Catherine E. Chapman is a UK-based writer of romantic fiction. Her novella, 'Elizabeth Clansham', a contemporary story set in the Highlands of Scotland, was published in 2011 and is available as an e-book from Smashwords, their retailers, including Barnes & Noble and Apple, and Amazon. Click on any of the links below to buy the book.
Catherine's writing has been described as character fiction and her books could perhaps be categorised as women's fiction rather than romance. Romantic storylines are, however, central to her plots.
Also available by Catherine E. Chapman are: 'Brizecombe Hall', a romantic historical short story, set in England in the late Regency / early Victorian period, and 'The Beacon Singer', a contemporary novel set in the English Lake District.
For news and updates, see Catherine's blog:
and follow her on Twitter:@CathEChapman
Extract from 'Elizabeth Clansham'
They came to a clearing beside the river, where there were a couple of picnic tables. Angus sat down at one, facing out from the bench.
Laetitia was hesitant. ‘The seat’s covered in algae,’ she complained. ‘These pants are just clean on.’
She was wearing skin-tight white jeans, with a flouncy, multi-coloured, floral-printed, off-the-shoulder top that frilled around her hips.
The jeans, Angus had noted earlier, were almost too small for her. The top was worn very low off her shoulders. He perceived the problem. ‘Sit on my knee,’ he instructed plainly, and only then realised she might consider it an imposition.
‘OK,’ she said, smiling, before he’d had the opportunity to retract the offer. Laetitia sat down on Angus’s knee and smiled at him slightly nervously.
She was heavier than he’d anticipated and their arrangement felt precarious, Laetitia sitting as she did, upright and away from Angus’s torso. He put his arm around her back to support her. Was it worse if his hand rested on her waist or her thigh? (He really just wanted to grab her.) Then there was the issue of where to look. Angus continued to gaze into Laetitia’s face because if he cast his eyes downward he would end up looking down her top because, seated as they were, her chest was on a level with his chin. Her chest, he realised, had an almost magnetic quality as far as his eyes were concerned.
‘If you don’t mind me asking, Angus, why did your wife leave you?’
Timing! He looked dismally at the ground. ‘I was overweight, I drank too much, I had no ambition, I was boring…take your pick.’
‘That’s not how I see you,’ Laetitia said softly, edging her bottom along his knee.
‘How do you see me then?’ Angus asked, raising his head and unavoidably encountering her chest. Angus’s awkwardness concerning Laetitia’s chest was well and truly eclipsed by the embarrassment he felt on account of the fact that they were discussing him.
Laetitia considered. ‘I think you’re like a big bear,’ she said.
Angus laughed, relaxing a little and instinctively drawing her nearer. ‘Is that good?’ His hand had ended up underneath the frills of her top, resting on her jean-clad belly. Was that intrusive?
She nodded, surveying the breadth of his shoulders and wishing he would look down her top; she’d selected it for that very property. ‘My instinct is to cling to you.’
‘Feel free –’ Angus offered, confused by all that was happening and being said.
No sooner had Angus issued the invitation than Laetitia had taken him up on it.
Within moments they had adjusted themselves so that Angus leant back against the table of the picnic bench and Laetitia sat astride him, her legs wrapped around him and her arms wrapped around him; with everything, it seemed to Angus, wrapped around him. It didn’t escape his notice that she gave the state of her trousers little consideration throughout her manoeuvres.
‘I can feel your heart beating,’ Laetitia said.
He could feel everything; it was as though he’d just woken up after years languishing in a sleep of sensory deprivation. He’d been thinking, amid his elation, of the many men who would give their eye-teeth to be experiencing this; to be experiencing her doing this. Men less scrupulous than himself would, no doubt, have simply ripped off her white jeans, there and then, and made passionate love to her on the picnic bench, regardless of the risk of being discovered.
‘What do you think of me?’ Laetitia asked. She spoke frivolously but immediately she’d posed the question, felt insecure.
He didn’t speak.
She looked away from him, wary of rejection.
Angus stroked Laetitia’s cheek and sought her gaze. ‘Think you’re just gorgeous,’ he said earnestly, shaking his head with the overwhelming expectation that he might possess her.
Their eyes met and Laetitia’s smile returned.
Angus kissed her cheek and then looked at her again. Need he say more? Surely after all he’d done she must know he worshipped her.
© Catherine E. Chapman 2012