Friday, April 12, 2013

Interview with Christina Phillips

Thank you so much for having me on your blog today, Amber! It’s great to be here to help spread the word about my sinfully sexy warriors and their magical Druid heroines!
Amber: You're welcome here anytime. Let's find out more about those warriors!

What does your family think of your writing career?
My teenage son was very excited at the thought of me writing a book set in Roman times. Big swords! Lots of bloodied battles! Then I told him it was a romance and for some reason he was no longer interested! My two daughters are very proud of what I do and are happy to tell people that I write erotic romance. However, they’ve yet to read any of my books because, well… I’m their mother!!!

Does your significant other read your stuff?
Before I was published whenever I offered any of my stuff to my husband to read, he’d get that rabbit-caught-in-the-headlights look in his eyes. But after my first book, FORBIDDEN, was published, he did eventually pick it up and flick through it. The first chapter either hooked him in or shocked him rigid, since he then went on to finish the entire book J Mind you, he hasn’t read any of my other books yet!

Do you have critique partners or beta readers?
I have two fabulous CPs. We met nearly ten years ago on the eHarlequin boards where we were all unpublished and targeting different lines. We’ve been together through the highs and lows and I can’t imagine sending anything to my editor that hasn’t first gone through my CPs. Although we all started off targeting category romance, my CPs now write YA and MG while I write erotic romance J

Who are your books published with?
I have three books out with Berkley Heat – FORBIDDEN and CAPTIVE under my Christina Phillips name and ARCHANGEL OF MERCY under my Christina Ashcroft name. The third book set in my Roman/Druid world, BETRAYED, is out with Ellora’s Cave, and I have several more books contacted with EC although no release dates yet.

What songs are most played on your Ipod?
Whenever I need inspiration I more often than not turn to an old favorite – Meat Loaf’s Bat Out of Hell. The lyrics to Crying Out Loud slay me every time. Those songs are full of angst and conflict and are dark and sexy. Seriously! What’s not to love about them?
Amber: I'm with you on this one! Love Meat Loaf.

What is your favorite meal?
Any meal that I don’t have to cook. Honestly, I’m very easy to please!!!
Amber: LOL Me too!

What would we find under your bed?
Monster dust bunnies. Actually they’ve evolved into dust dragons…

Christina Phillips

In 51 A.D., Druid priestess Nimue is injured and enslaved by the hated Roman Legions. Even though she is drawn to her captor, she’s determined to escape and complete her mission for the Briton king and her duty to Arianrhod, the goddess she is bound to.
The tough Roman warrior who captures her is far from the brutal barbarian she expects. His touch inflames her desires and passion burns between them. Though Nimue does not accept her enslavement, her heart surrenders to her enemy. When Arianrhod appears to her in the form of an owl, Nimue knows the union is blessed.
Roman warrior Tacitus is enchanted by the fiery beauty who shows no fear and challenges him at every turn. Though enslaving her goes against his heart, he’s determined to make her his. No woman has ever heated his blood as she does. But when he discovers her true nature as one who actually communes with the gods, his loyalties are torn between his heritage and a woman who could destroy everything he’s ever believed in.
A Romantica® fantasy erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Still holding her in his arms Tacitus lowered his head toward her, no longer caring of the open tent flap, the proximity of the legionary or the fact he was still on duty. All he could see, all he could feel was the woman nestled so seductively against his chest, her breasts pressed against him while her palm caressed his jaw.
Her lips parted and her breath was sweet, like incense. Blood pounded, pulses hammered yet with rigid restraint, he brushed the most chaste of kisses across those tempting lips.
So soft. So full of promise. So deliciously responsive. She lifted her head and instead of breaking contact, he captured her lips once again. Nothing chaste about this kiss. Their mouths clung together as if nothing else in the world existed.
She wound her hand around the nape of his neck. Her fingers speared through his hair, scraping across the base of his skull. Desire spiked through his groin, her touch as potent as if she had grasped his cock, and restraint splintered.
He slid his tongue inside her open mouth and she sucked on him, sudden and hard and unbelievably shocking. He withdrew, a slow slide against her wet flesh then thrust into her again, teasing the roof of her mouth, and claimed the strangled moans that vibrated from her throat.
Fingernails dug into his scalp, primitive and wild. His hand closed over the mound of her breast, filling his palm. Her nipple was hard through the material of her gown, and with a primal growl, he rubbed the tips of his fingers over the erect nub. Backward and forward. Increasing the pressure. She squirmed in his arms, her muffled moans of pleasure stoking his need.
He needed to lay her down. Rip off her gown. Explore her writhing body.
The exhilarating vision of her laying naked on his bed hammered in his mind. She was willing. She did not know she was a slave. He could fuck her, make her come, give her such pleasure that when she discovered the truth she wouldn’t feel as if she had been used at all.
Her sweet taste slid insidiously into his senses, heady and somehow illicit. The tips of their tongues touched; clung, and it was mindlessly erotic.
Somehow, he stumbled to the bed. Curse this primitive camp. He wanted his own bed, but this makeshift one would have to do. Carefully he lowered her, his mouth still claiming hers—or was she claiming his?—and as he laid her down the light diminished.
He scarcely noticed. Tearing his mouth from her, he panted down into her face, relishing the jagged gasps of her breath, the way her fingers dug into the back of his neck, the way her breasts heaved beneath her soft gown.
The way her left arm was immobilized in a sling.
For a moment he stared, uncomprehending. She was injured and he had been about to fuck her?
“Roman.” The word was scarcely above a whisper, and wrapped around his reeling senses like a seductive embrace of purest silk. Her right hand slid from his neck, over his shoulder and along his arm. It was a light caress and yet as arousing as if she slid her naked body along him instead.
Gods. What was he thinking? Marcellus had warned him not to have her tonight. She was injured. She was under the influence of opium.
She was his slave.
Still, he couldn’t move. He remained kneeling on the floor beside her as her hand curled around his wrist. The light was oddly dimmed and yet he could see her delicate features and the fragile outline of her enticing body. And still he could not find the strength of will to stand up and leave.
“Are you man enough for me, Roman?” Her words were heated, provocative. A blatant challenge. “I’ve never had a barbarian before.” She smiled, as if that thought gave her great amusement and he battled against the renewed lust that thundered through his blood at her taunts.
“You will lie here and rest.” It was an order. Any other woman—any other man—would have instantly quailed. But this Celt, this slave—who did not even know she was a slave—merely offered him another sultry smile and pulled on his hand.
He didn’t resist.
She dragged his hand between her thighs and pressed him against her slick core. Air hissed between his clenched teeth as her feminine dampness caressed his fingers, as she rolled her hips and a breathy sigh escaped her lips.
“Don’t you want me, Roman?” She increased pressure on his hand and of their own volition his fingers pushed against her soft gown, seeking and finding the wet opening of her welcoming pussy.
Primal need thudded through his veins, tightened his rock-hard balls. This was madness. Feverishly his fingers bunched up her gown, exposing her thighs, until he gripped the material and wrenched it up to her waist.
Honey-blonde curls crowned her glistening lips, her flesh plump and pink and deliriously tantalizing. Mesmerized by the sheer eroticism of how she angled her hips toward him and by her evocative musky scent that caused his cock to thicken, he couldn’t remember why taking her was such a bad idea.
He trailed the tips of his fingers over her belly and then lower, teasing her soft curls. She sighed in evident pleasure and collapsed back onto the pallet as if she no longer possessed the strength to entice him. But he needed no additional enticement.
Everything he needed was here, between her spread thighs.
She was wet and hot. His finger slid along her cleft, her soft folds promising a wild, unforgettable ride. Breath rasped along his throat, need pounded through his groin, sanity sank beyond the fiery horizon.
She was willing. She was ready. And she was his.
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