Playing Catch Up! Tantalize by Cynthia Leitich Smith

Playing Catch Up has really been helping me through my ever growing TBR list. I'd like to welcome all other blogs to participate too! If you do, be sure to post your links in the comments section. I'd love to see your Playing Catch U

p Reviews, and I'm sure others would too!! *wink*

Want to know more about Playing Catch Up? I'll tell you all about it here!

Tantalize (Tantalize #1) by Cynthia Leitich Smith

Genre: Young Adult (Paranormal Romance)
Date Published: February 13, 2007
Publisher: Candlewick Press

Are you predator or prey?

CLASSIFIED ADS: RESTAURANTS

SANGUINI'S: A VERY RARE RESTAURANT IS HIRING A CHEF DE CUISINE. DINNERS ONLY.

APPLY IN PERSON BETWEEN 2:00 AND 4:00 PM.

Quincie Morris has never felt more alone. Her parents are dead, and her hybrid-werewolf first love is threatening to embark on a rite of passage that will separate them forever. Then, as she and her uncle are about to unveil their hot vampire-themed restaurant, a brutal murder leaves them scrambling for a chef. Can Quincie transform their new hire into a culinary Dark Lord before opening night? Can he wow the crowd in his fake fangs, cheap cape, and red contact lenses — or is there more to this earnest face than meets the eye? As human and preternatural forces clash, a deadly love triangle forms, and the line between predator and prey begins to blur. Who’s playing whom? And how long can Quincie play along before she loses everything? TANTALIZE marks Cynthia Leitich Smith’s delicious debut as a preeminent author of dark fantasy. 

Tantalize is the first book in the Tantalize series by Cynthia Leitich Smith. There were a lot of different things that made this story unique. There was the Vampire themed restaurant. Pretty much every Were-creature imaginable appeared in this book. For example: a Were-Opossum. It's true! And, I'm sorry, but that sounds like a pretty cute creature to me. There were vampires, of course. We also have hybrids. The various critters were all pretty intriguing.

Where my interest sort of started and ended was with Quincie, the main character. I liked her in the beginning, but as I got to know her, she lost much of her appeal. She's pretty naive, and she was either shallow, or maybe she just wasn't very smart. Maybe it's a maturity thing. I just didn't understand the way she thought at times, and how quickly she could lose trust for someone she's known her whole life, and put her trust in someone she's only known a short time. Whether that person turned out to be trustworthy or not, that behavior just didn't make sense to me. Regardless, she has room for some major character growth, and I really hope she does.

There was action. It flowed quickly. All in all, it was pretty good. So, I'll be reading the next book in the series.

Lousy idea, us sitting like that on the railroad tracks. If we had had to jump, it would
have been a heart-stopping drop to the lake below. But Kieren had said he could hear a
train coming from far away, in more than enough time for us to scramble from the middle
of the bridge to safety. And I trusted him. Liked him watching out for me, too.
 To the west, the fading horizontal clouds had turned a bloody tangerine color,
fuzzy and tinged with violet, like the inside of a conch shell. So, I imagined picking one
up, a curved shell, shaking it to see if the animal within had died.
 Then Kieren's fingernails began tracing the pattern on my upturned palm, and it
was hard to think about anything. I knew it bothered him, though, my laugh line, my love
line, my lifeline. Slight and severed, all of them.
 This was four years ago, so we were in middle school, past due for handholding.
I'd been staying with Kieren's family, helping with the baby, while my folks were in
Guatemala doing whatever professors with archaeology PhDs did there. Daddy anyway.
Mama had just gone along for the ride. They'd be back the day after tomorrow, I
realized. And tomorrow could be gone in a heartbeat or two.
 “It's not just a sunset,” I said, going for poetic. “It's a moonrise, too.”
 Kieren’s nostrils flared at that, which I found exceedingly manly. Besides, I'd
always loved this time of day, late evening when the world went smoky and soft. Dusk.
Twilight. Such pretty names. We owed something to the night, didn't we?
I tried pressing my newly rounded right boob against his forearm. Even though it
was well covered in a sweat-stained T-shirt, even though the temperature had to be over
ninety degrees. I had it on good authority that most boys my age were due to go boob
crazy at any time. But my hand was all he was interested in.
 As the sun melted into the horizon, I stared into the rippling water and decided to
take the lead. If Kieren backed off, I'd make like I was joking.
 It seemed to take forever, turning my palm until our fingers aligned, rested
against one another, ready to intertwine. His face was flushed, moist from the heat, and
his expression didn't tell me anything.
 Taking a shallow breath, I went for it. There. My fingertips touched the back of
his hand. His fingertips touched the back of mine. And he was letting it happen. I was
about to say something, I didn’t know what, when distant but sure I heard the train.
 “Kieren?” I whispered.
 I’d distracted him.
A cause for celebration if it hadn’t been for the penalty.
 His head snapped in the direction of the oncoming threat, the one that would
reach me first, and his eyes in the evening light looked flat and yellow. I didn't feel the
pain when I first heard the wet crunching, didn't feel it for long even, wicked hot, turning
my sweat cold. There was an instant, just one, when I looked down at my hand and felt
the blood dripping and realized his nails…claws…had extended, piercing clear through,
five crescent-shaped punctures, catching raw muscle and splintering bone.
“Oh,” I said, like that explained everything, and suddenly, the train didn’t matter
so much anymore. Then the world swirled, faded, took me floating into the darkness. 

Check out my reviews of other books in this series!

Cynthia Leitich Smith is the New York Times best-selling author of the award-winning Feral series and Tantalize series. These adventure-fantasies were published by Candlewick Press in the U.S., Walker Books in the U.K. and Australia/New Zealand, and additional publishers around the globe.

Cynthia also is the author of several award-winning children’s books, including: Jingle Dancer, Rain Is Not My Indian Name; and Indian Shoes, all published by HarperCollins.

She serves on the faculty of the Vermont College of Fine Arts MFA program in Writing for Children and Young Adults and on the advisory board of We Need Diverse Books.

To learn more about Cynthia Leitich Smith and her books, visit her website & blog.You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

   

  

  

Book Review: Flawed by Cecelia Ahern

Flawed (Flawed #1) by Cecelia Ahern
Genre: Young Adult (Dystopian)
Date Published: April 5, 2016
Publisher: Feiwel and Friends

You will be punished…

Celestine North lives a perfect life. She’s a model daughter and sister, she’s well-liked by her classmates and teachers, and she’s dating the impossibly charming Art Crevan.

But then Celestine encounters a situation where she makes an instinctive decision. She breaks a rule and now faces life-changing repercussions. She could be imprisoned. She could be branded. She could be found flawed.

In her breathtaking young adult debut, bestselling author Cecelia Ahern depicts a society where perfection is paramount and flaws lead to punishment. And where one young woman decides to take a stand that could cost her everything.

Flawed is the first book in the Flawed series by Cecelia Ahern. This is one of those books that really shows the nature of people. They can be evil creatures, and though this particular situation between flawed and perfect may not ever happen, the behavior of the people involved is something very believable. We see it today in how people treat each other, making it very relevant to our society. This book puts it on a larger scale and involves the government in support of such behaviors.. which isn't really a far stretch these days either. It's a sad scary world that Celestine lives in. She is one strong girl, and she doesn't even know it. There were so many moments that made me uncomfortable to read. I'd literally cringe at how she was treated, even by those in power. It was painful. I love that this author was able to bring out so many emotions in me as the reader. Not all the people were bad of course, there were those who could think for themselves and want to fight the system or at least admit to disagreeing with it. There is a rebellion or war brewing, and Celestine has found herself right in the middle of it. This was a very hard book for me to put down, and I'm anxious for the next book to be released. I don't think I'll be able to wait until April!

At the next stop, an old man gets on the bus, and I almost call out to him. He looks so much like my granddad that I’m convinced it’s him, which doesn’t make sense because my granddad lives on a farm in the country, but then I see the large F symbol on his armband and I shudder, annoyed with myself for ever thinking someone like him could possibly be related to me.

My prejudice strikes me. I had been repulsed by the reaction of the woman with the crutches to the Flawed woman smiling at her, but I hold equal views of my own without ever realizing it.

The man is in his seventies or eighties. I’m not sure. He’s old, and he is dressed in a smart suit and polished shoes, as if he’s on his way to work. From this angle, I can’t see any signs of branding, though it could mean it is on his chest, tongue, or foot. He looks respectable, and again I study him, surprised by his appearance. I always thought of the Flawed as less than us, and I can’t believe I have admitted that to myself. He is unable to sit, because the two Flawed seats are taken- by two women who are not Flawed but are so busy chatting that they don’t notice him. He stands near them, holding on to the pole to stay upright.

I hope they notice soon. He doesn’t look like he will go very far standing.

A few dozen minutes pass. He is still standing. I look around. There are at least a dozen free seats where he could sit, but he is not allowed to. I’m a logical person, and this does not prove logical to me.

I look across at Juniper, who has taken off her headphones and is sitting up, poker straight, alert, and looking at the same situation that I am. Juniper has always been more emotional than I am, and I can see her on the edge of her seat, ready to pounce, instead of fearing that she will do something stupid. For once I am glad she and I feel the same.

The old man starts coughing. And then he won’t stop.

His breath is wheezy, barely still for a moment before he coughs again. He takes out a handkerchief and coughs into that, trying to block the germs and noise. His face goes from white to pink to purple, and I see Juniper move closer to the edge of her seat. She looks at the two women chatting, then back at the old man. Finally, he stops coughing.

Moments later he starts again, and all heads turn away from him and look out the window. The fat lady stops talking to look at him, and I’m relieved, knowing she will finally let him sit in the seat he is entitled to. Instead, she tuts as if he’s bothering her and continues her conversation.

Now I straighten up in my seat.

The cough is bothering her. It is bothering everyone on the bus. His loud gasps for breath can’t be ignored, and yet they are. Rules state that if anyone aids a Flawed, they will be imprisoned, but not in this case, surely? Are we to watch him struggling right before us?

The coughing stops.

My heart is pounding.

I let go of Art’s hand. It feels clammy.

“What’s up?”

“Can’t you hear that?”

“What?”

“The coughing.”

He looks around. “There’s no one coughing.”

The coughing starts again, and Art doesn’t bat an eyelash when he looks at me intimately and says, “You know I can’t wait to be somewhere alone. Why don’t we miss the first class?”

I can barely hear him over the coughing, over my pounding heart. Does nobody hear the old man? Does nobody see him? I look around, flustered. All eyes are staring out the window or on him in disgust, as if he’s about to infect us all with his flaws.

Juniper’s eyes are filled with tears. My own flesh and blood agreeing with me is validation enough. I make a move to sand up and Art’s hand suddenly clamps around my arm.

“Don’t,” he says firmly.

“Ow!” I try to move, but instead his grip feels like a burn. “You’re hurting me.”

“And do you think when they sear your skin it won’t hurt more than this?” He squeezes tighter.

“Art, stop! Ouch!” I feel my skin burning.

He stops.

“How is this fair?” I hiss.

“He has done something wrong, Celestine.”

“Like what? Something that’s completely legal in another country but that people are prosecuted for here anyway?”

He looks as if I stung him.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Celestine,” he says, sensing he has lost the argument. “And don’t help him,” he adds quickly.

“I have no intention of helping him.”

How I walk by this coughing, wheezing, struggling-to-breathe old man is beyond me, but I do, seeing the faint F scar on his temple as though it has been there a very long time, like it’s as much a part of him as the freckles and hair alongside it. I walk straight to the two women in the Flawed seats. They are chatting about making jam as if nothing is wrong.

“Excuse me,” I say sweetly, offering them the most polite smile I can muster. They respond immediately with their own bright smiles. Two polite, friendly women from the suburbs, willing to help me with anything.  Almost anything.

“Yes, dear.”

“I was wondering if you could help me.”

“Of course, dear.”

“Could one of you sit in any of the available seats here? Or I could offer you two seats together where my boyfriend and I are sitting so that you can continue your conversation?”

As I look up at Art, all I can see is terror on his face. Funny, I no longer feel it. I like solutions. The problem was disturbing me, and fixing it just made sense. I’m not doing anything wrong; I’m not breaking any laws or rules. I’ve always been complimented on my timing, my perfection. I come from a good home. I have a pleasant manner. The anklet of geometric harmony proves it.

“May I ask why?” the woman with the broken leg asks.

“Well, this man here”- I point to the old man- “is clearly Flawed, and you are in the Flawed seats. He can’t sit down anywhere else. And he is struggling.”

I notice a few faces turn to stare at me when I say that. I expect them to understand when I say that. I expect there to be no further conversation. I even expect the few who have overheard to step in and agree, make sense of the situation. But they don’t. They look confused, some even scared. One man looks amused. This is illogical. This is Juniper’s territory, not mine. I look at her. She has the same face of terror as Art does. She is not moving. If I ever thought she was going to back me up, I know now that she won’t.

“But we’re talking,” the other woman says.

“And he’s choking,” I say with the same smile on my face, which I know looks a little psychotic, because we are no longer being polite.

“Are you trying to help him?” the woman with the crutches asks.

“N-n-no,” I stutter. “I’m not. I’m trying to help the situation…” I flash her a brilliant smile but she recoils from me.

“I want nothing to do with this,” she says loudly, attracting more attention.

“With what?” I laugh nervously. “Your leg is fine. Perhaps if you just move to another chair and your friend stays here….”

“I’m staying right where I am,” she hollers.

Now we have the attention of the entire bus.

The old man, who is beside me, can barely stand. He is bent over coughing. He turns to me, face purple, and tries to talk, but he can’t catch his breath.

I don’t know what he’s trying to say. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what medical help to give him. Even if I knew what medical help to provide, I wouldn’t be able to give it to him. Think, think, Celestine. I can’t help, but a doctor can.

“Is there a doctor here?” I call down the bus, and I see Art put his face in his hands.

There’s an audible gasp on the bus.

I look around at everyone, the judgmental faces of surprise. I feel dizzy and confused. This man is going to collapse, maybe die. My eyes start to fill.

“Are we just going to watch this?” I scream.

“Stop it, dear,” a woman says to me in a hushed voice. She is clearly upset about it, too. It’s not just me, but she’s warning me. I’m going too far.

This is completely illogical. Have we no compassion for this human being, Flawed or not, that we won’t help?

Heads look away. Eyes are averted.

“Okay, okay,” I say to the old man, who by now is panicking severely. He continues to cough and I can see the F on his tongue, which makes me recoil slightly. I can’t even imagine the pain of receiving it. “It’s okay.”

He punches his chest, starts to fall to his knees.

I pull him up under the arms, and I bring him to the nearest open seat.

“Stop the bus!” I yell.

The bus stops, and I assure the old man everything will be fine.

I look over at Juniper and see that she is crying.

“It’s okay,” I tell her and Art. “It’s going to be fine.” My heart is still pounding. “This has all been so very ridiculous.” My voice is high-pitched and shrill; it doesn’t sound like mine. And then I hear the siren, loud, close, intense, and threatening.

Everyone stays still in their seats, waiting, my heart beating loudly over the silence. Two Whistleblowers climb aboard blowing silver whistles so loudly most people block their ears. They make their way toward me and the old man.

“See? I told you it will be fine,” I tell the man over the noise. “They’re here. Help is here.”

He nods faintly, his eyes closed. I expect them to go to the old man, who has passed out on the seat, exhausted and taking short breaths, a fine layer of sweat covering his skin. But they don’t go to him. They come for me.

And then they take me away.

Check out my review on the next book in this series!

Cecelia Ahern was born and grew up in Dublin. She is now published in nearly fifty countries, and has sold over twenty-five million copies of her novels worldwide. Two of her books have been adapted as films and she has created several TV series.

To learn more about Cecelia Ahern and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, and Twitter.

Song & Shadow Blast!

Possession (Song and Shadow, #1) by Annie Oldham
Genre: Young Adult (Paranormal)
Date Published: October 31, 2014
Publisher: Self

Constance Jerome wants nothing more than to make it through her senior year of high school without being noticed. But when her mother drops the world's biggest bombshell, flying under the radar just isn't in the cards. It turns out Constance is a necromancer—one of the few who can travel the realms of the dead. Apparently it runs in the family. And now there's a threat coming: another necromancer with plans to disturb the living and the dead, and Constance and her mother are the only ones who can stop him. If only they knew who he was. Or what exactly he was up to. A quiet senior year isn't an option, and Constance must race to stop a high school apocalypse before the balance between the living and the dead is overturned. Check out my review of this book!

Sign up for Annie's Newsletter to get a FREE ebook copy of Possession!

Illusion (Song and Shadow, #2) by Annie Oldham
Genre: Young Adult (Paranormal)
Date Published: October 31, 2016
Publisher: Self

Constance Jerome has survived a vampire attack, a team of possessed football players, and her first trip to Limbo. Now she has to prove that Mr Ransom is the dark necromancer before he topples the rules of the living and the dead. But then she discovers there is something else haunting the halls of Milltown High School, something with a sadistic side, something that has placed Constance’s best friend at the center of its unwanted affection. To save those she cares about, Constance must forge her own path as a necromancer and embrace the shadows that have plagued her. But will it be enough?

The faint, watery light filtered down through the gap between buildings above them, casting wavering shadows around them, and one of them reached out a long, narrow finger. The nail was long and beginning to curve, and the knuckle was knobby. Constance realized they had that strange pearly translucency about them, the same as the rest of the spirits. Why weren’t these spirits in line with the others? She almost took a step forward when one of them looked up at her.

“Alive,” it whispered in a soft voice that sounded like the drone of bees.

“Alive?” came another whisper, this one urgent.

“Yes, alive.” There was a hunger in the voice that chilled Constance, and she found her legs were leaden. As her heart began to pump frantically, one of the figures laughed.

“Do you hear that, brothers? Do hear that glorious sound?”

“A heart.”

“Yes, a beating heart.”

“It is music.”

“Sweet, sweet music.”

Life leeches. Wasn’t that the name her mother had used? Spirits that refused to line up and be sorted and instead hid in the shadows and the alleys, using the last life lingering around new spirits to try to escape a fate that they all must eventually face. Her own pulsing life must seem like an all-you-can-eat buffet to them. Wasn’t it her job as a necromancer to put them where they belonged? But where did they belong? Could she sing and compel them all to follow her like some deathly Pied Piper and then bring them to stand before the Book of Days? She had to, or they would be on her in a moment. She licked her lips—they were cold and tasted of dust. She would need to sing, but her throat felt coated in dust, and there was a hollow pit starting in her heart right where she felt coldest.

One of the spirits inched toward her, his footsteps nothing more than a hush hush on the pavement. She couldn’t tell how tall he was with the way his shoulders curled in on themselves. His lank hair covered his features and his hands hung limp at his sides, but still he glided toward her, pulled to her like a moth that finds a flame irresistible, and she couldn’t look away.

Check out my reviews of other books by this author!

Annie Oldham grew up with an insatiable desire to read and came away with the insatiable desire to write. Away from her writing, she's the mother of the three most adorable girls in the world, has the best husband in the world, and lives in the hottest place in the world (not really, but Phoenix sure feels like it).

To read more about the author and her books, visit Annie Oldham's website. You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook and Twitter.

Also, don't miss my interview with Annie Oldham!

$50 Amazon Gift Card or Paypal Cash Giveaway Ends 11/27/16 Open only to those who can legally enter, receive and use an Amazon.com Gift Code or Paypal Cash. Winning Entry will be verified prior to prize being awarded. No purchase necessary. You must be 18 or older to enter or have your parent enter for you. The winner will be chosen by rafflecopter and announced here as well as emailed and will have 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen. This giveaway is in no way associated with Facebook, Twitter, Rafflecopter or any other entity unless otherwise specified. The number of eligible entries received determines the odds of winning. Giveaway was organized by Kathy from I Am A Reader and sponsored by the author. VOID WHERE PROHIBITED BY LAW.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Book Review: Dream Maker by Erin McCarthy

Dream Maker (Nashville Nights #2) by Erin McCarthy 

Genre: Adult Fiction (Contemporary Romance)

Date Published: October 18, 2016
Publisher: Loveswept

The bestselling author of Heart Breaker returns with another sultry Nashville Nights novel of country hits and stolen kisses, as a one-night stand turns into the beginning of an irresistible partnership.

Shane Hart loves the ladies. Like hit records, he can never have too many. Shane swore long ago never to treat a woman the way his abusive father treated his mother, but his traumatic past has kept him from making any solid commitments—even to a fiery redhead like Avery O’Leery. Shane’s happy enough to rescue her from a tight spot, but that’s as far as their connection goes—until their unforgettable liaison has him rethinking his impulse to love ’em and leave ’em.

Avery has big plans: first, shake the dust of small-town Kentucky from her boots; second, become a bona fide songwriter; and third, keep the truth hidden about her birth father from everyone in Nashville. Nowhere on that list is she supposed to land in bed with a sexy stranger who rescues her off the street at midnight, especially if that stranger is Shane Hart. Avery’s trying not to fall for the dreamy music producer who could make or break her career. But her best-laid plans seem to be no match for a love that feels like destiny.

Dream Maker is the second book in the Nashville Nights series by Erin McCarthy. This book is told from the point of view of Shane, Jolene's brother, and  Avery, someone we haven't met until now. Avery is new to Nashville. She wants to make it as a song writer as well as find some of her family who doesn't know she exists(and she wants to keep it that way). I felt like her character was easy to relate to and was fleshed out well. Shane is a bad boy. As we get to know him, we learn why he's such the bad boy. Just a jerk or is it a defense mechanism? I felt like I got to know both of these characters well. They were fleshed out nicely and easy to relate to. I think this story was a littler bit more entertaining than the first one, plus I enjoyed getting updated on the lives of Jolene and Chance, as they are now fun supporting characters to this book. Who's story will we get next?

The ARC of Dream Maker by Erin McCarthy was kindly provided to me by the publisher through NetGalley for review. The opinions are my own.

Check out my review of the first book in this series!

USA Today and New York Times Bestselling author Erin McCarthy sold her first book in 2002 and has since written almost fifty novels and novellas in teen fiction, new adult, and adult romance. Erin has a special weakness for New Orleans, tattoos, high-heeled boots, beaches and martinis. She lives in Ohio with her family, two grumpy cats and a socially awkward dog.

To learn more about Erin McCarthy and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, and Twitter.

Book Review: Reverie by Lauren E. Rico

Reverie (Reverie #1) by Lauren E. Rico
Genre: New Adult (Dark Contemporary Romance/Psychological Thriller)
Date Published: April 30, 2016
Publisher: Harmony House Productions

Julia James has spent most of her life hiding in plain sight. For her, the cello was a way to get past a hellish childhood. Even now that she is one of the top cellists in the country, and a contender in the most prestigious, high-stakes music competition in the world, she hopes no one will notice her.

But then someone does.

A chance (or is it?) encounter brings her to the attention of the distractingly sexy, charismatic French horn player, Jeremy Corrigan. As he helps her to embrace her talent, her sexuality and her past, Julia thinks she might finally be headed toward her ‘happily-ever-after.'

Unfortunately, happily isn’t so much ‘ever-after’ for Julia.

The lines between love and obsession are blurred in REVERIE.

Oh my goodness! What a ride this book was! If I could have, I would have read it in one sitting. I almost did. I read a little one day. A little the next. Then, when I didn't have to be up for work the next day, I stayed up most of the night reading the rest of it until I was finished. I just couldn't put it down. The story is told from Julia and Jeremy's point of view. These are some pretty complex characters. I saw the signs and the pattern forming, and I had a strong feeling about the direction the book was going to go, but I had no idea just how dark and twisted it was going to get. It was down right painful to read at times. I know I'm being awfully vague, but I'm trying so hard not to give spoilers.

The book had the atmosphere of Gone Girl only more sinister in some ways, and the story itself was completely different. Does that make sense? It just had that ominous feel. There was a time or two when I thought it was going to go 50 Shades on me. Thankfully it didn't. This story was told and written so much better than either of those books, with a much more compelling story line.

The writing in Reverie was beautiful. The author perfectly captured and brought me right in to the mindset of her characters. That added a whole new level to the reading experience. I felt like I was right there with them, in their darkness. Freddy Krueger isn't scary. Jason isn't scary. It's people like this that are scary, because you know they are really out there.

Reverie by Lauren E. Rico was kindly provided to me by the author for review. The opinions are my own.

When he has the piece setup in front of me, he moves around to the back of my chair so he can watch over my shoulder. It would seem, once again, that I don’t have a choice. Oh, what the hell, it can’t get much worse than this.
I pick up the bow and it’s all I can do to keep my hands from shaking as I play.
I only get through the first few notes before I stop in frustration.
“Still not right,” I say, dejectedly.
And then, there is his breath, warm and sweet against my cheek. He’s so close that our faces are almost touching.
“Sex,” he whispers in my ear.
“Excuse me?” I croak.
“This piece is all about sex. When you play, think of the piano as trying to seduce the cello.”
“I don’t… I’m not sure how to convey that…”
Out of nowhere I feel his large hand resting on my shoulder.
“No, wait. I’m sorry to cut you off Julia, but what I just said isn’t quite right. It’s not sex. It’s more than just the physicality of it. It’s making love.”
Oh. My. God.
“Look, I’ll show you.”
He reaches around me to pluck the accompanying piano part off the music stand. Before I can ask him what he’s going to do with it, he has left my side and is pulling the bench out from under the piano. But he doesn’t play piano. Does he?
“Third movement!” he says, getting himself situated quickly. “In three… two…”
“Wait!” I protest but it’s too late.
“One!” Jeremy starts to play the solo piano opening.
I’ll be damned, he does play the piano. And well, too.
Under his fingers, the opening is a nostalgic reverie. I’m hearing things that I missed before. Romance with just a hint of something darker. Not sinister so much as… broken. No, fragile. Bereft? That’s it. Bereft. The mood he creates is so hypnotic that I nearly miss my entrance.
“You’re coming up here…” he calls out over his shoulder.
There’s no time to think, so I just play. This time, as I pull the bow across the strings and allow my fingers to stretch across the fingerboard, I imagine the sound of the cello as a voice, professing its love– a sentiment echoed lovingly by the piano. It goes back and forth, this romantic dialogue. They are separate. They are together. And suddenly the two voices are so intertwined that it’s hard to tell where one starts and the other ends.
In an instant, it’s clear to me what I’ve been missing all this time. Jeremy is absolutely right. This is the sound of lovers, clinging to one another. I’m so drawn-in that I can feel my own pulse quicken as the intensity mounts. It crests and slowly dissolves into the quietest, most intimate of utterances. When the last note is played I can only sit there, staring at the music, bow hanging from my hand.  He has turned around and I can feel his eyes fixed on me, gauging my reaction to what has just happened.
“Wow,” I say when I can finally meet his gaze. It comes out as barely a whisper. “That was… amazing.”
He smiles at me and, in an instant, he is on his feet. Still reeling from the emotional performance, I watch in stunned silence as he takes the cello from me and lays it gently on its side. He squats down so that we are at eye level, and presses his lips to mine. It is delicate and firm, confident and tentative all at once. After a long moment, he extricates himself from me and walks over to the door.
“Now do you understand?” he asks softly.
I can only nod dumbly.
Jeremy smiles, nods and slips back out into the hallway, letting the soundproof door shut tight between us.

Check out my review of the other books in this trilogy!

Lauren Rico was going to be principal French horn of the New York Philharmonic. That was HER plan, anyway. The New York Philharmonic had no idea of her intentions, and that's probably a good thing, since she wasn't an especially good French horn player!

Lauren was, however, an exceptionally good classical music radio host. Calling herself a “Classical Music Reanimator,” she has made a career of bringing back long-dead composers from The Great Beyond and plopping them down smack in the middle of the 21st century. In other words, she does her best to demystify classical music for her audiences by taking it off a dusty old pedestal and putting it into a modern context.

It's only been over the last couple of years that Lauren has discovered a passion for writing, which she's managed to combine with her love and knowledge of the classical music world. That's when she had the realization that she had something special with this story of love and obsession and music.

These days, you can hear Lauren Rico on SiriusXM's Symphony Hall Channel 76, on WSHU-FM in the New York metro region, WSMR in Tampa/Sarasota, FL, WDAV in Charlotte, NC and KMFA in Austin, TX.

To learn more about Lauren E. Rico and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter.