Monday, January 19, 2015

Backstage Pass by Olivia Cunning

Sinners on Tour #1
Myrna is a professor of human psychology at a university in Kansas City.  She loves teaching. She is speaking at a conference when she meets a rock band called The Sinners. She is drawn to Brian, the lead guitarist. She uses some of his riffs to explain things in her classes. She decides to talk to the band. The guys love her. Brian wants to spend the night with her but he is very drunk and sleeps it off. But the next morning, when they are having sex he hears music and writes it on Myrna. Brian falls for her. He has never had an experience like that before.
Myrna is guarded. She just wants to spend time with Brian. She had a bad marriage and is very cautious plus she doesn't think she is worthy of Brian. She is also older than he is.

Is that going to stand in their way?

I loved this book. Brian is just adorable. Myrna completes him. He accepts her for the way she is, which she really needs.

From the author:
For him, life is all music and no play…
When Brian Sinclair, songwriter and lead guitarist of the hottest metal band on the scene, loses his creative spark, it will take nights of downright sinful passion to release his pent-up genius…

She’s the one to call the tune…
When sexy psychologist Myrna Evans goes on tour with the Sinners, every boy in the band tries to seduce her. But Brian is the only one she wants to get her hands on…
Then the two lovers’ wildly shocking behavior sparks the whole band to new heights of glory…and sin.

Chapter 1
A stack of handouts tumbled from Myrna’s laptop case to the floral-patterned carpet. Un-freakin-believable. She’d forgotten to zip the compartment in her haste to flee the seminar room. With a loud sigh, she bent to gather the scattered papers. Could this day suck a little more, please?
A chorus of “chug, chug, chug, chug,” followed by enthusiastic cheers came from across the lobby near the elevators. Well, someone was having a good time tonight. It certainly wasn’t her.
She crammed the papers inside her bag and jerked the zipper closed, before continuing through the overdone hotel lobby on her way to her sixth-floor room. A long, hot bath sounded like heaven. How had she let her associate dean talk her into presenting at this stupid conference in the first place? What a total waste of time. The other professors in her field wouldn’t know an innovative idea if it stood on its head and sang The Star Spangled Banner. And why did she care what her colleagues thought of her methods anyway? Students loved her classes. They were always full. She had waiting lists for—
Steps echoed hers. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She paused—her heart racing, palms damp.
Whoever followed stopped several steps behind her. She could hear him breathing.
No. It couldn’t be her ex-husband. He didn’t know how to find her. Right? Tell that to the cold sweat trickling between her breasts.
She clutched the handle of her laptop case, prepared to clobber whoever was dumb enough to sneak up on her.
“You gave a great seminar, Dr. Evans,” an unfamiliar voice said to her back.
Not Jeremy. Thank God. She took a deep, shaky breath and glanced over her shoulder.
A lanky, fortyish man extended his hand in her direction. “Who would ever think to use guitar riffs in discussions of human psychology? Not me. I mean, I’m sold on the method. I’m just not sure I can pull it off with your level of, uh…” He cleared his throat “…enthusiasm.” He grinned, gaze dropping to the neckline of her tailored, gray suit.
Her heart still hammering in her chest, Myrna suppressed the urge to throttle him and extended her free hand to accept his handshake. “Thank you, Mister uh…”
When his fingers wrapped around hers, his smile spread ear-to-ear. “Doctor. Doctor Frank Elroy from Stanford. Abnormal Psych. Head of the department, actually.”
Ah, Doctor Ass. Doctor Pompous Ass. I’ve met you before. Thousands of times.
She nodded and plastered a weary smile to her face. “Nice to meet you, Doctor Elroy.”
“Say, would you like to have a drink with me?” He nodded toward the cocktail lounge to her left, his thumb stroking the back of her hand.
Myrna cringed inwardly while maintaining her smile. This guy was the antithesis of her type. Boring. No, thanks. Her present aversion to boring existed at a visceral level. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to pass. I was heading up to my room to crash. Maybe some other time.”
He deflated like a punctured balloon. “Sure. I understand. You must be exhausted after that lively…” He grinned again. “…discussion.”
Discussion? Had he been there? Bloodbath seemed a more fitting description and she felt particularly anemic at the moment.
“Yeah,” she muttered, eyes narrowing. She yanked her hand from his, spun on her heel, and continued toward the elevator, walking around the edge of the hotel’s bar and skirting several bushy, potted plants.
A loud round of laughter drew her attention to the cocktail lounge. Four men sat in a semi-circular booth, laughing at a fifth man who was lying on his back in the center of their table. The table, covered with glasses containing various amounts of amber liquid, tilted precariously under the man’s weight as he leaned to one side. His companions scrambled to rescue their beers from certain demise.
“Tell the room to stop spinning,” the lounging man shouted at the knock-off Tiffany lamp above the table.
“No more beer for you, Brian,” one of his friends said.
Brian held up a finger. “One more.” He lifted another finger, “or two,” another finger, “mmmmmaybe four.”
Myrna grinned. The five of them didn’t exactly “blend” with the conference attendees, mostly professors, scattered throughout the lounge and lobby. The unconventional crew in the booth drew more than their fair share of animosity and stares. Was it the tattoos? The various piercings and spiked jewelry? The dyed hair, strange haircuts and black clothing? Whatever. They were just guys being guys. And not a boring one in the bunch, she’d wager.
Myrna took a hesitant step toward the elevator. She’d love to go hang out with them for a while. She could use a little fun—something other than stimulating conversation with an intellectual. She got enough of that at work.
Brian, still lounging in the center of the table, vocalized a riff, while playing masterful air guitar on his back. Myrna recognized the series of notes at once. She used it in her class discussion on male sensuality, because no one on earth played a guitar more sensually than Master Sinclair. Hold the phone? Could that be…? Nah, what would the rock group Sinners be doing at a college teaching conference? They were probably just fans of the band, though the name Brian made her lead guitarist senses tingle. Wasn’t Sinners’ lead guitarist named Brian Sinclair?

Read more here.

Kindle Edition384 pages
Published October 1st 2010 by Sourcebooks Casablanca (first published 2010)

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