Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Easy Virtue by Mia Asher Blog Tour


Love is selfish...

My name is Blaire.
I'm the bad girl.
The other woman.
The one who never gets the guy in the end.

I'm the gold digger.
The bitch.
The one no one roots for.
The one you love to hate.

I hate myself too...

Everyone has a story. Are you ready for mine?

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With champagne and caviar inundating my every sense, I slither through the light wooden floors of the Lila Acheson Wallace Wing in The Met. As I walk, I pretend to admire the expensive jewelry being showcased tonight by a famous designer whose name I can’t remember. A multicolored diamond butterfly sparkles to my left and a cobra made out of black stones glistens to my right. Rows upon rows of precious gems twinkle under the soft lights of the room, flooding the space between the walls with the glow of a thousand stars. Furtive glances. Secrets gossiped. Beauty criticized. Lofty music fills the atmosphere as the über rich mingle and pretend to like each other, yet you can almost taste their conceit and derision for one another in the air.

This is Walker’s world, and I love it.

Standing across the room, where the crowd is thinner and the music fainter, I spot Walker’s blond head in the corner of the room, talking to a group of his colleagues and their wives. He looks polished and worth every penny of his trust fund in his sleek black tuxedo, perfectly starched white shirt and black bowtie. His long golden hair parted to the side shines like the sun. He is truly flawless.

I smile because it’s hard to picture that this is the same guy who likes to snort coke off my tits as he fucks me while hardcore porn plays in the background. He looks untouchable and so cool, but his searching eyes, scanning the crowd for me give him up. He’s wondering where I am. He did tell me not to go too far, after all. Soon after we arrived at the party, I gave him some space to talk to his friends and do his thing while I did mine. I hate clingy people, so I avoid being one. I grab a third flute of champagne from a passing waiter, and try to decide which of the different displays to check out first when my eyes land on a spectacular piece of jewelry. On a bed of black silk, similar to my hair color, lies an extravagant necklace made of diamonds and rubies—a small heaven within one’s reach as long as you can afford the price.

I bridge the space between the glass protecting the necklace and me until it’s within my reach, fighting the urge to touch the cool surface. As if under a spell, I observe how the rows of diamonds embedded in platinum form leaves and thorns. At its center is a rose made out of red diamonds almost as big as my palm.

I feel someone walk up and stand next to me, but I don’t give him or her a second thought as I continue to admire the way the light hits the gems, making them shine.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

His voice is smooth and commanding, dripping absolute power. I keep my eyes locked on the display. Call it sixth sense, but somehow I know that under no circumstance should I make eye contact with the stranger who speaks like the ruler of the world.

“Yes,” I say simply.

“I wonder how much it is?” the man asks.

“I don’t think it matters … I highly doubt anyone can afford it.”

He chuckles, and the sound is more delicious than his voice. Lusher. “Oh, but I can.”

I smile at his self-assurance. I love cocky assholes. “I still doubt it.”

“You shouldn’t. I only speak the truth,” he retorts coolly. His voice is nonchalant yet his words leave no room for disbelief—a demand and a statement all in one.

Suddenly, the noises of the room become distant. People talking and laughing amongst friends and the orchestra playing all fade away until all I hear is him speaking.

And at this moment, that is all that matters.

“The truth is very subjective, sir.”

“The truth may be subjective but money isn’t. Money can buy anything.”

His answer is like an electroshock, jumpstarting my brain from a champagne-induced haze. My pulse begins to accelerate, excitement making it hard to take a deep breath. Don’t look at him … don’t.

“Oh really,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. He’s right, though.

“Of course. I believe everything,” he pauses, “and everyone has a price.”

Curiosity winning the battle against curiosity, I turn to face him, and what a fucking big mistake that is. When our eyes meet, I feel incapacitated of all sense and movement. The sight of him takes my breath away. This man gives the term “lust at first sight” a whole new meaning.

In my short twenty-three years, I’ve been with extremely handsome men, perfect even, but to classify the man standing next to me in any kind of category would be a disservice to him, and not really fair to the others. Longish, light brown hair wildly framing his face, vacant eyes the color of dollar bills, a slightly crooked nose, and a mouth that begs to be buried deep within your thighs. His beauty is as harsh as it is stunningly perfect. Dressed in a simple black tuxedo and unbuttoned white shirt, the man exudes innate virility and grace, reminding me of a black panther stalking his prey. And just like a panther, it’s the pure raw and powerful energy emanating from within him that I find most attractive. Because just by standing next to him, I get the sense that his word is always the last spoken and his wishes the first ones to be fulfilled. He doesn’t ask, he demands. He doesn’t hope, he expects.

He’s quiet for a moment; his uncanny eyes hold me captive as though they are baring my soul to him and I hate it. I tighten my hold on the crystal flute. I want to look away, but I can’t. The way he’s staring at me makes me want to squirm.

“I wonder … do you have one?” he asks softly before turning to examine the piece of jewelry once more.

“A what?” I ask, momentarily stunned.

He smiles. “A price.”

“For the right amount … I just might,” I say quietly, my heart beating so fast it feels as though it wants out of my chest. As soon as the words leave my mouth, there’s no shock coursing down my body, no rolling waves of shame pulling me down for having said that to a complete stranger—nothing.

And why should there be? I am who I am.

I’m staring at his profile, waiting for him to acknowledge my answer, when a breeze of cool air floats past us, making me shiver. About to chase the goose bumps on my arm with my hand, I watch as he slowly turns to look at me, catching me staring at him. Time stands still as I watch him raise his large tanned hand and touch my bare shoulder, his fingertips lightly grazing the temporary small bumps covering it. Then he smiles as if he knows that my skin is tingling from his scalding touch, and looks away.

“I thought so.”

We remain standing next to each other for another minute or so, the distance between us almost nonexistent. It would be so easy to reach out and hold his hand. The sound of an incoming call breaks the silence, bringing us back to reality.

He takes his cell phone out of the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket and ignores the call after noting the name of the caller. He lifts his gaze to meet my own.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I should go … I’m here with someone,” I reply, not really wanting to leave him just yet.

“Yes, that’s probably a good idea.”

I frown. He didn’t have to be quite so blunt. The stranger extends a hand toward me, holding something in his fingers.

“Here … ”

I open my hand as I feel the edges of what I assume is his business card poke the skin of my palm. “What’s this?” I ask stupidly.

“My business card, of course.”

“Obviously … but why?”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s just say that I’m an interested buyer.”

And then he’s gone.

He turns and walks away from me, disappearing into a sea of colorful gowns and black suits. As the sounds of the party infiltrate my ears once more, I lower my gaze to stare at the simple cream-colored card in my hand. Its simplistic and elegant design draws attention to the name printed in bold black letters on the paper.

Lawrence Rothschild.

I smile and let my fingertips trail his name. It depends on what you’re willing to pay, Mr. Rothschild.

Published by Mia Asher
Copyright © 2013 by Mia Asher






Reviews by the Wicked Reads Review Team

Mary☆☆☆☆
What happens when a young girl doesn't get the love and attention she needs to survive childhood? She seeks out the attention of others, preferably from men with money. They can buy her for favors. While the women look at her with disgust, the men look at her with lust. So far for 23 year old Blaire, living her life without love is working great. She has a nice apartment and all the luxuries anyone would love to have. And having it all paid for by men is even better. Or so she thinks. When she meets Ronan, her reaction to him has her running, she doesn't like feeling out of control and that is how she feels when around Ronan. Can Ronan show her that love is worth taking a chance for? Will she fall back into her old ways and leave Ronan with a broken heart? This is a first for me from Mia Asher and I loved it, can't wait for book 2. I need to know what happens to Blaire.


Angie☆☆☆☆
It took me awhile to get into this book. When I finally got into it I didn’t want to put it down. I wasn’t and probably still am not a big fan of Blaire’s. Blaire finally starts acting like a human and not a robot and then BAM she goes back to being the same selfish evil person. This book ends on a major cliffhanger and I can’t wait to see what happens next.

Characters: The characters were well written and believable.
Sex: Yes
Religious: No
Would I recommend to others: Yes
More than one book in the series: Yes
Genre: Romance
Would I read more by this author: Yes


Ruthie☆☆☆☆
Blaire hasn't had the easiest childhood, and decides that rather than succumb to love she will use her beauty for pleasure and money. We soon see how that is working out for her, or not. The story is told by her, but it isn't hard to intuit how those around her are thinking too. There are times when it is difficult to decide whether she is brave or foolish, and times when a moment's choice can make a life time of difference. Fascinating and self-obsessed, Blaire is so busy denying who she is, or isn't that the reader can only watch and wait ...

Please hurry up and write book 2.


Shannan☆☆☆☆
Blaire had a hard life growing up. She missed out on the love and attention you should get as a child. Now she is finding it on her own terms. She's a self-proclaimed gold digger. She does what she has to do to make a buck. Until she meets Ronan. Ronan doesn't have the money she has been accustomed to getting. He makes her feel things she hasn't before. Can she give it all up for him? When Lawrence makes her an offer she can't pass up will she chose the life she knows or what her heart wants?

Ms. Asher does a great job keeping me interested and on the edge. I can't wait to see what book 2 holds.



My name is Mia Asher.

I'm a writer, a hopeless romantic, a wanderer, a dreamer, a cynic, and a believer. And, oh yes…I might be a bit crazy - but who isn't?

Connect with Mia

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Reviewers on the Wicked Reads Review Team were provided a free copy of Easy Virtue (Virtue #1) by Mia Asher to read and review for this tour.

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