Monday 30 October 2017

Release Blitz, Review Tour, Blog Tour, Excerpt & Giveaway - Anna Butler - The Jackal's House (Lancaster's Luck #2)

Length: 114,000 words approx. 

Publisher: Dreamspinner Press

Cover Design: Reese Dante 

Lancaster's Luck Series

The Gilded Scarab (Book #1) Amazon US | Amazon UK 

About The Series

Lancaster’s Luck is set in a steampunk world where, at the turn of the 20th century, the eight powerful Convocation Houses are the de facto rulers of the Britannic Imperium. In this world of politics and assassins, a world powered by luminiferous aether and phlogiston and where aeroships fill the skies, Captain Rafe Lancaster, late of Her Majesty’s Imperial Aero Corps, buys a coffee house in one of the little streets near the Britannic Museum in Bloomsbury.

So begins the romantic steampunk adventures which have Rafe, a member of Minor House Stravaigor, scrambling over Londinium’s rooftops on a sultry summer night or facing dire peril in the pitch dark of an Aegyptian night. And all the while, sharing the danger is the man he loves: Ned Winter, First Heir of Convocation House Gallowglass, the most powerful House in the entire Imperium.


Something is stalking the Aegyptian night and endangering the archaeologists excavating the mysterious temple ruins in Abydos. But is it a vengeful ancient spirit or a very modern conspiracy….

Rafe Lancaster’s relationship with Gallowglass First Heir, Ned Winter, flourishes over the summer of 1900, and when Rafe’s House encourages him to join Ned’s next archaeological expedition, he sees a chance for it to deepen further. Since all the Houses of the Britannic Imperium, Rafe’s included, view assassination as a convenient solution to most problems, he packs his aether pistol—just in case.

Trouble finds them in Abydos. Rafe and Ned begin to wonder if they’re facing opposition to the Temple of Seti being disturbed. What begins as tricks and pranks escalates to attacks and death, while the figure of the Dog—the jackal-headed god, Anubis, ruler of death—casts a long shadow over the desert sands. Destruction follows in his wake as he returns to reclaim his place in Abydos. Can Rafe and Ned stand against both the god and House plots when the life of Ned’s son is on the line?


I like kissing.

Like Ned, I’d spent years in hiding. His constraint had been matrimony and the sense of honor and duty that would never have allowed him to be unfaithful to the mother of his sons. Only her untimely death had released those bonds. Mine had been less noble: I had no desire for a court-martial and a dishonorable discharge from Her Imperial Majesty’s Aero Corps. Most of my encounters over the years had been quick and furtive, but I’d taken every chance I could to practice my technique.

I not only liked kissing, I was good at it.

Fast little kisses to start with, kisses that barely made contact with the skin of Ned’s throat, kisses meant to tease. He tilted his head back to let me in, closing his eyes. His mouth opened on a soft sigh. I hoped he was giving himself up to the pleasure, losing himself in it, that nothing mattered to him at that moment except the feel of my mouth on his throat and lips. I hoped so. I wanted to please him.

I kissed and licked the delicate skin under his ear until he choked with laughter at the tickling. He tightened his grip on my hands and tugged at them until I raised my head. Ha! He’d lulled me into trusting him there and took full advantage of it. He swooped to capture my mouth with his, cutting off breath and thought, bringing a dizzying warmth with his hot tongue, and making me moan.

Of course, they were very manly moans.

October 30 - Love Bytes
November 1 - Nerdy, Dirty & Flirty
November 3 - Scattered Thoughts & Rogue Words, The Novel Approach
November 6 - RJ Scott 
November 7 - Gay Book Reviews
November 8 - MM Good Book Reviews, My Fiction Nook, Jim's Reading Room
November 9 - Alpha Book Club
November 10 - Drops of Ink, Bayou Book Junkie, Padme's Library

Anna was a communications specialist for many years, working in various UK government departments on everything from marketing employment schemes to organizing conferences for 10,000 civil servants to running an internal TV service. These days, though, she is writing full time. She recently moved out of the ethnic and cultural melting pot of East London to the rather slower environs of a quiet village tucked deep in the Nottinghamshire countryside, where she lives with her husband and the Deputy Editor, aka Molly the cockerpoo. 

Website and Blog
The Butler’s Pantry (Facebook Group)
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Friday 27 October 2017

Review Tour & Giveaway - Addison Albright - Vows Series 1 & 2

Narrated By: David Gilmore 

'Til Death Do Us Part - Amazon US | Amazon UK | Audible US | Audible UK

Length: 8hrs 3 mins

Henry and Sam Miller-Greene are living the dream. They love their careers — which afford each of them opportunities to travel to exotic locations — they love their home, Sam’s caring family, and each other. They disagree on the subject of adoption, but are fully committed to each other in marriage … ’Til Death Do Us Part.

The dream is shattered when Henry’s plane crashes, and he’s presumed dead. But four people — Henry, two other men, and a child — survive undetected on a remote, small, and insignificant island. Will Sam and Henry’s love be able to survive as well?

Henry fights to endure in harsh conditions, never knowing when disaster will strike. Sam struggles with his loss, but with help moves on with his life. Will Sam be able to put aside his new love when he reunites with Henry?

From This Day Forward - Amazon US | Amazon UK | Audible US | Audible UK

Length: 1hr 19mins

Revisiting the characters from ’Til Death Do Us Part, Henry and Sam Miller-Greene are enjoying life in the summer after Henry’s rescue from a small South Pacific island, where Henry and three others were marooned.

Henry and Sam thought adopting Aiden—a child with whom Henry’d been stranded—would be smooth sailing. Matters are complicated by the public nature of their rescue that has turned the survivors into overnight celebrities. Anti-gay fueled animus rears its ugly head in the blogosphere, causing concerns over the impact libelous rumors might have on Aiden.

Their nightmare separation behind them, Henry and Sam are anxious to renew both the intensity of their former intimacies—now hampered by having a curious and still apprehensive child sharing their home—and their commitment to one another.

Author Bio

Addison Albright lives in the middle of the USA with two peculiar cats. Her stories are gay (sometimes erotic) romance, and tend to be sweet man-love in contemporary settings. Her education includes a BS in Education with a major in mathematics and a minor in chemistry. Addison loves spending time with her family, reading, popcorn, boating, French fries, “open window weather,” cats, math, and anything chocolate. She loves to read pretty much anything and everything, anytime and anywhere.

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Thursday 26 October 2017

Release Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway - Keira Andrews - Kidnapped By The Pirate

Buy Links: Amazon US | Amazon UK

Length: 85,000 words

Cover Design: Dar Albert @ Wicked Smart Design


Will a virgin captive surrender to this pirate’s sinful touch?

Nathaniel Bainbridge is used to hiding, whether it’s concealing his struggles with reading or his forbidden desire for men. Under the thumb of his controlling father, the governor of Primrose Isle, he’s sailing to the fledging colony, where he’ll surrender to a respectable marriage for his family’s financial gain. Then pirates strike and he’s kidnapped for ransom by the Sea Hawk, a legendary villain of the New World.

Bitter and jaded, Hawk harbors futile dreams of leaving the sea for a quiet life, but men like him don’t deserve peace. He has a score to settle with Nathaniel’s father—the very man whose treachery forced him into piracy—and he’s sure Nathaniel is just as contemptible.

Yet as days pass in close quarters, Nathaniel’s feisty spirit and alluring innocence beguile and bewitch. Although Hawk knows he must keep his distance, the desire to teach Nathaniel the pleasure men can share grows uncontrollable. It’s not as though Hawk would ever feel anything for him besides lust…

Nathaniel realizes the fearsome Sea Hawk’s reputation is largely invented, and he sees the lonely man beneath the myth, willingly surrendering to his captor body and soul. As a pirate’s prisoner, he is finally free to be his true self. The crew has been promised the ransom Nathaniel will bring, yet as danger mounts and the time nears to give him up, Hawk’s biggest battle could be with his own heart.



If pirates were to be the bloody, savage end of Nathaniel Bainbridge, he wished they’d get on with it.

The windswept deck was damp beneath his bare feet, prompting thoughts of the dewy grass of home. What he wouldn’t give for the freedom to run across the fields of Hollington Estate, wind rushing in his ears over the steady thump of his heart, the world falling away in his wake.

Instead he was confined by an endless, restless sea taunting him with its wildness. In England, he’d heard countless tales of villainous pirates and their dastardly deeds. People spoke as if the ocean teemed with the brigands, but the voyage had been mile after mile of…nothing.

Nathaniel shook his head at his foolishness. Not that he actually wanted pirates to attack their ship and massacre them. If only he could move, he would keep boredom at bay.

He gripped the railing, longing for dirt beneath his nails, scratches on his palms from tree bark as he climbed and explored, wonderfully aching muscles from hours in the lake. If he could only run a simple mile. Hardly any distance at all, but trapped on the ship, that much clear land would be a marvel.

He wiped sea spray from his eyes. If only the ability to run and jump and swim was worth anything at all in his world instead of being childish folly he was supposed to have outgrown. Men did not climb trees or swim for hours, and certainly they didn’t run for the sheer pleasure of it the way he had at Hollington.

Of course, the estate wasn’t theirs anymore, sold off to pay debts, so even if he made his way back to Kent one day, he would never return to those rolling hills. Its verdant trees and round, tranquil lake would now be home to another family.

No, for the foreseeable future, home would be Primrose Isle, a new colony his father desperately wanted to see flourish. Walter Bainbridge had found his fortunes in England not the least bit fortunate, and as a governor in the New World had the thing he loved most dearly: power.

Nathaniel’s future bride waited there. Elizabeth Davenport stood to inherit quite a fortune, and for the colony—and Walter—to thrive, alliances had to be made. So Nathaniel would do the only useful thing he could and marry.

He brushed a fresh spray of briny seawater from his face as he stared out at the endless night, keeping a firm hold on the rail. His untucked shirt flapped in the breeze, the lower fastenings on his breeches unbuckled under his knees.

In the dark, there was no one to comment on his state of undress, and he supposed the crew didn’t care a whit anyway. His trimmed hair curled at the ends in the dampness, and he tucked a lock behind his ear. It had been his little act of rebellion to cut it much shorter than most gentlemen. He certainly wouldn’t be wearing dreaded wigs, either, if he could help it.

Clouds conspired to hide the stars and razor-thin crescent of moon. He shivered in the late September night’s chill; he really should have worn his hated shoes and jacket.

At least the wind was no longer the bitter cold of the mid-Atlantic as they neared the West Indies. He shifted back and forth on his feet, lifting them like a racehorse stamping at the starting line.

The Proud William was fairly large, a merchant ship carrying a cargo of salt fish and forged metal tools to the colonies. But when he’d attempted even a light trot around the main deck, the crew had reacted with consternation at best, hostility at worst.

Running was his very favorite activity and the thing he excelled at most in life—much to his father’s disgust. Swimming in the lake in summertime, cutting through the placid water with sure, even strokes, was a joy as well.

To be surrounded now by endless water but unable to dive in and soothe his cramped muscles was the worst torture. He’d asked the captain if he could at least climb the mast or sail rigging and had been flatly refused.

So he stood by the starboard rail and sometimes paced, careful to stay out of the crew’s way. At least he had been told their progress was swift, and that after a month’s voyage—thirty-one days and some thirteen hours since they left England, to be exact—they would reach the island in a fortnight if the wind held.

He was informed that some ships took several months to reach the colonies. Ships could leave London the same day and arrive weeks or more apart. Such was the way of the sea.

Staring out at the nothingness, he stopped his restless shifting and squinted. The weak sliver of moon had valiantly escaped the clouds for a moment, and Nathaniel thought he spotted a strange kind of movement. The night took on shape before becoming uniform once more.

Perhaps it had been a great ocean creature surfacing—a whale or giant squid, or some kind of mysterious monster.

He chuckled. Earlier that evening, Susanna had read aloud fables from one of the old leather-bound tomes they’d brought from home, and his imagination was clearly running wild.

She’d always been the far more indulgent of his two older sisters, and he knew she’d packed books he’d favor, although she certainly had a taste for adventurous tales rather than the sentimental stories ladies were supposed to read. They’d both enjoyed the diary of a naval captain who’d served on several ships of the line and described life aboard in vivid detail.

Although the cabin Nathaniel and Susanna shared was tiny, at least they had privacy. He really should rejoin her in their cabin to sleep and end another interminable day, but the walls closed in on him, and it felt like a prison. Susanna’s thunderous snores didn’t help matters, but he couldn’t begrudge her anything.

For the hundredth time, he wondered what his life on Primrose Isle would be like. The colony was only a few years old, and there had been whispers of struggles with agriculture and trade, rumors of corruption and settlers packing up already.

He’d be forced to work for his father or at some other respectable job procured for him, like Susanna’s husband, Bart. Handsome Bart was thirty and penniless, but of good breeding and an agreeable disposition. He and Susanna had insisted on each other, waiting several years until both their fathers gave in and agreed to the match.

Bart seemed happy enough to do Father’s bidding, including leaving early for Primrose Isle some months ago, not knowing at the time Susanna was with child. When Walter Bainbridge made a demand, it was met. Sometimes Nathaniel marveled that a man he had rarely seen since childhood could loom so large.

Susanna and Bart had hated to be parted, but she was needed to oversee the packing up of the estate and auction of the more valuable items. Certainly it couldn’t have been left to Nathaniel, who wouldn’t have known where to begin given he’d spent as much time outside away from the ornate house as he could.

Nathaniel had considered refusing when he and Susanna were summoned. But what would he do? Where would he live? His marriage to Elizabeth had been agreed upon by their fathers, and should he fail in his duty, Walter would disown him. He’d have nothing, not even a roof over his head.

Bile rose in his throat. No, that would not do. So onward to Primrose Isle he went, to marry as his father saw fit. All he knew of Elizabeth Davenport was that she’d lived with her wealthy family for some years in Jamaica before her father joined forces with Walter to establish a shipping company on Primrose.

Well, he also knew her writing was unfailingly neat, and from Susanna’s recounting of the letter, that Elizabeth enjoyed needlework and greatly looked forward to sharing her life with him.

He’d received her letter just before leaving England and had burned it in the grate in his room. At least the voyage was a worthy excuse for not responding. And as much as he’d wished to stay in England, he couldn’t allow dear Susanna to sail the perilous Atlantic alone.

Although with how smooth their journey had been, completely lacking in beasts of the deep or even a gale of note, he apparently hadn’t needed to fret. Still, it was done.

He’d accepted years ago that he was feeble-minded, and although he knew he should be grateful for the opportunity to hold a position of at least some stature on the new colony, he dreaded the notion of truly being under his father’s thumb once more.

It had been blissful having his father overseas for years. He supposed he should feel remorse for such churlish thoughts, but there was so much else to consume his stores of guilt.

So much else indeed.

He turned away from the rail, resigning himself to another long night in the swaying hammock. Susanna was of course sleeping in the cot in the only cabin their father could afford now that he’d squandered so much money.

The cry from above pierced the night, and Nathaniel jumped a mile.


In the flurry of activity and shouts, he pressed himself to the ship’s side as the crew emerged from the hull like ants. Nathaniel squinted into the darkness, turning to and fro and seeing nothing.

Then he spotted it—the hulk of a ship emerging from the night, not a single light flickering upon it, drawn to The Proud William like a moth to flame. With a sickening twist of his stomach, he realized he had indeed spotted a monster, and it was upon them.

He raced down to the cabin, bursting inside. Chestnut curls unpinned and tumbling over her shoulders, Susanna bolted up on the cot, her book thudding to the floor. One hand pressed to her round belly, she cried out, “What is it?”

“I think it’s pirates.” He could hardly believe the words as he uttered them. Had he wished them into existence by grumbling over boredom? Oh, what a fool he was.

The blood drained from Susanna’s sweet, round face. “Pirates?”

“I don’t know what else it could be.” He threw open a trunk and dug for his sheathed dagger, cursing himself for not raising the alarm sooner. His mind raced, thoughts jumbled as he grasped the hilt of the weapon and tossed the leather scabbard aside.

The thunder of the crew’s footsteps shook the ceiling, dust motes shaking loose and shouts filling the air. Susanna looked down at her nightgown, despairing.

“There’s no time for petticoats or any of that nonsense.” She threw her flowing green gown over her head, her voice muffled by it. “My God, it really is pirates, isn’t it? Oh, I think I’m stuck.”

Nathaniel helped tug the material down over her swollen belly. She emerged from the folds of soft fabric and peered up at the ceiling, as if she could see through the hull. Footsteps scuffled and thumps reverberated, tense voices shouting commands too distant to make out clearly.

Susanna whispered, “No gunshots. Must be too many. The crew isn’t fighting them. Help me pin this shut.” She had stopped wearing her corset, adopting what was apparently a new French style while she was with child.

After he’d pinned the material enough that the robe-like gown would stay put, drawing a prick of blood from his fingertip in his haste, Nathaniel yanked on his stockings and refastened his breeches below his knees before jamming his feet into his buckled shoes. He wouldn’t face these brigands in a state of undress.

He tucked the dagger into the back of his trousers and whipped on his sleeveless waistcoat, fingers clumsy on the buttons. But there was no time for his cravat or jacket. Raised voices already echoed down the corridor. He spun about, belatedly hoping to find something to bar the door.

Susanna had apparently had the same thought. “The trunks aren’t heavy enough. Besides, it will only anger them. It’s no use.”

“Get behind me.” He urged her to the back of the cabin, which was barely wider than the breadth of one’s outstretched arms.

“Be sure to mind your tongue,” she said. “You know how thoughts can sometimes go right from your head and out your mouth without pausing for assessment.”

He huffed. “What exactly do you think I’m going to say to pirates?”

“Shh!” She slapped his shoulder. They waited, listening.

More pounding footsteps, and shouts that possessed an undeniably feral quality. The hair on Nathaniel’s body stood on end, his mouth going dry. Perhaps the pirates would pass them by. Perhaps they’d plunder the cargo and be done with it. Perhaps—

The door burst open, almost flying off its hinges, and Nathaniel barely held in his yelp. His heart drummed so loudly he was certain the two invaders could hear. One of them brushed matted hair from his eyes. They both wore ripped and stained trousers as baggy as their shirts, and their boots were worn out.

The long-haired man’s beady gaze raked them up and down, and he asked his squat companion, “You ever fuck a bitch with pup?”

Nathaniel’s stomach swooped. How do they know? Susanna was hidden behind him. He lifted his chin, forcing strength to his words. “You shan’t lay so much as one filthy finger on my sister.”

Ignoring him, the squat man leered, baring snaggled, yellow teeth. He answered his friend’s question. “Good and juicy, I tell you.”

Behind him, Susanna dug her fingers into Nathaniel’s shoulder. Heart in his throat, he yanked the dagger from the waist of his breeches, brandishing it toward the pirates. “Stay back!”

The two blinked at Nathaniel, then each other, before bursting into raucous laughter. The long-haired man said, “Oh no, we’re done for, Deeks!”

Heavy footfalls sounded in the corridor, brazen and commanding. Spines snapping straight, the pirates stepped aside as a man filled the doorway, shoulders almost brushing the frame. He was tall enough to duck slightly as he entered, and his sharp gaze swept the cabin, which had never seemed quite so small.

He wore black from head to gold-tipped toes—open-collared shirt, trousers tucked into knee-high boots, and a long leather coat that flared out behind him. A pistol was tucked into his wide belt, and a cutlass winked from his hip. Gold gleamed on the belt buckle, matching the small square earring in his left ear, rings on his fingers, and the tips of those black boots.

The ends of a red sash dangled over his hip, the only splash of color aside from the gold. He had to be twice Nathaniel’s age, his face weather-worn, a scar jagging across his left temple. His dark hair was cut fairly close to his head, a surprise since Nathaniel had expected all pirates to have long, unruly hair like the animals they were.

His trimmed beard shadowed his strong jaw. In the low light, the color of his narrowed eyes was impossible to ascertain, but Nathaniel imagined they must be as black as the pirate’s soul.

He might have been the very devil himself.

Nathaniel’s palm sweated around the handle of the dagger, and he hated the tremors in his outstretched arm. His throat was painfully dry, and he croaked, “We—we don’t have anything of value. No gold or jewels worth your effort.”

Susanna added, “Even my wedding ring is plated.”

Tully, one of the Proud William’s young crew, had entered the cabin. The man—the pirate captain, undoubtedly—glanced to him. Tully nodded. “’Tis true. Only clothin’ and trinkets in their trunks.” He sniffed dismissively, tossing his reddish hair. “Nothin’ hidden anywhere in here we could find since we left London.”

Nathaniel had thought better of the crew, but saw now how naïve he’d been. It must have been Tully who had informed the pirates that Susanna was with child. “What a coward you are, Tully.”

He snorted. “As soon as I got a good look at the flag, I knew we were done for. Everyone knows the Sea Hawk will gut you from stem to stern once you’re in his talons. I ain’t dying for cargo I don’t give a fuck about and a captain who treats us like garbage.”

“Your destination is Primrose Isle?” The pirate—this Sea Hawk—demanded, his tone low and calm.

“Yes,” Nathaniel answered. “It’s a new colony.”

Tully nodded. “Her husband’s there. We’re to drop them off with their father. The old man’s the guvnor or some such thing.”

At this, the Sea Hawk seemed to jolt, but a moment later the ripple had vanished and he was still again, fearsome and dispassionate. Nathaniel thought he must have imagined the hiccup.

Yet a gleam entered the captain’s devilish eyes, and dread slithered through Nathaniel. The Sea Hawk loomed nearer and demanded, in the same deliberate but undeniable manner, “Your name, boy.”

Heart hammering, all he could manage was, “Uh…”

“This one’s called Bainbridge,” Tully offered.

“Bainbridge,” the captain repeated, barely a whisper now. “As in Walter Bainbridge?”

Fingers going numb around the dagger, Nathaniel nodded. He’d have bruises where Susanna clung to him, her sharp exhalations ghosting over the nape of his neck. There was no sense denying it. “Our father.”

“You’re the son Walter Bainbridge killed his wife to achieve?” The captain’s focus sent chills down Nathaniel’s spine.

He couldn’t hide his wince, and had to nod. His mother had never even held him before the rest of her lifeblood drained away. Susanna had been but six, spying through the keyhole, and she’d confessed it all after Nathaniel’s endless badgering when he was a lad.

Strange how he could experience the aching, hollow absence of a touch he’d never had, even after eighteen years.

The captain’s eyes glinted. Good God, the man was enormous. Nathaniel was tall enough, five feet and seven inches or so, but this monster towered well over six feet. It was all Nathaniel could do to hold his ground and not stagger back against Susanna. The tip of his blade quivered mere inches from the villain’s black heart.

The Sea Hawk gazed down at them as though they were prey he was most eager to consume. “Your father is a liar. Corrupt. An evildoer in silk stockings and a curled wig.”

Nathaniel swallowed hard, hand shaking. Could he lunge and push the dagger into this vile man’s heart? Not that he had much love for his father, but who was a pirate to talk of evildoers?

The Sea Hawk’s eyes glowed with hatred. “Your father cheated me. He was tasked with justice, with fairness. Instead he conspired to steal from me. He branded me a pirate when I was a privateer.”

“Aren’t they the same thing?” Nathaniel blurted. As the Sea Hawk’s nostrils flared, Susanna dug her nails into Nathaniel’s shoulder.

“No, they fucking are not,” the pirate gritted out. “Privateers are licensed. Legal. Privateers follow rules. Laws. Just as your father was supposed to as a judge in the Court of Admiralty in Jamaica. Your father tried to strip me and my men of everything we’d worked and suffered for. We escaped him, but in the years that have followed, he has never paid the price.”

Dread consumed Nathaniel. His father’s greed and avarice would once again bring suffering. If not for Walter’s mounting debts, Nathaniel and Susanna would still be safe at home, waiting until she had her babe before making the journey. Hollington wouldn’t have had to be sold at all, and now they faced God knew what at the mercy of pirates.

Oh Lord. Please spare Susanna and her child!

Bile rose in his throat at the thought of any harm coming to his sister, terror clammy on his skin. Sweat slipped down Nathaniel’s spine. “I…” He racked his brain for something—anything—to say, some means of escape. His dagger shook, and he licked his dry lips. “I’m sorry.” He had to fix this.

A slow, ghastly smile curled the devil’s lips. “You will be.”

Author Bio

After writing for years yet never really finding the right inspiration, Keira discovered her voice in gay romance, which has become a passion. She writes contemporary, historical, fantasy, and paranormal fiction and — although she loves delicious angst along the way — Keira firmly believes in happy endings. 
For as Oscar Wilde once said:

“The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what fiction means.”



Tuesday 24 October 2017

Release Blitz & Giveaway - Anna Martin - Whiskey Kisses

Buy Links: Amazon US | Amazon UK

Length: 19,000 words


In a small town about an hours' drive outside Dublin, there’s a whiskey distillery.

Jim has worked in the distillery as its business manager since he returned to his home town after getting his degree. Whiskey is a slow business and rural life is quiet, but Jim takes it in his stride. That is, until the handsome and mysterious Mr Aiden Rooney moves into a room above the local pub and sets off a flurry of gossip.

Aiden’s an artist, and his devil-may-care attitude is a revelation to Jim. But he still lives in a small town in rural Ireland, and he’s not even sure if he wants to be out and proud. The choices they make could change everything, if only Jim dares to follow his heart.

Author Bio

Anna Martin is from a picturesque seaside village in the south west of England and now lives in Bristol. After spending most of her childhood making up stories, she studied English Literature at university before turning her hand as a professional writer.

Apart from being physically dependent on her laptop, Anna is enthusiastic about writing and producing local grassroots theatre (especially at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, where she can be found every summer), visiting friends who live in other countries, Marvel Comics, learning new things, and Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk.

Although her most recent work is in the LGBT Adult Fiction genre, in the past Anna has worked on a variety of different projects including short stories, drabbles, flash fiction, fan fiction, plays for both children and adults, and poetry. She has written novels in the Teen/ Young Adult genre, Romance, and Fantasy novels.

Anna is, by her own admission, almost unhealthily obsessed with books. The library she has amassed is both large and diverse; "My favourite books," she says, "are The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins, To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee and Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood." She also several well-read copies of Michael Crichton's Jurassic Park books and re-reads the Harry Potter novels with almost startling regularity.

Anna claims her entire career is due to the love, support, pre-reading and creative ass-kicking provided by her closest friend Jennifer. Jennifer refuses to accept any responsibility for anything Anna has written.

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Release Blitz, Blog Tour, Excerpt & Giveaway - Shane Morton - The Year Of The Cock

Buy Links: Amazon US | Amazon UK

Cover Design: Ry Higdon Photography

Add to Goodreads here


Jon seems to have it all. He is a social butterfly that always has a place to go, things to do, and people to constantly surround him. The one thing he's missing is someone to truly love. How can he love someone else when he doesn't like the person staring back at him in the mirror?

He is that magical being that no one chooses to be, the third wheel. He has filled his life with happy couples, in various states of married bliss, that fills the hole in his heart with the acceptance and understanding he secretly craves.

Told by the people who know him best, The Year Of The Cock, is a year in the growth of their best friend, Jon. Can he learn to love, to open himself up to the messy truth of relationships? Will he finally become the person he has tried to repress his entire adult life or will the year-end with him stuck in the status quo of his gay bachelorhood?

October 24 - Bayou Book Junkie
October 28 - RJ Scott
November 1 - Alpha Book Club
November 6 - Love Bytes
November 10 - The Novel Approach

Excerpt - Chapter 1

New Year’s Eve

My apartment sparkled with the promise of a great party. I spent all day hanging streamers and preparing for the festivities. By the time the caterer dropped off the food everything was perfect. I asked my friends to be here at 9 pm, and as always, they did not disappoint. By 9:30, we were all having a grand time. The doorbell rang, and it was someone I loved waiting there, excited to bring in the New Year with me. My friends are all a little insane, I mean, whose aren’t right? They’re just like everyone else in the world, doing their best to be happy. Hell, I guess I am too. Happiness comes, and happiness goes but the days trickle by, regardless.

The thing about my friends is that none of them really know each other. A few of them have met once or twice at some function or event, but very rarely. It’s not like I planned it that way or anything… It’s just the way life has worked out.

I am that strange magical being, the thing that no one ever strives to be, the third wheel, the hanger-on or even worse, the spare. You see, all of my friends are either married, partnered up, or engaged. If you look through the lens of my life, it appears glossy and slick, but it’s always in close-up. A tight solo shot of me because I have no one standing beside me, at least not for long. Relationships are messy, and I hate messy. I am the last living single gay man in Los Angeles. In my mind, I am the last single sane person who doesn’t want to belong to someone else. The thought of having to ask permission, or constantly worry about someone else’s thoughts and feelings sounds horrifying to me. It leaves me cold, and I’m not an ice princess, in fact, I think I run hotter than most people. I have emotions, passions, and fears just like everyone else. I just prefer being single.

My friends fill the void of a relationship. They are always my plus two.

Now, I haven’t purposely kept them apart. It just never really came up. I mean, they all know about each other, through my stories and bad double dates shared at one time or another with one of my couples.

My couples… yes, I do know how that sounds.

The first to arrive was Alan, one of my oldest friends, and his incredibly high-larious wife, Tami. Alan went to college with me, where he majored in frat parties and accounting. He tries hard to be a comedian but always ends up falling charmingly flat because he just isn’t quite as funny as he believes himself to be. His wife, Tami though is a character. She’s kind of quiet and then all of a sudden here comes a zinger. I mean, she’s Ginsu knife sharp. She was a poli-sci major from Brown, and she is eternally ready to graduate with the elusive master’s degree that she just can’t seem to finish. Honestly, I really don’t think she wants to. They’ve been married for close to ten years, just one year out of college and I got to be the best man at their wedding. They have a great relationship except when it comes to their vices. Hers is food, and she is always on a perpetual diet. He is a rotating cabinet of options. He gave up pot. He failed to give up drinking, which he attempts at random patterns, for health reasons of course. This year, it has been smoking. Alan is not very good at giving things up… Neither is Tami.

“First to arrive,” Alan laughs as he walked into the door. “Figures, See Tami I told you we would be the first ones here. Her inability to be late drives me crazy.”

“Piss off Alan,” she laughed easily, sauntering past him to kiss me lightly on the cheek. “I know I’m silly Jon darling, but honestly if we didn’t leave ASAP, I was going to have another slice of that fucking cake Alan’s mother sent over. I swear she is trying to give me diabetes so I will die and he can remarry.”

“Well Tami,” I said as she walked by me towards the food table. “You are the devil in the red dress that stole her son and made him move to the big city. And by the way, she sent me a cake too.”

“That evil hag,” Tami said spinning around with a look of shock on her face. “See Alan, I told you she hates me.”

“Honey, I know, my mother has been telling me that for years,” Alan said winking at me.

These two can keep their bantering up for hours. Flirtation for them is a little dangerous around the edges, but they both know where the line is, that secret place between teasing, flirting and causing pain and they rarely cross over it.

When they do, I go home.

Before Alan could start in on how busy he was going to be for the next few months (tax season of course) the doorbell rang again, and at this point, I had no idea which of my friends would be next. I knew who would be first, and I know who will be last, but the in-betweeners would be random. I excused myself and opened the door.

Julie and Pam were standing there looking like I caught them mid-squabble. Julie gave me a big smile, as Pam winked at me. Julie and Pam have been together for about seven years. They refuse to get married in the traditional sense and have had vows said on the beach in a domestic partnership ritual or something. They are amazing. Julie is a second-grade schoolteacher and has a very matronly look. I think people are surprised to discover she is a lesbian because there is something so incredibly Norman Rockwell about her. She is a little timid and always worried about what other people might think. In truth, she’s a little square and usually, the only sober person wherever she is.

Her “almost” wife, Pam is the complete opposite of her. Pam is a little more butch than her girlfriend and loves sports. She calls herself a lesbian cliché because she is a gym teacher and trainer. For someone who is as health conscious as she is, Pam loves to smoke pot. These two are the perfect pair for each other. Pam needs to control every aspect of her life and Julie seems to like being controlled, so a match made in heaven.

“Hi honey,” Julie said smiling at me holding a bottle of expensive looking champagne tightly in her hands. It was funny, given that she almost never drinks.

“Hello, gorgeous. Get in here,” I say opening my arms wide just to receive her warm embrace. Julie is a class A hugger, and if it were possible to hug professionally, she could be doing it. I think her hugs are about my favorite thing in the world because whenever she has her arms wrapped around you, you know, without a doubt, that you are truly cared for and loved.

“Sup player-player,” Pam said, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry about that. She was asking me to not drink too much tonight. She doesn’t want to drive with all the drunks on the road.”

“Well that’s out of the bag, isn’t it?” Julie said lightly. She said it as if she didn’t care, and that’s how Pam will take it, but I know differently.

“Why don’t you two stay in the guest bedroom tonight?” I say trying to ease the tension. I hope that it will help Julie relax and loosen up so she can let go and enjoy the party. “We can have brunch down the street tomorrow,” I add, trying to sweeten the pot.

“Oh honey, that wouldn’t be too much trouble?” Julie said her eyes opening wide. “That would be great. Wouldn’t it, Pam?” she said, waiting for the final word to be given.

“Sure, sounds great. Now can I please have a beer?” Pam said kissing her on the top of the head.

“You two go in and meet Alan and Tami,” I say, hearing footsteps down below climbing the stairs. My lesbian’s walk into the living room and I hear Alan and Pam trying to remember where they met that one time, many years ago.

I wait for whichever of my guests were currently ascending up to my second story walk-up apartment. I can tell that they are not wearing heels, so that must mean it’s my friends Kris and Danny, I love them. They just got engaged a few months ago, and I couldn’t be happier for them, really. They are both incredible people, and I am so glad they found each other in this city where no one seems to ever say hello unless they think you can do something for them. LA is so superficial… I love it.

I hear Kris laughing halfway up the stairs. He is just a tad bit neurotic; I think even he would admit that. Kris worries a lot and says that if he could just stop himself from thinking all the time, everything would be all right. He graduated from NYU, and I call him whenever I want fashion advice because he has the most amazing taste. Kris is truly a style genius. He’s also gorgeous… If I didn’t love him so much, I would have to hate him.

His partner Danny is pure country. He is from Mississippi and has the most adorable accent. What I love the most about Danny is how nothing ever fazes him. He is always so cool and collected and just soooo incredibly nice. We met and had sex when I first moved to LA, years ago and it, of course, didn’t work out, but somehow we have remarkably remained very close friends. I am even going to be the best man at their wedding on the Summer solstice. Danny is a total sci-fi nerd, and the date has something to do with King Arthur or something. Honestly, I was only half listening when he told me about it. I was just amazed at how lucky he was to catch Kris when he did. Some guys have all the luck, I swear.

I see Danny’s head come around the corner smiling at me. “Come on honey,” he says teasingly, tossing the words over his shoulder.

“Jon… Oh my goddess,” Kris says as he stumbles around the corner. “Honestly handsome we have got to get you a condo on the first floor. I am exhausted and need to take a siesta asap,” his smile beams at me from down the hallway. He has the most beautiful smile, it lights up wherever he is… I should hate him.

“Come in gentleman… and Kris,” I say teasingly. Sometimes I wonder if Danny thinks I am flirting with Kris. Sometimes I wonder if I am flirting with Kris. That would be very very bad. I tune it down, just a notch. “Danny, I know that you know Alan. Introduce yourselves please.”

They each give me a hug and kiss as Danny reaches around and pinches my butt. This is something we have done for years. Neither one of us remembers why, but I think we would each be devastated if we ever stopped. It’s soothing and calming like pulling on your favorite hoodie when there’s a chill in the air. I enjoy knowing what to expect, and Danny never disappoints me.

I hear the buzzer ring downstairs. I look over at Danny and Kris. “Hey did you guys keep the door propped open?” I ask, knowing the answer before I even ask.

“Are you kidding? That’s just asking someone to come in with a hatchet and turn you into a meat dress,” Kris says as if this is the most rational explanation. To him… it is.

“I’ll be back in a second,” I say opening the door for them. “Please talk about me while I’m gone,” I announce to my guests.

“I wouldn’t want to bore them, Jon,” Alan says grinning wickedly at me.

“I promise to keep everyone in line,” Danny says conspiratorially.

From the top of the stairs, I see another two of my favorite people in the world through the glass door. I think you are probably starting to see a pattern here. Nicole and Jim got married the day they graduated college. They are a couple years older than me and have become total health nuts in the last few years. Nicole is a lot like Julie, one of the nicest, sweetest and kindest human beings I have ever met. Nicole is positive and upbeat even when faced with adversity. She says it’s because of her faith. You would never know that she was a devout Christian. God is love to her, and that’s all she needs to know. She says the Bible is full of bullshit because it was written by flawed men and then edited by kings and people with agendas. I would worship her if she let me.

Her husband Jim is so very different from her. He’s a great guy and all, and I love him dearly, and we’ve become very close over the years, and I would do absolutely anything for him. It’s just… Well, he’s just very Massachusettsy. A total East Coast snob if ever there was one. Or that’s what Nicole says about him anyway. He just nods, agrees and moves on. I can’t tell if it bothers him or not, but my gut instinct is probably no. He seems to be happy with who he is flaws and all. He’s incredibly handsome, and kind of reminds me of a Kennedy. I just wish he could relax more. He’s always stressed out about work, I mean, he is a lawyer, so that makes sense and all, but I just wish he could mellow out a little bit more.

I get to the bottom of the stairs, and they are looking at me through the door, happy to see me. I know how lucky I am to have such great friends. I know this, and these two are incredibly unique. They just seem to get each other so well. They fit together in ways that I have never seen a couple fit. They make sense in ways that I have never seen humans make sense together. They are the perfect couple, and if I could find the person I made sense with then maybe… who knows.

“Hi guys,” I smile broadly at them. “Welcome to my bachelor pad,” I say this because Nicole is always teasing me about my place and my single lifestyle.

“Lucky you,” Jim says through clenched teeth. “You can fart and belch all you want.”

“Gross,” Nicole elbows him in the ribs lightly. “Lead on, you beautiful, sassy man you.” She says gesturing towards the stairs. “You might need to send the pulleys down and hire me a Sherpa. I have been neglecting my daily rituals.”

I look at her perfectly fit body and laugh at how silly she sometimes is. “I think you’ll survive the Matterhorn dear.”

“Move that ass,” Jim says as he playfully slaps her lightly on the behind. I can see from the set of her jaw that it was not appreciated. However, Nicole is too much of a lady to ever make a scene, another reason that I adore her.

“Don’t worry, there’s a boy halfway up with a water pail and a loaf of stale, moldy bread,” I tease as they start their climb. I make sure that the door is jammed open with the small piece of wood I sometimes use for occasions such as this. Well okay… Usually, it’s a date or a masseuse making an out call.

I take the stairs two at a time and catch up with Jim and Nicole who are quietly discussing something of dire importance, I am sure. “Am I interrupting?”

“Oh my love, you are never interrupting,” Jim says as he puts his hand on my shoulder. “I hope you realize how much you are loved, Jon.”

I am a little surprised by his admission. It’s raw and open and jagged and kind of messy. I love it because it comes from them, but it also makes me feel a little awkward. I’ve never been good at messy emotions, which is probably one of the biggest reasons I am single.

“Okay, boys. I need a glass of champagne. Can we love each other with a drink? Is Julie here already?” Nicole asks, smiling at me. I forget that those two actually know each other. They’re both teachers, so I guess that makes sense.

“Inside already,” I say opening the door.

“Thank you, kind sir,” She said as she giggled past me.

“Women,” Jim smiled as if this explained every mystery in the world.

“Queer,” I answer back.

“And how!” A voice squawks loudly from behind us. “As queer as a three dollar bill in the g string of Kim Jong Il the third. And honey that shit is just… well, gay.”

“Bitch,” I counter turning around slowly, a grin planted on my face.

“Hello, whoore,” my oldest guest whistles through his teeth teasingly. If anyone in this group could be considered family, it would be this old queen whom I adore more than just about anyone. Ted is a 60-year-old smart-ass with a heart of gold. He is probably the most cynical smart ass I have ever met, and I love every drop of acid he spews. Ted has really lived. He moved to LA from New York in the late 1980’s to escape from all of his friend’s funerals. He said he just couldn’t take wearing black ever again, and I don’t think he ever has. He’s a real survivor. He’s been HIV positive for over thirty years and somehow like a cockroach after the nuclear bomb fell, he survived when everyone he knew did not. I imagine, at one point in his life, he was probably very upbeat and happy. Now, he dishes to get by. He would kill for those he loves and is the most loyal person I know.

“Happy New Years Jon,” his partner of five years says in his easy-going way. “Is Kerry upstairs?”

Conrad is two years younger than me. I know how that sounds and I thought the same thing, at first. West Hollywood Boy toy, looking for a come up and hoping to get in the will before the old bag kicks it… but that would be wrong. Conrad is devoted to Ted. He takes care of him, makes him behave and take his meds and has a career and life all his own. Conrad is just in love with a man who could easily be his grandfather. Well, he’s not his father, but he does call him daddy if you get my drift. They are adorable.

“Kerry isn’t coming,” I said a little gloomy, but honestly our thousandth breakup was for the best.

“Oh Jon,” Conrad shook his head. “Sorry honey.”

“Jon dear,” Ted said winding up for the sting. “Can you please point this boy scout to the gin? Daddy needs a drink.” With that, he brushed past me and headed to the hors dourves. Ted always knows how to make an entrance. And now all of my guests had finally arrived.

The party was a huge success. Numbers were traded, Facebook friends were accepted, and followers were found on Instagram. It felt great to know that I was the glue who brought all these wonderful people together. I found myself floating around trying to keep everyone happy, imbibed and having a great time. Looking around, I knew how lucky I was that these people loved me. Then I remembered that each of them had someone else to love too. They each had someone to go home to and be held accountable by. I could never be that person. I didn’t want to be held accountable by anyone, especially not this faceless person who might be my other half. The thought at first made me feel like I couldn’t breathe as if someone had gut-punched me and I couldn’t catch my breath. I walked out to the balcony, hoping that no one had noticed and tried to release the tension in my body. Even surrounded by everyone I loved, I was still alone.

I realized I had been away long enough and started to head back inside when it hit me. I do have a place I belong. Love and relationships are messy, and they are for messy people. These people that I surround myself with are as close as I want to come to that.

“Darling, grab that bottle of champagne and pop it quick. The ball is going to drop in three minutes,” Ted said as he pushed the bottle into my hand. “You are the hostess with the mostess,” he winked at me.

I popped the cork and walked around filling everyone’s glass with the expensive bubbly. We gathered into a circle, and a hush fell over us as we all stared and smiled at each other. Anderson Cooper and Kathy Griffin were helping us count down and as the New Year hit everyone took their loved ones into their arms and gave them a passionate kiss. I stood there finishing my champagne. As they broke out of their private reveries, they all noticed me and I received the best group hug in the history of group hugs.

“For God sakes, Jon, this year I, want you to want more. Everyone deserves someone to love, my child,” Ted said lightly into my ear.

And that is how my year began.

Author Bio

Shane K Morton lives in Studio City, CA with his husband Jody and their fur baby Slayer. His first novel, The Trouble With Off-Campus Housing was published in 2016. When not writing, Shane can be found at a film festival or performing cabaret somewhere in a dark dive bar in LA.

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Wednesday 18 October 2017

Release Blitz, Review Tour & Giveaway - V.L. Locey - Improper Fraction

Cover Design: Reverie Design

Length: 68,690 words


O’Malley Ramsey, math aficionado, grew up next door to Garrison Rook, All-American athlete. While O’Malley dreamed of numbers and kissing Garrison, Garrison’s tastes ran to home runs and hot chicks. During a family celebration the night before both young men were heading off for college, O’Malley joyously discovers that Garrison isn’t quite as straight as the star athlete had been pretending to be. Vows to return to each other quickly followed a few clumsy kisses in the old treehouse in the Rook’s backyard.

O’Malley came home to Garrison. Garrison never returned to O’Malley.

Four years later, the two ex-friends meet up at a summer camp where O’Malley is serving as a counselor. Garrison is desperate to make things right with his childhood friend, but can O’Malley, still nursing the pain and mistrust of Garrison’s betrayal, ever forgive or love Garrison again?

October 18 - BooksLaidBareBoys, Diverse Reader, Au Boudoir Ecarlate
October 20 - Xtreme Delusions, Mirrigold: Mutterings & Musings
October 23 - Gay Media Reviews, Archaeolibrarian - I Dig Good Books
October 25 - My Fiction Nook, Nautical Star Books, Lelyana's Book Blog
October 27 - Bayou Book Junkie, Making It Happen, Wicked Faerie's Tales & Reviews, Scattered Thoughts & Rogue Words, OMG Reads, MM Good Book Reviews, Wicked Reads

Author Bio

V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.

When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and GoodReads.


Release Blitz, Review Tour, Excerpt & Giveaway - RJ Scott - Deacon's Law (Heroes #3)

Cover Design: Meredith Russell

Length: 50,000 words approx.

Heroes Series

A Reason To Stay (Book #1) - Amazon US | Amazon UK
Last Marine Standing (Book #2) - Amazon US | Amazon UK


How can you trust the man who tried to kill you?

Undercover cop Deacon Shepherd lost everything trying to maintain his cover - the man he loved and the future he craved. He walked away and never looked back because it was the only way to keep Rafael alive.

The last thing he needs is to be dragged back in that world, but an attempt on Rafael's life is enough to make him risk his heart again.

Rafael 'Rafe' Ramirez wakes up in the hospital, the victim of a hit and run. He’s horrified when the first face he sees is that of the man who betrayed him and left him for dead three years before. Witness protection had stripped Rafe of his family and friends, and now it seems his sacrifice to bring his Uncle to justice was for nothing.

Someone wants Rafe dead, and the only way he can stay alive is to go with the murdering drug dealer who broke his heart. But how can he ever trust Deacon, and how can Deacon protect Rafe without falling in love all over again?


Rafe opened his eyes, attempting to focus on the ceiling above him. He tried to lift his hand, but it felt as if there was lead in his veins, everything heavy and he couldn’t move. They’d told him he was getting better, so what the hell had happened? Had he relapsed? Why was he convinced that they’d taken him somewhere in an ambulance? That he’d leaned against a leather jacket that smelled of sunshine and soap? He blinked until the ceiling finally coalesced into the tiles he was familiar with.

Only there were no tiles.

Instead, the ceiling was a smooth white, and there were no strip lights, just a lampshade in a curious shade of blue. He blinked again. This didn’t make sense.

But when he opened his eyes, nothing had changed. The ceiling was still white, the lampshade blue, and the drapes at the window matched the shade. The drapes. There were drapes at the window. Confusion morphed into panic and he turned his head to the right to get a better feel for where he was and he saw…him.

Sprawled awkwardly in the chair, his head back, long limbs this way and that, clearly too big for the chair, was a specter from a past that wouldn’t leave him alone.


Intense fear sliced into Rafe.

They’d found him, had him strapped to a bed…was it Deacon who’d tracked him down and driven a car at him? He was paralyzed with a fear that made it hard to breathe, and he yanked at his hand, hoping to escape his restraints, only he wasn’t tied down, there was no rope. Instead his hand came up fast and he rolled sideways. Catching himself and coming off the bed, forgetting the fact that his leg was in a cast and toppling sideways, falling with a crash into a cabinet. He flailed but couldn’t stop himself falling, and he knew this was it – this time he was really going to die.

Deacon was up and at his side in an instant, and Rafe wanted to shut his eyes, wanted to block out seeing Deacon’s face again as he died, but he had to watch. He wanted Deacon to see his fear, and maybe that would stop him; maybe he could make Deacon stop and think.

“Shit, Rafe— Craig,” Deacon said, and reached for him, grasping his arms.

Terror became ice inside him, and Rafe stopped fighting; like a deer caught in headlights, he froze.

“What happened?” A second man stood in the doorway, someone Rafe didn’t know – tall, dark and dangerous-looking. Maybe this new arrival could stop Deacon?

“Help me,” Rafe forced out, looking past Deacon, scrambling to stand as the ice melted and he pushed himself to move.

“He woke up, saw me, and fell out of bed,” Deacon said, and the other man came right in. There were two of them, and there was little Rafe could do to get away. There and then, he screwed his eyes shut; nothing was going to save him now.

But there was no pain, no bullet. Instead, the two men helped him to stand, and then he felt the bed at the back of his thighs and they sat him down.

“Are you okay?” Deacon asked. Even with his eyes shut, Rafe recognized his voice. He would never forget the tone of it, or the coldness of the man who’d tried to kill him. He said nothing.

“Open your eyes,” the other man asked.


“Craig? Rafe? My name is Mac. We’re here to help you.”

But fear was choking him and he couldn’t breathe. “No,” he managed between attempts to inhale enough oxygen not to pass out.

“He’s panicking. What the hell did you do, D?”

“Tried to fucking kill him three years ago, remember?”

Author Bio

RJ Scott is the bestselling romance author of over 100 romance books. She writes emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, millionaire, princes, and the men and women who get mixed up in their lives. RJ is known for writing books that always end with a happy ever after. She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn't with family either reading or writing.

The last time she had a week’s break from writing she didn't like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a bottle of wine she couldn’t defeat.

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