Welcome fab writers Lisa Worrall and Laura Harner

Good morning! Here is a promo from Lisa Worral and Laura Harner with their new book, Continental Divide!

Thanks for having us on Shar…  here is the blurb and an excerpt for CD

Detective Remington frickin’ hates the missing persons detail, but a cold fury builds in the pit of his stomach when he realizes that over the past three months six boys have disappeared from the smaller communities that surround the greater Phoenix area. All reported to be runaways looking to escape their shitty lives, but Remy’s starting to put together a different picture and he doesn’t like it one damn bit.

Inspector Jamie Mainwaring stares at the six reports, willing them to make sense. Six boys, six months, all from just outside of London, which meant six different investigations. All of the boys were between the ages of ten and fifteen, all purportedly runaways from dysfunctional families. Something was rotten in Denmark.

There are always runaways. Every small town loses them—every big city collects them. Kids look for freedom and discover they have more to lose than they ever thought possible. London and Phoenix, culture and cowboys, nothing linking these two sprawling metropolitan areas. Nothing except a hit on a computer data search.

Two cops, one a cowboy, the other a Lord. A secret government agency, human trafficking, and a blazing hot mutual distraction.

What the hell have Remington and Mainwaring gotten themselves into?

Excerpt:

“Who the hell are you?” Jamie asked incredulously, not expecting to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun. Regardless of the gorgeous hunk of man-flesh at the other end of it. Rephrase that, the naked gorgeous hunk of man-flesh at the other end of it, as the man's loosely secured towel slipped to the floor. His gaze traveled slowly over the man’s ruggedly handsome face and down the muscled planes of his torso. Pausing longer than was perhaps polite on the long thick length of the man’s cock laying heavy against his thigh, he tried not to lick his lips as he continued down the muscled legs to the bare feet poking from beneath the dropped towel on the floor. Maybe a little homespun and unrefined for Jamie's tastes, but undeniably gorgeous all the same. “Well, I feel slightly over-dressed,” he drawled sarcastically. “If I'd known it was going to be a slumber party, I'd have packed my jammies."

“James Manwearing?” Remy questioned glancing from the ID to Jamie and back again.

Suddenly the man-flesh looked less edible as eyebrows rose high under the shaggy brown hair falling in deep brown eyes. Jamie grabbed his black wallet from the stranger’s fingers and shoved it into his jacket pocket. “It’s pronounced Mannering,” he snapped. “I’d ask to see your badge, but I don't think you can show me anything I haven't already seen.”

Jamie strode across the room to pull back the flimsy curtain and peer out into the street. Good God, what a dump! He had no idea dives such as this one even still existed in a city as affluent as London. What had good-looking done to deserve this? More to the point, what had he done to deserve this?

One minute he’s sitting at his desk, going over the latest reports with one of his team and the next he’s being dragged into the Chief Inspector’s office and told to clear his calendar and report to this address. There had been no explanation, just the steely glare of his superior and a sticky-note slapped into his palm. Jamie had worked for the man long enough to know that all he could do was follow orders and hope there was an explanation waiting for him when he arrived.

What he hadn’t been expecting was a naked man-mountain to open the door and stick a gun in his face. Turning to the man who, thankfully, had shoved some jeans and a shirt on, Jamie put his hands on his hips. “Okay, who are you and what the hell am I doing here?”

“Name’s Remington and I was gonna ask you the same thing, Detective Man-wearing.”

* * *

“Inspector. Not detective. Inspector. And it’s pronounced Mannering. Inspector Mannering,” he repeated, pronouncing it slowly, as if speaking to a particularly dim-witted child.

Remy ignored the clipped voice, narrowed his eyes, and returned the thorough inspection he’d been given by Man-wearing. Height-wise they were well-matched, with only an inch or two difference, but he had a good twenty pounds on the inspector. The man had black hair that curled over his collar and fell in his face, and deep set eyes that were currently looking out from under a wrinkled brow. Imagine that, the in-spec-tor looked annoyed.

The pansy ass would likely get along well with Oswald, but probably didn’t have clue about real police work. Fucking shit! Was this how cops dressed in London? Polished black shoes, a charcoal gray suit, and a fruity green shirt and tie. He supposed the guy was trying to show off those dark green eyes. His damned outfit probably cost more than Remy’s pick up truck back home.

“Like what you see, Detective?”

“Hardly,” Remy snorted. “You look like you belong in a bank. I doubt you’d recognize a bad guy if he jumped up and bit you on the ass. In fact—”

A sharp rap on the door interrupted the tirade he seemed to be building toward. Pushing aside his unreasonable anger, Remy repeated the door opening routine. This time it was a woman who entered at the wave of his gun. She reached into the pocket of her red power blazer and removed her credentials for inspection.

Remy kept the gun aimed at her stomach and took the leather case. “Julia Forsythe, Director, Regional Police Services—European Division. INTERPOL. Guess that makes you a pretty big deal,” Remy said.

“I guess it does,” she agreed.

“For God’s sake, Remington. Put the gun away. Director, it is an honor to make your acquaintance, I’m James Mainwaring.”

Remy ignored their exchange. He locked the door and tucked his gun in his waistband before moving to sit on the edge of the bed. The newcomer was a compact woman in her mid-fifties, with a cap of short salt and pepper hair. Despite the elegant exterior, she carried herself like a cop. He liked that.

“So, a director and an inspector. Somebody want to clue me in on why a plain old detective from Phoenix is here?” He was watching both of them, so he didn’t miss the quick nod of Mainwaring’s head.

“You’re here, Detective, because I asked for you. For both of you. Now, James, if you’ll take a seat, I’ll explain.”

“Call me Jamie,” the other man added quickly, and Remy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Jamie. Of course.

Amazon

Welcome Back Lisa Worrall

Greetings readers. Welcome to Michael's! Another amazing author is here today. How can we follow up fab writer Angel Martinez. With another great one and fab friend, Lisa Worrall. Let's see how she answers my probing questions!

Before you started, had you done any fanfiction? If so, what fandom?

God yes.  I love fanfiction.  My friend got me into reading it and then asked me to write a fic for her birthday and the rest is history J  Those who know me will not be surprised to know it was in the Supernatural fandom J

*For Fanfiction writers, did you ever do any Real Person Fan fic? If so of who, if not do you think it’s wrong to do that?

Fanfiction is where I started in the Supernatural Fandom as stated above, and I didn’t always write AU (alternate universe).  In fact, most of my early stuff was definitely real person.  I certainly don’t think it’s wrong to do so.  We all have different tastes, we all have different things that float our boats and, quite frankly, having attended quite a few Supernatural conventions, the actors know of its existence and don’t read it, but don’t object to it either.

What is your favorite subgenre to write?

M/M is the genre I write in.

What is your opinion on the “chicks with dicks” analogy? In your opinion, is it wrong for your males to be emotional or romantic?

I think the “chicks with dicks” analogy was started by men who find it difficult to express emotion in their own relationships.  Why is it okay for a heterosexual man to tell his wife he loves her… or hold her hand… or kiss her in public… or call her baby… whatever—but we’re supposed to think that a gay man wouldn’t dream of expressing the same endearments to the one they love?  It irritates me when, and it’s usually men, state that all gay men are interested in is sex and that emotion doesn’t come into it.  And I’m sure there are gay men out there who are only interested in that… just as there are women out there who feel the same way.  However, I can’t believe that that is what every gay man in the world is the same.

Your first published book?

My first published novella, which I class as my first book because it wasn’t a short story… was A Nanny for Nate with Silver Publishing.

Who are the authors that you look up to?

I adore Sue Brown’s writing.  It’s fluid and seamless and grabs you from the first word until the last.  I also love Stuart Wakefield’s stuff.  I don’t usually go for fantasy, but he does it so well.  Patti Logan, of course, knocks it out of the park with a splendid mix of romance and BDSM.  And I confess to being a huge Andrew Grey fan.  He hits the spot every time. Oh, and there’s Laura Harner, I might have a bit of a soft spot for her…  this could go on for some time.

What books are you reading at the moment? It’s okay to give a fellow author a plug!

I just finished reading Stolen Summer by S.A. Meade.  The tale she wove was amazing and I was sucked in straight away.  So much so that I could not put it down!  Totally recommend it.

What are you working on now?

I’m currently working on a couple of things.  I have a three book series called Barty, Me & Daddy Makes Three.  It’s about a guy, Evan, who works at Dreamland, a theme park in California, where he is the star attraction… Barty Bear.  One day he meets a little girl who has lost her Daddy and his life is changed forever.

I’m also working on a story revolving around a cataract sufferer who runs an assisted camp for the blind.  When a particularly happy camper shows up, things don’t quite go as planned.

When creating your characters, do you have models in mind or are they totally fictional?

I’d like to say that they’re totally fictional, but most of my leading men have a little of the Jensen and Jared’s about them… with a change of hair colour and eye colour… although green always seem to sneak in there. *blushes*

If you write gay romance or erotica, just how descriptive are your in their sex scenes?

I think they’re quite descriptive.  I find the sex scenes the hardest, because you want to make them different each time, but obviously there are standard moves… shall we call them lol.  I like to concentrate more on the emotional side of it while keeping it hot.  I hope I manage to do it!

What is your opinion as to why publishers only want to group all manlove stories under erotica?

Do you feel this is a hindrance to our genre?

I do actually.  As I said above, I write M/M erotic romance, heavy on the romance.  Not that there isn’t a place for purely erotica… but not everybody wants to read a book about two sweaty blokes wrestling naked and shagging like there’s no tomorrow without even asking each other’s names.  When I read a book, I like plot to be the priority and the sex almost secondary.

Do you believe it’s important for you to know the gender of the author?

No – what difference does it make?  As long as the writing is good, who gives a monkey whether you’re Arthur or Martha?

Recently, a writer sabotaged her career by answering a bad review on a blog. How would you have handled this and do you think authors should answer their reviews?

I don’t think we shouldn’t be allowed to answer reviews.  But as my dear old dad used to say… there’s a difference between scratching your arse and tearing it.  I’ve had bad reviews or reviews where the reader has asked questions or not understood what I’ve meant and I’ve answered them.  At the end of the day, it’s like someone telling you your kid is ugly… you wouldn’t ignore it would you… but you would get yourself arrested either.

As a fellow fem in the genre, what is your stance on the difference between male and female gay writers?

As far as I can tell… the only difference between male and female writers of this genre is their anatomy. 

 What are your thoughts on the fact that some gay male writers discriminate against women?

Insecurity, stupidity, knobheaditis.  What it all boils down to is that they don’t want girls pissing in their paddling pool.  But it’s kind of tough, because it’s not up to them, it’s up to the reader.

What is your stance on issues in society like same sex marriage, DOMA, etc?

I have only one stance on same sex marriage.  It’s all about love.  I was brought up to believe that you grow up, meet someone, fall in love and get married and live, hopefully, happy ever after.  Nowhere did it say that a woman had to fall in love with a man and a man in love with a woman.  Love is love and it should be celebrated, whatever package it comes in.

Why do you feel homoerotic images are not acceptable on place like FB?

I think they’re perfectly acceptable on your own page with the appropriate privacy settings.  If anyone has a problem with anything I post, then unfriend me, I won’t be offended.  I will be offended if you knowingly friend me because I am a writer of M/M and then get pissy because I post revealing pictures.

Fun questions pick at least 3

Name one celeb that you wish was gay and why?

There are celebrities I wish weren’t gay, but I can’t think of any I wish were.

Name two male celebs that you’d like to see in a hot make out session?

God help me… Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki (now I have to lie down)

Your favorite gay tv show or movie?

Shelter, starring Brad Rowe and Trevor Wright

Your favorite gay celeb?

John Barrowman…Captain Jack Harkness himself.  Although Mr Bomer is edging up behind him, if you’ll pardon the expression.

Do you feel that celebs who are gay or bi should come out the closet?

I see no reason for anyone, famous or not, to be ashamed of who you are.  But at the end of the day we all make our own decisions.

For the men in your books, commando or underwear?

Boxers….

Favorite character in one of your books?

Kaleb, Always Hope.

If you’ve watched gay porn, tell me your favorite movie and or star.

I have a huge thing for Parker London… and he has a bit of a huge thing for me…

Blurb:

Ash Watts has his life exactly how he wants it: burgeoning career, gorgeous boyfriend, and an apartment with a fabulous view of LA. But his perfect world comes crashing down around his ears when he learns of his only sister's untimely death. A small town isn't all he finds when he lands in Freedom, Alabama for Annie's funeral. This small town is brimming with secrets; secrets that could change Ash's life forever. 

Kaleb Gibson, honest-to-God cowboy, and native of Freedom, born and bred, found his best friend the moment Annie Watts breezed into town. Her death left a gaping hole in his heart, and while Annie's brother may have her same dark hair and green eyes, Kaleb refuses to lose his heart all over again, and he can’t forgive the man for neglecting his sister when she needed him most.

Revelations from Annie's Will throw Kaleb and Ash together in ways they never imagined. Will Kaleb be able to carry out Annie’s last wishes without killing her beloved brother and without revealing a secret from his own past that could destroy everything? And will Ash stick around long enough to see that Freedom may hold an even more perfect life than he could have imagined?

EXCERPT:

Kaleb tossed the suitcase in the back of his truck and then climbed in behind the wheel. He started the engine and opened his window to let in the warm summer breeze and waited for Ash to hoist himself into the passenger seat. “You might wanna open your window, it’s hotter ‘n a whorehouse on nickel night in here.” As Ash fumbled with the inside panel of the door, Kaleb rolled his eyes when he realized what the man was looking for. He leaned across him and his lips curled at the gasp from Ash when his arm brushed against a firm thigh. Kaleb gripped the lever and wound the window down until the pane had completely disappeared into its housing. “This is a mint condition 1969 Chevy C10, City Boy. There ain’t no electric windows here, you’re in the South now.”

After negotiating the traffic around the airport, Kaleb pulled out onto the freeway and headed towards home. He glanced over at Ash and frowned at how pale the guy was. “When did you last sleep?” The question was out before he could stop it. Not that he’d planned to be anything other than civil, he’d merely decided he wasn’t going out of his way to be nice. This was the guy who’d left Annie high and dry, and he was the guy who’d seen the sadness in her eyes as she’d made excuse after excuse for the man who didn’t return her calls.

“Excuse me?” Ash turned to look at him and Kaleb was struck once again by the green of the man’s eyes. Now that they were out of the harsh fluorescent lighting of the airport, he could see that while there were obvious similarities between brother and sister, Ash’s eyes weren’t as vibrant a green as Annie’s. More like the ocean on a stormy day, and— what the fuck does it matter what color his eyes are? You’re giving him a ride, not painting his fucking portrait.

“You look like you’ve been put through the mill and hung up wet,” Kaleb said gruffly, returning his gaze to the road, angry with himself for being sucked in by the air of fragility about the man, despite his tall, lean frame. “Didn’t you sleep on the plane?”

“Oddly enough, no,” Ash snapped. “I was too busy thinking about my sister’s funeral to catch a few 'z’s'.”

“Shame you didn’t think about her more often when she was alive,” Kaleb countered, unable to keep the venom from his voice. Nice, Gibson, kick the man when he’s down why don’t ya? Kaleb ignored his inner voice’s scathing retort. Ash wasn’t the only one who was down, but they all had to keep going. Was he supposed to treat the asshole with kid gloves? Watts wasn’t the only one who was grieving. He’s her brother! He didn’t care. Just because Ash and Annie shared the same blood, didn’t mean anything. He, Kaleb Gibson, had been more of a brother to Annie Watts than this sack of rich city boy shit. His own heart weighed too heavy in his chest to care about Ash’s feelings.

“I beg your pardon? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Ash said in stunned amazement, turning his now angry gaze on Kaleb.

“You’re the writer, figure it out,” Kaleb spat, his fingers tightening on the wheel.

“You don’t know anything about me, or Annie.”

“I know she sat by the phone night after night waiting for your calls… calls that never fucking came. I know she cut out every clipping of every article you ever wrote. I know she was prouder of you than you had any right to.” The look Kaleb shot Ash was filled with disgust. “So quite frankly, City Boy, I already know more about you than I care to.” He knew he’d hit a nerve when spots of red flamed in Ash’s pale cheeks and for a nano-second, he wanted to take the words back—for a nano-second. Maybe it would do the man good to hear some home truths.

Buy link: Amazon.com http://www.amazon.com/Always-Hope-ebook/dp/B007AWQZ6O/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1329946799&sr=8-1

 and allromanceebooks  http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-alwayshope-726368-145.html

You can find me at:

Facebook:  LisaWorrall Author

Twitter: Lisa_Worrall

Blog: lworrall.blogspot.com

Promo from Lisa Worrall - Mr. Popsalos

Greetings folks. Lisa has a holiday book out and here is a blurb and excerpt coming from that. 

Buylink



 Blurb:
Two weeks before Christmas, Luke meets Jamie, the hottest man he's ever seen. Painfully aware that having a son makes him less dateable, Luke throws Jamie's number away after their one amazing, passion-filled night together, thinking he will never see him again…
Excerpt:

"Do you think his dad's in Harry Potter?"

Luke looked up from his newspaper, a piece of raisin toast paused in mid-air on its way to his mouth, and raised an eyebrow at his six-year-old son. "Huh?" He wasn't big on eloquence first thing in the morning, and the garbage truck had awoken him at the ass-crack of dawn.

"I /said/," Reggie repeated with a roll of his big brown eyes. "His dad must be Harold in Harry Potter."

"Hagrid," Luke automatically corrected. "/Whose/ dad?" He asked, folding his newspaper and giving his son his undivided attention. He had a feeling he was going to need all his little grey cells to decipher Reggie's latest random statement.

"Mr Popsalos."

"Mr Who?"

"Our new teacher helper," Reggie huffed with all the patience of having to deal with someone of obviously limited intelligence.

"Mr Popsalos?" Luke repeated. He vaguely recalled the mention of a new assistant teacher and nodded sagely, as if he knew what the hell he was talking about. "Ah, yes, Mr Popsalos." He scratched his chin and smiled softly. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but why do you think his dad is a giant?"

"Because he's really, really /big/," Reggie said in his best "duh" voice, as if Luke had just dribbled on himself. "You should write things down, Daddy."

"Why?" Luke said, confused. He watched Reggie spoon more Cocoa Puffs into his mouth and crunch down on them, spraying little bits of toasted rice across the table as his son continued.

"Mrs Olsen said when you get old you forget things. She writes it down. So should you, or I can remember for you." Reggie nodded happily to himself, taking a healthy slurp of his milk and leaving a white moustache on his upper lip.

Staring at Reggie for a few moments, his mouth hanging open in disbelief, Luke forced a smile onto his face and thanked his son for bowing to his great age and making allowances for his diminishing memory. Glancing up at the clock, he shoved the last bite of raisin toast into his mouth and carried his plate to the sink. "Dude, we gotta go. I've got a big presentation this morning and I need to get to work early. Do you have your shoes on?"

"Nope. What's a--" he frowned "--restation?"

"Presentation." Luke chuckled.

Reggie looked up at him for affirmation when he slipped his sneakers on, making sure he had them on the right feet. Luke gave him an encouraging nod.

"It's when I have to stand up in front of a room full of people and try not to look like an idiot."

"There's a raisin in your teeth."

Luke waited patiently while his six-year-old studied his face for further signs of idiocy. Then he flinched when Reggie sent up a war cry as he ran to put on his coat and grab his book bag from the peg. /Don't you just love it when they put you in your place?/

"Okay, almost done." Luke grinned, wrapping Reggie's scarf around his neck and pulling the matching beanie onto the little boy's head. He chuckled through their morning ritual of covering Reggie's face with the beanie--Reggie complaining and Luke insisting that he looked better when you couldn't see his face--ending with Reggie grabbing Luke's beanie and doing the same to him.

"Right, in the car, little big man," Luke urged, pulling open the door and shaking his head slowly when hurricane Reggie flew down the porch steps and sprinted to the car. The kid's energy never ceased to amaze him. Locking the house behind them, Luke took the porch steps at a more sedate rate and opened the car, waiting for Reggie to climb in before he slid behind the wheel. "Okay... do we have everything? Book bag--check, lunch box--check, kid... aaah, I forgot the kid!"

Luke smiled to himself when the voice from the back deadpanned, "Daddy, I'm six."

"Humor me," Luke drawled, starting the engine. He pulled the car off the drive and eased into the steady stream of traffic heading towards downtown--then turned around and drove back to the house, running inside and grabbing the box of toys Reggie was donating to the Toys for Tots program. Luke groaned as he stowed the box in the trunk. He couldn't believe it was only two weeks to Christmas. None of his shopping was done, and he still hadn't booked the flight to his sister's, not that Abbie would expect anything less than a last-minute panic attack from him anyway.

Climbing back behind the wheel and pulling off the drive for the second time, he sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. He'd planned to be mega-organized this year, but of course he had failed miserably again. /Oh well, thank God for the Internet and express delivery./

When they arrived at the school, Luke parked in the closest space he could find and ushered Reggie out of the car. Checking they hadn't left anything behind, he pressed the remote button on his key fob and grabbed Reggie's hand. They trotted along the street and up the steps into the school, rushing to get out of the cold December air. Once inside, they walked quickly along the children-filled corridors, stopping outside the little boy's bright red classroom door. Luke helped Reggie hang his coat up, unable to contain the smile when he saw the sprigs of mistletoe and strands of tinsel twined around each little peg. Making sure that his hat, gloves, and scarf were firmly secured in Reggie's coat pockets, he dropped to his haunches.

"Okay, dude," he said, lifting a hand and executing the handshake-fist-punch the two of them had perfected over the last three months--after a very serious six-year-old had declared that he was far too old to be kissed in public. As much as the statement had doubled him over like a knife had been plunged into his chest, Luke had swallowed his bruised pride, and the cool handshake they'd devised became the compromise he'd agreed to. "Now, don't forget I'm going to be late tonight. Grandma is picking you up, and she's staying over."

"I won't forget," Reggie said indulgently, lifting a small hand to pat Luke's cheek. "I'm not as old as you, remember?"

"Silly me," Luke deadpanned, then stood up and ruffled the soft golden strands curling around Reggie's ear, much to the boy's disgust. "Have a good day and make sure you behave for Grandma. You'll probably be asleep when I get home, so say your prayers and clean your teeth before bed, and I'll see you in the morning."

"'Bye, Daddy!" Reggie yelled, opening the door of the classroom and throwing over his shoulder as an afterthought. "I'm gonna ask him if his dad is Harold!"

Welcome Back Lisa Worrall

Good morning!


Welcome to Michael's. I'm very happy to have good friend, Lisa Worrall on to promote her next release. Take it away Lisa!

I would first of all like to thank my pal, Michael, for having me.

I was going to just promote my new book, Unshakeable Faith, with the usual cover, blurb, excerpt, etc.  And I will do that, but while thinking about what excerpt to use, I was suddenly struck by the thought… what would I do if the love of my life, my soul mate, didn’t remember me, or our life together?  Would I try to convince him that we were meant to be?  Would I accept that he didn’t remember and walk away?  Or would I refuse to give up and find a way to be near him, while I waited for his memory to come back… however long that took?  I honestly have no idea.

But that’s the decision Brody, one of the main characters in Unshakeable Faith, has to make.   Could any of us have the strength to cope with being so near, yet so far away from the one we love?  To have them right beside us, but to feel as though we’re oceans apart?  Could we accept that the person we fell in love with is gone?  Or would we cling to the hope that they are in there somewhere, desperately fighting to come back to us?

I kind of hope that I would have some of Brody’s strength of will, hell, I’m hoping he got some of that strength from me, that there’s a little piece of me in him.  But would I have his Unshakeable Faith?  I’m not so sure… how about you?

Blurb

Of all the bars in all the towns in all the world, the stranger walks into Brody Tyler’s. With no memory and a name he chose from a newspaper, Nash is a gamble—one Brody is willing to take. It isn’t long before Brody and Nash fall in love, but then a tragic accident shatters their cozy world, resetting Nash’s memory once again.

The “new” Nash Walker is a businessman with a bottom line, and he doesn’t care what or who gets stomped on. Waking up in a hospital bed after a hit-and-run with no idea where he’s been for the past six months is bad enough, but someone trying to kill him is even worse. Enter Brody Tyler, accidental bodyguard.

Brody’s determined to help Nash remember and bring back the man he loves. Nash thinks Brody’s a drop-dead gorgeous pain in the ass. If only he could remember….

Excerpt

Stacking glasses on the shelf behind him, he glanced up at the mirrored glass when he heard the bell indicating the arrival of a customer. Unable to contain the breath that escaped his lips or the sudden speeding up of his heartbeat, his gaze tracked the man’s path to the bar.

The stranger looked to be about the same age as him, and probably around six feet tall. But it wasn’t his height and age that had Brody’s cock twitching in his pants. The guy was basically the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, man or woman. Putting the last glass on the shelf, Brody picked up the towel and began to rub down the sleek wood of the bar top. He failed dismally in his effort not to stare as the man settled himself on a stool, and cursed inwardly at the press of his wayward dick against the denim of his jeans when the man ran a shaking hand through short, light-brown hair, causing his tight T-shirt to cling to the muscles of his lean chest.

For God’s sake, snap out of it, Brody! He threw the towel over his shoulder and pushed his chocolate-colored bangs out of his eyes. Could you be any more obvious? Stop drooling over the poor guy and go serve him. Brody squared his shoulders, grabbed a beer mat, and walked toward the end of the bar; hoping desperately that the butterflies flapping up a storm in his stomach weren’t about to fly out of his mouth.

“Hey,” he said brightly, slapping the beer mat down on the bar in front of Tall and Gorgeous. “What can I get you?”

Brody’s stomach hit his shoes when the stranger lifted his gaze and he looked into the prettiest green eyes. No, not green, too ordinary. They were the deep sea green of a stormy ocean, splattered with gold flecks and rimmed with long, dark lashes, and he would be more than happy to spend the rest of his life gazing into them. Yeah, thank you, Oprah—just get him a drink!

Green-eyes scanned the array of alcohol on the shelves behind Brody and shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

Brody’s brow furrowed at the weight of those words, as if it had taken an incredible effort to voice them. When the man glanced at the rows of beer and then back at him, Brody was sure his heart actually skipped a beat at the innate sadness in his eyes. “Hey.” He reached out without thinking and placed his hand over Green-eyes’ hand where it lay on the bar. “Are you okay?” His breath caught in his throat at the well of tears in the gaze that flitted to his and then away.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled.

Brody glanced at the clock on the wall and made an executive decision. You’re the boss, dumb-ass, every decision you make is executive. Ignoring his inner voice, he tossed the bar towel into the basket beneath the bar, grabbed two bottles of beer from the shelf, put one down in front of the stranger, and smiled reassuringly.

“Here you go,” he said softly. “You look like you need someone to talk to. And who better than your friendly bartender? I’m a good listener, honest. You have to be or they won’t let you into bartending school.” He felt something warm unfurl in his gut when the man’s lips twitched. “Listen, I’ve got a couple of hours before this place starts filling up, so what do you say I turn over the closed sign and we chew the fat for a while?” He held up his right hand as if to swear an oath. “I promise I’m not an axe murderer, and they assure me the insanity has skipped a generation.”

Brody waited as Green-eyes seemed to weigh up the suggestion for a few moments and then nodded. Brody’s smile grew wider and he strode across the room to turn the sign on the door, flick up the lock, and pull down the blind. He noted the way Green-eyes nervously studied the label on the bottle of beer, and frowned in concern when the man started as Brody sat on the stool next to him.

Picking up the second beer, he took a long draw before turning on the stool to face the other man. “Hi, I’m Brody, Brody Tyler, the owner.” He held out his hand and his gaze snapped up when long fingers folded around his and he felt a sharp shock of static pass between them. Judging by the man’s intake of breath, he’d felt it too. Clearing his throat, Brody tried not to drop the hand he held as though it were a hot potato and raised an eyebrow in question. “And you are?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said I don’t remember,” Green-eyes replied in a tired voice. “I have no idea who I am.”

Check out the awesome book trailer I made for her, or rather Sharita... ahem...

Good luck with your book Lisa. I loved it!

Day 1 of Chasing the Dream guests! Lisa Worrall

Good morning fans!


Welcome to Michael's where I'm happy to have a bevy of guests this week. The ladies from Chasing the Dream and fab author and fellow IRM'er, Andrew Grey. Were also giving away a copy of the anthology to a lucky commenter!


Today, I start with great author, Lisa Worrall who is also the brilliant author from the story I love, Nanny for Nate.


In the antho, Dreaming of You is Lisa's story. I love all of them but this one I enjoyed the most.


Here is her inspiration, blurb and excerpt!

When Patti came up with the idea for the Chasing the Dream Anthology, the word Dream is what my mind chose to focus on the most, so I went with it.  The title kind of came about because I had to think fast on my feet and although I usually like to start writing before I come up with a title, this is the first time the title came first and I built the story around it.

I’d already had the idea of dreaming of a secret lover, although I had no idea how it would pan out or what direction it would go.  So I just cranked up the music, slapped my headphones on and once I’d chosen the characters’ names, let them take me where they wanted to go.

Blurb

Noah Kinkade is an up and coming designer, one of the best newcomers in the field. When he is hired to restore the old Seevers mansion to its former glory, he thinks all his dreams have come true. He doesn't know how right he is.

Excerpt

Noah Kinkade slowly opened his eyes and let out an unmanly squawk. His bleary gaze focused on the dark figure illuminated in the muted glow of the bedside lamp he had left burning. He scrabbled quickly for the bedclothes. They'd slipped down in his slumber and the first thing he was aware of--after the stranger in the room--was that he was showing more than a fair amount of his pale-skinned ass. "What do you want?" He wished his voice sounded deeper and firmer than the rasp that shook his vocal chords, but the man gazing down at him didn't seem too perturbed. "Who--?"
The man silenced Noah's question with the press of a finger to his own lips before pulling at the thin blanket covering Noah's modesty.
"I--" was all Noah could manage as the blanket was eased from his suddenly nerveless fingers and slid down his body. His heart beat faster in his chest when the man's ice blue gaze followed the path of the material and burned into each new piece of flesh exposed. Noah's breath hitched in his throat when the man tossed the blanket aside and reached down and encircled his ankle in long, slender fingers. He worried at his lower lip with his teeth as those fingers began to slowly move up over the jut of bone and onto his calf, kneading at the muscle. What the hell was he doing? Shouldn't he be screaming for help? Dialing the cops? At the very least be grabbing the nearest heavy thing and hitting this guy over the head with it? His senses were assaulted by wave after wave of sensation, and he couldn't move, trapped by the heat in the man's gaze.
By the time those searching fingers had reached the sensitive skin of Noah's inner thigh, his cock was already achingly hard. His body trembled and his nerve endings cried out for the stranger's touch where he needed it most. The sound that fell from his parted lips was a half-sob, half-groan when the warm fingers carried on up his body, ignoring his throbbing cock, ghosting across his lower belly and up his torso. "Please," he whimpered, when blunt nails scraped over his nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure to his cock. Ice blue eyes twinkled with a wicked gleam as the man lay down next to him and covered his body like a blanket. When did he get naked? Noah thought desperately, then decided he didn't care as long, dark hair brushed his cheek and full pouty lips captured his.


* * * *


Fantastic! Just one of the five stories in the book. Here is the link to buy but with just a comment, you can win an ebook copy of the anthology!


Good luck and also, if you missed the video, here it is!

Welcome Back Lisa Worrall

Greetings fans!


Welcome to another guest post day at Michael's.


Today, I'm happy to have Lisa Worrall back at the blog. She's hilarious! Love her lots and her book a right, Nanny for nate is getting rave reviews. I have it, I just need to read.


Here is a guest post from my good friend and great author.


* * * *

I wasn’t sure what to talk about today, but the first words that popped into my head this morning were “clowns or midgets”.  I should explain....the words relate to a line in my favourite T.V show, Supernatural where Sam tells his brother, Dean, that he had a really weird dream and Dean comes back with, “clowns or midgets?”

I know they say that dreams are the brain’s way of processing everything that has happened during your day, and giving your imagination an airing but I’m curious—when was the last time you ran into a pack of flesh-hungry zombies in your local supermarket?  (Although I do have a personal ritual of my own where I look out through the curtains before I go to bed each night...to check for any of the living dead shambling up the street.  Yes I know I’m nuts, but we really don’t need to discuss that at the moment.)  The last ravenous thing I encountered in the supermarket was my five year old who insisted that if she didn’t have that bar of chocolate now, this minute, if not sooner, she would expire on the spot and everyone would see what a bad mother I was.

I mean, seriously, when did you last look over your shoulder in the fog and find some sort of out of this world cross between a moth and a man behind you?  Chances are the only thing you’ll find behind you in the fog is some other poor schmuck who can’t see their hand in front of their face as they fall over you and curse you for standing still.

Sure, walking home in the dark alone is an unsettling business at times, but are you really worried about the teenager in a hoodie rushing at you to steal your handbag?  Or is there a darker place that your mind automatically goes to, just because the moon is high and you’re still ten minutes from the safety of your bed?  The fear that the menacing growls you hear behind you are not from a pissed off Yorkie, but a slavering werewolf with saliva dripping from its jaws ready to rip you apart and feast upon your still steaming entrails, biting into your heart and stilling its beat forever before—Sorry, I got carried away there for a moment.

And let’s not forget the tall, dark, handsome stranger whose eyes burn like dark coals in his pale face. Whose ruby red lips just made for kissing feel so damn good on yours, igniting a heat within you the like of which you could never have imagined.  Who cares if he doesn’t breathe and that hickey he’s giving you is slightly more painful than the ones you used to get in high school; and yeah he might look out of place at Sunday lunch next to your Uncle Jack when he’s wearing that stupid cape and medallion, and no one can understand that weird accent—but you can work around that can’t you?

So why does our imagination throw us into these situations once the lights are turned out and the Sandman has sprinkled his magic dust?  Why does it fill our head with images of the thing under the bed, or the vampire with its fangs ready to strike?  Who knows?  And quite frankly, who cares, because if it gives us these exciting and edgy premises for our writing...I’m happy to stomach a few bumps in the night—aren’t you?

Which segues nicely into my second novel: Thirst—released by Silver Publishing at a date unknown. 

No, Carter Gray, the vampire in my novel does not wear a cape and a medallion.  He tends to wear jeans and tight fitting T-shirts that show his muscles, and he speaks with a gentle Virginian drawl, not a harsh Romanian bite.  Not that Max Bowman, one of Virginia’s finest would care what Carter wore. There is a serial killer on the loose in his town and after a bizarre first meeting, and the discovery of what Carter is, he realises that he needs the vampire’s help to solve the case.

So here is a little unedited excerpt to whet your appetite and a big thank you to Michael for having me.  Have fun and sweet dreams.....muuuwahahahaha!

Thirst

In eighty-four years he had never left anyone alive - until now.  Until Max Bowman had looked up into his eyes and had whispered: “Please...” 

“Fuck!” he cried out. His fingers crushed the steering wheel when his stomach cramped painfully again.  How is he doing it?  How is he making me forget who I am.  Making me deny my thirst?  Is it a spell? Some form of dark magic? He half-laughed at the ridiculous journey his desperate mind was taking him on.  Yes, that’s it, Car.  He’s a warlock.  Very astute.  His senses were assaulted by another agonizing swathe of pain, turning his blood to molten fire in his veins.  “No!” he hissed, wrenching open the door and stumbling to his feet.  It was time to end the confusion and the pain.    Time to end him.

By the time he reached the penthouse, he had wrapped an arm around his stomach to try and ease the gnawing ache of his hunger.  He hadn't fed for more than twenty-four hours and he needed blood, now.  Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror above the table in the hall and seeing the dark circles below his eyes, and his sunken cheeks, his anger raged through him.  His pale skin was chalky and bone white, his lips bordering on blue.  Bowman had done this to him, and now he was going to pay.  He needed blood and he knew just where he was going to get it - knew exactly how to end this nightmare.

Striding toward the master bedroom, he pushed at the door and it flew open with such force that the sound of the handle bouncing off the wall before the door slammed shut, awoke the man in the bed.  He saw the fear build in Max's eyes when they slowly focused on him.

“Carter?” Max's voice was slurred with sleep and he struggled to sit up in the bed, watching Carter’s advance.  He could feel the man’s anger rolling off him in waves and his gut clenched in fear and trepidation. This was a side of Carter that he had not yet seen and for the first time, he felt very afraid. “What is it?  Are you okay?”

The laugh was cold.  “Am I okay? No Max, I'm not even in the vicinity of okay,” he ground out between clenched teeth. 

Before Max had had time to register any movement from Carter, he was looking up into angry eyes and felt a taut ass against his thighs as the older man straddled his hips.  “What are you doing?” he managed to grunt when both of his wrists were pushed above his head on the pillow by an iron grip, pinning him down with ease.  Trying to struggle, he cried out at the pain in his ribs with the movement.  “Stop, Carter, you're hurting me.”

Carter's eyes darkened even further and his anger took on a vicious edge.  “I'm hurting you?” he snapped, his face mere inches from Max's.  “What about what you're doing to me?  Who are you?  What do you want from me?!”  What might you do to me if I let you live?

Max swallowed, noting the way the other man’s eyes followed the bob of his Adam's apple. Fuck! He cringed back into the pillows his stomach churning, nausea rising up into his throat. He knew he was totally defenseless. “I don't understand...I don't know what you're talking about...I haven't done anything to you.”

“You haven't done anything?” Carter repeated disbelievingly.  He bent his head so close that when he flicked his tongue out across his lips, the tip of it touched Max's mouth.  He inhaled the gasp that fell between them. “You've done everything.  Eyes boring into me.  Tempting me with that body.  And your scent, God, your scent,” he ran his nose up the side of Max's jaw and pressed his lips to the smooth, sensitive skin behind the shell of Max’s ear.  “I can smell you on me, Max. Your scent is burned into my flesh.  I can hear your blood pumping, taste the sweetness of it on your breath.”  If his tone hadn’t been so angry, the words would have sounded like whispered promises of passion.  Instead each fell from his lips with the bitterness of a curse. 

Max gasped when Carter's lips parted and he felt the wet trail of the man’s tongue as it licked from his jaw to the pulse point in his throat.  “Carter,” Max groaned when he felt those cool lips against his sleep-warm skin, the flesh being pulled into Carter’s mouth and his tongue flicking against it feverishly. 

“Oh, God.”  Max was torn between fear and desire as a garishly red warning light flashed in his brain and he felt raging certainty flood through him.  His thoughts burst rapid and quick fire out of his senses’ roiling confusion. Oh, my God, this isn’t a game.  He isn’t a serial killer with some weird kink, Bowman.  The cold skin, the fiery eyes, the speed, the strength. Holy fuck, how could it be possible?  How could it be real? To his logical cop’s brain, it wasn’t possible.  But with Carter looming over him, holding him down, no mercy showing in the green gaze; he knew that logic had no place here.  “You know what I am, Max.” Yes; he knew exactly what Carter was.  He also knew what was going to happen, and, God help him, he wanted it. 

Carter felt the quickening of Max's pulse beneath his tongue and he moaned at the sound of his name falling from those slightly parted lips.  Lifting his head, he took one look into lust blown brown eyes before he slanted his lips across Max's, swallowing the moan that rumbled in the young man’s throat and feeling his mouth open readily under his, allowing him entrance into dark, wet, heat.  He could feel Max's arousal against his own, the heat of desire burning through the denim of his pants.  On a muffled cry, he broke the kiss, in an attempt to control the fire that was raging throughout his bloodstream.  “No, no more,” he ground out, “this has to end!”  His fangs descended and he pressed his mouth to the smooth tanned column of Max’s throat, scraping his razor sharp teeth along the sensitive skin.

****

THUD! Oh yes. I know exactly what Lisa is talking about. Those wierd thoughts that come into your head and make you go, what the? o.0

Yep, I've had those. Wait for Vertigo to release.

I look forward to reading THIRST when it comes out Lisa. Congrats.

hope you enjoyed that post. See you tomorrow for one of my fave authors and people in the industry, Angel Martinez.

Until then...

Taboo Tens: Day Seventeen Lisa Worrall

Greetings fans! 


Day seventeen is here and we have the talented Lisa Worrall here with a guest post!


Take it away Lisa!


****

Firstly, I’d like to thank Michael for inviting me to share some of my thoughts with you all.  I’m a little nervous and have been pondering what on earth I would say.  I finally came up with giving you a teeny peek inside the twisted annals of my mind, but then I was afraid that once you were in there, you’d never get out (it’s a bit like the Hotel California, you can check in, but you can never leave!)  I eventually decided to tell you how I came to find my niche in this genre, and I’ll try not to send you to sleep.

I began reading fan fiction in August 2009.  I’d heard of it before then and a good friend of mine was very into reading it and another had written some.  I must admit that the first time I read a piece, I was sat there with my jaw hanging open when I got to the bits where, well...the character’s jaw was hanging open, if you catch my drift.  Then when I’d confessed to said friend that I had paddled around in the writing pool for years, she suggested that I write some M/M especially for her birthday.  I wasn’t too sure about it at first, but after much prodding, I had a go and was surprised at how much I liked writing it.  So I wrote another, and another, and another. 

I made quite a few friends in the fan fiction world and one of the other writer’s suggested that I write a story for one of Dreamspinner’s submission calls.  I scoffed, but she encouraged me throughout and the first piece of work I submitted, Halfway House, was accepted and published in their Midsummer’s Nightmare Daily Dose.  I enjoyed the buzz and excitement of having my name in print and I have been typing like Tigger on speed ever since.

I now have several short stories under my belt with Dreamspinner Press and my first book, A Nanny for Nate is being released by Silver Publishing.  I am also involved in an anthology with four other extremely talented writers, Patricia Logan, Sue Brown, GA Hauser and Sammy Jo Hunt, entitled Chasing the Dream, due for release by Silver Publishing on the 17 September 2011.  To be in the line up with writer’s of this calibre is kind of amazing to me and I still have to keep pinching myself.

Here is a little taster of my latest short story and the upcoming A Nanny for Nate, which is released tomorrow.

Running from the Past – Release date 15 June 2011 – Dreamspinner Press

It had been like a scene from a cheap romance novel.  The other man’s gaze had followed his progress across the floor, and he had continued to circle a non-existent stain on the bar-top with a cloth while he’d waited for Ford to take a seat on one of the barstools.  Ford had ordered a beer and allowed himself the luxury of studying the man from beneath lowered lashes while the amber liquid flowed into the glass.  Noah was easily over six feet tall and muscles rippled beneath the tight-fitting black tee he was wearing, and dark jeans clung to the firm curve of his ass.  An ass that Ford took his time tracing with his gaze when the bartender turned to ring up the beer on the till.  Dark, wavy hair curled around his collar, shaggy bangs falling into his face as he worked, soft strands brushing against high, sharp cheekbones.  When Noah had slid his change across the bar, Ford had looked up into bluey-green eyes, that darkened slowly as his gaze was returned.  He’d been unable to stop his eyes from dropping to settle on those full lips, knowing from the way they lifted in a smirk that Noah was completely aware of what was going through his mind.  Fortunately for Ford, the same thing had been going through Noah’s and it was after closing that night that he’d got his first taste of those lips on his.

After four months of dating, Noah had moved in with him into his tiny two story house and they were happy, happier than Ford had ever thought possible, and he could barely remember what life had been like without the other man in it.  He’d never imagined in his wildest dreams that he’d be sitting on the couch on a normal Tuesday night, wrapped around Noah, his hands buried in soft curls as the other man’s mouth ravaged his lips and long fingers conformed to the globes of his ass, when they were interrupted by a loud knocking at the front door.

He’d stood up, complaining good-naturedly that if Mrs. Myrtle’s cat had got stuck up that tree again, she could stay there all night for cock-blocking them.  But it hadn’t been Mrs. Myrtle, or her cat, it had been his father.  Will told him that he’d received an irate phone call from Petie Jorgensen over at the post office. Petie had been watching an episode of America’s Most Wanted and had recognized the picture of a wanted fugitive - living in their little town. Ford had laughed and asked if Mrs. Myrtle had finally been caught for industrial espionage, his smile fading when Will’s hand had slipped slowly around his shoulder and said the two words he wished he’d never heard. 

“It’s Noah.”

A Nanny for Nate – Release Date: 18 June 2011

Nate looked out of his bedroom window again. He felt a little nauseous, mainly because he knew Pop was going to be so mad he would probably be grounded for the rest of his life. He grabbed his cell phone off the table and scrolled through his contacts for Marcus, not that it took very long since he only had three other numbers stored in the little phone book: Pop, Uncle Clay, and Grandma.

"Hey, what's up?" Marcus' voice sounded tinny as it bounced off towers and networks before it reached Nate's ear. "Has he killed you yet?"

"No," Nate hissed back. "I'm scared. Jake's gonna be here any minute, and Pop's gonna figure it out!"

"Nathaniel," Marcus drawled with all the confidence of a nearly-ten-year-old. "Your Pop is just going to think he put the letters in the wrong envelopes. He'll think he's the one who made the mistake. He's never gonna guess it was you."

"Us!" Nate insisted.

"Hey, I didn't do nothing," Marcus said, his tone filled with innocence. "All I did was tell you how to steam open the envelope. You're the one who swapped Jake and Melanie's letters."

"What if he tries to make Jake leave as soon as he gets here?" Nate questioned, peeking through his curtains again.

"Jeez, don't you know anything?" Marcus said derisively.

"Huh?"

"If he tries to send Jake away, cry like a baby," Marcus retorted. "Works every time."

* * * *

"Nate!" Parker called up the stairs. "Come on, buddy! Your cheerios are getting cold!" He stood in front of the ornate mirror hanging on the wall next to the front door and attempted to tie the navy silk tie looped around his neck. Sliding it beneath his collar, he had just managed to get the knot straight when the doorbell rang, causing him to jerk his hand to the side and nearly garrote himself. "Shit," he cursed beneath his breath and padded the few extra steps down the hall to answer it. "Mela —" Parker looked into dark brown eyes and the words froze on his tongue. "You're not Melanie," he said lamely.

"Nope," Jake said with a smile. "Not enough boobage."

Parker frowned, his gaze taking in the suitcase and huge sports bag at Jake's feet. "Um…what are you doing here?" he asked, even going so far as to look over Jake's shoulder to see if Melanie was standing behind him.

It was Jake's turn to frown as he stared down into confused green eyes. "Your letter said you wanted me to start on the 24^th," he replied, picking up the bag. "It is the 24^th today, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes, it is, but —" Parker trailed off when Jake shoved the bag into his hands, then bent to pick up the suitcase.

"Phew, I thought for a minute I'd got my dates mixed up," Jake grinned, pushing past Parker and striding down the hallway. "Kitchen this way?"

"Yes," Parker opened his mouth and then shut it again, turning with the bag in his arms and kicking the door closed. "Wait a minute, Jake. What's going on?" Now the shock of finding Jake on his doorstep had begun to wear off, his tone was firm as he slipped into lawyer mode. His eyes widened when he entered the kitchen and found Jake pouring himself some coffee from the pot Parker had made earlier. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm reporting for duty, of course," Jake put down the cup and the coffee pot and pulled out an envelope from his back pocket, his voice confused and unsure.

Parker dropped the bag onto the kitchen floor and took the envelope from Jake. His frown deepened as he read the letter in his hands. What the hell was going on? He'd offered Melanie the job. He'd narrowed it down to Jake and Melanie and then sent a letter of apology to Jake and the two other contenders, and a letter to Melanie confirming her appointment as Nate's nanny. How had this happened?

How the mistake had happened didn't matter right now, just the fact that it had — the letter in his hand was the one he had meant to send to Melanie and instead he must have unconsciously put it in the envelope addressed to Jake. He'd tried to be cool and addressed the letter itself to 'congratulations' instead of heading it up with Melanie's name. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Shit! Holy shit! Double fucking shit! How had this happened? Never mind how it happened, a little voice snapped in his ear. How are you going to fix it?

"Parker?"

Jake's voice broke through Parker's fog and he looked up. "Jake, I'm really sor —" he managed to get out before the human whirlwind that was his seven-year-old son flew into the kitchen and literally jumped into Jake's arms with a yell.

"Holy moly," Jake huffed, his long arms coming around the small boy so he didn't end up on the floor.

"Jake! I told Pop you were my favorite!" Nate yelled, hugging the big man fiercely. He wriggled out of Jake's arms and threw himself into Parker's, knocking the letter from his father's hands. "Thank you, Pop, I seriously love you right now! Can Jake take me to the park after school? I promise I'll do everything he says and I'll do my homework as soon as we get home."

Parker listened to Nate babbling in his ear and his green gaze locked with Jake's twinkling brown eyes. He felt his stomach sink. Shit! How could he send Jake away now? How could he let his son down, again — when he'd already had so many disappointments in his short life? What was he going to tell him? That the thought of having the gorgeous man currently standing in his kitchen, actually living under the same roof was making his belly fizz and tingle in a way that both filled him with anticipation and fear? Yeah, definitely the way to go, genius. Parker hugged Nate tightly and swallowed.  He didn’t really have a choice. "Well, that's up to Jake, buddy, but it's okay with me — if it's okay with Jake."

*****


Great post! Fan fiction is how I got my start! I love it and still write it for friends from time to time. 


Both books sound great and I wish you nothing but success, Lisa.


I thank you for coming on!


Join us tomorrow when my guest will be my good friend, Blak Rayne!