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Adriana Kraft

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Release Blitz: Inhale, by D.P. Denman #Contemporary #GayRomance #LGBTQ @GayBookPromo

July 22, 2023 by Adriana Kraft

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Inhale

Author: D.P. Denman

Cover Artist: AJ Corza

Release Date: July 20, 2023

Genre: Contemporary Gay Romance

Tropes: damaged lead finds love, professional model, learning to love again, blackmail, voyeur, private investigator stories

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 75 000 words/ 300 pages

It is a standalone book and does not end on a cliffhanger

Goodreads

 

Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

What can you do when love takes you by surprise? Just breathe.

 

Blurb

Cole Rinne is a model with an impossible problem. An invasion of his privacy ends up in the hands of a blackmailer and the details could go public any day. His only hope is to ditch the spotlight and hide in the shadows. Then he meets someone with a solution.

Gage Marx is a PI who specializes in impossible problems. He’s used to solving the unsolvable. The only thing he’s ever declared a lost cause is himself.

From the start, Cole’s case holds more surprises than Gage expects. The most shocking is that for the first time in over a year, Gage’s broken heart is showing signs of life.

Their plan to wade slowly into love comes apart when an unexpected opportunity threatens to turn it all into a long-distance relationship. Will occasional reunions be enough to keep them together or will their separate careers tear them apart?

 

Excerpt

Gage woke to the jostling of his mattress. The shadowed figure at the end of the bed had him up from his pillow in an instant. He fumbled for the light on the nightstand, his heart hammering. One hundred watts burst into the room and Gage dropped his head back, breathing to the ceiling.

Cole sat at the end of the bed, still in his rumpled clothes.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Gage told him.

“Sorry.” Cole slumped.

The misery on his face silenced the rest of Gage’s lecture. “It’s okay.”

“I couldn’t sleep. I keep thinking about everything. I feel so….” Cole’s face twisted into a smudge of anger and sadness.

“Violated?” Gage supplied when it was apparent Cole couldn’t come up with the words.

“That.” Cole nodded.

“Betrayed? Pissed?”

Cole kept nodding until the last word. “Oh, I passed pissed an hour ago. I’m whatever you are when you reach the molten lava stage. If I thought it would make me feel any better, I’d ask for a meeting so I could spit in his face.”

“I don’t blame you.” Gage leaned against the headboard.

“I also don’t want to be alone.” Cole looked at him, sad green eyes and crooked eyebrows asking permission.

Gage stared back, searching Cole’s face for a lust-inspired ploy to get into his bed. He didn’t find one.

“Why don’t you sleep in here?” Gage offered.

It was a mistake, and he knew it. There would be no way to maintain any kind of boundary after a night together, even if all they did was sleep. The alternative was to send Cole back to the couch alone, where he would sit in the dark, ruminating over the betrayal. Gage would stare at the ceiling over his bed, imagining him doing it. He’d end up back on the couch, holding Cole and watching infomercials until one of them fell asleep again.

“Thank you.” Cole climbed under the covers and nestled into the empty pillow.

Gage turned off the light and settled back where he’d been, pretending he could see Cole on the other half of the bed until his eyes adjusted and Cole returned to a shadowed form beside him.

They stared at each other for a moment.

“I know you have your rules,” Cole said quietly, “and I still want you working my case. I also think I want you as something more than that.”

“Are you sure it’s not because you’re feeling vulnerable? I don’t want to take advantage of you not having anyone else to talk to.”

Cole reached out and rested a hand on his arm. “I’m not sure of anything, but I know what I’m starting to feel, and I’m pretty sure I know why. It’s more than the case.”

Gage covered Cole’s hand, caressing his knuckles, using touch to mask the silence. It was more than the goal of maintaining a professional distance. He didn’t think he was ready for a physical relationship. Not yet. Not in that house with a room full of similar memories right across the hall.

“Is there a way to make that happen?” Cole asked. “Assuming you want to.”

The question wasn’t new. Gage had already wasted hours thinking about what he would do if Cole kissed him again, digging for loopholes he could bend his ethics around. His only solution was to hand the investigation off to someone who would let him stick his nose back in it at will. No one could fault him for keeping an eye on a situation that affected a man he was dating.

“I could let the law firm take over. They’ll be doing most of the work on it from now on, anyway.”

“I don’t want to take money away from you just so I can date you.”

“I have other clients.”

“People put lawyers on retainer, right? What if I do that with you?”

“I would hope you don’t have things like this happening often enough to be worth that.”

“This would be so much easier if you were a bodyguard or something.”

“They aren’t supposed to get involved with clients either.”

“FBI agent?”

“Nope.”

“Federal Marshall?”

“Sorry.”

“Bounty hunter?”

“Sure, if you didn’t mind me hauling you in for skipping bail anyway. Otherwise, I’d be aiding a fugitive.”

“This is much sexier in the movies.”

Gage smiled. “That’s why they call it fiction.”

 

About the Author

Award-winning author DP Denman wrote her first short story when she was eight and has been crafting fictional adventures ever since! You can usually find her with a cup of coffee in hand, contemplating her next story.

A covert romantic, she writes addictive, character-driven gay romance about damaged people who find the strength to put their lives back together. Her stories are gripping and dramatic — guaranteed to hold you hostage to the last word!

 

Social Media Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Pinterest | Newsletter Sign-Up

Instagram | BookBub | Lemon8 | Amazon Page

 

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions



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Filed Under: Blog, Excerpts, Guest Bloggers Tagged With: Contemporary, gay, Gay Romance, LGBTQ, new release

Blog Tour: Peacemaker by Morgan Brice @MorganBriceBook #Giveaway #Steampunk #MM #Romance #Interview

May 1, 2023 by Adriana Kraft

Book Title: Peacemaker (Sharps & Springfield #1)

Author: Morgan Brice

Publisher: Darkwind Press

Cover Artist: Deranged Doctor Design

Release Date: March 25, 2023

Genre: Steampunk MM romance

Tropes: Secret agents, co-workers to lovers, forced proximity, hurt/comfort, mistaken identity

Themes: Learning to love again, taking a chance on love

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 249 pages

It is a standalone book and the first in a new series. It does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

 

Buy Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Nook | Kobo

 

Secret agents, forbidden love, danger, and magic!

 

Blurb

Supernatural Secret Service agents Owen Sharps and Calvin Springfield meet on the train to their new assignment in St. Louis, and sparks fly between them. But it’s 1897, and they need to be very careful—falling in love can be dangerous for men like them.

It’s their first case together, investigating mysterious disappearances—including the two agents who preceded them. Grim evidence leads them to look for a darker purpose. Old ghosts haunt the railroad line, zombie rise, signs point to ritual sacrifice, and they suspect someone is trying to open the gates of hell.

Can Calvin and Owen stop the mayhem, thwart the vampires, and find true love, or will everything go up in smoke?

Peacemaker is a high-stakes steampunk MM romance thrill ride filled with found family, paranormal Pinkertons, intrepid reporters, mysterious disappearances, nefarious land brokers, hellhounds, zombies, vengeful spirits, dark spells, absinthe magic, a ruthless vampire railroad baron and a love that won’t be denied.

Before Colt and Winchester, there was Sharps & Springfield!

Author Interview

Five random facts about the book/series.

  1. The book is set in 1897, the same year that Dracula is published, and Owen is enjoying reading the new bestseller.
  2. Fancy private passenger railroad cars, called Pullman Cars after the company that made them, were the private jets of their day. They could be very elaborate and extremely comfortable.
  3. The TV show Wild Wild West was a favorite of mine and a definite influence, except that my MCs are *together*.
  4. ‘Sharps’ and ‘Springfield’ are brands of rifles.
  5. Several side characters also show up in a big way in the Iron & Blood/Storm & Fury series written under our Gail Z. Martin & Larry N. Martin name. Sharps and Springfield is set in the same fictional world and there will continue to be overlap.

What is your advice for new writers?

  1. Don’t give up. It always takes longer than you expect.
  2. Make friends with other writers. Be allies, not competitors.
  3. Always keep learning—new software, new promotional techniques, new ways to write better, etc. There’s always something you can benefit from learning.
  4. Do good research. Your readers will know if you get details wrong.
  5. Invest in a good editor. Everyone needs to be edited.

Excerpt

September 1897

Chapter 1

Owen

Owen Sharps chuckled as he read his book on the train to St. Louis. He had been waiting to get a copy of Dracula, the sensational new book from England, and had found one in a New Pittsburgh bookstore before heading to the station.

It’s got flair, and I like how splashy Van Helsing is, but it’s obvious Stoker never fought a real vampire.

Owen had heard about the book and its growing reputation for being frightening and violent. So far nothing he’s written compares to being covered in blood in an ice-cold cemetery at midnight, hammering a stake through a vampire’s heart, and trying not to get bitten. Then again, maybe I have a skewed perspective.

“Pardon me, is this seat taken?” A drop-dead gorgeous man waited for an answer. He had raven black hair, bright blue eyes, and plush lips that filled Owen with impure thoughts. The stranger carried a suitcase and an overcoat, with a newspaper folded under his arm. Owen took one look and would have booted his granny to the cargo car to free up the seat for the man.

“It’s all yours.” Owen gave a dismissive wave, tearing his gaze away so he’d quit staring. It wouldn’t do to drool.

“I think this might be the last open seat on the train.” The man stowed his suitcase and coat, settling in across from Owen with his newspaper.

Owen couldn’t help giving him the once-over. He figured the man to be slightly shorter than his own six-foot-two inches, and from the cut of his suit jacket, he had a trim, muscular build. Owen made a mental note to be sure to get a glimpse of what was likely a prime ass when they left the train.

“Where are you headed?” Owen thought that a little conversation couldn’t hurt. He wanted to remember the man’s voice to go with his image on nights when he sought relief alone with his hand. This fellow would never know he’d been promoted to the lead in Owen’s secret fantasies. Owen particularly liked the contrast between the man’s dark hair and athletic body to his own rangy build, blond hair, fair skin, and green eyes.

“St. Louis.” The man returned Owen’s scrutiny with an assessing gaze.

Owen sat up a bit straighter, oddly wanting to make a good impression on this person he was unlikely to see again. He felt the weight of the man’s inspection, which made him wonder. Is he a cop? Private investigator? Or maybe…like me?

They were both dressed equally well in suits that were department store quality but not bespoke. The stranger’s hair was fairly short but more fashionable than military, and he was clean-shaven. Owen wondered what a hint of dark stubble might do to heighten those high cheekbones and accentuate the impossibly blue eyes, and he felt himself chub in his pants.

None of that, he admonished silently. It wouldn’t do to raise suspicion. He probably just wants to make sure I’m not the sort to steal his suitcase when he’s not looking.

“I’m headed there myself,” Owen said. “Business or pleasure?”

The man looked amused at the question but not annoyed, which boded well. “Business. You?”

Owen nodded, surprised that he wanted to continue the conversa- tion instead of returning to his book. “The same. I’ve heard the food there is good, but I doubt I’ll have time to do any exploring.” He found himself at ease with the stranger. “Will you be staying in the city, or going on from there?”

“I’ll meet with my boss, but I spend most of my time traveling,” the fellow replied. “I don’t get to stay long in any one place.”

So we have that in common too. Makes it unlikely that we might meet up again the next time I come back to St. Louis. “Me, too. I’m a bit of a rolling stone.”

About the Author

Morgan Brice is the romance pen name of bestselling author Gail Z. Martin. Morgan writes urban fantasy male/male paranormal romance, with plenty of action, adventure and supernatural thrills to go with the happily ever after. Gail writes epic fantasy and urban fantasy, and together with co-author hubby Larry N. Martin, steampunk and comedic horror, all of which have less romance, more explosions. Characters from her Gail books make frequent appearances in secondary roles in her Morgan books, and vice versa.

On the rare occasions Morgan isn’t writing, she’s either reading, cooking, or spoiling two very pampered dogs.

Series include Witchbane, Badlands, Treasure Trail, Kings of the Mountain and Fox Hollow. Watch for more in these series, plus new series coming soon!

Author Links

Website | Audible Profile | Amazon profile

Facebook Group | Facebook Page

Pinterest (for Morgan and Gail) | Twitter

BookBub | Instagram

Sign up for my newsletter and never miss a new release

Read a copy of my Badlands short story Restless Nights here for free

 

 

Giveaway

Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway for a chance to win

a $10 Amazon gift card

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions



 

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Filed Under: Blog, Contests, Excerpts, Guest Bloggers, Interviews, LGBT Tagged With: co-workers to lovers, danger, forbidden love, forced proximity, gay, Hurt/Comfort, LGBT, m/m, magic, mistaken identity, romance, Secret agents, steampunk

New Release Blitz: Stolen from Tomorrow by Fox Beckman @foxbeckman #Paranormal #Romance #Giveaway

April 28, 2023 by Adriana Kraft

Title: Stolen From Tomorrow

Series: Trust Trilogy, Book One

Author: Fox Beckman

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 04/25/2023

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: M/NB

Length: 64600

Genre: Paranormal, Romance, urban fantasy, interracial, gay, nonbinary, time travel, monsters, witch

Add to Goodreads

Description

Ravi Abhiramnew’s job is simple: hunt down and neutralize supernatural threats. That is until he meets Cayenne, a charismatic time traveler who claims to know everything about him—even his most closely guarded secrets.

Going to dinner with Cayenne is probably a bad idea, and a romantic island getaway definitely is.

When a monster picks their resort as its hunting ground, Ravi’s combat skills and Cayenne’s time magic should make it a breeze to kill the monster and get their vacation back on track. But it turns out the real danger lurks much, much closer…

Excerpt

Stolen from Tomorrow
Fox Beckman © 2023
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Carefully peering down the sights of his 9mm, Ravi squeezes off a shot. It strikes true, lodging deep into the monster’s exposed heart. The creature doesn’t falter in the slightest, snarling in his direction as if he were a particularly irritating gnat. A perfect shot, and it isn’t good enough. Typical, really.

In all his years hunting monsters, Ravi has never seen anything quite like this before. Strips of flesh hang off grayed bones between swathes of icy-white fur, a looming eight-foot-tall humanoid crowned with twisted icicle horns, baring a mouthful of jagged fangs while the freezing air steams with its breath. The heart seems to be the obvious target, a stark knot of dark ice threading around exposed ribs into the monster’s chest, but nothing the team has thrown at it has had any effect. Val’s giant double-handed maul would surely put a crack in it, if they can get her close enough for a hit, but any time they try, the giant beast summons up a swarm of ice serpents from the surrounding snow, keeping the hunters at bay. Because being a giant, slavering behemoth with no obvious weaknesses wasn’t enough; it’s got magic too. Again, typical.

Ravi curses and ducks back to rejoin the rest of the group as the monster lets loose another bellowing roar, snaking out a many-jointed arm to rip up a huge chunk of earth and fling it at Ravi and his team. Val, eyes burning blue-white behind mirrored sunglasses, calmly steps forward and deflects the projectile with a blow of her maul. It shatters into a shower of snow and icy dirt.

“Little cover, Constance?” Harry suggests. She lowers her gun after Ravi’s shot hit dead center to zero effect, looking supremely annoyed. “Also, if you’ve got any idea what this thing is, that would be really useful.”

Constance steps forward, hands working feverishly as she pulls a tangle of thorns from her satchel and slaps it together with a handful of hastily procured dust from another pocket. A thick wall of thorns rises from the ground, cutting them off from the monster and granting a momentary reprieve. “I hast ne’er beheld such a beast ’ere, mine niece.”

“Getting a little ye olde there, Constance,” Harry tells her ancestress.

Dropping her hands, Constance turns toward the rest contritely. “Ah, yes, my apologies. I have no knowledge of this creature. Hey, nonny-nonny,” she adds with a flash of mischief.

“I think it’s a chenoo?” Nate pokes his head out from behind one of the torn-up tree trunks, still intrepidly wielding his hockey stick. He slaps one of the ice serpents away as it gets too close. “Fuck! These things are quick.”

“What’s a chenoo?” Ravi asks, eyes darting from the thorn wall and scanning the snow for more serpents. “How do we kill it?”

Nate winces. “I’m pretty sure it’s like an Algonquian version of a wendigo.”

Everyone groans. Wendigos are the worst. Harry shakes her dark hair, gun hand gesturing to the chenoo. “Okay, Professor, so how do we take it down?”

“Is it not the heart?” Val asks, peering up on her toes over the thorn wall. She’s so tall she barely needs to stretch. “It is on the outside of its body.” She ducks back down as the chenoo tears another skeletal tree right up by the roots and sends it crashing against the thorn wall.

Constance grimaces, rocking on her heels as if she’d been dealt the blow. “I cannot keep this wall up for much longer, my comrades.”

“Noted,” says Harry, forehead furrowed.

“A direct hit to the heart did nothing,” Ravi reminds her. “You’d think fire would do it, but Constance’s first spell did nothing except melt some snakes.”

Nate shakes his head. “I’m not sure what will kill it. Usually, you get the Ojibwe version of these things here in the Midwest, and the heart shot would have killed one of those. I’d have to do some research. Would have been nice if the client gave us this info before sending us here, don’t you think?”

“Take cover!” Val bellows as a massive tree trunk flies their way. Ravi grabs the person closest to him. He drags Harry out of the way while Val snatches up Nate and Constance and teleports them out of sight just as earth and bark crash down through the thorn wall onto the churned-up snow where they had all been standing.

Ravi helps Harry to her feet as they take cover behind a tangle of fallen oaks. “I guess it would have been too easy if this ice monster was vulnerable to fire, huh,” she says wryly, kicking at an errant ice snake. “If I could talk to it, I might be able to figure out what it wants. We’ve talked down monsters from a fight once or twice before.”

“If it’s like a wendigo, it just wants to eat people. I could set up a sniper nest,” Ravi offers. “There are decent vantage points there”—he points up at a pair of snowy hills—“and there.”

Harry gives him an incredulous look. “Is that what you have in that big bag, a friggin’ sniper rifle? Where’d you learn to snipe?”

“Israel,” he answers shortly.

Her eyebrows lift. “What were you doing in Israel?”

Mourning. “Training,” he says. “The Trust has a few consultants in Mossad.”

Harry rolls her eyes. “Of course you do. I bet all you covert agent types get together for regular potlucks and barbeques.” She scans their surroundings. “No rifles. Let’s try to keep any more gunplay to a minimum,” she says with regret. Ravi knows how she feels. The two of them are the marksmen of the group, and sometimes it’s not easy being overshadowed by an Amazonian angel warrior with a big magic hammer and a spell-slinging sorceress. At least the new guy just has a hockey stick.

Ravi watches her face, sees where she’s looking, thinks he can intuit her plan. “You want to give Val an opening?” It’s standard ops to get a team’s main damage dealer where they’ll do the most harm, and Harry has surprisingly good instincts for team dynamics, considering she operated as a lone PI before all this supernatural shit entered her life. She nods decisively, and he holsters his gun. “Good plan. I’ll back your play.”

“Okay. Let’s do it.” She breathes out, then they both burst into motion. Harry grabs a couple of branches, hands one to Ravi, and, wielding them like clubs, they wade out into the open. The ice snakes are quick and agile, but only take a hit or two before they shatter. The pair fan out in different directions, smashing and stomping, creating a pie slice toward the others. “Constance!” Harry cries out. “Distract it!”

Constance runs forward into the cleared space, bright energy already swirling around her hands. While she gathers up her magic, Harry nods at Ravi. He nods back and moves to cover their witch, stomping an approaching ice snake’s head under his oxfords before it can get too close to her. “Where’s Nate?”

“He went down the embankment,” Val intones. “He claimed he had an idea.”

Constance finishes her spell, speaking an unfamiliar word and pulling her hands up into twin claws. Fire spreads up from cracks in the ground in front of the chenoo. It reels back, roaring with fury, and turns toward the fire, leaving its back open and unguarded.

“Let’s hope the Professor is right,” Harry mutters, thwacking a pair of ice snakes. “Val, got your wings on?”

“Always.” Val’s sunglasses reflect the blaze, and white, feathered wings appear from nowhere, unfurling behind her. With a flash, she teleports behind the creature, raises her war hammer, and slams it down onto the monster. A solid hit. The pained screech of the thing is so piercing and terrible it raises the hairs on everybody’s arms. All the ice snakes stop their advance and writhe in place.

Ravi takes the opportunity to stomp a few more of the snakes before they recover as Constance throws open her satchel. “To battle, my familiar!” Her cat, Griswold, leaps from the bag and pounces on the nearest ice snake with a bold, strident battle cry.

“Take that, loathsome serpent! Have at thee, villains!”

The cat sinks his fangs into the back of the snake’s head and shakes fiercely.

It’s a weird team, Ravi admits, but it works.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Prone to diving way too deep down research rabbit-holes and absolutely incapable of working without a curated playlist in the background, Fox Beckman lives in the Twin Cities and has far too many irons in the fire. Fox is writer, an artist, an occasional wrangler of kangaroos, a longsword fencer, an archer, a roller of dice, and a forager of mushrooms that aren’t deadly (probably).

Website | Twitter

Giveaway

One lucky winner will receive a $50.00 NineStar Press Gift Code!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Filed Under: Blog, Contests, Excerpts, Guest Bloggers Tagged With: gay, interracial, monsters, nonbinary, paranormal, romance, Time Travel, urban fantasy, witch

New Release Blitz: Almost Famous, by Jim Elledge #Giveaway #historical #Gay

April 21, 2023 by Adriana Kraft

Title: Almost Famous

Author: Jim Elledge

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 04/18/2023

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: No Romance, Male/Male

Length: 91900

Genre: Historical, historical, crime, ménage, gay, performance arts, blue collar, criminals, cross-dressing, humorous, law enforcement, lawyers, musicians, religion, sex industry

Add to Goodreads

Description

One steamy June night in 1925, a woman shot an insurance exec to death. After ten women were arrested and, ultimately, released, a late-night tip led police to Norma West. Although she didn’t look like the shooter, the exec’s widow swore Norma was the murderer—just as she had sworn all ten of the other women were her husband’s killer. Police charged her with the crime after her jailor noticed her five o’clock shadow. The DA banked on the jury convicting a “third-sexer,” whether guilty or not.

Missing her gig as a local cabaret chanteuse, Norma acted outrageously, flirting and camping it up with the reporters who stampeded her cell hoping for a scoop. One, Paul Sammy, a straight tabloid hack, decided to write her biography full of lies and half truths, hoping its popularity would give him a leg up at his paper. Drop-dead gorgeous Victor Winchester, who was tired of defending prostitutes for mafia-supported pimps, offered to defend her for the free publicity her clowning—and notoriety—provoked. Norma became a cause célèbre among Chicago’s fairies, flappers, and sheiks; her trial a circus trigged by her antics; and her fate as much a product of Sammy’s fantastical biography as Victor Winchester’s legal hocus-pocus.

Excerpt

Almost Famous
Jim Elledge © 2023
All Rights Reserved

Norma’s first set had gone swell. The audiences at the Cat’s Pajamas liked the jazzier numbers, nothing by Rudy Vallée or any of the sentimental boys. They wanted songs with a bit of oomph and a generous splash of blue.

“I’m a Jazz Vampire” had become her signature number, and she knocked them out earlier tonight when she let down her hair and growled:

It’s easy to see.

Try as they might to fight it,

the men swarm after me.

I never leave them unkissed

’cause none can resist

aaaaaa jazz vampire.

She swung her hips. Her bosoms followed all on their own. Caught by the spotlight, the silver beads on the black fabric of her dress glittered like the Milky Way.

But now, in the tiny room the women performers used, one after another, as a dressing room, she took a breather between sets. Dressing room. What a laugh. A broom closet came closer to describing it. She hung her dresses on one of the nails in the wall to her left. Two sawhorses with a board across them and a scrap of mirror leaning against the wall served as a vanity. A naked light bulb with a pull chain dangled from the ceiling over the board. Class. Real class.

At least she had a stage and an audience.

The P.J. Orchestra blared as another woman belted out a number. Orchestra. That’s about as funny as dressing room. But that’s what they called themselves, an orchestra. Norma thought a four-piece band was too skimpy for such a grandiose word. Still, they were as good as it got in a joint like the Cat’s Pajamas. The boys kept up with all the hits, too, and had all of Marion Harris’s numbers down pat. She covered the star’s biggest hits, like “I’m Nobody’s Baby” and “I Ain’t Got Nobody,” and a few by other recording artists in her first set. She liked to strut to Mamie Smith’s “You Can’t Keep a Good Man Down,” adding “but I can sure keep him up” here and there to Smith’s lyrics. Norma always made a song her own.

Her favorite songs told the same story with minor differences: a woman aches for her man, but he’s not around, and she suspects he’s romancing another woman. Sometimes she kills the other woman. Sometimes she kills the man. She’s always caught, tried, convicted, and sings about her sorry state while locked up on death row.

But her audiences—all men with, sometimes, a handful of women—wanted the rawer songs that lent themselves to all sorts of boob-and-butt twists. They ate it up in healthy portions, with a spoon.

Norma adored all the women who sang their hearts out on the radio and on records, all jazz-filled, jazz-lived. Except for one. She hated everything that bitch Fanny Brice sang. Fanny! Why not call yourself Assy Brice or Butty Brice? That would make as much goddamned sense as Fanny!

Norma sang two sets each of the nights that she worked, Wednesdays and Thursdays, from nine o’clock to ten and again eleven to midnight. Bigger names than hers took over the stage on Fridays and Saturdays. Between her sets, other acts kept the customers entertained. They were all singers too, of course. Solos, duets, trios—all accompanied by the orchestra: a piano, trumpet, clarinet, and drums. After finishing her last set, she and the other legit acts scrammed, and strippers took over the stage until closing at four o’clock. She always tried to leave shortly after midnight. Bernie, the stage manager, never even tries to hide his leer when he tells her good night. What would she want with small fry like him? When she goes fishing, she trawls for the big boys with the big jobs and the bigger bank accounts. A real three-course meal, that’s what she called them, not a snack like Bernie.

Besides, she needed to hurry home. She had Frank to take care of.

And Jenny.

A pitiful excuse for a man, Frank didn’t know how to take a piss on his own. He called himself an automobile mechanic but hadn’t worked in ten years. Maybe longer. Jenny wasn’t much better. Helpless, the both of them. Like babes in the woods. That’s the real reason they were with her. Norma had no illusions about relationships. You had to get something out of being with someone, or why bother? She paid the rent, fed them, clothed them, and got them out of the apartment for fresh air once in a while. If she wasn’t in their lives, God knows where they would be. Frank in a grave. Jenny knocked up, more than once by now, diseased, and on her way to the grave too.

Frank was knee-deep in the grave already. Junkies don’t last long. Their skin goes ashen and weird to the touch. Their eyes get dull and blind-like unless the junkie drops heroin in them. That makes them glisten, as vivid as the hallucinations lurking behind them, eager to get out once the needle goes in. Frank would skip a week’s worth of grub without a second thought for half a hypo of the stuff. The morgues were full of junkies. Constellations of track marks covered the obvious, and all-too-often not-so-obvious, places on their bodies. Frank hid his between his balls and asshole.

She saved Frank from dying on the streets years ago. Lucky Frank.

Cute, petite Jenny was a whole other matter, but she got to the point where she took a liking to the stuff, too, and couldn’t resist a needle. Still, you had to hand it to the kid. She kicked the habit cold turkey, even if she almost died in the process. Frank would never be as brave—or as stubborn.

Jenny had a schoolgirl’s charm, even if she hadn’t seen the inside of a classroom for years. Her porcelain skin subtracted a decade off the date on her birth certificate, and she became popular with the type of man who turned into a slobbering pig when she walked into a room wearing a little girl’s ruffled pinafore and a big pink bow in her hair. Plenty of houses would offer a girl with her looks and talent a large cut of what she brought in, not the trifle most girls got, to make sure she didn’t stray to another house, but Jenny didn’t work for any of them anymore.

Not long after they met, Norma took charge, arranging everything for her. Jenny worked the occasional party with big shots from out of town or with city hall’s bigwigs with a penchant for the underage. French. That’s all Norma allowed now. She didn’t want a brat in the apartment, its screams and shitty diapers all over the place, or for Jenny to bleed to death from a botched fix-it. Norma had already invested too much money in her to let that happen. Besides, men paid big bucks for French, as rare in the bedrooms of Chicago’s happily married as a real French whore in its bordellos. Jenny’s ticket these days was French from a schoolgirl. She made a killing. Norma’s cut wasn’t half bad.

Most girls, even the ones in the best houses—those with thick carpets on the floors, a piano in the drawing room, servants in livery—don’t last long either. Junkies and whores: lives that burn bright for a few years, then pft! Despite the legends that ran rampant among the working girls, none had a snowball’s chance in hell of meeting the man of their dreams who would sweep them off their feet, turn a blind eye to their sordid history, and flip the quickie they were having into a honeymoon.

Norma gave Frank and Jenny stability in their lives and a chance to survive in one fashion or another. Sure, she bought Frank his stuff and even experimented once herself. She tried a drop or two in her eyes. The high it gave her with one hand stole her self-control with the other, and that made her vulnerable, an easy target for the cops and the wise guys who were always trying to muscle in on a good thing when they found it. She fought its allure for months.

So what if Jenny still worked? She worked for Norma once a week, maybe twice, and none of that crazy stuff like at other houses. Norma kept her safe. Norma kept all her girls safe.

Norma made all the difference in the world to both of them, but they never showed her an ounce of gratitude. Never a thank-you or a surprise bauble in return, just take, take, take. That’s what you get from a junkie and a whore, a whole truckload of nothing!

And Lord, they fought! They argued day in, day out. One would leave a pair of shoes in the hall, the other would stumble on them and blow up. Or one would snatch up the last slice of cake or pie, and angry words would turn into slaps and tears into bruises. They burned with jealousy when Norma paid the least bit more attention to one than the other. The one who smarted over being ignored would explode into threats and obscenities, and the two were at each other’s throats, fangs and claws bared, fists swinging.

Norma stepped in and reminded each of them about the many times she put him or her into the center of her heart and promised to love and to take care of them, body and soul. She did, too, didn’t she? She never broke a promise. Not to them. Not to anybody.

When either was under the weather, who sat by their bed day and night and, one spoonful of chicken soup after another, nursed them to health?

Her, that’s who.

When she moved from one apartment to another, who let them tag along, never asking either of them to chip in on the rent?

Norma. That’s who.

When she found she had a little extra cash after paying off the utility and grocery bills, the girls’ percentages, and even the cops on the beat, who took them out on the town, one swanky joint after another, and paid for everything?

Norma. Norma. Norma. Nobody else would have bothered.

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Meet the Author

Jim Elledge has received two Lambda Literary Awards, one for his book-length poem A History of My Tattoo, the other for Who’s Yer Daddy? Gay Writers Celebrate Their Mentors and Forerunners, co-edited with David Groff. His most recent books are Bonfire of the Sodomites, poems about the arson of the UpStairs Lounge; a biography, Henry Darger, Throwaway Boy; and The Boys of Fairy Town: Sodomites, Female Impersonators, Third-Sexers, Pansies, Queers, and Sex Morons in Chicago’s First Century, a history. Almost Famous is his debut novel.

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Filed Under: Blog, LGBT Tagged With: blue collar, crime, criminals, cross-dressing, gay, historical, humorous, law enforcement, lawyers, ménage, musicians, performance arts, religion, sex industry

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

April 14, 2023 by Adriana Kraft

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

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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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Filed Under: Blog, Contests, Erotic Romance, Excerpts, Guest Bloggers, LGBT Tagged With: Action Adventure, Bisexual/Pansexual/Multisexual, Dark Fantasy, gay, LGBTQ, paranormal, romance, Sorcery & Witchcraft, Thriller/Suspense

Starboard by Ava Olsen #Giveaway #ContemporaryMMRomance

March 30, 2023 by Adriana Kraft

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.

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Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

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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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