Speech and Debacles by Heather DiAngelis

General Release Date: 31st May 2022

Word Count: 70,490
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 304

GENRES:

BISEXUAL
CONTEMPORARY
GLBTQI
ROMANCE
YOUNG ADULT

Add to Goodreads

Book Description

Who knew Speech and Debate could be such a thorn in the side?

Drama class is nothing like Taryn Platt’s favorite TV show—no one has broken out into song yet, and there isn’t nearly as much kissing. But the seventeen-year-old is surprised to find one thing going the way she’d hoped. It turns out she’s not half bad at acting. When her Drama teacher recruits her for the school’s powerhouse Speech and Debate team, she can’t believe her luck. Even better when she finds out the guy catching her eye, Riker, is one of the team’s strongest competitors—and hopefully he got the hint that she likes boys as well as girls. But when painful, amped-up cramps invade her pelvis, performing on demand and getting close to Riker become increasingly less feasible.

Up until junior year, Riker Lucas had one life goal—break into the world of voice acting to perform video game voiceovers. Then one look from the green-eyed new girl from Speech brings on a second goal—getting himself over the hurdle of actually talking to her. The task proves impossible when a nagging inner voice constantly reminds him how worthless he is, how he doesn’t stand a chance.

Taryn’s pain worsens, keeping her out of commission at the most inopportune moments, and Riker’s oppressive self-denigrating thoughts steal his interest from his favorite activities. As Riker and Taryn float closer together, then farther apart, they both must work to find ways of coping—or they’ll miss out on each other as well as their performance goals.

Reader advisory: This book contains mentions of depression, social anxiety, and chronic illness.

Excerpt

Taryn Platt had dragged herself to school today, but the logic behind the gesture escaped her—besides the obvious fact that Grandma had made her. Even her mom hadn’t said more than, “You should probably get moving.”

Taryn powerwalked through the crowd toward the Arts Wing, her backpack bouncing on her shoulders with each overextended step. Because Grandma wouldn’t accept any excuses to stay home.

Grandmas were unreasonable like that.

Yesterday, Taryn’s arrival at a new school on her first day of junior year had been a miserable mess of trudging through hallways and forgetting names. Now here she was on day two, unprepared for a second round of suffering but required to endure it all the same. A different set of classes than yesterday, a new set of people to remember. Block scheduling was a royal pain in her jean-clad butt. And, good lord, this gigantic school hadn’t made it easy.

Taryn’s previous school hadn’t come close to the square footage—acreage—of this place, even if the student population had been larger. Apparently, that’s what happened when you switched from an inner-city school to the rich suburbs…from Mom’s foreclosed-on house downtown to Grandma’s detached home, complete with paved driveway and pruned flowerbeds.

A boy whizzed past, grazing Taryn’s shoulder and leaving a cough-worthy draft of cologne in his wake. A girl two paces ahead skidded and caught herself before weaving onward, as if passing cars in traffic via squeaky-clean tennis shoes. Everyone in this deep sea of backpacks had mastered the fine art of arriving to class on time.

She turned the final corner to the Arts Wing and slowed. The crowd was considerably thinner here. Hell, maybe she was early for the first time since starting at Fir Grove High School.

Yeah, right.

Now if she could only find her damn Drama class.

Taryn retreated to the wall and tapped her phone to life to check her schedule, like she hadn’t already memorized it. There it was in plain letters—Drama III, Auditorium 1B. Surely this school couldn’t have more than one auditorium, let alone enough auditoriums to break them down into sublevels “A” and “B.” Her old school had shared the “auditorium” with the gymnasium, which meant there was definitely no room for a Drama class—let alone Drama I, II, III and IV, one level for each grade.

A gold placard above the double doors in front of her said “Auditorium 1.” No “B” in sight. With a deep breath, she climbed the five steps to the main entrance. Then she pulled open one of the large red doors. Inside the auditorium, the lights were dim—not a single student.

Day two and I’m lost again. Typical.

Maybe there was another door around the corner. Taryn’s lack of experience aside, she was pretty sure auditoriums had multiple entrances.

She pattered down the steps, turned to the right and sped down the hall and around the corner. The damn bell was going to ring soon.

Halfway down the hall, she came across another door that, judging by its position, must have been a side entrance to the auditorium. She tugged on it and peered in but was met once again with a dimly lit empty room.

Fudge nuggets.

Another door down the hall led to a dark backstage area. Definitely no classes going on in there. Just a quiet area with shadow-filled corners, the kind of place she’d love to escape to and catch her breath.

But no time for that. She turned another corner at the end of the hall, sped past several closed doors with no windows that apparently didn’t lead to classrooms. At least by now she had a shallow understanding of how the wings were dispersed across the campus—the sciences just past the registration desk, the humanities near the main entrance and so on. As such, she’d intended her first day in the Arts Wing to go much smoother than this.

Only two more corners before she was back where she started. Based on her luck, the next hall sure as hell wouldn’t have the room she was looking for. Then she’d be stuck going to the office with a desperate plea for help. “I found an auditorium but apparently not the right one?” Pathetic.

On the next turn, something sharp jabbed into her shoulder.

“Ow! What the—”

“Holy—” came a voice several inches above her.

Her hand flew to her shoulder as she took in the victim of her rush. She’d somehow managed to run into a freaking elbow, of all things. A very pale elbow connected to a very pale arm speckled with blond hair.

“I’m so sorry,” the voice said.

Right. Elbows were typically attached to human beings. Taryn looked up to find a boy a head taller than herself. He had the widest cheekbones she’d ever seen, despite his frown. Freckles dotted his face, and on top of his head was a swooped-up arrangement of whitish-blond hair.

She blinked hard, struggling to recall where she’d been headed before her shoulder had rammed into the cutest freaking elbow she’d ever seen—a thought she’d never expected to pop into her head.

“That’s okay. It only hurt a little.” Or maybe more than a little.

One side of his mouth crooked into a smile. “I’ve been told I have sharp elbows, so you know, I’m a walking hazard.”

She laughed as he stepped aside. He splayed his hands out to give her the full go-ahead.

Above them, the bell rang. Taryn looked up at it, as if that would make her hear it better. At least she wasn’t the only person still in the halls. Being late didn’t feel nearly as bad when someone else was late, too.

“Shit. I have to go.” She stepped past him. “Thanks for the elbow warning. I’ll watch out for them next time.”

Jesus H., stop embarrassing yourself.

“Noted!” he called after her as she sped down the hall. She glanced over her sore shoulder for a quick smile to acknowledge his remark, but he’d already disappeared. It was only then that she realized she should’ve asked for directions. Too late now. And probably for the best, since stumbling through an awkward question to a cute boy would have been slightly more humiliating than showing up late for class. Or so she assumed.

She heard the correct auditorium before she saw it, a jumble of words wafting toward her. When she reached the door, almost a full hallway circle from where she started, it was wide open, with “Auditorium 1B” above it. She slipped inside and halted.

The teacher was already at the front of the room. Instead of assembling the students, though, he was lost in conversation with a tall boy who was clutching a tan satchel slung across his torso. Neither seemed to notice her.

She took a step forward, unsure where to sit. A couple dozen students were scattered throughout the room in the most casual classroom setting she’d ever seen. The red padded seats of the auditorium angled to the back of the room in an upward slant. While two walls were made of concrete, the other two were flimsy wooden partitions that extended from floor to ceiling. They wrapped around two sides of the room like a curtain, blocking the students into a makeshift room with theater seats but no stage.

There were far more rows of seats than necessary. The students in the room could sit two to a row with room to spare. And for the moment, that seemed approximately how they were spread out. Was the teacher just supposed to shout across the room?

She found a bare spot halfway up the rows and slunk over. It was probably a rule against nature to be shy in a Drama class, but to hell with that. People could come to her if they wanted to talk.

Not that they would. But that wasn’t the point.

If the teacher had noticed that it was time for class, he gave no indication. In fact, no one in the room seemed to give a flying flip about the clock or the bell or whatever schedule all the other teachers cared about at this fancy, multi-auditorium school. Come to think of it, that guy in the hall with the elbow spears hadn’t been in a hurry to get to class. For his sake, she hoped his teacher cared as little about punctuality as hers did.

The door to the room closed. Her ears perked up at the sound.

But the teacher hadn’t been the one to close it. No, a pale arm was retreating from the doorknob. The guy from the hall, showing up late as if he knew the teacher wouldn’t care, in stark contrast to her desperation to find the room

He walked up the stairs at the edge of the auditorium, passing rows of seats. Then he glanced her way.

She swallowed hard and darted her gaze to the front of the classroom, where the teacher was continuing his side conversation. Cute though he might be, Elbow Guy was not her type. Not only had he been late for class, but he’d been walking in the opposite direction of the classroom when the bell rang.

Still, her hand found its way to her shoulder, rubbing the sore spot. There’d probably be a bruise by bedtime.

Satchel Guy at the front took his seat, and the teacher glanced at the clock. The students in the auditorium phased out their conversations, as if they knew the time had finally come.

The teacher cleared his throat. “Welcome, welcome, welcome. This is Drama III, the class for juniors where none of your dreams will come true, but at least you’ll have fun. If you didn’t sign up for Drama III, or if you have some weird agenda against fun, then now’s your chance to split.”

Chuckles bubbled around the room as the teacher looked around expectantly. No one stood.

“Good. Welp, I’m Mr. Banley-Zimmerman. Most of you probably know that, and if you didn’t, then I probably don’t know you yet. Rest assured, we’ll get acquainted. Sorry in advance for that.”

More chuckles. Okay, so this guy was a bit…eccentric. Maybe that came with the territory for Drama teachers. At her old school, the few people actually paying attention would’ve rolled their eyes at a guy like this. Here, though, the students just went with it.

And hey, maybe that was a good thing. Maybe she was in good company for once.

Because yeah, she’d always had a thing for acting, even if she’d never done it. She had no clue if she’d be any good at it, no idea if she’d one-hundred-percent freeze the moment she was on a stage.

Except…

Except this was where she wanted to be. Just like the characters on Timbre!, also known as the greatest TV show of all time, period, where a group of teenage misfits formed a musical theater club. The show was also known for its power ballads, shocking revelations and super intense kissing.

Hells yes to all the kissing. Girls kissing girls, boys kissing boys, boys kissing girls. Enough to give Taryn’s bisexual heart all the feels. Which might or might not be why she ran a fan account with more followers than there were students in her school.

Not that she would ever admit that to a single soul inside Fir Grove. Announcing she was a super fan probably wasn’t the way to make new friends fast.

Unlike the characters on Timbre!, Taryn couldn’t sing—of that much she was sure. But if going to a new school meant new beginnings, then now was the time—the only time—to take a leap and get on a stage. To show up for a fine art she loved but had never practiced beyond observing her favorite television show.

Maybe she’d suck at acting, maybe not. Either way, no backing out now.

“Taryn Platt?”

Taryn blinked. Did someone just call her name? She looked left, then right. A few people watched her, and others looked around the room like they were also confused.

With a glimpse at the front of the room, her heart stuttered. Mr. Banley-Zimmerman stared directly at her, a goofy smile on his face.

“Are you Taryn Platt?” he asked. His voice was gentle, neither mocking nor unamused.

She blinked again. Speak! Tell him it’s you!

“Yeah,” she croaked.

Wow, way to go, Ms. Hidden Talent Actress.

“Thank you kindly, Taryn.” Mr. Banley-Zimmerman tapped at the tablet resting on the podium in front of him. “Gavin Varns?”

The attention now off her, Taryn closed her eyes as the teacher continued taking attendance. How long had she been lost in television fantasies? What else had she missed the teacher saying?

If she’d been paying attention, would she have caught Elbow Guy’s name? Not that she needed it or anything. Because, again, he was most assuredly not her type. Though, one more look couldn’t hurt…

She opened her eyes and glanced down the row. Elbow Guy leaned back in his seat, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee. And his eyes were already on her.

She blinked twice on reflex and looked back to Mr. Banley-Zimmerman—a much safer focal point. He cleared his throat and moved to the first row with a stack of papers, likely syllabi. She could do this. She could gather her nerves and be awesome at Drama class. Definitely.

No one would find out she didn’t belong.

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author

Heather DiAngelis

Heather DiAngelis produces scholarly publications by day and writes young adult novels by night. If she has enough energy on the weekends, she can be found binge-watching shows with a cat nearby, losing lightsaber battles against her husband and sons, and perpetually wishing for more time. She focuses on the intersectionality surrounding queer characters, with the hope that a teenager will someday find themselves in one of her stories.

Giveaway

Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Unforgettable by J.P. Bowie

General Release Date: 31st May 2021

Word Count: 54,503
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 218

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
SECOND CHANCE

Add to Goodreads

Book Description

Reunited twenty years after their teenage split, Blake and Alex are determined that this second chance will have a happy ending…

When Blake Carson enters a photographic exhibition in Los Angeles, he’s astounded that the gifted photographer is Alexander Martin, with whom he’d been in love when they were both teenagers. Alex disappeared from Blake’s life without explanation, and his ultra-religious parents ran Blake off.

Reunited, the two men realize that the feelings they’d had for each other twenty years ago are still there, and the pair is determined to make up for the years stolen from them. They plan a future together, and even talk of adopting an abused child Blake had represented in court.

But the darkness of Alex’s past isn’t so easily shaken off. A phone call from his homophobic father brings back bitter memories of his parents’ cold-hearted abandonment of him to a conversion therapy center and threatens to revive the resultant PTSD he’s fought so long to overcome.

Can the love he and Blake share free Alex from the shadow of the trauma inflicted on him all those years ago?

Reader advisory: This book contains mention of mental and physical abuse and conversion therapy, references to abusive parenting, and an on-page attempt to sexually coerce.

Excerpt

Blake had never been one for art shows and, unlike a lot of gay guys, not that much into musicals either. So why he was peering into the window of an art gallery in downtown LA showcasing the work of one Alexander Martin was a bit of a mystery. For a long moment he stood gazing at the display of a black-and-white photograph featuring a rocky seashore, boiling surf surging under a cliff wall.

Nice, he thought at first glance. A bit Ansel Adams. The major difference being when he stared at the photograph more closely, the subtle outline of a naked man reached out as if to touch the waves.

“Beautiful…”

His murmured comment must have caught the attention of a woman standing a few feet away from him. She smiled then gave him a flirty look. “Takes one to know one, I guess,” she said.

“Sorry?”

“You know what I mean.” She opened the door to the gallery and held it for Blake, probably amused at his flaming cheeks while she gazed without any sign of embarrassment at him, again with the flirting. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how good-looking you are, sweetie.”

Blake stared at her, slightly amazed at how bold she was, and now that they were almost toe to toe, he could tell she might just be old enough to be his mother.

She patted his shoulder. “Alexander Martin’s exhibition is to the right, down the hall there,” she said. “It’s a private showing today, but go ahead. I’m sure he won’t mind. Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” Blake mumbled then added, “You seem to know your way around the place.”

She smiled. “I should. I come here every time they have a new exhibition.” She held out her hand. “Doreen Leslie.”

“Blake Carson.” He shook her hand. He was so bad at this kind of thing. Give him a courtroom floor and he was at home, but talking to strangers not so much. Socially inept, his last boyfriend had called him. “N-nice meeting you.”

“You too, honey. Now go enjoy Alexander Martin’s work.”

With that, she turned on her very high heels and walked quickly away. Still a little surprised by her overt friendliness, Blake watched until she disappeared through a frosted glass doorway with some gold lettering on it. He had to admit it was nice to stand in the gallery’s cooler air. It was September, and the usual California warmth had turned a trifle sticky mid-month.

Alexander Martin… He used to know a boy called Alexander Martin, except he’d known him as Alex. They’d been best buds—more than that really—but that had been many years ago and there was no way this could be any more than mere coincidence. Right? The Alex he’d known had never shown any interest in photography―at least not that he could remember― and this work lining the gallery walls was, even to Blake’s plebian eye, pretty spectacular.

He glanced down at the brochure in his hand. There was a picture of the artist, and although there was a resemblance to his boyhood friend, he might be wary of going, ‘Wow, reunited after all these years’. If in fact Alexander Martin was anywhere around in the gallery, and they just happened to bump into each other.

Of course, the man in the photo was an adult, a handsome adult without a doubt, but the boy in Blake’s memory had been a tow-headed skinny kid with a beaming smile. And now? Blake took a second, closer look at the picture, and there was that smile that stirred something inside him, something warm, a distant memory of a summer’s day when he and Alex had gone skinny-dipping together in Baker’s Pond.

But that had been in DC, or rather, in Bakerton, a small town outside the city with lots of trees and farms and a swimming hole. Just like they’d done so many times each summer, they’d laughed, cavorted and playfully wrestled in and out of the water—but the day that Alex had kissed Blake, everything had changed.

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author

J.P. Bowie

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

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

Find J.P. on Facebook and Twitter.

Giveaway

Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Trapped by Doubt by Jayce Carter

Book 2 in the Dark Sanctuary series

General Release Date: 31st May 2022

Word Count: 83,619
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 307

GENRES:

BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
MÉNAGE AND MULTIPLE PARTNERS
REVERSE HAREM

Add to Goodreads

Book Description

It will take three Dominants to drag this submissive out of her safe little rut.

After a chaotic childhood, Ell uses routine and order to feel safe. When she goes to Sanctuary, a well-known BDSM club, the last thing she expects is to run into anyone she already knows, let alone three Dominants who are all too willing to mess up her perfectly ordered life.

Clint, Ethan and Fox have gone to Sanctuary for years, but after a bad experience with a submissive, they’re gun-shy about taking on anyone else. However, when they see Ell there, they can’t resist the pull to the sweet, stubborn woman.

When Ell is attacked in her home, the men help her move into an apartment in the same complex as them, which lets them explore each other—and their own wants—that much more. But there’s Ell’s trouble with trust, the men’s doubts about her commitment and mounting suspicions about the attack on her to deal with.

The quartet will have to learn how to let go of their pasts and trust one another to have any hope of finding happiness—and staying alive.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence and abduction, and mentions of child abuse.

Excerpt

There was something about the courthouse that Ell both loved and hated. She loved the clear rules and the regimented way it ran. There was never a question about what the next step should be, about what was and wasn’t allowed and about how a person went through those steps.

However, another part of her remembered coming as a child and the crushing disappointment that happened no matter how it went. Being there as an adult was different, gave a person a sense of power, but as a kid?

She recalled sitting beside a social worker, trembling, never sure how it would go or what that meant for her. Would they hand her over to her mother? Her father? Some relative she’d never met who wanted good karma points for taking in the poor, destitute child? Or would she take the gamble that was foster parents?

It was terrifying—always.

Which was exactly why Ell handed a closed cup of hot cocoa to the boy sitting on the bench in one of the many long hallways.

Donnie Denton, the first case she’d ever been assigned on her own. She could still remember walking in to see him, black eye but ready to take on anyone he needed to to survive. It had broken her heart to see him like that, to know he’d lived a life where he’d needed that hard edge.

He took the hot cocoa and offered a rough thank you. While other case managers had had trouble with him—they claimed he lied and was disrespectful and labeled him a lost cause—Ell had taken to him right away. She still smiled each time he went to respond with cursing but stopped himself, as if he knew it wasn’t appropriate to say in front of her.

At fourteen, Donnie stood taller than her and had started to put on more bulk. Even still, she couldn’t help but see the kid he’d been when she’d first met him.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered softly, holding the cup between his hands.

“You don’t need to apologize.” Ell took her seat beside him.

“Yeah, I do. I fu—I screwed up. You shouldn’t have to waste your time cleaning up my messes.”

Ell shook her head. “I know you—if you got into this fight, you had a good reason, right?”

The color leeched from his lips as he pressed them together, the universal signal for ‘I’m no snitch’ that he got whenever she questioned anything. Then again, he was going to have to go back to that life, to those streets, and the sorts of people who existed in that world didn’t forgive betrayal.

“I’m not trying to find out who it was,” she pressed, gesturing at his split lip and his black eye, all signs he’d taken a hell of a beating. “I’m just saying, I know you have a good heart. You wouldn’t be out there attacking random, innocent people. So for this to happen, you had a good reason.”

He let out a long breath before taking a sip of the drink. He held it in his mouth for a long moment, as if thinking, then swallowed. “Someone wanted me to do a job, but they didn’t tell me the real job. When they did? I told them to fu—I told them no. Well, he didn’t take no very well.”

Ell set her hand on his back and rubbed, knowing there wasn’t much she could do for him. It was like his path had been made for him before he’d ever been born, and no matter how hard she tried, she had no idea how to get him off it.

The creaking of a door caught Ell’s attention, and sure enough, Jeff Jadzen walked out of his office. Exactly the man she’d been waiting for.

Ell rose to her feet after nodding at Donnie, her way of assuring him she’d handle it.

Jeff took one look her way and walked faster.

Too bad Ell was perfectly fine with running in heels.

“Jeff, I need a minute—”

“Sorry, Ell, but I’m really busy. Set something up with my secretary.”

“I tried. I haven’t heard anything back in a week, and I’ve called every day.”

“Like I said, very busy.” He reached the men’s room, then smiled like he’d won some prize. “It was nice to see you. Call the office and we’ll try to get together next week.” He ducked into the bathroom, his voice floating out as the door swung closed.

Next week would be too late. The pretrial was set for Friday of this week, and she shuddered to think about Donnie ending up in juvie, of how quickly the rest of his options could float away.

Which was the exact thing that had her walking into the men’s room. She’d been in far worse places in her life for far less noble reasons.

“Please tell me you didn’t follow me into the men’s room.” Jeff spoke through a closed stall door, the annoyance palpable.

“I wasn’t finished talking with you. At least now, you can’t leave.”

The longest sigh came from the stall. “Which charity case are you here about this time?”

“Donnie Denton.”

“Him again? Come on, Ell, you run yourself ragged and for what? Donnie isn’t some six-year-old who needs you to save him—he’s basically an adult in his world. Stop seeing him as something he isn’t.”

“He’s fourteen—that’s still a kid. He isn’t a bad kid, either.”

“You say that because you didn’t see the other person in the fight. Donnie shattered his eye socket with a bat.”

That took her off guard, the level of violence new. Still, Ell shook her head, reassuring herself that she knew Donnie. He didn’t lie to her. If he didn’t want to tell her something, he just wouldn’t, but he didn’t lie.

“You know what it’s like for people who live in that area.”

“Yeah, I know, because I see what happens to the victims.”

“Some victim. They wanted Donnie to do a job that was bad enough he turned it down once he knew the details.”

“Is that what he told you? Well, his ‘turned it down’ moment ended up being inside someone’s house as they robbed it. Did he leave that part out? That the woman walked in and saw them there.”

Ell cringed at the little detail that, well, yeah, Donnie had left out. Still, it didn’t change the rest. “Well, did Donnie touch the woman?”

Silence let her know she was right.

There was the flush of a toilet, then Jeff walked out and headed for the sinks. “No. According to her, Donnie’s friend pulled a bat, and when Donnie objected, the two got into a fight. Scared the poor woman half to death, and when Donnie won, when the other man took off, Donnie said sorry and escaped through a window. We caught him down the street.”

“You see? He was trying to help.”

Jeff dried his hands, then turned to face Ell. “You see the best in people, Ell, and that’s great, but it’s going to get you killed. These kids you help, they aren’t innocent and fragile. By the time they hit their teenage years, a lot of them are already killers. They’re dangerous, and they’re manipulative, and if you’re not careful, it’ll end you.”

How many times had she heard that sort of warning? People who told Ell that she should pick a safer job, that she should do something else?

It didn’t matter. She knew exactly why she did what she did. “Donnie has a shot. If you throw him into juvie, you’re just going to solidify this path for him. Prison doesn’t rehabilitate kids. It just makes them into better criminals.”

Jeff rubbed the corners of his eyes. “What do you want me to do? He broke into a woman’s house and put someone else in the hospital. I can’t just look the other way with that.”

“Community service.”

“What?”

“He needs to see there are options for him, that there’s a life he can still have that isn’t on the streets. Assign him community service hours, and I’ll make sure to find him a place to work them where he can do some good, where he can see a different life is possible.”

Jeff’s expression twisted the way it always did when he was in thought, when he was trying to see all the possible outcomes. His job had jaded him, but he wasn’t a bad man.

Finally, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll get it all drawn up and present it to his public defender. Make sure he understands that this is it, though. This is his one big shot. If he gets involved in something else like this, you won’t be able to save him again.”

Ell agreed, thanked Jeff, then exited the men’s room. A quick conversation with Donnie outside let him know the details, and even though he wasn’t the sort to admit to being nervous, the shuddering breath he released said he had been. He thanked Ell, then took off.

She would have driven him home, but Donnie was used to using the bus system. He always refused when she tried, saying he’d meet her wherever it was.

A glance at her watch told Ell that she didn’t have another appointment until later, which gave her time to gather herself. When she slung her bag over her shoulder and turned, however, she ran directly into someone else.

Hands grasped her arms to keep her upright, and Ell glanced up to find a familiar face grinning down at her.

Ethan Jaymes, a detective she’d dealt with more than a few times. He was tall, dark and handsome—all the things that made her certain he was also trouble, especially when he smiled at her the way he always did. His green eyes danced with an amusement that his voice mirrored. “Aren’t you in a hurry?”

She pulled away, extracting herself from his strong grasp. “You were the one standing far too close.”

“I said your name, and you didn’t hear me. Distracted?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Well, believe it or not, my world doesn’t revolve around you.”

He let out a soft laugh, the way he always did when she soundly rejected him. It was odd, because sometimes it seemed the meaner she got, the more Ethan liked her.

And, just like clockwork, Ethan’s shadow came around the corner.

Clint Faire, Ethan’s partner, and an unnerving presence who had always made Ell fidget under his intense stare. He peered at her, no pleasure or surprise showing in his hazel eyes. He had a light brown beard and mustache, both well groomed, but shaved his head. If he weren’t dressed so well, she’d no doubt think he was some muscle-head up to no good. “Ms. Hayden,” he said, his tone as respectful as always.

Ell nodded back, still trying to calm her racing heart from her surprise at seeing Ethan. It shouldn’t have surprised her that much—the two detectives were often at the courthouse—yet they always managed to make her feel out of control.

Which was about the worst feeling she could imagine. Ell was the sort of woman who preferred everything in its place, everything well-regulated and scheduled. Ethan and Clint managed to make her feel the opposite, as if she couldn’t quite get a hold of all the pieces of her life, as if she couldn’t make sense of it all.

And why, she had no idea.

She’d known the two men for years, though never well. She wouldn’t call them friends by any stretch of the imagination, but they’d worked together from time to time—both on the same side and not so much.

“So who are you harassing today?” Clint asked in his matter-of-fact way that always made Ell’s cheeks heat.

“I wasn’t harassing anyone. I was doing my job.”

“And who did your job require you to harass today?” Clint pressed.

“No one.” Ell crossed her arms and tapped her foot, trying her best to make her annoyance as clear as possible.

“She followed me into the men’s room,” Jeff answered as he walked past, not slowing down to talk, seeming more than happy to rush across the hall so he could hide in his office again.

Ethan let out a hard laugh at that, and the fact he accepted her actions without question annoyed Ell. Yes, she was dedicated, but he could have had a second of ‘Are they being serious? Would she really do that?’ doubt.

“I needed to discuss something important with him, and he wanted to hide in the bathroom.”

“You’re going to get yourself into trouble one day,” Ethan said as he caught his breath from his laughter. “It’s good to go to bat for your kids, Ell, but be careful that you don’t put yourself in a position you don’t want to be in.”

His words ran through Ell like they always did, tinged in something she tried so hard to ignore. Why was it that Ethan managed to get beneath her skin like this? His voice was like honey, something sweet enough to draw her closer, but also sticky enough she feared it might trap her.

All the reasons it was a bad idea had gone through in her head on nights when she stayed up thinking about him, even about Clint. She had her life in order. She’d perfectly crafted each part of it, fitting the pieces together, making exactly the picture she wanted. The idea of anyone else coming into that, of them possibly tearing apart everything she’d worked so hard to put into place, terrified her.

Life was hard and scary and dangerous, but if she kept the pieces in their spots, if she made sure everything went where it belonged, she could avoid the pain and fear she’d known so well as a kid.

So Ell offered a quick goodbye before she risked falling any further into either man, before she risked everything she’d built, her perfect house of cards.

The last thing she needed was to let either of these men blow down all the hard work she’d put in.

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

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.

Giveaway

Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The Billionaire’s Appetite by L.A. Day

General Release Date: 31st May 2022

Word Count: 24,700
Book Length: NOVELLA
Pages: 102

GENRES:

BILLIONAIRE
BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE

Add to Goodreads

Book Description

She wanted funding—he needed submission. He would give her more than she asked for.

Charity’s father pulled the funding for her research, but she may have found the perfect replacement. Silas is a billionaire and he agrees to meet to discuss her proposal. After an embarrassing first encounter with the gorgeous but elusive billionaire, she didn’t expect him to help her.

Silas Radford is intrigued by the beautiful and brainy scientist. She asks for funding, but he wants a partnership—and not just in business. Sparks fly between them the moment they meet, but there are a few issues to set to rest before he can close the deal.

But Charity doesn’t realize Silas is friends with the father she feels betrayed her. And even if they can get past that, he still has to show her the full extent of his darker appetites…

Excerpt

Today was the day. Finally, I had been granted an interview with the elusive Mr. Silas Radford. I paced as I looked over my notes and waited for the ride service. Radford Towers dominated the downtown skyscape, so I knew I would have been able to find his office, but that downtown traffic would have shaken my nerves. If I wanted to get funding for my research, I couldn’t get rattled. I needed to project a calm, confident image.

I tugged at the hem of my suit jacket. I was wearing my best, black power suit. A full-control bodysuit helped contain my overly abundant curves and give me a professional look. I eyed myself critically in the hall mirror. There really was no taming “the girls” but at least they didn’t bounce when I moved. I took a deep breath and practiced my walk. Frowning, I looked at my sensible shoes. Unfortunately, I could only trust myself with two-inch heels. Anything higher and I would almost certainly land on my more-than-prominent ass. It was fine. I was a scientist, not a model.

A text alerted me that my ride had arrived. I took one more look to make sure my messy bun was still in place and I hurried out of the door. My interview wasn’t for an hour. I had given myself plenty of time in case of an emergency. Twenty minutes later I was seated in the lobby. No way was I going to his office forty minutes early.

People-watching was a hobby of mine and this lobby was like an anthill, busy people running every which way. A tall, muscular man strolled through the door like he owned the place. His dress shirt was partially unbuttoned and his chestnut hair looked like someone had run their fingers through it, but even slightly rumpled he still exuded raw masculine power. I wondered if he’d enjoyed a tryst at lunch. I licked my lips. I could picture him bending a petite female over his desk, lifting her skirt and paddling her bottom before ravishing her from behind. A shiver rode up my spine. Obviously I’d read too many steamy romances lately.

I nibbled my lip as my eyes roamed over every delicious inch until I met sparkling blue eyes brimming with amusement. Caught! Heat traveled up my neck to my cheeks. The alarm on my cell alerted me that it was time to head upstairs. Saved by the bell, I stood, grabbed my portfolio and strolled toward the elevator. This time I was the one being scrutinized. Mr. Hottie was deep in conversation with a security guard but his eyes followed me as I walked across the lobby. Chin up, shoulders back, I strode confidently. A man like that wouldn’t be interested in a nerdy girl like me. In actuality, he probably would be for a night. I’d lost count of the number of men who had told me they fantasized about titty-fucking me. The ridiculous thing was that they thought I should be flattered. Can’t live with them, but if science keeps progressing, we might be able to live without them. I would love to find a man who appreciated more than my breasts and ass.

The elevator dinged on the next-to-top floor of the tower. The doors opened to an impressive lobby. A smiling, middle-aged receptionist greeted me. “Hello, Dr. Jones. Please have a seat.” She waved her arm at a couple of tufted yellow accent chairs. “Mr. Radford will be available shortly. Would you like coffee or a bottle of water?”

“No. Thank you.” I smiled and perched nervously on a chair. The next twenty minutes could make or break my project. I ran through my proposal in my head.

“Mr. Radford will see you now. Right this way.” The receptionist led me down a short corridor and opened one of two mammoth wooden doors.

I stepped into a lavishly decorated room that reeked of old money. Taking a deep breath, I plastered on a smile and approached the massive leather-topped mahogany desk as the executive chair spun to face me.

Frozen, I watched Mr. Hottie rise from the chair. A sexy, knowing grin tugged at his lips. I stared with mouth ajar. It couldn’t be. Dammit, I cursed inwardly. Well, I’d lost any chance at this funding.

He approached, holding out his hand. “Dr. Charity Jones, I’m Silas Radford. It’s very nice to meet you.”

My hand was engulfed in a warm, firm grip. “It’s nice to meet you too,” I muttered. How could this be Silas Radford? I’d heard my father mention him in passing and had assumed he was much older.

His blue eyes sparkled. “Come,” he commanded in a whiskey-rough voice. He waved me forward and I wondered about his choice of words. I really needed to get my mind out of the gutter, but this man stirred something dark and foreboding inside me.

Two plaid wing-backed armchairs faced his desk and I took a seat and crossed my legs, trying to regain my composure. I could probably secure the funding in exchange for sexual favors, but I didn’t mix business with pleasure. I cleared my throat. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” He’d retaken his seat, crossed his hands and cocked his head to the side. “I read your proposal. I believe you’re seeking money for…”

“I am inquiring about funds for my research. I am a scientist.”

He glanced down. “Right. I’ve read it and conducted my own research. You have an impressive professional portfolio as well as an interesting project.” His eyes rose from the folder to meet my gaze. “I recognized you downstairs. I’d intended to introduce myself before I got waylaid.”

My cheeks flushed under his scrutiny. I realized he’d brought up the incident to unnerve me. “I’m a people-watcher. I enjoy observing…”

“I noticed. It’s probably the hormones.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You enjoy examining human interactions.” He arched a dark brow. “Your research is on hormones, correct?”

“Oh yes, it is.” This man was sharp. He was fucking with me and enjoying it. “My research is on hormones and hormone replacements. I read a publication recently on how today’s women prefer more feminine men and dad bods. I found it interesting.”

His chuckle was deep, dark. “I’m sure a certain type of woman does. But there’s another type of woman who prefers more of a take-charge, physical, dominant male, wouldn’t you say?”

I arched my brow. “I couldn’t say. That’s not my area of expertise.”

“You’re looking to replace current hormone therapy for menopausal women.” He flipped through my proposal.

“Yes. Current HRT, while effective for many, also has dangerous side effects. Aging women still want to feel like women but not risk their lives to do so.”

“Are you looking for a little blue pill for women?”

I smiled tightly, refusing to be intimidated. I was certain I’d already lost the funding so… Fuck it. I tipped my chin up defiantly. “Certainly, women’s sexual arousal is part of it. The scientific community has spent an enormous amount of money on erectile dysfunction. Don’t you think women deserve the same? After all, won’t men benefit from it as well, or maybe men don’t really care if women enjoy intercourse.”

Mr. Radford threw back his head and roared with laughter. “I like you. You aren’t intimidated easily. You may have heard I’m controlling and I like to get my way, but sometimes I like a challenge.”

“Thank you. I believe in standing up for oneself. And I hadn’t heard that about you, so thanks for warning me.”

One brow rose. “Really? What have you heard?”

I eyed him warily, sensing a trap. I had the feeling he was toying with me and that this was all a game to him.

“Out with it. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

At this point, there was no reason to hold back. “I heard you were an acute businessman by day and a cold-hearted womanizer by night. Were they wrong?”

His gorgeous eyes locked onto me in a way that made my insides quiver. “I like to think I have a head for business.”

“And the rest?” I grinned, awaiting his reply.

“The women I entertain know the score, but that might be changing. I could fund your research if you agree to my terms.”

“Mr. Radford…”

“Call me Radford.”

I sighed. I was sure his terms involved me on my knees, and that just wasn’t happening. Not that he wasn’t knee worthy. He absolutely was, but I wouldn’t sell myself for money.

“Radford, I don’t know what your terms are but…”

He leaned ever so slightly closer. “I want you to pretend we are involved.”

“Excuse me?” I straightened in my chair.

“If you want funding, I need something in return.”

That answer took me by surprise. Why would a man as powerful and gorgeous as Radford need a fake girlfriend? “May I ask why?”

“You said yourself, I’m known as a womanizer, but I have a new venture in mind, which will require me to appear to be in a serious, committed relationship.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “It will be pretend? I won’t sell myself for funding.”

“Of course not!” His smile was wicked. “I would never expect a professional woman such as yourself to barter your, uh, goods.”

His voice had dropped a level and I shifted uncomfortably. That tone alone made my blood zip through my veins. Once again I had to wonder why he would need any help finding an appropriate woman. “I don’t understand. I’m sure you are acquainted with women who would be willing to play the role of girlfriend. After all, you’re attractive in a non-feminine, non-dad bod way.” I smirked. “Plus, you’re a billionaire.”

“Is my money what you first noticed about me?” He watched me through a hooded gaze.

I remembered feeling his presence before I’d seen him, then being robbed of my breath by his sheer physical authority. “Initially, in the lobby, I didn’t know you had money. I noticed your…” I licked my lips slowly. “Smile.”

He lowered his eyes to my assets. “The first thing I noticed about you was the mischief that sparkled in your eyes.” One eyebrow rose, as if he dared me to question his words. “But to answer your question, the women I know might want to make the position permanent. After all, as you mentioned, I am a billionaire.”

“You don’t think I’ll want the position permanently? I mean, there is all that money!”

“I think you are dedicated to your profession and have little time for a relationship.”

He had me there. I cleared my throat and delved into the details of his proposal. “What would be involved in this deal, and for how long would you need my services, so to speak?”

“Dinner engagements, social functions, I’m sure you know the drill. I’m thinking a few months should be sufficient.”

“I wouldn’t want this to look like a quid pro quo, like I sold myself for funding.”

“Of course not! We will convince everyone that we met and fell madly in love.”

“Madly in love?”

“I will be totally smitten with you and you will be with me as well. Can you do it?” There was challenge in his eyes.

I swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m sure I could appear smitten.” I was positive it wouldn’t be hard to act smitten. The trick would be not to fall for the man.

“Of course, we will have to project an intimate relationship.”

“How intimate?”

“Hand holding, hugs, kisses the type of touching lovers do in public.”

“If I consider this there can’t be other women. I won’t be made to look like a fool.” Was I really considering this?

“Agreed.”

I furrowed my brow as I looked at him. Was he sober? “You’re going to go months without sex?”

His eyes twinkled. “We’ll see.”

“What does that mean?”

He shrugged. “I could decide to end the deal sooner, but of course you would still get the funding.”

“Will that be in the contract?”

“Of course, but you might decide to enjoy the rewards of being my girlfriend.”

“I already said I wouldn’t sell myself.”

“Understood. Any sexual relationship arising from our agreement wouldn’t be part of the agreement and would have to be initiated by you.”

Under his scrutiny, I squirmed in my chair. He had a way of getting under my skin with those penetrating eyes and that sexy voice. “That won’t happen.”

He leaned back and shrugged. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

“This whole thing is crazy.” I jumped to my feet.

Slowly, he rose from his chair. “You need funding. I need a fake relationship. We both get what we want.”

Seated he was hot as hell, but standing he projected confidence, dominance, and something in me reacted to him in a way I wasn’t entirely comfortable with. I let out a shaky breath. “Yes. But…?”

“Are you afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?” A sexy smirk curved his lips and devilry blazed in his eyes.

I tugged on the bottom of my blazer. “Absolutely not! I never mix business with pleasure.” I sounded more confident than I felt.

“Are you worried I might make advances toward you?”

“Hardly! I doubt I’m your type, and let’s not forget I might then get designs on your money.”

He grinned. “I do have one question. Why did your father pull his funding?”

“How do you know he did?”

“I do my research,” he replied.

Of course, I thought. Any astute businessman would question why my funding had been canceled. “It was a family issue. He wanted too much control.”

“He wanted to dictate your research?”

“No. My life.”

“Ahh, family issues.”

“Yes.”

“Fine then.” He held out his hand and I grasped it firmly, doing my best to ignore the sizzle of awareness his touch aroused.

I considered my options. They were limited. This was a better option than humbling myself before my father. What’s the worst that could happen? He’d already jump-started my dormant libido. If I was foolish enough to encourage his advances, I’d probably get the best orgasms of my life out of a tryst with him. What if I tore my clothes off, begged him to fuck me and he said no? Unlikely, he was a womanizer. I could handle this, I thought, then I took another look at his smile and wasn’t so confident. “For the record, this is a horrible idea.”

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author

L.A. Day

L.A. Day is a multi-published author of erotic romances. Her heroes might be bikers, shifters, vampires, aliens, time-travelers, barbarians, billionaires, or CEO’s but they are always strong, assertive men! Her heroines might be tough or submissive but they are always sassy, funny, and sarcastic. In real life, Laura is a wife, mother, and dog lover. She loves to collect pottery and you can often find her at antique and resale shops. Her friends are often SHOCKED that their seemingly sweet friend writes dirty books.

Follow L.A. Day on Instagram and check out her website.

Giveaway

Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The Devil You Know by S.J. Coles

General Release Date: 24th May 2024

Word Count: 98,131
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 402

Genres:

BILLIONAIRE
CELEBRITIES
CONTEMPORARY
CRIME
CRIME AND MYSTERY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

Add to Goodreads

Book Description

The law is about how you represent the truth. Love is no different.

Reader advisory: This book contains a graphic description of murder and references to suicide, pedophilia, blackmail, pre-marital infidelity, and child pornography.

Excerpt

Hilary took a deep breath. His shirt, new on that morning, was sticking to the small of his back. He looked up at the Hart-Gosfords’ Mayfair townhouse and told himself, yet again, that it was just another case.

You can do this.

He straightened his back, let out the breath and pushed the intercom.

“Yes?”

“Hilary Whyte from Gunnerson and Gains to see Mr. Hart-Gosford.”

The gate buzzed and swung open. Hilary transferred his briefcase from one hand to the other so he could wipe his palms on his trousers as he climbed the steps to the front door. Before he could knock, it was opened by a short, stiff-necked man with a smart suit and a grim expression. The scar of an old piercing marred one eyebrow and another, more jagged, bisected the fleshiest part of his neck. The marks, combined with the crew-cut, made him more look like private security than house staff, though it didn’t surprise Hilary that the Hart-Gosfords felt the need for both.

“This way.”

Hilary resisted staring at the minimalist paintings and crystal sculptures as he followed the butler into a well-appointed parlor. It was best not to appear daunted by such things, even though just one of these pieces was probably worth more than he made in a year, even now.

Tall windows flooded the room with weak spring sunshine. Two women with the same shade of platinum hair looked up as he entered. The younger, who sat on the edge of a mauve love seat, wore a carefully schooled expression, the sort executed best by those who spent a lifetime practicing it. But Hilary detected strain in her slate-gray eyes. The older woman managed to look down her nose at Hilary, even though she barely grazed five feet in her thin-heeled patents. Her eyes, a shade paler than her daughter’s, were sharper than cut glass.

“Mr. Hilary Whyte, ma’am…for Master Dominic.”

“Thank you, Merriweather,” the younger woman said, her accent crisp. “Some coffee, I think. Coffee, Mr. Whyte?”

“Yes, thank you,” Hilary said, finally spotting the other figure in the room. Dominic Hart-Gosford stood with his back to them as he poured whiskey into a tumbler on a chrome sideboard. Even at this distance, Hilary could see that his hair had darkened since school, now a brown just this side of black. He’d also added yet more muscle to his six-foot-three frame. Hilary fought to keep his face neutral.

“You’re the solicitor Walter recommended?” the older woman said, examining Hilary like he was something she’d just stepped in.

“That’s right.”

“This is simply not acceptable—”

“Mother—”

“No, Amelia,” the older woman cut her off. “This simply will not do. You…Mr. Whyte. How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine, Mrs. Hart.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “I was not aware Walter Gunnerson had a sense of humor—or that he would have such poor taste as to use my son-in-law’s murder trial as a chance to exercise it.”

“I can assure you, Mrs. Hart, I am a fully qualified solicitor with years of experience in criminal defense.”

“How can you possibly have years of experience?”

“By dedicating almost every waking hour to my profession since I was eighteen years old,” Hilary replied without inflection. “Mr. Gunnerson supplied you with my trial record, I believe?” Mrs. Hart narrowed her eyes. “If that is not enough to reassure you, you are more than welcome to apply to the senior partners for a change of counsel. But, in the meantime, there is rather a lot to be done. So, if you don’t mind…” Hilary indicated the open door.

“I suggest you don’t get too comfortable,” Mrs. Hart said, then swept from the room.

“I’m sorry for my mother,” Amelia said, standing and clasping her manicured hands together. “This is a trying time.”

“I understand,” Hilary said with a careful smile. “But it will take at least a few hours for your mother to try to have me removed from this case. In the meantime, my time is best served speaking with your husband.”

“Yes, of course.” She glanced back at Dominic. He stood, gazing out of the window, his drink untouched in his hand. Hilary took in the broad shoulders, the trim waist, the controlled stillness in his stance and hurriedly suppressed the memories that threatened to surface before they could show on his face.

Amelia stepped forward, lowering her voice. “My husband is innocent, Mr. Whyte. Whatever you think you know, you must believe that.”

Hilary smiled but did not speak. Amelia left as Merriweather appeared with a silver tray of coffee and china cups and set it down.

“You sure you don’t need me, sir?” he said, his eyes on Hilary.

“I’m fine, Merriweather. Thank you.”

Merriweather withdrew, closing the door behind him, and Hilary fought the impression that the room had shrunk.

Dominic finally turned around. Hilary had told himself many times in the last few weeks that he’d forgotten what this man looked like—that he’d successfully wiped the image from his mind, along with the sound of his voice. But as he took in the eyes, blacker than midnight, the hard, almost cruel set to a jaw that would otherwise be considered handsome, it was like Hilary was again sprawled on the PE changing room floor, that same face hanging over his, bloodied lips twisted and mocking, his fist raised for another blow.

“So, it really is you.” Dominic didn’t speak loudly, but it was like a stone had dropped into the silence of the room. “I could have laid a considerable amount of money on never seeing you again.”

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author

S. J. Coles

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

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

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

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

Giveaway

Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blood Omen by Kegan Tyler

Book 1 in the Blood Crusades series

General Release Date: 24th May 2022

Word Count: 34,844
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 142

GENRES:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
PARANORMAL
WERESHIFTERS

Add to Goodreads

Book Description

In the dark of the night…

Thomas is a lone shapeshifter living in a world where vampires and lycans are known to man. He has the unique gift of shifting into any living being, but he feels lost and alone.

Then he meets André, the alpha of the Bramwell pack of lycans, who offers him a new life—and a home. Gunter, the pack beta, sees something in Thomas. Their attraction is magnetic and undeniable. Their primal desires take hold and Thomas falls for this beautiful man—hard.

But when a coven of vampires arrives, showing great interest in shapeshifters, Gunter must protect the one he’s grown to love.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of smoking, the discussion of past sexual abuse, the accidental turning of someone into a werewolf, violence, character death, and scenes of sex whilst in a werewolf-shifted state.

Excerpt

Thomas Allen Wright ascended the steps to the front entrance of his apartment building, sopping wet from the relentless rain and craving a cocktail. He realized as he entered the passcode into the security pad that he’d be walking into an empty apartment, and he would spend the night alone for the first time in a week.

His ongoing affair with Jonathan Greer, a corporate snooze with money and a raucous lifestyle, had come to a screeching halt as of late. For a long while, Jonathan had stayed with Thomas in his apartment, and was always there after Thomas’ late shift at the café. Thomas reminisced fondly about the countless nights they’d shared in each other’s company, all the hot lovemaking they’d indulged in. Jonathan liked to call it ‘fucking’ as he was still putting up a straight-acting façade for his black-tie boys in the office, which, much to Thomas’ discomfort, translated into Jonathan’s day-to-day life as well. And, somehow, it translated to the bedroom.

But perhaps that was why Thomas had been so drawn to him. Jonathan’s macho disposition coupled with his impossibly sculpted tan body made him irresistible. So much so that Thomas had found himself in the most ridiculous situations to be at Jonathan’s beck and call. He was too devoted, and for what? A good lay?

All this swirled in his head as he progressed down the hallway and to the elevator at the far end of the building. He slapped the Up button and waited for it to descend. He set his briefcase down on the checker-patterned carpet and ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, wringing out the excess water dribbling down his leather jacket.

Thomas knew deep down that he was an attractive man with his cerulean eyes and timid smile. But he didn’t believe it himself. He’d often stare at his feet when good-looking men walked past him, or when girls smiled and winked at him on the street.

Like his mane of brown hair, his loafers were unkempt—scuffed, scratched and faded—and their age clearly showed. He looked about thirty, but he never disclosed his real age to anyone, not even his closest lover.

He was a shapeshifter. The animal he transformed into most commonly was a wolf, though he could take on many forms at any given moment. He’d once been a panther, which was his second-favorite creature to shift into. He so often chose a werewolf for the obvious reason—if anyone in the area were to see him in his animal form, he’d not be blinked at more than twice. Werewolves were accepted as part of society now, no longer a myth. If anyone had come across him as a panther, he’d be on the local news and, more than likely, a hunt would be called. How unusual it would be to see an exotic animal that was most prominent in the jungle in the Great Lakes. Lycans had been ‘out’ to the world for about ten years at this point, so he figured he’d blend in posing as one.

Perhaps the most useful part of his unique gift was the ability to not just shift into an animal but to shift into another person. He had first discovered this when he was twelve, in the bathroom stall of his middle school. A bully, whose name he’d long since forgotten, had maneuvered him into the girls’ room and was taunting him, shouting obscenities at the top of his lungs and banging on the stall door with his meaty fists. Desperate for an escape, little Thomas had shifted into Becca, a classmate he was friends with, and pranced out of the girls’ room, laughing under his breath at the look on his bully’s face when she exited the stall instead of him.

This became a fun little game in his youth, and it had expanded in adulthood. By now he’d adopted the appearances of some ten or eleven figures, a couple of them celebrities, and he had found it amusing to trick and confuse those around him. He quite enjoyed living someone else’s life now and then.

The result of this special ability was that he had an alter ego. Evan Winston was his name, and he was a British scholar from Edinburgh on visa in the United States to study biology at the University of Wisconsin in Oshkosh. Or so he told people. A completely fictional character with an appearance Thomas had appropriated from a fashion model in the UK, Evan was blond-haired, blue-eyed, and had a nice large cock which was useful in bed. Thomas’ own was a bit smaller with a modest girth, and this, paired with his prominent ass, meant that he bottomed all the time…in his true form. As Evan, he enjoyed the pleasure of being on top and having a sizable eight-inch cock. What a dream it was to be Mr. Evan Winston.

Jonathan did not know Evan, and Thomas intended to keep it that way. As a personal rule, he never used his trickery on those closest to him. Presently, the two people that met that criterion were Jonathan and his best friend Shalese.

One other secret that Thomas carried with himself was that he could never visibly age past where he was. His real age was sixty-two, though every time he shifted back to himself, he looked about thirty. He had the most coveted ability in all human existence—immortality, or at least that’s what he considered it. He had the pleasure of watching the world evolve around him, passing through multiple generations while maintaining an appearance much younger than all he interacted with. He’d see friends age and once they noticed that he looked the same as he did when they first met him, it was time to pack up his life and relocate. He’d traveled from New York City, where he was born, to Sacramento and all places in between. For a brief time, he’d lived on the Mediterranean coast, but had decided that the community was too closely knit. Others looked at him with suspicion, and he suspected that several of the city residents knew what he was. He had lasted five months there.

When Thomas touched a living being, the DNA of that life form would transfer to him, and his body would keep a record of that form at that point in time—the age, the shape… Everything about that being as it was when he touched it, he would transform into. He could shift into a variety of life forms, such as a snake, a dove and a Northern cardinal.

He’d never forget the time he met his childhood crush, Ava Charlotte, in person. A superstar pop icon, she had been much more reserved and humble than he’d imagined. He’d shaken her hand, and she’d given him the warmest smile in passing. She was thirty-four at the time, so whenever he shifted, she looked the same as she was that day. He carried the memory with him fondly and would shift into her physique every now and then to remember it.

He’d seen all kinds of men from all parts of the United States, and he’d gotten pretty good at guessing what their cocks looked like. He estimated he’d slept with close to seven hundred men throughout the country. His favorite were the solid boys with a southern drawl and an appetite for ass. They always had the nicest cocks. It was the Jersey boys and the surfers that had the most obnoxious personalities, and the smallest penises.

Thomas reached his apartment door and dug into his pocket for his keys, brushing against the head of his half-hard cock. He fumbled for the right key and, as he slid it in, it reminded him of the times he’d don Evan Winston and slide into those beautiful country boys. He overheard a conversation between a police officer, Thomas’ landlord and the tenant of apartment five. The man was irate, shouting something about an intruder shattering his balcony door. The officer asked if anything was stolen, to which the man said no, not that he could see. The landlord muttered a comment about not paying for the damages. When the man’s voice raised an octave, Thomas took that as his cue to hide.

He flung the door open and closed it behind him, then shed his clothes, tossing them to the floor. He slumped down onto the black sofa and played with himself, fantasizing about Jonathan and the way he so expertly made Thomas come while giving him oral.

Thomas was aware of the fact that he lived in Jonathan’s shadow, and no amount of pity or self-reliance could change that. His mind was always glued to Jonathan’s body, to his full, pink lips, to his sizable prospect too often concealed behind slim jeans. When he came on himself, he ran his fingers through the fresh hot cum and imagined Jonathan’s sensual hands sliding along his torso. Then he envisioned Jonathan spreading his ass and nuzzling his crevice into Thomas’ face. As he fantasized about licking Jonathan’s tight hole, his eager hand traced his abdomen and reached for his cock again, working it until he came a second time.

In a daze, he rolled off the couch and grabbed his nearby shirt, using it to clean himself off. Then he grabbed his other forgotten clothes and stashed them in his laundry basket just inside the bedroom. He dipped into the bathroom and indulged in a hot shower, all the while letting Jonathan’s hypnotic trance take over him.

After he’d stepped out of the shower and dried off, he wrapped the damp towel around his waist then reached into the pocket of his jeans in the basket for his phone. He looked up Jonathan’s contact and dialed.

Four rings later, he was greeted with a melancholy woman. “Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice message system…” He pressed the End button and tossed the phone onto his bed in a mild fit of annoyance. Of course, whenever he wanted to get ahold of Jonathan, he was never available. But the second Jonathan wanted to get ahold of him, Thomas answered at the first ring.

He knew he was too tied up in this delusion that he and Jonathan were meant to be, or rather that they were good together, which in itself was a fallacy. He knew for a fact that Jonathan couldn’t give a damn about him and what he spent his time doing. He guessed that if Jonathan knew that he thought of him so often, he’d probably either shrug it off or ditch him altogether. This thought ravaged Thomas’ mind as he made himself a vegetable stir-fry.

As he was about to dish up the food, his cell phone rang. Eagerly, he bolted into the bedroom and answered. The rough, sexy voice on the other end was unmistakable.

“What’s up?”

“Hey, Jonathan,” Thomas said with a sigh. “What are you doing tonight?”

“I just got back from a twelve-hour day,” Jonathan grumbled. He sounded worn. “Mounds of paperwork and bitchy clients. My head fuckin’ hurts.”

“I bet it does,” Thomas sympathized. Then, feeling ballsy, he said, “Would a blow job help?”

Jonathan sighed, and there was a brief pause. Then he said, “Yeah, it would. I’ve been thinking about your ass all day. I want it.”

“Come over. I’m making stir-fry.”

Another sigh. “I can’t drive.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m a little drunk,” Jonathan confessed.

“Already? When did you get home?”

“Yeah, already. About an hour ago. Downed five shots and I’m on my second beer.”

“How about I bring the food over to you?”

“Mmmmh,” Jonathan moaned. Thomas imagined he was biting his lip. “Sex and free food. Sign me up.”

“I can be there in twenty.”

“Make it fifteen.” Click.

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author

Kegan Tyler

Kegan Tyler was born in Pennsylvania in 1993. He has always been a creative—at the age of eight, he created a comic book series, and he wrote his first novel at age fourteen. His love of vampires and werewolves paired with his love of gay erotica resulted in his passion project, The Blood Crusades.

He enjoys pop music, horror flicks, Halloween, science fiction, the works of Stephen King, and video games. In his writing, he strives to represent LGBTQIA+ individuals. You’ll find his works full of LGBTQIA+ characters living their lives passionately and with conviction.

He lives in Wisconsin.

Giveaway

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

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The Baron’s Saving Grace by
Raven McAllan & Cassie O’Brien

Book 2 in the The Scots and the Sassenachs series

General Release Date: 17th  May 2022

Word Count:  40,362
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 151

Genres:

HISTORICAL
ROMANCE

Add to Goodreads

Book Description

A daring rescue plan leads to unexpected consequences. Could it also lead to love?

Grace Foston concocts an audacious ruse that will enable her sister to marry her one true love. However, it goes awry when she finds herself misguidedly rescued by the chivalrous intervention of George Armstrong, Baron Renfrew. Grace is not impressed and tells him so. She needs neither rescuing nor saving and doesn’t appreciate his interference.

George is intrigued by this feisty lady and determined she won’t fall into the clutches of scoundrel Adrian Corbett. When Grace informs him just why she is with Corbett, George realizes they need to work together to foil the man. Love and life work in mysterious ways, and they manage to achieve what they set out to do.

Falling in love wasn’t on their agenda. How could it be? When Grace is already married…

Excerpt

The inn was well presented, had a good menu and served excellent ale. To say nothing of providing a supply of whisky he was certain had never been within scent of an exciseman.

George Armstrong, who following the death of his father now bore the title Baron Hexham, winced at the squawk the feet of his chair made as he pushed it back a few inches to allow him to cross one knee over the other and not upturn the nearby table. He sniffed the spirit in his glass, savoured the peaty aroma with appreciation and took a sip.

“Douglas, ‘tis as good as ever,” he said to the anxiously awaiting landlord. “You are a genius in securing something so special. What I wouldn’t do for a cask of this at home.” He laughed at the landlord’s agonised expression. “No, I will not ask you to facilitate that. I imagine it is fraught enough getting sufficient for your needs.”

“That it is, indeed, my lord. But if you wish I…”

George took pity on the man. He had been only half-serious when he’d said he wished he had some at home. It would have put the noses out of joint of the people who worked on his estate and had their own stills secreted away. They may lie south of the border, but their appreciation—and copying—of the water of life was alive and kicking. He had no idea where they secreted the still whose results he regularly acquired, but he hoped it was never discovered by the powers that be. The resultant whisky was as good as the one he now savoured. “Do not worry yourself. It’s another good reason to visit you. Along with your wife’s cooking and a comfortable bed on my journey.”

“That’s grand. May I ask how t’house is comin’ on?”

George sighed. His Corbridge home had been razed to the ground by his laudanum-addicted father, and his addlepated sire had perished in the blaze. “Slowly, Douglas, very slowly. The one redemption from the whole sorry state is no one but the late baron was hurt when he ventured too near the flames.” He chose not to mention the man had been as naked as a jay and waving a bottle of port, or that he could never forgive himself for not remembering that whilst under the influence Gordon, his late father, had been irrational and likely to fall into a rage. The conflagration had been because George had foiled his parent’s plans to ruin a man whose long-dead ancestor, his father had believed, had caused a curse to be laid upon the Armstrong family. In his drug-clouded mind, Gordon had invented a ruinous theory of the curse being broken by way of a marriage between the two families, and had stooped to the lowest form of blackmail to bring this about. That was the manner of man he had been. George hoped and prayed he had none of the man’s unpleasant traits in him. “He thought he saw someone or something inside.” A lie, but who was to confront him over it?

“Ah, good man, sorry ending.” The landlord shook his head in sorrow. “Life must go on though, eh? You off north?” Douglas’ voice penetrated George’s mind, and he brought himself back to the present.

George nodded. “To the Trossachs, to see a good friend who lives there. Then I’m away to the Tay for the fishing before the season ends.”

“Then I’ll wish ye well,” Douglas replied. “I’d not be wantin’ to go so far m’sen but I know you gentry folk are happy wi’ all t’travel. Will you be using the private parlour later this evening?”

Amused at the idea that only those higher up the social ladder travelled, George blinked at the change of topic and considered the question, while pondering the types of people who also travelled. What about salesmen? Servants changing jobs? Drovers, herders and itinerants? The list could be endless. He mentally laughed at himself and let the thoughts go.

As to his present abode, he was comfortable where he was. The room was aptly named the snug. Three tables, two benches and four high-backed armchairs with padded seats. Set in front of a crackling fire with a bell pull for service. What more could he want? Except for a warm and willing body and that was as unlikely as a Stuart returning to the throne. “Not if you need it for someone else. I’ll be as happy here.”

“Then I’ll tell the gentleman who wishes to use it with his ward that he may.” The landlord sounded relieved. “The lass has had a touch of nausea after travelling, so they’re biding the night. Last two rooms, they got. We’re mighty busy this day. The sheep sales, you know.”

George nodded. Not that he did know a lot, but he’d intended to take a look at the sales and see if anything there interested him. His estate in the Cheviots would stand a few additions to the flock and Callum, his shepherd, was due the following day to look the animals over. They’d been told some of a flock with  outstanding pedigrees would be up for auction. A couple of rams and an ewe or two wouldn’t go amiss.

George would leave everything to Callum, hand him the cash they had decided on and keep well away. Callum was an unknown in the area—George himself was not. He wouldn’t put it past some farmers to collaborate to push the prices up if it were known he was bidding. His father hadn’t shown their family in a good light in the area. George accepted he would have an uphill struggle to rectify it.

He settled down in front of the fire, legs crossed at the ankle, and steepled his hands on his chin. Deep in thought, he studied the flames for a while and pondered on how fire could be both good—here at that moment—and bad—the way his home had ended up as ashes.

With another dram and several of the landlady’s famed-throughout-the-area singing hinnies, he contemplated all he needed to do in the next few weeks. Singing hinnies, sweet griddle cakes, which George, along with a large percentage of the local population, were partial to, were a local favourite, and everyone guarded their own specific recipe jealously.

George’s mind moved from the future to the past as he mused over the previous twelve months. They had been frenetic, worrying and, thankfully at times, uplifting. With the exception of the fire and the tragedy of his father’s death, there had been more positives than negatives, and at last George felt his life was on an even keel.

Apart, of course, from his still being unwed. Not something that had overly bothered him in the past, but now seeing new—but good—friends happily settled, he was aware he thought he would like a wife. Children. A family. An heir.

How he was to achieve that he had no idea. A season paying court to the well-brought-up young ladies on the marriage mart held little appeal—even if he’d been so inclined. His father’s antics, plus his own once well-deserved but no longer relevant reputation as a rake, would ensure no parent worth their salt would consider him a good bet as a husband for their daughter.

He sighed and stared into his tankard of ale as if it had all the answers.

It didn’t. He took one mouthful, twisted the tankard around and watched the contents froth. How long before it fell flat? A bit like he felt at that moment.

George was not the sort of person to think every solution was found in the bottom of a jug of ale or a flagon of whisky, and had no idea how long it was before he became aware of voices from the adjoining room. Seconds probably. He put his drink down and debated whether to scrape his chair over the floor to show the occupants the private parlour, it seemed, wasn’t exactly private.

Whether it was due to the way the chimneys met and merged or doors ajar he had no idea, but two voices could be clearly heard.

“I told you I’ll come with you and marry you, so why all this farridaddle?” a female voice asked. “If you don’t think I’ll be true to my word, lock me in my room. Try to make me share yours, and I’ll bring the roof down and cause such a scandal you won’t have a hope of your plot succeeding. Your choice.”

“You better be on the level.”

George decided not to announce his presence and narrowed his eyes, as if by doing so he could see though walls or even identify the speaker. Did he know him? He certainly had never heard the female voice before, but the deeper baritone sounded familiar.

“I am as on the level as you are,” the lady—he was certain she was a lady, a gently reared female—continued. “I would do nothing to harm my family, even if you are not so scrupulous. I will not let any scandal stick to Papa or the memory of my late mama, and you know that fine well. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have thought up this insidious plan. One, I might add, only a scoundrel would choose to carry out. Now, kindly go and locate the landlord and discover which room I have been allocated so I may retire for the evening. Alone.”

For a few seconds there was silence, then the male answered.

“Very well. Wait here. But remember…” The tone George supposed was meant to be menacing had more than a hint of a whine in it. And now he recognised it.

Adrian Corbett, by God. The blaggard! What is he up to?

“Oh, I remember it all. You can be sure I will go to my room, but do not think to accompany me to it, because if you do, I will…” There was a pregnant pause. “Create. A. Scene.”

George mentally applauded the lady. Not many well-bred females of his admittedly limited acquaintance would have the sense—or temerity—to act in such an assertive way.

A door creaked open and footsteps sounded on the wooden boards of the hallway outside the snug. George considered not just the words he’d overheard but also the disdain and loathing in the female’s voice. Whoever the lady may be, she was obviously being coerced into a marriage against her natural inclination. She had sounded feistily determined to stand her ground, but would her words be enough to hold a man like Adrian Corbett at bay should he decide to enter her room after imbibing a couple of brandies?

The thought turned George’s stomach. The man was certainly foul enough to physically force his presence on a slighter-built female. He would probably excuse himself doing so without a second thought if she was destined to be his wife. It was not to be borne. No female should be forced into marriage. With anyone. George set his glass on the table, walked quickly to the door and left the room.

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Authors

Raven McAllan

After 30 plus years in Scotland, Raven now lives near the east Yorkshire coast, with her long-suffering husband, who is used to rescuing the dinner, when she gets immersed in her writing, keeping her coffee pot warm and making sure the wine is chilled.

With a new home to decorate and a garden to plan, she’s never short of things to do, but writing is always at the top of her list.

Her other hobbies include walking along the coast and spotting the wildlife, reading, researching, cros stitch and trying not to drop stitches as she endeavours to knit.

Being left-handed, and knitting right-handed, that’s not always easy.

She loves hearing from her readers, either via her website, by email or social media.

Cassie O’Brien

I love:

Being with family and friends.

Writing and having the freedom to do so now child four of four has passed her driving test and is off to uni later this year.

I Like:

Any excuse to throw a party.

Any excuse to open a bottle of fizz.

Shoes in vast quantities – the higher the heel the better.

Ambitions:

To write many more books.

To own a pair of Louboutin’s.

To never go near an iron or a hoover again.

You can find Cassie on Facebook and follow her on Twitter: @cassieo_author

Giveaway

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

a Rafflecopter giveaway