Taking over the world, one book at a time
Happy Release Day to all the authors who have releases today!!!
Author’s website:
Susan Mallery ~ Scott Carson ~ Leisl Leighton ~ Carrie Ann Ryan
Please forgive us if we missed any. If you have an upcoming release you want us to know about please fill out the form below.
Release day posts
Happy Release Day to all the authors who have releases today!!!
Authors Websites:
Kevin Hearne ~ JD Robbs ~ Mila Villa ~ Laura Sebatian ~ Allison Brennan ~ Charles Todd ~ Kelley Armstrong ~ Jaci Burton ~ Adalyn Grace ~ Melissa de la Cruz ~ Jonathan Kellerman
Please forgive us if we missed any. If you have an upcoming release you want us to know about please fill out the form below.
Kindle | Amazon Paperback | Nook | Kobo | iTunes | Dreamspinner Press | BAM
“Shall we read the rest?”
Jeremy nodded, all that fair hair rippling, and Bo plunged into his next line just for the distraction. “Indeed, you come near me now, Hal, for we that take purses go by the moon and the seven stars, and not by Phoebus, he, that wand’ring knight so fair.” His heart tripped. Knight so fair. He groped for his wineglass, hit it awkwardly, and tipped it right over onto Jeremy’s arm. “Damn! I’m so sorry.”
Bo grabbed the glass and hurried around the bar for a rag of some kind. He found a roll of paper towels and dabbed madly at Jeremy’s soaked shirt, the wine creeping up the cotton fabric toward his shoulder. “That was so careless of me.”
“No problem, really. I always keep a shirt close at hand for just such accidents because they seem to happen several times a day. The red’s the worst.” He walked behind the counter near where Bo stood, opened a narrow closet, and pulled a white shirt off a hanger. Then, as Bo tried to keep his tongue in his mouth, Jeremy proceeded to strip off his wet garment and drop it in a hamper, also in the closet. He pulled another shirt up from it and laughed at the huge red stain on the front. “See what I mean?”
Dear blessed God. His comparing Jeremy to Brad Pitt washed back into Bo’s brain, this time the lean, hard body of Fight Club. How did a normal person get abs like that, below shoulders and arms like that? Whoa.
With no apparent hurry, Jeremy sidled to the bar sink, took some towels and wet them, and began to wipe the wine off his glistening golden skin. Bo would gladly have volunteered his tongue for the job. Jeremy held out a fresh wet towel to Bo. “Would you mind? The wine seems to have seeped up onto my back a bit.”
Catatonic. For a second he thought he’d embarrass himself by being unable to move, but he managed to pull it together and take the towel from Jeremy. Jeremy turned and presented a masterpiece of shoulders and triceps for Bo’s careful inspection. Bo’s dick pronounced Jeremy flawless. “You’re very fit.”
Jeremy glanced over his shoulder abruptly, and for an odd second, he looked—what? Worried? Guilty? Why?
“Uh, yes, I used to be into working out.” He turned his head, but his shoulders had tensed a little.
Taking a breath, Bo wiped the wet towel over Jeremy’s smooth skin on his shoulder and down the side of his back. His hand faltered more than once at the heat penetrating the wet paper and the overwhelming desire to drop the towel and just touch that vanilla crème texture. Thank God Jeremy was turned backward because Bo’s erection threatened to take over the tasting room like Godzilla in Tokyo.
Okay, he couldn’t resist, and probably Jeremy couldn’t tell. Bo let his fingers slip off the side of the paper and slide across Jeremy’s back. Not perfectly smooth as it looked. There were little variations in texture here and there, tiny moles or freckles, like a living, breathing human. Oh dear God, that was more disturbing than perfection. The need to lean in and rest his cheek against all that strength flamed through him.
Suddenly Jeremy made a funny, snuffly sound, as if he was stifling a moan and a sigh at the same time.
Bo froze. Fuckity frogs and fishes! Swiftly and efficiently, he wiped the last dregs of wine from Jeremy’s flesh, dropped the towel on the bar, and walked out toward the opposite wall, taking deep breaths so there was no chance of Jeremy spying his boner.
Tara Lain believes in happy ever afters – and magic. Same thing. In fact, she says, she doesn’t believe, she knows. Tara shares this passion in her best-selling stories that star her unique, charismatic heroes — the beautiful boys of romance — and adventurous heroines. Quarterbacks and cops, werewolves and witches, blue collar or billionaires, Tara’s characters, readers say, love deeply, resolve seemingly insurmountable differences, and ultimately live their lives authentically. After many years living in southern California, Tara, her soulmate honey and her soulmate dog decided they wanted less cars and more trees, prompting a move to Ashland, Oregon where Tara’s creating new stories and loving living in a small town with big culture. Likely a Gryffindor but possessed of Parseltongue, Tara loves animals of all kinds, diversity, open minds, coconut crunch ice cream from Zoeys, and her readers. She also loves to hear from you.
“Have we determined that the black cat that was following you around last month is a potential… What did you call it? An animal companion?”
“That’s the consensus. Flint thinks I might have caught its attention the same way I caught—”
I stopped.
As if our conversation had summoned it, the hulking black cat in question sat on the other side of the room. The beast was bigger than any mundane cat, even the great cats. On all fours, its head came to my shoulder, and it easily weighed over seven hundred pounds. Though it resembled an enormous panther, the ears were wrong for the breed, too pointed. And there was a shadowy quality to its form, as if it weren’t really there. As though it were a lingering nightmare come to life.
“Maybe I should install a cat door,” Andy murmured. His hand lingered near his gun.
“Don’t shoot it,” I warned.
“I’m not going to shoot it.” He paused, considered that. “Would it do me any good to shoot it?”
“Bullets have iron, and I’m pretty sure it’s fey. If you could hit it, you could hurt it.” A shiver ran down my spine. “But somehow…I don’t think you would.”
Instinct told me the beast would be fast, impossibly fast. Andy was an incredible shot, but he was human, with human limitations. The black cat crept forward, silent as a dark fog. My heart skipped a beat as it approached the sleeping kitten, sniffing the air above Majesty. The kitten cracked open one eye.
“Oh please, don’t scare him,” I begged, trying not to sound as panicked as I felt. “Please, I can’t face another rhinoceros.”
The cat blinked as if it had understood me, then studied the kitten with renewed interest, tilting its massive head to one side.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, a rhinoceros. It’s one of the fun, terrifying things that can happen if you startle that…kitten.”
“You weren’t going to say kitten,” Peasblossom accused. “You were going to say a bad word, weren’t you? Which one?”
My phone rang, and I jumped a foot in the air. Majesty shot to his feet, claws piercing the couch. The black cat’s ears rose.
“Please don’t summon another rhinoceros.” I fumbled for my phone. “Hello?”
“Shade! Shade Renard?”
It was a woman’s voice, thick with an Italian accent. She sounded hoarse, and her last word ended in a way that suggested she was clenching her teeth. Nearby her a door opened, then slammed shut.
I straightened my spine, magic kitten forgotten. “Yes, this is Shade. Who is this? Are you all right?”
“They’re dead, both dead. Murdered. You have to help…” She groaned.
I gripped the phone tighter, staring at Andy. He didn’t take his attention off the cats, or his hand from his gun.
“Who was murdered? What happened? Where are you?”
Andy met my gaze. Tension seized his shoulders, and he put the gun away.
“I’m at St. Michael’s on Lexington Avenue. I need your help, you must come now. Please hurry, I don’t know how much longer I can hold it.”
“Hold what?”
“The demon.”
The line went dead.
Jennifer’s influences include Terry Pratchett (for wit), Laurell K. Hamilton (for sexual tension), Jim Butcher (for roguish flair), and Kim Harrison (for mythos). She is currently writing the series of her heart and her dreams, the series that has been percolating in her brain for the last decade…Blood Trails. An Urban Fantasy Mystery series that will combine the classic whodunit spirit with a contemporary fantasy setting. Expect mystery, magic, and mayhem, with characters that will make you laugh, cry, and probably stare at the screen with your jaw hanging down to the floor. Well, that’s how they affect Jennifer anyway…
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