Guest Post with Author Carol Pavliska and Giveaway

Meet Carol Pavliska author of Color Me Crazy.

Carol Pavliska began her writing career as a family humor columnist and blogger, a pursuit she abandoned when her children grew old enough to realize they were being exploited. To save them from further embarrassment, she turned to writing fiction. Her debut novel is a steamy contemporary romance so, unfortunately, the children are still embarrassed.

Carol and her husband, both diehard Red Hot Chili Peppers fans, raise their vegan brood of mortified offspring on a cattle ranch in south Texas. No lie.

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Hi everyone! I write contemporary rock star romance for Entangled Select. COLOR ME CRAZY released in May, so I think it’s time to touch base with my hero, Julian. Honestly, I’ve missed him.

I’m sitting in a coffee shop, and as soon as he arrives, I’ll conduct a little interview so you can all get to know him. I admit I’m getting a bit worried, because Julian is running about ten minutes late, and he is NEVER late.

Ah! Heads are turning. I glance at the door and…what is he doing here? It’s not Julian. It’s his friend and minion, Sheik. He’s a former professional offensive lineman who is now basically Julian’s manny, although neither one of them would ever admit it. He yanks out a chair and sits. “Hey, mama.”

Sheik likes to call me mama because he knows it irritates me. “I’d prefer you think of me as your creator,” I say. “It’s more impressive than being your mama.”

Sheik snorts. “You just said yo mama.”

“That was so not hilarious. Where’s Julian?”

“A group of morons with guitars and drumsticks have held him up at the recording studio. He’ll be here soon enough, and after he’s finished with your nonsense we’re heading to Austin to pick up some new recording equipment for Soundbox.”

“My nonsense? If it weren’t for my nonsense, you wouldn’t even be here.”

Sheik glances at the door and shakes his head. “My, my, my. The princess has arrived.”

The room goes silent as Julian weaves his way through the tables. He’s tall, heavily inked, and wearing vintage black mod hipsters and a tight-fitting Pussy Riot T-shirt.

Julian swears he hates attention, but I know better. Dude soaks it up like a thirsty sponge.

At the neighboring tables, female necks have gone pink and splotchy, fingers rush up to straighten bangs, and tongues are wetting lips. As for me, I swallow loudly and yank my ponytail loose.

“Really?” Sheik asks.

“Shut up.”

“I can’t be around to watch this,” Sheik says. “I’m going to step outside and make a phone call. You two make this quick—we’re burning daylight.”

Sheik leaves as Julian leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “Hello, love. You look gorgeous.”

Oh God. The accent. It was such a good idea to make this bad boy British.

“Thanks for agreeing to the interview, Julian. Have a seat.”

“Like I have a choice about doing interviews. Or even sitting, for that matter.”

“True,” I say. “I know you enjoy your privacy, but it’s not like I’ve written anything about you…you know…lately.”

“You’ve been blabbing about me every second of the day since COLOR ME CRAZY was released.”

“Nice T-shirt,” I say with a grin, changing the subject.

“Thanks for giving it to me,” he responds with a wink.

It’s our little joke. My publisher has a thing against the dreaded P-word.

Julian’s eyes widen as he glances into my mug. “Is that cream in your coffee? You’re just as bad as Cleo in that respect, although at least she doesn’t refer to herself as vegan.”

“I’m a bad vegan,” I say. “What’s Cleo up to today?”

“Boot shopping. Hopefully non-leather, but I doubt it.”

“How are things going with you two?”

Julian smiles and then his eyes darken. “Things are going extremely well. It’s one of the reasons I’m running late today. It’s hard to get out of bed in the mornings when it’s full of curvy redhead.”

“As much as I’d love to hear what happened in your bed this morning, I’m switching the topic to synesthesia. Readers seem terribly interested in it.”

“Do we have to talk about my unpronounceable neurological disorder?”

“You have some other issues we could discuss,” I remind him. “There’s at least one skeleton hanging in your closet amongst your ridiculous vintage jackets.”

“Right, then. Let’s talk about synesthesia. There are quite a few people walking around with varying degrees of it, you know.”

“True,” I say. “But you’re special.”

“Thanks for that. There’s no moderation with you, is there?”

“You love being special. Admit it.”

Julian narrows his eyes, but there’s a glint of satisfaction. Somebody does, in fact, enjoy being special.

“Synesthesia just means my senses are mixed up a bit. Mostly, I see sounds as colors. It could have been enjoyable, but you made it crippling for me.”

“I also made you a virtuoso guitarist.”

“And a prodigy violinist, because again—no moderation,” Julian says. “But I ditched violin for guitar at a young age. It was more fun, and the chicks loved it.”

“Did you just say chicks?”

“Of course. Because God forbid you have me say anything that might indicate I know what decade it is.”

I take a sip of coffee. Because he’s totally right. “Tell us about the colors.”

“I see each sound as a distinctive color. But since sounds are rarely heard in isolation, my colors get mixed up and blend. Then they take over my head. Especially if I’m tired or stressed—which I often am.”

He gives me an adorably sarcastic salute.

“And playing guitar helps you control the colors,” I say.

“Yeah. Playing guitar forces all the colors to stay where they belong. I control them, instead of the other way around.”

“And when you can’t control them?”

“Things go just as wrong as your wicked little mind wants them to,” Julian says.

I dab daintily at my mouth with a napkin. “Why yes. Yes, they do.”

A dark shadow falls across the table. Sheik is back. “You two done blabbin’? We have things to do.”

Julian looks at me expectantly, wanting to know if he’s free to go.

“The interview’s over,” I say. “Run along with your little friend, and try to stay out of trouble.”

Julian rolls his eyes as he stands. He and I both know he has no choice in the matter. He turns and motions for Sheik to follow.

“Julian, wait…” I say.

He pauses, and something warm and tingly works its way into my cold author heart. “I did give you a happily ever after, didn’t I?”

His eyes soften. ”Yes, you did, baby. And I’ll always love you for it.”

He walks away—for good?—and I open up my laptop in search of the next hero.

Never fall for a rockstar…

Julian Wheaton views the world through a kaleidoscope of synesthesia, seeing the colors of every sound he hears. His life as an iconic rock guitarist was a stressful psychedelic trip that nearly destroyed him. Now he’s abandoned the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle for the peaceful sanctity of his recording studio, but when fiery Cleo Compton comes to work for him, she brings chaos with her.

Cleo Compton has had her flings with rockstars – and it’s left her wary and bruised. Julian may have those sexy bedroom eyes and drool-worthy tattoos, but Cleo is determined to keep things strictly professional – until Julian turns out to be every dream she’s ever chased. When he risks it all to hit the road with a band again, Cleo fears he’ll return as the one thing she can no longer abide – a rockstar.

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Her back was pressed up against the wall; there wasn’t even an inch to spare. Julian bent and kissed her neck. People yelled at each other outside the bus, and voices hummed inside, as well. “We don’t have any privacy.”

Julian kissed the sweet spot right behind her ear. “That’s true,” he whispered. “Anybody could walk in.” The bus shook as things were loaded into the storage wells.

“Excuse me,” someone said, just outside the door. “Hey, has anybody seen Lazros?”

Julian put his hand over Cleo’s mouth. “Shh…”

He unbuckled his belt, and she heard his zipper go down.

“I’m in my bunk,” he said to the door. “What do you want?”

Oh, God. He was actually going to carry on a conversation with someone just a few steps away while he…what would he do next?

His knee went between her legs, forcing them apart. Oh.

“Wayne wants to know if you’ll be keeping your Les Paul with you or if you want him to take care of it.” The voice was so close. Right outside the door!

“I’ll keep it,” Julian answered. Then he slipped his fingers between her thighs, inside her panties, and she closed her eyes and tried not to whimper. Julian’s voice was right at her ear.

“Oh, Cleo,” he whispered. “Somebody is a naughty girl.” She totally was.

He pulled his hand away and stepped back. Cleo thought she’d fall, but somehow her legs held her up.

“Onto the bunk, baby,” Julian said softly. “Spread your legs.”

She looked over his shoulder at the small door. “What if someone tries to come in?” Her pulse sped up.

Julian grinned. “They’ll hit my ass with the door.” He gently pulled on her hand until she sat on the bunk. His fly was already open, and he was very ready to go. He pressed her shoulder until she leaned back. Keeping a nervous eye on the tiny, uninsulated door that led to the narrow corridor, Cleo pressed her knees tightly together. But only because she wanted to hear him beg. Or demand. Or anything, really.

“Uh-uh, little girl,” he said. “Spread those legs. And give me the knickers—they’re going on tour.”

Check out what's up for grabs.

Up For Grabs:

• 1 Print copy of Color Me Crazy

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• US shipping ONLY.
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Special thanks to Carol Pavliska for sponsoring this giveaway.

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