Harvest Moon by Lisa Kessler #Giveaway @LdyDisney

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3D Harvest MoonHarvest Moon

The Moon Series

Book Four

Lisa Kessler

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Entangled Select Otherworld


blurbDr. Jason Ayers unleashes all of his rage and his frustration through fists and brute force in an underground boxing ring. The werewolf may be the pack’s doctor, but he can’t even heal his coma-stricken father after the Nero Organization’s attack stopped his heart. And as his Pack brothers settle down around him, he still refuses to believe in the fairy tale notion that every wolf has a true mate…

In hiding and on the run, nurse Kilani Akamu is a loose end that Nero is desperate to tie up. She can’t afford to be attracted to a doctor—especially one as unexpectedly hot and complex as Jason. Yet the sexual sparks arcing between them are undeniable…and Kilani’s precognitive senses warn her that temptation is inevitable.

All it takes is one touch to send Jason’s wolf howling. But even if he could protect her from Nero, he can’t protect her from himself…

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If you love suspenseful/mystery shifter stories, don’t hesitate to hit the “buy” button on the Moon Series! – Snarky Mom Reviews

Dark. Sexy. Emotional. Take a wild, suspenseful journey with the Moon Series!

Kelly Smith Reviews

Swoon worthy werewolves fighting to protect their pack from an evil organization bent on destroying them. With true love and steamy sex scenes, what more could you ask for? The next Moon Series book to come out of course! – RPriestEllgyCo

I love every book I have read by this author; the Moon Series is no different. An exciting run with shifters, science, and sexy sizzle. – Cosmic Palate Reviews

The MOON Series:

Book 1 – Moonlight (Lana & Adam)

Book 2 – Hunter’s Moon (Aren & Sasha)

Book 3 – Blood Moon (Gareth & Nadya)

Book 4 – Harvest Moon (Jason & Kilani)

Book 5 – Ice Moon (in Nov. 2015)

Author’s Note –

While all of the books can be read as standalone novels, you may enjoy reading the rest of the series as well.


Lisa Kessler is an Amazon Best Selling author of dark paranormal fiction. She’s a two-time San Diego Book Award Image4winner for Best Published Fantasy-Sci-fi-Horror and Best Published Romance, as well as the Romance Through the Ages Award for Best Paranormal and Best First Book. She currently writes the Night Series and the Moon Series for Entangled Publishing.

Her short stories have been published in print anthologies and magazines, and her vampire story, Immortal Beloved, was a finalist for a Bram Stoker award.

When she’s not writing, Lisa is a professional vocalist, and has performed with San Diego Opera as well as other musical theater companies in San Diego.

You can learn more at http://Lisa-Kessler.com

Stay up-to-date on new releases and giveaways by subscribing to Lisa’s newsletter here: http://goo.gl/Rxg5fR







$25 Amazon gift card (International)

1 signed paperback of Night Walker (USA Only)

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Sexual Sorcery by C M Fontana @mystic_erotica #erotic #mystery

Sexual Sorcery: An Erotic Tale of Sex, Mystery and the Occult, in Victorian England by C M Fontana

sexual-sorcery-cover-600wideblurbAn unwitting academic stumbles into the erotically-charged occult underworld of Victorian London. With a cast of characters including an investigator with a talent for seduction, a mesmerist collecting a harem of beautiful ladies, and a woman who believes she has had sex with Satan, Sexual Sorcery is a sizzling story of decadence, conspiracy and carnality.

When a collection of books go missing from the University’s collection, Fredrick Clifford travels to London in search of the likely culprit, an apparently respectable gentleman named Victor Braystone. But he soon finds that he is not the only one with an interest in Mr Braystone, and the manipulative Catherine Wolseley soon draws him into her own schemes.

As he, Miss Wolseley and their seductive accomplice begin to unravel Mr Braystone’s plots, Fredrick Clifford finds himself both confused and entrapped in a shocking world of of sex and duplicity. And as the trail leads him from the seductions of a London club to a Satanic altar in the wilds of the Welsh borders, he struggles to make sense of both the dark uncertainties of the occult, and of an unfamiliar realm of debauchery and sex.

Buy Links:

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1VaaXZC

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1OunW9F

bioC M Fontana is a British erotic author, fusing plots of mystery, intrigue, and the supernatural with racy erotica. The first full-length novels, Sexual Sorcery, was published for Kindle in September 2015, with two novellas continuing the series released soon after.

Author Website: http://mysticerotica.com/

Author Twitter: @mystic_erotica

excerptBy Saturday morning, Fredrick had still not had time to visit the agency to advertise for a new domestic servant, and he was becoming heartily sick of bread and marmalade for breakfast – or, indeed, for any other meal that he could not reasonably eat out. It was also an irritation that he had to answer his own front door, and now he found himself greeted at his front step by a small grubby boy, in bare feet and ragged trousers, presenting him with a sealed envelope.

He took the letter, tipped the boy a coin, and closed the door.

The paper was expensive, that handwriting feminine. Inside, a note simply read:

Two o’clock. My carriage will collect you. We cannot have gaps in your education as a gentleman. Please be an attentive student. Such classes are not inexpensive.

And that was all. He assumed that it was from Miss Wolseley, and resigned himself to having to follow her cryptic instructions. In the meantime, he thought, he would finish his newspaper, and then visit the agency to and see if they could alleviate his domestic difficulties.

And so, soon after lunchtime, after a satisfactory visit to the agency he found on returning to his house a familiar carriage parked outside.

“My good man, am I late?”

“Not at all Sir,” the gruff coachman tipped his hat. “I’m early. Take your time, Sir. We aren’t due til ‘alf past.”

Fredrick re-emerged promptly at two o’clock, and climbed into the carriage, and sat back while it bounced and swerved through the city’s congested streets. Out of the window he saw gentrified houses, and, as the traffic moved slowly on the main roads, although the journey was barely two miles, it took over twenty minutes. He was relieved to find that they stopped in a fashionable West End street.

He stepped down from the carriage, and the coachman indicated the door across the road.

He crossed the street and rapped with the brass door knocker.

Promptly, the door was opened, and a short, grey haired maid opened the door.

“Fredrick Clifford,” he introduced himself. “I may be expected?”

“Of course,” the maid curtseyed, with a hint of an accent, perhaps Italian or French, and stepped back to let him in.

She took his coat, hat and cane, and then led him up the stairs, and into a well furnished sitting room. Tall windows let light flood into the room through lace curtains, the room was decked with a range of plushly upholstered chairs and settees, the largest of which, unusually, seemed to be the size of a single bed, but with ornate arms and a high back.

The maid motioned him to take a seat in a plush chair by the window. She assured him, “I will say that you have arrived,” and then withdrew.

As he waited, he looked around. The décor was, the more he considered the details, eccentric.

Not only were the chairs unusually deeply upholstered, and the main sofa far wider than was needed, but there were numerous sturdy hooks, which looked like they might have hung chandeliers before gas lighting was installed, both in the ceiling and also, inexplicably in the skirting board at the foot of the wall. There was also a faint but spicy scent in the air, which he suspected might be incense – an unusual scent to encounter outside of a High or Catholic church.

The door opened, and he turned to see a tall, graceful woman step into the room. She wore a red silk robe like a dressing gown, and around her neck an ornate necklace of black beads. Her brown hair hung loosely in flowing curls, cascading over her shoulders, and Fredrick’s eyes were drawn further down, to the sides of her firm breasts, indecently visible where the two sides of the robe met.

“I’m so sorry!” he instinctively stood up and turned his back on her, to stare fixedly out of the window.

“And why, Mr Clifford, are you sorry?” The voice was soft, the accent unmistakably continental.

“I am… that is to say…” He could barely hear her approach, her bare feet on the carpet. “Perhaps I should return when you are properly dressed.”

Her voice, now just over his shoulder, chided, “Mr Clifford, I was told that you were a gentleman.”

“Well, yes!” he replied, indignantly.

“And is it polite, when a lady enters a room, turn your back on her, and then proceed to criticise her choice of clothing.”

“Well, I… there is a question of what is appropriate!”

“Your lessons today,” she corrected him, “are to deal instead with the question of what is courteous – gentlemanly. You may be quite right about what is appropriate. But this afternoon, that is not our subject.”

To Frederick, what was gentlemanly and what was appropriate seemed intimately connected. But Miss Wolseley had, presumably, some purpose in sending him here.

“I apologise,” he conceded, turning to face her. It would be a shame to argue with such an attractive hostess.

She smiled and inclined her head. “Then shall we start again?”

Fredrick nodded.

The woman turned and walked softly back to the door. He watched her robe sway against her legs, and was impressed by her grace. She left the room, and shut the door after herself. Fredrick sat down again, and waited.

After a minute, the door opened again, and the woman returned.

Fredrick stood up, and stepped forwards to greet her. “Fredrick Clifford, Madam. At your service.”

She held out her hand, palm down, and he took it gently, and bowed slightly as he motioned to kiss it. He could not help, bending forward, but appreciate the gentle curve of her breasts, barely draped in thin red silk.

“Signorina Maria Cenci,” she replied with a hint of a curtsey. “Charmed to meet you, Sir.”

She motioned him across to the wide sofa, strewn with cushions, and when he sat she took a seat next to him. Her robe fell open at the knee, revealing her slender, pale calf, and Fredrick made an effort not to look too intently.

The door opened again, and the elderly maid entered, carrying a tray, which she set down on the table by the settee.

“Milk and sugar, Mr Clifford?” Signorina Cenci asked.

“Please, yes.”

“Tell me Mr Clifford, she asked, as she poured the tea and the maid withdrew, “how should a gentleman behave towards a lady?”

Fredrick considered for a moment, and then, taking the cup and saucer offered to him, replied: “A gentleman should always be respectful.”

“And why is that important?” she asked. And when Fredrick had no ready answer, she clarified, “Why should a gentleman be respectful to a lady, and not, perhaps, to a tree or stone?”

“Obviously, trees and stones don’t have feelings!”

“So when you say respectful, you mean that you should be aware of the lady’s feelings?”

“Quite so,” Fredrick said, taking another sip of tea and then setting the cup aside. “The male is the stronger sex. It is our duty to protect, both physically and mentally, the frailer gender. It shows us to be civilized human beings, and not savages.”

“And so,” Signorina Cenci asked, “you see that, if a man turns his back on a woman as she enters the room, she might be upset. In which case, the gentlemanly response is to greet her courteously, perhaps?”

“I see your point, Madam,” Fredrick acknowledged, not wanting to argue.

“But is it also gentlemanly,” she teased, “as you bend down to kiss her hand, to stare so intently at her breasts?”

Fredrick blushed, “I am so sorry, Madam, I didn’t intend to.”

She laughed, and stood. “Then shall we try again?”

“Of course, if you wish.”

She left her tea cup on the table, walked to the door, turned, paused, and then returned towards the sofa.

Fredrick stood, stepped forward, and took her hand when she offered it. This time, as he bent and motioned to kiss her hand, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

Again Signorina Cenci laughed.

“Mr Clifford,” she smiled, placing her hand on his arm. “Do you really think that if a lady deliberately appears dressed like this – ” she raised her other hand to her neck and let her index finger slowly trace a line along the hem of the robe, down her chest, over the mound of her breast ” – that she does not want to be admired?”

“Really, Madam, I protest,” Fredrick sighed, “You say that I should not stare, and now you say that I should stare. What am I to do?”

“Mr Clifford, you are to be a gentleman. You are to behave with consideration for the lady’s feelings.” Seeing that he was still confused, she continued. “If you stare dumbly at my chest – ” she turned slightly, so that he could fully appreciate the silhouette of her breasts – “I might consider the stare to be aggressive, or I might worry that you are no longer capable of rational thought. You are still capable of thought, Sir?”

He raised his eyes from the curve of her robe, to look her in the eye again. “Yes, of course.”

“But if you ignore me entirely, I might think that I have failed to impress you, or that you consider me ugly. You do not consider me ugly, do you?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Then, Mr Clifford, please, stop trying to guess what the rules are. There is but one rule to being a gentleman. Consideration for the feelings of the other person. And so, consider my feelings, and act accordingly.”

“Very well,” Fredrick acquiesced.

“Then shall we try once more?”

She walked back to the door, and again turned to face him. She paused for a moment. “Are you ready, Sir?”

Fredrick nodded.

She ran her finger down the front of her robe, and deliberately opened the gap at her chest a little further, so that the sides of both breasts were quite bare. “Are you certain?”

Fredrick paused for just a second and then answered confidently: “Yes, Madam.”

Signora Cenci walked across the room, her hips swaying, and held out her hand, palm down.

Fredrick took her hand. As he bowed and raised it towards his mouth, he let his eyes glance over her soft flesh, and at the lowest point of his bow he glanced up to look her in the eye. Then he looked back towards her hand as he stood, and looked her in the eye again, keeping a lingering hold of her hand before releasing her.

“Mr Clifford!” she smiled, “Have you not been taught that it is too forward, even impertinent, to look a lady in the eye as you kiss her hand?”

“Signora Cenci,” he countered, “From the way that you adjusted your gown, I understood that you wanted me to be forward, even impertinent.”

“Bravo!” she clapped her hands three times and smiled. “Please sit, and explain to me your strategy.”

As they both sat down, he on her right, she on his left, he explained. “I trust that you wanted,” he glanced again at the curve of her breast, “to be appreciated, but with discretion. And I gathered that you would not mind a little impertinence. When I first looked up at your eyes, you could have looked away, but you did not. And so I inferred that a little more impertinence might be in order before I released your hand.”

“Perfect, Mr Clifford! You considered my feelings, and acted accordingly. One might almost say, appropriately?”

Fredrick smiled, “Yes, I think that you have proved that point.”

“Which is exactly why you are here,” she explained. She put her right hand behind her on the settee and turned her body towards him. “I am told that you are an intelligent, educated gentleman. But you have been taught to be a gentleman by following a set of rules. And now you find yourself in situations where the rules do not seem to work. Situations for which no rules have been written. Is this so?”

Fredrick nodded, “Increasing so, it seems.”

“And you are particularly unsure how to deal, in certain, unusual situations, with ladies?”

“I understand how to make polite conversation,” he admitted, “but there there are things, I find, that I do not really understand.”

“And that is why you have been sent to me,” Signora Cenci smiled. “Because if you are to be a gentleman in these situations, you will be more confident, yes?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“And to be a gentleman you need only two things. You need to act with consideration or the other person. And you need to understand what the other person wants. You see?”

“Theoretically, I suppose.”

“At this moment, yes, quite theoretically. Because you do not know enough about what a woman wants, and so you cannot treat her…. appropriately. So we shall give you a basic understanding.”

She looked at him, saying nothing more.

He felt that he was expected to react in some way, but had no idea how.

“Mr Clifford,” she flicked her long hair over her shoulder, and then lowered her hand to her knee, where she parted her robe a little. “You are alone with a woman who has chosen to greet you in a quite indecorous outfit – so indecorous, that she has not even troubled to put on underwear, but instead has nothing between you and her but a single layer of very soft, very thin silk. And now she has sat mere inches from you, turned her body towards you, and is now waiting for you. Can you not imagine a gentlemanly reaction?”

He sat, confused, uncertain.

“To make this simple,” Signora Cenci coaxed, “you have two options. If you are not sure what I want, then you can construct some witty, sensitive line of conversation to draw me into disclosing my desires. Or you can take action, in such a way that my response will tell you more of what I want…. Do you feel able to engage in witty conversations at this moment?”

He shook his head, mutely.

“Then Mr Clifford, take action!”



Riptide’s 4th Anniversary Celebration with @lc_chase @RiptideBooks


Thank you for joining Riptide on our 4th Anniversary blog tour! We are excited to bring you new guest posts from our authors and a behind the scenes insights from Riptide. The full tour schedule can be found at http://riptidepublishing.com/events/tours/riptides-4th-anniversary-celebration. Don’t miss the limited time discounts and Free Books for a Year giveaway at the end of this post!

Please welcome L.C. Chase to the tour.

They’re All My Faves

by L.C. Chase

One the hardest and most common questions I get as a cover artist is, “What is your favorite cover?” It’s an impossible question to answer, at least for me. Every cover I’ve done is my favorite for one reason or another. It could be one that came together seamlessly, or one where I’d applied a new photoshop plug-in, action script, or filter recently discovered; one that fought me every step of the way but turned out brilliantly in the end, or one where the author and I bounced concepts back and forth to come up with something unique and eye catching. Sometimes it’s simply the overall tone and emotion a cover invokes, after all the pieces are in place. Ultimately, I think what makes a cover my favorite is the author’s response. Nothing makes me happier than a happy author. 

Since this is a post about cover art, I’d be remiss not to include a cover or two. In absolutely no particular order of preference, and only a small sample of my multitude of favorites, each of these covers includes an element I love . . .

Playing the Fool (series) – The covers for this series were designed at the same time, which I think helps a great deal when going for a cohesive look. The authors were looking for something conceptual and stylistic that would carry across the series, and I thought red would be a nice bold color to catch the eye. To avoid a solid red background, I added a textured filter, and then used a photoshop brush to splash a subtle. I love the boldness and consistency of these covers, along with the hint of humor in the font.

LC Chase Cover Art Playing the Fool


A Fortunate Blizzard – I admit to some bias on this one, being it’s for my upcoming holiday romance novel. This is one where the overall tone speaks to me. I wanted a cover that clearly said heartfelt romance, and needed an image that was sweet, loving, touching. The photo of the couple came from one of photographer Jenn LeBlanc’s photo shoots, and was actually part of her historical collection. A little fading, and little composition shifting, and voila, contemporary! I added several overlays with snowflakes, blizzard filters, and abstract bokehs, to achieve a somewhat dreamlike quality. At least that was my intention, and what makes me happy, so here’s hoping.

LC Chase Cover Art Fortunate Blizzard


Rock N Soul – This was one of those covers where a single image jumped at me and yelled, “I’m it!” I had to use this image, so I was really happy the author was on board too. The challenge was how to depict a ghost, who is a main character in the story, without simply superimposing him subtly in the background. I made a layer with a large watercolor brush stroke in black, masked it, then copied the original image layer, and pasted it inside the brush stroke. At that point the rock star was only visible within that area. On a new layer behind I placed the full image of the rock star, screened back the transparency, added filters, and also added effects to the edges of the brush mark portion. My goal was for the rock star to appear partially corporeal and partially spectral.

LC Chase Cover Art Rock N Soul


Panopolis (series) – These covers were a lot of fun to put together. Partly because the main characters are supervillians and the blurbs sounded intriguing, and partly because I got to venture into graphic novel (ish) territory. I’d also just learned a high contrast / grunge effects technique that adds a bit more grittiness, and felt these were the perfect genre to use it on. The titles also needed to convey the genre, so I spent some time searching Marvel comics, graphic novels, superhero movies, etc., to get a good feel for the general style. Since both books were plays on fire, I added a bit of the burning embers to the text. Again, I was really happy how the covers turned out.

LC Chase Cover Art Panopolis


About L.C.

Cover artist by day, author by night, L.C. Chase is a hopeless romantic, free spirit, and adventure seeker who loves hitting the open road just to see where it takes her. After a decade of traveling three continents, she now calls the Canadian west coast home. When not writing sensual tales of beautiful men falling in love, she can be found designing book covers with said beautiful men, drawing, horseback riding, or hiking the trails with her goofy four-legged roommate.

L.C. is a two-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Pickup Men and Pulling Leather; an EPIC eBook Awards winner for Pickup Men; an EPIC eBook Awards finalist for Let It Ride and Long Tall Drink; Bisexual Book Awards finalist for Let It Ride; and an Ariana eBook Cover Art Awards finalist. She also won an honorable mention in the 2012 Rainbow Awards for Riding with Heaven.

Connect with L.C.:


Anniversary Sale

Many great collections are being sold in a special discounted bundle by Riptide this week only. Check out the sale on this series and other bundles at http://www.riptidepublishing.com/anniversary-sale


To celebrate our anniversary, Riptide Publishing is giving away free books for a year! Your first comment at each blog stop on the Anniversary Tour will count as an entry and give you a chance to win this great prize. Giveaway ends at midnight, October 31, 2015, and is not restricted to US entries.

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Highland Secrets and To Love A Highland Dragon (Dragon Lore) by @AnnGimpel

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Image1Highland Secrets

A Dragon Lore Prequel

Ann Gimpel

Dream Shadow Press

60K words

Release Date: 9/08/15

Genre: Paranormal romance

Tumble off reality’s edge into myth, magic, and Scottish dragon shifters

blurbFurious and weary, Angus Shea wants out, but no matter how he feels, he can’t stop the magic powering his visions. The Celts kidnapped him when he wasn’t much more than a boy and forced him to do their bidding. He’s sick of them and their endless assignments, but they wiped his memories, and he has no idea where he came from.

Dragon shifters are disappearing from the Scottish Highlands, and the Celtic Council sends Angus to investigate. He meets up with Arianrhod, legendary virgin huntress from Celtic myth, in Fire Mountain, the dragons’ home world.

Arianrhod prefers to work alone, mostly because she harbors a dirty little secret and guards her privacy for the best of reasons. She’s not exactly a virgin, and she’d be laughed out of the Pantheon if the truth surfaced. Despite the complications of leading a double life, she’s never found a lover who tempted her to walk away from her fellow Celtic gods.

Attraction ignites, hot and so urgent Arianrhod’s carefully balanced life teeters on the brink of discovery. Angus is everything she’s ever wanted, but he’s far too close to her Celtic kin to keep her secret safe. Angus wants her too, but she’s a Celt. He’s hated them forever, and she’s part of everything he’s lain awake nights plotting to escape from.

Can they risk everything?

Will they?

If they do, can they live with the consequences?

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excerpt…Excitement thrummed through her, and she considered how to proceed once she arrived at Fire Mountain. Mayhap she could pretend she was interested in pairing with a dragon. She narrowed her eyes and chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. Should she join with Angus and the dragon, Eletea? Or pretend she knew nothing about them. If she chose to masquerade as a wannabe dragon shifter, would the Ancient Ones believe her?

“Why would they?” she muttered. “I haven’t shown the slightest interest in anything dragon-related since the dawn of time.” Perhaps she could tell them she was bored, that her life lacked meaning, purpose. All true. Immortality held a big downside, particularly since somewhere along the line, she’d fashioned herself as the virgin huntress.

Arianrhod rolled her mental eyes. Why the hell had she thought that was a good idea when Danu suggested it? At the time, she’d hoped to escape Bran’s attentions, but she hadn’t planned on a millennia tossing and turning in an empty bed. The god of prophecy—Bran—was as big a pain in the ass as he’d always been, but at least he had a cock…

She winced. It had taken stealth and cunning to maintain her artfully crafted persona and still have a sex life. Nothing frequent enough to draw attention, but she’d lain with an amazing coal black dragon. He’d worried his kin would shun him if their affair were discovered, but it hadn’t made a dent in his hunger for her.

Nothing quite like the forbidden to fan those flames…

Truth smacked her between the eyes. Loneliness and lust were why she’d volunteered so readily to make the trek to Fire Mountain. And why she’d sidestepped Gwydion. The last thing she needed was a witness if she stumbled onto Keene—or another likely candidate. Dragons lived forever. Perhaps Keene might be interested in another fling—for old time’s sake if nothing else.

Usually she stopped herself from thinking about her past and what she wished she’d done differently, but she couldn’t shut off her thoughts. If she’d had children, real children, it would’ve made such a difference.

The two sons she’d conceived magically were odd. But how could they have been aught else? She’d been forced to jump over a magical rod to prove she was a virgin, and twin sons were the result. Dylan sank into obscurity, retreating to the seas when the strain of day-to-day life without enough power to light a candle became too much to bear. Lleu would’ve left as well, but Gwydion subverted every single one of Lleu’s escape plans as he grew to manhood. Lleu blamed her for Gwydion’s meddling, and she hadn’t laid eyes on him for a very long time. She suspected Gwydion hadn’t, either.

Her empty life mocked her, but she was damned if she could figure out what to do to change it. It wasn’t as if she could march up to Ceridwen and the others, clear her throat, and say, “Sorry, but I’m sick of being a Celtic god. Think I’ll be a mortal for a while. And hey, if that doesn’t please you, I’ll take to my owl form and be done with the lot of you.”

“Oberon’s balls!” She crashed one fist into an open hand, taking care not to jostle the traveling portal. “I have to pull my head out of my ass. Ceridwen handed me a fascinating problem. I need to focus on it. No dragon fucking. No diversions. Go in. Put my head down. Get the job done.”

Nice lecture, but can I do it?

Arianrhod stroked the shiny bow draped over her shoulder. It was a work of art. She’d made it herself from yew wood, not cutting any corners, so it took months for the wood to shape and cure. She twisted her mouth into a wry smile. The huntress part of her title was fine. It fit, and she enjoyed the cunning, planning, and forethought it took to outsmart prey. If she was sick of the pretend-to-be-a-virgin part, who could blame her?

The rhythm of her traveling tube shifted. Arianrhod glanced at a node to check her location and understood her journey would be over soon. She rotated her shoulders to relax and ready herself, thought about her virgin huntress title once more, and laughed.

“The virgin part may grate, but I adore being a huntress. Fifty percent isn’t bad,” she told the gray-pink walls as they shuddered to a stop. “Most people don’t even get that.”…


To Love A Highland DragonImage2

Dragon Lore

Book One

Ann Gimpel

Dream Shadow Press

75K words

Release Date: 9/22/15

Genre: Paranormal romance

Tumble off reality’s edge into myth, magic, and Scottish dragon shifters

blurbA dragon shifter stirs and wakens in a cave beneath Inverness, deep in the Scottish Highlands. The cave’s the same and his hoard intact, yet something’s badly amiss. Determined to set whatever’s gone wrong to rights, Lachlan Moncrieffe ventures above ground—and wishes he hadn’t. His castle’s gone, replaced by ungainly row houses. Men aren’t wearing plaids, and women scarcely wear anything at all, particularly the woman who accosts him with unseemly banter. What manner of wench is she to dress so provocatively?

In Inverness for a year on a psychiatry fellowship, Dr. Maggie Hibbins watches an oddly dressed man pick his way out of a heather and gorse thicket. Even though it runs counter to her better judgment, she teases him about his strange attire. He looks so lost—and so unbelievably, knock-out gorgeous —she takes a chance and stands him a meal. Lachlan’s shock when he picks up a local newspaper at a pub is so palpable, Maggie jumps in with both feet.

She knew something was off, but the hard-to-accept truth bashes gaping holes in her equilibrium. He looks odd, sounds odd, acts odd because he’s a refugee from another era. Her half-baked seduction scheme takes a hike, but her carefully constructed life is still about to change forever. Born of powerful witches, Maggie runs headlong into the myth and magic that are her birthright.

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excerpt… He detached the last thorn, finally clear of the thicket of sticker bushes. Where could he find a market with vendors? Did market day still exist in this strange environment?

“Holy crap! A kilt, and an old-fashioned one at that. Tad bit early in the day for a costume ball, isn’t it?” A rich female voice laced with amusement sounded behind him.

Lachlan spun, hands raised to call magic. He stopped dead once his gaze settled on a lass nearly as tall as himself, which meant she was close to six feet. She turned so she faced him squarely. Bare legs emerged from torn fabric that stopped just south of her female parts. Full breasts strained against scraps of material attached to strings tied around her neck and back. Her feet were encased in a few straps of leather. Long, blonde hair eddied around her, the color of sheaves of summer wheat.

His cock jumped to attention. He itched to make a grab for her breasts or her ass. She had an amazing ass: round and high and tight. What was expected of him? The lass was dressed in such a way as to invite him to simply tear what passed for breeks aside and enter her. Had times changed so drastically that women provoked men into public sex? He glanced about, half expecting to see couples having it off with one another willy-nilly.

“Well,” she urged. “Cat got your tongue?” She placed her hands on her hips. The motion stretched the tiny bits of flowered fabric that barely covered her nipples still further.

Lachlan bowed formally. He straightened and waited for her to hold out a hand for him to kiss. “I’m Lachlan Moncrieffe, my lady. ’Tis a pleasure to—”

She erupted into laughter—and didn’t hold out her hand. “I’m Maggie,” she managed between gouts of mirth. “What are you? A throwback to medieval times? You can drop the Sir Galahad routine.”

Lachlan felt his face heat. “I fear I doona understand the cause of your merriment…my lady.”

Maggie rolled midnight blue eyes. “Oh, brother. Did you escape from a mental hospital? Nah, you’d be in pajamas then, not those fancy duds.” She dropped her hands to her sides and started to walk past him.

“No. Wait. Please, wait.” Lachlan cringed at the whining tone in his voice. The dragon was correct that the Moncrieffe was a proud house. They bowed to no one.

She eyed him askance. “What?”

“I’m a stranger in this town.” He winced at the lie. Once upon a time, he’d been master of these lands. Apparently that time had long since passed. “I’m footsore and hungry. Where might I find victuals and ale?”

Her eyes widened. Finely arched blonde brows drew together over a straight nose dotted by a few freckles. “Victuals and ale,” she repeated disbelievingly.

“Aye. Food and drink, in the common vernacular.”

“Oh, I understood you well enough,” Maggie murmured. “Your words, anyway. Your accent’s a bit off.” His stomach growled again, embarrassingly loud. “Guess you weren’t kidding about being hungry.” She eyed him appraisingly. “Do you have any money?”

Money. Too late he thought of the piles of gold coins and priceless gems lying on the floor of Kheladin’s cave. In the world he’d left, his word was as good as his gold. He opened his mouth, but she waved him to silence. “I’ll stand you for a pint and some fish and chips. You can treat me next time.”

He heard her mutter, “Yeah right,” under her breath as she curled a hand around his arm and tugged. “Come on. I have a couple hours, and then I’ve got to go to work. I’m due in at three today.”

Lachlan trotted along next to her. She let go of him like he was a viper when he tried to close a hand over the one she’d laid so casually on his person. He cleared his throat and wondered what he could safely ask that wouldn’t give his secrets away. He could scarcely believe this alien landscape was Scotland, but if he asked what country they were in, or what year it was, she’d think him mad.

Had the black wyvern had used some diabolical dark magic to transport Kheladin’s cave to another locale? Probably not. Even Rhukon wasn’t that powerful.

“In here.” She pointed to a door beneath a flashing sigil.

He gawked at it. One minute it was red, the next blue, the next green, illuminating the word Open. What manner of magic was this?

“Don’t tell me you have temporal lobe epilepsy.” She stared at him. “It’s only a neon sign. It doesn’t bite. Move through the door. There’s food on the other side,” she added slyly.

Feeling like a rube, Lachlan searched for a latch. When he didn’t find one, he pushed his shoulder against the door. It opened, and he held it with a hand so Maggie could enter first. “After you, my lady,” he murmured.

“Stop that.” She spoke into his ear as she went past. “No more my ladies. Got it?”

“Aye. Got it.” He followed her into a low ceilinged room lined with wooden planks. It was the first thing that looked familiar. Parts of it, anyway. Men—kilt-less men—sat at the bar, hefting glasses and chatting. The tables were empty.

“What’ll it be, Mags?” a man with a towel tied around his waist called from behind the bar.

“Couple of pints and two of today’s special. Come to think of it…” She eyed Lachlan so intently it made him squirm. “Make that three of the special.”

“May I inquire just what the special is?” Lachlan asked, thinking he might want to order something different.

Maggie waved a hand at a black board suspended over the bar. “It’s right there. If you can’t read it—”

“Of course, I can read.” He resented the inference he might be uneducated but swallowed back harsh words.

“Excellent. Then move.”

She shoved her body into his in a distressingly familiar way for such a communal location. Not that he wouldn’t have enjoyed the contact if they were alone, and he were free to take advantage of it…

“All the way to the back,” she hissed into his ear. “That way if you slip up, no one will hear.”

He bristled. Lachlan Moncrieffe did not sit in the back of any establishment. He was always given a choice table near the center of things. He opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it.

She scooped an armful of flattened scrolls off the bar before following him to the back of the room. Once there, she dumped them on the table between them. He wanted to ask what they were but decided he should pretend to know. He turned the top sheaf of papers toward him and scanned the close-spaced print. Many of the words were unfamiliar, but what leapt off the page was The Inverness Courier and presumably the current date: June 10, 2012.

His heart thudded in his ears, deafening him with the roar of rushing blood, as he stared at the date.

It had been 1683 when Rhukon chivied him into the dragon’s cave. Three hundred twenty-nine years ago, give or take a month or two. At least he was still in Inverness—for all the good it did him.

“You look as if you just saw a ghost.” Maggie spoke quietly.

“Nay. I’m quite fine. Thank you for inquiring…my, er…” Lachlan shut up. Anything he said was bound to be wrong.

“Good.” She nodded approvingly. “You’re learning.” The bartender slapped two mugs of ale on the scarred wooden table.

“On your tab, Mags?” he asked.

She nodded. “Except you owe me so much, you’ll never catch up.”

Still shell-shocked by the realization hundreds of years had slipped past while he and Kheladin slept, Lachlan took a sip of what turned out to be weak ale. It wasn’t half bad but could’ve stood an infusion of bitters. Because it was easier than thinking about his problems, he puzzled over what Maggie meant about the barkeep owing her so much he’d never catch up. Why would the barkeep owe her? His nostrils flared. She must work for the establishment—probably as a damsel of ill repute from the looks of her. Mayhap, she hadn’t been paid her share of whatever she earned in quite some time.

Protectiveness flared deep inside him. Maggie shouldn’t have to earn her way lying on her back. He’d see to it she had a more seemly position.

Aye, once I find my way around this bizarre new world.

Money wouldn’t be a problem, but changing three-hundred-year-old gold coins into today’s tender might prove challenging. Surely banks existed that could accomplish something like that.

One thing at a time.

“So.” She skewered him with her blue gaze—Norse eyes if he’d ever seen a set—and took a sip from her mug. “What did you see in the newspaper that upset you so much?”

“Nothing.” He tried for an offhand tone.

“Bullshit,” she said succinctly. “I’m a doctor. A psychiatrist. I read people’s faces quite well, and you look as if you’re perilously close to going into shock.”…


Ann Gimpel is a national bestselling author. She’s also a clinical psychologist, with a Jungian bent and a vagabond at Image3 heart. Avocations include mountaineering, skiing, wilderness photography and, of course, writing. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance. She’s published over 30 books to date, with several more planned for 2015 and beyond.

A husband, grown children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out her family.





@AnnGimpel (for Twitter)

bewitching tag


Interview: Raine O’Tierney & Debbie McGowan-Where the Grass Is Greener #Giveaway @PridePromo


Today I’m very lucky to be interviewing Debbie McGowan & Raine O’Tierney authors of Where the Grass is Greener!

Hi Debbie and Raine, thank you for agreeing to this interview.

Hello! We’re Debbie McGowan and Raine O’Tierney, two halves of a fantastic writing whole. We started collaborating early in 2015 and we’ve been writing recklessly together ever since! Our new book is Where the Grass is Greener (book 2 of The Seeds of Tyrone)–in addition, we’re working on book three, have almost completed a new humorous intrigue book, and are about halfway into something dark and mysterious. Any time our queue gets low, we just add things to the pile!

Tell us something no one else knows about your characters.
DM: Seamus has quite a few piercings, but mostly they’ve closed over now. There’s one that hasn’t…he’s checked! ;)

RO: Chancey was in a band in high school… He played the harmonica.

Have you ever written something that made you cry?
DM: Oh, have I! The hardest ever was in When Skies Have Fallen, when Jim writes to Arty. I sobbed so much I could not see to write, but it had a lot to do with it being based directly on the experience of Peter Wildeblood, the gay rights campaigner who went to prison in the 1950s. In Where the Grass is Greener, there is one line I wrote that near finished me off, and one Raine wrote (that is my favourite line in the whole story) that makes my heart miss beats. While I write this, I’m wearing a t-shirt my husband had printed for me, with ‘#PDJ’, which is ‘Poor Dead –’. I killed one of my main characters in my Hiding Behind The Couch series. I mourned with the other eight main characters.

RO: I also mourned J, by the way… Hardest thing I ever wrote was Most Beautiful Words. Makes me sob “like an eejit” like Seamus would say. I don’t set out to write things that make people cry…but that one was inevitable. In our first Seeds of Tyrone novel, Debs wrote this freakin’ line that’s making me tear up right now just thinking about! GAH!

Have you ever co-written with someone before?
DM: Before Ms. O’Tierney? Raine and I co-write like bosses! :) There is one other author I’ve co-written with, and that’s Al Stewart (who usually writes with his bestest, Claire Davis). Al and I wrote a short story called Coming Up, which is about a transgender teen coming to terms with their identity.

RO: I’d co-written one novella with my husband, Siôn O’Tierney, before Debbie and I met and started the collabs. It’s interesting writing with your spouse… You definitely understand each other better than most people do but…the arguments! Oh, the arguments. ;) Debs and I have far fewer spats over scenes than I did when writing Alchemy Ever After with the husband-face.

What is the most difficult part of writing for you?
DM: It depends on when you ask, but usually it’s finding the time to write, and then when I have time, trying to make the words form a coherent plot. I get lost in timelines and drive myself nuts, trying to figure out dates and ages.

RO: Right now…putting blinders on and doing it. (Blinders, Raine?) Basically sometimes I get that ol’ wanderin’ eye, and instead of competing with myself I get mopey seeing the amazing success around me. It’s true! So I slap on the blinders and straight ahead! Write my story. Now if I can find where I put the damn things…

Name your four most important food groups.
DM: Cheese x four? Cheese is my favourite! What else? Hm…I like good apples—the ones with taste and texture, which is not an easy thing to come by these days. Russet apples, I love. I love any fruit when it’s in season, because it’s bursting with flavour. I also love healthy breakfast cereals (bran, wheat, no sugar or chocolate, lots of seeds and stuff), and (I’m struggling for a fourth here) chocolate cake, but it’s got to be moist and rich and taste of chocolate, not sugar.

RO: Fish… Melons… Chicken… and… Coffee!


DMRO_WTGIG_533x800Book title: Where the Grass Is Greener

Author: Raine O’Tierney & Debbie McGowan

Release Date: September 28, 2015

blurbMistakes were made, that’s for sure. But was it the night of passion? Or walking away afterward?

That’s the question Seamus Williams must face when he gets a late night phone call from someone he never expects to hear from again.

“I miss you, Shay.”

Chancey Bo Clearwater is a cowboy through and through. He spends his days finding work on whatever ranch will take him and his nights at the pool hall. He’s always done what needed doing and never thought much about what he wanted. ’Til that drunken night with Seamus.

A world of problems now stand between Seamus and Chancey exploring what might have been, the least of which being the Atlantic Ocean. On one side there’s Chancey’s daughter who mood swings from angel to demon in two seconds flat; on the other there’s the new lodger, hogging Shay’s telly and his cornflakes, and making private Skype time hard to come by.

Is this relationship doomed before it ever begins? Or can a surprise announcement from Seamus’s brother be enough to help the two find their second chance?

Where the Grass is Greener features Seamus Williams – the older brother of Patrick from Leaving Flowers.

Buy Links

Book page: http://www.beatentrackpublishing.com/wherethegrassisgreener


Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/577845

excerpt“You’re quiet today, Seamus. What’s up?” the landlord asked.

“Just tired, is all. Got a leaky roof and the fecker was drippin’ all the damn night. And didn’t I get up this morning and kick the bucket?”

“You look alive and well to me, so you do. I say well…you look like shite.”

“Yeah, thanks very much. Think I’ll go join the lads, see if I can’t get a few more insults thrown at me.”

Seamus gave the landlord a wry grin and went over to the others, who were already well into the first of the three games they got in every lunchtime. He watched one of them take a bad shot and accidentally pot the black, the clunking of the ball as it rolled its way through the machinery of the table setting Seamus’s teeth on edge. John was right: he was dog-tired and probably did look like shite. He’d barely slept after the missed call, trying to decide whether to return it or not. His mind played tricks on him, one minute convincing him it was urgent and he should call back, the next telling him to stay strong. He’d made the move. He’d come back to Ireland. That’s what he’d wanted all along.

He had wanted it. Ever since Mam died, his sights had been set on coming home. He’d only stayed for Paddy’s sake, and now Paddy had Aidan there was nothing to keep Seamus in the States, although he was no further away from his brother now than he had been in Kansas. Never mind that he’d already made the decision before he knew Aidan even existed. No. It was a good decision. He was just—

He already knew, before he pulled his phone from his pocket: same Kansas number, same caller. His thumb hovered over the red button. Reject the call. Reject the call.

He answered.

“Seamus Williams.”

“At last! I thought I was calling a wrong number. Man, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

“Er, yeah. Yours too. What’s up? Has something happened?”

“Nothing new. I just…”

The rapid-hard thump of Seamus’s heart filled the pause, two seconds, three, four, and more. He drew breath to speak, but there was nothing to be said. Or nothing he should say.

“I miss you, Shay.”


The first call had been a drunk dial. Thank the heavenly father that Seamus Williams hadn’t picked up. Lord, the shit that might have come tumbling out of Chancey’s mouth. Now he was dead sober, but only slightly more composed. Had he really just said he’d missed Seamus? He tried for a laugh. It sounded as fake as it felt. Well he had missed Seamus. Nothin’ wrong with that.

“You gonna say somethin’?” He knew he was putting on the accent. Drawing out his vowels, droppings his g’s. His grandmother—who was from south Texas and who had an accent so deep it was digging itself a hole to the centre of the Earth—used to yell at him when he’d get lazy with his words.

You jus’ sound ign’rant, Chancey Bo Clearwater. Full name, cue snickering cousins, and young Chancey sank down low in his chair, ashamed at the way he sounded despite the fact they all talked just alike. The accent followed him when he moved to Oklahoma, where he picked up a whole set of strange ‘O’s, and even having lived in Kansas now for the better part of his life, it was still there underneath, just waiting to crop up in stressful situations.

“I didn’t expect to hear from you, that’s all.”

“Surprise.” He was trying for friendly, for calm. Trying to keep the I wanna put my fist through the wall and did you really mean to let me find out through Lulu? out of his voice.

“Isn’t this call costing you a million dollars?”

“Skype. On my phone. I bought minutes, y’know?”

“Is that right then?”

“But I didn’t think. It’s probably charging you too.”

“It’s fine.”

Is it? Seamus sure as hell wasn’t saying much. There was a long pause as Chancey considered his next move. He’d called because he’d wanted to talk. Not talk. Not like that. Nothing to say on that front. Seamus had made it all as clear as crystal dropped in the mud when he’d left his parting message with Lulu down at the pool hall, Rack ’Em. In a last-ditch effort, Chancey said the only thing he could think: “Boss Tina asked after you the other day when I went around for work.”

That got a laugh out of Seamus, which gave Chancey more relief than he cared to admit.


DEBBIE McGOWAN is an author and publisher based in a semi-rural corner of Lancashire, England. She writes character-driven, realist fiction, celebrating life, love and relationships. A working class girl, she ‘ran away’ to London at seventeen, was homeless, unemployed and then homeless again, interspersed with animal rights activism (all legal, honest ;)) and volunteer work as a mental health advocate. At twenty-five, she went back to college to study social science— tough with two toddlers, but they had a ‘stay at home’ dad, so it worked itself out. These days, the toddlers are young women (much to their chagrin), and Debbie teaches undergraduate students, writes novels and runs an independent publishing company, occasionally grabbing an hour of sleep where she can.

RAINE O’TIERNEY wants to change the world…one sweet story at a time.

Known as “The Queen of the Sweetness” (well, a few people have said it anyway!) Raine loves writing sweet, character-driven stories about first loves, first times, fidelity, forever-endings and…friskiness? In addition to her solo works, she’s one half of a collaborative team with author Debbie McGowan.

When she’s not writing, Raine is either playing video games or fighting the good fight for intellectual freedom at her library day job. She believes the best thing we can do in life is be kind to one another, and she enjoys encouraging fellow writers.

Contact her if you’re interested in talking about point-and-click adventure games or discussing which dachshunds are the best kinds of dachshunds!

Where to find the authors:

Debbie’s Social Media Links

Twitter: twitter.com/writerdebmcg

Facebook: facebook.com/DebbieMcGowanAuthor and facebook.com/beatentrackpublishing

YouTube: youtube.com/deb248211

Tumblr: writerdebmcg.tumblr.com

LinkedIn: uk.linkedin.com/in/writerdebmcg

Google+: plus.google.com/+DebbieMcGowan

Goodreads: goodreads.com/author/show/4401329.Debbie_McGowan

Website: debbiemcgowan.co.uk

Raine’s Social Media Links

Homepage: Raineotierney.com

LGBT Author Interviews: raineotierneyhatparty.blogspot.com/

Facebook: facebook.com/RaineOTierneyAuthor

Twitter: twitter.com/RaineOTierney

Goodreads: goodreads.com/author/show/7770350.Raine_O_Tierney


Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25736641-where-the-grass-is-greener

Publisher: Beaten Track Publishing

Cover Artist: Debbie McGowan


e-copy of one Debbie McGowan title and an e-copy of one Raine O’Tierney title

(winner’s preference of file type and title)

a Rafflecopter giveaway


Tour Dates & Stops:

28-Sep – Jessie G. Books, Scattered Thoughts & Rogue Words, Full Moon Dreaming

29-Sep – Velvet Panic, Book Reviews, Rants, and Raves, Vampires, Werewolves, and Fairies, Oh My

30-Sep – All I Want and More Books

1-Oct – Amanda C. Stone, Michael Mandrake, Bayou Book Junkie

2-Oct – Divine Magazine, Mikky’s World of Books

5-Oct – Love Bytes, V’s Reads, Sinfully Addicted to All Male Romance

6-Oct – It’s Raining Men, Happily Ever Chapter

7-Oct – Louise Lyons, Hearts on Fire, Molly Lolly

8-Oct – BFD Book Blog, Two Chicks Obsessed With Books and Eye Candy, Prism Book Alliance

9-Oct – My Fiction Nook, Wicked Faerie’s Tales and Reviews, Inked Rainbow Reads, MM Good Book Reviews


Rough Road by Vanessa North {@VanessaNWrites} #Giveaway @RiptideBooks

Hi, Welcome to the Rough Road Blog Tour!

I’m Vanessa North, and I’ll be sharing some of my thoughts throughout the week on writing the second book in the Lake Lovelace series, Rough Road. Join the conversation by commenting on the posts and you’ll be entered in the drawing for a $25 Riptide Publishing gift certificate. Thanks for reading!

You can find all of the Rough Road tour stops at http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/rough-road

A deleted scene from Rough Road

Sadly, not every scene we write ends up in the final version of the book. One of my favorite Lake Lovelace locals is young Ridley Romeo—Davis Fox’s younger brother and a very young pro wakeboarder. Ridley’s grown up in a privileged but homophobic home, and this is a scene that shows the lengths he’s willing to go to be there for his big brother.

Spoiler warning: some readers may find elements from this scene mildly spoilerish.

Late that afternoon, a knock on the door to my office drags my attention from an awkwardly-worded email from Ben about Ronix sales versus Liquid Force sales. Relieved to have a break from trying to decipher a misplaced modifier, I glance up, and for just a moment, it’s like going back in time twenty years and I’m looking at Rodney Romeo. My gut clenches instinctively, but then I see the freckles.

Ridley, in khaki shorts and a polo shirt with a popped collar, could be his daddy’s doppelganger if it weren’t for those freckles. I really wish some fashion trends had stayed in the eighties where they belonged.

“Hello, Ridley. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He shifts from one foot to another, and then his face sort of crumples. He’s not crying, but he looks like he would. Oh dear.

“Come on in, shut the door, sit down. Would you like a Coke?”

He shakes his head, but he shuts the door and sits down.

“Dave’s getting married in less than three weeks, and Mom and Dad won’t let me go.”

“I see.” Well, that’s certainly not unexpected, but I can understand why the kid’s upset. Dave would be heartbroken. “Does your brother know?”

Ridley nodded. “He said I have to do what they say, but I want to be there. I should be there. I’m the only brother he’s got—” He breaks off and blushes. “And that means something.”

“Of course it does,” I soothe. “So what do you want me to do? I don’t think your parents are likely to listen to me, you know?”

He smiles, a feral little smile that again reminds me of his father. “Well, I could probably talk Dave into helping me sneak out for the weekend, but if Mom found out, I probably wouldn’t be allowed to see him anymore. But you . . .”

“She already hates.” I finish for him. “So if I help you, it’s just more of me being an asshole.”

His grin widens. “I can pay you back, afterward. I won a lot of money in that championship in Orlando last month. But Mom has access to my bank statements, and if she sees hotel reservations and a suit rental on there, she’s gonna figure out what I’m up to.”

Devious little shit already has a plan.

“Okay, Ridley, I’ll help you, on two conditions. First—we do nothing illegal and if you’re caught, you do as your parents say. Agree?”

He nods.

“Second, there’ll be no talk of paying me back. Use your prize money for college. Think of my assistance as a gift to your brother.”

He looks like he’s going to protest, then nods. “Okay.”

Ah, glee. A chance to stick it to Rodney Romeo and do something nice for my best friend and his fiancé. Clearly the universe loves me.

“Okay, Riddles. Tell me, how are we going to get around your old man this time?”

RoughRoad_600x900blurbEddie Russell is many things: A wealthy pillar of the community. An outrageous flirt. A doting best friend. A masochist with a kink for brawling with his bedmates. But he is definitely not a man who invites intimacy. His friends are close but few, his lovers rarer still.

When Eddie runs his Mercedes off the road on a hot July afternoon, Wish Carver comes to his aid—and leaves his number in Eddie’s phone. Wish, a road crew worker half Eddie’s age and sexy as sin, seems fascinated by Eddie’s different sides. Mutual attraction and compatible kinks ignite the sheets, but it’s their connection outside the bedroom that Eddie begins to crave.

When the two come down on opposite sides of a local issue, Eddie finds his growing feelings for Wish at odds with his business interests and his devotion to his best friend, local wakeboarding legend Ben Warren. Torn between old loyalties and his new love, Eddie is reluctant to make a choice. But he knows he can’t make Wish wait too long to make up his mind.

bioAuthor of over a dozen novels, novellas, and short stories, Vanessa North delights in giving happy-ever-afters to characters who don’t think they deserve them. Relentless curiosity led her to take up knitting and run a few marathons “just to see if she could.” She started writing for the same reason. Her very patient husband pretends not to notice when her hobbies take over the house. Living and writing in Northwest Georgia, she finds her attempts to keep a quiet home are frequently thwarted by twin boy-children and a very, very large dog.

Connect with Vanessa:

Website: vanessanorth.com
Facebook profile page: facebook.com/AuthorVanessaNorth
Twitter: @VanessaNWrites
Goodreads: goodreads.com/VanessaNorth


Every comment on this blog tour enters you in a drawing for $25 in Riptide Publishing store credit. Entries close at midnight, Eastern time, on October 3rd. Contest is NOT restricted to U.S. entries. Don’t forget to leave your email so we can contact you if you win!

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Romancing the Military Man: Ten Hot Military Heroes Box Set #Giveaway-Kindle Fire


Box Set Title: Romancing the Military Man

Subtitle: Ten Hot Military Heroes

Authors: New York Times, USA Today and National Best Selling Authors Sharon Hamilton, Caridad Pineiro, Toni Anderson, Karen Fenech, Kathy Kulig, Jan Springer, Lisa Hughey, Denise A. Agnew, Adrienne Bell and Monique Dubois

Tagline: What makes a hot military hero?

Genre: Military Romance

Pre-orders: July 1, 2015

Release Date: Tuesday, September 29


Barnes & Noble | Kindle US | Kindle UK | Apple | Kobo

**Professionally Formatted and Edited**

What makes a hot military hero? Whether it’s romance, suspense, or action/adventure—Romancing the Military Man: Ten Hot Military Heroes Box Set offers ten romance stories with something for everyone who craves a hot military hero. For a limited time this is your chance to enjoy books from today’s New York Times, USA Today, and national bestselling authors. These e-books cost over $30 when purchased separately.

Sharon Hamilton SEAL’s Promise He makes a deathbed promise to care for his best friend’s wife and baby. She wants nothing to do with anything that reminds her of her fallen SEAL husband, until fate steps in to show her she is still connected, and needs the love of the flawed warrior who shares her grief.

Website | Newsletter | Facebook | Twitter |

Caridad Pineiro Stay The Night

Sexy Navy SEAL Rafe Castillo is home after months of separation. Will Rafe stay the night with his wife Elena so they can rekindle the love they once shared?

Website | Newsletter | Facebook | Twitter |

Toni Anderson The Killing Game

A snow leopard biologist becomes prey when Cold War secrets threaten to expose a modern-day spy ring, and an elite British soldier is forced to choose between his country and his heart.

Website | Newsletter | Facebook | FB Author Page  | Twitter |

Karen Fenech Caught

When Elle Jameson is caught by a human trafficker, she doesn’t dare believe the man’s claims that all is not as it seems and that he will see her safely home, not even when she finds herself softening toward him, because trusting him, believing him, may cost Elle her life.

Website | Newsletter| Facebook | Twitter |

Kathy Kulig Red Tape Protector, FLC series book 2 (stand-alone)

Black-ops agent is hired to train a secret White House society member to be an assassin or be eliminated.

Website | Newsletter | Facebook | Twitter |

Jan Springer Christmas Lovers, Kidnap Fantasies series

Nurse Tania Sparks has always been purely professional with her injured soldiers…until sinfully sexy Connor Jordan enters her hospital.

Website | Newsletter | Facebook | Twitter |

Lisa Hughey Still The One (Family Stone #4 Jack)

Jack Stone never got over Bliss Lee…but he can he convince her she’s still the one?

Website | Newsletter  | Facebook | Twitter |

Denise A. Agnew Saved By The Marine

Explosive danger creates a whirlwind of heat between a marine and the woman he’s just met when they’re trapped in a terrifying situation.

Website | Newsletter | Facebook |Twitter |

Adrienne Bell

Carter: The Sinner Saints #1

Sometimes a bad boy is the best man for the job.

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Monique Dubois Romance: Quickies (Encounter 9)

In QUICKIES (Encounter 9), Malia is introduced to the world of BDSM by a mysterious army ranger. He captivates her body and senses, but does he have a secret side that leads her into danger?

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American Woman by Joanne Sexton {@JoWritesRomance} #Giveaway #FF #Romance

American_Woman_by_Joanne_Sexton_200Contemporary G/G Romance
Date Published: June 17, 2015

blurbRock chicks are more complicated than they look, especially when one is becoming her destiny, the other following a classical career, and the third wheel the steaming hot lead singer of the new big thing. Scarred hearts bleed pain when the pulse of love blurs to jealousy and rage. Between family, ex-lovers, and their own clashing issues, this complicated love triangle becomes a tangled mess, leaving the shy and the reckless reeling. The future is bleak, they’re isolated and misunderstood, and pride ruins passion.

Drunken mistakes haunt Molly and Justine; their spiral into misery riveting. Strumming emotions more than guitar strings, the dynamic Justine, Tessa, and Molly, will keep you on tenterhooks of suspense in this lady-on-lady romance.

excerptA wooden three-seater swing sits against the wall, my guitar propped beside it. Perhaps scribbling music and lyrics for my acoustic treasure will soothe me. Melancholy and bliss, the two ends of the emotional spectrum provide the best fodder for song. One of them is on the menu this evening.

Grabbing lined music paper and a pencil I go and sit, swinging for a bit, waiting for my muse. A chord forms in my mind so I pick up my classical guitar and strum. As the tune comes to me I hum it as I write out the notes. After the second play through the words shape with the music.

I sing out the blues for the third and final time. I have written better, and of course much worse, but it heals, it helps. Goodbye to you, Alexander. I try to recall the happier times, the beginning and the memories sit far in my mind, out of reach. Retrieving the folder containing my scribbled songs from the ground beside me, I shuffle through. If I play a song I wrote back then, when Alex became my world, maybe the lost hope could be restored. Simply called ‘Alexander’, the song emanated all the passion and thrills of new love I’ve forgotten how to feel.

As I sing I visualise his cupid’s bow mouth and ruffled hair. The sexy way jeans hug his hips, the smile which produces a dimple in one cheek, and his cleft chin. Lust without love crams my empty chest. A thudding heart produces the desire I didn’t experience when his urgent hands initiated his quick release. My well-timed moans and feigned interest helped him along. How is it the thought of sex with him produced fire in my loins, when the action could not?

Putting down my guitar I place the new song into the folder before throwing it to the floor. The wind blows at the blinds surrounding me, producing a light thud.

Laying back on the swing I allow the rocking and steady lull of the wind to relax my lust filled senses. I will miss him, I know this much at least.
Alex could be thoughtful when he made the effort. His humour will be hard to forget. His teasing and quick wit will be what I shall miss most. Will he protest when I ask him to leave, or accept the inevitable? We both can’t go on denying that the fun, the fire, the love has faded.

Arguments and heated battles form the majority of our communication. Discontent over each others faults overshadow the spark of infatuation. We rarely share anything, our interests segregated. His love of sports, and mine of stillness and music, collide. Opposites no longer attract. Relief and sadness wage a war inside me.


Joanne Sexton is an Australian romance writer and mother of two. She had always dreamed of writing novels and has joanne_sextonbeen an avid reader most of her life. In between being a mum and writing, she runs a small bookkeeping business. She has recently become a qualified florist.

Contact Information

Website: www.josextonbooks.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/josextonwritesromance?ref=aymt_homepage_panel

Twitter: https://twitter.com/JoWritesRomance

Blog:  http://www.josextonbooks.com/a-few-random-thoughts

Publisher:  http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Sexton_Joanne/

Purchase Links

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00YQS38B0/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00YQS38B0&linkCode=as2&tag=tirgeapubli09-20&linkId=XTJMNGQI4D67C6VU

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/american-woman-joanne-sexton/1122059668

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/american-woman/id1001713340


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One Scandalous Kiss by Christy Carlyle @writerchristy #Giveaway #Historical #Romance

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Eonly_9780062427991_CoverOne Scandalous Kiss

An Accidental Heirs Novel

Christy Carlyle

Genre: Historical Romance

Publisher: Avon Impulse

Date of Publication: September 8, 2015

ISBN: 9780062427991


Number of pages: 256


Debut Victorian historical romance author Christy Carlyle delights in the first book of her Accidental Heirs series in which a suffragete bookshop owner agrees to a devil’s bargain that results in one scandalous kiss. When a desperate Jessamin Wright bursts into an aristocratic party and shocks the entire ton, she believes it’s the only way to save her failing bookstore.

The challenge sounded easy when issued, but the one thing she never expected was to enjoy the outrageous embrace she shares with a serious viscount. Lucius Crawford, Viscount Grimsby, has never meet, or kissed, anyone like this beautiful suffragette. He’s determined to protect the title he’s unexpectedly inherited and Jess doesn’t fit into his plans.

When a country house party brings these two people together once more, neither can resist the temptation and both find that one scandalous kiss just isn’t enough.

HarperCollins Amazon


London, September 1890

She’d never imagined wealth would be so uncomfortable. Nearly every aspect of the Marquess of Clayborne’s Belgrave Square drawing room made Jessamin Wright uneasy. There were no books stacked in piles, no candles whose wax had run down their sides in haphazard sculptures, and not a spot of ash dusting the hearth—nothing inviting about the room at all. How could any lived-in space be so clean? The slippery damask settee felt stiff and unyielding beneath her body. Nothing about it urged you to sit and stop awhile. Even art was lacking from the walls, except for a series of watercolors of what must have been a terribly boring fox hunt. A fire burned low in the grate and offered a bit of warmth against the autumn chill, but the cool beiges and tepid pinks of the wallpaper and furnishings made Jess feel slightly queasy, as if blood had been drained from her body as thoroughly as color had been drawn out of every surface in the room. Even the wood was light colored or painted white and lacquered to a high sheen. It was all wrong. No room should be so spotless. As she and Alice had yet to meet their host, she began to doubt that anyone lived here at all. Then again, she’d never before set foot inside a fine London townhouse. Perhaps they were all this stark and unpleasant.

Jess didn’t have to look down to know the room’s pristine neatness contrasted sharply with her scuffed boots, soot-dusted cloak, and unfashionable work clothes. She found it impossible to settle herself in such elegant surroundings. Sitting, then standing, then sitting again, she rearranged her limbs and scratched her neck in a most unladylike manner. Finally finding a spot on the settee that suited her, she stripped off her twice-mended gloves but kept her hands clasped, careful not to touch anything for fear she might leave a mark.

Her cluttered thoughts offered as little comfort as the room. She fretted about leaving the bookshop managed solely by her assistant, Jack. He was a longtime employee and utterly trustworthy, but he’d never been fond of dealing with customers. He simply loved books—acquiring them, reading them, repairing them—and that was something she understood. He hadn’t stayed on after Father’s death for her, but out of loyalty to Lionel Wright. She understood that too. One of Father’s gifts had been the ability to inspire a bone deep sense of obligation in others. Since Jess had taken on the shop, other employees had been hard to come by—few men wished to take their wages and direction from a woman.

Slipping Father’s old watch from its place in her skirt pocket, Jess’s mind sifted through what she had yet to accomplish before resting her head for the day. It was a long list and —Ah, that too—now included an article she’d almost forgotten to write for the Women’s Union journal.

“I hope Lady Katherine hasn’t forgotten us. To be honest, I won’t be sad to see the last of this room. It’s all rather cold, even with the fire. Makes you afraid to touch anything or even breathe.”

Alice McGregor had an uncanny talent for reading one’s mind and could always be counted on for blunt and insightful commentary. Of all Jessamin’s friends at the Women’s Union, Alice was the most practical and plain-speaking. Delicacy was overrated as far as Alice was concerned. She said what everyone else was thinking but knew it impolite to mention.

“No, it’s not terribly inviting, is it?”

If Jess could decorate such a room, the colors would be bold and full of life. Red would do very nicely. And she’d decorate the walls with art so vivid you’d believe you could smell the pot of basil in a Holman Hunt painting or hear the swish of silk and satin as one of Mr. Tissot’s beauties crossed the room. She closed her eyes and imagined crimson walls covered with art in rich, vibrant colors.

“Miss Wright, have I caught you napping?” Lady Katherine Adderly’s giggle was like the clash of two crystal glasses meeting in a toast. Sharp and clear, it instantly snapped Jessamin out of her fantasies.

As she swept in, a maid followed close on her heels with a tea tray. Lady Katherine smelled of flowers, but far too many, the scent cloying and sickly sweet.

“Forgive me, my lady.” It was easier for Jessamin to apologize for drowsing than acknowledge how she loathed the decor.

Jess and Alice exchanged raised-brow glances as their hostess handed each of them a fine porcelain teacup and began the process of pouring tea and offering them confections from plates laden with biscuits and tiny pastries. It was an elaborate ritual, much more fuss about tea than Jess had ever made in life. But the rich tang of jasmine in the brew was delicious and she was grateful for the distraction of the warm refreshment, even as she sensed the persistent tick of Father’s watch against her skirt pocket. She had to get back to the shop and hoped their meeting with the marquess’s daugther wouldn’t take long.

“I’m pleased to make this donation to the Women’s Union. You know how I enjoy the lively meetings.”

Lady Katherine had attended only three of the group’s weekly meetings over the course of four months, but she’d been eager to make a financial contribution and Alice, as the union’s treasurer and co-founder, was all too happy to accept. Jess wasn’t certain why Alice had asked her to come along to collect the money, but as editor of the group’s printed journal and author of many of the speeches given at gatherings, she supposed she was a visible member of the organization.

“We are most grateful for the funds, my lady.” As always Alice spoke with sincerity, gratitude clear in her tone.

“Oh, please call me Kitty.”

Alice took a sip of tea, attempting to hold the cup with all the dignity Kitty seemed to manage effortlessly.

“I understand there’s another worthy cause to which I may also contribute.”

“I’m sure there are many in London,” Jess offered, thinking of a dozen ways she might spend charitable funds, not to mention the money needed to salvage the indebted bookshop her father had left her.

“I was referring to you, Miss Wright.”

Jessamin shot Alice a look, wondering just what her scrupulously honest friend had revealed to Lady Katherine.

“I understand you have a bookshop and lending library here in town.”

“Yes, my lady,” Jess bit off, unable to keep the irritation from her voice. Alice shouldn’t have mentioned her situation to anyone. Kitty might be feeling benevolent, but the amount needed to clear the shop’s debt was more than any wealthy aristocrat’s daughter would wish to spend, no matter how generous they were feeling.

“Would one hundred pounds be useful to you?”

A shiver tickled Jessamin’s spine as she contemplated the amount, a sum she couldn’t earn at the shop in months, perhaps not even in a year. It wasn’t nearly enough to clear the entire debt, but it would bring her payments with the bank current.

Jessamin studied Kitty’s feline smile and tried to unravel the mystery of the young woman’s wish to help her. She knew Kitty was wealthy, the daughter of a marquess, and perhaps a bit bored, but she’d never even conversed with her before today. Kitty was mentioned off and on in the scandal sheets Jess admitted to no one she indulged in reading, but she was hardly known as an outstanding philanthropist.

Charity tasted sour, yet how could she refuse the sum?

“Neither a borrower nor a lender be” had been one of Father’s favorite lines from Hamlet. But it was an adage he’d failed to uphold. His gambling had turned him into the worst sort of borrower, taking loans from friends and money from the bookshop he’d worked so hard to build up. For Jess’s part, she’d become a lender soon after her father’s death, finally instituting the lending library she’d been envisioning for years. It seemed neither of them had heeded the Shakespearian admonition at all.

Kitty watched Jess closely and appeared to notice the moment she’d almost made up her mind to accept the money.

“I am so pleased you’ll allow me to help you, Jessamin. And in return, I’m certain you won’t mind assisting me with one tiny request.”

Alice frowned and set her teacup on the table between them, edging forward on the settee as if she meant to get up and leave. “I’m not sure that’s quite right.”

“What is the favor, Lady Katherine? Please, let’s speak plainly with one another.” It didn’t surprise Jess in the least that Kitty expected something in return. No one offered such a sum without expecting something in return.

“Kitty, please. Do call me Kitty. It’s a simple favor, really. As simple as a kiss.”

Jess choked. “Pardon?” she squeaked, when she’d finally managed to swallow her mouthful of tea and could breathe again.

“Just a kiss, Jessamin. Surely you don’t object to kissing.” Kitty’s teasing tone belied the glint of steel in her gaze. “You’re a modern, free-thinking woman, after all. You believe in the suffrage and equality for our sex. You should feel quite free to kiss any man you like.”

Kissing men had nothing to do with Jess’s interest in social reform or gaining a voice for women in the political sphere. If Kitty thought it did, she hadn’t been to nearly enough meetings.

“You want me to kiss a man?” Jess spoke the words as if it was an extraordinary feat. And it was. She’d never kissed a man. Not really. A childish, graceless kiss on the cheek from Tom Jenkins when she was twelve years old hardly counted.

“This seems a rather strange favor, Kitty.” Alice’s precise tone cut through the quiet of the room.

Kitty’s tinkling laughter rang out. “Yes, I suppose it does. But it’s merely a harmless bit of revenge.”

“Revenge.” Jess waited. There had to be more.

“Oh, all right. If you must know, the dreadful man snubbed me.” Kitty plumped her bow-shaped mouth in a pout.

Was she the shallowest heiress in Belgravia? The thought that Kitty wished to seek revenge because a man did not prefer her company was ridiculous. Her beauty and wealth could secure her any suitor she set her cap at. In fact, the question of why the man rejected her was as intriguing as her desire for Jess to kiss him.

“Why did he snub you?”

“Why, indeed!” Kitty straightened up in her chair and slid her fingers into honey blond hair, tucking her already neatly pinned coiffure more firmly into place. “Perhaps because he is an odious man. If he wasn’t a viscount, soon to be an earl, and so irredeemably handsome, I wouldn’t have bothered with him. Never mind Papa’s mad notion I marry Lord Grim. Freddie is much more fun, even if he doesn’t have a farthing to his name.” Kitty turned the full force of her bright green gaze on Jess. “You’ll do it then?”

“I’m still not sure I understand.”

Kitty’s tone became pedantic, as if she was speaking to a child who needed to be set aright.

“My dear, it couldn’t be simpler. Viscount Grimsby snubbed me at a soiree last week and I would like your help to put him in his place. He’s a dour man, as cold as marble. Some call him Lord Grim. And so he is. Grim and heartless. He needs a little comeuppance.” As an afterthought, she added, “He’s against the vote for women, of course.”

As if that made the whole ridiculous scheme noble. As if kissing him would change his mind about women’s suffrage.

“And where does kissing come into play?” It all sounded wrong to Jess, like the discordant notes of an untuned piano playing over and over in her mind, but Kitty waved away her concern dismissively.

“It won’t be a real kiss, my dear. Not the kind that matters. Just a kiss that knocks him off his pedestal a bit. It will cause him a trifle of social bother. Stir up some tittle tattle.”

For a moment Kitty’s expression altered, the corners of her mouth turning down as if she’d fallen into troubled contemplation. Jess wondered if she was already regretting her petty scheme? Then she lifted her head, a satisfied cat-at-the-cream grin lifting her cheeks.

“The next time I see the man at a ball, perhaps he’ll manage a bit of humility. And since no one else will wish to stand up with him, I suspect he’ll be more than happy to dance with me.”

None of Kitty’s words put Jess’s mind at ease. She’d never heard of Lord Grimsby but from Kitty’s description, kissing the man certainly didn’t sound appealing.

“I happen to know he’ll be at an art gallery in Mayfair this evening.”

“And?” Jess was growing impatient. Who had time for games when she had a business to run?

“There will be a gathering at the gallery. Mrs. Ornish is a great fan of art and has sponsored one of the artists whose works will be featured. I do wonder why he always goes to Mrs. Ornish’s events. Could he have his eye on Meredith, do you think?”

Of course, Jess had no idea who Mrs. Ornish or Meredith was. She might share their love of art, but they were the kind of women with wealth enough to offer an artist patronage. Jess couldn’t even afford to buy a painting. Her walls were decorated with cut-out prints culled from books and newspapers.

“Kitty, please just tell me. What must I do?”

Kitty’s crooked her mouth alluringly. Jess supposed she used the simpering expression to charm everyone. Everyone except Lord Grimsby, apparently.

“I want you to show up at the gallery event and stride up to Lord Grim. Yes, you’ll just walk up and plant a kiss square on that cruel, unsmiling mouth of his.”

“I really don’t think—“Alice’s voice had taken on the same pitch and volume she used to quiet the women’s group meetings.

Jess knew what she was going to say and cut her off. “Wait. Let me consider a moment.”

Jess closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She had to do it. She needed the one hundred pounds Kitty offered. There was no denying what the woman proposed was scandalous, not to mention farcical and childish. But Jess had no reputation to protect. As Kitty said, she saw herself as a free-thinking woman, unhampered by society’s strictures and eager for changing women’s roles. She had no idea how kissing a complete stranger would strike a blow for woman’s rights, but she knew her desperation for funds made her beholden to Kitty’s whims.

“Come, Jessamin.” Kitty’s sing song voice was cajoling. “I dare you.”

Because Jess’s speeches encouraged action over words, perhaps Kitty saw her as brave and daring. But if she was brave, it was because Father died and took all of her options with him. She’d lost everything—her home, a modestly comfortable lifestyle, freedom to study and spend her days more or less as she wished—and put all her energy into maintaining his business, even after discovering the massive debt he’d accumulated. She was beginning to make inroads toward repaying the debt and Kitty’s funds would be another step toward financial success for Wright and Sons Booksellers.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

Kitty gasped with delight and clapped her hands together.

Alice shot her a look as if Jess had taken leave of whatever sense she’d been given.

Jess couldn’t match Kitty’s enthusiasm nor acknowledge Alice’s concern. She was too busy fighting off the sense of dread that settled in the pit of her stomach at the prospect of what she’d agreed to do.

“Where is this gallery and what time will he be there?”


Christy Carlyle writes sensual, and sometimes downright steamy, historical romance set in the Victorian era. She loves heroes who struggle against all odds and heroines who are ahead of their time. A former teacher with a degree in history, she finds there is nothing better than being able to combine her love of the past with her die-hard belief in happy endings.

Website: http://www.christycarlyle.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/historicalromanceauthorchristycarlyle

Twitter: https://mobile.twitter.com/writerchristy

Tumblr: http://christycarlyle.tumblr.com/

Blog: http://romancingthevictorians.blogspot.com/

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25204333-one-scandalous-kiss


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Spotlight: Needing to Breathe by @batortuga #Giveaway

Needing to Breathe Banner 851 x 315


Image1Needing to Breathe

Two Is Never Enough,

Book 1

B.A. Tortuga

Genre: Gay, Menage, Wolf Shifters

Publisher: ARe Books

Date of Publication: 9/1/15

Word Count: 20,000

Cover Artist: Erin Dameron-Hill


Orphaned and scared, these cubs need an Alpha…and so do their caregivers.

Cast out of their wolf pack, Jock and Gus are skinny and wild but surviving okay out in the Colorado mountains. Winter is on its way, and Gus isn’t sure what they can do to stay warm and fed. To add to their problems, they’ve adopted a litter of abandoned wolf cubs, and suddenly there’s not enough food to go around.

Archer, a forest ranger and Alpha wolf, finds Jock and Gus in time to save them from Jack Frost, and from themselves. The moment he meets the two young males, he wants them, and he sets out to convince them to stay. Jock understands that Archer is what they need, but Gus intends to fight Archer every step of the way. He has to—it’s in his genes.

Can Archer keep this new family safe, from the elements and each other?

excerptArcher Tyson smelled the shallow grave before he saw it.

The narrow trench had been dug carefully, and rocks and brush covered what was left of the she-wolf, but the fact remained that she was dead, and there was evidence of a trap-death on the carcass.

Damn it all. This didn’t look like poachers, who would have wanted the coat. Maybe the head. No cabins or livestock this far up the mountain, so he had to assume this was malicious. A wolf hater. That always meant a lot of work for him as one of the two rangers who covered this plot of land.

Not to mention that when a wolf died on his watch, Archer took it pretty personally.

It made him a little toothy and more than a bit pissed off. The urge to sniff around and see if he could follow a scent trail to the killer was strong, but Archer was on the clock right now. The best he could do for this poor girl was mark the grave with a locator so he could find it again later and make a report.

He sighed, whispering a soft prayer in his native tongue for her, which okay, sounded more like moaning and groaning than words, but whatever.

Another scent hit him when he moved away from the makeshift grave, and Archer tilted his head. No. Pups?

Where were they? He sniffed again. They’d been here and been… taken.

A low growl rose in his chest, and Archer wanted to howl with rage. Was that what this was about? Wolves weren’t fucking pets, and no one should be killing momma wolves to take their cubs.

He started tracking, every sense tuned to searching out this motherfucker.

No, his wolf told him. These. Two. Two scents. Two males. Damn it. He started along their trail, which might as well have been cut with a weed whacker.

His radio squawked, distracting him. “Archer. Can you read, over?”

“I hear you, Ben.” He was busy, damn it.

“We got a small brush fire over at Lizard Head. All hands on deck. What’s your twenty?”

“That’s a haul, man. I’m near Whitehouse, and I have a poacher situation.”

“Okay. I’ll call you in if we need you. Hang tight, over.”

“Ten four. Over.” Shoo. He had puppies to find. Wolf cubs. Christ, what a mess. He didn’t need this shit.

He followed the scent, slowing as the smells became damn near overwhelming. The two males started to make his nose twitch. They didn’t have the sour, greedy smell of poachers, or the hyped-up adrenaline scent of hunters.

No, if anything this scent was sweet, sexual, tinged with a dull hunger, a hint of worry.

He peered around a bend in the trail, finding two men, shaggy and skinny and utterly underdressed for the late autumn chill, sleeping in the afternoon sun around a pile of three cubs.

Oh. The totally unexpected sight made him smile. Look at that; the pups already trusted these two. There was no way they’d killed the mom. One of the men, the older by the looks of it, started sniffing, nose working hard.


Wait, were they… Could they be like him? Archer thought that was impossible, but no human would be able to scent him from this location.

Dark eyebrows lowered, and the man woke up, nudging the blond. “Jock, babe, someone’s here. Get the babies into the tent.”

Without a question, the blond got the pups moving, growling and nudging on all fours. The cubs obeyed, falling over their big feet.

Once they were safely tucked away in the tent, Archer stepped into the clearing. “I won’t hurt anyone. I’m with the Forest Service.”

“We’re fine. Thanks. We got a permit.” The blond was pushed behind, just a little, the darker wolf trying to make himself big. All teeth and puffy chest.


bioB.A. Tortuga Texan to the bone and an unrepentant Daddy’s Girl, BA Tortuga spends her days with her basset hounds, getting tattooed, texting her sisters, and eating Mexican food. When she’s not doing that, she’s writing. She spends her days off watching rodeo, knitting, and surfing Pinterest in the name of research. BA’s personal saviors include her wife, Julia Talbot, her best friend, Sean Michael, and coffee. Lots of coffee. Really good coffee.

Having written everything from fist-fighting rednecks to hard-core cowboys to werewolves, BA does her damnedest to tell the stories of her heart, which was raised in Northeast Texas, but has heard the call of the high desert and lives in the Sandias. With books ranging from hard-hitting GLBT romance, to fiery menages, to the most traditional of love stories, BA refuses to be pigeon-holed by anyone but the voices in her head.

For more information on other books by B.A., visit her official website: www.BATortuga.com





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