Friday, October 31, 2014

Heart by Garrett Leigh - Book Blast tour

Book Name: Heart
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Cover Artist: G.D. Leigh (
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Cornish pastry chef Seb Wright dreads the summer tourist season. The cash injection to his artisan fudge pantry is more than welcome, the extra work, less so. Then one summer, a shadowy Good Samaritan catches his eye. Irish Traveller Dex is bewitching, a beautiful sullen enigma who turns Seb's world upside down until he disappears in the night, vanishing like a mystical summer rain.

Twelve months later Dex is in the midst of a dark storm. A slave to his master, 'Uncle' Braden, he spends his days cleaning caravans and his nights working in Braden's other businesses. His short summer with Seb seems a lifetime ago. Lost in the savage violence of the murky underworld, he doesn't dare dream he'll ever find his way back, until one night, a brutal crime opens the door for a chance escape. A new life beckons, old faces emerge, and immersed in the heady vibe of London’s East End, new love begins to heal his fractured heart.

Categories: Contemporary, Fiction, Gay Fiction, M/M Romance, Romance

SEB took a drink of his beer and set it down again with undue care. “You can’t read, can you?”
“I don’t believe you.”
Dex slid off his stool and shoved his hands into his pockets. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when Seb had ambushed him, but it wasn’t this. So what if he couldn’t bloody read? It wasn’t like he’d ever been to school to learn.
Seb caught his arm. “Don’t go, Dex. I’m sorry, okay? I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
Seb’s hand engulfed Dex’s wrist, his touch as charged and heated as it had ever been. Dex felt his resolve melting, ebbing away until it was all he could do to fall back onto the bar stool. “I can read some,” he said mutinously. “I can read numbers, and names. Knew the name of your shop, didn’t I?”
“Can you write?”
“Never tried.” Dex looked down. Lying to Seb felt all wrong. He’d heard the name of Seb’s shop on the street, and the only name he could read was his own.
Seb was silent for a moment, then without warning, Dex felt his fingers brush through his shower-damp hair. “It really is brown. I thought it was just wet.”
Dex fought for the strength to shy away from the soft gesture, but nothing happened. “The bleach grew out.”
“It was dyed?”
“Couldn’t you tell?” Dex had forgotten his brief stint as a blond was all Seb had ever known of him.
“No, not at all. You look totally different now. Not sure I would’ve recognized you without the scowl. You just about shocked the shit of me. I I thought I’d never see you again.”

Author: Garrett Leigh
Author Bio:
Garrett Leigh is a British writer and book designer, currently working for Dreamspinner Press, Loose Id, Riptide Publishing, and Black Jazz Press. Her protagonists will always be tortured, crippled, broken, and deeply flawed. Throw in a tale of enduring true love, some stubbly facial hair, and a bunch of tattoos, and you’ve got yourself a Garrett special.

When not writing, Garrett can generally be found procrastinating on Twitter, cooking up a storm, or sitting on her behind doing as little as possible. That, and dreaming up new ways to torture her characters. Garrett believes in happy endings; she just likes to make her boys work for it.
Garrett also works as a freelance cover artist for various publishing houses and independent authors under the pseudonym G.D. Leigh. For cover art info, please visit

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Damon Snow and the Nocturnal Lessons by Olivia Helling - Book Tour with Review and Giveaway

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Damon Snow and the Nocturnal Lessons by Olivia Helling Damon Snow #1
Publication Date: October 2, 2014 
Genres: Fantasy, M/M, Regency

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Damon Snow thinks he has the world figured out. As an incubus and male prostitute, it’s a cruel, dark, lonely place where men only want one thing. But when his long-time patron Byrne discovers he’s dying, Byrne offers to leave his entire fortune to him. There’s just one catch. Damon has to write about the reason why another patron procures his services. Caught up in his patron’s impossible love life, Damon suddenly isn’t so sure he knows the answer.
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 Byrne dropped his hand. “The physician came today.”
“What did he have to say?” I asked. I made a face. “More leeches?”
I didn’t know how such learned men expected leeches to fix dyspepsia, but I had heard enough from Byrne’s rants that physicians were desperate to use them. And the maggots. Physicians had a fetish for letting bugs eat their patients, apparently. Medical nonsense. It was why I never serviced physicians, however well they paid.
“No. No leeches,” he said. “It’s too late for that.”
“Too late?” I asked. “But you have money.” I had known many people to die young because they could not afford even a surgeon. A real one, who had studied in a university and not the cowherd recently arrived from the country.
“Money doesn’t buy everything,” Byrne said. “It didn’t buy me a family.”
“If you had been as ardent about chasing fillies as you are colts,” I said and shrugged. He’d probably have a whole stable of children by now.
“I don’t care much for fillies,” Byrne said.
“Who does?” I shrugged again. “But that’s how you beget children.”
“I always thought I would have time,” he said.
“You still have time,” I said.
Byrne laughed, which turned into a harsh coughing fit. I rubbed his back through the thin cotton of his night gown.
“Doctor Morson said I wouldn’t last a year. Maybe two,” Byrne said.
“From dyspepsia?” I asked.
Byrne shook his head no. “It’s not dyspepsia.”
Oh. If Byrne didn’t wish to share, then I wouldn’t enquire further. “Well, I knew a boy who got roughed up pretty bad — I mean, I knew a boy who had been gravely injured. His — his abbot was flush enough to summon a surgeon. The surgeon said he wouldn’t last the night.”
“But then the boy lived for fifty years and died a happy old man surrounded by grandchildren,” Byrne finished.
“How many years do you think I have?” I asked. “He did outlive the prognosis, though. He made it a whole week before they called the coffin-maker.”
Byrne laughed again, as if he couldn’t help but laugh instead of cry. Tears ran from the corner of his eyes. He pressed his hand into his side again. “Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”
“Better,” I said. “If he can live seven times longer, it should be easy for you. You can do a lot in seven years.”
“Not like this,” Byrne said. His hands trembled in his lap.
“It’s a lot of books to read,” I said. I glanced at the god forsaken book on the ground. “Not that one.”
Byrne laughed again. When his coughing fit rescinded, he whispered, “You must endeavour not to make me laugh, or I won’t have a year. It would be worth it, though.”
“Well, then what do you want to do?” I asked. The few people I had known with wasting sicknesses had not been afforded the luxury for such a question, except for something really simple. Apologising to their mother for the life they had lived, for one.
“I want to read something… hopeful,” Byrne said.
“Then the newspaper is out,” I said. “Everyone’s saying the French wars will ruin us.”
“Oh, let the French have Perceval,” Byrne said. “I’ve had three ships go down off the coast of Africa, thanks to his moral idiocy.”
“Yes, terrible that,” I said. “Can you believe him? Actually thinking that men shouldn’t be owned by another? Where is the profit? Well, besides with the former slaves, who would then get a fair wage for their work instead of the whip.”
Byrne sniffed. He looked to the fireplace on the other side of his bedroom. Small flames licked the blackened logs. Perhaps he had realised just how silly it was to complain to a molly about the loss of slave ships. Or perhaps he was just imagining keeping me in a collar, chained to his bed to do whatever he desired. Without pay.
“May I ask you something?” Byrne asked. I shrugged. I hoped it had nothing to do with politics. I cared little for what happened at Westminster, unless it involved a gift of coin and me on my knees. “Are you happy?”
I mouth opened and I almost laughed. “Halfway to the grave,” I said, “and you still find time to mock me.”
“How does that question mock you?” Byrne asked. His forehead furrowed, as if he actually had to think hard on my response.
“No, I am not happy,” I said. “I expect no one really is, not at the bottom of the barrel. Although, I’m not actually at the bottom. That place is reserved for those poor halfwits stuck in St Giles.”
“Damon’s Circles of Hell,” Byrne muttered. “How clever.”

3.5 out of 5 stars

This is the first novella in a series that is set in Georgian Era England. Damon Snow is a molly or rent boy but he also has a secret. Damon is an incubus, a genetic 'gift' from his father who he never knew. 

We meet Damon for the first time with his long time patron, Byrne. Byrne seems to be a lovely, but lonely man, who unfortunately is dying. He offers to leave his entire fortune to Damon, but only if Damon follows the lessons set before him. His first lesson is to get into the mind of whomever wants his services next. He's to learn why that gentleman is visiting a molly house, and the emotions involved by the patron. This of course throws Damon because he does not believe that patrons or mollys can have real emotions toward the other. In fact, Damon doesn't believe in love at all. 

I quite liked the lessons that Byrne has set before Damon, and both Damon's reaction and his responses to the task at first. I'll admit that the first bit of the story is slow going. By about 40 pages in I wanted to see what Damon gets out of the lesson because he is so jaded in his inner dialogue. I liked the pacing of the story, and the characters were well written. Even if it was a short novella, the characterization and storyline weren't lacking. However the shortness of the novella doesn't lead to a full story development. Ultimately a full story would have made the romance more detailed and would have allowed more backstory. 

That's not to say I won't read the rest of the stories that follow, as I do want to see where this takes Damon. Also, I want to see where the author takes the incubus part storyline. I really enjoyed the interaction between Damon and Byrne the most. There was a difference to their relationship by the end of this story, which makes me believe Damon actually did absorb something from his first lesson. 

I look forward to the next book in the series. ~ Chris 

About the Author

Olivia Helling doesn't believe in love at first sight... but maybe, just maybe, it blossoms along a few books. That is, after all, how she fell in love with her husband. Olivia writes about the darkness and flaws from within, the struggle with self-confidence, self-perception and fear of failure, and fantasy and historical worlds that refuse to allow love between men. So be warned: happily ever after is not guaranteed. The protagonist and love interest don't always end up together by the end of one book. But when they finally come together, their love will be a thing of beauty.

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Thursday, October 30, 2014

Love's Home by Iyana Jenna - Book Blast with Giveaway

Book Name: Love’s Home
Author Name: Iyana Jenna 

Publisher: JMS Books
Pages: 268 pages
Cover Artist: Written Ink Designs |
Sometimes you need a break, to get away somewhere, but in the end you always return to a place you call home. The saying goes, “Home is where the heart is.” It doesn’t matter if it’s big or small, pretty or shabby, what matters is it’s your Love’s Home.

This collection features five of Iyana Jenna’s best-selling gay contemporary romance stories. A homeless PA finds a home in an actor’s life. An abduction almost steals a man from his loving boyfriend. A love triangle nearly ruins everything. A sex slave is rescued by an unlikely savior. A young man discovers a new home after he loses everything.

Contains the stories:
  • A Home for Jesse
  • A Single Black Rose
  • Misunderstandings
  • Will and Pleasure
  • Ya Like That?

A Home for Jesse
This ain’t so bad. Jesse pats his laden backpack. He stretches himself on the bench and lowers his head onto the bag, grimacing at the bumps pressing against his head and neck. Awesome. He is going to have major cricks and headaches come morning. That is if he’s not suffering from early signs of pneumonia.

Jesse shifts and grunts and finally gives up. He sits up, takes off his jacket, and spreads it over his front before he lies down again. Moving a bit again to find the most comfortable position, he thinks, Fuck, now my shorts are stuck in the crack of my ass. Jesse reaches down and pulls them free -- ah, that’s better.

He takes a deep breath. So he’s a bum now, is he? His ma would be heartbroken if she knew. She could blame him for being such a hard head and insisting on having his own way. Jesse stares blankly at the leaves swaying on treetops, at the shadows of the swings dancing in the dark, at the stars blinking mockingly down at him. At least the fact that they are up there means that the sky is cloudless and Jesse doesn’t need to worry about the possibility of rain tonight. Getting soaked when the only place he has to sleep is this park would be a pain in the ass, not to mention hazardous to his health. Jesse also hopes no cops will come patrolling tonight.

Weary to the bone, Jesse curls both hands under the side of his face and gives in to slumber.

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Author Bio:
Iyana writes M/M short stories and novellas. Her works have been published by Evernight Publishing, JMS Books, Books to Go Now, Torquere Press, Bitten Press, Leap of Faith Publishing, Breathless Press, and Alfie Dog Fiction.

Iyana lives in Jakarta, a city famous for its traffic jams, a lot of cars and motorcycles, and people selling stuff on the roads. You can spend two hours on the road going to a place you can reach in half an hour in a normal situation. Thanks to the traffic jams, though, Iyana can come up with a lot of stories, mostly shorties, as she prefers to spend the time during her trips writing into her cell phone rather than sleeping.

Another thing Iyana loves is kitties. Right now she has three of them. Their names are Cil, Horus, and Betsy, and one kitten. When she doesn’t write, she plays with them, or they would play with her when she writes.

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