Friday, September 4, 2015

Cover Reveal - Ellie Mack's Red Wine & Roses


I just love, love, love book covers and cover reveals! I am also quite fond of our visiting author today. Ellie and I have been online friends and sprinting buddies for a couple years now. I am just tickled every shade of pink to be able to take part in the cover reveal for her first novel, Red Wine & Roses! 






Blurb:
Julia Mathers has had bad dates, but the blind date for a New Year’s Eve party takes the cake. Derek Snow, a sexy ambitious lawyer has definite plans for his future and a relationship is the furthest thing from his mind. 
From their first meeting, the fireworks fly as the embers of passion ignite into  a blazing inferno. Until Derek's ex, a fashion model has designs of her own.
As Julia works to overcome her insecurities, Derek realizes a love he can't deny, but is he too late?
This contemporary romance takes the reader on a treacherous journey of love, betrayal, heartbreak and self-discovery.





Buy Links:

Excerpts:


R:
He leaned forward kissing the soft skin of her tummy above her belly button as he eased the jeans down over her thighs, steadying her so she could step out of them.
Julia’s breath caught in her throat when he did not find her full figure objectionable. The light from the living room was enough to allow him to see the pale lavender bra and panties with deep purple lace trim. The panties just grazed over her hips, not more than an inch of the silky lavender with the darker lace above. Hooking his thumbs into the sides of her panties, slowly dragging them down her legs until she stood only in her bra before him.
She saw the raw lust in his eyes as he uncovered her. He reached for the delicate clasp between her breasts and with a quick flick had it open. With his fingertips, he pushed the fabric to the sides, off her breasts, then down her arms, letting it drop to the floor. For a few moments, he stood admiring her beauty, admiring her breasts and the lovely gentle curves of her hips. His hand moving to cup the fullness of her breast, feeling the weight of it rest in his palm.
Julia gasped. When he ran the rough pads of his thumbs over both nipples, she trembled at his touch, letting out a sot moan.  Her mind suddenly flooded with images of him over her, his eyes half lidded with desire. She reached forward unfastening his trousers, her hand brushing the length of him as she tugged the zipper.
He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt before shrugging out of it to reveal hard, defined, well-chiseled abs. Julia unconsciously chewed her lower lip while admiring his body. No, not love but definite interest. Who was she to argue with what he saw in her? He had a great body, a great personality, and a fantastic sense of humor. If she had ever dared to pray for the perfect man, Derek would have fit the description.
He had waited long enough. His mouth was on her breast, his tongue flicking over her nipple. She moaned in response. He tugged back, holding her nipple between his teeth eliciting a soft moan from her. Julia’s fingers curled around his length causing him to buck into her grasp.
She stroked slowly all the way down, letting her fingers brush against his balls then back up curling over his velvety head while pulling his briefs down with her other hand.
He groaned, kneading her breasts in his hands as he pushed her gently down to the bed, following her. He let most of his weight rest against her, enjoying the feel of their skin-to-skin contact. His elbows on either side of her ribs, his fingers slipping behind her back as he lowered his mouth to hers, thrusting his tongue deeper mimicking another action he had in mind.
Julia arched into him, as he pressed his hardness against her cleft.
“Not so fast. I told you I want to enjoy you slowly.” He raised up, gliding his lips along her chin, down her neck leaving a trail of wet kisses in a blazing wake. His mouth was on her nipple again, as he shifted to her side. “You are so hot, and the way you respond to me is such a turn on. I want this to last for both of us.” Caressing along her ribs, then over her stomach across her waist, softly caressing her soft skin as his eyes connected with hers, watching for her reaction. His fingers traced a line from her naval down to the small triangle of trimmed hair. He lifted his head “Not shaved. I like that. I think a woman should look like a grown woman, not a child. Although, I’m not opposed to variety either.”
Relief flooded her features as she relaxed into his touch. He had moved to where she was very limited in how much she could touch him so her hands were on his back. Without another word, his trail of kisses continued down her abdomen, lightly kissing at her waist, then the crease where her legs met her torso. As he moved to kiss there, his nose brushed over her cleft causing her to inhale sharply. He peppered her skin with light kisses, his finger caressing along the crease of her folds, then more aggressive as his fingers felt the damp heat of her. His thumb pressed against her hardened bud as he worked it in a circular pattern, his index and middle finger caressing lower.
She nearly came off the bed, her back arching into his touch. A soft moan as her grip tightened on his shoulder.
Gently he pushed inside her. As he did, he moved his mouth over, flicking the hard nub of her clitoris with his tongue.
“Ahhh.” She shuddered at the sensation. He increased his assault, now sucking lightly, and sliding his fingers rhythmically.
She could feel the heat pooling, the edge approaching, her breaths came in little pants. She tightened her muscles, trying to stave it off but it was pointless. She trembled beneath him, putty in his hands as the inferno engulfed her.
“Oh, ohhh. Derek I.” It was all she could get out when her orgasm rolled over her like a freight train. Her hips bucking against his hand, as she gasped against his mouth.
He lifted his head, grinning. “I like how responsive you are to me Julia.” He wiped her slick juices from his face before moving up her body. “Are you ready for me now?”
She nodded, her breaths ragged and her heart pounding.
He pushed her legs apart wider with his knee as he lifted her behind slightly pressing himself against her throbbing lips, rubbing back and forth sensually.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders slightly as his huge head pushed just inside. He held himself there, forcing himself to go slow. His jaw clenched, he wanted to have his release but he wanted to make sure she was satisfied first. As responsive as she had been already he knew she could take more. He thrust quickly, just a couple inches then pulled back.
She gasped, every nerve alert and on fire. It wouldn’t take much for her to reach her climax again. Instinctively, her hips rolled beneath him.




Author Bio:

Ellie Mack received her BS degree in cartography from Southeast Missouri State University. After leaving the corporate world for the title of MOM, she has pursued her writing dreams. Nowadays Ellie charts unmapped territory through her fiction and humor writing. She lives near St. Louis with her husband of 30 years and their two teen daughters. When she’s not writing, she can be found scrapbooking, crocheting, or cooking. You can find her musings on her blog Quotidiandose.


Facebook  Ellie Mack author
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Thursday, September 3, 2015

Throwback Thursday Tune


Since the classic country month was such a big hit, I thought we would do another genre month. For September we'll be celebrating folk singers! And here is one of the most popular, Arlo Guthrie!


Monday, August 31, 2015

Tuesday Tales - Hardy



Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.



Today we the next issue in my historical M/M romance, Dear Jon, which is set in 1945. Every issue of this serial will be under 1500 words so they're quick reads.  Our word prompt today is 'Hardy'. This story contains mature language and gay sexual situations. If that offends now would be the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales offering. 

Don`t forget to visit the other talented Tuesday Tales authors. Thanks for stopping by!






            Packing had been sadly easy. I had nothing of great import – aside from pushing back the art show I had planned – to take care of. Not even a goldfish in a bowl could be found in my personal space behind my studio. Not wishing to dwell on what that meant, I rolled down my window and fumbled with the radio until I found something from Benny Goodman. Hearing Gotta Be This or That made my jaw loosen enough to shove a Pall Mall between my lips. Using my knee to steer my knackered up `39 Ford coupe I managed to get a match lit and a hand cupped. The first hardy inhalation made me relax. Dropping my knee my fingers found the huge steering wheel. I drove, smoked, and tried to ignore the knot of unease growing in my gut.

            Shit. What was I supposed to do with a kid? Why the hell had Betty done this to me? Rolling across sloping hills thick with green I tossed the last half of Turkish and paper to the road. The sky was overcast, threatening rain which I prayed wouldn`t come. The convertible roof of my old Ford was damned ratty. I had enough cash laid back for a new car. Thing was, I was still in that rationing mindset I guess. I`d done without for so long to help the cause I figured I`d run the old gal until she dropped. Or I drowned in a sudden downpour.

            Every mile marker meant I was that much closer to Hannity Hills. With nervous fingers I grabbed another smoke. I didn`t usually chain like this but I could feel the town reaching out for me. Like some hateful octopus from a Jules Verne story Hannity Hills was. All tentacles and snapping beak, ready to sucker anyone who wasn`t normal in and chew them up like a wayward crab. I had to pull over to light the fucking Pall Mall my hands were shaking so badly. I spit the loose tobacco to the side. The landscape was already turning rural. Long gone were the skyscrapers of New York. Now all you saw were cows, farmhouses, and kids starving for something more.

            Or maybe that was me I saw. Roaring back onto the road, I resigned myself to not looking at the kids stranded in the middle of Repressionville. If I didn`t look at them, I wouldn`t hear the hatred that rolled down over me, threatening to bury me under the landslide of my father`s disgust and disappointment in his only son. I wished I had a fifth of something. I blew past the quaint sign welcoming people to Hannity Hills, Pennsylvania, Pop. 1,938 like a man with a demon on his ass.

            The town hadn`t changed much. I lit another smoke. The general store still had American flags snapping in the wind. The movie theater was still playing flicks for a nickel according to the sign. Looked like White Pongo starring Richard Fraser was on the silver screen. I had an overwhelming urge to either vomit in my lap or gas the Ford. Maybe, if I were lucky, I`d take out the theater and Lenity’s Men’s Wear next door. I didn`t gas her though. I pulled respectfully into the office of Bartlett & Bowen.

            I turned the key. The engine quieted. I sat there and stared at the sedate brick building, hands sweaty and tacky. Not knowing how else to handle it I forced my hand to snake out and find my hat - A matching brown Fedora with a dark red band to go with my suit - very upper class despite the long golden hair dancing over my shirt collar. An urge to rip off my respectable tie and run up and down Main Street shouting "I'm a fairy!" overtook me. Wisely, I just lowered my head and walked into the law office.


            The receptionist wasn`t happy, I could tell from the way her mouth never curled into a warming smile. She was mad about being forced to stay here an hour past closing. I was mad about being forced to drive five hours just to get another kick in the cahoneys. Maybe she and I should compare sob stories someday. Laying aside her tube of lipstick she rose. She was a tall woman, nearly as tall as me. Sober though, with penciled eyebrows, outlined lips, and an aura of pure ‘If I had a husband I`d tell you to fuck off, you fruit!’ painted on her mug as thick as her make-up was. I introduced myself.

“Mr. Bartlett is waiting for you, Mr. Porter,” she said, coming from behind a wooden desk that weighed as much as my `39 coupe outside. I followed because I didn`t dare not. I feared she would turn around, find me dawdling with my shoes or my tie, and reach out to rip my balls from my body with one of her grotesquely clawed hands. Smiling weakly when she whipped a look over her shoulder I ambled along in silence. I nearly rear-ended her when we stopped. “Go right in Mr. Porter, I`ll bring more coffee and milk.”

            With that the door was opened and the bitch hurried off, her freedom in sight. I stepped into the office and was nearly bowled over by the eyes of one sandy-haired kid. He was seated in a leather chair that nearly swallowed him. It was his eyes that knocked the wind out of me. They were Betty`s eyes and my father`s eyes. And they were the same eyes that looked back at me every morning as I dragged a razor over my mug.

I never heard the coffee arrive.




Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey

*~*~*

Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the Tuesday Tales authors.


See you next week!



Monday Author/Book Spotlight-Lynn Townsend's Classic



I am always thrilled to have Lynn visit. She is a wonderfully talented author and a dear person. Today she's here to chat about the long awaited last book in her Rainbow Connection trilogy, Classic. I'm so sad to see this series end, although I know that this isn`t the last we'll see of my boys Vin and Beau as Lynn has other stories planned for the supporting characters from this trilogy. The floor is all yours, Lynn! 






Hi everyone! Thanks so much to Vicky for hosting me here on her blog, as she's wont to do from time to time. It's really been great how much support she's shown for my two boys over the years.

One of my favorite writers is quoted as saying, "When a man writes a romance, the woman dies. When a woman writes one, it ends all tidy and sweet."

The Rainbow Connection, a series of novels I have been writing for the last four years, is a romance. Admittedly, it is a gay romance, and until very recently, the likelihood of it ending in legal wedding was up for debate. But it was always meant to end happily.

The truth is, I was inspired to write what started as a short story and grew into a series of novels (three have been, or will be soon, published. One that's being written, and one -- maybe two? -- that are in preliminary planning...) from an event that took place shortly before another wedding, many years ago. I had a tumultuous affair planned, for characters who took on a life of their own, ripped my control right out of my hands, and took me on a ride that I'll never forget.

So, when I offer forth this little short story, I say to you, this is not a true spoiler. You always knew we were going this way. The road has been long, it has been winding, and it has had a great many bumps in it. But you knew the destination when you got in the car with me...

These books were always meant to be a romance, and a romance often needs a good wedding...




Tag Line 

Rebuilding your life can make you stronger, or it can destroy you all over again…

Blurb

Beau Watkins and Vin Reyes have mended their differences, but that doesn't mean that everything is back the way it was. When Beau's teenage niece shows up with her son in tow, Beau is thrown unexpectedly into a world of adult responsibilities and adult decisions, all of which could have disastrous consequences. Reconciliation with his family is complicated by an overseas internship with a predatory business woman.  

Vin still struggles with his alcoholism, with finding his place in a world after college, and establishing relationships with his newfound father and sister. The last puzzle piece of Vin's mysterious past is clicked into place when he comes face-to-face with his mother's ex-fiance. His relationship with Beau has never been stronger... until an unexpected email threatens to topple everything they've build together. 

Buy Link:

by Lynn Townsend

A short story, in parts...

... some years later.


Beau stared at the fancy office, decorated with elaborate mock-ups and pictures from previous events. There were brochures for floral arrangers, for cake bakers, for caterers, for destinations.

"No." He stopped dead in his tracks. "Absolutely, no."

"Yes, Beau," Vin said, tugging on Beau's arm with a resigned expression on his face. "You asked, I said yes, and now things actually have to get... planned. And trust me, that's heartache you just don't want. So... we hire a wedding planner."

"Cain't we just stand up in front of a judge?"

"No. Absolutely, no," Vin said, precisely echoing Beau's inflections. "We absolutely cannot do that. We need a ceremony. We need to celebrate our joy in front of everyone we know and care about. We need to have a big party and dance and have cake and get rice thrown at us and drive away in a car with greasepaint on the windows and cans tied on to the bumper."

"People still do that?"

"Maybe not," Vin admitted. "But we can. Seriously, have you never thought about..."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Reyes," the polished until she glowed receptionist came out of the back of the room to greet them. "It's an honor to be working with you. I'm Cathy, your hostess. We've got you set up in the silver parlor, with some Coke and a light lunch, while you meet with Aglaia, who'll be your planner. She's got a few ideas from your talk over the phone."

Cathy didn't swish and her skirt was not clingy or tight; the wedding planners did, after all, cater mostly to heterosexual couples and having the potential groom ogling the help was probably bad for business. Beau sighed. "This wasn't accidental, you didn't just pick her out of the phone book, did you?"

"Of course I didn't," Vin said. "Aglaia's one of my clients. I sold her some -- well, you'll see it, she told me she was going to put the painting in one of her parlors, and it would be silly of her not to take advantage by seating us in a different room. We were talking, at the last show, about what she did, and I rather liked her. I'm sure you will, too. You just have to relax a bit."

"You know I don't like it when you make a fuss," Beau said.

Vin pursed his lips and blew his bangs off his forehead; Beau still wasn't sure Vin was comfortable with the new style. It seemed Vin was always tucking his hair behind his ears or puffing at the fringe, but Beau had to admit that it did suit his features, and looked oddly both artsy and professional, the look Vin was trying hard to capture.

"Beau. Honey," Vin said in his most persuasive voice, the one he trotted out for special occasions, usually employed against Beau in situations which it might not be best to think too much in detail while in public. "This is my wedding, too. Don't you think a little bit of fussing is in order?"

Cathy showed them into the parlor -- better described really as a swanky sort of office. There was a round mahogany table in the middle of the room, set for lunch, and an offside lounge area with a few comfy looking couches clustered in one corner.

The planner had set out a few glossy pamphlets with suggestions for venues for them to look over while they got settled in. Lunch was crystal glasses filled with lemonade and tiny little sandwiches cut into triangles with no crusts. "Fancy," Beau muttered, which did not keep him from shoving a few sandwichettes into his mouth. The most annoying thing, he had discovered, about growing older was that he wasn't any less hungry than he'd ever been, he just had to work harder to keep those extra Snickers' bars from ending up around his waist. On the plus side, his job included rather a lot of bare-knuckled boxing, both as a coach and for the occasional demo, so it wasn't like keeping the weight off was truly a hardship. Not like it was for Vin, who rather mournfully watched Beau wolf down most of his own plate before eyeing Vin's sandwiches covetously.

Vin took up one sandwich and then shoved the rest of them at Beau without commenting.

"Hello gentlemen," the wedding planner said, coming into the room. Aglaia was a dark skinned woman of mixed heritage, gloriously rubenesque with her hair done in a mix of braids and loose twists, dyed in various shades of henna red. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Reyes, and of course, I've heard all about you, Mr. Watkins. Now, let's sit down and I'll get a few of the basic questions out of the way, before we plunge into the meat of what your vision of the perfect wedding is."

Sunday, August 30, 2015

Sunday Ramble - My Top 5 Musicals






I don't know about you but I LOVE a good musical! The singing and the dancing always make me feel so happy and lighthearted. Of course, there are a few that are my favorites, and I thought I would share my top five with you today. I would love to hear what your favorite musicals are! Just tell me your picks down in the comments section. These are in no particular order. It was hard enough trying to narrow it down to just five!

Grease

I have probably seen this movie a hundred times if not more. Danny and Sandy are great but Rizzo steals the show as far as I'm concerned!



My Fair Lady

This may have been the first musical I ever saw. To this day, it still delights me as does anything Audrey Hepburn starred in.



Les Miserables

Okay, I'll confess. I wept like a baby three times seeing this in the theater. I am known to belt out a killer rendition of Master of the House while driving!



Singing in the Rain

A true classic with one of the best singer/dancers ever to grace the silver screen, Mr. Gene Kelly. 


The Sound of Music

Is there anyone out there who doesn`t know at least one song from this amazing musical? 



Honorable Mention

While I just adore the following two movies, I can't really call them true musicals as there is no singing. Since I use that as a criteria, they had to be omitted from the top 5 list. But, they are not to be forgotten! 

Dirty Dancing

Another film that I have watched over and over and over. The romance between Baby and Johnny is a true classic and the dancing is sheer perfection.


Footloose

What a premise for a great movie. A town that doesn`t allow dancing and the adorable kid who brings the joy of song and dance back.


Thursday, August 27, 2015

Throwback Thursday Tune



To wrap up our month of classic country I had to feature my fave old-time country singer, the one and only, George Jones!


Monday, August 24, 2015

Tuesday Tales - Buzz



Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.



Today we have the next issue in my historical M/M romance, Dear Jon, which is set in 1945. Every issue of this serial will be under 1500 words so they're quick reads.  Our word prompt today is 'Buzz'. This story contains mature language and gay sexual situations. If that offends now would be the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales offering. 

Don`t forget to visit the other talented Tuesday Tales authors. Thanks for stopping by!




It took me roughly five minutes to run to my studio, a crumpled Western Union message in my hand. Once inside the missive fluttered to a small table beside the front door. I tugged the ‘I`m at the Wastrel’ note I had taped to the door off. The lights flickered on and I moved through the gallery, the oils that were just now starting to command some serious dough ignored blatantly. I paid no mind to the sculptures done by a friend. I saw nothing of the newest piece that held the largest spot on the dark green walls. The smell of booze, perfume, dreams, turpentine, and Pall Mall`s filled the tiny flat. I loved it. I loved this place and I loved the attention that my work was getting. I loved being called the next big thing to come out of the Village.

I have a nephew . . .

Hand on the door to my personal space I paused. I ran back through the modern cityscapes that defined who I was as an artist. I reread the note. My heart felt like it was beating too slowly. My thoughts buzzed around inside my skull.

I have a nephew . . .

Why had Betty never told me? I was her fucking brother. Oh yes, that`s right. She never told me because I had informed her she was dead to me.

“Sweet shit.” My hands splayed on the table. Business cards fluttered to the floor when the studio door opened. I didn`t have to look up, I could smell her perfume. Without a word or a glance, I shakily held the telegram out to the left. Charlotte closed the door, lit a cigarette, took the news with a gloved hand and sashayed into the studio. She positioned herself artfully beside an oil of the city done at dawn. The pink pin striping and the ebony material of her dress and hat matched the colors of the painting perfectly, as she knew it would.

Turning around I found her eyes on me. “I knew it was bad news.” She flicked an ash to the hardwood floor.

“I have a nephew.” I walked over to stand beside her, both of us looking not at each other but at the people hustling by on the sidewalk.

“So I read,” Charlotte replied, her voice smoky and deep. She broke from my side. I really did love to watch her walk. Pity we could never make it work. One date- and one less that spectacular roll in the hay - had shown us the errors of our ways. We never made that mistake again but we had become thick as thieves.  Charlotte was one hell of a woman. “Are you heading off to Ass Crack, Pennsylvania?”

“Hannity Hills. Yeah, it`s where I was born. I do not want to go back but . . .”

She read the dangling sentence for what it was. “They`re going to spit on you now just like they did before,” she said, her sharp grey eyes narrowed.

“I know,” I countered. “But Betty`s boy . . .”

Again it was left swinging in the smoky air. Charlotte raised one shoulder, the padding riding atop her arm making the gesture seem bigger.

“What about the show?” she asked.

I have a nephew . . .

“I`ll rush things back home,” I said, staring at her openly. The knot her finely penciled brows were in hadn`t untied. “It`s not for three weeks. I should be able to find someone more fitting to take the boy.”

At that she laughed. It was a sound that made the muffler on a ratty old `32 Chevy coupe sound smooth.

“Someone who doesn`t paint and suck dick, you mean?”

I winced at her frankness. “You have no idea what the word subtle means, do you?”

“Jon, there`s no reason to be subtle. We are what we are. Call me when you arrive,” she said, tapped another ash to the floor then left. I stood there with my hands swinging at my sides watching my best friend stop and wiggle her fingers at me outside my studio before latching onto some poor slob`s arm. With a wink, a giggle, and a pat on her well-rounded ass, Charlotte blended into the crowds with this week`s sugar daddy.

Well at least Charlotte knew how her night was going to go. Me? I had no damned clue but I highly doubted I would be wined, dined and bedded like Madame Duvall. What I had coming over the next few hours was a rushed packing job, a five hour drive, and an eventual glum return to the town that had spit me out like an old flavorless wad of Bazooka bubblegum.

Oh, and I had a funeral to plan and a nephew to meet. I picked up the phone and asked the operator for Hannity Hills.

I have a nephew . . .

Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey

*~*~*

Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the Tuesday Tales authors.


See you next week!