Tell us a little
about yourself
Em Petrova lives in
backwoods Pennsylvania, where she raises four kids and a Labradoodle puppy
named Daisy Hasselhoff and pays too damn much for utilities. She loves to write
gritty characters with lots of heart and is well-known for scorching,
panty-soaking erotic romance.
What books have you
brought along to tell us about today?
Smoldering Hearts http://www.ellorascave.com/smoldering-hearts.html
Are you working on
another book right now?
Yes, book 2 of the Boot Knockers Series from Samhain
Publishing. Book 1, Pushin’ Buttons, releases in May 2014. Book 2, Body
Language, releases in September. Both are set on a ranch in Texas that caters
to women. *wink*
What do you enjoy
most about writing? It’s the best job in the world. Not a day goes by that
I don’t count my blessings. I’m able to be home with my 4 elementary school-aged
kids and my fluffy baby Daisy, using my creativity. Oh, and I get to research a
lot of dirty things…
What do you like the
least? Nothing really. But if you dig deep I might confess I hate filling
out marketing forms for new books.
Would you like to see
any of your books as movies?
Somethin’ Dirty is a prime book to movie. Lifetime or HBO
here we come!
Can you name any
actors you would like to see as the lead characters in your book.
Joe Manganiello from True Blood is who I had in mind while
writing Griffin’s character.
What things do you
like to do to relax?
Drink heavily. No, kidding. I love to kickbox, walk or just
veg out in front of a tattoo reality show.
Do you have another
job as well as writing?
I do freelance editing and edit for 2 small publishers. I
also do marketing for 2 small publishers.
If you could have one
super power in your existence, what would it be?
The ability to grow longer legs. I’m 4’11”.
If money were not an
object, where would you most like to live?
I’d live in an RV and drive from town to town across the
country, meeting people and learning about them.
What kind of car
would you have if money was no object?
A 1960s, beat-up pickup truck. Yes, it’s true, folks.
Preferably white.
What’s your favorite
food?
Dark chocolate.
Favorite color?
Blue-green. But I can’t wear it without looking like a
zombie.
Can you think of a
song or piece of music that could be your theme tune?
Survival by Eminem. I love it to pieces.
Just answer these questions
as quickly as possible.
Chocolate or vanilla?----- chocolate!
Dog or cat?---- doggy
The film or the book?----- errmmmm. So hard. Book.
Jeans or suit? jeans
jeans or skirt?skirt
Beach or Snow resort? I’m cringing at both. Neither?
Boots or sneakers? Cowgirl boots!
Heels or flats? Heels—I’m too short for flats.
What do you love best about yourself? My hair
What do you like least? belly after 5 babies
Is there a question
you would like to have been asked? Best part of my job is talking to
readers.
Do you have anything
to share with other authors that might be a help? Don’t give up, and don’t
stay on the same path. Mix it up.
Is there anything you
would like to say to your readers? LOVE YOU!
Can you share one of your favorite parts of one of the
books?
Nola’s
mind lost track of Molly’s words. Everything around her vanished but those two
dark eyes pinning her down.
A
movement from Molly snapped her out of it. She looked up in time to see her
sister had raised her glass in greeting to Mr. Thigh-Clenchingly Hot.
She
wrapped her fingers around Molly’s arm. “What the hell are you doing? Don’t
draw his attention.”
“Why
not? Have you scored in the past six months? You’ve gotta be feeling the weight
of that stare, sis. Why not invite him onto the dance floor?”
“No,
I—” She glanced up to see him pull away from the wall and make his way across
the floor. “Oh fuck. Now look what you’ve done!”
She
tried to duck and run into the masses, but Molly hooked a boot around her shin
and sent her careening off-balance. Her beer sloshed over the floor, spattering
the boots of some dancers.
“So
sorry,” she mouthed, her voice lost in the stampede of boots and the cry of
appreciation as someone took the microphone for an old Hank Williams song.
Two
long, denim-clad legs slid into her vision. She followed the lines up, up, up
to the thick chest sporting the white and gray western shirt. And hell, the
fabric had a small embroidered flower design next to the pearl buttons.
A
man who wore embroidery was very comfortable in his skin. Not a boy. A man.
If
she’d had any question about this, she didn’t now as she stared into his face.
Small lines framed his eyes and lips, and a few threads of silver wove through
his beard.
She
quivered.
“Wanna
dance?” He offered a hand to her, and she gaped at it for two heartbeats.
Before
she could think, Molly had divested her of her beer. Then her sister shoved her
from behind, and Nola jerked forward. Taking her movement as acceptance, Mr.
Thigh-Clenchingly Hot wrapped his fingers around hers and tugged her onto the
floor.
Before
she could suck in air, she was whipped into his embrace. When she did, she
filled her head with his personal musk—man and clean soap. Leather.
He
was smiling at her. She returned it, then gave a laugh and dropped her gaze.
He
leaned in. “I’m Griffin. And before you ask, this is the first dance I’ve had
in over a year. So don’t laugh at my jumbled up feet.”
How
could she remain aloof to that? Everything about him charmed the pants—or
mini-skirt—right off her.
“I’m
Nola.” She inhaled deeply and didn’t catch a hint of beer or whiskey on him. “You’re
not drinking tonight?”
The
corner of his mouth tipped up. “Nah. I’m a designated driver. Love to help out
the cause and my ma has the—” He bit off the rest of the sentence with a shake
of his head. “My ma taught me to give back to the community.”
For
several heartbeats, she lost herself in his deep, chocolate gaze. God, were
those golden flecks in his eyes? And the creases around each corner enhanced
the image that he perpetually squinted into the sun or smiled. Or both.
“Crowded
in here,” she said a little breathlessly. The bodies hemming her in tighter to
Griffin were unwelcome. Weren’t they?
Damn,
she needed to get away from him, and fast. One more upward quirk of his mouth
and she’d be wearing a wedding band and apron.
***
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