Lee will be awarding an
E-copy of The Park at Sunrise to a
randomly drawn commenter at each stop, plus a $5 ARE Gift Certificate to one
randomly drawn commenter during the tour.
Please follow the tour; the more you comment, the
better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:
Hi! Thanks so much for inviting me over to talk
about my work! My name is Lee Brazil and I am an author of m/m romance. I write
contemporary romance with Breathless Press, and Regency Romance with Silver
Publishing and Evernight Publishing. For those who don't know me, I'm addicted
to coffee, rock'n roll, and tequila. My biggest vice is reading, and my SO
bought me a kindle to keep our house from bursting at the seams.
Normally on these posts, I just babble about
whatever strikes my fancy, but MA has asked me to talk about why I wrote
Temptation. It's not a terribly exciting story, but it's fun. To begin with,
you have to know that I belong to a writing group called Story Orgy, and what
we did was write stories based on prompts in weekly installments. I say did,
because while the group still exists, we have evolved since then to something
slightly different.
I was chatting online with a friend, the delightful
Havan Fellows, and somehow we got to talking about flawed heroes. I like them.
But you always see the same old flaws, he's arrogant, he's bitter, he's
suffering from the loss of something. Always, tragedy is at the root of
success, and tragedy stands between the hero and his ultimate HEA.
And I thought…hmm. There's a lot more prolific flaws
in the human race. What about vanity, and shallowness, and impatience, and so
on?
And Lake was conceived. Then with this flawed
character in mind, I went to bed, and I awoke with this statement revolving
through my thoughts.
"I'm
Lake Wynters. Yes, you heard that right. Get used to it, I had to."
And Lake was born, beautiful, vain, frivolous, and
as unprepared for love as any man could be.
The path of the story was guided by weekly prompts,
and after the blog run was over, it was revised, expanded by about ten thousand
words, and edited for publication by Breathless Press. I hope you all enjoy
Lake's metamorphosis from …ah, who am I kidding? He'll probably always be a
shallow little bit of fluff, but I loved writing him, and I hope you enjoy his
story.
Temptation
by
Lee Brazil
BLURB:
After
a hot interlude at a holiday party, Lake Wynters and Solomon Arsdale exchange
phone numbers but not promises. Lake is fine with that until something happens
he's never experienced. As days pass without Solomon calling, Lake discovers he
just can't forget the sexy older man. Giving in to temptation, he takes matters
into his own hands and visits Solomon at his office, breaking his own dating
rules.
Waiting
in Solomon's office, Lake is shaken to the core by how much Solomon's
acknowledgement of their encounter means to him, and how much more he wants it
to lead to.
But
when the door he's eagerly watching opens, it brings new temptation in the form
of Adonis Kosmias. Adonis isn't anything like Solomon. Not many would call him
beautiful. His features are too harsh, his body too angular. But he moves with
fluid grace and his hair falls in perfect waves and his eyes sparkle with
warmth. From the first touch of his hand Lake is thrown into even greater confusion.
So distracted by Adonis's touch is he, that when Solomon finally makes an
appearance, their hands are still clasped.
Meeting
Solomon again while holding hands with another man wasn't in Lake's plan.
Neither was anything that happened afterward.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt:
I'm
Lake Wynters, I reminded myself as I paced, keeping an eye on the massive oak
door that stood stalwart between me and the man I'd come to see. The secretary
tried to make me sit, even offered me a copy of a news magazine to read. I
think my blank look surprised her. She wanted me to sit in that plush but
horrible amber colored chair and wait quietly for Solomon to decide whether my
claim to friendship was a lie. I sort of was, and I sort of wasn't. But that
wasn't why I paced.
And
it wasn't because I wasn't sure if my pants would crease or fuzz would stick to
my butt either. I just couldn't be still. It was unbelievable how much my
existence seemed to hinge on his decision to acknowledge me. So I paced around
the soft brown carpet, from the window that overlooked the parking lot and a
very distant view of the sparkling waters of the ocean, to the chair. The door
didn't open, even though it felt like it must have been a half hour since she'd
called through and his deep voice had asked for a few minutes.
He's
going to remember me, he's going to see me; he's going to be glad I came. He
wouldn't have given me his number otherwise, would he? I wanted to believe that
so badly. Because I wanted to see him. I didn't want to get brushed off. Why
wouldn't he want to see me again? I was pretty...we would look great together,
and I'd already proven to him that I knew what the fuck I was doing. That
thought had me cursing silently as my cock stirred a bit. Okay—no remembering the
blow job in the vestibule.
Just
remember the indulgent smile. The way his hand closed around the number written
on his palm. The way his thumb wiped the tiny drop of semen from the corner of
my mouth. Yeah, those were the things I needed to remember, the things that
said more than getting off for fun, the things that said maybe what we'd had
meant a little something more.
Every
little sound fell on my ears like a blast from a car horn, from the coiffured
secretary's hands clattering on the keyboard to the hushed slur of paper in the
printer. Wearing me down, tearing at the confidence I'd mustered in order to
come here today.
I
wanted to double-check my appearance, run to the nearest restroom and check my
makeup, the shine on my boots, the cut of my jeans. I wanted to tell her to
forget it, to run out and get my hair done, buy new boots, new jeans, anything
to chase away the doubt this man created in me.
I
was on edge and I didn't like it. I didn't like being here. I didn't like that
he hadn't called me. Why hadn't he called me?
Everyone
always calls me.
Not
Solomon Ardale. I closed my eyes and his face hovered there in front of me,
dark, solemn eyes, strong smooth jaw. The bold, aquiline nose I'd kissed
playfully two weeks ago, the thick dark brows I'd traced with my fingers.
The
moist hot mouth that had captivated me with one swift brutal kiss before he'd
pushed me aside. Had he tasted himself in that kiss? Certainly his taste
lingered in my mouth. That flavor was so imprinted in my memory that I could
savor its echoes today, the blend of salt and sweet and bitter, smooth and
slick against my teeth, my tongue.
But
he left me there, mouth hanging open, clutching the little white business card
he'd given me after I wrote my number in eye liner in the palm of his hand.
He
hadn't called.
Not
to ask me to dinner, or the theater, or a movie.
He
wasn't even interested in a repeat performance.
Why
did it fucking matter? I didn't think he was in love with me. I didn't expect
him to even like me overly much. After all, a half an hour at a party isn't
much to base affection on.
And
yet, here I was, wasting prime holiday shopping time sitting in a stuffy office
hoping to see someone I'd only met once.
The
door behind me clicked and I spun around, expecting to see Solomon, but instead
it was a younger man, handsome in his own way, but leaner with a darker
appearance. That explained why Solomon hadn't admitted me right away. He was
with someone. The relief I felt made me a little wobbly in my heels, but I smiled
at the newcomer, letting my suddenly lighter spirit show. Maybe I smile too
much for the camera and it came off as flirty instead of friendly, because one
arched brow rose high and I nearly giggled. It made him look very much like an
inquiring Vulcan and less wicked than I'd first thought.
He
looked me over slowly, extending a hand in greeting. "You're Lake
Wynters?"
I
accepted his hand, squeezing gently, just as my behavior coach had taught me.
"I am. You'll get used to it. It's my real name. My parents were wannabe
hippies. I had to get over it, just one of many things." Jesus, why was I
babbling? More to the point, why did this man's dry, firm touch send goose
bumps up my arm?
"Will
I? Get used to it, I mean?" He smiled a little, just the tiniest quirk of
his lips, but I felt at ease suddenly.
"I
think so. At least, I hope so. And you are?" I wanted to put a name to a
face that I would surely remember for a long time. I had the feeling we could
be friends, maybe more than friends.
"I'm
Adonis Kosmias. Alas, my parents were also enamored of odd names." He
smiled fully now, white teeth gleaming between full dark lips.
"Adonis?"
He seemed to find the name amusing, but it sounded nice to me. So did the husky
note in his voice and the gentle laugh that came as he recognized my confusion.
"He's
the Greek god of beauty and desire. Come in, Solomon will see you now." I
realized our hands were still clasped, though neither of us made any pretense
at shaking and felt my neck and ears flame instantly. I blushed. I'd be walking
in to see Solomon with my ears and cheeks flaming red. So much for appearing
sophisticated and debonair. My cover, such as it was, was blown.
But,
the Greek god of beauty and desire? Yeah... I could understand his laughter.
Not many would call this man beautiful. His features were too harsh, his body
too angular for beauty. But he moved with fluid grace and his hair fell in
perfect waves and his eyes sparkled with such warmth.
His
touch distracted me from Solomon, who was now willing to see me. On the other
side of the door I'd been obsessed with just minutes earlier.
The
door opened before I remembered that I could tug my hand out of his grip and
didn't need to wait for him to release it. So, what the man I'd dreamed about
for two weeks saw when I stepped into his office, was me holding hands with
another man.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR
Bio and Links:
A
multi-published author with Breathless Press, Silver Publishing, Evernight
Publishing and Total-e-Bound, Lee Brazil is a retired teacher of grammar and
composition. Moving around the country a lot as a child meant a constant stream
of new schools, new locations and new people. As a child Lee was swept away
into incredible worlds with the turn of every page, from Camelot to Sherwood
Forest, the deck of a whaling ship, or the frigid Alaskan tundra. Every book
spurred new adventures. Even before Lee started putting what if's on paper, the
stories were there. As Lee grew into adulthood, the stories changed, and the
focus changed from wild adventures and feats of daring to simpler, more
enduring themes. Today Lee writes about one of the most basic of human
needs...the need to love and be loved.
Contact
Links
Lee
on FB http://www.facebook.com/lee.brazil
Lee
on Twitter @leebrazil
Lee
Blog http://leebrazilauthor.blogspot.com/
Pinterest http://pinterest.com/leebrazil/
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