BLOG TOUR STOP: REVIEW, CHAPTER ONE, AND GIVEAWAY: The Quest For Perkins by L.B. Dunbar

Title: The Quest For Perkins Vale (Legendary Rock Star #3)

Author: L.B. Dunbar

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: June 22, 2015

Synopsis

I’m not sure I know what to think of the girl I’ve searched for since I was thirteen; she isn’t exactly how I remembered her.

I’m twenty-five, a guy and a virgin. Yep, you read that right; I’m still a virgin. Why you ask? Because I met the woman of my dreams when she was still a girl and I’ve been searching for her ever since we met. I’ve saved myself for her, as I believe she saved herself for me. Why again? Because I will love her, like she will love me, when we finally meet, again. I’d like to think it was that simple, but I don’t really know if she will love me. I only hope she will. If she doesn’t, she won’t be the right girl for me, because like I said, I’ve been saving myself for the woman of my dreams. I just don’t know where she is…but I won’t stop searching until I find her. That is my mission. My quest.

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Review

Perkins Vale’s quest began when he was 13 years old and made a promise to a grey eyed girl that he would come back for her…save her…claim her as his.

For 12 years, Perkins’ search seemed hopeless, and most people in his situation would probably give up the search and live his life for himself not someone he may or may not ever see again.

But that’s not the man Perkins Vale is; he’s a man of honor, loyalty and faithfulness, and he more than proves he has these attributes when he finally finds, Hollister SanGrael, the girl who has held his heart and body all of these years, and goes out of his way to prove to her that she is someone to be treasured and love, not someone who should be taken from or abused like the men of her past have done.

Perkins Vale is the kind of knight that I would like to be rescued by…he’s pure of heart, comforting and caring…he’s someone who understands what it’s like to be on the outside and treated poorly for physical attributes or personality traits that he has no control over.

Hollister is Perkin’s Holy Grail, and he will protect her and cherish her regardless of how long it takes to make her his.

Hollister absolutely needs saving, but she is also a strong and resourceful woman who fights for and gives compassion to those who need it. Her past is filled with people who took advantage of her innocence and forced her be someone she never wanted to be – someone who is afraid…closed off from love…tainted by others’ evil deeds. I completely understand her hesitancy when it comes to letting Perkins into her life and allowing him to truly see her – scars and all. At first, Hollister thinks Perkins is just like the others, but quickly, she sees him for who he is and realizes he has come to save her and stay true to the promise he made her all those years ago.

Like most quests, Perkins has many obstacles to overcome. He needs to prove himself and remain the man he’s strived to be regardless of the doubt, fear, and heartache he experiences along the way.

I absolutely loved The Quest of Perkins Vale! He is a true knight of the Round Table, and L.B. Dunbar does a fantastic job of creating him in the image of Percival. He is my favorite band member, which is hard for me to say because I adored Arturo. There’s just something about Perkins’ purity despite what he does for a living; he gave his heart away a long time ago and he holds true to that vow. I also love that despite Perkins’ naiveté in terms of sex, he definitely knows his way around a woman’s body, and boy is the man swoonworthy. His lyrical words may sound flat or untrue coming from any other man, but because they’re Perkins’, they simply show his honesty and his faithfulness.

Arturo’s disappearance is still very much a part of Perkins’ story, which is good because it allows readers further insight into the mystery that continues to unfold. I’m still unsure how all of that is going to play out, knowing everything that has happened so far, but I will be eager to see what does occur after readers get Tristan’s story. I have a feeling it’s going to be quite a bit different than Perkins’, which is what keeps L.B. Dunbar’s Legendary Rock Stars series a must read!

A complimentary copy was provided in exchange for an honest review.

4.5 poison apples

Chapter One

The night of the concert…

[Perkins]

Arturo King and I rode side by side. The Ducati Monster 1200 screamed under me while Arturo steered Lansing’s red Streetfigher 848. We raced through the dark night down the short, dimly lit avenue outside The Round Table, taking a quick left in unison to be joined by two other bikes. At first, I thought it was Mel Agent or someone who worked for Mel. Not putting it past the asshole, as he had already tried to kidnap Guinevere DeGrance, Arturo’s fiancée, almost a month ago. The adrenaline rushed through my body, vibrating with anger. Mel had slipped a date rape drug into Guinie’s drink and hiked her back to his apartment, in hopes of taking advantage of her.

Firmly pulling down on the throttle, I sensed Mel’s intentions were the same again tonight toward her: the girl on the back of my bike. The girl with her small hands gripping the back of my t-shirt under my leather jacket, refusing to wrap her arms around me, despite the fact her legs were hugging my thick thighs from behind. I would have felt safer for her if she had a better hold on me, securing her arms around me, but it was bad enough I forced her out of The Round Table with me.

Glancing at Arturo to my right, he signaled with his head to turn ahead. We took the next corner quickly, but the bikes behind us kept an even pace. They were close, but not too close. Yet. Arturo King was one of my best friends. He’d befriended me when few others did in those woods around Lake Avalon. He’d been the one to offer me a place in the band. He was the one who never laughed at my awkwardness. He seemed to understand who I was and who I wanted to be. I was indebted to the lead singer and songwriter of our band, The Nights, for many things. Now, I owed him one more.

He’d helped me get away, with the girl.

We cornered a turn again at the third left; not bothering to downshift to slow, and immediately sped through the alley. Arturo hit the throttle, making the engine of Lansing’s bike scream down the narrow space, clipping a trashcan to spill behind us, knowing that the two bikes were truly following us. The sound of a racing engine and the crash of tin cans on cement made a ruckus in the otherwise quiet area. I sensed Arturo’s plan to outrun our followers, and I kept a steady pace next to my partner. We barely downshifted as we reached the first crossroad off the alley, zipping across the, thankfully, abandoned street, with little more than a glance left or right. The girl finally slid her hands around my abs. For a brief second, I thought her hands might have lingered as they slipped around me, feeling the hardness of my stomach. Her palms were flat for a moment, and then she gripped my dark t-shirt in her small fists again as we bumped out into another cross street.

“They’re after me,” she yelled over the roar of the fierce engine.

I couldn’t be positive she was right, but I didn’t doubt it either. If these were Mel’s men, they wouldn’t stop until they got what Mel wanted. If he wanted the girl, he would do anything to get her.

“Drop me off,” she yelled.

Fuck no. I wouldn’t lose her again.

In a last minute decision, we turned again with Arturo twisting his neck to look behind us as we raced toward the thoroughfare near Central Park. Giving a quick nod to me, I looked over my shoulder, as well, to see the first biker skitter into the street before correcting himself. We took one more turn and I was convinced we might lose our pursuers. We hit the larger boulevard and collectively cranked our respective throttles, speeding over eighty miles per hour through the steady crowded New York City streets. Within seconds, I heard the sound of the approaching motorcycles.

“They’re gaining on us,” the girl yelled into my ear.

I glanced at Arturo again, who nodded his head for us to separate. I barely noticed that Arturo slowed slightly as if allowing me time to speed ahead and save the girl.

Continuing through the late night traffic, I downshifted to a more legal speed, as I noticed the other motorcycles followed Arturo. They hadn’t wanted the girl, after all, and were probably paparazzi of some type. Arturo King was good at dodging them, so I had faith in my fellow bandmate that he’d outrun the guys chasing behind. I turned the Ducati off the boulevard around Central Park, moments after our separation from Arturo, and headed toward a less reputable part of the city. The girl behind me had grown quiet after we separated from Arturo. If it weren’t for the solidness of her pressed against my back, I might have thought I was alone.

I sped the large bike down a side street that had the street sign stolen by some kids a week or two ago. On the right were several two-story buildings that housed some type of daytime business; the left side was an expanse of several low buildings, once warehouses, along the river’s dwindling bank. I didn’t bother to know what the business across the street from my building did during the day. Something that required people from nine to five was all I knew. But on my side of the street, one warehouse had been converted into a pet shelter. The other building was vacant. Then, there was my building in between.

I punched in a code to open the service-garage-looking door, with blackened windows, and rode the Ducati into the large industrial space. It was a statement of automotive art inside this garage. Pristine motorcycle parts dangled from the ceiling near a large black Cadillac SUV. A second Ducati Streetfighter, similar to the one Arturo rode that belonged to Lansing Lotte, was parked next to the shiny vehicle. A classic 1950 motorcycle, named The Black Shadow that belonged to my long ago mentor, was the pivotal statement to my love of bikes. This wasn’t an automotive shop or a bike garage; this was the place of honor to house my collection.

I pulled the Ducati Monster next to the red Streetfighter and cut the engine. I paused for a moment as the girl still sat astride behind me. Thinking I needed to help her off the bike before I could swing my large leg over the seat, I twisted slightly to look at her over my shoulder. Her head was moving slowly from side to side, taking in the space around her before her eyes met mine, or what I thought were her eyes meeting mine, as she still had on the helmet.

“I live in the back,” I offered, to assure her that we weren’t staying in a cold garage for the night.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she snipped, then slid her leg over the seat to stand to the side of the bike. Removing the helmet I’d given her to protect her, midnight black hair tumbled out of its confinement and cascaded over her shoulders. She wore an oversized army issue jacket, which I sensed was two sizes too big for her. Her shapely legs were covered by the length of the coat to her knees, but tight black leggings peeked out underneath. Those legs were strong, despite her average height, and matched my firm thighs as she sat behind me on the bike, clenching occasionally as we flew through the city streets. Black female combat boots that were meant to be stylish were scuffed and worn on her feet.

My eyes travelled back up to her face, and steel gray eyes looked into my dark brown ones. Nervously, I ran a hand over my nearly shaved head, feeling the soothing sensation of the short-cropped hair. Thinking of her comment, I didn’t respond as I swung my own leg off the bike and pointed in a direction for her to walk. I strolled behind her then reached around her to enter another code and open the solid security door to my living space.

I played the drums and they were the first things she could see as we entered my large open room. They were the focal point of my life. I’d purchased the warehouse because I couldn’t live anywhere else and practice at my will. An apartment had neighbors too close. A neighborhood wasn’t my thing. I could have built a house further outside the city, but I didn’t want to. I’d grown up in seclusion. I didn’t want to be alone again. The irony was I was alone in my warehouse home.

The drum set was the centerpiece to a room furnished with an oversized couch facing the kit and a large screen television on the wall behind the set. A workout bench, with weights, was slightly hidden behind the dark couch. Two large darkened windows were the only hint to outside. My kitchen was open to this living space with a large island being the only thing separating the two areas. There was no table for dining, but stools stood around two sides of the island. There was only one bedroom off the kitchen, which held a king-size bed and a tall dresser. I lived simply, sparsely, as if I could pack up and move in a matter of hours. But it was more than that. I didn’t need much. I liked life simple, compared to my upbringing. It was a strange combination of what I had and didn’t have.

“The bathroom’s over there.” I pointed toward a door that had a window of etched glass on the upper half. “If you want to clean up.”

She stood in my living area, still holding the motorcycle helmet against her middle as if a shield, protecting her from me. I knew I frightened her, despite her sharp tongue. My size alone was a lot to take in. I’d lost the baby fat I had as a young adolescent when I eventually went to high school. The taunting words of other children were cruel to a boy too large at a young age, and their insults inspired me to lose weight. Tristan Lyons, the fourth and final member of the band, was also a positive force in motivating me to work out daily. Tristan had the face of a male model and a body to match. He got girls instinctively, while I didn’t understand women at all. My experience with them was severely limited, despite the notoriety of my fellow band members. I had a reputation, though. One I didn’t think I quite deserved.

“So that’s it? I should freshen up, before…” She waved her delicate hand to motion between the two of us.

I was taken aback at her meaning for a moment until realization hit me, my face giving away my own embarrassment.

“You think I brought you here to…” I trailed off like she had, copying her hand gesture between us.

She nodded in response.

“Uhm. No,” I added after my face relaxed, and one side of my lips curled up in a crooked smile.

She was thoughtful for a moment, squinting those powerful gray eyes at me, before she replied,

“Why not?”

Again I was shocked. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with her in that way. Hell, I’d been dreaming of her for years, almost thirteen to be exact. But tonight wasn’t the night for that fantasy to play out.

“Would you like something to eat? Drink?” I asked, shifting the awkward conversation as I brushed passed her to the kitchen area and opened the industrial fridge door. I didn’t have much as I lived alone: a few beers, a couple bottles of water, a sports drink, and some orange juice.

“You’re offering me something to drink?” Her voice displayed her sheer puzzlement at my question.

Agreeing to take a water, I reached for two, unscrewing the cap on hers before handing the cool bottle to her. Her fingers brushed mine when she yanked the bottle from me, rather forcefully. My eyes jumped to her face, which showed no reaction to our physical contact. I, on the other hand, felt an electric spark travel directly to a body part I couldn’t control. I remembered the sensation from being around her before. It was an instantaneous response to her aggressive stance.

“So…what’s going on here?” she said, looking around the sparsely furnished room again.

“I live here…and you’re staying here tonight. To be safe.”

“Safe?!” she choked loudly on the word. “You just kidnapped me.”

“I…I did not,” I stammered, taking in the disgusted look on her face. Had I kidnapped her? Taken her against her will?

I stood there recalling quickly what had transpired in the bar before I had her on the back of the bike.

About The Author

L.B. Dunbar loves to read to the point it might be classified as an addiction. The past few years especially she has relished the many fabulous YA authors, the new genre of New Adult, traditional romances, and historical romances. A romantic at heart, she’s been accused of having an overactive imagination, as if that was a bad thing. Author of the Sensations Collection, Sound Advice, Taste Test, Fragrance Free, Touch Screen, and the upcoming Sight Words, she is also author of the Legendary Rock Star series, beginning with The Legend of Arturo King. She grew up in Michigan, but has lived in Chicago for longer, calling it home with her husband and four children.