Enchanting Readers One Author At A Time!

Friday, August 22, 2014

Amy Lane's "Beneath The Stain" Blog Tour


Tour Stops

August 22, 2014
Rainbow Gold Reviews
Sunshine Book Promotions

August 23, 2014
elisa - my reviews and ramblings

August 24, 2014
My Fiction Nook

August 25, 2014
Coffee and Porn in the Morning  (aka Cupoporn)

August 26, 2014
Boys in our Books

August 27, 2014
Nic Starr
Because Two Men Are Better Than One


August 28, 2014
Scrollin' Them Papers

August 29, 2014
Regular Guys. Hot Romance

August 30, 2014
Bronwyn Heeley

August 31, 2014
BookwormBridgette's World

September 1, 2014
BiblioJunkies

September 2, 2014
books are love

September 3, 2014
TT Kove

September 4, 2014
In The Pages of a Good Book



Beneath The Stain
by Amy Lane

Blurb: 
In a town as small as Tyson, CA, everybody knew the four brothers with the four different fathers-- and their penchant for making good music when they weren't getting into trouble. For Mackey Sanders, playing in Outbreak Monkey with his brothers and their friends—especially Grant Adams--made Tyson bearable. But Grant has plans for getting Mackey and the Sanders boys out of Tyson, even if that means staying behind.

Between the heartbreak of leaving Grant and the terrifying, glamorous life of rock stardom, Mackey is adrift and sinking fast. When he's hit rock bottom, Trav Ford shows up, courtesy of their record company and a producer who wants to see what Mackey can do if he doesn't flame out first. But cleaning up his act means coming clean about Grant, and that's not easy to do or say. Mackey might make it with Trav's help--but Trav's not sure he's going to survive falling in love with Mackey.

Mackey James Sanders comes with a whole lot of messy, painful baggage, and law-and-order Trav doesn't do messy or painful. And just when Trav thinks they may have mastered every demon in Mackey's past, the biggest, baddest demon of all comes knocking.




Available to pre-order at



Release Date:
August 29, 2014


Five Ways to Buy 

Option 1: Serial Package 
  • Automatically get each part with special content on your bookshelf as it is released and the digital novel upon release. Serial runs 8/29/14-10/10/14. Novel releases 10/17/14. 
  • $12.99. This option only available through dreamspinnerpress.com

Option 2: Serial Deluxe Package 
  • Automatically get each part with special content on your bookshelf as it is released and the digital novel upon release. Serial runs 8/29/14-10/10/14. Novel releases 10/17/14. 
  • Also received a signed paperback mailed to you upon novel release. 
  • $24.99 +shipping. This option only available through dreamspinnerpress.com

Options 3: Serial Only (7 parts) 
  • Buy individual parts with special content weekly for $1.99. Serial runs 8/29/14-10/10/14. 

Options 4 & 5: Novel 
  • Purchase the complete novel in eBook or paperback, no special content included. Pre-sales begin 9/17/14. Novel releases 10/17/14. 
  • eBook $6.99, paperback $17.99 
  • Upon complete novel release, the serial will no longer be available.


Excerpt

You Can’t Always Get What You Want
... from the Mighty Hunter Gazette— April 20

And special news, our very own homegrown band, Outbreak Monkey, will be performing a six- song set between D.J. Boomer’s dance music at the Graham Winters High School prom. The band, headed by McKay “Mackey” Sanders on lead vocals, Jeff Sanders on bass and their brother Kell Sanders on lead guitar, also features Grant Adams on second lead and Stevie Harris on drum set. All members are Graham Winters High School students and we are proud to have them play!

THE FIRST time McKay Sanders kissed his brother’s best friend, Grant, they were getting high in a burned-out car in the field behind Mackey’s apartment building. Kellogg, who looked old enough to buy even though he’d just turned eighteen, had spent ten dollars the brothers didn't have on cheap Muscat. By the time Grant—whose father had money—brought out the pot, Kellogg, Jefferson, and Stevie were passed out on the old camp blanket Stevie had brought from his dad’s garage.

It was a celebration, of sorts, for landing the prom gig.

The older kids had hogged all the Muscat, though, and Mackey felt left out. Kellogg kept saying it wasn't right to get his little brother drunk, and Mackey kept saying it wasn't right to drink in front of him, but by the time Kellogg was too drunk to argue, there wasn't any wine left.
Jefferson and Stevie had finished off the other bottle all by themselves—just sitting quietly, not making any waves like they usually did, passing the bottle between them.

“Boy, you two argue a lot,” Grant said after Kell let out a gut-buster of a yawn and fell asleep quick as a baby.

Mackey grunted and prodded at his older brother with his toe. The three brothers present looked nothing alike. Kell was built like a tank, with rounded shoulders, a brown-eyed glare, and plain brown hair that he buzz- cut short to his scalp. He was like born practicality, which was why hoarding the wine rankled Mackey so badly. An expenditure like that wasn't going to happen again.

“He gets mad,” Mackey said, letting out a sigh. He slouched back inside the shelter of the car, peering through the doorframe at the iron gray sky. “He’s the one who takes care of us, you know? But not in the band.”

It was true.

Kell could play guitar ably enough, but Mackey....

“You can play everything,” Grant said with admiration. “You’re the one who puts the songs together, figures out who should be playing what. And the shit you write on your own....”

Mackey smiled at him a little shyly. Grant had the most interesting face, with a long, straight nose, full pink lips, and almond-shaped hazel eyes. When Grant looked at him with admiration, it stopped his breath and pulled rubber bands in his stomach. “I just....” He stopped because Grant was reaching into his pocket, and he pulled out a baggie full of weed and papers. “Ooh....”

Grant looked down at the other three, who were sleeping soundly in the late afternoon chill. “I was gonna share,” he said mischievously, “but Kell was a dick about the wine, so I thought you and me?” Mackey nodded, captivated by the thrill of the forbidden—and by the way that cherry-ripe mouth pulled up at the corners when Grant smiled.

“I've never, uhm....”

Grant shrugged. “Me and Kell do sometimes. But, you know, Kell’s usually a good guy.”

Mackey reflected on his sleeping brother. Kell was a good guy. For example, Mackey had a confused memory of their youngest brother Cheever’s dad, the one dad they thought would stick around beyond giving the baby a first name. Cheever’s dad hadn't been very patient, and he’d hated Mackey. Well, Mackey was sort of a smartass. He’d probably had that fist coming. But that hadn't stopped Kell from stepping up and hitting Enos Cheever right back. Mackey and Kell had both needed stitches after that, but their mom had kicked Enos Cheever out—child support or no child support. That was okay. Kell and Jeff had been almost old enough to work by then. They’d only needed assistance for a couple of months.

“He doesn't like it that I can boss him around,” Mackey said glumly. “He... he’s the leader, right? But... but I hear the music, and it just makes sense, you know? And... and you can’t do it wrong just ’cause it’ll hurt Kell’s feelings. It’s augh!” He was waving his hands around, trying to find words, which was funny, because Mackey actually wrote songs. He closed his eyes, ignoring Grant rolling a number, and tried to make a song out of it.

“He wants to keep me happy and he wants to keep me fed, he makes sure that I've got blankets and a place to sleep in a bed, but the music in my heart is like a freight train. It goes and it goes and when I stop it, it’s like pain, but my brother doesn't see it doesn't hear it doesn't feel it, and all there is to do is shove him out of the way. Don’t want to hit my brother with the freight train.”

Mackey’s eyes smarted, because the friction with Kell hurt. They were tight. They had to be tight, because Tyson, California, had a population of ten thousand, and it was a small enough town that the woman with the four sons and four fathers was sort of famous. They had to have each other’s backs or Cheever wouldn't have survived kindergarten.

Mackey blinked and took a deep breath, then coughed.

Damn, pot was strong.

He gazed at Grant, who was staring back in awe over the glowing ember of the joint. Grant held the smoke for a minute and exhaled,shaking his head. “God, it’s gorgeous when you do that,” he said, his voice choked.

“Do what?” Mackey asked, not able to stop staring at him.

“Pull music out of the air,” Grant said, the dreamy smile on his full lips maybe a side effect of the pot, but maybe not. Grant was sitting in the back of the car, his feet at the foot of the blanket the others were sleeping on. He passed Mackey the doobie around the doorframe, and Mackey regarded the joint with a little bit of fear.

“Just inhale?” he asked nervously, and Grant grinned.

“Never done this before?” he confirmed, taking the doobie back.

Mackey shook his head, knowing his face was flushing in spite of the iron mountain chill.

“Here,” Grant murmured, taking another hit. He stood up, still holding the smoke in his lungs, and knelt in front of Mackey, so close their lips almost brushed. Mackey’s mouth fell open, because, holy God, Grant was right there, and Mackey had been trying not to look at him like he had wanted him right there since he was twelve years old.

Grant took his open mouth for invitation and exhaled, right between Mackey’s parted lips.

Mackey’s inhale was so gentle, the smoke hardly tickled. He didn't choke or cough like he’d seen other people do, just breathed in subtle-like, afraid to startle Grant or make him move in any way. His exhale was even quieter, letting the smoke trickle out through his lips and his nose, where it stung.

He swallowed, his mouth dry from the smoke and from the way Grant was staring at him, seemingly as mesmerized as he was by those golden eyes and moist red mouth. “How’s Sam?” he asked, because Samantha Peters had been Grant’s shadow for the past year.

“Not here,” Grant whispered, and the movement made their lips touch.

Mackey closed his eyes, because Grant started this, and Mackey was fourteen to his seventeen. Grant would know what to do.

Grant’s lips on his were whisper-soft, then angel-soft, then Grant’s tongue swept into his mouth, acrid with the bitter taste of weed, but something in it was sweet. Something in it made Mackey open his mouth to beg for more.

Grant took advantage, pushing him back against the seat, taking his mouth more, and more and more, until Mackey was pressed against the burned-out seat frame, his hands buried in the thick top strip of Grant’s hair, his lips being bruised and his mouth plundered by his brother’s best friend.

The smell of pot smoke sharpened, turned plastic, and Grant jerked his head back.

“Shit,” he muttered. The joint had fallen onto the blanket at their feet, and he spent a moment stomping it out as it smoldered. When he’d killed the ember, he glanced at Mackey sheepishly.
“Got lost in your eyes,” he said, and Mackey watched curiously as two red crescents surfaced on his sharp cheekbones, like disappearing ink coming to life.

“I could get lost in you a lot,” Mackey confessed, feeling brave and bold, and Grant found something to look at far away.

“Mackey, maybe don’t count on me like that, okay?”

Mackey had to search far away too. Well, of course, right? Two guys get high and they do something crazy—didn't mean shit, did it.

Didn’t mean a goddamned thing. “Yeah, well. You know. Strong weed, right?”

“Yeah,” Grant murmured. “Strong.” His hand was firm on Mackey’s shoulder then, and Mackey closed his eyes as he felt the rasp of Grant’s chilled palm against his cheek. “Stronger’n shame.”

Mackey had to. Had to see his face.

Grant was blinking hard, and they both knew he’d deny it, but one hit of pot didn't give you eyeballs that red.

At their feet, Kell gave a moan and rolled over, and that was the cue for everyone to wake up. They were headachy and sick, and it was lucky Grant had brought a six-pack of water, of all things, so they could at least rinse out their mouths after they puked.

Grant had driven them out to the vacant field in his mom’s minivan, and later that evening, he stopped and let them run inside the grocery store to buy noodles and spaghetti sauce for dinner. They’d promised their mom they’d take care of groceries if she let them get away with not watching Cheever for the afternoon. When they got to the Sanders boys’ apartment complex, Grant and Kell were giving each other shit in the front seat. Mackey stared out the window and let their banter wash over him, just like he ignored Jefferson and Stevie talking in quiet undertones about comic books and naked girl pictures. Jeff and Kell had best friends. Mackey had brothers—six of them, if he counted Cheever’s little friend Kevin, which he did.

“So, is Sam excited you get to play at the prom?” Kell asked, laughing.

“Yeah,” Grant said. For a moment, he caught Mackey’s gaze in the rearview, and then he glanced back toward the road. “She wants to dress pretty and dance with me in a suit.”

Mackey didn't make a noise or anything, but suddenly he knew, knew like it had been branded on his skin, that Grant didn't want to dance with a girl in a dress. And that it would hurt worse than orange juice on chapped lips, but Mackey was going to have to watch him do it. 

About The Author
Amy Lane has four children, two cats, a love starved Chi-who-what, a crumbling mortgage and an indulgent spouse. She also has too damned much yarn, a penchant for action adventure movies, and a need to know that somewhere in all the pain is a story of Wuv, Twu Wuv, which she continues to believe in to this day! She writes fantasy, urban fantasy, and m/m romance--and if you give her enough diet coke and chocolate, she'll bore you to tears with why those three genres go together. She'll also tell you that sacrifices, large and small, are worth the urge to write.
You can can find Amy at 
            



 Giveaway

Swag Packets (5 winners will be selected)
First Installment of Beneath The Stain (2 winners will be selected)
All Seven Installments of Beneath The Stain (1 winner will be selected)




Presented by 


Thursday, August 21, 2014

Michael Rupured's "Happy Independence Day" Blog Tour



Tour Stops

August 21, 2014

August 22, 2014

August 23, 2014

August 24, 2014

August 25, 2014

August 26, 2014
In The Pages of a Good Book

August 27, 2014
Prism Book Alliance

August 28, 2014
3 Chicks After Dark

August 29, 2014

August 30, 2014
Oh My Growing TBR

September 1, 2014
StarAngels Reviews

September 2, 2014
BookwormBridgette's World

September 3, 2014
Reading Bliss



Happy Independence Day
By Michael Rupured

Blurb: 
Terrence Bottom wants to change the world. A prelaw student at Columbia University majoring in political science, his interests range from opposing the draft and the war in Vietnam, to civil rights for gays, to anything to do with Cameron McKenzie. Terrence notices the rugged blond hanging around the Stonewall Inn, but the handsome man—and rumored Mafia hustler—rebuffs his smiles and winks.

Cameron McKenzie dropped out of college and left tiny Paris, Kentucky after the death of the grandmother who raised him, dreaming of an acting career on Broadway. Although he claims to be straight, he becomes a prostitute to make ends meet. Now the Mafia is using him to entrap men for extortion schemes, he is in way over his head, and he can’t see a way out—at least not a way that doesn’t involve a swim to the bottom of the Hudson in a pair of cement flippers.

Cameron is left with a choice: endanger both their lives by telling Terrence everything or walk away from the only man he ever loved. The Mafia hustler and the student activist want to find a way to stay together, but first they need to find a way to stay alive.



Available for purchase at 





Excerpt


Chapter 1
Tuesday, June 24, 1969
Terrence Bottom tapped a sandaled foot on the linoleum-tiled floor and bit his lip. Speaking his mind at a Mattachine-New York meeting was a waste of time and energy. But watching the older members of the homophile organization nod their heads in agreement as the speaker droned on about homosexuality being a mental illness had been more than he could take. As the uptight men and women nearby glared at him, he rolled his eyes at Kelsey Ryan and whispered, “You ready to blow this joint?”
Before she could answer, the esteemed speaker concluded his remarks. After a polite round of applause, the well-dressed men and women filled the aisles and chatted as they made for the door of the Columbia University lecture hall where the meeting had been held.
Kelsey and Terrence merged into the slow-moving mass creeping toward the exit. Between reed-thin Terrence’s curly blond hair and Kelsey’s height—never mind that she was built like an offensive lineman for the Washington Redskins—the unlikely pair stood out in the crowd. Rather than the suits worn by other men in the lecture hall, Terrence had on faded bell-bottomed jeans embroidered with flowers, a tie-dyed T-shirt, and a wide white belt with a peace-sign buckle.
“The old guard just doesn’t get it,” Kelsey said, rolling up the sleeves of her oxford shirt to her elbows as she walked. “Working behind the scenes to change the world hasn’t gotten us anywhere.”
“I don’t know about that,” Terrence said, falling in beside her. “Legal challenges to alcohol regulations have helped to crack open the door here in New York.”
“How?” Kelsey shoved her hands into her pockets. “The police have raided every gay bar in town at least once in the last two weeks. Legal victories haven’t stopped them from harassing us every chance they get.”
“Philip and George—”
“Are just like the other men their age working for change.” She shook her head. “They think we should be patient, but my patience has run out. We need new tactics so the world stops seeing homosexuals as mentally ill, morally bankrupt freaks who can’t be trusted to work in the government or around children.”
Terrence nodded. She was on her soapbox now. He didn’t bother reminding her he agreed with her. She was too wound up to stop until she’d said her piece.
“The white men in power aren’t going to give us our rights. We need to stand up and fight for equality, like the Black Panthers or Students for a Democratic Society.” She punched her open palm with a fist. “They didn’t get anywhere until they stood up to the cops. What a fight!”
Despite Kelsey’s pleas, Terrence hadn’t gone uptown with the students in his sociology class last year to show support when the SDS had staged a protest over Columbia University’s backing of the war in Vietnam. Rather than protecting the students, university and law enforcement officials had beaten them with nightsticks and bombed them with tear gas. The sight of his bruised and bandaged classmates afterward had flipped the switch for Terrence. If he hadn’t learned anything else on the streets, he’d learned you fought force with force.
Terrence and Kelsey descended the steps into the subway station to wait for the next train to Greenwich Village. Businessmen, sweating in suits, loosened ties and glared at them. Terrence knew they made quite a pair. He’d toned down his flamboyance some, but next to Kelsey—sturdy, stocky, and rumbling, like a Mack truck—he was the picture of femininity. Despite her efforts to conceal them, her impressive breasts might have been attractive on another woman, but on her masculine frame, they just looked out of place.
“Want to grab a drink at the Stonewall Inn later?” Terrence asked, spotting headlights moving toward the station.
Kelsey snorted. “And would the reason you want to go have something to do with that high-class callboy you’ve been watching?”
Terrence punched her arm. “You don’t know he’s a callboy.” He tossed his hair and smiled. “And he’s watching me. I just happened to have noticed.”
“Who wouldn’t?” She paused, waiting for the noisy train to come to a stop. “The man is gorgeous, and for me to notice is saying something.” They stepped onto the car and the doors squealed shut behind them. “But he’s a hustler, trust me, and he’s working for the mob. I’ve seen him talking to Frankie Caldarone too many times, and he ain’t shining the man’s shoes.”
Terrence led the way to the back of the subway car, and they settled onto the last seats on each side of the aisle. “Frankie Caldarone? The bald-headed goon at the Stonewall Inn?” Terrence crossed his legs and adjusted the forty-inch bellbottoms to cascade in folds above the sandals he wore. “He’s just a bouncer.”
“More like the enforcer, at an unlicensed private club, owned and operated by who?” She spread her legs wide, leaned back, and wove her hands together behind her head.
“Wouldn’t that be whom?” Terrence didn’t want to admit Kelsey could be right. Trading sexual favors for money didn’t bother him so much. Hustling was a dangerous, dead-end job he’d managed to escape more than two years earlier, thanks to Philip and George. Hustling for the mob, however, was a death sentence with no chance for parole, pardon, or escape.
“Either way, the answer is the same.” She shook her head and leaned forward, dropping her hands to her knees. “You’d be smart to stay the hell away from that one.”
“Come on, Kelsey.” Terrence fluffed his hair and adjusted his headband, feeling the embroidered peace sign with his fingers and shifting the band a bit to center the emblem over his nose.
She laughed and punched his arm. “You say that like going out with him is the furthest thing from your mind.”
Terrence gazed at her, wide-eyed. “You know me better than that.”
“Oh, you are so good.” Kelsey shook her head and folded her arms. “I know you all right. Hearing you can’t have something just makes you want it that much more.”
Terrence sat up, turned to her, and put his hand on her knee. “All we have is right now, this very minute. Two minutes from now, this train could crash, killing us both.”
“Shit, Terrence.” She shuddered. “You know I hate the subway.”
His gaze shifted to the window behind her. He stared, seeing remembered faces in the passing blackness. “When you want something, you gotta go for it—before somebody snatches it away from you and it’s gone, forever.” He brushed a fist over his eye and shook his head. “Besides, I’ve never even talked to him.”
“Maybe not, but the way you two look at each other is enough to make me blush.” She chuckled. “I’m just jealous. Hell, I’d pay a year’s tuition to have a pretty girl look at me like that.”
Terrence reached over and tousled her short brown hair. “You’re a good person, Kelsey. If I was a lesbian, I’d be proud to be your girlfriend.” He leered at her and grinned. “Even without those big titties of yours!”
She laughed and reached for her top button. “Careful now, or I’ll turn ’em loose on you.”


About The Author

Michael Rupured has always loved to write. Before learning the alphabet, he filled page after page with rows of tiny little circles he now believes were his first novels, and has been writing ever since. He grew up in Lexington, Kentucky, came out as a gay man in the late 1970s at the age of 21, and considers surviving his wild and reckless twenties to have been a miracle.
 
In 2010, after more than twenty years in academia, Michael joined the Athens Writers Workshop, which helped him transition from writing nonfiction to writing fiction. Michael writes stories “true enough for government work” about the gay experience in earlier decades that, in addition to entertaining the reader, highlight how far the gay rights movement has come in the last fifty years.  A serial monogamist who is currently between relationships, Michael writes with his longhaired Chihuahua, Toodles, in his lap from his home in Athens, Georgia.
You can find Michael at
         


Giveaway

Three winners will be selected to receive an eCopy of HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY 

Monday, August 18, 2014

Cover Reveal Blitz: Outing The Quarterback by Tara Lain


Outing The Quarterback
(Long Pass Chronicles Series, Bk #1)
By Tara Lain

Blurb:

Will Ashford lives in two closets. He meets his wealthy father’s goals as both the quarterback for the famous SCU football team and a business major, but secretly he attends art school and longs to live as a painter. And he's gay. But if he can win the coveted Milton Scholarship for art, he’ll be able to break from his father at the end of his senior year.

In a painting master class, Will meets his divergent opposite, Noah Zajack. A scarred orphan who’s slept on park benches and eaten from trash cans, Noah carefully plans his life and multiple jobs so he has money and time to go to art school. Will's problems seem like nothing compared to Noah's. Noah wants the scholarship too and may have a way to get it since the teacher of his class has designs on him, a plan Will isn't happy about.

When a gossipmonger with a popular YouTube channel finds evidence that Will is gay, the quarterback’s closet doors begin to crumble. Hounded by the press and harassed by other players, Will has to choose. Stay in the closet and keep his family’s wealth, or let the doors fall off and walk out with nothing. Nothing but Noah.



Release Date: 
September 19, 2014


You can pre-order your copy at




Excerpt

Will’s eyes moved past the teacher. Lots of easels, students already working, supplies all over the place and—holy shit.
The artist’s model sat naked on a small platform in the middle of the room. But not just no-clothes-on naked. We were talking gleaming, pale beige skin, shining hair, and hard-as-stone butt-cheeks naked.
Will’s deprived cock did a happy dance.
The model’s back—read, bare ass—faced Will while his graceful spine curved away.
The beast in Will’s pants started to grow.
The guy’s long brown hair flowed over his shoulders and outlined his profile, perfectly presented to Will’s artist eye. High-bridged nose, prominent cheekbones, pointed chin.
The damned traitor prick pushed so hard against Will’s zipper he probably had teeth marks on his cockhead. Why was it every time he decided to go straight, some cosmic joker had to twiddle his fucking finger and prove beyond a shadow that William Elliott Ashford III was as gay as a circus tent? Shit!
“Are you in this class?”
Will focused his eyes back on Masterson and clasped his hands in front of his crotch, still holding his tackle box. “Yes, sir. Sorry I’m late. Traffic.”
Masterson glanced at Will’s folded hands and sucked on his cheek like he was trying not to laugh. “Name?”
Will shifted to get the animal to go back in its cave, but no matter how hard Masterson stared at Will, the model still sat there in all his fucking glory. “Will Smith, sir.”
Masterson glanced at a paper on his desk, made a check mark, and pointed toward an empty easel with a folding table beside it and a rickety chair. “There’s a place in the back, William.”
“Will.”
The man smiled and the lean, almost harsh face softened. “Will. Made any good movies lately?”
Oh my, so very original. Will smiled. “Yeah.”
Masterson waved his hand toward the easel and looked at the model. “You can move, Noah.”
Will walked back to the empty place. Do not stare at that guy. Don’t stare. His name is Noah. Noah.
Weird. Usually life models were “interesting” looking, for lack of a better word. Fat or craggy, old, and character-filled. Not perfect, smooth beauties like this guy.
Will set his tackle box on the floor, opened it, and pulled out brushes. Masterson walked up beside him with a canvas. “This is gessoed already so you won’t have to waste any time.”
Will set it on the easel. “Thanks.”
Masterson crossed his arms. “I’ve seen the work you submitted when you applied for the master class. Promising.”
Wow. Music to his ears. “Thank you, sir.”
Masterson grinned. Who knew dimples could live in cheeks that thin? “Try Dwight so I don’t feel so old.”
Will smiled. “Thanks, Dwight. I wouldn’t want to suggest something that’s not true.”
The instructor winked at him and walked back to the beat-up desk in the corner. Winked. Will had read that Masterson was gay. Had the teacher just been flirting with him? Or shit, maybe he’d been coming on to Masterson. When you spent your life in the closet, every interaction was a fucking minefield.
Will sat in the chair and looked up at the model. His breath caught. No way. The beautiful guy had repositioned himself and now sat facing Will, his legs crossed, leaning forward with his arm resting on his thigh. Everything shimmery and perfect—if you didn’t count the six-inch scar that ran from the right corner of his mouth up to the edge of his very blue eye. It skipped the eye miraculously and continued above it on his forehead, disappearing into his hair. The puckered skin pulled that eye closed a slight bit more than the other. Funny. Without it, the kid would have looked almost too angelic. As it was, the eye gave him a permanent touch of cynicism. Yeah, anybody who’d picked up that badge of courage in his life deserved to be a cynic.



About the Author

Tara Lain writes the Beautiful Boys of Romance in LGBT erotic romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her first novel was published in January of 2011 and she’s now somewhere around book 23. Her best­selling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance, Best Gay Characters, and Tara has been named Best Writer of the Year in the LRC Awards. In her other job, Tara owns an advertising and public relations firm. She often does workshops on both author promotion and writing craft. She lives with her soul­mate husband and her soul­mate dog in Laguna Beach, California, a pretty seaside town where she sets a lot of her books. Passionate about diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says on her tombstone it will say “Yes”!


You can find Tara at

               








Presented By



Monday, August 11, 2014

Georgie Tyler's "Doctors Beyond Borders" Blog Tour


Tour Stops

August 11, 2014
Wicked Women Book Blog

August 13, 2014
Words, Words, Words
Queen of All She Reads

August 14, 2014
Corazones Literarios
Oh My Growing TBR

August 15, 2014
deal sharing aunt

August 17, 2014
My Favorite Things


Doctors Beyond Borders
By Georgie Tyler

Blurb:
She’s about to find out that nothing is fair when it comes to war, except, perhaps, the healing power of love.

When Ariadne Tate takes a deployment to Sudan with a medical aid organisation, romance is the last thing on her mind…but Dr Ford Gosden puts a glitch in her plans. Too damn attractive for his own good and a thoroughly nice guy, Ford slowly seeps under Ariadne’s skin.

But Sudan is not a stable place to form a relationship, and as political tension escalates in the region, Ariadne has no choice but to focus on her job and her safety. Under the protection of a UN convoy, she heads out into the war-torn countryside — and the unthinkable happens. Captured and held hostage by a renegade with no chance of escape, Ariadne’s hope for a new life with the man she loves begins to fade and the fight for her life begins.



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Excerpt


He strode over and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She wasn't sure whether she should move away. Need had her leaning into his frame. He was warm and comforting.

All too soon, he turned her to face him and held both her shoulders in his hands, exposing her to the nip of the air again.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

‘Yeah, I just couldn't sleep.’ She curled her lips into a feeble smile for his benefit. She didn't want him to think she was weak and couldn't take what Sudan dished out. 

‘I wish you hadn't said anything about scorpions, though. I’m a fully-fledged arachnophobe.’

His eyes crinkled in the corners. ‘I wish I could bunk in with you and protect you from the little suckers, but it’s a strictly male/female dorm policy here.’

She chuckled wrapping her arms around her waist. ‘I don’t know what’s more dangerous, the scorpions or you.’ She gazed at him through her lashes.

A single finger smoothed over her cheek and the outline of her bottom lip. ‘Me, honey, always me.


About The Author


Georgie Tyler lives on Sydney’s leafy North Shore with her husband and three children. After years of being a stay-at-home mum she decided to branch out and return to university to study teaching and pursue her lifelong dream of becoming a writer. When she’s not teaching or writing she likes to watch movies, catch up with family and friends, and has been known to dally on social media.

You can find Georgie at 


         


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