So Passes the Night Teaser #rabtbooktours

Paranormal Sea Adventure Romance

Date Published: July 17, 2026

One wild night, two sexy seamen and a voluptuous woman -- three broken souls seeking completion.

 

First Mate Cade Talbot disobeyed a direct order, sacrificing himself to save his best friend. Since then, Captain Grant Rowen rules his ship with an iron fist, demanding strict compliance from all aboard.

Coffers are low, and when a lone woman requests passage to St. Thomas, Captain Rowen accepts her payment. But the stormy sea crossing holds more than just nature's surprises.

Aurora Journade reveals that she not only speaks to spirits, she makes love to them --and she doesn't follow orders. With Aurora's help, Cade has one last chance to reach out to his captain. Not even death can keep them from seeking passion's redemption.

 

EXCERPT

 The following excerpt contains material suitable only for readers 18+.

"Yes... no... Oh God, how you touch me, my love. But what if someone should see us? We shouldn't do this here." The female voice coming from the dark alley quivered, ripe with passion.

Grant couldn't hear her companion's murmured reply, but from her enthusiastic cries it must have been to her liking.

He continued toward the tavern, almost late for a meeting. The repairs to his ship had taken longer than he'd anticipated. Noise and smoke rolled out into the street as Grant pushed open the scarred wooden door, spreading over him in a wave of stinking humanity. Squinting through the smoke and dim light, he made his way to the busy barkeep.

"I'm looking for a merchant named Crofton. Know him?"

The slight man behind the bar pointed toward the corner where most of the noise was coming from. "Aye, Linch is over there."

Grant squared his shoulders and strode toward the merchant. "Crofton? Captain Rowen of the Venture. Amory Talbot said to find you the next time I was in port."

The older, ruddy-faced man fixed his gaze on Grant. "Yes, my cousin has good things to say about you, Rowen. It's a pity about his son, though. The boy was your first mate, wasn't he? Sit down and we'll have a drink before we talk business." He motioned to the barmaid for another round.

"Thank you, sir. Yes, Cade was my first mate." Grant took a long pull on the foaming brew the barmaid set before him. "I'm told you're looking for a ship to do some regular cargo runs. The Venture is a fine vessel and I have an experienced crew. She's in port now if you'd like to look her over." He took another drink and choked back bittersweet memories. He hadn't visited Cade's home port since just after his death, but it had been the closest for needed repairs.

* * *

Breathing in the fresh night air, Grant closed the tavern door behind him. The promise of a full cargo hold and a regular run starting at the end of the week lifted his lagging spirits. He walked down the street, dust kicking up under his boots as he hummed a familiar tune, one that his best friend Cade had often whistled.

A flash of red silk coming out of the alley was the only warning he received before he was knocked on his ass by a voluptuous female body. He wrapped his arms around her instinctively, her bountiful breasts flattening on his chest. The heady scent of aroused woman rose from her and his cock stiffened instantly.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir! I wasn't looking where I was going." She scrambled up and rushed off, leaving him with an aching cock and the impression of long, dark passion-rustled hair, haunting gypsy eyes, and a body made for love.

"My pleasure, miss." He readjusted his erection and stared after the little minx. He hadn't had a woman in a while, but the insistent desire pulsing in his cock from the unexpected tousle rekindled his interest. As he boarded his ship and took over the watch, he decided it might be time to see if the brothel in the next port was still in business.

* * *

"Please, I must speak with the captain." Grant spied the woman rushing up the wooden gangplank past one of his crewmen, almost tripping in her haste. Though dressed well, she had no bags and no servants.

"I'm Captain Rowen, miss." He extended a hand to help her onto the deck and a thrill of awareness ran through him at the touch of her hand. It was the woman who had run him over last night. Her beautiful black hair was confined in an intricate knot, now, and the lush figure that had intrigued him was caged behind a corseted gown. He much preferred the unrestrained seductress of the night before.

She glanced up and her eyes widened with recognition and interest. Grant smiled, sensing sexual adventure in the wind. As any good sailor, he listened to the wind when it spoke to him.

"I am Miss Journade. I need immediate passage to St. Thomas, captain." She fidgeted nervously but didn't let go of his hand or drop her gaze.

"I'm afraid most of my crew is ashore on leave, miss. You'll have to wait until they return before we can set sail."

"It is important that I depart this afternoon, Captain Rowen. I can pay you well. I am meeting a... a friend and his time is very limited. Please, sir, I will give you whatever you want." She stepped forward and laid her hand on his chest, her fingers curling against the cloth. Could she feel his heart pounding with desire?

Grant weighed his options, measuring his empty coffers and skeleton crew against the delicious temptation of the woman and her money. Normally he would have refused, as would most captains. Women on ships were considered bad luck, and a woman without an escort could be nothing but trouble.

Still, the passage to St. Thomas was generally an easy one and they needed gold after the recent repairs. He'd risk the journey and try to find an acceptable chaperone in town while he rounded up as much of his crew as he could find.

"Welcome aboard the Venture, Miss Journade." He motioned toward a young boy standing in the shadows. "Remy, please show Miss Journade to the passenger's quarters. I'll be in town rounding up the crew. We set sail on my return."

 

About the Author

Cassidy lives in the beautiful state of Washington and is surrounded by mysterious rain forests, tempestuous oceans and enough gorgeous scenery to inspire stories for at least another two hundred years.

She's been reading romances since she was thirteen, and writing them since she was fifteen. However, the serious writing bug didn't bite until much later in life, inspired by her talented husband (who is also a writer!).

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

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The Star We Sail By New Release Blitz #IndiGo

Title:  The Star We Sail By

Series: Knights of Blackrabbit #2

Author: Glenn Quiglay

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/20/2024

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 77300

Genre: Historical, Cornish Coast, clockpunk, spec fiction, panic disorder, bears, ex-sailors, playhouse, theft, family issues, law enforcement, petty theft, historical, non-explicit, redemption, revenge, tattoos, daddybear

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Description

When young sailor Felix Diamond receives a letter from his estranged uncle begging for help, he returns home to Blackrabbit Island for the first time in ten years. There he discovers his uncle missing and his aunt positioning herself as the new head of the notorious Diamond family. With nowhere else to turn, Felix must enlist the help of former crime lord and current Watch Commander, Vince Knight—a man he trusts less than anyone alive. He’ll also have to contend with his opium-addicted cousin and a handsome apprentice horologist with secrets of his own.

With time running out, Felix must race to uncover the truth behind his uncle’s disappearance while keeping his delinquent family’s claws off his childhood home—the run-down playhouse named The Star We Sail By.

Excerpt

The Star We Sail By

Glenn Quigley © 2024

All Rights Reserved

“It is the waves which break—not I.” Felix Diamond repeated this refrain to himself over and over again as he picked his way through the hustle and bustle of the Port Knot docklands. His personal maxim acted as a lifeline, leading him through any given storm and safely back to shore.

The ship on which he served had arrived at dawn to an already cluttered harbour. Without a word to his crewmates, Felix had stepped off and made straight for town. On that early December morning in 1781, the air was soft and wet, and the light thin. With his breath clouding about him, he pushed through the market, ignoring the stench of fish guts. Bundles of fresh flowers hung next to rows of empty birdcages. Furs from several kinds of animals sat in high piles on salt-rotten tables. Books and pamphlets on all manner of topics—from rumours about revolution in France to condemnations of the town’s new street lamps—cluttered several stalls. Cranes creaked as they unloaded goods from all four corners of the world. At the roofless court house nearby, hammers struck nails and men shouted obscenities and instructions in equal measure.

Felix had not long turned twenty-four and had the pinkish skin of a man who worked at sea in all weathers. He wore a short beard the colour of strong coffee, and a single curl dropped from beneath his woollen cap, coming to rest on his brow. The small gap between his front teeth whistled as he shouted away a mangy dog sniffing about his legs.

On the corner of Bibbler’s Brook, a man in a white frock coat embellished with seafoam-green oak leaves stood under a five-sided street lamp, working a long, knobbly, metal pole into its head. The light within the lamp dimmed first, then disappeared entirely. Two more dogs chased one other along the narrow, cobbled road and ran straight past the lamplighter. He jumped away and shouted at the young boys who, hooting and chattering, chased at full pelt after the dogs. Farther along, someone flapped a sheet out of a high window to give it an airing while a woman with a bony horse and slender cart collected odds and sods she found on the road.

The Star We Sail By stood on a bend in Bibbler’s Brook, not far from the harbour, on the north-eastern side of town. Its slim front doors nestled neatly between two jutting bay windows. Felix lingered at the locked front doors and tilted his head. Above the entrance, the prow of a sailing boat jutted out as a balcony for the first floor. Its masthead, called Atlas by the townsfolk, had seen better days. Shaped like a rotund and entirely naked gentleman whose modesty was halfheartedly covered with only a single, sheer ribbon, its paintwork curled like pages from an old book. Atlas held a murky stained glass star in its outstretched hands as if catching it or perhaps offering it to the weary traveller who stopped by.

Felix hesitated before taking two keys from his pocket. He found the first too small for the lock. The second fitted snugly. He turned it. Several bolts clicked and clanked. He readied himself and pushed the doors open. Inside, cracks of light pierced the rickety shutters. A shiny beetle scurried across the dusty bar. The tables held sticky pools of dried beer and gin. Tankards and glasses lay on their sides, some smashed on the wooden floor. Ashes sat undisturbed in the fireplace, and at the rear of the room, a little stage with tatty purple curtains stood primed but empty, like a broken promise.

“About time you opened.” A scruffy, unshaven man with a grog blossom nose had slipped in through the door unnoticed. He threw open the rest of the shutters in the windows, flooding the room with light, then coughed at the cloud of dust they released.

“I’m not open,” Felix said. “Please get out.”

“I’ve been here every morning for days. Days, I tell you!” the man said. “I’ve been practically homeless without this place.”

“I said get out.” His duffel bag slumped to the floor, and he readied himself to kick the man out if he had to. He hoped the man wouldn’t notice his rapid breathing.

“Don’t get all worked up,” the man said. He held his hands up and sat on a stool by the bar. “I don’t mean any harm. It’s nice to be home again.” He squinted at the sailor. “You’re the nephew, aren’t you? The one that ran away? The seaman. Fenton?”

“Felix.” He relaxed his hands and opened the other shutters. Clearly, this man wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m Tassiter, since you didn’t ask,” the man said. “Dick Tassiter.” He had beady eyes and straggly hair, and a face like a crumpled shirt abandoned at the bottom of the wardrobe. He eyed the bottles of gin lining a shelf behind the bar. “I’m your uncle’s best customer. Or I was.”

Felix peeked around a corner to the stairs. “He hasn’t been open for a while?”

“It’s been three days since those doors last opened. Three long, dry, thirsty days,” Tassiter said. “I thought I was cursed to wander the world forevermore without a drop to drink.” He pointed to one of the bottles. “Do you mind if I…?”

“Help yourself,” Felix said. He climbed the stairs.

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Meet the Author

Glenn Quigley is a graphic designer originally from Dublin and now living in Lisburn, Northern Ireland. He creates bear designs for www.themoodybear.com. He has been interested in writing since he was a child, as essay writing was the one and only thing he was ever any good at in school. When not writing or designing, he enjoys photography and has recently taken up watercolour painting.

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