RELEASE BLITZ: “Restored Ruins” by G.R. Lyons

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Restored Ruins (A Paranormal Gay Daddy
Romance)

Author: G.R.
Lyons

Publisher:
Self-published

Cover Artist: Dana Leah at
Designs by Dana

Release Date: February 25,
2022

Genre: Paranormal M/M/M Romance

Tropes: Age gap, second
chances, hurt/comfort, found family, celebrity/commoner

Themes: Faith/belief/acceptance (not religious) of self and possibility,
love

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 60 000 words/ 240
pages

It is a standalone story and
does not end on a cliffhanger. It has an HEA
ending.

It is the first book in a new
series.

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Kidnapped by his idol?
Yes, please!

Blurb

Connor Jenkins is sick of rejection. Now, instead of getting
close to anyone, he lives vicariously through other people’s phones and webcams. Thanks to
his skills, he always gets away with it.

Until he hacks his idol.

Brendan Shyth is haunted by loss. First, the death of his
boy. Then the end of his music career thanks to a grief-induced drunken accident. Fringe
science regrew his fingers, but he still can’t bring himself to play again. Avoiding his fans, the
media, and his manager, Brendan hides in his mansion, determined to be left alone.

Until he finds his webcam on and realizes someone is
watching him. Someone other than the ghost of his dead lover, that is.

Brendan has Connor tracked down and kidnapped,
meaning to teach him a lesson. But the teasing brat gets under his skin in a way that no one
has in years.

A boy in need of security. A ghost in need of acceptance. A
man in need of faith. With a career, sanity, and hearts on the line, can these men overcome
their fears before it’s too late?

Restored Ruins is the first book in the Gentleman
Hackers series. It features a boy whose hair color never stays the same, a daddy who puts
him in serious time-out, a ghost desperate to be seen, and an MMM HEA ending. No pianos
were harmed in the writing of this romance (though they do make good horizontal
surfaces).

Excerpt

Had he really been kidnapped?

First of all, rude.

He tried to blink the haze from his vision while he
processed this strange, new reality.

Someone had actually managed to catch him.

Well, shit. Well done.

Connor started to sit up, then paused. Two things occurred
to him at once.
Three things,
actually.
One, it was somehow morning
already. Two, he was in a bed.
With some
amazingly soft sheets, by the way. Damn
. He
was going to have to figure out what they were made of and get some for himself.

Not that he could probably afford them, but, hey, a boy
could dream.

And, three…

He was naked.

Connor raised an eyebrow. Huh.

He stared up at the ceiling as he took stock of his body. The
soft sheets cascaded over his naked skin, making him hyper-aware of every tiny movement
he made. A slow inhale made the fabric brush teasingly over his nipples, and a slight shift of
his leg had the sheets drifting over his groin. Connor squeezed his legs together.
Holy fuck. Much more of that and he would be a horny mess, though it was already almost too
late for that.

Connor paused, wondering if his kidnappers were watching
him.

He bit back a moan at the idea, then muttered a curse and
shook his head. He had to focus.

Connor drew his arms out from under the sheets. He
wasn’t restrained in any way. There was nothing stopping him from getting out of bed and
exploring the room. And he didn’t feel pain anywhere. Other than where the needle had
gone in. That still stung.

Again. Rude.

Connor rubbed the spot and slowly sat up. At least his
kidnapper had been kind enough to keep the ground from punching him in the face. That
would not have been fun.

He paused, then probed all over his face with his fingertips,
just to be sure.

Nothing hurt there. Connor: one. Ground: zero. Ha! Take that.

Chuckling to himself, he glanced around the room, trying to
guess where he might be. It looked like a normal bedroom—bed, dresser, nightstands,
lamps—but way more high-end than he was used to. Spacious. Elegant. Obviously
expensive, but tastefully so. And it didn’t have the rubber-stamp feel of a hotel room.
Connor had seen plenty of those—from casual hookups with businessmen just passing
through town—so he would know.

But this was different. This was custom. Unique. This was
someone’s home.

He looked to one side and saw a pair of glass doors leading
out to a balcony, the view obscured by some gauzy curtains. Across from him was an open
doorway into a washroom. Connor blinked.
Holy
shit
. Even from that angle, the washroom
looked enormous, and he was sure he wasn’t even seeing half of it.

On the nightstand beside him was a small computer tablet.
When Connor started to reach for it, the device detected his proximity and illuminated the
screen, showing him a home control panel. There were options for room temperature,
dimmed lighting, and blackout window shades, amongst other things.

Connor smirked. Don’t worry, darling. I’ll play with you later.

He grabbed the sheets, meaning to toss them aside and get
out of bed so he could explore the room more thoroughly, then stopped when he heard the
snap of a key in a lock.

Connor spotted the door—fancy double doors, in fact—and
watched them slowly open.

He blinked stupidly and almost laughed as a butler
appeared in the widening gap. An actual, real-life butler. White gloves and all.

Before Connor could voice his mirth, though, the butler
stepped aside and bowed his head deferentially, revealing another man who’d been
standing behind him.

The second man took a few steps into the room, glaring
directly at Connor.

Connor’s jaw dropped.

Holy shit.

Vesad Stromos. Right there. In the flesh.

He’d been kidnapped by Vesad Stromos. Forget just spying
on the man through a hacked webcam. He was actually inside the famous musician’s
house.

Day. Fucking. Made!

About the Author

G.R. Lyons stumbled into
writing as a form of trauma recovery when traditional therapy wasn’t working.

Then the story ideas just kept
on coming.

Pulling from a vivid
imagination as well as real-life experience as a trans man, a sexual assault survivor, and a
person living with mental illness, Lyons has written multiple, interconnected series set
within his fictional world of the Shifting Isles.

When not writing, Lyons can
be found belly dancing around the house, studying anarcho-capitalist philosophy, buried in
his never-ending TBR pile, or working out at the local CrossFit gym.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website |
Facebook Group | Instagram

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RELEASE BLITZ: “A Share in a Secret” by Jude Tresswell.

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: A Share in a Secret

Author: Jude Tresswell

Publisher: Self-published on Amazon KDP

Release Date: April 18, 2020

Genre/s: LGBTQ crime and mystery

Trope/s: Sexual/asexual relationship; gay polyamorous relationship

Themes: Compromise, trust, honesty

Heat Rating: 2 flames

Length: 63 000 words/ 227 pages

It can be read as a standalone, although it is Book 5 of the County Durham Quad series.

Background information is included for new readers.

Add on Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Sooner or later, secrets will out…

Blurb

Mike, Ross, Raith and Phil are a gay, polyamorous quad who live in County Durham, North-East England. Mike’s nephews visit, and launch the quad into a tale involving inclusivity and investment scams, false arrest, and a desperate attempt to keep a dangerous secret hidden.

Meanwhile, Nick Seabrooke is now living and working in the village. Can the quad navigate the complexities of a sexual-asexual relationship? They would risk their safety for each other. Are they willing to do so for Nick?

This is the fifth County Durham Quad story. As always, background information is included for new readers.

Excerpt

Here is the start of the story. It’s a typical exchange between the four men…

Late afternoon in ‘Cromarty’, a normally quiet home in Tunhead, County Durham. Phil and Mike were seated in the living room. Phil stopped typing the article he was preparing for a medical journal and looked in the direction of the kitchen. Mike stopped skyping his brother, looked up too and, not really expecting an answer, asked, “What the fuck’s he up to now?”

The ‘he’ was Raith, Phil’s husband. Raith was a successful artist and ceramicist, but he sounded like someone intent on demolition not on creation.

“I thought all our kitchen units were the easy-glide, silently-closing variety,” Phil commented as another cupboard drawer slammed shut.

“They are, but the manufacturers hadn’t met Raith, had they? Nuthin’s Raith-proof, is it?”

The banging stopped and voices took their place. Ross, Mike’s civil partner, had come into the kitchen from the garden. He walked through to the living room and met Mike’s and Phil’s enquiring eyes.

“He’s made a chart. He was looking for something to stick it up with,” Ross explained.

Stick it up? It sounded like he was hammerin’ it up,” said Mike.

“A chart?”

“Yes. He’s fixing it on the wall now. It’ll either amuse you or horrify you. I’m not sure which. Possibly both. He wants us to discuss it before Nick comes round for his tea.”

“I thought we were involving Nick in all our discussions,” Phil remarked.

“Yes, but not this one. You’ll see why in a minute. Come on.”

Mike, Ross, Raith, Phil—and Nick. By their own definitions the first four men were four sorts of poly. Polydomestic: they shared the household duties. Polypecuniary: they shared their incomes too. Polydemocratic: they had equal say in decisions and tossed a coin if the vote was evenly split. And fourthly, they were polyamorous: they loved each other deeply, although Ross only had sex with Mike. Nick was Tunhead’s most recent inhabitant. He shared most of his meals and much of his spare time with the quad, but although he now lived in the village, he didn’t live in Cromarty. There were reasons for the need for a little separation. Hence Raith’s chart. Nick might be romantically and emotionally attracted to men or, rather, to one man—Mike—but he wasn’t attracted to anybody sexually. In fact, he was revolted by the thought of an intimately physical relationship.

Ross stood aside and ceremoniously waved Mike and Phil through to the kitchen. In place of the whiteboard that, ten minutes earlier, had indicated the week’s household duties list, there was a large sheet of cartridge paper divided into two vertical columns. The left hand column comprised extremely realistic drawings. The other, narrower one was partially filled in. It contained some ticks and some crosses.

“Are you plannin’ expandin’ into illustratin’ porn?” asked Mike as he studied the drawings. “That’s you, Phil! Bloody hell. That’s me!” he added, and pointed to a portrayal of two men indulging in frottage.

“Yes, I’ve already put a cross by that one,” Raith said. “I knew Nick wouldn’t like it.”

“Looks like you two liked it though,” Ross commented as, curious, he took a close look.

“So this is… what, exactly? And I’m not talkin’ about the drawin’s themselves. I can see what they are.”

“Well,” said Raith, “I thought it would save us a lot of future problems if we sorted out what we were allowed and not allowed to do when Nick’s in our home instead of in his place.”

“And you figured that a bloody big explicit poster starin’ at him over his tea was the best way to do it?”

About the Author

I’m married, I’ve grown-up children, I’m asexual (although a different sort of ace from Nick) and I do enjoy writing stories that aren’t constrained by hetero-norms.

The plots are always stimulated by something on the news – in this instance, the homophobic reaction of some people and groups to the UK government’s decision to introduce lessons on inclusivity into the school curriculum.

I enjoy writing light dialogue as well as dealing with serious issues, though, and I hope that some of the quad’s interchanges will make readers smile.

I talked about myself and my books on Brad Shreve’s Gay Mystery Podcast (an episode entitled Four Times As Much Mystery) in April, 2020. (Link below)

Social Media Links

Blog/Website | Amazon Author Page for all works |

YouTube link to audio version of the short asexual/ sexual story Scar Ghyll Levels – available on Amazon Kindle.

(Audio version contains 200 photos of scenery)

Four Times As Much Mystery with Jude Tresswell (Ep. 028) on the Gay Mystery Podcast

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

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Continue ReadingRELEASE BLITZ: “A Share in a Secret” by Jude Tresswell.

RELEASE BLITZ: “Their Special Agent” by Mel Gough.

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Their Special Agent (Thistle Hearts #1)

Author: Mel Gough

Cover Artist: Najla Qamber Designs

Release Date: October 24, 2019

Genre/s: Reverse Harem, romance/mystery

Themes: Polyamory (MMFM), crime solving

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Add on Goodreads

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

A murder. Three gorgeous men. One choice – Do your job, or follow your heart?

Blurb

On the eve of the Thistle Hearts reunion tour, the rock band’s manager is found murdered. When Special Agent Carrie McDonald arrives to assist with the investigation, the band has mixed emotions about the involvement of the FBI. Jay, Lou and Corey have everything riding on a successful comeback, and their manager’s violent death has thrown them into turmoil. The last thing they need is the wrong kind of press.

As Carrie delves into the case, the band’s complex history of desire and tragedy emerges. Their shared passion intrigues and excites her, and gradually, the men open up and draw her into their ménage.

But a killer is on the loose, and he’s not yet done with Thistle Hearts.

Can Carrie prevent another brutal crime and protect the men who offer her a future beyond her wildest dreams?

Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

The rain came down in sheets. Special Agent Carrie McDonald wiped her face on the sleeve of her black windbreaker. No use. Everything was soaked.

Special Agent Susan White joined Carrie at her lookout post by the cordoned-off stretch of highway. “Thank god that’s someone else’s mess to clean up.” She squinted at Special Agent Cortez talking to a Travis County Sheriff’s Deputy next to an SUV in the ditch with its wheels still slowly revolving in the air. He looked like a swarthy, drowned rat. Carrie felt sorry for him.

The San Antonio field office would take the rap for this clusterfuck. She tried not to feel relieved about that.

The scene on this stretch of highway was straight out of the latest installment of The Fast and the Furious. A pick-up and a black sedan lay upside down across the lanes, flattened and still smoking. The railings that SUV had crashed through were mangled shards of metal. A fourth vehicle lay out of sight in a deep ravine, curls of smoke marking its resting place. Everything was illuminated sideways by the setting sun. The ambulances were long gone, but the coroner’s van still idled nearby.

Three dead drug mules. Two civilians, on the way home from a choir recital, also dead. And three seriously injured Austin PD detectives made it a calamity beyond the usual drug bust.

Would they ever work out exactly what had gone wrong? Right now, the narrative was confused and short on detail. As far as the forensics team had worked out, one of the unmarked law enforcement vehicles had been en route to head off the suspects fleeing hell over leather from the sting op gone south in downtown Austin. That had been where Carrie and Susan had been detailed to cover one of the routes out of the city. The sedan, carrying two agents from the FBI’s San Antonio field office, was in hot pursuit. Poor visibility, a narrow stretch of road of hairpin bends and a car full of stressed-out perps under the influence had made for an explosive combination. The drug traffickers’ car had swerved on the opposite lane to overtake the SUV carrying a mother and teenage daughter just before another narrow curve. They’d met a car with three Austin detectives racing to aid the operation head on, and the world had exploded in screeching metal and glass.

Carrie gave a sigh. She nudged her partner. “Come on. Cortez says to call it a day.” It wasn’t like them getting soaked here made the slightest bit of difference. The hillside swarmed with LEOs from Austin PD, the Travis County Sheriff’s Department and the San Antonio field office. Two Criminal Investigation agents on loan from Baltimore were of scant use in the clean-up.

Susan nodded as Cortez’s angry voice carried up to them. “Let’s get out of here.”

Their rental sedan sat thirty yards back from the cordoned-off scene, and Susan pointed the keys at it. The lights flashed and the doors clicked open. Even in the middle of a crisis, she’d never leave a car unlocked that contained weapons and ammunition. Behind her back, Susan was sometimes called Agent Lily White. Carrie appreciated her partner’s uprightness. It was one reason they got on so well and she chose to work more with her than any other agent.

Thinking of Susan’s nickname made Carrie smile, but when she slid into the passenger seat and her gaze took in the carnage on the highway, the smile quickly faded.

Fucking hell, this one’s gone sideways.

“Gibbs’ll want a report.” Susan buckled up.

“Yeah.” Carrie sighed. She reached into the backseat where their luggage was stowed and dug in her carry-on for a towel. As she slid back into her seat, the wet windbreaker made a squelchy sound against the fake leather. She grimaced and wriggled out of the jacket, dropping the sodden thing in the foot space.

She quickly rubbed her short hair dry, then handed the towel to Susan, who took her time to undo the knot at the back of her head, wincing as the rubber band snagged on her long auburn tresses. She folded down the visor and tried to untangle the mess that the wind and rain had made of her do. Usually Carrie envied Susan her beautiful hair. Tonight, not so much.

She folded down her own screen and smoothed down the much shorter strands of her dark brown bob. She looked a fright, with chapped cheeks and a sodden collar. At least her hair would be as good as dry before they got back to the motel. “I hope they can give us our rooms back for one more night.”

“We were the only ones in that place for the last three days,” Susan pointed out from under the towel. “More likely they’ve gone bankrupt since we checked out. Maybe we should find somewhere else. Somewhere less—”

“Dank?” Carrie suggested. Susan snorted.

“Yeah.” She sighed. “Gibbs would flip his shit if we upgraded on the company dollar.” She chucked the towel in the back and started the car. “Back to the Bates Motel it is.”

About the Author

Mel Gough loves writing about love – but with a twist. Nominated for the 2019 Selfies Awards, her bisexual romantic suspense novel He is Mine is a typical Mel Gough story. She needs her HEA fix, but on the way there will be thorns and fire, and sometimes brimstone. All right, that might be over the top, especially since her stories are firmly based in the real world – though not always in the here and now.

Born in Germany, exploring other realities has been Mel’s siren call since she was young. Books opened up a plethora of worlds, and soon gave her a strong love of the English language. After an MA in Anthropology, field work in the middle of nowhere seemed like one adventure too far, so Mel settled in London, which, to misquote Dr. Johnson, she will never tire of.

Mel loves to bend genres – her romances are gritty and dark, and sometimes there’s a dead body. She’s been told that her prose is beautiful yet disturbingly real. She’s curious about bygone times, and hopes to speculate about the future in one of her next books.

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