BT: Besides the food? I usually look forward to holidays ending.
NG: *chuckling* "You're a mean one Mr. Grinch..." Just kidding! Eggnog or hot cocoa?
NG: Do you make New Year's Resolutions?
BT: No. Why bother?
NG: When did you realize you wanted to be an author and how long did it take for you to become published?
BT: After I wrote a story from a freak brainstorming session, I looked it over and said to myself, "Well. Looks like you're a writer." Three stories and nine months later, I was a published author.
NG: What genre do you write and why?
BT: I write in many genres. Contemporary comes easiest, this latest, a Western was most fun to write. But I also have a Sci-Fi and a Paranormal out there. Why? I've yet to find one genre that feels the perfect fit for me, but whichever I'm writing at any time, you can bet it's crossed with Erotic Romance.
NG: Any advice you'd like to share with aspiring authors?
BT: Seek out a great support network, people who aren't afraid to tell you when your writing SUCKS! Stay open minded about it too. There's nothing worse than trying to work with a Diva.
NG: What's the one thing readers can always count on when they pick up a book written by you?
BT: Troubled heroes and multifaceted characters with real problems but HFN or the occasional HEA ending.
NG: Tease us with a preview of your scorching new release, Tengo una Pistola in the COCKED & FULLY LOADED Anthology.
BT: This short Western is a brief jaunt into the lives of late 1800s Texans, Chuck Samms and Mitch Denton. Friends and lovers for over ten years, life seems to be moving along status quo, or so Chuck thinks. Him pushing forty though, has gotten his insecurities riled up a bit if he were inclined to admit it. And when he comes home from a ten-day ride to discover Mitch has done up and switched teams by bringing home a local whore, Chuck finds it a bit hard to swallow.
NG: What inspired you to pen this sexy tale?
BT: While toying with the idea of writing a Western, three character types from the legendary TV Series, Gunsmoke, remained persistent in my mind -- Marshal Dillon, Festus, and Kitty. However, I've yet to pen a Het romance and I just couldn't see it. So... after a little thought, I had Mitch, Chuck, and Carmen, only Carmen's a bit special--she "has a pistol". ;-)
NG: There seems to be an increased interest and popularity in romance novels and erotica. Why do you think readers are drawn to these types of books?
BT: I think it's because erotic romances, while often containing spectacular and off-the-chart romance, offer a realism that has been missing. Readers aren't stupid. Purple prose went out with my grandmother, I believe.
NG: I can't let 'cha leave without asking . . . what do you think is sexy?
BT: Confidence, Charm, Sense of humor--definitely, a sense of humor, and a great ass.
NG: Bryl, thank you so much for stopping by Simply Sexy Stories! Tengo una Pistola sounds hotter than a showdown at high noon!
COCKED & FULLY LOADED is available with Noble Romance Publishing on Monday, December 14th! Pick up your copy with Bryl Tyne's story, Tengo una Pistola here!
Want to know more about Bryl R. Tyne?
Satisfy your curiosity here: http://www.bryltyne.com/ and http://www.bryltyne.com/blog
Well, if that weren't a sight. Though I weren't sure which invoked thought disturbed me more--my mind flashing straight to that female's thighs, or the fact that I had, for a fleeting second, reckoned maybe I kind a liked them. I closed my eyes to wait on Mitch to pour my coffee. My inhales slow, my exhales slower, I replaced the unnatural visions with recollections of Mitch and his bedroom skills . . . . Much better.
"Her name's Carmen. Carmen Mateos."
Concentration shot to hell hearing her name, I opened my eyes. "I don't give a damn what her name is, Mitch. I want her gone--off my property."
He pushed the coffee my way before returning to the stove. "She works at Miss Donavan's."
Thought maybe I'd seen her around town, but that were the least a my troubles. As I took a swig a the warm liquid, I recalled the bathwater that would be far from hot by the time I got to it, and again, my mind raced with images of one nekked Carmen, her skin, smooth and tan and glistening in the lantern's glow . . . . Miss Donavan did know how to keep the men happy. Least, those was my interpretations from the airy look on my men's faces each Saturday night when they returned from town. Attempting to switch tracks, I focused on the firm ass at the stove cooking me up something that smelled a whole lot better than pickled beets.
"Some cowboy from out a town didn't take kindly to Carmen's . . . uh, wares." He shoveled some eggs onto a plate. "Old coot threatened her life," he said, chucking the plate on the table in front of me.
I dug in. He'd yet to explain why the hell he'd been a visiting Miss Donavan's in the first place. Mitch had never taken to the ladies; least, not as far back as I knew him. And I'd known him for near ten years. Choking on an awfully dry bite, I reached for my coffee to wash it down.
Most times, men changed as they got older . . . . I chanced another glance his way. Somehow, I didn't think that were the case with Mitch, though. If I knew him like I thought I knew him, he'd remain a scoundrel for life--out a sheer orneriness, mind you.
"Miss Donavan asked if you wouldn't mind keeping Carmen safe for a while."
Forked eggs mid-bite, I met and was taken aback by the unusual stubborn look his face sported. Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned on the cupboards. My gaze traveled instinctively to the bulge his booted feet, crossed at the ankles, helped exemplify. "Safe from what?" I asked, wondering how long a while meant, in Miss Donavan terms.
He unfolded from his place on the cupboards and pulled up a chair cattycorner me. "Miss Donavan said . . . ." Playfully, he stroked over the backs of the fingers I had wrapped around my cup. Whatever he spewed next would be most likely bullshit. Always were, when he started up his flirting. He pulled me from my reverie with a forced cough. "If anyone can keep Carmen safe, it'd be Chuck Samms. That's what Miss Donavan said."
Damnit all to hell. I wanted to be angry, but those fingers felt as good as, if not better than, the butterflies that'd taken up residence in my stomach. Without protest, I allowed the kiss he placed on my lips and made sure he knew I wanted more as he pressed harder, taking me by the back of my neck and pulling me in closer. His chair toppled over as he made his way onto my lap. Straddling me, his tongue delving unimaginable depths, he hit all the right nerves.
My stomach tightened, my jeans not far behind. I gripped his ass. He ground his length up the front of me and back down as he paid my teeth, one by one, special attention.
Now there's 'hot', which is when a man knows he wants it; and then there's sweltering, when he realizes there just ain't no stopping. Firm hold on him, I got to my feet, his legs sliding along mine until his boots hit the floor. I pressed him into the table. Knocking my half-finished plate of eggs skittering over the side, I hadn't a care in the world except maybe getting myself on the inside a those pants a his.
"I missed you, Mitch." I let slip as, heaving for air, we parted.
He smiled and said, "Me too--" and then attacked my mouth, once again.
At the feminine query, I backed away; Mitch fell to the table. Smoothing my hair behind my ears, I looked to Mitch, now standing and tucking in his shirttails. Without acknowledging that contemptuous woman's presence, I barked the only words crossing my mind. "Get. Her. Off. My. Place."
"Carmen!" Mitch hollered after her hastily retreating form.
I grabbed him before he bolted too. "Mitch, I'm warnin' you--"
He wrenched out a my hold, a look on his face I'd never witnessed, not in all our years. Leaving matters unfinished, he marched off toward his room.
I popped every button on my shirt as I ripped it from my body and made for the kettle of water now cooled upon the stove. Dumb twit . . . . I soaked the shredded shirt and wrung it out, knowing he weren't stupid. But he was still a twit. Damnit. He had me more frustrated than a steer during a rut.