October 3, 2014

BOOK BLITZ: Private Internship (Art of Love Book #2) By, Kitsy Clare







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Sugar’s not so sweet and secrets can be deadly … especially with matters of the heart

Sienna’s bestie, Harper warned her not to intern for famous bad boy artist, Casper Mason. After all, he just fired Harper who helped Sienna get the interview. But the moment Sienna sees Casper—or Caz—sweaty and practically shirtless and swinging from chains while he works on his sculpture, she’s hooked. He’s the richest, hottest artist in New York, and he lives in the fabulous Williamsburg Sugar Factory. But he’s also an incorrigible game-player, who seems to relish challenging Sienna’s loyalty with a string of unsettling tests.


She knows she should get away fast. But by the time Sienna sneaks into his locked storage room and begins to unearth his dark and terrifying secret, she’s fallen way too hard for the handsome, charismatic Caz.





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Author Bio:

Kitsy Clare hails from Philly and lives in New York. A romantic at heart, she loves to write about the sexy intrigue of the city, and particularly of the art world. She knows it well, having shown her paintings here before turning to writing. Her new adult romance series The Art of Love is about artist Sienna and her friends. Living in a Bookworld says: “Beautifully written! We get to learn things about art & painting, which is refreshing. A colorful story from a promising new adult author.” Kitsy also writes YA as Catherine Stine. Her futuristic thriller, Ruby’s Fire was a YA finalist in the Next Generation Indie book awards. Fireseed One, its companion novel, was a finalist in YA and Sci-Fi in the USA News International Book Awards, and an Indie Reader notable. Her YA horror, Dorianna, launches on Oct. 24 with Evernight Teen.











He locks his rich, hot-chocolate eyes on me, and studies my every curve and angle, seems to be piercing right through my skin into the alleys of my mind and heart. Curious, he’s so curious. I sense him asking where I’m from and why it took me so long to find him, and what kind of art I do, and whether I’ve ever sold it or gotten a review, or who I know, who I hang out with, and how much experience I’ve had in galleries, in school, in the world, in bed. My neck heats up. Did I just think that? Or was that something in his head that crossed wires and invaded mine? He’s close to me now, still staring boldly, when suddenly I feel his inner questions stop. And a wall, like one of those metal store gratings, clatters downward and slams. Closed for business, closed for questions, closed for good.

This, all before we’ve exchanged one word. When I come back into myself, I’m embarrassed to realize that I’m wringing my hands—the old-fashioned hysterical Victorian damsel in distress kind of wringing. I stop, immediately. Rub my sweaty palms on my dress. Buck up! I scold silently. And I extend my hand. “I’m Sienna. I’m your new intern.”

Casper Mason doesn’t take my hand. The nerve. He’s standing there, boldly, legs wide apart in some twisted warrior stance, arms folded across his wide chest. Jaw jutting out rebelliously, eyes daring me . . . to do what? So after an excruciating few seconds, I retract my hand.

“My new intern?” Caz mumbles as though an intern is a radioactive space rock or some otherworldly object and he never ordered one. “Well, it’s about time. That last one was a disaster.”




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