Monday, July 14, 2014

I'm having a Blast with S.A. McAuley's Damaged Package @PridePromo @AuthorSAMcAuley #bookcontest

I'm having a blast with S.A. McAuley's Damaged Package...

Um, well...okay I didn't think that opening line out quite like I should've probably—anyhoo...you've gotta take a looksy at this book!

About S.A. McAuley: I sleep little, read a lot. Happiest in a foreign country. Twitchy when not mentally in motion. My name is Sam, not Sammy, definitely not Samantha. I’m a pretty dark/cynical/jaded person, but I hide that darkness well behind my obsession(s) for shiny objects. I’m the macabre wrapped in irresistible bubble wrap and a glittery pink bow, I suppose.

Check out S.A. here:

Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/authorsamcauley

Facebook Author Page - https://www.facebook.com/samcauleywrites/app_10026589669034,

GoodReads - http://www.goodreads.com/authorsamcauley

Instagram - http://instagram.com/authorsamcauley

Newsletter: https://www.facebook.com/samcauleywrites/app_1002658966903

Tumblr - http://authorquestionmark.tumblr.com/

Twitter - http://www.twitter.com/AuthorSAMcAuley

Damaged Package

Cover Artist: Garrett Leigh

Publisher: Self-Published

We've got blurbage:

Forced into early retirement from his career as a SWAT officer for the city of Detroit, James Deacon knew that when he failed it would be a fall of epic proportions. He’s been living life by the tips of his fingers for over twenty years, and his new gig organizing a group of misfit military types into a functioning team—including his reluctant ex-fiancée—won’t return him to stable ground anytime soon.

Trevor Barrow has been on the move for the last seven years—hitting the road when relationships became too real or too much work. He’s home now, working in the hazardous world of bike messengers in the Motor City, and the only one of his eight siblings who knows he’s returned is his sister Cat. It’s not as if reconnecting with them matters anyway, because it’s likely he’ll be gone again soon.

Both men are lugging some heavy baggage, but when they chance upon each other in a dive bar it’s hard to deny their flaws are more like symbiotic quirks. Trevor’s backpedaling instincts and Deacon’s dance-dance party past may just be intersecting at a time when things are about to get explosive in Detroit.

And a sneak peek:

Deacon paid for their last-round of drinks and they stood at the bar as the lights clicked on. He reached out and swept back a lock of Trav’s fringe, letting his fingers linger against Trav’s sweat-slick skin.

“You gotta let me take you home,” Deacon said.

Trav scoffed and took a drink of his beer. “Worst pick up line ever.”

“I thought the worst was saying that I’d never seen you at Honest John’s before?”

“Yeah. You’re pretty bad all around.”

But instead of feeding Trav another line, Deacon made the conscious decision to give an honest reply. “Dating’s just not my scene.”

Trav tipped his head and studied him. “You know what? I don’t know if I’m supposed to believe you and be reeled in by how unconventional you are, or if this is all a game for you.”

He shrugged. Already he knew there was little he could do to sway Trav either way—Trav was perceptive. “I’ll give you time to decide that for yourself. In the mean time, though, I’m serious. Let me at least ride with you in the cab back to your place. I don’t live far from you and it will make me feel better to know you’re safe.”

“I ride a bike in downtown Detroit for a living, James. Pretty sure I can handle myself.”

Deacon’s lips curled into a smile at both Trav’s use of his first name and his brash confidence. “I’m positive you can.”

“Well, then… What? That doesn’t…” Trav pursed his lips together in a thin line and left the remains of his trailing thoughts unsaid. Trav took another swig from his beer, emptying the cup and setting it on the bar. “Whatever. Yeah, you can take me home. But I’m not inviting you up. Got it?”

Deacon would take it. He held out his hand and waited for Trav to decide it was okay to take this one small step. When Trav’s fingers curled around his after only a heartbeat of hesitation, Deacon worked through the lingering crowd to the front door, unable to wipe the triumphant smile from his face.

The ride back into the city didn’t take as long as it had to get out to Ferndale. The city became a ghost town after a certain time of night. And they’d passed that threshold hours ago. They rode in silence, with hands still touching if not intertwined, and when they pulled up to the Park Shelton, Deacon paid the cabbie and got out with Trav.

It took a moment for Trav to realize what had just happened. He watched the cab drive away, glared at Deacon, back down the road, then put his hands on his hips. “Whoa. Whatcha doing getting out of the cab? I distinctly remember not inviting you up.”

“Huh,” was all Deacon said as he pointed at the cab disappearing around a corner. “But there goes my ride.”

“I’m not a first date slut.”

Deacon groaned playfully, but his heart skipped a happy beat to hear Trav considered this a date, too. “You're not going to make me count out dates or something like that, are you?”

Trav’s fingers drummed against hips as he seemed to be considering his options. Yet barely restraining a smile at the same time. “Just for that response? Maybe.”

Deacon dropped to his knees on the sidewalk, and raised his clasped hands to the heavens, pleading to Trav in an overly loud voice, "Please, Trevor Barrow! What do I have to do for you to let me up to your apartment, Trevor Barrow? I just want to watch the History Channel or maybe So You Think You Can Dance, Trevor Barrow. I promise I have nothing lewd or lascivious—”

A group of female college students walking by giggled at his display, providing a running commentary as they eyed the scene unfolding on the sidewalk. “Dude, Trevor Barrow, you should let him up.” Then, “He's cute. He can come back to my place.”

Deacon couldn't have planned his public begging session better.

Trav blushed and laughed out loud. “Alright. Off your knees.”

“At least for now!” one of the girls yelled as they turned the corner.

Trav sighed, offered his hand and pulled Deacon up toward the front entrance of his apartment building. “You're going to give me a reputation, Deacon.”

“I earn every reputation I give.” Deacon smirked and held the door open for Trav once he’d swiped his key card.

“Where did the tears suddenly disappear to? The histrionics?”

He shrugged. “I got my way.”

Trav stopped in the doorway and looked up at Deacon wide-eyed. “Holy shit. You really are certifiable.”

Deacon ran his finger along Trav’s jawline, wanting nothing more than to kiss Trav. But whether Trav wanted to believe it or not, what happened between them next was up to Trav. “Cat’s completely right. She just should have waited for you to find that out on your own.”

Trav shook his head, his voice laden with sarcasm, but his stunning eyes crinkled at the corners in silent laughter, “Yeah, like that would've taken me long.”

You can find Damaged Package here:
Amazon
ARe

S.A.'s website

Tour Dates: 7/14/14

Let's not forget about the Rafflecopter...it is just such a fun toy to play with!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

*bows* Thank you for visiting...and a special thanks to the mastermind behind the blast for S.A. McAuley's Damaged Package (yeah, that will never get old *winks*)...
Pride Promotions

Delving into the shadows with Rick R. Reed... @PridePromo @RickRReed #bookcontest

Delving Into the Shadows

Please welcome a wonderfully talented author to my blog today...

Rick R. Reed

Recently, I had two notes from readers. I think these two notes point at the dichotomy in my writing—light and dark.

The first note was from a woman, who said:

I love your romance novels. They can be a little angsty, but for the most part, they’re light and fun. And they have a happy-ever-after, which is a must for me. I have to admit, I’m scared to read some of your other stuff. I’m afraid it would give me nightmares.

The other note, from a man, said:

I really enjoy your romance novels. They’re sweet and romantic, but what really connects with me are the darker ones, that deal with real issues. Those are the ones I remember long after I close the book.

What’s a writer to do? A writer needs to remember the maxim: You can’t please all the people all the time.

And, although it might sound selfish, my first responsibility when creating any work of fiction, is to please myself. I have to tell the story that’s itching to get out of my psyche. Love stories are great—I enjoy writing them more and more. They usually make me both laugh and cry as I take my character or characters on their journey to true love.

But like the reader above, it’s often my darker work that resonates with me, that echoes in my head long after I’ve typed those bittersweet words, the end.

Bashed is a good example. I wanted initially to write about a very real plight in the gay community—hate crimes. People being beaten for just who they are seems unimaginable, but those crimes happen with alarming and often growing frequency. Bashed examines, through the structure of a paranormal love story, the after-effects of a tragic hate crime on a small group of people—both victims and perpetrators, and tries to show how even hate can bind us in unforeseeable ways.

But as I’m writing about Bashed, I look up and see what I’ve written about romance, about taking my characters on a journey to true love.

That is probably the essence of my writing and it holds true whether I’m writing about something ripped from the headlines or something that might give you goosebumps—ultimately, almost everything I write is about finding that elusive state most human beings search and long for—true love.

The same is true for Bashed. My main character, Donald, loses the love of his life at the beginning of the book, loses him in an almost unbearable way—at the hands of people who, for no other reason than sexual orientation, want to hurt them in the most terrible ways possible.

But the thing I want to say to the woman who wrote to me above is that she shouldn’t be afraid to read a book of mine like Bashed, because, at its heart, it provides hope, and the possibility of finding true love again, even in the face of unbearable loss. I think that’s why some of my darker works sticks with me and resonates more deeply—because my characters have to come from such a place of despair to find love that it’s that much more worthwhile when they do.

Blurb

It should have been a perfect night out. Instead, Mark and Donald collide with tragedy when they leave their favorite night spot. That dark October night, three gay-bashers emerge from the gloom, armed with slurs, fists, and an aluminum baseball bat.

The hate crime leaves Donald lost and alone, clinging to the memory of the only man he ever loved. He is haunted, both literally and figuratively, by Mark and what might have been. Trapped in a limbo offering no closure, Donald can’t immediately accept the salvation his new neighbor, Walter, offers. Walter’s kindness and patience are qualities his sixteen-year-old nephew, Justin, understands well. Walter provides the only sense of family the boy’s ever known. But Justin holds a dark secret that threatens to tear Donald and Walter apart before their love even has a chance to blossom.

Buy Links

Dreamspinner Ebook

Dreamspinner Paperback

AmazonKindle

AmazonPaperback

All Romance eBooks

Excerpt

He had found Mark, fifteen years his junior and with the face of an angel but the mind of a demon, at the Brig, the leather bar they had patronized “that” night. But this was last winter, March, and it was bitterly cold. The bar was a Chicago institution with a strict leather dress code and lots of macho posturing. A Harley hung from the ceiling. Tom of Finland posters adorned the walls. Hard-core porno played on monitors hanging from the ceiling. A St. Andrews cross was set up in one corner. And then, of course, there was the infamous back room, where anything could happen. Donald knew the latter for a fact, since once upon a time, he had been a habitué of that back room, instigator, hunter, and hunted.

The Brig was not exactly celebrated as a place where love ignited and blossomed. It was known more for multiple, faceless partners in the crowded back room, where a full-length urinal ran along the length of one wall and one could indulge oneself with many partners in an evening, all of them unrecognizable should you pass them on the street the next morning. The idea of romance and a long-term relationship by the Brig’s standards was a one-night stand.

Donald had fully expected, that night in March, to enter the bar, grab a shot of Jack and a Budweiser, down them, and head to the back room for a quick release. Oh sure, it wasn’t pretty, and it certainly wasn’t romantic, but it was efficient, and he could go home feeling that his evening was complete. His night had begun innocently enough with dinner with his friend Mary on Devon Street at their favorite Indian hole in the wall (they shared samosas and chicken tikka masala) and then a play at The Steppenwolf.

He could have, maybe should have, gone home after that, but once he dropped Mary off at her condo in Evanston, he found he was still wide awake and hungry for a different kind of companionship than his good friend could possibly offer.

But life often had a way of surprising you. Life often was deliberate and patient, waiting until just the right moment, when hope, such as it was, was extinguished, to throw a big, surprising present right in your lap.

And that present was Mark. Donald hadn’t even glanced around the bar for potential suitors. He wasn’t looking to make idle chitchat, to buy someone a beer, to go to some walk-up in Rogers Park where passion would rule for an hour at best, only to be eclipsed by an awkward exchange of numbers and excuses Donald would make about having to get up early in the morning and needing to head home. No, Donald was on his determined way to the back room, half downed beer gripped in his fist. He knew he could be in and out of there within minutes and home in his comfy bed in Edgewater fifteen minutes after that. The routine was becoming habitual, and Donald wondered, in darker moments, if he wasn’t stunting himself emotionally with such behavior.

But dark thoughts like these were not foremost in Donald’s mind as he neared the arch that would lead into the back room. The thoughts he was having (a warm mouth just waiting for him in the shadows) were rudely interrupted by the appearance of a stranger, blocking his path. The guy was young, blond, and smiling, dressed all wrong for the Brig. (His leather biker jacket was the only thing that had probably allowed him in the door on a Saturday night.) He had the kind of innocent face one might call cherubic: pale blue eyes, creamy white skin, cheeks that were noticeably rosy even in the dim, functional light of the bar. His hair was a riot of curls, very Shirley Temple. Under the biker jacket, he wore a pair of Levi’s and a dark cotton crewneck sweater with a white T-shirt underneath. Christ, the kid was even wearing Asics! The guy on the door must be asleep at the wheel tonight.

Donald almost couldn’t believe the kid’s smile was for him. He tried to brush by him. But then the kid said, “Don’t I know you?”

Donald regarded him with a wary eye. Donald was six-two, with salt and pepper hair and a full beard to match. He had stayed in good shape and still filled out a form-fitting T-shirt well. The wrinkles around his green eyes and the bushy eyebrows above them only served to make him more appealing… especially to kids like this one, who, he knew, wanted to get around to calling him “Daddy” sooner or later.

He gave the kid a smile and shook his head. “Don’t think so.” He tried to brush by him again. Even though the kid was cute and the fact that he had approached him opened the door to possibility, Donald just wanted to get in, get off, and get out. He wished it weren’t so, but Donald couldn’t hide from himself, not after thirty years or so of hanging out in just such places as the Brig.

“Sure. You work construction… downtown. At Wacker and Michigan?”

Donald rolled his eyes. Was he supposed to be flattered? He supposed he looked the part, but he hadn’t done any job even remotely physical since he had landed a summer job in a steel mill when he was in college. The truth was, Donald made his living as the director of marketing for a professional association downtown, not far from the corner the kid had just mentioned. If the kid had seen him at that intersection, he would have been wearing khakis and an Oxford button-down, not flannel, denim, tool belt, and hard hat. He placed his hand on the kid’s shoulder, and a little jolt went through him, unexpected but delightful. The kid felt solid beneath his cotton and leather, a real man’s body, broad-shouldered, belying the Shirley Temple hair and the angelic face. It gave Donald pause. He met the kid’s blue-eyed gaze and grinned. “Yeah, I drive a fork lift down dere.” Donald could do a good Chicago south-sider accent. He burst into laughter. He couldn’t maintain the ruse, not even for a few seconds. “Actually, I do work near Michigan and Wacker. But in a high rise that was finished long ago. And the most physical labor I do is adjusting a mouse pad just so.”

The kid winked. “I probably could have guessed that, but I knew I needed a good opening line fast when I saw you walk in.” He shrugged and took a swig from his beer. “The best I could come up with.” He took another swallow and looked up at Donald. “I’m ready for another one. How ’bout you?”

And so it began. Before Donald could even respond in the affirmative, Mark had taken note of what brand of beer he drank and had nimbly made his way through the crowd, ordered, and returned with two fresh, sweating brown bottles. Donald hadn’t even had a chance to think about answering the siren call of temptation issuing forth from the back room, just opposite from where he stood. In any event, when Mark pressed the beer into his hand and pressed close to him, Donald suddenly abandoned any thought of the back room. Tonight was going to be different. And no one was more surprised about the turn of events than Donald himself.

Rick R. Reed Biography

Rick R. Reed is all about exploring the romantic entanglements of gay men in contemporary, realistic settings. While his stories often contain elements of suspense, mystery and the paranormal, his focus ultimately returns to the power of love. He is the author of dozens of published novels, novellas, and short stories. He is a three-time EPIC eBook Award winner (for Caregiver, Orientation and The Blue Moon Cafe). Raining Men and Caregiver have both won the Rainbow Award for gay fiction. Lambda Literary Review has called him, "a writer that doesn't disappoint." Rick lives in Seattle with his husband and a very spoiled Boston terrier. He is forever "at work on another novel."

Web: http://www.rickrreed.com
Blog: http://rickrreedreality.blogspot.com/
Facebook: www.facebook.com/rickrreedbooks
Twitter: www.twitter.com/rickrreed.
E-mail: jimmyfels@gmail.com

Tour Dates & Stops: July 14 – August 7

July 14: Havan Fellows

July 17: On Top Down Under

July 21: Joyfully Jay

July 24: Hearts on Fire

July 28: Love Bytes

July 31: The Novel Approach

August 4: Because Two Men Are Better Than One

August 7: JP Barnaby

Now...here's the cool thing, if you follow Rick on his blog tour not only do you get to learn lots more about this amazing author, but you get even more chances to enter his contest and win! What do you win? Well here is Rafflecopter to tell you...

a Rafflecopter giveaway

All of this goodness was brought to you by the loving and very capable hands of

Pride Promotions

Friday, July 11, 2014

Cover reveal: The Nesting Habits of Strange Birds @CharleyDescote @PridePromo #bookcontest

The Nesting Habits of Strange Birds

Charley Descoteaux

A word from our author: First I’d like to thank Pride Promotions for arranging this tour, Havan Fellows for inviting me to visit their lovely space, and D.W. Skinner and Paul Richmond for my gorgeous cover!

I’ve been writing for a long time, but The Nesting Habits of Strange Birds is the first full-length novel I get to share with the world. During all the years I spent writing, and dreaming of the day when I could say I am a novelist, I also made plans.

I don’t set out to write political or message novels, but after growing up in the Bay Area in the 70s and spending my share of time in the trenches, it’s hard to separate the activist from the author. Like many other writers, I have trunk novels that will probably never see the light of day (you’re welcome ;)). Each of those trunk novels included a plan for giving a portion of any earnings to a relevant charity.

The two main characters in The Nesting Habits of Strange Birds, Phil and Lee, have both been touched by depression and suicide—and since The Trevor Project is one of my favorite national charities, it seemed like a good fit.

I’ll donate $1 for every pre-order of The Nesting Habits of Strange Birds to The Trevor Foundation, in support of their efforts to provide crisis intervention and suicide prevention for LGBTQ youth.

Visit my blog for a running tally of pre-orders. I’ll update the tally every few days, and post the final total on August 11.

Thank you all for helping me raise awareness, and a little cash, for this very worthwhile cause!

Pre-order it here

eBook

Paperback

About Charley: Charley Descoteaux has always heard voices. She was relieved to learn they were fictional characters, and started writing when they insisted daydreaming just wasn’t good enough. In exchange, they let her sleep once in a while. Home is Portland, Oregon, where the weather is like your favorite hard-case writing buddy who won’t let you get away with taking too many days off, and in some places you can be as weird as you are without fear. As an out and proud bisexual and life-long weird-o, she thinks that last part is pretty cool.

Where to find Charley:

Blog

FacebookAuthor Page

DreamspinnerAuthor Page

Twitter

Goodreads

Pinterest

e-mail: c.descoteauxwrites@gmail.com

Cover Artist: D.W. Skinner (photographer), Paul Richmond (designer)

Publisher: Dreamspinner Press

Blurb: All he ever wanted was to be a normal guy….

Phil Brask spends his days in the basement of his mentor's Victorian home, converting legal documents into electronic format. When the pipe feeding the water heater bursts, Lee Redding arrives in the plumber’s truck and draws Phil away from the narrow focus of his computer and camera lens. Lee gives Phil hope for a life beyond the walls he’s constructed using the nesting habits of migratory birds and dense legal files, a guided tour through a world filled with romance and music…maybe even family. But there’s a reason Phil retreated behind those walls, why he panics at a simple touch.

Lee has a good life—working with his uncle and on his mother’s farm, playing bass in a horrible metal band, and hooking up when he pleases—but he’s always suspected something was missing. When he meets the hot photographer with the icy-blue eyes, he knows exactly what that something is. Phil isn’t like other guys, but neither is Lee beneath his carefree exterior. Maybe Lee's the perfect guy to show Phil that everything doesn’t have to be done the hard way and "home" isn't a four-letter word.

Tour Date: July 11, 2014

And now for the fun part! Because honestly...who doesn't get excited when they see Rafflecopter??? lol

Rafflecopter Link

a Rafflecopter giveaway

And who do we have to thank for all the beauty in front of you at this very second? Well that's an easy answer...we love and thank you

Pride Promotions!

Friday, July 4, 2014

I'm at @threeflynns this week! http://ow.ly/yNsYO #guestblogging

I'm so excited! Erin Flynn not only let me stretch and purr all over her blog this week...but she also made me this kick assets (OMG OMG OMG isn't it soooooo freaking purdy?) banner that I snagged...but don't tell her I took it, I don't want her coming after me and spank my...um...as a matter of fact head over there right now and rat me out! *winks*

On Tuesday I infiltrated her beautiful space and teased you guys right alongside her...that's right...we each seduced you with a snippet of our works in progress. I won't even hint to the fact we did it with only our naughty words and capable fingers...no clothing allowed.

Today I'm over there talking about how I get in the mood. What mood? Well you'll have to head on over there and find out.

So, thank you Erin for having me and thank you all for stopping by and seeing me over there...leave a comment too, if the mood strikes you. ;)

Thursday, July 3, 2014

Book Blast: Diversion @PridePromo @edenwinters1 #mustread #mmromance #bookcontest

If you know me you know I love when we have to root for the bad guy...because honestly—bad vs. good is a concept that works well in superhero books—give me a superhero/villain structure and yeah, we have to pick a side. BUT (no not butt...unless you wanna share pics *winks*) But, when reading a contemporary type of book those same lines can be blurred...nothing is set in stone and the bad guy may just be the one you want to prevail in the end...

Please welcome the talented Eden Winters to my blog today – we're having a blast with her book Diversion!

About Eden: Captivated young by story-telling, Eden Winters’ earliest memories include spinning tales for the family's pets. Her dreams of writing professionally took a sojourn into non-fiction, with a twelve-year stint in technical documentation.

She began reading GLBT novels as a way to better understand the issues faced by a dear friend and fell in love with the M/M romance genre. During a discussion of a favorite book, a fellow aficionado said, "We could do this, you know." Good-bye gears, motors, and other authors’ characters; hello plots and sex scenes. So far that's produced such award winning novels as The Wish, Settling the Score, The Angel of Thirteenth Street, Duet, Naked Tails, and Diversion.

Somewhat of a nomad, Eden has visited seven countries so far. She currently calls the southern US home, and many of her stories take place in the rural South. Having successfully raised two children, she now balances the day job with hiking, rafting, spoiling her grandchildren, and stalking the wily falafel or elusive tofu pad Thai at her favorite restaurants. Her musical tastes run from Ambient to Zydeco, and she's a firm believer that life is better with fur kids and Harley Davidsons.

For more information about Eden, please visit her website. Be sure to look for Eden’s soon-to-be-published works: A Matter of When and Manipulation.

Nomad or not...I'm sure we could successfully stalk Eden:

Facebook

Author Page

Twitter

Diversion (2^nd Edition)

Cover Artist: L.C. Chase

Publisher: Rocky Ridge Books

Blurb please:

There are good guys, bad guys, and then there’s Lucky.

Former drug trafficker Richmond “Lucky” Lucklighter flaunts his past like a badge of honor. He speaks his mind, doesn’t play nice, and flirts with disaster while working off his sentence with the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau. If he can keep out of trouble a while longer he’ll be a free man–after he trains his replacement.

Textbook-quoting, by the book Bo Schollenberger is everything Lucky isn’t. Lucky slurps coffee, Bo lives caffeine free. Lucky worships bacon, Bo eats tofu. Lucky trusts no one, Bo calls suspects by first name. Yet when the chips are down on their shared case of breaking up a drug diversion ring, they may have more in common than they believe.

Two men. Close quarters. Friction results in heat. But Lucky scoffs at partnerships, no matter how thrilling the roller-coaster. Bo has two months to break down Lucky’s defenses… and seconds are ticking by.

Peeking at Eden's goodies:

The door flew open and Lucky made a grab. He rammed Bo’s back against the wall, setting off an automated hand dryer. Lucky ignored the hot air wafting over his arm, slammed his mouth hard against Bo’s, and shoved his leg between the man’s thighs. They devoured each other’s mouths, no hesitant tender kiss, but a release of tightly coiled passion. Tongues intertwined, each man sifted fingers through the other’s hair, tugging closer.

Below their belts their bodies followed suit, Lucky rutting against Bo’s firm thigh in an old-as-time mating rhythm. I’m going to blow in my jeans and I don’t give a fuck.

Lucky’s overwhelmed brain yielded up a single clear warning: someone might walk in. Mouths joined, he danced them toward a stall without breaking contact. A condom machine hung on the wall at an awkward angle. A handwritten sign proclaimed, “Out of Order.” Damn it!

At this rate, he wouldn’t last long enough to wrap his meat anyway. He wrestled them both into a stall, and slammed and locked the door behind him.

Oh my...um...I may be feeling Lucky's need right now, find the rest of that scene and more here:

RockyRidge Books

Tour Date: 7/03/14

Oh looky what we have here...a cute little Rafflecopter link! Well, you know what to do, right? *winks*

a Rafflecopter giveaway

You know who brings you the yummies I get off on...because friends don't let friends read mediocre M/M books...*winks*

Pride Promotions

Pages

Monday, July 14, 2014

I'm having a Blast with S.A. McAuley's Damaged Package @PridePromo @AuthorSAMcAuley #bookcontest

Delving into the shadows with Rick R. Reed... @PridePromo @RickRReed #bookcontest

Delving Into the Shadows

Friday, July 11, 2014

Cover reveal: The Nesting Habits of Strange Birds @CharleyDescote @PridePromo #bookcontest

Friday, July 4, 2014

I'm at @threeflynns this week! http://ow.ly/yNsYO #guestblogging

Thursday, July 3, 2014

Book Blast: Diversion @PridePromo @edenwinters1 #mustread #mmromance #bookcontest