Thursday, 30 June 2016

NEW RELEASE! 4th and Final Book in the Urban Fantasy Series DAUGHTER OF FIRE by Michelle Irwin

Bottom Drawer Publications is proud to announce the publication of IGNITING THE SPARK, the final novel in the Daughter of Fire urban fantasy series set in the US. Completing the 5* series dubbed "Romeo and Juliet meets Supernatural," IGNITING THE SPARK is sure to satisfy reader of urban fantasy romance.

Title: Igniting the Spark
Series: Daughter of Fire - Book Four
Author: Michelle Irwin
Genre: New Adult UrbanFantasy/Paranormal Romance
Release Date: June 30, 2016


Death beckons, calling Evie Myers to the darkness. She isn’t ready to leave, and Clay isn’t ready to let her go.

After fighting back from the brink, Evie’s life is forever altered. Together with Clay, she finds a home and sanctuary within the fae community. Everything has changed, and life is perfect. Or so they believe.

They soon learn their trip into the heart of the Rain kicked off a revolution, and Clay is called back into the fold. But when Evie needs Clay the most, one mission will risk it all.

When her happy ending hangs in the balance, and everything looks lost, how will Evie find the strength to fight for what she wants the most?


~~Other Books in the Series~~

Through the Fire (Book One)
US | UK | AU

Rise from Ash (Book Two)
US | UK | AU

Into the Rain (Book Three)
US | UK | AU
BDP | Smashwords | Bookstrand
All Romance Books | iTunes | Nook | Kobo

Crossover Companion Series:

Son of Rain Series

Besieged by Rain (Book One)
US | UK | AU

Among the Debris (Book Two)
US | UK | AU


Michelle Irwin has been many things in her life: a hobbit taking a precious item to a fiery mountain; a young child stepping through the back of a wardrobe into another land; the last human stranded not-quite-alone in space three million years in the future; a young girl willing to fight for the love of a vampire; and a time-travelling madman in a box. She achieved all of these feats and many more through her voracious reading habit. Eventually, so much reading had to have an effect and the cast of characters inside her mind took over and spilled out onto the page.
Michelle lives in sunny Queensland in the land down under with her surprisingly patient husband and ever-intriguing daughter, carving out precious moments of writing and reading time around her accounts-based day job. A lover of love and overcoming the odds, she primarily writes paranormal and fantasy romance.

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Monday, 27 June 2016

#samplesunday - STEALING SERENITY

Our last #samplesunday for the month of June, in celebration of everything #LGBTQ and #Pride2016, is MM Contemporary Romance Stealing Serentiy by Tami Veldura. This is the second edition of Stealing Serenity with an entire new chapter.

Remember #samplesunday is a great opportunity for you to get a look at our books. Make sure to follow us on Twitter to get notice of when: @bottomdrawerpub

What happens when a master thief meets a master ropesman . . . he gets all tied up!
Daniel has worked the confidence game many times in the pursuit of a prize. This time it’s for “Serenity,” a photograph worth four million dollars, and it represents the largest payday Daniel has ever chased. To uncover its whereabouts he needs to get close to Kearin, the auction house owner and photographer.
Kearin knows that Daniel will be an asset for the non-profit arm of his business when he meets him at an event, but his job offer is a cover for his real motive: to get Daniel in front of his camera. Preferably naked, bound, and needy to fulfill a specific request for a client−a portfolio that will put him at the top of his field.
Daniel readily agrees to model for Kearin−thinking it will lead him to “Serenity”−but what he doesn’t expect is to fall for Kearin’s brand of intensity instead. Will he go for the photograph or Kearin’s heart?

Please enjoy this sample chapter from the book . . . 


July 13, Wednesday—8:45 p.m.
1276 Howard Ave, Apt 221
Safe house 4

DANIEL SHOVELED delivery pad thai into his mouth, watching a time-lapse of everything Kearin had done on his computer over the course of the day. Daniel sought a particular time-stamp from his records, a username and password entry followed by no recording at all, a gap he couldn’t explain. Hours sped past in heartbeats, and more than once, Kearin returned to the photos of the blond that couldn’t be used for his portfolio.

Then the timestamp he needed approached, and Daniel hit his spacebar to convert the playback to real speed. He watched Kearin clear his desktop of tasks, ever obsessively tidy, and initiate a new program. Here, a login marker Daniel didn’t recognize. Another few seconds for the screen to load and Kearin’s desktop mirrored itself on the screen.

The new, slightly smaller window hovered identically to Kearin’s main desktop, from image to folders to layout. Except it wasn’t quite identical. Daniel hit his spacebar again to pause playback just as Kearin opened a folder. The file tree on the left stretched far longer.

Daniel Googled the program and tisked. Kearin logged into his home computer from work. He used the desktop remotely. Which meant Daniel couldn’t sneak into the computer at work and hunt for clues unless he knew Kearin wasn’t on his PC at home. If Kearin tried to connect to the work machine, Daniel’s presence would keep him locked out and remind him about digital security. It was the last thing Daniel wanted to happen.

He left the noodles to pull a bag out of the back of his closet. He needed a rather specialized set of supplies to bug a machine in a private residence, and Kearin himself lived in a condo complex. More people made things more difficult. He couldn’t just hide in the backyard until folks went to bed. The roof however . . . Breaking into a home while the owner slept inside was lesson number two in How To Get Caught 101, but with the gala in a week, Daniel had no time to wait. The anonymous owner of Serenity could be there, and he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make his mark.

While packing, he pondered Kearin’s photographs. Did he take them at home? If Daniel broke in, would he find Kearin’s new model strung up and helpless in the living room? The idea of bondage wasn’t new to him, but he’d always passed it off as an interest too extreme for his liking. What kind of man wanted to be tied up and left, sometimes literally, hanging in rope?

But he’d never connected restraint to the idea of peace before. How could someone just . . . let go like that?

Daniel sat at his computer, bothered enough by the question to run an image search. Porn. Hardcore, X-rated, multiple bodies. Erections. None of this looked like Kearin’s photos. This was a perversion of what Kearin had captured in his models’ eyes. He paged through them, rejecting most on sight.

But here was one—a color photo of a man bound on his knees, arms pulled back, arched on a steel table. He was hard too, but his eyes, they were calm like Kearin’s models. Another, maybe a photo between poses where the photographer caught a rope-wrapped man rising to his feet, holding a finger up to the camera as if to say “just a second.”

They were in the mess; he just had to dig a little. Photos carefully staged, cropped, and calm. Photos of an inner serenity.

Daniel stroked his rising arousal as he sought out pictures of complicated knotwork. Images that told stories of chaos relaxing under the order of ropes. He paused at a photo of a naked man bound to stand en pointe with the extra-long ribbons of his ballet shoes. He held one leg tied up with the foot braced against the inner thigh of the other, his arms arced gracefully overhead. Daniel was certain he held the pose under his own power—muscles in his calves and thighs flexed. The man’s erection stretched powerfully up, dragged down to perpendicular by a small weight that hung at the end.

It was beautiful and arousing. Daniel’s breath hitched. He admired the folds of ribbon binding the model’s leg up, the control of balance required to hold the pose, the erection backlit for emphasis.

But Daniel zoomed in on the man’s face. His head tilted back at the camera, and his dark eyes invited Daniel closer. They spoke of stillness and relaxation: things difficult to come by in Daniel’s chosen line of work.

Absolute control Daniel was well familiar with, but a whole satisfaction of self; what would a thief know about just being if every minute could mean the difference between freedom or cops and a jail cell?

So, it wasn’t the model’s flexed muscle or substantial erection that Daniel focused on, but the peace in his expression. Daniel grunted to climax, unable to relax even to let his voice out in his own bedroom. If Kearin could loosen him up like the models in his portfolio, Daniel wanted to try it.

And if it got him more access to the condo, so much the better.

July 15, Friday—1:27 a.m.
428 Magnolia Ln, Seaside Court
Gated Community, National City

DANIEL PERCHED on the roof of Kearin’s three-story condo, number 428. The corner unit provided an excellent view of the entire property, and with the exception of a few night owls, everyone dozed through the early morning.

Of course, Kearin had to be one of those night owls. From a fingertip-sized sensor stuck to the outside of the home office window and transmitting to his phone, Daniel watched him at the computer hour after hour. Unlike his boss, Daniel didn’t have all night. Another glance confirmed Kearin hadn’t moved, so as the clock pushed one thirty, Daniel decided to go with plan B.

He didn’t particularly like breaking into the place while Kearin remained awake, but he didn’t want this trip to be a total loss, either. Daniel secured an anchor to the roof and lowered himself over the edge. He passed the office window on the right and rappelled down to the floor below where he could reach a bathroom window.

Popping the lock on a window? No problem. Climbing in without waking a snoozing orange tabby cat on the toilet? Another issue entirely.

The cat hissed. Daniel tried to coo at it while he unclipped from the rope. The feline wanted nothing to do with him and jumped off the toilet to run from the room. At least cats didn’t bark and fetch their owners. Daniel pinned his line to the outside of the building so it wouldn’t fly around in the wind. He closed the window and checked his phone. Inside and undetected. Kearin still typed away on his computer.

With efficiency and silence, Daniel placed two sensors in the kitchen, one in the stairwell leading down, two in the garage at the bottom, and another in the wheel well of the Audi. He greeted the cat with better success on his way back up to kitchen level and checked his phone. He froze on the steps. Kearin was not in his chair in the office. The cat purred against his ankle.

Daniel retreated to the garage and resolved the signals from all his new sensors. No Kearin in the kitchen or the hallway. He was probably still on the top floor. Probably. He crept up the stairs with caution, ears straining for any sign of his boss. There was a bedroom on this level he hadn’t checked yet. As if psychic, the cat sauntered right in. He didn’t saunter back out. Daniel slipped a sensor around the doorframe and checked the room on his phone.

Not a bedroom, a library. And empty of Kearin. Daniel retrieved his sensor and replaced it in a more secluded joint of wall and shelving. He added two more in opposite corners of the room. Kearin still hadn’t returned to the computer. Was it finally bedtime? Daniel spotted the cat’s upright tail wander through the video feed of the office.

Daniel’s hair stood on end like someone watched him. It was time to go. He slipped into the bathroom just as he heard footsteps on the stairs. He opened the window, clipped into his line, and climbed out of the condo. He saw the cat swish his tail from the doorway as he closed the window behind him. Daniel climbed up the wall of the building and paused at the office. He scratched the camera sticker off the corner and considered bugging the room. His phone showed Kearin busy in the kitchen.

Then he saw the cat scramble up the stairs and watch him from the doorway. He swished his tail. Daniel decided against breaking in again. Unnerved, he climbed to the roof and repacked the anchor into his slim backpack. He organized his new influx of data by room and watched Kearin climb the stairs back up to the top floor. Probably back to the office.

Satisfied his bugs worked, Daniel exited the property via a well-groomed oak tree. He didn’t quite breathe until he slid behind the wheel of his car two streets down.

July 15, Friday—5:15 p.m.
Gerard Photography, San Diego

KEARIN LEANED closer, so subtly Daniel couldn’t tell if it was intentional. “The gala is a week from now, the dress is formal, and we’ll meet here. I’ll schedule a driver so we can arrive as a group, though much of the night you will be on your own.” Daniel nodded. “I have an appointment to meet so I’m out early today,” Kearin explained. “You’ll lock up when you leave?”

Daniel turned to face him. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Hmm.” Kearin fished the keys out of his pocket. His slacks fell back into their pressed line. Daniel forced his eyes up. Kearin still wasn’t beautiful. Impressively dressed and a little entitled, but Daniel’s interest had everything to do with the way Kearin assumed control of his own space.

He pinged hard on Daniel’s personal sonar now, walking away in a suit cut to impress. Kearin took photos of nude men sporting strong erections in a private studio. Did the show really stop when the camera shut down? How many models became lovers?

Daniel turned back to his computer. Did Kearin get his models hot and bothered then just leave them . . . hanging? He grinned at himself in the computer screen.

Kearin took exactly four minutes from the front door to his car on the road. The Audi purred into the distance, and Daniel broke into his boss’s office. He had half an hour, maybe less. Gloves secure, he set his phone beside the computer to track Kearin’s car through the city. With half an eye on his progress, Daniel logged into the computer, found the remote access to Kearin’s home system, and logged into that. The proxy connection didn’t allow his recorder to see into Kearin’s personal computer, and Daniel didn’t have the skills to re-code the device.

The GPS on Kearin’s car counted down his seconds. Daniel skimmed through folders, photos, and Excel spreadsheets of Gerard Photography auction data. He found nothing about the anonymous bidder for Serenity and even less about Gerard Photography’s financial status. Where was Kearin keeping the information if not on his personal computer? He had investors to report to—

Daniel cursed under his breath. Kearin didn’t have investors; he had donations. Gerard’s was not for profit: no board of directors, no one to answer to.

He opened Kearin’s email and scrolled through the archive. No bank passwords or notifications, no cloud accounts, no backup history—Kearin knew how to make a thief work for a living. With GPS showing Kearin one exit away from home, Daniel started skimming through sent emails. He found conversations with other photographers, a long chain with his mother, details on the cat’s dental work, a reminder from Kearin’s hairstylist, some back and forth from De’Laine re: the gala this year.
And a message in the Drafts folder titled Proposal to an email address Daniel thought was familiar. He opened it.

Phillip Bonnet,

I have taken your suggestions into account. I believe you will find my next project more to your liking. The series is half complete at this stage, but more than sufficient for your judgment. I would be pleased to share it with you during the De’Laine gathering should you be interested.

Kearin Gerard

There was no email history with this address in Kearin’s archive, and a rudimentary search brought up no other content with Phillip Bonnet. He was a collector and curator. He had attended the showing Daniel had organized at Vault Seventeen, more by accident than design. But while his critical eye was respected in the photography community, he was still not a photographer himself. What influence did he have that Kearin would follow his advice? And why wasn’t there an email history of that advice? Would Kearin design a portfolio around the personal tastes of a fantastically rich collector? Would a collector buy that portfolio?

Daniel’s phone beeped. Kearin pulled into his garage. The timestamp on the draft email showed earlier this morning. Daniel needed that meeting to happen. If Kearin didn’t send it tonight, he’d log back in and schedule the message to send tomorrow afternoon. If Kearin got a reply from Phillip, he’d most likely think he’d sent it anyway. He logged out of the remote proxy, out of Kearin’s office computer, and shut down. He pocketed his phone and checked that the desk’s few items remained in perfect alignment.

He had research to do. Hopefully between his list and Justin’s, Daniel could make a guess at the other guests attending the gala. And with a little digging he’d know more about the man named Phillip Bonnet.

July 16, Saturday—3:52 a.m.
1276 Howard Ave, Apt 221
Safe house 4

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN Phillip Bonnet’s complex social life and the thought of Kearin crafting a portfolio specifically for his tastes, Daniel found himself looking at porn.

He lay on the bed, browsing through photos on his tablet with one hand and teasing the pulse of his cock with the other. His phone showed Kearin enjoying tea and a book in his library, but Daniel pictured him tugging knots of rope around hard thighs and the curve of a man’s ass.

Daniel wanted to know what it felt like to be restrained without any fear. To be held so he could let go. What kind of trust did it require?

He abandoned the tablet for imagined images of Kearin’s whole, intimidating focus. The sound of his voice murmuring please when they both knew it was a command. The feel of nylon rope around and between his legs. Exposed.

Daniel held his breath as he came.

Pride Month 2016 special price:


Stealing Serentiy is available in e-book from all major sellers. Details for Stealing Serentiy, including sellers' links, are at:

Bottom Drawer Publications

Also available at:






Tami Veldura

Tami Veldura is a writer, reader, artist, and dreamer. She resides in sunny California and aspires to quit her day job and write full-time. Her stories are predominantly gay romance in a collection of subgenres spanning fantasy, science fiction, steampunk, paranormal, BDSM, and contemporary.

She also publishes adventure steampunk, fantasy, and science fiction stories suitable for all ages as S. T. Lynn.

Find Tami at:



Monday, 20 June 2016

#samplesunday - DRIFTING SANDS

#samplesunday is here again. #samplesunday is a great opportunity for you to get a look at our books. Make sure to follow us on Twitter to get notice of when: @bottomdrawerpub

In a celebration of everything #LGBTQ and #Pride2016 month, we are only highlighting the amazing LGBTQ stories we publish. Proving that there is no denying—"love is love." 

Today we're previewing MM Mystery Romance Drifting Sands from C.J. Baty, Book One in the Warfield Hotel Mysteries. 

As he approaches his fortieth birthday, Justin Warfield feels alone, drifting like the sand that blows along the beach near his family’s hotel. He has done exactly as his father wanted. Married the right girl and carried on the family tradition of running the Warfield Hotel. On paper things seem perfect, but happiness hasn’t been a part of his life for a very long time.

Marcus Drummond once spent a summer with his best friend Peter at the Warfield Hotel and fell hard for Peter’s much older brother. Five years later he’s back, and this time hopes that Justin will see him as more than his kid brother’s friend.

Sparks fly when the two meet again, but there are a few things standing in their way. The closet that Justin has himself buried in and someone on a killing spree, dumping bodies on the Warfield beach . . . victims that indicate Justin may be involved in some way.

Please enjoy this sample chapter from the book . . . 


MARCUS DRUMMOND SAT at the far end of the small bar in the Warfield Hotel . . . waiting. Peter had gone upstairs to wait for his brother in case he went straight to his suite after attending the anniversary party. They hadn’t made it in time. Peter had felt his brother was going to need him, so they had driven as quickly as the speed limits would allow.

He called Robert, the bartender, over. He was huge, well over six feet, with wide shoulders and biceps that bulged in the sleeves of the shirt he was wearing. Marcus should have felt intimidated by him, but Robert had a soft smile and had spoken kindly when Marcus first sat down. He ordered another drink, knowing he was going to need it.

It was almost five years since Marcus first met Justin Warfield. Five years since the man had turned his world upside down. Years of comparing every man he dated or had sex with to this one man he couldn’t have. He’d never been able to share how he felt with anyone, not even Peter, his best friend. Though it had been after that one fateful trip to the Warfield that Marcus had confessed to his friend that he was gay.

Peter and Marcus had met their freshman year of college. Marcus had sat out two years after high school to stay home with his mother. Cancer had robbed her of her health, and Marcus hadn’t wanted to lose a day with her. She’d died the summer before he met Peter. Even though Marcus was older, the two boys had shared the loss of family. They’d forged a kinship over a love of old sci-fi movies and pizza and built it into a strong friendship. More like brothers than friends. When Marcus had admitted to Peter that he was gay, Peter had assured him it made no difference to him.

Peter had wanted the two most important people in his life to know each other, so Marcus went home with him to Beaufort over spring break. It was over dinner their first night at the Warfield that Marcus saw Justin for the first time. Dressed in an expensive suit made to fit his body like a silk glove, he’d moved through the dining room of the hotel greeting guests and speaking with everyone.

He was so good looking. His skin, kissed by the sun from daily exposure, was golden in hue. Like Peter, Justin was tall, six feet easily, and muscled. Wide shoulders accentuated a narrow waist and legs that seemed to go on forever.

It was his face, though, that caught Marcus and wouldn’t let him go. Sandy-blond hair parted to one side and neatly trimmed cupped his face and showed off high cheekbones. Eyes the color of the sea—it was almost impossible to call them green or blue, the color was so blended—framed a strong, straight nose. His lips, slightly pinker than his tanned skin, formed the most incredible smile, showing perfect, even white teeth. He was everything Marcus had ever dreamed of, and he didn’t even know Marcus was alive. Besides, he was married and straight, or so Marcus had thought at the time.

Marcus was now embarrassed to admit that he had spied on Justin when he took his daily run on the beach at dawn. Hiding in the dunes, he watched the older man as he exercised. Muscles bunched and stretched as Justin’s feet beat a path along the ocean’s edge. Marcus had been a kid, barely twenty-one years old, and the sight of Justin set his lust on fire.

It was two years later that he discovered Justin was also gay. Marcus came back to their dorm room late one night to find Peter extremely distraught. It took a while, but he finally figured out that Justin had called and some drama had taken place between Justin and his wife. Peter eventually explained the whole ordeal about how Caroline had walked in on Justin and his lover, who happened to be a man. When Marcus expressed surprise over the situation, Peter went on to explain how his father had manipulated Justin, and how he was forced into a marriage he hadn’t wanted.

As if his thoughts had conjured him, the man himself stepped into the bar. He stopped at the opposite end from where Marcus sat to speak to the bartender.

Robert handed Justin a tumbler filled with amber liquid, and Marcus watched as Justin tipped back the glass.

Justin groaned slightly as he emptied the glass in one long swallow. Marcus watched as the other man’s Adam’s apple bobbed with the motion and felt his cock harden.

“Damn, I should have ordered whatever it is you’re having,” Marcus said aloud, not really meaning to, before he could stop himself.

Setting the glass down on the bar, Justin turned towards him. Marcus thought his face hadn’t changed much from the last time he had seen him. There were a few lines around his eyes, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept well for a couple of nights, but Marcus still felt drawn to Justin. A smile lifted one corner of Justin’s mouth, and for a moment Marcus thought he recognized him.

“Well, maybe you should try it for the next round,” Justin said. His eyes roamed over Marcus’s body, and the younger man could almost swear that he felt it physically touch him.

Justin tipped his head toward Robert, and the bartender poured two more whiskey and waters, pushing one toward Justin and bringing the other to Marcus. He glared at Marcus as he set the drink before him. That’s strange. Robert was really friendly to me before, he thought. Justin lifted the glass in a “here’s to you” motion and downed the drink.

Marcus tried to swallow the strong liquid, but it stuck in his throat and he choked on it. The whiskey burned more than his usual rum and Coke. Sputtering and wiping tears from his eyes, he looked up to see Justin trying to hide a smile and stifle his laughter. It was worth the embarrassment and pain to see him smiling like that, so Marcus just laughed back.

Justin took one step toward where Marcus was seated and then hesitated. It looked as if he’d suddenly remembered something, and his gaze skirted the room nervously.

Blue and red lights flashed through the windows that faced the beach, and everyone in the room moved closer to see what was happening. Several police jeeps were headed toward the north end of the beach.

Marcus could feel Justin standing behind him. The scent of his cologne, woodsy and spicy, assaulted him, making him want. It reminded him of the last time they had stood this close together.

“Justin? What the hell’s going on out there,” Peter’s voice called from the main entrance of the bar.

“Peter? When did you get here?” Justin moved to grab his brother and hug him close. The two men locked arms around each other and held on for a minute.

The sounds of sirens and an emergency squad vehicle passing by the window broke up the brother’s reunion. The other people in the bar began to move around and push past Marcus on their way outside to see what was going on. Justin and Peter moved along with the crowd trying to get ahead of it as they went. Marcus took up the rear of the procession wondering what Justin would have said to him had they not been interrupted by the commotion on the beach.

Pride Month 2016 special price:

(ebook only)

Drifting Sands is available in e-book and print from all major sellers. Details for Drifting Sands, including sellers' links, are at:

Bottom Drawer Publications

Also available at:






Find C.J. at:




C. J. Baty lives in southwest Ohio. Her heart, however, lives in the mountains of Tennessee where she hopes to retire some day. The mountains have always provided her with inspiration and a soothing balm to the stresses of everyday life.

The dream of writing her own stories started in high school but was left on the back burner of life until her son introduced her to fan fiction and encouraged her to give it a try. She found that her passion for telling a story was still there and writing them down to share with others was much more thrilling than she had ever expected.

She has a loving and supportive family who don't mind fixing their own meals when she is in the middle of a story, and a network of friends who have encouraged and cheered her on in her quest of being an author.

One thing she has learned from life and she is often heard to say is: “You are never too old to follow your dream!