Friday, 16 August 2013

The Dirty Secrets of Markham Savoy Tour

As part of the Dirty Secrets tour via Itching for Books, here is a blurb and excerpt from The Dirty Secrets of Markham Savoy

Re-Release: August 6th 2013
Author: C.C. Dalton
Publisher: Twist Literary
Purchase: Barnes & Noble

Even though he safeguards the secrets of his classmates, Markham wouldn't be caught dead sharing his own, and he never lets romantic entanglements get the best of him. But when Piper Harrington marches into his life, he’s forced to give her something in exchange for her cooperation in his schemes--his very own Colebrook Confession. And that's not the only time Piper brings out an unexpected side of himself. 
Will the dirty secrets of Markham Savoy be his crowning glory...or his undoing?

“More bubbly? Nineteen-ninety-seven was a banner year for the Bollinger Blanc de Noirs.” Markham turned around to face Betsy, or was it Beth, only to find she’d crossed the space between them while his back was turned. Suddenly she was there, biting her plump lower lip.

Judging from the way she reached over and untucked his shirt, he wouldn’t have time to sugarcoat his pre-liaison caveats. Not that she was likely to mind. After all, Markham Savoy was the architect of everything interesting at Colebrook Academy. Consorting with him was like earning your very own place in history.

She reached up to undo the top button of her silk blouse, affording him a promising view of what awaited. Champagne sloshed over the side of her glass, splattering his artfully rolled cuffs.

“Careful,” Markham murmured, his eyes tracking the soft curve of exposed skin. “Bespoke shirts don’t grow on trees. At least not on this side of the River Styx.”
She frowned. “What’s bespoke? Is that like a European brand?” She twisted a strand of curly blond once again he’d succumbed. Once again he’d brought home one girl simply because she reminded him of another. In looks alone.

Markham sighed. Because there was only one adversary at Colebrook Academy worthy of conquest. One girl who made him furious and exhilarated all at once. One girl he would never let himself pursue. Markham found this more than a little unnerving. Normally he demanded the best, and felt he deserved it. But Piper Harrington had shown time and again that she was too good for him. She was too good for anyone in his eyes. He pictured her smile the day she’d won the school’s math award. And just like that, he had to work hard to keep himself focused on the girl now in front of him.

“Bespoke means custom, and I don’t have the time to drive to New York for a replacement. Homework, et cetera.” He realized how formal he sounded. Long gone was his flirty tone—banished by thoughts of Piper.

“Loosen up,” she said, reaching up and unfastening the top button on his shirt. “All the girls say you’re so much fun.” She trailed her fingers down his chest.

He should be thrilled by that statement. Instead, he was utterly indifferent. The girl watched him, her eyes searching his face. Uncertain. He felt like a jerk.

He placed his thumb under the girl’s chin and traced her lower lip with his index finger. “What exactly did you have in mind?” He forced his tone to sound light.

She set her champagne flute on his desk, squarely on the cocktail napkin he’d provided. Markham couldn’t help smiling at that. Then she slipped her hand underneath his shirt. Her palm was hot against his skin.

He smiled again, allowing himself a momentary flicker of pleasure. “That’s more like it,” she whispered.

The last month had been an agony of family obligations and oppressive social events conducted under his grandmother Dodi’s hawkish supervision. He shuddered at the memory of the insipid, buck-toothed granddaughter-of-an-important-friend he’d been coerced to entertain for nearly a week. The only thing that made it worthwhile was making Dodi cackle like a crow with his cutting commentary after the fact. As cantankerous as she was, he enjoyed Dodi’s company. Every year there was a crystalline moment of connection between the two of them that made the misery of his mandatory summer visits worthwhile.

The difficult part was enduring Dodi’s constant harping on the lack of direction in his life. It was as if she and his father were reading aloud from the same script. Every Savoy leaves their mark on Colebrook, on Harvard, on Wall Street or the White House. What have you accomplished, Markham, other than depleting your trust fund and besmirching the Savoy name? They had no clue what he was capable of. What he’d already accomplished. Then again, they wouldn’t understand the currency he traded in. Fortunately, he’d long ago abandoned his family’s limited definition of success.


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