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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Terran Seduction by Echo Ishii #interracial #futuristic #alienencounters

Terran Seduction (Terran 2)

Published by Changeling Press

Diana Aventina is a ranking senator serving the Terran Republic. Her lineage is one of power and influence. She’s courted by powerful men for a bloodline match, but hasn’t found anyone suitable. Power means sacrificing everything for a higher cause, even love.

Brennus is a legendary commander picked to lead all the armed forces. On the mysterious wintry world of Sobek he’s discovered a weapon that may change the future of the Terran Republic. His star is on the rise, and he wants a powerful woman like Diana by his side.

But the weapon might not be all it seems. And a new line of Terran soldiers threaten the stability of the Republic. Brennus and Diana can’t fight their desire for each other, but they may lose the Republic in the process.

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

or pre-order for December 27th at retailers

 

SNEAK PEEK

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Echo Ishii

“How long has it been?” Diana Aventina looked up from her desk toward a young Terran legion soldier. He was a tall, strong young man with a crew cut and two short horns, like all Terran-bred soldiers. A star shaped cybernetic implant was buried deep in his neck.

“Forty minutes, Senator,” the soldier answered.

“We’ll keep waiting,” Diana replied, turning her attentions back to her work. She wasn’t going to show her annoyance. Not yet.

She was here with Governor Kent and his handpicked Red Star fighting unit on the icy cold world of Sobek. The command center was barely more than a converted supply depot. The heating system was rudimentary. Too hot in the living quarters; too cold everywhere else.

The howling winds beat against the outside doors. Her seat was furthest from the door, but still the cold crept in somehow. She shifted in her seat and clasped her hands to warm them. Even with gloves, her fingers still felt the cold.

In front of her, Governor Kent paced back and forth, hands behind his back, his nose reddened by the cold. He sniffled. He stomped his feet as if to get circulation going. Kent mumbled something Diana couldn’t hear, but she had a fair idea that it wasn’t complimentary.

“Commander Brennus better have an excuse for being late,” Governor Kent said.

“Praetor Ambiorix Brennus,” Diana reminded him. “Soon to be Terran Republic Legate.”

Kent lowered his voice. “If he takes the job.”

“He’ll be the official leader of the entire Terran Republic military. I suggest you get on his good side.”

No one expected Sobek to have long-term value. The first mission here a decade ago had ended in disaster. The native Efret wavered between indifference to outsiders to bursts of open hostility. Sobek wasn’t a top priority for anyone at Terran Republic Headquarters. But Ambiorix Brennus was a legend. He had an outstanding war record. He had exclusive access to alien weaponry. Senator Diana Aventina wanted to see him for herself.

Kent stopped his pacing. He leaned down toward her so close she could smell his cologne. She gave Kent a once over. He came from a strong bloodline. He had blue eyes, blonde hair, and good bone structure. The same floor-model attractiveness shared by thousands of others who had the breeding and connections for top quality bodywork. Nothing special really.

He glanced at the young soldier next to them. “This is the future. Hedron. One of my best Red Star soldiers.”

Hedron replied with a blank stare.

“We’ll see about that,” Diana said. She wasn’t as impressed with these Red Stars as Kent was. They just needed to do their jobs.

A loud thudding noise startled everyone into attention. The doors began to creak open, tiny icicles dropping to the floor. The Red Star soldiers assumed formation, sensing the approach of danger.

Two of the soldiers, muscular young males, approached and pulled the doors open. They stood aside and waited.

Nothing.

“What’s going on?” Kent asked, vocalizing what they all thought.

“Quiet,” said Hedron. “Can you hear it?”

Diana listened. There was faint sound of footsteps. She glanced around. She saw something. A sliver. Like one of the silverfish images your eyes make when you grow tired. She blinked. “There’s someone here,” Diana said.

“Impossible,” Kent replied.

As if on cue, a male soldier stepped forward and pulled out his fighting lance. A ghostly image flickered into view. It wrestled away the lance, and threw the young soldier across the room in seconds.

“Full alert,” Kent shouted, backing away. The other soldiers stepped forward with techno lances at the energy. The whir of energy pulsing through the weapons echoed in the room.

Then, she felt it. Body heat. Next to her. The sound of breathing. She felt a firm hand was on her back. She smiled. It was true. They had discovered invisibility cloaks.

The invisible warrior materialized in an instant. First a shimmer, then the fullness of a thick cloak came into view and dropped to the ground. Ambiorix Brennus.

There was a moment of stillness in the room as if the others didn’t know how to speak. As if they were all unable to take him in. He was a legend, even among Legion Commanders.

Brennus was almost seven feet tall with wide shoulders and a powerful stance. His traditional legion armor was enhanced with thick fur pelts. He carried his fighting lance in his right hand and wore his Terran Republic shield bracelet on his left. His hair was long, a rusty red brown with a thick, full beard. It wasn’t standard military cut, but then Sobek was a wintry world. And Ambiorix Brennus set his own standards.

Diana was transfixed by his horns. Strong, thick bull horns, shined to a polish, decorated with carved runes. Whether or not anyone would call Brennus handsome was a matter of taste, but there was no doubt he was magnificent.

“I apologize for my delay,” Brennus said in a deep, rich voice.

 

MORE FROM ECHO AT CHANGELING PRESS …

Echo Ishii loves to write stories of the fantastic — from high fantasy to high tech and everything in between. She is a long time science fiction fan, as well as a fan of all things fantasy and paranormal — classic sci fi movies, shows, and even radio dramas.

Echo on Twitter: @mrsbookmark.
Echo’s Website: https://www.echoishii.com
Echo’s Blog: https://echoishiizone.wordpress.com

 

 

A Shot at Living by Lou Sylvre #BDSM #ContemporaryRomance #LGBT

A Shot at Living (Vasquez Inc. 3)

Published by Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

Anxious to leave London and its horrors behind, Brian Harrison and Jackie Vasquez move to Los Angeles. Brian hopes working for Luki, managing a small Vasquez Security branch, will leave him more time to live, love, and play with sub Jackie. But Los Angeles awakens old trauma for Jackie, and follows that with a brand new hit.

While Jackie struggles back to health after a crippling accident, Brian strives to find his balance as Jackie’s lover and Dom. Meanwhile, the more Brian defies the order not to investigate the disappearance of the previous branch manager, the deeper and darker the mystery gets.

Can the couple fan the lusty flames still burning between them, rekindle romance, and rise together in time to stand against looming dangers just ahead?

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

or pre-order for December 27th at retailers

 

SNEAK PEEK

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Lou Sylvre

Oak Flats, Nebraska

It seemed like a hundred years since Jackie had woken up to a Midwest snow day, though in reality he’d watched a blustery snowfall outside this very window in his and Josh’s old room in Kaholo’s house less than a year ago. He’d still been a student at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln, and he’d come to visit his great-uncle over the MLK day weekend. He’d gone to bed that night with clouds obscuring a sickle moon, and in that misty light he’d dreamed sweet and sexy dreams of Brian Harrison.

He’d just found Brian again a few weeks earlier, six years after their first meeting — six years after Brian had helped rescue him from a sociopath at a crime lord’s compound in the Umatilla. Back then, Jackie, an already traumatized teen, had instinctively trusted Brian. When they’d met again last year, he still felt that way — intrigued, connected, and totally safe. He imagined at the time that he might have found a friend, a lover, and the Dom of his sub dreams. Hence the hot visions of Brian warming his dreams that wintry night.

Now, a year later, he smiled at the January morning outside his window, watched the frosted branches glitter under a pale sun riding low in a crystal sky, and snuggled back against that very same Brian in the flesh.

Despite calendar proof to the contrary, Jackie felt years older — no doubt because so much had happened in little more than a year’s time. He’d graduated from the University of Nebraska, got together with Brian, and spent four long, frustrating, scary months in London, England. When he’d left the States, he’d known better than to have specific expectations of what London would be like, or the university he’d be attending, or even seeing Brian more and becoming his exclusive lover and sub. But no one could have predicted the horror story those months in England had become.

Some things had been good — specifically the being-Brian’s-lover-and-sub part. Although, truthfully, Brian had been so busy with work that Jackie had spent a lot of frustrated time waiting for him to show or call or answer his phone. He wasn’t quite sure if trying to keep busy and keep his mind off not seeing his boyfriend was part of the reason he’d gotten into such deep, deep shit. But whatever the reason, it had been shit and it certainly did get deep.

Multiple murder deep. Pair of true psychos deep. Jackie’d had to save himself and a friend from them, and he’d pulled it off pretty well. Still, in the end Brian had come to the rescue with exquisite timing.

In the aftermath, Brian had been politely asked to resign his Scotland Yard job, and Jackie had been less than welcome to return to London University — somehow the blame for his psych prof having been a sociopathic murderer had come to rest on Jackie’s own compact, freckled shoulders. He and Brian had decided they would be all too happy to put London behind them. They’d packed up their things, Marley the cat and Soldier the dog, and booked their flights.

“Maybe we’ll come back someday, though,” Brian had said after they’d boarded the plane at Heathrow, U.S. bound. “I’ve lived here more than six years, and up until now, I loved it. If you were with me, I’d love it more.” Jackie would have been willing to talk more about the possibility, but as soon as the plane reached cruising altitude, with its accompanying reduced engine noise and unplugged ears, Brian got horribly, mercilessly airsick. The subject had never come up again, but he supposed it probably would sometime in the next year or two.

Meanwhile here they were, the two of them, still at Kaholo’s house after Christmas and New Year’s. They were enjoying a very long layover on the way to Los Angeles, where Jackie would be continuing to work toward his master’s and then hopefully his doctorate. Brian would soon be working for Luki. He’d been hired to manage the recently abandoned Los Angeles office of Vasquez Security.

Or, make that VSI — Vasquez Security, Incorporated. After recovering from cancer, Luki had taken a giant step back from his close management and daily work with the very successful business and made it a limited corporation, with Jackie, Josh, and Kaholo owning a 29 percent share between them. Luki held on to his own 35 percent while Sonny held 16 percent in his own right, meaning as a married couple they still had a controlling 51 percent of the business. The rest had been divvied up between Josh’s year-old daughter, Jade, a marvelous friend named Margie, and a stock pool for VSI employees. He’d explained to Brian and Jackie that decentralizing had been part of his plan, making branch managers much more independent.

“I guess that means you’re working for yourself, sort of,” Jackie had said to Brian later while they walked a path through the oak trees at dusk, throwing sticks along the way for Bear, Luki’s chow mix, and Soldier, whose white Belgian shepherd coat made him hard to spot in the snow.

“Hah!” Brian smiled and took Jackie’s hand, warming it even through their gloves. “I don’t think there will ever be even a hint of a question about who’s the boss at VSI, to tell the truth.”

Jackie had laughed and teased, “You mean the answer isn’t going to be Brian Harrison?”

Brian had actually snorted at the ridiculous idea. “Hell, Luki’s nickname is ‘Boss.’ I don’t think ‘decentralizing’ went so far as to change that. And besides who would ever want to argue with him?”

But when Jackie spoke to Jude, Luki’s office admin — who also happened to be a very good friend — she snickered.

“He just thinks he’s the boss,” she’d said. “And I let him go on believing.”

 

MORE FROM LOU AT CHANGELING PRESS …

Lou Sylvre loves romance with all its ups and downs, and likes to conjure it into books. The sweethearts on her pages are men who end up loving each other — and usually saving each other from unspeakable danger. It’s all pretty crazy and very, very sexy. As if you’d want to know more, she’ll happily tell you that she is a proudly bisexual woman — a mother, grandmother, lover of languages, and cat-herder — of mixed cultural heritage. She works closely with lead cat and writing assistant, the (male) Queen of Budapest, Boudreau St. Clair. She lives in the rainy part of the Pacific Northwest, and hearing from a reader infallibly brightens the dreary weather. Find her through her links listed here, or drop her a line at lou.sylvre@gmail.com.

 

Cuckold’s for Christmas by Stephanie Burke #Christmas #holidayromance #newrelease #interraciallove

SB_Cuckhold_Graphic2

Published by Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

After having her heart broken by a cheating ex, wealthy and disabled divorcee Emma-Jean Lawson twists her misfortune into an empowering statement… by opening up an all-male strip club named Cuckold’s. Now all she has to do is find her star dancer.

Noel Winters has a big wet problem. The once Principal Dancer for the Paris Ballet has turned to teaching his beloved dance to others after a career ending injury, but now a busted water heater, just in time for Christmas, has him seeking other means of income to keep his business afloat. An ad from Cuckold’s catches his attention. It can’t be that hard being an exotic dancer, can it?

When Emma and Noel meet, there’s an instant attraction, but is sex alone enough to hold a relationship steady? And where did the guys with guns come from? Suddenly their happily ever after is looking grim, but with two of the most magical allies helping along the way, maybe they will pull it together in time to have a happy holiday after all.

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

or pre-order at retailers for December 20th

   

 

For a NSFW SNEAK PEEK visit Changeling Press

 

MORE FROM STEPHANIE AT CHANGELING PRESS …

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.

 

 

Tactical Difficulties by Emily Carrington #ActionAdventure #UrbanFantasy #PNR #LGBTQ #interracial #shifters

Tactical Difficulties (Lady Troubles 3)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight

 

Work and pregnancy are driving Sonya crazy. Her mate’s concern about her well-being isn’t helping because that concern takes the form of overprotectiveness. But when Sonya is kidnapped, she finds strength in herself and her mating bond that she never knew existed.

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Emily Carrington

Maxine stared at her mate. Sonya was lovely, of course, with her cocoa dark skin and cap of short, kinky, beautifully natural hair. Her skin was two or three shades lighter than Maxine’s and her eyes were a breathtaking honey brown. She was even more attractive today because her gaze shone out with triumph.

But how could she feel that way? The LGBTQ psychic werewolves were being discriminated against. Just like always. And this time, it was their own leader who was doing it. And Sonya might be human, not a werewolf like Maxine, but didn’t she understand the plight of her pack family? Her eros, meaning LGBTQ, pack family?

“Tilthos Charles is giving the basilisks permission to overlook us,” she said slowly and rather more loudly than she meant to. “Sonya, don’t you understand that? He’s saying, ‘sure, ignore and belittle a subsection of my people. That’s just fine.’ And you’re sitting there… smiling!”

Sonya’s grin became a smirk. “It sounds like you’re gainsaying the alpha above all alphas.”

Maxine started to speak. “Okay,” she said carefully, “that is what it sounded like. But he’s not here to listen in and…” She shook her head, her braids thumping gently against her shoulders. “What I really don’t get is why you’re happy about it.”

“Because, quite frankly, my dear, it won’t last. The basilisks want to shoot themselves in the foot by not including the most willing participants in their little genetic experiment? When all the packs in North America were polled, it was the eros packs who responded most positively to giving their DNA. All werewolves should respond favorably because learning about basilisk reproduction could conceivably help werewolves carry pups more easily. But if the straight wolves are reluctant because of tradition or secrets or secret traditions? And if the basilisks only want straight DNA?” She laughed. “Let them fuck themselves over.”

Now Maxine saw the joke and she chuckled. Then she asked her beloved, “Will you make love to me?”

Sonya’s eyes widened playfully and her humor was replaced with a devilish look. “How fast can you get undressed?”

It actually took a few minutes because as Maxine removed each article of clothing, shoes and socks, jeans shorts, bikini panties, and skintight T-shirt, Sonya wanted to stroke the newly exposed skin.

Maxine paused dramatically before taking off her bra and fake boobs. Maxine was a transgender wolf, a male to female that would have been called a transwoman if she’d been human. She thought of herself as female, even at the times when her cock ruled her head, because she was not a guy no matter how she’d been born. She’d figured out her transgender self when her name was Maximillian and that little kid had been seven. This had been a good century before the word “transgender” was even in use.

They were at a pause, with Maxine’s fake boobs on the nightstand. Maxine tried to push past the memories, but Sonya had already seen something was up. She’d stopped her striptease and was patting the bed next to her, inviting Maxine to sit.

Feeling foolish, she sat. “I’m sorry. I just… drifted.”

“Tell me?” Sonya offered softly. And she took Maxine’s hands.

Maxine looked down at the beauty of their two skin tones. It was sort of like looking at a wood carving. Somehow majestic even as it was soothing. Also, this time with Sonya was undeniably theirs, something no one could take away.

“I don’t want to waste –” she began.

“Hush. Time with you is never wasted.”

Maxine eased beneath that gentle murmur. “I don’t usually give a shit about my penis and balls,” she said. “And I don’t really now, except that they made you pregnant.”

Sonya waited.

That was one of the things Maxine loved about her. Leaning forward, she kissed her mate, slipping her tongue into Sonya’s warm and welcoming mouth. When she had the strength to go on, she sat back. “I don’t regret our coming pups. Never think it. But I’m feeling sort of guilty for the sperm that took over your body.”

Sonya grinned but she sounded absolutely serious when she said, “I love you for saying so, Maxine. You’re such a woman when you say things like that.” She did laugh then. “And here I thought I wasn’t a lesbian.” She rested a hand on Maxine’s thigh and then ran one finger up the half erect shaft between Maxine’s legs.

Maxine shuddered with pleasure.

“I’m so lucky to have a trans wolf with a female’s heart, a male’s parts, and a warrior’s spirit in my bed. Don’t regret what I’m glad happened.” She colored a little, and then she stood. “Now, will you let me finish stripping for my mate? She’s made me wet and I want to lose my underwear.”

 

More from Emily at Changeling Press …

 

A Shot of J&B by Lou Sylvre #BDSM #GayRomance #interraciallove #NewRelease @Sylvre

A Shot of J&B (Vasquez Inc. 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

When Brian Harrison first met Jackie Vasquez at a Hawaiian wedding, Jackie was sixteen and troubled. Six years later they meet again; Brian’s career at Scotland Yard is budding with promise, while Jackie’s student days at the University of Nebraska are rolling toward a strong finish. Magnetic mutual attraction pulls them insistently toward one another, but the ocean separating their lives makes for a simmering romance.

When the waiting ends and they get together for a weekend in Denver, Dom Brian and sub Jackie both know they’ve tapped into something scalding hot, and much deeper than sharing an artful session. Shibari, lust, and love are all on the agenda — but for Brian, so is his police career, and a strange series of crimes seems poised to threaten their romance — and maybe their lives.

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

or pre-order for November 1st at retailers

   

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Lou Sylvre

Port Clifton’s shops yielded gifts for Brian’s hosts: a huge bouquet of red and white lilies accented with ferns, salal, and baby’s breath; a six-pack of Full Sail Amber Ale; a bottle of 2009 La Lagune, Haut-Médoc — a fine cabernet from France, the merchant said — and Batdorf and Bronson’s Sulawesi Toraja coffee, which the label promised to be earthy and sweet with hints of pineapple and black pepper. He hadn’t planned on so much, but he hadn’t been able to decide if Sonny would love the rich colors of the flowers more, or his favorite ale, or if Luki would get more pleasure out of the fine French wine or a special coffee. He knew it could be seen as an embarrassment of riches, so to speak, but he hoped his friends would understand.

As he approached the door, he faced the more immediate problem of how to knock while juggling it all, but he needn’t have worried. Sonny must have seen him stumbling from his car, and he swung the door wide just as Brian arrived.

“Come in,” Sonny said, and calmly unburdened him, laying the presents carefully aside so he could wrap his long arms around Brian in an enthusiastic hug, which he obviously considered a proper greeting. He let go and backed away a step. “Good to see you!”

The wonderful thing about Sonny, Brian thought, was that he never would have said such a thing if he didn’t really mean it. Brian’s own smile grew, and he nodded. “You too,” he said. “I brought you flowers and beer.”

“Thank you!” Sonny laughed. “Such wisdom in one so young.”

“And coffee and wine for Luki,” Brian added, having no idea what else to say or why he was stating the obvious.

Luki strode up just then, apron clad, and chestnut curls — sprinkled now with silver, Brian noticed — in disarray. “Perfect,” he said. “What Sonny said — wisdom!”

Luki’s face seemed so familiar yet transformed somehow. He didn’t grin, but he smiled a little, and joy fairly danced in the pale eyes that most often used to seem so cold. Brian knew Luki had survived a nearly fatal bout with lung cancer — in remission less than a year — and he thought maybe that had given him some gift of contentment. But after Luki thanked him and gave him a quick hug, Brian saw his gaze settle on Sonny, and he recognized that the true source of Luki’s joy was his husband, and the love that had deepened through the years they’d spent together.

Distracted by the familiar wave of envy he always felt in the presence of this couple, wishing he could somehow express it, Brian missed much of what Sonny said as he followed them to the kitchen. He tried to marshal his attention back to the present, and caught Sonny saying he didn’t think he’d ever seen lilies so red. Brian nodded, and murmured agreement, but then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

He turned toward the motion, and there stood Jackie Vasquez. All grown up — and apparently fresh from a shower. December sun poured through a window at his left, and it lit the red in his hair, making it smolder despite being darkened with damp. Brian hadn’t noticed before that Jackie’s gray eyes were like a warmer version of Luki’s blue, very pale, and similar in size and shape. Perhaps it was a trait traceable to Luki’s father — Jackie’s grandfather. But there the similarity stopped. While Luki’s pale eyes shone in contrast to his brown skin, Jackie’s somehow harmonized with his pale, dark-haired, dark-freckled coloring. The effect, though, seemed to Brian no less singular.

After a few seconds, Brian realized that while he had been standing there silently analyzing the evidence of a common gene pool between the two remarkable-looking men, Jackie had actually been speaking to him.

“Jackie,” Brian said, then thought to add, “Um, it’s good to see you again.”

“You seem surprised.” Jackie absentmindedly scratched at the center of his chest, which was bare and still damp, and where fine russet hairs formed a diamond between healthy, smooth pecs that clearly belonged to a man. Nothing boyish remained in Jackie’s physique, though he still had what might be called a boyish smile, or youthful, at least.

“Yes,” Brian nodded. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I had no idea you would be here.”

Luki spoke up. “We didn’t expect him to be here, Brian, or I would probably have mentioned it on the phone. He was supposed to fly out yesterday.”

“I got bumped,” Jackie explained, and shook his head, apparently unhappy with the airline. “So the uncles agreed to put up with me for another day, and Sonny said he’d drive me to the airport tonight.”

Brian felt a little tongue-tied, which wasn’t a familiar feeling at all. He nodded.

Jackie squinted and cocked his head to the side. “I mean it, though, Brian. I’m glad to have a chance to talk to you. I… I don’t remember things clearly from… but I know you did a lot, and I’ve always wanted to thank you in person.”

That shook Brian’s tongue loose, and he said, “Jackie, there is nothing at all for you to thank me for. I’m glad I was there and was some help. I’m grateful you came through okay.”

Brian saw color rise in the pale skin between the freckles of Jackie’s cheeks. Jackie bit his bottom lip — very reminiscent of his Uncle Luki — and then looked away. He glanced back, said, “Well, I’d better put clothes on… I mean, a shirt… You know.”

Brian heard Sonny giggling. A delightful and always unexpected sound.

“Hurry up, Jackie,” Luki said. “Food’s on the table.”

 

More from Lou at Changeling Press …

Lou Sylvre loves romance with all its ups and downs, and likes to conjure it into books. The sweethearts on her pages are men who end up loving each other — and usually saving each other from unspeakable danger. It’s all pretty crazy and very, very sexy. As if you’d want to know more, she’ll happily tell you that she is a proudly bisexual woman — a mother, grandmother, lover of languages, and cat-herder — of mixed cultural heritage. She works closely with lead cat and writing assistant, the (male) Queen of Budapest, Boudreau St. Clair. She lives in the rainy part of the Pacific Northwest, and hearing from a reader infallibly brightens the dreary weather. Find her through her links listed here, or drop her a line at lou.sylvre@gmail.com.

 

Wire (Dixie Reapers MC) by Harley Wylde #MCromance #bikerbooks #Bikers #NewAdult #RomanceBooks #NewRelease @HarleyW_Writer @changelingpress

HW_DixieReapers13_bryan

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

Lavender: My parents weren’t the type to win any awards, but I did learn a few things. Like how to read lines of code and get through the backdoor of pretty much any site or program. I also learned about the man my mother had dated when she’d met my dad, someone who has intrigued me for years. I never thought I’d get the chance to meet him, until my parents end up dead and I can’t think of anyone else who might be able to help. I know too much, know my parents’ deaths weren’t an accident, and now I’ve been targeted. If the infamous Voodoo Tracer can’t help me, then I’m screwed.

Reality is so much better than fantasy, and with one look, I know the reason I haven’t dated is because I was waiting. For him.

Wire: I never really expected my past to come knocking at the front gates, nor did I expect it to be in such a sexy package. Lavender isn’t what I’d call a siren, but with her glasses perched on her nose, her messy hair, curvy figure, and adorable tees, she’s exactly what I want and don’t need. A nerdy, geeky, superintelligent woman who craves me as much as I crave her. So I did what any man would do… I claimed her. Now she’s mine, and if an enemy from my past thinks he can hurt her, I’d like to see him try. He might have killed her parents, but I will destroy anyone who tries to take her from me.

 

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or Pre-Order for October 11th at retailers

   

 

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Harley Wylde

Lavender

The infamous hacker, or more accurately cracker, Voodoo Tracer, hadn’t been all that hard to find. My mother had always said if anything happened to her I should track down the guy she’d dated before marrying my dad. I’d heard the story a million times, about how they’d all been friends but she’d fallen for Dad and hurt the guy she’d been dating. He’d left and never returned. Mom had lost track of him, but it hadn’t take much digging for me to find his current location, which told me he wasn’t really hiding. A guy like him didn’t leave a door open unless he wanted someone to use it.

While my mom and dad were hackers and worked for a lot of companies, trying to find the weak spots in their security so the companies could improve them, men like Voodoo Tracer took advantage of those weak spots to get whatever information they wanted. Mom had never approved of Voodoo’s need to crack government and banking sites. From what she’d said, back then, he never took anything vital. He’d mostly done it because he could. I couldn’t say for certain what he’d been up to lately.

I didn’t really walk either path, but tended to dabble a bit in both. Like the infamous Voodoo, I mostly liked to see how far I could get somewhere I shouldn’t be. If I were as nice as my mom and dad, I’d then turn that information over to the companies so they could keep other people out. Then again, they weren’t exactly paying me for my help, so why give it? I wasn’t an angel by any means, but I wasn’t precisely a devil either. I operated in those murky shades of gray.

I’d known how easy it would be for some to trace my phone, or the built-in GPS on my car, so I’d left both behind. The bus hadn’t been the most comfortable option to ride to Alabama, and I’d paid cash so there wouldn’t be a credit card trail, but now that I was here, I had to wonder if I’d made a huge mistake. The walk to the Dixie Reapers compound wasn’t that far, but the place seemed a bit imposing as I approached the gates. I’d walked what felt like miles of fenceline, although that was surely not the case. Razor wire topped it, and I had to wonder just what they were trying to keep out. Or was it more what they wanted to keep in?

The guy standing guard didn’t seem much older than me, and I noticed the way he scanned me from head to toe. I probably wasn’t the type of woman who typically came to this sort of place. My Converse were well-worn, my jeans ripped along my thighs and knees, and I had on my favorite Dark Crystal T-shirt, which had faded over time. I hadn’t thought much about my appearance and had tossed my hair up in a messy bun. With my thick-lensed glasses perched on my nose, I probably looked like I should be in school right now. If it weren’t for my curves, I’d never pass for my real age.

“You must be lost,” the man said, then pointed back behind me. “Town is back that way.”

“I’m not lost.” I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder. “I’m here to see Voodoo Tracer.”

The man stared and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “No one here by that name. So I think you really are lost.”

My brow furrowed. I’d assumed his club would know him by that name. From what little research I’d managed before taking this trip, I’d learned that some clubs preferred to use a road name and kept their real names private. If Voodoo followed that belief, this guy may not know his birth name. It was foolish to think whatever the club called him would be the same name he went by when he was cracking codes.

“Hang on. I have a picture, but it’s really old.” I slid the strap off my shoulder and dug in my backpack. I withdrew the picture of Voodoo with my mom, Seraph, and my dad, Doc Paradox. I’d stared at this picture a lot over the years. I’d found it shoved into a box in the top of Mom’s closet a while back. The ginger-haired young man had drawn my attention. He couldn’t have been older than sixteen or seventeen at the time it was taken, but even back then he’d been more than just cute. I knew he’d be my parents’ age now, but I’d often wished I could meet a guy like him.

Showing the picture to the guy, his eyes went wide.

“Holy shit, is that Wire?” he asked.

“Um. Maybe. I don’t know his club name. I only know his hacker name.”

The man nodded. “That would be Wire, then. I’ll have to call him down here. I’m not letting you in uninvited. You don’t exactly look like the type to party at the clubhouse.”

If that was code for sleep with random men, then no, I wasn’t. Not even a little. I took a step back as he made his call and took the time to check out the place behind the fence. There was a building with Dixie Reapers across the top in neon letters, and a lot of houses down either side of the road. As I strained to get a better look, I thought I saw a playground, but that was ridiculous. What type of biker compound had a playground? The fatigue must be getting to me. It seemed I was now hallucinating.

“He asked who else is in the picture,” the guy said.

“Tell him Seraph and Doc Paradox.” I swallowed hard. “They were my parents.”

He relayed the information, and I hoped that Wire would come and hear me out. If things had really ended as badly as my mom had said, then he might refuse to see me. She’d not gone into a lot of detail, just said she’d picked my dad over Voodoo. Knowing my mother, there was a good chance she’d omitted part of the story. Coming here was a gamble I’d been willing to take. Whatever Mom and Dad had been into, it had gotten them killed. Thanks to me nosing around, I now worried that I might meet the same fate. I didn’t know anything about the man Wire was now, but the kid who had grown up with my parents had been the type to help those in need, even if he hadn’t done it the legal way. I was counting on that still being true.

The rumble of a motorcycle started out faint and then got louder. I saw a rider with copper-colored hair approaching from down the road and as he came to a stop on the other side of the gate, my heart flipped, flopped, then took off at a gallop. Holy hell! Mom had thrown over this guy for my dad? What the hell had she been thinking? He didn’t even remotely look like a hacker. Nor was he the gangly teen from the photo I’d brought. Yeah, he’d been handsome back then, but now? Shit. I was almost certain my panties were getting wet just looking at him. His heather gray tee stretched tight across his broad chest, and the leather cut just added to the sex appeal. The denim hugging his thighs was as worn as mine, with a few well-placed holes, and did nothing to hide how muscular he was, especially for a geeky computer nerd.

Definitely nothing like my dad. I’d loved my father, but time hadn’t been kind to him. He’d had lines around his eyes, and what my mother fondly called his spare tired around the middle, from long days and nights at the computer. This guy didn’t have that problem. Hell, he didn’t even look my parents’ age.

Wire swung a leg over his bike and came closer, removing the sunglasses that had shielded his eyes from me. Green, and so damn pretty. It was a sin for a man to have eyelashes that long and thick. Dammit. My nipples were getting stiff. I swallowed hard, wondering why my body was betraying me. I’d never had a physical response to a guy, even when I thought they were hot. Until now. The beard covering his jaw made my fingers itch to reach out and touch it. Would it be coarse or soft? I’d always had a weak spot for gingers, and he had to be the sexiest one I’d ever seen.

 

Find more from Harley at Changeling Press …

Short. Erotic. Sweet. Harley’s other half would probably say those words describe her, but they also describe her books. When Harley is 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.

Harley’s Website: https://harleywylde.com/