Big Sale at All Romance! #mmromance #free

One day only! Act now! #mmromance #erotic #sale 


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.


Behind the Mask 


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.


Buy Link : AMAZON


Welcome Rene George Who Brings Us Dirty Martini #mmromance #pridepromotions #giveaway

Book Name: The Dirty Martini (CockTail #4)

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. 

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

Sales Links: AMAZON


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

* * * *


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