Tag Archives: previously published

Release Blitz: Alder’s Hart By Misty Walker

Alder’s Hart | Misty Walker

Brigs Ferry Bay #2.5

Adler's Hart Banner

Release Date:

 Universal Link

Add to Goodreads

Adler's Hart Cover

Blurb

I’m a loner.
Never getting too comfortable or allowing anyone to get too close.
So when I log onto the hook-up app on my last night in Ketchikan, Alaska,
I assume it’ll be a quick lay before I go south for the winter.
Until I see the man who shows up at my door.
He’s young, wide-eyed, and perfect.

All I want is a one-night stand with no attachment,
I should’ve known things would be different with a man named Hart.
After the best night of my life, I’m desperate to run.
Except we’re snowed in.

I try to keep him at a distance.
But there’s something about him that has me opening up,
letting him in against my better judgement.

Suddenly I don’t want to be alone anymore.
I want to be with him.
My Hart.

*Adler’s Hart was originally a 15k word short story with a happy for now. This version (36k words) has been revised in order to give Adler and Hart their happy ever after.
*Adler’s Hart is book 2.5 in the Brigs Ferry Bay Series. Brigs Ferry Bay is a steamy MM romance series. While each book can be read as a standalone, to get the full experience, they’re best read in order. Enemies to lovers, hurt comfort, age-gap romance, and so much more. Fall in love with the charming small-town gay romances of Brigs Ferry Bay.

Adler's Hart Teaser

Excerpt

Adler

“That makes thirteen.” Jeff, my boss, sets the last of the one-hundred-dollar bills in my hand.

“Thanks, man.” I stuff the cash in my pocket and shake his hand.

“You plannin’ on coming back in May?”

“Not sure. Depends on where winter takes me.”

“No plans?” He folds his arms across his chest, resting them on top of his considerable belly.

“Nah. Heading south before the snow hits too hard, maybe Seattle or Portland.” My skin itches to leave this conversation. Never have been good with small talk. It’s why I don’t stay in the same place too long. You stick around, people start asking questions. Try to get to know you. I have no interest in that.

“All right. Well, take care. You’re always welcome back next season.” We shake hands one more time, and I hightail it off the dock.

I make my way back to my temporary housing, a little motel in the heart of the village, taking in the sights for the last time. I walk underneath the large arch that welcomes you to town. It reads Welcome to Alaska’s 1st City. Underneath that, Ketchikan is in large block letters, and on the bottom in a cursive script is The Salmon Capital of the World.

The business storefronts are all brightly-colored, as if it can make up for all the liquid sunshine this place gets—over a hundred and fifty inches a year. Then add in snow, and it makes for a pretty gloomy climate. If I were to settle anywhere, it would be here. At least then I’d have a reason to be so surly. No one expects you to be nice when you’re deficient in vitamin D.

Ketchikan has been my home for the last few months. It’s longer than I like to stay in one place, but the money was good, and the fishing was better. Earned more than enough to spend the winter doing whatever the fuck I want.

Which is probably a whole lot of nothing, like every other winter.

I thought I’d found a home once. I had friends. Archer, Mason, and I owned a boat catching king crab up north. It was the closest to settled I’d ever felt in my life.

But there was an accident, and now that dream is as dead as Mason is. He and Archer were together, and Archer had even planned on proposing. Then the ocean took Mason, and not long after, I lost Archer to Brigs Ferry Bay, Maine.

Haven’t talked to him in a while. Probably should call him.

I unlock the bright teal door to my motel room and flop down on the bed. This place is a dump. Torn-up carpet, threadbare bedding, a TV as wide as the screen is big, and a lumpy mattress.

The only thing that makes it my own is the duffel I keep my clothes in and the wooden cross lying on the nightstand. Not because I’m particularly religious. It’s just all I have left of Mom and Dad, other than the memories, and I wish I didn’t have those, so I tote it around to remind me of where I’ve been and what I’ve survived.

I pull out my cell phone, some fancy thing I bought since I don’t have a computer and the motel doesn’t offer Wi-Fi anyway. I pull up my contacts, or more accurately, contact.

Archer Warren.

My finger hovers over the call button as I debate pressing it. Last time we spoke, he was packing up to move to Maine to help his sister out while she went through a divorce.

Fuck it.

“Adler?” His deep voice sounds over the line.

“Hey, Archer. How’s it goin’?”

“Good. Really good, actually.” I hear the smile in his voice, and it’s like a balm to my soul. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. In Ketchikan. Just finished up the king salmon season, getting ready to head out.”

“Oh yeah? Good fishing?”

“Fuck yeah. It was a blast. But tell me why things are goin’ so well for you?” I ask in an effort to divert the conversation.

“I met someone.” His tone deepens and slows, guilt dripping from each syllable.

“You’re allowed.”

“I know, but it’s been hard.”

“Mason wouldn’t want you to pine over him for the rest of your miserable life.” I try to comfort him. Not sure it works.

“You’re right.”

“He make you happy?” I ask, curious about the man who could stop my mopey friend from wasting away.

“He does. He actually reminds me a lot of Mason.” He chuckles.

“Found yourself another bubbly son of a bitch, huh?”

“Sure did. Doesn’t look anything like him, though. He’s shorter, smaller, has a great ass.” I hear a scuffle, and then, not to me, he says, “Ow. What? You do.”

“It’s real good to hear you’re doing so well.”

“What about you? Anyone special in your life?”

“Archer,” I warn.

“What? I’m just asking. I thought maybe hell had frozen over, and you were ready to put yourself out there.”

“Not going to happen. And if I was putting myself out there, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Fine. Have it your way and die a miserable old bastard.”

“Thank you. I will,” I grumble.

“You could always come to Maine for the winter. There’s not much fishing this time of year, but it’s beautiful.”

“I’m a West Coast kind of guy. You know that. Think I’ll head to Seattle or Portland. Hang out with those freaks for a while.”

“You mean sit alone in a hotel room for a while.”

“Maybe. Listen, I gotta go. I’m happy for you. Mason would be, too.” I hope he hears the sincerity.

“Thanks, Adler. Don’t be a stranger. Let me know where you end up. Someone should keep tabs on you.”

“I will.”

We hang up, and I sigh loudly. Wasn’t lying when I said I was happy for him, but something about it makes my belly ache, and I don’t know why.

That’s a lie— I do know. I’m jealous. Not that he’s found someone to spend his life with. I’m jealous that he lives his life in the open.

About the Author

misty walker

Misty Walker writes everything from dark and delicious, to sweet and spicy. Most of her books are forbidden in some way and many are age-gap, because that’s her jam.

She’s lived quite the nomadic life, never staying in the same place for long until she met her husband. They’ve recently settled in Reno, NV with their two daughters, two dogs, and two hamsters, because everything’s better in pairs.

Misty is fueled by coffee and the voices in her head screaming for their stories to be told. Which is why the coffee is necessary, because there’s only so many hours in a day and who needs sleep anyway?

Social Media

FB: https://www.facebook.com/authormistywalker/

IG: https://www.instagram.com/authormistywalker/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Misty-Walker/e/B07VWS6VKF

GR:https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19382300.Misty_Walker

Twitter: @mistywalkerbook

Tiktok: @authormistywalker

Giveaway

To celebrate Misty’s new release, we are giving away 3 e-copies of Adler’s Hart!

A Rafflecopter Giveaway

grr-tours-promo

Adler's Hart Teaser 1- Available

Release Blitz: The Q by Rick R. Reed

The Q | Rick R. Reed

The Q Banner

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: February 1st, 2021

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Female, Male/Male, Female/Female

Length: 51,500

Buy Links:

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Add to Goodreads

TheQ-f500

Blurb

Step out for a Saturday night at The Q—the small town gay bar in Appalachia where the locals congregate. Whose secret love is revealed? What long-term relationship comes to a crossroad? What revelations come to light? The DJ mixes a soundtrack to inspire dancing, drinking, singing, and falling in (or out) of love.

This pivotal Saturday night at The Q is one its regulars will never forget. Lives irrevocably change. Laugh, shed a tear, and root for folks you’ll come to love and remember long after the last page.

The Q New Release

Excerpt

The Q
Rick R. Reed © 2021
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One: Hey Bartender!

Mary Louise hated the term fag hag.

It was demoralizing, conjuring up an image of an older woman, heavyset, with too much makeup and hair that was too big. She would be sitting at home with her two cats, Will and Grace, drinking Cosmos alone and streaming Queer as Folk or Queer Eye while she waited for one of her gay male friends to call to shape and determine the extent of her social life. She’d maybe drink a little too much and laugh a little too loud. She’d play wingperson and watch wistfully from the sidelines as her cohorts paired off for an evening, a week, a month, or a lifetime. She’d tell her friends and family who’d never darkened the threshold of a gay bar that she liked going to them because she didn’t get hit on by predatory losers and she could let her hair down.

She knew the stereotype because for many years she’d been it—well, maybe not exactly, but close enough to make her cringe at the memory.

Sure, she still owned cats (or they her, far more likely), who were Siamese and not named Will and Grace, but Harry and Sally. Her hair had never been big and her idea of great TV was streaming the Golden Girls on Hulu. “Okay, so that’s a little gay,” she heard Sophia saying in the back of her mind. Her drinking taste leaned much more toward beer or a nice glass of whiskey, neat.

She’d broken free of being the wingwoman to the various gay men she befriended. She’d gotten rid of the idea that her happiness depended on a man, gay or otherwise.

She still laughed too loud and probably always would. One of her friends, Mort, delighted in acting out a scene with her from Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf when she let loose with one of her ear-splitting laughs. He’d accuse her of braying, and she’d respond, in her best Elizabeth Taylor, “I don’t bray,” and then command him to make her another gin and tonic. He always would comply and would sheepishly respond, “All right. You don’t bray.”

Mort had been gone since 1992, when AIDS took him at the tender age of twenty-eight. Mary Louise still missed him and kept a picture of the two of them, taken while on vacation in Provincetown, a year before Mort was diagnosed. She’d look at that photograph of the two of them, arms slung around each other on Commercial Street, and her eyes would well with tears, even though it had been close to thirty years since Mort had passed in an AIDS ward in a Pittsburgh hospital with only Mary Louise at his side. That loss still was tragic, not only because of Mort’s tender age, but because he was so alone. His partner, Nate, and his folks in Shippingport had abandoned him, the former claiming he couldn’t stand to see him this way and the latter voicing concerns that they might catch the virus. He was your son! She’d wanted to scream at the parents. He needed your arms around him. He needed you to see him. He was your lover! she’d say to Nate. His dying and death wasn’t about you and your fragile feelings.

Mary Louise hoped there was a special place in hell waiting for all three of them.

She’d watched many of her friends succumb to the virus before protease inhibitors came onto the scene, turning what was a death sentence into a somewhat manageable condition. She’d never stop mourning the loss of so many beautiful men.

When the fallout from all this was over, for all practical purposes, Mary Louise found herself bereft of friends. That’s when she decided to pack up and move back to her home town of Hopewell, where her mom and two sisters still lived. There was comfort in coming home to a place where her roots were deeply embedded, even if the area was blighted with poverty. It was still some of the most beautiful countryside Mary Louise could imagine.

Chicago had suddenly seemed too big and, at the same time, paradoxically empty. There were so many reminders—the Boystown strip along Halsted, the Baton Club on Clark, the Swedish restaurant Ann Sather next to the Belmont L stop—all of these places and so many more held more painful memories than she could count, even if they had the power to make her smile and laugh. She figured time and distance would transform the painful memories into joyous ones.

But each recollection of a night of drunken revelry out with her boys or a bleary-eyed brunch the morning after, were a hot touch to her grief, a pain that may have softened, but never went away. Mary Louise was grateful—she’d never willingly give up the hurt. She wanted to hold onto these memories of her boys forever. Despite the fact she was a bit of a stereotype and fit the fag hag profile pretty much to a T, the days and nights in Chicago with her circle of gay friends had been some of the happiest days of her life. And she didn’t even realize it at the time. Wasn’t that always the way?

Hopewell brought a sense of quiet, with its looming tree-covered hills—the foothills of the Appalachians and its position on a winding curve of the mud-brown Ohio River.

Moving back had simplified her life, even if it drained a lot of the bustle and color from it. In Chicago, she never walked alone; the streets, no matter the time of day or night, were always busy. In Hopewell, she could wander and never bump into anyone.

It was her mom, at eighty-six, who needed her help with things like shopping, cooking, running errands, and chauffeuring her to doctor’s appointments. Old Trudy, as she and her sisters referred to her behind her back, refused to move in with one of them, or God forbid, the assisted living facility up the road in Newell. Trudy always said, “I live alone because I like it. They say money is the root of all evil, but the truth is it’s people.”

Mom got by with her girls. And Mary Louise, even as she sometimes got nostalgic for the bright lights and hustle of the big city, knew she was doing the right thing. She’d experienced the Chicago skyline on a clear night, Lake Michigan’s blue/aqua/gray waves crashing against the shore, and the vast diversity of people living on its shore, and no one could ever take those memories away.

Even if she was feisty, clearheaded, and mobile, no one knew how much longer Mom would be with them.

At the Q, Mary Louise still could eye the boys, flirt with them, tease them, and play matchmaker in her role as bartender.

Right now, she stood behind the bar in a pair of unflattering black orthopedic shoes. Once upon a time, Mary Louise adored a pair of CFM (come-fuck-me) pumps with four-inch spikes. Oh, how great they made her legs look back in the day! Not that many noticed in hangouts like Sidetrack or Roscoe’s.

Now, midfifties, she needed to be comfortable when she was on her feet all night. Her smile depended on it, and thus her tips.

Currently, she waited for the doors to open, which would happen in about an hour. She was blissfully alone. Well, maybe blissful wasn’t the right word because all the lights were on as she prepped citrus and olives for drinks, washed glasses, polished the bar, and made sure the bottles behind it were stocked and ready to go.

The overhead lights cruelly stole most of the limited magic the Q possessed. And that was too bad. One of Mary Louise’s favorite characters was the tragic Blanche Dubois, from Tennessee Williams’s A Streetcar Named Desire and one of her favorite lines from the show was Blanche’s opinion that she didn’t want realism, she wanted magic. The shadows, soft lighting, and even the disco ball above the dance floor lent a kind of alchemy to the place, transforming it from run down to a setting where anything could happen, where hope lived.

Just before the doors opened, though, the joint looked tired and sad (as Mary Louise herself often felt). The cinder block walls, painted black, possessed a menacing air, like a dungeon—and not a fun one! The concrete floor, stained, showed its grit and the cracks that ran through it. Even the single long rectangle window at the front appeared dusty. Night pressed in on the tinted glass like a monster, hungry for admittance.

Stop it! Now you’re just getting crazy. Mary Louise finished her prep work and allowed herself a moment to sit on the stool she kept behind the bar. It might be her last chance for several hours to relax, if only for a few minutes. She dreaded the coming ache of her feet at evening’s end, orthopedic shoes or not.

But, oh, how she looked forward to seeing everyone! Every Saturday night was a party, and she was the hostess with the mostess.

Despite how some of the regulars could try her patience down to its last reserves, it brought her joy to watch the revelers, to serve them, to offer oblivion in a glass or a bottle. Even though her dancing days, mostly, were well behind her, she loved seeing everyone out there, bodies gyrating and spinning. Some were great, others awkward, others downright embarrassing, but to witness them cut loose after a long week was a thing of beauty, no matter their level of expertise or coordination. She especially loved some of the older patrons, who would bring their shakers of corn starch in to sprinkle on the floor, making it easier to slip and slide to the pulsing dance beat.

Gracie, Rose, and Liz were a lesbian trio that she particularly adored. Even though she’d never had much conversation with them, other than to take their drink orders, the three seemed so well-adjusted and happy, despite never once pairing off, as half the bar expected them to do. And Mary Louise, who considered herself a pretty astute observer of human nature, could tell from a mile away that Gracie was in love with Rose. So obvious! Why couldn’t Rose see it? Or did she simply not want to? Mary Louise had wondered if maybe they were a throuple, but everyone she talked to about that particular suspicion shot in down. “They’re best friends, that’s all.”

She turned as the door squeaked open. There stood Billy Breedlove, her barback and bouncer when needed (not often) in his usual garb—black combat boots, black cargo pants, and a black T-shirt that appeared to be painted on his beefy physique—looking worried.

Mary Louise was taken a little aback. For one, her breath always did a little catch in her throat when she saw him, accompanied by a skip of a heartbeat. He was a beautiful man with his muscles, his bleached-blond buzz cut, and the tattoo sleeves, wildly colorful butterflies and birds that ran down both arms. The fact that he was unattainable made him even more attractive.

And then she’d chide herself. That young man is a good twenty years younger than you, if not more. Cougar. Shame on you.

He’d once told her, when the doors were closed and the lights back on, as they concluded the evening’s business and everyone had headed home, that he was a volcel.

“What the hell’s that?” Mary Louise had asked, mystified.

“I’m an ace,” he’d said, only confusing her further.

“Voluntary celibate, asexual,” Billy told her. “I’m better off without the nasty, you know. I just don’t want it. It would be hard, no pun intended, if it didn’t work for me. But honestly, I never think about sex. Call me weird, but it works for me. And that’s all that matters.”

On hearing those words, she laughed, disbelieving. She fully expected him to laugh, too, maybe slug her in the arm for being gullible. When he didn’t join her in her laughter, her heart broke for him because she knew he wasn’t kidding. She’d pined with unrequited love for gay men most of her adult life and here was one who was most likely straight. And wouldn’t you know it? He’d sworn off sex.

The world was a hopeless place.

He’s too young for you anyway.

The second reason Mary Louise was taken aback was from the worry stamped on Billy’s face.

“There’s been an accident,” he called over. “It’s bad.”

“Oh no.” Mary Louise stood. “What happened?”

RickRReed-524x749

About the Author

Real Men. True Love.

Rick R. Reed is an award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty works of published fiction. He is a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Entertainment Weekly has described his work as “heartrending and sensitive.” Lambda Literary has called him: “A writer that doesn’t disappoint…”

Rick lives in Palm Springs, CA, with his husband, Bruce, and their fierce Chihuahua/Shiba Inu mix, Kodi.

Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blog Button 2

The Q IG

Series Blog Tour: More Heat Than The Sun Series By John Wiltshire

The Other Country | John Wiltshire

More Heat Than The Sun #4

BK4-Facebook graphic

Release Date: January 29th, 2021

Universal Link

Add to Goodreads

4_Book 4JW_ Cover

Blurb

Nikolas is the sanest, straightest, person Ben knows, so can anyone tell him, why is he on a gay therapy course?

Nikolas Mikkelsen could make a very long list of unpleasant things he’s endured in his life. Then order it from ‘nearly killed me’ to ‘extremely horrific and don’t want to do again’. And what did it say about his forty-five years that being hit by a tsunami would be a considerable way down this list?

But nothing, not torture, imprisonment, nor starvation has prepared him for what he now has to endure for Ben Rider’s sake-attendance on a residential, gay therapy course. At least he has a new contender for the top spot on his ‘my awful life’ list.

Excerpt

From This Other Country

“Why are we as we are, Benjamin? Do you ever wonder?” Nikolas lay with his head on Ben’s belly, his hair being stroked. He twisted around to look at Ben when he got no response.

Ben was frowning. “What do you mean? Gay?”

“I’m not…no, what I mean is, why do we not need what that doctor offers? Why do we…work?”

Ben lifted his head and stared at him. The pause went on for an unnatural length of time until Nikolas shifted uncomfortably. “What?”

Ben shook himself. “You? Introspection? I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“You’re very harsh, Benjamin. I think about a lot of things very deeply as you know.”

Ben began to laugh. “Oh, yeah, you spend hours and hours thinking about me and our relationship.”

Nikolas folded his arms, his air of injured martyrdom slightly ruined by the huge erection jutting up from his lean body. Ben pushed it flat to the ridged belly and lay on top of Nikolas, propped up on his elbows, studying him. “Maybe it’s because we don’t do the thinking thing we work so well.”

Nikolas wasn’t particularly mollified by this suggestion. “We’re only together because we don’t think about it too much? I’m gratified and flattered by your devotion.”

Ben sighed. “When was the last time you thought about breathing?”

“What?”

“Breathing? Lungs in and out? Air? When did you last think about it? You’re like breathing. I don’t think about it, but I need it to stay alive.” A faint smile came to Nikolas’s lips.

“Then you’re like a heartbeat. I’ll miss you when you stop.”

Ben laughed then sobered slightly, trailing a finger around one of Nikolas’s nipples. “You did think I’d stopped. When I was in that coffin. Did you miss me then? You’ve never really told me.”

Nikolas raised his head a little to look at him, then lowered it again, staring at the ceiling. “I haven’t told you, because I have no words for it.” He snagged his fingers into Ben’s hair and tugged him down for a kiss. Around the kissing, he murmured, “You know I’ve begun to dream, yes? That I don’t sleep well now.”

Ben nodded, clearly only intent on the taste and feel of his lips and tongue.

“Well, I dream of you every night. Over forty years of no dreams, and they turned on like a switch in my head after I watched you burn in the fire. Perhaps that says more than words.”

Ben lifted up and cupped his face. “Didn’t watch me burn. I’m right here, Nik.”

Nikolas nodded and wrapped his arms around Ben, kissing his shoulder, pressing his face into the crook of Ben’s warm neck. He never talked about the time he thought he’d lost Ben, because this is what always happened when he tried. He swallowed and raised his eyes, biting his lip for control.

With the intuitive knowledge of him, which Ben apparently had, he didn’t try to comfort him or get him to talk more, he just slid back and took him in. Nikolas gasped. Ben sat up, dug his fingers painfully into his hard stomach and began to ride him. Nikolas arched, nightmares of losing Ben forgotten in the extreme pleasure of having him here in the bed with him. He twisted, rolled them, re-entered, lifting Ben’s thigh and gaining better access. He felt a trickle of moisture on his cheek, a residue of the grief he couldn’t articulate and pressed his face to Ben’s chest, hearing the heartbeat as he jerked, bringing his thrusts in time with that steady, strong and reassuring sound.

Ben held Nikolas’s hair, running his fingers through it, tugging it for encouragement when he needed more, and then they were coming together. Nikolas lifted up slightly off Ben’s belly, allowing Ben’s cock to jettison freely over their chests while he groaned as he unloaded deep into Ben’s body.

When he was done, he lay heavily on the soaked, hot body beneath him. Ben’s fingers still played restlessly with his hair until with another pull Ben urged, “Let’s go home tomorrow—wait there until we hear from Kate.”

Nikolas nodded. When he was embedded in Ben’s body, soaked with his juices, he’d agree to just about anything Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen wanted.

More Heat Series Tour Banner

Start The Series

Love Is A Stranger

1_book1jw_-cover

Release Date: January 8th, 2021

Universal Link

Add to Goodreads

bk1-facebook-graphic

Blurb

Loving a total stranger can be very hard work sometimes.
How do you love someone who exists entirely in the shadows?
How do you love a man who describes himself as dead?
How do you get that ghost to love you back?

Ex-SAS soldier Ben Rider falls in love with his enigmatic married boss Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen, but Nikolas is living a lie. A lie so profound that when the shadows are lifted, Ben realises he’s in love with a very dangerous stranger. Ben has to choose between Nikolas and safety, but sometimes danger comes in a very seductive package.

Conscious Decisions of the Heart

2_book2jw_-cover

Release Date: January 15th, 2021

Universal Link

Add to Goodreads

bk2-facebook-graphic

Blurb

Ben Rider and Nikolas Mikkelsen learn that danger comes in all shapes and sizes and often in places you least expect it. Nikolas’s dark past calls to him, inexorably dragging him back into its seductive embrace.

While he goes on an errand of mercy to Russia, Ben travels to Denmark to learn Nikolas’s language. Convinced Russia’s vastness will swallow Nikolas, Ben doesn’t see the enemy much closer to home. Thinking he has lost Nikolas, Ben then makes a terrible decision that threatens to destroy everything they have together.

Focused on this very personal horror, bound by a new level of commitment, they have no idea that a greater threat is coming. And when it arrives, it changes everything—even the definition of commitment.

Warning: This story contains the violent death of a minor character and some graphic violence and gay sex.

The Bridge of Silver Wings

3_book-3jw_-cover

Release Date: January 22nd, 2021

Universal Link

Add to Goodreads

bk3-facebook-graphic

Blurb

Nikolas and Ben discover that bonds aren’t forged with blood or scars, but in the hearts of men strong enough to love.

Siberia in winter isn’t a place for good men. There is nothing Nikolas won’t do to keep Ben alive. Nikolas has exorcised his demons, but when they end up stranded in Russia, the monster inside needs to be let loose. Ben discovers the truth of the adage, ‘be careful what you wish for’!

Home again, Nikolas then faces an enemy he can’t defeat: Ben Rider himself. Discovering a new family, Ben realizes he’s been living too long in the shadows cast by Nikolas’s all-consuming love. For the first time, life apart from Nikolas is possible.

Is Nikolas strong enough to let Ben go?

all-8-e1609584898122

Books 5-8 Coming Soon

Series Universal Link

Add to Goodreads

jw-author-avatar

About The Author

John Wiltshire is the pen name. The author was born in England, but she travelled widely whilst serving in the British Army, living in the United States and Canada and Europe. She retired at the rank of Major and finally settled in New Zealand.

To date, the author has written 14 novels.

Social Media

http://johnwiltshire.co.nz

https://www.facebook.com/johnwiltshire.nz

Amazon Page | Goodreads

grr-tours-promo

JW_ Series Insta post

« Older Entries