Adriana Kraft

When it's time to heat things up...

Gay Romance

Cover Reveal: Inhale, by D.P. Denman #LGBTQ #GayRomance @gaybookpromo

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COVER REVEAL

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

 

Pre-Order Links

Temporary pre-release sale price of $3.99 USD until July 16

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

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Instagram | BookBub | Lemon8 | Amazon Page

 

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Blog Tour: The Empath and the Soldier, by A. K. Holubek #Giveaway #LGBTQ #FantasyFiction

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The Empath and the Soldier - A.K. Holubek
A.K. Holubek has a new MM Regency period fantasy book out, The Unconventionals book 1: The Empath and the Soldier. And there’s a giveaway.

The situation seemed hopeless. But Tyrran couldn’t pretend to be ignorant of the danger and just wait for his home to disintegrate around him.

As a Favored male, Tyrran belongs to a select group of men born with one of the Four Gifts, a blessing usually reserved for women. Quiet, introverted, and filled with self-doubt, Tyrran has always struggled with living up to the responsibilities that come with being Gifted. Still, he had managed to achieve the near impossible — admission to the prestigious Lyceum Institute in Corvit, the Coarian Sovereignty’s bustling capital city. With this success, Tyrran’s future seems clear: the best education, a position in a Temple, and, one day, marriage to a young man of good fortune.

That is, until sinister forces intervene to shove him down a much bleaker path. Tyrran’s plans are thrown into upheaval when a deadly attack reveals the existence of an insidious evil festering within the ranks of the Sovereignty’s elite.

Now, he must use the privileges afforded him as a Lyceum student to uncover the secrets of a corrupt government. Targeted by relentless assassins and trying to ignore his growing attachment to the handsome exchange student Adwin, Tyrran must gather trustworthy allies to face the dangers that threaten to tear apart his nation and his home.

Bridgerton meets The Magicians in this fantasy novel about the importance of confidence and the strength of friendship.

Get It On Amazon

Giveaway

A.K. is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour:

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Excerpt

The Empath and The Soldier meme
At that moment they stopped suddenly, startled by someone crawling out of the pond almost directly in front of them. The someone turned out to be a man—an East Silacian, Tyrran noted right away, due to his black skin. He was shirtless, wearing only white tights, and he looked about Tyrran’s age. He was shorter than Tyrran and his chest, stomach, and arms were muscular—sculpted was the more appropriate term, his skin stretched tight over every muscle. His physique was compact rather than large, he had deep brown eyes, and his black hair was cut close to his head.

Tyrran had always suspected that the Silacian reputation for beauty was exaggerated, stemming from the inferiority complex Coarians held towards Silacians, whose empire was much larger, wealthier, and more advanced than the Sovereignty. But if Nyri and this man were any indication, then their reputed good looks were understated if anything.

“Good morning, soldier,” the man said, addressing Lena as he wiped water from his face with his hands. He spoke the Common Tongue with a sophisticated accent that sounded very similar to Nyri’s.

“Good morning, Adwin,” Lena replied, looking puzzled. “Did you, uh, fall in the pond?”

“Not at all. I was just going for a morning swim.” He smiled as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“In public? In the middle of campus?”

“But of course. This appears to be the closest body of water to our college. However, by your expressions, I assume Coarian notions of decorum discourage public bathing. I did swim wearing my tights, since I know public nudity is frowned upon.”

He may as well have removed them, for what little use they were in covering his nudity. The material clung to his skin, revealing bulging leg muscles as well as other bulges that Tyrran was making a concerted effort not to stare at.

“We do tend to prefer bathing in secluded areas,” Lena said. “Spaces set aside for bathing. Like the bathhouse next to the Barracks House, for instance.”

“I did try the bathhouse, but the water is heated. Quite uncomfortable on a warm day like today. Do you suppose I shall be sent packing back to Silacia for this breach of conduct?” An impudent grin spread across his face.

“It’s early enough that I’m sure no one but us has seen you. Though I do suggest you put the rest of your clothes back on soon. Where are they, by the by?”

“My clothes? I left them further down the trail. In truth, I was swimming about the pond for exercise rather than for bathing, then I saw the two of you and thought to come greet you. And now I think I have finished with swimming. Would you mind accompanying me to fetch my clothes?”

Tyrran could see that Lena was annoyed by the request and had every intention of replying in the negative. But Tyrran didn’t want Adwin to be offended, so he quickly spoke up.

“We would be happy to.”

That earned him an evil look from Lena.

Adwin offered his arm to Tyrran. “Adwin Mekalbe, at your service.”

Tyrran grasped his forearm, “Tyrran Kens, at yours,” he replied, trying to keep his voice from squeaking.

“I assume you do not attend the Military College,” Adwin continued, as the three of them resumed walking along the trail.

“No, I’m at Roothe College. Lena and I are friends from Temple Academy.”

“Ah, yes. In Hifield City. I am truly sorry about the attacks. I do hope you were not directly affected.”

Guest Post

Thanks for the opportunity to talk a little about my new book. In this post, I’d like to discuss how I began writing my novel.

I started writing The Empath and the Soldier on my phone. My husband and I had just moved from Washington, DC to Baltimore, Maryland for his job. But I continued to work in DC, which meant my commute was now an hour trek each way. Fortunately, that journey was made mostly on a train, rather than sitting in my car on congested highways.

When I first began this commute, like many of my fellow train passengers I would put on headphones to block out the world around me, listening to music while scrolling through social media or catching up on the news. But at the time, both social media and the news were very bleak places. I would often arrive at work or at home completely despondent after an hour-long train ride subjecting myself to a litany of the world’s evils.

I finally decided I needed a break from the constant doom scrolling. Usually, I would escape from social media by diving into a good novel. But at that moment I was suffering from reader ennui—I just couldn’t find a novel that really captured my interest. So I figured it might be time to write down a story idea that had been bouncing around in my head for years.

Actually, “story idea” is a massive exaggeration. What I really had was an idea for the opening scene of a story. Two friends climbing a hill together in the early morning, before some sort of special school function (exciting, right?). I honestly had no idea where the story would go from there. I only knew that it would be fantasy and take place in a different world, rather than some alternative version of Earth. I really wanted to get completely away from our planet.

One morning I began to pen my opening scene on a notetaking app I had downloaded to my phone, using my thumb to “swype” the words of my first novel onto the screen. I couldn’t use my work computer for personal writing, and my home computer wasn’t all that portable. My phone was really the only option for writing on my way to work.

It didn’t take long to finish the one scene that I had been imagining. After that, I actually had to consider what the plot would be, the characters’ personalities, what the world they lived in was like, etc. Besides wanting the story to be an otherworldly fantasy tale, I also wanted the novel to focus on LGBTQ+ characters, reflecting my own life experience as a gay man. In addition, I decided that the book should take place in a college-like setting. I thought it would be interesting to revisit and explore that time in life when adolescence has just ended and for the first time you really start to discover what it means to be an adult.

I didn’t map out the entire plot and character arcs like some authors do. Instead, I wrote the novel scene by scene, figuring out the characters and story as I went along. And while this might sound like an imaginative and spontaneous process, it’s also super inefficient. I would constantly have to rewrite earlier portions of the novel when they conflicted with later events or when something I wanted to happen halfway through the book required an introductory scene at the beginning.

Eventually, though, a cohesive and consistent story began to take shape. A few years, and many, many rewrites later, The Empath and the Soldier was complete.

In those first few days of writing the book, as my thumb slid across the glass screen of my phone in a frenzied effort to keep up with my thoughts for what happened next in the story, I had the “brilliant” idea to write the entire novel via smartphone.

“Yes,” I imagined myself saying on The Kelly Clarkson Show, “I wrote everything on my Samsung Galaxy.” Kelly, and the world, would be astonished at how I took writing to the next level, technologically speaking.

Obviously, this was a ridiculous notion. Writing more than a few sentences at a time on a phone is extremely tedious. I gave up after a week and purchased a cheap laptop I could use on the train.

In short, The Empath and the Soldier began as a sort of doodling with words on my phone to pass the time on a long commute to work. I’m still not quite sure how I found the patience and persistence to turn these word doodles into a published novel, but it’s one of my proudest life accomplishments thus far.

Author Bio

A.K. Holubek
The moment A.K. Holubek stumbled across a ragged copy of The Fellowship of the Ring in his elementary school library, his life changed forever. The rest of his childhood, his adolescence, and even his college years were spent living only part time in the real world. He much preferred spending time in the fantasy lands of his imagination than in the reality of life as a closeted gay kid. As real life got better, he left his fantasy worlds behind. But a few years ago, those worlds called him to return, and to share his created worlds with others who might also need a place to escape. He now endeavors to carry out this mission from his home in Baltimore, supported by his husband and two ridiculous cats.

Author Website: http://theunconventionals.com

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

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

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theunconventionalsbooks/

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New Release Blitz: Diversion Plan, by Tag Gregory @TagWritesBooks #Giveaway #Contemporary #GayRomance #LGBTQ+

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Title: Diversion Plan

Series: Rooms For Romance, Book Two

Author: Tag Gregory

Publisher: Tag Gregory

Release Date: 4/21/23

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 330

Genre: Romance, Contemporary Romance, LGBTQ, MM Romance, Gay Romance

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Synopsis

Brent Riddick has been up to his armpits in work ever since he started his job as the Truman School’s manager. He admits he probably qualifies as a workaholic, although he doesn’t really care. He’s simply more comfortable standing in front of a board meeting than sitting in a cocktail lounge and has no desire to examine his lack of a social life. So it isn’t a big deal to him that he sorta forgets it’s his birthday.

Unfortunately his staff, led by the hotel’s sexiest troublemaker, Guthrie, remembers the occasion and Brent is begrudgingly forced to allow his co-workers to take him out for drinks. However, when all those birthday drinks go to Brent’s head and he ends up going home with an equally drunken Guthrie, things get a little more complicated.

Guthrie Walker is the kind of guy who always knows where the next party is happening. He also has a Plan B Party and a Plan C Party if his original party plans fall through. He’s still young and figures there’ll be plenty of time later to get serious about life. Drinking and dancing with his friends is definitely more fun than dealing with his messed up finances or dwelling on the festering rift with his family. So what if he occasionally drinks a little too much, does a few club drugs, comes in late to work a time or two, and suffers from an almost perpetual hangover? Everyone does it, right? Too bad the judge overseeing his case after Guthrie is arrested for drug possession doesn’t see things that way.

As if things weren’t messy enough, the court-ordered Diversion Plan requires Guthrie to enlist the help of his supervisor at work – who also happens to be one of Guthrie’s many one-night stands – if he wants to stay out of jail, retain his server’s license, and not lose his job. The hotel is already short-staffed and Brent is too much of a softie to say no to his desperate subordinate. Which is how Brent ends up vouching for Guthrie and agreeing to monitor his compliance with the court’s mandates. Now Brent just has to come up with a way to divert the party boy’s attention away from his club-scene past and himself away from lusting after his hot mess employee.

Excerpt

Chapter 1 – Brent

It’s not my fault that I’m so busy I sorta forget my own birthday.

The past six months, ever since I was hired as the manager of the Truman School, have been wild. I’ve been so busy that I rarely even remember what day of the week it is, let alone the actual date. Unless, of course, there’s some critically important work event I need to know the date of; those dates I remember because I’m paid well not to forget them. Personal stuff, though . . . Not so much.

The first three months leading up to the Grand Opening of the hotel were filled with hiring staff, overseeing the remodeling of the building, and working with the PR team to plan the opening. Most of that time I was working fourteen hour days, six or seven days a week. Things only slowed down incrementally following the opening. Being the manager, I end up being the one expected to handle all the problems and, for some reason, those problems always happen at the least opportune times. Primarily weekends and the middle of the night, it seems. I don’t think I’ve really taken a relaxed breath since starting this job.

Not that I really mind. I guess I probably qualify as a ‘work-a-holic’ but that’s fine with me. I’d rather be too busy than not busy enough. Work is good. I’m good at what I do. I like knowing that I’m appreciated. I like hearing the accolades from my bosses at McNally’s. I really like that I’ve already received one merit-based promotion despite being with the company less than a year. Plus, when I’m up to my armpits in work shit, I don’t have time to worry about anything else. So, generally speaking, I don’t complain about being too busy. Life is easier when you’ve got a purpose and, since I don’t have much of a life outside of work right now, that’s really my only purpose.

However, this weekend is proving especially hectic, what with it being Labor Day. The last official weekend of Summer is traditionally one of the busiest times of the year in the hospitality industry and, happily, the hotel is booked to capacity. It doesn’t help matters that our chef up and quit on me last week and the replacement, Easton, is not one hundred percent up to speed yet. Or that I’m immersed in marketing meetings with Ryan Zellers and the McNally’s PR team most of the weekend. Or that Ryan and his boyfriend – our ex-artist, Jayce – invited most of the staff to join them for dinner on Friday night. Or that the plumbing in the north wing backed up on Saturday afternoon. Or that any of the hundreds of other things that I’ve had to worry about this weekend have been taking up any spare brain capacity I might have left over.

Anyway, it’s no wonder I’m far too preoccupied with the daily crises of managing a full hotel to notice that this year September sixth – my birthday – falls on the first Monday of the month. I’m not sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that Logan, my assistant manager, remembers the occasion. I’m afraid that I probably look a little confused, though, when my team surprises me with an impromptu celebration just as soon as I give the okay to the restaurant staff to close up the Courtyard kitchen at nine-thirty that Monday evening.

“For he’s a jolly good fellow . . .” They all sing as Malia emerges from the kitchen with a Jaciva chocolate cake festooned with three largish candles.

The fact that they aren’t singing the traditional birthday song adds to my confusion. “What’s this for?” I ask as the group circles round the table where the cake has been placed and I’m pushed down into a chair facing the confection. “Are you folks angling for promotions or something?”

“I told you he’d forget.” Logan gives a conspiratorial laugh. “Happy birthday, Brent!”

“Happy birthday, Boss!” the crowd echos.

I look around and see the faces of pretty much the entire hotel staff staring at me: Logan, Guthrie, Easton, Wyatt, Keshawn, Perry, Tasha, and all the rest. I note that even Mark has come by this evening, despite working out of corporate headquarters most of the time. I smile around at them lamely and try to look happy at being ambushed, even though I hate being made the center of attention like this. I’ve never been overly comfortable in social situations, especially when I haven’t had time to prepare something to say or figure out how I’m supposed to act. It’s different when I’m standing in a boardroom or in front of a staff meeting. Those I can handle. But random surprise parties where I’m the guest of honor are a whole ‘nother thing.

I can feel my skin heating up and I try to fight back the blush I feel creeping up from under the collar of my shirt. Being a redhead, I can’t control the fact that my ruddy skin usually gives me away any time I’m feeling embarrassed or put on the spot. I try not to let myself get caught out like this too often. I’m the fucking manager after all; I can’t be going around blushing like a school-girl in front of my staff. Apparently my body doesn’t understand the need to maintain a professional demeanor, though, and that stupid blush takes over, no doubt turning my cheeks almost as red as my beard. But I try to smile anyway as I laugh at myself along with the rest.

“Thank you. But you didn’t have to do this.” I gesture at the cake and try to bat away the hands attempting to pull the elastic strap of a paper birthday hat under my chin. “Really. You shouldn’t have . . .”

“Of course we should,” Logan insists, pulling out the chair across from me and smiling in an officious manner as they seat themselves. “Celebrating staff birthdays together is part of the fun of working here – or so it says in the McNally’s Team Policy Manual – but I knew you wouldn’t take the time to celebrate on your own, so I made the executive decision to ensure you at least sat down long enough to eat a piece of cake. And, after the ridiculously busy weekend we all just had, everyone deserves a party. Including you. Now, be a good boss and pretend to enjoy yourself.”

I know they’re only teasing so I try to play along. “Who has time for birthdays?” I respond, causing several of the party to chuckle.

“C’mon, Boss. You’d think someone born on ‘Labor Day’ would at least remember when to celebrate!” Someone in the back – I think it’s probably that smart-ass, Guthrie – calls out.

And, yes, I’m aware of the irony of the fact that the celebration of my birth is happening on ‘Labor Day’ this year. My poor mother, going into labor on ‘Labor Day’ thirty years ago, no doubt also thought it hilarious at the time. However, since my birthday and the holiday coincide about every six or seven years, I’ve definitely heard that joke more than a few times. It wasn’t funny the first four times I heard it, and I’m not really that amused now either. But I can’t be ungracious when they’re all trying to be nice by throwing me this party so I offer an awkward smile and fake a chuckle.

Did I mention how much I hate uncomfortable social situations?

Then another voice from the crowd – Guthrie again, I assume, because nobody else would dare to be that flippant with the boss – urges me to, “make a wish and blow already!” which, of course, leads to more teasing and joking.

What else can I do? I can’t just walk out of my own birthday party, so I play along, blowing out the candles and accepting a piece of cake. Malia pours beers for everyone who’s already off the clock, and maybe a few who are supposed to still be on the clock, but I turn a blind eye to that minor policy infraction since they’re ostensibly only doing it in my honor. The party carries on from there.

I’m not sure exactly when the party gets so out of control.

One minute we’re sitting around in the empty dining room, drinking beer and eating cake, chatting and laughing about work stuff and the crazy weekend we’d just lived through, and the next minute someone suggests we take the party on the road. I hear Guthrie, the eternal party boy, proposing we all go to Scandals. Several other voices concur. I try to demur, using the pile of administrative paperwork waiting on my desk as an excuse to get out of this little field trip, but I’m shouted down. After all, it’s my party, right? I’m the guest of honor. They all want to buy me more drinks. I might still have backed out, though, if Guthrie wasn’t teasing me so relentlessly.

“Come on, Boss!” The tall, bold blond waggles his eyebrows at me from behind those hipster horned-rimmed glasses of his. “Pull the stick out of your ass and live a little for once!”

I want to tell him to fuck off, and maybe even write him up for talking to his superior in such an improper manner, but that would make me look like an ungrateful jerk. This whole celebration is supposedly for my benefit, right? I’m expected to play along. Which is exactly why I hate social interaction. I feel so awkward; I never know how I’m supposed to react when put on the spot like this. So, despite feeling completely out of my element, I allow myself to be talked into relocating the party to one of Portland’s more well-known gay bars. What the hell, right? I suppose I can allow the diversion this once.

The debauchery progresses rapidly from that point.

I suppose it’s obvious fairly early on that I don’t routinely drink very heavily. I’d had a couple beers back at the Truman School, so I’m already feeling a bit loose when we arrive at Scandals. The team immediately insists that I drink something called a ‘Birthday Cake Shot’ to celebrate my special day. That’s followed up by a Jagerbomb. After that I completely lose track of the seemingly endless rounds of drinks that follow as everyone and their brother offers to buy the Birthday Boy a drink.

Although Scandals isn’t a dance club, per se, at some point during the night the entire Truman team ends up in the middle of the floor, jumping, twisting, gyrating, and dancing together in a big group. Surprisingly, I’m right in the middle of the roiling mess of them and, for once, I’m having a pretty good time, despite my introvert tendencies. The bartender cranks up the tunes. The music is decent and quite danceable. None of us are feeling any pain and the party moves into high gear.

I’m more than halfway sloshed by this point. I will readily admit that all the toasts I’ve been the recipient of have me flying pretty high. I’ve had enough to drink that my inhibitions are pretty nonexistent and I’m relaxed enough not to care how I look anymore. I even give up trying to remove the stupid party hat that my staff insists I keep wearing. I’m having a great time dancing, to be honest – something I usually avoid out of fear of looking like a juvenile red-headed moose having a seizure – which is, unfortunately, my go-to dance move. But I’m just tipsy enough tonight to not give a damn and it feels good to let go for a change.

So, when Guthrie comes up behind me at some point and starts grinding against me from behind I don’t sweat it. I merely laugh and wiggle my ass a little provocatively. Then I toss back the rest of the glowing, fruity blue drink that is currently in my hand and twirl around like some kind of drunken ballerina.

“Oh, so he can dance,” Guthrie says, taking advantage of the smooth tempo of the music to pull me back against him even closer.

I can feel his tall, lanky body pressed up against me from behind and then his hips do this swivel thing that causes his crotch to grind into the crack of my ass. I don’t even bother trying to stifle the groan that escapes from my lips at that move. It’s been a hella long time since I had anyone grinding up against me and I’m not about to waste the experience. Especially not when it’s a hot blond like Guthrie.

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Meet the Author

TAG has been living in Portland, Oregon, so long that it’s almost like being a native. They don’t even mind the rain that much anymore. TAG loves the city and the state with a passion. TAG has been writing for almost a decade, starting out with a hesitant toe in the realm of fanfiction before venturing into the scarier world of self-publishing original works. With an eclectic background as an attorney, microbiologist, all-around nerd, and adventurer, TAG brings to all their writing an off-kilter sense of humor, unbounded curiosity, a love of historical and contemporary details, and astonishing powers of research. If you are looking for a gripping story, with compelling characters that deal with real world issues, then you’re in the right place.

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New Release! Opening Night, by Lisabet Sarai @LisabetSarai #EroticRomance #LGBTQ #HistoricalRomance #MM

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MM Historical Romance
6,800 words, Three flames
Smashwords and Amazon KDP
ISBN (Smashwords): 9798215446928
ASIN: ‎ B0BXCJVLC1

BLURB

Let your heart be your compass

It’s January 1887, a few days before the opening of the audacious new operetta “Ruddigore”. As if librettist William Gilbert doesn’t have enough to worry about, one of the D’Oyly Carte stars breaks his leg doing the horn pipe. Fortunately, the understudy Frank Wilson turns out to be immensely talented, as well as devilishly handsome. Wilson has set his heart on Gilbert – and he’s not going to be swayed from his course.

INTRODUCTION

A Lifelong Passion

When I was five years old, my parents took me to see my first Gilbert and Sullivan concert. I remember it surprisingly well. Organized outdoors as part of a summer music festival on the Boston Common, the performance featured the legendary Martyn Green from the D’Oyly Carte Opera company – the same troupe that originally mounted William Gilbert’s and Arthur Sullivan’s comic operas in the nineteenth century.

My father and mother were both G&S aficionados. The family must have had phonograph records of at least some of the operettas, because I could sing many of the songs by the time I was in my teens. Certainly we took advantage of whatever opportunities came along during my childhood to indulge ourselves in the topsy-turvy world of the famous pair.

The day I met my husband-to-be, he happened to mention that he was a G&S fan. I will admit, I took this as a sign that we were meant to be together. Later, he and I lived in a town that had its own G&S amateur group, who mounted a different operetta every year. Those were heady days! My parents would often travel cross-country to join us in what became a beloved ritual. During those years, I believe we saw performances of the entire G&S catalog.

Though not as generally popular as The Mikado or Pinafore, Ruddigore is probably my favorite Gilbert and Sullivan opera. This is partly due to the hints of darkness – Sullivan’s music echoing the eerier strains of Mozart’s Don Giovanni – but also the humor. The paradoxical logic that allows Sir Ruthven Murgatroyd to argue his way out of the witches’ curse is some of the best comic sleight-of-hand in any G&S play. Ruddigore also includes one of the most outstanding female characters in the oeuvre, Mad Margaret – a village woman driven to insanity by her passion for Ruthven’s Bad Baronet brother Despard. (Yes, I know, just the sort of person to whom a romance author would be drawn…)

There’s another bit in Ruddigore, though, that gave me the initial idea for Opening Night. Rollicking seaman Dick Dauntless is the foster brother and (supposedly) the bosom friend of the disguised Ruthven, and loudly proclaims his love for his brother in one of the scenes. What if that scene were to develop into a homo-erotic confession? I wondered. And then I thought about the possible repercussions, during the straight-laced Victorian period, if Gilbert were to find himself falling in love with another man.

Opening Night quotes liberally from the original play (courtesy of my mother’s Complete Works of Gilbert and Sullivan, which I inherited), but I admit to playing fast and loose with both history and the plot. I hope the result justifies this distortion – and that Gilbert would recognize the romantic appeal of my artistic license.

If you’ve never experienced Ruddigore, you’ll find a variety of recordings on YouTube, for instance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=litYduyL1Xw

And for those of you who don’t have the patience to watch the opera… you might enjoy this four minute summary of the plot: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MeHbS8aA6TQ

In any case – I hope you’ll also check out my story!

EXCERPT

Opening night was tomorrow, and everyone seemed to be eager and ready. So why did he feel so weighed down, so anxious and exhausted?

It was past ten when a knock woke him from a doze that must have crept up on him despite the fear of nightmares. “Yes, who is it?”

His visitor didn’t wait to be invited in. “It’s me, William. It’s Frank.”

Gilbert bolted upright, anger providing him with sudden energy.  Red boiled behind his eyelids. “What are you doing here? I can’t have you here. Get out, this instant.”

The younger man shut the door. He sidled over in Gilbert’s direction. Gilbert backed away. “I needed to see you, William.  To talk to you, about the other afternoon. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.”

“Never mind. Just go away now. Please, go away.”

“I apologize for being so rude, so insensitive.  I’ve been wanting you so long, it just seemed natural to say it. To show you. I should have realized how new this would be for you, how shocking.” With theatrical grace, Wilson glided to his knees in front of Gilbert, his head bowed. “Forgive me, please.”

Gilbert gazed down at Frank’s golden curls, gleaming in the harsh electric light. He smelled the man’s floral cologne. Damn, his heart was beating like thunder, and there was an uncomfortable tightness in his crotch. Damn, damn, damn.

“Get up,” he said gruffly. “Show a bit of self-respect, Wilson.”

“Not until I hear you say that I’m forgiven.”

“Fine, fine, I forgive you, now get up and go.”

Gilbert didn’t understand how he did it, but all at once Frank was standing in front of him, face to face, close, much too close. He was taller than Gilbert and had to bend to whisper.

“Thank you, William.” Then Gilbert felt the man’s mouth on his own. He felt Frank’s tongue toying with his mustache, tickling, probing, tentative at first, then bold and confident as Gilbert opened his lips.

Gilbert’s resistance melted. Frank’s arms encircled him, and Gilbert reciprocated, stirred by the sensation of strength in those young limbs. Frank tasted of horehound and tobacco, masculine and yet sweet. Frank kissed him eagerly, passionately, and from some place he had not known existed, Gilbert responded with equal passion.

He felt the hard, hot lump that he knew was Frank’s cock, grinding against his thigh. Somehow this did not terrify or appall him. He welcomed it, exquisitely aware that his own cock was swollen and sensitive.

The dark clouds that had haunted him for the past two days dissolved in the brilliance of Frank’s kiss. Gilbert did not think, did not worry or reason or judge. For the first time in a very long time, he simply allowed himself to feel.

BUY LINKS

Amazon  US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BXCJVLC1

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0BXCJVLC1

Smashwords –  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1354766

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/opening-night-lisabet-sarai/1143156836?ean=2940166025562

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/opening-night-17

Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6445998898

Add on Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/123174847-opening-night

About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, Pinterest, BookBub, BingeBooks and Twitter.

Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

Blog Tour: Love and Valentines at Caynham Castle #Giveaway #Valentine #MM #LGBTQ @gaybookspromo

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BLOG TOUR

Book Title: Love and Valentines at Caynham Castle

Authors: Jeanne Adams, Morgan Brice, Caren Crane, Seressia Glass, Nancy Northcott

Publisher: Rickety Bookshelf

Cover Artist: Lyndsey Lewellan

Release Date: February 1, 2023

Genres:  Contemporary, paranormal, MF, MM

Tropes:

Caren Crane’s story—opposites attract & forced proximity

Jeanne Adams’ story—Grumpy-sunshine, forced proximity, different backgrounds/worlds

Seressia Glass’s story—friends-to-lovers, grumpy-sunshine

Morgan Brice’s story—hurt/comfort, evolving relationship

Nancy Northcott’s story–Second chance at love, redemption

Themes: holiday, dealing with the past, bargains and deals, redemption, facing the future

Heat Rating: Varies by story

Length:  150 000 words/482 pages

This is the fourth in the Caynham Castle shared-world holiday romance series.

Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

One castle, five authors, five love stories, all at the same holiday event!

Blurb 

Racing Toward Love by Jeanne Adams

Dr. Oriela Deschamps was overjoyed to get a job appraising an estate for the Wellington family in the small English town of Caynham-On-Ledwyche. From the first meeting with the Byron “Bo” Wellington, Ori knows the job is going to be a challenge. First, there’s Bo himself – the sexy, grumpy heir to Ribald Racing Stables. Then, there’s the exceedingly dangerous artifact that’s the centerpiece of her appraisal. That artifact, a set of riding silks from 1947, carry a curse and someone wants them for dark and desperate reasons. Can Ori’s magic save them, or will the would-be thief kill both Ori and Bo, just as they find their special Valentines?

Fae-ted Mates by Morgan Brice

Dawson and Grady King are honeymooning at Caynham Castle, hoping to take a break from monster hunting. They have one piece of family business to handle, involving a generations-long agreement with the Welsh Fae. When things go wrong, will Dawson and Grady survive, or will they be trapped in the Faerie realm forever?

Romance Sells Records by Caren Crane

After watching her mother’s hope for a grand romance get dashed time after time, Hannah Evans grew into someone with no tolerance for romance. Callum Hughes’ parents had an enviable relationship, and he wanted the same for himself: if only he could convince Hannah to trust what they could build together.

Cupid Comes to Caynham by Seressia Glass

In Cupid Comes to Caynham, Oliver Jones’ family has run the Boar and Knight off and on for centuries. After his father’s death, it is now Oliver’s responsibility to manage the ancient pub, a duty that leaves him no time or desire for love–until professional tourist Shayla Munroe literally falls at his feet. With Valentine’s and Shayla’s departure date fast approaching, does love have time to bloom or will it die on the vine? Not if Venus and Cupid have anything to say about it.

The One Who Got Away by Nancy Northcott

Hastings Whitney grew up driven not only to succeed but to be seen to succeed. His focus on success cost him two marriages and any number of relationships. Now he has a second chance with the woman he never forgot, jewelry designer Corinne Lanier. Has he changed enough to balance work with a relationship? Or will a business crisis bring old habits back to the fore? And is there a sinister side to his problem?

Excerpt from Fae-ted Mates by Morgan Brice

CHAPTER 1

GRADY

“I can’t believe we’re really here.” Grady King pulled Dawson along by the wrist to the check-in desk. “It’s a real castle!”

“It’s called Caynham Castle. Not exactly a surprise—it sort of looks like one,” Dawson teased fondly.

“Yeah, but ‘Magic Kingdom’ isn’t a real kingdom,” Grady retorted. “Truth in advertising is rare.”

The lobby was in one of several buildings along the wall of the outer bailey. Dark wood wainscoting covered the lower half of the hewn stone wall, matching the counter. A large oil painting of a man in the opulent clothing of another century hung behind the check-in desk. Grady assumed it was one of the many Earls of Caynham whose most recent descendant still owned the castle and ran it as a hotel and event destination.

The woman behind the counter watched their banter with a bemused look. “Welcome to Caynham Castle. I’m Constance. Could I have your last names, please?”

Grady plunked their joined hands onto the counter so that the matching rings showed. “King. My husband and I have the honeymoon suite.”

“Theatrical much?” Dawson joked. “She’s seen married folks before, I’d wager.”

“We’ve never been here before or been married before. Don’t dim my joy.” Grady knew he was being over the top, but everything about the trip had his excitement cranked up to the max. Honeymoon. England. Castle—and our own suite. Vacation. And no monsters for two whole weeks.

“He had a lot of coffee on the flight,” Dawson told the woman in a faux-apologetic tone. His grin made it clear that he enjoyed Grady’s enthusiasm.

“You have to understand,” Grady confided in Constance, “we’ve had several friends who absolutely loved their stay here. They told us plenty about the castle. I want to find all the gargoyles.”

“Let’s get you checked in so you can deposit your luggage and go hunting,” Constance said with a smile.

Grady’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean hunting them—” He snapped his mouth shut, realizing that she hadn’t meant their kind of monster hunting. Dawson subtly elbowed him in the ribs, but his unspoken message was clear.

Don’t freak the mundanes.

“Grady and Dawson King.” Grady tugged a bit on their joined hands, loving how the matching gold bands caught the light.

“Ah yes, here’s the reservation. And it seems as if your friends have sent some welcome gifts. There’s a package from Teag Logan and Anthony Benson, one from Erik Mitchell and Ben Nolan, and another from Simon Kincaide and Vic D’Amato.”

Her tone shifted as she read the names, and her eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, my. Are you all in the same business?” She dropped her voice. “Do we have a ghost problem again?”

Meet the Authors  

All five authors are members of the same Facebook Author Group – Romance Bandits

Join them here 

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Release Blitz: Illuminated, by Alexa Piper @prowlingpiper #Giveaway #LGBTQ+

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Title: Illuminated

Series: Vampire Tales 1

Author: Alexa Piper

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: February 10, 2023

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 126 pages

Genre: Romance, Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, Suspense, Bisexual, Multisexual & Pansexual, Gay, Magic, Sorcery, and Witchcraft, Murder Mystery, Vampires

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Ethan is a photographer who loves the interplay of light and shadow in his work and what it reveals. While working on his latest project, he finds himself at an abandoned church after nightfall. Lured by the prospect of capturing something unique with his camera, he ventures inside.

What Ethan discovers in that forgotten place is not what he expected. Instead of sights unseen for decades, Ethan finds a man — bleeding, hurt, and in need of help.

What Ethan doesn’t know is that he isn’t freeing an ordinary man, but an ancient vampire.

Through a haze of blood and violence, Ethan will have to come to terms with a situation nothing could have ever prepared him for. Auris drinks blood and deals death with ease, but Ethan soon discovers that the vampire is not just a monster. Auris is more, so much more. As if it were illuminated with a camera flash, Ethan can almost see himself and Auris have a shared future. Yet, those who tried destroying Auris once will stop at nothing to do so again.

Content Warnings: Illuminated (Vampire Tales 1) contains scenes of violence, murder, kidnapping, and torture that may be triggers for some readers.

Excerpt

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2023 Alexa Piper

I felt the cold fingers of the changing season reach across the café’s outdoor terrace and right up my spine. The warm fall day drew to a close with the trees all along the coast colored in vermilion and gold, and darkness rolled in with the tide, the sky above pretty as pulped roses.

“Need another?” said the very attentive server. Her eyes were ocean blue, and her golden earrings caught the fading light slanting in from across the water. She wore a surgical mask like most of the staff in the region I’d come across, even though they were no longer mandatory. “You seem to inhale them. You know that might cost you sleep, right?”

I smiled back at her and finished the last of my latte. “I always inhale great coffee, but this will have to be my last. I like to work at night.”

True enough, even if I had captured mostly sunlight and shadows, leaves and people today, not my normal fare. The touristy charm of the place had simply lured me in. That all the cafés I found here had great service, view, and coffee didn’t help me regain my work attitude.

She looked me up and down, no doubt taking in my slightly over shoulder-length caramel brown hair, the piercing blue eyes most people liked to comment on, and — last but not least — my pseudo-geeky Schrödinger’s Cat tee.

“My mother would tell you that a good boy like yourself should be in bed at night. What do you do?”

I laughed and tugged a strand of my hair back behind my ear. “I’m a photographer, and I like editing when it’s dark out. Just a night owl thing. Could I get the check, please?” This was beginning to feel more and more like a vacation, even though I was working. I wanted abandoned places for my next exhibition, and if you didn’t mind a bit of driving, this area had plenty.

“Wow, an artist. You’re the first in Brightam this season, or at least my first. Be right back.” She winked at me.

I nodded, and she took my empty glass and walked away.

My bag sat on the chair to my right. I dug for my notebook and phone. My slightly battered but trusty notebook contained my longhand list of places I wanted to go see. I unwound the elastic that held the notebook closed and checked the list I’d bookmarked with an old receipt for a bagel and coffee against a map on my phone to see if I could still get something done today. If I didn’t, this really would be a vacation day, and I was firmly not on vacation. Besides, I was sure some lowlight photos might add a creepy aspect to my work people often told me was there to begin with, even if I never saw it.

The seventh item on my list was a church that had been abandoned for decades, complete with a garden of headstones surrounding it, and it was only a thirty-minute detour from my way back to Cromere where I had booked my hotel for the month. I had my external flash in the car. Going to the church and getting photos of headstones and a dilapidated building in the background in the almost dark would be perfect.

“Here you go,” the server said and dropped the check on the table. “I put my number on there in case you’re staying in town and want to do something later. Together.”

I had seen that coming about two lattes ago, and I did consider it. Yet, the church actually sounded interesting, more interesting than vacation sex when I wasn’t even on vacation.

“I’m afraid I have to get some work done, actually.” I indicated my notebook before putting the receipt back to mark my spot and packing everything back into my bag. “But thanks for the offer. Maybe another time,” I said and tipped her generously.

She shrugged. “Keep the number. In case you change your mind.”

I did and smiled at her over my shoulder when I left the café.

Over the ocean, the pinks were surrendering to indigo and teal. Night’s breath was icy on the breeze.

* * *

I pulled on my jacket and left the car back at the mouth of the path that led to the church. It was a short walk of not even ten minutes, and I was glad that I also kept a flashlight in the trunk, because even with an almost full moon above, it was dark out here.

The trees grew tall on all sides, branches eating at the dusky sky. Insect noises and the sound of me walking were the only things I could hear, and there was something wonderfully peaceful about that.

I hadn’t lied to the server, I was a night owl and always had been, but I lived in the city, and night in the city was never really dark nor silent. Being out here was a different experience and refreshing in its way.

The church came up ahead of me like a looming scarecrow, raggedy and weather-beaten, but its former function clear even in its current condition. It was slightly uphill, which helped with that perception, but there was something… I had the overwhelming sense that the church had been waiting for me. That was nonsense. Buildings didn’t wait or want. They just were and aged and crumbled, but the fact this place did make me feel like the church was a living being boded well for the photos. I snapped a couple, looking up toward the church.

The church itself was really just a small building that might have held a congregation of maybe two hundred. From what I had read, there had been an abandoned mining town nearby, and the church had been left behind when the ore ran out. The bodies already in the earth had been left as well, a strange sort of exchange for the ore, iron paid for with bone.

When I reached the cemetery grounds, my flashlight licked against dark headstones that were leaning this way and that in time’s pull. With the dark church behind them, all this needed to be a perfect set for a horror movie was some fog and maybe a wolf howling. I chuckled. This was wonderful.

I decided that I would just walk around a bit so I could get a feel for the place, take some shots as I did so to begin with. I turned the flashlight off, put it in my camera bag, and started. The strobing light of my camera flash threw odd shadows that lingered on my retinas. I made my way toward the church doors in a slow half circle, not really planning anything, just going by instinct. Then, with a shot of a cracked church window, I saw that the door to the building was open, just enough to draw a hard shadow in the light of my camera flash.

I stopped and turned my flashlight back on, aiming it at the door. I took another picture even if the flashlight would mess up the lighting. I wasn’t sure why, because I was pretty good about not wasting shots. Some instinct maybe, or a random muscle jerk.

“Oh, opportunity, you call me,” I whispered, running the flashlight up the door, which was indeed open.

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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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