Good morning WickedlySexy darlings! Today I have the distinct pleasure of welcoming one of my favorite authors, W. Lynn Chantale as she travels along on her virtual book tour for Decadent Seconds. Loving that title, right? W. Lynn Chantale agreed to be interrogated interviewed by us, so let the questions begin!
WSW: Welcome, W. Lynn. Please introduce yourself to our readers meeting you for the first time.
W.L.C: Hello *waves* Thanks for hosting me today. Let’s see, this is always a hard question for me to answer. Half the time I don’t know whether to say I married my high school sweetheart, have three gray hairs, no pets unless you count my three children, and spend whatever free time I have with my family. BTW if you have gray, my dad says silver, embrace the gray. Wear it as a badge of honor. Oh I also love, love, love chocolate, shoes, and pretty things.
WSW: Chocolate, shoes, and pretty things. Those are also a few of our favorite things LOL. Is there a difference between W. Lynn, the wife and mother, and W. Lynn, the author? What is it?
W.L.C: I don’t think there’s a real difference. My online home is steamy, sensuous, somewhat uncensored and lets me indulge my inner romantic without a bunch of eye rolling. Have you ever tried to paint a room pink while living in an all male household? Yeah, they sorta frown on that color. My husband and children are extremely supportive and do what they can to help me succeed. Yes, that includes subjecting me to lots and lots of uncensored teenage boy speak. Some days it’s like living in a locker room.
WSW: LOL boys. Have you always wanted to be an author?
W.L.C: I’d have to say from the first moment I penned my first romance, yes.
WSW: And did you know from the get-go what genre you’d be writing in?
W.L.C: Definitely. I wanted to write romance with strong women and romantic men. Sometimes an element of suspense leaks through, but that’s okay.
WSW: What do you think it is about romance novels that resonates so much within all of us, young or old?
W.L.C: I think it’s the HEA. There’s something about watching a couple fall in love for the first time or the second and knowing that no matter how many obstacles are thrown at them that they will have a HEA. When I read them, I know that’s what I’m looking for.
WSW: If given the choice would you write non-fiction? If yes, what would the topic be?
W.L.C: Non-fiction. I don’t think I would, but if I did I would be my father’s biography.
WSW: How has your journey been so far in the world of Epublishing?
W.L.C: So far so good. I’m happy with the experience.
WSW: Do you see the ereader trend ever surpassing print books?
W.L.C: Ereaders are definitely giving print a run for its money. I’m hoping they’ll find a happy balance.
WSW: Now to your latest release, Decadent Seconds. Love the title. How did the beginnings of Darryl and Darling’s story first come to you?
W.L.C: Years ago I wanted to write a story about a career minded woman who wanted a chance to prove to her somewhat overbearing husband, she could make it as a chef and he never knew she was pregnant. Notice how the plot changed a little bit. I kept the career-minded woman, turned the husband into a boyfriend with full knowledge of his child and voila.
WSW: What was it about this story that you had to write it?
W.L.C: I had to show that a couple could get along with one another, despite different points of view for the sake of their child.
WSW: What would you say was the hardest and easiest parts of writing Decadent Seconds?
W.L.C: The easiest was incorporating the finger slicing incident into the story. Me, new paring knife, flexor tendon repair. Yeah, true stuff. The hardest was the ending. Trying to find a sentence of phrase that didn’t sound like I left the story hanging in the middle kept me up a few nights.
WSW: Ouch. I had a similar knife incident recently Do you think being married to your high school sweetheart informs your writing in any way?
W.L.C: Absolutely. Little things my DH does makes me utter a little sigh. WIthout him I’d totally suck at those little spontaneous romantic things in the stories.
WSW: Do you consider what you write ‘erotic’? Why? Why not?
W.L.C: By definition, yes. I do my best to invoke excitement in the reader.
WSW: What do you hope readers take away from your stories?
W.L.C: A sense that happily ever afters can happen no matter who you are or what your circumstances may be. Yeah. My inner romantic is showing.
WSW: LOL Show it! What’s your favorite place in your entire house to write?
W.L.C: The dining room table
WSW: What does sexy mean to you?
W.L.C: Visually appealing.
WSW: Heh, doesn’t hurt. Any warning labels to describe you?
W.L.C: Contents under pressure
WSW: Describe a world without chocolate.
W.L.C: Did you just swear at me? Wash your mouth out with soap. I take my chocolate very seriously. We don’t even joke about things like that.
WSW: Well hell, my apologies. It is a very serious matter indeed. Tell readers what other works you’ve got in store for us this year.
W.L.C: Later this year, The Pick-Up Wife, a short story about a second chance at love from Whispers Publishing. That story will also appear in a print anthology with two other wonderful authors. Also an inspiration title I’m self-pubbing, then there’s a Christmas story with The Wild Rose Press.
In the meantime readers can visit and learn more about me at
As a caterer, Darling gets to witness some of life’s happiest moments, but yearns for a marriage proposal of her own. After years of waiting on her beloved to pop the question, she gives up ever having a happy ending of her own and severs the relationship. When she learns she’s pregnant, she has no choice but to face her child’s father on a daily basis as well as the love and attraction she has for him.
Darryl Manning always believed Darling would be his forever. After all he didn’t need a piece of paper to show her how much he loved her, but when she leaves him to pursue her dream of owning a catering company and raising his son, he may have to rethink his views marriage. That is if he wants a second chance at family.
Drunken laughter floated just above the thrumming bass line of Lenny Kravitz’s Are You Gonna Go My Way, competing with the steady buzz of conversation. Soft pastel strobe lights flickered through the muted illumination. Darlene Williams, or “Darling” as she was known to friends and associates, surveyed the banquet hall full of guests.
She heaved a sigh as she glimpsed a swirl of ivory on the dance floor. For one wistful moment, where fairytales glowed bright and rosy, she imagined her own wedding. Her fairytale didn’t have a happy ending. She sighed again. Or a beginning.
A familiar face bobbed in the crowd, and her breath hitched. Twice he tried to take her picture, and she was determined he wouldn’t succeed. His gaze found hers, and her heartbeat matched the pounding bass line. He turned away, and she focused on a set of broad, muscular shoulders. She could spend hours smoothing her hands over his brawn. When he found her again, the corners of his mouth creased, and a familiar tingle crackled through her veins.
Just once she’d like to not react when she saw him. Despite the warmth knocking at the wall of her heart, Darling followed his movements to a group of similarly clad women. When they clustered around him, he raised his Nikon to his rugged face.
She loved his face, all angles and planes, and all that sharpness melted away when he smiled. Sadness and longing wiggled through a crack in her wall and squeezed her heart. They weren’t meant to be. Still she stared after him, envying the way he leaned close to one woman and lowered his camera. He gave a nod before moving away. When he passed beneath a wall sconce, the warm glow gave his smooth brown skin the fine sheen of melted chocolate. He should’ve been out of place in his black polo shirt and khaki slacks as he moved among the tuxedoes and long dresses, but his sexy smirk and camera made things easy.
The discordant clash of a body colliding with cymbals and snare drum drew Darling’s attention toward the dais next to the dance floor. A glassy-eyed young man in a tux tried to untangle his limbs from the instrument without spilling his drink. Succeeding, he then lurched onto the crowded dance floor and crashed into a couple of dancers. She shook her head when he sprawled on the floor, still trying to drink from the glass in his hand.
Not her problem. Darling regarded the decimated buffet, the food reduced to crumbs and half-dried globs of gravy—this was her problem. Swiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, she lifted her gaze again, this time scanning the room for the tall, sexy photographer. He was now taking pictures of the drunk on the floor. Good, she didn’t want to run into him or his camera again. Turning, she hefted the silver chafer by the handles and placed it on the rolling cart behind her.
She reached for the next chafer, moving the serving spoon aside when strong hands seized her shoulders. The spoon slipped from her grasp, splattering white sauce on her black slacks, before settling on the floor. A sensuous chuckle tickled her ear, sending warmth scurrying through her veins, and puckering her nipples. Yanking free, she spun around to glare into dark chocolate eyes. She shoved the owner of those eyes and straightened her clothes. He laughed softly, his gaze drifting leisurely over her white chef’s coat and work pants.
Darryl Manning, the sexy photographer, grabbed her hand and gently tapped the thick bandage wrapped around her index finger. “What did you do to your finger?” She tugged her hand from his grasp, wincing when she smacked the digit on the chafer. “I cut it.” She bent to retrieve the spoon from the floor, straightened, and placed the utensil in a gray plastic tub.
Darling wiped her hands on a towel. Darryl folded well-toned arms across his broad chest, the black knit shirt he wore strained to accommodate the expansion of muscle. She stifled a groan and the urge to run her fingers along the bulging biceps and perfect pecs. Why did her body pick today to rebel? “I don’t have time for this now,” she snapped, “What do you have time for?” His rich baritone conjured nights of hot, steamy sex and decadent morning afters. He lifted his camera, with a sexy smirk. “Maybe a photo or two?”
She resisted the seductive note in his voice and placed her hand on the lens. “I’m working.”
“And I’m not, just finished.” He stepped closer, the heat of his body instantly warming hers. Darling tilted her head back to maintain eye contact.
She studied his face, waiting for the familiar ache and longing to subside. It didn’t. Being this close to him, surrounded by his scent, a little soap and a whole lot of male, made her yearn to be in his arms, to feel his full lips against hers. What was she doing? She couldn’t think about him, about them. She moved away. Not today.
Darling turned as the click-click-click of his camera captured her. Huffing, she stalked toward the kitchen. She caught the attention of Pete, one of her chefs for the evening. “Could you finish breaking down the buffet table while I take care of this?” She jerked a thumb to the hunk at her heels. Light flashed in her face, momentarily blinding her, and she held a hand to her eyes, blinking to clear her vision. “Don’t do that!”
Moving through the kitchen to a narrow staircase, she heaved a sigh as the pulsing rock music faded to a dull roar. Darling entered her office and smiled at the young man seated in a chair. “Thanks, Denny,” she said. He was another employee, and she waited until he closed the door.
Darling knelt next to a car seat and dropped a kiss on the sleeping infant’s cheek. White light zigzagged before her eyes. “Stop it!” she said.
“But you’re so beautiful,” Darryl said.
Her stomach did a slow somersault at the compliment, but he would need more than pretty words and his handsome face to woo her. Straightening, she shoved a diaper bag in his general direction. “I have two more weddings, a funeral, and an awards banquet. You trying to flirt is not on today’s calendar!”
Darryl offered her a smile and her knees turned to jelly. The man would be the death of her. The only reason she still spoke to him was the sleeping toddler. If not for the baby, she’d have kept walking and never looked back.
She brushed a stray curl from her face and planted her hand on her hip when Darryl didn’t move. “I know you may not have anything to do, but I really need to get back downstairs,” she reminded him.
He stepped closer, reaching a hand to tug on the lock of hair she had just swept away. She sucked in a breath, his clean masculine scent beguiling her. Her gaze dropped to the open collar of his shirt. If she pressed her mouth to his warm skin, would he moan? Darling lifted her head, and he met her lips with a kiss. Too stunned to protest, she sank into his kiss, savoring the spicy taste of him and the firmness of his lips. He skimmed the curve of her spine with his hands before resting them at her hips. Drawing her closer, he brought her against the hard line of his arousal. Desire exploded, and she wiggled her hips in hopes of easing the sudden tension at the apex of her thighs. As if sensing her need, he cupped her butt, shifting her slightly until he was wedged between her legs.
Lightning arced through her veins as he settled more firmly against her core. She gasped, and he deepened the kiss, tongues dueling in a fevered dance. Tightening her arms around his neck, Darling relished the sensations vibrating through her system, and decided to enjoy them.
Lifting his head, Darryl stared into her face. For once she didn’t care if he knew how much she wanted him, her fingers stroked the nape of his neck. She regarded him a moment before he brushed his lips across hers one last time before stepping away.
“I like flirting with you.” He trailed his fingers down her arm.
And with those few words he ruined the mood. She drew a ragged breath into her lungs and shoved his hand aside. How could one little kiss leave her so edgy and uncomfortable? She couldn’t give in to the demands of her body. She needed a clear head.
About W. Lynn Chantale
W. Lynn Chantale resides in southeastern Michigan. Married to her high school sweetheart, they’ve been together for the last twenty years, and have three children. She has a mad affinity for milk chocolate, preferably Dove chocolate truffles or the caramel-filled squares (Godiva is acceptable), and plays the bass guitar when the Muse begs for a bit of distraction.
She’s also a member of Romance Writers of America as well Greater Detroit Romance Writers of America, Passionate Ink and Kiss of Death groups. She has one release, Seducing His Wife and a short story, Decadent Seconds under contract with Whispers Publishing. Also look for Breaking Delia’s Rules, from Breathless Press.
**Many thanks to W. Lynn Chantale for stopping by. She’s been generous enough to offer up a copy of Decadent Seconds to a lucky commenter so please be sure to leave your email addy**