H.C. Brown - A Tryst of Fate

A Tryst of Fate came from my Muse as an unexpected bonus. I'm a pantser and offered to contribute a novella to Noble Romance Publishing's Timeless Desire collection. I started writing A Tryst of Fate and the story took on a life of its own and grew into a full-length novel.  I had just finished writing Lord & Master a historical M/M BDSM novel set in 1775 and had enjoyed 'living' in the Georgian era. My Muse gave me the idea to send an American from 2012  back in time to 1775 to meet the man of his dreams.  Before I knew what was happening out popped Colt Daniels, a millionaire art dealer with a crush on a portrait of a lord. I made Colt the complete opposite of what was considered 'normal' in that time. Colt Daniels — six-five , built like a linebacker and gay. I had so much fun writing about his exploits in 1775. Of course, as usual my plots end up as tender love stories. The novella I finally wrote for the Timeless Desire Collection was a contemporary M/M BDSM Time to Live.

Blurb:

After inheriting a Georgian house in Berkley Square, London, Colt Daniels, millionaire art dealer, finds himself obsessed by a portrait of the home's former owner, Lord Alexander Swift.

During a conversation with author, Jake Williams, Colt discovers Lord Swift and his cousin had mysteriously disappeared from the cellar one evening, shortly after Alexander's illicit affair with the rogue, David Fitzhugh. Jake reveals Colt bears a remarkable resemblance to Fitzhugh.

Colt decides to investigate Alexander's strange disappearance and ventures into his cellar late one night to look for a secret passageway. When his flashlight fails, Colt finds himself transported back in time to 1775 and there he comes face to face with the man of his dreams— Lord Alexander Swift.

Watch the book trailer here:

 http://youtu.be/mXBJiwPw-dE

 

Excerpt: 

Chapter One

Colt Daniels lifted his bidder's card. "Thirty thousand."

"The bid is thirty thousand pounds. Come now, ladies and gentlemen, this portrait of Lord Alexander Swift by Benjamin West is dated 1775 and is in extraordinarily fine condition." The auctioneer at Sotheby's surveyed the silent crowd with a critical gaze.

Taking a casual pose, Colt flicked his gaze to the opposing bidder. The man in the slick Italian business suit met his gaze with a slow smile. Colt lifted his chin and stared at the painting. From the moment he had laid eyes on the portrait of the handsome young man in the Sotheby's catalogue, he had wanted to buy the painting. Lord Alexander Swift's troubled gaze held a distant loneliness, as if reaching out to Colt across the centuries.

A strange twist of fate had brought him to London in the form of an inheritance on his thirtieth birthday… A distant relative had bequeathed him the townhouse once owned by Lord Swift in Berkeley Square. Over the past year, he had restored the house to its former glory and now he required this painting to complete the task. During the years Lord Swift had owned the property, the painting had hung at the top of the stairs, facing the front door. For some unexplained reason, Colt had a compelling desire to finish the house by restoring the painting to its original position, in time for the anniversary of Alexander's death on June fourth.

"Forty thousand." The man in the suit lifted his bidder's card.

Colt sighed. With his fortune to back him and the prestige of being the owner of some of the most famous galleries around the world, he rarely had people bid against him for very long. They should know better. If Colt Daniels wanted a painting, Colt Daniels would go to any price to secure a purchase. He cleared his throat. "Seventy thousand pounds." He shot the opposing bidder a cold stare.

After the usual pause, the hammer came down and Colt moved to the clerk to settle the account. "Have it shipped to 42 Berkeley Square, Mayfair." He turned and strolled back to the painting to gaze at Alexander.

Warmth pooled around Colt's heart. He reached out to touch the man's pale cheeks, tracing a finger over the long blond curls, tied back in a queue. The young man appeared to be about eighteen in the portrait, slight of build with delicate features, yet Colt's research revealed West had completed the portrait on Swift's twenty-fifth birthday, the day he had inherited great wealth and lands from his father. Colt rubbed his chin. One would think His Lordship should be overjoyed on such an occasion, and yet Alexander's blue gaze followed him with heart-wrenching sadness.

"West has captured the essence of his subject, don't you think?"

Colt turned to see Business Suit gazing at him with a friendly smile. "Essence?"

"My name is Jake Williams. You may have heard of me?" replied Business Suit in a cultured Boston accent.

"Can't say that I have, sorry."

"Ah—so you don't know about the letters." Jake Williams inclined his head toward the portrait. "The love letters between Alexander and the Honorable David Fitzhugh. In a time when the crime of sodomy held the death penalty, to write love letters to a man… my God, can you imagine the implications?"

Colt straightened his shoulders. "You have these letters?"

"I most certainly do! Copies of the original documents are in my book, The Gay Lords." Jake took a card from his jacket and gave it to Colt. "I know you're restoring Alexander's house; perhaps we could meet over lunch and I'll give you the details I didn't put into print."

In truth, Colt craved information about Alexander. Living in the young lord's house and seeing each room as if through Alexander's eyes, Swift had become his obsession. With a laugh, he met Jake's hazel eyes. "I'm free now."

"Great, how about having lunch at The Square? It's a great restaurant." Jake smiled. "We can walk from here."

"Sure." Colt followed him out of the foyer into the busy street and they turned in the direction of Bruton Street. "So how did you come by the letters?"

"I bought them, along with a few other sundry items, at an auction—in Boston, of all places!" Jake fell into step beside Colt. "At first I thought they were written by a woman until I researched the names. Most of them begin with 'my love' or 'my dearest', so until I took note of the addressee… well, what a bombshell."

"How did the letters end up in the States?"

"I believe, due to the anti-sodomite movement at the time, Fitzhugh took flight to America." Jake sighed. "Of course, there is no proof he fled England under suspicion of sodomy. Nothing I researched points to him having a gay lover during his life. I do know he joined the colonists in the War of Independence and died in Boston in 1790." He stopped outside a bookstore. "Look, I'll grab a copy of my book. You must see the portrait of David Fitzhugh."

Colt stared into the shop window, his gaze not focusing on any item. His mind reeled. Even in this enlightened world, homophobia caused misery and distrust. He reflected on his own youth. Sure, he had taken his share of beatings from the local thugs, but now at six-five and built like a linebacker, no one crossed him. On the contrary, the beatings and the snide remarks, had made him more resolute to succeed in everything he did. He respected love in all forms. Gay, straight—who the fuck cared as long as that wonderful connection happened between two consenting adults? He almost felt sorry for people who could not see love if it hit them smack in the face. So many refused to recognize or understand that the sweet love between two men, or women for that matter, held the same deep emotion as straight love. Anger welled from deep inside fueled by the oppression he knew Alexander would have endured during his life. Those twisted sons-of-bitches would not have understood how cruel they were to deny the freedom to express love without prejudice.

In Alexander's time, for a gentleman to touch a man's arm or cast a suggestive look could lead to prosecution for sodomy, a hanging offense. God knows, in those days they used the sodomy accusation to destroy many people's lives.

"You gotta see this." Jake thrust a book into Colt's hand. "Kinda spooky, don't you think?"

Colt gazed down at the glossy illustration. A trickle of ice slid down his spine. The portrait of the Honorable David Fitzhugh depicted a tall, muscular man with dark flowing hair—and the royal blue eyes that stared back at him were his own.

Buy link: https://spsilverpublishing.com/product_book_info/coming-soon-c-2/a-tryst-of-fate-ebook-p-744

Find H.C. Brown on the web.

Contest! Storm Grant - Few Are Chosen (Riptide Publishing)

Read Widely and Well

Penguin’s Book Country website—a place where authors seeking publication can post bits of their books—has a nifty map showing all the genres they think are out there. According to them, I write Comic Fantasy. Huh. Who knew?

And when I click on the little button for Comic Fantasy, it does feature authors who have influenced my writing over the years: Christopher Moore, Sir Terry Pratchett, Piers Antony, etc.

My latest book, FEW ARE CHOSEN, features two young “Chosen Ones” sent to slay a rogue demon. At first they clash, but then find they work well together.  And then they discover they do other things well together. First kill, first kiss, first time. It’s funny, but also poignant; it will take you back to your own awkward first time.

Genre-wise, it’s m/m, humor, urban fantasy, YA and also interracial. A little something for everyone. And since it falls into five different genres or sub-genres, it’s a good thing I read outside my genre.

At a recent meeting of my RWA chapter, one of the speakers asked the room of about 60 attendees if they read outside the romance genre. I raised my hand and looked around, shocked, at the small percentage of other hands up in the room.

Then she asked if people read outside their chosen romantic SUB-genre, such as paranormal romance, romantic suspense, contemporary. Again, few hands went up.

I understand that it’s important for an author to familiarize herself with her chosen genre—even to immerse herself when writing. But one should also read outside that genre—you never know what you could be writing next. Or where your next ideas and influences will come from.

Me? I read across genres looking for humor. I can’t wait for the next Discworld (Terry Pratchett) or

Stephanie Plum (Janet Evanovich) novels to come out. I love Mary Janice Davidson’s Queen Betsey series, and anything by Christopher Moore.

Oddly, since I got the e-reader, I've read more mainstream books than ebooks.

So how ‘bout you? Do you tend to read widely outside a chosen genre? Do you read any m/m that strikes your fancy, from historical to paranormal? Or exclusively within one category? Do you then also read m/f or ménage?

What were the last few books you read?

Storm Grant (also writing as Gina X. Grant)

Email / Website / Blog / Twitter / Facebook / Goodreads

---------------

BLURB:

FEW ARE CHOSEN by Storm Grant

Sparks fly between virgin teenage demon hunters when the Chosen One turns out to be… the Chosen Two?

Apprentice warrior Blake St. Blake is the Chosen One, raised by an ancient order to defend the world against evil. Well, maybe not the whole world, but at least his neighborhood in downtown Detroit.

When a dreaded reflux demon is sighted in a local cemetery, Blake is sent off to his very first battle, armed with his sword, his super-senses, his black leather duster, and a few well-rehearsed one-liners.

But another Chosen One gets in Blake’s way—an apprentice wizard named Shadow. While the boys argue about who’s the more chosen of the two, the demon escapes.

Blake wants to be angry, but it turns out he and Shadow have a lot in common. Besides, Shadow’s pretty cute, and Blake can’t help but think that the wizard’s skills (and hands and lips and other bits) might make the perfect complement to his. Blake and Shadow are brave enough to challenge the reflux demon in a second battle, but will they have the courage to tell each other how they feel?

Title Details

Publisher: Riptide Publishing

ISBN: 978-1-937551-22-3

eBook release: Feb 20 2012

eBook formats: pdf, mobi, html, epub

Word count: ~12,000

Page count: ~40

Heat Wave: On-screen, mildly explicit love scenes

Type: Standalone

eBook   $2.99  

Contest:

Play The Name Game for FEW IS CHOSEN and win a copy of ALL THREE of these entertaining books from Storm Grant’s backlist: Gym Dandy, Shift Happens, and Tart and Soul. (Two full-length novels and a novella!)

1. What is Shadow’s real first name? ___  ___  ___  ___

2. What is Shadow’s mentor’s first name? ___  ___  ___  ___  ___

3. What is the name of the Order that raised and trained Blake? The Order of the ___  ___  ___  ___

How to enter: DO NOT POST YOUR ANSWERS! Instead, to qualify:

1. Email your answers to the three questions, above, to storm.grant@gmail.com.

2.  Then post a comment to this blog stating that you’ve emailed your entry.

You may enter once for each stop on the blog tour, thereby increasing your chances of being the grand prize winner!

One grand prize winner will be selected March 5^th.

Blog tour, details here.

D C Juris and Betrayed

Hi folks! I'm DC Juris, and I'll be your guest blogger today. For those of you who don't know me, I'm a transgender guy who writes GLBTQ and heterosexual romance - typically fantasy or contemporary.

Today, I want to talk about my newest release, "Betrayed," which came out in January from Breathless Press.

"Betrayed" is unlike any story I've written. I know, I know - a lot of authors say that, and then the story turns out to be not only a lot like what they've written, but painfully so. But I really don't think that's the case with this one.

You see, way back when, in the late 1980s, I started writing a book. I began with three characters, Meldrick, his best friend Faldor, and Isabella, who was the daughter of Meldrick's old friend turned enemy. I was all of about ten then, so you can imagine how good it wasn't. I slaved over this thing night and day for years and years. I spend literally every free minute I had doing nothing other than writing. I was a pretty fast kid in school, as far as getting my work done, so I hardly ever had homework, so I had lots of time. I wrote most of the story long hand in dozens and dozens of notebooks, because I didn't own a computer or typewriter. When it finally came time to type of the finished product, I went over to my friend Lisa's house, and spent hours and hours typing it all into her computer, and saving it on a floppy disk.

I set about designing my cover art. I saved up ever cent I could and bought colored pencils, stencils, and all sorts of art books. I came up with a lovely design - which I still have - that included a castle, a coat of arms, some trees…just a whole bunch of stuff. I even went so far as to design a little decoration for each chapter heading and I kept it topical to the chapter. I had crowns, trees, moons. I really, really wanted to get everything just right. 

By 1997, I had what I thought was a finished story. Full of magic and kings and knights, my story, back then titled "Isabella," was just the most awesome thing ever written, complete with a battle and a fourteen-page sex scene. Yep, even back then, I liked writing sex. And I was actually pretty good at it…but I'll go into that later. I took my disk to school, printed out a copy of my story, and handed it around to my friends to read. They loved it. Then one of them lost it. Hysterical gnashing of teeth and hand wringing commenced until I had it back in my hands, and then I never lent it to anyone again.

But having it sitting there in a box on the floor of my bedroom didn't seem to make any sense. In the summer of 1997, I gathered my courage, printed out a new copy, and sent it off to a literary agent for consideration. I waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally, in September, my beloved baby returned to me. Of course, it hadn't been accepted for publication. But the agent had included a seven page letter to me, detailing why not, what needed work, and noting - over and over again - that I did in fact have real talent, that it was quite impressive for my age (better than some adults' works, he said), and making sure I understood that he wasn't telling me to stop writing. On the contrary - he encouraged me to keep going and going, and said he knew that one day, I'd be a published author.

Up till that point, no one had taken my writing seriously. I was in Heaven. Absolute. Heaven. I took my baby out of the box and continued to work and slave over it. I made edits and changes and there was so much red ink it looked like I'd bled on the pages. Then in 1999, I met someone and fell in love. "Isabella" was still important to me, but I was dividing my time between my heart and my work. (I would later realize these are one and the same, but that's not the point right now). I moved to NY in 2001 to live with my very own knight in shining armor. And "Isabella" went back in her box and lived under our bed, and then in the top of the closet. She spent the better portion of the next five or so years gathering dust.

I felt I had to put my writing aside in order to be a parent. My husband never asked that of me. In fact, he kept asking me if I wanted to write, but I kept saying no, despite becoming more and more despondent and depressed. For some reason, I felt like, in order to be a good parent, everything had to be about the kids. I had to put myself 100% into their lives, leaving nothing for myself. In 2006, my husband had had enough. He demanded I buy a laptop and get back to what I was supposed to be doing. I reluctantly agreed, and we spent an ungodly amount of money on a fancy laptop. All I did with it, for a few weeks, was look at it. I was terrified of breaking the thing. Worse, what if I couldn't write anymore? What if I didn't have any ideas? We'd spent all that money - money we didn't really have. What if I failed and let my husband down?

So, I started a rewrite of "Isabella." To my shock, it went from a male/female romance to a bisexual romance - with gay sex! How the heck was I going to market this thing?? To top that off, one book turned into a trilogy, and then a six book set! Good grief!! I started looking for an agent in 2007, because that's what I'd been told I needed. By the end of the year, I'd found one. But nothing came of it. All she did was take my money (I know, I know. Well, at least, I know now.), and didn't really do anything else. She claimed to have sent my book to places like Tor and Harlequin - neither of which (at least at that time), handled bisexual romance. By the end of 2008, I'd fired her and set off on my own.

I sent out tons and tons of submissions, to every GLBTQ and small publisher I could find. Most of them said no. In 2009, one said yes, and even sent me a contract. I signed with them…the book did technically get published, complete with a name change. "One Year" appeared on Amazon.com for all of about a month…before the publisher went under and I never heard from them again. Now what? My book was in limbo. I had no publisher. I was not, as I had so happily boasted, a published author. All that work. All those hours. All that lost time with family and friends. All that money. All my dreams. Gone down the drain. Ripped away from my clutching fingers.

After I pulled myself out of a several-month-long depression, I re-wrote the book. Again. This time, in an effort to make it different from the contracted version. What happened, though, was something even I didn't expect. I hit the delete key more in those few months than I ever had in all my life. My sweeping, epic, light bisexual story turned into an angst ridden, dark m/m work. Gone was the female main character, the book's original namesake. "One Year" ended up being picked apart like a car in a scrap metal shop. By the time my original contract had run out, nothing of that work existed as a whole.

But again, it fell by the wayside. You see, in the time I was working on it, I was also being inspired by a whole boatload of other stories. I ended up becoming a multi-published author, with works at five different publishing houses, in all the pairings - m/f (using that original 14 page sex scene from "Isabella" - nope, not much got changed. Told you I was good at it!), several m/m, several transgender, an f/f, and a bisexual work. Many of those stories, including "Omarati" and "No Place Like Home," sprang from characters in the original six-book set. Yet, all that wasn't enough. I had to do something with that original, first story. The successes of my younger babies didn't mean much if I couldn't help my oldest baby get out there and make a name for itself.

So, I sat down with it. Again. I took out all the dark parts. Ye Gods, who'd want to publish those, anyhow? I ended up with something I liked, so I submitted it. My submissions editor turned it down. Guess what he wanted? More darkness. More angst.

::sigh::

I put all the dark back in, added a bunch more, and resent it. This time, he loved it. Took it right on the spot. It's had yet another name change - now it's titled "Betrayed." But the two male characters are still the same  - my Meldrick and Faldor have survived a whole lot of turmoil to get where they are, but I feel like they've appreciated the journey.

So now, without further ado, and after much waiting and worrying, I give you the blurb and an excerpt from my January release, "Betrayed." I hope you enjoy it!

Blurb:

Two years after he lost his soul mate to the war, Faldor still pines for Meldrick. His world is turned upside down when Meldrick appears on his doorstep late one night, seemingly back from the dead. Finally escaped from a prison camp, Meldrick protects a dark secret—one that could rip their rekindled love apart if Faldor ever learned the truth. But the longer they're together, the more questions come up. What really happened two years ago? How did Meldrick escape the prison camp after so long? Is Meldrick still the man Faldor fell in love with? Can Meldrick reconcile who he is with who he was and

move beyond his treachery, or will betrayal win?

And here's a little snippet, which you won't find anywhere else:

 A fortnight later, Meldrick coughed and sputtered as an ogre grabbed his hair and yanked his head back out of the bucket. Water spiked with oil of pura flower cascaded down his face, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the stinging of the acidic liquid.

Without warning, the guard pushed his head back into the bucket, giving no time to take a breath first. He struggled and kicked, but was rewarded only with the guard's heavy weight on his back, holding him down. Muffled laughter met his ears as he tried to claw the ropes that bound his wrists.

The voices became more and more distant, the light from above less and less bright as the world faded away. So, this was how it would end. Face down in a bucket. Not the most honorable of deaths, but better than some, and really, he'd passed the chance for honorable a long time ago. He would rather have met his demise on his feet, and preferably on the battlefield, but at least—

The world came rushing back as his head was pulled from the bucket again. The cage door opened and closed and the scent of amur spice filled the air. Vintik.

"Has he said anything?'

The guard by the door shook his head. "Of course not."

Vintik glared at him. "A bit less insolence, if you please." He strode over to Meldrick, grabbed a handful of hair, and yanked the knight's head back. "Bring him to my hut."

Meldrick groaned as the weight shifted off his back and Vintik dropped his head. He stood slowly, bit down on his tongue as blood rushed back into his cramped leg muscles, bringing waves of tingling pain with it.

The guards led him to a side of the camp he'd never seen. Much cleaner, the area sat far enough away from the caged prisoners that one might actually forget the wretched men existed. Vintik's hut was actually rather quaint from the outside. From its dark brown thatched roof and light brown outer walls, down to its bright red wooden door. If he'd been a free man, Meldrick might've found it welcoming.

Inside, Vintik sat on one side of a small wooden table at the back. His bed—an ornately carved wooden monstrosity covered with pillows and blankets—dominated the right side of the hut; a large stone fireplace with a cauldron hanging in its middle took up the left. In front of that was a chair and another table, this one adorned with a small mirror, comb, brush, bottles of oils and perfumes, and a bowl and ewer. The set up resembled something Meldrick had seen in the late Queen Lemyura's chamber, but he refrained from telling Vintik so.

"Untie him." Vintik pointed to a chair on the other side of the table from him once Meldrick's binds had been cut. "Please, sit."

 Meldrick glanced at the guards as he lurched forward and sank into the chair, rubbing his wrists. He stifled a groan of pain, covered it with a grunt, and scowled at Vintik. "What do you want of me?"

 "The same thing I always want. Your cooperation." Vintik smiled.

 Meldrick snorted. "Beating and raping me has earned you nothing. What makes you think I'll talk now?"

Bio: 
 
A Southern transplant who has retained none of his accent but all of his charm,  

DC Juris is an out and proud transgender bisexual living in Upstate New York 
with his husband, four dogs, three cats, and a menagerie of Halloween props just 
creepy enough to keep people guessing about his sanity. He's still hopelessly 
single when it comes to the woman in his life, and he'll gladly entertain offers 
or applications for the position! In the rare event that he's not writing, DC 
can be found surfing the internet for random research, killing things on his 
Xbox, reading, taking pictures of the world around him, or playing Farmville, to 
which he admits a complete and totally blissful addiction. 
 
Links: 
 
www.dcjuris.com 
www.facebook.com/dcjuris 
www.twitter.com/dcjuris 
http://dcjuris.blogspot.com 

Nether Regions Release Date 2.20.12

In the age of Amazons, fighting spirit and a courageous heart revealed a warrior’s true strength.  Threso proved her prowess a decade earlier, in an epic battle against invading Spartans.  Now, as she enjoys the continued peace, she looks forward to a possible future with her young recruit, Kreousa.   But the gods lay a challenge to discover who has the strongest warrior spirits: Amazons or Spartans.  Because the gods have a wicked sense of humor, the Spartans are undead.  To make matters worse, they have chosen the unseasoned Kreousa to accompany Threso.  Will Threso lose the one woman who has instilled a song of love in her?

Anne Brooks - The Heart’s Greater Silence Comment to Win

Yes, you read right!  The details are the bottom of the post.  

And now, with great pleasure, I give you Anne Brooks.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Heart’s Greater Silence started out a few years ago with the first scene floating round my head trying to find somewhere to settle. All I can see is a man, mid twenties or so, walking down a dark street in the shadows of London. I don’t know who he is, or where he’s going to. He’s alone. He’s bitter about what’s happened with the bloke he’s just left. The bloke he’s supposed to be with. I think he might be smoking and I don’t know his name yet.

If he does light up, it doesn’t last for long as the rain makes the cigarette go out, and he throws it away, treading it underfoot. Whatever’s happened, he thinks it’s typical and he deserves it. He walks down the shadow of the street and I follow him, uncertain how close I can get, then he turns the corner and he’s gone.

At this point there are three choices I can make: I can keep at his heels and find out where he’s going and if he’ll take me with him; or I can walk away, file the experience as interesting while it lasted but not worth further commitment; or I can file it away for mulling over and bringing out again.

Sometimes, however, the character makes the choice for me. This was one of those occasions. I didn’t even know his name, though I did know I couldn’t completely follow him right then – there were too many things going on in my life at the time, too many books to write or stories to edit. But the nameless man was too strong to be forgotten. So I filed him away for remembering and thinking about to see if he fit in with any of my other projects or if he deserved his own story.

I even at one time thought he might be Michael, the gay hooker and artist from my thriller, A Dangerous Man. But although they were similar in lots of ways, the circumstances and the feel of the walking man simply felt different.

It was only years later when I was trying to think of a story I could submit to Riptide Publishing that the man I’d imagined came back to me again. This time I knew he wasn’t someone from another of my stories. This time I knew his story was his own and I could discover both his name and his character by using the themes that had recently become important to me: religion; faith; love; and obsession.

So I started with that scene where he’s walking away from a man, someone he knows and cares for, and began to write the story of where, or who, he might be going towards. It was strange, but for the first time I can remember I started to write without knowing his name. And it didn’t matter. I knew he’d tell me when he was good and ready.

And he did. In a conversation with the man he was walking towards with all that overwhelming desire and reluctance in his blood, he finally tells me, and I know then there’ll be more to discover. Far more than one story can convey.

His name is Mark.

Okay everyone, 

Here are the guidelines from Anne about this blog tour.

She has one contest per stop - with the prize being a backlist ebook giveaway for one commenter.

She  also has a cumulative competition throughout the blog tour involving answering 3 questions from HGS - with the prize being 3 backlist ebooks for one commenter from the tour as a whole. The questions are

• (a) What item of his trade is Richard wearing when Mark sees him in church? 
• (b) When Craig discovers Mark and Richard together, what does he do just before leaving? 
• (c) What action does Mark take at the end of the story?

Also one signed cover flat and magnet for one commenter per stop - with this NOT being the winner of Item 1 (see above)

One gift certificate to be drawn at the end of the tour - with this NOT being the winner of Item 2 (see above).

New Release - NJ Nielsen Hunting for Clay

Two years have passed since Clay and Hunter met on that fateful morning in Tello's Diner. Getting passed the fact Clay was stalking Marlowe was the easy part. Clay Montgomery's life has changed for the better the day he found the man who was meant to be the other half of him. Hunter understood him well, and knew how to give him exactly what he needs to be happy. Hunter Weldon knows what he wants, and just how to get it. For two years he has loved the man in his arms and now it was time to up the ante.

Buy Link

Excerpt:

Chapter One


Hunter poked his head around the doorframe, making sure Clay and Marlowe were nowhere in sight as he headed to the bedroom Marlowe shared with Angelo. He needed to talk to Angelo without his cousin or Clay finding out. In the two years they had all been sharing a house he had learnt that his cousin could not keep a secret if his life depended on it; especially since he and Clay had become best buddies--the whole Clay stalking Marlowe thing was now put behind them. So much had happened in the past two years since Marlowe had finally won the heart of his straight boy. Hunter often cringed when he remembered how Marlowe and Angelo's relationship had almost been destroyed before it even had a chance to begin. It took Clay to help them sort it out. Angelo's possessions had slowly been transferred to their house, until in the end Angelo was living with them.

Knocking quietly on the door, he waited until Angelo told him to enter. Marlowe and Clay were gossiping in the kitchen. Hunter shook his head. Where else would they be? The kitchen seemed to be their favourite place when they were both home and not working. Marlowe was probably still teaching Clay all about his job, because he was now getting more work than he could handle and was trying to woo Clay into joining him. Uncle Skye had already given the go-ahead to hire him.

"Come in," Angelo's voice sounded muffled.

Slipping into the room he gestured to the bedspread being used. "Marlowe?"

Angelo grimaced. "Actually it was Dimmy; he thought it was hilarious. He got his friend to send it to us." The cover was white covered in multi-coloured hearts of various sizes. "Marlowe loves it."

"Lucky you," Hunter grinned.

Angelo rolled his eyes. "I can ask Dimmy to get you one."

"You wouldn't dare."

Angelo raised one eyebrow in the Oh, I wouldn't? look.

"Okay, what are you really doing in my room? I know you didn't come in to take the piss out of of me because our bedspread."

Hunter ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I kinda need your help. I am trying to organise Clay's present for Valentine's Day."

"Um, you do realise Valentine's is still a month away, right?"

"Yes, dumbarse," Hunter growled. "But I want to make it special since he is feeling kind of down. Seeing as Valentine's is also his birthday, I wanted to make up for his family telling him how he still wasn't welcome at home. Well he is, but not with me."

"You're feeling guilty, aren't you?"

Hunter shrugged. "Maybe. His family was fine with him being gay until he moved in with me. I think they were hoping it was some kind of phase."

"It's not your fault. At least his parents aren't as crazy as mine. I can see my brother running away soon. Dimmy is nearly eighteen now and he won't put up with their crap much longer."

"Will we need to clean out the spare room?" Hunter asked.

He watched as Angelo took some time to think about it. "I don't know, but maybe we should do it to be on the safe side.""I suppose it would be good to set it up for a spare room regardless. You never know who might turn up."

Hunter didn't say anything else, and as he walked out of Angelo's bedroom he bumped into Clay walking through the lounge room with the dog lead in his hand. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Mar and I are taking the dogs for a walk," he said as he kissed Hunter's cheek and kept walking out to the kitchen. "We will be back in an hour or so."

"Okay. Angelo and I are going to clean out the spare room."

Clay froze in his tracks. "Why?"

"He thinks Dimmy may want to come and stay for awhile. So I suggested we clean out the spare room."
Clay nodded. "Do you need me and Mar to stay and help?"

"No babe, you take Ziggy and Droogie for their walk. Angelo and I can bring it all into the lounge and when you guys get back we can sort through it and figure out what we want to keep or get rid of."

"Okay, I'll let Mar know." Clay blew him another kiss before leaving.

"He's in a happier mood," Angelo commented as he joined Hunter in the lounge room.

"Dog walking. Those two are obsessed with walking those dogs." Hunter shook his head as he headed up the hall to the small spare room. It was a job he was dreading as it was filled with the excess stuff from all of them. Groaning, he picked up the first box and carried it back out to the lounge room.

"I can't believe you let Clay sucker you into getting another dog," Angelo teased.

Hunter snorted. "You started it. I just got sick of listening to them argue over who was going to hold the damn lead." He winked at Angelo. "And besides, Clay has ways of being very convincing when he wants something."

Angelo burst out laughing. "That is TMI, my friend."

"You're only jealous." Hunter grinned as they got to work.

Lesbians Vs Zombies - D. Dye and Zapocalypse, The Midnight Special

Next installment of the Lesbian versus Zombies Romances from Noble Romance!  An awesome new author, D. Dye has her debut release with Zapocalypse, The Midnight Special out today from Noble Romance!

Comment to win a free LvZ tee shirt!!!

 

  Leave your email and we will send a shirt to one lucky winner.

Purchase at Noble Romance: https://www.nobleromance.com/Books/393/Zapocalypse--The-Midnight-Special

Who knew that two lesbians stuck in the middle of some hick ass town deep in the swamps of southern Georgia would become local legends, heroes in their own right? 

Gina and Ginger sure as hell didn’t. 

But that’s exactly what they became the night of The Midnight Special. 

Stuck battling backwoods, redneck hypocrites on a nightly basis at the diner was bad, but battling those same inbreds that now happened to be zombies was a whole different breed of stupid. 

With their iPods jacked up and some Creedence Clearwater Revival on, that’s just what they’re doing. 

Kicking some serious zombie ass! 

With half the town, looking out their backdoors, and the other half fearing the bad moon rising, Gina realizes she and Ginger are thrust into a fight for the town as well as their lives. 

.

New Contract!

My short novel, Nether Regions, a Lesbian historical, has been accepted by Noble Romance. 

Can I say ESTATIC???

Signed my contract and sent it off this morning.  Tentative release date is set for February 20, 2012.  High five YES!

I am so proud to be included on the list with the other awesome authors in the Lesbians Versus Zombies releases!

If you're curious about those stories, then be sure and check out the Lesbian Versus Zombie blog site. 

www.lvsz.wordpress.com

Jadette Paige