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Out now! Pinned, by Liz Faraim @FaraimLiz #Giveaway #LGBTQ

by

Pinned - Liz Faraim
Liz Faraim has a new lesbian mystery thriller out: Pinned. And there’s a giveaway.

“Rowdy” Randy Cox, a woman staring down the barrel of retirement, is a curmudgeonly blue-collar butch lesbian, who has been single for twenty years and is trying to date again.

At the end of a long, exhausting shift, Randy finds her supervisor, Bryant, pinned and near death at the warehouse where they work. Upon the news of his death, she battles to find a balance between the joys of an exciting new relationship and the struggles of processing her supervisor’s unexpected passing.

The manner of her supervisor’s death leaves Randy unsettled and suspicious as she gets sucked into both a criminal investigation led by the police and an administrative investigation conducted by her employer.

As Randy seeks the truth, trust erodes, key friendships are strengthened, and more loss awaits her.

Warnings: violence, cancer death.

Publisher | Amazon | Universal Buy Link

Goodreads

Giveaway

Liz is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47198/?

Excerpt

“Yeah. You wanna ride the canyon?” Bear asked as she ran her fingers through her wild salt-and-pepper hair. Buck and I both nodded. I stowed my snacks and slid on my helmet.

“Okay. Everybody’s all gassed up, right? Last gas station before the canyon is at the casino.”

“We’re good. Filled up before crossing the causeway. Now stand back,” Bear said as she did a Jackie Gleason style windup before hoisting her short leg over the saddle of her bike.

We’d ridden many miles together and I was happy to see that her bike, a massive 1600cc Road Star, which she had lovingly named Champagne, was still on the road.

Buck fired up her Harley with a bone rattling rumble. I reminded myself to ride in front of her. When I rode behind her the engine noise was too much. I paired up the Bluetooth and Spotify again and picked a 1980s hits channel. Van Morrison sang to me about tupelo honey as I pulled out behind Bear, with Buck taking sweep behind us.

As we rolled slowly by PJ’s, the checker was walking out of the front door, gazing down at her cell phone. She looked up just in time to knock me out one more time with her bright eyes and toothy smile, making my heart race. I had to force myself to focus back on riding as we pulled out of the parking lot onto the main road.

We dodged big groups of college kids on bicycles as we passed through intersections until Dairy Glen turned back into farmland. Long, ramrod-straight county roads that ran between tomato and sunflower fields took us to the next county. The coastal mountains rose in the distance, the only thing to break up the scenery of the flat valley floor except for the occasional barn, well pump, or windmill.

Before long the three of us were weaving our way through the green rolling hills of Capay Valley, the two-lane road gently curving around orchards and dormant row crop fields. I saw some farms with livestock, including a few llamas and emu. We passed through the small towns of Madison, Esparto, and Capay.

Around the bend we got to Brooks, where the small farmhouses gave way to the casino, looming large, overlooking vineyards and the foothills. A massive banner strung across the front advertised an upcoming big-name concert. After the casino we passed through Guinda, and the road narrowed further as the terrain changed from wide-open valley floor to canyon, with steep wooded hillsides. The temperature dropped several degrees in the shade of the hills.

I did my best to stay focused on the ride and the road, but the heart-stopping smile I had gotten earlier in Dairy Glen, those blue eyes locked on mine, were a big distraction. I hadn’t given any woman a second look in years, let alone have one get my heart and mind racing.

Bear cruised along, never in a hurry, taking the curves with ease. I checked my side mirror now and then to make sure Buck was still with us, her aftermarket exhaust pipes echoing through the narrow canyon. There were hardly any other vehicles on the canyon road, though we did pass a few packs of cyclists decked out in spandex, riding fancy road bikes. As we rolled by a group of bikes on a steep climb, I watched one guy’s chiseled leg muscles working hard to pedal. The lady in front of him blew a snot rocket over her shoulder and he didn’t even flinch. I was glad to have an engine between my legs and opened the throttle to climb the last bit of the hill.

At the top of the hill, we zoomed by another gaggle of cyclists, resting after their climb. They were all off their bikes, panting and sweating even in the cold. One lady was throwing up in the bushes. Her jersey said “Veni, Vidi, Vomiti.” The slogan rattled around in my brain, drawing me back to my father trying to teach me Latin as a kid. I figured it meant something like: I came, I saw, I barfed. Another lady stood by, leaning on her bike frame, totally unbothered, sucking on one of those goo energy tubes.

My fingers and toes had started to go numb from the cold despite wearing thick socks and boots, and winter riding gloves. While on a short, straight stretch I took my eyes off the road again to turn on the heated grips. I pressed the button and looked up just in time to see Bear dump her bike over farther than I thought possible. Champagne, nearly on its side, cut over into the opposite lane and back.

I scanned the road for the hazard and had just enough time to register a small rockslide, scree and baseball-sized chunks of rock bouncing down the steep hillside and onto the road. I spotted a small gap and rode straight through, pebbles pinging off my helmet and shooting out from under my tires. I checked my mirror and watched as Buck, who’d had the most time to respond, swung out wide and avoided the whole thing with little fuss. That was Buck for ya.

Bear parked in a turnout a few hundred yards up the road. I pulled in behind her to catch my breath. I yanked off my helmet and pulled the bandana down off my mouth, heart doing somersaults.

Bear slapped her chest and let out a roar that reverberated through the hills and down the canyon.

“Awooo! Jesus Christ! Did you see that, Randy?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t dump it. That was some fine goddamn riding.”

“Wasn’t my first time, won’t be my last.” She gasped and shook her hands out.

“Good thing you’ve been riding since before you could spell motorcycle.”

We laughed wildly, which helped me relax and steady myself as the adrenaline rush faded. Buck pulled in behind us, tires crunching on gravel, and killed her engine.

Author Bio

Liz Faraim
Liz has a full plate between balancing a day job, parenting, writing, and finding some semblance of a social life. In past lives she has been a soldier, a bartender, a shoe salesperson, an assistant museum curator, and even a driving instructor. She focuses her writing on strong, queer, female leads who don’t back down.

Liz transplanted to California from New York over thirty years ago. She now lives in the East Bay Area of California and enjoys exploring nature with her wife and son.

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

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/liz.faraim.9/

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

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20769735.Liz_Faraim

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/?s=faraim&search_type=authors

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Liz-Faraim/author/B092YXBXFV

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Chantz, by Tim Rayborn: New queer urban fantasy! #Giveaway

by

Chantz - Tim Rayborn

Tim Rayborn has a new queer urban fantasy out (bi, lesbian)
Qwyrk Tales book 3: Chantz.

Qwyrk can’t get a break. Spring is springing, but she’s stuck breaking up drunken faery fights as Beltane approaches. She really wants to take things to the next level with her possibly-probably-girlfriend Holly, but she keeps coming down with a chronic case of chickening out.

And now, her best human friend, Jilly Pleeth, has had a rather odd encounter. While attending a concert by her favorite band, the Mystic Wedding Weasels, Jilly was amazed by their enigmatic singer, Chantz. There’s something downright magical about her voice, something so magical that an evil force from outside this world wants her for nefarious reasons. But will Chantz succumb to its lure?

Chantz is the third in a series of four novels about the comic misadventures of a group of misfits at the edge of normal reality in modern northern England, a world of shadows, Nighttime Nasties, eldritch screaming horrors, appalling neo-Shakespearean sonnets, undead corvids, an abundance of verbal sparring, and… Qwyrk is not an elf, all right? They’re just silly!

Universal Buy Link

Giveaway

Tim is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47279/?

Excerpt

Chantz meme - Tim Rayborn
After a few minutes of meandering on campus, she found a rather expansive and tree-filled enclosure marked by a sign reading “Welcome to St. George’s Field.” Seeing as she could lose herself in its trees, this place would suffice. Wandering in, she found herself strolling through a historic cemetery, which appealed to her gothy aesthetic sensibilities. She sat herself down on a stone bench not far from some centuries-old headstones and tried to focus, to think, to something.

She closed her eyes, trying to recall the feeling of the power flowing through her.

“What are you?” she whispered.

For a time, she felt nothing. Sighing in frustration, she opened her eyes. The field was mercifully unpopulated today, so she decided to risk singing a little tune, an old Irish folk song. She couldn’t remember where she’d learned it. She couldn’t remember much of anything before the last couple of years, to be honest. But there it was, stuck in her head, so she called on it.

It was a simple melody with a short verse and a chorus. She didn’t even know all the words, but that didn’t matter. She just sang the bit she knew over and over. It was soothing, comforting, and connected her to something, as if stirring a memory. She closed her eyes again, allowing it to wash over her. For the first time in a while, she formed a genuine smile. Not a big smile, mind you, she did have her reputation to think of, after all.

As she neared the third repeat, something happened. She heard a voice in her head, one that contrasted with her own. It was more like a momentary flash of sound, in a language she didn’t recognize. It didn’t make her stop singing; in fact, she wanted to continue. After she sang another verse or two, and she heard it again, like a call across some great gap. But was it far away in the distance? Or maybe in time?

How does that even make any sense?

Intrigued, she kept singing, but lowered her voice so as not to attract any onlookers. It would be just like someone to come up in the middle of it and ruin the whole experience, with their chattiness and insipid curiosity.

As it turned out, she was indeed interrupted, but not by any passersby who should have been minding their own business. In her mind’s eye, she saw a face. The face of an old woman. She had long, disheveled grey-streaked hair, and her complexion was wan and weathered, with dark shadows under her eyes. There was almost something cool about her. The face was obscured, as if peering through a fog, and Moirin couldn’t gauge its intent. She wasn’t imagining it; her imagination was good, but not this good. The woman opened her mouth as if to say something, but no words emerged, and if she were the one speaking those foreign words, Moirin wouldn’t have understood her, anyway.

The old woman smiled, but it was an odd smile, and not really a happy one, more like sinister grin. She seemed to want something from Moirin. The smile grew bigger and stretched to unnatural proportions. Her eyes began to lighten, not just the pupils, but the whole of her eyes, greying at first and then fading into a milky white.

Moirin’s heart raced. She stopped singing and gasped. Whatever this thing was, she wanted nothing to do with it. She tried to open her eyes, but they were heavy, almost as if she’d been drugged. Her ears seemed to close up, and the world around her disappeared. She shook her head and tried to stand up, but just like her eyes, her legs no longer worked. She started to panic and opened her mouth again, not to sing but to scream, shout for help, something. But no sound escaped.

The face sneered at her, perhaps enjoying her helplessness. It became ever more twisted and grotesque and opened its mouth again, almost in mockery of Moirin’s inability to do so. A low-pitched wailing sounded from the old woman, a mournful call that seemed to portend something awful. It rose in pitch and volume to a full-on cry, a tuneless and wordless plaint that sounded like something out of an older time. It shook Moirin to the core, but the more she heard it, the more it seemed to invite her, to draw her in, even to tempt her. Whatever the ill intent of this creature invading her mind, and however frightening its call, Moirin felt oddly at home. She began to surrender to its lure, to its awful and seductive pull.

Author Bio

Tim Rayborn
Tim Rayborn has written an astonishing number of books over the past several years. He lived in England for quite some time and has a PhD from the University of Leeds, which he likes to pretend means that he knows what he’s talking about. His generous output of written material covers topics such as music, the arts, history, the strange and bizarre, fantasy and sci-fi, and general knowledge.

He’s also an acclaimed musician. He plays dozens of unusual instruments that quite a few people of have never heard of and often can’t pronounce. He has appeared on over forty recordings, and his musical wanderings and tours have taken him across the US, all over Europe, to Canada and Australia, and to such romantic locations as Marrakech, Istanbul, Renaissance chateaux, medieval churches, and high school gymnasiums.

He currently lives in Washington state (where it rains a lot), surrounded by many books and instruments, as well as with a sometimes-demanding cat. He is rather enthusiastic about good wines, and cooking excellent food.

Author Website: https://timrayborn.com/

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

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

Author Mastodon: https://mastodon.social/@timrayborn

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rayborn.esoterica/

Author Liminal Fiction: https://www.limfic.com/?s=tim+rayborn&search_type=book_search

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Tim-Rayborn/author/B00DWY5J8E

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Release Blitz! Sweet as Pie, by Beth Bolden @beth_bolden #GayRomance #SmallTown #Giveaway

by

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Sweet as Pie

Author and Publisher: Beth Bolden

Cover Artist: Morningstar Ashley Designs

Release Date: April 13, 2023

Genre: Contemporary MM romance

Tropes: Grumpy/sunshine, opposites attract, small town

Themes: Family responsibilities, necessary change, unexpected love

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 80 000 words

It is a standalone story.

Goodreads

 

Buy Links – Kindle Unlimited

Universal Link | Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

 

Blurb

Luca Moretti is grumpy—and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Wrangling six—Italian—siblings and the family’s restaurants would make anyone cranky. But when his mother requests that he save his aunt’s struggling Italian deli in charming, picturesque Indigo Bay, he has no idea that he’s about to overdose on sweetness.

Luca expected his aunt’s stubbornness—she’s a Moretti, isn’t she?—and his cousin’s resistance to actual work, but the last thing he expected is the absolute ball of sunshine known as Oliver Billings.

Oliver loves Indigo Bay. Loves owning his small artisan bakery, Sweetie Pie’s. Helps nice old ladies cross the street. Even volunteers for the local Sweethearts Festival.

Sweet isn’t really Luca’s style, or so he thinks. But when he discovers Oliver can be a little spicy too, his prickly exterior begins to crumble like a well-baked crust.

If Luca isn’t careful, he’s going to develop a taste for sweets—and a particular baker’s pie.

And one or two servings will never be enough.

 

Excerpt

“Ah, they sent the fixer out.” Oliver sounded amused again. “I can see it. You’re definitely more of a fixer than a baker.”

Luca shrugged. “I run my family’s four restaurants. They do not typically need fixing.” Don’t be arrogant, don’t be arrogant. “But Nonna’s Deli here, it is . . .an investment of ours. Not directly under my control. So I’m not here to order changes but to . . .suggest them. Nicely.”

“Which is how they’ve managed to underperform all these years,” Oliver said with another of those smirks. They shouldn’t have been so frustratingly attractive. But Luca felt them deep down, stirring him up in a way he hadn’t expected.

Oliver was definitely a very attractive package, one he’d love to unwrap.

Would he be as sweet as promised? Or a little salty too? Maybe even a bit spicy?

“You could say that,” Luca said. “Part of the proposed changes are aligning the menu more directly with our other restaurants. And that includes fresh bread, daily. Nonna’s here doesn’t have the staff, the resources, or the equipment to do this, but you do.”

“I do,” Oliver conceded. “My schedule’s already pretty packed, but I suppose I could fit you in. French bread? Sourdough bread? Focaccia? Rolls? Loaves? How many dozen per day?”

Luca liked every part of Oliver he’d seen so far. He was charming and sweet and undeniably adorable. Then there was how goddamned sexy he was when he got down to business.

“I’m not sure yet,” Luca said. “In fact, they may not need any at all. Giana and Enzo have my proposed changes, but they are not required to accept all of them—or any of them, actually.”

“You must hate that, not being able to actually impose your control over them.” Oliver said it casually, like a true control-freak business owner, like he understood.

How did Oliver know how much he hated it? Was it that obvious? Was it written all over his face that he’d love nothing more than to march down the street and tell Giana and Enzo exactly what to do?

“Yes,” Luca admitted.

“Nonna’s isn’t just an Italian affectation, is it? Was there actually a Nonna?” Oliver asked.

“My grandmother.”

“Ah, well, there you go.” Oliver leaned back, grinning. Luca wanted to chase him, but he stayed on his side of the table, with what he thought was pretty admirable restraint.

“So why does Enzo dislike you so much?” Luca asked.

“That’s a long story. And I’ve got to tend to these rolls. If they overproof . . .” Oliver shrugged. “I’m a perfectionist, what can I say?”

“If he supposedly turns against you every chance he gets, what’s he going to say,” Luca said, deploying the most persuasive smile in his arsenal, “when he finds out I want to hire you to bake our bread? I need the insider info. Need to be able to convince him it’s a good idea.”

“It’s not going to help you, and you’re not going to like it,” Oliver said. “Though, you sorta look like there’s plenty of things you don’t like.”

But I like you. “You’re not wrong.” It was hard to admit it, but there it was. He was particular, okay? Particular and more than a little arrogant about his particularity.

Maybe it was good Oliver knew that now, even if all they ever had was a date and a night—though even that was still up in the air.

“We dated,” Oliver said. His watch beeped, and he stood, just as he’d left Luca speechless for another long moment. “Well,” he amended, with a cute little shrug. “It was one date. But still. He wanted to continue. I did not. And that’s the story.”

“That wasn’t a very long story,” Luca managed, and was he trailing after Oliver in his own bakery like a lost puppy looking for his owner? Yes, he was, a little.

 

About the Author

A lifelong Pacific Northwester, Beth Bolden has just recently moved to North Carolina with her supportive husband. Beth still believes in Keeping Portland Weird, and intends to be just as weird in Raleigh.

Beth has been writing practically since she learned the alphabet. Unfortunately, her first foray into novel writing, titled Big Bear with Sparkly Earrings, wasn’t a bestseller, but hope springs eternal. She has published over forty novels and novellas.

 

Author Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Twitter | BookBub

Instagram | Newsletter Sign-up

 

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a $20 Amazon gift card.

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Release Blitz! Over Exposed, by Alexa Piper @prowlingpiper #Giveaway #Romance #LGBTQ #Thriller #ActionAdventure

by

Title: Overexposed

Series: Vampire Tales 2

Author: Alexa Piper

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: April 14 2023

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 119 pages

Genre: Romance, Thriller/Suspense, Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, Bisexual/Pansexual/Multisexual, Gay, Sorcery & Witchcraft

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Synopsis

After the events that drew them together, Ethan and Auris have grown into their feelings for one another. On their quest to discover other supernatural beings, Ethan will have to do some healing after the violence he experienced, and Auris, in order to help the man he loves do so, will share his past with Ethan.

While their relationship deepens, the pair finds something in Prague that they had hoped for but not expected: traces of another vampire. But that discovery brings with it a greater threat and more things between light and shadow they will have to deal with.

Content warning: Overexposed contains brief mention of self-harm and suicide.

Excerpt

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2023 Alexa Piper

Auris had not planned a direct flight to Prague. A precaution against any pursuing priests, he’d said. We had landed in Dresden. I’d been in that unhappy state of surviving a transatlantic flight, but since it had been just barely night still, Auris had made sure to get me to the front of the line for my rapid test before his eyes turned daylight silver.

And now, there was a city waking to cold November air, and we were leaving the roofs and tall buildings behind to cross the border into the Czech Republic.

The hum and rattle of the train finally pulling out of the station was a relief after the flight, dry air, and my ears popping, and I appreciated that we had a compartment to ourselves. First class, of course, and we were both masked, Auris because it was now fully daytime and he couldn’t control minds as easily, me because I didn’t have a vampiric immune system.

Auris had left the window seat to me and sat on my right instead of across from me. “You know, Ethan, it harms my self-confidence, this preference of yours to gaze at the outside when you have a perfectly dressed vampire right next to you,” he had told me with exaggerated drama.

“This was… all really easy,” I said after a while. I was watching a bank of fog cling to bony tree branches against the backdrop of a milky pale sky.

Auris put a hand on my knee, squeezed lightly. “I told you it would be. A lesser man might take your surprise as a blow to his confidence. Another blow to his confidence.”

I turned and looked at him, his daylight-silvered eyes and faerie prince features a different sight than the wintry landscape outside. “You mean a lesser vampire. And with the pandemic, I just thought getting a flight would be harder. I thought you’d have to use your vampire entrancement thing to get some Gen Z influencers to give us their tickets. The private plane simply threw me. Also, you’re pretty. I look at you. I’m doing it now.” I pointed at my eyes.

“It helped that you had your passport on you,” he said. “Especially since modern technology is ever encroaching on travel, especially with so many travel restrictions still in place. You should try to sleep a little. You look tired after the flight. I’ll let you look at me to excess once we arrive in Prague.”

I sighed. “Just jetlag. How long until we get there?”

“A little bit over two hours.”

“And is there, I mean, are we crossing another border? And it’s daytime? Is that going to be a problem?”

He smiled at me, folded up the armrest that separated our seats, hooked his arm around me, and then drew me close to him. “It won’t be. We’re in Europe. There’s a very good chance no one will even want to see our passports. You can rest your eyes for a little while, my sweet.”

I sighed and relaxed into him, but I couldn’t quite let go of the day. “Where are we staying? Once we get to Prague, I mean?”

“I own a building in the Old Town, and I keep an apartment in it ready for personal use.”

I smiled, his black suit soft against my cheek. “Of course you do.”

Auris ran a finger through my hair. “I hope you’ll like it. It’s been a while since I visited. You’ll definitely like the Old Town. There are no abandoned places in that city, but I can find you lonely places and places that aren’t lonely but beautiful. The age of the city might lure you better than even I could.”

I craned my neck so I could look up at him. “You really thought about that, huh?”

“Of course.” Something passed over his face, but he smoothed his expression out quickly. But I’d seen it.

“What?” I asked.

His eyes narrowed on me. I wondered whether people could read him or whether his vampire don’t-notice-me magic made that difficult. Then I wondered whether he was just unguarded around me or whether I truly had a knack for interpreting his features, and if the latter, was that because of this love prophecy I still couldn’t bring myself to fully believe in?

“Little worries, Ethan.”

“Tell me?”

“I took you away. From home, your family, your life. And I care about you greatly, so I worry about whether you’ll thank me for that, down the line. Leaving a life behind like you did, that isn’t a small thing.”

I didn’t respond. Auris hadn’t been fishing for a response, for absolution, he’d just been frank with me.

Instead, I moved until I was comfortable but also able to see some of the landscape outside the window, my back against Auris’s chest, and his slowly beating heart echoing along my ribs and spine.

In my apartment, I kept several collages. Photos of my dad and Ben, his now fiancé, photos of my mom. I had my friends and my life on there, in no order that made sense to anyone but me. In a kitchen cabinet, there was a mug I loved. It had sat on my desk next to me for uncounted hours while I worked. It was black on the outside with white yellow cat eyes and whiskers, white on the inside. It had been so well used that the glaze was beginning to show spiderweb cracks now.

As I sat there in the first-class seat next to the vampire I’d saved from certain death, I slowly, slowly realized that these things were… if not gone, then not the steady mooring that they had been. I was not going back to that apartment or to my studio with the exposed brick and threadbare carpet anytime soon. Likely never. The things that had surrounded me — some of them to my chagrin during lockdown — were gone from my future now. There was a slice of blue cutting through the shroud-gray morning sky. I felt like a kite released to the wind.

Purchase

Changeling Press LLC | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

Meet the Author

Alexa (she/her) has a lot of characters living in her head and wanting their stories told. Many of these people get snarky and won’t stop complaining if Alexa is too slow writing them, which means that for this author, sleep is a luxury. Consequently, Alexa is a coffee addict, but she is sure she has it under control (six cups of coffee are normal in a morning, right? Right!?)

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Starboard by Ava Olsen #Giveaway #ContemporaryMMRomance

by

RECENT RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Starboard (Voyagers Book 2)

Author and Publisher: Ava Olsen

Cover Artist: Angela Haddon

Release Date: March 21, 2023

Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance

Tropes: friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, collaborators to lovers, close proximity, second chances, bisexual rep

Themes: coming out – bisexual rep, second chances, redemption

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 262 pages

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

Goodreads

 

Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

Universal Link | Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

Dylan Aylmer is a Hollywood actor struggling to make a comeback.

Falling in love with his ghostwriter wasn’t part of the script.

Blurb

Dylan: I’ve lived my adult life under the Hollywood spotlight, but no one really sees who I am. I’ve gone down the dark path of drinking my anxiety away, along with my career, but now I’m searching for the light again. My struggle to stay sober has me releasing long held secrets.

A contract to publish my autobiography means laying everything in the open. When I meet Max, my ghostwriter, I’m not sure how our collaboration is going to work. He’s a university professor from New York with more degrees than I can count and I’m a guy from West Texas that barely finished college. And he may be my ghostwriter, but Max is anything but invisible.

Intimate confessions lead to heightened emotions and an unexpected love that fills up all my empty places. I don’t know what the future holds, but I want Max to be a part of it.

I’m done hiding in plain sight. It’s time for this star to finally shine.

Max: I’m an established university professor and a celebrity ghostwriter. Why ghostwriting? Because it pays. And I need the money. My ex-husband likes to threaten me with legal battles over custody of our daughter and while he has family reserves, I don’t.

So I take a summer ghostwriting contract, a celebrity tell-all. I expect to meet another self-absorbed actor, but Dylan Aylmer doesn’t fit any pre-conceived mold. His eyes are so haunted that I can’t look away and now I’m curious to unlock all his secrets.

What I find is not only a man trying to mend his broken soul but a beautiful person that is so much more than outward appearances. I swore I’d never be vulnerable to heartache again, but Dylan has me breaking all my steadfast rules.

Am I chasing a shooting star, soon to be gone, or is our love the kind that shines forever?

 

Excerpt

“My part in this book deal is supposed to be kept confidential. There’s a reason it’s called ghostwriting. I hope to hell that reporter didn’t get my photo.”

The worst-case scenarios ran through my mind, but I forced myself to remain calm. We arrived at the gate and after we provided our ID, we were escorted to a private waiting area. At least in this section, there were two security staff on standby. Neither of us were in the mood for small talk and sat quietly until Warren entered the room a few minutes later.

“I had security escort that guy out of the airport. It’s all under control.”

“Are you sure about that? Did he get any photos?” I asked, concerned that my anonymity was no more.

“He didn’t, Max. And we’ve done our best to ensure your name is kept out of the press. That’s part of the reason why you’re working on a yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean instead of downtown New York. But Dylan is still a celebrity, and he gets attention, and yes there is always the possibility of news leaking. You’ve done this kind of work before, so why the concern now?”

“Usually everything is done virtually.”

“The in-person request was my idea,” Dylan replied. “Mainly because of the timing with my film and for other privacy reasons.”

“I agreed to the contract. It’s just that I have a thirteen-year-old daughter.” I ran an agitated hand through my hair. “You see where I’m going with this.”

“I do, but again, there’s no reason to be worried,” Warren replied. “It was one reporter and he got nothing.”

“If my ex-husband sees my name or my daughter’s in the tabloid news, he’ll flip out.”

“Husband?” Dylan asked with a raised brow.

“Ex. Is there a problem?” I said, turning in my seat to face him. Dylan better not have any issue with my sexuality, or I would walk out of the airport right now, contract be damned.

“Nope,” he shook his head and smirked at me. “Just nosy.”

I let out a surprised laugh, despite my growing anxiety.

“An honest answer from someone in show biz.” I placed my hand on my chest. “I’m honored.”

Dylan’s smirk faded as quick as it came, and I could sense the shift in his mood. “I can tell that you really don’t want to do this, and I won’t blame you if you want to back out. You have priorities you need to consider.”

The look of resignation on Dylan’s face touched something in me. That was highly unusual. My ex often accused me of being unfeeling because I didn’t let my emotions get involved in certain decisions, and maybe he was right. I tended to be more rational and analytical. So why this man, a stranger, should spark my empathy was beyond my comprehension.

“I’m going to hit the head before we board. Thanks for seeing us off, Warren.” Dylan shook his hand and walked away, leaving a vacuum of sorts. Like he’d taken all the oxygen along with him.

Warren motioned to the exit. “Time for me to get going. And stop worrying, Max. Focus on the book. That’s the priority.” He paused and shook his head. “Look, I won’t bullshit you. There’ve been many times when I wanted to kick Dylan’s reckless butt to the curb. But he’s worked hard for a fresh start. He’s got a new movie role. And the book. I want to ensure both succeed, and Dylan along with it.”

“I’ll do my best,” I responded as Warren nodded and walked away.

Part of me wished I’d never have to work with Dylan, but the bigger part of me called me a liar. I didn’t even know the man and yet I was intensely curious about him, and that right there made the writer in me stand at attention. There was more to Dylan Aylmer than a model pretty face and a salacious past.

It was those sad, hypnotic eyes. He’d cast a strange kind of spell on me, and I was determined to find out why.

 

 

About the Author

Ava Olsen writes steamy and dreamy contemporary romances filled with heartwarming characters, cheeky banter and swoony moments.

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Release Blitz: The Rock at the Bottom by Cynthia Hilston @cynthiahilston #HistoricalRomance #Giveaway @RABTBookTours

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Lorna & Tristan #3

20th Century Historical Fiction / Romance

Date Published: 03-21-2023

 

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Stephen feels he is marked from day one to lose the ones he loves. His mother dies giving birth to him, and his alcoholic father makes sure Stephen never forgets it. To block out his father’s hate, fists, and belt, young Stephen loses himself in his imagination. Stories become his closest companions and barricades against a family that never wanted him. Once he can look his father in the eye, Stephen swears he will never be the monster his old man is. He vows he will become a published author, if for no other reason than to prove his father wrong.

While his dreams of being a bestselling novelist and falling in love come true, Stephen has much to prove to himself before he can write his own happy ending. Set against the backdrop of Prohibition-era Cleveland, Stephen fights the same alcoholic demons that plagued his father as he tries to begin a life free from his family. He meets equally headstrong Julie and is smitten, but their marriage is as fractured as his career is solid. He can find ten ways to write about being in love, but he has a hard time translating love on the page to love in real life. Julie slips between his fingers like sand, and Stephen sees his father staring back when he looks in the mirror.

Try as he might to rewrite his life, even going so far as to change his name, he has to wonder if he is the author or the killer of love. 

About the Author

Cynthia Hilston is a stay-at-home mom of three young kids, happily married, and lives in the Cleveland, Ohio, area. Writing has always been like another child to her. After twenty years of waltzing in the world of fan fiction, she stepped away to do her debut dance with original works of fiction, although she still dabbles in fan fiction.

In her spare time – what spare time? – she devours books, shamelessly watches Hallmark movies and When Calls the Heart, pets her orange and black kitties, looks at the stars, drinks wine or coffee with good friends, and dreams of what other stories she wishes to tell.

 

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