Thursday, April 20, 2017

Cover Reveal for MERRILY IN LOVE by Melissa West


MERRILY IN LOVE
by Melissa West
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Pub Date: 11/7/2017

The Littleton brothers are as much a part of Crestler’s Key as the sun and surf, living the single life without a care. But love has a way of changing even the most determined bachelor’s mind.

Brady Littleton has left his reckless youth behind to become a man his brothers can count on. When the family dive shop needs to expand, he’s got the answer: buy the Christmas shop next door. Except the retiring owner’s goddaughter, Kylie Waters, has come back to town. She was Brady’s first kiss—his first everything—and she doesn’t want to sell. He’s got a solution to that too. Whoever makes the most sales by Christmas Day can take over the shop, fair and square.

Kylie resolved to put the youngest, wildest Littleton brother out of her head when he abruptly ended their relationship years ago. But the steady, gorgeous man he’s become is impossible to ignore. Especially once reminiscing leads to a kiss as hot and heady as mulled wine. Their deal means that one of them is going to lose out on a dream…unless Christmas Day brings the gift of a sweet, surprising second chance.



Melissa West writes heartfelt Southern romance and teen sci-fi romance, all with lots of kissing. Because who doesn't like kissing? She lives outside of Atlanta, GA, with her husband and two daughters and spends most of her time writing, reading, or fueling her coffee addiction.







Beautiful Sacrifice by Ember Raine Winters Book Blitz





Beautiful Sacrifice 

by Ember Raine Winters 

(Pride and Honor, #2) 

Publication date: April 20th 2017
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense

Synopsis:

Tasha


Being a cop, I didn’t have any choice, but I really wish I hadn’t got mixed up in this case. My dark past is catching up to me ever since he barreled into my life without a care. It terrifies me that he sees right through me. He could be the one to save me . . . or break me.


Twitch
It was just a job. Until it wasn’t. By then the sexy little redhead had her claws in me. Now, she’s in my life and I’m lost. How am I supposed to keep the demons from her past from eating her alive? I don’t know, but I will do whatever it takes to make her mine.



Purchase:

Excerpt


I didn't know what I was going to do. I had nothing to wear on a date, and even though Twitch had left to give me an opportunity to get ready, I was freaking out.

One final search of my suitcase came up with something interesting. The red leather mini-skirt I took with me when I was posing undercover as Trixie was shoved in one of the side pockets. I figured it was the best that I could come up with on short notice, so I did the best with what I had.

I grabbed one of my white dress shirts and rolled the sleeves up to my elbows and left the top three buttons undone so it would show just enough cleavage. I teased my hair and applied a smoky eye.

“Tasha? You ready?” Twitch asked from the other room.
I looked down at myself, applied a bit of lip gloss and left the room.
The look on his face when I walked out in my thrown together outfit could only be described as hungry. I looked him up and down in his black polo shirt with his black leather jacket over the top of his broad shoulders.
His dark hair was artfully messed up and his dark stone washed jeans hugged his hips. I probably had the same hungry look on my face as he did, and he leisurely perused my body with his eyes. When his eyes finally looked up to meet mine, he groaned.
“God darlin’, if you don't quit looking at me like that we're not gonna make it to dinner,” he groaned again.
I smiled coyly and turned to get my purse. 
“You promised me dinner, Dylan,” I purred as I walked toward him.
“Say it again.”
“Dylan?” I whispered huskily.
He grabbed me by my hips and crushed his lips to mine. I moaned and he took advantage of my open mouth to deepen the kiss. He attacked my mouth with such ferocity I couldn't breathe. I needed to feel him. I slid my hands up his chest, beneath his jacket, and let it slide off his shoulders on to the floor. 
Grabbing his hair in both hands, I pulled him closer until not a breath of space was between our bodies. He rotated his hips and I moaned when his erection brushed my stomach. I slid my hands back down his chest and slid my hands under his shirt until I could feel the planes of his rock hard abs against my fingers.
He ripped his mouth from mine and in one swift motion, pulled his shirt over his head, and I was dumbstruck by his chiseled chest. His body was God-like in its magnificence. He grabbed me by the back of the neck and hauled my lips to his as the fingers of his other hand trailed the skin at my midriff. I shuddered and he began slowly unbuttoning my top as his lips trailed to my ear, nipping it gently.
He walked me backwards, kissing and licking down the column of my neck. I hit the wall and he lifted me so I could wrap my legs around his hips. He thrust his hips into mine and moaned, “God you're beautiful.”
At this point all the buttons on my shirt were undone and he was running his tongue along the top of my bra. He reached down and undid the front clasp with expert fingers. The shirt and bra fell to the floor at the same time, and before I knew it, he had one nipple in his mouth and he was pinching the other between his fingers.
“Dylan.” My cries seemed to spur him on.
With my skirt being hiked up around my hips, he had easy access into my panties. His long fingers found my opening and he thrust inside. I cried out his name again. The low rumbling growl that came from his throat vibrated against my nipple, and I nearly came on the spot.
“Oh God Dylan. I'm gonna come!” I yelled and he added another finger thrusting harder.
He moved his mouth from one nipple to the other and sucked, hard. I shrieked. Fireworks danced before my eyes as I came on a strangled moan.
I could feel him smile against my nipple as I started to come down off the peak, but he wasn't done with me yet.
“God, you're sexy when you come.” He growled and thrust his hips against my still pulsing core.



AUTHOR BIO:
Ember Raine Winters is a new author who just self published her first book. She went to community college to study political science and philosophy. She is currently taking classes to get her BS in business majoring in Sports management. She is an avid reader mostly fantasy and science fiction with a little romance thrown in as well. She loves writing Science Fiction mainly dystopian but is trying her hand in Fantasy as well.

Author links: 

Character Interview

Thank you so much for joining us today! Please introduce yourself! Tell us who you are and what you do! 

Are you the main character in the story or a supporting role? 

What do you do for a living? How old are you?

Tell us about your story. 

What is it about and what role do you play?

 Hi! I’m Dylan Spaulding AKA Twitch and I work for GTT Security. I was sent to help the LAPD and the breathtakingly beautiful Tasha bring that idiot Brendan in for kidnapping his own kids. I never would have guessed that I would fall so hard for her fiery spirit and take charge attitude. I learn somethings about her in the process that make me not only love her but need to protect her.

Can you tell us about one of your most distinguishable features?

I’m pretty average in appearance nothing to striking about me. I do have a tendancy to look around a lot and watch everyone else's back. That's why they call me Twitch. I'm always ready for trouble.

Do you have any birthmarks or tattoos?

 I do have a tattoo on my biceps but you will have to read the book to find out what it is.

Would you ever want to go hang out with your author? 

If so, what would you do together? Ember? 

Nah, not really. I think I will leave that up to the girls they can all do girly crap together or whatever.

If you could have a super power what would it be, and why?

 I think super speed would be the best there are a couple times in my life where that particular super power would have been useful. I may have been able to save some lives if I had just been fast enough.

What is your biggest pet peeve when dealing with others? 

I hate people who hurt women and children they are definitely the scum of the earth.

What would I love the most about you?

 My awesome body, obviously! *chuckles* no really I'm loyal to a fault and once I care about someone I do everything in my power to protect them.

What would I hate the most about you?

 It might be the fact that I still subscribe to the idea that women should be cherished and protected. Marcy and Tasha have both gotten all over me on more than one occasion because I mentioned trying to protect them, Kaylee too.

Do you think the author portrayed you accurately?

 To an extent I guess. I think she made it seem like I was a lot more arrogant and conceited then I actually am but whatever. I know I am awesome and that's exactly how she portrayed me, so it's all good. *chuckles*

What is your idea of a perfect day? 

Staying in bed with Tasha all day and blocking out the rest of the world. We would only come out to order food and then eat it in bed naked all day!

What is your greatest fear?

 Losing Tasha. Failing her is my biggest damn fear in the world. I can't imagine what my life would become if I lost her. I would cease to exist.
Someone is secretly in love with you.

Who is it and how do you feel about that?

 Ha! Tasha told me about this question and just let me say that no matter who thought they were in love with me wouldn't matter because the only person that I will ever love is Tasha. (Did I lay it on thick enough because I don't want Tasha to kick my ass later for giving the wrong answer.) *snickers*

When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

When I was little I wanted to be just like my dad. He was a great man and a federal prosecutor in Baltimore. The man was everything to me. He died along with my mom when I was twelve years old. After that nothing mattered but surviving and as soon as the foster-care system spit me out, I joined the Army.

If you knew you were going to die tomorrow, what would do today?

Stay in bed with Tasha all day. *chuckles* No I would tell my family that I loved them and spend time with the three greatest kids in the world, Leanne, Lance and Trey’s son Mikey.
What is the one food you can’t live without? I am a total grilled cheese junkie. My mom used to make the best grilled cheese sandwiches when I was a kid and I could eat them all day everyday.

If they turned the book into a movie, who would be cast to play you? 

I would want someone who is a badass to play me, but I think Chris Pratt or Channing Tatum would be the best because they have killer bodies just like me. See? I told you I wasn't as conceited as she made me out to be. *Laughs*

PREY by Kaye Blue Giveaway and Release Day Blitz

   

GET YOUR COPY TODAY!

iBOOKS / AMAZON US / AMAZON CA / AMAZON UK / B&N / KOBO / GOOGLE PLAY


EXCERPT

“How did my car get here?” I said. “I arranged it,” he replied. He looked straight ahead, seemingly fascinated with the one-car garage on my small cottage-style house before he looked at me. “I would like to make a promise to you, Nya,” he said, his gaze intense, almost unnervingly so. “Promise?” I asked, gaping as I stared at him. I was worried about my life, and he was offering me a promise? “Yeah. A promise. No harm will come to you. I won’t allow it,” he said. The fierceness of his voice, the look in his eyes, made me want to believe him, made me believe him, even though I had no reason to, even though everything told me I shouldn’t. I tried to hold to common sense, ignore that illogical yet tantalizing desire to trust him. “I’m just supposed to accept that?” I said, searching his eyes, unwilling to give in to the easy trust that seemed so out of place. “Whether you accept it or not is unimportant. It’s true,” he said. “Why?” “Why what?” he asked. He’d spoken quickly, but I sensed something in the question, could see that he wanted to avoid answering what we both obviously knew was the topic at hand. “Why are you going out of your way for me?” I asked, deciding to put the question on the table. “I’m not going out of my way for you,” he said. The gruffness of the words, the way he wielded them almost like a weapon should have put me off, but they rang hollow to me. It would be stupid to allow myself to read into them, let myself think they meant something that they didn’t, couldn’t. But somehow I knew no matter what he said, despite his cavalier attitude, he felt something for me. That something might simply be obligation, but I was still buoyed by it. Comforted in some small way. “So why?” I asked. The intensity in his eyes grew, became almost an inferno. “I’m a Murphy. I protect what’s mine.” I was too stunned to respond, but the implication of what he’d said was clear. And, disturbingly, welcome. To belong to Patrick, be his… My body was instantly inflamed. Fortunately, Patrick didn’t linger, but instead got out, rounded the car, lifted me from the passenger seat, and deposited me inside the house. He pressed my key into the palm of my hand and then gave me my purse. He held my gaze for a long moment, but then he left without saying a word. I closed the door, but stood behind it, listening as Patrick drove off, fighting against the near-instant sadness, the emptiness I felt without him.    

CONNECT WITH KAYE BLUE

WEBSITE / FACEBOOK / TWITTER / INSTAGRAM / NEWSLETTER

   

Enter Kaye's Giveaway for a chance to win a $50 giftcard!

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blog Tour and Giveaway with Guest post for Dr. Vampyre by S.N. McKibben


Dr. Vampyre
by S.N. McKibben
Genre: Paranormal Romance

When a college professor is blackmailed by a student …
he has to walk the fine line of being true to his principles and not letting his bloody secret out.
Dr. John Tennison, professor and physician, wakes up every morning and counts his spoons—a measure of how many tasks he feels he can accomplish during his day. One spoon to walk down the stairs, one spoon to teach a class, one spoon to deal with tardy students. Lupus limits him, but he still gives lectures and works at a hospital. He also makes time for friends, and once a week visits Sanguine Loon’s to sate—or subvert—his one strange desire. His nemesis, the one thing besides lupus that keeps him from leading a normal life, is the blood at the bottom of a little paper Dixie cup.
While Tennison’s blood-drinking habit is a secret, it’s well known that he’s the campus asshole and has no tolerance for students who show up late. When he kicks Vogue model Ylati Badashi out of his lecture hall for wandering in ten minutes late, she’s having none of it. She pouts, she seduces, she blackmails, and puts Tennison at odds with his butler, and finally she tells him the truth about why she needs to be in his class.
Tennison is a man of principles, and though he swears he won’t change his mind, he starts to react unexpectedly to Ylati even as he hates her for making him suspicious of his trusted butler. Tennison has to find out where Mitch goes on his nights off and must deal with a budding attraction to a woman he occasionally hates, all while learning new secrets about himself. It’s going to take a lot of spoons.
Scroll up and help the doctor count his spoons!

Today, I woke up with nineteen spoons instead of twenty-two. Not literal spoons—figurative. I don’t go to bed placing utensils on my face or twirl the family silver from my extremities. Such behavior would insult my Mensa-acceptable 133 IQ.
The spoon theory is a fellow sufferer’s explanation of what it’s like to live with lupus. Spoons represent how much energy I have before I begin to deteriorate, and I am grateful to each and every one of them. Every spoon I wake up with means I can do that many tasks. Tasks like walking down the stairs, teaching my class, seeing patients. The type of things others take for granted.
When my students in the blood cell biology class at the University of Southern California inquire about my condition, I describe lupus as a life-sucking force in which you have to constantly balance your time and energy against the downhill spiral of lethargy and pain. My explanation usually stops anyone from asking more questions. As if not talking about my condition will make the disease go away.
The pain used to anger me. Succumbing to a body that jails my actions is a study in humiliation. Worse is knowing lupus affects more women than it does men. Some call it a woman’s disease. Being a man, you might think that is what bothers me. What bothers me is I don’t like to see women in pain. Knowing what they are going through helps me as a doctor, but as a man, it doesn’t help my psyche.
You see why I strive for a logical life. Emotion takes so much energy that it’s better not to feel. In fact, suppressing any emotion is key to my success. It doesn’t stop the pain lupus gives me. Nothing stops the pain except one unnatural addiction, and that only for a brief moment. So with my shield of apathy and my sword of cynicism, I venture forth into the morning to heal and teach as a doctor and professor.
You’d think I would slow down or take it easy today knowing that I’ve already begun without my usual amount of spoons, but today is the first day of a new semester and I won’t be late. Never, in my nine years of teaching, have I ever been late. Besides, I can’t let those beemer brats wreak havoc in my lecture hall, now can I?
The one indulgence that would solve my lethargy problems flits through my brain. I resolve to shove that thought out. Anything not normal, right now, is not in the plan.
***
I stroll into my lecture hall at exactly nine fifty a.m. and the whispers stop. Old and new faces attentively follow my shuffle as I round my desk to the dry erase board at the front of the room. I pick up a marker that could make any fifth grader swear off glue and write Dr. Tennison - Blood cell biology. 
Thankfully, the counselors and older co-eds let it be known that I am “a real dick” and have an aversion to those who are not on time. So, I rolled my eyes when at ten minutes after ten, she of the model-thin body, sporting six-inch stilettos, tight jeans, and a frou-frou blouse, walked in. 
“Ms. Tardy, don‘t bother.”
She gave me the oh-gosh-I’m-really-sorry face. “Are there any more seats?”
“Not for you. Please, don’t waste our time. I don’t take add-ons.” I reached under my desk for the medical book I would use to assist in today’s lecture.
“But, I registered for the class.” Ms. Tardy pouted.
“I don’t care. You’re late. No more room. Get out.” The slam of the thousand-page medical dictionary I tossed on my desk should have been enough articulation in my statement for her to leave.
“I got here as soon as I could!” Her whine climbed the scale into annoyance territory.
“Which is not good enough. You’re done.” I pointed at the door. “Get out.”
“Oh come on. What could I have missed in five minutes?”
“The point . . .” I flashed my Rolex from under my sleeve and checked the time. “. . . And it’s been twelve minutes.”
“That’s not fair!”
“What would not be fair is to make a pulmonary patient, lying open on the table, wait twelve life-or-death minutes for a replacement valve. I’m here to teach. One of those lessons I wish to instill is an appreciation for the value of time.”
Ms. Tardy stood there in her tight jeans and pursed lips with a hand on her hip. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her. ”You can go now.” I waved a hand in a sweeping motion. “There isn’t room for you anyway.” There were seats in the back, but she looked like a front-of-the-class, I-want-all-the-attention kind of girl.
“But I pre-registered.” She used her hands for emphasis and struck a classic pose that probably got her into any club or out of any trouble she came up against.
Snorting out my disgust, a glimmer of recognition hit me and I looked harder at Ms. Tardy.
This face before me belonged to Ylati Badashi, the recently “retired” model, and her million dollar Vogue body was in my lecture hall. She must have taken my fluster of disdain for admiration, because her supposedly non-collagen-filled lips curved. But it was that I-have-you-now twinkle in her eye that jostled loose my wrath.
I whisked my walking cane from under my desk. Quick as a turtle in sand, I advanced on her with my geriatric, cane-wielding old man shtick, trying to scare her off my lawn. The fear in her eyes fueled my words. “Get out of my hall!”
I was seething by the time she turned tail and bolted out of the room. She looked like a shackled cat running from the spray of a hose. The image brought tears of laughter to my eyes. It had been a while since I’d laughed that hard. I’m sure my students never see me so much as smile.
Even though I knew the price for expressing my emotion would cost me another spoon and wreak havoc on me later, I couldn’t help the satisfied feeling of living up to my so earned title among the students, Dr. Asshole.
“Dr. Tennison, are you alright?” One of my more faithful students, Ms. Phillips, actually sounded concerned.
I returned to my drab demeanor, leaned heavily on my cane, and grunted an acknowledgment to the third-year co-ed. My physical display allowed the monster of lupus inside me to seek retribution and sap away my energy. Disgruntled for wasting precious vitality on a fritter of a person, I forced down my angry self-reprimand. There was no use getting angry over getting angry. 
I resumed my emotionless state and taught as I have for the past nine years—with ruthless abandon. No whining, no excuses, and if you’re late, you fail. If you can’t beat my turtle-ass to class, you’re wasting my time, your time, and everybody else’s time.
***
After teaching all day, I was down to thirteen spoons. Three spent starting my day: one for teaching class, one for each trip walking to the car, and one for the gallant ass-chewing I gave to Ms. Tardy. When I get down to five spoons, it’s time to think about calling it a day, but I wasn’t there yet.
Mitch, my butler and savior for most my life, picked me up in the blue BMW Alpina. I have never had the privilege of driving it. The DMV denied me a license because of my condition. I did have the honor of paying for it. If you were to ask me, Mitch had a damn nice car to chauffeur me around in.
I called Mitch not only my savior, but also jokingly, my wife. Without him, my life would be impossible. He cooked my food, did my laundry, dropped off and picked up the dry cleaning, scrubbed the house to the point of peeling off paint, scheduled my day, tidied the yard, took some phone calls for me, and made sure I take my medication. I did stop him from wiping my ass—occasionally. Okay, so I’m joking about the last part. He doesn’t wipe my ass, but what unmarried guy in his thirties is going to deny the rest? If sex weren’t involved, I’d marry him. Sure, he’s an adorable thirty-nine year old in a small stout package with dark hair and soft dark eyes, but that’s not how I roll. I’m pretty sure that’s not how he rolls, either.
Off we go to the medical center with Mitch at the wheel and me in the back seat orienting myself with the next class session. Mitch is quite the chatty type, but I’ve learned to drown him out as any good husband would do. Routinely, after the days I teach, he drops me at the hospital where I work. My assistant nurse, Mary, is the old battle ram of the team—wise enough to tell patients to be here an hour early, kind enough to be the matron of compassion, knowledgeable enough to know what to do if ever I seize from pain.
She leads me to the five-minute staff review and then my first patient of the day. I’m handed a clipboard and being a doctor, I read the case symptoms first. Yes, it’s bad to look at what’s wrong with the person before looking at the name, but we all do it. I wish I had looked at the name before I walked in the patient room, but it was too late to walk the other way when I opened the door.
“Ms. Badashi.” Smooth as a virgin dry-erase board, I did not give away one iota of the seething hate boiling through my veins to Ms. Tardy. “It says here you have all the symptoms of river blindness. What would you prescribe yourself?”
“Ivermectin.” The big brown eyed lost puppy look of hers could have cracked a walnut. That’s when the pain behind my right eye surged. Was the eye torture from her annoyingly correct answer, or lupus? I couldn’t tell. “Do you have river blindness?”
“Please let me into your class.”
The audacity! “Am I to believe that my staff bumped you to my first patient when there are real people in need of my services?”
“Hey!” She actually looked put out. “I am a real person. I am in need of your services!” Again she was wasting my time. You’re late, you fail.
“You, young lady, are a fraud. Get out of my office.” I pressed a palm against my pounding eye. It relieved some of the pressure.
Her whining made my eye worse. “What I need is for you to teach me Blood cell biology.”
“Why me?” I said more to myself than to anyone else.
“Because you’re the best.”
Mitch says flattery will get you anywhere. Yes, there is appeal to being called the best. My ego did flutter a little, but not enough to forgive her cardinal sin number one. With my one hand still pushing back my right eye, my index finger pointed at the door—hard to do with a clipboard still in my hand.
“Out!”
She leaned forward; just enough so her frou-frou top’s fringes hung lose. “I’d do anything to get into your class.”
“Anything?” I smiled and suggestively touched my chest. I did not fail to notice the pink bra she had on.
She nodded and accentuated, “Anything.”
“Sign up next semester and be early.” I threw the clipboard on the counter and tried to slam the door on my way out. Too bad hospital doors didn’t slam. Amazing how my eye felt better after I left her sitting there, but dealing with her cost me yet another spoon. I had eleven spoons left and I needed to get through the rest of my five-spoon work day. Fortunately, I didn’t see her again. I figured that was that.
Mitch picked me up from work at six o’clock. He mentioned Puzo, the dean of students, called. Randolph Puzo is a good man. Works hard, cared about the students, and had gone to bat for me in front of the board about my special condition. He’s the kind of guy you wanted on your team because he did anything to get the job done right.
“John, how are you?” Randolph’s voice came through my iPhone as clear and crisp as a new Benjamin.
“I’m fairing well. What can I do for you?”
Now, Randolph knows I can’t waste energy on chit-chat, and being the good man that he is, he gets to the point.
“John, I have a student that says you chased her out of the lecture hall.”
“Ah, Ms. Badashi. I was afraid she’d fall in those stilettos for the vertically challenged.”
“John,” Randolph chuckled, though I was quite serious, “can you please let her into the class?”
It’s tough and unpopular to be a hardnose, but principles are principles and I refuse to compromise. “She was late, Puzo.”
“It was the first day of the semester.”
“All my other students arrived early. Even before I did.”
His comment was barely audible. “They got the asshole alert.”
“Excuse me?”
To Randolph’s credit, he was as gracious as he always is. “Mr. Tennison, I would greatly appreciate it if you forgave this one transgression and allowed an eager student access to your lectures.”
I should’ve been grateful to Randolph. He’d done so much for me. If I couldn’t make it to class, he would cover for me. He makes sure my lecture hall is the closest to the parking lot. I never had to move desks, books or arrange my classroom during the off season. He’s probably going to catch hell for me denying a student what seems like her dying wish. But when I thought about her suggestive comment, thinking her womanly guiles would work on me, my temper rose to boiling.
“Mr. Puzo, I abide by the school’s program, requirements, curriculum, and every rule and regulation your fine institution implements. Please abide by mine.” I hung up and thought the next call would be a request for my resignation.
Mitch eyed me briefly from the rearview mirror as he was driving. “Sounds like women troubles.”
“Student issues,” I corrected. I wished he wouldn’t call them “women troubles,” as he knew I never had so much as a girlfriend. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve been promiscuous. I went to college. Don’t think that lupus affects one’s sex drive, because it doesn’t. I just never had time or the energy to have a steady girl.
“Tim called. Said he’d come to collect you at seven.”
I only had six spoons left for the rest of the night. But I know what Tim would say if I tried to get out of going with him tonight. Just come with us to Loon’s and have a shot and you’ll be fine. Tim wasn’t the type to let me break routine. The schedule never did me wrong. I had a good life, just a limited one.
I sighed and rubbed my temples. How could I deny my best friend since high school? If I didn’t go with him, he’d take every opportunity and every one of his ambulance-driving skills to annoy the fuck out of me at work the next day. Anastasia, fellow lupus sufferer and Tim’s girlfriend, would call me relentlessly and whine in my ear all night. Ever since I can remember, Wednesday nights belonged to the three of us. It’s hard to break tradition.
By six forty-five, I sat ready in the kitchen of my two-story house. Tim usually managed to get Anastasia dressed and ready to go out almost on time. His secret was telling her they had to be there half an hour beforehand. I could have waited upstairs lying down, but going up and down the stairs costs me a spoon. I should have moved to a one-story house, but I’d never sell this home. I’d never be able to replace childhood memories and nostalgia. 
Mitch was wiping down the swirled-granite counters while I sat at the four-seat mahogany dining set. His time off was Wednesday night and all of Sunday, fitting perfectly with my schedule. Wednesday I went out with my friends while Mitch went—wherever he went, and on Sunday he left after breakfast and returned on Monday before dawn. But he always made sure I was in safe hands or he could be reached by cell phone before leaving.
I looked at the hundred-year-old Simplex grandfather clock that hung at the opposite end of the entryway to the kitchen. The hands read seven-o-five. My fingers drummed on the table as I counted every second that ticked away. From outside, the sound of Bach booming from distorted speakers was a sure sign Tim’s Tercel was speeding to my driveway.
Mitch raised his head and folded his towel. “Ah, well, here they are.”
We both sauntered out of the kitchen to the rap of Tim’s knuckles on the glass of the window. Mitch grabbed his overnight bag, opened the door, and nodded a greeting to Tim. I scowled and pointed at my Rolex.
Like me, Tim was white bread. But where I had brown hair, he had jet black. I wasn’t as pale as he was, though he tended to stay out of the sun like me. He wore lots of brown and brass and occasionally topped all that splendor with some hat bearing mechanical constructions. Opposed to my daily suit and tie tonight, I lost the jacket and noose, but my slacks were pressed and my button-down collar was appropriate for where we were going.
Tim smiled nervously. He lived up to his nickname of “Jackrabbit,” bouncing on the balls of his feet. Heavy eyeliner accentuated his shocking blue eyes, which pleaded forgiveness. “You know Anastasia.”
I gruffed at Tim and waved at Mitch. I always told Mitch he could take the car, but he insisted on taking the bus. Public transportation was a block away and he never seemed to mind. I didn’t argue. It would have been an exercise in futility as “he was always right.” Just like asking him where he went on Wednesday and Sundays, it was pointless to ask. I stopped wondering where he spent his time off long ago.
Tim bounded to his four-door Tercel and opened the back passenger door for me with a flourish. Anastasia hung over the open window of the front passenger seat. Hourglass figure, impressive chest, thin lips, a strong nose combined with Bette Davis eyes set wide on a heart-shaped face—Anastasia was beautiful. Though I couldn’t understand why a natural redhead dyed her hair auburn. Probably to reap as much attention as possible from her cardinal red strands. Most men would lie down just for the pleasure of saying she stepped on them. But she was as crazy as monkey-flung feces. I had no idea how Tim puts up with her.
“Hi, John.” Anastasia greeted me with a breathy smile and hungry eyes.
I smiled, took her hand, and kissed it lightly. “Good evening, Anastasia.”
She giggled and swatted her free hand on Tim’s butt. “How come you aren’t so charming?”
Tim pivoted around and gingerly took my hand, mimicked my knuckle-kissing gesture and nailed my professor voice perfectly, “John, how lovely to see you. Won’t you please get your ass in the car?”

“Whatever, Jackrabbit.” I said, climbing into the trusty Tercel. I noted that I was down to five spoons and was leaving the house. But it was unlikely we’ll be out too late.

Tell us something really interesting that's happened to you!

I remember the night in which I was having such a great time at the  Magic Castle in Malibu  UNTIL  an usher  dragged  me down from the crowd to sit next to the magician.

I am not a public speaker. I'm a writer. I don't want a crowd of eyes on me! I tend to babble when more than four pairs of eyes face my direction.  I lose my mind.  All those people staring at me!  

Well, I was so flustered that I babbled AT the audience. They were laughing at my oh so uncomfortable squirming and that just made me babble more. Then, this sexy AUSTRALIAN guy with his panty dropping accent sat in the magician's chair and  blew my mind.  

I was done. Cooked. Had no brain. Lower regions started taking over to the point where at the end of the show I completely botched his ending act by telling him he was suppose to pick my card the first time.  

Seriously! How was I suppose to handle my Glossophobia AND the HOT AUSTRALIAN beside me? AND MY BOYFRIEND WAS IN THE AUDIENCE. Kill me. (He thought it was funny)


However! The hot magician took my picture and incorporated a magic trick within the whole process so I got this awesome Polaroid of one of the most embarrassing nights of my life. 

Slave to a 100 lbs. GSD (German Shepard) and a computer she calls "Dave", you'll often see her riding a 19 hand Shire nicknamed "Gunny" to the local coffee shop near the Santa Monica mountains.

Stephanie reads for the love of words, and writes fiction about Dark Hearts and Heroes revolving around social taboos. When ever asked, she'll reply her whole life can be seen through a comic strip ~ sometimes twisted, sometimes funny but always beautiful and its title is adventure. Come play!







Release Tour and Giveaway for Gasping for Air by TS McKinney

Title: Gasping for Air
Series: Game Day #2
Author: TS McKinney
Genre: M/M Romance
Release Date: April 20, 2017
How far will Trystan go to win the heart of the man he loves? All the way. Trystan Matherly is conceited, arrogant, and rich. He has plenty of money, athletic ability, and gorgeous looks to keep the men forming a long line just to be with him. Choosing his next lover has been as simple as down-selecting to the hottest candidate. Until Dakota. With his sad eyes, full lips, and perfectly sculpted swimmer’s body, Dakota is just the kind of lover Trystan wants. After only one look, he knows he has to have him. Too bad Dakota seems to be totally oblivious to all his charms. Dakota Jacobson is lonely, tired, and depressed. He’s at Alabama Temple to complete his degree, not to put up with idiots. He works diligently to be as invisible as possible. He doesn’t need friends and he sure doesn’t need lovers…especially not football titans that think they rule the world. Nope; been there, done that. Until Trystan. With his sexy eyes, arrogant smirk, and muscled physique, Trystan is just the kind of lover Dakota never intends to have…again. Too bad Trystan refuses to allow him to be invisible.

T.S. McKinney lives in East Tennessee with her high school sweetheart/husband and all the countless dogs she picks up from deserted country roads. Her professional career has been in business but her heart has always belonged to the fantasy world found in books.
Creating wicked worlds where one can meet the perfect hero – and then do anything to him that you want – has been a hobby that has brought her plenty of hours of fun and naughty entertainment. When not working, reading, or writing, she loves to spend time with my family and forcing them (because they don’t really have another choice) to allow me to redecorate their houses…and listen to my naughty…sometimes sadistic stories.
HOSTED BY: