Today, I’m thrilled to welcome Indigo Skye to my blog. Indigo is a writer and photographer living in the American Southwest. Her first novel, Her Captive Muse, was released by Noble Romance Publishers in January. Her work has been widely published online. Last fall, her short story “True Confession” was published in the anthology Uniform Behavior. A full list of her published works is available on her blog, Indigo Skye: Ink and Art- http://indigoskyeinkandart.blogspot.com.
Here’s the blurb for Her Captive Muse. It sounds terrific – right up my alley, and on my TBR list!
When Brendan Delaney answered an ad for an artist’s model, he was looking for an easy way to earn some extra cash. But Morgan Roan wanted more than just a model. Soon, Brendan finds himself caught in a web of deception and desire, lust and betrayal—her captive muse. What price pleasure?
And in keeping with the magical theme for my portion of the tour, here’s a tasty snippet from Indigo’s book:
The Magician’s Folly
“You don’t believe me, do you?” Morgan asked. She toked hard on the joint and passed it back to him.
“No. I don’t.” His voice sounded flat. No one had ever called him beautiful before. She’s just shining me on.
“I’ll show you. I’ll prove it.” She looked excited. An attractive flush of color bloomed on her pale cheeks. She rummaged through a huge, roll-top desk in the corner, muttering to herself. “Where the hell did I—oh, there it is.” She pulled out a small sketchpad and a box of oil pastels and brought them back to her chair near the hearth.
Brendan groaned. “Not this shit again. I’m off duty.”
“This is different. You don’t have to pose. I can work from memory.” The artist began to sketch without looking at him. Her talented fingers worked fast.
He squirmed in the chair as Morgan studied his face. A perfectionist—trying to get it just right. Brendan watched her as she sketched. He drank his Scotch and smoked the last of the roach. He stood to toss the butt into the fire.
“There. Done.” She ripped the page from her sketchpad and handed it over.
Brendan examined the drawing. He didn’t recognize himself at first. It’s not me—or is it? She’s drawn me just as I am, and yet . . . .
Something about the sketch made him look twice. The way she portrayed his compact, wiry strength lent beauty and nobility to his features. He looked like a young man with a bright future ahead, rather than an aging fuckup with a past. He glanced up at her. Did she mean for him to keep the drawing? He’d been kicked out of his apartment—he didn’t even have a wall to hang it on. He tried to hand the drawing back, but Morgan waved it away.
“It’s yours. Keep it.”
“This is how you see me?” His hands shook as he studied the picture.
“It’s one of the ways I see you,” she said. “It’s the way I see you right now—in this light—after a few glasses of wine. The next time I look, I might see someone else entirely.”
Brendan couldn’t stop looking at the sketch. Instead of a tumbler of Scotch, she’d drawn him with a crystal ball in his left hand. She’d scrawled a title below her signature: “The Magician’s Folly.”
“A magician? I wish.” He laughed.
“You’re more powerful than you know, Brendan.” Her indigo eyes stared straight into his soul. He shifted in his chair and tore his gaze away to look down at his hands.
“I should get going. I’m late.” He stood up and got a head rush. Too hot. Shit. I think I’m gonna puke. His head spun and his stomach roiled. God, I need a fix. Could he shoot up in the bathroom? He wanted to get off—but he couldn’t nod out here. Gotta stay sober enough to drive over to Chad’s and score some more skank. A river of sweat ran down between his shoulder blades. I have to get out of here. Can’t let Morgan see me like this. He struggled to navigate the stuffy room on unsteady feet.
“Wait—you shouldn’t be driving. You’ve had a lot to drink.” Morgan put a hand on his arm.
“I’m fine. I’ll be all righ’.” Brendan said, slurring his words a little.
“No, you won’t.” She touched his face and framed it in her fingers. “I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you. You can sleep here. There’s plenty of room.”
Brendan hesitated at the doorway. “You don’t mind if I crash here? I don’t want to put you out.” He didn’t want to seem too eager—but he was almighty sick of couch-surfing and sleeping on park benches.
“Of course I don’t mind. Stay.”
The thought of sleeping in a real bed tempted him, but he tried one last time to refuse her hospitality. “No. It’s too much trouble. You got better things to do than babysit a drunk.”
“It’s no trouble at all.” She waved away his polite words as if she were like a cloud of mosquitoes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I should go.” He turned to leave and stumbled over his own feet.
“You can’t drive—you’re wasted. You’re staying here tonight.”
He knew it was useless to argue. Morgan was a woman who’d grown accustomed to getting what she wanted. Brendan guessed the challenge of the hunt was half the pleasure of any conquest for a woman like her. He resolved to play hard to get.
“Since you’re staying, would you like another drink?”
He shook his head. “Could I just have a glass of water? Please? I got cotton mouth.” He felt woozy from all the booze, and Morgan’s skunky pot.
“Strong stuff?” She smiled and laid a cool hand on his arm.
“Lie down.” She led him to a loveseat beneath an open window. “I’ll be right back with some water.”
The cold air felt good on his face and revived him a little. Brendan took off his leather jacket and dug through the pockets until he found the last little bit of his smack in its bindle. Could he shoot up? No time. Shit. He tipped a pile onto the coffee table and snorted it. The glitter-gold aura of poppy-bliss embraced him. Smack, for fast, fast relief. Brendan laughed under his breath. He bundled up his jacket, folding it into a pillow of sorts. The first warm wave of his buzz washed over him like a benediction.
Morgan returned with a glass of water. She sat beside him and stroked his hair back from his face. Her fingers felt like cool water against his fevered skin. She fussed over him, replacing his lumpy jacket with a soft pillow. He sipped the cool water with a grateful sigh and turned his head to catch the breeze. He could smell wood smoke and darkness. The north wind foretold winter’s coming chill.
“Thank you—feels good.” He closed his eyes. He was almost asleep when Morgan leaned over and kissed him goodnight.
“My room’s at the end of the hall if you need anything.” She nibbled on his earlobe, then pulled away. He reached for her, but she ignored him. She stood and crossed to the door. “Sweet dreams.” Her pale form dissolved into the darkness, leaving Brendan to wonder if he’d imagined the whole thing.
I cannot wait to read this, I’ve got chills, in a good way, and am salivating to see what comes next. Thanks for that taste, Indigo!
You can find Indigo on the web here:
And here’s where you can get your hands on Her Captive Muse- https://www.nobleromance.com/ItemDisplay.aspx?i=235
Here’s a link to Uniform Behavior-
In addition, the Red Roses & Shattered Glass Anthology features a fantasic story by Indigo.
You can get your copy here: https://www.nobleromance.com/ItemDisplay.aspx?i=260
Remember, we’re giving away some great prizes, so leave a comment for Indigo, or a question, or anything else!
You can meet up with Bianca Sommerland over at JS Wayne’s blog. Click the button to continue along the tour route!