New Release Blitz ~ Under Pressure by Zoe Normandie (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Under Pressure By Zoe Normandie

General Release Date: 2nd Nov 2021

Word Count: 70,284
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 284

Genres:

ACTION AND ADVENTURE
CONTEMPORARY
CRIME
CRIME AND MYSTERY
EROTIC ROMANCE
MEN IN UNIFORM

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Book Description


He stole her heart then left without a goodbye. A year later and he’s back, telling her she needs protection—but the only protection she wants is from him.

The pre-deployment fling Navy SEAL Matteo ‘Delta’ Valente couldn’t forget has tortured him for his entire tour. A year later, Delta thought he was over it. Finally, he gets home, but runs into Kendra Larose again. It has been so long—but not long enough. With one look, she stirs something inside him that he’d tried to lock up after all those nights thinking of her, sleeping in dirt with nothing but his helmet for a pillow.

The problem he quickly realizes is that she’s in real danger. Delta’s instincts prove too powerful to override.

Kendra isn’t so convinced. Delta has just shown up, out of nowhere, with big claims that she’s in danger and needs protection? Kendra wants to see the hard evidence. She’s hated him ever since he didn’t call. She’d fallen hard, and he’d broken her heart with no apparent remorse.

A forensic specialist working for LAPD, Kendra has blood samples to run in the lab to get to the bottom of her latest case. The thing that becomes apparent is that her case intersects a little too neatly with Delta. She can’t quite figure out whose side he is on, why he’s back in her life and whether she can trust him or not. So, she keeps one big secret close to her chest.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence, sexual harrassment and assault.

Excerpt

Matteo ‘Delta’ Valente ran out of his Californian bungalow a little too damn early in the morning. Hell, he’d only been home for a few hours. After jamming his aching arm through his hunter green utility shirt, he buttoned it, trying to multi-task as he unlocked the dark truck which awaited him in his driveway. He was running behind—again.

For fuck’s sake.

Damn, sleeping a couple of hours a night is bound to catch up with me sooner rather than later. He grumbled as he slipped on his dark sunglasses to protect his hurting eyes from the blistering sun. Even in January, the sun was still beating down on him stronger than a direct RPG blast. Or maybe it just seemed that way because he was so damn drained.

“Matteo!” An elderly lady’s voice called out quietly from behind him, her Italian accent pouring through.

He whipped around, checking to make sure she was okay. The tiny old Italian lady stood at the edge of her bungalow’s stoop, a worried look in her eye. Using his hand to flatten back his chaotic dark blond hair, he regrettably realized another thing. He was way past due for a shave.

“Mrs. Romano.” Delta attempted a polite smile at his neighbor, hoping she wouldn’t notice the gashes on his knuckles from the previous night.

Mrs. Romano fretted, wringing her yellow dotted handkerchief as she batted her eyelashes up at him. He gritted his teeth under her gaze, willfully rejecting any concern she had—or judgment.

“Lovely morning, Matteo.” Her voice fluttered, darting her eyes down her empty driveway to the street.

Every other neighbor on the street had bins out. It was garbage day. Immediately, Delta realized that she needed help—but she didn’t want to ask.

“Want me to take your bins to the street, Mrs. Romano?” He shot that same, self-assured smile, like he was the most relaxed man in the world. It was a mask he was used to wearing.

A wide, relieved smile crossed her lips. “Yes, son. Please.”

Wasting no time, Delta moved around to the back of her home and shuffled out her garbage and recycling bins. It was the least he could do to try to keep up the ruse. He wasn’t an idiot. People had been looking at him funny since he’d rotated back from Syria again, three weeks before. Maybe it was the bruises that didn’t seem to heal or the fact that he always looked like he’d been ridden hard and put away wet the night before. Whatever it was, home had stopped feeling like home. He didn’t belong there anymore.

As he finished, Mrs. Romano waited at the top of her bungalow stoop with a homemade pistachio biscotti for him. Her kind eyes and compassionate spirit reminded him of his late mother’s—the last memories he had.

“Thanks,” Delta grunted as he took the baked good from Mrs. Romano.

His stomach was rumbling from the lack of sustenance. He was used to pushing his body to extremes, neglecting his own needs for the sake of his platoon, but things were going too far now.

“You’re a good man, Matteo…a very good man.” Mrs. Romano’s voice cut into his thoughts, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. “When are you going to find a Mrs. Valente?”

Delta let out a loud, sarcastic laugh, sloughing off the question. Shrugging, he coyly took a bite of the biscotti and moved toward his truck, waving goodbye. All she saw was his façade, like everyone else. If she only knew.

Mrs. Romano’s gaze didn’t relent as he leaped into the cab. He was in a rush—but it wasn’t just because of where he had to be. It was because of what he needed to get away from. He was damn sure that Mrs. Romano wouldn’t think so much of him if she knew what lingered underneath the surface.

I’m not a good guy. Not even close.

Slamming the gears of his truck into reverse, he pulled out of the driveway of his place, saluting Mrs. Romano on his way out. The fun and games were over. Now, he really had to focus. He was on a mission that morning—and things could get ugly.

Barreling down Oceanside Drive, Delta flipped on the radio—local LA news—and listened to the newscasters talking about a body discovered in South Central in one of the roughest blocks. It had been on the news all morning—tragedy porn for LA’ers. Delta listened for any pertinent intel as he set his GPS for the crime scene. He had questions that needed answers.

Gripping the steering wheel, Delta rolled his shirt sleeves up to let a little heat off, revealing his winding tattoos. It was far too hot for long sleeves, even by LA standards. They were in the middle of a bizarre mid-winter heat wave. But he didn’t have a choice. He had to cover up. There were things he didn’t want anyone to see—like the fresh laceration on his arm that was only going to add another scar.

As he stopped his truck at a red light, he pulled off his sunglasses and absently traced his fingers over the long scar that ran from his cheekbone up to his temple and eyebrow. A little less than two years old, it was a reminder that he should have died in the Syrian mountains. Hell, he should have died in a lot of operations, but undeniably that one.

Now, he was on borrowed time. He could feel it. He was never wrong about those things. He was playing with fire and some sort of fucked up luck that was about to run out.

The light turned green, and he hit the gas hard, not wanting to think about how he was spending that second chance at life. It sure as hell would make a priest cry. His mother had always said that he didn’t need to be led into temptation because he already knew the way.

The drive from his bungalow up into South Central wasn’t fast, but he drove aggressively. He knew how to scare the piss out of LA’s richest, stalling out the fast lane in their luxury cars.

Revving his truck and nearly eating up some dinky coupe in front of him, he peeled off the highway. Rounding the streets in the impoverished neighborhood, he transitioned into a different type of vigilant and cautious. Those streets bled a type of desperation that he’d only seen in war.

Delta drove up to the vicinity of the taped-off scene and chose to park well off in the distance to keep a low profile. Before jumping out of his truck, he popped a black baseball hat on, pulling the brim down low for as much anonymity as possible. He adjusted his long sleeves across his muscled forearms so his unpolished appearance would help him not to stand out too much. He looked like any hungover blue-collar laborer who spent too much time at the gym. Then again, that pretty much described any SEAL.

He walked up to the periphery of a building that police were investigating—an abandoned commercial warehouse. Delta guessed that whoever owned the aging building had been hit hard in the economic crash, so they’d left it to rot. From the insecure doors and broken windows, he would bet that criminals and drifters had been trespassing for a long time.

Delta gripped the police tape surrounding the epicenter and glanced around to see if the cops off to the side had noticed him. They had their backs turned, just for a moment, so he took his chance. As he slipped past, he slunk around the building into the shadows, and he observed. He paused in an enclave, watching cops come and go from the building, listening to the broken conversations of the investigators.

In all his years in the special forces, he’d become skilled at going unseen when he needed to. He could be a goddamn ninja. A lot of it just had to do with confidence—and looking like he belonged. That had turned out to be damn useful the previous few weeks. He’d been on leave from work, but it hadn’t been a fucking vacation. He’d been working on something else—something serious. And, in true Delta fashion, he’d been going it alone.

Crouching low and moving slow, Delta approached a broken window near the back of the building. He checked inside, seeing the room was empty. A ton of blood was splashed across the concrete floor, but there was no body in sight. Fuck. Had the cops already moved the corpse out? He reached into his pocket, readying his cell phone to snap pictures of anything that could aid him. Delta scanned the room for pertinent info. The graying building interior had the feel of an unrealized horror film, and a chill ran up his back as he wondered what the fuck had happened there.

Voices echoed from the front hall of the building, and Delta ducked down outside the window. He could hear the voice of someone entering the room, calling back details of the scene to the front of the building. His first instinct hadn’t been wrong. The victim had been using. And, unfortunately, his second instinct had been right too. She was there.

His body stiffened and his skin prickled, awareness flushing over him. He’d never forget her voice, even though he hadn’t heard it for a while. He’d bumped into her at Carrick’s wedding, just weeks after they’d hooked up, but that hardly counted.  Had it already been a year? Hearty, feminine, sincere—every word she said danced out of her mouth. As he tried to regain focus, he slowly looked up and into the open window, enough to fully take in her candid, clever words. Her voice alone ran a wave of sensation up his spine that surprised him, after all that time. But it was nothing in comparison to when he finally laid eyes on her.

Sergeant Kendra Larose’s natural blonde hair bobbed into view. Delta adjusted his position, getting eyes on the interior of the crime scene and a better view of her—a woman he hadn’t seen since he’d deployed, spending the year fighting enemies with half the resolve that she had. A woman who had grown to hate him—and rightfully so.

I can’t let her see me.

After she tucked a stray lock behind her ear, Kendra was focused on the warehouse floor. Delta’s cock twitched as he watched her shift on her feet, her hips swaying. Blood pumped through his shaft as he drank in her body—a form that drew him to arousal so quickly, without fail. Never had he met such a natural beauty as her. Some guys might find her ordinary or plain, but he found her simply intoxicating. There was always just something about her—something that really got to him.

Even at a distance, he admired the machinations of her clever mind. She was looking down at a cluster of blood where a body once had lain, her lips and nose twitching that certain way that showed when she was really deep in thought. She was on to something. How much did she already know? Delta tried to see what she was seeing. He flexed his jaw, wondering if maybe it wasn’t fate that they’d met again. On his own, tracing the source of the drugs had proven to be an impossible task.

And just as a familiar man’s voice echoed through the space, Delta realized he was biting the side of his cheek, breathing heavier than usual and gripping the edge of the window like he was going to snap.

“This city is falling to pieces.” The man scoffed, coming into view.

Delta recognized him immediately as Staff Sergeant Hunter Greenwood. Delta had met the guy a year ago, around the same time that he had met Kendra. The Navy had put on a one-week training course for partners in law enforcement, extending the invite to LAPD. At the time, Delta had shown Kendra the ropes—training her how to safely rappel, while realizing that he needed to train her on protecting herself from creeps. Something about the way that Hunter looked at Kendra…

“He’s another military vet.” Kendra shook her head and furiously scribbled in her notebook. “They’ve already identified him.”

Prickles ran up the back of Delta’s neck as he watched Hunter stalk Kendra in the middle of the crime scene. Everything in Delta’s body screamed for violence as Hunter licked his bottom lip, carefully examining her. The scowl on his face deepened as she furthered her point.

“What do you bet his blood has traces of doxycycline?” Kendra turned to her boss.

“Come on.” He shook his head dismissively, straightening his jacket. “It’s a common antibiotic. Stop.”

“This is real, Hunter. We’ve seen traces of it in the other two bodies.” Kendra glared at her staff sergeant, standing her ground. “There’s a pattern here. Are they being targeted?”

“For what purpose?” he asked, an underlying threat in his voice.

“I don’t know yet.”

Hunter stilled, clearly judging her. The man looked damn tired, like he hadn’t slept for weeks.

“Let’s not start jumping to conclusions,” Hunter snapped back, his eye twitching. “Anything is possible, Kendra. Let’s check with the gangs first.”

“Hunter, please. The first two have been soldiers, not gangbangers,” Kendra replied slowly, flipping through her notes. “But why? Who’s after them—?”

A flash of rage visibly taking over, he cut her off. “We don’t have any reason to believe there are links between cases. This is LA. Murders happen all the time.”

“But there must be a connection.” Kendra glanced between her notebook, the blood splatter and Hunter, apparently confused by his messaging. “It’s this doxycycline. Isn’t it known to be used by the military as an antimalaria drug?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions.” Hunter strode toward her, his face darkening.

“Yes, but doxycycline—”

“You don’t get it.”

“They were soldiers—” Kendra countered again but halted as Hunter’s hand whipped up into the air, matched by a growl escaping his lips.

For a split second, Delta’s protective instinct thrust him forward, ready to fuck the guy up. But Hunter had recovered, using his raised hand to smooth back his hair.

“Fuck,” Hunter grumbled, shaking as he regained control.

Delta stiffened, his eyes wide open. What the fuck is he going to do with that hand? Kendra stumbled back in surprise, audibly sucking in breath. But before Delta could jump to her side, the enraged staff sergeant spun and marched toward the front of the building. Whatever he was up to, Delta saw a man who was losing control—a man who posed a threat. He was a ticking time-bomb. Didn’t she realize it?

Stunned, Kendra stood there alone, tightly clutching her notebook. She bit her lip, trembling, as if trying to get back to work. Delta sat back, confused as fuck at what he’d just witnessed. Delta knew right then and there that he had little choice. Things had just gotten more complicated.

I have to protect her.

Pulling out black gloves from his pocket, he slipped them on, preparing to leave no trace of what he was about to do. The scene before him had validated everything he’d seen since he’d been back from deployment. The body count was climbing.

Moving around the building a little farther, he gained entry to the interior. As he stalked through the shadows, making note of everything he saw, he was careful not to disturb anything, not even caked-on grime from years of abandonment. In stealth-mode, he slid out of the hallway into the darkest corner of the large room, not too far from Kendra. For a split second, he found himself just staring at her, drinking her in—the way she poured over her notebook then sharply analyzed the room before her. He had no doubt that her cunning mind was finding every anomalous detail.

And, yet again, he was proven right.

“And why are you here?” Kendra’s exasperated tone echoed over to where he stood, though she didn’t flinch or glance up from scribbling in her notebook.

Delta sucked in his breath, wondering if she meant…

“Yes, you.” She turned her chin slightly and shot a warning into the darkness, seeming to slice into his core. “Do you think I’m daft?”

Releasing the air in his lungs, he stepped forward—confident and relaxed, offering her a sly look as he crossed his arms. His charming ruse was too goddamn easy for him to make people see his way.

“Sergeant.” Delta shrugged. He narrowed his focus on her, giving her that grin that women loved. “Here we are, crossing paths again.”

“Crossing paths?” She balked.

“That’s right.” He kept his gaze intense, his body squared.

Turning away, she scoffed, “You’re acting like we’ve stumbled across each other at the grocery store.”

She shook her head in deep discontent, seemingly impervious to his charm. A chill ran up the back of his neck, her rejection biting. He hated it—but deserved it. Still, he stood there, watching.

“I’m too busy for this right now.” She spun, crossing her arms tightly, as if shielding herself. Her body language screamed of a woman who would not be fooled again.

“Too busy for me?” Delta pushed.

“I’ll go back to my original question.” She raised her eyebrows accusingly. “Why are you here? This is a secure crime scene, so you don’t belong here. I don’t care what security clearances you say you have.”

All the air got sucked out of the room, and he found himself momentarily searching for a response. Her bright, intelligent eyes left no stone unturned and demanded answers. She anxiously chewed her lip, giving him a rare glimpse of her girlish vulnerability—the type of vulnerability that made him voracious.

“We have a mutual purpose.” Delta let his face become stone cold serious, imparting the intensity he felt.

“Which would be?” she asked.

“Keeping you safe.”

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About the Author

Zoe Normandie

I’m a mom with three sweet young daughters. I have three jobs – mom, author, and analyst. Years ago, I grew up in a military family, went to a military university, worked alongside the military as an intel analyst, and my husband is (surprise!) a veteran. I’ve tried to write for anyone who wants to feel what it’s like to be with someone from that world – with all the good and the bad.

My heroes are grounded in reality, and are inspired by guys I know in the special forces. Guys who’ve been in combat, tasted war, and fought for what they believed in. They are really heroes, but raw and rough and broken in their own ways.

My heroines similarly come from the best parts of the women I know, and the challenges we all face. The relationships that they fall into have familiar characteristics for many, myself included. These heroines represent all of us, with our good and our bad laid bare.

In my stories, I illustrate, romanticize, and celebrate the harsh realities of duty, service, and sacrifice.

You can find Zoe on Facebook and Twitter.

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New Release Blitz ~ Rogue Royal by Megan Slayer (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Rogue Royal by Megan Slayer

Word Count: 52,160
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 209

GENRES:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
ROYALS

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Book Description


You are formally invited to the royal ball…to become the husband to the king!

King Charles of Lysianna needs a husband and fast. He’s up against the biggest time crunch of all—a royal decree stating he must marry or lose the crown. It’s already December and he’s running out of time. Throwing a royal ball to find a suitable man for the role of husband seems like the king’s only option…until he meets Nathan. This royal has always done things his own way—and maybe now it’s time to go rogue.

Nathan Pratt doesn’t want much from life except to raise his son and be happy. Dating isn’t on this single father’s radar until he sees Charles in the castle solarium and his heart goes out to the sad-looking man. Once he meets Charles, he starts to think love might be possible. There’s just the small issue of Charles being the king…

Will Nathan be able to handle the glare of the spotlight with Charles beside him, or will the notoriety that comes with dating a royal be too much?

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of gunshots as well as the threat of kidnapping. This book is linked to Runaway Royal.

Excerpt

“I’m in charge.” Charlie stared out at the kingdom, admiring the park leading to the hall of government. Snow lay soft on the ground and the land looked crisp but clean. The trees were dusted in bright white and kids played on the grounds of the park, tossing snowballs at one another.

He’d used to toss snowballs—before his father had handed him the keys to the monarchy. He’d become the king. The entirety of Lysianna was now under his protection. He should feel invincible, but he didn’t. To be honest, he didn’t feel like a king.

He was just a man with a fancy crown…and an entire country expecting him to keep order.

“Sire? You have a problem?” Newt, one of the pages, held a document out. “Lord Spencer gave this to me. He’s just finishing up in the other room. According to this, you must be married by end of this year. It’s already December fifth.”

“You’re kidding me.” He wanted to see Spencer right away. Why would his right-hand man send the page in to alert him to this notice? “I thought I had a while.” He’d known about the time limit, but could’ve sworn the deadline was more than thirty days away.

Spencer swept into the room and flicked his fingers to dismiss Newt. “Go.” He waited until Newt left the room, then continued. “You have to be married by the new year. That’s how that rotten woman had the decree worded. You’ve had all year to pick, and now if you don’t choose, the kingdom goes to the next in line.”

“That’s Zara’s little boy, Alistair.” He’d never know why she’d named her child that, but whatever. “Well, shit.”

“What’s worse? You’re supposed to marry a girl. According to this, you need to procreate.” Spencer shook his head. “You’d really think your former stepmother hated your guts.”

“She did.” He leaned back in his office chair. “She wanted nothing more than to ruin my life.” His former stepmother had sworn that he and his sister Zara weren’t right for the crown. She’d wanted to be queen, and when the king had stepped down, she’d lost her connection to the line. She hated her stepchildren and even more that Charlie was gay. Unfortunately, she’d managed to get a decree into the records which stated that Charlie, the current king, needed to not only be married, but to have children.

“What are you going to do?” Spencer asked.

“Nothing yet.” He had no prospects or ideas—just a kingdom to himself. He wasn’t good at being alone. Ever since he’d come out, he’d had a boyfriend. Being with someone made him feel more secure. Except now… He didn’t know what to do.

“We should throw a ball.” Spencer clasped his hands behind his back. “That’s it. A ball to find you a…husband. Would he be the prince? We don’t have co-kings. Duke? That doesn’t feel right.”

“It doesn’t matter, since I don’t have anyone in mind,” Charlie said. “Plan out the ball. I don’t care. I’ve got roughly thirty days to find a husband. It’s only almost impossible.”

“I’m on it.” Spencer picked up his tablet. “We’ll have to fast-track the details, but it’s been done before.”

“A king should be self-assured, not wallowing in self-pity. So I’m alone and being forced to wed?” He stared at Spencer. “I’m the king, right? So I can add an addendum to the decree, correct? Saying that I’m entitled to marry the man I choose, not a woman, since I’m gay?”

“You can. I’ll get the decree written up.” Spencer took his place at his desk. “Won’t be more than a minute to get the words on the parchment.”

Charlie paced the length of the office. He had no business being king. Sure, he could handle passing judgments and thought himself fair, but he wanted to be happy—not just there to mete out justice.

He wanted to be loved in the way Zara had found love with Luke. They were meant for each other and the stuff of fairy tales.

What about him? It’d taken most of the year for the people of the empire to warm up to him being gay and the king. Would they accept him being married to another man? For all he knew, they’d revolt.

Spencer finished writing up the document. “Here. Look this over and sign it if the wording is correct. This addendum should at least give you the right to marry a man. But I should mention, you’ve always been roguish in the way you handle things. This isn’t that far out of normalcy for you. Don’t sweat it.”

“Thanks.” He settled behind his desk and read through the document. If he needed something done fast and correctly, then Spencer was his man.

“So, we’ll have the ball on the twenty-fourth.” Spencer held his tablet again. “You’ll find someone among the attendees, but this gives us a small pad in case you can’t.”

“I suppose.” He signed the document. He should take the reins on the ball and his search for a husband. “For the ball, I want the colors blue and silver. Not Christmas colors. Everyone should attend wearing blue or silver. Advertise it as a Christmas event, not my misadventures in finding a possible husband.”

Spencer nodded. “Understood, but I would brace yourself. Once the pages find out there will be a ball, the speculation will run rampant. Everyone knows you need to find a husband and they’ll try to figure out who it will be.”

“Of course.” He knew the staff liked to gossip. “I don’t like the idea of this forced marriage. It’s unfair.”

“Not if you find a good husband—and you could.” Spencer continued, tapping on his tablet. “It’s a long shot, but it’s possible.”

“How? I don’t have time to meet anyone. I’m busy with affairs of state.” Charlie stared out the window. “How will I know that the man I’ve met at the ball will be the right one? After one night? It’s ludicrous. For all I know, the guy is just trying to get money from the family.”

“I know,” Spencer said. “I’m glad your father divorced your former stepmother, because all she wanted was to see you fail. She was determined to have the Earl of Lender take over as king. Now, because of her, he believes he’s owed the position.”

“I know.” He wasn’t a fan of Lender. People who wanted something for nothing drove him berserk. Lender had married to get his title, bought his position in government, paid off individuals to keep from getting sued after he left office disgraced and had still managed to con the former queen into helping him attempt to gain a position in the line of succession. Lender didn’t belong there. Charlie sighed again. “Here’s to hoping that I find someone before we get to the point where Lender thinks he’s got a chance.”

“Agreed.” Spencer stopped tapping. “You need to go to the solarium now. It’s almost time for the interview with Media Magazine. They want to take your photo first, but they wanted something informal.”

“They don’t want me walking around in the snow? I assumed they’d want me to be strolling through the park or something.” The magazine had a certain look for their photos and most included formality.

“No, they want you to look relaxed.” Spencer tucked the tablet to his chest. “They want to discuss you being on the throne.”

“It’s boring.” He snorted. “What else do I say? It’s thrilling?” He left his seat and gestured to the door. “Let’s go.” He made his way through the castle to the solarium at the west end of the building. The camera crew had already set up the shot and the brunette interviewer stood next to the oversized carved chair. Her pantsuit swathing her body in crimson, she drummed her fingers on the back of the chair.

Charlie sighed. He didn’t mind the publicity aspect of his role, but he hated answering the same questions over and over. Besides that, everyone wanted to know about his sister. So why not ask her to sit for the interview? She was quite approachable and happy now that she’d married Luke, had Alistair and settled into life as a mother.

Spencer directed Charlie to the main chair. “They insisted you sit here. Not the throne.”

“Why?”

“It looks royal,” Spencer replied.

He rolled his eyes, then pasted a smile on his lips. “Very well.”

“King Charles.” The interviewer gasped, then bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Lady Teresa Bushe and I’m humbled to be in your presence.”

“I’m honored you’ve chosen me for the interview. You didn’t need to set up such a posh space. I’m a simple man.” He nodded to her. “Shall we?”

“Yes.” She gestured to the fancy chair. “First, let’s get the photos, then we can chat.”

“Of course.” He’d done a dozen of these interviews. Every magazine and paper wanted a report on his ‘hot bachelor king status’. He didn’t see the big deal. He didn’t have a significant other because the right one hadn’t come along. That didn’t mean he couldn’t rule. It just meant he wasn’t getting any.

He suffered through the interview and expected the woman to bring up his string of ex-boyfriends. Until his father had stepped down as king, Charlie hadn’t expected to become the leader so soon. He’d thought he had time to play the field and find a husband properly.

He listened to the woman chatter, but the view out of the windows caught his attention. A man and a little boy were walking along the brick path leading past the solarium. Charlie wondered who the man was and why they hadn’t met before. He knew the little boy—Heather Dawn’s son, Emmett. The child wasn’t the best at reading and Charlie recalled being told the boy needed tutoring to get up to his grade level. Was this man the tutor? Or Heather Dawn’s new boyfriend? She had two young boys and Charlie couldn’t imagine being a parent.

The man, though, caught Charlie’s attention. The coat covered his frame, but he appeared trim and Charlie liked the way the slight winter breeze caught in his dark hair. He had a thing for dark, brooding and handsome men. Was this one brooding?

“Do you believe you’ll find a husband before the deadline?” Lady Teresa asked. “Are you aware Lender believes he’s next in line to the throne?”

Shit. He needed to pay attention and not watch the guy outside. “I’m confident I’ll find someone, although I believe this decree to be out of date. A ruler should be permitted to choose a worthy partner on his or her own timeframe.”

“And Lender?” she asked.

“Has no connections to the crown. He’s not in line.” Not if he had anything to say about it.

Spencer nodded behind her. “Is that your last question? The king is very busy and needs to attend to the planning of the Christmas Ball.”

“One more,” she said. “What would you like to tell our readers and your loyal subjects? Any words of wisdom?”

“Yes, I appreciate every one of my subjects and I’m endeavoring to do what’s best for all of them. We are a proud nation and should be proud to be of the kingdom of Lysianna. I am both humble and proud to be your leader and hope to be for many years to come.” God, he needed to work on his speaking skills.

“Thank you.” She stood and shook hands with him. “It’s a pleasure to have interviewed you. So easy.”

“You’re welcome here any time. Thank you for interviewing me.” He stood and watched the team pick up the gear. At least she hadn’t begged him to pose in his crown.

He waited until the crew and interviewer had left, then settled on the chair again. “Spence? Anything else? I need a break.”

Spencer checked the tablet. “You have a meeting with the planning commission for the Christmas festivities. They wish to show you the itinerary for the royal celebrations and will want to incorporate the ball into their plans. They’ve got in mind a rather large bash for the New Year portion of the celebrations.”

“Of course.” He folded his arms and looked out of the window again. “Who is the guy with Emmett? Is he new?”

“Him?” Spencer rubbed his chin. “That’s Nathan Pratt. He works as a tutor and with archives. Seems bright and fair. I’m not sure if he’s gay, but I was told he’d used a surrogate to have his son. The surrogate is one of your subjects, so since the child is half-Lysiannan, Nathan was permitted to live here as he raised the boy.” He eyed Charlie. “Do you wish to meet him?”

“Maybe.” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to make a move. Still, Nathan was handsome in a faraway manner. He must be decent enough with kids if he had one. But would he be dazzled by Charlie’s role as the king and not genuine?

One of the stewards brought in coffee and snacks.

“Thank you,” Charlie said and smiled. “How are you, Cort?”

The steward blushed before he blushed. “I’m well, your highness.”

Charlie clasped his hands together. Cort couldn’t be more than eighteen and looked every bit the young man he had to be. “I have a question. Are you happy here?” He knew Cort’s name, but not much else about him. “To be working for the crown?”

“Will I get sent to the gallows if I answer wrong?” The color drained from Cort’s face. “I’m not supposed to talk to you, am I? And this is a test?”

“You may speak to me,” Charlie said. “I enjoy your company. Feel free to talk to me whenever you like.”

“Wow.” Cort stood tall and clasped his hands together. “You’re nicer than I was told.”

“Who told you I’m mean? No one will die if you’re honest.” Charlie picked up the cup of coffee. “Tell me.”

“Cook. She said you’re grumpy.”

“Only at five in the morning.” He laughed. “Thank you for your honesty and the coffee. I’ll return the cups later. You’re dismissed.”

“Yes, my king.” Cort tripped over his feet as he left the room.

“Nice kid.” Charlie leaned on the chair. “So young and impressionable.”

“They get younger every day,” Spencer said. “He’s a bit young for you.”

“Spence? Seriously?” He crinkled his nose. “I’d like someone closer to my age. Are there any men, late-twenties or early thirties, single and looking to be with a man who wants love, tenderness and a partner? Find that for me and we’ll talk.”

“It gives me a better idea as to what to look for.” Spencer abandoned the tablet on the tray. “Do you want to meet Nathan?”

“He’s got a kid?” Charlie asked. “I wouldn’t turn down someone who happened to be a father.”

“You’re kidding.” Spencer snorted. “What about who will inherit the throne?”

“It’ll be Alistair. That’s already been arranged.” He didn’t see the big deal. “Look, I haven’t found anyone yet and we still have to plan the gala or ball—that the interviewer already knew about. I thought we’d just decided on it.”

“I let her know while you were getting your picture taken.” Spencer shrugged. “It’s going to come out sooner than later.”

“True,” Charlie said. “Focus on the ball.”

“Very good,” Spencer replied. “I’ll be right back.”

Charlie sank onto the carved chair and sighed. What Spencer didn’t understand was that he wanted to find someone. He didn’t want to be lonely, but he needed to find the right person.

He gazed out of the window at Nathan. He had no idea if they’d be compatible or if Nathan would even want to date a king. He might not even be gay. The unknowns didn’t mean Charlie couldn’t gawk at him and consider what could be.

He was a king and deserved a fairy-tale ending, right?

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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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New Release Blitz: Just So Many Places by Jessica Stilling (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Just So Many Places

Author: Jessica Stilling

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/02/2021

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 124300

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, contemporary, Iceland, lesbian, bisexual, interracial, established couple, professor, lawyer, Scandinavian folklore and culture, civil rights movement, teenagers, young adults, teen pregnancy, sheep farming, family drama

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Description

Marissa and Calypso have been outsiders before. As an interracial lesbian couple from very different social classes, they’ve already experienced the odd stare. When the couple arrives on a sheep farm, tucked away in the jagged mountains of Iceland, they plan to forget all their baggage and look to the future.

Marissa, an academic on sabbatical, focuses on taking care of the sheep while attempting to work on her book on Norse mythology. Calypso, an attorney, who works on civil rights cases in New York City, attempts to help her clients while in the middle of nowhere in Scandinavia—quite a feat for any social justice warrior. The added distractions of Marissa’s son Xander, who drops in on them with his entitled college friends in tow, and the constant interruptions from Marissa’s wealthy and connected ex-husband, threaten their peace. As her civil rights cases gain notice in New York City, Calypso starts to feel left out, living so far away.

Two young girls enter Marissa and Calypso’s lives, complicating the solid ecosystem they’ve created in their hideaway. Tavy, grew up in the same inner-city poverty that Calypso came from, and with Calypso’s help, she has the talent and intelligence to lift herself up, even when an unplanned pregnancy threatens her future. When Asta Sollilja, an Icelandic teenager with a reputation, finds herself in trouble, she relies on the kindness of the American outsiders to keep her safe.

Just So Many Places captures the majesty and isolation of Iceland. It explores the enduring connections that come with unstoppable love and a sense of history as notions of race and class structures threaten to divide instead of connect. Marissa and Calypso must decide if staying in Iceland is for them or whether they can do more good by going home and rejoining the world where they feel most at home.

Excerpt

Calypso knew the coffee was good, not as good as they had in New York, not even as good as her grandmother’s coffee in Haiti, but it was earthy and natural—a lot like this country her wife had dragged her to. A year, she’d said. It was only a year, even if they were buying the place.

“If your work is too important,” Marissa had added, “I totally understand—you can stay in the city. I’ll come, maybe for a couple of weeks in the fall. I’ll be back for the winter. I don’t think I can brave the Icelandic winter, not the whole time. Or you could visit.”

It had taken Calypso a while to realize that when Marissa capitulated, when she suggested they live apart for a while, she was not being vindictive, only accommodating, as if she had to, at each and every juncture, apologize for something.

“I thought it would be colder in the house,” Calypso said as they situated themselves in their new kitchen.

“They have heat; this isn’t the dark ages. You remember Reykjavík last year.”

“Yeah, but that’s a city. Cities are always more forward thinking—”

“It’s forward thinking to have heat?” Marissa laughed. “I guess, if people have heat in subzero weather, then they might get too comfortable, and who knows what kind of hijinks will ensue.”

“Who knows what kind of hijinks.” Calypso sighed, smiling softly to herself as Marissa took another sip of her coffee, then pushed her long, red hair back behind her ears.

Even at forty-four, she’d get up in front of her colleagues and spout all that jargon no one outside her field could understand, smiling sweetly, like a girl half her age. And her skin was clear. She used to talk about that. “Smooth skin runs in my family,” Marissa had said one night while they were getting ready for bed. She’d slathered on one kind of cream after another—gels and collagen pills, stuff under the eyes to prevent bags and dark circles, the works. But she swore she’d gotten her great skin from her mother.

“My mother’s face barely aged until she hit seventy, same with my grandmother.”

“I think great skin runs in the family of money,” Calypso had replied. “Like polished hair and a good sense of fashion and being skinny run in the family of money.”

“My dad worked in an office his entire life. My mother was a teacher. It was that Wade—” Marissa had made a face at the mention of her asshole ex-husband.

“That husband,” Calypso had said.

But Marissa did have great skin, with her clear peaches-and-cream complexion, her red hair. Maybe it was because of how pleasant, how apologetic Marissa was that made it hard for people to take her seriously upon arrival. Then she started spouting words like “postmodernist literary theory,” and they held their tongues.

“In any case, they make good coffee in Iceland,” Calypso said, returning to the present. “I was expecting everything to be a little more rustic.”

“I got this coffee in the city. It is…it will be rustic here. We’ll have to hike six miles in the snow, uphill both ways, to get to the stores for provisions.”

“Funny,” Calypso replied, taking the cup Marissa had just drained and placing it in the sink. She started the water. It sputtered for a second (now that was rustic) before it sprayed extra hard on her skin. At least it was clear. Back when she’d visit her grandmother in Carrefour Ouest, she’d have to wait five whole minutes for the water to come out of the tap.

“Let me,” Marissa said, draping her arms around Calypso’s waist.

Calypso noticed she wasn’t wearing any perfume, but the scent of strawberries was always in the air whenever Marissa was around. Calypso continued washing the dishes, dripping some of the dark orange liquid soap, the same earth color as that ugly couch in the living room, on the sponge. She wasn’t sure how she was going to live with all this orange. Some redecorating was in order—once they found the time. It was a new sponge. They’d picked it up at the store off the highway before they got in. But it seemed old, one of those large old-fashioned kinds her mother used to scrub the stairs in their house in Kingsbridge, where they lived before her family moved to the North Bronx.

Marissa’s lips pressed against her neck, and she ran her hand down the side of Calypso’s arm as she continued washing. Her fingers moved softly at first, and then she held on more tightly, her nails digging in. Calypso finished the final cup (it didn’t take much) before she turned around.

“This rustic air suits you,” she said, running a damp hand down her wife’s exposed arm.

“Thank you for coming,” Marissa repeated in that apologetic voice. “I know your work, and it’s so important right now, and what you’re doing—”

“Sh.” Calypso stroked her face. “My work will get done. Gail’s got it under control. I can fly back; I know what I’m doing.”

“But your work is so important.”

“It’ll get done, baby,” Calypso said. She kissed her softly at first; it was always so soft. Calypso wondered sometimes if she might break her. “I need you. I need you to be happy, and here you are in this tiny, cold country, and you’re happy. And we have a pretty large farm, and there’s still New York to go home to, still all of that, and it’s only a year. You think the movement will be over in a year? Do you think young Black men will stop getting shot in the street or thrown in jail for bullshit reasons? You think I’ll miss it all? Because I’d take that trade. I’d miss the whole fight, not be responsible for changing a thing, if it meant the fight only lasted a year.”

“I’m aware,” Marissa said, still a hint of apology in her voice. But she kissed Calypso harder now; there was so much need in her.

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Meet the Author

Jessica Stilling is unapologetically fond of Iceland. Just So Many Places, her first novel with NineStar Press, was penned while spending some time alone in Iceland. Jessica is a fan of Scandinavian crime dramas and Viking lore. She studied Greek and Roman mythology in graduate school but soon discovered the Norse gods and has not looked back.

Jessica has published three other literary novels, Betwixt and Between (IG Publishing), The Beekeeper’s Daughter (Bedazzled Books), and The Weary God of Ancient Travelers (DX Varos). She has also published three fantasy novels under the pen name JM Stephen. Jessica’s young adult fantasy series The Pan Chronicles was recently nominated for a Hugo Award. She has been reviewed by Kirkus Reviews, The San Francisco Book Review, Publishers Weekly, and Booklist, where she received a starred review.

Jessica’s journalism tends toward the feminist lens, and she has had articles published in Ms. Magazine, Bust Magazine, The Whorticulturalist, and The Writer Magazine. She also does freelance work for The Deerfield Valley News out of Wilmington, VT.

Jessica holds a writing degree from The New School and an MFA from City College of the City University of New York. She has taught writing at the State University of New York, the City University of New York, The New School, and the Gotham Writers Workshop. She has also worked on the editorial board of the Global City Review.

Jessica grew up in Northern Illinois and lived in New York City for eighteen years before running off to bucolic rural Vermont the fall of 2021. Jessica currently lives in a house in the Green Mountains with a lot of land and a large barn which is currently occupied by twenty or so chickens.

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New Release Blitz: Miss Claus by J.R. Hart (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Miss Claus

Author: J.R. Hart

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/02/2021

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Female

Length: 57500

Genre: Fantasy, LGBTQIA+, seasonal, family drama, trans, grey ace, Santa Claus, North Pole, father/daughter relationship, engagement

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Description

Kris Claus has spent her entire life preparing to become the next Santa Claus. After all, she’s Santa’s daughter, so she’s certain to be next in line for the title. She’s gotten the degrees, served as his assistant… nothing can stop her. Well, nothing except her lawyer ex, who is trying to sneak his way into the title by bringing up an archaic gender law that says women can’t be Santa.

Steeped in small-town politics and a rivalry for the ages, Kris won’t stop until she’s gotten what she’s fought for her whole life, but she won’t give up who she really is — a proud woman — to reach her dreams. When a letter from a transgender girl down South reminds her of herself as a child, Kris knows exactly what’s at stake, not just for her own dreams, but for the dreams of girls everywhere.

Excerpt

Kris had seen her father speak countless times in this same setting, and in similar ones, like pep talks at the factory or town square summer celebrations. But none of his speeches were as exciting as this one, the Honor of Christmas speech that took place every December 21. This was the big one, the important talk everyone came out to see.

Stationed in the front row, here before anyone else, was her mother. She smiled and gave Kris a small wave, and Kris made a heart shape with her hands. Her mother was wildly supportive of her, and as much as Kris knew it had to be killing her not to make a sweep of the room and ensure everything was just so, she stayed seated, allowing Kris’s efforts to shine. The faith she had in Kris’s planning ability—or at least, the way she didn’t try to correct any tiny errors—warmed Kris’s heart. Instead, she stayed in place, looking regal in her velvet suit-dress. She was certain Ian had custom-made it in a complementary silver as soon as Kris had suggested blue and silver to The Council for approval.

She glanced up at the silver aisle they’d made minutes before, watching The Council’s members shuffle in. Mrs. Hazel Butterquil, always punctual, entered in her velvety cape that she always refused to hang on one of the cloakroom hangers because “that would ruin the majesty of it, wouldn’t it, dear?” Kris couldn’t help but smile. Mrs. Butterquil was a sweetheart, and she had buttery-soft hands every time they greeted each other before a meeting. Behind her, her husband filed in, cap in his hands and bald head gleaming in the twinkle lights. He was demure and calm behind his wife. She took her seat at the council table, and he sat in the front row, always supportive of her. Kris had dinner at their home on many evenings, usually listening to her father calm Mrs. Butterquil, who thrived on tradition and needed her father’s reassurance that most changes approved by The Council would be mild.

Moments later, Ian Napperly, the town tailor and youngest member of the council, short and slender, with sleek brown hair slicked back with pomade, filed in and took his seat next to her. Kris couldn’t hear their conversation from across the room where she stood, but she could imagine the quiet pleasantries they exchanged. Mrs. Butterquil pulled a small baggie from her purse and passed it to him, almost under the table, but not out of sight. Kris’s mouth watered. Homemade kettle corn! She was jealous. Mrs. Butterquil always made homemade kettle corn for her favorite people. Kris had been the lucky recipient several times, but today Ian was bestowed with that special honor, and she found herself longing for the sweet, salty flavor.

A handful of other council members shuffled in behind them. Carin smiled and waved timidly at Kris, and Kris waved back, wishing she knew her better. She was a new addition, and Kris had heard her speak up a few times, but mostly, Carin was on the quiet side. Her short blonde bob waggled slightly when she returned Mrs. Butterquil’s greeting. She was so lovely though.

Kris marveled at how The Council had changed over the years, as some members retired and ceded their seats to others in the town. Eleven members in total paraded past, and Kris waved at the ones she liked best. She shouldn’t have been playing favorites, but she couldn’t help it.

Tailing them all, Mark Crinkle—the senior one—stepped along, heavy footsteps thudding behind the rest of them. He situated himself in his seat and leaned across Ian to talk to Mrs. Butterquil. As he removed his scarf, his beard was brushed out of place, moving right back where it had been when he leaned back in his seat again. Kris gave him a small wave, and he gave her a quick, curt nod in return.

Mark Crinkle, Sr. was so different from his son, more stern and solid, but regal in a way that almost but didn’t quite read as arrogant. Mark Jr. was easier to be around. He was a pleasant, happy man with slender fingers and long limbs, gangly and lean. He walked like a baby giraffe, sometimes stumbling over his own feet like he didn’t have full control over himself. However, he and Kris looked like polar opposites, she short and chubby—she greatly preferred chubby to “round,” or the other terms people sometimes used to describe her father—and him so tall and thin. He stood across the stage from her, beaming as she flashed him a wide grin.

Megan leaned over to her. “Stop flirting,” she teased.

“I can’t help it!” Kris grabbed her arm tightly. “He’s so handsome!”

“I see the thrill hasn’t worn off yet.”

The thrill really hadn’t worn off. A month out from their engagement and she still got butterflies every time she saw him. That, or when she caught sight of the beautiful ring on her finger, the soft curls of silver around a central, teardrop stone. He was her dream match. The humor wasn’t lost on her that soon she’d be Mrs. Crinkle. As in, Kris Crinkle. Close to Kringle, but not quite spot-on. But then Mark grew still and stood up taller, and he stopped winking and waving. A hush fell over the room, with parents ushering their children back into their seats, and the sound of people unwrapping cough drops or gum grew quiet too.

Santa entering made everyone more reverent, quiet, and calm. Kris beamed at the sight of her dad walking up the silver carpet, his shiny black boots leaving no trace of dirt, barely even an indentation in the thick pile as he made his way across the floor.

Mark Sr. stood up and walked to the podium. “Now presenting, for his annual Christmas speech, Mr. Santa Claus.” From here, Kris could see her mother’s face light up at the sight of Mr. Claus, the love radiating off her. There was something so inspiring about their connection, their constant companionship to each other even after all these decades together.

He shuffled back to his seat just in time for Santa to step behind the wooden podium, brighter with the addition of the garland and some carefully placed baubles.

“Hello, everyone,” Santa began. “And a very, very Merry Christmas to each of you.”

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

J R Hart is a queer 30-something novelist passionate about telling romantic and erotic stories about LGBT+ characters. When J R isn’t writing, you can find her at the science museum with her son, cheering for her favorite soccer team, or at The Bean Coffee Co plotting her next work. You can find her on Twitter and Instagram as @jrhartauthor, or on her website at jrhartauthor.com.

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Book Blitz: Ice Angels by Ryan Taylor & Joshua Harwood (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Ice Angels

Author: Ryan Taylor & Joshua Harwood

Publisher: Wainscott Press

Release Date: 10/29/2021

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 200

Genre: Romance, Gay hockey romance, Gay holiday romance

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Synopsis

Drew and Cleevs love hockey, but they love each other more. How can the men find a way to save what matters most?

Todd Cleever and Drew Simon are crazy about each other. They started dating three years ago when “Cleevs” was a rookie defenseman for the Chicago Ice. Drew, the team’s captain, was a few years older than Cleevs. Both men were deep in the closet, but it didn’t take long for them to fall in love.

Cleevs was traded to the Bethesda Barracudas a year later, causing a heartbreaking separation. Ever since, they’ve skated around the problem with occasional stolen nights together and brief vacations under the guise of “friends,” but two years of living apart have taken their toll.

As the holiday approaches, Drew and Cleevs decide things have to change. Still, with their careers and two professional hockey teams in the way, how can they score the game-winning goal and save everything they cherish most?

If you like fierce love, a smallish age gap, exciting hockey, and a steely determination to make things work—not to mention enough steam to fog up all your windows and a fantastic HEA—this is the book for you. The novella contains about 43,000 words of sparkling holiday romance.

Excerpt

I arrived at the Hilton about three o’clock. Todd wasn’t due for another couple of hours, so I  took a shower and dressed in jeans and an Ice T-shirt. Afterward, I switched on the TV but was  too excited to be still, and I must have walked back and forth to the window a hundred times.  When the news came on, I settled into a chair to watch. Someone knocked on the door a few  minutes later.

Running over, I pulled it open, and there he was. Wearing a gray peacoat and matching  beanie, with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, Todd looked like a Hollywood heartthrob.  He broke into a crooked grin.

“Hey.” My breath had caught in my throat, and I couldn’t get anything else out. “Hey.”

My pulse raced as my sight and hearing went into overdrive. I couldn’t tear my eyes away  from him.

“Drew? You think I could come in?”

“Oh yeah.” I grinned and stepped aside. “Please.”

He rolled his suitcase in and set it and his messenger bag beside the dresser while I made  sure the door was locked. When I turned, he placed a finger on the tip of my nose and traced it  down to my lips. “You get more beautiful every time I see you.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

He reached for me, and I relaxed into the safety of his arms. The relief of being held was  profound. As a hockey player and captain of all my teams since high school, I’d always had to be

strong. Before I met Todd, as a closeted gay man, I rarely had hookups because there was too  much risk of being recognized. When I occasionally met up with someone, what we did wasn’t  about affection or support; it was about getting off.

“Love you, Drew.

“Oh, Todd.” I nibbled his lip, and when he hugged me tighter and kissed me, the heavy  burden of my loneliness fell away. I relaxed for the first time in a while.

“I’m happy you could come and spend the night,” he whispered between kisses. I leaned back to look at him. His face was flushed, and his eyes were already dark with  arousal. Sliding a hand up his back, I cupped his head. His mouth twitched as I moved in, and he  moaned softly when our lips touched. I pressed against him, not ready for the moment to end but  needing more.

Slowly, he glided his hands down my back to my butt, and we teased each other. When he  licked my lips and probed softly, I opened for him. His tongue reassured me somehow, and I  sucked it while my senses did somersaults. Hints of cedarwood and iris, mixed with his soft  musk, surrounded me. We were both hard, and a thrill flickered up my spine as we rubbed our  cocks together. Tiny, needy sounds filled the air while we enjoyed a taste of what was to come. I  pulled away, took his hand, and started toward the bed. “Come with me.” He didn’t move, and I turned to look at him.

“I should shower. It’s been a long day, and I’m not at my freshest.”

Taking a step forward, I gave him another kiss and whispered, “I like you this way,  remember? My sweaty D-man.”

He gulped a breath. “Lead on, then.”

We took our time undressing each other. When I removed Todd’s shirt, I gaped at his  impressive physique as always: brawny arms, massive pecs, and a rippling six-pack. A large  tattoo, a beautiful depiction of a wolf in the forest, ran from the nape of his neck to the middle of  his back. Todd said it symbolized loyalty and family, as well as a willingness to become  ferocious to protect what was dear to him. He’d told me he wanted to have one about us done on  his chest—over his heart—and we’d design it together when our relationship was no longer a  secret.

ICE ANGELS Copyright © 2021 Ryan Taylor & Joshua Harwood. All Rights Reserved.

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Meet the Authors

Ryan Taylor and Joshua Harwood met in law school and were married in 2017. They live in a suburb of Washington, DC and share their home with a big, cuddly German shepherd. Ryan and Josh enjoy travel, friends, and advocating for causes dear to their hearts. Ryan also loves to swim, and Josh likes to putter in the garden whenever he can. The romance they were so lucky to find with each other inspires their stories about love between out and proud men.

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New Release Blitz: The Mad Monk and the Christmas Pie by Mark Lesney (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Mad Monk and the Christmas Pie

Author: Mark Lesney

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/26/2021

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 105700

Genre: Historical Holiday, LGBTQIA+, performance arts, humor, mystery, cleric, con artist, medium, murder

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Description

Nineteenth-century New York was hardly the place for Alexander Collier, a ne’er do-well actor and ex-con, to make a living. So, teaming up with the so-called “Mad Monk” for a safe home and a little chicanery seemed a necessary compromise if he was going to survive.

Alexander joins Brother Sebastian—a renegade Trappist monk-cum-spiritualist—in his crusade to protect the religious treasures of history from private greed. Brother Sebastian uses his “powers” as a heavenly medium to trick Robber Barons and wealthy members of society into doing good and turning over priceless artifacts. But where guile does not suffice, a little housebreaking, pickpocketing, and theft by the monk’s misfit crew of servants and rogues can turn the tide—at least until treachery leads to a Christmas murder and an unexpected romance.

Excerpt

The Mad Monk and the Christmas Pie
Mark Lesney © 2021
All Rights Reserved

New York City, August 1897

If I had known Stephen was going to try to kill me, I might have practiced my fencing more often.

For some reason, my nemesis was now darting at me like a fiend, his sword slashing. These weren’t our choreographed moves—he was out for blood.

He’d warned me he was going to kill me if I didn’t stop smiling at his wife or talking to her beyond the confines of rehearsals and the stage. But how could I take him seriously? I knew he never loved her, not really in the manner of husband and wife, for the very same reason I was not a credible threat to what passed for their wedded bliss.

I liked Sarah, and she appreciated me. She was one of the few people with wit in the company, so why would I listen to her fool of a husband and break off our budding friendship? But my nonchalance in the face of his threats was finally going to get me killed—or at least would wind up killing my career.

I dodged and parried across the stage, nearly slipping on the smooth wooden planking in front of the floor lamps; it was too soon for me to die, both in real life and the play. Stephen’s face was wild, his eyes wide with fury, though the stark menace in his gaze was somewhat spoiled by the almost comic beard, spirit-glued beneath his real mustache.

As he thrust at me with his sword, I froze for a moment in panic, then barely dodged away. The blade was conspicuously missing the guard on its tip—the nubbed cover that was supposed to keep me from getting skewered. My blade, of course, was useless as a weapon, except for parrying. I had intended no mayhem, so I hadn’t even dreamed of removing the protective sheath.

I did my best to try to disarm him, even though he was so much better than me at swordplay, having practiced it incessantly like a little boy with a new hobby. I’d watched him in mild disdain at how seriously he took it up with our trainer. Though more likely, he wanted to gain proficiency for the chance to engage in another sort of swordplay with our German fencing teacher. Herr Heimrich admittedly had excellent form—especially in white tights.

I’d admired them both as they leaped about in the gymnasium, not realizing that all the while Stephen was practicing how to kill me.

*****

“God, look at them. I’d almost give Karl a tumble myself,” Sarah had breathed out softly, watching her husband and the fencing instructor in action just two short days ago before our opening.

She’d held one hand to her eyes, squinting beneath her chestnut-colored bangs at their quite impressive dance. Both of us were half blinded by the rays of the early morning sun pouring through the arched windows of the fancy gymnasium. The theater management had rented it to hold both our fencing and our dancing lessons.

Sarah pursed her small, delicately pink, and slightly greasy lips. She was nibbling on a buttered crusted roll.

Karl had a nice behind. A perfectly normal, nice, masculine backside, well complemented by the muscular torso above it, the square-jawed manliness of his face, and the dark black of his close-cropped hair.

But Stephen? Greek sculptors might have been at a loss carving such a perfect set of nether quarters out of marble. And Stephen knew it, always choosing pants a size too small, consciously outlining those firm and perfectly formed buttocks. They were not too big to make them feminine, and unlike too many men, they were not so flat as to seem not there at all. He was modestly endowed from the front, as outlined by the slightly noticeable bulge. But then again, his was the perfect Greek mean in all his physical aspects. And though Greeks had gods, not angels, Stephen would have been an ideal naked subject for a Michelangelo to have brought worshipful religious beauty into light.

His golden hair in the sun’s rays through the window was a halo that put my yellow hair to straw in comparison. Had he been a slightly less flamboyant actor, there would have been no one who could have kept him from the highest temples of the stage.

But sadly for the world, and more so for his wife, that perfect ass of Stephen’s was also mounted on the perfect ass. A man whose wit was brilliant, but pointed like a surgeon’s knife, one who operated on the psyches of the people around him without the benefit of chloroform. Or perhaps he was more like a fishmonger, filleting the souls of his victims, like poor Sarah, one right after the other.

But damned that grace and beauty as he slashed and danced in whirling swordsmanship like a master. Or the lead male in a perfectly choreographed ballet, which in truth was what this was, a set of moves destined to awe and captivate an audience far more significant than his poor wife and me.

“It is a marvelous rear end, I must admit,” said Sarah. And I had the grace to blush. She must have been following my thoughts…and gaze.

“But I truly fell in love with him because of his eyes. And I still melt when he looks at me in a certain way. And I tell myself he always comes home, eventually, no matter how far he strays. To me.”

“He’d be a fool not to,” I said chivalrously.

“Yes. Especially since Stephen’s such an utter idiot with money. I hold the purse strings, after all. It’s so hard to keep up paying for his clothes, though, his port, his cigars, and his expensive gifts to agonizingly winsome younger men.”

“Men throw themselves at you all the time. Or try to,” I countered.

“And sadly, no one interests me but Stephen. The one I can’t have.”

I was slightly embarrassed and looked back down at the men in their dance below us.

It was hard not to admire the lunge and thrust between the two of them, both shining in the sunlight in their fencing uniforms. I sighed, knowing my practice bout was next. I was more sturdily built than either of them and much too tall to manage such elegance with a blade. And frankly, I was not at all motivated to exert myself to such tremendous efforts just to look good in a play. Acting was a necessity for me, not a grand ambition as it was for Stephen.

Sarah sighed. “Part of me would almost take Karl to bed for the fun of showing Stephen he couldn’t have just any handsome man he blinked his lashes at. There are still men who prefer women in this world,” she said, popping the last bite of the roll into her mouth. “Though I never seem to meet them,” she finished after a moment’s chewing. “And sometimes I wish I’d married one.”

She was staring directly into my eyes, and I had to look away. She knew full well what I was about, and this was just uncomfortable. The whole conversation was.

“It’s a wonder Stephen never took a fancy to you, Alex. Though I suppose it’s understandable. You’re too threatening to him.”

“Threatening! I’m nothing but a bit player, and he’s one of the twin lights of the modern theater. A younger Jack Gilman…”

“Don’t let Jack hear you say that or Stephen either.” She laughed. “No, you threaten him in so many ways. You’re almost as handsome as Stephen in your way. Even though your nose is a little crooked, no one can see that from the stage. And you’re a bit less pretty. But then, you don’t try to be good-looking as hard as Stephen does. Don’t you hate what he does with his mustache? That wax!

“You’ve lived a real life. A hard life. Not cushioned in a world of make-believe like Stephen. You’ve been out West. You’re an ex-Pinkerton, a former jailbird, a salesman, and everything in-between. You’ve experienced twice the life Stephen has if even half your stories are true, and it shows in everything about you. There’s no pretense. Stephen is all pretense. He’s just an actor. That’s why he hates you. Why he’s jealous.”

“Well, my stories as you call them are all true, though perhaps a tad less glamorous than I make them out to be when I’m drunk. But I’m certainly trying my damnedest to be an actor now. And surely even he can see how little a threat I am in that department!”

“Language, Alexander,” she corrected me automatically. “I love Stephen with my whole heart and soul, but at his worst, he’s a vain little coward and a bit of a bully. And sometimes a spoiled brat! And you show him up by not paying the slightest bit of attention to his boundless wealth of charm.”

I wisely laughed at what she said as if it were a joke.

I was too curious for my own good then. I asked, “Have you and Stephen ever managed to fulfill your marriage vows?” The idea was so foreign to my nature I couldn’t imagine someone like Stephen, someone like me…

“Oh yes, and that’s the terrible thing. It’s the endless chain binding me, giving me belief. And hope.

“Because I am the only woman Stephen ever managed to make love to, however rarely he manages it, and however drunk he has to be. I don’t know what makes me special in his eyes. I only know that I long for those nights when he embraces me with wild passion and then falls into misery like a frightened child clinging to me when we are through. I can’t break free. Because, I guess, at heart, I don’t really want to.”

I shuddered and wondered why she was telling me all this. I had asked without really expecting an answer, but a joking dismissal. It was a horribly private thing to bring up. But then I often wondered what it was about me that made people pour out their confidences. They’d air their dirty laundry as if I were some papist clergyman in a confessional. Perhaps it was my sympathetic face. Or maybe it was because one thing I had learned in life was one should never judge. At least not out loud.

“I’m such a fool, Alexander, a terrible fool. Because I do love him. I love him so much I—” She turned to me, smiled sadly, and reached out to squeeze my hand for comfort. I put my other hand on hers and pressed gently. Then I turned to look down and saw the fencers had paused, separated for a moment from their dance, resting and drinking water scooped up in ladles from a bucket.

Stephen was staring at me now while elegantly dabbing delicate beads of sweat from his perfect forehead with a small white towel. And if he were indeed the living sculpture of a god, I knew right then I would be dead, a lightning bolt tearing through my brain from the hatred he was beaming at me.

I quickly released Sarah’s hand, and the hatred in his gaze spread to a nasty smirk upon his lips and whispered words I couldn’t hear from where I sat, but ones I knew didn’t bode me any good.

And yet, the man was beautiful, even in his mask of jealousy and hatred as Lucifer must have been, still angelic as he fell from heaven’s heights while cursing God.

I should have heeded the warning then.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Mark Lesney is a single gay man of a certain age, living with the obligatory cat. His only fiction credential before “Interview with the Kevin” is a semi-comic steampunk M/M romance novelette, “The Golden Goose,” published in the “Steamed Up” anthology, sadly now out of print.

His non-fiction writing credits, however, are extensive. Currently, he is the managing editor of two medical newspapers, for which he also writes routinely. For over 6 years, his science and history articles appeared monthly in two newsmagazines, for which he was a writer/editor at the American Chemical Society. His credits also include science articles published in Analog Science Fiction/Science Fact. He has a PhD in plant pathology and a second PhD in the history of science.

He has worked as a research scientist and university professor. But his love has always been reading and writing fiction—with science fiction/fantasy, mystery, paranormal romance, and historicals all grappling for his affections. He is now determined to pursue that dream intensely.

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New Release Blitz ~ Dark & Deadly Collection (Giveaway)

Dark & Deadly Collection

It’s Halloween, and the trick-or-treaters won’t be satisfied with candy. These Halloween-themed BDSM stories are sure to cause a thrill. You’re invited to a fancy dress party in the dungeon and introduced to Doms even scarier than their costumes…will it be love at first strike?

Under His Dominance by Jasmine Hill

Can he keep her forever, under his dominance?

Asmodeus is the Archdemon of lust. Ever since he became a fallen angel, he’s been walking the earth, inciting and encouraging lust and lechery amongst mankind. In his guise of Barrett Lord, he rules over an empire of clubs that cater to the lustful urges and fetishes of humans.

When he spots Arianell Monroe at his annual Halloween party, he determines to have her. Her angelic beauty and innocence are too much for him to ignore. He wants to take her purity as his own, corrupt her and ruin her for any other man. And he’s going to start by introducing her to his private BDSM dungeon.

Arianell is fascinated by BDSM, but her shyness, coupled with the reactions others have had to her albinism, has kept her from exploring her curiosity. But something about Barrett Lord puts her instantly at ease. She’s immediately attracted to the powerful and dominant club owner and finds herself quickly sucked into his heady orbit. She naturally submits to his commanding alpha presence and sexual dominance but determines to set her heart and head against him. Even she knows that he’s not the sort of man who will commit—to anything.

Arianell is special and Asmodeus wants to keep her, but to do so, he’ll have to risk everything. Will she agree to his plans? Or will he lose her forever?

Reader advisory: This book contains instances of possessive behavior as well as pain play.

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Reclaimed by Her Alphas by Jayce Carter

Halloween is the perfect time for these three alphas to give their omega a treat…

When Claire fell in love with Bryce, Joshua and Kaidan, she thought she’d found her happily ever after, but her life seems more trick than treat these days. A year after having their daughter, Claire barely recognizes her own mates. Between their new roles as parents, their exhaustion as they raise a child and Claire’s fears about how her body has changed, they’ve become little more than roommates.

Hoping to give them all a break, Claire throws a Halloween Party for the alphas and omegas of their group. The tension between Claire, Bryce, Joshua and Kaidan is on display, and their friends are willing to intervene for the good of the foursome, even if that means risqué clothing, a bag of toys and more than a little manipulation.

Claire and her alphas finally get some time alone…but they’ll have to risk taking off the masks they’ve been hiding behind if they hope to turn their scary story into a Halloween treat.

Reader advisory: This book is linked to The Omega’s Alphas series.

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Show Me Something Good by Hannah Murray

Kit Howard likes to watch. Nathaniel Saint likes to watch Kit…

Kit Howard loves everything about her job except for one: Nathaniel Saint. Her boss’s grumpy, grouchy twin brother and co-owner of the company is both a thorn in her side and fodder for her fantasies. She does her best to stay out of his way—having a crush on the boss is the reason why the previous executive assistant left, and while that worked out okay for her, Kathleen isn’t willing to risk her job for sex, no matter how good it might be.

Since sexy, sulky Nate isn’t an option, she’s forced to consider others. Thanks to a friend, she has an invitation to a “private” Halloween party held by the local BDSM club. While Kit has no interest in bondage, pain, or the power games of BDSM, she does have one kink—she likes to watch. And the glorious thing about the kink scene is that it’s often on glorious display. scene is one of the few places where voyeurs are welcomed along with everyone else.

Including, apparently, the grumpy, grouchy Nathaniel Saint. Because he just walked in the door, and he’s headed straight for her.

Reader advisory: This book is linked to the Perfect Taboo series.

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About the Authors

Jasmine Hill

Jasmine was born in Australia and grew up in Sydney. She currently lives in Madrid, Spain with her husband.

She adores reading all genres but in particular she enjoys erotic romance novels and thrillers.

Jasmine loves writing and is always looking for new ideas for stories that will provoke inner passions, stimulate the senses and ignite the imagination.

Her interests include cooking, traveling, yoga and skiing.

She has won some short story competitions and is now excited to have started publishing her erotic romance stories through Totally Bound Publishing.

Jayce Carter

Jayce Carter lives in Southern California with her husband and two spawns. She originally wanted to take over the world but realized that would require wearing pants. This led her to choosing writing, a completely pants-free occupation. She has a fear of heights yet rock climbs for fun and enjoys making up excuses for not going out and socializing. You can learn more about her at her website.

Hannah Murray

Hannah has been reading romance novels since she was young enough to have to hide them from her mother. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband—former Special Forces and an OR nurse who writes sci-fi fantasy and acts as In-House Expert on matters pertaining to weapons, tactics, the military, medical conditions and How Dudes Think—and their daughter, who takes after her father.

Find out more about Hannah at her website and blog.

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New Release Blitz: Dublin Bay by John Patrick (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Dublin Bay

Series: Tides of Change, Book One

Author: John Patrick

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/26/2021

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 87200

Genre: Historical, LGBTQIA+, Historical, Ireland, World War II, PTSD, IRA, espionage, minister, new adult

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Description

In 1939, the world tumbles toward war and the lives of two young men will be forever changed.

James Brennan grew up in the poorest of Dublin’s tenements, turning adversity to advantage wherever he could. But he’s nearly a man now—with a good education at that—and wants more from life than what he can get as a day laborer, or following his father into the factory.

Otto Werner is the privileged son of a German diplomat stationed in Dublin. Otto is destined for great things in the new Europe sure to arise after Germany’s victory in the war. But he’s a lonely young man, living in Ireland with only his father for company, cut off from friends and family back home.

The two teens meet by chance, and each sees in the other a means to advance his own interests. But they quickly become friends, and then—surprisingly, dangerously—more. As the globe spirals deeper into chaos, the love between the young men deepens; but their world is not a hospitable place for forbidden love.

As war comes closer and closer to home, everything they believe—about themselves, about each other, about the world around them—will be shattered. Will their love for each other survive the pull toward destruction in a world gone mad?

Excerpt

Dublin Bay
John Patrick © 2021
All Rights Reserved

September 1939

I was standing ankle-deep in the murky shallows of Dublin Bay when I first saw Otto Werner. The tide was receding and I was following its path, scraping mussels off the rocks of the breakwater with my dull knife. My feet pulled out of the thick mud with a suctioning plop each step I took.

Otto stood at the far end of the pier above me, enduring the attentions of a woman—his mother, I guessed—as she fussed over him, tucking back his hair, straightening his tie, smoothing his lapels. He was nearly as tall as she was.

Just for a moment, a shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds and spotlighted him, a golden youth descended from heaven.

He looked dressed for Mass, or a wake.

My vantage point was limited by the height of the piled rocks, and I needed a better look. I wedged my wooden bucket into a wide opening between boulders and pulled myself up, slipping on seaweed and scraping my side.

The woman released him, smoothed the front of her coat, then placed one hand on top of his head, as if in benediction. Her other hand gripped her hat as a sudden gust threatened to lift it.

A man who had to be his father stood behind him, looking impatient. The man and his son were both tall, lean figures, with shockingly bright blond hair, although the youth would need to grow several more inches if he was to reach his father’s height. They wore hats of an unusual style. The man carried himself with authority and stood as if on parade. The son was gangly but tried to mirror his father’s pose now that he’d been released from his mother’s arms.

The Cambria mailboat was docked farther down, at the end of the pier, and when I pulled my eyes away from the youth, I noticed dozens of people waiting to board, along with stacked piles of trunks and packages staged for loading. All of the passengers were dressed in finery.

It was an odd time for so many people to be traveling to Wales, less than two weeks after the declaration of war.

I climbed down and stepped back into the shallows to continue my work, moving deeper into the bay as I filled my bucket. The top of the breakwater was just above my head, and all sound from the shore was washed out by the waves breaking against the rocks ahead of me. The sun was suddenly bright again, and the harbor waters shifted from deep purple to green and silver.

Once I’d filled my bucket with mussels, I added seawater and fixed the wooden lid to the top. I made my way back to dry land, green strands of rockweed clinging to my calves below my rolled-up trousers. Small cuts covered my fingers, and sandy grit smeared my face from when I’d leveraged myself up for a closer look at the people on the dock.

As I stepped from the narrow strip of stones above the tide line onto the pier itself, I saw the Cambria pulling away, steam whistling in a high shriek as the screws churned the water. Terns dove into the frothy mix.

The man and his son were still standing on the dock.

I put my bucket down and stretched my shoulders, then picked it up and walked to the harbormaster’s station at the front of the pier. My dad’s cousin, Eamon, worked for the harbormaster, and he was leaning against the side of the building next to my bicycle, finishing the black bread and cheese I’d given him when I arrived. He waved forward the group of children waiting their turn at the rocks, and they raced toward the sand with their jumble of buckets and rakes.

Eamon eyed my haul. “Good take, Jimmy?” he asked between mouthfuls.

“Yes, and there’ll be plenty left for that gang too.” I nodded to the children disappearing down the mudflat.

“Good. I don’t mind holding them off for you, but they need to get theirs too.”

I righted my bike, and Eamon helped me fit the weighty bucket into the square metal cage above my rear tire. “What’s with the mailboat?” I asked.

“That’s the Germans. We got word yesterday of some sort of deal to get them home. The ones who wanted to leave, anyway. Makes no sense to me. I’d rather sit the fighting out right here if I was them.”

I looked to my right, down the length of the dock, and saw the man and his son heading our way. It was obvious they were German now that I knew—sharp-angled faces and oddly cut clothes. Their hats made me think of the Alps. The son glanced back, once, at the Cambria as it made its way through the breakwater and into the bay.

I turned back to Eamon. “Who do you think will win?”

“I don’t know. Plenty wouldn’t mind seeing the Germans give the English a good thrashing, that’s for sure,” he replied.

I thought of my older brother, Liam, who’d been spending a lot of time with his IRA pals before he joined the Irish Defense Force. There was no love lost between him and the English. My dad didn’t offer an opinion. “Keep your head down and tend to your own,” he’d say. “We’ll have enough on our plates with our own Emergency.” But then, he was often half lost in drink and spared little time thinking beyond the next glass.

“Right. We’ll just keep our heads down,” I told Eamon, echoing my father.

The man and his son had stopped at the street, beside a fancy black car with a small German flag on its antenna. The youth kept pointing at me as he spoke with his father. I supposed I looked a proper mess.

I’d just gotten my bicycle rolling, not an easy task with thirty pounds of mussels on the back, when the man called out to me.

“Boy. Stop a moment.” I barely avoided toppling over as I brought myself to an abrupt halt next to them. I stood on my toes, straddling the bike to keep it steady.

“Those are mussels, yes? Are they for sale?” he asked.

I didn’t say anything. They weren’t for sale; they were destined for our stewpot at home. Meat of any sort had become quite dear since the Emergency was announced, with rumors of rationing ahead. Most families like mine had resorted to scavenging what they could. And anyway, mussels were working-people food, so why would this German gentleman be interested?

He must have read the suspicion in my eyes. “My son and I are celebrating our first night as bachelors.” He glanced at the young man next to him. “Isn’t that right, Otto?” Otto. A harsh, foreign-sounding name. Otto remained silent, studying me.

The man turned back to me and continued. “We had them once from a street vendor in France, and Otto loved them, but his mother wouldn’t permit them in the house. She said they were too common.” He seemed to realize that was a mistake, and he looked aside. “That is… I mean, Otto and I both liked them.”

When I didn’t respond, he asked, “How much do want for the whole bucket?”

I still hadn’t answered his question if they were for sale. The son—Otto—was staring at me. I had strands of seaweed wrapped around my legs, and my gritty hair was plastered to the side of my face. I was puzzling through the man’s accent, somehow crisply British yet guttural at the same time. I returned Otto’s stare, wondering if he would sound the same.

His piercing blue eyes didn’t leave mine as he took a step toward me and held out his hand. “I’m Otto,” he said.

Both of my hands had scrapes and cuts and were covered in sand and drying mud. There was no clean surface for me to wipe them.

“Otto…” his father began, before trailing off uncomfortably.

What else could I do? I extended my hand and, as lightly as I could without offending, closed it around his. “Jimmy,” I replied. Then, for some reason, I added, “James.”

“Hello, James. Would you sell your mussels to us? My father and I wouldn’t know where to buy them at the market.” His English was much better than his father’s but sounded more forced, perhaps because he spoke slowly, as if he wanted to be certain of each word before letting it out.

What was it about this strange, foreign youth that fascinated me? He looked to be about my age, sixteen or so. He was a good four inches taller though, and his skin was a smooth, rich cream, without scars or scrapes or sand or mud. He’d removed his hat and his blond curls shifted about in the wind.

His father spoke again and offered a ridiculous price for the bucket. We could buy a real Sunday roast with that, even carrots and potatoes, and have some to spare.

I schooled my expression. “Oh, sure, that’s a fair price for the lot of ’em,” I offered as casually as I could.

The man seemed relieved. “Good,” he said and glanced at his son, as if seeking to confirm he’d done the right thing.

Otto’s wide smile was a surprise. It transformed him somehow.

Something ticked over deep inside me.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

John Patrick lives in the Berkshire Hills of Massachusetts, where he is supported in his writing by his husband and their terrier, who is convinced he could do battle with the bears that come through the woods on occasion (the terrier, that is, not the husband).

John is an introvert and can often be found doing introverted things like reading or writing, cooking, and thinking deep, contemplative thoughts (his husband might call this napping). He loves to spend time in nature—“forest bathing” is the Japanese term for it—feeling connected with the universe. But he also loathes heat and humidity, bugs of any sort, and unsteady footing in the form of rocks, mud, tree roots, snow, or ice. So, his love of nature is tempered; he’s complicated that way.

John and his husband enjoy traveling and have visited over a dozen countries, meeting new people, exploring new cultures, and—most importantly—discovering new foods. After such travels, John invariably comes down with a cold. During a trip to Japan in 2019, he was amazed by how many people wore surgical masks in public to protect both themselves and others from viruses. “Gosh,” John thought, “wouldn’t it be great if we’d do this in the US?” John sometimes regrets the wishes he makes.

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New Release Blitz ~ Skeletal Equation by AE Lister (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Skeletal Equation by AE Lister

Word Count: 30,378
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 135

Genres:

BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
HALLOWEEN
MÉNAGE AND MULTIPLE PARTNERS

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Book Description

 

What do medical kink, pup play and Halloween have in common? Scott Vernier. A visit to the local leather bar offers an unexpected treat!

Scott Vernier is lonely and bored, but he’d rather sit at home and mope than go out. A promise to a friend forces him to attend the annual Halloween party at Sonny’s, his local leather bar. Amid the tacky costumes and seasonal desperation, Scott meets two people he never expected to encounter.

Can a man well-versed in medical kink and his leather-pup boyfriend introduce Scott to a whole new world of illicit pleasure?

When Dr. Jericho Griffin gets down to business, Scott finds himself responding in explosive ways.

Reader advisory: This book features discussion only of scat, enemas and needle play. There are scenes of pup play and a scene involving voyeurism.

Excerpt

The scariest thing about Halloween currently was how little I cared for it. As a younger gay man, I’d have planned my costume for months, figuring out the sexiest way to be a zombie, a vampire or any of the other popular standards, and I’d have attended at least three parties to try to get laid. Now I was too old and jaded to care about any of that.

But it was a week until Halloween, and I had no excuses. I’d told Duke I’d be at the local gay leather bar for the annual party. He was scheduled to bartend that night and I’d foolishly committed to being there, at least for part of the evening.

I hated Halloween.

I’d loved it as a child, and as a teen and young adult, it had been an excuse to get smashed and flirt with people I’d be too intimidated by otherwise. But now, as an adult? Halloween seemed like a waste of time. I definitely had better things to do.

Or did I?

It was true that I hadn’t socialized a lot recently, because my job was exhausting, even though it fulfilled me. As an anthropology professor at the local college, I had classes to teach most days and students to support during office hours. Then there was the prep time and marking… I’d managed to fit my life into an organized and workable routine, but I was a busy man.

I had promised Duke I’d try to have some fun, simply to get him off my back and stop him from calling me ‘old before my time’—although the annual Halloween Ball at Sonny’s wasn’t exactly my idea of a great time.

For one thing, I didn’t have a costume. For another thing, I didn’t want to wear one.

But costumes were compulsory for this event, so I had to make at least a minimal effort. I had a T-shirt, somewhere, with glow-in-the-dark bones on it. If I could find it, I’d wear that and say I was a skeleton. Yeah, that was pretty dumb, but the guys who worked the door knew me, and I was pretty sure they’d let me in. It paid to be friends with the bartender, even though he pressured me to be more social.

I liked Duke a lot. He was a bear of a man but the sweetest guy anyone would ever meet. I’d gotten to know him when he’d taken one of my anthropology courses. He’d invited me for dinner once the semester had ended, and he and his cute-as-hell boyfriend Julius had cooked me the most amazing spaghetti Bolognese I’d ever eaten. It was a fast friendship with them both after that. Julius worked in IT and made good money, so Duke could bartend a few nights a week and spend the rest of his time making small sculptures out of reclaimed ‘junk’ and taking occasional classes of interest to him.

I didn’t have many close friends, and I considered Duke and Julius to be an important part of my life, especially as I hadn’t been able to find a partner to join me on this questionable journey. I’d had the occasional boyfriend, but the long-term bond had never become anything significant before either I or the other guy decided things weren’t working. I wondered if I had the temperament for a permanent relationship.

Some people were meant to be single and maybe I was one of them.

I dug through three drawers before I found my skeleton shirt scrunched in the corner. Great, it will be wrinkled as well as dumb. Ah well, there was nothing to do about it. I wasn’t gonna fucking iron it. I didn’t even think I owned an iron. Ironing seemed like the most useless and annoying chore on this planet, and I wasn’t going to be a part of it.

I slid the shirt over my head and stepped in front of the mirror. It fit a little tight, but that was okay. That just showed off my slim build to my advantage and made some of the wrinkles disappear. The sleeves were plenty long and the fabric gathered slightly at my wrists. I pulled down on the bottom edge of the shirt. It wasn’t too bad but would probably show skin if I had to reach my arms up. I wasn’t planning to do that, so it should be fine.

The bones glowed in the dimness of the room, even though the shirt had been in my drawer. I’d wear it around the house so it could absorb more light. I’d have to be careful not to spill anything on it while doing the dishes, but the more I wore it, the quicker the rest of the wrinkles would come out.

Luckily, I was able to load the dishes and wipe the counter without incident, and when I checked myself again, I was pleased with my half-assed attempt at participation. It would have to do, and at least I looked sexy. I’d put on my brown faux-leather pants that hugged my hips and showed off my long, slim legs. I was of average height and my black hair had begun to streak with gray, but I was fit and strong and didn’t look half bad tonight, if I was honest. Maybe the visit to the popular club would be worth it and I’d be able to bring someone home for the evening. It had been a while since I’d seen any action. I didn’t want to contemplate how long.

I went to the bathroom and used some gel to muss my hair into an artfully untidy style. At the last minute, I applied some black eyeliner that I saved for special occasions when I was feeling it. Even though my enthusiasm for the Halloween party was negligible, my interest in seducing a warm body for a few hours began to rise.

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AE Lister

AE Lister/Elizabeth Lister is a Canadian non-binary author with a vivid imagination and a head full of unique and interesting characters. They have published 10 books, one of which received an Honorable Mention from the National Leather Association – International for excellence in SM/Leather/Fetish writing.

“Sensual and visceral BDSM.” – Amazon.ca

Find out more about AE Lister at their website, and follow them on Instagram and Patreon.

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New Release Blitz: About Time by Adrian J. Smith (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  About Time

Author: Adrian J. Smith

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/26/2021

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 62600

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, contemporary, lesbian, bisexual, doctor, chaplain, hospital, emergency room, enemies to lovers, slow burn, cheating, over 40

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Description

Doctor Gisele Vasquez is consumed by bitterness after the messy break up with her ex-husband, and it’s not until one smart-mouthed chaplain puts her in her place that she realizes she needs to change. With determination, she sets out to become the doctor and woman she wants, and her first step is to make a friend of the enemy.

Chaplain June Melville loves her job and making a difference in her patients’ lives. While she looks put together at work, her home life is about to all fall apart. When she discovers her girlfriend is cheating, June finds herself homeless, alone, and desperate. With nowhere to turn except one angry doctor turned friend, June takes a step in the direction of her own healing.

Excerpt

About Time
Adrian J. Smith © 2021
All Rights Reserved

June’s second phone vibrating alerted her to the emergency. Sighing and wordlessly issuing an apology to Lydia, who sat across the table, she reached to her waistband and unclipped the cell. She skimmed the words and closed her eyes briefly.

“I’m so sorry to cut this short.” June grabbed her iced tea and took a big sip. “I got a call, have to go in.”

Lydia rolled her eyes and let out a huff before flicking her perfectly curled blonde hair behind her shoulder. “You always leave like this.”

“I’m on call, Lydia. You know what that means. I get a call. I have to go in.”

Lydia scrunched her nose and pouted out her lower lip before whining, “Just stay through dinner. I promise I’ll make it worth your while…”

She slid her warm hand up June’s thigh. As much as June wanted to stay, she knew Lydia was unlikely to keep her promise after already being put out with the thought of her leaving. Not to mention work was work, and she loved her job.

“It’s my job. You know that.”

The pout reappeared, and June bit her tongue, avoiding the retort she wanted to make. Instead, she grabbed her coat and her scarf.

“I’m leaving. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Again. The pout.

Wrinkling her nose, June pushed out of her seat, threw her coat over her shoulders, and wrapped the scarf around her neck. She leaned over the table, kissed Lydia on her still-pouting lips, and headed out of the door. Her stomach twisted at the thought of Lydia’s tantrum that was no doubt about to blow up her phone.

Once she reached her car, she untwisted her scarf and slipped out her dickie from the glove compartment. She shoved the front of the dickie down the front of her shirt, wrapped it around her neck, and snapped it into place before reaching back into the glove compartment. The box was decently small, black and smooth to touch, but it was one of the most important boxes she’d ever been given. She brushed her fingers over it, opened it, and pulled out the white clerical collar she’d worn too many times to count. Fitting the white collar over her black dickie, June made sure everything was in place before starting her car and taking off toward the hospital.

June pulled up to the large and ofttimes-looming building and parked in the designated chaplain spot. Rubbing her thumb over her lower lip, she let out a short breath and a prayer. “Lord, be with me tonight. Let me speak your words. Let me do your work.”

She pushed open the door to her old rickety car and slammed it shut to make sure it locked. She really needed to get that fixed. Making a mental note, she pocketed her keys, straightened her jacket, and headed inside and out of the cold.

The hospital was a-bustle as it typically was on a Friday night. June ducked off into a hallway, flashed her badge against a door, and went into a back hallway permitted only for those who worked at the hospital. June left the restricted area, turning down two more hallways and keying through a couple more doors, and found herself in front of the chaplain’s offices.

She unlocked the door, took off her jacket, and tossed it over her chair before heading back out and toward the Emergency Room. She checked in at the nurses’ station, but she easily heard which room she’d be going to. Jerica was the charge nurse that evening, and June smiled at her before nodding, indicating she wanted an update as soon as possible.

Jerica shook her head. “Not good. Family is in room three. They came in about an hour ago. Two-year-old son sneaked out the doggie door at the grandparents’ house and climbed into the hot tub. It’s not looking good.”

“Who’s in there?”

“Mom and Dad just got here. Grandparents have been here the whole time, along with the five-year-old brother. He’s the one who found the two-year-old.”

“Goodness.” June’s heart thumped.

“You’re telling me.” Jerica looked at her patient tablet. “They’ll be moving him to PICU as soon as they can get transport, but he’s stable for now.”

“Got it.” Straightening her shoulders, June turned on her heel and headed in the direction of the wailing and yelling. It was going to be a long night.

Inside the private room, she found the family. Father shouting at grandma, mother sobbing, grandfather in shock and in the corner with wide eyes, and big brother holding grandpa’s hand with fear written all over his face. June had her work cut out.

“Sorry to interrupt. I’m Chaplain Melville.”

The room became pregnant with silence. In the center of it all, a small boy lay prone on a giant hospital bed. Tubes and wires connected him to machines. His lifeline protruded from his mouth, forcing air into his lungs as his chest rose and fell in an unnatural rhythm.

“I’m so sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” June stood upright and transformed her features into a look of compassion. “What’s his name?”

“Travis.” His mother choked on the word.

“What a beautiful name for a beautiful child.” June stepped closer to the bed, directing her next question at big brother. “And what’s your name?”

“Austin,” he squeaked out. “Is my brother going to be okay?”

Tears threatened June’s eyes, but she had to push them back. Her job was to remain strong for them when they couldn’t be. She squatted down to Austin’s level. “I don’t know, Austin. But I do know we’re going to do our very best to take care of him. Okay?”

Austin nodded.

June stood up again. “I’m here to support you all through this crisis. I’m here to be a sounding board, to pray with you, to be a second or a third ear. What you need to do right now is focus on this little boy here and making sure he has all the support and love he needs.”

Everyone in the room nodded. Immediately, the energy level went from critical anger to calm. June had already done the majority of her work, and it was far easier than it could have been. Moving into the second phase of her job, she moved closer to Travis.

“Tell me a bit about your son. Let me get to know him like you know him. We probably have a few minutes before the doctors interrupt us again.”

No sooner had she spoken the words than Doctor Giselle Vasquez pushed open the door with her face buried in her patient computer. Two nurses followed closely behind her, and she barely looked up from her screen. June pressed her lips together, wishing it had been any other doctor that evening. Vasquez was known for being harsh, cold-hearted, and quick to dismiss family.

The air in the room tightened. The mother’s lips parted as she looked desperately at Vasquez, no doubt wanting answers right then and there. June straightened herself as well, ready for a battle she didn’t even know she was going to have to fight.

“I’m Doctor Vasquez.” She set the computer on the table next to the bed and shifted onto one foot, digging her toe into the worn linoleum. “Travis is going to be moved to our PICU unit so they can more closely watch him. These nurses are going to get him ready for the transfer.”

“Is he going to be okay?” The words tumbled from the father’s mouth in a rush.

The question was on the floor. All Vasquez had to do was answer kindly, but June feared her temper she was known for would get the best of her. Ready to step in between if necessary, she waited for Vasquez to respond.

“I can’t answer that.” She shook her head.

June narrowed her eyes, daring to believe she saw a flash of compassion. Perhaps not all hope was lost.

“Well, what can you tell us?” The father’s shoulders stiffened, and for a brief moment, June feared she might have to step in between again but for an entirely different reason. Her job was to be a go-between and a support for whomever needed it, staff and patient alike. The father was antagonistic. She’d learned that in the twenty-seconds she’d known him, and fear tickled in the back of her throat that if pushed even in the slightest, he would blow in the wrong direction.

“Your son almost drowned.” Vasquez leaned against the bed, softening her tone. June had never seen her do something like this before. “We were able to revive him, but we won’t know the extent of the damage until we’re able to run more tests, which we can’t do until it’s been a sufficient amount of time for his body to recover. We don’t know if he’ll walk again or talk again or even be able to breathe on his own again. What we do know is he’s alive, and we’re going to keep as close an eye on him as possible. They can do that in the PICU, the pediatric intensive care unit. Until then, I don’t and won’t have answers for you.”

The father’s lips parted, and he jerked forward, but the mother put her hand up to stop him. Tension rose in June’s chest, waiting for the father to break.

“You’re going to have to wait,” June said, wanting to keep everything as civil as possible.

Tears swarmed in the mother’s eyes as she silently pleaded with her partner.

“Yelling is not going to solve anything. We need to rally together for Travis and for one another. Austin has also been through a great trauma tonight.” At the mention of his name, the father grabbed his son’s hand and tugged him closer to his side. It was a sign June was happy to see. “You need to all be here together for your children. Nothing else.”

They all reluctantly nodded. Vasquez stood up again. “Doctor Hineman will meet with you shortly once he has time to go through your son’s file.” She nodded to the nurses, who started to move the machines and get Travis’s small body ready for transport. “Until then, if you have any questions, feel free to ask, but you can expect him to be moved soon.”

Vasquez left the room shortly after, but June stayed with the family. The tension seemed to dissipate. The energy was gone. It didn’t take too much longer for the grandparents to take Austin out of the room to care for him, leaving Travis and his parents alone. June waited until the medical aides came to take Travis to transfer him. By that point, she felt the situation was under control and she could step out and leave them on their own for a bit. She made a mental note to check on them in the morning when she returned for her rounds.

June headed to the break room and grinned at the full pot of freshly brewed coffee. The scent wafted over to her and made her heart quiver with anticipation. She poured herself a full cup, sipped at the steaming liquid, and rolled her shoulders to ease the tension.

Lydia popped into her mind. She closed her eyes. Their relationship was ending. They both knew it, but neither wanted to admit it. Lydia was jealous of her work, and June just didn’t have the energy to deal with jealousy or clingy behavior. Taking a breath, she pulled out her phone. Sure enough, notifications littered the screen. She flicked through them, not paying close attention to what was said.

She’d read it all before. She’d had the conversation time and time again. But she wasn’t willing to leave her job, her career, her calling, the one thing she had spent a decade working on just because her partner didn’t like her hours. Sighing, June shook her head; they both knew it was more than that. Lydia was adamant God did not exist. She was even perhaps borderline paranoid about the Christian faith itself and its influences.

They’d survived the last year solely by not talking about it. That had been a bad idea from the beginning. Turning toward the door with the cup at her lips, she jumped and about spilled it all down her front when the door slammed open.

“Idiots!” The word left Vasquez’s lips as she came storming in.

June clenched her teeth. A fresh pot of coffee was a strong call for all in the vicinity, especially when it was obvious Jerica had brewed it.

Vasquez stopped short of June and rolled her eyes before walking around her to the coffee pot. “I swear no one listens to me.”

A chant went off in June’s mind, begging her not to take the bait, but she couldn’t resist. It was in her very nature to offer help when and where she could. The word left her lips before she could stop herself. “Oh?”

“Nothing you’d understand.” The sneer and pomp rang through her voice. Vasquez turned up her own cup and downed half of the contents.

June froze. She’d suffered this kind of abuse from Vasquez before, and she’d watched the nurses receive the same. Before she could even form a response, Vasquez was already going on again.

“They never listen. I told the idiotic nurses—”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” June put her hand up. Vasquez’s lips actually halted, much to June’s surprise. “I don’t need to hear the complaint. You don’t need to say it. You treat everyone around you like they’re your personal servant. I’ve had enough of it, and I’m not going to put up with it anymore. They won’t say anything because they’re all scared to set you off. You’re a brilliant doctor, but you’re also a bit of a bitch.”

Vasquez’s jaw dropped.

“Yup. I said it. You’re a bitch. I have watched you work in this hospital for years, and you went from being a good doctor with compassion to being the one who walks through the halls and everyone scatters in the other direction. No one likes you here anymore. But they used to. So, what changed?”

Silence. It permeated June’s heart to the point she could hear her own breathing, her own heartbeat, the one sip of coffee swirling in her stomach.

Vasquez dropped her half-full cup in the trash by the coffee pot before storming over to June. June wouldn’t be surprised if she was sucker punched. Surely, she deserved it after what she’d just let loose. But she’d had enough. If she’d been in her right mind, she would have used far more tact to broach that topic, but it was already out there, and there was nothing she could do to take it back.

Instead of a punch, Vasquez gave her a hard look as she walked by and shoved her way through the door and out of the room, leaving pulsing anger in her wake.

June let out an audible breath as her fingers tightened around her paper cup still filled with hot coffee. “That was close,” she muttered to herself. “Too close.”

She didn’t wait long before leaving the break room herself and heading toward her office to start paperwork. She’d wait another thirty minutes before checking on Travis’s family once more and potentially heading home until she was called in again. It was her one weekend a month, and while she loved her job, it was occasionally taxing. She’d spent a good amount of time avoiding Vasquez in the past few years, and it seemed as though she’d have to up her game for a bit while Vasquez cooled down.

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Meet the Author

Adrian J. Smith has been writing nearly her entire life but publishing since 2013. With a focus on women loving women fiction, AJ jumps genres from action-packed police procedurals to the seedier life of vampires and witches to sweet romances with a May-December twist. She loves writing and reading about women in the midst of the ordinariness of life.

AJ currently lives in Cheyenne, WY, although she moves often and has lived all over the United States. She loves to travel to different countries and places. She currently plays the roles of author, wife, mother to two rambunctious kids, and occasional handywoman. Connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, or her blog.

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