Saturday, September 19, 2015

Saturday Series Spotlight: The Gaslight Mysteries by Erin O'Quinn

Heart to Hart #1
Michael McCree is one with a mysterious past, who ends up as a newspaper man, thereby meeting the strikingly handsome Simon Hart, who comes to his shop to turn in an obituary notice.

Simon’s flat-mate and former business partner has been killed, and Simon, a private investigator, needs to track down the murderer. Michael, immediately smitten with the sulky and sexy man, lays a plan to first become his new roomer, then his business partner.

But Simon, stricken by his recent loss, is having none of Michael’s undisguised interest.

Not a man to be deterred easily from a goal, Michael sets about winning Simon’s affection. That particular battle is almost as difficult as tracking down the murderer of his predecessor, a nosy detective who was getting too close to the crimes of an evil person.

Simon spends more time ducking Michael’s advances than actually finding clues and solving the mystery. Inquiring minds want to know—how hard is Simon really trying to avoid Michael? And Michael isn’t hiding his forthright urges, but what secret is he hiding?

Sparring with Shadows #2
Simon Hart, private investigator, has always thought of himself as a regular fellow. He’s standoffish and a loner with a sullen attitude—yet surely a normal bloke. And then he meets the randy Michael McCree.

In short order, Michael has become his flat-mate, his business partner, and his wannabe lover. Now Simon must look deeper, into his own hidden desires, if he wants to survive.

There’s something about Michael’s secret vocation that invites trouble. Simon finds himself sparring with shadows: in the hidden bedrooms of a roaring twenties version of a gay a chained wall decoration in the flat of a thief and sexual deviant...and as the quarry in a deadly confrontation in an exhibitionist’s bed and then in a sewer tunnel beneath the streets of a 1923 city somewhere in Ireland.

Above all, Simon is sparring with the shadow of his own secret urges. Michael will not allow him to turn away from a kind of private investigation of which he has not even dreamed. Until now.

Follow a fastidious, surly investigator and his horny yet secretive partner through the very cracks in a city of gaslights and vintage motorcars, into a hidden homosexual culture, as the men find themselves sparring with shadows...

To the Bone #3
The time is 1923, and the place is a fantasy city in Ireland. Two unlikely men have formed a partnership: good-natured Michael, who keeps a serious secret, and sulky Simon, who has plenty of reasons to be angry at the world. Michael has stalked the standoffish Simon from the beginning, and Simon has consistently rebuffed him...yet not enough for Michael to give up a dedicated pursuit of the handsome investigator.

As private eyes, the men have a case to solve: to find more than a score of stolen paintings, and especially one small valuable work of art worth more than all the others. But the case grows more complex the deeper they look into it. Soon Michael and Simon find themselves searching not just for a thief, but for a city-wide ring of criminals. And the closer they get to the paintings, the closer they find themselves to a killer.

Into this mix steps a man named Moshe—a pesky, secretive, nosy man who is nevertheless a brilliant investigator himself. He gives both the men fits, burrowing like a tick into their very private affairs, so close they have a hard time evading him.

Can the investigators solve a series of crimes, take care of the interfering Moshe, and drive their own intense relationship all the way to the bone?

I read all three books and since the time frame from page 1 of Heart to Hart to the last page of To the Bone only covers about two to three weeks, I'm going to do an overall review for these entries.  I won't lie, the beginning was a bit tricky to get into with the Irish slang of the time but I was able to become comfortable with it after only a chapter or so.  As I write this I am thinking that it had more to do with me not letting go of the previous book before starting this series and less of the slang language, but whatever the reason, after that first chapter I was hooked.  Simon and Michael grabbed my heart and didn't let go.  I loved the humorous banter between the new found partners.  I found them to be very enjoyable and likeable despite their moments of infuriating debates.  At times, they reminded me very much of the banter and bickering of Bogey and Bacall in The Big Sleep.  The mysteries are quite intriguing and definitely hold the reader's interest as does the humor and the obvious attraction between the pair.  Michael McCree and Simon Hart are a captivating pair that I look forward to read many times over.


Thin as Smoke #4
In 1924, the PI team of Michael McCree and Simon Hart are on the trail of missing motors—a mundane case that turns deadly when they discover the link between their case and that of Samuel Dashiell Hammett.

The writer of hard-boiled crime is scratching to earn a living, and his work as an undercover Pinkerton operative lands him on the shore of the Irish Sea, in the city of Dun Linden. In one of a series of coincidences, Hammett finds himself paired with his old friend Michael, a man he knew in the U.S. before he left for the World War.

“Sam,” as he’s known to Michael, unwittingly sets in motion a series of events that separate the two partners and sometime-lovers. Working on his own, Simon finds himself on both ends of a Smith & Wesson revolver. Meanwhile, Sam and Michael discover that the perilous connection between motors and Mafia bootleggers also means a shattering of former alliances...because Michael and his old friend share a secret, one that threatens to end both his career and his complex relationship with Simon.

Simon and Michael are spectacular once again.  I love the fact that this installment is centered around their one year "anniversary".  We get to see how each of them see that fateful day and when you throw in their new case and the addition of Michael's old colleague, you have yourself a perfect addition to the Gaslight Mysteries.

Speaking of Michael's old colleague, Sam Hammett, it's a special treat for me.  Not only does Sam bring a new element to the story, an inkling of Michael's history and Simon dealing with the jealousy that Sam's arrival has brought out, but for me it adds a bit of fangirl moments.  Sam Hammett, or as most people know him, Dashiell Hammett, is the creator of my most favorite mystery solving couple, Nick and Nora Charles and The Thin Man.  Neither The Thin Man nor Hammett's writing skills have any bearing on this story but just the addition of his character into the mix had me giddy going in and once I finished Thin as Smoke, I was just as giddy.  Miss O'Quinn weaves Hammett into the world that Simon and Michael live in with creativity and nearly as much charm as Michael used to originally worm his way into Simon's life back in Heart to Hart.

Now for the mystery itself.  Perfect for the duo, or should I say trio in this case.  I don't think that the case is as big a part of this story as the cases in the first three of the series.  However, I do think that how the characters deal with the case and each other is more at the center of Thin as Smoke, which is still part of the mystery so perhaps it's just from a different angle.  However you look at the ins and outs of the case, this is a great addition the series and a must read, especially if you like historical settings.


Heart to Hart #1
     ...Michael followed Simon through the sitting room to a door opposite his own bedchamber. He’d seen Simon’s athletic trousers lying on the bedroom carpet, but not the jock strap. He knew beneath the shimmering robe there lay the chance of a lifetime. An athlete’s groin, encased in a bit of cotton, the ass-end open to meet his maddened cock.
     Michael took a deep breath and followed Simon across the threshold of the second bedchamber. It was the same size as the other, and the bed was the same heavy mahogany, canopied, yet without the frills one might expect in such Victorian excess.
     He saw right away that the headboard, unlike the one on Simon’s bed, was a series of dowels, stout, carved and deeply burnished. He hardened at the thought of Simon’s wrists tied to those same dowels with his own silken neck scarves. He saw an image of the man twisting and scowling, pretending to seek his freedom. Yes, this bed would suit him fine.
     Simon stood erect at the door, his eyes already seeking the exit. Michael, close to him, turned and grazed his groin with his own trousers. “All mine, lad?”
     “Yes.” Simon’s voice sounded as though he were suffocating.
     Michael refused to take pity. He reached one finger across to Simon’s swollen jaw. “Better?” He drew his thumb from near the curled, angry mouth all the way to his throat.
     Simon jerked his head away, avoiding his eyes.
     “D’ye want to know what I found out about ye, lad?” He did not wait for Simon to answer. His thumb continued from his throat to the V of his dressing gown. He slid it inside, touching cool flesh that nevertheless burned his skin. “Ye’re hard, lad. Yet soft as the silk of this robe. Ye’re a man, yet a young boy just finding what’s in his pocket.”
     Ah, God, Simon’s head was bowed. He was listening.
     “Please. Come lie wi’ me a while. I’ve a need to be next to ye.”
     When Simon’s dark, lustrous hair touched his chest, Michael almost exploded. He put his finger under the man’s chin and raised his mouth to meet his. Simon’s surly, sulky lips were aching to be bitten, silenced into submission.
     He began by putting his entire mouth over Simon’s, loving the way the other man gnashed his teeth and twisted his lips, fighting to free himself. He drew on it, long and deep, biting down until Simon’s tongue intervened. He seized the tongue, suckling it like a teat, like a soft cock.
     They kissed for long moments, while Michael drew Simon’s body close to his groin. When Simon’s tongue grazed his own, Michael groaned into his mouth. “Yes, lad, yes. Come lie wi’ me a while.”
     Simon broke free. He turned to the door, not looking at Michael at all. He spoke to the sitting room beyond.
     “I rise early. You will find an extra flat key under the wingback seat cushion. Good night.”
     He fled, while Michael stood cursing his own adamant need.
     A heartbeat later, he was following Simon across the plush carpet. He caught him in the middle of the floor and brought him down from behind—hard—laying all his superior weight into Simon’s back and wedging one massive calf between his knees. Simon fought back, jamming his shoulder and elbow into his solar plexus. Michael, laughing, caught his arm and twisted it behind, knowing he had the advantage of surprise and of the other man’s sudden passion.
     He twisted the man around to face him. Simon, trying not to breathe hard, lay in front of him, his eyes a molten metal, his robe open. Michael looked down at the jock strap, filled to bursting with Simon’s own insistent erection.
     “God, Simon, I want ye.” With both hands he pulled the scrap of cloth down, letting it catch on the bulb of his cock, then sliding it past his balls. He left it somewhere around his calves, a reminder of the man’s athletic promise.
     Here on the luxuriant carpet lay the lover he had wanted his entire life. He was tall, muscular, full of storm and fight. His cock lifted like a cudgel, a warning. His knees were up, his balls tight, hiding the sweetest part of the pie. Michael licked his lips and descended on Simon...

Sparring with Shadows #2
     ...Simon felt happy. A fleeting sense of well-being, of some satisfying dream just resolved, caused him to waken slowly instead of experiencing his usual jolt into reality. He was warm. In fact, an unusual kind of heat had invaded the entire area of his groin. Instead of fighting it, he sank into it, allowing his penis to sit rigidly in a place of refuge. He pushed closer to the source of emanating warmth. And then it moved.
     His haven, his harbor, seized the entire length of his flesh with a gentle squeeze, and he moaned, spurring it deeper, willing the dream to continue.
     At some level, he realized he’d entered Michael, whether by his own urgent need or by his bedmate’s polished maneuvering. Other than his inner muscle’s sudden seizure, the man was not moving at all, letting Simon push into his anus and groan into his broad back.
     For once in his life, Simon let his needing flesh dictate his actions. The sensation of being inside another human being had thickened him, made him harder and longer than he’d ever been. The hot walls of his lover’s rectum seemed to swell and subside, collapse and widen as he thrust himself to the very root of his testicles. And then he withdrew a few inches, only to slam himself into those walls again, plunging and battering.
     Now Michael’s buttocks had begun to move in waves and swells, letting Simon ride him, urge him, run him while he cried out a name in his approaching release. The moment of climax left him shuddering in joy and disbelief, biting into the man’s back, drawing blood.
     Not once had Michael uttered a word. It was as though he had slept through Simon’s own dream and now was returning to deep slumber. Grateful, Simon lay with his arms around the big man’s chest, his penis still inside the hot buttocks, listening to his own heart crash against his ribs.
     Before he withdrew and rolled to the far side, Simon let his lips move against Michael’s naked shoulders. It was a silent appreciation, lasting only a few seconds, and then he escaped the large mahogany bed.
     His jock strap was halfway down his shins, and his kaffies were nowhere to be seen. He let the underwear drop to the carpet. Seizing his robe from the leather chair, he shrugged it on and reached into his linen chest. Towel in hand, he left without looking back, closing the door softly behind him.
     Almost running down the thinly carpeted hallway on this way to the tenants’ bathing room, Simon almost wished he’d looked back. Would Michael still have been pretending sleep? Or would he have been watching him in the soft gaslight as he made his escape?
     He tried the door of the water closet, and the lever gave to his pull. Once inside the small room, he bolted the door and disrobed.
     Simon stood in the small claw-footed bathtub, watching the water fill, realizing this room was the only one where he could truly be alone. Even his own bedchamber was now the stalking ground of his new roomer, a circumstance he himself had allowed to exist.
     He settled into the water, letting his sticky groin become immersed in the cleansing warmth. He could lavish only about ten minutes here before the next roomer would no doubt beat on the door, demanding his turn on the toilet or in the cast iron tub.
     He let his head fall back and his shoulders relax. His mouth, too, moved in an inchoate smile, remembering his astonishing climax. Michael. His conniving, experienced, constantly aroused flat-mate had maneuvered him into an act of anal intercourse...

To the Bone #3
     ...Michael felt a slight tremble of the bed, and he knew without over-thinking it that his lover had crawled in next to him.
     He continued to lie on his belly, his face turned into the pillow. Let Simon speak and act. He would merely listen. Or do whatever Simon needed from him.
     “I’ve been meaning to apologize.”
     Michael wisely did not answer.
     “I…accidentally left my gift behind. The beautiful book. The mistake has clawed my heart. You must think me a coward and a cad.”
     Still Michael waited and then he felt the touch. Simon’s fingers lightly trailed the back of his neck, then his shoulders. His skin turned to tiny bumps from his nape to his balls; his breath came slow and labored.
     His lover’s low voice sounded muffled, strained. “You said we were starting the chess game from the first pawn move. Not my intent. I think that cannot happen anyway.”
     He felt Simon lean over him and the brush of his hot mouth on the back of his ear. “The match is too even. And we are too far advanced in our moves ever to turn back to the beginning.”
     Still not speaking, Michael spread his legs, ever so little. His arms, already splayed above the pillow, moved subtly toward the dowels, before he grasped them and waited.
     “Mee-cha-el.” Simon’s voice held all the music of heaven, playing along his ear and down his backbone, on its way to the crack in his ass. His tongue began to trace the cleavage in his buttocks, and Michael began to shake, like a goddamn kid, unable to bear the outright pleasure of his wet mouth.
     Simon had never put more than a finger near his asshole. And even then, it had been the kind of almost shy insertion a man like Michael might not even feel, his rear so pummeled for so many years by fingers, even fists of rough trade lovers. But this licking of his butt crack, this lapping and browsing of his most sensitive skin… Oh, God, he rose to it, arcing his buttocks and pushing the rim of his hole closer to the beloved mouth boasting a slick, hot tongue.
     It was a few seconds only of outright bliss, but Michael’s mind and body feasted on a deep delight he’d never known. Too soon, Simon moved away. Michael felt his lover’s tangled chest hair grazing the length of his back, then his lips seeking his ear.
     A whisper, a murmur, words almost unspoken. He strained to hear them.
     “I admit it. I want you. I need to—to fuck you. With my tongue. With my cock. Until we both are dumb from goddamn greedy joy.”
     Simon settled onto Michael’s back, lying the entire length of his body, his stiff cock riding his butt crack and his hungry mouth still in his ear.
     “Open your legs. Spread your…your ass. Let me inside...”

Thin as Smoke #4
     ...Simon was lying back on the divan in his usual attitude of disinterest, one long leg hooked over the back of the too-short seat. He looked up with those heart-clogging eyes, and his sulky lower lip seemed to jut even more than usual. He rose from his indolent posture and moved toward Michael with feline grace.
     “I cannot believe it. What is it about a simple tie that still clots your fingers?”
     Michael had never admitted to Simon that he knew a thing or two about knots, except tacitly, on the occasions when he’d applied them to a silken cord around a bed dowel. Now he stood helpless while his partner moved behind him and began to finger the buttons on his shirt.
     “First, you know, the shirt needs fastening.”
     Michael felt Simon’s closeness at his back as he’d feel the heat from a raging fireplace, and his groin flared, huge and ready. “Please, love, would ye mind?” His prick was almost shouting, I need to fuck ye!      But Michael had learned through the painstaking process of living with Simon that he’d best not show his hand so soon. After all, the man was brilliant and knew precisely what besides Michael’s burly arm lay up his sleeve.
     An’ what third fist is clenched in me pants.
     He looked down to watch Simon’s lithe fingers push buttons through embroidered holes, traveling upward, perhaps accidentally brushing a rigid nipple, until they rested near the collar. The fingers seemed to move as if the air were thick as cottage soup…slow, light as pillow down…and then they found both ends of the tie. As if mesmerized, he saw those fingers stroke the mohair. An instant electric spark resonated from his gut to his asshole.
     As his companion began to fold the ends into a wide Windsor, the blood fast pumping to his groin forced his turgid cock through the still-open fly. It seemed to erupt as a race horse would bolt from the starting gate. As he turned, Simon’s arms still circling his chest, he seemed to be accepting a lover’s tacit embrace.
     Thank God, Simon did not move backward as he half-expected. Michael slid both hands around his neck, just under the jaw, letting his thumbs play with the windpipe. He heard the other man gasp a little, felt the explosion of air as he traced the moving lips with his darting tongue, then bent the head back while he wetly explored a ready mouth.
     Simon did not try to wrest his body from Michael’s insistent cock as they kissed. Incredibly, his groin, a little lower than his own engorged prick, met his like a jackhammer. Hard, insistent, no feather-soft surface anywhere now. Just two hungry men whose hands were moving on each other’s ass…jagged breaths and ravening mouths sampling the skin of the other’s lips…now the cheeks, the ears, the hollow of throats…
     Simon moaned, a sound that served only to madden his wanting prick. He picked up the man with both oversized hands grasping his rounded buttocks and began to carry him to the bedroom...

Author Bio:
Erin O’Quinn earned a BA (English) and MA (Comparative Literature) from the University of Southern California. Her life has been a pastiche of fascinating vocations—newspaper marketing manager, university teacher, car salesperson, landscape gardener—until now, in relative retirement, she lives and writes in a small town in central Texas.

Erin has published six M/M novels and three novellas with AmberQuillPress and two independent M/M novels.

Her series titled “The Gaslight Mysteries” includes Heart to Hart, Sparring with Shadows, To the Bone. and Thin as Smoke.

Erin's indie books are NEVADA HIGHLANDER and THE KILT COMPLEX, both very well received.

In addition to these Amber Quill Press and indie books, Erin has thirteen other published novels. Of those, two are M/M historicals published by Siren Bookstrand, set in the Ireland of badass clansmen, cattle drovers, druids, Saxon mercenaries and St. Patrick himself.


Heart to Hart #1
KOBO  /  iTUNES  /  ARe

Sparring with Shadows #2
B&N  /  KOBO  /  iTUNES  /  ARe

To the Bone #3
B&N  /  KOBO  /  iTUNES  /  ARe

Thin as Smoke #4
B&N  /  KOBO  /  iTUNES  /  ARe

Fractured Suns by Theresa Kay

Title: Fractured Suns
Author: Theresa Kay
Series: Broken Skies #2
Genre: Post-Apocalyptic, Young Adult
Release Date: September 18, 2015
We came in peace. Lie.
We had no role in the Collapse. Lie.
I have always been honest. Lie.
I never lied to her. Truth.

Reunited with her brother, and surrounded by Flint, Peter and her new-found grandfather, Jax Mitchell has still never felt more alone. The choice to follow Rym back to the city to find answers and see Lir is an easy one, but their reunion is cut short and Jax is forced to leave Lir behind. She finds herself traveling with some unexpected companions and heading back toward a place she’d hoped to never see again.

After being imprisoned—and tortured—on the orders of his uncle, Lir hasn’t seen daylight or linked to anyone in weeks. After a lifetime of connection, the pain and loneliness is almost too much to bear. Elated that Jax actually came, Lir finds renewed hope and strength to continue fighting his uncle’s influence over the E’rikon, even when things look hopeless and Lir’s been branded a traitor by the very people he’s trying to save.

While Jax and Lir fight separate battles, their missions have more in common than they realize. It’s a race against time to stop men driven only by greed and power. But the people they trust the most might be the very people working against them—and “family” doesn’t mean what it used to. Will they recognize their friends from their enemies in time to save the people they love or will they lose each other in the process?

     Vitrad laughs with his mouth open and runs the tip of his tongue over his lips like a hungry predator. “That is too bad. But I will have her, Steliro. I am positive I can find some… incentive for her to return.” He leans forward until he is speaking directly into my ear. “How was it to feel the link, only to have it ripped away again? Convince her to return—to work with me—and I will let you keep her. You have my word.”
     “And what good is your word? When you have turned us into nothing but hatemongers and—”
     This time he uses his kitu to put yet more power into his blow. He strikes me hard enough to loosen a few teeth and fill my mouth with blood again; I stumble back and fall to the ground. I push up onto my elbows, wipe away the trickle of blood from my nose, spit onto his boots, and look up at him with what I am sure is a morbidly green grin.
     “It is bad form to lose your temper like that, Uncle.”
     Vitrad springs before I have a chance to scramble to my feet. His fist slams into the side of my head and knocks it down to the concrete with a load crack. He starts kicking, and I curl into a ball. It is no use trying to fight back. In my weakened state, I am no match for him. So I simply wait for his fit of temper to pass, squeezing my eyes shut and blanking my mind.
     The first time he beat me, I did fight back. That was right after I broke the bond—a last-ditch effort to thwart his plans to turn Jax into a weapon. When Vitrad found out what I did, he was enraged, and I felt the full brunt of his fury. I was much weaker for the second beating—after spending a few days locked below ground without food and water—but still I tried to maintain some semblance of control, even if it was only evident in how long I was under the kiun before passing out.
     It was not until he threatened Stella’s safety that I stopped fighting back.
     Now, though, the threat to Stella has been lifted. He portrays her as his doting niece—he insists that she go with him almost everywhere—and by using her to generate sympathy with my people, he has taken away his own ability to use her against me. He cannot touch her, and I know it. Still, it is too late for me. Vitrad is fully aware I have no useful information for him, that since I broke the bond he can no longer get to Jax through me. At this point I believe he simply likes to see me bleed.
     This rabid animal that takes out his anger on my body is not the uncle I grew up with. He is not the person who played with me as a child, who laughed at the dinner table with my parents, and who grieved his bondmate’s loss, surrounded by my entire family. He is not even the inflammatory but pragmatic military leader I once knew. Behind closed doors, in the presence of only his most trusted, he is not even E’rikon. As he rails against the world with his fists and his feet, his Vi’askari look away from the physical violence he inflicts on me. It is not something our culture condones, even against those they call traitor, and they refuse to admit something could be wrong. But I will say what they will not.
     My uncle was not always insane, but he is now.

Writing With Depression
Broken Skies, from the first word to publication-ready, took me eight months to write, polish, and revise. And that was after taking two months off from working on it and having to entirely rip down the first draft and essentially re-write it nearly from scratch.

It took me fifteen months to write a beta reader ready first draft of Fractured Suns. The first sixty-five thousand words or so were written in the two months after the original publication of Broken Skies, meaning the majority of those fifteen months were spent on the last third of the book.

Why did Fractured Suns take me so much longer to write than Broken Skies? Due to some major events in my personal life, I was (and still am) suffering from depression.

Depression is more than feeling down or sad all the time. It starts with that, but then an invasive sense of apathy sets in and that is the worst part of it, when you feel nothing at all. (If you’re interested in a spot on explanation and description of suffering from depression, you should check out Allie Brosh’s posts on her blog Hyperbole and a Half: Part One and Part Two)

Yes, I published some other works in that fifteen month time frame (three short stories and two novellas). The majority of them were written before the major depression hit and it wasn’t until I was running up against the deadline for my Z Chronicles short story that everything started coming apart again. I almost backed out of that anthology. But then Sarah’s story came to me and I knew she was a character I could write—an anguished mother who was slowly falling apart (in her case, literally).

So, at the very height of my depression, I wrote the first line of Six Days: "There isn’t much left of me."

And, at the time, there really wasn’t. Not for my character, Sarah, and not for me.

Writing that story was a turning point for me. I switched from a medication that wasn’t working to one that does. I started being more open with the people in my life about how I was feeling and I went to therapy. They were small steps forward, but they were necessary and they got me to the finish line on Fractured Suns.

My life’s still not where it was and the circumstances that led to my depression have not been resolved, but there is light at the end of the tunnel now and I’m hoping to get back into a more regular writing routine so that other projects that have been delayed (cough, cough, Bright Beyond) can be completed.

So, I guess my point in telling you all this is that I hate that it took me so long to get Fractured Suns to those of you who’ve been waiting (hence the dedication) and I hope you enjoy it. And to those who’ve been waiting for Episode Three of Bright Beyond: it’s coming along and I hope to have it out very soon.

Author Bio:
The only person she knows who had a subscription to Writer's Digest at eleven and was always excited to write research papers, Theresa has been putting words to paper since a young age. Living in the mountains of central Virginia with her husband and two kids, she works as a paralegal by day, binges on Netflix at night and finds bits of time in between reading almost everything she can get her hands on and laundry to craft stories that tend to feature broken characters in sci-fi or paranormal worlds, with a touch of romance thrown in for good measure.

She's constantly lost in one fictional universe or another and is a self-proclaimed "fangirl" who loves being sucked in to new books or TV shows. Theresa originally wanted to write horror novels as an ode to her childhood passion for Stephen King novels, but between her internal Muse's ramblings and the constant praise for her sci-fi pieces from her writer's group - The Rebel Writers - she knew she should stick with what was working.


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Malibu Angel by Mia Fox

Title: Malibu Angel
Author: Mia Fox
Series: Guardian Angel #1
Genre: Contemporary Paranormal Romance
Release Date: June 27, 2015
Publisher: Evatopia Press
Cover Design: Evatopia Press
All Sam wants is to serve out his time as a guardian angel so that he can return as a human. But his sentence becomes more complicated when he finds himself falling in love with Angeline, his current assignment.

The rules of angels specify that he may not interfere with the course of her life, which naturally includes her dating choices. When Angeline begins surf lessons at the same beach where Sam is assigned to work as a lifeguard, a connection forms between them and the rules of angels collide with the laws of attraction. Sam finds it even harder to keep his distance when he discovers Angeline’s surf instructor hides a dangerous secret.

With Angeline’s life in jeopardy, the lines between his role as a lifeguard and that of guardian angel become blurred. Sam’s choices will redefine his role as a guardian angel to Angeline and force him to contemplate what will become of their love if he is sent away. Whether they find their way back to each other is a question written in the heavens.

     Angeline gave a noticeable pout. “I’ve been riding the kiddie waves all week. I was really hoping to test out what I’ve learned...but as I said, my instructor seems to be AWOL. Hey, do you think you could take me?”
     Sam looked up to the tower at Evan, unsure how to proceed. He would have done anything to say yes right on the spot, but that would certainly get him into trouble. Then again, to send her out alone was irresponsible and could endanger her safety. Knowing exactly how Sam’s mind was playing a game of angel versus devil, Evan shook his head slightly to which Sam rolled his eyes at his new friend, but nodded recognition nonetheless.
     “I’d love to, really I would. But, I’m on duty.”
     “Oh, of course. That was silly of me. Hey, I’m sorry I bothered you,” Angeline said as she started to turn away from the tower.
     “You’re not a bother. Come by anytime. I’ve got sandwiches!” he called out as she headed back down the beach.
     Evan smirked at him. “I’ve got sandwiches? Now that’s an original pick-up line.”
     Sam ran a hand through his golden hair. “Tell me I didn’t I really say that.”
     “Just wondering...did that kind of line work when you were alive?”
     Sam smiled in spite of his embarrassment. “Actually, girls found me to be quite cute and charming.”
     As if validating his point, Angeline looked over her shoulder at Sam, but seeing him still watching her, she immediately turned back and continued walking to her spot on the beach.
     Evan raised his eyes skyward. “Trouble. That’s all I’m gonna say.”
     Placing his arms behind his head and leaning back against the lifeguard tower, Sam surveyed his domain over the pristine Malibu beach, taking in the sun, surf, and the beautiful swaying of Angeline’s hips. “That’s the type of trouble that makes life...and the afterlife...worth living.”

Author Bio:
Mia Fox is a Los Angeles-based novelist who writes across varied genres including Contemporary and Paranormal Romance, Chick Lit, and Satire. She received her Bachelor of Arts Degree in Communications from U.S.C.

Before writing full time, she worked as an entertainment publicist, a career she chronicles in her novel, “Alert the Media.” However, she is happy to leave that world behind her, preferring that any drama in her life is only that which she creates for her characters.

She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, three children, Casey, the Wonder Westie, and Bean, his brother.


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Release Day Blitz: Dirty Bad Strangers by Jade West

Title: Dirty Bad Strangers
Author: Jade West
Series: Dirty Bad #3
Genre: Erotic
Release Date: September 19, 2015
He calls me his dirty girl.

He’s just a caller, a sex line client, an anonymous pervert like all the others.

Except he isn’t.

He’s under my skin… his voice, his laugh, his twisted fantasies.

He wants to watch me with other men. Lots of other men.

He wants me blindfolded and bound and taken by strangers until I’m a used-up mess.

Then he wants to take me himself.

I should hang up, report him to my supervisor.

But I won’t. I can’t…

… because I want him, too.

Gemma Taylor was born to be a chatline operator. Her filthy mouth and a filthier imagination make her hot property on sex chat. The hours are great and the money’s even better. She’s onto a good thing; finding her feet in the big smoke of London with a couple of old school friends.

Until he calls.

The rules of chatline are clear: no personal information, no breaches of confidentiality, and absolutely no other forms of communication of any kind.

So why is she giving him her number? Why the hell is she planning on blindfolding herself and leaving her door unlocked for him?

Gemma Taylor’s in deep.

And she’s about to get deeper.

Much, much deeper.

Warning: As with the other Dirties, this book is exactly what the title suggests. A filthy tale of unlikely romance, featuring group sex, bondage, and the usual kind of extremity readers have come to expect from the pen of Jade West. Definitely, definitely 18+. A strong disposition certainly a bonus

Author Bio:
Jade West is a contemporary erotic author, real life submissive, and former sex chat-line operator, who is plenty used to getting people all steamed up with her dirty mouth. Her debut release, Dirty Bad Wrong, smashed into the Amazon top 100 in February 2015, followed by Dirty Bad Savage in June - an Amazon top 100 bestseller in 4 countries. Dirty Bad Strangers, the latest tale of debauchery and unlikely romance, releases September 19th.


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