Showing posts with label western MM. Show all posts
Showing posts with label western MM. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

Cherry County Cowboys, Chaps, #western #MMromance from @EvernightPub and @JulesofTripleR


Rising rodeo star Nate O’Neill never expected to be living in a small Nebraska ranching town waiting for his rodeo brother to recover from a vicious ride. His unplanned stop steers him into the arms and bed of local celebrity, Tennessee Reed. Soon he questions what thrills him more—the rodeo or Tenn. Forced to face his reckless past, he’s reminded that relationships can cause damage far worse than any bull ride … and maybe he’s headed for the same suffering again.
Professional football draft-pick Tennessee Reed returns home emotionally shattered by the unexpected passing of his father who left Tenn with a hereditary secret buried in his chest. He might be dying inside, but when Nate walks into his life all Tenn’s troubles seem to disappear into those hazel eyes and he’s never felt more alive. Will Tenn follow the cowboy wherever life leads? Or will he protect his heart and watch those fringed leather chaps ride away?

I slid my eyes up from his boots. His chaps elongated his muscular legs and emphasized his compact waist. The leather vest, worn over a black checkered long sleeved shirt, defined his firm chest, and then I skimmed my eyes up to his face. Our eyes connected, I absorbed an intensity of attraction I’d never experienced. Disturbing and unyielding, and yet, satisfying. His eyes searched my face, his eyebrows bent in and his eyes landed on my lips, but he didn’t move. He hurt from both my behavior this morning and his overindulgence at the bar, but he still gave me his strength through his desire-pooled hazel eyes.
“I’m sorry about last night … this morning.” I choked out the words. “If you’re willing to give me a second chance, I’d like to have you over to my place. Tonight for dinner and a movie. No expectations. Just you and me getting to know each other better.” I rambled the short phrases while my heart banged against my chest. My brain tangled with all the words. The hangover affected me, but asking him on a date spun my head like one of those questionable carnival rides that came through town for the Cherry County Fair and Rodeo in August every year.
Tilt-o-Whirl or Octopus or whatever it is called, this is both worse and better.
He lifted our hands and showed me how his fingers had turned a ghostly white. I loosened my grip.
He stretched his pinking fingers. “You’re sure? I’ve never done the boyfriend thing. And I’m getting a pretty clear message that maybe you’re in the same wagon, but unless you’re givin’ this a real go—and not just to get in my Levis—I’m not in, Tenn.”
I dropped his hand and he tried to shuffle back. Sliding my fingers into the fringe of his chaps, I guided him in between my legs. My heart ticked slower, with more purpose. “You’re right. I don’t have a lot of experience with the bona fide relationship thing with a guy. A few have been repeats in my bed, but not one has made a repeat performance across from me at a meal and none have ever gotten inside my head or heart.” I dragged him closer. “But since last night, I can’t get you out of my head. I’m 100% in, Mustang. Let’s take whatever this is between us for a long ride.”
He dropped his lips to mine. The kiss that I’d been craving since I watched him drive away early this morning. I slipped my tongue into his mouth and dug my nails deep into the pockets of his Wranglers.
Moments like this existed for a reason, so we felt alive.



Author Bio
Fuzzy sock collector, martini connoisseur, baseball fanatic, and dandelion lover, author Jules Dixon is a living testament to the genius of sugar and caffeine being able to keep a human alive. She's addicted to everything related to the amazing emotion of love, probably instigated by her own happily ever after of 25 years with her beer-brewing hubby. Their own love story created a sassy, artistic daughter and a computer genius but ultra-sarcastic son.
Jules explores the rich psychology of sexuality, choices, and conflicts of high school, college, and young adult characters with sizzle and humor in her novels and novellas. She's a busy writer, and she loves it!

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Wednesday, September 28, 2016

The reappearance of Ash MacBryde’s old lover has sent Oak flying back to Vermont #western #MMromance @Nya_Rawlins

StrappingAsh

For gentle Oak, his husband Ash is “the man he loved but wasn’t sure he always liked.”
The reappearance of Ash MacBryde’s old lover has sent Oak flying back to Vermont and into the employ of a man determined to win a chance to race at World’s in Dubai.
To Oak’s delight and dismay, the man who brought him out of the bolted closet is there too, working for the same man with the same end. They will be partners on horseback ... and if Ben Kincaid has his way, in other ways as well.
Someone holds a grudge against Oak’s new employer; and as the race approaches, the dirty tricks escalate until no one is safe.
Oak and Ben are in danger, and when Ash shows up to bring his man back home, there’s more at stake than just a shot at a million-dollar purse.
Maybe there’s just one sure way for the reclusive Oak to face his domineering, possessive man. It’s called STRAPPING ASH.
AMAZON KINDLE US – AMAZON KINDLE CA AMAZON KINDLE UK – BARNES & NOBLES ITUNES – ALL ROMANCE/OMNILIT

BOOK INFORMATION

TITLE – Strapping Ash SERIES (& Book #) – Book 3, Crow Creek Series AUTHOR – Nya Rawlyns GENRE – Gay Fiction, Contemporary Western Romance PUBLICATION DATE – 110/14/2013 PUBLISHER – Jade Horse Publishing COVER ARTIST – Sessha Batto

EXCERPT 

After Ash MacBryde’s seeming betrayal, Oak Richards bolts for home, looking for a safe haven to work away the hurt. The last thing he plans on is MacBryde showing up like a bad penny. Their first meeting after weeks apart is… awkward. 
Opening the stall door, Ash pointed to the leather pad and asked, “What were you doing?” 
Oak squeezed past, trying not to touch any part of the man. He took his time arranging the grooming tools, putting off having to face Ash MacBryde, his throat nearly closing with anxiety and terror. All his plans, everything he wanted to say flew out the barn door, leaving him as tongue-tied and unsure as ever. 
Finally finding the courage to stand and face the man he once thought of as his life partner, he nearly panicked as Ash closed the distance between them. 
Stepping back, he held out a hand to warn Ash off. Embarrassed at his own cowardice, he tried to deflect his confusion by explaining, “That’s called strapping.” He waved in the general direction of the piece of leather in the bucket, then quickly crossed his arms over his chest to stop himself from touching Ash.
Ash looked from him to the horse. “Strapping.” 
“Yeah. The impact, when you smack it down like that? It feels good.” He felt the heat rush up his neck to the tips of his ears. Jesus, I didn’t just say that. 
Ash shuffled his feet and ducked his head as he fumbled in a pocket. 
Oak asked, “What’s this?” as the tall man handed him a postcard and a metal object. 
Brushing his hands through his hair, Ash mumbled, “That’s where I’m staying.” 
Oak stared at the key and said, “Oh.” 
“I was, uh, I was wondering…” Ash paused and swallowed hard, the motion making his prominent Adam’s apple vibrate with the effort. “I thought maybe we could have dinner…” 
“Yeah, sure. Tonight?” 
“Yeah.” 
“Um, what time?” 
“Eight okay?” 
“Sure.” 
Neither made eye contact as Ash turned to leave. His breath wispy, Oak barely managed to say, “It’s nice to—” 
“What?” 
“Uh, nothing. See you at eight.” 
Oak watched the man turn right and head down the driveway, his heart pounding treble time. He fingered the key, a slow smile spreading across his face.

AUTHOR BIO

Author Photo - Nya RawlnsNya Rawlyns is a writer, editor and hopeless optimist. She’s lived on a sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay, ridden more than 1000 miles in trail competitions on horseback and been owned by two Newfoundlands. She’s currently staff for a herd of cats and a herd of horses.
She writes edgy romance, where emotion is a contact sport, rough and often raw. It need not be pleasant, heart-warming or forever after. What she seeks is what lies beneath--a dance of extremes, the intersect of need and desire, and the compromises you make when pain and pleasure become indistinguishable.