New Release Blitz: Human Enough by E.S. Yu (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Human Enough

Author: E.S. Yu

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: October 7, 2019

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 52400

Genre: Paranormal, LGBT, romance, paranormal, Ace, Pansexual, Autism, Crime, Alt Universe, law enforcement, vampires, friends to lovers, interracial

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Synopsis

When Noah Lau joined the Vampire Hunters Association, seeking justice for his parents’ deaths, he didn’t anticipate ending up imprisoned in the house of the vampire he was supposed to kill—and he definitely didn’t anticipate falling for that vampire’s lover.

Six months later, Noah’s life has gotten significantly more complicated. On top of being autistic in a world that doesn’t try to understand him, he still hunts vampires for a living…while dating a vampire himself. Awkward.

When one of Jordan’s vampire friends goes missing and Noah’s new boss at the VHA becomes suspicious about some of his recent cases, what starts off as a routine paperwork check soon leads Noah to a sinister conspiracy. As he investigates, he and Jordan get sucked into a deadly web of intrigue that will test the limits of their relationship.

Excerpt

Human Enough
E.S. Yu © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
As a vampire hunter, Noah was used to his plans going south in the worst possible ways. This op, however, was currently vying for one of the worst—by annoying him out of his goddamned mind.

On paper, it had sounded simple: a vampire had been responsible for some blood-drained corpses, probably a newly turned one based on how messy the crime scenes were, and Noah’s squad had been assigned to take care of the problem. They were in the unusual situation of being down one member while waiting for their new squad leader to arrive, but the op should’ve been easily doable for a three-person team. According to their intel, the vampire always left his suburban house after sunset to feed. Except Noah was still sitting in a backyard tree five hours after sunset, watching the vampire’s immobile heat signature through the second-floor window. His fingers were going numb in the cold autumn night, the colors from his infrared binoculars had practically been seared into his retinas, and he swore he was going to become part of the tree if he sat there for much longer.

He finally got Casey O’Donnell to cover for him—which Casey only agreed to after making some snide comments—while he texted Jordan.

Sorry, can’t make it to the movie tonight. Hunt taking longer than expected.

And, after debating with himself as to whether a smiley face was too much, he finally added, L.

Jordan texted back quickly: No worries. Be safe!!

It was the third time he had to cancel plans with Jordan in two weeks, and it was making him cranky.

“Who were you texting?” Casey asked, again, from his perch on the opposite side of the tree.

“Someone,” said Noah for the third time.

Casey was eyeing him in a way that made Noah uncomfortable. “That’s the third time you’ve texted during a stakeout.”

Jesus, he’s keeping track? Noah put his phone away. “What, like you’ve never played Candy Crush on your phone during a stakeout?”

Casey raised an eyebrow. “I thought not breaking rules was your thing. Along with not being able to lie and stuff.”

And there it is. Noah suppressed the urge to snort. Casey was half right…but he was also half wrong, as usual. While Noah generally preferred not to stir up trouble, he was perfectly capable of breaking rules and lying through his teeth if he thought it was for the “greater good,” however he defined that. Which, in this case, meant passing on status updates so Jordan wouldn’t be up all night worrying.

Noah raised the infrared binoculars to his eyes, turning the night back into neon colors, and scanned the second-floor bedroom again. Still no movement. He turned his comm back on. “Guys, the vamp might as well be asleep. We should move.”

“No can do, Lau,” said Ava Lopez through the comm. She was currently keeping watch at the front of the house. “He might use the human as a hostage if he smells us.”

That was the problem, the reason why they’d been stuck out there for hours, waiting for the vampire to leave. Through his infrared binoculars, Noah could clearly see the human’s heat signature in the same room as the vampire’s dimmer one. There were any number of reasons why a human might be living with a vampire, but standard hunter protocol was to assume that a vampire valued human lives less than their own.

But what if that might not be true? an annoying voice asked in the back of Noah’s mind.

His jaw tightened. He couldn’t say that for sure, and human safety always had to come first, he reminded himself. Besides, the vampire had already crossed the line by killing people.

“Well, intel has clearly been faulty so far, so how much longer are we going to wait out here?” he groused. He hated faulty intel. At best, it scrambled their carefully created plans and forced them to improvise; at worst, it cost lives. Also, right now it was ruining the romantic movie night he’d planned.

There was silence at the other end as Ava thought. At least, Noah hoped she was thinking of a plan and not a rebuttal as to why they should sit and wait for another five hours.

“Okay,” she finally said. “I’m thinking doorbell strategy. Anyone have any objections?”

“No, ma’am,” Casey drawled.

The doorbell strategy was slightly risky for a three-person team. If they flushed the vampire out, they’d usually need someone to cover every side of the house. Noah couldn’t think of any other feasible, safe alternative, though.

“All right,” Ava said. “Move out.”

Noah continued watching the window through the infrared binoculars. After a few minutes, the human heat signature left his view.

“The human’s answering the door,” Noah said over the comm.

“Copy that,” said Casey. His boots scraped against bark as he climbed down from the tree. “What’s the status on the vamp?”

“He hasn’t moved,” Noah observed.

The muted sounds of Ava’s conversation with the house’s human inhabitant sounded over the comm. Then, Ava said, “I’m going inside to flush him out. Be prepared.”

Noah put his binoculars away and clambered down from the tree. “I’m at the south window,” he said. Although the bedroom was on the second floor, vampires could survive jumping to the ground from that height with no problem.

“Got the west window covered,” Casey added.

Noah readied his rifle. One minute passed. Then, another. Ava shouted at the vampire, her voice carrying through the comm a split second before gunshots followed.

Ava swore. “Missed him!”

Noah heard the sound of a window shattering—at the unguarded front of the house.

“He’s escaping through the front!” he yelled. He ditched his rifle and drew his handgun from its holster as he bolted around the side of the house, toward the sound of breaking glass.

He raised his gun and shot as the vampire fell, but the vampire hit the ground, rolled to his feet, and immediately grabbed the human woman who’d been standing in the front yard, yanking her against him. She hadn’t moved away from the house the way Ava had instructed her to. Noah’s heart sank.

Oh, crap.

This was not the “easy, quick hunt and then go home” he’d been hoping for.

Casey came around the other side of the house behind the vampire. “Don’t shoot,” Noah said into the comm. “There’s a hostage in front of him.”

“Make one move, and the human goes!” the vampire shouted, keeping the woman in front of him as he turned to face Noah. The woman’s eyes were wide with fear.

Noah hesitated, his finger perched on the trigger. His marksmanship was solid, but he still didn’t want to risk shooting the woman. Ava was still in the house, judging by the way the vampire glanced through the open doorway, but her options were also limited.

“You don’t have to do this,” Noah said, and then nearly cringed when he realized he was reciting a line from basically every action movie ever.

The vampire bared his fangs next to the woman’s neck. “I wouldn’t have to if you hunters just left me alone!”

Noah’s grip tightened on his gun. “You know what the punishment is for killing humans. You brought this on yourself.”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “You’d never under—”

He suddenly cried out, crumpling to his knees. The woman scrambled away from him, and Noah took the shot, nailing him in the chest. He crept closer, making sure to shoot the vampire in the heart several more times. The vampire didn’t move after that.

“Death confirmed,” Noah said into the comm. He glanced through the doorway into the house, to where Ava had knelt in the front hall to shoot the vampire in the knees. “Thanks.”

Ava nodded at him as she got up. “No problem.”

Casey came over to join them and whistled. “Shooting out his kneecaps? Impressive.”

“Thanks, O’Donnell,” said Ava.

“And nice job for finishing him off and keeping him distracted, Lau,” said Casey. “But you know there’s no point in reasoning with vampires, right?”

Noah didn’t reply to that except to shrug. He went to grab the body bag from their van.

He and Casey stuffed the corpse into the bag—while Casey moaned and groaned about being on cleanup duty, as always—while Ava made sure the woman was okay. She reported back to them that the woman was in shock, so after Noah and Casey lugged the bag and the rest of their gear back to the van, they dropped the woman off at a hospital. Noah hoped she would be okay.

“Whew,” said Ava, once they’d dumped off the body for disposal and driven back to headquarters. “I don’t know about you guys, but I could really use a drink. Anyone else up for a bar crawl?”

“Can’t,” Noah said immediately. “Sorry. It’s pretty late, and I have to get back home. Maybe next time, though,” he added, to be polite.

“What’s the matter, Lau?” Ava teased. “Got a hot date?”

Before Noah could answer, Casey beat him to the punch. “It’s his mysterious girlfriend he won’t let anyone meet. What’s her name again?”

“Jordan. And for the last time, she’s shy and private and faints at the mention of blood,” said Noah, the practiced lies rolling smoothly off his tongue. “Can’t anyone keep their work life and private life separate anymore?”

“Aw, c’mon!” Casey nudged him. “Can’t you at least show us a picture?”

Noah rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t want to give you any ideas, O’Donnell.”

He said goodbye to his squad mates before they could ask him any more questions and drove back to his apartment. Damn, it was late. Wearily, he trudged up to his unit, unlocked his door, and slipped inside.

He made his way into the bathroom, stripped his clothes off, and stepped into the shower, sighing as the warm water hit his tired muscles. He closed his eyes, trying to let his mind drift away from work. A few minutes later, the shower curtain slid aside with a rustle and cool arms circled his waist.

“Long day at the office?” a soft, low voice murmured against his ear.

Noah smiled and leaned back. “Very long. Glad to be home at last.”

“Me too.”

Noah turned around to look at the hazel-eyed man with golden-brown hair and pale skin—a touch too pale—behind him.

“Hey, Jordan,” he said, before leaning forward and kissing his boyfriend under the shower spray.

Noah always felt somewhat bad for lying about his “girlfriend” to his coworkers. It wasn’t that he was afraid of people knowing he was dating a guy; he just didn’t want anyone getting too interested in his dating life and finding out he was dating a vampire.

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Meet the Author

E.S. Yu is a writer of speculative fiction and a geek who lives for video games, superhero comics, and all things sci-fi/fantasy. E.S. is a recovering law school graduate who lives off green tea and dreams of writing full-time; for now, she follows wherever her muse takes her to places sometimes dark, sometimes quirky, but always hopeful.

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Book Blitz: All for Wesley by Jocelynn Drake & Rinda Elliott (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  All for Wesley

Series: Pineapple Grove #2

Author: Jocelynn Drake & Rinda Elliott

Publisher: Drake and Elliott Publishing LLC

Release Date: October 4, 2019

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 67,000

Genre: Romance

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Synopsis

A B&B owner takes on a posh hotel developer in this enemies-to-lovers story with plenty of South Florida heat.

The grudge match is set to get nasty.

Wesley and Nathan are willing to pull out all the stops to achieve their dreams.

They just never expected the heat between them to carry over to the bedroom.

After one reckless night burning up the sheets, Wes and Nathan can’t stay away from each other.

But is there any hope of them having their happily ever after when it means someone has to give up his dream?

All For Wesley is a standalone enemies-to-lovers MM romance with sneaking, spying, family troubles, helpful movie stars, one poorly timed hurricane, and all the feels.

Excerpt

Closing his eyes for a moment, Wesley mentally chastised himself. This whole plan had been insane. Following Nathan into the gym only to trap himself? Freaking brilliant.  At least he knew if the B and B thing didn’t work out, his future was not in private investigation.

Wesley hid among the lockers for what felt like a long time, listening to some low conversations, though none were Nathan’s voice. A couple of lockers slammed shut, and it sounded like people were heading for the shower. When it grew quiet, Wesley released the breath he’d been holding for far too long. He sneaked out from the last row of lockers, aiming to make a beeline straight to the exit and back to Wilton Cottage.

Except Nathan was waiting for him, leaning against the lockers.

In a towel.

They were alone in the locker room.

“You positively suck at being inconspicuous, do you know that? That bright shirt can be seen a mile away.” Nathan chuckled and crossed his arms over his wide, bare chest.

The towel slipped an inch lower, and all Wesley could do was stare at the light-brown happy trail below his navel and wonder how it would feel under his tongue. He could drop to his knees and tug that towel off, wouldn’t take much to dislodge it…

“Blake!”

He blinked up to find Nathan’s eyes narrowed as he stared at him. Heat crept up his neck, and he worked to remember why he was there. Hell, he could barely remember his name right then. His gaze slipped down that muscular chest again. He couldn’t help himself. Damn, but Nathan Randall was built. A lot more than he’d expected. Those damn suits hid all the good stuff.

“Are you even capable of conversation right now?”

“Hmm?” Had that towel moved when his abs contracted?

The soft laugh that met his ears did little to pull him out of his stupor. Had his mouth been dry before? Because now it was watering something fierce.

Nathan stepped closer and lifted his chin with warm fingers. “There’s an…interesting scent coming from you.”

That slammed Wesley right back down to earth. “I stepped in dog shit.” The humor of the situation got to him all of a sudden and he snorted.

Nathan grinned and Wesley was stunned at how such a little thing could transform Nathan’s entire demeanor. Had he really never seen Nathan smile at him? Well, he was sure he had, but there had always been a look of calculation in his eyes. Like he hadn’t really felt the warm emotion that went with the smile. He’d only done it to put Wesley at ease. But this time, the grin was matched with amusement in his eyes and those adorable little crinkles that stretched out from the corners. “It’s not a pleasant smell,” Nathan murmured.

“I promise, I usually smell better.”

“I’m aware.”

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Meet the Authors

Jocelynn Drake and Rinda Elliott have teamed up to combine their evil genius to create intense gay romantic suspense stories that have car chases, shoot outs, explosions, scorching hot love scenes, and tender, tear-jerking moments. Their first joint books are in the Unbreakable Bonds series.

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New Release Blitz: Love on the Hudson by KD Fisher (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Love on the Hudson

Author: KD Fisher

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: September 30, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 98400

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, contemporary, friends to lovers, second chance love, coming out, artist, farmer, family drama, hurt/comfort, in the closet, coming out

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Synopsis

Art historian David Webster left his childhood home of Saugerties, New York ten years ago and hasn’t looked back. Intelligent, successful, and proud of his sexuality, David has built a comfortable, if lonely, life in Chicago. But when he learns his father has suffered a debilitating stroke, he decides to leave his prestigious museum job and move home to care for his dad. Until now David has never questioned his devotion to academic and professional success. Suddenly he’s forced to confront and reevaluate his desires, chief among them, his former best friend Nick.

Nick Patras has spent his entire life trying to be the perfect Greek son. From devoting himself to football, to forgoing an athletic scholarship to work at his family’s diner, to denying his sexuality and getting married to his high school sweetheart, Nick got used to putting his family’s dreams ahead of his own. The facade shattered, however, when Nick divorced his wife and left the family business to follow his dream of starting an organic farm. Finally content with the life he’s built for himself, Nick is still haunted by the mistake that ended his friendship with David a decade earlier.

When David and Nick reunite their old feelings are undeniable, but can David trust Nick with his heart a second time around? As David embarks on a new career as an artist, he must decide whether or not Nick fits into this composition.

Excerpt

Love on the Hudson
K.D. Fisher © 2019
All Rights Reserved

I step onto the salt-white sidewalk and into a stream of traffic noise. Rush hour commuters pour their anger into their car horns, laying on them for what feels like minutes at a time. The familiar scents of bus exhaust, cigarette smoke, and the caramel-sweet fragrance of roasted nuts from the stand on the corner overpower the rich steam rising from the to-go cup of coffee in my hands. It’s cold. I know March in Chicago is always cold, really still winter, but the bite of the wind makes me edgy. I find myself constantly checking the weather forecast the moment I wake up, hoping I can stow away my heavy, unattractive coat for the season.

I rush toward the museum, knowing I’ll be early for my meeting but hurrying nonetheless. As I walk, I mentally go over the presentation I’d practiced endlessly the night before. We can work with Chicago Public Schools to widen the reach of the museum and diversify visitorship. I’ve already talked to the assistant superintendent, and she loved the idea, saying the partnership would help supplement the arts programs that got cut a few years ago when the state couldn’t agree on a budget. I’m lost in thought, half hoping I’m not practicing my talking points aloud, when I realize I’m already standing at the bottom of the lion-flanked steps of the museum. It bothers me that I do this—zone out and navigate the streets on autopilot. I chastise myself for taking the aesthetics of the city for granted. On any given day I pass the spaceship-like hulking form of the Thompson Center without batting an eye. I breeze by major public artworks by Picasso and Miró. I whisk past Burnham and Sullivan buildings with my eyes trained on the ground.

When I first moved to Chicago for undergrad, I was fascinated by the city. Everything was vibrant and engaging, unlike Saugerties, the small town where I’d grown up. Every chance I had I hopped on the bus, pretentious leather sketchbook in hand, and went north from my school’s South Side campus to the center of the city. I took silly architecture boat tours filled with tourists who largely tuned out the information pouring from the scratchy PA system as the boat chugged through the dingy river. Spending hours on Google Maps, I planned walking tours of Oak Park for myself, enjoying the lull of the suburban streets as I basked in the gorgeous lines and thoughtful details of the Frank Lloyd Wright houses.

Again I’m lost in thought because I’m now enveloped in the quiet of my office, coffee still in hand, coat and scarf still on, but seated behind my desk. Shaking my head, I set my coffee down and busy myself with the tasks of a Monday morning. Check my voicemail, start my computer, glance at the Post-it-covered Stendig calendar tacked to my wall. As I’m about to reread my notes for the thousandth time since I woke up, my desk phone rings and the small light for the main museum reception line blinks red.

I pick it up on the second ring, running my fingers through my hair as I speak. “This is David Webster.” I always lower my voice when fielding an unexpected call. Although I tell myself it’s to sound professional, I’m a bit self-conscious about the soft, lilting cadence of my words.

A timid female voice responds. “Uh, hi, Mr. Webster? I have a call for you from a, uh, hospital. The nurse said she tried your cell but…” The woman’s voice trails off, growing somewhat hoarse.

“Oh, sure. Okay. You can go ahead and put her through.” The tremble in my voice does not surprise me. My heart races and my fingers shake as I reach for my bag to retrieve my cell phone.

“Mr. Webster?” My name is tinged with the upstate New York accent of my youth.

“Speaking,” I squeak out. “What’s going on?” I know it’s something with my dad. Or fuck, could it be Anna? There’s a sickening swooping sensation in my stomach. Did something happen to Nick? Unbidden, his intense gray gaze appears in my mind’s eye. I shake my head to clear the thought. No one would call me about him.

“You’re listed as next of kin for Dr. Richard Webster. You are his son, correct?”

“Yeah. Yes. Is he okay?” I hold down the button on the side to start up my phone. I always keep it off between the hours of midnight and seven to preserve my sanity and mitigate my technology addiction. It had been my New Year’s resolution. Clearly this is not a good choice when your elderly father who lives alone hundreds of miles away is hospitalized.

“Yes, sir. Your father’s condition is stable. We were unable to reach you on your primary contact number. He suffered an ischemic stroke. We have him on tPA and he’s resting in the ICU. We’ll keep him for a few nights for monitoring and scans. Then we can start talking about rehab. A…” She pauses and I hear a few mouse clicks over the phone. “James Webster is with him now.”

Jimmy must have called me. Quickly I unlock my phone to see a barrage of texts and missed calls from my uncle’s number, as well as three voicemails from an 845 area code, very likely the hospital’s number. I scan through Jimmy’s increasingly panicked then calm texts without responding to the nurse.

“Mr. Webster?” she asks, a note of irritation creeping into her voice.

I tear my eyes away from my phone screen. My hands clench white and my arms are suddenly insanely heavy. My torso is hollow. “Yes. Sorry. I’m in Chicago. Like, I live in Chicago so I need to fly up. But he’s okay, right?”

Line two rings on my desk phone—startling me—and I know it means the superintendent has arrived. My head spins and I lean forward, scrunching into myself and trying to resist the urge to collapse even though I’m sitting. A few moments later I have wrapped up my conversation with the nurse and managed to write down the relevant information on the back of a deli receipt on my desk. I’m about to return one of Jimmy’s dozen calls when Marc blusters into my office, eyes wild.

“Uh, David?” his voice is shrill, and it’s one of the first times I have ever seen him look so irritated.

“I know. She’s here, right?”

“Yes!” he hisses, running his slender fingers through his perfectly messy dark hair. I notice he’s even wearing a tie today. A nice touch for the meeting, I think, and I smile to myself.

“My dad had a stroke,” I say softly. Repeating the information I was told makes my stomach twist sharply and a wave of nausea rolls over me.

The irritation drains from Marc’s face and he quickly crosses over to my desk. “Shit. David, when? Why didn’t you call me?” His groomed eyebrows are raised, earnest.

“I just got the call here… You know, my phone was off.”

Marc groans. “You and your stupid phone thing. I knew it was going to be a problem someday.” He claps a hand over his mouth. “And I’m nagging you right after you found out your dad’s sick.” He paces my small office, from the wall plastered with my calendar and some framed landscapes to the window overlooking Millennium Park. “Okay. Okay. Okay. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll take care of the meeting. Call, well normally I would say call me…but Vic can handle booking you a flight to New York. You should be able to take leave for this.” He runs his fingers over his lips, leaning back against the window. I know his mind is vibrating at its highest frequency. “Lane and Nisa and I can handle everything for a few days or whatever you need. Go, David.”

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Meet the Author

KD Fisher is a queer New England-based writer of authentic, heartfelt LGBTQ+ narratives. KD grew up all over the United States, bouncing from North Carolina to Hawaiʻi to Illinois, and finally settling in Maine where she spends far too much time at the beach.

When KD isn’t writing, she can usually be found hiking with her overly enthusiastic dog, obsessing over plants, or cooking elaborate meals. She loves classic country, perfectly ripe tomatoes, and falling asleep in the sun.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest

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New Release Blitz: Out of the Ashes by M.J. James (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Out of the Ashes

Author: M.J. James

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: September 23, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 73600

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, suspense, thriller, romance, mystery, contemporary, firemen, hurt comfort, revenge

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Synopsis

Alex Porter’s life goes up in flames the night his tiny bookstore catches fire. Powerless to stop it, he can do nothing but stand by and watch as the only thing he’s ever loved is taken from him.

Fire sergeant Matt Fields is ordered to Cliffside, Maine by the privileged Porter family, which doesn’t mix well with his quick temper, to investigate exactly what happened. When he meets Alex, he can almost taste the sexual tension hanging between them and fights to focus on his job to find out what started the blaze.

Once Matt discovers arson, a simple case of accidental fire becomes much more dangerous, and Alex’s life is suddenly at risk. Someone is out to get him…and Matt wants to know who. As he digs deeper to find the person who torched the shop, he and Alex finally give in to the wild heat between them. From hot as hell phone sex to even hotter face-to-face encounters, they grow closer together as the case spins out of control.

In the end, their newfound love will be put to the test when secrets come to light and arson turns to murder.

Excerpt

Out of the Ashes
M.J. James © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Black, billowing smoke splattered the night sky like paint on a canvas long before Alex reached the tiny bookstore he owned and loved more than anything. The glow of streetlamps skittered over the car’s windshield as he sped through the quiet streets of Cliffside, Maine, the idyllic town he called home. Their measured illumination tossed shadows across the interior of his sedan. He zipped past darkened storefronts and empty parking lots, praying he wouldn’t get pulled over because he didn’t have time to try to haggle his way out of a ticket. His life teetered on the edge, and he was desperate to stop the fall.

He had worked tirelessly to turn the shop into something he could be proud of, and now all his efforts were going up in flames. Even as a little boy he had dreamed of having his own business, and his intense love of the written word was the perfect motivation. For almost three years, it was his lifeline. Now, after a midnight phone call from the local police, said lifeline would be forever severed… He couldn’t even comprehend what was happening.

“No, no, no…” His protests faded away when he turned onto Shemwood Drive. The historic brownstone was blazing red-hot, thick black smoke pluming into the night-time sky. “NO!” He slammed the silver sedan into Park and leapt from the car, leaving the engine running and the headlights on. Smoke swirled in the light of their beams like venomous snakes on the prowl as he raced across the street toward the fire, heat blasting him in the face with every inch closer he got. He winced but charged forward.

“Stay back!” A firefighter approached as he headed for the roaring blaze. He stared at her, wide-eyed, the large shield attached to her helmet teetering above her head, the orange glow of flames reflecting off the shiny surface.

“This is my store!” he yelled at the petite blonde woman now standing between him and the fire. She gripped his arm like a vise when he tried to sidestep her, and he snatched free. “Let me go.”

“I don’t care. You’re not going in there.” She yelled to be heard over the roar of the inferno churning behind them. Alex’s determination faltered between the rumble and heat of the fire and the woman blocking him. “What the hell are you gonna do, anyway?”

“I…” What was he going to do, put out the fire with his bare hands?

“Step back!” She pushed against his chest and he skittered backward. She then turned her attention to the other firefighters manhandling a hose clearly losing the battle as it spewed water on the Book Nook.

“My God.” Alex ran his hands through his hair, his emotions like a caged animal, trying to claw their way out. Frustration and anger swirled among the panic settling into his chest and he gritted his teeth to keep from losing control. This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t. He tugged at the tie around his neck to try to ease the suffocating feeling in his throat and undid the top button of his shirt. He sucked in a deep breath and held his breath until his chest began to ache and throb before forcing all the air out, letting some of the dread twisting his stomach go with it. He had spent the majority of the night at his shop, hosting a pretty successful author signing and then cleaning up afterward, and all he had wanted to do was go home and relax. One phone call and his plan was literally up in smoke.

He wanted to scream, hit something, shatter into a million pieces right there in the street because everything was gone.

All those books, the artwork created by kids in the neighborhood during Saturday story times… Everything was burning.

His life was gone.

The pain of the realization swept over Alex like dense, choking fog, consuming him, turning him inside out. He sat on the curb across the street from his store, a thick huddle of sightseers from the bar on the corner now crowded together behind him, ogling the scene like vultures over roadkill. He could hear their “ohs” and “my Gods” and the words were making him sick. Sick because there was nothing he could do to stop them. Stop their taunting and awe and shock. He couldn’t stop any of it. The fire, the onlookers, the pity pulsing all around him; he could do nothing.

Nothing but stand there and watch as the life he had worked so hard to build turned to ashes right before his eyes.

After a long night of standing powerless on the sidelines while his life burned, Alex finally gave up and headed home—even though he wanted to do the exact opposite. He wanted to stay. Fix things. Turn his life upright again. How could he just walk away when the only thing important to him was gone? But he did. He left. Went home. He was a zombie as he peeled off his smoke-drenched clothes and sat naked in his living room, burying his erratic emotions in more than a few glasses of vodka and cranberry. Once his mind was good and chemically altered, he stumbled to his bedroom at the back of the house and collapsed into bed, falling asleep just as daylight began to peek through the curtains. He woke an hour later to incessant pounding on his front door and dragged himself out of bed, his head pounding like a thousand drums. He snagged a pair of boxers from the floor and slipped them on as he rubbed sleep from his eyes and wound his way through the house, using walls and furniture to stay upright.

“Yeah?” Alex swung the door open wide, the low sun blasting his face like pepper spray, almost blinding him. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes and fought to focus. “Oh, Sorry. Good morning, officers.”

Two stern-faced uniforms stared back at him, both with their legs shoulder-width apart and backs awkwardly straight in an overly masculine TV cop fashion. Alex wanted to laugh at how ridiculous they looked but held back. Their presence didn’t feel like a joke. Police at your door first thing in the morning didn’t typically scream social call.

“Mr. Porter?” The woman spoke first, her tone more a statement than a question.

“That’s me. Are you here about the fire?”

“We are, sir. Could you come down to the station, please? Answer a few questions for us?”

“Questions?” Alex’s gut lurched. “What questions?”

“Standard in this type of thing, sir. We need to find out what happened last night.”

“Yes, you do. But I don’t see why you need to question me. I wasn’t even there.”

“Then you’ll have nothing to worry about.” The woman shifted on her feet, and Alex noticed her grip tighten on the Glock at her side.

“Wait a minute…do I need a lawyer?” His stomach turned, like at any second his already obliterated life was about to get much, much worse.

“Do you have a reason to need a lawyer, Mr. Porter?” The male officer spoke this time, pulling Alex’s attention from the agitated woman. The man was good-looking, what some might even call hot, but all Alex could see was the accusation hidden beneath his words.

“Sure sounds like I might.” Every nerve in Alex’s body was screaming at him, putting him on edge. He had seen enough true crime television and episodes of Law and Order: SVU to know how things like this typically played out.

“Well that’s certainly up to you,” the male officer said. “Either way, we need you to come with us.”

He didn’t want to—he wanted to slam the door in their faces and crawl back into bed and forget the last twelve hours even happened—but Alex knew he had no choice. If he didn’t go with them willingly, they would just make him. His neighbors would see him dragged off in cuffs and the entire town would know what happened before he even arrived at the station. He ran a hand through his hair and huffed.

“Fine,” he said, stepping out of the doorway and onto the porch. A cold northern wind swept around them, but Alex was too upset to care.

“Um, sir?” The female officer gestured toward him, and Alex stopped.

He lowered his hand from above his eyes as he moved to the side and, to block the sun, stepped into the shadow cast by one of the large columns flanking the porch steps. “Yes?”

She glanced over at her partner who nodded to Alex’s lower half. “You might wanna get dressed.”

Though he had slipped them on only a minute ago, Alex had forgotten he had answered the door in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs.

He darted back inside and stood behind the door. “I think I’ll need a minute.” Both officers nodded as he stepped away from the door and headed back to his bedroom. He was wide awake now, embarrassment and fear jolting his mind. He got dressed in record time, throwing on some jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of old sneakers while trying not to dwell on what would no doubt happen once he got to the police station. How in the world was any of this happening?

First, he lost his store, and now…what, he was about to be grilled by the police? Maybe even arrested? No, the officers standing at his door didn’t come right out and admit anything, but Alex knew they suspected him. Even the simplest mind would only take a second to realize it made sense to think he burned down his own place, but that didn’t help quell his uneasiness. By the time he locked the house and crammed into the back of the police cruiser, his hangover had moved from his head to his stomach, and he had to fight to keep from throwing up.

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Meet the Author

I’ve always wanted to be a writer (like most writers, I’m sure) but not until the last few years have I taken it seriously. I was always told growing up that I had to get a job and “earn my keep,” so I pushed my dream of writing a book to the back of my mind and entered the workforce. Fast-forward many, many years and here I am, trying to make a go at it.

I stumbled across Blogger in 2010 and my world of writing exploded. I have met (via the web) so many amazing writers and industry professionals and book bloggers that have passed on their wisdom and experience and successes and failures. So many, in fact, that I have no excuse to sit down and write out the stories living in my head. Which is what I’m now attempting to do.

I enjoy reading more than most other things (well, except maybe for writing. And TV. No way am I giving up my TV) . OUT OF THE ASHES is my first foray into the world of adult m/m and I am loving it!

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New Release Blitz: Complex Dimensions by Brenda Murphy (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Complex Dimensions

Series: A Rowan House Novel

Author: Brenda Murphy

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: September 23, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 65100

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, Contemporary, BDSM, lesbian, interracial, ex-convict, chauffeur, D/s, butch, sex toys

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Synopsis

Sick of living in her parent’s basement and encountering her ex-girlfriend on a regular basis, former graduate student Veronica Fletcher signs on to manage the stable for Rowan House, Skye’s most exclusive resort for women. After arriving at Rowan house Veronica’s vow to remain celibate is tested when she meets Millie Reid.

Sexy, sweet, and funny, Millie is the woman of Veronica’s dreams. Or is she? When Millie’s past threatens their future together, Veronica is faced with a choice she doesn’t want to make. The butterfly effect has never been more personal.

Excerpt

Complex Dimensions
Brenda Murphy © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Veronica followed her mom through the grocery, navigating the phalanx of Saturday afternoon shoppers. Her thoughts wandered as she trailed behind her mother as she maneuvered their overloaded cart around people staring at the overcrowded shelves, children straying from their parents, and the occasional mobility scooter.

“Ronnie, would you go back and pick up another can of tomato paste? I need two for my sauce. I’m so out of step since they rearranged the store. I don’t understand why…”

Not ready to listen to her mom go on about the changes in the store layout for what must be the hundredth time since she had been released, Veronica interrupted her. “Relax, Mom, I got it.”

She turned and jogged back two aisles and caught sight of a familiar face. Dee stood at the far end of the aisle, her arm draped around the shoulders of Veronica’s ex-friend, Paige. A toddler, her round face and dark brown eyes so much like Dee’s she could have been a clone, sat in the basket of the cart in front of them. Paige pressed a kiss to Dee’s cheek.

Say hello. Don’t act invisible. Get over yourself. So, she’s here with Paige and their baby. Should be me. Should have been us. She looked away and gathered herself. Say something. Be a grown-up. Congratulate them. She looks happy.

Veronica walked down the aisle toward the women, working hard to keep a smile plastered on her face. She lifted her hand in greeting. Dee glanced up and made brief eye contact before a frown crossed her face. She turned her head away from Veronica. Paige looked past Dee and shot Veronica a challenging glare before she pushed their shopping cart briskly away. Fuck. No mistaking the message. She’s moved on. Let it go. She stopped and shoved her hands in her pockets to keep from balling them into fists. She turned away, walked to the main aisle, and followed the overhead labels until she reached the canned vegetable aisle.

She stood in the center of the aisle and groaned inwardly as she studied the shelves. Why do they need twelve different kinds of paste? Damn it. Where the hell is the Bella tomato paste? Mom will flip if it’s not the right brand.

A short woman dressed in a bright red T-shirt and jeans stepped up on the bottom shelf of the section. She extended her arm, her fingers straining shy of the can of tomato sauce she was trying to reach.

Veronica stepped closer. “Hey, let me…” The shelf rocked and teetered. The sharp sound of metal scraping made the hairs on Veronica’s arm stand up as the shelf tilted toward the woman.

“Watch out!” Veronica grabbed the woman around the waist and tugged her out of the way as the entire section of heavy metal shelving crashed to the floor. Cans of vegetables slid off the shelves and filled the aisle. A dented can of stewed tomatoes rolled past her shoe as cans continued to randomly slide from the twisted metal shelves.

“Are you okay?” Veronica let go of the woman’s waist. Other shoppers crowded around them, drawn by the noise.

A store employee arrived. Red faced and wheezing, he pointed to the avalanche of cans. “Is anyone under there?”

“No. I don’t think so.” Veronica leaned away from the stale smell of cigarettes and sweat wafting from the employee.

The woman stared at Veronica, her eyes wide. “You…I would have been under there. I would have…” Her cheeks grew pink. “Thank you.” She ducked her head, pushed through the crowd, and fled.

More store employees showed up and blocked the aisle with warning signs and yellow tape. The crowd filtered away. Veronica stepped back from the chaos.

The dull edge of the can she was still holding dug into her palm. What if my mom hadn’t needed another can of tomato paste? What if Dee had wanted to chat? What if I hadn’t noticed the shelf shift? We both would’ve been under there. A minute. A second. So much can change in a moment. Butterfly effect. Chaos Theory on display.

“Ronnie?” Her mother’s hand squeezed her arm. She turned and stared down the aisle, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “Good Lord, look at that. You’d have been crushed.”

Veronica held up the can in her hand and grinned at her mom. “Got the tomato paste.”

Her mother quirked her mouth, “All right, joker, let’s get the rest of the groceries before anything else falls down.”

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Meet the Author

Brenda Murphy writes short fiction and novels. She loves tattoos and sideshows, and yes, those are her monkeys. When she is not swilling gallons of hot tea and writing, she wrangles two kids, two dogs, and one unrepentant parrot. She writes about life, books, and writing on her blog Writing While Distracted.

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New Release Blitz: TAD by M.D. Neu (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  T.A.D

Author: M.D. Neu

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: September 23, 2019

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 53100

Genre: Paranormal, LGBT, bisexual, angels, fantasy, Fate, 9/11, tear-jerker, friendship, love, drag queens

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Synopsis

Tad bounces around in time and watches mankind grow and change. He loves humanity and helping when he can. However, his job isn’t conducive to helping people—he’s an Angel of Death.

Doug is a fun-loving drama queen. He’s an amazing drag queen and hairstylist with big dreams, but despite his witty exterior, he has a dark history and is prone to self-destruction.

When Tad pushes the boundaries of his duties too far, his wings are stripped away from him, and he is sent to New York City to live as a human. Lost and alone he ends up meeting Doug, and they start a friendship that shapes them both and may last a lifetime. But nothing is simple when you’re dealing with a former Angel of Death and a Drag Queen. Could these two cause the fabric of our world to collapse or will they manage to keep the future as it should?

Excerpt

TAD
M.D. Neu © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Doug glanced up at the big void where the buildings once stood.

How could anyone do that? All those people, and for what? Thank God, no one I know was there. Thank goodness, Garret’s train was running late. Even from across the river, seeing the buildings fall, one minute there, the next not, awful. Not knowing if Garret was alive or dead. The not knowing was awful, and it seemed to last forever. Then getting his call when the phones were back up. It was a relief. Still, the not knowing? Horrible. How do survivors do it?

Doug shuddered. He had to look away before he started to cry again. That day. The world wasn’t the same. How could it be? Would it ever be the same again? He swiped at his eyes, keeping the tears he was trying to hold back from dropping. He caught his reflection in one of the storefront windows and fussed with his spiky blond hair.

One year.

The months right after the attack had been hell for everyone. People from all over the world sent support and offered help. But New York was moving on, as it should. They already had seven different architects offering new designs to fill the empty skyline. Mayor Giuliani was doing everything he could for the city, and there was even talk of him running for president.

Doug checked his flip phone and picked up his pace. He was running late. He shouldn’t have spent the night at Tim’s, but leaving such a sexy guy was no easy task. Not to mention they might have partied too much.

I doubt that is even possible. You can never party too much.

There was a large group of mourners, and he had to step to the side to let them pass. He took a deep cleansing breath, pushing all thoughts from his mind, and started walking again. He rushed past the families and friends heading to Ground Zero. Now he had to hustle to make it to work. He’d gotten lucky no one he was familiar with was killed. Still, every time he thought about the attack and looked up at the twin lights filling the night sky, he wanted to cry.

Monsters.

Why President Bush didn’t blow up the whole of the Middle East after the attack, Doug would never understand. Instead, the president sent troops to Afghanistan, searching for Osama bin Laden and taking out Al-Qaeda.

Just as long as they find and kill the monsters who did this to us.

Doug couldn’t help but stop again and glance up to where the twin towers once stood. He quickly wiped at his eyes. “I need to get out of here.” He moved over to the brick façade and leaned against the wall as more people passed him, heading to the memorial ceremony.

“So much suffering and for what?” Doug mumbled. He started walking again, taking a deep breath and trying to avoid the crowds. A woman in a dark jacket passed him and bumped his shoulder, causing him to step closer to an alley. She didn’t bother saying anything; however, Doug thought she said something about his size. He caught his reflection again. He hated how everything made him feel so fat. Nothing he wore looked right on him. Even the baggy pants still made him look fat and messy. He would need to start at the gym if he wanted to continue dating Tim and keep up with his partying. He frowned.

At least I have good hair.

He played with the spikes of his hair.

“It’s my fault,” a gruff voice whispered from behind him.

Doug startled and turned around, but no one was there. He glanced over to the dumpster.

Sitting there, a raggedy black man, with kinky hair in desperate need of a cut and wash, stared at him. The man had the most beautiful green eyes Doug had ever seen. The rich tones of his skin really made his eyes pop, quite possibly the unkempt man’s best feature. The man was in shambles, and tears streamed down his dirty cheeks.

The anniversary affects everyone.

“I did this,” the man groaned through his sobs. “And now I’m being punished.”

Doug wasn’t sure what to do or say. Should he walk away and get to the salon? Leave what appeared to be the crazy homeless guy alone? Could he do that now that they made eye contact? Could he do that today of all days? The man needed help. The man needed a shower and clean clothes. Perhaps, if he talked to him, that would be enough…well, the talk and ten bucks.

That’s what Shannon would do. Talk to him and give him money. Shannon was such a kind soul, and I need to be more like him, more like he was. To honor him. Just like my drag name. Maybe Miss Enshannon needs to be more. I need to be more.

Doug’s heart ached at the memories of Shannon and how wonderful he was. When he picked his drag name there was no doubt on what it would be, but to honor someone you loved had to be more than using their name.

“It’s not your fault.” He knelt close to the man, still keeping his distance just in case. “It was the work of terrorists. They killed all those people, not you.”

“I should have stopped them. I should have done more,” the dirty man moaned.

“Oh, baby, no one could have done more,” Doug offered. Some people thought the government knew about the attack beforehand and the president allowed it to happen. Doug didn’t buy it. Why anyone listened to these people was beyond him, but they did. He just wished they would shut up and crawl back under the rocks they came from. They weren’t helping anyone, and in the long run, their remarks and comments only hurt people more.

“Now, I’m being punished. They sent me here and took my wings,” the man whispered.

Was this guy a pilot? Oh, that would be awful. I bet he was supposed to fly one of the planes, and he couldn’t take it. Survivor’s guilt.

“No one is punishing you. Look, it’s a tough day for everyone. We all feel like we should have done more.” Images of the planes flying into the towers and then seeing and feeling them collapse; even at the Paul Mitchell campus on Staten Island, they were affected. I really need to call Garret. Doug pulled out his flip phone and checked the time. “I’ve got to get to work.” He stopped and peeked at the crowd of people passing by and then faced the guy. A bright smile filled his face.

I know what I’ve got to do. A makeover. Help this guy out.

“You want to come with me? We’ll get you a shower and give you a cut. My girl Minx knows all about your hair type. It’ll be fun.”

What the hell am I doing? I must still be drunk from last night. Or affected by what Tim and I took. This guy might kill me. No. He’s sad, and on a day like today, someone needs to be nice to him. Plus, I’m a big enough guy I can take him…

Doug extended his hand.

I hope.

“You want to help me?” The man glanced around at his filthy surroundings.

Doug nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

“Most people ignore me. Some people give me money, but they rush by.” The man’s voice was filled with surprise.

He stood and Doug took in this guy’s build. Strong shoulders, even if hidden by a disheveled brown shirt and coat. Doug got a whiff of the funk that enveloped the man. It was a mix of… Doug didn’t want to think what, and he pulled back.

Definitely a shower and some new clothes. These are getting burned.

“Well, not today.” Doug dusted off his pants. “I work at a salon near Washington Square. You know it?” His face got warm. “Anyway, we can walk there and get you all cleaned up. My boss won’t mind.”

Or at least I hope not. Nah, the bitch owes me for helping him with his makeup the other night at the club. What a show that was. I killed it.

“Thank you.” The man beamed a bright pearly smile, in contrast to the dirt on his face and clothes. His teeth and mouth were probably the cleanest part of him. What’s more, there was no foul odor coming from his mouth.

Good oral hygiene. I’m not even sure that is possible, given the state of him, but thank the lord.

“What’s your name?” Doug asked as they weaved through the crowd, people giving them a wide birth. “I’m Doug.”

“I don’t have a name.”

Doug froze. “What?”

“I don’t have a name.” The man met Doug’s gaze with his big eyes and innocent face. “They used to call me…” His gaze dropped to the sidewalk.

“What?” Doug stood watching him. A tall man with a goatee hit his shoulder as he passed. “What did they used to call you? Can’t be any worse than what they’ve called me.”

The dirty man faced Doug. “They used to call me the Angel of Death before they took my wings.”

Doug let out a nervous laugh as he glanced around. There was a break in the stream of people.

Great, this guy is crazy, and I’m stuck with him. Good job, dumb ass.

Doug shook his head, studying the sky.

This is all Shannon’s fault. I should have kept walking. Everyone tells me not to make eye contact with the homeless. Why didn’t I listen?

Doug cleared his throat. “Well, we can’t call you that. How about Angel?”

The man shook his head.

“Well, I’m not gonna call you Death, no matter how cool it sounds,” Doug teased as they walked again and got to the intersection. They crossed the street, ignoring the odd looks they were getting. He was used to odd looks. He had been getting them his whole life. People needed to suck it. “Oh, I know. How about Tad?”

“Tad?”

Doug smiled. “Short for ‘the Angel of Death.’ Well, that would be Taod, but that sounds dumb.”

The man shrugged.

“Tad it is.” Doug’s mouth grew into a smile and warmth rushed through his body that wasn’t there this morning. It was nice. Doing something good for someone on a day like today felt like a good call. Even the stench coming off the man seemed to lessen. Maybe the man didn’t smell bad after all. Or maybe I’m getting used to it. Gross. As long as he doesn’t go all batshit crazy, he could deal with the smell, which would be fixed soon enough. He hoped.

They picked up their pace and walked in silence. Doug wasn’t fully sure why he was doing this. Was it because today was such a hard day? Was it his small way of acknowledging that we all need help sometimes? Was it because the world was a massive shit hole and he wanted to make it a little better? Was he doing it for Shannon? Shannon had been so kind and sweet, never having it easy. At least Doug passed for straight, when he wanted to, which wasn’t often these days. And forget it when he was onstage with his big blonde wig, big red lips, and big old fake titties. Hell, this might even be fate for all he knew.

Fuck it, who cares? I’m fierce, and Tad’s gonna be fierce.

Doug pulled open the door to the salon. “Hey, girls, I have a project,” he announced in his loudest, most over-the-top voice possible. “This is Tad, and we’re gonna make him fabulous.” He snapped his fingers and everyone in the shop froze and stared at them.

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Meet the Author

M.D. Neu is a LGBTQA Fiction Writer with a love for writing and travel. Living in the heart of Silicon Valley (San Jose, California) and growing up around technology, he’s always been fascinated with what could be. Specifically drawn to Science Fiction and Paranormal television and novels, M.D. Neu was inspired by the great Gene Roddenberry, George Lucas, Stephen King, Alfred Hitchcock and Kim Stanley Robinson. An odd combination, but one that has influenced his writing.

Growing up in an accepting family as a gay man, he always wondered why there were never stories reflecting who he was. Constantly surrounded by characters that only reflected heterosexual society, M.D. Neu decided he wanted to change that. So, he took to writing, wanting to tell good stories that reflected our diverse world.

When M.D. Neu isn’t writing, he works for a non-profit and travels with his biggest supporter and his harshest critic, Eric, his husband of eighteen plus years.

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New Release Blitz: Through the Inferno by Jessi Noelle (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Through the Inferno

Series: The Inferno, Book One

Author: Jessi Noelle

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: September 16, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Female

Length: 88100

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, transgender, firefighters, nurse, burn patient, revenge, #ownvoices, hurt/comfort, medical personnel, corruption

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Synopsis

Firefighter Jason Merone was severely burned and injured when the building he and his best friend were in collapsed as they were rescuing a young child. Depressed and nearly inconsolable, it’s not until his home care nurse, Zoe Calder, spots the telltale signs of severe depression and confronts him that Jason finds the will to live.

A few weeks later, Zoe is sexually assaulted by a man she meets through a dating app, and when he’s caught and her transgender identity is revealed, Jason’s transphobic mother makes sure she loses her job.

Jason and Zoe stay in touch, as they’ve built a close friendship, but when Zoe’s home is torched, she runs for her life, leaving Jason feeling bereft from the loss of what he knows could be a lasting relationship. Jason learns that Zoe’s troubles aren’t over, and he must work to identify who’s behind it all in time to save her.

Excerpt

Through the Inferno
Jessi Noelle © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Jason Merone held three aces to go along with the two eights on the board. Dead man’s hand, he thought, pondering the best way to string along the other guys in the pot for the most chips. The game was Texas Hold’em, and he was a great white in a guppy pond.

The Sunday night poker game at Station 7 of the Biloxi Fire Department was winding down. Dinner was devoured and cleaned up, letting the crew relax until the shift’s end at 6:30 in the morning. Weekends came with no scheduled duties other than cleaning the surrounding housing area of the fire station. The only call they’d responded to was a fender bender on the exit ramp of the interstate, fortunately with no injuries, making a quick and easy run.

“Too rich for me,” Captain Engmeyer said after Jason raised, folding his hand and stepping away from the table with a muttered, “Gonna drain the main vein.”

Down to two and time to show. He flipped his cards, showing the nuts.

“Mutha fuck!” The red-faced veteran opposite him yelled as he slapped his beaten flush to the table. Everyone at the table laughed. “Shit, Truffy. I thought for sure I had you beat, the way you were betting.”

“Hell, Vince,” Jason retorted to the veteran of four years. “You oughta know by now the house always wins.” He grinned crookedly, pulling the chips, worth about twenty bucks, over to his side and adding them to his pile.

His phone chirped before the next hand, and he glanced at the screen. Jenna. Not a good time, love. He let his girlfriend’s call go to voice mail and shook his head at the expectant faces at the table. “What? I’ll talk to her later. Deal, deal.”

It only took another twenty minutes to finish collecting the rest of the chips from the guys.

The klaxon sounded just before three a.m. Jason woke, instantly alert. Around him, the other guys threw off covers and made a mad dash to the restroom. No one wanted to be stuck on a scene for hours while needing to pee. He double-timed to the truck, wiping the crusty sleep out of his eyes.

Jason was almost to the driver’s side door before he remembered; Vince, newly certified and soon to be officially promoted to pump engineer, was taking driving duties this shift. His abrupt change of direction caused him to smack into Vince’s shoulder.

“Whoops, sorry, dude. Forgot you were driving today.”

“Naw, Truffy, you’re good.” Vince opened the door and slid behind the wheel.

For Jason, putting on turnouts was a ritual, a centering moment of zen and muscle memory before charging into chaos. He threw the Nomex hood over his head as he slid his feet into the boots. In a swift movement, he grabbed the suspender straps to bring the pants up to his waist and shrugged them over his shoulders, then swung his arms into his coat. The faint smell of sweat and old fires wafted around him as he fastened the pants and jacket shut. Helmet, gloves, and air tank would be added while en route. Inventory: check, check, check. Ready to rock!

Ritual complete, Jason swung into his seat, back against the driver’s compartment. Dave, his best friend, crashed into the seat facing him, grumbling at being woken up. Dave sucked at poker, busting out early and going to bed. Although he only did the bare minimum around the station, no one outworked him at a scene, and there was no one Jason would rather have covering his ass in a fire.

The Engine pulled out of the station within two and a half minutes. Up front, the captain radioed the en route confirmation.

“Copy en route, Engine 7,” the dispatcher said over the engine and siren noise. “Responding to River Oakes Manor at 1787 Winding Way Road, between Stanton and Hollyberry Streets, for reports of fire involving multiple apartment units, possible persons still inside.”

Faces went grim as the team absorbed the information. “Police unit en route confirms heavy smoke,” the dispatcher continued her litany. “Engines 3, 5, and 8 also dispatched with Ladder 2 and Ladder 9. EMS and PD confirmed en route. Time is 02:57.”

Captain Engmeyer shifted to face the crew in the back, steel-gray eyes serious, his mouth drawn into a grim line. “Okay, guys, this is gonna be real. We’ll be first on scene. Jason and Dave, I want you on the first line in. Get in there, knock it down as you go, clear as many units as you can. Scott, Billy, I want you guys to set up an attack line near their point of entry. I’ll direct the incoming engines until the battalion chief arrives on scene. Let’s stay safe and get it done!”

Jason looked back over at Dave, whose game face likely mirrored his own, and noticed his focus fixed outside the window. He turned his head in the direction Dave stared and saw the orange glow of flames on the horizon. Dave shifted his attention to Jason, and held up a fist. “Let’s kick the tires and fight the fires!” they said in unison as they bumped knuckles, a ritual dating back to when they were freshmen on the high school football team. A few practiced flicks secured the air tanks to their backs, followed by the facemasks and helmets. They pulled the bulky gloves on last. Dave unhitched the Halligan tool, a round metal bar with prongs on one end and flat scoop on the other, and held it vertically between his legs, thrumming a nervous beat against it with his leather-clad fingers.

Final check¾Jason did one last inventory¾good to go. The muscles in his legs began to twitch in anticipation of the looming combat. No matter how many fires he fought, each one set his heart pounding like the first.

Upon arrival at the scene, they were slowed by the sheer number of gawking civilians crowded outside in various degrees of panic. Vince finally maneuvered the engine to the sweet spot, close enough to set up operations, but not too close in case the building collapsed.

Time to go to work.

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Meet the Author

Jessi Noelle was born in South Mississippi, where she worked as a zookeeper and later as a firefighter. She is transgender with two sons, and currently lives in Nashville, TN.

Through the Inferno is her first novel. She is an alum of the inaugural #DVPit, a twitter event where marginalized authors pitch their books to agents. She is currently working on another book set in the The Inferno universe.

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New Release Blitz: Time Turns by C.B. Lewis (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Time Turns

Series: Out of Time, Book Four

Author: C.B. Lewis

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: September 16, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 123500

Genre: Science Fiction, LGBT, science fiction, gay, transgender, British, anxiety attacks, time travel, super nerdy Scottish genius

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Synopsis

As a consultant analyst for the most technologically advanced firms in the country, Danny Ferguson knows he’s seen a lot of crazy stuff, but nothing comes close to his newest position at the Temporal Research Institute, the world’s foremost time travel organisation.

The corrupted piece of code Ferguson found on the TRI’s closed network is a serious concern for Lysander O’Donohue, the director of the TRI. Unable to trust his own people—any one of whom might be the source—he’s forced to put all his trust in Danny to solve the mystery of the corrupt code and find the identity of the enemy within.

But when an unexpected temporal gate opens, a straightforward code analysis becomes something a lot more complicated.

Excerpt

Time Turns
C.B. Lewis © 2019
All Rights Reserved

They said the veins of Danny Ferguson ran with coffee.

He told them to sod off as he downed his second espresso.

Cassandra snickered as she poured some milk into her own cup of tea. “Well, when you over-caffeinate and give yourself a heart attack and die, don’t come crying to me.”

“Ha!” Danny struck a dramatic pose, gazing into the distance. “I’m immortal!”

“You’re a knob,” Shiv said with a snort.

Danny ran his finger around the inside of his cup, catching the dregs, and licked them off. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Shiv.” He rinsed out the cup and set it down to dry. “Catch you at lunch.”

“One day,” Cassandra called after him as he headed towards the canteen door, “you’ll take your full tea break like a normal human being.”

Danny spun around. “And one day, you’ll beat my stats and get my bonus!” he called back and then widened his eyes in mock shock. “And one day, pigs’ll fly!”

“Knob!” Shiv repeated.

Danny grinned as he headed out into the hall.

The caffeine had kicked in already, giving him a nice buzz. He didn’t need it, but sometimes, a jump-start didn’t hurt when he was stuck on monitoring all day. It was the dullest part of the job, but he could hardly be on coding every day. It was only fair to give everyone else a chance to catch up.

He’d been working with IDD—International Digital Development—for nearly a decade, straight out of his PhD. They needed people with a good eye for coding and anomalies and had gotten his attention with a stupidly high salary that had exceeded all expectations.

Still, they couldn’t say he wasn’t amazing at his job.

He stopped at the door and waited for the scan to sweep his face, then held his fingertips over the sensor, tapping the pattern for the week. The door slid open, and he wandered into the sprawling office he shared with three other coders.

“What’d I miss?”

Ravi glanced up through the projection in front of him, raising his eyebrows. “In the ten minutes you were gone?”

“Rav farted,” Ekaterina said, pausing her own screen. “So much excitement.”

Ravi rolled his eyes at her. “Nothing. You missed nothing.”

Danny wasn’t surprised.

Monitoring could be bloody tedious. His quad had the week’s rotation on monitoring: a full day’s shift of sitting and auditing code for external clients, assessing for glitches and anomalies overlooked by the computers. Sometimes, there could be minor problems. Once in a while, it was a bug that could—if left alone—start a chain reaction and break everything. Mostly, it meant sitting on your arse all day, admiring the amazingly complex codes some of their clients had come up with.

He settled in his seat, reclining the chair back as far as he could.

The chair had been one of his greatest triumphs.

When he started working at IDD, he had one of the usual workstations with a standard ergonomic monstrosity of a seat—the ‘in’ thing for any office. Maybe they were scientifically good for you, but Danny hated it. He’d end up on his feet all day, pacing as he scanned the code, and, apparently, distracting people.

He had to sit, his manager had insisted because everyone else needed to concentrate too. Danny had agreed, and he’d ordered a better chair, paid for by himself. The fact that he chose the biggest, comfiest reclining armchair in the building was a minor technicality.

His boss had hit the roof about it, but Danny cheerfully argued the semantics. It ensured he worked his best; his numbers had shot up since he’d gotten it; no one was being distracted; and he’d paid for it out of his own pocket, so no harm done. He ended up winning the right to keep the chair.

Thus began a long and glorious rivalry with his line manager.

He pulled the projection of his latest project up in front of him, wrapped it around the front of the chair, and set it scrolling. This particular vast batch came from some anonymous external client. He’d worked with their stuff before. Once you were familiar with a particular style of code, you didn’t easily forget it.

Sometimes, they were told who the clients were.

Most of the time, they were left in the dark.

They could make guesses, but it was anyone’s money because unless some big news story broke as a result of something they’d uncovered, the likelihood of finding out the client’s identity fell somewhere between slim and nil.

Danny put on some Rachmaninoff in his headphones and settled back to focus on the code whirling around him. Beautiful, complex, and intricate with layer upon layer folded into it, whoever had written it had to be doing some incredibly hi-tech stuff.

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Meet the Author

C.B. Lewis is small, Scottish and writes pretty much anywhere, any time. She loves to travel and tends to bring home at least four new plot bunnies from every trip she goes on. She’s very excited to continue the adventures of the Out of Time series.

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New Release Blitz: Clueless Cabot by André D. Michaels (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Clueless Cabot

Author: André D. Michaels

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: September 16, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 25900

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, friends to lovers, first time, hurt-comfort, gay, bi, family drama

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Synopsis

Young gay professional Cabot MacCrae has been in love with his sexy best friend, Lloyd, since high school. They’re in perfect sync on almost everything. The only problem is that Lloyd is straight.

Cabot resigned himself long ago to pining hopelessly. Then Lloyd, a roofer, takes a bad fall and injures his collarbone. When he needs some TLC, there’s no question that Cabot will be the one to nurse his friend back to health. But Lloyd’s scantily clad presence in Cabot’s house brings out Cabot’s old longings.

But when Lloyd’s well-meaning mother and aunt fix Cabot up with a blind date, Lloyd reacts like a jealous boyfriend. Lloyd’s reaction makes Cabot wonder if those longings are as unrequited as he’s always assumed. What if Lloyd has been pining for him all these years? Has Cabot just been clueless all along?

Excerpt

Clueless Cabot
André D. Michaels © 2019
All Rights Reserved

DISH

Half an hour before Club Sandwich closed, Cabot McCrae knew he wasn’t going home with anybody. Once again, he’d sat in the corner, nursing his two drinks, eyeing the crowd for someone, anyone, who might be worth pursuing. And once again, as the ice cubes melted in the glass, he sat and did nothing while the few who drew his interest paired up with others and went off into the night. One or two drinks were sent his way, but the guys who sent them seemed creepy and stalkerish, and Cabot declined as politely as he could.

How the hell do guys find each other?

People talked about what a meat market this bar was, but if so, then Cabot was definitely not USDA Choice beef. Maybe not even leftover bologna.

“Thanks, Hank.” He dropped a five on the bar. Hank gave him a casual salute.

The cute Italian busboy didn’t even meet Cabot’s eye. The burly bouncer barely grunted as Cabot left the club. The darkness and cold, relative silence outside brought relief from the flashing lights, steamy heat, and pounding bass inside.

Cabot got in his car and checked his phone. Ring me, said the text from Lloyd.

At 1:45 in the morning, Cabot wasn’t about to call his best friend. He texted back: In the a.m. Beat, dude.

Immediately, Lloyd texted back. Understood. Hope you made out.

Cabot smiled grimly and started the car to head home. No, I didn’t make out. I never make out. Nobody wants to make out. But he wasn’t going to text that to Lloyd, either.

Lloyd always got lucky at the drop of a hat. He’d slept with more women than Cabot could count. He even juggled several girlfriends at a time, managing somehow to keep them all happy and coming back for more.

Not Cabot. He hadn’t gone on a date in—how many months? And he and good ol’ Rosie Palm were better acquainted than ever before.

The lights of the warehouse district behind him, he pulled into the garage below his apartment complex and parked the car. He sat there for several minutes, running his hands over his face. People tell me I’m cute, he kept repeating in his head. But he sure didn’t feel cute after one of these nights. No one talked to him. No one approached him.

No one wanted him.

His phone buzzed. Another text from Lloyd: Sweet dreams dude.

Back in his apartment, Cabot showered and padded naked into the kitchen. The blue calla lilies he’d bought himself were withered in the vase on the table.

He could have another drink. And unlike drinking at the bar, getting drunk at home wouldn’t make him go home with somebody he’d be embarrassed to wake up next to. Well, unless you counted waking up with yourself.

He virtually never wore clothes around the apartment. Nobody could see in. Nobody came to visit except Lloyd, and Cabot usually remembered to pull on some shorts or sweats when Lloyd visited. And when he didn’t remember, Lloyd didn’t care. Why would he? Lloyd was straight.

And besides, since he didn’t get much sex with anybody else, being a nudist at home gave him easy access to the one man who always enjoyed his lovemaking: himself.

His phone by the door buzzed again. Jesus, Lloyd, give it a rest already.

The text read: Yo dude, call me, man. Really.

Okay, that was scary. Cabot hit the call button.

“Hey,” said Lloyd’s sleepy voice.

“Hey. You okay, bro?”

“Sure. Kinda. No.”

“Okay, that’s three answers. What’s going on?”

“Just flirting with the nurse, man. He says I have to talk to you later.”

“Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa. You’re flirting with a male nurse? What the hell is going on, Lloyd?”

“What? He’s cute.”

“Uh…you’re straight. What kind of drugs do they have you on?”

Lloyd sighed. “Just c’mon to the ER, man. Central MC. They’ll release me if I have a ride.”

“ER? What the fuck happened?”

“Tell you later. You gonna be my ride?”

“You got it, man. Be there in like five seconds. Four point nine.”

“Thanks, Cab.”

Cabot grabbed his keys and wallet and headed for the door, and then remembered he should probably put on pants. He pulled on a pair of basketball shorts and shoes and grabbed a clean shirt out of the drawer. No waiting for the elevator; he took the stairs.

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Meet the Author

Having held jobs as varied as wedding caterer, IT guru, nanny, construction worker, librarian, historical reenactor, screenplay consultant, and birthday party clown, André now writes poetry, plays, and romances and erotic fiction about men loving men. A lifelong bibliophile, André lives in a renovated 1800s parsonage in Ohio, with a variable number of cats and an invariable number of husband.

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New Release Blitz: No Good Men by Thea McAlistair (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  No Good Men

Series: The Caro Mysteries, Book One

Author: Thea McAlistair

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: September 16, 2019

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 65100

Genre: Historical, LGBT, 1930s, Age gap, Historical, Gay, Dark, Mystery, Anxiety

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Synopsis

In 1934, almost everyone struggles to pay the rent, and Alex Dawson is no exception. To support his writing habit, he moonlights with his mentor Donnie as a bodyguard for the mayor. It’s dull work, until the night a handsome, golden-eyed stranger catches his eye–and both his boss and his mentor are killed when his back is turned.

Jobless and emotionally adrift, Alex vows to find the murderer before the corrupt police can pin the blame on him. But he soon discovers he’s in over his head. The golden-eyed stranger turns out to be a mob boss’s cousin, and a suspicious stack of money in Donnie’s dresser leads Alex to discover that his mentor and the mayor were involved in something more crooked than fundraising dinners and campaign speeches. As the death count rises amid corruption, mob politics, and anarchist plots, Alex realizes that the murders aren’t political or even business. This is the work of a spree killer, and Alex and his new boyfriend are the only ones who can stop them.

Excerpt

No Good Men
Thea McAlistair © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Mob money could buy a lot, but apparently it couldn’t buy taste. Every single architectural detail of the Ostia struck me as garish: from the chandeliers dripping crystals to the thick wooden accent panels to the gold-painted cherubs carved into the tops of the columns. But my opinion didn’t matter; I was just hired muscle.

The club had opened the previous December—about two seconds after booze turned legal again—and attracted all sorts of upper-class clientele, including my boss, Mayor Roy Carlisle. They called him the White Knight of Westwick, and he ran on the rather ironic platform of driving various ne’er-do-wells out of the city. But again, not my business. My job was to hover just behind him in case something terrible happened. Nothing ever happened though, no crazed attackers or falling pianos. The worst crisis I’d run into in the ten or so months I’d been working for him was a freak rainstorm at a garden party, and I had to hold my jacket over his wife Emma’s head to protect her hair.

Still, it was a dollar a night to stand around, and that was more than other people were getting. The Depression had wiped everyone out, including me. If I hadn’t taken up bodyguarding, I would’ve been thrown out of my room in the boardinghouse faster than I could say eviction. Writing pulp stories wasn’t a lucrative day job, and even less so at the beginning of a career.

Which was why, despite my thoughts on the decor, I was pleased to be at the Ostia. Everyone said they had the best acts in town, and I couldn’t disagree. That night they opened with a pretty, button-nosed redhead. She was French, or at least she had a good enough grip of the language to sing in it. I didn’t know what she was singing about, but it sounded sultry enough as she made eyes at our table.

Carlisle lapped it up, ignorant or indifferent to Emma turning bright pink beside him. She didn’t say anything though. Maybe she’d taken a lesson from other political wives and learned to swallow her pride or risk becoming divorced and destitute. Not that she didn’t deserve to be proud. She was still pretty at thirty-five—ten years Carlisle’s junior—blonde and delicate with huge blue eyes.

She must have gotten her looks from her mother, because her father had the smashed face of a bulldog and towered over even my own six feet. Seated to his daughter’s left that night, Marc Logan also stewed in silence, his hand alternately crumpling the napkins and patting Emma reassuringly on the knee. His own blue eyes, the haunting color of old ice, bored a hole into the side of Carlisle’s head.

Their dinner guest for the evening, Mrs. Green, likewise noticed his glare and apparently decided the best course of action was distraction. “Emma dear, did you see what Miss Kepler was wearing the other night at the Peterson soiree?” she tittered as she coiled the chain for her hanging glasses around a finger.

“Hmm?” Emma turned her head just enough to keep her husband in her peripheral vision. “I’m sorry; what were you saying about the Kepler girl?”

“Her dress!” exclaimed Mrs. Green. “It was scandalous! So low-cut. Anyone would have thought she was selling herself. Her father should never have let her out of the house like that. Don’t you agree, Mr. Logan?”

Logan blinked slowly, no doubt trying to come to terms with the dullness of a conversation centered on someone else’s clothing. “While I have to agree that she was… improperly dressed for the occasion, it is quite difficult for a man to say no to his daughter once she’s gotten her mind wrapped around something.” He glanced at Emma, who smiled weakly.

Mrs. Green continued along the thread of scandalous attire, but I let my attention slip back to Carlisle. Oblivious to the rest of his table, he continued to stare at the French singer. While such behavior wasn’t unusual for him, that night it was so obvious that even I was becoming uncomfortable. I glanced at my watch and suppressed a groan. It was only half-past ten. Donnie wouldn’t be around for another hour and a half.

“Are you feeling all right, Mr. Dawson?”

My attention snapped to Emma. “Yes, ma’am,” I answered, hoping she hadn’t noticed my boredom.

Her mouth quirked like she was in on some joke I didn’t know the punchline to, but she said nothing else. Instead she turned to her father, placed a hand on his shoulder, and whispered something in his ear. He grunted in response. Carlisle didn’t notice the exchange, or maybe didn’t care. Mrs. Green kept nattering away.

The song stopped, and the French girl took a bow. We all clapped, Carlisle too enthusiastically, and Emma barely at all. The girl swept off the stage to a table off the wing for a break, and she was replaced by a dark-haired woman with too much makeup. The new woman sang with a rough alto voice, occasionally throwing appraising looks at Carlisle, though he didn’t return them. Once the French girl left, his attention had returned to the food. The rest of the table did the same.

With my charges occupied, I took the chance to look over the room again. Nothing out of the ordinary. Diners, waiters, a glossy bar at the back. The maître-de waving through a man who had just entered… I realized I knew the man weaving his way between tables. Donnie was terribly noticeable with a thick, out-of-fashion beard and pocket-watch chain draped across his waistcoat. I looked at my own watch again. It was only eleven.

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Meet the Author

Thea McAlistair is the pseudonym of an otherwise terribly boring office worker from New Jersey. She studied archaeology, anthropology, history, architecture, and public policy, but none of those panned out, so she decided to go back to an early love – writing. She can often be found muttering to herself about her latest draft at completely inappropriate times.

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