Book Tour
Sept 23 – Oct 4:
Sept 23 – Oct 4:
Genre:
Paranormal Romance
Fairy in the Flesh
By: Katalina Leon
ISBN 9781419945557
Book Length Short Novel
Publisher Ellora’s Cave Publishing Inc
DESCRIPTION
Maya Rousseau’s fantasy vacation in
Avignon, France, heats up when an eccentric enchantress tricks her into
drinking mojo-laced absinthe. An unexpected encounter with the green fairy
causes Maya’s reality to have a serious meltdown. She travels back in time and
wakes up naked in the bed of her favorite bad-boy Bohemian artist, the tall,
dark and mysterious André Bosco. There’s nothing wrong with that—except it’s
1903.
For André, it’s love at first sight. He
begs Maya to become his cherished model, muse and lover. The chemistry and
shared passion between them is overwhelming. André’s a generous-hearted
dream-man, but there’s a catch. Every hour they spend together bonds them
tighter and time is running out. The same powers that flung Maya back to 1903
are preparing to snatch her back.
With a hundred and ten years separating
these soul-bound lovers, it’s uncertain whether they can find a happy ending
without the help of a little magic and La Fée Verte.
Inside Scoop: Story contains
super-hot sex with an unattainable man, enchanted hallucinatory beverages,
mischievous time-twisters, green fairies and a touch of voyeurism.
About the Author
Katalina Leon
I’m an artist, an author, mother and
wife. I write for Ellora’s Cave, Loose Id Publishing and a couple new
publishers to be announced soon. I try to bring a touch of the mystical and a
big sense of adventure to everything I write because I believe there’s a bold,
kick-ass heroine inside all of us who wants to take a wild ride with a strong
worthy hero.
Chapter One
Avignon,
France
Maya rubbed her tired eyes with the heel
of her hand and blinked. It didn’t help. The glare of a dry July day and
endless hours looking at art had left her in a dazed state of overload. The
rods and cones of her retinas were kaput. Her feet ached too. She’d packed more
than she could comfortably handle into her single allotted vacation day in
Avignon and was now suffering from a bad case of too much of a good thing.
Tired or not, she felt alive. This was
what her soul had been starved for. Since morning she’d wandered Avignon’s
street exhibits, tented galleries and somber museums filled with masterpieces,
gazing in awe. She’d enjoyed an outdoor concert on the bank of the Rhône and
photographed the sunbaked Romanesque ruins of a medieval bridge, where she had
stopped just long enough to eat a light lunch. She loved photography and
Avignon was the perfect place to indulge a hobby she wanted to take further.
When she got home she intended to look back and feel as inspired to revive her
art career as she felt at that moment.
The daytrip to Avignon would have been
perfect excerpt for one important omission. She’d failed to locate the art
studio of her favorite modernist painter, the mysterious André Bosco. It was a
shame, because Bosco was the real reason she’d been attracted to Avignon in the
first place. She’d been a fan of the obscure painter for years and had hoped to
see the place where he had launched his brief but brilliant career, which had
inexplicably ended in 1903.
What she’d expected would be a simple task
had turned into a bust. To her disappointment she’d seen no plaques displayed
anywhere mentioning Bosco, and no one seemed to know much about him. Even the
guidebook had been vague, mentioning a single abandoned building as a possible
site of Bosco’s studio. A daylong search had proven fruitless and ended in
frustration. Within the next hour she’d have to leave Avignon without touching
base with one of the great inspirations in her life. Considering Bosco was a
local artist of merit, it surprised her that he was so little celebrated in
Avignon.
Maya turned the corner and headed into one
of the older parts of town. The buildings were quaint. A few were in need of
repair. The shadows stretched longer and the narrow streets bustled with foot
traffic. The evening festivities had already started and she realized it was
time to leave.
A few yards in front of her, a team of
young male dancers burst onto the crowded sidewalk and claimed a small circle
of smooth pavement as their stage. A heartbeat later they were dancing a wild
routine that had them spinning and kicking in unison like the blades of a
blender.
Maya dodged past the acrobatic dancers but
got trapped in the crowd that had gathered to watch. She recoiled at the last
second from one dancer’s lethal backflips and high kicks, which were executed
an arm’s length from her nose. She pushed past the dancers but the crowd closed
in and she got sandwiched between the exuberant performance and a gritty
sandstone wall.
This sort of thing had been happening all
day. The official festival d’Avignon had something interesting planned for
every hour of the day but all over the city spontaneous off-festival
performances took place anywhere a crowd gathered.
The dancing was fun but she was thirsty,
tired and just wanted to sit.
“Excusez-moi.” Maya crept along the wall, managing to push through the throng
of observers. She reached the doorway of an interesting looking bistro, tugged
the door open and darted inside.
Once inside she entered a soothing
candle-lit Victorian-era building and found herself in a charming
Bohemian-themed bistro with cranberry-red velvet cushions on the seats and
colorful curtains of glass beads dangling from the windows. Glowing hand-blown
glass lanterns sat upon polished tabletops. A framed Gauguin print of an
ebony-eyed Tahitian beauty holding a bowl of pink flowers hung near the bar.
The pungent scent of amber incense and cherry pipe tobacco perfumed the air.
It was like stepping back in time to
another era. Maya’s senses were instantly transported back to the heady days of
the modernist art movement at the beginning of the twentieth century. She
savored the feeling because it was her favorite fantasy time period, and one
she would have loved to experience firsthand.
It surprised her that for such a busy
festival day the bistro was empty of patrons. The only other occupant of the
bistro, and presumably the proprietress, was a woman who appeared to be in her
fifties who was dressed in the theatrical garb of a flowing- sleeved poet’s
shirt, a black satin corset and flouncy red skirt and tall boots. She stood
beside the bar looking like some sort of piratical gypsy queen.
“Bonsoir.” The lady spoke French but addressed Maya with a familiar
accent.
Maya smiled at the lady. “Puis-je
commander un café glacé, s'il vous plaît?”
“Of course you can have an iced coffee.”
The woman’s keen gaze locked on Maya. A thick layer of black kohl ringed the
lady’s eyes and lent her an unsettling appearance. “I speak English and I’m
going to guess that you grew up not far from my hometown of New Orleans.”
“I’m from Thibodaux!” Maya laughed.
“There’s no hiding the accent, is there?”
The lady reached for a coffee press and
packed it with fresh grounds. “Seeing as how you’re a Louisiana girl I’ll add a
touch of chicory to your coffee.”
“Thank you.” Maya sat at the bar, fully
realizing just how much her feet hurt from walking all day on cobblestones.
“My name’s Miss Ruby.” The lady brushed
her long black hair away from her face and appeared to be studying Maya with
intense interest. “What’s yours?”
“Maya Rousseau.”
Miss Ruby poured hot water over the coffee
grounds and pushed down on the press. “Rousseau is a wonderful name for an art
lover.”
“You sound certain I’m an art lover.”
“Why else would you be in Avignon in July?
I know what drew you.” Miss Ruby toyed with one of her dangling chandelier
earrings while she waited for the coffee to strengthen. “I realize my current
costume makes me look ridiculous as I say this, but I really do possess the
gift of second sight and prophecy. You see, I’m a world-class enchantress with
the highest security clearance.”
A nervous laugh burst past Maya’s lips. “I
didn’t realize enchantresses had to earn security clearances.”
“They certainly do!” Miss Ruby’s eyes
flashed. “You wouldn’t believe the stringent tests we must pass. A world-class
enchantress must prove beyond a shadow of doubt that she is trustworthy,
ethical and has the highest good of others in mind before she’ll be granted the
powers I have.”
Maya wondered if Miss Ruby was another bit
of festival street theater or an ex-pat who’d forgotten to take her medication.
“What special powers do you possess?”
“I’m like a fairy godmother, but my work
tends to be grittier than what a fairy godmother might attempt. The moment I
meet someone I know exactly what their soul needs. I understand the inner
workings of time and space and use them to advantage. I don’t actually break
the laws of nature but I know how to bend them. In fact my specialty is time-twisting.
I’m like a witch but I call myself a ‘Beneficent’ because I always serve
the highest good. The gift is hereditary. My mama was a New Orleans Voodoo
queen. I could have stayed in New Orleans too, but I chose to travel the world
as a high-level enchantress and an ambassador of magic.”
“I see.” Maya recoiled. It was just more
of her bad luck in Avignon. First she’d failed to locate Bosco’s studio and now
a crazy lady dressed like a carnival psychic had trapped her in a weird
conversation.
Miss Ruby poured the steaming coffee over
a tumbler filled with ice and slid the glass toward Maya. “Enjoy.”
Maya sipped the chilled, chicory-laced
coffee with relish. “I feel revived.” She drank fast, not wanting to linger in
the deserted bistro. She decided it best to gulp the iced coffee, pay and run
for her life before the conversation got stranger.
Miss Ruby picked up a chamois and busied
herself polishing the brass rail that ran the length of the elegant mahogany
bar.
Maya’s gaze wandered toward the far wall
and fixated on a framed pencil sketch of a handsome man with a proud,
compelling face. The sketch was framed beneath glass and the paper had yellowed
at the corners and crumbled with age. She studied the man’s face and guessed he
was in his mid-thirties. He had a thick head of wavy dark hair and a rugged
face with square, noble features, chevron brows and luminous eyes that
glanced sideways from the portrait and seemed to follow the viewer around the
room.
Maya found herself unable to look away.
The man had a magnetic quality she seldom saw in contemporary faces. It was a
look that could only belong to someone who possessed the self-confidence and
perhaps a touch of arrogance not to care what the world thought. The generous
arch of the man’s lips was so sensuous her thoughts wandered toward what it
must have felt like to be kissed by him.
“You like Bosco, don’t you?” Miss Ruby
leaned close. “He has a interesting face, doesn’t he? He can appear both
compassionate and feral in turn. I’ve heard many differing opinions about the
portrait over the years.”
Maya started. “Is that a portrait of André
Bosco, the Fauvist painter?” she gasped. “I’m a great admirer of Bosco! I had
no idea a portrait existed.” Her heart fluttered. “Did he really look like
that?”
“You know of Bosco?” Miss Ruby looked
elated. “So few do. History has all but overlooked him, which is a shame
because those familiar with his small body of work have hailed him as one of
the most innovative painters of his time. Some say Bosco inspired his more
famous peers and set the example for the Fauvist moment by showing the world
how to paint like a wild beast. Of course, a few of his nastiest critics called
him a ‘paint waster’, but it’s clear Bosco had vision.”
Miss Ruby waved her hands through the air
in an expansive gesture. “A few art historians have credited Bosco with being
the original wild beast, in part because of his physical intensity and unruly
head of hair, but also because he had a habit of tossing his paintbrushes aside
and smearing the brightest colors across the canvas with his fingertips, with
passion. It was said by those who watched him work that he ravished his
canvases like a ferocious lover.” She giggled.
“He sounds exciting.” Maya drew a sharp
breath. “Years ago, I saw an original Bosco in a traveling museum show of
modernist work. Bosco’s painting was the most expressive piece of art in the
entire show. I kept wandering back to look at it again and again. The painting
was of a white stallion but the colors were vivid—every hue of the rainbow was
hidden in the lines and shadows. Before I left the museum I bought a postcard
of the painting and carried it around in a battered sketchbook for years. Bosco
was my greatest inspiration. I heard a rumor he had a studio somewhere in
Avignon?”
“He did.” Miss Ruby pointed upward. “His
studio is a corner room on the third floor. The landlord of the building has
preserved it.”
“Bosco’s studio is here?” Maya tensed.
“Can I see it?”
“No.” Miss Ruby shook her head. “I don’t
have permission to open the room, but the landlord will return on Sunday. You
can ask him then.”
“I won’t be here on Sunday.” A note of
desolation crept into her voice. “This is my last full day in France. I have to
start making my way back to Paris tomorrow for my flight home. I’ll miss my
only chance to see Bosco’s studio.” Maya leaned across the bar, feeling
absolutely desperate to get a look at Bosco actual living space. “Please
reconsider—I promise not to touch a thing.”
“I’m sorry.” Miss Ruby nodded toward the
top of the bar, where an ornate brass skeleton key dangled from a green satin
ribbon. “The landlord is the only one allowed to use that key to open the
studio…”
(La Fée Verte, the green fairy is going to make an
appearance soon and cause a little mischief. Who do you think ends up getting
ahold of that key and going upstairs?)
Review:
This short novel was a hot and spicy romp of a read. When Maya goes to an art museum to see her favorite artist's works and is disappointed not to find what she is looking for, she encounters a mysterious woman with a beverage that sets Maya's world upside down. She awakens in the past, right in said artists studio where all manner of sparks and sexy endeavors take place. If you want a fun and smokin hot read, give this one a shot. I guarantee it will make you rethink a boring walk through a museum. You just never know what, or who inspired what you are looking at.
4/5
Links
Ellora’s Cave:
Fairy In The Flesh: http://www.ellorascave.com/
Loose Id:
Amazon:
All Romance eBooks:
Night Owl Reviews Author Page:
Pinterest:
Facebook:
Twitter: @Katalina_Leon
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