Rising Heat by Elizabeth Hollows

General Release Date: 5th April 2022

Word Count: 68,506
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 270

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
MEN IN UNIFORM

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Book Description

Can a sweet and sexy fireman change a fling into a happily ever after?

Neil Farris is your typical ‘love ’em and leave ’em’ type. He’s been told his biggest fear is commitment, but he’s not bothered by that. He doesn’t see the point of a long-term relationship. He either gets bored or his partners realize he’s too bossy and scathing. It’s easier to stick to one-night stands.

When his boring work conference in Brisbane sends him to the wrong hotel, he finds himself surrounded by gorgeous firemen. Luckily for him, one of them is gay and interested in a good time.

Scott Fields is everything Neil looks for in a fling—gorgeous, good in bed and temporary. He’s also nice and considerate, which is a bonus. It’s a shame Neil only gets two nights with the fireman before he’s returning home.

However, much to his surprise, he runs into Scott a few days later. It turns out they’re both from the same town. When Scott asks him out, Neil is hesitant but agrees. He really isn’t interested in dating or relationships. Can the sweet and sexy fireman change his mind?

Excerpt

Neil Farris had never seen the point to relationships. They only seemed to breed drama and boredom. Why choose one person to sleep with when the options for many were only a bar trip away?

His co-worker Denise often joked that he could find a fling in a haystack. He took it as a point of pride. He didn’t need to settle down into monotony when he could be the envy of many with a few well-placed flirtations. Sex was what he was after, not some white picket fence.

Yet despite her remarks, Neil hadn’t expected to have much luck at his yearly manager’s meeting. Not only did he know better than to sleep with his colleagues if he wanted his flings to remain flings, but the last three years had been the same boring routine.

He managed a men’s clothing store that specialized in affordable formal and stylish casual wear. Hardgroves was a leader in the industry with twelve stores in Queensland alone, and they wanted to maintain their foothold in the market. He’d driven the four hours down to Brisbane with the plan to check into his hotel and catch up with the few other managers he liked.

Instead, he found a mistake in the booking culminating in his lost reservation. Thirty minutes of back and forth with the company and he had alternative accommodation in a different hotel twenty minutes across town.

When he finally arrived, tired and annoyed, the last thing he’d expected was a lobby full of eye candy. A dozen muscled men were carrying duffel bags and chatting in small groups. Some were tanned, and some had tattoos. There were a few women with them, but Neil only had eyes for the guys.

Let it be a convention for gay singles.

He didn’t know where to look, but Neil quickly found his attention grabbed by a man at reception. His upper body had an attractive V-shape, his arms were muscled without bulging and the view only got better farther down. Neil crossed the lobby to stand behind him. The man’s khaki pants hinted at a firm bottom and taut thighs. He was a head taller than Neil with short black hair that was spiking at the top. He was compact in a way that showed he was no stranger to working out.

Now that’s a man I’d happily show a good time.

Neil would have continued his admiration if the man hadn’t stepped backward and turned. He nearly collided with Neil but jerked away in time.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t realize someone was there.”

The man’s eyes were as blue as the sky, and his smile was friendly. Neil swallowed down three pickup lines.

“Don’t worry about it.”

The man flashed another grin before taking a better grip on his bag. He walked over to a group congregating farther inside the hotel. They welcomed him with laughter, backslaps and familiarity. Neil forced his attention to the reception desk rather than the man’s biceps. The young woman behind the desk gave him a knowing smile.

“Annual fireman’s training,” she explained. Her eyes flicked toward the men before back to Neil, and she lowered her voice. “It gives us the best view in the city for the next week.”

“I suddenly don’t mind being in a different hotel from my colleagues.”

“Ooh, you get all the firemen to yourself. Well, half of them.” She winked. “I want my share, too.”

Neil laughed. He glanced at the men again, lingering on the one who’d almost bumped into him. He was just Neil’s type. Being a fireman only added to his appeal.

When Neil turned back to the receptionist, he matched her grin.

“How about you get the straight ones and I’ll get the gay ones?”

“Perfect!” They shared another smile before she cleared her throat. “Now, how can I help you?”

“I’ve got a reservation.”

She took a few minutes to sort everything out, but Neil soon picked up his small suitcase and headed to his room. The hotel wasn’t the height of luxury, but it was well-maintained. The two-story building had a bar off the lobby, along with a small restaurant. His room was on the ground floor and down a hall just past reception. It had all the standard amenities with a decent-sized bed. He placed his suitcase on the luggage rack and opened it. Originally, he’d planned to order room service and relax, but the firefighters changed things. Pulling out a nice dress shirt and jeans, Neil headed to the bathroom. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t a club. He needed to look his best if was going to catch anyone’s attention. A quick shower helped Neil feel refreshed, and he double-checked his reflection in the mirror. His sandy-blond hair looked naturally tousled and fell just below his ears. The shirt he wore was white with a subtle pattern of small palm trees. The leather bracelet around his left wrist partially obscured his tattoo of a sun. He grinned at the mirror, knowing he looked good.

Grabbing his wallet, room key and phone, Neil slipped them into the pocket of his jeans and stepped out of the room. The hall was empty, but when he reached the lobby, he noted that there weren’t as many firemen as there had been before. Neil was quick to spot the one from reception. He was at the bar, ordering drinks with four others. It only took one more once-over for Neil to make his choice. He crossed the room and took a place leaning against the bar two stools down from the group. His chosen firefighter glanced at him, his blue eyes locking onto Neil’s green. Neil smiled. He held the man’s gaze, feeling a thrill go through him. Neil knew the game well, and he was certain there was interest in the fireman’s eyes. Neil only looked away when the bartender approached.

Once his beer was poured, he glanced back at the man and subtly listened to the conversation. They were talking about the upcoming training course and their travels to get to Brisbane. Three of them were from the same town but the other two were from different parts of the state.

It sounded a lot like Neil’s own management meeting. He took a sip of his beer and glanced at the men again. His blue-eyed fireman was already looking at him. If they had been at a club, Neil would crook his finger and gesture the man over. Or maybe he’d turn on his stool, sprawling his back over the bar and making it easy for the fireman to step between his open legs. However, with the man surrounded by his friends and colleagues, Neil knew it would be better to wait. He settled for smiling again before taking his beer and heading into the attached restaurant.

Neil selected an empty table with a good view. The group from the bar plus nine more firefighters entered the restaurant for dinner. There were attractive men wherever Neil turned, but he found his gaze kept falling back to the same man. He was watching Neil, too. They exchanged glances throughout dinner, and that found anticipation and desire sparking through Neil. He felt confident enough to move back to the bar after his meal. He ordered another drink and waited. A few of the firemen left to return to their rooms, but the one Neil cared about was soon stopping at the bar stool beside Neil’s.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked

“Not at all.” Neil shifted to better face him and held out his hand. “I’m Neil.”

“Scott,” he replied.

Their palms lingered together for longer than necessary and a noticeable tension was thrumming through the air as their gazes stayed locked. It didn’t take a genius to realize the guy was interested in him, too.

Gay, hot and only meters from my hotel room. Could this be any more perfect?

When they dropped hands, Scott took a seat on the stool. He angled his body close enough that their shoulders brushed. Neil’s desire grew from that small touch.

“I didn’t think there would be anyone else here,” Scott said. “I thought we’d have booked out the hotel.”

“Seems I slipped through the cracks,” Neil replied. “Lucky me.”

When the bartender came over, Scott ordered a matching beer. Neil had another sip of his but kept his gaze on the fireman. Scott was lightly tanned and had a cluster of three small moles on the side of his neck. Neil wanted to mouth at them until the skin surrounding them was red and flushed. This was the type of fireman who’d be perfect for their famous, shirtless charity calendars—only Neil wanted him removed of all his clothes.

“So, what brings you to the hotel?” Scott asked, dragging Neil’s attention from Scott’s neck.

“Annual manager’s meeting,” he said. “There was a mistake with my booking, so I ended up here.” Neil openly ran his gaze over Scott. “Not that I’m complaining. In fact, I’m going to take advantage of my good fortune.”

Because if a one-night stand was practically falling in his lap, he wasn’t about to ignore it. Lately, it took more effort and drinks for Neil to get into someone’s pants. Right now, Neil felt he could score before they reached a second glass.

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Scott said, his attention dropping to Neil’s mouth. “A lot of the guys are having an early night.” He caught Neil’s gaze again. “But I figure that I’m in a new city, and I should have some fun.”

There was a suggestive note to his voice that filled Neil with eagerness. He held out his glass for a toast.

“To a night of fun, then.”

Scott brought their glasses together with a soft clink. They never broke eye contact, and Neil already knew they would have sex by the end of the night.

In fact, if he played his cards right, Neil was certain it could happen within the hour.

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About the Author

Elizabeth Hollows

Elizabeth Hollows is an Australian writer of LGBT love stories specializing in homosexual or lesbian romance.

Her preferred genres are fantasy, science fiction and contemporary/modern.

She has been writing since she was twelve, but has spent the last few years writing romance stories and discovering a passion for LGBT romance.

When Elizabeth is not writing she embroiders, reads and plots her next novel. She is a fan of the winter months and always has a book in her handbag and a cup of tea nearby.

You can find Elizabeth at her website here

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The Star Gods’ Slave by AT Lander

Book 2 in the Of Gods and Men series

General Release Date: 5th April 2022

Word Count: 28,755
Book Length: NOVELLA
Pages: 123

Genres:

EROTIC ROMANCE
FANTASY
GAY
GLBTQI
GODS AND GODDESSES
HISTORICAL
MÉNAGE AND MULTIPLE PARTNERS

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Book Description

Twin gods, one man, and a secret desire…

Lucius, a handsome and bookish Roman sailor, knows his fate is sealed when he’s captured by pirates and sold as a slave. Yet his new master is far more than he seems and brings Lucius into a world unlike any he could’ve imagined.

The Gemini twins—the roguish Castor and the kindly Pollux—might seem as different as night and day, but they’re a match in gorgeous looks and dominant mastery. Kept apart by fate, the brothers both find their attention drawn to a single, mortal man—Lucius.

Free of his chains and the shackles of custom, Lucius can finally submit to his desire and embrace true love. Yet there are secrets in the star gods’ realm, an ancient darkness with the power to tear them all apart.

Can Lucius save his rescuers from a thousand-year-old nightmare or will three hearts be left broken forever?

Reader advisory: This book contains mentions of slavery, references to death and kidnap.

Excerpt

Lucius tugged in vain at his manacled wrists, cursing the irony of it all. He’d liked chains once, back when he’d visited the taverns for a bit of wine and fun. It had been a game then, pretending to be helpless when he knew he was free.

Now he wasn’t free and would never be free again. There was no rescue coming—his home city of Rome was young and small and far away, nothing compared to the mighty states of Greece. Besides, what would Lucius’ king care for a single ship or an orphaned sailor with no one to pay his ransom? Perhaps it would have been better to drown when the pirates had come and rammed his ship to splinters, rather than be reduced to this.

“Next, number twenty-seven!” the auctioneer shouted, and Lucius was dragged up onto the block. The courtyard below him bristled with men, all staring up at him with cold, assessing eyes. He wanted to bow his head, to curl in on himself, but he set his jaw and raised his chin in defiance. He would not show weakness in front of these Athenian dogs.

Of course he was showing everything else. His body had been stripped bare, exposing every inch of skin to the crowd. He’d been nude in public before, at sports and games and communal baths, but this sent a hot surge of shame through Lucius’ gut. The men below him didn’t see him as a person, just a piece of property for sale.

“Look at this strong, hardy Latin barbarian!” the auctioneer called, gesturing for Lucius to turn and show the crowd his body. “Such exotic fair hair, such bewitching gray eyes! He may be too old for the whorehouse, but he’s still got fine lips and an ass made for the bedchamber!”

A smack on the rump made Lucius’ hackles rise. He clenched his jaw—an outburst would not help him here. He had to keep a cool head.

“Or if you want to put those muscles to work,” the auctioneer continued, grabbing a biceps and squeezing, “he’s a perfect fit for the farm, the oars or the mines! You may even use him for crafting or the household, if you have the patience to teach him civilized speech—”

“I speak Greek, you arrogant—” Lucius snapped, then stopped dead. The whole plaza had fallen silent with shock, and he realized he had made a serious mistake.

No, he could use this, turn his blunder into a gamble. He had no way to back down, so instead he stepped forward.

“I also speak the tongues of Egypt, Phoenicia and Babylon!” he cried, as though over the noise of raging seas. “I can sail and navigate by the stars. I can read and write, do arithmetic and be an asset to any house or business!”

The men in the crowd remained speechless for a long moment, while Lucius kept his head up. If he could prove his worth, get a position as a secretary or bookkeeper or translator, he might live a relatively comfortable life—

Slam!

A kick landed between Lucius’ shoulder blades, sending him crashing to his knees. He bit down a cry of pain, and the crowd began to laugh.

“I stand corrected,” the auctioneer said with an audible sneer. “We have a scholarly savage here! What am I bid for the pleasure of breaking this educated boy to bridle?”

“Two hundred drachmas,” shouted a voice from the crowd, and Lucius raised his head to see a man with a face like a rat, accompanied by a whip-wielding overseer.

“Two hundred to slave-breaker Stolos!” the auctioneer replied. “Do I hear two hundred and ten?”

“Two-ten!” another voice cried.

“Two-ten to slave-breaker Brygos! Do I hear two-twenty?”

Oh no, oh nonononono… The gamble had failed and failed hard. Lucius stared at the wooden floor beneath him with unseeing eyes as the two men went back and forth, fighting over the profit they’d get from the Roman’s mind once they’d broken his will. It was all he could do to keep from shaking.

Through his pounding ears, he heard the bidding slow to a stop, and the auctioneer’s voice calling out one last time.

“Two hundred and ninety to slave-breaker Stolos! Two-ninety going once, going twice—”

“One thousand.”

Lucius’ head snapped up, his eyes wide. The voice had been clear and resonant, cutting through all other sound like a knife through mist. Everyone turned to stare at the speaker, who…had he always been there? Lucius would surely have noticed him.

He was young, handsome and clean-shaven, with light brown hair and sun-bronzed skin, lounging against a column like he owned the whole street. His crossed arms bulged with corded muscle, and his legs below his short tunic were long and shapely. His left eye was covered by a patch, but the dark brown right eye glinted with mischief.

“One…” The auctioneer gaped like a landed sea bass. “One thousand?”

“One thousand,” the speaker confirmed, a faint Spartan accent to his Greek. He strode forward with an easy grace, pulling a bulging coin purse from his belt and tossing it at the auctioneer’s feet.

The auctioneer didn’t bother to ask whether anyone else would match the obscene price, just snatched up the purse and shoved it into an attendant’s hands.

“Sold, for one thousand drachmas to the one-eyed stranger!” he cried, then whispered to his assistant, “Make sure you count those coins twice! No, three times!”

It must have all been in order, because the next thing Lucius knew, he was being wrapped in a simple loincloth and having a leash tied to his collar before being handed off to the handsome stranger. The man gave him a lopsided smile, his single eye raking his prize up and down, before he turned to the slave seller.

“Come on,” he said, “I paid a thousand—the least you can do is throw in some sandals! Don’t want him stepping on a pot-shard in the street, now do I?”

Sandals were quickly produced, as well as a cape to settle around Lucius’ shoulders. The gestures were oddly comforting, even though the manacles stayed on his wrists. At last his new owner was satisfied, and took up the leash with a firm hand.

“Let’s go, cutie,” he said, smirking wickedly. “Time to get you home.”

A shiver went down Lucius’ spine, and he wasn’t sure if it was fear or something else. He’d already had horrible visions of being sold as a bed-slave, but something about this man made it seem less frightening and more tempting. That single laughing brown eye promised trouble, and that lopsided smile promised far, far more.

When Lucius saw his new master’s horse, he gasped out loud. The sailor was no judge of horseflesh, but he had no need to be—the animal was clearly tall and strong, snowy-white and glossy without a single mark or blemish. Lucius had known the stranger was wealthy, but this stallion was fit for a king.

“Here you go,” the man said, grabbing his slave by the waist and hoisting him up as though he weighed nothing at all. “Get comfortable—it’s a long ride.”

The animal stayed perfectly still while Lucius settled onto its bare back, unconcerned by his clumsy seat or the way their mutual master hopped up behind him. The one-eyed man took up the reins in a relaxed hand, wrapping the other arm around his new slave’s waist. The heat of the stranger’s body behind him made Lucius shudder, and hot breath ghosted across his cheek as the man peered over his shoulder.

“Who are you?” Lucius asked, forgetting to be polite in his confusion.

“Your master,” the stranger replied with a soft chuckle in his new slave’s ear. “That is all you need to know.”

Then he clicked his tongue, urging the horse into a steady, rolling gait that carried them along with the grace and speed of wind.

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About the Author

AT Lander

AT Lander has loved stories, both the reading and the telling, since she was a child. Born in upstate New York to an English professor and a former librarian, she now lives in the queerest part of Massachusetts. She never leaves home without a knitting project or a pencil, and she’s never met a cat she doesn’t like.

She has worked as an history museum guide, a professional storyteller, and an actress, sharing tales of what was, what could have been, and what can only be imagined. World mythology is her driving passion, as what better way to understand a people than through the tales they tell?

Follow AT Lander on Twitter and Facebook.

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Healing Their Wounds by Hayden West

Book 3 in the City of Fountains series

General Release Date: 29th March 2022

Word Count: 15,470
Book Length: NOVELLA
Pages: 69

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI

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Book Description

Sometimes you have to face the past to heal old wounds.

Craig Donaldson has been through a lot in his life. There’s one good thing that has come from it—his son. Owning his own business is hard but he’s making it work. Landing in the hospital after a car accident brings into his life someone he wasn’t sure he needed. The problem is, Craig isn’t positive he’s willing to expose himself to more wounds.

Dr. Hobert ‘Bobby’ Pearson loves his job at the hospital. Being the disappointment of his family isn’t something he is happy with. It seems as though when he gets close to someone he feels he could start a real relationship with, the past shows up and he’s again left alone. His family leaves fresh wounds in their wake. This new patient he has, however, hits all kinds of emotions inside him.

Will they be able to heal together? Or will past pain keep them apart?

Excerpt

Craig leaned forward, his heart caught in his throat. Perspiration dripped down his face, and he shuddered as excitement thrummed through him. So close. Oh God, he was close. So close.

He tensed, words lodged in the back of his throat, almost ready to be released but Not. Quite. Yet. Fingers curved, digging for purchase on something, anything, around him.

A few more seconds. He could hold out. He wouldn’t let go until he was sure. That strain on his body didn’t matter two seconds later.

He erupted, launching up from the hard bleacher seat he’d been on as he watched his son and his team compete in the semi-finals of the Little League World Series.

“Yes!”

All around the parents and friends of the team were cheering beside him. His son, Cody, was twelve this year, and it was his last year to participate. And Cody’s double had allowed his teammate to get that winning run.

Craig’s legs were weak as he continued cheering. He wanted to sink back down to the seat, but wouldn’t. Tears burned his eyes as he watched all of his son’s teammates gather and cheer to celebrate their win.

“Congrats, Craig.”

He accepted the hug from the father of another player, Christopher.

“Same to you. This is great for them.”

The man crossed his arms and nodded. “Sure will help line up the women.”

Craig frowned. “They’re twelve.”

Christopher smirked. “Never too young to start.”

Craig disagreed. “Yeah, they are. And it’s not happening with my boy.”

The man’s wife dropped between them with a squeal. “What are you two talking about? Colleges that will come after them?”

“Something like that,” Christopher said.

Emily kissed Craig’s cheek. “Congratulations, Craig.”

“You too, Emily.”

The blonde bounced down a few more bleacher steps to continue chatting it up with other families. Their son was one of the pitchers on the team.

“I just mean,” Christopher continued, “I need him to know he should have a bitch on his arm, not be sucking dick, isn’t that right?”

Holding Christopher’s blue eyes, Craig clamped his mouth down on his initial response and weighed his words. The last thing he wanted to do was make the year difficult for his son.

“Right now? Right now, I’m going to be the supportive and very fucking proud father of my son. I’m not thinking of his choice in a partner, because he’s twelve.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I’ll support my son regardless, because it’s not only his choice but as his parent, it’s mine to support and love him unconditionally.”

Leaving before he put his fist in the man’s face, he walked to the steps and made his way down, progress hampered by all the celebrating. Not that he minded.

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About the Author

Hayden West

Hayden West lives in the Pacific Northwest, enjoys being outdoors, and hanging out with friends when not working on the next novella to be released.

Find Hayden at their website and blog.

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Queen of Shadows by Erin Dulin & Britt Cooper

General Release Date: 29th March 2022

Word Count: 85,689
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 334

GENRES:

ACTION AND ADVENTURE
CLEAN AND WHOLESOME
FANTASY
FANTASY AND FAIRYTALES
ROMANCE
YOUNG ADULT

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Book Description

Why be a princess when you can rule the shadows?

Rejecting the senseless demands of her wicked stepmother, Ella of Locksley shares her family’s abundance with the people of her land. Yet, the desperation of her community has only begun.

When the nation of Llundyn is brutally attacked, Princes Ric and Johan begin to fight for their right to rule, leaving the kingdom’s very heart to hang in the balance as subversive forces emerge. Taxation drives the citizenry toward hopelessness, with the absence of leadership taking its toll.

Striking out on her own, Ella takes up the nation’s cause, making a name for herself as the infamous Hood, and leads her cunning crew, stealing from the rich to provide for the poor. But the return of the rightful heir, along with a forbidden romance, changes everything—with artifice and betrayal leading to an unlikely alliance that unites prince and thieves.

The passion and true love of a king leave Ella torn between duty and loyalty when, at the stroke of midnight, her identity is exposed. She’ll face the ultimate choice—enduring as the Hood or sacrificing it all for the ones she loves.

Reader advisory: This book contains some scenes of violence, a maiming and a death.

Excerpt

Fitful cries from the Carvers’ infant son pierced the silence, cleaving away Ella’s remaining shreds of calm. Trekking through the village was a dubious task on the most temperate of evenings. Doing so in the biting gales of waning wintertide was sheer idiocy, but she had little choice.

Ella tugged the hood of her cloak, attempting to keep it in place atop her head. The wind swirling around her had other ideas, whipping her mantle with vicious ferocity and nearly knocking her onto her backside as she crouched beneath a narrow window. She gripped the rotting sill, cursing under her breath before digging her heels into the frozen earth.

“Be grateful.” Much met her gaze, his eyes alight with suppressed mirth as he observed her predicament. “The weather should provide us a little more time.”

It was true. Ella glanced skyward, where the silvery haze lingering above conveniently veiled the moonlight. “Would that it could also grant us more provisions to share,” she whispered as Much tossed a small bag of grain in her direction. She wedged it neatly between the pile of cordwood and the decaying shingles sheathing the exterior, the burlap sack catching on the splintered timbers of the ramshackle cottage. “Another?” She held out a gloved palm expectantly.

“We cannot spare it.” Much’s words were but a breath, born both of necessity as well as grief. “If we double their portion, we’ll leave another family with nothing.”

Ella rose, making her way toward Much with a muted stride. “I filched an extra sack of grain from the lovely Lady Margaret before we set out.” She loosed the pouch from her horse, Monroe, with nimble fingers. “The Carvers will put it to far better use. They have five children now, you know.”

“Indeed.” Much folded his arms across his chest for warmth. “But Lady Margaret is apt to skin you alive if she catches you.”

“Tosh.” Ella waved his concern away with a dramatic sweep of her hand. “My stepmother would never sully herself over the likes of me. Doubtless, she’ll task you with that burden in her stead.” She grinned, waggling her eyebrows in amusement.

Much groaned. “You are as delightfully morbid as ever.”

Ella ignored him as she scurried toward the shanty for a second time, pairing the modest sack of grain with its twin nestled beside the kindling. The bags were always well hidden from passersby so as not to be stolen but quickly found by the tenants seeking firewood for their hearth. “It shouldn’t make any difference,” she groused, mounting her horse as Much followed suit. “It all belongs to me.”

“Ah, if only, Lady Locksley. It shall be yet another two years, for until the age of—”

“Twenty, I know. I know.” Ella sighed. It was an inconvenient fact she wished desperately to change. Thus far, her finest efforts in evading the ill-conceived lineal law of Llundyn included skulking through her hamlet in the wee hours before dawn, distributing food from her manor.

In the simplest of terms, she was stealing from herself, though with great care so as not to be discovered by her insufferable stepmother—the rightful heir of her lands and fortunes until she was finally of age.

Ella was discreet in her thieving endeavors, pinching items that would not be missed. It didn’t hurt that Cooke willingly turned a blind eye. And, as luck would have it, Lady Margaret wasn’t much for kitchen duty. It was a task she viewed as too menial for a woman of her stratum, even if she had only managed to achieve her status via a wholly undeserved union with Ella’s father.

Heavens, how she missed him, God rest his soul.

“Where’s the good in my title if I’m unable to use my station? I’m a member of the gentry with no more authority than that of an entitled rat.” Ella urged her mount toward their next destination, gritting her teeth against the brisk air as her horse picked up speed. Plucking an arrow from the quiver on her shoulder, she turned, aiming at the weather-worn door behind her, her drawn bow taut. Her bolt found its mark, despite Monroe’s bounding gait, announcing the presence of a delivery—the handmade arrow a telltale sign of her brief visit.

Much scoffed. “Nonsense. A rat would never share the spoils of its domain as you have. Neither would it have your impeccable aim.”

Ella glanced at Much, expecting to see him smiling as he often did when he teased her, but his handsome face was surprisingly austere.

No. There was no humor to be found in these circumstances.

Two years of poor, drought-riddled harvests had taken their toll on the kingdom of Llundyn. The dearth of crops had failed to significantly affect the nobility, of course, with many a lord and lady inclined to take advantage of the bountiful imports from neighboring realms. But the paltry yield was nothing short of devastating for the commoners who had little coin to spare. Many had begun to exhibit its brutality outwardly, the sharp planes of their faces and bone-thin frames a startling illustration of the land’s insufficiency.

Yet wealth poured into Locksley in the form of generous taxes, collected by Lady Margaret from the tenants surrounding the estate. As residents of the Locksley lands, they paid their due and worked the countryside in addition to their regular employment in the borough of Coventry, some five miles south of the manor.

Shame grieved Ella’s conscience as she observed the growing disparity, convicting her of something far worse than her newly established hobby of larceny.

Abundance.

Attempting to shed her sense of guilt was worthless. It merely required action. Thievery paled in comparison to the atrocity of starvation and poverty. And, as far as Ella was concerned, it wasn’t truly theft if she were merely pilfering from herself.

Much’s eagerness to be complicit in her scheming had been all the sanction she’d needed. She’d considered him the more reasonable of the two of them for as long as she’d known him. If he could rationalize the madness in her subterfuge…well, then perhaps it wasn’t madness at all.

As an orphan of some four years now, Much was far from his natural element. His father had been a man of the sea, captain of the king’s navy, his young son serving as a boatswain under his command and following in his footsteps. But his untimely demise had left his widow and son at the beneficence of the kingdom.

Ella’s father, Robin, had taken them on, providing steady work until fever had suddenly taken him away, with Much’s mother following quickly behind. The staggering loss had left Much and Ella reeling, grappling for some fragment of hope, an element of security—qualities that they’d had the great fortune of discovering in one another, bonding them at once in heartache as well as mercy.

Then, in a startling turn of events, tragedy had taken a turn for the positive. Lady Margaret had deigned to agree with Ella, who’d insisted that Much be permitted to continue his employment assisting the manor’s only carpenter. Whether due to genuine benevolence on her stepmother’s part or some peculiar sense of duty, Ella was never certain. Still, it was a small victory that she and Much readily welcomed.

“Blast this wretched wind,” Much grumbled, his complaint a swell of haze in the frigid air. “Remind me to wear several more layers of clothing for our next outing.”

“And you dare to deem me the foul-mouthed one between us?” Ella demanded, bringing about a reluctant smile from her surly partner in crime. “Perhaps you should reconsider.”

“Your words are well received, milady.” He raised his brows in satisfaction, well aware that his use of the highborn term was profane to Ella’s sensibilities. While he knew his place in Llundynien society, Ella had never treated him as lesser than an equal and always took his ribbing in good humor.

“Well, you’re a fiend, James Much. Cease your peevishness at once so we may complete the task at hand,” Ella intoned in a haughty impersonation of Lady Margaret, giggling with pleasure as his features crumpled in annoyance.

“Oh, but you do that too well, my friend.” Much laughed, shoving her playfully in the shoulder. “How many more deliveries?”

“Only two.” Ella patted the satchel that had been replete with various dried meats, grains and hard cheeses only hours ago. Now it was close to empty, bringing about a sobering reality. “How does it go so quickly? What we have will never suffice.”

“You’re doing your best. Your father would be proud,” Much said with reverence, warming Ella’s aching heart. “I don’t know of many nobles who give one thought to the peasants occupying their lands, and here you are, feeding yours from your own stores. It’s far better than doing nothing.”

“Yes, but also not nearly enough,” Ella agreed. “And besides, I thought the food didn’t belong to me yet.” Recalling Much’s previous assertions, she couldn’t help elbowing him in the ribs, nearly tumbling from her horse in the process.

“Careful!” Much hissed, grasping her arm and righting her before she slipped too far. “What good can you do for your hamlet if you meet your end beneath your horse’s hooves?”

“Worry not.” Ella resettled into her saddle as she adjusted her grip on the leather reins. “I do believe I’d live forever, simply to spite the lovely Lady Margaret.”

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About the Authors

Britt Cooper

Brittany has been a cosmetologist for over a decade, an occupation that continuously explores fresh avenues of creativity and beauty. She is a new mother, learning to balance the reality of what it means to be a mom, wife, stylist, and author. Reading has always been one of her passions and writing an endeavor she refuses to leave behind.

Follow Britt on Instagram and check out her website.

Erin Dulin

Erin is a wife and mother who loves spending time with family. She’s an enthusiastic fan of all things sports, experimental baker/chef, and amateur gamer in her free time. Writing has been a passion since her childhood, and while finding peace and quiet in which to write never comes easily, she knows it worth every ounce of chaos when the stories take shape.

Follow Erin on Instagram and check out her website.

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Heart’s Ease by Mimi B. Rose

General Release Date: 29th March 2022

Word Count: 70,954
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 286

GENRES:

BILLIONAIRE
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
FANTASY
PARANORMAL
WERESHIFTERS

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Book Description

Her mysterious past holds the key to protecting his clan.

Between helping teens at an After-School Art Club and trying to publish her granny’s fairy tales, Chantelle’s life still feels somehow unfulfilled.

When his father and older brother died, Charles was forced into the role of Alpha. Three years later, he still hasn’t dealt with the loss. Now a rival pack is stirring up trouble in his grandmother’s hometown, and he must investigate.

But that is only where the mystery begins. There’s something else going on and it starts with the mysterious and beautiful Chantelle. The secrets of her past and her untrained magical abilities hold the key to the rival pack’s attacks. And when they discover that sorcery is behind the violence against women and children in the territory, they have to trust each other and forge a connection.

But is their bond strong enough to protect the pack and fulfil a Fated Mates prophecy, or will they lead the pack, and their love, to ruin?

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of racism, violence and attempted/threatened sexual assault. There is reference to past memory modification and the off-screen death of a teen.

Excerpt

Chantelle Mizuki didn’t want to die today.

I’m wearing old underwear. With holes. Nobody is going to see them. No nurse, no doctor, no coroner. Nobody.

Chantelle’s footsteps crunched in the autumn leaves of the mountain forest. Night was falling. Wolves were howling.

Real wolves.

Granny Ceci’s voice rang in her ears. “Don’t go in the forest at dusk, mon chou.”

Too late, Granny.

She hadn’t planned to be out this late. It was light when the After-School Art Club finished at the library. She had asked her student Alfonso to stay and talk about his application for art school. By the time they were done, the sun was low in the sky. Only after Alfonso had left did she discover she’d locked her keys in the car.

In the daytime, everyone used the path through the woods to get to the other side of the village in the Laurentian Mountains of Quebec. She loved the soft pine needles underfoot, tall trunks stretching their branches to the sky, soothing fragrances of moss and fern. During the day Chantelle expected to stumble across Snow White singing and dancing among the trees.

Night-time was different. Every noise was menacing, every shadow a predator waiting for her to stray off the path.

Chantelle kept to the darkened trail, wishing those howls and barks were getting fainter. The sounds of the forest were soothing when she was tucked into Granny Ceci’s gingerbread cottage—her cottage now. This evening, those sounds took on ominous undertones.

She remembered Granny Ceci telling her, “Ma cocotte, the Laurentian Mountains are home to many creatures, some fair, some foul. Be prepared for both.” Tonight, it was the foul creatures. Why couldn’t it be chipmunks or raccoons?

Another howl wailed over the tops of the trees. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. One step in front of the other. You can do this.

Soon she reached the edge of the village. Only a quarter of a mile left. Past Marie’s big house on the hill, through the ravine, then up the path to the top of her street.

No problem. She had survived book signings with dozens of cranky children and their bad-tempered parents. She had run off her cheating no-good boyfriend. A wolf or two? No sweat.

She picked up her pace to a jog. Her legs were aching, her chest heaving. At the very least she’d have a funny story to tell Yvette and Kat. Well, it would be funny if she made it home in one piece.

The recent wolf sightings had everyone in town worried. The wolves were larger than usual, more vicious. They had even killed some dogs. Villagers were warned to stay away from the woods at night. She knew her woodcraft and carried her multi-tool at all times, but that wouldn’t be enough to stop a feral wolf.

Of course, today was the day she’d locked her keys in the car. She’d forgotten to take her ADHD medication. And her publisher called in the afternoon to say they were passing on her “passion project,” as they’d called it. Illustrating Granny Ceci’s stories and having them published were a way to honour her grandmother’s legacy. But her reputation as a children’s story illustrator was not opening doors for the collection of folk tales. Her usual collaborator hadn’t helped at all. He didn’t want his favourite illustrator distracted from his own book projects.

Was the howling closer now? Or was it her imagination? She crouched by a small cluster of sumac bushes. Her heart raced. The wind whistled through the treetops, clattering in the dying leaves.

There was a clearing ahead. What a relief! It was the small field behind her neighbour’s house. Marie, a dear friend of Granny Ceci’s, lived on the edge of the village. The little meadow divided the forest from her garden, which was enclosed by a stone wall.

There would be a large blue spruce at the northern edge of the clearing. The conical silhouette of the tree stood tall against the dying light. Three shadows, large and shaggy, skulked at the base.

She spared half a breath for one of Granny’s favourite curse words.

Could she make it to Marie’s house? She should move slowly, deliberately, not run. But rabid or savage wolves would still attack. If they came for her, she would have to run along the perimeter.

She was stuck. Sweat trickled down her back.

I need a plan. If she got out of this, she could move back to Montreal. There was nothing keeping her here. Granny had died last year. Why was she still here? Pull yourself together, girl!

The moon burst out from behind a cloud.

One of the wolves looked up, the cool light illuminating his outline. He cocked his head and looked in her direction. He howled, long and low. The other two wolves nosed him, turning towards her. Could they see her?

She sent a silent prayer up to Ceci. Wherever you are, please help me.

The wolves paced at the edge of the clearing, whining and sniffing the air.

She had to move. Maybe make a commotion once she got closer to the garden wall. Marie might hear.

She breathed in and out. Now. She took a cautious step.

One of the wolves inclined his head. Had he seen her? Another step.

He pointed his muzzle at her, his tail arching over his back. Two steps.

The lead wolf pushed off on his hind legs, padding towards her position. The others followed on his tail.

Ben l’on! Granny would have said. Oh, come on!

She sprinted towards the wooden gate in the middle of the stone wall.

They reached her in the clearing. The largest one growled, ears and tail erect. His eyes looked odd—orange, almost glowing. Impossible. It must be a reflection of the moonlight.

These wolves were big. And their faces looked funny—no, not funny, just strange. Almost human-like.

Heart racing, Chantelle took a step back.

The wolves advanced, circling her. They weren’t acting like regular wolves. What was going on?

The leader surged forward, snarling. She backed up and bumped into another wolf. The wolf behind her made a huffing noise that sounded almost like a laugh. Goosebumps broke out on her arms. Was this the end?

The largest one snapped at her leg. As she stepped back, her knees buckled and she fell to the unforgiving ground beneath her. Tears stung her eyes as she scrabbled in the grass and dirt. He descended on her and sunk his teeth in her calf. She batted at him, a shrill scream erupting from her throat. She had to get away.

The other wolves nipped at her arms as she pulled back, dodging their snouts and paws. She searched for purchase on the ground. They dragged her across the ground, away from the wall.

Fear churned in her stomach. Her heart beat fast as she struck at the wolves. Then something changed, fear turning into anger in her chest. Tingling sensations erupted into a warmth across her chest. Her ears buzzed.

What’s going on?

Some kind of energy bubbled from her middle. Rising up, it surged from her core out towards her arms and legs. It felt strange, yet familiar somehow.

The buzzing increased, changing into a burning sensation. A shooting pain in her leg snapped her attention back to the wolves. Sliding along the ground, she reached for the wolf attached to her leg. She smiled as she caught hold. His fur was matted, his bulk solid beneath her fingers.

The low droning made her ears itch and blocked out the growls of her attackers. Her field of vision telescoped into her hands, legs, and torso in front of her.

Anger surged within her. She pushed out from her diaphragm. Energy tingled and sparked, hot and strong. It poured down her arms and into her hands. When she shoved against her attacker, something blue zapped out of her palms.

The wolf let go when the blast hit him. Falling back a few inches, he shook his head and coat.

Growling, ears back, he pushed forward. The lights in his eyes glowed. The wolves regrouped and closed in.

I’m going to die here. With no one present to hear a snappy parting line.

A spotlight came on, almost blinding her. A rifle shot rang in the air and the creatures froze. Out from the garden gate stepped a small figure.

Marie!

The ancient woman leaned forward, hefting a rifle that was almost as tall as she was. Her red plaid jacket was three sizes too big and hung down to her knees. She peered out from thick glasses beneath a dark green hunter’s cap.

“Allez-y vous, sales chiens!” The old woman’s Québécois accent was thick but her tone was unmistakable.

Chantelle sucked in a big breath. She shuddered and turned to her attackers. The larger brown wolf swung his head towards her.

Another shot grazed the attacker’s mud-coloured fur. Yelping, he jumped out of the ring of light. He whined, pawing the ground, the other wolves huffing beside him. He glanced over at the old woman.

A new growl, low and menacing, rumbled by the gate. Beside Marie was a large dog, ears back, tail up. They moved forward in unison. The wolves backed away from Chantelle.

The lead wolf slunk towards the trees with his two companions. Looking back, he howled once before the trio disappeared into the night.

Chantelle pushed up from the ground, relief warring with the fear and pain. She tried to stand but her leg throbbed. The bite marks oozed blood. Her feet shuffled forward as she held her elbow against her side. Had they bitten her arm too?

She reached towards Marie by the gate.

Then she was falling.

Strong arms wrapped around her. A low voice murmured and Marie’s voice answered. She was being lifted up, arms carrying her to warmth. The voices faded away.

Her fingers touched a soft blanket. How long had she been out? A fire crackled nearby. Gentle hands prodded at the bite.

She faded out again.

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About the Author

Mimi B. Rose

Mimi B. Rose writes fantastic tales filled with steamy enchantment and tender-hearted fulfilment to thrill strong women. As a teen she read V.C. Andews’s Flowers in the Attic and Anne Rice’s The Vampire Lestat and she was hooked on fantasy romance and paranormal romance. Some of her favourite tv shows are Sleepy Hollow, Grimm, and Once–and the reboot of Beauty and the Beast starring Kirstin Kreuk (does anyone remember that series?).

She loves all kinds of shifters and vampires. Her all-time favourite authors are Faith Hunter, Ilona Andrews, Nalini Singh, and more recently Richelle Mead.

Mimi likes a sassy heroine who is independent but finds a strong hero who can keep up with her and treasure her for their uniqueness–including her flaws!

Check out Mimi’s website.

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Three Beating Hearts by L.A. Tavares

Book 3 in the Consistently Inconsistent series

General Release Date: 22nd March 2022

Word Count: 99,299
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 378

GENRES:

CELEBRITIES
CHICK LIT
CONTEMPORARY
ROMANCE

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Book Description

Keep your secrets close and your enemies closer.

Dominic Trudell has been Consistently Inconsistent’s drummer since the band’s conception. He keeps to himself, separates his regular life from his fame, is brilliant beyond measure and is a self-proclaimed bachelor. He has never said ‘I love you’ and has no intention to start now.

When Stasia Marquette joins Consistently Inconsistent, there is only one rule—no inter-band relationships. Dom, who isn’t known for dating or breaking rules, is doing both.

She’s captivating him in ways he can’t explain, but he doesn’t do love—never has—and she wants more than he can give her.

While he’s pushing her away—more for her own good than his—she finds herself tangled up with someone from Dom’s past, and that man knows that Dom keeps secrets as well as he keeps time.

Dom tries to keep his backstory hidden, while the band will do anything to stay on the charts. Can they stay relevant—or is it time for them to take their last bow?

Reader advisory: This book contains references to heart disease and blackmail. It is best read as book three in a series.

Excerpt

Green signs with white text reflect the names of familiar streets as the tour bus flies underneath them.

Twelve pages, I think as I peek at the last page number of the book I hold. Only a few exits from home and I’m a dozen pages short of finishing the story.

“Did you do it?” Theo sits down in a chair nearby and sips from a beer bottle. “Did you get through all fifty?”

“Almost.” I hold up the book but keep my eyes on the text, trying to finish before we reach our destination. “I’m a bit short right now, though.”

“What number is this one?” He leans forward and flicks the cover.

“Forty-eight.” I shrug. “But unless I can finish this one and two more in the next fifteen minutes, I’d say I’m not reaching my goal.”

“Technically.” He takes another sip between words. “We’ve still got the Boston shows. The tour isn’t over yet, so you’ve still got time.” He winks as he stands and heads toward the back of the bus. I bury my face in the text.

As the bus pulls into our drop-off spot, my bandmates holler and cheer, kicking off the usual welcome home parties they throw themselves upon arrival. They will get off this bus almost before it even comes to a full stop and hop from bar to bar until last call, then open the doors to their own homes, where they will continue to drink until the sun comes up, sleep the day away and not wake until we’re required to be at the venue for our home shows.

We close every tour at home. Sometimes it’s one show, sometimes it’s three. The number of shows and the Boston venue we play at varies, but our traditions upon returning don’t. They will launch our home stretch with their inhibitions off and their ‘check liver light’ on. Some things never change, no matter how much we’ve grown. My bandmates always revert back to their wild youth years the moment the tour bus wheels hit Boston’s pothole-filled pavement.

“Planning on staying the night?” Xander hits me on the back of the head in an annoying but playful way as he passes me. “We’ve been parked for a few minutes now.”

“I only have a few pages left. I’m surprised it’s taken you this long, though. You’re usually halfway down Boylston Street by now.”

“I forgot my sunglasses. What is that, anyway?”

“It’s a book, Xander. Ever read one?”

He smiles and shakes his head, but I can’t tell if the no motion is sincere or sarcastic.

“I’m headed out. You sure you don’t want to come?”

I’ll say ‘no’ and he will tell me that I’m missing out. The tour bus final scene never changes.

“You ask me that every time.” I peek up at him over my glasses and the top of my book. “I’m good. I have somewhere to be.”

“You say that every time.” He shakes his head and puts his sunglasses on.

“It’s true every time.”

“You’re missing out.”

“You say that every time.”

“It’s true every time.”

We laugh a light sound at our exchange. It’s not the first time we’ve had this conversation. For as long as we’re touring, it won’t be the last. He turns to head off the tour bus.

“Xander?” He turns and looks at me, though his gaze is hidden behind dark lenses. “Be careful. Take care of yourself and the boys. I know I don’t partake in the crazy sideshow that you guys put on when we return home, but I do care. Get everyone home in one piece.”

Xander pushes his sunglasses into his in-desperate-need-of-a-cut hair. “You say that every time.”

“It’s true every time.”

He slides his sunglasses over his eyes once more and retreats from the bus.

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About the Author

L. A. Tavares

When it comes to romance, L A doesn’t have a type. Sometimes it’s dark and devastating, sometimes it’s soft and simple – truly, it just depends what her imaginary friends are doing at the time she starts writing about them.

L A has moved to various parts of the country over the last ten years but her heart has never left Boston.

And no, the “A” does not stand for Anne.

Follow LA on Facebook and Twitter.

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The Devil in the Deep South by Amy Craig

General Release Date: 12th January 2021

Word Count: 90,241
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 368

GENRES:

BILLIONAIRE
CONTEMPORARY
CRIME
CRIME AND MYSTERY
EROTIC ROMANCE

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Book Description

When a tornado destroys Taylor’s small-town bookstore, an Atlanta billionaire brings in heavy equipment to clean up the mess, but the pieces no longer fit.

Taylor envisions her small-town Georgia bookstore as a community gathering place. When a tornado destroys the historic brick building and much of downtown Ronan, an Atlanta bigshot brings in heavy equipment to clean up the mess. Torn between her loyalties to the town and her desire for the executive, she picks up the pieces of her life, but rebuilding Ronan requires more than lumber and nails.

Hardened by the Army, losing his brother and industrial competition, Christopher knows he’s leading another man’s life, but Taylor convinces him to reconsider his future. He’s determined to have her by his side, but he can’t imagine living in her backwoods town.

Reader advisory: This book contains mentions of fraud, a past instance of domestic violence, a scene of public sex and an instance of attempted vehicular manslaughter.

Excerpt

“O beautiful for spacious skies…” Taylor Lenore sang along with the first-grade class occupying her bookstore. Rows of eager children filled the community space. Their seersucker shorts, ruffled cuffs and monogrammed collars reminded her of her idyllic childhood, and she loved Ronan’s tiniest performers as much as she loved books.

The pudgy kid in the front row stuck his finger up his nose.

She stumbled over a verse but continued singing. Watching the kid made her nose itch, but she kept her hand pressed against her side, wrinkled away the sensation and exaggerated her participation. “From sea to shining sea!”

The kid sneezed and sent a green glob flying across the open space. The emission landed in front of the audience of grinning parents, doting grandparents and special guests.

Clapping, she rushed forward and placed her shoe over the snot. “Fabulous! Aren’t they just the sweetest?”

The audience lowered their phones, clapped and nodded.

The children shuffled on the risers.

She scanned the crowded store, but everyone looked happy so she exhaled. After her engagement to Josh had fallen apart, returning to Ronan felt like a smart move, but she’d struggled to envision her future. Her mother Nancy wanted to coddle grandbabies and her father Jack wanted to protect her. She wanted to go to bed each night knowing she made a difference in her tiny corner of the world. Maybe she should let the kid wipe up his own snot. She glanced at her shoe and smiled. We all have room to grow.

Looking toward the pastry case, she sought out Plucky’s encouragement. Her friend wore her shiny black hair cut in a chin-length bob. Long bangs swept over one eye like a brush of feathers tinged with blue. I liked the pink tips better, but she never could settle. Plucky’s response to the performance would tell her whether the bookstore had displayed Ronan’s germ-caked darlings to their full advantage.

Plucky grimaced.

They tried. Taylor swallowed and raised her eyebrows.

Plucky mimed gagging herself.

She slashed her hand across her throat. I get the point. I tried to do a good thing!

With a wink, Plucky turned back to the pastry case.

Clapping her hands together, Taylor turned back to the parents who were gathering their things. She inclined her hands toward the first-grade teacher’s black curls. “I just want to say that Mrs. Jenkins did an amazing job teaching the kids. I never knew that song had so many verses.” Avoiding her mother’s gaze, she extended her hands toward the children. “Y’all are so impressive!”

Her mother, the elementary school librarian, stood near the nonfiction section. Plastic reading glasses hung from her neck, and a soft purple cardigan accented her bright-blue eyes. Risking a glance, Taylor saw her raise her chin. She caught that fib about the song all right. I sang every verse at my first pageant. Brushing her bangs out of her eyes, she ignored Nancy’s reproach and focused on the stars of this show. “Kids, thank you so much for coming to our little bookstore and brightening our day.”

Mrs. Jenkins squeezed the shoulders of two first-graders. “Thank you for having us. The auditorium intimidates some of our special friends, but everyone loves Ronan Reads.”

She clasped her hand against her chest. If the elementary school wanted to utilize her space for a spring performance, who was she to turn away the free publicity? “Why, thank you!” She let the performance’s spirit wash over her and exhaled. Nerves kept her on edge, but the little darlings charmed her. “Plucky has cupcakes for the kids and coffee for the adults. Everyone, please stay and visit.”

The students leaned toward the sweets.

Mrs. Jenkins smiled. “Go, you little hellions! You earned it.”

The orderly rows dissolved into chaos. Elbows flew, and several children stepped on their classmates’ toes.

Holding the tray of cupcakes like a shield, Plucky skewed her mouth and turned her head to the side.

“Me first!” the pudgy kid yelled.

His suspender-strapped belly strained his shirt buttons, but he made his way across the room with admirable speed. A muscled little bruiser overtook him, snatched the first cupcake and shoved the icing into his mouth. Taylor covered a laugh.

“That one was mine!”

“Hog!”

The children crowded around Plucky.

“Charles Brannon hit me!” a girl cried.

“Did not!”

“C.B., mind your manners.” Mrs. Jenkins’s sing-song voice cut through the noise.

Charles Brannon mumbled an apology, but he gave his classmate side-eye.

Taylor sympathized with the girl. The first time she’d called that kid ‘Charles’, he’d shaken his head and turned his brown doe-eyes to his mother. “It’s okay, Mama. She doesn’t know me yet.” The mixture of innocence and sincerity charmed Taylor, but she wondered if the little tyke would throw her under the bus for a slice of cake. Today’s kids were so much worldlier than the kids from her dirt-tinged, polyester youth. Good thing I didn’t call the little tyke ‘Charlie’. Trusting Plucky to handle the first graders, she turned from the fray and keyed up the music.

Housed on the main floor of an old, three-story brick building, Ronan Reads offered everything from thrillers to obscure local publications. Online sales kept the balance sheet healthy, and a casual space in the middle of the store let customers read, nibble cookies or linger over free Wi-Fi.

She envisioned the bookstore as a gathering place and a hotspot for book releases. After a year of business, her dream felt naïve, and she struggled to keep the store afloat in the digital age. Sparrow County’s population topped sixty thousand, but only a few thousand people lived within the city’s limits, and even fewer of them cared for books. Bankers and health-care workers toiled away in the Historic District, but Thirsty Thursday remained an Atlanta gimmick. Given free time, Ronan’s residents spent their hours praying, gossiping or binging television shows. Taylor could never pin down the right order.

Nancy walked up to her side. “How many verses does that song have, Taylor Lenore?”

She swallowed and met her mother’s gaze. “Three?”

Nancy raised an eyebrow.

“Four?”

Nancy nodded.

She focused on the children’s shrieks and laughter. Despite Nancy’s public-facing job, she was an educator and an introvert who hid behind picture books and manners. Once strangers broke through her prim exterior, they found a loyal woman who loved her job. Taylor loved her, too, but she never had the luxury of distance. “I wanted to flatter the kids for a job well done.”

“Do they look like they need your flattery?”

She considered the kids wreaking havoc in her store. Two boys finger-painted chocolate icing on the floor and a pair of girls chased each other with napkins. Their parents clustered around the coffee urn and exchanged pleasantries over cream and sugar. They might not need my flattery, but I’m going to need a few hours to put the store back together. “No, they’re doing just fine without me.”

“Those who flatter their neighbors are spreading nets for their feet,” Nancy said, quoting the Bible.

After two-and-a-half decades of experience with Nancy’s wisdom, Taylor wisely nodded. I love Jesus, but the Bible doesn’t get into detail about running a bookstore, balancing the bottom line and maintaining the goodwill of the online community.

Nancy pushed her glasses up her nose and picked up a new release. She flipped through the first few pages. “You did good hosting the concert, but you don’t need sweet talk to turn a profit.”

Setting her phone on the table, she let a playlist direct the tracks. “Mama, I’m running a business.”

Nancy looked up from the book. “Goodwill will come back to you in spades.”

She frowned. “I don’t recognize that verse.”

“I made it up.”

Exhaling, she met her mother’s gaze. “Mama, please…”

“Is this book any good?” Nancy asked.

She considered the question. Llama Serenade was the story of a couple who abandoned their one-bedroom apartment in New York City for seventy-five acres in Flagstaff, Arizona. In poetic, reverent detail, Bunny and Brunswick Kissimmee explored their relationship with the llamas they raised, the land they owned and the clothing-optional hot tub parties they hosted in the desert. “I’m not sure ‘new-age mecca’ is quite your style.”

“People have alienated themselves from the animals that feed them.”

Her mother raised chickens but not the kind kids cuddled for backyard photo opportunities. “True.”

Nancy turned to the back cover. “Whew. Twenty-four dollars. The authors think highly of themselves.”

“Publishers set the price,” Taylor said. “You know you get a twenty-percent discount.”

“You’re a good girl.” Nancy tucked the book under her arm and walked toward the coffee urn.

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About the Author

Amy Craig

Amy Craig lives in Baton Rouge, Louisiana USA with her family and a small menagerie of pets. She writes women’s fiction and contemporary romances with intelligent and empathetic heroines. She can’t always vouch for the men. She has worked as an engineer, project manager, and incompetent waitress. In her spare time, she plays tennis and expands her husband’s honey-do list.

Find Amy at her website, on Amazon and follow her at BookBub.

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Complicating Roy by Megan Slayer

Book 2 in the Love Me Do series

General Release Date: 22nd March 2022

Word Count: 40,573
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 160

GENRES:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI

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Book Description

Complication doesn’t always have to be a bad thing.

Duke Charles needs a break. He’s tired of life on the road and never having a place to settle down. He decides to head to Norville for a rest in his childhood home. Once there, he realizes his life isn’t quite so relaxed—he’s not only inherited the house, but a cat to go with it. When his friend from high school sends him on a date, he finds out how complicated life can be…in a good way.

Roy Mars likes his life as an artist. He paints, sells work and takes his cat, Raphael, for walks through Norville. He channels his emotions into his art…until he goes on a date and meets Duke. His uncomplicated life gets thrown into chaos, not least because Duke has rabid fans who insist on knowing every detail of his life.

Can Roy handle a little complication in the form of Duke, or will he quit before he finds his forever?

Excerpt

“Art is for everyone,” Roy murmured. He added a few more strokes to his painting, then stepped back to admire the piece. He loved creating art, but hated special commissions. As far as he was concerned, art should be creative and allowed to flow, not dictated according to a special plan—especially without his input. He’d been given the project and told what to do. Don’t deviate, just paint what the mayor wants.

This piece would drive him to drinking. He’d been commissioned to paint a bold, abstract piece that still featured faces for the wall behind the mayor of Norville’s desk. It should be a snapshot of the town.

Roy groaned. He didn’t think the painting, under the direction of the mayor, looked anything like a cross-section of Norville. It was too clean and orderly…and boring. He’d added all the elements desired and none of his personality.

He glanced back at the mayor. If Floyd Gatlin liked the work, he could be done with it. If not, he’d have to keep working until Floyd was happy. His own paintings, his Depressions series, could wait.

“Well?” Roy asked. “What do you think?”

Floyd tapped his chin. “It’s colorful.” He stepped back. “It’s got action, too.”

“I tried to follow your directions exactly.” Roy folded his arms. “It’s quite vibrant, like you wanted.”

“Vibrant, but not gay.” Floyd nodded. “I’m tired of seeing so much gayness in town. We needed to get the movie theater razed or turned back into a theater.”

Roy didn’t see the issue with the hairdressing salon that the former cinema how housed, or the amount of gayness in Norville. The people of the town liked color and to be unique. That wasn’t bad. “You don’t like Dye Hard Style?” Roy frowned. “James is a great stylist. He cuts my hair and I’ve never been done wrong.”

“Uh-huh.” Floyd made a sound that reminded Roy of a grunt mixed with a groan. “Why don’t you try Cutting Up? They’re better.”

He’d seen the new salon in the strip mall at the edge of town. Where James was flamboyant and fun, Cutting Up was much more conservative. He’d bet every Cutting Up across the state looked exactly the same. “James is a friend of mine, too. I support my friends.”

“Well, to each their own, but I’d like for him to move outside of the Norville limits.” Floyd waved his hand. “I’ll take it. Send it over for framing. We have a plan for displaying it.”

“Sure.” He didn’t frame his works and preferred the edge of the canvas. “I’ll have it over in a day or two.”

“Perfect.” Floyd faced him. “You know, I like working with you. You don’t act gay, don’t shove it in my face, and don’t expect me to be understanding. You accept me and I can be myself.”

Roy seethed. How rotten! He couldn’t keep his tongue. “Mayor Gatlin, may I speak freely?” He had no idea how this man had gotten elected, but he didn’t deserve the role.

“Sure.” Floyd clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re friends here.”

Jesus. “I create work for you, that’s for sure. The thing is, I’m gay. I might not be as flamboyant as James, but it doesn’t make me any less homosexual. I am gay. Also, I don’t appreciate you talking about James like he’s a scourge. I might not throw my being gay in your face, but I don’t appreciate your saying I don’t expect you to be understanding. You should be a representative of the entire town, not just one section and not just those who voted for you. You can be voted out of office, you know.”

“Did you vote for me?” Floyd narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t, did you?”

“My vote is private, but suffice it to say I don’t agree with your principles. Never have.” He chucked his paintbrush into the water cup. “Take the painting if you want. I don’t care. You can decide not to, as well. But know this, I will continue to be myself, which is gay. I’ll champion gay causes and will not take your bullshit. Please leave.”

“You’re throwing me out?” Floyd snapped.

“Yes, my non-understanding gay ass is throwing you out. I can’t listen to you insult me because I’m gay.”

“You’ve changed,” Floyd said. “You got famous and you think you can snap at people. See if anyone wants to buy your terrible art now.”

“At least you’re telling me the truth.” He opened his studio door. “Goodbye.”

Floyd stomped out of the building.

Roy slammed the door behind him. How dare Floyd talk to him that way? He’d prided himself on keeping his moodiness to his studio, but he’d been insulted. His friend had been slandered. Jesus. He’d been treated like a lesser person. He moved the painting off the easel and onto a side table. He couldn’t look at the work any longer, especially knowing he’d expended energy to create it, and now for nothing.

He didn’t act gay enough. What a crock of shit. What did he need to do to act more gay?

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About the Author

Megan Slayer

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and BDSM themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been the runner up in the Kink Category at Love Romances Café as well as nominated at the LRC for best author, best contemporary, best ménage and best anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on Amazon.com.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice.

Find out more about Megan on her website, and sign up for the newsletter here. You can also check out her Blog, Amazon Author Page, Bookbub and Instagram.

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Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card!

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