Cia's Stories: Exclusive Excerpt: Life is a Stevie Wonder Song by V.L. Locey

Today I'm hosting an exclusive excerpt as part of V.L. Locey's blog tour promoting her new book, Life is a Stevie Wonder Song. Check out all the book details, and the excerpt, but don't miss out on your chance to win a digital copy for your very own!

TITLE: Life is a Stevie Wonder Song

AUTHOR: V.L. Locey

PUBLISHER: Torquere Press

COVER ARTIST: Brandon Clay

LENGTH: 24,600 words

RELEASE DATE: December 30, 2015

BLURB: Authors know that their muse is a fickle creature. Best-selling spy novelist Stephen Ramsey has been in a hate-hate relationship with his inspiration for months. When Stephen's publisher lays a legal ultimatum upon him, with a rapidly approaching deadline, he knows he must do something to kick-start his creativity or face the unemployment line. His daughter comes up with a possible answer: a summer camp for the creative soul. With nothing to lose, Stephen packs up his laptop, phonograph and beloved record albums and heads from Greenwich Village to the Catskill Mountains.

There, among a horde of college students attending for extra credits, is Declan Pomeroy, a photographer of fey creatures who is twenty-two years younger than Stephen. The woods are a magical place, and he quickly finds himself falling under the spell of the free-spirited photographer. Confusion wars with desire inside Stephen as he succumbs to the feelings welling up inside. But, sadly, summer camp always has to end. Can a man who has just found himself really leave the person that makes his heart sing?

I turned to Bridgette, getting close to her ear this time. “So — how is this happening? What’s Brayzen Mapleridge doing here? That is him, right?”

“Uh-huh,” she says without taking her goo-goo eyes off him. It’s like she’s hypnotized, practically comatose.

Accepting that Bridgette isn’t going to be much help right now, my eyes scan the crowd and I’m able to recognize the top of Tom’s balding head. He’s ‘front row’, where the center square joins the sidewalk that leads to the house, standing outside the barricades with his back to me.

I have to find out what’s going on. I push through some people. Stepping over more Christmas junk, I make my way down the yard toward him.

Meanwhile, Brayzen’s female ‘police officers’ remove his leather jacket and the male ‘prisoners’ replace it with a bright orange Department of Corrections work vest. He nods and shrugs, but then smiles mischievously. His perfect rows of teeth twinkle in the sun.

He wags his finger at the dancers and slips the vest off along with his shades before pulling at his shirt, lifting it to reveal a set of rippling washboard abs to the squealing rapture of his fans.

Lifting it higher, he shows his smooth, toned chest. The crowd is practically orgasming at this point.

He peels it the rest of the way off and uses it to wipe his torso down, dabbing his neck and under his arms. Several in the crowd, both females and males, drop from fainting. I’m hoping Bridgette isn’t one of them.

Then: I see him fling the shirt in the air, like a pizza chef tossing dough. I see it leave his hands. I see it hurtling toward me.

And then: This wadded-up ball of damp, white cotton lassos itself around my head, veiling my entire face. All at once, I’m blind. My nose and mouth are muffled. When I try to breathe, my lungs are choked by the sweet musk of Brayzen Mapleridge’s scent.

I pull at the fabric, trying to free myself, but I trip over something in the yard and my legs are instantly swept out from under me. A mob of hardcore fans tackle me, pinning me to the ground. Greedy fingers claw at my face. I try to shield myself from being kicked in the ribs and trampled by a tornado of anonymous sneakers, knees, and elbows.

After what feels like several minutes of abuse, someone finally snatches the shirt off my face and it’s ripped apart by opposing parties before being flung into the air again, causing the crazed teenage swarm to dive elsewhere for it, like a flock of hungry seagulls.

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V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, two dogs, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and three Jersey steers.

When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and GoodReads.