Monday, September 26, 2016

Blog Tour: The God of Jazz: Fugue, Concord by Varian Krylov #Excerpt #Giveaway



TITLE: The God of Jazz: Fugue, Concord 

AUTHOR: Varian Krylov 

COVER ARTIST: Bey Deckard 

LENGTH: 117,450 words 

RELEASE DATE: September 16, 2016 

BLURB: After years struggling to realize his dream of directing a feature film, on the final night of his fundraising campaign Godard is on the cusp of having everything he ever wanted. The man he loves is upstairs waiting for him, and he's just a few dollars short of his GoFundYourself goal. 

Then everything falls apart. 

His personal and professional life in ruins, when his old nemesis from film school offers to fund his dream project if he's willing to shoot it in Spain, Godard knows it's a deal with the devil. But he also has nothing left to lose. 

Among the labyrinthine streets of Barcelona's Barrio Góthico, the city's vibrant music scene, and the sun-gilt beaches of the Costa Brava, Godard begins making shooting his dream project and putting his life back together, largely under the domineering gaze and deft touch of Ángel, the god of jazz. 

But Ángel is keeping a secret, and a deal with the devil always comes at a price. 


Bienvenidos...” After a glance back at his band mates, the trumpet player fixed his intense gaze on the audience and welcomed us in a low, smoky voice. Almost instantly the crowd went quiet, like everyone there was desperate not to miss a syllable. Of course, the remaining crumbs of my high school education in Spanish didn't get me past the first word, except I did catch their names as he introduced his bandmates. Jaume on the drums. Alistair on bass.

The stunner with the trumpet and the arresting eyes that were the color of Amaretto di Saronno in the sun, but almost black in the hard shadow cast by the spotlight hitting his striking, upward angled eyebrows, was Ángel. He shot a glance at the drummer, who set a rhythm, brushes hissing over the heads. The low thrum of the bass came in as an electric smile spread over Alistair's handsome face. The tempo of the music echoed faintly in Ángel's subtly swaying body for a few measures as he let the music lull us out of the hectic pace of our day, the frenetic energy of the crowd that had been bantering and calling for drinks and jockeying for places to sit or stand, into the soothing rhythm. Then he brought the horn to his lips and kissed our souls.

Sultry, thick and sweet, tinges of melancholy. The notes stretched and yawned, curled around us like smoke. Slipped into the gaps in our broken, rusted armor and soothed our wounds.

I felt almost ashamed, in the midst of that transcendental rapture, that I couldn't look at Ángel without conjuring the memory of his naked body, lax and faintly sheened with sweat as his broad shoulders flexed when he'd shifted his weight. The taunting temptation of his bare ass. Impossible to stop trying to imagine what he would look like, standing alone on that stage, under those lights, looking down at me, naked. Picturing his cock hanging, limp. Wondering if, when hard, it would stand up straight, jut off at an angle, or stick out from his groin.

At some point I had stopped looking at the other two sharing his stage, and just stared at him. The slight inward slope of his narrow nose. The delicate bow shape of his upper lip, slightly prominent, overshadowing his narrower bottom lip. Wanting him, almost willing him to turn those intense eyes on me again. Would it feel like a touch, the way it had at the beach? Was he caressing every man and woman in the bar with that gaze? Were they all secretly quivering and warming under his stare?



“What are you going to taste like when I kiss you?” He brushed his cheek against mine. The bristle of his stubble drove a rush of warmth over me.
“Bourbon. Tooth paste.”
His mouth was so close to mine, his breath wafted warm against my lips. “Last time, you tasted like the sea. Salty.”
“Which do you prefer?”
“If I say the sea, will you run down to the beach right now and throw yourself into the water?”
“If you want me to. Yes.”
He gave me a smug smile. “Get undressed.”
“What about you?”
“You want me to take off my clothes?”
Ohgodfuck. “Yes.” Even though we'd fooled around, I hadn't seen him naked since that first day on the beach.
A cocky smirk. He let go of my wrist and took a step back. A twinge of regret hit me as the gap opened up between our bodies, but I was instantly mollified as he started unbuttoning his shirt. Just watching him bare his chest, I ached. He had the most sensual body imaginable. Muscled and lean, hard, but beautifully smooth and rounded. A faint dusting of hair across his pecs, condensing in a dark line leading down his taut abs, accentuated his masculine appearance without obscuring the tantalizing richness of his honey-hued skin.
“Can't do two things at once?” He softened his chide with a teasing smile as I realized I'd gone stock-still as I stared.
“I'll try,” I joked back, and started stripping, distracted and slowed by the sight of his dick sticking out—thick, heavy, half hard—from his dark thatch of close-cropped pubes.
As soon as we were both naked, he closed in, sliding up against me, his body pressed warm and hard to mine as he drove me back against the book case again, capturing my gaze, rooting his fingers in my hair, his breath hot on my lips before he finally kissed them. I groaned out loud as he tasted my mouth, burrowing between my lips, taunting my eager tongue. Already panting, I surrendered to the sensuous strength of that powerful body as he hooked an arm across the small of my back, holding me hard against him.
I couldn't believe how badly I wanted him. Just the feel of our cocks brushing against each other each time he flexed his hips a little, subtly grinding against me, had me shaking with need, my whole groin thrumming in time with my racing pulse. I reached for his cock, but he caught my wrist and pinned it behind me again.
“Always so greedy. So impatient.”
Fuck, his taunts just made it worse. Made the ache surge to a pitch of throbbing tenderness inflamed by every slight shift of his pelvis against mine. When he licked and bit my neck just under my ear, I whimpered, a rush of shivers cascading hot and cold down my back, down my chest, making my nipples tighten.
“Poor, needful boy.” He savaged the other side of my neck, making me gasp as my knees almost gave. “Do you need to be touched?”
Oh, god. “Yes.”
“Then ask me nicely.”
I didn't know if it was arousal or embarrassment heating my cheeks. “Touch me. Please, Ángel.” With no calculation on my part, my words warbled, pleading, desperate.


Growing up near Los Angeles, I spent much of my time frolicking in the Pacific Ocean and penning angst-twisted poetry. Now I'm living in sunny Spain writing pathos-riddled fiction. Ironically, two of my favorite things are traveling, and swimming in the ocean, despite increasingly intense phobias of sharks and flying.

I've always loved the music and substance of words, always loved writing in well-worn notebooks by hand, tapping at the keys of the computer, and, of course, conjuring up stories.

And from my earliest memories, I've always been fascinated—maybe obsessed?—with sex and sexuality.

In my writing, sex is the medium, the expression, and the tool of discovery for my characters' insecurities, the needs that drive them, the comfort they can't live without, the joy and relish of life that makes each of them intense, strange, and alluring.

One commentator will win a copy of Varian's book!
Simply post a comment and click that you did on the rafflecopter.
Contest ends September 29th!
a Rafflecopter giveaway


  1. Great excerpt. This sounds excellent. Thank you

  2. Great excerpt! Being born in Barcelona, I'm really intrigued by this book

  3. The excerpts are scorchingly hot I could combust. I was always inclined on stories with music concept in it. <3 Reading this post was like a religious experience. *blush*