Title: White Lightning
Author: Adrianna Dane
Publisher: Loose Id
Genre: Contemporary
Length: 118 pages

In Kentucky, where loyalty means everything, secrets and disloyalty can kill, Linc, the son of a mountain moonshiner, and Whit, the son of the local banker, had dreams of a future together far from the Kentucky hills. But one dangerously foolish act culminated in Linc's need to make a painful decision in order to protect his secret lover. Whit left, and the years have made Linc a hard, dangerous, and lonely man.

When Whit left for college, they’d made a promise to each other. Whit would have stood by Linc no matter what, but Linc shut him out. Years later, a successful New York entrepreneur, love still eluded Whit. Those very hills and the memory of his Kentucky lover called him back to find closure, one way or the other.

Whit couldn’t have picked a worse time to return to Kentucky as a murderous war was about to erupt. Moonshine and bad choices tore Whit and Linc apart a long time ago. Can Linc protect Whit, the man he still loved, from being drawn into the power struggle between moonshiners and drug lords, or would they both die when the smoke cleared, never having a chance to reclaim the love they thought lost?

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual situations, graphic language, and material that some readers may find objectionable: male/male sexual practices.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Linc and White managed to hide their relationship from their sharp-eyed families, who would have taken it ill that their boys cared for one another. Some old mountain customs are alive and well here in the hills: feudin’, moonshinin’, and disappearing the bodies into old mine shafts. “Revenooers” are hated as much as during Prohibition, and the stills remain profitable. Blood is still thicker than water, or should be.


Whit was always destined for a life outside the small mountain community where his father came to salvage the community bank. His dreams of Linc coming with him crashed and burned when Linc was intercepted with a load of illegal whiskey. Trapped in a situation by an unscrupulous Federal agent where Whit is in danger if Linc doesn’t cooperate fully, he has no choice but to break it off without a word.

Ten years later, Whit’s still dreaming of the mountain boy he lost. A man now, Linc’s ruled by outside forces, and now that a Mexican cartel has plans for the mountain, the danger is back, and from more sides than ever. Whit hasn’t a clue, nor does Linc enlighten him, though they are in each other’s arms and bed faster than you can spit.

The chemistry between the men is still hot, and they clearly want to be together, so Whit is completely confused as to why his lover won’t rejoin him. He finds out the hard way, in brisk action scenes, where more treachery than he can imagine is unveiled. I enjoyed the heat and the tension of the secrecy, which was still necessary for Linc to maintain, although very frustrating. It’s quite plain these two should be together; it just won’t be easy.

Linc had the bulk of the POV scenes—the big conflicts were mostly his, and the tone wasn’t overwhelmingly “mountain-y.” If anything, it could have used a little more down-home-ness to stay even; Linc sounded a lot like his Boston College-educated lover at times.

Where I wasn’t quite so engaged was a subplot involving the Federal agent and Linc in a non-law enforcement and rather dub-con relationship;  at least it was understated and mostly off-screen. It had some ramifications later between Whit and Linc. Your mileage may vary on this part, but I found it tacked on and unpleasant.

Once the tension resolved, this story could have reasonably ended, but there’s one last wrap-up chapter that’s a combination of a little too sweet to blend in and containing the tacked on element I didn’t care for: I would have been more content with the tale had it ended after Chapter 11, and the cost of the HEA sex would have been a small one to pay. The story had been very gripping until then, and the impact was unfortunately diluted: a sudden influx of “darlings” in the dialog broke the characterization, and more sex doesn’t always improve the story.

Still, I mostly enjoyed this book, and would recommend it with those few reservations. 3.75 marbles

My head aches from this

When I read a romance, I expect to find a plot. The main plot may be the relationship, or the relationship and the external plot may be equally important, but either way, it has to be there. "How are we gonna fuck?" is not plot. It may be PWP, but that's not what I was promised by the blurb.

When I read, I expect to find dialog that sounds like people might actually speak it. Yes, dialog in stories can't sound exactly like a conversation, you have to take out the ums, the pauses, the digressions into how the garden's looking and will there be rain, but it has to sound like real people are involved. If Siri can manage a better conversation, there's trouble. If the dialog sounds like a particularly dry textbook, there's real trouble.

When I read, I don't want to be intruded on by the author's life. I want to be in the story, I don't want to find myself thinking, oh, look, this must be a rewritten part when she switched publishers, it's so much better. I don't want to think, oops, must have been in a hurry to finish, she just wrapped 5 plot points in 3 paragraphs. I don't want to think about the author at all. I want to be engrossed in the story.

I've read some great things lately and I've read some disappointing things lately, not all of which got reviewed. The contrast is making my head hurt. That is all.

A Picture is Worth...

Herein lies a tale, don't you think?  (100-1000 words sent to CryselleC AT gmail DOT com and I'll post it).

A Thousand Word Thursday Story by Eden Winters

 

Take That!

The stately grand dame sat nestled between her neighbors, admiring how the sun reflected off her newly painted walls. Oh how grateful she'd been when her new caretakers (she refused to call them "owners") opted to restore her original beauty instead of resurfacing her exterior with cheap plastic siding. She preened, fluttering her new shutters lest her neighbors not notice.

The brick ranch house beside her sighed, rolling its front windows slightly. "Yeah, yeah, so they fixed you up. Big deal. I got a new sprinkler system!"

Delores sniffed, horrified by the mere thought of her lovely lawn dug up to install sprinklers. As if! Her caregivers lovingly watered her lawn by hand. And she had to admit that the new rose bushes set off her all-weather paint exquisitely.

She cast her gaze up and down the street, sorrow tugging at her heart. Of the old crowd, she alone stood proud and tall, once snidely referred to as a relic from another age, a moldy, crumbling ruin. And she had been, she thought sadly. Before "her boys" showed up.

"It's perfect!" one crowed the moment the realtor stepped out of earshot. Billy, the dreamer.

"Shhh… not so loud. It's been empty a while, maybe I can talk him down," the other replied. Eric, the sensible one.

"I don't care what it takes! I've loved this house since I was a little kid, and it breaks my heart how run down it's gotten."

Delores tried her best to hug the dear boy, whom she'd once watched ride his bicycle past her sidewalk every day, book bag slung over his shoulder.

Eric put his head close to Billy's. "If you want it that bad, it's yours." He smiled, melting the cold cockles of Delores' rusted-out furnace.

Then the two men… kissed! Oh! She swore her chipped and peeling paint flushed flame red. Two. Men. Kissed. Well, in her day Delores had been considered a bit before her time, and if they used their hands as skillfully on her rotting floorboards as they did on each other…well…

The next time she saw her boys they pulled up in a pickup truck, several other trucks pulling alongside, carrying friends with power tools. The group rewired her circuits, replaced weak boards, and scrubbed that embarrassing crud off her porcelain fixtures. Every weekend she looked forward to a passel of buff young men, lavishing her with attention. And when the weather warmed, they worked shirtless, in shorts. She couldn't help herself and occasionally goosed one of her handsome admirers with a well-aimed cabinet door.

Then, after months of work, she opened her doors once more and her boys moved in. How happy they'd all been for four wonderful years full of kisses, laughter, and moments when Delores confined her consciousness to the attic or basement to give the boys some privacy.

Lately, though, Eric had been spending more and more time at work, and Billy, worried soul that he was, often shared his woes with Delores.

"It's that slut, Christian, I know it is," he grumbled into the ruined tuna casserole that he'd lovingly kept heated, anticipating Eric's return.

When Eric came home, Delores couldn't help noticing that he reeked of cologne that didn't come from one of the bottles kept in her bathroom.

"Oh, you're home!" Billy exclaimed. "Dinner didn't wait very well, but I can fix you a sandwich. Are you hungry?"

"No, I'm tired," Eric said, ignoring Billy to trudge up the stairs. Delores didn't miss the tears in Billy's eyes. She gently opened a closet door, tenderly stroking his back. "There, there, dear," she whispered, which Billy probably misinterpreted as a creaking hinge.

And now Billy was away visiting his sister. An unfamiliar car pulled up outside, and a handsome man stepped out. Delores knew his kind, so like the prefab down the street who thought he was all that when he was only a cheap knockoff of a Greek revival.

The guy had the nerve to open her door without knocking! As if he owned the place! She struggled, but he still succeeded in wrenching the door open. "Cheap-assed old house," the guy muttered. "Once Eric gets me my bonus, I'll buy that condo I want downtown."

The guy stepped inside, grin becoming positively feral when he heard Eric whistling upstairs. He bounced up the stairs two at a time.

She hated to do it, for it was Billy's gift to her two Christmases ago, but Delores loosened the hall chandelier, ready to drop it on the idiot's head.

"What are you doing here?" Eric stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. His voice wasn't welcoming.

"I came to see you, babe. I know Billy's gone and I thought, well…" He skated his fingers up Eric's bare arm.

Okay, if she aimed right, she could bounce those crystals off both their heads.

"I told you, I'm not interested. It's bad enough your fuck-ups mean I have to stay late at the office, but I'll not have you coming here, to my house."

The guy smiled, pouring on the charm. "After all we've been to each other?"

"What the hell are you talking about? I've never touched you!"

"Oh yeah?" The guy's grin turned vicious. "Then how do you explain these?" He held out a photo of himself and Eric in a compromising position.

Delores rocked on her foundations until taking a closer look. Something about those photos didn't look right. For one thing, the man in the photo's shoulder was bare. Her Eric had tattoos. Even a '30s Tudor like her recognized a fake when she saw it.

"That's not me, that's Photoshopped!" Eric shouted. "Get the hell out of my house, now! I'm a happily married man and have no intention of playing your little games!"

Delores loosened the chandelier a little more…

"Uh-huh. And what will your darling hubby say when he sees these?"

"Nothing! Because he trusts me! He'd never believe your lies."

"Uh-huh, and how did sweet cheeks like that scent I sprayed all over you?"

Delores wished she could agree with Eric's assessment, but she couldn't. Poor Billy. She felt bad about having wanted to whack Eric over the tuna casserole incident.

Eric's stern demeanor faded. "What do you want?"

"Simple. You hand over the Rogers portfolio to me, and give me full credit for landing the Edwards account."

"Wait a minute. Rogers is my most lucrative account, and I had to chase Edwards down and apologize after you blew the deal!"

Maternal instincts kicked in. A little sweet talking and a biddable squirrel caused the asshole's car to shriek in fear. "My car!" the guy exclaimed, darting out of the room and down the stairs.

Delores couldn't be sure, but she might, just might, have wiggled the top step loose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank*snerk*you, Eden, for putting such great words to this picture!

Eden has a completely different but equally terrific story, and for my opinions on it, see the next post down. Diversion is one great read!

Drug dealers aren’t always on the streets; sometimes they sit in offices and boardrooms, selling merchandise in official-looking bottles instead of little cellophane bags...

When given a choice between eight more years in prison or using his “expertise” to assist the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau's Department of Diversion Prevention and Control, convicted drug trafficker Richmond “Lucky” Lucklighter takes the sentence with the illusion of freedom. Cynical and unwilling to admit he’s begun to care about his job, he counts the days until his debt is paid. His sole obstacle to getting his life back is the rookie he’s assigned to train before he leaves—a rookie who quotes pharmacy texts, hasn’t paid his dues, and has the obnoxious tendency of seeing the good in everyone, including the target of their investigation.

Former Marine Bo Schollenberger dreamed of becoming a pharmacist, but watched the dream turn into a nightmare of PTSD-fueled prescription drug abuse. Battling his demons daily, he wakes up every morning, wondering, “Will this be the day I give in?” To keep his license, he must now put his skills to use for a diversion control task force, deal with a crude partner with too much attitude and no brain-to-mouth filter, and take down a drug lord who reminds him of his favorite cooking show hostess.

The bad guys don’t stand a chance—if Lucky and Bo don’t strangle each other first...

Buy it here.

Diversion by Eden Winters

Title: Diversion
Author: Eden Winters
Cover Artist: Trace Edward Zaber
Publisher: Amber Allure

Genre: Contemporary
Length: 274 pages

Drug dealers aren't always on the streets; sometimes they sit in offices and board rooms, selling merchandise in official looking bottles instead of little cellophane bags.

When given a choice between eight more years in prison or using his "expertise" to assist the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau's Department of Diversion Prevention and Control, convicted drug trafficker Richmond "Lucky" Lucklighter takes the sentence with the illusion of freedom. Cynical and unwilling to admit he's begun to care about his job, he counts the days until his debt is paid. His sole obstacle to getting his life back is the rookie he's assigned to train before he leaves; a rookie who quotes pharmacy texts, hasn't paid his dues, and has the obnoxious tendency of seeing the good in everyone – including the target of their investigation.

Former Marine Bo Schollenberger dreamed of becoming a pharmacist and watched the dream turn into a nightmare of PTSD-fueled prescription drug abuse. Battling his demons daily, he wakes up every morning, wondering, "Will this be the day I give in?" To keep his license, he must now put his skills to use for a diversion control task force, deal with a crude partner with too much attitude and no brain-to-mouth filter, and take down a drug lord who reminds him of his favorite cooking show hostess.

The bad guys don't stand a chance -- if Lucky and Bo don't strangle each other first...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once again, Eden Winters has demonstrated why she’s one of my “must buy” authors: I swear Diversion is her best yet. With some plot points ripped straight out of the headlines and shaped deftly into a story that is uniquely hers, and vivid and offbeat characters that riff perfectly off each other, this was a book I had to read more than once.

Lucky’s got pride in a job well done, well hidden under the delight of “sticking it to the man” in a sanctioned fashion, but his cocky attitude and unrelenting banter are the prickles he uses to keep the world at a distance. Lucky is a giant pain in the ass in a banty-rooster body: he carves carrots into penises if asked to make the salad and drinks the wine straight from the bottle. He twists everything, and keeps the heat on Bo, who isn’t shy about handing the guff right back.

What starts out as straightforward lust coupled with “give the newbie as much grief as possible”—Lucky needles Bo endlessly with jabs at his vegetarianism, his education, and need to get laid—morphs over time into feelings that Lucky can’t identify clearly. His “give a shit” button has been broken for so long that he’s having trouble recognizing the symptoms of caring, either for Bo, or for his work.

The story is told completely from Lucky’s POV, which seems uncommon in a romance of this length, but we have no trouble knowing Bo, who has layers of pain and complexity that come out bit by bit. Lucky is also a man of layers: his private sorrows are exposed a fragment at a time, each tidbit building on what we know already, and explaining perfectly why he hates his job and yet is so good at it, and why he keeps the world at bay. That he can let Bo in, a millimeter at a time, is only slightly because of time healing wounds, but even more that Bo can know him, understand him, and accept all the horrible parts without judging. They fit together so beautifully by the end of the book, without losing an iota of the smart-assery. 

The external plot revolves around drug diversion, where prescription pharmaceuticals are removed from the legitimate supply chain and sold to abusers. This is a real and huge problem: Ms. Winters touches on several ways it can be done, from out and out hijacking a truck to real doctors writing real prescriptions for imaginary ailments and enormous, ‘unsuitable for good medical practice’ quantities. She keeps up a fast pace, keeping me highly interested, a bit horrified, and terrified that somehow Bo and Lucky’s sting operation would go wrong.

Lucky and Bo are one the side of the angels now, but Lucky’s criminal past is what makes him so useful  to the fictional agency he works for: the fox is guarding the henhouse because he knows all the ways in and out, but he’s wearing a collar. His descent into crime unrolls slowly as flashbacks, contrasting with his current life, which he’d like to escape as completely as he’d like to escape his past. Bo’s story is a little more conventional, his private demons encouraging him to take solace in the temptations that surround him at work. Neither is in the enforcement end of the pharmaceutical industry because they wanted or planned it: all they can do is make the most of it. (And each other, Lucky would add.)

The secondary characters such as Walter and Dr. Ryerson are fully fleshed and vivid. The villain of the piece is three dimensional—one can see both the desperation that created the situation and the ruthlessness that exploits it. Even a character that never gets face time has a realness to him through Lucky’s pranks, smarting off, and inner dialog.

The ending brought lumps to my throat, and all I can say is I needed that epilog! 

Very highly recommended: this book works on a lot of levels, and, oh yeah, Bo and Lucky sizzle together. Two words: assless chaps. 5 Marbles

Buy here.

A Thousand Word Thursday Excerpt from JL Merrow

JL Merrow says: The picture reminded me instantly of a scene in Wight Mischief – it’s set in a ruined castle, not a house, so the stairs are stone, not wood, which ups the ouch factor nicely!

Researching this scene was kind of fun, in a schadenfreude sort of way. While I’m grateful for the resource, I’m even more thankful I don’t have the kind of friends who think it’s hilarious to set me up to trip downstairs, and then upload the video to YouTube!

Will, our hero, has gone to visit Carisbrooke Castle with his friend-with-benefits Baz, who claims to be looking for ghosts. But that’s not all he’s trying to uncover—and someone is determined to keep things hidden....

***

“Come on, I’ve seen enough, haven’t you?” Baz muttered and pushed past Will to head out into the sunlight.

Will followed, blinking. “Going up to the keep?” he asked.

Baz glared at the twelfth century stronghold, built on a large mound of earth, as if Will had just suggested he run up Mount Everest. “The temperature’s in the nineties, there’s about a hundred steps up there, and for what? No, don’t tell me—the air’s really fresh up there.”

Will grinned. “The view? The exercise?”

Baz shuddered dramatically. “That’s your department, not mine. I’ll be in the nice, cool well-house, trying to get a glimpse of Moaning Myrtle.”


“Yeah, well, don’t lean in too far or you might end up joining her!” Will called cheerfully, and started to bound up the steps. There were only seventy-one, he found—but it seemed Baz wasn’t the only one put off. Granted, they were pretty steep steps. There was a handrail to help the visitor for the bottom two-thirds, but the rest of the staircase was bounded by a brick wall.

The keep was practically deserted, only a couple of other people milling around. Will leaned on the walls, looking out over the ramparts. You could see a long way in the clear, island air—Will gazed over treetops at the little village of Carisbrooke, and beyond to Parkhurst Forest. Turning back to look across the castle in the other direction, Will realised the other visitors had disappeared, and he wandered over to the far wall of the keep, almost tripping over another well. Unlike the one in the courtyard, which had a whole building over it, this one was just a hole in the ground, fortunately covered with a heavy iron grate. Will had heard that you could see the stars in broad daylight from the bottom of a well, and although he’d never been sure he believed it, he didn’t fancy testing the theory in person.

He rounded the walls, looking out over farmland for as far as the eye could see. You’d be able to spot invading hordes miles off, which he supposed was pretty much the point of building a castle here. Will wondered what it must have been like, to be holed up in here with nowhere to go, just watching an army swarm over the fields toward you. It wasn’t like they could radio for reinforcements in those days, either—in fact, how on earth did they get word out at all, once they were surrounded? Odd to think of people fighting and dying here, while friends who might have helped them stayed in blissful ignorance of anything going on at all. Despite the heat, Will shivered again.

Vaguely aware that he no longer had the place to himself, Will reluctantly decided he probably ought to go in search of Baz. He was probably getting bored by now. Unless, of course, he’d actually found his ghost. Will grinned at the thought of Baz telling her she was just a figment of his imagination. He put a foot on the top step—and suddenly felt a huge thump between his shoulder blades.

Everything lurched, and the steps came toward him in slow motion. Will realised, almost calmly, that he was falling. He hit the steps first with his left shoulder, the force knocking all the breath out of him. Bugger. The world spun. He tumbled down and down, slamming into hard stone again and again. Walls? Stairs? He couldn’t tell. Someone screamed.

It was the handrail that saved him. So close. Will grabbed—and went right over it. He landed on the grassy slope beyond. Nearly tumbled again, but managed to stop himself with a thrown-out arm that made him gasp in pain.

He lay on his back, half-stunned. A face appeared in his field of vision. “Are you all right?” It was a young girl, aged about ten by the look of her. The sun shone through her wavy blonde hair, making it look like a halo. Right now, Will could have done without the angel reference.

“Um,” Will said, not sure he quite knew the answer to her question. He probably ought to try and sit up, reassure her, but right now horizontal seemed…safer.

Her thumb crept to her mouth. Maybe not ten. Maybe younger. “Did you fall down the stairs?”

That was an easier one. “Yeah.” Then Will frowned. Had he fallen? Or did somebody push him? He’d felt… Hadn’t he?

***

Wight Mischief:

A stranger could light up his world...or drive him deeper into darkness.

Will Golding needs a break from his usual routine, and he’s been looking forward to a holiday helping Baz, his friend-with-benefits, research a book about Isle of Wight ghosts. When an evening beach walk turns into a startling encounter with Marcus Devereux, Will can’t get his mind off the notoriously reclusive writer’s pale, perfect, naked body. And any interest in ghostly legends takes a back seat to the haunting secrets lying in Marcus’s past.

Marcus, painfully aware of his appearance, is accustomed to keeping to himself. But the memory of tall, athletic Will standing on the beach draws him out from behind defenses he’s maintained since age fourteen, when his parents were murdered. While his heart is hungry for human contact, though, his longtime guardian warns him that talking to anyone—particularly a journalist like Baz—is as dangerous as a day in the sun.

As Baz gets closer to the truth, the only thing adding up is the sizzling attraction between Will and Marcus. And it’s becoming increasingly clear that someone wants to let sleeping secrets lie…or Will and Baz could end up added to the island’s ghostly population.
________________________________________
Product Warnings :Contains perilous cliffs, elusive might-be ghosts, a secret tunnel, and skinny-dipping by moonlight.

Find it here.

Maroon: Donal agus Jimmy by PD Singer

Maroon: Donald agus Jimmy by P.D. Singer
Publisher: Torquere Press
Genre: Erotic Historical Romance
Length: 73 pages


The best jobs in 1911 Belfast are in the shipyards, but Donal Gallagher's pay packet at Harland and Wolff doesn't stretch far enough. He needs to find someone to share his rented room; fellow ship-builder Jimmy Healy's bright smile and need for lodgings inspire Donal to offer. But how will he sleep, lying scant feet away from Jimmy? It seems Jimmy's a restless sleeper, too, lying so near to Donal...

In a volatile political climate, building marine boilers and armed insurrection are strangely connected. Jimmy faces an uneasy choice: flee to America or risk turning gunrunner for Home Rule activists. He thinks he's found the perfect answer to keep himself and his Donal safe, but shoveling coal on a luxury liner is an invitation to fate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hundredth anniversary of the Titanic’s sinking is nearly here, making me wish for fiction about it that doesn’t involve Jack or Rose. PD Singer has provided that with Maroon: Donal agus Jimmy, a novella length story that follows men who built and sailed her rather than the glamorous passengers and officers. Working men love and dream too.


Donal, the problem solver, flies into action once he’s found, or been shown, what needs to be fixed -- he’ll solve his family’s financial crisis, even at the cost of sorely needed privacy. What seems like a sacrifice at first, and then the torment of closeness that can never become more, turns into the great joy of Jimmy. Donal’s never had a lover before, and when Jimmy makes it possible to express their interest, we are treated to a sweet, tender love story. The two of them must invent everything as if it’s new just for them, and keep it all hidden, because the world isn’t ready to be happy for them.

Jimmy, the visionary, sees what could be, both good and evil, and acts to make one happen or mitigate the other. He must see enough small clues to risk finding a way to let Donal know of his interest, and oh, how good life becomes for them. But he also sees the evil that will come from the growing muttering for Home Rule, and how it could touch him and his Donal.

His job in the boiler works makes him a likely candidate for passing along contraband, which Jimmy sees as a real possibility. “If they offer threat to you….I will do anything they want.” A good man and non-partisan, he looks for, and finds, a way out.

This is 1912, and the Pride of Belfast, which they’ve helped to build, is the next ship Jimmy can sail in to see what lies for them in “Amerikay”, and that ship’s other name is the Titanic. Though we can see it coming, the author slides that in so delicately that the reveal comes as a heart-wrench. Jimmy’s worked so hard to get aboard that ship, and they don’t know. I knew it was coming and I still cried.

The period detail is woven seamlessly into life in early twentieth century Belfast, with gas lights and newly electrified trams, a pint at the pub and a job at the shipyard. With men who want to change their world, and our couple, who doesn’t want to be crushed under the change.

And I cried again at the end, because it’s happy after all. 5 Marbles