BLOG TOUR: “Haven” by Morgan Brice.

BLOG TOUR

Book Title: Haven

Author: Morgan
Brice

Cover Artist: Alexandria
Corza

Release Date: April 8,
2021

Genre/s: MM paranormal romance/mystery

Trope/s: Action, mystery, hurt/comfort, geeks in love, supernatural
secrets, a brave historian and a lovelorn private detective, plus a guaranteed HEA. Old
secrets, hidden psychics, secret shifters, ghosts, scandals—and true love.

Themes: Age gap, starting over, friends to lovers,

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 60 000 words/200
pages

It is a standalone book, but
there are soft ties to Morgan’s Fox Hollow series. Other than the shared elements of the
magic emporium, it does not connect to any of the other books in the Magic Emporium
series.

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Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

Old secrets, hidden
psychics, secret shifters, ghosts, scandals—and true love.

 

Blurb

A series of long-ago disappearances leads cold case private
detective Austin Williams to investigate a troubled sanitarium. Jamie Miller is new in town,

temporarily running the local historical association, and he willingly signs on to help solve
Austin’s mystery. Sparks fly between them as they dig into the hospital’s troubled past. But
someone wants the past to stay buried—and is willing to bury Austin and Jamie to keep it
that way.

Haven is part of the Magic Emporium series. Each
book stands alone, but each one features an appearance by Marden’s Magic Emporium, a
shop that can appear anywhere, but only once and only when someone’s in dire need. This
book contains explicit scenes, action, mystery, hurt/comfort, geeks in love, supernatural
secrets, a brave historian and a lovelorn private detective, plus a guaranteed HEA. It is
loosely connected to my Fox Hollow series.

 

Excerpt

The alarm on Jamie’s phone went off, telling him it
was time to lock up. “I have to close on time,” Jamie said, sorry to bring the conversation to
an end. “Our insurance company won’t let me stay open beyond the posted times or have
anyone inside after we’re closed.”

Austin rose. “I understand. Thanks for listening. I’ll
be glad for any help.” He paused. “One more question—where’s a good place to get a bite to
eat?” he asked with a slightly shy smile that sent a surge of heat to Jamie’s
groin.

“Do you like pizza? Moosehead Inn is a locals’ joint
that serves great food. I was going to head over once I lock up—you’re welcome to join me
if you don’t have other plans,” Jamie offered, trying to sound nonchalant.

Did I just ask him out? Holy shit. I haven’t done
that in…forever.

Austin brightened, and his smile grew broader. “I’d
like that. I’ll wait outside. Can we walk there? I didn’t bring my car.”

Jamie nodded, still a little surprised at his own
boldness. “Sure. See you in a few minutes.”

He ushered Austin out the door and locked it
behind him. Fortunately, Jamie had gotten a head start on the lock-up checklist before the
sexy stranger arrived. He powered down the computer and started flipping off light switches
as he made his way toward the back door.

This was the part he really disliked. Once he turned
on the alarm system, the security lights would come on. But on the way to the back door,
the old house got darker, and the shadows stretched longer with every switch he
flicked.

I thought I knew what I was getting into when I
took the job. But it’s just temporary, and I’m still sending out applications for something
better,
he reminded himself.

An old house like this was likely to have ghosts,
even without being turned into a museum of sorts. Bring together the personal belongings
of hundreds of people, bits of local history, journals, and letters, and it didn’t surprise Jamie
that the place was haunted. Even if no one else seemed to believe it.

Click, click, click. He turned off the lights in the foyer and the former sitting room and dining
room. Jamie had closed up the upstairs rooms early since it was a slow day. It held a storage
area, a library of books written by local authors and books about the Saranac Lake area, as
well as a conference room and a small classroom for lectures. The attic and basement were
storage areas that weren’t open to the public, which made Jamie very happy since both
gave him the creeps.

Click. The
lights in the old parlor went dark, and Jamie braced himself. On the nights the ghosts felt
frisky, this was when the
shenanigans started.

A cool breeze out of nowhere made the hair on the
back of Jamie’s neck rise. He heard the glissando of crystal pendants gently bumping
together, the decorative dangles on a vintage oil lamp in the parlor that shouldn’t have any
reason to move.

Jamie resolutely ignored the shadow gliding just at
the edge of his peripheral vision as he hurried down the hallway. The kitchen doubled as the
staff room and was the least haunted place in the building. Jamie heard footsteps on the
stairs and forced himself to breathe. He knew there was no one else in the old house—at
least, no one living.

In the room to his left by the back door, the former
sewing room for the ladies of the house, he glimpsed a familiar gray figure and heard the
swish of crinoline and linen. To his right, in the small office that was once the cook’s room, a
rocking chair creaked.

Jamie’s hand shook as he set the alarm. The ghosts
didn’t act up every night, and some evenings they were more riled than others. So far, none
of them had tried to hurt him. As unsettling as the ghostly manifestations were, Jamie
couldn’t object to spirits wanting to stay in a place that meant something to them. He didn’t
mess with them, and he really hoped that meant they would return the favor.

The alarm beeped, and the security lights came on,
dim but enough to send the shadows scurrying. The sounds stopped, and the house grew
quiet. Jamie slipped out the back door and checked the lock, then let out a long breath. The
halogen light above the door made the area around the steps almost as bright as day. He
shook off the weirdness and smiled, excited about dinner with Austin.

It’s not a date. But I wish it was.
Maybe…

This could be a pleasant diversion, Jamie told
himself. Austin was just in town to look up some family history, and Jamie’s role with the
archive was temporary. Nothing said they couldn’t have a little fun while their paths
crossed.

 

About the Author

 

Morgan Brice is the romance
pen name of bestselling author Gail Z. Martin. Morgan writes urban fantasy male/male
paranormal romance, with plenty of action, adventure and supernatural thrills to go with
the happily ever after. Gail writes epic fantasy and urban fantasy, and together with
co-author hubby Larry N. Martin, steampunk and comedic horror, all of which have less
romance, more explosions. Characters from her Gail books make frequent appearances in
secondary roles in her Morgan books, and vice versa.

On the rare occasions
Morgan isn’t writing, she’s either reading, cooking, or spoiling two very pampered
dogs.

 

Series include
Witchbane, Badlands, Treasure Trail, Kings of the Mountain and Fox Hollow. Watch for more
in these series, plus new series coming soon!

 

Author Links

Website |
Audible Profile | Amazon profile

Facebook Group | Facebook Page

Pinterest (for Morgan and Gail) | Twitter


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|
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Continue Reading BLOG TOUR: “Haven” by Morgan Brice.

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.

Add on Goodreads

 

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

Blog/Website  |  Facebook

 

 

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Continue Reading BOOK BLAST: “Oridinary Whore” by Dieter Moitzi

RELEASE BLITZ: “The Case of the Boy in Blue” by Amanda Meuwissen

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: The Case of the Boy in Blue

Author: Amanda Meuwissen

Publisher: Amanda Meuwissen Books

Cover Artist: Amanda Meuwissen

Release Date: February 14, 2021

Genre: Noir M/M Romance

Trope/s: Age gap, private investigator, noir, mystery & detective

Themes: Hidden agenda, revenge

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 33 pages

It is a standalone story.

Add on Goodreads

 

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

This kid was going to be trouble, I just knew it.

“Have a seat, Mr. Valentine. What can I do for you?”

 

Blurb

Leonard Quill, private investigator, never expected a case to walk through his door quite like this one, complete with murder, a frame job, blackmail, and powerful players, especially coming from a man with bright blue eyes behind his glasses, a crooked bow tie, and an impossible smile.

 

Excerpt

Mr. Valentine—call me Westley—looks the part of bumbling fool, who’s too naïve to know he’s walked into the lion’s den even being near this neighborhood without packing some heat but turns out he has a few secrets even darker than mine. His old man is in the clink, doing time for killing his mother. Only Westley swears the real culprit is someone else and his father has been framed.

Maybe that’s true, wouldn’t put much past this city, but if Westley is right about who’s behind the frame job, this isn’t a case I can take lightly.

“Sorry, kid, but you think James Deckard is behind all this? He’s not the type of man you bring down legally.”

“I know that. That’s why I came to you. The cops laughed me out of the precinct.”

“I ain’t a hitman either,” I snarl, wondering if sweet and innocent was an act and this kid has it in him to get all murdery and scuffed up, so long as someone else does the killing.

But those blue eyes go wide, and I know that if there is a darker side to him, it’s buried much deeper than trying to pull one over on me. “I don’t want a hitman, Mr. Quill. But I need someone willing to go the extra mile the cops turn their noses at. Someone who’ll take the risk to get real evidence and finally put this monster away. Even the worst of the worst for all the crooked cops in this town can’t cover up Deckard’s deeds if we have proof.”

An optimist. Great.

Westley isn’t wholly off base though, with the right judge, the right amount of ammunition, but it would be life or death with my hide on the line to get it done. Usually, that’s par for the course, half the fun of the job is getting a little lost in the muck, but Deckard is the type to make you disappear real quiet like—to the outside world. You wouldn’t be gone right away; you’d stay breathing for weeks, screaming where no one could hear you.

“You tell my secretary all this?” I ask, already knowing the answer given Roxanne’s response to the kid.

“Of course. She was sure you’d agreed. Please, Mr. Quill, won’t you help me?”

Damn this kid, and damn Roxanne too. She knows the stakes involved, but she has it out for Deckard’s business partner, Jeffrey Yacobian, who she’s suspected for a long while had a hand in her sister’s murder. This opens another avenue to investigate the scum of our city with me as the point man.

Roxanne also knows I can’t say no. I promised her we’d catch Yacobian someday. Bringing down Deckard could pave the way for that and ease the potent grief of this kid in front of me who might be the last sunny disposition left in these dank streets.

“The risks involved ain’t gonna come cheap. How much is all this worth to you?”

Westley looks me square in the eyes, that blushing virgin routine set aside as he sits up taller—maybe all that light was a clever mask after all. “Everything I have, Mr. Quill.”

“Leonard. You’re either turning over your life savings when this is over or paying for my funeral if it flops, so call me Leonard.” Might as well be on a first name basis considering we’re both gonna end up on ice. “Now let’s start at the beginning, and you tell me everything you know.”

 

About the Author

Amanda Meuwissen is a bisexual author, with a primary focus on M/M romance. As author of the paranormal romance trilogy The Incubus Saga and several other titles with various publishers, Amanda regularly attends local comic conventions for fun and to meet with fans, where she will often be seen in costume as one of her favorite fictional characters. She lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota, with her husband, John, and their cat, Helga.

 

 

Author Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Twitter

Instagram | Pinterest | Newsletter Sign-up

 

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Continue Reading RELEASE BLITZ: “The Case of the Boy in Blue” by Amanda Meuwissen

RELEASE BLITZ: “Blood Red Roses” by S.J. Coles

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Blood Red Roses

Author: S. J. Coles

Publisher: Pride Publishing

Release Date: February 2, 2021

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance, Mystery, Thriller

Trope/s: Valentines, Opposites Attract, Love Triangle, Fake Relationship, Rich v Poor

Themes: Accepting yourself, Aspiration, Learning what’s important, Trust

Heat Rating:  4 flames     

Length: 47 220 words/192 pages

It is a standalone story.

It is part of a collection being released by Pride Publishing,

the ‘My Bloody Valentine’ Collection,

that will all get released at the same time.

Add on Goodreads

 

Buy Links

Pride Publishing  |  Universal Amazon link 

Amazon US  |   Amazon UK 

 

Rick feels like he’s finally getting his life on track…until a dead body in his flat threatens to derail more than his new career.

 

Blurb

Things are finally looking up for Rick Bennett. He’s landed a job with Swanson and Gerrard, one of the top finance firms in London and, with it, a chance to pay off his father’s debts and finally make something of his life.

When he’s put in charge of brokering the biggest deal in the company’s history, he knows he can’t lose, even though his boss, Cecily Swanson, clearly wants more than just a professional relationship.

When a rich, handsome stranger, Kim Bailey, introduces himself to Rick at the Swansons’ New Year’s Eve party, Rick is thinking he can definitely get used to rubbing elbows with the upper set. He feels everything is finally working out, despite Cecily’s increasing interest that only seems to strengthen as they approach her high-profile Valentine’s Day wedding.

When someone is murdered in his flat, Rick is shocked but still determined to hold on to his dream. Cecily believes he’s innocent and, more importantly, so does Kim. Though he’s beginning to suspect that there’s more to the guy than meets the eye, Kim’s belief in Rick keeps him strong.

As the investigation continues and Rick finds himself buried deeper in a mess of conspiracy, betrayal and intrigue, he will come to wonder whether the life he’s dreamed of could ever be real.

 

Excerpt 

He’d deleted and re-phrased the text three times by the time he’d got his keys in the front door. He shook his head to himself. He was acting like a teenager again. But everything else was coming together just right. He may be working ten-hour days for a woman he would eventually have to let down, and still couldn’t entirely stop thinking about the envelope in his desk drawer, but it finally felt like his life was coming together. 

He wanted to make dating Kim part of that life. He’d never felt the potential of something so early on in a relationship before, especially when he knew so little about the person. But when he thought of Kim’s light, easy manner and the way he treated Rick like an equal without appearing to even have to think about it, something that wasn’t just lust stirred under his belly.

Of course, the striking, beautiful face, devilish smile and sleek, toned body didn’t hurt matters. He tantalised himself with the thought that tonight they might get to—

Rick switched on his living room light and froze. The new sofa was positioned at right angles to his glass coffee table and smart TV. His boxes of vinyl were stacked against the far wall and his running shoes were by the front door. Everything was as he’d left it that morning, but something was…off. There was a chill in the air. And an odd smell.

He moved forward, trying to identify what was causing unease to snake up his spine. A draught brushed against his face. He moved to the balcony door and found it was open a crack. He frowned. Had the handyman left it open? Why would he even open it on this freezing January day? He slid it shut, turning the key in the lock. 

The smell was stronger in the kitchen. He frowned. His breakfast plate was in the sink but he’d only had time for toast so that didn’t explain the sickly-sweet, almost meaty, smell in the air. It was then he noticed his block of chefs’ knives was on its side, the knives spilling out onto the counter. He righted it and returned the knives to their slots. There were two missing. He turned, scanning the kitchen and froze.

 

About the Author

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

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

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

 

Author Links

Blog/Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter 

Instagram  |   Pride Publishing

 

 

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Continue Reading RELEASE BLITZ: “Blood Red Roses” by S.J. Coles

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).

Add on Goodreads

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.

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

SERIES REVIEW TOUR: “Weeps Indigo Series” by J.K. Jones

SERIES REVIEW TOUR

 

BOOK 1

Book Title: Weeps Indigo

Author: J.K. Jones

Publisher: Self-Published

Length: 370 pages

Release Date: May 18, 2019

Genre/s: Dark M/M Romance, Murder Mystery, LGBTQ horror and tragedy

Trope/s: Forbidden love, underage love, infidelity, mental illness

Themes: Coming out, forgiveness, cheating, lies, secrets, prostitution,

psychological abuse, physical abuse, unreliable narrator

Heat Rating: 3 flames

It is not a standalone story.

Goodreads

 

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

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A FALL FROM GRACE

 

Blurb

The Sheriff of Byrmonville, Richard Clayson, has a dark secret.

That night he found Beau walking down the familiar bleak streets, he knew exactly what he was doing. Watching him in the interrogation room, his eyes coveting the way that cigarette easily slid between his lips, the way the tattoos wrap easily around his flesh. Those eyes haunting and familiar, awakening something in him long since beaten dead.

He knew exactly what Beau’s nighttime occupation was.

It was his job. To investigate the things unknown, the things hiding in the darkness. He loved a good puzzle piece, a good riddle he could unravel.

Richard wasn’t a cop for nothing.

This is dangerous. Reckless. He could lose everything, hunting Beau like this.

So why can’t he stop?

 

Excerpt

It’s all about a boy.

A boy who changed his life. He’s not just any kind of boy. Not someone of social status or unforgettable features. Not a boy that throws tantrums or is the sort to excel at everything.

Richard bets he isn’t particularly athletic, nor is he quick when it comes to arithmetic. However, he isn’t ordinary. In retrospect, there’s absolutely nothing ordinary about him. For one thing, his attitude is foul, so much so that half the guys in the office cringe when he opens his mouth.

He’s rough around the edges with a boorish attitude which does nothing to inspire the idea that the youth of today will amount to much in the world. However, there is something incredibly striking about his pitch black, thick curly hair, his long straight nose, thin lips, dimpled grin and a beauty mark hovering the corner of his upper lip.

Richard mentally runs through the Blackwell’s sordid history in town. His brother’s been arrested more times than he can count and it seems Beau was headed in that same direction.

Beau smokes too much, drinks too much, swears too much—hell, he does everything he shouldn’t do in abundance.

Richard even spots a couple tattoos peeking out from underneath his shirt, and is immediately repulsed. How old is he anyway?

Beau takes out a packet of smokes, slides one between his thin lips, tilting his chin up exposing that beauty mark in a way that makes Richard feel things—things long since beaten dead.

 

BOOK 2

Book Title: Cage The Night

Author: J.K. Jones

Publisher: Self-Published

Length: 600 pages

Release Date: November 20, 2020

Genre/s: Dark M/M Romance, Murder Mystery, LGBTQ horror and tragedy

Trope/s: Forbidden love, underage love, infidelity, mental illness

Themes: Coming out, forgiveness, cheating, lies, secrets, prostitution,

psychological abuse, physical abuse, unreliable narrator

It is part two in the Weeps Indigo series. Book 3 is due for release in September 2021.

Goodreads

 

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

A BATTLE WITHIN

 

Blurb

What happens when the hunter becomes the hunted?

When instead of running he is being chased? Richard doesn’t understand when or how things turned. He just knows the tightness in his chest intensifies, the demon is growing restless.

All he wants to do is go back in time and stop this whole thing from happening. Starting with the first day when he saw Beau in the interrogation room, Richard wants to stop himself from becoming mesmerized by those haunting emerald eyes and that otherworldly face.

He would stop the world from turning, the heavens opening up and beaming sunlight down on them. He would stop his heart, his lungs, and all the creatures in the world just so that he would never ever have to meet Beau.

 

Excerpt

By the time he makes it to the Blackwell residence the blood is pounding in his ears.

He can barely see straight. The rage is boiling over and there isn’t anything stopping the demon from tearing its way through.

The house comes into view, dilapidated on the hillside, crumbling piece of shit that Richard loathes more than anything. He presses harder on the gas, dirt and debris flies everywhere as he drives recklessly up the pathway. Sirens blare loudly, as he slams his foot on the brake, nearly crashing into the front porch. Richard flies out of the vehicle, leaving the door hanging wide open and stumbles up the porch with his gun heavy in hand.

There is nothing, white noise, air bustling in his ears and the tunnel vision of paralyzing vehemence. It’s dark, raw and savage, the demon’s lips curl, breathing fire and brimstone as he clatters his way up the stairway of the Blackwell property.

The M1191 is secure in his grasp, fingers tightening around the trigger because there will be nothing, but brutality, sickening violence of blood and guts and gore.

Wooden stairs creak and groan under his foreign weight, the screen door is hanging off its hinges and he knows, that there is something very very very wrong here.

 

About the Author

Heaven and hell, demons and angels. J.K Jones has always had an affinity for other worldly 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 is an avid reader, poet and LGBTQ activist. She is a York University graduate with a BA in Sociology, also has a TESOL certificate for teaching English as a Second Language.

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RELEASE BLITZ: “Sort of Dead” by Rob Rosen. Rafflecopter Giveaway Included! See entry link below:

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Sort of Dead

Author: Rob Rosen

Publisher: JMS Books

Cover Artist: Written Ink Designs

Release Date: October 31, 2020

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance, Paranormal M/M Romance,

M/M Romantic Comedy, M/M Mystery

Trope/s: Ghost story

Themes: Redemption, unfinished business

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 65 200 words/ 182 pages

It is a standalone story.

Goodreads

Buy Links

JMS Books | Amazon US | Amazon UK

Because sometimes it takes dying to have the time of your life.

Blurb

Nord wakes up to find himself sort of dead. Well, that is to say, he’s dead, alright—murdered, in fact—but not in heaven, at least not yet. In this limbo-like state, he meets Max and learns that everyone there is waiting for the final poof, hopefully to a better place. Only, with unfinished business back in the real world, like bringing his murderer to justice, Nord’s poof is nowhere in sight. And so, he and Max set out to find the killer and make things right again. Of course, that’s easier said than done when you’re nothing more than a couple of randy spirits.

With the help of Voltan, a diminutive mystic with a predilection for turbans, and Clark, a nerdy computer geek eager to shed his loner past, plus a ghost accountant, Bruce, Bruce’s drag queen brother, Eve O’Destruction, and Nord’s kick-ass mom, the newly enamored pair set out to hunt for the murderer, and are quick to discover how much they’d taken for granted when they were alive.

In this hysterically funny and often poignant mystery about fate and love and family, it ultimately takes dying for our heroes to have the times of their lives.

Excerpt

I woke with a start and stared up at the ceiling. “That’s weird,” I said. “Where’s my ceiling fan?” I blinked. I blinked again. I thought to make it a trio, but then realized I hadn’t blinked the first two times—which is to say, I blinked but there wasn’t that whole ceiling, no ceiling, ceiling, no ceiling thing, which is what happens when I blink and I’m staring up at my ceiling. Not that what I was staring at was a ceiling to begin with, but still.

I continued staring up. I supposed what I was staring at was white, given that it looked white, and I supposed that what I was staring up at was a ceiling because, give or take, most ceilings are white, mine included, but the white I was staring at sort of shifted around a bit. FYI, my ceiling didn’t do that, except perhaps when I was drunk.

“Did I get drunk last night?” I asked myself. Only, I couldn’t remember last night. I couldn’t remember going to sleep, even. I remembered waking, but that was it. And I didn’t feel drunk. In fact, I felt great. Better than great, actually. Blissful would’ve been a good word for it. Light, too. As if I’d been weighed down and now I wasn’t. “Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty—”

“You can try, but He doesn’t seem to listen,” I heard, then jumped in place.

My head whipped right. Nothing. My head whipped left. “Um, how did you get in my…” My what? This wasn’t my room. This wasn’t my ceiling. Was what was above me a ceiling anyway? “Wait, who doesn’t seem to listen?”

The man to my left grinned. He looked about my age, early thirties, give or take, nice looking guy, too. Very Bradley Cooper like, stunning blue eyes and all. He was prone. He was lying next to me. He was naked. I stared down at my body. I, too, was naked. I continued staring down. There was no bed. There was my body, there was his body, there was that shifting white. “Don’t freak out,” he said.

My heart wasn’t madly pumping in my chest and I wasn’t sweating, but I felt like I was freaking out, nonetheless. Especially because my heart should’ve been madly pumping and I generally start to sweat when I’m freaking the fuck out. All that is to say, I was FREAKING THE FUCK OUT!

“I’m freaking the fuck out!” I shouted his way. “Who are you? Where are we? Why is the wall and ceiling and floor shifting?” I blinked. It felt like I blinked, but I didn’t get the right effect again. “And where are my fucking eyelids?”

“You get used to that,” he replied.

I sat up. That is to say, I tried to sit up. Only, I didn’t think I was actually lying down, and you can’t sit up if you’re not lying down to begin with. “Stop the ride,” I squeaked out, “I want to get off.”

I was still staring at him. He was still grinning. “Give it a minute,” he said. “Takes about five minutes for all of it to right itself.”

“All? What all?” I continued staring. It seemed like a minute went by. I was no longer lying there. I was standing. He was standing next to me. The not-a-ceiling was now not-a-wall, and it was still shifting, and I was, duh, still freaking out, fuck and all.

“You were lying down before you got here, so it seemed like you were lying down when you arrived. Get it?” He said it very comfortingly. I felt less than comforted. Very.

“Dude—”

“Max.” He held out his hand. I shook it. I felt his hand in mine. There was indeed comfort in that.

“Nordstrom,” I said.

He laughed. He had a nice laugh. He had a nice grin. Max seemed nice. “Did your mom have a penchant for upscale shopping?”

I shook my head. “I was born in one. And my mom had a penchant for making sure I was teased well into adulthood.” I let go of his hand. “Nord. My friends call me Nord. Otherwise, they don’t get a Christmas present.”

About the Author

Rob Rosen is the a author of the award-winning novels Sparkle: The Queerest Book You’ll Ever Love, Divas Las Vegas, Hot Lava, Southern Fried, Queerwolf, Vamp, Queens of the Apocalypse, Creature Comfort, Fate, Midlife Crisis, Fierce, And God Belched, Mary, Queen of Scotch, Ted of the d’Urbervilles, and Sort of Dead, and editor of the anthologies Lust in Time, Men of the Manor, Best Gay Erotica 2015, and Best Gay Erotica of the Year, Volumes 1, 2, 3 and 4.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website | Facebook

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BLOG TOUR: “In Strange Woods” by Claire Cray. $10.00 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway included! See entry link below:

BLOG TOUR

Book Title: In Strange Woods

Author: Claire Cray

Publisher: Self-Published

Release Date: August 28, 2020

Cover Artist: Sneaky T

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romantic Mystery, M/M Gothic Romance

Trope/s: Instant attraction, Hurt comfort, Tortured protagonist, Family secret,

Long lost relative, Country boy/City boy, Rural romance, Fish out of water

Themes: Healing, Found family, Redemption, Heritage, Belonging, Homecoming

Heat Rating: 3 – 4 flames

Length: 71 370 words /204 pages

It is a standalone book.

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

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In the stormy coastal woods of the Pacific Northwest, roots run deep and passions run wild.

Blurb

Reeling with grief after the mysterious massacre of his wealthy family, moody New York photographer James Worthington Crane decides to take his downward spiral somewhere far away: to the rural Oregon Coast, where he’s just inherited a random piece of property hidden somewhere in the woods upriver.

But when James pulls into the decaying seaside town of Brooks, everyone thinks he’s someone else—an elusive local outlaw named Beau. Now James must fight through his grief to unravel a tangled web of family secrets and forgotten history…with help from a soft-spoken local hunk named Hunter Quaid.

Hunter’s been on his own since he left his fundamentalist family at the age of fifteen. It’s taken years of hard work to build the steady life he has now, fixing up seaside houses while living alone in a trailer by the river. Then James blows in like a winter storm, disturbing the peace and stirring up a hunger like nothing he’s ever felt.

As Hunter helps James search for the truth, their lives intertwine in unexpected ways—and they begin to discover what it means to find out where you really belong.

Excerpt

Hunter pulled his truck into one of the slanted parking spaces along the Brooks sea wall and turned off the ignition, cutting off Bobbie Gentry in the middle of ‘Ode to Billie Joe’ to let the roar of the waves take over. It was windy out, and he took a second to rake his dark-blond hair into a stubby ponytail at the nape of his neck before getting out of the truck.

His work boots hit the asphalt with a heavy thud, and he strolled over to the rustic stone barricade to look out at the dark ocean. A wave immediately exploded up in front of him, white foam fanning out and dissolving like a burst of fireworks, and he filled his lungs with the sharp, salty air. It never got old, no matter how many times he came here. None of it did, though. Not the trees, the rivers, the sunsets, the storms. This rugged little chunk of the coast had been his most consistent, and sometimes his only, source of joy since the first summer his parents dropped him off at his grandma’s place upriver, where he now lived alone.

Today had been long as hell, but satisfying. He was in the middle of renovating a beautiful midcentury house on Cedar Crest, a wooded cliffside high up on the north edge of town. It was the biggest project he’d ever landed since striking out on his own as a contractor, and it was turning out to be a dream come true. The owner was some Portland banker who didn’t give a shit what he did as long as he stayed within budget, and Hunter relished the freedom to make actual design choices.

Matter of fact, life was pretty good these days, wasn’t it? Business was good, anyway, and that was a lot. Yeah. Steady work with nobody telling him what to do, a place to sleep by the river, all the ocean air he wanted every day…what more could he ask for? There was a time when he wouldn’t have dared to dream so—

A car alarm went off suddenly, jarring him from his thoughts, and he turned his head. Several seagulls were scattering noisily from the sea wall near a black hatchback several spaces away, its horn blasting and lights flashing. He couldn’t see what had set it off. A nosy gull, maybe, or the splash of a wave. At any rate, that wrapped up his relaxing after-work sit by the ocean.

But just as he was about to turn back to his truck, the driver’s side door of the hatchback clunked open and slowly creaked ajar.

Hunter watched, intrigued, as a hand slipped out through the crack, followed by an arm, and then a mop of wavy dark hair. Then, to his amazement, an entire tall, slim man slid out onto the pavement, pooling there in a tangle of long limbs and dark clothing.

The alarm was still making a ruckus. The man groaned low and rolled to his side, wrestling with himself for a moment before yanking a key fob out of his back pocket. He jabbed it toward the car several times until the alarm stopped, then fell on his back with an unintelligible mutter. Just then, a big wave spouted over the wall and showered him with seawater.

Hunter winced sympathetically. Hell of a place to be drunk off your ass. Dude definitely wasn’t from around here. He looked about Hunter’s age, stylish in a cool, classic kind of way. Black jeans, black boots, battered brown leather jacket. Nothing flashy, but obviously outside the local dress code of Carhartts, hooded sweatshirts, and rain gear. Hunter couldn’t help admiring the long lines of the stranger’s body, his carelessly tousled hair.

With a shake of his head and a soft sigh, he turned his gaze back toward the ocean again. Life was good, and all. He loved it here. So what if it wasn’t overflowing with romantic options for a quiet gay man with a taste for tall, slim guys dressed like drifters from the 1960s? No one got to have it all.

Life is good, he told himself stubbornly. Life is fine. Life’s going just great.

The sound of an approaching engine made him glance back over his shoulder, and suddenly he sprang into motion before he could think.

The drunk man was staggering onto the highway, his dark silhouette backlit by the high beams of a log truck that was roaring around the bend.

Another half-second would have been too late. The driver didn’t even seem to see them. The air from the passing truck threw him off balance as he yanked the drunken dumbass out of the road, and they both fell back on the pavement.

“You okay?” Hunter asked breathlessly.

About the Author

Claire Cray writes gay romance featuring hot, complicated men in weird situations. Offbeat and character-driven with a gothic bent, her work has been described as deeply atmospheric and a little bit strange.

Born and raised in the rural Pacific Northwest, Claire takes inspiration from its rich, moody vibes: the ancient forests, rugged coastlines, eccentric characters, and whispers of dark mystery in even the tiniest little towns. Combine all that with steamy sensuality and psychological drama, and you’ve got a story by Claire Cray.

Author Links

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Pinterest | Newsletter Sign-up

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RELEASE BLITZ: Darkwater House by Samuel King

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Darkwater House

Author: Samuel King

Publisher: Pride Publishing

Cover Artist: Louisa Maggio

Release Date: September, 29 2020

Genre: Contemporary Paranormal M/M Romance

Trope/s: Macho neighbour turns out to be bi sexual, murder mystery/paranormal

Themes: Laying the past to rest

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 52 000 words/ 150 pages

It is a standalone story.

Goodreads

Buy Links

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When Toby meets his sexy neighbor Sean, he embarks on a new romance,

but there’s also a haunting and a murder mystery to deal with.

Blurb

There’s romance waiting for Toby at Darkwater House. Set on the edge of London’s beautiful Hampstead Heath, what better place for love to blossom with a stunningly handsome stranger?

But as Toby explores a passionate relationship with his dream man, dark forces are stirring within the walls of Darkwater House. There’s an angry spirit haunting the corridors and Albert the creepy landlord might be a killer.

As passion grows between Toby and his new neighbor Sean, they also work at unearthing the secrets of Darkwater House, looking for the evidence that will convict Albert, finally lay the angry ghost to rest and allow their love story to deepen.

Excerpt

He entered the code into the electronic keypad next to the main front door and waited for the now-familiar click before pushing it open. Sean was standing in the communal hallway, his back to Toby, bending forward so that the material of his running shorts stretched across his muscular buttocks, revealing a tantalizing crack. God, Toby would have liked to smell that arse, run his nose from one end of the crevice to the other, taking a long, deep breath.

Stop it!

Sean was rubbing his right calf. Toby hesitated, then cleared his throat.

“Are you okay?” he asked, still staring at Sean’s butt while he had the chance.

Sean straightened and looked over his shoulder at Toby.

“I think I pulled a muscle,” he said, hobbling toward the lift.

Toby considered taking the stairs to avoid an embarrassing trip in the compact elevator, but instead followed Sean and pushed the button for the fourth floor.

“Is it painful?” he asked, breathing in the smell of Sean’s fresh sweat, reveling in the closeness of the other man. He could feel heat radiating from his post-exercise body.

“A bit,” said Sean, staring ahead. “I think I overdid it today. That was my second run.”

“I know. I saw you this morning,” said Toby. In his head, he was slipping a hand down the front of Sean’s shorts, playing with his flaccid but growing cock, his hand getting slippery from Sean’s sweat and pre-cum.

Then I’d lick my fingers, he thought.

The lift pinged and the doors opened.

“After you,” said Toby.

Sean nodded a thank you and walked awkwardly toward his flat. Toby followed, fixing his eyes on the other man’s butt, growing hard and once again fantasizing about burying his face between those cheeks, breathing in the masculine scent.

“See you later,” said Sean as he reached his apartment door, resting his gaze briefly on Toby’s face.

Toby blushed. “Yes, see you later. I hope your calf gets better.”

As he headed for his own flat, Toby wished he had some sort of medical training so he could have offered to check out Sean’s injury, maybe administer a gentle massage on the injured leg. The thought of his hands caressing Sean’s muscular calf, rising to his thigh, Sean watching him intently with his dark eyes, was all too much. Toby hurried to open his front door, pulling his cock out of his fly almost before the door had closed behind him. He jerked himself fast, still clutching the carrier bag of food and wine in the other hand. Several jets of cum shot across the hallway carpet. I’ll have to clean that up later.

Toby fell back against the front door, breathing heavily, pushing his cock back into his pants. He really did have it bad for Sean, even though they’d barely spoken and Sean seemed to dislike him, or at best, be indifferent toward him. Or perhaps that was the attraction? If he fell for someone he stood no chance with, he wouldn’t get hurt like he had before, because nothing would ever develop.

He dropped the carrier bag onto the kitchen surface and pulled out the bottle of wine he had bought at the supermarket. He studied it as if it were some ancient relic of great interest, rather than a cheap bottle of plonk. Then, with a sigh, he unscrewed the top and reached for a glass. It was Saturday night, after all, he told himself.

About the Author

Samuel King is London born and bred, and spent his twenties and thirties hanging out on the London gay scene, mixing with some true characters and even finding romance on a few occasions. Now more likely to be found eating in a nice restaurant on a Saturday night than clubbing, he also enjoys reading across many genres and watching films–especially old horror films and romantic comedies.

He is the author of four hot short reads—The Black Mask, Hard Lessons, Sage the Immortal and Mirror Man. His first full-length male/male romance Darkwater House is out now.

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