Shira Anthony's Blog - Posts Tagged "hot"

Aisling Mancy and I have teamed up to write a red-hot action-packed thriller set in the heat of a North Carolina summer. A Solitary Man will be released by Dreamspinner Press on November 6th!

Excerpt:

Evan pressed the button on his phone to connect. “Freddy? What did you find out?”

Fred laughed. “For this, I’m going to exact a price.”

“You mean the keg I sprang for at graduation doesn’t get me a freebie?” Evan shot back.

“We’ve been out of law school for how many years now? Eight?”

“Nine this year,” Evan corrected.

“Credit’s no good anymore,” Fred answered. “I’m thinking dinner at Ivy at the Shore next time you’re in LA. On you, of course. Including a bottle of Veuve Clicquot.”

“For that,” Evan said with a chuckle, “this had better be good.”

“It’s good. And it was hell to get.”

“Okay, okay. Dinner on me. Assuming you and Margie put me up for the night,” Evan replied. “I’m looking forward to seeing your McMansion.”

“Deal. Took a little digging. Seems your mystery man did some undercover work for the FBI.”

“And?”

“My buddy in the US Attorney’s office wouldn’t give details, but word is Constantine got fed up with the bullshit after a case went bad somewhere down in South America.”

“Drugs?” Evan asked.

“No. He dealt with human trafficking. Specifically, child sex trafficking. My friend says the guy’s good. He tried a few cases where Constantine was the government’s key witness. Knows his stuff. Works his ass off and gets into his work. I got the impression sometimes he gets a little too close.”

Now that was interesting. “Why?”

“Seems the guy’s rabid about protecting kids.”

“Any idea why?”

“Nothing anyone would tell me,” Fred replied.

Evan leaned back in his chair. At least Xav wasn’t a slacker, but it didn’t make Evan feel any better about the prospect of bumping into him at work. “Anything else?”

“Constantine grew up in LA, went to school in Boston.”

“Boston?” Even more interesting. So much for his initial assessment of Xav as a broceanographer.

“Yeah, you’ll love this.”

Evan could almost hear Freddy’s grin over the phone.

“He did undergrad at MIT. Mathematics major. Master’s in criminology from U Penn with an emphasis in cryptology. The FBI was probably falling all over itself to recruit him.”

No shit. This just got better and better. “What the hell’s a guy with that kind of background doing in North Carolina?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Fred shot back. “Of course, if you decide you want your own McMansion….”

“You couldn’t pay me enough to come to work for you,” Evan joked. Fred was serious—they’d had this discussion a half-dozen times before.

“Try me.” Fred paused for a moment and then asked, “This personal?”

Evan had no intention of telling Fred he’d slept with Xav. “Not personal.”

“’Cause word has it he’s gay,” Fred said. “Out but not advertising.” When Evan didn’t take the bait, Fred added, “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Evan shook his head and sighed theatrically. “Don’t even go there, Freddy. You know I don’t mix business and pleasure. I just want to know what I’m dealing with. That’s all.”

“You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, man.”

“Thanks for the help,” Evan said, foreclosing the topic. “I’ll let you know next time I’m out your way. Tell Margie she’s a brave woman.”

“Always do. Laters. And make sure you get your sorry ass out here soon.”

“Will do.” Evan disconnected the call and rubbed his mouth. Mathematics major at MIT and a master’s from U Penn? No wonder the FBI had recruited him. And he’d pegged Xav for a surfer! What the hell are you doing in Dare’s Landing, Xavier Constantine?

About A Solitary Man

Sparks fly when Chance meets tall, sexy Xav at a Wilmington bar and they have the hottest one-nighter of their lives. But Chance doesn’t do repeats, Xav seems detached, and they go their separate ways without a word. Two months later, when closeted Assistant District Attorney C. Evan “Chance” Fairchild meets Dare’s Landing’s newest deputy sheriff, Xavier “Xav” Constantine, Evan isn’t only wary. He’s irritated as hell.

Xavier is a former FBI agent turned deputy sheriff who is hot on the trail of a South American child prostitution ring. Evan is fighting to put an end to rampant cocaine trafficking and chafing under the thumb of an election-hungry boss. When someone tries to kill the thirteen-year-old witness who holds the key to both their investigations, they’re forced to work together as they put their lives on the line to protect him. As Chance and Xav collide in heat of a sweltering North Carolina summer, dodging bullets and chasing bad guys isn’t the only action going on.

Pre-order A Solitary Man from Dreamspinner Press!

About Shira Anthony

Shira loves a great happily-ever-after and never writes a story without one. She’s happy to write what her muse tells her, whether it’s fantasy, sci fi, paranormal, or contemporary romance. She particularly loves writing series, because she thinks of her characters as old friends and she wants to visit them even after their stories are told.

In real life, Shira sang professionally for 14 years, and she currently works as a public sector attorney advocating for children. She’s happy to have made writing her second full-time job, even if it means she rarely has time to watch TV or go to the movies.

Shira writes about the things she knows and loves, whether it’s music and musicians, the ocean, or the places she’s lived or traveled to. She spent her middle school years living in France, and tries to visit as often as she can.

Shira and her husband spend as many weekends as they can aboard their 36′ catamaran sailboat, “Lands Zen,” at the Carolina Coast. Not only has sailing inspired her to write about pirates and mermen, her sailboat is her favorite place to write. And although the only mermen she’s found to date are in her own imagination, she keeps a sharp lookout for them when she’s on the water.

Shira looks forward to meeting you at Gay Rom Lit!

Find Shira on blog, Twitter @WriterShira, Facebook, and Goodreads and

Subscribe to Shira’s monthly newsletter for updates, free fiction, and subscriber-only contests!

About Aisling Mancy

Aisling is an author who lives, most of the time, on the West Coast of the United States. Aisling writes adult fantasy, adult LGBTQIA romance, and fiction for gay young adults (C. Kennedy).

Raised on the mean streets and back lots of Hollywood by a Yoda-look-alike grandfather, Aisling doesn’t conform, doesn’t fit in, is epic awkward, and lives to perfect a deep-seated oppositional defiance disorder. In a constant state of fascination with the trivial, Aisling contemplates such weighty questions as If time and space are curved, then where do all the straight people come from? When not writing, Aisling can be found taming waves on western shores, pondering the nutritional value of sunsets, appreciating the much maligned dandelion, unhooking guide ropes from stanchions, and marveling at all things ordinary.

Aisling looks forward to meeting you at Gay Rom Lit!

Find Aisling on blog, Twitter @AislingMancy, Facebook, Goodreads, and

Aisling does respond to emails because, after all, it is all about you, the reader

You can preorder A Solitary Man for 25% off in both paperback and ebook at Dreamspinner Press right now. Written with the wonderful Aisling Mancy (aka Cody Kennedy), A Solitary Man is an action-packed, sexy thriller set in the heat of a North Carolina summer. The book will be released by Dreamspinner Press on November 6th, so less than 2 weeks now!

Here's an excerpt from Chapter 4:

Evan sat in the parking lot of the bar, fingers clenched around the steering wheel. Faison had pushed him to his limits. It pissed him off beyond reason how the man blew off the important stuff and focused only on what would help move his political career forward. Evan had never liked politicians. Even the DA before Faison, who now had a seat in the state senate, hadn’t been anything to write home about, but at least he hadn’t made Evan want to scream in frustration. With Faison, Evan felt he was spinning his wheels, where before he’d at least made progress toward cracking down on drug suppliers. Too many people—kids in particular—were falling victim to the drugs they should have taken off the street. Evan hated that, and he’d come to hate Faison for doing so little about it. Worse still, Faison had done nothing at all to make a dent in the problem but wasted no time distorting facts in order to spin things for his next campaign. Hypocrisy at its finest.

Breathe. Normally Evan let Faison’s bullshit roll off his back. But when Faison blew off the things that were important to Evan, the frustration he’d felt as a child and the accompanying rage came roaring back. Faison didn’t give a crap about illegal drugs, but those drugs had nearly destroyed Evan’s life.

He inhaled for four counts, held his breath for four, and exhaled for four counts. His heart slowed and tension began to leave his body—one of many useful things Evelene had taught him when he was a kid.

The other thing that worked for him when he felt as though he might spontaneously erupt into flames?

Evan smiled and eyed the sign over the entrance to the bar. It read The Velvet Lounge. Wilmington was just far enough from Dare’s Landing that he didn’t have to worry about being seen. He kept his head down and his sex life firmly in the closet. Faison and his political backers probably couldn’t fire him for being queer, but he didn’t need the bullshit that came with being out. He’d had enough bullshit to last him several lifetimes already. The inside of his closet was perfectly comfortable, regardless of who they married at city hall these days.

The bouncer nodded to Evan as he walked inside. The sound of Easton Corbin’s “Baby Be My Love Song” hit him at the same time the icy-cold air conditioning blasted him, and the sweat-soaked curls at the back of his neck gave rise to goose bumps. Nothing like August in North Carolina. Hot, muggy. Vacation Bible school over. Pulled pork and a gallon of sweet tea. If things slowed down at the office, he’d take next weekend and sail his boat to Cape Lookout, have fresh fish for dinner, and sleep under the stars.

The thought of work had him clenching his jaw again. He forced himself to breathe deeply and took a seat at the corner of the bar. Trading his expensive suit for a button-down and jeans had done little to erase his frustration. He needed something stronger.

“Patrón Silver and a Bud.” He drank the shot as soon as the bartender set it down, ordered another, and took a pull of beer. He welcomed the tendrils of alcohol that eased his tight shoulder muscles.

Satisfied the evening was getting better, he glanced around the bar. The place wasn’t a dive, but it wasn’t what Evan would have called upscale either. The paneling was dark and weathered; the polished wood floor reflected the track lighting. A dozen tables, all of them occupied on a Friday evening. Country music played in the background, something Evan didn’t recognize but that reminded him of the songs his mother had played when he was young. Over on the tiny platform that served as a stage, someone had begun to set up for the live band that would play later in the evening. It was too early for live music, but not too early for what Evan had come looking for.

He nodded to a few familiar faces—Evan didn’t do repeats—then checked out the new ones. A ginger with a bit of a paunch at the end of the bar. A twink giggling and sipping on an umbrella-laden drink at one of the nearby tables. A man with a dark ponytail seated at the middle of the bar sucking on an imported beer, the corded muscles of his arms straining against the fabric of his dark blue T-shirt. Lean, thirtyish, with the honeyed skin of someone who spent a great deal of time outdoors. Surfer, here to improve his “broceanography” at Wrightsville Beach, Evan concluded. Since the Nat Geo article, he’d seen a lot more of them. Even better? The guy was looking back at him.

Bingo.

Evan raised his beer and nodded. The guy nodded back and Evan walked over. “Hey.”

“Hey.” The smile that lit the man’s face made his green eyes sparkle. Evan couldn’t quite place the accent. Definitely not Southern.

The man flagged down the bartender, who had just set Evan’s second shot in front of him. “Two of what he’s drinking, on me.”

“Thanks.” Evan set his empty on the bar and leaned languidly on the edge.

“Xav.”

“Chance,” Evan said.

Xav chuckled. “You’re serious?”

Evan nodded. He only used the name at bars, but it was his first name. “My mother had a twisted sense of humor.” And a serious coke addiction, but he wasn’t going to share that.

Xav raised a quizzical eyebrow. Evan didn’t care if Xav wanted to know more. He downed the second shot and shed his Evan persona the way he’d shed his suit. For tonight, he was Chance. Evan and all his crap could wait until the morning.

“You from around here?” Chance asked as he sat next to Xav.

“No.” Xav didn’t elaborate.

Chance could work with that. Didn’t matter given his no-repeat policy.

“You?”

“Grew up in Bertie,” Chance said truthfully. “Near the Virginia border.”

The bartender set their drinks in front of them. “Never heard of it.” Xav’s words didn’t seem to judge, just state a fact.

“Half the people in the state haven’t.” Chance picked up one of the beer bottles and handed it to Xav, the brush of his fingertips against Xav’s calculated. Xav’s short intake of breath pleased him, Xav’s fingers lingering just slightly too long against Chance’s. Years ago, Chance might have looked away. But he’d come to enjoy the self-confidence and power he felt when he didn’t back down, much as he’d come to enjoy locking horns with defense counsel in court.

Xav didn’t look away either.

Nice. His past few hookups here had been low-key—translate: jejune. This one held more promise.

“I’m staying at Wrightsville Beach,” Xav said. Chance repressed a laugh. Yep. Surfer. “I’ve got a few beers and a day-old pizza.” The edges of Xav’s very kissable mouth quirked upward and his thigh brushed Chance’s.

Someone at one of the tables laughed, and the sound of a guitar being tuned mingled with the clanking of beer bottles. Chance hoped they’d be out of there before the music started. He wasn’t in the mood.

Chance went to pull his wallet from his pocket, but Xav stood and leaned over him and handed the bartender a few bills before Chance could extricate it. Nicely done. Chance caught a whiff of cologne, subtle and citrusy. From his close vantage point, Chance watched the rhythmic pulse of a vein beneath Xav’s chin.

Chance stood straighter, his hard cock straining against the heavy fabric of his jeans. “Thanks.”

Xav didn’t cede any territory as Chance stood, his shoulder pressing against Xav’s chest. Chance hadn’t realized the man stood nearly half a head taller. Chance clenched his jaw and felt his shoulders and neck tense as he fought the urge to shove Xav out of his personal space. He didn’t like it when people got too close to him. The only exception was when he was getting laid. He took a slow breath, met Xav’s eyes, then moved away and downed his second beer. “I’ll follow you,” he said.

About A Solitary Man

Sparks fly when Chance meets tall, sexy Xav at a Wilmington bar and they have the hottest one-nighter of their lives. But Chance doesn’t do repeats, Xav seems detached, and they go their separate ways without a word. Two months later, when closeted Assistant District Attorney C. Evan “Chance” Fairchild meets Dare’s Landing’s newest deputy sheriff, Xavier “Xav” Constantine, Evan isn’t only wary. He’s irritated as hell.

Xavier is a former FBI agent turned deputy sheriff who is hot on the trail of a South American child prostitution ring. Evan is fighting to put an end to rampant cocaine trafficking and chafing under the thumb of an election-hungry boss. When someone tries to kill the thirteen-year-old witness who holds the key to both their investigations, they’re forced to work together as they put their lives on the line to protect him. As Chance and Xav collide in heat of a sweltering North Carolina summer, dodging bullets and chasing bad guys isn’t the only action going on.

Pre-order A Solitary Man from Dreamspinner Press!

About Shira Anthony

Shira loves a great happily-ever-after and never writes a story without one. She’s happy to write what her muse tells her, whether it’s fantasy, sci fi, paranormal, or contemporary romance. She particularly loves writing series, because she thinks of her characters as old friends and she wants to visit them even after their stories are told.

In real life, Shira sang professionally for 14 years, and she currently works as a public sector attorney advocating for children. She’s happy to have made writing her second full-time job, even if it means she rarely has time to watch TV or go to the movies.

Shira writes about the things she knows and loves, whether it’s music and musicians, the ocean, or the places she’s lived or traveled to. She spent her middle school years living in France, and tries to visit as often as she can.

Shira and her husband spend as many weekends as they can aboard their 36′ catamaran sailboat, “Lands Zen,” at the Carolina Coast. Not only has sailing inspired her to write about pirates and mermen, her sailboat is her favorite place to write. And although the only mermen she’s found to date are in her own imagination, she keeps a sharp lookout for them when she’s on the water.

Find Shira on blog, Twitter @WriterShira, Facebook, and Goodreads and

Subscribe to Shira’s monthly newsletter for updates, free fiction, and subscriber-only contests!

About Aisling Mancy

Aisling is an author who lives, most of the time, on the West Coast of the United States. Aisling writes adult fantasy, adult LGBTQIA romance, and fiction for gay young adults (C. Kennedy).

Raised on the mean streets and back lots of Hollywood by a Yoda-look-alike grandfather, Aisling doesn’t conform, doesn’t fit in, is epic awkward, and lives to perfect a deep-seated oppositional defiance disorder. In a constant state of fascination with the trivial, Aisling contemplates such weighty questions as If time and space are curved, then where do all the straight people come from? When not writing, Aisling can be found taming waves on western shores, pondering the nutritional value of sunsets, appreciating the much maligned dandelion, unhooking guide ropes from stanchions, and marveling at all things ordinary.

Find Aisling on blog, Twitter @AislingMancy, Facebook, Goodreads, and

Aisling does respond to emails because, after all, it is all about you, the reader

 

 

Today is release day for Take Two from Dreamspinner Press. I'm so excited to share this new novel with readers - I hope it will leave you with a big smile at the end!

Take Two is a sweet and funny story about getting a second chance at love. Some angst, some adventure, hot sex, and lots of silliness and romance.

Wesley’s a slightly uptight college history professor. Sam is a Hollywood superstar. Entirely different personalities, but they fit well together. At least they did until Sam’s career took him away from Wesley and their life in New York City. Wesley’s the first one to admit he still loves Sam, but his heart has just started to heal and he’s doing his best to move on. Sam, on the other hand, knows he wants Wesley back and he’s willing to grovel if he needs to.

Sam conspires to take a role in a less than D quality movie about a pirate that’s being filmed on location at the North Carolina coast, and manages to trick Wesley into consulting on the movie. But will Sam’s over the top antics to get Wesley back work? Maybe. Maybe not.

I hope Take Two will leave you with a big smile on your face! -Shira

Blurb: Shiver me timbers! When Professor Wesley Coolidge accepts a summer job as a historical consultant to a pirate movie being filmed in North Carolina, the last person he expects to bump into is his soon-to-be-ex, movie star Sander Carson. Just like the flamboyant pirate he’s playing, Sander, aka Sam Carr, is used to getting what he wants, and he makes it clear he wants Wesley back in his life.

Sam acknowledges it’s his fault they split up. He lost Wesley when he left their life in New York City behind for a career in Hollywood. But Wesley has finally managed to put the pieces of his heart back together, and he isn’t interested in Sam and Wesley: The Sequel. Sam soon realizes that convincing Wesley to give their relationship a second chance will take much more than apologies and reminders of good times past. If he wants Wesley back, Sam will have to show Wesley that they really can sail into the sunset together—a real-life happily-ever-after that won’t end once the final credits roll.

Buy Links:

Dreamspinner: https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/take-two-by-shira-anthony-7477-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Take-Two-Shira-Anthony-ebook/dp/B01KPU7CU0

ARe: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-taketwo-2089463-149.html

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/take-two-shira-anthony/1124416760?ean=2940156863518

 

Author Bio: Shira Anthony was a professional opera singer in her last incarnation, performing roles in such operas as Tosca, Pagliacci, and La Traviata, among others. She’s given up TV for evenings spent with her laptop, and she never goes anywhere without a pile of unread M/M romance on her Kindle.

Shira is married with two children and two insane dogs, and when she’s not writing, she is usually in a courtroom trying to make the world safer for children. When she’s not working, she can be found at the Carolina coast aboard Land’s Zen, a 35’ catamaran sailboat, with her favorite sexy captain at the wheel.

Shira can be found on:

Facebook: www.facebook.com/shira.anthony

Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/4641776.Shira_Anthony

Twitter: @WriterShira

Website: www.shiraanthony.com

E-mail: shiraanthony@hotmail.com

Excerpt from Take Two:

The setup – The night before, Wesley realized Sam set him up. Wesley drank a little too much, and he wakes up on Bald Head Island where the film he’s agreed to consult on is being shot. He doesn’t really remember getting to the island, but he remembers what happened before he passed out....

When Wesley finally made his way to the sink to splash some cold water on his face, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and cringed.

Reminder to self: don’t drink when Sam is around. He repeated this thought several times as he trimmed his beard and mustache. Sam was dangerous enough without the booze.

Wesley made it downstairs a half an hour later, slightly less rickety after having showered and shaved. The smell of coffee grew stronger the closer he got to what he guessed was the kitchen. He walked through the living room into the kitchen and—

“Morning, sunshine!”

Wesley grabbed a countertop to steady himself as his heart slammed against his ribs and his head began to pound again. “Shit. Sam. You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry.” Sam appeared only slightly remorseful.

“What are you doing here?”

“Making you coffee?” Sam offered Wesley a large mug, which Wesley took. The coffee smelled incredible, dark with a hint of chicory. Splash of milk, hint of sugar.

Of course he knows what kind of coffee you like—he made it for you every day for years.

“Thank you.” Wesley took a long sip. A few more cups and he’d feel human again.

“One step closer to your happy place?” Sam turned back to the stove.

Wesley ignored the question and drank some more. Sam had always been a morning person. He’d been a night person too, when Wesley really thought about it. Sam was always up. Always happy. Irritatingly so. Then again, if those were pancakes Sam was cooking, Wesley was inclined to forgive him his cheerfulness.

Sure enough, Sam handed him a plate full of Sam’s special sourdough flapjacks. A small bouquet of wildflowers at the center of the table created a burst of color in the otherwise white kitchen. Sam had probably picked them himself. The flowering stalks of rosemary interspersed with the blooms smelled really good.

Fuck. It was hard to complain when Sam was doting on him. “Sam, I really don’t need—”

“I’m just making sure you eat,” Sam said, pointing to the table.

Sam had always worried too much about him, like he was some delicate flower in need of protection. The reality was that Wesley had always been as healthy as a horse, and at six feet tall and 190 pounds, he was hardly a shrinking violet. Maybe compared to Sam’s six-foot-three-inch frame and 230 pounds of muscle, he wasn’t Superman, but…. “Sammy,” Wesley warned.

“I know, I know, I’m leaving,” Sam said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ve got an early makeup call anyhow. I just wanted to make sure you had something to eat.” He set the remaining flapjacks on the table.

Wesley repressed a sigh. “Thank you.” Whatever he and Sam were to each other—or weren’t—Sam was a good man.

“Someone will be by around ten to take you to the set.” Sam was out the door a second later. “See ya!”

Wesley rubbed the bridge of his nose and released a slow breath. If he was going to make it through the summer, he needed to relax. Sam was old news.

Wesley reached for one of the pancakes and nibbled his way around the crispy edge. Fuck. The man can cook. He sighed as he savored the soft interior, allowing the slightly sweet fluffiness to flood his mouth. Heaven. Okay, so Sam was old news, but Wesley could still enjoy the pancakes, couldn’t he?