Blog Tour – Giving the Body by Henry Corrigan

For Bernard Donaldson, the Breaker of Men, anything is possible in wrestling. Long time friends can suddenly turn heel, and even pariahs can make triumphant comebacks. But when Luke Jackson, ex-friend and lover, makes his return, Breaker knows something is wrong. Stronger, faster and better than he has any right to be, Luke is everything the aging Breaker wishes he could be. But the closer he gets to Luke’s secrets, the more he can feel something malevolent closing in. Because when it comes to dreams and desires, nothing is more hellish than the human heart.

About the Author

Henry Corrigan is a bisexual author, poet and playwright who wants to write every kind of story. He knows this sounds pretentious but screw it, he’s going for it. Always an avid reader, Henry started writing poetry in middle school but it wasn’t until he started writing erotica in high school that he really learned the mechanics of writing. What started out as private stories and love letters, soon became publications in anthologies.

To date, he has self-published a novella, Carnal Theory, and written one full length dark fiction novel that he is currently shopping around. He also has the rough drafts of two science fiction books, one horror novella, one play, four children’s books, numerous poems and several song lyrics. Above all, he wants to be known for not staying where he’s been put. To always surprise people, especially himself. Because that’s what makes it fun. The feeling that even he doesn’t know what he’s going to do next.

Connect with the Author online:

Check out my latest articles on Medium: https://medium.com/@HenryCorrigan

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/HenryCorrigan

Friend me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/henry.corrigan.35

Subscribe to my website: https://henry-corrigan-y0m6k8.mailerpage.com/

 


 

18 April – Stormy Nights
18 April – CA Milson Author
18 April – Maria Catalina Egan
18 April – 100 Pages a Day
18 April – Celtic Lady’s Reviews
20 April – Girl with Pen
21 April – 4 Covert 2 Overt
22 April – Writing Dreams
25 April – Introspective Press

 

Excerpt

Giving The Body

Fireworks.

We start every night with fireworks. Even through the heavy curtain I can smell it, the industrially acrid scent mixing with the salty hops of beer and fried foods. My stomach rumbles and Scottie nudges me gently.

“I’ll buy you a hotdog after this is over,” he says, which makes me smile.

“Just don’t let Marlina put any hot peppers on it this time.”

Marlina, Scottie’s valet, slaps my shoulder. “Wimp,” she says, leaning against me like I’m a tree, which for someone like Marlina who’s five-foot-four, I might as well be.

Out in the arena the fireworks die down but not the roar of the crowd. Twenty thousand people stand ready as Scottie’s music hits.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” peals the announcer. “Please welcome the XZW General Manager…Scottiiiiieeeeeee Class!”

Scottie’s music is a chorus of regal horns, like the king descending from on high. I kiss him as he steps through the curtain, Marlina at his side.

They hit the ramp with their noses in the air like they’re snorting cocaine straight outta the clouds. I smile as Scottie twirls his cane with each strut.

By the time they reach the ring, I’ve got my game face on. My sneer stretching ’til it could whip the skin off somebody else’s face. I glance behind me at the crew guys running back and forth and the script helpers making final tweaks, but it’s what I don’t see that worries me.

Luke should be here, and my gut can’t help but worry. If he’s drunk it’ll screw up more than our angle, but before I can think about it too much, my music hits, all shrieking guitars and pounding drums.

Time to be the Breaker of Men.

I walk out to a sea of boos and hisses, which I swallow down like candy. I make a point of snapping at those who reach out for a high-five.

Down in the ring, Marlina puts a hand on Scottie’s shoulder and starts looking for an exit. But Scottie doesn’t run. That’s not who he is and more importantly, that’s not who he plays.

He waits until I’m through the ropes before he steps to me.

“What the hell do you want, Breaker?” he shouts and I have to fight not to smile. Nobody else can put a quaver in their voice and make it crack on the mic.

I hit everybody with my best growl. “Sorry to interrupt the grandstanding of a crippled old man…”

The boos double up now Scottie’s beloved and everybody loves to hate me. Never mind the fact that I’m actually six months older than Scottie. The feeling in the arena is like static sparking between my fingers.

“But I’d like to talk about a sniveling, ungrateful, backstabbing little bitch who got very, very lucky last week.”

A cheer goes up. Some start to shout Luke’s name while others chant ‘Live-and-Primed! Live-and-Primed!’ I give it a three-count before continuing.

“Now, this bitch, used to be something special. I thought I saw…” I hold up my thumb and forefinger. “A sliver of talent there. So, I did what any good owner would do. I took it home, I fed it, I trained it. I brought it to the top of the food chain. And what do I get for my trouble?”

People are starting to clap now. Signs with Luke’s picture get held up high. Another two-count and then I scream right in Scottie’s face.

“I get a super kick to the back of the head!”

The crowd goes nuts and now even Scottie and Marlina are smiling.

“I want him. Do you hear me? I want Luke Jackson! Now what is the general manager, gonna do about it?”

Scottie looks me up and down and sniffs, like I don’t have a good six inches on him.

“Listen Breaker, I shouldn’t have to explain this to you, but you’ve always been a little slow, so I’ll make this real easy.”

I snarl at Scottie but he just keeps on rolling.

“I don’t owe you any favors. You don’t have any friends. And you definitely,” he taps me in the chest with his cane. “Don’t get to make demands of me. So why don’t you take all that dead weight and go find somebody who gives a-”

My hips clicks as I kick Scottie in the midsection, but my boy sells it just like we planned. I start hammering on his back with my forearms while Marlina tries to pull me off. Hauling him up onto my shoulders makes my back creak, but I do it anyway because the Death-Valley Driver is what I’m known for.

Quick as a rocket, Marlina hits me with the same padded, sequined fist that brought her five championships and I roll with it, being sure to drop Scottie in a way that doesn’t hurt him.

Marlina makes to run but I’m too big to be done yet. I grab her by the throat and start bellowing in her face. Scottie comes off the mat swinging his cane, but I grab him by the throat too and that’s exactly when Luke’s music hits.

Luke’s music is all frenetic beats, like the musicians were ripped on speed and playing ’til their hearts gave out.

Luke comes charging down the ramp, his manager Mr. Best right on his heels and I only have to look to know Luke’s straight as an arrow which kicks all the worries right out of my head.

I let go of Scottie and Marlina and turn as Luke baseball slides beneath the ropes.

Before he’s even on his feet, I level a haymaker at him, but Luke sidesteps it easily, almost too easily. Bouncing off the ropes, he comes flying back and hits me with a dropkick that I sell even though I have to grit my teeth as I hit the mat. Even rolling to the outside, little sparklers of pain shoot up my spine.

Luke follows me and we begin to brawl right in front of the fans. Clotheslines, chops, a chair-shot for each of us but it’s how fast Luke is moving that almost scares me.

We’ve been brawling for at least a minute and he’s not even slightly out of breath. His abs fucking ripple as he grabs the ring bell and charges me.

I barely have time to duck. The edge scrapes my cheek as it passes. If he’d hit me, my head would be up in the rafters by now.

After that though, there’s not a thing out of place. The refs and security people show up right on time. Luke and I end up on opposite sides of the ring, shouting at each other and the crowd eats it up.

I let security drag me away, but even as I make the ramp, I can’t decide whether I’m happy, surprised, or jealous at how well Luke is moving. The urge to talk to him is strong but by the time I make the curtain, Luke’s long gone and Mr. Best along with him.

Scottie and Marlina wave me over to the locker rooms and I follow, stopping just long enough to wish the tag teams up next luck in officially starting the show.

The night moves on.

Blog Tour: Coming Soon: Women’s Orgasm Erotica by Henry Corrigan

Multiple orgasms? Oh, yes!

What does it feel like to climax? Coming Soon: Women’s Orgasm Erotica offers wild and thrilling tales of female sexual pleasure that explore that question in a variety of wondrous ways. From a fetish that will appeal to any book lover and a waitress who’s seduced by her very attractive customers, to the thrill of artificial intelligence that knows exactly how to please a woman sexually, you’ll discover how delightful it is to come and come again. Read about women who like to watch, and others who love to get naked and show it all off.

With 20 erotic stories by popular authors such as Ella Dawson, Katrina Jackson, D. L. King, and Donna George Storey, you’ll be turned on with every page. Whether they’re enjoying multiple orgasms, playing with sex toys, attending a sex party or taking a thrilling business trip, the characters in Coming Soon savor every moment of their arousal. Edited by the award-winning Rachel Kramer Bussel, these sexy scenarios range from sex with strangers to the deepest of intimacy among couples, all while reaching the peak of erotic fulfilment.

Grab your copy here…

Bookshop (supports independent bookstores)    Love’s Sweet Arrow (independent romance bookstore)

Powell’s (independent bookstore)    Amazon (all available countries)    Barnes & Noble

Books-a-Million    Chapters (Canada)

Ebook

Kindle (all available countries)    Nook    Google Play    iBooks    Kobo

About the author

I want to write every kind of story. I know this sounds kind of pretentious but screw it, I’m going for it. I’ve always been an avid reader and started writing poetry in early grammar school. I think there are a lot of people who will say that they wanted to be Stephen King at one time or another, and the same holds true for me. I wanted to be Stephen King, Anne Rice, Ray Bradbury and Rod Serling, but it was in erotica where I really learned the mechanics of writing.

What started out as private stories and love letters, soon became publications in anthologies, the most recent of which being Cleis Press’ Coming Soon: Women’s Orgasm Erotica, which is due out 7/13/21 http://mybook.to/comingsoonprint.

To date, I have self-published a novella, Carnal Theory, and written one full length dark fiction novel that I am currently shopping around. I have the rough drafts of two science fiction books, one horror novella, one play, four children’s books, and I-don’t-know-how-many poems and several song lyrics. I meant what I said at the very beginning. I want to write every kind of story. (Except maybe westerns. I can’t watch two men stare at each other for ten minutes without screaming “Somebody shoot somebody already!“) I want to be known for not staying where I’ve been put. I want to always surprise people, especially myself. Because that’s what makes it fun for me. The feeling that even don’t know what I’m going to do next. 

Connect with me online

henrycorrigan.blogspot.com    Twitter: @HenryCorrigan    Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/henry.corrigan.35



02 Aug – Romance Reviews Today
02 Aug – Stormy Nights
08 Aug – Girl with Pen
09 Aug – Celtic Lady’s Reviews
10 Aug – Dawn’s Reading Nook
11 Aug – Writing Dreams
12 Aug – CA Milson Author
13 Aug- Room With Books
18 Jan – Brantwijn Serrah

 

 



Excerpt
From “I’m Her” by Henry Corrigan

The bathroom she’d chosen was small but serviceably spare, wrapped up in the smell of industrial lemon. When the knock finally came, Catherine’s heart thudded as she threw open the door.

Wordlessly Dave or Pete or Brian slipped past, taking his place atop the toilet. Locking the door behind them, Catherine smiled at this stranger with his blue shirt and hungry grin.

They stared at each other for a long moment and then, with slow, conscious movements, began.

Catherine lifted her skirt as he unbuckled his belt.

She slipped her fingers into her underwear as he stroked

himself, his cock held tightly in his fist.

She teased herself slowly, stirring the soft hairs with her palm, gliding a finger between her lips, drawing out the warmth like a friend called out to play.

Dave or Pete or Brian bit his lip and stroked more quickly now, growing harder by the second. With deft fingers, Catherine slipped her underwear off and spread her thighs wide. Slipping a finger insider herself, she gasped and rolled the hood of her clit gently, sending light straight up her spine.

Soon enough the smell of lemon faded, replaced by the musk of their exertions. Her thighs were quivering, and his cock was

hard and red.

He’d brought condoms, but she made him use her own, squirting a dollop of lube into the palm of her hand. Straddling his thighs, she grasped him, the first time they’d ever really touched.

He sighed as Catherine lowered herself down but for her it was uncomfortable at first. Her inner muscles, too long unused, rebelled at his thickness, leaving her hissing as she rocked against him, back and forth.

Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes, listening to the sounds beyond the door. The whisk of luggage wheels and conversations, the thousands of people walking by. None of them would ever see her like this, her bare ass clenching as she rode this stranger, her breath coming in frantic gasps as he went deeper every time.

With a shudder Catherine rocked forward, now flush against his hips. She sighed and let her head fall back, the sensation not quite orgasm, but the pleasure of being filled.

Blog Tour – The Continuum by Wendy Nikel

Wendy Nikel is a speculative fiction author with a degree in elementary education, a fondness for road trips, and a terrible habit of forgetting where she’s left her cup of tea. Her short fiction has been published by Fantastic Stories of the ImaginationDaily Science FictionNature: Futures, and various other anthologies and e-zines.

For more info, visit wendynikel.com or subscribe to her newsletter here!

Social Media Links    Facebook     Twitter  


23 Jan – CA Milson Author
23 Jan – Indie Book Fairy
23 Jan – Stormy Nights
23 Jan – Dawn’s Reading Nook
24 Jan – Romance Reviews Today
25 Jan – Girl With Pen
26 Jan – Urban Fantasy Investigations
27 Jan – Ash Stone Author
28 Jan – Girl Who Reads
29 Jan – Writing Dreams
30 Jan – BookGirl Knitting
30 Jan – Torie James
01 Feb – Room With Books

 

 

Elise Morley is an expert on the past who’s about to get a crash course in the future.

For years, Elise has been donning corsets, sneaking into castles, and lying through her teeth to enforce the Place in Time Travel Agency’s ten essential rules of time travel. Someone has to ensure that travel to the past isn’t abused, and most days she welcomes the challenge of tracking down and retrieving clients who have run into trouble on their historical vacations.

But when a dangerous secret organization kidnaps her and coerces her into jumping to the future on a high-stakes assignment, she’s got more to worry about than just the timespace continuum. For the first time ever, she’s the one out-of-date, out of place, and quickly running out of time.

Nikel is a solid writer with vivid description, an imaginative future, and a command of accurate historical speech.

Unreliable Narrators

Buy your copy here:

Official page

http://www.worldweaverpress.com/store/p139/The_Continuum.html

Goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35224471-the-continuum

Amazon

https://www.amazon.com/Continuum-Wendy-Nikel-ebook/dp/B076R9Z6DS/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&qid=1509402840&sr=8-1&keywords=wendy+nikel+continuum&linkCode=sl1&tag=worweapre-20&linkId=8fbea5376b3e9fcfdea0b0fc4dc65b3e

Barnes & Noble

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-continuum-wendy-nikel/1127278953

iTunes

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1299843408

“The spinning slows. Suddenly, everything stops.

My legs flail, searching for solid ground, until I plunge abruptly into dank, smelly water. I gasp, and my mouth fills with brine. I’m being dragged in one direction, but instinct pulls me the opposite way. I kick against my heavy skirts and break the surface. For one dizzying moment I’m utterly confused. The concrete slabs of the nearby docks sharpen my fuzzy memory.

1912.

Southampton.

The Titanic.

I Extracted while on the gangplank—a gangplank that doesn’t exist in 2012. This is exactly why our travellers are encouraged to use pre-approved Extraction locations. The Wormhole dumps travellers at the same place they’ve left from, which can make for some awkward (or dangerous) entrances.

Across the way, Marie does a frantic doggie-paddle towards the steel rungs leading up to the dock. With labored strokes, I swim after her, clutching the sphere in one hand. When I reach her, she’s still clinging to the bottom rung, too exhausted to climb to safety.

“Hang on.” I slip my Wormhole Device into my handbag and pull my dripping body up to the dock. Water streams out around me, forming a dark puddle on the concrete. The evening sun, balancing on the very edge of the horizon, casts an eerie glow on the water.

“Okay. Come on up—”

My encouragement is drowned out by the sound of retching. Lovely.

I clench my jaw to stop my teeth from rattling and focus on retaining my professionalism—not easy, considering the mucked-up circumstances.

Finally, Marie starts up the ladder, ascending tentatively, with gasping breaths. When she’s close enough to grab my forearms, I pull her up with much grunting and tugging. Her eyes widen as she takes in the industrial warehouses, giant cranes, and sprawling parking lots that seem to have appeared instantaneously.

“What have you done?” Her voice rises in pitch with each word.”

We Host – Goddess of the Wild Thing by Paul DeBlassie III

Let nature and the elements be your guide as we introduce you to Goddess Of The Wild Thing!

Paul De Blassie III

 

Paul De Blassie IIIGoddess of the Wild Thing is a dramatic tale of one woman’s spiritual journey where magical happenings, unexpected turns of fate, and unseen forces influence her ability to love and be loved.

Eve Sanchez, a middle-aged woman and scholar of esoteric studies, encounters a seductive but frightening man who introduces her to a supernatural world in which the wicked powers of a surrogate mother’s twisted affection threaten love and life. In the mystic realms of Aztlan del Sur,

Eve and three friends struggle with whether bad love is better than no love and discover that love is a wild thing.

Paul De Blassie III

 

 

Paul De Blassie IIIPaul DeBlassie III, Ph.D. is a depth psychologist and award-winning writer living in his native New Mexico. He specializes in treating individuals in emotional and spiritual crisis. His novels, visionary thrillers, delve deep into archetypal realities as they play out dramatically in the lives of
everyday people.
Memberships include the Author’s Guild, the Depth Psychology Alliance, the International Association for Relational Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy, and the International
Association for Jungian Studies.



His other award winning book:

Paul De Blassie III

A young curandera, a medicine woman, intent on uncovering the secrets of her past is forced into a life-and-death battle against an evil Archbishop. Set in the mystic land of Aztlan, “The Unholy” is a novel of destiny as healer and slayer. Native lore of dreams and visions, shape changing, and natural magic work to spin a neo-gothic web in which sadness and mystery lure the unsuspecting into a twilight realm of discovery and decision.


Books On Fire Tours: This was a difficult read. Not because it was a bad story. On the contrary. It was mind blowing! It was difficult because it messed with one’s mind in the most clever and effective way, which only a Pscychologist can do. So what is it about?
Eve and her friends use yoga and other spiritual means to help them navigate life when it gets tricky, and the often elusive thing called love. Debating whether or not bad love is better than no love at all, they go through life’s ups and downs together. Yet when Eve meets a man called Sam, who has potential, evil lurks and causes havoc in her life. An epic battle between good versus evil ensues between her and Sweet Mary, and in the process she finds her true self. BUT, there is so much more and as a reader you can only wonder what is real and not real.
Many people will complain about the lack of dialogue on this novel, but it is rich in back stories and information vital to the development of the plot. This book is not only filled with mystical and magical, but paranormal, metaphysical and occult elements. Essentially a great read for horror/ thriller fans, those who like a little romance will also enjoy this read. Because it catered to all my needs as a reader, I give this book 5 stars.

“Paul DeBlassie III has an extraordinary ability to pull the reader into his mythical world, and the special effect depictions drawn within my mind while reading *Goddess of the Wild Thing *could easily match up with some of the most gruesome of horror stories on film. He transports you through an amazing spiritual journey exploring the power of fate and love. Packed with action, suspense and even romance, Dr. DeBlassie has written a truly brilliant and riveting supernatural story!” ~ Tamara Ferguson, international, multi-award-winning author”

 “Paul DeBlassie III has a wicked gift in writing psychological thrillers, and he does it in a way I have never experienced before. In *Goddess of the Wild Thing*, he gave me a glimpse into his reflections, inviting me to draw closer to the dark side. His writing is rich with supernatural symbolism and, when all is resolved, deeply empowering.” ~ Uvi Poznansky, artist and award-winning author

 “*Goddess of the Wild Thing* by Paul DeBlassie III brilliantly couples his in-depth knowledge of the human mind and behavior with his love of lore, imaginatively knitting a deeply psychological and esoteric story that will keep you turning the page. I could picture clearly the fantastical sense of place . . . a must-read magical tale.” ~ Luna Saint Claire, author of *The Sleeping Serpent*

 “Dr. DeBlassie, author of the multiple-award-winning *The Unholy*, produced another novel with depth, action, and spirit in *Goddess of the Wild Thing*. For centuries we’ve struggled with whether bad love is better than no love. In this paranormal thriller, a fierce woman tackles the question with determination and fire.” ~ Rayna Noire, author of the *Pagan Eyes Series*


 


The stone altar was used by Eve and company to conjure natural energies of earth, air, fire, and water. Tonatzé symbolized feminine strength and ancient powers. Around the altar, the four women entered mystic states with intuitive inspirations and visions. The four mestizas frequently gathered at midnight, when the full moon shone most lustrously. They held hands, sipped their whiskeys, and inhaled magic herb. Soon the image of the Goddess flickered in rhythm with their soft singing under the light of the high-desert moon. Chant and trance conjured natural magic. They yielded to relaxation, reverie, and trust in one another and the natural world.
Descending into a meditative state, they were whisked from one world to the next. On slips of paper, they quietly wrote their worries, dilemmas, trials, and tribulations.
Seeking answers and relief, they placed the folded papers in a granite bowl before the altar. They lit a match. Paper burned. Silence wrapped its arms around the four. Gentle breezes stirred. Hoots of distant and nearby owls carried through the nighttime atmosphere. Flames from the granite bowl rose three feet and abruptly expired, devoured by darkness.
The ritual of fire fortified the coven, foul happenstance and unexpected hazard averted, all save one kind. Man trouble waited for Eve like a demonic jack-in-the-box, head bobbing and grinning. Muscles up and down her back tightened. It was this that caused her to flee into denial, the thought of time wasted, mind and body pained. The desire to talk, confide in her friends about misgivings about Sam, the last worst guy ever, fled like alley cats into a lonely night. Denial made everything go away—and stay gone—better than a couple of vodkas on the rocks on a chilly evening.
A white cab edged out of the alleyway bordering the cantina. It pulled stealthily alongside Eve. She bent down and looked through the smudged passenger window. She wanted to make sure she knew the cabbie. Past midnight was no time to be in a trusting mood.


Paul De Blassie III

***

At three a.m., the proverbial witching hour of Aztlan, Sweet Mary left her apartment for the gathering of Las Brujas Malas, deep in the crumbling limestone edifice of vicious spirits. The condemned downtown limestone church, once a prosperous enclave of the Ecclesia Dei, had long been abandoned. It sat adjacent to Sweet Mary’s bedroom, badly stained by gray and black soot.
Putrid odors of the cursed underworld that lay beneath its unhallowed edifice, curled through the atmosphere surroundingthe decaying structure.
Sweet Mary wound her way past the fenced and barbed wired blockade that deterred homeless souls and nighttime vandals. Her lithe frame smoothly squeezed between the slightly ajar, chained doors. She walked over the toppled wooden pews and stone statues littering the concrete flooring from the back of the church to its altar.
The religious artifacts had been defaced by those news media referred to as sledgehammer-wielding lunatics claiming clerical abuse as children.
She quipped to herself, Religion mocks, uses, and abuses. Nothing new under the black sun.
She opened a narrow side door that led to a rusted iron spiral staircase. Into the haunted and torch-lined basement that stretched thirty feet beneath the surface, she stepped. At the final stair, she touched bare earth.
Torches were lit along a cave of mirrors, shards embedded in the walls, shattered remnants taken from the homes of victims who had defamed Las Brujas.
Anyone who dared speak ill of the brujas ended the day tormented, injured, or maimed. Crises happened. One second they were safe, the next mowed down by an out-of-control car, or mugged and cut, or worse, lured in by a soft and sexy vixen loaded with a nasty biological curse. Mirrors confiscated from homes during nighttime raids reflected the victim’s horrified face when doom struck. Sweet Mary hurried past the legions of rats scampering away from her every step into the cracks and crevices of the century-old limestone structure.
An unavoidable eyesore at the heart of one the most decayed areas of the often sinister downtown Aztlan del Sur. It was a meeting . In this haunted zone, Sweet Mary presided over the witches of black magic. They knew how to spot love, taint love, kill love. It’s what bad mothers did. It’s what Las Brujas did. It’s what Sweet Mary did—because what had been received must be given.
No one knew where they gathered. Evil demanded hiddenness. Street-smart folk and fear-ridden church folk knew them as Las Brujas Malas, the foulest of witches, not to be crossed. Even those who suspected the whereabouts of their lair dared not cross the street to look at the unholy building, now a crumbling religious edifice.
The witches met at the mouth of a deserted tunnel, which in former years led to the secret chapel of the reigning archbishop, who there entertained a bevy of female devotees. Las Brujas, the four desert urban witches, walked down the twenty-foot descent. Hard-pack dirt sloped gently into the entrance of the unhallowed region of the chapel that had become the accursed cave of Las Brujas.
They moved forward, into the mouth of the cave.
Paul De Blassie III
***
But here Eve was, paralyzed. Waves of gurgling and quicksand were no metaphor. Agitation could turn bad to worse. Eve clutched harder for a stable mind. It was a torment, nearly impossible not to panic. She gritted her teeth, tightened her mental hold. Gently, millimeter by millimeter, she managed to raise her right hand. Mud offered no resistance. She raised her right forearm out of the hungry maw of dirt and grit. She grabbed hold of a desert oak’s dropping branch. It held firm. Five fingers clutched like a vise. She lifted her left arm and hand. Inch by inch, she loosened her torso from the deadly mud. Low-lying olive tree branches gave steadier purchase.

Relief.

Memories of circling sparrows, an ancient warding against fated demise, provided a moment’s comfort. She pulled upward. Branches did not snap or break. They were supple. Evenly, she pulled with breath after concentrated breath. She gazed toward the sky. There were no sparrows overhead. The silence felt unnerving.

The sky shifted, turquoise bright turned to leaden gray. The desert olive branch snapped. Eve screamed and dropped. She sank to her shoulders. Quicksand lapped up past her chin, grains of sand forming crusts along her lips.

Clenching her teeth, she was grateful her mind hadn’t snapped along with the branch. Wits kept panic at bay.

Dying wasn’t a concern, survival was. It was the getting there that mattered—how it happened, how she did it. She detested the thought of dying by a witch’s curse, slipping into an underworld of final breaths and mud-loaded lungs. If she went down into the belly of the abyss and the mouth of a soul-famished witch, she’d do it on her terms. Middle finger out.

Paul De Blassie III

 

 

 

 

Book trailer with the Author’s choice of music to listen to his book.

Blog Tour – Vanity in Dust by Cheryl Low

Cheryl Low might be an Evil Queen, sipping tea and peeping on everyone from high up in her posh tower—a job she got only after being fired from her gig as Wicked Witch for eating half the gingerbread house.

…Or she might be a relatively mundane human with a love for all things sugary and soap opera slaps.

Find out by following her on social media @cherylwlow or check her webpage, cheryllow.com. The answer might surprise you! But it probably won’t.

Social Media Links: Twitter& Instagram: @cherylwlow Website: cheryllow.com

In the Realm there are whispers. Whispers that the city used to be a different place. That before the Queen ruled there was a sky beyond the clouds and a world beyond their streets.

Vaun Dray Fen never knew that world. Born a prince without a purpose in a Realm ruled by lavish indulgence, unrelenting greed, and vicious hierarchy, he never knew a time before the Queen’s dust drugged the city. From the tea to the pastries, everything is poisoned to distract and dull the senses.  And yet, after more than a century, his own magic is beginning to wake. The beautiful veneer of the Realm is cracking. Those who would defy the Queen turn their eyes to Vaun, and the dust saturating the Realm.

From the carnivorous pixies in the shadows to the wolves in the streets, Vaun thought he knew all the dangers of his city. But when whispers of treason bring down the fury of the Queen, he’ll have to race to save the lives and souls of those he loves.

A deliciously decadent debut that will make you reconsider the world within which we live – because how different are we than Low’s drugged-up citizens of the upper crust?” — Sara Dobie Bauer, author of the Bite Somebody series

Grab your copy now     World Weaver Press     Amazon     Barnes & Noble     iTunes     Kobo     Goodreads

08 Aug – Indie Book Fairy
08 Aug – Tome Tender
08 Aug – Celtic Lady’s Reviews
08 Aug – Erzabet’s Enchantments
09 Aug – CA Milson Author
10 Aug – Girl With Pen
11 Aug – Stephanie’s Book Reviews
11 Aug – Writing Dreams
12 Aug – Ash Stone Author
16 Aug – Torie James
17 Aug – Foreplay & Fangs
18 Aug – Romance Reviews Today

Excerpt

“Vaun took another deep drag off the cigarette one of his new friends, Gabby, had offered him. She and the man sitting beside her pretended quite comically to be from the High. The prince did not ruin the show by telling them that he knew everyone in the High, to some degree. The quality of their vanity charms indicated they were not, not to mention the state of their clothing. Being rude was only fashionable if one’s victim was up to the challenge and could strike back. Besides, Vaun never discouraged people who tried so hard to amuse him.

The prince exhaled black smoke. It was thick and dramatic, but his skin didn’t hum the way it usually did after a deep breath of dust. In fact, the tingle was more of an agitation, making him shift in his seat and flick his cigarette more angrily than usual. Ash fluttered through the air. How much tea did he have to drink for a decent buzz? He all but dropped his cup back on its chipped saucer in disgust. “I shouldn’t have come,” he muttered.

“You’re leaving?” Gabby’s smile faltered. Her fingers clenched around her teacup. She wore fingerless, black lace gloves like his sister did on occasion and Vaun noticed that her skirts and bodice were also in dark colors with hints of lace sewn in wherever possible, some obviously added as an afterthought and not even matching the lace elsewhere. It would have been easier to try to imitate the High fashion of Belholn but Gabby had aimed even higher, for the princess herself.

“Yes. I’m sure I have a date somewhere.” Some part of him enjoyed the distress of the people around him at the possibility of his departure. It made him want to leave even more.

“Wait!” Gabby grabbed at the man beside her, whose name Vaun had forgotten a while ago, and tugged at the sleeve of his obviously repaired jacket. “Show him,” she whispered urgently.

Vaun took another draw of his disappointing cigarette. The best part about going to a teahouse or club in the thick of the Main was how the people tried so desperately to impress him. The people in the High knew him too well to try so hard. They feared his mockery even more than they desired his attention. But this group had spent the better part of the last hour trying to wow him with their trinkets and knowledge of the High. It was all nonsense read from the paper and mostly outdated. “I truly doubt you have anything to show me that I have not seen.”

The man reached into his jacket a little uncomfortably and took out a small mason jar. Others giggled, recognizing it, but Vaun only blinked at first. Its glass belly was full but not with anything liquid or solid. Light, captured and pulsing, swirled inside the jar. Vaun felt it as much as he saw it. He heard it like a whisper against his senses and found himself leaning forward to see it more clearly: a soul. Vaun had seen them before, but they weren’t common. So uncommon, in fact, that he was surprised they hadn’t led with this in their attempt to impress him. He supposed they might have been afraid he’d take it. Soul capturing was an old craft that most considered barbaric now.

His gaze turned up from the jar to the man holding it. “Who is it?” The soul was a beautiful captive, but the person walking around without it was the real prize—the puppet, someone that could be made to do anything.

“I couldn’t say.” The man smiled. “He wouldn’t be much of a spy if I did.”

 

The Earl and the Courtesan by Raven McAllan

Well what can I say? I’m growing old disgracefully and loving it.

DH and I live on the edge of a Scottish forest, and rattle around in a house much too big for us.

Our kids have grown up and flown the nest, but roll back up when they want to take a deep breath and smell the daisies so to speak.

I write in my study, which overlooks the garden and the lane. I’m often seen procrastinating, by checking out the wild life, looking—only looking—at the ironing basket and assuring tourists that indeed, I’m not the bed and breakfast. That would mean cooking fried eggs without breaking the yolks, and disturbing the dust bunnies as they procreate under the beds. Not to be thought of.

Being able to do what I love, and knowing people get pleasure from my writing is fantastic. Long may it last.

Social Media Links:

http://www.ravenmcallan.com

http://www.ravenmcallan.blogspot.com

https://www.facebook.com/ravenandkera    (my page)

https://www.facebook.com/ravenmcallanandkerafaire              (author page)

https://twitter.com/RavenMcAllan

http://amzn.to/2r3i55e     (Amazon. com page)

http://amzn.to/2r32baI      (Amazon UK)

 

 

13 June – Tea Time and Books
13 June – Tome Tender
13 June – Indie Book Fairy 
13 June – Stormy Nights
14 June – Celtic Lady’s Reviews
15 June – Seeing Night Reviews
15 June – Foreplay & Fangs
16 June – Stephanie’s Book Reviews
16 June – Torie James
19 June – Writing Dreams
20 June – Ash Stone Author
05 July – Romance Reviews Today

 

Once a courtesan, not always a courtesan. It’s time to move on, and who better to do it with than a rake?

Theresa Kyle, ex-courtesan, will not kowtow to any man in marriage, let alone an odious ex-pupil. When the man rejects her refusal of his proposal, she reluctantly agrees to seek help.

Jamie, the Earl of Weston, is in a fix of his own. The marriage mart is not for him, let alone a compulsory wedding due to the machinations of his mother.

A mutual friend seems to have the perfect solution. The earl and the courtesan—what better way to foil those who want to see them married against their wills?

Alas, the best-laid plans go awry, for neither had expected to fall in love. Needless to say, as far as Jamie is concerned, being a member of the aristocracy comes in handy when you need to bend the rules to your will. Convincing Theresa, however, may well be harder than winning over the ton.

Buy yours now!     Totally Bound    Amazon.co.uk    Amazon.com    Kobo

 

“I think we should start a club,” Theresa ruminated. “One for people like us who do not want to be ruled by convention.”

Her friend Maria sat back in her chair and contemplated Theresa. “There are plenty of us. What’s our name?”

“How about the Daring Ladies Club?”

Maria sniggered. “Oh, I like it. And the members?”

“Well, you and me for a start. We can begin small.”

“Excellent. When do we have our first meeting?” Maria reached for a nearby bottle of wine and poured two glasses full.

“I rather think we’re having it now,” Theresa said with a laugh. She took her glass and held it high. “To the Daring Ladies Club. Be this the only meeting or not, we can at last acknowledge who and what we are.”

“Interesting, unconventional and ready to take on the world?”

“Something like that.”

Theresa sat back in the large comfortable chair and smiled at her friend over her glass of wine. Theresa’s long black hair was half in a knot on the top of her head and the rest had left its pins and spiraled over her shoulders in a waterfall the color of midnight. She pushed it back impatiently. At times it was the bane of her life.

“So, that apart, who is your next client?”

“Who’s next?” she said in reply to Maria, her friend, confidante and seamstress to the ton. “Nobody. I’ve decided to retire.” She sipped her wine and savored the silky-smooth apricot and gooseberry-scented liquid with enjoyment. “This is good.”

Maria put her own glass down with such a thump that the fine French contents slopped dangerously near the rim. Her mouth dropped open and she gaped at Theresa as if she were hallucinating.

Theresa grinned and held the glass in the air to look at the light amber-colored liquid. “Where did you find it?”

“Never mind the wine,” Maria retorted. “Say that again, slowly.”

Theresa opened her eyes as wide as possible and waved her glass from side to side as a toast. It wasn’t often possible to shock or surprise Maria, and therefore every time it happened was immensely satisfying. “Theresita is no more. From now on I’m plain Theresa Kyle, spinster of the parish.”

“Why?” Maria sounded bewildered, as well she might, Theresa thought. She hadn’t mentioned her intentions to Maria until she’d firmed up her decisions and set certain plans in motion. “You’ll never be plain anything,” Maria continued. “Black hair and blue eyes combined with a stunning figure will ensure that.” She tugged a strand of her own soft brown tresses. “Not forgettable like mine.”

“Exactly.” Theresa chose to misunderstand her. “You are not forgettable, and you know it. Your hair is glossy and your figure…”

“Is voluptuous. Top-heavy. Why do you think I became a seamstress?” Maria asked, then chuckled. “I know what suits me.”

“You know what suits others as well,” Theresa replied. “That is why you are successful.”

“Just as well, because now I can afford to dress in the style I enjoy,” Maria said. “Something that pleases me. However, stop changing the subject. Why are you retiring?”

“Why?” Theresa said. “Because I’ve had enough.” She shrugged and raised her eyebrows as she tried to put into words just how she felt. “Of men and my life as it has been. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed every minute of it, I’d be a liar if I said otherwise. But think about it, Maria. I’ve spent the last fifteen years earning my living on my back.” She snorted then took a mouthful of wine. “Well, not necessarily on my back, but you know what I mean.”

Theresa winked and Maria choked. “Water,” Maria spluttered. “No, wine will do.” She took a large swig and wiped her streaming eyes. “How can you say something so audacious with such a straight face?” she asked when she could speak in a coherent manner once more.

“Practice,” Theresa responded without any embellishment to her reply. “Back, front or sideways on, it all has the same end. To instruct certain gentlemen of the ton that there are two people in each coupling and both have desires and needs that must be addressed.”

“So? You’re successful, well liked and a definite asset to lots of relationships, even if that is not admitted to. You can’t tell me there are no more men who need help, because after listening to the women in my salon whinge I won’t believe it.” Maria rolled her eyes. “Some of the things I hear would make the most confident of men blanch. I hear about sizes of appendages, how long a man can last, the best position to ensure you do not get with child… You name it and I probably can give you five different opinions. I’m sure you are needed.”

“More than likely, but no more help from me.” Theresa sat forward and began to count on her fingers. “First, I’m one and thirty, and would have what, three, four more years before all the bits that are now firm and attractive to gentlemen begin to wobble more than is seemly. Second, I’m not as agile as I was.”

She hiccupped as Maria began to laugh uncontrollably. “Not… Oh my, the picture that conjures up,” Maria tilted her head to one side. “Just how agile do you need to be?”

“As a…and oh, do stop it…” Theresa shook her head and sniggered. “You’d be surprised. Well, no, on reflection, maybe you wouldn’t, but believe me it isn’t as easy to twist and turn as it was five years ago.” She stood and began to pace Maria’s snug sitting room. One long stride and her swirling skirts set a side table rocking. She stooped to steady it. If the dainty china figures on it smashed, Maria would not be best pleased. “It’s not just that. I think I need to remove from town for a while, and get out of a certain honorable’s orbit.” She turned in a flurry of elegant skirts and faced Maria. “One who doesn’t understand the words ‘it is over’.”

Shifting Scales by Decadent Kane

International Bestselling author Decadent Kane is an indie paranormal romance writer with a pen name taken from a burlesque name generator and began her career on a dare…

The fae, magic, and mystical worlds of possibility are carved into her soul. When she writes her stories, she pours all of her heart into what they whisper. She’s the kind of lady who will stare off into space to better understand her characters thoughts, listening to them speak their own version of the story.

She’s a mother of two girls and several furbabies. She’s engaged but has no intention of getting married.

Like most authors she’s been writing most of her life and has dreamed of being an author since the 5th grade. When she writes, she writes to explore characters and a world first for herself. Then she revises, edits and publishes for readers.

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Stolen dragon scales, a mob boss, and seductive Siberian male…

Nova had her hands full.

After Grigori’s dragon scales are stolen, he catches a lead in Paradox City. The culprit? A sassy little thing who masquerades as him to make a sale! He might have found that adorable if she hadn’t taken his dragon powers too. Intrigued by the female’s abilities, Grigori set his sight on claiming what is rightfully his, and in the process, the female just might find her way to her knees.

Nova brokers deals on the black market. She doesn’t ask what the products are and she usually doesn’t care, not until her brother gets involved with Faceless, a mob boss. Toss in a dragon shifter searching for his stolen scales and Nova finds herself knee deep in trouble. When that sexy dragon barges his way into Nova’s life, she refuses to give in to his demands… well, at least she tries to tell herself that. She doesn’t expect Grigori to awaken a side of her she’d only ever thought about in the dark of night… an urge to submit she thought she could live without.


Join the dark side with ***ALL NEW*** stories from some of your favorite NY Times, USA Today, and Award Winning, Bestselling authors.

Step into the shadows with witches, werewolves, shifters, vampires, and soul mates: the sizzling hot alphas you love.

Are you fated to find your fantasy lover in these seductive, steamy pages bursting with danger and desire? Claim your book boyfriend now!

Amazon Smart URL: http://hyperurl.co/PnGBs
Nook: http://bit.ly/2jzPcGI
iBooks: http://hyperurl.co/PnGiB
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2lcxcYe
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2kfFjSp

Kinked – edited by Cori Vidae

When she isn’t visiting the worlds of immortals, demons, dragons and goblins, Brantwijn fills her time with artistic endeavors: sketching, painting, customizing My Little Ponies and playing with graphic design. She can’t handle coffee unless there’s enough cream and sugar to make it a milkshake, but try and sweeten her tea and she will never forgive you.

She moonlights as a futon for four lazy cats, loves tabletop role-play games, and can spend hours penciling naughty, sexy illustrations in her secret notebooks.

Brantwijn has two romance series currently in-progress with Champagne Books.  She’s also had short stories published in several small press anthologies. She has author pages on GoodReads and Amazon, and loves to see reader comments on her work.

Her short stories and audio readings occasionally pop up along with her artwork on her website, www.brantwijn.com.

 

What inspired you to write your first book?
The first romance I wrote—Lotus Petals—was in part motivated by the first erotic novel I ever read. I won’t say ‘inspired’, because I already had the characters, plot, and setting in mind… but what spurred me to actually knuckle down and write it was reading an erotic novel with a similar setting, and being blown away by how bad it was. The author claimed to be an expert in geisha culture and the setting of Japan, and yet the plot and characters were just… just awful. I wanted to write something both erotic and beautiful, both salacious and sexually charged but founded in a strong story and compelling conflict. I just wanted to show that erotica and good storytelling were not mutually exclusive.

Was it easy to tell your friends and family that you were writing romance? What was their reaction?
It was awkward at first, and I sort of threw out “scandalous” details to warn them and give them a chance to turn down reading it. You know…fair warning, ahead thar be naughty words and erotic situations. My parents insist on being encouraging and supportive anyway. Even grandma. They brag about me and my lesbian erotic stories to their friends. It’s downright embarrassing.

How did you react to having to edit or make changes to your “baby”?
I actually honestly believed my editor would be struck dumb by the sheer awesomeness and professional polish of my work. I expected glowing praise and stunned awe. It, uh…it didn’t work out quite that way. In fact, the editor assigned to me—Jayne Wolfe—turned out to be pretty ruthless. I was the one who was stunned. But I’ll tell you something. I was Absolutely thrilled! Jayne really made me work for every scene, every chapter. She put me through my paces and she never held back. I honestly feel the book’s true shine comes from working with an editor who wasn’t afraid to be brutal.

What is the hardest part of being published for you?
There is an element of being “always on”, I think. Not like I’m always playing a role, but like I’ve always got to be selling myself. Indie authors and small presses have an uphill battle and the market gets tougher every day. I’ve already gone through the closing of one house I belonged to and feel like as a house author, I let them down. If I go a day or two without having done some sort of self-promotion, suddenly every missed sale, every day without a bump in my numbers, feels like a falling back in a race while all the other runners speed on ahead. It can be daunting. I’ve always held onto the idea that I’m in this to tell stories, to share fantasy and adventure with other lovers of good fiction, and that’s what’s important, but there’s still pressure to make sales numbers for the publisher, keep the lifeblood flowing to the small and indie market.

What is your least favourite part of the whole process of writing, editing, publishing and promoting a book? Why is that and how do you deal with it?
I loathe writing blurbs. Trying to boil down my story into a 100-word sales pitch just…just kills me. I’m not saying it’s useless. I understand the purpose of it, and the necessity, and I understand how it helps readers make a decision. I would never argue that authors shouldn’t write blurbs…I just don’t like doing it!  I turn to my editors for help. Both editors I’ve worked with are exceptionally helpful, taking my raw words and finessing them into something resembling sensible copy. I’d be lost without them.

What advice would you give an aspiring writer?
I always, always advise aspiring writers to take a creative writing course. One where you interact with other students. Share your work with the group. Take critique. Give critique. I’ve heard published authors brag that they’ve never taken a class, but honestly, they should have and their writing reflects it. You can do good work without formal instruction. Having that instruction to help shape and hone your skills, though, can take good work, and make it great.

If you weren’t a writer, what other artistic outlet do you think you’d have?
I’d like to think I could make a living in art. I love all sorts of artistic expression. I’ve recently branched into cover art and graphic design, but I love sketching, painting, crafting, small-scale sculpture… Hopefully I could find some way to make a decent wage at it.

Do you have a secret skill that you can share with us?
I can tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue. I can also apparently rap. I didn’t even know I could do that.

What has been the strangest place that inspiration has struck and how did you deal with it?
In the middle of a Swedish massage. My first massage, actually. The result—written years later—is actually the massage sequence in Lotus Petals between Rhiannon and Aijyn. I still get inspiration during massages, actually…currently I have ideas stewing for one of my fantasy novels involving the preparation of a queen for coronation.

What is the strangest thing you have ever done while researching your story or characters?
I always enjoy a trip to the Erotic Heritage Museum when I’m in Las Vegas, and while I’m never entirely sure what I’ll find there, it’s always good research for my erotica and romance stories. On my first visit—I only randomly found the place while driving around off the strip, behind the casinos—I spent a couple of minutes watching unique pornographic films in their circular theatre. One of the films was reportedly the first known pornographic film, a black-and-white silent film from 1915. Another was shot in thermal cam. That one was really neat.

 

 

Every tattoo tells a story…

A submissive pain slut receives a tattoo as a reward for years of selfless service. A man’s body is used to deliver a very different kind of message to a domineering masochist. An exotic teahouse on an alien planet where one woman explores her submissiveness with a set of shapeshifting twins.

These and other sizzling stories take you to the places where kink meets ink and leave you indelibly marked.

Word Count: 71,000
Kink Level: D/s, BDSM and voyeurism featuring M/f, F/m, F/f and M/M/f pairings

ISBN 978-1-988233-19-2 (physical)
ISBN 978-1-988233-20-8 (electronic)

Website     Goodreads     Amazon


Begin Again by Tiffany Michelle Brown is a story about a woman whose first tattoo unlocks a whole other life for her, along with a long-lost love. (M/f)

Inkarnate by Mara Malins is about an artist who tries tattooing from a place of desperation and discovers not only a new career but a whole new world and a side of herself she hadn’t known existed. (M/f)

The Courier by Danielle Davis takes place in a world where paper is a precious commodity and so messages are often tattooed onto courier’s bodies. When one courier delivers a message the recipient wants to read over and over things it has a profound impact on his life. (F/m)

Through Glass a Stranger by Renee Dominick is about what happens when the man Liliya has been watching from afar decides to change the rules of their game. (Voyeur)

In For the Occasion by Brantwijn Serrah a lucky pain slut is gifted a brand new nipple tattoo by her mistress. (F/f)

Sae-ri by Nicole Blackwood features not one, but two sexy werewolf — and did I mention that they are twins? They’ve claimed Zoe as their own, but it’ll all be for nought if she doesn’t claim them in return. (M/M/f)

Kayla left her dominant partner, Mark, and got engaged to another man in Ink and Ocean by Meredith Dark. But soon after that engagement falls apart Kayla finds herself back in Mark’s apartment, teased and tempted by the past… (M/f)

Painted Red by Sara Dobie Bauer features a leading man with an interesting fetish — Ben loves tattoos. Like, he really, really loves tattoos. Will Angie’s issues keep her and Ben from being together or will he break down her defenses so they can find happiness together? (m/f)

 

We Host – When a Rogue Loves a Woman by Samantha Holt

whenaroguelovesawomanmedRogues of Redmere book 2

Notorious rogue, Lord Nathaniel Kingsley always tended to leap without thinking. Becoming a smuggler, adopting a sheep, getting engaged to Miss Patience Grey….

Patience has no need for a fiancé, or a husband. For once in her life, she wants to prove she’s just as good as a man and she does not need Nathaniel Kingsley getting in her way. With her brother injured, it is up to her to continue her family’s work…and that means tracking down a French spy and ensuring said spy will turn.

Unfortunately, no one believes she can do it alone. Which is where Nathaniel comes in.

Nate is happy to be of service. Why pass up the opportunity to repay an old friend, especially with a little intrigue along the way? Find the spy, play escort to Patience, return home to continue smuggling. Easy.

Or at least it would be if the stubborn Patience would let him do his job. The breeches-wearing woman is determined to do it all alone and, he has to admit, there’s something quite distracting about a woman in men’s clothes.

Can he keep his attention from her long enough to complete their mission and persuade Patience to let him do his job and protect her? A job he’s beginning to find he’s enjoying a lot more than he thought he would…

Available from Amazon and all other vendors for 99c for release week.

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About the Author

Samantha is a full-time author who lives in England with her twins girls and a dachshund called Duke. When not writing, she loves to explore stately homes and castles around the country.

Find Samantha on her website www.samanthaholtromance.com

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RAFFLECOPTER GIVEAWAY

Excerpt skinny

“There would have been many a heartbroken lass had you really been engaged,” Drake said. His grin grew wicked. “I was looking forward to offering my comfort and condolences.”

Nate shook his head and ignored his friend’s jest. Instead he turned his attention to the ale in his hand. It would be his last for a while. He’d need a clear head for what was to come, especially if he was to keep that minx under control. If her own mother could not make her wear a dress, what chance did he have?

Either way, he was looking forward to the challenge. Smuggling was all well and good but they had only gone out once in the past month and all had been quiet. No excitement to be had. He was rather looking forward to the chance to indulge in some espionage and adventure.

Of course, Jacob Grey was aware of their illicit activities. Being a government agent had meant they had helped him before. He was one of the few residents of Penshallow who quite understood who was behind all the smuggling that took place in their small fishing village. Most thought Knight the face of it—the big, brooding, scarred hulk of a man opposite who spoke only when absolutely necessary.

At present, Knight’s attention was on something near the bar. Nate flicked a glance over but could see nothing of interest. Only the usual overly drunk patrons gathered while Louisa, the innkeeper, worked her hardest to keep up with demand.

Other patrons littered the room, gathered around small tables. Some had cards in their hands while all had drinks. The Ship Inn was not the most savory of places but it was out of the way and the food was good. Not to mention Louisa was uncannily good at ensuring the customs men never came near the place. She had saved their skin many times and they repaid her help generously, ensuring she had a good supply of excellent French wine.

“You were a damned fool, signing up for this,” Nate’s brother said, thrusting a finger at him.

“What was I to do? You were off enjoying yourself with Hannah. Far too much it seems.” His brother’s gaze darkened and Nate immediately ceased any idea of talking of Red’s fiancée. Hannah was currently installed in lodgings in the village while they awaited the license for their marriage and to finalize all the details. His brother was, unbelievably, utterly in the love with the woman. It was not such much the woman he had fallen for that surprised Nate but that his brother had the ability to fall so heavily for her. Red had always been too busy to think of love or even marriage.

Drake leaned in. The captain fixed Red with a slight smile on his lips. “Face it, Red. While you were distracted by petticoats, Nate held down the fort. I don’t blame him for offering to help, after all, are we not in this to help the crown?”

“Since when are you so noble?” Red demanded.

“Since I have a pocket full of coin,” Drake said smugly. “Things have been going uncommonly well of late. I don’t see why Nate cannot help Jacob Grey and be back in time for our next outing.”

“Uncommonly well?” Nate’s brother lifted a brow. “After Knight’s illness and the storm that near tore your ship in half, you were complaining of curses. Now you think things are going uncommonly well?”

Knight glowered. The giant of a man sat with his arms folded, a great scowl etched upon his face that in some lights looked as though it could be made of granite. Were it not for being friends with him, Nate would give him a wide berth. The man looked like trouble and, potentially, he was. No one really knew anything about him apart from the fact he was useful muscle and a damned hard worker. Though Nate suspected there was something more under that silent exterior. What that was, however, he was not sure.

“It was not an illness,” Knight protested.

Drake laughed. “You vomited on my boots, Knight. What would you call it?”

Knight fell back into silent mode and glowered some more.

We Host – The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia by Raven McAllan

I love having the talented and fabulous Raven McAllan to visit and I love it even more when she’s willing to write me a guest post to share with all of you!  Enjoy xx

swirl

It’s always special when you have a book out. A red letter, chill the fizz, find the bar of chocolate you stashed and celebrate time.

I’m doing the chair swivel jiggle, happy dance because my latest Regency, The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia is now all set and ready to be downloaded to an eReader near you.

I know Regency isn’t to everyone’s taste. Well it would be a boring old world if we all liked the same things, wouldn’t it. But I love researching and writing stores set at that time. There’s so much intrigue and things going on behind closed door, the scope is endless.

As I wrote the story the people who read snippets gave it a nickname…

#TeamHarry

Take Harry for instance. He knows what he wants. There’s just the not so small problem of getting Lydia to see things his way… As the blurb says…

 

Blurb Skinny

lydiaSeducing the wallflower…

Over the years, Lydia Field has perfected the art of being a wallflower. It’s the only way to avoid the attention of unwanted suitors – and the perils of a convenient, loveless marriage! Instead, she dreams of the day she can leave London’s high society behind her, trading the glamorous balls and afternoon teas for a quiet life in the country.

But in an unguarded moment, she finds herself catching the eye of notorious rake ‘Handsome Harry’, Lord Birnham. Now that he’s glimpsed the wildness and fire that lurks beneath Lydia’s demure exterior, Lord Birnham will not rest until he has unleashed the full extent of her passion!

For if there’s one skill that Lord Birnham is known for, it’s the art of persuasion…

And a wee tease…

Excerpt skinny

‘Lydia my dear, everyone expects us to announce our betrothal on your birthday. The rumours are that is what we are waiting for. Plus.’ Oh how he wished he didn’t have to say it. ‘If you do not agree the rumours are correct and making it official your parents would be mortified and hardly dare show their faces. Think what that would do to your mama.’

Lydia blanched. ‘That is rubbish.’ She jumped up and began to pace the room. ‘I will not be coerced by you them or anyone else. Lord can’t you see how wrong it all is?’ she appealed to him. ‘I have not said yes. I will not say yes and this, this idiocy has gone on long enough. I will issue a statement myself and tell everyone it is so.’

‘You’ll ruin yourself if you do,’ Harry warned her. ‘As well as your parents.People will think you started the rumours yourself.’

She shrugged. ‘Let them. I do not care.’

His heart sank. ‘I do. Your parents would. If nothing else thinkagain how it would reflect on them. Yes I know your mama started it, but even you have to admit she thinks she has your best interests at heart.’

‘By forcing me into something abhorrent,’ Lydia asked passionately. ‘Incredible.’ She swung around so violently her skirts rocked the firedogs. ‘Parental love is very strange.’

Harry stood up and stopped her pacing by the simple method of pulling her into his arms. Lydia glared up at him as she stood stiff and unyielding in the circle of his arms. ‘What?’

He tilted her chin up with one long finger and looked at her anger filled eyes. ‘Ah, love, if only I had the answer you want.’

She sniffed. ‘You do but you choose not to say it.’

Her tear-filled eyes and woebegone expression was too much. Harry pulled her closer and put his chin on top of her head. ‘Do you feel the world is against you?’

She sighed, but didn’t pull back. ‘All of it. Is it too much to ask for peace to do one thing on my own?’

He firmed his lips and then gave into temptation to kiss her hair. ‘It’s our world, love. For good or bad we have to work with it not against it. Although, I suspect together we could change it if we had a mind to. What say you?’

swirl

If this makes you wonder ohhh what if? …  #TeamHarry is available from

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Happy Reading,

Love Raven x