Catherine E. Chapman is a UK-based writer of romantic fiction. Her novel, 'The Beacon Singer', a contemporary story set in the English Lake District, is available as an e-book from Smashwords, their retailers, including Barnes & Noble, Apple and Sony, and Amazon.
Catherine's writing has been described as literary character fiction and her full-length books could perhaps be categorised as women's fiction rather than romance. Romantic storylines are, however, central to the plots.
Catherine also writes shorter fiction in the genre of historical romance. 'Brizecombe Hall', a novelette set in England in the late Regency / early Victorian period, is available to download for free from Smashwords and its retailers. 'Danburgh Castle' and 'Rhiannon', both Medieval romances, are available on Amazon.
For news and updates, see Catherine's blog:
and follow her on Twitter: @CathEChapman
Excerpt from The Beacon Singer
After the meal, they went back to his hotel. They were both slightly drunk but Jane felt pleasantly conscious. ‘Tonight I’m going to make love to you and I’m going to remember it in the morning,’ she assured Edward. ‘I shall remember it fondly and without regret.’
‘Oh Jane,’ he said, kissing her tenderly.
‘You never know, I might even remember your name!’
Some time later they were standing beside the bed, he in his underpants and she in black bra and knickers, with stockings and stilettos. He was marvelling at her and she was enjoying being appreciated.
‘Can I take this off now?’ he said, fiddling with her bra fastening. He was successful. ‘Oh Jane!’ he sighed ecstatically at the vision of her.
‘Come on, let me take your pants off.’ She did so and discovered, to her utter delight, that he was a man entirely in proportion.
He then took her pants off. ‘I’ll keep my shoes and stockings on if you like,’ she said.
‘Janey, you seem to know instinctively what I like,’ Edward pronounced, enraptured.
Since he needed little arousal, she made him lie down, climbed on top of him and got directly down to business.
‘I find, Miss Lake, that you are a consummate professional in every sphere of human endeavour,’ Edward said as he gazed up at Jane admiringly.
‘It’s a very strong work ethic that I’ve inherited from my father,’ she declared.
‘I would like to shake that man’s hand.’
She laughed at him and told him to shut up so that she could concentrate on working her magic.
Minutes later he was telling her that he thought he’d died and gone to heaven.
‘I’m happy to report, old man, that far from it you have just proven yourself to be very much alive.’ She beamed at him and fell down onto his chest. Enfolded in his arms, she had the most glorious feeling that she was, at long last, loved.
In the morning they were in bed wearing the white bath robes. They’d been drinking coffee and now Edward sat reading the paper. Jane was lying against him, with her head on his chest. She stroked his robe and sometimes put her hand inside it to stroke his skin. He occasionally bent his head down to kiss her hair. They didn’t speak.
She loved that he could do other things whilst never entirely forgetting she was there. It left her scope to be herself yet constantly in his presence.
The way Jane was feeling was difficult to explain. Eventually she looked up at Edward and said, ‘Ed, you know what you said about feeling you’d died and gone to heaven?’
‘Yes, my darling,’ he replied, looking from the page and into her eyes.
‘It is mutual.’
He smiled and said, ‘Thank you.’
Some time passed in silence, with him continuing to read the Business section. Then Jane freed herself from his arms and sat back on the bed. ‘Ed,’ she began authoritatively, ‘put the paper down and make love to me.’ This was the clincher. Would this self-made American, built on the scale of the former Bankside Power Station, and so affluent he was obliged to answer to nobody, do as he was told?