Feb 08

New Release Blitz: Sticks and Stones by Steve Burford (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Sticks and Stones

Series: Summerskill and Lyon, Book Three

Author: Steve Burford

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/08/2021

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 69600

Genre: Contemporary Police Procedural, LGBTQIA+, Contemporary, crime/thriller, family-drama, murder, drug dealer, school, politician

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Description

“He’s a thug… a really nasty piece of work.”

When young Clayton Kerry, member of a notorious Worcester family, is found dead on an abandoned factory site, it looks like an accident. Some even say it was what he deserved. But headteacher Alun Blake’s refusal to sugarcoat the truth about the pupil he excluded causes outrage in the local community and sparks a vendetta against him that rapidly spirals out of control threatening both his life and that of his daughter.

When Detective Inspector Summerskill and Detective Sergeant Lyon investigate, they find Clayton’s death was by no means as clear cut as it had seemed and that they are at the start of a trail that will take them into the heart of a school and far beyond the boundaries of their city, to crime on a national scale.

As they uncover what really happened, Summerskill and Lyon are brought face-to-face with uncomfortable truths about their own lives and relationships. Personal loyalties are tested, and before the case is through, at least one more person will die.

Sticks and Stones is the third in the Summerskill and Lyon series of police procedural novels.

Excerpt

Sticks and Stones
Steve Burford © 2021
All Rights Reserved

“And some sad news just in. A tragic accident today on the site of one of the county’s oldest landmarks has resulted in the death of a Worcestershire schoolboy. Fifteen-year-old Clayton Kerry was killed when one of the walls of a building on the site of the old William Fitzmaurice brewery collapsed.

“The Fitzmaurice brewery, once the producer of some of the county’s most prestigious beers and ciders, has been a familiar site on the banks of the River Severn for as long as anyone in the county can remember. For decades, however, it has been closed and deserted, its buildings neglected and crumbling. All attempts over the years to procure the site for redevelopment have been blocked by legal wranglings within the Fitzmaurice family.

“James Fitzmaurice, oldest surviving member of the brewing family, today said that he and his family were deeply saddened by the death but that they could take no responsibility.

“We’ll have more on that story in our local news bulletin later this evening. And now, over to Duncan Lewis with today’s weather…”

The picture on the screen changed to an earnest young weather forecaster in glasses, smiling in front of a map of the country even as a mass of CGI storm clouds crept in from the west.

“Tragic accident.” The man in the bed yawned, muted the television, and carelessly tossed the remote control to one side. “It was hardly going to be an amusing accident or a laughable misadventure, was it?”

Sitting on the other side of the bed, Dave Lyon paused in the act of pulling on his trousers. “And is that all you’ve got to say about it?”

The man he’d addressed gave one of his typical crooked smiles, laced his hands behind his head, and lay back against the large pillows. The sheets were pulled down low over his stomach, and Dave didn’t doubt that their position and the pose had both been deliberately chosen to afford him a good view of the body he was getting ready to leave. It was a great body. “What do you want me to say?” Sean Cullen asked. “That I’m heartbroken over the death of some kid I’ve never even met? Touch hypocritical don’t you think?”

“You’re an MP. I thought that was part of the job description.”

Cullen smiled again. Dave’s barb hadn’t pierced his thick politician’s skin at all. But then Dave hadn’t thought for a second it would. “And you’re a detective sergeant. Didn’t you detect anything about that report?”

“What do you mean? It was an accident. The report didn’t say anything about suspicious circumstances.”

Cullen tutted slowly, clearly enjoying himself. “You heard them say the old Fitzmaurice brewery has been closed for years, and I mean years. Even I used to slip through its fences and hide in the buildings when I was a kid.”

“Bunking off from your posh public school for a crafty fag with the lads?”

“I was never one of the lads, David, and even if I had been, I wouldn’t have wanted them with me while I was enjoying my cigarette and a copy of Zipper or Vulcan or whatever I’d managed to get my hands on. Anyway, these days the old Fitzmaurice brewery has got more barbed wire around it than the nearest HMP but it’s still notorious as a hangout for kids drinking and taking God knows what. Which means, the victim of our tragic accident would have had to walk through several very obstructive fences and have failed to notice several very prominent warning signs before he made it to the buildings where he was no doubt in the act of doing something very naughty before a ton of bricks fell on his trespassing little head.” Cullen assumed an expression of mock surprise. “I know my constituency, sergeant. Don’t you know your beat?”

Annoyed with himself and with Cullen, Dave was damned if he’d show it. Now he thought about it, he did remember some talk back at the Foregate Street station about the brewery, but he was still comparatively new to the area, and neither the name nor the reputation of the place had struck a chord when he’d heard that television report.

Cullen, of course, made no allowances. The product of an Oxford education, where he had been on a winning Boat Race team, and of an adversarial parliamentary system where he had been, when elected to the House of Commons over a decade previously, one of the youngest MPs in the house, Sean Cullen was an extremely competitive man. And that competitiveness, Dave was discovering, extended all the way into his personal life.

Dave took some comfort from the image of the young public school boy Cullen had been, sneaking off to abandoned warehouses to smoke and enjoy gay wank mags. It was good to remember he hadn’t always been the high-profile, smug arse he was now. “Well, whatever he was doing, I doubt it was going through his collection of gay porn.”

“You think kids have changed so much?”

“No. But they do have the internet. Any young lad these days can pleasure himself blind in the comfort of his own home. Straight or gay.”

Cullen reluctantly conceded the point. “Mind you, it wasn’t all just about the fags and mags.” He yawned lazily, like a self-satisfied cat recalling an empty carton of cream.

Dave buttoned up his shirt, began the search for his shoes, and refused to give Cullen the satisfaction of asking what he meant by that. How was it you could only ever find one shoe when you were trying to leave a guy’s bedroom? “Why’d you even want the television on anyway?” he asked as he searched. “You trying to impress me with the size of your screen?”

“I thought I already had impressed you. And I was hoping,” Cullen went on, before Dave could reply, “to catch something about my Fitness First initiative. I did an interview about it yesterday for the local news. They said it might be on today. We’ve probably missed it. Or it’s been dropped in favour of the tragic accident. I’ll check again later.”

“Want to see how good your profile looks on the television?”

Cullen smiled, the sheet over his body slipping down another inch, almost accidentally. “I know how good it looks on television.”

Yeah, I’ll bet you do. Like the body, Sean’s was a great profile. With those cheekbones, there had to be aristocracy somewhere in his family bloodline. “I’m only surprised you haven’t got a mirror over the bed.”

Cullen yawned. “Too seventies. And it would get in the way of the cameras.”

Missing shoe found, Dave stood, reached for his jacket, and forced himself not to look up at the ceiling over the bed. A joke. Just a joke. Don’t give him the reaction he wants. “I’ll see myself out, shall I?”

“I think you know the way by now.”

At the bedroom door Dave stopped, hand on the handle, and looked back. Cullen’s eyes were closed as if he was already drifting into sleep. “You never ask me to stay.” It was a simple fact, calmly stated.

Cullen didn’t open his eyes. “Would you?”

Dave considered. “No. See you later.”

“I look forward to it.”

Neither man suggested when or where that might be.

This had been their third hookup at Cullen’s house since that night they had walked out of Gallery 48 together, and this was pretty much the way it had ended the previous two times. Dave couldn’t see that changing any time soon.

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Meet the Author

Steve Burford lives close to Worcester but rarely risks walking its streets. He has loaded conveyor belts in a factory, disassembled aeroplane seats, picked fruit on farms, and taught drama to teenagers but now spends his time writing in a variety of genres under a variety of names. He finds poverty an effective muse, and since his last book has once again been in trouble with the police. (He would like to thank the inventor of the speed camera.)

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Feb 05

Book Blitz: Out in Winter by Lane Hayes (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Out in Winter

Series: Out in College, Book 8

Author: Lane Hayes

Narrator: Michael Dean

Publisher: Lane Hayes

Release Date: January 21, 2021

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 3 hrs and 24 mins

Genre: Romance, Bisexual, Friends to Lovers, College romance, Humor, Jock, Age Gap

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Synopsis

The grad student, the jock, and some winter fun…

Drew

My new job at the bistro is fun. The owners are good guys, and the staff is made up primarily of boisterous water polo players. I know nothing about the sport except there’s a Speedo involved, and Liam likes to wear his everywhere. Yes…Liam—the chatty, handsome, utterly charming waiter I can’t seem to stop thinking about. Ugh. Note to self—do not fall for another younger man.

Liam

Getting Drew to notice me hasn’t been easy. He’s a little intense, and he knows how to keep his distance. Something tells me he’s not immune—he’s just stubborn. Maybe a weekend of bonding on the ski slopes will win him over. And if I can get him to come out in winter, I might be able to convince him that we have a chance at something special.

Out in Winter is a low-angst MM, bisexual romance starring an oh so serious grad student, a goofball water polo player, and a little winter magic. This story is part of the Out in College series, but each book can be read as a stand-alone.

Excerpt

The stunning winter wonderland panorama was dotted with impossibly tall evergreens flocked with snow and the pristine hills glistening in the morning sun. It was so quiet, I could almost imagine we were alone in the world. That was precisely the kind of thought that freaked me out sometimes. But not today. Today the idea seemed…promising. Maybe even cleansing, like a new start.

“It’s beautiful,” I said reverently.

“This is one of the reasons I like coming out here early. The light is so brilliant. It looks like a postcard or the photo in the dictionary next to the word ‘hope.’ ”

“That’s a nice thought.”

We shared a smile; then he adjusted his goggles and inclined his head meaningfully. “Ready?”

“Yeah, but…you go first.”

“C’mere.” Liam crooked his finger.

I shuffled forward until I stood beside him with our skis pointing in the opposite direction, expecting him to impart some advice about the terrain or maybe remind me how to stop. Both might have been helpful, actually.

“What is it?”

“Hold on to my sleeve. Stay still. That’s perfect.” He stroked my chin before leaning in to press his lips to mine. “You taste like cherry ChapStick. I like.”

I grinned. “Thanks. So do you.”

He kissed me again, twisting his tongue with mine and leaving me breathless. “Mmm. I’m making it my personal quest to make sure you get down this mountain safely and that you have fun doing it.”

“Good luck with that,” I sighed, aware that my voice had taken on a dreamy quality.

“I don’t need luck. I’m an expert,” he bragged playfully. “I’m going to give you a couple of tips. Listen up.”

“I’m listening.”

“Bend your knees and stay loose.”

“Like this?” I bent my knees and wiggled my arms like a rubber band.

Liam chuckled. “Something like that. We’re gonna take it slow, moving from side to side, making wide turns. I’ll go first. Follow me and remember to keep your gaze forward.”

“As opposed to?”

“Looking at your skis. You don’t look at your feet when you’re walking, so don’t look at your skis when you’re skiing. It’ll fuck with your balance. Ready?”

“Yeah.” I licked my lips and nodded.

Liam glided smoothly down the incline, veering sharply to the right. He stopped with a flourish, sending a plume of powdery snow skyward before raising his poles triumphantly. I snickered at the silly display. He made it seem fun and relatively easy. All right, then. I could do this.

I grasped my poles in a vise grip and dug into the snow, propelling myself forward. I aimed my skis in Liam’s general direction and honestly, it felt pretty damn good. I was in control, a cool breeze on my face, and a light wind at my back. Best of all, I appeared to be closing in on my correct destination. A hot guy was waiting for me in front of a huge pine tree with—

Oh, fuck.

I couldn’t stop. I picked up speed and barreled forward, trying to remember his advice. Knees bent. Check. Don’t look at your skis. Check. Stay loose…

Nope. Not possible.

I was wound so tight my head felt like it might pop off. Every muscle in my body was rigid as I zoomed closer to Liam…and the tree. It occurred to me as my life began to flash in front of my eyes that if I turned downhill, I could avoid the tree and move in the right direction. I might not have control of my skis, but Liam seemed to know what he was doing. No doubt he’d catch up easily and offer tips on how not to kill myself along the way. A comical vision of him doing circles around me while I tumbled into a giant snowball flashed in my head.

And that might have been when things went sideways.

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Meet the Author

Lane Hayes loves a good romance! An avid reader from an early age, she has always been drawn to well-told love story with beautifully written characters. Her debut novel was a 2013 Rainbow Award finalist and subsequent books have received Honorable Mentions, and were winners in the 2016, 2017, and 2018-2019 Rainbow Awards. She loves red wine, chocolate and travel (in no particular order). Lane lives in Southern California with her amazing husband in a not quite empty nest.

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Meet the Narrator

Originally from Chicago and currently based in New York City, I have performed around the country and the world on stage, television, and film. I studied acting at the University of Arizona and the University of Kansas City Missouri. Find out more on Michael’s website.

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Feb 02

New Release Blitz: The Beginning by M. Rose Flores (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Beginning

Series: Abnormal/Variant, Book Three

Author: M. Rose Flores

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/01/2021

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 89100

Genre: Horror/Thriller, LGBTQIA+, YA, PNR, bisexual, dark, horror, zombies/undead, postapocalyptic, family drama, found family, children, San Francisco, Alcatraz, anger/aggression

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Description

One of their own is stranded in San Francisco, a city long since claimed by the undead. When the rescue mission goes sideways and someone else is taken hostage by Abnormal zombies, Cate and the Alcatraz survivors find themselves pulled in two directions: Do they enlist the help of a doctor who claims to know the origin of the hyper-intelligent infected, or do they trust a mysterious group called the Organization, who have ties to one of Cate’s people from before?

In the Abnormal zombie camp, it’s clear to Melody that her people are missing some crucial information about her captors. Can she get back to the island in time to tell them before they do something irreversible?

With the island on the verge of chaos and the lives of their loved ones in the balance, the Alcatraz group clashes over who can be trusted, if anyone, and what to do about the Abnormals. To save her family, Cate must pick a side and confront the thing she fears most—before it’s too late.

In this twisting conclusion to the Abnormal/Variant trilogy, the survivors must reevaluate their ideas of family and humanity and finally answer the question that has been on everyone’s mind since The End:

What does Cate’s immunity really mean?

Excerpt

The Beginning
M. Rose Flores © 2021
All Rights Reserved

Cate

Everything will be okay.

I repeat the words in my head, over and over, though I don’t believe them. The rain bears down on the boats, an unrelenting torrent soaking every strand of hair and fiber of clothing. Not one person seems to notice. Everyone looks ahead, to San Francisco. We’re almost there.

My jacket hangs heavy and dripping on my body. Is that the reason my shoulders are rounded, as if I’m collapsing in on myself? Or is it the fear, inching toward desperation with every stroke of the oars? Their rhythmic splashing is nearly drowned out by the rain, the distant thunder, and my own heartbeat as we close in on the city. Toward Samantha.

Our boat bumps the end of Pier 33, followed by the other one. I grip my sister’s hand. Mel squeezes back and turns up the corner of her mouth for a fraction of a second before letting go to adjust her jacket, her hammer, her glasses. She’s fidgety; I get it. I can’t imagine how nervous she must be, and she has far more cause than the rest of us.

But it will all be over soon. Because somewhere close by, Sam is waiting for us. All we have to do is find her. Soon, we’ll be on our way back to Alcatraz. Safe. Together.

If she wants to come with us. If she has magically forgiven me for breaking up with her. Damn it. Ever since I saw the SOS a few hours ago, I have been so intent on bringing her back—so set on getting to her before something terrible happens—I let myself forget why she left in the first place. Or maybe I never let it sink in. Maybe the idea of Sam choosing to live and die alone in the city rather than spend another second on Alcatraz with me was too painful. Her face appears in my mind, the expression the same as when I told her we were done. Hurt, disappointed, angry. Maybe, the face I find will be that one.

Or worse, the face we come upon will be emotionless and vacant, not from shutting herself off, but from something far worse. Something irreversible. The image morphs, turning bloody, black-veined, and white-eyed. Sam, but not Sam. Something one of us will have to deal with. It doesn’t have to be me. Does it? Should it? I glance down at my axe. I’m dizzy for a minute even though I’m still sitting. My body sways on the little boat bench. Mel nudges my shoulder, I think.

“Cate?” Her mouth stretches a little more this time, an approximation of a reassuring smile. “Ready?”

I shrug.

“Hey, we’re going to be okay.” She wraps an arm around me. “No matter what.”

I know she means “whether Sam is alive or not, whether she comes back with us or not.” My insides harden and twist. When I lock eyes with her again and she’s still trying to smile, guilt seeps into me. It should be me reassuring her. Mel hasn’t left the island since we got there. She hasn’t seen a single ambulatory zombie since the day we escaped the city; she’s been safe with her babies and her garden for more than three months. She should never have come.

It will be fine. It will be okay.

I try like hell to believe it.

Murray gets out of our boat to tie it up. Though he hasn’t operated the ferry since we found the rowboats, he takes his inherited role as captain seriously. He moves to help Jax with the second boat. Behind them, silent shadows bustle around on the pier. They’re tough to distinguish in the gray morning light, but they look about the size and shape of adult humans.

“Did Sam find people?” asks Mel, taking hold of my hand again as I help her off the boat.

“When’s the last time you met anyone alive out here?” Joaquin’s hand automatically moves to his gun.

“Never.” Mel’s voice sounds small in this big space. She surveys the area. The last time she was here, it was the dead of night, and we were fighting our way off the mainland.

Debris litters the area. Shattered glass, garbage, pieces of rope and chains. It has always been this way, but it feels more dangerous now for some reason. One single black suitcase sits off to one side. Has it always been there? Surely, one of us would have checked it out. We use Pier 33 as our point of entry every time we go into the city for supplies, and Joaquin and I never miss anything of use. Surely, someone would have noticed such a thing sitting there, so out of place, so conspicuous.

Up ahead, the shadows continue to shift.

Who are these people? If they were with Sam, she would have told them we’d be coming. I can count at least ten of them, far outnumbering our seven. So why are they hiding?

“Hello,” says Marco as we all inch farther up the pier. He sounds nervous, too, which is disconcerting in itself. In the almost three years I’ve known him, I can only remember seeing him uneasy a handful of times.

“Sam?” calls Calvin. “We saw your signal.” He brushes Mel’s knuckles on his way past us, glancing at her, wordlessly checking on his partner. She dips her head.

“We came to bring you home, Sam.” Even as I’m saying the words, a blooming, viscous certainty spreads through me, coating my insides in cold dread: whoever this is, it isn’t Sam.

They emerge from all around and gather. One of them holds a flashlight, but their hands are otherwise empty. No bags, no weapons, nothing. Their bodies are varying shades of gray; their eyes are clear and unclouded. Black veins peek out from under their clean, untattered clothes.

Mel sucks in a breath and holds my hand tighter. It isn’t a reassuring sisterly squeeze; it’s fear. These are not people.

Thankfully, as I already guessed, Sam is not with them.

“Shit,” mutters Jax behind me. “I’ve never seen this many together at once.”

Why are they all together this way, just standing there? We know by now not all zombies are equal, but I don’t think any of us knew they could organize. This many can’t possibly be here by chance. It’s as if they were waiting for us.

“No,” I whisper. That can’t be right.

“What is this?” Mel asks, glancing at me, at Cal, at the squad of Abnormal zombies staring us down. “What’s happening?”

“It’s a goddamned trap,” Calvin says, pulling his bowie knives out of the sheaths on his legs and taking one giant step forward. “Melody, get behind me.”

They must have seen Murray bring Sam here yesterday. Maybe the Abnormals followed them and waited for the right moment to call us over, knowing we’d come for one of our own. Sam might have been dead this whole time. She might not have survived her first night alone.

Seagulls circle over our heads—at least fifty of them—all screaming, undaunted by the rain. What are they doing? Waiting for corpses to scavenge, probably. Not ours though. Let them feast on zombie flesh after we drop every last rotten one. I grind my teeth and take hold of my axe, fighting the urge to unleash a feral scream, ready to demolish these killers, these soulless monsters. They have taken nearly everything dear to me over the last two years. They are everything wrong with the world.

Mel has to let go of my hand to take up her hammer. She wipes her hands on her jeans, takes a deep, shaky breath, and pushes her glasses up her nose. I want to hold on to her, to protect her. She has never been a fighter. She shouldn’t be here.

Joaquin and Marco square off on either side of us and take up their weapons, making no secret of it. Why would they? These zombie assholes must know we won’t go down without a fight. And if they didn’t before, they will now.

The black-haired Abnormal zombie in the front extends one of its grayish-tan hands toward us and opens its mouth unearthly wide. I wouldn’t be surprised if a thousand black flies poured out. It’s hard to tell what the zombie is saying, but it sounds a lot like “Go!”

We rush at them before they have a chance to run us off the pier. To my right, Murray and Marco collide with a pair of them. Mel raises her hammer with a yell. To her left, Joaquin starts shooting, despite Marco and Calvin’s protests. Guns are almost never necessary, yet they are Joaquin’s default weapon. One body drops with a satisfying thud, but his gun is useless against the next one as the zombie shoves Joaquin to the pavement with a growl. He fumbles for his knife, but I don’t have the chance to see what happens next.

I swing my axe at the one sprinting toward me, but it ducks and comes back up fighting. What the hell kind of Abnormal is this? I dodge the punch and move into the formation Calvin taught me last year designed for efficient zombie fighting: Duck, Roll, Crouch, Swing. The zombie watches me. As soon as I start to roll, it shoves me to the ground, and my axe flies out of my hands. I scramble to my feet and reflexively continue the formation, swinging my leg out in a sweep-kick designed to take it out at the knees. The kick lands well enough; the zombie stumbles. As it recovers, I snatch up my axe. The Abnormal blocks my first blow with its forearm. I nick its head, but the blow draws enough blood to incapacitate it for a quick moment. As it frantically tries to clear the blood from its eyes, I drive my axe into its forehead. This time, my aim is true. The body drops.

I give myself three seconds to catch my breath. Many more surround us, and my people need me. To my left comes the sound of a gunshot and a body hitting the ground.

“Joaquin, no guns!” shouts Calvin. “Do you want to bring in more?”

Behind Joaquin, Marco is dealing with a six-foot-something Abnormal. When it claws at his face, he employs Calvin’s form as well. Marco manages to duck and roll successfully, somehow keeping hold of his axe. But before he can come into a crouch, the Abnormal trips him in a move I can only describe as calculated; in essence, it’s the swinging kick in Calvin’s formation. Marco goes down hard. I run toward them. The Abnormal reaches for Marco, but I cave in the back of its head with my axe. The zombie falls, and I hold out a hand and help Marco up. His face is red, his breathing rough. That was too close. He dips his chin in thanks and steps on the zombie’s head so I can wrench my axe free.

“You good?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah.”

A sudden panic tightens my chest. Where’s Mel? I haven’t seen her since the fighting began. I search the melee for her, my heart hammering. I find her landing a solid whack with her hammer to the temple of an Abnormal about my size, half a head shorter than Mel. The blow doesn’t kill the thing, but she ducks as it tries to claw her, and as soon as she can, she swings again.

I sag with relief. She’s got this. She’s fine.

An Abnormal I don’t see until it’s too late sends me sprawling with a single, solid punch to my chest. I fall to the ground, coughing. The zombie, which used to be a pretty brunette human, advances the way a living person would, with sure steps and its stare locked onto me. It lunges.

I duck faster this time, dipping just as it’s about to get me and ramming my shoulder into its midsection, knocking it down. It keeps its wild, defiant eyes on me as I put my boot on its black-veined neck and get a good clean kill. But the weirdest thing happens as I pull my axe free: a voice I don’t know shouts a name I don’t recognize.

“Jamie!”

Another Abnormal charges at me, arms pumping, with what appears to be rage on its face. If zombies could feel rage. It drops to grab a piece of glass, hardly breaking stride, and throws itself toward me. I duck out of the way, but it clips my shoulder, sending me sprawling. It doesn’t hesitate, just starts slicing aimlessly, screaming and screaming. I curl into a ball.

Shick!

My clothes can’t do much to protect me; my skin shreds as the glass drags through it. My arms, my hands, my face. The searing pain of so many shallow cuts mingles with fury and terror, the kind which, in general, might make someone stronger. But I’m frozen in place, pathetic and small. I cry out with each new wound, but I can’t make myself move.

This is it.

I am going to die.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Rose Flores lives in the Pacific Northwest of the United States with her spouse Stephen and their three fluffy beasts, collectively known as Legion (the cats, not the spouse). She is currently working on a degree, two novels, and two collaborative graphic novels. When Rose isn’t writing or studying, she works as a professional dog trainer and loves every part of it, even the copious amounts of drool. The Island is her second novel, the sequel to The End.

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Feb 02

New Release Blitz ~ Love’s Curse by Ellen Mint & Perfect Duet by Aliyah Burke (Giveaway)

Love’s Curse by Ellen Mint
Perfect Duet by Aliyah Burke

My Bloody Valentine Collection

General Release Date: 2nd February 2021

Valentine’s Day isn’t all about chocolates and roses…this year, it’s deadly. These stories are set around the most romantic day of the year, with characters who might just have to fight for their lives as well as their loves.

Love’s Curse

Love can never die.

Emma intends to spend another Valentine’s Day with the dead Egyptian princess she’s studying, but her world of museums and mummies is hurled into chaos by the arrival of a man, one who looks like if sex was a librarian.

Tarek is fascinated with Emma’s research into the famous heartbroken princess mummy…and she wishes he’d be fascinated with her too. When her hand touches his, a curse millennia in the making unfolds, and the heartbroken princess rises from her tomb.

In this heart-racing story of love, betrayal and death, two people find themselves trying to defy history and come together…with the help of a goddess of love. Can their love defy death itself?

 CONTEMPORARY, EROTIC ROMANCE, THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE, VALENTINES

Perfect Duet

When a vacation becomes running for your life, will you trust the one forced to be at your side?

It was supposed to be a vacation…

SWAT officer Xahara Asher is on vacation, meeting her cousins for some downtime. Taken captive during a heist, she is prompted to work with her kidnapper just to stay alive.

Deep undercover, Jager Cline is faced with making the ultimate decision—let an innocent get hurt or protect her by forcing her along as his hostage. Unbeknownst to him, she’s far more capable than he initially assumes.

Tossed into tight quarters, things heat up rapidly between them. When it all goes down and the smoke clears, who will still be standing?

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence, kidnapping, and references to off-page murder. 

CONTEMPORARY, EROTIC ROMANCE,THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE,VALENTINES

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Love’s Curse
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About the Authors

Ellen Mint

Ellen Mint adores the adorkable heroes who charm with their shy smiles and heroines that pack a punch. She recently won the Top Ten Handmaid’s Challenge on Wattpad where hers was chosen by Margaret Atwood. Her books, Undercover Siren and Fever are available at Amazon as well as a short story in the Lucky Between The Sheets anthology. Married, she lives in Nebraska with her dog named after Granny Weatherwax. Her hobbies include gaming, painting, and halloween prop making. The basement is full of skeletons because they ran out of room in the closets.

You can find Ellen at her website here and also on Bookbub.

Aliyah Burke

Aliyah Burke is an avid reader and is never far from pen and paper (or the computer). She is happily married to a career military man. They are owned by six Borzoi. She spends her days at the day job, writing, and working with her dogs​. She loves to hear from her readers and can be reached here. She can also be found on Facebook or Twitter: @AliyahBurke96. And Pinterest.

If you would like to be kept abreast of what’s going on in the world of Aliyah, you can sign up to her newsletter here.

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Ellen Mint & Aliyah Burke Giveaway

ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A FREE ELLEN MINT OR ALIYAH BURKE ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 16th February 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.


Feb 02

New Release Blitz ~ Dark Valentine by J.P. Bowie & Blood Red Roses by S.J. Coles (Giveaway)

Dark Valentine by J.P. Bowie
Blood Red Roses by S.J. Coles

My Bloody Valentine Collection

General Release Date: 2nd February 2021

Valentine’s Day isn’t all about chocolates and roses…this year, it’s deadly. These stories are set around the most romantic day of the year, with characters who might just have to fight for their lives as well as their loves.

Dark Valentine

Valentine’s Night, when the line between the real and unreal becomes blurred…

New boyfriends Brandon and Ryder are invited to an upscale Valentine’s party in Santa Monica. Brandon had heard how ‘fabulous’ the parties are, so he’s surprised by the creepy décor, and some even creepier ghouls who seem to have taken the place of the hosts. They can’t be real, can they?

An erotic cabaret that ends with one of the dancers seemingly either killed or seriously injured upsets Brandon. Ryder attempts to calm him down, but they’re both horrified when they discover a dead body upstairs with a knife embedded in its chest.

What the heck kind of a party is this?

And will Ryder and Brandon live to find out?

ACTION AND ADVENTURE, CONTEMPORARY, EROTIC ROMANCE, GAY, GLBTQI, VALENTINES

Blood Red Roses

Rick feels like he’s finally getting his life on track…until a dead body in his flat threatens to derail more than his new career.

Things are finally looking up for Rick Bennett. He’s landed a job with Swanson and Gerrard, one of the top finance firms in London and, with it, a chance to pay off his father’s debts and finally make something of his life.

When he’s put in charge of brokering the biggest deal in the company’s history, he knows he can’t lose, even though his boss, Cecily Swanson, clearly wants more than just a professional relationship.

When a rich, handsome stranger, Kim Bailey, introduces himself to Rick at the Swansons’ New Year’s Eve party, Rick is thinking he can definitely get used to rubbing elbows with the upper set. He feels everything is finally working out, despite Cecily’s increasing interest that only seems to strengthen as they approach her high-profile Valentine’s Day wedding.

When someone is murdered in his flat, Rick is shocked but still determined to hold on to his dream. Cecily believes he’s innocent and, more importantly, so does Kim. Though he’s beginning to suspect that there’s more to the guy than meets the eye, Kim’s belief in Rick keeps him strong.

As the investigation continues and Rick finds himself buried deeper in a mess of conspiracy, betrayal and intrigue, he will come to wonder whether the life he’s dreamed of could ever be real.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of public sex, violence and murder.

CONTEMPORARY, CRIME, EROTIC ROMANCE, GAY, GLBTQI, THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE, VALENTINES

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Dark Valentine
Blood Red Roses

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About the Authors

J.P. Bowie

J.P. Bowie was born in Scotland and toured British theatres in numerous musical shows including Stephen Sondheim’s Company.

He emigrated to the States and worked in Las Vegas, Nevada for the magicians Siegfried and Roy as their Head of Wardrobe at the Mirage Hotel. He is currently living with his husband in sunny San Diego, California.

FollowJ.P. Bowie on Facebook and Twitter

 S.J. Coles

S. J. Coles is a Romance writer originally from Shropshire, UK. She has been writing stories for as long as she has been able to read them. Her biggest passion is exploring narratives through character relationships.

She finds writing LGBT/paranormal romance provides many unique and fulfilling opportunities to explore many (often neglected or under-represented) aspects of human experience, expectation, emotion and sexuality.

Among her biggest influences are LGBT Romance authors K J Charles and Josh Lanyon and Vampire Chronicles author Anne Rice.

Find S. J. Coles at her website and follow her on Instagram.

Giveaway

J.P. Bowie & S.J. Coles Giveaway

ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A FREE J.P. BOWIE ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 16th February 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.


Feb 01

New Release Blitz: The Q by Rick R. Reed (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Q

Author: Rick R. Reed

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/01/2021

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Female, Male/Male, Female/Female

Length: 51500

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, Contemporary, Ace, Bi, Gay, Lesbian, Family drama, bartenders, blue collar, coming-of-age, coming out, hurt/comfort, soulmates, open relationship, #ownvoices, over 40, reunited

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Description

Step out for a Saturday night at The Q—the small town gay bar in Appalachia where the locals congregate. Whose secret love is revealed? What long-term relationship comes to a crossroad? What revelations come to light? The DJ mixes a soundtrack to inspire dancing, drinking, singing, and falling in (or out) of love.

This pivotal Saturday night at The Q is one its regulars will never forget. Lives irrevocably change. Laugh, shed a tear, and root for folks you’ll come to love and remember long after the last page.

Excerpt

The Q
Rick R. Reed © 2021
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One: Hey Bartender!

Mary Louise hated the term fag hag.

It was demoralizing, conjuring up an image of an older woman, heavyset, with too much makeup and hair that was too big. She would be sitting at home with her two cats, Will and Grace, drinking Cosmos alone and streaming Queer as Folk or Queer Eye while she waited for one of her gay male friends to call to shape and determine the extent of her social life. She’d maybe drink a little too much and laugh a little too loud. She’d play wingperson and watch wistfully from the sidelines as her cohorts paired off for an evening, a week, a month, or a lifetime. She’d tell her friends and family who’d never darkened the threshold of a gay bar that she liked going to them because she didn’t get hit on by predatory losers and she could let her hair down.

She knew the stereotype because for many years she’d been it—well, maybe not exactly, but close enough to make her cringe at the memory.

Sure, she still owned cats (or they her, far more likely), who were Siamese and not named Will and Grace, but Harry and Sally. Her hair had never been big and her idea of great TV was streaming the Golden Girls on Hulu. “Okay, so that’s a little gay,” she heard Sophia saying in the back of her mind. Her drinking taste leaned much more toward beer or a nice glass of whiskey, neat.

She’d broken free of being the wingwoman to the various gay men she befriended. She’d gotten rid of the idea that her happiness depended on a man, gay or otherwise.

She still laughed too loud and probably always would. One of her friends, Mort, delighted in acting out a scene with her from Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf when she let loose with one of her ear-splitting laughs. He’d accuse her of braying, and she’d respond, in her best Elizabeth Taylor, “I don’t bray,” and then command him to make her another gin and tonic. He always would comply and would sheepishly respond, “All right. You don’t bray.”

Mort had been gone since 1992, when AIDS took him at the tender age of twenty-eight. Mary Louise still missed him and kept a picture of the two of them, taken while on vacation in Provincetown, a year before Mort was diagnosed. She’d look at that photograph of the two of them, arms slung around each other on Commercial Street, and her eyes would well with tears, even though it had been close to thirty years since Mort had passed in an AIDS ward in a Pittsburgh hospital with only Mary Louise at his side. That loss still was tragic, not only because of Mort’s tender age, but because he was so alone. His partner, Nate, and his folks in Shippingport had abandoned him, the former claiming he couldn’t stand to see him this way and the latter voicing concerns that they might catch the virus. He was your son! She’d wanted to scream at the parents. He needed your arms around him. He needed you to see him. He was your lover! she’d say to Nate. His dying and death wasn’t about you and your fragile feelings.

Mary Louise hoped there was a special place in hell waiting for all three of them.

She’d watched many of her friends succumb to the virus before protease inhibitors came onto the scene, turning what was a death sentence into a somewhat manageable condition. She’d never stop mourning the loss of so many beautiful men.

When the fallout from all this was over, for all practical purposes, Mary Louise found herself bereft of friends. That’s when she decided to pack up and move back to her home town of Hopewell, where her mom and two sisters still lived. There was comfort in coming home to a place where her roots were deeply embedded, even if the area was blighted with poverty. It was still some of the most beautiful countryside Mary Louise could imagine.

Chicago had suddenly seemed too big and, at the same time, paradoxically empty. There were so many reminders—the Boystown strip along Halsted, the Baton Club on Clark, the Swedish restaurant Ann Sather next to the Belmont L stop—all of these places and so many more held more painful memories than she could count, even if they had the power to make her smile and laugh. She figured time and distance would transform the painful memories into joyous ones.

But each recollection of a night of drunken revelry out with her boys or a bleary-eyed brunch the morning after, were a hot touch to her grief, a pain that may have softened, but never went away. Mary Louise was grateful—she’d never willingly give up the hurt. She wanted to hold onto these memories of her boys forever. Despite the fact she was a bit of a stereotype and fit the fag hag profile pretty much to a T, the days and nights in Chicago with her circle of gay friends had been some of the happiest days of her life. And she didn’t even realize it at the time. Wasn’t that always the way?

Hopewell brought a sense of quiet, with its looming tree-covered hills—the foothills of the Appalachians and its position on a winding curve of the mud-brown Ohio River.

Moving back had simplified her life, even if it drained a lot of the bustle and color from it. In Chicago, she never walked alone; the streets, no matter the time of day or night, were always busy. In Hopewell, she could wander and never bump into anyone.

It was her mom, at eighty-six, who needed her help with things like shopping, cooking, running errands, and chauffeuring her to doctor’s appointments. Old Trudy, as she and her sisters referred to her behind her back, refused to move in with one of them, or God forbid, the assisted living facility up the road in Newell. Trudy always said, “I live alone because I like it. They say money is the root of all evil, but the truth is it’s people.”

Mom got by with her girls. And Mary Louise, even as she sometimes got nostalgic for the bright lights and hustle of the big city, knew she was doing the right thing. She’d experienced the Chicago skyline on a clear night, Lake Michigan’s blue/aqua/gray waves crashing against the shore, and the vast diversity of people living on its shore, and no one could ever take those memories away.

Even if she was feisty, clearheaded, and mobile, no one knew how much longer Mom would be with them.

At the Q, Mary Louise still could eye the boys, flirt with them, tease them, and play matchmaker in her role as bartender.

Right now, she stood behind the bar in a pair of unflattering black orthopedic shoes. Once upon a time, Mary Louise adored a pair of CFM (come-fuck-me) pumps with four-inch spikes. Oh, how great they made her legs look back in the day! Not that many noticed in hangouts like Sidetrack or Roscoe’s.

Now, midfifties, she needed to be comfortable when she was on her feet all night. Her smile depended on it, and thus her tips.

Currently, she waited for the doors to open, which would happen in about an hour. She was blissfully alone. Well, maybe blissful wasn’t the right word because all the lights were on as she prepped citrus and olives for drinks, washed glasses, polished the bar, and made sure the bottles behind it were stocked and ready to go.

The overhead lights cruelly stole most of the limited magic the Q possessed. And that was too bad. One of Mary Louise’s favorite characters was the tragic Blanche Dubois, from Tennessee Williams’s A Streetcar Named Desire and one of her favorite lines from the show was Blanche’s opinion that she didn’t want realism, she wanted magic. The shadows, soft lighting, and even the disco ball above the dance floor lent a kind of alchemy to the place, transforming it from run down to a setting where anything could happen, where hope lived.

Just before the doors opened, though, the joint looked tired and sad (as Mary Louise herself often felt). The cinder block walls, painted black, possessed a menacing air, like a dungeon—and not a fun one! The concrete floor, stained, showed its grit and the cracks that ran through it. Even the single long rectangle window at the front appeared dusty. Night pressed in on the tinted glass like a monster, hungry for admittance.

Stop it! Now you’re just getting crazy. Mary Louise finished her prep work and allowed herself a moment to sit on the stool she kept behind the bar. It might be her last chance for several hours to relax, if only for a few minutes. She dreaded the coming ache of her feet at evening’s end, orthopedic shoes or not.

But, oh, how she looked forward to seeing everyone! Every Saturday night was a party, and she was the hostess with the mostess.

Despite how some of the regulars could try her patience down to its last reserves, it brought her joy to watch the revelers, to serve them, to offer oblivion in a glass or a bottle. Even though her dancing days, mostly, were well behind her, she loved seeing everyone out there, bodies gyrating and spinning. Some were great, others awkward, others downright embarrassing, but to witness them cut loose after a long week was a thing of beauty, no matter their level of expertise or coordination. She especially loved some of the older patrons, who would bring their shakers of corn starch in to sprinkle on the floor, making it easier to slip and slide to the pulsing dance beat.

Gracie, Rose, and Liz were a lesbian trio that she particularly adored. Even though she’d never had much conversation with them, other than to take their drink orders, the three seemed so well-adjusted and happy, despite never once pairing off, as half the bar expected them to do. And Mary Louise, who considered herself a pretty astute observer of human nature, could tell from a mile away that Gracie was in love with Rose. So obvious! Why couldn’t Rose see it? Or did she simply not want to? Mary Louise had wondered if maybe they were a throuple, but everyone she talked to about that particular suspicion shot in down. “They’re best friends, that’s all.”

She turned as the door squeaked open. There stood Billy Breedlove, her barback and bouncer when needed (not often) in his usual garb—black combat boots, black cargo pants, and a black T-shirt that appeared to be painted on his beefy physique—looking worried.

Mary Louise was taken a little aback. For one, her breath always did a little catch in her throat when she saw him, accompanied by a skip of a heartbeat. He was a beautiful man with his muscles, his bleached-blond buzz cut, and the tattoo sleeves, wildly colorful butterflies and birds that ran down both arms. The fact that he was unattainable made him even more attractive.

And then she’d chide herself. That young man is a good twenty years younger than you, if not more. Cougar. Shame on you.

He’d once told her, when the doors were closed and the lights back on, as they concluded the evening’s business and everyone had headed home, that he was a volcel.

“What the hell’s that?” Mary Louise had asked, mystified.

“I’m an ace,” he’d said, only confusing her further.

“Voluntary celibate, asexual,” Billy told her. “I’m better off without the nasty, you know. I just don’t want it. It would be hard, no pun intended, if it didn’t work for me. But honestly, I never think about sex. Call me weird, but it works for me. And that’s all that matters.”

On hearing those words, she laughed, disbelieving. She fully expected him to laugh, too, maybe slug her in the arm for being gullible. When he didn’t join her in her laughter, her heart broke for him because she knew he wasn’t kidding. She’d pined with unrequited love for gay men most of her adult life and here was one who was most likely straight. And wouldn’t you know it? He’d sworn off sex.

The world was a hopeless place.

He’s too young for you anyway.

The second reason Mary Louise was taken aback was from the worry stamped on Billy’s face.

“There’s been an accident,” he called over. “It’s bad.”

“Oh no.” Mary Louise stood. “What happened?”

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Real Men. True Love.

Rick R. Reed is an award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty works of published fiction. He is a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Entertainment Weekly has described his work as “heartrending and sensitive.” Lambda Literary has called him: “A writer that doesn’t disappoint…” Find him at www.rickrreedreality.blogspot.com. Rick lives in Palm Springs, CA, with his husband, Bruce, and their fierce Chihuahua/Shiba Inu mix, Kodi.

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Feb 01

Cover Reveal: Afloat by Isabelle Adler

Afloat

Staying Afloat, Book Three

By Isabelle Adler

Cover Created by : Natasha Snow

Release Date: February 15th, 2021

Available to Pre-Order at NineStar Press


No place is safe anymore.

Matt and his crew know it all too well—and it’s especially true now as the war with the Alraki has reached the heart of Federation space and struck close to home. Suddenly, Matt is faced with a difficult choice. He has the opportunity to sway the tide of the war and rectify a past wrong by helping the Fleet obtain a groundbreaking Alraki technology. But to do so, he must risk his ship and the lives of his crewmates.

With Matt’s archenemy, the infamous Captain Rodgers, still on the loose and bent on revenge, the Alraki aren’t the only ones who pose a deadly threat to Matt and the people most dear to his heart. With danger and betrayal haunting their steps, Matt and Ryce must find a way to save their friends even as sinister secrets from the past threaten to tear them apart.

This time, the price of staying afloat might be higher than what Matt is willing to pay.

Books 1 & 2 Available on Amazon

Jan 26

New Release Blitz ~ Of Alchemists and Arsonists By Katherine McIntyre (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Of Alchemists and Arsonists
Katherine McIntyre

Book 3 in the The Whitfield Files series

General Release Date: 26th January 2021

Heat Rating: Sizzling  

Sexometer: 2
Word Count: 41,366
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 162
Genres:  EROTIC ROMANCE, STEAMPUNK

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Book Description

All Nate Whitfield wanted to do was stay out of trouble—but then he met Belle…

In setting up his apothecary emporium in Islington, Nate Whitfield knew he’d be facing all manner of cracksmen and scum—after all, his cousins were once a part of that underworld. However, when a stunner of a woman bursts into his shop to hide from her former gang, he can’t help but offer shelter.

Isobel Griffiths, an arsonist with a knack for setting blazes unseen, has wanted her freedom ever since her parents sold her to notorious gang leader Jack Blair. Drawn into Isobel’s whirlwind, Nate is soon smitten…as is she.

Belle’s clever, but to escape Blair’s clutches, she’ll need more than wits—she’ll need Nate’s alchemy. And if their plan doesn’t succeed, it could spiral into a gang feud deadly enough to tear all of Islington apart.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence, death and injury. There are references to a parent selling a child into slavery.

Excerpt

Just another day in this nightmare of a neighborhood.

When Nate had decided—or, truly, had been forced—to abandon his home in Ipswich, the spot in London where his cousins Theo and Ellie wrestled up trouble in one hand and livelihoods in the other had seemed to be his best, and only, option.

He heaved a sigh and rearranged the glass bottles on the shelves, making the display more even. Different colored liquids glowed with pearlescent promise, while others looked like the sludge scraped off shoes at the end of the day.

The first time his shop had been broken into overnight, Theo had strolled by to install a complex locking mechanism on the door sure to keep thieves out.

The second time his shop had been broken into in the middle of the day, Ellie had arrived to place a derringer in his palm with a warning to practice his aim.

His grip tightened around the glass neck of one of the corked bottles that glowed with a substance bluer than the ocean. He’d handcrafted each of these potions, and he just wanted to make a living off practicing the alchemy he’d studied for years to master. That had been his past trajectory, until the Darlingtons had involved themselves in his business. He swallowed hard as a familiar wave of ugliness washed over him, as bitter as wormwood. Like he’d be able to find his way in this forest of fools. Thus far, he’d just brought disappointment to his family.

He finished arranging the glass bottles and returned to stand behind the counter. He’d stationed it at the back end of the store with a sometimes-useful register and plenty of shelves built into the structure, which left room to sort his voluminous back supply of herbs. Most of his potions wouldn’t be possible without a well-stocked apothecary of tonics, herbs and digestives. He used those basics to perform his alchemy—a lavender tea could be transmuted into a jar of moonlight while chamomile and lemon peel could become bottled sunshine. The possibilities were endless.

Nate lifted one of the bags of lavender, inhaling as if the gentle fragrance might help calm his nerves. Every day that he opened his shop to the world turned into another triumph and another risk—whether from irritable customers or the thieves running rampant through this part of town. He tightened his grip around the bag. He missed his home something dreadful.

He hummed a tune to himself and pulled out a bag of peppermint and one of pennyroyal, setting them out on the countertop by the scales. While he waited for the normal riffraff to come tumbling through those doors begging to barter or offer less coin than sensible, he’d at least continue creating more product. He’d learned all of his alchemy from his uncle, a soul stolen far too early from this world. Consumption was a cruel disease.

He shook some peppermint onto the scale, the tiny dried leaves collecting in the center.

The door swung open hard enough for the glass to rattle.

Nate paused mid-shake and slid his free hand under the counter for the derringer Ellie had brought him.

Not another robbery. A third time and he was tempted to hurl himself into the Thames.

A woman bolted in, her shoulders heaving and her breaths coming out like punctuation marks.

She slammed the door closed, but he didn’t get a full glimpse of her until she whirled around to face him. She was dressed like a shift worker in mahogany trousers, a blue shirt rolled up to the elbows and a red kerchief around her neck. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, and the sharp look in her deep-set eyes pinned him on the spot. With her full lips and slender features, she possessed an arresting beauty.

Panic flashed in her eyes. “Help me.” She crossed the space between them. “I need somewhere to hide.”

Nate swallowed hard. Anyone on the run would bring more trouble with them than he wanted to deal with in a lifetime. However, once she stepped to the counter, the pleading in her umber eyes swayed him.

“Here,” he said, gesturing behind the counter. The bottom shelf was large enough to fit the wastebasket he had stationed there. He pulled out the wastebasket and set it beside him where he was working at the scales. “You can try to squeeze in.”

She nodded, her ponytail bobbing with the motion. The woman crouched and began to wedge herself into the confined space, folding up with surprising ease.

“Thank you,” she said once she’d settled inside, even though her voice came out muffled.

Nate raked fingers through his hair and heaved out a sigh. He’d left home to avoid trouble, yet from the moment he’d arrived in Islington, he’d found more and more. How his cousins survived around here mystified him. The scale wavered as he picked up the bag of peppermint and set to his task again, even while his heart raced a thousand leagues per second.

What sort of trouble had this woman found herself in?

The looming figures crowding in front of his door answered the question. Based on their scowls, their trousers in ill repair and the weapons weighing down their belts, the gang sort of trouble.

Yet again, his poor glass door went flying open, clanging against the wall with a reverberation that made him wince. The biggest of the three men loped toward him, his heavy steps audible through the room, causing the glass bottles on the shelves to rattle. Nate would have to reorganize them.

The man stopped in front of the counter, his dark eyes flashing with intended threat. “Where’s the girl?”

Buy Links

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First For Romance

About the Author

Katherine McIntyre

Strong women. Strong words.

Katherine McIntyre is a feisty chick with a big attitude despite her short stature. She writes stories featuring snarky women, ragtag crews, and men with bad attitudes—high chance for a passionate speech thrown into the mix. As an eternal geek and tomboy who’s always stepped to her own beat, she’s made it her mission to write stories that represent the broad spectrum of people out there, from different cultures and races to all varieties of men and women. Easily distracted by cats and sugar.

You can follow Katherine on Instagram here, join her Facebook group here and sign up to her newsletter here.

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Enter to win a fabulous gift package and a FREE Katherine McIntyre romance book!

Katherine McIntyre’s Of Alchemists and Arsonists

KATHERINE MCINTYRE IS GIVING AWAY THIS FABULOUS PRIZE TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A LOVELY GIFT PACKAGE AND GRAB YOUR FREE KATHERINE MCINTYRE ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 2nd February 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

Jan 26

New Release Blitz ~ The Reluctant Royal By Catherine Curzon & Eleanor Harkstead (Excerpt & Giveaway)

The Reluctant Royal
Catherine Curzon & Eleanor Harkstead

General Release Date: 26th January 2021

Word Count:  93,492
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 352
Genres: CONTEMPORARY, GAY, GLBTQI, ROYALS, THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

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Book Description

As an unseen enemy draws near, a royal bodyguard must choose between duty and love.

Risking his life to save a princess is all in a day’s work for Sergeant Joe Wenlock, a Close Protection Officer detailed to protect the royal family. After months of recovery following his brush with death, Joe’s ready to return to duties. But Alejandro Fuente-Sastre, as infuriating as he is fabulous, is the last royal Joe wants to be assigned to.

Alejandro isn’t quite the sort of queen that the British royal family is used to, but when Joe learns that Her Majesty’s step-grandson is also drag bombshell Paloma Picante, it makes his job a whole lot tougher. But is there more to Alejo than sulking and sequins?

When Alejandro’s life is threatened by an unseen tormentor who progresses from internet trolling to arson and violence, Joe must keep his charge safe from harm.

Living in close quarters with the man he shouldn’t be falling for, Joe begins to discover his true self. But as Alejandro’s enemy prowls ever nearer, Joe must make the impossible choice between duty and love.

Reader advisory: This book contains instances of homophobia and homophobic language, cyberbullying and threats, harassment, terrorism, drug use and abuse, Islamophobia and suicide. There are mentions of domestic abuse, including physical, emotional and gaslighting.

Excerpt

Joe took another sip of tonic water. He wished it contained gin, because being the only sober person at the table was hardly his idea of fun, but as he watched the bottle of champagne being passed around, he knew he didn’t really want any alcohol anyway. He couldn’t go back to work the worse for wear. Not after months of sick leave. Best foot forward, as his dad would say.

And it wasn’t only his decision not to drink that made Joe an oddity at the table. These were all Wendy’s friends, out for her birthday. Solicitors, legal types, who’d spent most of the evening already talking shop. Joe looked on, his mind on other things. Would he cope on his first day back? Would they trust him to ever do a good job again?

“So, Joe, we’re taking bets on who you’re going to be coddling next week!” Wendy put her second bottle of Prosecco on the table and settled into her seat. Her leg brushed Joe’s momentarily and she shifted, putting air between them again. “Izzy thinks one of the Fergie duo. Barnaby’s bet his bonus on Wills and Kate. I think it’s going to be the queen. The top job for a top bobby!”

“I don’t know yet.” Joe shrugged. “Maybe one of the corgis?”

“I bet you do know, and you’re teasing us!” Wendy’s friend Jemima brayed. “Have you signed the Official Secrets Act?”

Joe turned the plastic stirrer through his fizzing drink, rattling the ice cubes against the glass. He didn’t pester Wendy’s friends about confidential matters, so why did they think he was fair game? “As you know, if I had, I wouldn’t be allowed to say.”

“Whoever it is,” Wendy told them, “let’s hope they don’t put my poor old hubby in hospital again! He’s getting too old to play the action hero!”

Wendy’s friends laughed, and Joe tried to look happy, but he really didn’t want to be reminded of the accident. The headlamps coming straight for him in the evening darkness—and after he’d pushed the Duchess of Albany out of the way, there had been no time for Joe to leap aside. Just that crushing pain as the car slammed into him. Joe had slumped over the bonnet and found himself eye to eye with the idiot who’d just tried to deliberately run down the duchess.

“He’s not that old!” Verity giggled. She patted Joe’s leg and he tried not to flinch. “And still in fine form, too, Wendy, you lucky thing!”

“Lucky old me!” Wendy’s smile looked like a grimace. How would she know what form her husband was in when it had been over six months since they’d so much as kissed, let alone more? She refilled her glass and whispered to Joe, “For God’s sake, have a real drink.”

“Come on, you know I can’t,” Joe replied. “I can’t risk it. First day back and all that.”

“It’s my birthday.” Her pink lips grew thin and she drew in a deep, sharp breath, as sharp as her fresh blonde bob. Then she put her lips to his ear and hissed, “Stop showing me up, Joe, have a drink.”

“I’m drinking a stunt gin and tonic. That’s enough.” Joe held up the glass. It had the brand name of a well-known gin printed down its side. “They do tests, you know. I want to be nice and clean when they poke through my bodily fluids, thank you very much.”

“Barnaby!” Wendy subtly turned away from her husband, the centre of attention all over again. He was dismissed, just as he had been so many times over the five years of their miserable married life. “So, we’re all dying to know how your Tokyo merger’s going. It’s all everyone’s talking about. Tell us all the latest from the front line of big money!”

Joe sat his glass down on the table. The last thing he cared about was Barnaby and his bloody merger, which he’d heard snippets of for weeks as Wendy had made business calls at home. Barnaby this, Barnaby that, ‘Barnaby’s going places.’

So am I.

Joe nudged his seat back and stood to leave. Verity glanced at him, as if she was surprised he was going, but her attention turned to Wendy and Barnaby. Joe wasn’t sure where he’d go, but he needed fresh air. He wanted to be away from loud drinkers, away from Wendy’s carping. His head was pounding and as he stepped outside the pub, a car drove by close to the kerb. He instinctively jumped back, pressing himself against the wall behind him.

Calm down, Sergeant Wenlock, he told himself.

The night was cold, as cold as the pub had been hot, and Joe took a deep breath of autumn air. London tonight seemed even more surreal than ever, the streets a curious mix of the same well-dressed professionals who filled Wendy’s group and those who had embraced Halloween, escaping the real world in the form of cats and devils, vampires and aliens, some already stumbling, others only just starting out. And there in the middle of them was Joe, who would rather be anywhere else but there.

Maybe Joe should’ve thrown aside his tweed jacket and sensible open-necked shirt for a costume. He’d have made quite a good Frankenstein’s monster, maybe, though that said, when he’d first been taken to hospital and had plaster casts and bandages in places he hadn’t thought possible, he’d have been a brilliant cursed mummy.

Joe decided to go for a wander. Once he was working again, he’d have little time to call his own. He’d take his freedom when and where he could. Music blared from pubs and bars, people laughed, taxis pulled up and disgorged their passengers. And up ahead, someone was shouting.

Bloody people, can’t hold their drinks.

“Don’t you ever, ever bloody do that again! Do you hear?”

It was a man’s voice up ahead. Joe could see two figures, one in a black suit with a skeleton painted on it in white. He was wagging his finger—jabbing it—at the red-headed woman walking beside him in heels so high Joe wondered how she didn’t fall flat on her face.

“It’s so important to me, so fucking important, and all you have to do is just nod, and instead, you’re pissing about, making a fucking joke of yourself!”

“I’m sorry!” Her voice sounded almost desperate and she recoiled from her companion’s stabbing finger, jerking away as though it were the blade of a knife. She hurried after the skeleton when he stalked onwards, scooping up the silken hem of her shimmering red evening gown to follow. “Don’t be angry, I’m sorry!”

“I’m sorry!” he mimicked. Joe could almost see him in profile. The man’s face was disguised by makeup that turned his face into a skull.

Seemed a bit rich for him to be accusing someone of making a joke of themselves.

“The man’s an investor in my film, and I wanted him to know that I’m serious about my art, and then you’re there hanging over my shoulder, interrupting and gobbing on about God knows what!” The man clenched his hands. Even they were tricked out in skeleton makeup. “Why do you wind me up like this? You do it on purpose, for fuck’s sake, then it’s all I’m sorry! Well, you bloody well will be!”

“He was laughing too,” the woman said, a fresh note of desperation in her sing-song voice. No, not desperation. Fear. “He was having a good time, you’re not thinking straight! Just—please, don’t be like this!”

“My thinking’s perfectly clear!” The man gave a long sniff then, and Joe knew exactly what was going on.

The drugs are talking.

The man stopped where he was and raised his hand at the woman. The way she flinched back told Joe that this wasn’t the first time it had happened. As she drew away, he saw her makeup clearly, a glamourous sugar skull in a rainbow of colours that nearly took his breath away.

“Please don’t,” was all she said.

Joe increased his pace. The man’s raised hand trembled but in a split second he slapped the woman across her painted face.

Joe ran.

He was on the couple in only a few steps, and interposed himself between them. He didn’t look back at the woman, but could hear her frightened breathing just behind him. “That’s enough. Time for you to go.”

“And who the fuck are you, James Bond?” the man sneered.

“I’m not going to stand around and watch a bully like you slap a woman.” Joe clenched his fists, resisting the temptation to give Skeletor a taste of his own medicine.

“A woman? That’s a fucking joke. She’s a drag queen—a bloke!”

Joe turned to look at the woman.

A bloke?

Was she?

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About the Authors

Eleanor Harkstead

Eleanor Harkstead likes to dash about in nineteenth-century costume, in bonnet or cravat as the mood takes her. She can occasionally be found wandering old graveyards. Eleanor is very fond of chocolate, wine, tweed waistcoats and nice pens. Her large collection of vintage hats would rival Hedda Hopper’s.

Originally from the south-east of England, Eleanor now lives somewhere in the Midlands with a large ginger cat who resembles a Viking.

You can follow Eleanor on Facebook and Twitter

Catherine Curzon

Catherine Curzon  is a royal historian who writes on all matters of 18th century. Her work has been featured on many platforms and Catherine has also spoken at various venues including the Royal Pavilion, Brighton, and Dr Johnson’s House.

Catherine holds a Master’s degree in Film and when not dodging the furies of the guillotine, writes fiction set deep in the underbelly of Georgian London.

She lives in Yorkshire atop a ludicrously steep hill.

You can follow Catherine on Facebook and Twitter and take a look at her Website.

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Jan 26

New Release Blitz ~ Dragon Dreams and Fairy Wings by Bailey Bradford (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Dragon Dreams and Fairy Wings
Bailey Bradford

Book 1 in the Fire & Flutter series

General Release Date: 26th January 2021

Word Count: 58,252
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 252
Genres: EROTIC ROMANCE. FANTASY, GAY, GLBTQI

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Book Description

When one fairy with a faulty memory meets a snarky dragon, the supernatural world will never be the same.

Griff was born a Love fairy, but he never quite fitted in. He didn’t want to be part of a harem…at least he didn’t think so. What with his wings gone and his memory damaged, he can’t be certain of what he felt in the past. All he does know is he wants his wings back. Without them, he’s grounded.

Blaze is a dragon shifter who tends to stick his foot in his mouth—and some other parts in other places—when he really shouldn’t. His brother’s the king, and his sister-in-law is scary. Blaze’s last screw-up got him grounded, unable to shift into his dragon form. His punishment seems harsh to him, but there’s no escaping it.

When the Love fairies come to the castle to work on forming an alliance, Blaze has about had it with guarding the horny beings, and he’s disappointed that they don’t stay small and cute. Swatting at something buzzing him, he almost starts an inter-species war when it turns out to be a fairy on a dragonfly.

And from that snarky first meeting between Griff and Blaze, something wonderful, and dangerous, will come…

Publisher’s Note: This book was previously released elsewhere. It has been revised and reedited for re-release with Pride Publishing.

Excerpt

Blaze rubbed his shoulder where it still ached. He’d been lucky the whip had only caught him a glancing blow, otherwise he’d really be in pain.

Of course, even being whipped would be better than his punishment of not being allowed to fly. Or shift. Being stuck in the puny human form and dependent on two scrawny legs just sucked troll balls.

That imagery almost made Blaze gag. Trolls smelled really bad, worse than the dragon dumping grounds—and if anyone needed an explanation for what that area was, they didn’t have a nose.

Plus, trolls were ugly. It was part of them being trolls and all. They also tended to have large, pendulous balls that swung down close to their ankles.

Blaze did gag then, pressing a hand against his stomach. He had to get his mind out of the troll gutter.

“Hey, freak, heard you got your powers taken away, all for a piece of ass.”

Blaze glared at Bort. “Oh, yeah. Your dad wasn’t worth it.”

“My—” Bort’s eyes glowed red, and smoke gusted from his nostrils. “I’ll bake you, you fucking freak!”

Blaze kept his trembling inside. He’d learned not to show any fear to bullies. “Go ahead. King Fyre will be thrilled with you. You’ll look great on a spit.”

“You think just ’cause your brother’s the king means…”

Blaze arched an eyebrow at Bort—which he knew looked cool, because he’d practiced it until he had it perfected and he knew how awesome that one arched eyebrow thing was. “It pretty much means he’ll toast you if you lay a hand on me.”

The only reason the guy who’d hit Blaze with a whip wasn’t dead was because Blaze had kind of deserved it. Kind of, because he hadn’t known Valdez was married to another man. Otherwise, Blaze wouldn’t have fucked him. Probably. Blaze’s morals were questionable at times, but only because he was so desperate for someone to touch him.

“Right, whatever,” Bort drawled. “You’ll probably cook yourself anyway and save all the good dragons the trouble. Crazy Blazy.” He cackled and flipped Blaze off with both hands.

Probably with his toes, too, but Blaze didn’t think to check. Instead he watched enviously as Bort shifted into a gorgeous teal and gold dragon.

Bort blew a stream of fire right past Blaze’s head, then flapped his mighty wings and flew off. A rancid scent lingered in the air.

Blaze sighed and touched his hair that Bort had just singed. Everyone was going to think he’d done that to himself—again. Even though he was grounded, assumptions would be made that he’d done something stupid to burn his own hair, and rumors would fly. He’d have to worry about that later, if at all. Right now, he had to deal with a bully. Blaze really missed being able to shoot flames.

It was true that he couldn’t control his fire, and he could be dangerous. He hadn’t killed anyone on accident, yet, though. “Sheesh.” Blaze sniffed and fanned the air around him. It was no use. The smell was on his head. He could fan all day, and it wouldn’t make any difference.

Resigned to walking all the way back to his nest—which meant heading through the center of the dragon city, since he could no longer fly—Blaze prepared himself for the looks and murmurs. People would be talking about him more than usual today. He ought to be used to such stuff, but the truth was, it always hurt.

Even so, when he heard the buzz of conversations around him, Blaze held his head up high, despite the burnt hair. He hoped everyone gossiping about him got a snoot full of the noxious odor.

* * * *

“Where did I put my shoes?” Griff fluttered as much as a fairy without wings could as he looked for his soft purple shoes. Surprisingly, he could flutter a lot, although that translated into gestures with his hands and much twitching on his behalf.

“Did Egregio eat them?” Gia asked, hovering above him.

Griff glared at her. “Could you maybe not do that? I already feel like a complete loser without my wings.” Who knew they could be knocked off you? Griff hadn’t, and it’d come as a shock to the other fairies in his frolic. Of course, Love fairies weren’t exactly brainiacs. They were more into the sensual than the mental. For brains, people looked to the Genius fairies, though good luck to anyone wanting help from those snobs. They didn’t speak to anyone with an IQ under one-sixty—which left out most of the magic world.

“Sorry.” Gia floated down and grimaced. “Ick. How can you tolerate standing all the time? My legs don’t like it. It’s work. It’s so much easier to fly, or—” She smirked.

“Don’t go there.” Griff knew his own kind through and through. As a Love fairy, he shouldn’t be bothered by hearing about his sister’s sexual escapades. Maybe he was just jealous. “Keep your sordid stories to yourself.”

Gia crossed her eyes at him. “Please. How did a prude get hatched into our frolic?”

“I’ve asked myself that a thousand times,” Griff muttered. “Aha!”

“Aha what?”

Griff knelt and stuck his hand under his bed, then reached farther. “I swear to the gods, Egregio, if you bite me, I will feed you to the dragons.”

“Rawr!” It sounded more like a whine than not.

Griff ducked his head and looked at the catterwaul under his bed. Much like the human-world cat except with two legs and large, hairy toes, and fangs the size of Griff’s index fingers, the beast was rather fierce-looking.

“I’m not joking. Last time you bit me, it got infected. You’re lucky I didn’t toss you out then.”

Beady red eyes glowed at him. “Rawr rawr rawr.”

“Yeah, you’re sorry now.” Griff wiggled his fingers. “Give me my shoes.”

The purple shoes were tossed at him while Egregio continued to vocalize.

“I know, I know, they’re pretty. That’s why I like them, too. Now if you’re good, and you keep the dung beetles away for a whole week, I’ll see about getting you your own shoes.” Catterwauls were great to have as long as they were loyal. Sometimes they forgot that, though.

A few more rawrs and Griff was pretty sure he had his catterwaul vowing to fight off the shiny green beetles that migrated through the area on the way to the dragon dumping grounds. Griff hoped so. The buzz of beetle wings always left him with serious headaches as well as memories of the worst time in his life.

“Okay, got my shoes on, Gia. Now we can go…” Griff spun around, looking for his sister, but no. She had left the mushroom’s interior at some point. “Great. Great! Now how am I going to find my way to where my wings might be?”

Griff couldn’t remember things like he should have been able to. The hit he’d taken from a human’s fly swatter had cracked his skull, knocked off his wings and almost killed him. His memory hadn’t been right ever since, but he was lucky to even be alive.

Although the term lucky was relative. If he couldn’t find his wings, what point would there be to life?

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About the Author

Bailey Bradford

A native Texan, Bailey spends her days spinning stories around in her head, which has contributed to more than one incident of tripping over her own feet. Evenings are reserved for pounding away at the keyboard, as are early morning hours. Sleep? Doesn’t happen much. Writing is too much fun, and there are too many characters bouncing about, tapping on Bailey’s brain demanding to be let out.

Caffeine and chocolate are permanent fixtures in Bailey’s office and are never far from hand at any given time. Removing either of those necessities from Bailey’s presence can result in what is known as A Very, Very Scary Bailey and is not advised under any circumstances.

You can follow Bailey on Facebook here and Twitter here.

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Bailey Bradford’s Dragon Dreams and Fairy Wings

BAILEY BRADFORD IS GIVING AWAY THIS FABULOUS PRIZE TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A LOVELY GIFT PACKAGE AND GRAB YOUR FREE BAILEY BRADFORD ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 9th February 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

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