Hello lovely readers! I’m Evie Bliss and I write slightly geeky, semi-literary, scorching-hot intelligent steamy reads! I’m not quite sure what to call them: ‘high-IQ erotic romance’? Smut for smarties? Naughty books for clever people? Anyway, you get the idea. I’m Australian – but don’t hold that against me! I poured the hottest sex I could dream up into my previous novel, Dirty-Good, which I’d term ‘BDSM for Brainiacs! I’ve also worked in film and television, and the idea for the book I’m introducing here came about last year while I was being an extra on a high-budget Hollywood blockbuster filmed in Australia. ‘Project Career Detonate’ is set on an international movie set. Hollywood hunk and all-round-sex-God Gerry Fortiscue is leaving the safety (and horror) of Los Angeles to make a mid-budget movie in Malaysia with none other than his long-ago ex-girlfriend, Tash Tremaine. What results is a comedy of errors where disasters abound among the larger-than-life egos of Tinseltown’s transplanted elite as they battle monsoon rain, tropical humidity, a plethora of on-set shenanigans and their own self-destructive personalities. How will Cupid’s arrow succeed in dodging all this movie madness to find its mark?
Let’s Get To Know Evie Bliss
Q: If you could go back in time before you published your first book, what advice would you give yourself about publishing?
A: Start earlier! Despite the fact that seconds in the dentist’s chair stretch to an interminable length of time, the truth is that life flies by at a velocity that would make Halley’s Comet jealous. So get out there! Seize the day! You’re not getting any younger, and as far as the self-publishing revolution goes, better to be in on the ground floor than be a Johnny-come-lately.
Q: What fictional character would you punch if the face if you thought you could get away with it without going to jail?
A: I’m vehemently against violence as a way to solve problems, and I feel that punching anyone in the face would just add to the world’s problems rather than help solve them, so I shall choose to view your question metaphorically (which is, afterall, how it was meant). The fictional characters I would ‘give a stern talking to’ would be any and all those thuggish, cruel characters that somehow end up as romance book heroes but in actuality have criminal connections and resort to extortion, cruelty, torture, etc in order to ‘champion’ whatever good cause the book extols. You know the ones – angst-ridden crime bosses seen by the heroine as ‘bad boys with a heart’. I enjoy a good capture fantasy as much as the next gal, but, please, can the men at least be worthy of the heroine’s admiration? (I acknowledge this is my personal opinion only.)
Q: Pick a super-power and tell us what you’d do with it.
A: My superpower would be to lengthen time (for every person individually each day) in that interval of microsecond between how much more your body needs to sleep and the second the alarm goes off. Similarly, if I were president, I’d abolish alarm clocks! (Impractical, I know, but I’d worry about the consequences later.) I think we’d all be happier and healthier (and treat each other nicer) if we were all allowed to wake up naturally instead of being wrenched prematurely from dreamspace by the soul-crushing shout of reality in the form of a deafening screech.
About Project Career Detonate by Evie Bliss
Love among movie mayhem! Seventy-four international cast and crew gather on location to film a swashbuckling American-funded movie, set among the colonial settlements of the Malacca Straits circa 1825. Egos bigger than Ben Hur are dwarfed only by the size of paranoid neuroses that abound.
Tash Tremaine’s problems escalate three-fold when the last-minute replacement for her on-screen love interest turns out to be Hollywood Heartthrob Gerald Fortiscue — the man who broke her heart years earlier when they were both struggling theatre students.
Gerald Fortiscue is ready to catch a break. His last two movies — with scripts as interesting as roll call at a nursing home — were box-office stinkers, and he’s tired of his muscles receiving better write-ups than his acting. To make matters worse, the tabloids insist he’s deserted his wife to run off with a starlet. When an offer comes to escape the craziness of Tinseltown rebuilding his reputation with an international collaboration of artistic integrity, Gerry jumps at the chance — even though he’ll be working opposite the woman he left behind eight years earlier.
Filled with humor and heart, this is a smart contemporary romance of 65,000 words, set among the lovable eccentrics of a larger-than-life filmmaking world.
“Go back to the top and run it again. Tash, you can be a little hesitant when you make that decision to leave. You know you shouldn’t be in here alone with a man, but you’re also very drawn to him. Right. Let’s go again.”
This time, Tash let Amelia deliberate in indecision at the desk, staring down at the top of Hamilton’s head where he’d bent back down to hide his feelings from her while pretending to look at the documents. Amelia’s hand fluttered briefly once, barely reaching an inch toward him, before she thought better of it and slowly turned to go.
As Tash walked to the door, she tried not to feel the man behind her, tried not to anticipate his touch. Instead, to give her actions a sense of purpose, she focused her concentration on visualizing what she might be trying to get to beyond the door. Then, and only then, would Gerry’s arresting of her convey the natural reaction of genuine surprise.
And it did provide a genuine shock of surprise. Tash jumped as she felt the touch of Gerry’s fingers close on the sleeve of her arm. She wheeled in response to him, her eyes immediately dropping to the place where his hand grasped her. The man’s fingers locked around her forearm were the first time Gerry and Tash had touched in eight years. And it felt like there were eight years of pent-up heat in that contact. His arm burnt her, scorched a tattoo of fire through the thick, embroidered satin and inner lace of her sleeve, until all she was aware of was the electricity of heat and want and burning that pulsed outward from her arm into the suddenly-alive remainder of her.
Her lower jaw dropped an inch in bewildered surprise. Through her open mouth, breath came and went in perfect sync with the rising and falling of her breasts above the tightly-constricting dress. Her eyes moved from the hand on her arm to drag first up his forearm, then raggedly across the cream fabric covering his torso, then on up to his face, until their eyes met. Not their eyes exactly; the eyes of Amelia and Hamilton; yet it was Tash who reacted, whose mask slipped an eighth of an inch as she was dunked headfirst into the pool of refreshment that was Gerald Fortiscue — all very much grown up into a solid mass of extremely edible, testosterone-laden, heartbeat-pounding, utterly-lickable masculinity!
She tugged her arm away from him, running on autopilot to let the script lines drop into her lap as needed.
And so the scene continued, Hamilton laying his case out verbally before Amelia, vulnerable, imploring. The former aggressive strength and purpose of a strident male-on-a-mission in a male-driven world, was suddenly diverted into open supplication before a woman who had captured his heart. But just below the surface, the politely-rational pleading was mixed with a barely-contained animal need to launch a testosterone-driven full-scale attack on the woman, in a take-no-prisoners offensive to dominate and bend her body to his will.
The ancient dance. Older than time itself. Born way back before man had even evolved into man. Back when the instinct had been passed forward through evolution from pre-human primate ancestors, who in turn had received it from their ancestors, and so on all the way back through evolutionary endeavor, back to a time when reproduction had somehow expanded from merely cell-dividing mitosis, to include meiosis in the mix.
As the script dictated, Amelia stood bewildered, captured within the circle of Hamilton’s influence, completely and utterly aware of nothing but him. He grasped her by the shoulders and brought his face unbearably close to hers. They stood, momentarily poised, his mouth less than an inch away, eyes locked into eyes, sharing the same air. Tash felt the soft breeze of Gerry’s breath brush delectably across her parted lips, as she gave over to a mental internal swoon — just to give her portrayal of Amelia a sense of authenticity, of course.
Gerry winked the tiniest wink at her, a slight secret twitch of ocular muscle — a crinkled, private, knowing acknowledgment of small mirth, before he pulled her closer and closed his mouth on the smooth plasticy makeup that covered her top-lip-under-nose area. She felt his bottom lip rest in the groove between her two lips, while the stubble-gravel of his chin rested against hers. Ah, the romance of a stage kiss.
My favorite quote from Project Career Detonate is:
Two eternities from long ago melded in circling dance, all soft and moist and tentatively petitioning, before the groundswell demanded a firmer touch, a harder intrusion, a more complete discovery of the breadth of experience attainable from the other’s kiss.
Tales were told with those two open mouths. Two lost souls, two open wounds, two old soldiers who’d fought side by side in battle days gone by, and had now found each other after years of battles apart, traded stories and clutched at each other like they’d never let go. Until the rest of the body joined in the V-E Day celebrations, with fingertips and palms and the front of thighs, and the ripe rounded fruit of breasts ready for bruising against hand and muscled chest.