New Release Blitz: Secrets of Ishtabay by Mark David Campbell (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Secrets of Ishtabay

Author: Mark David Campbell

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/21/2023

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 84700

Genre: Historical, historical, anthropologist, gay. murder, Mayan, Belize, secrets

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Description

In the western jungle of Belize, in 1962, Father Carl, an American missionary priest was found lying dead on the floor of his study. People from the nearby Maya village of San José were blamed but, strangely, no one was ever officially charged or found guilty. This is only one secret within a carefully guarded web of desire, envy, and guilt which torment and isolate people in this village.

Thirty years later, with the introduction of water and electricity, satellite TV, and the completion of the Western Paved Road, the village is connected to the outside world: people collide and their secrets unravel, sometimes tragically.

Secrets of Ishtabay takes you into a world of mysticism and antiquity and introduces you to a people who are suspended between an eroding past of ancient lost cities, half-forgotten myths, and subsistence farming, and a hostile present with encroaching global economics, illicit drugs, artifact smuggling, and civil wars.

Excerpt

Secrets of Ishtabay
Mark David Campbell © 2023
All Rights Reserved

Well before the rooster crowed, Rosalinda had stoked the fire, slapped out a stack of tortilla cakes, and roasted them on the flat iron comal cooking plate.

Now, as the sun crept into the morning sky, she stepped through her little wooden gate on her way down to the river. The warming rays had taken away the lingering chill and turned the night dew into steam which hung in the vegetation along the path. She adjusted the large blue plastic laundry tub balanced on her head.

The thick air felt so different from the cool thin air of her highland home in Spanish Honduras, but that was more than thirty years ago. She and her husband, José, had escaped here to Belize when it was called British Honduras and still a colony of Britain. They had no other choice. The coffee growers in Spanish Honduras had claimed there were Cubanos in the villages and had sent in the army to keep the Indians quiet. Bullets were fired, blood was spilled, and her village disappeared. She’d not heard from or seen her family since and didn’t know if they were dead or alive. Rosalinda delicately clasped the small wooden cross dangling from her neck and kissed it. All she had with her when she left was the gold crucifix her mother had given her, and she no longer had that. Now even her daughter, Alicia, was gone. At least she still had her son, Geraldo and grandson, young Solario.

By the time she arrived at the river the other village women were already gathered at their washing rocks gossiping loudly above the sound of the flowing water. No one looked up to greet Rosalinda as she set her tub down, hiked up her plain white cotton skirt, tucked the hem into her waistband and stepped into the cool green water. The shade from the trees on the far bank still blanketed the river as she washed out a pile of dirty socks, underwear, and T-shirts. After scrubbing and beating them clean on her rock, she rinsed out the soap, wrung out the water and loaded them into the washing tub. Then she picked up the tub, stood up straight and balanced it on her head. Now that it was filled with wet laundry, it was a lot heavier. Her feet and shoulders hurt as she walked up the hill toward home.

While she hung out the wet laundry along the hibiscus hedge bordering her yard, boys and girls wearing blue uniforms paraded past her gate on their way to school. Geraldo, her son, had already left for his milpa plantation up in the hills and José, her husband, was sitting slumped over on the three-legged stool, dozing in the shade of their wattle and daub thatched house. She said nothing to him as she went inside to hurry young Solario along for school and to set the afternoon beans on the coals to simmer.

By the time she stepped out of her gate again the sun had climbed well over the trees. As Rosalinda approached the front of the church, she saw Señora Uk coming out wearing a black shawl over her head and clutching a plastic rosary in her hand. Señora Uk came to church every morning to pray for her husband, whose body had been found in the river four years ago. As always, she looked at Rosalinda and turned away.

Rosalinda dropped her head and skirted past her through the doorway into the shadowy interior. The air inside the church was clammy and smelled of must and copal incense. She placed an embroidered handkerchief on her head, dipped her finger into the water in the small cement fount and genuflected. Then she walked up the aisle wooden benches and sat down on the third from the front, as she did every morning. When the light coming in through the blue and red colored glass window moved across the room and touched her, she would know it was time to leave.

The wooden statue of San José, the patron Saint of the village, stood frozen to the left of the altar, his brown hands stretching out to receive her, but, as always, Rosalinda refused him. She turned toward the small plastic gold-framed picture of Maria di Guadalupe, which hung on the wall beneath the plain wooden cross. It was the Virgin she had come to see. Rosalinda fell to her knees, held her crucifix to her lips and bowed her head.

“Hail Mother Mary, full of grace, for I have sinned,” she whispered, then closed her eyes, not daring to whisper more. Sounds emanating out of silence became voices, shadows floating across her closed eyelids became forms and she was carried to that morning thirty years ago when she was only a girl, herself.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Mark David Campbell is a Canadian Italian who has lived in Italy for the past twenty years where he teaches, writes, and paints, moving between lago Maggiore and Milan with his husband. Prior to this, he spent more than fifteen years working in archaeology and anthropology in Belize and has a PhD in anthropology from the University of Toronto. He enjoys pizza, beer, swimming, and salsa. Find Mark on Facebook.

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Book Blitz: Rhyme of Longing by Emikly Carrington (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Rhyme of Longing

Series: Jack and Gil #1

Author: Emily Carrington

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: February 17, 2022

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 169 pages

Genre: Romance, Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, Suspense, Urban Fantasy, Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures, Gay, Multicultural & Interracial, Shapeshifters

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Synopsis

Gilbert Sullivan hates his name, but refuses to go by Gil because of a rhyme he fears is a prophecy. When he meets Jack Sowerby, the new head of SearchLight, he’s terrified the rhyme will come true and he’ll lose his place as Crown Prince of the basilisks, but his attraction to Jack won’t let him stay away.

Jack, born human, is, above all things, practical. Still, when he meets Prince Gilbert, his need for the prince blossoms and he’s unable to resist — at least until he’s forcibly changed into a magical creature. He’s terrified of the new world he’s entering. When Gilbert tries to fight the rhyme, will their shattered relationship ever be restored?

Excerpt

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2023 Emily Carrington

Jack wanted so badly to be done with this night that he felt uncomfortable in his skin. That was not the proper way to begin thinking about his sixty-eighth birthday, his five-year anniversary as the head of SearchLight Academy. This was a party for both those things but no one said “no” to Agent Weinberg.

Not necessarily the most powerful magical being in the world, she was still the head of the entire organization. Even though she held the nominal title of “head of Public Relations,” SearchLight’s whole reason for existing was to protect the relationship between magical and nonmagical peoples. Which was, of course, officially, no relationship at all. SearchLight was a secret and must remain so.

The influence she held would make most magical creatures bow in submission. Jack, being merely human, was suitably impressed. And although as yet not cowed, he was too fond of his life to waste it needlessly. Not that Agent Weinberg had killed anyone. Recently.

Jack took a deep breath in through his nose as the limousine pulled up to the curb. He’d been commanded to take this limo and the implicit service of a driver, and although he hadn’t enjoyed it particularly, he was glad that he hadn’t needed to find a place to park in downtown Washington, DC. So, unsure if he was supposed to tip the driver but wanting to show his appreciation, he stepped around to the driver’s side after the car was parked at the curb and offered the person behind the wheel, whom, his telepathic sense, told him wasn’t human, ten dollars.

“Would you be trying to bribe me to take you home, Agent Sowerby?”

Jack saw the humor in the green eyes turned up to his and smiled. “Never in life,” he told the Irish-sounding sprite or Faery or leprechaun. Damn, sometimes he wished for a werewolf’s sense of smell so he’d know the magical creatures around him at once.

“You’re a good man, Agent Sowerby. Don’t let her bully you now.” And with that, he winked and rolled up his window. Jack stepped around the car to the sidewalk and watched the limo drive away.

“Hey there.” The voice was soft, lightly accented, and full of a syrupy, sarcastic undertone that put Jack’s hackles up. He turned more slowly than he could have, wanting to appear older and so less threatening. He gazed at the three people facing him and saw they were all armed.

He was aware of others watching from the doorway of the restaurant but knew they wouldn’t intercede unless it became obvious he couldn’t handle himself. That was one thing about Agent Weinberg he didn’t like much. She believed in the “sink or swim” philosophy.

The woman who’d spoken was smiling in a particularly condescending way. “Got a handout for me?” She twirled the knife in her right hand as she reached out with her left for the ten spot Jack still held.

Jack offered it, keeping a good distance from her, forcing her to step forward to take the bill. He was aware of the other two moving to flank him. He disliked using his telepathic sense against what he considered to be defenseless people, magical or mundane, and yet he wouldn’t risk his own life to preserve theirs. “I suggest you take this and be on your way,” he said softly, putting a slight psychic push into the words. He blanketed the area with his calming presence, lacking the ability to focus on more than two people at once. Both of the men who’d been flanking him stopped. One of them shook his head but the other was definitely under Jack’s control.

“Back off,” Jack said and watched the woman lower her knife a little.

She snatched at the bill and her knife hand flicked upward.

Jack dropped the ten spot and caught her wrist. The knife’s blade skidded across the waterproof material of his trench coat. He forced her to drop the knife as he said, “Go away.”

The man under his control turned and fled. But the other lunged at Jack. Yanking the woman close, Jack used her as a shield. The other man’s blade slid between her ribs. He swore, stumbling back, and lost his grip on his knife. As he turned to flee, Jack lowered the woman to the ground. He shouted, “Someone call nine-one-one.”

Someone joined him out on the sidewalk. It wasn’t Agent Weinberg. It wasn’t a SearchLight agent he knew. There was regal bearing in the other’s posture as he crouched beside Jack. “Let me heal her.”

Jack didn’t protest, although he did skate his telepathic sense outward to determine if this was a magical creature. The fact that he’d said “heal” rather than “help” argued for him not being human. He came into contact with an impenetrable psychic wall and winced as his telepathic sense bounced off. Well, there weren’t all that many humans who could resist even his most casual reach. Ergo, this was a magical creature.

Jack nodded and said, “Go ahead.” He retreated inside his own head and as he pulled out his cell phone, unwilling to trust to others to call for help, he watched the broad-shouldered male beside him spit into his hand and press the palm against the wound even as he pulled the knife free.

Dragon, Jack thought. Dragons could heal with their saliva or a blood exchange. But this wasn’t a dragon Jack knew.

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Changeling Press LLC | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

Meet the Author

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender erotica. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires.

Fantasy creatures not your thing? Emily has also created a contemporary romance world, called Sticks and Stones, where she explores being “different” in a small town.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

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New Release Blitz ~ Brewed Hope by Emma Penny (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Brewed Hope by Emma Penny

Book 2 in the Orders to Haunt series

General Release Date: 14th February 2022

Word Count: 43,207
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 167

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
MÉNAGE AND MULTIPLE PARTNERS
PARANORMAL
REVERSE HAREM

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Book Description


Four brewery owners. Two ghosts. Unofficial orders to haunt.

Brewery owners Marco, Bryson, Shawn and Ayden have been friends for years, but their business is floundering. In desperation, Marco makes a formal request to Madeline for orders to haunt his friends and repair the business. All he wants is to bring his family together again.

Audrey is Madeline’s wild card. Although she’d previously fired her from The Order, Madeline brings Audrey back in an unofficial capacity. In desperate need of income, Audrey takes a job at the brewery to go undercover and help Marco haunt his friends.

Audrey has a new brew to craft—hope.

Excerpt

Audrey

I cannot roll my eyes harder. My sister is ridiculously in love, and while it’s adorable, it’s equally annoying. She and Mom are chattering away, and it’s all I can do to ignore them by sitting on the couch and flipping through random television shows.

They squeal about something, and I shift to face Dad and stop. Cool blue eyes stare at me—that perfectly rounded face, full, red-painted lips and dark loose curls hanging below her shoulder. I sit up straight immediately, every hair on my arms and neck standing straight up.

“Madeline,” I say under my breath like it’s a curse.

The room stills, Stephanie and Mom quieting as they hear my voice. I can’t tear my gaze from Madeline. I never thought I would see her again, not after she tossed me on my ass when I failed my training. It had been awful.

Madeline nods at Steph and Mom but turns her focus directly on me. “Got a minute?”

My stomach is in absolute knots. My voice catches in my throat, and I have no idea what to say. I don’t want her here, not after the embarrassment I left in.

“It’s nothing bad,” Madeline adds, as if she can sense my apprehension, which I suppose she can. She knows everything. She knows what happened six months ago, she knows how I stormed out of The Order with fire on my heels and she knows that I am not anyone she wants working orders. She told me as much.

“Audrey?” Mom asks, as if she she’s going to protect me from this big bad witch.

I try to shift a glance to her, but I can’t tear my gaze from the woman standing in front of me. I curl my fingers into a fist, nails biting into the skin of my palm until I have some wits about me. “I’m fine, Mom.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Pushing myself upward to stand, I eye Madeline carefully. “Only place to meet in private is my bedroom.”

I didn’t want to push it and suggest we talk at The Order. That’d be laughable—me walking back into that place as if nothing had happened. Snorting at the thought, I drag my feet forward until I’m inches from her. As is our custom, I grab her wrist and ghost from the living room to my bedroom. Standing inches from her is even more unnerving than when she’s staring directly at me. Never thought that would happen. None of this. Ever.

I shut the door, hoping it’ll give us at least some privacy. Turning around, I wring my hands together before stopping. I can’t show her how weak I am. “What do you want?”

Madeline sighs and shifts to sit on the edge of my mattress. She looks so out of place in my messy room with the unicorn comforter and unicorn stuffies I refuse to get rid of.

“I’m not here to accost you.”

“Could have fooled me.” Why I’m giving her attitude, I have no clue—but it’s probably not going to help my case any. “Again, I ask, what do you want?”

“I’ve some orders I thought you might be interested in.”

“You fired me,” I respond through clenched teeth. “What the hell kind of orders could you have for me?”

Madeline’s lips thin before she pulls them in a half-smile that is no doubt forced. “Would you relax? I’m only here to try to repair this.”

“There’s nothing to repair. It was severed.”

“There are factors at play that you don’t know about. You didn’t fail in your orders as badly as we told you. You were only off by two marks, and if we had the funds to hire another ghost, you would have been allowed to reapply. However, that’s not the case. I’m here with orders to haunt, if you would like them, but they will not be paid by me.”

“So this is me being volun-told to work a job I was fired from?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow at her.

Madeline shakes her head. “No. I would have very much liked to hire you, Audrey. You would be an excellent asset to The Order.”

“You. Fired. Me.” I spell it out slowly because it doesn’t seem like she’s understanding.

“Yes, but if I’d had another choice at the time, I would have made it.”

I narrow my eyes, anger still boiling in my belly. “Why should I work for you—on the side, without pay?”

“Because you are excellent at what you do, which is causing people to think differently about the world around them in unique and creative ways. I always admired your creativity.”

I scoff, walking to plop onto the mattress next to her. “Never seemed like it.”

She waves her hand. “Persona. Please, I mean what I’m saying.”

“What’s the job?”

“Do you know Bams Brewery?”

I nod. I’ve been there a time or two. Decent beer. Nice atmosphere. Asshole manager.

“They need a haunting.”

“All of them?”

“The four owners, specifically. Marco is one of us, so he will assist, but he also needs his own lesson in there, which is where I need your creativity. He has agreed to hire you on, so you will be paid.”

“Hire me for what?”

“Something at the brewery. Something to your skills.”

“I don’t know how to make beer.” I wrinkle my nose.

“You’ll find something. Would you consider it?”

“What’s in it for me, Madeline? Because, honestly, I don’t relish the idea of doing you a favor, which it seems like this is, without knowing why I’m doing it or what I’m doing it for.”

Madeline falls silent. I’m not sure what she’s thinking, but she is contemplating deeply. “The Order is changing, drastically, and it won’t be what your parents remember much longer. I need allies for what it will be when these changes are made.”

“So let me get this right. You fired me, then you want me as your ally?”

She gives a weak smile. “Yes. If you’ll accept.”

“I’ll accept these orders, because, frankly, I need the paycheck, but beyond that? I have no idea. You’re going to have some explaining to do.”

“All in good time. Since you’ve accepted, you’ll need to contact Marco and create a plan. The rest is left up to you two.” Without another word, she’s gone.

Sitting alone in my room, I stare at the wall and shake my head. What the fuck was that? Never in my life have I heard of such a thing, but she knew exactly who to come to. I’ll do anything to get back in the good graces of The Order. I ghost downstairs after changing into a clean pair of jeans and a tight shirt. Mom and Steph look at me curiously. I shrug.

“It was harmless.” I hope I’m right on that.

“What did she want?” Mom asks.

I shake my head. “She didn’t really want anything—at least, she didn’t insist on anything.”

“Madeline doesn’t just show up for nothing,” Steph adds, her eyes widening.

Shrugging, I chug the last of my beer I’d left opened and grin at them. “I’m off.”

In two seconds, I’m standing outside a small apartment I’ve never seen before. At least Madeline had given me that information. Number four-zero-six. Canting my head to the side, I listen to see if he’s home. Unlike Madeline, I’m not an asshole, so I shift into my corporeal form, make a fist and knock on the steel door. Fixing a grin on my lips, I wait to see what greets me.

Marco is insanely handsome. Madeline put me right in his lap, too, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to be putty. His black hair is slicked to the side, combed perfectly and gelled. I just want to stick my hands in it and mess it up. Rubbing my fingers together, I barely resist the idea. His lips are full, which is incredibly sexy on a man. I nearly moan as the thought of pulling his lower lip between my teeth shudders through me.

“Who are you?” he says, his voice wary but also deep.

Fuck, he’s sex on a stick. Madeline is an evil, evil woman for this one. I’m going to get revenge for this. “I’m Audrey.”

“All right.” He raises an eyebrow at me and shifts to block the door. “And who are you exactly?”

“Oh.” I flush, realizing Madeline had left out some very important information for both of us. “Madeline sent me…about the orders to haunt.”

Marco shushes me, grabs me by the wrist and drags me into his apartment. “You can’t be saying that out loud. My neighbors will hear you!”

I squint at him. “Then you need new neighbors.”

“Why didn’t you just ghost in here?”

Putting my hands on my hips, I face him down. “Because I’m not an asshole, and I respect privacy.”

Marco frowns. “What exactly did Madeline tell you?”

“That you’ll pay me.”

Marco’s lips thin. “We will.”

“What will I be doing?”

“Bartending and waitressing.”

“It’s usually one or the other, not both.” He looks cute when he’s frazzled, and I can’t help myself from pushing at him more.

“It’s both.”

“So what’s the pay?”

“Minimum plus tips.”

I whistle my surprise. “No wonder you can’t keep anyone employed.”

Marco pouts. “Who told you that?”

“I’ve been to your brewery before, Marco, and I’ve seen the employees come and go. Now I know why.”

Sighing, he collapses onto his couch. “The main reason is Bryson. He’s going to be the one you have to work through to get hired.”

“Oh, so this isn’t even guaranteed pay? I’m out.” I start to ghost, but he’s quick. He’s on his feet, grabbing my wrist and dragging me back. “What?”

“Don’t go. I…I need this to happen.”

Clenching my jaw, I give him a hard stare. “Why?”

Marco softens, his entire demeanor changing. He looks so broken. My heart shatters for him, as I see his struggle, the pain this is causing. Sliding up against him, I wrap him in a quick hug.

“Fine, I’ll help. Tell me how to get this job.”

We talk for hours, and he goes from confident to nervous every five minutes it seems, though, he does have good insight into those he works with. It’s after midnight when weariness creeps over me, the events of the day and being thrust into orders I’m not sure are actual orders finally weighing me down. But I don’t know how to leave Marco. First and foremost, he seems lonely, which for a guy who started a business with his three college friends shouldn’t be the case.

Reaching out, I brush my fingers against his arm to get his attention. “It’s getting late.”

Marco nods. “Right. I shouldn’t have kept you.”

“No, it was good.” I give him a gentle smile. I’m not lying. I enjoyed spending the time with him, getting to know him and his friends better. This is going to be one of the best orders I have ever worked, and even if this isn’t a real case, I’m going to see it through—not only to get back into Madeline’s good graces but also for the cold hard cash I really need.

He stares into my eyes, and for a second, I think he might kiss me. I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea, but I’ve only known him for a few hours at this point. He’s adorable and handsome, but this is business. If he wants more—or if I do, for that matter—we need to properly talk about it. Leaning in, I press my lips to his cheek to try to ward off any awkwardness.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the open interviews.”

He grins. “Yes, later today actually.”

I snort lightly. “Today, then.”

Kissing his cheek again, I ghost into my bedroom. I’m thankful to find it blissfully empty and quiet, though I’m sure Mom and Steph are going to hound me with a million more questions as soon as they can find me. I’m not sure what to tell them. Madeline didn’t swear me to secrecy, but if she’s right and The Order is in for dramatic changes, I don’t know if anyone is going to be happy about it.

Stripping naked, I slide under my unicorn blanket and close my eyes, turning the side lamp by my bed off. I need to sleep so I can have my wits about me tomorrow. Bryson is apparently a beast in the form of a handsome man, and Marco warned me I was going to need to be prepared to pass the interview test. Luckily, Marco was going to help me cheat and gave me some clues as to what might happen. Smiling to myself, I turn on my side and close my eyes. I fall into sleep thinking of the handsome man I’d just met.

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About the Author

Emma Penny

Emma Penny is a millennial living in the US. She often moves and loves experiencing new adventures and letting her mind wander to new possibilities. She currently lives north of Denver, CO and has fallen in love with writing steamier romance. Emma started writing when she was a teenager and has never looked back from the creative side of her life. She particularly loves to explore worlds beyond the believable, worlds that stretch her imagination but still root her in the very real personalities of her characters and their relationships.

Follow Emma on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter and find her at her website.

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New Release Blitz ~ Dupli-Kinked by M.C. Roth (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Dupli-Kinked by M.C. Roth

General Release Date: 14th February 2023

Word Count: 77,652
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 282

Genres:

ACTION AND ADVENTURE
BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
CRIME
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
MAFIA/GANGS
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

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Book Description

 

Sometimes the one right path is actually two.

Copley is fresh out of a relationship with his former roommate and has only one place to go—to the wrong side of town to his brother Sauble’s crumbling apartment. He has no idea that his path puts him in the middle of a new world where owing someone money can get you killed.

When Nikita is sent to collect Sauble’s gambling debt, Copley is the only one home. Instead of being terrified of the massive and tattooed gangster, Copley is drawn to Nikita in a way he never has been with anyone.

But Nikita isn’t the only one who has set his sights on Copley. Nikita’s twin brother Maxim wants to claim Copley as his own.

Copley has to decide if he’s going to submit or be pulled to pieces by the two men who are feared beyond city limits.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence and humiliation.

Excerpt

Copley

The ring burned a hole through the pocket of his jeans, drawing his attention with every step. It was supposed to be a symbol of his love, which had simmered for three years and burned bright for another two. Instead, it was the sole representation of his humiliation.

He’d been so excited when he’d strolled into the jewelry store while wearing his best dress shirt and a pair of slacks that had fit him just right. He dressed well for his work, but he’d never really worn something truly expensive before.

He’d kept his jaw sewn tight as he looked at the price tags on every ring, going from glass case to glass case until he’d finally found the dismal selection targeted for men. A simple gold band had barely been within his budget, but he’d needed something. He hadn’t been able to go another moment without telling Spencer how he felt about him.

They’d hardly spoken during the whispered moments at night when they had lain together in the most intimate embrace. But what was he supposed to say to someone who had started as his roommate but had stolen his heart instead?

It had all begun so innocently as a way to blow off steam. The tension had seemed to build as soon as they’d settled in as roommates, even though they’d been strangers at the time. Outside the apartment, they’d become friends who were perhaps more affectionate than most, but as soon as the apartment door had closed behind them, their walls had come down.

Spencer had been his. He would slip into Copley’s bed and lie with him until the sun peeked through his bedroom curtains when he had to roll out and go to work with his ass aching and his lips still bruised from their kisses.

“Copley, come back to bed.”

How many times had he fallen for that? How many sick days had passed with them in bed as they kissed and made love until they simply couldn’t anymore?

That was why the ring had been so important, and why he’d purchased the simple gold band from the clerk, who had given him a slightly disappointed look, as if he should have spent thousands instead of hundreds.

He was in love, but he still had to eat.

His heart had been ready to pound out of his chest by the time he’d arrived home, pulling the ring from the tiny box and clutching it in his hand. He had bitten his tongue, pushing himself through the door before he could chicken out.

And everything had come crashing down.

He’d grabbed his packed bag from his side of the bed, wiping the tears from his cheeks before he’d fled the apartment with Spencer staring after him looking so confused and concerned that it had nearly broken his heart a second time.

The bag was heavy on his shoulder, thumping against his back as he took practiced steps toward the main street. He’d packed light for the second part of his would-be surprise—a camping trip just for the two of them.

The bag contained a single change of clothes with one tent and an extra-large sleeping bag that would have zipped around them just right. It was the perfect way to celebrate a new engagement.

Only he’d been wrong from the very beginning. While Copley had been falling in love for five wonderful years, Spencer hadn’t felt a thing. Their stress relief had been just that and nothing more to him—which was why Spencer had introduced him to his girlfriend while Copley had clutched the ring in his hand like some clueless idiot.

Wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand, Copley looked out onto the street and the zooming traffic that was slowly starting to thin. For a gloomy fall Saturday, the road was surprisingly busy, with people rushing here and there as they prepared for winter.

It would have been near freezing in the tent on their impromptu trip, and they would have had to snuggle so close to share their bodily warmth, fogging the air as they breathed each other in.

Copley sobbed, cupping his hand over his mouth as he stumbled to the nearest bench. He sagged onto the slatted wood frame, dropping his pack as he pressed his face into his hands. A wail seeped past his lips as his chest pulled so tight that he wondered how he could still breathe.

“You okay?”

Sniffing, Copley turned to the man next to him, who looked rather startled at his new bench mate. His hair was gray, a few age spots peeking from under his waterproof cap that matched the poncho around his shoulders.

“Yeah.” Copley sniffed, wiping his hands over his face to try to squish the sobs at the source. It didn’t quite work, but the stranger’s eyes on him stalled his tears where they were. He’d already humiliated himself enough for one day.

“I get like that on rainy days, too, sometimes.” The stranger tipped his cap as he gazed up at the cloudy sky. “Not sure if it’s the best weather for camping, though, son.” He eyed Copley’s bag and the sleeping bag nearly bursting from its packaging. “It’s going to be a mighty cold one tonight, and you don’t look like you’re dressed for it. I can feel a storm brewing in my bones.”

Copley’s lips twitched in the briefest of smiles as he let out a breath. “You sound just like my mother. ‘Don’t forget your sweater, Copley.’” He shook his head, pulling his arms around himself as a gust of wind stripped him of warmth. The guy was right, though. In his haste, he hadn’t grabbed a jacket, and with the nightfall only a short time away, it was already starting to get chilly.

“Sounds like a wise woman, like my Nancy. I would forget my pants if my wife didn’t remind me every morning.” He smiled, rubbing his hand over his knobby knee and grimacing. “I’m surprised she even lets me take the bus anymore. Some days it’s just nice to meet new people, but she’s more of a homebody. Always was.”

Smiling through the last of his tears, Copley leaned against the bench and shuddered as another wind gust swept over him. The blue and yellow bus sign blared above his head, but there were no vehicles in sight. The routes went every fifteen minutes in the city, and he could hop from one to the next with his eyes closed. He’d never even thought of having his own car before.

“Where are you headed, son? Up toward Forrest Lake? Or maybe down by the flats? We used to party there in my day. Don’t tell my Nancy, but there were quite a few ladies that liked to tag along, if you know what I mean. I played football back then. Nothing like a bit of pigskin to get the fire started.”

Copley blinked, chuckling awkwardly as he looked around for an escape. Listening to an old man talk about his young and straight escapades was slightly awkward, if he were honest. He didn’t want to be rude, but that generation tended to be a tad…ungentlemanly to him when they found out he was attracted to men.

“I wouldn’t know, actually. And as for where I’m headed…? I haven’t figured that out yet.” I couldn’t catch a football if it was covered in glue.

He looked to the bus sign. Route fifteen looped around the north side of town before it hit low-income housing and some spots that he didn’t dare step into while he was dressed the way he was. As much as he tried to be open-minded and non-judgmental, he clutched his keys tighter when he passed by graffiti or a few gang members on a corner.

“Well, this bus will take you to some of the best spots,” said the old man, tugging his cap back over his brow as the sun peeked out one final time before clouds consumed it again. It was starting to get low in the sky, bronze blushing to pinks and reds as a few lamplights buzzed to life.

“My Nancy was raised on South Street, just next to the old inn. Not much to it now, but in its glory, it was a beautiful place. Do you know it?” He looked to Copley, his bushy eyebrows scrunching as he slowly blinked.

“I do. I was raised up that way, actually,” said Copley, tugging his shirt tighter around his belly as a raindrop landed on his knee. The rain was cold, sinking straight to his skin as a second drop landed on the bench next to him.

He had been raised near Highbury Street, which was only two blocks from South, and he knew exactly why he shouldn’t travel there. He remembered the noises in the night and the shouts that had kept him awake. His mother and pop had done their best to raise him and his brother and keep them safe in that neighborhood, but sometimes he wondered how he’d ever made it out.

When he’d been old enough, he’d left the neighborhood behind, and his parents had followed shortly after, only they had moved so far south that he rarely saw them in person anymore.

“My brother is still down that way, actually. He’s in the old apartment building near the corner of Highbury…the one with the yellow brick and the steeples,” said Copley. The brick had been all but crumbling the last time Copley had seen it, the shingles on the peaked roof barely hanging on.

“That’s the old McGuire place. He used to own the old bus line in town before it went out of business. Committed suicide not long after that, and his wife went into a nunnery.”

“Oh dear,” said Copley, trying to keep his face blank. Do nunneries still exist? He used to watch The Sound of Music with his mother all the time, and he still knew the songs by heart. The man nodded, his mouth set into a grim line.

“We lost a lot of good men to things like that back then. Not so much now with people my age, but then, half of them aren’t alive anymore, anyway. There are only two people left from my high school graduating class.” He let out a long sigh, finally stilling his hand where he rubbed at his knee. “But I should be going before Nancy sends the search party out for me. I hope you find your way, son.”

The old man stood with a groan, his shoulders stooped as he grabbed the cane that was sitting next to the bench. “And be careful in that part of town. There are a lot of sons of bitches out there.” He walked off, slowly shuffling his feet against the sidewalk.

Copley looked to his pocket where he could still feel the ring like a blazing halo of misfortune. He wasn’t close to feeling any better, but at least he had a touch of perspective.

“Well, I guess I know where I’m headed.”

He grabbed his bag as the bus pulled up to the stop and parked with a burst of air brakes before the doors swung wide. Stepping inside, he clutched the strap of his pack as he paid and slipped into a seat near the front. He hadn’t seen his brother in years, so he was woefully overdue. Hopefully, he had a couch that still had its cushions where Copley could sleep.

He let out a sigh as his eyes began to burn again, his tears budding afresh as he looked back to the bench and his neighborhood. It’s going to be a long night.

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About the Author

M.C. Roth

M.C. Roth lives in Canada and loves every season, even the dreaded Canadian winter. She graduated with honours from the Associate Diploma Program in Veterinary Technology at the University of Guelph before choosing a different career path.

Between caring for her young son, spending time with her husband, and feeding treats to her menagerie of animals, she still spends every spare second devoted to her passion for writing.

She loves growing peppers that are hot enough to make grown men cry, but she doesn’t like spicy food herself. Her favourite thing, other than writing of course, is to find a quiet place in the wilderness and listen to the birds while dreaming about the gorgeous men in her head.

Find out more about M.C. Roth at her website.

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Book Blitz: Illuminated by Alexa Piper (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Illuminated

Series: Vampire Tales 1

Author: Alexa Piper

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: February 10, 2023

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 126 pages

Genre: Romance, Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, Suspense, Bisexual, Multisexual & Pansexual, Gay, Magic, Sorcery, and Witchcraft, Murder Mystery, Vampires

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Synopsis

Ethan is a photographer who loves the interplay of light and shadow in his work and what it reveals. While working on his latest project, he finds himself at an abandoned church after nightfall. Lured by the prospect of capturing something unique with his camera, he ventures inside.

What Ethan discovers in that forgotten place is not what he expected. Instead of sights unseen for decades, Ethan finds a man — bleeding, hurt, and in need of help.

What Ethan doesn’t know is that he isn’t freeing an ordinary man, but an ancient vampire.

Through a haze of blood and violence, Ethan will have to come to terms with a situation nothing could have ever prepared him for. Auris drinks blood and deals death with ease, but Ethan soon discovers that the vampire is not just a monster. Auris is more, so much more. As if it were illuminated with a camera flash, Ethan can almost see himself and Auris have a shared future. Yet, those who tried destroying Auris once will stop at nothing to do so again.

Content Warnings: Illuminated (Vampire Tales 1) contains scenes of violence, murder, kidnapping, and torture that may be triggers for some readers.

Excerpt

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2023 Alexa Piper

I felt the cold fingers of the changing season reach across the café’s outdoor terrace and right up my spine. The warm fall day drew to a close with the trees all along the coast colored in vermilion and gold, and darkness rolled in with the tide, the sky above pretty as pulped roses.

“Need another?” said the very attentive server. Her eyes were ocean blue, and her golden earrings caught the fading light slanting in from across the water. She wore a surgical mask like most of the staff in the region I’d come across, even though they were no longer mandatory. “You seem to inhale them. You know that might cost you sleep, right?”

I smiled back at her and finished the last of my latte. “I always inhale great coffee, but this will have to be my last. I like to work at night.”

True enough, even if I had captured mostly sunlight and shadows, leaves and people today, not my normal fare. The touristy charm of the place had simply lured me in. That all the cafés I found here had great service, view, and coffee didn’t help me regain my work attitude.

She looked me up and down, no doubt taking in my slightly over shoulder-length caramel brown hair, the piercing blue eyes most people liked to comment on, and — last but not least — my pseudo-geeky Schrödinger’s Cat tee.

“My mother would tell you that a good boy like yourself should be in bed at night. What do you do?”

I laughed and tugged a strand of my hair back behind my ear. “I’m a photographer, and I like editing when it’s dark out. Just a night owl thing. Could I get the check, please?” This was beginning to feel more and more like a vacation, even though I was working. I wanted abandoned places for my next exhibition, and if you didn’t mind a bit of driving, this area had plenty.

“Wow, an artist. You’re the first in Brightam this season, or at least my first. Be right back.” She winked at me.

I nodded, and she took my empty glass and walked away.

My bag sat on the chair to my right. I dug for my notebook and phone. My slightly battered but trusty notebook contained my longhand list of places I wanted to go see. I unwound the elastic that held the notebook closed and checked the list I’d bookmarked with an old receipt for a bagel and coffee against a map on my phone to see if I could still get something done today. If I didn’t, this really would be a vacation day, and I was firmly not on vacation. Besides, I was sure some lowlight photos might add a creepy aspect to my work people often told me was there to begin with, even if I never saw it.

The seventh item on my list was a church that had been abandoned for decades, complete with a garden of headstones surrounding it, and it was only a thirty-minute detour from my way back to Cromere where I had booked my hotel for the month. I had my external flash in the car. Going to the church and getting photos of headstones and a dilapidated building in the background in the almost dark would be perfect.

“Here you go,” the server said and dropped the check on the table. “I put my number on there in case you’re staying in town and want to do something later. Together.”

I had seen that coming about two lattes ago, and I did consider it. Yet, the church actually sounded interesting, more interesting than vacation sex when I wasn’t even on vacation.

“I’m afraid I have to get some work done, actually.” I indicated my notebook before putting the receipt back to mark my spot and packing everything back into my bag. “But thanks for the offer. Maybe another time,” I said and tipped her generously.

She shrugged. “Keep the number. In case you change your mind.”

I did and smiled at her over my shoulder when I left the café.

Over the ocean, the pinks were surrendering to indigo and teal. Night’s breath was icy on the breeze.

* * *

I pulled on my jacket and left the car back at the mouth of the path that led to the church. It was a short walk of not even ten minutes, and I was glad that I also kept a flashlight in the trunk, because even with an almost full moon above, it was dark out here.

The trees grew tall on all sides, branches eating at the dusky sky. Insect noises and the sound of me walking were the only things I could hear, and there was something wonderfully peaceful about that.

I hadn’t lied to the server, I was a night owl and always had been, but I lived in the city, and night in the city was never really dark nor silent. Being out here was a different experience and refreshing in its way.

The church came up ahead of me like a looming scarecrow, raggedy and weather-beaten, but its former function clear even in its current condition. It was slightly uphill, which helped with that perception, but there was something… I had the overwhelming sense that the church had been waiting for me. That was nonsense. Buildings didn’t wait or want. They just were and aged and crumbled, but the fact this place did make me feel like the church was a living being boded well for the photos. I snapped a couple, looking up toward the church.

The church itself was really just a small building that might have held a congregation of maybe two hundred. From what I had read, there had been an abandoned mining town nearby, and the church had been left behind when the ore ran out. The bodies already in the earth had been left as well, a strange sort of exchange for the ore, iron paid for with bone.

When I reached the cemetery grounds, my flashlight licked against dark headstones that were leaning this way and that in time’s pull. With the dark church behind them, all this needed to be a perfect set for a horror movie was some fog and maybe a wolf howling. I chuckled. This was wonderful.

I decided that I would just walk around a bit so I could get a feel for the place, take some shots as I did so to begin with. I turned the flashlight off, put it in my camera bag, and started. The strobing light of my camera flash threw odd shadows that lingered on my retinas. I made my way toward the church doors in a slow half circle, not really planning anything, just going by instinct. Then, with a shot of a cracked church window, I saw that the door to the building was open, just enough to draw a hard shadow in the light of my camera flash.

I stopped and turned my flashlight back on, aiming it at the door. I took another picture even if the flashlight would mess up the lighting. I wasn’t sure why, because I was pretty good about not wasting shots. Some instinct maybe, or a random muscle jerk.

“Oh, opportunity, you call me,” I whispered, running the flashlight up the door, which was indeed open.

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Meet the Author

Alexa (she/her) has a lot of characters living in her head and wanting their stories told. Many of these people get snarky and won’t stop complaining if Alexa is too slow writing them, which means that for this author, sleep is a luxury. Consequently, Alexa is a coffee addict, but she is sure she has it under control (six cups of coffee are normal in a morning, right? Right!?)

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New Release Blitz: Hot Blood by AE Lister (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Hot Blood

Series: The Braided Crop Ranch, Book Four

Author: AE Lister

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/07/2023

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 50300

Genre: Contemporary, BDSM, pony play, kink, photographer, hurt/comfort, grief, public sex, voyeurism

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Description

Oliver Lambert has taken his photography skills and run with them. By the time he’s thirty, he’s made a name for himself and now has jobs whenever he needs them. He likes to be behind the camera, watching the world through a safe lens, protected from actually engaging with it.

An unexpected referral takes him somewhere he never expected—a kinky fetish ranch in the Muskokas, where men pay to play pony and trainers teach them how to behave.

Adam Marsland needs a visual record of the Braided Crop Ranch and it’s been a while since the website photographs were updated. When he’s given Oliver’s name, he immediately hires the man to come for the summer session to immerse himself in the ranch and its activities.

Oliver is out of his depth, but the challenge of photographing the beautiful men at the BCR is something he can focus on. Safe behind the lens of his camera, Oliver finds the ranch to be seductive and shocking. He can’t help admitting a fascination for the people who make the Braided Crop Ranch what it is.

But just because he knows how to take a great photo doesn’t mean he’s prepared for everything he encounters, especially when it comes to a recalcitrant ponyboy named Puck.

Contains: voyeurism, second-hand embarrassment, awkward conversations, a very introverted photographer, and several surprising developments, along with all the regular kink and pony play elements.

*Note: The timeline of Hotblood is prior to the events in Stable Hand but should be read either as the fourth book in the series or as a standalone.

Excerpt

Hot Blood
AE Lister © 2023
All Rights Reserved

Editing digital photos to make fruits and vegetables appear perfectly ripe, juicy, and seductive was not where I thought my life would end up.

When I’d chosen photography as the focus of my fine arts degree at the University of Waterloo in Southern Ontario, I had imagined somewhat more exciting subject matter. But most of my assignments these days involved long hours spent hunched on my elbows in the dirt, taking alluring shots of farm produce.

On my very fancy and expensive computer monitor, a ray of morning sunlight bounced off the red skin of a plump tomato. I’d tried several filters and a range of exposures to get it just right, but something wasn’t working.

I clicked on another set of tools and looked for a different approach. While I perused the list, my phone pinged from where it lay on the desk.

I glanced at the screen to see a text from an unknown number:

Mr. Lambert, is it OK if I give you a call in a few moments? My name is Adam Marsland. I was given your name and contact info by Jaden Stevenson. I’m looking for a photographer.

Since referrals had gotten me to where I was in my life at the moment—a recognized purveyor of outstanding photographic interpretations of reality—I texted Mr. Marsland back immediately.

Of course. Give me five minutes.

I input Adam Marsland as a contact and stood from my chair. My neck cracked when I stretched it to the side, and again when I repeated the motion in the other direction. I was only thirty years old, but sitting in one position for too long was bad for anyone. I reached my arms up and over my head, feeling the pull in my muscles.

Moving into the kitchen of my small condo on Toronto’s East Side, I grabbed a tumbler, pressed the button on my fridge for cold water, and watched the stream of liquid splash into the glass. It would be fortuitous if Mr. Marsland could offer me a contract for some images. I was booked up until mid-June but, after that, things looked a bit sparse.

I carried my drink to the living room window and gazed out on the city. Living on the fifteenth floor afforded me the luxury of a stunning view, even if the square footage was small. At least the finishes and upgrades in this unit were of the highest quality and done according to the latest trends. I’d been able to furnish the tiny apartment with quality pieces, like the Eames chair and a tan leather love seat from West Elm, since I didn’t need many.

When my ringtone sounded, I walked back to my desk, put the glass down, and pressed the answer button, remaining on my feet since I’d been sitting for the past hour and a half.

“Mr. Marsland,” I said.

“Mr. Lambert. Good afternoon. How are you today?”

“Fine, thanks. What can I do for you?” I asked, taking a sip from my glass.

Mr. Marsland cleared his throat, and I heard the click of a pen. “I’m hoping you can come to my ranch and take some photos for me. You come highly recommended.”

I smiled, because it was always nice to hear that. “Thanks. Jaden mentioned me?”

“Yes. He thinks you’d be perfect for what we need.”

“I’m pretty booked up at the moment. What time frame are we looking at?”

“I’d need you to spend part of the summer here, if you’re available, and interested. You’ll be compensated well and we can put you in a room at the main house during your stay.”

Perfect.

“I do have most of the summer free at the moment. Are you talking three weeks? Six?”

Papers rustled on Mr. Marsland’s end. “Six weeks. From mid-July to the end of August.”

I walked back to my computer and put the glass down beside it. “And I’d be photographing horses? Riders? The landscape, too, I suppose?”

There was a pause, and he laughed. “We’re not that kind of ranch, Mr. Lambert.”

I narrowed my eyes at the red tomato that had tortured me with its saucy round form all morning. Mr. Marsland’s comment intrigued me.

“Call me Oliver. And what exactly do you mean?”

“The name of my…business…is the Braided Crop Ranch. We’re really a club, of sorts, with a resort hotel on the premises.”

Hmm. “Oh. And you offer riding as part of the resort experience?”

Mr. Marsland laughed. “No. No riding. Only ponies.”

“I’m sorry. I’m a bit confused about—”

“We’re a fetish ranch, Oliver. Pony play. Human ponies. In leather harnesses and other…accoutrements.”

I blinked quickly, my eyes flitting from the tomato to the glass of water on my desk as my mouth went dry.

“Oh. I see.”

Holy… That was not where I thought this conversation was going. A fetish ranch? My mind conjured up bizarre images of people in horse costumes. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

Adam laughed again. “Look, why don’t I text you the link to our website, where we have some older images, and you can call me back if you’re interested. And just text me a ‘No, thanks’ if you’re not.”

That…made sense. My mind reeled from the information but also honed in razor-sharp on the fact that this would be a very different assignment from anything I’d done in the past.

“All right. That sounds fine.”

“I hope to hear from you within the next hour. But if I don’t, no harm, no foul. What we’d be looking for are updated, artistic images for the website and our brochures—maybe a selection of shots to sell in our gift shop. Have a look, and if you think you can work with us, call me back. At any rate, it was great to speak with you, Oliver.”

“Same, Mr. Marsland.”

“Adam. Please.”

“Okay. Thanks, Adam. I’ve got your text, so I’ll have a look.”

“Excellent. Hope to speak to you soon.”

I closed the call and clicked the link in the text from Adam. My browser opened, and a “Welcome” page loaded.

The Braided Crop Ranch scrolled in elegant but readable script overtop an idyllic scene of what looked like a regular farmhouse and barns in a woodland setting. Then a warning window popped up, informing me I had to be eighteen or older to enter the site.

Hmm. Well, I was thirty, so I clicked it.

Welcome to the Braided Crop Ranch.

A fetish farm for pony play enthusiasts…

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Meet the Author

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 many other books, one of which (Beyond the Edge) received an Honorable Mention from the National Leather Association–International for excellence in SM/Leather/Fetish writing.

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New Release Blitz: To Mend a Broken Wing by Fearne Hill (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  To Mend a Broken Wing

Series: Rossingley, Book Four

Author: Fearne Hill

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/07/2023

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 71800

Genre: Contemporary, contemporary, gay, bisexual, interracial, NA, British, physical difference/phocomelia, found family, coming of age, humorous, cricket competition, children

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Description

“I think,” Lucien began, “that we accept the love we believe we deserve. And unfortunately, Noah doesn’t believe he deserves any.”

For twenty-two-year-old Noah, the revelation that his biological father is an ex-professional footballer is like tearing the wrapper from a cheap chocolate bar and discovering he’s won the elusive golden ticket. Every homeless young man’s dream, right?

Wrong. Because his father has also served a lengthy prison sentence. For murder.

With nothing to lose and facing a winter sleeping rough, Noah travels to France to meet him. Despite an angry encounter, Noah reluctantly agrees to stay at the ancestral home of one of his newfound father’s friends until he finds his feet.

Twenty-five-year-old Toby loves his village of Rossingley so much he’s never left. Working as a manny caring for the children of the eccentric sixteenth earl is his dream job. Sure, he’d like to travel someday and maybe find a boyfriend, one who doesn’t treat him like a doormat. But with his deformity denting his confidence, Toby counts his blessings and takes what he can get. That is, until a sullen, handsome misfit comes to stay, flipping Toby’s ordered village life upside down.

Excerpt

To Mend a Broken Wing
Fearne Hill © 2023
All Rights Reserved

Toby

“Darling, which do you prefer, Moonlit Navy or Magenta Surge?”

The job description had outlined caring for three children, all under the age of five. The wording had been economical with the truth. By my calculations, there were four. Number four had recently celebrated a milestone birthday and was a smidge sensitive about it.

“The navy’s good,” I hedged, examining the nail polish on both of the earl’s elegant index fingers, pressed side by side. “It complements your…er…outfit.”

He sighed in consternation. “Moonlit Navy is my go-to normally, darling, but I’m concerned it’s beginning to complement not only this divine outfit but my knobbly blue veins too. Don’t you think?”

During my three years of study at childcare college, none of the modules had offered handy tips on how best to sensitively reassure a gay earl dressed in a sky-blue satin nightdress that he could paint his fingernails navy, magenta, or pink with yellow spots, and no one would notice. For the simple reason that the trillion-carat diamond adorning his ring finger, not to mention the other sparkly rock in his ear, and the string of boulder-like pearls around his neck, kind of drew the eye. And did I mention the nightdress?

“Magenta,” came a masterful deep growl, accompanied by two strong arms wrapping themselves loosely around the earl’s shoulders from behind. “I like you wearing magenta.”

Leaning back into his husband’s wonderfully secure hold, my boss tipped his face up to meet Dr Sorrentino’s and accepted a tenderly loving kiss on the end of his patrician nose. Thank God. The cavalry had arrived. I averted my eyes as they shared a swoony moment.

“Magenta Surge it is, then,” the earl declared. His voice took on a throaty, sultry tone.

Never taking his eyes off his husband, he addressed me. “Toby, my darling. I do believe Jay and I will sojourn to the west wing for a while. The light is so much better up there for nail painting, wouldn’t you agree?”

As sex euphemisms went, this was typically delicate.

“Absolutely.” As if I’d ever dare disagree with my boss on such matters. “I’ll listen out for the children.”

“Thank you,” the earl replied graciously. “You are an absolute treasure.”

Tell me something I didn’t know. Pushing himself back from the table in a single fluid movement, the earl stood and took Dr Sorrentino’s waiting muscular arm. Another swoony kiss; anyone would think they’d been married six minutes, not six years.

“I don’t know how we’d cope without you, Toby,” he added, giving his husband’s arm a squeeze.

You’d have a hell of a lot less sex with the delicious Dr Sorrentino, probably. I pushed that thought aside. I did not envy my boss. I did not envy my boss.

I watched them dreamily wander out of the kitchen, already oblivious to my presence. The earl’s satin nightdress trailed soundlessly along the floor behind him, and I shook my head, smiling to myself as I cleared away the forgotten pots of nail polish.

My phone pinged—a daily text from my mother, checking all was well in my world. And, as usual, it was, as long as I ignored the teeny fact that my knight in shining armour had missed his cue to take centre stage. Despite that, I shouldn’t and wouldn’t envy the earl. He might have the delectable Dr Sorrentino carting him off to bed at two o’clock on a Thursday afternoon, but how could I ever be envious of a man with his grim family history?

The tragic deaths of the fifteenth earl and his oldest son and heir eight years ago had cut deep into the soul of Rossingley. I’d been fifteen years old, and the shroud of grief that settled over families like mine was a testament to the Duchamps-Avery stewardship of the village. Rents in Rossingley for local families were low, and the Duchamps-Averys had never succumbed to the lure of greedy property developers. The current earl’s money kept the village pub alive, provided the school with much needed extras, funded new church bells as required, and repaired holes in the church roof.

The profound impact of the accident on the current earl didn’t bear thinking about. While Rossingley mourned, Lucien Avery vanished, leaving my Uncle Will, the estate manager, to keep the Avery affairs functioning while the reclusive new earl grieved in private.

Stories sprang up about him, of course, almost overnight. The silliest being that he was a vampire. Or a ghost. That he’d died in the helicopter crash along with everyone else. That his continued existence was a fabrication to prevent his wicked uncle getting his hands on the dosh. That he’d been sighted wearing a flowing white dress, dancing in the moonlight down by the still lake. That he swam in the lake at midnight. That he walked on water. That he spent his days wandering the attic rooms calling for his lost brother. That he was crazed and locked in a basement asylum.

Uncle Will debunked all these myths, and more, but people carried on spouting them anyhow. Why let the truth get in the way of a good story?

Like all gossip, two-thirds were total bullshit, but some held a grain of truth. The earl did wander the estate dressed in flowing gowns, albeit with the addition of green wellies. I’d seen him with my own eyes, an almost ethereal, waiflike presence, as I helped Uncle Will refence the north fields during the school holidays. I recall I’d stared and stared at him, fascinated, half expecting him to float away on a strong puff of wind, up to the heavens to join his beloved family. When my uncle noticed my staring, he ordered me to let the poor guy grieve in peace. Joe, who worked in the gardens, reported the new earl spent his days sitting on a bench smoking himself to death. Steve—another gardener, now retired, said he’d been ordered to place fresh flowers on the family graves every single day.

And then, a couple of years later, a ray of light burst through the new earl’s grief, lifting the thick bank of clouds. Once again, bright sunshine beat down on the lush green fields of the Rossingley estate. By then I was eighteen and working with Uncle Will every spare moment I wasn’t in school, saving for college. A mysterious new car appeared in the big house yard, a flashy red Audi, its owner a burly hunk of masculinity, equipped with brawny arms and a mass of black curly hair.

They were spotted together, the stranger and the earl, holding hands by the lake, kissing against the south wall of the old stone chapel. Reuben, the new gardener, told everyone the stranger was another doctor, that the new earl had found his one true love (Reuben was a French romantic), that the man with the Audi would be staying for good. Seemed he was right because a wedding followed not long afterwards. The village celebrated; I drank far too much free champagne, vomited in the walled garden rose bushes, then snogged Rob Langford, the dairy farmer, for the first time. But that’s another story.

I busied myself with preparing the children’s supper. Five-year-old twins, Eliza and Arthur, were at their weekly riding lesson with Emily from the village. Orlando, the most scrumptious bundle of fifteen-month-old goodness to ever exist on this planet, would soon be awake from his afternoon nap. Mary, the housekeeper, had finished for the day, and the earl and Dr Sorrentino would be indulging in afternoon delight for at least another hour. Which gave me a rare quiet moment all to myself.

The house phone rang, a number known only by a very few—Dr Sorrentino’s family, the earl’s family, Uncle Will, the children’s school, and the earl’s closest friend, Marcel. All other calls were routed through the estate office. The chance of interrupting Dr Sorrentino in whatever pleasures he was currently providing, in order to answer a phone call was roughly as likely as my Prince Charming galloping through the kitchen on one of the children’s ponies. So I answered it myself.

“Oh, Lucien, you are never going to believe what’s happened. You should probably pour yourself a glass of something orange and vile and sit yourself down.”

The voice sounded breathy, flustered, foreign, and familiar.

“Uh, hello, Marcel. Sorry, it’s Toby. The manny.”

“Oh, my goodness. Toby! So sorry! Is he around? I called his mobile, but he didn’t pick up.”

Right. First rule of Rossingley: you do not talk about Rossingley.

“Um…yes; he’s…um…somewhere, I believe?”

“Thank goodness. I’m having a teeny-tiny, non-asthma-related crisis, and I’d really appreciate his pearls of wisdom right now. Although, obviously, don’t ever tell him I admitted that.”

“Obviously.”

I’d experienced one of Marcel’s non-asthma-related crises the last time he came to stay. It involved a tricky sudoku and the French Minister of the Interior. From his urgent and breathless manner, this one sounded more serious. I checked the time. The earl had been gone less than twenty-five minutes.

“Okay.” I stalled, rapidly assessing the situation. “I’ll…um…shall I…um…ask him to call you as soon as he’s…um…available?”

Second rule of Rossingley: When Dr Sorrentino eye-fucked his husband in that tone of voice, then tugged him purposefully towards the west wing, it was a brave soul who dared interrupt. Or someone who had been best friends with the earl for yonks, like Marcel.

“Toby, my dear?”

Some of the breathiness left Marcel’s tone, replaced with a touch of steel. “Lucien is in bed, isn’t he? In the middle of the day, with that ravishing hunk of a husband.”

“Um…well, I…possibly?”

“Listen. And this is very important. Go upstairs to the west wing, bang on the bedroom door—loudly—and inform Lucien I need to speak to him. I expect he will decline.”

“Um…yes…I, yes, you may be right.”

Marcel knew my boss exceedingly well.

“When he does, you have my permission to inform him if he doesn’t bring his skinny, oversexed, ridiculous aristocratic self to the telephone at once, Marcel will whisper in Jay’s ear a little story about a porcupine cactus, a Cuban waiter, and a silver teaspoon. During that memorable trip to…aah…Morocco.”

Morocco. Third rule of Rossingley: If ever Marcel dropped the M bomb? Fetch the earl at once.

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Meet the Author

Fearne Hill lives deep in the southern British countryside with three untamed sons, varying numbers of hens, a few tortoises, and a beautiful cocker spaniel.

When she is not overseeing her small menagerie, she enjoys writing contemporary romantic fiction. And when she is not doing either of those things, she works as an anaesthesiologist.

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New Release Blitz ~ Stolen by Jayce Carter (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Stolen by Jayce Carter

Word Count: 44,084
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 171

GENRES:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
PARANORMAL
REVERSE HAREM

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Book Description

 

Larkwood is dangerous, but love scares me even more.

As a selkie, nothing matters more to me than my freedom. Larkwood destroyed that when they took my skin, and with it, my ability to transform. I’ve spent the six years since incomplete, but now that the rumors say Larkwood has changed, it’s my chance to finally get back what they stole.

I need to keep my head down and focus, but from the moment I step foot back in Larkwood, I can’t catch a break. The other shades hate me, the people in charge pity me and the two men I’ve tried to forget won’t leave me alone. Asher, a quiet and intense amarok, and Talon, a mischievous and playful kitsune, seem to think I’ve come back looking for romance.

As we all venture into the most dangerous place in Larkwood to find what was stolen from me, I realize that there is no bigger threat to me and my freedom than the two men I’m falling for. If I don’t keep my wits about me, I might just find myself trapped once again.

Excerpt

Six years since I’d escaped Larkwood’s clutches, since I’d somehow survived a place determined to destroy me, and it hadn’t changed a bit. It had the same imposing walls, the same layout, the same empty desert that stretched out for miles around it. Sure, the news swore the place was different, but I was way too smart to believe that.

Still, I never thought I’d come back here.

At least not willingly.

Even standing in the intake room, the same one they’d used in the past, didn’t help me differentiate between the past and the present.

“Mara?” The familiar voice made me turn and look up into a face that shouldn’t have surprised me. Kit Porter had taught when I’d lived at Larkwood years ago, and he’d been the only shade given such a position. However, since he worked in level 1 and I was officially a level 4, I didn’t think I was important enough for him to take notice of me.

“I’m surprised you remember me,” I said.

“I have an exceedingly good memory.” He bypassed the unasked question of why he knew me, but that was hardly unusual for him. Kit had always kept things close to his chest from what I’d seen. “Besides, seeing you jogs old memories. Not many shades have returned here.”

“I can’t be the only resident with nowhere else to go.”

“Student.” At my look, he clarified, “Larkwood has changed. We have no residents or guards. Those who choose to come here do so of their own free will. They are students.”

I snorted at the explanation, especially from Kit. We’d all known that he was little more than a pet for the Warden, a shade willing to do her dirty work for his own benefit. The fact he remained increased my suspicion about this place.

He lifted one of his dark eyebrows, but before he could say anything else, a woman walked up who I’d seen on the news enough to identify.

Hera Weston. The previous darling of the influential Weston family and now the Director at Larkwood Academy. The scar at her throat had been difficult to see on the TV, but in person it stood out. Her hands moved in a quick, practiced flurry, but I had no idea what it meant.

Kit spoke to her when she paused. “This is Mara Holland. She was here…” He paused, the flat blackness of his eyes making his expression difficult to read. “Six years ago, I believe.”

Hera moved her gaze to me, then signed again.

Kit translated. “This is Hera Weston, the Director. She’s welcoming you here.”

I nodded at the woman, unsure how else to respond. She looked to be around my age, yet where I wore a large hoodie and leggings, like the normal nineteen-year-old trying and failing to figure my shit out. Hera wore a fitted suit that proved we were not at all the same.

She reminded me of the sort of person I’d look for when I realized I needed an adult who was doing a better job adulting than I was.

She was also a person with absolute power. The Warden had looked similarly put together when I’d arrived at Larkwood, so I knew better than to trust anyone in power.

Hera signed again, then waited for Kit to translate. “She wants to know why you’ve come back.”

“I thought all shades were welcome here?” I wrapped my fingers around the strap of my backpack, which had what little I owned crammed inside.

“They are,” Kit offered, his words slow as if unsure how to keep going. “We’ve set Larkwood up as a refuge for those who need it. I just haven’t seen many return here. Usually, when people get out of the place it used to be, they have no desire to return.”

“Yeah, well, it turns out that life outside of here isn’t that great, either. So do I have a room or not?”

Kit pressed his lips together but nodded. He gestured toward a table farther in. “Deacon is handing out room assignments and will pass you off for orientation.”

That made me turn my head to catch sight of the man Kit had mentioned who, again, looked just the same as I recalled. I swallowed down my unease at the fact they’d kept a guard on staff, mostly because I didn’t want to have any more discussion than I had to.

I needed to stay quiet, to do what I’d come to do, then get the hell out of Larkwood again. The last thing I needed was to draw attention to myself.

So I nodded and followed Kit’s directions. Deacon lifted his purple eyes to me but showed no sign of recognition.

Then again, six years was a long time, and it wasn’t as if I’d been a troublemaker. He’d had no reason to notice me.

I knew exactly what I looked like—any teenager not worth a second glance. I kept my dark curly hair cut short and always wore dark leggings and baggy hoodie sweaters. My eyes were dark, and the only truly notable or memorable thing about my appearance was the freckles on my face that stood out on my dark skin.

“Name?”

“Mara Holland.” I kept my voice strong but non-confrontational. Don’t be memorable but don’t be weak, either. The rules of Larkwood were shockingly similar to those in prison.

He furrowed his brows, tapping his finger across the tablet in his hand. “You were here before, right?”

“You don’t recognize our little selkie?” That voice was one I sure as hell wouldn’t forget. Wade walked up, the void older but with the same old smirk. “We only had one in the years I’ve been here.”

“Aren’t selkies level 4s? Why would you know her?”

“She wasn’t housed in level 4.”

Deacon turned his gaze to me, his eyes full of suspicion. His lifted eyebrow asked the question so he didn’t have to.

“They wanted to do experiments and since the North Tower is connected to level 1, they thought it was easier to keep me here—not so far to transport me.” Even as I spoke, I kept my voice flat. If I didn’t, if I went back to the memories of the North Tower, of the hell they’d put me through, I’d let Deacon and Wade see far too much.

“I see,” Deacon said, his tone giving nothing away about how he felt. “Your room’s in level 1. We don’t have that many people, and because they made level 1 to house shades long-term, it’s got the best set-up. We’ve been putting everyone in level 1 while we work on getting the other levels renovated.”

“By which he means that level 1 has kitchens, full bathrooms, and it’s directly connected to the other areas,” Wade explained, as if Deacon needed a translator just as Hera had.

Instead of asking more, I held my wrist out.

Deacon went still, a frown touching his features.

Wade shook his head, then gently set his gloved hand on my wrist. “We don’t do wrist bands anymore.”

Oh… I guess that made sense. I ignored the warmth on my cheeks as Deacon pulled a card from a stack on the table he leaned against, then swiped it through a reader on his tablet. A few beeps rang out before he held the card out. “This will get you into your room— one-three-four-five.”

“Will it get me into the pantry and rec areas?”

Deacon shook his head. “We don’t keep the same security measures they had back then. The only off-limit areas are dangerous or security-centric. Otherwise, none of the areas require special access.”

“The North Tower?” I asked, unable to help the slight quiver in my voice at mentioning that place. It felt like talking about it might call its attention to me.

Deacon didn’t answer, with Wade taking that one. “The North Tower’s locked. There’s way too much stuff in there that we don’t understand yet. Plus, we don’t want people breaking in just to steal things. A lot of what’s there could seriously hurt shades if it got into the wrong hands. Don’t worry, though no one’s working there.”

Which means this is going to be more complicated than I wanted…

“Come on, I’ll show you where to go,” Wade said, gesturing toward the door at the back of the intake room.

“I’m good,” I assured him, tucking the keycard into the side pocket of my leggings. Even after six years away, this place haunted my dreams. I couldn’t possibly forget a single hallway of this prison, of the place that had tried to destroy me…the place that had taken what mattered most from me.

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About the Author

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.

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New Release Blitz ~ Romancing The President by Imari Jade (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Romancing The President by Imari Jade

General Release Date: 7th February 2023

Word Count: 30,881
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 132

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
MULTICULTURAL
VALENTINES

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Book Description

 

Student Council President River West gets swept away when he looks into the gray eyes of Kylian Abadie, a French cooking major.

The Valentine’s Day Festival is a big deal for the entire male population of Cupid Academy, a prestigious university in Hokkaido, Japan. Every year one of the school’s clubs must choose a mascot to represent them. This year the kendo club choose Kylian Abadie. Kylian, not a willing participant, accidentally falls on top of River after a mob of young men chase him through the hallowed halls of the university. It’s like Cupid’s arrow strikes both of them. Since then, River has been questioning his sexuality. He’s never been attracted to guys before, but there’s always a first time for everything.

The last thing Kylian Abadie wants is to be the mascot for a school filled with testosterone-loaded jocks. He can’t help that he is the shortest guy in the school and looks slightly like the chubby-cheeked angel from classical mythology. It’s bad enough that his group has been assigned to making and selling chocolate candy. He turns to the student council president for help and discovers that the prince of the school has a secret that he’s been hiding for the last four years from the rest of his adoring fans.

Reader advisory: This book contains one scene of light BDSM and mentions of homophobia.

Excerpt

River West looked up just in time to see what appeared to be the entire kendo team chasing a culinary school student down the hallowed halls of Cupid Academy. River recognized the black and white uniform that the cooking students wore.

“Save me. They’re trying to eat me,” the cutest little French-accented voice shouted.

Eat him? River supposed nothing was impossible when it came to students of this school. He’d been there nearly four years, and he’d seen a lot of stuff. Some of the guys chasing him were huge and didn’t look like they’d ever missed a meal. Before he could react, River was caught up in the melee, knocked down and entangled in a pile of arms and legs, like he’d been tackled by the football team. He was trapped in a most peculiar way, under a guy with the rarest gray eyes staring down at him. He had chubby cheeks, stained pink from embarrassment, and full pink lips. On his head was a mass of raven curls that River’s fingers begged to play with. His cock reacted as he gazed into the face of an angel. The little cook twitched nervously as his body responded in kind. River was flattered. Where has the cooking school been hiding this one? As student council president, he thought he knew everyone. And the guy smelled amazing, like brown sugar and cinnamon. No wonder the kendo team was trying to eat him.

The other students began moving away one by one until it was just River and this guy. He wasn’t very tall compared to River and the others, and he didn’t have much weight to him like most chefs River knew. He lifted himself off River and tried to hide his erection with his hands. Too late… River had already felt it.

Vincent Lambert, the student council vice-president whom River had been speaking with right before the ruckus happened, held out his hand and helped River up. The other guy moved behind River and used him as a shield.

River dusted off his clothing and straightened out his uniform jacket so it could hide his shame. It was hard to do with the little guy right behind him.

The dean eventually made his way over to them. “What is this all about? Why are you chasing Kylian?”

Kylian? What an unusual name.

One of the culprits spoke up. It was Kato Tanaka, the captain of the kendo team. “We need him.”

“Why?” the dean asked.

River was curious about that, too.

“Because it’s our year to choose the Valentine’s Day mascot, and we choose him.”

Hands gripped the back of River’s uniform coat.

Valentine’s Day was a big deal for their academy, even bigger than Christmas, which most Japanese did not celebrate. In Japan, the females went out of their way to give chocolates to the guys they admired, not the other way around like it was done in America.

“You want Kylian as the school mascot?” the dean asked. “What kind of mascot?”

“Cupid,” someone shouted.

The dean chuckled. “He does look like him.”

“I do not,” Kylian said, peeking from behind River. He finally loosened his death-like grip on River and faced the mob.

“My word, he does look like Cupid,” Vincent said as he checked Kylian out. “All he needs is a diaper and a bow and arrow.”

River quickly moved Kylian from his right side to his left before his man-eating best friend got a notion in his head to seduce Kylian.

“Never going to happen,” Kylian said, just as the strongest guy on the kendo team picked him up like he was a sack of flour and carried him off. The others turned and followed, leaving Vincent, River and the dean.

“This is going to be hilarious,” the dean said, walking away from them. Apparently, he was okay with one of his students being eaten by the kendo team.

“Why does it look like you’ve been struck by lightning?” Vincent asked as they headed for the student council chambers. The final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day.

River chuckled weakly. Struck by Cupid’s arrow is more like it. They entered the room. The other members would be arriving shortly. On the agenda today, the upcoming Saint Valentine’s Day Festival.

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About the Author

Imari Jade

Imari Jade was born and raised in New Orleans, Louisiana. She is the mother of three grown sons and six grandchildren. Imari has been writing over twenty years. When the kids were younger she wrote and sold humorous articles on child-rearing and later turned to penning short stories, particularly horror. Then one day she decided to try romance. Her first erotic novel ‘A Christmas to Remember’ was published by Star Dust Press and Imari never looked back. Currently Imari writes for several publishers including Midnight Showcase Fiction, Sugar and Spice Press, Eternal Press and Carnal Desires Publishing and has just signed on with Moongypsy Press. She is also looking forward to a good writing relationship with Total-E-bound and getting to know the readers and fans.

Imari is an avid romance reader. Her favourite genre is paranormal romance and she has a thing for vampires and werewolves. She is a Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanatic and was totally depressed when the series ended. When she’s not reading or writing Imari spends her time watching Japanese anime. The romantic ones are her favourite and she’s also has a pretty extensive collection she hopes to pass down to her grandchildren.

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New Release Blitz ~ Truly, Madly, Deeply by Jambrea Jo Jones (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Truly, Madly, Deeply by Jambrea Jo Jones

Word Count: 30,335
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 120

GENRES:

CONTEMPORARY
ENEMIES TO LOVERS
EROTIC ROMANCE
VALENTINES

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Book Description

 

Can two college students stop fighting long enough to find love?

Christina ‘Chrissy’ Young hates Sinclair Brown. He always tries to outshine her. She wants to be the best, and she will be, even if she has to walk over him to reach her goal.

Sinclair is oblivious to the fact that Chrissy hates him. He has his head down and is just trying to get through college and maybe have a little fun along the way before life takes over.

What happens when the two are forced to spend time together? Can they work side by side to find love?

 

Excerpt

“I hate him!” Christina Young slammed her way into the apartment and threw her bag onto the small table by the door, almost knocking it over with the force she used to rid herself of her backpack.

Her roommate, Holly, popped her head around the kitchen wall. “Who?”

“Sinclair Brown,” Chrissy said with a huff.

“Of course. What did he do now?” Holly wiped her hands on her jeans then came around the corner to join Chrissy in the living room.

Chrissy dropped down onto the couch, resting her head on the back of it and closing her eyes. Her anger left, and she was tired…so tired.

“He thinks he’s so smart.” Crissy crossed her arms. Now she was whining, and she hated herself for it. He always did this to her—put her on edge. He was such a showoff. And he was smart, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t. They’d been butting heads since freshman year.

“Ah, so he showed you up on a project, did he?”

“No. Not this time, but the professor is making me work with him, and if he thinks he is going to take point on this project, he has another ‘think’ coming.”

“So…I should stock up on popcorn?”

Chrissy picked a pillow up off the couch to cover her face so she could scream into the silky material. Once finished, she calmly put the pillow back where she’d found it.

“It’s for marketing. We have to create a digital and a print ad. We need to come up with the product before the next class. I will not let him pressure me into doing some slick car ad or anything like that. I want our product to be meaningful—something that can help people.”

“Do you have any idea that he would want to do something slick? You probably haven’t even spoken to him about it.” Holly sat down on the couch next to Chrissy.

“Well…no. But that is not the point.” Chrissy put her arms back across her chest.

“Come on. You’re usually not this irrational. He can’t be that bad. It’s a project and will be over with soon enough. Just worry about the grade. Compromise.”

“I am not going to be the only one to compromise. He’d better know the meaning of ‘group’ and not try to go all solo on me. I’ve worked hard in this class, and I don’t want this project to bring me down.” If she had been standing, Chrissy would have stomped her foot.

She was acting irrational and she knew it. There was just something about Sinclair that rubbed her the wrong way. He was always one step ahead of her, and she didn’t like it. She also didn’t like how childish she was being when it came to him. She was twenty years old, not in high school. Chrissy should be above the pettiness she felt anytime she thought about Sinclair.

“Have you ever sat down and actually had a conversation with the guy?” Holly put her arm around Chrissy’s shoulder.

“Whose side are you on? I thought you were my friend. You should be encouraging me.” Chrissy snuggled into her friend, liking the comfort Holly offered.

“I am always on your side. I have been since high school when you defended me against the mean girls. I have your back. I just think you might have Sinclair wrong. I could be talking out of my ass here because I haven’t met him, but you should hear me out. Maybe you could take this opportunity to get to know him more and work things out. It can only help your assignment.”

Chrissy sighed. She didn’t want to adult, and Holly shouldn’t be trying to make her.

“We are meeting up for dinner. Can I invite him over here? Do we have food I can make?”

“I just put some chicken into the air fryer and mac and cheese in the oven. We should have enough for all of us. I’ll eat in my room so you guys can talk and figure out what you’re going to do your project on.” Holly squeezed Chrissy before getting off the couch.

“You’re a lifesaver. I really didn’t want to go to his place or a restaurant. I figured this would be neutral.”

“How is this place neutral when you live here?” Holly laughed and turned back to the kitchen.

Whatever.

Chrissy needed to get her bag. She’d left her phone in there and hopefully she hadn’t broken it with the rough treatment of throwing it down. Before she’d left class, she’d exchanged numbers with Sinclair so they could coordinate. This week they had to come up with a company to do their advertisement on. They had two weeks to do the print ad, then another week to work on something digital. Four weeks total was all they had, and this assignment was forty percent of their grade.

Her phone was fine, and there were no text messages or missed calls. Good. Chrissy would reach out first and offer the apartment for them to work in.

Sinclair, this is Chrissy. Dinner, my place?

Great. The frat house isn’t the best for good food. Deets?

Chrissy gave him her address. He was going to be at her place in about an hour. She took her bag off the table so she could put it in her room. She wanted to get the supplies she would need and set them up on the table. Chrissy was grateful that she could live off campus with one roommate in a two-bedroom house. Not many kids her age could afford it. Her dad owned some rental properties and gave her and Holly a good deal. The caveat was that her grades had to stay in good standing. She still paid rent and had a part-time job, the same as Holly. She just had it a little bit easier than her fellow classmates.

Having a peaceful environment helped her with her grades. It was nice to have a place she could relax and not worry about a bunch of other people in her business.

After she’d grabbed her notebook, pen and laptop, she went into the kitchen to see if there was anything she could do to help her roommate.

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About the Author

Jambrea Jo Jones

Jambrea wanted to be the youngest romance author published, but life impeded the dreams. She put her writing aside and went to college briefly, then enlisted in the Air Force. After serving in the military, she returned home to Indiana to start her family. A few years later, she discovered yahoo groups and book reviews. There was no turning back. She was bit by the writing bug.

She enjoys spending time with her son when not writing and loves to receive reader feedback. She’s addicted to the internet so feel free to email her anytime.

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