Menu

Audiobook Blog Tour + Giveaway: Dropnauts (Liminal Sky: Redemption Cycle #1) by J. Scott Coatsworth


 

J. Scott Coatsworth's diverse hopepunk space opera Dropnauts Is out in audio, narrated by Kevin Earlywine. And there's a giveaway!

Life after the Crash.

Over a century after the end of the Earth, life goes on in Redemption, the sole remaining Lunar colony, and possibly the last outpost of humankind in the Solar System. But with an existential threat burrowing its way into the Moon's core, humanity must recolonize the homeworld.

Twenty brave dropnauts set off on a mission to explore the empty planet. Four of them—Rai, Hera, Ghost and Tien—have trained for two-and-a-half years for the Return. They're bound for Martinez Base, just outside the Old Earth city of San Francisco.

But what awaits them there will turn their assumptions upside down—and in the process, either save or destroy what's left of humanity.

Amazon Audio | Universal Buy Link | Goodreads


Giveaway

Scott is giving away a $25 Amazon gift card with this tour:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47248/?


Excerpt

Dropnauts meme

Listen to chapter one:

[audio mp3="https://www.otherworldsink.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/DS-CH-1.mp3"][/audio]

We’re going home.

Rai sweated inside his suit, white-knuckling the arms of the retrofitted launch chair under his suit gloves. He watched the Zhenyi'slaunch countdown clock.

Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight…

Outside he was calm, but inside he vibrated like an erhu string, his stomach doing acrobatics in his chest. I’m not ready.

Five teams of dropnauts had strapped themselves into their jumper ships, prepared for the ascent from Redemption on the lunar surface to Launchpad station. Outside his porthole, the blue-green marble of Earth beckoned.

Forty-five, forty-four…

Rai cast a nervous glance at his three teammates. Hera was doing her preflight check, her back to him, sweat dripping down the umber skin of her neck from her short-cropped, curly black hair.

Behind him on his right, Tien’s eyes were closed, and she was still as a golden statue. Zen.

He turned to find Ghost looking at him from behind. His ex grinned, running his hand through his lanky, dirty blond hair, his green eyes twinkling. His skin was as white as Rai’s own, but with a dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose.

Rai managed a pale imitation of a smile back. -It's totally safe.- Ghost's voice pinged in his head, em to em.

-Easy for you to say.- Ghost had never feared a thing in his life.

Rai sighed. If he had to, he could take the small ship apart and put it back together with his bare hands, a skill learned under Sam's supervision—the mech was as harsh a taskmaster as any human Rai had ever worked for. Still, he felt like puking. The speeches and adulation of the farewell celebration were over, and now his doubts circled like vultures. I'm not ready.

Thirty-two, thirty-one…

-You'll be ok.- Hera's determined voice this time. She turned to squeeze his knee, and then fired up the Zhenyi'shydro-fuel engine. He flashed her a sheepish grin.

A hundred meters away, the Bristol's takeoff shook the landing pad. Rai watched it rise, carrying Dax, Jess, Ola, and Xiu Ying, the London team, toward the bright stars above. The jumper’s expelled water froze almost instantly, falling as snow over the snaking lava tube that held the city of Redemption. A lunar blizzard whipped by them and shimmered into nothing.

Rai closed his eyes, remembering the night before. Jess, laughing and dancing with him at Heaven, the clear dome of the lunar sky sparkling above them, the heavy beat of the thromb club pulsing through his chest. Dancing like no one was watching.

He rubbed his jaw. It still ached from the fist he'd taken to the face. Wild party. And a wilder night with Ayvin, the jack he'd picked up at the club.

"Zhenyi, ready for liftoff in T-Minus ten seconds.” Sam's voice, coming from Team Five's ship, the Liánhuā, was cool and collected. Did the mech feel emotion, like the nausea that was boiling in Rai's guts? His teammates were strong, smart, and prepared for anything. I can do this. Besides, it was too late to back out now.

"Affirmative.” Hera shifted in her seat, her biframes stretching her paralyzed legs for her.

"You’ll do okay, tiger.” Ghost elbowed him in the ribs.

“Six, five, four…” Hera swiped the glossy white control deck, and the launch controls appeared, floating over the white surface.

“Leave him alone.” Rai could hear the icy frown in Tien’s voice.

He closed his eyes, willing his stomach to calm. Here we go. Nothing he could do about it now.

“Three, two, one… hang on.” Hera fired the engines, and the craft lifted on a cloud of steam into the star-filled skies of Luna.

Rai squeezed his armrests again as G-force pushed him hard back in his seat. He was committed now. Poppies, Chinese Houses, Fiddlenecks, Baby Blue Eyes, Yellow Pansies, Star Lilies… Reciting the flowers of the old San Francisco basin helped soothe his abraded nerves as the rumbling of the little craft rattled his bones.

He opened his eyes to see Redemption receding below them. The great lava tube was striped with sparkling bands of solar receptors that let sunlight into the city below. Rail lines snaked out from Redemption to the transit center like roping vines—to the seed launcher at Copernicus Crater, to Renewal colony, and beyond.

As the city shrank below them, his fear turned to sadness, a lump forming in his throat. He’d taken his home for granted, enthralled by the idea of joining humankind’s greatest adventure in a century. Now he might never see it again.

The hydro rocket thrust them up out of Luna’s gravity well into naked space, toward the bright blue skies of the empty Earth above. Rai stared at it, that enigmatic ball in space which no one had visited in over a century. What secrets are you hiding?

The roar cut off as quickly as it had begun, leaving the Zhenyi drifting upward in silence as they slipped out of Luna’s grasp.

Hera’s hands flew across the deck, swapping the launch controls for navigation, and nudged them onto a new course following the Bristol toward the Launchpad.

Rai let go, his breath coming out in a heavy sigh.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.” Ghost unbuckled his seatbelt and stretched, yawning as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

God, he's beautiful. Pale as his namesake under his mop of dirty blond hair, the engineer’s thick arms were just a suggestion under the bulky suit, but Rai could still see them in his mind. Ghost’s well-toned muscles, the smell of his skin after—

“You okay, buddy?” Ghost was staring at him, one dark eyebrow raised in concern.

Rai bit his lip and looked away. “Just nervous. Wondering if we’ll ever make it back home”

“Hey, if things go well after the drop, maybe you and me could open the first Earthside bar since the Crash.” Ghost leaned over him from behind to stare at the Earth through the porthole, his cheek close to Rai’s

“That’s crazy.” But his spirits lifted. It was idiotic. And just the distraction he needed.

Ghost sank back into his own seat. “Every outpost needs a good bar where the colonists can blow off a little steam, right?”

Rai laughed in spite of himself, warming to the idea. “We could call it ‘The Frontier’.”

“Or ‘The Wild Hookup’.”

“Best beer this side of the planet.”

Only beer!”

Rai snorted. Just like old times. He hadn’t forgiven Ghost, though. Not yet. He looked down at his gloved hands, emblazoned with the leaf-and-orb of Redemption’s space service.

Things had ended badly between them—crash and burn bad. Still, they’d be too busy the next few weeks to think about anything but the drop. The survival of Redemption and the remnants of humanity depended on them.

He could let it go. I have to. He’d managed the launch, after all. I can do this too.

Ghost squeezed his shoulder and closed his eyes, touching his temple and bobbing his head to a song only he could hear.

Rai turned away.

You're stronger than any of us. Hera had told him that the night before. Still, he didn’t feel strong.

He looked out of the porthole again at the Earth—the same view they’d had from Heaven. And yet somehow, it looked different. More real.

Poppies, Chinese Houses, Fiddlenecks, Baby Blue Eyes, Yellow Pansies, Star Lilies…

He touched his hand to the porthole. Even through the glove, it was cold. We're going home.


Author Bio

J. Scott Coatsworth

Scott lives with his husband Mark in a yellow bungalow in Sacramento. He was indoctrinated into fantasy and sci fi by his mother at the tender age of nine. He devoured her library, but as he grew up, he wondered where all the people like him were.

He decided that if there weren’t queer characters in his favorite genres, he would remake them to his own ends.

A Rainbow Award winning author, he runs Queer Sci Fi, QueeRomance Ink, and Other Worlds Ink with Mark, sites that celebrate fiction reflecting queer reality, and is a full member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA).

Author Website: https://www.jscottcoatsworth.com

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/jscottcoatsworth

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/jscottcoatsworthauthor/

Author Twitter: https://www.jscottcoatsworth.com/jscoatsworth

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jscottcoatsworth/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8392709.J_Scott_Coatsworth

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/j-scott-coatsworth/

Author Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com): https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/j-scott-coatsworth/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/J.-Scott-Coatsworth/e/B011AFO4OQ

Author BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/j-scott-coatsworth

Narrator Bio:

Kevin Earlywine

Kevin Earlywine is an actor, director, singer/songwriter, and audiobook narrator who hails from Rockford, Illinois! His debut album DANGER was released February 28th, 2017. Kevin started writing songs for the album in 2012, and finally in November, 2015, he started recording the songs!

Other Worlds Ink logo

Release Blitz + Giveaway: The Oracle's Flame (Oracle #1) by Mell Eight


 

Title:  The Oracle's Flame

Series: Oracle, Book One

Author: Mell Eight

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/02/2022

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male, Male/Male Menage

Length: 19100

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, romance, menage, dragons, sailors/pirates, royalty, psychic, action/adventure

Add to Goodreads


Description

The Kingdom of Altnoia is on the cusp of civil war. The king and heir have been murdered, the throne taken by their uncle, and the kingdom’s only hope lies with Prince Edan who has been missing for the past year. The Oracle appoints Kindle, her new Dragon of Fire, one task: find Prince Edan and keep him alive.

It should have been a simple task, but Kindle did not anticipate Prince Edan would hide away on a pirate ship, forcing the dragon not only to endure pirates, but seasickness and his fear of water. And nothing, not even the Oracle, could have prepared him for the two pirates he meets and the complicated feelings they spark.

Excerpt

The Oracle’s Flame
Mell Eight © 2022
All Rights Reserved

The castle wasn’t burning, although her mind’s eye saw it outlined in flames. There would be fire, but not this night. No, this night was death. This night was treason.

These events had already occurred. They were sent from the past, meant to ensure her understanding of the present, and to help her decipher the future. They were important, so the Oracle watched them again.

Ferim was scowling over his brother’s body. His older half brother, the king, was dead. The specter of his mother, the long-dead second wife of the previous king, hung over Ferim’s head as he declared himself King of Altnoia. The spite in his mother’s heart had successfully lived on, given new birth at the end of Ferim’s bloody sword. The king was dead. The king’s wife was dead. The king’s oldest son was dead. Ferim’s mother placed a heavy crown on Ferim’s head and then began to let out a crazed laugh.

The second son of the dead king escaped the castle, a circle of loyal servants and guards ensuring that Prince Edan, the rightful heir to the throne, boarded a ship in the harbor. Cannons fired as the White Crest forced an opening through the country’s armada. The news of the coup in the castle was just arriving at the port; too late to halt Prince Edan’s escape. Those captains loyal to their jobs futilely returned fire while those loyal to land and crown abandoned ship and took to the hills to begin building a rebellion against the false king.

The rebellion continued at sea as well, led by Prince Edan and his loyal crew, and the years passed. King Ferim grew in power, but dissent also grew as the people thought of their lost prince. The Oracle watched as a sickly green shadow began to grow in Altnoia. First the shadow was contained, as a shadow should be, by the forces of light and dark. It clung to Ferim’s robes, his shoes, and his very breath. But sickness spreads quickly. As Ferim breathed on his councilors, their shadows also began to grow ill. Ferim walked through the city, and everywhere he stepped, a pool of deadly miasma formed. Soon the shadow was hanging over all of Altnoia.

These were the images the Oracle’s mind provided to symbolize corruption and greed as they fermented. As filling one’s own pockets with gold and gems went above the good of the country. As regular citizens fought to produce enough grain to feed their families and pay the tithe the king demanded. As they sickened and died when blight came to the crops and deadly illness into the wells.

The people remembered the prosperity they had enjoyed under the murdered king, and they remembered their prince had escaped that day of blood. The people hoped for a better life, and the rebellion grew in strength every day. King Ferim sat on his throne and heard those whispers, and he knew Prince Edan had to die for his reign to continue.

And thus, the present was ended. Now it was time for the future, for the unknown, and the possible paths diverged in dozens of directions. Should King Ferim go riding on one sunny day in late spring, his horse would step in a hole, and both horse and false-king would be dead. But such an event was unlikely. King Ferim was afraid of riding, as that was allegedly what had killed his beloved mother. The Oracle discarded that path and moved on to another.

The Oracle was not alone in her mind, which helped her sort through the possibilities of each future path. She was myriad, the consciousness of each Oracle that had come before her current body held safely within her. Each consciousness sorted quickly, soon finding the most likely paths of future possibilities. The Oracle watched each one occur in her mind’s eye.

Purchase at NineStar Press

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.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

  Blog Button 2

Release Blitz + Giveaway: Blood & Dirt by Corey Niles


 

 

Title:  Blood & Dirt

Author: Corey Niles

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/02/2022

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 110200

Genre: Paranormal Horror, LGBTQIA+, Contemporary, paranormal, horror, urban fantasy, golem, students, homophobic attack, murder, revenge

Add to Goodreads


Description

Vincent depended on his boyfriend, James, to stand up for him—until a violent hate crime results in James’s murder.

Weeks after his funeral, James reappears, perfectly healthy but changed in ways that neither of them can quite understand. Now, Vincent must uncover what truly happened on the night they were attacked.

In the face of an apathetic police force and a growing number of missing gay men, Vincent and James work to identify the criminals who attacked them.

With James scarred from what happened to him in the weeks between his death and rediscovery, Vincent must learn to stand up for himself and face his real monsters or lose James—and himself.

Excerpt

Blood & Dirt
Corey Niles © 2022
All Rights Reserved

Panther Hollow

Dead man walking. Vincent waited for the elevator in Posvar Hall. Four years was coming down to a single meeting. If the trajectory of his day so far had been any indication of how it would go, he was fucked.

The elevator door opened with a ding. Empty. His chest pounded and hands shook, but he forced himself to step inside and press the button for the third floor. The stainless-steel door closed him in, and he stared at his blurred reflection in the metal. Another ding rang out as he was dragged past the second floor and again when the door opened on the third. They sounded like the beating drums of a funeral march, and he did his best to ignore them.

Just outside the elevator, a woman spoke with an older man about some foreign conflict. They were both dressed in business casual attire. History professors, which didn’t come as much of a surprise in the history department.

“Excuse us,” the woman said, and only then did Vincent realize he was standing in the elevator doorway.

“Sorry.” He slipped past them, his cheeks blazing. The hallway was empty and silent beyond a little chatter leaking from the office doors that lined the walls. Professor Cowart’s office was down the hall on the right. Vincent had figured that out the last time he’d attempted to visit him, but he wasn’t going to turn back again. He was going to face him and explain the situation.

Each step made his heart beat faster and hands shake with more fervor. Sweat crawled down his back, and he knew it had little to do with the winter coat he wore or the backpack slung over his shoulders. So much was riding on this meeting. If today was going so badly, then maybe that was a warning sign from some higher power to turn around and come back another day.

Shit.

He stopped, and before he chickened out, he called James. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“What’s going on? What did he say?” Concern dripped from James’s words like butter on movie theater popcorn.

“Didn’t get there yet.”

“I thought you got off work at four?”

“We got slammed right before my shift ended. Didn’t get out of there until a quarter after. Then, someone stopped me to ask about Damien Wright. He’s the guy I had that thing with freshman year, and apparently, no one has heard from him for like a week. He’s in Myths with me. So, I—”

“Okay, that’s a lot, and we can talk about it later, but just breathe for a hot second because you sound like an old man in an anti-smoking ad.”

He might’ve laughed at that, under better circumstances. He sucked air into his starved lungs, filling his nostrils with the stench of his own sweat. He hadn’t smoked since he started dating James, but a cigarette sounded pretty good right about now.

“Babe, something is always going to happen. You can’t keep putting it off.”

Vincent exhaled. “I know. I’m just…I don’t know.”

“Today isn’t going as planned, but he has office hours until five, right? So technically, you aren’t late.”

“Right.”

Someone called out to James, and he said something Vincent couldn’t quite make out in response before he got back on the phone. “Sorry. Look, I gotta get back to the lab to help clean up for the day. Just don’t leave until you come to an understanding. Most of undergrad is proving that you care enough to work for it.”

With that, he was gone. Vincent took another breath and let his boyfriend’s words wash over him. James was right. He couldn’t keep putting off the meeting, but James’s ideal outcome was a little harder to swallow.

James spoke from the perspective of a student who’d graduated with honors and breezed through his first year of med school at the University of Pittsburgh. Meanwhile, Vincent had barely survived his first three years of undergrad. To make matters worse, he’d only started caring about Professor Cowart’s Myths, Legends, and Folktales class after he got back the rough draft of his final and realized he risked failing out during his last semester.

While he seriously doubted the meeting would end as favorably as James assured him, that didn’t mean it would be as disastrous as he presumed. He repeated James’s words to himself, screamed them in his mind over every second thought that sprung to life until he reached his destination. By that point, he almost believed them.

The office door was shut. A small wooden plaque was fixed to the opaque glass with “Dr. Charles Cowart” printed on it, and a poster was taped to the door below it:

I’ve always preferred mythology to history. History is truth that becomes an illusion. Mythology is an illusion that becomes reality. —Jean Cocteau

White text on a galaxy background. Laminated. Vincent wasn’t surprised to see the poster. He’d heard Professor Cowart babble on about the quote at least a hundred times in class. Beyond the plaque and poster, he could make out the faint silhouette of someone at a desk through the opaque glass. He brought his ear to the door. Silence broken up by the occasional clacking of a keyboard.

Just don’t leave until you come to an understanding.

Vincent knocked on the door.

The silhouette rose and walked over to him. The door swung open. Professor Cowart stood in the doorway. He was dressed in a beige suit with a crimson tie. His salt-and-pepper hair was shaped into a tight Afro that seemed at odds with the unkempt soul patch jutting from his chin.

“Hello.” He said it as a statement, but his furrowed eyebrows made it a question.

“Hi, Professor Cowart. I was wondering—”

“Dr. Cowart.” He motioned his head toward the plaque.

Vincent wiped the sweat from his forehead and pushed back his hair to keep it from sticking to his damp flesh. “Sorry. Dr. Cowart. I was wondering if I could speak with you.”

“And you are?”

“Oh, I’m, ah, Vincent Vicar. I’m in your Myths class.” He offered his hand, but Dr. Cowart walked back into his office.

“Take a seat. I’ll be with you momentarily.”

The office was colored yellow in the afternoon light pouring through the three floor-to-ceiling windows opposite the door. Dr. Cowart took a seat at his desk and resumed typing something on his laptop. Vincent set his backpack on the ground. He sat down in one of the two wooden chairs in front of the desk. The musky smell of tobacco and old books filled the room. The warm light and the smell had a dizzying effect. He felt like he was in a preheating oven.

He took off his jacket and laid it on his lap. Thankfully, he hadn’t sweated through his T-shirt. His phone buzzed in his pocket. James knew he was busy, so it was probably some telemarketer. He ignored it. He didn’t want to give Dr. Cowart any more reason to dislike him. Trying to sit quietly, Vincent waited for his professor to finish whatever he was doing.

Dr. Cowart typed in no apparent rush.

Vincent focused his attention on the bookshelf behind Dr. Cowart to keep his mind from spiraling down a rabbit hole of what-ifs. Worrying about having to retake the class in the fall as opposed to graduating in a little under two months would only make him a bigger ball of stress. On the stuffed bookshelves were small copper figurines of various characters and creatures from stories they’d studied in class. Vincent could make out a wolf stalking a young, hooded girl just behind Dr. Cowart’s head. There was also a Grecian warrior wielding a taut bow, whose name he should know at this point in the semester. The hero’s cape was molded to look as if it were blowing in the wind. Like the warrior could come alive at any second and land an arrow between his eyes.

Dr. Cowart shut his laptop. “Without telling me something I shouldn’t know, you wouldn’t happen to be aware of any reason why Damien Wright has missed my last two classes?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Hmmm. It’s difficult to keep track of all of you in such a large class, but some students, like Damien, make themselves known.”

“Oh?” was all Vincent could think to say. He wasn’t sure if the comment was directed at him or Damien. While missing a week’s worth of classes didn’t seem like something overachieving Damien would do, Vincent hadn’t known him all that well, and he had bigger problems to deal with at that moment.

“You’re a senior, correct?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes, I am.”

“Not a history major, though, are you?” He rubbed his soul patch thoughtfully like some wise old sage.

“No. I’m general studies.” He waited for a lecture concerning the pitfalls of such a degree when just another semester or two could enable him to obtain a more specific and substantial degree.

“Hmmm,” Dr. Cowart said, as if that decided something. “Anyway, what was it you wanted?”

“I was wondering if I could talk to you about the grade I received on the rough draft of my final.” He took his paper out of his backpack. Dr. Cowart made them print out their essays and submit them in person so that he could write out his feedback, which, in Vincent’s case, was little more than a red “D” written on the top of the page with the phrase “off topic” written below it. “I just wasn’t sure how my paper was off topic.”

Dr. Cowart took the paper and leafed through it. “What was the assignment?”

“To look at a story we discussed in class.”

“And for what purpose?”

“To research the historical context and analyze it to understand its legacy.” That was all the assignment guidelines had said.

Dr. Cowart glanced up at him, his eyes narrowing. “And what did you do?”

Vincent wasn’t sure what Dr. Cowart was getting at, but he had a sinking feeling he was walking into a trap. “I traced Grimm’s Hansel and Gretel to the 1635 story, Nennillo and Nennella, and then I examined how it was rooted in oral stories dating back to the Great Famine of 1315-1317.”

“That’s right.” He set the paper down on his desk. “And why did you examine this context?”

Vincent resisted the urge to point to his thesis statement on the first page. “I guess to indicate how this absurd story was inspired by real history, which resonated with readers.”

“I wanted you to examine the historical context. However, as I discussed in class, realism is of little concern to me beyond understanding why these stories continue to affect those who read them centuries later. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I seriously doubt that modern readers are captivated by how the story captures accounts from the Great Famine of 1315-1317. I want to know why this tale has survived the test of time.”

Vincent couldn’t remember whether he had attended the class where Dr. Cowart explained the assignment. If he had, he must not have been paying attention. He wished that archer on the shelf would put him out of his misery, but when Dr. Cowart continued to stare at him, he realized his question wasn’t rhetorical. “I don’t know.”

“Which is why you earned such a low grade on this assignment.” Dr. Cowart slid the paper back to him. His lips tightened like he was fending off a smirk.

Vincent swallowed in an attempt to push down the anger bubbling up inside him. “Because of this grade, I risk failing the class.”

“I don’t believe this grade would have been so devastating if you had a higher grade going into the assignment. That being said, I assign the draft of your final at midterms to ensure there is plenty of time for revisions. I suggest you use the next two months wisely.”

Vincent wanted to interject. Flip his desk. Do whatever he had to do for Dr. Cowart to understand that it was virtually impossible for him to pass the class unless he got a perfect grade on every assignment, including the final draft. Tell him he was already drowning in loans he couldn’t pay off and he couldn’t afford to be there another semester. Explain that it was tough working two jobs and keeping up with all his course work. Demand a new grade.

But he didn’t.

Unlike James, he didn’t have the drive and hard work to back up his words. As much as Dr. Cowart wasn’t softening the blow, Vincent had gotten himself into this situation, and he would have to try, and undoubtedly fail, to get himself out of it.

He collected his things and stood up. “Thanks for taking the time to meet with me.”

“Of course.” Dr. Cowart opened his laptop. Vincent was at the door when Dr. Cowart added, “History isn’t about observation. You have to dig into it and see what’s between the dirt and worms.”

Vincent wondered what great historian had said that quote and whether Dr. Cowart had it printed, laminated, and hanging somewhere in his office. As soon as he got into the hall, his phone vibrated. Below a missed call from an unknown number that surely belonged to a telemarketer was a text from James, asking how it was going. Vincent called him.

“So, what happened?”

The eagerness in his voice made Vincent feel sick. “Can we go for a jog?”

“What? It’s cold out, it’s supposed to like rain or slush tonight, and it’ll be dark in another hour or so. What happened?”

“Sun’s still out. It’s not that cold. The rain isn’t supposed to hit us until later. We have time. Please?” Vincent needed to get away from campus and pump his arms and legs until he forgot about everything except filling his lungs with air.

“Was it that bad?”

Vincent didn’t think he could explain just how poorly it’d gone without crying in the hall. “I’ll explain everything later. Can you bring my sweats and meet me at Schenley Park? We can park on Overlook Drive.”

“If you insist, cutie.”

“Thanks.”

“Just hurry. It’ll be dark soon.”

Purchase at NineStar Press

Meet the Author

Corey Niles was born and raised in the Rust Belt, where he garnered his love of horror. When he isn’t advising college students, he enjoys binge-watching horror movies and traveling to hoard American history in his cheeks like a chipmunk. He hasn’t met a creepy, isolated hiking trail he hasn’t liked.

After studying creative writing and gender and women’s studies as an undergraduate student, he went on to graduate from Seton Hill University with an MFA in Writing Popular Fiction.

In his spare time, he nurses his caffeine addiction and tends to his graveyard of houseplants. He is also a single father of a very fluffy cat named Alexander, who quickly forgot about his humble beginnings.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

  Blog Button 2

Blog Tour + Giveaway: Novas Got Nerve (Liquid Onyx #1) by BL Jones


 

BLOG TOUR

Book Title: Novas Got Nerve

Author: BL Jones

Publisher: Ninestar Press

Cover Artist: Jaycee DeLorenzo

Release Date: June 14, 2022

Genres: Sci-fi/paranormal/urban fantasy, action/romance thriller, Superhero/supervillain. Magic/superpowers. 

Tropes: Found family, slow burn romance, tragic past, orphan, emotional scars, Best friends older brother, love triangle, antagonistic romance, love/hate relationship, Opposites attract 

Themes: Emotional trauma. What makes a hero? Found family. Not being defined by your parents’ actions/by your past.

Heat Rating: 2 flames   

Length: 165 000 words/585 pages

It is not a standalone book and is part of a series (Liquid Onyx series)

The book ends on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links

NineStar Press  |  Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

He has far too much nerve. He can blow things up with his mind. He’s got anxiety. Yeah. The world should probably brace itself for this one.


Blurb

British superheroes, melodramatic Mages, snarky secret agents, one hell of a found family, and a whole load of weird people.

Also, there's a duck.

This is the painfully bizarre origin story of Rexley Nova.

When Rex was four years old, he became one of the world’s first superhumans.

When Rex turns twenty, he feels the drive to use his scientifically given abilities to protect the world. He leaves home to become a member of the Secret Superhero Security unit, alongside three of his friends and Danger City’s own superhero, Polaris.

Rex fights murderous Mages, evil organisations, criminal mafias, his agency appointed psychiatrist, his own anxious brain, and the most frightening of all, his attraction to a certain blue-eyed superhero.

Excerpt 

“Come on, North,” I say, coaxing, spitting blood out of my mouth. “Don’t be nice.” I get as close as he’ll let me. “Treat me like you’re paying for it.”

Damon’s nose flares, and his lips curl to form a jagged snarl. His expression changing from robot to human in zero point five seconds flat. He makes a low sound that’s just the right side of threatening to be a problem for me. And not in the way it should be a problem for me.

Damon catches my arm at the right angle and twists me around so my back is pressed against his front. He wraps an arm securely around my waist, hauling me in even closer. A blaze of heat singes along my nerves when Damon runs his hand under my T-shirt, his fingers dragging over the hot skin of my belly. I try to kill it dead, the vulnerable quiver his intimate touch invokes, but that just makes it worse.

A full-on no-shit bonfire lights up inside my stomach. It sends a fucked-up message to my head, which in turn sends an even more fucked-up message to my cock. It’s like my body is playing telephone with itself.

You’re not supposed to want to get off with the bloke who’s making you bruise and bleed. Not without a serious discussion about it beforehand, anyway.

Pretty sure Damon and I aren’t going to be doing anything that sensible. Especially since the most sensible thing would be letting go and walking away before we can make this situation any worse.

Damon wraps his other hand around my throat, fingers digging in lightly, his thumb pressing against the edge of my jaw. He tilts my head to the side, exposing more of my throat to him. I resist the urge to lean my head back on his shoulder. Because I’m not mad.

My chest rapidly rises and falls as I struggle to breathe. It’s not really because of all the hits I’ve taken. I’m having more trouble dealing with Damon’s proximity than I am to what he’s done to me with his hands. A sign that maybe he was pulling some of his punches.

“You,” I say, barely getting the words out through all the tightness and the pain and the blood, “have got some serious control issues, North.” I shift against him, and he tightens his hold in response. I smile, oddly charmed by it.

“Might want—” Another few unsteady breaths. “—to see somebody about that.”

Damon feels like solid stone against my back, his body so tense I’m worried he might shatter if I tap the wrong spot too hard. As if in response to my thoughts, Damon’s arm around my waist changes from tight to crushing. His fingers press into my neck with clear intention. Not enough to choke. Just a reminder. Or a warning. A warning to be careful where I’m going with all of this.

My pale skin bruises easily. I can tell I’m going to have some on my throat. I don’t hate that idea like I should. And something about it being Damon who made them, whose fingers dug into my skin and left behind a mark, speaks to a primal part of my brain.

Damon’s mouth skates along my jaw, either by accident or on purpose, I’m not sure which. It doesn’t really matter. A short, bitten-off moan leaves my throat in a rush. I clamp my lips together to try to contain the rest of it. But it’s too late. Damon heard it. A shudder runs through him, a ripple of feeling and skin and warmth. An answering wave rolls through me, my body set to quaking.

I need to stop.

Damon bends his neck to speak directly into my ear. Our height and size difference aids him in making me feel completely taken over, enveloped, held in place, swallowed up and overwhelmed by my temporary loss of autonomy.

“Is this a game?” Damon asks, and he sounds, it beggars belief, genuinely upset by the idea.

About the Author

BL Jones is a twentysomething British author who spends all her free time reading and writing and taming her three little brothers. She lives in Bristol with a temperamental bunny named Pepsi. She’s been writing stories since she was five, rarely sharing them with anyone except her numerous stuffed animals. BL has had a difficult journey into discovering and accepting her own queerness, and therefore believes that positive, honest, and authentic stories about queer people are very important. She hopes to contribute her own stories for people to have fun with and enjoy.

Author Links

Blog/Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Instagram

Giveaway

Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway for a chance to win

a copy of the ebook and a $10 Amazon gift card  

 

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Release Blitz: Spanish Siesta (Flying into Love #2) by C F White


 

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Spanish Siesta (Flying into Love #2)

Author and Publisher: C F White

Cover Artist: Kelly Martin (KAM Design)

Release Date: July 29, 2022

Genre:  Contemporary M/M Romance

Tropes: Friends to Lovers

Themes: Bisexual awakening, forced proximity, coming out

Heat Rating: 4 flames       

Length: 65 250 words/260 pages

It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK  |  Universal Link


Audible US  |  Audible UK 


Can a Spanish siesta make Matt see his best friend the way Kieran's been hoping he would for years?


Blurb

Matt Robinson just got dumped. Again. With his sister’s wedding on the horizon, he needs a plus one.

Kieran Barker has been in love with his straight best friend for far too long. It’ll never happen. Having already been left behind when Matt went to university, Kieran can’t take more heartbreak.

So when Matt invites Kieran to spend a whole week with him on the island of Majorca, Kieran can’t let himself think there’s more to it than lads on tour. All he can do is play the field to take his mind of the hot, rugby honed body of his oldest mate. Sexy men are in abundance in Magaluf, right? Matt only wants to cop off with the bridesmaid anyway.

But when Matt’s overprotectiveness about Kieran’s late-night escapades borders on jealousy, can he even dare to think that there’s more to their years of flirtations than simple bromance?

And can Matt really acknowledge his feelings when they’ll soon be returning to England, with him back to the university rugby team and two hundred miles away from Kieran.

Spanish Siesta (Flying into Love #2) is a Contemporary, Friends to Lovers, Bisexual Awakening, Forced Proximity MM Romance featuring a hot-headed rugby Fly-Half struggling with his emotions and an out-and-proud wannabe dancer suffering from unrequited love.

Excerpt

“Shit.” Matt grabbed Kieran by the arm, and shoved him back into the elevator, slamming his hand on any old button.  

“What the fuck, Matt?” 

The elevator shunted and they both had to grab the handrail running along the lift. 

“It’s going down!” Kieran widened his eyes. “How is it going down?” 

Matt didn’t say anything. His heart thumped and the foggy wooziness from the alcohol he thought hadn’t affected him crept up to make his head spin. The doors opened into a dark space. A basement, maybe? A cleaning closet. He’d hit the sodding service call button. 

Kieran reached out to hit the G but Matt grabbed his arm, preventing him then yanked them both out and into darkness. 

“What the—” 

Matt slapped a hand over Kieran’s mouth, “Shhh!”

The elevator doors closed, the lift moving up, surrounding them in silence. Kieran stared at him, eyes widening. Matt drifted his hand from Kieran’s mouth but held a finger to his lips. 

“What the fuck?” Kieran mouthed. 

Matt stepped farther into the dark space, checking the surroundings. He breathed a sigh of relief when he discovered they were alone then turned back to face Kieran.

“Why have you shoved me in a fucking broom cupboard?” 

Matt’s chest rose with the force of his inhalation. He tried to calm his thrashing heart. His invasive thoughts. His fear. His nerves. He couldn’t find any words. How could he explain? What would he say when he didn’t understand any of this himself? Rationality drowned by his thumping pulse, he closed his eyes to try to steady his breathing. 

“Matt?” Kieran’s voice was distant but calming. “Matt, you okay?” He placed his palm to his forehead. “Is it sunstroke?” 

Matt opened his eyes at the gentle touch, at the warm breath trickling onto his skin, at the unwavering concern in shaking lips. 

Matt shook his head. 

Kieran lowered his hand but Matt grabbed his wrist. 

“Matt? You’re scaring the fuck out of me.” 

“You think I ain’t scaring myself right now?” 

“Why?” Kieran’s question was shrouded by his sharp swallow. 

“Because I don’t know, Kier. I don’t know what’s happening.” He squeezed desperate fingers around Kieran’s wrist, glancing down to the swirls of his tribal tattoo and his breath hitched. “What’s happening to me?” 

“Too much sangria?” 

Matt pursed his lip, shaking his head. 

“Too much sun?” 

Matt shook his head. 

“You drank the tap water?” 

Matt hefted out an exasperated sigh. 

“Then, you’re gonna have to tell me.” Kieran licked his lips. “Because I’m all out of ideas.” 

Matt rubbed his thumb along the underside of Kieran’s wrist, eyes down, not able to look at Kieran as he contemplated what he should do. What he needed to do. What he was so desperate to do that it consumed his every breath. 

“Matt—”

Matt cut off Kieran’s words with a kiss. 

Kieran didn’t respond. He stood there, eyes wide as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. Frozen. Stunned. Accepting Matt’s lips on his. Shit. It was wrong. This was wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Fears confirmed, Matt pulled away, sinking back against the wall, telling his thumping heart he was sorry. 

Kieran didn’t move. He didn’t breathe either.

Then, he closed his eyes to exhale the words, “You better not be fucking with me.” 

Matt met his gaze through the shadowy darkness. “Give me half a chance.” It had meant to be a light-hearted joke. Something to lift the mood. It came out wrong though and Kieran reached for the lift call button. 

Matt held out his hand. “Don’t.” He hung his head. “Please don’t. I got this far. I might need help for the next step.”

Kieran dropped his hand away. Then, after several awkward moments of silence, he said, “You kissed me.” 

“Yup.” 

“You put your lips on mine.” 

“Yup.”

“You…were going to put your tongue in my mouth.” 

“Are you a fucking snog pundit? Do you commentate all your kisses in the dark?”

“No, Matt!” Kieran raked a hand through his hair. “Just the ones that come from my best fucking mate.” He slapped Matt’s chest. “My straight best mate.” 

“I don’t recall ever saying I was straight.” 

“You don’t have to, Matt. It’s implied in your heterosexual relationships.” 

Matt cocked his head. “Bit last season, there, Kier.” 

“I’m going to choke you with bog roll in a minute.” 

“Bog roll?” 

“We’re in a fucking closet!” Kieran flapped his hands at shelves and shelves of toilet paper and cleaning products. “Which is so damn ironic, I can’t deal.” 

About the Author

Brought up in a relatively small town in Hertfordshire, C F White managed to do what most other residents try to do and fail—leave.

Studying at a West London university, she realised there was a whole city out there waiting to be discovered, so, much like Dick Whittington before her, she never made it back home and still endlessly search for the streets paved with gold, slowly coming to the realisation they’re mostly paved with chewing gum. And the odd bit of graffiti. And those little circles of yellow spray paint where the council point out the pot holes to someone who is supposedly meant to fix them instead of staring at them vacantly whilst holding a polystyrene cup of watered-down coffee.

Eventually she moved West to East along that vast District Line and settled for pie and mash, cockles and winkles and a bit of Knees Up Mother Brown to live in the East End of London; securing a job and creating a life, a home and a family.

After her second son was born with a rare disability, C F White’s life changed and it brought pen back to and paper after having written stories as a child but never had the confidence to show them to the world. Now, having embarked on this writing journey, C F White can’t stop. 

So strap in, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.  

Author Links

Twitter @CFWhiteUK  |  Facebook  |  Blog

Instagram  |  Newsletter Sign-up

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Release Blitz + Giveaway: The Poison Bottle (Treasure Trove Antiques #3) by L.M. Somerton


 

 

The Poison Bottle by LM Somerton

Book 3 in the Treasure Trove Antiques series

Word Count: 58,408
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 231

Genres:

ACTION AND ADVENTURE
BONDAGE AND BDSM
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
MYSTERY
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

Add to Goodreads

Book Description

There’s no antidote to the malignant craving for power and wealth.

Landry Carran should know better than to get involved in yet another murder mystery, but it was hardly his fault that someone dumped a dead body on the doorstep of Treasure Trove Antiques. He can’t resist recruiting his friends to help him play detective.

Meanwhile, Landry’s partner and Dom, Gage Roskam, is doing real detective work that proves hazardous to his health and brings with it the assistance of an annoying Englishman who Gage believes should be behind bars.

The case twists and turns across Seattle’s antique trade, and the bodies multiply. As clues are solved, it becomes apparent that those closest to Gage are in grave danger. He’ll need to control his errant sub, deal with the most irritating Brit ever born and solve the case if he wants to prevent more death.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence, abduction and murder.

Excerpt

Landry Carran gave his ass a rub and grinned at the resulting ache. His boyfriend and Dom, Detective Gage Roskam, had delivered a stupendous spanking less than an hour earlier, and Landry was still glowing—physically and mentally. He gave a happy jig then bounced down the stairs from the apartment he shared with Gage to Treasure Trove Antiques, which occupied the ground floor of the building and was his place of gainful-ish employment. The two cups of strong coffee and bowl of sugar-laden cereal that he’d had for breakfast ensured his current energetic state would last for at least an hour, which was when his best friend and assistant, Petey Templeton, would join him. Landry didn’t usually have to open the store alone, but Petey had finally given in to a nagging toothache and had an early dental appointment.

“Such a wuss,” Landry muttered. “Can’t believe I had to bribe him to go.” Worth it though. An assistant who doesn’t want to eat baked goods is no use to me at all. That globe he had his eye on was a small price to pay. Petey had a thing for maps and had fallen in love with a battered globe that dated back to the nineteen seventies. It was about as accurate as a Fox News report, but Petey liked finding the mistakes. Landry had gotten so fed up of Petey whining about his tooth, he’d promised Petey the globe if he put aside his phobia of dentists and got it taken care of. Landry had also persuaded Carson, Petey’s boyfriend, to act as escort and make sure he made his appointment. Carson had been happy to help because, as he’d put it, “a boyfriend who cries when you kiss him does not boost a man’s confidence.”

Bopping and humming as he went, Landry unlocked the door between the building’s stairwell and the store. As he entered the cavernous space, piled high with antiques and collectables, he took a deep breath. The familiar scent of beeswax polish, old wood and leather always settled him and put him in the right frame of mind for a day at work. He moved around the store, turning on an eclectic mix of lighting—mainly old lamps that were for sale because his boss, Mr. Lao, insisted that they were more attractive to potential buyers when lit. Of course that meant that whenever they sold one, a corner of the store would be in the dark until Mr. Lao obtained a new one to replace it, but Landry didn’t mind because part of Treasure Trove Antiques’ charm was its nooks and crannies. He knew the stock inside and out but loved seeing the wonder on customers’ faces when they spotted something unique or unusual hidden behind an aging armoire or balancing on top of a bookcase stuffed with rare tomes. He glanced around, checking that all was as he’d left it the previous evening. Everything was as it should be. Not that there was any reason for him to think otherwise, but there had been an incident with a mouse once when somehow, the tiny rodent had set up home in a basket of vintage tablecloths and had nibbled a hole through two of them before he was spotted. It had taken a humane trap and enough peanut butter to feed a raccoon, let alone a mouse, to catch the beast, so Landry was constantly on the lookout for any sign of critters in the store.

He grabbed the long pole he needed to lift the security shutter into place then went back into the hall. He left the building then crossed the yard to the alley gate. After his usual fight with the padlock, he rounded the corner of the building to the street. His friend Prisha, whose dad owned the Eastern Emporium opposite Treasure Trove, was outside brushing down the sidewalk with hot soapy water. Landry gave her a wave before jogging across the road.

“Hey, Prisha, what’s going down?”

“What came up, more like.” She grimaced. “Somebody deposited the contents of their stomach on the sidewalk last night. So gross.”

Landry wrinkled his nose. “Better you than me, especially first thing in the morning.”

“Hey, if you want to do a girl a favor, I’d be happy to hand over the broom.”

“No can do.” Landry grinned. “Petey’s at the dentist so I have to open on my own this morning. Gotta go before hordes of voracious customers start beating on the security shutter.”

“Yeah, I can see where they’re lining up around the block.” Prisha went back to brushing. “I’ll come over on my break later. You can buy me a coffee.”

“Deal. Have a good morning.” Landry skipped back across the street, managing not to trip over his pole. He had less trouble opening the security shutter than closing it because he didn’t have to get the hook on the end of his pole through the tiny D-ring that allowed him to draw it down. It was way above his head and like trying to thread a needle while standing on the deck of a pitching boat. Opening up just meant using the pole to push the shutter back into place once he’d released the padlock that locked it to a concealed ring in the sidewalk. A padlock that was no longer in place.

Landry frowned. He distinctly remembered snapping it shut the night before because he’d scraped a knuckle doing it. “Fuckety-fuck. What the heck is going on?”

There was no sign of vandalism or any other damage to the shutter. Landry shrugged, slipped the pole into place then pushed. The shutter rolled up of its own accord, only needing a shove for the last couple of feet. Landry unhooked the pole then gaped. In the recessed store doorway was a person, huddled in a ball, facing away from him.

“What on earth…? Hey, padlock thief, you can’t stay there.” He groped in his pocket for a few dollars. “Go get yourself some breakfast.”

Whoever it was didn’t move. With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Landry propped his pole against the store window then leaned over his visitor. He touched his shoulder, gave it a little shake and the man rolled toward him.

“Holy fuck!” He was dead. Completely and absolutely deceased. Blood stained the front of the beige trench coat he wore. There was a blue tinge to his skin and his eyes were open, staring.

Landry danced back a few steps as he stared at the corpse. “No, no, no… This is not good for business. I mean, poor guy, but why my shop doorway?” His cell was inside so he turned and waved frantically at Prisha who dropped her broom before running across the street. “Call 911! I found a body.”

Prisha, who was always good in a crisis, did a quick turn and rocketed into the Eastern Emporium. She was soon back with her dad at her side.

“The cops are on their way,” she said, putting an arm around Landry’s now shaking shoulders. “You should call Gage. Here, use this.” She handed over her cell, but Landry’s hands were trembling too much to punch in the number. Prisha grabbed it back. “Tell me the number. I’ll call him for you.”

Landry reeled it off without thinking. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the dead body and his bloodstained clothing.

“Gage, it’s Prisha. I’m here with Landry and… Yes, he’s fine but the dead guy he just found behind the security shutter isn’t looking so good.”

“What?” Landry heard Gage’s yell even from where he was standing. He took the cell back.

“Can you come home, Sir?” Landry used the honorific without thinking, defaulting to his role as Gage’s submissive rather than his boyfriend in his stressed state. “There’s a b-b-b…body. A real-life body, I mean it’s a dead body but it’s real. An actual genuine, honest to God, not breathing, corpse. And it’s in the shop porch blocking the door and there’s blood. Gage, why is there a dead person in my shop doorway?” Tears welled in Landry’s eyes and he sniffled.

“I’m not really in a position to answer that question yet, love. Stay put. Sancha and I are on our way. Who’s there with you?”

“Petey’s at the dentist and Mr. Lao isn’t here but Prisha and her dad have come over.”

“Stay with them. I mean it, Landry. You are not to go anywhere on your own.”

“Not going anywhere,” Landry mumbled as Gage ended the call. “How can I go anywhere when there are dead people?”

“It’s one dead person, Landry, not a massacre.”

“Where there’s one, there might be others. That’s logical.” Landry glanced around in case more corpses littered the place.

Prisha gave him a comforting hug. She and her dad had been joined by the guy who had been cleaning windows at the café next door to Treasure Trove and the crew of a passing garbage truck. The manager of the café arrived with a tray of coffees and a plate piled with Danish pastries.

“Someone came into the café and said there’s a body out here. I know it doesn’t seem appropriate,” she said, “but a hot drink and something sweet will take your mind off what’s going on, Landry. It’ll help with the shock.”

“Thanks, Mary.” Landry discovered that shoving a cherry Danish in his mouth made all the difference. A new infusion of sugar and caffeine into his system helped him see things in a more clinical light and stop thinking about how on earth a dead man had gotten behind the security shutter. “The padlock,” he said, spraying crumbs. “When I came to lift the shutter earlier, the padlock was gone. I wonder where it is.”

The small crowd started searching up and down the sidewalk and it wasn’t long before there was a shout from one of the garbage crew. “Found it!” Landry, coffee in hand, walked over to look at where the guy was pointing. The padlock lay in the gutter, partly covered by a discarded banana skin.

“I guess we should leave it where it is,” Landry said, “in case of fingerprints.”

“That’s right. I’m Elton.” The garbage guy held out his hand, which Landry shook, hoping that his fingers wouldn’t be crushed in the process. Elton was built like a linebacker.

“Nice to meet you, Elton. Shame it couldn’t have been under better circumstances.”

“You’d be surprised how many bodies we come across in our line of work,” Elton said, sounding philosophical. “We get training on what not to do when it comes to possible evidence. We were about to empty the dumpsters along the street when we saw what was going on, so we’ll leave them until the cops get here. They may want to keep the contents to search through for clues.”

“Well, I never thought of that.” Landry was fascinated.

“I don’t suppose antique selling is a job that gets you involved in much crime,” Elton said.

Landry thought about the last few months, the adventures he and Gage had had, first with his lucky cat and then the gilded mirror. “No, not really. Old stuff is tame.”

“I wonder if there are any pastries left.” Elton ambled toward the café where Mary was eyeing him like a piece of prime beef. Landry shook his head. “People sure do meet under the strangest of circumstances,” he muttered, watching Elton get coy and stutter in front of Mary.

Sirens announced the arrival of the cops and not long afterward, Gage’s Jeep screeched to a halt next to a patrol car. He and Sancha jumped out and while Sancha went over to the uniforms, Gage headed straight for Landry.

“Again? Really?” He drew Landry into a tight hug.

“So not my fault,” Landry mumbled into the hard planes of Gage’s chest. “It’s not like I have a sign up saying ‘leave your dead bodies here’, is it?”

“You attract trouble like a magnet.”

Landry nuzzled against Gage’s body. He could feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt and smell the gel he’d used in the shower that morning. “Do not.”

“Do so.”

“Someone cut off the padlock. It’s in the gutter over there. They must have lifted the grill, dumped the body in the porch then pulled it down again.”

“I want you to go sit in the café,” Gage said, “while Sancha and I get the investigation started.”

“Will you be assigned the case?” Landry asked.

“If the captain doesn’t think I have a conflict of interest, it’s quite likely.” Gage steered Landry toward the café. He gestured for Prisha to come over and asked her to stay with Landry.

Landry didn’t want to leave the safety of Gage’s arms but knew he had to let him do his job. Once he’d settled at a table in the café with Prisha next to him, he took a deep breath and eased some of his tension with a roll of his shoulders. He slurped his coffee. “Here we go again.”

“Are you ready for another adventure?” Prisha asked.

“It’s not like I had a choice the first time, or the second. Hopefully this will amount to nothing.” Landry didn’t need Prisha’s skeptical expression or his own gut feeling to tell him that amounting to nothing was the least likely outcome of the morning’s events. He wondered if impending doom merited another pastry.

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author

L.M. Somerton

Lucinda lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.

She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire. She's fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle (and some not so subtle) leanings towards BDSM.

You can follow Lucinda on Facebook, Twitter and her Website.

Giveaway

Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.  

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Release Blitz: Reigniting Chase by Jeanne St. James


 

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Reigniting Chase

Author: Jeanne St. James

Publisher: Double-J Romance, Inc.

Cover Artist: Golden Czermak @ FuriousFotog

Release Date: July 30, 2022

Genre:  Contemporary M/M Romance

Tropes: Gay, mature (both characters over 40), small town, grumpy/sunshine

Themes: Dealing with loss, new beginnings

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 368 pages

It is a standalone story with no cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

Universal Link  |  Amazon US  |  Amazon UK 

An unexpected collaboration between two authors that’s hot enough to spark a fire...

Blurb

Chase

After an excruciating loss, I’m desperate for a fresh start.

Away from the painful memories.

Away from everyone I know and anyone who knows my story.

That’s how I end up in Eagle’s Landing, Pennsylvania.

As a bestselling author, my main reason for moving to a remote mountain cabin is to overcome the writer’s block that crushed my creativity for the past two years. My hope is to rediscover my words in the quiet, small town where no one knows me. Or my past.

A place where I can blend in enough that I become invisible.

Rett

Even though Chase, one of my favorite authors, insists he wants to be left alone, I refuse to let him wallow in whatever’s drowning him.

As a local bookstore owner and author myself, I’m intrigued by the man who’s a master of the written word. Unfortunately, his social skills could use a lot of work.

Even so, I’m determined to pull the irritable and frustrating man out of the dark pit he’s fallen into and back to the surface, no matter how hard he fights it. I only hope dragging Chase down that fiery path just might reignite his spark and that I don’t get burned in the process.

Note: Please check the content warning before reading or purchasing. It can be found at the beginning of the book (accessible by Amazon’s “look inside” feature or by downloading the sample) as well as on my website. This standalone gay romance has a guaranteed HEA, no cheating and no cliffhanger.

Excerpt 

I paused my fork halfway to my mouth. I had only made a small dent in the diner’s belly-busting breakfast special so far. It was criminal how much food the server had delivered for five bucks.

Five freaking bucks. On Long Island, it would have cost me at least fifteen.

And for only two more dollars, the coffee came with unlimited refills. If I could mainline that welcomed caffeine right now, I would.

My whole body ached and I was exhausted, not only from sleeping like shit in the motel, but from tackling the seemingly endless job of cleaning the cabin from top to bottom. I didn’t want the furniture I purchased down at a mom-and-pop store in Picture Rocks to be delivered until the place was completely spotless and all my unwanted roommates had been effectively evicted.

While I liked bats and knew they were beneficial, I just didn’t want to share the same space with them. If they returned to sleep in the rafters today, then I needed to find how they were getting in since I had covered the broken window with plastic-sheeting.

But all of that wasn’t what made me pause my eating, it was the man across the diner who wouldn’t stop staring.

Like me, he also sat alone, but unlike me, he seemed to know everyone in the diner. A local just like everyone else there.

The first morning, all eyes had turned in my direction as soon as I walked through The Eagle’s Nest’s door, but now the waitresses were used to seeing me since this was my third day eating in the diner, for both breakfast and a late dinner.

The food was good. The prices and attentive, friendly service even better.

Even one of the thirty-something-year-old waitresses had tried flirting with me. She had no idea she was barking up the wrong tree. Even if I was on the dating market, she was playing on the wrong team. While I had the utmost respect for women, I simply didn’t want to sleep with them.

However, the man who kept staring at me was most likely not on my team, either.

Was he staring because I was simply a stranger in a close-knit community, where everyone apparently knew everyone?

It couldn’t be because I was gay. While I had never hidden it, I also didn’t flaunt it and most women, when I broke it to them gently, were shocked to find out the truth.

Most men, too.

I’d heard, “My gaydar must be broken,” more times than I’d ever wanted to.

Even so, dating wasn’t on my agenda anytime soon. Or ever, since I had no plans on dating anyone ever again.

Life would be easier that way. Plus, at this point, being a team player didn’t matter, I preferred to remain a free agent.

Ignoring the man, I finished shoving the forkful of scrambled eggs into my mouth, hoping the guy would get bored staring at me.

Still ignoring the man, I stabbed a piece of sausage, also shoving it into my mouth and chewing, hoping the guy would lose interest in whatever had caught it in the first place.

Continuing to ignore the rude man, I sucked down half a cup of black coffee, hoping the guy would simply fuck off.

Finally, unable to ignore him anymore, I dropped the fork on my plate with a clatter, tipped my head down and rubbed my forehead. I steadied my breathing in an attempt to lower my quickly rising blood pressure.

I only wanted to eat in peace. I wasn’t here to make friends, or even enemies.

I only wanted to be left the fuck alone.

But of course that wasn’t going to happen.

This was exactly why I left Long Island, everything I knew and everybody who knew me.

I wanted to live somewhere no one knew me or my backstory. I had gotten to the breaking point, swallowed up by pity on one hand, or people thinking it was time I “got over it” on the other.

I’d never get over it.

Not fucking ever.

“Fuck!” screamed through my head when the dark-haired man rose from where he sat at the counter. After throwing a few singles next to his plate, he turned and headed away from the entrance and toward my booth.

Of. Fucking. Course.

Dread rose from my gut into my throat and began to choke me. The man might have recognized me somehow.

Lifting my coffee cup, I peered over the rim to keep an eye on the approaching man. My muscles and spine stiffened more with every step taken closer to where I sat. Trying to mind my own business.

Trying to eat breakfast.

Trying to exist in peace.

About the Author 

JEANNE ST. JAMES is a USA Today, Amazon and international bestselling romance author who loves writing about strong women and alpha males. She was only thirteen when she first started writing. Her first published piece was an erotic short story in Playgirl magazine. She then went on to publish her first romance novel in 2009. She is now an author of over fifty contemporary romances. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages, including interracial. She also writes M/M paranormal romance under the name J.J. Masters.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter

Instagram  |  Newsletter Sign-up  |  TikTok 

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions