Release Blitz + Giveaway: Elemental Ride by Mell Eight


Author Mell Eight and IndiGo Marketing hosts today's release blitz for paranormal short story, Elemental Ride! Read more to find out about the tale and enter in the $10 NineStar Press credit!

 

Title: Elemental Ride

Author: Mell Eight

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 06/28/2021

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 21300

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, elementals, sprites, motorcycle club, gangs, mail carrier, split personalities

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Description

Rawley isn’t the type to crush hard and fast on anyone, but he’s helpless when it comes to Reign, the new mail carrier. Even his bikes and his job as enforcer for a local motorcycle gang, the center of his world, don’t compare to his interest in Reign. Unfortunately, Reign doesn’t seem to be as interested—but secrets and magic have a way of turning everything upside down and Rawley discovers he not only loves one man, he loves four.

Excerpt

Elemental Ride
Mell Eight © 2021
All Rights Reserved

Apparently, the doorbell worked. Not much else in the apartment complex did, but as the damn thing buzzed its loud vibrating hive of angry bees clamoring a second time, Rawley quickly understood why. The thing was so frigging annoying that it was likely never used, thereby saving it from the continual decay the rest of the place exhibited.

It was far too early for those thoughts though. Rawley groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face while levering his body off his rumpled bed and stumbling toward the door. A glance at the clock over the oven on his way past told him it was only eight thirty in the morning. Since he hadn’t gotten to bed until after six, it was pretty damned early to him.

When Rawley threw the door open, no one was there. He blinked stupidly at the empty space and then carefully leaned out and glanced down the hall with the lone, blinking light bulb overhead.

A guy glanced over his shoulder at the sound of Rawley’s door opening and quickly spun on his heel to hurry back. He was wearing a uniform, Rawley saw immediately, and it set him on his guard. Cops weren’t a welcome presence here. Then he noticed the Sylph Post logo on the breast—an artistic logo that, should Rawley twist his head just right, could read Swift Post instead—with a nametag clipped below it that read Reign. He lifted an incredulous eyebrow. Sylph Post was basically the USPS, but was privately owned. Anyone who didn’t trust the USPS or thought Sylph was faster or cheaper went with Sylph instead. Since Sylph had access to mailboxes and also shipped packages, a lot of people used them. Rawley liked not having a government organization going through his letters or coming to knock on his door, so he used Sylph almost exclusively. Still, he hadn’t expected to see one of their employees at his door.

“Mail hasn’t been delivered here in over two weeks,” Rawley drawled. He had stupidly left his gun in the drawer of his bedside table, but it wasn’t difficult to summon a fire sprite to the hand he hid behind his back.

“I know,” the courier gushed, his blue eyes wide and guileless. He held out a brown square package toward Rawley. “I’m Reign, your new Sylph deliveryman. I ended up filling your mailbox with everything else and couldn’t get this in.” The shipping label said it belonged to the supplier Rawley had ordered a part from over a week ago.

He glanced back at Reign, who was grinning uncertainly, his dirty blond hair a little too long under his official hat. That grin started to fade slightly under Rawley’s nonplussed stare, but he still resolutely held the package out. Rawley let the fire sprite fade away before slowly reaching forward to take the package. Nothing happened except the man’s grin returning at full force. He nodded politely to Rawley.

“Have a good day, sir,” Reign said before turning and heading back down the hall and to the staircase that led out of the building.

Rawley stepped back so he could close his apartment door and walked over to his small kitchen table to set the box down. He hunted up a box cutter to slash the tape holding the package shut and carefully tipped it so the packing peanuts spilled across the plastic tabletop. He half expected a trapped sprite to erupt from the box as the peanuts were rearranged, and he was more than prepared for anything that might attack him, but instead he only found the custom side panels he was adding to a customer’s crotch rocket.

Maybe Reign really had been a mail carrier?

If Rawley’s apartment was a piece of crumbling shit, the surrounding neighborhood was far worse. This was gang territory. If you didn’t have a motorcycle and came strolling through this block, you were liable to end up lynched. A couple of blocks over were a bunch of water sprite wackos; only people who held one or more water sprites under their skin were welcome. Was the guy dumb enough to deliver the mail there too? Rawley hoped not. Those big blue eyes didn’t deserve to be darkened by a violent death.

Rawley shook his head to clear those thoughts away. It wasn’t any of his business what happened to the mail carrier, no matter how pretty Reign was. Rawley took one last look at the peanuts and the side panels strewn across his kitchen table, mentally shrugged, and decided to fuck it all until he had enough sleep to actually be thinking straight again. He stumbled back across the room and gratefully dropped onto his bed. Rawley pulled the blanket up to his chin and let sleep take over.

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Meet the Author

When Mell Eight was in high school, she discovered dragons. Beautiful, wondrous creatures that took her on epic adventures both to faraway lands and on journeys of the heart. Mell wanted to create dragons of her own, so she put pen to paper. Mell Eight is now known for her own soaring dragons, as well as for other wonderful characters dancing across the pages of her books. While she mostly writes paranormal or fantasy stories, she has been seen exploring the real world once or twice.

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: Family According To Liam (According to Liam #4) by V.L. Locey


Join author V.L. Locey and Signal Boost Promotions as they promote the latest release, Family According To Liam (According to Liam #4)! Learn more today and enter in the giveaway! 


 



ALL BUY LINKS

Cover Design: Meredith Russell

Length: 52,000 words approx.

According To Liam Series


Blurb

The bonds of family aren’t regulated by blood. They’re defined by love and an open heart.

Bryn and Michael Mettler have lived a life that many can only dream about. The two men had a whirlwind romance and ended up happily married. Bryn played hockey for the Pittsburgh Ravens, and Michael worked at a job he loved in web design and writing a successful humor blog. They also doted on Mike’s nephew Liam as all good uncles should.

They’ve welcomed a new member into their small but loving clan. Made strides to heal a fractured past hurt. Traveled the world and settled into their new home and lives with great joy. The only thing missing was a child of their own. That absent piece is now here, and their lives are about to change in a million charming, unexpected ways.


USA Today Bestselling Author V.L. Locey – Penning LGBT hockey romance that skates into sinful pleasures.

V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, Torchwood and Dr. Who, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a pair of geese, far too many chickens, and two steers.

When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in one hand and a steamy romance novel in the other.



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Blog Tour + Giveaway: The Prince's Vow (Starian Cycle #3) by Iris Foxglove


Today's the final day for The Prince's Vow (Starian Cycle #3) blog tour! Join authors Iris Foxglove and IndiGo Marketing as they visit and share an exclusive excerpt of the dark fantasy novel! Plus they host an audiobook giveaway for Traitor's Mercy!



Title: The Prince's Vow

Series: Starian Cycle #3

Author: Iris Foxglove

Publisher: Belladonna Press

Release Date: 6/22/21

Heat Level: 4 - Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 64,000

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, BDSM, AU

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Synopsis

Adrien de Guillory may be the heir to the throne of Staria, but no one in court believes that the submissive, meek-minded prince will ever be king. What they don’t know is that Adrien is hardly the meek, shy creature he pretends to be and that he has his own plans for the future. To see those plans through, Adrien embarks on a journey to Mislia, the land of his mother’s ancestors, to seek an answer to controlling his magic of foresight.

The one thing Adrien’s visions don’t predict is Isiodore de Mortain, his father’s confidante and the subject of Adrien’s long-standing, deeply embarrassing infatuation. Isiodore intercepts Adrien on his way to Mislia. But it’s too late to turn back—the two of them are now stranded on foreign soil, forced to rely on each other in order to get home in one piece. With Isiodore set on keeping Adrien safe and Adrien determined to become the most troublesome prince in Starian history, a storm is brewing over Mislia...one that will surely sweep both of them out into uncharted waters.

(The Prince's Vow is an m/m dark fantasy novel, set in a fictional world where everyone is biologically either a dominant or a submissive and compelled to satisfy those urges. As such, the biological imperative kink in this story is pure fantasy, and not intended as a representation of real-life BDSM practices or dynamics.)

Exclusive Excerpt

Adrien had never hated the rain more in his life.

He’d been so close. Isiodore had been practically on top of him, beautiful and radiating dominance, his eyes full of misplaced concern for the delicate innocent Adrien certainly wasn’t in his heart of hearts.

He knew it was probably a bad idea. When they got back to Staria, Adrien would go back to being the prince half the court pitied. The other half was waiting to disappear into the country, doomed to make way for a dominant child Emile was supposed to weave out of thin air. Isiodore would go back to making sure the king didn’t do something like, oh, put Adrien’s best friend’s life in danger a second time, or set the palace on fire, and they’d never mention what almost happened in Mislia again.

It didn’t mean Adrien wasn’t allowed to want things.

He wanted plenty. He wanted…so much more than he was supposed to want, and now that the constraints binding him were loosed, he had to get out of bed and trudge through the sand to a barn in the rain.

“Why does she even have a barn?” Adrien snarled, shoving on his boots, which were still damp from the sea. He caught Isiodore’s sidelong look and narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I know who I sound like.”

“Note how I’ve said nothing,” Isiodore said. Adrien grumbled to himself. His cock was still half-hard, painfully noticeable through the long tunic the Mislians favored, and all he wanted was for the damn barn to sink into the ocean so Isiodore could push him up against the wall. Instead, he laced up his boots—or one of them, the other lace was gone with their miserable lean-to on the beach—and hobbled out into the rain.

It was like walking into a kaleidoscope. It wasn’t nearly so bad as when they were captured, and he had more pressing things to focus on. But with the storm at its zenith, Adrien was left facing sheet after sheet of fragmented visions, flickering and flashing with every gust of wind. He ground his teeth and pushed through and nearly fell down the stairs.

Isiodore grabbed his arm. “Careful with that boot.”

“It’s fine,” Adrien said. “I just can’t see.”

“It’s always like this?” Isiodore whispered as Adrien forced himself to lumber down the steps. “Depends.” Adrien trudged through the wet sand, stopped, and shielded his eyes from the rain with both hands. “Where’s this barn supposed to be?”

“Behind the house,” Summer said in his ear. He whirled. No one was there.

“I’ll lead,” Isiodore said. Adrien would have walked on without him, but the rain was getting worse, so he kept his gaze lowered and held onto Isiodore’s shoulder as they rounded the beach house.

To call the glorified shed behind the house a barn was pushing it, in Adrien’s opinion. It did have a large pair of doors on one side. It was shaped roughly like a barn, but the whole thing was made of a coarse, pale stone with a blue tin roof, peeled up on one side and buckling dangerously. Summer stood just outside the doors, a string of bells wrapped around her hand, hair pinned firmly under a cap, with Tanis leaning over her to guard her from the rain. Water dripped off Tanis’ wings, sparkling with visions too broken to understand, and she bared her teeth in what Adrien hoped was a smile.

“I’m going to call down ropes,” Summer said, and her voice rang out clear despite the roar of the wind and the low thunder of the roof shaking. “You two will secure them while I keep the rest of the roof from blowing off.”

“You’re so competent, baby,” Tanis said.

Adrien gave Isiodore a look. He shook his head slightly.

Summer rang two bells, almost inaudible in the storm. But Adrien nearly fell back as a rope slithered out from the curtain of colors and light to land heavily in the sand. He grabbed it and saw the same vision he’d caught while shaving earlier—a hand on someone’s throat, the mark they made glowing faintly, a pale face only just visible through the grinning, yellowed skull of a dragon.

“Boy?”

Adrien jumped. Tanis had drifted toward him through the rain, her wings barely moving. Adrien wrapped the rope around his hand and squinted up at the barn. It was almost invisible through the rain.

“Don’t touch him,” Isiodore said.

“So possessive,” said the demon. She hovered at Adrien’s side, watching him. “You need to step back.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Tanis stayed close while they hauled on the roof, which shuddered as bells rang out, followed by the soft droning of Summer’s voice, low and steady. Adrien’s arms felt like they were going to give out by the time whatever magic she was working secured the roof. When the rope disappeared in his hands, he went staggering backward.

“Not yet,” Tanis said as Isiodore reached for Adrien. “We have to check on the records.” The barn was a welcome relief from the rain, even though there was quite a bit of water on the floor. Adrien backed away from the door as Summer whistled wall sconces to come to life, illuminating row after row of metal shelves. Each shelf held a box labeled in a fine, precise hand, and each row was marked with symbols in black ink.

“This way,” Summer said. “I just hope none of the records were damaged.”

“I remember them,” said Tanis. “They can always be rewritten.”

“I’d prefer to keep my hands if at all possible,” Summer said. She walked through a puddle of water, and Adrien saw a man there, dressed in furs, drawing his bow. He forced his gaze away.

Oh, no, it isn’t going to work like that.

Adrien jumped. Tanis was with Summer, helping her pull down a box from the corner where the roof had buckled. She looked at Adrien with her cold, glassy eyes, but her mouth didn’t move.

“What?”

“I said help me here, boy,” Summer said. Isiodore was already pulling a box down, sliding the lid open just a fraction to see what was inside. Adrien stepped into the puddle.

So you’re like my Summer, then, said Tanis’ voice, as Adrien sank under the weight of a box. Hungry. You want to know things, know the truth of them, how they work. I wondered when you fell into my embrace. At first, I thought it was ambition, and oh, you are ambitious, aren’t you?

I don’t know what you mean, Adrien thought.

You crave a crown almost as much as you crave knowledge, Tanis’ voice said. A shame you have the wrong kind of magic. Any demon you would summon would be formidable indeed.

Adrien pointedly turned away and set the box down on a dry patch of floor. There were just trinkets inside, damp with the rain but seemingly useless—necklaces made with clay beads, bracelets, a ball with a hole in the center. He laid them out so that they looked like a magpie’s hoard and glanced at Isiodore’s, which was much the same.

“What are these?” he asked.

“Heirlooms,” Summer said. She started digging through a bag that had been soaked through. “Some demons, they become attached to a thing their mage wore or loved. We keep them here so that when the demon is summoned by a new mage, that mage can carry this heirloom with them.”

“Demons can be summoned more than once?” Adrien touched the ball. It looked new, polished to a shine, but the necklace next to it was drab and cracked, with only a fleck of paint on the largest pendant. “How do you know which one is which?”

“I’m the Archivist,” Summer said dryly. “I have kept the records of every mage and demon to have been bound in Mislia’s history, their names, their ages, their skills. When humans die, their demons will sometimes come to me with their heirloom before they return to the dark. Some demons come to me first, before the mage’s family, because we were there at the start of their bond, and we will be there for them at the end.”

“That’s a little sad,” Adrien said.

“It’s important that we remember who they were,” Summer said. She touched the necklace. “Artemis, I believe.”

“Her partner was Han,” said Tanis. “It’s been sixty-two years since he returned to the dark. He must be resisting.”

“Do you have one?” Adrien asked. “An heirloom?”

Tanis smiled. “Of course.”

Summer didn’t speak. She just kept drying out the heirlooms in the bag, laying them carefully in order.

“Is it rude to ask?”

“It’s a memory,” Summer said after a moment. “We carry a memory for her, every Archivist since the first.”

“Since Tanis,” Tanis said, and there was something like fondness in her smile as she gazed down at Summer.

The storm was finally dying down when the corner of the barn was done being rescued from the rain, and Adrien and Isiodore stood before the collected hoard of over a hundred demons spread out on the floor. There were toys, letters, a book so worn the cover was rubbed off, even a bag of coins from Arktos. All belonging to dead mages and their demons, keepsakes of humans long gone.

It was hard to step out into the rain again, but Isiodore lay a hand on the small of Adrien’s back, keeping him steady.

“If I close my eyes,” Adrien whispered. “I can just make it.”

“I’ll get you there,” Isiodore whispered back into his ear.

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Meet the Author

Iris Foxglove is a shared pen name between two longtime fantasy readers who are committed to writing fun, escapist dark fantasy featuring decadent, kinky stories, intricate world building and unforgettable characters.

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: Sea Lover by J.K. Pendragon


Author J.K. Pendragon and IndiGo Marketing host today's release blitz for fantasy romance, Sea Lover! Mermen fans might want to check it out and enter in today's giveaway for a $10 NineStar Press credit!

Title: Sea Lover

Author: J.K. Pendragon

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 06/28/2021

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 27300

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, MM-trans romance, merman, fisherman, interspecies, fantasy

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Description

Ian is happy with his life in a remote Canadian fishing town, where he has only the sea and his fishing crew for company. People say being alone is terrible, but he’s never had any problems with it.

Then his peaceful life is thrown into upheaval when he finds an injured merman washed up on the shore. With no idea what else to do, Ian takes the merman home and nurses him back to health.

But as he helps S’mika heal, a bond begins to form, and Ian starts to wonder if maybe there is more to life than being alone…

Excerpt

Sea Lover
J.K. Pendragon © 2021
All Rights Reserved

He found the merman on the beach as the sun was setting orange over the horizon and the waves were turning a deep green with foamy, silver tips. The tide was going out, and every time the waves washed over the body lying prone in the surf, they took swirls of dark blood with them.

Ian’s first thought was that it must be a seal, injured and washed up on the beach. He resolved to come back in the morning, drag the thing up to his cottage, and burn it so it didn’t rot and stink to high heaven for the next couple of weeks. But as he got closer, another wave washed in and rolled the figure up and over, so that it was lying on its back. As it rolled, Ian saw a long, spindly arm drop to the side and a mess of shiny, black hair.

He dropped the net and tackle he was carrying and ran, his heavy fishing boots sinking into the sand and catching on the rocks and seaweed as he sprinted towards the figure. He fell to his knees at the man’s side as the waves washed up over his body once more and was distracted for a moment, frantically checking vitals before he glanced over and saw the tail.

Ian sat back on his knees and gave a weak laugh. It had to be a joke. Some very realistic art project that had befallen unfortunate circumstances. But then the figure breathed and convulsed forward, coughing and spitting. Ian stared as the man, or boy—he didn’t look older than twenty—frantically pulled himself over onto his side and pressed his head to the sand, gagging. Then his face tightened, and he made a keening, painful noise, before glancing down at the thick, blubbery, black tail.

Without thinking, Ian lunged forward. “Don’t move,” he said hoarsely, and the boy looked up at him, his dark eyes showing no sign he understood what Ian was saying. His hair and skin were both dark, too, and Ian wondered briefly if the tail was some sort of cultural attire. Or maybe there was a movie filming in the area that he hadn’t heard about? Then he decided that it didn’t matter, because the boy was obviously badly injured, and he needed to get whatever it was off. He reached for his knife at his side and swore when he realised he’d left it in the bag with his tackle.

“Shit. Lie back.” He gently pushed on the boy’s shoulders so he understood. The boy complied, lying back with another whine of pain as Ian moved his hands down his torso, desperately trying to find the place where the brown skin met black pelt. He couldn’t.

“What is this?” he asked, flabbergasted. “How do I get it off?”

He glanced up in time for the boy to make a twisted face. The boy opened his mouth, obviously frustrated, and let out another high-pitched cry, followed by a noise that was halfway between a growl and a bark. Then his head whipped back, and he convulsed again, bringing the full weight of his tail up, and Ian saw the injury—a gash, deep enough to cut through the muscle and possibly tendons. It was difficult to see the depth of the injury, because blood was gushing up out of it as he thrashed.

The blood spattered Ian in the face, and he wiped at it, stunned. This was not normal. Being a fisherman meant he had to be able to handle himself in tense and stressful situations, and usually he was great at it, but this…? This was something else.

“Hey,” he said sharply as the boy writhed on the blood-soaked sand, obviously in terrible pain. “You need to stop moving. You’re only going to make it worse. Do you understand me?”

He didn’t know what he was going to do. He couldn’t possibly carry him, and trying to move him would only make things worse. He had his cell phone on him, but there was absolutely no reception out here. He should go and get help. Get his truck and drive it into town, letting emergency services know. But what would they do with something like this? Ian stared at the limp tail on the sand, blood gushing out of the warm, velvety, and obviously very real tail. His mind was in a fog, and all he could think about were news crews and scientists and Ripley’s Believe It or Not.

The boy was looking up at him now, his eyes glazing over a little.

“I-I’m gonna be back,” Ian stammered, standing jerkily. “Stay here.”

He ran the rest of the way home, not bothering to pick up the net and tackle he’d left on the ground, not letting himself think about anything until he’d jumped up into the seat of the old Chevy pickup and revved the engine. He stared at his wild eyes in the review mirror for a moment, wondering if he was going crazy. Then he put the truck into gear and screeched out of the driveway.

The seal-boy wasn’t moving when he got back. Ian drove the truck up next to him on the beach, tires skidding in the soft sand, and jumped out to check on him. His eyes were shut, the silvery sand coated his face and body, and his skin was cold and clammy. But he was still breathing. Ian got up again, pulling his heavy raincoat off as he lowered the tailgate. Then he went to the boy and wrapped the raincoat around him, moving his arms into position and rolling him onto the coat and into a bundle.

He staggered a little as he lifted. He was strong, but the boy was deadweight, and the tail was ridiculously heavy. The bleeding seemed to have slowed, and Ian hoped it wasn’t because he had bled out completely. He dropped the prone body onto the tailgate and jumped up to roll him onto his back again, checking for vitals. He was still alive, breathing shallowly, but Ian didn’t know if he was going to make it. Normally, he’d apply a tourniquet to the limb, but in this case, that didn’t seem to be an option.

He swore and pulled the tailgate shut, jumping over the side of the truck bed and hurtling himself into the cab. He tried to drive carefully, but he knew it wasn’t going to matter how gentle the ride was if the boy bled out before Ian could get at him with his medical supplies.

The sun had set completely by the time he pulled up to his cottage, and the porch light flicked on as he hurriedly unlocked the door and let himself in, swatting at the mosquitoes buzzing around him. He grabbed at the old striped couch, dragging it around so it could be easily accessed from the door, and then rifled through a cupboard, pulling out the old, dusty first aid kit.

When he got back out to the truck and lowered the tailgate, the boy was awake again, staring at him with glazed, frightened eyes.

“Come on,” said Ian in what he hoped was a gentle voice. He reached out and slid the raincoat forward, hauling the whole bundle up into his arms. The boy groaned, his voice sounding more human now, and distinctly pained, and Ian carried him into the house.

He kicked the door shut behind him and deposited the boy as gently as he could onto the couch. His hands were bloody again—Ian noticed as he fumbled for the light switch, illuminating the room with dusty, orange light that definitely wasn’t bright enough. Next to the couch, there was an old end table with a lamp, and he grabbed for it, fumbling to knock the shade off and set it up next to the tail, which was drooping off the couch and oozing blood onto the hardwood floor.

“Okay,” he said as he reached for the first aid kit. “It’s been a few years since med school. How many…five? I dropped out too.” He gave a hoarse little laugh. The boy was looking down at him through groggy eyes, and Ian knew he didn’t understand a word he was saying. But talking helped. “Not that I have any idea how to patch this up anyway,” he continued, pulling on his gloves hurriedly and opening a package of sterilized wipes. “I was trained to treat humans. And I’m guessing you are not that. This is gonna hurt, by the way.” A morphine drip would be nice. So would a sterile hospital bed. But this was as good as it was going to get.

The boy hissed as Ian wiped the wound clean, and when Ian pulled out a needle and cotton thread, he lifted his arms and tried to sit up.

“No!” said Ian sharply, raising a hand, and the boy sank back down, his eyes wide in a mixture of anger and fear. Ian finished sterilizing the needle and thread and held them out to show him. “I’m going to stitch the wound shut. I need to, okay? Or it’ll keep bleeding.”

The boy didn’t look reassured.

“I’m trying to help you,” said Ian firmly, eyes locked with him. “You need to trust me.”

“Trust me,” repeated the boy, so accurately that, for a moment, Ian thought he must speak English after all. He looked like he was thinking hard, which must have been difficult, considering the amount of pain and blood loss he’d suffered. Then he glanced down at the wound and back at Ian.

Ian took that for permission and started stitching. The boy was quiet as he did it, and Ian was worried he’d fallen asleep again. It was best he stay awake, at least until Ian could get some water into him. But when he glanced up, the boy was staring at him, flinching only slightly as the needle pierced the flesh.

“I’m Ian,” said Ian, touching his hand quickly to his chest. “I-an.”

“Ian,” said the boy, emphasizing the an a little too much. His voice was clear, and surprisingly deep, considering how young he looked. “Sss…” he said, and broke off into a hiss as Ian tightened and tied off the first stitch. “S’mika.”

“Smika?” mumbled Ian, wiping away a trickle of blood and pulling another stitch through.

The boy frowned at him. “S—” He made a glottal stop. “—mika.”

“S’mika,” said Ian, and laughed a little at how ridiculous this was. “What are you, S’mika?”

S’mika rattled off something in a language that Ian was absolutely certain he’d never heard before, but S’mika’s tone suggested he’d said something like “I can’t understand you, dumbass.”

Ian shook his head and continued working, his hands thankfully steady. S’mika groaned and lay back, and Ian quickly tied off the last stitch and moved up to check on him. He was shaking, and the skin around his mouth was dry and crusted white. A hand on his forehead confirmed he was clammy and feverish.

“Damn it,” said Ian, and he stood and rushed to the sink to pour a glass of water. He brought it back to S’mika, who looked at it, confused. “Like this,” said Ian, taking a drink of the water.

After watching carefully, S’mika took the glass in shaky hands and brought it to his lips. He made a face at it, as if it wasn’t acceptable somehow, before downing the whole glass and passing it back to Ian. Ian took it, feeling like he was the one in shock, and went back to bandaging the wound. “We need to elevate your…um, legs,” he said, once he’d finished taping the gauze to the soft pelt. “It’ll help with the blood loss.”

S’mika looked annoyed that he was talking so much, so Ian shut up, and S’mika let him lift his tail gently onto the arm of the couch. He’d never been too up close and personal with a seal, but he was pretty sure this was a seal tail. It was thick and blubbery, ending in two stunted flippers with claws. “I must be high out of my fucking tree,” he muttered. “Maybe I’ll wake up in the morning and this’ll all have been a really weird dream.”

He glanced at S’mika to see that his eyes were closed again, and Ian decided to leave him like that. If he died in the night…well, Ian would deal with that if it came to it. He suddenly felt incredibly tired. He’d been up before dawn and pulled a long day, and although he’d just celebrated his twenty-ninth birthday a month ago, he was starting to feel the wear and tear of hard living in his bones.

“I’m going to bed,” he said, gesturing at the door to the bedroom. “Call me if you need me.”

S’mika just looked at him, eyes heavy, but reassuringly a little more alert. “Ian,” he said, and Ian supposed that meant “Thank you.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

J.K. Pendragon is a Canadian author with a love of all things romantic and fantastical. They first came to the queer fiction community through m/m romance, but soon began to branch off into writing all kinds of queer fiction. As a bisexual and genderqueer person, J.K. is dedicated to producing diverse, entertaining fiction that showcases characters across the rainbow spectrum, and provides queer characters with the happy endings they are so often denied.

J.K. currently resides in British Columbia, Canada with a boyfriend, a cat, and a large collection of artisanal teas that they really need to get around to drinking. They are always happy to chat, and can be reached at jes.k.pendragon@gmail.com.

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: Island Detective (An Isle Story #6) by Sue Brown


Happy Canada Day!

Author Sue Brown celebrates the new release, Island Detective (An Isle Story #6)! Read more about the contemporary romance and enter in $20 Amazon gift card giveaway!

 

TITLE: Island Detective

AUTHOR: Sue Brown

RELEASE DATE: 30th June 2021

PRICE: $3.99

BUYLINKS:

Universal - https://readerlinks.com/l/1828736

Series Link - https://readerlinks.com/l/1828737

BIO:

Cranky middle-aged author with an addiction for coffee, and a passion for romancing two guys. She loves her dog, she loves her kids, and she loves coffee; in which order very much depends on the time of day.

Come over and talk to Sue at:

Newsletter: http://bit.ly/SueBrownNews

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/sue-brown

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/suebrownstories

Her website: http://www.suebrownstories.com/

Author group – Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/suebrownstories/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SueBrownsStories/

Email: sue@suebrownstories.com

  BLURB:

Skandik and Owens, private detectives. Can they find a man who vanished over thirty years ago? Or will their first case break them apart?

With a new job as a private detective on a small island, Olaf has everything he’s dreamed of. A life as an openly gay man, a partner who adores every fuzzy hair on his body, and his adopted family and friends who love him. So why does he feel something is still missing?

With a promotion that’s his for the taking, Paul has everything he never dreamed of. His closeted cop is finally in the same country as him. His interfering family and friends are happy for him. So why isn’t he satisfied?

Then on his first day of business Olaf gets the worst possible case. To discover whether a sixteen-year-old gay boy who disappeared thirty-five years ago is alive or dead. As they delve into the dark history of the boy’s family, both Olaf and Paul are forced to confront their relationship.

Will Paul take the promotion? Will Olaf walk away if he does? Or will they face the fact that their relationship is more important than anything else?

  TEASER:

“Look at my man. A Private Dick.”

Paul Owens smirked as he studied the door.

Olaf Skandik.

Private Investigator.

Olaf rolled his eyes. “You had to get a dick joke in there somewhere, didn’t you?”

“Well duh. Did you expect anything different?”

“I expected it sooner,” Olaf admitted, admiring his name on the door.

Paul raised his eyebrow. “Are you going to open the door or are we going to spend all day staring at the sign?”

Olaf huffed as he fumbled with the key. His hands shook as he made a second attempt to get the key in the lock.

“Let me do it,” Paul suggested.

But rather than taking the key from him, Paul placed his hands over Olaf’s and guided the key in. It turned like a charm.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” Olaf admitted.

Paul pushed the door open. “This is the start of your new life, babe. Olaf Skandik, private detective. Finder of lost dogs and cheating husbands.”

Olaf had a horrible feeling he was right.

They surveyed the small office, barely large enough for a desk and a chair.

“It’s…compact,” Paul said diplomatically.

“It’s all I can afford at the moment.”

He’d been lucky that the offices were still empty above the Blue Lagoon restaurant. He wasn’t sure about having Wig and Nibs as his friends and landlords, but at least there was an endless supply of coffee downstairs.

“You know you can never complain about my flat again,” Paul said with undisguised glee.

Olaf gave a resigned sigh. “I know.”

He’d contemplated working from home, but he didn’t want clients knowing where he lived. This office, barely larger than a shoebox, was all he could afford until he was established, unless he asked his parents for money. Which was never going to happen.

“It’s very beige.”

His landlords, Wig and Nibs had decorated the room in neutral colours, but Paul was right. It was beige.

“But it’s all yours.”

Olaf turned to see Paul grinning at him, and the warmth of his smile sent a message straight to his dick. He pushed the door shut with one foot and raised an eyebrow.

“Bend over the desk,” he ordered.

Paul’s smile went from warm and happy to heated need. “You want to christen the desk?”

He was head down, ass up, before Olaf had time to say, “I do.”

Olaf grinned. His boy never mucked about.

He slid his hands under Paul’s sweater, tugging at the T-shirt so he could reach the warm skin beneath.

Paul flinched. “Christ, you could have warmed your hands up, you bastard.”

“I am warming them up. On your back,” Olaf pointed out, totally unrepentant for the goosebumps under his fingertips.

“It’s a good thing I like you,” Paul grumbled.

Olaf bent over him to whisper in his ear. “Oh, I think you do more than like me, Mr Owens.”

Paul scoffed in the back of his throat, but the shiver told a different story. “Get on with it. I haven’t got all day.”

Olaf grinned. His boy was all mouth. For a man with no patience, he could be reduced to a boneless heap when Olaf took things slow. They’d been together for eight years—on and off, and, okay, maybe more off than on in the earlier stages—but they’d always come together with clashing need. Making love to Paul Owens was still at the top of Olaf’s things-to-do list.



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Release Blitz + Giveaway: Flowers Under My Pillow by Nell Iris


Author Nell Iris and Gay Book Promotions host today's release blitz for Flowers Under My Pillow from JMS Books! Discover more about the contemporary romance and enter in the backlist giveaway!

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Flowers Under My Pillow

Author: Nell Iris

Publisher: JMS Books

Cover Artist: Written Ink Designs

Release Date: June 26, 2021

Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance

Trope: Soul mates

Themes: Older characters (40+), instant connection, meet cute 

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length:  17 477 words

It is a standalone story

Goodreads

Buy Links 

JMS Books  |  Universal Link 

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

Smiling brown eyes. A dark beard. Dandelions. Sunny, happy dandelions.

Blurb

Smiling brown eyes. A dark beard. Dandelions. Sunny, happy dandelions.

For thirty years, Frode’s had the same dream. Every Midsummer’s Eve since he was a kid accompanying his sister to pick flowers to put under his pillow, he’s dreamed of the same man. A dream he never shares with anyone, that makes him wish for impossible things…like true love.

“It’s you.”

Then one Midsummer’s Eve, the man of Frode’s dreams stands before him in the flesh. Both men recognize each other despite never having met in real life. Both men are instantly drawn to each other and want to know more.

“Who are you, Viljar? Are you even real?”

Their questions are many but do the whys and the hows matter? Or should they allow the Midsummer magic that brought them together to lead the way into each other’s arms? Into each other’s hearts?

Traditional Swedish folklore tells you that if you pick seven kinds of flowers in silence and put them under your pillow on Midsummer’s Eve, you’ll dream of the man you’ll marry.

Excerpt

When I look around to take in my surroundings, I realize my feet have carried me to the cottage without me noticing, and something catches my attention on the lawn on the other side of the fence.

A closer look reveals a tripod with a big, professional-looking camera attached on top. And underneath it, a man lies on his back, surrounded by a starry sky of tiny white flowers growing low in the grass. I don’t want to disturb him and I’m just about to sneak away when he turns his head toward me. 

Warm brown eyes, with crow’s feet radiating out from the corners, meet mine. But it’s his full beard, scattered with dandelions, that makes my heart tumble over itself in my chest. 

Smiling eyes. A full beard. Dandelions. 

Dandelions

My hand flies to my chest as I forget how to breathe. 

It’s him.

****

The man’s eyes widen, then he springs to his feet, banging his knee into the tripod almost making it topple over, but his arm shoots out, his big hand landing on the camera, stopping it from crashing down onto the grass.

“It’s you,” he says, his voice a deep rumble emanating from the pit of his stomach, vibrating its way to me, settling in my core.

It’s you. 

What does he mean? Does he recognize me, too? 

“It’s you,” he says again as he takes a few hesitant steps in my direction. His eyes never leave my face. 

“It’s you,” I echo, brows furrowed. 

The improbability of it all, of my recurring dream materializing and standing in front of me, makes me take a step backward. He leaps forward, dislodging a couple of the dandelions from his beard by the sudden movement, and I watch them sail to the ground. 

When I look up at him again, it’s as though I’m zooming out of my body and look at the two of us from a distance. Two men, separated by a white picket fence, staring at each other as though they’ve seen a ghost, as though they both think they must be hallucinating. His features are so familiar; I know every line radiating from the corner of his eyes, every strand of his beard. I know all the nuances of brown in his dark eyes; as though someone swirled chocolate into a deep well of coffee and then sprinkled some gold into the mix to make it irresistible. I know the sensitive setting of his mouth. I know the intense gaze.

It makes me dizzy, and I stumble but manage to keep myself upright. I take another wobbly step backward.

“Don’t go,” he says. “Please.” He stops but holds out his hand as though he wants to touch me to make sure I’m real. 

The feeling is mutual. How is this even possible? How can the man I’ve dreamed about every Midsummer these last thirty years be right here a few steps from me? As though I’ve dreamed him into existence. 

I drag my gaze away from his face and take in the rest of him. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, his biceps are straining the short sleeves of his button-down shirt. He’s got a rounded belly and meaty thighs filling out his faded jeans, and his big wide feet are bare in the grass. 

Heat stirs between my hips. God, he’s not only the literal man of my dreams, but he’s hot as sin, too. When I force myself to look away from his body, our gazes meet. 

“You recognize me, too,” he says, eyes pleading. “I can tell from your reaction.”

I dip my chin once. “I do.”

My heart flutters in my chest like the wings of a colibri. Another dandelion falls from his beard and my gaze follows it down as it lands softly on the ground. 

My mind spins with questions and it’s making me dizzy again. How can the man from my dreams stand before me in the flesh? A living, breathing human being? A living breathing human being who recognizes me too?  

When our eyes meet again, I read the same confusion in him. 

About the Author 

Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bona fide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies room), loves music (and singing along at the top of her voice but she’s no Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (Make it so). She loves words, bullet journals, poetry, wine, coffee-flavored kisses, and fika (a Swedish cultural thing involving coffee and pastry!)

Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.

Nell is a bisexual Swedish woman married to the love of her life, a proud mama of a grown daughter, and is approaching 50 faster than she’d like. She lives in the south of Sweden where she spends her days thinking up stories about people falling in love. After dreaming about being a writer for most of her life, she finally was in a place where she could pursue her dream and released her first book in 2017.

Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, short over long, and quirky characters over alpha males. 

Author Links

Blog/Website  |  Facebook Author Page  |  Facebook Profile

Twitter  |   Instagram   |  Goodreads

Pinterest  |  BookBub  |  Newsletter

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Review: Shiftless (Night Shift #3) by T.A. Moore

Night Shift is the city's thin, silver line- and some nights it's thinner than others.

It isn't the fact he almost died last night that's thrown Night Shift officer Kit Marlow. He's used to that. It's the fact that instead of a werewolf trying to rip his throat out, it was his friend and colleague who tried to put him in the ground.

Well, 'friend.'

Now Marlow's been framed for a murder he didn't commit by a man who's committed more than his fair share. Half the cops in San Diego want to see Marlow behind bars for what he's supposedly done, and the other half want him dead before he can tell his side of the story. The problem is that he can't tell them apart.

There's only one person in town that Marlow can trust, even though he knows he shouldn't drag Cade Deacon into his problems. The sharp-tongued CEO of a private security firm might have gotten close to Marlow over the last few weeks, but taking on the SDPD is a lot to ask.

Marlow doesn't have much choice, though. If he can't clear his name before the last full moon of the month sets, he might not see another one. That'd be a shame since Marlow would really like to spend the night with Cade without needing protective gear.



This is not a standalone book as it continues immediately right after Swing Shift ends.

Last we saw Kit, his past was coming back to bite him hard, and he’s forced to go on the run, framed for murder. Dare he ask for help from the guy/wolf he’s reluctantly falling for?

Cade in turn, still doesn't want to admit that Kit has gotten under his skin, but actions speak louder than words when he basically pulls out all the stops for his...boyfriend? It's laughable and cute and endearing that these men don't want to show their cards but end up doing so anyways, and both Cade and Kit are ultimately pushed to the limit in what they’re forced to do for the other and not once, do either hesitate.

For my fellow readers who love nice, neat, and perfectly edited and thoroughly explained, unfortunately, you’re not going to get that here. I know that it's been a point of contention in past Moore works so I’m just warning those who’re wondering!

Regardless, I obviously really liked this series (split into 3 manageable parts), and I’m eternally grateful that I didn’t have to wait long for them to come out. Each installment progressed things enough to make me want more and more, not only in the plot development and main mystery but also in the romance. I’m not saying I don’t like it fast, hard, and wet when the occasion calls for it, but I can pull out some patience and am okay to wait awhile to get the ultimate satisfaction, and I can safely say that I was satisfied.

So again, this is a meaty gritty paranormal romantic suspense that one can really sink their teeth into. Definitely no OTT fluff here but when it counts, it counts. I get the feeling Moore is typically not all hearts and flowers, and it shows. Reassuringly, Cade and Kit win, but not everything is tied up perfectly with a big red bow as the author leaves some things dangling and the bad guy(s) don’t always die a slow, deserved painful death.

Overall, this series only served to put Moore on my radar even further. I look forward to going through her backlog, and I will definitely be checking out any future works she may produce!



Release Blitz + Giveaway: Against a Rising Tide by Samantha Cayto


Against a Rising Tide release blitz is here! Join author Samantha Cayto and Pride Publishing as they share info on the new contemporary romance! Discover more and enter in the giveaway for a chance to win a $50 Amazon gift card and Samantha Cayto book!

Against a Rising Tide By Samantha Cayto

General Release Date: 29th June 2021

Word Count: 54,881
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 194

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
MEN IN UNIFORM

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Book Description


Love always finds a way.

Scott, a Navy SEAL, returns to his childhood beach house to deal with the emotional trauma of his latest mission. When a sniper killed his closest friend, Scott was left dealing with survivor’s guilt and the disturbing feeling that his friend meant more to him. He has always identified as strictly straight, attraction to men being something he has ruthlessly suppressed.

When he finds Kitt, a friend of his sister’s, hiding out from his abusive boyfriend, Scott is once again drawn to someone of his own gender. Although annoyed at the intrusion, Scott also instantly develops an interest in his unwanted houseguest. Keeping his distance is proving to be impossible and his growing desire for Kitt cannot be ignored.

Forced to leave home, Kitt entered into a relationship with a man who turned abusive. Having finally found the courage to escape, the last thing he wants or needs is another alpha male invading his space. But having nowhere else to go, he ends up staying with a man who disturbs him in more ways than one. As scary as the SEAL is, Scott is exactly the type of man Kitt dreams about.

The beach house is small, and the two men cannot avoid one another or the attraction between them. With each passing day, their bond grows stronger. Hesitation slowly gives way to passion. They need to trust their feelings and let go of the things that frighten them, to find safety and solace in each other.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence, attempted murder, stalking, PTSD and references to death in a war zone, abusive parents and relationship abuse.

Excerpt

By the time Scott reached the beach house, visions of falling face-down in his bed swam before his eyes. He really should have checked into one of the airport hotels for the night instead of renting a car and heading north. But the driving need for solitude had overridden his better judgment. Even arriving in Boston at o-dark-thirty hadn’t thinned the crowds of people enough to satisfy his jangled nerves. He needed quiet and the mental space that came from being utterly alone to get his head screwed back on right. Otherwise, his time in the SEAL Teams would come to an end. The mere thought of having to leave his Naval career was intolerable to him.

He took a moment as he exited his rental SUV to simply stand and stare out over the ocean. The sun was just rising above the rippling blue-green water, washing the horizon in tones of red and orange. Seagulls screeched in their staccato fashion, as if they were in a constant state of agitation. He welcomed the familiar sound of their mindless scolding. The crash of waves against the rocky shore told him the tide was coming in. He took in a deep breath of salty air tinged with a hint of clam flats and smiled. All the joy of his childhood filled the aching hole that had formed in the middle of his chest. Coming here had been the right call. This was where he needed to be.

His exhaustion momentarily abated, Scott grabbed his duffel bag from the back of the SUV and walked up the stone path to the front door. There was no need to lock his vehicle, not in the low-crime town of Sewall, Massachusetts. It was barely more than a spit of rocky land and had never developed the cachet of its neighbors like Rockport as a fashionable seaside town. It attracted no one other than the dedicated perennial vacationer and was the perfect place to hide away for a while without fear of disturbance. His sister wouldn’t haul her brood up from the suburbs of Boston until August. He could be sure of having the place all to himself…to be alone.

Safe.

No, where had that thought come from? He was a SEAL, for God’s sake. There was nowhere on Earth that he didn’t feel as if he could protect himself. And he understood better than most that death was always lurking around, regardless. One only had to be ready to face it. Defeat it. If necessary, accept it when options had truly run out, but only after fighting to the very last breath. He took in another deep lungful of brisk ocean air with that last thought, irritated at his dark, almost defeatist attitude.

I need sleep. That’s all.

Scott almost sprinted to the seafoam green door, fumbled with the keys to open it and stepped inside the cool, quiet house of his childhood…that was not empty.

He froze inside the doorway and stared at the vision that greeted him. His mind did all kinds of acrobatics as he tried to make sense of what he saw. With the open floorplan of the first floor, he had a clear view of a naked woman standing in the kitchen. She was reaching up to a shelf filled with bowls, her toned arm stretched high. A curtain of long, dark hair swung below her shoulder blades, catching his attention. He followed the movement past the tapered ends, down a slender back of creamy skin accentuated by some kind of colorful tramp-stamp.

The tattoo skimmed a high, tight ass that held his gaze like a magnet. His overtired brain popped and snapped with a sudden spark of need. As exhausted as he was, his body came alive, desire shooting through him to pool in his groin. Even as an involuntary grunt passed his lips, the more rational part of his mind took over. It was trying to put on the brakes because something was off. The woman’s hips were too straight, and her shoulders were a bit broad. As the pieces clicked into place, the beach house inhabitant whirled around with a sharp inhalation. Now, the cock and balls of the man came literally swinging into view.

Scott’s own cock was caught between hardening and deflating again. He could feel it waging a war inside his worn jeans for a few seconds before it gave up in a semi-hard state that he ignored. Nothing to see here, folks. It was the other man’s reaction that caught and held his focus. Across the large expanse, there was visible fear in the dark eyes staring back at him. And the guy did nothing to hide his genitals. Instead, one hand had flown to the base of his throat in a clear defensive gesture. He whipped the other up to hold against his left cheek. But the quickness of the move hadn’t stopped Scott from seeing a livid bruise that marred the pretty skin there.

“Who?” The young man blinked at him for a few seconds, breathing quickly, before he visibly relaxed. “Oh, you’re Karen’s brother, aren’t you?” Although he dropped the one hand from his throat, he didn’t let go of his cheek entirely. Instead, he carded his fingers through his hair, letting the strands hide that half of his face. “She said you were overseas.”

“I was.” Scott stepped fully into the house and shut the door behind him before setting his duffel on the floor. He was careful to keep his movements slow. He’d dealt with petrified villagers plenty of times and knew he had to prove that he wasn’t a danger to them. Build trust. While he was at a loss as to why exactly, he could sense this man needed the same kind of consideration.

“I just got back and have two weeks’ leave.” Not that it had been his idea.

“Take the time, Carpenter. There’s no shame in needing it after what you’ve been through.”

“Yes, sir.”

He’d known an order when he’d been given one, but he still felt some guilt about lying around on a beach while others were out there fighting on his behalf. He pushed those thoughts aside to deal with the more pressing matter. Before he could ask the who, what and why, the naked man was talking again.

“I guess Karen didn’t know that. She said I could stay here until she comes up with her kids.” He dropped his gaze, while still tugging at his hair in nervous fashion.

Scott approached the kitchen area, again keeping his movements slow and non-threatening. “I was going to call her later.” He stopped and hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “I’m sorry. You have me at a disadvantage. Do I know you?”

The young man flashed his gaze at him before skittering it away. Now that he was closer, Scott could see that his eyes weren’t entirely brown. There was a hint of green there as well. Hazel, he supposed, although he’d never given much thought to eye color before. He forced himself to focus on them, however, because the alternative was to stare farther south. There was a temptation to sneak peeks at parts of the man’s body. He’d always studiously avoided that urge before. He saw more naked men than he did women, that was for sure, and in a military environment where privacy was non-existent, one had to be respectful. Inside a quaint New England house, with the muted dawn shining through the window, making everything soft and almost romantic, the nudity was harder to ignore.

“I’m Kitt Tyler.”

Scott’s attention was tugged back to Kitt’s face—although really, to his lips. He couldn’t help noticing how plump and pink they were. ‘Generous’ was the word that came to mind, like those of old-time movie starlets—the type of mouth that combat men dreamed of kissing as they lay in their makeshift beds. It was what got them up again, fighting for their country. That observation startled him even more. What the hell is my problem? Exhaustion, that was all. What he needed was a solid eight horizontal hours uninterrupted, and that wasn’t going to happen until he wrapped up this unexpected meet-and-greet.

“You’re a friend of Karen’s?” Kind of a dumb question.

Kitt gnawed briefly at his lower lip, once again drawing Scott’s unwilling attention to that spot. “Yeah, I am, but also her hairdresser. I mean, that’s how we first met, and we’ve become friends, too. You know?”

No, Scott didn’t…at all. The last thing he and his sister ever talked about was hair styling, although she always looked great. He knew that she prided herself on being elegant and fashionable for her job as a publisher for some glossy, high-end magazine. She had him on her subscription list, which was sweet, except it all went straight into his trash. What did he care about trendy places to eat in Boston and the best store for thousand-thread-count sheets?

“Anyway,” the guy continued, still playing with his hair and darting his gaze around. “She has like a million pictures of you at home, so I recognized you straight off.”

Not exactly true. For a moment, when he’d turned and caught sight of Scott, Kitt had obviously been afraid. Of what? Scott wondered. Or rather…whom?

Scott ran a hand over his head. The need for sleep was overtaking his initial and visceral reaction to this unexpected guest. “I’m sure she’s bored you to tears with stories about me, too.” His sister was proud of his service, although he feared that she’d put him on a pedestal he didn’t deserve, certainly not after this last deployment.

A ghost of a smile graced Kitt’s lips. That was the moment when it hit Scott that this young man was utterly gorgeous—at a he-could-be-a-model level. Although, he was probably too short for that profession. He was about five-seven, just the right height to tuck into Scott’s shoulder. The new observations sent his brain into another unwanted spasm of discord.

“She has a bit, but I think it’s great how close you two are.” Releasing his hold on his hair, Kitt fluttered his hands and shifted his feet. “Anyway, I’ll pack up and get out of your way. It, um, might take a while for me to get a Lyft driver to come here this early, though. I hope that’s okay.”

“You don’t have a car?” Another stupid question. The driveway had been empty when he’d pulled up.

“No. Um, no.” Kitt stared at the floor again.

Scott could see the distress in the guy’s posture and read it in his expression. He knew when someone was afraid, nervous or angry, even when they tried to hide it from him. He could tell when they were lying about something. Kitt Tyler wasn’t merely a friend of his sister who needed a free summer vacation. There was more to it than that, and given the guy’s skittishness and that bruise on his cheek, Scott could make an educated guess what that more was.

For the moment, however, he was incapable of any further rational thought. He needed that eight hours, then he’d deal with the situation.

“Look,” he said, repressing a yawn. “I’ve been awake for over forty-eight hours straight. I’m going upstairs to get some sleep. No need for you to leave yet. We’ll talk later.”

Kitt’s relief was easy to see. Still, he said, “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Scott turned to retrieve his duffel bag from by the door.

“Oh, I should get dressed now so that I don’t disturb you.”

Too late on that score. “I can sleep through anything, but thanks.”

He made himself not watch as Kitt flitted up the stairs. He didn’t rush when he followed, either, so that he wouldn’t see any more of that undeniably tantalizing flesh. His plan worked. By the time he’d reached the second floor, his sister’s guest had disappeared into the far back room. The sounds of a drawer opening and closing drifted down the narrow hallway. Scott bit back a groan when he realized that Kitt had taken his usual room. That thought had barely formed before the guy popped back out, wearing crotch-hugging cut-off jeans and a tight white crop top. The clothing wasn’t much better than the nudity had been at hiding the guy’s fit physique. Oh, and bonus, now that Scott wasn’t studiously averting his gaze, he could see a belly button ring winking from the flat stomach.

“I took one of the kid’s rooms, if that’s okay?” Kitt looked impossibly young himself. What was the minimum age to be a hairdresser, eighteen? The guy must be straight out of school.

Scott didn’t bother to correct him. Visions of Kitt lying in Scott’s bed were already creeping into his brain. Instead, he waved the issue away and turned into what had been his parents’ old room. Karen and her husband used it now, but she obviously wasn’t coming up any time soon. He may as well bed down in it. He kicked the door shut with more force than he’d intended, but the lure of the big brass bed was irresistible. Stumbling toward it, he did as he’d dreamed of for hours—fell face-down onto the quilt his grandmother had made. He had just enough brainpower left to kick off his sneakers before giving in to the pull of sleep.

His last thought, however, was of the pretty boy at the end of the hall, silhouetted by the glint of the rising sun.

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About the Author

Samantha Cayto

Samantha Cayto is a Boston-area native who practices as a business lawyer by day while writing erotic romance at night—the steamier the better. She likes to push the envelope when it comes to writing about passion and is delighted other women agree that guy-on-guy sex is the hottest ever.

She lives a typical suburban life with her husband, three kids and four dogs. Her children don't understand why they can't read what she writes, but her husband is always willing to lend her a hand—and anything else—when she needs to choreograph a scene.

Giveaway

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Samantha Cayto's Against A Rising Tide Giveaway

SAMANTHA CAYTO IS GIVING AWAY A $50.00 AMAZON GIFT CARD TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN AND GET A FREE SAMANTHA CAYTO ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 13th July 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.