Today’s Brew: Too much Diet Coke. My face feels shriveled.
Guys, I’m working on a movie this week. The hours are grueling, it’s in another state, and my alarm is perma-set for 3 AM. I know. Boo hoo. But that’s my excuse for being too exhausted to have thoughts or opinions. Julie was all prolific and I’m trying not to drool. Okay, I do have thoughts and opinions and they’re all I WANT TO GO TO BED.
But next week I have a new book coming out, so that’s pretty cool. Silent Night is another installment of The Night Songs Collection. It’s my Christmas book that I bill as Pretty Woman meets Dracula at Midnight Mass. It’s a standalone story that shares the vampire mythology and family tree, but if you haven’t read the rest of the series (and if not, why not? I mean, you’re here. You like me. Hopefully. Maybe then I could be working on my own damn movie.) you can pick this one up and not be lost at all.
I’ll tell you more about it next week, when I get to see daylight, but for now, enjoy an excerpt, and if you like what you see…order a copy!
Aidan had finally settled in a oxblood red recliner. The thing looked ancient, but appropriate for the rest of the room. “Would you like some tea?”
“Sure. You’re into tea, aren’t you?” He’d had it at the diner, too. I didn’t know any men who drank it.
“I am. I like the variety.” He didn’t stay seated for long.
“Don’t you drink coffee?” Somedays, I would probably bleed coffee.
“Too bitter. I like sweet things,” he called from the kitchen. I didn’t feel the need to follow him. I went back to looking at his books. A Christmas Story would be on all night and all day. I knew it by heart anyway, I didn’t really have to pay attention.
For a seemingly manly guy, he had an awful lot of romance books. Interesting. Vampire books, writing manuals, classics, things in French that could have been anything, and more romances.
“Do you want cream and sugar?” Aidan had come in the room with my tea. Again he’d startled me with his silent movement.
“No. I like it bitter.” I set the cup down on the small bit of end table by the couch that didn’t have a book on it. “This is quite an interesting collection.”
He ran his hand through his hair and smiled sheepishly. He was still in his suit, so I felt a little odd wearing his clothes. “Oh yeah. Some of those are for research.”
“For what?” I mean, didn’t most guys just watch porn? Was this guy practicing to be some sort of Renaissance man Cassanova?
“I write.” He looked nervous again. He was probably really sorry he’d saddled himself with me for the night. I promised myself I’d be out as soon as it was light out. We could both put this behind us like it never happened. But that couch was too comfy and those blankets too warm to even think about letting him out of his offer now. He might be weird, but I had even money chances of getting attacked here or out on the street. At least here, I had a slight chance of dying happy. Or even just comfortable.
“What do you write?” My mind flashed to that scene in The Shining, the one when we learn all Jack Nicholson’s character had written was ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy‘ over and over again.
“Romance novels.” He gave me a lopsided smile as he settled back into his chair. He took a sip of his tea before continuing. “Under a nom de plume of course. If word got out a man wrote those books, well, there would be an uprising.”
“Nice. You’re living a double life. Are you going to tell me what name you write as?” He had better, or else I’d spend the rest of the night prying the information out of him. He owed it to me. He‘d already made me cry over my tuna melt.
Best selling author Allison Duprois? Holy crap. If this was even true.”No shit. I love those books.”
“You do?” He looked surprised. “I took you as more of a mystery suspsense type of girl.”
“What girl deep down inside doesn’t fall for a good love story?” Allison, or apparently Aidan, wrote about a vampire who’d been searching through the ages for the reincarnation of the wife he left behind when he became immortal. The books were sexy, sweet, and sad, because after a half a dozen or so books he had yet to find her.
Part of me hoped that someday, he would find her, but the rest of me never wanted the story to end.