It's the release day launch for Libby Rice's Art Crossed Love!! Check out the amazing giveaway and the excerpt Libby is sharing with us!!! :)
Art-Crossed Love Synopsis:
Can love be more than a four-letter word? Lissa Blanc is a painter on a mission. She filters the world through a lens of color, line, and form and hides her ambition behind a delicate smirk that lets her critics believe life comes easy. To her, art isn’t what she sees. It’s what she feels. Few know that behind the glitz of a prodigious upbringing, she’s driven to emerge from the shadow of painful memories that insist she’ll never be a renowned talent in her own right. Cole Rathlen is a photographer on the mend. A crippling grief has stifled his once-rising career and compromised his creative instincts. Knowing he can’t stagnate forever, he seeks a twisted absolution in the form of a woman whose paintings give life to the emotions he won’t let himself imagine, let alone feel. When the two partner for a prestigious project that will pull them from the mountains of Colorado to the palaces of India, Lissa quickly realizes that more than diverging ideals hinder their search for success and salvation. Was Cole’s life upended by a tragic but unavoidable choice or something more sinister? While Lissa can’t delve into the mystery but not the man, Cole can’t resist a tenacious soul that refuses to leave him chained. As the truth closes in on a project finally sprouting wings, will Lissa sacrifice her chance at success to set Cole free? Or will Cole shrug the chains of lingering regrets to prove that those who love the most, love again.
Excerpt
Someone made a mistake
in teaching you life is easy. Cole’s words had hit like well-aimed arrows,
and not of the Cupid variety. At least Lissa knew which camp he fell into. The
naysayers tended toward one of two options—push Lissa
away or pull Lissa close. The pushers openly mocked her “illegitimate” success.
The pullers beguiled her in an effort to see how much of that “luck”—or
connections or money or opportunity—could rub off on them.
Cole was a clear pusher, and frankly, she liked those better.
At least they were honest.
A hank of hair chose that moment to abandon the clip that
couldn’t quite contain her pony tail. Ruler straight despite a healthy
dedication to volumizing shampoo, her hair liked to slip from its confines and
lay flat against her head in an antagonizing refusal to hold body. She imagined
her looks mattered about as much to Cole as couponing did to Donald Trump, but
hell, she had nothing to lose and everything to gain. After the disaster in the
driveway, she could at least try to make herself presentable.
Her trek to the spare bathroom two rooms down took her past
Cole’s bedroom door across the hall. His rumpled bed sat in silence. Nothing
personal hinted at the room’s inhabitant. A dresser and two night stands held a
clock and a box of tissues between them. No pictures or knickknacks, not even a
stray piece of clothing or a random shoe littered Cole’s studied order, dimmed
by heavy shades that blocked the rising sun from cheering the space.
Earthy scents of pine and sandalwood filled her nostrils.
Despite his obvious efforts to disappear within the emptiness, the room bore
his mark. The hard edges and sanded planks had absorbed his essence without
permission.
Even her limited view of the room told her much, and temptation
threatened. If she saw a little more… Not
a chance. Forcing herself to put one foot behind the other, she backed away
from his open door as quietly as she’d arrived.
The copper tub in her bathroom resembled a huge gravy boat.
The New Yorker in Lissa marveled at the concept. So often her life demanded
three-minute showers, never a leisurely soak in a tub that might have been
filled by Mammy herself.
A wicker basket held sumptuous washcloths and a bottle of
gardenia bubble bath. She tended toward tasty scents—from oranges to candy
canes. They spurred her appetite, a good thing for a skinny girl, and always
seemed approachable. Today she availed herself of the luxuries on tap. She sank
deep into the tub, telling herself one didn’t indulge in low-grade anxiety in
these circumstances. Old world tubs and Egyptian-cotton towels required a
certain amount of stress amnesia.
She sighed heavily. She and Cole would adapt.
Heat leached into her muscles, and she slumbered against a
neck pillow. Eventually the creeping chill of the water brought her around.
Stretching languidly, she climbed from the tub, wet and glistening, her hair
streaming rivulets of flower-scented water over her shoulders.
After toweling dry and tossing the cloth down a chute she
assumed terminated in a basement laundry room, she rummaged through the basket
in search of body lotion. Already, the dry Colorado air had her skin feeling
like the surface of Mars. When the search came up empty, she looked under the sink
and in the mirrored vanity.
Nothing, which was surprising given the well-stocked state
of Cole’s home.
He’d either gotten in touch with his feminine side after his
wife’s death or someone came by regularly to make sure the place stayed clean
and comfortable. From what she’d seen, an aunt probably showed up the day after
Uncle Kent delivered the meals to wash the linens and line the waste-paper
baskets with scented trash bags.
Opening the laundry chute, she peered into blackness. The last towel was long gone. With a quiet
twist, she opened the bathroom door and peered into the hallway. All was clear
and quiet, so she snuck a toe out onto the carpeted runner, then another. When
that proved successful, she flew out the door and lurched into her quietest
ball-of-the-foot giraffe run toward the body creams she’d unpacked in her room.
“This can only be penance for your last painting or bribery
for your next one.”
Cole’s rumbling voice took her so off guard she lurched to a
stop. There he stood, behind a panting St. Bernard in his doorway. Heat flared
in her cheeks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He cleared his throat. “Nice ass?”
Art-Crossed Love Purchase Links:
Love Me Later Purchase Links:
Libby Rice Bio:
Before becoming a writer, Libby was first a mechanical engineer in the data acquisition industry (voltmeter anyone?). Preferring writing to technical design, Libby headed to law school and eventually practiced patent law for several enterprising years (patent application covering a voltmeter anyone?). Finally realizing that technology just wasn’t her bag, she traded the voltmeters for alpha heroes and the women who love them.
Today, Libby writes contemporary romances from the foot of the Rocky Mountains, where she lives with her husband, a bona fide rocket scientist (he stuck with the voltmeters!). When not writing, Libby loves good food, even better wine, and traveling the world in search of the next great story.
Libby loves hearing from readers! Join the fun at www.libbyrice.com, where you can sign up for Libby’s new-release e-newsletter, or on Facebook, Twitter, and/or Instagram.
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Giveaway
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