NEW RELEASE: “A Taste of Danger: Subparheroes” by Morgan Price

NEW RELEASE 

Book Title: A Taste of Danger: A Subparheroes book

Author: Morgan Brice

Publisher: Darkwind Press

Cover Artist: Dianne Thies

Release Date: September 5, 2024

Pairing: MM

Tense/POV: third person, past tense, alternating POV.

Genres: Romance, Mystery/suspense, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy

Tropes: Superhero with minor psychic abilities, odd superhero employment agency, craft brewer, secret agent, shifters, supernatural mobsters, fish out of water, small town

Themes: Learning to trust, balancing love and career

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 65 000 words

It is a standalone book and does end on a cliffhanger.

It’s part of a multi-author, shared world series Subparheroes, and it also connects to my Fox Hollow series.

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US   | Amazon UK 

An unlikely rookie superhero and a dog shifter beer enthusiast team up to stop a nefarious supernatural plot.

Blurb  Food reviewer Scott Dixon didn’t just lose his job—he started getting premonitions linked to random tastes, a new ability he’s not sure how to manage. When an interview lands him a position using his visions to help people and stop criminals, Scott finds himself chasing bootleggers who create beverages specially formulated to control people with psychic abilities. The trail leads to upstate New York, where he meets a sexy craft brewer who takes his breath away, but might be more than he appears, testing Scott’s trust. Craft brewer and Belgian Malinois shifter Gage Merrick never fit in with his law enforcement family. He loves beer and spent years developing brews designed to taste good to different types of shifters. When he meets Scott, sparks fly. But Gage’s passion for paranormally optimized beverages raises Scott’s suspicions, threatening their chance at happiness. Will Gage be the love of Scott’s life, or will their affair leave a bitter aftertaste? A Taste for Danger is a feel-good paranormal super- powered hero MM romance romp filled with secret agents, found family, good beer, quirky humor, sexy shifters, soulful psychics, and supernatural skullduggery! This book is part of the multi-author MM Romance SubParHeroes series and is also linked to the Fox Hollow series. Excerpt  “Ninety-nine, one hundred,” Scott Dixon counted out loud as he checked two more failed job applications off his spreadsheet. He sighed and took a drink of his now cold coffee. “Maybe one hundred and one is the charm.” Getting laid off from his job as a food reviewer for Taste of the Rainbow magazine, which specialized in reviewing LGBTQ-owned and friendly restaurants, was bad enough. Receiving the notice via text two weeks ago was doubly awful. Dear Scott— We regret to inform you that due to declining advertising revenue, your position as a full-time food reviewer has been cut. You are free to re-apply to submit work-for-hire articles on an ad hoc basis at our freelance rate. Your keycard and network access have been deactivated. The contents of your desk and cubicle will be boxed and mailed to you. If you had personal items elsewhere, please let us know, and we will include them in the box. Please do not return to the office as you will not be permitted to enter. We wish you well in your new endeavors. Since Scott had been in charge of hiring freelancers, he knew how their rate compared to his salary. Even if I freelanced the whole damn magazine issue, it wouldn’t pay what I’ve been making. He muttered several extremely impolite descriptions of his former boss as he got up to refill his cup. “Text messaging toadie. ’Fraidy cat fucker. Anti- social asshole.” To add insult to injury, his car needed repairs, putting a dent in his emergency stash. The unexpected expense of buying a new shirt and jacket for in-person interviews drained his funds further, even though he had found them at a consignment store. Scott cut every subscription except his e-book and inventoried his cupboards and freezer for cheap meals so he could skip grocery shopping. Despite that, and even if he picked up some other freelance gigs to tide himself over, he couldn’t go more than a couple more weeks without a real job. Scott didn’t want to sleep in his car or beg friends to let him couch surf, but that possibility loomed large unless something showed up real soon. He had less than thirty dollars in his wallet, and there wasn’t enough left on his credit card to pay rent. A fast-food gig wouldn’t pay the rent, and it would eat up time I could use to job hunt. He hated the idea of pawning any of his gaming equipment—that was a last resort. His phone rang, and he didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?” “Scott Dixon? This is April from SPAM. We received your resume and are very impressed. I’m calling to offer you a full-time, salaried position with very generous health benefits and paid vacation. We’d like you to start immediately, and there’s a signing bonus to ease your relocation to Albany.” She named the salary and bonus. Scott nearly swooned at the amount, a hefty upgrade from his most recent salary. “SPAM?” Scott’s mind whirled, trying to remember if he had sent a resume to Hormel. Even if he hadn’t, he had heard good things, and the offer had everything he needed. “Albany? I mean, yes, thank you. Sure. I just need to pack. Thank you.” “How quickly can you come for orientation? We have a project we’d like you to head, and it needs someone to take over in a few weeks.” “I can be in Albany in two days, just need to wrap up some things here in Rochester.” Scott was still reeling from the sudden reversal of fortune. “Can you please send me something in writing?” he remembered to ask, wary because he had heard about hiring scams. “Of course,” April said. “I’ll have a confirmation letter out to you this afternoon. Congratulations, and welcome to SPAM.” Scott stared at his phone for a few minutes after April hung up. I have a job—and a raise. I’m moving to Albany. Holy shit—I’ve got a job!

About the Author  

Morgan Brice is the romance pen name of bestselling author Gail Z. Martin. Morgan writes urban fantasy MM paranormal romance, with plenty of action, adventure and supernatural thrills to go with the happily ever after. Gail writes epic and urban fantasy, with less romance, more explosions.

All of the modern-day Morgan Brice and Gail Z. Martin series crossover, so characters from one series appear in cameos and on page in important secondary roles in books from other series. Each book can be read as a standalone, but the more you read the more the expanded universe of friendships and connections becomes clear.

Morgan and Gail believe that paranormal elements make any story even better, and her worlds are full of ghosts, psychics, shifters, creatures, vampires, monster hunters, and magic.

She’s also a huge fan of the TV show Supernatural. (Chibi art by Kamidiox)

Author Links

Website  |  Audible Profile  |  Amazon profile

Facebook Group  |   Facebook Page

  Pinterest (for Morgan and Gail)  |  Twitter  

 BookBub  | Instagram

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Read a copy of my Badlands short story Restless Nights here for free

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Continue ReadingNEW RELEASE: “A Taste of Danger: Subparheroes” by Morgan Price

NEW RELEASE: “Hunt in the Night” by S.J. Coles

NEW RELEASE

Book Title: Hunt In The
Night (Blood and Bonds series #3)

Author: S. J.
Coles

Publisher: Pride
Publishing

Release Date: August 6, 2024

Genre: Contemporary Paranormal Mystery/Cop

Tropes: Bi Awakening, Vampire, Men In Uniform, Gay For You

Themes: Coming out, forgiveness

Length: 71 136 words/282
pages

Heat Rating: 4 flames

It is book 3 of 3. It does
not
end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

 

Buy Links

Publisher | Universal Link

 

Hunting killers is Mason’s
job. But falling for a vampire is the scariest thing he’s ever done.

 

Blurb

Detective Inspector Mason Walker is good at his job. He has never focused on much else
in his life. Women come and go. Friends take time he doesn’t have to spare. The job is
constant. He works hard and has built a reputation for determination and integrity.

Now his skills are needed more than ever. The level of

violence in York has risen, involving both the haemophile and human communities. These
are unexplored waters for Mason, with both political and professional implications, and
Mason is afraid to lose his way.

But there’s been a murder—a haemophile—and Mason’s
facing the question of not only who committed the dreadful crime but how? Nothing seems
to be adding up. And being assigned a haemophile partner, Special Officer Cai Bracken, a
freelance detective working for the Met Police, only increases his tension.

What’s really unnerving is that Cai is not only making
Mason question his professional convictions, but his personal preferences, too…his most
personal preferences.

With so much at stake, can Mason really cope with
overhauling his police work and his personal life all at once?

Excerpt

Sunset was still an hour away when Mason pulled in at
Oswald House, but the day already felt like it had lasted twice as long as any other he had
lived through. Fatigue from the sleepless night was like an undertow tugging at his brain. But
his heart was skipping about when he pressed the doorbell.

Jesse Truelove opened the door. He blinked when he
recognized Mason.

“Any news?” he asked as he stepped back to allow Mason
inside.

“Not yet I’m afraid,” he said, glancing up the stairs. “I’m
here to see SO Bracken.”

Truelove raised his eyebrows. “No one’s supposed to know
he’s here…not even you.”

“I am a detective, you know. And I have a matter of some
urgency to discuss with him.”

“Well, you’re a little early, mate,” Truelove drawled,
glancing at his watch.

“I know,” Mason said awkwardly. “If there’s just somewhere
I could maybe wait? I don’t want to be in the way.”

“Detective Inspector Walker?”

Mason turned. Tom Addams was there. His face was
strained. There were shadows under his eyes. “Anything?”

“I’m sorry…no, not yet,” Mason said with sincere
regret.

“He’s here to see Cai,” Truelove said.

“There is one thing I wanted to ask you about, actually, Mr.
Truelove.”

“Mate, please,” Truelove said, opening the door to the
same sitting room as before. “Call me Jesse. I’m changing my name soon anyway.”

“Jesse,” Mason said, taking a seat on the sofa as Tom took
the armchair and Jesse perched on the sofa arm. “It was that that I wanted to talk to you
about. I don’t want to sound insensitive, but have you and the Baron considered postponing
your wedding?”

Jesse exchanged glances with Tom. “Yes. We considered it. I
did more than consider it, if I’m honest.”

“I heard their shouting match from the other end of the
house,” Tom said with a smile.

Jesse made a noisy sigh. “We’re not postponing.”

“Jesse,” Mason started, but Tom interrupted him.

“Darragh fought very long and hard for Emory and Jesse’s
wedding to be allowed to happen,” he said. “He would want it to go ahead. Otherwise,
there’s no point to any of it.”

“Okay,” Mason said. “I understand. I just wanted to make
sure someone had mentioned the idea.”

“They’ve both mentioned it,” Tom said. “And I told them
the same thing I told you. The wedding is going ahead.”

“You’re a stubborn asshole, you know that?” Jesse said to
Tom, but he was smiling.

“Darragh would never forgive me if we just gave
up.”

“It’s not giving up,” Jesse argued. “It’s just looking at the
bigger picture.”

“And what did Emory say when you said that to
him?”

Jesse rolled his eyes. “Let’s not have this argument
again.”

“Okay, we won’t,” Tom said with a shaky smile and stood.
“Now, if you don’t need anything else, I have a security sweep to run.”

Tom left and Jesse stared after him with a haunted
expression.

“I’m very sorry you’re having to go through all this.”

“Not your fault,” Jesse murmured. “Just catch the bastard.
That’s all we want.” Mason nodded, even though Jesse wasn’t looking at him. Jesse stood.
“You can wait here if you want. Get you anything? Coffee? Something stronger?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Mason said. “I’ll just wait here, if
that’s okay.”

“Knock yourself out,” Jesse said, and left.

The room was warm. The sofa was comfortable. The light
grew dimmer, and Mason’s eyes began to droop.

A touch on Mason’s hand brought him out of a soft,
pleasant dream. He blinked groggily. Bracken was sitting in the armchair.

“You should get some proper sleep.”

Mason sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have
nodded off.” He blinked at Bracken, all the feelings he’d told himself he’d keep suppressed
rushing to the surface. “You didn’t call back.”

Bracken’s expression closed. He stood. “Not here.”

Mason followed Bracken along a corridor, down some stairs
and through a series of locked doors to a comfortably furnished room. There was a
wardrobe, a sofa, a desk covered in papers and an open laptop. There were minimalist
paintings on the walls, several shelves of books and a large TV. It was airy and comfortable,
but with no windows. No bed.

“This is where you sleep?”

Bracken indicated an inner door locked with a numbered
keypad. “I have a secure sleeping cell through there, completely up to grade.” Bracken gave
him a pained look. “Walker, no one’s supposed to know I’m here.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not exactly neutral ground, is it? But it’s not like I can
check into the nearest hotel, either.”

“I think you’re capable of keeping your sleeping
arrangements separate from your professional duties.”

Bracken lifted an eyebrow. “Well, that’s loaded.”

Mason sank onto the sofa. “I’m sorry. I…I didn’t sleep last
night.”

 

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 ReadingNEW RELEASE: “Hunt in the Night” by S.J. Coles

BOOK BLAST: “Bridge at the Beach” by Garrick Jones.

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Bridge at the
Beach (
A Clyde Smith Mystery
#4)

Author and Cover Artist:
Garrick Jones

Publisher: Moshpit
Publications

Release Date: April 12,
2024

Genre: Crime Thriller

Themes: Sowing one’s oats; Finding Mr. Right; Acceptance in community;
Historical fiction; Crime Fiction; Detective Fiction

Heat Rating: 2 flames

Length: 134 000 words/ 392
pages

It is part of the Clyde Smith
Mystery Series, but d
oes not end on a
cliffhanger.

Goodreads

 

Buy Links

Amazon US | Amazon AU | Amazon UK | Smashwords

 

 

Blurb

Clyde’s idyllic afternoon in the surf with his mates is
interrupted by the news that there’s been a quadruple suicide in an apartment overlooking

the beach.

Two of the deceased are the parents of Barry Wilkinson,
one of Clyde’s childhood friends, a man he hasn’t seen since Clyde donned the khaki and left
for war. Wilkinson engages Clyde to discover the identity of a mysterious woman who has
been left a huge sum of money in his father’s will.

On the surface, what appears to be a straightforward case
evolves into a complex story of deception, lies, violence and murder. Relationships are
tested, new ones formed and Clyde discovers that those connections that seem unrelated
are closely linked behind a veil of secrecy.

The early summer of 1957 is a time in which Clyde nearly
loses everything he holds dear—his own life included—all because of two couples who died
while playing bridge at the beach.

 

Excerpt

My awareness of Harry’s arrival was having my swimming
trunks pulled down to my ankles then a grinning redhead surfacing between Mark and
me.

“Take your foot off my cozzies, Jones,” I said, trying not to
laugh and vainly struggling to pull them back on.

“Did he pants you?” Mark asked.

“Yes, and if it wasn’t for you, Mark,” Harry said, “I’d be
twirling them over my head and racing him to the beach.”

A large wave slapped us in the face; we’d been so busy
laughing none of us had spotted it.

“I’ve ordered a float for Mark,” Harry said to me. “Do you
think you could pick it up while I chat with my favourite dick?”

“Don’t take him out too far,” I replied, smiling at Harry’s
purposeful innuendo. Mark’s eye-roll was slight, but noticeable.

“I’m not totally clueless, Clyde. I know he can’t swim. I just
want to show him how to use the float and see if we can’t catch a few waves.”

“All right. See you in a bit.”

I put my shoulder into the next decent breaker and body-
surfed to the beach. I recognised the lad in charge of the float rentals. We locals called them
floats or floaters, but to visitors they were known by their brand name: Surfoplanes. The
long black rubber blow-up surfboard-type things were very popular with people from the
western suburbs who weren’t used to swimming in the ocean. They were very cheap: only
sixpence an hour to hire.

“How’s it going, Barney?” I asked. “I thought you were
working for my mate Craig at his pool these days?”

“Nice to see you, Mr. Smith,” he replied, his eyes fixed on
the front of my swimmers. “When are you going to wear those sexy yellow speedos I keep
hearing about?”

“You know I’m taken, Barney, and you get to see me naked
nearly every morning at the pool …”

“Yes, but somehow the way men fill out their cozzies and
imagining what’s hidden in them is far more alluring than the bare truth … not that you’ve
got anything to worry about on either count, Mr. Smith.”

I shook my head at his wink and was about to ask him
sarcastically how he knew what the word “alluring” meant when I heard someone call out
my name.

“Here, take your float, Mr. Smith,” Barney said. “I just need
to nick off for a second.”

It was when I turned that I understood Barney’s sudden
disappearance. “Hello, Clyde,” the policeman said.

“Gidday, Dave. What brings you down to the beach … and in
uniform?”

“Looking for D.S. Dioli. He told me this morning at work that
he was having a half day off and spending the afternoon at the beach with you and your
mate Luka Praz.”

“He’s in the water. Want me to get him for you?”

“Bloody hot day like this, I’m tempted to take my clobber
off and go fetch him myself.”

“Problems at work?”

“Yeah, bad one, Clyde. Four dead. Looks like a suicide
pact.”

I whistled softly. “Where?”

He turned and pointed to the north end of the beach.
“Baden Street, number five, top floor.”

“What, the Wilkinsons’ place?”

“You know them?”

“Sure thing, Dave. I hauled Sidney Wilkinson into the nick
countless times just after I first started. Petty stuff, mostly: handling stolen goods,
moneylending, associating with known criminals. He was the lowest of the low back then,
but out of the blue opened a jewellery shop up at Peter’s Corner and seemed to have gone
straight. Suicide? You said there were four dead?”

“I don’t know much about it yet. But the D.I. told me to
bring D.S. Dioli in; he wants him on the case.”

I snorted. Typical of Brendan, telling Mark to fuck off and
take a break because he was annoyed with him, next minute calling him into work by
sending a constable on the first half day Mark had taken in ages. Although Brendan was a
very close friend, when it came to business there were very strict lines never to be crossed
that sometimes challenged our friendship.

“Are we still on for tonight, Clyde?”

“Of course we are. Last revision on forensic procedures,
after which you’ll piss in your detective’s exam on Thursday morning.”

“What will I bring?”

“Just yourself. I’m cooking Moroccan food. Harry will be
home at half six—he’s in charge of dessert—and we’ll eat around half past seven if that suits
you.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“You owe me more than one, Dave. But seeing I used to
babysit you when you were a toddler, I feel you’re part of the family. Now, I better go get
Mark.”

“Clyde …”

“Yes, mate?”

“There’s another personal thing I want to talk to you about
sometime. Can I take you out for a bite to eat or for a beer sometime?”

“Why not tonight over dinner? Harry’s
trustworthy.”

“I’d rather it be just between you and me.”

“Trouble with Katie?”

“Well … sort of, but as I said, it’s personal.”

“Any night but Wednesday, Dave.”

“Thanks, Clyde.”

As I ran down the beach with the float under my arm, I
glanced up over the north end. Had I not been looking for them, I may not have noticed how
many cars were parked outside number 5 Baden Street.

 

About the Author

From the outback to the
opera.

After a thirty-year career as a
professional opera singer, performing as a soloist in opera houses and in concert halls all
over the world, I took up a position as lecturer in music in Australia in 1999, at the Central
Queensland Conservatorium of Music, which is now part of CQ University.

Brought up in Australia,
between the bush and the beaches of the Eastern suburbs, I retired in 2015 and now live in
the tropics, writing, gardening, and finally finding time to enjoy life and to re-establish a
connection with who I am after a very busy career on the stage and as an
academic.

 

 

Author Links

Blog/Website |
Facebook | Twitter |
Instagram

Pinterest | Newsletter Sign-up

 

 

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Continue ReadingBOOK BLAST: “Bridge at the Beach” by Garrick Jones.

BOOK BLAST: “Runway Dreams” by T.K. Ambers. Amazon Gift Card Giveaway Included!

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Runway Dreams: Prideful Vengeance

Author: T.K
Ambers

Publisher: Star Spirit
Adventures

Cover Artist:
Getcovers

Release Date: December 18,
2023

Genre: Murder Mystery with MM Romance

Tropes: Connect the Deaths, Never Suicide, & Everyone’s a
suspect.

Themes: Forgiveness, Family, Relationships, & Music.

Heat Rating: 3
flames

Length: 78 671 words/ 275
pages

It’s part of a series, but this
book focuses on Alex and Matthew and can be read as a standalone.

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Music, murder, and
Pride, oh, my!

Blurb

To Alex Crimson, California means fun in the sun, but when
his favorite new LGBTQ+ pop idol goes missing, California marks the start of a deadly

nightmare.

As the disappearances continue, Alex fears the trail is
moving toward Tulsa. Could the killer be someone he knows? Thinking things can’t get any
worse, he unwittingly finds himself in the crosshairs of a friend’s volatile family
dispute.

Join the cast of Runway Dreams in this dark and
humorous murder mystery as they work to catch a serial killer, and avoid becoming the
victims of a friend’s lunatic brothers.

Excerpt

Alex saw Matthew coming up the aisle, and a pain gripped
his chest, sucking the air out of his lungs. Every hair on his body rose as he evaluated the
grim look on Matthew’s face.

“May I speak to you outside for a moment?” Matthew
whispered.

“Sure,” he replied. Somehow, he picked up his feet and
follow Matthew away from his guest’s prying eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked, forcing the
words out.

“Hector’s not here, Alex. We’ve checked the club, as well as
your house and his. He’s nowhere to be found.”

“Did you find any notes?” asked Alex.

“No.” Matthew could tell from the look on his friend’s face
that he was scared out of his mind. “Listen, I don’t want to think Hector would abandon you,
but this might simply be a case of wedding day nerves.”

Alex shook his head. “Simple. Is that what you think this is?
Nothing about this is simple, Matthew. We have one hundred guests sitting outside waiting
to witness our vows. We’ve spent a fortune on flowers, food, and cake. This is supposed to
be a happy reprieve from the depravity we’ve been pulled into over the past years,” said
Alex, his voice slowly rising, “and you’re telling me the man I’m in love with and due to
marry, this very day, has vanished just like his cousin, who turned up dead a day later! He
could be the killer’s next victim!”

Matthew raised his hand and said, “Calm down. I know it’s
easy to go into panic mode, but you mustn’t allow yourself to entertain the worst. We have
absolutely no information to go on except that he was supposed to marry you, and he didn’t
show up. I know it’s a terrible situation, no matter which way you view it, but we’ve got to
remain calm until we know what we’re dealing with. Maybe he’s stuck in traffic
somewhere?”

“Nooo!” shrieked Alex, his cheeks flushed as anger flashed
in his eyes. “This is unacceptable!” Dropping his head into his hands, his lip began to quiver.
“This is too much. Too freaking much. It’s bad enough I had to wear this cake-like makeup to
cover my heinous green and yellow eye, but now there won’t even be a wedding. I don’t
really care what you say, but go tell our guests they can enjoy some wine and canapes on
me. I don’t know what else to do.” The fight had been knocked out of him. “Send Hector’s
parents over. I’m sure they’ll want an explanation.” Matthew patted him on the back. “I’ll be
fine.” Pausing, he let out another deep sigh and added, “I hope.”

“I’m so sorry, Alex,” said Matthew. Turning away, he walked
back into the tent, noticing that Maddie had arrived and taken her seat, late as predicted.
Approaching Alex’s sisters, he said, “Ladies, I need you to keep calm, as I don’t want to scare
the guests, but Hector’s not here. I’ll deal with the guests if you’ll go console Alex.”

“Oh, no,” said Bell. “Do we know anything about what’s
happened to Hector?”

“No,” replied Matt. “I’m praying its cold feet or something
ridiculous slowing his arrival. You know how dramatic he can be. Anyway, I’m off to address
the guests. Wish me luck.”

“Okay, good luck,” said Bernie. “We’ll go take care of
Alex.”

Moving on, Matthew walked up to the microphone and
tapped on it. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid there will be no wedding today due to
unforeseen circumstances that must be dealt with. Alex and Hector will get back to you as
soon as they know when the wedding will take place. In the meantime, help yourselves to a
glass of sparkling wine and some canapes before you go. Thank you, and best wishes to you
all.” Turning off the microphone, he waved Hector’s parents to follow and headed back to
where the siblings were furiously discussing every possible scenario Hector might have
gotten into.

“What if he was in a car wreck and he’s in the hospital?”
asked Bell. “That isn’t far from what happened to me when Martin had me run off the
road.”

“I doubt it,” said Matthew, “but I’ll notify Thompson and
Wells and have the local hospitals checked immediately.”

As the siblings continued their discussion, Hector’s parents
walked over to them. “What’s happened?” asked Hector’s mother. “Where’s my son?” She
used all her strength to squeeze her husband’s hand.

“We’re not sure,” replied Matthew, “but I know Thompson
and Wells won’t stop looking until they find him.”

About the Author

T.K. Ambers is the award-
winning author of Runway Dreams A Pricey Affair. Her novel has been recognized in four
award competitions and took second place in the Pencraft Awards, Women’s Fiction
category.

Her love of reading and
writing spans several genres, but she loves comedy, thrillers, and paranormal. Most of her
work contains a comedic element.

She lives in New Richmond,
Wisconsin, with her husband and two cats, Bellatrix and Kit. She would spend her perfect
day lakeside, where she would swim, play games, and then wind down with a bonfire,
s’mores, and stories told by family and friends.

T.K. has a love for nature,
travel, photography, concerts, off-roading, and hiking (preferably to waterfalls). She also
holds a special place in her heart for her father’s band, 40 Fingers. She enjoys dancing to
their music.

She lives by the belief that life
is short and every day is its own adventure and should be treated as such.

Author Links

Blog/Website | Facebook

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Continue ReadingBOOK BLAST: “Runway Dreams” by T.K. Ambers. Amazon Gift Card Giveaway Included!

RELEASE BLITZ: “D.B. and Me” by Rob Rosen.

RECENT RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: D.B. and
Me

Publisher: JMS
Books

Cover Artist: Rob
Rosen

Release Date: January 20,
2024

Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance, true crime, suspense, mystery

Tropes: Age gap, first
love

Themes: First time love, second
chances, reconciliation

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 57 000
words

It is a standalone story and
d
oes not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links

JMS Books | Amazon US | Amazon UK

In the gripping tale of
D.B. and Me, the enigmatic hijacker, D.B. Cooper, parachutes into the unknown with
$200,000 in ransom money, but little does he know that his daring escape is just the
beginning of an unforeseen journey filled with mystery, suspense, and steamy
romance.

Blurb

In the gripping tale of D.B. and Me, the enigmatic hijacker, D.B.
Cooper, parachutes into the unknown with $200,000 in ransom money, but little does he
know that his daring escape is just the beginning of an unforeseen journey filled with
mystery, suspense, and steamy romance.

D.B., now Tim, finds himself along the banks of the
Columbia River attempting to fade into the shadows. However, fate has other plans when he
encounters Adam, a charismatic stranger who’s also in hiding. The air becomes charged with
anticipation as the two men become entangled in a mysterious dance, each harboring
secrets that could shatter the fragile equilibrium they’ve quickly established.

Tim’s initial plans to vanish into the vast expanse of Canada
are abruptly put on hold as the magnetic pull of Adam draws him into a world where passion
and danger collide. As their connection deepens while they wander through the snow-
covered forests of the Pacific Northwest, so does the labyrinth of unanswered questions
surrounding their pasts. The suspense thickens with every stolen glance, every shared
secret, as Tim and Adam navigate a love affair shadowed by the lingering echoes of several
daring crimes, all against the backdrop of the Vietnam War.

As the story unfolds, readers are taken on a heart-pounding
journey through a landscape of intrigue, where the line between right and wrong blurs, and
the boundaries of love are tested. Will Tim’s past catch up with him, will Adam’s, or will they
find a way to rewrite the narrative that destiny has penned for them?

D.B. and Me
is a riveting exploration of love in the face of danger, a tale where passion and suspense
interweave, leaving readers breathless and eagerly turning each page to unravel the secrets
hidden within the folds of this captivating romance. Will Tim find redemption or be
swallowed by the sadness of his past? And what about Adam and his troubled family and the
ever-nagging reminders of a horrible war that still plague him? Dive into the depths of
mystery and desire in this thrilling novel that will keep you on the edge until the very
end.

Excerpt

I could hear the door kick in, could hear the rush of them as
they swarmed the house. “Move,” I whispered to him.

“Move?”

I grabbed his hand again. This time when we crawled, we
didn’t have a choice. If they came with dogs, we were screwed. For now, we had a fighting
chance. It was dark as pitch beneath the house, but there was only one way to go:
away.

A minute went by, two. No one was following us. The
sounds of the police began to fade, though I could still hear them inside the house. Sounded
like they were searching for something. The pounding in my chest continued. “Where are we
Adam?” I heard from behind me.

I stopped crawling. “Better question, are the police here for
you or for me?”

There was the slightest of pauses. “Why you?” he
whispered.

“Why you?” I whispered back.

He chuckled. All in all, not perfect timing. “I sure do know
how to pick ‘em.”

I kept crawling. “To be fair, I found you.”

“To be fair,” he replied, “I chose to stay.” He sighed. “It was
the old man in the store. Had to be.”

We came to the end of the road. Or at least the end of the
tunnel. I’d say we were about five hundred feet or so away from the house and deeper in the
woods. The tunnel was maybe two feet high and three feet wide. There were clothes
stashed there, a couple of jackets, some money, bullets. This was my emergency tunnel. This
was clearly my emergency. Or his. Either way, we were now both being chased.

I handed him the clothes in the dark. We got dressed and I
pocketed the cash in my wallet, my wallet in my pants. I handed him his wallet. I shoved the
gun in the backpack. We again listened for the police. By then, all I could hear was our heavy
breathing.

“So,” he said.

“So?”

He tapped my shoulder. “You know how you asked me if I
ever had a boyfriend?”

I grinned. The tunnel smelled like earth, but I could still
detect the slightest scent of Tim. “You think now is a good time to revisit that
conversation?”

I could hear him moving around behind me. I could hear
the backpack scraping the tunnel’s walls. I heard it hit the ground. I heard him rummaging
around inside it just before I saw another beam of light. Thankfully, it was his, a flashlight lit
for me to see, the light now illuminating our dirtied, sweaty faces.

“You look like shit,” I said.

“I don’t feel a hell of a lot better,” he replied. “Will you be
my boyfriend, Adam?”

I laughed as quietly as was possible. “I think this might be
your oddest segue yet, Tim,” I told him. “The police are chasing one of us. We’re in a tunnel
in the woods in the middle of the night. This is not what I would consider a romantic
setting.”

He shook his head. He reached up and wiped the matted
hair from my face. “Yeah, but will you be my boyfriend, just the same?”

I sighed. “Tim,” I said. “I’d have sex you right now if you
asked me. I’d do anything you asked me, in fact. Ours, I would say, does not seem like a
healthy relationship. So, yeah, that’s a yes.” I blinked. “There a reason for all this?”

He nodded. “I need to show you something, but I wanted to
make sure it was safe to show you.”

“And,” I said, “you figured it would be safer if we were
boyfriends?”

His nod turned shrug. “Sounded better in my head, but
yes.” He leaned in, kissed me, kissed me again. “Plus,” he said, still panting from our recent
exertion, “if I were to die, say in the next few minutes or so, at least I had that. With
you.”

“I don’t think we’re going to die in the next few minutes,” I
told him. “If they had found the tunnel, we would’ve known about it already. Pretty well
hidden. You gotta know exactly where to look.”

“Or listen,” he said. “Because that does explain the
groaning I’d so recently heard when I sat in that chair you moved out of the way before we
ducked and covered.”

“Old house,” I said. “Groans everywhere. Besides, why even
look for a hidden tunnel in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Seems to me, it’s not the first
thought that would come to mind.” Which is why I built it in the first place. Apart from the
obvious reason: escape.

“Still.”

It was my turn to lean in and kiss him, then kiss him again.
Too bad the tunnel was so narrow, or I could’ve seriously had some fun him. Instead, I said,
“Okay, point taken. In any case, for now, we are still alive and newly minted boyfriends, so,
care to show me whatever it was you were going to show me?”

“Why are the police chasing you, Adam?”

“I killed a man,” I told him after the briefest of pauses. Felt
good to tell him. Felt good to say it out loud. My belly unknotted, if only by a hair.

“You killed seventeen men,” he replied.

I shook my head. “I killed the eighteenth after those. And
here. In the United States, I mean. And why are the police chasing you?”

With his free hand, he reached inside the backpack. When
the hand reemerged, it was clenched around a thick stack of bills. I peeked inside the
backpack, and all I saw was green. The forest around us quaked in apparent envy.

“I hijacked a plane,” he said.

About the Author

Multi-award-winning and
best-selling author/editor/anthologist Rob Rosen is the author of 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, Sort of Dead, Genie in a Vodka Bottle, Bobby Ray
Breaks the Universe, and D.B. and Me. His short stories have appeared in more than 200
anthologies. You can read some of his best ones in Short Spurts, Short Spurts 2, and Short
Spurts 3. He is also the editor of Lust in Time: Erotic Romance Through the Ages, Men of the
Manor, Best Gay Erotica 2015 and Best Gay Erotica of the Year, Volumes 1, 2, 3 and
4.

Social Media Links

Facebook | JMS Books | Goodreads

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BOOK BLAST: “The Road to Montepulciano” by Garrick Jones.

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: The Road to
Montepulciano

Author: Garrick
Jones

Publisher: Moshpit
Publications

Cover Artist: Garrick
Jones

Release Date: September 19,
2023

Genre: Crime Thriller/Historical Fiction

Themes: Sowing one’s oats; Finding Mr. Right; Acceptance in
community

Heat Rating: 5 flames

Length: 140 500 words/ 393
pages (paperback version)

It is a standalone book and
d
oes not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Smashwords

Blurb

Two years after finishing his tour of duty in the

Occupational Forces in Japan, Damson O’Reilly arrives in Siena, Italy. Sight-unseen at a local
auction, he buys an abandoned Tuscan farmhouse in which he aims to write, paint, and start
a new life.

The house, passed over at auction, becomes an
impulse buy when it’s put up for a final time. He’s prepared for a semi-ruin, happy to turn his
hand to renovating the house—however, what he’s totally unprepared for are three dead
bodies, one of which he stumbles over when he arrives at La Mensola, the name of his
isolated farmhouse on the road between Siena and Montepulciano.


Against the backdrop of a series of grisly murders,
The Road to Montepulciano is the story of a young man, still suffering the scars of war, who,
despite betrayal of trust and surrounded by a complex web of lies, finds friendship, love and
the warmth of community.

Excerpt

I was lying in bed listening to Donati potter around in the
kitchen for a few minutes, trying to make up my mind whether or not to get out of bed. I
checked my watch: half past five. It was still dark outside—it wouldn’t start getting light for
another three-quarters of an hour.

He had to know, I thought, reflecting on the whole of last
evening. He must have guessed that I was queer, otherwise what had happened wouldn’t
have taken place. We’d have washed separately, each waiting in our rooms until the other
had finished, then continued to drink, play cards and behave like kids, but with our clothes
on … or at least our underwear.

Some people just seemed to know it about me, although I
wasn’t aware that I’d ever telegraphed where my preferences lay. A few times during the
war I’d found myself on the receiving end of some very not-so-subtle advances quite out of
the blue, far more forthright than the almost imperceptible, ever-so-slightly charged evening
I’d enjoyed last night. And as for him? Well, I wasn’t sure just yet. There was something
though that made me wonder: a frequent holding of eye contact, as if he was trying to
discover what I was thinking, always breaking away abruptly with a soft smile on his face.

I’d never been able to recognise who was one of the tribe
like some of my bedfellows, although at the same time I’d never been shy to leap at an
opportunity when it offered itself up. But I found it hard to initiate things. Usually I’d wait
until the other person either made a move or gave me a sign that he was interested in more
than passing the time of day.

I’d heard Italian men were basically open to
anything—whether that was true or not, I had no idea. Maybe Donati was just a regular man
who liked a bit of variety every so often—I’d met a few of those—or maybe he was just like
me: lonely and looking for a friend.

Deciding to finally get up, I’d barely thrown back the sheet
and sat up, my feet drawn up and knees splayed while I leaned over, searching for my
cigarettes—which for some strange reason I’d thrown into my haversack last night—when
Renzo walked into the room with a demitasse in each hand. The smell of the coffee made my
stomach grumble.

He was naked too. It seemed that clothing was to be an
optional extra during my stay … I returned his smile.

“Buongiorno, Damson,” he said, handing
one of the cups to me, then sat in the middle of the bed, one of his legs at an angle, the
knee resting on my foot.

“Buongiorno, Renzo. You. Sleep.
Good?”

“Hai dormito
bene?
” he corrected my Italian, saying the
words slowly, twirling his finger in the air to encourage me to repeat the correct version.

“In English?” Renzo asked after I’d got it right.

“Did you sleep well?”

When he repeated the words, he made a pretty good fist of
it, so I held out my hand. The shake happened directly over my crotch, mainly because
having finished his coffee he’d stretched out over the bed. It was obvious that my genitals
were right in front of his face, but his eyes hadn’t flicked away from my own, despite his
Cheshire cat grin. This time I was the first to break eye contact, playfully nudging his
shoulder with my foot, then reaching for my cigarettes once more.

We chatted for a while, trying out words with each other
while smoking, Renzo idly playing with the hair trail below his navel while we traded
vocabulary for items in the room. Then, after we’d given each other a lesson on conjugating
the present tense of the verb “to be” in our own languages, I checked my watch. “Is that the
time?” I said in English. I jumped out of bed, pulling on my only pair of slacks and grabbing a
white American T-shirt from my haversack. It was wrinkled, but there was nothing I could do
about it.

“No …?” he asked, making a plucking gesture at his waist
with his thumb.

Damn, I’d been so distracted that I’d forgotten. Pulling off
my trousers, I rummaged in my backpack again and found a pair of Y-fronts—they were a
French brand and fairly new on the market. I usually washed my smalls every night, but
there’d been too much going on and it had slipped my mind

Renzo whistled as I pulled them on, watching as I put my
hand down inside the front of the waistband and adjusted myself in the pouch before pulling
on my trousers once more.

“You. Like?” I asked.

He nodded, so I found another pair, still in its packet, and
threw them to him. “Go ahead,” I said, while pulling on my socks, then lacing my canvas
shoes.

He undid the packet, swung his legs off the bed, put both
feet in the underpants, then, as he stood up, pulled them up, turning to look at his arse in
the mirror of the wardrobe. “
Che bel
culo
,” he said, winking over his shoulder at
me.

I laughed. That phrase I did understand, and he did have a
very nice arse.

About the Author

From the outback to the
opera.

After a thirty-year career as a
professional opera singer, performing as a soloist in opera houses and in concert halls all
over the world, I took up a position as lecturer in music in Australia in 1999, at the Central
Queensland Conservatorium of Music, which is now part of CQ University.

Brought up in Australia,
between the bush and the beaches of the Eastern suburbs, I retired in 2015 and now live in
the tropics, writing, gardening, and finally finding time to enjoy life and to re-establish a
connection with who I am after a very busy career on the stage and as an
academic.

Author Links

Blog/Website |
Facebook | Twitter |
Instagram

Pinterest | Newsletter Sign-up

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Continue ReadingBOOK BLAST: “The Road to Montepulciano” by Garrick Jones.

RELEASE BLITZ: “The Scars of Life” by David Blyth

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: The Scars of
Life

Author and Publisher: David
Blyth

Cover Artist: David
Blyth

Release Date: June 1,
2023

Genre: Contemporary Romance/Literary Fiction,
mystery/suspense

Tropes: Sexual identity, bisexuality, forbidden love

Themes: Psychological twist, mystery, family drama

Trigger Warning:
Supplementary themes involve sexual identity and a teenage incestuous occurrence: neither
are covered in detail, or described graphically, as they were ‘incidents’ rather than
relationships, though they have an impact on the development of the narrative.

Heat Rating: 2 – 3 flames

Length: 95 000 words/362
pages

It is a standalone story and
d
oes not end on a cliffhanger.

It has a HEA of sorts – it fits
vaguely into the romance genre with a lot of psychological suspense and mystery
interwoven.

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available in Kindle
Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Paperback also available from
Barnes and Noble

A troubled mind, a
dysfunctional love story, a psychological twist….

Blurb

Paul
Somerfield, a young journalist for Planet Earth magazine, shares a brief
friendship with the enigmatic Mike Stokes during an assignment in Devon. It leads to a
disruptive fascination and a reluctant complicity in events that evolve from Mike’s tragic
past.

On a journey
where emotions influence his brittle control, Paul pursues the truth. But the truth has many
disguises which disrupt his relationships, his rationality and his life.

A reminder of how fragile the stability of love and trust can
be: a journey that follows fear and doubt as they steer lives into a downward spiral of
destruction.

Excerpt

(To place in context: Paul (the main character) has just taken a trip over the moors
(Dartmoor, Devon, UK) with Mike (the mysterious second character) who he met just a few
days ago and befriended).

After a few minutes, with the sun transferring energy to
untanned skin, Paul plunged forward to swim towards the opposite bank. Standing up in the
shallow water, his gaze rested on his friend still stretched out below him. Mike’s eyes
remained closed, the gentle rise and fall of breath the only movement in his body. He could
almost have been asleep, but Paul knew he was not, and equally certain of Mike’s awareness
of a close observer, perhaps another gift to them both from the custodian of the paradise
who chose to share it. Paul was neither embarrassed nor aroused by the hedonic posture,
which perfectly balanced the equilibrium, complimenting the setting. He only felt
gratitude.

Time slowed to allow appreciation of the scene. Eventually,
with reluctance lest the spell be broken, Paul spoke again, “You need another cold dip,
mate.” The words were an intrusion. He strained to speak at all. An atmosphere of
expectancy subdued his responses.

Mike remained silent. As he turned his head, his eyes filled
with a remote but compelling vision. Paul was a prisoner to that gaze. The surroundings
drifted out of focus as the man held out a hand in an undeniable gesture of
reception.

The sensual element formed a command. With water
lapping knees, he leaned as fingers enclosed one arm in a soft grip. Mike’s eyes held a silent
appeal. It defied refusal. Legs felt weak, folded, he fell forward, his free hand placed near
Mike’s shoulder.

“Mike….” Words came like sobs from his lips, “I … I don’t … I
can’t….” He took shattered breaths, which formed around, “I’m sorry….”

Steady hands cradled his bowed head in a gentle caress.
Wet hair supplemented the tears that unmanned him. The softest touches of Mike’s fingers
smoothed them from his cheeks.

“Get out of the water, Paul.” Words almost whispered, close
to his ear, with barely disguised authority.

Paul responded, unconsciously, climbing onto the
stone.

Lines of sweat blurred his eyes. The atmosphere, heavy
with anticipation, directed his senses, regulated his responses. Or, a will projected from a
powerful force far below him, buried in the rock beneath. The body below him appeared
able to harness that power without the need for physical participation. Paul, aware of the
reaction of his own body to so sensual a situation, was powerless to subdue it. His skin
absorbed the life below with every touch. Nerves ignited with every caress. His senses
stimulated by conduction from another’s, as the strained form below him ascended the
pinnacles of climactic rapture. Salt tears and sweat, sun warmed skin against his lips, shared
breaths of confined desire; the noise of life pounding at his ear, the considerate grip of
passion embracing him with a bond of impregnability. All volition was gone.

Suddenly, as though perpetrated by a violent act upon the
man below him, the body became still. Only Mike’s relaxed breathing convinced Paul he was
innocent of such a deed. Time was striving to catch up with its unnatural stagnancy. A stale
memory of desire stained his mind like a contamination of his thoughts; the fruit of an
unguarded crop of passion, which left behind the bitterest aftertaste.

Paul stared at the slope they walked down earlier. Then he
stood, turned, and dived back into the water. He held no immediate aspiration to emerge
from that tranquil medium, doing so only when the pain in his chest forced him to return to
reality. Thrusting his feet towards the bed of the stream, he launched to the surface, gasping
for air. The vision that met his eyes when his violent breaths had calmed was of a dream
shattered. The picture was not as it appeared earlier. The sky painted a tormented brown.
The breathtaking scene, transformed to a bleak and forlorn landscape. Air and water around
him, tainted with pollution.

Turning his eyes across the water, he saw Mike walking up
the slope wearing his shorts, boots held by their laces in one hand, his T-shirt trailing from
the other and dragged along the grass. Swimming to the bank, reaching his clothes, he
fought jeans over a wet body and slipped on his shoes. Grasping his shirt and camera bag, he
stumbled up the slope in his haste. “Mike! Wait!” he called in a weak voice, breathing hard.
The man did not respond to his cry. Catching up as they entered the trees, he reached out to
the man’s shoulder, halting his progress.

Mike turned, a hard, almost pitiless stare, as he looked
deep into Paul’s eyes.

For a moment, Paul was unable to speak. So intense a
visage, it took away what little breath he had left. “You bastard! Don’t walk away from me as
though your dignity’s been bruised.” He dropped his shirt and bag to his feet, and braced
both hands on his knees. Breathing heavily, he waited for some reaction.

“Don’t lecture me about dignity.” The man answered,
sharply.

He felt a consuming fury growing within. Standing again,
Paul received a harsh look of accusation. As anger conquered instincts, he swung a clenched
fist towards the man’s head. The punch found its target, striking a heavy blow to the jaw.
Mike made no attempt to avoid the impact; blood soon appeared between his lips, trailing
down the side of his chin. He stood motionless, looking into the eyes of his assailant. Paul
remained poised, as though prepared to deliver another attack. Yet, in reality, he’d been
stunned by the recognition of his actions. Mike’s eyes never flinched as he reached towards
the fist, then enclosed it in a strong grip. Paul stood, mentally helpless and physically
defeated, as the man lowered the arm back to his side.

“Paul, let’s go home.” The expression on his face softened
before he turned to walk ahead.

About the Author

David Blyth was born in
Staffordshire, in the UK. He graduated from Nottingham and Wolverhampton
Universities.

He lived for many years in
South Africa, where he witnessed the political and social transformation during and after
apartheid.

His interests, apart from
writing, include anything that helps him to stay relatively sane.

The Scars of
Life
was written during a two-year overland
exploration of southern, central and east Africa; much was achieved sitting under the shade
of a huge mango tree on the shores of Lake Malawi, always with a beer near at
hand.

Separate
Development
, which is in fact his second novel,
though published first, was written at his home in the English Midlands.

He is currently working on his
third.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website | Facebook Profile | Facebook Author Page

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in

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RELEASE BLITZ: “The Scars of Life” by David Blyth

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: The Scars of
Life

Author and Publisher: David
Blyth

Cover Artist: David
Blyth

Release Date: June 1,
2023

Genre: Contemporary Romance/Literary Fiction,
mystery/suspense

Tropes: Sexual identity, bisexuality, forbidden love

Themes: Psychological twist, mystery, family drama

Trigger Warning:
Supplementary themes involve sexual identity and a teenage incestuous occurrence: neither
are covered in detail, or described graphically, as they were ‘incidents’ rather than
relationships, though they have an impact on the development of the narrative.

Heat Rating: 2 – 3 flames

Length: 95 000 words/362
pages

It is a standalone story and
d
oes not end on a cliffhanger.

It has a HEA of sorts – it fits
vaguely into the romance genre with a lot of psychological suspense and mystery
interwoven.

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available in Kindle
Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Paperback also available from
Barnes and Noble

A troubled mind, a
dysfunctional love story, a psychological twist….

Blurb

Paul
Somerfield, a young journalist for Planet Earth magazine, shares a brief
friendship with the enigmatic Mike Stokes during an assignment in Devon. It leads to a
disruptive fascination and a reluctant complicity in events that evolve from Mike’s tragic
past.

On a journey
where emotions influence his brittle control, Paul pursues the truth. But the truth has many
disguises which disrupt his relationships, his rationality and his life.

A reminder of how fragile the stability of love and trust can
be: a journey that follows fear and doubt as they steer lives into a downward spiral of
destruction.

Excerpt

(To place in context: Paul (the main character) has just taken a trip over the moors
(Dartmoor, Devon, UK) with Mike (the mysterious second character) who he met just a few
days ago and befriended).

After a few minutes, with the sun transferring energy to
untanned skin, Paul plunged forward to swim towards the opposite bank. Standing up in the
shallow water, his gaze rested on his friend still stretched out below him. Mike’s eyes
remained closed, the gentle rise and fall of breath the only movement in his body. He could
almost have been asleep, but Paul knew he was not, and equally certain of Mike’s awareness
of a close observer, perhaps another gift to them both from the custodian of the paradise
who chose to share it. Paul was neither embarrassed nor aroused by the hedonic posture,
which perfectly balanced the equilibrium, complimenting the setting. He only felt
gratitude.

Time slowed to allow appreciation of the scene. Eventually,
with reluctance lest the spell be broken, Paul spoke again, “You need another cold dip,
mate.” The words were an intrusion. He strained to speak at all. An atmosphere of
expectancy subdued his responses.

Mike remained silent. As he turned his head, his eyes filled
with a remote but compelling vision. Paul was a prisoner to that gaze. The surroundings
drifted out of focus as the man held out a hand in an undeniable gesture of
reception.

The sensual element formed a command. With water
lapping knees, he leaned as fingers enclosed one arm in a soft grip. Mike’s eyes held a silent
appeal. It defied refusal. Legs felt weak, folded, he fell forward, his free hand placed near
Mike’s shoulder.

“Mike….” Words came like sobs from his lips, “I … I don’t … I
can’t….” He took shattered breaths, which formed around, “I’m sorry….”

Steady hands cradled his bowed head in a gentle caress.
Wet hair supplemented the tears that unmanned him. The softest touches of Mike’s fingers
smoothed them from his cheeks.

“Get out of the water, Paul.” Words almost whispered, close
to his ear, with barely disguised authority.

Paul responded, unconsciously, climbing onto the
stone.

Lines of sweat blurred his eyes. The atmosphere, heavy
with anticipation, directed his senses, regulated his responses. Or, a will projected from a
powerful force far below him, buried in the rock beneath. The body below him appeared
able to harness that power without the need for physical participation. Paul, aware of the
reaction of his own body to so sensual a situation, was powerless to subdue it. His skin
absorbed the life below with every touch. Nerves ignited with every caress. His senses
stimulated by conduction from another’s, as the strained form below him ascended the
pinnacles of climactic rapture. Salt tears and sweat, sun warmed skin against his lips, shared
breaths of confined desire; the noise of life pounding at his ear, the considerate grip of
passion embracing him with a bond of impregnability. All volition was gone.

Suddenly, as though perpetrated by a violent act upon the
man below him, the body became still. Only Mike’s relaxed breathing convinced Paul he was
innocent of such a deed. Time was striving to catch up with its unnatural stagnancy. A stale
memory of desire stained his mind like a contamination of his thoughts; the fruit of an
unguarded crop of passion, which left behind the bitterest aftertaste.

Paul stared at the slope they walked down earlier. Then he
stood, turned, and dived back into the water. He held no immediate aspiration to emerge
from that tranquil medium, doing so only when the pain in his chest forced him to return to
reality. Thrusting his feet towards the bed of the stream, he launched to the surface, gasping
for air. The vision that met his eyes when his violent breaths had calmed was of a dream
shattered. The picture was not as it appeared earlier. The sky painted a tormented brown.
The breathtaking scene, transformed to a bleak and forlorn landscape. Air and water around
him, tainted with pollution.

Turning his eyes across the water, he saw Mike walking up
the slope wearing his shorts, boots held by their laces in one hand, his T-shirt trailing from
the other and dragged along the grass. Swimming to the bank, reaching his clothes, he
fought jeans over a wet body and slipped on his shoes. Grasping his shirt and camera bag, he
stumbled up the slope in his haste. “Mike! Wait!” he called in a weak voice, breathing hard.
The man did not respond to his cry. Catching up as they entered the trees, he reached out to
the man’s shoulder, halting his progress.

Mike turned, a hard, almost pitiless stare, as he looked
deep into Paul’s eyes.

For a moment, Paul was unable to speak. So intense a
visage, it took away what little breath he had left. “You bastard! Don’t walk away from me as
though your dignity’s been bruised.” He dropped his shirt and bag to his feet, and braced
both hands on his knees. Breathing heavily, he waited for some reaction.

“Don’t lecture me about dignity.” The man answered,
sharply.

He felt a consuming fury growing within. Standing again,
Paul received a harsh look of accusation. As anger conquered instincts, he swung a clenched
fist towards the man’s head. The punch found its target, striking a heavy blow to the jaw.
Mike made no attempt to avoid the impact; blood soon appeared between his lips, trailing
down the side of his chin. He stood motionless, looking into the eyes of his assailant. Paul
remained poised, as though prepared to deliver another attack. Yet, in reality, he’d been
stunned by the recognition of his actions. Mike’s eyes never flinched as he reached towards
the fist, then enclosed it in a strong grip. Paul stood, mentally helpless and physically
defeated, as the man lowered the arm back to his side.

“Paul, let’s go home.” The expression on his face softened
before he turned to walk ahead.

About the Author

David Blyth was born in
Staffordshire, in the UK. He graduated from Nottingham and Wolverhampton
Universities.

He lived for many years in
South Africa, where he witnessed the political and social transformation during and after
apartheid.

His interests, apart from
writing, include anything that helps him to stay relatively sane.

The Scars of
Life
was written during a two-year overland
exploration of southern, central and east Africa; much was achieved sitting under the shade
of a huge mango tree on the shores of Lake Malawi, always with a beer near at
hand.

Separate
Development
, which is in fact his second novel,
though published first, was written at his home in the English Midlands.

He is currently working on his
third.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website | Facebook Profile | Facebook Author Page

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