanting more,’ routine. Her friend would probably blow her ass out of the water.
“Get back to work, Queenie.”
Saint rolled his eyes and got back to it. “These boxes are endless!”
“And every one of them is holding a potential treasure trove.”
“Look at this.” Cressida held up a black moto jacket.
Saint whistled. “If they don’t want it, I do.”
“Hell, I do,” Sinna whispered, stroking the soft jacket. “Lemme see the paperwork. Ah! It’s for Tan. But there’s an offer to provide four more, and they have a shade range. Perfect.”
“Here comes your boy. Try it on him.”
She shot her cousin a look. “Stop calling him my boy.”
“But he is,” said the irrepressible Saint.
“Or he’s trying to be,” Cressida laughed.
They all thought it was cute how Tan brought Sinna little gifts of food and drink, even skincare. She’d just scored a fabulous rather pricey box of sheet masks – “for you and your team,” he dimpled; it was a clever way to ensure she couldn’t reject it – and he insisted on sitting next to her whenever they gathered. The last time they shared a meal, he refused to let any of the other members feed her.
“He told Bik, ‘don’t try it again,’” Jon whispered when she looked up as Tan unleashed a stream of tough talking Korean on his roommate.
Sinna said nothing. She handed over her phone and told Saint to take a picture of her at the picturesque little joint they’d chosen to eat at. Then she gave him her profile and a nice glimpse of deep red nails as she sipped water from a metal cup.
“I think we should start calling you The Golden Buddha,” Saint teased. It was the nickname their friend Yoshi had given her Korean-Black model client and fiancé Dae.
“Fine by me,” she said sedately. “She made that motherfucker an international sensation. Tommy told me his fees have increase 65% since Yoshi took over his career. He’s got more offers than he can handle. She’s taken on other clients to handle the overflow, and they’re blowing up too.”
Saint grinned and winked. “Asians are hot right now. Tan!” he called, holding out the jacket. “Try this on.” He handed it to her.
“You can do it.”
Now Saint ignored her.
Sinna sighed loudly. Tan smiled then gave her his broad back so she could slip it on.
He stared at her and nodded.
“Too big, too small?”
He flexed his shoulders and stretched out his long arms. “It’s good.”
“Well, a designer sent it for you special. Let’s take a picture and say thank you.”
“You sound like a mother,” Saint snickered.
Sinna gestured to Cressida who already had her phone out.
“Waist up so no one can tell he’s wearing track pants. Shoot your cuffs.”
He mimicked her perfectly.
“Cressida, let’s do a video on Boomerang instead of a picture. Stand like James Bond.”
Tan widened his stance slightly, shot his faux leather cuffs and smoldered dangerously.
“Perfect,” Cressida breathed.
“Tag Tan with the caption, ‘The right fit is everything.’ Thank you, then tag the designer.”
She would have walked away, but Tan grabbed her hand. “Will you eat dinner with me this evening?”