Gangsters

SPECIAL DELIVERY (A Kiki and James missing scene from First, I Love You) #NSFW 18+!


Special Delivery is a Kiki Downey & James Hoffman missing love scene from First, I Love You. (18+ NSFW!)

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Special Delivery can also be found in A World of Romance Anthology:

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SPECIAL DELIVERY

By Genevieve Dewey

Kiki Downey changed the wording on the last sentence of her blog post for what she hoped was the last time then hit . She was pretty sure her copy editor was only making her submit yet another draft to him because she had turned him down for a date again. He never cared what she wrote in her blog before and this nit-picking was the only change in the routine. She doubted he had developed a sudden love for wedding coordinations.

She crooked her head. On the other hand, maybe he’d finally found The One. Even a beady-eyed, sweaty-palmed rodent like him could find love.

She sighed. No, if he had found someone he wouldn’t have tried to grope her the last time she went over to the Sun-Times building. She really didn’t want to have to talk to the Editor in Chief about him. She knew for a fact her boss was terrified of Daddy and she liked to think she had this job because she possessed a keen sense of fashion and not because she had a mobster for a father… and grandfather… and cousin… and Godfather…

The knock on her door jerked her from her meandering thoughts and she popped up to answer it.

“Who is it?” She asked as she undid the bolt.

“Special Delivery!”

Kiki brightened. It was only a week past her birthday. Maybe it was a late present. She opened the door to see Agent James Hoffman with a smirk on his face. He slouched against the door jamb with one hand in his pocket, the other holding a take-out bag.

“You always answer the door without looking first?” James asked. “What’s the point of asking who it is if you’re just going to open the door for every Tom, Dick, and Harry anyway?”

Kiki let out a nervous giggle. Her heart started racing and she could feel her cheeks flooding with red. A visit so soon after their hook-up on Sunday? She slowly smoothed the front of her velour track suit—to make sure it was showing all the most important parts, of course—and opened the door wider.

His smirk morphed into a frown and he stopped the super-sexy broody slouch thing to walk past her into her apartment.

“Seriously, Kiki, you shouldn’t open the door without looking first. And you should keep your latch on, too,” James continued as he set the takeout bag on her coffee table.

Kiki sighed. She had enough men in her life being overprotective worrywarts she didn’t need her new… Hookup? Co-conspirator? Whatever he was… nagging her. She grabbed her hair and twisted it into a loop in back as she walked over to the divan and flopped onto it. She enjoyed the way his eyes followed her every move.

“I’ll keep that in mind… um… what was your name again?” she asked, trying hard to keep the smile from her lips. She tamped down the shudder of pleasure at the predatory look in his eyes.

He chuckled. “Play nice, kitty cat, and I might share. I only have a half hour before I have to be at the Federal Building.”

“Share what?” She purred, running the zipper up and down slowly on her track suit. “And you know you’ll never make it in time. Besides, it’s rather presumptuous of you to think I’d want to play anything. I’m a busy girl.”

“You want me to go, Katherine?”

She shivered at the use of her given name. Of course she didn’t want him to go, and he knew it. But she did have somewhere to be this afternoon, too. She was going to meet up with Tommy’s mother Mary. Mary’s support would further James and Kiki’s mutual goal of convincing her brother Tommy to let Daddy back in his life. James insisted doing so would help his and Tommy’s current case, but Kiki was only going along with it because having Tommy back in the fold—Detective or not—was the one thing Daddy wanted most. This sex-on-the-side thing between her and James was supposedly a separate thing entirely. She’d never dated a DEA Agent before; it’d be a nice change of pace being with one of the so-called ‘good guys’… assuming he wasn’t just using her.

Kiki hopped back up to grab the takeout bag and swing it playfully.

“So, what’s on the menu, Agent Hoffman? Taco? Clam? Sausage? Hot dog and a donut?”

His whole body shook from laughter. He snatched at the bag but she sidestepped him and deliberately rubbed up against his back as she danced away.

“Now, I know you haven’t forgotten my first name,” James drawled, turning around and shoving his hands back in his tight jeans. “After all, it was on your lips so many times the other night.”

His dimpled grin and twinkling eyes had her breath catching. He was so damn sexy even out of his formal wear. And the black shirt and leather jacket he was wearing with jeans seemed to highlight the contrast of blue eyes and black hair. He started walking toward her and she started backing up.

“How come you aren’t wearing a suit and tie? Isn’t that standard Federal Agent gear?”

“In general, drug runners don’t care how we look when busting their door down. All that matters is the gun and the handcuffs.”

“That’s kinda hot, maybe you should show me how that works sometime.”

He laughed outright then he shrugged out of his jacket and shoulder harness, all without stopping his menacing approach. Oh, please let him be for real, and not just another manipulator, Kiki thought. James made a grab for the bag but she hid it behind her and kept backing up down the hall. He only deepened the grin and started taking his shirt off.

Kiki bit her lip to keep from panting. Holy cow, he was… wow… ten times as amazing in the daylight. His hands swiftly unzipped his jeans and he managed to simply walk out of them and his shoes. She was so mesmerized by him that the crunch of the takeout bag smacking the end of the hallway wall startled her. She barely had time to register the thunk of it hitting the ground before his hand hooked behind her and yanked her flush up against him.

She frantically started to tug at her track suit. Why was she still wearing the damn thing? It didn’t matter anyway. He made short work of it and then she was soaring through the air in to her bedroom. She would have sucked her breath in at the swooping sensation in her tummy except his tongue was in her mouth and who could think about breathing anyway?

Her hands sunk into his short black curls and she wrapped her now naked legs around his waist. She thought he would set her down on the bed but he turned at the last second and sat on the edge. His lips finally left hers to explore her neck.

Oh, how she loved his neck kisses. It was some strange combination of kissing, licking and nibbling that made her feel like ice cream melting in July. She wanted him to lick her all over and eat her up. Literally. The way his fingers gripped her ass and pressed her up against his cock, his hot breath and his efficient mouth… this man played her body like it had been special-ordered just for him.

His tongue licked along her collar bone and he rubbed her wetness against his cock some more. His shaft was hitting her clit just right and he seemed to know when she was ramping up towards an orgasm because he would painfully grip her hips and stop just as she got there. She began to whimper from the teasing and he chuckled again, damn him.

Well, two could play that game.

She stopped gripping his shoulders and started running her fingers up and down his back in a half scratching, half tickling manner. He shuddered as her finger teased his crack.

“Say my name,” he demanded.

“Oh, how terribly cliché of you, Agent Hoffman,” Kiki snickered and licked her lips. She watched his nostrils flare a bit and he bit his lip for a brief moment. Then he stood up and tossed her on the bed. She rolled over to crawl further up the bed but he trapped her face down and straddled her, hands pinning her wrists. She could feel his cock prodding at her ass.

“James!”

“Ahhh…see? Now, that wasn’t so hard,” he snickered then started nibbling at her back.

It didn’t hurt at all, just sort of made her tingle all over. She squirmed underneath him and he let out a groan. He lifted one hand up and yanked the drawer open on her nightstand to grab a condom. Her heart was beating so fast in her chest her ribs ached. She wasn’t ready for any backdoor action if that was what he was going for. On the other hand, he had done things to her the other night no one had ever dared before and she had enjoyed every single delicious second.

He let go of her other wrist and raised her hips. His cock entered her and she sucked in her breath. No, no backdoor action yet, but she felt suddenly dizzy from the strange sense of disappointment that brought. No one had ever made her wonder or want to know what that would be like before.

Suddenly his mouth was next to her ear and he whispered, “I haven’t been able get the other night out of my mind. I can’t stop thinking about you.” His husky voice seemed to immobilize her. He licked her earlobe. “About all the things I want to do to you…”

His fingers trailed lightly along her sides and she squealed from the tickling sensation. Her legs trembled and she felt gooey and helpless in an erotic sort of way.

He licked along her spine as his hips set a demanding pace. She grabbed the comforter underneath her and pushed back so he would have better penetration.

“Katherine…” he let out in a sort of whispery groan. It was simply amazing how he managed to make such a stodgy old name sound sexy.

“James… please… I need to touch you,” Kiki said.

It was the truth; she needed to feel his strong chest muscles and watch his eyes as he came. It was the only time his face had betrayed any vulnerability with her in the short time they’d known each other. And really the only time since she’d met him Saturday that she had felt even remotely in control.

He let out a quick breath and pulled out. He flipped her so fast her hair got caught but the pain of it left her as soon as he entered her again. She was denied the pleasure of watching his face, though, because his mouth was on hers in a bruising, ferocious kiss. She moved one hand to his head to yank on his hair, and the other to his ass to rest a finger between his cheeks. His mouth left hers and she could hear his breath hitch.

“God, stop, baby—I can’t—I won’t be able—” He struggled to get the words out. His pace doubled and his face cramped up in a panicky expression.

She knew he was about to come and was fighting it. The way he needed her was nothing short of intoxicating. She clamped her muscles around his cock and came apart watching his face battle for control.

He groaned with his own release and it vibrated against her body.

“Ahhh,” she sobbed as the force of it had her coming a second time. She gripped his hips and pressed him against her one last time to keep the waves of sensation coming.

His arms holding himself up were trembling slightly and he dropped his forehead to hers. He let out a shaky laugh then kissed her quickly and rolled off.

Kiki stretched lazily like a cat, enjoying the soporific after-glow.

James sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed his underwear.

“Shit,” he mumbled as he looked at his watch.

“What?”

“Gonna be late,” he muttered as he quickly started gathering his clothes.

She sighed. So much for any post-coital cuddling. She followed him into the living room, not bothering to get dressed. Let him see what he was leaving, so he’ll come back for more, her mind whispered. It sounded a bit like her mother’s voice and that was more than a little disturbing so she plastered a cheerful, carefree, don’t-worry-about-me mask on her face.

He was dressed and fastening his holster in record time. He checked his phone with a frown, face otherwise completely free of emotion. He looked up briefly as he turned the knob on her front door and a quick blink was the only reaction to her still being naked. He flashed that devastating grin.

“Call you tonight?” he asked and shut the door before she could answer.

Kiki blinked at the door in the sudden silence. The door opened again.

“Latch the door,” James said and slammed it shut.

She sighed and retrieved the take-out bag from the hallway. She looked inside it and saw her favorite Portillo’s sandwich.

Bring her something, followed by a quickie? Check.

Immediately after, consult watch and phone for work? Check.

Ambiguous promise of future hookups? Check.

Yeah, so far, dating a Federal Agent wasn’t too much different than dating one of her father’s ‘employees’.

The bright side?

The sex was amazing and unlike the men who worked for Daddy, she wouldn’t ever have to worry about sending him care-packages in the clink. And if James was using her, well, she could tell herself she was using him as well. Plus, she perked up, they had known each other less than a week and he had already sent her half a dozen texts, had sex with her at least that many times, called her once, and made her breakfast. Come to think of it… this might be her first ever real grownup-type relationship.

She smiled and grabbed her phone to call Mary.

It was time to get cracking on James and Kiki’s ‘mutually beneficial’ plan, and maybe she could get all of her wishes.

–Copyright 2013, Genevieve Dewey

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How would you like to read First, I Love You (Downey #1) for free?


My last question, do you want me to read from Third Time’s The Charm got very little response so I’m just going to table that idea for now. I know everyone’s been busy with the holidays and getting back into the swing of school, etc.

What did get a nice response was posting The V-Day Aversion here chapter-by-chapter. Tons of new Bird Day fans came out of the woodwork! THANK YOU so much! It warms my heart that Dom & Kate have brought a smile to so many people. I’m still writing on the novel, The Good Life, in which you’ll get Dom & Kate AND a romance for her brother Kyle (Tommy Gates’ detective partner).

Speaking of Tommy and the Downey-verse, I thought maybe I’d do a similar thing, post a chapter at a time of First, I Love You. While I’m not sure I’m comfortable posting the entirety of that novel on the blog, I would be happy to post a very significant sample of it, say at least half of it–that’s around 150 pages of the paperback book. I think this would give people a feel for the different style of writing I have in that book, which is written almost like a third-person memoir and each chapter is from the point of view of one of the six main characters. That’s tough for some to swallow as a concept, but a significant majority of those who’ve read First, I Love You have said they ended up enjoying it.

I really wanted the reader to get to know the thoughts and personality of these people in the first book before I hit the ground running with the story I had to tell. Second of All (Downey #2) and Third Time’s The Charm (Downey #3) have their own “feel” and “tone” but the chapters are not constrained to each person as in First, I Love You.  Second of All contains a lot of flashbacks, and is more introspective and romantic than First, I Love You. Third Time has a more suspense feel to it. First, I Love You was the first book I ever wrote and telling that story was both cathartic and emotionally wrenching. As many authors have found out, there is a difference between having a story to tell and actually writing it. I have learned a great deal since the day I sat down to write First, I Love You in January 2012.

ANYWAY, that’s enough blither-blather. Suffice it to say, I’ll start posting a chapter at a time of First, I Love You starting tomorrow January 5th, and see what kind of feedback/traffic I get. Who knows, maybe I’ll end up posting the whole thing for a limited time like V-Day Aversion. 🙂

As always, THANK YOU for your wonderful support!

Gen

#ThirdTimesTheCharm #asmsg #Oct: Get a glimpse into how Mary and Mickey began…


Less than two weeks left until Third Time’s The Charm!

Get a glimpse into how Mickey and Mary began with this flash-fiction:

 

HER PRINCE

by Genevieve Dewey

Mary set the shoes back in the light brown box and started to place the lid on, but at the last second, set the lid back on the bed. Again.

Just one more time won’t hurt. Then I’ll give them back, she thought. Her stomach twirled from equal parts guilt and pleasure.

She pulled one pump back out of the little bag in the box and traced the high arc on the red bottom, breathing in that fabulous new shoe scent. She closed her eyes and replayed the look on Michael’s face when he had given them to her like one of those old film strips stuck on loop.

He had such amazing eyes. She had never seen such a vibrant shade of green and they left little to the imagination of his thoughts.

He’d said he wanted their third date to be extra special and he was going to take her someplace fancy. Or, at least, that’s what she thought he had said since she was too distracted at the time by his hands under her sweater. His warm, strong, rough, yet strangely gentle hands. She had never been particularly intelligent—nor stupid, either—but she could swear on a stack of Bibles she lost at least twenty IQ points around this man.

But now that some of the haze had worn off, it did seem a little… unusual for a gift. He claimed the high heels were castoffs from a client’s wife, but they had clearly never been worn. The box, too, was impeccable, and they were exactly her size. The shoes were–hands down–the most sinfully extravagant thing she had ever worn, much less been gifted with. And that was why she had to give them back tonight.

But not just yet, her mind whispered and she opened her eyes with a long sigh.

Mary slipped the shoes on and stood awkwardly in them. She grinned like a fool at herself in the full length mirror. She could almost imagine herself on a stage in a fabulous gown singing encore after encore. And there Michael would be, smiling and cheering the loudest…

Her right ankle started to wobble and she quickly sat back down on the bed. She wore heels all the time but nothing quite this high or delicately made. She slowly slipped them off again.

Nope, she thought, put them away and quit daydreaming all this poppycock and nonsense.

The phone ringing in her tiny apartment startled her and she dropped the shoe she was holding in the box like a kid who stole a cookie.

“Ninny,” Mary said out loud with a self-deprecating laugh.

She threw herself across the bed and grabbed the phone, hoping against all odds and good sense that it was her mother. She had been gone six months, surely they missed her?

“Please tell me you’re not bailing on choir practice again,” Claire Underwood said without preamble.

Mary let her chin drop to the bed. It shouldn’t still matter, but they were her parents, and she was all alone, except for Claire, and maybe…

“Claire? If a man gives you a pair of shoes after the third date, that’s… ok, right?”

Claire was silent for so long Mary was beginning to wonder if her phone had been disconnected. She had paid the bill this month, hadn’t she?

“Did you put out already?” Claire finally asked.

Mary rolled over and scrunched her nose.

“Well…”

“Oh my God! Are you serious?! Mary, this is Brooklyn, not Podunk, Massachusetts! What if this guy had AIDS or something?”

Mary rolled her eyes at the hysteria in Claire’s voice. True, Claire was a solid five years older than Mary, and married, but she had never shown any signs of being a prude.

“Claire, we’re in the twentieth century, not the middle ages. And aren’t you from Nebraska or something? Talk about middle of nowhere…”

“Mary, I’m just saying, you don’t know anything about this guy!”

“Well, I didn’t mean to sleep with him. Our first date we talked all night, and then the second, we went ice skating, and then when he picked me up for the third, well… we never actually made it out the door. Oh, Claire, he’s just got these hypnotizing sort of eyes…”

“Good Lord, stop, cheese alert! And why is this the first I’m hearing of him? We’re supposed to be best friends and yet you had two dates, sex, and a pair of shoes without telling me? Are they designer? No, wait, hold on, buzz me in.”

Mary sat up.

“What, you’re here?”

But all she got in response was the click of the entryway phone being hung up.

Mary put the phone back on its cradle, ran across the apartment—which really was a matter of steps—and slapped the button. She opened the door and waited for a breathless Claire to make it up the steps. Stupid Super (as Mary thought of him) had promised to fix the elevator since the first day she moved in six months ago. Everyone from here to Queens knew to just take the stairs.

Claire skidded to a stop in the doorway, grabbing the stitch in her side. She raised a hand and waved it wildly.

“Shoes,” she gasped. “Bring me the shoes.”

Mary laughed at the dramatic action and tone. She had always thought that Claire had missed her calling in the theatre.

She brought the shoes to Claire and opened the box with a flourish.

“Oh my saints alive! Louboutins!”

“Is that good?”

Claire squinted her eyes and examined the shoes like a judge in court.

“Are you sure they’re real?”

“Well, how would I know?”

“Mary, these shoes, if they’re real, cost more than a month’s rent!”

“Well, I gathered that much! They reeked of expensive. So does he, actually,” Mary finished with a wide grin.

“What’s his name? Spill!”

“What about practice?”

“Didn’t want to go anyway,” Claire replied and flopped on the grungy tweed couch.

She clutched her purse on her lap and practically panted like a dog at the shoes.

“His name is Michael… something.”

“Something?”

“Well he told me, but I forgot. Doorly or something. He’s some sort of finance guy for a shipping firm or something.”

Or something? You have sex with a guy and he gives you shoes after the third date and you don’t even know his last name?”

“Well, I didn’t grill him over it or anything. I have his business card somewhere. Who cares what his last name is?”

“Right, because you’re too busy sticking your tongue down his throat. Give me the Fabio scale.”

Mary giggled. It amazed her she had only known Claire for a few months but felt closer to her than her own sisters.

“Mmmnn, he’s more classically handsome. Distinguished…”

“You mean old?”

“No! I mean, I think he said he would be turning thirty this year, so only—”

“A good solid ten years older than you,” Claire interrupted, eyebrows lost in her brown curly bangs. She looked both scandalized and titillated.

Mary sat criss-cross on the other end of the couch.

“I’m going to give them back. He’s supposed to be picking me up for another date tonight and he wanted me to wear them. I’ll just wear those black suede ones you lent me instead. He won’t tell me where we’re going, just that it’s fancy.”

Claire opened her mouth but there was a knock on the door.

Mary jumped up and opened it, ignoring the ‘For Pete’s sake, look who it is first’ from Claire.

She gaped in stunned confusion at Michael standing there in that gorgeous, fur-lined, winter coat of his.

“How did you get in the building?” Mary asked.

“Ah, well, this building is actually owned by my employer. He owns quite a number of these rentals.”

“Oh,” she said weakly, staring at his handsome features and the hint of mystery in his smirk.

“Ehem.

“Oh! Um, this is my friend Claire. Claire, Michael.”

He nodded curtly and brushed past Mary into the room. Then he turned and dismissed Claire.

“Sorry I’m so early, I just wanted to do this in person.”

Mary’s stomach dropped to her toes. He wasn’t going to dump her, was he? Right in front of her friend?

“I’m afraid I have to cancel tonight,” he continued gravely. “Something’s… come up. But I hope you’ll keep my gift and allow me to reschedule?”

She felt slightly mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze and the soft lilt in his voice. His words were so formal but there was a slight Brooklyn-Irish accent to it. She couldn’t quite figure out if he was covering the streets with a veneer, or was a rich man trying to seem less posh. She didn’t much care, truth be told. She just liked the way he made her feel.

“Sure, that’s fine,” Mary managed to say after a moment. “Um, I actually forgot I was supposed to go to choir practice tonight with Claire anyway.”

“Ah,” he said and pivoted back toward Claire.

Claire was almost rudely staring at him with her eyebrows scrunched.

“And, what church?” Michael asked.

“Our Lady of Angels,” Mary answered for Claire since she was still gaping at him like a statue.

Michael seemed to start a bit then frowned and looked down at his leather shoes.

“Have we met? You seem… familiar… sort of…” Claire trailed off weakly.

Michael shrugged and dismissed her once more with his body.

“I don’t think so,” he replied while looking at Mary.

It was Mary’s turn to be taken aback because his eyes were no longer soft and expressive like she had been gushing over in her memories. Their emerald depths were now icy-cold and aloof, as was the rest of him.

He reached out with a gloved hand and ran the back of one finger along the side of her face.

“I’ll call you after I finish my errand. Enjoy your practice,” Michael said then leaned down and gave her a brief, chaste kiss. It still somehow managed to make her lips tingle and her toes curl.

Then he was out the door in a matter of seconds.

“He seems… intriguing,” Claire said after he shut the door behind himself. “And wow! The way he looks at you. Like there’s no one else in the room, literally. I doubt he could pick me out of a line up. They’d all be described as curvy nineteen year olds with milky-white skin and wild, curly red hair.”

Mary giggled so hard she snorted. She leaned up against the door, trying not to feel disappointed.

“Guess you get to keep the shoes a little longer,” Claire continued with a cheeky grin. “Which means, I get to wear them!”

Mary laughed. “Do you think you might’ve met him before?”

Claire shrugged without looking up from the tennis shoes she was taking off.

“I’m always seeing people come and go at the store. Probably just saw him buy groceries once.”

“Probably,” Mary replied faintly.

She ignored the stirrings of worry and focused on his kiss. Intriguing, yes… and also, young, rich, and gentlemanly. How often did one find that combination?

Maybe her Prince Charming had finally come.

 

–Copyright 2013, Genevieve Dewey

 

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Don’t forget to enter the Goodreads Giveaway:

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Pull up a seat and I’ll tell you a story about a one-of-a-kind mobster… #ASMSG |


A few weeks back I read from Chapter Eight of First, I Love You–which is when James & Kiki first meet at her 21st birthday party in the Trump Tower, downtown Chicago. I know only a handful of you have had a chance to see it but those of you who have gave me the warm and gushies with your enthusiasm and praise. You know you only encourage me to do more when you do that, right? So, yeah, I did another for Second of All.

I didn’t open it to vote, I just picked a flashback because I didn’t want to spoil anything for those of you who haven’t finished First, I Love You AND because the Godfather II-esque flashbacks into Mickey Downey’s life are an integral part of Second of All. This reading is from Chapter Thirteen, “Ten Years Ago” and takes place in Omaha.

You can watch the video here, on my YouTube Channel or on my Goodreads Page

HER PRINCE (A Mary & Mickey Flashback)


HER PRINCE (A Mary & Mickey Flashback).

(A Flash-fiction featuring Mickey Downey, Mary Gates, and Claire Anderson Underwood from The Downey Series)

Author’s note: I wrote this flash fiction set in the late 80′s. Louboutin aficionados will know that a New Yorker couldn’t buy them before 1991.

Ah well, I hope you’ll ‘go with it’ anyway.

:)

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HER PRINCE

by Genevieve Dewey

Mary set the shoes back in the light brown box and started to place the lid on, but at the last second, set the lid back on the bed. Again.

Just one more time won’t hurt. Then I’ll give them back, she thought. Her stomach twirled from equal parts guilt and pleasure.

She pulled one pump back out of the little bag in the box and traced the high arc on the red bottom, breathing in that fabulous new shoe scent. She closed her eyes and replayed the look on Michael’s face when he had given them to her like one of those old film strips stuck on loop. He had such amazing eyes. She had never seen such a vibrant shade of green and they left little to the imagination of his thoughts. He’d said he wanted their third date to be extra special and he was going to take her someplace fancy. Or, at least, that’s what she thought he had said since she was too distracted at the time by his hands under her sweater. His warm, strong, rough, yet strangely gentle hands. She had never been particularly intelligent—nor stupid, either—but she could swear on a stack of Bibles she lost at least twenty IQ points around this man. But now that some of the haze had worn off, it did seem a little… unusual for a gift. He claimed the shoes were castoffs from a client’s wife but they had clearly never been worn, the box, too, was impeccable, and they were exactly her size. They were, hands down, the mostly sinfully extravagant thing she had ever worn, much less been gifted with. And that was, of course, why she had to give them back tonight.

But not just yet, her mind whispered and she opened her eyes with a long sigh.

Mary slipped the shoes on and stood awkwardly in them, grinning like a fool at herself in the full length mirror. She could almost imagine herself on a stage in a fabulous gown singing encore after encore. And there Michael would be, smiling and cheering the loudest… Her right ankle started to wobble and she quickly sat back down on the bed. She wore heels all the time but nothing quite this high or delicately made. She slowly slipped them off again.

Nope, she thought, put them away and quit daydreaming poppycock and nonsense.

The phone ringing in her tiny apartment startled her and she dropped the shoe she was holding in the box like a kid who stole a cookie.

“Ninny,” Mary said out loud with a self-deprecating laugh.

She threw herself across the bed and grabbed the phone, hoping against all odds and good sense that it was her mother. She had been gone six months, surely they missed her?

“Please tell me you’re not bailing on choir practice again,” Claire Underwood said without preamble.

Mary let her chin drop to the bed. It shouldn’t still matter, but they were her parents, and she was all alone, except for Claire, and maybe…

“Claire? If a man gives you a pair of shoes after the second date, that’s… ok, right?”

Claire was silent for so long Mary was beginning to wonder if her phone had been disconnected. She had paid the bill this month hadn’t she?

“Did you put out already?” Claire finally asked.

Mary rolled over and scrunched her nose.

“Well…”

“Oh my God! Are you serious?! Mary, this is New York City, not Podunk, Massachusetts! What if this guy had AIDS or something?”

Mary rolled her eyes at the hysteria in Claire’s voice. True, Claire was a solid five years older than Mary, and married, but she had never shown any signs of being a prude.

“Claire it’s the 80’s, not the middle ages. And aren’t you from Nebraska or something? Talk about middle of nowhere.”

“Mary, I’m just saying, you don’t know anything about this guy!”

“Well, I didn’t mean to sleep with him. Our first date we talked all night, and then the second date, it was just… the next thing you know… he’s just got these hypnotizing sort of eyes…”

“Oh, Lord, stop, cheese alert! And why is this the first I’m hearing of him? We’re supposed to be best friends and yet you had two dates, sex, and a pair of shoes without telling me? Are they designer? No, wait, hold on, buzz me in.”

Mary sat up.

“What, you’re here?”

But all she got in response was the click of the entryway phone being hung up.

Mary put the phone back on its cradle, ran across the apartment—which really was a matter of steps—and slapped the button. She opened the door and waited for a breathless Claire to make it up the steps. Stupid Super (as Mary thought of him) had promised to fix the elevator since the first day she moved in six months ago.

Claire stood there grabbing the stitch in her side and raised a hand, waving it wildly.

“Shoes,” she gasped. “Bring me the shoes.”

Mary laughed at the dramatic action and tone. Claire had missed her calling in the theatre. She brought the shoes to Claire and opened the box with a flourish.

“Oh my saints alive! Louboutins!”

“Is that good?”

Claire squinted her eyes and examined the shoes like a judge in court.

“Are you sure they’re real?”

“Well, how would I know?”

“Mary, these shoes, if they’re real, cost more than a month’s rent!”

“Well, I gathered that much! They reeked of expensive. So does he, actually,” Mary finished with a wide grin.

“What’s his name? Spill!”

“What about practice?”

“Didn’t want to go anyway,” Claire replied and flopped on the grungy tweed couch. She clutched her purse on her lap and practically panted like a dog at the shoes.

“His name is Michael… something.”

“Something?”

“Well he told me, but I forgot. Doorly or something. He’s some sort of finance guy for a shipping firm or something.”

Or something? You have sex with a guy and he gives you shoes on the second date and you don’t even know his last name?”

“Well, I didn’t grill him over it or anything. I have his business card somewhere. Who cares what his last name is?”

“Right, because you’re too busy sticking your tongue down his throat. Give me the Fabio scale.”

Mary giggled. It amazed her she had only known Claire for a few months but felt closer to her than her own sisters.

“Mmmnn, he’s more classically handsome. Distinguished…”

“You mean old?”

“No! I mean, I think he said he would be turning thirty this year so only—”

“A good solid ten years older than you,” Claire interrupted, eyebrows lost in her brown curly bangs. She looked both scandalized and titillated.

Mary sat criss-cross on the other end of the couch.

“I’m going to give them back. He’s supposed to be picking me up for another date tonight and he wanted me to wear them. I’ll just wear those black suede ones you lent me instead. He won’t tell me where we’re going, just that it’s fancy.”

Claire opened her mouth but there was a knock on the door. Mary jumped up and opened it, ignoring the ‘For Pete’s sake, look who it is first’. She gaped in stunned confusion at Michael standing there in that gorgeous fur-lined winter coat of his.

“How did you get in the building?”

“Ah, well, this building is actually owned by my employer. He owns quite a number of these rentals.”

“Oh,” she said weakly, staring at his handsome features and the hint of mystery in his smirk.

“Ehem.

“Oh! Um, this is my friend Claire. Claire, Michael.”

He nodded curtly and brushed past Mary into the room. He turned and dismissed Claire.

“Sorry I’m so early, I just wanted to do this in person.”

Mary’s stomach dropped to her toes. He wasn’t going to dump her, was he? Right in front of her friend?

“I’m afraid I have to cancel tonight,” he continued gravely. “Something’s… come up. But I hope you’ll keep my gift and allow me to reschedule?”

She felt slightly mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze and the soft lilt in his voice. His words were so formal but there was a slight Brooklyn-Irish accent to it. She couldn’t quite figure out if he was covering the streets with a veneer or was a rich man trying to seem less posh. She didn’t much care, truth be told. She just liked the way he made her feel.

“Sure, that’s fine,” Mary managed to say after a moment. “Um, I actually forgot I was supposed to go to choir practice tonight with Claire anyway.”

“Ah,” he said and pivoted back toward Claire. Claire was almost rudely staring at him with her eyebrows scrunched. “And, what church?”

“Our Lady of Angels,” Mary answered for Claire since she was still gaping at him like a statue.

Michael seemed to start a bit then frowned and looked down at his leather shoes.

“Have we met? You seem… familiar… sort of…” Claire trailed off weakly.

Michael shrugged and dismissed her once more with his body.

“I don’t think so,” he replied while looking at Mary. It was Mary’s turn to start a bit because his eyes were no longer soft and expressive like she had been gushing over in her memories. Their emerald depths were now icy cold and aloof, as was the rest of him. He reached out with a gloved hand and ran the back of one finger along the side of her face.

“I’ll call you after I finish this. Enjoy your practice,” Michael said then leaned down and gave her a brief, chaste kiss. It still somehow managed to make her lips tingle and her toes curl. Then he was out the door in a matter of seconds.

“He seems… intriguing,” Claire said after he shut the door behind himself. “And wow! The way he looks at you. Like there’s no one else in the room, literally. I doubt he could pick me out of a line up. They’d all be described as curvy nineteen year olds with milky white skin and wild, curly red hair.”

Mary giggled so hard she snorted. She leaned up against the door, trying not to feel disappointed.

“Guess you get to keep the shoes a little longer,” Claire continued with a cheeky grin. “Which means, I get to wear them!”

Mary laughed. “Do you think you might’ve met him before?”

Claire shrugged without looking up from the tennis shoes she was taking off.

“I’m always seeing people come and go at the store. Probably just saw him buy groceries once.”

“Probably,” Mary replied faintly. She ignored the stirrings of worry and focused on his kiss.

Intriguing, yes… and also, young, rich, and gentlemanly. How often did one find that combination?

Maybe her Prince Charming had finally come.

–Copyright 2013, Genevieve Dewey

It’s HERE! The new cover for Second of All (Downey #2)!! #ASMSG |


SoACoverVersion513

~~~~~~~

Isn’t it puuuurty?!

Yeah, I know, I said that about First, I Love You.

Remember, just like with First, I Love You, if you purchased it from Smashwords, Apple, or B&N you can get the new cover by simply downloading the book again to whatever device for free (delete the old one)!!!

(Supposedly, Amazon will do this for you as well if you ask them nicely. It’s kind of a pain, I know.)

Just like before, I got some postcards, magnets, and bookmarks to give away to my loyal fans:

SOAPostcardOutside

  SOAMagnet                    SOABookmark

In FACT, you could win a signed paperback with the above “swag” by entering the Rafflecopter drawing here or on Facebook!

🙂 Yay for giveaways!!! 🙂

Second of All is the second book in the Downey series, and you really need to read First, I Love You  first (no pun intended).

Back Blurb:

“…for there is nothing so perfect as a thing with no ending and no beginning such as a family of souls intertwined…”

This introspective sequel to First, I Love You takes you deeper into a tale of interwoven roles, divided loyalties, and personal conflicts.

Detective Tommy Gates and Agent Ginny Sommers struggle to balance their growing personal relationship with their task of finding his father. Back home, Kiki Downey and James Hoffman are facing their own internal and external pressures. After Mary Gates is led on a different trail by Mickey’s Irish kin, they are all given pieces of a puzzle that it will take the whole family to solve. Interlocked within the narrative are glimpses into how Mickey Downey became the man he is today.

Throughout their journeys, past and present, they all must struggle with what loyalties and loves come first, and what comes… second of all.

And an EXCLUSIVE excerpt:

Ginny stood a bit on her now bare tiptoes and rested her chin on his shoulder. Tommy turned his head to kiss her temple, his lips lingering and then moving whisper-soft towards her ear. She struggled to hold back the shudder of pleasure, selfishly enjoying the intimacy and romantic thrill of the moment.

“Thank you,” Tommy said softly.

“For what?” Ginny asked.

“For being my Ginny.”

She didn’t think about her resolution to not make any moves, she wasn’t thinking about anything but their complicated friendship and her own frustrated feelings as she pulled her hands free, moved to the side and then in front of him. She placed her hands on his upper arms and his hands moved to her hips. She looked him straight in the eyes and ignored the returning twinge of sympathy she felt at the obvious fatigue on his features and the thrill she felt from the look of sexual longing in his eyes.

“Tommy, you have to stop this. It’s killing me. You’re giving me mixed messages,” Ginny began, trying desperately to use her professional ‘put him in his place’ tone but it came out a bit plaintive for her tastes. He winced and closed his eyes.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Tommy said then opened his eyes again. “It’s just… you mean something to me, Gin, and I’m afraid if we take it to the next level – have sex – it will mess it up, our friendship. If it was anybody else, I’d take that chance, but you, you’re different than the rest. In just six months you’ve become… Hell, I can’t explain it.”

He let out a harsh breath and she expected him to remove his hands from her hips to run them through his hair but instead he only gripped them tighter. She floundered in confusion. Ginny wasn’t one to mince words, in fact she was often accused of using too many, but she had never been able to express herself properly around Tommy. She struggled with a thousand different tactics and persuasive arguments until her mind just seemed to jam from all the different permutations.

Kryptonite, indeed.

Author Bio:

Genevieve Dewey is the author of The Downey Trilogy (First, I Love You & Second of All) and the short stories Bird Day Battalion & V-Day Aversion. She is a wife, mother, sister, friend and Anthropologist. She was raised mostly in Nebraska, partly in Arizona. She has a Master’s in Anthropology and worked as an Applied Anthropologist for years (even ran her own research company for a while) before deciding to be a stay at home mom. She loves passionate (rational) debates, reading, and libraries… oh, and Chicago and high-heels and chocolate and target practice and gangster flicks and anything with the FBI in it and run-on sentences. She lives in Nebraska with her three brilliantly diabolical children and one incredibly funny husband.

You can find me online at:

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/GenevieveDewey

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/GenevieveDewey

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6441991.Genevieve_Dewey

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Genevieve-Dewey/e/B00936QL2S/

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/genevievedewey/

It’s HERE! The new cover for First, I Love You (Downey #1)!! #ASMSG |


FILYversion413

Cover designed by Jeff Larson

~~~~~~~

Isn’t it puuuurty?!

I might be biased.

It’s already up in Paperback and Kindle format at Amazon and digital format at Apple. You can also get the paperback from Barnes & Noble  and the Nook contents DO have the new cover, they just haven’t updated the picture on the “buy” page. I’ve contacted them and I’m sure they’ll fix it soon!

If you purchased it from Smashwords or Apple you can get the new cover by simply downloading the book again to whatever device for free (delete the old one)!!!

(Supposedly, Amazon will do this for you as well if you ask them nicely. I sent them an email asking for clarification on your behalf!)

And guess what else?!?! I got some postcards, magnets, and bookmarks to give away to my loyal fans:

FILYPostcardOutside                                          FILYMagnet                                        FILYBookmark

For those of you who haven’t read First, I Love You,  below this is a description of the book followed by two excerpts (the first, romantic in nature, and the second, family drama in nature).

You can read the first THREE chapters for free right here on the blog on the page “First, I Love You Excerpt“. (Those of you who have read it might be interested to know you can also read a young Tommy Gates extra scene and a James&Kiki missing moment under the tab “Short Stories and More“).

About the Book:

If Mario Puzo and Jane Austen crossed the time-space continuum and mated, FIRST, I LOVE YOU would be their literary baby.

Imagine being a detective with a mobster for a father, or a mobster with a straight arrow, good cop for a son. This is a relationship that is tricky on its best day. Add in some well-meaning meddling from a mob princess sister, an arrogant DEA agent, and gangsters running a human trafficking ring and you have a recipe for a book that refuses to follow the rules. Told from the perspective and point of view of each the six main characters this is the first novel in a trilogy about love, loyalty, revenge and redemption.

Omaha Detective Tommy Gates has kept his gangster father at arm’s length his whole life. Mickey Downey has spent the better part of the last two decades trying to find ways to get back the son he lost through Witness Protection. Now Tommy has taken an opportunity to work on a Federal Human Trafficking Joint Task Force in Chicago where his father lives. Tommy’s sister Kiki and his mother Mary see this as an opportunity to build a relationship between the two. Tommy’s new DEA partner James Hoffman sees it as an opportunity to gain leverage over Mickey Downey. Tommy’s other partner, FBI Agent Ginny Sommers wants to keep Tommy’s family as far from the case as possible. When Kiki and James join forces, sparks fly and it sets fire to a maelstrom of unexpected consequences for everyone involved.

One part Godfather, two parts Emma and a dash of Casablanca mixed together, FIRST, I LOVE YOU isn’t a detective novel, a gangster novel, a mystery, a romance or a family saga. It’s a little of all of the above.

FIRST, I LOVE YOU is available in print and digital format at all major eBook retailers.

Excerpt One:

“You don’t have much respect for me do you?” Kiki asked.

“On the contrary, if I ever need to know which shoes to wear to match my tie, you’d be the first person I call. If I had your number,” James said, trying to temper the sarcasm with a charming smile.

“I’m sure you already have it, along with all the other boring background check facts you recited earlier,” she rejoined, still making no move to retreat.

James admired her nerve. Maybe this princess had a bit of her father’s steel in her after all.

“That would defeat the purpose of you giving it to me,” he said.

“What purpose would that be? And you still haven’t answered my question,” she retorted.

“How about you answer one of mine first?” James asked then chuckled as she raised an eyebrow in a pretty good impression of her father. “Why would you invite your father’s old mistress to your party when she is not related to you, was no doubt the source of great pain and embarrassment for your own mother, and her presence, you had to know, would be unwelcome with at least a few of your guests?”

“I already explained my reasons to my brother. And his opinion is the only one I care about; certainly not a rude, presumptuous, party crashing boar like yourself. You don’t know a damn thing about me,” she answered, dark eyes glittering with anger.

“What I know is there’s a lot of big important grown up things going on and the last thing Tommy needs is his spoiled little sister playing games with his family, and distracting him from this case,” he said with perhaps a bit more heat than he meant but the smell of her hair and the glittering of her lip-gloss with the hall lights was distracting him and he was trying to keep his mind on the task at hand.

“How dare you? You’re the outsider here! It’s you who should butt the hell out of my family’s private issues! And you’ve the nerve to say we can be of use to each other? Why the fuck should I help you with anything?” Kiki ground out.

“Tisk, tisk, such language, little girl,” James said with a smirk. By God, she was beautiful, he couldn’t help but think. “How about we go back to your place and discuss this like rational adults,” he finished in a playful yet suggestive tone.

She let out a huff, clearly nonplussed by his forwardness. Then something flashed in her eyes, a sort of calculating, cynical and predatory look that had him feeling momentarily nonplussed himself.

“Alright. Let me say good bye to my guests. You obviously already know where I live. I’ll meet you there in a half hour,” Kiki said, cool and collected once more.

It was more like an hour when she arrived at her door, but who was counting? They said nothing to each other as she let him inside. James looked around her one bedroom apartment and thought it was nothing like he’d expected. He’d expected lots of pink or maybe something trendy with splashy colors. It was all cool metals, finished wood, and retro 50’s style furniture. Frank Lloyd Wright stills peppered the room and books lined the entirety of one wall. Her windows were left uncovered and the city lights cast interesting reflections in the room. She threw her shawl and little clutch purse on the butterfly chair by the bookshelves. Then she walked up to him and grabbed his holster. He stopped her hand.

“What are you doing?” James asked, his discomfort at having underestimated her twice in one evening making him irrationally angry.

“You should make yourself more comfortable,” Kiki said seductively.

“I thought we came here to talk?” he prevaricated, as he took his jacket, gun and badge off.

He could tell she was playing some sort of game and it spiked his irritation up a notch. His mood was all over the place, actually. There was frustration at the blocked opportunities by his partners and Downey to further the case tonight, mixed with his desire for her, the self-disgust that that brought, the irritation with her childish interference, the discomfort of knowing she was right that it wasn’t his business what went on between her and her family.

But now she had decided to take his sexual sparring and call his bluff. Except he wasn’t bluffing. Did she think he would be scared off from her family this way? Maybe that would work with her usual limp wristed boy toys or the gumbahs who were probably too afraid of her Daddy to actually make a move, but not with him.

James hooked an arm behind her back and yanked her towards him. She gasped and put her free hand on his chest, but she didn’t push him away. She kept looking at him, eyes still full of challenge and no fear. It was like something snapped in his brain and all he wanted was to wipe that look from her eyes, to make her realize lives weren’t to be played with, manipulated. To give her a taste of her own medicine.

He gripped the back of her neck with his other hand and crushed his mouth to hers. She met his kisses with equal fervor, pressing up against him. He let go of her waist and neck and began a rough exploration of her body, not bothering to be gentle. She sunk her hands into his hair and gripped painfully. Whether to give as good as she got or from passion he didn’t know. All he knew was his body was on fire for her and all he could think about was sinking into her.

 

Excerpt Two:

“Went to supper with Mom and Kiki last night,” Tommy said.

Mickey nodded. He knew that, of course. He had someone who kept an eye on Mary at all times. He knew where she went and what she did and who she met. And he knew she knew that he knew these things. It was almost like she was taunting him these last few weeks with her activities. He wasn’t sure what she was playing at but he could practically hear the words ‘Game On’ in his head.

“They both figure that we… that is, you and I…” Tommy started to say, frustration and irritation clearly evident in his voice.

“Ah, I see. Plan A didn’t work so we’re on to Plan B? Kiki rooked Joe into some convoluted plot and now she’s guilting your mother into doing her dirty work as well?” Mickey interjected.

He sighed. This girl of his. He didn’t know if he wanted to shake her for her interference or hug her close for always, always, having his back. Tommy was half glaring at him, lips pursed. Then he, too, let out a sigh and shrugged, running his hand through his hair.

“Truth is, my mom had already mentioned something to me a couple times before last night about spending more time with you while I’m here. I think I’ve been soundly outvoted here,” Tommy said, still sounding agitated.

“And you hate that, don’t you?” Mickey asked with a smile.

This boy was so much like him sometimes it was uncanny. But he knew instinctively that would be the last thing he should say to him right now. He walked over to the wet bar in the study and fixed an Old Fashioned. It was 5:00 somewhere. He got a cooled bottle of water out for Tommy from the mini-fridge and handed it to him. Tommy was watching his movements with a wariness and body language that spoke of fatigue.

“I’ve made no secret of my desire to have you be a part of my life. Everything’s been said, what feels like a thousand times over by now. But the last thing I want is you standing in my home against your will. Out of some sense of obligation to the people you do actually care about. It pleases me to see you, but it pleases me to see you happy most of all. What would make you happy?” Mickey asked softly.

Tommy looked down at his bottle in his hand and back up at Mickey through the fringes of his hair then looked away again. He didn’t answer, but he took a drink from his water and walked to the Chippendale desk in the corner of the room. Tommy fiddled with Mickey’s Al Capone bobble head someone had given him as a joke when he first moved to Chicago. It was difficult, but Mickey bit his tongue and waited, giving Tommy the space he needed to answer.

“If I didn’t care it would be easier, wouldn’t it?” Tommy finally answered, not looking at Mickey.

Mickey remained silent, such was his shock at hearing his son say he cared about him. Or is that what he said? Maybe by ‘cared’ he simply meant ‘cared to never have anything to do with you ever’. His confusion kept him mute. Tommy finally turned and looked at him.

“It’s not like we’re strangers. Like we just met or something. We have… loved ones in common. A shared history; a few fond memories, though long ago. We’ve spent a couple holidays and family events together. But it’s not as if we’re close either. We don’t really know each other except for facts on a sheet and a superficial understanding of likes and dislikes. And, yes, that has been intentional on my part. I’ve told you why. I haven’t been able let go of my anger at you for what you put my mother through, and I can’t help but think,” Tommy stopped and ran a hand through his hair again. “What’s the point of getting to know you better? I’m still a cop and you’re still a man who has zero respect for what I do for a living. But I’ve never claimed to be indifferent. Of course I care. I care that my own father loves me, but I also care that he obviously doesn’t respect me—”

“Now hold up just one second, son! I do respect you. I am very proud of you and of the man you’ve become—”

“I care that you make me feel important and valued but treat others—”

“It’s true I don’t have any faith in law enforcement—”

“—with such breathtaking callousness and cruelty.”

“—or the justice system but I admire your dedication to it. I admire—”

“I care that you lavish us with obviously heartfelt gifts with money stolen—

“—that you are a good person and a good example to your—”

“—from ‘dedicated’ and ‘good’ people who fear you—”

“Enough!” Mickey shouted.

The bourbon in his glass spilled all over his trembling hand and dripped to the worn wooden floor below. His stomach churned with tension and residual panic, and far from calming his nerves, the alcohol seemed to be ramping up the suffocating sensation of powerlessness that had threatened at the edges since Frank’s call. For years he had called all the shots. For years he had commanded respect from everyone around him. But with the one man whose respect he was so desperate to earn he was completely ineffectual. Everything was hanging in the balance on every front, and he couldn’t guarantee that a few loyal men and few billion dollars would be enough to protect his children and the woman he loved and he had given all that power up for this man – this man! – who refused to even see him as anything but the sum of his worst actions.

Author Bio:

Genevieve Dewey is the author of The Downey Trilogy (First, I Love You & Second of All) and the short stories Bird Day Battalion & V-Day Aversion. She is a wife, mother, sister, friend and Anthropologist. She was raised mostly in Nebraska, partly in Arizona. She has a Master’s in Anthropology and worked as an Applied Anthropologist for years (even ran her own research company for a while) before deciding to be a stay at home mom. She loves passionate (rational) debates, reading, and libraries… oh, and Chicago and high-heels and chocolate and target practice and gangster flicks and anything with the FBI in it and run-on sentences. She lives in Nebraska with her three brilliantly diabolical children and one incredibly funny husband.

You can find me online at:

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/GenevieveDewey

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/GenevieveDewey

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6441991.Genevieve_Dewey

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Genevieve-Dewey/e/B00936QL2S/

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/genevievedewey/


Reblogging this review by @bookbloggergem.

Genevieve Dewey

So you remember when I was kvetching about Cross-blogination? Here’s another one. Gemma’s blog is on Blogger mine is of course on WordPress, so I am sharing the link to her review of my book manually.

If you have a Google+ account give her some sugars!

http://bookbloggergem.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/first-i-love-you-by-genevieve-dewey.html

My favorite part of the review is this: “The book doesn’t quite follow the rules of any specific genre – while the main theme is organised crime intertwined is a story of hatred, love and regret, which pleased me greatly. Some may say that you cannot have a story about warring Mafia families, crime and murder with stories of love thrown in, but I think in this instance it really worked.”

Aw, Hell, who am I kidding? I loved the whole thing! I’m so happy right now I could kiss the next seven people who walked up to me!

❤ ❤ ❤

View original post

Gemma’s Review of First, I Love You.


So you remember when I was kvetching about Cross-blogination? Here’s another one. Gemma’s blog is on Blogger mine is of course on WordPress, so I am sharing the link to her review of my book manually.

If you have a Google+ account give her some sugars!

http://bookbloggergem.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/first-i-love-you-by-genevieve-dewey.html

My favorite part of the review is this: “The book doesn’t quite follow the rules of any specific genre – while the main theme is organised crime intertwined is a story of hatred, love and regret, which pleased me greatly. Some may say that you cannot have a story about warring Mafia families, crime and murder with stories of love thrown in, but I think in this instance it really worked.”

Aw, Hell, who am I kidding? I loved the whole thing! I’m so happy right now I could kiss the next seven people who walked up to me!

❤ ❤ ❤

I *HEART* the HEA


No seriously, I am very, extremely, completely, (insert adverb here), fond of the Happily Ever After. Just love it! Won’t even read or watch a movie that won’t guarantee me a HEA. Well … except for Gangster flicks. Every rule has to have an exception.

This may lead you to wonder… if Gen loves the Happily Ever After, but also loves writing about gangsters, how on earth can she reconcile the two? Well, given the theme of the Downey Trilogy is about a very moral cop who loves his gangster father, I think you should probably brace yourself for my even greater love of figuring out how two opposing ideas can live in harmony.

The truth is, it’s not about the HEA, it’s that I love a JUSTIFIED ending. And the HEA is justified in most plot lines when it’s been earned, just as the nonHEA is justified in certain endings, which in a way, if you think about it makes it a HEA ending for certain characters. If you give a HEA out when there was never any conflict to begin with isn’t it a bit anti-climactic? Likewise, making an unhappy ending for some characters while giving others one and not really explaining why just shows you have a love for the random and not necessarily a well deserved ending. See what I’m saying? No?

I know, I know … What the Hell is Gen rambling about now?

(I lobtser HATE Godfather III, but simply adore to the point of having it nearly memorized Godfather I & II, if that gives you a clue.)

Anyway, I love it when characters go through Hell. I think every author owes it to their audience to make their characters — whether these are dark characters or Mary Sue perfect characters — suffer a bit, actually quite a bit, before giving them their HEA. And similarly, I feel if you are going to write an UNhappy ending give me a damn good reason why that guy had to die alone next to a stray dog and not the OTHER ‘bad’ guy who died surrounded by his beloved tomatoes and grandchild. Bittersweet endings have their place, like the first in a series or an actual recounting of history, but not after you’ve already made the character suffer in other ways. I’m. Just. Sayin.

Similarly, I’ve always really hated Romeo and Juliet. No, it’s true. It’s not really because of the unhappy ending, it’s because of the inherent stupidity of the two main protagonists. I mean come ON! I’ve been fourteen. All passionately in luuuuurve. But faking your death, then not taking two seconds to doubt the veracity of what you’re seeing and offing yourself for real? I was never that dim-witted when I was fourteen. That’s taking hyperbole and a flair for dramatics to the extreme. No?

See, even as a teenager when first reading it I remember thinking, if I had written Romeo & Juliet it would go something like this:

Romeo gets his priest (who I think everyone realizes was on the take the whole time, right?) to secure passage out of town. Juliet sews a bunch of family jewels into their clothes to pay for the journey. If they have to do the whole over-the-top faking death thing they can stage an explosion/accident (ala Count of Monte Cristo) and they both fake out not only their families but the priest himself (no witnesses!) then they go hide out in a town in Sicily and create their own Mafia family and then decades later they come back to Verona and literally take over the town, round up their surviving ‘loved’ ones, all fuck you bitches, bet you wish you’d just let us get married now huh? See, then all the unreasonable warmongering ones got their just deserts and the ones who just wanted to get the hibbity on got to be together, but only after they worked hard for it. Not to mention your two main characters are no longer written as simpering morons but badass take charge entrepreneurs.

But … that’s probably just me.

I’m weird like that.

Romeo: Corleone’s that way, baby. I got a crib there and everything.
Juliet: Oh, Romeo, I lurve it when you strap your gangster on…