Release Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway - Riza Curtis - Rended Hearts

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Length: 35,000 words approx.

Blurb

After a life on the run, witch Gabriel just wants to enjoy having a home. He’s perfectly happy pottering around his garden and using magic to quietly help people. Then the Alpha of the local wolf pack is attacked by a member of the local coven, and everything changes. There’s no love lost between the witch and the wolves, but Gabriel saves the life of the Alpha in an attempt to keep the peace.

Simon finds his mate in the witch that saves his life, but the coven is coming for Gabriel, and they don’t care who gets in their way...

Excerpt

“That’s better.” Simon couldn’t help his own smile after seeing Gabriel’s joy. His face was flushed pink from laughing, and he looked radiant in the soft light of the clinic.

“What is?”

Simon took a chance and moved closer. Gabriel’s eyes widened as he startled, but he didn’t seem alarmed. “Seeing you smile.”

Gabriel flushed a deeper red, a hint of confusion displayed on his face.

Simon took another step closer so that he was face-to-face with a flustered Gabriel. He brought his hand up to gently touch the side of the Gabriel’s face. His skin was softer than Simon had thought possible.

“Are you—” Gabriel broke off the sentence and moved back. Simon dropped his hand immediately. He didn’t want to make Gabriel uncomfortable.

Gabriel glanced at Simon and took a hesitant breath. Simon tried to look reassuring.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but you’re flirting with me? Why?”

Simon chuckled. Gabriel was adorable. “Because I like you.”

Gabriel frowned before glancing away. He didn’t seem satisfied with the answer.

“But wolves have mates,” he interjected.

Simon’s eyes widened momentarily. He hadn’t thought Gabriel would know about mates, but maybe this would be a good thing—maybe Gabriel would be more receptive, more understanding about the situation.

“Why do you think I am flirting with you?” Simon asked, dropping his voice to no louder than a whisper, soft and alluring.

Gabriel inhaled sharply, and his eyes widened. “Surely not?”

Simon didn’t know if that was positive or negative, but he couldn’t take it back now. He nodded, moving closer and crowding Gabriel against the wall.

“Don’t you feel it too?” he asked. “My mate?”

Author Bio

Riza began writing stories at a young age to the a̶n̶n̶o̶y̶a̶n̶c̶e̶ delight of anyone she could b̶u̶l̶l̶y̶ persuade to read them. Now somewhat older, if not wiser, things haven't really changed.

Riza lives in England where they enjoy adding extra letters to words, tea, and discussing the weather (it's always raining). She has a FdSci in Manufacturing Engineering and is currently working towards her BEng. When she's not writing, studying or doing her day job, Riza is obsessed with target archery and enjoys shooting barebow.

www.rizacurtis.com
Twitter: @rizacurtis
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/riza.curtis.author
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/rizacurtis

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Retro Review Tour, Excerpt & Giveaway - Ann Gallagher - The Left Hand Of Calvus

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Length: 52,500 words approx.

Blurb

Former gladiator Saevius is certain Fortune’s smiling on him when a Pompeiian politician buys him to be his bodyguard. That is until his new master, Laurea Calvus, orders Saevius to discover the gladiator with whom his wife is having a sordid affair. In order to do that, Saevius must return to the arena, training alongside the very men on whom he’s spying. Worse, he’s now under the command of Drusus, a notoriously cruel—and yet strangely intriguing—lanista.

But Saevius’s ruse is the least of his worries. There’s more to the affair than a wife humiliating her prominent husband, and now Saevius is part of a dangerous game between dangerous men. He isn’t the only gladiator out to expose the Lady Verina’s transgressions, and her husband wants more than just the guilty man’s name.

When Saevius learns the truth about the affair, he’s left with no choice but to betray a master: one he’s come to fear, one he’s come to respect, and either of whom could have him killed without repercussion.

For the first time in his life, the most dangerous place for this gladiator isn’t the arena.

March 26 - Drops Of Ink, Sarandipity Book Reviews, Scattered Thoughts & Rogue Words
March 27 - MM Good Book Reviews
March 28 - Book Love, Dog-Eared Daydreams
March 29 - Padme's Library
March 30 - The Book Corps, Velvet Panic, Bayou Book Junkie

Excerpt

So this is Pompeii. The prosperous city at the base of Vesuvius.

I’ve heard the tales about this place. Quiet. Warm. Near the sea. Until recently, with the rudis of freedom so close I could almost feel its wooden hilt in my hands, I had considered coming here to make my home once I was no longer a slave. That is until Fortune decided I should remain in bondage. I’d had perhaps three fights left, but now I, along with two other men from my familia gladiatori, are on our way to the Pompeiian politician who’s now our master.

In spite of the fact that I’d lost my chance at freedom, the rest of the men in the familia had been envious.

“A nobleman? In Pompeii?” One had slapped my arm. “You lucky bastard!”

“Agreed,” another had said. “You won’t be in the arena anymore, and if you’ve got to stay a slave, Saevius, you could do worse than to live out your days as some rich bastard’s bodyguard.”

A third had added, “Pompeii? I hear in that place, the wine they pour in noblemen’s houses tastes like the lips of Venus herself.”

The other men traveling with me had been thrilled by that notion. Me, I’m as enthusiastic about any woman’s lips, including Venus’s, as I am about spending the rest of my days a fucking slave, so I’d simply muttered, “I’ll be sure to give my regards to Bacchus.”

What servant drinks the same wine as his masters, I can hardly imagine. But never mind, because the wine here is probably no different from what flows in Rome. After all, Pompeii doesn’t seem much different from Rome, if you ask me. A great deal smaller, yes, and much less crowded. At least in this part of the city, though, it’s all the same terracotta roofs and limestone walls and, as we near the market, people dragging unruly livestock down stone streets past lumbering carts and clouds of buzzing flies. Smells like bread, sweat, fish, and dung, just like Rome, with chickens talking over the shouting bakers, fishmongers, butchers, and vintners while hammering and banging come from workshops behind shop fronts and booths. Perhaps I should have considered retiring to Herculaneum instead. Then again, if Pompeii isn’t in life what it is in stories, then Herculaneum likely isn’t the luxurious place it’s said to be either.

Not that I have a choice now. Pompeii is my home until I’m sold or I die. Or my new master sees fit to free me when I’m no longer of use to him.

Ectur, the monolith of a Parthian tasked with bringing the three of us down from Rome, leads us deeper into Pompeii’s stinking, bustling market. With every exhausted step, our chains rattle over the city’s noise. Though the streets are crowded, people move aside to let us pass. Some give us wary looks, standing between us and their wives and children. Even those struggling to move carts down these difficult roads stay out of our way. They’re especially wary of Ectur. We certainly look the part of gladiators—scarred, tanned brutes, all of us—and since Ectur’s unchained, people probably think he’s our lanista. No citizen with any sense wants near a lanista.

The market must be close to the Forum. All over the place, noblemen strut like cocks and sneer at slaves and citizens, just like every one I ever saw in Rome, as though the gods themselves should fear them. Would’ve liked to have met one of them in the arena during my fighting days; he’d have wept to the gods for mercy, and that pristine white toga would have been stained in shit before I’d fully raised my sword.

But, gods willing, my days in the arena are behind me forever.

Just beyond the market, where the streets fan out toward clusters of high-walled villas, Ectur approaches a squat, balding man in a tunic that’s far too clean to belong to a common laborer. The man’s attention is buried in a beeswax tablet resting on his arm, and he’s muttering to himself as he scratches something into it with a stylus.

He glances up at us, and I realize he only has one eye. Dropping his attention back to the tablet, he grumbles, “Thought you’d leave me waiting all bloody day.”

“Longer journey from Rome than it is from your master’s house,” Ectur mutters.

Without looking up, the one-eyed man says, “I’ll need to look at them before you leave. The Master Laurea will be unhappy if they are not up to his standards.”

Ectur stands straighter, narrowing his eyes. “Caius Blasius doesn’t deal in faulty goods.”

“Then he’ll not mind if I inspect his goods to be sure.” The one-eyed man gestures at us with his stylus. “Whereas I have a beating waiting if I bring to my master slaves who are not to his liking. So he’ll—” He stops abruptly, his eye widening. “Where is the fourth? Master Laurea specifically selected four men, not three.”

“The fourth fell ill. Terrible fever, and the medicus can’t say if he’ll live.” Ectur pulls a scroll from his belt and hands it to the one-eyed man. “Caius Blasius gives his word your master will be compensated.”

Glancing back and forth from the scroll to Ectur, the man sighs heavily. “The master will not be happy. It was the fourth in particular who interested him.”

Ectur sniffs with amusement. “That scrawny Phoenician is hardly worth the sestertii your master paid for him. An entertaining gladiator, maybe, but he’s worthless outside the arena.”

I can’t help a quiet laugh. It’s true enough; the idiot Phoenician is only alive—assuming he still is—because he’s less afraid of his opponents than he is of the punishment for being a coward on the sands. A man bred to be a bodyguard, he is not.

“The master selected his men for a reason,” the one-eyed man snaps at Ectur. He sighs and shakes his head. “Never mind, then. If he isn’t here, he isn’t here. The other three had best be in good condition.”

Ectur doesn’t respond. He folds his arms across his chest, watching with a scowl as the man with the stylus inspects us each in turn, tutting and muttering to himself in between jabbing us with his finger and etching something into the tablet. He pokes at scars and bruises, eyeing us when we flinch, and then checks our teeth and eyes. Since I was a child, I’ve been through more of these inspections than I can count, and still I have to force myself not to put both hands around his throat and show him I’m as fit and strong as a gladiator—or bodyguard, in this case—ought to be.

Finally, he grunts and slams shut the leather cover on the wax tablet. “They’re all well.”

“Good,” says the Parthian. “Give my regards to your master.”

“And yours.” The one-eyed man gestures sharply at us. “Come with me.”

Without a word from any of us, we follow the man. His legs are shorter than ours nearly by half, but he walks quickly, his gait fast and angry, and with heavy chains on our ankles, it’s a struggle to keep up with him. Ectur doesn’t come with us.

Soon, we will meet our new master.

By name, Junius Calvus Laurea isn’t unfamiliar to me. I’ve heard Caius Blasius mention him—usually with a scowl—and he’s apparently bought gladiators from my former master before. I don’t know his face, though, and I know nothing of the man whose life I will be sworn to guard. Only that he isn’t a lanista and my existence no longer includes the inside of an arena. Freedom may not be in my future, but Fortune be praised a thousand times over anyway.

The one-eyed servant leads us down a narrow road between the enormous villas lined up in ranks just inside the wall along the northern edge of the city. In spite of our chains, my fellow former gladiators and I exchange smiles. A villa instead of a ludus gladiatori? Indeed, this will be a new life. The existence of a bodyguard isn’t safe per se, but unless our master has an unusual number of enemies, we’ll protect him with our presence more often than our fighting skills. We’ll more likely die from boredom than a blade.

On our way out of Rome, we’d passed through the shadow of the nearly completed Colosseum. As the immense structure’s cool shade rested on my neck and shoulders, I’d whispered a prayer of thanks, in spite of the chains on my wrists and ankles, for my good fortune. Rumors abound about what’s planned for the Colosseum, and some say the games there will be far greater and more brutal than all the Ludi we’d barely survived at Circus Maximus. Another year or two, people say, and it will be complete. Perhaps I’ll never earn my rudis and the freedom that accompanies it now, but any gladiator should be grateful for the chance to serve a nobleman rather than set foot in that place.

We stop in front of one of the countless villas. There, two massive, heavily-armed guards push open the tall gates, and we walk inside. Our one-eyed guide takes us through the luxurious home to the garden in the back. Here, within the high walls covered in trailing ivy and in the shade of a massive cypress tree, servants and statues surround our new master.

As soon as I see him, I recognize the Master Laurea. I’ve seen him at the ludus before, watching us train and inspecting us the way his servant did today. I didn’t know at the time he was the one called Calvus Laurea, but I never forgot that face. Carved from cold stone, sharply angled, with intense blue eyes that always emphasize the smirk or scowl on his lips.

He lounges across a couch, cradling a polished cup in his hand as a servant fans away the day’s heat with enormous feathers. A large bodyguard stands behind Calvus Laurea, as does a black-eyed servant with a wine jug clutched to her chest.

The man who led us here stops us with a sharp gesture, and all three of us go to our knees, heads bowed.

The master gets up. His sandals scuff on the stone ground. “Stand, all of you.” As one, we rise to attention.

“I am Junius Cal—” His brow furrows. He looks from one of us to the next. Narrowing his eyes, he turns to the man who brought us. “There are three, Ataiun. Where is the fourth?”

The one-eyed servant bows his head. “My apologies, Dominus. There were only three. The fourth was stricken with fever and unable to travel.” He pulls out the scroll Ectur had given him. “His master sends this promise of compensation.”

Master Laurea scowls. “Very well. I suppose it will have to do.” He waves a hand at his servant. “See that it’s accounted for.” To us, he says, “I am Junius Calvus Laurea, and I am your new master.”

Once again, he looks at us each in turn. I try not to notice how his gaze keeps lingering on me longer than it does on the others, but his pauses are too conspicuous to ignore.

At last, he speaks: “You’re the one called Saevius, yes?”

I square my shoulders. “I am, Dominus.”

Without taking his eyes off me, he says to his servant, “Show the others to their quarters.” He gestures at me. “This one stays here.”

The men who accompanied me bow their heads sharply, and a moment later, they are gone.

Master Laurea steps closer to me, still looking me squarely in the eyes. “Welcome to Pompeii, Saevius,” he says with a slight smile. “You may call me Calvus.”

His request for familiarity sends ghostly spiders creeping up the length of my spine.

Without taking his eyes off mine, he snaps his fingers. “Bring us wine. Both of us.”

The servant holding the wine jug obeys immediately, and the spiders are more pronounced now, my breath barely moving as the woman pours two cups of wine. She hands one to our master, and then the other to me.

“Leave us,” Calvus says. “All of you.”

Gods, be with me . . .

In moments, I am alone with my new master, a cup of wine in my uncertain hand. Calvus brings his cup to his lips, pausing to say, “Drink, Saevius. I insist.”

I do. I can’t say if it tastes like the cunt of Venus, but it’s as sweet and rich as Pompeiian wines are said to be, if slightly soured by the churning in the pit of my stomach.

“You won’t be my bodyguard, Saevius,” Calvus says suddenly. “Not like the two who came with you.”

I suddenly can’t taste the wine on my tongue. With much effort, I swallow it. “Whatever you ask of me, Dominus.”

“I have two tasks for you, Saevius.” Something about the way he says my name, the way he keeps saying my name, sends more spiders wandering up and down my back and beneath my flesh. “One simple, one less so.”

I bow my head slightly. “I am here to serve, Dominus.”

“Calvus,” he says. “Call me Calvus.”

I slowly raise my head. “I am here to serve . . . Calvus.”

He grins. “Much better.”

He’s playing a game here. He has to be. What game it is, and what role I play, I can’t work out.

I take another drink of tasteless wine. “What are my duties?”

“There is a ludus gladiatori on the south side of the city.” The mention of a ludus twists something in my chest. Calvus continues, “Your first task is to present a gift to the lanista of that ludus. A gift of five hundred sestertii from Cassius, the city magistrate.” My skin crawls as an odd smile curls the corners of my new master’s mouth. “Cassius deeply regrets he could not present it himself, but”—the smile intensifies—“I promised I would take care of it for him.”

In spite of Calvus’s expression, relief cools my blood. Delivering monetary gifts instead of fighting other gladiators for the entertainment of a roaring crowd? Even if it means setting foot in a ludus again, I’ll be there only as a messenger, not a fighter in training.

Gods, I thank you. Again and again, I thank you.

“Let’s discuss your second task.” He tilts his head just so, like he’s looking for answers to questions he hasn’t yet asked. “Blasius spoke highly of you, Saevius. And your reputation precedes you all the way from Rome.” He raises his cup. “A tremendous fighter, but also a loyal servant.”

He’s quiet for a moment. It’s a silence I’m certain I’m supposed to fill, but I don’t know how.

“Thank you, Dominus,” is all I can think to say, and quickly correct it with, “Calvus. Thank you, Calvus.”

He lowers his wine cup. A different smile forms on his mouth, one that’s taut and unnerving. I’m less and less comfortable as the silence between us lingers.

At last, he speaks, and there’s something in his voice this time, an edge that prickles the back of my neck. “After you’ve delivered the money to the lanista, you will remain at the ludus.” His eyes narrow as one corner of his mouth lifts. “As an auctoratus.”

My heart beats faster. “Dominus, with respect, an auctoratus? I am not a citizen. I’m not even a freedman. How can I be an auctoratus if I am still—”

Calvus puts up a hand. “You will remain my slave, of course, but until such time as I tell you otherwise, you will live at the ludus. Train as a gladiator.” He inclines his head and lowers his voice. “To everyone but us and the gods, and according to the documents that will accompany you, you are a citizen voluntarily submitting to be owned by the ludus and its lanista. Am I understood?”

No. No, what are you asking me to do? And why?

But I nod anyway. “Yes, Dominus.”

He moves now, walking toward, then around me, circling me slowly as he continues speaking. “While you train and fight, you will keep your eyes and ears open. Listen and watch the men around you.”

I sweep my tongue across my dry lips. Every familia gladiatori is already rife with dangerous rivalries. To spy on my brothers within the ludus? Especially when I am the newest blood? I should cut my own throat now and be done with it.

“As an auctoratus,” he says, still walking around me, “you will be able to leave the ludus of your own free will, so long as you return and you don’t leave the city. When I wish to speak to you, I will contact you. Understood?”

“I . . . yes,” I say. “What am I looking for, Dominus? Er, Calvus?”

“You’re a gladiator, Saevius,” he says. “Surely you know how women feel about men like you?”

I nod again. Women were no strangers to the ludus where I trained before. Many of them married, plenty of them noble; my lanista took their money, the women cavorted with gladiators, and the husbands were never the wiser.

“A man of my stature cannot afford the embarrassment of a wife’s . . .” He pauses in both speech and step, wrinkling his nose. “Of a wife’s unsavory indiscretions. Especially with creatures so far below my station.” Calvus resumes his slow, unsettling walk around me. “And when word begins to spread of a woman doing these things, a husband, particularly a husband of my political and social stature, has little choice but to put a stop to it.” He steps into my sight and halts, looking me in the eye. “Which is where you come in, Saevius.”

Oh, dear sweet gods, help me . . .

“You will listen, and you will watch.” Calvus comes closer, eyes narrowing. “Learn the name of the man who keeps drawing my lady Verina into his bed. Am I clear, gladiator?”

In all my years in the arena, my heart has never pounded this hard. What woman doesn’t have slaves as lovers? Gladiators fuck married women as often as we fight amongst ourselves.

Unless Calvus thinks his wife isn’t involved with a slave. One of the freedmen working as trainers? Perhaps the lanista himself? Or one of the munerators renting fighters for some upcoming games? No citizen, especially not a public figure such as Calvus, tolerates that kind of insult from his wife, and for some, divorce isn’t nearly punishment enough.

Regardless of Calvus’s reasoning or what he plans to do once he knows the name of his wife’s lover, is there any place more dangerous for a man than the middle of games played between a wife and the husband she’s scorned?

“Am I clear, gladiator?”

I swallow hard. “Yes, Calvus.”

“Good.” He steps away and lifts his wine again. “I will have your papers drawn up tonight. Tomorrow morning, you will be taken to the ludus owned by the lanista Drusus.”

Drusus. Gods, any lanista but him. I silently beg the ground to open up beneath me. Drusus’s reputation extends beyond any reach Master Calvus could dream of his own doing. No gladiator who’s heard the stories about Drusus would ever volunteer to fight for him.

Calvus looks me up and down, his brow furrowing as he inspects my arms, one then the other. “These scars are . . .” He meets my eyes. “You’re left-handed, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

He grins. “Excellent. I’m sure Drusus will be doubly pleased with you.” The grin widens. “Perhaps I should have chosen you in the first place over that Phoenician. After all, a left-handed fighter like you belongs in the arena where he can make his lanista rich, yes?”

I resist the urge to avoid his eyes.

“You’ll be his left-handed moneymaker, and you’ll—” Calvus gives a quiet, bone-chilling laugh. “Well, I suppose in a way you’ll be my left hand, won’t you?”

“I suppose I will, Dominus,” I whisper.

Calvus puts his hand on my shoulder. The amusement leaves his expression. “Listen closely, gladiator. This is very important. The money you’re giving Drusus, the five hundred sestertii, is from the magistrate called Cassius. The same one who will be providing your auctoratus documents. Is that clear?”

My mouth goes dry as I nod.

“You will not mention me or our arrangement,” he says. “Not to anyone within the ludus under any circumstances. Understood?”

“Yes, Dominus.” I hesitate. “Calvus.”

“Be warned, Saevius. I do not tolerate treachery or dishonesty.” He leans in, lowering his voice so I’m certain no one but me and the gods can hear him, and he presses down hard on my shoulder. “Give me a single reason to believe you’re not doing precisely as I’ve ordered, or that you’ve breathed my name within the walls of the ludus, and I will see to it the magistrate asks Drusus if he received the full seven hundred sestertii. Am I understood?”

With much effort, I swallow. With even more, I nod. “Yes, Calvus.”

And silently, I beg the gods to send me back to Rome to fight in its Colosseum.

Ann Gallagher is the slightly more civilized alter ego of L.A. Witt, Lauren Gallagher, and Lori A. Witt. So she tells herself, anyway. When she isn’t wreaking havoc on Spain with her husband and trusty two-headed Brahma bull, she writes romances just like her wilder counterparts, but without all the heat. She is also far too mature to get involved in the petty battle between L.A. and Lauren, but she’s seriously going to get even with Lori for a certain incident that shall not be discussed publicly.

Website: http://www.gallagherwitt.com
E-mail: gallagherwitt@gmail.com
Twitter: @GallagherWitt
Blog: http://gallagherwitt.blogspot.com

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Release Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway - K.A. Merikan - Gilded Agony: Guns n' Boys Book Seven

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Length: 92,000 words approx.

Cover Design: Natasha Snow

Guns n' Boys Series

Book #1 - His Is Poison

Book #2 - He Is Mine

Book #3 - Homicidal Instinct

Book #4 - Swamp Blood

Book #5 - Chokehold

Book #6 - Bloodbath

Blurb

“We are two halves of the same rotten apple.”

Deep in the Amazonian jungle, there is a mansion with a rose garden and a hen house where juicy tomatoes are the perfect shade of red, and marble countertops glisten.

Inside, where even the shadows don’t reach, something is rotting, and the perfect facade can only hold the stench for so long.

Domenico promised his husband that he would keep him safe, keep him away from the bloodshed and the brutal world of cartel violence. But when a guest arrives to help retrieve a stolen transport of guns, something sinister sneaks into his home, something more dangerous than his enemies. Or has it been there all along, and he just hasn’t noticed?

Seth’s life is what others dream of. Endless leisure time filled with cocktails, a kitchen stocked with anything he wishes for, and a private pool in the sunshine. What’s missing is the man he shares it with, the man he fell in love with. If being cut off from the mafia business was what he wanted, then why is it so painfully lonely in paradise?

Desperate to be the supportive husband Domenico needs, Seth buries his rage, his violent urges, and the anger that simmers inside of him. But he can only hide in plain sight for so long, and when a guest invites him to play with fire, one misstep, one wrong move, could burn their safe haven to the ground.

POSSIBLE SPOILERS
Themes: mafia, cartel, assassin, organized crime, family ties, domestic violence, inequality, betrayal, revenge.

WARNING: Adult content. If you are easily offended, this book is not for you.

Excerpt

Domenico could get drunk on the taste of the shivering body underneath him. Men had given into him before, but none like Seth. None were a challenge to be conquered again and again. Seth’s reflection in the water had its eyes closed, lips open, but noticing them only reminded Domenico of Diego’s audacity to so much as look at Seth in a vulgar manner. He had no right. No one else had that right.

The water cast blue lights on Seth’s face, reaching out to caress him with translucent fingers. Hand squeezed in the hair at the back of Seth’s head, Domenico pushed in so hard Seth fell flat on the tiles, dipping his nose in the water.

“Deep breath,” he whispered into the warm ear.

Seth glanced back at him, red-faced and panting, but understanding finally sank in and he did as told. It was a good thing that Seth was willing to butt heads, because seeing him then comply only made Domenico thrust into that greedy hole harder.

Danger was an aphrodisiac to Seth. He’d proven that much when they’d first fucked on Toro’s property, in the wine cellar below the kitchen floor where there were no cameras to spy on them. It was back then that Domenico tightened his hand around Seth’s throat for pleasure for the first time. Two years on, Dom was still more than eager to give his husband exactly what he needed. The loss of breath. The adrenaline, the rush of blood coming back once arteries were released made Seth’s orgasms earth-crushing.

K.A. Merikan are a team of writers who try not to suck at adulting, with some success. Always eager to explore the murky waters of the weird and wonderful, K.A. Merikan don’t follow fixed formulas and want each of their books to be a surprise for those who choose to hop on for the ride.

K.A. Merikan have a few sweeter M/M romances as well, but they specialize in the dark, dirty, and dangerous side of M/M, full of bikers, bad boys, mafiosi, and scorching hot romance.

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Release Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway - DJ Jamison - Surprise Delivery (Hearts & Health #5)

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Length: 68,000 word approx

Hearts & Health Series

Volume 1 (incorporating books 1-3)

Room For Recovery  (Book #4)

Blurb

Dr. Casper Rollins knows how to have fun. The love of his life, Kage Myers, lived every moment to the fullest before he died. Now, Casper goes skydiving, mountain-climbing or on other adrenaline-soaked adventures when he wants to feel closer to his lost love.

Medical director Eric Holtz is married to his work -- so much so his husband left him. But when his niece shows up, pregnant and in need of an ally, Eric suddenly has family again. Unfortunately, her obstetrician, Casper Rollins, is sexy enough to turn Eric into a blushing adolescent.

What begins as a game to break Eric of his workaholic tendencies escalates into scorching sex and feelings that can't be ignored. Casper never planned to give his heart to anyone other than Kage, and Eric won't accept anything less.

If these two want a future, they'll have to embrace the lesson Kage taught Casper long ago: You only live once.

Excerpt

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when you asked if I wanted to have fun,” Eric said, gasping for breath.

Casper laughed, one hand clutching his stomach and his other gripping Eric’s wrist and tugging. Eric was having just a bit more difficulty than Casper in climbing from the top of a trash bin to a tree to the roof of the downtown library.

Thankfully, dusk had fallen, and they were on the backside of the library, where they were less likely to be noticed. He’d never live it down if he was arrested for loitering on the roof of a public property. It was hardly the kind of publicity a medical director needed to generate.

Eric finally heaved himself onto the mostly flat, asphalt roof with Casper’s assistance. He dropped down on his back and stared at a sky painted with the pink and orange streaks of sunset. The sun, still a molten ball in the sky, dropped slowly behind puffy clouds that were beginning to look more like cotton candy, all pink and soft around the edges.

Casper settled beside him, crossing his arms under his head. “It’s worth it now, though, right?”

Unlike Eric, Casper had jumped from trash bin to tree to roof with the agility of a teenager. Lying as he was, with his arms folded behind his head, his triceps bulged. Eric found that a prettier sight than the sunset.

“You know, the hospital’s taller. I have a key to the roof. We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble and had a great view of the sunset.”

“You can just go up the stairwell and right onto the roof?”

“Yep,” Eric said, a bit smugly. “The helipad is up there, so there has to be access. It’s rare for us to receive a life flight, but it does happen.”

Casper made an obnoxious buzzing noise. “You’re venturing awfully close to shop talk, and besides, where’s the fun in walking up some stairs?”

Eric huffed a rueful laugh. “It’s more fun than a broken ankle.”

“No ankles were broken,” Casper chastised. “Now look at that gorgeous sky and enjoy yourself.”

Eric reached out and traced a blaze of orange inked on the pale skin of Casper’s bicep. “I’d rather look at this.”

Casper twitched, but he didn’t pull away. His head swiveled, light blue eyes fixing on Eric. “They always like the ink,” he murmured.

Eric flushed and pulled away. Turning his eyes back to the sky, which was less blinding than Casper’s beautiful body, he asked what he’d always wondered. “Do they mean something to you?”

“It’s artwork imprinted on my skin, so yeah, it means something to me.”

Eric risked a glance. “Of course.” He tried again. “But sometimes people get tattoos because they like the art. Other times, there’s a deeper symbolism in them.”

“You want to know the story behind my ink?”

Eric nodded, his eyes back on the swirls of color he could see on Casper’s bicep. As he watched, Casper grabbed the back of his T-shirt and peeled it up and over his head, dropping it into his lap.

Eric’s eyes roamed Casper’s body, taking in the paleness of his skin and the tautness of the muscle beneath it. Casper sat at an angle, turned with his shoulder toward Eric, so the vivid turquoise and orange of his tattoo captured Eric’s attention before he could get lost in a full study of the man’s body.

“It’s a lizard,” he said in surprise.

“A chameleon,” Casper said.

The chameleon clung to a branch that curved along the shape of Casper’s upper arm, blending in and out of leaves that wound around the image. The chameleon, where it was visible, was drawn in a bold style, with vivid hues setting it off from the parts of its body that vanished into the artwork. Large eyes and a wide grin imbued it with a personality, reminding Eric just a bit of the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland.

“It’s incredible,” Eric said, leaning closer to study it. The longer he looked, the more detail he could pick out, from subtly shaded scales to hints of the lizard behind the leaf work. “Chameleons change to match their surroundings, so what does this symbolize?”

“Mostly? Change. Both the ability to adapt to the changes in my life, but also the ability to be the change. Is that deep enough for you?”

Eric smiled. “Is your middle name Plato?”

Casper snorted as he grabbed his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

As Casper lowered the shirt, a hint of ink on his back caught Eric’s eye. He put out a hand to stop the lowering of Casper’s shirt, leaning to the side for a look. Casper’s back was as gorgeous as the rest of him, broad and tapering to his waist with a muscle definition Eric could never hope to replicate in his own body. Casper was doing something right, even if was working out at the gym religiously like any self-respecting gay man. Eric, quite obviously, didn’t respect his body as a temple, unless it was as a temple that had crumbled to a pile of rubble.

“What about this one?” he asked.

He could just make out what looked like a hoop with flames around it.

To his surprise, Casper shifted away and tugged his shirt down firmly. “I didn’t bring you up here to talk about all my tattoos.”

Casper’s tone was light and teasing, but his eyes were guarded, and Eric didn’t want to ruin what had been a fun outing with an interesting guy. So, he flirted.

“I was kind of hoping you brought me up here for more than a pretty sunset.”

Casper settled back onto his elbows, looking up at Eric with a genuine grin. “Is that right?”

Eric licked his lips nervously, looking at the perfect male body stretched out before him. Casper’s shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt, pulling it tight across his chest, and his jeans hugged his muscled thighs. Casper was without a doubt the most gorgeous man Eric had ever seen.

But it had been a long time since he’d made a move. Tentatively, he rested his hand on Casper’s stomach, feeling his ab muscles tighten at his light touch.

“Seems like a good make-out spot,” Eric said.

“Does it?” Casper asked with an impish grin. “Maybe we should test it out.”

“Definitely,” Eric said, before leaning in. “But fair warning? I’m out of practice.”

“It’s just like riding a bike,” Casper murmured before their lips met in a kiss. It was soft, sweet. Tentative, because Eric was too timid to plunge his tongue in and taste Casper, no matter how much he wanted that.

Eric lifted his head, needing a moment to get his bearings after his first kiss in far too long. “That’s not at all like riding a bike.”

Casper laughed, eyes crinkling up. “You call that a make-out? Get back here.”

He slipped his hand into Eric’s hair and pulled him into a longer, deeper, wetter kiss. Casper eased onto his back, lying flat on the roof, and pulled Eric down with him. Even though Casper was the one pinned to the rooftop, he took control of the kiss, flicking his tongue playfully and nibbling at Eric’s lips until he opened up.

Eric smoothed his left hand over Casper’s chest and stomach, reveling in the firmness of the muscled body beneath him. Casper was young, gorgeous and incredibly fit. Way out of Eric’s league. But for some crazy reason, Casper liked him.

About The Author

DJ Jamison is the author of more than a dozen m/m romances, including the Ashe Sentinel series and the Hearts and Health series. She writes a variety of queer characters, from gay to bisexual to asexual, with a focus on telling love stories that are more about common ground than lust at first sight. DJ grew up in the Midwest in a working-class family, and those influences can be found in her writing through characters coping with real-life problems: money troubles, workplace drama, family conflicts and, of course, falling in love. DJ spent more than a decade in the newspaper industry before chasing her first dream to write fiction. She spent a lifetime reading before that, and continues to avidly devour her fellow authors' books each night. She lives in Kansas with her husband, two sons, two fish and, regrettably, one snake.
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Review Tour & Giveaway - Ari McKay - No Pain, No Gain (Herc's Mercs #7)

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Length: 68,000 words

Herc's Mercs Series

Book #1 - The Bigger They Come

Book #2 - Line In The Sand

Book #3 - Bloody But Unbowed

Book #4 - Once A Hero

Book #5 - The Harder They Fall

Book #6 - Where Angels Fear To Tread

Blurb

Hunter Callahan loved being a merc. As an explosives expert for Lawson & Greer, he’s dealt with everything from IEDs to rogue nukes. But when a suicide bomber in the form of a seven-year-old boy walks into camp, Hunter learns there are some fates far worse than death.

Payne Gibson recognizes the “thousand yard stare” of the PTSD Hunter refuses to acknowledge, and as a natural caretaker, he can’t resist when his boss, Cade “Hercules” Thornton, asks him to help. Hunter is resistant until their surveillance assignment turns dangerous, and Hunter realizes he’s in danger of losing his career, the only thing in his life that matters to him anymore.

Conventional therapy hasn’t worked, so Payne suggests an unorthodox form of therapy: BDSM. As a Dom, Payne thinks he can help Hunter face the issues he’s been avoiding. Having come to trust Payne and knowing his career is on the line, Hunter agrees to try.

Their relationship as Dom and sub deepens more than either of them expected. Payne knows adding emotions into the mix is dangerous, but he can’t help it when Hunter is both the man and the sub Payne has hoped to find. But Hunter doesn’t feel he deserves love, not when his best friend is dead because of him, leaving behind a wife and child to mourn -- and to blame Hunter for their loss.

Payne can help Hunter to stare into the abyss… but what stares back might be more intense than either of them can handle.

March 19 - The Way She Reads, Mirrigold: Mutterings & Musings, Gay Media Reviews

March 21 - SSLY Reading Room, OMG Reads

March 23 - MM Midnight Cafe

March 26 - Katie's Book Corner, Kiss Like A Girl

March 28 - Drops Of Ink, Sexy Erotic Xcting, BooksLaidBareBoys, Sassy Southern Book Blog, MM Good Book Reviews, Reading In Sarah's Corner, Megan's Media Melange, Sarandipity Book Reviews, Wicked Reads

About The Authors

Ari McKay is the professional pseudonym for Arionrhod and McKay, who have been writing together for over a decade. Their collaborations encompass a wide variety of romance genres, including contemporary, fantasy, science fiction, gothic, and action/adventure. Their work includes the Blood Bathory series of paranormal novels, the Herc’s Mercs series, as well as two historical Westerns: Heart of Stone and Finding Forgiveness. When not writing, they can often be found scheming over costume designs or binge watching TV shows together.

Arionrhod is a systems engineer by day who is eagerly looking forward to (hopefully) becoming a full time writer in the not-too-distant future. Now that she is an empty-nester, she has turned her attentions to finding the perfect piece of land to build a fortress in preparation for the zombie apocalypse, and baking (and eating) far too many cakes.

McKay is an English teacher who has been writing for one reason or another most of her life. She also enjoys knitting, reading, cooking, and playing video games. She has been known to knit in public. Given she has the survival skills of a gnat, she’s relying on Arionrhod to help her survive the zombie apocalypse.

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