Showing posts with label book blast. Show all posts
Showing posts with label book blast. Show all posts

Monday, August 31, 2026

WhiteGrass Book Blitz #rabtbooktours




A CliFi Technothriller

Date Published: October 24, 2025

Publisher: Manhattan Book Group



In 2048, the planet is running out of time.

Superstorms flatten cities. Coastlines collapse. Climate change is no longer theoretical—it is lethal. When a near-apocalyptic storm nearly kills their family, teenage siblings Jimmy and Lizzie Marshall urge their brilliant but reluctant father, nanoscientist Greg Marshall, to deploy a technology before he’s brave enough to release it.

WhiteGrass—a self-replicating nanotechnology capable of removing carbon from the atmosphere is the parent technology. It saves golf courses and ski resorts and the towns they serve. Icarus could reverse climate change on a global scale. It could also reshape global power forever.

To protect the technology, Greg and his wife Ginny, an elite AI expert, reprogram the world’s most advanced humanoid android, Valada. Designed as property—an object without rights—Valada begins to evolve, developing emotional awareness, moral judgment, and something disturbingly close to humanity.

As governments unravel and climate disasters accelerate, a covert alliance of oligarchs, corporations, and political power brokers moves to seize WhiteGrass/Icarus for themselves. Led by the President of the United States, the syndicate will stop at nothing—surveillance, blackmail, assassination—to control the technology that could save the world or enslave it.

They deploy their own deadly android.

Now the Marshalls are trapped in a global sci-fi political conspiracy, hunted by forces with unlimited resources, as skyscrapers fall, cities burn, and artificial intelligence begins to ask questions no human is prepared to answer.

“We call it ‘Climate Change,’” Lizzie interrupted, “because it’s not just the heat.”
“It’s everything—the rains, the droughts, the storms, the sea level… even the acidification.” It could change everything.

At its core, WhiteGrass is a gripping near-future climate change thriller about family survival, technological power, and the terrifying moment when artificial intelligence stops serving humanity—and starts judging it.

Blending nanotechnology science fiction, AI humanoid emotional evolution, and hard-science realism, WhiteGrass delivers relentless pacing, cinematic stakes, and deeply human emotion. It is a story about parents willing to risk everything to protect their children—and a world forced to confront whether it deserves saving at all.

Perfect for fans of near-future disaster thrillers, technothrillers with political intrigue, and science fiction where artificial intelligence becomes human, WhiteGrass is a powerful warning—and an unforgettable ride.

 


About the Author


Richard H. Smith, MSc.
Author | Futurist | Nanotechnology & Policy Expert | Climate Technothriller Writer

Richard H. Smith, MSc., is a futurist, technologist, and climate policy expert whose career has placed him at the intersection of nanotechnology, artificial intelligence, healthcare innovation, and climate change foresight for more than three decades. Drawing on real-world experience working alongside scientists, engineers, Fortune 50 companies, and Ohgovernment agencies, Smith writes hard science fiction grounded in plausible futures, where technology collides with political power, ethics, and human survival.

Smith’s professional background spans leadership roles in nanotechnology R&D, AI-based medical diagnostics, strategic technology forecasting, and science policy, including serving as research director at a major university medical center and founding multiple technology ventures. He has advised U.S. and international governments on emerging technologies and was formally trained on climate change science by Al Gore, giving him a rare combination of technical depth and policy insight.

Raised in Virginia, Smith built his career while raising a family—an experience that deeply informs the emotional core of his fiction. Today, he lives in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, a coastal community already facing the realities of sea-level rise. He teaches courses on climate change and coastal vulnerability, witnessing firsthand how future scenarios are rapidly becoming present-day realities.

WhiteGrass is Smith’s first full-length novel and the culmination of a lifetime spent studying how advanced technologies shape—and endanger—civilization. The novel explores nanotechnology, climate collapse, political conspiracy, and artificial intelligence becoming human, all through the lens of family survival in a destabilized near-future world. A prequel, The Iliad Virus, is available now, with the sequel Icarus Rising currently in development.

Smith writes with one driving purpose: to expose uncomfortable truths about climate change, technological power, and political control—while telling a story compelling enough to feel like a blockbuster movie unfolding on the page.

 

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Monday, December 15, 2025

The Road to Pienza Book Blast #GayBookPromotions

BOOK BLAST - RECENT RELEASE

Book Title: The Road to Pienza (The Road to Montepulciano #2)

Author and Cover Artist: Garrick Jones

Publisher: GRJ Press

Release Date: November 6, 2025

Genre: Crime Thriller

Themes: Historical fiction; Crime Fiction; Political Thriller; Action Thriller

Heat Rating:  5 flames

Length:  117 000 words/348 pages

It is part of a series, but does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy links

Amazon US  |  Amazon AU   |  Amazon UK  |  B&N

The action-packed sequel to the best-selling thriller, The Road to Montepulciano

Blurb

The action-packed sequel to the best-selling thriller, The Road to Montepulciano

On the night of the ninth of June 1944, four days after the Allied liberation of Rome, four nuns are murdered in a railway carriage at the Vatican City railway station.

Sixteen years later, returning to Tuscany after a gruelling book signing tour of Australia, Damson O’Reilly finds his partner, Giancarlo (no longer a detective but now a well-known and successful lawyer) engrossed in a slander case between Italy’s screen heartthrob, Mario Celestino, and a high-profile, fascist industrialist, Giovanni Scavola.

The case uncovers buried secrets, secrets that bring to light the involvement of both men in the WW2 crime and which lead to kidnapping, torture and murder, culminating in a dramatic, bloody outcome that will rock the Italian nation to its core.

Excerpt

By the time I finished my turn in the bathroom, Kendall was naked, sitting up on top of the bed covers, so I perched on the edge of the mattress next to his knee and lit a cigarette.

“Come closer,” he said. By now, I recognised that look in his eye.

He ran his hand over my thigh and cupped my balls. I leaned back and moved my knees apart while he gently massaged my chest and stomach, his hand finally coming to rest, encircling the base of my by-now hard cock. “I like this,” he said, jiggling it a little.

“What about the rest of me?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s all right, too.” His accompanying cheeky wink made me grin.

“What you said earlier … I’m the only man who’s ever fucked you?”

“Yep.”

“Why me?”

“As I said, I like this.” He squeezed harder, milking my erection, then leaned over and licked the shiny drop of fluid from the eye of my cock with the tip of his tongue. “I’ve always liked looking at big ones, but yours is the first I’ve ever wanted inside me.”

“Kendall—”

He laughed, interrupting what I was going to say. “I’m not out to make trouble with you and Giancarlo. I really like him too. What we did in the hotel room in Sydney … I want more of that, and not just watching either.”

“Where on earth does this come from? You’ve always seemed rather standoffish to me, especially when it comes to talking about sex.”

“I dunno, Damson. Something just clicked between us that first night in Adelaide when I pretended to be drunk and asked you to suck me off.”

“You returned the favour, as I remember.”

“That’s right, and yours was the first cock I ever had in my mouth, and the first time I’d ever swallowed or even tasted spunk.”

“I’m confused.”

“I’m aware that I always skirt around my history—my sexual history, that is. You know that I’ve always been into sex with older women. Not sure why—I don’t remember my own mother, I was far too small when she died, so it can’t be that. Fooled around a bit in my teens with lads my own age; that happens at an all-boys’ boarding school. But then, when I joined up, I became fixated on what men had between their legs, especially the big ones, like yours. There was someone for a while, but all we did was swap tongues while we pulled each other off.”

“You’ve never seemed to want to swap tongues with me,” I said, by this time my legs wide apart and my erection almost purple because he’d been squeezing the base so tightly.

“Can we just be friends, Damson? I don’t want anything more than you as a close mate in my life. Of course, I still want to do this with you—and Giancarlo if that’s on the cards—but I’m not looking for a love affair. Is that all right with you?”

I closed my eyes for a moment. “That depends.”

“Depends on what?”

I wrapped one hand around the back of his neck and pulled him towards me. I guessed the kissing part of what he’d done with his army mate was something he really liked, because before I knew it, I was almost choking on his tongue after he’d nearly sucked mine out of my head. I pushed him onto his back on the bed. The kissing became more languid, sensuous, exploring. He guided my hand down to his balls, then raised his hips. I massaged the rim of his arsehole with my fingers.

“Aw, fuck,” he moaned into my mouth.

Damned if he wasn’t one of the best kissers I’d ever met. He didn’t even flinch a little bit as I eased my saliva-wetted dick into his body.

About the Author 

From the outback to the opera.

After a thirty-year career as a professional opera singer, performing as a soloist in opera houses and in concert halls all over the world, I took up a position as lecturer in music in Australia in 1999, at the Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music, which is now part of CQ University.

Brought up in Australia, between the bush and the beaches of the Eastern suburbs, I retired in 2015 and now live in the tropics, writing, gardening, and finally finding time to enjoy life and to re-establish a connection with who I am after a very busy career on the stage and as an academic.

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Tuesday, August 19, 2025

The Rebellious Countess Book Blast #GoddessFishPromotions

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Helene Matheson will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.



Society may be run by the men of the ton, but six scandalous sisters are determined to take it by storm one gentleman at a time.

Máira Blair married for love, her honeymoon trip with the Earl of Dorset is a dream come true—until reality turns it into a nightmare. Máira wakes up to discover her husband isn’t an earl, but the captain of a pirate ship and what was supposed to be her honeymoon, is a voyage bound for war-torn France. If that isn’t enough to disparage her husband’s character, he abandons her in the middle of a French port where she must find a way to survive as she defends her virtue and her life. Just when she’s convinced of what kind of rogue she married, the pirate transforms into a hero on a quest to save her and the missing Earl of Astley.

Sir Elias Drake married for convenience, he needed a Scottish bride to complete his mission. He can resist his desire for his beautiful wife, especially after she discovers his true identity. Except Máira Blair was more than he bargained for. He needs her skills, cherishes her compassion, and is tormented by her passion, which only makes him want her and the life their marriage represents more.

It will require both of their talents to rescue the Earl of Astley, and it will take more than a war to defeat their hard-won love—if they can escape.

Read an Excerpt

He wanted to catalog her injuries and soothe her pain. While Jack wanted to douse the fire in her lovely eyes. For that look alone, Elias put his foot in front of the man and gave Jack a shove.

Máira stepped forward in a futile attempt to catch the bastard, but was too late to stop his fall. Jack twisted his body mid-air, in time to keep his nose from hitting the floor. The muffled grunt he released caused Máira to flinch and a few men in the bar to raise their glasses to toast the nasty bugger’s predicament.

She turned on him, eyes flashing as if she suffered the same brutality. “Do you think treating a member of your crew with violence will earn my trust?”

“You don’t understand what he wanted to do to you.”

“The same thing you wanted to do to me?”

He snorted. “Not even close. I was defending your honor.”

Máira looked down at her torn and soiled dress, then lifted a limp curl from her shoulder. “You do it well.”

His guileless bride didn’t understand Jack’s evil intent, nor did she appreciate Elias’s manner of defending her honor. He ground his teeth. She was sizing him up like she had never done before, and he had to school the anger seeping through the facade of polite concern he’d worn since the moment she’d walked into the bar and he’d seen her battered face. She knew the warm-hearted, polite Ellison Collins, Earl of Dorset, not Sir Elias Drake, ruthless killer, spy, and recovery agent for the Crown.

About the Author:


Helene Matheson writes steamy regency historical romance novels with intelligent, unstoppable heroines who don’t require an alpha male to save them—having one in their bed is another story.

Helene moved south for fun in the sun after she retired from public service and began pursuing her life-long dream of writing. She wrote the Amazon best-selling mystery series The Book Barn Mysteries for Lyrical Press and has written multiple award-winning romantic suspense novels under Kym Roberts.

In her spare time she can be found woodcarving by the pool or blogging for The Cozy Corner on Fresh Fiction. To contact her on social media, you can find her under KymRoberts911 on FaceBook, Instagram, Twitter and Pinterest. Her books can also be found on her websites.

Helene Matheson: http://www.HeleneMatheson.com
Kym Roberts: http://www.KymRoberts.com

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DRDM5CSH
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-rebellious-countess-helene-matheson/1147883832
Books a Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Rebellious-Countess/Helene-Matheson/9781648399787

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Saturday, June 14, 2025

The Hidden Heart Book Blast #GayBookPromotions

BOOK BLAST

Book Title:  The Hidden Heart

Author:  Patrick Bryce Wright

Publisher:  JMS Books

Cover Artist: Written Ink Designs

Release Date:  April 26, 2025

Tense/POV: third person, past tense, single POV

Genres:  Sweet MM Contemporary Romance

Tropes:  Co-worker to boyfriend, silver fox, age gap, May-December, size difference, boss-employee, workplace romance

Themes: Wounded guy finds love, found family

Heat Rating:  1 flame

Length:  20 000 words/ 60 pages

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

Goodreads

Buy Links - On sale for $1.99 during the promo on 

Amazon and JMS Books

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK  |   JMS Books  

Kobo  |   Apple  

Ellis Isaacs falls in love with his new boss, silver fox Richard Quillen, but worries Richard will find him inaccessible or cold. Will the older man see Ellis’s true heart and return his feelings?

Longer Blurb

At the Kissinger-Mann detective agency, the mystery of love is solved just as often as crimes. When detective Ellis Isaacs joins the agency, he falls in love with his silver fox of a boss, Richard Quillen. However, Ellis faces two big problems: He tends to fall for straight men, and even when he doesn’t, Ellis’s ex-boyfriends claim he is inaccessible or even cold. Also, he has no idea how Richard will react to the age gap between them.

As Ellis works hard to spend time with Richard outside of work, problem after problem unfolds. Is Richard straight, or is he already dating a male co-worker? Is the age gap a problem, or is the issue Ellis’s reputation for being cold? Will this older, wiser man see Ellis’s true heart and return his feelings, or will Ellis’s heart remain hidden?

Excerpt 

Ellis steeled himself and headed across the hallway to Richard’s office. On the strength of the single donut he had eaten on the way there and half a cappuccino, Ellis paused in the doorway and gathered his nerve. It was time to ask the man out for coffee. 

Richard was already seated at his desk, wearing a dark gray suit and a maroon bowtie. He read over papers that filled a manila folder. As expected, he was breathtakingly handsome. 

Ellis took another sip of cappuccino for courage and then spoke. “Sorry to interrupt you, but I have a question.”

Richard glanced up. “Hm?” He met Ellis’s gaze and gave him a smile. “Not at all. What is it? I’m always here to help.”

If only you could help in the way that I wish you would. “I’d like to get coffee with you sometime this week. At lunch, maybe? Or tomorrow morning? We could even go after work, if that’s better timing.” Ellis’s heart pounded. He always hated this part: setting himself up for rejection.

“Well, sure,” Richard said. “Be glad to. We could get some coffee tomorrow morning if you’re an early bird like me, or we can have lunch. I know a café not far from here that has great sandwiches and decent coffee.” He looked curious, one eyebrow lifting, although he didn’t ask any questions.

“Lunch is perfect,” Ellis said. “Let’s shoot for noon today.” This was the closest he had ever gotten to asking an older man out on a date. Despite his miserable track record with men in general, he’d managed to go on dates with men his own age. That was how he knew he wasn’t interested in getting serious with any of them. At securing a lunch with Richard, Ellis felt a smile threatening to overtake his face, and his heart still raced. “We can always leave a couple of minutes early or late depending on how our mornings go.”

“True,” Richard said. “All right. As soon as you’re ready for lunch, stop by. I’m just doing paperwork today.” There was a kind twinkle in his eyes. 

“Great!” Ellis headed up to the third floor to his office, his dour Monday morning officially turned around. I asked a silver fox out for coffee, and he actually said yes.

About the Author 

I’m a quirky English professor with tattoos, piercings, and an addiction to supernatural thriller, horror, fantasy, and science fiction. I'm proudly neurodivergent, third gender, and a trauma survivor, all things often reflected in my novels. I have degrees in both English and psychology, both of which inform my writing. In my free time, I enjoy hiking, off-road biking, and pyrography.  

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Newsletter Sign-up/Substack  |   Blue Sky

Giveaway 

Enter the Rafflecopter giveaway for a chance to win 

one of five ebook copies of my sweet romance MM short story, Dancing at the Edge.

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Thursday, June 12, 2025

The Man In Black Book Blast #GayBookPromotions

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: The Man in Black

Author: L.R. Liverpool

Publisher: Black Cab Productions / Texas Poetrope

Cover Artist: Gabriel Sanche

Release Date: November 22, 2022

Tense/POV: First person, past tense, single POV

Genres: MM Historical Romance/Thriller

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, forbidden love, dangerous environment, solving mysteries

Themes: Old West, outlaws, mysterious pursuer, hurt/comfort, murders, emotional traumas, scary dreams

Heat Rating:  4 flames

Length:  897 pages in Kindle format

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

Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

Smashwords  |  Google  |  Apple  |  Kobo

Indigo  |   Angus& Robertson

Who will be safe when a dream figure becomes real?

Blurb

Naive dreamer Fenimore James goes west to become a famous outlaw, but his fantasies of glamorous robberies quickly evaporate when he joins the Red Evans gang, finding himself caught in a strange and bloody game, where gang members are suddenly being murdered one-by-one at the hand of a mysterious pursuer, who leaves cryptic signs scarifying their bodies. As his nights become plagued by a bizarre dream figure––the Man In Black, he also begins to question his sexuality, falling for a fellow male gang member, whom he feared just recently. 

Excerpt 

Sometime later I had a strange dream, which I still remember in great detail, as if I only saw it yesterday: I’m sitting in a hut by a frost-covered window and watching a stagecoach arrive in the yard. It seems to me that my new friends are also somewhere in the house, but this is more of a feeling, because I don’t really see them anywhere. 

I get up and walk outside. The door does not open into the house, but outward––so I force it hard with all my weight, because there is one hell of a snowdrift on the porch. After a couple of violent shoves, it finally swings open. Everything is white all around––continuous snowy expanses and a snow-covered forest are in front, blackened with tree trunks. And some sort of mountains. I look at the stagecoach and notice that it is also all black, and the horses are black too. 

Even before I have time to call out to the intruders, the coachman climbs down off the beam and walks in my direction. A tall––very tall––man in a tattered black coat with fluttering hemlines and a worn black hat. He stops a yard away from me and says he’s looking for Red Evans. I answer that Red is in the house and inquire who’s asking for him. 

“He knows,” the man replies in a low, hollow voice, as if speaking from underwater. 

I keep trying to see his face, but I can’t. The twilight is still light, and the whiteness of the snow illuminates everything all around. But the man’s face is still not visible in the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat and high collar. I feel goosebumps rise, and I want to run for the hills––from this figure in black––without stopping. But I nod, go into the house to search for Red and find him sitting with Monty and Doug in front of a bright fireplace. The color scheme of the entire dream is black, white, and blue; and only the fire is blood red. 

I tell the boss that so-and-so, some guy arrived and announced that he was an acquaintance. Then Red reluctantly gets up from his place, and we all go outside. We go out of the house, but there is no stagecoach anymore. No stagecoach, no mysterious guest. Here, of course, they ridicule me, and I scream, convincing them that I saw everything with my own eyes, heard the creak of wheels, the clatter of hooves.

“Maybe,” I suggest, “the guest has already left?”

To which they ask me, “Where are the tracks then?”

And indeed there are no tracks either. Only an endless cover of pristine snow and the prints of our own boots from the doorstep. I remain alone in the yard and continue to stand in the deepening twilight and stupidly stare at the sparkling snowdrifts, trying to understand what happened. And, it seems, there was nothing special in this dream. However, it left an unpleasant feeling in my soul for a very long time.

About the Author 

Lily has been writing short stories to entertain her friends since her teen years, and before coming to pen her own novel, she helped her writer friends with research for their fiction and non-fiction. She is a collector of all things dogs, and Balto & Togo, an animal shelters volunteer, a history buff, a vintage trinkets and toys enthusiast.

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Tuesday, June 10, 2025

Death and Maia Book Blast #GayBookPromotions

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Death & Maia

Author and Publisher: A. C. Jolly

Cover Artist: Alyssa Winans 

Release Date: April 24, 2025

Tense/POV: first person, present tense, single POV.

Genres: FF Dark Fantasy, Historical, Paranormal

Tropes: Fated mates

Heat Rating:  4 flames 

Length:  Approx 35 000 words/184 pages

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

Goodreads 

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited and Paperback

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK  |  BookShop.org

Can love truly conquer death when mortality stands in the way?

Blurb 

A lush, sapphic romantasy.

In the shadowed streets of plague-ridden Athens, Maia lies on the brink of death. When the grim reaper appears to claim her, Maia makes a bold request: a kiss.

Ancient and enigmatic, Lady Death has guided countless souls into the unknowable afterlife. But Maia is different. Her resilience and humour—and that kiss—awaken a desire that Death has never known. What begins as a moment of terrified curiosity deepens into a passion as tender as it is consuming. 

Excerpt 

There’s death and sheaves of hyacinth beside me in the chamber. The body of the other girl lies on the floor. I can see her in the darkness like a misshapen pale rock in a shallow puddle. I want to swim to her.

I was with her when she died. I didn’t know her name, but I told her mine.

“My name’s Maia,” I said. I don’t think she heard me. Her thin breath was drowned out by the music coming from the street below. A festival, the Anthestreria by the sounds. But I knew that she was still alive, and as long as she lived, I might. My wrists were tied above my head to a bracket on the wall.

“I’m here,” I said. “I’ll wait with you.”

But she drowned to death, or burned, or something. I didn’t know her name.

And now there’s only me, and the party downstairs is finished, and the street outside is quiet. Dawn has come and it finds me dying, too. I was working in a different neighbourhood with the other girl, who was so, so pretty. “Follow me,” I remember saying to a passerby, some young guy with an absent look and fancy laundered clothing. He smelled good. I took the pretty no-name girl by the hand because I wanted her with me, and the guy followed us down a narrow street to a doorway strung with many-coloured ropes.

After that I don’t remember much until the neighbourhood, below us, below our chamber, got fired up with the festival and its lights purred orange on the back wall. And then the music died and the sun rose, just about enough to see the flowers on the step beside the shuttered door, no doubt to cover up the smell of the body of the pretty no-name girl.

It’s hot in the chamber. I sit with my back against the wall, a rag across my stomach. I couldn’t tell you how many days I’ve been here. I’m starting to think that the fires and the music and the shouting in the street may not be festive at all, unless many months have passed since that pretty afternoon with the girl, the guy, the doorway with the many-coloured ropes. Unless the music that I’m hearing is carried to me from a far, far different quarter of this city or the next one over. I think about home. My cabin. I miss it. My tiny little cabin where I keep my only thing, a patterned clay horse figurine, on a stool beside the mattress.

The dim light fades. Maybe it’s another evening. And I’m still not dead. The hyacinth is failing at its job. It’s night again and I can’t remember what it’s like to have arms—well, what it’s like to feel them. They’re not actually tied to a bracket on the wall. That’s just fucking nonsense. They’ve fallen at my sides and don’t move.

The chamber fills with cooking-fire flakes and the music blares. I open my eyes, which rasp with dryness, and black smoke falls from the long, high slit of window at the top of the opposite wall. And if my nose wasn’t telling me otherwise, I’d think it wasn’t smoke at all but a river of perilous dark hair that runs down the wall, sinks down the wall, and starts to fill the chamber, flooding round the body of the pretty no-name girl, and I panic, thinking, Shit, she’s gonna drown!

But she’s dead already.

And this evening Death has come again, for me.

She kneels in front of me, a woman dressed in subtle linens. In her right hand she holds a moist and I assume human heart with fronds of cypress growing out its ventricles. She has the pale face of a barbarian and jet-black hair and dark eyes, not black but glorious brown and shot with other colours, whirling blue and green, each eye a round of deep sky reversed on a field of white moon.

She says, “You may ask something small of me, if it is reasonable.”

And although I’ve never actually heard her voice, I kind of already know it. You would too, if you came from my neighbourhood. And right now, in this moment, I’m determined not to ask her for a thing, but I know that won’t last. She is unspeakably lovely and ancient, and I’ll definitely crumble. But I play it out, anyway. “You took your time,” I say, because the truth is I should have died eight years ago, when a dated version of this fever took my parents and uncles and baby brothers, or five years ago, when my master and his favourite slaves were murdered by his business partner, or just a month ago, when a wild wolf-dog came down the alley and through the empty canteen where I was drinking down my supper.

She smiles briefly and her teeth are white and perfect. That smile makes me sure this is the way she prefers it done. I mean, if I was her, I’d enjoy the rude ones a lot more than the simps.

“My name’s Maia,” I say. “What should I call you, Lady?”

“My name is Death.”

Alright, so now I’m scared. My split lips sting with salt from tears and sweat. And I’m so fucking angry at myself because there’s no point in that, there’s no point in crying, because I have no choice. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry,” I say, and my breastbone cracks as the breath coils, blooms, inside my body.

“Why promise that?” says Lady Death.

And she’s not holding the cypress heart anymore. Instead, a column of fine red dust drops from the funnel of her hand.

“I wanted to defy you,” I say raggedly. “You know how it goes.”

“I do,” she says. “But why waste time? Remember, you may ask something small of me, if it is reasonable.”

I take a breath.

“A kiss,” I say, because why not. “Is that reasonable?”

“Aye,” says Lady Death, and I suppose she’s granted this same favour a thousand million times before.

She has to come to me because I can’t move. She holds my face in her hands, and they’re warm like fire but do not burn, and her lips meet mine gently, and they’re soft and cool like mist but do not chill. Her tongue tastes of sweet apples, and peppery, exactly what I’d hope for from the wildest, freshest, most inspirited of oils. I keep my eyes shut tight because the final thing I want to see on earth is her mouth as she handed it to me.

I keep my eyes shut tight and say, “Who knew Death would be so beautiful?”

About the Author 

I'm a writer from New Zealand, and now live in the UK with my wife. I wrote Death & Maia, which is about a romance between Lady Death and a mortal woman, after watching the TV series Agatha All Along and being a bit disappointed with the (lack of) backstory.

Author Links

Instagram: @acj.olly 

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Saturday, January 25, 2025

The Perfume of War Book Blast #GayBookPromotions

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: The Perfume of War

Author: Garrick Jones

Publisher: Tellwell Publications

Cover Artist: Garrick Jones

Release Date:  November 25, 2024

Genres: Crime Thriller, WW2 Spy Thriller

Themes: Historical Crime fiction, WW2; Spies/Action/Thriller

Heat Rating: 2 flames

Length: 134 000 words/420 pages (paperback version)

It is Book #4 in the Seventh of December Series and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon AU  |  Amazon US  |  Amazon UK  |  Smashwords

Blurb 

“Please donate generously to Mrs. Roosevelt’s charity. Every penny raised from this series of concerts along the eastern coast of the United States will help with the resettlement and care of child refugees from war-torn continental Europe.”

Over dinner with J Edgar Hoover in Washington, Tommy Haupner is shocked to learn that his forgotten and empty Swiss bank account has been topped up regularly with staggering sums of money … deposits that originate in Nazi Germany. Could this bank account have something to do with anonymous letters posted to him at home in London, their contents a single blank slip of paper on which are written two words: NAZI GOLD?

When he returns to Britain, he soon discovers that not only is his own life in danger but also those of his nearest and dearest who become pawns in a savage game of revenge.

Excerpt 

I knew he’d tell me if he knew anything; we’d pledged never to keep secrets after our first foray behind enemy lines in early 1941.

“All right, I’m listening,” I said.

“I’ve been told not to bring anything. No personal items and no documents, not even a toothbrush.”

“Uh-oh,” I said. That sort of deployment, where clothes, right down to underwear, toiletries and everything else would be supplied, indicated that whatever the mission was going to be, it wouldn’t be a local training course. “How long will you be away? Any idea?”

“Minimum three weeks, maybe more. That’s all I know.”

“I know duty calls, but what a shame. I was looking forward to having dinner with you again at Xavier’s. And your parents will be very disappointed; I know they were excited about travelling to Washington for the presentation of your Silver Star.”

“Yeah, I know, babe. Me too. I’ve just finished writing a letter. Will you give it to them?”

He must have seen the sudden change in my face, because he laughed softly then pulled me down on to his lap.

“No, it’s not one of those sorts of letters, Tommy. I just want to let them know how sorry I am not to be able to catch up this trip, but I’m sure there’ll be another opportunity. Who knows: maybe this secret mission might be in the USA.”

We both knew that that was hardly likely to be the case. Reporting for deployment with absolutely no personal items except the clothes you were wearing indicated a place, or a situation, where the threat of capture was a reality. My mind ran quickly through the possibilities: occupied France or Italy were top of my list.

“What about your niece’s birthday party?” I asked. “I know she had something special planned that included both of us.”

“Helene will cope. I’ll put five dollars for her in the letter to Mom and Pop.”

“Money isn’t the same as a present. I’ll see if I can find something from us both when I get there.”

“Tommy …”

“Yes?”

“We knew a day like this would come. I’m not being dramatic or anything, but we’ve been so lucky so far. We’ve talked about what it’s like for everyone else: husbands and wives and lovers separated by the war, families bereft of their sons, wondering where they might be. It’s the life we’re all faced with now and I have to go; I simply don’t have a choice. You understand that, don’t you? And I promise I’m coming back.”

“You’d better, soldier,” I said, willing myself to believe it. Although I was trying to sound calm and collected, inside I felt more than a little anxious. Yes, we’d known a day like this would come, but I’d wished with all my might that it never would. I had no qualms about being sent away myself, but Shorty … well, that was a different thing altogether.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“Well, the family’s out having dinner with your uncle Otto, so …”

“So what?” I asked.

“I brought ham, cheese and a loaf of fresh white bread home from the embassy—even a slab of butter, believe it or not. Fancy a sandwich, naked, in the dark, mister?”

It was a crazy thing to do, but our relationship had been filled with small madnesses. Wearing just our garters and socks, we sat on the kitchen table eating ham and cheese sandwiches, washing it down with glasses of milk, also purloined from the embassy kitchen. He’d brought home enough for everyone else too, including a spare large bottle of the almost-impossible-to-obtain white stuff.

With a soft burp he wiped the milk moustache from his upper lip; I was about to do the same but he stopped me. “Let me, Tommy,” he whispered low in his throat, and wiped it away with the flat of his tongue.

I knew the family wouldn’t return unexpectedly and catch us in the kitchen, so I pushed him on to his back on the kitchen table. Not wanting to waste our last evening together for another month, I got to work on him, promising my man a good hour at least of looking after him.

“An hour, Tommy?” he said, laughing into my mouth.

“Who says it only has to be once?” I replied as I kissed my way down his body.

About the Author 

From the outback to the opera.

After a thirty-year career as a professional opera singer, performing as a soloist in opera houses and in concert halls all over the world, I took up a position as lecturer in music in Australia in 1999, at the Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music, which is now part of CQ University.

Brought up in Australia, between the bush and the beaches of the Eastern suburbs, I retired in 2015 and now live in the tropics, writing, gardening, and finally finding time to enjoy life and to re-establish a connection with who I am after a very busy career on the stage and as an academic.

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Wednesday, September 18, 2024

Happy Holidays Review #GayBookPromotions

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Happy Holidays! The Charlie Barnes Experience, Volume 1

Author: C.R. Barnes

Publisher: Beach Book Press

Release Date: July 11, 2024

Genre: Humor/Satire with M/M romance

Tropes: Fake relationship, Lovers to enemies 

Themes: Irreverent Humor, Friendship, Loyalty, Moral Ambiguity, Writer’s Block

Heat Rating: 2 flames (the main characters do have sex a few times but there are no graphic descriptions)

Length: 54 000 words/167 pages

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

Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon US  |    Amazon UK  |   Universal Link

Available anywhere books are sold, as well as digital library services.

How I Went from Failed Writer to Drug Mule, and Back, Without Really Trying

Blurb

After a shocking event on Halloween night, Charlie Barnes is back in the news for all the wrong reasons. On the bright side, he meets handsome cop Luke. Luke of the blue eyes, perfect nose, beautiful butt cheeks, and, unbeknownst to Charlie, ulterior motives.

Even bad publicity can be good for book sales, according to Charlie's publisher, who promptly moves up the deadline for his next book. A book he hasn't started due to a crushing case of writer's block. Or perhaps he's just lazy, it’s hard to tell with Charlie.

He's got a month to write his next book, decide if Luke is for real, and figure out what to do about the suitcase full of drugs he abandoned at the airport. The pressure is on and the ride is about to get bumpy.

Excerpt 

Lying on a beach, soaking in warm summer sun and cool ocean breezes. It’s heaven, until a wave rolls in and crashes on top of me. Next thing you know, I’m gasping for air and choking on my own bath water. Not dreaming anymore.

            Or am I? Is Detective-Too-Good-To-Be-True in my kitchen? Did he draw this bath, light these candles, and leave me in peace long enough for me to drown in my tub? A gentle knock on the door. He must have heard me doing the breaststroke. Before I say come in, he comes in. Not dreaming, not this part.

            “You doin’ okay in here?” He asks with such sweetness I feel guilty for thinking it’s too much. But it is. We’ll work on this later.

            “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Seeing how much water I can get on the floor before the tub falls through it.”

            “Might not sit well with the neighbor.”

            “He’s a bitch. Always complaining about how loud I walk. Fuck him.”

            I toss my hands in the air and give him my best ‘who gives damn’ face and end this part of the conversation with “If he wanted quiet, he should have bought the penthouse.”

            “Since when is the fifth floor of anything the penthouse?”

            Not sweet. This is better.

            “If it’s on the top, it’s the penthouse. Prove me wrong.”

            “I’d rather feed you.” He hands me a towel. He doesn’t leave. A dare.

            I take the dare. I stand up, hang the towel over a hook, and grab my shower handle thing, what is it called? Shower handle, maybe? Whatever it is, I spray myself down, sending water everywhere. He gets wet and starts laughing. As God is my witness, his buttons will be pushed. He can’t take everything in stride.

            When I step out of the tub the room spins. He grabs me by the shoulders and guides my butt onto the toilet, which, thankfully is closed and does not have a candle on it.

            “Sit still,” he commands.

            What? He takes the towel and starts drying me off. I know where this is going, at least for me. I have to stop this. I don’t want to stop this. But I have to. We can’t have sex, there’s lasagna to be eaten. Lasagna is better than sex. But if you’re going to have sex, having it before eating lasagna is better than after.

            We are not having sex. Not tonight. And when we do, I won’t talk about and I certainly won’t write about it. I might mention it, I might even brag, but there won’t be any details. This is neither porn nor erotica. Some things have to be private.

            “I can handle it from here.”

            Disappointment flashes across his face. It didn’t last long, but it was there. Good. He puts a hand on my cheek. His hand is warm, and soft, and big. He kisses me on my damp forehead and says “Then hurry up, I’m hungry.”

            Laughing hurts my ribs and makes me stop. Then he laughs at me, which makes me laugh again. It’s a hot mess of pain and happiness and arousal, and all sorts of other things running around inside my body and banging around my brain. Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes. This is the man for me.

            “Get out before you kill me.”

            He pulls the towel over my head and walks out, still laughing. Quick as I can, I get dry, get dressed, and meet him at the table. There’s a salad, the aforementioned lasagna, a bottle of wine, flowers, and candles. He must have gone shopping because none of this stuff came from my pantry. I’m not even sure I have a pantry. He pours the wine, lifts his glass, waits for me to lift mine and says, “Welcome home Charlie.”

            I pull my glass back “You said that already. Come up with something new.”

            “Geez, Charlie,” he pretends to be annoyed. He’s not annoyed. He’s challenged and he likes it.

            “Here’s to not dying in a Dorothy costume in the parking lot of a seasonally gay nightclub.”

            That’s more like it.


Free Use Image from Open Clipart Vectors

Ornery Owl's Rating:
Five out of Five Stars

This wonderfully irreverent story hits hard from the first line when the protagonist, Charlie Barnes, regains consciousness bruised and battered while dressed as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. Charlie pulls the reader along on his wild journey leading to the discovery of how and why he ended up in this state.

Charlie's tale is hilarious and outrageous, and Charlie is a self-serving, morally ambiguous protagonist. He doesn't mean any harm, he simply doesn't have a filter and he has a knack for finding trouble. He is by no means a model of appropriate, healthy, or admirable behavior, but the reader can't help but want to be part of Charlie's world.

While I normally knock a star off a story that engages in any kind of appearance shaming, there is an exception to every rule. Everyone is fair game for Charlie's razor wit, and he tends to judge character far more harshly than looks. While he does refer to drug dealer Harvey's muscle as Gerry the Pig Face, his dislike of Gerry stems from the goon's actions far more than his appearance. His thoughts about the full-figured Mizz Jamie are complimentary. 

If you're looking for a serious story about the ill effects of illicit drugs on society, this isn't it. This story is wacky, wild, and crass. Although it doesn't contain any graphic descriptions of sex or drug use, this book is only appropriate for readers 18+ because sex, drugs, and copious amounts of profanity are present throughout. However, if you want to vicariously live out a few crazy days alongside a protagonist who lives life on his own terms and has a knack for getting into sticky situations, strap in and join Charlie on the craziest, funniest literary ride you'll find anywhere. 

To sum things up, I loved it and hope to see more of Charlie's antics in the future.

About the Author 

C.R. "Charlie" Barnes studied literature and journalism in college and went to work for a global news organization immediately after graduation. During his time there, the team won a pile of awards and Charlie was on his way to a low-paying, high-stress career in a business he didn’t love. He now spends his time writing fiction because the news was never good, and one thing Charlie likes is a good time. Or at least not a bad time. 

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