Shira Anthony's Blog - Posts Tagged "classical-music"

I'm getting the release party for The Melody Thief started a little early with a contest to win a Blue Notes t-shirt. All you have to do to be entered in the drawing is comment on my blog by midnight on Saturday (August 11th) and tell me what your favorite kind of music is. T-shirts are size men's XL, white cotton, with the gorgeous Anne Cain cover from the first Blue Notes book. You only have until Saturday at midnight to enter for the t-shirt drawing, so don't forget to leave a comment!

All entries will also automatically be entered into the drawing to win an ebook copy (format of your choice) of The Melody Thief in the giveaway contest that ends on 8/23. And don't forget to enter to win a copy (autographed, if you wish) of the paperback version on Goodreads.

For those of you who haven't already read the blurb for The Melody Thief, here it is:

Cary Redding is a walking contradiction. On the surface he’s a renowned cellist, sought after by conductors the world over. Underneath, he’s a troubled man flirting with addictions to alcohol and anonymous sex. The reason for the discord? Cary knows he’s a liar, a cheat. He's the melody thief.

Cary manages his double life just fine until he gets mugged on a deserted Milan street. Things look grim until handsome lawyer Antonio Bianchi steps in and saves his life. When Antonio offers something foreign to Cary—romance—Cary doesn’t know what to do. But then things get even more complicated. For one thing, Antonio has a six-year-old son. For another, Cary has to confess about his alter ego and hope Antonio forgives him.

Just when Cary thinks he's figured it all out, past and present collide and he is forced to choose between the family he wanted as a boy and the one he has come to love as a man.

Want to read an excerpt? Click here and scroll down to click on the "excerpt" tab.

Good luck! -Shira

Thanks to everyone who stopped by for the Rainbow Blog Hop and to help celebrate the release of my latest Dreamspinner Press book, "The Melody Thief!" It was great to hear your thoughts about MM romance and why it's so special to you.

I'm amazed at how many comments there were, and how insightful. So many, in fact, that I've decided to throw one more copy of the original "Blue Notes" into the mix! So we have three winners. *g* The winners of the ebook copy of "Blue Notes" are: Sandra and Zoe! The winner of the Blue Notes Series t-shirt (your choice of covers) is Tali! I'll be emailing you shortly.

If you haven't already, be sure to check out "The Melody Thief." It's available for purchase on Dreamspinner Press's website, Amazon, and AllRomanceEbooks. To read and excerpt or find out more about the "soundtrack" to the story, click here and scroll down to click on the links.

Hope you all have a terrific week! -Shira

Hard to believe it's December already. Seems like I was just flying out to New Mexico for GayRomLit 2012 and it was mid-October. A few days until Chanukah and a few weeks until Christmas, and we've got 60 degree weather in North Carolina. I'm liking it! Honestly, it's part of why my husband and I left the North and settled in the South. That, and the beautiful coast and mountains at either end of the North Carolina.

So with December here, the upcoming release of Aria (Blue Notes #3) is just around the corner (3 weeks from today exactly)! As a matter of fact, I shipped off the galley proof to Dreamspinner Press yesterday. To celebrate, I've got three contests going (a new one starting today!).

Contest #1: Comment on my blog (you can comment on my GR blog, too) to be entered to win a Blue Notes Series t-shirt of your choice (Blue Notes, The Melody Thief, or Aria). I just got the Aria t-shirts in the mail last week and they are gorgeous! Contest ends midnight on the first night of Chanukah, 12/8/12. And yes, unfortunately, since I've been bombarded by spam, you will have to register on WordPress to comment now. After I got over 500 spam messages in 6 hours, I decided I needed to block the computer spammers. But it's easy to register and you'll be set to comment on any WordPress blog.

Contest #2: Enter on Goodreads to win an autographed paperback copy of Aria. You must register to enter, but I highly recommend this wonderful social networking website for writers and readers. Goodreads has some wonderful romance groups, including the kick-ass MM Romance Group that just featured The Melody Thief as one of the November 2012 Books of the Month.

BRAND NEW CONTEST #3: Aiden Lind, the opera singer in Aria travels all over the world to perform. Comment below and tell me where you'd most like to travel if money wasn't an object, and you'll be entered to win your choice of Blue Notes or The Melody Thief in ebook format. Contest ends at midnight on 12/15/12.

Interested in reading an excerpt from Aria? Click here and scroll down to the "excerpt" tab. You can also read excerpts from Blue Notes and The Melody Thief by clicking on the links. Aria is available on Dreamspinner Press for preorder now. Oh, and The Melody Thief is on sale until 12/8/12 to celebrate the honorable mention "One Perfect Score" it received in the 2012 Rainbow Awards!

So be sure to check out all the goodies and get your name in for the contests. I'll be sharing some never before seen excerpts from Aria in the weeks leading up to release date. In the meantime, good luck and enjoy your December! -Shira

Time to bid good-bye to 2012. Other than the usual can't-remember-to-write-the-new-year-correctly-on-my-checks nonsense, years seem to come and go quietly, with lots of hope for the future (why is it I can't remember that it's a new year until we're two months into the new year again?).

For me, 2012 has been a great year in so many ways, not the least of which that my family are all happy and healthy, and my muse hasn't gone on strike or decided she wants to write non-fiction (not happening!). I've had three books published this year, all from Dreamspinner Press: "The Trust," "The Melody Thief," and "Aria." I've been nominated for several MM Romance Goodreads Reader's Choice Awards, and "The Melody Thief" received an honorable mention/one perfect score from the Rainbow Book Awards. I'm so thankful and amazed at the recognition--it was just over a year ago that I had my first book published by Dreamspinner Press, so it feels a little surreal.

So what better way to celebrate the new year than to share some of my writing. This is a never-before released excerpt from "Aria," which was just published a week ago. New Year's Eve with Aiden and Sam, except that Aiden isn't going to tell Sam where they'll be spending the night. I have to admit this New Year's Eve trip is a bit of a fantasy of mine. Maybe someday!

So without further ado, much love and happiness to you all in 2013! Thank you all for your support, your words of encouragement, and your kindness! -Shira

***********************

Excerpt from Chapter 14

“MR. LIND?” The stage manager poked her head into his dressing room. “There’s a Mr. Ryan to see you.”

“Thanks, Carla.” Aiden guzzled the rest of his bottle of water and went to the door.

“Sam. Damn, it’s good to see you.” He pulled Sam inside and shut the door, then kissed Sam, lingering lightly over his lips before embracing him. There hadn’t been any earlier flights from Philly to Miami, and they hadn’t seen each other before the concert.

“You were wonderful.” Sam put down the small overnight bag he was still holding and swept two fingers over Aiden’s lips, a gesture that made Aiden shudder with pleasure.

Aiden smiled the same pleasant smile he always gave when someone complimented him. It mattered little that the reviews of his performances were universally good; he still felt uncomfortable with the praise. Even a little undeserving. “Thank you.”

He’d worried that the weeks apart might have made their reunion a bit awkward, but as usual, Sam set him at ease with another kiss.

“So what’s on the agenda to celebrate the New Year? You promised you’d let me know what you were up to when I got here.”

“Did I?” Aiden did his best not to smile.

“Is it something I’ll like? Because I’m thinking spending the night in a hotel with you would be fine with me.” Sam laughed against Aiden’s throat as he feathered kisses there.

“My lips are sealed.” Aiden pushed Sam playfully away, then grabbed a small duffel from off the lighted table. “I think you’ll like it, though. Just the two of us. Romantic.”

Sam put an arm around Aiden’s waist and pulled him back, this time to claim his lips.

“This is just the two of us.” There was a mischievous twinkle in Sam’s eyes.

“Do lawyers always argue?”

“Of course.”

Aiden pulled away and straightened his bow tie and cummerbund. “Mr. Ryan, we’re on a very tight schedule here. The limousine is waiting outside and”—Aiden pushed up his sleeve to check his watch—“we have four hours to midnight. I’ll hold you in contempt if we’re late.”

Sam held up his hands. “I’m throwing myself at the mercy of the court.”

“You’ll behave?”

“You might have to make me behave.” Sam’s eyes glittered with lust.

“Shit. You’re incorrigible.” He aimed Sam in the direction of the door, giving him only a minute to grab his bag before pushing him into the corridor. “This way,” he said as he gestured to the entrance to the street. A moment later they were outside, and Aiden was leading Sam over to a limousine. There, the driver took Sam’s suitcase and held the door for them.

Once settled inside, Sam looked at Aiden with a raised eyebrow. “Nice. So are we headed to some swanky party that only the rich and famous are invited to?”

Aiden only shook his head. “My lips are sealed.” Okay, so Sam proved him wrong on that point pretty quickly with a deep kiss. But he wouldn’t give up the secret. “Keep trying. I’m liking this.”

“Clearly I’ve miscalculated. I should be withholding my affections. Then maybe you’d come clean and tell me where we’re headed.”

Aiden bit his lower lip before opening a panel to reveal a bottle of chilled champagne and two crystal flutes. Then, without missing a beat, he said, “Something to drink?”

“Isn’t it a few hours too early?”

“It’s past midnight in London,” Aiden pointed out as he opened the bottle and filled their glasses.

A few minutes later, they were settled in each other’s arms. “I missed you, Aiden. Sam’s voice was soft in Aiden’s ear. “More than you know.”

“Oh, I think I know.” Aiden’s heart felt as though it were going to burst.

THE limousine stopped about twenty minutes later. Sam looked out the window. They were in a parking lot illuminated by several lights. There was what looked like a small building at the edge of the lot, but other than a single light at the entrance, there was nothing to identify it. When Sam looked to Aiden for an explanation, he just took the champagne flute from Sam’s hand, placed it alongside his own on the console, then pulled something out of the same cabinet in which he’d found the bottle and glasses.

“Gonna tell me what that is?”

Aiden held the object out so that Sam could see it. A flashlight.

“What are you up to, Lind?”

The driver opened the door and Aiden illuminated their way, leading Sam across the parking lot and down a paved walkway. The faint scent of the ocean wafted on the breeze, and the air was cool. “You’re not very good with surprises, are you?”

Sam shook his head and chuckled. “Depends.” He snaked an arm around Aiden, nearly knocking him off balance before pulling him tight to claim Aiden’s lips. “As long as it involves you and sex, I’m good with it.”

“Could be.” Aiden slipped out of Sam’s grasp and continued to walk and point the way. “Watch your step here.”

A band of metal met the pavement, and the path beyond was wood. The smell of salt water was powerful here. A dock. “Aid—”

“You might want to take your shoes off.” Aiden was already slipping out of his patent leather oxfords and rolling up the legs of his tux pants. Sam did the same, unable to suppress a grin. Wherever they were going, he was having fun. He felt like a kid again. “You can leave them here. Ralph will pick them up when he comes with the bags.”

“Bags?”

Aiden took Sam’s hand, and they walked to the end of the dock until they reached a large white wall. A restaurant, perhaps.

Then the restaurant’s lights went on, illuminating the surface of the wall. “Holy shit.” It wasn’t a restaurant. It was an enormous yacht—at least a hundred feet long. “Where did you…?”

“Mr. Lind?” A man wearing a crisp white uniform, complete with captain’s hat, walked toward them down the gangway at the end of the pier.

“Richard?”

“That’s me. So good to have you joining us tonight. And this is Mr. Ryan?”

Sam offered the man his hand. “I’m Rich Cowan. Captain of the Prelude. Good to meet you.”

“The Prelude?”

Rich looked to Aiden, who nodded.

“She belongs to David Somers.”

They climbed aboard and Sam tried not to stare as a young woman dressed in white pants and a white polo greeted them.

“This is Amy. She’ll be attending to you gentlemen. We’ll be getting underway for the Bahamas in a few minutes. We’ll arrive by morning. Maestro Somers sends his compliments and says you should enjoy yourselves. We’ll arrive back in Miami in time for your flights on Monday morning. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.”

“Dinner will be ready in about an hour,” Amy told them after Rich left. “Would you like to dine on the foredeck?”

“Sounds wonderful.” Aiden turned to look at Sam, who nodded his approval.

“Do you need me to show you the stateroom?” she asked.

“I know the way. Thanks, Amy.” Aiden turned to Sam after she left. “Well? How did I do?”

“Not bad.” Sam did his best to keep a straight face. But then Aiden smiled, and Sam grabbed him and crushed his lips against Aiden’s. “Better than that,” he said after the kiss broke. “Amazing, really.”

“We have an hour. How about thanking me up close and personal.” Aiden took Sam’s hand once more and led him down a set of stairs to the cabins below.

 

THEY sat on the foredeck, having finished one of the best meals Sam had ever eaten.

Not that the starry sky and the company had anything to do with it.

“Remind me to thank David next time I see him.” Sam stood up and began to massage Aiden’s shoulders.

“My fairy godfather.”

Sam laughed.

“David’s been too good to me.” Aiden’s voice was slightly wistful now. “Not only this, but he helped me out of a bad situation.”

“Cam?”

“I’m not sure I’d have had the guts to move out if it hadn’t been for David. Hell, I tried to find a place of my own in London and he told me to stay. Said he didn’t spend much time there anyhow.” Aiden leaned into Sam’s hands, and Sam kissed him on the top of his head.

“You sound almost like you don’t think you deserve his friendship.”

Aiden’s shoulders tensed beneath Sam’s fingers. “Am I that obvious?”

“No.”

“Sometimes I worry that I can’t even begin to give back what he’s given me.”

Sam moved in front of Aiden and drew him up off the chair with a hug. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, you know.”

“You think?” Aiden’s laugh was bitter.

Sam traced a line over Aiden’s lips. “I think I could kick myself for letting you go. Twice.”

Aiden’s smile looked strained. “Are you sure you want this? I mean, there’s a reason you let me go before. My lifestyle isn’t exactly the best for long-term relationships.”

"It was never about your lifestyle.” Sam wasn’t exactly sure how to explain his hesitation. “I just wasn’t ready.”

“You don’t need to justify it, Sammy.”

“I know. But I wish—”

“Here and now. That’s what matters. Fuck the rest of it.”

“Right.” Sam inhaled a long slow breath and looked over the bow at the moon rising on the horizon. And yet he couldn’t help but think of New Year’s past. And of Nick. “You’re right. Fuck the rest of it.”

“Happy New Year, Sammy.”

“Happy New Year, Aiden.”

***********************

Want to read the entire novel? It's available on Amazon, Allromanceebooks, Barnes and Noble, and Dreamspinner Press in paperback and ebook formats!

Happy Friday everyone!  I hope you've all recovered from the holiday insanity.  I still feel as though I'm walking around in a fog, and I've got this nagging feeling at the back of my brain that I'd better hurry up and push the fog away, or I'm going to get trampled with work.  For me at least, I'm pretty sure January and February are going to kick me in the ass.  But it's all good, really.   I have a lot going on with writing projects.

First up, and probably the most exciting of the bunch:  I just got the first round of edits for "Lighting the Way Home," the contemporary novel I co-authored with Dreamspinner author E.M. Lynley.  It's a sweet and sexy story about coming home to realize that everything you've always wanted was there all along.  It's part of E.M.'s "Delectable" series, and features a chef who runs away from a broken heart and lands in Paris, France.  But when his mother needs surgery, he flies home to New York City to help his parents run their family restaurant while she recovers.  Release date is March, 2013.

Just behind that one is the fourth book in the Blue Notes Series, "Prelude," which was co-authored with Venona Keyes.  The third book in the series, "Aria," was just released on December 24th.  One of the secondary characters in "Aria," David Somers (conductor of the Chicago Symphony), is the main character in "Prelude."  "Prelude" takes place several years before the prior Blue Notes books.  The series is meant to be read in any order, though, and each novel is standalone.

Lastly, I'm finishing up work on a manuscript for tentative publication in the summer of 2013.  This one is a bit of a departure from my angsty musicians.  "Stealing the Wind" is a pirate/shifter novel which will likely have a sequel.  These shifters are a bit different from the usual weres:  they are merfolk.  The story is sexy (it has a little M/M/M, although the romance is strictly M/M) and romantic, with a bit of adventure on the high seas.  If you click on the link, you can read an excerpt.

A few more updates for me.  I'll be chatting this Saturday, January 5th, from 7-9 p.m. EST, on Dawn Roberto's Love Romances Cafe Yahoo Group.  You need to be a member, but it's easy to sign up!  Just click on the link.  I'll be doing some giveaways on the chat, so be sure to stop by and comment to be entered to win.  I'll also be making a few more blog stops to talk about "Aria" and the rest of my writing over the next few weeks.

A few readers have asked for more of a preview of "Prelude," so I thought I'd leave you all with an excerpt from the novel.  This is an unedited, prepublication excerpt, so I am totally to blame for any typos/mistakes (not my wonderful Dreamspinner editors!).  Have a wonderful weekend!  Hope to see you all at Dawn's tomorrow night. -Shira

******************

Blurb:  David Somers, music director of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, is one of the best-known conductors in the classical music world. He helps young performers like Cary Redding (The Melody Thief) and Aiden Lind (Aria) with their careers. He’s sophisticated, richer than God, handsome, and outrageously successful. But there’s something about David that his public personality doesn’t come close to hinting at: underneath it all, he’s insecure.

When crossover violinist Alex Bishop fills in at the last minute on a CSO concert, David isn’t expecting much. After all, Alex has long hair, tattoos, and plays rock ‘n roll when he’s not playing Beethoven. But when David hears Alex perform, he begins to wonder if he hasn’t underestimated the man.

It takes some time, but the two men fall hard for each other. But each has his own measure of pain to shoulder, and when David’s insecurities threaten to tear them apart, it’s up to Alex to show David that not all love is conditional.

********

Chapter Two

Chicago, Present Day

David Somers had a headache.  He’d hoped it would pass, but it had only gotten worse in the past fifteen minutes.  He waited stage left as the orchestra finished tuning.

Deep breath.  Focus.

The concertmaster sat back down again—the signal for David to walk onto the stage of Orchestra Hall.  His hall.  His orchestra, he reminded himself.  He breathed in slowly before walking onto the stage, his expression schooled, utterly focused.  The Armani tux he wore was perfectly pressed, his posture perfect, and his stride confident.  The orchestra stood as he entered.  The hall, filled to capacity, rang with polite applause.

But David’s disinterested poise was merely a sham—he was irritated to the extreme.  It was only his strong sense of duty that had brought him back to the stage tonight for the second half of the program.  That, and the potential sponsors of his modern music series whom he knew sat in the center box seats—the box that had been owned by Somers Industries for more than sixty years.

He glanced stage-left to where the soloist waited to make his entrance.  David had seen him for the first time only moments before, and he'd been left with the distinct impression of a street thug.  Tattoos, indeed, he thought with disdain.  There was no place for such a thing in the refined world of classical music.  True, the soloist had worn the traditional tails of an artist making a solo appearance with the Chicago Symphony, one of the finest symphony orchestras in the world.  But that was de rigueur, expected of him, regardless of his personal tastes.  No, it had been the telltale ink visible at the other man’s throat as he buttoned up his shirt that had taken David by surprise.

"Lastislav Voitavich is ill," his personal assistant, James Roland, had told him as he arrived at the back entrance to Symphony Center that afternoon, "but we've managed to find a replacement."

David hadn’t been concerned.  Such last-minute substitutions were rare, but not unheard of.  He knew there were plenty of violinists who would give their eyeteeth to take the stage under his baton and with such a prestigious orchestra.  There were few conductors on the classical music scene with his reputation, let alone as young as he.

"Has the replacement performed the piece before?"

"Of course, Maestro," James assured him. “Several times, I’m told.”

"That will be sufficient."  It would be just that—sufficient—nothing more and nothing less.  That was the way of all last-minute substitutions.  It would not be a memorable evening, but David would ensure that his audience did not leave disappointed.  The orchestra’s performance would, at least, be outstanding.

"There is one thing you should know, though," James added in a quavering voice.  It meant little that they’d worked together for nearly five years; David had never been an easy man to please.  But then, one didn’t get a reputation like his by having lax standards.  David was a perfectionist, and proud of it.

He glared at the young man—he didn’t appreciate being troubled with such nonsense before a performance—he needed time to prepare, to focus on the music, and review the score.  "What do you wish to tell me?"

"Th… the… the soloist… he… ah—"

"I don’t care who he is, as long as he can play the Sibelius."  David ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"He… he can, of course!" the assistant squeaked as beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

Five minutes before he’d taken the stage for the second half of the concert, when he read through the bio James had handed him, David realized what a mistake he’d made by not pressing the issue further.   It’s a concert, he reminded himself.  Nothing more.  There will be time to kowtow in apology to the board tomorrow, if need be.  He detested kowtowing, but he also knew he did it quite well.

It was rare that he had to make any public speech, let alone an announcement in the middle of a concert.  He despised public speaking, but there was nothing to do for it—the substitution had been too eleventh-hour to print something to add into the programs.

“Good evening,” he began with a practiced smile.  “There has been a slight change in tonight’s program. Our featured soloist, Lastislav Voitavich, has taken ill.”   There were murmurs from the audience, so David waited until the hall was silent before continuing, “Alexander Bishop has graciously agreed to perform the Sibelius.”  Instead of voicing their disappointment, the audience applauded with surprising enthusiasm.  “Thank you,” David finished, unsure of what to make of the response.   He nodded toward the wings.  There was renewed applause as the violinist took to the stage. 

Alex Bishop.  A rock star masquerading as a classical violinist.  Tattoos and groupies.  He didn't doubt that the man was competent—his assistant was young, not stupid.  Still, David loathed this "new breed" of musician who all too often graced the covers of magazines like Time and, more recently, Rolling Stone.  Tattoos, indeed.  In David’s estimation, the term “crossover artist” was merely a marketing tool, meant to exploit an artist’s good looks and increase sales.

He signaled for the concertmaster to provide the soloist with an opportunity to tune before turning to face the orchestra, his back to the audience.  The Sibelius violin concerto was a challenging but not an overly taxing piece, and he’d rehearsed his orchestra well.   The orchestra will shine, despite any deficit in the quality of fiddle playing. He raised his baton and did his best to ignore the auburn hair that fell onto the soloist’s shoulders in a tumble.

Alex Bishop was attractive enough, he noted.  Tall and muscular—taller than David himself.  Still, in spite of Alex’s apparent ease in front of the large crowd and his undeniable stage-presence, David knew Alex was no more than a pretender to the world of classical music.  All hype and no substance—a creation of Hollywood agents and a second-rate player, no doubt.  He’d heard so-called “crossover” artists perform before, and he hadn’t been impressed.

Alex glanced over to David, his instrument tucked under his chin.  Their eyes met for a brief moment.  It surprised David to note that Alex’s dark brown eyes simmered with passion and focus.  David raised his baton higher, the signal to the orchestra for the downbeat.  One deft flick of the baton later, the orchestra began the first measures of the Sibelius Violin Concerto in D Minor.

As a conductor, David had always preferred the less emotional, modern repertoire to the sweeping romanticism of Brahms, Mahler, or Sibelius.  Tonight's program had been a nod to the wealthy patrons who kept the orchestra’s finances in the black.  It was a tedious thing, to be required to accommodate the common musical tastes of his benefactors, but David tolerated it, knowing he'd been able to include a less tonal, more challenging piece of music later in the symphony's performance schedule.  In David’s opinion, the Sibelius concerto was no exception.  He was unmoved by its soaring and plaintive melodies, although he knew that his audience would respond to it enthusiastically.

David glanced over at Alex.  Their eyes met again as Alex began the first few notes of the solo line and the heady tones of Alex's violin filled the concert hall.  With practiced concentration, David returned his focus to the score that sat on the podium in front of him.  He didn't need to read the music to conduct the piece—he had committed every measure to memory—but he sought the distraction. 

Strange.  He’s better than I expected.  Far better, really, although David would hardly admit it to himself.

Alex finished the opening phrase of the movement with obvious ease.  Once again, David found himself taken aback by the intensity of the other man's playing, as well as the natural musicality and the warm tone he was able to coax from the fiddle.  The violin Alex played was serviceable, but it was no Stradivarius or Guarneri.  Still, David found it remarkable that the instrument sounded nearly as resonant the finest instruments he had heard through the years.  “A good instrument can make the performer,” his old friend and predecessor, John Fuchs, had once told him.  “But without talent, it is only an instrument.”

As the evening progressed, Alex began the second movement: a slow and sensual adagio.  Again, David found himself transported by the artistry with which Alex conveyed the depth of the composition, and again David found himself struggling to maintain his focus and not lose himself in the music.  After the third and final movement, the crowd jumped to its feet.  Amidst the enthusiastic applause were resounding calls of "Bravo!" from some of the patrons.  Including, David noted with pleasure, the two men and one woman seated in the Somers’s box.

The audience was satisfied with no fewer than four bows, each time calling back both soloist and maestro to the stage with more cheers and applause.  As they walked back and forth across the stage for each bow, David watched with interest, half-expecting Alex to react as a rock star might and toss an article of clothing to his adoring fans.  Alex did nothing of the sort, instead bowing with surprising grace and maintaining the decorum expected from a soloist performing with a world-renowned symphony orchestra.  David noticed that rather than basking in the glow of the audience’s response, Alex appeared slightly ill at ease with the adulation, although he smiled personably and with genuine appreciation.

After the final bow, David followed Alex offstage.  He had intended to retreat to his dressing room, but several fans already crowded the wings, blocking the way.  Irritated by the lack of security, David attempted to walk around the gathering crowd by taking a path through the wings instead of directly out to the corridor.  Several orchestra members milled about, clearly anxious to congratulate Alex on his performance.  Seeing David, they nodded in a formal manner—they had long since learned that the maestro did not wish to be disturbed after a performance.  David returned each gesture with a curt nod, then sidestepped the approaching fans before slipping out the door and into the hallway.

He closed the door behind him and looked up into a pair of dark eyes.  Alex, it appeared, had also sought to avoid the backstage chaos.  He smiled at David, holding his violin and bow in his right hand.  “Maestro,” he said.  Transferring his instrument to his left hand, he offered his right hand to David.

The two men shook hands in silence.  There was a moment’s hesitation before David withdrew his hand and said, "We appreciate your willingness to fill in at the last minute."

"It was my pleasure," Alex murmured.  He watched David as if unsure what to make of the man.  "I've played the concerto a few times, although never with such a skillful conductor."

David, used to compliments, was unmoved.  "Thank you."

Alex shifted inelegantly on his feet.  "Listen," he said, "we're having a little party at my place.  Just a few friends, a couple of beers, that sort of thing.  Nothin' fancy.  Would you like to join us?"

"I appreciate the invitation, but I’m expected at a donors’ party in a few minutes."

"No problem," Alex said with a smile and a nod.  "I understand."

Was that disappointment David saw in the other man’s face?  Unlikely.  He’s relieved.  Besides, can you see yourself at a party with a few friends and a ‘couple of beers’?  He’s just trying to be kind.  Then, realizing that his response had been quite rude, David said, "Perhaps another ti—"  His words were cut short by shouts and giggles as two teenage girls launched themselves at Alex, nearly knocking his violin from his hand.

David stepped backward to avoid the onslaught and almost collided with a woman with long blond hair who swooped in to protect Alex from the girls.  The girlfriend, no doubt.  Time to leave.  He turned and strode quickly down the hallway to his dressing room, closing the door and taking a deep breath on the other side.

*********

Alex bent down and managed to catch his instrument before it hit the ground, but when he stood up once again David had vanished.  He managed a self-conscious smile as another woman planted a wet kiss on his cheek, missing his lips by a hair's breadth.

That was strange, he thought, disappointed to see David had disappeared.  There was something appealing about David Somers, not the least of which his command of the orchestra and his unique musical voice.  He had heard David conduct before, of course, but performing under his baton had been a refreshing experience.

“Thanks for the rescue, Mar,” he said after he’d signed the girls’ programs.

"You looked like you needed it.”  She laughed as the girls headed off toward the exit.

He took his roommate's arm and led her down the hallway to the green room, where he’d left his coat and case.  Marla waited as he wiped the rosin from the strings, fingerboard, and bridge of his violin with a small white cloth.  Satisfied with his handiwork, he gently laid the instrument in its case, loosened the hair of his bow and locked it into place in the lid.  He clicked the case closed and picked up his coat without a word.

"You're quiet tonight," Marla observed, watching him with obvious interest.  “Disappointed with the performance?"

"Nah. It was one of the best concerts I've played."

"Sounded pretty good to me, too, but then I'm no musician." She pressed a pensive finger to her lips and cocking her head to the side, asked, "So, how was he?"

"He?"

"The maestro," she laughed.  "David Somers.  You said it yourself, he's probably the best young conductor on the classical music scene.  Did he live up to his reputation?"

"He…."  Alex hesitated.  He honestly wasn't sure how to describe David.  "He's certainly a difficult man to approach.  Still…."

Marla's musical laughter filled the room.  "I wasn't talking about his personality, silly boy, I was talking about his musical ability." She eyed him with suspicion, then added, "But it seems as though he might have made more than just a musical impression on you."

In spite of himself, Alex’s jaw tightened.  "You’re playing matchmaker again.”

"Can't help a girl for wanting a Michigan Avenue apartment of her own, can you?"

"You couldn't afford it without a roommate."

She sighed and shook her head.  "No, probably not." He’d been paying the rent and utilities on the condo they’d shared for more than a year—he had insisted on it now that he was making good money performing.  The advance on his last recording hadn't hurt, either.

"Besides," he added with a smile, "I've got a least a few more year's rent to pay you back before we're even."

"Eh, you're right." She tossed her hand in the air, as she often did when he let her win.  "I figure I've got about a year left before I'm out on the street.  So how about the maestro?”

“Don’t think he’s my type.” Alex emphasized the word and glared at her, shaking his head.

“You never know.”

There was an open challenge in her expression that he chose to ignore. Instead, he opened the door to the green room and picked up the violin case.  With her arm firmly wrapped around his waist, they walked back into the crowded hallway.  He signed a few more autographs until Marla began to push through the crowd, leading him to the stage door.  The fans, assuming that Marla was his girlfriend, looked more than disappointed, some openly hostile.  He ignored this.  He was used to it.  Besides, Marla was quite adept at fending off the women she affectionately called "simpering spineless sluts."

As they walked out of the Adams Street entrance, Alex spotted a limousine waiting a few yards away.  The driver held the door open and a lone figure walked quickly over, avoiding any contact with the public.  David Somers, dressed in a dark coat with a white scarf flung about his neck, ducked into the limo.  As he sat down, he glanced back to where Alex stood.  Their eyes met for an instant before the driver closed the door.

Marla eyed Alex with suspicion.

"What?" He shot her a look of mock irritation.

"Nothing." She grinned at him.  "Nothing at all."

They crossed the street and headed the half block to Michigan Avenue for the shortcut through Millennium Park to their apartment.

So okay, I admit it.  I’m a bit of a music geek (okay, so I’m a total music geek).  I started studying music at age five with something called Dalcroze Eurythmics, a wonderful dance type activity that helps musicians get a sense of rhythm and music in their bodies (look it up—it’s really cool!).  I started learning music theory at age six—the same year I started studying the violin on a tiny half-size instrument.  Later, I became a professional opera singer and performed all over the US and in Europe.  But it wasn’t until four years ago that I actually tried to write something about music.

All of which begs the question:  how do you write about music?  How do you write about something that’s primarily an auditory experience?  How do you find the words and the emotional connection to express the sound of the music and the process of performance?

The answer?  It’s not easy.

My Blue Notes Series books all have at their core musical expression.  The first book, “Blue Notes,” was about a former pianist who faces his long-standing fear of performing years after he’s given up performing.  There’s a scene in that novel where he begins to work through his fear with the help of the other main character in the book.  The pianist plays a complex and technically challenging piece, working through both the notes and the emotions it evokes as he plays.

The second book in the series, “The Melody Thief,” features a classical cellist who lives a double life.  He’s a world-renowned performer, sought after by the best conductors for his musical ability, but he’s also a sex-addicted, unhappy man who has never had a relationship that’s lasted more than a day or two.  In the book, he plays with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.  The performance is a breakthrough for him because he’s finally met someone who loves him unconditionally, and that love begins to translate into the music he makes.

So how does a writer talk about music on paper?  To be honest, I’m still learning how to do it.  With each book, I’ve learned new tricks for conveying the beauty of music to my readers.

First off, the easiest trick in the book:  tell your readers what piece they’re hearing.  Give them links to the music so they can hear it (and even listen to it while they’re reading if they wish).  For each book, I’ve posted a playlist on my website (www.shiraanthony.com).   If you click on book extras, you’ll find links to various interpretations of the music in each book.

Next, I try to focus on the emotions the music evokes: sadness, happiness, the feeling of being loved, the pain of loss.  Classical music compositions tend to have one or two main emotions they express.  In “Blue Notes,” Jason plays one of my favorite piano works, Brahms’ Intermezzo Opus 118, No. 2, a wistful and beautiful piece that is powerfully romantic.  For Jason, the piece helps ground him emotionally and connect with the music within.  It’s not overly challenging for him, so he doesn’t worry about making mistakes and embarrassing himself.  He just feels the music in his soul.  In “The Melody Thief,” Cary plays the Dvorak Cello Concerto.  It’s an angsty, romantic and tumultuous piece that mirrors the turbulence in Cary’s own heart.  It’s not sad, but it’s almost painful in its beauty, a wonderful companion to Cary’s internal struggle.

Lastly, I try to use adjective to describe the music:  warm, turbulent, bright, clear, colorful, hopeful, among others.  The adjectives become the notes on the page, a bit like an artist uses colors to express emotion in a painting.  Taken together with the other means of describing music, adjectives help to ground the reader in a sense of the beauty of the music.

Each Blue Notes Series book is a standalone story, meant to be read in any order.  The most recent installment, “Aria,” focuses on Aiden Lind, an opera singer who struggles to balance his relationship and his skyrocketing career.  Each book takes on a different aspect of music and musicians, and explores the lives of musicians based on my own personal experiences in the business.

Interested in reading a bit more about my musicians?  Here’s an excerpt from “The Melody Thief”—the passage I mentioned above, where Cary begins to grow as a musician in part because of his relationship with Antonio, the other main character in the story.   I hope you enjoy it! –Shira

*****************

Blurb:  Cary Redding is a walking contradiction. On the surface he’s a renowned cellist, sought after by conductors the world over. Underneath, he’s a troubled man flirting with addictions to alcohol and anonymous sex. The reason for the discord? Cary knows he’s a liar, a cheat. He's the melody thief.

Cary manages his double life just fine until he gets mugged on a deserted Milan street. Things look grim until handsome lawyer Antonio Bianchi steps in and saves his life. When Antonio offers something foreign to Cary—romance—Cary doesn’t know what to do. But then things get even more complicated. For one thing, Antonio has a six-year-old son. For another, Cary has to confess about his alter ego and hope Antonio forgives him.

Just when Cary thinks he's figured it all out, past and present collide and he is forced to choose between the family he wanted as a boy and the one he has come to love as a man.

******************

Excerpt: “The Melody Thief,” by Shira Anthony

Cary spent the first half of the program listening to the Beethoven from the wings. At last, on stage an hour later, he closed his eyes and listened to the long orchestral introduction to the Dvorák, noting with pleasure the richness David was able to coax from the string section and the clear, powerful tones of the horns as they took over the melody from their stringed counterparts.

He adored this music, from its dark and demanding opening theme to the more subdued secondary theme in the brass and the woodwinds. The warmth of the sound from the orchestra behind him sent chills down his spine as he opened his eyes once again and looked up for David’s cue. The conductor met his eyes with a trace of a smile on his lips, then lifted his baton.

The opening measures of the solo flew by with their arpeggio passages, giving way to the secondary theme with its lilting melodic line. Back and forth, soloist and orchestra wove the complex tapestry the composer had envisioned. In this piece, the cello and the orchestra were both integral to the music. Perhaps this was why Cary adored it so much, and the sense that he and David created the music together made this performance so much more satisfying than any other until now. For a short while, Cary just lost himself in the music as his fingers found their way with ease through the treacherous double-stops and arpeggios that made this such a virtuosic composition.

His eyes filled briefly with tears as the last notes resonated from the cello and the final movement came to a close. For a moment, he was utterly lost to understand the depth of his own emotion. How many times had he played the same notes over the past twelve years, since he had mastered the piece? And yet this time, it was entirely different. He came back to himself with the thunderous applause from the audience, and struggled to regain his composure.

“I’ve never heard you play as well,” David said as they both walked to the edge of the stage to take their bows. It was true; he never had. And he was pretty sure he understood why.

Back in his dressing room afterward, Cary sank into the couch and closed his eyes for a few minutes. It had become a bit of a habit for him to meditate after a performance—it was something Aiden had suggested to him years ago and which he had initially laughed off. Today, more than any other, he needed the time to decompress.

The door opened a crack and Alex Bishop peered inside. “You decent?”

“Never,” Cary answered with a snort. “Come on in.”

“I hope you don’t mind.” Alex walked into the room. “I brought someone with me.”

Cary was about to say something clever when he caught a glimpse of blond hair in the doorway. “Antonio?"

“I was in the neighborhood,” Antonio said, “and someone told me the music here was good.”

Grinning broadly, Alex closed the door behind him on the way out.

“You came all this way just to hear me?”

“Why not?” Antonio said, taking Cary into his arms and giving him a tender kiss.

Cary melted into the warm embrace, partly out of sheer exhaustion, but even more out of relief. “I missed you,” he whispered. Why was he afraid to say it louder? He loved this man.

Antonio kissed his hair and exhaled, his breath hitching with emotion.

“I missed you too, caro mio. Two weeks is too long.”

“How long can you stay?” Cary knew he shouldn’t feel so needy, but the performance had left him a bit off-kilter, and he needed reassurance that Antonio wasn’t leaving the next day.

“I’ve asked my colleague to handle things at the office. I’m going to stay until you’ve finished the recording. If you’ll have me, of course.”

“I’ll have to think about that.” Cary edged over to the door and locked it behind him. “But first I need to get out of this sweaty tux and take a shower.”

“I could help. I’m told I’m good at bathing other people.”

Cary pulled Antonio’s jacket off, unknotted his tie, and began to undo the buttons on his crisp white shirt. “That’s just what I was counting on.”

***************

"The Melody Thief" and the other books in the Blue Notes Series are available at Dreamspinner Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and AllRomanceEbooks, among other distributors.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone and welcome to the Swept Away Valentine's Day Blog hop! There are a ton of authors of various genres participating in the hop and lots of opportunities to win great prizes! Click here or on the blog hop graphic to check out the list.

My prizes? I've got three to offer: 1) an autographed paperback copy of any of my Dreamspinner Press novels (doesn't include novellas, since those are only in ebook format) OR an ebook copy of any of my Dreamspinner titles (format of your choice); 2) a t-shirt of your choice of my Blue Notes Series covers, including the latest book, "Aria", and 3) a $10 Amazon gift certificate. I'll pick three winners on February 18th from among those people who comment on my blog (www.shiraanthony.com) starting today. Good luck everyone!

Over the next four days I'll be blogging about -- what else? -- love. The stages of love, specifically, with excerpts from my published works or works in progress (WIPs) to illustrate each stage. I'm no psychologist, of course, but as a writer, I often have to think about how relationships progress between my main characters (MCs). Every couple is different and they move through these stages at differing speeds, but there are usually touchpoints in relationships. I'll choose four (since I have four days): 1) infatuation; 2) exploration; 3) commitment; and 4) happily ever after (HEA). Note how I separate out "commitment" and the "HEA?" I personally believe the HEA comes after commitment. To me, commitment is about confessing your love and telling each other you want to stay together. It's the first step toward the HEA. But the HEA is the time when you settle into commitment and grow your relationship into something that can withstand time. But more on this later in the week....

The first stage, "infatuation," makes for some of the best romance fodder around! Think sweaty palms, racing hearts, and all the fun and excitement that comes from wanting another person, sexually or otherwise (although the sexual wanting part is so much fun!).

So, to my excerpt. This is a long excerpt from my first Blue Notes Series book, "Blue Notes." A little setup for the scene: Attorney Jason Greene has run away from all that's wrong with his life (a job he doesn't enjoy, a cheating fiancee, and an unfulfilled life). Where does he run? Paris. The City of Love. He identifies as a straight man, but he's often wondered about what it might be like to love another man. When he meets struggling jazz violinist Jules Bardon, he soon becomes infatuated with the beautiful Frenchman. And when Jules plays his violin for Jason, Jason begins to fall hard....

**************

THE weather was bright as they exited the Métro. Jules, wearing a sweatshirt belonging to Jason’s sister (at Jason’s insistence), had pulled his hair into a short ponytail at the back of his head, several shorter strands falling across his forehead. In daylight, the contrast between Jules’s brown and green eyes was striking.

“I’ve never met anyone with two different colored eyes,” Jason remarked as they climbed the steps to the platform overlooking the Seine and the Eiffel Tower beyond.

“My eyes are brown,” Jules replied, appearing pleased that the older man had noticed. “I lost one of my contacts. I couldn’t afford another pair, but Henri said he thought it looked cool, so I wear the single contact for the hell of it.”

Jason was tempted to say something like, “Kids these days,” but thought better of it; he had no desire to sound like his father. Instead, he heard himself tell his companion, “I like brown eyes.” It was true, especially when they were flecked with bits of amber like Jules’s.

A couple of teenagers on skateboards descended the shallow steps nearby, and Jason thought wistfully of his old board, sitting in his parents’ attic in Ohio.

“You skate?” Jules asked.

“Used to,” replied Jason, noting again how observant his companion was. “It’s been a long time.”

“I always wanted to try,” Jules said as he watched the skateboarders with fascination. “I couldn’t afford to buy one.”

“You grew up in the city?”

“Just outside. In Nanterre.” Jason knew the area well—a troubled Parisian suburb with a lot of high-rise, low-cost housing. In late 2010 there had been riots sparked by the French government’s proposal to raise the retirement age from sixty to sixty-two. Students and other youth from the area had burned cars, destroyed bus shelters, and blocked roads, prompting the French government to send riot police with teargas to disperse the crowds.

“Your family still live there?”

“No.” Jason sensed Jules’s hesitation in answering the personal questions and let the subject drop.

They reached the top of the plaza. Below, the fountains were still, and across the Seine, the Eiffel Tower rose skyward. “I’ve always liked this view,” Jason said, leaning on the stone wall. To their left, a few giggling Japanese girls in short skirts and berets were taking photographs. Jason offered (in English) to take a picture of the group, and the girls giggled some more, handing him their cameras and even asking Jason to pose with them. Jules watched all of this with amusement.

Jason rejoined Jules by the wall a few minutes later. A man approached them, holding a giant ring filled with Eiffel Tower key rings in various colors. Jason was about to wave the man away, but changed his mind and negotiated a good price on two—one in blue and one in green. Turning to Jules, he asked, “Blue or green?”

“Green,” Jules replied, taking the key ring from Jason and clipping it onto one of his belt loops. “Merci.”

They walked down the long steps and past the silent fountains. From time to time Jason got the impression that Jules was staring at him, as if the boy were trying to figure him out. An hour later, after a

crowded ride up in the elevator (during which Jules managed to press his body as close to Jason’s as humanly possible under the pretext of “making more space” for the other tourists), the two of them stood atop the Eiffel Tower, looking out over the city. Jules’s face was flushed with excitement and for just a moment, Jason remembered the first time that his parents had brought him here. His younger self must have looked just like Jules.

“What do you think?” Jason asked as his companion leaned over the edge.

“It’s incredible,” Jules responded, sounding breathless. “I’ve been to Montmartre, and the view there is impressive, but this….” He stopped speaking and just stared. Jason put his hand on the Frenchman’s shoulder without thinking, squeezing it lightly. He removed it a moment later, realizing that this would only encourage the kid to flirt with him again. It wasn’t as though the flirting bothered him all that much; he was attractive, but Jason didn’t want to lead him on, either.

The realization that he found the kid attractive left him feeling awkward and uncomfortable in his own skin. You’re straight, he reminded himself, as if the thought would somehow insulate him from feeling anything but friendship for the other man.

“I remember thinking the same thing once,” he told Jules, pushing the thought aside. Then, after a few more minutes had passed, he added, “Do you have to be somewhere today?”

“You mean like work?”

“Yes.”

“No. I help Henri out at the club sometimes, but it’s closed Mondays.”

“Good. I’ve got something I want you to see.”

A LITTLE over an hour later, they both stood atop one of Paris’s ubiquitous “Bateaux Mouches” or “Fly Boats,” the low-slung boats whose glass windows recalled the multifaceted eyes on insects and transported tourists around the Seine. Jules, the cold wind in his hair, leaned over the railing of the uppermost deck, head tilted to one side as he watched the city slowly unfold before him. Jason couldn’t decide

which he was enjoying more—the beauty of Paris seen from the river’s swirling waters or his dark-haired companion’s enthusiasm.

“I’ve never seen Notre Dame from this angle,” Jules marveled, watching the flying buttresses with their gargoyles and the stunning apse at the back of the cathedral as the boat floated past Île de la Cité. “Did you know the gargoyles are really the ends of pipes that carry water down from the roof?”

“I seem to remember hearing that,” Jason answered, transported by the impressive gothic building as well.

“The church used gargoyles and chimeras in their architecture to frighten the common people into attending mass,” Jules added. “Or at least, that’s what they taught us in school. We studied Roman and Gothic architecture. It was one of my better subjects.”

“Troisième,” said Jason, recalling his high school class with fondness. “I remember learning about the different types of arches. My French was still pretty rough—we hadn’t been in France that long—but I remember the pictures of churches and aqueducts in the textbook. My parents dragged me to see the Roman structures in Arles and Nîmes,” he added, shaking his head, “and about a hundred little churches on the way. I hated it. But now….” Now he understood how fortunate he had been, watching Jules and knowing that the kid had probably never been outside the confines of the city.

“Why were your parents in France?” Jules asked as the boat floated under Pont Neuf. Jules waved at some of the tourists on the bridge and Jason chuckled.

“My dad was a university professor. He took a year’s sabbatical from his position, and he and my mom liked France so much that they extended it for a second year.”

“Cool.”

“I hated it.”

“Why?” Jules’s interest was genuine. Jason could see it in his eyes.

“I was a kid,” Jason explained. “I wanted to be back with my friends in the States.” He paused, looking back over the water. “I was an idiot.”

Jules laughed, and Jason shivered; the sound was so alluring, so genuine.

“It makes you sad to remember it.” It was a statement, not a question. Jason said nothing—he told himself he wasn’t ready to share anything that personal with someone he had met less than twenty-four hours before. Jules, however, was unintimidated. “So, Jaz,” he continued, “what do you do in the States?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

Jules rolled his eyes.

“What’s that look for?” Jason growled.

“It explains the fancy clothes,” he said, eyeing Jason’s Diesel jeans and D&G shirt with a hint of longing. Jason frowned, feeling self-conscious. Jules was still wearing the ratty jeans that he had been wearing at the club.

“Yeah, I make a lot of money.” Jason knew that he sounded defensive. “Does that bother you?”

“Nah,” Jules drawled. “Just pointing it out, that’s all. Seems like it bothers you, though.”

Damn brat.

The kid was really too perceptive for his own good. And Jules was right that Jason had always been uncomfortable with the money he made at the law firm. He’d justified buying the expensive clothing by telling himself that it was expected of him as a partner. And when he’d met Diane, she’d seemed to appreciate it. But now….

Jules sidled over to Jason and, without warning, slipped a single finger under the waistband of Jason’s pants. “I like the clothes,” he said as he looked up at Jason with a challenge in his eyes. Jason calmly extricated Jules’s hand, bringing it up between the two of them.

“You don’t quit, do you?” Jason chuckled, realizing that he’d not only gotten used to the kid’s flirting, but that he was beginning to find it a little bit flattering. His face grew warm with the thought, and he hoped that Jules hadn’t noticed.

“Nah. Quitting’s not my style.”

BACK at the apartment several hours later, Jason sat on the chaise portion of the sleek, Italian sectional (another of Rosalie’s sophisticated touches) and checked his e-mail, while Jules prepared dinner in the kitchen. Jules had insisted on cooking, and Jason—knowing that the

kid saw this as a way to thank him for his generosity—had obliged. They had stopped at a small supermarket on the way back, where Jason had let Jules select the ingredients for their meal. Now, as the smell of butter and shallots wafted from the kitchen to the living room, Jason pondered whether he should ask Jules to spend the night again.

It’s already getting late, he told himself as he gazed out onto the dark street. Tomorrow, I’ll send him on his way. As soon as he made the decision, he felt better: in control again, as he preferred to be.

DINNER was delicious and quite simple: chicken breasts in a delicate cream sauce, pureed vegetables, a leafy salad with Jules’s homemade vinaigrette and, of course, the obligatory bread and cheese to follow. For his part, Jason had purchased several bottles of wine, choosing the white Pouilly-Fumé with its dry, smoky flavor to pair with the chicken. John Coltrane’s classic jazz album, Blue Train, played softly in the background. But for the fact that his companion was a man, Jason was reminded of the intimate dinners he and Diane had shared when they had first dated.

They talked about less personal things this time—of how Coltrane’s style had changed after he’d quit drugs, of trends in jazz and classical music, and of the difference between French and American cuisines. Jules surprised Jason with his understanding of each subject and his wit. There was no mistaking that Jules had lived on the rough streets of the Paris suburbs, but it was just as clear that Jules had transcended his difficult surroundings.

Over coffee, Jules asked Jason about the recent negotiations in the US Congress over the budget, easily comparing the American system of governance to the French parliamentary system. They discussed the latest French political sex scandal, the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” and its implications for the US military, and the financial crisis in the European Union.

During, and even after the dinner, Jules did not flirt with Jason, although Jason found it difficult to separate Jules’s outgoing personality with some of his more flamboyant behavior. Agreeing with little comment that Jules would spend one more night in the guest bedroom, the two men cleared the table, Jason insisting on doing the dishes over Jules’s vocal protests.

The dishes done, they returned to the living room, and Jason settled back onto the couch. Jules pulled out his neon violin case and asked, “Mind if I play a little?”

“You kidding?” Jason replied. “I’d love to hear you play.”

Jules grinned and clicked open the fiberglass case, pulling his bow out first, tightening and rosining the hairs, then picking up the violin and planting it beneath his chin. He closed his eyes to tune the instrument and opened them again to ask, “What should I play for you?”

Jason had not been expecting the question. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I guess something that you love to play.”

“D’accord,” replied Jules, his mismatched eyes glittering in anticipation. “Bach. Sonata no. 2 in A Minor.”

The choice surprised Jason, but he said nothing, instead propping a pillow behind his head and leaning further back against the sofa.

Jules took a deep breath and closed his eyes once more, gently laying bow to string and beginning the opening phrases with their insistent, rhythmic repetition sounding below the melodic line. The simplicity of the piece was both stunning and heart wrenching. Each phrase built upon the next, rising in intensity and in pitch. It reminded Jason of a prayer, powerful in its stark beauty, and he heard Jules’s soul poured out into every note. And then it was over, and Jason was left sitting in silence, staring at Jules as he had in the club, transfixed.

“Well? What did you think?” asked Jules.

The words woke Jason from his reverie. “That was… beautiful, Jules.” There were tears in his eyes, and yet he could not put into words why the music had so stirred his heart. In that moment, he saw the boy in a different light—no, “boy” definitely was not the right word—the look in Jules’s eyes was anything but childlike.

What are you thinking, Greene? he asked himself. You’re letting this get away from you.

Jules rested the violin and bow on the case and sat down next to Jason. He hesitated for a moment, watching the older man with uncomfortable intensity, then reached for Jason and brushed a single tear from his cheek. For Jason, the touch was electric, and his physical response unexpected.

“Bach always touches my soul,” Jules half whispered. His fingers still rested against Jason’s cheek. “He must have known great love, and great pain, to write something so powerful.”

Jason realized that his own pain must be showing on his face, because Jules, too, looked sad.

“I’ve never been religious,” Jules said, his eyes never leaving Jason’s, “but I played this piece in a tiny church once. It was like God was there with me, speaking through me.”

When Jason remained silent, Jules leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. At a loss to explain the intense emotional and sexual response of his own body and equally unable to stop himself, Jason reached for Jules and returned the kiss. The younger man’s lips tasted of wine and musk, and Jason realized that he was hungry for more.

What are you doing? With this thought, he pulled abruptly away from Jules, stared at him for a moment, then frowned and stood up. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt dizzy. You’re straight, remember?

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his throat dry. “I shouldn’t have… I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.”

“Of course,” Jules said, appearing to be just as stunned by their brief embrace as Jason was.

*****************

Enjoy the excerpt? You can purchase "Blue Notes #1" at Dreamspinner Press, Amazon, and many other outlets. Don't forget to comment to be entered to win one of the giveaways! -Shira

Exactly two weeks until the release of Prelude, book four in the Blue Notes Series of classical music themed gay romances from Dreamspinner Press. Haven't read the others? You don't have to read them in order to enjoy Prelude. Each Blue Notes book is completely standalone. Like the summary? You can dive into the series with any book.

Each Blue Notes book has lots of musical references. Curious about the music in the books? Click on the "Books" tab on my website, pick a book, click on it and scroll down to "Extras." For each book, you'll find a complete playlist with links to the music.

And now I've added one more feature with the newest Blue Notes book: a video tour of some of the places in the book. Might mean I have to fly to Europe to film more (damn good excuse, don't you think?). But I'm starting with a tour of Chicago and the places that are featured in Prelude.

So over the next four weeks, I'll be posting videos I filmed while I was in Chicago with my lovely co-author, Venona Keyes. Here's the little intro Venona and I filmed. Hope you enjoy it! -Shira

Prelude Tour Welcome

Summary: World-renowned conductor David Somers never wanted the investment firm he inherited from his domineering grandfather. He only wanted to be a composer. But no matter how he struggles, David can’t translate the music in his head into notes on paper.

When a guest violinist at the Chicago Symphony falls ill, David meets Alex Bishop, a last-minute substitute. Alex’s fame and outrageous tattoos fail to move David. Then Alex puts bow to string, and David hears the brilliance of Alex’s soul.

David has sworn off relationships, believing he will eventually drive away those he loves, or that he'll lose them as he lost his wife and parents. But Alex is outgoing, relaxed, and congenial—everything David is not—and soon makes dents in the armor around David's heart. David begins to dream of Alex, wonderful dreams full of music. Becoming a composer suddenly feels attainable.

David’s fragile ego, worn away by years of his grandfather’s disdain, makes losing control difficult. When David’s structured world comes crashing down, his fledgling relationship with Alex is the first casualty. Still, David hears Alex’s music, haunting and beautiful. David wants to love Alex, but first he must find the strength to acknowledge himself.

You can pre-order "Prelude" here: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3798&cPath=55_484

 

Tomorrow, Monday May 6th, is release day for Prelude ! I can't tell you how excited I am to share this book with you and how much joy writing it brought me. For those of you who have read the other Blue Notes Series books, you'll have met David Somers, the fictional music director of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. For those of you who haven't yet met David, Prelude is a great place to start the series, since it's chronologically the first story. But each story is truly standalone, so you really can start reading anywhere in the series.

Don't forget, I have two giveaways going that end at midnight tonight, Sunday May 5th: one for a beautiful "Prelude" t-shirt (featuring Catt Ford's amazing cover art) and a second giveaway for a $10 Dreamspinner Press gift certificate (you can use this towards any DSP website purchase). I'll draw winners for both giveaways after midnight. And if enough folks enter, I may throw in another swag goodie for a third winner.

Enter either giveaway contest by commenting here, on my Goodreads blog, or on the Blue Notes Facebook page, until midnight on May 5th. The winners for the t-shirt drawing and the gift certificate drawings will be announced on release day. Look for new giveaways starting on release day! I'll also have a separate blog tour giveaway that you can enter by commenting on blog tour posts. I'll put up the tour schedule here this week so you can see where I'm headed (virtually).

Throughout this week, I'll have more giveaways to enter with more Blue Notes and Prelude swag and other goodies. I'll also be talking more about the book and posting up more videos from the Prelude tour my lovely co-author, Venona, and I took when we were in Chicago for the Dreamspinner Press Authors' Workshop a few weeks ago.

Thanks to you all for your wonderful support. Because of your word of mouth, readership for the series is growing by leaps and bounds. I have a wonderful announcement to make about the series this week, too, which I'm really excited about. So until tomorrow.... And good luck to everyone who entered the contest! -Shira

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Summary: World-renowned conductor David Somers never wanted the investment firm he inherited from his domineering grandfather. He only wanted to be a composer. But no matter how he struggles, David can’t translate the music in his head into notes on paper.

When a guest violinist at the Chicago Symphony falls ill, David meets Alex Bishop, a last-minute substitute. Alex’s fame and outrageous tattoos fail to move David. Then Alex puts bow to string, and David hears the brilliance of Alex’s soul.

David has sworn off relationships, believing he will eventually drive away those he loves, or that he'll lose them as he lost his wife and parents. But Alex is outgoing, relaxed, and congenial—everything David is not—and soon makes dents in the armor around David's heart. David begins to dream of Alex, wonderful dreams full of music. Becoming a composer suddenly feels attainable.

David’s fragile ego, worn away by years of his grandfather’s disdain, makes losing control difficult. When David’s structured world comes crashing down, his fledgling relationship with Alex is the first casualty. Still, David hears Alex’s music, haunting and beautiful. David wants to love Alex, but first he must find the strength to acknowledge himself.

NOTE: Each Blue Notes novel is a standalone story and books in the series can be read in any order.

Want to buy the Blue Notes Series books? You can find them all here: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=54_673 Want to read an excerpt? Click on the link and scroll down to the link marked "Expand" on the right-hand side.

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Excerpt: PG

Setup: Alex Bishop and David Somers meet when Alex fills in for an ailing soloist with the Chicago Symphony. Alex asks David out on a date and they agree that Alex will meet David at his Orchestra Hall office on Saturday and they'll go have lunch.

 

ALEX leaned against the doorframe of David’s Orchestra Hall office, leather jacket unzipped, a knitted scarf hanging loosely around his neck. “Am I interrupting?”

 

“Not at all.” David looked up at Alex, then back down at the papers spread out in front of him. “Please, come in.” He’d just about given up on his work, anyhow. He’d gotten nowhere, mostly because he’d been nervous.

 

Why had he agreed to see Alex at all? He was baffled that he’d given in so easily when Alex had pressed him about lunch. No. That’s not fair. He just didn’t give up as easily as you thought he might.

 

Alex settled into one of the chairs in front of David’s desk. “Work a lot of weekends?”

 

“A few.” David signed a piece of paper and set it aside. “But I’m finished for the day.” He inhaled slowly, doing his best not to reveal his unease. He’d been thinking about Alex since the concert. Dreaming about him.

 

“Great,” Alex said as he popped up from the chair.

 

The sudden move nearly made David jump. Where does the man get so much energy? He covered his reaction by standing up and pulling his jacket and scarf from off the coat-tree. Somehow, it didn’t surprise David that Alex was out the door before he’d managed to wrap the scarf around his neck. Rather than irritating, he found Alex’s enthusiasm quite charming.

 

“Where to?” he asked as he caught up with Alex, who was holding the elevator doors open.

 

“Is tapas still okay with you?”

 

“Perfectly all right.”

 

They made their way down Michigan Avenue. The wind was biting, but it didn’t deter a group of women from running toward them, laughing and chattering away as they blocked Alex’s path. “Are you Alex Bishop?” one of them asked. Her compatriots had pushed her to the front of the group, and her cheeks were bright pink. David suspected it had little to do with the cold weather.

 

“That’s me.” Alex offered them a warm smile. This was followed by a round of giggles before one of the women dug what appeared to be a map of downtown Chicago out of her purse and shoved it at Alex.

 

“Can I have your autograph?” she asked. “Please?” She fished out a pen and handed it to him without waiting for his response.

 

“Sure. Who would you like me to make it out to?”

 

David noticed that Alex didn’t hesitate as he pulled off his gloves and exposed his fingers to the frigid air. David’s hands felt cold in his cashmere-lined gloves, and yet Alex, a man who made his living with his hands, didn’t seem to mind.

 

“Teri,” the young woman said with a shy smile.

 

“Teri,” Alex repeated. “With a y?”

 

“No, one r and an i.” She nodded as Alex met her eyes before writing on the map.

 

One by one, he signed autographs for each of the young women, and with each signature, David admired Alex’s comfortable demeanor. With every woman he took the time to ask questions, listen to her answers, and respond. When they left, they were clearly enthralled. Not that David was ever approached by a fan on a Chicago street—he was more than content with his anonymity—but he could not imagine handling such a situation as gracefully.

 

“Occupational hazard,” Alex said as they walked the three more blocks to the restaurant uninterrupted. “Sorry about that.” This time, Alex’s smile was for David. David wanted to believe it was warmer, more genuine. Not that he’d ever been a great judge of emotion.

 

“Not at all,” David replied, relieved that with his scarf wrapped about his chin, Alex could not see him swallow hard. What was it about this man that left him feeling so awkward? Certainly he’d met men like Alex before. And yet, as they ducked into the restaurant, David knew he was lying to himself. He had never met anyone like Alex Bishop in his life.

 

The restaurant was yet another surprise. David had heard of it— trendy and nearly impossible to get a reservation at, even for someone with David’s connections. The small table at the back was intimate and out of view of most of the patrons. Given Alex’s reception as they walked the scant blocks from Michigan Avenue, David could understand why.

 

“I’m really sorry about all of that,” Alex said after the waitress brought them their drinks and took their orders. He appeared genuinely contrite.

 

“No need to apologize. Your public truly does seem to adore you.”

 

There was a blush on Alex’s cheeks, and David thought he looked supremely uncomfortable with the compliment. “I know you probably won’t believe it,” Alex said after he’d taken a sip of his beer, “but I hate the attention.”

 

David considered Alex’s statement. Normally he wouldn’t have believed a word of it, not coming from someone who was so obviously at ease in the limelight. But there was something genuine about Alex. Unpretentious. How had he missed it before? You missed it because you assumed he’s something he’s not. He wondered what else about Alex he’d overlooked.

 

For the first time that day, David noticed Alex’s shirt was unbuttoned to reveal more of the tantalizing ink on his chest. David had always found tattoos base and unappealing. But Alex’s fascinated him, much like the plumage of some exotic bird. David was the bird with the dull feathers, watching, transfixed, wanting to touch the tattoos. Wanting to touch Alex….

 

To his great consternation, David realized he’d been staring. He lifted his drink to cover his slip. Alex, perhaps noticing David’s gaze, brushed the open skin at his neck with his fingers.

 

“So I hear you know my former teacher, Roger Nelson.”

 

David relaxed a bit with the familiar territory. “Roger’s an old friend. He and John Fuchs contacted me about moving to Chicago and applying for the music director position when John decided to retire.”

 

“I remember John mentioning it. Said you were living in Milan. ‘Hiding out’, I think he called it.”

 

“Indeed.” David realized he was smiling at the memory. “He and Roger showed up at the villa, bags in hand, and refused to leave until I had submitted my letter of interest to the symphony association.”

 

“Sounds like it worked,” Alex replied with a chuckle.

 

“Not immediately. Roger and John spent several weeks creating mayhem for the staff. Nearly drank half of the wine cellar in the process.” David smiled once more and leaned back slightly in his chair. “My housekeeper threatened to quit if they didn’t leave. Told me she wasn’t cut out for cleaning up after ‘rowdy Americans’.”

 

“Rowdy?”

 

“Have you ever seen John and Roger after a few bottles of wine?” Alex shook his head. “Let’s just say that they can be a bit boisterous and leave it at that.”

 

“Are you kidding? Now that you’ve piqued my curiosity?” Alex leaned forward with one elbow on the table, his chin in his hand. “Do tell.”

 

David laughed outright this time. “The last game of truth or dare they played—mind you, I had gone to bed long before this, but Gianetta told me about it the next morning—John ran across the formal gardens in just his underwear.”

 

“Could have been worse,” Alex pointed out.

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Have you heard from them lately?”

 

David nodded. “A few months ago, when I was traveling to South America. They’ve bought a lovely house together in Costa Rica. I spent several nights there. Seems John’s finally decided it’s time to settle down.”

 

“I’m glad to hear it. I’d always wondered about them.”

 

“John’s always been prone to wanderlust,” David said as the waitress arrived with a slew of small dishes and set them out on the table. “As Roger explains it, it took nearly two decades for them to admit they had feelings for each other, and another decade for them to act on those feelings.”

 

“I guess some things are just worth the wait.” Alex’s gaze settled on David, and David schooled his expression to hide his discomfort.

Encore is now available for pre-order on the Dreamspinner Press website! Even better? It's on sale through Sunday, October 20th, along with all my other titles. Dreamspinner is having a sale to celebrate Gay Romance Literature Retreat 2013 (GRL), and all attending authors' books are discounted, including upcoming releases.

I'm having a great time at GRL here in Atlanta. The weather is cool, but the evenings are hot with great events sponsored by publishers like Dreamspinner Press. Lots of amazing authors here, books, swag, and other cool stuff. Tonight is a masquerade ball, and this afternoon is the big book signing event with featured authors (including me!).

I've got a few special bits of swag for Blue Notes Series fans, so be sure to stop by my table this afternoon if you're attending GRL. Just mention this blog post and the special swag, and I'll set you up. I've also got a limited number of cool Stealing the Wind t-shirts I'll give away to readers who mention this post until they're gone. XD

Haven't pre-ordered Encore yet? Here's the link: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=4353&cPath=55_484

And here's the blurb: A Blue Notes Novel

Cool kid violinist Roger Nelson doesn’t give a damn about anything. Wannabe conductor John Fuchs is awkward, effeminate, and just figuring out he’s gay. Despite their differences, they become friends—then lovers—and after college, they try to make it work. But it’s the 1970s, and Roger can’t bring himself to admit he’s gay. Worse, after his brother is killed in Vietnam, Roger tries to live up to his memory and be the perfect son. Then after suffering one tragedy too many, he makes the biggest mistake of his life: Roger pushes John away.

Through the years, they dance around the truth and in and out of each other’s lives, never quite able to let go. Twenty years later, Roger still carries the pain of losing his dream of a brilliant career with him, while John is a superstar conductor with a wild reputation. John’s off-stage antics get him plenty of attention, good and bad, though deep down, he wants only Roger. Finally determined to hold on to what really matters, Roger asks John for another chance, and when John panics and runs, Roger has to convince him to listen to his heart.

Note: Blue Notes Series novels are standalone novels that can be read in any order, so pick the book that speaks to you and start there! You can read an excerpt from the book here.

Happy weekend everyone! -Shira