Friday 26 June 2015

Available Now: Saucy Girls by Joanne Sexton

Grab the Saucy Girl Series by Joanne Sexton today!

RICH GIRL, #1

ISBN: 9781311406613
ASIN: B00ZGUNZEM

Length: Novel
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Price: $3.99

Buy Here: Tirgearr Publishing

There's a fine line between love, obsession, and hate.

Chelsea Summerville has a stalker who is kidnapping and murdering women resembling her, just to carve them up with a message. Judged unfairly by the sociopath, Chelsea fears for her life.

The murders sting Detective Lucas Hudson's raw nerves. In order to save Chelsea, they become partners, intimate partners. Lucas recalls the past, determined to prevent the mayhem unfolding, and this time to stop a killer before he loses the woman he loves.


FIRE GIRL, #2

ISBN: 9781311487124
ASIN: B00ZDI1JA4

Length: Novel
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Price: $3.99


Charlotte Summerville is finally achieving her biggest dream when a swaggering fire-fighter walks into the veterinary clinic with his dog. Destiny dances with their fates, interlocking them in an attraction so fierce it's volatile.

Danger is lurking in their lives, coursing out in the form of serial fires and killings. The peril of relationships smashes them apart time and again, even though love is ignited in both their hearts. Jared knows Charlotte's hotter than Hades, but someone else thinks so too, waiting his turn to set the leggy blonde on fire with his charm.

MODEL GIRL, #3

ISBN: 9781310398810
ASIN: B00ZE22XWW

Length: Novel
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Price: $3.99

Buy Here: Tirgearr Publishing

Isabelle Winters is a single mother who doesn't easily trust men, not after her father ran out on her and her mother when she was a child. She models in order to look after her son, Jesse, hoping to save enough to finish her degree. 

Enter Mitchell Montgomery, sexy, playboy photographer, with a reputation as a womaniser, a man like to her absent father. 

As the camera clicks, so too does attraction, and sparks fly.

Another watches from behind a lens, and threatens their growing bond, until threat is made terrible reality.

• • •

Joanne Sexton is an Australian romance writer and mother of two. She had always dreamed of writing novels and has been an avid reader most of her life. In between being a mum and writing, she runs a small bookkeeping business. She has recently become a qualified florist.

Find Joanne Online:

Website - http://www.josextonbooks.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/josextonwritesromance
Twitter - http://twitter.com/JoWritesRomance
Blog - http://www.josextonbooks.com/a-few-random-thoughts
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Sexton_Joanne




Wednesday 24 June 2015

Available Now: One Night in Barcelona by Mary T. Bradford

ONE NIGHT IN BARCELONA
City Nights, #13
Mary T. Bradford

ISBN: 9781311293206
ASIN: B00YHSM1LM

Length: Novella
Genre: Erotic Romance
Price: $2.99

Buy here: Tirgearr Publishing

A weekend in Barcelona is what Natasha Gordon needs to help rid her life of her now ex-boyfriend. The mix of sunshine and wine, all shared with a sexy Spanish waiter goes a long way to easing her broken heart. What she hadn’t planned on was falling for Carlos, who is not just the waiter but owns the cafĂ©.  Doing her best to ignore her lustful hot thoughts towards him, Natasha fails and gives in to what she believes is no strings attached sex. But after twenty four hours together, is she in love and has she got a future with Carlos?

• • •

One night in Barcelona was all it took for Natasha Gordon to question her life. It wasn’t planned. It sort of happened without any hard effort.

She sat outside a small pavement bar. She stretched her lean body and felt the stress in every muscle from head to toe. She was so annoyed with life that she little cared for those around her or what was happening.

This was totally out of character for her. Normally, she loved to people watch and eavesdrop on the surrounding conversations. It was part of her job. It was where inspiration for her books often came from. But today, the warm April evening was creeping beneath her pale skin and soothing her pain which reassured her she had made the right decision to get away for the weekend.

“Another coffee for the lady?”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Would you like another coffee?”

Natasha looked at the waiter before her. He was gorgeous. His white t-shirt contrasting against his tanned skin, and the black apron slung around his firm hips drew attention to his long legs. Now, he was a delicious sight for a hurt woman. She broadened her smile as he stood waiting for her answer. Shifting from one foot to another, he coughed. She felt herself blush when she realised she had been staring at the assistant and sat upright in her seat.

“Any hope of something stronger?” She still blushed at being caught by him and felt like an idiot.

“Some wine perhaps; maybe a cold beer?” His lean arm crossed her as he wiped down the small glass table before her. He gathered up her coffee cup and saucer then looked at her again and winked.

“A white wine, please.” He’s a cheeky one she noted.

She really needed to gather her thoughts and focus on her surroundings, and not the broken heart she harboured. She was determined to enjoy what Barcelona offered and maybe do a little research while she was here for future reference.

Glancing around she noticed few people were out in the evening sunshine. This surprised her. Then again, if you had sunshine pretty much most days, you wouldn’t rush out to it at the first sign. She was more used to the grey wet weather of Ireland.

“Your white wine, Senorita.” His voice was silky and gentle.

“Gracias.”

This guy was just so hot. He could easily grace the covers of any of glossy magazine and fit right in, she thought as she deliberately turned to check out his ass. Hmmm, perfect, she thought wickedly, sipping the wine.

A whisper of a breeze blew over her, caressing her like a light kiss, like when Victor would lightly place butterfly kisses across her back on a Sunday morning. Well, this weekend there would be no kissing, no breakfast in bed and no lazy read of the Sunday papers. This weekend was all about her, Natasha Gordon and mending her shattered betrayed heart.

• • •

Mary T Bradford has been writing mainly short stories for a number of years now and has enjoyed success with her fiction in many magazines, newspapers and anthologies both in Ireland and abroad. It was because of this success, Mary took the plunge and self published her first collection titled, A Baker’s Dozen (2012) and is available in both print and e-book format from Amazon and other sites. She decided to tackle a novel when one of her stories kept getting longer and the word count continued to climb and so ended up with My Husbands Sin. She has also branched out into writing plays and has seen her work shortlisted and performed.

When taking a break from writing and reading Mary loves to crochet or cross-stitch, crafts in general interest her. Living in County Cork, Ireland, she is married and is a mother of four children. Having overcome open heart surgery in 2008, Mary made the decision to dedicate more time to her writing as her children were almost raised and were starting to spread their wings. Family is important to her and her writing often reflects the ups and downs of life that all families go through daily.

Connect with Mary through any of the links on this page and that is something else Mary enjoys, chatting with people!

Find Mary Online:

Website - http://marytbradford-author.blogspot.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mary-T-Bradford-Author/464343040298924
Twitter - http://www.twitter.com/marytbrad
Pinterst - http://www.pinterest.com/marytbradford
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Bradford_MaryT



Wednesday 17 June 2015

Available Now: The Chosen One by Joanne Sexton

THE CHOSEN ONE
Joanne Sexton

ISBN: 9781311075215
ASIN: B00YQCRLTG

Length: Novel
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Price: $4.99

Buy here: Tirgearr Publishing

Twenty year old Sera's life quickly becomes surreal when she discovers she's not just human, she's a princess from a realm so full of magical folk they give credence to every fairytale she's read.

The realm is in danger, a wicked warlock has kidnapped a princess and it will take all seven princesses to save her. Transported to this celestial environment Sera is immediately captivated by the elf Keelor. It is love at first sight. He's infuriating and aloof, but chemistry sizzles despite their attraction forbidden by law and lore. In a battle for peace, threatened by evil on every side, this dynamic duo go through every tribulation in their gambit for love.

It's impossible to adapt, Sera's heart is destroyed more than once, and she faces sure death when kidnapped by vampires. This is a magical adventure which will make you fall in love, into despair, and fall into enduring affection for the intoxicating inhabitants of this wondrous realm.

• • •

When the doorbell rang Sera sang out a goodbye to Anna and rushed to answer the door, assuming it was Sam. What she discovered, instead of her best friend, were two of the most beautiful people she’d ever seen. Both with white-blonde hair and blue eyes almost as pale. They were breath-taking. They seemed almost surreal.

Her hair was very long, slightly wavy, cascading down to the small of her back. She was also willowy tall – taller than Sera who was tall for a girl - and with cheeks that were pink against stark alabaster skin.

He stood behind her, close, as though he was guarding her against imminent danger. Sera decided he was the most incredible looking man she’d ever encountered. His hair ended slightly above his collar with a kink, and was dishevelled as though he’d run his hand through it only recently. It was messy in a styled sort of manner. His lips and skin were the same in hue as his companion.

“Good morning, Seraphina,” the female said in a melodic voice. Is Annaphina at home?”

For several moments, Sera merely stared. How did this beautiful woman know her and her mother? Who was the wonderfully striking man with her?

She was awestruck by his ethereal beauty and presence. Sera looked him over as long as politely possible, and couldn’t help but notice his hard lean body beneath his strange olive green pants and square cut vest. His arms, as pale as his face, looked firm and strong. He too was tall.

“Seraphina?” she spoke again. “Are you unwell?”

Sera shook her head to tear herself out of her reverie and the assimilation of the man before her. “Um yes, I’ll get her for you. Would you like to come in?”

“Yes, thank you.”

The female walked gracefully as though floating, and her companion followed without saying a word. She was in the process of closing the door when Sam bounded up the stairs. He always managed to appear out of nowhere and she could never quite understand how he did this.

“Hey, Sam,” she called. “Come in, my Mum has... guests, and I just have to let her know.”

“No problem,” he replied. “The movie doesn’t start for an hour.”

She closed the door behind him and turned to the two pale figures in her living room, both opting to remain standing.

“Sam this is...” She stopped, realising she didn’t actually know who they were.

“Keela, Keelor, what are you doing here?” said Anna, entering the room.

“Something has occurred and we need to convene The Chosen and their elders. Sampson, you will, of course, be required to accompany Seraphina,” said Keela.

“What’s going on here?” Sera asked.

“She doesn’t know?” the male finally spoke.

“Annaphina has decided to wait until the time is right, Keelor.”

“The time is now,” said the enigmatic Keelor.

“I ask again, what’s going on here? How do you know these people, Sampson?” Sera asked, now totally confused.

“Forgive our presence which is foreign to you, Princess. We were unaware you were in the dark about your heritage.” Sera almost missed his brief study of her face as Keelor spoke before turning to Sam. “Sampson, next time you address Keela, please do so appropriately.”

“I beg your pardon, Princess Keela.”

“Forgiven, Sampson, alas Keelor can be a little overzealous at times. I understand your need for discretion,” said Keela.

“Sam, who are The Chosen?” Sera asked.

“I think I’d better answer your questions, Seraphina,” Anna told her daughter. “I’ve rescheduled my clients so we can talk. Please make yourselves comfortable. Would you like refreshments?”

This was returned with a shake of the head by all.

“Mum, what’s going on here?” She felt like a song stuck on repeat.

“I knew one day I would have to tell you who you are, but I’ve put it off for as long as possible. Since you came of age I knew it would just be a matter of time. I’ll tell you all about who they are and how it applies to you in a moment honey, but first I wish to find out what’s happened for them to venture from... home.”

“Please forgive our intrusion Elder Annaphina, however, The Chosen must assemble at once. Nermina has been abducted and Nermo incapacitated. We believe it may be the work of Mecaldorf,” Keela said.

“Do you think he intends to use her as ransom?” asked Anna.

“Yes, Elder Kalar believes this to be his intention. She has foreseen Mecaldorf recruiting lost folk. We believe one of these folk is responsible for Nermo’s imprisonment.”

Sera’s head swung from one to the other as they spoke, unable to grasp exactly what it was they were talking about. When she glanced at Sam, he didn’t appear confused or surprised by the information.

Keelor stood vigil beside the seated Keela as though he was powerless to leave her side. She noted now her assumption was indeed correct and his attire appeared to be constructed from leather, however, the trademark sound usually accompanying movement was absent. Upon his back appeared to be some type of long stick, maybe a staff, and this only added to her puzzlement. Was he carrying a weapon of some kind? Did Sam?

“Oh dear,” Anna murmured, turning to Sera. “I suppose I had best tell you who you are, Princess Seraphina.”

• • •

Joanne Sexton is an Australian romance writer and mother of two. She had always dreamed of writing novels and has been an avid reader most of her life. In between being a mum and writing, she runs a small bookkeeping business. She has recently become a qualified florist.

Find Joanne Online:

Website - http://www.josextonbooks.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/josextonwritesromance
Twitter - http://twitter.com/JoWritesRomance
Blog - http://www.josextonbooks.com/a-few-random-thoughts
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Sexton_Joanne



Available Now: American Woman by Joanne Sexton

AMERICAN WOMAN
Joanne Sexton

ISBN: 9781310548963
ASIN: B00YQS38B0

Length: Novel
Genre: Erotic Romance
Price: $3.99

Buy here: Tirgearr Publishing

Rock chicks are more complicated than they look, especially when one is becoming her destiny, the other following a classical career, and the third wheel the steaming hot lead singer of the new big thing. Scarred hearts bleed pain when the pulse of love blurs to jealousy and rage. Between family, ex-lovers, and their own clashing issues, this complicated love triangle becomes a tangled mess, leaving the shy and the reckless reeling. The future is bleak, they're isolated and misunderstood, and pride ruins passion.

Drunken mistakes haunt Molly and Justine; their spiral into misery riveting. Strumming emotions more than guitar strings, the dynamic Justine, Tessa, and Molly, will keep you on tenterhooks of suspense in this lady-on-lady romance.

• • •

I feel as if I’m wasted

Darkness and light tango across the ceiling when wind strip searches trees, blocking the streetlight's glow when the bluster sways branches. The eerie shapes skittering overhead would be frightening if I was a child, or if I allowed my imagination to take hold.

Instead, lying in the darkness, they are soothing somehow. I shiver as the howling outside mimics the shadows stretching in front of me.

The snoring besides me escalates, and I sigh. I love Alex, in my own way. As much as I can love him. It isn’t his fault our relationship is mundane and our sex life so routine. It took both of us to destroy the foundation of our life together. He can't read minds.

Glancing over at his sleeping form my disappointment is a prevalent emotion. The usual jack-hammering of hurried sex left me unsatisfied again. The aroma of our coupling lingers. Sweat, and the faint trace of my arousal which never came to fruition.

The experience has left me raw and wanting more, a craving unfulfilled. I remember when sensuality and passion resided in our bed. Hot kisses, warm tongues and moans of unbridled ecstasy are all ghosts of the past. Things could be different. Why am I still here?

What bound me to him: loyalty, friendship, love? Alexander came into my life when I needed guidance, love and unconditional acceptance. For the most part he provided all this. If I am honest with myself, it probably isn’t his fault at all. I’ve retreated as I always do. He believes things are the same. He believes my happy facade. Ignorance is bliss. I doubt that when the time comes he will be surprised.

His restless slumber brings his face close to mine. A wave of dark hair flops across his face and I feel compelled, for the briefest of moments, to push it back. As I once had. Why did it always go this way? The unfulfilled feeling always came, as though something was amiss, like something was absent from my life. Alex no longer filled the void. I’m almost sure I am no longer who he wants either. We continue out of habit. I will miss him when he’s gone.

Sighing again I decide to get up. Insomnia will ensure I remain restless tonight. I leave the house dark as I tiptoe down the hall and out to my favourite room.

An enclosed back porch the length of the house with a picketed fence and clear plastic shades provide protection from the elements and a quiet comfort.

A wooden three-seater swing sits against the wall, my guitar propped beside it. Perhaps scribbling music and lyrics for my acoustic treasure will soothe me. Melancholy and bliss, the two ends of the emotional spectrum provide the best fodder for song. One of them is on the menu this evening.

Grabbing lined music paper and a pencil I go and sit, swinging for a bit, waiting for my muse. A chord forms in my mind so I pick up my classical guitar and strum. As the tune comes to me I hum it as I write out the notes. After the second play through the words shape with the music.

I sing out the blues for the third and final time. I have written better, and of course much worse, but it heals, it helps. Goodbye to you, Alexander. I try to recall the happier times, the beginning and the memories sit far in my mind, out of reach. Retrieving the folder containing my scribbled songs from the ground beside me, I shuffle through. If I play a song I wrote back then, when Alex became my world, maybe the lost hope could be restored. Simply called ‘Alexander’, the song emanated all the passion and thrills of new love I’ve forgotten how to feel.

As I sing I visualise his cupid's bow mouth and ruffled hair. The sexy way jeans hug his hips, the smile which produces a dimple in one cheek, and his cleft chin. Lust without love crams my empty chest. A thudding heart produces the desire I didn’t experience when his urgent hands initiated his quick release. My well-timed moans and feigned interest helped him along. How is it the thought of sex with him produced fire in my loins, when the action could not?

Putting down my guitar I place the new song into the folder before throwing it to the floor. The wind blows at the blinds surrounding me, producing a light thud.

Laying back on the swing I allow the rocking and steady lull of the wind to relax my lust filled senses. I will miss him, I know this much at least.

Alex could be thoughtful when he made the effort. His humour will be hard to forget. His teasing and quick wit will be what I shall miss most. Will he protest when I ask him to leave, or accept the inevitable? We both can’t go on denying that the fun, the fire, the love has faded.

Arguments and heated battles form the majority of our communication. Discontent over each others faults overshadow the spark of infatuation. We rarely share anything, our interests segregated. His love of sports, and mine of stillness and music, collide. Opposites no longer attract. Relief and sadness wage a war inside me.

• • •

Joanne Sexton is an Australian romance writer and mother of two. She had always dreamed of writing novels and has been an avid reader most of her life. In between being a mum and writing, she runs a small bookkeeping business. She has recently become a qualified florist.

Find Joanne Online:

Website - http://www.josextonbooks.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/josextonwritesromance
Twitter - http://twitter.com/JoWritesRomance
Blog - http://www.josextonbooks.com/a-few-random-thoughts
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Sexton_Joanne



Friday 12 June 2015

Available Now: A Russian Gift of Love by TK Geering

A RUSSIAN GIFT OF LOVE
TK Geering

ISBN: 9781311413475
ASIN: B00XNRTOWW

Length: Novelette
Genre: Contemproary Romance
Price: $1.99

Buy Here: Tirgearr Publishing

Appearances can be deceptive.

Vicky is a successful published author, but this is just a cover for her real job. A Detective Chief Inspector dealing with espionage and anti-terrorism.

The handsome firefighter Nick moves into the cottage next door and they become friends. Due to an ankle injury he ends up spending Christmas with Vicky who is nursing him back to health.

As the snow falls heavily, they find themselves snowed in and their friendship turns to intense love. Nick, a secret Russian sleeper, has a contract to fulfill and the hit is Vicky.

• • •

The dry leaves crunched underfoot as Vicky Houseman walked through the woods.

The sun on her face was warm, but inspiration for the new storyline was just not happening. She scooped up a few pinecones for use as Christmas decorations. Ivy from her garden and faery lights (lots of them) would complete the right look for her. Being a true Wiccan, she used her own version of traditional decorations, not something she shared with her colleagues, but a personal choice.

This year Vicky was spending Christmas alone. She’d had many invitations, but had gently turned them down. Oh, the joy of staying in her trackys all day, or even her pj’s if she wanted. Vicky smiled at the thought.

The first threatened flakes of snow started, falling downy soft to adorn her brown hair and settle feather light upon her shoulders, and she retraced her steps back to the car. Her cottage was only minutes away, but she was glad now she had been lazy. She placed her haul of decorations on the back seat and clambered in. Starting the engine to generate some warmth, she stared out at the dusting of snow as she reflected on her life, her grey eyes thoughtful.

Although she was a published author, it was also a convenient cover for her day job. She was a DCI at Sandford Police Station Special Branch Section, vetted to the highest standard, and dealt daily with anti-terrorism. Most of the work was intelligence led, and she was responsible for leading a team of hardened Police Officers. Her relentless work ethic had been recognized by her colleagues and she held the respect of her team, because ‘she got the job done, regardless’.

Frequently she worked from home, which suited her nicely. It aided her cover and her writing was a welcome escape from the crazy world of espionage.

She looked forward to few days away from it all. It would be just her and her new story.

Coming back to the present, she put the car in gear and drove towards home. With a full week still to go, she rather hoped the snow would lie heavily and stay until all the celebrations were over.

Pulling up outside her cottage, she noted that the guy next door was just going on shift. He did many unsociable stints as a fire fighter. Par for the course, she mused. She understood the call to duty.

Nick had moved in a few weeks ago, not the best of timing with Christmas just round the corner. They had managed a few words of introduction, and Vicky had taken in the good looks, brown hair and twinkling hazel eyes, and a wicked smile.

She did have trouble placing his slight accent. He spoke English perfectly, but there was an accent. She had never seen him in uniform, surmising he changed when he got to work. Most women seemed to have the dream of being carried over their shoulders in rescue by a gorgeous hero, but to her he was just a man doing a very worthwhile job.

Getting out of her car, Vicky waved, made a quick comment about the weather and then hurried inside to stoke up the cheery embers of the open fire she had left. Adding a couple of logs and a bit of coal, she replaced the guard again. The fire obediently sparked back into life, sending a warm glow around the room.

Looking outside at the now heavy snowfall, she was glad to be toasting herself in front of the flames. Nature could enjoy itself outside as it pleased. She had already put the garden to bed until spring.

Hopefully, though, her neighbour made it to work safely.

And then she put him out of mind.

A hint of the new story was finally forming. Many times she had relied on memory, only to have it fail her; thus, grabbing her tape recorder she began to make some notes.

She heated some thick homemade soup and then roughly ripped apart crusty bread. Not her best effort at bread making, she admitted, but it was palatable. Too many times she had to survive on a rushed meal and indigestion from the Police canteen.

When she had the chance she unwound by cooking from scratch.

Sitting in front of the fire on a pile of cushions, she pulled forward the purpose built tray and tucked into the meal.

Switching on the TV, she watched the weather report.

Many roads up North have been closed due to heavy snowfall and it’s now falling in the South …

As they panned the cameras around the country, it looked as if everywhere was tucked up under a large fluffy white fleece.

She flipped the TV off and gazed out of the window.

Tell me about it, Vicky thought, seeing only white. Well, the freezer is stocked up, and I have the central heating if the logs run out.

She loaded up the dishwasher and settled down again. She would have a glass of wine later, but for now she wanted to get some work done. With anticipation she referred to her recorded notes, then opened a new document on her laptop and started typing. Eventually her legs, curled up underneath her, began to cramp and, putting the laptop on the side of the sofa, she stretched and walked over to the wine rack. Selecting a Merlot, Vicky unscrewed the top and poured a glass. Throwing another couple of logs on the fire, she settled back down and re-read what she had written.

The characters had begun to introduce themselves and she started to do a bit of backfill. She liked where it was headed.

Already the ending was in her mind, and the working title for the moment was ‘Glasnost’.

• • •

T. K. Geering began to write seriously about five years ago. Paranormal fantasy wasn’t a natural choice, it was more of an unexpected curve ball, but she relented and accepted that fantasy had chosen her. From there, Tee moved on to crime with a sprinkling of romance. In her opinion, every good story has to have a romantic interest somewhere within.

In the past she has lectured to ‘A’ level and Performing Arts students on creative writing. It became an extremely interesting sideline and gave her a natural break from editing, reviewing and writing.

Whilst interviewing a publisher for the writing group Tee belonged to, she was delighted to hear that they were head hunting her for publication of her books. The rest as they say is history.

T. K. Geering writes paranormal romance, fantasy and crime and is a previously published author. Her writing style has been compared to J.K. Rowling and Jean M. Auel, and her books are now sold worldwide.

• • •

Find T.K. Online:

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/tee.gee.54390
Twitter - https://twitter.com/wiccatee
Blog - http://tgeering.blogspot.com
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Geering_TK



Wednesday 10 June 2015

Available Now: The Ecology of Lonesomeness by David J. O'Brien

THE ECOLOGY OF LONESOMENESS
David J. O'Brien

ISBN: 9781310988844
ASIN: B00XLYRD1Q

Length: Novel
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Price: $4.99

Buy here: Tirgearr Publishing

Kaleb Schwartz isn't interested in the Loch Ness Monster. He'd enough cryptobiological speculation about Bigfoot while studying the Pacific Northwest forests. He's in Scotland's Great Glen to investigate aquatic food webs and nutrients cycles; if he proves there's no food for any creature bigger than a pike, then so much the better.

Jessie McPherson has returned to Loch Ness after finishing university in London, hoping to avoid the obsession with its dark waters she had when younger and first discovered lonesomeness. She knows any relationship with a scientist studying the lake is a bad idea, but something about Kaleb makes her throw caution to the depths.

When Kaleb discovers Jessie's lonesomeness refers not just to the solitude of the loch, he's faced with an ecological problem of monstrous proportions. Can he find a way to satisfy both the man and the scientist inside himself, and do the right thing?

10% of the author's royalties will be donated to WWF,
the World Wildlife Fund.

• • •

Kaleb got out of the Land Cruiser and put his hood up against the rain. It showed little sign of being the short shower he'd hoped it would be; he might have to take a long lunch.

Instead of heading to The Bothy or The Lock Inn when he crossed the canal bridge, he ran to the Canalside Fish and Chip Shop that faced The Clansman Centre: a tourist attraction where some guy dressed in a kilt played with Claymore swords and other Braveheart props.

It was greasy food, and he knew it was far from good to eat every day, but it was tasty, and heated the belly after a few hours out on the lakeshore with the wind whipping across the water. It was also quick and handy compared to sitting for an hour in The Boathouse restaurant next door. Besides, it was an anthropological investigation into the eating habits of the British Isles. Battered Mars Bars—now there was a marvel as confounding to Kaleb as the weather.

Immediately he pushed the glass door open and lifted back his hood, he did a double-take at the girl behind the counter. Instead of the big-bosomed, matronly woman who'd served him his fish and chips before, Kaleb found a new girl behind the counter.

Not only was she young, but she was pretty—very pretty—with glowing cheeks that looked like they dimpled when she smiled, and a heart-shaped face with a cute little pointed chin. Her long, wavy, black hair was tied in a ponytail that had not quite captured all the wisps of wayward ringlets.

A part of him wondered whether she shouldn't be wearing a hair net or something in a food preparation establishment, and another part told that first part—in a Scottish accent, inexplicably—to shut up talking shite and concentrate on the pertinent facts: one, she was a "bonnie lassie" indeed; and two, her hair was wonderful. And that second part of him was right. If Kaleb had seen her in an Inverness pub three weeks ago, he'd have downed a couple of pints in record time for even a seasoned American in Scotland to get up his Dutch courage, and screw the memory of Becky and all the bullshit baggage she'd left him. But this was not a pub, and he had to speak to her right now. He took a breath and smiled broadly, hoping he didn't look like an idiot.

putting lots of just-cooked fries into the little paper bags. Kaleb supposed that she had noticed he was new, too, though he would have assumed that a tourist destination would have strangers coming in and out all the time, and, when he thought about it, she was new, so every customer was new to her. But she was about to talk to him and he concentrated to ensure he understood her with the accent.

"Hello. What can I get you?" she asked.

Kaleb saw that her cheeks did indeed dimple when she smiled.

"Hi," he replied, thinking that her accent was, at last, a beautiful, lilting, musical thing like he'd hoped the Scottish accent would be but had, until then, seemed to him only an amazingly rapid series of guttural grunts that made it hard to understand everyone around him. "I'd like a bag of chips and fish, please."

"Fish and chips? Okay." She nodded, her smile deepening as she heard his own accent, no doubt, and his inability to say the stock British phrase "fish ‘n' chips" properly. "Just be a minute."

She went back to her work, jiggling a fryer full of the thick French fries he was quickly becoming addicted to, and picking up a wet battered fillet of fish: it was supposed to be cod, but he'd have said it was probably whiting.

Kaleb felt a sharp pang in his chest watching her, as if he'd been pierced with a porcupine quill. "You're new," he said.

She looked up with a quizzical expression. "No." She shook her head. "I'm old."

"I don't think so. I mean, I haven't seen you in here before."

"Oh, aye, no. I'm just back."

"Oh. From where?"

"London."

"Awesome. I've been there. I'm Kaleb. What's your name?"

"Jessie."

"Oh nice. That's cool. Appropriate name."

She frowned. "How's that, then?"

"Well," he said, feeling a little stupid for even thinking it, but also aware he couldn't just say it was nothing, to forget about it, now. A stupid conversation was better than no conversation—wasn't it? Perhaps not, but he was moving forward on this one already, there was no going back. "It's, like, Jess from Loch Ness..

• • •

David J O'Brien was born and raised in Dun Laoghaire, Ireland. He studied environmental biology and later studied deer biology for his PhD, at University College Dublin. Instead of pursuing his life-long interest in wolves and predator-prey interactions, after completing his doctorate, he taught English in Madrid, Spain, for four years while his girlfriend finished her doctorate in molecular biology. They married and moved to Boston, USA, so his wife could pursue her career and David decided that teaching was a vocation he was happy to continue. After seven great years teaching Biology at Boston's Cathedral High School and Zoology at Bridgewater State College, he returned to Spain three years ago so his wife could set up her new research group in her hometown of Pamplona shortly before their daughter was born. He currently teaches English and science in Pamplona, while looking after his daughter and writing.

David has loved writing since his teens. He began with poetry and had one of his first poems published in Cadenza, a small Dublin poetry magazine at the age of fourteen. Since then several more have been published in journals and anthologies such as Albatross, The Tennessee State Poetry League, Poems of Nature and various anthologies of Forward Press imprint in Britain. He began writing fiction soon after and wrote the novella that would later become Leaving The Pack at the age of seventeen. Though his academic writing took precedence for a number of years, and he is still involved in deer biology and management, he kept writing other things in his spare time and has always dreamt of one day being able to do it full time. While living in Madrid, he wrote some non-fiction articles for the magazine Hot English and while in Boston for the newspaper Dig.

An avid wildlife enthusiast and ecologist, much of David's non-academic writing, especially poetry, is inspired by wildlife and science, and he sometimes seeks to describe the science behind the supernatural. He has written a little bit of everything: to date a four-act play, a six-episode sit-com, various short stories and five more novels.

His Young Adult paranormal novel The Soul of Adam Short will be published in 2015 and a novella under the pseudonym JD Martins was published in January.

David is currently working on sequels to Leaving the Pack and an Ecological Fiction novel set in Scotland called The Ecology of Lonesomeness, He is also plugging away at a long novel set in the pre-Columbian Caribbean, and a non-fiction book about the sociology of hunting.

Find David Online:

Website - http://davidjmobrien.wordpress.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/DavidJMOBrien
YouTube - http://www.youtube.com/channel/UCIIUO91SFG-Kq0tKnWd7RAg
Google+ - https://plus.google.com/u/0/+DavidOBrienauthor
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/OBrien_David



Friday 5 June 2015

Available Now: The Tinsal Deck by Elaina J. Davidson

THE TINSAL DECK
Elaina J. Davidson

ISBN: 9781310526015
ASIN: B00XN4NYNA

Length: Novel
Genre: Historical Fantasy
Price: $4.99

Buy here: Tirgearr Publishing

Zanderin is a rogue, a cad, a menacing sorcerer, and a witch's fetch. He loves the ruthless witch, at least he did. He stays, true to his word, delivering vengeance for her past.

Bronwyn lost her sanity when she lost her leg. Now, she whiles away her days in the company of the cloaked - he of most questionable morals - and a precious deck of tarot cards used to fuel vendetta. Her main target is Rhodry, who took her virtue. Zanderin is also on the list, and that may prove a costly twist to her agenda.

Rhodry and Zanderin, the two sides of a playing card. From Castle Tinsal, she sends Zanderin out to gather together the victims of her Tinsal Deck. The only nuance that can thwart her now, is love.

• • •

Cosmic Tarot
The cosmos is made of gaudy air that moves with breath and change.
~ The Sine Handbook

There are many oracles employed to reveal the future, some as ancient as civilisation, others as new as this morning's sun, but probably the most famous in every society is the colourful and esoteric tarot deck.

Experts speak of Upper and Lower Houses, Major and Lesser Arcana, and dealers speak of placement, while the uninitiated speak of random choice, for it is said a card is able to determine a twist of fate, such as unheralded fame and fortune, or unexpected death and destruction. It is able to determine vice and virtue, and the state of souls. The order in which the cards are overturned contain secrets to be revealed and the sequence in which they are dealt illuminates the path of destiny. An expert knows these portents.

Not to disparage seers, for they may have the way of it, we would like to suggest an alternate scenario.

What will happen if such a deck of attention-seeking picture cards finds their way into the possession of a powerful woman who makes a deal with the dark devils inside her? Her deck is gifted to her by someone entirely ignorant of what he will serve to unleash. More correctly, whom he will unleash. What if she one day, in boredom, out of spite, turns this deck over… to be intensely drawn to the esoteric images? This, although she cannot know it, is the original deck maker’s intention. (Look, penitent, and you are eternally bound.)

The Upper House in this deck is known as Stellar, and the Lower four suites Secondary. She is not fooled by the term ‘secondary’, for those in the shadows are frequently as manipulative and guilty as the forerunners. She knows this well. She has employed those nuances before.

The Court cards are for society’s controllers, and therefore known as Society. Society deserves a beating, particularly this society in which Tinsal squats and broods. It is time for change.

What if, in her growing madness, an awareness forms? What if boredom becomes obsession?

What if the random choice of one leads to the twist in fate of another? It is not sequence, it is not proximity in the dealing – it is vengeance.

It is Cosmic Tarot and all those who have slighted her, now beware.

• • •

Elaina is a galactic and universal traveller and dreamer. When writing she puts into words her travels and dreams, because she believes there is inspiration in even the most outrageous tale.

Elaina was born in South Africa and grew up in the magical city and surrounds of Cape Town. After studying Purchasing Management and working in the formal sector as a buyer, she chose to raise and home-school her children. She started writing novels around 2002, moving from children’s stories, poetry and short stories to concentrate on larger works. She lived with her family for some time in Ireland and subsequently in New Zealand. Returned now to South Africa, she realises the vibrancy of Africa has much to do with the inspirational side of her work. Something happens daily, something to shock, something to uplift…and the colours and diversity of nature itself fires the imagination.

Come with her and share a vision.

Find Elaina Online:

Website - http://elainajdavidson.blogspot.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/ElainaJDavidsonAuthor
Twitter - https://twitter.com/authorelaina
Blog - http://multiversetales.blogspot.com
Blog - http://bardsandtales.blogspot.com
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Davidson_ElainaJ



Available Now: Latticework by Elaina J. Davidson

LATTICEWORK
Elaina J. Davidson

ISBN: 9781310342752
ASIN: B00XN4NYE4

Length: Novella
Genre: Speculative Short Stories
Price: $2.99

Buy here: Tirgearr Publishing

A noir collection of soulful tales, embodying the macabre to the metaphysical, and a dip of the quill into an intriguing sci-fi tale with a lesson so serrated it cuts to the marrow.

A latticework creates a mesmerising pattern, one which pleases the eye and draws the onlooker closer. In this delightful anthology the emotional lattice connects the strands which amplify the human experience, our melancholy, our mistakes, and our residual power. Fourteen short tales by a diverse author makes Latticework an occult treat, worthy of fans who douse into the disturbing and diabolical.

• • •

Extract from Lattice 1
Fallen from the Sky

Based on a dream

The pillar feels rough and pitted under Callie’s fingers. She knows it as rock, although she cannot see anything in the blackness. She also knows the feel of this particular standing stone; it is akin to a friend, a haven, a beacon in the dark. There are no night noises, not even the resident frog to confirm where she is. She always listens for him when she comes here in summer.

She has been here before. She is not lost.

Biting the inside of her cheek to contain hysterical sounds, Callie puts her fingers to work. They are her eyes now and she can trust them. They reach up, sensing, exploring, and, yes, there it is. The small voice of doubt is stilled.

She has been here before.

She is home.

Callie slots her fingers into the depression and uses it as leverage to drag herself upright. Her bones ache and she is cold, shivering in the cool air, but she feels better, more confident, and ignores the discomfort. The cold is more than physical; it is inside her. Perhaps she instinctively came here to find warmth. She leans against the monolith to take in deep breaths.

Old friend, you have rescued me once more. I have missed you. I have ignored you recently to keep others happy.

Callie always thought, and still believes, that the stones will protect her, particularly this one, the tallest in the ring. It does not matter what people say, Aw, Callie, they’re just stones (her uncle Ed when she was seven), Girl, those things are putting ideas into your head (her mother when she was twelve), How can silly rocks save you? (her older sister Cassie at least twice a year), and worst of all, the denouncement, What was is no longer, Callie, accept it (her father, recently, the one who believed with her for so long).

Her father gave up, she knows, because her mother insisted, and yet it hurts. She stayed away to keep her mother happy.

Her father brought her to the ring first as a little girl and leaned against this very rock to tell her the tale. How she loved the expression of happiness on his face then.

Listen carefully sweet pea, listen well now. A long time ago there was nothing here, not even a blade of grass or a bird to sweeten the atmosphere with music.

Her father, the bird-watcher.

• • •

Elaina is a galactic and universal traveller and dreamer. When writing she puts into words her travels and dreams, because she believes there is inspiration in even the most outrageous tale.

Elaina was born in South Africa and grew up in the magical city and surrounds of Cape Town. After studying Purchasing Management and working in the formal sector as a buyer, she chose to raise and home-school her children. She started writing novels around 2002, moving from children’s stories, poetry and short stories to concentrate on larger works. She lived with her family for some time in Ireland and subsequently in New Zealand. Returned now to South Africa, she realises the vibrancy of Africa has much to do with the inspirational side of her work. Something happens daily, something to shock, something to uplift…and the colours and diversity of nature itself fires the imagination.

Come with her and share a vision.

Find Elaina Online:

Website - http://elainajdavidson.blogspot.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/ElainaJDavidsonAuthor
Twitter - https://twitter.com/authorelaina
Blog - http://multiversetales.blogspot.com
Blog - http://bardsandtales.blogspot.com
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Davidson_ElainaJ



Available Now: A Tear in the Clouds by Elaina J. Davidson

A TEAR IN THE CLOUDS
Elaina J. Davidson

ISBN: 9781310260612
ASIN: B00XLUEIH2

Length: Novella
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Price: $2.99

Buy here: Tirgearr Publishing

Alayna is a hermit, for good reason. Living in the giant redwood forest away from prying eyes, her tranquillity is shattered when intruders break into her home with the intention of robbing and using her.

A man with vivid green eyes is an unlikely saviour, and when they save each other their fates are sealed. Ben and Alayna have the kind of attraction which reeks of a celestial mandate. Alayna realises what Ben is, but he's too young to know his true power. Torn, Alayna sends Ben away to his true destiny, awaiting his return.

Their attraction is so visceral and overwhelming that Ben returns again and again, each time making it harder to leave the only woman who has ever ignited his soul. Alayna feels it too, because only Ben has a kiss that breaks worlds. His ethereal magnificence is so glorious that their love will leave a tear in the clouds.

• • •

The blacktop glistened after the rain, a dark snake unfurling through the redwood forest.

Cat eyes shone as if tiny creatures populated the yellow lines.

The ripe smell of rich earth competed with the distinct aroma of wet tar, and drips of fresh water plinked through the foliage. Nearby a spotted owl delivered its distinguishing call.

Although it was early yet in the afternoon, the gloom above gave the appearance of approaching night.

Set back slightly from the switchback road a small cottage nearly smothered in ivy huddled beneath the giants populating northern California, wisps of smoke curling from a stone chimney. Azaleas and rhododendron vied with prolific sword ferns for space in a small garden.

On the stoop an ancient bench watched the days pass by, whether wet or dry. A red squirrel perched on the gate post, unmoving until a woman came out the front door, and then he hurtled up the nearest bole.

Grinning, Alayna gave a whistle and left an offering of nuts and fruit in the stone platter upon the low wall. Already, as she turned away, the squirrel shimmied downward. Soon, she knew, his furry family would join him.

*

Nothing of note happened in the small town of Legget, besides tourists arriving to take photos of their cars driving through the Chandelier Tree, or of themselves standing within the carved arch in the massive trunk.

They stopped for a bite, maybe some gas, and then most moved onto the nearest camping grounds. At certain times of the year it was busy, but at others nothing much occurred.

Jack and Shaun argued with Ben outside the local diner. The place was closed and a For Sale sign sat in the window.

“We need cash, bud, or we’ll never get to San Francisco,” Jack snapped out, irritated that he needed to repeat himself. “This one-horse town has zilch for us, the tourist season is over man. I say we grab a few dollars from the gas station and head south.”

His scrawny body quivered with intent.

“Yeah, hanging around here will only get us stuck and bored,” Shaun said. “There’s nothing to eat here.”

They were quite the opposites, Jack and Shaun, for Shaun was fat. He was stupid too.

“Shut up,” Jack snarled at him. “What do you know?” He turned his attention back to the third member of their trio. “Ben, come on. Shaun and me, we’ll grab the dough, just keep the engine running man, like always. Man, it’s not hard.”

Ben stared at him. “And how far will a few dollars get us? I’m telling you, it’s a waste of effort.”

“You’re just a fucking wuss. We’ll find other places along the way, get more. For fuck’s sake man, do you want to stay in this empty shithole?”

Ben lifted green eyes to the forest surrounding them on all sides. A slight breeze promised rain later as it ruffled his fair hair. Yes, he could stay. He hankered after some peace and quiet. Jack, however, would pull a knife on him if he dared suggest it. The weasel had a mean streak, and no conscience. He liked that knife too damn much.

“I’ll wait outside,” Ben eventually said.

Jack slapped him on the back and Shaun laughed. “Get the wheels. We’re going in.” Jack grabbed Shaun’s wobbling arm and they strode across the road.

Their inane giggling disturbed the quietness in the air.

Idiots. Folk would remember them.

Frowning, Ben climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition key. The old blue Chevy spluttered twice and then caught. Eyeing the progress of the other two, hating himself for giving in yet again, he timed his swing and landed in a squeal of brakes before the glass doors as they vanished into the shop.

He didn’t watch. He didn’t want to see another unsuspecting kid manning the register frightened out of his wits by the insane Jack and the stupidity of that oaf Shaun.

It was time to leave those two behind, but not in this quiet place. They would do too much harm here. He’d either leave them somewhere more populated or simply walk away when Jack wasn’t looking.

The rear doors slammed as the two hurtled into the car.

“Get fucking driving!” Jack screeched.

The Chevy sped away, heading north.

• • •

Elaina is a galactic and universal traveller and dreamer. When writing she puts into words her travels and dreams, because she believes there is inspiration in even the most outrageous tale.

Elaina was born in South Africa and grew up in the magical city and surrounds of Cape Town. After studying Purchasing Management and working in the formal sector as a buyer, she chose to raise and home-school her children. She started writing novels around 2002, moving from children’s stories, poetry and short stories to concentrate on larger works. She lived with her family for some time in Ireland and subsequently in New Zealand. Returned now to South Africa, she realises the vibrancy of Africa has much to do with the inspirational side of her work. Something happens daily, something to shock, something to uplift…and the colours and diversity of nature itself fires the imagination.

Come with her and share a vision.

Find Elaina Online:

Website - http://elainajdavidson.blogspot.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/ElainaJDavidsonAuthor
Twitter - https://twitter.com/authorelaina
Blog - http://multiversetales.blogspot.com
Blog - http://bardsandtales.blogspot.com
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Davidson_ElainaJ



Wednesday 3 June 2015

Available Now: Seven Dirty Words by Charlotte Howard

SEVEN DIRTY WORDS
The Words Series, #1
Charlotte Howard

ISBN: 9781310160417
ASIN: B00XB8JCH0

Length: Novel
Genre: Erotic Romance
Price: $4.99

Buy here: Tirgearr Publishing

Paige Holmes hides herself in a masculine world in a desperate attempt to remain safe.

Just as she is ready to face her fears and her past, she finds herself torn between Matt Jackson and Vance Ellery: handsome, rich, and safe – or handsome, rich, and dangerous?

Which will she choose?

The one who appears to be the most perfect, or the one who makes her use all Seven Dirty Words?

• • •

I died for a short while the first time we met. There was no fluttering in my chest, no somersault of my stomach, no burning in my loins; my heart literally stopped. He was tall, at least six foot four, and dressed in a pair of worn indigo jeans that perfectly matched his intense stare. A silk black shirt covered what I imagined to be a ripple of hard muscle, and opened at the top, showing a dusting of tight dark curls. His thick neck led towards a razor-sharp, square jaw line, a straight nose that had clearly never seen the ill-effects of rough play, and deep hooded eyes. Hair that could have been straight had been styled with a slight wave. I was sure it was dark brown, but it could have easily been black, and had shots of silver-grey streaking through it.
My face was lined with his toes, or more precisely, his pristinely polished black patent Chukka boots. Palms down in the thick mud beneath me, I pushed up and let my eyes glance at the man in front of me. He looked none-to-pleased to see his clothes spattered with flecks of dirt from where I had landed and splashed him.

I struggled to get to my feet as my own boots dug into the ground, slipping against the wet grass. Eventually I found my knees and leant back, looking up at him. I forced a grin on my mud-covered face, but he didn’t return it. Finally able to stand without landing on my backside, I wiped my hands down the sides of my bare thighs.

His glare speared through the apology that I tried to splutter, words failing to come from my vocal chords. In the distance I heard someone call my name. Looking over my shoulder I could see my teammates beckoning me to re-join the group. “Sorry,” the word leapt forward.

A dark eyebrow flicked upwards. “Are you going to pay for that?” he asked, snapping each word as though he was talking to some insolent child.

“It’s a muddy field, you’re watching a rugby match,” I countered, my eyes narrowing. “Try stepping away from the lines.”

“You’ve got a mouth on you.” A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. I’ve got a mouth on me? What the hell was that supposed to mean? I was about to make some loud comment about him being arrogant and conceited, but the captain of the team had already reached my heel.

“You coming?” Lou tugged on my elbow, throwing a smile towards the man who loomed over me.

“Yeah,” I said racing back into the game.

“Who’s your friend?” Lou asked, nodding towards Tall, Dark, and Smouldering.

“I haven’t got a clue, but he wasn’t impressed by my skidding halt!” I laughed, tossing her the ball.

We finished practise at two o’clock, as we did every Saturday afternoon. I listened to the laughter and loud chattering of my teammates and friends, as I scrubbed at the mud that caked my arms, legs, and face. Warm water pummelled at my aching muscles, I rubbed away the sweat with a floral scented shower gel. I made a point of using feminine scented products, since I lived in such a masculine world.

Not only did I play rugby, a game that my mother always told me was unbecoming for a woman of my standing, but I also lived with two men and worked in an office where I was the only female. I was also incredibly single.

• • •

British author, Charlotte Howard, was born in Oman and spent much of the first part of her life flitting between Oman, Scotland, and England. Now settled in Somerset, Charlotte lives with her husband, two children, and growing menagerie of pets.

Her career as a writer began at an early age, with a poem being featured in an anthology for the East Midlands. Since then Charlotte has written many short stories and poems, and finally wrote her first full-length piece of fiction in 2010.

During what little spare time she has, Charlotte enjoys reading and writing (of course), spending time with her family, and watching action movies whilst eating curry and drinking tea.

Charlotte is an active member of Yeovil Creative Writers Group.

Find Charlotte Online:

Website - http://www.charlottehowardauthor.co.uk
Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/charlottehowardauthor
Twitter - https://twitter.com/Shy_Tiger
Blog - http://choward2614.wordpress.com
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Howard_Charlotte