Monday, 31 December 2012

Coming Soon!

On February 9th 2013, Silver Publishing is releasing its Silver Presents... anthologies, showcasing the stellar talents of some of their authors. There's treats for everyone - all genres are featured in these beguiling, hot, intriguing short stories, and all three anthologies are available for preorder now! 

Love is Love (M/M Romance)

Love comes in all shapes and sizes. Love does not conform to any one narrow definition. Love between two men is as poignant and true as love between a man and a woman. Love is love.

This anthology includes (more to be announced):
A Return to Normalcy by Anel Viz
Clean Monday by A.J. Llewellyn and DJ Manly
Smoke Break by Allison Cassatta
Unmasked by Patricia Logan
Chosen by Pelaam
Never Too Late by Chris Quinton
Leap of Faith by Lexi Ander
My Unintended by Faith Ashlin
Solitude Disrupted by Andy Slayde and AliWilde





Dreams and Desires (Heterosexual Romance)  

There's someone for everyone...the man of her dreams...the woman he desires. You never know where you'll meet or when. Will it be love at first sight or maybe an instant dislike that grows into familiarity and then love? Welcome to Silver Publishing's authors' dreams and desires.


This anthology contains (more to be announced):
A Fate Filled Christmas by Cheyenne Meadows
Aphrodite's Rubicon by Angel Martinez
Spanking the Boss by Heidi Lynn Anderson
Dreamscapes by Ashlynn Monroe
Sating the Slayer by Allison Cassatta
Cat Burglar by Pelaam


 


Three’s a Party (Ménage) 

Some loves are too big to confine themselves to just two. The heart has room for more. Three's a connection. Three's a relationship. Three's a party.


This anthology contains (more to be announced):
Slow Burn by Jade Astor
Three Lovers on the Grift by Edward Kendrick
Poly Sigh by Allison Cassatta
Nikki's Secret by TN Tarrant
Afternoon Delight by Caitlin Ricci


~~~ * ~~~

Saturday, 29 December 2012

Rainbow Awards 2012 And Me

The 2012 Rainbow Awards, run by the Amazing Elisa Rolle, were very good to me this year. I received a Third Place and two Honorable Mentions, which, considering the number of books entered, and the stratospheric talent of the authors, was very gratifying *g* [British Understatement].

So if you'd like to add these books to your e-reading device for some quality reading, They are available at the publishers' sites and on All Romance eBooks site HERE 
 
  

Third Place in the 2012 Rainbow Awards for Best Gay SciFi/Fantasy
Paradox 

Available from Silver Publishing


Phil has a job he loves, full of danger and excitement most of the time, and a working partner he trusts with his life. Until Ryan kisses him. It's only meant to be a diversion tactic to convince the heavies they're two harmless gays, but that kiss shakes Phil's word to its foundations. He doesn't do commitment. He doesn't need or want a longterm lover, but that's what his heart is reaching for.

An accident leaves him drifting in and out of a dream-haunted coma, trapped in his wrecked car waiting for rescue, and he is sharing a parallel life. Centuries ago, someone is trying to kill Caius Marcellus Valens, and Phil must find out who and why. The trouble is, he's alone. No partner, no backup - or is there? But nothing is the way it seems. Phil must solve the mystery before the plot succeeds, but when the dream invades his waking life, he must also separate past from present before it tears apart his world—and the best relationship he’s ever had.


 ~ * ~


In the 2012 Rainbow Awards
Fox Hunt


Available from Manifold Press


Rob is under commission to clean two Elizabethan portraits painted on wooden panels. But a couple of collectors want them as well, and one will stop at nothing to get his hands on both panels.


The portraits were stolen from Fox Courtney's home, and he wants them back. Fox is a vampire and he, too, will stop at nothing.

The inevitable clash will endanger Rob and his family, but as he grows closer to Fox, there's even more at risk - his heart.

~ * ~

Game On, Game Over


Available from Silver Publishing



In the 2012 Rainbow Awards
The Game is on - John Jones, aka Aidan Whittaker, a negotiator with MI6, is currently on assignment in Tajikistan, close to the Afghanistan border. Overtly on a University-run archaeological site, he's covertly brokering a deal with local tribal leaders. His undercover mission is complicated by the arrival of a couple of Americans; journalist Brent Babcock and his photographer Scott Landon. The two men are there to document the ancient Silk Road, but when Babcock gets wind of a hot news story, he starts asking awkward questions.

Scott Landon is a different kind of trouble for John. Fourteen years John's junior, gay and single-minded, he wants into John's bed. Not being prepared to jeopardize his operation, John rejects him, despite being drawn to the younger man. But then events around them spiral out of control.

~ * ~

Thursday, 27 December 2012

Feed Your E-Reader...

Christmas day has passed, the pressies are all oohed and aaahed over, so now it's time to catch your breath, recharge your batteries, and restock your ereader. Here are Manifold's two November releases: both are historicals, one set in Wales in the Second World War, the other a western, the sequel to Jane's highly acclaimed End Of The Trail


Make Do And Mend by Adam Fitzroy

The Second World War.  It’s not all fighting and glory; there are battles on the Home Front, too, and some are not exactly heroic.  That’s what injured naval officer Harry discovers when he befriends conscientious objector Jim – a friendship frowned upon in their small Welsh valley even before they begin to fall in love.  But they both have secrets to conceal, and it takes a bizarre sequence of events before the full truth can be uncovered.

A novel about healing, compromise, making the best of it and just plain managing to survive.

108,000 words/416 pages
£5.00
 
Buy from the online shop


 ~ * ~

The Devil In Dead Horse by Jane Elliot

Sequel to END OF THE TRAIL

Will and John have a new life together, but unfortunately it seems as if their former lives are not completely behind them even now.  What was supposed to be a leisurely journey west turns into a fight for survival when they discover that an old enemy has taken over an innocent town, and that it’s going to need a hero to stop him – or perhaps even a whole group of heroes, willing to stand up and be counted.  It’s time for the real John Anderson, outlaw, to come out of retirement – but there’s still a price on his head, and now there’s a great deal more that he stands to lose…

67,000 words/260 pages
£3.75

Buy from the online shop


 ~ * ~

Need more books to feed your e-reader? Then have a browse through all of Manifold's titles. Manifold is a small press, but the awards and Honorable Mentions it has received over the few years it's been in existence, speak of quality.

Watch this space, because on January 1st, 2013, the two titles due to be released on February 1st will be announced.

~~~ * ~~~

Wednesday, 19 December 2012

The Party - A Blog Story

A six part Blog Story from the combination that brought you the Hearts of England anthology!


I proudly present ... *drumroll* ...

The Party 

Blurb: Henry and Jack had thought nothing could ever drive them apart. They were wrong. Three months have passed since Jack walked out of the home they shared, and Henry had been too stupid to take back the hurtful things he'd said.

Both assured by their respective parents the other would not be present at Henry's mother's annual Christmas gathering, they attend. Finding they have been duped into seeing each other, Henry realizes that this may be his only chance to try and make things right. But will he be able to convince Jack to come home?
 

[Chapter One by RJ Scott is HERE]

Chapter Two  - by Chris Quinton

Emotional blackmail from his mother had forced Jack into a smart charcoal suit, burgundy shirt and toning tie. The first person he saw was Henry, in a blue sweater that would match the colour of his eyes, and jeans. Damn him. And of course, Georgina Parry was there with him, hanging onto Henry's arm like a tentacled limpet. Jack turned away from the sight and stared out of the window. Calm and collected, remember? Doesn't matter if you're feeling as if your heart's been ripped out of your chest. Georgina, daughter of Don Parry—sorry, Sir Donald Parry, OBE—was twenty-eight, unattached, lovely, and the indulged only child of a very influential man. Parry had received a knighthood in the Royal Birthday Honours List in the summer, for services to neurosurgery and research. Cutting edge stuff—he snorted bitterly at his pun—in Henry's field of expertise. At the same time, Henry had landed a position in Parry's team in Birmingham's Queen Elizabeth Hospital.

The Lewises had thrown a party to celebrate their friend's rise in the social hierarchy, and Henry's new career under him. Emily loved entertaining, thoroughly enjoyed the whole nightmarish organising and staging. She'd been best friends with Good Old Don's wife, Caroline—and Jack's own mother—since their first days at school. But college, university and then his job had kept Jack himself out of the Parrys' circles. Until that party.

Henry had introduced him to the new knight, and Parry had been pleasant, welcoming. He'd shaken Jack's hand, Caroline had air-kissed his cheek and Georgina had beamed at him. Like everyone else in their circle of friends, they knew that Henry and Jack were gay and together. It wasn't a problem, socially or professionally. But Jack's choice of career was. And Henry had stood by and said nothing when first Parry, then his daughter, had scorned him. Oh, he'd looked uncomfortable, irritated, but had remained silent.

And that was the beginning of the end.

"Hi, Bones," said a familiar voice. He glanced round to see Tim Elliott standing at his shoulder. Very close. "Long time, no see. How's it going with the ankle biters?" Once he'd been a spotty, plump child. The adult Tim was good-looking and knew it. His dark hair was immaculate, his goatee and moustache perfectly trimmed, giving him a rakish charm few could resist. When Jack was a gangly school kid and Tim an overweight one, Jack hadn't liked him. The feeling hadn't changed over the years.

"Evening, Porks," he responded, using a childhood nickname in his turn.

"I think we've both outgrown those labels," Tim said, smiling with all his teeth. "You're looking good, Jack. Made it to Headmaster yet?"

"Nope." Tim's hand landed on his hip and Jack stepped away from the contact. "I don't want it."

"No ambition?" Tim tut-tutted annoyingly. "Surely you won't spend the rest of your life in a classroom trying to educate the little monsters?" Tim moved closer, crowding Jack into the window alcove, and once more he put his hand on Jack's hip, sliding it back and down over Jack's buttock. That was the last straw. Then Jack looked up to see Henry frowning at them from across the crowded room. Anger rose, and he balled his hands into fists.

"Timothy," he said quietly. "If you don't take your hand off my arse in the next few seconds, I will punch your lights out."

Tim started to laugh, but quickly reconsidered and backed off, raising his hands with a placating smile. "Can't blame a man for trying. Come on, give me a break, Jack. I've been keen on you for years. Why don't we—"

"Fuck off," Jack said succinctly. "Not interested."

Tim scowled. "You think he'll take you back? Not a chance, Bones. He's a high flyer these days—got Don on his side, and Georgie's hot for him. Didn't you know he's bi?"

Jack pushed past him with enough force to rock Tim on his heels, and forged a path to the buffet table. As usual it was laid out in sections of sweet and savoury. Inevitably, artistic arrangements of salmon and of prawns featured strongly. Jack winced and made a fast turn towards the door. It was time for a strategic retreat.


* * * *


Three months weren't anywhere near long enough for Henry to forget how stunning Jack looked in a suit. Or in shabby tee-shirt and cut-offs. Or, even better, nothing at all. The shock of seeing him was enough to distract him from trying once again to free himself from the girl who insisted on clinging to him as if he was some kind of trophy. He'd known her too long to stand on any kind of ceremony.

"Georgie, let go of me for Christ's sake!" he hissed. "I am not your boyfriend!"

"Yet." Her smile was predatory.

"Not going to happen. Gay, remember?"

"Not the way I remember it." She smirked. "The den we made in the old willow tree? Forgotten that, have you?"

"Wiped from my mind," he snapped. "The one and only time I met up with a girl's bits."

"We were twelve," Georgina pointed out. "It's probably time you tried it again, Hen."

"No." He reached past her and tapped his mum lightly on the arm. "Mum, did you invite him?"

She turned with a fond smile. "Jack? Of course, dear. We thought it was time you two actually talked to each other. This seemed like the ideal opportunity."

Involuntarily, Henry's gaze searched the room and homed in on Jack. He was over by the far window, standing far too close to Tim.

"Damn it!" he growled, turned on his heel and headed for the door, shaking off Georgie in the process.

"No, dear," he heard his mother say. "Let him go."

The study offered Henry a much needed haven, stacked though it was with scores of coats, hats and scarves. Someone had provided a long rail on wheels, probably borrowed from the village hall by the vicar. It and its solid wall of hanging coats made the perfect barrier between his dad's favourite chair and the rest of the room. And the door. Henry slumped into the chair and rubbed his hands over his face. God, I want you back, love. But he didn't have the first idea how to go about it. Nor was he the only one at fault. Six of one, half a dozen of the other...

The door opened and closed, and someone sighed. The coat rail moved, and, "Oh, shit." Jack's voice, sounding tired and slightly broken. Henry sprang to his feet, facing his ex-lover.

"Sorry," Jack said before he could speak. "You're waiting for someone. I'll clear out of your way."

"You're not in my way," Henry replied quickly. "Jack—"

"No? You sure you want the lowly primary school teacher hanging about while you screw your boss's daughter?"

"No! I'm not—she isn't— Fuck you!" It was too much. Jack was too close, the scent of his aftershave a subtle warmth in the air. Too familiar and necessary. Henry lunged forward and cannoned into Jack. Their mouths met in a devouring kiss, full of heat, hunger, and aching loneliness. But all too soon Jack stiff-armed him away.

"No, sod it!" he panted. "You don't have the right to do that any more!"


TBC..... Chapter 3 will be posted on December 20th on Meredith Russell's blog 

If you'd like a break from snow, ice, rain, wind, floods and power cuts, how about a visit to Hawaii via my book, Sea Change

Injured on duty and no longer fit for active service, soon-to-be-ex-Coast Guard Bran Kaulana is drifting, filling his days helping out at the Wai Ola Rescue Center, one of Honolulu’s wildlife charities.
He’s working with the new veterinary, Steve, a man drawn to O’ahu by his fascination with dolphins. As their friendship slowly deepens into love, the two men are caught up in the mystery of injured seals and dolphins, a ruthless gang of smugglers and a not-so-dormant undersea lava vent.


And while you're on the ARe site, take a look at all my other titles HERE...

~~~ * ~~~

Sunday, 9 December 2012

Never Too Late



Old Man Maple - Highland Park Arboretum
Courtesy of GC of Rochester
Submitted for Silver Publishing's M/M Anthology Love Is Love

Never Too Late

Blurb

Stuart's long-time partner died six years ago, and he's been alone ever since. Then he meets Tom. But Tom is twenty years his junior, and Stuart can't take that in his stride.

Their age-difference makes no difference to Tom. This is it for him. All he has to do is convince Stuart.

Excerpt


"Sit!" Stuart ordered. He was summarily ignored. He'd rapidly discovered that walking five dogs at once left their leashes and them in a bizarre kind of random macramé. Now, an hour into their daily exercise, they'd reached the turnaround point and he was more than ready to head back.

"Sit!" The dogs stopped and stared up at him expectantly. Needless to say, no backsides hit the ground. "Come on, guys, give me a break," he pleaded. "Sit, for God's sake."

Stuart patted the jacket pocket containing the bone-shaped biscuits and slowly all five dogs sat, their tails wagging. Stuart knew he'd have a scant few minutes to take the photos of the ancient sugar maple before the pack lost hope and interest, and started milling around again.

He'd been photographing this tree and others in the Highland Park Arboretum since spring, aiming to catalogue the changes through the seasons, and include as much information on each species as he could find. Having a masters degree in botany helped. Stuart was a self-confessed tree-nerd, and the twenty acres of botanical gardens and arboretum were his idea of paradise. Now, with fall beginning to paint the leaves, he was on the hunt again. The website, Highland Park Seasons, was his pet project and abiding interest. But this tree, that he'd named Old Man Maple way back in his teens, held a special place in Stuart's life.

Stuart had first met Harry here, while he was completing a college project. He'd been eighteen, Harry twenty-one. They'd started dating soon after. Harry had proposed under the maple—down on one knee, the whole nine yards. Under its branches, they'd decided to buy a house together, and here, a year before he died, Harry had told him the specialist had given him the results of the tests; he had a congenital heart problem, one that surgery might not fix unless a suitable donor heart could be found. It wasn't, and here at the maple's mighty base, Stuart had scattered Harry's ashes. Ironically, a tissue match showed up a week after his death.

Move on, Harry had said, one day you'll be happy again. Stuart had done his best to do that, with middling success. But the tree still represented some of the happiest times of his life, and here Harry always seemed close. He'd loved the arboretum and its population of beautiful trees and specimen plants as much as Stuart.

He slipped his hand through the loops at the ends of the leashes. With his digital camera on continuous shoot mode, Stuart depressed the shutter release and held it. He panned slowly down the massive tree from its crest toward its roots, and just managed to reach ground level before the dogs took off, jerking the camera sideways. Stuart nearly dropped his precious Ricoh. For once the pack headed in the same direction, making for the low-hanging branches of the Upland Tupelo tree beyond the spread of the maple's canopy. Their leashes brought them up short, of course, but that didn't stop the cacophony of canine protests. They'd probably seen a chipmunk or a squirrel. Highland had its fair share of indigenous wildlife.

For the umpteenth time since they reached the park, Stuart untangled the leashes before handing out the promised bribes, wondering if he'd bitten off more than he could chew. Yes, he owed Maggie Olmeda for the many times she'd kept an eye on his house and watered his plants when he had to be away. She'd also brought him home-cooked meals when he'd broken his leg that time, and when he was convalescing from his heart attack earlier in the year. But these dogs? If they weren't trying to hobble him with their leashes, or making sudden lunges for interesting trees, bushes, or passersby, they were cruising for snacks from those reckless enough to eat their midmorning break in the park. No one was safe from the emotional blackmail of their soulful gazes. And then there was the major problem of trying to scoop the poop and still maintain some semblance of control.

~~~ * ~~~

Thursday, 6 December 2012

Falling Again...

Are you pressed for time? Would you like to spend what little time you have on a short, intense read? Then add Falling Again to your Kindle, Nook, Whatever App.

Word count - 5625
Price - $0.99

Buy from All Romance eBooks HERE

Thanks to a lucky win on the Power Ball Lottery, Joel has fulfilled his ambition - an island of his own. All he needs to do now is show it to Gray, his best friend and ex-lover, who had shared that childhood dream. But life moves on and people change. So do connections. They can transmute into something wonderful and lasting, but only if both men want the same thing.

Excerpt

"I. Don’t. Like. Boats." The words were bitten out with an ice-cold precision that should have warned Joel to back off. But never let it be said that a Considine ever did anything as sensible as taking heed of warnings.

"It's only a small boat," he coaxed in what he hoped was a persuasive tone.

"The size," Gray Marchant snapped, "is inversely related to how much I am not going to get into it."

"I'm not asking you to row the fucking Atlantic," Joel cut in, rapidly losing patience. They'd been friends since first grade, had explored their sexuality with each other in their teens, and had been lovers all through their years at UCLA. Everything had changed when they went their separate ways after graduating. When they'd first reestablished contact in the summer of last year, Gray had been his old warm expansive self.

They'd been meeting once a month since then. Because Gray avoided planes when he could, Joel was the one who visited. Friday evenings, he would catch a flight to Miami, spend two nights alone in Gray's guest room and fly home Sundays. At first their friendship had seemed as solid as ever. But lately Gray had become remote, inclined to acid retorts, and Joel had found himself wanting to punch him more than kiss him. Gray hadn't shown any signs of wanting to resume the sexual side of their relationship, so no matter how much he'd like it to happen, Joel had let it lie, rather than risk driving Gray away.

All told, he had a lot invested in this weekend get-together. He needed to reaffirm his old closeness with Gray. But it wasn't working out the way he'd hoped.

"All we have to do is cross a narrow stretch of water between here and the island. Where," Joel continued, inspired, "there's a roaring log fire, steaks with all the trimmings waiting for me to cook them, beer, spirits and wine. What more could you want?"

"A bridge," Gray cut back, hunching further into his heavy woolen overcoat. It hung around him like a pall, disguising the lean, athletic frame beneath. Why Gray needed a coat in the first place, Joel couldn't guess. Even though the sun was setting, the temperature was a comfortable seventy-four degrees, and he himself wore jeans and a tee-shirt.

"What the shit is the matter with you?" he demanded, his irritation and disappointment coming to the fore. "It's not my fault Larry and his girl had to cancel! Her mom was rushed into the hospital, for God's sake!"

Among other things, Joel had been looking forward to showing the three of them, but especially Gray, his recently acquired haven on the outskirts of Glen Burnie. At just under four acres, the island was a pocket wilderness of trees and glades, a boathouse, and a rambling three bedroom cabin with a wraparound porch. Conoy Island, a few hundred yards offshore in Marley Creek, was all his.

Last year Joel had been part of a seven-man consortium who'd won the Powerball Lottery, and he'd ended up with more than five million bucks in his bank account after taxes. After he'd gotten over the first shock, he'd purchased new homes for his mom and his brother. Then he'd spent just under a million fulfilling a childhood dream—to own his own island.

That had been a lucky time for him. Two months before his big win, Joel had reconnected with Gray. In the five years between UCLA and now, they'd become reasonably successful in their chosen careers: Gray in Miami-Dade's District Attorney's Office, Joel in the offices of one of Baltimore's premier corporate law firms. Right now, that reconnection was looking more than a little shaky and he didn't feel inclined to take the diplomatic route.

"Do all the men in your family hit the male menopause at twenty-nine, or something?" he asked snidely.

"Oh, it's something, Considine! You never said anything about boats!"

"I didn't know I had to. You knew it's a fucking island!"

"So build a fucking bridge!"

"You're just being unreasonable! And juvenile!"

"Juv—!" Gray took a deep breath, his mouth pinched to a hard line. "That's it." He turned on his heel and stalked away, footsteps making sharp retorts on the wooden planks.

"Oh, no, you don't!" Joel barked. He made a lightning-fast grab at Gray's shoulder and spun him round. Gray jarred Joel's hand away with an equally swift block, stepping sideways—and his heel caught on a mooring ring.

With a squawk of outraged surprise, Gray dropped his duffel and fell back. Joel lunged to catch him but was not quite quick enough, and Gray disappeared off the edge of the jetty. Seconds later, in a geyser of spray, he vanished into the brackish water of Marley Creek.

~~~ * ~~~

Wednesday, 5 December 2012

And my next WiP is...

Carlyle's Crossing.

Blurb

Jubal is the last Carlyle, and lives in Seattle, far away from his Abenaki ancestors. A letter from a lawyer draws him and his best friend, Sal, to Vermont and the small town of Midway. Soon they are right in the middle of the old conflict that drove Jubal's parents away soon after his birth. His father had refused the task, but Jubal knows he can't. He must find a way to end it before the whole town suffers, but he has no knowledge, no training, just instinct - and Sal.

Excerpt

Chapter One

"Was wondering when you were going to wake up," said the voice. Since his head currently felt as if an axe was embedded in it and coherent thinking wasn't an option, Jubal managed a slurred, "Shut up," and tried to open his eyes. It didn't happen. His lids seemed to be glued shut. Not that it fully registered with him. The mere effort had been enough to send the pain soaring to a new level.
"You don't want to think about moving just yet." It was a deep timbred drawl, and whoever it was sounded wryly amused. Jubal decided he hated him. "You got a minute or so."
"Wha...?" he groaned, and at the same time he became aware of bruising pressure across his chest and legs A hard and jagged cage-like something enclosed his body. He could hear the pings of cooling metal and the steady drip-drip of leaking gasoline. Could smell it as well. Not good. Memory surged back in a nauseating rush.
He'd been heading home after his shift ended, looking forward to getting out of the rain that hadn't let up all day, and into a hot shower. Friday night with the rain lashing down, he'd had the back roads leading down from the Capitol State Forest to himself. Until a car had come out of nowhere, overtaking him in a flash of gleaming black and chrome in his headlamps, and cut in front of his SUV. He'd slammed on his brakes and--nothing at all after that.
"You don't want to hurl either," the man said. "Trust me."
"Help me, for fuck's sake!" Jubal snarled. He tried to raise his right arm so he could scrub at his eyes, but the pain struck again and he nearly passed out.
"Can't." The man didn't sound regretful, just matter-of-fact. "You gotta do it yourself. And if I was you, I'd start right about now."
"Mother-fuck--" A faint crackling sound started up and another smell assaulted his nostrils. Something was burning.
Panic exploded through Jubal in a scorching tide, and he tried to simultaneously shove off whatever was pinning him, roll over, get to his feet. He failed at all three. The agony was oddly distant, but the whoosh of flames and their heat was not. His fear became a savage beast that clawed at his brain, at any vestige of self-control that remained. There was only the all-consuming need to be somewhere else-- 
Something tore deep inside him and Jubal howled. He must have blacked out for a while, because the next thing he knew the biting weight had gone from his body and his arms were free. Rain pattered on his upturned face, sliding its chill fingers across his skin. He had just enough time to register the texture of the earth and grass beneath him before the gas tank exploded. A wave of heat scooped him up and dropped him into a muddy puddle.

Monday, 3 December 2012

RJ's Christmas Blog Hop Winner

First of all, apologies for the lateness of the announcement. I've been traveling all day to visit a friend in London, so didn't have a chance to do this at midday as I'd originally intended.

So here I am, finally grabbing a few minutes to update the giveaway. I prevailed upon my friend to make the draw, and she pulled JYL's name out of the hat - well, out of the plastic bag. So, congratulations, JYL, and I'll be emailing you for the title of your choice *round of applause for JYL*.

Thank you all for participating, and leaving your comments. They were much appreciated. We all live together as an extended family these days, three generations making lots of happy memories.

~~~ * ~~~




Sunday, 2 December 2012

The Rainbow Awards 2012

Every year, Elisa Rolle, one of the top reviewers of LGBT literature - from fiction to art to non-fiction - runs the Rainbow Awards across a wide range of categories. I cannot begin to describe the effort she and her judges put into this *every year*, only express my awe and gratitude, both as a writer and a reader. Through Elisa's Reviews And Ramblings, I have found some amazing books and authors.

This year, three of my titles featured:
 

Third Place in the 2012 Rainbow Awards for Best Gay SciFi/Fantasy
Paradox 

Available from Silver Publishing



Phil has a job he loves, full of danger and excitement most of the time, and a working partner he trusts with his life. Until Ryan kisses him. It's only meant to be a diversion tactic to convince the heavies they're two harmless gays, but that kiss shakes Phil's word to its foundations. He doesn't do commitment. He doesn't need or want a longterm lover, but that's what his heart is reaching for.

An accident leaves him drifting in and out of a dream-haunted coma, trapped in his wrecked car waiting for rescue, and he is sharing a parallel life. Centuries ago, someone is trying to kill Caius Marcellus Valens, and Phil must find out who and why. The trouble is, he's alone. No partner, no backup - or is there? But nothing is the way it seems.
Phil must solve the mystery before the plot succeeds, but when the dream invades his waking life, he must also separate past from present before it tears apart his world—and the best relationship he’s ever had.

 ~ * ~



In the 2012 Rainbow Awards
Fox Hunt


Available from Manifold Press



Rob is under commission to clean two Elizabethan portraits painted on wooden panels. But a couple of collectors want them as well, and one will stop at nothing to get his hands on both panels.



The portraits were stolen from Fox Courtney's home, and he wants them back. Fox is a vampire and he, too, will stop at nothing.


The inevitable clash will endanger Rob and his family, but as he grows closer to Fox, there's even more at risk - his heart.



~ * ~


In the 2012 Rainbow Awards
Game On, Game Over


Available from Silver Publishing



The Game is on - John Jones, aka Aidan Whittaker, a negotiator with MI6, is currently on assignment in Tajikistan, close to the Afghanistan border. Overtly on a University-run archaeological site, he's covertly brokering a deal with local tribal leaders. His undercover mission is complicated by the arrival of a couple of Americans; journalist Brent Babcock and his photographer Scott Landon. The two men are there to document the ancient Silk Road, but when Babcock gets wind of a hot news story, he starts asking awkward questions.


Scott Landon is a different kind of trouble for John. Fourteen years John's junior, gay and single-minded, he wants into John's bed. Not being prepared to jeopardize his operation, John rejects him, despite being drawn to the younger man. But then events around them spiral out of control.


~ * ~

Saturday, 1 December 2012

A Christmas Memory



RJ's Christmas Blog Hop - click on the Hop Image to be taken to a fascinating mix of Christmas memories, stories, and Christmas favorites. 

Here's One of my Christmas Memories... 

It had been a crappy couple of years, to put it mildly. My mum had died in December two years previously, and my stepfather, after making my life hell for eighteen months, had also popped his clogs in the summer - unmourned by me, I have to add. Looking back with the hindsight of over twenty years, it's obvious now that senile decay had added a few more twists to an already unpleasant personality. The best thing I could say about him is that, while he was a possessive, controlling, vindictive man, he worshipped the ground my mum walked on.

My grandsons weren't in the picture - the first one wouldn't be born for several years yet. Son and DinL were spending Christmas Day with her parents, and although I'd been invited, I cried off. Selfishly, perhaps, I wanted the peace and quiet in my own space. I'd put up a few decorations, bought a bottle of wine and cooked a small turkey, had some videos to watch.

So there I was, in a large house with my ginger cat, Giddy, for company. We shared the turkey, watched the videos, and just chilled. It was theraputic, healing, and Mum felt very close to me.

That was the first and last Christmas I spent alone. And you know what? It was the best Christmas I'd had since my son's first Christmas. Since then, of course, I've had some equally great days, but that one, with just me, Giddy and the turkey [and Mum *g*], has a very special place in my memories.

~~~ * ~~~

On the run-up to Christmas is a good time to feature Home And Heart

To win this ebook, or your choice of my backlist, just leave a comment to this post, not forgetting to leave your email address.


From Silver Publishing
- AVAILABLE HERE

Deep in the Cotswolds in the heart of England, Ben Elliot settles in for a quiet Christmas house-sitting and caring for an elderly woman's two dogs while she's away. When her black-sheep grandson, Adam Prescott, turns up on the doorstep, Ben takes in the human stray as well. Destitute and betrayed by family, boyfriend, and Fate, Adam has lost all faith in others, and in himself.

Determined to help, Ben soon loses his heart to the other man and believes Adam has feelings for him, too. Then Adam's ex shows up, offering him the world if only Adam will come back to him. Now Ben must choose whether to step aside, or reach for the only gift he wants this Christmas.


Christmas may not be a time of celebration for Ben.




Tuesday, 6 November 2012

New Manifold Press Releases!

On November 1st, Manifold Press released two new titles - and a Box Set!


Jane Elliot is back again with another new project: THE DEVIL IN DEAD HORSE, the eagerly-awaited sequel to Jane’s outstandingly popular END OF THE TRAIL, carries the story of Will Connors and John Anderson forward another thrilling – if slightly darker – instalment.





At the same time Adam Fitzroy brings us MAKE DO AND MEND, a tale of two unlikely lovers which also highlights the lives and concerns of those whose battlefield during the Second World War was the undramatic and often overlooked Home Front.







By way of a bonus, Manifold presents the first of a proposed series of ‘box sets’ – this time it’s an opportunity to buy Julie Bozza’s two ‘Albert’ novels in a single purchase.  For more details, see THE COMPLETE ALBERT J. STERNE.

Thursday, 11 October 2012

Falling Again - New Release Date!

Somehow I expected Amazon to take its time releasing the upload of my short story Falling Again, but no - so here it is, ahead of schedule, and rarin' to go.

Amazon Buy Link HERE

All Romance eBooks Buy Link HERE

Thanks to a lucky win on the Power Ball Lottery, Joel has fulfilled his ambition - an island of his own. All he needs to do now is show it to Gray, his best friend and ex-lover, who had shared that childhood dream. But life moves on and people change. So do connections. They can transmute into something wonderful and lasting, but only if both men want the same thing.

 ~ * ~

Excerpt

"I. Don’t. Like. Boats." The words were bitten out with an ice-cold precision that should have warned Joel to back off. But never let it be said that a Considine ever did anything as sensible as taking heed of warnings.
"It's only a small boat," he coaxed in what he hoped was a persuasive tone.
"The size," Gray Marchant snapped, "is inversely related to how much I am not going to get into it."
"I'm not asking you to row the fucking Atlantic," Joel cut in, rapidly losing patience. They'd been friends since first grade,  had explored their sexuality with each other in their teens, and had been lovers all through their years at UCLA. Everything had changed when they went their separate ways after graduating.
 When they'd first reestablished contact in the summer of last year, Gray had been his old warm expansive self.
They'd been meeting once a month since then. Because Gray avoided planes when he could, Joel was the one who visited. Friday evenings, he would catch a flight to Miami, spend two nights alone in Gray's guest room and fly home Sundays. At first their friendship had seemed as solid as ever. But lately Gray had become remote, inclined to acid retorts, and Joel had found himself wanting to punch him more than kiss him. Gray hadn't shown any signs of wanting to resume the sexual side of their relationship, so no matter how much he'd like it to happen, Joel had let it lie, rather than risk driving Gray away.
All told, he had a lot invested in this weekend get-together. He needed to reaffirm his old closeness with Gray. But it wasn't working out the way he'd hoped.
"All we have to do is cross a narrow stretch of water between here and the island. Where," Joel continued, inspired, "there's a roaring log fire, steaks with all the trimmings waiting for me to cook them, beer, spirits and wine. What more could you want?"
"A bridge," Gray cut back, hunching further into his heavy woolen overcoat. It hung around him like a pall, disguising the lean, athletic frame beneath. Why Gray needed a coat in the first place, Joel couldn't guess. Even though the sun was setting, the temperature was a comfortable seventy-four degrees, and he himself wore jeans and a tee-shirt.
"What the shit is the matter with you?" he demanded, his irritation and disappointment coming to the fore. "It's not my fault Larry and his girl had to cancel! Her mom was rushed into the hospital, for God's sake!"
 Among other things, Joel had been looking forward to showing the three of them, but especially Gray, his recently acquired haven on the outskirts of Glen Burnie. At just under four acres, the island was a pocket wilderness of trees and glades, a boathouse, and a rambling three bedroom cabin with a wraparound porch. Conoy Island, a few hundred yards offshore in Marley Creek, was all his.
Last year Joel had been part of a seven-man consortium who'd won the Powerball Lottery, and he'd ended up with more than five million bucks in his bank account after taxes. After he'd gotten over the first shock, he'd purchased new homes for his mom and his brother. Then he'd spent just under a million fulfilling a childhood dream—to own his own island.
That had been a lucky time for him. Two months before his big win, Joel had reconnected with Gray. In the five years between UCLA and now, they'd become reasonably successful in their chosen careers: Gray in Miami-Dade's District Attorney's Office, Joel in the offices of one of Baltimore's premier corporate law firms. Right now, that reconnection was looking more than a little shaky and he didn't feel inclined to take the diplomatic route.
"Do all the men in your family hit the male menopause at twenty-nine, or something?" he asked snidely.
"Oh, it's something, Considine! You never said anything about boats!"
"I didn't know I had to. You knew it's a fucking island!"
"So build a fucking bridge!"
"You're just being unreasonable! And juvenile!"
"Juv—!" Gray took a deep breath, his mouth pinched to a hard line. "That's it." He turned on his heel and stalked away, footsteps making sharp retorts on the wooden planks.
"Oh, no, you don't!" Joel barked. He made a lightning-fast grab at Gray's shoulder and spun him round. Gray jarred Joel's hand away with an equally swift block, stepping sideways—and his heel caught on a mooring ring.
With a squawk of outraged surprise, Gray dropped his duffel and fell back. Joel lunged to catch him but was not quite quick enough, and Gray disappeared off the edge of the jetty. Seconds later, in a geyser of spray, he vanished into the brackish water of Marley Creek.

~ * ~ 

Saturday, 6 October 2012

Dark Waters is Released Today - read an excerpt here!




Dark Waters** is released by Silver Publishing today - and with the most gorgeous cover by Reese Dante!

Buy link HERE


This is a shifter tale with a difference, more traditional in some ways. It's set in an historical, semi-mythical Scotland where the Elder gods haven't quite left the lands.

Flein is a wanderer by instinct and need, roaming the known world as the fancy takes him. In the Highland village of Glenfinnan, women have been raped and brutally murdered. The killer is a waterhorse, a monstrous shapeshifter by all accounts. But when Flein meets Donnchadh, first in its equine form, then its man-shape, he knows the waterhorse is innocent. Flein is drawn to the shapeshifter, but he finds it difficult to acknowledge it's more than a monster.

Donnchadh, though wary, shares the same attraction. They join forces to hunt for the real murderer, but time is short.  They must find the killer before more women die. Then suspicion is turned on them and the hunters become the hunted.
Excerpt

Chapter One

"Incubus!" the hermit howled, springing to his feet and holding the crudely fashioned cross before him. The shaft was a spike of forged iron, not sharp but enough to pierce the creature's flesh. He'd finally found the strength to deny it and since dawn he'd waited for the beast to come to him so he could banish or destroy the unnatural enticement. Now it was here, in the perfect man-shape that mocked every belief the hermit held and was everything he himself was not.
It stopped in its tracks at the edge of the small corrie in front of the hermit's cave, its head thrown up in surprise, long black hair flowing in the breeze. Layers of firm muscle shifted under a hide glowing amber in the noon sun as if fashioned from the light, and it was naked. Naked and profligate, flaunting its apparent youth and potency, its overwhelming vitality, like the Satanic spawn it was.
Even now, it lured him, silently called to him to reach out and stroke at last the warm silk of its skin, its unbound hair. As it had called to others before it killed and devoured them. Although he knew what the thing was and what he had to do, he could not stop his traitorous body from responding to its sorcery.
"What is—incubus?" it asked, puzzled.
"You!" In his bespelled madness, he'd taught it human speech, the Gaelic, convincing himself that if it did have a soul then he could turn it from evil to Christ's mercy. But the sinful dreams that afflicted him at night, leaving him sullied beyond cleansing when he awoke, could no longer be ignored. The memories of them welled up as clear as if they had been reality. It would kneel before him and part his robes, its eyes wide and dark as it gazed on him with awe. It would worship his body with hands and mouth and wicked tongue, and beg him to save it from evil, to purify it with his touch.
Arousal shuddered through him, heat pooled in his loins, and his penis was throbbing between his legs, rising as if it had a mind of its own, and he was close, so close to that dazzling peak of ecstasy. But the coarse wool of his robe chafed on his turgid flesh, dragging painfully on the gathering dampness there, bringing him back to himself—and the hermit knew that he was irrevocably damned and it was all the beast's fault.
He'd lost count of how often he'd been awakened by the echoes of his cry of release, to find he was alone with his own seed smeared on his belly, and the terrible—wonderful—images fading away. Every time he'd scrubbed himself raw with twists of heather, but still he knew himself defiled even though he had resisted all temptation to touch it in reality.
He'd thought he could tame it, bring it humbled and penitent before the house of the One God. But he'd been deluded, he knew that now. The monster was a soulless fiend that preyed on humankind, and he was a presumptuous fool to think he could do anything other than combat it. He could not have it, but he could destroy it.
"You are foul! Evil!" He raised the cross like a dagger and threw himself forward.
Even as he plunged the holy weapon toward the creature's broad chest, the hermit knew he had failed. He'd forgotten how swiftly it could move. In less than a heartbeat the man had gone and in its place was a daemon in the shape of a bay stallion with laid-back ears and bared carnivore's fangs. It reared and the last thing the hermit knew was the crushing impact of the monster's hooves.

* * * *