Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Bite Me by Beth Bolden - Blog Tour with Author Guest Post, Excerpt and Giveaway


BITE ME
KITCHEN GODS BOOK 1
BETH BOLDEN
M/M ROMANCE
RELEASE DATE: 02.12.17


COVER DESIGN: AngstyG





BLURB

Talented pastry chef Miles Costa is bored. Working at the celebrated Napa Valley restaurant Terroir is supposed to be the cherry on top to a promising career, but instead it's a creative desert. So when he gets an offer to turn his online video series into a career, he leaves his three best friends in Napa and swaps Terroir for Los Angeles.

With the resources now at his fingertips, turning his pastry series into a hit should be easy. Then Miles meets his producer, Evan Patterson, and realizes he’s screwed. And not even in the good way.

It's not a meet-cute . . .

Evan lives to work and loves every minute detail Miles loathes. Not only that, he seems hell bent on micromanaging every aspect of Miles' show despite the fact he knows nothing about the culinary arts. Evan doesn’t even like sweets—until Miles seduces him with a rainbow of delectable confections he can't resist.

. . . it's a collision.

With every confrontation, the intensity between them flares even hotter until they're not sure if it's hatred they feel . . .or something else. Is it possible for two people with nothing in common to discover common ground and romance?



EXCERPT

“You’re late,”Evan said, head bent towards his screen, fingers not missing a beat as he typed furiously.

“I know, I’m sorry, I thought I’d grab a coffee.”Miles slid into the chair next to Evan, but Evan still didn’t look up.

“Oh thanks for bringing me one too,”Evan said levelly, even though he had to know that Miles only had one cup in his hands.

“I . . .uh. . .didn’t know you wanted one?”Miles said sheepishly. He’d made it back into the building two minutes late, and then had raced to Evan’s cubicle, only to not find him there. He’d made the rounds, until one of the writers stopped him and said Evan was in the conference room, still working after the meeting had ended.

Why hadn’t it occurred to Miles to bring him coffee? He liked the good coffee place as much as anyone else. It was probably because instead of actively trying to charm anyone in particular, Miles just fallen into bed with willing people and had never wanted someone who didn’t want him back—or wanted him but fought it. Miles knew he was going to have learn to be more aware and less selfish if he was ever going to convince Evan to consider dating him. A great almost-blowjob wasn’t going to cut it. Not with Evan.

Sex was probably off the table now, even though Miles knew Evan wanted it. Miles wasn’t familiar with the sort of self-denial Evan practiced; if he wanted someone and the feeling was mutual, sex happened. It was an easy way to live, and an easy way to get off. Everything about Evan was complicated, but Miles wanted him anyway. Inexplicably.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you coffee,”Miles said when Evan remained silent, typing away, the staccato of the keys all the response he probably deserved.

“It’s okay.” Evan paused. “I wouldn’t expect you to be looking out for other people. Me, especially.”

And yeah, that was galling. Especially galling when Miles had spent the last half an hour discovering that nobody had probably ever really looked out for Evan before. It probably wouldn’t take an extraordinary amount of effort to make him feel special and considered. And Miles still couldn’t figure out how to meet even the lowest of expectations.

“I’m sorry, I’m . . .I know it isn’t an excuse, but I was with Lucy, and Chloe and Steph and . . .”Miles hesitated, trying to find the best way to say, sorry, we were gossiping about you and they told me you were a foster kid and I wish you had told me yourself.

All Miles knew was that was definitely not the way to break the news.



10 Things I Wish I Knew About Being an Author I Didn’t Know Before

Bite Me is my tenth published novel, so I thought it would be fun to do a rundown of my top ten things I wish I’d known before I started publishing.

1.       Being an author is a job. Writing can’t just happen when you’re feeling sparkly and excited and full of creative juices. Writing (especially writing when I still have my full time day job) is something that needs to happen almost every day. Even when you’re tired, mentally or physically, and the last thing you want is to sit down at your laptop and write. One of my favorite writing quotes is by Nora Roberts. She says, “I can’t edit an empty page.” Get those words, and have faith you can fix them later.

2.       Being an author isn’t just about writing. There’s newsletters, blogs, promotion, marketing, and about a hundred other things that want to compete with your attention. Nevermind social media, which I never realized would demand so much of my attention (or that I’d enjoy it so damn much).

3.       The Freedom app is a lifesaver. This is a direct relation to items #1 and #2. Because the words have to get done and I have so many other things battling for my attention. Plus add in my natural procrastination instincts, and if I didn’t turn my internet for chunks of time I would never actually finish books.

4.       Every book will be your favorite. Then give it a few months, and suddenly you wish you could go back and re-write it completely differently. It’s important to be able to leave a work behind and move on. You can’t fix old mistakes, but you can avoid making them on future novels.

5.       Writing books are invaluable. No matter how good your instincts are, no matter how creative you are, there’s a structure to great books and to creating interesting characters and character/plot arcs. You can’t rely on your instincts to always lead you onto the right path and keep you there. Which is why, even if you are pantser, doing character work pre-first draft is vital, and if you aren’t a pantser, you should have an outline as well as your character work done.

6.       Following the rules is important. Breaking the rules is important. I did not promise that every single one of these would make logical sense. There’s a long-held belief that you need to learn the rules before you can break them. This is partially true. Some rules you shouldn’t break. Don’t write a romance and kill one of the main characters on the last page. Learn the basic tenets of your genre. Research what people who read your genre like to read. But also don’t be afraid to take calculated risks. Some of the best books out there do that. Were they smart or lucky? Impossible to say.

7.       Write what you love. Or find something about it to love. There is a point in every manuscript where you will hate your book. You will greatly consider throwing the whole thing away. You will consider even printing it out and physically burning it, you hate it so much. You will get over it, I promise. You’ll fix your problems. There will be a breakthrough. It always happens. And it usually happens in roughly the same spots. Some authors hate beginnings, some hate the ends, some hate the middle of books. Find craft books that help you address those spots, because as comfortably predictable the “I hate everything and this book sucks” meltdown is, it’s not fun.

8.       People will hate your books. People will love your books. Both are okay. Also, don’t ever, ever, EVER respond to a review. Don’t post a review, no matter how terrible, on your social media and send your fans after the reviewer. Be gracious in success and especially in defeat. And of course, no matter how many times you insist to yourself that a bad review isn’t personal, it still feels that way. You poured everything you had into this book. You defeated the “I hate everything” stage. You wrote “The End.” You’re invested, with your time and your money and your energy. If a bad review will throw you into a writing funk or just a funk in general, don’t read them. For a long time I read reviews and tried to glean advice from them, but I discovered better ways of writing better books. It doesn’t make you an overly sensitive person to not want to read bad reviews; it makes you human.

9.       Find a balance. Want to write fast but also write good books? Find a happy medium between writing the best you can a little bit faster. Want to write really incredibly angsty books but people find them depressing? Figure out a way to put a slightly more positive spin on an event, or a character. Think you write better books without outlines but the editing process takes you forever? The lesson here is that balance is something you discover over time. It usually doesn’t come easily, and you will fuck things up, more than once. It’s inevitable so don’t beat yourself up over it. Eventually you will hit on a happy medium, and the trick is to stick to it, especially if it’s a happy one. This is your career, or your side career, or your hobby. It’s meant to be fulfilling and at least partially, bring you joy. Balance will help you find both fulfillment and happiness.

10.   Don’t ever forget that you began your publishing career because you loved to write, because there were very important stories that you were dying to tell, that nothing felt better than the first book you ever sold. It’s easy to lose track, to become obsessed with the details and the minute successes and losses. It’s easy to become overwhelmed by all the other publishing things you have to do and by the word counts you have to meet. But you started writing because you couldn’t not write this story down. And no matter what you have to do, make sure you re-discover that joy once in awhile. Write something that isn’t for a deadline. Write a book that’s been on your idea list forever that you weren’t sure fit your marketing or your brand. Write fanfiction for your favorite TV show. Ask yourself at least once a month, “what do I want to do?”




Beth Bolden lives in Portland, Oregon with her supportive husband. She wholly believes in Keeping Portland Weird, but wishes she didn’t have to make the yearly pilgrimage up to Seattle to watch her Boston Red Sox play baseball. She’s a fan of fandoms, and spends too much of her free time on tumblr.
Beth has been writing practically since she learned the alphabet. Unfortunately, her first foray into novel writing, titled Big Bear with Sparkly Earrings, wasn’t a bestseller, but hope springs eternal. She’s published eight novels and two novellas, with Catch Me, the next novel in the Kitchen Gods series, releasing in May 2018.


Order Bite Me Recipe Cards: http://bit.ly/2EeQiCJ


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Winter Cowboy by RJ Scott - Release Blitz with Excerpt and Giveaway




Length: 70,000 words approx.

Cover Design: Meredith Russell

Blurb

Micah Lennox left Whisper Ridge after promising the man he loved that he would never return. But the only way he knows to keep his pregnant sister and nephew safe is to go home. Spending winter in Wyoming opens too many old wounds, but he's on the run from justice which can't be far behind, and this is his last chance at redemption.

After a hostage situation leaves Doctor Daniel Sheridan struggling with PTSD, he returns to Whisper Ridge. Joining his dad in family practice is a balm to soothe his exhausted soul, and somehow, he finds a peace he can live with. That is until he meets Micah in a frozen graveyard, and the years of anger and feelings of betrayal boiling inside him, erupt.

Two broken men fight and scratch for their lives and that of their families, and somehow, in the middle of it all, they find each other.

Is it possible that love can be rekindled and become a forever to believe in?



Excerpt

Chapter 1
2009, Daniel

A figure stood beside Isaac’s grave and I knew immediately who it was.

There was no marker yet for the boy who had died two weeks ago and who would forever be nineteen. Flowers marked his resting place, but snow had long since covered them and softened the raised earth so it wasn’t as obvious against the gravestones around the figure. A car accident had taken Isaac, killed him on impact, and his family grieved for a future that would never be realized.

I’d just left my brother, Chris, in the hospital, broken beyond repair in the same accident. At least we had the possibility of a future with him, even though the road to recovery would be hard. He was still in a medically induced coma, not yet awake to know he’d lost his leg, or that fire had marked his face. But he would wake up. They told us he’d live.

No one had asked me where I was going when I’d left Chris’ room, each of us lost in various stages of shock and grief, and we all dealt with what had happened in our own way. I’d needed to connect with Isaac. Needed the peace to balance the loss and guilt that ate away inside me.

Isaac dead on impact, Chris’ future destroyed, and in front of me, hunched over Isaac’s last resting place, was the man responsible for it all.

The man who left my bed in the dead of night to become a murderer.

Micah.

He was huddled into his coat, the January ice bitter by the buried, hands forced into his pockets, and his hood pulled around his face. Micah must have heard me, because he glanced my way, startled, grief written on his face. And then his expression changed.

He stepped toward me, his expression full of something like hope.

“Daniel?” he said. “Is Chris okay? No one will let me see him.”

He stopped walking when I didn’t reach out for him and looked at me uncertainly.

“His leg is gone, down from his knee,” I explained dispassionately, and then touched my face, “and his burns are bad, the left side of his face from his temple to his chin.”

“Shit. Shit.” Micah bent at the waist, as if he couldn’t breathe, and he was crying.

“How is it you don’t have a mark on you?” I asked, still eerily calm, and utterly focused.

He took his hand from his pocket, and pulled up his sleeve, exposing bandages. “I was burned,” he began. He dropped his hand when I didn’t comment, forced it back into his pocket, wincing as he did so.

I imagined the burn hurt a little, maybe even a lot, but he was there, as whole and real as when he’d left my bed on that terrible day.

In my mind I saw Chris in the hospital, the covers raised over the cage which protected his surgical site, then dipping lower where his ankle should have been. I saw a clear image of Isaac the day before he died, knocking for Chris and grinning at me as if he had the greatest secret to tell his best friend.

And here was Micah, telling me he had slight burns on his arm? The same man who’d told me in one breath that he loved me and then had stolen my car, driving it into a bridge and killing one boy, leaving another maimed and in a coma.

My fist flew, clenched aggression targeting Micah’s face, his cheekbone, and I heard a satisfying crunch. He staggered back a step, but he didn’t go down, and he didn’t take his hands from his pockets. I was too fast. I hit him again, blood flecking his face, dissipating into the icy air. He moved again, the force of my blows shoving him back.

Still, his hands remained in his pockets, and he was unnervingly quiet, taking my hits as if they were nothing at all. Another punch connected with his lip and split the skin, and this time he grunted in pain. He staggered backward toward the next grave and bent back over the stone marker with the force of that final blow. I stepped closer. I hit him again, connecting with his jaw, but the hit wasn’t hard. There was nothing to it; he didn’t move away.

“You took my car,” I yelled, right in his face.

“You said I could borrow it,” he pleaded.

I raised my hand to hit him again, but he winced, and closed his eyes, and I wanted him to look at me. “Open your damn eyes!”

He did, and he wouldn’t avert his gaze, naked grief in his expression.

“Daniel, please listen.”

“You’ve destroyed Chris’ life.”

“I know.”

“You need to leave Whisper Ridge, and never come back. I don’t want to see your face, I don’t want Chris to ever see you again. You understand?”

“I understand,” his tone low and broken.

“You will never come back here.” I shook him. He was smaller than me, thinner, lighter, and I shook him so hard his head snapped back. “Promise me!”

“I pr—promise,” he said through tears.

I was disgusted by him, hated him, wanted to kill him right there on Isaac’s grave.

“I hope they lock you up and throw away the fucking key!” I was still shouting, and he didn’t move, just stared at me with those pale eyes, red and wet from crying. He wouldn’t stop crying. “Don’t fucking stare at me!”

I shoved him one last time, and then before I could work out what the hell I was still doing there shouting at him, I pivoted and turned my back on him, and on Isaac’s grave, and the entire carnage.

RJ’s goal is to write stories with a heart of romance, a troubled road to reach happiness, and most importantly, that hint of a happily ever after.

RJ Scott is the bestselling author of over one hundred romance books. She writes emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, millionaire, princes, and the men who get mixed up in their lives. RJ is known for writing books that always end with a happy ever after. She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing.

The last time she had a week’s break from writing she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a bottle of wine she couldn’t defeat.



A Matter of Justice by J.C. Long - Release Blitz with Excerpt and Giveaway



Title:  A Matter of Justice
Series: Hong Kong Nights, Book Three
Author: J.C. Long
Publisher:  NineStar Press
Release Date: February 26, 2018
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 80600
Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, criminals, gangs, law enforcement, action, reunited, contemporary, enemies to lovers, kidnapping

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Synopsis

The battle between the Dragons of the Eastern District and their bitter rivals, the Twisted Vipers, is reaching a dangerous point. The Anti-Gang Task Force is hard at work trying to bring down the Vipers. Tensions ratchet when Johnny Hwang guns down a prominent inspector on the task force, and Conroy Wong, Wei Tseng’s second-in-command is a witness. Now, to keep him safe long enough to locate a second witness and put Hwang behind bars, Conroy is forced into close quarters with Allen Hong, a man who once fought side by side with the Dragons until he turned his back on them by joining the police, betraying them. As sparks fly between them once more, the two men must put aside their differences and work together, because the Twisted Vipers aren’t going to let Hwang go down without a fight.

Excerpt



A Matter of Justice
J.C. Long © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Prologue
Inspector Richard Yang was not at all surprised when he received word from Johnny Hwang’s people that Johnny wanted to see him. Actually, he wondered what had taken Hwang so long; he’d made the arrests three days ago, and they’d been all over the news and in newspaper headlines.

Hong Kong Police Department Anti-Gang Task Force makes headway with the arrests of three highly influential and well-placed members of the Twisted Viper triad. It was long and wordy, as far as headlines went, but it spared anyone the need to read the damn thing. No one read newspapers nowadays, especially with the Mainland trying to crack down on the press.

Yang debated whether or not he should take Hwang up on the offer, finally deciding that it would be amusing to hear, if nothing else. Just after six in the evening he left the apartment he shared with his wife of forty-one years and made his way to the meeting place Hwang had suggested, a ye shi not that far from Aberdeen.

The night market was just beginning to see a lot of visitors when Yang arrived, but there was still parking space available near the market’s entrance so he didn’t have to walk that far. It wasn’t that he couldn’t; he was a tough old bastard, even at sixty, and got more than his fair share of exercise as a member of HKPD. He wanted to have a quick getaway available for him in case Hwang decided to pull some shit.

He doubted he would, it being a public place and all, but he’d learned in his years on the force to be very careful with criminals, especially the crafty ones. And Johnny Hwang was about as crafty as they came, at least in Hong Kong. Still, the market was a very public place, and if Hwang were to do something, it would cause a lot of complications, so Yang didn’t expect trouble.

Hwang’s message said to meet him near a noodle stall called Mrs. Chu’s Noodles. Considering how many food stalls went up in the night markets, Yang thought it would be a problem, but almost as soon as he entered, he saw a sign over a large noodle stall that read “Mrs. Chu’s.”

Mrs. Chu’s stall was easily twice the size of the other stalls around hers and had about the same advantage in customers. Behind the stall an older woman with slate-gray hair in a hairnet bustled about, tending to her customers, who were seated along three sides of the square that was her stall.

“Mr. Yang.” A young man—thirty-three or -four at the oldest, young by Yang’s standards—in a well-tailored suit approached him, giving him a polite and respectful bow of his head. “If you would come with me, Mr. Hwang is waiting for you.”

“Well, at least one thing can be said for your boss,” Yang said as he followed the man to where Hwang sat in the farthest seat along the right side of the square, where he could be partially concealed by the stall itself. “He’s got you puk gai trained to at least pretend to be human beings.”

If his words irritated his escort, he didn’t show it.

Johnny Hwang was almost finished with a bowl of ramen when Yang joined him, a cloth napkin covering the front of his dress shirt. Slurping a long line into his mouth, Hwang gestured toward the chair next to him.

“You’ve got to try the noodles here.” Hwang motioned toward the woman—presumably Mrs. Chu—who immediately moved to dip out a bowl of noodles for him.

Yang shook his head to signal to her he didn’t need anything. “I’m not here to sample the fare with you, Hwang. So why don’t you tell me why I’m here—not that I don’t already know.”

A vein throbbed in Hwang’s temple at Yang’s words, but he otherwise showed no reaction. “Straight to business, then? Yes, of course—I imagine you’re quite eager to get back home to your lovely wife.”

The observation was not made with any particular tone, but Yang recognized it for what it was: Hwang making it clear he had done his homework on Yang. It also reeked of the potential for a threat. The implication that his wife might get brought into this did not have the effect Hwang most likely desired. It just pissed him off.

Yang could feel the heavy gaze of the Twisted Viper’s leader as he observed him, looking for some sort of reaction.

Making sure to keep his words and expression casual, Yang replied, “Something like that, yeah.”

“Well, I guess we’re both busy men, so I will cut right to it, since you insist. Your Anti-Gang Task Force recently arrested three men—”

“You’re referring to the three members of your triad that I brought in for possession of illegal weapons and drug trafficking, right? Just so we’re clear.”

Hwang’s lips drew back in the slightest sneer. “I do believe you’re purposefully irritating me, Mr. Yang.”

“Not at all, Hwang.” Yang left out the respectful prefix, ensuring that it was glaringly noticeable in its absence. “Perhaps you’re simply not used to people calling you on your bullshit. I’m not one of your underlings, so don’t expect me to act like it.”

Over his shoulder, Yang could hear the sharp, angry intake of breath from his escort. Hwang, though, just sighed melodramatically. “This would go so much faster if we could just be civil to one another.”

“This would go so much faster if you’d just say what you came here to say,” Yang replied. “But since you want to just beat around the bush, let me save you the trouble. If you’re going to ask me to release your men, the answer is hell no.”

Hwang finished the last of his noodles, pushing the bowl away from him and giving his stomach a satisfied pat. “Delicious. Mrs. Chu’s noodles are truly the best I’ve ever had in Hong Kong.” He made a motion with his right hand, smooth and simple. Yang’s earlier escort stepped over to Mrs. Chu and paid Hwang’s fee.

“And no,” Hwang went on, crossing his legs as he relaxed back, no doubt to ease the tension on his stomach post eating. “I don’t give a fuck about those three—they got caught; they deserve what happens. What I want from you is for you to turn your attention elsewhere. Leave the Twisted Vipers alone. There are plenty of other triads on the island you can take off the streets. It would certainly look better for you to get some victories, wouldn’t it?”

“What’s wrong, Hwang? Can’t handle the heat?”

“I’m not scared of you or your task force, Yang.” Hwang sneered, straightening. “However, it is becoming a slight inconvenience as far as my business interests are concerned. Naturally I don’t like it when anyone messes with my money. It’s a simple request: take the Twisted Vipers out of your sights for a while, clean up the riffraff wannabes on the edge of the island, or the Dragons. Just stop focusing on me and mine.”

Yang couldn’t help it; he laughed, a deep, rumbling belly laugh that moved through his whole body. “I’m curious, Hwang. Did you really think I was going to say yes to the offer?”

Hwang’s face had gone cold when Yang began to laugh. “You should think about this seriously, Mr. Yang. You’ll live longer.”

“My mother-in-law was Korean. My wife makes kimchi damn near every day. I read somewhere that kimchi is one of the healthiest foods in the world. I like my chances of living longer.”

Yang stood, and Hwang did the same. “You have a good night, Hwang. Try not to do anything illegal.”

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Meet the Author

J.C. Long is an American expat living in Japan, though he’s also lived stints in Seoul, South Korea—no, he’s not an army brat; he’s an English teacher. He is also quite passionate about Welsh corgis and is convinced that anyone who does not like them is evil incarnate. His dramatic streak comes from his life-long involvement in theater. After living in several countries aside from the United States J. C. is convinced that love is love, no matter where you are, and is determined to write stories that demonstrate exactly that. J. C. Long’s favorite things in the world are pictures of corgis, writing and Korean food (not in that order…okay, in that order). J. C. spends his time not writing thinking about writing, coming up with new characters, attending Big Bang concerts and wishing he was writing. The best way to get him to write faster is to motivate him with corgi pictures. Yes, that is a veiled hint.

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