"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." - Anaïs Nin

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Gulp: my 1st blurb evahh, from 'The Good Professor'

"The role of a writer is not to say what we can all say,
but what we are unable to say."
- Anaïs Nin

Yes, this blog is brand spanking new - still got the tags on and everything. Which only stands to reason, because this author is spanking the new. And I must admit that not having a single follower (yet ;-} greatly reduces the fear factor of literally baring my ass to the entire free world. But, since I'm determined to bare my ass, I figure, in for a penny in for a pound - so here's my 1st excerpt, typos and all...

From The Good Professor - a contemporary Erotic suspense romance set in Paris...

Copyright: Temple Bryon, 2012

As Bron walked a few paces in front of him, Ridge thought that lightly rubbing his hand on her back would appease his need to touch her. But that lasted for about five seconds. Once they had been swallowed by the crowd, obscured from prying eyes, Ridge moved in closer and slid his hand down to her truly amazing ass. Bron stiffened and paused, turning her head to look up at him.

He leaned down and breathed in her ear: “Just a little touch baby, no one can see in this crowd. Can I, please?”

Bron barely managed to stifle her snort of laughter, but could not stop her body’s welcoming shivering response. “You’re supposed to ask before you touch.”

His touch felt wonderful. His hand was so large that it easily palmed half of one ass cheek – and that was no easy thing to do. Bron could admit to herself that she didn’t want him to remove it, but she couldn’t put her complex feelings into words. So, she gave him an unconsciously sexy tremulous smile, turned and continued to move forward.

As they continued to move through the throng, Bron was furiously thinking. Ridge Copeland was fine, interested and the sexual tension between them shimmered, crackled. But no matter how fine this man was, this was so not the time or place to flex her hussy. She had to hold it together for another hour, at the most. Meet and rub elbows with the Provost and his cronies. Show them that she had the right stuff. Her brass ring was so close. She could not afford to allow the heady sexual captivation embodied in Ridge Copeland to distract her.

The problem was she wanted to climb up that powerful muscular body and wrap her legs around his waist. She wanted to be a hussy. She wanted to be his hussy. Bron wanted to excuse her wanton behavior on the fact that she hadn’t had sex with anyone but herself in nearly a year. But if she had wanted anonymous sex she’d had ample opportunity, especially since she had arrived in Paris. But she had not been even slightly tempted. She was completely committed, firmly focused and there was no way that she wanted even a hint of scandal to blossom here. Besides, dick is…dick. Bron had learned long ago that men were only interested in getting off. Of course, right now that was all she was interested in, so who was she to quibble? Bron sighed:

‘Who am I kidding? I’d have to be numb from the neck down not to respond to this splendid man.’

Something about this man made Bron want to throw caution to the wind. But the question was: could she have her cake and eat it too? She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice when Ridge slightly turned his head and softly murmured “going dark.”

As they came to a stop at the bar, Ridge was confident that Lemon would turn off the receiver of his ear mic and ensure them privacy; allowing him to turn his full attention to seducing his professor.

Champagne pour la dame, et un autre verre de whisky. Trois doigts aiment avant, s’il vous plaît”. After he ordered a flute of champagne for her and another whiskey for himself, Ridge turned to face her reluctantly letting go of that succulent ass.
Whoa, slow down. Stop man handling her like some cave man!’ He told himself, in a desperate attempt to calm down a bit. But Ridge could not seem to rein in his baser instincts when it came to this woman, another first.

Merci bien.” Bron accepted the flute from the waiter and was thankful for the perfectly chilled golden bubbly liquid that soothed her parched throat. She took another sip, biding her time while she continued to argue with herself.

Okay girl, what are you going to do now?’ Maybe she’d been too quick to accuse D’Tourville of losing his mind; apparently she had lost her ever loving mind.

What in the hell are you thinking, letting a complete stranger manhandle you – in front of everyone – on the most important day of your life? He’s a stranger. Granted, he’s a totally hot, utterly lickable stranger, but stranger is the operative word here!’

But this man did not feel like a stranger. Bron could not help but feel that she knew this man. She felt a flutter of anxiety, trying to tamp it down by coming up with a plausible explanation for why her traitorous body effortlessly relaxed with this man. David had talked and/or written about Ridge Copeland since their first meeting, more than a year ago. In nearly every conversation, in person and via email, David had shared a tidbit about the man who was the son of his heart. He was quite proud of the fact that his Ridge traveled the world, Marine veteran and now bodyguard of famous actors, politicians, diplomats and business titans. Wattingly’s stories of adventure and danger had made Ridge Copeland seem larger than life. But Bron had to admit that David was right, the man was simply magnificent; the stuff of her most erotic dreams.

Lord give me strength. 

As Bron took another fortifying sip of her delicious champagne, what she really wanted to know was why had he let go of her ass? Bron wanted to demand that he put it back. She watched with rapt fascination as Ridge raised his glass to his full sensuous lips. She had the nearly uncontrollable urge to reach up the several inches needed to run the tip of her tongue along his lower lip. Bron wondered what the combination of whiskey and his personal flavor would taste like.

‘And the Kimchee just gets deeper.’

As Ridge enjoyed the whisky’s burn, he told himself that he was going to wait patiently for Bron to finish her drink. Then he’d order her another and they’d…talk. Yeah, they’d talk and get to know each other. Ridge could feel that he had a savage expression on his face. He tried to smooth it out, he didn’t want to scare her. But, the more he looked at her, the more primal he felt. Ridge tried to think of something to say, but all his brain could process was that he needed to fill Dr. Bronwyn Blackburn with every straining inch he had and fuck her as hard and for as long as he could. Then do it again, and again, and again.

But that’s not how regular people did this. He should get her number. He should take David to be debriefed; plan the next stage of the ops with his team. Then he should call her, ask her out on a date. He should woo, wine and dine her. Maybe take her on one of those dinner cruises down the Seine. He should send her flowers. He should take her on a romantic stroll through the cobblestoned streets, softly kiss her in the moonlight. He should get to know her. He should let her get to know him, before he informed her that he was going to keep her. He should give her time to take it all in, accept him, accept them. That was the gentlemanly thing to do, the right way to introduce himself to his woman. Yes, that was what he was going to do.

I’ll just go slow and easy.”

Ridge’s resolve to adhere to this new plan lasted a full 15 seconds before he gave in to his desire to touch her again. A reasonable amount of time, he told himself. She had not finished her drink, but that was too damned bad, his hands had been off her for too long...

What do you think? Be honest, don't hold back; I can take it. Did I mention - GULP?!

'Til we meet again,


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