Excerpt from Brita Addams’ Beloved Unmasked

October 16, 2015

In this hour, I’m giving you a sneak peek into the world of Beloved Unmasked where my character, Pic, lives. This excerpt also introduces you to Spence, a scampy male prostitute.


 Beloved Unmasked jpeg hires

With each stair, Pic’s curiosity built. Spence often boasted a surprise and gave him a piece of filched cake from the kitchen. But there was the time he had Pic hide behind a curtain while the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen wore Spence out. Pic lost count of how many times Spence howled, “Yeah, Daddy.” Not to mention the nights Pic had spent peeking through the crack in the mahogany armoire.

On those nights Pic’s cock stayed hard until Spence relieved him. Spence often promised that when the time was right, he, in all his magnanimity, would personally oversee the popping of Pic’s cherry, and the promise was all Pic had to show for his patience.

After each of those nights, in the darkened attic, Pic pulled out every drawing he’d ever done of men and beat off three times in an hour. Only then did the fear drain from him at the realization that a wife and kids were not in the cards for him.

Halfway up the stairs, Pic’s instinct to go home nearly turned him around. His gritty eyes demanded sleep. He’d gotten up early and would have to again because he had work to do around the house. Sapphire needed her room cleaned and insisted he do it.

Pic took a step back, but Spence opened the door, his prick in hand. “What in hell takes you so long to climb a flight of stairs? Aren’t you interested in your surprise?”

“Sure I am, but you gotta give a workin’ man a break.”

“You’ll get a big, long break when you’re dead. Get up here.”

Pic trudged up the steps, summoned by the call of cock.

The lingering smell of sex and stale cologne drew him into the massive room Spence called home. Lots of space, and he paid one of the younger girls to polish his furniture every day, which left the room with an underlying aroma of lemon oil.

“Tonight you are in for a treat. I’ve arranged your first time, just like I promised.” Spence bounced with excitement.

Pic gave the room the once-over. “Really?” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Here?”

Spence put a hand on his hip, though the other never left his cock. “Perhaps you’d prefer the parlor downstairs, with witnesses. Yes, here, with only me and the man I personally selected for you.”

“I don’t know, Spence. Maybe it’s too soon.”

“You can’t decide if you wanna get laid or not? What kind of red-blooded American man are you?”

Pic shrugged. “Don’t you remember your first time?”

“Sure I do, and I was a damn sight more eager than you are. Listen, take a drink, and you can ease your mind into the idea that I’m not letting you out of here until you become a full-fledged pansy like me.” Spence ran his long slender fingers down Pic’s face. “I want to set you on the right path. Your partner is a perfect candidate, and he’s eager to help the cause.”

“I’ll take the drink.”

Spence clapped and giggled. “Excellent.”

With an exaggerated sway of the hips, he sashayed to a bootleg liquor–laden table he’d set up near the window.

“I always love coming to your room. So much more comfortable than my cot in the attic.”

“I rather like it myself. I do have a flair for décor, don’t I?”

Spence turned his back, so Pic ambled about. The walls held an overabundance of framed pictures, not just pages from magazines taped to the wallpaper. One was of an older Queen Victoria, adorned in black, her face a mask of sadness. Spence had a thing for England and dreamed of one day visiting Kensington Palace, birthplace and once home of his favorite queen.

The heavy green draperies that hid the bed cost someone a pretty penny, as did the fine lace canopy over Spence’s four-poster.

“There you are, a good vintage, from yesterday. It’ll water your eyes when it hits the bloodstream, but guaranteed, it’ll loosen you up.”

Pic took a sip of the clear drink and wrinkled his nose. “Whoo! That shit is potent.”

“Told ya.” Spence cupped Pic’s crotch. “Speaking of potent. Have I got a treat for you.”

After another sip, Pic put his glass on a nearby table. “What kind of treat? Something better than that shit I hope.”

Spence ran his fingers beneath Pic’s lapel. “You, dear boy, will have your cherry popped by an esteemed attorney.”

Pic raised his hand to ward yet another of Spence’s wild notions. “No.” He leaned in closer. “I’m not baring my ass for some grizzled old fart on his last leg.”

“Au contraire, ma petite pomme de terre.” Spence chuckled and pulled back the heavy drapery. “Does this look like a grizzled old fart to you?”


Giveaway: Stop by my blog between October 16 and 23 for a series of posts on Storyville. Leave a substantive comment (not “I’m in” or the like,) about the posts and on November 1, I’ll select the winner of a New Orleans-themed gift pack. Beloved Unmasked isn’t included in the giveaway.


I’m very excited about the pre-release buzz about Beloved Unmasked


Beloved Unmasked is a beautifully written historical romance. You can feel the streets of New Orleans, see the sights, and hear the sounds. (Cathy Brockman – MM Good Book Reviews)


When you want a historical you can really sink into and feel like you are there, this is the book to pick up. Really amazingly well done. A Recommended Read (Tina Brunelle – Redz World)


Beloved Unmasked has a whole lot packed into the pages. Brita Addams has certainly done her research about New Orleans. (Kazza – On the Top Down Under Reviews)




Dreamspinner has Beloved Unmasked on sale until October 18, at 25% off. Buy now to get the great discount.


About the author:

Born in a small town in upstate New York, Brita Addams has made her home in the sultry south for many years. In the Frog Capital of the World, Brita shares her home with her real-life hero—her husband, and a fat cat named Stormee. All their children are grown.

Given her love of history, Brita writes both het and gay historical romance. Many of her historicals have appeared on category bestseller lists at various online retailers.

Tarnished Gold, the first in her gay romance Tarnished series for Dreamspinner Press, was a winner in the 2013 Rainbow Awards, Historical Romance category. The book also received nominations for Best Historical and Best Book of 2013 from the readers of the Goodreads M/M Romance Group.

A bit of trivia—Brita pronounces her name, Bree-ta, and not Brit-a, like the famous water filter.

Find Brita at any of the following places:





In the final hour of the Release Party for Beloved Unmasked, I’ll have a “behind the laptop” view of the book and some tidbits of Beloved Unmasked Trivia.

Murder and Mayhem Excerpt by Rhys Ford

June 2, 2015

The large case he’d set up as a wall between the front and the back of the store was broken as well, but from what he could see, the movie props he’d placed there were intact, although he couldn’t say the same for the enormous papier-mâché griffin he’d found at a Harryhausen tribute auction. Peppered with bullet holes, its body and head were marred with crumbling white holes, a scatter pattern large enough to make Rook’s stomach turn.

“Shit, they were trying to kill me.” He leaned back, trying to do a visual count on how many bullets pierced through the window and into the shop while he’d been plastered to the floor to avoid being shot.

“Go in but do not touch.” Rook echoed what his grandfather’s lawyers told him, trying to absorb the destruction. “I can’t even move without touching something. And how the hell am I going to document the damage? What isn’t damaged? Fricking lawyers.”

“Are these the same lawyers that told you to return to the scene of the crime and screw up any residuals that might be here?” Montoya’s deep voice rumbled out of the darkened doorway leading from the storefront to the elevator up to Rook’s apartment. “If they wanted you to be thrown into jail, they could have just left you there instead of this catch-and-release program we’ve got going.”

Montoya looked… good. Again. Too good. Too ruffled, too scruffy hot, with broad shoulders and his burned burned-honey eyes fringed with thick, long lashes. A hint of a dimple threatened to spread when his mouth quirked to the side, and Rook had to swallow around a lump in his throat when Montoya shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, sliding his black leather jacket back with his elbows to expose his gun harness.

Even from a few feet away, the man was a tall, dangerous complication in Rook’s life. One he wanted as badly as he didn’t want him around. Rook wasn’t sure what was worse—being accused of murder or being tailed by a man he’d gladly bend over for but who wanted him in handcuffs instead.

“What are you doing here, Stevens?” Montoya’s rumble tickled Rook’s belly, licking hot flames down his crotch and over his ass. “You shouldn’t even be here. What were you thinking?”

Rook had just the smartass answer to throw back at the detective. A burning slap of a sting mingled with a bit of a flirtation hot enough to make the man blush. It would have been an epic moment. One to balance out the unbearable want Montoya seemed to rake up inside of him and caustic enough to push the man’s buttons while pushing him away.


Rhys Ford was born and raised in Hawai’i then wandered off to see the world. After chewing through a pile of books, a lot of odd food, and a stray boyfriend or two, Rhys eventually landed in San Diego, which is a very nice place but seriously needs more rain.

Rhys  admits to sharing the house with three cats of varying degrees of black fur, a black Pomeranian puffball and a ginger cairn terrorist. Rhys is also enslaved to the upkeep a 1979 Pontiac Firebird, a Toshiba laptop, and a purple Bella coffee maker.

Evac Excerpt

May 26, 2015

Since I’m here today to talk about my book, Evac, that releases tomorrow, I thought I’d share the first chapter so you can get a sense of the intensity of the story.
Chapter One
Only the Good Die Young

“EVAC! EVAC! We need emergency evac now!” Benji shouted at the top of his lungs into his radio for the umpteenth time. “We’re getting slaughtered out here.”

If anyone on the other end of the radio couldn’t pick up on the emotion in Benji’s voice, all they had to do was listen to the barrage of gunfire that served as background noise.

“Bravo Six. This is Bravo Two Three. Request immediate medevac. Repeat. Request immediate medevac. Situation FUBAR. Do you copy?”

Over crackling noise from the radio, Benji thought he heard someone, but whatever they said wasn’t clear. Too much static made it unintelligible. And with gunfire all around them, it was nearly impossible for Benji to hear the person beside him, let alone someone’s voice coming faintly over a weak radio transmission.

So many damned valleys all over Afghanistan made radio communication difficult at best, so Benji kept repeating the call for evacuation over and over and over again. He wasn’t convinced his messages were getting out of the valley, much less to someone who could make anything happen.

He kept repeating his call for help, pausing briefly after each attempt, hoping against hope a response would come through crystal clear.

“Evac! We need emergency medevac. We’re getting mowed down out here. Chopper down. Wounded on board. We’re taking heavy fire. We’ve got wounded and casualties. We need emergency evac. We’re surrounded by hostiles. Over.”

WHEN THEY’D climbed aboard the chopper less than an hour ago, they’d been a happy-go-lucky band of brothers out to do a day’s work. The only difference between them and anyone else was that their workplace was a war zone with inhospitable terrains and really pissed-off hostiles. Benji and his buddies were good at their jobs, and they had an excellent record.

They’d been gossiping and joking and teasing for the first part of the flight before growing quiet as they neared their drop-off point. They might have acted like adolescents, but they were trained soldiers, and when they went into a potential combat situation, that situation had their laser-like focus. It all came down to context. When they had to be hard-ass killing machines, that’s what they were. When they could relax, they joked and played and gossiped like school kids.

On their flight in that morning, the chief focus of their gossip had been one of their own. Mark had taken one of the nurses out on a date the previous day—as much as one could go on a date while eating, sleeping, living, and breathing in hell. Despite nearly nonstop teasing and taunting, Mark wouldn’t tell them what the two had talked about during their time together. When he’d returned to their shelter with a smile on his face, they were all happy for him. They wanted details, but he was a gentleman who wouldn’t kiss and tell. Hence the nonstop jabs.

Benji didn’t think he’d ever forget Mark’s smile. It had been so adorably cute it was burned into Benji’s memory, probably forever. As Benji watched his buddy die early on, when their mission started to go to hell via the express lane, all he could think of was that smile from the previous night. Benji was overwhelmed with anger that such a good guy had been mowed down. He wanted to make someone pay. He redoubled his resolve to pull something worthwhile out of the hellish mess in which they found themselves.

They’d been ready. Benji and his guys knew the drill. They’d been focused and ready to move into action the second their chopper touched down. But they didn’t get the chance to put their training to work.

Benji had been looking out the open doorway, preparing himself like all the others. He’d been unconsciously flexing his muscles, getting ready to push up and out of the chopper and onto the ground so he could run while staying low. It wasn’t an easy thing to do under the best of circumstances, but doing it wearing eighty pounds of gear, including body armor and helmet and weapons, made it ten times harder.

But it was what they did. Every day the same thing. They took their mission seriously, even when it didn’t make sense. But they weren’t paid to make policy; they were paid to carry out the mission, and they did that whether or not they agreed with why they were there. They’d all heard the shots striking their helicopter as they came in. At about twenty feet off the ground, a bullet hit some vital part of the helicopter’s propulsion system. Like an angry wild beast, their chopper whipped around violently. The machine took on a life of its own, independent of the pilot and copilot’s control—no pilot in his right mind would make a chopper do what theirs had done.

The first casualty was Benji’s buddy with the smile. Benji watched, horrified, as Mark lost his balance and his grip on the handrail when the chopper whirled around so fast. He was flung through the open doorway twenty feet above the ground. Mark screamed, but so many things were happening simultaneously, Benji and his team could barely process them fast enough to keep up.

But there could be no mistake about what happened next. Gunfire hit Mark almost immediately as he seemed to hang in midair just beyond Benji’s reach. Since Benji was next in the jump sequence, he was closest. He didn’t hear gunfire, but he felt the splash of warm wetness on his face and saw the look of surprise on his buddy’s face before an utterly blank expression replaced it. And then he was gone.

Mark plummeted to the ground, which was actually a good thing. The way their chopper was spiraling crazily in the air, if he hadn’t fallen, he would have impacted the outside of their ride.

The only good thing that particular day was they didn’t have far to fall. The chopper tried to rise as it spun wildly, so the twenty feet rapidly turned into thirty, maybe more. Benji couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter really, because the chopper suddenly went silent. It seemed to hang in the air for a second, and then it fell from the sky.

Funny thing about helicopters: if their engines stop, they don’t glide down gently like an airplane—they drop like a rock.

Thankful the spinning had stopped, Benji was dizzy from the rapid whipping motion. Then he felt the crash. No way anyone could miss the fact their ride had just hit the ground.

The chopper came down on its right side, which unfortunately had the open door. Benji saw the chopper skin crumple beside him—or more accurately beneath him, given their new orientation to the ground. All Benji knew for sure was the side of a helicopter—up or down or sideways—wasn’t supposed to do what the part he was lying against had done.

In the moments after the crash, Benji heard moaning amid the various creaking noises the dead machine was making. He knew their first priority was to get out before the thing potentially exploded. It would take only one lucky shot for someone to send them all to hell in one group.

Benji wasn’t the commander of their unit. He couldn’t figure out why their leader wasn’t, well, leading. The leader was supposed to lead in all situations, even the unexpected ones, especially the unexpected ones, and this certainly fit the bill as unexpected. So why wasn’t he leading?

It took a moment for Benji to push himself up a little and then shove something aside enough so he could move. One look at their unit leader’s broken body told Benji the man wasn’t going to lead anyone anywhere. Benji wasn’t sure how Major Evans had become impaled on someone’s automatic rifle, but it must have been fast to drive it all the way through his torso.

Someone had to take charge immediately. No one else was together enough to do it, so pecking order be damned. They needed to live.

Benji automatically shouted out, “Who can move?”

Jumbled answers came from the wreckage. Some guys just moaned, which told him they would need to be carried out because they weren’t going anywhere under their own power.

Although it was difficult, Benji pushed himself free and started to crawl toward an opening in the chopper. It had probably been part of the cockpit; he didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. He needed to find a way to get his buddies out of the death trap before it blew up or some local showed up and started shooting them like fish in a barrel.

He remembered his grandfather using that phrase a lot when Benji was little. He had asked the old man why anyone would have their fish in a barrel anyway. He couldn’t remember whether or not his grandfather had ever answered his question, but the phrase had stuck and somehow seemed appropriate at that moment.

The rest of the helicopter was a twisted mass of metal. The former windshield seemed to be the most logical way out, if Benji could get the shattered glass to give way. It wasn’t easy, but he braced against something and started kicking at it. He’d expected, given its condition, it would rapidly pop out, but despite two or three kicks, the windshield remained stubbornly in place.

A couple more attempts and some of it loosened. Anxious to get his guys out of the dead bird as fast as possible, Benji kept kicking, pulling on inner reserves of strength and determination. This was for his guys, his brothers, his buddies. He’d do anything for his guys, just like they’d do the same for him.

When it finally released its hold, the windshield simply fell away from the chopper in a less than dramatic fashion. After all that effort, he’d almost hoped for something big and impressive, but he’d settle for plain and boring as long as it meant out.

The way clear, he shouted, “Come on, guys, haul it out. We need to get clear. Move it. Follow me.” One of his buddies crawled toward him. Benji flung his rifle over his shoulder and reached back to pull the guy out of the wreckage.

Something wet dripped down onto his neck. What is that smell? He recognized it, but his brain wasn’t at peak efficiency. What the hell is it? Jet fuel! That’s it. It smells like jet fuel. That isn’t good. No. That’s very, very bad.

He had to move them faster. “Fuel leak. Haul your asses out of here now!” he told them. A couple of them scrambled toward him, each helping an injured guy who couldn’t make it on his own.

Benji did a quick scan of the area, looking not only for bandits but also for cover. He needed to find shelter for them, some place from which they could fight and protect their wounded. He began putting the injured against a large boulder about twenty feet from where they’d impacted the ground.

He tried to radio for help after getting the first of the injured on the ground behind the boulder. The damned landscape of northern Afghanistan made radio communication so difficult. He tried and tried to get word out. He moved another injured comrade to safety, then tried once again to radio for help.
OUT OF their group of eighteen guys, only Benji and two others were able to move about without any problem—mostly. Ten had injuries of some sort, most serious enough to make their condition critical. The rest were dead. Benji made a mental note of who was where so he could direct their rescue party to recover the bodies of the dead.

Dead. Benji used the term in his mind, but it was just a word, a descriptor that didn’t carry any special meaning. It didn’t mean anything to him in terms of individuals. It was a logistical term. He was still pushing on adrenaline so he could make plans and carry out actions, but he couldn’t process emotions. Those were luxuries that would come later, if they survived. Surviving was first and foremost.

Huddled behind the boulder, Benji felt something hit the ground near his leg. “Son of a bitch!” he cursed aloud. The bandits had found them and were getting close enough to their position to start firing on them. Benji started to move, but his left leg seized up. “Fuck. I don’t have time for a fucking muscle cramp,” he muttered to himself.

“Pull in, guys,” he ordered, not that his buddies could do much more pulling—they were packed in fairly compact already.

Benji looked to his right to repeat his order in time to watch Blade, the other uninjured guy, get hit. One shot and he was dead, his death nearly instantaneous. It hadn’t been dramatic. One minute he was living, looking at the guy next to him, starting to look at Benji to say something—he’d lifted his head and opened his mouth—and then he was dead. Welcome to god-fucking-damn Afghanistan. Benji’s heart clenched at what he had just witnessed. He wanted to weep, to wail, to curse the universe, but he did not have the luxury to feel anything. Feelings would have to come later. Grief would have to come later. First he needed to survive. Soldiers compartmentalized things, which was exactly what Benji did. Put it away and deal with it later.

For what felt like an eternity, Benji and his fellow soldiers tried to fight back. Anyone who wasn’t unconscious was fighting. Even those who couldn’t sit up still aimed their rifles or handguns and fired at hostiles, or they helped by reloading when someone’s weapon ran out of ammo.

Only Benji and one other guy were upright at that point, and the other guy was wounded. They were doing the bulk of the fighting, trying desperately to locate where the hostiles were hidden so they could try to take them out. The only problem was there seemed to be a whole lot more of them than of Benji’s unit, and the hostiles had the upper hand.

He smelled it before he saw it. The air was thick with the stench of fuel of some sort. The closest he could come to identifying it was jet fuel, probably from their wounded bird. He quickly looked at the broken body of their helicopter and saw that what had been drops of fuel was now a constant trickle. The breeze shifted, so the smell of the fuel reached him now where it hadn’t before. While not good, it wasn’t the worst of his problems at the moment.

Something impacted the boulder inches from where they huddled. It caused pieces of the rock to break off, dust and grit falling on them as they tried to make themselves the smallest targets possible. The worst wasn’t the grit. Hell, they could handle that. The problem was that the impact of the bullet had caused an explosive sound at what seemed like mere inches from Benji’s head. The loud noise deafened him for a few moments and left him with a horrible sense of disorientation. He put his head down for a second and then shook it, trying to clear the blockage in his ears, not that there was much hope of that happening.

The silence was replaced by a ringing in his ears that got louder. That ringing was replaced eventually by a low-level sound of gunfire from the surrounding area. Everything sounded muffled, as if someone had thrown a really thick blanket over his head, only he knew they hadn’t, because he could still see everything and everyone—he just couldn’t hear shit.

He swiveled his head left and then right. Without his hearing, he had only his sight to check on his guys. Again his look was timed so he had to watch another of his brethren mowed down by hostile fire. Things were not good if the unfriendlies were so close they could get a shot off like that one. This was bad. This was really, really bad.

The only good Benji could find at that split second in time was that the smell of fuel was gone. The problem was, the gas smell had been replaced by the odor of blood. Before coming to Afghanistan, Benji had never realized that blood had a smell. But he knew now from experience that blood most definitely did have a distinctive odor, almost a metallic smell, as odd as that seemed. And that day, in that place, the ground was soaked with blood, American blood, the blood of his brothers.


May 26, 2015

The Story

When we started the editing process for Evac, I had not realized that it would be released on the week of the Memorial Day holiday.  What a fitting time for this story to be published.  Evac is the story of Benji, a soldier stationed in Afghanistan.  One morning he and his band of brothers board a helicopter for a flight north.  It is a standard mission until it all goes to hell in a heartbeat.  Snipers bring down their chopper.  Those who were not killed outright in the crash are slowly picked off one by one as they try to get away from the fuel leak and smoldering remains of their chopper.

Benji does his best to keep his men safe and to fight back, but they are seriously outnumbered.  He tries desperately to radio for help, for medical evacuation, but the valleys of Afghanistan make radio communication difficult. When help does finally come and the Marines mount a rescue mission, there are more body bags than anything else.  When Benji wakes in a hospital in Germany he learns he is the sole survivor of his unit.  All of his men, all of his brothers, all of his buddies are gone.

This book traces Benji’s journey as he tries to return to life as a civilian back in San Diego.  Survivor’s guilt, PTSD, and lack of understanding of how to be anything but a soldier make his reintegration to civilian life next to impossible.  He is driven from one wild extreme to another in attempts to atone for surviving while everyone else died.

Reviews and Feedback

Early reader reviews of this book have been uniformly and overwhelmingly positive:

“This one has a lot of power.”

 “This is a heart-breaking story about a very realistic character. I really sympathized with Benji and his circumstances. It is so sad what happens to many of our veterans, and you’ve done a really nice job portraying that here. I’m glad you wrote this—it will bring attention to an important issue. I was so glad when Benji met Nick, and I hope they continue to be good for each other.”

 “Wow! I loved this one; it is quite a powerful story and Benji is wonderful and well-developed.”

 “I was riveted throughout”

 “This has been one of my favorite stories this year. Thank you!”


The Cover


The cover art for this book is taken from a beautiful piece by the gifted artist Michael Breyette.  I adore his work and am honored to be able to use one of his works as the cover for Evac.  The image he has produced is so absolutely perfect for Benji and the desperation he comes to feel. I could not have asked for a more perfect cover than this one.



WRECKED Blog Party – Post 4 – The Quotes

May 16, 2015


In my final post, I want to talk about the quotes at the beginning of each chapter. When I first started writing WRECKED, it was after visiting the Key West Shipwreck Museum in Florida. I was so fascinated by this intriguing pocket of history that I began reading everything I could about the era. While doing this, I found all of these awesome quotes like this one:

Key West is a little village of hardy seamen undisturbedly reaping a rich harvest from the enormous losses of commerce on the Reefs.” —Gov. William P. Duval; 1st civilian governor of Florida, 1832

Does the name Duval ring a bell?

Well, if you’ve ever been to Key West then you probably walked down Duval Street…..one of my favorite things is doing the Duval Crawl! Those are some of the best times I barely remember. LOL #goodtimes

But on a serious note, while I was reading these great Key West specific quotes, I decided that I needed to find a quote to open each chapter. I was also in the process of reading the books that my hero Mathew would have read, like Moby Dick…aka The White Whale in 1858 when my story takes place. And yeah, I read it! That is where I got my favorite quote from the entire book:

Friendship at first sight, like love at first sight, is said to be the only truth.” —Herman Melville; an American novelist, 1819-1891

One of my favorite quotes of all time (which did not end up in WRECKED) is this:

There is nothing like staying at home, for real comfort.” —Jane Austen

What about you? Do you have a favorite quote that touches you in some way?


THANK YOU so much DREAMSPINNER for hosting me this evening! I had a great tme and I hope everyone piks up their copy of WRECKED and enters to win one of the two copies of WRECKED
A Rafflecopter giveaway


Blurb from WRECKED:

Off the Key West coast, Rief Lawson works as a wrecker, salvaging ships and their cargo. Exiled to the outskirts of society because of his mysterious gift of sight, Rief’s only respite from his loneliness is painting an unknown blond man. When a merchant ship wrecks during a violent storm, Rief rescues a drowning victim and comes face-to-face with his destiny.

It is the man from his art!

Heir to an English barony, Mathew Weston entered the merchant trade with his greedy father and soon-to-be father-in-law. Dominated by his father and smothered by the people around him—including his sweet but tiresome fianceé—Mathew is terrified to follow his true desires. Marriage and obedience seem safer than a life of secrecy and possible prison.

After the daring rescue, a fire ignites between the two men. Powerless to resist his desire, Mathew learns what it means to be a man in Rief’s arms. With this newfound confidence, Mathew teaches Rief through gentle touch that he deserves the affection he’s long been denied. Yet their affair is doomed from the start. Two desperate men, wrecked in heart and mind, must find a way to salvage the chance at love fate has given them.


Deanna Wadsworth might be a bestselling erotica author, but she leads a pretty vanilla life in Ohio with her wonderful husband and a couple adorable cocker spaniels. Her fascination with people and the interworkings of their relationships have always inspired her to write romance with spice and love without boundaries.


You can also find her young adult alter ego, K.D. Worth FacebookTwitter

Buy Deanna’s books at Dreamspinner Press, Decadent Publishing or at any reputable eBook seller

WRECKED Blog Party – Part 3 – The Cover!!

May 16, 2015




Yeah, are all of you in love with this book cover Paul Richmond made for WRECKED? I know I am! And I just ADORE seeing the stages of creation he goes through to give me the masterpieces he’s done for my other books! #love

When Paul asked me to fill out the form for what I envisioned, I attached a bunch of vintage eighties romance novel covers—you know the ones with Fabio and ripped bodices? LOL I explained that I wanted an epic, classic romance novel cover. When Paul first sent his sketch, I almost FREAKED out, I was so excited. I mean, even in the black and white sketch, he NAILED it, right?

So why did I want a vintage style cover?

Well, firstly because, old school covers like this are few and far between. Rarely do you see them in gay romances. But mostly, I felt it really expressed the mood of WRECKED. This book is a 96K read full of wanting, romance, love, surprise and a dash of gypsy magic.

Magic, you might say?

Yes, like my awesome cover artist Paul Richmond, the hero of WRECKED Rief is also an artist. And when things got bad in his life he turned to his art. And what his mind’s eye created was a beautiful blond man, someone who did not judge him and always made him feel safe.

What Rief NEVER expected was that one day he would rescue that very man from drowning at sea!

Will the real man be someone that Rief can trust? Or, like the oil and canvas, will Mathew become nothing more than a memory, gone before Rief ever has a chance to heal from his broken past?

Well, I guess you will just have to read WRECKED to find out!

While Rief uses his art to cope with stress and depression, what about you guys? What sort of things do you do when life gets to much? What is your escape which brings you peace?

Mine is reading with a glass of wine. Or perhaps a hot bath and a glass of wine… maybe all three if it’s really been a bad day!



Enter to win WRECKED here: a Rafflecopter giveaway


Deanna Wadsworth might be a bestselling erotica author, but she leads a pretty vanilla life in Ohio with her wonderful husband and a couple adorable cocker spaniels. Her fascination with people and the interworkings of their relationships have always inspired her to write romance with spice and love without boundaries.


You can also find her young adult alter ego, K.D. Worth FacebookTwitter

Buy Deanna’s books at Dreamspinner Press, Decadent Publishing or at any reputable eBook seller


WRECKED Blog Party – Part 2 – Sexy Excerpt

May 16, 2015


Thank you for joining me, Deanna Wadsworth, for my blog party to celebrate the release of my historical romance WRECKED. Earlier I was talking about inspiration and where I got the idea for WRECKED.

Now I have a question for you….

What is your favorite era in American history to read about?

The Wild West? Revolutionary War? Civil War?

I’m a huge American history fan, so I like all the eras because it feels like my history. J

If you don’t know the setting for WRECKED, here is a quick peek at the blurb:

Blurb from WRECKED:

Off the Key West coast, Rief Lawson works as a wrecker, salvaging ships and their cargo. Exiled to the outskirts of society because of his mysterious gift of sight, Rief’s only respite from his loneliness is painting an unknown blond man. When a merchant ship wrecks during a violent storm, Rief rescues a drowning victim and comes face-to-face with his destiny.

It is the man from his art!

Heir to an English barony, Mathew Weston entered the merchant trade with his greedy father and soon-to-be father-in-law. Dominated by his father and smothered by the people around him—including his sweet but tiresome fianceé—Mathew is terrified to follow his true desires. Marriage and obedience seem safer than a life of secrecy and possible prison.

After the daring rescue, a fire ignites between the two men. Powerless to resist his desire, Mathew learns what it means to be a man in Rief’s arms. With this newfound confidence, Mathew teaches Rief through gentle touch that he deserves the affection he’s long been denied. Yet their affair is doomed from the start. Two desperate men, wrecked in heart and mind, must find a way to salvage the chance at love fate has given them.


Now would you like a quick, naughty excerpt? Please leave a comment about what era in American history is your favorite for a romance novel and then check out the naughty excerpt from WRECKED! I mean, if any of you read EASY RYDER or A CUPID’S WAGER, you know that I like to write some steamy stuff!! And don’t forget to enter to win your own copy WRECKED!



Enter to win WRECKED here:a Rafflecopter giveaway



With a soft moan, Rief clung to him for a moment. Then he rolled over. “Take me again before you go.”

Mathew groaned when that ass brushed against his cock. Already pretty stiff from being so close, his groin throbbed at the sight of such submissive posturing.

Sideling up to him, he brushed Rief’s mussed hair off his face before cupping it possessively and kissing him. An intensity of emotions roared inside him knowing Rief trusted him enough to share his secrets. It made Mathew want to protect Rief’s heart while bringing every pleasure to his body he had ever been denied. He would give anything to this man, anything to make him heal and to prove, more than any drawing, Mathew would give Rief peace. Their time together would surpass any joy Rief experienced while painting him.

He would be immortalized, not on a canvas, but upon Rief’s very soul.

Drawing back, he asked in a pant, “Where is the oil?”

Rief found it and poured some in his hand, passing it to Mathew to coat his cock. He stared, enthralled at the indecent pleasure on Rief’s face as he plunged his own fingers into his ass with expert precision.

“Please,” Rief begged, lying on his side and raising one leg.

Never before had Mathew heard a more rousing word, nor seen such an erotic sight. He’d first believed buggering was something done to a woman or someone less than a man. Perhaps doled out as a punishment.

How foolish he had been!

This morning, he saw everything so differently.

To all outward appearance, Rief was the heartier of the two. Big and masculine. Yet pleading for a cock inside him did not make him less of a man, nor did it render him weak or feminine. His need to release all control, to be vulnerable before Mathew, made him incredibly enticing. Mathew had been living in fear most of his life, but when they were in this bed, he was empowered. Bold and courageous, just as Rief painted him.

There was no greater or lesser between them. Being connected this way made them both whole.

Enter to win WRECKED here:a Rafflecopter giveaway



You can also find her young adult alter ego, K.D. Worth FacebookTwitter

Buy Deanna’s books at Dreamspinner Press, Decadent Publishing or at any reputable eBook seller

Threefold Love-The Shape of Honey

April 18, 2015

I’m going to start the production process on The Shape of Honey with Dreamspinner Press soon. It’s a shifter book about werewolves, maybe my favorite paranormal subject of all time. Yulian Volkov kind of hates everyone, mostly, except that he doesn’t, not really. He loathes the way other werewolves behave here in the United States, so different from what he grew up with in Europe. Not that werewolves weren’t violent there, and there weren’t territory wars, but it’s nothing compared to the shear brutality of the packs here. To get away from it all he moved out into the country away from the seat of pack power in his territory, taking over his Grandmother’s land, turning it into a top notch Meadery. He still has to attend pack meetings occasionally, however, and here and there’s he’s caught glimpses of Rolly Witten, and he likes what he’s seen.

Rolly is young, and unlike the older members of the pack and most of his agemates he’s done with being a wolf. As far as he can tell it’s a never ending pain in the ass—pack meetings, animal instincts, and being beholden to the moon? No thanks. He likes shopping in a grocery store and he’s seen animal planet. He’s definitely not “Werewolves, Yay!” like the rest of the pack seems to be. And it doesn’t help matters that the only profession he’s ever aspired to has been honing his breaking and entering skills with his best friend Violet. She’d actually picked the profession for both of them because wherever she goes Rolly follows. They’ve always been best friends, and she knows all of his secrets, even the one he’s worried will get him kicked out of the pack. As it turns out, it’s getting arrested that finally gets him ripped away from the safety of the pack, leaving him to the dangers of fighting into another pack because Rolly knows trying to mate in will be a disaster of apocalyptic proportions.

Except fighting in is kind of synonymous with suicide.

Or will Yulian be able to convince Dean, the pack leader, there is something more useful that can be done with Rolly? Something that will keep him safe and keep him out of trouble?

I’m excited to start working on The Shape of Honey with Dreamspinner Press because I had such a wonderful time getting Threefold Love ready for public consumption with them. <3


E-book: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=6278

Paperback: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=6279


King of Rain – Release Party #5 – Location Photos Excerpt

March 13, 2015

Location, Location, Location!

The series name “West Coast Boys” clearly states that location is a big part of the stories. There’s a lot of reasons for this. I’ve talked a bit about the West Coast culture and its tendency to be open-minded and welcoming. I’ve talked a bit about the wilderness access that so many West Coast people enjoy and how I feel that influences and supports us. But there’s another reason that location is important.

Spiritual Connection to the Land

Many young people are feeling spiritually excluded these days. So many religions have turned their backs, or even raised their fists to LGBT people, that the loss of religion is widespread and understandable. I’ve found that getting back into the wilderness has been huge for me in helping me feel connected on a spiritual level to the world and the people around me. When I walk through the forest with my family on the weekends, I call it “Going to Church,” because that’s what it is for me. I always feel the tension drain, my spirits lift, and my heart open once I’ve had time breathing that thick rainforest air.

There are so many deep truths in a forest. Everything is connected and it all works together. Diversity is sacred. Each leaf is a work of intricate art so incredible that I know without any doubt that there is a pattern to everything around me. The West Coast Boys experience this too, even though they live in the city and are always glued to their phones.

Excerpt from King of Rain – Logan’s Pool

Here’s an excerpt about how Logan uses his deep connect with the land around him when he needs to make a deep change in his life.

I looked up at the trees, black on either side of the river as they grew up the steep cliffs, and as luck would have it, right at that second, a huge bird flew across the divide. It must have been an owl since it was the middle of the night, and I wondered what the river looked like to him, floating above the world like that. It must be a scar, cutting deep down into the earth. I’d always known it was a special place. I felt… different whenever I came out of the canyon. Recharged, less desperate. If there was a place where I could do this… what? Transformation? It was here.

The water was so clear and clean. I need to get down to the water. I retraced my steps back over the bridge. There was a small secret beach just down from here, and I climbed down the steep path.

Root Staircase 2 to Secret Beach - King of Rain
The roots of the trees and the feet of all the locals that came down here had formed the steep path into tiered uneven steps, like tiny terraces of dirt held in place by the curves of the roots.

Root Staircase 1 to Secret Beach - King of Rain
I slipped a bit, but grabbed a tree trunk and stopped myself from flailing down into the metal fence at the bottom. I went more carefully after that, soaking my feet in the mud puddles that ran along the fence, down farther, until I came out on a great big chunk of rock overlooking the water.

This pool had the weird calm top to it too. The current was running fast and hard underneath, but it made the surface look smooth. I was like that, wasn’t I? Always smoothing over the surface of my face so I never looked upset.

Logans Pool1 - King of Rain
I made my way down the rock—the missing chunks made an almost-staircase, so it wasn’t hard to get down onto the little stony beach.
Logans Pool2 - King of Rain
The pool here was a safe swimming spot. It was cold as fuck, but it got shallow really fast downriver so if you got swept away, you could just stand up and walk out.

There was a little area in front of me that was deep water, though.

Logans Pool3 - King of Rain
Too deep to stand up, for sure. The water was shiny and black, and the trees on the far slope hung down towards the surface. How do you strip off a layer of yourself? Could I shed it like a second skin?

Logans Pool4 - King of Rain

I need to get in the water.
Logans Pool5 - King of Rain


Thanks so much for joining me for my first ever Dreamspinner Blog Release Party! Here’s where to find me online after this if you want to reach out, or follow the rest of the blog tour.

I hope you enjoyed my party!

Lots of hearts from
Michele - Parisienne Signature

Connect with Michele!

Author Site & Blog: www.michelefogal.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/michelefogal
The Books I Love & My Reviews on GoodReads http://www.goodreads.com/michelefoga l
Facebook Page http://www.facebook.com/MicheleFogalAuthor

Looking for King of Rain?

Amazon.com: http://amzn.com/B00U8ZYLZW
Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/king-of-rain-michele-fogal/1121327108?ean=2940151255776
All Romance Ebooks: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-kingofrain-1756712-147.html
Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Michele_Fogal_King_of_Rain?id=TyTnBgAAQBAJ
Dreamspinner: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=6156

“King of Rain” – Blog Party #3 – Steamy Excerpt with Soundtrack

March 13, 2015

WOO! We are at the hot party of the par-tay! Time for celebrating!

Sexual Content

Note: this excerpt contains sex and the book itself has a high degree of male/male hotness.

A fellow writer once asked me (as she cracked the book open), “Will there be bodily fluids?” to which I replied, “OH YEAH.” She was worried, but trudged into the dark anyway (bless her). She came back to me later and said that she found the sex explicit but also emotionally intimate and psychologically satisfying. I carry that compliment with me, because it’s an important part of my work. I don’t “fade to black” because I’m intensely interested in human intimacy. We dismiss sexuality as titillating or cheap / meaningless when it is one of the largest sources of intimacy that we have as adults.

Gay couple watching sunset

How each person navigates intimacy is ever-evolving. Their need for closeness and their physical desires mix with their confidence levels, their family history, their vulnerability and wounds they’re already carrying on their hearts. I don’t believe that any two sexual experiences are identical because we are all unique and changing from moment to moment. So much HAPPENS in the bedroom. Important stuff. Sacred stuff, gritty stuff, and uh, yeah, naked stuff!

Background to this Scene:

Logan is a troubled young guy who has followed a stranger back to his place to let off some steam. He gets more than he expected. This scene is from his perspective.

Soundtrack Excerpt – Track 6

“Thirst” by City and Colour

Thirst by City and Colour on Grooveshark

And then he lay on top of me and asked if I was okay, and I felt myself melt a little more. I wanted to say no, I wasn’t fucking all right and tell him everything. I never felt like that, even with guys I’d known forever.

A new song came on. It was one that had been my theme song for a while, so I knew all the words. “Thirst” by City and Colour was perfect. It was all about being filled with longing, dying of thirst, feeling rejected and alone. It made me feel like he understood me for some stupid reason. Maybe this was his charity-fuck playlist or something. I tried to turn my head to look at him, and I caught sight of a tattoo on his arm. I couldn’t figure out what it was. It struck me how I knew absolutely nothing about him. “What’s your name?” I said.

“Jeremy. You?”

“Logan. Pfft. Nice to meet you.”

He laughed. I smiled and it felt strange on my face. God, how long had it been since I smiled? Leaning over my shoulder, he kissed my smiling lips, and then I was lost again, wanting to dive into him and never come up for air. Kissing a girl had never been like this. I mean, the mechanics were the same, of course, but this was like stepping onto the wet sand and then getting hit by a huge tidal wave. Oddly enough, the restraints felt like anchors that kept me from being pulled too far out to sea. It felt safer that it was hard to kiss him twisted around like this, safer that I couldn’t demonstrate how desperate I was to hold him, to take him or offer myself up like some pathetic virgin sacrifice.

He broke the kiss, and I was embarrassed to feel myself straining after him, looking for more like some blind, starving animal.

“You have a girlfriend?” Jeremy asked. It took me a moment to be able to answer.

“Not at the moment.” That felt more honest than just saying no. How is it that I actually want to be more honest than I could be?

“What happened to the last one?”

“She cheated on me.”

“The whole truth. No bullshit,” he said, but this time his voice didn’t harden up like it had before, and his hands held mine a little tighter, lending me his body as an anchor as well. God, I wanted to tell him, and maybe, just maybe he actually wanted to hear it?

“Okay, I was mean to her. Shitty enough to get her to leave me.”

“Why did you take her on in the first place?”

“She was pretty.” Shit, was that really the reason? I sighed, disgusted with myself. “She made me look good. A trophy girlfriend, I guess.”


“But she wanted to have sex all the time. I hated it.”

“You lost your gold star, then.”


“On your gay membership card. You get a gold star if you’ve never had sex with a woman.” He shifted around beside me and pointed at his stomach, and there was this five-pointed yellow star tattooed a little below his belly button. He had lots of tattoos, I realized, but I couldn’t see them as well as I wanted to over my shoulder.

“Who says I’m even a member of the club?” I said, wondering if I’d get the chance to study his body later, look at each part of him in detail.

“I do, and believe me, I’m an expert. You’re in right now, but it’s not my bed that proves it. You’ve been in for a long time, haven’t you.” It wasn’t a question. He just knew, and of course I knew too, didn’t I? Hadn’t I been trying not to know for so long now? Was there really any point in pretending anymore?

The Whole Soundtrack
Listen to some more of the tracks! Each song relates to a scene in the story. Some of them are playing in the background, and others are important milestones for the guys.

King of Rain by michelefogal on Grooveshark

Give-Away Contest

Who writes your favorite love scenes? Authors please, their titles and why they suit you best. Comment and you’ll enter the Give-Away contest!

Michele - Parisienne Signature

PS Here’s the link to King of Rain’s page on Dreamspinner.