Tuesday Teaser 5/23/2023
My Tuesday teaser this week is from Marked Yours, book 1 of Sentries.
Nick’s woven pants were yanked off and tossed away. Todd reached out and hooked a finger under Nick’s collar, hauling his mate up and onto his lap before crushing his mouth to Nick’s and not letting up on the kiss until they were both gasping for air. Hands in Nick’s hair, he jerked back hard, licking along Nick’s jaw until he found the shell of Nick’s ear. Then he smoothed his tongue over Nick’s ear and hissed out, “You’re mine. I’m yours.” Using light, touches with just his tongue, Todd moved slowly down Nick’s body, licking up the salty moisture. “I love you, Nicky.”
“You,” Nick gasped out, arching and stretching beneath him, a quivering mass of skin and hard-packed muscle, bucking to meet each of Todd’s powerful thrusts. “too, love you. Just us.”
When they’d given each other everything and Todd could breathe normally again he pulled Nick up by his wrists, kissed him tenderly and deeply, wrapped both arms around him and held him tightly, lightly rubbing Nick’s back. He scooted off Nick, took his hand, and hefted him off the bed. “C’mon.” He led Nick to the bathroom and started the shower.
Todd pushed Nick to his knees and thoroughly scrubbed his hair before nudging Nick back to his feet. Taking Nick’s hands in his, Todd first washed himself down, then Nick.
“I could kill them for what they did to you.” Todd ran his fingers over the ridges of Nick’s ribs, dipping into the hollows between them, then over the jut of Nick’s hip and into the concave spot where it met Nick’s belly.
“Todd.” Nick pressed his lips to Todd’s neck, and he stepped closer so every inch of his body was against Todd’s.
“But we’re not going back there, ever.” Taking Nick’s head in both hands, Todd kissed his forehead. “I promise. I’ll just chop some wood or something ’til I burn off the anger.”
“I like the or something idea.”
They stayed in the shower, caressing and holding, not leaving until the water ran cold.
Marked Yours is available in eBook and paperback.
Book Title: Love on Page Six (Entertaining Love, book 2)
Author: Claerie Kavanaugh
Cover Artist: Cath Grace Designs
Release Date: June 26, 2023
Genres: Sapphic Contemporary Romance
Tropes: actor /performer, Celebrity/Socialite/Model, Hollywood, movie set, Friends to Lovers
Themes: Against All Odds, Character w/Disability, Coming Out, Femme/Femme
Interracial/Multicultural Relationship, Slow Burn
Heat Rating: 3 flames
Length: 60 000 words/ 240 pages
It is a standalone book and does not end on a cliffhanger.
Pre-Order Buy Links
An actress with a secret, a journalist with a dream, and forbidden love that could change everything.
Bridget Blake has only ever wanted one thing in her life: to be herself. But her overbearing momanger insists showing the world who she really is would mean the death of her blossoming career. So when the new makeup artist fights her way under Bridget’s perfectly moisturized, paparazzi-proof skin, it’s everything she can do to keep the façade in place. Until one spontaneous kiss turns her world upside down. With Daphne, Bridget is the brave, fun-loving, take-no-prisoners girl she’s always wanted to be. But embracing her new self may mean leaving behind everything she’s ever worked for. Is love really worth it?
Book two in the standalone sapphic celebrity romance series Entertaining Love.
Excerpt The Meet Cute
A movement catches my attention as I hesitantly reach for a shimmering eyeshadow palette young woman with black curly hair and gold-rimmed glasses browses the store with ease. Her hands expertly select items from the shelves as she navigates the space in her manual wheelchair.
She looks up a second later, and her brown eyes meet mine with a flicker of recognition. She freezes, pursing her lips before finally rolling towards me with a warm smile.
“Hi there.” Her voice is soft and melodic with a hint of a Hispanic accent.. “Welcome to the Mystic Beauty. I couldn’t help but notice you look a bit lost. Can I help you find something?”
I adopt an affected Southern drawl. The last thing I need is for my stupidity about something as simple as make-up to be splattered all over the tabloids. “I, um, I’m just looking for some makeup…” Well, duh. I mentally facepalm myself. Why else would I be here? I pluck one from a nearby display and hold it up with an exaggerated flourish. “Clearly, I’m a bit lost.”
“Of course!” she replies, wheeling next to me and holding out her free hand. “I’m Daphne.”
“Nice to meet you, Daphne,” I say. “I’m… Sarah.”
“Sarah” is the first name that comes to mind, and I hope it’s generic enough not to invite suspicion. Daphne’s hand is warm and steady as she shakes mine, and I can’t help but be grateful for her genuine kindness.
“Alright, Sarah,” she says, releasing my hand and gesturing toward a display of eyeshadow palettes. “Let’s find you something that suits your style.”
As we navigate the aisles, Daphne explains different products and techniques easily. After a few minutes, I no longer feel like an idiot for asking one too many questions I should definitely already know the answer to after so many years in the film industry. But rather someone just trying to take the time to learn a new trade. The longer we wander through the aisles, the more. I find myself becoming intrigued by this mysterious woman who clearly has a passion for her craft.
“Can I ask about your makeup?” I ask, admiring the delicate lines of gold and silver that frame her brown eyes. “It’s stunning.”
“Thank you,” A blush colors her cheeks and I bite back a smile of my own. She’s cute when she’s flustered. “I’m an aspiring special effects makeup artist. I love playing with different styles and trying new things.”
“Wow,” I exhale softly. “That’s really amazing.” It’s not just her skill that impresses me, but the genuine joy in her expression. Just saying the word seems to light up the room, and I can’t help craving more of it from her. As we continue our conversation, I slowly lower my sunglasses, allowing Daphne to see my green eyes.
“By the way, if you ever need any help or advice in the future, feel free to reach out to me,” She hands me a small business card with her contact information. “You seem like someone who could use a friend.”
I take the card with a grateful smile.
“I may just have to take you up on that.” I wink, and we share a laugh. My heart skips a bit, and my chest as a blush pinkens her cheeks.
“Great!” Daphne smiles warmly as she expertly navigates her wheelchair down the aisles, pointing out more products and explaining their uses. I listen intently, absorbing every word like a sponge. “Primer is important for long-lasting makeup,” she explains, handing me a small tube to examine. “And don’t forget about setting powder!”
“Good to know,” I muse, turning the tub between my fingers. “You know my makeup artist was recently fired,” I confess quietly, glancing around and relieved to find out the store is mostly empty. “It’s been really frustrating trying to find someone new who understands my style.”
Daphne’s features soften with sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that. What kind of look were you going for?”
I hesitate, dipping my head down and running my hands along my arms. “I’m… honestly not sure. I don’t know as much about makeup as I probably should.”
Her eyes light up, and she squeezes my hand. That’s OK. We can figure it out together. I actually have some ideas if you’re interested.”
“Really?” My heart flutters with anticipation. “I would love that.”
As we continue to explore the store, Daphne’s passion and creativity spark my own. I can’t help but feel drawn to her, her talent and kindness shining through with every word. The longer we talk, the more amazed I am that this woman barely knows me has already offered me more understanding and support than most people in my life.
“Thank you, Daphne,” I murmur, briefly taking her hand in mine. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“Of course.” As we stand between shelves of sparkling eyeshadows and vibrant lipsticks, I watch Daphne’s deft fingers pluck an iridescent shade from its perch. The glittering powder dusts her fingertips as she swipes it gently across my hand, creating a shimmering arc of color. “This would look amazing on you,” she says, grinning. “It’ll bring out the green in your eyes.”
“Wow, that’s beautiful,” I breathe, captivated by the way the light dances across the tiny flecks of pigment. “Do you really think I could pull it off?”
Daphne smiles bashfully and flicks her hand through the air. I’m sure you could pull anything off.” She laughs, and I can’t help but feel a flutter in my chest. The way her eyes crinkle at the corners and her lips curve into a smile… it’s all so enticing.
For the rest of the afternoon, Daphne guides me through the store, picking out different shades and colors for me to try on.
Daphne’s face lights up as we pause by a display of elaborate prosthetics. “I love special effects makeup,” she confesses as she gently fingers one of the masks. “It’s such a powerful way to transform someone and tell a story.”
“Really? Did you study it?”
Daphne nods, but her smile dims. “I did, but finding work has been difficult, especially because of my disability. Some people just can’t see past the wheelchair.”
A pulse of anger flares through me, but I stamp it down. This woman is a stranger. I remind myself. Still, I hate how judgmental people can be. “I’m sorry, Daphne. That’s so unfair.”
“Thank you.” Her brown eyes meet mine and my throat dries up. “But I won’t let it stop me. I know what I’m capable of, and someday, the right opportunity will come along.”
Her determination and resilience never cease to amaze me. Nodding I plant my hands on my hips. “I know it will.” Suddenly, an idea takes root in my mind. A bold, daring idea that could change both our lives. “Daphne,” I begin, my voice wavering with nerves. “I have a proposition for you.”
She tips her head to the side and I grin.
“Would you consider being my personal makeup artist?” The words tumble out before I can second-guess myself. “I know it’s not special effects, but I think together, we could create something amazing.”
The faint scent of lavender fills my nostrils as I watch Daphne’s eyes dart back and forth. Her fingers tap the armrest of her wheelchair, betraying her uncertainty.
“I… I don’t know, Bridget,” she hedges, looking down at her lap. “I’m so honored, but… I can’t I just started down at the warehouse and I can’t just abandon my crew.”
Oh. My heart sinks. “Of course. But if you change your mind…”
“Gracias.” Daphne smiles weakly, the gold rims of her glasses catching the store’s fluorescent lights.
“De nada,” I murmur softly, warmth blossoming in my chest.
“Now, let’s get back to finding the perfect makeup for you, shall we?”
The corners of her mouth lift into a genuine smile, and I watch as her hands deftly select products, her fingers moving with practiced ease despite the tremors that sometimes betray her. Her passion for her craft is evident in every gesture, and it only strengthens my belief that she’s the perfect person for the job.
“Thank you, Daphne, “I say as she bags up all my purchases a few minutes later.
She smiles, and my pulse speeds up again. “You’re welcome, Sarah. I’m just glad I could help.” She folds the last of my purchases into the bag and hands it over to me with a nod.
Daphne’s cheeks flame scarlet as I scrawl my number on her hand. “Here,” I say, trying not to let my embarrassment show. “If you ever change your mind, feel free to call or text any time.”
Her gaze flits between the numbers and me. Finally, she gives a small nod and murmurs her thanks. As I back away, feeling oddly proud of myself for taking such a risk, Daphne watches me go with an intensity that leaves me slightly breathless.
About the Author
Claerie Kavanaugh has spent most of her life telling stories, but she never imagined herself writing romance. In fact, she used to think it should only be reserved for Hallmark movies. It wasn't until college, when she discovered fanfiction, that she learned what romance was truly about: not just fluffy relationships and happily-ever-afters, but human connection, the desire to push one another to be better, and create hope that somewhere, somehow, everyone has someone.
When she's not writing, she loves to travel and explore new cultures, helping other authors polish their works as a freelance editor, and singing while doing so. Broadway musicals are her soul-food, something her mother and sister know well. She constantly blasts the newest soundtrack through the halls of their Missouri home, much to the chagrin of her very sassy and spoiled cat.
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Rainbow Snippets 5/21/2023
My snippet this week is from my erotic romantic thriller,
For the Long Run.
Scanning the surrounding woods, Eric searched for marks or clues in the trees standing nearby. “Yeah, I bet….” When he turned on his heels, looked up and caught sight of Jay, he let his voice trail off. Peeling off the gloves, he stood and dumped them in the trash bag sitting near the body. “I’ve seen enough. Can I get copies of all the reports and evidence?”
“Sure. I’ll send them over to the resort, now that there is someone working there who’d know what to do with them,” O’Dell said. She seemed amiable enough.
“Appreciate it.” Lengthening his stride, he climbed the few feet to the guardrail and road. He gripped Jay’s elbow and turned him around, aiming him at the car. Leaning in close to Jay, he spoke in a low enough voice no one else would hear. “Hey, hey, none of that. You might think turning green is a clever way to blend in, but it’s not.”
“Oh, pal, don’t even say it. I know that look.”
Jay probably had no real clue he was being hustled away from the body and toward Eric’s car. After stopping only long enough to unlock the door and shove Jay inside, Eric jogged to the driver’s side, got in, and started the car, pulling away as fast as possible without looking like he was making a getaway. Once around a bend in the road, he pulled to the side again. Reaching over, he curled his fingers around Jay’s neck and applied firm, steady pressure to the back of his neck.
Find a nice collection of snippets in
the Rainbow Snippets Facebook group.
For the Long Run is available through all your favorite online stores in eBook, paperback and in Kobo Plus
E.W. Doc Parris has a new sci-fi/horror book out: The Dent in the Universe. And there's a giveaway - a $50 Amazon gift card.
To resuscitate his fading celebrity, tech CEO Stephen Lucas would sell his soul for one more hit. When the subspace network for his holographic gaming empire crashes, his hardware guru makes a discovery proving that, though the mechanics may differ a bit, Einstein was right once again— information can be sent backward in time.
Lucas sees a dream product for procrastinators. Want a pizza now? Send your order back in time 30 minutes. Forgot to make reservations at that chichi french restaurant two weeks ago? No worries. Buy that PowerBall ticket. Invest in that stock. Make a FaceTime call to a loved one that passed away a month ago.
In a culture built on instant gratification, Lucas knows he has a hit that will make Wall Street sit up and beg. But when he rushes into beta testing, he learns that the stuff dreams are made of can quickly become the stuff of nightmares.
Warnings: violence, torture, body horror, branding, implied cannibalism.
Universal Buy Link | Liminal Fiction | Goodreads
Doc is giving away a $50 Amazon gift card:
Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47282/?
Stephen picked up the keyboard and typed, Watson, come here. I want to see you.
Before he hit enter, the display on his right blinked and displayed a log entry. The display directly in front of him showed the log of the interaction, a white line of text that showed what he’d typed, Watson, come here. I want to see you, and the time sent, 630231 milliseconds. The display on the right, the one that flashed before he hit enter, showed the same.
Walrus said, “Look at the timestamps. The sending input occurred at 630231 milliseconds. The receiving event happened at 629931 milliseconds.”
Stephen looked puzzled. “The clocks are off? That’s a 300…?” he checked his math, “300-millisecond difference.”
Walrus grinned. “Negative 300 milliseconds. The clocks aren’t off.”
“The time server is off?” Stephen knew that was the culprit in the outage.
Walrus shook his head. “Nope. These two chips are in perfect sync to FTL time.”
Stephen stopped and thought. The message appeared to be arriving 300 milliseconds before it was sent. “I’m not getting it,” he said.
Walrus laughed and did his little dance again. “Yes! You are! Tell me what you see.”
Stephen said slowly, “The message looks like it’s being received before it was sent, 300 milliseconds before.” Walrus grinned, and Stephen continued, “But that’s not possible. What’s causing the discrepancy? If the clocks aren’t wrong and the time server was working properly…?” He shook his head.
Walrus’s grin widened. “It’s a time machine.”
Stephen leaned back a bit from the desk. “Right.” Walrus let it sink in. “What do you mean?” He thought Walrus was speaking metaphorically.
Walrus laughed and said, “I mean, this is a time machine.”
Stephen looked at the set-up in front of him. It was a hacked sChip on a breadboard and a couple of displays strung together with cables and alligator clips. This wasn’t a time machine.
Walrus relented. “I’ve tweaked the power supply to dial in a tiny phase variance in the I/O to this sChip, like our customer did by accident. The tensor array interpreted this as an attribute, sending the signal to a point in time before it was sent. 300 milliseconds before. About a third of a second.”
Stephen recalled the chain of events. The right display refreshed a fraction of a second before he hit enter. Examining the log, what he had typed was there. Watson, come here. I want to see you.
He frowned and thought for a few seconds. “A third of a second? It’s the least impressive time machine imaginable,” he said. “This crashed the time servers?”
Walrus nodded, finished his cola, tossed its crushed container in the recycling bin, and peeled open another. “Essentially. I’ve cleaned up the effect, and I’m not messaging the time server. The timeserver would have ignored an invalid time sync transaction. It’s programmed to dump garbage bits. This wasn’t garbage, it was a perfectly normal sync transaction, but the handshake was out of order. The time server software questioned its own reality. It wobbled, tried to regain its equilibrium, and tipped into cascade failure.”
“It’s fascinating, but…” Hard-wired by the last six years to search for a new product, Stephen's mind was searching for a use for what he was seeing. “I mean, it is cool, but it’s useless—a weird trick of physics. What can we do with it?” He thought for a little more. “This is IP data?”
Walrus shrugged, “It’s a packet like any other packet.”
“So, if it’s packets, then it’s IP, then it’s anything. Form data, text, jpegs, audio, video, holo.”
Walrus nodded and grinned, “Sure. You could surf the web of 300 milliseconds ago…”
Stephen interrupted him, “Can we extend that? Could we rig these in series? Go back further?”
“We could do it more elegantly than that—How much further?”
“You tell me, what’s the theoretical limit?”
“Well, you’d need a receiver. So whatever we end up making would only go back to the first chips that go online. We make a chip today, turn it on, in a week, we could go back to that moment but not before, right? The longer we’re online, the further back we can send things.”
Stephen shook his head. “We couldn’t go back further than tonight?”
Walrus nodded. “There would be nothing to send it to. As soon as we flip the switch on our time machine, we’d be establishing a time horizon. But say we turned on a receiving device tonight. In a year, you could send a message back to tonight. That would be a year in your past. In two years, you could send a message back two years, on and on, until the end of the world.” He laughed and said, “You know that old site, The Way Back Machine? The internet archive? This would be like that but live. You could actually surf the web of the past. Leaving comments on a video from a year earlier.”
Stephen frowned dismissively and said, “What good would that do? I can leave a comment on that same video today. The entire internet is available back to the 90s.”
Walrus smiled, “But it’d be radical!” Radical was not the goal. Stephen needed a killer application, a product everyone would want. Walrus’s stomach growled loudly. “Man,” he said, “I’m starving. Wanna order a pizza? Hey man, that’s what we could do!” he said jokingly, “We could use it to order pizza a half hour ago, so it arrives…” and he snapped his fingers.
Stephen froze. His pupils widened. Instant Pizza. Instant delivery. Instant gratification.
The entire computer industry of the last forty years was built around delivering everything as quickly as possible. Meeting the desires of the customer. Right. Fucking. Now. If no one ever went broke underestimating the American people’s intelligence, as Mencken might have said, it would follow: no one ever went broke catering to their impatience.
E.W. Doc Parris is an American writer known for matter-of-fact, hard science fiction grounded in the current scientific weltanschauung, leavened with wit, and kindled by the warmth of human relationships.
Born within the nation's capital Beltway, Doc makes his home in the foothills of Virginia's Blue Ridge. A self-taught software developer and solutions architect, he's made a decent living over the years as a set designer, graphic designer, animator, 3D modeler, iOS developer, puppeteer, and educator.
In addition to his centuries-spanning WalrusTech Reality series, Doc is currently working on his next novel, Land of Nod, an exploration of A.I., nanotech, and the human brain's neural network.
Author Website: https://www.ewdocparris.com
Author Mastadon: @firstname.lastname@example.org
Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ewdocparris/
Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/ewdocparris
Book Title: I Promise You Pain (The Cordon Finn Vengeance Series, Book One)
Author: Bart Baker
Publisher: Big Muddy Books
Release Date: May 11, 2023
Genre: Dark Action
Tropes: Damaged hero, surprising sidekick, duplicitous villain
Themes: Finding One’s True Self, Fighting for Who You Are, Coming Out, Found Family
Heat Rating: 3 flames
Length: 67 345 words/203 pages
It is the first book in a series and does not end on a cliffhanger.
Amazon US | Amazon UK | B&N | Kobo
When the only course of action is revenge, only the most damaged man is capable of maximum destruction.
Hired by a Chicago billionaire to pluck his runaway son from the Palm Springs compound of a wealthy pedophile, former military extraction and information specialist, Cordon Finn, believes it will be a simple snatch and go job with a big payday. But after grabbing the kid at a Pride Week party, Cordon discovers that nothing is as it seems. His quarry isn’t underage, and isn’t the billionaire’s son, but rather his trans-daughter who goes by the name of Lucious. And her father wants Lucious dead, putting Cordon, who is dealing with his own sexual identity, in the crosshairs as well. After fighting off a cadre of assassins, Cordon vows to keep Lucious alive. But when the billionaire kidnaps Cordon’s girlfriend and comes after his family and friends, Cordon takes the fight back to the billionaire’s door. With the surprising help of Lucious, as well as his sister, Annie, Cordon battles the billionaire’s small army, until he’s face-to-face with the billionaire. And in this battle, there will be only one man left standing, the one who is capable of maximum destruction.
Arriving at his car, Cordon puts down the top and tosses his bag in before opening the door to climb in, when he hears, “We’re even,” from behind him.
Turning, he finds the young guy, smiling cheekily, standing behind him.
“Even?” Cordon asks, unsure.
“You enjoyed the show I put on for you inside, I enjoyed the show you put on for me as you sashayed across the parking lot,” the kid says.
“I don’t sashay. And I didn’t take off my shirt for you.”
The kid giggles, rolling his eyes dramatically as he says, “Liar. That’s the only reason you took off your shirt. Hoping I’d notice and come running up to you.”
“And here you are.”
The kid’s face squishes up like he’s eaten rotten lemons.
“I’m a sucker for a muscle daddy. And you certainly got size. Hopefully, in the places I can’t see.”
“How old are you?” Cordon asks, ignoring the kid’s comment.
“Now who’s the liar?”
The kid smirks mischievously, hand on hip. “Nineteen. Five-ten. Twenty-eight-inch waist. My name is Gio. Want to know my cock size?”
Cordon doesn’t answer, which causes Gio to grin mischievously.
“Come on, I saw you looking at it. Though I imagine being a giant, yours is bigger. But for my frame, mine is super-sized,” he laughs.
“This bullshit work?”
“On other guys. Talking about your dick like it’s a 78-inch flat screen.”
“Just the ones who I think are interested,” Gio laughs, then suddenly gets more direct as he adds, “or have the money to pay.”
Cordon nods, understanding more clearly Gio’s game. “Which one do you think I am?” Cordon asks.
“You’re driving a really nice car, so you got the money. But I don’t think you have to pay men to have sex with you, unless you do it for the control, or you’re married, which I wouldn’t doubt, and you hope money will keep your trick’s mouth shut. Either way, I know you’re interested. I always know.”
“You party up at Lansing’s?” Cordon asks, tiring of the conversation.
Again, Gio’s smile fades, his head turning slightly as if looking at the Cordon from a different angle might jog his memory. “Did we meet up there?” Gio asks more of himself than Cordon. “No. I’d remember. Lansing would never invite a guy like you. All his little boys would flit around you like butterflies to bougainvillea, and he doesn’t allow anyone to steal his thunder. You a cop?”
“You know if I ask, you have to tell me,” Gio inserts.
“That’s bullshit. But I’m not.”
Gio takes Cordon in silently for a moment. And even though he knows he shouldn’t say too much to the statuesque man he doesn’t know, Gio is not adept at shutting up, even when it’s in his best interest.
“Sure, I party up at Lansing’s. Never lived there, though. Those guys think Lansing’s the answer to their prayers. Please. He has a revolving bedroom door with guys going in all young, dewy-eyed, and hopeful, and coming out all used up and sad. The man’s an emotional vampire. Sucks the life out of everybody. They all think that he’s going to help make them a star, or they’ll meet some other old queen through Lansing that will. And they all end up going back home, broke, hungry, and completely jaded, or they end up selling it to pay the rent. Hell, even when you’re up there, all that’s there are other fairies just like them or some dried-up, old, coke addict trying to get his Viagra dick up your ass. Don’t know anybody Lansing’s actually helped. Ever.”
“You don’t hold back, do you?”
“Just so I know who just insulted me, what’s your name?”
“Cordon from where?”
“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you, Dorothy? Are you here for Pride Week? I mean, I don’t get that vibe from you, that you’re down here to party with the boys. But you could be one of those sad, married men who told your wife back in Chicago that you’re going on a golfing trip or a hunting trip or something equally lame. And you’re here because you really like dick but you’re Catholic or worse, Evangelical, like my parents, and your guilt is off the charts because you married some pretty blonde, church-going girl, you have two kids, but all you think about when you’re fucking her is guys like me.”
“You hungry?” Cordon asks, ignoring Gio’s smart-ass comment.
“If you’re paying and I get to pick the restaurant,” Gio quickly tacks on.
Cordon lets a half-smile slip on his lip at Gio’s young, alpha nonsense.
“Get in,” Cordon says.
About the Author
Mr. Baker has written seven novels, including WHAT REMAINS, THE VIRGIN DAIQUIRI, and THE WEDDING GIFT. The film rights to his beloved novel, HONEYMOON WITH HARRY, were purchased by New Line Cinema. The book also spawned two sequels, A SECOND HONEYMOON WITH HARRY and THE LAST HONEYMOON WITH HARRY. Bart has also written for the theater, having eight plays produced around the world. The film rights to his play, RELAY, were purchased by Warner Bros., which led him into screenwriting. Bart has had 18 produced film and TV credits, including the feature film, LIVE WIRE, starring Pierce Brosnan, the BRIDE trilogy of films for CBS, as well as projects for CBS, ABC, FX, The Family Channel, Lifetime, The USA Network, and Hallmark among others.
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Tuesday Teaser 5/16/2023
My teaser this week is from book 3 of The Vampire Guard, Endosymbiont.
“So, there are—were humans, werewolves and vampires working in this facility and likely knew what each other were. Which means this,” Lucas gave his notebook a shove, “affects us all. No one is immune.”
Juan Rojas’s voice overlaid the sound on the video. “There were thirty-seven people in this facility, not including the two Navy SEALS. As far as we can determine none of them survived, but obviously that’s unconfirmed. I don’t have an exact count of how many are members of which species, but I don’t think that matters right now.”
“Where are the SEALS and why are you so sure they’re not affected as well?” Forge asked.
They heard Rojas take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. The image changed again. “They are in this room. It’s sealed with an independent recirculation and environmental control system according to the facility specs.”
“That’s a server room,” Blair said.
“Yes, it is,” Rojas said. “We have a forensic accounting team working on the financials for the TACG and according to what they’ve been able to learn it appears there is a second facility. Evidence of the Qiguan providing some assistance, at least financially was found as well.”
“What does a werewolf terrorist group whose goal is to separate technology from werewolves have to do with something so high tech?” Ori asked.
“That’s an excellent question there is yet no answer for,” Wek said.
Endosymbiont is available in eBook and through Kindle Unlimited.
Book Title: The Yakuza Path: Prelude to Decay
Author: Amy Tasukada
Cover Artist: Natasha Snow
Release Date: Newsletter Serial - The first chapter goes out to subscribers on June 1
Genres: Thriller, gay romance, suspense
Tropes: organized crime, boss/ secretary, angst
Themes: relationships are hard, thriller, mystery, suspense
Heat Rating: 4 flames
Length: To be determined
It is a standalone story, but it is best enjoyed as part of the series
It does not end on a cliffhanger.
FREE monthly Serial of Amy's latest book.
Only newsletter subscribers will be able to read the story.
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A dead prostitute. A mysterious meeting. And a retiring cop set on righting past wrongs…
Kyoto mafia don Nao Murata is enjoying a quiet reign. Now that his boyfriend, Aki Hisona, has a clean bill of health, they can finally have some much-needed intimate time. If only a persistent detective wasn’t about to throw a wrench in those plans.
Aki’s ready to fully consummate their relationship, but Nao doesn’t appreciate his scandalous flirting in the office. Being left alone to deal with one of Nao’s top men, Aki ends up learning about a secret that puts a crack in Nao’s control.
Amidst worries about whether they’re as compatible between the sheets as they are on the streets, Nao and Aki are forced to work with the police to cement Nao’s reign. As the secret begins to unravel, they’re pulled deeper into a treacherous game of cat and mouse.
Now it’s no longer just their love life they have to fight for…
Prelude to Decay is the seventh book of The Yakuza Path thriller series. If you enjoy gripping suspense, authentic Japanese traditions, and a healthy dose of gay drama, then you’ll devour Amy Tasukada’s latest instalment.
About the Author
International best-selling author Amy Tasukada writes thrilling times of crime, love, and gore. Readers who crave diverse characters, unique settings, and edge-of-your-seat action will devour her Yakuza Path series. Readers who seek less blood and more love will swoon over the Yakuza Path Romance and Would it Be Okay to Love You? Series. Amy is an atheist, queer author who enjoys drinking tea, Japanese street fashion and visual kei music. Her calico cat, O’Hara, is never far from her side. Amy lives in North Texas, but is always planning her next trip to Japan.
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Rainbow Snippets 5/14/2023
My snippet this week is from Quarry, book 2 of The Vampire Guard.
“How the hell did you even survive that fall?” The man’s eyes narrowed, and he raised the gun, taking aim at Blair’s head. “Tell me where the other guy is and I’ll make it fast.” He moved a few feet to the side and glared at Blair. “What were you two chasing me for? And why were you in the other building?”
“Why were you in the…?” Blair cringed and his voice cracked and broke. He heard Declan moving into position behind the man. “He left me. The b-bastard. W-we were there to…” Blair sucked in a succession of breaths, tilted to the side as much as possible, and groaned out one long sigh, then slumped down.
The man’s heartbeat ramped higher audibly. “Hey, no. Tell me what you—” He garbled some odd noise, his words abruptly cut off.
Blair opened his eyes and turned his head to watch. One minute no one stood behind the man, and the next Declan was there with an arm around the guy’s chest, holding him in place. His other hand gripped the man’s chin.
“Drop it,” Declan snarled. The man struggled, and Declan gave him a small jerk. “I was sixteen the first time I killed a man with my bare hands. You’re responsible for my young friend here being hurt. Drop. It.”
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Quarry is available is eBook, paperback and through Kindle Unlimited.
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.
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A.K. is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour:
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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.”
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/
Book Title: Separate Development
Author and Publisher: David Blyth
Release Date: May 1, 2023
Genre: Contemporary LGBT Fiction/Literary Fiction
Tropes: An Intercontinental Love Story
Themes: LGBT, Bisexual, Interracial, South African, Apartheid, Medical (Doctor)
Heat Rating: 2-3 flames
Length: 120 000 words/420 pages
It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.
Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited
An intercontinental love story
Separate Development is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Many names, places and timelines have been altered to provide anonymity to third parties. Character names do not reflect anyone, living or deceased, whom I have ever known. However, I would like to thank the real-life members of the family portrayed in this book for being part of my life, and for their understanding and acceptance. I recognise that their memories of the events described in the novel may be different from my own. There was never any intention to misrepresent anyone; in fact, I am honoured to have known them.
At twenty-five, recently qualified Dr Jonathan Conner leaves his comfortable life and love in London, taking up a charitable post during the last months of South Africa's apartheid system. Weeks from a planned visit by his long-standing girlfriend, he falls in love with a young African man in the northern homeland of Venda.
Their passionate, heart-rending love story unfolds against the backdrop of conflict between social tolerances that lag behind political freedoms.
Through this story of love's endurance beyond society's acceptance and geographical separation, can the enduring power of the human heart overcome adversity?
The stark beauty of Venda’s voluptuous landscape could have replaced many an artist’s requirement for naked models of either sex. Rounded hills, writhing between cleaved valleys, yearned for lustful hands to caress their contours in pleasurable embraces. Admittedly, on that solemn day, it was not a mental image to dwell on. But I was to make the journey more than once.
The last twenty miles were dirt, dust dry, following the undulating curvature of parched hillsides. Rain was a distant memory, the last breath of summer’s bounty, yet portions of verdant green interspersed the struggling rampant growth of a forgotten season. Soon the skies would fill again with heat born clouds, storage towers of sustenance, destined to release daily torrents. Today, the brightest greens picked out pockets of humanity, cultivated patches and plots, tall stands of maize, fringed with bananas and peppered with papayas. Water was available for those who worked hard enough to find it, and the rich African soil rewarded those who took the trouble. These oases were increasing in frequency, many still surrounded by round, thatched, mud-wall huts or rondavels, some supplemented by larger rectangular versions, roofs still often traditional but occasionally replaced by bright or rusty zinc. Tracks worn by years of footfall fed the settlements. Vehicular access was rare, but where it existed, the residences built of brick, though often rendered: similar modern bungalows to mine.
As the frequency of dwellings increased, so did the appearance of structures clearly having other functions. Eventually we reached a broad flat plane. Gone were the patches of green, and in their place, the straggling thorn bushes — which conquered any area where humanity didn’t — had grown to tall spreading trees; all were bare of leaf, yet in the seasons of rain, broad panoplies of shade would provide protection from Capricorn’s sun. The space, ringed with buildings of a relatively modern construction, had occasional notices of printed or hand painted letters attached. Enclosing one side of the quadrangle stood a long dormitory style block of rough plastered walls, patched and peeling paint representing the faded choices of many years, or perhaps revealing the use of colours kindly donated at the time. Windows, placed only a few inches below the rusty corrugated overhang of the roof, in some sections without frame or glass, allowed light yet probably deterred its occupants from external distraction. Three well-worn steps led to broad double doors, also reflecting the indecision or availability of bygone supplies of colour. Only the signage appeared to have received regular maintenance. Bold black lettering, written with skilled hands on a fresh blue base, told me Sarah’s directions had led me to park in front of Ha-nthabalala Secondary School, Established 1972. Headmaster: Mr Joseph Ramanala. The name had a slightly deeper blue background, suggesting it represented the most recent promotion to the post.
About the Author
David Blyth was born in Staffordshire, in the UK. He graduated from Nottingham and Wolverhampton Universities with a BSC.hon and a PGCE. He lived for many years in South Africa, where he witnessed the political and social transformation during and after apartheid.
His interests, apart from writing, include anything that helps him to stay relatively sane.
Separate Development, which is in fact, his second novel, was written at his home in the English Midlands. It is due to be published in the spring of 2023.
His first novel, The Scars of Life, was written during a two-year overland exploration of southern, central and east Africa. Much was achieved sitting under the shade of a huge mango tree on the shores of Lake Malawi, always with a beer near at hand. It will be published during the summer of 2023.
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