J. Kenner's Blog, page 104
December 24, 2012
Day 2: Release Me page reveal
I’m counting down the days until Release Me hits the shelves with a page reveal. Two or three pages daily, in order, from the book!
Today’s excerpt starts right after yesterday’s left off! You can find all the posted excerpts by going to the Release Me Page Reveal category of the blog!
“I—no.” I blurt the answer out, because I can’t let that image linger for longer than a second. Immediately, though, I regret speaking. What I should have done was slap his face. What the hell kind of question is that?
“Good,” he says, so crisply and firmly and with such intensity that any thought I have of verbally bitch-slapping him vanishes completely. My thoughts, in fact, have taken a sharp left turn and I am undeniably, unwelcomely turned on. I glare at the woman in the portrait, hating her even more, and not particularly pleased with Damien Stark or myself. I suppose we have something in common, though. At the moment, we’re both picturing me out of my little black dress.
Shit.
He doesn’t even try to hide his amusement. “I believe I’ve shocked you, Ms. Fairchild.”
“Hell yes, you’ve shocked me. What did you expect?”
He doesn’t answer, just tilts his head back and laughs. It’s as if a mask has slipped away, allowing me a glimpse of the real man hidden beneath. I smile, liking that we have this one small thing in common.
“Can anyone join this party?” It’s Carl, and I want desperately to say no.
“How nice to see you again, Mr. Rosenfeld,” Stark says. The mask is firmly back in place.
Carl glances at me, and I can see the question in his eyes. “Excuse me,” I say. “I need to run to the ladies’ room.”
I escape to the cool elegance of Evelyn’s powder room. She’s thoughtfully provided mouthwash and hairspray and even disposable mascara wands. There is a lavender scented salt scrub on the stone vanity, and I put a spoonful in my hands, then close my eyes and rub, imagining that I’m sloughing off the shell of myself to reveal something bright and shiny and new.
I rinse my hands in warm water, then caress my skin with my fingertips. My hands are soft now. Slick and sensual.
I meet my eyes in the mirror. “No,” I whisper, but my hand slides down to brush the hem of my dress just below my knee. It’s fitted at the bodice and waist, but the skirt is flared, designed to present an enticing little swish when you move.
My fingers dance across my knee, then trail lazily up my inner thigh. I meet my gaze in the mirror, then close my eyes. It’s Stark’s face I want to see. His eyes I imagine watching me from that mirror.
There’s a sensuality in the way my fingers slowly graze my own skin. A lazy eroticism that some other time could build to something hot and explosive. But that’s not where I’m going—that’s what I’m destroying.
I stop when I feel it—the jagged, raised tissue of the five-year-old scar that mars the once-perfect flesh of my inner thigh. I press my fingertips to it, remembering the pain that punctuated that particular wound. That had been the weekend that my sister, Ashley, had died, and I’d just about crumbled under the weight of my grief.
But that’s the past, and I close my eyes tight, my body hot, the scar throbbing beneath my hand.
This time when I open my eyes, all I see is myself. Nikki Fairchild, back in control.
I wrap my restored confidence around me like a blanket and return to the party. Both men look at me as I approach. Stark’s face is unreadable, but Carl isn’t even trying to hide his joy. He looks like a six-year-old on Christmas morning. “Say your goodbyes, Nikki. We’re heading out. Lots to do. Lots to do.”
“What? Now?” I don’t bother to hide my confusion.
“Turns out Mr. Stark’s going to be out of town on Tuesday, so we’re pushing the meeting to tomorrow.”
“Saturday?”
“Is that a problem?” Stark asks me.
“No, of course not, but—”
“He’s attending personally,” Carl says. “Personally,” he repeats, as if I could have missed it the first time.
“Right. I’ll just find Evelyn and say goodnight.” I start to move away, but Stark’s voice draws me back.
“I’d like Ms. Fairchild to stay.”
“What?” Carl speaks, expressing my thought.
“The house I’m building is almost complete. I came here to find a painting for a particular room. I’d like a feminine perspective. I’ll see her home safely, of course.”
“Oh.” Carl looks like he’s going to protest, then thinks better of it. “She’ll be happy to help.”
The hell she will. It’s one thing to wear the dress. It’s another to completely skip the presentation rehearsal because a self-absorbed bazillionaire snaps his fingers and says jump. No matter how hot said bazillionaire might be.
But Carl cuts me off before I can form a coherent reply. “We’ll speak tomorrow morning,” he tells me. “The meeting’s at two.”
And then he’s gone and I’m left seething beside a very smug Damien Stark.
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I know exactly who I am, Ms. Fairchild. Do you?”
“Maybe the better question is, who the hell do you think I am?”
“Are you attracted to me?”
“I—what?” I say, verbally stumbling. His words have knocked me off center, and I struggle to regain my balance. “That is so not the issue.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and I realize I’ve revealed too much.
“I’m Carl’s assistant,” I say firmly and slowly. “Not yours. And my job description does not include decorating your goddamn house.” I’m not shouting, but my voice is as taut as a wire and my body even more so.
Stark, damn him, appears not only perfectly at ease, but also completely amused. “If your job duties include helping your boss find capital, then you may want to reconsider how you play the game. Insulting potential investors is probably not the best approach.”
A cold stab of fear that I’ve screwed this up cuts through me. “Maybe not,” I say. “But if you’re going to withhold your money because I didn’t roll over and flounce my skirts for you, then you’re not the man the press makes you out to be. The Damien Stark I’ve read about invests in quality. Not in friendships or relationships or because he thinks some poor little inventor needs the deal. The Damien Stark I admire focuses on talent and talent alone. Or is that just public relations?”
I stand straight, ready to endure whatever verbal lashes he’ll whip back at me. I’m not prepared for the response I get.
Stark laughs.
“You’re right,” he says. “I’m not going to invest in C-Squared because I met Carl at a party any more than I’d invest in it because you’re in my bed.”
“Oh.” Once again, my cheeks heat. Once again, he’s knocked me off balance.
“I do, however, want you.”
My mouth is dry. I have to swallow before I can speak. “To help you pick a painting?”
“Yes,” he confirms. “For now.”
I force myself not to wonder about later. “Why?”
“Because I need an honest opinion. Most women on my arm say what they think will make me happy, not what they actually mean.”
“But I’m not on your arm, Mr. Stark.” I let the words hang for a moment. Then I deliberately turn my back and walk away. I can feel him watching me, but I neither stop nor turn around. Slowly, I smile. I even add a little swing to my step. This is my moment of triumph and I intend to savor it.
Except victory isn’t as delicious as I expected. In fact, it’s a little bitter. Because secretly—oh, so secretly—I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be the girl on Damien Stark’s arm.
I hope you enjoyed! Come back tomorrow for more!
Pre-order the book from your favorite retailers using these easy links!
And don’t forget to enter my holiday contest!
One more quick note: I'm blog-touring for the rest of the month and early January! Come by and say hi! My tour schedule is here!
And why not scroll down and share the post? After all, sharing is sexy!
December 23, 2012
Have you ever found a hidden present?
I’m over at Parajunkee today for my Release Me blog tour talking about holiday present peeking, shopping, and chowing down on holiday treats! And, yes, another giveaway!!!!!
Come by and say hi and you may win a copy of Release Me!
Day 1: Release Me page reveal!
I’m counting down the days until Release Me hits the shelves with a page reveal. Two or three pages daily, in order, from the book!
Today’s excerpt starts right after yesterday’s left off! You can find all the posted excerpts by going to the Release Me Page Reveal category of the blog!
CHAPTER THREE
My moment of mortification hangs over the three of us for what feels like an eternity. Then Carl takes my arm and begins to steer me away from Evelyn.
“Nikki?” Concern blooms in her eyes.
“It’s okay,” I say. I feel strangely numb and very confused. This is what I’d been looking forward to?
“I mean it, Nikki,” Carl says, as soon as he’s put some distance between us and our hostess. “What the fuck was that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit,” he snaps. “Have you met before? Did you piss him off? Did you apply for a job with him before me? What the hell did you do, Nichole?”
I cringe against the use of my given name. “It’s not me,” I say, because I want that to be the truth. “He’s famous. He’s eccentric. He was rude, but it wasn’t personal. How the hell could it have been?” I can hear my voice rising, and I force myself to tamp it down. To breathe.
I squeeze my left hand into a fist so tight my fingernails cut into my palm. I focus on the pain, on the simple process of breathing. I need to be cool. I need to be calm. I can’t let the Social Nikki facade slip away.
Beside me, Carl runs his fingers through his hair and sucks in a noisy breath. “I need a drink. Come on.”
“I’m fine, thanks.” I am a long way from fine, but what I want right then is to be alone. Or as alone as I can be in a room full of people.
I can see that he wants to argue. I can also see that he hasn’t yet decided what he’s going to do. Approach Stark again? Leave the party and pretend it never happened? “Fine,” he growls. He stalks off, and I can hear his muttered, “Shit,” as he disappears into the crowd.
I exhale, the tension in my shoulders slipping away. I head toward the balcony, but stop once I see that my private spot has been discovered. At least eight people mingle there, chatting and smiling. I am not in a chatty, smiley mood.
I veer toward one of the freestanding easels and stare blankly at the painting. It depicts a nude woman kneeling on a hard tile floor. Her arms are raised above her head, her wrists bound by a red ribbon.
The ribbon is attached to a chain that rises vertically out of the painting, and there is tension in her arms, as if she’s tugging downward, trying to get free. Her stomach is smooth, her back arched so that the lines of her ribcage show. Her breasts are small, and the erect nipples and tight brown areolae glow under the artist’s skill.
Her face is not so prominent. It’s tilted away, shrouded in gray. I’m left with the impression that the model is ashamed of her arousal. That she would break free if she could. But she can’t.
She’s trapped there, her pleasure and her shame on display for all the world.
My own skin prickles and I realize that this girl and I have something in common. I’d felt a sensual power crash over me, and I’d reveled in it.
Then Stark had shut it off, as quickly as if he’d flipped a switch. And like that model I was left feeling awkward and ashamed.
Well, fuck him. That twit on the canvas might be embarrassed, but I wasn’t going to be. I’d seen the heat in his eyes, and it had turned me on. Period. End of story. Time to move on.
I look hard at the woman on the canvas. She’s weak. I don’t like her, and I don’t like the painting.
I start to move away, my own confidence restored—and I collide with none other than Damien Stark himself.
Well, shit.
His hand slides against my waist in an effort to steady me. I back away quickly, but not before my mind processes the feel of him. He’s lean and hard, and I’m uncomfortably aware of the places where my body intersected his. My palm. My breasts. The curve of my waist tingles from the lingering shock of his touch.
“Ms. Fairchild.” He’s looking straight at me, his eyes neither flat nor cold. I realize that I have stopped breathing.
I clear my throat and flash a polite smile. The kind that quietly says, “Fuck off.”
“I owe you an apology.”
Oh.
“Yes,” I say, surprised. “You do.”
I wait, but he says nothing else. Instead, he turns his attention to the painting. “It’s an interesting image. But you would have made a much better model.”
What the…?
“That’s the worst apology I’ve ever heard.”
He indicates the model’s face. “She’s weak,” he says, and I forget all about the apology. I’m too intrigued by the way his words echo my earlier thoughts. “I suppose some people might be drawn to the contrast. Desire and shame. But I prefer something bolder. A more confident sensuality.”
He looks at me as he says this last, and I’m not sure if he’s finally apologizing for snubbing me, complimenting my composure, or being completely inappropriate. I decide to consider his words a compliment and go from there. It may not be the safest approach, but it’s the most flattering.
“I’m delighted you think so,” I say. “But I’m not the model type.”
He takes a step back and with slow deliberation looks me up and down. His inspection seems to last for hours, though it must take only seconds. The air between us crackles, and I want to move toward him, to close the gap between us again. But I stay rooted to the spot.
He lingers for a moment on my lips before finally lifting his head to meet my eyes, and that is when I move. I can’t help it. I’m drawn in by the force and pressure of the tempest building in those damnable eyes.
“No,” he says simply.
At first I’m confused, thinking that he’s protesting my proximity. Then I realize he’s responding to my comment about not being the model type.
“You are,” he continues. “But not like this—splashed across a canvas for all the world to see, belonging to no one and everyone.” His head tilts slightly to the left, as if he’s trying out a new perspective on me. “No,” he murmurs again, but this time he doesn’t elaborate.
I am not prone to blushing, and I’m mortified to realize that my cheeks are burning. For someone who just a few moments ago mentally told this man to fuck off, I am doing a piss-poor job of keeping the upper hand. “I was hoping to have the chance to talk to you this evening,” I say.
His brow lifts ever so slightly, giving him an expression of polite amusement. “Oh?”
“I’m one of your fellowship recipients. I wanted to say thank you.”
He doesn’t say a word.
I soldier on. “I worked my way through college, so the fellowship helped tremendously. I don’t think I could have graduated with two degrees if it hadn’t been for the financial help. So thank you.” I still don’t mention the pageant. As far as I’m concerned, Damien Stark and I are deep in the land of the do-over.
“And what are you doing now that you’ve left the hallowed halls of academia?”
He speaks so formally that I know he’s teasing me. I ignore it and answer the question seriously. “I joined the team at C-Squared,” I say. “I’m Carl Rosenfeld’s new assistant.” Evelyn already told him this, but I assume he hadn’t been paying attention.
“I see.”
The way he says it suggests he doesn’t see at all. “Is that a problem?”
“Two degrees. A straight-A average. Glowing recommendations from all your professors. Acceptance to Ph.D. programs at both MIT and Cal Tech.”
I stare at him, baffled. The Stark International Fellowship Committee awards thirty fellowships each year. How the hell can he possibly know so much about my academic career?
“I merely find it interesting that you ended up not leading a product development team but doing gruntwork as the owner’s assistant.”
“I—” I don’t know what to say. I’m still spinning from the surreal nature of this inquisition.
“Are you sleeping with your boss, Ms. Fairchild?”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. Was the question unclear? I asked if you were fucking Carl Rosenfeld.”
I hope you enjoyed! Come back tomorrow for more!
Pre-order the book from your favorite retailers using these easy links!
And don’t forget to enter my holiday contest!
One more quick note: I'm blog-touring for the rest of the month and early January! Come by and say hi! My tour schedule is here!
And why not scroll down and share the post? After all, sharing is sexy!
December 22, 2012
Billionaire boys and steamy scenes
I’m over at Book Binge today talking about billionaire heroes in erotic romance novels:
In a lot of erotica, including Release Me, our sexy, swoon-worthy hero has money. Often lots of money. And not “lots” as in his retirement account is sweetly on track, but “lots” as in he could fund the retirement of every citizen of a country the size of, oh, Austria.
The other day, someone posed the question to me of why? Why is the billionaire hero popular? [Read More at Book Binge!]
I’ll be blog-touring through early January, and at each stop, Random House is giving away a copy of Release Me. So be sure to come by and enter the contest!
Release Me page reveal starting Sunday!
Starting tomorrow, I’m counting down the days until Release Me hits the shelves with a page reveal. Two or three pages daily, in order, from the book!
I’ll be starting right after the Scribd excerpt that’s already online, so be sure to check it out first. Here’s the Scribd widget. Enjoy! And check back tomorrow for a few more pages!
Release Me by J. Kenner (an excerpt)
I hope you enjoyed! Come back tomorrow for more!
Pre-order the book from your favorite retailers using these easy links!
And don’t forget to enter my holiday contest!
One more quick note: I'm blog-touring for the rest of the month and early January! Come by and say hi! My tour schedule is here!
And why not scroll down and share the post? After all, sharing is sexy!
December 21, 2012
Interview, review and a chance to get Release Me!
I’m over at The TBR Pile today answering some fun interview questions … and I’m THRILLED that Release Me got an awesome review! Come by and check it out! (Leave a comment there for a chance to win a copy of the book!)
December 20, 2012
Super cool music mash up
Thanks to Liz Maverick for pointing this one out. I love the way all of the songs mesh together. I recognize quite a few of them (and my 9yo recognized more when she wandered into my office as I was watching). I would love a list of all the artists/songs. Anyone feeling really diligent??? Come on, someone out there knows!
Why insomnia is bad for your dress size
I’m over at Fade into Fantasy on today’s stop on the Release Me blog tour. Come by, learn about my late night forays into the refrigerator, and enter to win a copy of Release Me!
From Christmas Blue to Christmas Magic
Happy almost Christmas! Just in time for the holidays, I’ve got a great guest blog for you guys: Sylvie Kurtz shares a truly amazing-sounding recipe for Brioche … and the new cover for her Christmas romance! Cool, huh? You can snuggle back with a good book and a delicious treat. Gotta love it! (And today I’m blog-hopping again! You can find me at Fade Into Fantasy … stop by and say hi and enter the giveaway!)
Without further ado, here’s Sylvie!
I grew up in the northeast where one thing you could count on was a white Christmas. I loved all the lights, the sparkle and the sounds of the season. Then I got married and moved to Florida, then Texas where snow for Christmas would be nothing short of a miracle. Christmas seemed to lack that extra layer of magic. And that seemed such a loss after I had children and tried to recreate the magic I’d felt as a kid. I grew to dread the holidays.
Blue isn’t a very good color for the holidays, especially with little children around. So to get myself out of that funk, I started thinking about what could make the holidays really horrible. Losing my husband or one of my kids, came the answer. That was the nugget for A Little Christmas Magic. Writing that story, I found my Christmas spirit once again.
Christmas is also about food—both in my story and in my household. Two items that my family insists they must have are sticky pecan buns for breakfast (tradition from my husband’s side of the family) and a Yule log (tradition from my side of the family.)
Here’s my recipe for sticky pecan buns, adapted from both my mother-in-law and Healthy Breads in Five Minutes a Day:
WHOLE WHEAT BRIOCHE
2 cups white whole-wheat flour
1 ½ cups all-purpose flour
1 package granulated yeast
½ tablespoon kosher salt
2 tablespoons cup vital gluten
1 cup lukewarm water
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
6 tablespoons honey
2 large eggs
Whisk together the flour, yeast, salt and vital gluten in a large bowl.
Combine the liquid ingredients and mix them with the dry ingredients without kneading. The dough will be loose, but will firm up when chilled.
Cover—not airtight—and refrigerate for at least two hours.
CARAMEL FILLING
½ cup honey
½ cup brown sugar
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon cinnamon
½ cup unsalted butter, softened
½ teaspoon orange zest
1 cup finely chopped pecans
Cream together all the ingredients, except for the pecans. Spread half the mixture evenly into the bottom of 9″ X 13″ pan.
Dust the surface of the refrigerated dough with flour and shape into a ball. With a rolling pin, roll out the dough until it is a 1/8-inch thick rectangle. Add flour as you go to prevent the dough from sticking to the counter, but not so much the dough becomes dry. (This is the only tricky part of the recipe.)
Spread the remaining filling evenly over the rolled-out dough. Sprinkle with the nuts. Roll the dough into a log, starting at the long end. Pinch the seam closed.
With a sharp knife, cut into 12-16 pieces. Arrange over the caramel in the pan so that the swirled edge is visible to you. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and allow to rest for an hour.
Preheat the oven to 350ºF. Bake for 30 minutes, until golden brown. While still hot, invert onto a serving dish. Once the caramel sets, it’s nearly impossible to pry the buns from the dish.
Serve warm.
May the holiday season find you surrounded by love and may it feed your spirit with joy!
Sylvie Kurtz writes adventures that explore the complexity of the human mind and the thrill of suspense. Check out the redesigned cover for A Little Christmas Magic and the brand-new French translation, La Magie de Noël. www.sylviekurtz.com
J.K. here: Thanks so much for stopping by today! I can imagine the heady scent of this baking in a toasty kitchen. Heaven…
How about y’all, readers? Gonna give this a try for the holidays? (We posted early so you have plenty of time to shop for ingredients!) Do you have a holiday favorite?
And don’t forget to enter my holiday contest!
December 19, 2012
Release Me Goodreads Giveaway!
Hey hey! Look what I just saw:
The Goodreads Giveaway for Release Me just went live!
Random House will be giving away 25 copies! The giveaway ends January 4!
