Bridesmaids' Tales and the release of ROCK SOLID by Lisa Olech!

I'm thrilled, thrilled, thrilled to be hosting Lisa Olech today, with a post about being a bridesmaid and in celebration of her new release, Rock Solid, Book II in her Stoddard Art School Series out NOW from The Wild Rose Press! Whoot! The floor is yours, hon! Take it away!

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Fall in New England is one of the most beautiful times to get married. It seems everywhere I turn there is a wedding going on. Backyard, harvest-themed. Elegant autumnal events. Stunning scenic spectaculars. And no matter whether the bride is wearing the latest Marchesa gown, or sporting cowboy boots, there is one common element…BRIDESMAIDS.

Something happens to a woman when she’s planning her wedding. For some reason she feels the need to rope all of her friends into her madness. Sisters, cousins, old college roommates, BFF’s, none are immune! Have you seen some of those hideous bridesmaid dresses? I’ve been in several weddings, and thankfully the brides have behaved themselves and not asked me to wear anything with a huge butt bow, but I was always told the same thing…oh, you’ll be able to shorten this and wear it as a cocktail dress! Never happens! That dress you paid way too much money for in a color that only looks good on the mannequin will end up in the back of the closet along with their matching shoes, parasol, and hats.

There are tales of brides using their maids as wedding staff. “Volunteering” them to spend hours stuffing Jordan Almonds into little bags or hand-lettering three hundred and fifty place cards or plucking roses apart an hour before the wedding so the flower girl has something to scatter. How about that bride with the frothy princess skirt that fills the aisle and trails behind her for yards? Who do you think holds all that tulle while the bride uses the ladies room?

In my new book, Rock Solid, my heroine, Emily Baskins is coerced into being Bridesmaid #6 for her ex-boyfriend’s wedding. The bride actually asks her to wear platform shoes and a wig so she won’t ‘stick out’ in the parade of tall, willowy brunettes the bride has purposely chosen to accompany her down the aisle.

What about you? Have you been a bridesmaid? Worn a butt bow? I’d love to hear your stories of weddings gone wrong. I’m not going be a spoiler and tell you what happens to Emily. You’ll have to read that for yourselves!

MAXIMO VEGA is a “rock” star! The media proclaimed him 'The Sculptor for the New Generation,' but he’s a reclusive artist ensnared by fame. Driven and intense, his isolation only adds to his mystique. Couple that with his smoldering good looks and rich Italian accent… Fans sigh his name.

EMILY BASKINS is a gifted graduate student at the Stoddard School of Art. To land an internship at the Vega Studio is her golden ticket. All she has to do is follow the rules. And stay out of trouble. Two things Emily has never been able to do.

As Max becomes trapped in the glare of the limelight, he discovers his greatest muse. He teaches Emily to breathe passion into clay and give marble a soul. But is their fiery relationship as rock solid as they believe? Or will a lie shatter the illusion?

 

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Maximo Vega gathered his composure. He wore a black T-shirt, gray across the shoulders with dust, worn jeans, and heavy boots under a thick leather apron that reached to his knees. Hanging his head and bracing his hands on his hips, he was a study in frustration. The sleeves of his shirt hugged defined muscles of steely arms. And his hands…they were artist’s hands. Sculptor’s hands. Beaten by stone and scarred by tools. They spoke of years of rugged, blistering work

He was tall. His shadowed jaw, rigid with anger, cut sharply against the tanned column of his neck. Maximo slapped the chisel on his leathered thigh. “I pay you. You find me good hands! Not idiota!”

“I’m sorry, Maximo. He’s gone. You’ll never have to work with him again.”

“Good.”

The great artist’s gaze slid over Emily. His eyes stopped at the white-knuckled hold she had on the large black portfolio.

He waved a hand toward her. “What are you?”

Emily’s throat slammed shut.

“A new intern possibly,” offered Dante. “She’s here from the Stoddard School of Art.”

Deep brown eyes the color of rich coffee, no cream, speared her beneath frowning brows. He flipped his hand toward the portfolio. “Come. Show me.”

Emily shot a look to Dante. He gave her a tiny nudge, like a parent pushing a frightened child toward Santa’s lap.

“Come, come, come.” He snatched the portfolio from her numb fingers, unzipped it and laid it open across a crowded worktable. He used the rag in his hand to wipe the sweat from his lip as he flipped through photos and sketches of her latest works.

“Nice. Hmm. No.” A nod for this one. A shake of the head for another. “Yes. This one is good. Good.”

He looked away from her sketches and gave her a hard stare before looking down the full length of her and back again in a slow appraisal. Emily released the breath she was holding.

“Let me see your hands.”

She held them out and he grasped her wrists and examined first her palms before turning them over. “Cold,” he said just loud enough for her to hear.

The smell of the heat of his body and the spice of soap drifted past her.

“Nervous.”

He lifted a quick eyebrow. “Good.”

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AMAZON / B&N /  TWRP (E-BOOK) / TWRP (PAPERBACK)
 

Lisa A. Olech is an artist/writer living in her dream house nestled among the lakes in New England. She loves getting lost in a steamy book, finding the perfect pair of sexy shoes, and hearing the laughter of her men. Being an estrogen island in a sea of testosterone makes her queen. She believes in ghosts, silver linings, the power of a man in a tuxedo, and happy endings.

You can find her at:  www.lisaolech.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/Lisa.A.Olech.Writer
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