Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Sing Your Heart Out promo tour!!

 Sing Your Heart Out by Crystal Kaswell 

(Sinful Serenade #1) 
Publication date: Fall 2015
Genres: New Adult, Romance

Good girls don’t date rockstars.
They certainly don’t take rock stars as fuck buddies.
Still a virgin at 21, Meg Smart walks a straight and narrow path. She aces her classes, excels at her part time job, and carefully avoids the black hole that is mourning her sister. There’s no room in her life for trouble–no drinks, no drugs, and especially no boyfriends.
Fine with Miles.
Rock star Miles Webb doesn’t do boyfriend. He doesn’t do intimacy, or love, or anything that isn’t effortless and casual. The only time the singer reveals himself is on stage. His gorgeous, tortured voice hints at the kind of unspeakable pain Meg understands all too well. Only the second he steps off stage he transforms into a cocky, know-it-all player.
Their chemistry is red-hot. He’s tattooed, tall, and totally irresistible. She can’t handle a one-night stand, and a relationship is totally out of the question.
That only leaves one option:
Friends with benefits.
Just sex. Just fun.
No secrets, no feelings, no falling in love.
Only neither one of them can quite abide by the terms.


I take a deep breath, pulling in all the confidence I can manage. The walk to the venue nearly undoes me. What kind of sadistic person invented high heels, and why did he make it so damn hard to walk in them?
We flash our passes to the bouncer and step inside the club. It's dark, and it's loud as all hell. There must be three or four hundred people squeezed into a space meant for far, far less. Mostly girls, mostly screaming their lungs out.
The band is on stage. Miles is in the front, his fingers wrapped around a microphone, his eyes closed as if he's feeling the song so much he can't bear to keep them open. I'm immediately drawn in by the music. The drums and bass pound with a steady rhythm. The guitar is doing some amazing thing I can't begin to explain.
But that isn't what has my attention. It's Miles. His voice is beautiful. Not just beautiful. It's breathy, and throaty, and wounded as all hell. Every word comes out with a thousand pounds of emotional force behind it. It's like his voice is seeping through my skin and bones, all the way into my soul. It's like I can feel whatever it is that made him write this song.
And it hurts. Not as badly as In Pieces, but enough.
The songs ends. There's no break. Sinful Serenade transitions right into the next number. This one is faster, harder, louder. It's more upbeat, but there's still this undercurrent of hurt in Miles's voice. I catch a few of the lyrics. They're beautiful little wisps of poetry. Who would think a guy like him could write things like that?
Who would think a guy like him could make me feel things like this?
My heart is heavy. I'm hurting with him. That's not all there is. There's an elation, too, like it's bittersweet, like it's getting better. I close my eyes and lose myself in his voice. There's so much sound around us--the screaming, the guitar, the bass, the drums--but all I can hear is Miles. It's like he's singing to me.
The song ends. I open my eyes, startled by the quick return to reality. The massive room is dark except for the blue and white stage lights. Miles smiles at the crowd with that same cocky expression on his face. He waves and blows a kiss. A dozen girls squeal, sure his adoration is meant for them.
He looks back at his band mates as if to check in. Can't say that I'm paying much attention to the other guys. They seem to be in some kind of blissful, meditative state. They're all so effortlessly cool.
Miles looks back at the crowd. "I'd like to dedicate this next song to a very special girl. I'm not sure that she thinks much of me, but, Meg, I wrote this song, too."
The drummer brings his sticks down hard on his drum kit. "Only the lyrics, Romeo."
Miles sends the drummer a sweet smile. Must be some kind of inside joke. He shakes his head, stands, and pulls off his shirt.
The screams are so loud I can't even think. The crowd likes him sans shirt. They like it a lot.
Next to me, Kara laughs. She's eying Drew like she hopes it will start some kind of chain reaction. I don't call her on it.
Miles tugs at the bottom of his t-shirt, teasing the crowd to a chorus of cheers. He walks over to the bassist, Pete, and hands him the mic.
Miles’s eyes go back to the crowd. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he's looking at me. I'd swear he's doing this solely for my benefit.
He pulls it higher, higher, higher. And then it's off his head and on the ground.
The cheers are deafening. Mr. Miles Webb is certainly the object of lust. Hard to blame the girls staring at him with their eyes wide and their jaws dropped. No doubt, there will be a dozen pairs of panties on stage by the end of the song.
Not mine, of course. Those are staying on. At least in public.
But later, when we're alone...
Miles takes the microphone back. He brings it back to his mouth. "Is it hot in here, or is it just me?"
The crowd screams.
"So, it's just me?" He winks at the crowd. He points to the guitarist then to the bassist. "Only two songs to go. Think we can get the string jockeys shirtless by the end of the show?"
There's another set of cheers. Every guy in the band has his fans.
Miles smiles that same smug smile. He throws up four fingers and uses them to count down. The mood on stage shifts, less amused slash annoyed by the attention grabbing antics, more about the music.
The song starts. It's one of their singles, on KROQ constantly. It has a slick guitar riff, a throbbing beat, and, of course, a perfect vocal melody.
Kara squeezes my hand. I can't bring myself to look away from Miles to catch her expression. No doubt, she's ecstatic, too. I squeeze her hand back. I shift my hips to the music. I scream. Just another fan. Just another girl who wants that sexy boy on stage she'll never have.
Only, I can have him.
The song transitions into the next. The last song, according to Miles's earlier claim. There is something final about it. It's like everyone is playing harder. Miles goes all out with his vocals. He's not in smug mode, not flirting with the crowd. He's there, in the music, in the moment that made him write this song.
It's captivating, sexy, and terrifying all at the same time. There's way more to Miles than bad boy rock star. There must be, or he wouldn't be so lost in his words.

Crystal Kaswell writes steamy new adult and erotic romance books. She loves when flawed characters fall head over heels for each other. Especially if they fall into bed first. She loves police procedurals, tea, and The Hunger Games series. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband.

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