Guest Post, Excerpt, Giveaway, and Trailer by Jennifer Allis Provost
Guest Post
When I was asked to create a playlist for COPPER GIRL, it got me to wondering what kind of music the main character, Sara Corbeau, would listen to.
You see, Sara’s world is a bleak, depressing place. Magic has been outlawed (though the government throws it around like cheap confetti), taxes are outrageous, and the only jobs to be had are either in the military or desk work. Add that to the fact that her father and brother have been missing for over ten years, and that she hasn’t had a date in forever.
Naturally, Sara would want to listen to something happy.
Being that one of Sara’s two main joys in life (before meeting Micah, that is) is her car, she would have a ready supply of driving music. And, being that one of her other joys is hunting through flea market stalls, her driving music would be made up of classics.
Don Henley – Boys of Summer
Journey – Don’t Stop Believing
Fear Factory – Cars
David Bowie – Always Crashing in the Same Car
Then, Micah appears in Sara’s dreams, and, soon thereafter, her bed. Their attraction is strong, so strong that it freaks Sara out. Still, despite her reservations, she doesn’t want to let him go.
The Cure – Friday
Eurythmics – Sweet Dreams
Oasis - Wonderwall
Def Leppard – Love Bites
About that last song… Well, things don’t always go smoothly in matters of love, now do they? While Sara tries to negotiate the intense emotions evoked by her dream man, she manages to run afoul of the Iron Queen, gets captured by Peacekeepers, and searches for her missing brother, both while awake and in her dreams. How does it all turn out? Pick up COPPER GIRL to find out.
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.
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
Purchase it at Amazon or BN
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
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
https://www.facebook.com/copperraven
Twitter: @parthalan
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