Guest Post: Tiffany Reisz
I originally stumbled into Tiffany Reisz on Twitter because she shares an agent with Miranda Kenneally (author of the fabulous Catching Jordan). I found myself eavesdropping on their conversations regularly because they were basically the funniest thing on the Internet–or at least as funny as some of the latest kitty gifs I’ve seen. I’ve never really been a romance or erotica reader, but Tiffany is awesome and funny, so I figured I’d step outside my comfort zone and try her (free) short story Little Red Riding Crop. I’m now extremely excited to read her Original Sinners series as well as Felt Tips, her anthology of office supply erotica, and I’m happy to have her on the blog today!
This week is a big damn week for me. On Tuesday, May 1st, my novel THE SIREN, the first in The Original Sinners series releases. Since I’ve gone on record before discussing how much I loathe writing blog posts since I always end up rambling incoherently about Daniel Craig and buttsex, I’ll simply post a blurb for THE SIREN and an excerpt. Cool?
With a reputation almost as wild as the truth about her, Nora Sutherlin is the most infamous writer in New York.
With black hair, ice blue eyes, and a British accent, Zachary Easton is the sexiest editor in all of publishing…and the stuffiest.
And now they have to work together.
This might not be a good idea…
From THE SIREN, chapter two…
“Nor, Mr. Easton’s here.”
Wesley stepped to the side and Zach blinked in surprise at his first glimpse of the infamous Nora Sutherlin.
From all the rumors he’d heard, he’d expected some sort of Amazonian in red leather wielding a riding crop. Instead he found a pale, petite beauty with wavy black hair barely contained in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. And no red leather in sight at all. She wore men’s style pajamas, blue ones covered in what appeared to be little yellow ducks.
Her legs rested on top of her desk and she had her keyboard balanced across her lap. With quick nimble fingers she typed away, saying nothing and giving them only her beguiling profile.
“Nora?” Wesley prompted.
“I’ve got a crisp new Benjamin for the first person who can give me a good synonym for ‘thrust,’ noun form. Go,” she said, her voice both honeyed and sardonic.
Although irritated by her cavalier attitude and her unfortunate attractiveness, Zach couldn’t help but scroll through his substantial mental thesaurus.
“Push, lunge, shove, attack, force, jab,” he rattled off the words.
“His slow, relentless jabs sent her reeling…” she said. “Sounds like commentary on a boxing match. God dammit, why are there no good synonyms for thrust? Bane of my existence. Although….” She set her keyboard aside and turned to face him for the first time. “I do love a man with a big vocabulary.”
Zach’s spine stiffened as the most unusually beautiful woman he’d seen in years smiled at him. She stood up and walked on bare feet to him.
“Ms. Sutherlin.” Zach took her proffered hand. “How do you do?”
From her small stature he expected a dainty grip. But she grasped his hand with surprisingly strong fingers.
“Gorgeous accent,” she said. “Not a bit of the old scouser left, is there?”
“You’ve done your homework, I see,” Zach replied, troubled that she seemed to know more about him than he knew about her. He now regretted tossing her bio into the bin. “But not everyone born in Liverpool speaks like a young Paul McCartney.”
“Shame.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she continued to gaze at him. “What a shame.”
Zach forced himself to really meet her eyes and then wished he hadn’t. At first glance her eyes appeared a deep green, but she blinked and they seemed to change to a black so dark they likely could not remember the green they had just been. He knew that she looked only at his face, but still he felt stripped bare by her penetrating gaze, torn open. She knew him. He knew it, and he sensed she knew it too.
Determined to regain control of the situation, Zach pulled his hand back.
“Right. Work.” She returned to her desk. Zach glanced around her office and saw even more books than were in the living room: books and notebooks, stacks of paper, and dark wooden filing cabinets.
“One quick question, Mr. Easton,” she said, dropping into her desk chair. “Are you, by any chance, ashamed of being Jewish?”
“Excuse me?” Zach said, not quite certain he’d heard her correctly.
“Nora, stop it,” Wesley scolded.
“Just curious,” she said with an indifferent wave of her hand. “You go by Zachary but your name is actually Zechariah like the Hebrew prophet. Why did you change it?”
The question was so personal, so entirely none of her concern that Zach couldn’t believe he deigned to answer it.
“I’ve been called Zach or Zachary since the day I was born. Only when filling out formal documents do I even remember Zechariah is actually my name.” Zach kept his tone cool and even. He knew that he could only win here if he stayed calm and didn’t allow her to get the rise out of him she so clearly desired. “And the only thing I am ashamed of currently is this sudden downturn in my career.”
He expected her to flinch or fight. Instead she just laughed.
“I really can’t blame you. Have a seat and tell me all about it.”
Warily Zach sat down in the battered paisley armchair across from her desk. He started to cross his ankle over his knee but froze in mid-movement as his foot tapped an unusually long black duffel bag that sat on the floor. He heard the distinct, unnerving sound of metal clinking against metal.
“I’ve got to get to class,” Wesley said, sounding desperate to leave. “That okay?”
“Oh, I doubt Mr. Easton will bend me over my desk and ravish me the second you leave,” she said, winking at Zach. “Unfortunately.”
The words and the wink forced an image into Zach’s mind of doing that very act. He forced the thought out just as quickly as she put it in.
Wesley shook his head in amused disgust.
“Mr. Easton, good luck,” Wesley said, turning to him. “Just don’t act impressed, and she’ll eventually settle down.”
“Impressed?” Zach repeated. “I doubt that will be a problem.”
Zach waited for his words to register. He saw Wesley’s eyes narrow, but she only looked at him from under her veil of black eyelashes.
“Ohh…” she nearly purred the word. “I like him already.”
Want to read more? Buy THE SIREN in eBook on May 1st or in paperback on July 31st (in stores everywhere). My personal recommendation? Buy both. Follow me on Twitter @tiffanyreisz.
Tiffany Reisz lives in Lexington, Kentucky with her boyfriend (a reformed book reviewer) and two cats (one good, one evil). She graduated with a B.A. in English from Centre College in Danville, Kentucky and is making both her parents and her professors proud by writing BDSM erotica under her real name. She has five piercings, one tattoo, and has been arrested twice.
When not under arrest, Tiffany enjoys Latin Dance, Latin Men, and Latin Verbs. She dropped out of a conservative southern seminary in order to pursue her dream of becoming a smut peddler. Johnny Depp’s aunt was her fourth grade teacher. Her first full-length novel THE SIREN was inspired by a desire to tie up actor Jason Isaacs (on paper). She hopes someday life will imitate art (in bed).
If she couldn’t write, she would die.
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