This might seem weird, but the final portion of my process for releasing a new book is to actually read the final product once it's available. See, the editing process continues up until the very last possible second. Once my content editor and I have hashed out all of the usual stuff, a proofreader goes through to nitpick. And let me tell you--we have some really great proof editors at Loose ID. You don't slip ANYTHING past these people! (Jill-I love you-really) So sometimes by the time the finals are formatted and I get my copies, things have shifted a little bit from how I thought they looked. It's sort of cool, really. And it proves that a book is not solely the work of an author. It's a process, and a project, that really has to be credited to a team of people. (Lemme hear a cheer for Kierstin Cherry-LOVE you!)
Anyway, that's why I always read my books within a day or two of release. Impetuous was no different. I fired up the Kindle and read it on May 22 just as (I hope) plenty of YOU did. And the following blurb was one of the things I thought turned out pretty darn well.
From Impetuous-By Kaitlin Maitland...
Nicky the bartender deftly flipped a martini glass in his big hand before dumping Smirnoff and triple sec inside. He swirled it expertly in one hand while using the other to reach for the next ingredient. The cranberry juice seeped through the liquor, making red swirls as he stirred with a glass stick that vaguely resembled a miniature version of a certain toy she kept stashed in her nightstand.
“Lemon or lime?”
Desiree was suddenly too tongue-tied to respond, and she was never tongue-tied. She knew instinctively that this man could rock her world from the inside out. Her pussy had responded more viscerally to the smooth baritone of his voice than it had to her last three lovers. She was so turned on she was going to leave a wet spot on the bar stool.
“You look like you prefer them by the book.” He looked sideways at the beach bum buying her drink and put a thin slice of lemon on the lip of her glass.
By the book? He thought she preferred things by the book? Her cheeks grew warm, and she clenched her teeth to avoid screaming. If that were true, she wouldn’t have been in a bar called Jack’s. She’d have been prancing through the master suite of some Brookline estate, dressed in a designer negligee, trying to tempt her workaholic husband into having sex in order to procreate and raise the next generation of Boston’s elite. She’d have settled down years ago just like her mother wanted her to, just like her sister was about to do.
“So, sweetheart, what’s your name?” Beach Bum was trying to get her attention.
Nobody in this bar would’ve known her, but Desiree had made a conscious choice to leave her regular life behind for at least one night of fun. “You can call me Dizzy.”
Beach Bum leaned in closer. “Baby, you can make me dizzy all night long.”
His words suddenly struck her as practiced and hopelessly immature. He was male. He wanted to fuck. Well, dammit, so did she! Why bother with all the small talk? From the corner of her eye, she could see the bartender’s chest move as he suppressed a chuckle. Anger, helplessness, and years of repression swelled to mythic proportions inside her head. Snatching the lemon slice from her drink, she lobbed it at the bartender. The fruit bomb bounced off the big man’s bare head and plopped right into the drink he was mixing.
Beside her, Beach Bum froze. Sliding down off the bar stool, he moved away from her toward the buddy he’d been chatting with earlier. Coward.
“I don’t usually recycle the lemons around here, little girl.” The bartender tossed the contents of the glass into the sink.
“And I don’t play by the book. So maybe we’ve both learned something new.”
“Little girl, you’re so predictable it’s like reading a script.”
The man was insufferable. “Oh, I’m predictable, but you’re the original bad boy with those rings in your ears, barbells through your nipples, and a name like Nicky.”
He placed both hands flat on the bar and leaned over until his face was only inches from hers. His eyes were a beautiful rich brown flecked with gold. Her heart began to hammer, her breath coming quickly. He was unbelievably attractive. He was sexy. No. He was sex—sex waiting to happen. She thought of all the Beach Bums who’d ghosted in and out of her life. Starting in prep school, her mother’s list of acceptable boys had read like a who’s who of the world’s most boring dates. If any of them had packed this much charisma, she might’ve stuck with one.
“My name is Nicolai Anastas, and I think bad man might be a better description.”
Kaitlin Maitland (2012). Boston Avant-Garde: Impetuous (Kindle Locations 126-155). Loose Id LLC. Kindle Edition.