Enchanting Readers One Author At A Time!

Friday, September 28, 2018

Release Day Blitz & Giveaway: Love You So Special by Tara Lain



Can a man’s secret yearnings be revealed in a tank full of fish?



Love You So Special
(Love You So Series, bk 3)
by Tara Lain

Blurb:

Artie Haynes knows he’s nothing special, with just-your-regular-brown hair, a solid plumber’s job, not much education, and a family that can barely get off the couch. But Artie has quirks—like his love of tropical fish, a landlord who’s a professor of existentialism, a passion for the amazing piano music he hears at a concert hall while he’s fixing the bathrooms—and the fact that he’s never come out as gay and probably never will. But when he’s hired to build a guesthouse for the pianist whose music enchanted him, Artie is swept up into an unimaginable world.

Francois Desmarais may be famous, rich, and revered as one of the world’s great classical composers and pianists, but he’s soothed and challenged by the inquisitive, stalwart, protective man in his back yard. When Francois’s terrible fear of crowds turns into a dangerous plot, Artie can stay in the closet or prove just how special he is.



Available for purchase at



Excerpt


Francois pointed to a door farther down the hall, and Artie strode there feeling the heat of Madame’s stare between his shoulder blades. He opened the door for Francois, and they both stepped into the subdued lighting of the offstage area. The sounds of voices and feet moving around filtered through the heavy curtain that separated the stage from the audience as people moved back to their seats after the intermission. A huge black piano stood in the middle of the stage.
Artie totally got why this was scary. Giant numbers of eyes would be staring up at Francois as he tried to play, some of them admiring, some bored, maybe even some pissed-off. Francois said everyone knew he was gay. What if somebody in that mass of people hated gay men? Shit, what if they decided to make some statement?
Francois’s whole body trembled. Artie tightened his hand on that tense arm.
Shit, take a breath. Stop freaking yourself out. Remember why you’re here. “Have you ever considered asking for a white piano?”
Francois frowned. “What?”
“You know, like shiny white? We could get you a sequined suit.”
His expression went from outraged to amused. “Uh, you were thinking I should play ‘Pinball Wizard’?”
“Nah. ‘Bennie and the Jets.’”
His teeth were now showing. “I’ve got it. ‘The Bitch is Back.’”
Artie laughed. “There you go. That’s my boy. Give ’em hell.”
His smile faded, but he didn’t look scared. “I like being your boy.” He leaned forward, pecked Artie on the lips, then grinned. “That was for luck.” Chuckling, he turned and strode onto the big bare stage just as the curtains slid apart and the place burst into an ocean of yells, applause, and enthusiasm.
Francois never faced the audience or bowed. Maybe people wondered why he walked in from the back of the piano and crossed around to the keyboard, but he didn’t look awkward. He just slid onto the piano bench, looked up at Artie—and winked.
Before Artie even stopped vibrating, music poured from the piano, and Artie didn’t care if he never thought again. All he wanted to do was feel. He thrust out a hand until he felt a wall, staggered toward it, and leaned. Hold me up. The music flowed through him like a shot of bourbon with a beer chaser and a mouthful of Francois’s champagne. Wow, what would it be like to be able to create that? Francois’s brain must be full of music all the time.
The piano looped and soared, raising Artie’s heart into his throat, then dropping it to his belly. Francois’s eyes were mostly closed, but every now and then he’d open them and gaze at Artie. Then a hint of a smile would turn his lips as his eyelids drifted shut again.
No one but Francois could sound like that. He was sure of that. Artie might not be an expert, but he’d listened to a lot of other piano players on YouTube since he’d started working for Madame, and to his mind, Francois was the best.
He slowly let his breath slide out between his lips and lolled his head against the wall. Man, I’d settle for just hearing that music every day forever.
His head snapped up. Holy shit, do I really feel that way? He stared hard at Francois’s spectacular face framed by the impossible-to-control pale blond hair like a wacky halo. The guy was weird, temperamental, and about as obviously gay as anybody since Elton John. Just showing up somewhere with him could blow Artie’s whole fucking cover. But looking at that face made his cock do some kind of happy dance, just when he’d been thinking he wasn’t much of a dancer.
Maybe I’ve got to break down and tell him I’m gay.
Like he’d heard Artie’s thoughts, Francois’s eyes opened. For a moment he looked dreamy; then he cocked his head and broke out in the one full-wattage smile he’d shown the whole night.
Artie fell back a step as if he’d been hit with a laser beam, and his perfectly tailored trousers felt like his too-tight jeans.
The music built and soared. Francois’s stare barely left Artie’s face, and Artie wanted to run across the stage, slide over the piano, and kiss Francois—among other things. As Francois crashed to the end, he might have puckered his lips at Artie—or maybe Artie imagined it.
Their eyes clung as the audience went apeshit. Whereas they’d been enthusiastic when he walked in, clapping and cheering loudly, this time they practically rose to NFL proportions, cheering along with the applause.
Then the miracle happened. Francois rose from the piano, his chest expanded with what had to be a huge breath—and he turned to the audience and bowed.



Artie peered in the open front door of the Desmarais’s house. No way he’d pass that opportunity up. He stepped inside and followed the sound of voices. Man, what a house. All fancy and traditional and shit, with paintings on the walls of scary-looking people. Funny. He wouldn’t exactly expect that messy, casual, snarky guy to live in a house like this.
He walked quietly down the hall the woman had run down. Voices came from ahead of him.
“The man said you were hurt, Senor Desmarais.”
“I’m okay. I’m fine. Just go back to—whatever. Honest, I’m fine.”
“But he said—”
“Where is this man?” He sounded pissed and upset.
Artie stepped into the doorway. He might get a vase in the face, but—he just needed to be sure Francois was okay. “I’m here. Sorry. I was just worried that you were hurt.”
“Why? Because you scared the bloody hell out of me and made me fall on my butt?”
Artie fought a smile. Francois must be feeling better if he could be a wiseass. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”
The woman looked back and forth between them like she was watching tennis.
Francois crossed his arms. “It’s okay, Maria. I want to talk to Artie here for a minute. Thanks so much for looking out for me.”
“But—” She looked seriously uncertain.
He waved a hand. “It’s okay. Honest.”
“Your mama—”
He turned a full frown on her. “What does my mother have to do with this?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Can I get you anything?”
“No thanks. I’ll get it.” He walked to the door of the room, herding her toward it. When they got there, he smiled, thanked her again, and closed the door; then he turned to Artie with a crease between his eyebrows—barely visible under his pale, shaggy bangs. “So why are you messing in my life? What business is it of yours?”
Good question. Artie gave Francois a look. The gorgeous face was still blotchy from crying, and he vibrated with stress. “Look, crying’s one thing. Everybody needs a good cry sometimes.” Francois looked shocked at that statement, but Artie pushed on. “But when I hear your music going all to shit, I figure something’s really wrong, and I don’t see anybody doing fuck about it, so—” He shrugged and took a breath. “—I did. Sorry I scared you, but I couldn’t think of what else to do.” He let his eyes meet Francois’s.
Francois stared at him like maybe he’d lost his mind—or maybe he’d found it. Somewhere in between. “What do you mean, my music went to shit?”
Artie gave him a duh look. “You were all over the place. All angry and making no sense. It sounded like you were pissed at the piano. I mean, when you write, you stop and start, but it has a flow. You know? This didn’t. It was just like a bunch of notes, like—” Artie stopped because Francois’s lips were parted and he looked like he might pass out. Well, hell. “Look, I don’t mean anything by it. I never heard better music than you play, but what the fuck do I know? I’m just a plumber. So don’t pay any attention to—”
“How do you even know that?”
“What?”
“What my music sounds like. How I was all over the place?”
Artie pointed toward the window. “I listen.” He held up his hands. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t eavesdrop. But I work right out there. How could I not hear?”
“You listen.” He said the word like he was sleepwalking, and his eyes got all shiny. “People pay huge prices for tickets to my concerts and don’t listen!” Shit, is he going to cry again?
Artie didn’t say anything. Hell, he didn’t know what else to say. But crying men weren’t really an everyday thing for him. He’d never seen his father cry. His brother, a little, but never any guy he worked with, even when they got hurt bad.
I cry. Alone, under a pillow. Sometimes to the fish. I know what that feels like. He’d stick his fingers in the water and let them nibble just to have something touch him that wasn’t cold or hurting. Tentatively, he reached out and put a hand on Francois’s arm. “It’s okay.”
The crease flashed between his brows as he stared at Artie’s hand. “What’s okay?”
“Whatever.” Artie smiled. “All of it. Sometimes being a particular way is just a pile of shit.” Jesus, he didn’t even know why he’d said that.
Francois gasped—and suddenly Artie had an armload of guy. Francois threw his arms around Artie’s neck and just squeezed.

Love You So Series




Bk 1
LOVE YOU SO HARD

Available for purchase a
Kindle |  Audible | Kobo | iTunes | Nook | Dreamspinner Press

Bk 2
LOVE YOU SO MADLY


Available for purchase at at 



About the Author


Tara Lain writes the Beautiful Boys of Romance in LGBT romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her best-selling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Erotic Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance,  Best Gay Characters, and more. Readers often call her books “sweet,” even with all that hawt sex, because Tara believes in love and her books deliver on happily-ever-after. In addition to writing dozens and dozens of romance novels,  Tara also owns an advertising and public relations firm. Her love of creating book titles comes from years of manifesting ad headlines for everything from analytical instruments to semiconductors. She does workshops on both author promotion and writing craft. Together with her soulmate husband and her soulmate Dog, she recently realized a vision to live where there were a lot more trees and a lot fewer cars by moving to Ashland, Oregon. She hasn’t stopped smiling since. 


You can find Tara at Lain

No comments :

Post a Comment