1. Stumbling Upon a Story
I got my inspiration for the Redemption series when I got lost driving one night
and stopped at an MMA gym for directions. The fighters, all of whom were fit,
ripped, and wearing only fight shorts (sigh) went out of their way to help me.
They then tried to recruit me after I mentioned my karate background, since they
had very few women fighters in the club. After hearing about their training
regime (lots and lots of exercise), fight diet (protein, veg and no carbs or
sugar) and checking out the equipment (heh, heh), I decided that MMA wasn’t for
me. But, boy, would it make a good story!
2. Character Inspiration
There was one fighter at the gym who stood out from the rest. He seemed grittier
than the other fighters, more of a street brawler. He was strong, but not bulky,
and he didn’t have an ounce of fat on his body. But it wasn’t his physical
presence that struck me, as much as his confidence. He walked as if he owned the
gym, and I suppose in a way he did, as I found out later he was their top-ranked
fighter. He didn’t talk much, mostly grunted, but he was incredibly supportive
of the junior fighters, and he became my muse for Ray in Full Contact.
3. Fight Night
I watched a lot of live-streamed MMA fights to get an idea of the level of the
violence in MMA fights, and to choreograph some of the fight scenes. The hubs
was totally on board my “research” and offered to “help” me by putting on fights
at all hours just in case I needed some more inspiration. He was delighted to
find out I am writing another two books in the series. The research continues!
4. Pick a Ring Name
Seasoned fighters have a ring name. Each gym has it’s own criteria, but for
most, you have to either win or participate in a certain number of sanctioned
fights before your team mates will pick a ring name for you. Depending on a
fighter’s popularity in the gym, and his/her level of success in the cage, a
ring name can be anything from Twinkle Toes, or Teddy Bear to Axe Murder or
Violent Vic.
5. Get Tattooed
I also visited a few tattoo studios because my heroine, Sia is a tattoo artist.
This scene, which is one of my favorites, was inspired by a story one of the
tattoo artists told me about how he met his wife.
“F*ck, you’re cute. Did you know your eyes go green when you’re scared?”
Hmmm. Not really the look I was going for. I would have preferred sultry,
sophisticated, or even badass. Who calls a woman pierced, dyed, leathered, and
tatted 'cute'?
“First, my eyes are hazel, not green. And second, you won’t think I’m cute if
you say anything to Tag.”
He stares, his gaze at once amused and intense. “Maybe not if you give me your ink.”
“Seriously?” My voice rises in pitch. “You’re blackmailing me?”
Ray slides back in my chair with the smug look of a man who knows he’s about to
get what he wants. “You want to ink me. You didn’t, we wouldn’t be having this
conversation. You would already be out that door. Question is whether you want
it more than what you got going on tonight.”
The last of my inhibitions flutters away like a tattoo artist pursued by a
street gang. “I don’t.”
“You do.” His eyes glitter, and he licks his beautiful, sensual lips, as if
daring me to make a move. And I almost do. I want him. I’ve wanted him for a
year. And now he’s here. In my chair. Making me think he wants me, too. I could
almost forgive his insufferable arrogance.
“Okay, I do. Covers are a specialty of mine. But are you sure you want to
irritate a woman who’ll be wielding a tattoo machine that could do some
permanent damage to your skin, or worse, give you a tattoo that will embarrass
you for life?”
He pushes up the left sleeve of his T-shirt and holds out his arm. “Sounds to me
like you’re saying yes. And it can’t be worse than this.”
My lips quiver with a repressed smile, and I trace my finger over the chubby
orange smiley fish on his bicep. “I noticed it when you were fighting, but I was
never close enough to see what it was.”
“Otto the fish from a children’s picture book. Got fucking drunk one night and
must have mentioned it was my favorite book when I was a kid. A coupla my
buddies dragged me to a tattoo studio, and I woke up the next day with Otto.”
Laughter erupts from my throat and I pat tiny Otto’s head. “I like Otto. And he
was actually done by a master artist. Look how his scales glow and shimmer, and
the way he ripples when you move your arm. It would be a shame to ink over him.”
Ray slides a finger under my chin and tilts my head up, forcing me to meet his
searing gaze. “You got a pretty smile. It lights up your face, chases away the
shadows. And you got a lot of shadows.”
My cheeks flame at his insight, and I look away. “Shadows” doesn’t even begin to
describe the baggage I’ve been carrying around—baggage that means I usually stay
away from alpha males like Ray. “So how did you want to cover Otto?”
“You like the fish?” Ray says quietly.
“Yeah, I like the fish.”
“I’ll keep the fish.”
About FULL CONTACT
Ray wraps his arms around me and holds me tight as if something terrible has
happened and he doesn't want to let me go.
Full Contact. This is how Ray speaks when his emotions overwhelm him. I melt
into his stillness. His body is hot and hard, his breath warm on my neck. He
smells of leather and sweat, sex and sin. Nothing can tear me away.
When you can't resist the one person who could destroy you...
Sia O'Donnell can't help but push the limits. She secretly attends every
underground MMA fight featuring The Predator, the undisputed champion. When he
stalks his prey in the ring, Sia is mesmerized. He is dominant and dangerous and
every instinct tells her to run.
Every beautiful thing Ray "The Predator" touches he knows he'll eventually
destroy. Soft, sweet and innocent, Sia is the light to Ray's darkness-and
completely irresistible. From the moment he lays eyes on her, he knows he's
going to have to put his dark past behind him to win her body and soul.
About Sarah Castille
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author, Sarah
Castille, writes contemporary erotic romance and romantic suspense featuring
blazingly hot alpha males and the women who tame them. A recovering lawyer and
caffeine addict, she worked and traveled abroad before trading in her briefcase
and stilettos for a handful of magic beans and a home in shadow of the Rocky
Mountains. Readers can find her at her website.
Sarah loves to stay in touch with readers:
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Author | Newsletter | Pinterest
Excerpt from FULL CONTACT
Except for the White Buffalo’s cover of “House of the Rising Sun” playing in the
background, there is no sound except the rasp of Ray’s breath as his chest rises
and falls under my hand. Although I’ve done shoulder and pec tattoos countless
times, the intimacy of this position sends a shiver through my body. Longing
grips me hard and fierce, and I scramble to regain some semblance of control.
Maybe a little conversation.
“So, did you catch your bad guy?”
“No. Still after him.”
When I look up, Ray is watching me. He is so close I can see the stubble of his
five o’clock shadow, the thickness of his lashes, his eyes deepening to an azure
blue. I force myself to look into them and swallow hard. “Everything okay?”
Apparently not. Jaw tight, muscles quivering, he captures me with his glance.
“Your hair.”
I give my head a slight shake and my ponytail swings back and forth. “What’s
wrong with my hair?”
“Take it down.” He fingers a loose tendril beside my ear, his authoritative tone
sending a wave of heat raging through me.
“I keep it up so it’s out of the way.”
“Down.”
“I’ll have to take off my gloves first, and then I’ll have to…” My words die in
my throat when he strokes his hand over my hair, front to back. With one sharp
jerk, he tugs out my ponytail holder and my hair tumbles around my shoulders.
“Beautiful.”
Trembling, painfully and desperately aroused, I pick up the razor and shaving
gel from my tray. “I…have to shave you.” My voice drops to a throaty whisper,
and if that doesn’t tell him what he does to me, nothing will.
Another curt nod. But then he’s not a talkative type. I’ve never seen him
hanging out with the other fighters after the gym closes for the night, and not
once has he ever joined us for drinks after a fight.
Taking a deep breath, I steady my hand, then smooth the gel over his skin. But
when I dip the razor, Ray tenses, his fist clenching and unclenching beside my hip.
A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “Don’t worry. I’ve never cut anyone. I’ll
be gentle.”
“Man lives the life I’ve lived, he’s not used to gentle.”
Tilting my head to the side, I meet his gaze. “You never had anyone be gentle
with you?”
“I usually scare the gentle ones away.”
“I can’t imagine why.” My hand relaxes, and I stroke the razor across his skin.
Stroke and dip. Stroke and dip. The rhythmic movement calms my fraught nerves,
but with every touch, tension builds between us until it is almost a living,
palpable thing. “You’re not so scary.” I tease the blade around his nipple and
Ray sucks in a sharp breath.
“Sia—” He chokes off his words so I continue talking, keeping my voice low and
even, soothing the savage beast trapped in my chair.
“I have to admit, in the ring, you’re pretty terrifying. You have so much power
and yet you keep it so tightly leashed. But when you let it go”—I look up and my
cheeks heat—“I think it’s thrilling. But you keep it in control. You never go
too far. That’s where I see the beauty.”
Ray stares at me as if entranced, heaving his breaths, his gaze focused, intent.
Even when Slim walks past to grab some supplies and then heads back to the
private rooms, Ray doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“Slim ink the butterfly too?” He leans forward and lightly touches the butterfly
tat on my shoulder. I yank the razor away in case he becomes my first ever casualty.
“Yeah he did. I have one on the other shoulder too. Slim’s a real master. When
he was finished with the roses and thorns, I felt like something was missing. I
wanted hope and freedom. And yellow, because it’s my favorite color. He came up
with the butterflies.”
“Would have thought black was your favorite color.” He gestures to my clothes.
“You always wear black.”
“Yellow is my secret favorite color.” I give him a half smile. “Not many people
know.”
Ray gives a grunt of satisfaction, and I feel a little tingle at the thought
that I’ve pleased him. He traces the outline of the little butterfly and
pleasure ripples through my body.
“Looks just like a butterfly I caught when I was a kid. I watched it for hours.
Learned a hard lesson that day. I wanted to touch it and I was too rough.
Must’ve broken its wing. When I let it go, it couldn’t fly.”
“You can touch me. I won’t break.”
His jaw tightens, and I curse myself for being so flippant about what was
probably an upsetting moment in his childhood. What the hell is wrong with me?
He shares an actual piece of personal information and I show no sympathy at all.
Not only that, but now I’m begging for his attention.
After a few more strokes with the blade, I wash him off, then I spritz him with
disinfectant. In my zeal, I spray not only the area to be inked, but the rest of
his torso as well. Damn klutz side strikes again. “Sorry. Forgot to reduce the
nozzle.” Grabbing a sterile cloth, I dry his chest then work my way over his
rippled abdomen. His muscles quiver beneath my touch as I pat along the soft,
dusky trail of hair, following it down to his belt. Imagining where it might go.
He tenses when I near his buckle and gives a strangled grunt. “S’good.”
My gaze drifts below his belt, to the bulge in his jeans. He is fully erect, his
shaft straining against his fly. A naughty thrill of excitement shoots through
my veins. He’s aroused because of me.
“Um…do you want to take a break before I apply the stencil?”
He shakes his head, then leans forward and sweeps his hand through my hair,
letting the strands slide through his fingers. A sigh escapes my lips as
delicious sensations sweep through my body. I am on fire. And although I’ve been
with men before, I’ve never been immobilized by a single touch.
“So soft.” He runs his hand over my hair again, this time trailing his fingers
along my shoulder. His thumb glides over my throat and he curls his hand around
my neck. “So f*cking delicate.”
I am burning. Consumed by fire. A burst of need drives a whimper up my throat,
and I choke it back as his thumb circles the sensitive hollow at the base of my
neck. Firm. Unyielding. Dominant. With one squeeze, he could break me. The way I
was broken before. The way he broke the butterfly. And yet nothing could tear me
away from this moment.
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