Sunday, November 30, 2014

Cyber Monday sale! #booksale #pulpfriction #mustread

Lots of books for
Under a buck
Half off
25% off

Christmas in His Heart available for pre-order! @leebrazil #mustread

That's right...Lee Brazil and my holiday story is now available for pre-order!

Christmas in His Heart

Christmastime brings joy to hearts everywhere. Between snow angels, festive clothing, holiday decorations, and of course, all the beautiful lights, it’s hard not to partake in the season.
Unless you no longer have Christmas in your heart.
Dermot Alasdair has never shared the horrific memories that keep him from celebrating the happiest time of the year, nor does he ever plan to. He’s fine being alone and shut off from everyone; he has his restaurant and that’s all he needs. He believes that, too…until the craft store next door from his eatery hires a perpetually smiling annoyance. Really, it isn’t normal for someone to be that happy all the time.
Xander Leahman didn’t know what he was getting into when he accepted an invitation to visit his best friend and help her interview people for the newly created position of manager at Craft Time. When a surly man bumps into him and then walks away with an enticing sway to his hips, Xander decides the position—and Dermot—are perfect for him. Now all he can think of is finding ways to get Dermot out of his clothes. Well that, and how to open this grinch’s heart to the Christmas season and, hopefully, love.

Chapter One

The man’s eyes were a brilliant, twinkling blue, like sparkly sequins in his pale white face. The bell in his hand peeled, and the greeting on his lips grated on Dermot’s nerves. He wanted to walk on by, for a lot of reasons. For one thing, the five dollars in his pocket was all the cash he had on hand, and he really wanted…no needed the peppermint latte it was going to buy for him.
Peppermint latte from the specialty coffee shop. Prudence, the quirky barista/owner, refused to make the delicious concoction except from November fifteenth to January first. She even refused to share her recipe, which Dermot had been unable to duplicate to his satisfaction.
Peppermint salvation was one consideration.
The jolly red Santa suit was another deterrent.
But Dermot knew that behind that richly curling white beard and pillow padded belly lurked the kind-hearted cartoonist who drew comical portraits for the tourists in the summer for twenty-five dollars apiece. His own issues with Christmas aside, he could appreciate Steve had nothing, and yet he stood out here in temperatures barely above freezing, smiling and laughing and ringing his bell, collecting money for charity.
Reluctantly, he handed over the money.
“God bless you, and Merry Christmas to you,” Steve gushed.
Dermot brushed off the thanks. It wasn’t about the season, or the holiday, or even God. It was about the need. If Steve could give of his time, when he had so little, then Dermot could go without his treasured coffee. “It’s nothing.” He shrugged and continued walking down the empty sidewalk to his restaurant. The wind cut through his jacket. He might as well have been stalking the streets of Parkerburg naked for all the protection it afforded him.
Goddamned narrow-minded, short-sighted city council. Hunkering down, Dermot continued on the way to his restaurant door, past the florist and the bakery, the art gallery with its sad yellow sign announcing its closure.
Parking was abysmal, each narrow period building boasted a handful of awkwardly angled parking spaces. At this time of day, they were all empty. Nevertheless, by mutual agreement, none of the shop keepers or their employees parked on the street. It was a matter of respect and community empathy.
The street-side parking, what precious little of it there was, belonged to the customers. All the rest of them, the people who worked here and paid taxes here, they parked blocks away. Even the alleys weren’t adequate. Barely wide enough for UPS and Yellow Transit trucks, a single vehicle parked in the alley behind his restaurant would block deliveries for half the block.
One foot after another, he trudged down the walkway, trying to switch gears from his anger at the community leaders to the tasks that awaited him at Alimentaire.
The sous chef was out this week with the flu.
Dermot would have to take over Chaz’s tasks as well as his own. He regretted Chaz's suffering, and he really didn’t look forward to all the tedious chopping, but the bottom line was that Chaz’s absence would probably save him enough money this month that he’d be in the black. The restaurant’s finances skated perilously close to the red zone lately, and Dermot didn’t like the nervous tension the situation created.
“Hey! Good morning!”
The cheerful greeting broke through his concentration, and Dermot looked up to see the new manager of the Craft Time craft store sweeping the sidewalk in front of the shop. “Hey,” he muttered sourly. Xander Leahman made his head ache. Just one glance and he wanted to snap at the man to comb his hair, put on a heavier jacket, and for Christ sakes why wasn’t he wearing gloves outside in this weather?
Dermot wasn’t going to stop. He had no plans stop and talk to the smiling man. Xander bubbled more than a bottle of shaken soda water. Dermot didn’t have time for his chatter, and he didn’t have time for the strange, compelling not-quite-nausea he seemed prone to in Xander’s company.
Maybe he was allergic to the man’s cologne, or deodorant, or shampoo. Dermot leaned forward and sniffed surreptitiously, but he couldn't smell anything other than cinnamon and vanilla. An overwhelming urge to bake overcame him, and he jerked himself upright.
He was an executive chef, not a pastry chef. He didn’t bake, and especially not something as…plebeian as oatmeal raisin cookies, which was what Xander smelled like.
“Excuse me.” He deliberately stepped around Xander, who put out a hand and caught his arm.
“I saw you coming down the street.” Xander set the broom aside and picked up a steaming mug from the windowsill. “It’s not as good as Prudence’s coffee, but I made it fresh this morning.”
Blinking in astonishment, Dermot stared from the mug to the hand on his arm. He could really… “Thanks.” He accepted the mug and inhaled the rich aroma of good coffee, scented with cinnamon and…yeah, vanilla. And he’d thought it was Xander who smelled so good? He didn't know whether to be relieved or embarrassed. “I needed this. That walk feels longer every day that the temperature drops.” The first sip exploded on his tongue with soothing heat and delicious flavor and he bit back a moan of appreciation.
“I can’t figure how Steve can stand to hang out on the corner all morning.” Xander released his grip on Dermot’s arm with a charming “oops” smile. He picked up the broom and swept the tiny pile of debris into a dust pan.
With the coffee’s warmth spreading through him, Dermot found himself willing to talk a little, to linger in Xander's unsettling presence. “He takes breaks, but I guess he believes in the cause.”
“Well, of course he does! The organization does such good work.”
Grimacing, Dermot shook his head. “They might do good, but they aren’t all good people. At least…” He gathered his thoughts as Xander seemed perplexed. “They discriminate.”
“But I saw you put money in the kettle.”
“Oh, they’ll take my money. But they aren’t a friend to the LGBT community, not if I interpret their stances correctly.”
“Then why did you…”
“Because I don’t need coffee, but that soup kitchen they support feeds families, and when helping hands are needed, when natural disaster strikes, they’re the first ones on the scene.” He shook his head again. “Look, I’m sorry. Complicated moral issues of my impulsive donation aside, I’ve got a lot of work to do today, and Chaz is still out sick.”
“Oh…yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to question you, just… I’ll see you later, okay? Maybe come in for lunch?”
Waving off the comment as a polite nothing, Dermot nodded and hurried over to his door. He had hours yet before lunch service began at eleven, but the coffee’s ability to ward of cold wasn’t unlimited.


Xander watched the prickly Dermot Alasdair walk away, taking some pleasure in knowing those large, talented hands were wrapped securely around the mug of coffee Xander had given him.
Oh brother, did he suddenly feel like an obsessed teenager again—he’s touching my mug. He couldn’t help it though, ever since he came to Parkerburg the tall, dark, and gorgeous restaurant owner had caught his eye. What Xander wouldn’t do to be the reason behind a full-blown thousand watt smile on that man’s face.
Xander was fairly certain if the man did smile more enthusiastically than the poor facsimile he always bequeathed people, this cold front would end immediately.
He finished sweeping the stoop in front of Craft Time and quickly cleaned up his mess, putting the broom and dustpan away and bringing his own not-so-hot anymore coffee inside with him.
“You ready to unlock the doors?” Xander glanced at his watch and saw they still had five minutes before opening.
His best friend of close to a dozen years popped her head out of the office situated halfway to the back of the store on the right. “Sure, if you’re all set up, let’s do this.”
He chuckled as he turned back to the front door and flipped the closed sign to open, not having to unlock the doors since he hadn’t locked them after sweeping the stoop. Who’d have thought that four years of college and one well-worked-for bachelor’s degree and here he was managing his friend’s business? A craft store, of all things, with workshops on the second floor and kids running around touching everything on the weekends.
“Oh I can see the morning rush is upon us.” Shawna grinned as the bell over the front door chimed.
He turned and smiled at Mrs. Mincer, one of Shawna’s best customers, as she scurried through the door, rubbing her leather-gloved hands up and down her cashmere jacket sleeves. Secretly he worried if her teeth chattered any more violently, they might just pop out of her mouth.
He chastised himself for such a thought and nodded in her direction. “Good morning, Mrs. Mincer, you’re out early today.”
She yanked on the middle finger of her glove, removing it from her hand. “Have you felt the crisp refreshing air outside?”
“Indeed I have.” He laughed as she handed him the gloves then laid the soft pink jacket over his outstretched arms.
“It makes me feel alive, I tell you. Makes me want to be imaginative and create things. So I told my Charlie, that’s what I call Mr. Mincer”—she winked at Xander—“I told him I had no choice but to come here. I need supplies to do right by this weather.” The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth came to life as she smiled first at Xander, then Shawna.
“Excellent.” He’d only taken the manager position Shawna offered him a few months ago, but already he knew all about Mrs. Mincer and her Charlie. Though he’d never actually seen Charlie, so he had to take Shawna’s word that he really existed.
“Shawna.” Mrs. Mincer bellowed to the woman standing no more than a dozen feet from her. “I need to build a squirrel feeder. With this cold air, I fear they won’t be out and about as much and I want them to have plenty of rations for their time in. Now, nothing too intricate, I’m not looking for fancy just sturdy.”
Xander watched in awe as the two women discussed her options while walking to the back corner of the store. Mrs. Mincer was easily older than his own grandmother, who just celebrated her eighty-second birthday, but the woman moved like she was half that age. She once lectured Xander on the horrors of Botox, exclaiming that she earned each and every one of her laugh lines thanks to her three children and seven grandkids and refused to be shamed into covering them like some of Parkerburg’s hoity-toity society.
He wondered if that hoity-toity society included the same people Dermot had mentioned earlier.
Xander couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face as he straightened the impulse-buy bins. Who knew googly eyes and mismatched buttons qualified as impulse buys?
“And why are you so happy this morning?” Shawna hip bumped him before circling around the counter and rummaging underneath on the shelves.
“I’m always happy.”
“Yes, well, that is true, but today you are shiny happy. Ah ha! Found it.” She popped back up, waving a little spiral notebook in her hand.
“Well, I’m glad you found that, because we don’t have nearly enough note paper around here.” Xander nodded sharply, not even trying to hide his humor.
“Don’t be difficult, I’ll call your mother.” Shawna started flipping through the haphazardly chicken-scratched pages. “I put the ordering codes for those pre-made kits in here somewhere. Mrs. Mincer’s new project reminded me I wanted to order some for the endcap on the back aisle. I think the kids would love them as Christmas gifts.”
Xander leaned on the counter and tried to read the pages upside down, which wasn’t hard considering some of them were evidently written upside down. “As long as you don’t plan to try and pawn one off on Mrs. Mincer, imagine her outrage at a pre-made feeder,” he whispered.
Shawna gasped. “Do I possess such nerve?”
“Yeah, you do.” He straightened and wiped his hand over the counter, brushing off nonexistent dust. “So, I’m thinking of grabbing some lunch at Alimentaire today, you want me to bring you anything?”
The speed with which Shawna jerked her head up would’ve given a weaker person whiplash. “Xander…”
“What?” He grabbed his coffee mug and downed the now cold liquid in two gulps. “Oh, look at that, I’m empty. Would you like a cup?” He turned before she took him up on his offer and fast-walked toward the office where the little kitchenette was located. It wasn’t much really, a counter with a stainless steel sink, tiny microwave, and coffee maker. Underneath, a mini-fridge nestled between two storage cabinets.
“Don’t think you can dodge me that easily.” She rounded the corner and burst into the room like a woman on a mission. “You’re going over there to see him. Don’t deny it.”
“I deny nothing, and admit to the exact same thing. What’s the big deal? He’s a nice guy.”
A snort was her elegant response. He raised his eyebrow to her while reaching for the coffee pot.
“He’s mean, Xan. You don’t do mean, you do happy.”
“He’s sexy. I do do sexy,” Xander countered.
She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Oh, so you’re using that head to eat lunch with.”
“Maybe I just want to see if I can make him smile.” Xander sighed.
She shook her head at him. “Just don’t tell him any of your jokes.” Carefully snatching the now full and doctored coffee mug in his hands, she winked. “You want him to laugh with you, not at you.”
“Oh, ha ha,” he grumbled, suppressing the urge to give her back the middle finger salute.

Christmas in His Heart

Friday, November 28, 2014

@BreathlessPress is stripping 1/2 off for #BlackFridaySale

Yep, you read right! Breathless Press is stripping their prices in half for their black Friday sale! This includes the last two books in my Synchronous Seductions series and my Djin book Wish MeNothing! Need a break from your shopping? Treat yourself to something a little naughty and a whole lot nice! <3

P.S. The first book to my Synchronous Seductions series - Harlan's Ryde - is FREE at All Romance e-books – and a whole bunch of my other books are on sale there today & tomorrow also! *winks*

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Book Blast: Kiss My Ash @PridePromo @reneegeorge2008 #mustread #bookcontest

About Renee George: Multi-published, best-selling author Renee George has been a factory worker, an army medic, a nurse, a website designer, a small press editor, an artist, and a teacher, but writing stories about sexy alpha men is the BEST job she's ever had. When she turned thirty, she went back to college and earned her BA in creative writing. She has been married to the love of her life, a wonderful man who supports in every way, for over half her life (and that is a VERY long time!). She happily lives in a small, Midwest town with her husband, two needy dogs and a very independent cat. Anything else you want to know, just ask. She’ll give you all the nitty gritty dirt.

Check Renee George out here:

Kiss My Ash
Publisher: Ellora's Cave

We've got blurbage:
A werewolf who’s hairless in full shift.

A water sprite who can’t hold his shape at the slightest touch of water.

An ash-tree nymph with a black thumb who kills every bit of flora in her vicinity.

That’s Fortunate, Missouri, in a nutshell—the town for abnormal paranormals. Nymph Romy, however, can one-up them all—her particular flaw is killing her. But thanks to a possible love spell, the wolf and the water sprite could be Romy’s key to cheating death. And the three misfits may find that even imperfect creatures can still create a sexy, loving, perfect union.

Inside Scoop:  Sol, Romy and Lucien love each other—emotionally, spiritually and physically. Which means both ménage and male/male action. You lucky reader, you.

A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

Categories: Bisexual, Erotica, Fantasy, Fiction, Menage/Poly, Paranormal, Romance

And a sneak peek:
By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, please exit this site.

Copyright © RENEE GEORGE, 2014
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Mathias was a korrigan, a fairy dwarf, and to his detriment, he’d been born male. An abomination amongst the korrigans, who were always female. Even his own mother had wanted him dead, but you can’t kill an immortal.

When he finally strolled out from behind the counter, his height no more than four feet, he held a red clay pot filled to the brim with a dark, loamy soil. Carefully, he handed it to Romy. “Here.”

She stepped away. “And what the hell am I supposed to do with dirt?” Maybe Mathias was tired of her bringing back dead plant after dead plant. It didn’t matter how much she watered the damn things, fed them, or even talked to them—none survived. She’d stopped giving them names after a while, awash with guilt and shame over each death.

His red eyes sparkled with excitement. “In this soil, there is a very special seed, my girl. Very rare and unique. I’m entrusting you with its care.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. There is no way in hell I’m taking on a ‘rare and unique’ plant. No. No. No. Give me a hardy shrub or weed. Better yet, maybe a cabbage. I won’t feel so bad about a cabbage when it croaks.”

Romy was a dryad; specifically, an ash tree nymph. Which meant, in theory, plants should flourish around her, but she couldn’t even keep her own tree alive. Her mother had postulated it had something to do with the sperm donor, aka Romy’s biological father, but the elder dryad had refused to say more on the subject. Tree nymphs were traditionally a love-’em-and-leave-’em race of females. They didn’t get involved with beings they considered no more than means to an end. Males born to tree nymphs always developed into the same race as the male halves of the couplings, while the females were always dryads.

Unfortunately, something had gone very wrong in the making of Romy. It hadn’t taken long after the dryad equivalent of puberty set in before her people had decided she was toxic.

She pushed the pot back to Mathias. “Uh-uh. You’ve seen my track record.”

When her “birth defect” had eventually started to affect the trees of her forest six months ago, Romy had been summarily kicked out by the other dryads. Of course, her people had called it a “long, extended respite” and sent her to the town of Fortunate, Missouri.

The moniker, over the years, had become a joke. The town had been named after the Fortunate Isles, also called the Isles of the Blessed, and had been used for more than two hundred years as a dumping ground for the “paranormally challenged”. Those who didn’t fit in with their own kind were sent to Fortunate to finish out their days. For immortals like Mathias, the end of days was a long-ass time.

For Romy, well…without a tree to tend, she wouldn’t live another year, the chlorophyll drying in her veins. The plants were test subjects for her, to see if she could sustain life. So far, they’d served only to help ease the ache of dying. But as far as tending plants and making them flourish, she failed constantly.

For Mathias to trust her with a “special” plant…no way was she taking on that kind of responsibility.

It was one thing to kill a common houseplant, but a whole ’nother thing to be responsible for something “rare and unique”. Was Mathias crazy? Romy shook her head again. “I can’t. Don’t you have an air plant or something? Hell, those suckers don’t even require watering.”

He patted her hands, his fingers soothing and gentle. “Ah, but my dear, I hope this may be the answer to—”

Mathias’ explanation was cut off by a barking baritone. “Ah, shit!”

Romy put the pot on the counter as she scooted around Mathias to see who the unfamiliar voice belonged to.

In the greenhouse area beyond the main shop, two long, well-muscled legs and a firm ass, all packaged in perfectly tight jeans, stood nestled between two rows of plants.

“Hello,” Romy said.

The owner of the legs and ass straightened, making him a foot taller than Romy. And oh goddess, did he have an upper body and face to go with the lower half—thickly muscled chest and broad shoulders crowned by a face with bow lips, a Roman nose and the brightest green eyes. All framed by messy, shiny black hair that fell about his shoulders. It was as if the gods had decided to create perfection.

Ridiculous though—they would never do that. But hot damn, they’d come pretty close.

“Uh, hello yourself,” he said back, dusting his palms against his jeans.

His really low voice, which would have better suited a grizzly bear, sent a humming through Romy that made her body sing.

“What have you done now, Lucien?” Mathias asked when he walked into the back. His presence was enough to break the harmony, and Romy snapped out of her new-guy-induced daze.

“What a great name.” She smiled. It made her feel foolish, but she couldn’t punch down the giddiness.

“It’s a name.” He shrugged then leaned over again, which gave Romy another clear shot of his fabulous ass. When he stood once more, he held a small plant, cradling the roots carefully. He looked at Mathias. “I broke the pot, but the fern is fine.”

Lucien had a slight accent, but Romy couldn’t put her finger on the origin. If possible, it made the young man even more exotic and mysterious.

Mathias shook his head, making his red beard sweep his chest. “Where’s Sol?”

“I’m here!” Sol Winter, who’d been working for Mathias long before Romy had moved to Fortunate, stepped out from behind the last row of plants. He wore a baby-blue polo shirt that matched his light-blue eyes. It also complemented his tan, a deep golden bronze. Natural, according to him. Strange for an elf, but who was Romy to judge? His long blond hair was pulled into a ponytail. He often wore it down and spilling over his shoulders, but generally had it tied back for work.

Sol was taller than Lucien by several inches and a little broader. His smile brightened when he saw Romy. “Hey, you.” His mouth turned down in sympathy. “Kill another one?”

They’d had a strange relationship ever since Romy had arrived in Fortunate, which generally involved spirited banter and sarcasm. Even when the conversation turned a little mean, Romy was still thankful for Sol. He was the closest thing she had to a friend.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Nice.” He raised a brow. “Bitchy much?”

Even though she was certain Sol was gay, it didn’t stop her from having some wicked fantasies about him. After all, the man was hot-hot and knew how to dress. “Takes one to know one.”

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the oak this morning.” Sol scooped a handful of topsoil and pitched it at her.

“Oh no you didn’t.” In retaliation, Romy grabbed a nearby hose and squeezed the nozzle trigger, dowsing Sol where he stood.

“Stop!” Lucien yelled.

Too late. At Lucien’s shout, Romy turned, the spray of water slapping across the man’s face—and Lucien instantly melted into a clear puddle on the greenhouse floor.

Mortified, she dropped the hose. “Oh no!” She shook her head and stumbled forward. “What have I done?” Not only was she a plant killer, apparently she was a man killer as well.

Two lips formed in the clear pool. “I’m fine. Really.”

You can snag Kiss My Ash here: 

Tour Date: 11/26/14

Rafflecopter has an awesome prize just waiting for you...seriously pretty darn sweet! *winks*

Thank you
Pride Promotions

Friday, November 21, 2014

Book Blast: Cranberry Pi (Linwood Academy: I) @PridePromo @leebrazil #mustread #bookcontest

Please welcome Lee Brazil and his new release Cranberry Pi.

About Lee Brazil: Somewhere in a small town in up-state New York are a librarian and a second grade teacher to whom I owe my life. That might be a touch dramatic, but it's nevertheless one hundred percent true.

Because they taught me the joy of reading, of escaping into worlds crafted of words.

Have you ever been nine years old and sure of nothing so much as that you don't belong? Looked at the world from behind glasses, and wondered why you don't fit?

Someone hands you a book, and then turn the page and see… there you are, running from Injun Joe in a dark graveyard; there you are fencing with Athos; there you are…beneath the deep blue sea- marveling at exotic creatures with Captain Nemo.

I found myself between the pages of books, and that is why I write now, it's why I taught English and literature for so many years, and it's why my house contains more pounds of books than furniture.

If I'd had my way, I'd have been a fencer…or a starship captain, or a lawyer, or a detective solving crimes. But instead, I am a writer, and that's the best thing in the world to be if you ask me, because as a writer, I can be all those things and more.

If I hadn't learned to value the stories between the pages, who knows what would have happened? Certainly not college…teaching…or writing.

Lee's good about playing well with others...check him out here:
Twitter: @leebrazil

Cranberry Pi
Cover Artist: Laura Harner
Publisher: Lime Time Press

We've got blurbage: As if starting a new job, picking up the reins of a disorganized former colleague, and moving back in with his parents while he saves for a down payment on a house of his own isn't enough, Cecil Trace has just discovered that part of the Art Director's job at the exclusive Linwood Academy is putting on a series of holiday pageants…with the first one celebrating Thanksgiving just three short weeks away.

He's got enough on his hands getting reluctant students ready to wow their parents and the community with their brilliance, and preparing a holiday showing of his own artwork at a local gallery, he doesn't need recalcitrant but brilliant math instructor Reese Cavelli arguing about every little detail.

While Reese understands the new Art Director's urgency, he can't allow Cecil to undermine his authority with the students. Reese can't help being an ass to the new art director, and he knows in part his behavior is due to his own insecurities, but it's also got a lot to do with the fact that the vibrant young artist is so damned sexy in his jeans and bohemian shirts. Every time he comes into contact with Cecil Trace, he finds himself

Categories: Contemporary, Gay Fiction, M/M Romance, Romance

And a sneak peek: The store doors whooshed open and a wave of cold air enticed him inside. The silver gum wrapper nagged at the back of his mind, but he was determined. No more picking up after other people. Not after coming in early and staying late and spending all his planning periods cleaning up Torey Crowe's disaster of a classroom over the last week.

Pulling out his smartphone, he called up a list of items he needed and swung a cart out of the corral. He knew the store like the back of his hand, but it seemed unusually crowded this Sunday. Ducking into an aisle to detour around a woman who appeared to have at least six two-year-olds in her charge, he nearly collided with another cart. Cursing, he veered to the left quickly. Too quickly as he wound up hitting a hanging display of sandwich containers in gaudy plastic colors.

"Fuck!" Instantly, he backed up a little and bent to retrieve the objects that had fallen from the display. Something rammed into his backside and sent him sprawling forward onto the dirty linoleum. "Fuck!" he snarled, catching himself with his hands and pushing upright.

"Oh, excuse me."

The pleasant baritone irritated him even more, because it seemed familiar. Spinning about, he found himself face-to-face with the devil himself. Or temptation. The man who'd hit him with the shopping cart was stooping to pick up the sandwich containers, and Reese didn't have a very clear view of him, but what he saw was enough to make his cheeks burn even brighter and his heart falter just a bit before racing.

Golden hair, in a long, straight sheet fell forward over his face, long…too long for a man, really. Reese tried to sneer, but his fingers twitched again, and he wanted to reach out and push that hair back behind the man's ear to see what sort of face it hid. He had an impression of slenderness, caught a glimpse of faded denim, and a shirt that looked a hell of a lot like his sister's baby doll pajamas before his cock swelled. Embarrassed, he jerked his own cart and trotted down the aisle. "Watch where you're going!" he choked out, racing for the produce department.

Pick this amazing book up here: 

Tour Date: 11/21/14

And if you play with Lee's Rafflecopter you have a chance at winning a gift card to All Romance e-books! Come know you wanna push his buttons...hehe

All of this goodness (including the absolutely fabulous graphics that I just wanna roll around in) are brought to you by the ever talented...

Pride Promotions