Friday, 31 October 2014

Book Release - Through the Fire.





Bottom Drawer Publications is very happy to announce the release of Through the Fire 
by Michelle Irwin, a NA, paranormal romance.

Join this talented author as she brings you the first in the "Daughter of Fire Series."

Summary


Evie Meyers’ life is one spent on the run. Every minute of every day, her life is in danger if anyone should suspect the truth about her ancestry. Her father was willing to risk everything to keep the truth hidden, even from her, but the lies he fabricated were exposed when her high school crush, Clay Jacobs, inadvertently stumbled upon her secret. His discovery puts Evie at risk from a secret organization tasked with washing the world clean of nonhumans—and Clay is one of its deadliest soldiers. Forced into a war she doesn’t understand, all because of what she is, Evie is left with no choice but to flee with her father to escape persecution.

When Clay reappears in her life, battle scarred and mysterious, Evie is unprepared and terrified as he forces his way back into her heart. When the battle catches up with her, and a tragic accident tears apart the peace she discovered, she finds herself alone and without the protection of her father, or her lover. Now, she needs to keep her secrets hidden and learn to survive on her own in a world that wants her dead, all while searching for the missing piece of her heart.

Excerpt
   
I WAS HALFWAY up my drive when the sight of three delicate star-shaped flowers wrapped in soft cream paper resting against my doorstep stopped me in my tracks. A prickle of fear crept over the back of my neck, and the air around me warmed by a few degrees. That simple bouquet of white might have been innocuous on any other doorstep, but in front of my house it was something much more dangerous. It meant that I’d been discovered.

Forcing myself to move, I approached the parcel with caution. The closer inspection did nothing to quell the unease that held my heart in a vice-grip. Magnolias. There couldn’t have been a surer sign that the one person from my past who knew my secrets and wanted me dead had found me.

I twisted around to face the road, carefully scrutinizing each of the cars parked along the side of the quiet street. The possibility that his gaze could at that very moment be firmly fixed on me was enough to cause the now-familiar tingles to spark in the tips of my fingers.

He can’t be here, can he?

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck raised as I realized that yes . . . yes he could be.

It was what he did after all. Hunt. Kill. Destroy.

My skin flushed with heat at the possible sinister motives behind the flowers. Since the incident a few years ago, I’d come to accept that this would forever be my body’s natural reaction to stress. My heart clenched with fear at the danger implicit in the situation even as my stomach fluttered with the recollection of what those flowers had once represented—what he had once meant to me. Memories of the time I’d walked with him beneath a canopy of those blooms, and everything that came after, overwhelmed me. A shudder raced down my spine.

What does it mean? Another, more vital, thought pushed the others out of my mind. How could he have gotten close enough to leave flowers?

Neither Dad nor I had the slightest suspicion that danger lurked nearby. If we had, then we would have been miles away long before the flowers could have turned up. I didn’t understand it because we were usually so adept at avoiding exposure. We had to be; it could prove deadly otherwise.

How did he find me?

I pushed the thought out of my mind and began to consider the houses around me. I shifted my gaze toward the windows and scanned them all, examining each one for the telltale fluttering of curtains or shutters suddenly snapping closed when my eyes fell onto them. Once I was sure that there was definitely no one watching me, I bent to examine the floral package in more depth.

Are they a warning? The thought struck me as ridiculous even as it crossed my mind. From what I understood about his family and their beliefs, the flower couldn’t have been a threat or a warning either. People like me didn’t get warnings. Just death.

Maybe it’s just a coincidence? I wasn’t sure I believed in coincidences that significant, but it made some sense. It certainly made more sense than the fact that he’d leave flowers; he wanted to kill me, not date me.

My heart rested somewhere in the region of my throat and pounded heavily as I reached out with one hand and pushed the paper aside to see if there was a card or note somewhere on the offering. Almost instantly the flowers began to wilt, so I drew my hand away and gave my fingers a gentle shake before clenching them into a fist.

Calm down, Evie.

I took a deep breath and released it slowly, concentrating on slowing the pace of the blood racing through my body.

It might be nothing, just a gift from an overly friendly neighbor. It’s not like magnolias belong solely to him.

Considering that Dad and I had already been in the house for a little over two weeks, and were careful about timing our comings and goings to avoid too much attention, it seemed unlikely, but I was determined not to panic . . . yet. Confident that I’d calmed myself enough to be able to reach for the flowers again without completely destroying them, I leaned forward and unwrapped the paper before pulling it away from the flowers to examine both sides.

Blank.

I folded up the paper and pushed it into the pocket of my jeans before reaching for the flowers and standing back up with them in my hands.

Why are they here? Why now?

Turning back toward the street, I scanned the whole scene once more to ensure I hadn’t missed anything. It’s probably nothing, I justified to myself as I considered the empty street. They can’t be from Clay—it’s impossible.

 Buy Links

Through the Fire is available for $5.99 in our digital shop (BDP) and 
all online booksellers listed below.









The paperback is also available from:


Barnes & Noble

Fishpond AU (free shipping)

Wednesday, 22 October 2014

Cover Reveal & Pre-orders - Through the Fire


Ever since Clay, a soldier for an organization tasked with ridding the world of non-humans, stumbled upon the secret of her birth, Evie's been on the run. Now he's back, and she's unprepared as he forces his way into her heart.

© © © © ©

BDP is very excited to showcase the brand new paperback cover and announce the release of Through the Fire by Michelle Irwin on October 31. This is the first book in a series of 8 new adult paranormal books we'll be releasing over the next year. Book two, Besieged by Rain, is due for release in late February, 2015.

Through the Fire is also available for pre-order from a bunch of booksellers right now.



*The book will also be available at Apple iBooks, Barnes & Noble etc shortly


For more information about Through the Fire check out the page on our website here.

Saturday, 18 October 2014

Mythica on Tour


Mythica by L. J. LaBarthe is on tour this week with some fantastic stops planned. We thought we'd start off the tour by putting L. J. under the spotlight with some quick Q & As. What better way to know what someone is like than to ask about her deepest darkest secrets . . . okay not that dark, but we did have fun thinking of the questions and reading L. J.'s answers.



So, L. J., what is something about you that most people wouldn't know and would be surprised to learn?

That I don’t drive a car, I don’t have a driver’s license and I never have. That’s going to change soon, though. The reason I don’t drive is due to medications I’m on, those have been changed so now I can get my license, yay!

Image courtesy of  Boians Cho Joo Young @ freedigitalphotos.net

Favourite comfort food and why?

Smith’s Cheese and Onion chips. As to why, because of their salty, cheesey, oniony goodness. Yum.




Give me 3 words that best describe you?

Historian, daydreamer, storyteller. 

What was your wildest fantasy career as a kid?

I didn’t really have any wild fantasy careers as a kid. I wanted to be a vet for a while, but I’m pants at maths and science, and I wanted to be a racehorse jockey for a while, but I grew too tall. When I was a teenager, I entertained the idea of owning my own recording studio for a few years. 

Image courtesy of debspoons @freedigitalphotos.net

If you could invite any celebrity to have lunch with your closest friends who would it be, where would you take them, and why?

Only one? Okay, Daniel Craig. And we’d go to The Archer, which is a great little pub in North Adelaide, because they do good pub food, have great booths and a huge choice of local and international beers and wines. After all, alcohol helps with Dutch courage and if I was having lunch with Daniel Craig, I’d definitely need some of that so as not to faint in a pile of fangirl nerves!


Totally agree on your choice of Mr Craig for lunch! (Pun totally intended) Thanks so much for visiting our blog today, L. J.



Check out the Mythica tour stops on our tour page here.


Enter the giveaway draw for your chance to win a copy of the paperback, a BDP gift voucher or a copy of the e-book. Good Luck!


a Rafflecopter giveaway


For more information check out our website
www.bottomdrawerpublications.net

Saturday, 11 October 2014

Release Day - Cutting Out!


Bottom Drawer is proud to announce the release of Cutting Out 
by Meredith Shayne, a contemporary mm romance based 
in New Zealand.

Summary

A twenty-year veteran of the shearing shed, Aussie Shane Cooper loves his job, and the home he's made for himself in New Zealand. If he's a little lonely, he's got good mates to keep his spirits up. When a hot cocky young shearer named Lachlan Moore catches his eye at a competition, he's content to look but not touch, knowing the man is out of his league.
Lachie wouldn’t mind a piece of Shane, but the gorgeous gun shearer from Australia is soon forgotten when the Christchurch earthquake hits, and tragedy strikes Lachie’s family. Lachie deals with it the best he can, cutting himself off from all he knows. A year later and he’s back in the shearing shed, out of practice and lacking confidence. That Shane’s there to watch him flounder doesn’t help his nerves.
As Lachlan struggles to re-acclimatise, Shane can’t resist giving him a hand to get back on his feet. As they move from friends to something more, Shane finds himself wanting to know everything he can about Lachie. But Lachie’s got secrets he desperately wants to keep, and when things come to a head, those secrets might just mean the end of them before they’ve truly begun.

Excerpt
THE SANDWICHES had settled by the time Shane’s class—the senior class, for shearers who could shear a lot of sheep in a short amount of time, not shearers who were getting on a bit, like the younger shearers loved to say—was scheduled to compete. He shook the hand of the rouseabout who had the job of collecting the fleece from his sheep during the event, then stepped up onto the stage to get ready. Completely focussed once the bell rang, the cheers and whoops of the crowd became a distant hum as his world narrowed to the noise of his clippers, the feel of the lanolin-coated wool under his hands, the weight of the animal against his legs. Shane didn’t look up or out, or even to the side until he pushed the last sheep down the chute and straightened his aching back to shut off his machine. He’d won by the skin of his teeth, the shearer beside him pulling his own cord seconds after Shane did. It would come down to penalties then, but Shane wasn’t worried. He hadn’t drawn blood, so he’d be pretty safe. And he didn’t enter competitions to win—although the prize money was great—he entered them to keep himself sharp, to force himself to keep his time up.

He looked out over the crowd as they cheered, grinning at Maaka, who gave him a thumbs up. To Maaka’s left, the young man he’d noticed from before—Lachlan—sat perched on the edge of the stage where the prizes were awarded, drinking a beer. Watching him. Shane’s heart skipped a beat when their eyes met, and Lachlan smirked, lifting his beer bottle in salute. Shane’s stomach dropped, but he nodded at him, acknowledging the salute, only looking away when a judge tapped him on the shoulder and directed him off the board.


LACHIE DRANK his beer and chuckled to himself as he watched the shearers in the senior division mingle by the side of the board. He often watched the senior division when he competed, because the more tips he picked up from watching it, the sooner he’d be able to compete in it. Some senior competitions were better than others, but this one had been a great one. The winner—the announcer had said his name was Shane Cooper—had been amazing. There might have been only a moment between him and second place, but the runner up had looked like he was going to keel over when he was done. Shane had looked like that had just been a warm up. A starter before his main course. It had been impressive. Speaking of dishes . . . he definitely was one. So masculine, a real man, greying in that distinguished, silver fox way that was fucking hot, especially with the way it made his light-blue eyes stand out against his hair.

Shane had his back to him as he accepted congratulations from his fellow competitors, giving Lachie the perfect opportunity to ogle his arse. He had a compact build—like Lachie—standing a couple of inches under six feet, and was wiry with it, the nicely defined muscles of his arms and chest stopping him from being skinny. His smile made his eyes shine, and Lachie’s mouth go dry. If more of the South Island shearers were as hot as that one, maybe he’d be keener on working down there. He watched as the man approached Maaka. Sweet. Maaka could introduce them. He drained his beer and gathered himself to jump off the stage; before he could move, something slapped him on the back of the head.

“Ow!” he said, wincing as his mate Clint sat down beside him.

“Harden up, bro,” Clint said, handing him another beer bottle and opening the other one he held by twisting it against the flesh of his forearm. Taking a long pull, Clint burped, long and loud, then snickered and said, “Up for a party tonight?”

“Yep.” Lachie nodded and put down his existing beer before opening the other. “Can’t stay up too late though, flying to Christchurch tomorrow.”

“Visit to the whanau?”

Lachie nodded again. “Yep. Haven’t seen them for a while, thought I might as well before I start another job.” He chugged half his beer in one go. “I’ll stay for a few days, then join another run.”

Clint nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

“It does, doesn’t it.” Lachie watched as the hot shearer with Maaka laughed, his spine tingling at the way the man’s eyes shone. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.” He slapped the stage with one hand. “If I’ve got to stand up on this thing and have my photo taken, I better have something to soak up the alcohol.”
 Buy Links

Cutting Out is available for $5.99 in our digital shop (BDP) and 
all online booksellers listed below. More to come soon.









The paperback will be available soon.

Thursday, 2 October 2014

Release Day!! I'm Your Man


Joanne Rawson's lastest book I'm Your Man is officially available today!


Summary

When Ruth Jones wakes up one morning suffering from a major hangover, she realises she’s not in her London apartment but in the hotel where last night’s work function had been held. The last thing she remembers is sitting at the hotel bar next to an average-looking guy with a nice accent and large hands, and wondering just what those hands could do given half the chance. When the bathroom door opens and Mr. Average walks out, she realises that at the ripe old age of thirty-three, she has experienced her first one-night stand. A one-night stand that is about to send her world into utter turmoil. The problem: her boyfriend Justin. He’s handsome, has a killer body and the sex is awesome—and he would be perfect if only he didn’t keep standing her up whenever she needed him.

Excerpt
A WAVE OF nausea ascended from the pit of my stomach to my throat, not sure if I was annoyed more with myself for getting so drunk or the recollection of what I had got up to last night. I rolled over, curling myself up in a ball. I am Ruth Jones, for goodness sakes, Recruitment and Training Officer, a respected cog in the company for her hard work and dedication to one of the UK's top high street fashion stores. How many times had I told new young managers that even though they were technically off duty at company social events, eyes would still be watching them? But that was precisely what happened to me. Last night was a work function, in a sense, a big retirement party for the company’s Managing Director.

It was one thing getting shitfaced at the weekend, waking my neighbours at four in the morning trying to get into their apartment with my door key, or giving a taxi driver my address, then waking up twenty miles later and finding myself at my parent’s house, which I’d moved out of fifteen years ago. Maybe, just maybe, my philosophy of life—to work hard, play hard—had gone seriously wrong this time. You see, it started with Justin saying he would meet me at the hotel. An hour before the party, he called uttering his usual pathetic excuse; well actually, this time no excuse at all, just, “Sorry babe, something has come up.” With that he’d hung up and, when I tried to call him back, conveniently his phone was off.

You would think after four months I would have grown accustomed to the sneers of my colleagues as I made my solitary entrance, after guaranteeing Justin would be accompanying me for sure this time. Last night, however, I was well and truly pissed, not only from the amount of wine I had consumed to blot out the pain of being publicly dumped again, but also the humiliating cracks of, “Justin not with you again?” and “I’m beginning to think he’s a figment of your imagination, Ruth.” It was acceptable, to a point, from my family and friends, but from my colleagues, come on, really? So I had no alternative; I left, in shame, and headed for the public bar.

I could remember seating myself at the only vacant stool and ordering a glass of wine. At that point—I had still been coherent then and therefore still able to recall it—the man to my left turned and gave me one of those healthy-teeth smiles that said, “my dentist advised Colgate toothpaste,” and in an accent I knew that was not from London, said, “I hate drinking alone too. May I buy you a drink?”

Obviously, I had the just-been-stood-up look yet again—one that my friends told me I achieved so splendidly. I accepted. He thrust a large hand towards me, and I couldn’t help thinking how big and chunky his fingers were, and what delightful stimulation they could give, given half the chance. Oh hell, have I gone totally mad? Undoubtedly! You see, last night, at the ripe old age of thirty-three, I’d experienced my first one-night stand.

Yes, I know it’s amazing in this day and age, with equality and all that. Perhaps that is why my friends all call me Miss Prude, but, I’m sorry, I have strong principles. No man will see me naked until at least the third date. One has to prepare so much for such an activity. I mean there is all the shaving, exfoliating, and moisturising, not to mention the right lighting and underwear. Having no time to consider last night’s lighting effect, or what underwear I had worn, least of all cheating on my boyfriend, the bathroom door swung open and through a mist of steam emerged the Colgate Man.

Feeling as if someone had thrown a ten thousand-piece jigsaw in front of me, I frantically began to try to put the pieces together, all the while scrutinizing my conquest. Had I been a character in a Jackie Collins book, my hero, who had broken my vow of the three-date rule, not to mention leading me to betrayal, would have been a six-foot gorgeous Adonis. A tightly toned bronze body glistening with droplets of water would appear as he rubbed his hands through his thick black hair. Tingling sensations of arousal would erupt through my loins like a burning inferno. Fuelled with passion, I would pull back the silk sheet, slide down the bed seductively, rubbing my hands up and down the burning flesh of my inner thighs. Determined to extinguish my raging passion, he would rip off his towel, and like a true professional fire fighter, he would slide between my thighs to douse my burning loins until they smouldered.

I waited with bated breath for the mist to clear, and my Adonis fire fighter to emerge. A flicker of arousal igniting in the pit of my stomach, I quickly ran my fingers through my tangled mane of curly auburn hair. That and my cat-green eyes were, if I say so myself, my only good attributes. Positioning myself in such a manner that the sheet was baring a tad of nipple, my belief being if I’d cheated once, even though I couldn’t remember a darn thing, I may as well enjoy a second time that I could. A wave of hysteria came over me. Hang on, what if he is hideous? What if I’d just felt sorry for him and agreed to have a drink and then . . .? There was no time to consider as he stepped forward and walked towards the end of the bed.


Buy Links

I'm Your Man is available for $1.99 at the following booksellers