Tag Archives: grumpy/sunshine

Cover Reveal: Atlas by Eden Finley

Atlas | Eden Finley

Mike Bravo Ops #3

Mike Bravo Ops Atlas Cover Reveal IG

Release Date: June 8th, 2023

Cover Design: Cate Ashwood Designs

Photographer: Peter Henry Serres

Model: Olivier T.

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Working undercover at a strip club is not my usual kind of job. If it weren’t a great opportunity to show the Mike Bravo team I can run my own op, I wouldn’t have agreed to it.

When my boss asks me to befriend the biggest gossip in the establishment, the person who knows everything, I’m even more reluctant. Because that happens to be one of the dancers. The only dancer to catch my attention in all the wrong ways.

I need to be professional or I will never prove I’m leadership material.

Only problem is, the guy with the stage name Lemon makes me want to be anything but professional.


I’m sick of the new bartender throwing dirty looks my way. He’s as judgmental as he is hot, and let’s just say he’s really judgmental.

I don’t know why he’s working here if he looks down on us dancers so much. He could bartend at a regular club.

But when he saves me from a drunken customer getting too handsy, his attitude suddenly flips, and we find ourselves becoming … friends?

Underneath the judgment, it turns out Atlas is a total sweetheart.

Maybe more caring than anyone I’ve ever met.

I’ve never had a relationship before, but something tells me it could be way too easy to fall for the gentle giant.

Atlas 5 weak


Some dancers refuse to scrounge for money being thrown on stage, and I get it—it can sometimes feel degrading—but majority of the time, it’s the biggest power trip of all. They’re paying to watch me.

I get down on the stage to my hands and knees and crawl toward the nearest table with the most patrons, showing off my killer smile while I lean back so they get a look at my long torso and defined abs that only appear when I’m this stretched out. They’re baby abs, but they’re abs.

Money gets thrown at me, and I move on to another table of rowdy guys. Hey, I play the numbers game. More guys, more money. At least, that’s what I tell the newbs. If they play their cards right, they’ll get money no matter which table they go to.

I’m kind of the unspoken go-to guy here. Any problems, worries, insecurities, the dancers come to me. And I love that too. I’ll do anything to keep each and every one of them safe, and I might look sweet on the stage, but if you fuck with one of my guys, I’ll fuck you up right back. This kitty’s got claws.

The second table is full of hot as fuck muscular men who look like they could hurt me in the best possible way. And worst, if I think about it too hard. Which I won’t.

Instead, I move to the very end of the stage and rise up on my knees so my thong is the only thing separating me from the main guy up front and then pout and wiggle my hips, encouraging him to slip me some bills in the tiny scrap of material.

Then some stupid drunken oaf barrels in from the back, knocking over my meal ticket’s seat in the process, and then pawing at me like a lion in heat.

This happens occasionally, and I’m generally good at handling it, but this guy is three times my size. I grip the jerk’s hair by the root, which, there isn’t much of, and say, “Easy.”

“Yeah, you are,” he yells with a slur in his voice.

“Oh, fuck you.” I shove him off me playfully and my words are tinged with sweetness because it’s the best way to deal with drunken morons, but it doesn’t work this time. He comes back at me again. I manage to shuffle backward, but I’m not fast enough.

This mammoth of a man is practically climbing onto the stage.

Where the fuck is security? When I glance over the guy’s head, I notice they’re trying to break up a fight between two other meatheads.


What is with all the fuckery tonight?

Just when I think I’m going to have to bring out the big guns and somehow find a way for my foot to connect with his junk, he’s pulled off me and punched in the face by—ugh.

Atlas. Pfft. What a stupid name for a pompous, judgmental bartender.

Not that I can talk. Hello, my name is Lemon, but that’s my stage name. Not my real name.

I usually get a sense of people instantly, but other than the stares of disdain he gives all the dancers, I can’t read the guy. The disgust in his eyes is too loud to detect what’s underneath.

I’m freed from the big guy trying to climb me, but I’m stuck, frozen as I watch the bartender and the customer go at it.

Fists are swung, and despite knowing he finds me disgusting, watching a big burly man fight for my honor is kind of a turn on.

Damn him.

Some of the guys who were at the table pull Atlas off their friend, but security is finally free to step in.

The entire group of men are tossed out on their asses, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I watch them go.

“Lemon?” A big hand waves in front of my face. “Hello?”

My attention snaps to the man in front of me, and his deep brown eyes no longer hold judgment. They show concern.

That might be worse.

“Well, hello, sailor. Where’d you come from?” Distracting flirt mode: activated.

“Are you okay?” he asks with genuine worry in his tone.

My throat feels tight. “Never been better.”

Either he doesn’t believe me or maybe my poker face isn’t as good as it used to be because he steps forward, scoops me into his wide as fuck arms, and says, “Let’s get you backstage.”

Despite wanting to protest, I let my arms wrap around his neck. “I could’ve handled that myself, you know.” Me, petulant? What? Never.

“I’m sure you could have.” Surprisingly, there’s no condescension like I expect there to be.

“I can walk.”

“I got you.”

Damn, if that doesn’t make my insides melt.

He takes me through the door marked employees only to our dressing room and places me gently on a chair. When he stands again, I take in the amazing body I’ve tried to ignore since he started here.

The man is a tank. Tall, wide. Just as big as the guy who pawed at me out there. He has a faux mohawk with dark roots but blonder tips. He’s jacked everywhere, and unlike my bright yellow thong that hugs my dick nice and cozy-like, it looks like his gigantor of a penis wants to escape the confines of his black one.

“Are you okay?” he asks again.

The smile that finds my face isn’t even forced. “I’m good. I promise.”

Atlas 6 lemon started2

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About The Author

Eden Finley is an Amazon bestselling author who writes steamy contemporary romances that are full of snark and light-hearted fluff.

She doesn’t take anything too seriously and lives to create an escape from real life for her readers. The ideas always begin with a wackadoodle premise, and she does her best to turn them into romances with heart.

With a short attention span that rivals her son’s, she writes multiple different pairings: MM, MMF, and MF.

She’s also an Australian girl and apologises for her Australianisms that sometimes don’t make sense to anyone else.

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Release Blitz: Worth The Fight by Denver Shaw

Worth The Fight | Denver Shaw

Winning at Love: Noah & Caden

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Release Date: March 21st, 2023

Cover Artist: Steamy Designs

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 56,600 words

Available in Kindle Unlimited

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A bad boy who lives outside the law. A compassionate soul focused on helping others. Sometimes rules are meant to be broken… for love.


Helping my brother was my focus. He got into trouble and I’ve been using my skills in the ring to prevent loan sharks from breaking his kneecaps… or worse.

Until I met Noah.

He’s a good man who makes me want to be better. A man who doesn’t lace up his gloves and step into underground rings. But I have one last fight coming. This time the stakes are higher than ever. What I have to do to save my brother could cost me the man I’m falling for.


I should have walked away and never looked back when I first met the MMA fighter with honey-gold eyes. Yet Caden’s charms are too appealing to ignore. As a social worker it’s important for me to keep my nose clean.

And Caden is a red flag in every way.

Still, he’s hot as sin and I can’t seem to stay away. I’m taking a risk by opening myself up to him, but I’m convinced beneath that bad boy exterior beats the heart of a good man who is worth the fight.

Worth The Fight FB


I texted Austin that I was here and that he needed to get his skinny butt to the entrance.

I got back what looked like a seat assignment from him, but this place was a maze. There was a man nearby who looked like he knew his way around, or was someone that worked here. Even if he didn’t, he might know where the seats were. But my breath caught in my throat as I surveyed him: black pants, white shirt; tall, muscled; short, blackberry-colored hair and honey-gold eyes. On their own, his features were possessed by dozens, perhaps hundreds of other men, but there was a certain something about this particular man. He exuded an easy confidence, a sex appeal that drew me in. It had been years since I’d been in a serious relationship, months since I’d had sex, and looking at this guy made me seriously think, albeit fleetingly, that maybe I should put myself back out there and at least consider dating again.

I shook myself from the temporary brain paralysis the man had reduced me to.

“Pardon me, sir,” I said, “I haven’t been here in a long time; I’m trying to figure out where seat F3J is. Do you have any idea?”

He smiled down at me. I felt the caress of his gaze roaming over me, but not lingering too long in one spot, which took him out of the ‘creep’ category and put him into the ‘typical male’ category that he probably couldn’t help being in anyway. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I did have on my burgundy suit, which perfectly molded to my body.

Was he gay, or at least bisexual?

“F3J,” he repeated, smirking about something. “F3J…well, I might be able to help you hunt it down. Are you…here with someone?”

“I am,” I said. “Young guy, skinny, mixed.”

“Anything serious?” the man asked, casually—too casually.

I laughed. “Um…no, he’s my nephew.”

“Oh!” He wiped imaginary sweat off his forehead. “I see. That’s good.”

“Is it, now?”

“Well, see,” he said, “I figured there was no way I was lucky enough to meet a single guy in a place like this. I mean, what are the chances a man like you is unattached?”

Well, he answered my question. He was definitely gay or bisexual.

I pursed my lips and gave him the look I gave the kids that tried to bullshit me at work. “Oh, you’re a little slick. What, just because I’m here without a guy, I must be unattached?”

He shrugged. “Are you?”

“Here without a guy?”

“No, unattached.”

I made him wait a second. “Maybe I am.”

“Here’s the thing,” he said, leaning in a little bit. He smelled like a minty aftershave and sweat, the clean sweat of a man straight after a workout. “I figured any man who was with you wouldn’t stay behind if you left the house looking like that. I know I wouldn’t.”

“What, so he’d own me?” I wanted to be righteously angry, but it was hard. Those eyes…

“No,” the man said. “But he’d never miss a chance to be with you. I think you’d probably own him.”

“Oh, okay. Okay.” I nodded slowly, smiling now. “You’re slick and smooth at the same time. Listen, can you help me find my seat or not?”

“Is that an interview question?”

“I’m not taking applications.”

“Give me your phone number, and I’ll take you straight there.” He winked at me.

I almost did. It was fun, and it had been a long, long time since I’d been flirted with by anybody that wasn’t an inappropriately forward client. That happened plenty. This, though, was a bona fide stranger who didn’t know me from Adam, and seemed like he thought I was looking cute.

But, let’s be honest here; the little fantasy I had a few moments ago about putting myself out there was just that, a fantasy. I ate takeout every night for dinner. I ate most of my lunches at the office. I had heard about days off, and I vaguely remembered having them…or maybe I only dreamed about that once. That stack of case files on my desk? It hung around the back of my head like it had astral projected itself to follow me around the world outside my office.

It was a nice thought, but no, sir; the next date I had time to go on would be the one day off I would get between the day my office burned down and the day they relocated me to another one and printed out all my files again—thank God for the cloud.

“It’s not that easy,” I said with my own wink. “But good try. You’ve got real skills. I applaud your smoothness.” I stepped away from him. “I’ve got no time for guys who hit on guys for sport.”

He feigned a wound to the chest, but he was still smiling. “Fair enough,” he said. “I’ll keep that in mind, then. I’ll at least give you a hint, though.” He pointed toward the ring. “F stands for ‘floor’—your seat’s near the ring. Enjoy the fight!”

Yeah, I felt a little bad about being so hard on him, but you’ve got to shut all that down hard if you’re gonna shut it down at all. A man like that, yeah, okay, probably he’d be good for a short-term thing. I could admit that. All that muscle and sweat…

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About The Author

Denver Shaw is a girl who enjoys the simple things in life: the first sip of coffee in the morning, the changing colors of sunset, and clothes fresh out of the dryer- although she doesn’t enjoy folding them.

When she isn’t reading romance stories, she spends her time plotting and writing them.

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Blog Tour: Fairy Cakes In Winter by Lane Hayes

Fairy Cakes in Winter | Lane Hayes


Release Date: February 16th, 2023

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A grumpy baker, a quirky ad man, and a recipe for forever…


So this cute guy sits next to me on the plane and proceeds to talk my ear off for hours. Not good. I don’t like talking and I don’t like strangers. But Theo’s sweet, smart, and sexy—the perfect distraction from business woes and personal worries.

Okay, things got overly friendly, but we’re adults and we know the score. I’m too old, he’s too nice, and we live on different continents.

Then, out of the blue, he shows up at my bakery with that pretty smile and a list of wacky marketing ideas—like how to make fairy cakes a thing.

I don’t like fairy cakes.

But I do like Theo, so…maybe?


The new me takes risks. The new me is brave and confident. The new me flirts with hunky, imposing bears on planes while traveling to a foreign country.

It’s going well, thank you.

However, my plans to do some sightseeing, drink tea, and eat my weight in biscuits every day get derailed when I realize there might be a way to help Scott and prove a few things to myself.

Don’t worry. I won’t fall for the grumpy baker. No way. He’s complicated and broody and—

Uh oh…it might be too late. Help!

Fairy Cakes in Winter is a bisexual, age-gap, grumpy/sunshine MM romance featuring a sexy baker, a sunny tourist, and a few dozen fairy cakes.

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The flight attendant directed traffic with a smile, pointing the college-aged twentysomethings hefting giant backpacks to the far side of the plane before picking up her microphone. She gave the usual rambling speech, asking passengers not to crowd the aisles or stuff winter jackets into the overhead bins…Yadda, yadda.

I listened with half an ear for important info, like when this tin can was expected to get in the air and what time we’d land in London. Not that it mattered. I’d been on the late flight from Seattle so often, I knew I was in for a nine-and-a-half-hour ride and that I’d arrive at Heathrow sometime in the late afternoon. I also knew I’d be too disoriented to care about anything other than grabbing something to eat on my way home.

I had to admit, I was one of those weirdos who kind of liked the hum of airplane noise, and there was something vaguely comforting in the routine I’d established over the past seven years. I shrugged off my coat and made sure my headphones were within reach—along with my iPad, reading glasses, and the Ziploc bag of homemade trail mix my sister had sneaked into my carry-on bag. Then I buckled up, settled in, and hoped like hell that the seat next to mine would magically remain open.

Of course, that rarely happened. And I highly doubted my wish would come true this time around ’cause A, cross-Atlantic flights were rarely empty, and B, I didn’t have that kind of luck. The best I could hope for was a quiet neighbor. I peered over at the empty window seat and sent up a quick prayer for it to stay that way before slipping my readers on to check messages on my phone.

My ten-year-old nephew informed me he’d already beat my high score on Madden, my parents asked if there was any way I might finagle a trip home in the spring, and my sister claimed she’d added more M&M’s to her trail mix this year. She also asked if I was okay.

I sent an exclamation sign to Emmett, a heart symbol to my folks, and a thumbs-up to Heather. None of those messages required a wordy response. I’d learned that it was best to stick to basic communication with my family. Emmett was happy with the occasional poop or wind emoji, and my parents liked hearts. Real words got tricky. My parents knew that coming home for Christmas had been a stretch for me. I couldn’t swing another trip too soon, and it was best to avoid circular arguments.

And questions that might spark conversations about an old ex and his new wife. Yep, a thumbs-up was much easier.

I added another for posterity and was about to switch my cell to airplane mode when a new message from Becca lit up my screen.

Call me when you land! I’ll pick you up. Btw, I made a gorgeous lemon meringue pie I’m dying for you to try. Safe travels! xo

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About the Author

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Lane Hayes loves a good romance! An avid reader from an early age, she has always been drawn to well-told love story with beautifully written characters.

Her debut novel was a 2013 Rainbow Award finalist and subsequent books have received Honorable Mentions, and were winners in the 2016, 2017, 2018-2019, 2020-2021 Rainbow Awards.

She loves wine, chocolate and travel (in no particular order). Lane lives in Southern California with her amazing husband in a newly empty nest.

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To celebrate the release of Fairy Cakes in Winter, Lane is giving away the Winner’s choice of an audiobook or e-book of your choice from her published works.

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