Friday, August 18, 2017

Friday's Film Adaptations: The Suicide Club by Robert Louis Stevenson


Summary:
A generous and remarkable young prince, together with his loyal and brave servant, find more adventure than they bargained for in The Suicide Club, Robert Louis Stevenson's engrossing trilogy of short stories about a bizarre club for people with a strong desire to end their lives.

In these interrelated tales, Prince Florizel of Bohemia and his aide, Colonel Geraldine, travel incognito through some of the most dangerous haunts of 19th-century London. "The Story of the Young Man with the Cream Tarts" introduces Florizel to the formidable Suicide Club, an organization for people who wish to end their lives, but don't have the courage to accomplish the act themselves. The "Story of the Physician and the Saratoga Trunk" reveals the grim contents of a large piece of luggage that travels hundreds of miles to its final destination; and in "The Adventure of the Hansom Cab," a bloody resolution seals the fate of a notorious and elusive assassin.

Brimming with heart-stopping drama, this rare, lesser-known work by a master storyteller will appeal to a wide circle of readers, including fans of the great 19th-century English writer as well as lovers of a good mystery story.


CHAPTER 1
Story of the Young Man with the Cream Tarts
DURING HIS residence in London, the accomplished Prince Florizel of Bohemia gained the affection of all classes by the seduction of his manner and by a well-considered generosity. He was a remarkable man even by what was known of him; and that was but a small part of what he actually did. Although of a placid temper in ordinary circumstances, and accustomed to take the world with as much philosophy as any ploughman, the Prince of Bohemia was not without a taste for ways of life more adventurous and eccentric than that to which he was destined by his birth. Now and then, when he fell into a low humour, when there was no laughable play to witness in any of the London theatres, and when the season of the year was unsuitable to those field sports in which he excelled all competitors, he would summon his confidant and Master of the Horse, Colonel Geraldine, and bid him prepare himself against an evening ramble. The Master of the Horse was a young officer of a brave and even temerarious disposition. He greeted the news with delight, and hastened to make ready. Long practice and a varied acquaintance of life had given him a singular facility in disguise; he could adapt not only his face and bearing, but his voice and almost his thoughts, to those of any rank, character, or nation; and in this way he diverted attention from the Prince, and sometimes gained admission for the pair into strange societies. The civil authorities were never taken into the secret of these adventures; the imperturbable courage of the one and the ready invention and chivalrous devotion of the other had brought them through a score of dangerous passes; and they grew in confidence as time went on.

One evening in March they were driven by a sharp fall of sleet into an Oyster Bar in the immediate neighbourhood of Leicester Square. Colonel Geraldine was dressed and painted to represent a person connected with the Press in reduced circumstances; while the Prince had, as usual, travestied his appearance by the addition of false whiskers and a pair of large adhesive eyebrows. These lent him a shaggy and weather-beaten air, which, for one of his urbanity, formed the most impenetrable disguise. Thus equipped, the commander and his satellite sipped their brandy and soda in security.

The bar was full of guests, both male and female; but though more than one of these offered to fall into talk with our adventurers, none of them promised to grow interesting upon a nearer acquaintance. There was nothing present but the lees of London and the commonplace of disrespectability; and the Prince had already fallen to yawning, and was beginning to grow weary of the whole excursion, when the swing doors were pushed violently open, and a young man, followed by a couple of commissionaires, entered the bar. Each of the commissionaires carried a large dish of cream tarts under a cover, which they at once removed; and the young man made the round of the company, and pressed these confections upon everyone's acceptance with an exaggerated courtesy. Sometimes his offer was laughingly accepted; sometimes it was firmly, or even harshly, rejected. In these latter cases the new-comer always ate the tart himself, with some more or less humourous commentary.

At last he accosted Prince Florizel.

"Sir," said he, with a profound obeisance, proferring the tart at the same time between his thumb and forefinger, "will you so far honour an entire stranger? I can answer for the quality of the pastry, having eaten two dozen and three of them myself since five o'clock."

"I am in the habit," replied the Prince, "of looking not so much to the nature of a gift as to the spirit in which it is offered."

"The spirit, sir," returned the young man, with another bow, "is one of mockery."

"Mockery?" repeated Florizel. "And whom do you propose to mock?"

"I am not here to expound my philosophy," replied the other, "but to distribute these cream tarts. If I mention that I heartily include myself in the ridicule of the transaction, I hope you will consider honour satisfied and condescend. If not, you will constrain me to eat my twenty-eighth, and I own to being weary of the exercise."

"You touch me," said the Prince, "and I have all the will in the world to rescue you from this dilemma, but upon one condition. If my friend and I eat your cakes—for which we have neither of us any natural inclination—we shall expect you to join us at supper, by way of recompense."

The young man seemed to reflect.

"I have still several dozen upon hand," he said at last; "and that will make it necessary for me to visit several more bars before my great affair is concluded. This will take some time; and if you are hungry——"

The Prince interrupted him with a polite gesture.

"My friend and I will accompany you," he said: "for we have already a deep interest in your very agreeable mode of passing an evening. And now that the preliminaries of peace are settled, allow me to sign the treaty for both."

And the Prince swallowed the tart with the best grace imaginable.

"It is delicious," said he.

"I perceive you are a connoisseur," replied the young man.

Colonel Geraldine likewise did honour to the pastry; and every one in that bar having now either accepted or refused his delicacies, the young man with the cream tarts led the way to another and similar establishment. The two commissionaires, who seemed to have grown accustomed to their absurd employment, followed immediately after; and the Prince and the Colonel brought up the rear, arm in arm, and smiling to each other as they went. In this order the company visited two other taverns, where scenes were enacted of a like nature to that already described—some refusing, some accepting, the favours of this vagabond hospitality, and the young man himself eating each rejected tart.

On leaving the third saloon the young man counted his store. There were but nine remaining, three in one tray and six in the other.

"Gentlemen," said he, addressing himself to his two followers, "I am unwilling to delay your supper. I am positively sure you must be hungry. I feel that I owe you a special consideration. And on this great day for me, when I am closing a career of folly by my most conspicuously silly action, I wish to behave handsomely to all who give me countenance. Gentlemen, you shall wait no longer. Although my constitution is shattered by previous excesses, at the risk of my life I liquidate the suspensory condition."

With these words he crushed the nine remaining tarts into his mouth, and swallowed them at a single movement each. Then, turning to the commissionaires, he gave them a couple of sovereigns.

"I have to thank you," said he, "for your extraordinary patience."

And he dismissed them with a bow apiece. For some seconds he stood looking at the purse from which he had just paid his assistants, then, with a laugh, he tossed it into the middle of the street, and signified his readiness for supper.

In a small French restaurant in Soho, which had enjoyed an exaggerated reputation for some little while, but had already begun to be forgotten, and in a private room up two pair of stairs, the three companions made a very elegant supper, and drank three or four bottles of champagne, talking the while upon indifferent subjects. The young man was fluent and gay, but he laughed louder than was natural in a person of polite breeding; his hands trembled violently, and his voice took sudden and surprising inflections, which seemed to be independent of his will. The dessert had been cleared away, and all three had lighted their cigars, when the Prince addressed him in these words:—

"You will, I am sure, pardon my curiosity. What I have seen of you has greatly pleased but even more puzzled me. And though I should be loath to seem indiscreet, I must tell you that my friend and I are persons very well worthy to be entrusted with a secret. We have many of our own, which we are continually revealing to improper ears. And if, as I suppose, your story is a silly one, you need have no delicacy with us, who are two of the silliest men in England. My name is Godall, Theophilus Godall; my friend is Major Alfred Hammersmith— or at least, such is the name by which he chooses to be known. We pass our lives entirely in the search for extravagant adventures; and there is no extravagance with which we are not capable of sympathy."

"I like you, Mr. Godall," returned the young man; "you inspire me with a natural confidence; and I have not the slightest objection to your friend, the Major; whom I take to be a nobleman in masquerade. At least, I am sure he is no soldier."

The Colonel smiled at this compliment to the perfection of his art; and the young man went on in a more animated manner.

"There is every reason why I should not tell you my story. Perhaps that is just the reason why I am going to do so. At least, you seem so well prepared to hear a tale of silliness that I cannot find it in my heart to disappoint you. My name, in spite of your example, I shall keep to myself. My age is not essential to the narrative. I am descended from my ancestors by ordinary generation, and from them I inherited the very eligible human tenement which I still occupy and a fortune of three hundred pounds a year. I suppose they also handed on to me a hare-brain humour, which it has been my chief delight to indulge. I received a good education. I can play the violin nearly well enough to earn money in the orchestra of a penny gaff, but not quite. The same remark applies to the flute and the French horn. I learned enough of whist to lose about a hundred a year at that scientific game. My acquaintance with French was sufficient to enable me to squander money in Paris with almost the same facility as in London. In short, I am a person full of manly accomplishments. I have had every sort of adventure, including a duel about nothing. Only two months ago I met a young lady exactly suited to my taste in mind and body; I found my heart melt; I saw that I had come upon my fate at last, and was in the way to fall in love. But when I came to reckon up what remained to me of my capital, I found it amounted to something less than four hundred pounds! I ask you fairly—can a man who respects himself fall in love on four hundred pounds? I concluded, certainly not; left the presence of my charmer, and slightly accelerating my usual rate of expenditure, came this morning to my last eighty pounds. This I divided into two equal parts; forty I reserved for a particular purpose; the remaining forty I was to dissipate before the night. I have passed a very entertaining day; and played many farces besides that of the cream tarts which procured me the advantage of your acquaintance; for I was determined, as I told you, to bring a foolish career to a still more foolish conclusion; and when you saw me throw my purse into the street, the forty pounds were at an end. Now you know me as well as I know myself: a fool but consistent in his folly; and, as I will ask you to believe, neither a whimperer nor a coward."

From the whole tone of the young man's statement it was plain that he harboured very bitter and contemptuous thoughts about himself. His auditors were led to imagine that his love affair was nearer his heart than he admitted, and that he had a design on his own life. The farce of the cream tarts began to have very much the air of a tragedy in disguise.

"Why, is this not odd," broke out Geraldine, giving a look to Prince Florizel, "that we three fellows should have met by the merest accident in so large a wilderness as London, and should be so nearly in the same condition?"

"How?" cried the young man. "Are you, too, ruined? Is this supper a folly like my cream tarts? Has the devil brought three of his own together for a last carouse?"

"The devil, depend upon it, can sometimes do a very gentlemanly thing," returned Prince Florizel; "and I am so much touched by this coincidence, that, although we are not entirely in the same case, I am going to put an end to the disparity. Let your heroic treatment of the last cream tarts be my example."

So saying, the Prince drew out his purse and took from it a small bundle of banknotes.

"You see, I was a week or so behind you, but I mean to catch you up and come neck and neck into the winning-post," he continued. "This," laying one of the notes upon the table, "will suffice for the bill. As for the rest—"

He tossed them into the fire, and they went up the chimney in a single blaze.

The young man tried to catch his arm, but as the table was between them his interference came too late.

"Unhappy man," he cried, "you should not have burned them all! You should have kept forty pounds."

"Forty pounds!" repeated the Prince. "Why, in heaven's name, forty pounds?"

"Why not eighty?" cried the Colonel; "for to my certain knowledge there must have been a hundred in the bundle."

"It was only forty pounds he needed," said the young man gloomily. "But without them there is no admission. The rule is strict. Forty pounds for each. Accursed life, where a man cannot even die without money!"

The Prince and the Colonel exchanged glances.

"Explain yourself," said the latter. "I have still a pocket-book tolerably well lined, and I need not say how readily I would share my wealth with Godall. But I must know to what end: you must certainly tell us what you mean."

The young man seemed to awaken; he looked uneasily from one to the other, and his face flushed deeply.

"You are not fooling me?" he asked. "You are indeed ruined men like me?"

"Indeed, I am for my part," replied the Colonel.

"And for mine," said the Prince, "I have given you proof. Who but a ruined man would throw his notes into the fire? The action speaks for itself."

"A ruined man—yes," returned the other suspiciously, "or else a millionaire."

"Enough sir," said the Prince; "I have said so, and I am not accustomed to have my word remain in doubt."

"Ruined?" said the young man. "Are you ruined, like me? Are you, after a life of indulgence, come to such a pass that you can only indulge yourself in one thing more? Are you"—he kept lowering his voice as he went on—"are you going to give yourselves that last indulgence? Are you going to avoid the consequences of your folly by the one infallible and easy path? Are you going to give the slip to the sheriff's officers of conscience by the one open door?"

Suddenly he broke off and attempted to laugh.

"Here is your health!" he cried, emptying his glass, "and good night to you, my merry ruined men."

Colonel Geraldine caught him by the arm as he was about to rise.

"You lack confidence in us," he said, "and you are wrong. To all your questions I make answer in the affirmative. But I am not so timid, and can speak the Queen's English plainly. We too, like yourself, have had enough of life, and are determined to die. Sooner or later, alone or together, we meant to seek out death and beard him where he lies ready. Since we have met you, and your case is more pressing, let it be to-night—and at once—and, if you will, all three together. Such a penniless trio," he cried, "should go arm in arm into the halls of Pluto, and give each other some countenance among the shades!"

Geraldine had hit exactly on the manners and intonations that became the part he was playing. The Prince himself was disturbed, and looked over at his confidant with a shade of doubt. As for the young man, the flush came back darkly into his cheek, and his eyes threw out a spark of light.

"You are the men for me!" he cried, with an almost terrible gayety. "Shake hands upon the bargain!" (his hand was cold and wet.) "You little know in what a company you will begin the march! You little know in what a happy moment for yourselves you partook of my cream tarts! I am only a unit, but I am a unit in an army. I know Death's private door. I am one of his familiars, and can show you into eternity without ceremony and yet without scandal."

They called upon him eagerly to explain his meaning.

"Can you muster eighty pounds between you?" he demanded.

Geraldine ostentatiously consulted his pocket-book, and replied in the affirmative.

"Fortunate beings!" cried the young man. "Forty pounds is the entry money of the Suicide Club."

"The Suicide Club," said the Prince, "why, what the devil is that?"

Film
Before he can marry, a European prince gets mixed up with a suicide club.

Release Date: May 29, 1936
Release Time: 75 minutes

Cast:
Robert Montgomery as Prince Florizel
Rosalind Russell as Miss Vandeleur
Frank Morgan as Colonel Geraldine
Reginald Owen as President of Club
Louis Hayward as Young Man with Cream Tarts
E. E. Clive as King
Walter Kingsford as Malthus
Ivan F. Simpson as Collins (as Ivan Simpson)
Tom Moore as Major O'Rook
Robert Greig as Fat Man
Pedro de Cordoba as Sergei
Leyland Hodgson as Captain Rich (as Leland Hogdson)



Author Bio:
Robert Louis (Balfour) Stevenson was a Scottish novelist, poet, and travel writer, and a leading representative of English literature. He was greatly admired by many authors, including Jorge Luis Borges, Ernest Hemingway, Rudyard Kipling and Vladimir Nabokov.

Most modernist writers dismissed him, however, because he was popular and did not write within their narrow definition of literature. It is only recently that critics have begun to look beyond Stevenson's popularity and allow him a place in the Western canon.

On December 3rd, 1894, he died of an apparent cerebral hemorrhage at the age of 44.


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Book Blitz: Beast of a Time by Misha Paige

Title: Beast of a Time
Author: Misha Paige
Series: Hellhound Bound #1
Genre: M/M Romance, Paranormal, Sci-fi
Release Date: August 10, 2017
Publisher: Rainbow Ninja Press
Summary:
Everyone's heard stories or songs about being a beast of burden. Well, it’s quite a burden to be a beast, too.

Kane isn’t like most people: he’s not human, for one thing. What he is, is exceptional.

An event from his past led him to stay on Earth, a planet of people that were often scared and hostile to his kind. Even so, Kane ignored all the hateful things said to him and focused instead on the job he chose to do.

That job is everything to him, and it’s his reason for living. When one man shows up—Al, a new hire who keeps smiling at Kane when he should be looking at him with fear and distaste—Kane is faced with a challenge he never expected. He didn't think anyone would ever truly want him, and to discover that a very sexy, handsome man does indeed want him, shakes Kane to his core.

Despite Kane’s best attempt’s at keeping distance between them, he finds himself partnered with Al. Kane knows he needs to push Al away, and he tries. Sort of.

Al isn’t scared off like Kane’s former partners, and if he and Kane can survive the fight that’s coming for them, then maybe they’ll have a chance to discover what it means to love.

Author Bio:
Misha Paige is the psuedenym of a stay at home mom of four whose favorite way to relax has always been reading. After years of hearing voices in her head, she finally decided to set them free and hopefully entertain others.

She is lucky enough to have the support of her wonderful husband even if he is shocked by what she writes.




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Book Blitz: The Unlikeable Demon Hunter by Deborah Wilde

Title: The Unlikeable Demon Hunter
Author: Deborah Wilde
Series: Nava Katz #1
Genre: Adult Romance, Urban Fantasy
Release Date: April 18, 2017

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Summary:
Bridesmaids meets Buffy with a dash of the seven deadly sins.

The age-old story of what happens when a foul-mouthed, romance impaired heroine with no edit button and a predilection for hot sex is faced with her worst nightmare–a purpose.

Ari Katz is intelligent, driven, and will make an excellent demon hunter once initiated into the Brotherhood of David. However, this book is about his twin Nava: a smart-ass, self-cultivated hot mess, who is thrilled her brother is stuck with all the chosen one crap.

When Nava half-drunkenly interrupts Ari’s induction ceremony, she expects to be chastised. What she doesn’t expect is to take her brother’s place among the–until now–all-male demon hunters. Even worse? Her infuriating leader is former rock star Rohan Mitra.

Too bad Rohan’s exactly what Nava’s always wanted: the perfect bad boy fling with no strings attached, because he may also be the one to bring down her carefully erected emotional shields. That’s as dangerous as all the evil fiends vying for the bragging rights of killing the only female ever chosen for Demon Club.

Odds of survival: eh.

Odds of having a very good time with Rohan before she bites it: much better.


I veered into the backyard to snap a few stalks off Mom’s aloe plant to apply to my still-throbbing chest. It was a gorgeous night, made more so by the fact that I was still alive. I raised my face up to the stars, calmed by their distant pulsing. All was peaceful and still until my shoulder blades tensed like someone was behind me.

The maybe-demon from Josh’s alleyway was back, having stopped about five feet away and triggering the motion sensor. What with Josh’s sister trying to kill me and all, he’d fallen off my radar.

Aloe gooped over my fingers, having clutched the frond hard enough to break it, and my terror and an intense curiosity resurfaced. There was no denying his compelling presence. Plus, he had those long lashes that were my Kryptonite. I opened my mouth to scream. Or drool.

He held a finger up to his delectable lips to keep me quiet, circling me with lazy strides, checking me out.

I’d have been offended by the blatant appraisal except under his intense scrutiny, my clit, Cuntessa de Spluge lit up with an electric zing. I found myself stroking the aloe stalks in an obscene manner. Even knowing he couldn’t see my blush since I was in the shadows didn’t kill my utter mortification at jerking off plant life in not-so-subtextual yearning.

He stalked toward me, his leather jacket rustling with each step.

I held up a hand to stop him, the faintest electric crackle pulsing off my skin.

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow. In fact, he kept up his steady approach until his hand covered mine. My magic shocked us both at his touch. I gasped and shivered as pleasure, not pain, rumbled through me.

Hand still clasped in his, he stared at me suspiciously, instead of in fear, but had I wanted, I could have broken his hold. Not a demon, then? He fingered the thin silver necklace I wore with surprising gentleness, toying with the cute floral pendant dangling off it that read “I will kick you in the balls if I have to.”

“Should I be scared?” Given how he sounded like sex, sin, and salaciousness–the true definition of a triple threat–I decided that yes, he was most definitely a demon.

I met his mocking gaze, my rooted stance and beating heart placing me somewhere between morbid fascination and noping the fuck out at warp speed.

๐Ÿ’ซ๐Ÿ’ฆ๐Ÿ’ซ๐Ÿ’ฆ๐Ÿ’ซ

“Show me your power.” His hand snaked out and caught my wrist, pressing his palm against mine. Holding me in a barely contained show of strength.

“Death wish, much? I showed you in the backyard.”

“Barely even a tease.” He drawled the words. 

I meant to pull away but I got my directions mixed up and pushed back against the warmth of his skin. “I will fire up. I’m warning you.”

Rohan leaned in. “Do it.” His eyes flared and I caught my bottom lip between my teeth. 

Then some last iota of common sense–and self-preservation–raised its hand. I jerked away from him. If he was a demon, I should have killed him six times over by now. What the hell was I doing? “You still haven’t convinced me that you’re not a demon,” I said, giving the evil spawn another chance for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely. “Fame doesn’t preclude that. Nor does having a super cool mom.”

“That doesn’t, but this does.” He held up his pinky finger, showing me the same gold ring as mine, with the same engraved hamsa and blue sapphire iris, which it turns out, was standard issue. And here I’d been hoping for a succession of property-stamping jewelry as I rose through the hunter ranks.

I fell back against my headboard. “You’re part of Demon Club. Fuck. Me.”

Rohan oogled me. “I won’t take that off the table yet.” He propped his chin on his hands on the top of the chair. 

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Did you just put me on a table?”

“More invoked a proverbial table and a conditional ‘yet.’ The ‘yet’ is an important component of this potential event,” he said.

You know what else was an important component? The presumptuous jerk still having attached balls for our proverbial fuck. 

“I used to write fanfic about Fugue State Five,” I said in a conversational tone.

Lookie lookie. Return of the amused smirk. “How was I?” he asked.

I shrugged, examining my chipped nail polish. “No clue. I wrote self-insert fanfic about the rest of your band. Zack, your keyboardist was astounding.” I drawled that last word so he’d get the full implication. 

“My keyboardist?” Rohan’s smugness was R.I.P. “But he’s gay.”

“I assure you that didn’t matter.” I gave a self-satisfied sigh. “He succumbed to my fifteen-year-old self’s wiles.”

Rohan straightened. “Which of my much older bandmates also succumbed, Lolita?”

“Please. You guys were only three years older.” I twisted a dark curl around my finger. “But pretty much of all of them.” I raked a pointed look over him. “The ones worth writing about.” He didn’t react. 

“Though succumbing is far more innocent than you’re imagining,” I admitted.

“I doubt you were ever innocent.”

That was highly insulting. Did he think I’d been born this way? Please. I’d worked hard to cultivate this level of sexual awesomeness. 

Author Bio:
A global wanderer, hopeless romantic, and total cynic with a broken edit button, Deborah writes adult urban fantasy to satisfy her love of smexy romances and tales of chicks who kick ass. She is all about the happily-ever-after, with a huge dose of hilarity along the way.

“It takes a bad girl to fight evil. Go Wilde.”


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Cover Reveal: Unfiltered by Leigh Lennon

Title: Unfiltered
Author: Leigh Lennon
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Expected Release Date: September 8, 2017
Summary:
Justine

I never will get my happy ending. With my past threatening to ruin the possibility of love in my future, I keep every man at arm’s length. Nick appears out of thin air, becoming a part of my life instantly, leaving me breathless and wanting more. The pain that haunts me is still present, but Nick is worth the risk. When he promises me forever; can I trust him?

Nick

Justine makes me see that a forever is in reach with her. She keeps telling me she is hard to love; yet I find it quite easy. Once I break down her walls, she finally lets me in. But, I have a secret of my own which can expose her to the demons that destroyed me in the past. However, with Justine, I will do anything and everything to make her mine.

Justine
Driving down the street that connects both our houses, I imagine my life before Nick and it is very empty. I didn’t stop at my house but ran up his steps and open the door frantically. In the kitchen, he doesn’t know I am coming until I am on top of him. Turning around, he grabs for me, as I am already unbuttoning my pants. It is a race to see who can undress first. I am breathing hard, almost panting, needing him now. “Goodness gracious! I like this greeting.” I am in fierce primal need. He sees it quickly in my eyes and he has no problem with the direction this passion is taking us both.

I kiss him as if it has been years. I work my tongue deeply inside of his mouth, as I grab his bare ass. His fingers make their way to my core and stopping for a second, he leans back with a smile. My overly greedy pussy is something he takes pride in and he should because he does this to me. I don’t speak, and I will not allow him to either. There will be plenty of time for words later. Within a span of a second, he spins me around leaning my torso on the kitchen counter. Silently, he delves his fingers back inside of me as my wetness increases. I love the way he pushes me down, showing a little dominance yet is still gentle with me. This is my Nick, in every way yet I am still myself when I say, “Just fucking do it already.” With both a deep chuckle and a moan from him, he enters me hard and as he does, we adjust to this position when he pushes me further onto the counter and I am loving every minute. This feels hot—almost dirty, something a respectable mother doesn’t do yet I make a mental note to partake in this position more often. I feel his breath on my neck and it adds to the adventure, just imagining the facial expressions that he is making as he grows within me, getting harder and harder. As he kisses my back, he pushes with more intensity and one last thrust sets us both over board and we delight together in our orgasms. I turn around instantly, engulfing his cock into my mouth. This is one technique I learned from him—he loves a blow job right after he has come and boy do I love pleasing him.

He quickly leads me to his room, where he recovers, and we make love, this time gently, again. I am wrapped in his arms, saying very little for several minutes, just enjoying the closeness of one another. This is my future, I see it for the first time since Nick waltzed into my life. Although with Nick, his commitment to me is more like a marathon.


Author Bio:
Leigh Lennon is mother, veteran and a wife of a cancer survivor. Originally with a degree in education, she started writing as an outlet that has led a deep passion as she wrote twelve books. Now ready to publish all of them, she lugs her computer with her as she crafts her next story. She can be found drinking coffee or wine, depending on the time of the day.

Leigh's debut novel will be released on Sept 15th. 

Sign up now or follow her website or FB page to be informed when the book is up for pre-order.



EMAIL: authorleighlennon@gmail.com




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Thursday, August 17, 2017

Release Blitz: Encore by Ruth Clampett

Title: Encore
Author: Ruth Clampett
Genre: M/M Romance
Release Date: August 17, 2017
Summary:
When shy programmer, Charlie, is dragged to a Hollywood male revue by his co-workers, the last thing he expects is to be pulled onstage. But when he’s approached by Ramon, a dancer whose only focus is to bring him pleasure, something awakens in Charlie that can’t be denied.

Heated attraction only goes so far when one man dreams of true love and a life finally fulfilled, and the other is still grieving the one he lost, and the mistake that cost him everything.

Can a realist and a dreamer from two different worlds move forward and build a future together, or will their painful pasts keep them from fulfilling their destiny?


Author Bio:
Ruth Clampett, daughter of legendary animation director Bob Clampett, grew up surrounded by artists and animators. A graduate of Art Center College of Design, she has been VP of Design for Warner Brothers Studio Stores and taught photography at UCLA. Today she runs her own studio and as the Fine Art publisher for Warner Brothers Studios has come to know and work with some of the world’s greatest artists in the fields of animation and comics.

Ruth lives and works in Los Angeles, strictly supervised by her teenage daughter, who helps plan their summer around their yearly pilgrimage to the San Diego Comic Con.


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Review Tour: Gabriel by RJ Scott

Title: Gabriel
Author: RJ Scott
Series: Legacy #2
Genre: M/M Romance
Release Date: August 2, 2017
Cover Design: Meredith Russell
Summary:
Trapped in darkness, can an escort find a man to help him into the light?

Gabriel Reyes never gave in. He fought and was hurt, was abused but escaped with his life. He made his way in the world using the one thing he was good at: sex. He earned a place with a man who controls everything but Gabriel is safe; he’s made it.

Cameron Stafford hires Gabriel for a night, needing nothing more than a pretend boyfriend to get his dysfunctional family off his back. With the money he has in the bank and his own hotel, why won't they just leave him alone? It doesn’t matter that a degenerative disease has stolen his vision, or that his last boyfriend was a bastard who tried to steal from him; for now he has purpose.

When Gabriel and Cam fall for each other, can they find real happiness and, maybe, a forever that will save them both?

A new story set in the world of Jack and Riley Campbell-Hayes and the Double D Ranch, Texas.

๐Ÿ’กPlease be aware: emotional and physical abuse are depicted on the page in this book๐Ÿ’ก

Bloggers Note: 
This is not an easy read, even for those who read Kyle: The First Legacy and those who know the back story of Hank Castille's victims from Liam's story in Texas Christmas and Texas Fall, it will hurt your heart but it is also a tale of survival.

Gabriel Reyes has not had a truly happy or safe moment in life since his mother passed when he was little, he had his childhood and innocence robbed from him at the hands of a evil man and life has not improved since escaping Hank's horrid grasp.  Cameron Stafford has money and privilege but even that could not save his sight but he hasn't let it defeat him.  When Cam and Gabriel's life meet, its safe to say nothing will ever be the same for either of them or those closest to them.  But will it be enough to heal Gabriel's soul?

Gabriel crawled into my heart from page one.  I won't go into everything he suffers either from his past or at the hands or voice of Stefan but I will say it is not pretty.  His self-doubts verge on self-hate and who can blame him after everything he's survived, even if he doesn't see it as surviving("suffered" would probably be a more accurate term but I never liked using that word in cases like this because to me "suffered" represents no coming back from).  He has a chance at recovery with Legacy Ranch but Stefan has made sure that Gabriel doesn't see it as a second chance at life.  I just want to wrap Gabriel in layers of bubble wrap or one of those soft eggshell mattresses often used in hospitals to protect him from others and himself, but its not possible and unfortunately sometimes we have to reach the bottom step before we can turn that corner that leads back up.

Now onto Cameron.  I know that this is Gabriel's story but there is one thing that really brought Cam alive for me.  Cam hires Gabe to be his plus one to his sister's engagement party and while there we see how his family views Cam due to his blindness as does Gabe, which I'll come to in a minute.  As for Cam's family, well it stuck with me because my grandfather was in a wheelchair by the time I was born because of his MS and my mother has had endless health issues, luckily no one in our family really saw either Mom or her dad the way Cam is seen but you can imagine I spent/spend a lot of time in hospitals and clinics and I see the reactions like the Stafford's to patients too often.  I loved how RJ Scott dealt with this, even with this being Gabe's story she still managed to express Cam's issues as well, their pain may not be on the same level but Cam's problems are no less important.

I said I'd return to Gabe in regard to the engagement party, here it is: I was intrigued with the way Gabe managed to see what was happening to Cam not to mention how he saw the pain in Cam's sister's eyes as the same thing he saw in the mirror every day even if he could not see a way out for himself.  That scene right there told me that there was still tons of  hope for Gabe to recover and replace his self-hate with love.

As thrilled as I am that Legacy is considered a spin-off of RJ's brilliant series Texas(my absolute favorite series I have ever read and re-read)  it is also an amazingly heartfelt journey that will leave you in tears more often than smiles but in the end it is a true journey of survival and recovery of one's soul.  Love may not always be the heart's healer but it always opens one's eyes to the possibilities of life.  Gabriel is a perfect example of Pandora's Box, when Pandora unleashed all the horrors to the world there was one thing left at the bottom of the box: HOPE.

RATING: 






 

Author Bio:
RJ Scott is the bestselling romance author of over 100 romance books. She writes emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, millionaire, princes, and the men and women who get mixed up in their lives. RJ is known for writing books that always end with a happy ever after. She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn't with family either reading or writing.

The last time she had a week’s break from writing she didn't like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a bottle of wine she couldn’t defeat.


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EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk



Gabriel #2
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Kyle #1
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August 7Making It Happen

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