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Only 99c for a LIMITED TIME! Law and Disorder by Brooke Edwards #mmromance @brookeedwardsau

Blurb

James Carter and Derek Moore fought their way through attraction and misunderstandings to get to where they are today. Sure, they’re still figuring out how to make things work between their careers and families, but their whole world is rose-tinted with the glow of new love.

Reality hits with the force of a speeding truck when a criminal starts waging a campaign of terror against the justice system. Suddenly law enforcement officers and lawyers all across the city are living in fear as their careers put them right in the cross-hairs of a deranged killer and James and Derek’s honeymoon period falls to ruins.

With James’s protectiveness driving a wedge between them and Derek pulling away as the target on his back grows even bigger, their future is thrown into jeopardy. While Derek struggles with demons from his past, it’s up to James to catch the killer and put them back on the path to their happily ever after.

This is the sequel to ‘Mens Rea’, published in the 2015 Dreamspinner Press Daily Dose Anthology.

Word count: Approx 40k

Pages: 141

Buy links

Exclusive to Amazon and Kindle Unlimited.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0759DCBT6

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0759DCBT6

https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0759DCBT6

Buy links for prequel ‘Mens Rea’:

https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/mens-rea-by-brooke-edwards-6015-b

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00YN5QS2M

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00YN5QS2M

https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B00YN5QS2M

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/mens-rea-2

https://books.google.com.au/books/about/Mens_Rea.html?id=KvG5CQAAQBAJ&redir_esc=y

About the Author

Author, dreamer, fangirl and foodie – twenty-something Brooke Edwards will always call Australia home no matter where the wanderlust takes her. She’s bounced from history and linguistics to criminology and psychology and even gone as far as nutrition and sports science. Making ends meet through a similarly wide variety of jobs from education, retail, fitness, hospitality and finance means she never has any shortage of inspiration for characters or their adventures. Writing, closely followed by the culinary arts, has been her longest-running and most consistent passion and her greatest dream would be to one day not have to do anything else but write. Until then, you can probably find her at the closest espresso machine.

Social media & contact links

brookeedwardsauthor@gmail.com

FB: https://www.facebook.com/brooke.edwards.52459

Twitter: @brookeedwardsau

Instagram: @brookeedwardsauthor

GR: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13832393.Brooke_Edwards

Website: www.brookeedwardsauthor.com

Blog: www.brookeedwards.blog

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GUEST POST: Save a Horse, Dive a Cowboy by Kayla Jameth

Save a Horse, Dive a Cowboy

Today I’m thrilled to be joined by Kayla Jameth who has a new book out. With a title like “Save a Horse, Dive a Cowboy”, I was intrigued, and eager to find out more about the book 🙂

Hello, Nic! Thanks for hosting me today to discuss Save a Horse, Dive a Cowboy.

Save a Horse, Dive a Cowboy? Whatever inspired you to write such a story?

Well, you see… That’s a funny story. There was a conversation in one of the Facebook groups about cowboys. I and a couple of other authors were having fun with the idea. Josh Lanyon decided the cowboy was a scuba diver and for some reason had a broken leg. We talked about it more and suddenly a horse was coming to the rescue. So now a cowboy x horse shifter story.

And well, it kind of degenerated from there. BUT not before Josh challenged me to write it.

As a side note, turns out there is a scuba cowboy. Not the one in KA Mitchell’s No Souvenirs, but a singing cowboy. But back to Shep and Charlie.

So I kicked around ideas with Pam Singer and we came up with “it’s all Coyote’s fault.” And then I went haring off on my own and the story wrote itself as I came up with plausible reasons for how scuba diving with a broken leg would occur.

Coyote? Like the coyote and roadrunner?

Not exactly, but something similar.

Coyote, with a capitol C, is a Native American folk lore spirit. He is sometimes the creator of the world and other times a foolish, or not so foolish, trickster. He often gets himself into as much trouble as he other times avoids. I drew on several fables and mixed them. He’s not the Great Creator in my story.

Do you listen to anything in particular when you write?

I tend to look for topic appropriate music, preferably without lyrics. I wrote my ancient Greek stories to Niaz. They have a similar sound to what I imagine ancient Greek music would and I couldn’t understand the lyrics so I wasn’t distracted.

For Save a Horse, Dive a Cowboy, you might imagine I played a song with a similar title, but I listened to Native American music. Once again, I enjoy the sounds and don’t understand the language so I’m not distracted.

Who are your favorite authors?

You’ve probably never heard of any of them. Andre Norton, CJ Cherryh, Mary Stewart, Steven Brust. I take that back, JRR Tolkien.

And that’s why my voice sounds similar to theirs. I can do otherworldly because I saw how the masters and mistresses did it.

LOL. One of the very first ‘grown up’ novels I read was Touch Not The Cat by Mary Stewart. I think I was about twelve and loved it. It was the part of the start of my reading journey 🙂 What else can you tell us about your writing or the book?

Now that we’ve wrapped up “a little bit about me,” let’s talk more about the boys, Shep and Charlie. Cecil Orville “just call me Shep” Shepherd suspects if he’d been in a little more of a hurry to leave the womb, his mother might have named him something else. Or at least, he hopes so.

Shep runs the family ranch now that his father is gone. His life partner, Charlie Running Horse, keeps him young in spite of the burdens he carries. That is until one day a damn coyote steals the one thing that allows Charlie to shift from horse to human, his medicine horseshoe.

Now Shep has to find some way to retrieve it and reclaim his lover before it’s too late.

Thanks for answering my questions. I’m just about to start the book and I’m very much looking forward to it, based on the excerpt below.

Excerpt

They turned west, riding into the sunset. Well, soon enough it would be a sunset. Right now it was just really bright sunlight boring into Charlie’s eyes and obscuring his vision. He’d have to focus on the trail to avoid laming himself. Good thing he could rely on Shep to guide him around any real dangers.

Dust puffed under his feet and settled on his legs. That and his dried sweat made him itch. He couldn’t wait to get in the shower.

A sharp pain on his rump startled him into bucking and kicking.

Shep shifted his weight forward and followed his every move. “Whoa, Hoss!”

Charlie stopped so suddenly, he felt the horseshoe shift again.

Just a deerfly. Now he felt like an idiot. Fortunately, horses couldn’t blush; although, he’d heard that rabbits could.

He turned his head and met Shep’s eye, hoping to convey his apology, earning him another pat on the shoulder.

“I’m okay. But it was good practice for saddle bronc riding. Should I enter this year?”

He tossed his head and crow hopped, but didn’t budge Shep. He could have tried a little harder, really bucked; after all, his partner had a good seat. The horseshoe thumped against his hoof and he stopped. This business with the shoe was getting worrisome.

A fly buzzed behind him again and this time he settled for swishing his tail. He hated the damn things. At least it wasn’t a horsefly. Those things were vicious.

“Maybe you should use more of that fly repellant you call aftershave.”

Haha… Charlie snorted and considered making Shep walk home.

Shep shifted his weight forward. Charlie took the hint and set off. Clip, clop, clip, clop… The trip home always seemed to take longer than reaching their goal.

Something dust-colored darted across his path. He threw his head up and reared, startling like some green-broke colt. His hooves struck the ground on either side of a quivering jackrabbit. The poor animal screamed and brushed against his fetlock as it made a dash for the scrub bordering the trail.

A fluffy little bunny. How flipping embarrassing.

He stood with legs braced, still snorting. His rib cage expanded and contracted spastically under the girth.

“That was close. You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” Shep slung a leg over and dismounted. He smoothed gentle fingers over Charlie’s legs and examined his hooves. “Other than the horseshoe, I think you’re fine.”

Shep picked up a stone and tried to pound one of the nails back in. A partial success, but they both knew it would work its way back out again.

His breathing slowed, but he could still feel the adrenaline burning in his veins. Maybe a lope would take the edge off.

“Feeling better?” Shep scratched between his ears, calming them both.

He nodded and gave a breathy sigh, nuzzling against Shep’s chest.

Shep uncapped the canteen and took a few swallows. Then he took his hat off and smacked it against his leg, sending up a puff of dust. He poured water into his sweat-stained Stetson and held it up for Charlie.

He drank the salty water in a few quick draws.

Clapping the hat back on his head, Shep mounted. Once he had settled, Charlie took off at a lope.

“In a rush to get home?”

Charlie snorted and stretched out. He still had some relatively smooth flatlands before he reached the outcroppings. When the last of the frantic energy began to ebb, he dropped down to a jog, and then a walk. He felt a little better.

More rocks littered the ground. Soon boulders took their place. He could see the stone outcroppings ahead. Shep’s deft hands on the reins helped him make his way through the maze where a stone bruise could leave him lame.

Before they reached the outcroppings, a snake slithered out in front of him. The unmistakable buzz of a rattlesnake filled the air. Heat flushed his skin and then a chill filled his veins. What. The. Hell?

He didn’t have room to jump the rattler. Once more he rose in the air, pivoted and came down outside the irate serpent’s strike range.

“Back! Get away from it!” Shep shouted.

Charlie agreed with him whole-heartedly. He started backing, ears flicking forward and then to his rider, trusting Shep to guide him with little movements of the reins.

“Just like we practiced it for that reining class,” Shep encouraged.

Yeah, they’d done this before. Nothing difficult, just tighter quarters and the risk of being lamed if he stepped wrong.

“I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen.” Shep spoke slowly and evenly, soothing the disquiet in Charlie’s soul.

When they finally left the boulders behind, Charlie stood trembling.

Shep dropped from his back and pulled his head into a hug. “I’m really starting to hate today.” He glanced around. “We’ll take the long way. I don’t want to risk anything else jumping out at us at this point.”

Charlie sighed, but Shep was right. If they stayed in the open, nothing else should happen. If something did while they were cutting through the rocks, they could get hurt. Good thing Shep was a bronc rider or they’d have been in trouble today.

“Thirsty?” When he nodded, Shep gave him the last of the water.

They walked for a while, side-by-side, until Charlie stopped and looked pointedly at the saddle.

“Are you saying I’m too slow?”

He nudged the stirrup with his nose. If they kept on at this rate, it would be dark before they reached the ranch.

Charlie hadn’t gone two strides when a roadrunner darted in front of him with… a coyote on its tail. Seriously?! I thought that shit only happened in cartoons.

The coyote slowed and winked at him. Actually winked. Could this day get any weirder?

“You’ve got to be shitting me!”

The coyote circled Charlie and came up behind them, much closer than he liked. Coyotes usually left larger animals alone, but this one was acting strange. Could it be rabid?

The slinking shadow took another step closer and Charlie cow-kicked. His horseshoe went flying.

“Finally!” A voice he didn’t recognize shouted in triumph. The coyote snatched the glittering curve of metal out of the air and ran away.

“Hey! We need that!” Shep tugged on the hackamore, whirling Charlie, and set heels to his flanks.

Charlie didn’t even think about it, he jolted into a gallop. He had to have that horseshoe or he’d spend the rest of his life as a horse, slowly losing his humanity.

Burdened with a rider, he couldn’t seem to catch up with the coyote. But stopping to offload Shep would only insure he wouldn’t overtake the damn thing. At least, this way he could keep the mangy beast within sight and see what it did with his horseshoe.

He did manage to slowly gain on the coyote. If this went on long enough, he might catch up.

Ahead, he could see the cenote coming into view. Was the coyote headed toward the sinkhole?

He caught up with the coyote in time to watch his horseshoe arc into the air and splash into the water. The coyote grinned and disappeared into the brush with a flick of its tail.

Abso-fucking-lutely unbelievable.

Blurb

Shep’s just your average all-American cowboy. He runs his own ranch and rides the occasional saddle bronc. Nothing special there. Unless you look too closely at his boyfriend.

Descended from a long line of Native American mustang shifters, Charlie “Hoss” Running Horse is anything but average.

When Coyote takes a shine to Shep, he decides that Hoss has got to go. With the theft of the medicine horseshoe that allows Hoss to shift from mustang to human, Coyote sets his evil plan to have his way with Shep in motion.

Will Shep be able to save Hoss before it’s too late? Or will Coyote’s plan come to fruition?

Buy Link

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B078L68VNG/

Save a Horse, Dive a Cowboy goes live on December 26th, just in time for anyone with a new Kindle to read it.

About the author

Rainbow Award winning author, Kayla Jameth grew up on the family farm in Ohio. An unrepentant tomboy, she baled hay, raised cattle, and her father taught her to weld before she graduated from high school.

She attended Cleveland’s Case Western Reserve University and later, Texas A&M University in her pursuit of veterinary medicine, taking her far away from her rural roots.

But it wasn’t all hard work for her, her sojourn as the princess of the Celestial Kingdom left her with the title “Sir” and a costume closet the envy of many knights, lords, and ladies.

After declaring for years that she was not an author, Kayla now finds herself writing m/m erotic romance outside of Houston, Texas. While you can take the girl out of the country, you can’t turn her into a city slicker. Kayla would still rather be outside getting down and dirty with the boys.

She shares a full house with her favorite animals: a dog, a cat, three guinea pigs, as well as her husband, son, and daughter.

Find me at:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Author.Kayla.Jameth

Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/KaylaJameth

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KaylaJameth

Blog: http://kaylajameth.blogspot.com/

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Kayla-Jameth/e/B0054SNO4C/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_2?qid=1363308908&sr=8-2

 

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EXCERPT: Gibralter by Cristina Bruni

Blurb

Benjamin Scott is a fair man and a fearless sea captain, but his heart is broken. A while back, during a fierce battle in the West Indies, he witnessed the death of his best man, Jack, who fell into the sea before Ben had the chance to confess his love to him.

In Gibraltar, he happens to run into a stranger, John, who bears an uncanny resemblance to his lost love. A friendship grows between the two men, soon turning to love. This time, will Benjamin find the courage to confess his love, before losing John as well?

Excerpt

“John moved closer and pressed his mouth on Benjamin’s again. He explored his hot lips, tasting, nibbling. John’s tongue pushed against Ben’s teeth, sweetly, like a gentle greeting. Benjamin moaned in desire, and felt a twinge in his loins as his lips parted in surrender.

It felt like the world around them had stopped spinning, and they were still moving only because of inertia, waiting to run out of energy before stopping.

John was soft and inviting. Ben lost himself for a moment. It was pure desire and pleasure. Suddenly John bit his lip, and that mild pain broke the spell. Benjamin suddenly shook and jumped to his feet.

“What are you doing?” His voice was panicky, an octave higher than usual.

“I’m kissing you.”

“Why in the world would you do that?” the captain asked, overwhelmed by a dizzying swirl of shock and joy. It was what he wanted, exactly what he’d been hoping for since time immemorial. So, why in the hell was he so terrified?

“I thought that we. . .” John broke off, biting his lower lip. If he was trying to find the right words, he apparently didn’t succeed.

“Well, you thought wrong!” Benjamin replied, using his last shred of resistance, struggling to not surrender completely to the pleasures of the flesh. He quickly backed away, collapsing on the chair in the far corner of the room.

“If I’ve upset you somehow, I’m sorry.” John stared at his hands. “I hope you can forgive me. But the. . . relationship you and your friend shared was so special—I thought maybe we could also. . .” The words died in his throat, like snow melting in the sun, and he couldn’t continue.

Benjamin started babbling nervously. “You have no idea what it was like. You weren’t there. And you could never replace him anyway!”

John suddenly looked up, and the two men’s eyes locked. The deep sorrow and disappointment Ben saw in John’s eyes made him realize how harshly and foolishly he’d just spoken. The words had just spilled out, and now he desperately wished he could take them back.”

Buy Links

Amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07824QKH3

GR link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23174425-gibraltar

About the author

Cristina Bruni lives in northern Italy with her husband and their child. She’s already published in the US the M/M sport novel “Seven Days” by JMS Books and many other novels with the Italian publisher Triskell Edizioni. Since she was a young girl, her biggest wishes were being a mother and an author and now, after fighting for it for years, she finally succeeded in both. She loves travelling abroad, going to the cinema, reading Sherlock Holmes, luxury bags and playing tennis and golf. She’s madly USA-sick and UK-sick. She made her debut writing fanfictions and, now, her new wish would be writing love Male-to-Male stories for the rest of her life and living on a beach in Hawaii.

Maybe dreams will come true again, sooner or later…

Author’s contact:

Blog https://cristinabruniauthorblog.wordpress.com/

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/CristinaBruniAutrice

Twitter https://twitter.com/Cristina__Bruni

Instagram https://instagram.com/cristina.bruni/

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7164783.Cristina_Bruni

 

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EXCERPT: Calamine & Christmas Cake by Lillian Francis #gayromance @lillianfrancis_

Cover designed by Lillian Francis at Finally Love Press

The Book

A romantic getaway at an all-inclusive boutique hotel over Christmas seems the perfect way for Glenn Trevor to celebrate the festive period with his boyfriend.

But he could have done without waking up on the first morning delirious and covered in spots. Abandoned by his boyfriend, Glenn’s only saving grace comes in the dynamic form of Bastian, the waiter assigned to attend his every whim, and who might just be an angel in disguise.

Bastian, has only two rules: always make the guests feel as comfortable as possible—not a problem with his innate nurturing disposition—and never ever get involved with a guest. But the quarantined guy in 210 needs someone to take care of him, and Bastian’s more than up for the challenge of making Glenn Trevor’s stay the best ever, even if he has to run himself ragged to do it.

If Bastian can learn to accept the same nurturing care he hands out so readily, and Glenn can get over the farce of his previous relationship, between them maybe they can make it the Christmas of Glenn’s dreams.

Word count: ~35, 500

Buy Links

Only $2.99

Buy Links: Kobo // Payhip // B&N // Smashwords

Universal Amazon Link

Excerpt

“Jesus Fucking Christ! What the fuck have you done to yourself?”

The shrill words tugged me from a troubled sleep, reverberating around my head despite the fact that my skull seemed to be stuffed with cotton wool.

Had I drunk that much last night? I felt as groggy as hell. I searched through clouded memories, but I could only recall a bottle of Peroni, left mostly untouched beside a half-eaten dinner.

“Glenn, I’m talking to you.”

A finger poked me in the arm, attacking a muscle that ached as though I’d been lifting weights all day. But I’d spent my day floating in the pool and doing leisurely lengths in a lopsided front crawl. The gym I left to my six-pack obsessed boyfriend. Who poked me again in that tender spot. I wanted to rub it until my skin bled. And wasn’t that a weird thought.

And I had left him, checking himself out in the mirror while I alternated between the water and stretching out on a sun lounger with my Kindle. Not that there had been much sun coming in through the glass of the pool house. Hardly a surprise since it was December in England.

Wasn’t it?

I couldn’t dredge up the date, or the day for that matter, but that was often the case once school broke up and I didn’t have to worry about classes and staff meetings.

Xander poked me again, his finger an irritant despite the duvet between the offending digit and my tortured flesh. I swatted away his attack and dislodged the duvet at the same time. Icy shards seemed to cut at my skin everywhere the air touched it. And despite the fact my body seemed to be boiling internally I had an almost desperate urge to tug the covers back up around me.

“OMG! You’re covered in it! Gross.”

Whatever sleep I’d been clinging on to was ripped away, as I was jerked to full wakefulness not by the harsh unfathomable words, but by the pitch and lurch of the bed as Xander scrambled away. His sudden move took most of the covers with him, leaving me totally exposed to the cool December air that made my skin tingle and itch. I scratched at a particularly annoying patch of skin at my hip and tried to unglue my eyelids enough to glare at my boyfriend.

He wavered into view but refused to properly focus. I suspected my glare lacked its normal power that regularly left 10-year-olds quaking in their non-school compliant trainers. Not that it mattered, blurry Xander’s gaze was fixed on the area where I was scratching. I didn’t even have the energy to convince myself that he was staring at my dick.

And now that itched too.

I rubbed at my shaft lazily, soft and stuck to the crease of my left thigh. No sign of my normal morning wood, and I really didn’t have the energy to care.

Xander shrieked—the drama queen—the sound ripping a hole in my skull. I waited for the inevitable leakage of brains on to my pillow. When that didn’t happen, I opened my eyes—which had apparently drifted shut again—just in time to watch his fuzzy shape toss the duvet in my direction. Whether by accident or design it settled on me like falling snow. The cotton felt cool against my skin. I spread my arms and began to make a snow angel—it was nearly Christmas after all. Two sweeps in and the heat and friction made me uncomfortable and itchy again.

Banging and muttering from the other side of the room distracted me from the tightness of my skin. I tugged the duvet closer around me and tried to lift my head to focus on the crashing just long enough to tell the noisy fucker to piss off.

My heavy skull wouldn’t obey. I rolled onto my side, my head cradled by the super soft feather pillows. White, fluffy, floaty clouds. Floating up into the sky, away from all the noise. But clouds weren’t pure white when there was the angry rumble of thunder in the air.

Not thunder. I blinked and made a concerted effort to focus. Xander slammed the wardrobe door, the empty hangers clanging together. He was still muttering furiously away to himself and I forced myself to make sense of the words.

“…invited to three parties over the holidays. But nooooo, I turned them all down for a romantic week with Spotty McSpotDick.”

There was something off in the way he spat out the word romantic but I couldn’t quite work out what, in my befuddled state. Instead, I focused on the part of his rant I could appease. “I told you,” I started but it came out more like Didoldu so even I was distracted from what I’d planned to say next.

I attempted to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth and tried again.

I don’t think I was any more successful the second time. Xander gave a snort of disgust. He stomped over to the mini fridge, yanked out a bottle of water and twisted the cap off, with more aggression than his lithe frame would imply. All that time in the gym working on his six-pack was obviously doing wonders for his biceps too. Not that I could appreciate any of it with all the clothes he was wearing.

“This is why I don’t do sick people.” He held out the water bottle and glared expectantly. I raised myself up enough to take the offered bottle and risk a sip of the water.

Oh, that tasted good. Cool and refreshing against my scratchy throat. I took another swallow and smiled my thanks. Xander grimaced and moved away from the bed, back towards the wardrobe. He opened the other door.

Another sip of water and my brain seemed to come back online. “We can go to the parties and still have a romantic break. I never intended for us to stay in the hotel the entire time but it’s nice to be able to just spend time relaxing and not to have to worry about cooking, especially on Christmas Day. And the staff here are really attentive.” Something tugged the edges of my mind. Sleep or just that hazy mist that had been bothering me since I’d woken that morning. I took a longer swig from the bottle then, because it was a good point and I felt it needed to be stressed, I added, “Really attentive.”

Xander snorted, apparently unimpressed with my reasoning. “What, like that twinky waiter who was flirting with you at dinner? Don’t think I didn’t notice him out at the poolside too. Bringing you extra towels and drinks.”

“That was the same guy?” I could barely remember him. Although I think I recalled a waiter, dark hair with a fiery red streak, ask with concern if I needed some water and express dismay about the amount of food I left. Could he have been the pool boy in the shortest of shorts who’d been happy to run around and get me drinks from the bar? I’d had an unquenchable thirst yesterday that I’d put down to the chlorine and the amount of shouting I’d done on the last day of term. But his hair had been slicked back and the red streak was the only thing I remembered from the waiter. I couldn’t even remember what I’d ordered to eat, but I felt bad that I’d left food uneaten.

“Anyway, we still have New Year’s parties to go to when we get home.”

“With you looking like that? I don’t think so.”

I frowned as Xander tugged his shirts from the hangers. Wind chimes jangled but the air in the room was still, stifling. Xander rammed the shirts in his case. Strange, he was normally such a meticulous packer. Even his gym bag.

Packing?

“Are you going somewhere?”

“I’m not staying here to get sick. I’ll call you in the New Year.”

“But, Christmas?”

“Bye, Glenn.”

I blinked my eyes open at the slamming of the door. God, it was hot in here. All that fractious energy my boyfriend had been giving off probably. I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the window on legs weaker than Bambi. After some fumbling, I finally got the latch unfastened and threw open the window letting in blessedly cool air.

My stomach caught up with my sudden departure from the horizontal. It lurched in protest. I spun around in desperation—probably not my finest idea—until I spied the waste bin under the dressing table. My legs gave way and I crumpled to the carpet. I just had the presence of mind to grab for the bin before I puked my guts up.

Next time I woke there was a woman standing over me, screaming. I smiled at her reassuringly. It didn’t seem to help.

* * * * *

About the Author

Lillian Francis is a self-confessed geek who likes nothing more than settling down with a comic or a good book, except maybe writing. Given a notepad, pen, her Kindle, and an infinite supply of chocolate Hob Nobs and she can lose herself for weeks. Romance was never her reading matter of choice, so it came as a great surprise to all concerned, including herself, to discover a romance was exactly what she’d written, and not the rollicking spy adventure or cosy murder mystery she always assumed she’d write.

http://lillianfrancis.blogspot.co.uk/

Twitter @LillianFrancis_

Facebook

Facebook Author Page

Goodreads

Sign up for my newsletter

Email: lillianfrancis@rocketmail.com

 

 

 

 

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FREE for 72 hours! Sweet Dreams by Brooke Edwards #mmromance @brookeedwardsau

 

Blurb

Benji Crowe runs a little boutique of all things sweet in an out of the way alley, nice and secluded with a loyal clientele that keep him comfortably afloat and not much in the way of foot traffic. Occasionally someone new will find their way in, either on the advice of a regular or by accident.
When the door slams open one day, Benji thinks that his newest customer must just be really hungry. The man who sprints inside isn’t interested in the pastries, though. He snatches the beanie right off the college student sitting closest to the door before throwing himself into a vacant chair and bundling his distinctive blue coat into a ball that just barely makes it into the trash can. Benji is about to give him a piece of his mind when a dozen teenagers pour through the door shouting about Dane Harper, the latest Hollywood box office favorite.
From that moment, Benji could have been forgiven for thinking he’d fallen headfirst into the latest Hollywood box office feature. Luckily, Dane has enough box office experience for the both of them.

Approx: 35 pages

Buy links

FREE FOR 72 HOURS – 20th December to 24 December 2017

https://www.amazon.com/Sweet-Dreams-Brooke-Edwards-ebook/dp/B06XSJDGDQ

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sweet-Dreams-Brooke-Edwards-ebook/dp/B06XSJDGDQ

https://www.amazon.com.au/Sweet-Dreams-Brooke-Edwards-ebook/dp/B06XSJDGDQ

About the Author

Author, dreamer, fangirl and foodie – twenty-something Brooke Edwards will always call Australia home no matter where the wanderlust takes her. She’s bounced from history and linguistics to criminology and psychology and even gone as far as nutrition and sports science. Making ends meet through a similarly wide variety of jobs from education, retail, fitness, hospitality and finance means she never has any shortage of inspiration for characters or their adventures. Writing, closely followed by the culinary arts, has been her longest-running and most consistent passion and her greatest dream would be to one day not have to do anything else but write. Until then, you can probably find her at the closest espresso machine.

Social media & contact links

brookeedwardsauthor@gmail.com

FB: https://www.facebook.com/brooke.edwards.52459

Twitter: @brookeedwardsau

Instagram: @brookeedwardsauthor

GR: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13832393.Brooke_Edwards

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GUEST POST: The Perfect Gift by Joe Cosentino

What do Capri, Italy and Philadelphia, PA have in common. It turns out a lot actually. Both are gorgeous, magical, romantic, and the perfect place to spend the winter holidays. Capri has its ancient, quaint church with stained glass windows and pipe organ, steep white cliffs hovering over clear turquoise water, historic villas, and mouthwatering food. Philly is home to the Blue Cross RiverRink Winterfest ice skating, Franklin Square Holiday Festival and Electrical Spectacle Holiday Light Show, Christmas Village, Holiday Market in Dilworth Park, Germantown Avenue’s Winter Wonderland with Victorian-costumed carolers and bell ringers, and Dickensian Street where people dressed as characters from Dickens’ novels stand in front of Victorian-style bay-windowed shops lit up for the holidays.

Two years ago, I wrote a holiday short novella loosely based on my trip to the magical and gorgeous island of Capri: A Home for the Holidays. Bobby, a young, Italian American law student traveling to Capri during the winter holidays meets his quaint Italian relatives, and falls in love with his handsome, muscular, sexy Italian distant cousin, Paolo. Readers and listeners loved the e-book and audiobook performed by the talented Joel Leslie, feeling as if they could see, hear, taste, and touch the captivating characters and romantic locations. Since A Home for the Holidays leaves open the future of Bobby’s and Paolo’s relationship; Joel, readers, reviewers, and Dreamspinner Press staff asked me why I hadn’t written a sequel. So this month we are releasing The Perfect Gift e-book.

The two-part story begins a year after A Home for the Holiday ends. Bobby and Paolo are living in Philadelphia as a junior lawyer and junior fashion designer. When Paolo proposes, Bobby’s family and friends are intent on giving the couple a gaudy, elaborate wedding against their wishes. Bobby and Paolo jump through quite a few holiday hoops and finally have their perfect December wedding (December Grooms). A year later, since it’s Christmas time, the couple tour many of the quaint and wonderful holiday sites in the area featuring elaborately decorated trees and wreathes, Dickensian villages, Victorian carolers and bell ringers, vendors selling hot mulled cider and roasted chestnuts, and bay-windowed shops. They exchange beautiful gifts, and enjoy spending Christmas with Bobby’s eccentric family and hilarious friend Jared. While playing department store Santa, Bobby’s father suffers a heart attack. A man in a Santa suit, who Bobby assumes is his father’s replacement, brings the young couple to the hospital room of a sick little boy. Like the child we celebrate at Christmas, could this boy be the holiday gift leading to happily ever after for Bobby and Paolo (An Unexpected Present)?

I hope you enjoy Bobby and Paolo’s next adventures in Bobby’s beautiful hometown. And I hope you get what you need for Christmas. Enjoy my special holiday gift to you. Please know that it comes wrapped in a huge ribbon of love.

 

THE PERFECT GIFT (Bobby and Paolo Holiday Stories, Book 2)

by JOE COSENTINO

published by Dreamspinner Press, e-book $4.99

Blurb

Back in America after finding A Home for the Holidays and each other in Capri, new couple Bobby McGrath and Paolo Mascobello are ready to tie the knot during the winter holidays. Their families, friends, and pastor offer more advice than sages on speed. So, young lawyer Bobby and fashion designer Paolo are caught in the matrimonial holiday circus. Will a shocking turn of events somehow lead to the perfect wedding for the December grooms?

The following Christmas, Bobby and Paolo aren’t feeling the holiday spirit. They have a nice apartment, designer clothes, entertaining and supportive friends and family, but little time for each other. While out shopping in their quaint local holiday village, Bobby and Paolo encounter Gregory, an adorable seven-year-old who changes their lives forever, offering them a true holiday miracle… if they’re willing to accept it.

What reviewers said about A Home for the Holidays (Bobby and Paolo Holiday Stories, Book 1):

“I adore the character of Bobby…the heartwarming family moments…the love the author has for Capri and the people there flows off the page in every word he has written…..When you finish reading this story, you will want to book your own flight to Italy and boat to Capri.” Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words

“Joe Cosentino’s holiday novella, A Home for the Holidays, delivers in every way that a romantic, feel-good story should. Every book I read by this author continuously pulls me in and wraps me up like a warm blanket.” Kathy Mac Reviews

“The one thing you can’t escape when reading Cosentino’s books is his humour; it’s what draws me back time and again to this author. Sometimes the humour is subtle, sometimes it’s unashamedly overt – every time it is hilarious.” Boy Meets Boy Reviews

I’m going to go on record saying that Joe Cosentino pretty much has me at hello. His writing style is incredibly smooth with beautiful details that never feel like too much or too little. Even in this very short story, I felt like I was right there in Capri with Bobby. Both the scenery and Bobby’s emotions are painted with lush, vivid detail…exceptional writing and beautifully gift-wrapped love story.” AM Leibowitz

Bestselling author Joe Cosentino wrote In My Heart/An Infatuation & A Shooting Star, the Bobby and Paolo Holiday stories: A Home for the Holidays and The Perfect Gift, The Naked Prince and Other Tales from Fairyland (Dreamspinner Press); the Nicky and Noah mysteries: Drama Queen, Drama Muscle, Drama Cruise, (Lethe Press), Drama Luau, Drama Detective; the Cozzi Cove series: Cozzi Cove: Bouncing Back, Cozzi Cove: Moving Forward, Cozzi Cove: Stepping Out, Cozzi Cove: New Beginnings (NineStar Press); and the Jana Lane mysteries: Paper Doll, Porcelain Doll, Satin Doll, China Doll, Rag Doll (The Wild Rose Press). He has appeared in principal acting roles in film, television, and theatre, opposite stars such as Bruce Willis, Rosie O’Donnell, Nathan Lane, Holland Taylor, Charles Keating, and Jason Robards. Joe is currently Head of the Department/Professor at a college in upstate New York, and is happily married. He was voted 1st Place Favorite LGBT Mystery, Humorous, and Contemporary Author of 2015, and 2nd Place Favorite LGBT Romance Author of 2015 by the readers of Divine Magazine. He has also won many Rainbow Award Honorable Mentions including for In My Heart/An Infatuation & A Shooting Star. http://www.JoeCosentino.weebly.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/JoeCosentinoauthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/JoeCosen

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4071647.Joe_Cosentino

Amazon: Author.to/JoeCosentino

Excerpt 

“Hi, Mom. What are you doing?”

“Sitting home alone like a dog.”

That’s Mom’s logic. If their house isn’t full of people eating and carrying on, she’s alone. “Where’s Dad?”

“In his den, watching the game on TV as usual.”

I’m Bobby McGrath. Since this is my story, I should tell you more about myself. I have frizzy red hair, green eyes, and a swimmer’s body, thanks to the pool at my gym. The swimmer’s body is thanks to the pool. The red hair and green eyes are courtesy of my dad’s side of the family, which my mom calls the Bad Seed. And I passed the bar. I don’t mean I’m a recovering alcoholic. I aced my bar exam, and I’ve been a junior lawyer for nearly a year now.

“Bobby, are you listening to me or thinking about one of your cases?”

“I’m listening, Mom.” I sat on the window seat in my Victorian apartment’s turret and gazed out at the carolers appropriately dressed in Victorian garb as they sang in front of the department store across the street. That’s the department store where my father is manager and plays Santa every December. “How did Dad’s physical go with Dr. Sherman?”

“He said Dad’s overweight. Like we didn’t know. For that we shelled out a thirty-dollar co-pay.”

“Did you mention how Dad’s been forgetting a few things lately?”

“I told him how your father forgot to take out the garbage, sweep out the garage, and chase the squirrels out of our summerhouse in the backyard.”

I couldn’t help thinking Dad’s memory lapses were intentional.

“Dr. Sherman asked Dad some questions, like Dad’s birthdate and our anniversary.”

“And?”

“Your father never remembers things like that, so I answered for him.”

“Mom, you shouldn’t have—”

“Your father’s fine, except for an enlarged prostrate.”

“That’s prostate.”

“Don’t correct your mother, especially now.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You know I don’t like to burden you with my problems.”

“All right. I should get on my laptop to do some research for a—”

“I’m worried about your sister.”

“Which one?”

“Both of them.”

I took a sip of Lemon Zinger tea and braced myself for a long story.

“They work so hard at their jobs and taking care of the kids, they never see their husbands.”

My sisters’ know-it-all spouses? “Is that a bad thing?”

“Watch your mouth, mister. I’m your mother. In my day we never disrespected our parents, no matter how wrong they were about everything. And we never took drugs.”

“I don’t take drugs, Mom; neither does Paolo.”

“But plenty of young people today are drug addicts, Bobby. They say they’re nervous. If young people are nervous, they should do what I do, and take a Prozac.”

As Mom rambled on about the sad state of our youth, I glanced over at the antique cherry coffee table to a framed picture of Paolo and me smiling in front of the Mascobello villa in Capri, Italy. That’s where I met Paolo, when I visited my extended family. Don’t freak out. Paolo is a very distant cousin. He has dreamy sapphire eyes, wavy chestnut hair, more muscles than a daytime television star, and a little-boy pout that makes me want to take care of him for the rest of his life. Which I do. Since Paolo was quite the playboy in Capri, I had my doubts about our relationship. But we’ve been living in boyfriend bliss here in Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love, for a year now.

Buy Links

http://myBook.to/PerfectGift

Barnes & Noble

 

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EXCERPT: Fairies At The Bottom Of The Garden by Cheryl Headford

Blurb

All Keiron wants is a quiet life. Fat chance with a boyfriend like Bren. But if he thought Bren complicated his life, that was nothing compared to the complications that begin when he opens the door to what he thinks is a naked boy claiming to be his slave.

Draven is a fairy with his sights set on the handsome human who keeps a wild place in the garden for fairies. When Draven slips through a fairy gate into the city, he sets in motion a series of events that binds him to Keiron forever, and just might be the end of him.

While Draven explores Keiron’s world with wide-eyed wonder, Keiron does everything he can to keep Draven’s at bay, until the only way to save Draven and bring him home is to step into a world that should exist only in children stories.

Excerpt

Fairies at the Bottom of the Garden

Cheryl Headford © 2017

All Rights Reserved

Keiron hurried home at the end of a very long day, anticipating some peace and quiet. He liked a quiet life, so what had possessed him to take on a boyfriend like Bren Donovan was anyone’s guess. Whatever else it might be, life with Bren was certainly not quiet, and it was slowly wearing Keiron out.

It was almost a relief Bren wouldn’t be staying at the flat that night. Although they were practically living together, Bren had his own place and sometimes felt the need to stay there. This was usually because a member of his family—or particularly flighty friend—was coming to stay. It wasn’t as if his family wasn’t aware of their relationship, but Bren was shy about “rubbing it in their faces”. Keiron didn’t understand because Bren’s mother seemed to like him a great deal and considered him to be a stabilising influence on her son.

Keiron was a conservative person and so different to Bren, they might as well live in different worlds. As for Bren’s friends, they were usually very like him—loud, messy, and irresponsible. Keiron couldn’t stand them. He was lucky if nothing got broken, and they always left the flat in a complete mess. If Bren wanted to live in a pigsty, so be it. He could do it in his own home.

This weekend, with the bank holiday, Bren was getting both. His friends were congregating on Saturday. Then his parents and sister were coming on Sunday, and staying through until Tuesday morning. Keiron had a Bren-free weekend and was looking forward to it.

If it hadn’t been for their differences on this point, they’d have moved in together a long time ago. Bren chafed for it, but Keiron couldn’t handle his flat descending into chaos, and it wasn’t even as if Bren helped tidy up afterwards. Keiron cringed at the thought of having that chaos and therefore stress every day.

Not only that, but Bren was the most jealous person Keiron had ever come across. Keiron was constantly accused of looking at other men, and God forbid he spoke to one. Bren was a firebrand, completely living up to his fiery red-headed Irish-descended promise. Sometimes it was exciting, even invigorating, yet at other times Keiron longed for the peace and stability he used to have before Bren burst in on him. Maybe at twenty-two, he was just getting old.

Keiron ordered takeaway and, while he waited for it to arrive, wandered down to the bottom of the garden, a beer in his hand, his hair damp from the bath. The sun was still high and warm enough for him to be wearing a thin T-shirt and shorts. The smell of a barbecue drifted over from a neighbouring garden and his mouth watered.

Savouring his drink, he sank onto the stone bench under the rose arbour. It afforded a good view of the whole garden. It was a big one. A long lawn stretched ahead of him to the decking immediately outside the house, where a large wooden table, a number of items of garden furniture, and a shiny silver gas barbecue sat.

Sometimes, he had Bren’s friends around for a barbecue. They weren’t so bad out here in the garden, although they made such a mess of the barbecue itself that it took him days to get it properly clean. He smiled to himself. Sometimes, living with Bren was like having a teenage son. Fortunately, Bren was very good at things he’d hate to think any son of his could do.

The lawn was bordered on either side by flower beds and bushes, which hid the wooden fences separating his garden from the ones on either side. To his left, screened from the arbour by a yew hedge, was a garden pool with a rock fountain and fat koi swimming under lily pads. There used to be more fish—before Bren’s friends found the pond. He pursed his lips at the thought.

To the right was a shrubbery. A large variety of plants made up a wild area of about thirty square feet. Bren loved it, of course. He’d burrowed into it and, within a week, had made a green cave right in the middle. He’d floored it with an old piece of carpet he’d found on a skip. It had taken a long time and a lot of carpet-cleaner to persuade Keiron to enter it, but he had to admit, making love outside under the bushes in the darkness was something he’d come to enjoy very much.

Bren had been surprised he had such a wild place in his neat garden, in his neat life. Perhaps it was the thing that sealed the deal with Bren, who’d been reluctant to get involved with someone so unlike himself, and likely to “cramp his style”.

“But why?” he’d asked. “It doesn’t seem like you to have a wild place like this. It’s so out of place—with the garden and with you. Why haven’t you ‘tamed’ it? Everything else in your life is tame. You’re the most vanilla person I know—except for this.”

They were in the “cave” at the time. It was dark but warm, and they were holding each other in the afterglow of amazing sex. Keiron had smiled lazily and sighed.

“My mother used to live out in the country somewhere when she was a child. My grandmother never took to city life. She told me once there was no room in a city for life, real life. Nowhere for roots to reach the earth. No place for the fairies.”

“Fairies?”

“Oh yes, she was very superstitious about fairies. Never had anything made of iron in the garden. Put out saucers of warm milk if there was a deep frost or snow. And always had a wild place in the garden—for the fairies.”

Bren had smiled at him. “I never thought you had any of that in you, Keiron. I guess there’s hope for you yet.”

Keiron had grinned and held Bren tightly in his arms.

Keiron smiled at the memory and took a drink of his beer. Something caught his eye, and he turned towards the shrubbery. He was sure he’d seen something move, shooting across his vision, behind the trees. He stared hard, but there was nothing there. It must have been a squirrel. He saw them now and again, scrabbling for nuts under the hazel tree or acorns from the enormous oak that overhung the garden from next door.

With a sigh, he settled back and took another drink. His stomach rumbled, and he glanced at his watch, wondering when his pizza would get there. The deliveryman was a regular, and if there was no answer at the door, he’d text to say he’d arrived. So Keiron could relax and not worry about—

There was definitely something there. It moved again. He’d seen it—a flash of white. A cat? Most of the neighbours had cats, and they liked to hang about in the shrubbery, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting birds. It had taken a lot of work to get rid of the smell of cat pee from the carpet.

Ah well. Although…something nagged at the back of his mind. It wasn’t a cat. It couldn’t have been a cat because it hadn’t looked like a cat. It had looked like a person. A small person with a pale pointed face. But it had only been a fraction of a second, a flash, an impression. It was nonsense, of course.

Maybe it was one of the fairies. He smiled.

There was no further movement in the bushes, so when the text came to herald the arrival of his pizza, he wandered back into the house.

He decided to eat his stuffed-crust vegetable supreme at the kitchen table. It was a beautiful night. Other than distant strains of music drifting over from the barbecue, there was the type of silence that magnified the slightest sound. Like the silence that came with snow. It was magical.

Keiron laughed at himself. Magical? That’s what you get for thinking of fairies.

Something flashed at the window and he glanced up sharply. There was nothing there, but there had been. In that fraction of a second between his head beginning to move and his eyes orienting on the window, there had been something or someone peeping in. Someone with a small pointy face. Shit.

Take it easy. If something was there, he didn’t want to frighten it away before he found out what it was.

He took up the uneaten pizza, making a show of putting it onto a plate and into the fridge. The back door was open to let in the summer warmth, and the bin was next to it, out of sight of the window. He folded the pizza box, and headed for the bin—only he wasn’t going to the bin at all. He lifted the lid, so the sound carried out into the garden, but before he let the lid drop, he dived for the back door.

There was nothing there, but there had been. There had been someone crouching under the window, peeping in. It was someone with long white hair, a pointed face, and unnaturally blue eyes. It was all seen in the blink of an eye, and after he’d blinked, there was nothing there and no sign there ever had been.

“I know you’re there. I’ve seen you three times now,” he called into the silence. “I know what you are.” Why had he even said that? It couldn’t have been anything but a figment of his imagination. Human beings couldn’t move that fast, and it was certainly no animal. Then what? A fairy? Hah.

Smiling at his own foolishness, he went back into the house and closed the door.

He was halfway through the remaining pizza, drinking his third bottle of beer and feeling pretty mellow, when there was a soft tapping at the back door. This surprised him very much. No one ever knocked on the back door. Why would they? How could they? They’d have to be in the garden, and there were only two ways into it, the door at which they now tapped or a tiny gate right at the bottom, which would have necessitated them traipsing right through the garden. Who would do that?

With a frown, gripping the bottle in his hand like a weapon, he walked through the kitchen to the door. He could see a vague form through the frosted glass. There was definitely someone there. He wondered if they’d disappear by the time he opened the door.

When the door opened, Keiron froze. He’d never seen anything—or anyone—remotely like the creature who stood on his back doorstep.

Neither spoke.

Keiron blinked, half expecting the creature to vanish before he opened his eyes. He didn’t. He seemed human enough. A boy of seventeen or eighteen years old, with long silvery-white hair and a pretty elfin face. Long white lashes swept over the downturned eyes and skin so pale it appeared translucent, seeming almost to glow in the gathering dusk. He was slender, willowy, and completely naked.

“Who the hell are you?” Keiron eventually asked. The boy looked up and Keiron recoiled. Nothing with eyes like that could be human. They were blue, but it wasn’t any blue he’d ever seen before. It was a brilliant electric blue with a metallic sheen that marked him as something very different to anyone Keiron had ever encountered.

“Draven,” the boy said automatically in a light singsong voice.

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I…want…I want to know who you are and why you’re standing naked on my back doorstep.”

“I’m…Draven,” he said with an anxious little smile. “I’m yours.”

Buy Links

NineStar Press

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Smashwords

Kobo

About the Author

Cheryl was born into a poor mining family in the South Wales Valleys. Until she was 16, the toilet was at the bottom of the garden and the bath hung on the wall. Her refrigerator was a stone slab in the pantry and there was a black lead fireplace in the kitchen. They look lovely in a museum but aren’t so much fun to clean.

Cheryl has always been a storyteller. As a child, she’d make up stories for her nieces, nephews and cousin and they’d explore the imaginary worlds she created, in play. Later in life, Cheryl became the storyteller for a reenactment group who travelled widely, giving a taste of life in the Iron Age. As well as having an opportunity to run around hitting people with a sword, she had an opportunity to tell stories of all kinds, sometimes of her own making, to all kinds of people. The criticism was sometimes harsh, especially from the children, but the reward enormous.

It was here she began to appreciate the power of stories and the primal need to hear them. In ancient times, the wandering bard was the only source of news, and the storyteller the heart of the village, keeping the lore and the magic alive. Although much of the magic has been lost, the stories still provide a link to the part of us that still wants to believe that it’s still there, somewhere. In present times, Cheryl lives in a terraced house in the valleys with her son, dog, bearded dragon and three cats. Her daughter has deserted her for the big city, but they’re still close. She’s never been happier since she was made redundant and is able to devote herself entirely to her twin loves of writing and art, with a healthy smattering of magic and mayhem.

Website: www.cherylheadford.com/

Blog: www.cherylheadford.blogspot.co.uk/

Blog: www.nephylim-author.blogspot.co.uk/

Twitter: www.twitter.com/SevenPointStar

Facebook: www.facebook.com/Nephylim.author/

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BLOG TOUR: Gay for Pay by T.M Smith

Song and Scene, plus an Excerpt and Giveaway

Hello everyone and thanks for stopping by Nic’s blog today for their stop on my blog tour. It’s always fun for me to interact with my peers, and since I also do reviews for MMGBR, I’m very excited to see who decided to review Gay for Pay and what their thoughts on the story are.

Today I’m going to talk a little about the music behind my book, why I chose this song and how it represents something in the story. If you’ve read the synopsis for Gay for Pay then you know Chris is broken almost as soon as the book begins. One mistake when he was eighteen changed his life irrevocably. The song Ghost Town by Adam Lambert screamed Chris from the first time I heard it. The chorus for the song is, “My heart is a Ghost Town” and that so perfectly fits Chris at the start.

“I died last night in my dreams, all of the machines have been disconnected.” After the accident, Chris continues to think he should have died as well.

“Time was thrown out the wind, and all of my friends had been disinfected.” After the accident everyone in Chris’s life abandons him, except for his best friend Michael.

It almost seemed like Adam Lambert had read an early draft of my story then wrote this song. Everything about it screams Chris and his pain and confusion. But let me assure you, he finds happiness. There is some darkness in the book early on, but the sun begins to shine soon enough.

I hope you’ll all grab a copy of this new release and enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Here’s an exclusive excerpt from Gay for Pay…

“So that’s why you don’t like the guy, and here I thought it was his charming personality.” Chris was trying to lighten the mood, but he wasn’t certain it’d worked since Linc didn’t respond. They walked in relative silence for a while and Chris was enjoying the scenery but also starting to wonder how far out along the water they were going to walk. He stopped and turned back to look and see how far the house was, shocked when it looked tiny in the distance.

He spun around, intent on asking Linc if they could start heading back to the house, running right into a wall. Well, not a wall really, but Linc’s toned chest sure felt like one when Chris barreled into him. He reached up and gripped Chris’s arms to stop him from falling over. Chris smiled and moved to pull back, but Linc held him in place, their bodies just inches apart.

He opened his mouth to tell Linc to release him, but he couldn’t form the words. Chris shook his head, swallowing, trying to add a little moisture to his suddenly dry mouth. When Linc’s tongue darted out, running over his bottom lip, Chris inhaled a sharp breath and tried to break free of Linc’s hold once more, to no avail. If anything, Chris thought his grip tightened. “Can I kiss you?” Linc whispered, his body already slowly moving closer to Chris.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. He wanted Linc to kiss him, and it scared him shitless. In his head he was saying no; he was shaking his head vigorously, no! But his body had a mind of its own. He could feel his head nodding and he closed his eyes as Linc’s warm, wet lips touched his. The kiss was chaste. Linc didn’t press further than a simple peck on the mouth, though lingering for a long time. When Linc pulled away there was a low moan, and Chris’s knees almost gave out when he realized he was the one groaning. 



Gay for Pay was originally published in 2015. Flash forward nearly 3 years later and I have learned so much, become more comfortable as a writer and I’m writing better stories for my readers. So, my editor and I decided to go back to the book that started it all. It was the first book we worked on together and it was the first book in the now wildly popular All Cocks stories. I guess you could say we’ve come full circle. 

 

Gay for Pay

An All Cocks story, book 1 
Buy links: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Amazon DE

 

A military brat born and raised at Ft. Benning Georgia;
TM Smith is an avid reader, reviewer and writer. A Texas transplant, she now
calls DFW her home. Most days she can be found curled up with a good book, or
ticking away on her next novel.
 
Smith is a single mom of three disturbingly outspoken and
decidedly different kids, one of which is Autistic. Besides her writing, she is
passionate about Autism advocacy and LGBT rights. Because, seriously people,
Love is Love!
 
 
 
Author links: Amazon || Smashwords || Website || Facebook || Twitter 
Goodreads || Pinterest || Youtube || Payhip || Queer Romance INC~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Follow the tour…

Dec 1st
Love Bytes – Spotlight
& Guest post
Cathy Writes Romance
Review & Spotlight
Gay Media Reviews – Review
& Spotlight
Dec 2nd
Two Book Pushers
Spotlight & Excerpt
Dec 3rd
MM Midnight Café
Spotlight & Playlist
The O’Raven Chronicles – Something Wicked
Dec 4th
Because Two Men are Better
– Spotlight & Song/Scene
The Novel Approach
Spotlight & Guest Post
Dec 5th
Making It Happen  – Review & Guest post
Dec 6th
Happily Ever Chapter
Review & This or That
Dec 7th
Bayou Book Junkie – Review
& Song/Scene

 

Smashly BookalicousReviews – Spotlight only
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