A.O. Chika's Blog, page 5

Book Blitz: Spa Weekend by Tamryn Eradani

Title:  Spa Weekend

Series: Daniel and Ryan, book 6

Author: Tamryn Eradani

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 3, 2017

Heat Level: 5 – Erotica

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 13200

Genre: Contemporary, businessmen, BDSM, contemporary, vacation

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

 Daniel and Ryan take their first trip as a couple, traveling to Daniel’s favorite spa resort, a place he’s never taken anyone before. The significance isn’t lost on Ryan, but it takes longer for Daniel to realize there are feelings encroaching on their arrangement.

Excerpt

Spa Weekend

Tamryn Eradani © 2017

All Rights Reserved

“I want to try something new,” Ryan says.

Daniel stops mincing the garlic to look over his shoulder. “Something new for you or something new for us?”

“Us,” Ryan says.

They’re in Daniel’s apartment this weekend, and Daniel offered to make dinner to draw out their time together a little bit longer. They normally part ways midafternoon on Sundays, but as soon as Daniel mentioned he was cooking, it was easy to convince Ryan to stay. Daniel has thought about pressing his luck and seeing if he could get Ryan to stay the night, but it seems like too much of a risk.

They’ve never stayed the night when there was work the next morning, and Daniel’s not going to be the first to bring it up. Besides, it probably would be more hassle than it’s worth. He’d have to figure out how to fit a second person into his morning routine, and he’s gotten it planned to the minute over the past few years. It would be too disruptive to change it. At least, that’s what he tells himself to keep from blurting out an invitation to stay.

Daniel returns to carefully mincing his garlic.

“I don’t want you to touch yourself this week,” Ryan says. “Not without my permission.”

Daniel has to put the knife down before he accidentally takes off a finger. “Touch myself how?” He’s got a good idea of what Ryan’s getting at, but he likes specifics. And maybe he just wants to make Ryan squirm a little.

The plan backfires, because Ryan meets Daniel’s gaze straight on and says, “No jerking off. No giving yourself a couple squeezes during your morning shower. No lazy touches as you get ready for bed.”

It’s Daniel who ends up with pink cheeks and short of breath when Ryan’s done talking, but he manages to say, “Okay,” without a waver in his voice.

He goes back to the garlic, because he needs to finish the glaze so he can cook the chicken or dinner will never be done. The move puts his back to Ryan, and he should’ve known that Ryan wouldn’t let the conversation end so quickly.

A moment later, he can feel Ryan’s heat against his back, and then Ryan’s stepping in close, hands on Daniel’s hips so he can look over his shoulder.

“You can say no,” Ryan reminds him, like Daniel doesn’t understand how consent works. “Or ask questions.”

“I’m saying yes,” Daniel says. It’s not like he masturbates often. And from the way Ryan’s floated the suggestion, it sounds like he’ll have the opportunity to ask for permission. That thought is what sends a little shiver down his spine, and with Ryan as close as he is, there’s no way he doesn’t feel it too. “How’re you going to know?”

“Besides the honor system?” Ryan says. His breath tickles Daniel’s neck. “I’m going to call and check up on you.”

Daniel has to take a steadying breath before he adds the red pepper flakes, rosemary, and salt to the garlic and begins mincing again. “You couldn’t have waited to float this idea until I was done with the knife stage of dinner?” He’s not really annoyed. If he was then he’d just tell Ryan to knock it off.

Ryan knows it too, because he crowds closer, until his hips press right up against Daniel’s ass. “Am I distracting you? I thought your self-control and ability to multitask were flawless.”

“I will remind you I’m holding a knife,” Daniel says. He finishes using the sharp end of the blade and now he uses the flat end to mash the mixture up.

“Out of curiosity,” Ryan says, “are you saying yes because you think it’ll be easy or because you like the thought of giving up control to me even when we’re not together? Or because it’s something I want to do?”

“All three,” Daniel answers. He likes doing things that Ryan wants to do, especially when they line up with things he’s interested in. Giving Ryan control over something as private and intimate as his orgasms is something that appeals to him maybe more than it should. And, of course, there’s the fact that he likes a challenge, and he finds he can push himself further when it’s Ryan setting the demands and the limits rather than Daniel himself. “But mostly the first one. I’m not an excessive masturbator.”

“I find that difficult to believe,” Ryan says, and Daniel can’t see him, but he can imagine the eye roll that accompanies his statement. “But it also sounds like you’re daring me to make this difficult for you.”

“I would never.” Daniel keeps his tone light, just shy of teasing. “You’re the one in control of everything.”

“Put the knife down,” Ryan says and as soon as Daniel’s dropped the knife to the cutting board, Ryan spins him around and kisses him. Ryan bites at Daniel’s bottom lip until Daniel opens his mouth and lets Ryan sweep in and claim the kiss. When he pulls back, Daniel’s breathing heavy and holding on to the counter like it’s the only thing keeping him on his feet.

Ryan pats Daniel’s hip and then wanders back to the far side of the island where his phone is.

“Tease,” Daniel says, but he can’t keep the smile off his face.

“We haven’t even started,” Ryan promises him.

Purchase Links

NineStar Press: https://ninestarpress.com/product/spa-weekend/

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B072WB76R1

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/731136

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/spa-weekend-tamryn-eradani/1126611732

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/spa-weekend

 

Meet the Author

Tamryn studied English and Creative Writing in school but has been writing since she could first hold a pencil. Recently, she’s turned her focus towards writing erotica. She enjoys writing stories where sex comes first, then feelings, because doing things out of order can be fun.

Tamryn has spent the past few months writing the Daniel and Ryan series with a lovely view of mountains out her window, and she’s now searching for a new mountain range to serve as her backdrop as she begins her next project.

Giveaway

One lucky winner will receive an ebook of their choice from NineStar Press

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The post Book Blitz: Spa Weekend by Tamryn Eradani appeared first on A.O. Chika Book Blog.

Book Blitz: Boy’s Don’t Cry by J.K. Hogan

Title:  Boys Don’t Cry

Author: J.K. Hogan

Publisher:  J.K. Hogan

Release Date: May 25th 2017

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 70,000 words

Genre: Romance

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Mackenzie Pratt is having the worst luck of his life. His apartment building is being torn down, and since he’s jobless and just weeks away from graduating college, he can’t find anywhere else he can afford to live that isn’t a critter-infested dump.

As he’s lamenting the very real possibility of job hunting while couch-surfing, he gets an offer from the coworker of his best friend.

An in-demand mobile app developer and heir to his parents’ fortune, Laurent Beaudry is literally an eccentric billionaire. Even though Mackenzie realizes he’s basically living the plot of a cheesy romance novel, he takes the proffered room in Laurent’s Baltimore mansion. He finds his new housemate to be grumpy, brooding, and, at times, incredibly kind and endearing.

Raised by his brother after their father’s death, Mackenzie spent his formative years plowing headlong through school, focusing on little else beyond earning his teaching certification. He’s never taken the time to explore love and relationships, much less sexuality, so when he finds himself being courted by another man, he has no idea what to do. And when he realizes he might actually return those feelings, his life takes a whole new direction.

Excerpt

The house was dark so I couldn’t see much, but what I could see was immaculate, contrary to what Taylor had said. The hardwood floors gleamed in the moonlight, the furniture looked expensive and perfect, and there wasn’t a dirty dish or dust bunny in sight. “I thought you said it was a sty,” I whispered.

“Oh, this? Not this. He only uses a fraction of the house, the suite with his bedroom, living room, library, and office. All of this is just for show,” he said with a sweeping gesture toward the big empty parlor we were facing. “And why are you whispering? He knows I’m coming.”

“I don’t know. It seems so quiet and…undisturbed.”

Taylor’s chuckle had an evil ring to it. “You want disturbed? Follow me.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled. “Mr. Beaudry! It’s me, Taylor. Morrison. From Mindstream. The place you work.”

He made his way down a dark corridor with me dogging his heels. “He doesn’t remember who you are? Where he works?”

“Oh, he knows. But when he’s been staring at code for hours on end and not sleeping, sometimes basic stuff slips his mind. Details like that can be hard for geniuses like him.”

Genius? I didn’t think I’d ever heard that term used to sincerely describe someone. “What does he do again?”

“He’s a mobile app developer. Highly sought after, but right now he works exclusively for us. That was a huge coup for the company.” He stopped in front of a heavy, ornately carved door made of some kind of dark hardwood. He rapped his knuckles on it three times before barging on in, while I hovered in the doorway.

So this was the suite. Taylor had been right. What a mess. We stood in what I assumed was the living room, but it was hard to tell because every available surface was covered in wrinkled clothing, pizza boxes, and empty dishes. A huge fireplace was installed in the far wall, surrounded by shelves and shelves of books. More books than I’d ever seen in one place outside a library. The fire blazed in the hearth, and I was honestly surprised there wasn’t any garbage close enough to it to catch fire. As beautiful as the house was, the mess made my skin crawl. I usually lived in shitty apartments, so I was a bit of a neat freak to balance the universe.

“Beaudry? You in here?” Taylor called. There was no answer. “He must be in the bedroom suite.” He headed to a door on the left, like it was no big deal.

“Wait! You’re just going to barge into the guy’s bedroom?”

Pausing in his tracks, Taylor looked over his shoulder. “This is no ordinary bedroom. Just because there’s a bed in the corner doesn’t mean it’s some intimate setting. It’s just a giant workspace.” With that parting shot, he burst through the door, once again calling the man’s name.

Trembling from too much alcohol and not enough nerve, I stepped inside the room. I was stunned speechless by the scene before me. Taylor had one thing right—it was no ordinary bedroom. It was the size of three average rooms lined up in a row and probably had double the square footage of the apartment I was getting booted out of. There was indeed a bed, a California king canopy bed off in one corner of the room. A fire was blazing in this suite as well, only I realized that it was the same fire in the same fireplace, which apparently connected the two rooms.

Taylor stood next to what had to be the man’s workspace. There was a giant U-shaped desk adorned with four widescreen computer monitors and various other gadgets typical of an office. However, on one leg of the U, there was a collection of what looked to be every tablet, PDA, smartphone, and any other mobile device known to man. I supposed he had to test his software on each gizmo that was likely to employ it.

Behind the office area was a ginormous TV screen—at least seventy inches—that looked like it would be more at home in a movie theater. Several fluffy couches were set up in a semicircle facing it. It would be amazing to have a movie marathon in this place. And of course, there was every gaming console imaginable to go along with the screen yardage. But…despite all the cool stuff, there was some very weird stuff about the place as well. Besides the office setup and the movie area, all the furniture in the suite looked like it had been bought from a garage sale at Versailles. It was expensive-looking, obviously, but very gilded and frilly. There were also several racks flanking the giant TV that displayed the man’s sword collection.

And then, the murals. The murals were creepy. On at least a couple of the walls above the wainscoting, there were huge, garish wall paintings of nudes in various scenes. Men and women, sometimes in sexual situations, sometimes just hanging out or whatever. But they weren’t like Renaissance or fine art nudes or anything; they seemed to be done by just some random modern artist. I had no idea how the guy could manage to look at them all day every day. Though if it weren’t for those, I’d never leave a place like this either. Speaking of the guy, though, there was no sign of him.

“Where is he?” I was whispering again. It just seemed like the thing to do when you snuck into someone’s bedroom at night. Not that we were really sneaking, but still.

As if in answer to my question, we heard a toilet flush, and a door to my right that I hadn’t even noticed swung open, startling me. The person who came through was pretty much just as unbelievable as the house he lived in. He was tall—very tall—and lanky, but with wide shoulders and well-defined musculature. His hair was just a little too long, like maybe he’d forgotten his last couple of haircuts, and very dark, shot through with a tiny bit of gray. It had to be premature because I doubted he was much more than ten years older than me. His facial features—though thrown in deep shadow because of the low light in the room—were chiseled and angular, too handsome to be fair to the rest of the world. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his straight nose, slightly askew. Despite the handsomeness, he had dark circles under his eyes and frown lines around his mouth, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. And he was wearing Angry Birds pajamas.

When he saw me, his deep-set blue eyes widened and he flinched like I’d snuck up on him. “Who the hell are you?”

I let out a squeaky gasp and backed away toward Taylor because the guy looked fucking scary when he turned on the full force of that scowl.

“Jesus Christ, Beaudry, relax,” Taylor said. He picked up his briefcase and pulled out a legal-size envelope. “This is my friend Mackenzie. I was driving him home, and I just popped in to drop off these contracts from Harrelson.”

Beaudry grunted and crossed the room to sit at his desk. He waved a hand in the vague direction of a stack of shelves. “Just put them in the inbox. I’ll deal with them later.”

“If you look them over now, I can take back any questions or return them…”

He glared at Taylor over his shoulder, and Taylor wisely shut his mouth. Then the man’s gaze settled on me. It wasn’t the scowl he’d given me earlier, but it wasn’t exactly a…nice expression either. It was more of an assessing glare than anything. “Welcome to Chatham House, Mackenzie. What do you think?” he asked.

I had no idea what he meant. What did I think of the house? The room? Him? “It’s…impressive. The artwork is…unusual.”

He let out a belting laugh that I hadn’t been expecting, so I jumped, but then the rich baritone of it made my toes curl. It was an odd reaction, as I wasn’t usually affected by such things.

“Unusual is a kind way of putting it. The artwork came with the house, along with much of the furniture. I just haven’t gotten around to redecorating.”

“Oh, that’s…” . “How long have you lived here, then?”

Beaudry turned back to his computer and began typing furiously. “About five years,” he answered without turning back around.

I choked on air, and Taylor snorted. “I think by ‘haven’t gotten around to it,’ you mean ‘just don’t give a shit,’” he muttered.

“Touché, Mr. Morrison. Is there anything else you need?”

Taylor sighed, probably realizing that the man was not going to look at whatever was in the envelope while we were still there to relay any messages back to Mindstream. He clamped a hand around my wrist and started dragging me toward the door. “All right, we’re going. Remember, drinks at the King’s Shield next Friday.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be—”

Taylor spoke right over Beaudry’s muttering. “You already said you would. No backsies. I can pick you up.”

“I think I’d enjoy driving my shiny Lotus instead, but thank you very much for the offer,” Beaudry growled. “Nice meeting you, Mack,” I heard him call through the open door.

“Nickname basis already?” I laughed to Taylor.

“That has nothing to do with nicknames and everything to do with your name being too long for him to remember.”

“I heard that, Morrison!”

Purchase
J.K. Hogan | Amazon

Meet the Author

J.K. Hogan has been telling stories for as long as she can remember, beginning with writing cast lists and storylines for her toys growing up. When she finally decided to put pen to paper, magic happened. She is greatly inspired by all kinds of music and often creates a “soundtrack” for her stories as she writes them. J.K. is hoping to one day have a little something for everyone, so she’s branched out from m/f paranormal romance and added m/m contemporary romance. Who knows what’s next?

J.K. resides in North Carolina, where she was born and raised. A true southern girl at heart, she lives in the country with her husband and two sons, a cat, and two champion agility dogs. If she isn’t on the agility field, J.K. can often be found chasing waterfalls in the mountains with her husband, or down in front at a blues concert. In addition to writing, she enjoys training and competing in dog sports, spending time with her large southern family, camping, boating and, of course, reading! For more information, please visit www.jkhogan.com.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Google+ | eMail | Instagram | Amazon | Pinterest
Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Save

Save

Save

The post Book Blitz: Boy’s Don’t Cry by J.K. Hogan appeared first on A.O. Chika Book Blog.

Book Review: My Mourning Year by Andrew Marshall

Blurb:

In 1997 Andrew Marshall’s partner, and the only person to whom he had ever truly opened his heart, died after a gruelling and debilitating illness. Unmoored from his old life, and feeling let down by his family, Marshall struggled not only to make sense of his loss but to even imagine what a future without Thom might look like. In his diary, he wrote about what set him back – like a rebound relationship – some weird and wonderful encounters with psychics and gurus and how his job as a journalist gave him the chance to talk about death with a range of famous people, a forensic

In his diary, he wrote about what set him back – like a rebound relationship – some weird and wonderful encounters with psychics and gurus and how his job as a journalist gave him the chance to talk about death with a range of famous people, a forensic anthologist, and a holocaust survivor.

Slowly but surely with the help of friends, a badly behaved dog and a renewed relationship with his parents, he began to piece his life back together. Although his diary was never meant for publication, Marshall did share it with friends and colleagues dealing with bereavement, who found it immensely helpful, so to mark the twentieth anniversary of Thom’s death, he has decided to open it for everybody to read. My Mourning Year is a frank and unflinching account of one man’s life for a year after the death of his lover. In turn heartbreaking, frustrating and even sweetly funny, this is no step-by-step guide to dealing with bereavement but a shoulder to lean on when facing the unknowns of death, and a resource for those left behind.

My Mourning Year is a frank and unflinching account of one man’s life for a year after the death of his lover. In turn heartbreaking, frustrating and even sweetly funny, this is no step-by-step guide to dealing with bereavement but a shoulder to lean on when facing the unknowns of death, and a resource for those left behind.

Title:


My Mourning Year








Author:



Andrew Marshall






Genre:


Non-Fiction





Publisher:


RedDoor Publishing





Release Date:


2017-04





Format:


pdf, Paperback





Pages:


282





Source:


Publisher

This book was provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review.

This book is hard to review because I honestly couldn't finish reading it, not because it was bad, but because while reading it, I was reminded of how fragile life is, and how we cope when we lose someone close to us.

Grief and the loss of a loved one is a very heavy subject that movies and other media soften to seem less intimidating- something sad that we'll eventually get over this book didn't sugarcoat that, with made it simultaneously painful and beautiful to read.

As I mentioned earlier, I did not finish reading the book, so my review would be base don the parts that I read. For a full review, I recommend:

Rebecca Foster's Goodreads Review
Nicola Smith's Goodreads Review

Marshall met Thom, the headmaster of a German language school, on a holiday to Spain in September 1989.

They communicated via letters and calls, as well as flew between Germany and England regularly for years, and in 1995 Thom finally relocated to join Marshall near Brighton.

Thom had plans to start an interior design business but fell sick just six months later. He was later diagnosed with liver failure and was given weeks to live. They traveled to Germany to get Thom a second opinion.

It was sad watching the slow changes in their interacting, watching Thom's body change and watching as Marshall struggle to keep it together, I was relieved when he got angry at the car rental when he got a manual car instead of automatic like he requested. I felt he needed to pour his frustrations out,

I felt he needed to pour his frustrations out, admittedly the poor lady did not deserve to be the one he took his frustrations out on. Thom's interaction with his father had me trying to read between the lines, but then again that was the way they communicated and while I wish his father was more expressive people are who they are.

I liked Andrews's interaction with Thom's brother, it felt somewhat awkward sometimes, but at the same time, it made me pretend to forget about the fact that Thom was dying. - I know that's kinda sad.

This is just the first half of the book, the second part was about Andrew slowing letting himself grief and heal. That was the part I couldn't read because it was so damned painful, I felt like I was there watching Andrew yet powerless to do anything.

About the Author, Andrew Marshall has written seventeen self-help books – as Andrew G. Marshall – including the international best-seller I love you but I’m not in love with you. His work has been translated into twenty different languages and he still writes for the Mail on Sunday, Daily Mail, and Daily Telegraph. This is the first time he’s written about himself.

The post Book Review: My Mourning Year by Andrew Marshall appeared first on A.O. Chika Book Blog.

Book Blitz: One Bullet by Casey Wolfe

Blurb

When Ethan Brant was shot, he found himself dealing with severe PTSD and unable to do his job as a police officer any longer. With the aid of Detective Shawn Greyson, the man who saved his life, Ethan not only finds himself again but discovers love as well.

Shawn’s life growing up was less than ideal, however, he overcame that to become who he is today. That doesn’t mean he isn’t missing something in his life. What Shawn hadn’t realized, upon first meeting, was that Ethan could give him all that and more.

One bullet changed both their lives.

Available in Print from most major retailers.

Book Info

Author: Casey Wolfe

Release Date: March 27 2017

ISBN: 978-1-945952-81-4

Format: ePub, Mobi, PDF



Cover Artist: Natasha Snow

Category: Romance

Genre: Contemporary

Word Count: 50400

Sex Content: N/A

Pairing: MM

Warning: Flashback of shooting incident

Buy Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Ninestar Press

About Casey Wolfe

Author of gay romantic fiction, from contemporary to paranormal and everything in between.

For Casey, existence equals writing. History nerd, film enthusiast, music lover, avid gamer, and just an all-around geek. Add in an unapologetic addiction to loose-leaf tea and you get the general picture. Married, with furry four-legged children, Casey lives happily in the middle of nowhere Ohio.

Website: authorcaseywolfe.wordpress.com

Facebook: facebook.com/authorcaseywolfe

Tumblr: authorcaseywolfe.tumblr.com

Goodreads: goodreads.com/authorcaseywolfe

The post Book Blitz: One Bullet by Casey Wolfe appeared first on A.O. Chika Book Blog.

Featured Book: Murder In The String Of G by L.G. Fabbo-Gonnella

Max, Brad, and Maisie is a gay mystery series by author L.G. Fabbo-Gonnela. Read on to discover the three books in the series and find out more about the author! There’s also a giveaway and you are all encouraged to enter!

Murder In The String of G

Max, Brad, and Maisie Mystery Series, Book One

Maisie was an irrepressible burlesque queen of the fifties who was a star in the Cassandra Theater. She was killed in what was initially ruled to be an accidental trip and fall down a spiral staircase. In fact, she knows it was a murder but, why was she killed and why the later cover-up? Unfortunately, however, what can a ghost to do about it? Andso, her shade haunts the theater hoping to find someone to help her.

It turns out to be a long wait. In two thousand and six two young wanta-be actors arrive at the newly restored Cassandra Theater to audition for a play. One is Max, who is gay, and the other is his roommate Brad, who is straight. For reasons unknown at first, Maisie finds she can connect with them both and seeks their help in proving she was murdered and who did it. After initial hesitations, the boys agree to help her solve her killing. The book follows the pair as they stumble towards finding answers while dodging a hired gun, a serial killer of young men and, for Brad, Maisie’s tendency to “fondle his rump” at inopportune times.

EXCERPT:

“Well Cassandra, old dear,” she laughingly said to the ancient theater as she adjusted her girdle. “We both have seen better days haven’t we!” With a bemused shake of her head she fixed her sheer colored nylon stocking to the girdle’s straps then did a fast check in the mirror to make sure her seams were straight.

She gave a pert nod of satisfaction at the results then stepped into her grey front-buttoned wool dress. “Hell girl you look quite respectable,” Maisie told herself as she examined her demure business-like outfit. Her slender tapered fingers fidgeted with the pearl buttons one last time. No need to be this nervous, she silently told herself. The last thing she did was to slip into a pair of black

high-heeled shoes. The effect not only increased her height but also gave the calves of her long legs that firm sexy look that caused every man that passed her to turn their heads to shoot her a look of admiration.

“Okay we are dressed for that meeting.” She muttered as she grabbed her matching grey gloves and purse. Pausing one last time in front of the mirror the striking blonde striptease artist contemplated her upcoming appointment with a mixture of dread and defiance. A fighter looked back at her.


“Okay Maisie here we go,” she firmly instructed her reflection. “You may be a bit down but you are not out by a long shot. So hold it together, meet them head on and make sure to give it your best shot. Just remember, you may striptease for a living but you are no whore no matter what they may think.”

For one brief second, she shivered in the musty dampness of the room. As she did Maisie recalled how her momma used to tell that this meant, someone just walked over your grave. Her striking features grimaced with a mixture of fear and concern. Maisie suddenly laughed at the face she had just made.

“Come on you are a star behave like one for Pete’s sake. Wish me luck Cassandra old floozy. Burlesque may be going down but this girl isn’t going to follow it,” she confidently said as she strode out of her dressing room. As she descended the narrow spiral staircase that led down from the third story level to the main stage floor her right foot caught itself on something running across the upper steps.

Maisie suddenly felt herself falling forward on the stairs. Instinctively she grabbed the rusty banister at her side to steady herself but her height and her forward motion instead sent her pitching head first over the low railing barrier. The last conscious thought she had was that someone must have rigged some obstruction along the upper stairs to cause her to trip.

“That lousy…” she heard herself exclaim with a mixture of anger and shock. The next thing she heard was the sound of her body hitting the lower floor followed by a loud crack as her neck broke. Then all was darkness and silence.

The next morning the work crews came in and found her broken bloody body sprawled out on the floor. No one noticed the tiny translucent grey shadow that hovered near her corpse. The terrified men called the manager who then contacted the police. They in turn reached out to the city corner.z

Buy links: Amazon US | Amazon UK
Giveaway

Prizes: 1 bundle of Murder in the String of G + Murder in the Squared Circle, and 1 copy of Murder in Noir

a Rafflecopter giveaway

About the author

L.G.Fabbo-Gonnella is a resident of NYC. He has often said Manhattan is the underlying unspoken character in many of his books. “I guess its a love affair that I have with her,” he once said. “I could live here forever and yet still find magical things about her that I never knew existed.

When not seeking out interesting new locales for his books he can be found dinning with friends and enjoying all the city he adores has to offer.

Though he has not yet met the supernatural denizens of NYC, he does hope too one day. And yes, there is a “letter Lounge” albeit under a different name.

He can be reached at L.G.Fabbo.Gonnella@gmail.co

Facebook: https://facebook.com/Mystery-writings-of-LG-Fabbo-Gonnella

Website: http://fabbo-gonnella.blogspot.com

The post Featured Book: Murder In The String Of G by L.G. Fabbo-Gonnella appeared first on A.O. Chika Book Blog.

Book Blitz: Max, Brad, and Maisie Mystery Series by L.G. Fabbo-Gonnella

Max, Brad, and Maisie is a gay mystery series by author L.G. Fabbo-Gonnela. Read on to discover the three books in the series and find out more about the author! There’s also a giveaway and you are all encouraged to enter!

Murder In The String of G

Max, Brad, and Maisie Mystery Series, Book One

Maisie was an irrepressible burlesque queen of the fifties who was a star in the Cassandra Theater. She was killed in what was initially ruled to be an accidental trip and fall down a spiral staircase. In fact, she knows it was a murder but, why was she killed and why the later cover-up? Unfortunately, however, what can a ghost to do about it? Andso, her shade haunts the theater hoping to find someone to help her.

It turns out to be a long wait. In two thousand and six two young wanta-be actors arrive at the newly restored Cassandra Theater to audition for a play. One is Max, who is gay, and the other is his roommate Brad, who is straight. For reasons unknown at first, Maisie finds she can connect with them both and seeks their help in proving she was murdered and who did it. After initial hesitations, the boys agree to help her solve her killing. The book follows the pair as they stumble towards finding answers while dodging a hired gun, a serial killer of young men and, for Brad, Maisie’s tendency to “fondle his rump” at inopportune times.

Buy links: Amazon US | Amazon UK
Murder in the Squared Circle

Max, Brad, and Maisie Mystery Series, Book Two

Maisie’s favorite young pro-wrestler, Stan DaMann, is arrested for allegedly murdering his hated rival. Maisie is convinced of Stan’s innocence. Determined to find the real killer she convinces the hapless Max and Brad into posing as a new wrestling tag team. Out of their depth, they find themselves involved a murky world of underground sex bouts while facing off against two brothers who think vice may be nice but incest is best. As Max and Brad’s wrestling début approaches our trio is eager to find the killer before the killer finds them. Max has another problem in the form of a good-looking Australian wrestler named Liam. Could Max be falling for a guy who might turn out to be that killer?

Buy Links: Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

Murder in Noir

Max, Brad, and Maisie Mystery Series, Book Three

It seems as if Max and Brad’s dreams of a career in acting have finally arrived. The duo have been cast in the Broadway revival of that forties noir classic “Blood Fell onto my Window Pane”. Even more exciting, the production has movie stars Barrett Conover and his Italian wife Europa making their Broadway début. Max has had a huge crush on the husband ever since he saw the actor in the classic gay film “Going Tops for a Bottom”. As for Brad, he has been a fan of Europa ever since he saw her in the French classic comedy “Buxom Babes for Balzac.”

The play also has a rather lurid past. During its first run in 1948, two members of the company were victims in an unsolved murder. Maisie soon convinces the boys it would be fun to try and solve the decades old crime. What starts as a lark however, suddenly takes a unexpected turn as evidence of a blackmail scheme is revealed. Events soon turn deadly when the trio seeks to uncover who is being blackmailed and, critically, who is behind it. Hidden scandals, an attempted rape and murders both old and new are now part of the script for a, “Murder in Noir”

Buy Links: Amazon US | Amazon UK
Giveaway

Prizes: 1 bundle of Murder in the String of G + Murder in the Squared Circle, and 1 copy of Murder in Noir

a Rafflecopter giveaway

About the author

L.G.Fabbo-Gonnella is a resident of NYC. He has often said Manhattan is the underlying unspoken character in many of his books. “I guess its a love affair that I have with her,” he once said. “I could live here forever and yet still find magical things about her that I never knew existed.

When not seeking out interesting new locales for his books he can be found dinning with friends and enjoying all the city he adores has to offer.

Though he has not yet met the supernatural denizens of NYC, he does hope too one day. And yes, there is a “letter Lounge” albeit under a different name.

He can be reached at L.G.Fabbo.Gonnella@gmail.co

Facebook: https://facebook.com/Mystery-writings-of-LG-Fabbo-Gonnella

Website: http://fabbo-gonnella.blogspot.com

The post Book Blitz: Max, Brad, and Maisie Mystery Series by L.G. Fabbo-Gonnella appeared first on A.O. Chika Book Blog.

Book Blitz: A Christmas for Oscar by Alex Whitehall

Title:  A Christmas for Oscar

Author: Alex Whitehall

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: December 19, 2016

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 20400

Genre: Romance, Contemporary, holiday

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Oscar has never liked the holidays and all the surrounding rigmarole, but that doesn’t stop his best friend from dragging him along for her Black Friday shopping spree. The only perk of the day is that he meets Nathan while he’s there.

With sparkling blue eyes, curly blond hair, and a smile that won’t stop, Nathan is a Christmas elf in the flesh. He even spends his days in a workshop! But Nathan is more than his bright smile, and he may be just the right person for Oscar. Assuming, of course, Oscar doesn’t drive him and his holiday spirit away first.

Excerpt

Alex Whitehall © 2016

All Rights Reserved

“Come on, Oscar, don’t be such a grouch.”

He glared at Marie. “That is so original.”

She shrugged, merry as ever.

He grumbled as they were forced to swerve around another mother with two shopping carts. “If you didn’t want me grumpy, then maybe you shouldn’t have dragged me out shopping on Black Friday.”

“You’re my best friend—”

“Which means you shouldn’t torture me like this.”

“Who else am I going to take?”

“Your mother?”

Eye roll.

“Your sister-in-law?”

Eye roll.

“Cindy?”

“I love the girl, but she doesn’t really know my family. And she can’t spot a sale to save her life.”

“I can’t spot sales!”

“But you know my family. Oh! I wanna hit this one.”

He sighed as he was dragged—yes, dragged—into Another Store. Under his breath, he muttered, “You could go alone.”

She continued on, oblivious. Or at least very good at faking it. He hoped this earned him some major points.

“What do you think of this?” She held up a cashmere-blend sweater in baby blue.

“For who?”

Her lips puckered in moue. “Me.”

“I thought we were shopping for your friends and family.” He mock glared. Well, mostly mock.

Marie flapped her hand at him. “Just tell me.”

He sighed and glanced over to the picked-through selection. “It’s gorgeous, but is it even in your size?”

She bounced—like she hadn’t even considered that, somehow—and twirled back to the rack, furiously searching through the remaining sweaters. She chirped and pulled out a much larger size in what Oscar could only call puce, folded it over her arm, and returned to the baby-blue ones. “I’ll have to ask if they have more in the bac— Oh my god, look at that sale!” She tossed the blue sweater to him. “Can you find a salesperson, and ask if they have a small? I need to be over there!”

And she was gone. Which left him with two options: say no and be a horrible friend, or say yes and tear through the crowds to find an overworked, overstressed salesperson. Joy.

With a sigh, he searched for someone in the store’s dress-coded uniform, and wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse when he spotted the cute guy smiling winsomely, surrounded by a mob of people. The most attractive thing was that his mob was smaller than the mob surrounding all the other salespeople.

Gritting his teeth, he clenched the sweater and elbowed his way over through arguing women, grumbling men, and a few screaming children. And that was only across six feet.

When he finally arrived at his destination, he noticed his salesperson was six inches shorter than him, with curly blond hair, and wearing an elf hat. He had shimmering blue eyes and apple-round cheeks. He couldn’t possibly be real.

The bright-blue eyes flashed up to Oscar with a literal sparkle in his eye, although that had to be the overhead lights. “Hello! How can I help you?”

Despite his elfish appearance, the dude’s voice wasn’t high-pitched. In fact, to keep with the ridiculous metaphor developing in Oscar’s mind, it was more like caramel or hot chocolate. It was almost enough to make him forget where he was.

And then some jackass elbowed him in the back, hard, and he was shoved forward. He growled and pushed back, not taking his eyes off his little elf helper. “Hi. I was wondering if you have more sizes of this in the back? I need a small.” He held up the sweater in question.

The little elf’s lips puckered in thought. “I can check, sir, but I think what we have out is all we have. Wait right here.”

He was gone in a flash, and Oscar was left standing there, blinking at the space where the man had been.

“Ex-scuse me,” a woman lashed out. “Can we not stand in the middle of the aisle, puh-lease?”

He heaved a sigh and stepped back—the six inches he could—to let the woman pass. She scrunched her nose at him and hurried on to the next big sale. Restraining another sigh, he wished he could close his eyes and sink into the floor, or vanish, or at least run the hell out of here. But no, he waited, like a good friend, for the salesperson to return. And it seemed to be taking forever, but he was sure that was his imagination—and frustration—playing tricks on him.

Glancing around, he checked on where Marie was, because today he wouldn’t put it past her to leave without him or the sweater, and found her almost swallowed up in the jewelry section. He nodded and looked back to where his elf had been, only to find his helper had reappeared, cheeks rosier, curls somehow unrulier, and elf hat slightly crooked.

“Good news! There was one small tucked behind another bunch.” He held up a slightly rumpled blue sweater. “Looks like it may have gotten missed when the stock was brought out. It doesn’t look damaged or anything, but feel free to inspect it and let me know…”

The guy trailed off, probably because Oscar was staring at his hat. It shouldn’t have been humanly possible for a disheveled hat to make him that much cuter. But it did. Oscar slung the sweater he was still holding over his shoulder, reached out, righted the salesperson’s hat, and then tucked a particularly rebellious curl under the rim. There. He smiled. Much better.

“Uh, sir?” the guy asked, not quite squeaking, but definitely breathily.

Oscar’s eyes shot down to meet those sparkling blues. “Oh! Sorry. It was… You must have knocked it when you were getting the sweater. So I… It was only right that I help. Thank you. For the sweater.”

Certainly not for the pounding of his heart. He held out his hand for the top.

The elf’s uncertain, wide eyes scrunched up with his grin. “Thank you for fixing it.”

He really had the bluest eyes. It seemed like they would have to be contacts, but Oscar didn’t think even a company could manufacture that pure a blue.

“Ex-scuse me!”

Oh hell, it was the woman from before. Oscar couldn’t move much and was about to tell the woman she could probably go around, but the little elf flashed a customer’s-always-right expression and glided over, clearing the aisle and putting not much between them but the sweater.

Oscar’s breath caught. The little elf beamed up at him.

“Is there anything else I can help you with today, sir?”

Oscar had some ideas. Some very dirty ideas, actually. But then the elf blinked, casting a glance at the chaos surrounding them, and Oscar remembered now wasn’t a good time to be hitting on a salesperson.

And that he was waist-deep in Black Friday. He groaned and slid his fingers around the small sweater, gently taking it.

“I think this will be all. Thank you very much,” he murmured—well, as much as he could murmur and still be heard in this mess.

The elf’s smile widened—if that was possible, and somehow it was—and his eyebrows lifted with the excitement strewn across his face. “Well, I hope you have a good day. And I really hope you come back again sometime.”

Then, just like that, Oscar’s helpful little elf was swallowed up by the crowd.

The cheerful good-bye was probably a standard store requirement, Oscar told himself as he turned to hunt down Marie. It almost certainly wasn’t to entice him to return just to see his elf again. The guy probably wasn’t interested.

Oscar sighed. Though his eyes had seemed to light up when they’d been pressed together. And he hadn’t minded Oscar taking certain privileges with his hat. And he had been so very helpful. Which, yeah, it was his job, but…

A tiny tot ran into his shin, the mother glared at him, probably for standing in space that her child wanted to occupy. When he looked around, he realized he’d lost where Marie was.

“Goddamn it!”

Several glares were shot his way. He didn’t care, though.

“Did you find someone?” popped Marie’s voice from behind him.

He spun around, clenching both sweaters to his chest. “Jesus!”

“You found one!”

“Yes, I found one,” he snapped, shoving the smaller size at her. When his hand was free, he began searching out the original location, but even with his height advantage, the store was a swirl of bodies and colors. He glared at Marie. “And you can put the other one back.”

She pouted. “But you’re supposed to be helping me—” She clicked her jaw shut at his glare. “I mean, you found one in my size, so thank you so much! Let’s go return this one to the rack.”

She led the deceptively easy way back to the sweaters and hung it up. “Okay, with that done, let’s get on with the day.”

He groaned, knowing that the best part of the day had already walked away.

Purchase
NineStar Press | Amazon
Meet the Author

If there are two types of people in the world, Alex Whitehall probably isn’t one of them, despite being a person. Their favorite pastimes include reading, horseback riding, sleeping, watching geek-tastic television, knitting, eating, and running. And wasting time on the internet. And spending glorious afternoons laughing with friends.

While Alex prefers sleeping over doing anything else (except maybe eating), sometimes they emerges from the cave to be social and to hunt for food at the local market. They can be found blogging, searching the Internet for more books to read, and tending after their aloe plant Cornwall. That’s a lie; the single plant has become an entire forest.

Pronouns: they/them

Website | Twitter |

Goodreads | eMail | Tumblr
Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 SimilarContemporary Gay Romance Books



















Contemporary Romance: Gay Romance: The Professor And The Student (Private Investigator Mystery Teacher Student Romance) (Male Male Contemporary College Romance Book 1)




Price: Check on Amazon
















A Bookworm for Christmas (Gay Romance)




Price: Check on Amazon
















Gay Romance 2: Office Getaway, Cruise To The Caribbean (MM Gay Romance Short Story, Gay First Time, Omega, Alpha Male)




Price: Check on Amazon
















Gay Romance: Romantic Comedy: I Now Pronounce You Husband and Husband (Hockey Best Friend LGBT Romance) (Short Reads Gay Contemporary Romance Book 1)




Price: Check on Amazon
















A Husband For The Family: Gay Best Friend Billionaire Wedding Romance (First Time Marriage Contemporary Romance Book 1)




Price: Check on Amazon






‹
›


0?z-b.scroll:z+b.scroll)}),b.auto&&h()}function h(){A=setTimeout(function(){c(z+b.scroll)},b.auto)}function i(){return s.slice(z).slice(0,w)}function j(a){var c;a=y-w+1&&(c=a-x-b.scroll,q.css(o,-(c*t)+"px"),z=c+b.scroll)}function k(a){0>a?z=0:a>y-w&&(z=y-w)}function l(){a(b.btnPrev+","+b.btnNext).removeClass("disabled"),a(z-b.scrolly-w&&b.btnNext||[]).addClass("disabled")}function m(c){n=!0,q.animate("left"==o?{left:-(z*t)}:{top:-(z*t)},a.extend({duration:b.speed,easing:b.easing},c))}var n,o,p,q,r,s,t,u,v,w,x,y,z,A,B=a(this);d(),e(),f(),g()})},a.fn.jCarouselLite.options={btnPrev:null,btnNext:null,btnGo:null,mouseWheel:!1,auto:null,speed:200,easing:null,vertical:!1,circular:!0,visible:3,start:0,scroll:1,beforeStart:null,afterEnd:null}}(jQuery);

Save

Save

The post Book Blitz: A Christmas for Oscar by Alex Whitehall appeared first on A.O. Chika Book Blog.

Book Blitz: Interlude – First Noel by Tal Bauer

Title:  Interlude: First Noel

Series: The Executive Office, Book 1.5

Author: Tal Bauer

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: December 19. 2016

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 60800

Genre: Romance, holiday, contemporary, demisexual, gay

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Before Ethan returns to DC…

Before he becomes Jack’s first gentleman…

Jack and Ethan share their first Christmas together.

Step back to Jack and Ethan’s first Christmas season and the tentative early months of their relationship under the world’s spotlight.

Three months into Ethan’s transfer-in-exile in Des Moines, Iowa, the pressures of dating Jack, the president of the United States, start to wear Ethan down. His weeks are measured by the days he works in Iowa, chasing counterfeiters and financial crimes, and the weekends he manages to steal with Jack back in DC. The media stalks his every move, he’s isolated by his coworkers, and loneliness hammers at his heart.

In DC, Jack tries to piece together a global alliance to take down the Caliphate, while the world seems focused on tearing apart his personal life. Hostility surrounds him from all corners of the globe, but a surprise offer from President Sergey Puchkov may pave the way for a tentative alliance…and perhaps the beginning of a friendship.

As Ethan finds himself in the middle of an investigation that rubs too deeply against his soul and Jack tries to balance leading the free world and keeping his and Ethan’s relationship going, the two men must face what their love has become…and where they are heading together.

Excerpt

Tal Bauer © 2016

All Rights Reserved

“Twenty-seven credit cards, thirty thousand in hundreds—all with the exact same serial number—a credit card reader and a laptop.” United States Secret Service Special Agent Blake Becker whistled, shaking his head, and glared at the two suspects in handcuffs sitting in the back of the Des Moines police cruiser. “We bagged another couple counterfeiters, huh?” He squinted at Ethan, snowflakes clinging to the ends of his eyelashes. Becker was twelve years younger than Ethan, and two years out of the training center at Rowley. He was an infant, compared to Ethan.

Ethan said nothing. Becker’s use of “we” was disingenuous. Ethan had put together the case after pulling files from three different states. He’d worked long, lonely hours in his cubicle, reading arrest records and statements until his eyeballs felt like they were bleeding. He’d tracked the washed bills, the counterfeit currency used in stores and banks across Iowa, Nebraska, and South Dakota. Built a timeline along one wall of his cube, tracking the rise of counterfeit bills in the tristate area. Connected the dots, leading them to bust this run down motel room and this raggedy team of counterfeiters.

And, when he’d presented his case to Shepherd, the Special Agent in Charge of the small Des Moines field office, Shepherd had assigned Blake Becker as the lead agent, over Ethan. Days later, after Becker filed the affidavit under his name, he and Ethan, along with the Des Moines police, broke down the door of the motel room their suspects were living in and arrested two men in their boxers and stained tank tops. One of the men had a mullet. The other had a greasy mustache and not much hair on the top of his head.

Two white news vans sloshed through the motel’s parking lot. Muddy snowmelt splattered the sides of the vans, arching away from salt-crusted tires. On top of both, satellite dishes and transmission poles collected fat snowflakes beneath the dreary sky. Red and blue police lights swirled, giving a splash of color to the monotonous Midwestern gloom.

Becker jerked his head toward the new arrivals. “Media is here. Shepherd wants you to book it. Doesn’t want you anywhere near the press.”

Nodding once, Ethan kept his head down and headed for his Secret Service car, a nondescript sedan issued to him by the Des Moines office. He tucked his face into his scarf and his hands in the pockets of his trench coat, not looking toward the news vans.

If there was one thing Shepherd hated more than Ethan, it was the media attention Ethan received. “Secret Service Seduction” “Who Really is the Boyfriend of the President of the United States.” “Boyfriend in Exile; Can Their Relationship Survive?” “What are the Presidential Boyfriend’s Duties?” “Secret Service Hiding One of Their Own?”

He slid into his car, slamming the door shut. Leaning back, he exhaled, watching for a moment as the news crews set up around the motel parking lot, peering at the Special Agents and police processing the scene.

Ethan grabbed a pair of sunglasses and a ball cap from the passenger seat before he started his car. The sunglasses turned the drab gray sky almost black, but he kept them on as he backed up, maneuvering out of the crowd of police vehicles.

One of the reporters spotted his car leaving. She waved to her cameraman and jogged across the snowmelt, her brown boots sticky with slush. He tried to speed up, but she made it to his driver’s side as he waited to turn onto the street.

“Mr. Reichenbach?” She knocked on the glass, and her cameramen scraped their news camera’s lens over his window. “Mr. Reichenbach, can you talk about your involvement with the Des Moines Secret Service? What are your official duties?”

His jaw clenched, and his fingers gripped the steering wheel. A few more seconds, a few passing cars, and he could peel out of there.

“How does it feel to be separated from the president? Are you and President Spiers still together? It’s been a while since you were both seen togeth―”

Finally, a break in the traffic. Ethan wanted to slam down on the accelerator, spin his wheels and spray the reporter with mud and snow. But he couldn’t. Everything―every single thing―he did was a reflection on Jack. A reflection on the president of the United States.

He revved his engine once, a warning, and then rolled forward. The camera squealed across his window, and the reporter pounded on the glass, repeating her questions, almost shouting.

And then, he was out of the parking lot, back on the main road. He floored it, speeding off as the news camera tracked him. A few blocks away, he ditched the sunglasses, throwing them into the passenger seat with a snarl.

Three months in exile. Three months of living in Des Moines, Iowa—away from Washington DC, his friends, and the love of his life: Jack Spiers, the president of the United States.

His head hit the sedan’s headrest again, and his fingers kneaded the steering wheel. Three months of counting the days―and sometimes the hours―until he could see Jack again. He lived for Friday evening through Sunday night, when he flew to DC, and the forty-eight hours at least, it was just him and Jack. If he squinted while he was there, it was almost like it had been before everything came out, when they were hiding what they’d become together, and when Ethan had been his Secret Service lead.

Day in and day out, they’d been at each other’s side. Inseparable…and sharing a scandalous secret.

But every weekend ended, and Sunday night came, and with it, another flight back to Des Moines.

Ethan glared at the clock in his dash. It was too early to go back to his apartment and do anything but bang around the empty walls and sulk, and too late to go back to work and expect to get anything done. Still, he turned for the office, heading back downtown. At the least, he could work out in the private gym for the agents assigned to the Federal Building. FBI, DEA, ATF, Secret Service, and Customs all shared one building.

And all the agents seemed to share the same wide-eyed, horrified distance from Ethan. He moved like a pariah, as though he’d been branded with a scarlet letter and anyone who came near him would suffer the same catastrophic fall from grace he had.

From the most prestigious posting in the Secret Service―protecting the president of the United States―to puzzling through counterfeiting investigations out of a tiny field office in the Midwest. And giving those investigations up to another agent, a junior agent, and running from the media.

He waited at the stoplight downtown, just before the turn into the Federal Building’s garage, listening to his wipers scrape snow off the window. The red traffic light blurred through the slush on his glass, tinting the inside of his sedan a dark crimson. Christmas lights stretched overhead, arching over the streets and between the buildings. Evergreen garlands clung to the streetlights, and LED wreaths hung at every intersection. Over the weekend, Christmas had descended, just days after Thanksgiving.

If he knew then what he knew now, would he do it all again? Make the same choices? Take the same risks? Kiss Jack―the president, his sworn duty, his job―and throw caution to the wind, going against his very bones, his dedication to his career and the Secret Service?

The wipers slid against the glass again, squeaking, and the light turned green. His tires slipped on the snow, skidding out briefly, but he slogged across the intersection and turned into the underground parking garage.

Of course he would. Those forty-eight hours each week with Jack made everything else worth it. Made bearable the isolation, the intrusive media, the sidelong glares and bitten off conversations that abruptly stopped in his presence.

How his toes would curl as they kissed. Jack’s smile, and the way his eyes lit up for Ethan alone. How Jack had looked at him when he burst into the Oval Office, gunfire cracking the air, taking out Jeff Gottschalk and Black Fox’s operatives. Like Ethan was his whole world, the sun rising in the sky just for him.

Ethan had never loved anyone like he loved Jack. And he’d never been loved by anyone the way Jack loved him. It was still new, just six months old, but that love had remade Ethan’s entire world. So far, he’d put up with anything. Everything. As long as Jack kept looking at him like that. Kept loving him like that.

But, it had been over two weeks since he’d last been with Jack. ‘Every weekend’ had turned into something else. Loneliness scratched at the base of his heart, and whispers of fear snaked down his bones.

Ethan wound through the underground garage and pulled into his assigned space, in the corner beneath the leaking air compressor and next to the dumpster that always smelled like stale piss.

Shepherd’s car was still in his space. Great. He’d probably already seen the news footage of him, playing over and over on the local stations before being picked up by the national news for prime-time replay. He’d be pissed. More than pissed.

Sighing, Ethan badged into the building and onto the elevator, punching the button for the Secret Service’s floor. When the elevator spat him out, he gave Agent Gibson a tight smile as he passed him.

Gibson didn’t smile back.

Ethan badged into the backdoor of the office, heading for his cube and his gym bag. On the way, he passed Shepherd’s open office door.

The TV hanging on the wall in his office was on, images of Ethan driving out of the motel parking lot playing on repeat as the news anchor droned on about how evasive he’d been, how he hadn’t answered any questions. About what his presence at the crime scene might mean. And, of course, wondering why he hadn’t been seen with the president, or in DC, in weeks. They were America’s most scandalous couple, perhaps the world’s. The question had been blaring from every radio, every gossip magazine, every late night talk show host, almost from the moment they’d been photographed kissing on the North Lawn. Were they still together?

Of course, the questions had gotten louder these past few weeks.

Shepherd’s glare fixed on Ethan. Shepherd pursed his lips as he perched on the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his slight pudge, a beer gut in the making. His tie was undone, the first few buttons loose.

Ethan grabbed his gym bag, slung it over his shoulder, and trudged to Shepherd’s door. “Sir, I left as soon as they arrived. She chased me down. I wasn’t trying to get in front of the cameras.”

Shepherd pinched the bridge of his nose. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Ethan stayed silent.

“Thanks to this―” Shepherd gestured to the TV. “—the US Attorney is going to have to answer a million questions about you from the whatever defense these guys cobble together. What you were doing there. Why you were involved.”

“I put the case together―”

“And then it was given to Becker. All of it. The entire thing. Your fingerprints were stripped from it.” Shepherd sighed again. “I don’t want some criminal defense attorney trying to drag the president into one of our cases. Asking about what kind of special favors you get, or what the president is interested in, or how you don’t play by the rules. We have to prove everything you do is one hundred and ten percent above board.”

“Everything I’ve done here has been completely legal―”

“It’s what you did before you got here.” Shepherd fixed Ethan with another hard glare. “It’s your character. The kinds of rules you break. A good defense attorney would rip you to shreds on the stand.”

Ethan’s chest felt like it caved in. “I have never compromised an investigation for any reason.”

“No.” Shepherd snorted. “You just compromised the president.”

Silence.

“Get out of here.” Shepherd waved Ethan away, dismissing him as he stood. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and the president, and I don’t want to know.” His hand cut through the air, before Ethan spoke. He jerked his chin to the TV, and the reporter musing about Ethan and Jack’s relationship being on the rocks, or worse. “But you’ve gotten grumpier these past few weeks. And that’s saying something.” Shepherd squinted at him. “Go do something about that. If the media is going to hound you everywhere, you don’t want them thinking you’re a half breath away from snapping. Don’t add fuel to the fire.”

Clearing his throat, Ethan nodded once while Shepherd shuffled papers on his desk, dropping a stack of manila folders into his drawer. “Sir, I have a question for you.”

Shepherd arched his eyebrows and grunted.

“I submitted my vacation request for the holidays, but you haven’t approved it yet. Is there a problem?” Ethan had lost vacation time in his demotion, and had used up what he did have flying back and forth to DC. He was scrapping the last days he had to put together a trip back east over Christmas. It wasn’t as long as he wanted, but it was what he had.

Shepherd barked out a harsh laugh, slamming a stack of papers down on his desk. “Why do you do this?”

“Sir?”

“Why do you pretend like you follow the rules? Like they even matter to you? You can break every rule we have and nothing will happen to you.”

“That’s not who I am,” Ethan growled. “I don’t act that way.”

“That’s exactly who you are. And exactly how you acted.”

Ethan’s frown deepened, turning to a scowl. “Sir, I don’t get any special treatment―”

“Of course you do!” Shepherd cried. His hands rose, and then he was shouting, pointing at Ethan as his face turned red. “Why do you even bother coming in? Why do you put up the pretense of being an agent? You’d make it easier for everyone if you just stopped pretending!”

“I’m not pretending!” Ethan roared. “I’m doing my job!”

Shepherd laughed, long and loud. “You stopped doing your job the moment you compromised yourself and the president!”

“I am still an agent―” Ethan seethed.

“You’re a Goddamn pain in my ass.” Shepherd cut him off. “And I have no clue why you’re still an agent. You shouldn’t be. You should have been forced to turn in your badge and your gun and got kicked out of the Service.”

Ethan’s jaw snapped shut, his teeth clicking together.

“Let me be perfectly clear. I don’t give a shit what you do. Come to work. Don’t come to work. Go on vacation for the entire month of December. Run away with the president and get drunk on some beach. I don’t give a shit. Just stop wasting my time, okay?”

Ethan nodded once. “Sir.”

“Get out of my office.”

His hand clenched around the strap of his duffel, and his teeth ground together, but he strode out of Shepherd’s office with his chin held high. Rage roared through him, deep in his veins.

There had better not be anyone in the gym downstairs. He had to get this out, pound it out into a punching bag until his knuckles split and he vomited in the corner. He had to get this out, because in three hours, Jack was going to call him on his computer, and he couldn’t face Jack like this. Not about to fly apart, quaking with too much fury and raw shame. It hurt, God, it hurt. But Jack couldn’t see that. He couldn’t ever see it.

Purchase
NineStar Press | Amazon

Meet the Author

Tal Bauer writes LGBT fiction and romance, bringing together a career in law enforcement, trauma medicine, and international humanitarian and disaster relief work to create dynamic, strong characters, intriguing plots, and unique, exotic locations. Tal’s stories weave together pulse-pounding adventure, cunning intrigue, and sweeping romance. Tal is a member of the Romance Writers of America and the Mystery Writers of America.

Pronouns: they/them

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Similar Books You Might Like



















A Bookworm for Christmas (Gay Romance)




Price: Check on Amazon
















Gay Romance: Romantic Comedy: I Now Pronounce You Husband and Husband (Hockey Best Friend LGBT Romance) (Short Reads Gay Contemporary Romance Book 1)




Price: Check on Amazon
















Contemporary Romance: Gay Romance: The Professor And The Student (Private Investigator Mystery Teacher Student Romance) (Male Male Contemporary College Romance Book 1)




Price: Check on Amazon
















Gay Romance: First Shadow (Bad Boy Fantasy Sci-fi Paranormal New Adult and College Gay Romance) (Power of Love Provocative Taboo Secret Baby Supernatural LGBT Short Stories)




Price: Check on Amazon






‹
›


0?z-b.scroll:z+b.scroll)}),b.auto&&h()}function h(){A=setTimeout(function(){c(z+b.scroll)},b.auto)}function i(){return s.slice(z).slice(0,w)}function j(a){var c;a=y-w+1&&(c=a-x-b.scroll,q.css(o,-(c*t)+"px"),z=c+b.scroll)}function k(a){0>a?z=0:a>y-w&&(z=y-w)}function l(){a(b.btnPrev+","+b.btnNext).removeClass("disabled"),a(z-b.scrolly-w&&b.btnNext||[]).addClass("disabled")}function m(c){n=!0,q.animate("left"==o?{left:-(z*t)}:{top:-(z*t)},a.extend({duration:b.speed,easing:b.easing},c))}var n,o,p,q,r,s,t,u,v,w,x,y,z,A,B=a(this);d(),e(),f(),g()})},a.fn.jCarouselLite.options={btnPrev:null,btnNext:null,btnGo:null,mouseWheel:!1,auto:null,speed:200,easing:null,vertical:!1,circular:!0,visible:3,start:0,scroll:1,beforeStart:null,afterEnd:null}}(jQuery);

Save

Save

The post Book Blitz: Interlude – First Noel by Tal Bauer appeared first on A.O. Chika Book Blog.

Book Blitz: Hearts Alight by Elliot Cooper

Title:  Hearts Alight

Author: Elliot Cooper

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: December 19, 2016

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 26700

Genre: Romance, paranormal, holiday

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Dave Cunningham hates the rampant consumerism that’s come to dominate his family’s Hanukkah celebrations. But a chance to bring a bit of a holiday happiness to his long-time crush, Amit Cohen, helps put him in a more festive mood.

In the quest to craft the perfect gift, Dave tries to urge a few personal details out of stoic Amit. Unintentionally, he learns the Cohen family’s secret: Amit is a golem. But Amit has a problem that runs deeper than his magical origin, and a Hanukkah miracle might be the only thing that will keep the budding flame between him and Dave from going out.

Excerpt

Elliot Cooper © 2016

All Rights Reserved

Nothing made Dave Cunningham want to hibernate in his apartment for the winter quite like shopping for Hanukkah gifts with his brother-in-law. He stared up at the shelves full of brightly colored toys with an internal groan. Only another hour, he told himself. Two if he was unlucky. He fought the urge to plug his headphones into his ears to drown out the omnipresent Christmas music filling the store.

“What d’you think of this LEGO set?” Jake held up a large box depicting a desert island playset, complete with pirates and skeletons. His wide brown eyes looked frantic, panicked. He shook the box and pulled a face at the heavy rattling. “Shoshie loves pirates, but she’s probably too old for LEGOs. Or…I mean, is anyone ever too old for LEGOs?”

“She’ll love whatever you get her.” Dave half glared at Jake but caught himself and shook his head. It wasn’t Jake’s fault the delightful minor holiday of their youth had been swept up in consumerism. “You shouldn’t have to get her anything. We go through this same torture every year.”

“It’s not torture; it’s fun. It’s festive!” Jake insisted and flashed a bright smile. “Just thinking about her face when she opens the big one on the eighth night? I love it. And, more importantly, she loves it.”

“My sister likes getting presents,” Dave said. He couldn’t help but blame her for the deterioration of their family’s Hanukkah celebrations. There wasn’t any malice left in his blame, though, just an understanding of the sad truth. In trying to keep Shoshana invested in and excited about her Jewish heritage, their parents had put them on a dark path to celebrating materialism.

It had started when he was in high school and Shoshana was in middle school. First, with her upset at her Christmas-celebrating friends and their incredible hauls of gifts. Then the growing jealousy over not being able to participate in the Santa-spangled sweep of dominant American culture. Finally, they’d all endured one too many crying fits and months-long debates about whether or not modern―or historical―Christmas was even about Jesus’s birthday.

Their mother and father decided to do what some of their friends had done: one small gift for each night of Hanukkah. And since their father had grown up in a Christian family, he liked the idea of gifts exchanged between everyone, not just from parents to children.

For the first few years, the new tradition seemed all right. Shoshana’d been made happy. Dave had even enjoyed helping pick out gifts for his sister and parents. But as time went on, the presents got bigger, and their importance in the scheme of the holiday celebrations almost usurped their father’s latkes. They’d definitely overshadowed the lighting of the menorah and family game time.

“Don’t act all high and mighty like you don’t like gifts,” Jake said, arching a brow. He glanced back at the second box he’d picked up―a pirate LEGO set of a huge ship. “Ship or island?”

“Ship, so she can display it after it’s built.” Dave didn’t bother looking at the boxes or their respective price tags. Jake made plenty good money running Gin Teal, his hipster bar downtown. “I’m not saying I don’t like gifts or that she shouldn’t. Just that Hanukkah isn’t about gifts. It’s the festival of lights. Celebrating the rededication of the Temple. The miracle of the oil. Spending time with family and―”

“You’re saying you don’t want a totally secular Hanukkah, I get it. But Shoshie does.” Jake put the ship set in his shopping cart and headed down the aisle toward the board games. “She’s an atheist. I’m agnostic. It works for us and we can celebrate with old traditions and more modern ones. Without guilt, even.”

Dave plucked at the fringe on his blue-and-silver-striped scarf, his mind a jumble of rebuttals. There was more to it than the consumerism, the secular chokehold. He didn’t mind a dash of either. Modernity wasn’t the problem. It was the lack of balance. And the horrible pressure to be thoughtful and tasteful and have enough money to bring material happiness to his loved ones. He’d tried not giving gifts the year before, after explaining his tight budget and distaste of the focus on presents. No one had batted an eye; they’d all been understanding. And then they’d lavished him with gifts and, without meaning to, had made him feel terrible for not being able to reciprocate. It was a vicious cycle he couldn’t break.

“Maybe I should just celebrate on my own this year. I could open up my schedule to take more evening shifts at work, make a little extra money. Business is picking up with people wanting to do pottery-painting parties to make holiday gifts. And we’re booked up for three of our five holiday-themed painting classes,” Dave said as he trailed after Jake, hands thrust deep into his jeans pockets.

“You just said Hanukkah is about families celebrating together.” Jake shot him another look, pursing his lips in disbelief. A slow smile crept across his lips. “Oh, I know what this Scrooge act is about.”

The gleam in his eyes was the same one Shoshana and his mom got when they tried to set him up on dates.

“Don’t say it!”

“You’re lonely. Romantically lonely.” Jake picked up a game box and skimmed over the descriptions on its side and back. “Hiding at work and in your apartment isn’t going to change that. Besides, no one’s going to be doing art classes the week after Christmas. You’ve told me before your Valentine’s customers don’t start until after the first of the year.”

Dave groaned and picked up a Magic 8 Ball, flipping it over a few times without reading the message in the inky window.

At least Jake hadn’t said the dreaded “you need to find a woman.” Dave had tried dating women, but it had never worked out, for one reason or another. He was too oblivious. Too attentive. Too observant. Not observant enough. And, once, he’d been so lackluster in bed that his girlfriend had told him to stop, thanked him for his time, and walked out of his life.

Dating men hadn’t gone much better, if he were being honest with himself. He was no towering gym-honed testament to manhood, with his short stature and soft middle. He wasn’t highly educated, having done a failed stint at one of the local community colleges. He didn’t have much money, though he did have a decent job at his dad’s art studio. Since he’d gotten his own place, he’d been treading water. No one wanted to stick around and join him in his ambitionless pool.

“You should swing by the bar Saturday night,” Jake said after placing a dice game in his cart. He smiled at Dave with the brotherly warmth that had been there since high school, when they’d only been best friends, and then reached over to grip Dave’s hunched shoulder. “I’ll buy you a beer if you’ll just show up. You don’t even have to talk to anyone. Just…be present.” He smirked and cocked his head to the side, putting one fabulously thick sideburn and wooden earlobe plug on display.

“Har-dee-har. Let’s see what the oracle has to say. Should I go to Jake’s hipster haven on Saturday?” Dave shook the Magic 8 Ball, still secure in its packaging. When he flipped the ball over, the answer floated to the window. Dave sighed. “It is decidedly so.”

“Good!” Jake pushed his cart down toward the seasonal area of the store, beyond the tinsel trees and endcaps bursting with foil bows and rolls of wrapping paper. “Just a heads up, my uncle Amit’s working that night.”

The man was physically everything Dave wasn’t: chiseled muscles, strong chin, tall, huge hands, and slightly wavy black hair that swept perfectly to one side. Amit Cohen straddled that maddening line between men Dave wanted to be and men he wanted to be with. So what if he was a reclusive workaholic?

Purchase
NineStar Press | Amazon
Meet the Author

Elliot Cooper writes speculative fiction featuring queer characters. His novels and novellas come with hopeful and happy endings, though his short fiction runs the gamut of styles and genres. He strives above all to make his readers feel, while also increasing positive representation of LGBTQ characters and their stories.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Save

Save

Save

The post Book Blitz: Hearts Alight by Elliot Cooper appeared first on A.O. Chika Book Blog.

Book Blitz: Epiphany by L.A. Stockman

Title:  Epiphany

Author: L.A. Stockman

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: Dec 12

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 14900

Genre: Romance, paranormal, holiday

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Khafra has spent more than three thousand years wandering the Earth, fascinated by humanity and its many rises and falls. When he meets a young student at Cambridge, he is utterly unprepared for the effect Alfie has on him. Eager and open and full of wonder, Alfie is perhaps the perfect submissive.

While the sex is spectacular, the real surprise for Khafra is his growing love for Alfie. Such unions are grand while they last, but inevitably doomed to time and mortality. Can he open his heart one more time, for a beautiful young man whose defiance of custom and courage in the face of danger are so captivating? Or will he continue as he has for so long, living on the fringe?

Everything depends on the outcome of Epiphany.

Excerpt

L.A. Stockman © 2016

All Rights Reserved

After three millennia or so of vampiredom, one might suppose that Khafra would have outgrown hiding behind potted plants and making fun of high society. However, that assumption would be belied by the fact that he was here at the Pomdell’s holiday Winter Ball, secreted in a curtained alcove with the two young Pomdell siblings doing precisely that.

“You are quite sure?” Giggles threatened to engulf Alfie, and the words came out as a muffled snort that was quite endearing.

“Oh yes,” Khafra whispered back, waggling his dark eyebrows.

Alfie shook with suppressed laughter and buried his face in the collar of Khafra’s jacket when it became too much of an effort to remain silent.

“The Right Honourable Marquis of Dorset is unequivocally gagging for it,” Khafra continued.

Their hiding place—a small niche behind a dark, claret-red velvet curtain, a garland of holly, and a manicured ficus plant—was not as private as it might be. Thankfully, Khafra was skilled with shadows—when to stay in them and when to come out of them. And when to sidestep just a hair to keep the sweet, unwise young man hanging onto him from being seen by people who would judge him too harshly.

“According to whom?” Alfie asked, his dark curls tickling as he bent down to nuzzle at Khafra’s ear.

“A friend. Not only does he prefer the company of men, he only hires the big, rough boys.” Khafra smoothed a long-fingered hand over Alfie’s hair, and returned his sister Susanna’s smile.

“Gossip is a sin.” Susanna hissed the last word, grinning all the same.

“So is hypocrisy,” Khafra countered, replete with his own answering hiss on the final syllable. “Tsk. He’s one of the foremost moralists of our day. Only last week, he was arguing in front of the House of Lords for stiffer penalties for onanism and sodomy.”

“Stiffer!” Alfie was biting his lip bloody, trying not to howl with laughter.

Granted, the image of the terribly priggish, horribly upright Marquis getting it put to was fairly hilarious, but gales of laughter would give away their position.

“Only one way to stop your mouth,” Khafra murmured, tugging Alfie’s heart-shaped face closer to lick the blood off his lip. The copper-richness tingled on his tongue, reminding him how long it had been since he’d last eaten.

Purchase
NineStar Press | Amazon

Meet the Author

L.A. is a professional writer finally crossing over into fiction. She has a background in the Classics and Religious Studies, and those themes will come up again and again in her work. L.A. lives in Texas, has two incredible kids, and a varying number of rescue mutts. Reach out to her on Twitter; she’d love to hear from you!

Website | Facebook | Twitter |

Goodreads | Website
Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Save

Save

The post Book Blitz: Epiphany by L.A. Stockman appeared first on A.O. Chika Book Blog.