Wednesday, February 29, 2012

First Kiss and Giveaway with author Nya Rawlyns and her book Acid Jazz Singer

Can you believe it?  This is the last First Kiss post as February draws to a close!  But we are going to go out with a bang! LOL.. Today I have author Nya  Rawlyns and her new book Acid Jazz Singer.  Take it away Nya:
Acid Jazz Singer by Nya Rawlyns
Who was the guy with the lisp? (Dozer, the bouncer)
Her name was RayLee. They called her the Acid Jazz Singer, her sultry voice mesmerizing human and demon alike. She’d been running for three years from her maker and only Travis McKenzie stood between her and the darkness that had become her life.
Travis hunted the hit squads of demons and paid lip service to the Sheriff of the city.
The half-blood had gifts, of the magic, shifting kind—and something more. It made him a stone cold killer and the only thing that mattered in his life was safeguarding the woman he was falling in love with.
Vladimira was the oldest of her kind, an enforcer—a gun for hire to the highest bidder. Vamp, human, demon. It didn’t matter. It was all about the job … until the stakes changed and she found a reason to care.

The singer and the protector had a history. But that history changed when a southern bigot vamp turned Travis’ friend into a travesty—neither man, nor woman … but both.

Travis fell hard for the trannie known as RayLee. He was having a harder time dealing with his best friend, Ray.
Then the game changes, and Travis and Ray have to rely on an assassin with a secret agenda and uncertain loyalties.

When the demon comes to claim Ray, Travis must walk through the bowels of hell to save the only being on earth he cares about.
The problem is … who is going to save Travis from himself?

The stink got me retching again. You never got used to it. They used terms like coppery or a taste of iron, as if death had a flavor of the week. Metallica clinging like satin glue to my blade. I was tempted, sorely, to lick it clean but Ray’s situation had cured me of that … maybe. The urge was still there and there was, as they say, no accounting for taste.
I had to dial down the buzzing in my ears, incessant tonight, jarring and so far beyond irritating I damn near cried. Instead I doubled over, heaving the last of the tequila over the swarm of maggots flowing in a riot of orgasmic waves over the ragged stack of body parts, what was left of them. The dumpster and the demon pile were the only things occupying the alley behind the club.
I really needed to hire a clean-up crew but Ray and our bartender, Joleen, had blown all our cash on what they called ‘costumes’. You’d think he’d know better by now. We couldn’t keep running forever and this crapola piece of shit he called a nightclub wasn’t paying the bills, not even close.
Ray’s idea of laying low was a little left of too stupid to live, something he’d become the poster boy for ever since we hauled ass from South Beach. We’d ended up in the back of beyond in Camden, New Jersey, across the Delaware River from Philly. My hometown, not his, but at least I knew my way around and there were a few chits I called in to ease the introductions.
“You okay out there, hon?” Joleen’s husky voice echoed behind me, slicing through the haze. She’d be peeking around the screen door, eyes squeezed shut, certain the ‘haints’ had gotten me good this time. Little did our bartender know.
“Yeah, I’m good, go on back to the bar,” I managed to croak past the thick bile still coating my tongue. Going on a bender hadn’t been my best choice for evening entertainment. Not when I knew what was stalking us
“You sure, boy? Because I…” She let the offer trickle off. There was no “I” with Joleen. She’d be less than useful in helping me clean up the mess I’d made, her intestinal fortitude hovering in the zero tolerance range. How she put up with our clientele always gave me pause, considering how some of their outsides didn’t look a whole lot more appetizing than the pile of shit I found myself nudging with my Doc Martens.
The smell wasn’t so bad now, the wards I’d put on the area finally filtering the worst of the contamination away. Having a little magic at my fingertips was handy, even if what I could do was limited. I could hear the scuffling as the one that got away headed south at a limp. It had been nailed but not disabled. I debated whether or not it was worth my time to go after it.
The squeak of the screen door alerted me that two hundred and fifty pounds of attitude and spandex and curiosity were about to complicate my decision process, such as it was.
There was no way I could risk turning around to watch her approach, but I could hear the ragged ffftt ffftt as her flip-flops scrapped the rough macadam, punctuated by a ping, ding, of hard plastic striking the pitted road surface. Acid backwash threatened one more tsunami up my sore throat, finally settling and leaving my ravaged system in uneasy peace. Now maybe I could concentrate on fixing my features into something that wouldn’t frighten women and small children. Or Joleen, though she’d caught glimpses now and again, usually before I lost complete control.
Joleen jabbed the small of my back with the snow shovel handle, staying well away from the disgusting mound in front of me. Shaking my head, I couldn’t help snorting out loud at her ‘oh sweet Jesus, oh dear Lordy Lord’ as she made tracks back to the bar. I assume she looked. Demon hunting was often a messy business.
“Joleen? Thanks.” Waste of breath, she was long gone, the screen door swooshing shut on uncertain hydraulics.
I leaned on the snow shovel—extra wide, heavy-duty plastic, picked up on sale when we’d hit town. Next to my blade it was the most useful piece of equipment we owned. Ray would dispute that, of course. He’d save his precious cosmetic case first if the joint caught on fire, something I worried about given the primitive wiring,
I was about to start scooping the remains into the garbage can but paused as the air pressure shifted. Fuck, I did not need this constant interruption.
This time I turned around to stare down my intruder. Stare up more like it. I’m big. But Dozer was a force of nature, hovering in the six-foot-six range … and those dimensions were high and wide. Rumor had it he’d wrestled. Wrestled what was anybody’s guess.
Monster, Inc was part of the package deal with the club whose owner was the vamp Sheriff, Manny Ventisi. He’d decided having Dozer on board was a good way to protect his investment, as if this shithole could count as anything but a landfill for the weird and genetically challenged. But he was now our liege, holding Ray under his protection, for what it was worth. In return I performed services because I didn’t mind getting my hands dirty.
I wasn’t in the mood and if I didn’t get cracking, the mess would acid eat its way through the macadam, leaving a pothole of biblical proportions. My piece ’o shit ride was on the other side, at the end of the alley, and until I could afford something better, those Toyota springs weren’t going to hold up to additional road challenges.
I lasered what little phosphorescent glare remained from the shift in Dozer’s direction. He wore his usual smirk. I’d made the mistake of thinking he was dumb as a box of rocks. He set me right, along with a few body parts, and my once pretty face took on what Ray and Joleen called ‘character’. My shifting didn’t improve the look … unless you liked early Neanderthal crossed with alien insect.
Dozer’s smirk morphed into a gap-toothed smile, his teeth startling white in the dim glare of the flood over the back door. That gap was my fault and if I’d had the dough I’d have offered to cough up a donation to his dentist to get it fixed, seeing how I was the one who knocked it out in the first place. It made for a lisp that sent chills up and down my spine.
Dozer didn’t speak much but when he did, it was worth listening.
The man was a walking database, a veritable encyclopedia on the strange and bizarre. He was also surprisingly well-read—someone mentioned he had a degree in English lit but that had seemed far-fetched, until now. He was either referencing something from Frank Herbert’s Dune or he was about to detail what the mass of goo at my feet was … or should I say, had been.
I leaned on my shovel and contemplated how to move this along. That I didn’t recognize the species of demon I’d just dispatched was no surprise. Our catalogue of creepies seemed to expand on some exponential curve. Ray had explained to my math- challenged brain that that meant there was a shitload of supers and the pool was getting big … fast. Like I hadn’t already noticed.
Clarification seemed in order. “Mentat?”
Dozer nodded but his eyes remained vague, withdrawn, the pupils in an eerie expand-contract movement that was disconcerting unless you knew why.
The mess needed cleaning and the patrol cops would be by sooner rather than later. I liked to tidy up to avoid official complications. Manny didn’t have a lot of hard and fast rules but avoiding human interference seemed like a good one to me.
While Dozer went into Google Hell, I began scraping the outer bits and oozing goo into a tidier pile. For the thousandth time I grumbled to myself about the size of the garbage can opening in relation to the width of the snow shovel.
What I needed was a shop vac. Some people dreamt about vacations at the beach, maybe a new car. Me? I hungered for the simple things in life—a few tools to make my janitorial duties easier, a bottle or two of tequila, maybe a rare steak.
I shook off that thought and scooped a pile onto the shovel.
Dozer barked, “DON’T!”
Maybe ‘barked’ wasn’t the right term. Air horn was more like it. And it stopped me in my tracks, a scoop full of demon goodness suspended between eternity and Waste Management’s weekly pickup.
“Shit, now what? I’m running out of time, in case you haven’t noticed.”
I knew just enough about computers to guess maybe we were on error code 404, but something told me to hold on and wait for … more. The slop on the shovel was surprisingly heavy. With arms in full extension and the damn thing poised on the edge of the can, I could feel myself tipping ever so slightly, letting the first tinge of scarlet gristle ease across the scored plastic.
I didn’t have to wait long. He gasped, “Explosive,” and I knew we were in deep shit.
“How long do we have?” I guessed the answer was ‘not long enough’ and set the shovel carefully on the ground, desperate not to jostle the remains more than necessary, though I’d already done enough damage what with my Hannah Housekeeper, tidy-the-edges effort.
With my eyes back to human standards, I didn’t have the benefit of seeing any abnormal wavelengths. My hearing was still at the crackle pop stage, enhanced to ultra-high frequencies so the sizzle, hiss, fizz sound was not something I wanted to add to my playlist. Certain species of demons had a physiology—metabolics, whatever it was called—that kept the components separate, locked away in tidy joint capsules. I’d taken the contents of all those containers and dumped them into one huge pile of crap.
Releasing those contents in controlled bursts was a handy defense mechanism, one employed with care because the results were often unpredictable. As usual I’d neglected to think on what I was facing before wielding my blade in all its slice and dice glory. Thinking wasn’t my strong suit when I buried my anxiety in a bottle.
Neither Dozer nor I could qualify as fast but we spun as one and made tracks to the head of the alley, the intense heat ballooning behind us. We weren’t going to make it.
The alley lit for a split second in a soul-scorching glare of white incandescence, the shock wave hitting and driving us against the filthy brick wall, then leveling out, flowing past us to dissipate on the narrow street. I didn’t know whether to be grateful or disappointed. What I was … was disconcerted.
Dozer had me pinned against the wall, face first, the rough surface scraping my jaw and palms where I braced against his mountainous mass. He was murmuring an incantation in a language I didn’t recognize, his breath warm, almost delicate on my neck and something stirred deep in my groin.
Hands the size of pie-plates cradled my head, a lover’s caress, his voice deepening and the rhythm of the words changing to a lush, sibilant sound. I was intimate with spells and didn’t understand how he could possibly cast anything given his new speech impediment. Mine were hit or miss on a good day, stone cold sober.
I was going to need to read up on countermeasures because my body was having way too much fun responding to whatever suggestions Dozer was murmuring in my ear. He was grinding my hips into the rough wall, and I knew in that instant my initiation into the Cult of Dozer would not be the pleasant interlude my painful erection anticipated.
When he withdrew without warning, I felt relieved and not a little disappointed. The muted sounds of footsteps, laughter—high girlish followed by a coarse grunt—and the steady beat from whatever canned musak Ray was gyrating to filtered back to us, spreading out and around the mountain of a man blocking my escape.
I eased back from the brick, rubbing my palms on my jeans, and risked an intake of the fetid air. Demon guts, sex, and rotting trash warred with the part of me having the good sense to be afraid, layering thin veneers of terror intermingled with lust in a powerful eau de stupidity.
Ray was going to be all Yoda on me if he found out. I might be immune to his glamour but I sure as hell was susceptible to all manner of naughty suggestions from his clientele. And most times spells weren’t required. We’d been working on that for years. In my youth, trolling for trailer trash, there hadn’t been much of a downside … or consequences. Now I couldn’t afford to be distracted. Unfortunately, celibacy never worked for me.
Dozer licked his lips in that slow seductive way you’d expect some hot babe would do it, corner to corner, top first, then the lower with teeth taking hold in nips and tugs. The air around me buzzed and sizzled, setting up a vibration in my belly that wasn’t stretching my comfort zone at all. I couldn’t see his eyes, they were downcast, staring at my crotch where I was stroking myself, palm curved to receive the denim and sharp zipper swaddling my cock. It hurt, metal to flesh, pain in that good kind of way that makes you feel alive and in control.
Something glinted in the weak light. Odd I hadn’t noticed before. He had a tongue stud, a silver ball he was nestling along his upper lip, and I thought about how that might feel if he took me in his mouth and nothing mattered more at that moment than finding out. The subvocals rattled in my chest, Dozer’s mouth moving now in rapid cadence, drawing me close, closer.
I barely registered the click, so intent on the unholy wash of need coursing through my system, setting nerves afire, skin crawling with sensation as the waves of energy ate through the last of my defenses. He was going to fuck me ’til I bled and I’d beg for more.
“I said, back off, bitch."
Ray? What the hell was he doing out her?

Stacey Danson: Book Review of Acid Jazz Singer
Finally a book that doesn’t resort to cliché driven characterizations. Author Nya Rawlyns has taken the vamp genre and with superb plotting and a pen dipped in an adventurous readers soul she has crafted a tapestry as bloody as it is moody.

The narrator Travis is utterly believable irrespective of the functions of his body … Travis is a cold killer, a complex and totally enjoyable character to get to know. Trust me … know him you will, his emotions are held in check, but never completely hidden. The author has given him a heart and soul, a pulse rate, needs, desires, and lusts that refuse to stay hidden.

Travis is a character that will stay in the mind of the reader, long after “The End” appears on the final page.

We care about this man…in all his forms. I will not spoil the ending for the readers . The book crosses so many genres…it is a Vamp story….yes indeed, yet one the likes of which I haven’t had the pleasure of reading before. It is a love story..a love that is as real and complex as any you will encounter.

How does someone like Travis deal with loving a being that is both male and female? The psychological implications are so well thought out, that you the reader are captured by the passions and confusing eruption of lust, and brought to tears by the unrelenting tenderness of the love Travis has for Ray/Raylee.

The action sequences are superb, fast pacing, and relentlessly good descriptive sequences have you holding your breath in anticipation, and then sighing as you exhale…expect the unexpected, you won’t be disappointed.

All in all a superb reading experience. I am looking forward eagerly to more of the books in this brand new series. Bravo, Nya Rawlyns!

Sara Curran Ross Reviews Acid Jazz Singer:
Anyone who loves the tv vampire series True Blood or is looking for a new slant on the vampire story or indeed a love story would be hard pressed to find any better than Acid Jazz Singer. This is a must have read.' 

Full Amazon review:

This review is from: Acid Jazz Singer (Hunger Hurts) (Kindle Edition)
I don't think I have ever read a book quite like Acid Jazz singer. An action romance between a transvestite vampire and a half blood Demon Hunter is an unusual combination for my mainstream tastes so I approached it with some intrepidation wondering what I would find.

I have to say that what I found was fresh and original. It was a brave move to take on such a romantic combination but Diane Nelson pulled it off with style. It was a pleasure to read a book that deconstructed the normal urban fantasy novel, putting an intriguing and beguiling spin on the vampire romance.

Raylee teetering on his/her heels in his spandex and all man Travis doing his utmost to protect his vampire lover from her evil maker Slattern, provoke your sympathies immediately. This is particularly the case when Travis's feelings towards desiring and loving RayLee as a woman whilst attempting to maintain his close friendship with the Transvestite as a man become strongly conflicted. The characters are loveable in their own unique ways and quirks. They are brave in their traumatic journey throughout the book making you want to root for them all the way.

Diane Nelson's scene setting is almost HD and her description vivid giving you no problems in losing yourself in the story. The action scenes are plentiful if not a little lengthy at times. However, they balance out the romance element making it an easy read for either a man or a woman. My only real criticism of the novel would be that as a person from the UK some of the language that was used to give a grounded, earthy appeal went over the top of my head. I spent time trying to work out the meaning of the words I didn't understand which spoiled the flow of my reading.

Anyone who loves the tv vampire series True Blood or is looking for a new slant on the vampire story or indeed a love story would be hard pressed to find any better than Acid Jazz Singer. This is a must have read.

Bill Kirton Reviews Acid Jazz Singer:
The popularity of vamp literature means that its stories are becoming repetitive and sometimes appear to be written by people who only know the clichés and not what they represent. On the other hand, there are those with a deeper understanding of the myths and the subconscious urges they represent. Nya Rawlins is one such person. In The Acid Jazz Singer, vampirism is just one of the threads of a gripping, pacey story whose narrator has the sharpness, wit and immediacy of the classic private eye of crime fiction. There's eroticism, shape-shifting (and perhaps its ultimate manifestation - transgendering), all set in a moral context in which good and bad seem negotiable. The action sequences are breathtaking and Rawlins is in complete control of her medium, whichever of the levels she's handling.

And these various threads aren't simply exercises in genre-mixing, they're woven together in a texture which extends the vamp metaphor of draining the essence from another and fuses it with love and its ambiguities. Travis, the narrator, is far from the conventional hero, the characters who surround him are complex beings themselves who resist easy pigeonholing and, amongst the violence, eroticism and mayhem, there's a sweet central tenderness linking him with the transsexual he protects and loves, RayLee.

This is the first of a series and, even as its resolution answers some of the narrative's challenges, it's clear that there are more ahead for Travis and that some of these scenes may be revisited. It's a very satisfying book, an excellent, page-turning read and a story which transcends the limits of genre fiction.

Greta van der Rol Reviews Acid Jazz Singer:
This is gritty, down-and-dirty urban fantasy where good and evil aren't necessarily white and black. If you're looking for Twilight vampires, you're in the wrong spot. But if you want fast-paced action and excitement aplenty, you'll enjoy this book. There's a second on the way. Woohoo.

Links for Acid Jazz Singer

Kindle US:



Genre: Dark Urban Fantasy, Paranormal, Paranormal Romance

So what do you think?  It sounds great right?  Well Nya is giving away 3 copies!!  Just fill out the rafflecopter to enter!!!

Beasts: A Different Life By: Leanore Elliot

I remember when I first started blogging I had a tremendous amount of fear and worry.  What if no one reads it?  What if I really wasn't cut out for this?  What if all the authors ignore me because I am just a drop in the bucket?  What if no one wanted a spot on my blog?  What in the world am I going to post about today?  LOL.. It seems almost like another lifetime ago but there is a point to  this reminiscing.  The second book I ever read from an unknown author specifically for a review for this blog was none other than Leanore Elliot's Beasts 1 :)  Yep, that is how I met Leanore.  She emailed me to thank me for the great review and from there blossomed a great friendship.  She always teases me about making her a star, but in truth it is because of authors like Leanore Elliot that my blog is thriving.  In those early days when I had like 22 or 23 followers, most of which were personal family and friends, someone took the time to make an unknown author of a little black and white blog feel appreciated! She helped give me that little push and answered all of my questions and relieved my doubts about whether or not I was going to be a good blogger.  Thank you Leanore!  You truly are a great friend and this post, along with many more to come, is dedicated to you!!!   So this is a special treat for my subscribers.  Leanore has recently done some cover-revisions, so I decided to fluff up her review post and add in the new cover.  So here it is guys, the second review I wrote along with the new cover!!  Enjoy!

Alex Rayne knows who she is, but she wonders about her family. Where did she come from and why did she feel like something was missing from her life?

Damon chuckled." How about Truth or Dare for a getting to know one another method?"

She pulled her head back." What?"
"I ask you a question and you answer with either truth or a dare."
"That’s ridiculous." She rolled her eyes.
He sighed heavily. "Well, then kissing it is." He lowered his lips again.
She stilled. "Okay!"
"Now let me see?" He turned his eyes up as though he were concentrating.
Alex released a disgusted sigh and squirmed, attempting to loosen his hold.
He glanced down with mock aggravation. "Will you just behave for a second?"
Her eyes rounded up at him. "Me?" She made a disgusted sound. "You are the one sitting on me naked!"
He chuckled. "And you are the one that busted into my shower while I was naked."
She sighed heavily again and turned her face away in disgust.
"Okay, just tell me…"
She turned her gaze back to him.
"Tell me, that you were not coming on to me before."
She gave out a disgusted laugh."Mmph!"
He tilted his head. "So... no truth?"
Alex glared at him and remained mute, a child-like pout on her lips.

He swiftly let go of one hand and ripped her lace bra from her skin.
She gasped with shock.
Damon had hands back onto hers before she even blinked. "Dare it is!" he announced.
She panted with a little fear and felt her nipples harden in the cool air.
"Now… "He lowered his lips close to hers, "Your turn."
She wrinkled her brows up. "I don't want to play!"
"So, you forfeit your turn?" He drew a brow up and lifted a little to gaze down with emphasis at her lace panties.
She angrily narrowed her eyes and released a huge breath. "Okay, all right!"
He chuckled with amusement. This was just way too much fun! His wicked thoughts ran wild while he gazed down at her rosy nipples. His mouth almost felt like it was going to water.
"Unh-- mmm!" She cleared her throat.
His eyes rose to her face. "Oh sorry, I was cheating," he teased.
Alex kicked her feet with frustration.
"Okay, okay... ask!" He chuckled again at her frustrated expression.
She sighed. "Were you following me to take my medallion?"
He stared at her.
"He doesn’t even like his own stupid game." She rolled her eyes.
"No, no. I never said that." He lowered his lips to hers. "I will choose…." He lowered his face all the way down. "Dare!" His mouth latched onto her nipple.
"Oohh!" she gasped and her body jerked.
He suckled it and licked around it as though he were enjoying a delicacy of flavor.

"Oh, stop!" she whispered her body quivering.
He ignored her while enjoying the taste and feel of it in his mouth.
"Please stop?" She shuddered.
"Mmm, delicious."
Her face flamed. "So, now can I go?"
"Now why would I…?" He lowered his bare chest to hers. "A perfectly intelligent healthy male, just let this opportunity pass me by?"
Alex blinked at him. "You could act like a gentleman."
"Nope, I am a beast, you know?" Damon winked at her with a glowing eye.

My Review:

 Breaking the rules usually costs…but sometimes you wonder if in the end you might have paid too high a price?  Nah. Alex is a Mesmer, an ancient race of immortals that can wipe away all your memories and create a new reality for you.  The Mesmers work closely with the chimeras or gargoyles as they are known to us.  Sounds great right? Unless you take into account the fact that Alex cannot feel any emotions, at least until she meets Damon.  Damon makes her feel alive with a fire that in all her 500 hundred years of existence she has never felt.  But a beast cannot mate with a Mesmer.  It is forbidden.  A Mesmer can then become lost in her different realities..maybe forever.  Will they chance it?  Is it worth the risk?  Can love truly conquer all?
The book is a little confusing at first, the subtitles really help, but it is totally fascinating.  Your on the edge of you seat the entire time just trying to figure out where they will end up next.  Just when you think they are finally going to find each other and remember each other, one of them disappears.  It’s a roller coaster ride of hope, frustration, despair, and joy.  A ride that is totally addicting!  The sex scenes are steaming hot!  Especially if you like dominant alpha men and floating fantasies.  Because baby, this beast is all man!  I enjoyed this book tremendously and now must go back and read book one! 

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Breaking News on a Hot Hot Hot New Release that goes on sale today!!!

You know who this author is :)  That's right its Wickedly Wanton Leanore!!  And guess what you are looking at?  That's right!!  The cover for her newest sexy sinsation that has just been released at Decadent Publishing for the extreme low price of $1.49!!  Let's take a look at the book details and a brief post from my very dear friend:


First of all Nikki, I wanted to impart one thing: This is story is all heat from paragraph one, till the end! Decadent wanted very little else in this story.
LOL..Leanore, your books are usually hot from start to finish, but I can't believe they actually asked you to put in more sex and less story!!  This book has got to be hot!!

They wanted Hot Sex and Leanore certainly delivered…Chuckle.
As only you can babe!!  Let's have a look:

Everyone secretly yearns to be wild and uninhibited—everyone, whether they admit to it or not.

  During the hottest night of debauchery in New Orleans, Jazz yearns for someone who is not there, someone she never even officially met. Without hope for a lusty tryst with the hot stranger who haunts her wet dreams, she relies on a wicked, little tube of lipstick to vibrate her to release from the longing she suffers.

He seemed angry at first, and she could not figure out why.  Then, he pushed her up against his car, his warm hands roaming up along her thighs, past her waist, and under her blouse.  He leaned in and whispered, "Have to search you."
Next, he was playing with her nipples, his hard body pressed up against hers.  "I have to read you your rights, cher."  The sound of his deep Cajun drawl caused a heat to blaze across her skin.
By this part of the dream, she would be panting and tossing in her sleep.
He lifted her skirt, his strong fingers slipping into her panties to stroke her clit until her juices were slick while he whispered ever so softly into her ear, "You have the right to come for me..."
With the delight of someone opening a gift, she tugged at the underware and slyly peeked in.  A heated flush ran across her face as she stared at his hard, jutting cock while a rush of lustful adrenaline coursed through her.
At her breathless joke and her delighted peeking, he let out a chuckle.
He opened her legs wider, a now serious glint appearing in his eyes, "I watched that sweet tail of yours while you walked ahead of me." He dragged her closer.  "Teasing me with that sexy sway you have."
So, Nikki my message to your subscribers is: After you read this smooth slice of Cherry Red Heat? You will never look at Lipstick in the same way again.

LOL!!  I know I won't!  I think most of us could use that magic lipstick!!  Just click on the link below to buy your own copy!!  Happy Hot Reading!!


It's that time again!!  I have had 2 giveaways end and its time to award some prizes!!! For Regan Black's amazing giveaway..the winner is...

Sara Bibi Setar!!!  Congrads!!!

And for a copy of Russell Bittner's newest release the winner is....MJB!!!! 

Guest Post with Author Marcus Lopes

Welcome to the latest stop on Marcus Lopes' virtual ebook tour with Freestyle love.  Marcus is posting today about the importance of keeping a routine.  His unusual style seems to make being an author a 9-5 job.  He is also going to share with us an excerpt from his newest release.  Let's take a look at A typical day in the life of Marcus Lopes!!  Take it away Marcus:

A Day in the Life

 As a multidisciplinary artist, I thrive on routine. It helps me to stay focused, create a sense of order. And order is important to me as I am trying — sometimes successfully, sometimes not — to juggle my writing, painting and music.

I am a morning person. One a good day, I’m jumping into the shower by six-fifteen, and by seven I’m making my may to Le Tassé, my neighbourhood coffee shop. Sam, the owner of the café, prepares my usual Tonnerre (a shot of espresso topped up with the café’s house blend) and then I settle in to write my Morning Pages. With my second cup of java in hand, I read for a bit (right now I’m reading Margaret Thatcher’s Statecraft: Strategies for a Changing World). Once I’ve finished my coffee, I settle up with Sam and head home.

At home I sit down at my desk and write. These days, working on another novel, I’m committed to writing 1,000 words a day. It’s a doable quota that has helped me to move this project forward, especially on days when it feels like I’m writing uphill. Even if I don’t feel inspired or look for things to distract me, I write my 1,000 words because it is enough to prime the pump, to get the wheels rolling. Often enough, I surpass my daily quota.

With my daily writing quota met, I get changed and go for a run. I try to run daily, anywhere between 40 minutes to an hour. I’ve been running since February 2008, when I felt embarrassed by my weight gain and was compelled to do something about it. Three half-marathons and several other shorter races under my belt, I run now to stay active and in-shape. Running is also a form of meditation for me, allowing me to disconnect from myself and the world.

Returning from my run, I cool down, check my e-mail, catch up on the news online, get gleaned up, have lunch and then get back to work. I spend part of the afternoon in my studio painting, and then return to my office to write some more. A quick break to walk back to Le Tassé for my afternoon Americano, I head back home and put in at least an hour at the piano.

When I get up from the piano, my “official” workday is now complete, and I like nothing better than to end my day by preparing myself a nice meal. Cooking is another creative outlet for me where I can be daring and bold. Sometimes in the evening I will write a little more, but nowadays I reserve at least 30 minutes to read the list of books I said I never had time to read. The evenings are also a time to make phone calls to my friends spread out across the country, catch up on their lives.

There always flexibility in my daily routine. There has to be. Sometimes I have to fit in a visit to my doctor or an appointment at the car dealership, or I take a break and go to the cinema. But through it all, what remains constant is my writing time — my Morning Pages and my 1,000-word quota. They are non-negotiable. And about routine, I like how William Golding put it: “Novelists do not write as birds sing, by the push of nature. It is part of the job that there should be much routine and some daily stuff on the level of carpentry.”
Title:  Freestyle Love
Author:  Marcus Lopes
Publisher:  Lazy Day Publishing
Length:  66,500 Words
Sub-Genres:  Contemporary, Erotic, Interracial/African-American, M/M/M



Barnes & Noble:


When it comes to one-night stands, Malachi Bishop has “rules”. No pillow talk. No sleeping over. No planning a future hook-up. First names only. It’s just sex, not a prelude to love. But when Cole Malcolm, a smooth-talking management consultant, woos Malachi into bed, the rulebook is tossed out the window.

The one-time fling leaves Cole reeling: Malachi is his first real shot at happiness, his “forever” man, and he’s determined to show Malachi just how good they could be together. But Malachi doesn’t believe in happily-ever-after, and dodges Cole’s play for his heart. After all, Malachi is still mourning the loss of Taylor Blanchard, whom he hoped to love forever. Then there’s Zach Brennan, a handsome twenty-five-year-old and student at the college where Malachi teaches. Falling for Zach could destroy everything he’s worked for, but Malachi can’t help himself.

Caught by love and in its betrayal, it’s a later affair with a beautiful stranger that changes Malachi’s life most dramatically. Now Malachi must confront his present and his past that bring into question the larger fantasies of home and his place in the world.

As Cole Malcolm asked the server for his bill, Malachi Bishop was across town, alone in his condo, pouring himself a stiff drink. Malachi picked up the crystal tumbler and moved into the living room, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows and watching as the dark storm clouds edged their way eastward, dulling the bright sky. His unit, located just below the penthouse level, offered a view of the west side of Claredon, including the college. And Malachi was right, as he had explained to Shane Martin, that on a clear day he could see to Chemong Lake.
Malachi sat down on the worn brown leather sofa and stared blankly at the TV. Am I unreal? Malachi lifted his glass to his mouth and held it there. Tuesdays, when he taught three of his four classes, left him drained. Today he was exhausted. Malachi’s day started off with the advanced writing workshop, and Zach Brennan had not shown up again. Malachi had taught the ninety-minute English literature course that started right after the lunch break pausing often, as if he were unable to weave together, and hold, a train of thought. One of his students asked if he was okay, to which he replied, “I’m fine,” with great defence, and then dismissed the class — forty minutes early. When all of the students had left the classroom, Malachi sat down at his desk and wrote out a notice cancelling the creative writing class he was to teach later that afternoon. He posted the notice to his classroom door and then made for home.
Beyond the usually long day of teaching, beyond the ordinariness of his life, Malachi was caught up in the paralyzing, awful, blackly saddening events of the day. In the aftermath of the day’s events, his perception of his life in Claredon had shifted, seen now as imaginary and formless, indeed a fabrication. There remained a contradiction because he knew that there was an inescapable realness to Claredon where he had, over the past five years, carved out a home. And in that realness there was Zach Brennan.
Despite their newfound intimacy, despite having succumbed to desire, Zach was still very much a question mark in Malachi’s life, a dark shade of grey that settled heavily over Malachi’s heart. Malachi felt both joy and sadness as he thought about the day he had gone over to Zach’s apartment — how happy he had felt to finally hold Zach in his arms. And then relief when Zach led him into the bedroom, closing the door immediately as if to lock out the rest of the world. They stood next to the bed, the duvet and sheets scrunched up near the footboard, smiling sheepishly, until Zach lunged at Malachi. They kissed, tongues darting — a great collision that could not be put off any longer, like the sudden ascent to heaven. Zach, with his eyes wide open, wrapped his arms loosely around Malachi’s waist. As the kiss progressed, Zach ran his hands over Malachi’s round firm buttocks, and then Zach pulled Malachi closer to him. It was hard to say who had let out the little moan without releasing the kiss as Malachi grabbed at Zach’s hard penis encased in his sweat pants.
Malachi, with his other hand, stroked Zach’s thick hair, at times clutching at it with a roughness that Zach seemed to enjoy. Malachi then placed his hands on Zach’s shoulders and shoved him down onto the bed.
Zach looked with submission up at Malachi, and Malachi smiled mischievously at Zach. Zach, fumbling to unbuckle Malachi’s belt, kept his gaze on Malachi and, with similar difficulty, Zach unbuttoned Malachi’s jeans. Zach violently pulled down on Malachi’s jeans and underwear. Zach smiled and mumbled, “Oh, fuck, yeah.” Zach then opened his mouth wide and swallowed Malachi’s hard and rigid erection.
Malachi closed his eyes as Zach worked on him steadily.
Zach, held in his own erotic trance, reached inside his sweat pants to stroke his own cock and could feel the precome seeping out and wetting his underwear. Zach’s head slid back and forth along Malachi’s slender manhood in time to the almost inaudible ticking of the clock on the nightstand, gradually picking up speed each time Malachi grunted, “Oh, yeah…”
As Malachi pulled out, Zach looked up to see that Malachi was still smiling insouciantly at him, with compassion, but it also seemed like pity.
Malachi stepped out of his jeans and underwear bunched at his feet, lowered himself to his knees, and stroked the head of Zach’s beautiful cock that was poking out the top of Zach’s sweat pants. Malachi kissed the pink mushroom head before pushing Zack onto his back, which made it easier for Malachi to pull the sweat pants past Zach’s hips. They took off the rest of their clothes, eyeing each other all the while to take in the completeness of their nakedness. Zach stretched out completely on the bed and Malachi lay down on top of Zach, and they kissed again, deep and long. Suddenly, the whole world was before them, draped in the majesty of possibility, and them wrapped up in it, unstoppable.
Afterwards they lay there, tangled up in each other, unwilling to let go fearing they would somehow be disentangled, cut off from each other— recognize the horror of what they had done. Malachi pushed back the hair from Zach’s low brow and kissed Zach’s forehead. Malachi looked intently at Zach and said pertly, “This is very real to me.”
Marcus Lopés is originally from Lower Sackville, Nova Scotia. His writing has appeared in Canadian and international literary magazines. Freestyle Love is his first novel. A novelist, essayist, poet, painter and singer-songwriter, Lopés lives in Sherbrooke, Québec.

What an amazing sounding book!!  Thanks so much for making CEWTNK a tour stop!!  To continue to follow the tour click here:

Review of Steaming By Vanessa Barger

Along with the book details and review for Steaming, I have included a look at Vanessa's second book Slack Tide.  Let's take a look at Steaming first:

My name is Cornelius Latimer, and I have fallen in love.

The object of my affection isn’t tall and blonde with all the right curves. It isn’t even human. My love belches steam and breathes fire. My world runs on steam and hard metal, and I am a master of both. My Uncle, Rufus Harrison, has funded my expeditions. He’s gifted me with a lab containing all the parts and space I could possibly need. For weeks I have been toiling over my journals, crafting my biggest and best creation yet. It’s heady, this feeling of power. But I made a fatal error. I told a friend about my machine. And now someone who should not know, does. I should tear everything apart, but I can’t.

Love does strange things to people.

My Review
I love reading new things and this novel was definitely that, different.  Cornelius is a young man who spends most of his time locked in his mind.  Girls and frivolous past times are lost on him as he prefers the company of cold steel and blueprints.  That is until his eye is caught by the lovely Temperance.  She was a vision and positively stole his breathe, unfortunately for him she had that effect on everyone.  What could a tinker possibly offer such a beauty?  His best friend was more up for this game than he, but he couldn't resist her.  Perhaps he could impress her with his lab?

Which is exactly what Temperance wants to be!!  The plot thickens and unfolds as Cornelius attempts to court this young woman.  He finds himself on the wrong end of a blackmail and unsuccessfully attempts to rectify the situation.  His saving grace ends up being no other than a servant and Temperance's sister!!  The twists and turns in the plot are fascinating and seem to widen off into a much bigger picture than at first glance.'

This book brings to light two important themes:  Things are not always what they seem and if it seems to good to be true, it probably is!!  I really enjoyed the book.  I loved the random mythological beings that were thrown into the mix.  It was refreshing read that was filled with mystery, suspense, and a touch of romance. I really enjoyed this book!!

And here is a little taste of Slack Tide:

At a time when most girls are worried about prom dresses, Lorelei Stamper is worried about losing her skin -- literally. Receiving a sealskin from her Aunt, her world is changed. Not only is she a selkie, but she holds the key to breaking a curse affecting all selkie.

Now monsters are stalking her, forcing her to decide if she will end the curse before she even really understands what’s happening. When Declan, one of two bodyguards sent to protect her, wakes her sleeping heart, she must try to balance love, surviving her senior year, and deciding whether she wants to be human or not. No matter what she chooses, the fact remains that breaking the curse demands blood. Hers.

Monday, February 27, 2012

First Kiss with Author Debra Anastasia and her newest release Poughkeepsie

Good Morning CEWTNK!!  Are you ready to be swept off of your feet?  Well my guest today certainly has every intention of trying!!  Debra Anastasia is joining us today to share her first kiss between her lead roles in her newest book!  Before we take a peek, let's take a look at the book details:

Summary: He counts her smiles every day and night at the train station. And morning and evening, the beautiful commuter acknowledges him—just like she does everyone else on the platform. But Blake Hartt is not like the others . . . he’s homeless. Memories of a broken childhood have robbed him of peace and twisted delusions into his soul. He stays secluded from the sun, sure the world would run from him in the harsh light of day.
Each day, Livia McHugh smiles politely and acknowledges her fellow commuters as she waits for the train to the city. She dismisses this kindness as nothing special, just like her. She’s the same as a million other girls—certainly no one to be cherished. But special or not, she smiles every day, never imagining that someone would rely on the simple gesture as if it were air to breathe.
When the moment comes that Livia must do more than smile, without hesitation she steps into the fray to defend the homeless man. And she's surprised to discover an inexplicable connection with her new friend. After danger subsides, their smiles become conversation. Their words usher in a friendship, which awakens something in each of them. But it’s not long before their bond must prove its strength. Entanglements from the past challenge both their love and their lives.
Blake’s heart beats for Livia’s, even if her hands have to keep its rhythm. Love is patient. Love is kind. Love never fails. Love never fails, right?

In an interwoven tale of unlikely loves and relationships forged by fire, Debra Anastasia takes readers into the darkest corners of human existence, only to show them the radiant power of pure adoration and true sacrifice. Complicated families and confused souls find their way to light in this novel, which manages to be racy, profane, funny, and reverent all at once

And now lets take a peek at that first kiss and the trailer:
First kisses are so much fun! Thanks to Nikki for arranging this awesome event. I had to share the first kiss from my book Poughkeepsie with you. To set the scene, Livia and Blake are having a breakfast picnic at the train station. They’ve been friends for a few months, but this conversation changes everything for them:


Blake smiled at her, finally. “Have you ever seen a shooting star, Livia?”
She nodded, perplexed at the change in conversation.
“It’s very beautiful, right?” He nodded with her this time. “It makes you wonder—is that shooting star just a happy accident or has the universe had it planned for a thousand years?” He tilted his face to the sky, his eyes tracking an imaginary star as it screamed to earth. He looked back to her. “Either way, you can’t stop it. You can beg it to slow down or you can just enjoy the show.”
“Am I the star in this story or you?”
Blake wrinkled his nose and chuckled. “Was that a bad analogy? I meant we’re the star, Livia. Us. This.” He shrugged his shoulders like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Us being in the same atmosphere is either a great cosmic catastrophe or the most serendipitous rendezvous.” Blake pronounced the French word like a closeted foreign language teacher.
The pull toward him came from her center. Her eyes never left his face as she moved to her hands and knees. She crawled slowly over the blanket, the breakfast, his legs, until her hands rested on either side of his hips. His smile lifted only on one side. He took care to stay very still, but his mouth opened slightly as she approached. This close to Blake she could smell him. Fresh, sweet fall leaves and mint.
He smelled like a dedicated lover of Mother Earth. The mint was his breath. It wasn’t a manufactured toothpaste, but a marvelous herb scent. Livia had never wanted anything more than to taste his lips right then.
“Would you mind very much if I kissed you?” she whispered.
Blake shook his head.
Livia leaned in and took a gentle kiss. His lips were soft, and they tasted perfect. The smell of his skin combined with that wonderful taste almost made her collapse.
Blake steadied her by placing his hand against her chest. His splayed fingers must have felt how fast her heart was beating. Livia pulled back just a bit to see his eyes again. They were half closed and shimmering.
It was his turn to whisper. “Would you mind very much if I kissed you?”
She shook her head and waited, very still. Blake lifted his other hand to touch her face. Livia had to work not to press her skin into his fingers. His touch was light as a breeze. He traced the features of her face. He trailed his fingers down to her throat and up to her earlobe. He’s so gentle.
As soon as the thought flashed through Livia’s mind, Blake grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking it enough to make her gasp. Then he kissed the living hell out of her.
Oh, oh, OH. Livia felt her arms begin to shake, and Blake took more of her weight onto his forearm. She’d had no idea kissing was an art form. She knew now. Blake had to be the one to end the kiss.
The train. Right. Crap.
Livia had forgotten they weren’t alone. She tried to ignore the tremors in her hands as she cleaned up his smooshed breakfast.
“I’m so sorry I kneeled on your food.” She tried to put it back together.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m all good right now.” And he was. He looked delighted and kept licking his lips, much to Livia’s distraction. “May I take your cooler and blanket for you again?” He held out his hand.
“Please. Thank you very much,” she replied.
Livia needed to go further onto the platform to catch the train, but a set of handcuffs seemed to bind her wrist to Blake’s. He noticed her reluctance and motioned for her to enter his shade again. He bent at the waist and lifted her hand to his lips. Before he released her hand, he looked out at her from his under his eyelashes.
“Have a wonderful day, Livia. I vote for serendipitous rendezvous.”

Give a Copy of Poughkeepsie a Home:
 Poughkeepsie in eBook, ePack, and Print: Omnific Publishing

Poughkeepsie in Kindle and Print Amazon Kindle Amazon Print
Poughkeepsie in Nook and Print Barnes and Noble B&N

Poughkeepsie Book format

Disqus for Close Encounters with the NIght Kind


Copyright Text