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Showing posts with label #adult. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #adult. Show all posts

Sunday, October 19, 2025

Book Blitz of Handle With Care by Hayden Stone. (#contests- Enter to win an Amazon Gift Card.)

Handle with Care
Hayden Stone
Publication date: October 14th 2025
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, LGBTQ+, Romance

Two rival interns. One art museum. And a missing art museum exhibit.

Dylan Alexander doesn’t need a boyfriend. Having one will only slow him down.

Freshly graduated from university, Dylan’s arrived in London, England from Vancouver, Canada for a summer internship at the London Art & Design Museum. He’s also looking for strings-free fun and a fresh dating scene. This is Dylan’s dream chance to start his career and land a permanent job in London—or else he must return to Vancouver where museum jobs are rare, and the dating pool is old news. Everything’s going great in his new life—except for one thing. Dylan must put up with rival museum intern William Martin-Greene.

Will is everything Dylan can’t stand: flashy, arrogant, and entitled. Forget that he’s too handsome for his own good and knows it. It’s bad luck that they both started on the same internship program. At least they work safely apart in different departments—until one day, they’re forced to work together when Will unexpectedly joins Dylan’s Curatorial team. So much for the avoidance strategy that had worked so far. Will’s arrival on his team is also not helping his unmistakable attraction. When Dylan and Will end up stranded together while collecting exhibits, with only one bed to share, they can’t deny their chemistry.

With only one permanent job on offer at the end of the summer, the competition is on to be the best intern. They both share the blame when an important design exhibit goes missing and risks the unexpected summer romance between them. Then, everything is on the line—including hearts, careers, and a chance at love.

A rivals-to-lovers, opposites attract, only one bed, and boy-next-door romance!

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

Day 1

Keep going, Dylan. I splash along a London street that must be hundreds of years old. It’s lined with brick buildings, a mirrored office tower reflecting the moody sky, and followed by even more brick buildings. Then, at street level, there’re all the glass-fronted shops. The museum’s got to be close. You’ve gotten halfway around the world, after all.

With the help of printed out maps and free Wi-Fi, of course.

It’s not far now.

And I can’t stop smiling. I can’t believe I’m actually here. Forget the rain.

It’s a soggy, blustery London day, which admittedly does no favors for my leather shoes or my styled hair. Or for making a good impression on the first day of a new job in a country I landed in three days ago. And it’s the first day where jet lag isn’t totally kicking my ass.

I get a little lost on my way from London Bridge station somewhere along the modern gray tiled path leading past the Old London City Hall. The problem being something called Old London City Hall looks very modern and new, with its endless windows and curved oval structure, which is part of what got me confused. Because everything old in London’s supposed to be, well, old. Like really old. And this building is anything but. I squint at the building through the rain at the edge of an equally sleek plaza, dotted with leafy trees boxed in with low hedges, concrete benches, and contemporary art installations, all overlooking the Thames.

Old London City Hall looks like it was built yesterday.

This must be some prank to play on the tourists.

I pull out a slightly crumpled page from my pocket with one hand and hold on to the umbrella with my other hand. I haven’t sorted out my phone yet, and I don’t want to pay roaming charges. My printed-out map reliably shows Potters Field Park beside the Thames and the Old London City Hall plaza. Plus, there’s the iconic Tower Bridge nearby as a key landmark, and an X in blue pen marks the museum to the east. Raindrops splatter the page with dark spots before I hurriedly tuck it away.

I’m back on track.

The museum must be straight ahead, past the park—my destination—down at the end of the road or the block or whatever people call it here. I start walking again with purpose. Like I belong here amid the Londoners who happen to know where they’re going.

At least, I think it’s the museum at the end of the street. I haven’t actually seen it before, except on Google Street View.

Distracted, I end up making an unscheduled detour down a side street to see more of the surrounding area, which has one-way traffic. But there’re more modern buildings again down this way, and I work on figuring out how to loop back on course before I’m late.

Look right, then left. I keep repeating my new mantra when I cross the street, then hurry up another street toward the museum as the weather worsens. Everyone drives on the opposite side of the street from what I’m used to.

I grip my umbrella tight against another gust of wind.

A red sports car screams past as a wind gust turns my umbrella inside out.

Then an icy tidal wave hits me like a slap, and I reel.

“What the fuck—” I yelp, the umbrella useless in my hand.

An airborne puddle soaks me. Right from my head down to my now very ruined—rather than partly ruined—new shoes. Leather never deserves a flood of water, never mind my face.

Water pours off me in sheets. I’m left sopping wet, gasping and spluttering.

Me and my wet rage, dressed in soggy smart casual. My light cotton blazer, perfect for actual summer, turns out to be incredible at soaking up water like a sponge.

I stare after the red car rocketing up the road toward the museum, its taillights a sharp dazzle against the soft gray world even through the rain. My fists tighten while I drip.

Too bad I didn’t pack a towel in my bag, but I didn’t expect impromptu bathing today.

Asshole.

Author Bio:

More animal than mineral, Hayden Stone is a writer of fun queer fiction, especially with kissing. He currently lives in Victoria, Canada, and has previously lived in Vancouver, Canada and London, UK. He likes strong coffee and is owned by two cats. You can find out his latest news on Twitter or Instagram, or at his website: haydenstonebooks.com

 

 

 

 

 

Website / Goodreads / Instagram / X / TikTok


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Handle With Care Blitz



Thursday, October 16, 2025

Spotlight of The Essence of Bliss by Emily Astillberry

  A heartwarming, magical novel, which follows Isabel Bliss, a primary school teacher with an invisible power over emotional energy, as she discovers, explores and comes to terms with her ability and her potential.

 



Title: THE ESSENCE OF BLISS
Author: Emily Astillberry
Publisher: Blossom Spring Publishing
Pages: 615
Genre: Speculative Fiction/Romance
Format: Paperback, Kindle

Isabel Bliss is a reception class teacher. She experiences other people’s emotions and can influence how they feel but she doesn’t truly understand her gift and has been encouraged, by her mum, to hide it from others. She often feels lost and alone. 

When a child in her class experiences chronic distress that only she can perceive, Isabel uses her ability to relieve his suffering, but his situation continues to worsen. Eventually she is forced to take matters into her own hands, escorting him home where she finds horrific signs of abuse. She saves his mum’s life and his father is arrested for the brutal torture he has inflicted upon his family. 

A wealthy family moves to town and Isabel meets the two sons. She recoils from Daniel, who is hateful, rude and emotionally deficient but is inexorably drawn to Scott, who awakens something magical, deep inside her. They are like her. They are fluencers and have the ability to sense, read and willfully manipulate emotional energies. Isabel confronts her mum and uncovers hurtful lies and deceit within her own family. 

She falls deeply in love and ultimately discovers the untold potential of her gift and the passion and power that dwells within.

Read a sample here.

The Essence of Bliss is available at Amazon UK and Amazon US.



Book Excerpt



The next few moments occurred in painful slow motion. As I tugged my arm sharply out of Donna’s grasp, I was jostled by a stranger on the other side. I felt myself falling off balance and reached out to grab onto something, anything, to keep me upright. The something that I grabbed onto was a jacket slung over an arm and the owner of the jacket pulled back on it hard, tipping me further off balance and sending me sprawling to the floor on my knees. I let out a pained cry as my still bruised knee struck the hard floor.

I ended up on my knees in front of a strong, long set of masculine legs in blue denim. I didn’t know for certain to whom the legs belonged, but I could make an educated guess from the pitch of the gasp and giggle from Donna and the murmuring of the onlookers. I really didn’t want to look up, but I knew that it was inevitable. I couldn’t stay on the floor forever. My knee was painful, and I wasn’t even certain that I could get up by myself. Slowly, grudgingly, I raised my eyes to find Daniel Callahan looking down at me with distasteful recognition and an unpleasant, disdainful smile. I looked him in the eye with as much dignity as I could muster. He continued to stare rudely. He didn’t utter a word.

“Sorry,” I muttered, and my hand flew to my mouth in instant regret. Had I seriously just apologised to him, again, for falling over, again? I was a total idiot, and I was more embarrassed than ever. What was it about this man that made me fall at his feet and behave like a stuttering moron with an apology tic?

“It seems like you’re making a habit of falling on your knees in front of my brother. Here, let me help you.” 

In an instant, everything changed. My whole life turned upside down. Something inside me roared to life and I suddenly felt different, stronger, more alive. It came from the source of the humming, that place deep inside of me. Those simple words, that simple offer of a hand to my feet, the smooth, velvety voice. It was the sort of voice that could make a person weak at the knees with its deep resonance and gentle tone, but it was so much more than that. I didn’t just like the sound of his voice. Something about the owner of that voice had just changed something fundamental about me, and somehow I knew, in that fraction of a second, that nothing was ever going to be the same again.

I wasn’t sure if I could move or if I wanted to look into the face that belonged to those words, that voice. I was frightened about what I might find and what it might do to me, what I might become. However, I was still on the floor on my knees, so I put my hand out, took his and let him pull me to my feet. 

Our eyes met, and without warning, a multitude of sensations overwhelmed me. I saw him, I felt him, I sensed him. I experienced things that I couldn’t understand or explain, but it was like a fire had been lit in my soul, like fireworks exploding in the deepest recess of my mind. I couldn’t just feel his emotions in the way that I normally do. This experience went further, deeper. It felt like in that single second, he was actually inside my mind, or I was inside his. I wasn’t sure whether it was one or the other or if it were both. I couldn’t process what was happening to me. It was happening too fast and exercising too many of my senses. 

He looked at me with bewitching eyes that reached into my very core. Eyes a deep, rich brown, like swirling chocolate, shimmering with a layer of warmth. They glistened with a flame that matched the fire that had ignited inside me, as if his eyes understood and reflected the very essence of me. We saw each other in a way that I had never known before, a way that I had never even dreamed of, and as we looked into each other’s eyes, the flames in his eyes grew larger, hotter. I took everything in, every minute detail. The dark hair swept back from his face, the healthy tan to his skin, the perfect line of his nose leading to full, rich lips surrounded by laughter lines, indicating a happy man: a joyful, confident, beautiful, magical creature.

The intensity of the moment wasn’t limited to the visual. The way that he looked wasn’t what captivated and thrilled my senses. When I sensed a person through their emotions, I usually felt that they were happy or sad, angry or hurt, but this was something new. This was a cacophony of feelings so loud that I felt as if my head might burst with the joy of it. Emotions that lifted me into the sky, swirling around me and through me — through my mind, through my heart, through my body — until I felt dizzy with the power of it. All that I could see were those eyes, those lips. All that I could hear was that voice, and yet I could feel and see and hear everything all at once, like I was awake for the first time in my life, like I had found the answer to a question that I hadn’t known I’d been asking.

– Excerpted from The Essence of Bliss by Emily Astillberry, Blossom Spring Publishing, 2024. Reprinted with permission.


About the Author
 

Emily Astillberry is an author and RSPCA Inspector from Norfolk, England. She has a degree in English Literature and Linguistics from York University and has been investigating animal cruelty and neglect and rescuing sick and injured animals for 20 years. In her day job, Emily deals with very difficult and often emotional situations and meets all sorts of people from all sorts of backgrounds. Her career provides some of the inspiration for themes and characters that can be found in her fictional work.

At home, in a very old cottage in the country, Emily has a husband, 5 children, a dog, a cat, an axolotl, 2 giant African land snails and a varying number of rescue hens, so finding time to write can be a challenge. She is happiest outdoors, growing fruit and vegetables in the garden, walking the dog and family holidays usually involve walking up mountains in summer, skiing down them in winter and sleeping in a tent whenever possible.

Emily loves spending time with her large, noisy, chaotic family, cooking meals for friends and playing board games. She always has at least one book on the go and has always dreamed of writing her own novel. She now dreams of writing more. 

Visit her website at https://emilyastillberry.com

You can also find her on Facebook and Instagram.

The Essence of Bliss is her latest book.



 




Sponsored By:


Cover Reveal of Hustled by Roya Carmen

Hustled
Roya Carmen
Publication date: November 20th 2025
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Sports

Fun and Games.
An indecent proposal.
And a whole lot of heartbreak.

Pro billiards player Caine Hall is hot as hell. When he walks into the pool hall I co-own with my husband Reeves, I nearly fall all over myself. Over a few playful games, we get to know each other. He’s smooth and sly, and Reeves instantly hates his guts. He’d kick him out if Mr. Hall didn’t just happen to be our landlord.

He says he wants to help us, and we’re all ears. But when he makes us an outrageous proposal, we can’t believe the gall of the man. Caine wants to spend time with me. It’s innocent enough, albeit very weird. We’re desperate because we’re behind on our rent, so eventually, after much pondering, we reluctantly accept.

Caine treats me like a princess and shows me a whole new world. He takes things slow, just like he does at the pool table. Yet… he scares me — he’s intense and obsessive. And as he abuses his power, his demands and proposals intensify.

Reeves and I are falling apart. We keep telling ourselves we’ll say no next time, but Caine has got us both under his spell, efficiently manipulating us both in very different ways.

I’m anxious about my marriage and my unpredictable, hot-tempered husband. Yet I can’t stop thinking about Caine. He’s in my head. He’s under my skin. Reeves and I have agreed that this is simply a financial arrangement, something we’re doing for our livelihood.

So why have I let Caine hustle his way into my heart?

This novel is a STANDALONE book. It will be part of a series of 3 standalone books, all stories will be related but will stand on its own.


Author Bio:

Mom, writer, bookworm, comic artist, and hopeless romantic.

Author of The Ground Rules trilogy, the One Week series, the Riverstones series, the Orchard Heights series, and the You collection.

ALL my books are standalone reads with the exception of The Ground Rules Book 2 and 3. Although the books are standalone reads, when reading a complete series, it is best to do so in chronological order to avoid spoilers. And if you're a comics fan, check out my comic book: A Romantic Life. :)

 

 

Website / Facebook / Instagram / X



Tuesday, October 14, 2025

Showcase of Happy Sun Farm- Behind the Facade by Deven Greene (#contests- Enter to win An Amazon Gift Card.)

Happy Sun Farm by Deven Greene Banner

HAPPY SUN FARM

Behind the Facade

by Deven Greene

October 13 - November 7, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:
  
She comes home to mourn her father. She stays to uncover the shocking truth.

HAPPY SUN FARM: BEHIND THE FACADE by Deven Greene
When college student Berry returns to her family’s small Southern California farm after her father’s sudden death, she believes she’s coming home to grieve and reassure her mother that she’ll soon be back for good to run the farm. With farming in her blood, she is eager to bring new life to the failing farm through modernization and sound financial management after receiving her degree in agricultural economics.

It doesn’t take long for Berry’s plans to collapse, as she discovers all is not well in the surrounding farming community. A foreign-owned agribusiness, Happy Sun Farm, is taking over all the small farms, something her father had resisted.

As she delves deeper into the company’s campaign of coercing farm sales, Berry suspects they may have been responsible for her father’s death. She learns that Happy Sun Farm is far from a happy place. Their strange farming practices don’t make sense to her, and the unexplained deaths and secrecy surrounding the farm leave many questions unanswered.

With help from law enforcement not forthcoming, Berry sets out to explore what she can, but soon finds her own life in danger. Not knowing whom she can trust, she uncovers a diabolical plan of mass proportions no one could have imagined. 

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller
Published by: Panthera Publishing
Publication Date: October 22, 2025
Number of Pages: 356
ISBN: 978-196462008
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Prologue

Fog rolled in as the sun set on the verdant hills, silent but for the small animals carrying out their daily tasks of finding food and safety while caring for their young. Below in the valley, the mist-shrouded a smattering of primitive structures—the permanent home of twenty-thousand guests of Hwasong, the largest political prisoner camp in North Korea.

All the inmates—men, women, and children—were serving a life sentence for anti-revolutionary activities or being within three generations of a person convicted of that same high crime, so-called guilt by association. Those imprisoned solely because they were related to a convicted enemy of the state lived separately on the grounds, never allowed to see their denounced relative again. Their living conditions were horrible, but not as horrible as those who had committed a serious offense.

A group of a hundred men, women, and teens wearing orange jumpsuits, tired after a long day of hard labor, shuffled into the large auditorium, hurried along by shoves and baton whacks from the guards. Already seated was an equal number of prisoners wearing blue jumpsuits, men, women, and teens who had arrived by bus a half-hour earlier from a nearby housing block. The inmates dressed in blue were emaciated, their skin loosely covering the bones underneath, while those in orange were thin but without signs of starvation. The people in orange were silent as they glanced around and sat in the vacant seats between those in blue.

If the two groups of prisoners had questions about why those in orange and blue were intermingled in this way, none dared to speak up. Ten guards armed with guns and batons stood around the room's perimeter. After all the inmates were seated, one of the officers stepped to the front of the room and commenced the evening ritual of indoctrination. The session of self-criticism would be next.

Prisoners who occasionally slumped forward from exhaustion were struck with a baton. He or she would either straighten up or fall to the floor before being pulled by their arms out of the room, never to be seen again.

As the officer droned on about the greatness of the country and their Supreme Leader, Kim Jong Un, the guards around the perimeter continued to look straight ahead. None of the convicts seemed to notice the fine aerosol being emitted from nozzles that had poked through small holes in the ceiling high above. The mist silently spread to all corners of the room for several minutes before the apertures closed, and the spouts crawled back into the ceiling.

A short session followed in which several prisoners were required to admit to recent shortcomings, such as not working as hard as they could have or eating more than needed to survive. The other prisoners responded by agreeing that the behavior described was shameful.

When the meeting appeared to be over, the inmates in orange looked around, ready for the usual order to file into the cafeteria for a small meal. However, the doors remained shut, and all were told to stay seated. The lights dimmed, and a movie began, showing scenes of happy North Koreans at parades and concerts, playing sports, and attending school. For eleven hours, during which time the guards were replaced by a fresh batch, one film after the other played as the prisoners were forced to watch.

One of the prisoners in an orange jumpsuit began to moan. In the dim light, the officers exchanged knowing looks. The sounds of distress became louder and deeper as several more inmates, all wearing orange, began to groan. The guards started to place buckets at the feet of the prisoners in orange. Within three hours, almost all those wearing orange were groaning, doubled over in pain, as they vomited into buckets. The vomit became increasingly tinged with blood as the night turned to day. Blood and stomach contents spewed onto the floor as the prisoners became unable to control their forceful retching. Soon, the sounds of explosive diarrhea filled the air. Unable to exert any control over their bodies, the sick fell to the floor as bloody bodily fluids from both ends of their gastrointestinal systems streamed out of them, into their clothes, down their pant legs, and onto the floor. Blood oozed from their mouths, noses, and eyes.

At first, the convicts wearing blue sat still in their seats, fear drawn on their faces, but without suffering physically. At some point, one, then another, abandoned their seats and stood near the back of the room. Seeing that there were no repercussions, others followed.

Within eight hours of the start of vomiting, two prisoners in orange had died. The deaths began to mount as those in blue looked on in horror, wondering if they would be next. Two buckets were placed near them for their own hygiene needs while they waited.

Seventy-two hours later, the doors opened. The prisoners in blue, still emaciated but as healthy as they were when they had entered the building, were escorted outside into waiting buses to return them to their housing block. All of the prisoners in orange lay on the floor—dead.

Chapter 1

I handed my driver's license to the airport security agent at the Indianapolis airport and scanned the boarding pass on my phone. As I had come to expect, the gray-haired man looked up at me and smiled. “I ain’t never seen that name before. Kinda takes me back.”

“I know,” I said. “I get that a lot.” My dad was only two when John Lennon was killed, but his parents indoctrinated their son on everything Beatles. He, in turn, spent countless hours listening to Beatles music with my mom. I think they got stoned a lot when they were doing it, but they never admitted it to me.

Given that their favorite Beatles song was “Strawberry Fields Forever,” I strongly favored that hypothesis. When I was born, they couldn’t resist naming me Strawberry. Oh, and my last name is Fields. Now you know why people often have something to say about my name. I’m a run-of-the-mill blond, not a strawberry blond. I think that would have made my life unbearable.

I pulled on the cuff of my long-sleeved shirt, grabbed my driver's license, and was about to walk off when the man said, “You must be a student at Purdue. Going home to visit the folks?”

“Something like that.” I was in no mood to talk. I know the man was trying to be pleasant and make his day pass more quickly with small talk. The large P on the front of my baseball cap was known by all in the area to signify Purdue University, where I was, in fact, a student. I forced a weak smile and adjusted the shoulder straps on my backpack before walking off.

After passing through the luggage check without incident, I headed toward my gate. First class was already embarking, but I still had to wait a while before my boarding group was called. I had bought my ticket the previous night and was in the last group, my seat near the back of the plane. Fortunately, the flight to Bakersfield, with one stop in Phoenix, wasn’t in high demand, and almost a quarter of the seats in the rear were empty. With ample space in the overhead bin, I lobbed my backpack in and took my aisle seat. The man sitting next to the window glanced my way and nodded. I nodded back, glad he didn’t want to chat.

I remember taking off, but not much after that until I heard a male voice asking me if I was okay. I must have dosed off and wasn’t sure how much time had passed. I opened my eyes to see the concerned look on the flight attendant’s face, a pudgy middle-aged man who was bent over, his face close to mine. We were cruising at altitude, and tears were running down my face. Embarrassed, I tried to wipe them away. “Sorry,” I said. “I was dreaming about my dad. I’m on my way to his funeral.”

“So sorry, dear. If you need anything, just let me know. I’ll comp you a drink if that will help.”

I declined but thanked him for his offer and reflected on my mother’s hysterical call the day before. She had come home after spending all afternoon with a friend shopping and going to lunch when she found my dad dead on the kitchen floor. She had often confided in me that she felt terrible going places without him, but since he refused to leave the farm, she’d been doing things independent of him for quite some time. He’d been in good health—physically, that is—so his death was a big shock.

I reflected on the situation, different from what I had planned for before my dad died as the plane sat on the tarmac in Phoenix. I was all too aware that it was too late. I was heading home, ready or not. Hardly the family reunion I had anticipated.

I started to study a book on the economics of short-run decisions. After reading the first paragraph three times and still having no clue what it was about, I shut my eyes as the plane took off for the last leg of my trip. I’d be landing in Bakersfield in a little over an hour.

My rest was short-lived. The flight attendant came by with a cart and asked me if I would like vanilla, raspberry, or peach yogurt. I looked at the available items—individual servings of Happy Sun Farm yogurt. I’d had their yogurt before, and it was delicious.

“You’re lucky,” the attendant said. “Happy Sun Farm has donated a ton of yogurt to be served on our flights all week.”

I decided it was probably no use trying to sleep and chose the peach flavor even though I wasn’t hungry. As I started to eat, my mind wandered to Happy Sun Farm. I had never heard of them until about a year earlier when their dairy and agricultural products began popping up all over. The company heavily advertised on TV. They boasted about all their products being non-genetically modified, or non-GMO. I didn’t have a problem with genetically modified food myself but knew that a lot of Americans did. All the produce my dad grew was non-GMO because he suspected all genetically modified food to be part of a government conspiracy. A conspiracy to do what, I didn’t know.

Although I didn’t have time to watch much television, when I did, it was hard to avoid the Happy Sun Farm commercials featuring wholesome families frolicking and picnicking in a green meadow. The smiling sun logo served to reinforce that warm and fuzzy feeling emanating from their commercials. I wondered if they had a model I could follow to pursue success for my family’s farm. I’d noticed their rock-bottom prices, which was surprising since they must have spent a ton on ads. What I wouldn’t give to find out the secret to their success.

***

Excerpt from Happy Sun Farm: Behind the Facade by Deven Greene. Copyright 2025 by Deven Greene. Reproduced with permission from Deven Greene. All rights reserved.

 
Author Bio:

Deven Greene enjoys writing fiction, most of which involves science or medicine. She has degrees in biochemistry and medicine, and practiced pathology for over twenty years. Her other works include The Erica Rosen MD Trilogy, Ties That Kill, and The Organ Broker.

Catch Up With Deven Greene:

www.DevenGreene.com
Subscribe to Deven's Newsletter
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @Deven_G1
Instagram - @devengreeneauthor
Facebook - @DevenGreeneFiction

 

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Friday, October 10, 2025

Cover Reveal of Lies The Dirt Keeps by Heidi Christopher

Lies the Dirt Keeps
Heidi Christopher
Publication date: November 13th 2025
Genres: Adult, Horror, Thriller

She came home searching for her sister. What she uncovered could destroy them all.

Johnna LaGrange photographs death for a living. But when she gets the call that her younger sister Ori has vanished from their hometown of Sweetwater, North Carolina, the decay she’s drawn to becomes chillingly personal.

Returning to a town that never forgave her for surviving, Johnna finds her family in tatters—her mother drowning in vodka, her brother partying like nothing’s wrong. Only Shannon, her ex turned detective, is willing to help. But as they dig into Ori’s disappearance, buried memories start to surface—of the stepfather Johnna killed in self-defence, and the darkness that’s lingered in the farmhouse ever since.

When people start dying, and Johnna wakes up with dirt on her hands and blood in her mouth, she begins to question everything—including her own mind.

But the truth is far worse than she ever imagined.

A haunting, explosive thriller about guilt, memory, and the lies we tell to survive—Lies The Dirt Keeps is perfect for fans of Gillian Flynn, KL Slater, and Shalini Boland.

Add to Goodreads / Pre-order


Author Bio:

Heidi Christopher was born in West Virginia, raised in southern North Carolina, and now resides on a mountain in Virginia with her family. Her household includes a golden retriever, a golden doodle, and four sassy cats.While studying English Literature at Shenandoah University, Heidi contributed to the University’s newspaper. She is now a freelance editor, specializing in academic editing for grades K-12.Her debut psychological thriller is set to be published in November 2025.To learn more about Heidi, you can follow her on:

Facebook / Instagram / X



Thursday, October 9, 2025

Review of The Regression Strain (Medical Thriller.) by Kevin Hwang (# contests- TWO winners- Enter to win an Amazon Gift Card.)

The Regression Strain by Kevin Hwang Banner

THE REGRESSION STRAIN
by Kevin Hwang

September 15 - October 10, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:
The Regression Strain by Kevin Hwang

Nobody’s safe when the inner beast awakens.

Dr. Peter Palma joins the medical team of the Paradise to treat passengers for minor ailments as the cruise ship sails across the Atlantic. But something foul is festering under the veneer of leisure. The brig fills with felons, the morgue with bodies, and the vacation becomes a nightmare.

Peter and his staff face a vile affliction that pits loved ones against each other and shatters the bonds of civil society.

With the ship hurtling towards an unprepared New York, only Peter can neutralize the threat, but he’s hallucinating and delirious.

And sometimes primal urges are impossible to resist.

Book Details:

Genre: Medical Thriller
Published by: Normal Range Press
Publication Date: May 21, 2025
Number of Pages: 344
ISBN: 9798992727012 (Pbk)
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

The Regression Strain

As the cab rounded the corner behind the service buildings, the full bulk of the ship rose into view, a floating city gleaming white and blue against the gray Baltic sky. The Paradise would be Peter’s home and workplace for the next month.

His shoulders tightened. Had he forgotten to pack anything? It was too late now.

The taxi ejected him into the cool summer of Copenhagen—heaven compared to the stifling heat of Texas. He checked in at the terminal counter, cleared security, and joined the stream of chattering passengers traversing the covered gangway to board the vessel. Most of them spoke in English and a few in Spanish. Others conversed in German, French, or Scandinavian tongues. They seemed affluent and confident, not at all like his impoverished patients in Houston’s Fifth Ward. That guy in front—his Rolex probably cost more than Peter’s Outback.

Peter wheeled his suitcase through a colonnade of clapping crew members and across the threshold of the grand atrium. Its rich wood paneling and glittering chandeliers were as opulent as the brochures promised. He fused with the crush of passengers piling up in front of the diagrams posted near the elevators. Living quarters for the medical crew were on the lowest deck, conveniently adjacent to the clinic.

Amid the throng, a woman was fussing over a teenage boy in a wheelchair. She leaned in and whispered something in his ear, then tousled his thick mop of brown hair. With one hand cranked tight against his chest, he lolled his head back and rewarded her with a crooked smile. Her haggard face lit up. Now that was one tired mama.

“I like his shirt.” Peter pointed to the graphic of Thor wielding his massive hammer.

“You hear that, Calvin? He likes it.”

Calvin’s nose crinkled above the sparse stubble dotting his chin. She retrieved a ChapStick from her floral fanny pack and slathered Calvin’s lips first, then her own.

She offered the tube to Peter with a glistening smile. “Want some?”

He cringed. That was weird. “Uh, no thanks.”

“Want him?”

Peter’s eyes snapped up to hers. “Excuse me?”

“You can take him for a while.” She smiled and tipped her head. “He doesn’t eat much.”

“Ah…”

“Ha ha, it’s a joke.” She licked her moistened lips. “I’ve been on this boat too long. Cabin fever.” She gave him a little nod and wheeled the kid into the elevator.

The adjacent elevator dinged open, revealing a family that looked right at home, mom admiring the decor, two school kids horsing around. Sipping coffee in his striped polo, dad looked a bit like Peter’s microbiology professor—placid and plump.

Peter pulled his suitcase to the side with a smile. It was nice to see people relaxed and carefree. And if they needed medical attention—well, he could offer it. It would be a relief to simply treat patients. No rationing medications against their rent. No fighting through nettles of bureaucracy just to get a CT scan. He wasn’t built for that fight, and the last few rounds had left him bruised.

The younger child in the elevator darted out. Mom lunged and grabbed his collar, jostling dad into Peter. Coffee sloshed out of the man’s cup and down his jeans.

An animal snarl flashed over the man’s pale, doughy face. “Watch it, prick.”

“Sorry, I didn’t expect…”

The man leaned in, eyes glowing hot behind round bifocals.

Peter jerked back. “Whoa, are you okay?”

As the man cocked his fist back, Peter watched the sleeve of his polo shirt ride up his bicep, almost in slow motion. Peter quickly raised his open palms.

“Honey,” mom hissed. She tugged her little one back, and he huddled under her frail wings.

The man lowered his fist, the stench of coffee hot on his breath.

Peter nodded. “It was an accident. I’ll buy you another coffee. Or jeans.”

The heat in the man’s eyes dissipated and he blinked a few times, looking at Peter’s face yet his attention was directed elsewhere. “Ah, shoot.”

Sorry, mom mouthed and hustled the whole family away.

Peter stepped into the elevator among passengers who seemed oblivious to the encounter. His heart hammered in his chest, and his mouth soured with adrenaline. Microbiology professor? Scratch that—this guy was more like that assistant principal caught in a minivan with the high school girl. And here he’d nearly gotten into a fistfight on his first day.

But hey, he’d defused the situation. He was still supposed to be here. This was going to work out. He closed his eyes as the last passengers got off and the elevator continued to the bottom level.

The doors opened onto a hallway with plush burgundy carpet and polished handrails. Colorful abstract prints enlivened the walls. This was where everything could begin again, even at age thirty-two. He would be a healer on the high seas, applying his hard-earned expertise to help people on vacation.

But the aura disintegrated when he opened his cabin door. Inside was a single bed, a nightstand no larger than a magazine, and a built-in desk with a swivel chair. The sheets lay twisted in a lump at the foot of the bed, exposing a mattress with stains the color of dirty bathwater. A smudged TV hung crookedly from the ceiling, and a stale scent lingered in the air. The only feature that distinguished the cabin from a hospital on-call room was the round porthole window giving view to rusty shipping containers on the dock.

Well, he wasn’t on vacation, after all, even if everyone else was. Peter heaved his suitcase onto the lumpy mattress and began stowing his clothes. Luckily he’d packed light for this trial run. The tiny closet contained a white uniform, starched and waiting like a suit of armor, as well as an orange life vest and a safe the size of a cigar box.

The only real valuable he’d brought was his new 3M Littmann Cardiology IV, an upgrade from the battered stethoscope from residency. He fished around in the side compartment of the suitcase but came up empty. It should’ve been right there.

He checked every zippered pocket, then rummaged through his backpack. Nada. How could he have forgotten his freaking stethoscope, of all things? He’d followed his packing list. He loved lists, for heaven’s sake, loved checking off each item. Little good it had done. He drew a deep breath in then out, trying to clear his mind by counting to ten like the therapist said.

Ten seconds was a long time to think about nothing. Maybe he needed a higher dose of Lexapro. He’d been reluctant to accept his diagnosis, one he himself had given to so many patients, but the antidepressant seemed to help with his mood, concentration, and sleep.

The ambiance of the bathroom matched that of the bedroom, with black spots of mildew mottling the lower edge of the shower curtain. The sink offered little space for personal items.

He opened his bottle of Lexapro, shook a tablet into his palm, and swallowed it dry as he stared into the dingy mirror. Working aboard a cruise ship would be a huge change, and he needed to bring his best. He set the bottle on the narrow counter, but it clipped the edge, flipped out of his hand, and plopped into the toilet with an insulting splash.

His stomach clenched and he squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe, by some miracle, the bottle had landed upright with the tablets safe and dry inside, like a lifeboat. A tiny boat in a tiny toilet on a gargantuan ship.

He peered down. Nothing doing—the bottle floated on its side, surrounded by white tablets bobbing in the murky water like pearls of pasta in chicken broth. Why did the water have to look like that? Was it just reflecting the grimy inner surface of the toilet bowl?

Didn’t matter. His mental health was officially soaking in shit.

The half-life of Lexapro was around thirty hours, and he’d taken one yesterday back in Houston. He could just retrieve the tablets, wash them off, and dunk them in rubbing alcohol. Without more doses, the effects would diminish over the next few days. He could picture his exit interview: I’m sorry, Dr. Palma, you came ill-prepared.

One hand drifted to his pocket. At least he’d remembered to pack his favorite metallic pen. Even in the age of digital everything, a quality pen remained one of his favorite tools—that and old-fashioned index cards. His fingers closed around the pen, clicking the top: Ta-tick, ta-tack. Ta-tick, ta-tack.

Someone knocked on the door, but the bolt clicked open before he could reach it. The slight, olive-skinned man turned back to the hall almost as quickly as he’d come in. White shirt and charcoal vest—must be a steward.

“I’m sorry, I come back later,” he said with a duck of his bald head.

Peter waved him in. “It’s all right. I just got here.”

“Nobody clean your room yet?”

“I guess not.”

“You the doctor, no?”

“One of them.” He propped the door open for the man’s cart.

The steward glanced around the tiny room. “It will be my pleasure to serve you. I come later when you have gone out.”

Peter suspected the man’s cheerful acceptance hid the same bone-deep fatigue that had weighed down his own mother. She used to clean offices, back before Felipe joined the army, and she was always exhausted. Chemical fumes permeated her clothes and hair, and her knuckles cracked and bled until he bought her the non-latex gloves that her cheap-ass boss wouldn’t pay for.

Before Peter could return to the bathroom, somebody else came knocking: a petite woman in blue scrubs, probably late thirties. A tight ponytail held back her glossy chestnut hair. Her sharp cheekbones and jawline were all business.

“Luisa Calderone, nurse on staff.” The strength in her bony handshake matched the intensity of her hazel eyes. “They said this is your first gig.”

Yep, a fresh start, a sorely needed one. “Sorry. I’ll try to learn quick.”

“We can do a proper tour later, but let’s just walk and talk for now.” She nodded back at the hallway. “I can give you some time to get changed, but we have patients—so not too long, please.”

Right back into it, then. He was a kid on a roller coaster cresting the first big incline—the moment before the bottom fell out. He opened the closet and confronted his uniform. Sure, he’d paid for the ride, but that didn’t make it any less stomach-churning.

***

Excerpt from The Regression Strain by Kevin Hwang. Copyright 2025 by Kevin Hwang. Reproduced with permission from Kevin Hwang. All rights reserved.


 MY THOUGHTS:

I thoroughly enjoyed "The Regression Strain." I was captivated from the very first chapter and finished the book quickly. Unlike some books that start slowly and make it challenging for me to stay engaged, this one was entirely different. The author crafted a thrilling story that combined elements of suspense, psychological drama, and mystery, all set within a realistic and engaging narrative filled with well-developed and interesting characters.

As a registered nurse, I was impressed by the accuracy of the medical procedures depicted in the story. It was clear that the author conducted extensive research and effectively integrated it into a compelling narrative. Each character had their own story to tell, and the protagonist, Peter, faced difficult decisions while trying to manage the outbreak. As someone who enjoys cruising, I sincerely hope never to experience such a situation firsthand. I give the book five stars. Excellent work, Mr. Hwang!

 

Author Bio:

Kevin Hwang

Kevin O. Hwang, MD, is a professor of internal medicine at McGovern Medical School at UTHealth Houston where he sees patients and teaches residents. His academic work has appeared in leading medical journals. Nothing excites him more than chicken enchiladas, index cards, and appropriately sized packaging. The Regression Strain is his debut novel.


Catch Up With Kevin Hwang:

KevinHwang.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @kevin847
Instagram - @kevinhwangmdauthor
X - @KevinHwangMD

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Wednesday, October 1, 2025

Spotlight of Stones River by M.F. Jones/ (#contests- Enter to win a signed copy of the book.)


 

Book Details:

Book Title:  Stones River: A Civil War Story of Courage, Sacrifice, and an Otherworldly Love by M.F. Jones 
Category:  Adult Fiction (18 yrs +),  302 pages
Genre: Historical fiction with a supernatural love story at its heart.
Publisher:  Fieldwood Books 
Release date:   Sep 27, 2025
Content RatingPG-13 + M: The novel has a married sex scene that is intimate though does not have explicit details. There is no profanity in the book, except for mild curses like "damn" and "hell."
 
Book Description:

When Jessie Gibbs meets Lemuel Sanders, she thinks she has finally found her ideal man—until she discovers that he is the ghost of a Civil War soldier. For 144 years, Lem has kept vigil at his unmarked battlefield grave, seeking someone to complete a personal mission so he can go to his final rest. As love grows between them, Jessie is torn. If she succeeds in fulfilling Lem’s wish, she’ll lose him when he passes into the afterlife. But if she fails and he remains in the world, she’ll never be free to find intimacy with a living man.

A riveting story of faith, passion, and selfless devotion, STONES RIVER shows the power of love to overcome all obstacles—even death itself.

STONES RIVER is Book I of The Sentinel Heart Trilogy, with Book II, SOLDIER’S JOY, coming out in 2026!

Meet the author:    

Before beginning to write full-time in 2008, M. F. (Mimi) Jones was an editor at Viking Press, where she discovered Judith Guest's bestseller ORDINARY PEOPLE in the slush pile and became its editor. She went on to senior editorial positions at Redbook, Family Circle, and Reader’s Digest magazines. In addition to writing, she’s a devotee of reading, knitting (while listening to audiobooks), choral singing, and hiking with her rescue dog, Ruby. She lives in Tennessee with her husband, composer Douglas Hedwig. 

 
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