Pleae help me welcome the prolific and amazing writer, Ginger Simpson. Ginger is also the author of the award winning blogsite, Dishin’ It Out. This talented lady can do things like nobody else, and all with a sense of humor! She writes now about her wonderful book,

Sarah’s Journey

Months ago, I queried HQ on a short, historical story that is supposed to be ‘spicy.’ I thought I WAS writing spicy by using a few ‘buzz’ words here and there, and it made me sweat, trying to come up with something creative. BUT…I shared it with my friend who IS the Queen of Steam, and although she loved the story, she said it wouldn’t fly. I know why!

It’s hard to be inventive. I realize there is a lot of ME in each of my stories, and I don’t feel the least bit sexy…for reasons I’ve described numerous times on my own blog. If I truly wrote what my mind sees when I think about sex scenes, it is highly doubtful that anyone would be swept away to anything but hysteria. Here’s an example.

Moonlight filtered through the venetian blinds and highlighted him as he disrobed. He pulled his shirt over his head, then shimmied out of his pants. Her breath hitched. When had his stomach gotten so huge? *rofl*

OR

His breath warmed her neck as his lips trailed upward. He nibbled at her earlobe then raised up and gazed upon her face. His mouth, a few inches from hers, he licked his lips and drew closer.

She recoiled and rolled away. “Geez, I told you not to have onions on that burger. You reek.”

OR
He entered her with a quick thrust. She gasped, feeling a sensation all too familiar. “God, get off me. Quick! I have a Charlie Horse in my leg!”

OR…last but not least….
Tonight was the night he’d waited for. They hadn’t made love for a month and he was determined to sample her wares. Maybe more romance was needed. He hadn’t been all that passionate or attentive of late. The moment was right. Everyone else was gone, nothing but the flickering TV lit the room. He slithered off the couch and crawled toward her chair. She appeared deep in thought, lost in the movie she watched. He inched closer and reaching her side, took her hand.

She jumped, then smiled. “What are you doing down there?”

“Come on.” He raised to one knee. “Come to bed with me. I want to show you how much I love you.”

She unfurled one leg from beneath her and nibbled her bottom lip. Tears glistened in her eyes. She offered her hand.

He took it and attempted to stand. A popping noise sliced the momentary silence between commercials. “Ow…my back!” He managed to get to his feet, but remained bent at the waist. With pain etched on his face, he hobbled to the couch and collapsed.

“I guess we’ll have to wait.”

She blotted her tears. “That’s okay. My leg’s asleep and I can’t get up anyhow.”

I think I’ll stick to what I know I can do and leave the erotic and steamy writing to those who can handle it without laughing. A great example of sexual attraction but no action can be found in Sarah’s Journey. This book received great reviews and is my favorite of all I’ve written. Here’s a teaser, but let me set the scene. Wolf and Sarah are traveling together toward Independence, and both are fighting the attraction they feel for one another. They’ve already been through a lot at this point. The reality is a white woman and a half-breed would never be accepted by society and they are all too aware of that fact.

Sarah stilled her fear and walked along the creek bank a short distance until it forked, winding off through tall reeds. The grassy thatch would be an ideal place for someone to hide, but if there was a war party, wouldn’t she have heard something? She pushed aside and weaved through the towering shafts, following the flow and still hoping to see Wolf’s face.

She stopped and listened, cupping her ear against the gurgling water and the rustling breeze. Something splashed up ahead. Treading softly, Sarah pushed onward, trudging through the annoying foliage and praying it wasn’t an animal she heard. The hair on the back of her neck bristled.

Sarah peeked out from the swaying corridor and saw him. He wore only his breechclout and stood with his back to her. For the first time she viewed his hair unbraided. Dripping wet locks hung well past his broad shoulders and glistened in the sunlight. When he swept the ebony mass to the side to braid it, Sarah’s hand flew to her mouth, silencing a gasp. Wolf’s entire back was a mass of welts and bruises. Some spots had scabbed over creating a zigzag of dark lines across his normally unblemished skin. No wonder he’d stiffened when she hugged him. She exhaled against her palm, shaking her head in disbelief.

As if sensing her presence, Wolf turned. His eye widened and he tried to shield himself with his buckskins. She knew it wasn’t out of modesty.

“Oh my God, what happened to you?” It was a dumb question. His black and swollen eye provided the answer.

“Nothing to fret over.” He casually finished plaiting his hair. “I’m actually feeling much better after my little soak.”

She approached him, rage heating her blood. “How could they… why… I’m so mad I.…”

Wolf met her half way and pressed a finger against her lips. “Shhh. I’m fine. I’ve survived worse, believe it or not.”

She studied his face through a blur of tears. “But it’s not right. They had no reason to beat you like this.” Her finger gently traced a welt on his upper arm. “Is there anything remaining from your mother’s collection of herbs that might help?”

“Really, I’m fine.” He pulled his shirt over his head.

Sarah walked around him, holding up the buckskin and surveying his back. “No, you’re not. I can’t believe you rode so many days to return to St. Mary’s, and now, traveling again… you’ve not said a word.”

He faced her, his eyes solemn. “Sarah, it’s over and done. Let it go. There’s no changing what happened. In a few days, you’ll barely be able to see the marks.”

She was speechless. How could he accept such horrid treatment? True, the lines might fade, but acts like that scarred a person’s heart. Hers ached for him—for all he’d been through in his life simply because of being a mixed breed. It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t asked to be born. She touched his arm softly. “I’m so sorry you’ve suffered at the hands of ignorant people. I wish there was something I could do to make up for it.”

“There is.” His features softened and he gathered her into his arms. Before she had a chance to speak, his lips claimed hers, sending shivers of delight coursing through her body. Her mind screamed to pull away, but her heart’s plea convinced her to stay in his arms. She parted her lips, allowing his seeking tongue entrance to her mouth, his kiss quenching a desire too long denied. Twining her arms around his neck, she sagged against him, unable… unwilling to stop.

Wolf suddenly held her at arm’s length, jarring her back to reality. “Sarah, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what…”

She lowered her gaze, words failing her. Sarah’s cheeks burned with the impropriety of her actions. But hadn’t she dreamed of this moment? The sun beat down on her, increasing her discomfort in the awkward silence.

“That was a mistake.” His words cut like a knife. “I hope you aren’t mad at me. It won’t happen again, I promise.” He bent to pick up the items he discarded on the ground before his bath.

Did her face show the disappointment and hurt stabbing at her? If she apologized for allowing his kiss, it’d be a lie. She struggled to find her voice. “It’s all right. I think we’re both overwrought and tired. Let’s just forget it happened.”

As if she could