Book Promo! Dilemma in Yellow Silk, The Emperors of London #5 by Lynne Connolly

Ever ready to do the right thing, The Emperors of London act bravely—and when it comes to matters of the heart, impetuously…

Despite her cover as the daughter of the land steward for Lord Malton, Marcus Aurelius, spirited Viola Gates is tied by birth to the treacherous Jacobite legacy. Not that this keeps her from falling for the dashing Lord from afar. Despite his staid demeanor, Marcus is devastatingly handsome—and hopelessly beyond her reach. Then Viola’s father is mortally wounded and her secret identity revealed, sending her straight into danger’s path—and Marcus’s arms…

For years, he’d only known her as a wild child, the tempting—and forbidden—daughter of his trusted steward. But when Viola’s life is threatened, Marcus must act as duty—and his barely contained passion—dictates. Ferrying the bold beauty on an eventful journey to safer quarters, he offers her the protection of his name. Their tempestuous union might succeed in vanquishing their enemies, but will the chivalrous lord and his unsuitable wife surrender to the power of love?

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I write sensuous historical romance as Lynne Connolly, and contemporary and paranormal romance as L.M. Connolly

I was born in Leicester, England, and lived in our cobbler’s shop with my parents and sister. It was an old house and most definitely haunted, but I didn’t find out until I left that my great uncle had hung himself in the living room! But I think our ghost might have been older than that. It was built on the site of the old Roman cemetery, and the land had been constantly inhabited, being in the centre of town. Then, when the council bought the house from us to build a road, my grandfather retired and my father went and worked for the Post Office. My mother was a sample machinist; that is, she worked with designers on the prototypes (models or samples) of garments. So I was very well dressed! We bought a relatively modern house in the country, and my mother was blissfully happy. It’s all very well living in a large old house, but it’s a dreadful task to keep it clean and warm!

My mother’s side of the family are Romany gypsies, although sadly we haven’t any of the old trailers that are so astonishingly beautiful. I was taught to read the Tarot cards, and I usually use two packs; the Rider pack for simple readings and the Crowley Thoth pack for the complex stuff.

I’ve always had an interest in the paranormal and it’s been a delight to be able to put some of this into my novels.

My other huge interest is the historical. I love all periods of history, but my favorites are the Tudor and Georgian eras. I research and research, because I love it. I will travel miles to see a new variation on the Palladian mansion! I am fascinated in finding out how people lived then, and creating a credible story with people who lived in past ages.

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Review & Giveaway! Spencer Cohen Book Three by N.R. Walker

What a beautiful end to an incredibly sweet love story.

Andrew and Spencer will forever hold a place in my heart right along with every other NR Walker book I’ve read. I know I’ve said this before but it bears repeating, this lady has a way of writing that allows the reader to just fall into the story and feel every single line and page.

Sometimes, Spencer and Andrew seemed so real to me. Especially one of my best friends joined me while reading and he made hilarious comments about how he and Spencer have so much in common or how they’ve been in similar situations at one point or another. 

You know what he had to say in the end? I quote- “I wish those two would’ve been real because I would have found a wonderful friend in Spencer.” 

This is what I’m talking about. This is what NR’s books inspire in those who read them. 

We have finally reached the “end” of one part of Spencer and Andrew’s journey. Their relationship keeps evolving and getting stronger even if the intensity of their feeling is a little bit scary at times. 

But, what does it matter how long you’ve known a person? When it’s right, it’s right. And, who says love has to follow a timetable? 

They’re both changing and finding their place, letting go of old fears and following their hearts toward a future filled with love and happiness. 

There’s one more bridge that Spencer will have to cross to get there, one full of sorrow but that will give him the opportunity to finally let go of the past. The ultimate test for both of them. 

What started out as a game, a “job”, turns into the love of a lifetime for two beautiful souls who have always been looking for each other without knowing it. 

Thank you, NR, for another incredible journey. And here I thought no one will even be as good as Coop and Tom. There’s a strong competition for that first place now *wink* 

One thing that this series proves is that, the physical aspect or the passionate scenes don’t always make a book better. 

It’s the journey, the characters and their stories, their struggles and accomplishments, the tears we shed and the smiles that make our eyes shine that makes worth losing sleep just to read “one more chapter”. 

This is what I call brilliant writing. 

I’m off t start counting the days until Blood & Milk releases because I need my next NR Walker fix. Like, yesterday. 

This is one for the *a million stars* category. 

Happy reading! 

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N.R. Walker is an Australian author, who loves her genre of gay romance.

She loves writing and spends far too much time doing it, but wouldn’t have it any other way.

She is many things: a mother, a wife, a sister, a writer. She has pretty, pretty boys who live in her head, who don’t let her sleep at night unless she gives them life with words.

She likes it when they do dirty, dirty things… but likes it even more when they fall in love.

She used to think having people in her head talking to her was weird, until one day she happened across other writers who told her it was normal.

She’s been writing ever since…

Excerpt, Author Interview & Giveaway! Black Dust by Lynn Charles

Fifteen years after a tragic car crash claimed a friend’s life and permanently injures his then-boyfriend, Broadway musician Tobias Spence reconnects with his former love. As Emmett and Tobias explore their renewed relationship, the two men face old hurts and the new challenges of a long-distance romance. Will Tobias lose his second chance at love to the ghosts he can’t seem to put to rest?

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"I can't, Emmett. I—can't go back."

"Then we are clearly not ready for any sort of commitment."

"Wait. You won't agree to—to us—unless I come to Indiana?"

"I won't," Emmett said. "It's all feeling a little one-sided to me, and I'm not okay with that."

"You don't understand."

"I do understand, Toby. I was there for everything that makes you afraid of that place."

"Yes. You were," Toby said, taking Emmett's hand in his. "But my concerns about going back have nothing to do with you."

"Maybe they should have something to do with me."

"That's—" Toby pulled his hand away. "That's not fair."

"It really is," Emmett said. He reached across the table for Toby's hand again. "Please?" Toby took his hand and Emmett squeezed, holding on as if he might never let go. "We experienced a great tragedy together. And while Scotty's parents lost their son, no one felt the things we felt. No one else woke up screaming and sweating when we heard the sounds of the crash in our sleep."

"Emmett—"

"No one else knew the fear of maybe never walking again. No one else lost weight and a semester of school because he might get thrown in jail. No one else felt the things we felt together. That's all ours. As much as you want to, you cannot take me out of the equation."

"But, that's just it, Em. I don’t want to feel those things again. I cannot walk back into that—that darkness."

Emmett pulled their joined hands to his lips and kissed Toby’s knuckles. "You already have. You have been so enamored—you've practically spent this entire week making love to my scars. You're there. And it's not so dark anymore."

"No, because you're whole again. You're not broken anymore."

Emmett saw it, then. He saw in the way Toby had almost obsessed over the ridiculous tattoo and Emmett's scars, as if begging for them to also bring him the powers that Derek had wished upon Emmett's body those years ago. He saw it in Toby's insistence that they start all over as if the accident never happened, as if the years of silence weren't strung between them like a rope and plank bridge connecting two separate lands. 

So he said it. To give it power. To make it a truth they shared—like their shared tragedy. "And you still are. Broken."

Toby nodded, grasping at Emmett's fingers like a lifeline. "I'm so—" He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm so exhausted making sure no one knows."

"Oh, Toby." All the more reason “trying again” was a bad idea. Unready to let go, Emmett kissed Toby's fingers again. "Then come to my home," Emmett offered, trite as it sounded in his own ears. "I've remodeled the master and made a party room in my basement for the kids."

"You've never told me—"

"It's beautiful, really. It's on a couple of acres, and the back of the property is lined with a stream you can hear from the kitchen when the windows are open. It's very peaceful. It sounds like you need some peace."

"You deserve a beautiful life."

"So let me share it with you. At least think about it?"

Toby nodded and began to clean up. "Will you still come see me in San Francisco after school's out?"

"I don't know. I'd really like an answer before I agree to see you again."

"Okay. I'm sorry it's not as easy as it should be."

"I am too, Toby. Being with you was always so easy."

Today I’m very lucky to be interviewing Lynn Charles author of Black Dust.

Hi Lynn, thank you for agreeing to this interview. Tell us a little about yourself, your background, and your current book.

I'm happy to be here! I’m an author, wife and mother living in Central Ohio. I’ve been writing—from lavish journal entries to fictional stories—most of my life. My first novel, Chef's Table, was published in December 2014 with Interlude Press. Black Dust is about a couple who, fifteen years after a tragic car accident tore them apart, are given a second chance to heal and to love.

Are any of your characters inspired by people you know in your life? How and in what aspects? 

Emmett, the high school choir director in Black Dust, and his co-worker, Mac, are an amalgamation of my high school choir director, my high school band director, various college professors, and a little sprinkling of me. I sort of tossed all of those people's features into a jar and poured out Emmett and Mac. Emmett wears a waistcoat to work every day, and loves his toys—his electronics and tech to help him teach his students in ways that will maintain their interest. He also expects the best and not one drop less than the best from his students. Mac takes no crap from anyone, expects nothing shy of 150% effort, but will also bring you a box of cookies to share when you need to sit down and pour your heart out to her.

Are there any issues that resonate personally with you that you touch on in your writing?

Yes, Emmett's inability to totally trust Toby, his underlying fear and worry throughout the book. My situation was completely different—in fact, I was on the "not trusted" end of the stick, even though I had done nothing to break the trust of the accuser. I had to get into the head of the accuser to make it work and it was a generally unpleasant place to be.

Was it always your dream to become a writer?

I was always shooting for music—until I wasn't. But even then, I had been on the hunt for a good creative writing course in junior high and high school. I never found it—the only creative writing course in high school was actually the school newspaper. It was journalism. Once I had a break in my career, I found writing to be a way to express myself creatively, and the bug to make it a profession began to tickle.

If you could become one of your characters who would you become and why?

Emmett, for sure. He's doing what I was shooting for and gloriously missed achieving for an assortment of reasons—mostly because I wasn't wired to be a public school teacher. So, it might be nice to have the skills necessary to be able to revisit that idea and see how I'd manage. 

Which of your characters would you like to spend a week on a desert island with?

Malik Nagi, without question. One, he's hot. And I'm shallow like that. Two, he's strong and could provide while I lounge on the beach and drink Mai Tai's. Three, he's bi, so we could indulge in our own fun. Four, he's fictional, so my husband really wouldn’t be affected at all. 

Lynn Charles earned her degree in music education and for many years performed and directed choral music. When she’s not writing, she can be found strolling through local farmers markets near her home in Central Ohio in search of ingredients for new recipes. Her novel Chef’s Table was published in 2014 by Interlude Press.

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Excerpt & Giveaway! The Heart As He Hears It, Perspectives #3 by A.M. Arthur

While most of his friends have moved on to “real” careers, Jon Buchanan is content skating through life as a part-time waiter and gay porn star. Firmly single thanks to a previous relationship disaster, he focuses his spare time on Henry, a dear friend dying of cancer.

And with Henry’s happiness paramount, Jon is on a mission to help Henry meet his recently discovered grandson.

Isaac Gregory hasn’t set foot outside for the past year. He has everything he needs delivered, and his remaining family knows better than to visit. When a complete stranger shows up claiming to be his grandfather—with a distractingly handsome younger man in tow—his carefully structured routines are shaken.

Despite his instant attraction, Jon senses Isaac is too fragile for a relationship. Yet tentative friendship grows into genuine companionship. And when Henry’s health begins to fail, they realize Fate brought them together for a reason.

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Jon studied him, his gaze taking in…something. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.” His chest flushed with anticipation.

“How do you feel when you’re with me?”

Isaac tried to push aside the anxiety still attempting to blur his thoughts, an old friend that wanted to be part of the conversation. Only anxiety wasn’t allowed in, not this time. He shuffled through different words, emotions and adjectives, searching for the one that best described how he felt about Jon. How Jon made him feel, despite being a near-stranger, bigger, stronger and far more experienced in pretty much everything. Jon still made him feel… “Safe,” Isaac said.

Jon’s eyebrows crept up. The corners of his mouth quirked into something not quite a smile. “Really?”

“Yes. The first time I saw you on my security feed, I noticed how beautiful you were.” His cheeks warmed.

Jon flat out grinned. “Yeah?”

“You’re kind and patient, and I feel safe because you don’t try to fix me, and you don’t act like I’m broken. My family thinks I’m broken, and I don’t want them to fix me. I just…” Something in Isaac shifted, accepting this new truth. “I need to feel safe, Jon. That’s why I hide. But you make me not want to hide.”

Jon’s eyes glittered. His expression melted into something so warm, so sweet, that it burned in Isaac’s blood in a way he didn’t understand at all. The strange sensation urged him to reach out, to initiate contact of some kind. Deep-rooted fear kept Isaac still, unable to make that first move. Unable to do anything except soak in the wonderment on Jon’s face.

“I think that’s the greatest compliment I’ve ever gotten,” Jon said. His voice was hoarse, strange. Almost difficult to hear, so Isaac paid more attention to his lips. “Is it cheesy to say your strength makes me want to be better too?”

Isaac shook his head. “I’m not strong.”

“You’re stronger than you think. You proved that by letting me and Henry in two weeks ago. You proved it again by going out to rescue a kitten. Twice, by the way. You told me you want to get better, get into the world, and that takes a fuck-ton of courage when you’ve lost as much as you have. I know it won’t be easy, but I still want to help you do that.”

“I know you do. I want that too.”

A.M. Arthur was born and raised in the same kind of small town that she likes to write about, a stone's throw from both beach resorts and generational farmland. She's been creating stories in her head since she was a child and scribbling them down nearly as long, in a losing battle to make the fictional voices stop. She credits an early fascination with male friendships (bromance hadn't been coined yet back then) with her later discovery of and subsequent love affair with m/m romance stories. A.M. Arthur's work is available from Samhain Publishing, Carina Press, Dreamspinner Press, and SMP Swerve.

When not exorcising the voices in her head, she toils away in a retail job that tests her patience and gives her lots of story fodder. She can also be found in her kitchen, pretending she's an amateur chef and trying to not poison herself or others with her cuisine experiments. 

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Excerp & Giveaway! Love, Alabama (Alabama #2) by Susan Sands

Emma Laroux's a fallen Southern beauty queen whose past is barely whispered about in her small town. But the secrets and lies surrounding the scandal from long ago still haunt her, and something about Matthew Pope holds the answers. If only she could put her finger on it…

Matthew Pope wonders what awful karmic thing he’d done to land him in Podunk, Alabama. But when he sees Emma again after all this time, he knows he's still the only one that holds the key to unlock the truth of her past...

Will a shared moment in time ten years ago threaten what might be the best thing that’s ever happen to either of them—each other?

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Emma pulled up behind Matthew’s car and frowned, noticing that his taillight was busted. She got out and pulled the bag of items from the back seat, not giving his car much more thought. 

Knocking gently on the door, she figured she would leave the bag on the front step if he didn’t answer. He might be sleeping. But what if he’d gotten light-headed, fallen, and hit his head on the bathtub and was knocked-out cold, lying in a pool of his own blood? The thought, while mildly ridiculous, gave her just enough pause to knock again, this time more loudly. 

No answer.
She rang the bell.
No answer.
Now she was concerned. His car was in the drive. He was definitely home. Her heart began to beat in her 

ears.
She tried the door.
Locked. She looked through the leaded glass front door. No movement. Nice house.
She knocked again.
Emma still had the bag in her arm. So, she carried it with her around the back of the house to the screened in porch. The screen door was open, so she stepped up onto the pretty porch with the comfy furniture. It appeared that Matthew spent time out here. There were pillows, a rug, a throw, a couple books, and a lamp. Nice. 

She knocked on the back door. No answer. She didn’t see anyone inside.
She bit her lip and tried the door. It opened. “Hello? Matthew?”
No answer. She moved inside and let her gaze wander around the room. It was cozy and well decorated for a guy’s place. She noticed the kitchen to the right and headed in that direction. She put her bag on the kitchen counter then headed toward what she knew must be the master bedroom. This house was similar in style to hers. 

She called out to him again. Emma was getting worried now. Why didn’t he answer? 

As she entered the bedroom, she noticed it the blinds were closed and it was rather dark, but she could see no one was in the bed. Then, she realized the shower was running. Against any kind of decent judgment, she moved toward the bathroom door. She couldn’t help herself; she peeked inside. He wasn’t standing in the shower; he was sitting on the floor. She panicked and rushed towards him before her brain informed her to actually speak his name. 

She pulled open the door, certain he was dead before she shrieked, “Matthew, open your damned eyes!” He did. Open his damned eyes. Opened them really wide. “Emma? Why are you in my shower stall?” 

She really didn’t have a great answer to that. “Oh, Lord. I thought you were dead.” It was the best she could do. 

He did look nearly dead. He smiled weakly. “I’ve been really sick, so I thought I’d sit here for little while. But I’m not dead. So, um, could you hand me a towel? Unless, of course, you prefer a shower?” 

Emma then became acutely aware of her position. And his. He was naked. Oh, Lord, was he naked. The most delicious naked she’d ever seen. And now she couldn’t stop staring at his naked. And apparently his naked knew it now. Because it was staring straight up at her, too. 

“Emma—a towel? Because I’m a little more inclined to invite you into my shower now.” 

She raised her eyes beyond his naked to his eyes, horrified. “Uh, a towel. Sure.” Looking around, she grabbed the closest towel she could find, the one hanging on a hook beside the shower. “I thought you were dead,” she said again, as an explanation. 

She was a complete idiot. And now she wanted to jump his sick bones. 

Just as quickly as she heard him turn the water off, he all but shoved her out of his way to get to the toilet and throw up. That was enough motivation for Emma to snap out of it and get the hell out of sick, naked Matthew’s bathroom. 

While he was getting his clothes on, she did the same things she’d done for Cammie. After everything had been sanitized, she brought in a tray with saltines and ginger ale. She found him lying weakly in his bed wishing for death to take him. 

“I’m sorry I invaded your privacy. Cammie asked me to come check on you. She’s sick and wondered if you’d come down with the virus, too. When you didn’t answer, I thought maybe you’d had an accident.” 

He opened one eye. “That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?” 

She grinned. “Probably. But I’m known for my dramatic flair on occasion. I’m artistic, in case you haven’t heard.” She straightened his bed like she’d done for her sister. 

“Are you mothering me?” he asked.


“My mother always said you feel better when your bed isn’t a mess.”


“She’s right. Thanks. Sorry you had to—see that.”


“That’s okay. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” She swished her hand as if waving his words away.


“Not that. I meant, the throwing up part. I don’t think anyone has seen me bare-assed, hanging over a toilet before. It’s not very manly.”


“I have an aversion to vomit, so I excused myself from the room as soon as I knew what was happening. 

Don’t worry, still manly.” She envisioned the other manly part and kept her opinion of that to herself. Holy moly, every bit of him was manly. It was all burned into her brain permanently. 

“I’ve brought saltines, Gatorade, chicken broth, and ginger ale. Call me if you need anything. If it’s a twenty-four hour bug, you should be fine in the morning.” 

“Emma, thanks again. I appreciate your looking out for me.”


“We really need to find you some friends in town.” She smiled and left the room.
Her legs were shaky. She could never look at him the same way again—not without mentally undressing him, knowing what lay beneath. She drew another unsteady breath.


Susan Sands grew up in a small Northwest Louisiana town, where the seeds for future stories were inspired. Her lifelong love of reading motivated her to finally begin writing as her midlife crisis at age forty—better than a boyfriend or red sports car, according to her husband.

Susan lives with her dentist husband and three nearly-grown children in Johns Creek, GA.

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