Thursday, May 6, 2021

Turnabout by Laurel Greer Blog Tour

We’re polar opposites... So why am I trying to convince him to reach for the possibility of forever?

I don’t have time for an unplanned visit home to help out in my father’s struggling letterpress shop. My stint in Vermont will have to be short, for a couple of reasons:

One, I’m a busy executive trying to climb the corporate ladder.

Two, my ex is still my dad’s right-hand man in the shop. And I am not over him.

Nothing has changed at the Burlington shop. Auden still has his infuriatingly sexy Scottish accent. He’s still hot, and still stubborn. Between operating the antique press with his shirtsleeves rolled up, and moonlighting at Burlington’s hottest inclusive wine bar, he pushes every one of my attraction buttons.

My falling-in-love-again buttons, too. Except I’m his polar opposite. I love change, and taking chances. Everything he avoids in life.

So why am I trying to convince him to reach for more than we’ve ever dreamed of—the possibility of forever?

Turnabout is a stand-alone novel in Sarina Bowen’s World of True North. Turnabout is a second-chance romance with interfering family, groveling, and a large helping of artisan stationery geekery.

Don’t miss our reviews of the rest of the Vino & Veritas series!
For book one, Featherbed, click HERE.
For book two, Heartscape, click HERE.
For book three, Headstrong, click HERE.
For book four, Undercover, click HERE.
For book five, Aftermath, click HERE.
For book six, Booklover, click HERE.
For book seven, Flipcup, click HERE.
For book eight, Hideaway, click HERE.

 

Add to Goodreads

 

Turnabout by Laurel Greer.

Book 9
Buy Links

Amazon US  ~  Amazon UK  ~  Amazon Au  ~  Amazon Ca
~  Also Available with KindleUnlimited  ~

 

 

Excerpt



He lifts a dark eyebrow. “I said, I want to work with someone willing to wallow with paper and design. Tease out the one-of-a-kind magic.”

His voice is quiet, soothing. It demands I take a deep breath and get out of my feelings.

“I’ve been reminded of how much of an art it is,” I say. “And that I can get by, but you—you have a gift.”

Rosy splotches bloom on his cheeks. “You know what you’re doing, too.”

“I don’t have the rhythm of it like you do. The innate… mastery, I guess. The relationship.”

Auden tilts his head and looks out the front window.

“What?” I ask. “He’s not coming back.”

“I know, but hearing the words rhythm and mastery and relationship when it comes to using a press... I'm looking for locusts, frogs, horsemen—any sign of the apocalypse.”

“Fuck off,” I mutter.

Rhythm, mastery.

When he repeats the words like that, I’m not thinking of cast iron machines—I’m thinking about sex.

I can’t believe he didn’t call me on how filthy that sounded.

He’s biting his lip, still a little pink in the face.

Okay, maybe he’s thinking it, at least.

“I could show you,” he says.

Meeting his gaze is like swimming in a lake, when you dive down, down on a bright day, and you have the dark depths below, and the streams of light from above, and it blends around you like you’re wearing a crown of green water and sunlight.

Holy fuck. He’s too much sometimes.

“Come here.” He crooks a finger for me to meet him at the Chandler and Price.

Definitely too much.

I join him anyway.

He takes my left hand and places it on the small shelf on the front of the press where we’d normally collect the cards during a run. The wood is smooth. And it would feel exactly like palming a flat piece of wood always does, except his big hand covers mine.

“Artisanry demands that relationship.” His voice is insanely low, but he’s only inches from me, so I don’t miss a syllable.

“I’m not an—”

“You have the artistic talent. You just need a little patience.” He puts his other hand on my right hip and positions me square to the press. He taps his toe against my heel, a silent command to put my foot on the treadle.

“We’re missing some parts.” Paper. Ink. The frame. Everything that actually turns into a product.

“We’re not making anything.” He’s at an angle to me. If he leaned forward three inches, his dick would be pressed into my hip. His left hand is still holding mine to the shelf. The other is a heavy weight just below my waist.

“I don’t understand,” I say.

“Just watch it, Carter.” He sounds amused. “You want to know every quirk. And not to try to learn when you’re rushing through eight jobs at once. When you have time to go easy.”

“Really.”

“Really,” he says. “Grip the wood with your other hand, too.”

Grip the wood? You’re fucking with me.”

“A little.” I can’t see his face from where he is behind me, but I hear his smirk.

A little? A lot. I grab hold of the shelf anyway.

“Just work the treadle,” he says.

I press my toe into the pedal, making the flywheel whir.

“And listen,” he says. “Watch.”

I do that, too.

I’ve been so damn busy since I got here—paper in, paper out, paper in, paper out—I haven’t actually watched anything I’ve done.

The rollers, mesmerizing as they glide over the circular, iron platen.

“What color’s the ink?” Auden’s hand tightens on my hip. His breath tickles the side of my neck.

There is no ink.

“Green,” I say. I can’t get that sunlit lake off my mind.

(I don’t want to. Ever.)

My tie… Why am I wearing something meant to restrict my airflow? I want to loosen it, but Auden told me to keep my hands on the shelf, so I’m keeping my hands on the goddamn shelf. “Hear anything in the flywheel?” he says.

Just the whir and clicks and whuffs it normally makes. “Should I be?”

“Nothing unusual, but the more you know the sounds of it, the more you know exactly when to feed the paper.” He taps the top of my hand once. Twice. Again. Matching it up to some sensory memory that’s so ingrained in him, he probably dreams in that rhythm.

Anchored by his touch, I’m the one who leans in the three inches. My shoulder, touching his chest. His breath, much more than a tickle. A caress.

“It’s a pulse,” he murmurs, so gruff, the consonants and vowels mix together. His fingers brush the hollow above my shirt collar. My knees wobble.

“A pulse.” I tilt my head to the side, exposing my neck.

“Aye.” Bending his head, his lips land on the same sensitive spot.

My head’s turning faster than the flywheel.

“Auden.”

“See? You know the rhythm.”

Oh god, I don’t know anything right now.

 

 

I focus on the sketches. Anything to avoid musing over whether or not the exposed notch of his throat still tastes like salt and secret promises.

 

Reviews


Reviews by the Wicked Reads Review Team


Ruthie☆☆☆☆
This is the ninth book in a series of stories written by a collection of talented authors and set in Sarina Bowen’s True North world. I am really enjoying the connections, and yet the variety of styles offered by the different writers. This is a sexy, second-chance tale of two printers getting it together without ruining the traditions of the business!

Carter has taken a leave of absence from his high-powered job to help in the family handcrafted printing business to give his parents a chance to mend their marriage. This means he has to go back to the place where all his ideas of expansion were rejected, and he lost the love of his life when he left. But he loves his parents and would not want to stop their attempts at reconciliation. So he grins and bears it, and finding that nothing at all has changed, that no concessions to the modern world have been introduced, thus forcing the business to be small, provincial, and the artistic talents of Auden to be wasted.

As he tried to bring about acceptable levels of change, he also has to face the fact that he still loves the man who stayed behind – so now as well as trying to solve the business's problems, he needs to satisfy his needs too. I found the detail of the printing process utterly fascinating, although the fact that the presses were operated by two very sexy men may have affected my interest levels!

I loved the parallel stories of his parents as well as his romance a clever device to put them in context, and he most definitely got the message about working to live or living to work – and as you probably guessed, he chose life and love.

 

 

Author Bio

Raised in a small town on Vancouver Island, LAUREL GEER grew up skiing and boating by day and reading romances under the covers by flashlight at night. Ever committed to the proper placement of the Canadian “eh,” she loves to write books with snapping sexual tension and second chances. She lives outside Vancouver with her law-talking husband and two daughters. At least half her diet is made up of tea.

Connect with Laurel

Facebook  ~  Twitter  ~  Instagram  ~  Website  ~  Goodreads

 

 

He’s a fucking part of me. Stitched into my soul. I’ll be trying to undo the threads for the rest of my life.

 

Hosted by

Heart Eyes Press


Reviewers on the Wicked Reads Review Team were provided a free copy of Turnabout (Vino & Veritas #9) by Laurel Greer to read and review for this tour.

No comments:

Post a Comment

All comments are reviewed by a blog admin before being published. We thank you for visiting our blog & leaving a comment.