THE BOURBON BOOKS: BLURBS FOR USE
BY SILVER DAGGER BOOK BLOG TOUR
DIBS (BOOK #1)
(Blurb #1)
“Did I miss
anything tasty at dinner?”
His voice was low,
both in volume, because the room was starting to fill up, and he wasn’t trying
to be heard over a crowd, and in octave, because that’s just how he spoke, and
there was absolutely nothing suggestive in what he said. Nothing at all. He
probably couldn’t help how his lips looked while speaking. Lips have to move
when you speak. It’s a scientific fact. Olivia banished the thought that the
only thing she missed at dinner that she thought was tasty was Adam.
“Nope,” she said
instead, telling herself to think of lavender fields and Dolores’s cackle and
anything but Adam’s face, entirely
too close to her own.
“Did you save me some dessert?” he wrote.
She blanched. She wanted to look at his face, try to read his expression. It
probably would make it worse.
“You didn’t ask,” she scribbled, “or I’d have
snuck out an ice cream cone
in my pocket.”
There. That wasn’t suggestive. It was plainly
silly. Right? Crap, she didn’t know how to do banter anymore. Didn’t
know what was funny
and what crossed
the line. Where
the heck was that
line anyway? She was afraid
Adam had moved
it while she wasn’t looking.
A low rumble
indicated he’d found humor in her suggestion. There. That wasn’t so hard. She
just needed to keep her mind out of the gutter. For the next two weeks.
The last hour crept
by wearing steel toed boots. Olivia didn’t want to be that kid, staring
at the clock, but she had zero interest in the later exploits of Sir
Hilary Hyrum Robards, no matter how illustrious they might have been. Near the
end of the hour, Adam scrawled, “hot tub?”
She knew what he
meant. He had to know the snacks and copious amounts of booze were for the
afterparty, and the afterparty was at the hot tub.
“Lorrie got you bourbon,” she wrote. He looked at her,
raised his eyebrows. He didn’t need the question mark. “Eddie’s idea.”
“Good bourbon?” he asked.
She gave the slightest hint of a shrug.
“Wouldn’t know,” she scrawled.
“If it’s good, I’ll give you a sip of mine.”
That settled it. He was going. She was expected
to join him.
Blurb
#2
“Did I upset you?”
he asked, voice soft. If they hadn’t been in a silent, closed elevator, she
might not have heard him at all.
“What?” she
asked, as much for clarification as for an increased volume.
“You won’t look at me,” he said. He didn’t seem angry.
That wasn’t it. She risked a glance, saw it on his face. He was sad. Hurt,
even. She looked away.
“What?” she
repeated, stupidly. “No, of course not,” she protested. She owed him more than
that. Didn’t she? What could she say? That she couldn’t look at him without
being distracted? That she didn’t know how to interpret the signals she was certain
she was misreading? That her roommate had called dibs on him and now was
pissed, quite possibly because Lorrie could see those same signals Olivia
didn’t trust herself to interpret?
The door started to
open, and he reached over and hit ‘door close.’ He hit seven instead. The top
floor. Stunned, Olivia rode along in silence.
“If
I upset you, Livi, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice still low.
“You don’t need to apologize,” she told him, trying to keep brightness in her tone, not
frenetic energy. “Promise.” The door opened on 7. Stayed
open.
Top
floor,
nobody there. It closed but didn’t move. No buttons had been
pushed. At least not elevator buttons.
“Lorrie seems pissed, too,” he said.
“Not at you,” Olivia
said, instantly regretting it. He turned to look at her. She stared at her
feet.
“At
you?” he asked.
She sighed. She
should just tell him about the mix up with the key last night. Dolores bought
that story, didn’t she? No, she didn’t.
She took a deep
breath. Still couldn’t look at him, but pushed
out the truth.
Or part of it anyway.
“Lorrie is interested in you, and I think she’s
upset you left the hot tub last night.” She winced at betraying her roommate. Wasn’t there some girl
code that prohibited disclosing another girl’s crush to the crushee? “Forget I
said anything,” she added, as if he could unhear her words.
He sighed, as if
exasperated. “Eddie told me Sunday night. You’re not spilling any secrets.”
The elevator started
moving again. Startled, Olivia punched the 4 so they wouldn’t ride back to the
lobby.
“I can handle her being pissed
at me,” he said, voice low again, the sadness returned. “Not you.”
SINCE SEPTEMBER (Book #2)
Blurb #1
“Just
trust me,” he said, exiting the freeway at the next offramp. She sat up, more
curious than anything else, watching as he navigated the SUV across an
intersection, pulling into the parking lot of a roadside motel. He kicked off
the engine and unbuckled.
“What
are we doing, Adam?”
“I’m
not going to drive you home in those clothes,
Olivia.
You’re
a mess.”
“Me?”
she scoffed. “You were out there more than I was. I think I’m going to have to
buy you a new uniform and sew all new patches on the sleeves.”
“Out,
now,” he said, unbuckling her, then coming around quickly in the rain to use
his body as a shield against the weather as they both ran for the motel lobby.
The
look on the motel clerk’s face was unimpressed by the two muddy Ranchers
standing in the lobby, but more impressed by Adam’s credit card. Adam thanked
the clerk for the room key—an actual key, of all things—and led Olivia to a
room on the ground floor, thankfully under an overhang the whole way.
He
opened the door, pulling Olivia inside, closing the door and then the curtains
to the little shabby room.
She
gasped as he started peeling her out of the ruin of her uniform, starting with
her shirt but then remembering he had to get her out of her muddy boots, too.
He kneeled before her, untying her laces and gently helping her out of one
shoe, then the other.
“All our clothes are in the car, Adam,”
she reminded him.
“I’ll get them later,” he promised, “even
if I have to get them
naked.”
She
laughed, leaning on one of his shoulders as he peeled her plush but now squishy
socks off her feet. She shivered from the cold, from his hands against her
skin, and he began sliding her Rancher belt off so he could get to the fly
underneath.
“They don’t make this an easy uniform to
get in and out of,” he complained.
“I
don’t think that was one of the design goals,” she agreed, her own fingers
working on the buttons to his shirt. He had a white tank beneath his uniform
shirt, and it was only slightly damp. She was careful to remove it from him
without getting it against any of the muddy castoffs, setting it aside on a
different chair. She figured it might be the only thing he’d have clean enough
to slide on later, just long enough to get their bags from the car for
something clean. It was that or a towel.
He
sat on one of the armchairs by the window, working on his own boots, and she
padded off to the bathroom to start the shower, cranking it to H, then turning
to inspect what they’d had available to clean off with. A few little bottles of
unscented shampoo-conditioner-bodywash all in one would have to do, even if it
meant Olivia’s hair would resemble a porcupine later. She would at least be a
clean and warm porcupine.
He
joined her in the bathroom moments later, closing the door to trap the heat as
the steam began to fill the room. He’d left everything behind but his boxers,
which she removed for him, setting them on the counter. He might need to wear
those to the SUV later, too.
His
hand found her bra clasp, delicately unhooking her, but before he could help
her out of her panties she’d dropped to her knees before him. He let out a
small gasp as she placed him in her mouth. He steadied himself against the
counter, not wanting to put his weight down on her while she knelt, her
steadying herself with one hand on his hip and the other on him, neither of
them caring how much water they wasted while the motel bathroom filled up with
steam, fogging up the mirrors until she swallowed.
Blurb #2
She sipped the white layer, a frothy coconut freeze set against
the strawberry red, grateful it was rum and not tequila—she hated tequila—but
still would have preferred a tumbler of bourbon. A tumbler of bourbon, and
Adam, naked in bed. She shook the thought away. He wasn’t going to be naked,
not tonight. She gulped the drink down, trying to focus on what Jamie was
saying to Melinda.
“I’m just saying, we should have gotten four rooms is all,”
Jamie chided, “if you were going to be making an obvious play for Dave.”
“I’m not being obvious,” Melinda protested, and Olivia noted she
wasn’t refuting that she was, in fact, making a play for Dave, simply denying
the tactic.
Lorrie giggled, sipping her own Lava Flow, as if she’d never
been accused of making obvious plays for anyone. Olivia should have let it
slide, but didn’t.
“You giggle now, Sunkist,” Olivia announced, “but Melinda is
downright subtle compared to what I’ve seen you do,” she paused to sip the
drink, “with my own eyes.”
Lorrie tossed her hair back and took the little umbrella out of
the frothy drink. “Guilty,” Lorrie admitted, looking very proud of herself.
Melinda glanced between the two former roommates. “Olivia,”
Melinda said, “I feel like you might have left out some details about your trip
to Texas last year?”
“They weren’t my details, they were hers,” Olivia deflected,
pointing at Lorrie. Lorrie gave a bemused shrug. Now Jamie was leaning closer,
too.
“Why do I feel like if we wanted to know what happened in Texas,
we should have called you?” Melinda said, addressing Lorrie Sunkist, not
Olivia. Olivia regretted calling Lorrie out. She knew where this was going.
“Well,” Lorrie started, “what can I say?”
“Everything!” Jamie demanded. She ordered another round of Lava
Flows, having finished hers. Olivia waved hers off, calling the bartender over.
“Bourbon, neat,” she asked.
She would need a stiff drink to get through the night.
Blurb #3
Adam selected a piece of sashimi, dipping it lightly in soy and
wasabi, then turned to Olivia, the question in his eyes. She nodded and opened
her mouth as he set the otoro on her
tongue, studying her as she savored it. She met his eyes as she ate, watching
as his tongue slipped out and touched the corner of his mouth. Subtle, but
unmistakable for anyone watching. She hoped it was just her. She was sitting
across from Dave, with Melinda next to him. If Melinda saw him feeding her, she
didn’t say anything, but seemed engrossed in whatever Dave was saying, which
Olivia had tuned out. Olivia fought to ignore the look in Adam’s eyes as he
offered her another piece, because if he was going to keep feeding her he’d
better be prepared to be her dessert.
She took the piece, then turned away, trying to focus on
whatever Jamie was saying, distracted both by Adam’s hand— back on her knee,
and she couldn’t decide if she wanted it there or not—and watching Melinda bantering
with Dave. She told herself it was a good thing; if Melinda was, well, occupied with Dave, that worked for
everyone. She’d keep her cattiness to herself, and if they both seemed to be
enjoying the other’s company, wasn’t that for the best?
She saw the offerings on the tray dwindle, figuring more would
be coming if they asked, noticing a slice of unagi—eel—one of Adam’s favorites,
and pinched it with her chopsticks. She offered him the piece—no sauce, just
the way he liked it—as he’d done for her, and watched his lips as he took it.
If she wasn’t distracted before, she was then. His hand made its way further up
her leg, abandoning her knee as his fingers stroked the inside of her thigh.
Olivia lost track of what else the waiter brought out or if anyone said
anything particularly clever.
She forgot to take any more pictures that night and hoped Kelly
would forgive her.
MOVE ON MELINDA (Book #3)
Blurb
“Ah!
Miss Rice. Come have a glass. Mr. Sauveterre had just brought in the vintages
Miz Wallace selected for our little getaway. She has excellent taste, our
Jamie.”
Melinda
smiled weakly and accepted the glass from the big boss man. Jamie could kill
her later. Technically, it wasn’t her fault, and it really wasn’t even
Mitch’s—not that she was defending him, even in her own mind—because any sane
person would assume that case was for everyone. Any sane person who didn’t know
Jamie Wallace and didn’t know that when Jamie went on the Rancher All Staff
Retreat, the afterparty followed her. Mitch Sauveterre had never been to a
Jamie Wallace Retreat Afterparty, and it showed. Melinda watched Mere Franks
kill the first bottle. With the number of staffers and the hearty pours Mere
Franks was doling out, Mitch never would; there’d be no afterparty, at least
not to Jamie’s standards. The wine would be gone by dinner.
Melinda
absently wondered what Mitch had done with his preciously-cradled tequila but
was distracted by Sauveterre tapping his glass to hers.
“Cheers!”
he said, and she raised her glass in return, but it was too late, and her mind
was already starting the film reel to remind her of the last time he’d toasted
her, except then it was champagne, not an accidentally-commandeered glass of a
Jamie Wallace-procured wine, and she tried to drown the image in Syrah. It
wasn’t working.
She
nervously glanced around the room, looking for someone, anyone, to strike up a
conversation with and get away from Mitch and the images he’d just sent dancing
through her mind. She came up empty. A few of the other Territory Execs from
other clusters had made themselves comfortable over by the massive fireplace
that served as the focal point of the lodge’s main atrium. Melinda knew them,
only in passing. They appeared to already be engrossed in conversation, one
that did not involve her. She wasn’t sure she’d be welcome if she just plopped
down with them, co-workers or not. She considered approaching anyway, just to
be somewhere Mitch wasn’t.
Instead,
she walked over to the French doors that led out to the back patio area, noting
the outdoor dining space had already been laid out for dinner. The food would
come later, but the staff had set out melamine plates and acrylic tumblers, and
little parcels of napkin-wrapped utensils at each place. Her stomach grumbled
in approval at the preparations.
She
pretended to survey the space, hoping it would appear that she was lost in
thought, or appreciating the beauty of nature, sending silent signals that
might dissuade anyone from approaching.
“Spot
anything you like?”
She
sighed. Either her signals weren’t sending or Mitch wasn’t receiving, either
deliberately or out of sheer density. He stood slightly too close, as if he
were trying to peer out the exact same rectangle of glass in the French door
that she was, perhaps to gain the exact same perspective. She wished he would
just take a step back and give her—and her wine—room to breathe.
“Nope,”
she answered, hoping her terse response would boost the Go Away signal by a
factor of ten.
“Do
we get to eat outside? I didn’t know we got to eat outside. I’d like to eat
outside. Is that for us, do you think?”
She
wanted to snap at him, point out that they were obviously the only group at the
resort for the weekend, but realized he might not have known that. He’d only
arrived, would have no way of gauging how big the property was, and possibly
hadn’t even gone to his own cabin yet. He probably had no way of knowing that
when the Ranchers came to stay, they took over, and if weather permitted,
they’d be dining al fresco and all by themselves.
“Yup,”
she said, almost sticking with her monosyllabic response before relenting to
add, “We take up the whole property. Just us chickens.”
He
took a sip of the wine Jamie should not have entrusted him to carry, as if
considering. “Guess that’s why I got my own cabin, then.”
And
she wanted to pretend her cheeks did not get warm when he said that and if they
did it was because she had almost finished the glass of wine the big boss man
had so generously poured and had nothing to do with Mitch declaring he had a
cabin all to himself. She ran through possible follow up questions, rejecting
all of them as being entirely too suggestive. She was not going to ask him what
he did with that tequila, and she was not going to ask which cabin was his.
She
gulped down the last bit of Syrah.
The 2020
Goodreads Rundown
When I set my Goodreads Challenge at the dawn of 2020, I naively
did the logical thing: took last year’s pattern and figured I’d nudge myself to
“outread” 2019, if only by a little. What I didn’t anticipate? 2020.
Beyond COVID’s quarantines and social distancing and the complete upheaval of
how most of us lived our lives, my reading life underwent three massive
changes.
One:
Beta Reading
At the end of 2019, I dipped my toe in this little thing called “PitMad.” (The
“mad” part is not hyperbolic.) I stopped being a lonely little author, writing
in my own corner of the world, and became part of an international community. I
swapped my early drafts with new friends across oceans and on the other side of
the equator, doing my best to help them polish their works before submission to
agents and editors alike. Some, I read multiple drafts, even watching as an
author “unkilled” a character. (I much preferred him “bad” to “dead.”)
Goodreads only tracks published titles; therefore, none of my beta reading
counted towards my tally. Well shoot. (The exception? A few titles I beta read
at the beginning of 2020 hit the shelves by the end of the calendar year.
Score!)
Two:
Comp Titles
If you would have asked me in 2019 how many romance books I planned to read,
the answer would have been zero.
If you would have asked me in 2019 how many romance books I planned to write,
the answer would have been laughter.
If you would have told me in 2019 that I’d be published in 2020 for a book I
hadn’t yet written in a genre I don’t read, I would have wondered what sort of
messed up Tarot reading I’d stumbled upon. Yet, all those things happened.
I did write romance. And then I wrote the sequel.
And to help get it published, I was encouraged to find “comp(arative) titles”
to include in my queries. Easier said than done when you’re not familiar with
the genre and aren’t even sure you wrote a romance. (We’ve determined “dibs,”
is, in fact, a romance.) I still am grateful to the staff at Bookman in Orange
for their guidance to this bookworm who rarely ventured out of the Science
Fiction/Fantasy stacks (and even then, it was usually to Horror to see if there
was any more Peter Straub I hadn’t read) to help me sort through their massive
collection of romance to find comp titles that were contemporary (no dukes,
pirates, or princesses please), humorous without being slapstick, and fell
somewhere on the heat scale between holding hands and a nuclear meltdown.
I discovered new authors that way, and had other readers later compare my works
to some of their favorites, too. I now know my way around Guillory and Holiday,
Kinsella and Clayton, and hope that one day, my name ends up listed by theirs
on someone’s favorite romance author list. (Well, my pen name, anyway.)
Three:
Vox Vomitus Guests
2020 had one more curveball for my “TBR” stack, and that would be Vox Vomitus.
Fake Latin for “word vomit,” (it might more properly be translated as “emptied
voice,” but my Latin isn’t just rusty, it’s dead), I was invited to co-host a
live, weekly podcast with one of the fellow authors I’d first connected with after
PitMad. She failed to mention it would be a VIDEO podcast but by then I’d
already agreed.
Every Wednesday, we’d go live with a bestselling author or creator, and while
our show is most definitely unscripted, I’d do my best to read at least a
sample of each of our guests’ work. I had the privilege to talk Lovecraft
Country and 88 Names with Matt Ruff and ask about his hidden Easter Eggs (which
were there, but the Margo in question wasn’t the one I had guessed), discuss
which mashup best describes Natalie Zina Walschotts’ Hench (I’m sticking with
The Boys meets Doctor Horrible, but with less singing), and I even fell in love
with a Bot. (Thanks, Simon Stephenson’s Set My Heart to Five. I already named
my Airfryer, but now I feel bad for putting it in a cabinet.)
Some of these authors I hopefully would have found on my own—eventually—since
they’re in my science fiction wheelhouse (or adjacent) but so many of them defy
easy categorization. (When in doubt, let the bookstore figure it out!) We’re
set to talk to more authors, narrators, and I even managed to reach out to the
author of a book I stumbled upon and have him booked for our show in February.
I have no idea what’s in store for me in 2021, but my TBR grows by the hour.
Happy
New Year, and Happy Reading
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