Book Blast and Giveaway: Happy Holidays by C.R. Barnes

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Happy Holidays! The Charlie Barnes Experience, 

Volume 1

Author: C.R. Barnes

Publisher: Beach Book Press

Release Date: July 11, 2024

Genre: Humor/Satire with M/M romance

Tropes: Fake relationship, Lovers to enemies

Themes: Irreverent Humor, Friendship, Loyalty, Moral Ambiguity, Writer’s Block

Heat Rating: 2 flames (the main characters do have sex a few times but there are no graphic descriptions)

Length: 54 000 words/167 pages

It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.

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How I Went from Failed Writer to Drug Mule, and Back, Without Really Trying

After a shocking event on Halloween night, Charlie Barnes is back in the news for all the wrong reasons. On the bright side, he meets handsome cop Luke. Luke of the blue eyes, perfect nose, beautiful butt cheeks, and, unbeknownst to Charlie, ulterior motives.

Even bad publicity can be good for book sales, according to Charlie's publisher, who promptly moves up the deadline for his next book. A book he hasn't started due to a crushing case of writer's block. Or perhaps he's just lazy, it’s hard to tell with Charlie.

He's got a month to write his next book, decide if Luke is for real, and figure out what to do about the suitcase full of drugs he abandoned at the airport. The pressure is on and the ride is about to get bumpy.

Lying on a beach, soaking in warm summer sun and cool ocean breezes. It’s heaven, until a wave rolls in and crashes on top of me. Next thing you know, I’m gasping for air and choking on my own bath water. Not dreaming anymore.

Or am I? Is Detective-Too-Good-To-Be-True in my kitchen? Did he draw this bath, light these candles, and leave me in peace long enough for me to drown in my tub? A gentle knock on the door. He must have heard me doing the breaststroke. Before I say come in, he comes in. Not dreaming, not this part.

“You doin’ okay in here?” He asks with such sweetness I feel guilty for thinking it’s too much. But it is. We’ll work on this later.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Seeing how much water I can get on the floor before the tub falls through it.”

“Might not sit well with the neighbor.”

“He’s a bitch. Always complaining about how loud I walk. Fuck him.”

I toss my hands in the air and give him my best ‘who gives damn’ face and end this part of the conversation with “If he wanted quiet, he should have bought the penthouse.”

“Since when is the fifth floor of anything the penthouse?”

Not sweet. This is better.

“If it’s on the top, it’s the penthouse. Prove me wrong.”

“I’d rather feed you.” He hands me a towel. He doesn’t leave. A dare.

I take the dare. I stand up, hang the towel over a hook, and grab my shower handle thing, what is it called? Shower handle, maybe? Whatever it is, I spray myself down, sending water everywhere. He gets wet and starts laughing. As God is my witness, his buttons will be pushed. He can’t take everything in stride.

When I step out of the tub the room spins. He grabs me by the shoulders and guides my butt onto the toilet, which, thankfully is closed and does not have a candle on it.

“Sit still,” he commands.

What? He takes the towel and starts drying me off. I know where this is going, at least for me. I have to stop this. I don’t want to stop this. But I have to. We can’t have sex, there’s lasagna to be eaten. Lasagna is better than sex. But if you’re going to have sex, having it before eating lasagna is better than after.

We are not having sex. Not tonight. And when we do, I won’t talk about and I certainly won’t write about it. I might mention it, I might even brag, but there won’t be any details. This is neither porn nor erotica. Some things have to be private.

“I can handle it from here.”

Disappointment flashes across his face. It didn’t last long, but it was there. Good. He puts a hand on my cheek. His hand is warm, and soft, and big. He kisses me on my damp forehead and says “Then hurry up, I’m hungry.”

Laughing hurts my ribs and makes me stop. Then he laughs at me, which makes me laugh again. It’s a hot mess of pain and happiness and arousal, and all sorts of other things running around inside my body and banging around my brain. Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes. This is the man for me.

“Get out before you kill me.”

He pulls the towel over my head and walks out, still laughing. Quick as I can, I get dry, get dressed, and meet him at the table. There’s a salad, the aforementioned lasagna, a bottle of wine, flowers, and candles. He must have gone shopping because none of this stuff came from my pantry. I’m not even sure I have a pantry. He pours the wine, lifts his glass, waits for me to lift mine and says, “Welcome home Charlie.”

I pull my glass back “You said that already. Come up with something new.”

“Geez, Charlie,” he pretends to be annoyed. He’s not annoyed. He’s challenged and he likes it.

“Here’s to not dying in a Dorothy costume in the parking lot of a seasonally gay nightclub.”

That’s more like it.

C.R. "Charlie" Barnes studied literature and journalism in college and went to work for a global news organization immediately after graduation. During his time there, the team won a pile of awards and Charlie was on his way to a low-paying, high-stress career in a business he didn’t love. He now spends his time writing fiction because the news was never good, and one thing Charlie likes is a good time. Or at least not a bad time.

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Book Blast: Apple Boy by Isobel Starling

 Book Title: Apple Boy (The Quiet Work #1)

Author: Isobel Starling

Publisher: Decent Fellows Press

Cover Artist: Valentine Pascadian (Lennel)

Genre/s: Fantasy, M/M Romance

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length:103 600 words/ 556 pages

Release Date: February 15, 2019

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After a traumatic event, Winter Aeling finds himself destitute and penniless in the backwater town of Mallowick. He needs to travel to the city of Serein and impart grave news that will bring war to the Empire, but without a horse, money, and with not a soul willing to help him, he has no choice but to line up with the common folk seeking paid work on the harvest.

 

As wagons roll into the market square and farmers choose day laborers, Winter is singled out for abuse by a brute of a farmer. The only man who stands up for him is the farmer's beguiling son, Adam, and on locking eyes with the swarthy young man Winter feels the immediate spark of attraction.

 

Winter soon realizes there is a reason he has been drawn to Blackdown Farm. The farmer possesses a precious item that was stolen long ago from Winter’s family, and he determines to retrieve it. He also cannot take his eyes off the farmer's son, and as the young man opens up Winter can’t help wondering if Adam is just kind or his kind!

 

“Apple Boy” by Isobel Starling

CHAPTER 1

MARKET SQUARE

"You boy, aye, YOU. Ain’t never seen yeround ‘erebefore,”The farmer directed his bellow at me.

It was sunrise, and at last, I’d found the courage to step out of my hiding place and join the common laborers who gathered in Mallowickmarket square. We were waiting for the farmers’ carts to come by and choose their day workers. I’d watched this ritual each morning for the past three days, peeking out from shadowed doorways, or while crouching behind barrels.

It was harvest time, andit appeared to be routine for peasants to walk from the surrounding hamlets before dawn and assemble in the square to seek work on the farms. There was wheat, barley, root vegetables, and tree fruits to be gathered before the weather turned. I was informed by a ruddy looking fellow in the tavern that anyonecould get work on the harvest, and so, with my pride cut to ribbons and my pockets empty, I’d stepped out of the safety of my hiding place and joined the commoners.

“Does ye wants work or no’? Look at me when I’m talkin’ to ye. What’s yer name?” The burley farmer roared. I looked up, stunned to be singled out from among all of these strapping men and hardy looking women, for I felt invisible. Four carts had already passed and taken their pick of the young, strong peasants, but none of those farmers gave me a second glance. I should have known something was afoot, for when this particular wagon turned up the women in the square shrank back into doorways, and men sidled away to lean against buildings. On the side of the wagon, writ-large in bold off-white letters were the words BLACKDOWN FARM. There were around thirty of us left on view, like cattle.

I had never partaken in manual labor or any kind of work before. I was a gentleman and far more familiar with spending my days relaxing, reading, attending social events in the city, or taking a horse for a gallop in the country. But my life had changed since I’d become stranded here in the Pasturelandsprovincial town of Mallowicktwo weeks earlier. Now I was living on my wits. Each day was a fight for my life, and I’d sold all of my fine belongings, intending to pay for passage on the stagecoach from Mallowickto the city ofSerein. But I had not thought things through, and it did not happen that way. My body’s needs took precedent. I’d become so ravenous, and therefore the meager coin I’d gathered from selling my finery was spent on what I could afford—basic rough barley bread and ale, just enough to stave off the gnawing pangs of hunger in my belly each day. Now, I had no belongings, and the money was all but gone. I was no thief, and the only thing I had left to sell was my body. Looking like a wretch, I did not believe I could earn even a copper that way! Before I left on my travels, I was warned that the province of Eriashad strict rules about men bedding other men and I did not want to tempt fate. I was at a loss—hard labor or starvation were the only choices available to me. Gods, if my father could see how far I’d fallen in such a short time, he would be thoroughly ashamed. I was living hand-to-mouth, and if I dared to seek out my reflection and observe my disreputable state of dress, I was sure I would see I was no longer a gentleman at all.

I assured myself that all would be well as soon as I could get to the city of Serein. There I would attend my father’s depository and obtain funds from his account—as had been arranged, and then, I could find my way to my uncle’s residence and attend to a much grimmer business.

So, with no other choice, I was here, standing in Mallowickmarket square with a bunch of rough-looking fellows and ruddy-faced women with just the ragged clothes I stood in to my name. I wondered if my visage had taken on the same gaunt, starved, haunted look some of them wore.

“WELL?” The farmer roared.

“Leave him be Pa; I think he’s a mute. P… p... pleasedon’t—” A swarthy young man urged, stepping to the farmers’ side. The man appeared to be in his early twenties, with broad angular shoulders, slim hips, and wavy jaw-length hair that longingly reminded me of Montesteintea. When the morning sunlight broke through the clouds and caressed him, the strands of his hair revealed all the shades of autumn. It was beautiful. His eyes were bright emerald green, and his skin bore the wind-burned tan of a man who spent his days working the land. I met his gaze for a second that seemed to stop time, and I felt a flutter of longing erupt in my gut. I found myself mesmerized by him. He appeared a little embarrassed, for himself or for me, I wasn’t quite sure. The farmer turned to his son.

“Shut that filthy moutho’yours, apple boy!” he spat. His large meaty hands twitched. He sneered and glared at his son in such a wicked way I knew it should have been followed up by a sharp slap. I worried that the young man would endure further public humiliation at the hands of his father, but the farmer moved his disdainful glare back to me. I shuddered with fear. I had a feeling that he was saving his son’s punishment for later—away from the prying eyes of the townsfolk. I did not like that thought, not one bit. I did not know why the farmer was drawn to me, but he sized me up with a sweeping glance of consideration, then wrinkled his nose as if he’d sniffed a revolting stench—I hadn’t bathed in two weeks, so maybe I didsmell a tad ripe!

“Is ye a mute?”

I shook my head. I would say, if anything, I was deeply traumatized by the unfortunate circumstance I’d found myself in, but no, I was certainly not a mute. I just wasn’t used to a lowly man speaking to me so roughly. Generally, men who dared to address me knew their betters and behaved appropriately. But here in Mallowick, in the province of Erias,I was no better than a beggar on the street. There was no one I could call on for favors, no one who, on hearing my family name, would loan me coinfor the stagecoach or a horse to ride to the city and send word to my father.

When I’d first arrived in Mallowick,telling the truth of my station had gotten me dragged down an alley where my finger and earrings were stolen, and I’d received a beating. This farmer from Blackdown Farm had no idea who I was, and I would not make the same mistake again.

I took a breath and stepped out of line. “Master Irwin Harding, sir. You may call me Win.” I winced at hearing my own soft, well-spoken voice, with my accent, the clipped tongue of Thorn. I had not used my real name and wished I had not used my true voice either. The fact that I was the son of the Duke of Thornmeant nothing here. Thornwas west of Erias, on the other side of the Silua MontisMountain range, and I doubted any of these illiterate souls in Mallowickknew anything other than that folklore passed around by storytellers.

The farmer stepped to stand in front of me. He was a big, bulky bastard of a man and stank of stale sweat and baccy. He had a grizzled podgy face and thick dark hair shot with strands of silver pulled into an untidy tail. The tension grew between us, and I worried I’d spoken out of turn. I looked down and watched my bare, filthy feet as if they held endless fascination. I’d seen men like him before. He had hands like shovels, and I’m sure they’d done damage in their time. My father would have used a man like him well, probably as muscle to intimidate the city folk while the Royal Chancellor did the rounds collecting taxes.

Afraid and sweating with anxiety, I glanced up and away, unable to look at the farmer directly and meet his fierce piggy eyes. Instead, I looked left and caught the eye of his son. I felt another flutter of attraction. I was grateful for it because it dampened my fear a little. The glance the farmers’ son sent me back was sheepish, apologetic. He shrugged and put a finger to his lips, signaling for me to hush. I’m sure now he knew what was coming.

“Master, is it?” The farmer gave a raspy malevolent chuckle. “Well, well, well aren’t ye an uppity little scrote. Such a pretty voice an’ all. Have your balls dropped yet, lad?”

The townsmen men standing around me shuffled on their feet and snickered uncomfortably. I could tell from the tentative laughter they were afraid of this man too. My chest tightened with fury, and I felt the flare of heat rush to color my cheeks. If in ThornI would have put this fellow in his place, but as directed by the farmers’ handsome son, I held my tongue.

I dared to look up as the farmer scratched his grizzled chin and consider me. It was then I saw it. A chill iced my bones. On his chubby right index finger, he wore a gold ring set with a large red gemstone that I was aghast to see held the intaglio engraving of a rose thorn—my family’s seal. How had this disgusting Pasturelandsfarmer come upon my family’s ring? Anger curdled my gut, but I forced myself to focus and fixed my features so as not to alert the man to what I was looking at. That ring was more precious than I could say. It was not set with any common gemstone, oh no, the setting was Star-fall. The legend was that mortal tools could not cut the rich-red Star-fall stone. The gemstone was shaped by sorcery, and the power that carved into the gem was stored inside it as if the Star-fallwas a reservoir for the magic. It was illegal for any other than the Twin Kings of Osiato own Star-fall. The king’s men had scoured the Empire to remove all traces of the priceless gem from common and aristocratic hands and possessing it was a death sentence. Did this ruffian have any idea what he wore?

Not getting a rise from me, the farmer stepped yet closer and found out for himself if my balls had dropped. He reached for my privates and squeezed.

“Ahh, ye got some big stones de’re al’right,boy,” he said with a filthy sneer.

“Done any labourin’before, lad?” My eyes watered. I shook my head and winced as the pressure on my most sensitive parts rose. I wanted to shout and push him away, punch him in that bristly pug face. I’d trained in hand-to-hand combat and swordplay, but that was of little use to me now that I had no sword and was cast as naught but a commoner myself. I stood frozen to the spot with fear, my cock, and balls in the hand of this brutish man. I was sure that clutching mynetherswas not the best way to test if I would be a good apple picker.

The farmer let go, stepped back, and looked me over again like he was sizing up a prize pig. I wanted to keel over, hold my sensitive parts and howl, but, with my eyes watering, I kept my back ramrod straight and looked past the farmer, using his son’s regretful, pretty green eyes as my focus.

I appeared to be a boy, but I am nineteen and about to make my majority. I have a tall, willowy frame, and little muscle to show for my near twenty summers. Weeks before, I was clothed in the silken garb of a lordling, but all I wore now were my stinky silk britches and a once-white linen shirt. I’d even had to sell my fine leather boots. My flaxen hair hung loosely to my shoulders and was bedraggled. My mother had always told me my hair shone like a golden halo. I guessed that was no longer the case. I had not seen my reflection in two weeks so I could only imagine how frightful I appeared to onlookers. My circumstance was terrible, but I refused to let it defeat me. I was a son of Thorn, I wasa gentleman, damn it, and I was prepared to do whatever it took to do to find my way to my destination and seek justice for all the ill-luck that had befallen me.

“Right, scrote, up on the wagon,” the farmer declared. “We can always do wit a few extra scurrier’sfer the windfalls.”

I had no idea what that actually meant, but strangely relieved to be selected, I nodded subserviently and then, ducking my head to avoid the farmers’ glare, I scurried to the wagon where I surreptitiously gave my aching intimate parts a gentle rub.

I’d heard from a fellow in the tavern that harvesting wheat at Robinswood Farmwas backbreaking, as was digging root vegetables at Windy Oakes Farm. He advised that apple picking was easy workand if I could get employment at Weatherby’sor Blackdown Farm,they paid good coin. He said the mistress at Blackdownwas particularly well-liked and always gave laborers a bread and cheese luncheon with last season’s cider. I was so hungry that bread and cheese sounded like a banquet. The fellow had neglected to tell me that the farmer was a brute!

The farmers’ son met me by the wagon and offered to help me aboard. For a moment, from the look of consideration in his eyes, I thought he could see past the disheveled state of me to the gentleman I’d once been. But that was ridiculous. The farmers’ son hopped up onto the back of the wagon with dexterous athleticism, and then offered me his hands. I took them without a thought. His warm touch and the strength in those work-roughened fingers twisted my gut into uncomfortable knots. He fixed my gaze as he gripped both of my hands and tugged me up as easily as if he were lifting feather down. He pulled me closed and pressed me to his hard chest.

“Don’t back chat him or it’ll be the worst fer you,” he whispered the warning to my ear. Alarmed, I eased back from him and cautiously met his eye for a split second. In the look he gave me I saw that the warning was well-meant. Bewildered, I nodded in thanks and understanding. I had no idea why this stranger was looking out for me, but the fact he was warmed my heart. I choked back a tear. No one had looked out for me over these past weeks, and I had been so terribly lonely. I’d learned some hard life lessons on this leg of my journey, and I’d come to understand that here my title was irrelevant, and without money I was suddenly invisible; therefore small kindnesses meant more than I could say.

My adventure into the provinces had been made to appease my father for my supposed ‘lack of direction.’ I’d become bored with my easy life in Thorn, andnot intending to marry; I’d told my father that in-light of my upcoming twentieth Bloomsday I wanted to tourthe Empire. If I were to one-day become Duke of Thorn,I needed to know a little of the politics of each province and so, pleased with my initiative and happy to be rid of me for a while, he’d set me on my way. I’d toured the provinces of Terria, Corvay,and Reussand then continued to the province ofOsia, spending time in the capital city Altea,at the court of the Twin Kings, Kristoff, and Fabian Von Harte. With this journey to Erias,I was to have the full set of provinces under my belt. But fate was not on my side.

On benches affixed to either side of the farmers’ wagon sat fourteen men morosely staring at their bare, filthy feet, not a word of chatter between them. They each owned a small pack of belongings and a wrapped blanket that each had stowed beneath the bench. At this moment they were better-off than me, for I did not even have a blanket to my name. There was space for me and five more, totaling twenty men. The farmer chose from the remaining laborers with less consideration than I had been afforded.

“Right… I’ll take Allin, Jed, Arthur, Bartram, and Matty, that’ll do me fer the week,” he hollered decisively.

The week? I thought I’d promised myself for a hard day’s labor? But then again, I considered the harvesters who were sitting in the wagon, and yes, they appeared to have prepared for an overnight stay. Confused, I sat down as the other laborers were pulled up onto the wagon by their comrades, and then we shuffled along the benches until we were all seated. I noticed the shoulders of the remaining men in the market square sag a little in apparent relief as if some mighty weight had lifted from them. I didn’t understand it. I thought they’d wanted to work?

The farmers’ son clambered over into the front of the wagon. His father climbed on, the man’s bulk shaking the timbers of the rickety wagon as he settled on the bench beside him. The son handed his father the ribbons, which the farmer greedily snatched up, and then with a fearsome bellow of “Geddup”and a thunderous whip crack, the large mottledgreyworkhorse began its cumbersome trot down the main street and onto the dusty road to Blackdown Farm.

Isobel Starling spent most of her twenty-year professional career making art in Ireland. She relocated to the UK and, faced with the dreaded artist’s creative block, Isobel started to write and found she loved writing more than making art.

 

Isobel is currently working on her nineteenth book.

 

"As You Wish" (Shatterproof Bond#1) narrated by Gary Furlong won the Audiobook Reviewer Award for Romance 2018. It is the first M/M Romance audiobook to win a mainstream audiobook award.

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Book Blast: Pride Of Love by Kevin Dwyer

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Pride of Love

Author: Kevin Dwyer 

Publisher: Alibris

Release Date: June 3, 2014

Fiction or Non Fiction: Fiction

Genre/s: Contemporary, Literature & Fiction, Coming of Age

Length: 143 Pages

Twenty-five-year-old Jesse Coleman endures a heinous act on him. After the case is dropped, his mother, Claire, accedes to his request to move. Leaving behind his old life, he is left with a disturbing scar on his back. Hopelessness comes in on him and he takes off the bracelet that he has worn his whole life, which means something to him. Looking for a new beginning, Jesse who dresses differently meets Jaden who dresses like an outcast and the two fall in love with each other. With love from their mothers and good friend Liz, they try to bury their pasts behind.

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The talk show host woman sits on the stage with a fancy couch alongside her with a mother and young grown-up son. The supervisor with the headset on counts down from five to one with his fingers, and the cameras go live. There is audience applause and then a pleasant smile comes on the host's face. "Thank you for tuning in on the Tina Live Show. I'm Tina and my guests today are Claire along with her son, Jesse Coleman." Tina sets her attention on Claire and Jesse. "Thank you for joining us today."

"Thank you for having us," Claire replies back with a smile, then looks at her son, Jesse. She slides Jesse's brown hair bangs to the side from his forehead. "You comfortable being here, sweetie?"

Jesse sets his focus on Tina, who is looking on with the smile diminishing away. "Yea . . . I'm all right," Jesse says.

Tina takes a moment and gathers words to say, then looks at the audience looking on in their seats. "About a year and a half ago, Jesse Coleman was attacked from behind in a wooded area. He was beaten and his back was cut open. Basically, he was left for dead. What's so horrifying about this attack is that the cut on the back spelled a word." Tina looks over at the two sitting right across from each other.

A nod comes from Claire's head, like she's reliving the day. "Yes, the cut spelled out a word. It was not a cut in his back . . . more like a butcher does. My son's back had to be stapled shut."

Tina puts her attention on Jesse. "I'm so sorry that happened to you. You're a strong man to live from that."

"Yea . . . ," Jesse replies back; he is wearing plain clothes with brown shaggy hair covering his head. "Others say that I cheated death."

"How old are you?" Tina asked.

"I'm twenty-six, but I was twenty-five when I was attacked."

Tina looks around his arm area. "Can you explain what that bracelet you have on means?"

Glancing down at his arm, Jesse lifts up the arm and shows a blue, white, and green sown bracelet with "Pride of Love" stitched in black in the colors. "Pretty much means take pride in yourself and love yourself." Jesse sets his eyes on Tina through his glasses. "I'm gay, and that is the little thing that defines me. I was attacked for being who I am. Wasn't bothering no one. Just kept to myself."

Tina looks over at Claire with a blank stare down. "You all right, Claire? Looks like it's hard to talk about." "Yea, I'm fine. After the first court hearing, it was best to leave and start over and I'm thankful for that."

"How did you deal with the attack? I'm a mother of two," Tina tells Claire. "I mean it had to be tough on you, emotional wise."

"Hope . . ." Claire wipes her eyes with fingertips. "Jesse found what he needed when we moved. Found someone that understands him. Small world, don't you say?"

Kevin Dwyer self-published his first novel called Pride of Love in the year of 2014 in which it got an overall of 3+ star on BarnesandNoble.com and Amazon.com. Kevin rewrote the novel into a screenplay and was a finalist in the Tea Dance screenwriting contest and one of the top 5 winners in the 2016 International Las Vegas screenwriting contest (winner in LGBT category.) Pride of Love was a February Platinum Award winner in 2018 for best screenplay in the Mindfield Festival.

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Cover Reveal: Gypsy Heat by Jillian Neal

Nadya Montgomery was Gypsy Beach’s own personal wild child. There was nothing she wouldn’t do, especially when it came to Grady Havens. Until disaster struck and tore them apart. Desperate to protect Grady, she ran away from everything and everyone she’d ever known.

Fourteen years later, Nadya returns to the beach to try to rebuild some semblance of her life out of her ex-husband’s shadow, but that means returning to her past and seeing Grady Havens again.

Now a charter boat Captain constantly trying to put his past behind him, Grady doesn’t know what to make of Nadya’s return. All he knows is she was always meant to be his, and he intends to make his claim. He wants her back in his life and most certainly back in his bed.

When his entire family is threatened, he’s caught between rekindling his relationship with Nadya and protecting what belongs to him.

Together they try to rebuild what always should have been, but their pasts are determined to keep them ensnared. As passions ignite between them, they realize that even Grady may not be able to keep her safe this time.

Single father Ryan McNamara returns to the only place he'd ever been happy, Gypsy Beach. This time he's divorced, broken, but determined to make something of his life. Sienna Cooper is determined to forget Ryan, the last decade, and all of the hurt he'd left her with. She's got enough spunk and gypsy fire in her soul to make this work. She's going to run her grandmother's inn and make it a success. But when a chance encounter throws them back together, the passions ignite and the past doesn't feel so far out of reach. Can they rekindle the love they'd once had? Can he convince her that he never intends to walk away again? Will a potent dose of unending lust, a lifetime of love, and enough hot-blooded Gypsy spirit be enough to save them both?

 Amazon: http://amzn.to/1NaGFTF

BN: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/gypsy-love-jillian-neal/1122291041?ean=9781940174228

iTunes: https://geo.itunes.apple.com/us/book/gypsy-beach/id1003545593?mt=11

 

 

Arley Copeland vows never to trust anyone, much less a man, ever again. After her fledgling career as a romance writer grinds to a halt and her ex blabs to the press about her preferences in bed, she heads to Gypsy Beach, desperate to regain some anonymity and maybe figure out what to do next.

Divorce attorney John Rowan has been in on the explosive end of more marriages than he can count. Love never lasts. Of that he's certain. Sick of barely existing inside the concrete jungle of Atlanta with the endless traffic and endless noise he heads towards a two-week reprieve in Gypsy Beach, North Carolina.

From the moment he lays eyes on Arley Copeland, John is determined to prove that not every guy on the planet is out to hurt her, and maybe teach her a thing or two about herself in his bed and out. With every sinfully sweet caress, they're falling more and more in love. Their pasts may be fading away, but will John ever be prepared to risk it all on a lifetime love when he doesn't believe such a thing could ever exist?

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1P72xAB

BN: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/gypsy-love-jillian-neal/1122284190?ean=2940151199902#productInfoTabs

iTunes: https://geo.itunes.apple.com/us/book/gypsy-love/id1013590660?mt=11

 

 

Jillian Neal is a Romance author that manages to blend her imagination, Southern sass, and loving heart in every novel she pens. She showed her talent for weaving intricate plot lines and showcasing dynamic characters in her seven-book, urban fantasy, series, The Gifted Realm. Her skillset continues to shine in her contemporary series, Gypsy Beach, which will leave you with a longing to pack your bags and move to a tiny beach town full of bohemian charm. 

She lives outside of Atlanta with her husband and their children.

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/JillianNealAuth

Facebook: http://facebook.com/jilliannealauthor

GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7142355.Jillian_Neal

Book Blast: Very Wicked Things by Ilsa Madden-Mills

Very Wicked Things

(A stand alone Briarcrest Academy novel) 

is on sale for a limited time for $.99 cents!!

Ballerina Dovey Beckham is a scholarship student at Briarcrest Academy, determined to prove she’s more than just a girl with the wrong pedigree. She does whatever it takes to succeed in her endgame, even if it means surrendering her body but never her heart. 

Until the day she meets him, and he rips apart all her well-laid plans. Suddenly, the girl everyone thought unbreakable might just shatter.

Cuba “Hollywood” Hudson is rich, spoiled, and a star football player. With his fast cars and superficial girlfriends, he lives the high-life, hiding his secrets from the world.

Until the day he meets her, and she offers him something he’s never tasted…love.

But once in a lifetime kind of love doesn’t come easy…especially when dirty money, past sins, and old flames threaten the very fabric of their lives.

Welcome to Briarcrest Academy, where sometimes, only the wicked survive.

WARNING: This new adult romance is dark and edgy with mature content. Over 18 please. 

THIS IS NOT YOUNG ADULT.

I got out of the shower and dressed hurriedly, anxious to get back to Cuba.

The door opened, and like he did it every single day, he stepped inside the steamy bathroom.  

“Think I need a shower, too,” he said, his fingers easing off his football practice shirt.

What? Now?

Trying to play it cool and failing miserably, I moved my eyes off his naked chest and checked out his track pants and the obvious bulge he sported.

Oh. Did his lower body match the rest of him? Was it all sinewy muscle and big?

Just, yeah. That thought got stuck in my head and went round and round.

 “You staying?” he asked, a grin working his face. Pleased at my open admiration, probably.

“No,” I said, but made no move to go. ‘Cause I had no shame when it came to catching a glimpse of his muscular body.

“Good,” he said, his smile broadening.

He pivoted to turn on the shower, and my eyes betrayed me again, admiring the muscles in his back, checking out how they twitched and rippled when he moved. Football and rowing had been good to him. My fingers itched to know how they’d feel underneath my hands. Which was stupid because we had nothing in common. Not a rich Highland Park boy and a poor girl from Ratcliffe.

And most importantly, he was a player, not to be trusted.

He hooked his thumbs into his pants, paused a moment—maybe waiting to see if I’d run from the room?—but when I didn’t budge, he slid them and his underwear off. My mouth opened. Cuba Hudson, the most popular guy at Briarcrest was standing right in front of me, naked and beautiful. And like the cocky bastard he was, he posed for me, his big-ass biceps and chiseled abs making me vibrate all over. Need for him slammed into me.

Did I say he was hot?

Well, I was wrong.

He was off-the-charts, no-holds-barred, freaking going make-me-lose-my-mind-right-there delicious. The ultimate man-candy, the kind I knew to stay away from, yet here I was, ogling him.

“Still leaving?” he asked huskily.

“Any minute,” I said in a weak voice, backing up to the wall and propping myself up. “Just chillin’. Shower wore me out. I might need to hold this wall up for a sec.”

“I want you to stay,” he said, eyes at half-mast, glowing with heat.

“Why?” I said, aching to touch him. But that was crazy. I was a virgin, and I didn’t know jack about touching a guy’s you-know-what.

“Look at me, Dovey.”

I tore my eyes from his manhood, blushing.

His eyes burned. “There’s a sense of urgency in my head. Like our time is limited.”

I nodded. Yeah, same here.

“And, I’ll be honest, I don’t want to rush you, but I’m dying to sink into you. I want to set you on fire with need for me.” He ghosted his hands over the steel rod between his legs. Once, twice, and—holy shizzle, he didn’t stop.

My chest rose faster and faster, and I tried to chill-out, but I couldn’t.

He lowered his voice. “Kiss me again, Dovey.”

Oh. “That’s a terrible idea, Cuba. Cause you’re naked, and I’m turned on because you’re naked. And you’re touching yourself. And you’re naked.” I sucked in a sharp breath. “Not a good combo. Odds are we’ll end up in that shower together or back in your bed doing the double-backed monster.”

“Then join me in the shower. I’ll be good. For you.” He arched his back, his hands still doing that back and forth that was driving me insane.

Liar, liar, pants on fire, I thought. No way he would he be good.

Because he was the Heartbreaker of Briarcrest Academy.

And one wicked boy.

© Ilsa Madden-Mills

Although each book in the series is a standalone, here is the series reading order:

Very Bad Things:

Amazon---> http://amzn.to/1q4mtvG
iBooks---> http://tinyurl.com/loeepez
B&N ---> http://tinyurl.com/n7lw5jd

Very Wicked Beginnings: FREE

Amazon ->http://amzn.to/1mpukQZ
B&N-->http://bit.ly/1ovgURH

Very Wicked Things: ON SALE $.99

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1oBFaTt

B&N http://tinyurl.com/lw739yp

iBooks: http://tinyurl.com/m28nqf2

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap. She spends her days with two small kids, a neurotic cat, and her Viking husband. She collects magnets and rarely cooks except to bake her own pretzels. When she’s not typing away at a story, you can find her drinking too much Diet Coke, jamming out to Pink, or checking on her carefully maintained chocolate stash. She loves to hear from fans and fellow authors.

Author praise for Very Wicked Things:

"Cuba is hot, delicious, and intoxicating...the perfect book boyfriend. Be prepared for a heartbreaking and addictive read." ~Tijan, New York Times Bestselling Author 

"Angst, dark secrets, and off the charts sexiness abound in this twisty installment of the Briarcrest Academy Series. First love never sounded so hot and good. Ilsa never disappoints!" ~Shanora Williams, New York Times Bestselling Author

"Ilsa Madden-Mills slayed my heart in the best kind of way. Cuba's pain was like my very own. Absolutely gut-wrenching." ~Crystal Spears, International Bestselling Author

"Ilsa does it again with Very Wicked Things. You'll be holding on to your seat through a few wicked twists so buckle up and enjoy the ride.
~ Megan Smith, USA Today Bestselling Author 

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