COVER REVEAL: Wrecking Christmas by Liza Jonathan #coverreveal #PNR #holidayromance #Christmas

Wrecking Christmas
Liza Jonathan
Publication date: September 25th 2019
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance

In a town that magically grants Christmas wishes, love was the one gift they didn’t see coming.

The perfect Christmas. After the tragic loss of her mother, it’s all psychologist Kathryn Winslow wants for herself, her young son, and her grieving father. She never expects their drive to a luxury resort to end with her car dangling off the side of a mountaintop cliff. And she certainly doesn’t expect her family to be rescued by a sexy, rugged puzzle of a man like Hunter Holliday.

As owner of a collision repair and hot rod shop in the West Virginia hills, Hunter hauls motorists out of snow banks every day. But after years of sleepwalking through his life as a widower, saving a brave, beautiful woman like Kathryn wakes him up, in every possible way.

But before they can make it out of a freak snowstorm, they’re stranded in Christmas Pass, a funny little sugar-frosted mountain town that can’t be found on any map. Now somehow, they’re trapped in an enchanted village that grants Christmas wishes, and tangled in a red-hot attraction they can’t resist. Yet, even in a place that’s populating itself around their craziest whims and deepest desires, they can’t run from the crippling regrets in their past—or the shocking new revelations to come. But the love they need so badly is there for the taking…if only they have the courage to wish…

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play

 

Author Bio:

Write what you know. Isn’t that what they always say?

Though I currently live in the flat, flat lands of Indiana, I’ve spent most of my life in West Virginia, Kentucky and Tennessee. As I have found out, you can take the girl out of Appalachia, but you can’t take the Appalachia out of the girl.

So now, I write sexy, angsty paranormal romances dedicated to the locations, legends and lore from the thirteen Appalachian states. I find the enchantment of home inspires me to tell tales.

When I’m not haunting the house at all hours writing, I have another life as a PR/marketing writer, wife to my long-time husband, and a mother to my two sons, who are rapidly fleeing the nest. Come sit with me for a spell. I’ve got some stories to tell you…

Website / Goodreads / Twitter / Instagram

 

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Shooting Stars by Shelby Morgen #NewRelease #holidaystories #ContemporaryRomance @changelingpress

 

We’re like shooting stars speeding through the night sky –
when we collide we set the night on fire…

 

Shooting Stars (Christmas Spirits 7)

 

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight
Genres/Themes: Contemporary, Action Adventure, Christmas, Second Chances

 

“Why do we do this?”

“Because we’re so good together.”

“For a few days. A few weeks, even. But then it ends. Again. Badly. Always does. We’re like shooting stars. Speeding through the night sky until they collide. A shower of sparks and we’re gone again.”

“But it’s glorious while it lasts.” He kissed my neck, just below my ear, and I shivered in his arms. “And one of these days we’re going to find a way to make it work.”

“Liar,” I shot back. But it was Christmas. And I wanted to believe…

 

Get it at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Shelby Morgen

The cross-country flight to Brasilia International Airport had taken less time than the trek down the mountainside, but it was still after 9:00 pm when we checked into the Windsor Plaza Brasilia Hotel. But it was Brazil. And apparently we had reservations. Or I did. I had to sign a form adding Mika to my room. The hotel restaurant was still open, and the concierge assured us room service was always available. “Which is a good thing,” I told Mika. “I’ve missed hot running water. I want a shower.”

Mika sniffed and wriggled his nose. “I can’t argue with that.”

I swatted at him, but he ducked behind the bellhop, who kept his gaze trained on the elevator, and managed to conceal any hint of surprise at our road weary condition behind a smile that earned him a large tip.

My long-sleeve shirt and jeans and socks — all intended to help make me look less like mosquito bait — made their way into the trash the moment the door closed behind the bellhop. This was Brazil. I was confident the concierge could have a new wardrobe sent up for me as easily as dinner and coffee.

Hot running water was one of the few things I’d truly missed in the last four months we’d spent in the Andes. The hotel’s amenities included scented soaps and shampoo that might turn me back into a human given enough time and scrubbing. I just stood under the spray for several minutes, soaking in the return to civilization.

Despite the data I’d lost, the trip hadn’t been a total loss. Mika was right. I had backed up most of my data — satellite Internet was a glorious thing — and I’d pocketed not only my thumb drive but the wallet-size external hard drive as well. And what I’d learned could not be erased from my head. Including the truths about myself and what I wanted, needed from life. And Mika was one of those things. I leaned into the spray, almost asleep from the sheer relief as the steam penetrated my knotted muscles.

“Mind if I join you?”

Mika’s voice was almost a surprise — I hadn’t heard him cross the tile floor, and I’d already steamed up the large bathroom enough to not notice the temperature change when he slid the glass door open. “You’re always welcome.” I’d expected him, after all. Had allowed myself to admit that despite the rocky road behind us — and likely ahead of us — there would always be a place for Mika in my heart.

“You look like you could use some help.”

Mika didn’t ask what I wanted. He always knew. He could read my body like a flight plan. He started with the shampoo, running his fingers through the short strands of my hair until the water washed clear, then did it again, massaging my scalp, and then again. The soap was a more leisurely trip, exploring every crevice and crease where dirt could hide, scrubbing with the soap bar wrapped in the washcloth, then, once he was satisfied that the worst of the grime was gone, kneading and massaging my knotted muscles. “You’re a mess,” he muttered, working at the knots next to my spine that refused to let go.

“This was easier a decade ago,” I agreed. “When did canvas cots and wooden chairs get so damn hard?”

“We all grow up eventually, Silvi. Our bodies do, even if our minds think we’re still teenagers.”

“Not you. You’re always the same. And you’re always there to rescue me. Even from myself.”

“Not still mad at me?”

“Usually.” I turned to pull him under the spray, running my fingers through hair that was only slightly shorter than my own, then stretching up to press a kiss to his mouth. His lips opened against mine, and his tongue swept through to taste and to touch, exploring and stroking and pulling the wildness from me.

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Shelby must be insane. What else would have led her to start an online publishing company? Shelby shares her belief in electronic publishing with her long-time friend and business partner, Bill, her husband of 30 plus years. Perhaps the insanity is contagious.

Shelby loves writing off-beat tales that defy as many rules as possible. She likes chocolate with her peanut butter, suspense with her romance, and kink with her sex. She’s always had a hard time keeping science fiction, fantasy, and paranormal from mixing with her kink. Fortunately for Shelby, electronic publishing has opened many new doors for cross-genre authors and artists.

Visit Shelby’s website www.ShelbyMorgen.com for her latest releases. For a head’s up on new stuff, you’re welcome to join her Yahoo! group, http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ShelbyMorgen/join. Email Shelby at ShelbyMorgen@yahoo.com or blog with Shelby at http://shelby-morgen.blogspot.com.

 

 

Snowflake Wine by Elodie Parkes #GayRomance #holidaystories #RomanceBooks @ElodieParkes

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Thank you for inviting me to your blog with new release, MM romance, Snowflake Wine.

The story is contemporary gay romance with an edge of fantasy, especially written as a sweet but sexy Christmas treat.

Jamie Snow and Nathan Bloom, my characters are as usual, dear to me.

Jamie has battled all his life with his strange, fantastic gift. His is the character that brings the element of fantasy to the story. The inspiration behind the creation of this character came, weirdly enough, in the summer, when I visited a ruined abbey. In the grounds were flowering shrubs that I’d never encountered before. From a distance, the flowers looked like frost, and as I drew close, into my mind came the idea of Jamie, a sprite who loves cold, ice, frost, and to comfort himself in the warm weather, he decorated the shrubs with frost flowers.

Nathan Bloom is the perfect partner for Jamie—gorgeous, calm, loving and open. He’s looking for love. He’s onto Jamie’s gifts long before he lets Jamie know it. This is a love story—romantic, sexy, hopeful.

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Blurb

Hunky Nathan Bloom works late for the company putting up the town Christmas lights and decorations.

Gorgeous, enigmatic, Jamie Snow works late forecasting the weather from his desk in the meteorology office.

Nathan sighs over the prospect of a holiday season with no one to love.

Jamie wonders if he’ll ever find a man to love who will accept his mysterious origins and talents.

One cold night, as Nathan finishes hoisting the wreath lights up the building where Jamie works, they meet.

The brilliant festive lights aren’t the only things to sparkle as the two men connect on a deep level.

Be delighted by a delicious, contemporary, gay romance with an edge of fantasy this season.

Sometimes being different is awesome.

BUY the BOOK

http://mybook.to/SnowflakeWine

On launch special price, all Amazon sites until Dec 14

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Read a teaser:

Jamie Snow sat alongside Nathan. He glanced across at the man who stirred his frosty heart. He’s so attractive. Jamie hadn’t loved in a long time. He felt more than ready for it—longed for it on lonely nights. He wasn’t about to give up on the chance that this man might want a lover, that he was gay wasn’t in question. No straight guy looked the way he had at another man.

“My name’s Jamie, Jamie Snow.” He softened his voice as he spoke. The man beside him inspired tenderness and he felt a little prick of guilt. Using the weather to flirt with him had been inspired but maybe a little naughty.

Nathan drove the truck into a wide car lot that Jamie hadn’t known existed behind the furniture store on the end of the main street. “Here we are. The store allows us to leave the bigger rigs here every year. Jamie Snow—that’s an interesting name for a meteorologist—mine’s Nathan Bloom.”

Jamie’s smile infused his tone. “Yes. People tease me sometimes at work, they’ll know we’ve forecast it and as I walk by they’ll say, ‘here comes the snow,’ but I don’t mind. I like this name.”

“You’ve had others?” Nathan asked with a laugh.

Jamie didn’t want to reply. He waited. I won’t be lying to this lovely guy if I don’t answer.

Nathan turned off the truck engine and twisted to talk to Jamie. “It’s a cool name. Where do you live?”

It appeared he’d forgotten his question.

Happiness trickled into Jamie’s soul that the attractive man beside him liked his name, and used the word, cool. Eagerly, Jamie told Nathan his address on the outskirts of the town.

Nathan grinned, his eyes reflecting Jamie’s emotion. “I know it well. I live a couple of streets south from there.”

Copyright Elodie Parkes, 2018, Encompass Ink

About Elodie

I’m a writer who is in love with happy endings, currently based in southern UK. I write for Evernight Publishing, Siren, Hot Ink Press, Encompass Ink, and eXtasy Books.

I love music, art, flowers, trees, the ocean. I work with antiques by day and words by night. Like a vampire, darkness is my friend, that’s when the silence is only broken by an occasional hoot of owls in the woodlands opposite my home, and I write.

Find Elodie online:

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A Changeling for All Seasons – Volume 9 #Christmas #holidaystories#BoxSet @changelingpress

 

Cool Text - Thirteen tales of Christmas Magic from your favorite Changeling 308426189307600

 

A Changeling For All Seasons 9 (Changeling Seasons 9)

 

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, Christmas
Length: Box Set – 464 pages

Thirteen tales of Christmas Magic from your favorite Changeling authors!

Ayla Ruse — Racing Wild: A wild race can lead to anything — even love.

Anne Kane — Tinsel Wars: Braedon intends to win the final skirmish in the Tinsel Wars!

Ruth D. Kerce — Christmas Cowboy: Chaz breeds horses. What’s a cowboy supposed to do with a herd of reindeer?

Dahlia Rose — Silver Bells: Tia was the sexy little elf that made Danny Grinch’s Christmas that much hotter.

Crymsyn Hart — Sleigh Balls: Instead of snow this Christmas, it’s raining reindeer!

Lena Austin — Ghosting: Ghost hunting means sometimes you find a ghost you weren’t expecting, when you aren’t even looking.

Judy Mays — Jingle Buds: Dr. Jon Claus finds the perfect woman when Emily Olson’s grandmother gets run over by a reindeer!

Julia Talbot — Merry X-Moose: Can a were-moose and a Santa-obsessed Elf fall in love — and save Christmas at the same time?

Lily Vega — Wicked Game: All’s fair in love and war during Santa’s Reindeer Games.

CJ England — Snip! Snap! Dragon!: With a fiery Snip! Snap! a passionate modern day dragon lures his forever mate into the flames.

Ana Raine — White Stag: When the scent of peppermint reaches his nose Crane knows he has to remember or lose it all forever.

Sara Jay — Sleigh Ride: Can one magical sleigh ride deliver love to two lonely Elves?

Sean Michael — Five Golden Beads: When kinky gifts begin arriving, Shay knows it’s time for a visit from his very own special Elf.

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press
Also available in print

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 The Changelings
Excerpt from Merry X-Moose (Julia Talbot)

“Seriously, Laird, you’ve lost your mind,” Laiyde said. His sister didn’t pull any punches, even with him being the head of sleigh engineering. “You do remember eight tiny reindeer, right? There’s no way Santa’s team can pull the sleigh with the extra weight you’re proposing.”

“He’s not getting any younger, Lai. Santa needs protection. This little cockpit is nothing. Hell, if Rudolph would just go full time…”

“Rudolph retired to Finland after you created that LED beam, remember?” She rolled her eyes, dark brown like his. They were twins, but thankfully she couldn’t grow a full beard like he did. That would be awkward.

“Right.” Shit. “Well, there are always a hundred young bucks competing at the reindeer games. Just get Sparkle to add two more to the team.”

His sister threw up her hands. “Just add two more. Like it’s that easy! Santa has used the same harness since the fifties! One extra attachment was added then for Rudolph. You can’t just change the whole of Christmas history every year!”

“Hey, I just want him to be safe.” Santa had slipped and damned near fallen off a house last year pulling a package out of the back of the sleigh. Laird thought about the implications of losing Santa and wanted to throw up.

“We all do. You’re going to have to redesign.” She patted his arm. “Talk to the magic team. See if they can make a bubble or something.”

“I did. They can’t make my dome lose any weight, even though they say they can equalize the pressure and keep flight horizontal without loss of velocity and altitude. Best they can do.”

“Well, that’s something.” She smiled. “I’ll make hot chocolate.”

“With star marshmallows?” Laird asked.

“Anything for you, Bro.”

“Cool. Give me an hour to go talk to Sparkle and you’re on.”

She rolled her eyes again, but didn’t say anything. She just waved him off.

Laird pulled his parka on over his flannel shirt and snow pants. While Christmas Elves were well suited to the cold climate, this time of year was brutal. The toymakers and cobblers and all never went outside right now. They had long breezeways between their dorms and the workshops.

The rest of them had to brave freezing their balls off.

He trundled down to the reindeer barns, where he knew Captain Sparkle would be putting the chosen eight through their paces. The pulling reindeer had to bulk up as much as possible between now and the big day, and they all had to learn emergency procedures and weather contingencies.

He stomped snow off his boots once he got to the barn offices, the wind howling behind him when he slammed the door shut.

“Shit, it’s colder than a well-digger’s ass out there,” he mumbled.

“I imagine that’s colder than a witch’s tit.”

Laird whirled around to face the guy who’d just walked up behind him. Then he grinned. “Depends on if it’s in a brass bra.”

“Mmm. What about a sleigh reindeer in a snowstorm’s balls?” the guy asked.

“Nothing is colder than that,” Laird said. “There’s too much ether to fight.”

“I bet. I’m Bruiser, and I’m on desk duty today. What can I do for you?”

“New guy, huh?” He smiled. New guys were few and far between. Bruiser was an amazing newcomer, taller than Elves, even, and contrary to myth, Santa’s Elves were way more Tolkien than Oompa Loompa. This guy was all leg, lanky and surprisingly tanned, with a shock of dark hair. Dark brown eyes shone with humor.

 

 

Celestial Christmas by Judy Mays #holidaystories #Christmas #aliens #scifi #AlienEncounters @changelingpress

Nothing Marc can do will distract Jami from making Brianna’s
first Alalakan Christmas the best ever…

 

A Celestial Christmas (Celestial Passions 2)

 

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Alien Encounters, Christmas
Length: 79 pages

Princess Jami of Mediria is determined to give her adopted sister Brianna of Earth a Christmas to remember, even though she’d never heard of the holiday before Brianna described it so longingly. Descending on the snowy estate of the Alalakan clan, Jami plans the surprise celebration.

Alalakan don al’ Marcadras wants nothing more than to be left alone. Years ago he foiled a plot by the woman he loved to murder Mediria’s king. Gravely injured and scarred for life, he retreated to this isolated estate.

Marc’s desire for peace and quiet is pitted against Jami’s insistence on duplicating Earth’s festivities. Nothing Marc can say or do will distract her, not even seducing her. The hot sex they share only further inspires her to make this the best Alalakan Christmas party ever.

Unfortunately, not everyone on the estate gets in the holiday spirit. Some see a Medirian princess’s presence as an opportunity of another sort… The Medirian royal family will pay a great deal of money to get their princess back.

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Judy Mays

“There’s a message from Rodane.”

Looking up, Alalakan don al’ Marcadras, rolled his shoulders. He’d spent the last four hours after dinner hunched over the workstation in his study trying to finish the estate’s yearly reports. After flexing his fingers, he accepted the tablet the housekeeper handed to him, tapped in his code, and perused the message. Then he read it more carefully. Muttering some obscenities under his breath, he looked at the woman standing before him. “We’re going to have guests.”

“At this time of the year? Who?”

“Bandalardrac…”

Before he could finish, she smiled broadly and interrupted him. “Ban’s coming? That’s wonderful.”

Setting the tablet on his desk, he said, “Control your libido, Irinia. A Medirian princess is coming with him, which means at least one Aradab, maybe more, will be coming too as her body guard.”

“A Medirian princess? Ban didn’t get married, did he?”

Marc shook his head. What was it that made almost every woman in the galaxy want to jump in bed with his second cousin? “No, Ban is not married. He says it’s one of his cousins.”

“Which one of his many aunts and uncles is the parent? What does she want here? No one ever visits at this time of the year. Everyone is exhausted from the crafters’ trade show. The chalet hasn’t been properly cleaned in a month, and I don’t know if any of the rooms are suitable for guests.” The woman straightened, crossed her arms over her breasts. “I am not going to wait hand and foot on a spoiled princess who was bored at home and decided to have an adventure in some Drakian mountains.”

Marc grimaced. “I don’t know which aunt or uncle her father or mother is, and I don’t expect you to cater to her beyond what would normally be expected of you, Irinia. You have enough to do in this monstrosity of a house as it is. The princess will just have to amuse herself. If she’s not happy with the accommodations, she can just go home again.” He did raise an eyebrow. “Though I know you well enough to know if there’s one speck of dust in any of the rooms right now, you’d have the servants working nonstop until everything was clean enough to eat off of.”

The housekeeper ignored his last comment. “Why would Ban even bring her here?”
“You know Ban. Once he gets something into his head… He is very fond of all his younger cousins. What’s more, he did get the okay from Rodane so it’s not like he’s showing up with her unannounced or without the family’s knowledge.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

Another grimace. “I don’t want a spoiled child under my feet any more than you do, but it doesn’t look as if we have any choice in the matter.”

“Is she a child?”

“I’m guessing between twelve and fourteen. Can you imagine a grown Medirian woman wanting to come here at this time of the year?” Marc said with a shrug.

She pursed her lips. “You’re right. With the weather getting colder, she’ll have to stay almost exclusively in the chalet. The water in the lake is freezing so she won’t want to swim there. I think I’ll turn down the temperature for the indoor pool’s heating system. If it’s cold enough, she’ll want to head back to Mediria’s tropical waters as soon as she can.”

“You lower the temperature too much, and you’ll kill the fish. Then you’ll not only have to deal with me but also with my great-aunt. Jenetta will not be happy if her prized opodia fish die.”

Marc could see Irinia weighing the prospect of Jenetta’s anger against any inconvenience brought about by the princess. He knew the moment she decided Jenetta’s ire would be far worse than dealing with one Medirian princess. “When are they arriving?” she asked in a disgruntled voice.

A loud humming noise from outside answered for him. “Sounds like they’re here now. Leave it to Ban to arrive this late at night,” he said. Stepping around his desk, he grasped Irinia’s upper arm before she could exit the room. “I expect you to treat the princess with the utmost respect. The ties between the Hardan and Alalakan families are strong and numerous. I don’t want you to ignore your regular duties because the princess demands something unusual or bizarre, but I will not have any reasonable requests denied. Are we clear about that?”

“Marc! When have I ever been unreasonable?”

“More times than I can count, hence the warning. Besides, you don’t want to disappoint Ban, do you? For all we know, this is his favorite cousin.”

Releasing her arm, Marc chuckled to himself as he strode out the door and headed for the chalet’s landing pad. Although normally even-tempered and genial, Irinia could be a real harridan when she wanted. Invoking Ban’s name would make her think before she did anything the princess would find too infuriating.

On the landing pad, the door of the shuttlecraft was just rising when Marc and the housekeeper arrived. Once the door was braced, the stairway extended. Bandalardrac stuck his head out of the doorway, grinned, and made his way down to the platform.

“Marc! It’s good to see you.” Pivoting away from his Alalakan cousin, he grabbed the housekeeper in an exuberant hug. “Irinia, are you still here? I thought you’d have married some complacent merchant by now and gone off to rule his household!”

“As if I wanted to marry again — unless you’re asking. Besides, I have yet to meet the merchant who can handle me!”

Laughing, Ban set her on her feet and turned back to the hovercraft. “Jami? Are you coming? You’re the one who was in such a hurry to get here!”

“I’m coming!” a musical voice shouted. “I needed to get my coat. That’s a cold wind howling through the hatchway!”

Marc smiled to himself. If she was already complaining about the cold, she wouldn’t last here too long. Then things would get back to normal. Pasting a smile on his face, he waited for whom he was sure would be a prepubescent girl. He wasn’t prepared for the vision wearing a coat that fit like a second skin over her curvaceous body. A sharp gust of wind blew her short, dark-green hair into her face. Combing it away with her left hand, she bit her full, lower lip as she grabbed the hand railing. Hurrying down the steps, she halted in front of him. This was no child. This was a very attractive woman.

Marc cursed silently to himself. Just what he needed, another sexy Medirian woman confounding his life.

“Jami, my cousin Alalakan don al’ Marcadras, manager of the chalet and its grounds, and the housekeeper Sililurtria dem al’ Irinia. Marc, Irinia, this is Jami…”

“Her Royal Highness Jamilinlalissa, Princess Hardan,” intoned a harsh voice from the top of the stairway.

As Irinia gasped, Marc stiffened. Jamilinlalissa? If his memory was correct, she was one of the king’s daughters! He’d expected the daughter of one of Findal’s many brothers or sisters, not someone who could possibly inherit the throne. Then, all thoughts of the princess fled his mind as he focused on the Aradab descending the stairs. Kahn? The Master of the Medirian School of Assassins. What in the seven hells did he want here? Marc had made it plain to all of the instructors that he was through with his training. He certainly wasn’t the first person to have left the school.

Ignoring the cold wind, his arms crossed over his bare chest, the Aradab halted and stared at Marc as if to issue a silent challenge.

Before he could stop himself, Marc clenched his fists. He hadn’t seen Kahn since he’d left Mediria seven years ago, and he wasn’t happy to see him now.

Irinia’s sudden cough shook Marc from his dark thoughts, and he hastily gathered his composure. “Irinia, why don’t you go in and get something warm for our guests to drink?” That should give her time to regain her poise. Entertaining the daughter of a king was not the norm here.

The housekeeper hurried back into the chalet.

Marc watched her go. Now, all he had to do was control his own reactions to his guests.

Ban clicked a button on the control he held in his hand. After the stairs folded neatly back into the hovercraft, the door slowly lowered into place. “Is there anybody to bring in the luggage, or will we have to tote it ourselves?” Ban asked in a cheerful voice.

 

ABOUT JUDY MAYS

Sexier than a Hollywood starlet! More buxom than a Vegas showgirl. Able to split infinitives with a single key stroke!

Look! At the computer!
It’s a programmer!
It’s a computer nerd!
No! It’s – Judy Mays!

Yes, Judy Mays – erotic romance writer extraordinaire who came to Earth with powers and abilities beyond those of mortal authors. Judy Mays! Who can write wild, wanton werewolves; adorable, alluring aliens; vexing, vivacious vamps; hot, haunting historicals; compelling, combustible contemporaries; sexy, surprising suspense, and cagey, cuddly kitty cats; and, who, disguised as a mild-mannered tenth grade English teacher in a small public high school, fights a never ending battle for Hot Hunks, Hip Heroines, and Salacious Sensuality!

Visit her website at http://www.JudyMays.com or join her reader’s group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/judymays

Christmas Carole by Angela Knight #Christmas #holidaybooks #romance @changelingpress

You’ll want a visit from these Ghosts of Christmas Yummy…

 

Christmas Carole (Christmas Spirits 5)

 

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight
Genres/Themes: Christmas, Paranormal
Length: 56 pages

Carole Elzer is no Scrooge — she loves Christmas. But when she’s visited by the ghost of her best friend and business partner, Marley, Carole learns she must make amends for something she hasn’t done — otherwise, Marley warns, she’ll spend the rest of her life in anguish and guilt.

She’s guided on her voyage into Christmas Past, Present and Yet to Come by three sexy spirits, all of whom look just like her partner, Bob Crockett. Bob is still grieving for the wife he loved and lost years ago, but Carole nurses a guilty love for him.

As Carole explores her past, present and future with her handsome spirits, she realizes just how high the stakes are. Bob’s young son Tim’s life hangs in the balance. If she doesn’t learn how to save the child, none of them will ever again know a merry Christmas — and she and Bob will have no future together.

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

Cool Text - Excerpt 308424954226578

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Angela Knight

The rambling old Victorian house looked like it had fallen off a Christmas card as it sprawled under the full moon, all white wooden siding, mansard roof, and lacy gingerbread trim. A gorgeous tree stood in an upstairs window, decorated in antique toys and draped in flashing twinkle lights.

“Bah fucking humbug,” I muttered, my breath steaming in the cold as I trudged up the steps, wanting nothing more than my bed. I’d been at work since seven in the morning. It was almost midnight now.

To make matters worse, we’d been shooting a wedding video. Weddings require you to capture every moment, from decorating the church all the way to the last drunken guest stumbling home from the reception. Which makes for a looong day that seems even longer when it’s Christmas Eve.

And did I mention it was a wedding? No other event we shoot calls up old anger, pain, and grief like the joyous union of two people in holy matrimony. Not just for me, either. There’d been ghosts in Bob Crockett’s eyes all day. Which just goes to show, even the best marriages will eventually kick you in the teeth.

My partner deserved better. His wife, Marley, sure as hell had.

My keys jingled merrily as I unlocked the door. As I started to turn the knob, I glanced up at the goofy plastic lion doorknocker Marley had put up at Halloween two years ago. I’d left it up, even changed the LED batteries a couple of times. Looking at it always made me remember her, and smile. Or blink back tears.

It had never made all the blood drain from my face — until now.

Marley glared at me from the spot the lion’s head should be, her eyes blazing red, her brows lowered, teeth bared. Her lips shaped the word, “Idiot.”

“Christ!” I leaped backward, heart in my throat. And stared. The knocker was just a goofy plastic lion again, red LED eyes glaring.

Huh. I really was tired if I’d mistaken the beast’s mane for Marley’s long curls, its snarl for hers. Not that Marley had been the type to snarl without a damned good reason. She’d been more the rainbows and unicorns type, endlessly creative and funny.

Maybe the slice of wedding cake I’d eaten had been laced with cannabis edibles. Which was illegal as hell in South Carolina, but we were talking about the kind of people who held weddings on Christmas Eve. Being the richest fish in the very small pond of Carson, SC, the Grahams didn’t think rules applied to them.

Being Candice Elzer’s daughter, I knew a lot of people like that.

My heartbeat began to slow as I reached for the key I’d left hanging in the lock, twisted it, and pushed inside. I hurried to the foyer alarm system keypad to disarm it. My hand shook as I punched in the code, and I curled my lip in irritation. “Get a grip, Carole.”

Pissed at myself, I stomped over to pull my keys out of the lock and close the door.
My textile-magnate great-great grandfather had built the house a hundred and thirty years ago, and it had been in the Elzer family ever since. It still retained a certain dark Victorian grandeur, between its antique furniture, carved oak wainscoting, and odd little nooks and crannies created by asymmetric architecture.

Which could have been creepy as hell, if I hadn’t decorated the crap out of the house for Christmas. Holly, fresh pine boughs, and mistletoe were everywhere, along with Victorian Santas, angels, and antique toys. I’d put up two different live trees, one in my bedroom, and a twelve-footer brushing the parlor’s intricately carved ceiling details. The whole place smelled like a pine forest.

Unfortunately, my Christmas spirit had died of an advanced case of Graham Wedding around noon. My shoulders ached as I started up the stairs that were ridiculously wide, even by Victorian standards.

Somewhere in the house, wooden flooring creaked, sounding exactly like a footstep. The house had a habit of groaning and creaking to itself like an elderly lady bitching, but something about that particular sound made the hair rise on the back of my neck. I peered over the banister, listening, one hand dipping into my purse to fish for my cell phone.

Nothing. No other sound. Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. The security system was still armed. Nobody broke in.

I turned to continue up the stairs — and gasped.

Parked on the stairs ahead of me — stairs that had been empty a heartbeat before — a hearse stood, its back hatch swung wide to reveal the coffin inside.

Lurching backward with a yelp, I barely saved myself from falling with a frantic grab for the banister. I spun and raced back down the steps so fast, it was a miracle I didn’t break my neck. At the bottom, I wheeled to peer back the way I’d come.

The stairs were empty.

Dumbass, what did you expect? No way in hell could a set of hundred-and-forty-year-old steps support a couple tons of hearse.

It hadn’t been cannabis that cake had been laced with. It had been LSD.

Bob. I needed to call Bob. Six-foot-four with a broad, muscular build, Bob Crockett could handle anything. One call and he’d be here in ten minutes. Back in his hard news days, Bob had covered everything from shotgun murders to high-speed chases, and nothing shook his cool. Not even his business partner’s overactive imagination.

But it was Christmas Eve, and we’d spent all day working that wedding because the bride’s family had written us a check with a lot of zeros. I wasn’t about to drag him out of bed now. For one thing, he shouldn’t leave his twelve-year-old son home alone just to calm me down.

Tim had gone along on today’s shoot, just as he’d been doing from the age of five. He’d always been a laughing, bright-eyed boy, but his mother’s death had left him pale and quiet. He’d seemed particularly withdrawn today.

Damned if I was going to bother them because visions of serial killers danced in my head. Instead I stood at the foot of the stairs, concentrating on getting my racing heartbeat under control.

I kept a Lady Smith .38 in my upstairs closet. Bob had bought it for me one Christmas, then dragged me to the range to practice until he was sure I could hit what I aimed at.

“I’ve covered too many fucking murders,” he’d told me. “If you’re going to live alone, you’re damned well going to be able to defend yourself.”

Now I took back every time I’d teased him about his paranoia.

Pulling my cell out of my pocket, I started up the stairs almost as fast as I’d come down them. If I heard so much as a floorboard creak, I was calling 911.

And tell them what? demanded the voice of common sense. That your doorknocker turned into your dead partner’s face and you saw a hearse parked on the stairs? The cops’ll search the house for drugs.

Damn it. No cops.

I hurried up the steps and down the hallway to the master bedroom, flipping on lights as I went. Pausing, I gave the room a once-over. The brass bed was neatly made under a beautiful heirloom quilt I’d inherited, like the house, from my grandmother. An antique cherry armoire and bureau stood along opposite walls. Next to the bow window, the Christmas tree was draped in twinkle lights, swags of gold tinsel, and wooden replicas of Victorian toys.

I closed the door behind me and hurried to the antique cherry armoire, where the Lady Smith resided in a top shelf gun safe. Fingers flying, I punched in the code and pulled out the matte black automatic.

Yep, fully loaded, safety on.

Feeling a lot more secure — and a bit stupid at my freak-out — I put the gun down on the cherry nightstand and started undressing. We always dressed up for weddings, but shooting video requires stringing cable on your hands and knees. Not the kind of thing you do in a dress and hose. Today I’d worn a black wool pantsuit and an ice-blue silk blouse. For a moment, I distracted myself with the memory of Bob in a suit. The jacket had needed no padding to call attention to his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long legs. Not to mention that perfectly muscled ass…

Cut it out, Carole. No lusting after Marley’s husband.

Still, I loved the intent look he got in those gray eyes whenever he was setting up a shot. There was something sensual in the way his powerful hands gripped one of our commercial-grade video cameras, balancing it effortlessly on one strong shoulder…

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

New York Times best-selling author Angela Knight’s first book was written in pencil and illustrated in crayon; she was nine years old at the time. A few years later, she read The Wolf and the Dove and fell in love with romance. In addition to her fiction work, Angela’s publishing career includes a stint as a comic book writer and ten years as a newspaper reporter. Several of her stories have won South Carolina Press Association awards. Angela lives in South Carolina with her husband, Michael, a detective with the Spartanburg PD.

 

Ghost Hunting by Mychael Black #GayRomance #Christmas #PNR @changelingpress @mychael_black

Hoping for a real haunting may be the one Christmas wish
Caleb shouldn’t have made this year!

 

Ghost Hunting (Christmas Spirits 3)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Paranormal, Christmas, Gay, Silver Fox

As the resident medium for Southern Kansas Haunts, Caleb Ryan is used to overacting for the camera. He hates it, but the show pays well. The small city of Tory, Kansas, doesn’t have much more to offer, even though he longs for something… real.

Scott Pennington, heir to an aging farm on the outskirts of Tory, desperately needs help. When no other groups will talk to him so close to Christmas, he turns to the crew of the local ghost-hunting show, Southern Kansas Haunts.

Caleb hopes this “investigation” pays off, but he quickly finds more than he bargains for at the old Pennington farm.

 

Now Available at Changeling Press
Pre-Order at Amazon, B&N, iTunes, and Kobo for December 7th

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Mychael Black

“Look, I’m just saying that maybe a little more… drama is what we need. Just a little –”
Caleb Ryan threw his hands up, exasperated. “I might say I feel something when I don’t. I might overact for the camera. But I will not pretend to talk an old lady’s dead husband!”

“Um, Caleb,” someone said from behind him.

Whirling around, Caleb continued, “I will not…” He blinked. “Oh. Uh, hi?”

The director’s assistant smiled rather sheepishly. “Sorry to interrupt. This is Mr. Scott Pennington.”

“Scott,” the silver fox said, extending one hand to Caleb. “Just call me Scott.”

Caleb dumbly nodded before managing to kick his brain into gear. “Um, Caleb Ryan. How can I help you? Are you a fan of the show?”

Scott glanced at the assistant and the director, both of whom left. He cleared his throat. “I got your name from a waitress in Pratt,” he said. “She gave me a list of names, people who deal with… otherworldly things. No other groups near here will see me until after Christmas. I’m kind of desperate, to be honest.”

Caleb nodded. “Yeah, I don’t observe it, so I’m usually the one folks come to this time of year. What sort of otherworldly things are you talking about?”

“Ever hear of Pennington Farm?”

Caleb snorted out a laugh. “Are you kidding? Everyone’s heard of that place! The old loon who owned it fled the house and refused to go back. Rumor has it that it’s haunted, but no one’s been able to get in to investigate.” Caleb narrowed his gaze. “Why?”

Scott drew a key from his pocket and held it up. “That old loon was my uncle. The farm is mine now. And I need help.”

“I see,” Caleb muttered. “Um, we’re wrapping up here, but I’d love to talk to you about it. When’s a good time?”

“You free for dinner?” Scott asked.

Ignoring the brief thrill of having a not-date with the gorgeous man, Caleb nodded. “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

“This is the first time I’ve been back this way in almost thirty years.” Scott pulled out his wallet and handed Caleb a business card. “Give me a text or call when you’re done, and I’ll meet you wherever. I’m staying at the Spicer Inn in downtown Pratt.”

Caleb glanced at the card, then smiled and nodded. “Sure thing. Shouldn’t be too long. Maybe an hour or so?”

“That works,” Scott said. “Thanks. I’ll talk to you then.”

Caleb watch the man walk away, unable to stop staring at muscular thighs and a tight butt encased in slightly faded denim. Thirty years? Judging by the hint of silver in the dark hair, Caleb put Scott Pennington in mid-forties, maybe. It didn’t matter. Caleb would sit up and beg just to see lust in those luminous baby blues.

Fingers snapped in front of his face. Caleb shook his head. “Sorry.”

His friend and fellow investigator, Jay, just laughed. “What was that about?”

Caleb studied the business card. “We may be the first to investigate Pennington Farm.”

“What?”

He met Jay’s gaze and held up the card, emblazoned with Scott Pennington, Homicide in dark blue across the middle. Below it, in black: St. Louis Police.

“Holy shit,” Jay muttered.

“Yeah. I’m meeting him tonight to talk it over.”

Jay smirked. “Talk what over? The farm investigation? Or getting into his pants?”

“Asshole. The farm, dude. Yeah, he’s hot, but I doubt he’s gay.”

“You never know,” Jay said with a shrug. “Just because he’s a cop doesn’t mean he doesn’t like guys.”

“I know.” Caleb pocketed the card. “Anyway, enough of that. Let’s get this stuff finished up. I’m eager to hear what he has to say.”

 

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Myc has been writing professionally since 2005, solo and with Shayne Carmichael. Genres include pretty much anything (no steampunk yet), though Myc is well known for paranormal stories. When not writing, Myc is usually playing PC games, reading, editing, watching movies and shows on Netflix and Amazon, or spending way too much time on Facebook.

https://arianderwyddbooks.wordpress.com