We Are Made of Stardust by Mimi Strong
Publication date: June 28th 2013
Genre: NA Contemporary Romance
Synopsis:
Peaches Monroe, age 22, is the sassy, plus-sized manager of a bookstore in the small town of Beaverdale, Washington.
One Saturday afternoon, she's balancing precariously on a chair, in a bridesmaid dress, when a handsome dark-haired man comes running into the bookstore. He knocks Peaches over, she lands in his muscular arms. They lock gazes, and ...
She recognizes him.
As the sexy vampire heartthrob she watches on TV every week.
Peaches and Dalton Deangelo are completely wrong for each other. He's only in town temporarily, working on an indie movie. She should stay away. He should stay away, too.
But they're drawn to each other. Dalton claims it's because they're made from the same stardust.
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MIMI FACTS
Q. Is sexy, smooth Dalton Deangelo based on a certain real actor who plays a vampire on TV?
A. Yes and no. It's based on the mile-high girlie crush one of my friends has on the actor Ian Somerhalder, and the hypnotic hold he seems to have on this grown, married woman, much to my amusement! She blushes when she talks about him.
Q. Where did the idea for We are Made of Stardust come from?
A. My favorite romantic movie is Notting Hill, and I think any of us who've worked a retail job have fantasized about our favorite actor walking through the door! I think this story has been in my head for years. Most people would get so nervous, they wouldn't even speak to the actor, so I needed a girl who could hold her own and then some. Along came Peaches. She doesn't see herself as a fun girl, but oh boy is she fun.
Q. How long does it take you to write a novel?
A. I wish I was one of those speedy authors who can write a full-length novel in one week, but it takes me about 5 weeks to complete a first draft of something as long and involved as We are Made of Stardust. Then I still have to do research and editing. I think the second novel in the series will go faster, as I know the characters better. I'm always working hard so my readers don't have to wait long.
Q. What kind of music do you listen to when you write?
A. The band that lives below me. But! Not anymore, because I've just moved. Me, Mr. Strong, and our two handsome kitties are now in a quieter neighborhood. Actually, We are Made of Stardust is the reason we moved. All that writing about quaint, quiet small town life in Beaverdale gave me a ferocious craving to move. So, in the middle of writing the book, we gave notice and started looking for a new place! I uploaded the book to Amazon about 8 hours before the movers showed up.
Q. Is the Peaches Monroe series going to be long? Is it a love triangle? Will every book end on a brutal cliffhanger?
A. I've never written a long, multi-book series. I hope that you readers will guide me. Please post reviews and talk about the book. Tell me what you'd like to see happen. I have some big, big plans, but nothing is locked in until it's published.
Q. Why do you self-publish?
A. I started self-publishing in 2011 when I couldn't find a publisher for my first novel, Charlie. (Written under my YA pen name, Dalya Moon.) That's when I first discovered the amazing indie community, with book bloggers and other fun authors such as the folks who hang out in the Kboards' Writers' Cafe. From then, there was no stopping me! Stardust is book #15 for me, and I'm having a lot of fun. Oh, it's stressful at times, and there are low moments, but those times are when you find out what you're made of. I think what keeps me grounded are the great friends I've made, and giving back to the indie community.
Q. Thong or granny panties?
A. I like a little coverage, but not so much that it sticks out above the waistband of my jeans.
Q. When people find out you write erotic romance, do they treat you like a freak?
A. Yes, but the cool people treat you like the right kind of freak. People already think I'm weird that I self-publish. Actually, most random acquaintances find the topic quite dull until I mention I write “dirty billionaire stuff,” which is why I usually keep it under my hat. It's hard for me to really cut loose if I'm thinking about people reading the books.
EXCERPT
“Are we telling secrets now?”
“Either that or kissing. Your choice.”
I shook at the thought of divulging my secrets.
“Kissing.”
His gaze went to my lips and he leaned forward slowly.
He murmured, his voice low and barely audible, “I'm going to give you a dramatic on-screen kiss.”
I giggled in response, which normally would have made me cringe at my stupidity, but the way he was looking at me was so serious and sexy. I felt like my body was under water, with pleasant pressure pushing me together in all directions, but that at any moment, I might fly apart like so much stardust.
Dalton's expression got ultra-serious, and just like that, he turned into Drake Cheshire, the cultured vampire with a taste for big-lipped girls under one hundred pounds. He stared intensely at my eyes, my lips, my cleavage, my throat, my lips, and then up to my eyes again. I melted like a pat of butter on summer pavement.
He moved in closer, so our noses were an inch apart, and he repeated the intense look. Eyes. His, green like precious emeralds. Lips. Mine, slightly parted and trembling. Throat. Feeling very exposed. Cleavage. Mine, heaving. Probably. By the way I couldn't quite catch my breath.
His gaze slid back dreamily to my lips, and he tilted his head to the side, not yet touching his mouth to mine.
We held steady, the only movements our breathing and minor swaying with the motion of the vehicle. I could feel the heat from his skin against my lips. He tipped his head back and looked me in the eyes again.
Oh, the slow torture.
His hand moved from the outside of my thigh to the inside. I gasped. No nylons. Bare flesh. His hand was only at the hem line of my bridesmaid dress, but the way he was looking at me, it felt much more intimate. He took one of my legs firmly in both hands and pushed it to bring space between my legs, and then his hand traveled up further.
He breathed against my lips and blinked slowly as his hand moved in, up under the peach-hued tulle skirt of my dress. His fingertips grazed the silky material of my underwear.
I arched my back as the sensation of his touch blazed through me. A tiny sigh escaped my parted lips.
EXCERPT
He grabbed hold of my dress and pulled it up over my head, then tossed it aside without pause or ceremony.
In my underwear only now, I pressed my palms into his chest and arched my body, throwing my head back and exposing my neck.
He curled up, his abdominal muscles rippling, and kissed my neck as he pulled me back down with him. I felt his tongue, his lips, and even the bright pain of sharp teeth, the pleasure like the setting sun flashing through trees while you’re driving fast on the highway.
EXCERPT
With grit in his voice, he said, “Petra! I command you to come to me, at once.”
My brain did a little double-hop of confusion, because he’d changed. Dalton Deangelo was gone, and Drake Cheshire sat naked at the edge of the hot spring. His erect cock took on a menacing gleam.
My breathing sped up, and I could feel my pussy swelling with excitement. Oh, fuck. Drake Cheshire. Oh, fuck me three times and don’t call me in the morning, I was about to blow the world’s hottest vampire.
“Come here, now,” he commanded. “This cock isn’t going to suck itself, so put your pretty lips around it and blow.”
“Blow it yourself! Nobody talks to me like that.”
Still staring intensely at me, he held out one arm and beckoned me to him with a finger. I’d seen him—Drake, the vampire—do this to his girls. He could be sweet at times, but he still had that evil vampire side. That beckoning gesture made me yell at the TV screen, but it also made me put my hand down my pants. So conflicting.
Still playing Drake, he said, “Come here and do as you’re told.”
I paddled my way to him, still feeling conflicted. And very swollen.
With a subservient whimper, I nudged my way between his legs.
“Lick it.”
EXCERPT
The bookstore was my whole life, set up just how I liked it. Sometimes in the evening, after we were closed and the lights were dimmed, I found it difficult to leave the space. I'd stay behind and watch the traffic on the rainy street outside, as people walked back and forth, going to Java Jones or DeNirro’s, unaware of me, sitting in the dark.
Dalton pulled open the front door, and the sounds of the world came in. He'd probably get a phone call and make some excuse before we were half-way there, and I'd be going to the wedding alone. I'd had other men make big promises before, and it always started like this: the grand, spontaneous gesture. The excuses kicked in later.
My eyes were wide open.
Dalton turned to me, his beautiful green eyes bright with promise. “Let's have some fun.”
It was exactly what I needed to hear. “Fun,” I agreed, and I walked ahead of him out the door.
“What is it about bridesmaids?” he asked as soon as we were outside.
I laughed. “Maybe it's our association with the bride, all dressed in white and virtuous.”
He held out his arm for me to hold his elbow, like a gentleman. “You, Peaches Monroe, are looking quite virtuous yourself. That pretty dress with all the ruffles. You're so clean and nice, you give me bad thoughts.”
I laughed, harder this time. “Wow. You don't waste any time. You just say whatever you want, don't you?”
He grinned. “I suspect I've met my match in you.”
“Are you always like this? I feel like I've known you for years, but I've been watching you on TV. You don't know me, though, but you seem pretty comfortable.”
“My car's this way,” he said, pulling me to the right. “And who's to say I don't already know you? Maybe we share a common past.”
“I think I'd remember that.”
He stopped walking and turned to look at me. Really look at me. With those gorgeous green eyes, set in that achingly handsome face.
I started to worry he was going to kiss me. Or not kiss me. Either way, I was in big trouble.
He looked down my body, along my fluffy bridesmaid gown, like he was formulating a plan to get it off of me.
Forget the wedding, I thought. Unzip me, bend me over, and make me call you weird names until the sun comes up.
He smiled, as if he was his vampire character, and could read my mind.
EXCERPT
We were standing near the bar, he with a light beer and me with a glass of sparkling white wine, plus the giddy sensation one gets at her first family function where she’s legally allowed to drink.
“Don’t tease,” I said.
“You say that now…”
I sipped my wine as he tore my dress off with his gaze. I know you’re supposed to hate your bridesmaid dress and complain bitterly about having to wear it, but I liked mine. The bodice was cut to frame my chest demurely, with just a hint of naughty cleavage—or at least that’s how it started out. The heat of my body had loosened up the fabric on the straps somehow, and now the front was dipping down, anything but demure.
“Stop teasing me,” I said softly, almost whispering.
His eyes locked onto my cleavage. “Speaking of teasing, a guy could drink champagne from there.”
I snorted and tugged the bodice up. “Don’t be silly. It would drain right through.”
“Only one way to find out.” He turned back toward the bar and raised his fingers to call for the bartender. “Bottle of your best champ—”
I grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away from the bar before he created a huge spectacle.
EXCERPT
Dalton's hand landed on my knee.
Hand-on-knee alert!
The hand lingered on my knee, sending delicious heat into my body, including the zesty taco zone.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I was coming on too strong, wasn't I? I can be dramatic sometimes. Hazard of my career, I suppose. At least I'm not on a cop show, or I'd probably interrogate you or put you in handcuffs.”
I swallowed hard at the idea of handcuffs. “I'm not entirely against the idea of kissing you, but if you're going to do it, just do it. Don't tell me you're going to—”
He moved swiftly, hooking one arm behind my back so I couldn't fall off my chair or get away. His lips were on my mouth, his face in my face, and the kiss felt as right as anything had ever felt right in my life.
Fireworks.
He gathered my lower lip between his and gently sucked as his breath warmed my face. People were still tapping silverware on glasses and encouraging people to kiss. The room swam around me, and it seemed like everyone was kissing, in the beautifully-decorated banquet room, with soft music playing and the scent of flowers and fresh bread in the air. How could you not kiss in a room like that?
Dalton pulled away, quickly looking down, as if embarrassed.
I looked at his hand on my knee and found my own hand on top of his, squeezing his thick fingers. I loosened my grip, and at the same time, he flipped his hand to be palm up, holding my hand tenderly.
His voice husky, he leaned in toward me and said, “Thanks for letting me tag along with you today.”
“Thanks for running into my bookstore. Why were you running, anyway?”
He winced. “Stupid reporters.”
“Was it just the usual Hollywood stuff, or did you do something scandalous?”
“You mean like crash someone's wedding?”
“I guess you don't have to tell me.” I squeezed his hand and reached over with my free hand to take a sip from my second glass of wine. “I am a woman, though. And we're curious. Why don't you just tell me what's happening, so I don't have to sneak off to the ladies' room and scan through the gossip sources on my phone?”
He looked away, gazing at the newlyweds while displaying a breathtaking profile. Strong jawline, thick dark hair. That chin dimple was probably insured for a million bucks. Ugh. Even his ears were the cutest things ever, with all his cartilage folds being a thousand times more handsome than the ears of regular folks.
Where was that evil photographer? Why was he not getting more evidence of my once-in-a-lifetime handsome actor date?
I took a deep breath and let out an audible sigh—audible by accident.
Dalton turned to me with an intense look, the kind I'd seen him do on TV about a thousand times, right before he delivers a bombshell of a line.
Those gorgeous lips of his began to move. “Let's just be two souls tonight. Two souls who are made of stardust, and found their way back to each other, the way they were destined to.”
Gulp. “And?”
“Let's wait for our table number to be called, go stand in line for roast beef, and never let each other go.” He squeezed my fingers.
The way he was looking at me. The effect he was having on my whole body, from my swollen ladylumps to my actual freakin’ heart. Two souls made of stardust? I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I reached for my wine and tossed it back.
Nodding, I said, “Tonight, we are two souls.”
EXCERPT
Dalton's expression got ultra-serious, and just like that, he turned into Drake Cheshire, the cultured vampire with a taste for big-lipped girls under one hundred pounds. He stared intensely at my eyes, my lips, my cleavage, my throat, my lips, and then up to my eyes again. I melted like a pat of butter on summer pavement.
He moved in closer, so our noses were an inch apart, and he repeated the intense look. Eyes. His, green like precious emeralds. Lips. Mine, slightly parted and trembling. Throat. Feeling very exposed. Cleavage. Mine, heaving, probably, guessing by the way I couldn't quite catch my breath.
His gaze slid back dreamily to my lips, and he tilted his head to the side, not yet touching his mouth to mine.
We held steady, the only movements our breathing and minor swaying with the motion of the vehicle. I could feel the heat from his skin against my lips. He tipped his head back and looked me in the eyes again.
Oh, the slow torture.
His hand moved from the outside of my thigh to the inside, to the hot crease where my thighs were touching. I gasped. No nylons. Bare flesh. His hand was only at the hem line of my bridesmaid dress, but the way he was looking at me, it felt much more intimate. He took one of my legs firmly in both hands and pushed it to bring space between my legs, and then his hand traveled up further.
He breathed against my lips and blinked slowly as his hand moved in, up under the peach-hued tulle skirt of my dress. His fingertips grazed the silky material of my underwear.
I arched my back as the sensation of his touch blazed through me. A tiny sigh escaped my parted lips.
He pulled his face back from mine and nodded up, as though beckoning me toward him.
With his fingers now gently pressing against my pulse point through my underwear, I found myself unable to move. I raised my eyebrows, calling him to me with my eyes.
The corner of his beautiful mouth twitched up in a grin. A pulse of adrenaline shot through me. That was the face Drake made before his fangs popped out and he bit a girl! I gasped again.
He moved quickly, and his mouth was on my neck, at my throbbing jugular vein.
I squealed in a mix of terror and delight as he pretended to bite me.
He let out a throaty growl, while at the same time he did something magical with his fingers between my legs. As he licked and kissed my neck, gently biting me, he kept exploring the elasticity of my underwear, until he had the silky material pushed aside and we were skin on skin, his fingertips on my freshly-waxed cushions of flesh.
I relaxed against the leather seat, my head back on the head rest, trying not to die from pleasure. Panties pushed aside, his strong fingertips gently stroked my clit. I moaned and whimpered for him to be less gentle, and he delivered a more vigorous nub massage. Oh, fuck yes. Just like that.
My breathing sped up, my pulse pounding as he brought me to the precipice of coming, and then eased off, pulling his hand back to rest between my thighs.
He nibbled on my earlobe, then murmured, “Let's get naked.”
EXCERPT
I left Dottie Simpkin's charm workshop feeling more confused than ever. Three hours of being told to be yourself but also act in specific, manipulative ways will do that to you.
Shayla was trailing behind me on the walk back to her Rav.
“Hold up, I’m doing the mermaid walk,” she said.
“You look ridiculous.”
She was walking the way Dottie had taught us, with her upper legs close together, like she was wearing an invisible tight skirt instead of her jean cutoffs with the frayed edges.
Once she finally caught up to me, she said, “Hey, let’s try out our new charms on that hottie over there.” She pointed her chin to a man who was puzzling over a parking meter. “Just for practice,” she said.
I would have agreed, but the very tall, very handsome Nordic-looking man with the broad shoulders and narrow waist was not suitable for practice. He was more like the final exam. He was the man equivalent of a PhD thesis paper.
Shayla abandoned her mermaid walk and dragged me up to Mr. Clearly Not From Around Here.
“They don’t need to be fed on Sundays,” she said.
“Who?”
“The parking meters, silly.”
He turned to her, and I followed his gaze as it travelled from Shayla’s eyes to her lips and then to her fingertips, which were rubbing back and forth along her collarbone and exposed shoulder, where her striped shirt was falling off.
Dottie had recommended wearing high-maintenance clothing that required constant adjustment. Men are attracted women who are constantly correcting their clothing, or so Dottie said. I had a little pebble in my cork-soled sandals, but I didn’t think she meant I should take my shoe off my sweaty foot and shake it around to impress this guy.
“I guess I scrounged up a pocket full of change for nothing,” he said. His voice was deep, but I shouldn’t have been surprised, since it had so far to go, up that long neck of his. How tall was he? Six foot four? At least.
He had a good-sized shoe on him, too. My whole body experienced a naughty, tingling sensation as I drank him in with my eyes, from his hiking boots to his lightweight brown chinos and up. My gaze got stuck briefly around his zipper, pondering exactly what was causing a sizable shadow in that area. A wrinkle in the fabric? A giant python? A tree trunk for one to climb with her bare-naked vagina?
Oh dear. My cheeks flushed with heat, and my nervous hands went to my hair, twirling strands between my fingers.
That had been another one of Dottie’s man-charming tricks: twirl your hair and draw a strand across your mouth, dragging your fingers across your lips to make him think about you touching his naughty business with those lips. (Okay, she didn’t say that last part, but come on.)
Shayla beat me to it, already rubbing one forefinger against her lower lip as she gazed up at the stranger with her golden eyes, artfully peeking through a fringe of eyelashes.
The muscles in his cheeks moved as he clenched his handsome jaw, smooth shaven with just a few specks of his gold-hued beard hair, glowing in the afternoon sun like grains of brown sugar on a cinnamon bun. Heaven help me, but he was one beautiful man, from his dreamy blue eyes to his thick, sun-bleached hair and fair eyebrows.
I hadn’t seen a man so utterly breathtaking since high school, when I’d been the President, Secretary, and only member of the Adrian Storm Appreciation Club. Adrian had been tall as well, but so scrawny that our art teacher joked that the metal lip ring was the only thing keeping him from blowing away in a stiff breeze. Adrian always wore extra-large black T-shirts for his favorite bands—shirts so big you could have fit two Adrians in them—and I’d dutifully note the names of the bands and listen to their music as though Adrian had recommended them to me personally. I didn’t like the same music he did, nor his favorite movies. Our tastes were polar opposites, but I could appreciate the things he liked, and I thought that with enough exposure, I might also like them.
One of his favorite bands, if you believed the T-shirts, was Led Zeppelin. Which was kind of a funny coincidence, given that this handsome, muscular stranger in front of me was also wearing a Led Zeppelin shirt over his broad chest.
Hot buttered noodles, it was him. Adrian Storm.
EXCERPT
I did the sexy mermaid walk most of the way in to work Monday morning. I let my thighs rub merrily together, my knees drawn to each other like fridge magnets, my weight back over my heels so that ants could run parades under my relaxed toes.
Charm?
I checked out my reflection in store windows.
I had fucking capital-B Booty and Charm.
When I walked into Java Jones, Kirsten looked up from the cafe latte she was steaming and asked me if I had a bladder infection or something.
I took a wider stance and said, “Just trying to have more charm. Probably a lost cause.”
“You’re brimming with charm,” came a male voice from behind me. “Leave some for everyone else.”
I whirled around, expecting to see another regular customer.
Dalton Deangelo sat at a round cafe table, a laptop in front of him and a foamy cappuccino next to it.
He grinned, the dimple in his chin deepening. “Wait, what were we talking about? Line?” He looked left and right playfully. “I’m lousy when I go off-script.”
“What are you doing here?”
He pointed his thumb at the window behind him. “Waiting for that bookstore to open.”
I swore under my breath and turned back to the counter to place my order. Maybe if I ignored him, he’d go away. Do not think about him putting his hand in your panties, I told myself.
For the next few minutes as Kirsten made my mocha, I could think of nothing but Dalton’s hand in my panties, his fingers playing me like a harp. And his lips on my neck.
A flushing sensation began in my belly and seeped up to my neck, causing my skin to sweat all the way to the top of my head. I accepted my mocha, put on the lid, and attempted to get out the door without walking strangely. Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember how to walk normally. Hopping on one foot would have been more natural than how I stomped out of the coffee shop.
Across the street, my hands shook as I attempted to get my key in the lock. It was like that moment in a horror movie where the idiot girl is trying to get away, but she’s trembling so bad she keeps dropping the keys.
I dropped the keys.
Dalton picked up the keys and handed them to me.
“I’m in town shooting a little indie movie,” he said.
I tried again with the keys, keeping my back to him. “How long?” I tried to sound casual, but it came out sounding like a squeaky gate.
Don’t think about his hand in your panties.
Dropped the keys again.
“Long enough to get bored and look for trouble,” he said.
“I’m sure trouble finds you easily enough on its own.”
EXCERPT
“Pinkie swear?”
He linked pinkie fingers with me. Even his pinkie finger was sexy. The heat from the wine spread through my belly and the rest of my body.
Keeping his finger wrapped around mine, he shifted his body closer to mine on the rounded banquette seat, so our knees and the sides of our legs were touching. The trailer felt warm. Very warm.
He murmured, “You’ve hardly touched your dinner. Was the marinade too salty?”
I stared at his lips, deep red from the wine and food. “Everything was perfect. I guess I wasn’t that hungry.”
He moved his free hand to the tops of my knees, then pushed his hand down between my legs, the heat of his palm radiating through my jeans.
My heart sped up, thrumming in my ears as he slid his hand up between my legs until he reached the center of me.
I gasped as he pressed against me through my jeans.
His voice thick with lust, he said, “I can’t stop thinking about the other night in the car. I should have laid you back on the seat, put your legs up on my shoulders, and pulled off your panties with my teeth.”
“Oh-my-goodness.” I reached for my glass of wine and tossed the rest of it back in one shot.
He leaned in and kissed my shoulder through my blouse, then moved up to my neck. His hot lips on my skin—on my pulse points—made my body go limp and my eyelashes flutter.
He slowly made his way to my mouth, where he nibbled my lips, both of us tasting of red wine. I parted my lips as he thrust his tongue hungrily into my mouth, while his hand pressed against my swelling pussy.
Yes, pussy.
Usually, I have girl-parts, or a ladyflower, or some other euphemism.
But as Dalton Deangelo thrust his hot tongue into my mouth and worked me through my jeans, I had a full-on, raging hot, swollen pussy.
And I wanted him inside me. Immediately.
AUTHOR BIO:
Mimi Strong writes chick-lit, erotic romance, sex comedy, and new adult contemporary romance. Most of her characters have a strong sense of humor.
Here's what she has to say:
I've always had a lot of sides. Sometimes I'm vulnerable, and sometimes I go after what I want without a single doubt.
My favorite person is my husband. If I can crack him up and see his eyes crinkle at the corners, my day is made. In fact, I love making everyone around me laugh.
I've always enjoyed empowering stories about kick-butt women who don't hold back and the awesome men who are smart enough to love them. Now that I'm writing these stories, I couldn't be happier. I hope you enjoy them too!
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Grand prize giveaway:
$25 Amazon gift card - INTL
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