Drop Dead Sexy by Kiernan Kelly #PNR #RomCom #GayRomance #LGBT #Zombies @changelingpress @KiernanKelly

Can love eternal exist for those who are dead but not gone?
It takes a brave zombie to find out.

 

Drop Dead Sexy (Duet) (Drop Dead Sexy 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Paranormal, Zombies, Romantic Comedy, Gay

 

The dead have arisen, and all they want is their old lives back. Can love eternal exist for those who are dead but not gone? It takes a brave zombie to find out.

As Serious as the Grave: Tyler was only dead for a couple of hours before he reanimated, and he’s still handsome and drop dead sexy. What makes his unnatural life worth living? Daniel, a big hunk who just might be the special person Tyler’s spent his life looking for. Will his chance for a lifetime of love with Daniel be taken away before they even get started?

Lights, Camera, Zombies! Jericho’s never been one to shy away from the facts of life… and death… and re-life. Not everyone gets the memo that Zombies are humans with rights, however. When his life is threatened on the set of a new movie, Jericho and his lover, Dex, must decide which is more important, their Zombie pride or their lives.

Publisher’s Note: Drop Dead Sexy (Duet) contains the previously published novellas Serious As the Grave and Lights, Camera, Zombie by Kiernan Kelly.

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Kiernan Kelly
Excerpt from As Serious as the Grave

“Payday,” a voice called. The wall of Tyler’s cubicle shuddered as the mailroom clerk, a skinny intern with bad skin and a prominent Adam’s apple, banged his fist against it.

Tyler accepted his paycheck, noticing that the kid’s hand was shaking. No matter how long it had been since the undead had rejoined the ranks of the living, some folks were still gun shy about having to interact with them. “Thanks, Steven,” he said, smiling.

Steven nodded curtly, quickly backing out of the office. Tyler watched the mail cart zip by the door to his cubicle, and shook his head. The kid had worked for the company for nearly six months, but Tyler still scared the shit of out him. If Tyler frightened him, he wondered how Steven dealt with someone like Will Fenton, who looked like a Rob Zombie wet dream.

Turning his attention back to the computer monitor that glowed on his desk, Tyler typed in a string of numbers in rapid succession, and hit “print.” The printer whirred and began spitting out the pages of the report.

“Hey, Tyler, ready to go?”

Looking up, Tyler saw Daniel Norris’ bright blue, bespectacled eyes blinking at him from over the edge of the cubicle wall. A lock of his curling, thick black hair fell over his forehead, giving him a distinctly Clark Kent-ish look.

“Be ready in a minute. Need to get the VanHilton report to Barry before I can leave. He’s been yammering for it all afternoon.”

“The meeting with the VanHilton people isn’t until the end of next week! Barry’s just busting your balls, Tyler. Quitting time is five o’clock, and the fucking jack-off knows it. I swear, the man’s asshole must weep with envy over the amount of shit that comes out of his mouth.”

Tyler laughed, nodding his head. “I know it. But it’s printing now. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

“Well, hurry up. There’s a pitcher of Bud with our names on it waiting for us down at The Pit.”

“We don’t have to go to The Pit again, Daniel.”

“We always go to The Pit. It’s traditional on Friday nights.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, The Pit is a gay bar, Danny, and you’re straight, remember? Why do you want to hang out there? We could go to the Ale House instead,” Tyler offered.

“Because you need to get laid. Just hurry up, will you? It gets crowded in there on Friday nights. I want to get there before we end up standing in a corner holding up the walls. I’ll meet you in the garage.” Daniel’s head disappeared behind the cubicle wall, and Tyler shook his head, watching Daniel’s shadow ghost behind the opaque glass as he walked away.

Scooping up the pages of the report, Tyler stapled them together neatly. Powering down his computer, he quickly cleaned off his desk. Slipping on his leather jacket, he left his cubicle, depositing the report in Barry’s inbox on his way out of the office.

Barry, Tyler noticed, had already left for the night. Guess the world wasn’t going to end if he didn’t have the report in his fat sausage fingers before five after all, Tyler thought wryly. Not that Tyler had ever believed otherwise. Daniel was right — Barry was an asshole.

“Night, Will,” Tyler called as he passed cubicle 17. A line of cardboard evergreen air fresheners had been strung across the cubicle wall, poor defense against the odor that clung to it in a nearly visible cloud. Will was a sweet guy, but none too fresh.

Will’s answer was his normal sludgy, wet grunt. Poor guy – it was hard to be articulate when you didn’t have lips and your larynx resembled Swiss cheese.

Making his way out to the parking garage, Tyler felt a pang of loss as he passed between the rows of shiny sedans and SUV’s. His own less-than-gently-used Chevy had finally died for good less than a month ago, and unlike its owner, there was no hope of resurrection for it. He hadn’t yet found a suitable replacement that was decent and still within his means. Since its untimely death at just over 225,000 miles, he’d been carpooling with Daniel.

Not for the first time since his reawakening, Tyler thanked whatever Powers watched over fools and dead men for Daniel Norris. He’d been Tyler’s best friend for years before Tyler had died, and had blithely continued their relationship afterward, as if there hadn’t been twelve hours in between when Tyler had been stiffer than a monk’s erection.

A slightly tinny horn sounded, hurrying Tyler to Daniel’s dark blue Honda. He tossed his briefcase into the trunk before folding his six-foot frame into the passenger side bucket seat. No sooner had he clicked in his seatbelt than Daniel had the car in motion, heading toward The Pit.

 

MORE BOOKS BY KIERNAN KELLY

Kiernan’s stories of gay romance envelop diverse themes ranging from paranormal to fantasy, and science fiction to contemporary romance. She has fifteen novels currently in print and ebook, and over eighty shorter works available in both mediums. Contrary to popular opinion, she is not a zombie. Yet.

HAVOC by Harley Wylde #MCromance #bikerromance #NewRelease #NewAdult #olderhero #MayDecember @HarleyW_Writer @changelingpress

I saw her and knew I couldn’t walk away.
I just didn’t realize I’d want to keep her. Forever.

 

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Contemporary, Romantic Comedy,
MC Romance, New Adult, Silver Fox

Jordan — I spent a year in prison for a crime I admittedly did commit, but I had a good reason. I was supposed to serve a longer sentence, but a handsy guard and a pissed-off warden who wanted me to keep quiet meant I got out early. My brothers have abandoned me, and there’s nowhere for me to go. Until the hottest man I’ve ever met decides to be my knight on shining Harley. He only thinks he knows me though, and if he ever finds out I was locked up for a violent crime he might walk away. For some reason, the thought sends me into a panic. Havoc isn’t at all what I’m used to, but maybe he’s just what I need.

Havoc — No way the pretty blonde was doing hard time for anything bad. Just looking into her eyes, I can see how sweet she is. There’s a vulnerability there that makes me want to wrap her in my arms and never let her go. When I find out the same prison that nearly killed me was trying to cover up another incident, one involving the woman I can’t stop staring at — the goddess with the body of a porn star — fury flows through me. Whatever it takes, I’ll keep her safe, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that what happens in that prison doesn’t stay there. Whoever hurt her will be coming, and I’m going to be ready for them. No one touches what’s mine, and Jordan may not realize it but I’m not letting her go.

WARNING: Contains some violence, a lot of bad language, super hot scenes that may require cold showers, a sassy sarcastic heroine, and a badass biker who won’t stop until he has what he wants.

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Harley Wylde

While I’d been locked up my Nikes had mysteriously vanished. I’d been given prison issued flip-flops to wear home instead. Not only were they hideous, but I could feel every damn pebble in the road as I walked toward what I hoped was the nearest town.

The prison I’d been sentenced to wasn’t near my home area, and I honestly didn’t have a fucking clue how to get back without someone picking me up. My money wouldn’t buy me a bus ticket, or much else for that matter. I seriously doubted that motel rooms had dropped in price enough for me to get one, which meant I would be sleeping outside if I couldn’t find a way to reach one of my bonehead brothers, and hope the jackass actually came to get me. Unlike Dopey.

The sun beat down on me and sweat trickled down my spine. I could feel my hair sticking to my neck and wished I had a way to pull it up. I hadn’t gotten it cut while I was locked up and it was now nearly down to my waist. As I looked off in the distance, the road looked a little hazy and I wondered just how fucking hot it was today. Summer in Florida was no fucking joke. I paused when I heard a rustle off to my right and my gut clenched. Please don’t be a hungry gator.

A rabbit bounded out of the brush and darted across the road, making me sigh in relief that it wasn’t something about to make a snack out of me. I kept walking, but it felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the prison in the distance and figured I’d probably walked two or three miles. Nowhere near far enough, since I still didn’t see any sign of a town on the horizon.

The longer I walked, the drier my throat became. My legs felt like they would give out at any moment, but I trudged onward. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice. If I was lucky, Dopey would finally show up at the prison and someone would tell him which direction I took. I wasn’t entirely sure he’d come after me though. My brothers acted like it was entirely my fault I’d been in prison. And maybe I did need to control my temper better, but I’d been defending my family! That should have counted for something, right?

Apparently not.

I could feel my body swaying and dots were swimming across my vision. Had it gotten even hotter? My mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and my limbs were getting heavier. The next step I took, I went down hard on the pavement. As much as I fought to get up, I just couldn’t do it. Instead, I fell forward and just lay there, panting and wondering if I was about to die after having survived a year in hell.

A roar filled my ears and made my eardrums vibrate. I wondered if it was a common sound to hear when you were dying. The sound came closer, got louder, then shut off. I heard someone say a string of bad words that would have a made a sailor proud, then heavy steps came toward me.

“Miss? Hey, you all right?”

Whoever he was, his voice was deep and rich. I struggled to open my eyes, but everything was a big blur. I got the impression of a rather massive man dressed in black, and that was about it. Before I could say or do anything, I could feel myself slipping away again. The man cursed once more, then I was lifted into his arms. I heard more bikes and what sounded like a loud truck or SUV. I tried to focus on the voices, but I couldn’t keep up with the conversation.

Something cool and wet was placed against my lips and I eagerly slurped the water.

“Easy,” someone said. “Don’t want to get sick.”

They took the bottle of water away and I whined, wanting more.

“Let’s get her into the truck. The AC has been running and we need to lower her body temp. She’s burning up,” said another voice.

“I didn’t see a vehicle broken down anywhere. You think some asshole kicked her out of their car?”

Now that voice I recognized. The man who had first stopped to help me. My savior. Well, I hoped that’s what he would be. If they had something nefarious planned for me, I honestly didn’t have the strength to fight them.

The icy air coasted over my skin as someone laid me across the seat of the truck. Eventually, I was able to open my eyes and focus a bit more. A group of big bikers were staring into the vehicle. One of them helped me sit up and drink some more water.

“How long you been out here, sweetheart?” a giant with red hair asked. It was the man who had stopped to help. The one with the voice I could listen to all day and never grow tired of.

“Don’t know. Since ten o’clock?” I said, my voice croaking a bit.

“Ten?” an Asian man asked, his eyebrows shooting upward. “Damn. That was five hours ago. Where the hell were you going on foot?”

“Town.”

“Sweetheart, town is another ten miles down the road,” the redhead said. “Why are you on the side of the road? Some asshole kick you out of the car?”

“My brother was supposed to give me a ride. He never showed.”

The men shared a look then the redhead’s gaze sharpened on me. “A ride? From where?”

I licked my lips and looked away, but he reached out and forced me to look him in the eye. Something about his gaze made me want to answer his question, like I needed to obey.

“The prison,” I said. “They released me today and my brother was supposed to pick me up.”

“Shit.” One of them stalked off then came back. “How long were you inside?”

“A year.” Which was the truth. It just hadn’t been the full sentence I was supposed to serve. I wasn’t about to volunteer that information, though. I hoped they didn’t ask why I’d been locked up. All I wanted was a ride to town, and maybe a way to call my brothers and see if one of them would come get me.

“Just a year?” the Asian man asked. “Drugs?”

“No. I’ve never taken or sold drugs.”

“Prostitution?” the redhead asked.

I stared at him. “Really? I look like a whore? Thanks.”

He shrugged then his gaze landed on my bare legs. I felt my cheeks warm, but my face was probably so red from the sun it wasn’t noticeable. Even if he wasn’t painting me in a flattering light, he was probably the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. Not in that pretty boy kind of way, but in a rough, rugged, and manly type of way. His red hair gleamed in the sunlight and the full beard along his jaw made me wonder if it was as soft as it looked. When he lifted his blue gaze from my legs, I knew I’d remember that heated look of his for a long-ass time.

“What’s your name, darlin’?”

 

WHERE TO FIND HARLEY…

harleywylde.com

Harley on Facebook

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.

New at Changeling Press #NewRelease #LGBT #RomanceBooks #romanticcomedy @changelingpress @willaokati ‏@AnneKane @mrsbookmark

It’s release day at Changeling Press! Check out the newest books from Echo Ishii, Anne Kane, and Willa Okati! Each of these titles is available now direct from the publisher and are available for pre-order at Amazon, B&N, iTunes, and Kobo for October 5th.

 

Raw Materials (Roosters 9)

 

Genres/Themes: Contemporary, Gay, Interracial

Get it at Changeling Press

 

When self-help guru Edward Vincent offers very personalized coaching, Graham finds he can’t resist….

 

 

 

 

One Hot Fairy Tale

 

Genres/Themes: Paranormal, Romantic Comedy, Elves Dragons and Magical Creatures

Get it at Changeling Press

 

When a sexy genie sets out to capture the tooth fairy, who knows what mayhem will ensue!

 

 

 

The Mighty Casey (Duet)

 

Genres/Themes: Contemporary, Romantic Comedy, Gay

Get it at Changeling Press

Get the Paperback

 

Nate takes his lover out to the ball game. Who knows what might happen when Casey’s up at bat?

 

 

 

 

 

 

To My Muse by Nicola M. Cameron #RomanceBooks #RomCom @YesItsNicolaC

Ever do something really, really dumb?

When too much tequila and an enabling BFF put Lily Nayar’s romance novel Feast of Lovers into the hands of its inspiration, sexy British actor Tom Morrison, Lily is horrified. Now she’s determined to get her book back, even if that means breaking into Tom’s hotel room to do it.

With the help of a strategic lie and a charismatic knight, Lily’s screwball plan catapults her into the middle of her very own Cinderella story, Hollywood style. But will a vengeful actress ruin Lily’s shot at a real life HEA with Tom?

Excerpt available here.

  • Contemporary romance, romantic comedy, MF
  • Word Count: 67,000
  • Heat Level 2
  • Published By: Belaurient Press

Excerpt

Giving Theresa a thumbs up, I closed the door and turned my attention to the hotel room. It had already been cleaned and the bed was neatly made. A suitcase sat on the valet stand next to the TV, and the dresser and desk held various pieces of paper, notes, and a couple of plastic shopping bags, all the usual stuff when you’re stuck in a hotel room for a couple of weeks.

Of course, the fangirl part of my brain was screeching like a gibbon at me that I was in Tom Morrison’s hotel room. He’d slept in that very bed last night. Sat at that desk to check his email and Facebook. Took a dump behind the closed door of what I assumed was the bathroom. The prosaic nature of that last bit helped me regain some self-control, and I tiptoed (why, I don’t know, I’m an idiot) over to the desk. There was what looked like a script for GearShifter on it, as well as a MacBook Pro, but no Feast of Lovers. Bad Tom, no leaving your expensive computer equipment out where people can steal it.

I wanted to leaf through the script so badly, but I ignored it and kept looking for Feast. Not on the desk top, not on the dresser, not on the TV. I was starting to worry that he’d taken it with him to the location when I noticed the suitcase. I truly, honestly hated the idea of going through his personal stuff, but he might have stuck it in there. I could just lift the lid, take a peek, maybe it was in plain sight—

I had the lid in hand when the bathroom door swung open and a tall, beautiful blonde in a towel strutted out. “I thought I heard you—” she purred, before she saw me. Both face and tone iced over. “Who the hell are you?”

I let out a noise that could have been used as a sound effect for a creaking vault door. The blonde stalked closer, looming over me. Up close, I could see some fine lines around her eyes, but she was still ridiculously gorgeous. “What are you doing here?” she snapped.

Oh. Oh, shit. My brain informed me that I was currently sharing a room with Claudine Ellery, the actress playing Tom’s antagonist/love interest on the show. What the hell was she doing in his bathroom? Were they dating in real life? Why was I asking stupid questions when I should be turning and running for my freaking life?

And then Fate decided that she needed an even bigger chuckle because the room door opened and Tom Morrison walked in. I caught a glimpse of an apologetic Theresa hovering in the hallway before she was eclipsed by Tom, who was staring at Claudine and me.

Oh, God. He was even better looking in person. Not all actors are, but Tom—he was edible. Curly black hair, eyes the color of dark chocolate, and lips that I’d wanted to kiss since the first time I saw him on screen. With faded jeans that fit him perfectly, a dusty white button-down with rolled up sleeves, just the right amount of chest hair peeping out of his collar, and the cutest smudge of dust across one laser-sharp cheekbone, he was every one of my fantasies come to warm, tall life right in front of me.

And I had broken into his hotel room.

That was it. I was going to jail, assuming that the cops didn’t just see “brown person” and shoot me when they got here. At the very least I’d get fired from Golden State. Mom and Dad would disown me, Dada and Dadi would die of shame, and Derek would probably take out an ad in the LA Times saying that I was adopted. My only hope was that Theresa had gotten the hell out of here. There was no reason for both of us to go down for my stupidity—

“Lilian, darling, what are you doing here?”

My brain skidded to a halt. Words had come out of Tom Morrison’s mouth. Friendly words. While he was staring directly at me. Looking, if I may say so, as if he was talking to someone he knew. Which he didn’t, because I may not have remembered sending him my book but I would definitely remember meeting him.

“Um. Hi?” I waved weakly.

“I thought you decided not to come out this weekend.” He crossed to me, slipping an arm around my shoulders as he stared at Claudine. He squeezed my shoulder once, kind of hard, then did it again.

Even with my brain in fangirl vapor lock I can take a hint. I had no idea how he knew who I was, but he wanted me to play along. Plastering a grin on my face, I slipped my arm around his waist and squeezed back. His torso felt like warm rock, and he smelled so good.

“Well, I figured I needed a road trip,” I extemporized, giving him a bright smile. “And I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Not at all, angel,” he purred. Up close, I could see a hint of relief in his eyes. It disappeared as he turned to Claudine. “Claud, why are you in my room wearing a towel?” he asked politely.

She planted hands on slim hips, cocking her head to the side. “Seriously? You have to ask why?”

“Yes, because if I remember correctly, I told you that I had no interest in going to bed with you. In fact, I’m quite sure I informed you of this on numerous occasions. And when I walk into my hotel room and see you wearing nothing but terrycloth while my girlfriend,” this time his squeeze was gentle, “is standing there looking gobsmacked, I have to wonder what the actual fuck you’re up to.”

My face went rigid as it tried to hold onto my smile. Girlfriend? Eeeeeeeee…


Where to Buy

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Smashwords | iTunes | Print


About the Author

Nicola Cameron is an expatriate Chicagoan who has lived in England, Canada, Holland, and Sweden, and keeps a confusing amalgamation of languages in her head as a result. Currently located in the clavicle of Texas, she has finally mastered the proper use of “y’all,” much to her Chicago family’s dismay.

Despite a healthy interest in romance and sex since puberty, it wasn’t until 2012 that Nicola decided to try writing about it. As it turned out, the skills she picked up during her SF writing career transferred rather nicely to speculative romance. When not writing, she wrangles cats, smooches her husband, makes dolls of dubious and questionable identity, and thanks almighty Cthulhu that she doesn’t have to work for a major telecommunications company any more (because there’s BDSM, and then there’s just plain torture…).

 

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