Monday, June 26, 2023
Sanctuary Angel's Halo Next Gen #12 Release Blast- WSJ & USAToday Bestselling Author Terri Anne Browning Get Tainted By TAB
Terri Anne Browning
Contemporary New Adult MC Romance Series
Contains dark and suspenseful elements
Contains dark and suspenseful elements
Monday, June 12, 2023
Friday, June 2, 2023
This Will Hurt II
(June 2nd 2023)
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, LGBTQ+, Romance
Part II of II Angst Awakening Friends to Lovers Family
Buckle in. Roe and Jake have mountains to climb, walls to tear down, and countless private moments to bring them even closer in this final part of their journey.
The ground beneath me had finally settled. I was content. I was all right. I could move forward and live with my choices.
Then I found Jake’s damn journal from… therapy. That was right. My best friend, who defined “man of few words,” was in therapy. The ground started shaking again. I got desperate. I got angry. I…almost lost him on the job when he saved my life.
Nothing was settled anymore.
What the fuck did you wear to a country concert?
I grabbed a pair of jeans and boxer briefs from the closet, then walked back into the bedroom and picked up my phone from my nightstand. I sent Jake a message.
I’m fresh out of chaps and cowboy hats. What should I wear, hoss?
While I waited for his response, I removed the towel around my hips and put on the boxers and jeans.
“Dada, I’m-wa no baff!”
I glanced over at the door as my boy ran in, with Sandra hot on his tail.
I grinned faintly and swooped him up. “Look out, we got a runner ova’ hea’.” I peppered his face with smooches, and he giggled up a storm. “You can’t escape bath time, baby boy. But you know what comes after, don’t you? Mommy’s gonna read you a story.”
“Nooo,” he complained.
“Yeees,” I mimicked.
Sandra sighed and smiled ruefully. “Let’s go, sweetie. We’ll get extra bubbles and everything.”
“Hear that? We love those bubbles.” I handed over the clinging monkey to her and pressed a kiss to the side of his head.
“I don’t wannaaa,” he whined.
Sandra carried him out, only to stop in the doorway and turn back to me. “You sure you don’t wanna cancel?”
Positive—and I wasn’t fighting with her about it again.
“I won’t be late,” was all I said.
The teasing glint in her eyes faded, and she walked out.
I released a breath.
My phone dinged on the nightstand, and I walked over and read Jake’s text.
I’ll tell you you’re pretty no matter what you wear, sugar.
I laughed silently and shook my head.
Whatever. I returned to the closet and dug out a long-sleeved tee that made my biceps look good. We were going to an outdoor place up in Griffith Park, so it was bound to get chilly. But I liked that it wasn’t a huge concert. Only some five thousand people. It beat going to the Staples Center.
Jake picked me up downstairs fifteen minutes later, and the most country thing about him continued to be his truck. It made no sense to drive a truck in LA. But he loved it, and I really had no room to argue choices of vehicles. I was still a laughingstock after buying a sports car before Casper was born. Worst deal ever. I’d probably lost twenty grand when I’d traded it in for a family-friendly SUV.
“Hey, pretty.” Jake pulled out from the curb. “I see you found clothes.”
“No thanks to you.” I smiled and buckled my seat belt. “Will I see a lot of chaps tonight?”
“If I drop you off in West Hollywood instead, I’m sure there’s a club for you.”
I laughed. Funny.
“Oh, this is a good one.” He cranked up the volume on the stereo. “He’ll probably play this tonight.”
I side-eyed him, more interested in studying Jake than hearing a song. There was something inherently sexy about how he drove. He made life look easy when he was on the road. One arm along the edge of the window, the sleeves of his open flannel shirt rolled up—some serious forearm porn going on—two fingers gripping the wheel loosely at the bottom. He tapped his foot to the rocky beat, and his lips moved subtly to the singer’s voice.
Ratty USMC ball cap on the dash. Since he always wore it backward, he took it off when a headrest was in the way.
Fitting lyrics, about holding on to things you believed in.
Of course, it being a country rock song, the topic was the singer’s truck.
“It’s the miles that make a man.”
How many miles till I fell out of love with him?
“I’d be nothing without you, so I’m holding on.”
Surprisingly, a line not about the truck.
“I’m not the openin’ act,” he chuckled. “Quit starin’.”
That was the fucking problem, wasn’t it? He was the headliner.
I’m often awkwardly silent or, if the topic interests me, a chronic rambler. In other words, I can discuss writing forever and ever. Fiction, in particular. The love story—while a huge draw and constantly present—is secondary for me, because there’s so much more to writing romance fiction than just making two (or more) people fall in love and have hot sex.
There’s a world to build, characters to develop, interests to create, and a topic or two to research thoroughly.
Every book is a challenge for me, an opportunity to learn something new, and a puzzle to piece together. I want my characters to come to life, and the only way I know to do that is to give them substance—passions, history, goals, quirks, and strong opinions—and to let them evolve.
I want my men and women to be relatable. That means allowing room for everyday problems and, for lack of a better word, flaws. My characters will never be perfect.
Wait…this was supposed to be about me, not my writing.
I'm a writey person who loves to write. Always wanderlusting, twitterpating, kinking, cooking, baking, and geeking. There’s time for hockey and family, too. But mostly, I just love to write.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Thursday, June 1, 2023
The Art of Husbandry
(June 1st 2023)
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, LGBTQ+, Romance
When life drowns you in lemons, to hell with making lemonade. I wanted to burn the whole world. But eighteen months from the day my life was torn apart, I’m tired of the anger. Tired of the nightmares. Tired of putting one foot in front of the other just trying to survive.
Three months on a high country sheep station in the middle of nowhere is exactly the reboot I need. A chance to break free. To breathe again. To find a way forward. I put my entire life on hold and head south to Mackenzie Country.
But falling for the captivating young station boss was never part of the plan. Holden Miller might be smart and sexy and push all of my dusty buttons, but we come from two different worlds. I’m not looking for a relationship. I’m not interested in love. I’m done with all that.
But Holden doesn’t care about my rules. Nestled safely in the arms of the spectacular Southern Alps, on an isolated sheep farm at the top of the world, Holden begins knitting my battered heart together one careful stitch at a time. And with every pass of the thread, every braid of the river on our doorstep, I catch a tantalising glimpse of something I’d almost given up on.
Happiness, and maybe even love.
If I have the courage to reach out and grab them.
Heart, humour and keeping it real.
Jay is a 2020 Lambda Literary Award Finalist in Gay Romance and her book Off Balance was the 2021 New Zealand Romance Book of the Year.
She is a New Zealand author writing mm romance and romantic suspense, primarily set in New Zealand. She writes character driven romances with lots of humour, a good dose of reality and a splash of angst. She's travelled extensively, lived in many countries, and in a past life she was a critical care nurse, nurse educator and counsellor. Jay is owned by a huge Maine Coon cat and a gorgeous Cocker Spaniel
Find Jay in all the places: https://www.jayhoganauthor.com/landingpage
a Rafflecopter giveaway
by Jerry Harwood
GENRE: Sweet Romance
When event planner Megan Rouche's boyfriend lands a job in Atlanta, he proposes. But she chooses to stay in her small Tennessee town to care for her grandmother. There she kindles a new relationship. However, all is in jeopardy when Frank returns on behalf of his Atlanta company with big plans to develop a new factory in Bakewell and marry Megan.
Frank closed the passenger side door and stretched. He was chuckling. He walked around the car, and picked the keys off the ground. He clicked the remote and the car gave its resonant “beep, beep.” Frank reached to check that the door was locked before bending over to offer Megan help up.
Megan took his hand and lifted herself off the ground. Her knee had a small trickle of blood and some gravel clinging to the wound.
Frank unlocked the driver-side door, releasing the captive scarf. He scooped the scarf off the ground as he said, “Right in a puddle. You probably ruined it. And I just bought this for you too.”
“I’m sorry,” Megan said. She continued to brush off the gravel dust from her blouse and seasonal skirt. Her skirt had a damp section. Her hair pin had been shifted so her curly mop of hair threatened to burst loose from its cage. She figured it probably looked like a hornet’s nest, if it was indeed even that orderly. She looked back at Frank. “Will you help me.” she pleaded.
“That holly bush will rip these suede pants to smithereens. But I tell you what, sweetie, I’ll go see if I can find someone to come help you.” With that, Frank walked off toward the barn. Megan had no time to waste. She walked over to the holly bush. Bending over, she felt a jolt of pain in her bad knee. She scolded the bush with a pointed finger as she reached in for her envelope. Reclaiming the marriage certificate cost her a thorn and a new tear in her blouse. She avoided having anything prickly barb her legs, though. Megan thanked her mother for her genes. Being 6’2” had its advantages when arguing with holly bushes.
Megan collected her other papers, assembling them in as much an order as she could muster. The once-pristine notebook now looked like something out of a third grader’s bookbag. Limping back to the car, she pulled the door latch. She had a repair kit for her heels. A wedding planner must be ready for anything! The Prius was locked. She scanned the parking lot for Frank. There were several people talking nearby, but he was not among them. She felt the perspiration on her brow. A man in a tux pointed at his watch. He tapped it before looking around the parking lot. Looking for me. He is looking for his wedding planner.
Her own watch said 3:45. She wanted to be early, and, officially, she had fifteen minutes before she was late. Megan took off her good shoe. She snapped the heel off and returned it to her foot. Better to have two things broken the same way, than hobble along with one good and one bad. She picked up the now empty folder. Slowly, she began walking to each scattered paper, placing a foot on it to stop its movement, and reclaiming it to the folder. Then, materials in hand, she stumbled down the sidewalk toward the front door of the barn and the wedding party.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Jerry Harwood was born in Ooltewah, TN. His mother was an elementary school teacher and he spent his afternoons reading books in her classroom or the nearby public library. He currently is a writer, which makes sense based on the fact you are reading this here. He has experimented with other occupations: camp director, program director at a counseling center, college professor and middle school teacher. Jerry has backpacked Europe, taught in a Ukrainian University, worked in Rwanda after the genocide, is a first responder, sort-of remodeled a VW Thing, and has a love for Cherry Coke Zero that is only surpassed by his love for his wife, six children, and grandson. He is chairs the Writer’s Track at ConNooga, and actively participates in the Chattanooga Writer's Guild where he previously served as a board member.
Feel free to share your thoughts on the book with Jerry at JerryHarwoodBooks@gmail.com or visit his website at www.jerryharwood.com. He can also be found on The Zon at https://amzn.to/40GnIEQ
Buy the book at or read it with Kindle Unlimited: https://amzn.to/40y4EZi
GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE
The bookshop barista…
When I sold a vintage typewriter, I never imagined its new owner would become my pen pal, best friend, and secret crush.
We have two rules: no photos and no real names.
Over the years, “Remington” and I go from typewritten notes to daily texts, but our rules stay the same. And so does my life. I’m a wannabe writer who can’t complete a novel, and I’ve fallen for a guy who I’ve never met.
So when I receive a letter my Nanna wrote before she died encouraging me to embark on a summer of risks—my first on the list is to break all the rules.
& the celebrity...
I hate keeping secrets from my pen pal, the one woman I care about. But I’m Hollywood’s hottest celebrity, and my fame is toxic. If I get close to a girl, she becomes vulnerable, stalked by the tabloids, trolls, and superfans.
Our anonymous friendship works until “Typewriter Girl” suddenly ghosts me. Now, I’ll do anything to ensure she’s safe, including stepping out from behind the screen and leading a double life.
Star-Crossed Letters is book 1 in the Falling for Famous contemporary romance series.
Sarah Deeham is the author of sexy slow-burn romance novels to make readers smile and swoon. With a master's degree in writing and publishing, she got her start in writing as a freelance journalist, communications director, and an editorial director for a public relations agency. She is an American expat living overseas and currently makes her home in Kuala Lumpur with her husband, two children, and lazy golden retriever.