I’m super excited to have Elise here today! She’s celebrating a brand new release from Ellora’s Cave, Not So Pure. A new twist on the Snow White fairy tale.
It’s no secret most writers like fairytales. I like them so much I’ve decided on writing several novella’s about them and a novel because twisting already existing worlds is warped and fun. Though I’ve dabbled in a lot of reading modern interpretations of fairytales before I was a full time writer, now I find a lot more fun in the originals. It’s like every time I pick up an old fairy tale at any one point in my life, the story holds a different meaning with fresh eyes. I can only hope the books I write are like that someday. Or they at least enflame the same sense of passion I get for tall tales and dancing princesses.

If I had to pick a favorite fairytale of all time I’d have to go with The Twelve Dancing Princesses. I still have the giant picture book my Mom used to read to me at night sitting with a few other of my childhood favorites on my bookshelves. I remember turning the pages on that book was a feat, even when I was eleven and still reading it and it smelled slightly musty. But the illustrations are what made it come to life. I never wanted to be a princess, wasn’t that type of little girl, but I loved the secrets and detail in every one of those pages. The fact that despite what they’re parents said or ordered, they could do whatever they wanted until the wee hours of the morning.

Somehow, the moralistic ending of a common boy overcome by love never stuck with me.

I liked the adventure, the sparkly woods and orchards, and the way Elise, the main heroine, stood up to her sisters at the end. I was also partial because she had my name—not the other way around. I always wondered why they couldn’t continue with the spell, and sneak off every night to have a good time. Somehow a future erotic/erotic romance author didn’t think what they were doing was a bad thing, imagine that? Sure, no one wants a prince with a heart of ice who’ll only dance, but they seemed to be having fun so what’s the harm?

As a kid I recall repeated conversations with my mother going something like this:

“But why do they have to stop dancing?”

“Because they aren’t in love with these men and they want to find men they are in love with—they need freedom.”

“But why can’t they get freedom by themselves?”

Cue my puzzled face. A little feminist to the core was I. I still ponder over their adventures when I read the big, musty book even now. It’s a story I come back to over and over wondering—why the need to fit in so badly? And sure, the gardener was willing to do anything for love. But what was love to him? All he saw was Elise’s pretty face and he was smitten. That’s called lust, bucko, get it right. But despite some of these flaws there’s still the secrets that hold me riveted.

What must of the other eleven princesses thought when their youngest sister got married and they got nothing? Were they ever truly happy that the damn gardener broke the spell or was it only an act so they could fit in? Did they ever miss those nights of freedom, spell or no spell? They were certainly free to make their own choices in ice princes for dancing but they probably didn’t get the same courtesy in real life.

To me this story captivates me because of not what’s on the page—but everything that isn’t. And I guess my wanting to know more, wanting to delve deeper into those enchanted secrets, make me a writer through and through.

Blurb

White runs from her prison of a past and enters into a sexual deal with seven men that alters the course of her life for eternity. Caught between her need to take control and making up for her serious lack of good sex, she enters a wonderland of kinky possibilities with men who show her that Prince Charmings come in all shapes and sizes. For White and her men—once upon a time doesn’t cut it—three or four times sound just about right.

With each partner—not always one at a time—White beats back her trust issues. But the shadow of her past comes back to haunt them all. Now she must introduce them to her personal battle, hoping they’ll fight beside her as their sinful nights turn into hellish days. Happily ever after isn’t by the books anymore.

Excerpt

Bright morning sunshine filtered through the trees, casting warmth all over her dirty body, and not bothering to look down at herself, she continued to pick her way through the forest. The light breeze blowing against her cheek was thick with scents from the night before—blooming night jasmine and sweat. She gritted her teeth against the nausea rooted in her stomach and noticed the fine shaking running up her bare thighs. How long could she go without food or water before she passed out? Her last meal had been yesterday afternoon, would that be enough? She didn’t know.

A plan was paramount.

She heard stories of men out here. They all lived together outside of town, away from the glitz and glamour of the city. Would they help or not? Either she found the nearest path back to a main road or she searched for a random cottage. There was no way to tell which would be easier.

Why had she even gone with Huntsman! This train of thought would get her nowhere and at least she was out of the house. She quickly stopped questioning and made a choice.

She would try to find the infamous cottage in the woods.

The reasoning was simple enough. It was logically easier to persuade a few people to help her out than walking to town and relying on a larger group of people. With more people, the odds of them saying no went up. Townspeople had that “who me?” aspect to them that made ignorance bliss. So many people would probably glance out of the corner of their eye at her begging and hurry along because of the implications of helping street filth.

And that’s what she looked like right now. With no money, no prospects and no work experience, so she had to start from scratch—there wasn’t much else but pity to fall back on.

This wasn’t a fairytale where someone would slip money into her hand and offer her a warm bed for the night. Most people were too selfish. White was better off going one-on-one with a group of men who’d already shed society’s rules by living in the middle of nowhere. Unfortunately, the trip was neither close nor easy.

Now she was caked in god-knows-what, looking toward the morning sky and waiting for a cottage to come in sight. What other option did she have? There was no indication of what awaited her there. But it had to be better than what was back in the woods—embracing destiny and all that jazz.

“Or running away from it,” she mumbled.

All the same. But it was hard to ignore her survival instincts. They had at least gotten her out of that prison and from now on it was her own way or she could bolt if she wanted to. Yet, this was the first time she’d been out of the house in how long? For a second her whole world rotated a hundred and eighty degrees.

The fresh air was joyous as it whipped around her half-naked body. It moved along the sensitive nape of her neck and brushed lightly against her shoulders and her spine. Inside her head it was peaceful and maddening all at once. Sure, she could do whatever she wanted now—that was a relief—but she couldn’t do anything without a good meal. So technically, she still didn’t have half as much independence as she would have liked.

When the sun came through the breaks at the top of the tree-line, the outline of a house was illuminated and she tried to hold back her curiosity. Her stomach plunged as nervous butterflies fluttered in her abdomen and she crossed her arms around her waist. This must be the place, they had an auto body shop and car parts were spread everywhere.

Everyone in town knew about the men who lived in the woods to get away from the catty glitz of the real world. People said the men lived in a fairytale. White believed it when she had the chance to examine the cottage up close. Aquamarine windows lined with chipped, coal black casings glistened with grease. There was a sloping roof with red tinted shingles, though some were missing in a weird pattern.

No one did the place justice—because it was a complete mess

Why would they need a door with bars on the peep-hole window? Were there normally robberies in the middle of a forest?

They topped it all off with a yard of rusted metal—which made sense because they were rumored to be mechanics. But motorcycle parts, engines, and tires laying out on the lawn without rhyme or reason? She supposed everyone had to have a hobby.

White gingerly sidestepped her way through the car parts. The scent of cooked meat beckoned her closer toward the door and her stomach twisted with hunger. Caught between the need to bang on the door or to let herself inside—damn the consequences—she settled for something in between both actions.

“Hey!” White shouted, throat burning with thirst. “Can I get a little help out here?”

She moved toward the door when she heard footsteps because moving backward was cowardly. A man, judging by his broad shoulders. He peered through the window. Barred rectangular shadows hollowed his face and forehead. He slightly opened the door to peek out at her with suspicion through the small crack.

Maybe she had been expecting a deformity because they lived in the middle of nowhere. But when she searched his face for a pockmark or fake eye, all that she could see was the bone structure of a model with a little bit of scruff on his chin. His amber brown eyes narrowed. Wasn’t she the one who should be suspicious?

A tiny tremor shot up her spine when he opened the door all the way and eased his toned, sculpted frame through the gap. No peg leg either. From what she could see, he was all there. A perfect specimen. She absently rubbed the fuzz on her head, wondering why men did it electively. Like the stranger in front of her with white blond hair buzzed to his scalp. She dropped her hand and tightened her jaw.

He squinted at her because the sun was directly in his eyes. It meant he stood somewhere in the range of six-feet-four-inches with a high metabolism as evidenced by his lithe, muscular build. He rolled his shoulders, hands ducking into the pockets of a pair of brown corduroys. The cotton shirt he had on exuded spicy, musky man smell and she shifted from foot to foot.

“Are you willing to help me?”

“It depends on what you want and why you’re here.” His voice came out in a guttural lullaby. “Not many people venture out here without a car.”

He gave her a cursory once over with his eyes.

“And you really don’t have much of anything.”

“I just want some food and to get some sleep. It’s been a long night.” She crossed her arms, acting like his answer didn’t define the next few minutes. “I’ll be out of your house by morning if I can help it.”

“Where are your clothes?”

“Long story, but at least I have underwear, right?”

His gaze snapped up and down with heat flickering in his tawny pupils. That look was familiar, lust was easy to pinpoint. He wanted her even if he didn’t know it yet. So, there was a foothold now and she was going to take advantage of it.

If this is what it took to get some food, then so be it. Weirder things had transpired at the mansion—and worse things had been traded for drugs. Besides, whoever got anything in life for free?

A simple flashing wouldn’t do her any harm. She hadn’t seen anyone react to her body who wasn’t coked up or twice her age in awhile and deep inside she enjoyed knowing that he wanted her. A little thrill made her heart beat faster—no one else would see her half naked—they were in the middle of a forest. But the idea that someone could see turned her on more than she’d like to admit.

There was no getting around the fact that he was hot.

She uncrossed her arms and let them rest by her sides, giving him an eyeful of her breasts. Without pausing, he was by her side, offering his shirt with an outstretched hand.

“W—what?” she stammered, uncertain.

“I’d feel more comfortable talking to you if you were dressed.”

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