Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘contemporary romance’

 

What’s Up, Pussycat?

Release date: July 7, 2017
Length: 24,300 words
Cover Design: Simon Searle

 

Blurb
Finley Harrington despairs of ever being able to move on after the death of Andrew, the love of his life. When he spots an advertisement for auditions for Cats, the last musical Andrew performed in, Finley acts on the spur of the moment and calls for an appointment to audition.
Much to Fin’s surprise, he gets the part he hopes for, but during his struggles with stage-fright, and the teasing of a fellow actor, Karl Rogers, he wonders if he’s made a huge mistake. But Karl’s irritating persona hides a different person inside, and when Fin gets to know him, he develops a surprising attraction to him.
Could Karl be the person to help Fin move on from the past, or is he destined to remain alone?

Free Download Links

Amazon UKAmazon USSmashwordsBarnes & NobleKobo

Excerpt:

The members of the cast began arriving half an hour later when the three of us were warming up, and my impression of the first man through the door was one of shock. I’d seen Karl Rogers who played Rum Tum Tugger from a distance a few times when I attended the shows in Leicester, but never without his cat costume. He was tall—at least six feet—and his shock of peroxide hair and startling green eyes drew everyone’s attention. His lycra leggings emphasized a large package, and a bright orange cropped T-shirt and matching ballet shoes completed his outfit. He charged into the room like a whirlwind.

“So! Who do we have here?” he shouted, looming over Annette and me, where we stood stretching our hamstrings. “You look weirdly familiar.” He jabbed a finger in my direction, before turning his attention to Annette. “What a pretty kitty. What’s your name, then, darling?” He pronounced the endearment “dahling” and I cringed. I hoped the rest of the cast weren’t like Karl. I’d met a couple of them, but I preferred to keep my distance and monopolize Andrew when the shows were over.

“Annette,” the girl said. “And that’s Finley. The other guy is James.”

Karl spun around to look at James, gave him a cursory nod, then turned back to me. He took a step closer, forcing me to look up.

“Cute!” Karl exclaimed. “Cat got your tongue?” He proceeded to shriek with laughter at his lame joke, and my face heated under the scrutiny.

“I’ve not had the chance to get a word in,” I blurted, and immediately cringed. My voice tended to sound more refined when I was irritated. I couldn’t help my parents or the school I’d gone to, but for the past few years I’d done my best to shake off the accent and sound more like everyone else. I knew Karl would say something, even before he opened his mouth again.

“Ooh, someone swallowed a silver spoon, didn’t they? Wait. Finley? Finley Harrington? Golly, I’m surprised Mummy and Daddy let their little boy do something as lower class as performing on the stage. Shouldn’t you be a lawyer or a doctor or something?” Karl spoke in an exaggerated tone, and my face burned.

“Wow, someone loves himself.” James moved to my side and cocked an eyebrow at Karl.

“I have a sense of humor. You should try it some time.” Karl laughed, and James scowled at him. The boisterous dancer ignored him, and draped an arm around Annette’s shoulders. “You never told me your name, Kitty.”

“Yes, I did. It’s Annette.”

 

Author Bio

Louise Lyons comes from a family of writers. Her mother has a number of poems published in poetry anthologies, her aunt wrote poems for the church, and her grandmother sparked her inspiration with tales of fantasy.

Louise first ventured into writing short stories at the grand old age of eight, mostly about little girls and ponies. She branched into romance in her teens, and MM romance a few years later, but none of her work saw the light of day until she discovered FanFiction in her late twenties. Posting stories based on some of her favourite movies, provoked a surprisingly positive response from readers. This gave Louise the confidence to submit some of her work to publishers, and made her take her writing “hobby” more seriously.

Louise lives in the UK, about an hour north of London, with a mad dog called Casper, and a collection of tropical fish and tarantulas. She works in the insurance industry by day, and spends every spare minute writing. She is a keen horse-rider, and loves to run long-distance. Some of her best writing inspiration comes to her, when her feet are pounding the open road. She often races home afterward, and grabs pen and paper to make notes.

Louise has always been a bit of a tomboy, and one of her other great loves is cars and motorcycles. Her car and bike are her pride and job, and she loves to exhibit the car at shows, and take off for long days out on the bike, with no one for company but herself.

Social Media

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/louiselyonsauthor
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/louiselyons013
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/louiselyons013
Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/louiselyons013
Blog: http://www.louiselyonsauthor.com
Email: louiselyons013@gmail.com

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

Blurb
Pierce is homeless.
Young and strong-willed Pierce has been living in the streets of New York City for six months, since his parents kicked him out of their perfect, Christian, suburban house. Pierce is gay. And he is suffering the consequences for being true to himself.

Rafe is homeless.
He is also sick. Impressionable, but far from innocent, Rafe ran away from home almost a year ago. His sickness is slowly killing him. But Rafe is not a hopeless case. He has learned to get by. Nights of paid passion turn to sheltering warmth from the imminent New York winter.

And then there’s a suitcase. Pierce’s suitcase, which holds secrets from everyone including its owner.

When their worlds collide, their lives intertwine and when the world seems bent on bringing the two souls to their knees, fate has other plans for them.

Caution: Contains adult language, New York City streets, tough life choices, sexual tension, stubborn brutes and swoon-worthy romance.

Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK | All Romance Ebooks | B&N | Kobo | Itunes | Print

About The Author
Chris Ethan is a book whore. He enjoys selling his feelings for money and other pleasures and is blatantly unashamed to do so for as long as he breathes. Chris Ethan is also a persona for Rhys Christopher Ethan, author of fantasy and sci-fi. He uses Chris Ethan to share stories of adult queer romance with those who need it. Before you delve into his books however, be warned. He likes putting his characters through shitstorms and hates anything conventional. But then there’s that darned happy-ever-after. Also, he likes swearing. Deal with it!

Read Full Post »

Image and video hosting by TinyPic

Book Description:

When V’s life crumbles around her, she has two options: let it take her down with it or dive straight in

Virginia “V” Dunn is alone when her dog is hit by a car. Lucky’s back leg is shattered, and when she comforts him, his blood is wet on her hands. Suddenly, the monotony of V’s suburban life dissolves: Lucky is in a cast; her best friend, Eileen, is avoiding her; her mother’s drinking is getting worse; and her father is sick with a mysterious illness. Although V is surrounded by family, she is the loneliest girl in town.

As V begins to question everything—death, friendship, family, betrayal—she finds there are few easy answers. The people she thought she knew are strangers, and life’s meaning eludes her. Into this mystery walks the captivating Jane, and V soon realizes that the only way forward seems to break every rule, and go beyond all limitations.

Excerpt:

Sometimes the night never ends; it just breaks into light and we pretend. I am alive, though I tend to forget that when I’m pretending, and I’m fifteen. I have sweeping dark hair and hazel eyes that turn green when I cry. Sometimes I rub my hands together, maybe just to see if it’s really me. I wear the glasses I’m supposed to wear when I’m in the mood and when- ever I remember my sunglasses because the day hurts my eyes. Maybe the pretending has torn the edges of who I am, so the result is a frayed and sensitive me.

If the night never ends, who can see? The day boils down to pretending what is and is not there. Because she does not want me to, I do not see the black eye on my mother’s face as the bruise changes, fades a blotchy red to a tattered purple, then spreads to flat green.

Because he assumes nobody does, I do not see the increasingly bloodshot eyes of my brother as he stares past me at dinner. And I do not see the raised eyebrows on Baby Teeth’s face that settle more frequently into surprise as she watches and help-lessly learns this pretending game. I wish I could tell her she doesn’t have to play, though if she’s to survive life in this house, she will.

So I do not notice that on the days that we do not go to the hospital, she spends every afternoon at other people’s houses now. And I especially do not see the absence of my father at dawn when he does not kiss the sleeping Baby Teeth good-bye before he climbs down the stairs in his solid brown shoes and goes to work. And I do not see his absence as I pass his empty chair at night when I walk into the kitchen to feed my dog. The last thing I do not see is my tilting, limping Lucky as he waits by his empty bowl, or the image of the vile green VW that hit him.

So what do I see? That I have learned to pretend so well, I can do it with my eyes open. April has ended, and its cruelty too,   I hope, when we weren’t looking, or were busy pretending, or maybe while we slept.

So it’s May. And what does it bring? April showers bring May flowers. Well, really. I try to remember, uncertainly, if there was a lot of rain last month. No. But please flower anyway, all over me. I’ll keep my eyes open. Maybe it won’t happen all at once, the way change seems to. Now that’s something. Change blooms.

Bio:

Stacey Donovan is a critically acclaimed author of fiction and nonfiction for adults and young adults. She is the founder of Donovan Edits, and has edited or ghostwritten more than twenty-five books, including three New York Times bestsellers and several nonfiction titles that have become leading works in their respective fields. Donovan lives in New York, where she continues to write and edit.

Author Links
Buy Links
Image and video hosting by TinyPic

Read Full Post »

Sometimes it’s really worth checking out backlists. There are some marvellous books out there but with hundreds of new titles every week it can be very hard to find them.
Authors – have you got a title a year or more old that could do with a little love? Readers – have you got a favourite book that you think deserves some attention? Message or email me and we’ll set something up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I suspected that this one would be a little different when I talked to Zallora, and by heck so it is. Set in Bangkok, it tell tells the story of two young Americans out for some fun in the entertainment district. One is already deeply smitten with a gorgeous and talented night club singer, the other seems boorish initially but proves to have hidden depths.

Title: Illusions & Dreams


Author: Z.Allora


Genre: Transgender Romance


Publisher: Dreamspinner


Publication Date: November 17, 2014


Word Count/Pages: 216


Illusions and Dreams

Blurb:

Randy Camster failed at being married. His life now centers around work, TV sports, and listening to his friend Jake complain about how Randy’s lack of a sex life will be the downfall of mankind.
Not true! Well, not totally. He’s just never understood the fascination with sex until… ladyboy performer Lalana Dulyarat shimmies into his world via an Internet ad for Thailand tourism. 



Jake O’Neil’s open pansexuality yields him interesting bedmates, but he’s never chased after the mythical illusion of love. He focuses on others, like his best friend Randy, who needs a Bang-Cock vacation.

Finding an adorable little imp named Boon-nam wasn’t on the itinerary. Gay, straight, and undecided, Jake has had ‘em all, but never a virgin aching to take a walk on the kinky side after having her affirmation surgery. Talk about pressure. And what’s with everyone warning him not to break her heart? His is the one in danger.

Buy Links:

Dreamspinner | Amazon UK | Kobo | Amazon US | ARe

Contact information:

Z.AlloraHappyEndings@gmail.com

Facebook: ZAllora Allora

Twitter: @ZAllora

Blogspot: http://zallora.blogspot.com

Website: http://www.zallorabooks.com

Read Full Post »

comfy chair
My guest today is Lily G. Blunt who writes contemporary gay romance and erotica. She has several self-published stories available on Amazon and is also published with Torquere Press and Wayward Ink Publishing.

Welcome Lily and thanks for agreeing to be interviewed.

Can you tell me a little about yourself? For instance, do you have to have a day job as well as being a writer?

I was a teacher of junior school children for over twenty-five years but “retired” just over two years ago. My intention was to use my time to write more, which I suppose I have. At least I don’t write in the middle of the night anymore like I used to.

When you aren’t writing, is there any other creative activity you enjoy? Have you ever written about it?

I spend some of my time making m/m themed and book trailer videos. (see the YouTube link below) I also walk quite a bit with my daughter and her dog for fun and to keep the legs moving as I spend a lot of the day seated in front of the computer screen. We’ve been to the mountains and lakes in Austria four times. The scenery and a few experiences inspired me to write Opposites Attract¬—my story for Wayward Ink’s Stranded anthology.

What are you reading? Can you recommend something that you wished you’d written yourself?

I usually have several books on the go at once on my iPad and Kindle. I’ve just read an ARC of Clare London’s fabulous A Twist and Two Balls and am about to write a review of it for her. I’ve almost finished AJ Rose’s Queers. I’m also reading Jay Northcote’s Nothing Special and NR Walker’s Starting Point. I have many books waiting to be read, but keep 1-clicking, so my list is forever increasing. I recently finished Damon Suede’s Hot Head. I’d been meaning to read that one for ages. I have an outline plan for a story in my Boys on Film series about two supposedly straight buddies who sign up to film for Blue House Studios. So I hope my writing and final version will be as fabulous as Damon’s. I loved that book.

In that crucial inspiration stage of a new story which comes first? Plot, situation or character?

For most of my stories it has been a situation that comes to mind first. The plot and characters build up from that scene and the interaction I picture between the two guys. For example the initial inspiration for Paint the Sky came from a line in the song Empty Chairs. I happened to be singing it to myself over and over one day:

“I wonder if you know
that I never understood
that although you said you’d go
until you did I never thought you would.”

A scene formed in my head with two guys having this conversation. For some reason one of them was an artist and the other was jealous and suspicious of him. So the whole story stemmed from that situation. I also had an idea to use some of Van Gogh’s paintings and his life story as inspiration and the two plots melded into one.

Do your characters arrive fully fledged and ready to fly or do they develop as you work with them? Do you have a crisp mental picture of them or are they more a thought and a feeling than an image?

My characters develop as I plan and start writing the story, plus they often change in some way too as I write and picture them interacting. I have a template I use when I’m planning and fill in the physical and other attributes about the main characters that I refer back to and add to as the story develops.

Is there any genre you would love to write, ditto one you would avoid like a rattlesnake?

My husband is always saying I should write something my family can read and that is more ‘main stream’. But I wouldn’t want to write an m/f story just to please my family or on the off chance it would sell more copies. I’ve only ever written two m/f chapters and they have long since been deleted. I’m not interested in writing any more.

One day I’d like to write a gay romance or mystery where the love scenes fade to black.

I’d also like to make use of my history degree and knowledge gained from years of teaching pupils about the Ancient Greeks. In fact, I’ve already started to plan a children’s historical/fantasy story series, but have yet to begin writing it. I have a sound background knowledge of the myths and legends from that time, but I would add a twist and make it more fantasy than historical. I love all the monsters and weird creatures and am adding magic into the mix as well.

Villains are incredibly important in fiction since they challenge the main protagonists and give them something to contend with beyond the tension of a developing relationship. The cruel sea. The serial killer. The society itself. Your hero’s inner demons. What sort of villains do you prize?


The villains I like to read about are the characters or situations that cause angst within the plot and break my heart by coming between two lovers who are meant to be together. So even though they make me cry, I love to read this and always hope there will be a happy ending. The ending of the film ‘Star Man’ still makes me tear up, as does Dan Skinner’s Memorizing You.
What are you working on at the moment? Can you discuss it or do you prefer to keep it a secret until it’s finished.
I finished the final edits for Opposites Attract the other day. That will be published on October 10th in Wayward Ink’s Stranded anthology. I’ve been asked to make the video trailer for that, so that will be first on my list of things to do when I return from my holiday in Exmoor.
I have various ideas for what to write next. One might be to continue Finn or Theo or even Cliff’s story from Paint the Sky, but nothing has grabbed me yet.

I have various other plot bunnies and outlines of stories in different stages of development. The children’s story I mentioned above and my best buddies story for Boys on Film. I also started an m/m/m/m story a while ago, but I’d forgotten about it—so I might dig it out and see what it’s like. I’ll probably cringe at my writing from three years ago. I think the idea of writing a foursome in bed is a little tricky, but four guys in a relationship would be fascinating to write.

I also hope to write more short stories for anthologies and keep up with my Free Fiction Friday posts. So I’ll be kept busy. I’ve just got to make my mind up what to start writing first!

Could we please have an excerpt of something?

From Paint the Sky ~ Chapter 1

I stepped out of the examination hall at Manchester University sighing in relief and strolled towards the student café for some lunch. If the excited buzz around me was anything to go by, everyone else also thought the exam paper had been a breeze. I smiled at their whoops and cheers, and silently thanked our lecturer for priming us so well. Knowing I’d only one more exam to sit the following morning, and being well prepared for it, I decided to relax for the rest of afternoon, before knuckling down to some last minute revision later in the evening.
Being a glorious sunny day, as is usually the case in England during any examination week, the grassed area in front of the old university buildings was packed with lazing students; some sprawled on the lawn in pairs or clusters, others huddled around wooden picnic tables. End of semester fever hummed like bees in the air. I would have been welcome to sit with several of these groups, but as usual, I opted to be by myself. It might have been the age difference—I was two years older than most of them—or that I’d never seemed to gel with any of the crowds while I’d studied here. I was a natural loner. The only time I made any meaningful connection with someone was when I was seeking a blowjob in one of the gay clubs on a Saturday night. Even then, it usually ended with just a thank you and me walking away from any potential for a relationship.
Before reaching the café, I came to an abrupt halt. I spotted a familiar solitary figure sitting on one of the farthest picnic benches, his paints and canvas spread out before him. I watched the fair-haired guy clean his brush in the jar of sullied water, his tongue sweeping over his plump bottom lip, observing the red stone building as he did this.
It wasn’t the first time I’d laid eyes on him. I’d seen this hottie around the university grounds many times before. Always alone and often sketching the scene in front of him. I never managed to catch his eye, nor pluck up the courage to approach him. For all my outward bravado, I hadn’t wanted to embarrass myself nor be rejected by him. The artist, always engrossed in whatever he was doing, never looked up. As much as I willed it to happen whenever I passed by, he never noticed me.
For some reason or other, our paths had never crossed socially over the past three years, and now our student years were almost up. University ended for the summer recess in two weeks time and we would be going our separate ways. If I didn’t talk to him today, I’d probably never get the chance again. It was either now or never.
Lacking my usually abundant confidence, I held back, trying to decide on the right approach so I didn’t mess up what was to be my one and only opportunity with him. Standing there under the shade of a large oak tree, I observed him from a safe distance, wondering whether my intrusion would be welcomed. He always seemed such a loner, as if he spurned company in general and would do the same to me. I tutted aloud when I realised I could be describing myself. Perhaps we had more in common than I’d thought after all. I just had to show him I was willing to talk to him.
As soon as the picnic table next to the artist became available, I dashed to claim it for myself. If I hadn’t already, I hoped to draw his attention by deliberately making a load of noise as I sat down and dumped my bag on the bench. The blond artist briefly looked my way, our eyes catching for a second or two, before he turned his head back to his painting. I leaned down and rummaged in my bag for some bottled water to quench my sudden anxiety-driven thirst.
I’d never encountered rejection at a nightclub. Not once, as far as I could recall. But this was a different situation entirely, and thinking this might very well be my first rebuff; I dithered a little longer, nervously fiddling with the strap on my bag and taking unnecessary gulps of the tepid liquid. What if this guy was straight or already spoken for? What if he wasn’t interested in me?
From my position, I had a clear view; not only of him, but also the painting he was making. The guy was certainly talented; the watercolours mixed on his palette were applied with skill. As much as the developing painting fascinated me, the creator was of more interest. When his head tilted, his wheat-coloured locks fell forward over his cheek, the sunlight giving the impression of waves of silk, or so I imagined as I began to compose the first lines of a new story in my head. His top lip held between his teeth softly in concentration, so absorbed he appeared unaware of his surroundings—and of me.
Despite questioning other students in my classes over the past few months, I was unable to find out anything about him other than he was a painter, a solitary one at that. Even when I pointed him out, no one knew his name, or where he lived. Not one of them took the same classes as him. Some had said they had seen him with one or two guys on occasions, but couldn’t recall many details.
The guy was shorter than myself and well built. I stared at his muscular, bulky thighs filling the legs of his jeans as they spread out on the seat. He wore a faded grey t-shirt with indecipherable lettering and an arty theme: of Picasso or Dali perhaps. Fair hair covered the skin on his exposed golden arms; one consequence of sitting in the midday sun for hours, I guessed. His rounded chin adorned also with light coloured stubble. I wondered how his facial hair would feel against my skin if we kissed, or as his lips moved down my torso. Shivering with sudden arousal, I practically groaned.
A tilt to his head signalled the artist had moved his focus from the building. Deciding not to turn away from him, I swallowed down my anxiety, and swept my hands nervously through my hair. Our eyes finally met and held, neither of us flinching nor pulling away. Large blue-grey eyes bore down on me, the sadness emanating from them enough to make me gasp. I wondered if he was lonely too. Slowly my lips formed a gentle smile, and in return, I received the same. For an instant, his eyes sparkled, sending a welcome tingle over my already warm skin. We both quickly glanced away to look at the painting and then back at one another again.
Summoning my courage and not anticipating rejection now I’d seen that magical glint in his eyes, I stood and walked toward the artist, looking at the canvas laid out before him. I allowed sufficient time to appraise his work before commenting.
“You’ve captured the colour of the stone work beautifully.” I hoped that was an intelligent enough response without sounding like some poncy git. “And I like the way you’ve painted those wispy cusps of clouds.” I looked between the sky and the artwork for comparison, waiting for a reply or at least some sort of acknowledgement.
The artist nodded thoughtfully, scrutinising his work, seemingly appraising it as well. “Thank you.” His voice was shy and gentle. “I’ve not quite finished.”
“Would you mind if I watched you paint for a while?”
“Feel free.” His cheeks flushed lightly.
I walked around the picnic table, sliding in next to him. “I’m Benjamin, but I prefer Ben.”
“Vinnie.” A smile lit up his face again, and it hit me how really gorgeous he was when he smiled. After rinsing his brush in the dirty water, he applied a wash of green for the grass in front of the building. “Or Vincent, if you really must.”
“As in Vincent Van Gogh?” I chuckled, feeling pleased. Not only did I now have his name, I’d shown him I knew something of the art world.
“Yep, you got it. My parents loved his work, hung loads of his prints on their walls, and they used to paint in his style as well.” He dabbed a darker shade of green in the foreground with a thinner brush to add texture. The smile disappeared, making me wonder if the sadness I sensed in him was related to his parents.
I wanted to keep our conversation flowing. “Are you studying Art? Or is this a hobby?”
“I majored in Art, although, I’m almost finished now. Just have the final assessment of my portfolio tomorrow afternoon, plus the evening viewing for family and friends to get through on Saturday, and then I’m finished here for good. Three years done and dusted. Thank goodness.” His voice oozed excitement at first and then became laced with a little trepidation. I wondered if he was worried about the exhibition, or the fact he was about to embark on a new phase of his life. I could empathise with that.
I pointed to the piece in front of him. “So, this won’t be on display then?”
He shook his head. “No, I’ve painted this scene several times before. The one I have on display was done in acrylics in the style of Van Gogh’s later work.” I nodded as if I understood what he meant.
I watched Vinnie apply more paint to complete the finer details of his picture. It really was beautiful. Despite the building having historical significance, the subject matter itself wasn’t particularly awe-inspiring to me. He’d obviously been drawn to some aspect of this building if he’d painted it many times before. Perhaps it was just a pleasant and convenient place for him to sit and paint.
“Part of the skill is knowing when to stop, especially when using watercolours. At least with oils you can let it dry and then add some more on top if you want to change or add something.” He rinsed out the jar and his brushes with some clean bottled water and dried them with paper towelling.
Realising he was packing away his supplies, I grappled with ideas to retain him a little longer. “And what do you intend to do now you’ve finished uni?”
Vinnie paused in his packing up. “I already work part-time in an art supplies store down by the river off Bridge Street. You know, the one with the art gallery and coffee shop attached?” I nodded. I knew of it. “I’m working there full-time over the summer, running art classes for kids as well as working in the shop.”
My father owned a rival business on the opposite side of the city, along with another twelve shops in nearby towns. As my father was doing his best to put his employer out of business, I didn’t think I should mention it. If only I’d known beforehand, I could have arranged a summer job for him in one of our stores. “Not returning home to your parents, then?” As soon as I uttered the words, I regretted my thoughtlessness. Vinnie looked down immediately and resumed packing away.
“No, I‘m staying here for now. I’ve paid the rent on my bedsit for the next two months and my brothers live nearby in St Helens.” He gave no mention of his parents. “How about you?”
I laughed with embarrassment. “My mother still insists on a family holiday every year, despite me being twenty-three. So next month, I’ll be in Tuscany with my parents and brother for three weeks. And then I’m supposed to help out my father with the family business. I haven’t decided yet for certain, though.”
“Twenty-three?” Vinnie questioned. “I took two gap years before I started university, too.” I smiled, realising we were the same age. “I worked during that time to save for the tuition fees. I didn’t want a huge debt when I’d finished.”
I never worried about paying tuition fees or anything else for that matter. My father provided more than enough for me, and not for the first time, I felt a little guilty about that. “I travelled around Europe for eighteen months before deciding what I wanted to do and then helped out in my father’s business until I started studying here.”
Vinnie frowned a little. His bag was packed and ready to go, but he remained seated, which I took as a good sign. The canvas lay on the table’s surface, drying in the sun. “So, what was your degree?” He sounded as if he genuinely wanted to know.
“English Lit. and Music.”
Vinnie nodded, his lips pursing while mulling over his next question. “What instrument do you play?
I beamed, chuffed he was trying to find out more and showing an interest in getting to know me. “Piano, violin, guitar… the spoons.” I risked a joke, hoping to tease another smile from him.
Vinnie’s eyebrows scrunched for a second, and then he laughed along with me, tapping his thighs as if playing some invisible spoons, before asking, “So what career would you really like?”
I shrugged. “To be honest, I can’t make up my mind. My father wants me to follow in his footsteps, but I’d like to write. I suppose I could do both.”
“You write?”
“Yes, fiction—I write gay romance and fantasy in my spare time. Or try to anyway.” I liked that Vinnie didn’t blanch at gay. In fact, his eyes sparkled when I said the word. “I’ve got loads of them half-written. I just need time to edit and finish the best ones off. Not that anyone would want to read my stuff.”
“You should submit them to a publisher, you never know.” He really had the most gorgeous eyes, blue yet not quite blue—with a hint smoky grey.
“What colour would you call your eyes?” I cringed when I realised I’d actually asked him that.
He blushed, looking away from me, and rummaged in his bag for his box of paints. His slender fingers pulled out a tube, the lid being a similar colour to his eyes. “Stormy Blue, I think. A mix of pale blue and grey,” he suggested, showing me the name label.
I took the tube as if inspecting the colour, looked in his eyes and smiled, before handing it back to him. “Yep, looks like it.”
He packed it away again, took out an envelope, and stood. “Talking of writing, I need to post this letter to my brother so it gets there by tomorrow. It’s his birthday.”
“Never heard of the telephone or email?”
“I don’t own a phone or computer.” His cheeks flushed. “All my money goes on art equipment, rent and food. I never wanted to get into debt or owe anyone any money.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. I couldn’t imagine life without my phone or Mac or any of the luxuries I’d wangled out of my father over the past three years. Most students I knew had a range of modern devices. And damn it, I couldn’t ask for Vinnie’s number to get in contact with him again.
“And I like to write anyway. Plus I often include a small picture I’ve painted for him.” He placed his bag on his shoulder.
“Good luck with your assessment and the viewing next week.”
“Thanks.” Vinnie went to walk away, but paused. “You could always pop into the exhibition on Saturday evening if you’d like to see more of my work,” Vinnie offered, doubt clearly rising in his voice. “I could do with all the support I can get. It’s in the Art Department studio. There are posters with the details all around uni advertising it.”
Cheering inwardly, I kept a restrained look on my face. “I might just do that.”
“It’s free,” Vinnie added, smiling.
As if that would make any difference to me. “Hope to see you there, then.” I smiled back at him.
“See ya.” Vinnie walked away.
I sat there and watched him until he was out of sight, taking in his rear view with lustful appreciation. His jeans clung tightly and my cock twitched at the thought of seeing his naked butt.
I remained seated for another ten minutes, basking in the late afternoon sunshine. I could have punched the air—I’d actually spoken to him. Saturday evening couldn’t come soon enough. It wasn’t a date as such, but I hoped it might lead to one. Something I hadn’t had for a long time. The idea of taking Vinnie on holiday to Italy flashed randomly across my mind. I could persuade my parents easily enough. I laughed at myself. I needed to concentrate on getting a date with him first. But the idea of sharing my hotel room with Vinnie for three weeks had me grinning from ear to ear, until I remembered he had a summer job. I grabbed a sandwich from a local store on the way to my apartment, only now realising I’d missed out on lunch.
Later that afternoon, still on cloud nine, I pulled out my revision notes on Shakespeare, Wordsworth and Jane Austen. After an hour of skimming through them, I gave up. All I could think about was Vinnie, his painting and our earlier conversation. Deciding to do something totally different, I booted up my Mac with excitement coursing through me. Opening a clean page, I began to write a new story.
So inspired, I was still typing three hours later when I realised I was hungry again. I made a cheese omelette before returning and adding more, eventually settling into bed at midnight.
And the main character in my new novel?
Vinnie, of course.

###

Paint the Sky

Blurb:

A love of art…

A mutual interest in art draws two shy university students together. Ben admires Vinnie’s painting of the university building, so Vinnie invites him to an exhibition of his artwork. From a wealthy family, Ben purchases some of Vinnie’s art and arranges for the artist to personally hang the paintings in his apartment.
Starry, starry night…
Ben commissions Vinnie to paint his portrait, in order to spend more time with the artist. On the night of the sitting, Vinnie fingerpaints the starry night on Ben’s chest… and they kiss. They begin a relationship beneath the night sky, God’s own canvas.
But every relationship has its ups and downs and so it is with theirs. When Ben thinks Vinnie spends too much time with a fellow artist, his jealousy drives a wedge between them and forces Vinnie into the very thing Ben dreads.
Hold tight to your dreams…
Ben and Vinnie will have to walk through fire before they can find one another again. But if they believe, and if they keep their faith in the night sky and each other, just maybe they can make their dreams of love come true.

BUY LINKS FOR PAINT THE SKY

Amazon UK

Amazon US

LILY G. BLUNT’S SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

WordPress: http://lilygblunt.wordpress.com
Blog: http://lilygblunt.blogspot.co.uk/
FB Page: http://www.facebook.com/LilyGBlunt
FB Profile: http://www.facebook.com/lily.blunt.75
Tumblr: http://bobloving.tumblr.com/
Tumblr: http://lilygblunt.tumblr.com
YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/user/BoyonBoyLoving?feature=mhee
Twitter: https://twitter.com/BoyonBoyLoving
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6586037.Lily_G_Blunt
Amazon Author Page:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Lily-G.-Blunt/e/B009UPLVHC/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

Read Full Post »

Bollocks! out today.

That’s not an instruction, by the way. Not a reference to some exhibitionistic gent giving his danglies an airing. No, this refers to the very British anthology of short stories from Wayward Ink Publishing – Bollocks!

Here’s the cover and blurb:

Bollocks as a word is a little naughty. It’s a little cheeky. It’s a little rude.
And it’s the tongue-in-cheek theme for this collection of short stories celebrating all things English.

You’ll discover a bonk is not a typo for somewhere to keep your money. A shag isn’t something thick and plush under your feet to keep them warm, though it is guaranteed to heat you up! And as for a snog, the boys of Bollocks! can assure you it’s worth finding out what that Brit term means.

The stories will make you laugh. They’ll make you snort. They’ll make you blush. Sigh—they’ll probably make you shake your head. They may even make you want to catch the next flight to England to find something a little British of your own!

It’s not just cricket, or jolly hockey sticks, it’s more… it’s the very British, Bollocks!

This is a fun bunch of stories, folks, with something for everyone – tension, passion, erotica and the daftest story I’ve ever written. 🙂 Would I recommend it? Of course I would. Short stories are briliant for filling in that little gap between going to bed and sleep, or waiting for a bus or to read in your lunch hour. These stories are fun, good humoured and generally life affirming – something we all need from time to time.

But don’t take my word for it.Those lovely people at Sinfully Sexy Book Reviews have already reviewed it and you can see their opinion here plus a terrific Rafflecopter giveaway!

If you’d like your own copy you can do the Rafflecopter thing there, or you could buy it directly from Wayward Ink, from B&N, from Amazon US and from Amazon UK

Click read more for the list of stories and watch this space because I’ll be offering a copy when I get back from UK Meet in Bristol.

(more…)

Read Full Post »

First of all kudos to Paul Richmond for yet another memorable cover, with shades of Mucha plus a welcome variation on the ‘naked guys getting close’ theme seen on so many M/M romance covers. Good art with implications of sweetness and light, very appropriate.

Secondly, I’ve been asked by the author to make it absolutely clear that this book is a standalone novel. It is the first in the Season of Love series but the books are only loosely linked, much as Ben’s other books are linked by characters who live in the Oscar Wilde apartment block who may appear in subsequent titles. The linking is a little more formal in this case, being the about romantic relationships of a group of friends, but I’m assured that every book will be able to be read independently of the others. There also isn’t too long to wait if you are a B G Thomas completist. The next book will be published in July, with Autumn written and Winter well on the way.

Here are the details:

Spring Affair by B G Thomas

Blurb: Sloan McKenna is going through a tough time. His beloved mother has recently passed away, leaving him her house and beautiful garden. But should he keep the house? Sell it? To make matters worse, he’s in love with one of his best friends, Asher, a man who can’t (or won’t) love him back.

Sloan’s neighbor, Max Turner, is married to an ambitious woman with far-reaching dreams, including moving the family to France. But Max is happy teaching at the local college and living in their nice, quiet town. Then he discovers his fourteen-year-old son is not only gay, but out and proud as well. That throws him into complete disarray, for more than one reason….

When Max’s wife leaves on a two-month business trip to Paris, circumstances throw the two men together. As they become friends, Sloan finds himself falling in love with Max, who is completely unavailable… just like Asher. As for Max, he is discovering that both his son’s coming out and his new friendship with Sloan are stirring up feelings he thought buried long ago. Spring is a time for rebirth—Is there any way the two men can find happiness and a new beginning?

Excerpt:

Sloan was lucky to have all of the dear friends who had gathered here with him tonight, especially after the last month. Month? Hell! Six months. His shoulders sagged, and he felt the tears almost prick at the corners of his eyes. Almost. But it wasn’t happening. And that was a good thing. He didn’t want his friends to see him crying. Not tonight. Even though he could. Even though it would be fine. He wanted to be brave tonight. Impress the hell out of them.

Were they talking about him now, or were they delving into a discussion of whether John the Baptist was real or not? At least Scott wasn’t going on and on about one of his online romances—men he fell madly in love with and rarely met in real life. And when he did? Disaster every time. The last time Scott had actually flown to Chicago and checked into The Four Seasons, a very expensive hotel, so he could meet the man he just knew was Mr. Right. The two of them were supposed to share the costs of not only the room, but the plane tickets as well. That didn’t happen. Scott and his romance du jour met, fucked, wound up having a huge ugly fight, and it was over. Scott had been devastated. For a couple of weeks. Maybe a month. Then Scott was right back online.

Scott, Wyatt, and Asher. They were the best friends a man could have, despite their eccentricities.

Scott was always there for him at an instant’s notice, no matter what. He had actually been the first one Sloan had called on the worst day of his life, not more than a month ago. Scott had had a plan already set and instantly took over so Sloan could just throw himself on the couch and, well, not cry. That hadn’t happened yet. He’d been too afraid to let the tears go until the funeral was over—he had wanted, needed, to maintain a sense of decorum until then. He could cry later.

Except he hadn’t yet. Not really.

Read more at Dreamspinner Press

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »