Complicating Roy by Megan Slayer – Spotlight and Giveaway

March 28, 2022 By Leave a Comment

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Megan Slayer who is celebrating the recent release of the second book in her Love Me Do series, Complicating Roy. Enter the rafflecopter at the end of the post for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

Complication doesn’t always have to be a bad thing.

Duke Charles needs a break. He’s tired of life on the road and never having a place to settle down. He decides to head to Norville for a rest in his childhood home. Once there, he realizes his life isn’t quite so relaxed—he’s not only inherited the house, but a cat to go with it. When his friend from high school sends him on a date, he finds out how complicated life can be…in a good way.

Roy Mars likes his life as an artist. He paints, sells work and takes his cat, Raphael, for walks through Norville. He channels his emotions into his art…until he goes on a date and meets Duke. His uncomplicated life gets thrown into chaos, not least because Duke has rabid fans who insist on knowing every detail of his life.

Can Roy handle a little complication in the form of Duke, or will he quit before he finds his forever?

Enjoy an Excerpt

“Art is for everyone,” Roy murmured. He added a few more strokes to his painting, then stepped back to admire the piece. He loved creating art, but hated special commissions. As far as he was concerned, art should be creative and allowed to flow, not dictated according to a special plan—especially without his input. He’d been given the project and told what to do. Don’t deviate, just paint what the mayor wants.

This piece would drive him to drinking. He’d been commissioned to paint a bold, abstract piece that still featured faces for the wall behind the mayor of Norville’s desk. It should be a snapshot of the town.

Roy groaned. He didn’t think the painting, under the direction of the mayor, looked anything like a cross-section of Norville. It was too clean and orderly…and boring. He’d added all the elements desired and none of his personality.

He glanced back at the mayor. If Floyd Gatlin liked the work, he could be done with it. If not, he’d have to keep working until Floyd was happy. His own paintings, his Depressions series, could wait.

“Well?” Roy asked. “What do you think?”

Floyd tapped his chin. “It’s colorful.” He stepped back. “It’s got action, too.”

“I tried to follow your directions exactly.” Roy folded his arms. “It’s quite vibrant, like you wanted.”

“Vibrant, but not gay.” Floyd nodded. “I’m tired of seeing so much gayness in town. We needed to get the movie theater razed or turned back into a theater.”

Roy didn’t see the issue with the hairdressing salon that the former cinema how housed, or the amount of gayness in Norville. The people of the town liked color and to be unique. That wasn’t bad. “You don’t like Dye Hard Style?” Roy frowned. “James is a great stylist. He cuts my hair and I’ve never been done wrong.”

“Uh-huh.” Floyd made a sound that reminded Roy of a grunt mixed with a groan. “Why don’t you try Cutting Up? They’re better.”

He’d seen the new salon in the strip mall at the edge of town. Where James was flamboyant and fun, Cutting Up was much more conservative. He’d bet every Cutting Up across the state looked exactly the same. “James is a friend of mine, too. I support my friends.”

“Well, to each their own, but I’d like for him to move outside of the Norville limits.” Floyd waved his hand. “I’ll take it. Send it over for framing. We have a plan for displaying it.”

“Sure.” He didn’t frame his works and preferred the edge of the canvas. “I’ll have it over in a day or two.”

“Perfect.” Floyd faced him. “You know, I like working with you. You don’t act gay, don’t shove it in my face, and don’t expect me to be understanding. You accept me and I can be myself.”

Roy seethed. How rotten! He couldn’t keep his tongue. “Mayor Gatlin, may I speak freely?” He had no idea how this man had gotten elected, but he didn’t deserve the role.

“Sure.” Floyd clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re friends here.”

Jesus. “I create work for you, that’s for sure. The thing is, I’m gay. I might not be as flamboyant as James, but it doesn’t make me any less homosexual. I am gay. Also, I don’t appreciate you talking about James like he’s a scourge. I might not throw my being gay in your face, but I don’t appreciate your saying I don’t expect you to be understanding. You should be a representative of the entire town, not just one section and not just those who voted for you. You can be voted out of office, you know.”

“Did you vote for me?” Floyd narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t, did you?”

“My vote is private, but suffice it to say I don’t agree with your principles. Never have.” He chucked his paintbrush into the water cup. “Take the painting if you want. I don’t care. You can decide not to, as well. But know this, I will continue to be myself, which is gay. I’ll champion gay causes and will not take your bullshit. Please leave.”

“You’re throwing me out?” Floyd snapped.

“Yes, my non-understanding gay ass is throwing you out. I can’t listen to you insult me because I’m gay.”

“You’ve changed,” Floyd said. “You got famous and you think you can snap at people. See if anyone wants to buy your terrible art now.”

“At least you’re telling me the truth.” He opened his studio door. “Goodbye.”

Floyd stomped out of the building.

Roy slammed the door behind him. How dare Floyd talk to him that way? He’d prided himself on keeping his moodiness to his studio, but he’d been insulted. His friend had been slandered. Jesus. He’d been treated like a lesser person. He moved the painting off the easel and onto a side table. He couldn’t look at the work any longer, especially knowing he’d expended energy to create it, and now for nothing.

He didn’t act gay enough. What a crock of shit. What did he need to do to act more gay?

About the Author Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and BDSM themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been the runner up in the Kink Category at Love Romances Café as well as nominated at the LRC for best author, best contemporary, best ménage and best anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on Amazon.com.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice.

Find out more about Megan on her website, and sign up for the newsletter here. You can also check out her Blog, Amazon Author Page, Bookbub and Instagram.

Website | Newsletter | Blog | Amazon Author Page | BookBub | Instagram | Goodreads | First for Romance Author Page

Buy the book at your favorite online venue or First for Romance.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Filed Under: Erotic Romance, Guest Blogs Tagged With: ,

The Corpse Princess by Jayce Carter – Spotlight and Giveaway

March 18, 2022 By 2 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Jayce Carter will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Karma is a bitch—but then again, so am I.

Ten years ago, a group of men murdered my mother and thought they had killed me. I’ve spent every day since planning revenge against the man behind the attack—my father. As the head of a powerful crime family, he won’t be an easy target, but nothing matters more than making him pay for what he’s done.

Now, I return in disguise, only to end up on the radar of the Quad—the four most dangerous men in the city…men I’ve been desperately in love with since I was a teen. I have no idea if they were in on the plan to have me killed, but I can’t stop myself from craving their taste, their bodies and their rough, domineering touches. Even though I know the risks, I keep falling deeper into our twisted relationship.

My plan is simple—find and get rid of the people who carried out the attack, kill my father…and don’t fall in love with the men who might have betrayed me.

This world already killed me once—let it try again.

Enjoy an Excerpt

“Well, damn,” he muttered, the end of his stick tapping against the floor. “Guess I didn’t need to give you a handicap, did I?”

I picked my glass up again, taking another sip, before leaning a hip against the edge of the pool table. “I might have let you play if you hadn’t called me sugar.”

“That name sure doesn’t fit you, does it? Not so sweet.”

“I don’t know about that.” A new voice stopped me in my tracks, made me hang my drink in the air a breath before the edge touched my lip.

It can’t be…

“I had this coffee drink one time called The Desert Dog, and it had a mix of brown sugar and cayenne pepper—sweet as hell but with a kick. What I learned was that cowards need sugar without the spice—for the rest of us, we’re just fine with a bit of heat,” the new man finished, his lips pulled into a smile that twisted my stomach.

I pressed the glass to my lips and sipped my whiskey as a way to hide my reaction while I stared at Dane, who looked so much the same even after ten years. His hair was still short and messy, and he had that five-o’clock shadow that always made him appear disheveled.

And his silver tongue was every bit as talented, if his little pick-up line said anything.

About the Author:

Jayce Carter lives in Southern California with her husband and two spawns. She originally wanted to take over the world but realized that would require wearing pants. This led her to choosing writing, a completely pants-free occupation. She has a fear of heights yet rock climbs for fun and enjoys making up excuses for not going out and socializing.

Website | Amazon Author Page | Instagram | Facebook

Buy the book at Amazon.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Filed Under: Erotic Romance, Guest Blogs Tagged With: , , ,

A Valentine to Day For by Aver Rigsley – Spotlight and Giveaway

February 8, 2022 By Leave a Comment

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Aver Rigsley, who is celebrating the recent release of A Valentine to Die For, the first book in Noir Nights series. Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

Having a secret admirer can be deadly.

Ricky Morris, private investigator on New York’s elite Upper East Side, has forged a shady yet profitable life as a gumshoe for wealthy Manhattanites after burning the bridge to his law enforcement past. When women in the city are targeted by a sweet-toothed murderer in the week leading up to Valentine’s Day, the last thing Ricky expects is to be hired by the younger brother of the man who ruined his life.

Timothy Ward, young, fresh patrolman for the N.Y.P.D. who never thought he’d have to step outside the law, finds himself in desperate need of Ricky’s help when he fears his brother, James Ward, the Deputy Chief, could be behind the killing spree.

With Valentine’s Day fast approaching, both men will have to work in the shadows, putting their careers and lives on the line to get to the bottom of the murderer’s sickly sweet and cruel plans. That is, if the burning heat of undeniable—and very forbidden—lust between them doesn’t consume them in the flames of reckless desire first…

Reader advisory: This book contains period-typical attitudes including slurs. There are mentions of on-page gunplay, and a slow-burn between the main characters over the course of the series.

Enjoy an Excerpt

February 1954. New York City.

“Mrs. Banks…this is going to be hard to hear.”

“What exactly are you telling me, Mr. Morris?”

Ricky’s head was pounding, right behind his eyes and down the back of his neck. A full-blown shit-show of a hangover. He took a last puff of his cigarette and smooshed the butt of it out in the ashtray.

“I’m sorry to say, but it’s what you were afraid of.”

“I knew it,” she snapped, her ruby-painted lips pursed tight. “I just knew it.”

“Unfortunately, I have photo evidence here of your husband, on multiple occasions, visiting, let’s say…some of the less savory parts of the city, ma’am.”

He reached into the top drawer of his desk, plucked out a glossy photograph and slid it across for Mrs. Banks to inspect.

“And who is she? Who is the whore?”

“Actually, there are three different broads here.” He pulled out a couple more photos, a short stack of four-by-five gelatin silver prints that he had developed himself in his makeshift darkroom. He laid the photos out, candid shots of Mr. Banks in his snazzy Buick Roadmaster, ladies hanging in through the passenger-side window, sitting beside him in the car, kissing the side of Mr. Banks’ thick neck—and those were just the photos that were considered decent compared to the others processing down the hall.

“I should have goddamn known. Theo is a f****** pig and always has been.”

Ricky raised his eyebrows but kept his cool, nodding to make her feel better. That was just Mrs. Banks—that sharp tongue of hers was very unladylike, no matter how expensive her silk pantyhose and real mink coat were, or how many strands of pearls she looped over her hand-tailored housedress.

Regardless, she wasn’t wrong about Mr. Banks. Ricky had spent the last week tailing Theodore Banks around the Financial District. Theo was a man who knew how to make dough. A pencil-pushing broker, Banks was the perfect example of a man whose money didn’t buy happiness. His wife was half his age—a stunning doll in her own right—and Ricky had noticed the moment they’d met how well she presented herself. She was a real looker of a dame, but Theo had a wandering eye and a penchant for not keeping his prick in his pants.

It was sort of pathetic how easy it had been to track him down and snap the photos of him getting a messy blow job in the front seat of his Buick. The fella had hardly lasted more than five minutes. Ricky did not envy Mrs. Banks, the poor woman, considering what she must deal with in the marital bed.

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?” she asked, digging into her handbag and rummaging around before pulling out a sleek chrome cigarette case. She popped the clasp and pulled out a menthol from the red velvet-lined inside. Her hands were shaking.

“Here, let me.” Ricky stood and leaned over the desk, offering her a light from his silver Zippo. Her red lips wrapped around the end of the cigarette and smoke curled up as she took the first few puffs.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Of course, and, Mrs. Banks? As for the…delicate predicament you find yourself in…”

“Yes?”

“As I see it, your best course of action would be to pursue a legal divorce.”

“Divorce? Like hire a lawyer?”

“That would be what I would do in your position, ma’am. You’ve suffered long and hard from a husband who is not only an adulterer, but who has also been recklessly spending your household income on lewd, and may I add, illegal activities.”

“Well, yes. Who knows how much money he’s thrown away on those filthy prostitutes?”

“Exactly, ma’am. May I ask, Mrs. Banks, is your name also on all your husband’s accounts?”

“Yes…”

“Well, I’m certain that if you ask a bank teller to show you all withdrawal statements for the past few months, you will see quite a bit of cash being removed. I could even give you the dates that all these photographs were taken, which I suspect would match the same dates of the withdrawals. On top of that,” Ricky said, hardly feeling the pounding headache as he played his role of charming confidant, “while these photos here might be argued against and possibly dismissed by the right defender in a court of law, I have in my possession downright illicit photographs that would be impossible to sweep under the rug. The more proof of the wrongdoing built against the accused, the better chance the court will grant you a larger portion of your husband’s estate.”

“Is that so?” Her cigarette smoldered forgotten between her fingers, her hands no longer shaking.

“Yes, indeed. Between the photos I have and any bank statements showing the frivolous spending, you could make out with quite a pretty penny, Mrs. Banks. More than enough, I’d say, to keep a lady such as yourself very comfortable.”

“At least until I find a second husband,” she quipped. “I can’t help but notice that you aren’t wearing a wedding band, Mr. Morris. Are you single? Or maybe that quiet blonde girl at the door is your girlfriend?”

“You mean Liz? No, she’s just my secretary and close friend. And I have never been interested in marriage. I’m a simple bachelor and I enjoy it that way.”

“Such a shame,” she said. “So, what do I owe you? For your services, and for those other photographs you mentioned. I would very much like to purchase those as well.”

“In my line of work as a private investigator, I am often the bearer of bad news, and I feel terrible for your hardship, ma’am, so I’ll give you a courtesy discount. It would be my honor. How about we call it…eight hundred and fifty for everything, and I’ll be happy to have done business with you, Mrs. Banks.”

“Do you accept traveler’s checks?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“Splendid.” She dug around in her handbag again, and Ricky leaned back in his chair. He lit a new cigarette, pleased with himself. Tonight, he was going to order a juicy steak dinner with all the fixings and a hefty glass of whiskey to go along with it. Jobs like these were perfect for milking desperate housewives. Show them a few pictures of their sleazy asshole husbands, and they turned to putty in his hands. Gold-diggers like Mrs. Banks were the best kind of all—all too eager to spend their husband’s money.

She handed over the checks, almost nine-hundred-bucks’ worth, and Ricky tucked them safely into his desk drawer.

“Much thanks indeed, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Mr. Morris. I will be sure to mention your name if any of my friends need similar help.”

“That’s all I can ask for, ma’am. You know where to send them. My door is always open to those in need.”

If they had the green for it. Simple as that.

About the Author:Aver Rigsly was born and raised in the Boston, Massachusetts area and spends her days working at a travel agency in Quincy. Some of her favourite places to visit are Washington D.C., Bangor, Maine, and most of all New York City. When she isn’t working a trip or writing LGBTQA+ romance obsessively, she spends her free time relaxing with knitting, needlepoint, video games, or marathoning horror movies with the family.

First for Romance Author Page | Goodreads

Buy the book at your favorite online venue or First for Romance.

a Rafflecopter giveaway
The male sexual responses are considered in cialis online without rx four major phases, including desire, arousal (ability to attain erectile), orgasm and relaxation. One of the best and safest ways to kick away painful sexual problem is male sildenafil without prescription hop over to these guys enhancement pills. So surgery has always remained the safest mode of treatment sildenafil prices but works in a wonderful way when it comes to changing your lifestyle, the most difficult part is quitting smoking. Thymosin Beta 4 comes in a two milligram bottle and this bulk peptide is being sildenafil levitra researched with vitro test subjects for it’s healing properties.

Filed Under: Erotic Romance, Guest Blogs Tagged With: ,

The Love Token by Raven McAllan – Spotlight and Giveaway

February 7, 2022 By 1 Comment

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Raven McAllan who is celebrating the recent release of The Love Token. Enter the Rafflcopter below for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

Spies, smugglers, scandals. Stealth, seduction and sex. All they had to do was decide which was theirs to take and what had to be earned. And hope they reached their happily ever after.

Jonathon, Viscount Carville, soldier, spy and would-be lover of Miss Miranda Riston, has accepted a mission to discover who is smuggling contraband into East Yorkshire. Her papa, however, is convinced Jonathon is dead, and wishes her to marry elsewhere. Miranda refuses and is delighted to find Jonathon is very much alive but working undercover on behalf of the British Government.

More is at stake than just a few shillings of tax duty owed.

Among their close friends and acquaintances there is a traitor working against the crown on behalf of Emperor Napoleon. Danger threatens as they seek to discover the identity of their treacherous foe.

Who is an innocent pawn? And who is not all they seem?

It’s a puzzle that must be solved if they are to get the happy ever after they long for.

Enjoy an Excerpt

February 1818

Miranda Riston stared at her parents in horror. Surely they must be mad? Addle-pated and, not to put a finer point on it, ready to be admitted to Bedlam. Otherwise, why on earth would they suggest such a thing?

“Do I understand you correctly?” she said with deliberate care as she did her best not to lose her temper and show herself in a less than rational manner. Even if she was of a mind to scream like a fishwife and throw things. “You think I should become betrothed to Edward Twain? Viscount Carville’s younger brother?” Over my dead body—or yours. “Never in a million years.” Apart from the fact Edward had an understanding with another young lady, he was one of her beloved Jonathon’s siblings.

The least effectual one. The one who moaned and whinged and assumed almost everyone was against him.

She wasn’t against him, but if she were honest, she had little time for his attitude and feeling of entitlement. If he had worked with Jonathon and helped to create a strong and growing family estate, she probably wouldn’t have been so critical, but as far as she could tell, he had not.

Jonathon. Who worked tirelessly for his family and country and was happy not to be recognised for all he achieved. He just, as he’d once said, “got on with what had to be done and did it without a fuss”. “Fussing”, he had added with a grin, “was so much effort for very little reward”. Unless it was over her.

Miranda had laughed.

If only he was there now to say the same things. She put one hand over the necklace she had worn under her gown for the past three years. The tiny blue sapphire in half of a silver four leaf clover. A symbol, he had said, of his love for her. My lover. Even if he never became her husband, he was the one man she’d given herself to gladly, and she would do so again as easily as before.

“You are nigh on the shelf. It is a good alliance,” her papa said in a ‘listen to me, I am your parent’ voice. “He is the heir, and it will cement your future.”

There had to be more to it than that. “He is not the heir,” Miranda said firmly. Why on earth did they think that? Unless they knew something she didn’t. That was not anything to bear thinking about. “Jonathon is the heir as you well know.”

Jonathon.

The only man she would ever love. The one man who she admitted she would go to the ends of the earth for.

The man she had spent one magical night with, learning all about love and sex. How to pleasure and be pleased.

About the Author After 30 plus years in Scotland, Raven now lives near the east Yorkshire coast, with her long-suffering husband, who is used to rescuing the dinner, when she gets immersed in her writing, keeping her coffee pot warm and making sure the wine is chilled.

With a new home to decorate and a garden to plan, she’s never short of things to do, but writing is always at the top of her list.

Her other hobbies include walking along the coast and spotting the wildlife, reading, researching, cross stitch and trying not to drop stitches as she endeavours to knit.

Being left-handed, and knitting right-handed, that’s not always easy.

She loves hearing from her readers.

Website | Goodreads | First for Romance

Buy the book at your favorite online venue or First for Romance.

Filed Under: Erotic Romance, Guest Blogs Tagged With: ,

I’ve Landed a Personal Interview with Svadishana Caroline Elizabeth Lindqvist In Her Private G650 by Emancietta “Emasculetta” Berkley – Guest Blog and Giveaway

January 13, 2022 By 4 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

I’ve Landed a Personal Interview With Svadishana Caroline Elizabeth Lindqvist
In Her Private G650

I wouldn’t have stood a newt’s chance in hell to get this interview if not for the huge help of Ms Alyssa Lenz, who is Dr Lindqvist’s BFF since preparatory school.

Dr Lindqvist is more formidable in person than the stunning beauty of the media dazzle-‘em-senseless snatches. Her presence is naturally dominant, with no conscious effort. Part of her, like her golden skin. Beauty like hers could stop the Earth spinning around its axis, if the Earth had eyes. I have 30 seconds, so I plunge in.

EB: I hear you’ve finally met Europe’s undisputed Sexiest Heartthrob, Roman Castell.
[She looks at me with a quiff of her brow. Her eyes – lethal. The most gorgeous shades of grey-blue-turquoise-mother-of-pearl blends I ever saw. They stand out like stars at midnight in rural Australia. She absolutely rocks her genes]

SL: Indeed I have.

[I realize that’s all the answer I’m getting. She gave me half a minute, for crying out loud.]

SL: You accepted thirty seconds, Ms Berkley. You have twenty-one seconds left.

[I snap out of it]

EB: Your first meet—

[She cuts me off. She already figured where I’m going with the question]

SL: My impression? I believe Mr. Castell is fast, whatever he sets his mind on doing or achieving. He possibly lands on it at one hundred kph and still floors the accelerator all the way. It most likely forces him to crash-land often. And even then, he doesn’t quite apply the brakes. That was my first impression of him the first time I met him, Ms Berkley. That impression hasn’t changed.
[You’re worse than him, I think again, deciding that I’ll fill in most of the interview on my desk with descriptions of her jet and the now disappeared personnel who had just served us vintage Krug in tulips. I also have some photos from Ms Lenz’ websites. We sit facing each other in the spacious cabin, which is done up in minimalist but not frugal style. Huge designer panoramic windows – can one really call them portholes, I wonder? Dubs of beige, grey and turquoise-blue. I rest my arse on the seat with her initials like some sort of monogram: SCEL]

EB: Any plans to see Mr. Castell again, Dr. Lindqvist?

SL: That’s a question you should ask Ms Lenz. Ay you know, she’s the one romantically liaised with Mr. Castell. I met him through her.

EB: But his interests are in you.

SL: Wrong, Ms Berkley. His interests have lost nothing in me. There’s hardly enough room in me for my own interests.

[Damn. She really is worse than him]

EB: I think you know what I mean, Dr. Lindqvist.

[She smiles at me in a way that brings the cavewoman in me to the fore, hackles up: You can’t go having all the Alphas mounting you, you witch; we Beta females need f*ucks and spanking bairns too! And yet, even while I bristle, I can’t help thinking what an absolutely gorgeous pair they would make. He wants her with a vengeance, if what he told me in our one-minute-and-a-bit interview was the truth.]

SL: You think I read minds. [It’s a statement] I don’t. And your time is up, Ms Berkley. Thank you for stopping by. I have a skip over to Hong Kong to hop. [She calls out to Alyssa Lenz at the other end of the cabin] Hey, girlfriend. We’re done here.

I sigh but I know this is it. Thirty seconds agreed, thirty seconds given. To the dot. Break the Agreement and it’s your last interview with her ever. We haven’t even touched the champagne tulips. And I want more interviews with her in the future, so I behave.

I discreetly take more pics of her Gulf650 cabin on the way out, accompanied by Alyssa. Of course I couldn’t photograph her – part of the Agreement. But there were tons of photos of her on the Internet; you only had to know where to look.

I look over my shoulder at her as I leave – she’s got her laptop open again and she is bent over it, working. I think of some of us less privileged ladies who are reported to bitch and call her Ms Bank of Mum & Dad. Now I have the begrudging but strong feeling that Beauty does work hard for her Beast. If only… well, you know – the cavewoman in us all that survived the evolutionary processes by choosing who gets to make us pregnant and can protect us and our children?

So, if only she wasn’t such an effortlessly-Alpha-male-magnetic-field…

Golden_Shana_Der_Jaeger

An evening at the La Scala in Milan twirls the lives of five people into a web of rivalry, intrigues, heartaches, obsession, murder, loss, and revenge.

“… for those who love selective eroticism with substance. An exciting and sophisticated erotic thriller for the astute romance reader, woman or man.”

Love, a word Roman can hardly spell, hits him when he sees Shana one evening. She’s the first woman not dropping to her knees at his mere presence. Used to getting whatever he wants, he chases her. Only to discovers that she prefers the girls. Roman can’t let that deter him. But is he for once up against his own comeuppance? At any rate, he needs assistance, which comes in the form of Alyssa, Shana’s BFF. Trouble crops up when Alyssa is all too ready and willing to drop on her knees for him.

Roman can’t get anywhere near Shana on his own. Would he start anything with Alyssa as long as this finally leads him to meet Shana in person?

Then there’s Marie, his current companion, who has a life-changing surprise for him.

Roman: I never chased after a woman. Then I caught a glimpse of the woman I would kneel for, but didn’t even know her name. Heck, I determined to find her if it took me the rest of my life.

Shana: He stood in the room with her. The frisson in the currents freaking between them knocked her senseless. The mutual force of predator and prey, blasting into her core … her soul … Danger. Keep far away from him.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Was it love I felt for Svadishana? A woman I’d spoken three whiny words – Please call me! – to? Was it more than simple lust and desire? Did I want to possess more than just her body? Pondering these questions alone was so unlike me. That woman had turned me into an alien even unto my own self. What I felt, my inner voice said, was more than the thrill of the hunt. More than lust, desire, need, passion, the excitement of possession, and subjugation. Of course all that was part of it. But the basis or the source, the seedbed on which all that sprouted and was growing to full blossom in me, could well be something else.

When I thought of her, saw her image from Milan in my mind, watched how she moved in long smooth strides in YouTube, my brow beaded with sweat. I couldn’t pull my gaze away from the few photos I’d fished out of the Internet. Group photos at a family birthday or the authorized biography of her father. Her movements in a YouTube conference clip were springy and powerful even in their smoothness. She exuded strength all over the place, laughing, talking, gesticulating.

A breath-taking beauty. Such beauty that I dared not believe it at times.

And brains to go with it.

In love or not, I knew what I wanted and Svadishana was the answer. I wanted her and would do anything short of suicide to get her. Who knows – perhaps when it came to that as the only means available, I’d really murder too. I didn’t in the least care about the consequences, as long as they got me to where I wanted to get to.

Svadishana’s arms and knickers and… heart?

What obsession, Roman. Get back to real.

No chance. Real was Svadishana.

About the Author:

IMG_0350JPG

A P von K’Ory writes the kind of books she herself would like to read and is passionate about, whether romance, psychological thriller or nonfiction. She is the winner of six awards from four continents, the last one being the Achievers Award for Writer of the Year 2013 in the Netherlands. The Selmere Integration Prize was awarded her in 2014 for her engagement in helping African Women in the Diaspora cope with a variety of domestic and social problems. The Proposal, a short story, won the Cook Communications first prize in 2010 and is published in an American anthology Africa 2012. In 2012, she won the Karl Ziegler Prize for her commitment to bring African culture to Western society in various papers, theses, and lectures. Again in 2012, her book Bound to Tradition: The Dream was nominated for the 2012 Caine Prize by the Author-me Group, Sanford, and in 2013 she was shortlisted for the Commonwealth Writers Prize.

Von K’Ory is married to an aristocrat and politician of Franco-German descent, has a large extended family. She lectures Economics and Sociology in Austria, Germany and Switzerland. She’s migratory and – weather willing – lives in Germany, France, Cyprus, and Greece.

Website | Newsletter | Facebook Readers Page | Book Facebook Page | Author Facebook Page | Twitter | Exclusive Royal Club Books Sign Up | Book Video | Goodreads | Book Bub | Barnes and Noble Author Page

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Filed Under: Erotic Romance, Guest Blogs Tagged With: , , ,

The Journeyman’s Trial by Lisabet Sarai – Spotlight and Giveaway

January 11, 2022 By 1 Comment

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Lisabet Sarai who is celebrating the recent release of The Journeyman’s Trial, book 2 of Lisabet Sarai’s steam punk erotica saga The Toymaker’s Guild. Lisabet is giving away a $25 book store gift certificate to one reader during her tour. Contest ends on January 13, 2022. Special deal! Get The Pornographer’s Apprentice, The Toymakers Guild Book 1, for only 99 cents during the tour!

If she builds it, will they come?

Technically brilliant and thoroughly wanton, Gillian Smith has found her vocation: designing innovative erotic devices for the Toymakers Guild. Lust is a lubricant to creativity at Randerley Hall. But what happens when two Toymakers fall in love?

The Guild’s tribe of talented, uninhibited engineers has embraced Gillian as one of their own. Edward Thorne, the perverse genius who founded the Guild, undertakes to train her in the skills she’ll need as a journeyman, from practical mind-reading to transcendental orgasms.

As Gillian labours to impress the charismatic Master, her enigmatic fellow journeyman Rafe both entices and frustrates her. Their passion seems to go beyond mere appetite, but in Randerley’s promiscuous and permissive environment, does love make any sense?

When the Toymakers receive a commission to equip London’s most exclusive brothel with the latest sexual technology, Gillian has the chance to demonstrate her formidable abilities as well as to help Rafe exorcise the demons of his past. She doesn’t realize she’ll be forced to choose between Rafe and her future in the Guild.

Read an Excerpt

Christmas at Randerley was a more sedate affair than Gillian had expected, partly because the Master had invited the entire household. As the apprentices and journeymen gathered around the gaily decked tree on Christmas morning, they were joined by Henderson the butler, Mrs Jones from the kitchen, her scullery boy Jim, Pete Murphy, and a compactly built young woman with a crown of ash-blond braids, wearing a grey uniform with a white collar and apron. Gillian had assumed that the steam-powered robots that hurtled up and down Randerley’s corridors handled all the cleaning, but perhaps this girl was responsible for the more complicated aspects of domestic management.

The Master, with his characteristic discernment, noticed Gillian’s curiosity. He gestured at the young and rather pretty stranger. “I gather you’ve not met Emily. She joined us a few weeks ago.”

Given that Gillian had spent the bulk of her time over the last month working in the laboratory, her failure to notice the new maid was not that surprising. She gave the young woman a warm smile. “I’m pleased to meet you, Emily. I’m Gillian Smith.”

Emily’s eyes focused intently on Gillian’s face. After a short pause, she nodded and returned the smile, but not the greeting. Gillian glanced at the Master.

“Emily comes from a village west of here,” he commented. “A childhood fever left her unable to hear, and she’s quite reluctant to speak. However, she can understand what we say by reading our lips.”

A deaf-mute servant! That was certainly convenient for protecting Randerley’s secrets! Gillian’s initial sympathy for the maid quickly transformed into admiration as the girl circulated among the Guild and household members with a tray of eggnog. Emily moved with quiet grace, a self-assured presence that made her a delight to watch. Very likely she knew that she was fortunate to have found work here. Gillian did not doubt that the Master paid her generously.

Rafe sidled up and slipped an arm around Gillian’s waist, distracting her from Emily’s trim figure. He planted a quick, nutmeg-flavoured kiss on her lips, but somewhat to Gillian’s regret did not take further liberties. More quickly than she would have liked, he released her. Slipping his hand into his trousers pocket, he extracted a box about three inches long and half as deep, wrapped in brown paper and tied with green twine.

He offered her the diminutive parcel. “Happy Christmas to you, Jill.”

“Oh, Rafe! That’s very sweet of you, but really, you should not have gone to the trouble.” Guilty embarrassment made her blush. In fact, she’d been so focused on her work that the question of Christmas gifts had never even entered her mind.

She shifted the package from one hand to the other. It was unexpectedly heavy. What could it be? She hoped he hadn’t spent a lot of money on her. Thankfully, the box was the wrong shape for a ring. Last night she’d told him she loved him. The declaration had been sincere, but still, she couldn’t possibly accept a ring as a gift, given the implications.

“Open it,” he urged.

Gillian glanced around the drawing room. Everyone seemed engrossed in their own conversations, sipping their eggnog and nibbling the gingerbread fingers Mrs. Jones had provided. The Master sat on the chaise near the tree, Amelia at his right hand and Roderick on the left. Both of them half-turned toward him as if to catch some words of wisdom. Jia was ensconced in one of the wingback chairs by the fire, with Ian perched on one arm, Tug on the other, and Archie on the ottoman by her feet. Lucy gestured dramatically as she related some funny story to Pete Murphy and Emily. The groundskeeper chuckled, while the tidy little maid nodded and smiled.

No one was paying any heed to her and Rafe.

With a touch of trepidation, she pulled on the end of the twine. The bow came loose and the paper unfolded, revealing a box of unvarnished wood. She turned it over several times, as Rafe grinned. “What is it?” she asked finally.

“Check the front panel,” he told her. Sure enough, there was a barely visible depression near the bottom edge on one side. She centred her thumb in the dent and pushed away from her. The thin wooden sheet slid upward along a pair of grooves. Nestled in the soft red wool lining was a miniature hourglass.

She extracted the instrument and cradled it in her palm, a bit puzzled. “It’s lovely,” she told him. The sand inside was white as the snow outside. “Thank you.”

“I made it especially for you. Blew the glass and brazed the enclosure.”

“You made it? Oh my!” She examined the item with more care, noting a few minor imperfections that marked it as handmade. A comfortable warmth settled in her chest and her residual guilt evaporated. “Your versatility continues to amaze me, Rafe. But why?”

“I wanted to give you a Christmas gift.”

“No, I mean, why an hourglass?”

Taking the artefact from her, he turned it on its end and placed it on a nearby occasional table. Sand flowed smoothly from the top orb to the bottom through the narrow waist. “To continue your lessons in patience,” he told her, arching an eyebrow. “For instance, I won’t touch you again until all the sand has collected in the bottom.”

Gillian burst into laughter. “That’s hardly a lesson,” she countered. “I doubt it will take more than a minute to empty the top chamber.”

“Well, that depends.” He lifted the device, fiddled with a tiny thumbscrew between the two globes, then set it down again. The flow of sand slowed to the point that it was almost imperceptible. “Now what do you think?” he asked. “Can you wait until the sand runs out?”

Gillian gazed into his dark eyes, full of love and challenge. “You rogue!” She licked her lips. “Can you?”

She yearned to grab him, despite their very public situation. She wanted to drag his mouth to hers and run her hands along his muscled back, down to his firm buttocks. He could tease her, could pretend he’d mastered his own lust, but now she knew better.

About the Author: Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

Website | Blog | email list

Buy the book at Kinky Literature, Amazon, Amazon CA, Amazon UK, Smashwords, , or Kobo.
Add on Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59740783-the-journeyman-s-trial

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Filed Under: Erotic Romance, Guest Blogs Tagged With: ,

Dash by Rae Mark – Spotlight and Giveaway

January 11, 2022 By Leave a Comment

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Rae Marks who is celebrating today’s release of Dash, the second book in her Hart Consulting series. Enter the Rafflecopter at the end of the post for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

Working with the guy who turns him on and pisses him off has Nick in a tailspin.

Nick’s trying to get everything together—his life, his job, his family. After leaving the military, he joined both his brothers at Hart Consulting, but he can’t seem to get his shit organized. His brother still won’t speak to his father, his dad is willing to go to crazy lengths to see his brother and Nick has to train for his new job.

Just when he thinks he might have everything under a bit of control, he’s assigned to work with Ax, the only operator who’s able to get under his skin. Nick needs to put his head down and make a good impression on his first assignment with HC. Too bad Ax is determined not to make it easy…

Reader advisory: This book is best read as book two in a series. It contains abduction and trafficking of minors, references to torture and medical abuse and violence.

Enjoy an Excerpt

“Look, kid. I got nothing to tell you.”

Bray pulled his gaze from the full lips he’d been watching as the man in the doorway, Sam, gave a flat refusal. He took a deep, calming breath and willed away his body’s response. Maybe he needed to back up a little and explain the urgency of the situation. He didn’t have a lot of time to find Mase, and this Sam guy was his best bet.

The guy blocking the doorway would be hot if his eyebrows weren’t pinched together so tight and his big, full lips weren’t turned down. Hell, he was still hot, even in full intimidation mode.

Sam’s honey-blond hair was longer on top and styled high. His groomed beard was just a few shades darker than the hair on his head and hinted at the tiniest bit of red highlights. Bray lowered his eyes again to Sam’s lips. Both were plump, but the top lip was a little fuller than the bottom one. That was rare, in Bray’s experience, but sexy as hell.

The tic in the jaw next to those lips brought Bray back to the matter at hand. He looked up into Sam’s cinnamon-brown eyes as he considered his options.

“I know you’re working with Mase and I have to find him. I’m—”

“I don’t know what you’re going on about, but I have shit to do.”

Sam tried to close the old, paint-chipped door in Bray’s face, but Bray stepped forward, using his foot as a doorstop. He wouldn’t give up that easily. Bray needed to untie his tongue and keep on task, no matter how sexy the guy was.

“Please, I don’t have a lot of time. I just need to talk to him.”

“Look, kid—”

“I’m not a kid. I know he’s pulled some crazy stunts since he got kicked out—”

“You don’t know shit, kid. If you just got kicked out of the military and you’re looking for camaraderie and a job, forget it.”

As soon as Sam said the word ‘military’, Bray breathed a sigh of relief. Sam swore under his breath. So the guy definitely knew his brother. Sam flexed his huge biceps as he crossed his arms. His head dipped to one side as he leaned forward. Bray swallowed then a tiny breath escaped his lips as he imagined the man before him leaning in to steal a kiss. Was this guy Mase’s boyfriend? If so, his brother was one lucky bastard.

“Move your foot. Like I said, kid, you don’t know shit,” Sam ground out through clenched teeth.

“Just tell me what’s going on. Is he okay? If he’d returned any of my emails over the past two and half years, maybe I’d know more about what was happening.”

“You think I can help you?”

Bray gave one sharp nod of confirmation. Sam blew a breath out between his lush lips and dropped his arms to his sides. The crease between his brows eased a bit as he seemed to really look at Bray for the first time. He looked over Bray’s head down the hallway for a moment before coming to some kind of decision.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Bray, Brayden Hart.”

There was a pause. Bray assumed it was Sam digesting Bray’s last name, Mase’s last name.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I got nothing for you, Mr. Hart.”

“How’d you know I was in the army?”

“You got it written all over you, from your close-cropped cut to your military stance.” The guy rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I’ve got things to do, kid, so do you mind moving your foot—or do I need to move it for you?”

Bray wet his dry lips as he contemplated his choices. He could call Max for another favor, but if he went that route, he’d need this part to be believable.

“I can just sit out here and wait until he comes home.”

“You’ll be waiting the rest of your life, kid.”

“It’s Bray or Brayden, and I think you have a really good idea when you’ll be talking to Mase again.”

Looking over Sam’s shoulder, Bray took in the shit-hole apartment with its dingy brown carpet and walls so old that the wallpaper was peeling at the corners along the ceiling. A ceiling with tiles that had different-sized brown rings, a sure sign of water damage. Was this how Mase was living now? The thought made Bray’s gut twist uncomfortably.

If Mase needed money… Bray shook his head. Mase would never be the one to reach out, which was exactly why Bray was standing in the hallway that smelled like piss mixed with broccoli farts. Unless the inside of the apartment smelled better, he didn’t see how anyone could even think about putting a morsel of food into their mouth in this place.

If by chance Sam did talk to Mase before Brayden could get to him, he had to figure out a message most likely to get a response. Would Mase come home or even return a call if he knew the truth? Probably not. Bray bit his lip as he waffled. He didn’t like lying, and he especially didn’t like lying to family. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive his father for his ‘little white lie’.

“When you see him, tell him Nickel needs him. Tell him it’s looking like it might be life or death.”

Both those statements taken separately were absolutely one hundred percent true. Nick might deny he needed their older brother, but he and Bray were twins. Bray knew they both required all the support they could get.

When Mase heard those statements together, Bray knew what he’d assume, and he’d have to apologize for it later. For now, he decided it was the best route. He had a feeling Sam would repeat those statements verbatim to his brother.

“Nickel?” Sam asked.

“Nick, my twin.”

“Twins? There’re two of you running around wreaking havoc?”

“Nick wreaks more havoc and we’re not identical, so there aren’t exactly two of me.”

Sam’s only response was a raised eyebrow.

“So you’ll tell him?”

“I’m sorry. There’s no way I can help you,” Sam said with the shake of his head.

Even though Bray was anxious, he hesitated before lifting his foot. He needed Sam to think he was reluctant to leave. Sam was only a couple inches taller than Bray’s five-foot-eleven-inch frame, but he hunched down a little, so they were eye to eye.

“I can’t help you,” Sam said again.

About the Author: Rae has been secretly penning romances since high school. It started with short stories that grew into full-length novels. When she received her first Kindle and had thousands of books at her fingertips, she became a little distracted from writing. Then one day she read a book that she would have written a different way. She began writing again and hasn’t stopped since.

When she’s not writing, Rae can usually be found reading, walking along the beaches of Half Moon Bay, or taking her geriatric dog to the vet, yet again.

Instagram | First for Romance | Goodreads

Buy the book at your favorite online venue or First for Romance.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Filed Under: Erotic Romance, Guest Blogs

No Easy Catch by Jaqueline Snowe – Spotlight and Giveaway

January 10, 2022 By Leave a Comment

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Jaqueline Snowe who is celebrating the recent release of No Easy Catch, book 4 in the Cleat Chasers series. Enter the Rafflecopter at the end of the post for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

A jock and a party girl teaming up—makes total sense, right? Actually, maybe…

Ambar Henderson is a senior communications major who has no idea what she wants to do in life. She spends most of her time working on her blog after gaining a lot of readers with a story she wrote junior year and…never followed up on. The last thing she expects is an angry jock accusing her of involvement in a scam that could shake the college to its foundations.

Jeff Maddow should be focused on his senior season of baseball and not the suspicious activity happening on the team. It’s his time to shine and get drafted, but after seeing incriminating evidence, he can’t not investigate. And his first lead is the campus blogger…who’s related to a name in the document he saw.

Ambar’s been coasting, writing about campus fashion and hook-ups rather than politics and economics, but when Jeff shows up at her place spouting wild accusations, she agrees to help him just to prove the stubborn athlete wrong.

Long nights, impassioned arguments, close quarters…both Jeff and Ambar find opposites more than attract when things heat up.

Publisher’s note: This book was previously released by Finch Books.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Convincing the hostess to let me into the second semester sports fundraiser was easier than it should’ve been. With one little promise of featuring her on my blog and bam, the young girl ushered me into the ballroom where the school’s biggest and best athletes mingled with coaches, alumni and the press.

Ah, the things people do for attention.

I tapped my pen against my lip while I took in the surroundings. It wasn’t black tie, but it was fancier than a casual get-together and I sent a prayer of thanks to my roommate who’d convinced me to wear a sleek black dress. It was a little tight and I kept running my hand down to the side to make sure my love-handles weren’t bulging out. My coordination was abysmal and I tripped over my own two feet sometimes, but at least I didn’t stand out—which was the goal.

I needed a new story to boost views on my blog or I would be shit outta luck. No views meant no affiliates, which equaled less money, and with my less-than-stellar first two years at school, I had no internships or job opportunities waiting for me at the end of the semester. The real world was knocking with graduation looming and I hadn’t a clue what I wanted to or could actually do.

But, I did have a clue about what the student body loved to gossip about more than any other topic—the latest on the hot jocks. Girls, guys, scholarships and walk-ons. Readers loved hearing about the latest flings or scandals and this fundraiser was hot-jock central.

“Ambar Henderson?” A familiar voice caught my attention and I glanced at my left to see Peyton Gentry smiling at me. “What are you here for? Sneak in for the free booze?”

“Ha ha.” I plastered on a fake smile despite the flash of hurt. Peyton and I had become friends freshman year—right in the smack of my party days—and he always brought it up no matter how much I had changed since then. “I’m here for a story, not the booze.”

“Right.” He smirked and lowered his voice. “Is it a juicy one?” He slung an arm over my shoulder in a quick hug and, while I didn’t dislike Peyton, I was glad when he removed his arm. “Heard there’s something weird going on with the volleyball team with one of their new freshmen.”

“Yeah?” I waited for him to respond, but his attention drifted elsewhere and he gave me a weak wave before heading off. “Great to see you too, Peyton,” I mumbled to myself. He was an average player on the soccer team but always managed to make himself seem bigger, better, more handsome. I snorted to myself at the headlines I would love to write someday.

Athletes and their egos—size does really matter

The bigger and not better—egos exposed

I took a deep breath, gathered as much courage as I could and walked about the event searching for anything that could be of interest. There were a couple of girls I recognized from the volleyball team, but they seemed normal, laid-back even. Each table had a large tented sign with the sport listed and it amazed me to see how much attention was given to athletes at our Division I school. Were there events like this for scholars? For those who made the Dean’s List year after year? Doubtful.

Schools spend money on sports, not smarts

Yeah, that headline wouldn’t sell shit. I derailed those thoughts and tried to ignore the tinge of jealousy weaving its way through my body. All these athletes had futures after college. They had tutors, scholarships, teams that supported them and, as someone who came from the opposite end of the spectrum, it was easy to envy them.

A loud cackle exploded near the front where the baseball players sat talking to what I assumed to be the coaches. They wore polos with the school logo, were significantly older than them and had the whole coaching vibe with the hard face and knowing eyes. Zade Willows, Tanner Johnson and Aaron Hill all wore suits and smiles and a part of my stomach fluttered. They were so handsome and such decent human beings I wished I could’ve written a million stories on them. Their faces alone would get readers. But I’d already done a story on Aaron and his girlfriend, so that well was dry. Plus, they were my friends and I refused to cross that boundary.

Moving on to another sport, I weaved through tables, trying to listen to conversations for something to spark motivation. Fifteen minutes passed without any luck and the familiar sensation of failure washed over me. How can I pass my senior classes when I can’t even write a stupid blog post without getting writer’s block?

God, I wish I could drink.

It wouldn’t hurt anyone if I snuck one bottled water and I blended in with the crowd as I approached the refreshment table. That was the good thing about being average-looking. No one really noticed me like they did my beautiful and tall roommates. I undid the cap and took a huge gulp when I felt someone staring at me.

Water spilled down my mouth and onto my dress when I found cold, unamused gray eyes narrowing at me. Jeff Maddow. He defined my perfect male specimen with his honey-brown hair styled just enough to be cool, his massive broad shoulders that went well with his defined pecs—perfectly showcased in the dark-gray dress shirt plastered across his chest. Good lord.

Shit, did he say something?

Did I?

His light gray eyes were framed by perfectly dark eyelashes and, God damn, those cheekbones were enough to make me forget my own name. He blinked and tilted his head to the side with impatience as he approached me. “Ambar Henderson, how the hell did you get into this event? You are neither an athlete nor a sponsor.”

“I have my ways.” I jutted out my chin and ignored the sweat pooling down my back.

“Did you sneak in? No, wait, let me guess. You bribed someone.” He smiled like it was a joke, but his tone made it clear he was not happy. “I should call security.”

“Really, Jeff? Come on.” I hated how my fingers shook when I ran them through my hair, trying to act nonchalant. “I didn’t bribe anyone.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” He brought up a glass of champagne to his mouth and held my gaze as he took a sip. It was annoying to be attracted to someone who thought so little of me, but, alas, that was life.

“What do you care if I’m here? I’m not bothering you or anyone for that matter.”

“False.” He finished the glass and took a step closer to me. For one stupid second, I wondered what it would be like to feel his full lips against mine, but the look on his face sobered that thought. “You are a known campus blogger who finds out information about people to get views. You’re no better than a tabloid magazine for a college. Athletes have enough to worry about with how hard we have to work. They should feel safe here, celebrating and networking, not worrying about being featured on a girl’s pathetic blog to get attention.”

“You know that’s not what I do, Jeff,” I defended myself but my voice lost its gusto. “I’m here for ideas…more like motivation. Nothing more.”

“Right.” He shook his head and tensed his jaw as he scanned the room. “Motivation to find out who’s sleeping with who? Who has a better batting average when they’re in a relationship versus being single?”

I gritted my teeth and willed my skin to not turn red. My cheeks burned when I attempted to defend my reasoning for writing those blogs. “It was for entertainment, Jeff. Plus, the stats didn’t lie.”

He gave me a look like many of my professors had. Disappointment. “Do you ever think about writing something credible or for a good cause?”

“The story about Hilly and Greta was—”

“Fine, sure.” He waved a hand in dismissal and gave me a look that made me feel even smaller than my just-over-five-feet frame. “But you could actually spend time writing stories that matter. Not dumbass pieces that exploit athletes and encourage cleat chasers to come after us.” He pressed his lips together and let out an aggravated sigh. “Stay away from my team, Ambar.”

Then he stalked away to the front of the room, his stiff shoulders telling me everything I needed to know. He wasn’t a fan of what I did or who I was. It wasn’t news, but his words hit one of my deepest insecurities. What am I even doing with my blog? My life?

God damn it. Find a story! I finished the water and tossed the bottle into a trash can when a familiar deep, masculine laugh caught my attention. That’s my Uncle Martin. My mood lifted instantly and I headed toward him. He was dressed in a three-piece suit and had his hand on a shoulder of a middle-aged man I didn’t recognize. He finished telling a joke—a specialty of my favorite family member—before he noticed me and ushered me over. “Ambar Henderson.”

“Martin Rhett,” I replied, mirroring his hugging stance and smiling into his chest when he wrapped me in a bear hug like he had since I was a child. “I don’t even know why you’re here, but I’m so glad.”

“Business partners in the community. We love supporting athletes!” He kept his arm around me and introduced me to the gentlemen around us. “This is my favorite niece, fellas. She’s a senior this year and is a hell of a writer.”

Various hellos and greetings echoed around me and I relished my uncle’s words. A hell of a writer. He never made me feel stupid or unremarkable. He’d encouraged me my entire life and seeing him at the event gave me the necessary boost of confidence.

“Nice to meet you all,” I said, looking all five of them in the eye and shaking their hands. There was a brief moment where I faced the direction of the baseball table and met Jeff’s gaze, but I forced myself to not stare or think about why he was watching me. “Anyone have a good story for me? I’m looking for a topic on my senior project and could use some ideas.”

“Ah, my girl is always working.” Uncle Martin laughed and led me away from the group with a smile that had taken years to practice. Once we were out of earshot, he changed his expression. “How did you get into the event, Ambar? I thought this was for athletes only.”

“See, the thing is… I was on my way out.” I gave him a cheesy smile. “Lunch next time you’re in town?”

“Of course.” He pulled me into another hug. “Stay out of trouble, okay? You have four more months of college and I don’t want anything more to happen. You know?”

Like my little drug and drinking binge freshman year?

Or my academic probation?

“I know, I know.” I frowned and felt every ounce of shame in my bones. “I’ll head out. I really did come for ideas. Nothing more.”

“I believe you. Now go through the side door. I’ll cover for you.” He indicated the large black double-doors and winked. “While I can’t condone you sneaking into an event, it does bring me joy to know you do have a little Rhett in your blood.”

“See you later, Uncle.” I smiled and snuck one more glance around the ballroom before leaving. It didn’t mean anything when Jeff continued to stare at me with an unreadable expression on his face. If anything, he should’ve been happy I was leaving his precious party. Ugh.

New headline.

Jeff Maddow should pull the stick out of his own ass to get a better batting average.

About the Author Jaqueline Snowe lives in Arizona where the ‘dry heat’ really isn’t that bad. She enjoys making lists with colorful Post-it notes and sipping coffee all day. She has been a custodian, a waitress, a landscaper, a coach and a teacher. Her life revolves around binge-watching Netflix, her two dogs who don’t realize they aren’t humans and her wonderful baseball-loving husband.

You can take a look at Jaqueline’s Website and Blog and you can also follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | First for Romance | Goodreads

Buy the book at your favorite online venue or First for Romance.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Filed Under: Erotic Romance, Guest Blogs Tagged With: ,

Stoking the Fire by Megan Slayer – Spotlight and Giveaway

January 4, 2022 By 2 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Megan Slayer will be awarding a prize pack featuring a necklace made by the author to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Men Wanted—because sometimes love matches need a little magic.

Andrew ‘Duff’ Wagner goes straight to the gods to get his love match made. He relies on Men Wanted, the matchmaking service run by Apollo, Artemis, and Eros to find his perfect match. He’s in love with a certain lawyer, but there can’t be enough magic in the cosmos to get them together, right?

Christian Foley knows exactly who he wants as his match, but he works with Men Wanted to find the perfect partner. He’s got a thing for Duff Wagner and won’t rest until he gets a date. Christian and Duff might have a chance if only Duff’s ex would stop butting in. When he finally hooks up with the sexy shop owner, they have to decide if their passion will go up in flames or start the fire to last forever.

br>

Enjoy an Excerpt

“You look happy.” Mary, his secretary, arranged the files on her desk, then rolled away from her computer. “Hot date?”

“Actually, yes. I’m heading to the baseball game.”

“You?” She folded her hands on her lap. “You aren’t into sports.”

“I love baseball.” He normally kept his private life to himself, so he didn’t discuss that he’d gone to the game the night before.

“Since when?”

“Since I went to my first game when I was six. My dad took me and it was bat day. I still have the bat, too. I fell in love with the sport, and I’m a devoted Cincy fan. Good or bad, I’m a fan.” He checked the stack of his messages. “I’m out. I need an evening with no law and lots of relaxation.”

“Why do I have the feeling you get emotionally involved in your sports? Are you going to see the Grinders game?” she asked.

“I do get invested.” The tips of his ears burned. “But I’m finally going on a date, so there’s that.”

“You are?” She applauded. “Good. I hope it works out and leads to something great.”

“Me, too.” He winked. “See you in the morning.” He strolled out of the main office to the parking lot. The firm wasn’t big and was rarely full. That’s what he loved about Mooresville―it wasn’t a big city. Everyone knew everyone else. Within hours of him going out, everyone would know he’d chosen Duff. Good. He wanted them to know. He wanted to shout to the whole world he’d picked this man.

He unlocked his car and slid behind the wheel. He should go home and change before attending the game, but he didn’t have time. He drove across town to the park. The Grinders weren’t a major league team, but they were popular in Mooresville. Their ballfield was part of the city park, meaning there was a lot of parking and seating. He wanted to be visible, so he parked under one of the lights and waited for Duff. A few people were already there, and the teams were on the manicured turf, stretching.

“You made it.” Duff strolled along the sidewalk. “I thought you’d change your mind.”

“Me? Nah.” Not a chance he’d forget to be here for this. “You’re here.”

“Did you think I’d leave you without a word?”

>>©Megan Slayer, All Rights Reserved

About the Author:

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on Amazon.com.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.

Newsletter | Website | Blog | Facebook | Amazon Author Page | BookBub Author Page | Instagram | Goodreads | Twitter

Buy the book at Evernight Publishing or Books2Read.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Filed Under: Erotic Romance, Guest Blogs Tagged With: , , ,

Winter Blogfest: Megan Slayer

December 30, 2021 By 5 Comments

This post is part of Long and Short Reviews’ Winter Blogfest. Leave a comment for a chance to win a necklace designed and created by the author (US Only).

Holiday Music and Writing by Megan Slayer

I like to have noise when I write. I can’t be in a quiet room and make the characters talk. It just doesn’t happen. It doesn’t. So I need music. But this is the holiday season and of course there should be holiday music playing. Okay, maybe not everyone would have Christmas music playing, but I do.

The thing is, I’m particular about my tunes. I like to listen to my XM channels and prefer the instrumental ones, the oldies songs and of all things, the rocking Christmas channel. I wouldn’t have thought some bands could really do Christmas songs well, but I’ve been happily shocked.

For example, I think of Judas Priest and I think rocking tunes and leather. But Rob Halford, the lead singer, has an album of Christmas music that has tinges of the band’s sound while staying fairly true to the hymns. I know. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t heard it.

I can’t listen to Santa Claus is Coming to Town without at least having the Bruce Springsteen version playing at least once. I love that version. It really puts me in the mood for the season. Plus, Springsteen isn’t too hard on the eyes, either.

I love the Gary Allan version of Please Come Home for Christmas. It’s, in my opinion, better than the Eagles version, and I like that one, too.

I have a soft spot for hymns played without the words. Orchestral stuff gets to me. I like Canon in D quite a lot. It’s pretty and haunting.

That’s just a sampling of my playlist. There’s a lot more. What about you? What do you like to listen to at this time of year? Are you pro-holiday music? Against it? Or are you the type who plays it all year long? I’d love to know.

Rachael isn’t good at magic, and she’s not versed in life, but this witch wants to lay her hands on the sexy vampire who’s come to her in her dreams. She wants just one thing for Christmas wish — her vampire.

Gavin wants the witch in his dreams, but he doesn’t believe he’s worthy of her. Part of him wants to devour her magic and save himself, but what if being saved doesn’t involve dying?

Anything is possible with a little Christmas magic.

Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/4joVMj

Author Bio:

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on Amazon.com.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library. Find out more about Megan and Wendi at: http://wendizwaduk.com/indexMegan.htm Sign up for the newsletter here: http://ymlp.com/xgjmjumygmgj

Links:

Website, Blog, Fan Page, Amazon Author Page, Bookbub, Instagram, Goodreads, and Twitter

Filed Under: Erotic Romance, Guest Blogs Tagged With: ,
« Previous Page
Next Page »