Enchanting Readers One Author At A Time!

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

Cover Reveal Blitz: Never by Tara Lain

When your dreams come to life, do you fall in love — or send them back to Neverland?

(The Pennymaker Tales, #4)
By Tara Lain

Wendell “Wen” Darling lives in a world of shoulds and musts. Left to care for his brother and sister by his dull drudge of a father and wacko irresponsible mother, he suppresses his creativity, slaving in an ad agency seventy hours a week, letting his no-talent supervisor take the credit.

Then his bosses blow the campaign for their biggest client and Wen gets a chance to shine—but only if he can find the artist who painted a wild, glorious wall of graffiti in the subway. Hiding behind a pillar at 2:00 a.m., Wen comes face-to-face with the scarlet-haired, elven-faced embodiment of his divergent opposite—Peter Panachek, the flighty, live-for-today painter, singer, and leader of the rock group the Lost Boys. Everything Wen takes seriously, Peter laughs off, but opposites attract, even if their kisses always lead to battles. Peter’s devil-may-care persona hides a world of secrets, self-protection, and hidden fears, until the day a drug dealer, Vadon Hooker, threatens everything Wen holds dear. Guided by the mysterious Mr. Pennymaker, Peter has to choose between facing responsibility or burrowing even deeper into Neverland.

Release Date:
November 3, 2017

Available for Pre-Order at  

Also available in paperback!


Descending the stairs like a flaming Baryshnikov came a guy as big as a sumo wrestler, wearing tight black jeans and a T-shirt that strained over the vast expanse of his chest and belly. Amazing, yes, but who could see him, because above his head, in a position like some flying ballerina, he held —a guy. What a guy. The boy—he looked to be in his teens, but then so did Wen, so who knew?—stretched out in the air with his legs raised and arms in Superman position. He wore black jeans, just as tight as Sumo Guy’s, and a brilliant green T-shirt that made Wen look at his shock of hair, so red it could have been painted, and his startling, captivating face. This had to be a leprechaun or an elf come to life. His wide eyes turned up at the corners like a cat laughing eternally, and they were so heavily lashed they looked enhanced with guyliner. His nose turned up, his cheekbones stuck out, there might be a cleft in his chin, and his mouth curved in a bow. Nothing on that face should go together—but it came out a frigging masterpiece.

Trouping down behind this Flying Wallenda act came three more guys, all dressed in black and managing to represent the ethnic mix of the entire world in their small group. One guy’s skin was black, and he was so handsome he barely looked real. One of them appeared to be a mix of African and Asian and something Middle-Eastern mysterious. One shorter dude must be a variety of Hispanic. Plus Parasol Girl seemed to be a member of the club.

Sumo Guy carried the elf in a wide circle as the boy flapped his arms. Then Sumo gave him a little toss, which made Wen catch his breath. The elf flew up and landed gracefully in Sumo Guy’s massive arms. He threw back his head, scarlet hair flying, and yelled, “Ta-da!”

Back on his feet, the elf proved to be maybe five foot eight or nine of compact perfection—wide shoulders for his small size, slim hips, and long legs. He bowed low to the applause of his band of merry weirdos and turned in a circle. Wen sucked a small breath. Look at that butt. High, round, and hard—definitely supernatural.

He got up off the couch, padded in the dark down the narrow hall to John’s room, opened the door softly, and listened. Just soft snuffling snores. Good. He closed the door again, listened at Michaela’s as he walked past but heard no sounds of anguish or illness.  Maybe just a siren or a truck woke him. Of course, they were all so used to the traffic sounds of Brooklyn that seemed unlikely. Collapsing on the couch again with a sigh, he closed his eyes. Need some sleep.


Do I hear someone breathing?

He listened harder. So soft, but still breathing.

What the hell should I do? Someone might be behind the curtains with a gun. No, his curtains wouldn’t hide a three-year-old. God knew, John had tried.

The breath kind of stuttered, like a little laugh. What the hell? It came from behind his head, closer to the front door. Damn, I wish I had a weapon. Without moving his head, he turned his eyes toward the coffee table. A lazy Susan that Michaela used to help serve sat in the middle. It was made of some kind of heavy ceramic. That would have to do.

With a huge sweep of his covers, Wen sat up, sprang to his feet, grabbed the lazy Susan in two hands and leaped forward—
—to see Peter’s eyes widen as he flattened himself against the wall with his hands lifted to fend off his attacker.

Wen stared at his elf face and hissed, “What the hell are you doing here?” No, wait, wrong question. “How the hell did you get in here?”

Peter pointed at the slightly open window.

Uh, wait. Wen walked over and looked out at the four-story drop—and the old rusty fire escape that ran beside the window. What the hell? He stalked back to Peter, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to the couch. “Sit.”

Peter sat.

Wen turned on a small lamp, went into the kitchenette, grabbed their filter pitcher of water and poured two glasses, then carried them back to the couch. He handed one to Peter. “I figure you need it after your adventures. How the hell did you get up that fire escape without falling or ripping the thing off the wall? Fly?”

He grinned. “I’m a good climber.”

Wen wanted to scream, and only biting his tongue kept it at bay. “Why did you do it? I’ve asked you to help me. You’ve said no. We have nothing else to talk about. You put yourself at risk, and you broke into my house where my kids sleep!”

“Kids?” His cat eyes widened. “You have children?”

“Yes, they’re my younger brother and sister. I’m responsible for them. I have to leave them alone sometimes, and now I find out that any criminal can waltz up that fire escape and threaten them.”

“Well, not any criminal.” He gave a half grin.

“It’s not funny.”

“No. I get that. But honestly, most people would rip that thing off the wall. I really am a good climber and it’s very high. I think you and your kids are safe.”

Wen planted a hand on his hip. “From everyone but you.”

“Yeah.” He giggled, which despite being shocked and furious, kind of made Wen want to smile.

The Pennymaker Tales Series

Sinders and Ash
(The Pennymaker Tales Series, #1)
by Tara Lain

Available for order at
Kindle | AudibleNook | Kobo | iTunes | Dreamspinner Press

HERE Soundcloud


Driven Snow
(The Pennymaker Tales, #2)
by Tara Lain

Available for purchase at 

Beauty, Inc.
(The Pennymaker Tales #3) 

Available for purchase at 

Want to get these lovelies in paperback? 

Sinders and Ash and Beauty, Inc. (Pennymaker Tales)

Available for purchase at
Amazon | Barnes & Noble

About the Author

Tara Lain writes the Beautiful Boys of Romance in LGBT erotic romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her first novel was published in January of 2011 and she’s now somewhere around book 32. Her best-selling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Paranormal Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance, Best Gay Characters, and Tara has been named Best Writer of the Year in the LRC Awards. In her other job, Tara owns an advertising and public relations firm. She often does workshops on both author promotion and writing craft.  She lives with her soul-mate husband and her soul-mate dog near the sea in California where she sets a lot of her books.  Passionate about diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says on her tombstone it will say “Yes”!

You can find Tara at Lain

Presented By

Monday, September 25, 2017

Release Day Blitz: Pleasure Me by Monica Burns

The highly anticipated Pleasure Me by Monica Burns is now available! 

A virgin alpha hero risks everything for the courtesan who steals his heart.

Pleasure Me
by Monica Burns


Youth and beauty are a courtesan’s greatest assets. At forty-one, Lady Ruth Attwood appears to have lost both, as her latest lover just abandoned her for a younger mistress. Struggling with the knowledge that she’s no longer considered desirable, she’s uncertain whether to be offended or flattered when a younger man makes her an unusual offer. In need of funds, she agrees. But then she does the unthinkable. She falls in love.

Despite his reputation as a man’s man, Baron Garrick Stratfield has never been with a woman. His physical impairment is such that he knows not even a whore will touch him, and he needs a mistress who’s willing to be kept without sharing his bed. But passion is just a delicious kiss away because his new mistress is wreaking havoc with his senses. Worse yet, someone is not only out to ruin his reputation, but frame him for murder.


“Are you sure friendship is the only reason you told me the truth? I’m a courtesan, Garrick. Although I do much more than fulfill a man’s sexual needs, my skills in the bedroom are considered excellent.”
“Instruction?” He choked out the word. Sweet Jesus, the woman was offering to tutor him in the art of lovemaking. How in the hell was he supposed to respond to that?
“If not that, then perhaps someone to confide in?” she said in soothing voice. “There must be a reason why you’ve never been with a woman. I am a good listener, when I wish to be.”
“That topic isn’t up for discussion,” he said through clenched teeth, not even smiling at her ironic comment about listening.
“As you wish.”
The heat of her brushed against him as she walked past to sit down at her dressing table. Stunned by her ready acquiescence, he stared at her as she calmly reached for a jar of cream and proceeded to apply the emollient to her hands. Awkward. It was a sensation he’d never liked, and he was feeling extremely awkward right now. He clasped his hands behind his back then drew in a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself.
“You’re going out this evening?” The question only reflected how ill at ease he was. She stopped rubbing her hands and met his gaze in the dressing table mirror.
“I was, but I’ve changed my mind,” she said quietly.
“I see.” A rush of pleasure surged through him. She hadn’t said so, but he was certain he was the reason she’d changed her plans.
“And you? Do you have plans?” In a casual gesture, she shrugged one shoulder out of her robe to rub cream on her skin. He inhaled a sharp breath as he saw the lush curve of her beautiful breast reflected in the mirror.
“No. . . I. . . I wasn’t sure . . .” He swallowed hard as she finished rubbing cream on her shoulder and pulled her robe back up. His breathing eased for a mere fraction of an instant before she repeated the exercise with her other shoulder. A knot developed in his throat, making him cough.
“Are you all right, Garrick?”
She turned quickly to face him, her robe discreetly closed. The concerned look on her face would have eased his discomfort it he hadn’t seen the flash of something far more dangerous in her eyes.
“I’m. . . fine.”
With a shake of his head, he cleared his throat again. She tilted her head in contemplation. In the quiet glow of the gaslight, the movement emphasized the sweet curve of her shoulder and throat. A sense of impending doom swept over him, but he ignored it, unable to take his eyes off of her.
“Do you trust me, Garrick?” The softly spoken question took him by surprise, and he frowned.
“I would not have confided in you otherwise.”
“There’s nothing shameful about your innocence. In fact, I find it quite. . . arousing.”
She turned to pull a long scarf from one of the dressing table’s drawers. When she stood up to face him again, the gentle determination reflected on her face made him tense. In the next instant, the air in his lungs was dragged out of him in one large whoosh as he watched her slowly untie her robe. Bloody hell, why wasn’t he racing toward the door?
“Desire is a pleasurable thing, Garrick.”
Her voice was hypnotic, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her as she trailed one hand across her throat and then downward. The languid movement parted her wrapper as she leisurely brushed her fingertips along the side of her breast. It was an erotic movement that sent heat blasting through him until his palms were damp.
“Let me show you what it’s like to feel that pleasure.” The thin robe hiding her from him slid to the floor with a whisper, and his mouth went dry at the sight. “Let me show you how wonderful it can be between us.”
Why was he still standing here? He should have been at the door by now. He tried to move but couldn’t. If he didn’t do something fast there was no hope for him. His feet remained rooted to the floor as he watched her undo her hair so it fell down over her shoulders. God, she was beautiful. Her eyes closed, the scarf she still held in her hand drifted across the tips of her breast in a way that seemed natural, yet he knew it was deliberate.
“Do you like looking at me, Garrick?” The throaty whisper scraped across his senses.
“Yes,” he rasped.
The scarf fluttered against her skin like a butterfly touching first one delicate curve and then another. Her hands cupped her breasts, and in a move that made it impossible for him to breathe, she circled her fingers around her rigid nipples. With great difficulty, he suppressed the raging need to stride forward and take her into his arms. Instead he forced himself to take a step back from her. It did little to assuage the hunger assaulting his rigid cock. Almost as if she could sense his need, her eyes flickered open, and she stretched out her hand to offer him the scarf.
“Tie me to the bed.” It was a soft command that made him stare at her in astonishment. A sensual, yet gentle, smile curved her mouth. “I want you to be in control of your pleasure.” 

As more guests arrived, Ruth stepped out of the way to inspect the sides and back of her gown for any unexpected wrinkles. It was more a need for time to collect herself than concern over her dress. The sudden whisper of sensation trailing across the back of her neck made her hand reach up to touch her skin. Satisfied her hair hadn’t unraveled from the knot on top of her head, she turned toward the ballroom. Another frisson skimmed its way over her skin as her gaze met that of a man who casually handed off his overcoat to the household staff without looking away from her.

      He was almost a foot taller than her with hair the color of a moonless night. There was something intense and riveting about him. If Allegra thought Ruth had presence, her friend hadn’t met this man. He seemed to dwarf everyone and everything in the entryway. He studied her for what seemed an eternity, yet she knew it was only a few seconds before a man she didn’t recognize drew his attention away. But the stranger’s look was enough to leave her heart racing.

She swallowed hard as she gripped her fan tightly. Good lord, she was no longer twenty and attending her first soiree. She flinched at the thought. Suddenly overcome with the need to flee, she forced herself to cross the foyer floor toward the ballroom rather than claim her cape and head back out into the night. The frisson she’d experienced moments ago warmed her neck again, but she refused to turn around to look at the man. She hadn’t come here this evening to find a new paramour.

The moment she reached the ballroom doorway, her courage sagged. There wasn’t a single familiar face in the room. Dear God, where was Allegra? She wasn’t certain she could do this alone. The moment the thought entered her head, she stiffened her back. The devil she couldn’t. Her youth might be gone, but not her dignity. As she waited for those in front of her to pass through the receiving line, the tingle at the nape of her neck became a blazing heat.

About the Author

A bestselling author of spicy historical and paranormal romance, Monica Burns penned her first short romance story at the age of nine when she selected the pseudonym she uses today. Her historical book awards include the 2011 RT BookReviews Reviewers Choice Award and the 2012 Gayle Wilson Heart of Excellence Award for Pleasure Me. She is also the recipient of the prestigious paranormal romance award, the 2011 PRISM Best of the Best award for Assassin’s Heart. From the days when she hid her stories from her sisters to her first completed full-length manuscript, she always believed in her dream despite rejections and setbacks. A workaholic wife and mother, Monica believes it’s possible for the good guy to win if they work hard enough.

You can find Monica at


Presented By

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Tara Lain's "Cataclysmic Shift" Blog Tour

Cat or man? Duty or love? 
Who prevails after the great cataclysmic shift?

Blog Tour Stops

September 13, 2017 
Bayou Book Junkie
Books, Dreams, Life
Stories That Make You Smile

Sepember 14, 2017 
Readaholics Anonymous
Buffy's Ramblings

September 15, 2017 
Love Bytes
Making it Happen

Cataclysmic Shift
(The Aloysius Tales Series, Bk #3)
by Tara Lain


Super cat, Aloysius, may be the most powerful witch’s familiar in the world, but when he takes a blast at the hand of an evil witch he loses it all -- power, memory, and his feline form -- to become the ethereal human beauty, Alain Bellarose. When Alain wakes up naked on the floor surrounded by dogs and cats, his eyes first set upon Luke Elliott, the handsome and mysterious veterinarian. Suddenly, the prospect of being human doesn’t seem so bad. 

Luke has a lot to hide and he likes animals way more than people, but he can’t resist the flamboyant boy who washes his face with the side of his hand and tries to lick his own privates! The loss of Aloysius depletes the power of the Witch Master, Killian Barth, and that of his “secret weapon” Sammy and leaves their coven sitting ducks for two very nasty females. When Alain discovers that he’s really a powerful cat, he’s faced with the ultimate choice. To protect his community, or stay with the man he loves.

Available for purchase at 

Also available in paperback


Quiet. He opened his eyes. Dark. His back hurt. It was sorely cramped in here.

He pushed some towels aside and scooted closer to the door. Quietly, he pulled the lever down and opened the door a crack. Nobody. Good. He pushed it farther and looked into that plastic-and-metal room.

Odd. He recognized all the things in this room—an examining table of some kind, chairs, paper towels—but not what the room was for. He stepped out into the dim glow coming in from a streetlight outside the window.

He padded softly across the room and peered out into a short hall, also dark and quiet. To the left, the hall ended at a door. Light came from under it and a low noise, like maybe music or voices. Someone must be in there. To the right were several more doors. He went right.

Hmmm. Restroom. He opened the door. It was very dark, but his eyes seemed good. He looked in. A mirror on the opposite wall reflected the dim light of the hall and what must be… him. He stepped closer and peered at his reflection.

He closed the door. Until he knew his situation, best not to alert anyone. He ran his hand on the wall and flipped on the switch. Light blazed harshly in the tiny room. Holy gods.

He stared. Huge eyes, bluer than blue, stared back at him, surrounded by hair—long black hair down to his back. He turned and looked. The middle of his back. And pale skin. That was him. Truly?

What had he expected?

Not sure, but not this… boy.

He looked down at his bare body. Boy. Or man, for certain. His eyes widened. And quite a man. Look at those couilles.

But not just man. He cocked his head. Hu-man.

Now why was that strange?

He shook his head. This was so peculiar. He wasn’t afraid, exactly, but he didn’t feel at home in this skin. He shivered. There were important things he was forgetting, and he must remember them. He took a deep breath. Lives might depend on it.

He flipped off the light. The dark felt more comfortable. What should he do? That was the frightening part. He didn’t know. Not an idea where he should go, and yet he felt certain he had a purpose he must fulfill.

There was a person out there. Should he go speak to them? He peeked down at his lean body. Probably not like this. Humans were strange about nudity and such things. Wait. He was human, wasn’t he? This was very confusing.

Luke lay huddled on the couch—the couch Alain had moved, decorated, and made comfortable in the apartment that screamed of his special power and sweetness in every corner. Alain, who couldn’t stay hidden, couldn’t stop protecting, couldn’t keep his pretty nose out of others’ business. The little superhero.

No. The fucking cat.

He pulled a pillow over his face. This was ridiculous. Such things didn’t happen. His crazy mother’s wild-eyed face came into his mind. Maybe that was it. He’d followed his mother over the edge. If they gave him meds, all this would go away.

The witches. The cat.


A sob exploded from his lips. What the hell?

Alain had already gone away.

And he felt… how? God-awful.

Witchcraft or abandonment. It all ended up the same. No Alain. No companion. No friend. No… love.

That couldn’t be right. Could it? Love? Had he ever loved anyone in his life?


A drip fell on his hand. Another.

No! He couldn’t love someone who had screwed up the life he’d worked so hard for. He couldn’t love someone who messed around with crazy people. People who claimed to be things that didn’t exist.

He threw the pillow across the room and sat up. Okay, quit this shit. What the hell did he really think about all this?

And there was the truth, laid out across his heart like a fucking tattoo.


He wiped a hand over his eyes. He would believe in witches. Hell, he would believe in Bigfoot and the Loch Ness monster if he could have Alain back.

This could not be happening. He threw his hands over his head. This could not be happening!

A sound.

He looked over his shoulder. What the fuck? He stared at the window.

Slowly the sash rose. Inch by inch. No hand on it.

The silky feline jumped up onto the sill. “Merwaorwr.”

God, he was so beautiful. Funny that Luke hadn’t known Alain was a cat from the first moment. The boy moved like this feline, all sinuous grace. They shared the big balls—and the eyes. They looked straight into your soul. Aloysius was clearly more than a cat, just as Alain had been more than a man.

The cat jumped down from the window and moved gracefully to the couch. He leaped up beside Luke, sat, and crossed his paws.

Luke shook his head. “I don’t get how this all works, Aloysius. They say you’re a familiar. You don’t have power of your own, but you can open doors and windows.”

The cat sighed. The silky sides clearly expanded and contracted.

“I know. I have to be nuts to be talking to a cat. Of course, I’ve always believed cats were smarter than people, so I guess it’s not such a leap. But believing you’re the man I held in my arms, the man I kissed and made love to….” His voice broke. “That’s a one-way ticket to insanity.”


Luke wiped a hand across his eyes. “Why me? Why did you have to come to my clinic? Couldn’t you have found somebody else to rope into your fucking life?”

“Merwaowr. Waor.”

The cat looked at him with those blue eyes, and he cried. No, tears didn’t fall, but as certainly as Luke continued to breathe, the cat was crying.

A crack lined its way through Luke’s heart.

The Aloysius Tales Series

Book #1
Spell Cat

Available for purchase at 


Also available in paperback

Bk #2
Brush With Catastrophe 

Available for purchase at 


Also available in paperback

Grab the first two books in the series and get all caught up!

About the Author

Tara Lain writes the Beautiful Boys of Romance in gay romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her first novel was published in January of 2011 and she’s now somewhere around book 40. Her best-selling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Paranormal Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance, Best Gay Characters, Best Romantic Suspense, and more. In her other job, Tara owns an advertising and public relations firm. She often does workshops on both author promotion and writing craft. She lives with her soul-mate husband and her soul-mate dog near the sea in California where she sets a lot of her books. Passionate about diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says on her tombstone it will say “Yes”!

You can find Tara at Lain



a Rafflecopter giveaway

Presented By