Just the Way You Aren't Blog Tour +($50 Amazon GC Giveaway!)

Title: Just the Way You Aren't

Author: Lynda Simmons

Series: N/A

Pages: 272

Date Published: October 27th, 2014

Publisher: Bluefoot Press

Format: Kindle

Genre: Romance

Source: Goddess Fish Blog Tours
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Synopsis:

What happens when an everyday Cinderella makes a play for the prince?

A moment of madness. That’s all muralist Sunny Anderson expected when she donned a glittering mask and a fabulous gown to crash the gala at Manhattan’s newest boutique hotel. Project manager Michael Wolfe has no idea that the beauty staring up at the mural on the ballroom ceiling is also the artist who painted it. He’s captivated and she’s willing, but when their moment of madness on the sofa in his suite comes to an abrupt end, his princess is off and running, leaving nothing behind but a pair of earrings. He’s determined to find her again, but all he has to do is look closer at the woman painting the mural in his office to see that the one he needs is standing right in front of him.

~Guest Post:Annie~

I’ve always liked the big window in the living room. It goes from floor to ceiling and has a wide sill where I can sit and watch the world go by without worrying that one of the dogs might get off its lead, or a cat might want to fight or some kid might turn a hockey stick on me instead of the puck. I’m no stranger to the street, and I never wanted to find myself out there alone again. But now that Ophelia is dead, I’m almost more afraid of finding myself at the mercy of whoever finally comes looking for her. 

                “This spot taken?” Fluffy asks, rubbing against me.

                “About time you showed up,” I say, letting her bump her head against mine and feeling that rush of contentment that comes from hearing her purr. I’ve come to love this young one and the longer this ordeal drags on, the more I realize there’s not a thing I can do to protect her.

“Joggers,” she says and stands on her hind legs, pawing at the glass.

Sure enough, two women are trotting slowly past the house. I stand up and paw too. One of them looks over, sees us and points. The other smiles and waves, but the two of them keep on going, just like every other person who’s seen us in the window.

“We’re not cute, we’re desperate,” Fluffy hollers, leaping higher, hitting the glass harder and winning a quick laugh from both women before they turn their attention back to the road.

“This clearly isn’t working,” she says.

“Agreed.”

But having no better ideas, we sit back down to wait for the next passerby.

Like most houses on the block, ours sits a nice distance back from a street with no sidewalks and a road that doesn’t get much traffic. Ophelia had no more than a nodding acquaintance with her neighbours so it’s no surprise they haven’t noticed her absence. But they’re nice people who will be horrified when they find out she was lying dead at the bottom of the stairs with a houseful of hungry cats for however long it will be until this ordeal ends.

“Any news on the escape route?” I ask.

Newcomer and Boots have been trying to open a window upstairs for ages, hoping to find us a way out.  I’m not holding my breath and judging by the look on Fluffy’s face, I’d say that’s a good thing.

“Took three of us hanging on together, but we finally got the window all the way down. That’s when we realized the drop to the ground is too far, so we’re no further ahead.” She slumps down on the window sill. Paws under her chin, tail swishing back and forth.  “The mood up there isn’t good, especially with Old Tom prowling around, enforcing Bernard’s rule about not giving Newcomer and Boots anything to eat.”

“Good thing they have those treats,” I whisper.

Fluffy’s tail stills. “What are you talking about?”

“The ones you hid when we were doing inventory.” She lifts her head and I lean in close. “Don’t worry. If you hadn’t done it, I would have. Bernard is being unreasonable, and Old Tom’s judgment is not what it used to be.”

“But they’re in charge aren’t they.” She lays her head back down on her paws. “And those treats can’t keep the boys going. If Bernard doesn’t let up, I’m afraid Boots will do something stupid.”

Sooner or later we all will, but she shouldn’t have to think about that now.

“What about Newcomer?” I ask. “How’s he doing?”
                “He never complains. Just paces back and forth on that window as though the solution will come to him if he just exhausts himself enough.”

Dog walkers come into view and Fluffy and I spring into action. Leaping and pawing at the glass, winning smiles from the walkers and curious stares from the dogs. What more can you expect from Labradoodles?

I turn my back on them all and catch sight of Ophelia’s body in the foyer. Her colour is changing and she doesn’t smell like herself anymore.  Eventually, someone will take the first bite, and it frightens me to think of Fluffy living in that new reality.

“We all need to think differently,” I say to her. “Come up with newer, smarter strategies.”

“We could pretend to fight instead of looking cute,” she suggests.

“I’m up for that,” Sneaky Manx says from the doorway. “Although I’m not big on pretending.”

“Could have fooled me,” I say.

She tilts her head to the side. “What are you on about old woman?”

“You’ve been pretending for a while, playing the part of a Sneaky Manx who doesn’t really exist.”

 “Hunger must be getting to you,” she says, advancing on me slowly.

I meet her gaze, too old to be threatened. “And now you’re trying to make us believe you don’t give a damn whether we get out of here or not.”

“I don’t.” She looks away. Starts washing her face. “We’re all going to die in here and I have made my peace with that.”

“Liar.”

She stops washing. “You should be careful old woman.”

“My name is Annie. And I’ve often wondered, what’s yours?” I take a step toward her. “Not the one Ophelia gave you, but your real name.”

The fur along her back rises.  “Why does it matter?”

“Because if we really are going to die in here, we should at least know who we’re with at the end.”

She hesitates, looks from me to Fluffy and back again. “Lola. My name is Lola.”

“Like the song,” Fluffy says and rubs against her, wonderfully, naively unafraid. “So Lola, do you have any ideas about our next move?”

Her back relaxes and we all turn to the window, watching a coyote lope past the house.

“I’ve been thinking about the birds upstairs,” she says.

“Wondering how they’d taste?” I ask.

She looks directly at me. “And how smart they really are.”

~Try an Excerpt!~

Sunny’s feet moved of their own accord and she stared straight ahead, horrified and thrilled at the same time. Wondering what she was playing at and not at all surprised when he fell into step beside her.

This was why she wasn’t ready to leave, she realized. She was enjoying herself too much. Enjoying the fact that as Sonja she could do anything or say anything. Be shocking and sexy, and make Michael Wolfe sit up and take notice.

She glanced over at him as they walked, feeling beauti­ful, powerful, but most of all desirable. Because if that wasn’t hunger she saw in those dark eyes, then she’d been out of circulation for far too long.

Which was a distinct possibility given that her last sexual encounter had been almost a year ago in the back of Vince Cerqua’s convertible when the top wasn’t the only thing that wouldn’t go up. She’d spent the drive home assuring him that it happened to men all the time; at least that was what she heard in the tearoom.

She felt her face warm, knowing instinctively that Michael’s top would never let him down. Not that she wanted to find out. Not really. Not now, at any rate.

“Where will you be going in the morning?” he asked.

“New Jersey.”

He drew his head back and she laughed. “There’s a theater group I’m rather fond of. After that, it’s anyone’s guess. I’m just a wanderer. Never in one place long enough to plant a garden as they say.”

“Is that what you’d like to do? Plant a garden?”

“Yes,” she said, slipping in a touch of Sunny, but staying true to Sonja. “Of course, with so many emerging artists, I’m not thinking about that right now.”

He stopped and took her hand. “What are you thinking about?”

Trouble. And sex. Mostly sex. For all the good it did her.

Truth to tell, Sunny wasn’t the kind to have a one-night stand. She was conservative in her thinking and cautious when it came to matters of the heart. She was the kind who delivered hampers at Christmas, painted faces at the community center on Halloween, and made sure her organ-donor card was signed. No question about it, she was Sunny the good: Balanced. Friendly. And utterly predictable.

But Sonja? Now there was a real vixen. A woman who traveled the world, took risks every day, and was never, ever predictable. It seemed a shame to make her leave the ball so early when she was only in town for one night. And Sunny had the rest of her life to spend being good.

Michael ran his thumb across hers and the pull was stron­ger than ever, bringing her back a step. After all, it wasn’t as though he was a total stranger, some masked man she picked up at the sushi bar. This was Michael Wolfe, Beast of Brighton, Terror of the Tradesmen. And she already knew he looked good without a shirt.

Maybe Hugh was right. Maybe a moment of madness was good for the soul.

The music changed again, the singer launching into a slow, sultry torch song that begged an answer to the question women had been asking for centuries: what is it with men and commitment?

Sunny had wrestled with that issue herself for years, convinced that the boy she’d loved too much would come back for her one day. Pale and contrite, wanting nothing more than to love her the way he should have all along. But commitment wasn’t on her mind at all when she twined her fingers with Michael’s and gave him Sonja’s best come-hither smile. “I’m thinking we should go to your place,” she said, and was sure she was floating as they headed for the door.

~Meet Lynda!~ 

Lynda Simmons is a writer by day, college instructor by night and a late sleeper on weekends. She grew up in Toronto reading Greek mythology, bringing home stray cats and making up stories about bodies in the basement. From an early age, her family knew she would either end up as a writer or the old lady with a hundred cats. As luck would have it, she married a man with allergies so writing it was.

With two daughters to raise, Lynda and her husband moved into a lovely two storey mortgage in Burlington, a small city on the water just outside Toronto. While the girls are grown and gone, Lynda and her husband are still there. And yes, there is a cat - a beautiful, if spoiled, Birman.

When she's not writing or teaching, Lynda gives serious thought to using the treadmill in her basement. Fortunately, she's found that if she waits long enough, something urgent will pop up and save her - like a phone call or an e-mail or a whistling kettle. Or even that cat just looking for a little more attention!

Lynda will be giving away a $50 Amazon Giftcard to one lucky commenter! To enter, please fill out the rafflecopter below! 

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