Saturday, May 21, 2022

#NewReleaseBlitz...In His Hands...#BondageAndBDSM #Contemporary #EroticRomance #Giveaway

In His Hands By Hannah Murray

Book 3 in the Perfect Taboo series

Word Count: 71,221
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 277

GENRES:

BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE

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Book Description

Consent is everything…and with consent, everything is possible.

Olivia has one wish—to find a partner who will do consensual non-consent scenes with her. She thought she’d found the perfect man, but he turned out to be more dud than Dom. When their relationship implodes, she moves out, and moves in with her friend Cade. He’s happy to have her, but living with him won’t be easy. It was easier to ignore her feelings for him, and the fact that he’d always been her ideal Dom, when she’d had a boyfriend. But he’d stopped doing CNC after a scene had gone wrong, so she’d set her sights elsewhere.

Cade has his own problems. He’s been in love with Olivia since they met, but when she started dating someone else, he put his feelings aside and focused on being her friend. But now that she’s single again, he’s not going to let opportunity pass him by. He’s happy to set her straight about his feelings on CNC play—totally still into it, but won’t do casual scenes—and more than eager to make all her kinky dreams come true.

Olivia finally has the kind of kinky relationship she’s always wanted, and her feelings for Cade only grow stronger as time goes on. But when her ex reappears to explain why he ended their relationship, she wonders if she’s mistaking her happiness with their CNC play for love—and worries that Cade might be doing the same…

Reader advisory: This book includes scenes of consensual non-consent, as well as RACK, role-play, sexual fantasy, blood play and rape fantasy.

Publisher's Note: The story told in this book begins on the same day that Sharing His Submissive ends, and before the events of Show Me Something Good.

Excerpt

Olivia stared at her boyfriend in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

Kyle raised one blond eyebrow, which unfortunately added a layer of smug condescension to his Generically Handsome White Guy face. “Do I look serious?”

“Yes.” His usual affable smile was missing, his mouth pinched tight. “You look very serious.”

“Well, then.” Kyle took out a pen and tapped the thick sheaf of papers on the table between them.

“You’re telling me if I don’t sign that, we’re done.”

“That’s what I’m telling you.”

This didn’t make any sense. “I don’t want a Master/slave relationship, Kyle. You know that.”

He laid the pen on the table. It was the fountain pen she’d given him for his birthday last month, she noted. It was made in Germany, by some company that was apparently the world leader in fancy fountain pens, and had cost almost as much as her share of the monthly rent. It had a black lacquer finish, gold trim, and a gold nib that squirted ink all over her fingers every time she used it.

“It’s not about what you want, but rather, what you need,” Kyle said, and Olivia narrowed her eyes. He only used words like ‘rather’ when he was trying extra hard to be taken seriously.

“I don’t need a slave contract—which, by the way, is not in any way legally enforceable.” She paused to take a calming breath. If she started yelling, he’d just shut down, and they’d never get anywhere. “I need you to talk to me. I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, his expression shuttered. He looked the way he did when he was trying to bluff his way through a crappy hand at the poker table, or when someone disagreed with some political talking point he was repeating. Like he knew he was fucked and wanted to walk away, but his pride wouldn’t allow it.

She knew that pride. It was stubborn and immovable and her biggest obstacle to figuring out just what was behind this ridiculousness.

She switched tactics. “Kyle, this is something we have to talk about. You can’t just spring a contract on me like this.”

“Actually, I can.” He arched an eyebrow again. “I’m the Dom, and I make the rules.”

That was such pile of verbal crap that she momentarily lost the power of speech, and while she was gaping at him, trying to figure out what the hell he was thinking, he stood up.

“I have to pick up Andy for the game.” He crossed the room and scooped his keys out of the bowl on the table next to the door. Her bowl, her table. “I expect that contract to be signed when I get back.”

The bafflement and shock that had held her frozen since he’d first tossed that contract on the table was fading, replaced by an incredulous fury that made her feel like she was breathing sulfur. “Or?”

“Or you can pack your things,” he replied calmly. “It’s your choice.”

He twirled his keys around his finger—another nervous tell—opened the door and walked out.

Olivia stared at the closed door for a moment, then looked down at the contract. It was at least twenty pages, held together with one of the bright pink binder clips she kept in the kitchen junk drawer to use on bags of chips or frozen vegetables. Kyle’s name was in bold type at the top, right in front of the words, “hereafter referred to as Master”, and her name, bolded but not capitalized, right before “hereafter referred to as slave”, and the remainder of her disbelief disintegrated in a flood of pure rage.

She stood up, shoving back from the table hard enough to make it wobble, and stalked to the bedroom. She pulled her suitcases from the back of the closet, laid them on the bed, and began to pack.

She worked methodically, rolling her clothes to minimize wrinkling and maximize space. When the dresser, the closet, and the nightstand on her side of the bed were empty, she walked across the hall to the guest room-office to gather the clothes she had stored there.

There wasn’t a lot—the cocktail dresses she rarely had occasion to wear, a formal gown she’d bought on a whim when a local dress shop had gone out of business, and the plastic storage bin with her corsets. When she pulled the bin down from the top shelf, the dust coating the lid made her sneeze. It had been months since she’d worn one, though she and Kyle went to a kink event nearly every week. It had just seemed like too much trouble, and Kyle hadn’t cared one way or the other.

“That should’ve been a fucking clue,” she muttered, and sneezed again.

Back in the bedroom, she crammed the dresses into the already full suitcases, then zipped them closed and wrestled them to the floor. She pulled the duvet off the bed, then the sheets, and added the pillow she’d broken in how she liked it to the pile before heading into the bathroom for her toiletries.

She needed a box for the kitchen, and found one in the office, full of Kyle’s tax files. She dumped them without remorse onto his desk chair and packed it tight with utensils, measuring cups, and the egg timer in the shape of a cow—and she took the pink binder clip off the damn contract, too. She pulled a garbage bag from under the sink for the potholders and dishtowels, then added her bedding, towels, and every spare sheet from the hall linen closet.

The sonofabitch had been sleeping on a bare mattress when she’d moved in, and he could damn well do it again.

She gathered her laptop and tablet from the living room, her extra phone charger and the blanket her aunt had crocheted for her in college. The electronics went into the tote she used as a purse, the blanket into the garbage bag. Then she dragged everything to the front door and took a last tour of the apartment.

She made a list of all the things she’d need to come back for. The prints and photos on the walls, the table by the front door. Her stand mixer still sat on the kitchen counter, her dishes in the cabinets. There were pieces of sculpture and statuary she’d collected over the years scattered throughout the apartment that would need to be carefully wrapped and packed, as would her reproduction Tiffany lamp. Her grandmother’s mirror hung above the entry table, and the chair and dresser that were the only pieces of furniture she’d kept when she’d moved in with Kyle.

She quelled the twinge of anxiety at the thought of leaving so many of her things behind and grabbed her keys. It took three trips and some creative arranging, but she managed to get everything into her ancient Camry. By the time she climbed the stairs for the last time, she was sweating, her tank top sticking to her back. She’d retrieved one of the hair ties she kept on the stick shift of her car, so her hair was off her neck. But sweat trickled between her breasts and down the backs of her legs, and the only thing keeping her moving was righteous rage.

Back in the apartment, she hefted her tote with a grunt, and started to take the front door key off her key ring. She wanted to leave it right in the middle of his damned contract where he couldn’t possibly miss it, but she hesitated. She had to retrieve the rest of her things, and if she left her key behind now, she’d have to go through Kyle to do it.

“The hell I will,” she muttered, and palming her keys, turned to go. Then she caught her reflection in the mirror over the entry table and winced. She was a mess. Half her honey-blonde hair had fallen out of its hastily constructed topknot to hang, limp and damp with sweat, to her shoulders. She’d sweated off her makeup except for a solid smudge of mascara under each eye—which, except for the faint flush of exertion on her cheeks, was the only color on her already pale face. Even her eyes looked dull.

Dull and beige. It was a good way to describe her relationship with Kyle. And now, over.

She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder, and her gaze landed on the chain encircling her neck. The everyday collar was only slightly longer than a choker, with a tiny key charm that nestled in the hollow of her throat. The necklace’s standard clasp had been removed and replaced with silver rings that attached to the charm, turning a standard removeable chain into a permanent one. The only way to get it off was to break it.

She stared at it, remembering how she’d felt when Kyle had fastened it around her neck. She’d been so happy, so full of hope. Now, staring at the tiny key that had meant so much, all she felt was anger and sadness.

She dropped her bag to the floor and grabbed the necklace in both sweaty fists. The little silver rings gave way easily, pulling free with barely a twist, and the key fell with a musical clink to the floor at her feet.

She picked it and stared at it, small and insignificant in her palm, the broken chain dangling from her fingers. A year of her life in two broken pieces of silver, she thought, her throat tight, and wanted to rage and scream at the waste of it all.

Instead she walked to the table, dropped the charm and the necklace on the contract, then walked back to the mirror and pulled it off the wall. With the heavy tote on one arm and the mirror tucked under the other, she walked out.

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About the Author. . .

Hannah Murray

Hannah has been reading romance novels since she was young enough to have to hide them from her mother. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband—former Special Forces and an OR nurse who writes sci-fi fantasy and acts as In-House Expert on matters pertaining to weapons, tactics, the military, medical conditions and How Dudes Think—and their daughter, who takes after her father. 

Find out more about Hannah at her website and blog.




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#BookBlitz...Her Jailer's Secrets...@RABTBookTours #RABTBookTours #HerJailersSecrets #BrianFSmith #HistoricalFiction

A broken family's fight against a brutal justice system

Historical Fiction, Australian History, Literary Fiction

Date Published: April 2022

Publisher: Tablo Publishing

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In 1786 Elizabeth Fitzgerald, a 26 year old woman, became involved in England's brutal justice system and found herself exiled from her homeland to Botany Bay in the antipodes where she had to endure brutality, near starvation, love and a shipwreck off Norfolk Island with her friend Jane Fitzgerald. She bore twin girls to a marine William Mitchell while on the island and began her own family in this strange new land, as she never expected to ever see her family members, or friends, ever again.

On her return to Sydney she began a new life with another soldier, Thomas Wright, with whom she had another child but was imprisoned again for selling her children's rations to purchase rum where she met a strange cockney woman named Margaret, who was in charge of the prison and who changed her life.

William Mitchell, who returned to England carried out an investigation into who Margaret really was as she had now died, and in doing so came up against Irish rebels who threatened his life but finally gave him a sealed letter as to her true identity, that could not be opened by anyone other than one of the two Fitzgerald women.

About the Author. . .

Brian F. Smith has always had an interest in writing that became further enhanced with his early career moves which included his service with the Australian Army before joining the Victoria Police Force. He later went on to become the Chief Security Officer at the Loloho Port Site on Bougainville Island in Papua New Guinea. On his return to Australia, he founded the 'Jordan River Journal,' a Hobart, Tasmania suburban newspaper before going to the island's west coast where he founded the ' The Western Herald' another local weekly newspaper. Since his retirement, he has written four books: 'Off The Record", "Convict Connections', 'Witness to a Miracle' and 'Her Jailer's Secrets'. In 2020 he obtained a Diploma in Family History from the University of Tasmania.

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#BookTour...The Scandal #Series #Book 5...#Historical #Regency #Romance #Giveaway

Scandal's Redemption

The Scandal Series Book 5

by Pamela Gibson

Genre: Historical Regency Romance

Lady Jocelyn Stafford desperately needs a husband to repair her tarnished reputation. Her obvious choice is her neighbor James, a man who once fancied her. If only she hadn’t cruelly rejected his attentions when she found herself wooed by a scandalous rake with a better title.

James Margrave, Earl of Seaton, must have an heir to keep his estate from falling into the hands of his cousin, which means he has to marry. Lady Jocelyn, who still beguiles him, would be perfect if only he could forget old slights. Instead, James asks Jocelyn to help him find a suitable wife, a task she agrees to perform, hoping to redeem herself in his eyes.

When a series of attacks put James’s life in danger, an immediate marriage becomes critical. Jocelyn is willing and available. But can he trust a woman who once broke his heart and is it fair to wed her when she might become the next victim?

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Scandal's Child

The Scandal Series Book 1

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(recently just got it's 1000th review on Goodreads!)

Scandal's Bride

The Scandal Series Book 2

**Get it FREE May 19-21!**

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Scandal's Promise

The Scandal Series Book 3

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Scandal's Deception

The Scandal Series Book 4

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Author of eight books on California history and eighteen romance novels, Pamela Gibson is a former City Manager who lives in the Nevada desert. Having spent the last few years messing about in boats, a hobby that included a five-thousand-mile trip in a 32-foot Nordic Tug, she now spends most of her time indoors happily reading, writing, cooking and keeping up with the antics of Ralph, the Rescue Cat. She loves dry red wine, all kinds of chocolate, old Jimmy Buffet sailing songs, and curling up with a good book.

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Friday, May 20, 2022

#BookTour...Daughters of the Cosmos...#Paranormal #Fantasy #Giveaway

Daughters of the Cosmos

by Dana Littlejohn

Genre: Paranormal, Fantasy

Takasa, goddess of the sun, left her mountain home consumed with bitterness caused by her long endured loneliness. The elders in her tribe fed her a potion to put her to sleep for a thousand years to wait for the one who would be able to save them from her wrath.

Luneria, goddess of the moon, saw that Rubani, the God of War, was in need of advice. She offered her assistance and watched out for him during his latest campaign with the people. Rubani wanted her for his wife, Luneria was unsure, She had only spoken a few times and she did not want to leave the sky to be among the people. Was there a way for the goddesses to have happiness without losing the position?

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Dana Littlejohn was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. After spending most of her youth dreaming up stories to pass around the lunch room for her friends to read, she decided that writing was something she wanted to do. As an adult, she took on a new role as mother, wife, and laborer, and her writing took a back seat. In 2003 and with the encouragement of her husband, she picked up her pen again and has no intention on putting it down. She has called Indianapolis, Indiana, her home for over 10 years, still working a 9-5, and is still a wife and mother, but now an author. Her imagination is the wildest ride ever! Jump on board and see for yourself!

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#BookBlast...The House with A Thousand Stairs...#Historical #Gay #Novel

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: The House with a Thousand Stairs

Author: Garrick Jones

Publisher: MoshPit Publishing

Cover Artist: Garrick Jones

Release Date: March 18, 2020

Genre: Historical gay novel

Tropes: Rekindling past friendships; the connection of spirits.

Themes: Cross-cultural relationships; connection through the love of the land; rebuilding lives after conflict; Indigenous beliefs and spirituality; farmer and policeman; Australian Outback.

Heat Rating: 2 - 3 flames

Length: 353 pages

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

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Blurb

Warrambool

In Gamilaraay, the language of the Kamilaroi peoples of north-western New South Wales, it's the word for The Milky Way. It's also the name of Peter Dixon's homestead and sheep station, situated in the lee of the Liverpool Ranges.

In 1947, Peter returns from war, his parents and younger brother dead, the property de-stocked and his older brother, Ron, having emptied out the family bank account and nowhere to be found.

The House With a Thousand Stairs is the story of a young man, scarred both on the inside and the outside, trying to re-establish what once was a prosperous and thriving sheep station with the help of his neighbours and his childhood friend, Frank Hunter, the local Indigenous policeman.

Enveloped by the world of Indigenous spirituality, the Kamilaroi system of animal guides and totems, Peter and Frank discover the true nature of their predestined friendship, one defined by the stars, the ancestral spirits, and Baiame, the Creator God and Sky Father of The Dreaming.

Maliyan bandaarr, maliyan biliirr.

Two days later, Richard Williams, Sparrow's nephew, turned up.

Peter was standing in the old kitchen when he heard the car horn. He'd been shaving off his patchy beard and still had soap on half his face, so yelled up the side passage, "Out here!" He couldn't be bothered shaving since he'd come back home and had let his beard grow for a few days. It grew thicker along his chin line than on his cheeks, and had got to the length where it looked untidy and scraggly … and it itched like a bastard.

"Jesus, look at you," he said as Richard poked his head in the door. "You grew."

"So did you."

The first thing Peter noticed in his shaving mirror was how his boyhood friend had filled out. Dressed in a singlet under a pale blue shirt, opened to the third button from the neck, and overalls rolled down to the waist, Richard leaned against the doorframe, idly inspecting Peter's back.

"Few war wounds, Pete."

"You bring any back?"

"Only on my dick. Teeth marks mainly."

Peter laughed, holding the razor away from his face so he didn't cut himself.

"I bet if I had a good look I'd find teeth marks in other places, Dick."

"No one calls me Dick anymore, except my uncle, Pete."

"You'll always be Dick to me," Peter replied with a wink.

His friend laughed. They stared at each other in the mirror longer than men who hadn't been close as teenagers might have done.

"Mechanic, eh?" Peter said, rinsing off his face and wiping his razor on a towel. He still used a straight edge.

"Here," Richard said, "turn around, you've missed a bit."

He took the razor and then scraped under Peter's chin, nudging it upwards first with the back of his fist.

"I've missed more than a bit," Peter said, pushing forward gently so their hips bumped against each other.

"I don't do that anymore," Richard replied with a smile.

"Yeah, neither do I."

They both laughed.

There'd been a small group of boys, on the cusp of becoming men, who'd been close. They'd "mucked about together", as it was called back then. They'd laughed and joked about it, compared sizes, talked about the girls they said they'd rooted, when every one of them knew each of them had lied. But then there'd been those times when a few of them would slip off somewhere together without the others, or meet up by chance with ants in their pants and find somewhere quiet.

Peter had been popular—the others had sought him out. He was happy to do the thing the others were leery of, or felt was somehow not manly. None of them blabbed about his ability to roll onto his tummy or lift a knee against a tree to let them have a go. He didn't care what anyone thought. It didn't make him feel any less of a bloke for it—he simply liked the feeling. His availability had always come at a cost, though. He'd invariably asked, "A ride there for a ride back?" And they'd always nodded dumbly, their knees trembling, knowing the reciprocal ride back was as rare as hens' teeth. Dick Williams had been one of the few of his mates who had been happy to allow Peter to climb on after he'd had a turn, or to get on his knees and give him a gobbie afterwards to bring him off.

"Christ you've got some muscles on you, Pete Dixon."

"Comes from doing push-ups with blokes on my back who say 'I don't do that anymore'."

Richard snorted softly. "Guess that's something you didn't give up in the army?"

"I'll bet you a fiver you didn't either."

Richard didn't reply, he merely shrugged and looked over his shoulder out of the doorway. It's what nervous blokes did, Peter thought. What have you got to be nervous about, Richard Williams? Those were his thoughts, but something below his belt had answered his question.

"So, we gonna go have a squiz at your truck?" Richard asked, offering his packet of tailor-mades.

"In a minute," Peter said, shaking his head at the offer of a Chesterfield and then taking his makings pouch from the pocket of his shirt, which had been draped over the back of a chair.

"What you waiting for?"

"You to take your clobber off and get in there," Peter said, tossing his head in the direction of the room in which he'd been sleeping for the past three days.

"I dunno, Pete … it's been a long while, and as I said, I don't—"

"Get in there, Williams," Peter said with a growl as he lit his cigarette. "The squiz at the truck can wait a bit, there's something in your pants I want a gander at first."

He watched for a few seconds while Richard fumbled with his shirt; his hands were trembling. There'd always been a lot of chemistry between them. It was something he'd almost tasted the moment Richard had poked his head around the doorway.

"Let me unbutton your shirt," Peter said gently, passing him his lit cigarette.

"Unless they had different names for them in the part of the army you served in, Pete, that's not my shirt," Richard said with a laugh.

"Buttons, buttons, shirt or pants, they all have to be undone, sooner or later."

About the Author . . .

After a thirty year career as a professional opera singer, performing as a soloist in opera houses and in concert halls all over the world, I took up a position as lecturer in music in Australia in 1999, at the Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music, which is now part of CQUniversity.

Brought up in Australia, between the bush and the beaches of the Eastern suburbs, I retired in 2015 and now live in the tropics, writing, gardening, and finally finding time to enjoy life and to re-establish a connection with who I am after a very busy career on the stage and as an academic.

I write mostly historical gay fiction. The stories are always about relationships and the inner workings of men; sometimes my fellas get down to the nitty-gritty, sometimes it's up to you, the reader, to fill in the blanks.

Every book is story driven; spies, detectives, murders, epic dramas, there's something for everyone. I also love to write about my country and the things that make us Aussies and our history different from the rest of the world.

I'm research driven. I always try to do my best to give the reader a sense of what life was like for my main characters in the world they live in.

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#BookBlitz...Calamity At Cattori V...@RABTBookTours #RABTBookTours #CalamityatCattoriV #DHDhaenens #SciFi

Pulp Sci-Fi, LGBT

Date Published: January 2022

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Can you rise up and be a hero even when you’ve lived among criminals all your life?

When Tommy is entrusted with a special power he has to make a decision. Fight to uncover what is off about Cattori V or keep his head down and focus on getting a ride off of the prison planet he was born on?

When he finally uncovers the secret of Cattori V, it may just be too late for him and everyone on the planet...


 About the Author. . .

Daphne D'Haenens writes about grumpy mages from her London flat. Born in Belgium, she moved to the UK after graduating from her studies in Applied Linguistics, and has been enjoying the British weather ever since.

She lives with her loving wife and two ginger cats writing a little every day. All while collecting very frilly dresses and occasionally taking a break to be an adult.

 



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#NewReleaseBlitz...Wreck My Mind...#ActionAndAdventure #Contemporary #EroticRomance #ThrillerAndSuspense #Giveaway

Wreck My Mind by Brooke Taylor

Book 2 in the Wicked Games series

Word Count: 79,989
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 326

Genres:

ACTION AND ADVENTURE
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

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Book Description

Treasure abounds for those who dare, but only truth can set you free in this island paradise.

Truth…

Because honesty is always the best policy.

Mysteries abound on Marakata Cay—an exotic, Eden-esque island owned by a multi-billionaire known as OZ. Perhaps the biggest secret of all is the one haunting capable and passionate Aziza. Dutifully, Zee has served the eccentric and reclusive OZ as his right hand, even to the detriment of her own freedoms. In fact, she’s never so much as stepped foot off the island since washing up on its shores. But when the man she’s falling in love with disappears amidst lies and betrayal, Zee begins to wonder. Has the paradise sanctuary protecting her from her past actually been a trap?

Or dare?

Because with great risks come even better rewards.

Former Navy SEAL Michael Cooper has spent his life thwarting death. Playing scarecrow for Beryl Enterprises as OZ’s Director of Defense and Specialized Operations is no exception. But for the first time in his life, Coop finds himself truly facing reality—he’s not invincible. Not at all. When OZ offers Coop an insanely lucrative mission, he’s in no position to turn it down. The deep-sea treasure recovery should be easy for a man with Coop’s diving and demolition skills, but the job comes with more than its fair share of danger. Sharks, modern-day pirates, and the possibility of losing the love of his life, the beautiful and tenacious Aziza.

Even Eden had a snake, and for the first time in the island paradise’s illusive history, money and power can’t mend what’s been wrecked upon its shores, daring Aziza to pull the curtain back and reveal the truth, no matter the cost.

Reader advisory: This book includes scenes of violence and murder (sometimes graphic), and mentions of the mistreatment of neurodivergent characters, kidnapping, child abuse, and human trafficking.

Excerpt

Coop

Aziza and I were not friends, we weren’t enemies, and we certainly weren’t lovers…we were liars. The biggest lie of all, the one I’d been telling myself for years, had become damn impossible to keep up. But the constraints of reality had never stopped me before, no sense starting on a boat speeding into the shadowed heart of the Amazon river basin at zero dark thirty.

Aziza

“You’re not happy to see him!” I scolded myself. “You’re just glad the stubborn, prideful, stupid…man isn’t dead.” Because if anyone or anything was going to kill Michael Cooper, it was going to be me!

I growled over the sounds of the tropical storm battering Marakata Cay.

Pulse punching, I scrolled back through the video capture dated nearly twenty-four hours ago. The heavily bearded profile blending into a small crowd of people before disappearing into the thin blue air of Rio de Janeiro most definitely belonged to an alive and well Michael Cooper.

What the hell are you doing in Brazil?

If he was even still there.

Twenty-four hours may as well have been a month. He could be anywhere now, even in a morgue. It wasn’t like he hadn’t made serious enemies working for Beryl Enterprises. As our Director of Defense and Specialized Operations, he contracted with major private sector corporations as well as notable governments for high-level security solutions. His teams were often called in to deliver asset reconnaissance and recovery, be it intel or high-value targets. And occasionally those clients required more direct and unconventional warfare resolutions. It was these uniquely focused, clandestine operations that often put Beryl Enterprises in the crosshairs.

Concerned for his safety, I’d boldly asked Coop to relocate his home office from Dubai to Marakata Cay—the crown jewel of Beryl Enterprises. I’d proposed it would help shield both him and Omar Zaki’s private island. But it certainly hadn’t been my main motivation.

I’d truly believed he’d felt the same attraction, connection, to me that I did for him. Sure, our relationship was primarily professional. But for the past year or more our virtual meetings had lingered long after all work talk had been settled. We’d joke and laugh, talk about life. What had started as fun flirtation had quickly turned into something special.

Oh fuck it, I thought we were in love.

How could I’ve been so wrong?

So foolish!

I’d risked much more than my heart and pride when I’d dared ask him to make good on the flirtatious dance we’d been doing for years. And what had been his response? To send Brecken Wolfe, his top operator, here in his stead. To take off on an indefinite vacation while avoiding all forms of contact. To go completely off grid while simultaneously evading all SIGINT—every CCTV camera and satellite surveillance mechanism known to man. To freaking ghost me!

Hint. Taken.

But why go to such great lengths to stay undetected? Was it to dodge me, or was something else going on?

Coop had been acting off for months now, and if it wasn’t because he’d been fighting his feelings for me, then why? Someone else? Something even worse? Just because I hated him didn’t mean I’d stopped caring. Hoping.

My nerves knotted tight enough to fray as I fretted over what I might discover. But I couldn’t hide from the truth any longer.

Ignoring my heart overfilling like a balloon and bursting on every beat, I replayed the loop in slow motion. I should’ve been scanning the background for clues as to what exactly Coop was doing in Rio, and more importantly why he’d slipped up and gotten caught when he’d expended great effort the past month to stay off grid. Instead, my questions and frustration evaporated as I paused on the singular image of him. He looked just like when I’d first met him over ten years ago—a little angry and a lot tired. Hardened from too many tours in the sandbox. Handsome as sin. Hot AF.

Despite the shitty resolution, those deep, ocean eyes of his managed to steal my air and throttle my heart.

“I’ve missed you, My-sharky,” I whispered on a sigh.

The pet name was his butchered reiteration of mushaeghib—the Arabic word I often called him in frustration. It meant troublemaker and it fit him as well as calling him my shark did.

He was my protector. My warrior. My worst freaking headache. I wasn’t about to lose him forever and have him become my greatest heartache, too.

My gaze traced along his jawline. The carved edges were now covered by a thick, rough beard. He hadn’t shaved in a month, but the dark mass cloaking those panty-melting dimples of his looked more like a year’s worth of growth. Same with the wild, black licks of hair.

Licks…

My eyes drifted to the slight protrusion of his tongue. Suddenly it was if his lips weren’t on my computer screen or thousands of miles away in Brazil anymore. They were here on Marakata Cay right where I wanted—needed—them. My conjured vision of him had blown through my bedroom door with the same force as the tropical storm pelting my windows.

Dear Lord! My head needed to be examined. I’d spent weeks terrified I’d never see Coop again. I was furious at him for inexplicably leaving. Frightened, confused, hurt…and though it was tough to admit considering we’d never even touched, my heart had been wrecked when he’d vanished without a trace. Yet a stupid screenshot of him could still completely derail me with delusions and desire.

How could one gorgeous, but frustrating—infuriating—man have such a massive effect on me? I was a capable, intelligent, task-driven professional. As Omar Zaki’s right hand, I had authority over the Beryl Enterprises empire, which included multiple specialized operations teams full of cocksure alpha men.

So why couldn’t I control my own thoughts when it came to one, very annoying, smoking hot, Michael freaking Cooper?

The man had a way of slipping up on me and taking over my mind the same way scents of plumeria and rain had slid beneath my balcony’s French doors to saturate my room. Being unable to stop myself from jumping his bones was half the reason I’d kept him in the Dubai offices and far away from the island for so long. I had too much to lose to be getting sexually involved with anyone I had true feelings for.

Asking him to relocate had been reckless and impetuous.

Foolhardy.

The mere sight of him, even on a computer screen, melted my resolve and my body like butter on a beach. Now was no different.

I wanted him here—not just here…here with me—more than I’d ever wanted anything.

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author. . .

Brooke Taylor

Brooke Taylor lives and writes from her country home in Oklahoma where her pets are a constant, but happy, distraction. When she’s not reading or writing, she enjoys horseback riding, going to the lake, and traveling.

Brooke has worked extensively in the travel industry, from dude ranches to ski resorts to cruise lines. Her many overseas adventures include sky diving in New Zealand, scuba diving with sharks, sailing through hurricanes, and having her tent attacked by wild animals in the Mara game reserve in Kenya. Due to current health insurance rates, Brooke is letting her characters do most of the risk-taking from now on.

Find out more about Brooke at her website.


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Thursday, May 19, 2022

#ReleaseBlitz...The Fractured Fallen...#MM #Fantasy #PNR

RELEASE BLITZ

For any chance at love, they must first be willing to trust.

Book Title: The Fractured Fallen (D’Vaire, Book 29)

Author and Publisher: Jessamyn Kingley

Cover Artist: LJ Anderson, Mayhem Cover Creations

Release Date: May 19, 2022

Genres: M/M Fantasy/Paranormal Romance

Tropes: Fated mates

Themes: Love, second chances, overcoming obstacles

Heat Rating:  3 flames   

Length: 89 083 words

It is not a standalone story, but does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads Series Link

Amazon US  |   Amazon UK


Blurb

A proud fallen knight, Gentry Patterson likes to take people under his wing. Gifted with an easygoing nature, he makes friends effortlessly and, thanks to his love of cooking, often invites his inner circle over for meals. Gentry’s favorite week of the year is the annual retreat for his race, where he’s reunited with the many friends and colleagues he’s met through the years. The only thing that would enrich his existence is his mate, but he has yet to meet him.

Newly resurrected Tobias Kinsler wants to put his training behind him and make his superiors proud. However, Tobias is struggling. He keeps it to himself because he lacks people he’s willing to trust. With a mere few months of life under his belt, Tobias attends the fallen knights’ annual retreat and discovers his other half.

The two men have a sizzling connection from the start and waste no time binding their souls. Unfortunately, they will soon learn that secrets lurk beneath their growing friendship, and those secrets fracture the tenuous bond between them. As they chart an uncertain future, Gentry and Tobias must decide if they’re still willing to honor Fate.

Gentry relished the last bite of his dessert and grinned at Toby. “Did you want to dance?” 

The room had filled with soft music, which was perfect to sway to. Many couples were already near the stage, moving to the melody.

“I don’t know how.”

“I can teach you. We don’t have to do anything crazy,” Gentry assured him. 

Toby’s nerves and his lack of guile when it came to admitting everything he had no clue how to do endeared the fallen knight to Gentry. 

“Slow dancing isn’t too difficult,” Gentry said.

“This will sound crazy, but I’m not the best at physical stuff.”

“Oh, come on, only Juris Knights suck at physical stuff,” Gentry said with a laugh.

Toby leaned toward Gentry so no one would overhear him. “The Juris Knight at our table doesn’t seem to agree.”

“He’s frowning, but it’s true. I’m a fallen knight, I can’t lie.”

“I can’t tell if you’re lying.”

“Yeah, I think Fate did that on purpose. It’s so I can lie to you if you have on a truly horrible outfit. I’ll assure you it’s wonderful.”

“Please tell me if I’m wearing something horrible.”

“If you insist,” Gentry said. “You sure you don’t want to dance?”

“I’ll try, but I make no promises that we won’t embarrass ourselves and the entire Order of the Fallen Knights.”

“Not being perfect at something doesn’t mean we’re letting down our entire race,” Gentry said as he stood. Once again, Gentry held out a hand to Toby, who didn’t hesitate to take it after he rose. Gentry weaved between the tables with Toby in tow until he reached the cleared area that served as the dance floor. 

“Okay, what do I do?” Toby asked when they stopped.

Gentry turned to face Toby and put an arm around him. It brought them closer, and Gentry sternly warned his dick to behave. Without the need to be told, Toby mirrored his actions. Since they hadn’t let go of each other, Gentry raised his other arm so they were in the proper position to dance. 

“Just move your feet from side to side. We don’t have to do anything fancy. Follow my lead.”

“I can do that.”

Within a minute or two they synced their footsteps and were moving slowly to the lovely music piping through the speakers. 

“I told you it was easy,” Gentry said.

“I like being close to you.”

“We’re killing this mate thing so far.”

“You’re the first person who doesn’t make me nervous to be around them,” Toby confided. 

There was such earnestness in his pretty eyes that Gentry unconsciously came to a stop. 

“Are you okay?” Toby asked.

“I’d like to kiss you.”

Without a word, Toby raised up onto his toes, and Gentry wasn’t stupid enough to deny the invitation. Their lips met with exquisite tenderness. It was a moment frozen in time, and Gentry vowed to remember it for eternity. When Toby tilted his head, Gentry didn’t bother to resist darting his tongue out to deepen their caress. 

Toby moaned softly as they explored each other. While couples milled around them, Gentry lost all awareness of the outside world. He was steeped in Toby. They broke apart slowly, and Gentry stared into Toby’s stunned gaze. 

“I’m glad I waited for you to be my first kiss,” Toby said.

Gentry smiled at him. “I’m glad you did too.”

Jessamyn Kingley lives in Nevada where she begs the men in her head to tell her their amazing stories which she dutifully writes it all down in what has become a small mountain of notebooks. She falls in love with each couple and swears whatever book she wrote last is her absolute favorite.

Jessamyn is married and working toward remembering to start the dishwasher without being distracted by the scent of the magical detergent. For personal enjoyment, she aids in cat rescue while slashing and gashing her way through mobs in various MMORPGs. Caffeine is her very best friend and is only cast aside briefly for the sin better known as BBQ potato chips.

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