Heroes and/or Heroines With Kids…..And How Well It Can Work with Doris O’Connor author of The Housewife and the Film Star available NOW!

Hello everyone, I’m delighted to be back here again, and before I do anything else, can I just do this?


It’s release day, you see, and this is a very special book for lots of reasons, but perhaps the most important is that it was the first book I’ve ever written. It had lots of re-writes—three in fact—and this is the second time it’s been published, as the first publisher closed its doors. I shan’t bore you with the details, but I did lots of that ^^^^ when I got my rights back, and set to work to re-write this story again.

I am incredibly happy with this new and much improved version, and I hope you, the readers, will like it too.

The Housewife and the Film Star is my longest book to date, and like all my longer works this one includes children. I’ve heard it say that children in Erotic Romance do not work. However, I had already written three of them by the time I read this, so I just laughed.

Fortunately my fabulous publisher Evernight Publishing didn’t hold that opinion, when I subbed my stories. The Giovanni Clan remains one of my bestselling series, and there are children aplenty in that large Italian Family.

In this story too, there are children. The heroine Sylvia is a mum of three. She has two teenage girls and a boisterous three year old boy called Timmy.  Like I said I hadn’t heard that opinion that children ought not to be in Erotic romances, but even had I been aware of it, I very much doubt I’d have written this story any differently.

Children are part of our lives and as a mum of nine myself they are very much part of my life. I wouldn’t want to be without them, as much as they can severely curtail bedroom activities. Maybe that’s the stigma associated with not having children in erotic writing? Who knows, and surely it’s up to the skill of the writer to make it work.

Children bring a whole other layer of conflict and humour to a story, and I thoroughly enjoy those scenes. Take this one for instance when Sven first meets Sylvia’s son.


Her front door was open, an abandoned football on the front lawn testimony to her son’s obsession with the game. A boy after his own heart. He could work with that, if he had to. One way or the other, he was going to get Sylvia where he wanted her—in his bed, screaming his name. Skit, those thoughts were not helping. He stepped out of his Range Rover and adjusted his jeans.

She hadn’t returned any of his or Vera’s phone calls, and he wasn’t at all sure of the reception he was going to get, but here went nothing. He never shrank away from a challenge, and his mystery lady was certainly that and more. He ran one hand through his hair, clicked the lock of his car, and strolled up her garden path. Before he’d made it halfway to the front door, a little human missile ran headfirst into his groin.

Shit, that fucking hurt. Sven hit the ground facedown, groin on fire and gasping for air.


“Mummy … Mummy!”

Timmy burst into the kitchen with an urgency and agitation unusual even for him, and Sylvia’s heart clenched for the second it took to reassure herself he was indeed okay. So what on earth was all that screaming about then?

“Mummy, there’s a strange man on the floor in our garden, and he’s breathing like our goldfish. Come and see.”

What in the world was Timmy going on about now? But if that was another blasted reporter, then, God help him, breathing like a fish would be the last of his worries. Sylvia grabbed her heaviest frying pan, and followed her son out of the front door. When she entered the garden, it was time for her to make her own goldfish impressions at the sight of Sven Larsson spread-eagled on her gravel path, holding his nether regions.

“See, Mummy, I told you he was breathing funny. All I did was run into him. Honest.”

Sylvia’s lips twitched in amusement, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop the bubble of laughter that threatened to escape. Sven, in the meantime, struggled to sit up. He still clutched his groin, his voice a Mickey Mouse version of its usual deep baritone.

“Your son … hard head.” He just about managed to groan the words out between gasps of breath. Sylvia couldn’t help it; she did burst into laughter.

“Mummy, not angry?”

She tore her gaze away from the injured sulk in Sven’s features and drew Timmy in for a hug.

“No, it’s okay, but you may want to say sorry to Sven—and in future stop running!”

Timmy kicked at the gravel under his sandals and looked from her to Sven, his little nose screwed up in worry.

“Sorry, Sven … sorry, Mummy.”

“Okay, Timmy. Now go and take your football and play in the garden whilst I talk to Sven, will you?”


Sven had managed to sit up a bit straighter by the time she turned her attention back to him, and, this time, he was definitely glaring at her.

“This is not funny, woman.” His voice was beginning to return to its usual gravelly self.

“That depends on where you’re standing, doesn’t it? What are you doing here anyway?”

Sven shifted himself a bit more. The male groan he emitted made Sylvia clamp her hand on her mouth in an effort to stop herself from laughing. Timmy did have a hard head, so perhaps she ought to be a tad more sympathetic. On second thought, nah, this was divine justice. How the mighty have fallen and all that.

“Once you’ve stopped laughing, woman, do you think you could give me a hand, please, being that it was your son who floored me, or are you intending to finish the job with that frying pan?”


Now, you can’t tell me you didn’t giggle at that? What’s more it’s taken straight from real life, as my then three year old son used to take men out like that all the time. He was and still is a little human whirlwind and every man in his vicinity used to cover his assets instinctively when he charged towards them. Still, there were plenty of times when he got daddy or his big teenage brother right on the button so to speak. He was just the right height then, see.

Nowadays, his younger brother aged two is rapidly approaching the right height stage, so I foresee lots more of these funny moments in my own life. Well, funny for me, not sure they are for the men involved.


In fact there is a lot of my own family life in this story.  The sulky teenage girl, the wise beyond her years oldest daughter, who is her mother’s confidante… yep, got those.

I even have a huge crush on a certain Swedish Actor, the delectable Alexander Skarsgard, who was my visual Inspiration for Sven. Well, just look at him…




Err, where was I? Oh yes, children…

So, yes, I might have let my imagination run riot and hubby/Sir says there is a lot of me in Sylvia. In fact, he was quite jealous for a while when I wrote the first draft for this story. He was still getting used to the fact that I fall in love with each and every one of my heroes, when I write them. Nowadays, he just grins and reaps the benefits.


Research is a wonderful thing. I’m getting off topic though, as per usual.

One of the other reasons I feel that children enhance a story is the added layer of conflict and depth you can give your characters. A large reason why Sylvia lets Sven into her life in the first place is his way with her kids. With Timmy he isn’t the arrogant playboy the world sees, but he’s down to earth, warm, caring, and affectionate. He’s endlessly patient with thirteen year old Ruby who is utterly fascinated by him and bombards him with countless questions about Hollywood, and then there is Alicia.

Aged eighteen she’s a young woman determined to protect her mother, and he takes all that on board too.

I know as a mother myself there is nothing sexier than a man who is good with my kids. My children are fortunate to have a fantastic daddy. Sylvia’s, however, weren’t.  They grew up witnessing a far from happy marriage, and Sylvia carries a lot of guilt over that with her.

So seeing Sven bring out the best in her kids, hell, yeah, that’s sexy as all out.

Now that I’ve given you my take on kids, I’d love to hear yours.

Do you like heroes/heroines with children? Let me know yey or ney in the comments and why you feel like that, and you’ll be in the draw for a $10 Evernight GC.

And whilst you’re here, do check out the blurb and excerpt for The Housewife and the Film Star.

*goes back to bouncing*


When International movie star Sven Larsson meets young widowed mum of three, Sylvia, the sexual chemistry between them is instant and explosive, and plastered all over the papers. Sven needs to repair his damaged reputation. The last thing he needs is another scandal, but the Dom in him can’t resist the challenge Sylvia represents.

Having survived an abusive marriage, Sylvia is not looking for another relationship, let alone a kinky one with a man of Sven’s reputation. Her submissive side can’t help but be drawn to him, however, especially once she gets to know the man behind the public image. This private, broken, Sven she cannot help but fall in love with, even if he doesn’t do love.

With the paparazzi breathing down their necks at every turn, and past demons raising their ugly heads, will they ever be able to find happiness?


“Like what you see?”

Sylvia wrenched her gaze upwards to meet his eyes. He was watching her reaction from under heavy lidded eyes filled with lust and a grim determination that frightened her a little.

“Sven, I don’t think I could…”

Before she could even blink he was on the bed next to her, matching his long length to her much smaller frame. He grasped her wrists in one hand again and pinned her arms above her head. With a wicked smile he used just one finger of his free hand to slowly travel up the inside of her thigh. The slight pressure was torture, and by the time his thumb flicked her clit, she was a quivering mass of feminine excitement. How did he do that? Was it the unwavering focus with which he watched her reaction, or simply the way he once again had her pinned, unable to move?

“Trust me, baby, you can, and you will.”

The kiss that followed seemed never-ending. In direct contrast to his earlier urgency, he took his time exploring the inside of her mouth with a breathtaking thoroughness that spoke of ownership. The more she tried to hurry him, the slower he went, pressing his heavy body on top of hers, until the whole word narrowed to just the feel of him. Every stroke, nip and suckle of his oh so talented tongue, stoked the slow burning fire in her core to fever pitch, and her hips bucked wildly, needing his touch.

He straddled her, effectively stopping her from moving and looked down on her.

“Take it easy, we have all night, my little firecracker. We’ll do this my way, and unless you want me spanking that delicious ass of yours until it matches the color of your lips, you will not rush me.”

Sylvia couldn’t stop her sharp intake of breath, and Sven’s gaze grew even more heated.

“Oh, I see, you like that idea, do you?”

“N-no … I don’t.”

“Liar.” He whispered the word and lifted off her just enough to cup her swollen pussy. Sylvia swallowed her groan as he swiped his fingers through the wet evidence of her arousal, and then lifted his glistening fingers up for her to see.

He licked them clean and hummed his approval.

“Hmm, delicious. If you don’t like the idea of my hand on your ass, then why are you this wet?”

Sylvia had no answer for that, so she just shook her head.

“I don’t know. I don’t like violence.”

She screwed her eyes shut and pushed the memories away. They had no place here, none at all, damn it.

“Neither do I, my sweet, but I think we need to do something to stop those thoughts swirling in your head. Look at me.”

His voice had dropped an octave, the cadence of it so compelling that Sylvia had no choice but to comply.

“Bad memories?” he asked.

At her tiny nod he sighed and bent to kiss the tears off her face. She hadn’t even been aware of shedding them.

“I can help you with that, if you trust me?”

He went so still towering above her, she couldn’t be sure he was even breathing, and when she nodded again his smile of approval made her worries float away.

“Good girl, now roll over.”

He released her completely, and she felt suddenly bereft without his comforting presence. She awkwardly complied and jumped when he grabbed her ass and squeezed.

Instead of the hit she was expecting, however, he moved his hands up to her shoulders and kissed her neck. Tiny butterfly kisses followed down her exposed back until he reached the zipper of her dress. With agonizing slowness he peeled her out of her dress, murmuring encouragement when she helped him by lifting her arms and finally her hips, until she lay face down on the bed with just her bra still on.

Much to her surprise he left it in place and continued to run his hands up and down her back and over the curve of her ass. The strokes grew harder, leaving tingles of awareness in their wake, and the last of her anxiety fled.

Heat suffused her whole being, and she raised her butt into his hands, willing him to delve lower between her legs, where she practically ached for his touch.

He slapped her lightly on one ass cheek, and she froze.

“If this gets too much, just call red, and I stop, okay?”

She nodded, and a harder swat followed to her other butt cheek, which this time stung.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes, okay, errr, Sir?”

His laugh in answer confused her. He fisted his hand in her hair and pulled her head up to study her.

“Very nice, but that’s not really a salutation I’ve earned yet, and this is just a little spanking. I don’t think either of us is ready for anything else right now, are we?”

She blinked, and the red hot stab of disappointment coursing through her veins took her breath away.

“If we were to go down that route, we would have to discuss a lot of things first, my sweet. I’m not sure I want to do that. Let’s not assume titles and just enjoy ourselves, shall we? Unless this is something you need to—”

“No, I don’t. I mean, I’m perfectly happy with vanilla. I just thought that’s what you wanted. I mean … I…”

Her voice trailed off when his expression darkened.

“I thought you don’t read the papers, lady.”

“I-I don’t, but there’s been rumors and, well, I do have some experience.”

She mentally crossed her fingers at her fib. Sylvia had experience and then some, but he was right. She was so not ready to have that discussion now. It would dredge up a past she didn’t need to remember, not now.

The tight set of his shoulders relaxed slightly, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She really didn’t want to piss him off, and she was suddenly desperate to see if this would be as erotic as it had been—before Richard.

“So, you’re familiar with the traffic lights then?” he finally asked with a small smile.

“Yes, Si… I mean, yes I am.”

Heat rose in her cheeks under his quiet regard, and finally he nodded.

“So be it. I trust you to use it, not that I have any intention of being too hard on you, but I’ve fantasized about reddening that delicious ass of yours since I met you.”

He laughed at her astonished snort in response.

“You have?” she asked, not really believing a word of it. He had to be kidding. “No need to humor me. In case you haven’t noticed I’m in your bed and a pretty safe bet by now, you know.”

His expression darkened again, and her stomach dropped in delicious anticipation.

“For that inane comment you’ve just earned yourself some extra spanks. We’ll have to work on that warped self-image of yours. You’re a beautiful, desirable woman.”


Available from: http://www.evernightpublishing.com/

For all other buy links, please check out my book page:


Stalking Links

Website Blog Twitter  Facebook Pinterest  Evernight Publishing  Amazon All Romance E-Books BookStrand Barnes&Noble