Saturday, 29 November 2014

Saving Crofton Hall by Rebecca Cohen

Author Name: Rebecca Cohen

Author Bio:
Rebecca Cohen is a Brit abroad. Having swapped the Thames for the Rhine, she has left London behind and now lives with her husband and baby son in Basel, Switzerland. She can often be found with a pen in one hand and a cup of Darjeeling in the other.

Publisher: Dreamspinner Press

Cover Artist: Reese Dante

Benjamin Redbourn, Earl of Crofton, has no intention of giving up his beloved ancestral home without a fight. Faced with his mother’s gambling debts, forgery, and the possibility of foreclosure by the bank, Ben vows to make Crofton Hall pay for herself. But opening an Elizabethan manor house  to the public isn’t a one man job. With time running out, Ben needs help—and fast.

Ashley Niven has experience managing events, and he also loves history. Being in charge of opening Crofton Hall is a dream come true. As he works with Ben to prepare the house as a venue for lavish weddings and receptions, Ashley finds himself drawn not just to the charm of the house but to the dashing Earl of Crofton.  Even if Ashley can look past Ben’s playboy reputation, he fears an affair could prove too much of a distraction.

But Crofton Hall has many secrets, and something hidden for over four hundred years is about to change all their lives.

“How much?”

She wouldn’t meet his eye.


“Just short of five million to the bank.”

Ben lost his balance and landed heavily on his arse in a nearby chair.

“How the hell did you manage that? I only agreed to borrow five hundred
thousand, and that was for essential repairs, and the estate could easily
repay the loan in ten years.”

“I approached the bank with a business case for a visitor attraction.
They were very enthusiastic.”

“What gave you the right?”

“Your father left us both in charge of Crofton Hall, Benjamin,” she
said sharply.

He glowered at her and she deflated.

“I needed the money, and the only way I could get it was to tell the
bank I wanted to open Crofton Hall to the public.”

“And they agreed to lend the money without my permission?” he
asked carefully, hardly believing his mother’s audacity, but getting the
feeling he knew what she was going to say next.

“They might have been under the impression that you’d agreed to it,
and I was acting on both our behalves.”

“Really. And how would they have thought that?”

“Your signature isn’t exactly hard to copy.”

Ben covered his face with his hands, understanding what his mother
had done.

“I know I shouldn’t have, not without your permission, but I was
desperate. And the bank thought our business plan was excellent.”

He looked up at her. Elena’s eyes were red from crying, but there
was still an edge of defiance in her face. “How much is left?”

She shrugged. “A few thousand, maybe.”

“And you used Crofton Hall as security?”


The anger flashed through him, burning through his usual amicable
nature. “How could you have been so stupid? Were you even thinking past
your own selfishness?”

Elena cowered in her seat.

“You’ve ruined us, destroyed this family!”

“I didn’t mean—”

Ben didn’t want to hear her feeble excuses. “Oh, that’s all right, then.
We’ll tell the bank, you didn’t mean it, and they’ll forget all about it.”
Ben reined in his anger. Taking deep, slow breaths, he clenched and
unclenched his fists as he regained his calm. He watched Catlin pace up
and down. Harry stood slumped against the fireplace, shell-shocked. Now
was not the time to panic. He needed to know exactly how much trouble
they were in and deal with it. “Get me the paperwork.”

Without argument, Elena jumped to her feet and scurried over to the
writing bureau in the corner. From the folds of frills and ruffles of her
blouse, she fished out a key on a chain and unlocked the bureau. She drew
out a sheaf of paper. “It’s all here.”

“Right, let’s hope my economics degree wasn’t for nothing.” Ben
snatched the papers. “I suggest you all keep your distance until I’ve
finished reading.”

He sank into a chair by the unlit fireplace, blocking out the angry
thoughts as he scanned sheet after sheet. The figures danced before his
eyes, and he saw the terms and conditions his mother had agreed to. The
interest, compound interest, and payback terms were listed and
categorized in black and white with no way of denying the facts. They
were in deep shit, the bank would be at the door within weeks, and Ben
seethed internally at his mother’s gall.

The effort she’d put into defrauding the bank was amazing, the
business case had been full of fine details and promised an excellent
return, but little help would that do them now.


Ben stared around the sitting room; generations of Redbourns had sat
in here. Men who’d fought at Blenheim, Waterloo, and El Alamein —they
would never have given in and surrendered Crofton Hall in the face of
adversity. And it wasn’t about to happen while Ben was Earl of Crofton
either. As much as he wanted to rail against it, their only hope was to
convince the bank they were following through with the idea of opening
the house to the public.

“We can probably sell the London apartment. That’ll raise around
two million. Our trust funds are protected, so we can’t release the equity
from those. If we’ve any hope of holding on to her, Crofton Hall is going
have to earn her keep.” 

Tour Date/Stops:
November 26: Nephylim, BFD Book Blog

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Wednesday, 26 November 2014

Wednesday Brief Ch 21 Cyan

I haven't been posting for a while. Lots of different reasons, but with a bit of luck, and a little pinch of pixie dust, I'm back, and so is Cyan

The prompts this week really didn't fit with anything I wanted to write. This week's chapter is important to me, and I didn't want to compromise. My fault for choosing this week to come back. Some of you might know that my son is autistic, and writing Cyan is a special project. I really wanted to give a little glimpse of his world and show everyone how absolutely adorable someone with ASD can be.

This is the prompt I chose, and yes it is a little strained again.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Cyan said. “Not like this. I don’t really know how my world is different to yours. I just know it is.”

“Well, you feel thing don’t you? I mean touching soft things and stuff.”

“Yes, touch and colour is very important to me. It’s not always good. I like to touch things, especially soft things, like your hair. At least I think your hair will be soft, and your cheeks. I really like soft cheeks.”

“You do?”


“You can touch my cheeks if you like, and my hair.”

Robin closed his eyes. Cyan’s fingers ghosted over his face, and combed through his hair. Robin sighed. “That feels good.”

“It does?”

“Very good.”

Robin opened his eyes and raised his hand to touch Cyan’s cheek. He jerked away from Robin’s hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I know you don’t like to be touched. I suppose it’s going to take some time to get used to it.”

“It’s not just that.” Cyan looked sad. He took Robin’s hand and laid it against his face. “Sometimes it hurts.”

“Hurts? What do you mean? When someone hits you?”

“No. When someone brushes against me, or touches my arm, or…lots of things. Sounds hurt, too, and smells, and colours.”

“Really? I thought you like colours.”

“I do. I like bright colours with soft things, but when they’re everywhere.” Cyan paused, a frown between his brows. Robin let him be as he ordered his thoughts.

“When there are lots of sounds, especially loud sounds, it hurts my head, and it’s hard to hear any of them. It’s just a jumble of noise. I don’t understand how people can have conversations when there is so much going on around them. How can they pick one sound out of all of them to hear? It’s hard at school when there the corridors are crowded. That’s why I don’t answer when someone calls – because I don’t hear.

“Then there are colours. God colours are confusing. Like in shops when they’re everywhere. Especially when there are lots of bright things. I hate circuses, and fairs – anywhere with colours and lights and sounds. Christmas can be hard.”

“Hell, I didn’t realize. You said smells, too.”

“Yes. Smells are different. They stand out. There are so many of them, and they all want to be smelled at once. I used to heave whenever I walked into a restaurant, but I’ve learned to control
smell, to shut it off if I want to. The others are hard.”

“I can imagine. God, school must be a nightmare.”

Cyan smiled, relief creeping into his expression. “Yes, it is, but I manage. I have to. I can’t hide from people for the rest of my life. I won’t have a life.”

There was something about the way he said it that sounded slightly wrong, as if he was repeating a line he’d learned.

“Is that what your mother says?”

“My mother, my therapist, the headmaster. Lots of people.”

“I do that a lot, too,” Cyan said sadly.


“Repeat things other people have said, or that I’ve seen on television, or heard somewhere. I notice it now, well sometimes. My therapist says that when I’m not sure what words to say, I repeat things I’ve heard that I think fit. I don’t think it works quite like that, though. I don’t know I think I find my own words mostly.”

“I think you do, too.”

Cyan smiled and rubbed his cheek against Robin’s hand. Then he frowned again. “My therapist also says I get confused about things that are socially inappropriate. I really don’t understand that one. I’m learning from things my mother’s told me, and things that have gone wrong, and I’ve got into trouble over, but I don’t really understand them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…like when I first met you. Mam says I should have just barged into your conversation. I’ve learned it. I won’t…I’ll try not to do it again, but I don’t understand why.” Cyan gazed at Robin expectantly.

“Don’t ask me to explain. As far as I’m concerned that’s the best thing you ever did.”

“It was?” Cyan seemed surprised; so surprised it made Robin laugh.

“Yes, of course it was. If you hadn’t we wouldn’t have met.”

Cyan beamed. “That’s another thing,” he said. “It’s hard to put things together like that. You know – one thing leading to another. Consequences was a hard thing for me to grasp. Things happen. Sometimes there’s a pattern, a sequence, but often, especially with new things, that I haven’t learned they’re just unconnected events.”

“I see. I think.  I have to admit consequences was a hard one for me, too and I still often do or say things without thinking about consequences.”

“Like me?”

“Yeah, like you do.”

“No. I mean you rushed into me without thinking about the consequences.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose I did. But on the whole I’m liking the consequences.” He gently rubbed his thumb over Cyan’s cheek and Cyan closed his eyes, practically purring.

“You’re very kittenish.”

Cyan opened his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well…Sometimes you seem like you should be purring, and you’re so cute and – what’s wrong?”


“You looked…not happy about it.”

“I don’t know if I want to be like a cat. It feels weird.”

 “You probably aren’t to anyone but me.”

“Oh. I guess that’s another problem.”


“My mother tell me all the time that I take things too literally. I don’t get idioms and stuff. I can’t read body language and I don’t know when people are angry or frustrated, or sad. When I was in hospital I kept thinking the nurses were angry with me all the time, and I got upset.”

“What about when I…When I look like this?”

Robin felt Cyan shiver as his hand carefully stroked down over Cyan’s shoulder and slipped around his back to draw him closer.

And now you fortunate people get to head over and check out the rest of the wonders on offer today.

Friday, 21 November 2014

Seasons of the Fool by Lynne Cantwel

Season of the Fool is Lynne Cantwell's latest book which is part of this month's round on kindlescout. Today's post is a last push to get the word out and also to share her thank you giveaway with all her readers and you.

For those of you who are not aware of the kindlescout program, it is a reader-powered publishing platform for new, never-before-published books. We have the power here, because we the readers get to help decide if a book gets published. Selected books will be published by Kindle Press.

Today I'm hosting Lynne to share an opportunity to not only help out, but get a chance to get a free book! As a way to thank EVERYONE for nominating, each book you nominate, not just this one, will be sent from kindlescout to your reader! Each book, as in can nominate up to three more books after Seasons of the Fool ;). The nominations close on the 26th so with Lady Reader's Tours, I am helping this push to share this and get more Lady Reader’s Book Tours nominations!

There are a couple ways you can help and Lynne has an EPIC cool THANK YOU GIVEAWAY for a KindleHD6 in any color you want.

You can share the post :), you can click and share this pre-made link....

Tweet: Less than a week left to nominate SEASONS of the FOOL by @LynneCantwell for #KindleScout! #amreading Click to Share!

...And you can nominate Seasons of the Fool on kindlescout!


This is also the reveal of her new cover. Let's get it nominated!

Seasons of the Fool

By: Lynne Cantwell Published: kindlescout Oct. 26 fantasy, magic-realism, urban-fantasy, paranormal-romance

A Fool’s journey begins with a single step...

Julia Morton Michaud has fled Chicago for her grandparents’ summer home in Michiana. She believes the cottage near Lake Michigan will be a refuge – a quiet place for her to pursue a writing career while her spirit heals from a string of failed relationships.

But her past keeps intruding. Her ex-husband, Lance, is under investigation for defrauding his wealthy investors, and the specter of having to testify at his trial hangs over her. She begins a new relationship with a man she hardly knows. And her neighbor and former lover, David Turner, is trapped in his own troubled marriage.

Julia discovers a labyrinth in the woods near her cottage. It belongs to Elsie and Thea, the elderly ladies who live at the end of the lane. Julia wants to use it for meditation, but she doesn’t know the risks. For the women have their own agenda, and it’s tied to the rug Elsie is endlessly weaving.
The truths Julia learns in the labyrinth have the potential to change all their lives – if only she will take them to heart.


Lynne Cantwell grew up on the shores of Lake Michigan.

She worked as a broadcast journalist for many years; she has written for CNN, the late lamented Mutual/NBC Radio News, and a bunch of radio and TV news outlets you have probably never heard of, including a defunct wire service called Zapnews.

Lynne's vast overeducation includes a journalism degree from Indiana University, a masters degree in fiction writing from Johns Hopkins University, and a paralegal certificate. She is a contributing author at Indies Unlimited.

She currently lives near Washington, DC.


Across Lake Shore Drive from the beach, behind the multi-million-dollar “cottages” atop the dunes – the ones with views all the way to Chicago – the woods begin. 
Old-growth oak and maple tower over the faux log cabins that nestle into the understory – dogwood, sassafras, tulip poplar, and the occasional pine. Most of the houses look vacant. School begins earlier than it used to, and the families who spent their summer days frolicking in the waves and riding bikes along the winding lanes have gone back to their workaday lives on the other side of the lake. But here and there, windows are still open to catch the warm, early September air. The cars in the driveways of most of these homes sport Indiana or Michigan plates, but some belong to the summer people for whom summer hasn’t quite yet ended. 
Here’s one on a corner just a block from Lake Michigan. There’s a gray station wagon with Illinois plates parked in the concrete driveway, and a pickup truck with local plates angled in behind it. A couple of guys in t-shirts and worn jeans are erecting a sign in the front yard – “Ames Construction Co.” – while a man with thinning ginger hair signs something on a clipboard. 
We turn the corner onto Nokomis Trail and pass a few more cottages, interspersed with vacant lots where wild grapevines twist around neighboring saplings. In a manicured yard that would look at home in any suburb, an elderly man pushes a lawn mower. On the street in front of his house, a wooden mallard stands guard over his mailbox and two others, its whirligig wings spinning lazily in the breeze. 
Every now and then, the man pauses to wipe his forehead with a carefully-folded red bandanna; as he pauses, he shakes his head over the cottage across the way, nearly invisible behind a riot of unkempt bushes and vines. 
Next to this abandoned house is a vacant lot. Next to that, at the very end of Nokomis Trail, is a tiny cottage that looks like something out of a fairy story. Garden statuary – here a frog, there a nymph on a log – nestle amidst gangly purple mums. A gnome guards the entrance to the stepping-stone walk, and several wind chimes hang from the porch eaves. 
The elderly man glances toward this cottage and crosses himself surreptitiously. Then he goes back to work 
Inside the cottage at the end of the lane, a plump, matronly woman with a cheerful face hums as she works a loom. The frame takes up most of the living room, leaving only space enough for the fieldstone fireplace, two easy chairs, and a tiny television. 
The woman pauses in her work and whistles, long and low. “Well,” she says to herself. “Isn’t that interesting.” 
Just then, the back door bangs shut. The woman at the loom looks toward the kitchen, where a tall, thin woman with a narrow face has just come in. Out of habit, she ducks under the herbs hanging from the rafters as she removes her gardening gloves.
“Mind your shoes, dear,” the plump woman says. “I just swept.” 
“I’m going back out,” the tall one says as she gets herself a glass of water at the sink. As   she waits for the glass to fill, she says, “I saw another dragonfly. That makes seven, just this morning.” 
“Was this one headed up the street, too? Toward the Morton place?” 
The tall woman nods, then downs half of the water in one long drink. “Looks like things are about to change around here. 
“Yes,” the plump woman says, examining her weaving. “I see that.” She turns back to the   tall woman with a sunny smile. “At last!” 
At the same moment, thirty-five miles across the lake as the crow flies, Julia Morton Michaud sits in her lawyer’s office. Elaine’s firm is small, so their offices in Chicago’s Loop don’t command the sweeping Lady Reader’s Book Tours view of the city that a larger firm would have. But as the Haddon of O’Leary and Haddon LLP, Elaine rates an office with a glimpse of the lake. 
Julia attempts to maintain a professional demeanor as Elaine goes through the checklist: life insurance, health insurance, retirement accounts. The country club membership. The burial plots. All of the knotted strands that will have to be untangled before her marriage can be dissolved. All of the legal knots, anyway. The emotional bonds frayed away long since. 
“Now, the checking accounts,” Elaine says. 
“Equal split,” says Julia. “Same with the savings and money market accounts. And the stocks.” She expects a fight over the stocks, but intends to stand her ground. She needs those investments to live the life she means to live. And she refuses to let Lance get away with everything. 
“And the real estate?” the lawyer goes on. “I assume he’s keeping the Gold Coast condo. But you’re going to keep the house in Evanston, right?” 
“No,” Julia says. “He can have that, too.” 
Elaine looks at her over the top of her reading glasses. “It’s worth several million dollars, isn’t it?” At Julia’s nod, the lawyer goes on, “Well, we have some options. We can ask him to buy you out. Or we can stipulate that the house be put on the market.” 
“I don’t want the money,” Julia blurts. “I don’t want any part of that house. He can have it.” Elaine gives her a look of barely-concealed disbelief. “As your attorney,” she says, “I would strongly advise that that would be against your best interests. But as your friend....” She shakes her head. “Julia, what are you thinking? You’re entitled to half the house, as well as half the condo. And most of your wealth is tied up in your real estate holdings, unless I miss my guess. What are you going to live on, if you give everything to him? For that matter, where are you going to live?” 
Julia tilts her chin up. “The house in Michiana. I’m going to live there.” 
“In that derelict cottage?” Elaine’s shock is plain. 
“It’s not derelict,” Julia says, defensive. “It needs some work, that’s all. And it’s quiet. It’s the perfect place for me to get my head together and do some serious writing.” 
The attorney shakes her head. “So you’re really going to lock yourself away in that moldy old place. I thought you were kidding when you mentioned it at dinner last week.” 
“Nope.” Julia pulls her chin up higher. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. This is exactly what I want to do.” 
The lawyer sighs. “Well, I’ll draw up the agreement with that in place and send you a draft by tomorrow morning at the latest. But I think you’re making a big mistake.”
Julia nods – in acknowledgement, not in agreement. She looks past Elaine’s shoulder and   out the window, beyond the end of the concrete canyon, where a sliver of Lake Michigan is visible. The waves glitter in the harsh light of midday. It feels like a promise. Or like a release. 
Silence draws her attention back to her friend. Elaine is regarding her with a wistful expression. “We’ll miss you,” she says. 

Julia waves away the sentiment. “It’s not like I’m moving to the moon,” she says with a laugh. “I’ll only be sixty miles away.”
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Thursday, 20 November 2014

Priceless by M A Church

After having been without a computer for a week and having suffered horrendous withdrawal symptoms, I am pleased to be able to make my comeback with some wonderful news for a good friend. On 25th November, M A Church's fabulous book 'Priceless' is being released in German. A step ahead for a well deserving novel

Money may be able to buy many things, except true love. And true love is…

Hey everyone! I’ve very pleased to announce Dreamspinner has translated Priceless into German. The release date is November 25thPriceless is a romance in which mortals, immortals, and the Greco-Roman god, Cupid himself, find hot sex, overwhelming passion, and, of course, love.


Funken sprühen, als Amor seinen Pfeil auf zwei Sterbliche in Las Vegas richtet: Randy Jones, ein ganz normaler junger Mann im Wochenendurlaub, schaut am Würfeltisch in Garretts Augen und es ist um ihn geschehen. All seinen Prinzipien zum Trotz lässt er sich auf ein leidenschaftliches, zweitägiges Abenteuer mit Garrett ein – und stellt erschüttert fest, dass er sich verliebt hat.

Der zynische Milliardär Garrett Shiffler hat alles, was man sich mit Geld kaufen kann. Da ihn andere Menschen vor allem als Geldquelle betrachten, hat er den Glauben an Unschuld und Liebe schon vor langer Zeit verloren. Doch als Randy verschwindet und ihn mit unerwarteten Gefühlen zurücklässt, nimmt er sich vor, Randy für sich zu gewinnen – und diesmal muss er mit seinem Herzen anstatt seinem Bankkonto kämpfen.

Währenddessen fragt sich Amor, was geschehen ist. Seine Pfeile verfehlen niemals ihr Ziel, es sei denn, das Schicksal selbst greift ein. Wenn Garrett Randy zurückgewinnen möchte, ist er auf sich allein gestellt, denn jetzt kann ihm selbst Amor nicht mehr helfen.

Sparks ignite when Cupid takes aim at two mortals in Las Vegas: Randy Jones, an average guy on a company vacation, looks into Garrett’s eyes at a craps table and time stands still. Throwing aside everything he believes, Randy engages in a torrid two-night affair with Garrett—only to panic when he realizes he’s fallen in love.

Cynical billionaire Garrett Shiffler has everything money can buy, and most of his dates can’t see past the dollar signs. Life has taught him that innocence and love are figments of the imagination. But when Randy disappears, taking with him feelings Garrett thought he’d never know, Garrett wages the most important battle of his life to win Randy's love—but this time he fights with his heart, not his bank account.

Meanwhile, Cupid wonders what happened. His golden arrows never fail unless the Fates interfere. If Garrett wants to win Randy back, he’s going to have to do it on his own, because the Fates have other plans for Cupid.

M.A. Church

M.A. Church is a true Southern belle who spent many years in the elementary education sector. Now she spends her days lost in fantasy worlds, arguing with hardheaded aliens on far-off planets, herding her numerous shifters, or trying to tempt her country boys away from their fishing poles. It’s a full time job, but hey, someone’s gotta do it!

When not writing, she’s exploring the latest M/M novel to hit the market, watching her beloved Steelers, or sitting glued to HGTV. That’s if she’s not on the back porch tending to the demanding wildlife around the pond in the backyard. The ducks are very outspoken. She’s married to her high school sweetheart, and they have two children.

She was a finalist in the Rainbow awards for 2013.

Visit M.A. at her blog
Twitter @nomoretears00

Tuesday, 11 November 2014

Cover Reveal. Protector of the Alpha by Will Parkinson

Today I am pleased and proud to host the cover reveal of Will Parkinson's latest Protector of the Alpha. It's a truly beautiful cover, but before I let you see it (of course you can just scroll down, but let's pretend) let's find out a little bit about it.

Book Name: Protector of the Alpha: Shifting Needs Book 1

Author Name: Parker Williams

Author Bio:

Parker Williams believes that true love exists, but it always comes with a price. No happily ever after can ever be had without work, sweat, and tears that comes with melding lives together.

Living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Parker held his job for nearly 28 years before he decided to retire and try new things. He enjoys his new life as a stay-at-home author and also working on Pride-Promotions, an LGBT author promotion service.

Author Contact:
Connect with Parker on:
Twitter: @ParkerWAuthor
Or you can visit his website:

Publisher: Self-published

Cover Artist: Laura Harner

Adopted at an early age by a wealthy family, Jake Davis’s life appears easy. Even in college, he is blessed with good grades and an apparently clear path to a pro football career. Good thing his best friend keeps hanging around to keep his head from getting too swollen.

 Zakiya Incekara has always been...odd. Being fluent in six languages and having a flair for international cooking should open the world to him, but those skills leave him isolated.
When Jake sees Zak for the first time, with water beading down his slender form, something inside him shifts, and it hungers for Zak. To have him. To claim him. And Jake knows that whatever it is, it won’t be denied.

Categories: Contemporary, Fantasy, Fiction, Gay Fiction, New Adult, Paranormal

So, I think it's now time for you to see the lush cover


Jake's hand was rough, his skin dry. Zak loved how his fingers gripped tightly, but not so much that it hurt. Jake said nothing as they walked along the streets of the campus. There were few people around, but Zak did not care if everyone was watching them. He was confused as to his attraction to Jake, but it was something he could not deny.

The soft jazz music poured from the door of the pub when Jake pulled it open. Jake's hand on his lower back urged him inside. Zak sniffed appreciatively at the scent of Cajun spices, no doubt from the blackened catfish special. His stomach protested, and he heard Jake snicker, but he could not seem to raise the ire he should. Jake escorted him to a booth and allowed Zak to sit back against the brushed leather.

“Two dinner specials coming up,” Jake said brightly.

Zak gazed at Jake's hulking form as it moved away, marveling at the sinewy grace as he dodged patrons and servers. It was odd. He had never met anyone like Jake. He doubted there was anyone like Jake. He felt comfortable in his presence. Jake’s size did not intimidate him. In fact, that made him all the sexier. But his eyes were what made Zak melt into a puddle of goo. The way they twinkled in the dimmest of light. When Jake so much as glanced at him, Zak felt he was the sole thing Jake saw.

Jake turned from the bar, and Zak watched as the bright smile turn into a sneer. He dropped the tray, the catfish crashing to the floor, before he stalked to where Zak sat. Jake grabbed a man, probably about forty, by his throat and pushed him against the wall.

“You don't so much as breathe near him,” Jake snarled.

The man looked cool as he smiled and croaked out. “You are everything I had heard you would be, and more, my lord.”

Pages: 237 pages

Tour Dates: November 11, 2014

Tour Stops:
The Fuzzy, Fluffy World of Chris T. Kat

Sales Links: