Monday, November 30, 2015

Tuesday Tales Picture Prompt

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

Today we have another snippet from Dear Jon. It`s our picture prompt and the excerpt must reflect the image and be under 300 words.  Don`t forget to visit the other talented Tuesday Tales authors. Thanks for stopping by!

            I hoped to meet Ross at his shop after I spent an hour with Attorney Blueberry. My sight was fixated on a painting of a red barn on the dark wooden wall after I signed where I needed to sign to start the paperwork to be Andrew`s legal guardian. A sandy-blond head rested on my shoulder. Andy`s thumb was in his mouth, something I had never seen before. I didn`t know how the kid and me were going to make it, but somehow we would. Papers shifted. The lawyer cleared his throat several times.

            “I`m glad to see that you read the letter Betty left you,” Mr. Bartlett said.

            “I didn`t read it yet.” His eyes came from his pudgy fingers resting atop a stack of files to me. “I meant to,” I quickly said, “I just – things have been rather hectic. Can you tell me . . .” I had to cough the thick knot of shame out of my throat. “Can you tell what it was that took her?”

            “Cancer of – well, cancer of the female parts,” the portly man in the tight black suit coughed. Andrew snuggled closer, his thumb still in his mouth. I nodded. So, the same thing that had taken my mother had claimed Betty. Fucking cancer. Maybe in my lifetime they`d beat that miserable shit.

            “Thank you,” I whispered, standing, suddenly desperate to be outside. The man behind the desk glanced at me as I hoisted Andy to my left hip. I sat back down.

            “As you know, your signature on that paper makes us all quite happy.” I nodded. I wasn`t sure who the "all" he mentioned were, but I was glad they were happy. “Family should step up when times are hard. After a small investigation into you and your past the court will decide if you`re suitable to be Andrew`s legal-”

            “Investigation?”  I sounded like a terrified brown mouse. Sweet Jesus and all the saints.

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 talented Tuesday Tales authors.

See you next week!

Monday Author/Book Spotlight - M.S. Spencer's Dear Philomena: Love, Lust & Murder on Chincoteague Island

Please welcome the talented M.S. Spencer to our little corner of the interweb! She's visiting to share the news about her book, Dear Philomena:Love, Lust & Murder on Chincoteague Island!

Thank you so much, Vicky, for giving me the change to introduce your readers to my new release, Dear Philomena: Love, Lust & Murder on Chincoteague Island.

Something crashed in the woods.  Was it a deer?  Or something more dangerous? Dagne didn’t care; she just kept running…

Chincoteague is one of a pair of barrier islands off the coast of Virginia.  Its eastern sister, Assateague, is the actual home of the Chincoteague National Wildlife Refuge and of the ponies made famous in Marguerite Henry’s children’s books (remember Misty of Chincoteague?). The refuge sits on the Atlantic flyway, so in spring and fall it is inundated with migrating birds—thousands of ducks and geese descend on the flats—and so too do birdwatchers. Unfortunately for Dagne Lonegan, the flocks of bird watchers hadn’t yet arrived when she took a walk on a deserted trail in the refuge. Alone in the dark, she feels suddenly, unaccountably, frightened. She learns later that her fear may have been justified when the police find a dead body on the trail.

I Heart Book Publishing, October 12, 2015
eBook, 72,000 words, Print 209 pp
Romantic Suspense, Contemporary Romantic Suspense, Mystery Romance
M/F, 3 flames


Dagne Lonegan, aka Dear Philomena, advice columnist, hoped that spending a year on the Eastern Shore island of  Chincoteague would extinguish any feelings she had left for Jack Andrews, erstwhile lover and long-time jerk.  It’s just her luck that in her first week on the island she’s entangled in a murder.  Only she doesn’t know it.  Unfortunately, the murderer doesn’t know she doesn’t know.  Strange and dangerous things begin happening to her, disrupting her new romance with Aidan Ellis, the handsome manager of the National Wildlife Refuge.  As if that weren’t enough, Jack arrives to take charge of the murder investigation.

Will Dagne stick with the tall, cool glass of a Ranger or risk falling back into the arms of the man who broke her heart?

Excerpt (R): Reassurance and Desire

Jack stared at the floor and played with his hat. Dagne tried to take a sip of iced tea but her throat constricted with sudden alarm. “You think the murderer killed her on Friday night, don’t you? Maybe even when I was hurtling down the path, scared out of my wits.” Is that where the panic came from? Did I feel her terror? Did I sense the presence of evil only a few yards away?
“No, not at all!” Jack patted her hand in a clumsy masculine attempt to reassure her. It didn’t help. “We’re pretty sure the murder took place somewhere else. The County CIS folks found traces of motor oil on her clothes. The lab is still analyzing them. The current theory is that the murderer originally hid the body somewhere either too exposed or too easily associated with him. She was reported missing three days before her body was discovered. I’m guessing he waited for the hue and cry over her disappearance to subside, and then moved her to the dumpster. The coroner estimated time of death at least two days earlier. Her body had already begun decomposing by the time the K9 unit discovered it.”
The memory of a rancid smell assaulted Dagne’s nostrils. “I remember an awful stench coming from the dumpster when I got back to my car.” She gazed at him, doubtful. “I don’t think I smelled anything when I first parked there.”
“Aha!” Jack threw the now completely disfigured hat on the sofa, and jumped up. “That’s why it’s so crucial that you remember everything you saw or heard that night.”
“But nothing happened!” she wailed. “I didn’t hear anything but deer. If someone else were on the path I would have seen them. Or at least heard them.”
He held out a hand and Dagne slowly took it. He pulled her down on the sofa next to him. “Don’t worry, Dagne. It’s more than likely the killer threw Terri in the dumpster before you even got to the trail and you just didn’t notice the smell. Or he might have been hiding in the brush waiting for you to leave, and what you smelled was ordinary garbage.”
She thought about her irrational terror on the trail, of the comforting sound of an engine, and then the letdown at the sight of the empty parking lot. She gulped. “No, I’m sure I didn’t see anything important. Just deer.”
Jack’s arm went round her shoulders. “That’s all right. We’ve got plenty of leads.” Her head rested on his shoulder. Sure, okay, I’ll let him hold me. For a minute. I can think better this way.
And a thought did come. “Wait, Jack. When I came out of the woods, I only saw my car, but Terri must have come in one, or her killer brought her in one. I did think I heard a car engine.”
Jack squeezed her shoulder eagerly. “In the parking lot?”
“No.” No reason to treat it as more important than it was. “Farther away—I think out on the beach road. Could’ve been anybody at that hour. It wasn’t that late after all.”
“Never mind, you’ve still got a point. We haven’t located the actual site of the murder yet, but we know it wasn’t the dumpster. Someone had to have transported the body there.”
“And it had to be a car. I can’t see the murderer balancing his victim on the handlebars of a bike.” Dagne’s titter hovered just shy of hysteria.
Jack didn’t laugh. “Yes, and that means someone drove it away.”
“Does anyone know who she’d been with the day she disappeared?”
Jack’s hand rubbed her neck, then moved down the arm. His breath smelled tangy, like fresh grapefruit. “That’s the trouble. It could have been one of any number of people. Like I said, Terri didn’t lack for male companionship.”
Dagne tried to stand up but Jack’s face barred the way. “Dagne, have you been thinking about us?”
She thought to push him away, but instead drew him close. His lips hovered near hers, inviting, warm. Oh, what the hell.
A few minutes later, she exhaled raggedly and opened her eyes. “Jack! How…what…?” Jack didn’t answer. She looked down at her naked body and up into his hungry eyes. Carpet scratched her shoulder blades. We must have fallen off the sofa. Ignoring the unforgiving floor, she pulled her arm from around his neck. On its own volition, her hand snaked up between Jack’s legs, unbuttoned the jeans, reached in and grabbed the only thing harder than his thigh muscles. His eyes opened in surprise, then closed, and a wry smile touched the edges of his mouth.
“You always knew how to please me, babe.”
Dagne held on tight and began massaging. Jack’s breathing grew unsteady. Up and down, up and down, gently squeeze, tickle that little sensitive vee with the tip of her index finger. She felt his penis stiffen, saw his chest contract, and heard the slight sigh as he gave in to her. “Oh, Dagne.” He fell to one side, the smile a little broader.
“Oh no, Mister. You ain’t done yet.” She straddled him, hanging over him, and wiggled sensually. Her breasts swayed before his face, inviting attention. Swiftly, he raised his head and caught one nipple in his mouth, sucking and drawing the rest of her down. He let go the breast and took her mouth, his tongue exploring. Their bodies ground together in a slow circular motion, breast to chest, belly to belly. She could feel him harden and grow again, pressing against her, forcing her thighs open.
Passion held her in its grip. She remembered, oh how she remembered, that feeling of helplessness, of desire unloosed. The times when she lost control, when her brain shut down and her synapses flashed with heat and the only thing she wanted was for it to go on and on forever. Always with Jack. Only when she was with Jack. Always, and only, with him. A memory toggled on. That’s how he could hurt you. He knows how vulnerable you are. He’ll hurt you again, Dagne. He’ll break your heart again. Don’t give in to the passion. Stop while you still can.
She sat up and twisted away from him. “No, wait, Jack, that’s enough.”
Dagne swallowed hard, willing the hot lust to cool. “Why are you here, Jack? What do you want of me?”
Jack closed his eyes, his features twisted with frustration. “Can’t we talk about this later?”
“I don’t know whether there will be a later.” Her breath came in heavy gusts. Talk me into it anyway, please Jack, please. Jack’s big callused fingers took a handful of her red-gold hair and twirled it gently. He looked into her eyes. He almost looked sincere. She tried to concentrate on his stubbly chin, but her eyes rose inevitably to his mouth, to those lips. It’s no use. I want him.
“Dagne?” His fingers trailed down her back, then cupped her bottom, tickling and rubbing. It was all she could do not to melt into a little pool of bubbling desire. “Let me satisfy you first. I want to make you very happy. After that, you can break my balls. Deal?”
Don’t laugh. Don’t…laugh. A giggle escaped her best intentions, and the hard knot of pain that had risen between them unraveled. She pulled him to her and said, her lips muffled against his softly furred chest, “Deal.”
And the first of three incredible orgasms began to build.

Buy Links:

About the Author:

Although M. S. Spencer has lived or traveled in five continents, the last thirty years have been spent mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant, speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, kayaker, policy wonk, non-profit director and parent. She has two fabulous grown children and a perfect granddaughter, and currently divides her time between the Gulf coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.

Contact  M. S. Spencer here:

Author Pages:
I Heart Book Publishing:

Amazon Author Page:

Sunday, November 29, 2015

Snippet Sunday

Welcome back for another Snippet Sunday! This is getting to be a popular addition to my site so I think I'll keep it as a regular feature. Thanks for the the great support and comments here, on Facebook, and over on Goodreads. You guys and gals rock! Hearing how much you all are enjoying the snippets is so uplifting and inspirational. Keep your comments coming!

This week we have the last excerpt from my Home Ice, my GFY hockey romance NaNoWriMo project. I've completed the NaNo challenge and am totally exhausted, but man was it fun!

Since I don't want to ruin the ending I'll be sharing something with you from my next WIP next week. This week, though, we get a taste of how things are going for Jarrod Troy, star center for the Pittsburgh Steelheads, and his sexy nanny, Nash Sullivan. This takes place during the first round of the division championships. I'm hoping to have this book out sometime in late 2016, but my release schedule for next year is already filling up, so it might be early 2017 before I can find space for Home Ice. I promise it will be released though, even if I have to self-publish it!

So, here's a last taste from Jarrod and Nash's story. Please ignore any errors. This is unedited work.

See you next week!


            We didn't lose solely because my stupid ass was on the bench. To say that would be massively egotistical. It didn't help, of course, since my absence made the coach juggle the lines a little. My first line wingers just didn't have the connection with my replacement. Also, the Knights fucking goalie stood on his head. Our goal scorers just could not find a hole. He was a freaking wall. Our tendie did an outstanding job as well, letting only one shot out of forty-four in. 

            Yeah, forty-four shots on goal for the Knights. We had twenty-two. No one was pointing fingers at Bogdan as he sat in his corner working over mental shit as only a goalie can do. All the coaches were pointing those fingers at the defense for collapsing and for the offense for not being prepared and properly focused for such an important game.

             "I'm really sorry for not doing my part," I announced to the team as we sat licking our wounds. "I promise you all that I will be totally committed to knocking those cocky bastards down a notch or two."

            The men in the dressing room clapped and hooted, but it was lacking. They'd bounce back. Tomorrow when we arrived for morning skate the Steelheads would be out for blood. Tonight, though, we were a lackluster group returning to our hotel. Craig fell into his bed and was asleep almost instantly. I walked over to the small table and chairs in the corner, and sat down to call home. This time my nanny answered.

            "Hey," I softly said so not to wake up Craig.

            "Hey, sorry about the game," Nash said. It was so nice to hear his voice caressing my ear. "Kenley tried to stay awake but she crashed midway through the second period."

            "Probably for the best," I said and stretched out my legs, "wouldn't want the poor thing to have nightmares after seeing that bloodbath."

            "It was pretty gruesome."

            "Wes Craven couldn't have done it better. Look, about that whole thing with Randy, I need you to know that I didn't plan to get rough with the man. He just started talking shit about you and your wrists and I got upset. I had only intended to gently warn him to be more discreet."

            "I know, and I know that you paid for it by sitting out that game, which is why I picked up when I saw it was you calling again. I think you've made recompense."

            "I love you, you know that, right?" I looked from the dark side of the room where Craig was sleeping to the billion lights of Manhattan. "If anyone ever talks down about you I will jack the fucker into a wall. That is a given."

            "Such a beast," Nash replied with some humor. "I love you too, Jay." I liked when he used that nickname. I liked quite a lot of what the man did. "I just hope there isn't any fallout from your stupidity."


            "Well, it was amazingly stupid." He yawned loudly. "Sorry, I'm wiped out. I think I'm going to crawl into our bed. Call us tomorrow morning so Kenley can pat your back over the phone."

            "Will do, and feel free to spread out to my side of the bed if you want."

            "Oh, I had planned to do so. Love you." 

            "Love you too. Sleep well." I closed my eyes and let the phone slide from my ear to rest on my shoulder. Knowing Nash was over being mad at me eased the burden a little. I took a long breath and could feel my muscles beginning to soften. A light came on. I turned my head from the blinding light for a second.

            "What the fuck did I just overhear?" Craig groggily asked. I sat staring stupidly at my roommate for a couple incredibly long seconds. There was really no way to lie my way out of it. I sat up straight and looked right at Craig.

            "I'm having a relationship with my nanny."

            Craig shoved a hand through his hair and gaped at me. I placed my elbows to my knees, my phone in my hands, and waited.

            "Is she young, blonde and Swedish?"

            "My nanny is a man," I explained.

            "No shit."

            "No shit," I softly responded.


Cathy Brockman is sharing a snippet from her NaNo work as well this week. She'd love to have you drop by and say "Howdy!"


Thursday, November 26, 2015

Throwback Thursday Tune - Happy Thanksgiving!

Is there a radio station anywhere not playing this classic by Arlo Guthrie today? I can't seem to find one. Enjoy your turkey and stuffing!

Monday, November 23, 2015

Tuesday Tales - Nasty

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 'Nasty'. 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!

There are times that a swing is just what is needed. And not a tire swing but a lovely porch swing with room for two. Unfortunately, my new digs lacked a swing of any kind. Cooper and I had to make do with using the tailgate of his truck as an outdoor seat to watch the fireflies come alive. Dinner had been a rousing success, but it`s hard to screw up macaroni with canned tomatoes dumped over them. The fresh salad was a nice touch though. I was watching my nephew careening around the dark yard, the full moon the only light required, with a canning jar in his hand attempting to catch lightning bugs.
“The funeral is tomorrow.” I exhaled. The smoke rose in front of the moon. Ross sipped his coffee, his hip warm against mine.
“Will you need another pallbearer?”
I turned my head to look at his moonlit profile. “You didn`t even know her.”
“She`s your sister. That`s all I need to know.”
I couldn`t look at him any longer, so I concentrated on the glowing end of my Pall Mall. Andrew raced over, showed us his catch, and then took off in pursuit of more glowing insects. A gentle night wind tickled the weeping willows long branches. One brushed my arm.
“You`re assuming a great deal about me, Ross,” I said while flicking an ash to the ground.
“So then fill in the blanks for me,” he said into his mug. Lifting the Pall Mall to my lips, I drew in a breath, held it, and then let the smoke eke out of my nostrils. When I sat silently smoking for several minutes, Ross blew out a breath riddled with exasperation. He slid from the tailgate, handed me his empty mug and waited. I stared at him openly. He was even more attractive with the moonlight catching all the strands of silver in his ebony hair. “I`m going home,” he announced. I sat there with a smoke and an empty coffee cup. “You`ll have to move so I can close the tailgate.”
I slid to my loafers. The man slammed the gate of his Ford shut and climbed behind the wheel. I walked to the driver`s side window, suddenly terrified of him leaving me alone to deal with Andrew and the horrors that lurked in the dark.
“We parted on bad terms. I said things . . .”
Ross reached out to cup my cheek. “We all say and do things that we regret, Jon.”
“I wanted to send him to an orphanage when I first saw him.”
That one set the man back. I could tell by the long stretch of cricket song.
“Do you still feel that way?”
“No, I think . . . I think we need each other.”
“I think so as well,” he said then patted my whiskery face. Andrew ran up to stand at my side. Ross yanked his hand back inside the truck. My hand went automatically to the boy`s shoulder.  “Thank you for dinner, Jon. And thank you, Andrew, for allowing me to color in your Bugs Bunny coloring book.”
“S`okay,” the boy said his nose pushed against his canning jar of fireflies. “You stay in the lines good.”
Ross chuckled warmly. “I try. Be strong tomorrow, both of you.”
I nodded, wishing I could say more or reach for the man. Instead, I stood there under the willow, fingers resting on my nephew`s thin shoulder, and watched Ross back up and drive off.
That night was no better than the ones that preceded it.


“Lions may lack and suffer hunger, but those who seek the Lord lack nothing that is good . . .”
Andrew`s grip on my fingers was cutting off the circulation. I clung to him just as tightly. Our suits were wrinkled, our body’s sore, our hearts heavy. The day was a going to be a glorious one with robin egg blue skies and lazy clouds. Chickadees sang in the trees that dotted the cemetery. No amount of sun would lift our spirits though.
I wished the preacher would stop talking and just let us lower the casket into the ground. The sniffles of the mourners made my teeth grate. If the women from the church auxiliary only knew how badly I wanted to turn on them and berate them for looking down on Betty . . .
I pushed the anger down. It wasn`t the fault of the women pretending they were grieved over a slattern like my sister. It wasn`t the pastor`s fault that he would condemn my soul to hell for my sexual preferences if he but knew them. It was the world`s fault for being so steeped in hatred for those who differed from the majority. These poor sheep only bleated the nasty rhetoric that they had been taught to bleat.
 I lifted my eyes from Andrew`s slicked-down hair. Standing off to the side were two Negro men - hats off and shovels in hand - waiting to cover the coffin.
Andrew leaned against my left leg. I squeezed his tiny fingers. My eyes roamed the graveyard. Mr. Martin nodded at me solemnly when my sight moved over him. I nearly left my spot beside the coffin when I saw Ross crossing the grassy knoll that led to the single plot beside my father. He was all in black, as was befitting. He removed his Fedora as he stood beside the colored workers. They stepped back. Ross and I stared at each other as long as we dared. I found it incredibly hard to swallow.
“The righteous cry and the Lord hears them and delivers them out of all their troubles.  The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and will save those who are crushed in spirit. Many are the troubles of the righteous; from them all will the Lord deliver them. He keeps all their bones, so that not one of them is broken.” The pastor`s voice carried over the stones on the warming wind.
“Amen,” I said while wondering if the Lord would keep the bones of men like Ross and me. Perhaps we would need to be more righteous. Or maybe just more crushed in spirit?

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 & Giveaway - Iryna K. Combs' Black Wings

Please welcome the talented Iryna to our little corner of the interweb! She's here today to tell us about her fantasy romance, Black Wings.

Title:  Black Wings
Author:  Iryna K. Combs
Publisher:  Roane Publishing
Release Date:  October 23, 2015
Keywords:  fantasy, romance, sci-fi, mystery, war


A new time. A new planet. A new world. New technologies. Two new humanoid species. A new war. The two species separate, but in the removal, some of the best are left behind among the worst. Captured and held as slaves, they are treated cruelly for entertainment. Torture. Pain.
Annabel, endures a year of such cruelty, kept alive only by way of syringes which, while healing, cause a greater agony. She discovers a secret held by their leader, and decides to help her own kind by escaping–even if it means a final death, preferable to the life she has endured. Her escape succeeds, and she joins her own kind at the other end of the planet. Among her new friends she meets many who help her adjust to their happier life. Will Annabel find romance? Or will another war break her down?


Annabel stopped at the end of the pier, and covered her face with her hands as tears rolled down her cheeks. That emotional moment had triggered memories from the Old Land and the Varkins. She remembered Kate, and how she had promised her freedom but was not able to keep that promise. She remembered her family she had lost, and her boyfriend who’d betrayed her. She wished the Big Change had never happened and she was still a human, with her family and friends. She thought she missed the Old Land, even the Varkins. She would never have thought she would think again about that dark place. Annabel stood at the pier and cried as the wind was blowing her tears away. She heard footsteps approaching her from behind.
"Excuse me?" One of the fishermen was talking to her, a crying stranger. "Something happened? Do you need help?"
"No...Nothing," Annabel replied and turned away.
"I know we don’t know each other," he continued, "but I have never seen an Anlight with black wings crying on the pier, so I wanted to make sure you were okay."
Annabel couldn’t say anything to him as she knew she was not okay.
"My name’s Robin," he introduced himself. "I come here sometimes when I feel sad too. I very well know this..."
"Why would you feel sad?" Annabel whispered, not looking at him. "Isn’t this a paradise here?"
"It is what you make it to be," he replied. "But I have my sad days too...I lost my son before we Anlights came to the New Land and I didn’t know what happened to him. He just disappeared right before we had to leave the Old Land."
Annabel opened her eyes and her heart jumped as she turned to look at the Anlight who was talking to her. He was tall, wearing dark pants and a brown shirt, holding his fishing pole in his right hand. Annabel looked at him for a moment and her eyes widened when the moon appeared from behind scudding clouds and she saw his face in its light. He looked so familiar she was...she knew the reason for his son's disappearance. She turned away from him hiding her emotions.
"What was his name?" she asked quietly, predicting the answer.
"Markus!" he said. "I called him Mark. He looked a lot like me."
Annabel closed her eyes and took a deep breath, knowing exactly what had happened to him. She bit her bottom lip, trying to hold tears from washing out of her eyes.
"He was about your age..." the fisherman continued, happily talking about his son, "Very brave young Anlight. Sometimes even too brave for his own good."
Annabel stood quietly, trying to calm down. She took another deep breath. She knew his son was that brave Anlight who had been doing most of the talking when they were first captured by Varkins.
"I know what happened to him," she whispered, wondering if she should even tell him the truth. Her voice began to shake.
"Oh, you do?" The fisherman sounded curious—after all, how she could possibly know?
"I was there too...I was with him...and others..." Annabel spoke while catching her breath, trying her best to talk normally without giving in to her emotions. "Nobody lived..." she finished as more tears quietly ran down her face.
"Nobody?" he questioned, needing to be sure.
"Only me..." She finally could not take it anymore and burst into tears, sniffing and catching her breath.
The fisherman sighed and put his head down, in sadness for his son—even though he had already accepted his disappearance and possible death. He came close to Annabel.
"I knew one day I would know the truth.” He spoke calmly, and with sorrow. “Thank you for coming here tonight."
"I am sorry about your loss," Annabel sobbed harder with every word said. "He and others were in a lot of pain...and those who died…were the lucky ones. They are in peace now and will not feel any pain again."
The fisherman took a step closer and put his hand on her shoulder. He smiled slightly.
"Sometimes it’s hard to accept what happens to us. Sometimes the reality seems too much for us to take. But we would not appreciate the good if we did not know the bad. We are writers of our own lives, and we decide when to close a chapter, and when to start the new one."
Annabel wiped cold tears from her cheeks as she looked at him.
"Cheer up," he continued. "You’re the lucky one! You can continue writing your life." He paused for a moment. "And I need to get back to my for dinner!" He laughed, picking up a small bucket full of fresh catch. He walked slowly back along the empty pier, disappearing in the darkness.
Annabel stood on the pier for a while longer, thinking about what he had said. She calmed down, as the wind picked up and she began to get cold. She returned to the car and drove back to her house. When she pulled up, nobody seemed to be there. She looked around as she walked to the porch door, hoping nobody was waiting for her. Annabel entered her house and locked the door behind her. She was just going to call her cousin about her visit when, again, someone knocked on the porch door. Annabel recalled what had happened before, and was not in the mood to continue talking about her own or Dexter's relations. She crossed to the door and moved the blinds to see who was knocking. However, as soon as she saw it was Dexter outside, she slid the door open.

Purchase Links

Will be sent as soon as they’re available in a separate email.

Or feel free to use Roane’s title page for Black Wings:

Originally from the Ukraine, I am still considered a new face to America. Speaking three languages including English, that became just as natural to me as my native Russian.

I grew up in a town on the south of Ukraine doing the same things that other kids my age did. Dreaming, hoping and wishing. Growing up, I spoke absolutely no English and never even saw myself somewhere abroad. Nevertheless writing a novel in another language!
I went to the local school that brought mostly negative experience in my life. But it shaped me throughout the years. My college life was much more pleasant. I was known to study well and to go out partying as much as it was possible.

Now - owner of bachelor degree in finance/economic and enterprises.
In my first year of college I began to work in the marriage agency and met my future husband. We dated and traveled to most of the Europe along with Egypt.

When I finally got my fiancée visa, we both moved to the states, where soon after we got married. In the first few years I did some modeling and acting. Photo-shoots, run-way and photo in the magazine fulfilled my childhood's dream.

A few years later I became a mother of a wonderful and most handsome little boy. Along with learning and experiencing motherhood, I began to make hand-made jewelry and organic soaps to occupy my spare time. This hobby turned into my small business and became bigger than I thought it ever would.

In the last year I discovered: an author lives inside me. Never did I think that I would write an English book and that I would love doing it. But I did! And I loved it! I am hoping my readers will enjoy it and will look forward my next books.

“Black Wings” – my debut novel comes from a dream that I saw a few months before I decided to capture it on paper. After long thinking and developing an exciting story, I could not just keep it inside me. I shortly began writing. Within only a couple of months the story was completed. I found my first publisher within the next couple of months and after a few more months of hard work, “sweat and blood” – the book is finally here for you, dear readers, to enjoy!

Link for Black Wings on Goodreads:

Giveaway - $10 Amazon Gift Card and a paperback copy of Black Wings

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Or, here’s a link to the giveaway if you can’t use the code:

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Snippet Sunday

Hello and welcome to another Snippet Sunday! Today we have more NaNoWriMo Home Ice gay-for-you hockey goodness. I'm always wondering if I should tag my GFY books BFY or bi-for-you since my characters in these discovery books are always bisexual. Guess I'll just stick with the established genre tag so as not to confuse folks.

In today's snippet Jarrod is breaking the news to his twin sister, Juliet, about his now budding relationship with his nanny, Nash, as she prepares Christmas dinner. Please ignore any big mistakes. This has never seen the eyes of an editor. I'm sure it needs it! There is mature language to be found in this snippet. If that offends now is the time to move along to another blog.

Thanks for dropping by.


            "Can I tell you something?" I asked as Jules worked on the green bean casserole.

            "Of course," she said then handed me two cans of cream of mushroom soup. "Open those will you?"I tugged on the pull-tabs then passed the soup back to my sister. "So what is it that you want to tell me? Is it this dress? I told Drew it was too snug but he insisted it wasn't. I need to cut back on the stress eating. Arin! Daniel! Please take those guns outside!"

            The two young men, and Jedi Master Kenley, skidded to a halt.

            "Mom, it's like forty thousand degrees below zero outside," her eldest exclaimed. Juliet gave me a long look.

            "He gets that penchant for exaggeration from his father. Fine, then go upstairs and close your bedroom door. Kenley, do you want to help Aunt Juliet make a casserole?"

            "No! I am killing aliens that the boys miss," Kenley shouted then whapped her cousin on the back with her light saber. Arin ran off taking shots at her over his shoulder. Danny doubled back around. The sound of the three kids pounding up the old stairs filled the house.

            "She's a Jedi, they don't have time for creating casseroles. They have universes to save," I told Juliet. My sister snorted in amusement. "So listen, about this thing that I want to tell you." I folded my arms over the sweater that Nash had presented me with earlier today. He had said the gold would compliment my brown hair and eyes. "I'm kind of seeing someone."

            Juliet stopped sprinkling dried onions over her souped-up green beans. Her dark eyes met mine.

            "Oh Jarrod, I am so happy to hear that!" She beamed at me. I began to rock back and forth. "Why didn't you bring this 'Person You're Seeing' along?" She threw up air quotes then bumped my hip with hers.

            "I did." Juliet snorted then resumed sprinkling fried onions over the top of her casserole. A couple long minutes ticked past. She glanced up at me when I didn't say anything else.

            "Jarrod, stop being an ass," Juliet snapped in anger.

            "I'm not being an ass, Jules. I'm seeing Nash."

            "Oh please, this isn't funny, Jarrod. You know how much I want you to find someone else and give Kenley…" She stared deeply into my eyes. "You're serious."

            "As a heart attack," I replied. She made a blind lunge for the sherry bottle. After she had tipped back a couple gulps, her brown eyes grabbed and held mine.

            "I need to sit down for a minute." My sister plunked her backside into a chair at her round kitchen table. I sat down next to her. She sat staring at her hands. "How can a man as firmly planted in the Victorian era as you are…Do you mean seeing someone like hanging out, scratching your balls and burping in unison or seeing someone like…"

            "I mean seeing someone like we have meaningful sex on an almost daily basis and have been doing so for quite some time."

            "Hand me that fucking sherry." 

Zip on over to Cathy Brockman's blog for a peek at her Sunday Snippet!

Cathy Brockman's Blog

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Throwback Thursday Tune

Can we ever go wrong with Ella? I think not. Many associate this song with Bob Hope, but whenever I hear this tune I think of Ella.

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Crashing the Crease Release Day!

I am humbled and thrilled to be part of the Seduced by the Game Collection again this year. I hope that you support the cause and grab a copy of each book as they release. You can keep track of donations by visiting the Seduced by the Game website:

Seduced by the Game Website

Even if hockey romance or gay romance isn't your thing, consider purchasing the books and chalk up the $2.99 price as charitable donations to help the fight against cancer. You can find buy links below the blurb. Thank you! Together we will find a cure.


Isaac Spencer met J.D. Bazin for the first time during game one of the collegiate championship in Isaac`s junior year. The meeting did not go well. Bazin, a power forward for the opposing team, crashed Isaac`s net, taking the goalie out of the play and out of the series with a knee injury that nearly ended Isaac`s career.

Angry words flew back and forth between the players involved as well as the coaches, colleges, press, and fans. After a grueling summer filled with surgery and rehab, Isaac fought his way back. After graduating, the Baltimore Badgers drafted Isaac. The Badgers also drafted J. D. Bazin, much to Isaac`s dismay.

Isaac not only has to fight his disdain of the man who nearly ruined his career, he also has to battle the growing feelings that bubble up whenever J. D. is near. Is it possible to forgive and forget or will animosity over the past be too much for either man to absolve?

All proceeds from the sale of Crashing the Crease will be donated to the New York Rangers Garden of Dreams Foundation.

Buy Links

Monday, November 16, 2015

Tuesday Tales - Cup

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 'Cup'. 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!

The next day was Sunday. Nothing was doing as the good folks were off at church, praying to God to help cure the queers and dykes. Or, perhaps, they were praying for their own souls for once. Andrew and I had spent the morning eating a lazy breakfast then napping on and off. Well, I napped. Andy just pulled energy from that invisible well four-year-old boys seem to possess.  The previous night had been another bad one for the kid. Darkness seemed to make him miss his mother worse, so we cuddled, cried, and battled each other until dawn pinked the sky.
Afternoon had crept up on us. I was sitting on the front porch having a smoke and sipping on a cup of terrible coffee, looking like someone who had been up all night. Andy was playing in a mud puddle the deluge had left behind. The radio was on inside. Exhaling a lungful of fine Turkish, my bleary eyes widened when Ross Coleman pulled into the driveway. Seeing that blue truck made my blood pump a little faster, I won`t lie.
Andrew left his horse in the mud to run and greet Ross. I sat where I was, arms dangling over the knees of my home trousers. Ross exited his truck. He was in denim work pants, a short-sleeved button shirt of tan over a t-shirt, and loafers. His hair was windblown and his cheeks dark with whiskers.
“Skipped services today, Ross?” I asked as he walked up to me.
“Let`s just say the pastor and I don`t see eye to eye on a few key things. I have something for you,” he said. I couldn`t help but admire the way those denim`s cradled the weight of his crotch. I lifted my Pall Mall to my lips.
“How`d you know where to find me?” I asked, smiling at Andrew as he jumped back into the puddle he and his pine Trigger had found. Wind rustled through the willows, the tree`s sorrowful tendrils scratching our vehicles lightly. The winged terrors were busy in the creek pinching fish for sport probably.
“I asked Janice at the diner. Janice knows everything. She`s the switchboard operator during the day. So, do you want to see what I brought you?” he asked, folding his arms over his wide chest. Tossing what was left of my smoke to the yard, I stood up. Ross eyed me up and down. A shiver of delight tickled my spine when his eyes lingered on my mouth for a moment.
“I`m not asking for handouts, Ross,” I said, glancing at my nephew mucking it up. His play pants and shirt were sodden and crusted with mud. I`d have to send him to the creek to play with the geese before I could let him inside. It crossed my mind to wonder if Betty ever let him get so grimy. Shit. I also had laundry to do. It looked like I was going to have a date with the Maytag in the corner of the ratty kitchen first thing in the morning.
“It`s not a handout.” With that, he turned and walked to the truck. I followed, hands in my pockets, eyes on the ground. Looking into the bed of his truck my eyes widened when I saw the easel lying on its side. “My sister used to dabble before her son came down with polio.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I said. Ross reached into the truck to pluck the easel out.
“So were we, but, it`s not like he`s the only one. I keep hoping they come up with a cure,” he said, easel resting on his shoulder. “In the passenger seat is a bunch of oil paints and a couple blank canvasses. The paint might be dried up, it`s been a few years since they`ve been used.”
“Thank you,” I murmured. He smiled at me.
“It`s my pleasure. So, where do we want this set up?”
I led him inside after fetching the oils and canvasses, feeling a little shame at the condition of the bungalow. The screen door slammed closed behind us. Andrew could be heard in the front yard shouting directions to his soggy wooden steed.
“Over in the corner,” I said. Ross placed the easel by the window. I put the canvasses behind the sleeper sofa. The sun had shifted now but in the morning it would be perfect for painting. Ross turned to find me smelling a tube of light oxide red. I felt a blush rise to my face. “You think I`m some sort of hophead, don`t you?”
“Not at all,” he said with humor, “You should see what I do with sawdust.”
“Would you like some coffee?” I asked, placing the oils down on the radio stand.
“Yes, I would.”
I smiled then waved him into the tiny kitchen. Bustling around like a nervous housewife, I filled the tarnished pot with water and scooped grinds into the basket. I lit the gas range to boil the water. The blue flame flared up wildly under the percolator before it calmed. Turning to face Ross, I found him chuckling at me.
“You`ve got red on your nose, Rudolph,” he said. I swiped at the tip of my nose, smearing the glob of paint over the back of my hand. That made the big man laugh even harder. “That didn`t help much,” he chuckled. “Let me,” he said, walking over to me while extracting a nicely folded handkerchief from his back pocket.
It was my pleasure to allow him to clean the paint from my face. It was also my pleasure to let him kiss me after our eyes met and held. My rump plastered to the back door, Ross held my chin in his handkerchief and tasted my lips. His tongue was insistent. I acquiesced with a sigh. He took. I gave. His fingers clutched my chin more tightly as the kiss deepened.  The honk of a goose right behind me made me jump. Ross danced backwards. There we stood, both breathless, our hearts thundering in our chests, laughing nervously.
The coffee was perking along nicely. Andrew raced by outside, calling to George and Gracie. The noisy waterfowl followed the boy with flapping wings around the house.
“So, we have that out of the way now,” Ross said, rolling his dirty handkerchief in his rough hands. “What next?”
“Would you like to stay while I burn dinner?”
“I would like that a great deal,” Ross said, grey eyes igniting.

Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey


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