Cover Reveal: Afloat by Isabelle Adler

Afloat

Staying Afloat, Book Three

By Isabelle Adler

Cover Created by : Natasha Snow

Release Date: February 15th, 2021

Available to Pre-Order at NineStar Press


No place is safe anymore.

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

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

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

Books 1 & 2 Available on Amazon

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

Of Alchemists and Arsonists
Katherine McIntyre

Book 3 in the The Whitfield Files series

Heat Rating: Sizzling  

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

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Book Description

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

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

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

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

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

Excerpt

Just another day in this nightmare of a neighborhood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What sort of trouble had this woman found herself in?

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

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

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

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About the Author

Katherine McIntyre

Strong women. Strong words.

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

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

Giveaway

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

Katherine McIntyre’s Of Alchemists and Arsonists

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

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

The Reluctant Royal
Catherine Curzon & Eleanor Harkstead

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

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Book Description

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

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

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

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

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

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

Excerpt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So am I.

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

Calm down, Sergeant Wenlock, he told himself.

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

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

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

Bloody people, can’t hold their drinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The drugs are talking.

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

“Please don’t,” was all she said.

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

Joe ran.

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

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

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

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

Joe turned to look at the woman.

A bloke?

Was she?

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About the Authors

Eleanor Harkstead

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

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

You can follow Eleanor on Facebook and Twitter

Catherine Curzon

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

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

She lives in Yorkshire atop a ludicrously steep hill.

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

Giveaway

Enter to win  a FREE Catherine Curzon & Eleanor Harkstead romance book!

Catherine Curzon & Eleanor Harkstead Giveaway

ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A FREE CATHERINE CURZON & ELEANOR HARKSTEAD ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 2nd February 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

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

Dragon Dreams and Fairy Wings
Bailey Bradford

Book 1 in the Fire & Flutter series

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

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Book Description

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

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

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

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

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

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

Excerpt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aha what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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About the Author

Bailey Bradford

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

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

You can follow Bailey on Facebook here and Twitter here.

Giveaway

Enter to win a fabulous gift package and a FREE Bailey Bradford romance book!

Bailey Bradford’s Dragon Dreams and Fairy Wings

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

New Release Blitz: Poz by C. Koehler (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Poz

Series: The Lives of Remy and Michael, Book One

Author: C. Koehler

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 01/25/2021

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 65900

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, Contemporary, young adult, sports, family-drama, gay, HIV positive, HIV, AIDS, in the closet, coming out, rowing, illness/disease

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Description

Even at an allegedly gay-friendly high school, being out isn’t easy, not if you play a sport. Remy didn’t just play a sport, he lived for a sport. He bled crew and rowed with his best friend, Mikey. He’d known him forever but was a year ahead of him in school and crew, varsity to his JV. But then something changed. They were on the way to a regatta in San Diego and suddenly they noticed each other. Remy don’t know what happened. They’d changed in front of each other in the locker rooms all the time at school. But Remy’d never looked and suddenly all he could do was stare.

Remy thought Mikey felt the same, yet somehow Mikey didn’t want a relationship. Whatever, Remy didn’t have time for drama. They had a major regatta to prepare for. They make apps to help lonely young men to find temporary companionship, and let’s just say, Remy enjoyed the summer before his senior year. Then everything caught up with him and it all came apart.

Mikey was furious, but if he didn’t want a relationship, why was he angry? It turned out there was a price for playing around, and when Remy got sick, he had to wonder, where would Mikey be?

Excerpt

Poz
C. Koehler © 2020
All Rights Reserved

When all this started, my older brother Geoff didn’t know I was gay, at least not to my knowledge. I’d called him “Goff” when we were really young because I couldn’t pronounce his name. He’d called me “Germy” because he couldn’t say Jeremy. He still calls me Germy, even though everyone else calls me Remy. I still called him Goff, so I guess that was fair.

Goff was thirteen minutes older—we were twins of the fraternal variety—and he milked that older bit like a Holstein cow. Thirteen minutes, but you would have thought it was thirteen years. Anyway, he played football. He looked out for me, or at least tried, but he was and is straight as a plank. We wrangled a lot, still do, but he saved me from a lot of homophobic hassling, sometimes at the hands of his own friends, without even knowing I was gay, which was pretty cool of him.

“Teammates,” Goff would say. “They’re not my friends, not if they’re giving you shit.”

He was a good guy when he wasn’t being an asshole.

That said, Goff never understood a fundamental part of me, at least not until I came out to him. I guess that was my fault though. How could he when I’d never told him I was gay? But how could I when I couldn’t have borne losing my brother? He was my twin, the person I was closest to in the world. Losing him would’ve meant losing a part of me. We fought like cats in a gunnysack and it drove our parents crazy, but they never understood that we went to the trouble of irritating one another because we loved one another. We certainly weren’t going to tell one another that. We were (and are) teenage males. Dad was a shrink. Dr. Babcock should’ve gotten that but didn’t.

So anyway, Goff missed a major piece of who I was and everything that went along with it. Now I wouldn’t say all teenage boys were sex-obsessed, just every one I’ve ever encountered. But he had all the sex he wanted and had no idea what it’s like not getting it. For me, it was not being gotten. So, I was horny as hell in high school and about to burst. That was the start of all my problems, I guess.

Our family lived in Davis, an über-liberal organo-groovy college town about seventy miles from San Francisco. Davis had bought into Cesar Chavez’s grape boycott, which I read about in history class; it made itself a nuclear-free zone, which was kind of a joke when UC Davis boasted a particle accelerator of its very own. Besides, what good would the declaration of being a nuclear-free zone have done? Protect the city if the US and the USSR had nuked each other? There were three major Air Force bases around the city during the Cold War. There’d have been a bright-blue flash and then nothing. Good luck with that nuclear-free zone. The city was also a declared sanctuary for undocumented immigrants. I could go on, but why bother? A homecoming prince even brought his boyfriend to prom one year. As a gay kid, I should’ve been golden in a city and high school like this.

But someone forgot to send my parents that memo, or at least my mother. Mom was a smart woman—she majored in chemistry in college and went on to become a drug rep for a pharmaceutical company after she decided getting a PharmD wasn’t for her—but she was oblivious sometimes, especially where Goff and I were concerned. Of both our parents, she was the louder with the compulsory heterosexuality messaging, things like telling me I was morally obligated to take some unpopular (read: fat with braces) girl to the prom. She said it was my “gentlemanly duty” or some such bull, but Goff and I both knew it was because she herself had been fat with braces in high school. She wasn’t doing it deliberately—trying to make me miserable—but she succeeded admirably.

Women in Mississippi had taken their girlfriends to prom, or at least tried. Hell, even in Davis a few years ago, the aforementioned homecoming prince took his boyfriend, but my mom? She thought I had to make life better for every desperate and dateless girl out there, just to restore some cosmic balance because her life sucked during high school. Why didn’t she get that this was my life, my one-way ticket through high school, not her do-over?

When I said things like that, her response was, “I think you can take one evening out of your life to make a difference in someone else’s.” Given the essentially obligatory service hours necessary to get into college these days, I thought I already had.

My boyfriend could’ve plowed me on the table at Thanksgiving, and she would have still said that. If I’d had a boyfriend. Well, there was Mikey Castelreigh. He wanted to be my boyfriend. I thought of him more as a kid brother even though he was only a year younger. I felt like there was a big difference between a sophomore and a junior in high school, however. Mikey looked like he missed the puberty train. I had a left hand. What I needed was a close friend who was gay. Mikey fit that bill very well.

Even at good ol’ tolerant, GSA-sporting Davis High, it wasn’t easy being different. We were still teenagers. Being smacked on the ass with the gay wand when I was born didn’t change that. I wanted to think Mikey understood that. I think what Mikey didn’t get was why we couldn’t be friends with benefits. Uh…because it would have been like blowing my brother? If I had a brother who swung that way. But then, as has been pointed out to me many times, I also saw what I wanted to see and not always what was really there. Or boats. I saw rowing-related things very clearly. It was life that tripped me up at every turn.

But telling my parents? Like that would ever happen. Hear that flapping noise? That was the pigs flying out of my butt, which would happen right before I’d tell my parents I liked the cock. I never got the best vibe off them where that was concerned. Sure, they had gay and lesbian, even trans, friends, but it was different when it was their kid, you know? They were on a need-to-know basis where my life was concerned. Coming out? Survey says: No!

Goff told our parents about a lot of things that went on his life—whereas I told them very little—but then he and I had very different relationships with them.

“So how’s that working for you, Goff?”

“Shut it.”

I smiled, but it was really more of a smirk. “Still think having the olds know every single detail’s harmless?”

“You’re really kind of a dick sometimes, you know that?”

“Everybody has to be something, I guess.”

“Really? I thought you were more of an asshole.”

He had no idea what he was doing to me with this conversation. I mean, the homoerotic subtext was barely sub. Sure, Mikey and I were going to die laughing about it later, but right then I had to bite my tongue, and that was kind of painful.

I looked at him for a few moments, totally expressionless. Just long enough that he’d gone back to his homework. Just long enough to make him squirm. “What? You’re creeping me out.”

“I could’ve sworn I heard you say stop sleeping in your bed when you sneak out to see your girlfriend.”

Mom and Dad never checked on me. Ever. I never gave them a reason to. Goff? Too many. Neither of us was stupid enough to think pillows under the blankets would fool them, but me in his bed? Physically we were nothing alike, but at least I made breathing sounds. We had a Jack and Jill bedroom setup where our rooms met in a common bathroom. We locked the bathroom door leading into the hallway and put the pillows in my bed, I moved to his, and he was out of there. He always showed his gratitude.

“You… That’s harsh, man.”

“Times are hard.”

Goff threw down his pen. “Why’re you doing this?”

“Because it’s almost summer, which means fall’s not that far away, which means neither is the prom, and it’s never too early to present a united front.”

“You’re really twisted, you know that?”

I shrugged. “And you know she’ll try to get you to take someone besides your girlfriend, since you quote, unquote haven’t been dating that long.”

“They’re not that bad,” Goff said, sighing.

“Have it your way, but don’t come whining to me when Mom does exactly that.” It’s not that I was smarter than Goff. I wasn’t. But I was smarter in different areas, like sneaking. It was like he didn’t have an ounce of guile in him. Apparently, I received both our shares. Somehow, and despite getting him into endless trouble when we were children, he still trusted me. Maybe it’s because as we grew older, I got him out of scrapes, at least when I knew about them in time.

Maybe I shouldn’t have complained. Goff got the same kind of nonsense from our parents, too, and never mind that he had a girlfriend. She wasn’t even a cheerleader. She was supersweet and amazingly intelligent. He met Laurel because I brought her home to study for AP Biology I. It took him a few months of whining like an Irish setter, but they eventually took to studying each other’s biology. I knew this because Goff was too chickenshit to buy his own condoms, so I had to buy them for him.

Speaking of shit of whatever species, Goff was in it because a teammate was caught dealing molly. Goff’s friend slash teammate was busted by the cops at a team party. Oddly enough what our parents freaked out about was that Geoff had alcohol on his breath. He blew a 0.12 as a matter of fact. I think that was half again the legal limit. Yeah, hi, Mom and Dad, he was at a party where the host was busted for dealing Ecstasy. You maybe want to focus on the larger picture? Or maybe they were, because I knew for a fact my brother didn’t and wouldn’t take drugs. Anyway, Goff couldn’t fart without them breathing down his neck for a while.

But if I’d known about the party, I’d have told him to watch his step, because rumors of drug-dealing by members of the football team had been flying around school for weeks. At the very least, he might’ve limited himself to a beer or two instead of getting trashed. Then Goff could’ve told the olds, “Sorry, Mom and Dad, I know it showed bad judgment, but I planned to call Germy to come and get me.” And I’d have absolutely covered for him. For that matter, he could have gotten trashed, and I’d still have picked him up if he had warned me in time to cover for him.

Weirdly enough, they were totally permissive where I was concerned. They thought I was a late bloomer and hoped the talks they gave Goff about sex applied to me, too, because they made me sit down and listen to every single one of them, not that they contained anything I needed to know. But the last one? I couldn’t take it anymore and I cranked up the sarcasm. It bugged Dad, I knew that for sure, and I was pretty sure I managed to irritate Goff, and never mind the fact that he was sick of those talks too. Goff already knew not to get his girlfriend pregnant and to make sure he was in charge of his birth control.

Except for the condom buying. I was in charge of that.

“Could you maybe shut up, Germy? This is bad enough without your sniping.”

Dad nodded. “Please listen to your brother. I get that you may be too old for these, but you’re not making this easier on any of us. If you stop, I promise this will be the last one.”

“You’ve said that every time, Dad. Yet here we are, another ho-hum day in paradise listening to these riveting talks,” I said acidly. “I think we’ve got a lock on the prevention of premature grandparenthood. Not much else, but babies are definitely one sexually transmitted parasite we can rule out. Maybe someday we can move on to spirochetes.”

“Jeremy…” Dad said in that warning tone of his. It held a hint of a threat, but what did I care? I’d heard it all my life and it had long since ceased to have the desired effect. It was more proof that I was the changeling, the odd Babcock out.

These things were so stupid. Take today’s lecture. Please. Dad actually had the nerve to refer to the labia as a butterfly. How the hell was I supposed to keep a straight face when confronted with that? Dad was going on about female anatomy again, trying to help Goff—and presumably me—locate the G-spot. I would never need to know, and based on the noises issuing from Goff’s room of an evening, he already knew exactly where to find it. What I needed—what we both needed—was basic information on sexually transmitted infections. Anatomy had been covered in eighth-grade sex ed.

Yet this was vintage Dad, blithely charging ahead, with Goff in tow more or less willingly and me digging in my heels every step of the way. I could not say Dad never heard, if only because sound waves did stimulate his auditory nerves. It never changed his behavior, however, and trying to persuade Dad was like arguing with the wind for all the good it did, at least not once he had a notion fixed in his mind. Mom had some facility in managing him, but then, she had more experience. Goff and I were only teenagers, so what did we know? I was convinced that was how Dad’s thought processes ran. The bizarrissimo part of it all was that Goff was the good twin whereas I questioned everything, fighting anything I thought absurd with tooth and claw. I had even overheard Dad say as much when he thought he was unobserved. Yet Dad—both parents, really—kept Goff on a shorter leash.

I thought this different treatment was because of our different sports, I really did. Football? Sure. Everyone knew the deal or thought they did. What they really knew was the reputation that came from a bunch of idiotic movies. Goff sure wasn’t like that, and most of his football friends weren’t either. But crew? They had no idea about crew, not really, and never mind the stupid amounts of parental involvement my club required. No, when Mom and Dad were in college, rowers were pale, muscular gods and goddesses who walked the campuses, ate obscene amounts of food after their early-morning practices without gaining a pound, and stuck mainly with their own kind. They told me as much. That my club’s juniors program practiced in the afternoon must have thrown them off my scent, because I had a tan despite the sunblock.

Seriously, I got away with murder. Or at least I did the summer before my senior year, and the person I killed—or almost killed—was myself. After that? I lived on Cellblock Q.

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Meet the Author

Christopher Koehler always wanted to write, but it wasn’t until his grad school years that he realized writing was how he wanted to spend his life. Long something of a hothouse flower, he’s been lucky to be surrounded by people who encouraged that, especially his long-suffering husband of twenty-nine years and counting.

He loves many genres of fiction and nonfiction, but he’s especially fond of romances, because it’s in them that human emotions and relations, at least most of the ones fit to be discussed publicly, are laid bare.

While writing is his passion and his life, when he’s not doing that, he’s a househusband, at-home dad, and oarsman with a slightly disturbing interest in manners and the other ways people behave badly.

Christopher is approaching the tenth anniversary of publication and has been fortunate to be recognized for his writing, including by the American Library Association, which named Poz a 2016 Recommended Title, and an Honorable Mention for “Transformation,” in Innovation, Volume 6 of Queer Sci Fi’s Flash Fiction Anthology.

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New Release Blitz: The Boss by J. Calamy (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Boss

Series: Under Red Sky, Book One

Author: J. Calamy

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 01/25/2021

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 87500

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, action/adventure, age-gap, bisexual, businessmen, criminals, disabilities, illness/disease, interracial, Mafia, over 40, #ownvoices, political, PTSD/post traumatic stress, slow burn/UST, secret agents, sexual discovery, spies, tattoos

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Description

Nicholas Erickson is happy to be the smallest cog at the US Embassy in Singapore, a big step up from prison. Nick lives with a terrible secret: he killed a family of three in a traffic accident, for which he was imprisoned and became a pariah back home. The only threat to his second chance is the truth—and Nelson Graves.

Shipping Magnate Lord Nelson Graves is secretly the head of crime syndicate Red Sky, making him the biggest arms dealer and drug boss in Southeast Asia. Graves is tired, lonely, addicted to opium, and trying to get his imploding crime syndicate back to business. There is a traitor in his organization and an old enemy is back on his tail.

A romance builds between hot-headed, reckless Nick and unhappy, ruthless Graves. But nothing is that easy. Shoot-outs, bombings, and vindictive exes prove Nick’s past and Graves’s present may be a lethal combination.

Excerpt

The Boss
J. Calamy © 2021
All Rights Reserved

Singapore

Nicholas Erickson kept his gaze on the butterflies over Peterson’s desk. The chief of staff had a whole case of them, each stabbed through the thorax and pinned to a board. Nick knew exactly how they felt.

He focused on breathing, trying to slow his stuttering heart, only taking in the gist of what Peterson was saying. Nick forced his hands to loosen, fighting the need to wipe them on his trousers. His eyes felt hot; he blinked to make the blurring stop. The last thing he needed was to have a flashback now. He tried his exercises. I’m here. I’m safe. I’m here. I’m safe. I’m—

“And now I know you got this job because Reverend Bob is friends with that prison chaplain of yours. You got in here on a technicality, a damn loophole. None of us dug too deep for a chaplain’s assistant with no clearance. Goddamn it!” He slapped his hand on the desk. “If I had known, I would never have approved it.”

Peterson’s round face was pink with anger. The pink even showed through the white hair on his scalp. His blue eyes, lighter than Nick’s own, were glittering behind his glasses.

His hands were splayed flat on his desk, covering the folder with Nick’s name on it. It was like Peterson was covering the news articles inside, hiding them from view—as if they were too obscene to look at.

He was silhouetted by wide windows, looking down the green hill to Napier Avenue. Singapore’s heat was just starting to crank, the roiling clouds doing nothing to cut it.

“This is the most important post in Asia this week,” he continued. “We have VIPs coming from everywhere for this ceremony. I don’t have the bandwidth to deal with you now.”

“Sir,” Nick tried. “I really hope—”

“Don’t talk to me, Erickson,” Peterson snapped, his voice cracking with anger. “I don’t want to hear a word out of your damn mouth.”

“Yes sir.”

“Transferring you now would raise too many questions. Not right after Reverend Bob leaving. I don’t want anyone to even know you were here. Right now, I’m the only one who knows about this, thank God.” He glanced down at the folder again. His eyes were full of loathing.

“You are going to lay low, do whatever Morris tells you, and then next week we’ll see how far away I can send you. Now get the hell out of here.”

Nick felt numb, his body cold and far away. He gave a stiff nod and walked out. Nick ducked in to the nearest men’s room, glad to see it was empty.

He splashed water onto his face with shaking hands. He gripped the sides of the sink, noted how haggard he looked, closer to fifty than twenty-eight. His red hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his usually pale face flushed red from humiliation.

Well what did you think would happen? Did you think you could just leave it all behind you?

He went back to his office and sat at Reverend Bob’s empty desk. The room was small, practically in the basement. There was one narrow window, vertical against a corner. He could just see the flowerbeds beyond, tropical flowers showing their faces to the broiling sun. Working on autopilot, he took his badge off its lanyard and tucked it into the computer’s card reader so he could turn it on. No new emails—of course not. His calendar was equally empty. That had been on purpose at first. But now it seemed like an indictment. Not like Reverend Bob could give you a real job. He could trust you to sort prayer cards from the Tallahassee Christian Mothers’ Union but not any actual duties.

He pushed that thought away. He knew it wasn’t true. Reverend Bob had given him time. Time to heal, time to reinvent himself. And while the new Nick was less prone to panicked outbursts, he also did very little. He kept a low profile out of habit, avoiding meeting people’s eyes until he realized absolutely no one knew who he was. He could relax a little and nod to people who smiled at him in the halls. He and Lena had lunch in the garden sometimes. It felt like slowly waking from a nightmare.

Until today. Until Peterson found out. And like everyone else who knew the truth, Peterson wanted Nick away from him and everything he cared about. Nick had barely made his mark on the room. There wasn’t much. A plant Lena gave him. A sweatshirt for when the A/C went haywire and they all froze. A picture of Reverend Bob and Nick at Leon’s Bar. The mug Morris had lent him. No pictures of family of course.

Suddenly, Nick couldn’t stand sitting there anymore. He grabbed his badge and left the building, barely nodding to the Marine at the gate. Forcing himself to slow down, he walked along the embassy’s drive, following the line of the fence and turning left toward the botanical gardens. That was a good place to think. A quiet place, shady in the blazing heat, and free. Nick walked with nothing but the white noise in his head and the roar of cars coming down the main road. He didn’t want to think yet.

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Meet the Author

J Calamy is a disabled vet and foreign service wonk who spends a good part of the year bouncing down dirt roads in the back of Range Rovers with men with guns. Coffee, romance novels, and embassy scuttlebutt are her last remaining vices.

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Book Blitz: The New Next One by Ryan Taylor & Joshua Harwood (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The New Next One

Author: Ryan Taylor & Joshua Harwood

Publisher: Wainscott Press

Release Date: January 22, 2021

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 20,000 words

Genre: Romance, New Adult, Friends-to-lovers, new adult romance, hockey romance, sports romance

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Synopsis

How much are you willing to give up for the man you love?

Best friends Nick Johnson and Tyler Jensen seem to have the world by the tail. The eighteen-year-old stars of their school’s hockey team are looking forward to playing in college and hoping for careers with the pros.

Nick and Tyler know a lot about each other, but there are a few important details they haven’t discussed. To start with, neither man knows the other is gay. Making things interesting, Nick has a massive crush on Tyler, something he’s kept to himself for a long time. And although he’s never said a word about it, Tyler has wanted to date Nick since they met.

On a cold Minnesota night after a big win, Tyler finds the courage to confess his feelings to Nick. When Nick admits his attraction to Tyler, their relationship turns on a dime. As they fall in love, they skate around the challenges of a secret romance in an all-male boarding school, but what will happen when the stakes rise dramatically in a sport not known for being gay-friendly? Will Nick and Tyler make the easy choice or the hard one?

The New Next One is a 20,000-word, new adult, friends-to-lovers romance featuring young athletes, plenty of steam, and a lot of emotion. The events of this book precede those told in the authors’ book Nice Catching You.

Excerpt

The two of us bundled up and walked south along the lakeshore. We talked about different things—school, what was going on in the NHL, and the big celebration of our championship that would happen the next week when everyone was back on campus. Ty reached for my hand after we passed the cabin. Even with both of us wearing mittens, it felt incredibly good to be out walking on a beautiful day, openly showing affection with my boyfriend. By the time you’re eighteen, holding hands with somebody you’re dating probably doesn’t seem exciting to most people; for me, it was huge, and I wanted to shout out loud. Instead, I pulled us to a stop and kissed him.

Afterward, he tweaked my nose. “I know everybody we play against thinks you’re a real bastard, but you’re actually a sweetheart.”

I gave it right back to him. “They all think you’re a bastard too. Haven’t decided where I stand on that.”

“What do you mean?” He turned his head to the side, looking very cute with tufts of hair sticking out from under his Penguins beanie. “I’ve always been nice to you.”

“I guess so.” I gave him another peck. “Why’d you make me wait all these years?”

I made you wait? Hell, I’m the one who finally worked up enough courage to do something about it.”

Turning him loose, I backhanded his arm and made a silly face. “I guess I’m glad about that.”

His jaw fell into an open-mouthed smile, and he shook his head. “Every man for himself, Johnson!”

He took off running, and I laughed hard as he bent over to pick up a fistful of snow. Quickly shaping it into a ball, he threw it at me and missed by a mile.

“You throw like a girl, Jensie!” I followed that up with a snowball of my own, hitting him in the middle of the chest.

“That’s it, you’re really gonna get it now!”

An epic snowball fight followed as we whooped and hollered, tossing chirps back and forth almost as fast as we volleyed snowballs. We worked our way into the woods as we ran. Ty was a good shot, and we played like little boys on recess after a hard morning at school. When we were both covered with snow and out of breath, Tyler stared at me until my heart raced with anticipation. Finally, he broke into a run. His hug was bone-crushing, and the hungry kisses were messy and delicious. The moment was all fire and promise, and I couldn’t wait to get back to the dorm. He pulled away from my mouth and mumbled, “You’re the most beautiful thing I ever saw, Nick.”

I huffed in cold air while my heart tried to hammer through my ribcage. “Not as beautiful as you.” I pulled him closer for a slow, deep kiss, and when that finally broke, he got a naughty gleam in his eye.

“We’re already covered with snow, so—” He pushed hard, and I tumbled backward into a snowbank. He jumped on top of me, and we wrestled around, making out while we laughed and played. My scarf slipped out of place, and Ty kissed my throat over and over, making me as hard as one of the trees surrounding us. After more rolling around, I was on top, and we lay humping in the snow. We had on heavy parkas, and it was too cold to take off any clothes, so our game was destined to end in frustration. All the better for a mind-blowing first time later that night.

We’d long since removed our mittens, and when we stilled, I wiped some snow off his cheek. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve never felt this way before.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Nick. Everything’s right for once. We’ve got each other.”

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Meet the Authors

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

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New Release Blitz ~ Plenty of Fish in the Sicilian Sea By Stefania Hartley (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Plenty of Fish in the Sicilian Sea
by Stefania Hartley

Heat Rating: Simmering  

Sexometer: 1
Word Count: 43,630
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 179
Genres:  CHICK LIT, COMEDY AND HUMOUR, CONTEMPORARY, EROTIC ROMANCE, THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

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Book Description

Sicilian marine biologist Serena Ingotta has never understood men, but when she uncovers a mafia factory polluting the sea, it only adds to the things that confuse her.

Twenty-four-year-old Sicilian scientist Serena Ingotta has always misunderstood men, from her workaholic anti-mafia judge father to the Catholic seminarian she’s hopelessly in love with. Interning in a marine biology lab alongside her irritating colleague Enrico, she discovers an illegal polluting factory that is possibly connected with the mafia.

When it turns out that their boss is going to cover up the story, she publicly denounces him at a science conference and gets expelled from the lab. Alone and ostracized, Serena’s attempts to find love and expose the factory seem to be failing epically until she finally realizes that everything she has been searching for was just under her nose.

Reader advisory: This book contains instances of minors with firearms.

Excerpt

Serena jangled the lab keys inside her bag and smiled. The cheerful clink told her that, even without a salary, a job description or a coat peg, she belonged there. The sound echoed in the silent corridor. There was no tapping of wooden soles, no irritated voices, no whispered gossip at that time in the morning. There was just her, the pickled coelacanths and the embalmed, startled pufferfish to greet her through the glass cabinets.

She stuck the key into the lab door and tried to turn it, but it was already unlocked. Strange… I’m usually the first in. As she opened the door, she found the tall green shutters gaping open and a gust of wind slammed the windows shut with a tinkling of glass.

“Hi, Sery!”

“Enrico?” He was perched on his stool, hunched over the wooden workbench with his grubby lab coat unbuttoned, as attractive as the Hunchback of Notre Dame. He straightened, turned toward her and blinked as if he were only just waking up. He usually turned up around ten o’clock. “How come you’re here so early?”

“Just to spook you. No, not really. I just suddenly thought, Shit, we have to finish our research by the end of the week, and I freaked out. Are you freaked out too?”

“A bit. Mostly about your sudden interest in our work. I thought I’d never get any help from you.”

He smiled. “I’m here to the rescue, baby.” He thrust a fist in the air, and Serena groaned inwardly. He was even wearing a Superman T-shirt.

She took off her motorbike helmet and put it down on the floor under the coat pegs. “Maybe we’ll get our own pegs after the conference.”

He shook his head. Coat pegs were for staff, not unpaid interns. “I wouldn’t hold my breath, Sery. We’re out of filter paper and we can’t order more until next year’s funding arrives. I don’t think either of us is getting a job here anytime soon.”

“Hold on. If we’re out of filter paper, what are you using for filtering?” she asked, pointing to the funnel dripping a red liquid into a conical flask on their workbench.

“Hand towels.” He grinned.

She clutched her head. “You can’t do that! No wonder our results—”

“Just joking.” He grinned, winking. “I’ve cut the discs in half so we have enough. If you pour carefully, they do the job just fine.”

“Please, don’t make a joke like that again. Not now.” They only had until Friday to persuade their boss to submit their research to the upcoming Marine Biology Conference. If they presented their research at the conference, they could put it on their CVs and maybe they’d get a research bursary or—if dreams ever came true—a permanent research position. Two years of unpaid work in Schettino’s lab would not have been in vain. “Right. Let’s get to work.”

By the time Giovanna and Titti arrived after dropping their kids off at school, Serena and Enrico had dissected the fish samples, isolated the gill tissues and filtered the extracts. Giovanna and Titti were research associates—with coat pegs, name badges and monthly salaries—but they were too nice for Serena to wish that they accidentally cut their own heads off while dissecting a fish so that she could have their jobs.

Cornetti to see us through today,” Giovanna announced, putting down a parcel wrapped with the paper from the café downstairs on a nearby bench. The heavenly buttery scent of the Italian croissants temporarily flushed the smell of the fish samples from the room. Yes, Giovanna is definitely too lovely to hate.

“Shall we have a break?” Enrico suggested hopefully.

“I want to see the spectrophotometer’s results first, but you can,” Serena said.

Enrico hesitated but picked up a cuvette with fish juice instead of a cornetto with custard and walked over to the spectrophotometer in the far corner of the room. Enrico called out the machine’s readings and Serena entered them into her laptop.

“How are things going here?” Professor Schettino suddenly appeared behind them. The boss never arrived before eleven o’clock. He must be early because of the conference deadline.

“We’re getting together the last results,” Enrico said confidently.

“Great. I want to see all your results by lunchtime.”

“Sure.”

After that deadline was issued, the cornetti weren’t mentioned anymore.

Just before midday, Schettino shouted from his office, “Enrico, Serena, are you done?”

They looked at each other. “Almost!” Enrico called back.

It was a very early ‘lunchtime’ for Italy. They entered the last few results into their table and clicked on the button that would create a curve of best fit. But what came out was not a curve by any standard.

“I’ve calibrated the machine three times!” Enrico protested, waving his arm in the air.

“I don’t think our results are wrong. The repeats are very close to each other.”

“Then why does our data make no sense?”

“It does make sense. Negative results disprove the hypothesis.”

Enrico twisted his mouth. “Negative results aren’t exciting enough to be presented at a conference.”

“Schettino will agree that science doesn’t have to be sensational. Come… Let’s show him.” She got up with her laptop and marched to Schettino’s office-cave. Enrico followed her. “Here are our results,” she announced, putting her laptop down on their boss’ desk, which was scattered with printouts crossed through and scribbled on in red pen. Enrico stopped on the threshold and leaned against the door jamb.

Schettino adjusted his reading glasses, put down the red pen and looked intently at the graph. “Ah,” he said, pushing his wheelie chair back and dropping his glasses to look intently at Serena.

Serena waited for a more comprehensive comment, possibly with some indication of his appreciation.

“So, what’s your conclusion?” he asked, shrugging.

“That there’s no correlation between heavy metal concentration in fish and distance from the shore.”

Enrico stepped into the room. “We’ve calibrated the instruments before every batch of measurements, we’ve repeated each reading at least three times and…we’ve worn gloves.”

“Uhm”—Schettino pursed his lips—“perhaps you need to plot against depth instead of distance from the shore.”

“Why? What’s wrong with our results as they are?” This was not how she had imagined the conversation would go.

“Not impressive enough to go to a conference. The selection committee won’t give you even a five-minute slot to present it. Nobody is interested in you having an idea and proving that it was wrong, Serena. I don’t care what you plot your results against, so long as you find a correlation of some sort. Otherwise, I won’t submit your work to the conference. It’s as simple as that.” He stood up, which made him a lot taller than her—but not Enrico.

“But the submission deadline is on Friday,” Enrico protested.

“You don’t have to come to this conference. There’ll be many others.”

But we’ve worked for two years with the promise of being allowed to submit to this conference.

“We’ll turn the research around by Friday.”

Schettino smiled. “I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

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About the Author

Stefania Hartley

Stefania Hartley, also known as The Sicilian Mama, was born in Sicily and immediately started growing, but not very much. She left her sunny island after falling head over heels in love with an Englishman, and she’s lived all over the world with him and their three children.

Having finally learnt English, she enjoyed it so much that she started writing stories and nobody has been able to stop her since. She loves to write about hot and sunny places like her native Sicily, and she especially likes it when people fall in love.

Her short stories have been longlisted, commended and won prizes. Plenty of Fish in the Sicilian Sea is her second novel, after Sun, Stars and Limoncello.

You can find out more about Stefania on her website, and on the Sicilian Mama’s Blog. You can also listen to Stefania’s podcast.

Giveaway

Enter to win a fabulous gift package and a FREE Stefania Hartley romance book!

Stefania Hartley’s Plenty of Fish in the Sicilian Sea

STEFANIA HARTLEY IS GIVING AWAY THIS FABULOUS PRIZE TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A LOVELY GIFT PACKAGE AND GRAB YOUR FREE STEFANIA HARTLEY ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 26th January 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

New Release Blitz ~ Chasing the Spark By Kori Blue (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Chasing the Spark by Kori Blue

Book 1 in the Between Lovers series

Heat Rating: Burning
Sexometer: 3
Word Count:  32,005
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 130
Genres:  BONDAGE AND BDSM, CONTEMPORARY, EROTIC ROMANCE

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Book Description

It’s Valentine’s Day, and Nina’s loving Master has a kinky surprise for her. The gift of a violet wand is shocking, but the sparks will soon fly.

Nina can’t wait to spend the Valentine’s Day weekend with Trey, her Master. He’s a perfect, loving boyfriend and the ideal kinky match for a submissive like Nina. He’s also a world away from the bad Doms she’s dated in the past, but when Trey gifts her a violet wand, she’s surprised…and daunted.

The thought of electroplay scares Nina, yet she yearns to give herself completely. Can she learn to trust her Master enough to let him push her limits?

Luckily for Nina, Trey’s ready to show her just what pleasure awaits. Over a Valentine’s Day weekend of romantic, steamy kink, the couple explore their new toy, and Nina comes to realize just how much she can learn from the sparks her Master creates between them.

Excerpt

Valentine’s Day was a Friday, and it wasn’t much different from most others. As usual, Nina left work at 5:28 and walked down to the parking lot of Volkmann Industries with a couple of her colleagues. After a day cooped up in the beige-and-gray tedium of the office, it was a welcome chance to blow off some steam, and their laughter danced against the concrete walls of the building they were only too glad to leave behind for the weekend.

“Are you sure you guys don’t want to come with me?” Jazmine wheedled one more time. “C’mon. It’ll be fun. We’ll go to that Thai-Japanese place on Lakeview, hit the dinner buffet…they have à la carte makimono and a martini bar, remember? Perfect. Comfort food while we get wasted and talk about how this stupid holiday is a meaningless corporate invention designed to suck everybody’s wallet dry through the soulless application of guilt, greed and—”

“And eventually someone will take you home,” Arielle cut in, “because it’s two in the morning and you’re wandering around Riverfront Park, rambling drunkenly about how you’re one more bad date away from deciding to become a reclusive cat lady. You know, when you say it that way, it does sound like a pretty lit start to the V-Day weekend.”

Nina laughed and shook her head as Jazmine clutched their friend’s arm.

“Yes! You understand! Come on, Ari. You said you didn’t even want to go on that stupid blind date thing anyway. I’m depending on you. Nina’s let me down. Nina has plans.”

A cold breeze rippled across the icy asphalt, causing them to pick up their pace as they headed for their cars.

“Shit, it’s cold,” Nina murmured, rooting through her purse for her keys. She flashed Jazmine a smile. “Hey, Nina already apologized, so don’t blame me! I’d come if I could, girl. Promise.”

The black ends of crushed winter leaves and tire-shorn dirty slush fringed the lot, and the sky looked heavy and gray, promising more wintry weather to come. It was a sight almost as depressing as her friend’s dejected grimace.

“I know you would,” Jazmine admitted, shaking off the pout she was pulling for laughs, “and, seriously, you guys know I don’t really wanna make you feel bad for having fun without me, right?”

“We know,” Nina assured her, as Arielle hugged Jaz’s arm. “And we don’t feel bad at all. Not even a little tiny bit!”

Nina giggled and poked out her tongue, and Jazmine wrinkled her nose.

“Nice. Really nice, Nina. Oh, man… You know, it just sucks when plans change at the last minute. That’s all I’m saying.”

Nina slowed her steps a little so she could give her friend an affectionate bump on the shoulder.

“We know that too,” she said, glancing at Arielle, past Jazmine’s puffy, wind-tousled curls. “And it’s not your fault Jamie was an asshole. Look at it this way, at least you dodged the bullet early.”

Jazmine snorted. “Yeah, and I dodged a nice dinner, maybe a gift and some good dick too. Not that I was in it just for that, but—”

“Sure,” Arielle teased. “Sure you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t! The first couple times we hung out, he seemed really cool. I liked him. I mean, it wasn’t serious. It’s not like I was naming our imaginary cats or anything.”

“Cats?” Nina laughed.

“Cats, kids…whatever.” Jaz shrugged. “I’m just saying, it was super early, but he seemed nice. Not the type of person who’d blow somebody off by text, like a complete fucking asshole, three hours before a goddamn date. On Valentine’s Day, no goddamn less. Dude didn’t owe me anything, sure, but come on.”

“Asshole,” Arielle agreed, patting Jaz’s hand.

“I know, right? I guess I should have been like a fuckin’ lawyer and had the ‘but what are we?’ talk early enough that I could have made other plans. Nobody’s going to be free now.”

“Oh, of course they are,” Arielle said breezily. “If it’s that important, get out your phone, pick some random guy on some random app, and—”

“Yaaaay.” Jaz fluttered her fingers in the air, her face mournful. “Desperation! It’s, like, my favorite perfume. Nah, I don’t think so. It’d be too weird. See, this is what I hate about this time of year. So much pressure, and so much bullshit. You know? It brings out the worst in people. Like Black Friday, but for sex.”

Nina’s fingers closed around her keys. Her gray Kia Rio was parked a little closer than Arielle’s old blue Civic, and she felt guilty for how eager she was to climb into her car and head off to her own Valentine’s Day weekend.

Jazmine could joke and insist as much as she wanted that she hadn’t been that invested, and maybe it was even true. All the same, Nina was far too familiar with the sour, bruising crush of rejection to take her friend’s protests at face value, and guilt eased its way into the pit of her stomach.

“You know,” she said doubtfully, the keys jangling in her hand, “I could always call Trey and reschedule. I mean, there’s the whole weekend, and—”

“Don’t you dare!” Jazmine batted at her wrist. “I’m messing with you. Well, mostly. I’m pissed, sure, but I don’t want to drag you down with me. You’ve got your night planned, and the last thing I wanna do is take you away from Mr. Dreamypants. Just, I don’t know, think of me when—well, no. Don’t, actually. Don’t think of me when he’s got your legs up around—”

“Jaz!” Nina warned as they both broke into another peal of giggles.

“Look,” Arielle said, pulling her phone from her pocket, “why don’t I ask Meghan if this blind date girl has a friend?”

“Uh…wait. I’m disillusioned, but I’m not ready to give up dudes entirely,” Jazmine protested, a hint of surprised laughter coloring her words.

“Oh, shh.” Arielle was already texting. “You don’t have to. Anyway, who knows? She probably knows some guys. We’ll find out. Maybe the four of us could go to dinner, just have fun. No expectations, no big deal. Then I don’t have to be a flake and break plans, and you don’t have to be miserable, drinking alone with your cats. Plus, if either of our dates is creepy, we can escape together. Sound fair?”

Jazmine pursed her lips. “I guess… But what about your blind date? She was expecting an actual date. I don’t want to fuck that up for somebody.”

“Eh.” Arielle wrinkled her nose. “If she hasn’t got enough compassion to accommodate my poor, heartbroken friend—”

“Hey!”

“Then she and I don’t have a future. Same goes for if she’s not down for a sashimi special and sake.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

Nina laughed along with the two of them, almost missing the single life that she’d had a few months ago. “I wish I could come with,” she said, even as the wistfulness tapered away. “I really do.”

“No, screw you!” Jazmine taunted playfully. “Find your own lesbian. Anyway, fuck off, Nina. You’re going to have an amazing weekend with your amazing boyfriend. You bitch.”

Arielle glanced up from her phone. “How is Trey, anyway?”

They were almost at Nina’s car. Tiny flakes of snow began to fall, melting onto the slushy ground. Nina bit her lip.

“He’s good. Been busy, y’ know. The whole pre-tax-day rush starts soon, so he’s got a bunch of new clients who think they’re ahead of the game. I think he could use some time off. We’re going out for a meal tonight, and then—”

“Yeah, yeah. We all know what you’re doing later.”

“Shut up, Jaz,” Arielle said, in gentle admonishment.

Nina just grinned.

Her friends had no idea about the details of her sex life with Trey—or the nature of their relationship at all, come to that—and she much preferred it that way. She had no real desire to explain to them that she was the kind of girl who got wet only when she was on her knees.

Nina doubted they would really have been shocked. Hell, pretty much everyone had dabbled in a little kink at least once. However, she was into more than just a casual spanking and a rough blowjob or two. Nina’s world lit up in the moments she saw approval in the eyes of the man she called Master and, more than anything, she cherished the hard journey it took to get there.

She wasn’t ashamed, but she didn’t want to answer the kind of questions Jazmine would ask if she found out about it. Nor did she really want that part of her life open to prying eyes. It was hers, and his. Special, secret…maybe even sacred, in some kind of way.

It was her own private universe, and she couldn’t wait to get back to it.

“Have fun, though,” Jazmine said, dropping the playacting. “Seriously. Don’t worry about me.”

“I won’t,” Nina promised, leaning in to give them both quick goodbye hugs. “Lemme know how it goes, okay? Both of you. I hope it’s awesome.”

Arielle winked at her, the cold wind whipping at her dark hair. “It will be. We’ll make it awesome. Have a great weekend and say hi to Trey for me. We should all go out again sometime. He’s cool.”

“Yeah, he is,” Nina admitted shyly. “Text me?”

“Promise,” Arielle agreed.

“Promise,” Jazmine said, and ripped off a mock salute. “And give Trey’s ass a squeeze for me or something, ’kay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Nina snickered. “Enjoy yourselves, ladies.”

Arielle waved the hand she wasn’t using to text with, and they both peeled off to her Civic, with Jazmine chattering about the prospect of an all-she-could-eat Japanese dinner, overpriced cocktails and a buttload of sake.

Nina unlocked her Rio then grabbed the scraper from the passenger side footwell so she could brush the thin dusting of snow off the roof and windshield. She couldn’t help smiling to herself as she worked, listening to the receding voices of her friends echo against the asphalt.

It felt good to know Jazmine wasn’t going to spend the evening alone, and it was a relief—albeit perhaps a selfish one—for Nina to know she wasn’t going to be distracted from her plans by the sickly tug of guilt or shame.

She’d been looking forward to this for far too long to have anything go wrong, or impinge on her time with worries and distractions. Maybe that was silly. It was just a day, but then so was any holiday, and there was nothing wrong with wanting to make it special.

Maybe Jaz did have a point, and Valentine’s Day was kind of a hustle. All the commercial bullshit, the overpriced flowers and candy, the two-dimensional depictions of love in pink or red heart shapes… It didn’t even scratch the surface of what something between two people could be. And yet, here Nina was, ready to put her all into the occasion, loving the chance to use it as a fun, candy-coated excuse for something special.

Oh, she definitely had plans.

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About the Author

Kori Blue

Kori Blue writes adult romance with an edge. In her stories, you’ll find sharp, sassy women who know what they want… and strong, sexy men who’ve got just what they need.

Kori’s stories often involve some kinky fun, and explorations of fantasies from the sinfully sweet to the downright dark and dirty. From the intimate stories of couples in Kori’s Between Lovers series to the daring exploits of a call girl-turned-madam in the Midnight Candy books, and the dark, twisted tales of passion and obsession in Juniper Lake, a Kori Blue book is guaranteed to pull you into a world of intrigue and intensity, with characters you’ll love, and heat you’ll never forget!

You can find Kori at her website.

Giveaway

Enter to win a fabulous gift package and a FREE Kori Blue romance book!

Kori Blue’s Chasing the Spark

KORI BLUE IS GIVING AWAY THIS FABULOUS PRIZE TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A LOVELY GIFT PACKAGE AND GRAB YOUR FREE KORI BLUE ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 26th January 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

New Release Blitz ~ Edging Closer By L.M. Somerton (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Edging Closer by L.M. Somerton

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Book Description

Apparently, the path of true love meanders through a minefield.

After several years of adventures, submissive Olly Glenn and his Dom, Joe Dexter, are about to tie the knot. Needless to say, all does not run smoothly on the path to matrimony. Only Olly can turn a visit to a cupcake shop into a police incident.

While Joe and Olly’s friends join forces to make their wedding the most memorable ever, others are not so keen on them getting their happy ever after—or living to experience their honeymoon. So, when Joe walks into a carefully laid trap, it’s hard to see a way out.

Olly is determined that nobody, not even a sociopathic killer with connections to his past, will ruin the big day. He wants Joe standing next to him, in one piece, and he’ll risk anything to make sure that happens, even if they have to be handcuffed together. In fact, that idea has possibilities…

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence, stalking, abduction, and attempted murder.

Excerpt

“Olly, that dog is a menace. He needs more training, a bit like you.” Aiden’s tone betrayed his exasperation.

“Parker is just exuberant.” Olly gave his best friend in the world an aggravated glance. “He’s high on life. And I am very well trained, thank you very much. Ask Joe.”

Aiden snorted. “I’d sooner ask Heath to give me a foot rub and feed me grapes.”

“I’d like to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.” Olly laughed, simultaneously scanning the edge of the trees for his dog. “Where has he got to?”

“He’s not living up to his namesake, is he?” Aiden muttered. Parker was named after Lady Penelope’s chauffeur in Thunderbirds.

“He’s loyal and brave and…cleverer than he looks. Parker is the perfect name for him. What do you think I should have called him? Fang or Brutus, I suppose.”

“Fluff Butt, Hairball, Drool Monster… Want me to go on?”

“He does not… Okay, well he does drool a bit, but only when he gets excited.”

“The only time that animal is not excited is when he’s asleep.”

“He can’t help it, it’s in his genes.” To the best of Olly’s knowledge, and the educated guess of his friend Drew at the local animal rescue centre, Parker’s genes were from a spaniel retriever mash-up with a bit of old English sheepdog thrown in. He was pale yellow, long-haired, and had huge floppy ears and enormous paws.

“I think we had better get off the beach and follow him into the woods, don’t you?” Aiden turned away from the shoreline, extending his strides. “I have to get back to work soon. I can’t believe I let you drag me out here.”

“You spend too long in that dungeon you call an office,” Olly said. “You’re turning into a vampire. I know you like to look all pale and emo, but you need your vitamin D.”

“Trust me, I get plenty of D. And you’re a fine one to talk. My diet is far better than yours. You’d exist on sugar and caffeine if Joe let you.”

“Sugar comes from beets. Beets are a type of vegetable. Chocolate comes from cocoa beans. Beans are also vegetables. Coffee comes from…”

“Enough already.” Aiden shook his head. “You’re never going to convince Joe that any of that stuff is good for you, so I don’t know why you bother. Now, stop thinking about sugar and concentrate on finding your daft dog.”

“Nag, nag, nag. You’re worse than Joe.” Olly crossed the treeline into the semi-darkness of the forest, which covered one side of the island housing The Edge, the training centre where he and Aiden both lived and worked. He and Aiden had explored every inch of it, but preferred to walk along the shore. Parker, however, had other ideas. The woods meant rabbits and other small mammals that he could chase. It was easier to dig in the soft leaf mould than it was on the pebble beach, and he loved to shove his nose into burrows, nests and boggy patches. A frantic beating of wings and general disturbance in the trees gave Olly a clue as to where Parker was. He exchanged a glance with Aiden and they set off in the direction of the kerfuffle. There weren’t any proper marked paths through the trees, just animal tracks, and it took some effort to move through the undergrowth.

“We’re heading towards that hollow where the badger sett is, aren’t we?” Olly asked.

“He’s too big to get down those holes.” Aiden growled under his breath.

“It won’t stop him trying.” Olly sped up as best he could, scrambling up the incline that led to the lip of the hollow. “Whoa!” Momentum carried him forwards and he tumbled down the steep slope, finally rolling to a stop in a patch of damp grass and moss. Something wet swiped across his face and he opened his eyes to find Parker giving him an enthusiastic tongue bath. He burst out laughing, batting the dog away as he rolled to his knees. “Where did you get to, Parker? You had me worried there for a minute.”

Parker gave a gruff bark then nosed at Olly’s pocket for treats. “You don’t deserve treats.” Olly slipped him a biscuit bone anyway.

“Are you okay?” Aiden skidded to a halt at his side. “That was a spectacular tumble.”

Olly gave himself a pat down. “I had a soft landing. I’m fine and I found Parker.”

“So I see.” Parker gambolled around Aiden’s legs, almost knocking him over. “What were you doing, you daft mutt?”

“From the amount of dirt around his snout, I think he’s been trying to find badgers to make friends with,” Olly said as he staggered to his feet. He brushed at his clothes in a vain attempt to remove some of the muck. “I’m filthy.”

“No kidding.” Aiden picked a piece of twig out of Olly’s curls. “Are you sure you haven’t damaged anything other than your dignity?”

“My dignity is fully intact, thank you very much.” Olly attached Parker’s lead to his pale blue collar. “But we had better be getting back. I’ve got loads to do.”

“Wedding plans?” Aiden asked.

Olly nibbled his lower lip. “There’s so much organising involved.” He sighed.

“What’s wrong? You have been a bit quiet lately, come to think of it, and I am your best man, so if there’s anything I can do to help, you know you just have to ask.”

“It’s nothing—well, it is but it isn’t. I mean, I really, really want to get married, but…”

“But what? Spill it, Olly.”

“I’m not sure I want such a big event.” There, it was out in the open. Olly couldn’t meet Aiden’s eyes.

“And have you talked to Joe about this?”

“I… Haven’t found the right moment.”

“He so going to spank your behind if you don’t tell him.”

“But he’s been so good about researching all the arrangements. What if a huge wedding is what he wants more than anything in the world?”

“Joe may be all stern and Dommy, but when it comes to you he’s as sappy as they come. Whatever makes you happy is what he’ll want.”

“But I want him to be happy too. This wedding isn’t all about me, it’s about us.”

Parker led the way out of the woods to the path that headed back to The Edge, sniffing at every interesting smell they passed. Olly let him have his way, concentrating on not falling over again.

“And that’s why you should be talking about it, not keeping things to yourself. Joe would be devastated if he thought you were doing something just because you assumed he wanted it and not because it made you happy.”

“Maybe.”

“There’s no maybe about it. Talk to him.”

They circled the main building to a back door where Olly could wash the worst of the mud from Parker’s paws with a hose. “You get on—I know you have to get to work. I’ll see you later, ’kay?”

“Sure. Talk to him today, Olly. I mean it. You won’t be happy or settled until you do.”

Aiden disappeared into the building, leaving Olly alone with Parker. “Well, boy, let’s get you clean. Can’t take you inside in that state, can we?”

Once Parker was as clean as he could get without a full bath, Olly took him inside to the boot room, where he kept a stack of old towels. He gave him a quick rub down, and when he was satisfied that the dog wasn’t going to track dirt through the building, he took a shortcut to the courtyard that granted access to the stable mews cottage he shared with Joe. He fed Parker, who scoffed his food in ten seconds flat before curling up in his bed next to the fireplace and dropping off to sleep.

“So much for having a confidant,” Olly grumbled. “You’re asleep, Aiden’s at work with his secret squirrel stuff, Reuben’s out of bounds in the kitchen. I suppose I could call Kai or Christian, but it’s a bit early. Bite the bullet, Olly. Much as I hate to admit it, Aiden’s right. I should talk to Joe.”

Without bothering to change out of his mucky clothes, Olly wandered through the main building, taking a circuitous route to Joe’s office, which was situated off the main entrance hall. There were a few people around, and he waved to those he knew and greeted those he didn’t, but didn’t stop to chat. If he got distracted, he’d never talk to Joe, and that was what he needed to do.

Despite it being late summer and still warm, there was an open fire burning in the grate of the massive fireplace in the entrance hall, which always seemed to be a bit draughty. The flagstone floors were covered by bright rugs and the furnishings made the space cosy, but the number of people coming in and out of the front door meant that it was difficult to keep it warm. For that reason, Joe often kept his office door closed, but Olly could see that it was open a crack. He didn’t need to knock, but he gave the mellow oak a soft tap anyway before pushing his way inside. It had been less than two hours since he’d been snuggled in bed with Joe, but his breath still hitched when he met his lover’s icy blue eyes as Joe looked up from whatever paperwork he was dealing with.

“What on earth have you been doing?” Joe asked, his tone mild. Olly wasn’t deceived by the gentle enquiry. He nibbled on his lower lip. “No, you don’t have to tell me. You’ve been out walking Parker, haven’t you? I suppose he got into some kind of trouble and took you along with him. Or perhaps it was the other way around.”

“Sir,” Olly whined. “We don’t get into trouble, we have adventures.”

“Adventures that end with you covered in mud and with a grazed elbow.”

Olly inspected the offending arm. He hadn’t noticed the small graze that was oozing a couple of spots of blood. “Oh, I didn’t realise… I wonder how I did that. Probably when I fell down that hill.”

That statement got Joe to his feet and stalking around his desk. “You took a fall?” He pushed his office door closed and turned the key. “Take your clothes off, Oliver. I want to look you over.”

Olly sighed. He should have known that Joe wouldn’t be satisfied with him saying he wasn’t hurt—he had to have the proof of his own eyes.

“But I want to…”

“Oliver.”

“Yes, Sir.” Olly stripped to his underwear then stood, placid, while Joe inspected him.

“Hmm. A couple of bruises, some scratches and that graze. You’ll live.”

Olly fidgeted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Being in such close proximity to Joe when Joe was fully dressed and he was clad in skimpy underwear had an inevitable effect. He crossed his hands in front of his groin and attempted to look demure.

“You really think you can hide anything from me, Oliver?”

“No, Sir,” Olly mumbled.

“I think some quiet time is called for.” Joe gestured to the armchair in the corner of his office. “You may sit there while I carry on working. Think about why it’s important not to worry your Dom by throwing yourself around in the woods.”

Olly knew it was useless to protest, and besides, he liked being in the study while Joe worked. He curled into the chair, plumping the cushions to make a nest.

“Are you warm enough?”

“Toasty, thanks.”

Joe returned to his seat and bent over his papers, grumbling about some kind of error on an invoice. Olly let his eyes drift closed. He ignored his aching cock and allowed himself to daydream about Joe bending him over the desk for a spanking. He smiled. It wouldn’t be the first time.

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About the Author

L.M. Somerton

Lucinda lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.

She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire. She’s fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle (and some not so subtle) leanings towards BDSM.

You can follow Lucinda on Facebook, Twitter and her Website.

Giveaway

Enter to win a fabulous Goody Bag and a FREE L.M. Somerton romance book!

L.M. Somerton’s Edging Closer

L.M. SOMERTON IS GIVING AWAY THIS FABULOUS PRIZE TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN THIS FABULOUS GOODY BAG AND GRAB YOUR FREE L.M. SOMERTON ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 26th January 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.


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