The Thin Black Line by Simon Gervais--A Review

Publication Date: April 07, 2015 

Number of Pages: 400 

Purchase Links: Amazon - Barnes and Noble - 




SYNOPSIS:

Mike Walton had experienced terrorism from every angle. As a covert field operations officer, he thought he`d seen it all. But that was before terrorism struck him directly at home. Suffering devastating physical injury and unthinkable personal loss, Mike had one of two choices: give up or fight back. And giving up wasn`t in his makeup.

Mike and his wife Lisa - a medical doctor and fellow counter-terrorism expert - are recruited by the International Market Stabilization Institute, a privately funded organization operating outside official channels to protect North America`s financial interests. The strikes that destroyed Mike and Lisa`s household - the work of Sheik Al-Assad - are bringing the Western economy to its knees. And they are only the beginning. If the Sheik succeeds, the world will change forever, and the next attack is just around the corner. Mike and Lisa must lead a hastily assembled team to Europe to stop the madness before time runs out.

Rippling with tension, raging with action, and replete with the kinds of details only a true counter-terrorism insider can provide, The Thin Black Line is a nonstop thriller of the first order. It announces an unforgettable new team of characters and a distinctive new voice to the thriller world. 

MEET THE AUTHOR:

SIMON GERVAIS was born in Montral, Qubec. He joined the Canadian military as an infantry officer and was commissioned as a second lieutenant in 1997. Assigned to the Infantry School in Gagetown, New Brunswick, he received extensive training in advanced reconnaissance and small-unit tactics.

In 2001, he became a federal agent. His first posting was in Toronto, where he served as a drug investigator. During this time, he worked on many international drug-related cases in close collaboration with his American colleagues from the DEA. However, in 2004, his career switched gears and he was placed with a federal anti-terrorism unit based in the Ottawa Region. During the following years, he was deployed in numerous European and Middle Eastern countries.

In 2009, he became a close-protection specialist tasked with guarding foreign heads of state visiting Canada. Among many others, he served on the protection details of Queen Elizabeth II, US President Barack Obama and Chinese President, Hu Jianto.

In 2012, Simon was transferred to his organizations counter-surveillance unit. During the next two years, he participated in a number of intelligence gathering operations. In May 2014, he returned to his former unit to serve as a bodyguard for the American ambassador to Canada until his retirement in September 2014.

Simon is now a full-time writer and a member of the International Thriller Writers. He has volunteered as the Security Director of ThrillerFest since 2013. His debut novel THE THIN BLACK LINE will be published by Lou Aronica at The Story Plant on April 7th, 2015. He is represented by literary agent Eric Myers of The Spieler Agency.

Simon, his wife and their two children divide their time between Ottawa and South Florida, which they consider their second home. 

http://simongervaisbooks.com 

EXCERPT:

Mike was a few meters behind the four suspected terrorists when he heard the familiar sound of an automatic weapon firing in the distance. He whipped his head toward the noise and decided it was coming from the direction of the tarmac. The Ottawa police officers who had just arrived on scene looked at each other in disbelief. 

Then time seemed to shudder to a stop. 

As if the clatter of gunfire was the cue they`d been waiting for, the four suspected terrorists pulled out AMD-65 submachine guns they had concealed under their heavy clothing and opened fire on the startled police officers. Several of them tried to reach for their guns but were cut down before their hands touched their holsters. Rounds upon rounds were lodged in the officers` chest cavities, for their bulletproof vests weren`t designed to stop the 7.62mm rounds. 

As Mike was reaching for his 9mm Smith and Wesson pistol, he heard a muffled explosion coming from the airplane. Shit. Dropping to one knee to make him as small a target as possible, Mike tried to aim his pistol at the nearest shooter. But with all the scared and panicked passengers running to and fro struggling to find cover, he could not get a clear shot. 

Cursing, Mike looked around, trying to find something he could use as cover. He spotted a concrete pylon five meters to his left and went for it.

What the fuck? This isn`t Afghanistan! Mike thought, clenching his teeth.

***

Asad Wafid had the pleasure of seeing the five police officers he fired at go down as he emptied thirty rounds into them. He expertly released the magazine and replaced it with a fresh one. He was proud of Hassan and Fadl. They had initiated contact the moment they thought they were compromised. Well done! 

Focusing his attention on the unarmed Canada customs officers who were trying to hide behind the Air Canada ticket counter, he grabbed an M67 grenade from the left pocket of his overcoat and took out the pin. He calmly counted to three, then lobbed the grenade behind the ticket counter. It exploded two seconds later. Wafid was rewarded with strangled screams. When several wounded officers crawled out from behind the counter, another grenade thrown by one of his brothers in faith finished them off. 

Wafid felt a sense of accomplishment. No more screams came from behind the desk. 

***

Zima Bernbaum`s heart had jumped when she`d heard the crackling of gunfire. She quickly deduced that terrorists were fighting over control of the aircraft with Paul Robichaud. Before she could provide backup for Robichaud, the four men Mike had been following had suddenly opened fire on the crowd.

After reaching for her pistol inside her purse, she slipped off her high-heel shoes and took cover behind the metal recycling bin on her left. It wouldn`t stop a bullet, but it did provide concealment behind which she could assess the situation. She looked for Mike, but he had disappeared the moment the bullets had started flying. She pointed her firearm toward one of the terrorists, but a terrified young father and his tall son darted in front of her, pushed away from an attacker`s line of fire by a courageous army captain, effectively blocking her shot. Just as a spray of bullets cut down the military officer, Zima felt a tremendous punch to her stomach. 

***

After safely reaching the concrete pylon, Mike scanned the area around him. Some people were still madly dashing for safety, but most were smart enough to have found some kind of cover. Just then a fusillade of bullets chiseled the concrete just inches from his face, forcing him to remain immobile. 

Damn! That was close. 

After the firing in his direction had subsided, Mike counted to five. Then, taking a deep breath, he poked his head out from behind the pylon just long enough to see one of the gunmen throw a grenade behind the Air Canada counter. 

Another couple of rounds hit the pylon, forcing Mike to take cover and spattering pieces of concrete into his face and shoulders. The grenade exploded loudly, followed shortly after by a second blast.

Damn it! cursed Mike. Where the fuck is the backup? Where`s Zima? He had lost visual contact with her. With Robichaud having his hands full on the airplane and all the police officers down, Mike knew he was the only one who could stop this bloodbath. He was outnumbered and outgunned, but still, he had to do something or the body count would keep rising. Perspiration was quickly forming on his forehead, and his pulse was hammering off the charts. 

I can`t believe this is actually happening. Shit! Shit! Shit! 


A little voice inside his head reminded him that next time, he should maybe be a little more careful about what he wished for...

Mike looked around him. 

Chaos.

Think, Mike! he commanded himself as he concentrated on controlling his breathing. His first target should be the gunman who kept firing at his position. Kneeling down so he wouldn`t appear to be in the same position he had been when he`d taken that quick look moments ago, Mike adjusted his stance. Making sure to remain under the cover of the pylon as much as possible, he extended his arm, took quick aim at the terrorist, who was busy reloading his weapon, and fired two rounds within half a second. He hit his target squarely in his center mass.

Goddammit! From his covered position, he saw that even though the gunman staggered a few steps backward, he didn`t go down. They`re wearing body armor! 

Aiming higher, Mike fired two more rounds. This time his target went down with two bullet holes in the forehead.

Mike inched his neck out farther from behind the cement pier and saw the first passengers come pouring out of the aircraft and into the waiting area. With so many people rushing behind them, they couldn`t turn back once they entered Gate 17 and realized what carnage was awaiting them there. 

Mike caught sight of one of the three remaining gunmen pointing his AMD-65 in the general direction of the oncoming passengers. Mike raised his weapon and emptied two rounds into the terrorist`s armor-clad chest. He adjusted his aim and pulled the trigger again. His third bullet entered the base of his target`s skull and exited through his mouth. A gush of blood sprayed the wall to the right of the Jetway.

FROM MY MIND'S EYE:

I rated this a five wink read.    Yes, I lost a fair amount of sleep over The Thin Black Line as I couldn't put it down.   With the very first words, I was hooked and locked in for a hair raising ride with this book.

Everything I imagine our scary world to be was emmulated in this story of terrorism and heroism.   Characters were well developed and fleshed out.   The plot  flowed smoothly to a satisfying conclusion.   I desperately want to read more about Mike and Lisa Walton's journey into saving our world.

This is a very fast paced, breath holding and hair raising thriller.    Words really don't convey the realism and believability of this work of art, rather Simon Gervais.   I found it to be intriguing and can't wait for more from this exciting new author!

Disclaimer:  I read for my pleasure.   I may receive ARC copies for review purposes, but I am not compensated for my reviews .  I like to read and I like to share my reviews.   I post my thoughts without prejudice or bias.  The words are mine and I write reviews based on my humble opinion.  I will admit, I seldom meet a book I don't like.  I received a copy of this book from the author or their representative in exchange for an honest review.

A Ghostly Grave by Tonya Kappes--A Review

SYNOPSIS:

There's a ghost on the loose—and a fox in the henhouse

Four years ago, the Eternal Slumber Funeral Home put Chicken Teater in the ground. Now undertaker Emma Lee Raines is digging him back up. The whole scene is bad for business, especially with her granny running for mayor and a big festival setting up in town. But ever since Emma Lee started seeing ghosts, Chicken's been pestering her to figure out who killed him.

With her handsome boyfriend, Sheriff Jack Henry Ross, busy getting new forensics on the old corpse, Emma Lee has time to look into her first suspect. Chicken's widow may be a former Miss Kentucky, but the love of his life was another beauty queen: Lady Cluckington, his prize-winning hen. Was Mrs. Teater the jealous type? Chicken seems to think so. Something's definitely rotten in Sleepy Hollow—and Emma Lee just prays it's not her luck.


FROM MY MIND'S EYE:

I have found Tanya Kappes's writing to be light hearted and enjoyable reading as I explored A Ghostly Grave and Sleepy Hollow once again.   Although it was a paranormal read, it is not the normal seriously scary paranormal read.   Kappes throws together a mix of humor, mystery, tongue in cheek paranormal with a small southern town twist and a mildly insecure heroine and a touch of romance with the frustrated small town sheriff-boyfriend.   A recipe baked to perfection for those seeking some easy and light hearted  reading.

Kappes's characters are portrayed in true southern charm and seem realistic in their small town gossipy mannerisms.  The story flows fluently and quickly.

I rated this a four Wink read.

Disclaimer:  I read for my pleasure.   I may receive ARC copies for review purposes, but I am not compensated for my reviews .  I like to read and I like to share my reviews.   I post my thoughts without prejudice or bias.  The words are mine and I write reviews based on my humble opinion.  I will admit, I seldom meet a book I don't like.  I received a copy of this book from the author or their representative in exchange for an honest review.

March Reading Recap

Storyplant provided a lot of reading this month!   And I felt  really blessed.  I enjoyed it all.

Harper Collins provided a fun paranormal story.

And Stacy Green provided two Cage Foster Novellas for my
                          readng pleasure.

Last but not least was a western romance by Sylvia McDaniel.

All in all March moved too quickly for me to keep up with my reading goals, but it was nonetheless an enjoyable month of reading!

Throw Like a Woman by Susan Petrone--A Review

Publication Date: March 24, 2015 

Number of Pages: 336 

Purchase Links: Amazon - Barnes and Noble - 


SYNOPSIS:


Forty years old, divorced, with two sons on the verge of adolescence and an ex-husband who considers visitation to be optional, Brenda Haversham isn`t having a whole lot of fun. She`s also no longer qualified for the work she loves, so she`s working in a cubicle instead while trying to make ends meet. 

Brenda is short on money, short on connection with her kids, and short on any kind of social life. The only thing Brenda has in abundance is her anger. And that turns out to be her greatest asset.

When she was a kid, Brenda`s father taught her how to throw a good fastball. That wasn`t of much use to a girl, but it is enough to astound onlookers at a "test your speed" pitching cage before a Cleveland Indians game. The more Brenda pictures her ex-husband`s face on the other end, the harder she throws. And when someone tapes her performance and puts it up online, Brenda becomes an Internet sensation - and then more than that.

Soon, the Indians come calling and Brenda finds her life taking a turn in a new direction. She finds herself standing on the mound as the first woman player in Major League history - and dealing with everything that comes with it. The money is great and the endorsement deals are even better. The fury of "traditionalists," not so much. And the conflicting emotions of her teammates are even harder to manage.

Meanwhile, Brenda`s home life is evolving faster than she can keep up, redefining her role as a mother, a friend, and even a lover. 

As the season winds down Brenda will find out if she has what it takes to be a winner - at both baseball and life.

A funny, poignant, and endearing debut from a writer of rare warmth and humanity, THROW LIKE A WOMAN is a 95-mile-an-hour heater of a novel. 

MEET THE AUTHOR:

Susan Petrone grew up in Cleveland, Ohio, and although she`s moved away a couple of times (Annapolis, MD, and Alkmaar, The Netherlands), she lives there still. Her short fiction has been published by Glimmer Train, Featherproof Books, Muse, Conclave, and Whiskey Island. Her first novel, A Body at Rest, was published in 2009 by Drinian Press. Her second novel, Throw Like a Woman, is due out in March 2015 from The Story Plant. Her short story, "Monster Jones Wants to Creep You Out" (Conclave, 2010) was nominated for a 2011 Pushcart Prize. Her plays have had performances and/or readings at the Cleveland Playhouse, The Lamb`s Club (New York, New York), St. Johns College (Annapolis, Maryland), and several smaller non-Equity houses in Cleveland, Ohio. She co-authors the Cleveland Indians blog (ItsPronouncedLajaway.com) for ESPN.com`s SweetSpot network. On the non-fiction side, Susan`s work has appeared on CoolCleveland.com and ESPN.com. She holds a master`s degree in English with a concentration in Creative Writing from Cleveland State University and lives with one husband, one daughter, and far too many dogs in a little house near some medium-sized woods. 

http://susanpetrone.com 

EXCERPT:

The third week of the regular season, Andy`s Little League team got discount tickets to see the Indians play the Tigers. Brenda went as a parent chaperone, and Jon went because he was the younger brother and would raise holy hell if he couldn`t come along. Even with the discount, tickets for all three of them plus factoring in a hot dog and a drink each put a serious dent in the entertainment budget. Brenda had made a "no souvenirs" rule for the outing, but when the boys saw the Test Your Speed pitching cage, they begged to be allowed to try. It didn`t help matters that every other boy on Andy`s team tried it, as did all five chaperoning parents, and two other accompanying siblings. She hated caving in to peer pressure, but she didn`t want Andy and Jon to be the only ones not to have a try. She took some of the money she had budgeted for snacks (she didn`t really need a hot dog or a drink) so Andy and Jon could each take a turn. Andy was pleased with his top speed of 48 mph. Jon`s best try was 33 mph, which disappointed him. Carl, Andy`s coach, kept trying to tell him that 33 mph was great for a kid his age, but it didn`t help. Brenda saw the familiar pink blush spreading up Jon`s face. Jon`s tantrums hadn`t eased up, and Brenda walked the fine line between trying to be understanding and not wanting to spoil him.

"Let me try again," Jon whined. "I know I can throw harder than that." 

Brenda put an arm on Jon`s shoulder and walked him a little bit away from the rest of the group. "If I give you the money for another turn, then I can`t buy you a hot dog." 

"Why not? I want a hot dog!" Jon said loudly, the tears in his eyes threatening to start falling any second. Brenda felt herself blushing as red as Andy`s face. "Why can`t I do both?"

"Sweetie, I`m sorry." She lowered her voice. "You had one turn already and you did great, but I don`t have enough money with me."

Carl wandered over and put a hand on Jon`s tiny shoulder. "Come on, sport. I`ll spot you another try." He looked up at Brenda with a smile. "You don`t mind, do you?"

"You don`t have to do that," she said. 

"I want to," Carl replied as he walked with Jon back over to the pitching cage.

"Thank you," Brenda said. "I`ll pay you back," she called after him, but Carl just gave a little wave that said, "No need to." Carl coached his son`s Little League team and was always patient with the kids, even the benchwarmers. He was one of those men who seemed kind enough and decent enough that you couldn`t believe some other woman had gotten rid of him. Brenda wondered if Carl`s ex -wife ever called him a jerk under her breath or wished he`d be stricken with a bad case of crabs. 

Jon was all smiles as he took the first of the three baseballs offered to him by the man running the pitching cage. He threw another 33 mph and then a 35 mph pitch. Jon was reaching for his third and last ball when he stopped and turned to Brenda.

"Mom, you haven`t had a chance to pitch yet," he said. 

Brenda tried not to get misty at her son`s gesture. "That`s very sweet of you to think of me, Jon, but it`s okay," she said. 

He turned and handed the ball to her. "It`s your turn, Mom." Brenda heard a little "awww" from the other chaperoning parents as Jon moved aside. She was touched by his generosity and figured she`d just throw the ball and get the boys to their seats. 

Ball in hand, Brenda approached the faux pitcher`s mound in the middle of the stadium concourse. A quick glance showed her that every kid on the team, as well as the adults and tagalong siblings (did she really just now notice that they were all male?), was watching her. A few people on the concourse had even stopped to watch, as if a 40-year-old woman with saddlebag hips couldn`t pick up a baseball without embarrassing herself. She stopped for a moment and focused on the image of a catcher painted on the electronic backstop. 

The guy running the pitching cage said, "Anytime you`re ready, sweetheart." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him flash a condescending smile. "I`m not your sweetheart," she muttered. Without thinking, she threw.

She heard the familiar thwump and a small murmur of approval from the men standing around her. She looked up at the digital clock that displayed the pitch speed. It read 72 mph. The guy running the game looked more than surprised.

"Not bad," he said. 

"That was more than not bad," Carl said. "That was great. Here." He shoved a few dollars at the guy and handed Brenda three more baseballs. "Would you do that again? Please?"

This time, Brenda didn`t protest. She took one of the baseballs and faced the painted catcher again. She didn`t look around, but could hear some of the guys talking about her last pitch. She could swear a few more people had stopped to watch. Fine. Let them watch. 

Brenda`s next three throws were 79, 77, and 82 mph. That one surprised even her. All the people standing around congratulated her. Some mumbled that the radar must be broken, that there was no way a woman could throw that hard. She saw a couple of flashes of light, like someone taking a picture. The game was about to start, and the boys started running to their seats. As she and the other parents tried to get all the kids situated without losing anyone, Carl mentioned that he played baseball in the local Roy Hobbs league and maybe Brenda might be interested in playing. 

"It`s the veterans league--38 and over, so you have a few guys who think they`re hot stuff and a couple of them still are--but mainly it`s just guys who love to play baseball. You`d be great."

"I don`t know. I haven`t played hardball since I was a kid. And I can`t hit."

"Don`t worry about it, we use a DH. Josh! Ben! Get away from the beer stand!"

Their conversation was permanently interrupted by the process of getting all the boys into their seats without losing anyone. Brenda ended up in the row in front of Carl, with Jon on her right and a stranger on her left. Andy was next to Jon, talking only to the boys on his right or behind him and trying to pretend that he wasn`t with his mom and little brother. 

Once the boys had gotten their hot dogs and drinks, they settled down and were quiet for the first couple of innings, giving Brenda a little time to think. She considered the fact that she had thrown a baseball an improbable 82 miles an hour. She might have cellulite, a sagging rear end, and a stretch-marked stomach, but she had an arm. It was a satisfying thought.

"What are you smiling about, Mom?" Jon asked in between innings.

"Nothing much," she said with a little smile. "Just happy to be here with you and Andy."

"Mr. Fleishman asked you to play baseball with him, didn`t he?"

Brenda hadn`t realized that Jon had overheard their conversation. "Yes, he did. What do you think? Should I join a baseball team too?"

"Yeah, you should. You`ll need a new mitt," Jon said sagely. "Your old softball mitt stinks. But I think it`s a good idea. Then everybody in the family will be on a team. Andy`s on the Bears. I`m on the Twins. Dad`s on the Beeraholics. And you`ll be on a team."

Brenda actually snorted. "Dad`s on the what? The Beeraholics?"

"Yeah. It`s his softball team. Is a beeraholic somebody who likes beer a lot?"

"Yes."

"Like how sometimes you say you`re a chocoholic because you like chocolate?"

"Yes."

"The Beeraholics play on Monday nights, so we haven`t seen any of their games, but Dad and Darlene told us about it."

Andy had evidently heard at least part of the conversation, because he turned to Jon and punched him in the arm.

"Ow! Mom, Andy hit me," Jon wailed.

"I can`t believe you told mom about Darlene," Andy snapped in what was obviously meant to be a whisper but was loud enough to be heard three rows away.

Jon started slapping at Andy, who waved him off with a laugh that only infuriated Jon more. As embarrassed as she had been in recent memory, Brenda managed to cease the escalation of hostilities by moving Jon to her other side. 

Jon was silent until just after the seventh-inning stretch, when he looked up at her and said, "I`m sorry I told you about Dad`s girlfriend." He looked like he was about to cry, as though even uttering the name "Darlene" had been treason of the highest order.

Brenda put her arm around him. "It`s okay, sweetie. I didn`t know her name, but I figured Dad might have a girlfriend. He`s allowed to. We`re not married anymore--you know that. He`s allowed to date."

"But you don`t have a boyfriend," Jon whispered in a voice so plaintive that Brenda had to lean in very close to hear him over the noise of the ballpark.

"I live with the two greatest guys on earth," she whispered back. "I don`t need anybody else."

FROM MY MIND"S EYE:

I love sports stories, baseball, romance and a well resolved story with problems.   I got it all with Susan Petrone's novel, Throw Like a Woman.

This was women's fiction at it's finest.  It was easy to relate and empathize with a hard working single mom -- her anger over a cheating husband, an ended marriage, and trying to re-establish a family of three from four.   Anger was Brenda Haversham's defining word.

This story was told in a realistic fashion....how upset would the world of baseball and men only sports be if women were allowed "in"?   This brought all kinds of issues front and center.  Some of Brenda's reactions were humorous and some situations were downright terrifying....not only for Brenda, but also for her kids.

There was definitely a ring of truth though with the reality of the heart of a woman.   Brenda's heart was determined to be successful, support her family, hide her wounded pride and any weaknesses from her coaches and teammates, and yet show compassion to her teammates.  Eventually she would even calm herself enough to listen to her ex and resolve the anger within.    Would she still be able to pitch without it?

Find out for yourself in this fast paced enjoyable story about the first woman to join the major leagues and how she survives it.

I rated this a 4 Wink Read!

Disclaimer:  I read for my pleasure.   I may receive ARC copies for review purposes, but I am not compensated for my reviews .  I like to read and I like to share my reviews.   I post my thoughts without prejudice or bias.  The words are mine and I write reviews based on my humble opinion.  I will admit, I seldom meet a book I don't like.  I received a copy of this book from the author or their representative in exchange for an honest review.

31 Days: A Memoir of Seduction by Marcia Gloster--A Review

Thirty-one days of my life would never be interesting for someone to read about, although I have never felt life was dull.   It's just once I live through a day, I am often disappointed with my reaction and responses to that day.

Well, this book, 31 Days A Memoir of Seduction was anything but boring.

SYNOPSIS:

Marcia Gloster was a college student traveling through Europe in the summer of 1963. When she arrived in Salzburg, Austria to study at Oskar Kokoschka’s School of Vision, she envisioned a month of intensive painting, never expecting to find herself swept into a passionate affair. Nor did she imagine her lover to be a married instructor with a long history of indiscretions. Even at a young age, Marcia knew how to protect her heart. But it had never been taken by a man as overwhelming and sensual as Bill Thomson.

31 Days is the story of Marcia and Bill in Salzburg. 31 days that would redefine love, sex, passion, and permanence for a woman of twenty; and a month that would resonate in her life forever.

Deeply sensual, intensely vivid, and achingly beautiful 31 Days is a memoir that lives in all of us.

MEET THE AUTHOR:

Born in Los Angeles, Marcia Gloster has lived the majority of her life in New York City. She began drawing as a young child, believing even then that it would lead her to a career in art. 

While in college, she spent a summer studying painting at Oskar Kokoschka’s School of Vision in Salzburg, Austria. After graduating from Rhode Island School of Design, she had hoped to continue painting while also working as an assistant art director in publishing. When that proved impossible, she put aside her brushes for many years while building her career as an award-winning art director and book designer. After working in London for two years, she returned to New York, becoming a founding partner of Peartree Advertising, a boutique advertising agency specializing in fashion.

Today, she works for selected clients consulting on marketing and graphic design. Most important, she has returned to her first love, painting. She is a member of the National Association of Women Artists in New York City and Studio Montclair in New Jersey and has exhibited her paintings in New York City, New Jersey and Pennsylvania. 31 Days: a Memoir of Seduction is her first book. 

She lives in New York with her husband, James Ammeen. 

http://www.marciagloster.com 


EXCERPT:


It was close to eleven when Bill finally entered the studio. Without so much as a glance at me, he stopped to talk to several of the students, mostly girls, about their paintings. 

Ignoring the tension I was beginning to feel, I tried to focus on my painting. I was over him, wasnt I?

Suddenly he was behind me. We have unfinished business, he said in a soft voice. Surprised, I turned to him. We do? I whispered.

Meet me outside on the parapet in five minutes.

But its not time for the break yet. 

He nodded. Five minutes. It wasnt a question.

I watched him cross the studio to talk with Barbara. As he looked back at me, I again felt the spark. What now? I asked myself. Did I really think he wouldnt come back to me after last night? Is this considered seduction? Hes not exactly asking me out for dinner and a movie, and I dont think a quiet lunch is quite what he has in mind. Unless Im lunch. I think we should get know each other first. But thats not going to happen, is it?

Finishing his conversation, he glanced quickly at me and left the studio.

Kate saw his glance and looked at me questioningly. Taking off the shirt I used as a smock, I whispered, Im leaving. At least I think I am. Ill see you later.

Incredulous, she whispered back, I thought we talked about this. After last night, youre going somewhere with him? What do you think you are doing?

I honestly dont know, but whatever it is, I have to do it. 

I dont think you should go anywhere near him. 

Youre right, I know it. But theres something that draws me to him. 

Kate shook her head. Youre making a big mistake, she said a bit louder. Several students nearby glanced at us.

I nodded, but turned and walked quickly to the girls bathroom. I ran a comb through my hair and put on some lipstick. Looking in the mirror, I asked myself again, What am I doing?

Ignoring my question, I went downstairs to the parapet. It was turning into another hot day and the sun refracted off the whitewashed walls of the fortress. Below, the roofs of the Old City glowed in the late morning light. Bill was standing, his back to the view, staring at me with a small smile as I walked toward him. He looked well, not hung over and confident as usual. There was no hint of last nights fiasco. 

Come with me, he said in a soft voice. Once again, it wasnt quite a question.

I paused, unsure of what to do.

Yes? he asked, taking my hand. 

I was sure this was a mistake especially after last night. But if I went with him, I could never allow myself to regret it, no matter what happened. Somehow I recalled a line from Oscar Wilde, The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.

All right, I whispered. 

He turned, looking down the mountain. I dont want to take the cable car. Well walk down the path. We shouldnt be seen.

Were going to walk down this mountain? I thought, looking nervously over the wall at a steep, rocky drop. On what, a goat path?



I followed him to a narrow but traceable path that snaked down the mountain. Never considering Id be going for a hike, I was wearing sandals, and it was difficult navigating around the plants and rocks. Turning, I saw the fortress looming above us. I was certain this wasnt the first time he had taken this path but put the thought out of my mind.

Finally reaching the bottom, he took my hand, helping me over some loose stones. We had come out on a narrow cobblestone street not far from the cable station. Still holding my hand, he led me quickly through the back streets of the Altstadt, crossing the river at the Mozartsteg. Once on Steingasse I wasnt sure which building was his; it had been very late last night. Saying little to each other, we climbed the stairs to his flat and entered the darkened sitting room. Following him to the dimly lit hallway, I saw the door to Kraks room on the left and just ahead the small kitchen, where I now knew the vodka was stored. A white tiled bathroom with ancient fixtures was to the right and Bills bedroom just beyond. 

The night before, I had noticed very little. In the daylight I saw that the bed took up most of the stark, white-painted room, leaving a narrow space of only about three feet all around it. A small lamp sat on a walnut night table to the left of the bed and matched a distressed looking headboard that appeared to be attached to the wall. Opposite, a narrow window looked over the tiled roof of the building next door. In the corner, there was a white spindle-back chair with one of his shirts and a knitted tie draped neatly over it. The dark wood floors were scuffed and bare except for a small woven rug between the bed and the door. But on the far side of the bed, the casements of the window with the spectacular view were wide open, letting in a fresh breeze and flooding the room with bright summer light. Except for the soft, white comforter and a small, framed drawing of a reclining nude above the bed, the room had a simple, almost monastic sparsenessa sharp contrast to the man who occupied it. 




He started to pull down the shades. Do you have to do that? I asked tentatively. Its so beautiful here and were well above the street. 

He looked out the window, then back at me. You know, youre right, he said, as though he had never thought of it before. You wont mind the light?

I wont mind the light? Have I lost my mind? What the hell am I doing here? No, I whispered. 

He went to a phonograph sitting on the floor in the corner and put on a record, The Songs of the Auvergne, I found out later. The music was mesmerizing; the very air seemed to shimmer with the exquisite peasant songs sung in a clear soprano voice. I began to relax a little, at the same time well aware that I wasnt the first girl to experience the magic of those songs. But my natural curiosity had taken over and though I still thought this might turn out to be a mistake, there was something about him that held me there. I looked at him, realizing we had hardly said a word to each other.

Marcia, he said. Come here. I want you to kiss me.

Surprised, I moved close to him and kissed him lightly on the lips. He shook his head and backing away from me, he took off his coat and laid it carefully on the chair. Speaking softly, he said, That wasnt a kiss. I will teach you how to kiss.

I wasnt sure I understood what he was saying. I was twenty and I had kissed a fair number of guys without anyone ever complaining. Taking my face in his hands, he said, Puff out your lips, like a pout. I want to feel the softness of your lips, the inside of your bottom lip. Make them soft, open them, relax them.

Putting my hands on his shoulders, I kissed him. He told me to try again, and again and again, each time telling me in a gentle voice what I was doing, right or wrong. I wondered if my eyes should be open or closed, but after a minute or so it didnt matter any more. Our kisses were becoming more intense and the room seemed to be becoming warmer. Finally satisfied after a deep kiss that left me trembling, he stepped back and took off his shirt, putting it carefully on the chair along with his jacket. Turning back to me, he said seriously, Its too hot for clothes, and began to undress me. 

I was wearing the red dress I had bought on Saturday with Kate. His eyes never left mine as he unbuttoned it and slowly slid it off. He unhooked my bra, and I stepped out of my panties, blushing as an unfamiliar desire began to blossom inside, permeating my entire being with heat. 

Kissing me softly, he slowly started to caress me. Now I want you to watch me, he said.

Breathless, I sat down on the bed, fidgeting nervously and attempting to cover myself with the comforter, while at the same time looking anywhere but at him. Taking my hand, he told me in a soft but firm voice to look at him. I did, reluctantly. His body was lean but surprisingly strong and unlike the night before, he was very ready for me. I put my hand to his chest, feeling coarse hair and thinking, this is more than the difference between men and boys.



Bill became my tutor that day. Taking his time, he taught me how to touch him, when to be firm or gentle, when to move and when to stop, guiding me to enhance his every desire. At the same time, his hands were everywhere, slowly caressing and asking me to tell him how I felt. He was creating sensations I could never have imagined. 

He was slow, very slow, and every caress felt like feathers touched with fire. He began by kissing my eyes and then my lips, moving to my breasts and down my stomach. He parted my legs and started kissing me between them. I felt his fingers, gently teasing. The soft sounds I heard were coming from me. As my desire became almost unbearable, he slowly arched over me, whispering, You are on fire. 

I had no words to describe what he did to me that day. Tears were running down my face as I moved with him. Cautious about allowing myself an orgasm, there was no denying the intensity of the moment and it was a powerful, pure sensation. He was totally in control and I was way beyond thinking. This was far from the same man I had been with the night before.



While we were making love, the Songs continued to play, burning into my memory. At some point later, he got up to change the record.

No, Bill, I said, please, dont change it. Its so beautiful, please play it again. 

Nodding, he put it on again. 

Resting, we lay together and talked quietly, his hands moving over me in soft, slow caresses. 

Can I ask you a question? I whispered.

He nodded, but seemed suddenly tense.

I asked him to tell me about London; where he lived and more importantly, about his painting. 

He appeared to relax and looking at me, he said, I have a flat in Chelsea and thats also where I have my studio. I dont have any photographs here of my work but if I had to describe it, I would say my paintings tend toward impressionism but with a more contemporary edge. If you want to know what I like the most, it would be drawing and painting nudes. 

I asked if he painted every day. 

Almost every day. I also teach drawing at St. Martins. After all, one needs to make a living, although I do sell quite a lot.

He said he loved teaching and felt gratified by it. When he had been asked to become an instructor at Kokoschkas school, he had welcomed the chance. He felt it gave him a change from London and he always returned home with renewed energy. 

Ive never had a real, everyday job, he said. I started selling when I was still studying art. I have to be free, alone really, to work on my paintings. 

He said his friends were mostly artists and actors but he didnt mind spending time with potential buyers and collectors. After all, they do buy my work and I feel they deserve some of my time.

I was facing him, my head resting on his right shoulder. I could feel his hands beginning to caress me again. He asked me about myself and I told him about my painting. I hardly recognized my own voice, which had become strangely low and raspy. I said I was tending toward impressionism as well, although I was just beginning to develop a real direction in my paintings. I added that for the past year I had been working closely with one of my instructors who understood what I was trying to do.

He looked at me with a silent question. 

No, Im not sleeping with him. Im not that kind of girl. 

He laughed.

I was starting to explain more, but he leaned over to kiss me. I felt tremors running through my body. Turn over, he said softly. There was no rushing, just teasing, soft caresses, and gentle hands pulling me to my knees. I felt him move behind me and then the intensity and heat of his body on mine. 

I had never experienced such pleasure. It was as though all the shimmering warmth and beauty of the day had coalesced into an incandescent moment beyond time, creating a sensual transcendence that defied reason and denied all thought. 

Exhausted, we finally slept. 

I woke as he got up and went into the bathroom. Its after four, he said. I have to get back before the end of the day. Do you want to come back to the studio?

I sat up, dropping the comforter in front of me. I told him Id rather go back to the flat. I knew how to get there and since I hadnt gotten much sleep last night, I was tired. He smiled, ignoring my comment.

As I started to get out of bed, I saw him staring at me. He came over, moving me back on the bed and began making love to me again. This time it was quick and we laughed about it.Put some clothes on, luv. Do it quickly or well never get out of here. 


FROM MY MIND'S EYE:

Anyone who follows my blog or my book reviews on Amazon or Goodreads is in for the most inconsistent exploration of literature they will ever find, possibly.   Don't follow me if all you want to read are reviews in just young adult or romance or horror or mystery suspense.    I'll throw a review in of any genre at any moment.   I even shock myself with my eclectic reading.

31 Days:  A Memoir of Seduction, is just that....non fiction, a memoir.   It could be categorized as autobiography and it could be classified as romance.   Is there a genre for heartbreaking?

From the moment I began to read, I found it difficult to separate myself from this book.   I could not let the story lapse for any length of time.  I give credit to Gloster for her writing ability.    Her story was captivating, flowed smoothly and drew this reader in for the long journey.   She was able make the reader connect with her characters and not just the main characters...all of them.  She told her story beautifully and responsibly and made the journey from naive young woman to a thoughtful and wise woman.

Gloster was able to stir the emotions and as much as I empathized with her youthful character, my tears fell for the temporariness of it all.  But that is what life is, only temporary.   We alone can make the most of this life we are given and Gloster did her best to succeed in life and love, learning from her mistakes and continuing forward.  

If you can empathize with youth, and recognize that we don't always get the happily ever after, and yet there is always hope and opportunities to be taken advantage of, then you will suffer with the characters and eventually triumph as well, you will love this book.   I rated it a 5 wink read.

Disclaimer:  I read for my pleasure.   I may receive ARC copies for review purposes, but I am not compensated for my reviews .  I like to read and I like to share my reviews.   I post my thoughts without prejudice or bias.  The words are mine and I write reviews based on my humble opinion.  I will admit, I seldom meet a book I don't like.  I received a copy of this book from the author or their representative in exchange for an honest review.