BOOK BLAST

THINKING IT OVER – BECCA SEYMOUR

KINDLE 99c COUNTDOWN DEAL

Book Title: Thinking It Over

Author: Becca Seymour

Publisher: Rainbow Tree Publishing

Cover Artist: BookSmith Designs

Release Date: June 13, 2020

Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance

Tropes: Small-town romance, age gap, low-angst

Themes: Reluctant to love

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 330 pages

It is a standalone book and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

THE KINDLE 99c COUNTDOWN DEAL

RUNS FROM

JUNE 8 (8am GMT/PDT) – JUNE 14 (8am GMT/PDT)

Also available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

When a young teacher connects with the principal of his school, work and ex issues, the possibility of happiness and a chocolate Labrador called Penny means they have a lot to think over.

Blurb

Newly appointed teacher, Jasper Taylor, can’t believe his luck. After a year, he’s found a job with the possibility of a permanent contract, which finally allows him to put his teaching degree to good use. After meeting the silver-haired principal of the school, Jasper discovers his new position offers an additional temptation. He knows he should retreat, but who said avoiding attraction was easy, especially when the man he’s crushing on seems too good to be true?

Well-respected and focused on his career, Austin Harrison is at the top of his game. He’s turned a struggling school around, has finally put up boundaries with his demanding ex, and may just have secured full custody of his chocolate Lab, Penny. The appointment of the new English teacher, Jasper, threatens to unsettle the stability he’s been working towards. Austin’s attraction is immediate, heady, and oh so complicated. But does complicated mean he has to walk away?  

Excerpt

The past week had been a challenge. Not only was the honeymoon period over with a couple of my classes, which meant they were pushing me to see just how much it would take for me to crack, but the uncertainty between Austin and me left a bad taste in my mouth. Feeling ill at ease was never pleasant. Add in that we hadn’t managed more than a handful of text messages, and it made everything feel so much more difficult.

But then he’d kissed me.

When his own concern had stared right back at me, the turmoil making life so unpleasant had immediately eased. Not quite disappeared, as a conversation between the two of us was overdue, but as I pulled up outside his home, excitement tumbled through me.

The previous weekend away had been incredible, close to perfect even. It was only the appearance of his high-maintenance ex that had abruptly put an end to the bubble of happiness.

A sweet grin lit Austin’s features when he opened my car door, having arrived a few seconds before me.

“And who said chivalry was dead?” I said when I exited. “Thank you.” Sweet gestures were a surefire way of making me swoon, and from the softness in his gaze changing to heat, I figured he knew as much.

“My pleasure.” He reached out and took my hand, the connection pleasant and reassuring. “Be warned, Penny may pounce when she sees you.”

I laughed. “Is that right?”

“She’s been pining.”

I side-eyed him. “After three weeks of knowing me, I would imagine that’s a vast exaggeration.”

He shook his head and stopped, angling to stand before me, hand still clasping my own. “Sometimes all it takes is one meeting to know there’s a connection. Add in the next handful of times, and when you’re left smiling, your heart hammering in your chest, already counting down the time until you’ll see that person again, pining is a given.”

Swallowing to clear the dryness in my throat, I fought hard to maintain my composure. “Penny does smile a lot with her eyes.” The words came out breathily, not as flippant or even as jovial as I’d intended. But, in all fairness, beyond slamming my mouth to his, I was unsure how else to respond to his sweet words.

He nodded, his eyes searching mine. “She’s lucky that you came back,” he settled on.

While my heart flipped, my lips quirked. “I’m lucky that you’ve reminded me how good and right it feels to be here.”

 

About the Author

Becca Seymour is the #1 gay romance best seller of the True-Blue series. Known for “steamy and endearing” and “emotionally profound love stories” (InD’tale Magazine) her books have been nominated for multiple RONE Awards.

Becca lives and breathes all things book related. Usually with at least three books being read and two WiPs being written at the same time, Becca’s life is merrily hectic. She tends to do nothing by halves so happily seeks the craziness and busyness life offers.

Living on her small property in Queensland with her human family as well as her animal family of cows, chooks, and dogs, Becca appreciates the beauty of the world around her and is a believer that love truly is love.

Author Links

https://linktr.ee/beccaseymour

 

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions



BOOK BLAST

Fagin’s Boy by Jackie North

FB BB Banner

Book Blast, Excerpt & Giveaway: Fagin’s Boy By Jackie North

jn-oaj-book1-eBook

Oliver & Jack, Book 1

In 1846 London, respectable young men do not fall for street thieves. This is the love story of Oliver Twist and the Artful Dodger.

Oliver Twist has one desire: to own a bookshop and live a simple, middle-class life, far away from his workhouse-shadowed past. One thing stands in his way: Jack Dawkins–The Artful Dodger–who’s just returned to London and is looking for Fagin’s old gang.

Jack’s visits cause Oliver nothing but trouble, but he finds himself drawn, time and again, to their shared past, Jack’s unguarded honesty, and those bright, green eyes.

Oliver craves respectability, which he won’t find with a forbidden love. Can Jack convince Oliver that having one doesn’t mean losing the other?

A gay, m/m Victorian-era romance with grumpy/sunshine, hurt/comfort, opposites attract, emotional scars, and pure, sweet love. A little sweet, a little steamy, with a guaranteed HEA.

Universal Link

Add to Goodreads

FB Teaser 1 FB Teaser 2

Excerpt:

This excerpt is taken from a point in the book, early on, when Oliver Twist sees Jack Dawkins (the Artful Dodger) again for the first time in five years. Jack wants to know what happened to Fagin and the gang, and Oliver, horrified, doesn’t want anything to do with Jack.

***

Oliver walked along the pavement, his chin ducked into his red scarf, the snow almost up to his ankles, until his heart settled in his breast and his rage dulled to a low ache in the shivery air. The row of white townhouses, all neat and tidy, looked cream-colored against the smudged sky, their green-painted ironworks hidden by layers of snow. The world was white all around, a thin swirl about his head and dark flakes coming down from the smoking chimneys, black against the newly laid white. There was, at this hour in the afternoon, yet a gleam of sunlight slanting over the chimney pots, silver through the clouds. The street was not very busy, as was typical during the late afternoon hours, especially when a deep cold was coming on. All the deliveries had been made, tomorrow’s milk and eggs ordered, and toast and tea were being prepared in houses all up and down the tidy street. People were inside, as they should be, but Oliver needed to be outside. The townhouse was too full of memories of good things, many of which he’d taken for granted, in a way. Not that he was ever less than mindful of always having a full stomach. Or that his boots were sturdy and without holes, that his stockings were woolen and thick against the cold. And, best of all, he always had books aplenty to read and considerable amounts of time to read them. When Oliver got to the corner of Old Church Street, he turned in the direction away from the church and the dark grey workhouse, not wanting to be faced with the reminder of the funeral that morning nor the dark, towering walls that represented his past. He could go into Elm Street Park, where the path was likely to be shoveled and trampled. Though now the dark treetops were humped in soft white, in springtime the path was kept private by boughs of willows and thickets and smelled of greenery and flowers. Oliver determined he would think of that, instead of the snow that now bowed branches and lumped over shrubbery. He thought maybe that the snow would forever remind him of Uncle Brownlow, catching a chill, growing weaker, the fever taking him, and then this emptiness. Surely spring would come. Surely the memories would fade into something more pleasant than the ache in his heart. Oliver walked along the street till he got to the path that wended its way through the park. He faced the wind as he went; it was prudent to do this, for then he would be able to walk home with the wind at his back and his face turned away from the cold as he retreated from his memories. But for now, he walked face in the cold, shoulders back, braced against what might come. The trail beneath the snow was a little slippery, but there was enough traction from stones and branches and roots of trees to help keep him upright. A gust of snow caught an exposed part of his neck, and his cheeks were burning with cold. A group of men with shovels over their shoulders came walking toward him on the path. Their boots were thick and their clothes were thick, but they were bare-headed, their faces gleaming with sweat from their efforts to clear snow. As they walked, the heads of their shovels knocked snow from the upper branches, and they seemed neither to notice nor care upon whom the snow fell. Oliver hesitated on the path, and then, at the last moment, jumped out of their way, to the edge of the path, shivering as a face full of snow caught him anyway. Sputtering, he wiped his face with his gloves. He should get back to the funeral reception anyhow, before he was missed. Even though there was really no one to miss him now, and the reception was mostly full of conversation of the idle type he’d never much cared for, there were expectations of propriety and guests waiting. He felt a hand on his arm and jerked backward. “Leave me be,” he said, low, almost muttering. “I’ve got it, I say.” “Leave you be, Nolly?” said a voice, using the pet name that no one had called him in years. “That’s all anyone’s ever done, is leave you be.” The voice was close, and Oliver could smell small beer and unwashed skin and something familiar that made him freeze. He did not know that voice, and yet he did. He shrank inside his greatcoat, but the hand jerked him again and pushed him against a tree, where the snow rattled down and obscured his vision again even as he opened his eyes. When he could see through the curtain of snow, there, to accompany a voice from long ago, was a face from memory, five years on. The face was thin, hollow-cheeked, the skin sallow, as though fading from being sunburnt, with snapping, bright green eyes, that rough face grown into itself. It was, impossibly so, the face of the Artful Dodger, also known to his more intimate acquaintances as Jack Dawkins, back from the grave, back, back from wherever he’d been. And he’d found Oliver. “Oh,” said Oliver. “Oh.” A prickly feeling rose along the back of his neck and along his scalp, and he was cold all over. He felt as though something had punched him in the gut, a deep blow that sent his whole body reverberating with shock waves that made him reel, unsteady, on his feet. In spite of this, all of a sudden part of him flickered with the memories of Jack from so long ago. Jack, taking Oliver by the hand on a crowded High Street in Barnet; Jack acquiring ham and bread, and feeding Oliver with it till Oliver’s stomach had been as full as it had ever been, more full than he could ever remember. And then how Jack had pulled him through the streets of Barnet and Islington, to the thickness of London, darting across posh, wide boulevards, and trotting down rackety-packety back lanes full of sewage and open doorways with dark figures looming inside. There was, as well, the memory of Jack’s touch in Fagin’s den. Jack’s hands pulling him back, Jack putting his body slightly in front of Oliver’s when Fagin ranted, waving his iron fork about. Jack, with his hands in Oliver’s hair, or patting his cheek, stroking his arm. Jack had been a constant part of that time, his hands leaving a sensory memento of those days so long ago. The echoes of which Oliver realized he were now stirring inside of him, and which he did not quite know what to do with. And then, sometime along when Oliver had been snatched off the streets by Nancy and Bill Sikes, Jack had disappeared, never to be seen again. No one had ever told him what had happened to Jack, and Oliver had never known whom to ask. And yet here Jack was, cutting a bright figure in the snow, dapper in a new greatcoat that was no doubt, no doubt, stolen from some fine establishment, where the staff were, even yet, quite possibly peering through the racks and crates and boxes, trying to figure out where the coat had gone. They’d probably never even seen Jack, neither coming nor going. Oliver thought to say a word, and he opened his mouth to say it, but his confusion over whether it should be of welcome or recrimination stopped him. Jack was not his friend; that finely drawn illusion had been shattered some time after Jack had dragged him into a den of thieves. Oliver had been taught how to pick pockets and how to break into homes. And yet. Jack had been the first person to show him any real kindness. In the midst of Oliver’s exhaustion after his walk from Hardingstone and his confusion as to what to do next, Jack had taken Oliver under his wing, fed him, had given him a smile and a pat on the head, and Oliver had been so grateful, so unbelievably grateful. Yet, it was hard to separate what had happened on the High Street at Barnet from what had come later. Jack Dawkins had found the life of a thief a grand one; in his mind, it was something to be grateful for. So he had not meant— But now, Jack’s eyes were narrow, and his thin face was shadowed and grimy from cold and exposure. With a snap, he shoved Oliver against the tree, sending snow to sift inside the red scarf folded about his neck. “You’re goin’ to tell me what I want to know,” Jack said. His teeth were gritted together, and the accommodating smile, which had flitted among Oliver’s memories through the past five years, was nowhere to be seen. Lurching forward, Oliver tried to push past, but Jack caught him, the breadth of his shoulders creating a barrier. The group of men who’d been shoveling snow was too far gone, and there was no one else near the little copse in the park, no one to help. When he’d gotten snatched by Bill and Nancy, he’d shouted, and although there’d been plenty to hear, no one had believed him. This time, there was no one even to hear. “Let me go, Jack,” said Oliver. His teeth were chattering. He wanted to tell himself it was from the cold, only his knees felt as though they’d lost bone and were ready to give way beneath him at any moment. “I won’t tell anyone you’re here, I won’t, promise.” “Tell anyone what, then?” asked Jack. He pushed Oliver hard against the trunk of the tree with cold, gloveless hands, his smile showing the tips of his teeth. “I’m here on orders of the Queen an’ all; got papers an’ everythin’. Been hextricated an’ that. Five years, served me time.” “Extricated from where?” Oliver had no idea what Jack was talking about, and yet it seemed that Jack assumed he did. He didn’t correct Jack that the word hextricated was pronounced extricated; it wouldn’t help, and Jack would hardly appreciate the difference, anyway. “Got shipped back, by orders of the Queen. Been deported to Australia, to the colonies, haven’t I, but now I’m back. On good behavior, no less.” Jack smirked, still pressing Oliver against the tree. “They don’t let you come back; they send you there and you never come back,” said Oliver, his jaw tight. He couldn’t believe that Jack had actually been deported, let alone returned. “And yet here I am,” said Jack, smiling fully now, showing more teeth, his green eyes flashing. Oliver’s rage during the funeral reception, which had begun to turn into grief, sprang anew within him. His heart raced, as it had so many times in the past, pushing against his breastbone in a painful, sharp way, as though battering its way through his chest. But Jack did not notice or care as he held Oliver’s shoulders. And even though it seemed Jack did this as if by afterthought, no matter how hard Oliver twisted and pushed, he couldn’t move. “I come to London three days ago an’ go straight to the bottom of Saffron Hill. The Three Cripples was there, but no Fagin, no gang,” said Jack. The words came in a blast from Jack’s chapped lips. “I asked; no one knows the story. I go to the other hideouts, the perches, the dens, an’ then ask around some more. I hang about the Three Cripples till they almost throw me to the peelers. But no one’s seen anythin’ of Fagin’s gang, an’ no one will tell me exactly what happened, why they’re all dead an’ gone. An’ no one’d ever heard of me neither. It was as if I t’weren’t never there.” The words and the grip took Oliver back in an instant, as if the intervening years had never been. As if the last door he’d stepped through had not been the cream-trimmed one at the townhouse on Old Church Street, but the one to the room in Fagin’s backup den, where Oliver had been kept forever. Kept in semi-darkness and utter silence and fed a meager diet and given books about criminals to read until he’d all but broken. “Let me go, let me go,” said Oliver. He could hardly breathe to get enough air in his lungs, and the words came out thin. Jack laughed a little under his breath and seemed only amused by this rather than moved, though he stepped back and dropped his hands from Oliver’s shoulders, as though to let him pass. Oliver took a single step, and then, in a blur, he was on the ground, shoulders and back pushed into the snow, almost smothering from the weight of Jack on top of him. Jack held Oliver’s face between two hands. “You tell me,” said Jack, low, snarling, his breath warm, shocking, on Oliver’s face. “You tell me where they are.” Oliver could hardly move. Dizzy from lack of air, he could only blink the snow from his eyes and stare at Jack. When he tried to inhale, his breath throttled in his throat, and Jack still didn’t seem to care. “Who?” Oliver managed. “Who?” He couldn’t imagine who Jack was looking for after all these years. “Them! Everyone! Like I told you! I’m lookin’ for ’em.” Jack slammed Oliver’s head deeper into the snow until the white walls cupping around his ears threatened to collapse in on him and smother him. “Charley, Nancy, even Bill Sikes. And where’s Fagin? Fagin!” Oliver’s eyes fluttered half-closed. He didn’t want to be the one to tell Jack, Jack who had come so recently back to England and didn’t know. The newspapers depicting the events were five years old, and even if Jack could find them, Jack’s reading skills had never been a known thing. But to tell him? To be the one? Jack would surely kill him then. Oliver shook his head and clamped his mouth shut, and was shocked to feel Jack’s fist slamming into his face. He inhaled snow up his nose and coughed and thrashed as Jack held him down. His struggles only shifted Jack’s body till Jack’s legs were between his own, warm and heavy, shoving, part of Jack’s body pressing like an iron brand against the inside of his thigh. “Tell me,” said Jack, thrusting forward. “Tell me or I’ll bury you in snow.” It would be foolish to doubt this. Oliver felt the warmth on his face and was sure his nose was bleeding as his jaw throbbed. The press of Jack’s chest on his was pushing him further into the snow, and whether Jack buried him or used more of his fists, it didn’t matter. Oliver was already marked up, and he was to see Mr. McCready the next week— Oliver pushed up, growling, and for a second, this seemed to surprise Jack, who pulled back, only to slam down again as he punched Oliver right on the mouth, sending hot blood from his mouth to sear on the snow. Gasping, Oliver sank back, trying to shift his legs so that Jack’s weight didn’t press so close against him. Jack brought his face very near Oliver’s. He wasn’t looking at Oliver directly; it was as if he didn’t care what Oliver looked like. He breathed through his nose, and when he spoke, his lips almost brushed against Oliver’s. “You’ll tell me,” he said. His breath skittered across Oliver’s skin. “Or I’ll bury you.” “Jack,” said Oliver, unable to breathe. “I’ll make you,” said Jack. He drew back his fist. “No, wait,” said Oliver. He turned his face away. “I’ll tell you.” It would be useless to try to explain to Jack why Oliver mustn’t look like he’d been getting into street fights. Why it was so important that he get away from Mr. Grimwig and start his new life, start working toward that bookshop he’d always wanted. He couldn’t tell Jack any of that because Jack was likely to use that knowledge somehow, to control Oliver and make him turn back into one of Fagin’s boys. To make him sink to the level of the street, to the throng and pall of those who barely had enough to eat, and where there would certainly be no quiet corner in which to read. Too much was at stake. He’d tell Jack what he needed to know, and then Jack would leave him in peace. Jack moved. Half his weight was off Oliver now, and Oliver felt the relief in his chest, gasping with it, even though Jack’s legs were still tangled with his, sending some humming thing moving through his stomach. But more, he shivered with the touch of Jack’s skin, warm against the coldness the snow had left behind, the tiny roughness at the ends of his fingertips against Oliver’s jaw, the heat and pulse beneath Jack’s skin. “You goin’ t’start talkin’?” asked Jack. “Or do I get to shove my fist down your throat?” “It’s difficult to begin,” said Oliver. On top of shaking with cold, he could hardly believe that he was having this conversation, which threw him back in time, back to when he’d been a child of the streets, a poor orphan that nobody wanted and could never love. Oh, Fagin had once had use for him and his pretty face, that was certain, but it was for his own gain and never for Oliver’s. “Try.” “You have to promise—” “Promise what?” “I wasn’t there, Jack,” said Oliver. “I wasn’t there for any of this, you have to understand it, you have to—” Jack tightened his fist; Oliver shied back and put his hands up to his face, but Jack’s hand upon him was firm. Snow flew up around Oliver’s arms like white lace, beautiful but cutting and cold. “I can’t tell you more about where they’ve gone,” Oliver said, thinking to take the gentle road, something comforting and soothing, as might be said, even regarding the likes of Fagin and his gang. “Unless it is to the hereafter, and God speed to them.” “What the fuckall does that mean?” Jack spat this, as if his temper had been frayed by hours of attempting to lure the truth out of him rather than only two moments in the drifts of snow. “Something happened to Fagin’s gang,” said Oliver. His lips felt numb. “I don’t know exactly, but that’s what Uncle Brownlow told me. It was in the newspapers, but that was five years ago, and they never let me see them. They said it would be too much for me, after—well, after everything.” With a shove, Jack pressed close, his hand clenched around Oliver’s jaw. “I know you know more, an’ you better tell me quick, or—” “Wait!” Oliver took a breath. Cold air whistled down his neck where the red scarf gaped. “It all happened so fast, you realize. Once Nancy was killed, the hunt was on, and the courts, they took it personally, having let Fagin’s gang go on so long. So they hanged him. They hanged all of them, as far as I know.” “Where?” “Where what?” “Where did they hang him?” Then it became clear. Where a criminal was hanged was markedly important; Oliver remembered this from the books on criminals that Fagin had made him read. This, then, was the crux of it for Jack. “Fagin was hanged at Newgate,” said Oliver, as plainly as he could. “I went to see him, to pray—” Jack slammed Oliver in the chest with the flat of his hand, then pulled him close again, breathing right into Oliver’s face. Cold snow slithered down his neck; Jack’s hot breath simmered against his cheek. A low, cold wind whistled around them both, the dark branches stirring overhead, sifting down snow as delicate as though from angels’ wings. “Prayers? For Fagin? From you?” Jack looked white, his eyes enormous dark spots, the breath winged out of him, as though he’d been struck in the gut. “I stayed with him to give him some comfort,” said Oliver as quickly as he could. Only it had been so long ago, and Oliver had buried much of it, and couldn’t dig up enough of it fast enough. But he had to try. Something, somehow— “It was a horrible place. There were two guards outside of Fagin’s cell—” “Of course there would be two, for someone as dangerous and canny as ol’ Fagin,” said Jack, arching his neck proudly. “Go on.” Now Oliver understood, and he stopped thinking about what he could recall and instead began to imagine what, exactly, it was that Jack wanted to hear. Jack wanted the romantic story of it and not Christian platitudes, that was plain enough. “It was one of the most secure cells, guarded by the warden, an important cell,” Oliver continued. He focused on Jack as this news, only slightly false, fell into the cold, raw air. “Because he was an important prisoner, of course.” Jack nodded, some color coming back to his cheeks. “Then what?” Oliver considered the reality of what had actually happened that day. Fagin had gone mad with terror, had crouched on his pallet, shivering and shaking and spouting nonsense. He’d continually muttered about a man who should have his throat slit, someone who had betrayed them all. Someone who had peached. This last was the worst possible sin for anyone of Fagin’s ilk, so Oliver could well imagine that the person in question should have his throat slit. At least according to Fagin. And, probably, according to Jack, who was waiting for more of the story. Oliver swallowed, settled his chin, and determined to make the best of it. “He didn’t want my prayers,” said Oliver, the lies, like the words in a story, coming more easily to him now. “The major of the guards had questioned him for some time, Fagin told me, wanting to know details and names, but even on promise of a lighter sentence, Fagin never gave anyone up. He waited, upright and strong, for his fate.” At least part of the story was true. Fagin had been too busy trying to pretend that Oliver was going to escort him out of Newgate, as innocent as you please, to even come close to naming names. Except there had been that one name, new and unknown to Oliver at the time, and which now remained firmly out of reach. It didn’t matter, anyway. At that point, the guards hadn’t cared who Fagin had been able to mention, so in effect, he’d peached on no one. “Of course not,” said Jack. “I always knew he’d go like that.” Jack’s eyes were blind to Oliver now, as though he was miles away, back where he’d come from, back in some moment of his own past. He made a small gesture with his hand toward Oliver, as if asking for something. “What is it?” said Oliver. Jack focused on him then, but didn’t say anything. “That’s all I know.” Oliver said this as quickly as he could. “Something happened, I don’t know what, but Bill killed Nancy. A mob chased him through the streets and he was shot. Along the way, as he ran, he must have led constables to the various hideouts, and they were able to track their way to Fagin, and—” Jack pulled his hand away, and he sat back on his heels, the edges of his coat digging dark trenches in the soft snow that sparkled whiteness all around. He pulled Oliver to sitting but kept him close by, hip deep in snow, and banged his fist gently on his own bent knee. “Hanged.” Jack’s voice quivered, and it seemed as though he were trembling. Teeth chattering, Oliver looked up at Jack and tried to shift to a more comfortable position in the snow, but Jack gave him a shove and refused to let him move. “Stop,” said Jack. His face was the color of iced paper. “Fagin was hanged because of you. You an’ your snivelin’ face an’ your stupid, pious—” Oliver felt the rush of his temper, like flames shooting out of his belly. He rolled to his side and shifted to his feet, ready to be away from Jack and his fists, poised, ready to run. The snow flew about him, and his red scarf fluttered loose about his neck. “I wasn’t there for any of it!” He almost screamed this. He had been there for part of it, but if Jack was going to keep at him like this, then maybe Jack did deserve to know that his precious mentor, his leader, went so mad in the head that he thought Oliver was there to take him away from that horrible place. Fagin had kept babbling about someone who had sent them all to the gallows, leaving Oliver unable to make sense of any of it. “I was in the country, I was at church, I was studying my new textbooks; I simply wasn’t there.” Jack bent low and scooped up some snow with his bare palm and placed it on Oliver’s jaw. Without thought, Oliver knocked his hand away, making the snow, already dappled with blood from Oliver’s nose, fly and drift down anew. “Stay away from me,” said Oliver, low, his voice rough from the distaste of having his past, this past, barrel its way into his life just when he was taking a new direction and starting over again. He felt rough, as well, from his shock at the unexpected but not unfamiliar touch of Jack’s hand, the gentle kindness, the casual intimacy of the gesture. “You stay away from me or I’ll call the constable and explain to him exactly who you are and what you were arrested for.” Oliver could almost taste his disdain for Jack. “And this time? They’ll carry you off for good.” Something flickered across Jack’s face, and there was a twitch along the edge of his mouth. Oliver knew he merely imagined he saw the hurt there because Jack had been on the streets most of his life; no hard words could ever hurt him. If Jack was wounded, it was because Oliver had threatened to break the code, the one that dictated that none of Fagin’s boys ever peached. Jack straightened up and took a step back, stumbling against the roots buried beneath the white lumps of snow. “As you wish, Nolly,” he said, smirking. “I’ll leave you be, but you know, Fagin’s boys got to stick together, help each other out. Find good jobs to get to the glittery stuff an’ that.” Jack had always been happier in a group, and if he couldn’t find his gang, he’d be all alone. But then, it wouldn’t be too long till Jack had another gang, would it. Though that was none of Oliver’s concern, and bad business besides. “I’m not one of Fagin’s boys,” said Oliver. “And I’ve got nothing for you. Nothing. Stay away from me, or I will call the law.” “You won’t do that, Nolly,” said Jack, not at all worried, it seemed. “Good-bye, Jack,” said Oliver. He picked up his red scarf that had fallen in the snow and started to push past Jack, stepping back on the path, shaking snow from his shoulders as he went. He could sense Jack standing there, watching him, but he didn’t turn back to meet his gaze. Those old days were gone, and Oliver wanted nothing to do with them.
FB Teaser 4 FB Teaser 3

Enter the Giveaway:

To celebrate the release of Fagin’s Boy, Jackie is giving away:

  • a Paperback copy of Fagin’s Boy for a US or Canadian Winner
  • Any ebook from Jackie’s backlist (International Winner)
By signing up to Jackie’s Newsletter, yu’ll also get wo freebies, one sweet, one steamy!

Enter the Rafflecopter giveaway for your chance to win!

A Rafflecopter Giveaway

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/cc0f2a57442/?

FB Teaser 5
JackieNorthBySarahJoChreene

About the Author:

Jackie North has been writing stories since grade school and spent years absorbing the mainstream romances that she found at her local grocery store. Her dream was to someday leave her corporate day job behind and put her English degree to good use and write romance novels, because for years she’s had a never-ending movie of made-up love stories in her head that simply wouldn’t leave her alone.

As fate would have it, she discovered m/m romance and decided that men falling in love with other men was exactly what she wanted to write books about. In this dazzling new world, she is now putting stories to paper as fast as her fingers can type. She creates characters who are a bit flawed and broken, who find themselves on the edge of society, and maybe a few who are a little bit lost, but who all deserve a happily ever after. (And she makes sure they get it!)

She likes long walks on the beach, the smell of lavender and rainstorms, and enjoys sleeping in on snowy mornings. She is especially fond of pizza and beer and, when time allows, long road trips with soda fountain drinks and rock and roll music. In her heart, there is peace to be found everywhere, but since in the real world this isn’t always true, Jackie writes for love.

Connect with Marie: Website – http://www.jackienorth.com/ Newsletter – https://www.subscribepage.com/JackieNorthNewsletter Pintrest – https://www.pinterest.com/jackienorthauthor/ Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/jackie_north Amazon: amazon.com/author/jackienorth Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/jackienorthMM


grr-tours-promo
BOOK BLAST

SPEAK UP, SPEAK OUT! by Tonya Bolden




Publisher : National Geographic Kids (January 4, 2022)
Language : English
Hardcover : 144 pages
ISBN-10 : 1426372361
ISBN-13 : 978-1426372360

From award-winning author Tonya Bolden comes a biography of the first Black woman elected to the U.S. House of Representatives and the first Black woman to run for president with a major political party: Shirley Chisholm.


Before there was Barack Obama, before there was Kamala Harris, there was Fighting Shirley Chisholm. A daughter of Barbadian immigrants, Chisholm developed her political chops in Brooklyn in the 1950s and went on to become the first Black woman elected to the U.S. House of Representatives. This “pepper pot,” as she was known, was not afraid to speak up for what she thought was right. While fighting for a better life for her constituents in New York’s 12th Congressional District, Chisholm routinely fought against sexism and racism in her own life and defied the norms of the time. As the first Black woman in the House and the first Black woman to seek the presidential nomination from a major political party, Shirley Chisholm laid the groundwork for those who would come after her.

Extensively researched and reviewed by experts, this inspiring biography traces Chisholm’s journey from her childhood in a small flat in Brooklyn where she read books with her sisters to Brooklyn College where she got her first taste of politics. Readers will cheer Chisholm on to victory from the campaign trail to the hallowed halls of the U.S. Capitol, where she fought for fair wages, equal rights, and an end to the Vietnam War. And while the presidential campaign trail in 1972 did not end in victory, Shirley Chisholm shows us how you can change a country when you speak up and speak out.

You can purchase Speak Up, Speak Out! at the following Retailers:
 

Photo Content from Tonya Bolden

Tonya Bolden is a critically acclaimed award-winning author and recipient of the Children’s Book Guild of Washington, D.C.’s Nonfiction Award. She has authored and edited more than 40 books, including Maritcha: A Nineteenth-Century American Girl (Coretta Scott King Honor book), M.L.K.: Journey of a King (NCTE Orbis Pictus Award for Outstanding Nonfiction for Children), and George Washington Carver (Virginia Library Association Jefferson Cup Award and Cleveland Public Library Sugarman Award). Acclaimed for her “skilled storytelling,” “lively text,” and “impeccably-researched” topics, Bolden has received numerous starred reviews from Kirkus and School Library Journal. Bolden, who loved reading and writing as a child, earned her bachelor’s degree from Princeton University and a master’s degree from Columbia University. She lives in New York City.

    

*JBN is not responsible for Lost or Damaged Books in your Nerdy Mail Box*

a Rafflecopter giveaway https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js
BOOK BLAST

GHOST AGENTS REVELATIONS

Ghost Agents: Revelations (The Ghost Agents Trilogy) by Nita DeBorde

About Ghost Agents: Revelations

Ghost Agents: Revelations (The Ghost Agents Trilogy) Paranormal Cozy Mystery 2nd in Series Mabelonia Press (March 18, 2022) ~300 Pages Digital ASIN : B09QJCVY4Z

A new mystery to pursue … a growing threat… Will she be able to stop them?

 

Claire Abelard has never been normal. She has always been able to see and communicate with energy projections, or the entities more commonly known as ghosts. As an agent of the Bureau for Historical Preservation, her abilities come in handy on the job, but they tend to complicate every other aspect of her life.

 

Now, four months after a series of world-shattering events in Galveston, Claire’s life is still in turmoil. No one at Bureau headquarters in Boston will even acknowledge the existence of the sinister secret organization known as The Syndicate, but Claire is convinced they are behind the disappearances of dozens of rogue energy projections.

 

When Claire hears that rogues in New Orleans are behaving strangely, she immediately joins the investigation. As she and her fellow agents unravel the new mystery, they discover The Syndicate has more ominous plans for the rogues than simply making them disappear… and it appears they have plans for Claire as well.

 

Ghost Agents: Revelations is a cozy, paranormal mystery that continues the story of Claire and her work with Bureau for Historical Preservation.

About Nita DeBorde

Nita DeBorde is a published author and teacher from Houston, TX. Writing and teaching are her two major passions, though traveling and being dog-mom to a crazy Staffordshire-Boxer mix named Mabel are high on the list as well. Nita has taught high school French for more than 20 years and absolutely loves her “day job” job (about 95% of the time). She loves to travel, and not surprisingly, France is her favorite destination, though her home state of Texas runs a close second. She is also a huge history buff, which comes through in her fiction writing, and particularly in her latest novel, Ghost Agents, a genre-defying, cozy paranormal mystery with a little sci-fi and romance thrown into the mix. Ghost Agents: Revelations, is the 2nd book in the Ghost Agents Trilogy. Nita’s first novel, Project Lachesis, is currently available in both Kindle and hardcopy format from Amazon.com. Author Links: Websitehttp://www.nitadeborde.com Facebookhttps://www.facebook.com/debordewriter (@debordewriter) Twitter@DebordeNita GoodReads Author Page – https://www.goodreads.com/ndeborde Purchase Link – Amazon a Rafflecopter giveaway https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js Blast Participants BookishKelly2020 Socrates Book Reviews Maureen’s Musings Cozy Up With Kathy Baroness’ Book Trove I Read What You Write Brooke Blogs Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book Sapphyria’s Book Reviews #BRVL Book Review Virginia Lee Blog The Book’s the Thing Celticlady’s Reviews Lady Hawkeye FUONLYKNEW Books Blog Novels Alive Have you signed up to be a Tour Host? Click Here to Find Details and Sign Up Today! Additional Banners
BOOK BLAST

High Alert by Becca Seymour

99c BOOK BLAST

Book Title: High Alert

Author: Becca Seymour

Publisher: Rainbow Tree Publishing

Cover Artist: BookSmith Design

Release Date: August 11, 2021

Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance

Tropes: Friends to lovers, best friend’s brother, small town

Themes: Firefighter, natural disasters, hurt/comfort

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length:  64 000 words/344 pages

It is a standalone book and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

99c Sale for a Limited Time

Also available in Kindle Unlimited

Universal Link    |  Amazon US  |   Amazon UK 

It’s a tale as old as time.

Blurb 

I’ve crushed on my brother’s best friend since I sprouted hairs on the unmentionables. Once upon a time, he was straight, until he wasn’t… and talk about bad timing. 

And when we’re finally at a place for me to make my move, sexy rural firefighter Dan clams up and acts weird and I’m left with pants that are too tight and my heart feeling bruised… but he’s a good friend and I’m grateful he’s in my life.

Because of course Dan is a good guy. 

Though him being “good” and ridiculously easy on the eyes and possibly the best man I know only makes me want him more. 

When we’re thrust into a situation that brings both of us close to danger, it’s hardly the time to be chasing first kisses or finally acting on my crush. But Dan doesn’t seem to mind. 

I just know that when the stakes are high and emotions are running wild, sometimes you have to show your hand and go all in. 

And that’s exactly what I plan to do.

Excerpt 

The squeal of brakes had me exhaling. Any minute now, he’d be stepping out of my brother’s Toyota. With just a few metres and steel between us, I had no idea how to react, not with the nervous excitement thrumming in my veins.

The doors opened, and movement caught my attention. Dan Madison followed after my brother, his eyes already on mine. 

His hand tightened around the pack of beers he carried, and pink coloured his cheeks. 

But that was likely my imagination making a much bigger deal about this reunion than it really was.

Funny, the things you noticed, though. He had new glasses. They were thicker rimmed than any style I’d seen him wear before. He rocked the whole hot geek vibe. Killed it, in fact. 

Though there was nothing geeky about him in the traditional sense. Not when he worked with his hands for a living as a carpenter, and I doubted so much had changed that he wasn’t digitally challenged beyond a game on the Xbox. 

It took everything in me not to allow my gaze to eat him up.

Two years—however brief on that one-week visit home—of not working side by side with the man when I talked him into fitting me some new doors. 

Two years of not listening to his addictive laugh that made me smile so big my face hurt. 

And two years since once again, he’d left me disappointed when he’d waved goodbye and headed back to the city—and his boyfriend—where he’d set himself up with a new life away from the Sunshine Coast hinterland. 

Never once had I told him about how I felt, the right time never seeming to arrive. If I’d known he was gay before he’d left town when he was twenty, perhaps I would have been more obvious with my crushing. At eighteen, I’d been very definitely out. But Dan’s sexuality came as a surprise. Craig had dropped that bombshell when I was in my second year of uni. 

And hadn’t that been a kick in the gut, swiftly followed by elation. For the first time ever, I’d considered that just maybe I had a chance.

The chance never came, though.

There was no point when we lived a couple of hours apart. Long-distance wasn’t something I thought I could handle, even when it was for my brother’s best friend, the man who’d snagged a piece of my heart when my balls first dropped and my dick had thickened watching Gerard Butler in 300.

There was also the fact he’d had a boyfriend. Had been the exciting word of the day. Almost a year ago, they’d split. 

The gravel under his feet grew louder, and his gaze remained fixed to mine. Barely a metre apart, and he stopped, shifting the six-pack to his side. 

“Hey, Ross.” Pretty light-brown orbs peered back at me, wide and just as mesmerising as I remembered. “Bloody hell, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

I grinned, uncertain of the words that might fall out of my mouth.

I didn’t need to worry. In Dan’s next breath, he said, “Get your arse over here already and give me a hug.”

I ignored my brother’s snort as he snagged the beer from Dan and walked on past us.

A deep exhale escaped my lungs as I stepped forwards and pulled him into my arms. I wrapped myself around him, holding him tight. The feel of his large limbs, strong and firm, wrapped around my own frame made my heart sing.

“Good to see you too, mate. About time you made the move back to civilisation.” My grin remained wide when I eased away, his snort making me chuckle.

“Civilisation, huh?”

“Yep. You better believe it. You know, a Subway opened in town, and Bunnings got an extension. Civilisation at its best.”

Dan’s laugh washed over me like a familiar hug, the sensation warming me, much like the log fire already built in my sitting room did.

“Come on.” I gripped his arms, giving a happy squeeze. “Let’s go and grab one of those beers.” 

About the Author 

Becca Seymour is the #1 gay romance best seller of the True-Blue series, having sold more than seventy thousand copies of book one in the series so far. Known for “steamy and endearing” and “emotionally profound love stories” (InD’tale Magazine) her books have been nominated for multiple RONE Awards.

Becca lives and breathes all things book related. Usually with at least three books being read and two WiPs being written at the same time, Becca’s life is merrily hectic. She tends to do nothing by halves so happily seeks the craziness and busyness life offers.

Living on her small property in Queensland with her human family as well as her animal family of cows, chooks, and dogs, Becca appreciates the beauty of the world around her and is a believer that love truly is love.

Author Links

https://linktr.ee/beccaseymour

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

BOOK BLAST

The Book of Hours

 

The Book of Hours by Maria Alonso-Sierra

A Sexy, Thrilling, International Romantic Suspense

A manuscript. A sick obsession to possess it. And Richard, who must protect Gabriela from the danger. If not, their lives and their future will go up in flames.

#TheCoin #TheBookOfHours #Mariaelenaalonsosierra #NewRelease #barenakedwords #RomanticSuspense

BUY THE BOOK

The Book of Hours: https://books2read.com/u/mqD6Vd

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/49602164-the-book-of-hours

BLURB

FOR ARTIST GABRIELA MARTINEZ, PSYCHOPATHS DO HIT TWICE. A manuscript, a sick obsession, and only a few hours to live.

A NEW THREAT. When Arnold Wickham, an unscrupulous art dealer, catches a glimpse of Gabriela’s new work, The Book of Hours, he is like a man possessed. Now, he will do anything in order to claim it, and nothing, especially not Gabriela, will stand in his way.

A LOVE TESTED. Richard Harrison has been gifted with a second chance to protect Gabriela, the woman he loves. In the shadow of this new threat, however, the stakes are now much higher, and there is much more to lose. And if Richard doesn’t stay one step ahead of the danger, their lives, their love, but especially their future may very well go up in flames.

Set in California and London, The Book of Hours is a story about greed, obsession, family duty, and, especially, deserved second chances.

This work has received multiple accolades, including winner of the 2019 Recommended Read Medal at Author Shout’s Reader Ready Award.

 

Check out Book 1 in the series: The Coin:

The Coin: https://books2read.com/u/3kpyGK

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/49601967-the-coin

 

Meet the Author:

Website: https://mariaelenawrites.com

Blog: https://mariaelenawrites.com/blog

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7093896.Maria_Elena_Alonso_Sierra

Facebook: https://facebook.com/MariaElenaAlonsoSierraWrites

Twitter: https://twitter.com/MariaElenaWrite

Instagram: https://instagram.com/MariaElenaWrites.author

Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/maria-elena-alonso-sierra-a81b1265

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/maria-elena-alonso-sierra

Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/elena8094

BOOK BLAST

A Particular Friendship by Paul Van der Spiegel

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: A Particular Friendship

Author: Paul Van der Spiegel

Publisher: Perceptions Press

Cover Artist: Paul Van der Speigel

Release Date: November 28, 2021

Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance

Tropes: Boy meets boy, loses boy, gets boy back again

Themes: Religion and being gay, coming out as an older man

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length:  62 000 words/ 225 pages

It is a standalone book and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon US   |   Amazon UK 

Tom Morton is a gay Catholic priest whose lover comes back into his life leading to a confrontation with a powerful bishop.

Blurb 

The story has two timelines. In the odd-numbered chapters we meet Tom, an isolated fifty-year old parish priest of St. James’ Church, a Jesuit-built church in a northern English town. Tom is an in-the-closet gay man in an increasingly intolerant Catholic Church, an organisation that defines homosexuality as inherently disordered with traditionalist elements blaming incidents of child sex abuse on an underground ‘pink mafia’. Antony, the only man Tom has ever fallen in love with, the man he abandoned thirty-years earlier, arrives in church to ask Tom to provide the Sacrament of the Sick to his dying mother. 

In the second timeline, the even numbered chapters, we see Tom from childhood through to his ordination as a priest. As Tom grows into adolescence the confusion begins: he has experiences with girls, as well as burgeoning romantic and sexual feelings for his friend, Antony. After they sleep together for the first time, as the pressure to conform to a heterosexual society reaches fever-pitch, Tom abandons his lover and flees to the Church. At Ash Burrow seminary, Tom finds acceptance, a masculine culture, and other gay men like himself.

The novel has three sections. The first section describes Tom meeting Antony again after decades apart, the rekindling of their relationship, and how history repeats itself with Tom siding with the Church against his love. In the second timeline, we see Tom’s childhood, and the repercussions of the tragic car accident that kills his father and brother.

The second section describes Toms emotional collapse and the deterioration of his mental health until he reaches the point where he is actively suicidal. In contrast, we see Tom’s teenage-self approaching life with a sense of potential. The section ends with Tom coming out to his congregation and informing them that he is HIV positive and has been for twenty years.

In the third section, Tom is sacked, and St. James church is closed and put up for sale. Tom is also dealing with the scars of a violent sexual assault suffered whilst he was a seminarian at Ash Burrow – the perpetrator, Derek Worrell, is now the Bishop of Preston. In the second timeline, we see Tom’s life at the seminary, his romances, his appreciation of the structure of the Church, and the horrific incident that changes his life forever.      

The story reaches its close with a group of gay Catholic priests standing with Tom against the bishop and the diocese. Antony proposes to Tom in a crowded railway station, and they prepare to begin their lives together.  

Excerpt

Excerpt from ‘A Particular Friendship’

Tom read the gospel according to John. 

‘When it was almost time for the Jewish Passover, Jesus went up to Jerusalem. In the temple courts, he found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and others sitting at tables exchanging money. So, he made a whip out of cords and drove all from the temple courts, both sheep and cattle; he scattered the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. To those who sold doves he said, “Get these out of here! Stop turning my Father’s house into a market!”’

‘Jesus was a man of action,’ Tom told his congregation, ‘a person who would take risks. Jesus did not stop to do a risk assessment, fill the forms in, or consult a firm of speciality solicitors. Instead, he acted out of a deep conviction, the conviction that love is God, that love is central to our lives, that crowding our lives with the busyness of business leaves no room for goodness. Jesus felt fear, just like us, but he did what he knew God wanted him to do.’ 

After the blessing and dismissal, the Arundel children, Sophie and Danny, led the way from the altar to the church entrance, brother and sister dressed in matching black cassocks and white surplices. Standing on the tiled steps, Tom shook the hands of his parishioners, blessed proffered rosaries and crucifixes on chains, waved goodbye to the choir, thanked visitors for coming. 

On his way back to the sacristy, Tom found Mike Arundel waiting by the Lady Altar as his children snuffed out the candles and tidied up.

‘Hello, Mike,’ Tom said, as he strode past.

‘Father Morton,’ Mike Arundel replied. 

‘See you, Father Thomas,’ Sophie said, as she hung her cassock on a hanger in the wall cupboard and disappeared into the church.

‘How are you finding things at St. Pat’s, Danny?’ Tom asked. ‘I went there myself, a long time ago.’

‘Everyone seems really nice. Mister Cooper is strict though.’

‘I went to school with your headmaster. He was in the year above me.’

‘Yeah.’

‘It’s a big change, going to high school.’

‘Yeah,’

‘Do you see your sister around school much?’

‘Not much.’

‘What subjects do you like best?’

‘I like music and drama.’

‘What about sports, football and rugby?’

‘I don’t like football.’

‘I didn’t like it either at school. I was useless. I like watching it now though.’

‘My dad takes me to watch Bussell Athletic.’

‘That sounds fun.’

‘I’ve got to go… my dad will be waiting.’

‘Hi five, Danny.’

The boy slapped the priest’s hand and then he was gone.

‘Go and sit with your sister in the car,’ Tom heard Mike Arundel tell his son.

‘Father Morton,’ Mike Arundel said, as he stepped into the sacristy, ‘keep your hands off my boy.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Tom said.

‘You heard me.’

There was a loud knock at the front door of the rectory and Tom, still stunned, walked from the sacristy into his home. Opening the door, he found a dishevelled woman with a supermarket carrier bag in her hands. 

‘Hello, Father Morton. I’m sorry to trouble you. I’ve had nothing to eat for two days. Can I come in?’

Tom fought the compulsion to tell the stranger to piss off, to tell her that now was not a good time. In fact, it was an incredibly bad time. He bit back his anger. Then, he did what he was supposed to do and invited the woman in.

‘Come in, please. Would you like some food?’

‘Thank you, Father. I thought you were going to tell me to fuck off there, for a minute.’

‘No, not at all. Sorry, I was having a senior moment. The kitchen is this way. Please follow me.’

As his guest took her seat at the table, Tom brought out a slice of Joan Bird’s ‘Friday fish-day’ pie from the fridge. 

‘I’ll warm this up for you. Would you like a tea or a coffee with that? Let me plug that phone in for you.’

‘Can I use your bathroom, please? I promise I won’t rob nothing.’

‘There isn’t anything worth stealing, I’m afraid, not unless you like religious books. The bathroom is upstairs, first door on the left.’

Tom warmed the pie in the microwave and put some frozen green beans into boiling water on the stove. 

‘You’re welcome to have a shower whilst you’re here, if you like. There is a lock on the door so needn’t worry about your privacy,’ he said, as his visitor returned.

‘Are you saying I smell?’

‘Gosh no. I would never say that. I was just…’

‘I’m messing with you. I’m Rosie.’

‘Hi, Rosie,’ Tom said, extending his hand, ‘I’m Tom.’

‘You’re a good priest, Father Morton. I can tell. Not like some of the others.’

‘That’s kind of you. Funnily enough, I’ve just had a rather unpleasant conversation with a parent who told me in no uncertain terms that I am not allowed to clap hands with his son.’

‘The bad apples spoil it…’ Rosie said, dissolving into a coughing fit, holding her sleeve to her mouth.

‘Are you okay?’ Tom said, concerned. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘No, I’m fine,’ Rosie said, fishing a fistful of paper napkins from her pocket and wiping her mouth. 

‘I think your food is ready.’

Tom watched as Rosie devoured the food, finishing her plate in a matter of minutes. 

About the Author 

I am the author of the Queer Testament series (Trans Deus – about a trans woman Christ, 7 Minutes – about coming out at the point of death, Parably Not – an illuminated book in the tradition of William Blake, and A Particular Friendship- a story about a gay Catholic priest who finds himself in conflict with his sexuality and his Church). My stories are about the intersection of faith and sexuality. I am a Will Blake obsessive and I’m working on new material based on his themes of sex and gender fluidity, revelation and rebellion. I love reading (Alan Garner, Alan Moore, Susan Cooper, Ballard, and PK Dick especially). I live in Manchester, England. 

Author Links

Blog/Website  |  Twitter  |   Tumblr

Giveaway 

Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway for a chance to win

one of 5 copies of the ebook.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

BOOK BLAST

THE CAPE MAY MYSTERY SERIES BOOK BLAST

The Cape May Cozy Mysteries by Jane Gorman

Check out this fun series from Jane Gorman!

Scones and Scofflaws: Cape May Cozy Mysteries with a Twist Cozy Mystery 1st in Series Setting – Cape May, New Jersey Blue Eagle Press (December 19, 2020) Paperback : 278 pages ISBN-10 : 0999110047 ISBN-13 : 978-0999110041 Digital ASIN : B08PW7M9JC

When a gorgeous man dressed as Bridgette Bardot buys her a Scofflaw and asks her out on a date, Anna McGregor begins to suspect her murder investigation has taken a wrong turn. Her previous work as a medical anthropologist exposed her to a variety of unexpected situations, but none quite like this.

 

“The story does a great job of setting up the mystery and then anthropologist turned B&B hostess, Anna McGregor leads us through a merry chase and I thought I had it partially figured out but then realized…red herring. I would suggest you skip to the back of the book to find the scofflaw recipe and make one to enjoy while you armchair sleuth your way through this charming and cozy mystery.” — Tracy’s Tidbits

 

It all seemed so simple: fix up the Cape May Victorian mansion she’d inherited from Great Aunt Louise and re-open it as the exceptional B&B it used to be. Everything’s going great, until her very first guest turns up dead at the breakfast table, crumbs from Anna’s blueberry scones scattered on the lace tablecloth.

 

As the town’s gossip mill goes into overdrive, Anna leaps into the fray to save her reputation, her business and Great Aunt Louise’s legacy.

 

With help from a handsome handyman eager to solve all of Anna’s problems and a young police officer new to murder investigations, Anna does her best to convince the town — and her future guests — that while her scones may be killer, someone else was responsible for this murder.

Purchase Links – AmazonB&NAlibrisIndieBoundKoboBooks2Read

Boats, Bodies and the Bee’s Knees: Cape May Cozy Mysteries with a Twist Cozy Mystery 2nd in Series Blue Eagle Press (April 9, 2021) Paperback : 270 pages ISBN-10 : 0999110063 ISBN-13 : 978-0999110065 Kindle ASIN : B08TV5Y2Y9

When her friend’s uncle is accused of murder, Anna McGregor dives into the boating life to prove his innocence. She soon learns that while lounging on a luxury yacht might be fun, matching wits with a killer can be deadly.

Life has finally settled down for Anna. The Cape May B & B she inherited from her Great Aunt Louise is fully booked and Anna is looking forward to a successful summer. Her peace is shattered when a body washes up in Spicer Creek and the police focus their investigation on her friend’s uncle. Determined to find the truth, Anna turns to skills she developed in her previous career in medical anthropology. Once again, Anna teams up with her best friend Sammy, her young cousin Eoin and the local librarian to use their knowledge of the town and its people to solve this crime. But the disappearance of two local teenagers reminds Anna this is the wrong time for free fishing trips or relaxing on a yacht enjoying a Bee’s Knees cocktail. She needs to find the missing teenagers and identify the killer before anyone else gets hurt. Purchase Link – AmazonB&NAlibrisIndieBoundKoboBooks2Read

Killers and Kir Royale: Cape May Cozy Mysteries with a Twist Cozy Mystery 3rd in Series Blue Eagle Press (December 17, 2021) Print Length 241 Pages ASIN : B09MV26RSS

When a love of wine becomes lethal, local B&B owner Anna McGregor discovers she’s the town’s connoisseur at defending the innocent and unmasking murderers. But if she goes after the killer, will the people she cares about most get crushed in the process?

Anna loves the new life she’s built for herself in Cape May, a town known for its historic beauty, picturesque beaches, developing wine culture and … murder? Thanks to some previous successes – and a close relationship with a local patrolman – Anna finds herself pressured into accepting the task of proving a new friend’s innocence in a tragic death at a local winery. Her investigation reveals an embarrassment of suspects, not to mention one too many potential victims. As always, Anna relies on help from her friends to find the truth. This time, though, offering help means breaking the rules. Now she must not only catch a killer but also save the reputation of one of her closest friends, all while getting ready to send her young cousin, Eoin, back to Ireland, trying to solve the riddle of her love life, and figuring out her future as a medical anthropologist. Purchase Links – AmazonB&NAlibrisKoboBooks2Read

About Jane Gorman

Formerly an anthropologist, then a diplomat, then a park ranger, Jane Gorman now writes murder mysteries. Building on her knowledge of Philadelphia (her home for many years) and her varied experiences, her Adam Kaminski mystery series features a Philly cop who manages to solve complicated murders in far-flung locales, both in the U.S. and overseas. Her Cape May cozy mysteries paint a light-hearted, fun picture of the Cape May life of a former anthropologist who just happens to be good at solving murders – and trying out new cocktails!

Author Links Website Facebook Twitter BookBub GoodReads Have you signed up to be a Tour Host? Click Here to Find Details and Sign Up Today! Additional Banners
BOOK BLAST

THE CAPE MAY MYSTERIES BOOK BLAST –

The Cape May Cozy Mysteries by Jane Gorman

Check out this fun series from Jane Gorman!

Scones and Scofflaws: Cape May Cozy Mysteries with a Twist Cozy Mystery 1st in Series Setting – Cape May, New Jersey Blue Eagle Press (December 19, 2020) Paperback : 278 pages ISBN-10 : 0999110047 ISBN-13 : 978-0999110041 Digital ASIN : B08PW7M9JC

When a gorgeous man dressed as Bridgette Bardot buys her a Scofflaw and asks her out on a date, Anna McGregor begins to suspect her murder investigation has taken a wrong turn. Her previous work as a medical anthropologist exposed her to a variety of unexpected situations, but none quite like this.

 

“The story does a great job of setting up the mystery and then anthropologist turned B&B hostess, Anna McGregor leads us through a merry chase and I thought I had it partially figured out but then realized…red herring. I would suggest you skip to the back of the book to find the scofflaw recipe and make one to enjoy while you armchair sleuth your way through this charming and cozy mystery.” — Tracy’s Tidbits

 

It all seemed so simple: fix up the Cape May Victorian mansion she’d inherited from Great Aunt Louise and re-open it as the exceptional B&B it used to be. Everything’s going great, until her very first guest turns up dead at the breakfast table, crumbs from Anna’s blueberry scones scattered on the lace tablecloth.

 

As the town’s gossip mill goes into overdrive, Anna leaps into the fray to save her reputation, her business and Great Aunt Louise’s legacy.

 

With help from a handsome handyman eager to solve all of Anna’s problems and a young police officer new to murder investigations, Anna does her best to convince the town — and her future guests — that while her scones may be killer, someone else was responsible for this murder.

Purchase Links – AmazonB&NAlibrisIndieBoundKoboBooks2Read

Boats, Bodies and the Bee’s Knees: Cape May Cozy Mysteries with a Twist Cozy Mystery 2nd in Series Blue Eagle Press (April 9, 2021) Paperback : 270 pages ISBN-10 : 0999110063 ISBN-13 : 978-0999110065 Kindle ASIN : B08TV5Y2Y9

When her friend’s uncle is accused of murder, Anna McGregor dives into the boating life to prove his innocence. She soon learns that while lounging on a luxury yacht might be fun, matching wits with a killer can be deadly.

Life has finally settled down for Anna. The Cape May B & B she inherited from her Great Aunt Louise is fully booked and Anna is looking forward to a successful summer. Her peace is shattered when a body washes up in Spicer Creek and the police focus their investigation on her friend’s uncle. Determined to find the truth, Anna turns to skills she developed in her previous career in medical anthropology. Once again, Anna teams up with her best friend Sammy, her young cousin Eoin and the local librarian to use their knowledge of the town and its people to solve this crime. But the disappearance of two local teenagers reminds Anna this is the wrong time for free fishing trips or relaxing on a yacht enjoying a Bee’s Knees cocktail. She needs to find the missing teenagers and identify the killer before anyone else gets hurt. Purchase Link – AmazonB&NAlibrisIndieBoundKoboBooks2Read

Killers and Kir Royale: Cape May Cozy Mysteries with a Twist Cozy Mystery 3rd in Series Blue Eagle Press (December 17, 2021) Print Length 241 Pages ASIN : B09MV26RSS

When a love of wine becomes lethal, local B&B owner Anna McGregor discovers she’s the town’s connoisseur at defending the innocent and unmasking murderers. But if she goes after the killer, will the people she cares about most get crushed in the process?

Anna loves the new life she’s built for herself in Cape May, a town known for its historic beauty, picturesque beaches, developing wine culture and … murder? Thanks to some previous successes – and a close relationship with a local patrolman – Anna finds herself pressured into accepting the task of proving a new friend’s innocence in a tragic death at a local winery. Her investigation reveals an embarrassment of suspects, not to mention one too many potential victims. As always, Anna relies on help from her friends to find the truth. This time, though, offering help means breaking the rules. Now she must not only catch a killer but also save the reputation of one of her closest friends, all while getting ready to send her young cousin, Eoin, back to Ireland, trying to solve the riddle of her love life, and figuring out her future as a medical anthropologist. Purchase Links – AmazonB&NAlibrisKoboBooks2Read

About Jane Gorman

Formerly an anthropologist, then a diplomat, then a park ranger, Jane Gorman now writes murder mysteries. Building on her knowledge of Philadelphia (her home for many years) and her varied experiences, her Adam Kaminski mystery series features a Philly cop who manages to solve complicated murders in far-flung locales, both in the U.S. and overseas. Her Cape May cozy mysteries paint a light-hearted, fun picture of the Cape May life of a former anthropologist who just happens to be good at solving murders – and trying out new cocktails!

Author Links Website Facebook Twitter BookBub GoodReads Have you signed up to be a Tour Host? Click Here to Find Details and Sign Up Today! Additional Banners