Blog Tour: Rock Hard by Kat Austen

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First loves don’t last. Especially one as unlikely and turbulent as Elodie and Caspian’s.

It’s been years since she’s seen the rough rebel she fell in love with as a teen. She’s put him behind her and moved on. That’s the story she tries to sell her friends and family, but deep down, she knows it’s a lie. She hasn’t moved on from Caspian Cruz and she probably never will, but she has to finally give up hope they’ll ever reunite.

Or does she?

When her friends drag her to a sold-out rock concert, she comes face to face with the lead singer . . . who just so happens to be the boy she fell for all those years ago.

She never thought she’d see him again. She never realized he’d made it in the music world. And she never expected him to confess that he’s been waiting for her as long as she’s been waiting for him.

What will happen when their worlds collide again? A repeat of the past or a second chance to get things right?



ROCK HARD is a short and sexy read, chock-full of excessive sweetness and heaps of filthy talking. Not for the faint or square of heart.

“Men suck. It’s official. If a girl like you can’t keep a guy, there is literally no hope for me.” My friend, Sydney, shook her head and took a drink of her margarita.

   “Just to confirm, you know for sure that he was cheating on you?” Our friend Jessie twisted on the stool to look at me straight on.

   Exhaling, I pulled my phone from my clutch and scrolled through a few messages until I found the one I’d been sent a few days ago from a number I didn’t recognize. I refused to look at the picture, but I made sure Jessie and Sydney got a good look.

   Jessie’s eyes narrowed.  “Two-timing, sorry bastard.”

   Sydney winced like the image was grotesque. “Dude, if that’s what he looks like beneath that fancy composer’s tuxedo, let that violin-playing hussy have his pasty, blubbery ass.”

   “He’s all hers,” I said, tucking my phone back away.

   “Hans was crazy about you though. I don’t get it. Why the sudden change of heart?” Jessie pulled the olive from her martini and popped it into her mouth.

   “Oh, please, it didn’t have anything to do with his heart. He was thinking with his dick when he fell into bed with Tits McGee there,” Sydney chimed in, which worked for me. I wasn’t eager to hash out my most recent failed relationship with anyone, my two good friends included.

   Hans and I had been dating on and off for a couple of years. He was the conductor for the world-renowned Los Angeles symphony, twenty years my senior, and had a golden reputation in the upper circle. My parents had been thrilled when they found out I was seeing Hans Vandenberg, visions of musical-prodigy offspring dancing through their heads.

   No doubt they’d been devastated when I told them we’d split. They probably would blame me for ruining it even if I showed them the photo I’d been sent of him asleep and naked in bed with some other woman. They always seemed to prefer the ones who treated me like crap over the only one who’d ever treated me the way a person who claimed to love someone should.

   “I bet you’re relieved you didn’t let him finally wear you down, right, Elodie?” Sydney had to nudge me to bring me back to the present. “Way to hold out on a guy for two years. You made his true colors come through.”

   “His true colors being pasty with a splattering of really unattractive body hair,” Jessie muttered.

   “Truthfully, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. Hans and I were never good together. He or I should have called things off months ago.” I shrugged like that was that, because it was.

   Other than looking good on paper, Hans and I had never made sense. I’d never once looked at him and felt my stomach drop, and I knew all he’d seen when he looked at me was a young girl he was hoping to add to his rumored lengthy list of bed mates.

   That was part of the reason I’d held out for so long—I didn’t want be one of a hundred others, or even one of a few. I wanted to be the one of one. The one he’d waited for. I wanted to be someone’s The One.

   “Okay, so I’ve got a brilliant plan for Operation Over Hans VanPastyAss.” Sydney tipped back what was left of her drink, lifting her finger at the bartender. “We’re going to get good and mildly drunk, then we’re going to go see My Mortal Affliction from the front row, baby”—Sydney pulled a trio of tickets from her purse, fanning them in my face—“we’re going to get on our knees and worship that god of a lead singer of theirs, probably flash him a few dozen times, then we’re going to make out with some really fine specimens before we allow our heads to hit the pillow tonight.”

   My eyebrows came together as I studied the concert tickets. I’d agreed to meet my friends for a drink after my earlier performance, but I hadn’t planned on anything else after this. As it was, I was already checking the time, hardly able to wait to crawl into my bed and put an end to this day.

   From the friends’ texts I’d had to field who were just finding out about Hans’s and my split, to avoiding my parents’ incessant calls encouraging me to work things out, to the concert where I’d felt haunted by a ghost during the last few minutes, I was ready to put this day to bed.

   “I’ve got early practice tomorrow,” I said.

   Jessie lifted her finger at me. “You’ve always got early practice. That’s no longer an excuse to dodge life.”

    I blinked, offended. “I’m not dodging life.”

   “Correction, you dodge the fun parts of life.”

   My mouth fell open a little as I looked at Sydney to back me up, but all she did was lift her hands and keep her lips sealed. I wanted to defend myself, but they were right. Other than the endless hours I spent playing piano, my life wasn’t very exciting. Outside of these two dragging me out for the occasional good time, my social calendar was pathetic.

    I had no idea who this My Mortal Addiction was, what kind of music they played, or if I’d even like it, but having my friends call me out stirred something inside me. They were right. I’d spent enough time waiting for my life to really get started. Enough time feeling like an empty shell.

   “Well?” I finished the last of my wine and slid off of my stool. “Ready when you are.”

Kat Austen is the secret pen name of a New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author. Kat writes short and steamy reads that leave hearts (and other parts) satisfied.

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Release Day Blitz: Rock Hard by Kat Austen

  Amazon US   

Amazon UK

 Amazon CA  

Amazon AU

First loves don’t last. Especially one as unlikely and turbulent as Elodie and Caspian’s.

It’s been years since she’s seen the rough rebel she fell in love with as a teen. She’s put him behind her and moved on. That’s the story she tries to sell her friends and family, but deep down, she knows it’s a lie. She hasn’t moved on from Caspian Cruz and she probably never will, but she has to finally give up hope they’ll ever reunite.

Or does she?

When her friends drag her to a sold-out rock concert, she comes face to face with the lead singer . . . who just so happens to be the boy she fell for all those years ago.

She never thought she’d see him again. She never realized he’d made it in the music world. And she never expected him to confess that he’s been waiting for her as long as she’s been waiting for him.

What will happen when their worlds collide again? A repeat of the past or a second chance to get things right?



ROCK HARD is a short and sexy read, chock-full of excessive sweetness and heaps of filthy talking. Not for the faint or square of heart.

   My music was an extension of my soul—the tone of it a reflection of my mood. But the heart of it was him. It always had been, and I guessed it always would be.

    I was playing to a sold-out audience at one of the large theaters in Los Angeles, but at the last minute, I had changed my line-up of songs for the night. Instead of the softer fare of nocturnes and lullabies I’d planned on, I’d exchanged Chopin’s and Mozart’s most eloquent pieces for Tchaikovsky’s and Beethoven’s most heartbreaking composures. I couldn’t play light songs when my heart felt heavy. I couldn’t give the audience beautiful pieces when my world felt forlorn.

   I couldn’t play his song to an audience who wouldn’t understand.

   The last few haunting chords of Medtner’s “Night Wind Sonata” were echoing through the auditorium when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Chills spilled down my spine, puddling in my feet as I focused on hitting the last notes.

   The crowd’s applause exploded through the room as the final note reverberated around me. Usually I slid from the bench a few moments later, took a bow, and whisked off the stage. Tonight I felt glued to the bench, my fingers stuck to the keys.

   That strange sensation abated just enough so that I could move again, though just barely. Pulling my shaking hands off of the keys, I forced myself to rise from the bench. The audience was still applauding, starting to rise to their feet as I attempted the same.

   I’d been playing to crowds since I was six—I’d been performing to sold-out crowds around the country for the past few years—but never had I felt like this before. Trying to collect myself as I moved to the front of the stage, I concentrated on holding my composure when I’d never felt less composed. Shaking hands, wobbly legs, pit in my stomach, shivers down my spine . . . I’d experienced this kind of sensation before, but never in this kind of context.    

   I’d felt it the first time I looked at him and he looked back. The first time he’d reached for my hand and tied his fingers through mine. The first time he’d kissed me, that time after piano practice. I’d felt it a million other times, but I’d only felt it with him.

   As I took my bow—the pitch of the applause increasing as I did so—I just noticed a figure drifting out of one of the rows and moving up the aisle toward the back of the theatre. It was a man’s frame moving in an achingly familiar way.

   By the time I’d lifted out of my bow to see the crowd again, he was gone. A conjuring of my imagination. The ghost that followed me wherever I went.

   As I left the stage, I reminded myself he was gone.

Kat Austen is the secret pen name of a New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author. Kat writes short and steamy reads that leave hearts (and other parts) satisfied.

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Release Day Blitz: Rock Hard by Kat Austen

  Amazon US   

Amazon UK

 Amazon CA  

Amazon AU

First loves don’t last. Especially one as unlikely and turbulent as Elodie and Caspian’s.

It’s been years since she’s seen the rough rebel she fell in love with as a teen. She’s put him behind her and moved on. That’s the story she tries to sell her friends and family, but deep down, she knows it’s a lie. She hasn’t moved on from Caspian Cruz and she probably never will, but she has to finally give up hope they’ll ever reunite.

Or does she?

When her friends drag her to a sold-out rock concert, she comes face to face with the lead singer . . . who just so happens to be the boy she fell for all those years ago.

She never thought she’d see him again. She never realized he’d made it in the music world. And she never expected him to confess that he’s been waiting for her as long as she’s been waiting for him.

What will happen when their worlds collide again? A repeat of the past or a second chance to get things right?



ROCK HARD is a short and sexy read, chock-full of excessive sweetness and heaps of filthy talking. Not for the faint or square of heart.

   My music was an extension of my soul—the tone of it a reflection of my mood. But the heart of it was him. It always had been, and I guessed it always would be.

    I was playing to a sold-out audience at one of the large theaters in Los Angeles, but at the last minute, I had changed my line-up of songs for the night. Instead of the softer fare of nocturnes and lullabies I’d planned on, I’d exchanged Chopin’s and Mozart’s most eloquent pieces for Tchaikovsky’s and Beethoven’s most heartbreaking composures. I couldn’t play light songs when my heart felt heavy. I couldn’t give the audience beautiful pieces when my world felt forlorn.

   I couldn’t play his song to an audience who wouldn’t understand.

   The last few haunting chords of Medtner’s “Night Wind Sonata” were echoing through the auditorium when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Chills spilled down my spine, puddling in my feet as I focused on hitting the last notes.

   The crowd’s applause exploded through the room as the final note reverberated around me. Usually I slid from the bench a few moments later, took a bow, and whisked off the stage. Tonight I felt glued to the bench, my fingers stuck to the keys.

   That strange sensation abated just enough so that I could move again, though just barely. Pulling my shaking hands off of the keys, I forced myself to rise from the bench. The audience was still applauding, starting to rise to their feet as I attempted the same.

   I’d been playing to crowds since I was six—I’d been performing to sold-out crowds around the country for the past few years—but never had I felt like this before. Trying to collect myself as I moved to the front of the stage, I concentrated on holding my composure when I’d never felt less composed. Shaking hands, wobbly legs, pit in my stomach, shivers down my spine . . . I’d experienced this kind of sensation before, but never in this kind of context.    

   I’d felt it the first time I looked at him and he looked back. The first time he’d reached for my hand and tied his fingers through mine. The first time he’d kissed me, that time after piano practice. I’d felt it a million other times, but I’d only felt it with him.

   As I took my bow—the pitch of the applause increasing as I did so—I just noticed a figure drifting out of one of the rows and moving up the aisle toward the back of the theatre. It was a man’s frame moving in an achingly familiar way.

   By the time I’d lifted out of my bow to see the crowd again, he was gone. A conjuring of my imagination. The ghost that followed me wherever I went.

   As I left the stage, I reminded myself he was gone.

Kat Austen is the secret pen name of a New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author. Kat writes short and steamy reads that leave hearts (and other parts) satisfied.

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Release Day Blitz - Educating Emma by Kat Austen

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Emma’s had it bad for Professor Faraday all semester. Despite her best efforts, Luke Faraday seems immune to the brilliant blonde who sits enthralled in his lecture hall every day.

When Emma decides to confront her enigmatic professor and confess her feelings, Luke has a confession of his own to make. Will his confession send her running? Or will it send her running straight into his arms?

Either way, Emma’s about to get more of an education than she bargained for.

***This is a Dark Fantasies Novella, fantasy being the key word. Get lost in the story, hold off jumping to conclusions, and brace yourself for the sweet surprise waiting at the end.***

I roam in front of her, keeping my distance. For now. “I wouldn’t think you had much concern for privacy. Especially since I’ve caught you sitting in your car outside of my house late at night. What were you doing there?”

When her mouth falls open, I almost throw myself on her. That mouth. It will be my undoing, especially if she keeps opening it like that, parting it, gasping. Soon I’ll be drawing moans and screams from it, my obsession with it only growing.

“Were you watching me undress and climb into the shower? Touching yourself as you watched? Is that why you did it? To get yourself off since I wasn’t doing it for you?”

She pushes off the wall a little. “You knew?”

I circle closer. From this distance, I can smell her. From the scent of her shampoo to the scent that resides between her legs, the waiting is killing me. I need her. I have to have her. “Of course I knew. Why do you think I kept the blinds open and jacked off in full view?”

When my hand lowers to my crotch, stroking myself a few times through my slacks, she watches. She likes to watch. That’s why I gave her such a good show the last time.

“It wasn’t for the neighbors’ benefit, poppet.”

Her chest is moving fast, her breathing rushed. Horny little girl. “That was for me?”

I nod. “All of it. All of this has been for you.” Waving around the room, I end with pointing my finger between her and me. “Now it’s time to reward me for my patience and efforts.”

She steps closer and the sound her heel makes stabs the silence. “You’ve been planning this.”

If only she knew . . . she’d run. My obsession for her runs deep. It’s all-consuming. All-encompassing. All-powerful. All . . . everything.

“Ever since the day you walked through that door.” I point at the one she first came in through, the last one I’d locked, sealing her fate. “Now, don’t make me ask again—take off your shirt and let me see those perfect tits I’ve spent months jacking off to.”

Her breathing heavy, she stares at me like she’s trying to figure out an equation. Her eyes skim my body, making multiple visits to what resides below my belt. When they end on my eyes, her fingers move to her shirt.

She slips the next button free, then the next, until there’re no more left to undo. She never breaks eye contact. I don’t think she even blinks. God knows I don’t. I don’t want to miss a thing.

“Off,” I order when the shirt stays draped over her shoulders, hiding those glorious peaks.

Slowly, she pulls one arm free from her shirt. Then the other, until at last, the blouse spills down her back and floats to the floor. Her arms cover herself at first, but all she needs to see is my jaw going rigid before her arms fall back to her sides. She’s learning. Listen . . . or else.

Kat Austen is the secret pen name of a New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author. Kat writes short and steamy reads that leave hearts (and other parts) satisfied.

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