Jul 23

Release Blitz: Cold Like Snow by Sita Bethel (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Cold Like Snow

Author: Sita Bethel

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 23, 2018

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male, Male/Male Menage

Length: 65400

Genre: Paranormal, paranormal, ghosts, established couple, musicians, mild BDSM, ménage

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Synopsis

When René moves into his new home, he didn’t expect it to come with roommates. Two handsome roommates, to be precise. Too bad they’re ghosts.

The fact that they’re dead doesn’t stop them from running their fingers through René’s hair or tackling him onto the bed. It’s not long before things escalate and René finds himself with two ghost lovers that treat him better than any living partner ever has.

However, they can’t eat, can’t go far from the house where they died, and their fingers feel like icicles against René’s skin. The longer René is with them, the more he can sense them, but nothing can reduce the chill of their bodies against his. Still, it might be worth the hypothermia.

Excerpt

Cold Like Snow
Sita Bethel © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
René stood in front of the doorway and ran his finger over the outline of the key’s metallic surface before wedging it into the lock and stepping inside his new house. The cold air puckered the skin of his arms and neck. He rubbed his shoulders to keep them warm as he looked around. The flooring throughout the house was black-and-white linoleum. A wide living area faced him—to his left was a fireplace, straight ahead stood double glass doors leading to a small garden, and to his right a half bathroom, dining area, and kitchen. Between the dining room and the glass door, a staircase with a thick cherrywood banister curved up to the three bedrooms and a full bathroom.

René walked to the staircase and stopped short of the first step. He examined the black-and-white squares. They looked clean at first glance, but since he was searching, René noticed the thin rust-colored lines between the tiles. It was why he had bought the house. He’d heard the two previous owners had died after falling down the stairs. Afterward, the old building fell victim to exaggerated ghost stories. True, it did make the building more affordable, but the real reason it appealed to René was because he loved ghost stories and all things macabre. Ever since he was a child, tales that made others grimace had made René smile. He squatted to the floor and reached out to graze his fingertips against the tiles.

A long sigh escaped from between René’s lips. He stood and headed to his moving truck. After several hours of carrying boxes in, he decided to save the larger furniture for the next day. René lit a fire; orange light crawled across the floor and walls. He unrolled his sleeping bag near the hearth and slipped inside. The old house creaked. The silence in the house amplified every other noise, which echoed like a lullaby and soothed René into a hard sleep.

At dawn, before René was fully awake, he dreamed someone dragged their fingers through his hair. He rolled on his side, muttering, “It’s too cold to get up.” The next time he opened his eyes, sunlight brightened the room through the garden doors. He sat up, rubbed his face, and remembered the odd dream of being petted. He smiled at the dream as he stretched and moaned. René slipped out of the sleeping bag and shuffled toward the kitchen to make coffee.

The day labored on as René set upon the tedious mission of dragging his furniture inside his house by himself. Most items—the bed, the office desk, his baker’s rack—he had dissembled before loading into the rental truck, but a few pieces—the washer, dryer, and sofa—he had to strap to a dolly with bungee cords, making it slow to get them inside the house. There was nothing better to do during the constant back and forth than think. He’d spent most of his thirty-four years of existence rushing past his own life. He’d sped through junior high and high school as fast as he could, desperate to get away from the small-minded town where his aunt and uncle had raised him after his parents died of heat exhaustion during a camping trip. After he graduated, René fled to the nearest city, waiting tables to scrape up enough cash for a small apartment while he earned his associate degree. He jumped into a relationship with the first guy who openly pursued him, infatuated by the bold, flirtatious attitude that René never experienced from any of the guys back home. Even after his heart broke, René hurried straight to the next boyfriend, who ended up being much worse than the first.

He learned his lesson after that one, sticking to casual hookups as he focused on work and his studies. Once he finished school, René was desperate to find a job where he could afford more than ramen noodles and dollar-store socks. Now he was at a point in his life where he wanted nothing more than to appreciate everything he obtained and accomplished over the years. He escaped the small town. He made enough money to pay his bills. He finally bought a house. René wanted a chance to breathe and enjoy it. Perhaps find a decent partner who wanted to settle down, or at least get a dog.

He went through an entire box of granola bars and a pot of coffee before he decided to go to the store for groceries.

When he returned, René made a sandwich for lunch and then continued to set everything in order. By the end of the day, each stack of boxes sat in the correct room and the furniture was more or less placed where he intended to keep it. Too exhausted to assemble the bed, René spent another night in his sleeping bag near the fireplace, feeling like a strange post-modern male Cinderella.

In the early gray dawn, he had the same dream. Fingers, barely felt, ran through his hair and gingerly touched his cheeks and collarbone. René exhaled with content at the soft, misty caresses, and he wished ghosts were real before sinking into a deeper sleep.

In the morning, he started unpacking in the kitchen until he found the toaster and a skillet. After eating breakfast and unpacking the kitchen, he assembled the bed. Two nights on the floor had his shoulders stiff. René cursed as he balanced the sideboard of his bed frame in his lap and worked the first screw in one turn at a time. For the cost of a six-pack of beer and some pizza, May would have been more than happy to help René both move his furniture and set up the bed, but René relied on his best friend too much already. The next time May visited, René wanted to go out and have fun, not unpack a mountain of boxes, so he finished tightening the first screw and wondered where his bag of extras had disappeared. René groaned when he saw them on the other side of the room. He would have sworn he’d set them beside his lap when he started, but apparently he hadn’t. By the time he pushed the box spring and mattress onto the completed frame, René was worn out. He dropped onto the bed and made snow angel motions with his arms and legs before resting.

“Forget unpacking. I should just go to sleep,” René spoke to the bed, having no one else to talk to.

His muscles ached from carrying boxes and furniture, and the bed was firm but soft enough for him to sink a little. René shut his eyes and pulled a deep, intentional breath into his lungs. Daydreams played out behind his closed eyelids. It’d been awhile since anyone else had been in his bed with him, and he imagined a mystery lover sneaking to his bedside, sitting beside him, and kissing his stomach as he unzipped René’s pants. His fantasy spun out of control. The mattress felt like it really did shift with the weight of another person sitting close. René sat up and shook his head to rid himself of the ridiculous daydream. He made the bed before going downstairs to finish unpacking the living room.

By the third night, the house resembled a home. René examined his progress in the living room and nodded his head in satisfaction. As he stood in place, René’s hair slid against his shoulders, as if someone had brushed the long strands away from his face. He froze a moment, wondering if his imagination played tricks with his mind again, but the distinct pressure of a hand lighted on his shoulder and fingers ran down his cheek. He blinked, trying to process the strange sensation of being touched by invisible hands.

“Hello.” René’s voice sounded loud in the visibly empty living room.

The touching stopped after he spoke.

“Wait, don’t leave,” René said, afraid he’d somehow startled whatever had interacted with him. René’s gaze darted across the living room, searching for any indication that he wasn’t alone. Nothing was out of place. René sighed, his shoulders slumping forward. “I didn’t imagine that,” he whispered, to convince himself he hadn’t daydreamed the experience.

An idea drifted into René’s head. He spoke to the air in a bashful tone. “If you can hear me, would you follow me. Please?”

He walked up the stairs and opened the door to his office. Stacks of boxes lined the walls and surrounded the desk like strange cardboard obelisks. René pilfered through the boxes until he found one labeled office odds and ends.

He pulled the tape from the top of the box and set aside small statues of gargoyles, skeletons, and imps. With both hands, René removed the old Ouija board from the cardboard box. He’d never used it before and only owned it for the aesthetic, but now he sat on the tiled floor with the board in his lap and the heart-shaped planchette under his fingertips.

“I know this is dumb,” he said. “I know this is a stupid toy, but why not use it? Crap, I hope I’m not talking to myself. I just want to—” A breath hitched in René’s throat as the planchette scrawled across the wooden surface of the board.

“Oh good! I was hoping you’d want to talk. Hold on. Let me get a pen.” René rummaged through another box until he found a pack of pens and a notebook. He held the paper in his lap so he could write down the letters. “What’s your name?” René asked, but to his disappointment, the planchette only swerved in between the yes and no options at the top of the board. He frowned, thinking of what he might be doing wrong. Another question came to mind. “How many of you are here?”

The pointer swerved to the number two on the board.

“What are your names?” The planchette moved without him touching it, freeing up his hands to write each letter.

Marcus.

Bastion.

“Really?” René raised an eyebrow. It was a rhetorical question, but the heart planchette spelled another sentence.

“You have a problem with our names?”

“No.” René smiled. “My name’s Rembrandt. Our mothers should be slapped. Call me René, though.” A nervous chuckle slipped past René’s lips. “Not that I can hear you say my name.”

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Meet the Author

Sita Bethel obtained a B.A. in Creative Writing at Arkansas Tech University; however, she learned how to write fiction on sites such as Archive Of Our Own and fanfiction.net. She keeps coloring books near her computer for when she’s “writing,” and owns an awful lot of dice for someone who’s never played a tabletop RPG. Sita Bethel currently lives in Arkansas, teaches Zumba Fitness and Salsaton classes at a local gym, and hopes to someday own a fortress of solitude staffed with incompetent henchmen.

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Jul 23

Release Blitz: Dark City by Sarah Kay Moll (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Dark City

Author: Sarah Kay Moll

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 23, 2018

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Female, Male/Male

Length: 74200

Genre: Contemporary, Dissociative Identity Disorder, mob, murder, family drama, gay, bi, in the closet, BDSM

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Synopsis

Jude has a tender heart. Yet he was born into a criminal empire and groomed from childhood to step into his father’s violent footsteps. To survive, he created a second personality. Ras is everything Jude isn’t—cruel, remorseless, and utterly without fear, as incapable of love as Jude is of malice.

But when Ras meets a ruthless socialite, he begins to feel a strange stirring of emotion, a brush of Jude’s passion against his own dark heart. Meanwhile, Jude finds himself with a knife in his hand, the evil in Ras’s soul bleeding into his own.

As the walls between them crumble, they could lose everything—their lovers, their family, and their hold on the dark city itself.

Coming together could break them…or make them whole.

Excerpt

Dark City
Sarah Kay Moll © 2018
All Rights Reserved

1: Jack of Spades
Around me, the hallway is silent. No soft brushes of footsteps on the dark green carpet, no huff of breath, no rustle of clothing. But a fragment of a second before he strikes, I know he’s there.

I raise my hand, grazing my fingers over a thin metal wire but failing to stop it from circling my neck. My attacker jerks my head toward him with the noose, the cold wire digging into my skin. Like any trained Special Forces soldier, he’s turned his back to mine, intending to yank me over his shoulder like a duffel bag and strangle me with my own weight. I have only a single second before my feet leave the ground, and I use it well, launching myself into the air. I backflip over him, turning through the still, stale air to land on cat feet facing him. The wire, made long to give better leverage, loosens enough for me to pull it over my head.

I throw a kick, a downward thrust toward his knee. Graceful as always, he steps easily aside. He answers it with a quick punch, fist flying toward my jaw, but my arm is already there, deflecting the blow harmlessly away.

I barely dodge another jab, a decoy strike before he grabs my arm, twisting it behind me and pushing me up against the wall. A picturesque landscape in a gilt frame crashes to the floor by my feet.

He jerks the captive limb once and pain shoots up and down my arm like sharp splinters of bamboo. He’s always believed pain to be an excellent teacher, so it’s become a frequent companion.

When he releases me, I turn to face him, shrugging my right arm a few times to work the pins and needles out.

“You heard me,” he says, approval softening his stern features, the crooked nose—broken three times over his forty-five years—the steely line of his mouth, the sharp angle to his jaw.

“It wasn’t exactly that, sir,” I say. “It was more like I sensed you. I didn’t hear much but I knew you were there.”

“Even better. Go get something to eat. I’ll be there in a few.”

“Yes, sir.”

I continue down a hallway lined with dim lights encased in stained-glass sconces. Narrow latticed windows let the deep blue of twilight fall over me.

The kitchen I step into at the end of the long hall is brighter, cheery white-yellow light over dark wooden counters. My mother stands at the stove. Beside her, sausages in a cast iron skillet hiss and spit.

“It smells good,” I say. On rare nights, Mom lets the housekeeper go home early and cooks something herself—the rich, salty flavors of her homeland.

“Hello, Jude,” she says in her faint voice, delicate as a flower’s petal and rarely louder than a murmur. Her soft smile fades as she walks toward me and runs a gentle finger across my neck where there must be a red line from the garrote. “Your father needs to be more careful.”

“My father knows what he’s doing.” I trust him, and I don’t want her to talk like that when he might overhear.

She sighs, turning back to the stove as my brother Eli walks in. He’s wearing his date-night clothes, groomed and stylish as someone on a magazine. He hates to hear how alike we look, but we do both have thick black hair, a striking contrast to our pale skin, and the same high cheekbones.

We take after our mother, who looks a little like Snow White, gazing wistfully out into the dark gardens. They’re January-dead right now, brown and crumbling, but flourish in the summers; rows and rows of blushing rosebushes, a pale cobblestone path laced between.

“Mom.” Eli puts his hands on her shoulders and says something in Russian.

She turns to face him with a smile, responding in kind. I listen to their murmured words, but only understand a few. I wasn’t allowed to speak Mom’s native language since we came to the city, and somehow I’ve managed to forget almost everything I knew. It means Mom is close to Eli in a way she can’t be with me. She reaches up to pat him gently on the cheek, affectionate as always.

While they talk, I get a beer out of the fridge for him so he’ll have to look at me for at least a few seconds. His hostile green-eyed gaze doesn’t linger as he takes the cold bottle from me.

“I thought we could take the horses out tomorrow,” I say.

“No.”

“But you haven’t ridden Sun in months.”

He glances at the stove, but Mom has stepped out of the kitchen. “Fuck off, Jude. I’m busy.” He turns and walks to the table. I follow and he sighs, setting his beer on the wooden surface with a clunk.

“Do you always have to look at me like that?” he says.

“Like what?”

“Like so sad. You look like a fucking puppy I kicked into the bay.”

I cross my arms, as though I could block his stinging words and hide the part of me that feels just like a puppy he kicked into cold water.

“You’re an asshole,” I say. “I just wanted to spend time with you.”

“You want to step into the gym and say that?” He walks toward me, an intimidating frown on his face, taking full advantage of the six inches he has on me, his bulky frame. By now, I’ve given up the hope I’ll ever be as big or as strong as he is. But I’m faster, darting like quicksilver, elusive as water when we spar. As we’ve grown up, I’ve become his equal.

I hold my ground, looking up at him. “Yes. Let’s do that.”

“Fucking waste of my time.” He steps away and turns back to the table. It’s my victory, but I don’t feel any triumph, just the usual weary guilt.

Mom sighs, standing in the doorway. She doesn’t say a word, so used to our fighting she only tries to stop us if we’re actually hitting each other. I should be more careful to keep it from her.

Dad comes in. He catches my eye with a warm, proud smile that makes me feel a little better. My mother turns her face up toward him, and he kisses her on the cheek. Her features are angular but beautiful, her slender neck clad in a gray turtleneck that doesn’t quite cover the bruise at the base of her jaw. Dad must have been drinking last night. He doesn’t mean to hurt her, but he can’t always help himself. I should have been here to stop him.

“Smells good, Nadya,” he says.

She gives him a timid smile. “For you, Vance. Mama used to make it when you visited us. You remember?”

“Of course I do, honey,” he says.

Mom puts plates on the table in the breakfast nook, a small alcove surrounded by tall windows edged with lacy curtains. They let the darkness encroach on us, stars absent in the overcast sky.

“Do you have plans for tonight?” Dad asks. Eli and I both know he’s talking only to me, Eli beneath his notice as always.

“Brienne’s throwing a party,” I say.

“Oh, Jude,” Mom murmurs. “Shouldn’t you stay and study? Have you studied one time since you were suspended?”

“That’s right,” Dad says. “You’re back to school on Monday. Fucking shame. I had something pretty interesting planned.”

“I don’t have to go.” I’d much rather work with Dad, like I’ve been doing since I was thirteen. Now that I’m eighteen, I’m an expert in everything from smuggling illegal drugs to running protection rackets.

“You do have to go,” Dad says. “I had to pull a lot of strings to get them to take you back, so don’t fuck it up again, hear me?” A cold, steely wire is threaded through his words, and I know I’ll have to be careful.

“I don’t know why you care,” Eli says. “Jude doesn’t learn anything. He doesn’t even try. When I was—”

“He’s learning plenty,” Dad says, talking over Eli as usual. “You’re not there to learn calculus or some shit. You’re there because that’s where the mayor and city councilmen and CEOs of major corporations send their kids. When they run this city, you’ll be glad you know their names.”

“They’re not going to run this city,” I say, grinning. “We are.”

Dad chuckles. “Don’t get cocky. But I do have the feeling that someday soon, we’ll be able to do a lot of expanding.” He stands. “You can’t go to the party tonight. I need you boys with me. We have work to do.”

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Meet the Author

Sarah Kay Moll is a wordsmith and an amateur homemaker. She’s good with metaphors and bad with coffee stains, both of which result from a writing habit she hasn’t been able to quit. She lives a mostly solitary life, and as a result, might never say the right thing at parties. She’s passionate about books, and has about five hundred on her to-read pile. When she does go out, it’s probably to the library, the theater, or the non-profit where she volunteers.

Sarah lives in a beautiful corner of western Oregon where the trees are still changing color at the end of November and the mornings are misty and mysterious. She spends her free time playing video games and catering to her cat’s every whim.

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Jul 23

Release Blitz: The Fox, the Dog, and the King by Matt Doyle (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Fox, the Dog, and the King

Series: The Cassie Tam Files, Book Two

Author: Matt Doyle

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 23, 2018

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 58000

Genre: Science Fiction, futuristic, lesbian, private detective, Sci-fi

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Synopsis

New Hopeland City may have been built to be the centerpiece of the technological age, but some remnants of the old world still linger. The tools of the trade have changed, but the corruption remains the same, even in the criminal underworld …

When PI Cassie Tam and her girlfriend Lori try to make up for their recent busy schedules with a night out at the theatre to watch the Tech Shift performer Kitsune, the last thing they expected was for Cassie to get a job offer. But some people are never off the clock, and by the end of the evening, Cassie has been drawn into a mundane but highly paid missing pet case. Unfortunately, in New Hopeland City, even something as simple as little lost dog can lead you down some dark paths.

Until now, Cassie wasn’t aware that there even was a rabbit hole, let alone how far down it goes.

Excerpt

The Fox, the Dog, and the King
Matt Doyle © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
“Caz! Be careful!” Charlie lets out an exasperated sigh, and adds, “Those are new cushions.”

I stop wiping the freshly spilt coffee on my trouser leg with my hand and give her an only partially serious indignant look.

“What? You can handle a bit of caffeine, the material can’t.”

“Terribly sorry,” I reply, relaxing back into Charlie’s couch. I raise my mug daintily to my mouth and take a sip, complete with a raised pinkie finger, then place the mug gently back onto the coffee table between us. “Better?”

Charlie almost gags on her own coffee as she tries to stifle a laugh and ends up dribbling some of the molten goodness down her chin.

“Oh, do be careful, Charlotte. These are new cushions,” I say, throwing in my best mock posh tone.

And now we both laugh, the sound bringing with it warm memories of times long gone.

The woman opposite me, Charlotte Goldman, is one of the top synth stimulant dealers in the city—an Elite Seller in fact. She’s also my ex-girlfriend. We only dated for a year but our breakup, while not what you’d call nasty, shook me and left me far too snarky to be dateable for a long time afterward. Then, Lori Redwood came knocking. She hired me to investigate her brother Eddie’s death. He was a VR junkie, and I honestly thought that the case would be simple when I took it. It wasn’t. For many reasons.

Somehow, Lori managed to break through my previously impenetrable walls, and one of the positive changes that she’s set about making in my life since we started dating is to make sure I reconnected with Charlie. I’m grateful, but I don’t think her intentions were entirely pure. Our now mutual friend, Jane, once told me that Lori had a habit of dating assholes. Part of me thinks that having me talk her up to my ex, who, if I’m being honest, I was still a little hung up on, is a way of boosting her own confidence in us. I could be wrong, of course. It has, unfortunately, been known to happen from time to time.

No matter what Lori’s reasons were, I am glad she did it. I’ve missed Charlie. Missed the way she makes me feel when I’m around her. Up until recently, I thought that was entirely due to the romance, but looking at it now, I know that I was wrong. I would be lying if I told myself I could look back on it and say we were never suited in that way, but the things I missed the most don’t need romance thrown in. Relaxing over a hot drink, catching up on what we’ve been up to, that sort of thing.

“And what’s that smile for?” Charlie asks, smiling wickedly with the question.

“I was just thinking about how much I’m enjoying being able to kick back around someone and be the person who isn’t an investigator for hire, stuck in the middle of something potentially nasty.”

Charlie lets out a short, gentle laugh and pushes her long auburn hair back behind her ears. “Having trouble opening up around Lori, huh?”

“It takes a while with me. You know that.”

“Yeah. I had, what? Three, three and a half months of grumpy Miss Sleuth until you started relaxing properly around me?”

I nod. “Honestly, I’ve just been so busy since the Locke trial that I haven’t had as much time with her as I’d like.”

“And yet you’re making plenty of time for me,” Charlie replies, shaking her head sadly.

“Lori works, too. We talk a lot, but meeting up is the difficult bit. I’m heading straight there from here, though. We’re gonna make a night of it. You just happened to be on the way,” I add with a cheeky wink.

“Oh, I bet you are.” Charlie laughs, ignoring my jibe. “Does she have something picked out for you already? A nice little PVC one-piece, perhaps?”

I sigh and drop my face in my hands. At some point, Charlie realised that she knew a few people who knew Lori. Then she found out that Lori frequented Tourniquet, the late-night cafe where we had our first date. It’s a nice place: good food, good drink, good prices, all you could want, really. But, as soon as Charlie discovered that its primary patrons are members of the local fetish scene, her mind went straight to PVC and leather, and she decided that would make great material to crack jokes at my expense. Yes, I am glad Lori helped me reconnect with Charlie. At times like this, though, I could kill her for it.

“It’s not like that,” I whine.

Rather than push ahead with her assault like she has the last couple of times, Charlie goes quiet for a moment. “Caz, were you into stuff like that when you and I dated?”

“No. I never even thought about stuff like that when we were together.”

“I thought not.” She smirks. “You’re a relationship chameleon.”

I look up, sure that my face is a picture of confusion. “A what?”

“A relationship chameleon. It means that you change when you’re dating someone and become more like them. Like how you were into retro rock when we met, and then suddenly took a major interest in jazz when you found out that I like it.”

“I just never gave jazz a chance before,” I groan. “And I still like retro rock. Besides, everyone changes a little when they’re in a relationship.”

“True.” Charlie nods. “We all adapt or pick up little things here and there. I, for one, learned how to comfort a big, scary detective who’s a massive wuss when it comes to jump scares. You change a lot, though. Do you remember how you told me about changing your drinking habits when you were dating what’s her name…uhm…” Charlie clicks her fingers, trying to remember the name.

“Dani,” I fill in the blank. “Dani Cole.”

“Dani,” Charlie repeats, pointing a finger at me in triumph. “You barely touched alcohol until you met her, but by the time you’d started seeing me you were drinking at least one beer a night. I bet you still do. It’s not just habits, though; your personality alters too. You were really shy when we first met, then while you were with me, you started adopting some of my snark. From what you told me about how you were in your youth, I reckon you got the shyness from someone else.”

“Or maybe your snark is catching?”

“I prefer so lovable that people can’t help but imitate it, but I’ll take it. And when we split, you reverted to a mix of moody and shy. It was like you didn’t know where to focus yourself anymore. And now you’re suddenly a bit more confident and…I dunno, jokey.”

“Maybe I was just miserable alone, and now I’m happy again?” I try.

“Or maybe you’re adopting some of Lori into yourself. Caz, I can tell when what you’re saying is you and when it’s something else you’re trying to take on. I always could.”

“Charlie, I’m happy. Is that really that bad?”

“No, it’s not. And I am glad that Lori’s convinced you to reconnect, I just don’t want you to get yourself hurt. We didn’t work out, but I do care for you. Promise me that if she tries getting you to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with you’ll say no, OK?”

I frown. “She’s not like that. She won’t try to force me to do anything. What’s brought all this chameleon stuff on, anyway? You’ve never mentioned it before.”

“I kinda wondered about it before, but…I just realised something, that’s all.”

“What?”

“Well, when I mentioned the PVC thing, you…”

“I, what?” I prompt, and immediately start to regret it.

“I could see it on your face. You weren’t entirely opposed to the idea.”

My cheeks start to flush, and my mouth drops open in shock, unable to form a smart-ass retort. Hell, I can’t even manage a stupid-ass retort at this point.

Charlie laughs, and it’s a long, whooping laugh that spills into her words. “It’s a good job that she thinks you’re cute when you’re embarrassed because you are so going to be blushing a lot when you two get out of first gear.”

“Gee, thanks,” I groan. With all the amusement I’m giving people lately, I’m beginning to wonder if I should consider switching careers and becoming a stand-up. I glance over at the clock on the wall. It’s a hybrid model that works with modern digital tech but built to resemble an old pendulum piece. They’re all the rage right now, or so I’m told. From the way the video display just jumped, I think Charlie’s might be broken. A quick check of my phone confirms that the time is right, at least.

“I better head out,” I say, getting to my feet. “And your pendulum just jumped, by the way. You may want to get that checked out.”

“Oh, it does that.” Charlie smiles, rising to walk me to the door. “I’ve had it checked over three times now and there’s no faults. It keeps the right time, so I’ll forgive it a few little visual blips.”

“Thanks, Charlie. It’s been a fun afternoon.”

“It really has. And don’t worry too much about the chameleon thing, I am half joking. I don’t expect you to be having the Tech Shift op any time soon, at least. Although…they do say that everyone starts to resemble their pets, right?”

“Diu,” I groan.

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Meet the Author

Matt Doyle lives in the South East of England and shares his home with a wide variety of people and animals, as well as a fine selection of teas. He has spent his life chasing dreams, a habit which has seen him gain success in a great number of fields. To date, this has included spending ten years as a professional wrestler, completing a range of cosplay projects, and publishing multiple works of fiction.

These days, Matt can be found working on far too many novels at once, blogging about anime, comics, and games, and plotting and planning what other things he’ll be doing to take up what little free time he has.

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Jul 21

Release Blitz: Beastly Businessmen and Guitar Gods by Asta Idonea (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Beastly Businessmen and Guitar Gods

Author: Asta Idonea

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 23, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 60000

Genre: Contemporary, alcohol use, businessmen, contemporary, cross-dressing, enemies to lovers, fairy tales, musicians

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Synopsis

They say magic doesn’t exist in our modern age. But is that really true?

Without magic, how could a stolen guitar or a lost shoe lead to love?

What could spark romance at a workplace assessment, or turn a mean-spirited monster into a man?

Six fairytales and myths receive a contemporary MM twist in this collection of stories, which prove that sometimes the mundane can be magical too.

Excerpt

Dragged Into Love (Þrymskviða)

When Theo’s landlord steals his guitar in lieu of overdue rent, he tells Theo he will only return the instrument if he can go on a date with Theo’s twin sister. With Fran less than willing to play along, Theo is left with one option: to go in her place.

Love’s Code (Ariadne and Theseus)

In order to keep his job, Andre must pass an examination. However, his unspoken love for fellow programmer Eren proves a constant distraction, as does the identity of a mysterious benefactor who offers helps along the way.

Guessing Games (Rumplestiltskin)

A little white lie, told in his job interview, won Sasha his dream role. Only now he faces a pile of work he doesn’t know how to complete. When someone comes along with a solution to his dilemma, he is thrilled. But what price will he have to pay

Assignations and Ultimatums (The Strange Elopement of Tinirau)

Hunter and Ross are deeply in love, but Ross’s father is intent on setting him up with undesirable, yet powerful, older men. That’s bad enough, but the situation worsens when the latest of these potential partners turns out to be Ross’s boss.

Lost and Found (Cinderella)

Attendance at the company’s masquerade ball is compulsory. Cillian intends a swift departure once his presence has been noted, but he changes his mind when a dashing stranger asks him to dance. Love is in the air…until he uncovers the man’s identity.

A Debt is a Debt (Beauty and the Beast)

Dunstan Griffin is not a man accustomed to letting a debt slide. Therefore, when Alfred Siskin offers the EA services of his son, Wynn, in lieu of payment, Dunstan accepts. He intends to make the most of his new worker, but soon his desires change.

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Meet the Author

Asta Idonea (aka Nicki J Markus) was born in England but now lives in Adelaide, South Australia. She has loved both reading and writing from a young age and is also a keen linguist, having studied several foreign languages.

Asta launched her writing career in 2011 and divides her efforts not only between MM and mainstream works but also between traditional and indie publishing. Her works span the genres, from paranormal to historical and from contemporary to fantasy. It just depends what story and which characters spring into her mind!

As a day job, Asta works as a freelance editor and proofreader, and in her spare time she enjoys music, theater, cinema, photography, and sketching. She also loves history, folklore and mythology, pen-palling, and travel, all of which have provided plenty of inspiration for her writing. She is never found too far from her much-loved library/music room.

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Jul 19

New Release Blitz: Open Season by Susan Stradiotto (Excerpt & Giveaway)



Title:  Open Season

Series: The Caeteran Tales #1

Author: Susan Stradiotto

Publisher:  Stradiotto LLC

Release Date: July 19, 2018

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Female, Female/Female

Length: 27,000

Genre: Fantasy, Science Fiction

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Synopsis

Elle Jones coveted an executive position.
Running from her past, Elle developed a strong drive. Her mantra: Executive by thirty! She landed the job and celebrated her long-awaited success. That was…until she left the office late one night. When she stepped from the elevator, her life changed. Three cloaked figures waited…

Andreas Javine had Elle in his sights.
Terrináe’s Congress only allotted thirty-six slots for new entrants. When Javine missed his opportunity to nominate Elle, he resorted to alternate methods.

Yster yearned for her first entrant.
Thirty-six mentors had been selected, and Yster missed selection by one. For another Entrant Season, she would be relegated to serving the mentors who were gifted an entrant. That is…until her benefactor approached her with an unusual offer. She would have to pull double-duty, but…at long last… She had the opportunity!

The start to an Epic Fantasy Series that will take the reader between Earth and Caetera.

Excerpt

Javine puzzled over why she turned away just as their eyes met. But when she approached Alan, her reasons seemed logical. She was pristine, poised in her golf skirt and collared shirt. He went to the bar, leaned onto his elbows, ordered a Macallan single-malt—neat, and waited. He’d be patient, they’d come his way soon. And they did.

Javine forced himself to not blink against the irritating contacts that bothered his vision. The light surrounding Elle was still there, but muted. It annoyed him to have the acuity blurred, but the obfuscation was necessary. From the time he’d watched her over the years, Javine knew the colors of her glow—the marker that predicted Flare.

Andre Jordan, I’d like you to meet the new V.P. of Corporate Communication, Elle Jones,” Alan introduced, making the predictable motions from one to the other.

Javine stood straight, scotch in one hand. Though his contacts and glasses obscured her glow, he’d seen the highlights before. Lavender streaks weren’t a foolproof indicator, but he’d come prepared just in case. He offered her a gloved hand. If her Flare turned out to be touch activated, he didn’t want to inadvertently give things away.

Coming from the range, Mr. Jordan?” Elle asked.

He raised his brows with a single nod to affirm, then said, “Elle, I understand that you come to Travelers from Jewel Systems?”

It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jordan.”

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Meet the Author

My life in Prior Lake, Minnesota revolves around my husband, three children, and two dogs—a border collie named Chipper and a Bernese Mountain Dog named Delaunay. If you check out my Facebook page (fb.me/susanstradiottoauthor), you’ll definitely see the BMD smiling back at you. I’ve been a Technology Project Manager for more years than I’d like to admit, but stories are my passion. I have always been a voracious reader, lover of worlds, and a “werd nerd.” My infatuation with well-developed characters sometimes rivals my relationships with real people. I spend my free time writing, networking with other writers, and occasionally camping “up-north.” If you’re from Minnesota, you’ll get the reference along with “hot dish” and “grey-duck.” If you’re not from Minnesota, you probably don’t want to ask. Note that I’m originally a Texan, and that just never leaves you!

Happy reading and thank you so much for all your love and support!

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Jul 16

Release Blitz: A Mage’s Power by Casey Wolfe (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  A Mage’s Power

Series: The Inquisition Trilogy, Book One

Author: Casey Wolfe

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 16, 2018

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 70800

Genre: Paranormal, mages, witches, shifters, dark, magic

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Synopsis

Built on the bones of an ancient city, modern-day Everstrand is where master mage, Rowan, has set up his enchantment shop. When not hanging out with his werewolf best friend, Caleb, or studying, he dabbles in herbology and the controversial practice of blood magic. A prodigy who has already earned two masters, Rowan’s bound and determined to reach the distinction of grandmaster, a mage who obtains a masters in all five Schools of Magic.

Shaw works for the Inquisition, the organization charged with policing the magical races collectively known as magicae. Recently, it has come under scrutiny as magicae begin to disappear and reports of violence increase. With secrets of his own on the line, Shaw is willing to risk everything to find out just what is going on behind all the locked doors.

When Rowan and Shaw are entangled in each other’s worlds, it becomes evident that their hearts are as much at risk as their lives. They must find the truth and stop a conspiracy before it’s too late.

Excerpt

Excerpt
A Mage’s Power
Casey Wolfe © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
The city of Everstrand came into view when Rowan’s dirt bike broke through the last of the forest. The engine whirred as he caught a little air over a bump, wind whipping at his blond hair. He laughed, leaving dust in his wake. Spring was fast approaching and Rowan was enjoying the sunshine and warming temperatures perhaps a bit too much.

The dirt roads leading from the Sacred Timber, where he lived, gave way to the paved roadways of civilization. Rowan much preferred the solitude of nature to the bustle of Osterian’s capital city, so it was just as well he tended to keep his trips there to a minimum.

Not that the city was completely horrible. It was ancient, and a lot of the original structures had been well-preserved as the city expanded over the centuries. The Everstrand Mages Guild was part of the oldest section. It sat on a broken piece of land that was enchanted to float in the air above the Grey Tides—visible even now. Chains kept it bound to the cliffside so that it didn’t drift away.

Rowan needed to stop by the Guild at some point, but he wanted to go to his shop first. One wouldn’t think he’d be able to make a living by being open a few days out of the week; however, an enchanter’s services were always a valuable commodity. Considering Rowan was the sole master enchanter in the entire city offering his services to the public, he wasn’t worried about losing business.

Having timed his arrival after the morning rush, Rowan had no problems getting to the shop. He cut through a few narrow side alleys to the Orchard Street Mall. He loved that it was all outdoors, restricted to foot traffic only, instead of a typical mall complex. It gave the area a certain charm, with the unique facades and plentiful landscaping.

Rowan parked his bike in the section reserved for vendors, permit tag sealed in place with magic to prevent theft. Satchel strap over his shoulder, he made his way down the cobblestone paths, past shops of every size and type.

Nestled between a bookstore and a pastry shop—that he frequented probably more than he should have—was Charmed to Meet You. Even now, the name made him cringe a little. It had been his late grandmother’s suggestion, and with no counter-name in hand, Rowan had relented. It seemed he was stuck with it too—at least his customers thought it was cute.

Once inside, he flipped on the lights and tossed his satchel onto the counter. He shrugged out of his brown leather jacket, hanging it on the rack. The weather may have been breaking, but riding his bike still required protection from the chill. It was nice enough to open the windows, which he did with a flick of his hand. A breeze swept inside, the fresh air swapping out the stale from over the weekend.

It was a small shop, designed more as a work space than a storefront, with all the shelving behind the counter holding his supplies. There were no displays or little charm trinkets lying around. Everything he did was custom. Let them go to a kitschy tourist trap if they wanted some run-of-the-mill good luck charm. He had better things to do.

Already finished with current orders, Rowan decided today was a good day to work on his own projects. He sat on his stool and pulled a thick book from his satchel before stowing the bag under the counter by his parchment, ink, and quills. It might have been old-fashioned of him, but he enjoyed the feel of a quill in his hand and handmade paper under his fingers—his grandmother’s influence, no doubt, as she had been the one to give him his first grimoire filled with parchment. After that, a notebook and pen simply wouldn’t do for anything involving his magical studies.

“Now, where was I?”

One of the few things he’d taken from his grandmother’s cottage was her magic books, but he hadn’t been able to read them until recently. Even looking at them had invoked powerful memories of her, and it was far too heartbreaking to consider. They had sat around, gathering dust, for the last half-dozen years, and Rowan thought it was about time to get over it. Thus, he’d begun pouring over her old grimoires and spell theory books in earnest.

Naturally, no sooner had he gotten settled, his cell phone chimed. It turned out to be his best friend, Caleb, and Rowan wasn’t surprised at the inquiry: “Lunch today?”

Rowan smiled while typing out a reply text: “Of course.” As though Caleb didn’t come out to Rowan’s cottage enough, the werewolf was always on him to hang out when he was in town. “Now hush. I’m studying.”

The returned zipped-lip emoji made Rowan laugh. “Damn wolf,” he said affectionately, shaking his head as he set the phone aside.

Not that the silence lasted long. From the back of the shop, Rowan heard a soft meow. He turned to find the brown tabby cat that roamed the neighborhood, slipping through the window and landing gracefully on a stack of books. “Hey, Badger.”

The cat meowed again, making his way along the shelves before jumping onto the front counter. Badger purred, rubbing his head against Rowan’s arm, demanding attention. Rowan scratched behind the cat’s ears. He certainly was an animal magnet.

Badger had shown up in the shop one day when Rowan had opened one of the back windows to vent the smoke from a failed experiment—not one of his prouder moments. Rowan had no desire for a cat, but he couldn’t just throw the guy back out into the wet snow either. Thankfully for Rowan, the cat didn’t exactly want to be kept.

Badger came and went on his own whims, although it seemed he’d picked up Rowan’s schedule and was sure to drop by to see him. Rowan figured part of it had to do with the fact he was keeping meat treats around. Not that he minded. Badger was a quiet, comforting presence who mostly took advantage of the warm, dry place by curling up on the counter and napping.

Caleb had saddled the cat with his name. Rowan wasn’t planning to name him—after all, he had proven to be his own animal—but Caleb had pointed out they couldn’t keep calling him “the cat.” Badger should have been thankful Rowan vetoed Whiskers.

The bell above the door announced the arrival of a customer, one of Rowan’s regulars. Most of Marian’s requests were idiotic, but he wasn’t about to turn down her money. If she wanted to keep wasting it at his shop, that was fine by him.

“Rowan, hon, there you are,” the older woman gushed, coming up to the counter. “Did you get my message?”

“I actually just got in.” Rowan may have sounded apologetic, but he wasn’t in the least. Marian had the habit of freaking out over nothing and believing she needed magical interference to deal with every little challenge. Think of the money, he reminded himself.

“Oh, I am in desperate need of your help. It’s my neighbor. The old fool has been trying to curse me.”

Rowan had to hold back an exasperated sigh. This was going to take a while. He closed his book regretfully.

“Curses are serious business,” Rowan said. “Are you sure?” Despite his words, he was already moving toward the shelves. They were set perpendicular to the counter, so he was still able to see Marian as he searched for various things he would require.

“I’m certain,” Marian insisted, as Rowan knew she would. “It’s my garden! Everything is just…dying. It was fine one day, and the next…” She threw her hands in the air, which was apparently supposed to mean something.

Rowan hummed in false agreement. “Yes, that does sound serious. Have you thought of reporting it?” Humoring her didn’t mean he couldn’t take a few jabs at her expense.

“Heavens, no. Those fools don’t do a thing. You should know that, dear.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. This is what I got a masters for?

It wasn’t the first time he’d thought it, and not even with Marian’s ridiculous requests. There he was, the youngest mage ever with a masters degree—now two—and he was humoring people who needed to keep plants alive despite their lack of green thumb, prevent a neighbor’s dog from shitting in their yard, or protect from griffin attack—because somebody told them they were rampant in the south of Osterian where they planned to vacation. Money was money, though, so Rowan stomached the inane requests and prayed for those that were a good use of his time.

“Do you think you can help me?” Marian asked, before cooing at Badger. He was thoroughly unamused, relocating himself to one of the shelves near Rowan. “He is such a beautiful cat. It’s so precious how he follows you.”

“Yes, he is,” Rowan agreed, Badger rubbing his head against his shoulder. “And, yes, I can most certainly help you out. If you have more shopping to get done, I can have it ready in about an hour.”

Marian clapped her hands together. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I do appreciate it.”

“No trouble at all.” He kept the fake smile in place until the door shut behind her. “One charm to stop you from murdering your own plants, coming up,” he griped. Looking at Badger, he raised a brow. “Why is everything a curse or whatever with her? I swear I don’t understand mundanes.” He spoke of those without magic.

Badger meowed as if he understood. Rowan smiled at him, gathering up the supplies he needed to make the charm in question.

He turned to another shelf, pausing when he saw the potion sitting there. “I forgot about this.” Rowan had been dabbling with potion-making lately. Despite not being an actual School of Magic, herbology—like divination and runes—was an offered course at many guilds. While anyone could learn such skills, magic could often enhance the effects.

“This…wasn’t exactly the color I hoped for,” Rowan admitted, turning the small glass bottle over in his hand. The sickly green liquid sloshed around, unchanged. “So much for that.”

He may have been something of a prodigy—passing his apprenticeship at eighteen, and earning his first masters at twenty-one—but he was far from great at all areas of magic. Likely, his grandmother would have kept him on track, except she’d died shortly after he opened Charmed to Meet You. She missed his second masters at twenty-four, and without her around to scold him, he’d spent the last four years messing around here and there with all sorts of other magic—including intensive study in blood magic—without truly settling on a new course of study.

Perhaps two masters would have been more than enough for any mage to have, but not him. He was bound and determined to reach the distinction of grandmaster, a mage who had obtained a masters in all five Schools of Magic. First, he needed to get through his next exam.

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Meet the Author

Author of gay romantic fiction, from contemporary to paranormal and everything in between.

For Casey, existence equals writing. History nerd, film enthusiast, music lover, avid gamer, and just an all-around geek. Add in an unapologetic addiction to loose-leaf tea and you get the general picture. Married, with furry four-legged children, Casey lives happily in the middle of nowhere Ohio.

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Jul 16

New Release Blitz: Bodies Beautiful by Steve Burford (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Bodies Beautiful

Series: Summerskill and Lyon, Book Two

Author: Steve Burford

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 16, 2018

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 72400

Genre: Contemporary Thriller, contemporary, crime, murder, bodybuilders, detectives, MP, family drama, mystery

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Synopsis

“Y’know, time was when the serial killers went after helpless young women. Now they’re taking out bodybuilders.”

When promising young bodybuilder Paul Best is found gruesomely murdered, DI Claire Summerskill and DS Dave Lyon find themselves deep in the unfamiliar territory of hard core gyms and weights, supplements and steroids. But when the one thing linking the growing list of murder victims is that they are the last men you’d expect to be victims, Summerskill and Lyon are faced with their toughest case yet.

“Bodies Beautiful” is the second in the Summerskill and Lyon series of police procedural novels.

Excerpt

Excerpt
Bodies Beautiful
Steve Burford © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
7:00 p.m.

Pain.

Fierce fire across his chest, up his arms, burning the muscles. More intense than any he had ever known.

It was…awesome!

“Go, Paul!”

“C’mon, man!”

“Push it.”

“Push it!”

With one last, titanic effort and with a strangled, inarticulate bellow, Paul Best pushed the massively stacked barbell that last, all important, near impossible centimetre up over his heaving chest, locked his arms, held for one second, two, then let go. The men on either end of the barbell staggered as they took its weight, hauled it back, and let it drop with a crash on the support framework behind Paul’s head.

“Sweet!”

“Brilliant, mate!”

“Un-be-fuckin’-lievable!”

Face flushed, near blinded by his own sweat but grinning like a loon, Paul lay momentarily exhausted on the bench, gasping like a landed fish, and accepting his mates’ extravagant praises. A new gym record. A new personal record. A whole one point two five kilos over his last best weight, way beyond anything any of the other guys in that gym could bench-press.

But still not good enough. It was never good enough.

Paul waited for his heart and breathing to slow back to something like normal, dragging a towel one of the guys had thrown at him across his eyes to clear the sweat. The small crowd of enthusiastic admirers who had surrounded his bench drifted back to their own workouts, some inspired by what they had just seen; a couple completely demoralised. Still grinning, Paul sat back up on the bench and accepted the water bottle held out by one who had stayed, one of the two men who had taken the weight from him. “Thanks, Rob.”

His mate stood to one side, shaking his head in amazement. “That was just beyond, man, y’know?”

Paul wiped the towel across the top of his pumped chest and under both armpits before hanging it around his thick neck. “Was, wasn’t it?”

“Want me to spot some more, or do you want to stretch off?”

Paul squinted at the clock on the far wall. “Nah,” he said, standing up from the bench. “Think I’ll just grab a shower and get going.”

Rob frowned. “You sure?” It was a standing joke at the Heavy Metal gym that Paul would be there all the hours God sent if he could, and the staff frequently almost had to throw him out at closing time which was still three hours away. Even Paul might not have anything left to give after that last display, but hitting the showers without stretching off? That was like… Rob struggled for an appropriate comparison but couldn’t find one. Similes weren’t really his thing. But whatever it was like, it was wrong. Paul Best didn’t cut corners in the gym.

“Okay.” Rob sounded uncertain. “Fancy a shake then? I’ve got some of the new protein formula from that show up in Brum. Doesn’t taste like shit. Pure protein. That’s what it says on the label. I mean,” he added, “it doesn’t say, doesn’t taste like shit, just…well, y’know what I mean.”

“Nah, mate. Thanks all the same. Save it for tomorrow, yeah?” Paul pointed his finger at Rob as if aiming a gun, winked, and made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Things to do tonight, y’know?”

Rob shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Oh yeah. Right.”

Paul laughed. “You in tomorrow?”

Rob nodded vigorously. “Course.”

“Good man!” Paul thumped his friend on the shoulder then made his way across the crowded gym to the small changing room and shower area. All around him, standing, sitting, lying and squatting, men, and some women, pushed, pressed, pulled and lifted barbells, dumbbells, kettlebells and, in one instance, a sandbag. Soft grunts, gasps, and the occasional guttural cry punctured the air which was heavy with sweat and muscle rub.

He stopped just short of the changing room door. On the bench there lay a man, stretching out his arms and pectoral muscles, eyes closed, psyching himself to press the impressively loaded barbell resting over his head on its stand. Either side of the stand were two other men, ready to lift the weight up and over to him and stand by in case he needed their help. Paul came and stood over the man on his back. To the untrained eye, he might have appeared as built as Paul himself. His skimpy vest, like Paul’s, did little to conceal his massively overdeveloped chest and arm muscles. But with the eye of the obsessive, Paul could see the differences: the lack of definition here, the extra eighth of an inch of fat there. And the weight this man was going to try to press… Paul’s grin became positively wolf-like. It was heavy all right, heavier than anything else anyone was pressing in the gym right then. And a good five kilos short of what Paul had just shifted.

“Warming up, Danny?” Paul said, just loud enough for everyone around to hear.

The man on the bench hissed in what might have been a reaction to Paul’s words or might have been part of his mental preparation. He opened his eyes but stayed staring at the ceiling. He nodded once to the men on either side of his head. They heaved the weight up from its rest, brought it forward until the bar was over his chest and he could grasp it, waited until they were sure he had a firm hold, arms locked, then let go and stepped back. For a moment, the weight stayed right where it was. Then, very slowly, teeth bared in a rictus of effort, his breath a series of sharp hisses, the man on the bench let the bar come down until the metal was just resting across his heaving chest. With a cry like a yelp of pain, he then thrust powerfully upwards. The bar moved, an inch, then another. On either side of him, the helpers shifted uneasily. Veins stood out on the forehead of the man on the bench as he strained against the weight. The bar moved another inch, then part of another. Then inexorably sank back downwards. The two standing men stepped in, seized the ends of the barbell, and hauled it back into its place on the stand.

Paul laughed out loud. “Bad luck, Danny,” he yelled, as he threw open the changing room doors. “Like to stick around and help you out but things to do, people to see. You know how it is.” He turned and stood for a moment in the doorframe, arms held out at his side as if inviting everyone there to gaze adoringly at his powerful body. “I mean, you know how it was. Keep taking the tablets.”

Dan Thompson lay on his bench, gasping like a man who had run a marathon, while his training partners shuffled uncomfortably off to one side, avoiding any eye contact with him. “Prick!” Dan gasped. “Fucking little prick!”

The door swung shut behind Paul but didn’t completely muffle the sound of his mocking laughter.

In the changing rooms, Paul pulled his sweat-sodden vest up over his head, tossed it to one side, and stood in front of the mirror, admiring his body in the almost dispassionate way a car enthusiast might admire a sports car he had built from scratch. Biceps pose. Triceps pose. Quad flex. Yeah, looking good. Looking big and looking really good. And burning Thompson had felt good too. So good it had just about made him forget the nagging in his gut. But not quite.

Rob’s confused surprise at his early exit from the gym had been a laugh but tearing himself away from his training so early had not been easy for Paul. Not at all! The obsessive compulsion that was part of his life, that was almost all of his life, that drove him through the pain and privations of bodybuilding day after day, week in, week out, was all but impossible to ignore. Besides, it would have been cool to hang around and bask some more in the mingled admiration and envy of the other guys there.

But when sweet deals came along, you had to make the most of them. And tonight’s deal promised to be so sweet Paul would be able to keep himself in allegedly delicious protein drinks for many months to come. And not just milkshakes. He whistled happily to himself as he took one last admiring look over his shoulder at the reflection of his flared lat muscles and enviable narrow waist before padding off to the showers.

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Meet the Author

Steve Burford lives in one of the less well-to-do areas of Malvern mentioned in the novel. When not writing in a variety of genres under a variety of names, he tries to teach drama to teenagers. He has only occasionally been in trouble with the police. You can reach Steve via  eMail.

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Jul 16

Release Blitz: Fallen for You by Jules Dee (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Fallen for You

Author: Jules Dee

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 16, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 70100

Genre: Paranormal, romance, paranormal, BDSM lite

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Synopsis

When you work with someone for years, you think you know them pretty well.

Casey Wicker and Martin Bishop are a British Secret Service team with a reputation for ignoring rules but delivering results. They’ve also built a tight friendship, with more than a spark of unspoken attraction.

While on assignment to Scotland Yard, Martin rescues Casey and exposes him to a life-changing secret. Martin is not what he seems, and now that Casey is aware of that, the knowledge most likely comes with a death sentence.

When a way to avoid the tragic ending is suggested, it may very well take more cooperation than anyone is willing to expend.

Excerpt

Fallen for You
Jules Dee © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
“You’re utter rubbish at this, you know that, right?” Casey shouted as Martin’s long legs ate up the distance ahead of them, arms and shoulders bunching and rolling in graceful synchronicity.

“In what particular way—” Martin ducked around a corner and took off down the next street, shouting back over his shoulder “—am I rubbish?”

“You, Martin Christopher Bishop—” Casey suddenly grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him into a shadowed doorway. “—are rubbish at the whole secret part of secret agent.”

They stood close together, heads almost level, breathing hard and grinning in spite of the danger as the sounds of angry shouting faded in the distance.

“We got the document we were after, didn’t we? I don’t see the problem.” Martin’s eyes sparkled bright blue even in the dimly lit recess as he ran a hand quickly through his short dark hair. Casey smiled at the familiar habit that tended to appear when in risky situations.

“You don’t see—” Casey took a moment to bend, putting his hands on his knees, and gasped great lungfuls of air as his shaggy blonde hair fell over his eyes. “You don’t see the problem? We can never come back to Liberec, you idiot. You might as well have signed into the hotel as James Bond if you intended to grab the papers in broad daylight.”

Martin leant against the rough bricks, chuckling as he tucked the documents in question away inside his jacket. “Don’t make such a fuss. What’re the chances we’ll ever need to come back to this area of Prague anyway?”

Casey straightened and tried for his most withering stare, his brown gaze meeting Martin’s, before giving in and laughing along with his partner. “Hopeless. You’re hopeless. Why do I work with you?”

“My rakish charm, my scintillating conversation? C’mon, admit it, you love me.” He ducked his head out, casting a quick glance both ways. “The coast is clear. Ready for another sprint?”

“Always.” He took one last breath and broke into a run. “And I don’t love you, for the record. You’re a complete tit.”

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Meet the Author

Jules Dee doesn’t understand what she has done to deserve her magnificent life. She is surrounded and supported by her husband and her friends. Her cats appreciate that her habit of writing creates long hours of lap-time, which they are happy to consume and repay her with purrs.

When she isn’t writing, she spends her days running the Technology Service Desk for a Local Council in Metropolitan Melbourne and fixing things that are broken.

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Jul 09

Blog Tour: Nectar and Ambrosia by E.M. Hamill (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Nectar and Ambrosia

Series: Amaranthine Inheritance #1

Author: E.M. Hamill

Publisher:  Star Bard Books

Release Date: June 30, 2018

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Female, Male/Male

Length: 81576

Genre: Fantasy, urban/mythical

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Synopsis

Callie, a Classics major, flees home to protect her family from a monster straight out of mythology.  Visions lead her to Nectar and Ambrosia: the weirdest pub on Earth, where inter-dimensional travelers with attention seeking issues get drunk in between the A-list celebrity lives they create. They can’t pretend to be gods anymore—not since a treaty with the current Supreme Deity promising they won’t intervene in human affairs.

The Doorkeeper of this threshold, Florian, rides herd on the rowdy Amaranthine and offers her shelter and a job. Callie likes the lonely, mysterious bartender more than she should. For Florian, her presence is a ray of light in the gray monotony of his sentence behind the bar, but he keeps a cautious distance—the truth of how he became Doorkeeper could change Callie’s perception of him forever. 

When angels show up for a war council over Zeus’s irrational mutters about a comeback, Callie has uncontrolled visions of an apocalypse.  Ex-gods realize she’s the first Oracle Priestess in generations. All Callie wanted was keep her parents safe, and now it seems she must sacrifice her future to keep the rest of humanity safe, too. Ambrosia could be the key to harnessing her visions— or it could cost her life.

War is coming. The threshold between worlds has never been more fragile. Callie must discover who is pulling Zeus’s strings and avert the final battle—before the immortal vying to become the next Supreme Deity kills her first.​

Excerpt

Callie turned away, trying to decide if Florian and all his clientele were delusional or if it was some kind of big role-playing game for rich people. Folks could have a thing about dressing up in furry animal costumes. She supposed they could pretend to be gods and goddesses too. If it was a mythology RPG, they weren’t concerned with the classical part, except for the guy she saw yesterday afternoon. She was relieved to have a rational explanation for the horns.

Something moved outside the glass front door. Her heart seized in momentary panic. What if the monster still lurked out there?

Strange, visible turbulence seemed to ripple the panes. Callie squeezed her eyes shut to clear her sight and prayed it wasn’t the aura of an oncoming seizure. Cool relief extinguished the rising sparks of panic as the effect dissipated.

The door opened and revealed a spiky-haired, punk rock kid years too young to be in any bar. Callie was forced to squint in order see him clearly as he strode in, his outlines strangely blurred and soft. Sullen teenaged fluidity rolled in every line of his body. He surveyed the bar, narrow kohl-ringed eyes settling on the heavily intoxicated Zeus. A sneer comprised of equal parts contempt and satisfaction flickered over his mouth.

“There he is, the great king of the gods,” he muttered. He moved toward the bar, a glare of disdain sweeping over the other patrons. His eyes widened in appreciation as they passed over Callie, a little smirk growing as his gaze lingered too long on the front of her college t-shirt.

Despite her confusion on how he’d arrived, she gave him a thin smile and a cool nod, crossing her arms over her chest. He stopped short, an expression of shock on his face. Then a quick, sunny grin took over. His blurry outlines sharpened as he drew closer and she relaxed her squinted eyes, no longer struggling to focus on him. She decided it was a trick of the neon-tinted lights hanging in garish advertisement on the walls of the bar.

“My, my, my. Who have we here?” His voice, thick with Cockney vowels, dipped to an intimate tone as he approached. His body language changed to something more unsettlingly mature. He was older than he appeared. “Who do you belong to?”

“I’m Callie. I don’t belong to anybody, but I work for Florian,” she corrected him politely. “Can I get you something?”

“Well, for starters, tequila.” He smirked suggestively. “And your undivided attention.”

Callie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. No matter where she worked, the pickup lines were the same.

“I’m sorry, I’m busy working. I’ll ask Florian for your tequila. On the rocks, or a shot?”

“On the rocks, love.”

“I’ll need to see some ID first.”

“You are new here, aren’t you?” He flipped two fingers out, a driver’s license between them.  She took it. No stranger to fake ID’s, this one appeared to be real, and passed him as twenty-one. Still…

“John Smith, huh?”

He captured Callie’s fingers as she returned the license and kissed the back of her hand in old-fashioned courtliness, sea-colored eyes glinting in mischief. An odd, visceral twinge from her early warning system made her startle as his lips touched her skin. Goose bumps flecked her arms. A totally alien sensation overwhelmed her senses: it was as if something crawled off her skin toward his mouth. She shivered in response and tried to pull her hand away. His grin widened as he tightened his grip, apparently delighted by her discomfiture.

“Oh, ho. That’s a lovely surprise. Don’t mind me. I’m incorrigible. Call me Puck.” He scribed an expansive circular gesture with his free hand. “Welcome to the watering hole of the damned bored.”

Callie forced a smile. “Thank you. Now, if you’ll let go of my hand, I’ll get your drink.”

Puck made a mocking bow over her hand and released it, smirking again as he backed away, still admiring her in undisguised interest. Between them, a well-dressed man stepped directly into Callie’s path. He swerved with a graceful spin and apologized as Callie’s sneakers squeaked to an abrupt halt on the concrete floor.

“Sorry, hon. Good evening, gods and goddesses!”

“Herm!” came a shouted group greeting from the room at large.

“And fairies,” the man belatedly added, nodding at the punk rocker.

Puck offered him an extended middle finger and a dangerous smile. Callie’s mouth fell open, recognizing the Armani-suited guy from the previous afternoon.

“Jeeze, homophobic much?” she muttered.

“Trust me love, I am all fairy and he is far from homophobic. Sexual orientation has nothing to do with him being a prick.” Puck glared at the man’s back with undisguised hatred before another lightning-quick mood change and a devilish grin took over. “Make that tequila a double.” He winked at her, eyes making another head to toe rake of her body before he disappeared into the clump of huge Scandinavian-looking, Corona-swilling dart players.

Callie’s hair still prickled on the back of her neck even after Puck left, and she rubbed it, troubled. She turned back to the room, stopped short, and stared. More customers sat at tables and in the shadows of the booths, each group just a little stranger than the last. None of them used the door.

And the Armani guy—he’d stepped into her path. Right out of the air.

Something intensely freaky was happening that she couldn’t rationalize away, no matter how hard she tried.

Was Florian telling the truth?

Instead of fear, a deep, visceral excitement flip-flopped in her abdomen, butterflies on steroids.

She never pinpointed exactly when wonder began to crowd out her reservations. Rushing between the cooler and the tables, she caught snatches of conversation and shouted greetings when others appeared. Having to bite back questions when she delivered their beverages replaced the urge to roll her eyes. She fought to keep a professional demeanor rather than fangirl all over herself when Florian introduced the Armani guy to her as Hermes. Hermes! One of her favorite characters in Greek mythology.

Three hours into the shift, she took a quick bathroom break. Her back against the door, Callie put her hands over her mouth and muffled something that sounded suspiciously like a shriek. Whether it was fear or excitement, she couldn’t quite say. Her breath came fast and short until she got dizzy. She spun the tap on the sink and the shock of cold water on her face helped bring her back down.

“What the hell, Callie? Are you really going to believe this?” she muttered to herself in the mirror. She grabbed a paper towel to blot the moisture away and waded back out into the crowded bar.

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Star Bard Books | Amazon Kindle | Amazon Paperback |Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

Meet the Author

Elisabeth “E.M.” Hamill is a nurse by day, unabashed geek, chocoholic, sci fi and fantasy novelist by nights, weekends, and wherever she can steal quality time with her laptop. She lives with her family, a dog, and a cat in the wilds of eastern suburban Kansas, where they fend off flying monkey attacks and prep for the zombie apocalypse.
​

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Jul 09

Release Blitz: Love It Like You Stole It by Ki Brightly (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Love It Like You Stole It

Author: Ki Brightly

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 9, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 99400

Genre: Contemporary, contemporary, blue-collar, mechanic, classic car love, age-gap, mobsters, crime, family drama

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Synopsis

Michael Levine is backed into a corner. He started tearing apart cars for the local mob with the best of intentions—to save up money to pay for his mechanic certifications and impress his crush and mentor, Ben. But Michael soon finds himself in way over his head. He knows stealing is wrong, but it’s only cars, and the insurance will pay to replace them, right? What started out as a small job to make some extra bucks soon turns into a nightmare he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to find his way out of.

Ben Jelen isn’t sure where his life is going. On the surface everything looks fine. He has a successful business, he’s raising his niece into a strong person, and he has a boyfriend most guys only dream of—sexy and rich. But nothing feels right. The only things that really keep Ben’s attention anymore are his classic Road Runner, his niece, and Michael—his Meeko. Ben took him under his wing forever ago, and their love of old cars and fast driving has forged a strong bond. Ben’s days don’t feel right if he doesn’t get to see Meeko at least once. But something seems drastically wrong in Meeko’s life, and Ben hopes he can put the pieces together to help him before it’s too late.

Excerpt

Love It Like You Stole It
Ki Brightly © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Prologue
BEN JELEN

“It’ll be a month, Bennet.”

I clutched the small silver bolt so hard it cut into my palm. The pain wasn’t enough to distract me. Rick’s bottom lip jutted out. It always did when he was on a roll. He crossed his heavy arms, eyes shadowed by his ball cap. With a sigh, I ignored my big brother, cutting my attention to the object of our current bitchfest. Vandi, his daughter, lounged nearby with tiny pots of fingernail polish out on the dusty, paperwork-covered desk.

“I’ll be good, Uncle Ben,” she chirped, her bow mouth turned up into a wide smile. She almost wasn’t a little girl anymore. It wasn’t long ago that I’d sit with her and do the painting. The sun cutting into the garage through the open bay door lit up her gold curls making them shine brightly. Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she dabbed a little brush covered in pink paint at her thumb. In her white summer dress, she couldn’t have looked more out of place.

I bent back over the motor of the beat-up, blue Ford Taurus and stared at it without seeing much of anything.

“It’s damned good money. They need mechanics for when the machinery goes down. If her mother hadn’t—”

“Rick,” I warned. Vandi’s head snapped up at the mention of her mom. I had no intention of mopping up tears today. He leaned a hip against the front quarter panel of the car and rested an elbow there, sending me a winning grin. It was the same bullshit one I used when trying to get my own way. “I’ve known you your whole life. That shit don’t fly.”

He chuckled, but his smile didn’t waver as he leaned in close, pushing his cap back with a thumb. I caught a whiff of the cologne I used and sighed. He’d raided my dresser again. Looking at him was like looking in a mirror—his brown eyes and long face with its blunted nose were just like mine, except mine was cocked a little to the left. He wiggled his eyebrows, and I blew out a hard breath.

“Those oil rigs are dangerous, and ask next time you steal my stuff.” I poked him on the shoulder with my ratchet as he shrugged, not at all bashful about his thievery.

“It’s a month on, three weeks off. And with the bonuses, I could be pulling in over a hundred grand next year. We can get the garage set up right, get more clients in…I won’t do it forever.”

I frowned and rubbed at my chest. He winced and scowled right back, like maybe he understood why I was upset. The idea of Rick being away for more than a few days made me nauseous. We’d always been a little too close, and it only got worse after Mom died. I sneaked a look at Vandi to see what she was thinking about all this, but she didn’t seem to be listening.

“I’m not sure it’s worth it,” I muttered. Shit. Money. We sure could use more of it.

A low humming started up from Vandi—a familiar song from the radio. “Check it out!” She flashed her pink fingernails at us. Rick turned and nodded at her.

“Real pretty, baby doll,” he said fast, not quite covering up the irritation in his tone. Her smile vanished.

I smacked his arm, but he was back to cajoling me with his half grin. I smacked him upside the head, sending his ball cap flying, but he ignored it and patted my cheek.

“I want this garage to get off the ground,” he said, “and so far, we’ve only been getting in about five or six people a week because we don’t have a lift. I had to send Mrs. Hopper to fucking Firestone because we didn’t have the right size tires.” He waved his hand toward the empty space stretching out behind us that practically begged to be filled with equipment. “We don’t have half the shit we need…”

“What if you’re out there in the middle of the ocean and there’s a hurricane or a blowout or—”

“Get back here you four-eyed fuck!” someone shrieked from outside. The low voice cracked on the swear word.

“What the hell…” I turned to look over my shoulder, and the bolt from the oil filter slipped from my fingers. With a ting, it disappeared into the abyss of hoses in the engine. “Shit.”

I slammed my ratchet down on the motor casing, and the air compressor at the rear of the work area chose that moment to kick on, filling the old cement-block garage with its chugging clatter. I strained my ears, but the voices outside were drowned out. “Turn that off, Rick.”

Nodding, he headed back to flip the switch. Vandi craned her neck forward to look out the wide door.

“He thinks he’s too good to talk to us. Mickey Mouse won’t open his mouth.” The bully’s voice dipped deeper on that last word, and an instinct for trouble sent me striding out the door into the gravel parking lot, past the few sad vehicles waiting for their turn in the repair shop.

Across the small side street, three teen boys surrounded another one on the sidewalk. He was hunched in on himself with his arms crossed protectively over his gut, his stance practically screaming, “Hammer me.” One of the boys—short, with a mean twist to his lips and a cheap buzz cut on his carrottop—smacked the glasses off his prey. Sparkling in the late afternoon sun, the lenses sailed in an arc and landed in the street.

“Should we do something?” Rick’s long shadow loomed near mine, arms crossed.

“Come on, hit ’em back,” I muttered, clenching my fists. “Protect yourself.”

Instead, the kid just rubbed at the bridge of his nose with one hand. He was coltish and stretched thin, like he’d grown too fast. But he was tall, and if he would throw a punch, he’d have reach. He didn’t move to defend himself or say a word, though, simply stared at his feet. I glanced at Rick, but when I looked back, the tall boy was shaking his head. Sunlight caught and glimmered on blue highlights in his black hair. The short asshole shoved him hard while the other guys circled, grunting out guttural encouragement that puffed up Mr. Attitude.

Outrage propelled me toward them at a fast clip.

“Ooooh, fuck,” Rick said on a chuckle.

I hadn’t planned on anything more than bitching out the bullies—until the short kid threw a hard jab. The tall one gasped and staggered back a step at the blow, but one of the kids in the circle shoved him upright so he could take more abuse. Wincing, the tall kid shook his head so hard he seemed to make himself dizzy. He staggered to the side but righted himself at the last second.

“You’re no better’n me—us.” The short kid hopped up and down imitating a wet chicken, darting his gaze around the circle. “You’re no better than us!” He screamed out a war whoop as he lunged forward to land the next punch. The tall kid took it on his left cheek and—pow!—crumpled to his knees.

“You little shits! Knock it off!” I ran toward them, hands pinwheeling, but had to slow down as a car shot by, going way too fast on the narrow street, separating me from the teenagers. Crunch. I winced and sighed as I jogged past the flattened glasses. No coming back from that.

The kids stilled as I approached—became panicked, malicious little statues. But when I stepped onto the sidewalk, fists balled up at my sides, my shadow fell across them, and the obnoxious brats scattered, helter-skelter—like I might actually chase them down and dish out a taste of their own medicine.

“You better run, you little pricks. Stay off my block!” I yelled after them. “I’m badder than you’ll ever be!”

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Meet the Author

Ki grew up in small-town nowhere pretending meteor showers were invading aliens, wild flowers were magic potions, and secret agents hid around every corner. (Ki probably read more than was healthy.) They had one amazing best friend, one endlessly-out-of-grasp “true love,” and a personal vendetta against normalcy.

College was a catapult out of that sleepy little hamlet into a slightly larger, more entertaining city—Erie, Pennsylvania.

In their adopted hometown they enjoy the sandy beaches, frigid winters, and a wonderful fancy water addiction. Ki shares life with two sweet Muses, their Sugar Plum, and two children. Every day with these wonderful people is full of adventure.

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