The Romance Reviews

The Romance Reviews

Tuesday, 22 April 2014

Ridin' Solo

"Miss London, I am telling you, if you leave this open, I'm just going to take it over. Five second warning... Well, good day to you all. My name is Niels and I am trying to get that dippy girl to write me back into my ex wife's life. Did I mention bed, Miss London? I think not. It is not where I was going either. Ye of little faith.
Maybe I can admit that my persuasion of late has been more sexual in nature but it's only because my wife is more understanding when she's horizontal. Or bent over. Or on her knees. What else can I do? Would flowers be enough for you to let me back into your life? Reclaim the coveted spot of husband, soulmate, king to your queen? Especially after two years of fighting. And my Stella is a scrappy little fighter. Leaving little scratch marks all over me. Not the way I like either.
We have two beautiful boys together and every time I look at them, I see my wife. Everything we should be together. That we should share. Laugh about. Fight about. Preferably about where I should put my d... Why are you censoring me now? It is not a family blog, child, I don't know why you like lying so much. I'm a father, I know when someone is telling porkies.
Onto less telling details. Simple facts. I happen to be Danish, well over six feet tall, I run my own business, I can hunt, fish, chop wood, build fires and exhaust a woman the way God intended. And I miss my wife. Enough to tell that awfully lazy girl to get on with it. I seek satisfaction. I will have it. Get writing."

Do you see? You see what I have to endure? The utter pushiness! Oh great, evil looks as well. I'm writing, okay? Grumble, grumble, grumble.

Monday, 14 April 2014

Vide Cor Meum

Dear London, have I told you lately how much I love you? Granted I have ignored you for my four walls (not by choice I promise) but last week, you gave me Michelin starred food. That tasted incredible. And didn't look fancy for the sake of looking like fancy. And I didn't have to recall my school etiquette classes to remember what fork to use. Maybe drinking wine the same price as my shoes was a bit over the top, but goddammit, this is a free country and I will drink like Doctor Lecter told me to.

Speaking of Dr. Lecter, is everyone watching Hannibal? Despite all the imaginative murders and the increasingly impressive food creations - there's even a blog right here:

I am deeply under the hypnotic, Danish spell of Mads Mikkelson's Hannibal Lecter. Whether it's his manners, his suits, the flick of his neatly trimmed hair, that pout and I am a sucker for a pout, his sharp intelligence and wit or truthfully, his cleanliness, I don't know but I am lost to him. He defies the school of thought (ignorance in my book) that to be cultured means to be less of a man. And how he is cultured. He knows music, art, food, drink and he'd kill you as much as spare you a glance. It may also have a lot to do with his discipline and how well that would translate into the bedroom. Do I need help? Yes, he's chopping people up and serving them. But... he can tie meat like a butcher! Can you imagine if he applied that skill to tying a woman to a bed... Okay, I need to stop before I give myself an aneurysm. So fair warning, if any of this seems familiar in later on stories, this is why. Blame TV. My susceptibility to a dangerous but polite man and the Danes. Totally their fault.

By the way, the picture is of a Dorset Crab Lasagne with pea shoots. I left nothing in the bowl.

Saturday, 5 April 2014

Cinderella Man

As promised, Kissing the Canvas is now on Amazon! Enjoy! And in case you haven't quite been persuaded to allow a blunt Russian to challenge your Italian allegiances, have a read:

Kissing the Canvas on Amazon

Russian boxer, Pasha Markovitch, has everything in his corner, looks, potential for Olympic greatness, and speed of powerful fists professionals only dream of. There’s just one small issue. If he can’t find a solution to his current visa situation, he’ll be out of the UK and ducking and weaving with government standard silver bracelets on his wrists. The pressures of his father’s greed and the anxiety of a past that continues to knock him down, steadily wear on him until chance leads him to green fingered, sarcastic mouthed, Liliana Asare who offers the light of a reprieve. Coming to an arrangement of mutual exchange, they both get what they want. Pasha gets to stay in the country and Liliana gets the financing for her florist shop. The whole scenario is perfect enough to list. Woman willing to marry him so he doesn’t end up deported and she doesn’t end up losing her livelihood? Check. Avaricious father satisfied? Check. Falling in love with his fake wife? Wait, that’s not on the list…
Note: This is simply a romance and not a guide as to how to stay in the UK with a marriage of convenience. The law on that changed in July 2012, but at the time of writing, this is absolutely correct. So if it happens that the Home Office Minister reads this story, it’s just fiction. As changeable as your job…

Ten jabs per arm and he was now feeling the strain in his muscles. It was less than before when he reached two hundred, but he felt the itch of someone watching him. Pasha held the bag still, catching his breath. “Lukasz. What do you want?”
His brother crumpled the bag of crisps in his hand and threw it over his shoulder, leaping down from the pile of mats stacked in the corner of the exercise room of the gym. “Let’s talk about Lily.”
Pasha gritted his teeth, and rather than answer, he turned back to the bag and continued his repetitions.
“What for?”
“You’ve never been so secretive,” Lukasz said then corrected himself immediately, “Alright, but as your dearest sibling, I’d like to know something about the girl who’s locked you down. Tits like a championship belt?”
Pasha turned and slammed a gloved fist squarely in between Lukasz’s eyebrows. Not at all expecting such a response, Lukasz’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he toppled over, kissing the canvas. It was an old boxing term for being knocked out. Pasha returned to the punching bag, jiggling on the spot until the tension disappeared from his frame and he was able to continue his practice until Lukasz regained consciousness. A brief flash of guilt told him that he should really stop punching his brother unconscious but he’d stop doing it when his brother wasn’t a complete idiot. “What happened?”
“You were talking about tits and you passed out,” Pasha explained calmly. He held the bag still as his brother got to his feet.
“That doesn’t sound right. You were going to tell me about my shiny new sister-in-law to be.”
Better to get this over with now. “She’s half Russian, her father’s an idiot, her mother’s bitter, her brother is apparently alright, but treating the whole thing like a joke.”
“Good. That’s her family. What about her?”
“She has ambitions. She wants to start her own business but can’t do it in the middle of an economic crisis where banks have no give. She’s very smart. And she’s decent.”
Lukasz grinned. “Oh yeah? What about when she’s naked.” Pasha fought for calm. “No.” His answer was a mistake.
Lukasz interest piqued. “Oh I see. She hasn’t let you inside the gates of heaven.”
“I am not talking about my sex life. It’s not your concern.”
Lukasz grinned. “That sounds like a man unfulfilled. May I helpfully suggest the following? Maxwell. Alcohol. Candles. No woman can resist that combination. You should really test drive before you buy. Check for defects.” He shouldn’t do it, and Lily had sent him the text stating that it was for emergencies only and if she found out he had used it for anything else, he would lose not only his manhood but his head. Despite nearly being a foot taller than his wife to be, he believed that she would tear him a new arsehole if she had a hint of a waiver from his promise. But this, definitely counted as an emergency. His brother would need to be on side.
“Come on.” Pasha sighed, heading towards the changing rooms. He threw his gloves onto the benches and opened his locker, removing his mobile. With a short, sharp scroll through his messages he handed his phone to his brother. “See? No defects.” It was a picture of Lily in a bra that had less material than it was probably worth, taking a picture of her reflection in a full length mirror. What about this one? She had written underneath it. The glossy black layers of the bra gave a little more richness to her creamy coffee skin. Lukasz was still looking, a gleam of appreciation in his eyes.
“Hmm, not bad little bro. A little on the round side.” Pasha stilled. What was that? Was that an insult? To Lily? “Are you calling my fiancée fat?” he asked delicately.
Lukasz heard the warning in his voice and started, “Fuck, don’t hit me again.”
“Just because you can’t play her rib cage like a musical instrument does not mean she is fat. She’s…” So crazy sexy in this photo I nearly drove to her flat and fucked her raw? 
“Fine as she is.” Lukasz handed the phone back to him. “You must be in love to say all that bull crap and mean it.” Pasha’s grip tightened on the phone. “Get out.” His brother’s green eyes gleamed.
“Aren’t you going to ask me to be best man?”
Pasha swore so violently in Russian that Lukasz was a cloud of dust running from the changing room.
Short sighted fool, he thought furiously. Lily’s cheekbones were more angled than most of the women splashed across magazines. So her stomach and thighs were a little soft? Who wanted to sleep on the floor when you could rest on a mattress? She was more than fine as she was. He looked down at the picture again and wondered why the newly christened ‘numpty’ Steven, the recipient of such visual Viagra, had simply given Lily away. It didn’t matter, it was Pasha’s gain. In having a British wife, he corrected himself hastily. A fake one at that. Because if Lily was his real fiancée, he’d have seen that underwear in all its shaded glory, peeled it from her, maybe with his teeth, or just left it on her, the bra pushed under her breasts, and the panties hooked to the side while he fucked her slowly and deeply, so that the next time she even thought about that underwear, her pussy would echo how it trembled with orgasms. He turned the phone off sharply and locked it up. He needed a shower. At least to make his cock calm down. There was no point in getting even remotely excited. Lily was off limits. She was not going to be his real wife. And she would not be showing him what colour underwear she had on any time soon.