Cinder (Devil’s Boneyard MC) by Harley Wylde #MCromance #bikerbooks #NewAdult #silverfox #eroticbooks @changelingpress @HarleyW_Writer

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Contemporary, Interracial,
MC Romance, Silver Fox, Single Parent/Pregnancy Romance

 

Meg – For ten years I suffered at the hands of a monster, bought at auction and forced to be a slave, at the whim of a Columbian drug lord who also ran underground fights. Then the Devil’s Boneyard came to rescue one of their own and I was free. I don’t know who I am anymore, or what my purpose is. I only know one thing. Cinder, the President of Devil’s Boneyard, makes me feel safe and that’s something I haven’t felt in forever. But one kiss and I’m seeing him in a new light, and I know that one kiss will never be enough.

Cinder – Meg’s a sweet girl, a little angel who tends to sing and distract me as she cleans my house. I never said she had to pay for her keep around here, but she insists. She’s easily thirty years my junior, which makes me feel like a sick fuck every time I get hard around her, especially after all she’s suffered. Then I royally fucked up and kissed her. Now that I’ve had a taste, I want more, even though I know we’re doomed. A threat to my club, and to Meg, has her under my roof 24/7, and I have no idea how I’ll keep myself from giving into temptation. Whoever leaked her information to The Inferno is going to pay in blood. Even if I haven’t claimed her, Meg is mine, and I always protect what’s mine.

WARNING: Scorching hot sex, a club president who isn’t afraid to inflict some violence on his enemies, and a woman who discovers she’s stronger than she thought. Please be advised there are mentions of physical and sexual abuse, as well as human trafficking of teens, even though nothing is described in detail.

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Harley Wylde

Cinder

That damn woman was singing again. How the fuck was I supposed to concentrate on club business when she was sashaying all over the damn house belting out whatever song she’d last heard on the radio? All the women from Colombia were re-homed and off living their lives. Then there was Meg. Damn woman refused to leave the compound unless I sent two men with her. She was constantly jumping at shadows, and doing things like organizing my fucking closet by item type and color. Who the fuck did that shit?

When she started the song over, I growled and threw my pen across the room, watching it bounce off the wall and clatter to the floor. No matter how damn annoying I found it, I couldn’t very well go down there and growl at her. I’d tried it once and she’d promptly burst into tears before running from my house. Then I’d felt like an asshole for scaring her. I didn’t know what to do with her. The men gave her a wide berth most of the time, unless she needed something. They were all there in an instant if they thought Meg was having trouble, or needed protection.

She was always cooking for someone or other, cleaning my fucking house, doing my laundry. Hell, she even bought my groceries. I should be thrilled I didn’t have to handle any of that crap anymore, and I might have been, if the woman didn’t make me hard all the damn time. Even now, with her singing the same thing over and over, I was hard as a fucking steel post. I was staring sixty in the eye and Meg couldn’t be more than twenty-five or twenty-six. Young enough to be my daughter, damn near young enough to be my granddaughter. Made me feel like a sick fuck, even though the age difference didn’t seem to bother my VP. He was more than twenty years older than his wife, Clarity, and I’d never seen two people so in love. Except maybe Havoc and that psycho woman of his.

When I’d reached forty and hadn’t found a woman, I’d decided that family shit just wasn’t for me. I hadn’t even touched the club sluts, not in a long-ass time. It had gotten too fucking complicated when I discovered some of them were trying to get pregnant on purpose to trap me and the others in my club. After that, I went on dates here and there with older women in surrounding towns. I hadn’t scratched that itch in probably six months, which might explain why Meg was getting a rise out of my dick all the damn time. Or maybe it was just how sweetly she was curved. I had no doubt she’d be a nice handful if I had her in my bed.

My eye twitched when Meg started her damn song yet again. It wasn’t that the song was annoying so much as it pissed me off that my dick seemed to like her voice a little too much. I unfastened my pants, knowing there was only one way to fix this shit, at least for an hour or two. I pulled open the desk drawer and grabbed the bottle of lube and dragged the box of tissue closer. After squirting a liberal amount of the liquid on my palm, I wrapped my hand around my shaft and started stroking. My eyes slammed shut as her voice carried through the closed door, and I imagined the sounds she’d make as I pounded into her. It only took a few strokes after that for my cum to cover my hand and hit the desk. I groaned as my dick twitched but didn’t completely deflate.

After cleaning myself and the desk up, I tossed the tissues into the trash and shoved my chair back. I rose to my feet, fastened my pants, and decided enough was enough. The way she was affecting me today, I knew I’d be hard again within an hour, and I had too much shit to do to keep jerking off. I went through the house to the kitchen, where she’d dumped the laundry all over the table and seemed to be matching socks. Her hips swayed back and forth as she belted out the lyrics to whatever pop song was stuck in her head this time.

“Is all that fucking racket really necessary?” I asked, my tone a bit harsher than I’d intended.

She gasped, her hand at her throat as she spun to face me. Her wide, frightened eyes made me feel like a complete shit, but I could only handle so much. I needed her gone. Not just from my house, but from the compound. I just hadn’t figured out how to make that happen yet. I couldn’t exactly toss her out without anywhere to go or a way to take care of herself. I wasn’t that big a monster, but she was too fucking tempting.

“I can’t work with you singing at the top of your lungs,” I said. “I need to get the week’s numbers to Shade by end of the day so he can pay everyone, and it requires concentration.”

“I’m s-sorry, Cinder. I didn’t mean to keep you from working.” She glanced at the table full of laundry. “I can come back and finish this later. I was going to make lasagna for dinner with garlic bread, and I can always fold this stuff while it’s cooking.”

I ran a hand down my face, not sure how to make this clear to her without making her cry. “Meg, I appreciate you helping around here, and that you seem hell-bent on fattening me up, but I’m a grown-ass man and can take care of myself.”

“Right,” she said softly, her hands wringing in front of her. “I’ll just go, then. Sorry about the mess.”

She couldn’t quite hide the flash of pain in her eyes before she hurried out of the kitchen. A moment later, I heard the front door shut. I stared at the pile of laundry and wondered how asking for some quiet in my own fucking house could make me feel like such a bad man. It wasn’t like she was my fucking wife. I’d given her a place to stay, but it seemed she was always under my damn feet.

I went over to the table and swept the laundry back into the basket, then carried it to my room and dropped it on the bed. I’d fold the shit later and put it away. I couldn’t help but notice she’d made the damn bed already, with military precision at that. She’d been a quick study of how I liked to keep things, and made sure everything was perfect. Too perfect, if my closet was anything to go by. I had to wonder if she wasn’t a bit OCD.

Now that there was peace in the house, I could focus on the fucking reports and make sure my men were all paid. We’d sold a truck full of guns and ammo to some ex-military men I knew who had become vigilantes. Since they didn’t harm innocents, I didn’t mind doing business with them. Even the drugs we sold never made it into the hands of kids. I made damn sure of that. Anyone who bought from us knew better than to pull that shit, or they’d end up with a bullet between their eyes. These days we only dealt in pot, but I didn’t want to hear about some fifteen-year-old getting high off the stuff we grew and killing themselves or someone else.

I’d scaled back quite a bit on our illegal dealings, for the most part. We still had the chop shop and had opened a second one outside of town. The marijuana pulled in a small profit, and the guns were a nice bonus. When Scratch had discovered his daughter was alive, and he was going to be a grandpa, I’d pulled back from the heavier stuff. Didn’t want any of that blowing back on my VP’s family. Shade had said he could invest some of the club funds and double our profits, so I’d given him a few hundred grand to play with. Now he was investing over half a million on a monthly basis thanks to the nest egg those initial profits had brought in.

We’d never be completely legit, and I was fine with that, but I also didn’t want the law breathing down our necks and chance any of the men with families getting locked up. It was my job to protect everyone in the Devil’s Boneyard, down to the smallest kid. If that meant fewer illegal dealings, then so be it. I still took the odd job from the government as well, but the older I got, the less they called on me. Couldn’t blame them. I was still sharp, still had perfect vision, but I was getting old compared to the eighteen-year-olds they were recruiting.

I’d just finished the week’s numbers and stuffed everything in a folder for Shade when my doorbell rang. I rubbed my eyes and hoped like hell Meg wasn’t on my doorstep. I needed to get laid, and soon, if I was going to keep having her underfoot. I shoved my chair back and went to see who the fuck was bothering me. When I jerked open the door I saw Jordan with her two-year-old daughter, Lanie.

“Jordan, everything okay?” I asked.

She glared at me, her lips a thin line of displeasure and her eyes snapping with fire. I didn’t know who had pissed her off, but I had a feeling my afternoon just became incredibly busy. She was perfect for Havoc, but a general pain in my ass.

“Meg is crying and packing her shit,” Jordan said.

My heart stuttered in my chest. “What do you mean she’s packing? To go where?”

“She doesn’t know and apparently doesn’t care. You. Made. Her. Cry.”

Fuck. I hadn’t meant to drive Meg away completely, just out of my fucking house. Life was so much easier when I only had to deal with club sluts at the clubhouse. Adding women to the family just complicated shit and added drama I didn’t need.

“I never told her she had to leave the compound,” I said.

“No, just your damn house.” I heard Jordan’s jaw crack she was so damn angry. “If you don’t fix this shit, I’m going to leave Lanie with you. For an entire week.”

The demon spawn in her arms gave me a grin that I wasn’t about to admit scared the shit out of me. I didn’t do kids, especially not this kid. Loved Havoc, and Jordan for the most part, but their kid was damn frightening. Anyone else who spoke to me like this would have met my fist, but Jordan was a woman and I wouldn’t lay a hand on her. Not to mention, if I upset her, then she’d make it hell on Havoc, and the last thing I needed was my Sergeant at Arms being pissed at the world because his wife was being a bitch, even though that seemed to be Jordan’s default setting.

“I’ll go talk to Meg,” I said.

My phone started ringing in my pocket and I pulled it out, noting CJ’s name on the screen. Jordan’s brother was a pain just like his damn sister, and I had serious doubts he’d ever be allowed to patch in, even if he hadn’t been fucking up as much lately.

“What?” I demanded as I answered.

“Uh, Pres, Meg is at the gate wanting to leave. Alone. With a bag in her hand. On foot.”

I closed my eyes and counted to twenty. “Keep her there. Don’t open that fucking gate for anything.”

 

The Darkest Joy by Dahlia Rose #DarkFantasy #DarkDesire #PNR #interraciallove @changelingpress

The Darkest Joy (Dark Love 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Dark Desire, Dark Fantasy, Interracial, Paranormal

 

For Bliss, Caim would tear hell apart. To bring Caim to the light,
Bliss would sacrifice everything.

 

For a crime committed in the halls of heaven, Caim fell from grace to become one of the fallen. His punishment is to serve in the pits of the underworld as collector of the devil’s debts.

A thousand years in the servitude of demons is more than Caim can bear. Now he has a chance to be free and to find peace. He has found what he seeks most in the eyes and arms of Bliss Tadeo, a phlebotomist in a small town called Merry, North Carolina. With her eyes and her heart she has soothed the beast within Caim and given him a chance for redemption — if they can survive his ultimate escape from hell…

Publisher’s Note: The Darkest Joy (Dark Love 1) is an edited version of a previously published work by the same name.

 

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Dahlia Rose

So beautiful. He watched her smile as she strapped a piece of rubber around a patient’s bicep. The smile was brilliant, kindly and full of encouragement as she slipped a hollow needle into the vein. She murmured reassuring words to ease her patient’s fears. The lifeblood of the man began to fill the tube. Even from far away he could hear her every word. She talked about the weather, and asked about children, a conversation to take a person’s mind off what was happening and help them into a happy place. Finally she was done and then she flashed that glorious smile once more. Perfection.

No one could see him as he walked down the corridor behind her as he had done for weeks now. He watched her work and at night he sat outside her window and watched her sleep. Her beauty took his immortal breath away and the normalcy of her life gave him hope for himself. After thousands of years one mistake made him who he was now. Only redemption could free him from his immortal torment, his dungeon, his curse. He sat next to her, invisible, as she wrote up charts at her small desk, in her space, her sanctuary where she worked. He inhaled the scent of hair like it was a fine wine. The dark tresses smelled like honeysuckle and vanilla spice. He wanted to run his finger down the creamy chocolate shoulder that was exposed when she took off her lab coat. When she turned, her nose was just a breath away from his, yet she did not know it. Her breath caressed his lips. It had the scent of the strawberry soft chews she liked to snack on at her desk. He stared into eyes that were like liquid chocolate. Her lips were full and she wore gloss that had a slight color of gold. Pictures of family and friends were all around her, trinkets of her human life that she treasured. One picture she favored the most and she looked at it every day. She caressed the silver frame with the word grandmother in raised letters. He heard her speak of the woman frequently, saw them go out to lunch, and watched as she hugged her with affection and love. He longed for an emotional connection, a bond with another person that couldn’t be broken, he craved…

The call jarred him from his place next to her. It was like a sledgehammer to his head. He hated when this time came around, he hated being away from her. But if he did not go to his duties the repercussion would be great and by the time his punishment was over a hundred years would have passed and she would be long gone. A frown darkened his face as he moved away from her. He promised to return to no one but himself. The next time he would reveal himself to her slowly, letting her know the man before she knew the secret. Next time. Her name was Bliss. Bliss… Bliss… Bliss, he repeated the name over and over in his head. She would be his Bliss and his salvation.

He felt it in the fiber of his being. He closed his eyes and phased out of this world owned by humanity and into a world no one wanted to see. The walls of rock were dark with soot and the ground scorched the soles of shoes. As he walked, the heat caused the rubber to hiss as if you had dropped water into a hot frying pan. He hardened his heart to the screams of torment around him, the pleas for mercy or even a drink of water to quench eternal thirst. Had he shown any compassion the consequences would be dire for him and for the person whose plea he answered. No, it was better to pretend he did not see the bodies chained to the rock walls or hear the lashes from Qumuel’s whip against the flesh of his captives as he passed.

“What took you so long, Caim?” The snarl came from the demonic lips of Belial.

His face was almost flawless in its beauty but it belied the pure evil hiding underneath. There was no one more malevolent; more filled with hate and destruction than Belial. Caim had long stopped fearing him; he looked at him now with total disinterest.

He leaned his shoulder against the steaming rock wall; it burnt a hole through the fabric of his black shirt down to his skin. It burned his flesh but Caim did not even wince. Such was the life of a fallen angel in hell.

“So no answer?” Belial asked.

“Why should I give you excuses, Belial? You are not my master, you only dispense assignments. You are basically a secretary. And as soon as I was summoned I came.” Caim replied mildly. It gave him great pleasure to see the flaming anger turn red in the demon’s eyes.

“Your insolence will not be forgotten. One of these days my revenge will be swift.”

“Said the demon to the fallen angel who lives in hell with him.” Caim scoffed unconcerned. “Why was I summoned? Give me my assignment, secretary, and go back to making coffee.”

With a snarl reminiscent of a lion’s roar Belial was on his feet. His tail lashed the desk in front of him and spilt it in two. Black ooze flowed from the wood and talons sprouted from Belial’s hands. Gone was the perfect man. Now, the face of a demon was visible and pure in its hate.

Caim took battle stance. From his back, black wings ripped their way through the fabric of his shirt. In his hands appeared a black sword. If Belial wanted a fight he would give him one, feathers against scales.

More from Dahlia Rose at Changeling Press…

 

Gunner’s Flame by Lynn Burke #bikerbooks #MCromance #RomanceBooks #NewRelease @AuthorLynnBurke @changelingpress

Gunner's Flame (Devil's Outlaws MC 2)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Contemporary, MC Romance, Men and Women in Uniform

 

Will Gunner choose his loyal Outlaw brothers or will he
choose the path that crosses them — for her?…

 

Mitch “Gunner” Flannigan rules the Devil’s Outlaws with a firm hand, one trained by his stint in the SEALs and tempered by empathy for other vets. When a curvy redhead in Army fatigues snags his attention — and puts him in the line of fire — he’s torn between wanting to bury himself between her lush thighs and helping to ease her return to American soil.

The recent death of Shelby’s mother and her cousin’s terrorizing only adds to the PTSD hindering her return to civilian life. Flames ignite when she’s thrown into Gunner’s arms, where she also finds safety with someone who understands her struggles.

Attempts on Gunner’s life threaten their future, but so do the secrets Shelby withholds from him. When those secrets come to light Gunner will have a decision to make. Will he choose to stand with his loyal Outlaw brothers or will he choose the path that crosses them — and leads him right into her arms?

Warning: Contains adult content, graphic violence, and dark emotional scenarios that may trigger some readers.

 

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Lynn Burke

Shelby

The coppery scent of blood filled my nose while sweat coated my skin from the desert sun beating down overhead. Screams echoed in my ears. My heart thudded so damn hard in my chest I swore an elephant sat on me, closing off my throat. Silent tears squeezed from between my clenched eyelids as I clutched at the shirt bunched in my hands and fought to keep the nightmares from taking over my head like they had since that day my platoon had been ambushed.

A waft of subtle, musky cologne trickled through the blood-scented air, and I burrowed my face into a hard, warm chest, seeking out quietness of mind, needing him to erase the memories of war I’d barely gotten a taste of before realizing I hadn’t been cut from the same cloth as my father.

“You’re okay,” the man’s raspy voice murmured over and over again, the sensation of rocking eventually pulling me back to D.C., my ears filtering the truth of my situation to my scattered brain.

I focused on breathing, desperate to keep from losing my shit like I’d been doing on a daily basis since returning home to find my fiancé moved out and on with his life. Having my mother lying in a hospital bed with terminal cancer had been my ticket out of the Army, but besides death, it was the shittiest way to get discharged.

She’d passed three days earlier, leaving me alone to deal with grief I’d yet to allow myself. Leaving me floundering in life, having lost all sense of belonging.

I only had one family member left — my older cousin who was supposed to have met me there at the memorial, and while I’d been on time I hadn’t seen him while chatting with the man holding me.

Voices buzzed in my ears, but I kept my eyes shut against the police, EMTs, and whoever else scurried around us to see to the wounded.

Eventually, the man — Gunner — pulled back and tilted my head. I forced my eyes open, blinking in the bright sunshine. He said something about cops wanting to talk to us, but I didn’t budge from the comfort of his lap, the feel of his strong arms offering shelter I hadn’t experienced since before the death of my father when I’d been a gangly, young teenager.

Gunner felt like… home. Something I’d felt had been ripped away from me while overseas. Returning to American soil hadn’t brought that comfort. Sleeping in my childhood bed hadn’t given me the same rest I’d hoped for.

I closed my eyes again, rested my cheek on his chest, the steady thump of his heart giving me something to focus on. My fingers once more found purchase in his shirt, and I clung to him like a lifeline to sanity that kept my throat-tightening panic at bay.

Eventually, the cops got around to us, a million questions I couldn’t focus enough to answer — even after I checked my messages to find my cousin had texted me a few minutes after the shooting saying he couldn’t make it.

At least he was safe.

Still shaking with the need to pass out, I declined going to the hospital when someone suggested I go. The thought of beeps and the sickening scent of bleach and death had my stomach heaving, making me feel even worse.

“I’m fine,” I insisted for at least the tenth time, folded in on myself, arms clenched tight around my middle while fighting off visions of Mom wasting away on her hospital bed.
Outlines of three bodies stood out in stark white chalk on the ground a little ways away, dark stains of blood still not completely dried or washed away. I tore my stare off the horrid sight, seeking out comfort.

Gunner and his two friends stood with another cop a few feet away, but his dark-eyed gaze stayed on me.

I heaved a sigh, settling my nerves the slightest bit at the understanding in his eyes, the connection I felt tugging us toward one another. I’d never felt need for someone as I did for Gunner, as though my body knew it would find solace and peace in close proximity to him.

The cops had my name and number, knew where I lived, and had jotted down what story I could offer. I was free to leave, but I hesitated, still dazed and uncertain of where I should go, what I should do.

Although I hated crowds, my cousin had insisted I go to the peaceful Veteran’s March for Peace, so I’d decided to take the train south into the city, but stay on the outskirts until our agreed upon time to meet.

The silent beauty of the walking crowd had soothed me in ways I’d never again expected to feel and almost gave me the sense of comradery I’d felt for a short time while overseas. Hundreds of people, quite a few in old uniforms from all branches of the military, had made their way through the streets of D.C. to silently protest the ongoing war, the ongoing loss of innocent lives even if recruits signed up knowing the possible cost.

Gunner and his two friends were of a rougher crowd, by looks, anyway. All three wore leathers and vests declaring them members of the Devil’s Outlaws, a biker gang aptly named from the northern suburbs, but I’d never been one to judge a person by their clothing choice — especially since Gunner had seemed hell-bent on helping me transition back to civilian life.

Also by looks, he was one of the hottest men I’d ever seen. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark tanned face, neck, and tattooed arms. He squinted in the sun while staring at me, lines crinkling the corners of his eyes as though he smiled on the inside…

More from Lynn at Changeling Press…

 

Dropping In by BA Tortuga and Julia Talbot #Gay #RomanceBooks #BDSM #LGBT #NewRelease @batortuga @juliatalbot @changelingpress

Dropping In (The Barn 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: BDSM, Contemporary, Western, Gay, Darkest Desire

 

Texas cowboy Ashton is looking to let off some steam in Aspen.
Snowboarder Max is so much more…

 

Texas cowboy Ashton is looking for a new experience when he heads up to Aspen to go to The Barn, a club that mixes all things western with his favorite BDSM lifestyle. He’s not looking for anything full-time, just a place to let off some steam in private, but that all changes when he meets Max.

Snowboarder Max is an elite athlete, but he’s always up for a good time. His attraction to Ashton is immediate, but he has no idea what to do with Ashton’s club or the things Ashton wants to share. He’s intrigued, but he also has a lot going on in his life too. Can these two find enough common ground to make a relationship work?

 

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Julia Talbot & BA Tortuga

Ashton Gregory stood at the baggage claim at the Aspen airport, waiting for his suitcase to appear. He could hardly miss it; the place was tiny. A couple dozen other people stood around with him, most of them looking determinedly at their phones.

All but that one over there.

Uhn.

Lean and blond, tanned as shoe leather with the brightest green eyes he’d ever seen and a little scruff of a beard that begged to be shaved off. Delicious.

Ashton smiled. This one was ripe for the picking, and he stood there waiting on his bags with a snowboard in a nylon bag. An athlete then. Drifting closer, Ashton invaded the man’s space slowly.

Those eyes kept sliding toward him, watching him, then looking away.

Yes. Hello, hot little man.

“That’s quite a ride on the descent, huh. Whoosh.”

“You know it. It’s a fucking rush.” Oh, fuck him. Pheromones were pouring off the man, the look dragging over him, bold as brass.

“What are you in for this weekend?” He knew some big snow event was happening…

“Gay Ski Week. I’m doing an exhibition.”

“What kind?” He returned the clear interest with a once over that made his snowboarder’s seem fast.

“I do half-pipe. You here for the skiing? You don’t look like a boarder.” Oh, look at that heavy ridge of need in those jeans.

“No. I’m actually here for a new adventure. I joined a private club.” He would love to tell this one all about The Barn.

“No shit? Well, good on you!” The bags started clunking out of the chute. Thud. Thud. Thud.

His bag was distinctive, a sleek, steel gray hardside.

“What’s your name?” Ashton asked. “In case you slip off. I want to be able to find you.”

“Maxwell Driver. Everyone calls me Gear, though.” Maxwell held out one hand to him.

“Gear, huh?” He leaned closer to shake, electric shocks running up his arm.

“I got a steampunk vibe, you know. Gears.” The little tease lifted his shirt, showing off a hint of ink — a series of clockwork gears that trailed up and down Max’s ribcage.

“I like that, Max.” His own tattoos were just as complex, maybe more so, based on the march of the seasons across the earth. Maybe Max would get to see them.

“Thanks. I got the work done in Portland.” Max grabbed a rainbow suitcase. “I hope you have a good visit, man. Enjoy your club.”

“Wait.” He touched Max’s arm, just lightly, but it stopped the man in his tracks. “Here. I get one guest for each visit. There’s a barbecue tonight, and more events all weekend. Call me and I’ll get you in.” He handed Max two cards. One with his cell number, one with The Barn.

“Ashton. I like it.”

Max slipped the cards in his back pocket, then grabbed Ashton’s phone, holding it out and waiting patiently for him to unlock it before putting in his contact information.

Ashton smiled widely. “I’ll use it, you know.”

“Promises, promises. I’m staying at the St. Moritz. Exhibition’s tomorrow. I can get you in. If you’re into watching, I mean.”

“I love to watch.” He would squeeze it in. “What time?”

“My run’s at ten in the morning at the half-pipe. I’ll be in red.”

“I’ll be there with bells on.” He was staying in Aspen proper, renting a condo through VRBO. If he liked it, he would buy a place, since he hoped The Barn would be a regular visit for him.

“Ring a ling.” Max put his bag on his shoulder, grabbed his board. “Nice to meet you, cowboy. I love the hat.”

More books from BA Tortuga and Julia Talbot at Changeling Press…

Cowboy (Bad Boy Romance) by Harley Wylde #MCromance #bikerbooks #RomanceBooks #NewRelease @changelingpress @HarleyW_Writer

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Contemporary Romance, Western, Second Chance Romance,
MC Romance, Silver Fox, Single Parent/Pregnancy Romance

 

Jacey’s my everything, and I will do anything to keep her safe.
Even go back to the Dixie Reapers.

 

Jacey: Marrying Beck was a mistake, one I can’t get away from no matter how much time passes. I can’t leave him. It’s not just that running might cost me my life. I have no idea what he would do to the kids if I weren’t here to protect them. I can’t leave them vulnerable to a monster like him. I’ve never once strayed from Beck, even when he’s broken bones and done unspeakable things to me. My life is one never-ending horror movie. But now I have Ty… he’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a man, and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to walk away.

Ty: The beautiful, sweet mom who comes to my ranch has a haunted look in her eyes that I want to chase away, and bruises she tries damn hard to hide. Kissing her might have been a mistake, but maybe it wasn’t. I’ve wanted Jacey Lane since the day I first saw her, and knowing her husband abuses her just infuriates me. Ty the cowboy might not be able to do much of anything, but Cowboy the Dixie Reaper sure as hell can. If keeping Jacey safe means I need to go home, then so be it. My brothers will stand beside me and help me guarantee that Beck Lane never draws another breath.

WARNING: Domestic and sexual abuse are mentioned. There’s some violence. And yes, there’s sex. Lots of consensual, hot, over the top sex. If you aren’t up for a romance that deals with the darker side of life and will steam up your e-reader, then you should give this book a hard pass.

 

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Harley Wylde

Jacey

His lips were warm and firm against mine. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d truly been kissed, and I’d never had a kiss as memorable as this one. The feel of Ty’s arms around me, his strength, made me want to melt against him. His tongue flicked against my bottom lip and I opened, letting him in, needing to taste him. Ty fisted his hand in my hair, not tight enough to hurt but just enough that it turned me on.

I hadn’t felt desire for anyone in a really long time, or had anyone desire me. His mouth devoured mine as he walked me backward until I pressed against the wall. I could feel the hard ridge of his cock as he pushed his hips tighter against me, and my panties grew damp. I wanted to rub against him, to beg for more. I hated to admit that I’d never had an orgasm, not even self-induced. How pathetic was that?

But I had to put a stop to it. This. Whatever it was. What we were doing wasn’t right, no matter how much I wished it could continue. I’d let things go too far, and I knew it. My only excuse was that Beck had been in rare form last night, even worse than usual. I lived with a monster, a man who made me do horrible things and wouldn’t hesitate to end my life. I was terrified of him, with good reason, and I was trapped in a nightmare. Just once, I wanted a moment of happiness. A few minutes where I was desired and treated with care. Didn’t make it any less wrong, but I could never regret this moment with Ty. I’d gladly burn in the eternal fires of hell for just this one taste of Ty, to have him hold me just once.

Pulling away, I placed a hand on his chest. His heart was thumping every bit as hard as mine. It was the first time we’d crossed the line, and it would have to be the last. My heart ached as I fought to say the words that would bring it to an end. I wanted him, more than just physically, but I knew it could never happen.

“Ty, we can’t.”

“I know, but I couldn’t resist anymore. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?” He moved his thumb in a slow caress along my jaw. “Ever since our eyes met that first time, I knew you were special.”

“I’m married, Ty.”

He snorted and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve met your husband. You can do better. And I honestly wouldn’t call what you have a marriage. More like a hostage situation. You and I both know you’re just too scared to leave him.”

“Be that as it may, we’ve been married for twelve years. We have two kids! It’s not like I can just walk out.” I knew it was a feeble attempt at putting things back to friendship level. Guilt ate at me. Even though I didn’t love Beck anymore, hadn’t for a long time, I was still a married woman. At least on paper. I hadn’t had a true marriage with Beck in a really long time, if ever. What Ty said was true. I was scared shitless to leave the monster I’d married. I’d tried it before and paid dearly. I wasn’t sure I’d survive the next attempt.

“That isn’t a good enough reason to stay married, Jacey. You were only eighteen when you met Beck, just out of high school. People change. I know you aren’t the same, though I have my doubts Beck was ever anything other than rotten to the core, and it’s time you moved on. You can’t tell me you’re happy with him.”

I knew the feelings I’d been developing for Ty were wrong. At least, by society’s standards they were. In my heart, I knew that the love I felt growing for Ty could never be anything but incredibly right. He was just so sweet… so good to me. Far different from the way Beck treated me. There were times I’d close my eyes and imagine what life would be like if Ty were my husband and not Beck. It was the only way I could stay sane, to take a trip to another world, even if it was only in my mind. A place where the man lying next to me loved me and treated me right. Not someone who left bruises and humiliated me. No one knew about the pictures and videos. Or I didn’t think they did. It was stupid to daydream about a life with Ty maybe, but it helped.

His jaw firmed. “I’ve seen the bruises. I know you try to hide them, but I don’t understand why. He should be in jail. Men like him don’t stop with one hit, Jacey. If he’s done it once, he’ll keep doing it.”

Ty was right and I knew it, but that didn’t change the fact that I was legally married, and I couldn’t afford a divorce anytime soon. And it wasn’t just the bruises. Beck’s depravity went way deeper. Regardless of how it looked, I stayed to protect my children. Beck had threatened to take the kids if we ever split up. I was sure he’d do it, too. To the rest of the world, he was a hero, the type of man you could count on and call in an emergency. That’s the Beck the public saw. No one knew what he was like behind closed doors. I knew a very different Beck. I knew the monster. The man who would make his wife pose naked so he could sell the pictures online, minus my face of course. Couldn’t have anyone finding out what he was up to. I’d refused once, and only once. I hadn’t been able to leave the house for nearly a week he’d beaten me so badly. After that, he’d started taking videos and selling them. I was beyond humiliated. It was one thing to do that sort of thing because you wanted to, and another to have it forced on you, and by the man who was supposed to love and cherish you.

“Please understand, Ty. There’s nothing I can do right now.”

Or ever, for that matter. If I tried to leave, he’d haul me back and beat me again. Maybe next time he’d kill me. Then my kids wouldn’t stand a chance. At least I could do my best to shield them when Beck went into one of his rages, which happened more and more frequently. And as long as he had me to pose for his little side business, then I didn’t have to worry about him using our kids. I didn’t think for one second that he loved our daughter and son. I wasn’t sure Beck was even capable of the emotion. Whatever mental issues caused his problems, they were getting worse and I worried that he’d be completely unstable soon. Not that he’d admit he had a problem, and he’d somehow lied his way through the psych evaluation for the department.

Ty sighed. “You know I love Jackson and Danica like they were my own. It eats at me knowing the three of you are with that asshole.”

I smiled. Ty was amazing with my kids, and not just because he spoiled them rotten. He had befriended them, and had even let the kids ride the stable mounts free of charge. Both of my children had fallen in love with horses, just like I had as a little girl. And I worried they were falling a little in love with Ty too, much like their mom.

“Those kids took to riding like ducks to water. They earn their keep, helping with the horses. Hell, I wouldn’t charge you for Reaper, but I know you wouldn’t accept my offer.”

I looked away, feeling a flash of insecurity. Money was a touchy subject for me. Beck gave me enough to cover the stable fees for Reaper each month, and to buy groceries. Honestly, I didn’t know why he let me keep Reaper, except it made him seem like a doting husband. If I needed clothes or shoes, I practically had to beg for them. He always seemed to have plenty of money for whatever he wanted, though. Like a new gun, a night of partying with his friends, or anything else that struck his fancy. Wouldn’t surprise me at all if he bought some time with prostitutes, although I didn’t know why when he’d just take whatever he wanted from me. He didn’t know that I asked my doctor to test me regularly for STDs in case Beck gave me something. After Jackson was born, I’d also been sneaking birth control so I wouldn’t get pregnant again.

“I should be paying you for their riding lessons,” I said.

“I don’t want your money, babe. If I need more money, I’ll go back on the circuit.”

“Do you think I want to see you get hurt?” I cupped his cheek, moving in close again. His crisp, clean scent teased my nose, and I wished I could burrow into him. When his arms had been around me, it was the safest I’d felt in a long time. I’d give anything to feel that every day…

More about Harley…

 

Angel Falls Volume 1 by Stephanie Burke #PNR #UrbanFantasy #interracial #gay #LGBT @changelingpress @Flashycat

Angel Falls Vol. 1 (Angel Falls 6)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George
Genres/Themes: Box Set, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, Bisexual and more,
Cougar, Elves Dragons and Magical Creatures, Gay, Interracial

 

With the town of Angel Falls, Maryland, on their side,
broken wings will learn to fly once more.

 

Most people avoid Angel Falls. They say it’s filled with crazy geeks and weirdoes. And they’re right. But Angel Falls has the best geeks and weirdoes anyone has ever met.

Broken Wings: Angel, foundling turned NFL star quarterback, and Klintic, a Fae warrior prince, have both been tested in the fires of torment and anguish and managed to survive to find each other. That the ex-footballer and the betrayed prince manage to discover each other is a miracle. With the town of Angel Falls on their side, broken wings will learn to fly once more.

Snake: Snake’s lived a good, long life and is comfortable doing tattoos and body modifications in her shop. But when young Ethan comes to her, he opens more than memories to her past. He unleashes a love she could never have anticipated. A May/December relationship will never work, but with a little magic and the secrets held in the town of Angel Falls, maybe together they can give love a second chance.

Sunspots: Bryan Adams finally has a date with the man of his dreams — Winston Macapthy, RN, descendant of a sun god and a caracal shifter to boot. Finally the geeks are going to come out on top. But if Bryan’s less-than-perfect physique doesn’t put off the handsome shifter, then kidnapping, torture, and running for their lives might.

Or it may just be another perfect weekend… perfect for the small Maryland town of Angel Falls.

Publisher’s Note: Angel Falls Vol. 1 contains the previously published novellas Broken Wings (M/M), Snake (M/F), and Sunspots (M/M).

 

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available in ebook and print

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Stephanie Burke
Excerpt from Broken Wings

“I’ll get back with you in a few days, Rich,” he finally said, cutting off his agent.

“Good.” Rich sighed, as if knowing Angel wasn’t invested in the conversation at all. “I’ll wait till I hear from you.”

“All right.” Angel started to disconnect the call, but Rich’s voice stopped him.

“There’s some reporter sniffing around about a ‘where are they now’ piece, Angel. I told him to fuck off, but I have a feeling he’s not going to give up so easily.”

Great, Angel thought, cursing mentally as he thought of being hounded once more by a media who felt they had a right to put his pain on display. Apparently the pseudonym hadn’t been enough to keep him under the radar. “Thanks for the heads up,” he nearly growled at the phone. “But I think I’m safe here.”

“It’s damn hard to find you in that twisted, crazy zone where you currently reside.” His agent laughed. “I’d keep my eye out just in case. The reporter’s name is Jonathon Greely.”

“Thanks, Rich. And goodbye.”

Angel disconnected the call and moved deeper into the woods. He braved the trails regularly in a bid to exercise his injured knee and clear his head.

It hadn’t been easy getting to the point where he could feel connected with life again, but the exercise and the fresh air helped, as did the acceptance of the people who lived here. They could care less about who he was or what had happened to him — they just accepted him as a shy recluse who fit into a town already half occupied by shy recluses.

It was great.

He was about to turn back home to stare at his computer screen again when he heard the screaming. It sounded like someone was stabbing a peacock with a pitchfork.

He turned toward the sound, his feet automatically moving him at a swift pace deeper into the woods, into a place he rarely visited. Before he reached its source, the screaming stopped.

“Damn,” he murmured, wondering what he would find when he got there. He had high hopes that whatever was attacking the poor creature had fled and that maybe the poor prey hadn’t died.

He’d just rounded a small copse of maple trees when he saw the body.

“Good God,” he gasped, looking around to see if whatever had savaged the poor man was still nearby.

And it was a man, wearing ripped pants and slashed boots. He was bare-chested save for a pair of ill-fitted costume wings attached to his back.

Moving around to the man’s head, Angel dropped to his knees and pulled what seemed like mountains of dyed hair out of his face, wondering what the green goo that covered him was. It was tacky, the consistency of drying paint, and it liberally splattered the poor man’s form.

But the man was breathing. When Angel pressed his fingers against his neck, he could feel the steady pulse beneath his soft, warm skin. The man wasn’t exactly pale. No, his skin tone was dusky with an olive tint. His body under the grime and fake wings was fit and muscular.

“Hey. Hey, buddy. Can you hear me?” Angel asked, tapping him on the face, not wanting to move him in case of injury. “Hey.”

He tapped the man again, looking around to find the cause of his injury. The ground wasn’t torn up as it would be if he’d been defending himself. The trees and even the grass in the small clearing remained undisturbed. Unless the man had been dropped out of a plane, Angel couldn’t see how he’d found his way onto his property wearing a set of wings…

“Wings,” he muttered, shaking his head. Maybe this was one of the citizens of Angel Falls. Maybe he was a geek who’d invented some kind of flying machine and had tried to test it, with disastrous results. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. A few years ago, an incident with a jet pack had torched a good half-acre of his land and the inventor, a fifteen-year-old boy who was way too young to be playing with jet fuel, broke a thumb on Angel’s property.

Angel reached for the wings and — “Damn it!” He quickly pulled his hand back as what felt like a hell of a lot of static electricity zapped his fingers.

Shaking his fingers, he again tried to get the man to respond. “Sir? Sir, can you hear me?”

He was about to give up on waking his avian visitor to call 911 when the man’s eyelids fluttered.

“Yeah,” Angel encouraged, speaking a little louder. “That’s it, buddy. Come on and open those eyes for me –“

The injured man’s eyes fluttered once more and then blinked open. His eyes — the color was shocking Angel nearly jumped back before he realized the solid black had to be contact lenses.

Calling himself all kinds of a fool, he moved in closer. “Hey? Buddy?”

Cosxgrturve exzline gzlk,” the man gasped, his tongue twisting the incomprehensible words.

“Slurred speech.” Angel spoke to himself, already reaching for his cell. This looked like it might be serious —

Cosxgrturve kzilei jemanzr!” the man said, his voice steadier.

“Calm down, buddy –” Angel rested a hand on the man’s shoulder when he suddenly lurched as if to get up. “Hey!” But the man braced a hand on Angel’s shoulder and fought to rise.

Not wanting him to hurt himself more — brain injuries could be tricky, as his year in the NFL had taught him — Angel braced the man as he lurched to his feet. Suddenly he was looking up into a dark-eyed visage that was staring back at him.

The man was big, and for Angel to say that was telling. Angel himself stood at six feet seven inches tall, a formidable height for a quarterback, but this man — he had to be about a foot taller than Angel.

And as Angel stared, his mouth open in shock, his cell dangling unused from his hand, the man arched his back and the wings fluttered. Then, as Angel tried to figure out how the massive things were attached, there was a zap that felt like a milder form of that earlier static electricity, and the wings began to glow faintly…

More from Stephanie Burke at Changeling Press…

 

It’s in the Mix by Ayla Ruse #PNR #UrbanFantasy #RomanceBooks @changelingpress @AylaRuse

It's In The Mix (Wit & Wizardry Multi-Author 3)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, Magic,
Elves Dragons & Magical Creatures

 

Mix 1 part narrow minded fairy with 1 part human bachelor:
get 2 parts love everlasting…

 

Asling is not happy to be tending bar in a human pub. Her fairy aunt predicted she’d find love by the next full moon, and that means she should be back in Ireland — not in the middle of Massachusetts.

Despite the happy married lives of his friends, Daniel is content to remain a bachelor. After all, the pretty new bartender may want to come home with him. Why spoil that with a relationship?

Something might have happened on its own, but a mischievous pub owner slips each of them a Wit & Wizardry brew known to contain a powerful love potion. Before either can say a word, Aisling and Daniel find themselves tumbling headlong into love.

Unfortunately, all is not happily ever after. Aisling does not want to love a human, and Daniel believes he’s unfairly pressured her into being with him. When the pair settle down to breathe, can they discover something deeper to bind them, or will daylight make the heady effects of a potioned brew fade away?

 

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Ayla Ruse

Dirv walked into the break room, looking down at his clipboard. A Russian leshy, Dirv ran the pub for the leprechaun Dunn brothers, owners of the Wit & Wizardry brewery. He was a tall, gnarled man of an indeterminate age, with long limbs and a nose to match. To see him grouchy meant he was having a good day, and she couldn’t imagine him being in love with anyone save the forests.

“I passed your sister, and the bar’s getting busy. Mitchell is ready for his break. You’d best get your winged ass out there.” He glanced up, and Aisling twisted her lips. “Don’t worry over the brews. I promised those trickster Dunns I wouldn’t sell them, and I won’t. Customs should come through tomorrow, then you can take it with you and begone.”

“That can’t come soon enough,” she muttered. Figured the man heard her.

“For me too. You think I appreciate my best bartender and waitress falling in love and running off, leaving me high and dry? It’s because of those blasted brews.” His bony hand pointed and shook toward the stacks of beer. “And you and your sister wouldn’t have to be working for me tonight. So don’t take it out on me, fairy. Take the blame out on those Dunns.”

Aisling had no idea why, but listening to the man rattle on, acting upset, amused her. He wasn’t truly mad, because he loved a good trick more than anyone else, but he also loved to gripe. “No problem, Dirv. I’ll head on out and tend bar for ya.”

* * *

Two hours later, Aisling had been asked her name so often she practically growled it out in answer. That or flat out ignored the question. She’d also been propositioned more than she had been in her entire life. She’d had to do her best not to gag whenever a human dared speak to her. All her senses were overloaded with smells of beer, food, human sweat, and the thick New England accent that jarred her ears. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could take it. Lena, her happy, peppy self, had checked on her a few times, for which Aisling was grateful, but her attention kept straying to the clock, counting down the minutes until she could take her own fifteen-minute break.

“Hello, beautiful.”

Aisling didn’t even bother looking up when the human leaned against the bar. She’d been hit on so often she mentally blocked all their talk. “What’cha be needing tonight?” she asked instead and swiped a damp cloth across the bar’s work surface.

She could have sworn he murmured the word, “you,” and her head shot up at that, but his warm smile told her she must have been mistaken. Once she looked up at him, though, she couldn’t look away. She should be disgusted at the mere presence of him, a human, but he had the perfect, classic dark Irish look — hair as black as the Hidden Fairy Caves, eyes as blue as the deepest reaches of the seaside springtime sky. To complete the package, even though he leaned against the bar, she knew when he stood straight he’d be tall and athletically lean. His face was chiseled, and he looked as if he’d fit in perfectly with the clans of old. For a brief second she even imagined him in a tartan. True, she didn’t care for humans, but she’d always loved the old stories of when fairy folk would interact openly with them. She would be the first to admit she’d not want those days back, but looking at him reminded her of the old lore, and she couldn’t help it. She sighed.

“Miss? Are you okay?” He grinned, and his deep voice shook her out of her musings.

“What? Oh, I’m sorry. You said you wanted… ?” She tried to focus. He gave her his order, but nothing registered because she was so caught up in simply listening to his voice.

“Did you get that?” he asked.

“Hmm? Oh, um, forgive me.” She rubbed her temple as if she had a headache. The noise is getting to me, I think,” she lied and averted her eyes so she wouldn’t be looking at him. “Can you tell me again what you’d like?”

“Three house beers, please. I understand the Wit & Wizards aren’t available tonight?” He sounded amused, which both made her upset and made her blush. She didn’t like the dual feelings so she ignored both to focus on her temporary job.

She answered the man while pretending to work her cloth over a stubborn spot on the bar.

“You’d be right. There’s been a recall. It’s nothing bad. The taste was a little off. You know those Dunn Brothers. If something’s even a little off, they’re not happy.” Why was she rambling?

She stepped away to put distance between them and to pull the longnecks from the cooler below the bar.

“No, I don’t, actually,” he said.

“What?”

“The Dunn Brothers. I don’t know them. Who are they?”

“Well, they’re –” sniveling, slave-driving, demanding Leprechauns “– um, they’re the triplets what own the Wit & Wizardry Brewery.”

“Fascinating. I take it from your accent you know them well?”

“I work for them.”

“Wow. You’re straight from the source, so to speak. Being put to work here must be the very definition of excellent customer service.”

“Being put to work here is called punishment,” she muttered.

“How so? My name’s Daniel O’Hare, by the way.”

“Oh, never you mind. Nice to meet ya, Daniel.” She set the opened beers on the bar top at the same time as he reached for them. She allowed their hands to brush. Allowed because she’d kept a clear touching distance from the humans tonight. But with this man, something told her that she had to know what he felt like.

More from Ayla at Changeling Press…