Book Blast - Tea and Antipathy (Damien Murphy Pet Sitting and Murder Investigations Book 1) by Meredith Spies

 

BOOK BLAST

Book Title:  Tea and Antipathy (Damien Murphy Pet Sitting and Murder Investigations Book 1) 

Author and Publisher:  Meredith Spies 

Cover Artist: Samantha Santana/Amai Designs 

Release Date: June 31, 2023

Genre: Cozy mystery, MM romance that is cozy-specific 

Tropes: fish out of water, opposites attract, murder in a small town, quirk small town, amateur sleuth, pet sidekick

Themes: self-discovery, not all that glitters is gold, starting over, letting go of the past

Length:  72 000 words/246 pages

Heat Rating:  None - There’s a romance subplot but as it’s a cozy mystery, it is a slow build across the series with no on-page sex.

It’s the first book in the series. It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links

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Damien Murphy isn’t a detective, but he played one on T.V. once.

Blurb 

Not everyone could say their luck started improving the day they got hit by a car, but not everyone was me. Which was good because one me is all the town of Lester Cove can handle.

Ever since, murder's been afoot and my new friend seems to be right in the thick of things. Mrs. Witte is a sweet older lady but she cannot keep herself from getting involved with the murder mystery, and her stepson Benjamin seems to think that’s somehow my fault.

Look, I’m just a washed up child star turned accidental pet sitter and sometimes plucky sidekick. I had nothing to do with the deaths that seem to be happening at an alarming rate, deaths Mrs. Witte wants me to help solve. Dealing with Ben's antipathy is on my list, right below cleaning up after a dead woman's dog.

Excerpt 

Renee Rhodes was everything. She was the raspy voiced, designer dud wearing, theatrical queen I’d hoped she’d be in person.

It was like Liza Minnelli and Tyne Daly had somehow managed to have a baby then Tim Curry got involved somehow with Kander and Ebb doing the score and—

 I stepped into the theater lobby which was all done up for the reception with swags of silver and gold bunting and huge (fake) flower arrangements in glossy black Art Deco style vases. I barely had time to take it in before Renee Rhodes, in all her elegant glory, came sweeping down on me from behind the buffet table, calling out in her kitschy Mid-Atlantic tones, “I was so worried you’d changed your mind! You’re late!”

Swept into a swirl of vintage Halston jersey, a heavy-handed application of Fracas with a soupcon of Bombay Sapphire cutting through it all, I couldn’t answer for fear of asphyxiating on either a mouthful of fabric or the fumes.  She released me after a tight embrace and a waxy-lipped cheek kiss which I dutifully returned (sans waxy lips—my gloss was very light, thank you, and not at all sticky), she did that old person thing where they hold you at arm’s length and give you a look.

“I, ah, had car trouble outside of town. Something went kerflooey with the engine, I think. Or maybe the oil pan? I just know there was a lot of smoke.”

Ms. Rhodes tsked, looping her arm over my shoulder and giving me a tiny shake. “That’s why I went electric,” she pronounced. “It’s the only responsible way to get around these days, especially in a place like Lester Cove. No public transit, unless you count the ferry,” she added in a throaty stage whisper heard by pretty much everyone around us. “Now, come along, let me introduce you to the charming playwrights who’ve submitted their work for us to judge this weekend!” I had no choice but to follow her flowing jersey knit clad back towards the long refreshment table where she topped up her drink before gesturing towards the bottles in mute offer. I nodded, reaching for a wine glass before she stilled my hand and redirected it towards the stronger stuff.

“You’re gonna need it,” she muttered. “Have you read the packet of plays yet? It’s a lot.”

“I had the chance to look at some of the entries on the way here,” I said wincing at the sharp taste of the gin rickey she’d directed me towards. “They’re really engaging and—”

Ms. Rhodes snorted into her very full martini glass (the vermouth had been a mere whisper of an afterthought whisked away as soon as it entered her mind, apparently). “Most of them are amateurish, downright juvenile which isn’t surprising considering how Charlie treated the contest like some final exam for his students. The ones that aren’t high school efforts are so drab I wanted to scream, darling.” Something in my expression made her pause, offering me a small, not at all apologetic smile. “Forgive me. After years of being simply immersed in the craft, I find it’s hard to shake the inherent snobbery. I appreciate their enthusiasm, but they don’t understand theatre,” she said, this time keeping her voice low enough for just us two. The gala was more crowded than I’d anticipated for such a small town, the press of bodies dressed in everything from smart-casual wear to what looked like prom get-ups on some of the younger attendees forcing us to the side of the room, near a door discretely marked Box Office Management. “They crave it though. So many of them, especially the older generations, go all the way to the city for shows.”

“New York,” I murmured, not quite a question but laced with a bit of disbelief. New York was at least a half day’s drive from Lester Cove, quite a way to go for a play.

“Of course. I certainly don’t mean Bangor,” she tittered. “It’s a lovely city in its own right, but the theatre scene there is nothing like the city.” She exhaled gustily, pushing one of her brassy curls back from her eyes and glancing about, finding her angles before taking another sip of her gin, making sure she was displayed to her best advantage like a true professional. “Nothing is, really.”

“Renee!” A man giving young Kevin Kline vibes but when he was in In and Out, not A Fish Called Wanda, strode across the lobby towards us. Dressed in a wine-red three-piece suit, he stood out among the browns, navy and blacks peppering the crowd, though he didn’t seem bothered by the looks. In fact, he gave a few familiar nods and a quick smile or two on his way over before stopping short of Ms. Rhodes and folding his arms.  “It’s been three months! I’ve been patient but--”

“Charlie! You absolute doll!” She leaned in and gave him a smacking kiss on each cheek. Charlie blushed and, somewhat awkwardly, returned the gesture, not quite meeting her skin but giving a little mwah sound.

A for effort, really.

“Damien, this is my dear old friend, Charlie Arnold. Well, old,” she tittered. “He’s a few years my junior but shhhh, don’t let on. Everyone thinks I’m at least ten years younger than I really am!”

I nodded, smiling. No one thought that, I was certain, but cultivating a certain mystique was so old Hollywood of her. “I’ll never tell.”

Charlie Arnold shifted a bit uncomfortably, tilting his head in the direction of the office behind us. “Do you have a moment? We need to talk about—”

“Now, Charlie darling, now is not the time,” Ms. Rhodes protested, patting his arm with the very tips of her brightly painted fingernails. “We’re in the midst of a gala!”

Charlie followed the direction of Ms. Rhodes’ waving arm. His lips tightened and shoulders stiffened as he turned back to face us. “That might well be, Renee, but the fact remains you made a promise—a legally binding promise—and—”

Ms. Rhodes’ smile was fixed and bright but distinctly unpleasant. “Charlie,” she gritted out. “This is not the time. Save your speeches for your students.”

“Renee,” Charlie said, straightening, shedding some of the deference he’d carried over just moments before, “you’ve been dodging me. Every planning meeting, every casual drinks evening, you’ve been avoiding the subject. It’s past time you dropped the charade.”

“You’re embarrassing me,” she whispered. “We’ll talk tomorrow!”.

“I’ve given you forty-odd years of tomorrow, Charlie and later, Charlie,” he snapped,  “I’m tired of waiting, Renee. You owe me this much.”

“And,” she said, shooting me an apologetic eye roll, “we can talk tomorrow, Charlie. I assure you, you will not be disappointed.”

She gave his arm a firm pat then and, turning her back on him with a swish of jersey and perfume, took me by the elbow and steered me away from Charlie Arnold. “I’m so sorry about that little scene.” She sighed. “Charlie’s a dear old friend but he just can’t accept the fact some things are just done.”

“A lot of folks are upset about your retirement,” I demurred. “You’re quite the performer.”

She snorted delicately, giving me a nudge. “I’m an old broad who should’ve retired five years before I did,” she chided. “I just hung on because I wasn’t ready to admit my critics were right. I’d gotten to the point where I was just playing versions of myself, you know?”

My face warmed as I nodded. “I’m familiar with the feeling.”

About the Author 

Meredith Spies (they/them/theirs) is a queer, nonbinary author who lives far away and writes queer-centered stories with romance in them and queer romances with stories in them. They believe that pineapple goes on pizza, that there’s no reason for open toed boots, and everyone deserves a happily ever after.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website  |  Facebook Profile  |  Facebook Group  |  Twitter

Instagram  |  Newsletter Sign-up  |   TikTok 

Giveaway 

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Book Blast - Reflections on the Boulevard (Reflections of Michael Trilogy, Book 2) by LJ Ambrosio

 

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Reflections on the Boulevard (Reflections of Michael Trilogy, Book 2)

Author: LJ Ambrosio

Publisher: Film Valor 

Release Date: June 7, 2023

Genre: Fictional Buddy Adventure

Tropes: Buddy Adventure

Themes: Coming-of-age, growth

Heat Rating:  0 flames    

Length: 51 000 words/ 200 pages

It’s the middle-book in the trilogy with some parts of life ending and others beginning for the third part.

Goodreads

Buy Links

Universal Link  |  Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

The continuation of A Reservoir Man

Blurb 

Michael's story continues from A Reservoir Man (2022) where we find him teaching at a university ready to retire. He unexpectedly meets a young man named Ron who becomes his protege and journeys in a haphazard adventure with him throughout America and Europe, each twist and turn of the road bringing unexpected adventures. The journey taken is one of joy, friendship and discovery.

Excerpt 

“How long will the trip last? I thought I would be in Transcendental amazement by now.”

Michael was a little shocked. “Ron, we have only been driving for 2 hours.”

Michael explained to him that they would drive US 80 until they reached the borders of Nebraska and Wyoming, so he had to settle in. The corn fields were right down the road. Passing the corn fields, Ron observed how peaceful everything was. Michael suggested they pull over and park the car for a while.

While just sitting in the car, Ron saw two figures in the field, a man, and a woman. They suddenly disappeared among the corn and, from above, you could see the corn stalks shake violently. Ron chuckled.

“Oh God, looks like those people are doing it! It almost looks like he is doing it to the corn stalk!”

Michael tried to change the subject, “Look at those birds” he said, quickly. Ron was still caught up in his imagination. A few moments passed as Michael tried to rest his eyes and prepare for the next stretch of road. Suddenly he heard Ron crinkling a wrapper to a candy bar, which jarred him back to the moment. Michael sat listening to Ron crunch; he nearly threw it out the window.

“Can you not chew so loud, Ron?”

“Sorry. I love these things.”

A moment passed; the corn stalks were calm now.

About the Author 

Louis J. Ambrosio ran one of the most nurturing bi-coastal talent agencies in Los Angeles and New York. He started his career as a theatrical producer, running two major regional theaters for eight seasons. He taught at over 7 universities in America. Ambrosio also distinguished himself as an award-winning film producer and novelist over the course of his impressive career.

Author Links

Blog/Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |   Instagram  |  Tumblr

Giveaway 

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99c Book Blast - High Alert by Becca Seymour

 

99c BOOK BLAST

Book Title: High Alert

Author: Becca Seymour

Publisher: Rainbow Tree Publishing

Cover Artist: BookSmith Design

Release Date: August 11, 2021

Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance

Tropes: Friends to lovers, best friend’s brother, small town

Themes: Firefighter, natural disasters, hurt/comfort

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length:  64 000 words/344 pages

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

Goodreads

99c Sale for a Limited Time

Also available in Kindle Unlimited

Universal Link    |  Amazon US  |   Amazon UK 

It’s a tale as old as time.

Blurb 

I’ve crushed on my brother’s best friend since I sprouted hairs on the unmentionables. Once upon a time, he was straight, until he wasn’t… and talk about bad timing. 

And when we’re finally at a place for me to make my move, sexy rural firefighter Dan clams up and acts weird and I’m left with pants that are too tight and my heart feeling bruised… but he’s a good friend and I’m grateful he’s in my life.

Because of course Dan is a good guy. 

Though him being “good” and ridiculously easy on the eyes and possibly the best man I know only makes me want him more. 

When we’re thrust into a situation that brings both of us close to danger, it’s hardly the time to be chasing first kisses or finally acting on my crush. But Dan doesn’t seem to mind. 

I just know that when the stakes are high and emotions are running wild, sometimes you have to show your hand and go all in. 

And that’s exactly what I plan to do.

Excerpt 

The squeal of brakes had me exhaling. Any minute now, he’d be stepping out of my brother’s Toyota. With just a few metres and steel between us, I had no idea how to react, not with the nervous excitement thrumming in my veins.

The doors opened, and movement caught my attention. Dan Madison followed after my brother, his eyes already on mine. 

His hand tightened around the pack of beers he carried, and pink coloured his cheeks. 

But that was likely my imagination making a much bigger deal about this reunion than it really was.

Funny, the things you noticed, though. He had new glasses. They were thicker rimmed than any style I’d seen him wear before. He rocked the whole hot geek vibe. Killed it, in fact. 

Though there was nothing geeky about him in the traditional sense. Not when he worked with his hands for a living as a carpenter, and I doubted so much had changed that he wasn’t digitally challenged beyond a game on the Xbox. 

It took everything in me not to allow my gaze to eat him up.

Two years—however brief on that one-week visit home—of not working side by side with the man when I talked him into fitting me some new doors. 

Two years of not listening to his addictive laugh that made me smile so big my face hurt. 

And two years since once again, he’d left me disappointed when he’d waved goodbye and headed back to the city—and his boyfriend—where he’d set himself up with a new life away from the Sunshine Coast hinterland. 

Never once had I told him about how I felt, the right time never seeming to arrive. If I’d known he was gay before he’d left town when he was twenty, perhaps I would have been more obvious with my crushing. At eighteen, I’d been very definitely out. But Dan’s sexuality came as a surprise. Craig had dropped that bombshell when I was in my second year of uni. 

And hadn’t that been a kick in the gut, swiftly followed by elation. For the first time ever, I’d considered that just maybe I had a chance.

The chance never came, though.

There was no point when we lived a couple of hours apart. Long-distance wasn’t something I thought I could handle, even when it was for my brother’s best friend, the man who’d snagged a piece of my heart when my balls first dropped and my dick had thickened watching Gerard Butler in 300.

There was also the fact he’d had a boyfriend. Had been the exciting word of the day. Almost a year ago, they’d split. 

The gravel under his feet grew louder, and his gaze remained fixed to mine. Barely a metre apart, and he stopped, shifting the six-pack to his side. 

“Hey, Ross.” Pretty light-brown orbs peered back at me, wide and just as mesmerising as I remembered. “Bloody hell, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

I grinned, uncertain of the words that might fall out of my mouth.

I didn’t need to worry. In Dan’s next breath, he said, “Get your arse over here already and give me a hug.”

I ignored my brother’s snort as he snagged the beer from Dan and walked on past us.

A deep exhale escaped my lungs as I stepped forwards and pulled him into my arms. I wrapped myself around him, holding him tight. The feel of his large limbs, strong and firm, wrapped around my own frame made my heart sing.

“Good to see you too, mate. About time you made the move back to civilisation.” My grin remained wide when I eased away, his snort making me chuckle.

“Civilisation, huh?”

“Yep. You better believe it. You know, a Subway opened in town, and Bunnings got an extension. Civilisation at its best.”

Dan’s laugh washed over me like a familiar hug, the sensation warming me, much like the log fire already built in my sitting room did.

“Come on.” I gripped his arms, giving a happy squeeze. “Let’s go and grab one of those beers.” 

About the Author 

Becca Seymour is the #1 gay romance best seller of the True-Blue series, having sold more than seventy thousand copies of book one in the series so far. Known for “steamy and endearing” and “emotionally profound love stories” (InD'tale Magazine) her books have been nominated for multiple RONE Awards.

Becca lives and breathes all things book related. Usually with at least three books being read and two WiPs being written at the same time, Becca’s life is merrily hectic. She tends to do nothing by halves so happily seeks the craziness and busyness life offers.

Living on her small property in Queensland with her human family as well as her animal family of cows, chooks, and dogs, Becca appreciates the beauty of the world around her and is a believer that love truly is love.

Author Links

https://linktr.ee/beccaseymour

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BOOK BLAST - Young King Arthur and the Round Table Knights by Siryn Sueng

 

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Young King Arthur and the Round Table Knights

Author: Siryn Sueng

Publisher: Deep Hearts YA

Release Date: September 18, 2020

Genre/s: Fantasy, M/M YA Romance

Trope/s: First Love, Arthurian Legend

Themes: Coming of Age, Knights 

Heat Rating:  2 flames      

Length:  68 322 words/ 270 pages

Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon US  |   Amazon UK 

Smashwords  |  Apple Books  |  B&N  |  Kobo

Arthur grew up a peasant, but when he was fourteen, Excalibur chose him, and now as King Arthur, he must learn to play the game of royalty quickly … or suffer the consequences.

Blurb

There was no reason for Arthur to think he would ever become king.

A peasant and son of a baker, Arthur grew up in the castle town of Camelot. When he attended the choosing ceremony, it was merely to see who would draw the Holy Sword, Excalibur – to see who would inherit the throne of the recently departed King Uther. He never expected the sword would choose him…

But it did.

Now, at the young age of fourteen, he has become King Arthur, and for all the power he has gained, he has made just as many enemies. Surrounded by the Knights of the Round Table, and led by the mysterious mage, Merlin, Arthur is grateful for his allies, though he would just as soon return to his old life. Surely, someone more worthy should be chosen as king.

Arthur is in the middle of chaos, a world where everyone wants more than they let on, where many hate the idea of a young boy with no noble background being crowned king; where cold stares and whispered words are just as sharp as an assassin’s blade.

As Arthur fends for his life, he must draw on the strength of his knights, especially fifteen-year-old Mordred, who becomes closer to him than the mere bounds of duty. He must become king, not just in name, but in his heart.

And he must do it quickly, because his enemies want more than just his crown…

Excerpt

Two days had passed since I’d pulled the sword free—since becoming King. On the first full day within the castle, Merlin had found me wandering the halls and dragged me back to my room to be fitted for an outrageous amount of clothing. We discussed Illian.

Merlin assured me that he was being treated well within the dungeons, despite his cold attitude that he gave to everyone. Nothing would be done to him without my consultation. That fact only added more weight.

He also brought up his conversation with my mother and the letter I should expect. The day after, I received it. She’d expressed her worries, but also her love and support. She praised me, and though I knew it was meant as encouragement, it only made me more wary and frightened. My station as King was not something to take so lightly—even if she had all the confidence in the world. I tried to reply, but nothing I wrote seemed fitting. Rather, it all seemed more like complaints and childish pleading. It wasn’t something I wanted to send to her, not after having her praise me.

Within the mirror, the striking blue doublet that covered me looked even more out of place as I thought about my mother’s letter. The kingly raiment I now wore wasn’t the only one. I had a rich dark purple one, a red one, a light blue, and a solid black. And to think, those were just for me to wear when I wasn’t in the throne room! All the different clothes were going to make my head explode.

“Yes, he did a wonderful job,” Elias said. “Perfect fit. Of course, he is the best tailor in the lands. Only the best for our King.” He stepped back from me and bowed.

“I don’t need the best,” I said softly, but Elias caught it.

“I suppose it’s good to know that you haven’t drowned in the riches, but at the same time you do need to look the part at least.”

I turned to look out the window. The sea burst against the cliff side, throwing water in a violent display of white foam. I watched the waves for a moment longer, knowing that I needed to get going. I was stalling because I was nervous about meeting the knights. What were they going to think of me? I was young, and a peasant. No royal blood flowed through my veins.

I chewed on my lower lip. Elias touched my arm. I looked over at him. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. I nodded and followed him out of the room and into the large corridor.

We left the castle and crossed from the tree-lined grounds into the gardens. The smells of the flowers permeated my senses. I took a deep breath. The scents calmed some of my nerves.

Ahead of us on the other side of the castle grounds stood the Knights’ Tower, where they all resided. The tower was imposing, dark in color, and vines crawled up the sides of the rocks. Windows lined the entire building, spiraling up to the top. Elias led me to the tower’s set of wooden doors and bowed to me.

“This is as far as I can go, Your Majesty.”

My heart clenched and ice shot through my chest. I was going to be alone with the knights. Terror flooded me and I began to tremble. Elias touched my arm again. I focused on him. He smiled and the gentle look helped me relax.

“You will be just fine, my lord. They might be rough around the edges, but they’re loyal and actually very nice.”

“Okay. I’ll be just fine. Thank you, Elias. I’ll see you later.”

He bowed and left me standing in front of the doors. I contemplated leaving and hiding in the library. I turned and took a step forward—right into a warm body. With a startled gasp, I stumbled back and bowed forward as I squeaked, “Forgive me! I didn’t see you there! I’m sorry I ran into you!”

The one who I had run into snickered and I recognized that tone well. I looked up to see Merlin smirking at me. My heart fell like it had become a lump of lead. I stared at him as he laughed at me. I could feel a hot blush creeping across my face.

“My, my. You’re a King now, my lord. You don’t bow to anyone. So, what is it that has you cowering before the Knights’ Tower? Are you intimidated by them?” Merlin seemed a little more welcoming, but I still didn’t like the look on his face. It seemed like he was scrutinizing me beneath his outward demeanor.

I turned back to the double doors and swallowed dryly. “They won’t approve of me.”

“Not everyone will. But that’s what it means to be king. No one is loved on their first day on the throne. Everyone questions the new crown; that is simply how it is. It takes time to earn trust and loyalty. You will earn it. But…if you do nothing, then you will have nothing.”

His words shook me. The mage was right. I understood then why he was the advisor to the King of Camelot. He knew what he was talking about. Despite being condescending at times, he was truly helpful.

“I can’t avoid everything, and why should I? Thank you, Merlin.”

He bowed to me. “Of course, Your Majesty. It’s what I’m here for. So, shall we?”

“Yes.”

I turned around and pulled the door open.

About the Author 

Siryn Sueng is a writer of fantasy, paranormal, and even Sci-Fi genres. She’s married to a wonderful husband with a minion of two years. They have a full house with three adorable fur babies, Anubis -the mighty cat hunter- Kida -the momma bear- and Mishka -the loveable husky-.

Siryn is a lover of games on a wide range of platforms. She plays on the PC, console, and hand-held devices including the phone. Japan is where she would love to visit sometime and is a huge inspiration to many of her projects. She’s a huge fan of Japan, including manga and anime. Siryn has even begun to dabble in comic/manga script writing. Future works in this will be posted on WebToon.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website  |  Twitter

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Book Blast - When Lightning Strikes by Darragha Foster

 

Release Tour, Excerpt & Giveaway:

When Lightning Strikes by Darragha Foster

Stable Tales, Book 1

Former soldier Johnny Jewell is a gay cowboy who has never been with another man. He kept his desires buried deep, married, had a family and lost everything when he came out. A lightning strike, fire and death burn his already complicated world to white-hot ash. All he has left now are horses and hard work. After a move across the country, he meets a horse trainer named Sig and finds it’s time to saddle up and face the storm head-on. Will the next lightning strike put him asunder or spark life in the beast within?

Universal Link

Goodreads

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Excerpt:

 

John cracked the whip.

Bear began a slow circle around the shirtless Sig.
“That’s a beautiful horse,” Johnny called.
Sig chuckled. “He is that. If I can train him, he’s sure to be a stud. Joan isn’t
pleased with this little beauty’s behaviors. Not only is he ill-behaved in the stable,
he’s a terror in the field.”
“What’s he doing?”
“He likes to mount the geldings.”
John laughed. “Equus homosexuales.”
“He’s an opportunistic lover. He’ll drop for mares or geldings. He even drops
when you give him grain. This is one horny horse, my Al Dubhe.”
“What’s his name? Not Bear?” John asked, smiling over the horse’s
behavior.
“He’s named after a constellation—the Great Bear, or Al Dubhe in Arabic.
And as much as I hate to do it, I’ve got to curtail his bad behavior. Can’t have him
dropping in the middle of the show ring and mounting some twelve-year-old’s
pony. Upsets the girls and judges. Sig clicked his tongue. “Come on, boy. You
can do it. Let’s give you a good sweat.”
“I’ll be sure to keep him away from my mare.” John cracked the whip.
“Around here you might have to watch your back. You never know what
might drop right behind you.” Sig winked.

 

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Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway Now!

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About the Author:

Darragha Foster writes of the strange and unusual--because that's her life.

Darragha enjoys the twisted and unusual. She finds inspiration all around her. Even in the cold case at the grocer. Where she is no longer welcome. But that's another story...

Connect with Darragha:
www.darragha.com, www.authorjjandrews.com
@darragha (IG) @darraghafoster (TikTok), darraghafoster (FB), authorjjandrews (FB)

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Book Blast and review - The Black Mask by Samuel King

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: The Black Mask

Author: Samuel King

Publisher: Pride Publishing

Cover Artist: Erin Dameron-Hill

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Erotic Romance

Trope/s: Fantasy lover becomes reality, straight or gay?

Themes: Choosing reality over fantasy

Heat Rating: 5 flames

Length: 13 000 words/ 55 pages 

It is a standalone book.

Add on Goodreads

Charlie is torn between two men—one who seems unreachable, the other a superhero who steps out of a poster.

Blurb

Charlie is the young, handsome writer of The Black Mask superhero adventure series. Recently broken up from his long-term boyfriend, he finds himself developing feelings of lust and love for his editor, the gruff, clearly straight Sam. Charlie’s love life takes an even more unexpected twist when his fantasy creation, The Black Mask, somehow becomes a reality—and his lover.

Buy Links

Pride Publishing | Amazon UK | Amazon US

My Two Pennies' Worth

This was a short but quirky read with an interesting idea. If you want masses of plot and relationship development then this book isn't for you. But it is witty and has a refreshingly different style. There was a parade of highly sexed men shagging every which way, and it reminded me of a written version of Class comics.

Don't expect an explanation for the plot twist, just go with the flow.

Excerpt

On the wall above the TV is a poster of my creation, The Black Mask. Sam had a limited number designed by a comic book artist friend of his. He’s sold about a hundred so far and I get royalties on each sale. The Black Mask is crouching, ready to pounce, his tight, muscular body encased in black material. He has bulging biceps, thighs and pecs that threaten to burst through the fabric and more than a hint of something else bulging between those thighs. How can Sam deny The Black Mask is at least a bit gay? And did Sam specify how big to make that bulge?

Although his face is completely covered by his mask, I feel like he is watching me, which I find strangely erotic as I unzip the fly of my jeans and begin massaging my erect cock through the cotton of my white briefs. My cock is big, at least eight inches, and uncut. Its purplish-red head is already poking from above the waistband of my briefs, leaking pre-cum onto my flat stomach. I don’t work out much, but I run and eat healthily, so I have a fit, slim body, even if I do say so myself.

I push my jeans and briefs down to below my waist and begin stroking my cock. It’s hot and so solid. I grip it hard, squeezing out more pre-cum, which forms a weblike string between my stomach and cockhead.

I fantasize about Sam standing behind his desk, massaging his dick through his gray trousers. He’s glaring at me like I’ve really pissed him off, like he resents how horny he’s feeling. Suddenly I feel stupid, masturbating over a guy that will never look at me in that way. I should be out trying to meet other gay guys, not lying in my room jerking off over a straight man.

I’m distracted by a movement across the room. I stop masturbating and stare at the poster of The Black Mask. He is no longer crouching. He is standing and that bulge in his black-clad crotch is definitely a huge, hard cock.

“What the—?”

Then he leans forward and his head and shoulders protrude for real out of the poster, solid and three-dimensional. Now the poster is glowing like a TV screen with the brightness level turned up to the max.

“Shit…”

He reaches down with a leather-gloved hand and begins to rub his massive boner through the thin fabric of his skin-tight suit. Incredibly, it grows even bigger, and it, too, is now solid and three-dimensional, bursting from the surface of the poster.

Suddenly my bedroom door flies open and Jules is standing there, still naked.

“Sorry,” he says, “but do you have any lube?”

I release a jet of cum, which spatters across my stomach and chest, drenching my T-shirt and barely missing my face. I look from Jules, who seems impressed as much as embarrassed, back to the poster. The Black Mask is crouching again and the poster is just a poster.

“Wow,” says Jules. “Something certainly got you horny. You should have just joined us.”

I’m so shocked by what has just happened that I don’t even bother trying to cover my cum-soaked body, despite the fact that Jules is still standing in my bedroom doorway waiting for a response to his request. When I glance back at him, I notice he is fully hard and tugging on his balls.

About the Author 

Samuel King is London born and bred, and spent his twenties and thirties hanging out on the London gay scene, mixing with some true characters and even finding romance on a few occasions. Now more likely to be found eating in a nice restaurant on a Saturday night than clubbing, he also enjoys reading across many genres, and watching films—especially old horror films and romantic comedies. He is also the author of Male Male erotic romance, Hard Lessons, available from Pride Publishing from 1 October.

Author Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Twitter: @samuelk49275059 

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Book Blast with Reviews - Little Harbour by Sophia Soames

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Little Harbour

Author: Sophia Soames

Publisher: Self-published

Cover Artist: Miriam Latu 

Genre/s: M/M, contemporary romance

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 135 377 words/468 pages

It is a standalone story and is the first book in series of stories set in Scandinavia.

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Tagline



A story of love and grief, second chances, and family life. An M/M GFY-ish romance, featuring a hoard of feral children, a stolen pram, a Midwifery blog and an ill advised stint on TV. Oh yes and a Man who has lost hope and another who never gave it up.



Blurb



This is a story about life and death. Because there has never been anyone else for Jens. He had been with Sofie almost all his life, from the day they met at school when they were fifteen, until the day she took her final breath against his chest. She was always everything to him. As he was to her. He never doubted that. Not for a minute.



This is a story of hope, where Axel Kleve keeps himself too busy to even stop and think. Work, sleep, eat, repeat. He loves his job as a Midwife at Oslo’s University Hospital, He’s good at lecturing and training, and now he has somehow been pushed into running “Ask Axel,” a midwifery blog on PNN.no, the parenting-site everyone in Norway trusts.



This is a tale of second chances. Jens, he doesn't let himself think of Axel. He doesn't think of Axel at all. And Axel needs to stop longing for that one crush he’s never been able to leave behind. It’s just plain ridiculous. He should have got over Jens Sommerfeldt years ago.



A song about family and love and happiness found in small doses. Of trying to parent when you don’t know how. Of finding love where you always knew it lived.



This is the story of a little harbour. The place in your heart you didn’t know was there.

Buy Links - Available on Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US 

Amazon UK

My Two Pennies ' Worth

This is a long book, with a leisurely pace. Second chances of childhood friends and former lovers.
The setting of Norway made for an interesting backdrop. It deals with loss and grief but is surprisingly low on the angst.
Of the characters, Jen is a hard one to like but bear with him because the payoff is a lovely story.
And while I'm on the subject of the end, let's cover the bonus stories set the end, one 3 and one 40 years later. If you like your last meeting with the characters to be a HEA, then I suggest you don't read the last one. If you feel the need to follow their lives to the bitter end and don't mind ending a book as a sobbing mess, by all means read on. I personally would have preferred not to read it, I like to finish my stories on a high or with a strong promise of the high to come.


Excerpt

“Can I have a hug? Please?” Axel asks. He can’t help it. He needs one. He needs to know that Jens is still Jens. His Jens. The one who hugged him every time they met up all those years ago. Jens always hugged him to say hello. Always hugged him goodbye. Always. He needs Jens to still be Jens.



Jens doesn't hug him. Jens body slams him, so hard Axel thinks he might fall over. Stumbling backwards while Jens’ arms are squeezing him, so hard he can’t breathe, and there is hot breath against Axel’s neck and it is so Jens. All-consumingly Jens. Allhim.



“I fucking missed you so much.” Jens whispers, his voice hoarse and quiet.



I’m all yours.” Axel whispers back. “I always was.”

About the Author 

Sophia Soames should be old enough to know better but has barely grown up. She has been known to fangirl over tv-shows, has fallen in and out of love with more popstars than she dares to remember, and has a ridiculously high-flying (un-) glamourous real-life job.



Her long-suffering husband just laughs at her antics. Their children are feral. The AuPair just sighs. She lives in a creaky old house in rural London, although her heart is still in Scandinavia.



Discovering that the stories in her head make sense when written down has been part of the most hilarious midlife crisis ever and she hopes it may long continue.

Author Links

Facebook: Sophia Soames

Twitter: @sophiasoames 

instagram: sophiasoames

Tumblr: sophia soames

Giveaway 

Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway for a chance to win a Little Harbour cover printed tea towel and fridge magnet.

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Come and enter a super chilled Scandinavian style laid back competition. Just sit back, follow Sophia on social media if you wish, and enter to win a cozy Little Harbour inspired ‘Hygge’ pack featuring a Little Harbour printed tea towel and an Amazon £10 gift card. And it wouldn’t be Scandinavian without FIKA, so I will throw in a $5 Starbucks gift voucher too. How is that for a relaxing prize?

Competition ends December 22 and 3 (yes 3!) lucky winners will be drawn to win a Hygge pack each. Good luck!

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/1c2e23811/

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Book Blast - The Signal Box by Lazlo Thorn

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: The Signal Box

Author: Lazlo Thorn

Publisher: MLR Press

Cover Artist: Lex Valentine

Genre/s: Gay Romance / Erotica with some BDSM themes

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 34,000 words / 75 pages

Release Date: April 5, 2018

It is a standalone book.

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“When you tie me like that, when I’m sure I can’t get free, 

well it’s like everything becomes still. 

I’m still. Everything is calm.”

Blurb 

Autumn, 1913. Wiltshire, England. Davy Buckland, a boiler cleaner in the engine shed at the local railway station, was nineteen when he took a shine to the signalman at nearby Oakwood Junction. He didn’t know much about Nathaniel, but he recognised a man who could show him the ropes and how the isolated signal box in the Edwardian countryside where he worked, could provide the perfect hideaway for their clandestine games. By the time the Great War had started and these two ordinary men had become lovers, it wasn’t only the trains that were greased up and running on a good head of steam. But just how long could they keep this affair a secret? And what would the consequences be, if their unusual sexual liaison was ever discovered?

Buy Links

MLR Books

Amazon US

Amazon UK 

B&N

Excerpt

He bounded up the steps enthusiastically and entered the signal box still dressed in the dirty overalls he’d worn while working on the engine that morning. By contrast Nathaniel Bixby, the signalman, looked clean and very smart in his dark black railway uniform, white shirt and company cap with the copper SWR badge. He was a tall, clean shaven man with hair the colour of a rusty firebox, handsome in an ordinary way. His uniform suggested broad shoulders and enhanced his capable bearing. His military background made him used to wearing a uniform well and his only concession to civilian life was a loosened tie. As Davy entered, he stood proudly by the rack of eight tall metal levers, some red, some yellow and some black, each the height of his chest, that dominated the area in front of the big window. He had a dirty rag draped over his shoulder. He looked at Davy then checked the time using the big pocket watch he kept in his waistcoat.

“You’re early,” he said.

“Sorry, Mr Bixby. I thought I’d come straight here,” Davy replied.

“So I can see,” Nathaniel said, studying the dirt all over Davy’s face and overalls. “Throw a log on the fire. The pot’s hot. Make yourself a cup of tea. Let me get the thirteen-twenty out of the way and then we’ll get started.”

Nathaniel dutifully returned to his job and using the old rag to improve his grip began pulling some of the levers to switch the points and set the signals, taking particular care to set the stop signal on the branch line to ensure a clear passage for the impending express that would shortly reach the junction.

Davy opened the small, black stove in the corner of the signal box, poked the embers and put another log in it from the nearby basket. Then he brewed a cup of tea in a stained tin mug. He observed as the older man deftly made light work of the heavy-duty engineering in his office. A couple of bells rang a rhythmic beat in code with a message from a neighbouring signal box along the line. Nathaniel responded in kind. With the rack set, he waited, leaning casually on one of the levers while looking up the line for signs of the express. Then right on cue and with a piercing whistle the train he had been preparing for came thundering round the bend, past the box and into the cutting. The windows rattled and the surrounding trees vanished in volcanic clouds of steam as the fire-breathing monster made off into the distance and once again the little clearing in the woods was quiet. Nathaniel returned the levers to their original settings and, as was his custom, hung the old rag over the one on the end. He turned to Davy.

“It’ll be quiet now for a bit,” he said with a grin.

Nathaniel took off his waistcoat and company cap, put them on a nearby chair next to the desk in the corner of the room and locked the door. Next, he rolled up his sleeves revealing the strong, hairy forearms that gave him the strength to make such light work of the heavy, clunky levers in the box.

Davy gulped down the rest of his tea while Nathaniel retrieved an old canvas rucksack from under the desk. He unfastened the bag and took out a short length of rope. Davy lay face down on the hard, wooden floor and—in a by now well-rehearsed routine—placed his hands behind his back where Nathaniel bound them. First his wrists and then his ankles. Then more rope, longer this time, firmly around his upper body and shoulders and finally that cruel ligature that drew his ankles right up to his wrists rendering Davy immobile and blissfully helpless. Davy watched as Nathaniel stood up and studied his handiwork for a moment. Then he replaced his waistcoat and cap before he silently returned to his post at the lever rack.

Lying motionless on the floor, Davy could feel the rough floorboard against his cheek. He glanced over to where Nathaniel was standing with his back to him, watching out of the window and vigilantly minding his station. From this angle, Davy could see the scratches in the heels of his well-worn black leather boots and the backs of his tall, strong legs. After a moment, Davy tested the ropes, but as usual Nathaniel had been very thorough, careful to put the knots out of the reach of his nimble fingers and to place the coils around his body where the contours of his own muscles blocked any prospect of easy slippage. He rolled. Now, he was facing the back of the box. Once again, he tried flexing his arms and legs, pushing against the ropes but if anything, the struggling only seemed to make everything feel even tighter, even more of a tangle. So, he wrestled with the restraints some more, relishing the sensation. He knew from experience that being tied up like this it would take him hours to get free. He was a prisoner, just the way he liked it.

About the Author 

Lazlo Thorn published his first novel (The Signal Box) in 2018. In his work he explores themes about life, death, love and sexuality, set against the social mores and prevailing attitudes to gay sex at different times and in different places.

His forthcoming novel (Pain and Promise), due for release shortly, takes the reader to a small town on the Adriatic coast of Italy where two love stories, separated by almost forty years, become linked in an unexpected way.

He has nursed an ambition to be a writer for a number of years, but has only recently been able to make sufficient space in his life to begin committing some of his ideas to paper. The author has lived and worked in various countries and travelled widely in Europe and beyond.

Today, he lives in England with his husband, in a quiet seaside town on the south coast.

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Book Blitz - For The Love Of Luke by David Dawson

Buy Links: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Dreamspinner Press

Length: 61,267 words

Cover Design: L.C. Chase

Publisher: Dreamspinner Press

Blurb


A handsome naked man. Unconscious on a bathroom floor.


He’s lost his memory, and someone’s out to kill him.


Who is the mysterious Luke?


British TV anchor and journalist Rupert Pendley-Evans doesn’t do long-term relationships. Nor does he do waifs and strays. But Luke is different. Luke is a talented American artist with a dark secret in his life.


When Rupert discovers Luke, he’s intrigued, and before he can stop himself, he’s in love. The aristocratic Rupert is an ambitious TV reporter with a nose for a story and a talent for uncovering the truth. As he falls deeper in love with Luke, he discovers the reason for Luke’s amnesia. And the explanation puts them both in mortal danger.


Excerpt

Chapter 1


RUPERT PENDLEY-EVANS had not expected to find the body of a naked man lying on a bathroom floor that evening. But for Rupert Pendley-Evans, life had a habit of taking odd turns.



HE GUIDED his 1200cc motorbike through the gap between the lines of London’s Sunday evening traffic and stopped at the junction. The journey back from his parents’ estate in rural Buckinghamshire was taking longer than usual. To pass the time, he planned his evening ahead. He would take a shower to wash away the grime of the journey, followed by a glass of chilled pinot grigio.


The lights changed, and the traffic began to move. Rupert’s thighs hugged tight to the fuel tank of his BMW. He turned the bike past the two lines of slow-moving cars and took the fork in the road for Vauxhall Bridge. It would lead him across the Thames to the south bank of the river and at long last home. He twitched the throttle, the engine roared, and the bike accelerated up the outside lane, past yet another line of stationary traffic. Rupert glanced to his right as he reached the middle of the bridge. The last rays of July sun silhouetted the upstream London skyline of Battersea and chic Chelsea. It was good to be back in the metropolis after his dutiful two-day visit to the family seat, in the tiny village of Middle Claydon.


He concentrated on the road before him, the final mile of his journey. Ahead, on the south bank of the river, stood the offices of MI6, home to Britain’s secret service. It was housed in an imposing piece of postmodern architecture made famous by several appearances in James Bond films. The setting sun glinted orange on the smoked-glass windows, giving the building a warm, rosy glow, belying its true purpose.


As Rupert reached the far end of the bridge, the lights stayed green, and he leaned into the curve of the road. It detoured around Vauxhall bus station and took him past a huddle of modern high-rise apartment blocks funded by Russian investors. He wove the powerful bike in and out of the five lanes of slow-moving traffic and relished the liberty it afforded him. At the third set of lights, he took a left onto Paton Road. The brutal high-rise landscape gave way to a street of elegant Edwardian villas. The rows of shabby front doors and grimy windows were evidence of a former era of long-faded grandeur. Rupert was resigned to the thought one day they too would be swept away by developers in pursuit of tax-free profits.


Rupert slowed the bike to twenty miles an hour. The street became a narrow corridor, and he was hemmed in on both sides by rows of parked cars. Halfway down, he slowed the bike to a crawl and turned sharply onto the forecourt of number 54. He stopped in front of one of the bay windows of the double-fronted Edwardian villa and cut the engine.


He fumbled with the buckle on his chin strap. When he at last removed the crash helmet, the fresh breeze cooled his matted hair, and he breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a long journey. He kicked down the bike’s side stand but stayed seated in the saddle. Even though his home was less than half a mile from the bustle of the Vauxhall traffic interchange, it was quiet and peaceful. Rupert listened to the birds singing in the trees on either side of the street. In this tranquil spot, he could fool himself the polluted London air was somehow purer.


The city was in the middle of an English heat wave, and Rupert’s leather jeans clung to his thighs with sweat. He looked forward to stripping off and standing under the shower. He stood up, dismounted the bike, and took off his gauntlets. He unzipped his heavy leather jacket, and the evening air cooled his sweat-soaked T-shirt. Rupert unhooked his small overnight bag from its mounting points on the fuel tank and strode to the front door. He punched in the security code and entered the communal hallway of the house.


Number 54 Paton Road was divided into three apartments, each with its own front door. There were two smaller apartments on the ground floor and a third spanning the whole of the upper floor of the house. The apartments all shared the communal entrance hall. A grand, sweeping staircase led to the floor above. Rupert stood outside the front door of number 54a and fumbled in the pocket of his leather jacket for his key.


As soon as he entered the apartment, he sensed something was wrong. There was a strange, musty smell, and he could hear the sound of water running somewhere in the semidarkness beyond. He dropped his overnight bag on the floor, set his crash helmet on the oak hall table, and walked down the corridor leading to the back of the apartment.


The sound of running water grew louder as he approached his open bedroom door. Standing on the threshold, he could see why. The ceiling was bowed, and a steady stream of water poured down onto the polished wooden floorboards below.


Rupert cursed and ran back up the hallway to retrieve a bucket from the hall cupboard. He returned to the bedroom and placed the bucket under the stream of water. He watched it fill with alarmingly rapidity and cursed again.


Rupert had never met the new resident upstairs at number 54c Paton Road. He knew it had changed hands a few months ago, while he was away working for four weeks in the Middle East. He had planned to introduce himself when he returned, but somehow he never found the time. Rupert wished it could have been in better circumstances.


He went out of the apartment to the main staircase and sprinted up the stairs two at a time. The half-glazed door of number 54c was directly in front of him. Rupert rang the bell. After a short pause, he banged hard on the door for good measure. When he still got no response, he tried the doorknob to confirm the door was locked. He pressed his ear to the glass and listened intently. He could hear the sound of running water After banging on the door one last time, he stood back and breathed heavily. Perhaps the tenant had fallen asleep in the bath. Perhaps he had drowned.


Rupert raised his hand and felt the solid wood frame of the door. It would take a lot to open it His only option was to break the door’s beautiful stained glass panel. He looked around. To his left was a jumble of flattened cardboard boxes, some discarded packing materials, and three full refuse sacks piled against the wall. He needed something that would help him break the glass safely. On the right, tucked in the corner, was a black metal fire extinguisher. Perfect. Rupert picked it up and tested its weight in his hands. Holding it horizontally, he rested its base against the panel. It was a shame to destroy the glass, he thought. But it was a choice between that and a collapsed bedroom ceiling.


The glass gave way with a satisfying crack. Rupert set down the fire extinguisher and picked up a piece of the discarded packaging material. He wrapped it around his hand and cleared shards of glass from the gaping hole in the door. He reached in cautiously and felt for the catch. It turned easily, and the door swung open. Rupert stepped over the broken glass into the hallway of number 54c.


A series of white spotlights in the ceiling illuminated the corridor. Their light reflected off the white walls of the hallway. The sound of running water was loud and came from a doorway down the corridor. He strode down the hallway and stood on the threshold of the bathroom at number 54c. That was when he saw the body.


The man was naked, lying prostrate on the floor. Water from the overflowing bath lapped around him. Rupert stepped into the bathroom, turned off the water, and crouched down beside the body. He lifted the man’s arm and felt for a pulse. The man was alive but unconscious. Rupert reached into the pocket of his leather jacket for his mobile.


“Hello? Ambulance please.” While he waited to be connected, Rupert assessed the situation. The man’s head rested at the foot of the washbasin, his feet stretched out toward the doorway. His short, curly black hair was matted with congealed blood. Some of it turned the pool of water in which he lay a sickening red. The man looked to be about thirty years old and well over six feet tall. He had an athletic, muscular build. Rupert leaned forward to take a closer look at the head wound. He noticed the man’s well-defined cheekbones and his perfect, kiss-shaped lips. Pretty cute, all in all.


Before he could get too distracted, a voice in his ear announced he was connected to the ambulance service.


“Hello? Yes, my name’s Rupert Pendley-Evans. I’m at apartment 54c Paton Road, in Vauxhall. It’s the one upstairs to mine. There’s a guy here unconscious with a head wound. I think he slipped and fell in the bathroom.”


Rupert gave his details and as much information about the unknown man as he could provide. He ended the call, stood up, and took a couple of bath towels from a shelf in the corner. He knelt on the floor and did his best to wrap them around the motionless naked body. The man stirred, sending small ripples of movement across his muscular shoulders. He tried to pull himself up and groaned loudly.


“Hey, fella,” said Rupert. He leaned close to the man’s well-defined cheekbones. “Don’t try to move just yet. Looks like you’ve had a helluva bang on the head.”


The man whispered something, and Rupert leaned closer.


“I can’t hear you,” said Rupert. “Don’t worry, the ambulance is on its way.”


“I’m freezing,” whispered the kiss-shaped lips. The man’s body shook in a spasm of shivering to confirm the statement.


Rupert leaned across and massaged the broad back and shoulders. He hoped it would stimulate the man’s circulation. A set of long black eyelashes flickered open and revealed dark brown eyes.


“Who are you?” asked the man.


Rupert paused before he replied; the eyes held him captivated with their intensity.


“Hey, welcome back,” said Rupert with a sense of relief. “My name’s Rupert. I’m your guardian angel from the apartment downstairs. An apartment that’s now flooded with your bathwater. What’s your name?”


“Luke,” replied the man. He grimaced with pain. “Jeez. My head feels like it’s been run over by a steamroller. And this water’s freezing my balls off.”


“I don’t think you should move until the ambulance gets here,” replied Rupert. “I’m a journalist, not a medic. So I don’t really know what I’m doing. And I don’t want to risk doing you damage if I try to get you up.”


“Then I’ll do it myself,” replied Luke somewhat petulantly. He levered himself partway into a sitting position and leaned against the side of the bath. He looked at Rupert, and his eyes twinkled with an air of triumph. They partly closed for a moment, and Luke’s head lolled from side to side. Rupert caught him before he fell. With difficulty, Rupert held him upright while he sat alongside him and looped his arm over Luke’s shoulder.


“Thank you, guardian angel,” said Luke, and he rested his head on Rupert’s shoulder. He turned his face, and his intense brown eyes stared at Rupert once more.


“What beautiful blue eyes you have,” said Luke. He shook his head and winced with pain. “Oh shit. Inappropriate. The stupid American’s opened his mouth. Forget I said it.” His eyelids drifted shut, and the deep brown eyes disappeared from view.


“Luke? Luke?” said Rupert. “Oh shit. Stay conscious for me.” He gently massaged the American’s arm and shoulders. “I need you to stay awake until the ambulance comes.”


The long black eyelashes flickered, and Luke reopened his eyes.


“That’s better,” said Rupert. “Stay with me. You’ve had a head injury. You’ve got to keep awake. Talk to me. What’s your last name?”


“Diamond. Luke Diamond.” The long black eyelashes flickered shut. Rupert massaged Luke’s shoulders again.


“Hey, Luke Diamond,” said Rupert. “Don’t drift off. Have you got any family I can contact? Is there a friend I should call?”


Luke slowly turned his head from side to side. “Don’t bother.” He leaned his head back against the side of the bath. “You don’t need to call anyone. Okay?”


Before Rupert could reply, a door buzzer sounded insistently.


“That’ll be the ambulance,” said Rupert. “Is your entry phone by the front door?”


Luke said nothing but nodded his head.


“I’m going to lay you back on the floor for a moment,” said Rupert. “Don’t try to get up again. And don’t go to sleep.”


He gently lowered Luke onto the tiled floor of the bathroom. He reached up to the rail beside the bath, pulled down another towel, and wrapped it around the American’s body. Luke mumbled something indistinct, and Rupert leaned in close to hear.


“What was that?” asked Rupert gently.


“I meant what I said,” repeated Luke. “You have beautiful eyes.” He stared intently at Rupert and sighed. “But you should keep away, handsome blue-eyed Englishman. I know I’m just trouble.” The rosebud lips curved upward into a smile.


“I don’t believe that for a second.” Rupert stood and looked down at Luke. “Don’t go away now,” he said and headed out of the bathroom to let in the ambulance crew.

Author Bio

David C Dawson writes contemporary thrillers about gay heroes in love. For the Love of Luke is his third book, and is published by Dreamspinner Press on October 9th. It’s a romantic suspense about an American who falls in love with a British man in London.


David’s debut novel The Necessary Deaths, was published by DSP Publications and has been described as “a real page turner”. It won Bronze for Best Mystery & Suspense in the FAPA awards. Rainbow Reviews said it was “an exciting read with complex characters”.


DSP Publications published The Deadly Lies, the second book in the series, last December.


He also wrote a short story about a chance encounter with George Clooney for the anthology Love Wins, published by Dreamspinner Press.


David worked for the BBC as a journalist. He now lives near Oxford in the UK, with his ageing Triumph motorbike and two cats.

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