6 Besties With Author Kate Deveaux
Kate Deveaux
Please share your 6 bests, telling us
from the topics below. Write as much, as little, and provide as many
images as you'd like.
1. Best writing wardrobe. I write
everyday so it’s pretty much whatever I have on which is usually
some sort of tennis skirt and a comfy tee or sweater if it’s
winter. A real luxury is writing in my bathrobe
2. Best Inspiration for writing. I find
going on vacation no matter how close to home unleashes creative
thought. That and a day by the pool work wonders.
3. Best writing place. My favorite
chair in my living room, with my laptop, a cup of tea, and a little
notebook to jot down things that pop into my head about the plot
while I’m writing.
4. Best Pick-Me-Up book. There are a
few books that really make me feel good. I have to say a Maeve Binchy
such as Evening Class works every time. I’m transported to a
different world and immersed in the daily lives of her Dublin
characters. Also, Elin Hilderbrand and Wendy Wax are good beach reads
and feel good reads.
5. Best secret talent. Now it wouldn’t
be secret now if I told you, would it?
Okay, okay, here’s one: I have a bit of a photographic memory. I
know, that’s like being a little pregnant, LOL, but I do have a
pretty good photographic memory. Comes in handy let me tell you.
6. Best experience or writing idea.
Best writing idea…go to a coffee shop and observe (and listen).
Guaranteed ideas for a book if you sit and watch while you sip your
latte.
Thank you so much for
having me today!
Always fun stopping by
to chat.
Best,
Kate
xx
Cockpit Throttle Up
Book
One
Kate
Deveaux
Genre:
Erotic Romance
Publisher:
Ellora’s Cave
Date
of Publication: June 3, 2015
ISBN:
9781419991868
ASIN:
Number
of pages: 65
Word
Count: 30,000
Book
Description:
It
seems turbulence isn’t always caused by weather.
Throttle
up as past loves collide…
High
school sweethearts re unite forty years later at 37,000 feet.
Fifty
eight year old commercial airline pilot, Bobbi Cooper, gets a blast
from the past when her high school sweetheart, Mack McConnell,
appears as one her first class passengers on her 747 transatlantic
flight to London.
Used
to being in control at all times, Bobbi is reeling from a crummy
marriage and she must learn at Mack’s capable hands that losing
control can be oh so sexy.
Excerpt:
There
was silence. Then the familiar sensation of her stomach being dragged
down, right down to her standard issue black shoes. G force. It was
the same every time.
Flicking
off the autopilot and taking control of the 747, Bobbi gripped the
throttle in her right hand, fearlessly pushing it forward. Slow and
even. The plane bounced and shook in the wake turbulence of a passing
767. The muffled sounds of passengers’ outbursts at the sudden drop
mingled with the clatter and clang of the galley carts that Bobbi
damn well hoped were secured as she’d ordered.
They
had to head to higher airspace. Now.
Bobbi
knew better than to heed the shrill rapid warnings echoing throughout
the cockpit to urgently trim to turbulence penetration airspeed.
Scott,
her first officer, nodded as they increased power and held the jet
seemingly against its will. Dozens of lights flashed. Air traffic
control rattled off a series of confirmations when she pressed the
plane higher, the metal creaking as she forced nearly a million
pounds of steel and its occupants upward.
Pushing
the throttle hard, Bobbi knew smooth air was only a few moments away.
Under her guidance, the plane jostled and battled its way through the
rough air. A sudden bump, followed by another, then the resulting
loud gasp from the passengers.
Holding
firm at her command, they broke through the rough air into an eerie
smoothness as they glided seemingly effortlessly into calmer
airspace.
Bobbi
exhaled, only now aware she’d been holding her breath. Turbulence
was an everyday occurrence for a seasoned pilot like herself, but
this had caught her off guard. A heady mix of bad weather and the
wake turbulence of the other aircraft had left her reeling when she
tried to steady the 747 inbound for Heathrow.
Scott
turned away to double-check some details with the flight engineer
seated behind him. Bobbi wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow when
he wasn’t looking. As captain of the immense beast, Bobbi couldn’t
let her fellow officers—or any crew for that matter—see her sweat
under pressure. And that was becoming more of an issue, since hot
flashes were now often brought on not by an adrenaline rush from
flying but by Mother Nature.
Bobbi
Cooper couldn’t believe she would be fifty-eight next year. Where
had the time gone?
She
knew damn well where it had gone. First a stepping-stone career in
the Air Force and then thirty years flying commercial. Enough to
establish her as one of the highest-ranking woman pilots in the
country as a 747 captain for Atlantica airlines.
“Perfect,”
Bobbi said, switching back to autopilot and settling the aircraft
into the calmer and higher altitude.
Scott
did as she ordered and tinkered with the gauges, she watched. Once
she was sure all was under control, Bobbi unbuckled her shoulder
harness and rose from her seat, reassured all was secure.
“Keep
her on route—I’m stepping back for a moment. You two got it?”
she asked, standing behind her first officer Scott and her flight
engineer Neville, the new recruit fresh from a small regional
airline.
“Sure,
Bob, we got it,” Scott said casually, calling her by the familiar
cockpit nickname. “Have them send up some coffee while you’re
back there.”
Bobbi
buzzed for the flight attendant to open the cockpit door. Standard
procedure after 9/11. Bobbi peered out through the peephole. It was
Sandy, the flight attendant with a penchant for displaying her ample
cleavage by wearing her uniform extra tight, so it hugged all her
curves. But it wasn’t only her inappropriate dress that annoyed
Bobbi. It was the fact she’d also had fucked Bobbi’s husband.
But
then again, who hasn’t?
After
divorce and company paid-for counseling, Bobbi had come to the
realization, and then acceptance, that Sandy was just one on a long
list of Greg’s conquests. She did her best not to hold a grudge,
but that was a constant challenge, as she ran into Sandy more than
she would have liked. Once a century was about what Bobbi could
tolerate, although it had been cleared by corporate that they were
fine to work together. And they were. Bobbi was a professional.
Through and through. She’d fought tooth and nail for her job, and
with three and a half years until retirement, with the promise of a
cushy pension waiting for her, which she’d only have to marginally
share with Greg according to the settlement, there was no way she was
going to let Sandy or any of the others put her off her game.
“How’d
everyone do?” Bobbi asked Sandy with her cool, composed captain’s
demeanor. It was the one piece of her dignity she’d salvaged among
the women flight attendants, a good majority of whom had been treated
to Greg’s lustful attentions.
Sandy
motioned with her head back toward the passenger area. “Fine,”
she reported. “Chucker in aisle sixteen and a few more farther
back, but they should be fine now.”
Chuckers.
That was what they called the passengers who couldn’t hang on to
lunch during a bumpy flight. Today had been a doozy, and it wasn’t
over yet.
Bobbi
noticed with subtle irritation that Sandy’s blouse strained against
her perky breasts as she efficiently flicked the switch on the coffee
machine. Her bosom jiggled while she scooped ice into a plastic cup
and pulled a can of tomato juice out of the galley cart. Shit.
Greg really hadn’t had a chance.
Big brown doe eyes and a body that wouldn’t quit. The sexy flight
attendant was everything Bobbi wasn’t. Not that it mattered now.
Greg was on to new, greener pastures. Her ex was consistent she
scoffed —his conquests all had one, no make that two things in
common— big knockers and tiny, round asses. Men were shit, really.
Why she had let herself be demeaned and embarrassed by his bad
behavior for as long as she had, she’d never know.
C’est
le vie,
Bobbi coached herself as she smiled her most innocuous smile at
Sandy.
“Plan
for a bumpy ride in to Heathrow—there’ll be some more weather
ahead,” Bobbi warned her. “Might need more bags.”
“Sure
thing, Captain,” Sandy said as she snapped open the lid on the can,
poured the tomato juice over ice and handed it to Bobbi.
Bobbi
nodded her appreciation and gulped down her customary in-flight
refreshment. “I’m going back for a few minutes,” she said,
handing the empty cup back to Sandy before pulling back the curtain
to first class. “And send some coffee in for Scott and Neville
before we head down, please.”
Entering
the first-class cabin on her way to the pilot’s rest area located
between first class and business, Bobbi scanned the spacious cabin.
Most of her passengers were now contentedly dozing, oblivious to the
formidable battle she’d been waging in the cockpit to keep them in
precariously calm airspace. But that was her job—to deliver five
hundred souls safely to London.
Sunlight
illuminated the plush first-class cabin through a few half-drawn
window shades, but not quite to enough to keep the blinding sun from
searing into her eyes. Squinting, she walked down the aisle, passing
by the first row.
A
collective gasp came from the passengers when the plane hit another
deep air pocket. Bobbi reached out to steady herself, placing her
hand on the headrest of the second row seat for a brief second,
smiling reassuringly at the surrounding passengers. She was their
pilot, after all.
The
passenger in the nearest seat looked up at her.
Bobbi
smiled down, then did a double take.
“Bobbi?”
the male passenger asked, looking up at her. “Bobbi…Bobbi
Cooper?”
“Yes,”
Bobbi said, instantly recognizing his features. Her mind was
spinning. Those dark-blue eyes. And that unmistakable voice. Velvety
and thick. The way scotch felt when it slid down her throat. She’d
know that voice and that face anywhere. Even if it had been forever.
It
was Mack.
Kate
Deveaux is a contemporary, erotic romance writer and die-hard
romantic. It was after reading Jane Eyre in high school, that she
became hooked on the idea of writing about romance, excitement and
drama. Kate has been penning stories, from the sensual to the
sinfully sexy, ever since.
A
former wedding planner, Kate has always been "in love" with
love! She was inspired to transition from writing racy short stories
to full length manuscripts after meeting other authors in the romance
world at industry workshops, conferences and events. Originally from
England, now resides in the U.S. with her husband. When she’s not
writing or reading, Kate can be found on the tennis court—yes,
there’s even "love" in that game too!
Author
website: http://www.katedeveaux.com
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/KateDeveaux
Google
Plus: https://plus.google.com/104114173171800541171/posts
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