Wednesday, 30 March 2016

Available Now: One Night in Budapest by Lucy Felthouse

City Nights, #20
Lucy Felthouse

Length: Novella
Genre: Erotic Romance

Digital Price: $2.99 (99c/99p through 3 April)

BUY HERE: Tirgearr Publishing

An unexpected break-up means Hermione’s visiting Budapest alone. Determined to make the most of it, she goes on a night-time river cruise and meets Emil, sexy cocktail server. When he asks her out for dinner, she’s tempted, but she’s a long way from home and he's a complete stranger. She decides to take a chance, and what follows is an unforgettable night which will transform her life forever.

• • •

Locating the correct pier, Hermione pulled her ticket from her pocket and showed it to the girl welcoming passengers onto the boat. The girl—the badge pinned to her blouse giving her name as Reka—glanced at the ticket, and smiled. “Thank you. Please take a seat inside until the boat arrives. Enjoy your trip.”

With a nod, Hermione gingerly headed along the gangplank and boarded the vessel, wondering what Reka meant. Surely this was the boat? She shrugged, smiling at the other members of staff she passed, and followed the buzz of chatter to find the other passengers. Maybe it had been a misunderstanding, her meaning lost in translation or something.

Heading up a couple of steps to a bar room full of other tourists, she quickly took a seat at an empty table by the window. She’d have a great view of Budapest’s riverside highlights from here—and she was sure they’d look different again once night fell. Already the sky was darkening—it was almost four p.m. on a chilly January day.

She was so intent on admiring the Chain Bridge that she didn’t know there was anyone beside her until someone said, “Excuse me, madam? Would you like to take advantage of our special drinks offer?”

Turning to the source of the voice, her fluttering heart the only indication that she’d been startled, she smiled. “Maybe. What’s the offer?”

Her smile widened as she studied the man who’d spoken. He looked to be around her age—early twenties, and damn cute. Dark, slightly overlong hair curled on his head, deep brown eyes gave him an intensity that increased the flutters in her heart, and the dimpled smile he flashed as he replied lit up his handsome face. “It is happy hour. Two drinks for price of one.” He paused, looked at the empty seat beside her, then glanced over his shoulder as though checking if anyone was coming to join her at the table. “But perhaps you would only like one? Maybe I can see if yours can be half price…”

“It’s okay,” she replied firmly. “I’m going to be on the boat for a while, I’m sure I can manage two drinks. I don’t have to have them at the same time, do I?”

He shook his head. “No. I will be serving on the other boat in a moment, so I will look after you and your drinks to make sure you get special price.”

Immediately following his mention of an additional boat, a loud voice rang out. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are now ready for you to board the tour boat. Please be very careful while stepping from one boat to the other. As soon as you are all seated, we will begin the trip. Thank you.”

It was then Hermione realised that as she’d been gazing out of the window to one side, a smaller boat had pulled up alongside the one she was on. Everyone was getting up and moving to the staircase. “Thank you,” Hermione said, glancing at the man’s name badge. “Emil. I would absolutely like to take you up on your offer.”

He smiled, and she returned the gesture, only allowing the grimace to take over her face once she was out of his view. She was glad of any language barriers at that moment—hopefully it had prevented Emil recognising the blatant double entendre in her words, inadvertent though it had been.

• • •

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women's Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes.

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Wednesday, 23 March 2016

Available Now: The Part That Doesn't Burn by Sam Poling

Sam Poling

Length: Novel
Genre: Dark Fantasy

Digital Price: $4.99 (99c/99p through 27 March)

BUY HERE: Tirgearr Publishing

In an overpopulated city-state where technology and magic are forbidden by the corrupt church, young witch, Mirabel Fairfax, plots the creation of a deadly plague to cull the burdensome rabble.

That is, until she falls in love with the very alchemist she has been deceiving.

Now, with soul-hungry geists flooding the city, the church scrambling for their prey, and her own mind at war with itself, Mirabel must decide what she's fighting for before she loses everything to the evils of Autumnfall.

• • •

It had always been lonely. The endless halls had enough rooms to accommodate an army, but no army resided there, and seldom did family. No windows offered the dreams of an outside world. For light, her mother kept lanterns lit in the halls the girl had permission to visit. She knew those places well. Four years she had lived here, her lifetime.

Loneliness didn’t grip her heart today. Not anymore. Dragging the tail of her white gown behind her, she navigated warped corridors that rippled like sheets. The distortion used to frighten her and make her sick, but her desire to explore outside her bedroom endured. A year ago she discovered what would become her favorite burgundy chair; one big enough to curl up on, made of soft velvet, and always with a lit candle nearby.

She crawled atop the cushion and sat with her brown-furred friend almost as big as her. He had silly long, floppy ears, pink paws, and a hard nose. Since introduced to her yesterday, he hadn’t stopped smiling. The girl knew better than to smile without good reason, but she often felt like joining him.

An imperfect, sweet tune sang behind her lips as she brushed his fur. She didn’t hear it often enough to remember the specifics, so she stuck to humming the series of notes she knew best: a three-second loop. With all her heart she hoped the redundancy wouldn’t irritate her friend. His smile remained. He hadn’t bunched her hair up in his paws. He hadn’t send to her tumbling to the floor, causing cuts on her knees. The stuffed rabbit merely sat there. He must have found the melody as agreeable as she did.

A door opened and slammed. The manor had plenty of random activity. It couldn’t have been her father; he visited yesterday, so he wouldn’t return for months. No reason to run to the foyer, but perhaps a reason to hide. The girl scooted toward the edge of the chair. Too late. Her mother marched into the room, carelessly throwing her fur coat over the piano. She kept walking past her daughter. Unfortunately, she stopped and turned around.


The girl looked up. “Yes ma’am?”

“Are you not going to say hello to your mother?”

“Greetings, Mother.”

Mother’s face grinned like her friend’s. “I heard your father visited last night.”

She nodded, and moved her body to obscure her stuffed companion.

Too late.

Mother crouched at the chair. “What is this, then?”


“To heal your loneliness, I take it. Does it help you with your studies?”

“Yes,” said Mirabel.

“No, child.” Her hand extended. Today it went for Leonard, snatching him away. “Do not be ridiculous. It helps you with nothing. The study books your loving mother gives you are all the company you require.”

Mirabel sat motionless. She wanted to reach out and take Leonard back, but nothing could be reclaimed from her mother’s grasp. He should have been hidden. It had been reckless to bring him out in the open. Fingers spreading apart, her mother’s hand swayed over Leonard. He still smiled. So naïve, so innocent. He understood nothing. She had failed him. He probably still loved her, until the moment fire from Mother’s fingertips turned him into ash.

“I will be having one final discussion with your father, and then no more of this pain.” She patted Mirabel’s head and disappeared into the darkness of the next room.

Mirabel slinked from the chair and sifted through the ashes. A singular pink paw remained. There was always a part that didn’t burn. Carefully she placed it on her lap and stroked it. She hummed for him again, but Leonard’s smile wouldn’t return.

• • •

Sam Poling has been writing fantasy and science fiction for the thrill of it his entire life, from short stories to screenplays. His love for each of the subgenres led to dedication to writing genre-skirting fiction with all the elements that make up the human condition. He holds a strong enthusiasm for medical studies and currently works as a medical assistant in a large clinic while taking classing for nursing. He also serves on a health and safety committee, including disaster preparedness and infection control. His interest in epidemiology and medical science tends to spill over into his writing endeavors.

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Wednesday, 16 March 2016

Available Now: Outcast by Dianne Noble

Dianne Noble

Length: Full Length
Genre: Contermporary Fiction

Digital Price: $4.99 (99c/99p through 20 March)

BUY HERE: Tirgearr Publishing

Rose leaves her Cornwall café to search for her daughter in the sweltering slums of Kolkata, India.

In the daily struggle for survival, she is often brought to her knees, but finds strength to overcome the poverty and disease, grows to love the Dalit community she helps.

But then there are deaths, and she fears for her own safety.

Her café at home is at risk of being torched, and finally, she has to make the terrible choice between her daughter and the Indian children.

• • •

Penzance, Cornwall

The minute she heard Tom’s voice Rose knew it meant trouble. In the three years since the divorce their only contact had been by email, infrequent and stiff.

The day had begun like any other. It was barely light when the alarm went off. Rose felt for her slippers with eyes still shut and groped her way to the bathroom. She dragged a brush through her hair, noting the roots needed attention, pulled on yesterday’s clothes and sped along the beach path to Newlyn, the wind blowing salt spray into her face. The fishing boats had already unloaded and the container lorries, heavily laden, were rumbling up the hill on their way to the restaurants of London.

Once she had collected the crab and started back, the town began to stir. Windows were opened, pavements swept, the awnings of the ice cream parlour released from their overnight restraints. The hum of a milk float, the clink of bottles. In doorways winos slumbered on, their dogs alert and watchful. The first claps of thunder rolled through the town as she reached home.

Full English breakfasts ran seamlessly into cottage pies and then the pace slowed for crab sandwiches and cream teas. The café had been full all day, a tropical rainforest, the windows steamed up and smells of wet wool, wet humanity. Broken-spoked umbrellas leaned wearily against walls, cagoules dripped from chair backs. A buzz of conversation, clatter of crockery, the gurgle of the coffee machine, waitresses scurrying back and forth to the kitchen balancing trays.

By five p.m. when Rose shepherded the last stragglers out, she longed for a cup of Earl Grey. She had just opened the fridge for lemon when the call came through. With a sigh she picked up the receiver. Felt the cat wreathe itself round her legs.


‘Have you had the radio on?’


‘Sit down, Rose.’ No formalities, no pleasantries. He sounded strained.

‘What’s happened?’ Aware her voice was rising, she scrabbled behind her for a chair. ‘It’s Ellie, isn’t it? Tell me.’

‘I’ve been at Heathrow all day.’

She struggled to hear him as the rain rattled on the window like thrown gravel. ‘Isn’t she there? Did you miss her? Have you phoned the airline?’ Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. The scream of a siren outside somewhere.

‘Can’t get through.’ His voice cracked. He was crying. ‘Rose…the plane is missing.’

Darkness crept in from the edges of her vision, a rushing sound in her ears. ‘A plane can’t just disappear.’ Her lips numb, she struggled to form the words.

‘It landed at Dubai, but they lost contact after it took off again.’

‘Somebody must know where it is,’ she shouted. ‘Have you asked—?’

‘Of course I’ve bloody asked.’ He took a ragged breath. ‘We’re all waiting for further news.’

‘But can’t you…surely…you must…have you tried her mobile?’

‘She lost it. Hasn’t replaced it. I’ll phone again when I know something. Keep the line free.’

A click. Rose stared at the receiver, her fingers white where she had twisted the cord round them. Thought of cigarettes. Years since she’d stopped but she felt a desperate need for a huge lungful of nicotine. She couldn’t just sit and wait. Leapt to her feet and sped upstairs. Drummed on the desk as she waited for her laptop to fire up. Mis-typed the name of the airline. Tried again. Cursed at the crap internet speed in Cornwall. As soon as the contact number appeared on the screen she snatched up the phone. Remembered Tom’s words about keeping the landline free and slammed it down again. Scrabbled through her handbag for her mobile, tipping the contents on the floor. Punched in the number, muttering.

Come on, come on.

No sodding signal again. She threw the phone across the room where it bounced off an armchair and slid under the settee. Maybe there’d been an email? Not likely. Months since Ellie had been in touch with her—it was always Tom she turned to—but she checked anyway. Nothing.

She shivered as she stood at the window. Sails of rain blew across the promenade, people hurried past, a woman in a yellow mac, head bent into the wind. Rose wrapped her arms around her body, rocked herself. Maybe the plane had made a forced landing and they’d hear soon. But why had there been no radio contact? A plane couldn’t be there one minute and not the next.

It could if it crashed.

Her throat contracted. She heard little moaning sounds and wondered where they came from. Tears ran down her cheeks and splashed on the window sill. She couldn’t be gone. Not Ellie. Not her only child. Pictures flashed across her mind; Ellie in her red snowsuit trying to catch the falling flakes, Ellie beaming with delight when she won the sack race, Ellie trying not to cry when she had her leg stitched. And then Ellie, her face sullen, on her graduation day.

Please, God, don’t let me lose her. She should never have been in India. This is all Tom’s fault.

• • •

Dianne Noble was on a troopship sailing for Singapore at the age of seven and hasn’t stopped travelling since. Her last trip was to Moscow but her favourite place remains India. The atmospheric settings of her novels reflect her experiences.

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Wednesday, 9 March 2016

Available Now: Dust by Beaux Cooper

Beaux Cooper

Length: Novel
Genre: Contemporary Fiction

Digital Price: $3.99

BUY HERE: Tirgearr Publishing

Some people seek marriage counseling; others find wisdom in horse manure. Austen St. John has taken up a shovel.

When her marriage transitions from blushing newlyweds to people who merely co-exist, Austen realizes perhaps she's responsible for her misery.

Desiring change, she leaves Oregon for the open plains of a Wyoming ranch where she discovers through love of self how she can save her marriage.

• • •

The small town they arrived in was populated by the bus station which doubled as the post office, a market with a produce stand out front, two wood taverns on opposing ends of the street, and a two-story building with boards covering the windows. An empty, dusty, two-lane, paved road ran down the middle. If there was more to it than that, Austen could not tell from her side of the bus. A blend of white and dark clouds slowly passed overhead, exposing her eyes to an unfiltered sun and casting shadows across the town. She stepped off the platform for the last time and stretched her shoulders back, taking in a deep breath of clear Wyoming air. And coughed.

Unsure of who or where her ride was, Austen walked over to the station and took a seat just outside the door. Sloppy notes detailing the ranch rested on her lap for review. She was scheduled to meet a man named James Thwaite; a date and time were given. Nothing else. Eyes focused on the crumpled sheet of paper, her ears shifted back, catching the conversation between the two men inside.

“Now who‘re you pickin’ up this late in the evening, Jim?”

“Not exactly sure, some kid from the city.”

“Really? How do you think they’ll take to the big open air out here?” The postmaster’s smirk oozed through his question.

“Want to place a bet on it? Let’s see, today is Sunday so she missed the day of rest, hmm... I’ll give it another week before I’m back here dropping her off. Well? Care to wager something different?”

The postmaster’s response was lost to her. With rapid action she began to think up options of how to handle such an embarrassing and offensive situation. She could go back to the bus and pretend she’d heard nothing as he exited the building, or she could stand her ground and allow the men to stew in their blunder. Each was quickly weighed against the other. On one hand she could prove to herself and him that they were wrong in their assumptions, a silent battle only she knew existed; or she could take this man to task by outwardly competing against his doubts, affording him a front row seat to his own bet’s defeat.

Without further thought Austen jumped out of the seat and maneuvered herself so as the cowboy—and he was certainly the classic picture of such—crossed the station’s threshold she appeared to be on her way through the same door. Austen took one large stride up to the man, extended her hand to him and, as she returned his strong grip in their handshake, said with a determination she fiercely lacked, “Mr. Thwaite, I am Austen St. John and I expect to remain the entire length of my scheduled stay with the Wild Cat Ranch. If you choose to bet against it, I believe you will be disappointed. However, it is too late to recant your wager of one week, so I must take you up on it.”

Peeking her head into the small room beyond the cowboy named Thwaite, she directed her next comment to the postmaster. “Now I didn’t quite make out what your guess was, sir, so for your sake I’ll allow you to restate or change it. What will you have?”

The postmaster stumbled through his words, cornered and unsure. “I’m sure, ma’am, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I said I would see old Jim here by Wednesday.” He quickly bowed to Austen, gathered his things, and shuffled out of sight into the back room.

She smiled. “Well, Mr. Thwaite, are we on? His three days and your seven against my ninety.”

The man stared blank-faced at his spirited adversary. Although he towered over her in height and frame, he shifted uncomfortably in his boots. Tipping his hat to her, James Thwaite took a deep breath before saying, “Well ma’am, I gather you heard something I wasn’t meaning for you to hear. I apologize, but since you seem game, let us have it. I find it a bit unfair on your side, but a bet is a bet and there is no taking it back now.”

“And how might it be unfair for me, Mr. Thwaite?”

“Because I’m your new boss. Now grab your gear and let’s get on the road. We still have some miles ahead of us before we reach the ranch and I’m not looking to lose any more sleep than I already will from this trip.”

Under her breath came a very clear, “Shit,” as the middle-aged man walked away toward his truck. She may have started out ahead in this game, but he had scored the final point. This man had all the power to make her first week at the ranch a miserable experience and was now equipped with the motivation to do so. Perhaps the first option would have been better than to tempt a cowboy’s pride.

• • •

Beaux Cooper is a writer, explorer, and wife. Much of her writing is pulled directly from life experiences, revelations, and lessons which seem to come in spurts if given enough time to formulate. As a fresh transplant to the bluffs region of Wyoming from her home state of Oregon, Beaux has grown to appreciate just how small she really is compared to the rest of the earth. Wyoming skies can do that to a person.

Never one to let the air around her stagnate, Beaux loves to travel. She hoards knowledge like a magpie after carnival and watches entirely too much British television. Surprisingly, Beaux's weekends are filled with all things quintessentially Wyoming – cattle brandings, rodeos, the Oregon Trail, and fish tacos. But only because she seeks them out.

Beaux shares a household with her husband, two dogs, and two cats – in no particular order.

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Wednesday, 2 March 2016

Available Now: The Aphrodite Assignment by Romy Gemmell

The Aphrodite and Adonis Series, #3
Romy Gemmell

Length: Novella
Genre: Contemporary Romance

Digital Price: $2.99


Bryony Marshall has the assignment of a lifetime: to check out the new apartments on Cyprus, Aphrodite’s island, for her travel company. But she hadn’t reckoned on her contact being Richard Harrison, former teenage crush and her older sister’s ex-fiancé, nor her renewed, grown-up feelings for him.

Aphrodite and Adonis plan to encourage the budding romance between Bryony and Richard but the goddess Athena brings them unwelcome news: Aphrodite must return to Olympus with the other gods for a council with Zeus. Can the mythological duo bring the humans together within the limited time for both couples?

• • •

Bryony released the tension in her shoulders as she scanned the people waiting on the other side of baggage reclaim. This was her chance to act like the professional she wanted to portray. But why did her contact have to be Richard Harrison, of all people?

As she wheeled her trolley case towards the main exit from Paphos Airport, she caught sight of the tall figure just as he raised a hand. A quick appraisal showed her he hadn’t changed that much. In fact, he’d matured nicely and was both more handsome and more serious-looking.

Pushing such unwelcome thoughts aside, she waited until he reached her.

“Hello, Bryony, it’s good to see you all grown up.” He held out his hand.

“Hello, Richard. It’s been a while.” At least he didn’t try to hug her or kiss her cheek, and he offered no false platitudes. Maybe she could keep this strictly professional, after all, and forget the past while she was here. She followed him as he headed for the door.

When her boss had recommended her for the business trip to Cyprus, she’d been overjoyed at being taken seriously at last. She loved her job in the travel company and genuinely wanted to find the best options for her clients, so to actually go out and check over the new apartments was a dream come true. She’d never been to the island before, but loved all things Greek, and the Paphos area was firmly in Greek Cyprus.

“I’ve hired a car, as driving is on the same side and it makes it easier to get around. Let me take your case.” He suited his actions to the words and hoisted her luggage into the boot.

Bryony slipped into the passenger seat, hoping they could continue the journey in such a civil, non-confrontational manner. As he pulled onto the main road towards Paphos, she kept her attention on tantalising glimpses of the deep blue Mediterranean. But he obviously hoped to talk.

“So you went into the travel industry? Do you still paint and draw?”

Surprised he remembered her teenage passion for art, she turned to reply to his first question. “It’s a good job, though this is the first time I’ve been sent overseas for the company. And yes, I do still like art, and I’ve added photography to the mix.” She wasn’t going to discuss her reasons for dropping out of art college for the moment.

He was silent again as they reached the outskirts of a more touristy area, with hotels and apartments commanding the best views of the sea. She had relaxed some more when he spoiled it.

“And Gilli? Is she well?”

So here it was, the spectre between them: her older sister, his ex-fiancée.

• • •

A freelance writer for many years, Romy Gemmell’s short stories and articles are published in UK magazines, in the US, and Online and she has won a few short story prizes over the years. Her first historical novel, Dangerous Deceit, was published by Champagne Books in Canada in May 2011 (as Romy), and Victorian novella, Mischief at Mulberry Manor, was published on kindle in December 2012. First tween novel, Summer of the Eagles, was published by MuseItUp Publishing in Canada in March 2012 (as Ros) and The Jigsaw Puzzle is now released in April 2013. She describes herself as a butterfly writer, as she writes in so many different genres and different styles. Rosemary is a member of the Society of Authors, the Scottish Association of Writers and the Romantic Novelists’ Association. She indulged her love of literature and history by achieving a BA hons followed by a Masters in Humanities degree as a mature student. Happily married with two grown-up children, she loves to dance!

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