Torque (Wicked Mayhem MC) by Harley Wylde #preorder #ContemporaryRomance @HarleyW_Writer

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About the Book:

BRISTOL – When I met Torque, I didn’t expect more than a steamy one-night stand from the sexy-as-hell biker. His bedroom eyes. His wicked smile. His sinful body. I couldn’t resist him. It was only supposed to be one time. He didn’t do repeats, and I wasn’t looking for more. Until our night together had consequences – the kind that lasts eighteen years. Torque might be phenomenal between the sheets, but I wasn’t too sure the bad boy biker was daddy material.

TORQUE – The hot blonde with the lush curves and naughty mouth had given me a wild, wicked ride. A man could drown in her seductive eyes, but I never go back for seconds, no matter how tempting Bristol might be. Then she storms back into my life with news that sends me off-kilter. I hadn’t planned to keep her, but now that she’s having my kid, there’s no way I’m letting her go. She’ll be mine whether she likes it or not.

*WARNING: This book is recommended for ages 18+ due to sexual content, strong language, and darker undertones.

 

Preorder at online retailers for April 28th:

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About the Author

Harley Wylde is the International Bestselling Author of the Dixie Reapers MC, Devil’s Boneyard MC, and Hades Abyss MC series.
When Harleys writing, her motto is the hotter the better — off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place. She doesn’t shy away from the dangers and nastiness in the world, bringing those realities to the pages of her books, but always gives her characters a happily-ever-after and makes sure the bad guys get what they deserve.
The times Harley isn’t writing, she’s thinking up naughty things to do to her husband, drinking copious amounts of Starbucks, and reading. She loves to read and devours a book a day, sometimes more. She’s also fond of TV shows and movies from the 1980’s, as well as paranormal shows from the 1990’s to today, even though she’d much rather be reading or writing.
Follow Harley at: Website | Amazon | BookBub | Twitter | Facebook

The Case of the Deadly Game – Part 2 by Stephanie Burke #murdermystery #interracialromance @Flashycat

The Case of the Deadly Game Part 2 (Mai-Fly Mysteries 5)

Cover Art by Bryan Keller

Time is running out, and Mai swears Fate, that fickle b*tch, is laughing at her.

Accused of murder, and hunted by a vindictive British agent who’s out for blood, how will Mai solve the crime, save the day, and beat the Deadly Game so she can finally have her fairytale ending?

 

Get it at Changeling Press

Use code TGIF03-27-2020 for 15% off your entire order!

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Stephanie Burke

A shower and a nap did wonders for Mai’s disposition, and she had a wide grin on her face as she walked beside Ptris, who looked rather smug himself.

Sex between the two of them just kept getting better. She’d like to say that something felt missing, that fucking Ptris needed the extra oomph from having her Ry-Ry there, but even though she missed her lover, pined for him, her experiences with Ptris left her shaking, sore, and blessedly satisfied.

She sighed softly as Trouble, the Black Shuck, bounded toward her, leaving Lu-Lu’s side as he happily took his place beside her.

“So,” Lu-Lu drawled, “Got it all out of your system?”

“Fuck you,” Mai drawled back, burying her hand in Trouble’s ruff and smiling at the little moan of pleasure the hell hound released.

“That’s Ptris’ job,” Lu-Lu returned, just as happy as she tugged Austin to her side while they moved across the empty lobby toward the pair. “And it looks like he does it well.”

“Like it’s his main job and favorite hobby all rolled into one,” Mai admitted without shame, trying to pull a reaction out of her Dryad. Instead of flushing or showing any embarrassment, Ptris nodded and crossed his hands behind his back, though a purple vine eased its way from his hair to grip the hand that wasn’t petting Trouble.

“Well, when you get that old you manage to discover some pretty tricks, right, Austin?” She giggled as her lover smiled tenderly back at her.

“More than a few,” he admitted, shooting a look at Ptris that conveyed smugness and some kind of sexual brotherhood. “And I never mind sharing them with the ones I love.”

“Love me less,” Mai teased. “I don’t even want to think about your sex life. It would send me running for the hills.”

“We don’t have to think about your sex life, Mai-Mai.” Lu-Lu rolled her eyes. “We hear it every time you decide to get frisky.” Then she leered at Ptris. “I can hear you do great work.”

“As my Queen demands and requires,” he answered, his stoic expression finally breaking as he shot a grin at Mai. The Dryad radiated contentment and happiness for a bright shining moment before it was once again, hidden by the calm facade that slammed down over his face.

“Your Queen is satisfied,” Mai confirmed before turning to look at the rest of her Court. “So, we need to find out what’s going on in Lightwater. And I know the perfect place to snoop.”

“Back to Jon-Ton’s?” Lu-Lu asked, tilting her head just a little as she looked around the empty lobby. “‘Cause it’s not like anything is happening around here.”

“There were a few guests,” Mai noted. “Did they all just leave? And where are the staff?”

“The staff is in mourning,” Austin spoke softly, his gaze trailing over the hotel decor that seemed to be warring with each other. “Most of them knew Elias Humphries and are taking his death hard. He must have been using some of his Brownie power inadvertently because this place suddenly feels a lot colder without his presence.”

“I thought Brownies just kept the place neat and tidy while looking after their homes and the people who reside within them.” Mai gave the space a look herself and had to agree with Austin. The place seemed to be lacking something, the charm it had exhibited even when the place looked like a war between Tradition and Modernization. “This is kind of creepy.”

“Brownies often do more than just cook and clean when allowed. In the States, their power is heavily restricted and they aren’t allowed to exert the full force of their powers. Brownies keep diseases and sickness at bay. They imbue all that enter into their homes with a sense of well- being and peace that can be hard to find outside the safety of their own family. They keep depression at bay and have the ability to absorb what humans often call negative emotions, leaving those who enter into their sphere of influence content and feeling lighter. Some of that warmth is missing from the hotel and people can now see the flaws here. Consider this. Imagine that his influence was a thin veil that masked all the issues that surround this place. Now with him gone, more and more you can feel and see the troubles that his hotel was going through.”

“And so can the other guests.” Mai nodded in understanding. “With the death of an apparently beloved figure, it only makes sense that they would feel the negativity of this whole situation and flee. I don’t blame them.” Mai shuddered. Now that she was looking for it, she could feel a bit of coldness in the hotel. It was like the life had been drained away from it.

“So we aren’t going to learn anything here.” Austin broke the silence that had dropped for a few moments after Mai spoke. “We have to go where actual people are gathering.”

“And that would be Jon-Ton’s,” Lu-Lu added. “I’m all for gossip and pastry. We left before I really got a chance to sample the wares in the case.”

“You think with your stomach,” Austin poked at her appetite.

“And you think with your dick, lover,” Lu-Lu sassed right back. “But you don’t see me complaining.”

“Oh, that wasn’t a complaint.” Austin laughed. “It was me pointing out the obvious. We all have our crosses to bear, so our partners had just better sit back and enjoy the ride.”

“Aren’t they sweet?” Mai remarked, looking up at Ptris with a grin on her lips. “That could be us but you won’t smile at me.”

“I smile when appropriate,” Ptris countered. “Like when you are naked and swearing, screaming in my face for more as you ride me hard. I smile then.”

Mai ignored the blush she could feel heating her cheeks as she turned toward the front doors of McDowel’s. “So, who’s for pastry?” she asked, ignoring the snorts of laughter from her friends. “I’m suddenly starving.”

“And your man won’t go to the kitchen and make you a sandwich?” Lu-Lu joked. “Aww, you poor baby. Let’s get you fed. Great sex makes everyone hungry.” She leered at Austin, who leered back while Mai-Mai rolled her eyes at all of them.

“Why do I hang out with you people?” she asked, moving toward the door, Ptris at her side.

“Because we make you laugh?” Lu-Lu all but skipped to her side. “Admit it. You love us. You wouldn’t know what to do without us.”

“That… that’s true,” Mai admitted, a sudden seriousness taking over her mood. “I would have never made it this far without you all.”

“You are our Queen.” Austin spoke softly, opening the doors for them to pass through. “There is nothing we wouldn’t do to help you succeed and become reunited with your Prince.”

The others nodded in agreement. The vine around her wrist squeezed tightly for just a moment before she was released and the tender purple extension of her lover slid back into his hair.

“So let’s work with that.” Mai relaxed, surrounded by her Court. “Let’s go make some magic.”

 

About Stephanie Burke

Stephanie is a USA Today Best Selling, multi published, multi award-winning author, Master Costumer, handicapped, wife and mother of two.

From sex-shifting, shape-shifting dragons to undersea worlds, sexually confused elemental Fey and homo-erotic mysteries, all the way to pastel-challenged urban sprites, Stephanie has done it all, and hopes to do more.

Stephanie is an orator on her favorite subjects of writing and world-building, a sometime teacher when you feed her enough tea and donuts, an anime nut, a costumer, and a frequent guest of various sci-fi and writing cons where she can be found leading panel discussions or researching varied legends and theories to improve her writing skills.

Stephanie is known for her love of the outrageous, strong female characters, believable worlds, male characters filled with depth, and multi-cultural stories that make the reader sit up and take notice.

Stephanie at Changeling Press | Blog

 

 

The Case of the Deadly Game – Part 1 by Stephanie Burke #darkfantasy #murdermystery @FlashyCat

The Case of the Deadly Game Part 1 (Mai-Fly Mysteries 4)

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

Mai’s Epic Journey is almost to an end, but a rest break in Lightwater, England proves to be more trouble than it’s worth. Now there’s a dead body, a hell hound, a Fire Goblin, and once again Mai is at the center of it all.

When you’re playing a Deadly game, someone always gets hurt.

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

Use Discount Code TGIF02-28-2020 for 15% off your entire order!

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Stephanie Burke

“Changeling, are you?”

The woman stared up at Mai, her dark eyes intent as she gripped Mai’s hand hard.

On either side of her desk, the duly appointed and armed guardians of the gate tightened their hands on the handles of their batons made with blessed iron, their badges setting off a faint warning pulse that only those of the Fae blood could feel.

“Human, huh?” Mai returned as the woman’s hand tightened on her wrist, staring into the woman’s eyes, daring her to do or say something.

Mai was not in the mood. After a seven and a half hour nonstop flight from Baltimore to Gatwick in the UK, even traveling first class grated on her nerves.

She had already received confirmation that Ry’s body had arrived in Cardiff and was going directly into the hands of his clan for safekeeping though her Court could not pass back into Fae lands without her, as a new Queen, being there as an escort. Even in death, he was still a member of another Queen’s Court and by Fae law, he couldn’t even travel into the grieving hands of his mother unless Mai was there to allow it. But in order to get there, Mai had to first obtain permission from the British authorities, those who guarded the gate into Fae, and she had to clear this fucking customs gate.

At least his body didn’t have to go through the comprehensive background and magical checks at the gates of Gatwick Airport with what could be a deranged human whose name was… Mai paused in her musings to stare at the nametag of the once cheery and bubbly… Karen. Her whole attitude had changed when it came to Mai, compared to everyone who had come before.

“First time?” The woman was sitting behind a tall desk that stretched across the front length of the exit gate. It was the last obstacle blocking a barred exit that led to the outside. Mai had looked around at the warded area, saw a magic meter nearly as tall as she was off in the corner, what had to be a dozen of those security guys standing around and looking menacing, the tall cold iron bars that blocked the only door to the outside, and then back to the cheery smiling woman who had chirped at all the others until her. The shock of it all had been almost enough to leave her speechless.

“Well, yeah,” Mai had shaken herself mentally and got her mind back on business, ignoring the insanely dangerous vibes she got from those security agents. “First time here.”

“Papers, please.”

Before Mai could move, Ptris who had been placing a formal looking envelope on the desk, returned the woman’s smile with a blank stare that didn’t affect her aura of happiness at all. It was really too early for that crap and there wasn’t enough coffee in Mai’s body to deal with the fake giddiness that the woman was throwing off, or at least not deal with it with anything approaching grace.

“Oh, how exciting!” The woman had all but bounced in her seat. “A new court is forming, and from The Americas no less. You don’t see that every day.”

When silence was her only answer, the woman had just giggled to herself and began to go through the paperwork. It was their passports, their travel visas, their itinerary, and the paperwork declaring who and what they were.

“Entranced human?” she asked, looking up at Austin to match his photo to his passport and he proudly waved his hand. “You don’t see that every day. You don’t have a birth certificate…”

“I was born before the department of vital statistics was created.” He chuckled. “But my papers should have my bloodwork, my clan name and affiliation as well as my date of birth and time of the willing entrancement…”

“I see,” she mused, staring at Austin to the point where Lu-Lu reached out and grabbed his hand, glaring at the woman. “Sorry, love.” Karen shook her head and turned back to the papers spread out on her desk. “I’ve never come across a human so old, though to be fair, most entrancements stopped long before the last war.”

Austin nodded in understanding. “I am unique in that regard.”

“Scotsman, are you?” she asked and he grinned. “Welcome home, then.”

She turned to Ptris, blinked twice and just stamped his papers. No one fucked with Ptris.

She stamped Lu-Lu’s well-worn paperwork — the elf traveled a lot — and then turned her gaze to Mai.

Her head tilted to the side as she stared at her and of course Mai stared back. After a few moments of this standoff, Mai realized they were in a stalemate.

About Stephanie Burke

Stephanie is a USA Today Best Selling, multi published, multi award-winning author, Master Costumer, handicapped, wife and mother of two.

From sex-shifting, shape-shifting dragons to undersea worlds, sexually confused elemental Fey and homo-erotic mysteries, all the way to pastel-challenged urban sprites, Stephanie has done it all, and hopes to do more.

Stephanie is an orator on her favorite subjects of writing and world-building, a sometime teacher when you feed her enough tea and donuts, an anime nut, a costumer, and a frequent guest of various sci-fi and writing cons where she can be found leading panel discussions or researching varied legends and theories to improve her writing skills.

Stephanie is known for her love of the outrageous, strong female characters, believable worlds, male characters filled with depth, and multi-cultural stories that make the reader sit up and take notice.

Blog | Stephanie at Changeling Press | Facebook

 

 

Conceivable by Willa Okati #mpreg #paranormalromance

Conceivable (Roanoke River Omegas 1)

Cover Art by Bryan Keller

 

Omega Jory’s in love with his best friend, Alpha Darius, and Darius has no idea. Darius’s in love with Jory, and Jory has no idea. But when Jory asks Darius to father his baby, everything’s about to explode. Jory’s body burns with the need to conceive. He’s so hot to be bred he’s insatiable, demanding everything Darius can give — and more. And the more Darius gives, the more Darius wants.

But it’s not all fun and games. Jory’s body wants all the sex it can take, but it isn’t cooperating with conception. And the fluctuating hormones are making Jory a little crazy. Darius’s got to figure out how to save the day and to tell his best friend he wants to be more than friends, for keeps.

What do you do with a drunken sailor? Take him home, build a nest, and get him pregnant… if you can.

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

or pre-order for February 28th at retailers

  

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Willa Okati

What did you do with a drunken sailor?

Why, anything you wanted, that’s what. You could tie him up tight with a crimson ribbon, dip him in a pool of melted butter, run him through a room of screaming fire alarms, and when he got done with all that, then you could tuck him in bed with an Alpha’s lover. And every last bit of it sounded fine when sung at the top of three dozen-odd throats at Happy Hour on a Friday evening in MacInnes’s pub.

Better still when Darius could raise his mostly empty glass and swing it in time with the song. Best of all when tucked into a booth with his best friend beside him, warm as toast and smelling faintly of Omega and largely of burnt-sugar whiskey.

As weeknights went, this was a good one.

The last lines of the chorus were still echoing off the ceiling when someone who fancied himself a soloist stood on top of a table and started belting out a boozy version of “Danny Boy.” He got a few catcalls and the occasional coaster tossed at him, but he had a decent deep tenor and most of the rowdies settled down to listen. Darius included.

Still laughing, still warm, he slid back into the booth he shared with Jory and kicked his legs forward to tangle their feet together. Best friends — closer than blood since they’d met in another bar on weekend passes five years back — they’d always been in each other’s space ever since. Didn’t bother them any that Darius was an Alpha and Jory an Omega. Darius was Navy and Jory part of the Peace Corps, sure, but the military kept everyone on hormone suppressants to cut down on hanky-panky in the ranks, so what did it matter?

“Another round?” Darius asked when their impromptu soloist paused to drown his own thirst.

Redheaded and usually fair as cream, Jory’s cheeks were cherry pink tonight from the two whiskies and a pint of Guinness he’d already downed, but he gave Darius a blazing grin and raised his empty glass. “You’re on. And I mean it, you’re on. Last round was mine.”

Was it? Darius shrugged, not bothered either way. They always took turns. He halfway stood to wave at their waiter — a friendly Beta who could pull pints fast as lightning strikes — then thumped back down in a comfortable slouch. Jory, still grinning, made him laugh. Made him content. Being around him made something inside Darius feel… satisfied. Good.

“So,” he said, after tipping back his empty glass in search of just a few more drops. “You were saying, about the kids, before that racket started up?” Jory had gone into teaching kindergarten after getting out of the Reserves, and taken to it like a duck to water.

“That they’re adorable. Today I had to teach one of them not to lick the drinking fountain because that wasn’t how it worked. Also? ‘Racket’ my hindquarters, you love it.” Jory’s smile shone smile softer, warmer, teasing. “As if you weren’t singing along.”

Darius bent his head, only a little sheepish and only for half a second. He came up with a glint in his eye and clinked his glass against Jory’s. “Shut up.”

Jory clinked back. He knew this game. “You shut up.”

“Bite me.”

“Needs ketchup.”

“Kiss my ass.”

Jory laughed. “Bend over!”

Their pert, pretty little Beta waiter — what was his name, Adam? — rolled his eyes as he swung by their table with two full glasses. “Drown yourself in these, would you?” He softened his words with a gentle love tap on the back of Darius’s dark head and a rustle through Jory’s auburn tangle. “Drink up, boys, order some more, and leave a good tip. I’ve got bills to pay!”

“Good thing I have a steady job,” Darius remarked as Adam sped away. He’d left the Navy a year after Jory mustered out and would have settled where his best friend did regardless, but he thanked his lucky stars Jory had picked Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina. Made finding work on the water easy, and Darius had settled into a good hands-on position at the lake. Solid work that left him aching with sore muscles every day, but satisfied down to the bottom of his soul. “Or I wouldn’t be able to afford taking my best friend out for booze-ups at fancy joints like this.”

Jory wrinkled his nose. “Speaking of kids, how are the new hires you were talking about?”

“Eh, there’s a few bright stars,” Darius said with a shrug. “Some better than others. Time will tell. But they do already know how to use the water fountains. Probably.”

“They’re not as cute as a baker’s dozen of toddlers, though.”

Darius waggled one hand to and fro. “They probably think so, especially when they’re out looking to score some tail, but nope.”

Jory nodded in satisfaction, making him a pleasure to look at. Darius had always liked his friend’s face, not exactly handsome but friendly and open but with fine, well-shaped bones. Very dissimilar to himself, with his tall leanness, his longer features and darker complexion. His general attitude was sharper-edged, more serious. But whenever Darius got too stuck in his head, Jory pried him out, and whenever Jory’s warm heart got a little too bruised, Darius was there to pick him up and settle him down.

What he’d do without Jory in his life, Darius didn’t know. And he didn’t want to know.

Darius downed his drink and wiped the Guinness foam away with a sigh of satisfaction. “So did the kid wrap his head around how water fountains worked, in the end?”

“Hmm?”

Darius cocked his head. “I said…”

But Jory’s attention had drifted. He did that sometimes — wandered off in thought and lost himself in daydreams. Darius didn’t worry about it, as he always came back, but every now and again it was interesting to try and track what’d caught Jory’s fancy. He let his gaze go slightly out of focus, turned toward Jory’s line of sight, and…

Ah. There it was. Courting couples. Of which there were plenty, no matter where you went, but especially in MacInnes’s when the beer was flowing and the whiskey bit back. Darius followed Jory’s regard, jumping from pair to pair.

First an Omega couple — interesting, you didn’t see that too often — in their, hmm, mid sixties? Yes, and comfortable with each other in a way that said they’d been an odd couple for decades. Nice. From there, a couple of Betas who were plainly just friends, but with a few saucy benefits like the hands tucked in each others’ back pockets. A thirtyish Omega buying a jar of spicy brined pickles for a laughing Alpha who rode him piggyback and kissed his ear, and a widower Darius knew who always drank one Long Island iced tea with a picture of his mate on the table with him.

Humanity, in all its infinite variety.

And then, something Darius knew Jory would zero in on as special. An Alpha with an Omega on his arm, the two of them so in love it almost rang from the rooftop and echoed in everyone’s ears. Total hearts in their eyes, and eyes only for each other. Young, maybe on the uphill climb to twenty-five, but the Alpha had a toddler on one hip and the Omega’s stomach was proudly curved, maybe six months gone with a second cub. He rested one hand on the swell, an unconscious gesture but one that spoke of pleasure and pride. His Alpha glanced down and wrapped his free arm around the Omega’s shoulders, giving him a cuddle.

Darius shook his head, but with a lopsided smile. The whole effect was so sweet it’d give a man diabetes, but he wouldn’t complain too much about it. He glanced at Jory to see that Jory had noticed him in turn. “Busted?”

“Nosy,” Jory said, giving his shin a gentle nudge under the table.

“Look who’s talking.”

“But that’s all right,” Jory continued, undaunted. “You can buy the next round. Again.”

Darius snorted. “Anyone ever tell you you’re not a cheap date?”

“Every now and again.” Jory checked his watch. “Actually, make it a cup of coffee instead. It’s getting late, and I need to sober up.”

“Why? We’ve walked home three sheets to the wind before.”

“I have my reasons,” Jory said without further explanation, leaving Darius to wonder what he meant by that. It seemed to be something that made him a little nervous. He pushed his glass back and forth in the circle of condensation it’d left on the table, but didn’t drop any handy clues. “Did you see the couple with one in arms and one on the way?”

Darius nodded. Of course he had. Ah. Two plus two came together. “Is that the water fountain kid?”

Jory’s smile blossomed, warm and pleased. “It is. He’s adorable, huh? He wants to name his baby brother Mr. Ed.”

A swallow of beer almost went down the wrong way. Darius coughed. “He wants to what, now? How does he know Mr. Ed? I don’t even remember where I heard of Mr. Ed.”

“No telling.” Jory laughed too. “His parents are just hoping he’ll come around to plain old ‘Corey’ when he’s born.”

He fell quiet again, but Darius could tell he was still watching the couple. Darius had to admit they made entertaining viewing. The baby must have been awake, inside. The Omega patted his belly, trying to soothe him, and the Alpha tracked his movements with one palm, fascination written across his face. Little judo master, Darius thought the Alpha said at one point. He winced in imagined empathy, and — the strangest thing — a flicker of jealousy.

Jealousy? Darius frowned down at the remnants of his Guinness. He’d been a bachelor since he presented as Alpha, and hadn’t really minded. When he needed company or he went into rut he knew where to find what he needed. Aside from that, it didn’t seem so important. He had Jory, and they kept each other busy. Besides, Jory had decided to stay on military-grade suppressants when he went civilian to keep himself level and lower the risk of getting pregnant by accident, so it’d never been an issue. But now, Darius wondered.

No. He knew. He’d seen that look on Omega faces before, and it surprised him to see it on Jory’s, but then again it wasn’t a shock. It looked… natural. Nice. Darius tapped the back of Jory’s hand with one finger. “I see. You’ve been thinking about it.”

Jory, still captivated by the scene, raised his shoulder a fraction of an inch. “On and off.” He shook his head and focused, looking back at Darius. “No, that’s a lie of omission. I have been thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about it. I want that, and I can’t stop wanting it.”

“A baby?”

“Enough that I stopped taking my suppressants,” Jory said, simple and clear. He settled his hands around his glass. “Three days ago. You know suppressants. They start working fast, and they stop just as fast. Should be gone by the weekend.”

Darius blinked. Jory really meant business, then. The thought fascinated him in a way that surprised Darius. The mental image of Jory as round and curved and full as that Omega gave him a jolt like electricity applied deep down inside, something that sparked too much heat to ignore.

He stamped that down carefully, tightly, and securely. Darius had never been immune to Jory’s charms. He’d had dreams, fantasies. Wishes. Desires. But he’d refused to let himself take one single step past plain and simple friendship. Nothing that’d start them down the road to a messy breakup. He’d seen it happen before — too many times — when friends hooked up. Hell, he’d encouraged Jory to date other people. He’d been glad that Jory was living with Alpha Whateverhisnamewas when he moved into town so the question of sharing an apartment couldn’t come up.

Darius realized he was staring. To cover his reaction, he cleared his throat and hurried on. “Fertile. No kidding. Who’re you going to get to be the father?”

“That’s the thing,” Jory said, his gaze fixed calmly on Darius. “I was hoping it would be you.”

 

More from Willa Okati at Changeling Press …

Willa Okati is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, and a lifelong love of storytelling. She is definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

 

 

COVER REVEAL: Outlaw (Devil’s Fury MC) by Harley Wylde #contemporaryromance

Ever since Wire (Dixie Reapers MC), when Outlaw played such a prominent role in keeping Lavender safe, I’ve been asked for his story. Well, guess what … Today, I’m sharing the cover for Outlaw, which will release March 6th at Changeling Press or March 13th at retailers!

I hope you enjoy today’s cover reveal!

~ Harley ~

 

Broken. Alone. Until an angel showed up and proved I’d only been waiting for her.

 

HW_DFMC2_XXL

Cover Art by Bryan Keller

Elena – I’d lost my parents as a kid, but a reverend and his wife took me in. They were good to me, even if there had never been many hugs. Then they started pushing me to marry a man I didn’t want, so I ran. I should have known the moment I walked through the clubhouse doors of the Devil’s Fury that my life would never be the same. I just didn’t count on a bad boy biker being the one to finally make me feel wanted.

Outlaw – The Devil’s Fury are my family, my brothers, but I’m not the same man I was years ago. I’m scarred and broken, or so I’d thought. The little Latina who came to the clubhouse then pulled out a damn book to read had my attention right away. When someone tries to hurt her, I know that I’ll keep her safe. In fact, I’ll just keep her. She’s awoken a part of me I’d thought I’d lost. Didn’t count on her bringing trouble with her, or nearly losing her, but she’s mine and I will fight for her to the very end.

Add to your Goodreads

 

Did you miss book 1 in the Devil’s Fury MC series? Find out more about Dingo here –> http://bit.ly/2tzp89y

 

About Harley Wylde

Harley Wylde is the International Bestselling Author of the Dixie Reapers MC, Devil’s Boneyard MC, and Hades Abyss MC series.
When Harleys writing, her motto is the hotter the better — off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place. She doesn’t shy away from the dangers and nastiness in the world, bringing those realities to the pages of her books, but always gives her characters a happily-ever-after and makes sure the bad guys get what they deserve.
The times Harley isn’t writing, she’s thinking up naughty things to do to her husband, drinking copious amounts of Starbucks, and reading. She loves to read and devours a book a day, sometimes more. She’s also fond of TV shows and movies from the 1980’s, as well as paranormal shows from the 1990’s to today, even though she’d much rather be reading or writing.
You can find out more about Harley or enter her monthly giveaway on her website. Be sure to join her newsletter while you’re there to learn more about discounts, signing events, and other goodies!

You can follow Harley on AmazonTwitter, or Facebook. Get New Release notifications (for US readers) by following Harley on BookBub! Want to talk more about the Dixie Reapers or other Harley books? Join the Wyldlings on Facebook!

 

 

DINGO (Devil’s Fury MC) by Harley Wylde #contemporaryromance #interracialromance @HarleyW_Writer

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Published by Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

Meiling — All I’ve ever known is pain. My life has been far from a fairy tale. No parents. No friends. Just an endless nightmare that I can’t wake from. Until the day a man offered me his hand and promised to keep me safe. I’ve never trusted anyone before, but there’s something about him. Maybe it’s insane, but I know he won’t hurt me, and when he puts his arms around me, for the first time in my life I feel loved.

Dingo — I’ve always had a soft spot for women and kids in trouble. One look at Meiling, and I knew I had to protect her at any cost. The beautiful girl with the wounded soul. After all she’s suffered, all I want is to make her smile, make her feel secure, and give her a chance to find happiness. But first, I need to take out the men and women responsible for hurting her. It might get ugly, and messy, but they don’t call me Dingo for nothing. I’m a crazy bastard, and I won’t stop until she’s safe. I just didn’t count on falling for her along the way.

Publishers warning: Meiling’s past isn’t pretty. Dingo and Meiling’s story deals with issues of human trafficking, bureaucratic corruption, and vigilante justice. This book contains darker themes that may trigger some readers.

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

or pre-order for February 14th at online retailers

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Harley Wylde

I slipped Dingo’s shirt over my head, smoothing it as it fell to my knees. Even though I didn’t have on panties underneath, it was still the most covered I’d been for as long as I could remember. I didn’t see a hamper so I tossed the towels over the top of the shower so they would dry, then cautiously opened the bathroom door. I could hear the TV going and saw a pair of booted feet propped on the coffee table, even though I couldn’t see the rest of him. Scurrying into my room, I shut the door, then stared in amazement.

Sacks. Lots of sacks. They were just from one of those twenty-four-hour stores, but as I peeked into each one, I saw clothes, shoes, and other things that had to be for me. They were all in my size, and Dingo hadn’t mentioned his sister would be visiting. Since they were in the room he’d said I could use, it had to mean they were mine, right? Tears gathered in my eyes. I ripped into the package of panties and slipped on a pair, loving the way they actually covered my ass. The only two pair I owned were thongs and I hated them. The bras were a soft material that wasn’t the least bit transparent, and the clothes…

A sob built in my throat, but I tried so hard to hold it in. Jeans, modest-looking shirts, and shoes that were made for comfort and not to entice men. I lost the battle and tears streaked my cheeks as I cried so hard my throat and chest hurt. Booted steps came running toward the room, and Dingo must have slid to a stop just outside. He didn’t barge in, at least not right away. As my cries grew louder, he pushed the door open and rushed inside.

“Mei? Honey, what’s wrong?” He dropped to his knees next to me.

“I-I-I…” I couldn’t even tell him why I was crying. I just gestured to the bags, then threw my arms around him and held on.

Dingo held me, letting me soak his shirt with my tears, and he gently rubbed my back. Eventually, I got myself under control and took a few shuddering breaths. He rested his cheek on the top of my head, just holding me. Not once did his hands try to roam somewhere inappropriate. Beau was the last person to hold me like this, and I’d only been fourteen. I hadn’t realized until now just how much I missed it. My foster dad’s version of affection was vastly different.

“When’s the last time someone bought something for you?” he asked.

“My foster parents gave me only what they were required to purchase, and the clothes were never like this. No one’s ever been this nice to me.”

“They aren’t much, Mei, but I wanted to make sure you had enough clothes to get by for at least a few days. You’re welcome to use the washer and dryer off the kitchen whenever you need to, and we can always get a few more outfits.”

I fisted his shirt and lifted my head. The concern in his eyes, the gentle way he held me, it was all overwhelming. Men had taken what they wanted from me ever since I’d hit puberty. Not once had I ever kissed someone just because I wanted to, but right now, this very moment, I wanted to kiss Dingo. Before I could second-guess myself, I pressed my lips to his. He tensed and drew back, his gaze searching.

“Mei, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” I said. “I did it because I wanted to.”

There was a moment of hesitation in the way he held himself, the look in his eyes, and then he leaned toward me. This time he kissed me. Dingo threaded his fingers into my hair and held me as his mouth devoured mine. I melted against him, feeling desired for the first time in my life. Cherished. Men had wanted me before, but they’d wanted to take not give.

Dingo broke the kiss with a groan and pulled away.

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ABOUT HARLEY WYLDE

Harley Wylde is the International Bestselling Author of the Dixie Reapers MC, Devil’s Boneyard MC, and Hades Abyss MC series.
When Harleys writing, her motto is the hotter the better — off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place. She doesn’t shy away from the dangers and nastiness in the world, bringing those realities to the pages of her books, but always gives her characters a happily-ever-after and makes sure the bad guys get what they deserve.
The times Harley isn’t writing, she’s thinking up naughty things to do to her husband, drinking copious amounts of Starbucks, and reading. She loves to read and devours a book a day, sometimes more. She’s also fond of TV shows and movies from the 1980’s, as well as paranormal shows from the 1990’s to today, even though she’d much rather be reading or writing.
Find Harley online…

Cover Reveal: Finding Our Morning by Mickie B. Ashling #interracial #romancebooks #coverreveal

Finding Our Morning by Mickie B. Ashling

Cover created by Anna Sikorska of Tiferet Design

RELEASE DATE: January 28th

Available to Pre-Order at Amazon

Thank you for hosting the cover reveal for my upcoming release, Finding Our Morning. This stunning cover was created for me by Anna Sikorska of Tiferet Design.

Although I’ve been traditionally published since 2009 and have managed to release thirty-seven full length novels in the last ten years, Finding Our Morning is my first straight (m/f) romance. I’ve been meaning to write this for a while, but my creative juices dried up after a few chapters, so I shelved the idea. Last January, I came across the outline for this novel and decided to revisit. This time, my flighty muse perked up like a mare in estrus. Suddenly the timing was right.

In my m/m backlist, there’s a trilogy featuring polo players, and one other book rooted in Iran during the revolution, so the setting for this current novel is at once familiar yet completely different. I’m not sure why this historical event fascinates me, and I say historical with a grain of salt. Forty-three years (my story opens in 1977) isn’t that long ago, but the ouster of any ruler is significant, and this did take place in the last century—therefore, historical. Why does this moment in time resonate? Perhaps it’s because I was alive when the shah left Iran, watched it play out on TV, and, like the rest of the world, dealt with the aftermath of his decision. Or it could be the sweet Persian boy I had a crush on long ago who first generated my interest in the region. What would have happened to me if I’d followed my heart and accepted his proposal? Maybe I just have a soft spot for mysterious dark-eyed polo players with British accents. To be honest, I think it’s all of the above.

Finding Our Morning is a multicultural, interracial romance set in Texas, New York, and Tehran. The book releases on January 28, 2020. The novel will only be available on Amazon and KU. A paperback is also planned.

Blurb

May 1977

Ginny Tate bides her time on the family stud farm in San Antonio, Texas, waiting to start veterinarian school in the fall. Bullied as an adolescent, she’s finally shed her old skin, but the emerging beauty still harbors insecurities and would rather hang out with horses than people.

Sponsored by his uncle, the Shah of Iran, Dariush—David—Akbari, a twenty-five-year-old NYU grad with a degree in International Law, is also a skilled polo player. He joins the royal traveling team for a tournament in Plano, Texas.

A decade in America has gradually altered David’s views on certain aspects of his culture. Torn between familial obligations and his adopted country, David resists the idea of returning to Iran so soon after graduation.

At the traditional after-party, David strikes up a conversation with Ginny, who is refreshingly honest. He receives an invitation to visit Tate Stud Farm and, on the pretext of buying another polo pony, persuades the shah to make a detour.

Great horsemanship coupled with self-effacing charm sets David apart from the entitled braggarts who normally populate the sport, and Ginny falls hard. His visit turns into a life-changing week that neither can foresee. Will they walk away unscathed or live to regret their impulsive behavior?

Inspired by events preceding the fall of the Pahlavi dynasty, Finding Our Morning is a love story that catapults us from Texas Hill Country to the epicenter of a monarchy on the brink of collapse.

Excerpt

Finding Our Morning
Mickie B. Ashling 2020
All Rights Reserved

San Antonio, Texas

May 1977

Chapter 1

In the back seat of the Chevy Suburban, Ginny listened with half an ear to her parents’ conversation while staring out the window. As the familiar landscape whizzed by, her stomach ached and her chin throbbed; an unpleasant reminder that nothing had changed. She was the same awkward girl she’d been a week ago, not some new-and-improved version because she’d turned eighteen yesterday, and was hell-bent on leaving her childish insecurities behind. Plagued by postpubescent acne for years, Ginny had assumed—as did her dermatologist—the hormonal imbalance would pass in due time.

And it had.

Mostly.

But she’d woken up this morning to find the nastiest zit on her chin that no amount of Clearasil could disguise. Today of all days! She had planned this trip to the Willow Bend Polo and Hunt Club in Plano, Texas, for months. It was a five-hour drive from San Antonio, where her family lived and bred horses, and her parents had agreed to accompany her and give up an entire weekend, a hard-won victory considering the couple rarely took a day off. Backing out at the last minute because her old nemesis chose this particular day to reappear was unthinkable. She’d looked forward to this trip for months. In a sense, it was her coming-out party, the first time she’d stand toe-to-toe with the clients who’d patronized their stud farm for years.

But nature was a fickle bitch and had, for whatever reason, decided to remind Ginny who was in charge. Pep talks notwithstanding, Ginny had shied away from the public eye for years. It didn’t matter that she excelled in math and science and could outride anyone in her immediate vicinity. While other girls were consumed by the latest fashion trends, Ginny was learning how to muck out a stall; feed and groom; do a visual check for cuts, scrapes, or puncture wounds; clean the horses’ hooves, look for cracks or loose shoes; maintain a tack room; apply simple first aid; repair fences; wrangle; brand; assist in live covers and subsequent births; and even play polo as well as any guy. But her peers still called her “pizza face” behind her back.

And it tormented her.

This derogatory nickname had stuck until she graduated, and even though her complexion had long since cleared up, the experience had left an indelible scar. Ginny continued to see the creature she’d been rather than the person she’d become.

That morning, her parents had dismissed her concerns when they heard her yelling at the mirror above her bathroom sink. They claimed the red spot was only a tiny blemish on an otherwise beautiful face.

Right.

They were supposed to say that. It was their job to keep her upbeat and confident. And she’d woken up in fine spirits until she peered at her reflection and spotted Mt. Vesuvius. Doing her best to get rid of the ugly white-tipped mound, Ginny squeezed until she was satisfied she’d obliterated the motherfucker.

In the car, she grabbed an ice cube from the cooler by her feet, where her mom had packed a picnic lunch, and buried it in the washcloth she’d yanked on her way downstairs. Settling in for the duration, Ginny held the cool cloth against her sore chin. Five hours was more than enough time to reduce the swelling.

This high-goal polo tournament, featuring an assortment of celebrities, had been advertised for months. Ginny looked forward to this event as much as any eighteen-year-old anticipated her first trip abroad. As the only daughter and heir to a lucrative stud farm specializing in polo ponies, the public was curious to meet her. Although they were aware of her existence, many wondered if she was some sort of halfwit because she was never around during negotiations. No one knew this was part of her plan—to make a grand entrance with her head held high as she shook hands with the different men and women who dominated the sport.

One of the most famous was Cecil Smith, now in his late seventies. He’d been a 10-goal player for twenty-six consecutive years. It was the highest ranking one could attain in the sport and Ginny was eager to meet the man. His glory days marked the zenith of American polo, and long after he’d retired in 1967, he continued to ride and train polo ponies on his ranch out in Boerne, not too far from the Tates’ San Antonio home.

There would be other celebrated players from different parts of the world. The Argentineans, current leaders of the sport, the Domecq brothers from Spain, a team of blue bloods from the UK, and the Shah of Iran with his usual over-the-top entourage. He wasn’t the best player in the world, but his presence added gravitas to any event. Ginny couldn’t wait to check out his horses and equipment.

Once upon a time, she’d dreamed about joining a women’s polo team and touring the world, but it had been unrealistic given her age and social anxiety. Now she focused on breeding the magnificent animals that might end up on a winning team. Knowing she played a part in a polo player’s success was almost as good as being a participant.

Approaching their destination, Ginny glanced in the hand mirror she always carried in her purse, and was pleased to see a more subdued landscape, one she could doctor with concealer. While applying the liquid with gentle pats, she was derailed when the Suburban lurched to a stop behind a long row of vehicles leading to the main gates of the club.

“Gosh darn it!” her father exclaimed, narrowly avoiding the truck in front of him.

“Dad!” Ginny protested when her hand slipped and makeup streaked wildly.

“Raymond!” Margery Tate seconded.

He banged the steering wheel in frustration. “Not my fault these morons can’t drive for shit.”

Ginny worked fast to try to repair the damage. At last, she was satisfied with her appearance. She put away her makeup bag and looked out the window. Impressed by the large crowd, she whistled with approval. “Is this normal, Dad?”

“Par for the course when it comes to polo tournaments with an international cast of players. People who never show up for regular games are here to ogle the celebrities.”

“Let’s hope it’s worth it,” Margery remarked. “I’d hate to come all this way to see a mediocre tournament, big shots notwithstanding.”

Ginny smirked. Her mother was a practical woman who rarely stopped for fun. She had her hands full from dawn to dusk and treasured her Sundays more than most. If this was a wasted trip, they’d hear about it during the ride home, especially since they planned to stay the night to break up the long drive. It would be midday by the time they got back to the ranch.

“It’s going to be fine,” Ray assured his wife. “Don’t work yourself into a lather for no good reason.”

Margery let out a deep sigh.

After the slow crawl up the driveway, they followed the rest of the vehicles to a large parking lot. Attendants in flashy cowboy attire, custom-made for show, directed traffic. Ginny could appreciate the magnitude of the task lying in wait for the people in charge. There were hundreds of spectators walking about and craning their necks for a chance to spot someone famous. She arranged to meet her parents once the game started, and they parted ways so she could explore. Attired in a red-and-white polka-dot wrap dress, platform wedge sandals, and a stylish straw hat to keep the sun off her face, Ginny blended into the crowd.

There were five polo fields in all. The main field in front of the clubhouse would remain empty until the tournament started, but the other four were occupied with riders practicing their swings and turns. Ginny headed for the closest one and fell in with a bunch of grooms who were tending their masters’ ponies with absolute devotion. Four ponies per player were the ideal number. There were six chukkers in a game, and by the time the rotation landed back on the first pony, he would be well rested. Injuries were part of the sport, for horses and riders alike. Getting ridden-off during the course of a match or bumped, a maneuver similar to a body check in hockey, was commonplace. Horses also got hit by rogue balls and mallets, leaving them momentarily disabled or out for the count. The number of ponies waiting their turn might appear excessive to an outsider, but a player could be severely handicapped if he didn’t have a fresh mount per chukker.

Many of the men who served as grooms were amateur polo players and felt wins and losses as keenly as their employers. Early on, Ginny learned the best way to get the full measure of a rider was by eavesdropping on the guys in charge as they kept a watchful eye on the polo field. Standing as close as possible, Ginny was within earshot of the comments that were usually peppered with mild expletives and friendly wagers. Excitement coursed through her veins as she heard the familiar sound of hooves galloping across the field. The smell of grass, horse manure, and leather combined with the whoops of excitement from the men on horseback gave her goose bumps.

She’d had a thing for polo players for as long as she could remember. There was something indefinably masculine about the men who played the game that appealed to her senses. Unlike a lot of rodeo events, polo was more than a rough sport. One had to be a keen strategist to excel. Anticipating an opponent’s next move was the only way to stop them before they got in position to score a goal. It was a chess game on horseback, and the best players were the right combination of brains and brawn. Even from a distance, she could spot the strongest players, and one in particular caught her attention. The number three was embroidered on his shirt—typically awarded to the most powerful hitter with the highest handicap.

Turning to one of the grooms, she asked, “Who’s on the field?”

“The Iranians and the Brits, miss.”

The groom, a dark-skinned man who spoke with a heavy accent, was decked out in royal blue livery; the same hue as the uniforms worn by the four members of the Iranian team. The ponies’ blankets, tail ribbons, and leg wraps were also the same shade of blue.

“Do you know number three in blue?”

“The shah’s nephew, Dariush.”

“He’s good,” Ginny remarked.

“Very good, miss. The shah is always in a better mood when his nephew can play.”

“Isn’t he a part of the regular team?”

He shook his head. “Dariush attends college in New York City. He’s on break at this time.”

“I see.”

Turning her attention back on the field, she could tell this favored nephew was an expert horseman. He and his pony were deeply connected, part of a seamless dance only a fellow rider could spot from a distance. She looked forward to watching him during the actual game.

Author Bio

Mickie B. Ashling is the pseudonym of a multi-published author who resides in a suburb outside Chicago. She is a product of her upbringing in various cultures, having lived in Japan, the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East. Fluent in three languages, she’s a citizen of the world and an interesting mixture of East and West.

Since 2009, Mickie has written several dozen novels in the LGBTQ+ genre—which have been translated into French, Italian, Spanish, and German. Lately, her muse has been nudging her in a different direction, and she’s learned through past experience to pay attention to creative sparks that show up unexpectedly. Her pen name is a part of her now, and will travel along on this exciting new journey, wherever it might lead. She promises to be very specific in her book blurbs and cover art to avoid any confusion.

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