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Tuesday, August 28, 2012

AHOY MATEY! Chapter From The Devil's Heel (Pirate novella)

About The Devil's Heel:
WARNING: This book has explicit language and strong sexual content.

A Homoerotic Pirate Novella

Five years ago Drew Hibbard dismissed Rogan Brockport from his life. Now, they meet again at the Governor’s Ball and Rogan will know the reason for the abrupt, unexplained cut. After Rogan saves Drew’s life during a pirate raid, he kidnaps him and the perfect opportunity to extract answers from Drew is finally at hand.
Copyright © 2012 Keta Diablo

Cover Art by Fantasia Frog Designs

 Passage From the Book

Drew clutched the fluted glass in his hand when Rogan Brockport descended the winding staircase. His knees went weak, his throat dry. The intensity in the man’s gaze as he crossed the room both terrified and thrilled him.
Rogan’s rich, sable hair, tied at his nape, touched his broad shoulders and accentuated the slight widow’s peak at his forehead. A long coat of iridescent gray with burgundy and gold trim and cuffs overlaid a silk black shirt and hugged his muscular torso. Knickers of the same gleaming gray fabric clung to his thighs like second skin and met a pair of black, high-top leather boots. Drew’s eyes were drawn to the long, flowing white jabot with gold brooch around Rogan's neck . . . before his gaze settled on the man’s handsome face.
Rumors abounded in Hampton about the rogue, scandalous accounts detailing the vicious life he led at sea. The vulgar repartee bore testament to the dark side of Rogan Brockport—a ruthless mercenary who delighted in filching booty from the lowest order of men sailing the coast. Some said the difference between a mercenary and a pirate was thinner than a blade of grass. Others said the name of the man’s three-masted frigate—The Devil’s Heel—suited the man’s persona.
A brief moment of guilt assailed Drew. If the accounts were true, this dark side of Rogan they spoke of materialized after his own marriage to Claudia.
Good, God, Rogan's steps grew more purposeful as he advanced. He cut a path through the crowd, his dark brown eyes locked on his with a look that said he knew what was under his fine attire.
Run, Drew, run!
His feet felt nailed to the floor.
Who would believe that after all this time he still craved Rogan’s touch, heard his voice in his dreams? During his marriage to Claudia, he’d lie in bed at night and imagine Rogan beside him, licking him, touching him, and yes, thrusting into him until his world shattered.
Oh, Claudia knew when they married the union would never be consummated. He’d been upfront and open with her from the onset, and she with him. She’d married him to uphold her social standing in the community, and he’d married her to soothe his wounded pride and broken heart. He loved Claudia in his own way, and she him. In many ways, theirs was the perfect match.
If not for Rogan Brockport.
Oh, God, in another minute he’d be standing before him. Too late to run now. Well, he wouldn’t sate his maddening hunger beneath the man again. He’d rather die alone and destitute than to submit to the cold-hearted bastard.
Fallon’s voice drew him from his licentious musings. “I’m off to sample the fare at the buffet table. Shall I bring you something?”
Drew shook his head and stifled an impulse to ask him to stay. Even Rogan wouldn’t cause a scene in the crowded room, and Drew would love the opportunity to put the guttersnipe in his place once and for all. He braced for the unpleasant encounter mere moments away.
Rogan offered his hand with a smirk, his intent, no doubt, to remind him of what his virile masculinity had always done to him. “Ah, Drew, widowhood becomes you. I’ve never seen you look better.”
The stinging retort died somewhere in his throat. He saw only the beautiful physicality of the man and Rogan had only shaken his hand.
Rogan locked eyes with his. “Rather neglectful of Fallon to leave you to the she-cats, wouldn’t you say?”
Finding his tongue, Drew lifted his chin. “There’s only one beast in my line of vision, Rogan, and I can’t imagine whatever would possess the cunning creature to sniff me out.”
“Touché,” he whispered in that sensual voice that made Drew shiver with need.
He turned his head and scanned the crowd. “Whatever you want, be quick about it.”
“I want you, Drew, and I don’t intend to be quick about it.”
Even as Drew turned to look at him again, hot blood rushed through his veins. “We have nothing to discuss, so be about your business and leave.”
“Oh, come now.” Rogan smiled. “For old times’ sake, have a drink with me.”
He’d forgotten how that sinfully gorgeous mouth could turn him to pulp. “I have no intention of drinking with you, Brockport.” He allowed his words to linger. “Ever again.”
Rogan leaned in, his low words a whisper of warning. “I’m certain you don’t relish a scene the very first night of your reemergence into society.”
He stood so close, his distinct scent of sandalwood and pure man wafted around Drew, causing the muscles in his lower belly to throb and his cock to stiffen. Without conscious thought, his gaze ran the length of Rogan’s powerful body and settled on the expanding bulge in his breeches.
Christ, help him; he had to get away from the man.


Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Please help me welcome DRAKE BRAXTON!

By Drake Braxton

While attending a 20th high school reunion in Alabama, Blain Harrington loses the love of his life in the blink of an eye. He soon realizes that everything is not always as it seems as he sets out on a journey for answers. What do you do when the world you thought you knew crumbles around you? How do you piece it back together?

Seventh Window Press
AUTHOR WEB SITE (Please visit)

* * *

Excerpt from MISSING

Chapter 2
Sunday, 1:00 a.m.
Culver Pines Police Station
The words were pouring out of my mouth so quickly the duty policeman at the dank police station was obviously confused by what I was trying to tell him. He definitely zeroed in on the one thing.
“Why do you keep saying husband?” he chortled.
“Because he is my husband. We are legally married in the state of Massachusetts.”
“This is Alabama, boy.”
I hated the way Southerners said the word “boy”. It brought out a visceral response that I tried to quell.
“I understand where I am, sir. I am trying to give you all the facts.”
“Maybe your friend just left town.”
“Are you married, officer?”
“Would your wife just take off in the middle of a party and not tell you where she was going?”
“Boy, don’t even think of comparing your guy friend to my wife!”
“Stop calling him my friend!”
“So you’re not friends? You are enemies? Fighting?”
I knew he was trying to rile me up; he also didn’t know how close he was to the truth. I tried to compose myself and continue. I was so tired, but adrenaline was pumping through my body and kept my mind on the task at hand.
“Can we start over with this report?” I asked.
“You said you haven’t seen him since ten o’clock,” the portly, balding man in the tight uniform said. “That was only three hours ago. There isn’t much we can do.”
My cell phone rang and I jumped to answer it.
“Hello,” I yelled as I walked away from the counter.
“It’s me,” Rhonda said. “Just stepped out at Rusty’s and wanted to see what was happening with you. Did Manny come back yet?”
“Rhonda, I’m at the police station trying to make a statement. I found Manny’s cell tossed in a tree planter at the hotel.”
“I’m on my way!”
I hung up and began to pace in the lobby.
The officer and I looked at each other. It felt like the standoff at the O.K. Corral. And so stupid. Who benefits from the imposed twenty-four hour waiting period to declare someone missing? That’s another twenty-one hours in which something could be done.
I noticed the coffee urn on the counter and motioned for his approval to help myself.
He obliged with a grunt.
I poured myself a cup. It was obvious I was in for a long night if it meant I had to wait there all night. I wished that I had a photo to show the officer—to put a face to my story. It was a relief to look up and see Rhonda with her warm green eyes and freckles walking through the door.
“So, what’s going on here?” she asked.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Don’t you know that our criminal justice system makes you wait twenty-four hours to do anything?”
“That’s ridiculous. The man is missing in a state he doesn’t even live in.”
“Tell that to him.”
“Jeremy Rider!” she said.
“Hey Rhonda, what brings you here in the middle of the night?”
“This is my friend who moved away years ago, but was back for the reunion over at the Helton tonight.”
“Rhonda, I told him I can’t do anything about this—”
“Jer, can’t you at least take the information so that you can get a head start?” she asked, twirling her hair.
“I still can’t put it in the system—”
“But please, just take it from us. Please?”
“Fine. Fine,” he said, going to the typewriter near his desk.
Welcome to 1950, I thought to myself.
“Manuel Madeira,” I quickly said.
“Madari? Is he Muslim?”
What the hell was going on in this new country we had created where everyone was afraid of any name that sounded different?
“M–a-d-e-i-r-a,” I said. “It is a Portuguese surname for a lovely Brazilian family. Not Muslim. Manuel means ‘God with us’ and he was a very devout Catholic for most of his life. He’s been a U.S. citizen since 1986 and lives in Wellmont, Massachusetts.”
Why did I feel the needed to bring religion into the discussion with this man? We live in a society where we feel we need to justify everything.
“Here for a reunion with my friend,” Rhonda threw in. “He is about six feet, like Blain,” she said, smiling at me. “Dark hair cut close to his head—like an army cut. Dark eyes and a very bright smile. Olive complexion and was clean shaven tonight. About how many pounds, Blain?”
“A hundred seventy.”
“Tonight he was wearing—”
As Rhonda described the man of my dreams, my mind wandered to when I first saw him in the bar in Boston all those years ago. I thought he was a model with that amazing smile. I recalled wondering why he would ever look at a tall, lanky southern dimpled-faced, four-eyed, dirty-blonde. But he did.
And I was grateful for the time to talk to him that night. He had a cute accent and different take on America from my blue-blooded past growing up in a well-to-do antebellum estate. I was shocked we were able to find common ground. Manny and I had both changed through the years, bringing out the best in each and helping our minds expand and accept differences in others. The one thing that never changed about Manny was how his eyes lit up whenever that beautiful smile crossed his face. Even the lines that now etched his forty-five-year-old persona never took away from the youth in his smile. He was even sexier than he was when we first met. But sex has not been on our minds and that smile has not been on his face the past two days.
How I prayed I would see it again.
“Anything else you want to add about his description?” Rhonda asked me.
“A tattoo. It’s two small penguins intertwined together on his left pelvic region.”
The man scowled.

* * *
Thanks so much for visiting us today, Drake. Best of luck with MISSING! I adores the cover. 


Saturday, August 4, 2012

Erotic MM Romance - Great Civil War Setting

New Review for Long Hard Ride
By J9 for Amazon 

Grayson Drake has a secret mission to break Marx Wellbourne out of a Northern prison where he's close to death. The Confederacy needs Marx and it's Gray's job to get Marx to Richmond. Gray and Marx can't deny their attraction but neither do they exactly trust each other. With the sadistic prison warden chasing the men down, they must rely on each other for safety and erotic fulfillment.

I loved the setting of the American Civil War. The violent, bloody, complicated nature of the War is well described here. That isn't to say it's easy to read about Marx in a disgusting prison with disease and sadistic guards but it's got a raw realism that I thought was so well written. The action plot of Marx and Gray being chased from upstate New York to Richmond was captivating and kept me flying through this novella. I do wish the sadistic prison warden chasing the men got his due on screen by the men instead of how it happened but it's a small quibble.

The romance between the two men is carnally ravenous with a raw sexuality that may not appeal to all readers but I thought it fit the story's rough War setting. This author writes very strong erotica well, in my opinion, so fans of that will adore this book. Still, I don't think the eroticism overwhelmed the story but instead added to the well-written characters. The author did a good job of fleshing out the men, especially Marx, and explaining their motivations for being Confederate soldiers, which in my opinion, was a necessity to make readers sympathetic to them. The emotional denouement wasn't as long or as in depth as I wanted since I really liked these characters but hopefully this means a sequel is in the works!

I recommend fans of well-written erotic MM romance read LONG HARD RIDE and think they'll enjoy this novella as much as I did.

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