3/02/2017

Crawl in Bed With J.R. Loveless #mmromance #glbt #crawlinbed #authorinterview


Crawling Into Bed With
J.R. Loveless
And a Good Book

Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton? Definitely silk. There’s nothing more sinfully sweet than silk sheets against your skin.

What are you wearing? A beautiful set of red soft satin pajamas.


What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight? I’m not really an eating in bed type of person, but I would say for this story it would be champagne and strawberries.


If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?  A few ‘toys’, if you get my drift.


Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night? Depends on if it’s cold in the room. If it’s cold, I love to bundle up, but if it’s hot, I tend to throw the covers away.


Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up? Sure! I love to cuddle. 


What are we reading? Champagne Kisses, a sweet but hot Valentine’s Day short.

Blurb: Their date cancelled on the most romantic day of the year, Sam Evans feels betrayed by Dean, who often puts work before their relationship. Brooding about his lover's lack of commitment toward him, he leaves work early only to be stunned by what awaits him outside the door.

Excerpt:

February 14th, 3:05 P.M.

Sam Evans stared broodingly out of the window of the small bookstore he worked at part time. There were little to no customers in the shop and he couldn't be more thankful. His spirit was definitely not in the mood for being people-friendly. All he wanted to do at the moment was wallow in self-pity. How could Dean do this to him?

"I'm sorry, Sam, but it's a really big case. We can't afford to miss anything or he could walk."

"But it's Valentine's Day! You can't take a few hours off to spend it with me?"

"I'll make it up to you. I promise. I've gotta go. I'll call you later."

Click

Damn him! Sam scowled even harder. Six months they'd been together and Dean still put his work over their relationship. Sometimes he wondered if it was even worth it, but then he'd remember how sweet and sexy the man could be and his anger would dissipate until the next time Dean would cancel a date or break plans they'd made together. He loved him and couldn't imagine spending his life with someone else, but if things didn't change soon, he wasn't sure how much longer he could deal with it. Though Dean had no idea how deep his feelings went. They'd never used the big L word and Sam would be damned if he said it first with how things were between them.

He hadn't even gotten Dean anything for Valentine's Day. Because if they weren't going to spend it together, what was the point of getting him a gift? Maybe he'd even done it a little bit out of pettiness and disappointment. Okay, it was true. He'd been selfish and hadn't wanted to think about buying something for Dean because he was mad and because it depressed him even more to think about spending the holiday, meant for lovers to be together, alone.

Sam thought back to the first time they'd met and flushed at how clumsy he could be at times. His best friend and confidante, Aaron Beckinridge, had opened a catering business a little over a year before he met Dean. Sam could still hear Aaron's excitement when he'd found out he'd gotten the gig for a huge charity dinner party for some of the big wigs at City Hall. A few hours before the event, Aaron called Sam in a tizzy because he was short-handed and needed a body to help fill in. He'd begged Sam and despite Sam's many attempts to wiggle out of the obligation, Aaron managed to back him into a corner until Sam reluctantly agreed. He'd never been entirely comfortable in social settings, but at least he wouldn't be expected to make polite chit chat or entertain anyone.

At first, the party had been dull, a bunch of stuffed shirts bragging about their latest wins in the courtroom or their golf handicap. As the night wore on, Sam wandered through the crowd holding a tray of champagne glasses while attempting to entertain himself by making up stories about the attendees. One overweight man who brayed like a donkey and sweated like a pig reminded him of the arrogant, selfish Duke in one of his stories. A seemingly straight-laced blonde woman in a tight black dress would have made the perfect gold digging Black Widow. He made mental notes of everything to work into his stories, including some of the decorations and food from the evening.

In the midst of his imaginings someone bumped his arm causing the tray to over balance. One of the champagne flutes tipped and spilled all over a pair of expensive-looking black patent leather shoes. Sam immediately apologized and looked up into the most breathtaking hazel-green eyes he'd ever seen. His voice failed him.

Easily six foot four, the man towered over Sam's mere five-nine. The severe cut of the tuxedo clung to the stranger's lightly muscular physique in all the right places. Short light brown hair swept back from the man's features accentuated the strong jawline and firm rounded chin with a slight cleft in it. Sam's mouth dried out in desire and he swallowed hard, attempting to find his voice once more. He shoved a strand of his almost shoulder-length dirty blond hair behind one ear nervously.

"No worries. I hated these shoes anyway," the man drawled amusedly, his full lips lifting in an almost smirk.

Sam snapped out of his daze and blushed. "I'll get something to clean it up with," he mumbled and threaded his way toward the kitchen at the back of the mansion to grab a towel. Rushing back out, he saw that the attractive guy had disappeared and fought off disappointment as he cleaned up the spilled drink. He didn't delude himself into thinking the man could possibly be gay. If he was a guest at the party, it meant he was a lawyer and he hadn't heard of many gay lawyers, if any at all, in this city.
Sighing, he went back into the kitchen, dropped the rag on the counter and decided to take his break. "Hey, Aaron, I'm going to get some fresh air."

Aaron waved him off, shouting instructions at one of his regular waiters. Sam walked out of the back door leading onto a large balcony overlooking a huge, well-kept garden, which no doubt cost more than he made in a year. He breathed in the night air deeply as he moved to the railing and leaned against it, his hands resting on the cold cement. He tilted his head to stare up at the bright half-moon overhead while berating himself for being so inept. The man probably thought him an utter disaster. Frowning, he shook his head and tried to dislodge the stranger from his mind. Why should he care? After tonight, he'd never see the man again anyway.

He sighed once more. He wanted to be home, surrounded by his books and working on his latest novel. At least there he didn't have to worry about making a fool of himself. Books aren't concerned with what you look like or how you act. What he loved most about books was that they were places to lose yourself in. Somewhere you could hide from the cruelty of the real world and become a sexy, brilliant detective or a suave, confident prince who could have anyone they wanted, go anywhere they wanted and they never embarrassed themselves. It was why he loved working for A Book Nook, his usual day job. Most customers who came in were like him, looking for an escape from their lives. His own novels weren't main-stream, but he made enough to be comfortable working part time and writing.

"I always did detest these kind of parties," a deep, sexy voice disrupted his thoughts and Sam jumped, turning to look at the owner. The man he'd spilled the drink on stood a few feet away from him. He'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts, a bad habit mind you, that he hadn't even known the guy was there. How long had he been watching him? The butterflies in his stomach kicked up once more and he could only nod in response to the stranger's comment before turning back to staring at the stars and moon. Sam tensed when the guy approached and leaned onto the railing near him. He could feel the warmth radiating from his closeness and bit his bottom lip.

"I'm going to guess this isn't your usual gig either."

Sam shook his head, still finding his voice locked in his throat.

The stranger hummed. "If I hadn't heard you apologize earlier I'd wonder if you were mute."

"No," Sam murmured. "I can talk."

"Ah, there's his voice," the man teased gently, tilting his head toward Sam.

"I'm really very sorry about your shoes," Sam apologized again, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

"I told you don't worry about it. I have several pair like these and between you, me and the flowers, I'd rather go barefoot." One hazel-green eye winked at him.

Sam blushed and swallowed hard, his fingers curling into half-fists on the railing. His chest tightened almost painfully. He'd never been very good at idle conversation. Even as a child, he'd found it hard to open up to strangers. It took forever for him to make friends, but once he did, he allowed himself to let go and show more of his true self to them. "Well… um…"

"Dean Saunders," the guy offered.

The man's name was as hot as the package. Sam managed to force himself to reply. "Sam Evans."

"It's nice to meet you, Sam," Dean said holding out his hand.

Sam stared at Dean's manicured fingernails uncertainly for several breaths.

Dean chuckled lightly. "I'm not going to bite, you know."

Sam's blush deepened at his social ineptitude and he placed his hand in Dean's, shaking it briefly. When he pulled away, he felt Dean's fingers trail over his palm and shivered at the almost caress-like touch. "I… uh… should be getting back to work," Sam mumbled, pushing away slightly from the balustrade.

"Stay," Dean cajoled. "I could use the company and I'm sure your break is a lot longer than five minutes."

He gave a brief nod at Dean and relaxed against the banister. Nibbling on his lower lip, Sam focused on the fountain in the center of the garden, watching the way the water sprayed into the air before raining down to the surface. Dean shifted beside him and turned, leaning his elbows on the railing and tipped his head back to gaze up at the stars.

"So when you aren't serving stuffed shirts at a party, what do you like to do, Sam?" Dean asked casually.

"Oh, this isn't my usual job," Sam protested. "I was just helping out my friend Aaron. He was short staffed and asked me to help out. I'm actually… I work for a bookstore." He'd never felt comfortable telling others that he was a professional novelist. Most people took it as him bragging, or at least he thought it seemed they did. Although Aaron would always tell him to stop being so modest and to brag all he wanted, that becoming a published author was a huge accomplishment. Sam still felt as though he was showing off when he talked about it.

Dean gave the lop-sided grin Sam was beginning to see as his signature smile. "That suits you more than this place."

Sam frowned, his brow furrowing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It wasn't meant as an insult," Dean assured him. "I just meant that you seem like the type who prefers more casual environments rather than all this." He gestured toward the mansion and the party inside.

Eyeing Dean, Sam debated on whether to accept the man's words at face value, but figured it wasn't worth challenging since he didn't know him well enough to be certain Dean was being rude. "And what about you? Do you prefer casual or all this?" Sam tossed back, waving his hand similarly to Dean.

Dean shrugged. "I like being where I can be myself. The only reason I attend these parties is to meet shy, handsome waiters with gorgeous brown eyes."

At first, Sam felt a warm flush race over his skin, but then he thought about Dean's words and scowled, shoving away from the rail, the happy glow gone. "You don't have to mock me."

He spun around to go back inside except Dean grabbed his wrist, stopping him. He kept his back to Dean, trying to tug his hand out of Dean's grip. "I'm sorry, Sam. I wasn't mocking you. I'm afraid my flirting skills are a bit rusty."

Sam stopped struggling and turned enough to be able to see Dean. Flirting?

"Give me another chance, please?" Dean asked softly, his grip loosening and his thumb rubbing across the smooth skin on Sam's inner wrist. "I'd like to take you to dinner."

His fear of being hurt as he had been in his last relationship kept him from accepting immediately. He'd remained single for five years because he didn't want to ever go through the same pain again. Aaron constantly told him he needed to stop letting his past keep him from finding love, but it was easier to say than do. It was kind of like when you fell off a horse and were afraid to get back on. The longer you went without returning to the saddle, the stronger the hold your fears have on you. Several breaths went by before Sam replied. "I… I don't know."

Dean straightened away from the balcony railing and leaned closer to Sam, his fingers still loosely circling Sam's wrist. "Take a chance, Sam. One date and if you aren't convinced by the end that I'm a good guy, you don't have to see me again."

Sam hesitated again and Dean reached up with his free hand to brush a strand of Sam's hair back from his face. "One dinner. That's all I'm asking."

Taking a small leap of faith, Sam decided one dinner couldn't hurt, so he said yes. One date turned into two, then three, and finally on the seventh date Sam allowed Dean to seduce him. In the last six months, they'd been doing fairly well despite the multiple times Dean cancelled one of their dates to work on a case. Sam knew Dean wanted to help people and worked hard to do so, but he couldn't deny it still stung that Dean would rather be at work than with him. This Valentine's Day ditch was the hardest of them all. Why couldn't Dean find at least a couple of hours to spend with him? Didn't he want to? Or was Dean tiring of him already?

 Sam regularly battled his fears and anxieties. His ex-boyfriend had left behind a lot of scars. Not physically, but emotionally. At the end, when the reality of how long the relationship had been dead sank in, Sam hadn't wanted to accept it at first because it would mean the three years spent together meant nothing and he'd still been desperately clinging to the hope that they could work it out. Over the course of time since the breakup, he'd come to realize just how one-sided their relationship had been; the emotional and mental abuse, the way his ex would try to change him and mold him into what he thought was acceptable, and the way he'd used him until the very end. Dean had shown him even more just how wrong everything had been.

Sighing, Sam heard his boss, Marla, come out of the back room. "What are you so mopey about?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she set a box of books on the front counter. She was one of his closest friends, right up there with Aaron, and knew him fairly well. More than once she'd helped him with his problems. When she'd found out he was seeing Dean, she'd fairly squealed in excitement and demanded all of the details. At the age of fifty-two, Marla had been married and widowed, had two adult children over the age of eighteen, and spent most of her waking hours running the bookstore. Sam had been trying to get her to go out more, to date, but she'd just laugh and say, "Sam, my late husband was the love of my life. No one will ever be able to give me back what I lost and I really don't need to go on a bunch of bad dates to tell me that."

He bent further over the counter and watched her cutting the tape on the box. "Dean's stuck on a case and won't be able to spend Valentine's Day with me."

Marla chuckled while opening the box and beginning to remove the books in it for stocking. "Child, if people only expressed their love for one another one day a year, there'd be a lot less marriages in this world. Dean loves you and that's all that matters."

Sam frowned. "He hasn't told me he loves me."

Marla stopped what she was doing and put her hand on her hip, shaking her head. "You seriously can't tell me that you haven't noticed how head over heels for you that man is, can you? I've seen the way he looks at you when he picks you up. It's like he's seeing his very first sunrise and it leaves him breathless."

Sam ducked his head bashfully for a minute before peeking up at his boss. "You really think so?"

"I know so, hon." Marla reached out and patted his hand lightly. "Tell him how you feel, Sam. You might just be surprised."

He nodded as she went back to stocking the recent shipment on the shelves. Was Marla right? Should he just tell Dean he loved him?

"It's a little slow today so we're closing up shop a bit early, hon." Marla looked at her watch. "Instead of eight, let's call it at five, okay?"


"Sure thing, Marla." Not that he had anywhere important to be.

Buy Links:
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/703779
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06X17KWG9

Find Me Here:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorjrloveless
Twitter: https://twitter.com/jrloveless
Blogger: http://jrloveless.blogspot.com/
Website: http://www.jrloveless.com

Bio
J.R. Loveless is an avid fan, reader and writer of anything pertaining to male/male romance. She started out her adventure into the genre in 2004 when she discovered the anime Loveless, a softer side of Yaoi. The moment she saw Loveless, it sucked her in and hasn’t let go since.

After Loveless, she voraciously searched for anything she could find within the anime world pertaining to Yaoi and Shounen-Ai. She found Gravitation, Princess Princess, Gakuen Heaven, Junjou Romantica and so much more. As she searched for the different animes available, she stumbled across an amazing forum that to this day she is more than ever thankful she found.

J.R. currently has several works in progress and several more ideas on the slow cooker. Ideas come to her out of the blue, a lyric in a song, a line in a movie, or just out of nowhere while she’s standing in the shower. She loves to make up her own stories, to follow her heart, and to write things her way because she loves a happy ending.

She is always thankful for all of her followers on AarinFantasy and for all of the wonderful people who read her stories. Please feel free to send her an email or to drop her a note on Facebook. She will always try to respond, even if it isn’t right away.




2/02/2017

Crawl in Bed with Sheldon of Jambrea Gaff's Playing With Fire #mmromance #characterinterview


Crawling Into Bed With

Sheldon of Jambrea Gaff’s Playing with Fire
And a Good Book

Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?
Silk, baby. I love silky things against my skin…

What are you wearing?
I thought this was clothing optional?

What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?
You aren’t on the menu? *wink*

If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?
*bites lip* well… I do like to play. *leans over and opens the drawer to pull out a chess set* *winks* My trunk has all the fun stuff.

Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?
I kick them off. It gets hot in here at night.

Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
Bring them on.

What are we reading? 
We are reading about my best friend and boss Hayden McGrath and his hot man, Amos Vasquez. Playing with Fire is available at Pride Publishing and Amazon


EXCERPT 

“Amos Vasquez was just seated.”
“Fuck! You tell his server we’re out of barbecue.” Hayden McGrath pointed at Sheldon, his manager.
“What?” Sheldon seemed confused and Hayden didn’t blame him.
“He isn’t getting any hints as to what I’m going to be doing at the American Royal.” Hayden got out of his chair and headed to the kitchen. He needed out of the office anyway—paperwork was driving him nuts…not like he had a long way to go, as he was proving with the conversation.
“You can’t be serious. He’s eaten here before. He had your barbecue just last week.”
Hayden knew Sheldon was trying to calm him down, but it wasn’t working because the crazy train was leaving the station.
“Not the new one we’re trying out tonight.” Hayden crossed his arms over his chest.
“Hayden, the team is ready. We’ve got this. There is no need to get all…insane.” Sheldon threw his hands in the air.
It was too late. Hayden rushed out of the kitchen so he could spot where Amos had been seated. And there he was, talking to a group of guys as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Damn it, why did he have to look so good? He was tall, dark and handsome with the dark scruff around his face that had scratched when they’d kissed. The tattoo on his forearm was on display. The rest of his tats were hidden where, once upon a time, Hayden had had full access and used it to his advantage. Amos had his flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, as was his usual style—something Hayden shouldn’t have even noticed. He was over the cowboy. Totally over him.
He has such nice strong hands.
But enough of that. The cowboy was probably sleeping with one of those twinks at the table. It was infuriating to see the man looking so happy. He should be sad, pining for what he could never have again.
Hayden moved through the restaurant, nodding to the few regulars until he reached the table, letting his anger burn through his system. Why did the jerk have to keep coming into his restaurant and rubbing it in his face that Amos was over him? Not that they’d really had a thing. It had been one night.
One that Hayden kept dreaming about. Repeatedly.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
“Well, hello to you, too, Hayden. I didn’t expect you to personally take our order. I’ll have some barbecued pulled pork.”
“No. You won’t. We’re out.” Hayden crossed his arms over his chest. Was denying Amos his barbecue petty? Yes, but he didn’t have any fucks left to give.
“Somehow I find that hard to believe, Hay.” Amos smirked at him.
“You don’t get to call me that, Amos.” Hayden pointed at Amos. He was doing too much of that this evening. He holstered his finger and glared instead. He knew his face had to be flushed—the curse of being a redhead.
Amos sat back in his chair. “Is that why you’re entering the open contest this year at the American Royal. Something to prove?”
Did Amos look sad? No. Hayden couldn’t think about that. They were over before they’d ever begun. He wasn’t going to be another notch on the rancher’s bedpost. Well, technically, he was a notch, but Hayden wasn’t going to let his heart go to a player.
“I don’t have anything to prove to anyone.” Hayden was firm in the belief that he should share his skills with the world, or at least those attending the American Royal.
“Then what’s the big deal about serving me some barbecue?”
“I’m not giving you an unfair advantage.” Hayden huffed.
“I thought you knew me better than that, Hayden. I’m not going to steal your recipe. It’s been a long day. I’m hungry. I don’t want any of your other fare. I enjoy your barbecue. But whatever. I’ll take what’s on special if it’s going to be that big of a deal.” Amos sighed.
Hayden hated that he sounded like a brat. He was a classically trained chef who owned his own restaurant. Someone listening to him now would never believe it.
“I’ll send your waiter over. Excuse me.”
Hayden headed back to the kitchen, Sheldon trailing behind him. He’d almost forgotten his manager had followed him out of the kitchen.
“What was all that about, Hayden?”
“I don’t fucking know. I should know better. He just gets under my skin.” Hayden headed back to his office. He didn’t work the line anymore—that’s what his head chef was for. As a matter of fact, he didn’t do a lot of cooking at all anymore and it was one of the things bugging him lately.
“Maybe you need to get laid.”
“You know, you’re one of the only people who can get away with saying things like that. And I don’t need to get laid. I need to cook. This weekend can’t come fast enough.”
“We both know the reason you entered was because you want to beat Amos. He’s placed the last couple years.”
“Well, this year, I’m placing better than him. I plan to win this thing. He’s never done that.” Hayden threw himself into the chair.
“How old are you, man?”
“Damn it. I know, I sound like a moody teen. I’ve been in a funk for months.”
“It started when—”
“Don’t finish that sentence, Sheldon. Maybe I can open another restaurant. Do some more hands-on stuff, hire someone for the paperwork. It has nothing to do with that man. Nothing.”
“Fine. I won’t, but you need to get over it or fix it.”
“There’s nothing to fix. I’m going to win that competition and things will be better.” Hayden fully believed his delusion of things being better, unless he was sleeping and dreaming of Amos, but he was done with that. He was going to win the American Royal and send that cowboy back to his ranch with his tail between his legs.




Find Jambrea on FACEBOOK or join her Facebook Group





2/01/2017

Cover Reveal: Spark to the Heart (Parkerburg #4) #mmromance #newrelease #coverreveal



Good morning friends! I'm thrilled to have the opportunity to share with you today the gorgeous and sparkling new cover art Havan Fellows and I have for our latest release. We'll have excerpts, contests and a final release date coming up in the next few weeks.

Spark to the heart is the 4th book in the Parkerburg series, about a quaint little town in New England. The story delves into the past of lifelong resident Rosy, and introduces newcomer to town, Jet.



When these two meet up one summer, sparks fly and Author Service's cover captures the heat and romance perfectly!

Spark to the Heart
Parkerburg #4


Blurb:
As a misguided youth, Rosy loved being that kid in Parkerburg—you know the one that everybody swears will end up in jail or comatose—until one summer day on the back roads of town when two lives came to a screeching halt.
Thirteen years later, Rosy owns the local pub on Maple Street and makes a good show of how he's recovered from tragedy. He even convinces himself…until he meets the new man in town and realizes just how okay he isn't. With the demons of his fatal past still stalking Rosy, he has no idea how to switch from simply existing to actually living.
Angus “Jet” Manheim—famous for his smooth, sexy voice and notorious for his hard partying ways—sped through most of his adult life on stage and in the recording studio. Sober and retired to the quaint New England town of Parkerburg, Jet’s ready to slow his soundtrack…until his compelling neighbor—a grumbling, muscular mountain of a man with an odd name—ups the tempo.
Frequently absentminded, Jet finds Rosy an easy object of focus, a solid center around which Jet hopes to build a future. But retirement isn’t easy. The entertainment industry doesn’t stop knocking just because you hang a do not disturb sign.

When Rosy’s and Jet’s pasts try to harmonize with their present, they might have to decide whether the chorus is worth repeating. 

PREORDER AND PURCHASE LINKS COMING SOON. 

1/26/2017

Crawl in Bed with Haley Walsh #mmmystery #authorinterview


Crawling Into Bed With
HALEY WALSH
And a Good Book

Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?

Well you know, a nice brushed cotton can be just as luxurious as silk—and you don’t keep sliding away from your lover.

Excellent point, that is. What are you wearing?
Furry slippers.

Nice! What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?
Well, it’s long, and it’s thick, and it’s pretty creamy…a Creamsicle!

Ooh... It might get messy up in here! If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?
A shoehorn.


Did you say a shoehorn? My father... I didn't know people still used those. Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?
Kick ‘em off. I’m hot stuff.

Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
Oh, that would be nice.

What are we reading? 

We are listening to the new audiobook release of the sixth Skyler Foxe Mystery, Crazy Like A Foxe . 

Here’s an excerpt of CRAZY LIKE A FOXE:

Skyler studied the fence and opened the car door. He stood on the sidewalk looking up at the metal bars.
Philip scooted along the seat, opened the window, and hung out of it. “What are you doing, Skyler?” he rasped. “The gate is locked.”
Skyler walked along the fence. It was some kind of painted metal where the top curved outward to sharp, discouraging points. “I bet we can climb that.”
Philip scrambled out of the car followed by Rodolfo. “We most certainly cannot.”
“Sure we can. If you’d give me a boost. I can pull myself over that curved bit and jump down to the other side.”
“Skyler!”
“What?”
“Are you insane?”
“He’s got the museum exhibits in there! He has no right to them. And he might have murdered Mr. Huxley to get them.”
“Then maybe you should call Sidney?”
“And that will take forever and he might get rid of all the evidence by then.” He grabbed the fence and looked up. “I’m gonna climb it.”
But Philip grabbed him. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not thinking. You’ll get caught. Don’t you think this place has cameras?”
They both turned their heads and spied one aimed at the front gate. “It’s looking at the gate, not over here.”
Dave slammed his door and joined them just as Jamie came up beside him. “We could get into big trouble, Sky,” said Dave.
“Which is why I’m going alone. Will someone give me a boost?”
Everyone looked at each other.
“Come on, guys. SFC? Scooby Gang?”
Dave shook his head. “What are you gonna do when you get to the lock-up?”
“Well, I’ll…” He glanced at the other metal roll-up doors. They all seemed to be secured with padlocks. “Oh. Um…”
Dave sighed and turned back toward his car. But instead of walking around to the driver’s side, he opened the trunk. He took out something and returned to the fence. “I suppose we’re gonna need this.”
Jamie blinked at him. “What is that?”
Dave rested the long, two-handled tool through the fence’s bars. “It’s a bolt cutter.”
“And why do you have a bolt cutter in your car?”
“In case I come across a fire and have to get through something. Always be prepared.”
Skyler grinned. “Dave, you’re a lifesaver. Boost me?”
Dave swept the others with a glance, quirked a smile, and crouched to lace his hands together as a step.
“Dave!” screeched Jamie. “Are you crazy? Skyler could get into a lot of trouble.”
“That’s why I’m going with him. What about you, sweet thing?”
“Me?” He glared skeptically at the fence. “Climb that?”
“I’ll help you.”
Jamie sighed dramatically. “Good grief. Okay.”
“Well if he’s going, then I’m going,” said Rodolfo.
“No you’re not!” said Philip. “I am really putting my foot down.”
“And it’s so cute when you do that, Philip. But I'm going to help Skyler. It’s what friends do.”
“No, friends help friends stay out of jail. I swear, Skyler, sometimes you are too stupid to live. Oh for the love of… Fine! I’ll stay on this side of the fence. Someone will need to bail you imbeciles out when you get arrested.”
Rodolfo suddenly grabbed him, leaned him over, and gave him the wettest, loudest kiss, Skyler had ever heard. “You are my hero!” he declared and let Philip go.
Slightly dazed, Philip wiped at his mouth and took a staggering step back. “It’s ridiculous,” he muttered.
Skyler set his foot on the step Dave made and by rested his hand on Dave’s shoulder. Dave managed to hoist Skyler up and boosted him higher. Skyler grabbed hold of the sharp curved fence along the top. Designed to keep people out, it hadn’t looked all that impenetrable from the ground, but up close and personal, it was formidable enough. “Can you boost me a little higher?” he stage whispered.
Dave put his back into it and Skyler threw a leg up over the curve. Those spikes were dangerously close to his groin, but he tried not to think about it as he rolled over it and grabbed onto the bars to slow his progress down to the other side. “Hey! Piece of cake. How about Rodolfo next?”
Rodolfo’s sinewy elegance on a dancefloor did not seem to translate to climbing over fences. He squeaked and squawked his way over the top after much work by both Dave and Jamie. Philip muttered and wrung his hands the whole time.
“Okay, Jamie,” said Dave. “You’re next.”
Jamie gnawed on his thumbnail. “It’s really high. I don’t think I can make it.”
Dave leaned forward and bestowed a gentle kiss and they were lip-locked for quite a few moments. Jamie pulled back and gazed dreamily at his boyfriend. “Well why didn’t you say that before?”
He dug his foot into the step Dave made and reached up. Being much taller than Skyler certainly helped, but he dangled precariously from the pointed ends before he was able to stumble over the fence, but not before tearing his shirt first.
“Fuck. That was a Dolce & Gabbana, and I didn’t buy it at an outlet.”
“Sorry, Jamie,” said Skyler, grimacing at the tear.
“Here I come,” said Dave, oblivious to the fashion disaster that had just occurred. He jumped up, grabbed the pointy part, and hauled himself up, arm muscles bulging.
Everyone stopped to watch him. By brute strength, he nimbly cleared the fence and landed superhero-style on the other side.
Skyler and Jamie exchanged a look. “My fire-fightin’ man,” murmured Jamie.
 “What was the number again, minino?” asked Rodolfo of Philip, nervously bouncing on the other side of the fence.
“One fifty-six. And would you all please hurry?”
Dave grabbed the bolt cutters through the bars and followed as Skyler led the way. The place was brightly lit, so that was no problem. But he did worry about the cameras he kept seeing aimed in all directions over what looked like an endless compound of tiny garages.
They followed the numbers up to the one they were looking for and stood before it. It, like all the others, was sealed with a padlock.
Dave held the tool, what looked like a giant set of pliers[L1] , and cocked his head. “Shall we further break and enter?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t.” Skyler was suddenly feeling the weight of what they were doing. In the heat of the moment, it was all very exciting, but this was serious. They had already trespassed onto private property. Was he really going to break and enter, add burglary to any charges levied against him should he be caught? “Maybe I should do it, Dave.”
Dave waved him off. “Skyler, there’s no way you can work this thing. And we’ve already been spotted by about a million cameras. That safety ship sailed the moment we climbed that fence.” He lifted the bolt cutters and placed the pincer end on the padlock’s shackle. “Bye-bye, career,” he said, before putting those triceps to good use again. The cutter seemed to cut through the lock’s shackle like butter and it snapped in two.
“That’s a pretty handy thing to have around…as is the man wielding it,” said Jamie, leaning over to kiss him again.
Skyler waved everyone back. “Let me do it. I don’t want your fingerprints all over it. Why don’t I ever remember about gloves?” Delicately with one finger, he pushed the lock away, knelt, and threw the roll doors up.
It made a lot of noise in the quiet of the night, but once it was firmly set overhead, Skyler peered inside. Naturally it was too dark to see anything.
As if on cue, four phones were whipped out at the same time with flashlight beams spearing into the darkness.
“Ho-ly shit,” said Dave.

 ***

You can see all Haley Walsh's books—all the Foxe books in order including the novellas, at SkylerFoxeMysteries.com. Sign up for the newsletter and join the Street Team! 


1/25/2017

The Magicians, What Can You Get for 99¢, Cover Art on Deck #caffeinateme #writestuff


Good morning! *sips coffee* Posting quick today because I have a lot of posts to get squared away for the upcoming release of Spark to the Heart. Speaking of: COVER ART! A gorgeous cover has hit my inbox and I am so excited to share it with you all. There's a giveaway in the offing, and so much more...

ETA: Flash sale at Dreamspinner Press today! Flash sale of 12 eBooks for 99 cents each and 30% off featured authors' backlist! Titles by Amy LaneAndrew GreyAriel TachnaMickie AshlingZ Allora AlloraZahra OwensAllison CassattaAnne BarwellJacob FloresShira AnthonyKZ Snow , Zoe Lynne - Fiction For LGBT Youth Dreamspinner Press

But first, I have to ask. Has anyone been watching The Magicians? At first I was iffy about this show, but now I'm hooked. And Netflix only has season 1. I understand season 2 is starting soon on cable, but I do not do cable. (Honestly, I can't believe anyone still does. Hundreds of dollars, hundreds of channels, and still nothing to watch. That's why we gave it up.) So, I'm filling my Amazon cart with Lev Grossman's books. Anyone read the books? I so hope the books are as good as the show.

Last time I did this, it was with a book that Amazon was doing a pilot on. I was majorly disappointed. *fingers crossed*

So... this caught my eye on the Facebook when I was supposed to be working the other day, and I had to grab it.




Ranch cook against restaurateur—who does it better?
Hayden McGrath has the formal training and knowhow to run one of the best farm-to-table restaurants in the city. This year he wants to prove his worth by entering the barbecue competition at the American Royal. It has nothing to do with a certain cowboy from the Flying P…
Amos Vasquez has been the ranch cook at the Flying P Retreat since it was an actual ranch. Now it’s a place tourists flock to so they can have a taste of his food. This year he is going to win the barbecue competition and nothing will stand in his way, not even a certain sexy redheaded restaurant owner who has caught his eye.
This will be the barbecue competition to beat all competitions at the American Royal.

I am a sucker for certain themes in romance, and cooking is one of them! You bet that landed in my cart and is near the top of the TBR right now. I have to finish Hidden Figures, then I"m on it. 





Just a reminder that you can save 25% all Lime Time Press titles when purchasing through the Lime Time Press Payhip store by using Code: YY4QONTIU8. 

1/24/2017

Publishing Updates, Fortune Cookies, Top Chef, Grr! #caffeinateme #writestuff #mmromance

Good Morning! *sips coffee* Welcome. It's a whole new world out there folks, and I do not know what to make of it. We shall see how it all goes. Work wise, it's going fairly well. Havan Fellows and i have just finished edits on Spark to the Heart, book 4 in the Parkerburg series. We have a tentative release date planned for that, on February 13th, I think. Pending cover art and proofing, look for excerpts, buy links, cover reveals and a little give away celebration right here. Soon. 

On the Story Orgy front, we've got a new project! Project Fortune Cookie is underway and I am off to a great start with a blurb and a few hundred words. I've got an iffy character name situation though, and am looking for suggestions! Look for more Fortune cookie updates and information over the next few months. Tentative completion date on that project June, with a publication goal of August. 

Also, don't miss this! Crawl in Bed is Back! Check out  Crawling Into Bed With Rio Buchanan from Killer at Christmas by Kera Faire. More interviews to follow. I've got Kimi Saunders and Haley Walsh coming up in the next few weeks. 

Enough work. So, this has been nagging at me for the last few days. Feel free not to read my pre-coffee ranting. Also, SPOILER ALERT! If you're not caught up on Top Chef read no further!

#TopChef, two weeks ago, Jamie Lynch had immunity. The judges made a huge issue about how awful his dish (Chicken satay made with peanut butter *shrug* pedestrian, but really, how bad can it be?) was, and how someone on his team was going home and it was his fault. SO he gave up his immunity- and he went home. Everyone acted so shocked, like it had never been heard of. BUT, I clearly recall at least two times when the judges indicated QUITE strongly that they felt the person with immunity should sacrifice it because their dish was the worst on the team. One was season 11 in New Orleans where Nick made corn silk birds' nests and everyone hated them. He had immunity so Stephanie went home, even though everyone loved her dish. It annoyed me then, how big a deal they made out of the fact that Nick didn't give up his immunity. The whole point of immunity is to protect a chef when they make a cooking gaffe. Take that away, and there are many chef's who wouldn't have made it to the finale.

Image may contain: text

There. I said it. *fills coffee cup* Back to regularly scheduled programming.

That's it folks, all the news that's fit to print. I'm off to put some words on the page and dinner on a plate. Or in a crockpot, for you know, dinner later.





Just a reminder that you can save 25% all Lime Time Press titles when purchasing through the Lime Time Press Payhip store by using Code: YY4QONTIU8. 

1/19/2017

Crawl in Bed With Rio Buchanan



Crawling Into Bed With Rio Buchanan
____________
And a Good Book
Killer at Christmas by Kera Faire

Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?
Well hellooo Lee.
I’m a cotton sort of guy. Those blood…er blooming silk things are just way too slippery. Wink You aim for a boob and end up with an elbow! Or worse you end up with a foot and I don’t have a foot fetish.
They should come with a government health warning. Take care. Over energetic activity in this vicinity may cause sex life deficiency.
Give me cotton every time. The very finest Egyptian cotton of course.


What are you wearing?
looks down at naked body.
Hair. You caught me unaware. I’ve just pulled an all nighter. Stop sniggering. Sheesh some people’s minds. I’m a government operative and I drew the short straw to feed the pigs. (read the book, you’ll see what I mean)
All you want to do when you get back, is shower, sink into bed and sink into a willing partner. No need for clothes.


What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?
Haggis, black pudding, and whisky (no E) Well, we are on an island in Loch Lomond in Scotland. And I need to keep my strength up. Can’t have Andie complaining I’m loosing my stamina.


If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?
In Scotland? Whisky flavored lube. Shortbread, and a torch. We get a lot of power cuts.
And under the nightstand, steel toe capped boots. You never know when you’re gonna get called out in a hurry. Thistles are the devil.


Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?
Like I said I live most of the time on an island in the middle of a Scottish loch. Our first frost is in July and our last in June. To sleep, I roll. With my lady. The only time we kick the covers off is if we get over enthusiastic and the fire is lit. The fire is usually lit and we usually get over enthusiastic.


Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
Not if you value your balls. Even Andie warms her feet up on the hottie bottle first. I tend to react to cold badly. React first think later. Which I guess brings me to wonder why the hell we live where we do.
(Work of course)


What are we reading? 



Killer at Christmas by Kera Faire


BLURB

A killer and a hooker? An unlikely mix, especially, at Christmas.
Rio Buchanan, a Government operative, and member of the Dispatchers specializes in seduction. He just never thought his target would be his ex-wife. Andie might now be a hooker, but there’s no way she’s a traitor.
There’s only one way to get to the truth—kidnap her to keep her safe.
Andie doesn’t know what to think when Rio disrupts her life again, let alone when she wakes up in a prison cell shackled to him, and not in a fun, kinky way.
The secrets of his job already ended their marriage. Will they now end her life too?
Imprisoned on the Dark Isle they have to work together to catch a traitor, and discover if they can forge a new life together.

And a wee tease

Shit, his head ached. He hated being cooped up in a flying tin can, dreaded what he would find when he got to his destination and swore long and hard at the idiots who had behaved so badly in the past that the airline didn’t serve alcohol before 8 a.m. Not that he normally drank at such a time, but he’d not been to bed, and was squashed between an overweight Geordie and a chattering airhead whose leg kept rubbing up against his thigh.
The guy had snorted, farted, and snored his way through the flight. Once he’d drunk three miniature rums he’d pulled out of his pocket—against the rules but the crew didn’t see him—and eaten a selection of snacks so fast Rio felt sick on the bloke’s behalf. The airhead—call me Cherine—had dropped her nuts and fondled Rio’s nuts as she picked the packet up with an inane giggle so often he was about ready to stuff both sets down her throat and gag her. Except, he hoped to be able to fly commercial again sometime, and being charged with attempted murder or disorderly behavior on a plane wasn’t likely to help him in that quest.
“Look sweetheart, if you do that again you might find I’ve accidentally broken your fingers,” he said wearily as he lifted her hand and squeezed the digits somewhat cruelly. “Once is an accident, twice is persistent, and times three to now is a fucking annoyance. If you want your bloody nuts so much just eat them and stop trying to finger mine. Okay?”
She went the color of the plane’s logo, stood up and stalked down the aisle to the lavatory. Someone behind giggled and the blond haired, stocky guy across from Rio raised one eyebrow. “Bit harsh, buddy?”
“You sit here then, and let Octopus Annie feel you up. I’ll have bruises where no bruise ever should be. She’s got nails like talons, and grips like a bloody bird of prey.” Rio grinned. “Apt description actually.”
The guy nodded. “Point taken and no thanks. I’m off to visit my woman. I don’t think Andie would be too pleased if I went with unusable assets.”
Andie? It had to be a coincidence, surely? “That’s an unusual name for a girl,” Rio said with a non-committal smile. ‘Short for Andrea?”
“Nope. Her name is Sandie, but there were four Sandies in her class so she went for Andie. She’s a sweet thing, not at all boyish if you know what I mean.” The guy sketched an hourglass figure in the air. “I don’t know why she just didn’t use her proper name, Sandrine, but hey—that’s women for you.”
Rio’s breath left him. How likely were there two people named Sandrine who called themselves Andie because of too many Sandies at school. But sweet? That didn’t sound like his ex-wife? They’d split because they were both opinionated, wouldn’t back down, and there was no give and take. He needed to probe more. Because if this was the guy Darke spoke about, he, Rio needed to make plans.
“Yeah, women, eh?” What else could he say? “So, she knows you’re on your way home?”
 The bloke shook his head. “She’s expecting me later, but it’s not home, she’s just working out there for a bit. I’m gonna get there early, use the key she doesn’t know I’ve got, and surprise her. I’ll show her what she’s missing. For some reason she won’t move in with me. God knows why. I’m sure she would be the perfect Susie Homemaker.” He winked. “You know. A lady in the kitchen and let me lead in the bedroom. A quick tweak here and there and wham bam thank you ma’am every so often and she’d be happy. I get my shirts ironed and my rocks off when I can’t get to my mistress.”
 What a fucking asshole.
“Everything covered then.” Rio sat back and plotted. “Lucky bastard. I’m between woman and I tell ya, my wrist aches. Hey what’s your name? I can keep calling you hey.”
The guy guffawed. A bit like a hyena. “Anton Hoag. You?”
Anton Hogg? Ant… Hogg? Can’t be a coincidence. Fuck it to hell.
“I’m Ron.” Rio used the name he often did as an alias. “Ron Parker. Hey you want another?” He pointed to the coke can in front of Anton. “I’m off to get one.”
“I’ll have the rum to go in it.”
Figures. Rio nodded, walked to the front of the plane, and purchased the drinks. He bet the guy got the time alcohol was served down to the second.
Anton was a bit of a contradiction. Killer or drunk? He didn’t seem the sort of bastard who’d let his woman work as a hooker but who knew? Nor did he seem the sort to kill women and do whatever it was that was dirty and underhanded. But then didn’t most serial killers look like they kissed babies and helped old women across the road?
Rio put the rum down next to Anton and tucked his can of soda in the pocket of his own seatback. The next few minutes relied on Anton the asshole not knowing where Rio had stashed his carry-on, and not paying any notice to Rio’s next move.
A diversion in the form of Cherine helped. She stomped down the aisle and glared at Rio. “Will you get my bag down? There’s a spare seat at the back. I’m moving.”
 “My pleasure.” Her bag was next to Anton’s. Assholes of the world unite? Rio flipped the catch of the overhead locker and handed down the case Cherine pointed to. Barbie pink and sparkly. What else?
She tuned without a word of thanks and Rio slid his fingers around the lock of a nondescript black leather bag, and played around for several long seconds. Success. He moved the zipper, slid his fingers inside the tiny gap until he found what he was looking for. Pulled it out, relocked the zip, and moved away from the hold-all to the very end of the locker.
“More space now, I can put my backpack up and not have it squash my toes.” He bent to his battered rucksack and slipped it in the space now vacant. Grabbed his purloined treasure and shoved it deep inside.
Satisfied, Rio settled back to endure the last hour of the flight. At least with Octopus Annie aka Cherine gone he could stretch out a bit. Snoring, snorting, farting, window seat man never moved.
The plane landed, Rio grabbed his possessions and set off down the aisle and into the terminal building as soon as he could. He needed to get away before Asshole Anton realized that not only was his lady no longer his, his passport seemed to have vanished out of a locked bag.
 Sometimes the skills learned at Dispatcher school came in useful. Even the non-killing ones.




Kera Faire is Raven McAllan’s dark side.




(Raven/Kera and Doris O’Connor fb group)

Twitter @RavenMcAllan


Killer at Christmas is the latest book in Kera’s Dark Isle series, about The Dispatchers—Government operatives who work from an Island in the middle of Loch Lomond in Scotland.
Tough men with a soft side. If you can find it.






Be Yourself

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ~e.e. cummings, 1955