Are you ready for Blaire?
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1AhIp7A
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1FOfY2m
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1rSEK0k
iTunes: http://bit.ly/1zO1Fs
Blurb
Love is selfish...
My name is Blaire.
I'm the bad girl.
The other woman.
The one who never gets the guy in the
end.
I'm the gold digger.
The bitch.
The one no one roots for.
The one you love to hate.
I hate myself too...
Everyone has a story. Are you ready for
mine?
Review:
Wow,
can we say speechless? Easy Virtue was absolutely riveting, with the
perfect touch of sexy. It's the type of book that demands to be read
just as much as it demands to be heard. When first going into the story,
I had a feeling I wouldn't like Blaire. She was crass, vain, cynical;
everything I'm not. It made it very hard to connect with her. At first.
She
was right though. I did love to hate her. In fact, it was all too easy
to. But underneath all the bravado, I could sense that underline
vulnerability and it was then that I decided maybe she's like me after
all. I think her story is sad because how could anyone not love such a
witty and wonderful person? It's no wonder Blaire is the way she is.
The
romance aspect is nothing short of perfectly imperfect. There are two
men in Blaire's life but honestly, I have a hard time saying this would
be considered a "love triangle". I know so many people dislike that. But
this hardly is one. There are two swoon-worthy men; Lawrence and Ronan.
You just need to read about them to know how great they are.
Overall,
this book has it all. It has an unconventional heroine who you can't
help but love (and hate!). Make sure you pick this up if you haven't
already.
Excerpt
With champagne and caviar inundating my
every sense, I slither through the light wooden floors of the Lila Acheson Wallace Wing in The Met. As I walk, I pretend
to admire the expensive jewelry being showcased tonight by a famous designer
whose name I can’t remember. A multicolored diamond butterfly sparkles to my
left and a cobra made out of black stones glistens to my right. Rows upon rows
of precious gems twinkle under the soft lights of the room, flooding the space
between the walls with the glow of a thousand stars. Furtive glances. Secrets
gossiped. Beauty criticized. Lofty music fills the atmosphere as the über rich
mingle and pretend to like each other, yet you can almost taste their conceit
and derision for one another in the air.
This is Walker’s world, and I love it.
Standing across the room, where the crowd
is thinner and the music fainter, I spot Walker’s blond head in the corner of
the room, talking to a group of his colleagues and their wives. He looks
polished and worth every penny of his trust fund in his sleek black tuxedo,
perfectly starched white shirt and black bowtie. His long golden hair parted to
the side shines like the sun. He is truly flawless.
I smile because it’s hard to picture that
this is the same guy who likes to snort coke off my tits as he fucks me while
hardcore porn plays in the background. He looks untouchable and so cool, but
his searching eyes, scanning the crowd for me give him up. He’s wondering where
I am. He did tell me not to go too far, after all. Soon after we arrived at the
party, I gave him some space to talk to his friends and do his thing while I
did mine. I hate clingy people, so I avoid being one.
I grab a third flute of champagne from a
passing waiter, and try to decide which of the different displays to check out
first when my eyes land on a spectacular piece of jewelry. On a bed of black
silk, similar to my hair color, lies an extravagant necklace made of diamonds
and rubies—a small heaven within one’s reach as long as you can afford the
price.
I bridge the space between the glass
protecting the necklace and me until it’s within my reach, fighting the urge to
touch the cool surface. As if under a spell, I observe how the rows of diamonds
embedded in platinum form leaves and thorns. At its center is a rose made out
of red diamonds almost as big as my palm.
I feel someone walk up and stand next to
me, but I don’t give him or her a second thought as I continue to admire the
way the light hits the gems, making them shine.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
His voice is smooth and commanding,
dripping absolute power. I keep my eyes locked on the display. Call it sixth
sense, but somehow I know that under no circumstance should I make eye contact
with the stranger who speaks like the ruler of the world.
“Yes,” I say simply.
“I wonder how much it is?” the man asks.
“I don’t think it matters … I highly
doubt anyone can afford it.”
He chuckles, and the sound is more
delicious than his voice. Lusher. “Oh, but I can.”
I smile at his self-assurance. I love
cocky assholes. “I still doubt it.”
“You shouldn’t. I only speak the truth,”
he retorts coolly. His voice is nonchalant yet his words leave no room for
disbelief—a demand and a statement all in one.
Suddenly, the noises of the room become
distant. People talking and laughing amongst friends and the orchestra playing
all fade away until all I hear is him speaking.
And at this moment, that is all that
matters.
“The truth is very subjective, sir.”
“The truth may be subjective but money
isn’t. Money can buy anything.”
His answer is like an electroshock,
jumpstarting my brain from a champagne-induced haze. My pulse begins to
accelerate, excitement making it hard to take a deep breath. Don’t look at him
… don’t.
“Oh really,” I say, my voice dripping
with sarcasm. He’s right, though.
“Of course. I believe everything,” he
pauses, “and everyone has a price.”
Curiosity winning the battle against curiosity,
I turn to face him, and what a fucking big mistake that is. When our eyes meet,
I feel incapacitated of all sense and movement. The sight of him takes my
breath away. This man gives the term “lust at first sight” a whole new meaning.
In my short twenty-three years, I’ve been
with extremely handsome men, perfect even, but to classify the man standing
next to me in any kind of category would be a disservice to him, and not really
fair to the others. Longish, light brown hair wildly framing his face, vacant
eyes the color of dollar bills, a slightly crooked nose, and a mouth that begs
to be buried deep within your thighs. His beauty is as harsh as it is
stunningly perfect. Dressed in a simple black tuxedo and unbuttoned white
shirt, the man exudes innate virility and grace, reminding me of a black
panther stalking his prey. And just like a panther, it’s the pure raw and
powerful energy emanating from within him that I find most attractive. Because
just by standing next to him, I get the sense that his word is always the last
spoken and his wishes the first ones to be fulfilled. He doesn’t ask, he
demands. He doesn’t hope, he expects.
He’s quiet for a moment; his uncanny eyes
hold me captive as though they are baring my soul to him and I hate it. I
tighten my hold on the crystal flute. I want to look away, but I can’t. The way
he’s staring at me makes me want to squirm.
“I wonder … do you have one?” he asks
softly before turning to examine the piece of jewelry once more.
“A what?” I ask, momentarily stunned.
He smiles. “A price.”
“For the right amount … I just might,” I
say quietly, my heart beating so fast it feels as though it wants out of my
chest. As soon as the words leave my mouth, there’s no shock coursing down my
body, no rolling waves of shame pulling me down for having said that to a
complete stranger—nothing.
And why should there be? I am who I am.
I’m staring at his profile, waiting for
him to acknowledge my answer, when a breeze of cool air floats past us, making
me shiver. About to chase the goose bumps on my arm with my hand, I watch as he
slowly turns to look at me, catching me staring at him. Time stands still as I
watch him raise his large tanned hand and touch my bare shoulder, his
fingertips lightly grazing the temporary small bumps covering it. Then he
smiles as if he knows that my skin is tingling from his scalding touch, and
looks away.
“I thought so.”
We remain standing next to each other for
another minute or so, the distance between us almost nonexistent. It would be
so easy to reach out and hold his hand. The sound of an incoming call breaks
the silence, bringing us back to reality.
He takes his cell phone out of the inner
pocket of his tuxedo jacket and ignores the call after noting the name of the
caller. He lifts his gaze to meet my own.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I should go … I’m here with
someone,” I reply, not really wanting to leave him just yet.
“Yes, that’s probably a good idea.”
I frown. He didn’t have to be quite so
blunt. The stranger extends a hand toward me, holding something in his fingers.
“Here … ”
I open my hand as I feel the edges of
what I assume is his business card poke the skin of my palm. “What’s this?” I
ask stupidly.
“My business card, of course.”
“Obviously … but why?”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Let’s just say that I’m an interested buyer.”
And then he’s gone.
He turns and walks away from me,
disappearing into a sea of colorful gowns and black suits. As the sounds of the
party infiltrate my ears once more, I lower my gaze to stare at the simple
cream-colored card in my hand. Its simplistic and elegant design draws
attention to the name printed in bold black letters on the paper.
Lawrence Rothschild.
I smile and let my fingertips trail his
name. It depends on what you’re willing to pay, Mr. Rothschild.
Published by Mia Asher
Copyright © 2013 by Mia Asher
About the Author:
Mia Asher
My name is Mia Asher.
I'm a writer, a hopeless romantic, a wanderer, a dreamer,
a cynic, and a believer. And, oh yes…I might be a bit crazy - but who isn't?
GIVEAWAY
Win
a Signed Set of A Broken Love Story (Arsen & Easy Virtue)
.jpg)
