One day only! Act now! #mmromance #erotic #sale
6/19/2014
Crawl in Bed With Lisa Worrall
Crawling Into Bed With
Lisa Worrall
And a Good Book
Important
things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?
Cotton all the
way. I don’t like silk, I’m frightened
I’ll slide out of bed!
What
are you wearing?
A smile (and a pair of
pyjama trousers and a vest top - I like me arms uncovered)
What
are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?
Cheese toastie. I know
they say you shouldn’t eat cheese before bed, but I am a bit of a rebel that
way. Besides, I’m hoping any cheesy dreams I get will be my next bestseller!
If
I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?
Um, *opens drawer*
make-up, tattoo cream, chargers, beaded bracelets made by my daughter,
self-adhesive labels, antiseptic wipes, cotton buds (Q-tips), an electric
screwdriver, a portable disc drive and some dog treats.
Do
you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the
night?
I like to be covered
up, but I always have a fan going all night. Even in the winter. It’s more the
white noise than the cool air. Unless it’s summer of course, then it’s the cool
air and the white noise. Cannot sleep without it!
Can
I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
Depends on where you
let me stick mine... ;)
What
are we reading?
Isle of Waves, Sue
Brown.
@Lisa_Worrall
Behind the Mask
Excerpt:
Gabe, my
beautiful, beautiful, Gabe,
First of all, don’t
panic. You don’t need to put your head between your knees and kiss your arse
goodbye, you’re not hallucinating. And no, this is not some sort of ‘P.S. I
Love You’ kind of deal either—you’re not going to get a letter a month sending
you off on little voyages of self-discovery. Take a breath, ‘cause this is a one off, gorgeous.
So, what shall we talk
about? Let’s get the obvious out of the way first. It’s not like you haven’t
heard it before, but I’ll say it again, anyway.
I love you.
I’ve loved you from the
first moment I saw you, which is kind of crazy when you consider the night we
met I couldn’t actually see your face. But one look into those eyes was all I
needed and when you smiled, damn—I was a goner. I knew you were the one, you
know what I mean? I had to have you and I didn’t care who I nutted out of the
way to get to you. Luckily for me, you agreed to dinner and a movie. Not that
I’d have given up if you’d said no. I’d have convinced you how fabulous I was
eventually—and you know it.
We went to see that
stupid indie movie which should have gone straight to DVD, it was so appalling,
but we didn’t care. We sat in the back row like teenagers. I held your hand and
you put your head on my shoulder. I have to confess, I could have watched a
reading of the yellow pages that night and it would still have been the best
first date ever! Of course, I had a lot more hair and a bit more muscle then,
which is why I’m so glad I pinned you down before the chemo turned me into an
extra from Dawn of the Dead. Sorry, bad joke, but you know me… I don’t know any
good ones.
I wanted to say so many
things, Gabe. To tell you, to try and explain to you how much you mean to me,
but I’m having trouble finding the words. ‘Thank you’ and ‘I’m grateful,’ sound
so pathetically inadequate. But that’s what I am. Thankful that you’re mine,
that I’ve been able to wake up to your beautiful smile every morning for the
last four years and thankful to have been loved by you. What was the other one?
Oh yeah, grateful. I’m grateful for your support these last months, for
standing by my side, and for holding my hand through this total shit-fest.
You’ve been my strength and I couldn’t have made it this far without you.
I know we’ve said
goodbye a thousand times already, in a thousand different ways. And I know
we’ve talked about, you know, after, but what I never told you is how angry I
am… with myself.
Angry for putting you
through this… angry for leaving you… angry for not beating it like I promised…
angry this happened to us. Just fucking angry. And I do mean us, because I
know, although you can’t share my physical pain, I see the emotional heartache
in your eyes every day, baby—and I’m so sorry for that. I only ever wanted to
make you smile.
Jesus, there are so
many things I wanted to show you, Gabe. So many places I wanted to take you, to
share with you. I only hope, someday, you’ll experience some of those things
yourself. Like climbing to the top of the Eiffel Tower, or strolling down Las
Ramblas in Barcelona, or flying in a helicopter over the Grand Canyon. And you
really have to go Christmas shopping in New York. I wish I could be there to
see your face when you look in Bloomingdale’s shop window. To see your mouth
drop open and your eyes light up. But that’s where I’ve come to realise what a
wonderful thing imagination can be. All I have to do is close my eyes and I can
see you there, right now. The slack-jawed look on your face, the fairy lights
picking out the gold flecks in your eyes as you stare up at Santa’s Grotto and
the utter joy on your beautiful face.
Stop shaking your head.
I haven’t lost my marbles completely. I’ve just learned to get in touch with my
more creative side. What? You think you’re the only one who knows how to be a
giant sap? Now where was I? Ah yes, Santa’s Grotto… as I was saying.
I guess I will be there
in spirit. Because you’d better be carrying a little piece of me in your heart.
As I’ll be carrying you with me, wherever it is I end up. Which will hopefully
be the big men’s changing room in the sky *snort*.
I sent you off to Tesco
a while ago under the pretence of a desperate craving for chocolate cheesecake.
You’ll be back soon so I guess I need to get to the point.
It won’t be long now. I
can feel it. But I’m not scared, which is weird because I thought I would be.
But I know, when it comes, I’ll be in your arms and your beautiful face is the
last thing I’ll see.
I know I’m getting the
easy part, baby. My pain will stop. The one comfort I have to hold onto is that
you won’t be alone. You have your parents, my parents, Sarah and, of course,
Tom. I know their support will make it a little easier, but the grieving you’ll
have to on your own.
So that’s what you
should do—grieve. Cry, scream, yell. Whatever you need to do to get through it.
People will understand. You don’t need to keep your upper lip stiff, let it
out… that’s ok, you’ll need to do that.
But please, don’t drag
it out, baby. I don’t want you to waste your life on some sort of misguided
notion that you can’t love again. That all hope of a happy ever after will die
with me. Your capacity to love is immense, Gabe, and shouldn’t be put away in a
drawer—which is what you need to do with me. So grieve, but then dry your tears
and move on. Live your life. And know I’ll be watching you, with a smile on my
face and joy in my heart.
In this envelope you’ll
find a ticket to the ball, Cinderella. Just think of me as your ghostly fairy
godmother. Don’t pull that face. Downe Hall is where we met, and it’s the
perfect place for this chapter of your life to end… and a new one to begin.
Please go. Dress up, drink champagne, remember me for a while if you must but
not for long. Then find yourself a gorgeous new Prince and ride off into the
sunset.
I know you think I’m
nuts, that my brain’s a lump of Swiss cheese, but after you’ve read this letter
twenty or thirty times, you’ll know I’m right. Let’s face it, babe, I always
am.
My hand’s starting to
ache and my writing looks like a five-year-old has gone nuts with a biro, so
I’m going to sign off now. If I don’t, I won’t be awake enough to eat that
cheesecake you’re buying and my cover will be blown.
I love you, Gabe,
always. Go to the ball and find your Prince Charming… it’s where I found mine.
Mike
6/18/2014
Welcome Rene George Who Brings Us Dirty Martini #mmromance #pridepromotions #giveaway
Cover Artist: Renee
George
Publisher: Renee
George
When bartender Chris Lawson goes into shock after getting the worst news of his life, he wakes up in the arms of Marty Lincoln, an Army Ranger on leave from his post. Even in his grief, Chris feels instantly connected to the war-ravaged vet.
Only two problems: Marty is his boss’s younger brother. And even if that wasn't an obstacle, the battle-hardened Ranger is straight. Or is he?
***This takes place in the CockTail serials world, but is a stand alone novella.
Only two problems: Marty is his boss’s younger brother. And even if that wasn't an obstacle, the battle-hardened Ranger is straight. Or is he?
***This takes place in the CockTail serials world, but is a stand alone novella.
Excerpt:
Driving up the highway, only a
couple hours from his hometown, Chris allowed the surrealness of the situation
to envelope him. Marty hadn’t said more than a few perfunctory words to him
since they’d stopped at Chris’s apartment to pick up his things for the two-day
trip, and he’d made a point of not making eye contact with Chris. The silence
and distance lingered between them—a thick and heavy barrier. Did Marty already
regret his decision to take Chris home? They barely knew each other. They
weren’t friends, and one night didn’t make them lovers.
Chris pursed his lips, steeling
his courage to give Marty an out. “About last night. It doesn’t have to mean
anything. Just two people hanging out, hooking up. It’s not a big deal.” He
snapped his mouth shut and swallowed hard. God, he sounded like a rambling
imbecile. Marty’s white knuckles and seriously drawn brows indicated Chris was
making things worse not better. “Look. One time doesn’t mean your gay or
anything. I was sad. You were sad… or whatever. We helped each other. End of
story. No reason to feel bad or guilty. It’s not like I’m going to be heartbroken
if you don’t want me.”
Hearing his own words, the
possible truth of them, hit Chris like a punch to the gut. “I hope that’s not
why you’re taking me to my dad’s funeral. Because you feel guilty about what we
did.”
The car slowed. Marty flipped the
right blinker. He pulled them over to the side of the highway, put the car in
park, and turned his head until his gaze fell on Chris.
Chris, who had some experience
with the fight or flight reflex, was suddenly in flight mode. He should’ve kept
his mouth shut! Marty looked like he was ready to beat the crap out him, and
considering his ranger training, Chris had little chance against him.
When Marty undid his seatbelt and
turned his body to face the passenger seat, Chris pressed his back against the
door. Marty leaned over the console between them until his face hovered inches
from Chris’s. Chris tucked his chin and closed his eyes, bracing for the punch.
His eyes fluttered open when he
felt the unexpected warm press of Marty’s lips against his own. Not the punch
he was expecting, but just as hard of a knockout. Marty’s eyes had softened at
the edges, but he still looked angry when he pulled back.
“I’ve wanted to do that since I
walked in on you having coffee with Jay this morning. Not kissing you before
now has been the hardest part of my day.”
Stunned, Chris said nothing when
Marty sat back in his seat, put his seatbelt on, and started the car. “Have I
cleared up your confusion?”
Chris shook his head and smiled.
“Not at all.”
Author Name: Renee
George
Author Bio: Multi-published, award-winning author
Renee George has been a factory worker, an army medic, a nurse, a website
designer, a small press editor, an artist, and a teacher, but writing stories
about sexy alpha men is the BEST job she's ever had. When she turned thirty,
she went back to college and earned her BA in creative writing. She has been
married to the love of her life, a wonderful man who supports in every way, for
over half her life (and that is a VERY long time!). She happily lives in a
small, Midwest town with her husband, two needy dogs and a very independent
cat.
Author Links:
Twitter: reneegeorge2008
Tour Dates: 6/18/14
Rafflecopter Prize: $25 Amazon
Gift Certificate
6/15/2014
Newly RE-released: Less Than All M/M Regency #mmromance
Good morning! I am pleased to announce that I have finally gotten everything sorted out and have just re-released Less Than All, my m/m regency romance. This title was formerly available from Silver Publishing, which is now defunct. While it has a shiny new cover and is freshly edited, the basic story remains the same.
 |
| Cover Artist: Laura Harner / Dan Skinner |
Less Than All
by Lee Brazil
|
Nicholas
Danville doesn’t trust his lover to share the depth of his attraction.
He
knows full well Victor must marry to fulfill his duty to his aristocratic family.
Assuredly
marriage will mean the end of their liaison.
A youthful indiscretion leads to a humiliating
encounter between Nicholas Danville and Lord Victor Ware. Nicholas is sent home
in disgrace, and Victor continues life in the Ton. Years later, Nicholas's
reproving parents send him to town to attain a degree of polish before he
prepares for life as a member of the clergy.
A chance encounter with an old friend leads to a
new confrontation between Nicholas and Victor. This time, the attraction
between them burns brighter, Nicholas is old enough to know his own mind, and
Victor is done with self-denial.
From ballrooms to
gardens and opera houses, Victor sets about proving that a passionate liaison
between two men is possible even under the narrow gaze of the Ton
Book Excerpt:
Peter
had evidently taken the time to pull his glossy Hessians back on because
Victor had swallowed half the glass before he heard the door click behind
him. Lifting the glass to study the amber liquid in the firelight, he spoke
without turning around. "I pay you an adequate allowance to cover your
own establishment Peter, exactly because I do not wish to find hordes of
drunken revelers have invaded my home."
"I'm
glad for Peter's sake that you're a generous man, My Lord Ware. But I'd
hardly call our little gathering a horde."
Victor
whirled about to find Danville lounging in altogether too close a proximity.
A single lingering glance impressed upon Victor the slender lithe frame,
lovingly outlined by tight buff colored breeches, fine white linen shirt open
at the neck. Both his discreetly embroidered waistcoat and his black tailcoat
hung open. Danville’s inappropriate dishabille enticed him as the devil
tempted sinners. He held up a hand as though to ward off the smaller man, but
Danville stepped impossibly closer, and Victor groaned as his blood thrummed
and his head swam.
Strong
arms wrapped around his neck, tugging his head down, and soft wet lips
pressed lightly against his mouth. "I've waited years for this moment,
Ware."
Then
Victor gave up listening, gave up fighting the response of his body as an
agile tongue probed the seam of his lips, seeking entrance. He accepted
Nicky's kiss, opened his mouth to suck at the questing tongue. He chased
Nicky's tongue for what seemed like ages, his body hardening and heating with
lust.
His
arms closed around Nicky's slender waist, hauling the man close so he could
seek solace for the ache of his prick in grinding against the silk of Nicky's
evening breeches. The shattering of his whiskey glass on the hearth broke the
mood, and Nicky pulled away, retreating to the door.
"I'm
going now." He paused, hand on the doorknob. A strangely earnest
expression crossed his face as he tilted his head to glance back at the
stunned Victor. "Shall I return? Or do you forbid Peter's friends the
run of your home?"
He
slipped from the room while Victor struggled to frame a coherent response
* * *
*
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