Today, I'm pleased to bring my readers a guest post from Jennifer Allis Provost about her new urban fantasy release Copper Girl. Check the bottom of this post for a great giveaway contest!
by Jennifer Allix Provost
I know writers say this all the time, but I adore my MC, Sara
Corbeau. She’s smart, funny in spite of her bad jokes, and she appreciates the
simple pleasures in life. Below is Sara’s birthday wish list, showing just what
a down-to-earth gal she is.
Coffee: Sara loves coffee, so much so she drinks it all day and
all night. Cinnamon cappuccinos are her favorite, but she will happily drink
black coffee, a shot of espresso, etc. She partakes of other forms of caffeine
as well, especially if Micah’s serving tea with honey.
Hooded sweatshirt: Easily Sara’s favorite fashion accessory, she
owns one for every day of the week, though most of them are black. They’re
perfect for ensuring that no one sees her Elemental mark.
Bread: Sara doesn’t have a sweet tooth, she has a carb tooth,
and the government rations she’s supposed to be eating taste more like sawdust
than bread. She has a habit of going to the Promenade market with her best
friend, Juliana, and stocking up on contraband bread and cheese. And if a
bottle of wine sneaks its way in the bag, what of it? Can’t have good bread
with bad wine.
Old movies: Sara once rigged up her Picture Vision so she could
watch pre-war movies. You know, from back when the acting was good. After the
war, the Peacekeepers rounded up everyone with talent and forced them to work
on government projects. Sara keeps her head down, and works in a corporate
office sorting reports.
A gift certificate to a salon: After obsessively dying her
copper-colored hair for more than a decade, those tresses could use some tender
loving care. It’s not that she wanted
to dye her hair, but the color was yet another marker of her Elemental
abilities. She has to be careful, or she could end up like her father and
brother. Not that anyone knows what really happened to them.
*~*~*
Copper
Girl
The
Copper Legacy
Book
One
Jennifer
Allis Provost
Genre: urban fantasy
Publisher: Spence City
Date of Publication: June 25,
2013
ISBN: 978-1939392022
ASIN: B00CXWC7JU
Number of pages: 248
Word Count: appx 80k
Cover Artist: Lisa Amowitz
Book
Description:
Sara had always been careful.
She never spoke of magic, never
associated with those suspected of handling magic, never thought of magic, and
never, ever, let anyone see her mark. After all, the last thing she wanted was
to end up missing, like her father and brother.
Then, a silver elf pushed his way
into Sara's dream, and her life became anything but ordinary.
Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/Ml9Q3WmSHBw
Excerpt
Chapter 1
It seemed like a
good idea at the time.
My office, like
most modern offices, cranked the air conditioning down to Arctic proportions
during the summer months. Consequently, we workers arrived in the morning
dressed in sandals and sleeveless tops, donned heavy sweaters upon reaching our
desks, and ended up shivering by noon. Ironically, when our workday ended we
were hit by a wall of oppressive heat the moment we stepped outside the main
doors. No, this wasn’t a flawed system in the slightest.
That day, I
wasn’t having it. I had the grand idea of spending my lunch hour outside, away
from the icy wind stiffening my fingers and chilling my neck. After I unwound
myself from the afghan I kept in my desk (and only used in the summer months),
I gathered up my lunch and my phone and headed out for an impromptu picnic in
my car.
What I hadn’t
considered was that the office runs the air conditioning so cold because it
was, well, hot outside. Very hot, in fact. So hot that the cheese was melting
in my sandwich and the lettuce looked like something that had washed ashore
months, maybe even years, ago. I was parked in the shade and had taken down my
car’s convertible top, but I still couldn’t manage to get comfortable. I’d
already shed my sandals and cardigan, which left me wearing my sundress and…
Dare I?
I glanced around
the parking lot of Real Estate Evaluation Services, the ‘go-to firm for all
your commercial real estate needs’, according to the brochures. No one, human
or drone, was taking a noontime stroll, and, by virtue of my being on the far
side of the lot, no cars were near mine. Most of my coworkers didn’t even have
cars, so the lot was rarely more than half-full. What was more, from where I
sat, I couldn’t even see the office.
I dared.
I took a deep
breath and channeled my inner wild woman, then leaned the seat back and slipped
off my panties. Removing that small bit of cotton made an incredible
difference, and the heat became somewhat bearable. Enjoyable, even. Was that a
breeze?
Ignoring my
decrepit sandwich, I fully reclined the seat, set the alarm on my phone, and
closed my eyes. A nap. Now that would make today bearable.
Suddenly, he is
there.
Here.
Kissing me,
holding me.
I know I’m
dreaming, because he’s perfect. His lips are soft but insistent, his hands
gentle. I glide my fingers across his back, feeling thick cords of muscle,
before sinking my fingers into his hair. It’s superfine, like cobwebs, and when
I crack an eyelid, I learn that it’s silver. Not gray or white, but the elegant
hue of antique candlesticks and fine flatware.
Cool.
I squeeze my
eyes shut again, not wanting the dream to end any sooner than it has to. He
kisses me once more, and I can’t help melting against him. His hand travels up
my leg, up past my hip… shit! No panties!
I try twisting
away, but he already knows. I feel his mouth stretch into a smile, and he moves
to nuzzle my neck. “What’s your name?” he murmurs.
“Sara,” I reply.
“Yours?”
“Micah.” By now,
his hands have traveled to my waist, and he slides one around to stroke the
small of my back. “Why did you summon me, Sara?”
“I didn’t,” I
protest. “I don’t know how.” I would say more, but he nibbles a trail from my
neck to my shoulder, and pushes my dress to the side. As for me, I let him .
Micah raises his
head, and I get a good look at him for the first time. His eyes are large and
dark gray, like thunderheads, his features chiseled into warm caramel skin, and
his unruly mop of silver hair seems to float around his head. He wears an odd,
buff-colored leather shirt, made all the odder in this heat, and matching
leather pants and boots. Boots?
“You did summon
me,” he insists. “My Sara, you must tell me why.”
“Does it
matter?” I ask. I pull him back to me, kissing him with all the passion I’ve
never felt with anyone during my waking hours. Micah kisses me back, fingers
deftly unbuttoning my dress while his other hand rubs my lower back. I’ve never
felt so free, so alive as I do in Micah’s embrace, and I have no intention of
rushing this. None at all.
My phone
screamed for attention, thus ending the best dream that had ever been dreamed.
Ever. I fumbled to silence it, then shook myself back to reality. I still felt
warm and glowy from the dream, almost after-glowy. It wasn’t until I stretched
and got tangled in my clothing that I noticed anything was amiss.
The straps of my
dress had slid down around my elbows, and the dress itself was unbuttoned to my
waist. What’s more, my bra was all askew and a nipple was dangerously close to
freedom. I shot a quick glance around the parking lot as I fixed my clothing;
luckily, there was no one around, either of the human or robotic drone
persuasion. I hoped no one had gotten an eyeful of how I was apparently
fondling myself in my sleep.
Some dream. Soon
enough, I got the top half of my dress squared away and reached into the
passenger seat, only to come up empty. My panties were gone.
Great. Either
one of my coworkers had found me sleeping and stolen them, or a randy squirrel
had absconded with my delicates. Hoping for the latter, I stuffed my feet back
into my sandals and returned to the office and my ever-growing mountain of
paperwork.
Speaking of the
mountain there was a fresh sheaf of reports on my desk, ready for sorting. My
title, if it can be called that, is Quarterly Report Collator.
This impressive
moniker means that I have the ability—no, make that the responsibility—to place
various documents and reports in their proper order, usually alphabetically.
I’ve even been known to utilize ascending numbers when the occasion warrants, a
feat those who get paid far more than I do cannot seem to manage. As long as
they keep paying me, I’m fine with my place on the food chain, low though it
may be. It sure beats the alternative--a luxurious but caged life as a sellout
government shill, performing spells on command as if they were parlor tricks.
My family may have lost much, but we still have some pride left.
I dove right
into the heap of reports, for once appreciating the mindless work since it gave
me the mental space to dwell on my dream lover. Why would a man in my dream
claim that I’d summoned him? And what was with his getup? Micah had looked like
he should be playing the part of a swashbuckling hero in a trashy romance
novel, not hanging around in the parking lot of a midsized corporation
specializing in commercial real estate acquisitions and liquidations.
And his name:
Micah. I was certain that I’d never heard it before, which puzzled me. If I
were going to create a dream lover, wouldn’t I give him a regular name like Tom
or Joe? A name I was at least familiar with?
I swiveled in my
chair and called up my search engine. We are not, under any circumstances,
supposed to use this bit of technology that is standard issue with each and
every one of our ergonomically correct workstations. I’m not quite sure what
the punishment for internet usage is, but I’ve always imagined ninjas dropping
out of the ceiling and hauling me off to their lair. After enduring a mild
torture session, I’m given a cup of hot sake and sent on my way.
I could have
waited until I got home. I had a nicer computer and better, faster internet
access than the office does, but I couldn’t wait. Not while the image of
Micah’s thundercloud eyes still burned in my memory, inciting not-safe-for-work
thoughts.
I typed in
Micah: define, and the results page immediately listed a bunch of Biblical
references. Mmm, not exactly helpful. I clicked around for a while until I
found one of those sites that specialized in the meaning of names. It read
thusly:
Micah ( mī ' kə
) he who resembles God.
Huh. My dream
man was certainly attractive, but I didn’t know if I’d go so far as to call him
a god. Then I remembered that there was a type of stone called mica, which also
seemed like an unlikely source for me to pull a name from. In the midst of
typing mica: stone, I was interrupted.
“Hey, beautiful.”
I glanced up and
saw Floyd, the office sleaze, hovering at the edge of my cubicle. Better and
better. I clicked off the browser and nonchalantly swiveled away from the
keyboard. To throw the ninjas off my trail, of course. “You and Juliana heading
over to The Room tonight?” he asked.
The Room is a
local hangout, stocked with stale beer and watered-down liquor, not to mention
a floor that has never, ever been mopped. Not. Even. Once. But it’s cheap and
close to the office, so we all go. Since I started working at REES, I’ve been a
regular. “We haven’t discussed it.”
“Everyone’s
going,” Floyd pressed. “C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink. You like gin and tonic,
right?”
I heaved the
stack of reports from my lap to my desk and uncrossed my legs, squarely planting
my feet in order to deliver the Keep Away From Me speech to Floyd yet again,
when I remembered my lack of undergarments. Quickly, I snatched my afghan from
where I’d tossed it before lunch and spread it across my lower body like a
shield.
“Whatever,” I mumbled,
which Floyd counted as a victory.
“See you there,”
he drawled. I hate him.
I spent the rest
of my shift with my thighs clamped together, having mild anxiety attacks
whenever I stood. Or sat. Or reached for anything. Needless to say, by the end
of the day I was more than ready for something eye-wateringly alcoholic.
Juliana, my best friend and REES’s office manager, was game, as she usually
was, and we made it to The Room in time for happy hour. Normally, I feel like
I’m in her shadow, what with her long, dark hair, matching eyes, and the body
of a pre-war pinup girl, but tonight I didn’t care. Right about now, a little
overshadowing was just what the doctor ordered.
After a few
bowls of pretzels, and more than a few cocktails, I confessed my al fresco
state, to which Juliana and I clinked glasses and downed a few shots in honor
of my missing panties. Floyd, the scum, welshed on his promise of gin and
tonic. I really do hate him.
About
the Author:
Jennifer Allis Provost is a
native New Englander who lives in a sprawling colonial along with her beautiful
and precocious twins, a dog, two birds, three cats, and a wonderful husband who
never forgets to buy ice cream. As a child, she read anything and everything
she could get her hands on, including a set of encyclopedias, but fantasy was
always her favorite. She spends her days drinking vast amounts of coffee,
arguing with her computer, and avoiding any and all domestic behavior.
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/jennallis
Tour
giveaway details:
prize pack including a signed
copy of Copper Girl, swag, and a necklace inspired by the token Micah gives
Sara.
1 comments:
Wow you have really outdone yourself!
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