When is a name not a name?

When is a name not a name? Never ever if it's assumed.

Confused? Read on.

More people than we probably imagine use an assumed name. I do for my writing. Not because I'm ashamed of who I am or what I write (I'm not) but because as I put my Raven McAllan 'hat' on, I become Raven, and I write. Take if off and I have to vacuum and iron.

Deborah wears another hat as well. How else can she get through each day, and do what she has to do?

And Oliver? His life is one succession of hats until he meets Deborah…

Here is the Blurb…

 Deborah may not know the full truth of her childhood, but she knows she needs to find her soul.

During one of her performances at Silk Street, she attracts the attention of Oliver, Lord Craster. Known for his extreme tastes, he sensed a kindred soul in Deborah.

Persuading her that their needs mesh proves a challenge, even to a man of his experience. Will Oliver be the man she needs to unlock her secrets? Or will his dominance scare her too much to even try?

Are the nightmares simply too strong?

How about a look at the cover?

 Rather Yummy isn't it?

So here is an excerpt...

She lifted one long tapering candle from its place in the candelabrum, and let the wax trickle slowly down the sides.

She handed it to Oliver who took it with a flourish. He would have been well coached on his duties by a watchful Luc who stood close by. As the first drop slid lower inch by inch, to be followed by more, her breath quickened. Images of those globules beaded on her flesh, of the delicate cobweb tracery they could create, made her breathing choppy and her pulse jump.

To her amazement, the usual sick feeling in her stomach wasn't there. By now it would be normal for her head to pound, and her skin to be clammy. Instead her body prickled with something akin to excitement, and the muscles in her quim pulsed. Her juices gathered in the apex of her thighs, and she forced herself not to push them together to try and relieve the delicious tension inside.

Oliver's grin showed her he had noticed, and Deborah gritted her teeth. Damn him, he is too all-seeing.

"Do it," she said softly. "Do as Luc has instructed you. Let us finish this performance."

"This is for them." He waved the candle in the direction of the silent crowd. Faces appeared and disappeared as the flickering light crossed them. "Later it will be for us."

What? Her cunt contracted and for the second time in minutes. She felt the long forgotten gush of arousal fill her channel.

"Concentrate." Luc must have realized her attention had wavered, and brought it back. "Five minutes, that's all. Then we are gone."

He was right. Deborah walked to the angled bench placed at the front of the stage and stretched out. Her body was tilted to enable the audience to see everything. Behind her Oliver stood, the candle in his hand. Next to him, the ever-vigilant Luc waited.

She nodded. "Ready." As Luc spoke to the audience, explaining the rest of the act, she turned her mind inwards, slowed her breathing, and took herself to a place where what was about to happen wouldn't register. It was the only way she could cope.

"Later, I will show you how arousing it can be to experience the soft path of the wax caressing your body. Bring the sting of pain and change it to the sharp shard of pleasure. Now, I do as I am asked."

****

Oliver speculated what was going through her mind as she lay on the bench, her body stretched and her face devoid of expression.

"Do it," Luc said. "For the love of God and De…her, do it now. Do not make her wait. That is cruel."

He was not a cruel man. Even as he wondered what Luc had been going to say, when he had stopped mid-word, Oliver held the candle high and watched. As if in slow motion the tiny tears of wax dripped and hit her skin. To him it was a caress, a bite of pain, which would morph into a swell of pleasure, and a hint of things to come. A gift he could give her. If he thought they had the chance.

"Another." Luc was insistent. "As we discussed. Now. While she is within herself."

His phrasing intrigued Oliver. Nevertheless, he tipped the taper once more, and created the patterns they had agreed upon. By now his peers were cheering, the sight of her soft flesh covered in the ribbons of cooling wax a turn on to all those there. Even if it was not their own preference, each could appreciate how something so misunderstood, and called deviant by many, was so necessary to others.

In one way it seemed an aeon before Luc indicated he was done. In another scant seconds. He handed the stub of the candle to Luc and took his bow, before he turned to the woman still supine in front of him. With what the watchers would see as theatrical, he bent his head. To all intents and purposed he was offering a soft kiss to her neck. In reality he moved and nipped her earlobe. "It is over. Come, make your bow and let us take you out of here."

Thanks Raven for coming along today and bringing your fabulous new book.

Interested folks? I certainly am!

Well here is where you can find this tasty book:

http://www.evernightpublishing.com/a-shimmer-of-silk-by-raven-mcallan/

You can find more about Raven on www.ravenmcallan.com