BOOK BLAST: “Love Him Hate Him” by Chris Bedell. $25 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway!

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Love Him/Hate Him

Author: Chris Bedell

Publisher: Between the Lines Publishing

Release Date: February 16, 2021

Genre: YA LGBTQ Thriller

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 185 print pages

It is a standalone story.

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Connor is out. Liam is the secretly gay football player. Together they must navigate a hush-hush relationship while working together to solve the murder of Liam’s sister.

 

Blurb

17-year-old Connor doesn’t believe his best friend’s death was an accident. Falling down the stairs was random, and Connor can’t help but wonder if someone might’ve pushed her…

Determined to find out the truth, Connor starts his own investigation. Along the way, he discovers Evelyn’s affair with a married man and thought she was pregnant before she died. Connor thinks he’s found her killer, but an airtight alibi forces him to look in a new direction. Perhaps closer to home.

Complicating the situation more is Connor’s own secret – an unexpected hook up with Evelyn’s twin brother, Liam, at a party the previous spring. Afterward, Liam goes on a homophobic rant and punches Connor, leaving him confused. His confusion deepens when, after Evelyn’s death, Liam apologizes and they start to hook up secretly.

Liam is trapped between his attraction to Connor and his abusive father. Connor struggles with his growing attraction for Liam. Their secret rendezvous are fun, but if Connor is going to have more with Liam, he’ll have to be honest about his feelings and his suspicions on who killed Evelyn. Will either survive the truth coming out?

 

Excerpt

I left the hair salon the following evening.

A faint chill permeated the air, and the waxiness of the full moon glinted against the ground, providing extra lighting while I walked to my Mercedes.

Normally, I wouldn’t have picked a 7:00 P.M. appointment, but it was all the hair salon had had on such short notice.

“The fuck you doing at a hair salon?” someone called.

I whipped my body around. Liam stood about ten feet from me.

“I’ve gotta go.” I pulled out my car keys, then grabbed the car door handle.

“Please don’t leave,” he pleaded.

I looked over my shoulder, meeting his eyes. “Why would I do you any favors?”

“Because I wanted to apologize.”

Wow. Lucky me, getting two surprises in less than a week. First Evelyn’s death, now this. The only difference was that there was a chance this surprise would be wanted.

 

About the Author

Chris Bedell’s previous publishing credits include Thought Catalog, Entropy Magazine, Chicago Literati, and Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, among others. His debut YA Fantasy novel IN THE NAME OF MAGIC was published by NineStar Press in 2018. His 2019 books include his NA Thriller BURNING BRIDGES (BLKDOG Publishing) and his YA Paranormal Romance novel DEATHLY DESIRES (Deep Hearts YA). In addition to his YA Thriller BETWEEN LOVE AND MURDER, Chris had several other books released in 2020, including his YA Contemporary I’LL SEE YOU AGAIN (Deep Hearts YA). Furthermore, Chris graduated with a BA in Creative Writing from Fairleigh Dickinson University in 2016.

 

Social Media Links

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BOOK BLAST: “Years of Silence” by J.K. Jones

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Years of Silence

Author: J.K. Jones 

Publisher: Self-published 

Release Date: December 30, 2020

Genre/s:  Dark M/M Romance, Magical realism

Tropes: Friends to lovers

Themes: Russian Mafia, floral horror, body horror romance, interracial romance, cultural diaspora 

Heat Rating:  4 flames 

Length:  91 872 words

It is a standalone book. 

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Buy Links 

Amazon US  |   Amazon UK 

 

Three friends. Two lies. One truth.

 

Blurb 

Three friends. Two lies. One truth.

Silence can be deafening. Billionaire Tycoon Zander Wright is no stranger to loneliness.

However, what happens when his friend-turned-enemy comes back?  

Knowing Vadim is like dancing the space between heaven and hell. The ocean is an inch between ecstasy and misery. Like all things long since forgotten, young love always remains the most crippling of pain.

Zander Wright is aware of this. He’s felt the fatal blow of being love-struck—bludgeoned violently over the head with the taste and feel of utopia in his arms and in his bed.

Vadim Oblonsky will always be the one thing he wants, but can never have.

Just like Petyr Yahontov will always be the one thing standing in his way. A dangerous man, with a sweet dimpled grin that has connections to the Russian mafia. Petyr wasn’t supposed to take it this far. Now, someone in his inner circle wants him dead. Zander didn’t start this. He didn’t want any part of it.

But he will be damned if he doesn’t finish it.

 

Warning from the author – Years of Silence is a dark MM Romance. This book will take you on a journey of self-discovery and disillusionment, a psychological thriller with so many twists and turns it will make your head spin. Enemies to lovers, floral horror, friends to lovers, hurt comfort, first time mm romance, gay betrayal romance, mental instability and so much more. Read an outstanding piece of literature of three friends and how one truth destroys all of them.

 

Excerpt 

From Chapter 1

Zander recalls these images not to relive them.

But to dance the space between heaven and hell. The ocean is an inch between ecstasy and misery. Like all things long since forgotten, young love always remains the most crippling of pain.

Zander Wright is aware of this.

He’s felt the fatal blow of being love-struck—bludgeoned violently over the head with the taste and feel of utopia in his arms and his bed.

The grotesque and sublime slam into him all at once, he tries to push through, he tries forcing it down, but still, it bubbles up. For once he doesn’t release it, he holds onto it, until it solidifies in his soul.

He knows he’ll never let go. Not now and not ever. Not even if it kills him.

And it surely will kill him, one of these days.

Zander raps his fingers on the table, impatiently going over the extensive legal jargon. The leather feels plush and comfortable as he leans back into his chair. The office is spacious and almost too large for one person alone, but Carlisle has insisted.

There’s a large bookshelf in the far corner, hefty enough to fill a library with nearly dozens upon, dozens of cases. Zander read them all.

Not by choice of course, but by necessity. He lives and breathes his work.

Case files lay stacked on his desk, untouched because of the sheer amount of work he still needs to get through.

“Is this all of it?”

The intern nearly jumps, his small lithe frame looking even smaller in his black slacks and white crisp dress shirt. He’s native American, with beautiful tan skin and dark piercing eyes, rimmed with glasses “Yes Mr. Wright.”

Zander looks back at the file, his eyes greedily taking in every single word. The whole case was fucked up. Even as he read more about the people involved, he felt his stomach coil in disgust. Sometimes he wonders why he became a defense attorney in the first place.

You know why.

“Sick fuck,” He mutters under his breath, before tossing the file on the table.

The case is straightforward: billionaire tycoon caught raping an underage girl and somehow thought throwing money at the problem would make it all go away. However, more women started coming out, accusing the defendant of being a rapist.

“A friend of my father’s you said?”

“Yes, Mr. Wright.”

Even after all the evidence proved that the man was guilty, he still had the fucking gull to plead “not guilty”. It was hard to argue against his DNA found in a rape test. Zander knew he had to take this case on, it was expected of him.

His face hardens.

“These are the police reports. I’ve sealed them to make sure nobody has access to them.” Zander says, placing them in a filing cabinet near his desk, and then Zander hands another file over to him. “Seth, take the case report back to Tanya and tell her that I want Mr. Dmitriev in my office Thursday morning at nine am sharp.”

“Yes, Mr. Wright,” Seth says, snatching the file away and nearly sprinting out of the room.

Zander takes a deep breath, loosening his silk fitted Armani jacket.

If this were a normal day, he would have yelled at Seth for not bringing these files in sooner. His father wanted this situation dealt with as quickly and discreetly as possible.

However, today was unlike any other day. His fingers twitch with anticipation as he wills himself to calm down.

Zander moves from his chair, eager to get the blood pumping and not to dwell on the reason why it feels like his heart wants to burst from his chest.

 

About the Author  

Heaven and hell, demons and angels. J.K Jones has always had an affinity for otherworldly things. From her debut novel, it’s easy to see she loves all things crawling in the shadows. As it so happens, J.K Jones is the author of a gritty, fun, action-packed, soul-rending novel. Her characters are so dark and twisted they defy the dimensions of this world. She does not believe in HEA, she does believe in writing a suitable ending for her characters. Never will you read any of her works where the characters ride off into the sunset together. Not going to happen. There is nothing J.K. Jones loves more than a tragic ending. She is an avid reader, poet, and LGBTQ activist. She is a University graduate with a BA in Sociology, also has a TESOL certificate for teaching English as a Second Language.

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BOOK BLAST: “Oridinary Whore” by Dieter Moitzi

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Ordinary Whore

Author: Dieter Moitzi

Publisher: Self-published

Cover Artist: Dieter Moitzi

Genre/s: Mystery, Romance

Trope/s: Family secrets, escort, healing, rebirth, finding a soulmate

Themes: High society, escort, finding oneself, false perceptions, finding the sense of life, resilience

Heat Rating:  0 – 1 flame       

Length: 87 222 words / 328 pages

It is a standalone book.

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Buy Links

Universal Link  |  Amazon US  |   Amazon UK  |   Kobo

 

A story of loneliness, loss, treacherous perception, family secrets, and… rebirth.

 

Blurb 

People tell me I should count my blessings. “You’re handsome, Marc,” they say, “handsome, rich, young, and intelligent.” But then, given time and opportunity, people would always say inanities, I think. 

Am I handsome? Honestly, I don’t know, but it seems so; handsome enough, at any rate, that I’m allowed to live comfortably off my looks. I’m not rich, mind you, but the men and women paying for my company fling enough crumbs of their wealth my way. I’m still fairly young, too, but since when is youth anyone’s personal achievement? Last but not least, I’m not sure about my intelligence. I’m not even sure being intelligent would be a blessing. 

Anyway, I can’t complain—my life is not unpleasant. I’m a bit bored, a bit melancholic, my mood often as black as the clothes I wear all the time.  

And now my father has died. It shouldn’t mean anything to me—for years we tried to have as few ties or dealings with each other as possible. But all of a sudden, everything comes crumbling down, and my life turns into an unwholesome mess… 

 

Excerpt

—107—

He is just that guy. In his sixties, balding, short and slender; some would even say gaunt. His skin is white and papery. Thin lips, thin features, a jaded attitude. His eyes are… wait a second… grey? Yes, grey, I think, the shade of light-coloured steel, and his gaze is cold but not too cold. He is no man of extremes; a nondescript guy in fact who looks like an accountant or a small-town solicitor. 

Someone of little interest or concern for me, more present in the media than in my thoughts.

And yet, by one of those strange, sly whims that destiny seems to love, that guy is my father.

Or rather, that guy was my father. Because he is dead now.

 

—106—

My older sister is the one who spills the beans. It’s half past nine in the evening. I’m sitting on my white sofa, turning the pages of a fashion magazine, my gaze empty like the faces of the models who are striking poses on the glossy pages before me. Gentle boredom seeps in through the half-open windows, glides over the walls, oozes from every piece of furniture, glistens on the glass or metal surfaces, forming a motionless, invisible, indolent space-time that surrounds me like a halo.

I’ve switched the television on but turned the volume down to a subdued whisper. The soft sounds of a TV game blend with the persistent hum of the traffic downstairs. From time to time, I lift my eyes from the magazine to look at the game host’s white-toothed smile, which seems as genuine as a handbag purchased from a street vendor in Italy. I don’t really follow the show; it is just a means to drown the mortal silence of my apartment. My other choices would have been to listen to the unutterable sadness of a Mahler symphony, or bear the silent cries of my immaculate walls.

That’s when the phone rings.

I pick it up and recognise Raphaëlle, my older sister. Apart from sounding breathless, she is the same as usual. Her vocabulary remains precise, her weary and cold inflections suggesting that we are not on earth to have fun but for other purposes, none of which very pleasant. That’s her in a nutshell: unfazed, unaffected, wintry. Imagine an emotionless automaton. Well, I’m speaking of so-called positive emotions, of course. She knows how to be curt and authoritarian. She knows how to throw an angry fit if needs be.

 “Hi Marc. It’s Raphaëlle,” she says. Then, without further ado, she tells me the news. She is staying with our mother, because the old man died.

“Did he? When? And how?” I enquire.

“Let me think… Two days ago. Or was it three? I don’t know. You want me to ask Mother?”

“No, don’t bother. I’m simply surprised it wasn’t announced on the news yet. Where is she now? Mother, I mean.”

“In the kitchen. Said she was feeling peckish.”

“Opening a new bottle, you mean. I should’ve known. Nice try, though…” I trail off, my brain blank for a second. What should I say now? Am I supposed to condole Raphaëlle? Would that be the appropriate next step?

I don’t want to make a mistake, so I ask, “Do I need to come over? I suppose there’ll be a funeral, right?”

“Of course.” My sister makes a strange noise, something between dry laughter and a sniff. “One doesn’t say funeral, however; one prefers to say obsequies, brother dearest. I even brought my pearls for the occasion. One needs to be glam, you know. But you don’t sound eager to join us.”

“Are you kidding me? To be filmed during Father’s—obsequies, is it?— why, nothing could enchant me more.”

My sister sighs. “Marc, spare me your sarcasm, okay? The funeral takes place the day after tomorrow. It goes without saying that you should assist. But if you prefer to stay away, no problem. Do what you want. You’re free, after all.” Her voice remains monotonous.

“All right. I’ll check the train schedule,” I reply. “And call you back sometime tomorrow. Is that okay?”

“Perfect.”

I notice how peculiar her voice sounds, hoarse and croaky. “What’s up with you?” I ask, incredulous. “Don’t tell me you’ve been weeping!”

“Don’t be ridiculous! It’s just that… it’s bloody freezing in this house. I guess I’ve caught a cold. That’s all.”

 

You can read another excerpt on the author’s website.

 

About the Author 

Born in the early 70s, I grew up in a little village in Austria. At the age of 18, I moved to Vienna to get my master’s degree in Political Sciences, French, and Spanish. Today, I’m living in Paris, France, with my boyfriend and work as a graphic designer. 

In my spare time, I write, read, cook fancy recipes, take photos, and as often as I can, I travel (Italy, Portugal, Morocco, Egypt, the UK, and many more places). My literary tastes are eclectic, ranging from fantasy, murder mysteries, gay romances to dystopian novels, but I won’t say no to poetry or a history book either. I’m more a hoodie/jeans/sneakers kind of guy than a suit-and-tie chap. 

So far, I’ve published two short-story collections as well as four poetry collections. My first murder mystery novel “The Stuffed Coffin” has been released on January 6, 2019 and is also available in German and French. The French version has won the prestigious French Gay Murder Mystery Award 2019 (Prix du roman policier – Prix du roman gay 2019). My second novel “Till Death Do Us Part” was released on June 24, 2020. You can also find me on Rainbow Book Reviews, where I write book reviews under the pseudonym of ParisDude (for French reviews, have a look at my review site livresgay.fr). 

 

Author Links

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Continue ReadingBOOK BLAST: “Oridinary Whore” by Dieter Moitzi

BOOK BLAST: “The Emancipation: Dion’s Baptism” by Dijon M. McIntyre

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: The Emancipation: Dion’s Baptism

Author: Dijon M McIntyre 

Publisher: FreedomArtz LLC

Cover Artist: Cameron Dudley 

Release Date: December 5, 2019

Genre: Contemporary Adult Fiction

Trope: Therapy

Themes: Love, Depression, Forgiveness, Coming out, Acceptance

Heat Rating: No heat

Length:  34 365 words/128 pages

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Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

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A young gay man has a near death experience that forces him to go through therapy and recount the events of his abusive past that led to his excessive drinking and depression.

 

Blurb

The Emancipation: Dion’s Baptism is a fictional story about a young man who has a near death experience and ends up going to therapy, forcing him to dig up painful memories from his past and discover what is the real cause behind his depression and his excessive drinking. He not only finds the answers he’s looking for but also the strength to forgive all the people who have hurt him.

 

Excerpt 

“It’s something I don’t normally tell people about because I don’t want them blaming my sexuality on that. With me being gay, I feel that people in my life always look for an explanation as to why I’m gay or how I “became” gay. It’s not like it was one particular incident that made me like guys, I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. As a child I didn’t really know a name for it or a label to attach to it, I just knew I was always attracted to men. I don’t care too much about how anyone else feels about it, this is part of who I am.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what people in your life did you feel wanted an explanation from you about your sexuality?”

“Everyone, at least that’s the way it felt. Close friends, family members. They all wanted to know why I’m like this; they treated it like it was a disease. I remember people in my family asking me if I had been molested by someone in the family or saying that I turned out like this because I used to carry my grandmother’s purse to her car for her before she went to work. People tried to find every explanation for something that didn’t need one. It’s like I’m asking me why I’m black. Who cares as to why I’m this way, I just am.” Dion doesn’t look Cathy directly in her eyes when talking about him being gay and feeling rejection.

“Seems like you felt the pain of rejection a lot in your life.”

“More than you know, in some ways I think rejection is the very reason that I’m in this office talking to you in the first place.”

“What is your earliest memory of being rejected?”

“Ouch. I need to take another drink before I tell you this one.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Not sure if bad is necessarily the right term to use–more so painful.”

 

August 5th, 2001

“DJ, what are you doing?” Kesiah asks in a slightly critical tone.

“Singing duh, I love to sing.”

“You do?  Since when?” She rolls her eyes.

“Since always, I always sing in my plays at B.C. Cook.” Dion expresses with a child-like excitement

“Well you need to stop singing.”

“Why?” 

“Because you aren’t good at it. Momma used to always say that ‘if you ain’t gone sing a song right then don’t sing it at all.” Keisha walks away, leaving Dion’s eyes full of tears that he silently lets out. 

 

Present Therapy Session

“Keisha is your sister, correct?

“Yeah.” Dion twiddles his thumbs showing his anxiety from talking about his sister.

“When she told you that you couldn’t sing, how old were you?”

“I was seven, I looked at my sister at that time as my best friend. I looked to her for encouragement and support.”

“In that moment, do you feel like she failed you by crushing your expectations of her?”

“I did feel that way, wisdom and time has helped me to forgive her and understand that she wasn’t really trying to hurt my feelings. She was a  thirteen-year-old girl who was still hurting from the death of her mother, our mother. And she didn’t fully know how to process the things that were going on in her life at that time. Looking back, I actually feel bad for not being more understanding about the pain she was in. I held that against her for a long time.

“I know you said that you forgave your sister but what about the effect of what she said? Do you still want to become a singer?”

“Not really, I mean she wasn’t entirely wrong in what she said. She wasn’t entirely right either. I did love singing and my elementary school was a performing arts school so I got to do every area of performance whether I was good at it or not. I decided that my real passion lies somewhere between not just performing but also creating.”

“So you want to be a music producer? Or a singer-songwriter?”

 

About the Author

Dijon McIntyre is an Author/Actor/Director amongst many other things. He was raised in the beautiful sunshine state of Florida which has had a profound effect on his writing and his artistic performances. Getting into acting at the young age of 6, he is familiar with many different types of performing including acting and music but he attributes his love for all of these things to his undying love for God. Raised as a Christian and now identifying as a “follower of Christ”, Dijon has a vision to use his publishing/production company FreedomArtz to open up opportunities for the people who want to make their dreams come true while still maintaining a liveable wage doing what they love. You can find any of his three books on Amazon, Google Books, or any major online retailer. 

 

 

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Continue ReadingBOOK BLAST: “The Emancipation: Dion’s Baptism” by Dijon M. McIntyre

BOOK BLAST: “Power Plays & Straight A’s”

99c BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Power Plays & Straight A’s (CU Hockey #1)

Authors: Eden Finley & Saxon James

Cover Artist: Story Styling Cover Designs

Genre: Contemporary M/M Sports Romance

Trope/s: Brother’s best friend/Best friend’s brother, Jock/Nerd, Virgin MC, Hockey

Heat Rating: 4 flames Length: 75 000 words

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***SPECIAL OFFER ***

Only 99c from January 28 – 30

Also available on Kindle Unlimited

Universal Link | Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

 

Blurb

FOSTER:

“Look out for Zach and don’t hit on him.”

My brother’s request sounds easy enough. Keep an eye out for his best friend on campus and keep my hands to myself.

Easy.

Even if Zach is a quintessential nerd, who I’ve always thought was cute, I don’t have the time to think with my … stick.

There’s only one stick I should be focused on this year, and that’s my hockey stick. My goal once I graduate is to get an NHL contract.

The last thing I need is a distraction. On or off the ice.

Only, keeping to the rules is harder than I thought it would be.


ZACH:

People confuse me.

And no one more than Foster Grant.

I’ve barely spoken two words to him in the whole time I’ve known him, but the second I step foot on campus, he’s impossible to shake.

I can never anticipate his next move. And whenever we’re together, my next move is a total mystery as well.

I want to give in to him, but that might mean coming clean about something I’ve never been bothered about before.

I’m still carrying my V-card.

And I think it’s time to turn it in.

 

 

Excerpt

I throw my helmet against the wall, and it crashes to the ground with a loud thunk.

The anger, adrenaline, and urge to fight still boil under my skin. I didn’t get a long enough shot at Morris.

I should be pissed I’m out of the game, but I’m not. I don’t regret doing what I did one bit. I only regret letting him get a punch in.

What are his knuckles made of? Diamonds?

I run my finger along my eyebrow, and it comes away sticky with blood. Not a lot, but it stings like a bitch.

I need to get my skates off. I need to jump around and pace the room and try to get all this extra energy out.

All I was picturing while I was out there was the Zach I spent the entire day with last week—the one who smiles and jokes and isn’t so tense—being bullied by that dickhead, and I lost it.

As I sit on the bench to undo my laces, the door opens, and I prepare for one of the coaches to yell obscenities at me for the next five minutes while the rest of the period plays out.

I don’t even acknowledge whoever it is. I keep my head down and continue to unlace my skates.

“F-foster?”

My head darts up at the unsure voice.

There stands Zach, looking sexy as fuck in my jersey. His hair is messy like he’s been running his hand through it, and his nerdy glasses frame his green eyes in a way that drives me crazy.

“How … how did you get in here?”

“Seth. He said we’re your brothers and wanted to check on you.”

Thinking of Zach as my brother makes me feel skeevy and gross, but I ignore it because I don’t really care how he got into the locker room. It means a lot that he’s here. “Is that what you’re doing? Checking on me?”

He takes two tentative steps closer, and then, as if all at once, he decides to go for it.

Zach approaches and drops to his knees in front of me.

My breath catches at the sight.

Long, thin fingers run along the top of my brow and down my cheek. “You’re hurt.”

I huff. “I’ll live.” I might not live if he doesn’t keep touching me; it feels so good.

I want to lean into his hand, but I hold strong. I don’t want to scare him off.

“W-why did you do that?” he asks.

I could lie. I could tell him it’s the sport and fights happen. But everyone out there knows that wasn’t a typical fight. I targeted Morris from the start, and even though we were hardly on the ice at the same time, the second I got my chance to go for him, I did.

“Morris is a dick.”

Zach tries to pull his hand from my face, but I don’t let him. My hand covers his, holding it to my cheek.

He averts his gaze. “Seth told me you know … about him. And me.”

“You and him. Wait, there was a you and him? Like, together?”

“No. He … I don’t know if he’s a special kind of asshole or what, but he …”

“You don’t need to tell me. Seth told me enough.”

His hand finally drops, and I let it. “So out there … on the ice …”

“It was for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” His voice is so soft. So him.

“You never would,” I murmur. “Morris has to learn karma’s a bitch. He had no right to treat you like that.”

“Will you get in trouble?”

“No doubt.”

“You shouldn’t have—”

“Zach?”

His eyes meet mine.

“It was worth it.”

 

 

About the Authors

Saxon James

Saxon James is an author from Aus who’s obsessed with writing queer characters. She has a range of books from YA to adult and they all have one thing in common: swoony, sweet love.
When not writing, Saxon exists on a diet of coffee and chocolate while putting her KU subscription to the test.

Facebook Group | Facebook Page | Newsletter

Amazon | BookBub | Instagram

 

Eden Finley

Eden Finley is an Amazon bestselling author who writes steamy contemporary romances that are full of snark and light-hearted fluff.

She doesn’t take anything too seriously and lives to create an escape from real life for her readers. The ideas always begin with a wackadoodle premise, and she does her best to turn them into romances with heart.

She’s also an Australian girl and apologises for her Australianisms that sometimes don’t make sense to anyone else.

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BOOK BLAST: “The Vanishing of Owen Taylor” by Kyle Michel Sullivan

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: The Vanishing of Owen Taylor

Author: Kyle Michel Sullivan

Publisher: KMSCB

Cover Artist: JamTheCat

Release Date: April 28, 2016

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Murder Mystery/Suspense

Trope/s: Anti-gay conspiracy, intolerance, corrupt legal system

Themes: Cost of unconditional love

Warning: References to rape

Heat Rating: 3 out of 5

Length: 121 070 words/ 355 pages in PB; 274 in HC

Is it a standalone book? Somewhat. Jake Blaine is the MC in this book, and it’s a semi-followup to Rape in Holding Cell 6, a book I wrote with his lover, Antony, as the MC…but it’s not absolutely necessary you read that book to follow this one (tho’ it might help, at the beginning).

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Book 1 – Rape in Holding Cell 6

 

Buy Links

Author’s Blog | Smashwords

When his uncle disappears, Jake goes to Palm Springs to find out why only to get caught in a web of fear, hate, betrayal … and what looks more and more like murder … with Jake targeted as the next victim.

 

Blurb

Was it murder? Suicide? Or did Owen Taylor vanish to avoid prosecution for rape? Everyone had their own idea, but the only note he left behind was sent to his nephew, Jacob Blaine, in Denmark … which was crazy, because Owen knew Jake was currently living in the States.

Of course this happened at the worst possible time for Jake. He was helping his lover, Antony, fight bogus criminal charges; his estranged, anti-gay mother was battling cancer; his job in Copenhagen wanted him to return there — now; and worst of all … Antony was pushing him away. It was tearing him apart.

But Uncle Owen had backed him up through some rough times, so Jake made what he thought would be a short trip to Palm Springs, to see if he could find out what happened. He re-connected with Dion, his first true love, and then he discovered other men had also disappeared. On top of that, an organization called PSALMS was spreading hate and distrust of the gay community as part of their plan to turn back gay rights.

The more Jake dug into Owen’s disappearance, the more he found lies, deceit and treachery by members of the police force, people in the DA’s office, and even some of Owen’s friends. And behind it all was someone who would do everything they could to keep their true motives hidden.

Even have Jake vanish, as well.

 

Excerpt

This is from the end of Book 1, Part 4, where Jake has Antony and their techie-roommate, Matt, do some research:

They read the message and Matt did some cross-referencing on his diamond-sharp laptop as I spoke, popping in with, “Okay, got that here,” and, “It fits.” He also found a chart showing Warren Philby had a ninety-five percent conviction rate and was talking about running for Riverside District Attorney in the next election. As a Republican with a Tea Party bent.

Already I hated the prick.

That’s when I noticed Tone looking at me with his quiet, wary expression, so I snarled, “You don’t believe my uncle’d molest a kid, do you?”

“No.” He frowned like he was insulted I’d even asked him that question.

“So what…is…it?”

“I dunno. It just doesn’t line up with…well, your father called your mother, asking about your uncle’s condos and — “

“Condos? He had more’n one?”

“Four. One he lived in; three he rented out. He also owns some other property.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, how d’you know my father called mom?”

“She…she told me.”

I nearly fell off the chair. “My mother called you?”

Tone blinked and looked away. “Uh…looking for you. I…I told her you were…you were out of the country.”

“When?”

“Day before yesterday.”

Man, I should’ve gone to see her the second I got back.

“What’d she say to you, Tone?”

He sighed. “She knows why you’re here. And she…she said stuff like, That’s just like you, to let people drag you down. Then she gave me her number and address — “

“I know that shit,” I said. “I’m goin’ straight over.”

“She’s moved, Jake,” said Matt.

“She sold her townhouse? She loved that place.”

“Just telling you what she told me,” Tone said. He gave me a slip of paper with a phone number and address.

“This is south side,” I muttered.

Tone shrugged. He wouldn’t know, but my mother was one of those types who only want to live around acceptable people. In her eyes, Southside was…borderline…at best.

“Matt, we’ll be right back.” I went around the counter, took Tone by the arm and guided him up into the bedroom, then closed the door, sat him on the bed and kneeled before him, looking hard into his eyes.

“Y’know, I had lunch with Mira. Is there anything you want to tell me?”

He hesitated then looked straight back at me, his eyes sharp as cut diamonds. “That therapist I’m seeing…that the state’s making me see. I…I asked him to talk with her. Told him she’s a psychologist and has a clinic in Paris and…and I wanted her to know everything that happened was on me. Not you.”

“She already knew that.”

“…Maybe. This verified it.”

“And you talk about me not tellin’ you things?”

“I…uh…I didn’t think she’d let you know.”

“Great defense. So what’s in those notes?”

He looked away. “You already know everything in them.”

I took a deep breath. “Tone…what. The fuck. Is goin’ on, here?” He just stared at the wall. No expression. I took his face in my hands and made him look at me. “Okay, whatever it was that my mother said to you — keep in mind…that bitch kicked me out of her home when I was seventeen. I haven’t seen her since, so what she knows about me and who I am is zero. Zip. Nada. Anything she says is just her messin’ with us.”

He shrugged me off and said, “But she’s right. You wouldn’t be here except for me.”

“You’re right, you little shit — I wouldn’t. I’d be fresh out of jail. Or still livin’ in Nana’s house. Barely existing. I’d never have met my brothers and sisters in Paris, or gotten to work with my Uncle Ari, or become a Danish citizen. I’d be an ex-con. But I’m here, alive, because of you. So what. Did. My mother. Say. To you?”

“Just…just what I told you.”

“Bullshit!” No response. I sighed and sat cross-legged on the floor. “You don’t wanna talk, don’t. But this is a woman who told her only child that she hates him bein’ queer.”

“Maybe…maybe you shouldn’t go see her…“

“I got to. Somethin’ is goin’ on with my uncle and the only way to get the truth of what she knows is a face-to-face.”

He ran his hand through my hair. God, I loved it when he did that. Then he whispered, “Should I stock up on alcohol?”

I sighed from the emotion in his voice and nodded. “Twelve-pack. No, fuck it — Tequila.”

“I’ll get some mixers and we’ll make a nice queeny night of it. A Christian, a Muslim, and a Jew had a party…“ He snorted. “Sounds like the setup for a joke.”

I made him look at me. “Hey, I’m half Catholic.”

His hand whispered over my cheek and his eyes grew hurt, again. “My all-American mutt.”

All I could think to say was, “Don’t let mom mess with us, Tone.” He ruffled my hair then got up and left the room.

I leaned against the bed. He’d lied to me. My mother’s crap comments weren’t bad enough to rip him up. There was definitely something else going on in his head, and he’d used them as a wall to hide behind.

Well…sitting on the floor wasn’t getting anything done. I got up, got dressed, and headed over to the insurance company where she worked. I wanted a professional environment around us, in case things got nasty, because she was damn well going to explain to me what the hell she was pulling.

Only it turned out she hadn’t worked there in nearly three years.

Man…I had a lot of catching up to do, with her.

 

About the Author

Kyle Michel Sullivan is a writer and self-involved artist out to change the world until it changes him…as has already happened in far too many ways.

He has written books that range from sunshine and light (“David Martin”) to cold and dark (“How To Rape A Straight Guy”, which has been banned a couple of times) to flat out crazy (“The Lyons’ Den”) to mainstream (“The Alice ’65”). He has now ventured into SF-Horror-Suspense with “The Beast in the Nothing Room” and taken Capitalism to its logical extreme in “Hunter”.

He is currently working to complete “A Place of Safety”, his Irish novel; “Darian’s Point”, a gothic horror story set in Ireland; and “Dair’s Window”, about an artist trying to rebuild his world after the death of his lover.

Kyle uses Tolstoy as his guide, and is trying to build characters as vivid and real as possible. He has a lot of fun doing it mixed with angst, anger, and amazement… but that’s the lot of a writer.

 

Author Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

 

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BOOK BLAST: “Fast, Free, and Flying” by Jude Tresswell

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Fast, Free and Flying (County Durham Quad, #6)

Author: Jude Tresswell

Publisher: Self-published (KDP)

Release Date: December 9, 2020

Genre/s: Contemporary gay mystery

Trope/s: Ace/non-ace relationships

Themes:  Compromise; guilt; revenge

Heat Rating:  1 flame

Length: 63 000 words

The mystery story stands alone. Helpful, but not essential, to have read a previous title due to character development.

Add on Goodreads

 

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US  |   Amazon UK 

 

Suspects of one crime. Victims of another.

 

Blurb

Drones lie at the heart of this mystery facing Mike, Ross, Raith and Phil, four men who live in North-East England.

A spate of art-related burglaries and a series of horrific kidnaps have occurred. The freedom of the quad, and that of Nick, their special friend, is threatened by involvement in both cases. They are suspected of one and Mike is a victim of the other. The officer in charge is the quad’s old enemy, the homophobic Chief Inspector Fortune. Should the quad set aside their distrust and tell him what they know?

Meanwhile, Nick has issues of his own to consider. Compromises are needed, but how many? 

This is the sixth tale in the County Durham Quad series. Background is included to aid new readers.

 

Excerpt

From Chapter 1

(The whole chapter, read by the author with aerial footage of the setting, is available on YouTube. Link below) 

A new sound had been added to the rustic ones that normally formed the backdrop to life in the Durham hills. Instead of the bleating of sheep, there was a whirring—and it came from the sky. The quad’s new video channel was up and running, and Raith, plus drone, was filming everything and everyone. He was, as he liked to put it, “Doing the rounds.”

   “Doin’ my head in,” was how it seemed to Mike and, right then, there was a danger of that actually happening. Mike was responsible for nearly all the quad’s maintenance work. He was sitting astride a rooftop, replacing the flashing on one of Tunhead’s chimneys. Tunhead was the little hamlet where the quad lived. It was the seat of BOTWAC, the Beck On The Wear Arts Centre, and the video channel was designed, in part, to promote the artisans’ wares.

   “Watch what you’re doin’ with that bloody thing!” Mike yelled from his perch.

   “It’s alright, Mike. I’m in full control,” Raith yelled back.

   “Not from where I am, you’re not! I thought you weren’t supposed to fly it over buildin’s!”

   Raith made the drone whizz round in a circle and shouted, “Well Tunhead doesn’t really count as buildings, does it? I mean, twelve tiny houses, my studio and a disused church. It’s hardly buildings.”

   “It felt like buildin’s when Ross and I were refurbishin’ it all, and it felt like buildin’s three years ago when I knocked the walls through to next door just to give you leg room.”

   “That’s building, Mike, not buildings.”

   Sometimes, there was no answer to Raith’s logic. Mike swore softly, sighed and decided to wait until tea-time, when all the men would be home together. They’d discuss Raith and his drone then. First things first. He continued repairing the chimney.

***

   In Tees, Tyne and Wear Constabulary’s new Tyneside police station, another drone-related conversation had caused heated words that day. The woman making a complaint was angry.

   “Look,” she said to the officer on the front counter, “this is the third time it’s happened in a fortnight. I ignored the first invasion of my privacy. The second time the blesséd thing was hovering overhead, I telephoned. I was told that someone would contact me. Nobody’s done so, and this morning it happened again. I want something doing. I feel I can’t go into my own garden and I’m bothered that whoever’s doing this is spying on me and my children. It’s horrible and it shouldn’t be allowed.”

   The woman had good reason to feel harassed. She lived in what had once been the lodge of a large country estate. That is, she occupied the house that lay at one end of a long, tree-lined drive. The drive led, through parkland with trees and an ornamental lake, to a substantial eighteenth century property. On three occasions recently, the peace of the surroundings had been broken by the whirring of a drone. More importantly, she felt intimidated by the drone’s presence. As she said, she felt she was being spied on. Surely that was a crime?

   It was, the official told her. At least two different offences connected with drone misuse might be invoked on the woman’s behalf, but, in a case like hers, invoking them was problematic. Even if an incident should happen again and a patrol car could reach her while the drone was still visible and airborne, there was little that officers could do. Firstly, they would need to locate and identify the flyer. If they felt that a harassment offence had been committed, they could instruct the flyer to land the drone. However, there was no power of seizure and, indeed, no power to even view the footage unless there was suspected terrorist activity—unlikely in this case. The woman had to be content with an apology and a promise that an officer would definitely come and visit her. In fact, a detective called a few days later, but not specifically because of her case. By then, the big country house had been burgled, and thousands of pounds of silver, porcelain and artwork had been stolen.

 

About the Author 

Jude Tresswell lives in south-east England but was born and raised in the north, and that’s where her heart is. She is ace, and has been married to the same man for many years. She feels that she understands compromise. She supports Liverpool FC, listens to a lot of blues music and loves to write dialogue.

Blog/Website

 

 

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BOOK BLAST: “Toy Soldiers” by Maggie Blackbird. Rafflecopter Giveaway Included! See entry link below:

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Toy Soldiers (Book 2, When We Were Young series)

Author: Maggie Blackbird

Publisher: Devine Destinies

Cover Artist: Martine Jardin

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance, young adult, multicultural, LGBT

Trope/s: Friends to lovers

Themes: Coming of age, coming out

Heat Rating: 1 flame

Length: 70 349 words/ 244 pages

It is NOT a standalone book. Book 1 needs to be read first.

Goodreads

Buy Links

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Publisher | Kobo | B&N | iBooks

Google Play | Smashwords |

Once a thief, always a thief, and if he can’t win the heart of the boy he loves, he’ll steal it.

Blurb

Billy Redsky’s made one of his biggest dreams come true, but there’s a problem. Even though the boy he loves is mere footsteps across the hall from his bedroom, they might as well live a country apart because claiming René Oshawee’s heart is more difficult than Billy anticipates.

Much to Billy’s disgust, René can’t accept his true self, so he’s incapable of loving someone else. And all he cares about is living a life the chief and his wife foresee for their youngest son.

If Billy is to finally have what he truly desires, he must stop René from running away from who he really is and face the man in the mirror, or what they share will never blossom into true love

Excerpt

Stuart lived past the recreation center. Billy huffed down the road. Sure, he’d be interrupting dinnertime, but big deal. He couldn’t stay in Castle Oshawee any longer.

The boiling heat of anger beneath his clothing stopped him from freezing under the clear, cold sky. Darkness was fast approaching. The sun on the horizon was bursting with colors of mauve, scarlet, and pumpkin.

The big door at the recreation center opened. Billy’s old buddies, Lonn and Dylan, strolled outside to probably have a cigarette. When they strutted away from the doors and beelined for the road, Billy stiffened. They knew he could beat their asses—especially since he outweighed them by a good fifteen pounds now.

“’Sup?” Lonn called out, slyly grinning.

“Not much.” Billy stopped. He wasn’t going to keep walking like a coward afraid of the neighborhood bullies. “Heard you both got kicked out.” Because neither rode the school bus anymore.

“No biggie.” Lon shrugged. “Y’know we were bailing when we turned the big one-six.”

A direction Billy had been heading before dumb ol’ René had turned him into one of The General’s toy soldiers in Oshawee Army.

Splashes of rebellion bubbled under Billy’s skin. He might’ve blown off telling Mr. and Mrs. O where he was going tonight, but he’d been heading for Stuart’s, and later going home right on the button of his curfew time, like a good little grunt.

He folded his arms. “What’re you doing?”

“What else? Heading for the old house.” Lonn dropped another sly smile.

Dylan nodded, also grinning.

When Billy had used to party there, they’d burned stuff in the woodstove to keep warm during the winter.

“You coming, or are you still hanging with the geek twins?” Lonn elbowed a chuckling Dylan.

“Sure, why not?” Nobody at Castle Oshawee had given a flying fuck Billy had left the house. As for René, screw him. All he cared about was following the rules and obeying the orders coming from everyone seated in the living room.

About the Author

An Ojibway from Northwestern Ontario, Maggie resides in the country with her husband and their fur babies, two beautiful Alaskan Malamutes. When she’s not writing, she can be found pulling weeds in the flower beds, mowing the huge lawn, walking the Mals deep in the bush, teeing up a ball at the golf course, fishing in the boat for walleye, or sitting on the deck at her sister’s house, making more wonderful memories with the people she loves most.

Author Links

Web Site | Facebook Page | Twitter

BookBub | Linked In | Amazon Author Page

eXtasy Books Author Page | Newsletter Sign-Up

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Continue ReadingBOOK BLAST: “Toy Soldiers” by Maggie Blackbird. Rafflecopter Giveaway Included! See entry link below: