Take a bow and blow a kiss as the curtain falls on love. Or does it?

From London’s West End to a New York drag bar and onto the glitz and glamour of Hollywood, three couples rediscover the passion that once burned as brightly as the stage lights.

Their plays might be over, but the show goes on. For these players, the heart discovers that just when you think a love story has come to its end, if you have the courage to turn the page then love will make a return to the stage.

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MUCH ADO – JET MYKLES

Someone was watching him. That wouldn’t be so odd if he was onstage, but he was in a deserted dressing room. Shawn stopped mopping cold cream from his face and looked toward the dressing room doorway.

Ms. Tyken stood there in all her sequined glory. Without the bouffant wig and the three inch heels, the drag queen was five- feet even if she was an inch but once she started talking, you’d swear she was all of six foot. Tonight she wore a vivid yellow and black evening gown that brought to mind a shimmering bee. The black wig atop her head had been threaded through with yellow ribbons and had even been fashioned to a stylized curved point high above her head to resemble a stinger. Heavy makeup almost disguised the fact that Ms. Tyken was no longer a young queen.

Once seen, she put on a broad smile and sashayed into the room, carrying a cloud of jasmine scent with her. “Shawna, darling, did you mention once that you used to date a director?”

Inwardly, Shawn fought the immediate memories that filled his head. Had he mentioned it to her? He didn’t think so. But he probably did mention it to the other girls. He shrugged, turning back to the mirror then lifting a new tissue to wipe off some more cold cream. “That’s ancient history.” (continue reading…)

How much heat do two men need to melt so much snow? Stories from three of the hottest gay erotic romance writers in the genre will show you. Feel the heat with William Maltese, Jason Edding and Ethan Day.

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Chapter One

My eyes fluttered open, and the overcast daylight filtering in from the huge picture window slowly came into focus. was looking out over a panorama of snowy mountains dotted with sprouts of green from the evergreens that poked through the white blanket. The small mountain town of Summit City, Colorado, stretched out along the floor of the valley below. The light drizzle of snow was softly floating from sky to ground. I heard rustling coming from behind me and I sat up, realizing I didn’t know where I was.

I lifted my hand to my forehead as the dull, achy-throbbing began – my hangover waking up with me. How much had I had to drink last night? Not that it took much, but damn. I rubbed my temple and cringed as the swimming in my head began to settle. One more thing I blame Phillip for. I looked down, realizing I was naked, and was startled again by the rustling to my side. Slowly turning my head toward the source of the disruption, my eyes widened taking in the wide, expansive muscular back.

I quietly began to scoot toward the edge of the bed and winced from the twinge of pain coming from my backside. What the hell had he fucked me with? Christ on a cracker…my ass felt like it had been reamed, but good. I shook my head and continued to crawl over to the side of the massive bed. Probably another bartender, I thought as I finally made it to the edge. This happened every god damn time I drank. Why couldn’t I just leave a nice tip like a normal person? Honestly, Boone, do you really have to offer up your ass? Are you seriously that cheap? I reached back and rubbed my ass somewhat thankful I had no memory of last night considering it felt like this dude had seriously fucked the hell out of me. (continue reading…)

http://www.amazon.com/Conquest-S-J-Frost/dp/1608200884/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1257997251&sr=1-2
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/isbnInquiry.asp?ISBSRC=Y&ISBN=9781608200887

Vocally gifted singer, Jesse Alexander, has dreams of taking his band, Conquest, to the top. Evan Arden was thought of as a musical genius when at the height of his career he vanished from the spotlight. Together, their relationship is just as intense as their music careers. With success pushing down on them, Jesse must decide between his life of music, or his life with Evan.

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Chapter One

“Jesse, sweetheart, it’s mom again. I wish you would call me back. I’ve been worried sick about you since last night. Your father, I know he feels horrible about what happened, and I know saying this is just going to get you angrier, but you can’t blame everything that happened on him. You know how his temper is, and you still provoked him by yelling at him and shoving him. If only you wouldn’t push him so hard to accept that you’re…you’re—”

Jesse snapped his cell phone closed to silence his mother’s stammering message before the roiling disgust in his stomach rose to his throat and choked him. He lifted his left hand, gingerly touching his fingertips to the light purple bruise on the left side of his jaw. His father felt horrible? Yeah, right. If there was one thing his father felt horrible about in regards to his two sons, it was that in his father’s opinion, they had fallen so short of being the men he wanted them to be. (continue reading…)

The swinging sixties, the Sunset Strip a smorgasbord of horny Marines, looking for a little action before heading off to Nam. A queen’s delight, and it’s all too easy for a guy to fall in love with these brave, young warriors. But some of those shipping out won’t be coming home, and not all of the wounded wear uniforms.

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The Swinging Sixties. To some, that conjures up images of The Haight in all its flower power glory, before the lilies festered. To others, it was Greenwich Village and that heady period leading up to the events at Stonewall; or the love-ins in Griffith Park.

For me, it was The Strip. Sunset Boulevard. Not the Norma Desmond Boulevard, of flame red Maseratis and grand hotels and pink mansions with heart-shaped swimming pools, but the hurdy-gurdy strip of once-elegant-now-sleazy clubs, discount record stores and gay bars.

And Marines. Scores of them, hundreds of them, flocking there every weekend from Camp Pendleton down the road, strolling about wide-eyed in twosomes, three-four-and-more-somes. And some of them alone. On the prowl. Happily, because these were the ones a gay man like me looked for. (continue reading…)

Hunting a notorious hit man, FBI Agent Chase Nozick and LAPD Det. Enrique Rios Ocha delve into the inner worlds of Santeria, Voodoo and Palo Mayumbe. A missing informant, her murdered brother and a ghost from Chase’s past send them on a hunt through mystics and psychic surgeons to find their witness before it’s too late. Can he rely on leads from a child possessed by Orishas? Do cards hold stronger clues than blood? Chase must conquer his own personal demons to bring the killer of his partner to justice and find the strength to take a chance on Enrique.

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Chapter One

Desert heat sucked the sweat from Special Agent Chase Nozick’s pores. “Give it up, Garcia!” he yelled. Somehow, he’d managed to shrug into the soft body armor as he slid out the car. Sweat pooled under the vest, plastering his suit jacket, dress shirt and tie to his skin. Damn, it was hot. Chase snorted as he leaned over the hood of his Bureau-issued car. The last thing he really needed to care about was how hot it was.

He aimed his 9mm at the driver’s side window of a pinned Escalade and yelled again, “I mean now!”

Chase never felt calmer. The situation flew by in sharp focus. He smelled oil burning off his Buick’s engine. The pop and hiss of the SUV’s radiator puking over the trunk of the Buick stung his ears. In his peripheral vision, Chase watched Jason crab-walk around the back of the SUV. Sand shifted under the feet of Chase’s partner, Jason Olhms, each grating grain distinguishable from another. Overlaid across it was Garcia’s cursing as he fought with his seatbelt. The impact from Chase’s car must have jammed it when he reversed the Buick directly into Garcia’s fleeing vehicle. One of Garcia’s ever-present goons lay slumped against the dash, his mirrored sunglasses hanging off his face at a bizarre angle. The spider web fracture on the windshield and open doll eyes told Chase the guy wasn’t going anywhere in the near future. (continue reading…)

Sean and Austin’s perfect world shatters when Sean’s eight-year-old son, Jason, vanishes. When Jason turns up days later abused and unable to speak, small town fingers point to the boy’s gay dad as the culprit. Meanwhile, the real villain is close by, intent on ensuring the boy’s muteness is permanent.
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Chapter One

It was one of their rare lazy evenings. Summer, and the evening air was fresh and clean after an afternoon thunderstorm, with just a hint of a breeze. Normally, Sean and Austin were so busy that if they weren’t trying to change something about the little Cape Cod on the Ohio River they had bought a year before—adding a deck, putting in a new kitchen, stripping away years of white paint from the woodwork downstairs—they were too tired to do anything but crawl into bed and pass out, usually before eleven o’clock. Lovemaking, since they had bought the money- and-time-sucking house, had become relegated to weekend afternoons and the occasional early morning.

But today, Thursday, had been an easy one. Austin had called into work, the Benson Pottery, where he was a caster and taken a mental health day. Things had just been too damn busy lately and he needed the break. Waiting until Saturday was out of the question. Sunday seemed farther away than the next millennium.

Sean, a reporter for The Evening View, the local thrice-weekly compilation of ads sandwiched in with a little editorial, had had the day off. The couple had spent the day in Pittsburgh, at the Andy Warhol museum, then had an early dinner at The Grand Concourse (the best Paella on the Monongahela and Allegheny rivers), beat the brutal thunderstorm home, made love (acrobatically, in the kitchen, atop a Butcher’s block), and now the two were curled up in front of the TV. Sean had rented Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and, after a bowl of Jamaican and a couple of vodka and tonics, the two were teary-eyed with laughter. (continue reading…)

Blazing hot stories to warm the cold days from four authors who know how to turn up the heat! Join manlove authors Maura Anderson, Kimberly Gardner, Jet Mykles and Luisa Prieto for toasty romantic tales to comfort and inspire a little bedtime snacking!

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Haunted Gingerbread House

2 sticks butter, room temp. 1½ tsp baking soda

1 C molasses 1 C brown sugar

½ tsp cloves 1 tsp kosher salt

6 C flour 2 eggs, lightly beaten

2 tsp cinnamon 1 tsp vanilla extract

2 tsp ground ginger * 2 tsp candied ginger *

¼ tsp nutmeg

Fight the temptation to just throw all of the ingredients together and stir. Think of this as a spell you’re casting. You do not toss the eye of newt into the cauldron without first putting in the bog water.

I’m kidding about the newt and the cauldron. (continue reading…)