Author Guest Post
"I Write, I Quilt"
I guess you could call me two-dimensional.
You see, I have this swivel system in my office. Basically, I swivel from my computer to my sewing machine. When I get stuck on a scene in my manuscript (unfortunately, this happens more often than I’d like), I simply scoot my chair around, and I sew a few seams. Then, if I end up tearing out a few seams in frustration, I switch back to the computer to pound out a few hundred words.
And if all else fails, I take the Chihuahua for a walk or collapse on the bed in the guest room, which is next to my office. And yes, I made the quilt on the bed.
I almost forgot that I’m here today to encourage you to participate in my blog tour. I’m really no good at self-promotion, and I have to admit that I write for the sheer pleasure of it, so I’ve long abandoned any notion of monetary gain. That said, I think you’d find that my new book, His Fantasy Maid, will take you to a place where you can forget your troubles and believe in the transforming power of love.
Here’s the blurb…
Dr. Amy Maitland is a first-year resident physician, but she leads a double life. To meet the expenses of medical school, she’s also a fantasy maid. Attired in a bikini or French maid outfit, she provides light housekeeping services. While this may be an odd job for a doctor, it pays well and includes the flexible hours she requires. When she’s hired as the preamble to a lawyer’s bachelor party, she finds herself deeply attracted to the compelling Jake Sinclair, Esq. He's gorgeous and smart, with a self-deprecating sense of humor. But fraternizing is against the rules of the cleaning service. Besides, this guy is engaged, so there’s no future there for her. She pushes him from her thoughts until he winds up in the emergency room with cracked ribs, the victim of a car crash, and she’s the doctor on call.
About The Author
AUTHOR WEBSITE
AUTHOR BLOG
GOODREADS
CRIMSON ROMANCE - PUBLISHER
His Fantasy Maid by Susan Blexrud ~ Virtual Book Tour Page: Chick Lit Plus Blog Tours
Book Review
His Fantasy Maid by Susan Blexrud
Publisher: Crimson Romance
Publication Date: May 20, 2013
Format: eBook - 94 pages / Kindle - 240 KB / Nook - 484 KB
ISBN: 1440563527
ASIN: B00CJJVIAG
Genre: Contemporary Romance
BUY THE BOOK: His Fantasy Maid
Disclaimer: I received a copy of the book from the author / publisher in exchange for my honest review and participation in a virtual book tour event hosted by Chick Lit Plus Blog Tours.
Book Description:
Book Excerpt:
If I believed the adage, “you are what you do,” my self-concept would be in the toilet, so to speak. I clean houses in a bikini or French maid get-up, client’s choice, which contributes little to making the world a better place. As a result, my adage is, “you are what you become,” because I’m becoming a doctor.
But today, I’m Amy Maitland, fantasy maid.
My best friend and fellow medical resident, Ellen, knows about my undercover life working for Fantasy Maids, but she’s the only one. If word got out at the College of Medicine, I’d be the laughingstock of the University of Central Florida. My five brothers know I work as a housemaid, which they respect as good, honest labor, but they don’t know the fantasy aspect. Protective (and controlling) men that they are, they’d lock me up.
That being said, it’s not the worst job in the world. I’ve been a fantasy maid for almost two years, and so far, none of my clients has tried to assault me. But it’s always a possibility, considering Florida’s propensity for perverts. The company (i.e. Rex, the owner, and a part-time secretary) arms us with pepper spray and an emergency hotline number (Rex’s cell phone), and they screen the customers to make sure no one’s a registered sex offender. They also arrange our appointments, and Rex is good about following up…within four or five days…to make sure we survived the gig.
Still, being alone with a strange guy in his apartment is enough to get anyone’s adrenalin pumping, and I never go into a new situation without first sending up a prayer. I always let Ellen know where I’m going, and I carry a rosary, even though I’m not Catholic.
Today, I’m heading to a condominium in stylish Winter Park, just north of Orlando. The address alone is comforting. It’s just off Park Avenue in a nice neighborhood, and it’s next door to a church. But, I remind myself, Ted Bundy lived in a nice neighborhood. Let’s face it; serial killers can look like the boy next door.
My old white Honda sputters into the church parking lot adjacent to the condominium complex without any signs of cardiac arrest (this I take as a good omen). A Rambling Waters sign on the wrought iron gate looks welcoming.
I turn off the ignition, and my ancient car heaves a sigh. Grabbing my backpack with my stash of costumes, I hop out of my car and punch in the security code at the entrance gate. It creaks open like the sound at the beginning of Michael Jackson’s Thriller, which my brother Matt plays ad nauseum around Halloween.
As I enter the property, I notice a network of ponds meandering around the buildings. I’m sure the landscape architect intended them to be beautiful, but all I see is a maintenance nightmare—all that algae to eradicate. I shake my head. I’ve been cleaning too long.
I nod to an elderly couple walking their white miniature poodle. The dog is decked out in a purple vest and ear bows and looks slightly embarrassed. Good to know I’m not the only one who wears ridiculous outfits.
“Can we help you find something, dear?” The woman inquires. Could it be because I’m standing here with the address in one hand and a blank stare on my face?
We’re supposed to look inconspicuous, so I’m dressed in my usual jeans and t-shirt. Would she call me dear if she saw me in uniform?
My appointment is for six p.m., and I’m already a few minutes late. I count seven buildings on the property, with no visible numbers. Gratefully, I say, “Thank you. I’m looking for unit Five B.”
The woman elbows her companion. “Oh, that’s where that nice young lawyer lives. What’s his name, Harold?”
Harold shrugs, and the woman pulls her poodle away from the geranium it’s been nibbling on. She cups one hand around her mouth and points to Harold with the other. “He’s not very observant.” She rolls her eyes. “Building Five is just to the right of the pool, which is straight ahead.”
“Thanks.” I head in the direction she indicates. My sandals crunch as pavement gives way to gravel. I look down to find strategically-placed stepping stones in the shape of turtles. Strategically placed for Big Foot, that is. The stones are way too far apart for my five-foot-three leg span, and I essentially hurtle from turtle to turtle, using my backpack for ballast. I’m working up a sweat in the May humidity.
Behind me the woman calls out, “Spending the night?”
When you reach a certain age, you don’t mince words. I find that endearing. It’s one of the reasons I’m leaning toward a specialty in geriatrics. I stifle a smile and leap on like I don’t hear her.
I count twenty turtles by the time I find Five B, which is on the second floor. I squint into the partly cloudy sky and cross myself (maybe I’m a closet Catholic). My sandals slap the stairs, and the flat surface is comforting after the series of round turtle backs.
My nerves always wait until the last possible moment to go bonkers, and as I’m standing at the door, poised to knock, my heart begins to pound so loudly I’m not sure I even need to knock. Besides, I’m more than dewy...more like drenched. Not exactly the sexy image I’m supposed to project. It must be ninety degrees. I dab at my face with my t-shirt, and then fan my hands under my arms to get a breeze going. I hope my deodorant holds up.
Okay, showtime.
As my fingers reach for the claddagh knocker on the front door, I spot the doorbell and opt for that instead. The chime rings the theme from “Doctor Zhivago.” As it happens, my mom’s favorite movie, God rest her soul. I’m caught off-guard, and tears well up. I’m swiping at my eyes when the door opens.
The guy across the threshold presses a finger to his lips and pulls me into the condominium. He sort of props me next to the wall. “You don’t have a cold, do you? If you do, I want a discount.” He backs away and eyes me up and down, and then he grins. “Good old Claudia would shit a brick if she saw you.”
“I take it I won’t be meeting good old Claudia?” I shiver from the blast of air conditioning, though it’s welcome relief.
“Hell, no, she’s the fiancée…and my sister. Stay right here. Don’t move.” He takes off down a hall.
“Uh, okay.” Wherever this is going, all I can think is how grateful I am for the cool air. I rub my arms and glance around the uncluttered, tasteful living room. It’s immaculately decorated in beige and chocolate brown, strong masculine colors. I can’t imagine what I’m going to clean.
As I’m sizing up the job, another guy emerges from the hallway. One towel wraps around his tight-as-a-drum middle as he dries his hair with another. My jaw drops. I almost have to push it closed. Six feet, wavy dark brown hair, and broad shoulders…my dream formula. My belly tightens, and I get a little twinge…below my umbilicus.
But today, I’m Amy Maitland, fantasy maid.
My best friend and fellow medical resident, Ellen, knows about my undercover life working for Fantasy Maids, but she’s the only one. If word got out at the College of Medicine, I’d be the laughingstock of the University of Central Florida. My five brothers know I work as a housemaid, which they respect as good, honest labor, but they don’t know the fantasy aspect. Protective (and controlling) men that they are, they’d lock me up.
That being said, it’s not the worst job in the world. I’ve been a fantasy maid for almost two years, and so far, none of my clients has tried to assault me. But it’s always a possibility, considering Florida’s propensity for perverts. The company (i.e. Rex, the owner, and a part-time secretary) arms us with pepper spray and an emergency hotline number (Rex’s cell phone), and they screen the customers to make sure no one’s a registered sex offender. They also arrange our appointments, and Rex is good about following up…within four or five days…to make sure we survived the gig.
Still, being alone with a strange guy in his apartment is enough to get anyone’s adrenalin pumping, and I never go into a new situation without first sending up a prayer. I always let Ellen know where I’m going, and I carry a rosary, even though I’m not Catholic.
Today, I’m heading to a condominium in stylish Winter Park, just north of Orlando. The address alone is comforting. It’s just off Park Avenue in a nice neighborhood, and it’s next door to a church. But, I remind myself, Ted Bundy lived in a nice neighborhood. Let’s face it; serial killers can look like the boy next door.
My old white Honda sputters into the church parking lot adjacent to the condominium complex without any signs of cardiac arrest (this I take as a good omen). A Rambling Waters sign on the wrought iron gate looks welcoming.
I turn off the ignition, and my ancient car heaves a sigh. Grabbing my backpack with my stash of costumes, I hop out of my car and punch in the security code at the entrance gate. It creaks open like the sound at the beginning of Michael Jackson’s Thriller, which my brother Matt plays ad nauseum around Halloween.
As I enter the property, I notice a network of ponds meandering around the buildings. I’m sure the landscape architect intended them to be beautiful, but all I see is a maintenance nightmare—all that algae to eradicate. I shake my head. I’ve been cleaning too long.
I nod to an elderly couple walking their white miniature poodle. The dog is decked out in a purple vest and ear bows and looks slightly embarrassed. Good to know I’m not the only one who wears ridiculous outfits.
“Can we help you find something, dear?” The woman inquires. Could it be because I’m standing here with the address in one hand and a blank stare on my face?
We’re supposed to look inconspicuous, so I’m dressed in my usual jeans and t-shirt. Would she call me dear if she saw me in uniform?
My appointment is for six p.m., and I’m already a few minutes late. I count seven buildings on the property, with no visible numbers. Gratefully, I say, “Thank you. I’m looking for unit Five B.”
The woman elbows her companion. “Oh, that’s where that nice young lawyer lives. What’s his name, Harold?”
Harold shrugs, and the woman pulls her poodle away from the geranium it’s been nibbling on. She cups one hand around her mouth and points to Harold with the other. “He’s not very observant.” She rolls her eyes. “Building Five is just to the right of the pool, which is straight ahead.”
“Thanks.” I head in the direction she indicates. My sandals crunch as pavement gives way to gravel. I look down to find strategically-placed stepping stones in the shape of turtles. Strategically placed for Big Foot, that is. The stones are way too far apart for my five-foot-three leg span, and I essentially hurtle from turtle to turtle, using my backpack for ballast. I’m working up a sweat in the May humidity.
Behind me the woman calls out, “Spending the night?”
When you reach a certain age, you don’t mince words. I find that endearing. It’s one of the reasons I’m leaning toward a specialty in geriatrics. I stifle a smile and leap on like I don’t hear her.
I count twenty turtles by the time I find Five B, which is on the second floor. I squint into the partly cloudy sky and cross myself (maybe I’m a closet Catholic). My sandals slap the stairs, and the flat surface is comforting after the series of round turtle backs.
My nerves always wait until the last possible moment to go bonkers, and as I’m standing at the door, poised to knock, my heart begins to pound so loudly I’m not sure I even need to knock. Besides, I’m more than dewy...more like drenched. Not exactly the sexy image I’m supposed to project. It must be ninety degrees. I dab at my face with my t-shirt, and then fan my hands under my arms to get a breeze going. I hope my deodorant holds up.
Okay, showtime.
As my fingers reach for the claddagh knocker on the front door, I spot the doorbell and opt for that instead. The chime rings the theme from “Doctor Zhivago.” As it happens, my mom’s favorite movie, God rest her soul. I’m caught off-guard, and tears well up. I’m swiping at my eyes when the door opens.
The guy across the threshold presses a finger to his lips and pulls me into the condominium. He sort of props me next to the wall. “You don’t have a cold, do you? If you do, I want a discount.” He backs away and eyes me up and down, and then he grins. “Good old Claudia would shit a brick if she saw you.”
“I take it I won’t be meeting good old Claudia?” I shiver from the blast of air conditioning, though it’s welcome relief.
“Hell, no, she’s the fiancée…and my sister. Stay right here. Don’t move.” He takes off down a hall.
“Uh, okay.” Wherever this is going, all I can think is how grateful I am for the cool air. I rub my arms and glance around the uncluttered, tasteful living room. It’s immaculately decorated in beige and chocolate brown, strong masculine colors. I can’t imagine what I’m going to clean.
As I’m sizing up the job, another guy emerges from the hallway. One towel wraps around his tight-as-a-drum middle as he dries his hair with another. My jaw drops. I almost have to push it closed. Six feet, wavy dark brown hair, and broad shoulders…my dream formula. My belly tightens, and I get a little twinge…below my umbilicus.
My Book Review:
His Fantasy Maid is a sexy romantic novella that was a lot of fun to read. Amy Maitland is a first-year resident who moonlights with a fantasy maid service as a way to pay for her education. Jake Sinclair is a successful attorney who is engaged to be married in two weeks. Amy and Jake's path cross when she is contracted to provide a fantasy maid service in a bikini for Jake as a bachelor party gift by Sam, his best friend and soon to be brother-in-law. Instant attraction and a scorcher of a kiss is all they can share, if only they met under other circumstances ... Fate steps in and their paths cross again when Jake is involved in a car accident and he is surprised to find that Amy, his sexy fantasy maid is his ER doctor! As Jake and Amy's attraction grows, all hell breaks loose when Claudia, Jake's jealous fiancee becomes vindictive and tells the hospital administration about Amy's moonlighting as a fantasy maid, causing Jake to break their engagement. Can Jake and Amy's relationship develop beyond the realm of fantasy?
Author Susan Blexrud weaves a sassy fun tale set in Orlando and Winter Park, Florida, and written in an alternating first person narrative that follows Jake and Amy's romantic development filled with dramatic trials and tribulations. I really enjoyed reading the story in the alternating first person narrative, it gives the reader a chance to get into Amy and Jake's head as their attraction for each other leads them down a path of discovering that maybe there is something more drawing them together than just sexual attraction. As sparks fly and drama ensues, it was fun to watch Jake and Amy connect and see if they had what it takes to make their relationship more than a fantasy.
His Fantasy Maid is an entertaining and sexy novella that has a great mixture of humor, drama, passion and romance. This is a fun quick read that can be enjoyed in one afternoon.
RATING: 4 STARS ****
Virtual Book Tour Contest Giveaway
Win A $50 Amazon Gift Card
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Virtual Book Tour Schedule
Tour Schedule:
August 27 – A Blue Million Books – Q&A & Excerpt
August 28 – eBook Addict – Review
August 29 – Escape Into a Book – Review & Excerpt
August 30 – The Book Tart – Guest Post
September 2 – Regina May Ross – Excerpt
September 3 - Chick Lit Plus - Review
September 4 – Dr. Pepper Diva – Guest Post
September 5 – Ai Love Books – Excerpt
September 9 – Amie’s Reviews – Review
September 10 – Storm Goddess Book Reviews – Q&A & Excerpt
September 12 – Chick Lit Goddess – Review
September 13 – Jersey Girl Book Reviews – Review, Guest Post & Excerpt
September 16 – The East Village – Review
I find the ten point entry a bit silly. I need to win the card before I can buy the book.
ReplyDeleteI did not set up the contest giveaway, it is hosted by Chick Lit Plus Blog Tours.
DeleteThank you for the opportunity to host the virtual book tour event. I really enjoyed this fun little romance novella. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks for the lovely review, Kathleen, and for hosting me on your great blog.
ReplyDeleteMuch appreciated,
Susan
Hi Susan! I loved reading His Fantasy Maid, it was such a fun story. Thank you for the opportunity to host your virtual book tour event.
Delete