About clarelondon

Clare London took her pen name from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant. She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic, and sexy characters. Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter three stage and plenty of other projects in mind... she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home. Clare loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her here: Website: http://www.clarelondon.com E-mail: clarelondon11@yahoo.co.uk Blog: www.clarelondon.com/blog Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/clarelondon Twitter: https://twitter.com/clare_london Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/clarelondon Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/clarelondon/ Google+ : https://plus.google.com/u/0/+ClareLondon/posts

On the Red Carpet – Looking for Jesse by Lisa Worrall

An exciting new release from well-loved author Lisa Worrall!

LOOKING FOR JESSE

Blurb:
Life is full of decisions and it’s the split-second ones that change your world forever.

Nick Shepherd made such a decision on the day his son, Jesse, was taken from a Christmas market in Naperville. The woman looked normal and had a son of her own, and he was only going to be a minute. But that minute was all she needed. His son was gone.

A year later, the task force is being downsized and they are no closer to finding Jesse than they were the day he disappeared. At his wits end, Nick is given a number and a name by the lead on the case.

Ex-detective Frank Ford has issues, several of them. Two steps shy of a full-blown alcoholic, all he wants is to bury himself in the bottle. He’s doing a pretty good job of it, too, when Nick Shepherd asks for his help. Does Ford want to help? No. Is Ford going to help? Hell no. Until four words resonate deep within him.

“She took my son!”

Book Info:
Word count: 62000
Genre: mm/mystery/thriller/kidnap
Publisher: Self-Published
Cover: Book Cover by Design

Excerpt:
Half an hour later there were only three people ahead of them and Nick sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward. He’d stopped feeling his fingers fifteen minutes ago, and the sky had begun to darken as evening approached. After Santa, they could take one more trip around the lot, pick up a few decorations and the quilt Jesse had spotted for Nick’s mom before heading home. Nick’s stomach rumbled loudly and he suddenly realized they hadn’t eaten since the giant pretzel’s and hot chocolate when they first arrived. The Disney Channel and takeout pizza was the way to go. They were down to two in front when Jesse announced.

“Aww nuts.”

“Excuse me?” Nick stared down at him with a raised eyebrow. Although Jesse didn’t notice because he was too busy hunting through his pockets.

“I lost my mitten!” Jesse looked up at him, one of his multi-colored Christmas mittens clutched in his fingers.

Aww crap!

Anna had bought him those mittens last year at this very market and Jesse had scoured his closet last night looking for them. Wearing them today had been important and Nick got it, he really did.

“Where did you have them last?” Nick asked, dropping down to his haunches to look his son in the eye. His stomach rumbled again and Nick had a lightbulb moment. “Were you wearing them when we had hot chocolate?”

“Yes!” Jesse exclaimed. “But I took them off to hold the cup. Maybe I left it there.”

“Okay,” Nick said. “When we’ve seen Santa, we’ll go back and look for it.”

“But what if someone takes it while we’re waiting?” Jesse’s voice rose and Nick could hear that tears were on their way. “We have to go now!”

“Jay, we’ve been standing in line for thirty minutes, dude, and Santa’s gonna be closing up shop soon. If we go now, you’ll miss him.” Nick tried to reason but Jesse was on the verge of meltdown and people were beginning to stare at them.

“I… need… my… mitten!” Jesse wailed, sobs building in his chest and he threw his arms around Nick’s waist.

Double crap!

Nick looked at the woman in front of them with her son, then over at the seating area where they’d had their hot chocolate and pretzels earlier—then back again. It wasn’t that far…. If he sprinted, he could get to the wooden tables, check if the mitten was there and get back before it was their turn. Jesse would be okay just for a minute—wouldn’t he—of course he wouldn’t he’s only seven—but it’s only for a minute and there are people everywhere—but—? Nick didn’t have time to finish the conversation with himself because Jesse wailed again. Tapping the woman in front of them on the shoulder, Nick made an executive decision.

“Excuse me,” he said as she turned around. “My son left his mitten at the seating area over there but I don’t want him to miss his turn. Would you mind watching him for a minute while I run over and find it?”

The woman’s kindly brown eyes took in Jesse’s tear-soaked face and the length of the line then smiled. “Of course,” she replied. “But be quick, I think they’re rushing the kids through so they get in as many as they can before closing.”

“Like there’s fire coming out of my as—sorry, butt—sorry.” Nick stumbled over the words but she only laughed and waved her hand.

“Go!”

“Thanks,” Nick said gratefully and quickly hugged Jesse to him. “I’ll be right back, buddy, okay? You just stand here with this nice lady and I’ll be so quick you won’t even notice I’ve gone.”

Jesse looked at him warily but the woman smiled and said, “He’ll be fine with me and Marcus, won’t you?” Jesse gave a hesitant nod and Nick hit the ground running.

The mitten Gods must have been smiling down on him because he found it under the table where they’d been sitting almost immediately. He heaved a huge sigh of relief and dashed back to Santa’s Grotto, mitten held high like a victory torch so Jesse could see.

Nick made good on his promise, he was back in just over a minute, if a little out of breath. Promising himself he’d tell Daisy to stop bringing in donuts to work, he headed to the front of the line. He smiled as he slowed his approach, not wanting to slip on the frozen ground. Nick was surprised to see Jesse still held the woman’s hand. Although Jesse was an affectionate kid, he was also very cautious and took a while to warm up to new people. A hand tightened around Nick’s heart. It had been a long time since Jesse had felt a motherly touch. Even when they’d sat on the couch watching TV, Jesse’s hand had always been curled around Anna’s.

“I got it, dude!” Nick said jubilantly, putting his hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “It was right whe—”

The words caught in his throat as the boy turned and so did the woman holding his hand. “Hey!” she yelled, pulling the boy toward her.

“I’m sorry.” Nick held up his hands. “I thought you were… my….” He spun on his heel, his gaze flitting all around him. “Jesse!” His name echoed on the cold evening air. “Jesse! My son? Where’s my son?” Nick grabbed the woman’s forearm and her eyes widened in horror. “My son!” he repeated. What was wrong with her? Why was she looking at him like that?

“Hey, man, take it easy.” That came from a big, bald man a couple of spaces down the line.

Nick ignored him and shook the terrified woman. “My son, he was here. Right here. Where is he? You must have seen him!”

“Sir, is there a problem?”

Nick looked at the woman dressed in a short-skirted elf costume and the burly security guard behind her. He dropped the frightened woman’s arm and ran shaking hands through his hair. “My son,” he said again. Why was no one listening to him? “He was right here! Where is he?” He turned back to the dark-haired woman who now clasped her son to her tightly. “You saw him. You must have. He was with the other woman and the boy. I just went to find his… his mitten.” Nick waved it pathetically, the woolen mitten still clutched firmly in his fingers. “I found… it.”

“The little blond boy?” the elf asked.

“Yes!” Nick tried not to scream but panic, raw and heavy bubbled deep within him. He tried to push it down, but he could taste it in the back of his throat. “He was here. Right here. I was only gone—”

“She left.”

“She left?” Nick shook his head. “What do you mean she left?” He grabbed her forearms. Where. Is. My. Son?”

The elf turned her concerned gaze on the security guard, who stepped forward and put a firm hand on Nick’s shoulder. Spots dotted Nick’s peripheral vision as his brain tried to force him to accept what she was saying.

“Sh-she said there was an emergency. That they had to go.”

“Go?”

“I-I thought you were together,” she stuttered. “Oh, my God. I didn’t know. I thought you were toge—”

“Where is my son?” Nick knew what the answer was going to be, but he had to hear it. “Where is my son!

“Sh-she took him.”

*

Buy Links: Amazon.com | Amazon.co.uk

Author Bio:
My home is in Leigh on Sea, a small seaside town just outside London on the coast of Essex, about ten minutes from Southend, which boasts the longest pier in the world. I live with my husband and two ever-growing children, who I let think are the boss of me; along with two dogs who actually are.

As the wonderful Beatrix Potter said, “There is something delicious about writing the first words of a new story. You never quite know where they’ll take you.” I know exactly what she means and hope you’ll join me for the ride.

Website: http://lworrall.blogspot.com/ | Facebook: Lisa Worrall Author
Twitter: Lisa_Worrall | Email: lisaworrall69@gmail.com | Google+: Lisa Worrall

 

Listen and love… my joy of audiobooks!

I don’t have many audiobooks out there yet – I’ve never been a big enough Name to be front of a publisher’s queue when the format started taking off, and never had the dosh to have them done for my self-published titles (though I’m working on that in 2018 with Joel Leslie, I hope!). There are all the other issues too, of writing titles set in Britain, but with many of the currently popular narrators being US, and not as confident doing Brit voices, especially sustaining it over the whole length of a book (am working on that, too… *g*).

But it’s been a joy to ADD so much to the story of Romancing the Ugly Duckling by having a fabulous audio of it! Joel Leslie did me proud, and it was like the fun of writing it all over again.

In addition, I’m thrilled with the latest audiobook review for my Duckling at Love Bytes Reviews.

Excerpt… “This whole story hit me in the feels. I absolutely LOVED it and everything about it. I am so glad I put aside my reticence at the trope and gave this one a try. I truly enjoyed the story and the message it conveyed. Oh and the romance was great too! This was a fantastic addition to the Dreamspinner Desires line and I will be listening to this one over and over.”

And as for Joel’s narration? “Joel Leslie’s performance of this story was excellent. Most of his accents were exactly what I expected them to be and he really did a great job bringing out personalities and emotions and the anxiety when the story turned tense. His rendition of Perry really captured his character perfectly and I think his narration took this story to the next level. I highly recommend it!”

Romancing the Ugly Duckling delight :)

When did I sign up for Pronoun? What is this mystical site whereby I received the gladdeous news today:
Your book is in the top 4% of all books in:
Literature & Fiction > Fiction > Gay
#1060 in category.

Happy, nonetheless – and Hugely Grateful to all who’ve bought it, shared the news, supported my latest book, and just generally held me upright when needed!

 

On the Red Carpet – Elin Gregory’s new release

Elin Gregory’s writing is like the best kind of chocolate – rich, layered, subtle, and pure, tasty delight. Witty, too, but I couldn’t make that work with the chocolate analogy ;).

The Bones of Our Fathers released today!

Blurb:
Malcolm Bright, brand new museum curator in a small Welsh Border town, is a little lonely until – acting as emergency archaeological consultant on a new housing development – he crosses the path of Rob Escley, aka Dirty Rob, who makes Mal’s earth move in more ways than one.

Then Rob discovers something wonderful, and together they must combat greedy developers and a treasure hunter determined to get his hands on the find. Are desperate measures justified to save the bones of our fathers? Will Dirty Rob live up to his reputation? Do museum curators really do it meticulously?

Answers must be found for the sake of Mal’s future, his happiness and his heart.

Buy Links:

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B073JM29TD/
Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B073JM29TD/
Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/the-bones-of-our-fathers
Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/733184

Excerpt:

As Mal trotted down the narrow stairs from the attic to the lower landing it suddenly occurred to him who might have been making Betty giggle and who she might trust enough to let them loose on the upper corridors of the museum. So he wasn’t altogether surprised to glimpse a yellow hard hat through the wrought iron of the bannisters.

“Hey.” Mal leaned over the rail and grinned as Rob looked up at him. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon. No pool table but I can make you a coffee.”

Rob gave him a beaming smile. “Tea and you’re on,” he said and followed Mal into the little room they had set aside as a staff kitchen.

Mal took a couple of mugs down from the cupboard and turned on the kettle. “I think I thanked you all for last Thursday, didn’t I? It was good fun.”

“Yeah,” Rob’s grin sounded in his voice but Mal turned to look at him anyway just for the pleasure of it. Rob had taken off his hard hat and put it on the window sill and was leaning against the edge of the window, hands in his pockets and looking out over the patch of grass and shrubs that was all the museum could afford of a garden these days. With his high vis jacket and coveralls undone to show a bright segment of printed tee shirt—Mal could see the “-oun-arm-lu” of “Young Farmer’s Club” and a bit of a bull logo—and with long legs in rigger boots crossed casually at the ankle, he looked both wildly out of place and very much at home. Mal really envied his ease. Here was a man who knew exactly what he wanted and was confident of getting it.

And what he wants right now – apart from tea – is me!” Mal found that a very satisfying thought.

The kettle whistled and Mal poured the boiling water into the mugs, soaking the special pyramidal bags that Sharon insisted made much better tea than any other variety. Mal stooped to open the fridge.

“Milk?” Malcolm asked. “Sugar?” Rob had stopped looking out of the window and was watching Mal. Mal could feel it.

“I never say no to a bit of sugar. Bit o’ milk too. Just enough to take the edge off.”

Mal grinned and made the tea then turned and offered Rob his mug.

“Thanks,” Rob said then lifted the mug a bit to read the printing on the side. “Museum curators do it meticulously? Oh. My. God. I hope that’s true.”

Mal snorted. “It’s part of the job to keep the paperwork in good order.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Mal just smiled his agreement. “Come through to my office,” he suggested.

 

Elin’s bio:

Elin Gregory lives in South Wales and has been making stuff up since she learned to talk. Writing has always had to take second place to work and family but, slowly, she is finishing the many novels on her hard drive and actually trying to do something useful with them.
Historical subjects predominate. She has written about ancient Greek sculptors, 18th century seafarers but also about modern men who change shape at will and how echoes of the past can be heard in the present. Heroes tend to be hard as nails but capable of tenderness when circumstances allow.
There are always new works on the go and she is currently writing more 1930s spies, adding to a series of contemporary romances and doing background reading for stories set in Roman Britain and in WW2.
logo by Catherine Dair

Website: www.elingregory.com Blog:  http://elingregory.wordpress.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/elin.gregory

New Release – Between a Rock and a Hard Place

BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE is now on pre-order at Dreamspinner Press, #5 of my London Lads series of short novellas, and their Perchance to Dream line, where they showcase books set in the UK.

And over at Two Chicks Obsessed today you can see the lovely COVER revealed, plus an exclusive excerpt and GIVEAWAY!

During a 10-hour delay at Glasgow Airport, a hapless Garry discovers the harsh truth of the saying “it’s the company you keep”…

Garry’s at the end of his tether. He’s waiting at Glasgow Airport to meet his friend Will, on their way to a holiday in a Scottish Highlands hotel. Now there’s a ten-hour delay to incoming flights, the seat in the lounge is more like an instrument of torture, and he’s beyond tired of airport food.

He’s also dreading having to apologise for the pass he recently made at Will, his colleague at a London bank, under the influence of too many beers and a long-held crush. Now Will’s been offered a new job offer on a continent thousands of miles away, Garry realises it may be the end of their close friendship—let alone anything more.

To add to Garry’s stress, he’s treated to the company of Emily and Max, two young people who think he needs educating in the ways of the world. Struggling with their well-meaning help and the startling mess from spilled ketchup and noxious-smelling sweets, he’s encouraged to re-examine how he feels about Will and to decide what kind of journey he’d really like them to take together.

Red Carpet post – George Loveland’s new release

Released today – George Loveland‘s new airborne romance! A lovely story of fate stepping in with a quiver-full of Cupid’s arrows :D.

Looking for love is the last thing air steward, James Foster, is thinking about when he swaps flights to save his hung-over best friend’s job. He doesn’t know that fate has other ideas and he would fall for the tall, bearded passenger, Darren Busby, sat in 14D. Up in the air, James finds that the connection he has with Darren is too strong to ignore.
After missing the opportunity to ask for Darren’s number, James’ jaw hits the floor when Darren walks into the same hotel he is staying at. Butterflies and nerves take over, but soon give way to excitement as they get to know each other on the ground.
When James’ ex, Richard, shows up and begs for forgiveness, James has to decide if going back to the man who broke his heart would be worth it, or if he should finally move on and take a chance on Darren.
BUY this high-flying romance at this Universal Amazon link.

Finding a Publisher: the Why and How

I’ve written another in my occasional series on “fanfiction to publication” over at the SubRosa Writer blog. In Finding a Publisher: the Why and How I talk about what you can hope to find from a publisher, where and how you can find them, and what you can do to make it a rewarding relationship.

Please feel free to comment and share your feelings – I’m enjoying writing this series a lot!

MY PREVIOUS POSTS:
Publishing – the Pros and Cons
The writer’s playground – what has fanfiction ever done for you?
Filing off the serial numbers – how best to adapt your fanfiction to publication

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The SubRosa Writer is also on Facebook. And feel free to browse the website – there are some great things happening there :D.

“The SubRosa Writer is a resource for fanfiction writers or any passionate writer that must write in private while balancing other public priorities such as work and family. Join our community and experience all our resources.”

Just Hanging Out by Lillian Francis – on the Red Carpet

I’m so happy to welcome this enchanting, romantic, and witty new release from Lillian Francis on the Red Carpet today. Make sure to snap up your copy at this special price!

 

Just Hanging Out
by Lillian Francis

Will that tempting rainbow of colour be forever seared onto Shawn’s brain?

Only 99p

“Come and honour the Oak King.”

The countdown to the company solstice picnic is one of Shawn’s favourite times of the year. The scents of sage, mint, basil, sunflower, and lavender fill the air as the workshop mixes up the final batch of Litha, their solstice soap. It’s celebration time! This year, Shawn has an extra spring in his step, and it’s all for the new buyer, Tim. Shawn’s fine having a crush on the gorgeous new straight guy. Until he isn’t.

As the clock ticks down to Picnic-Day, Shawn’s confidence and Tim’s sexuality become mired in doubt and second guesses. It’s a minefield of embarrassed glances and missed opportunities. Seems like they’ll never get together…

To cap it all, Shawn’s drawn Tim in the secret solstice gifting. What to get for the quiet man who turns Shawn’s legs to jelly and has the best underwear hanging from the washing line in his garden? And will that tempting rainbow of colour be forever seared onto Shawn’s brain?

Excerpt

“Come on, everyone. Time to honour the Oak King.” Miriam stood in the centre of the office and jiggled a deep wooden bowl, exquisitely carved with the face of the Green Man. “Come and pick your giftee.”

Yes, I did say Oak King. Miriam’s a new-age hippie, whose 100% natural soap has taken her from cooking the stuff up in her kitchen and selling it from a stall at various markets, to a thriving shop and workshop with a staff of twenty plus. We’ve branched out into candles in the last few years, but it’s the soap, especially the seasonal range, that brings in the punters. Oh, and she’s a Pagan. Hence, the honouring the Oak King statement.

Don’t worry. There’s no sacrifice involved. We have a massive picnic on the Downs on Midsummer’s Eve, drink too much local ale, and the Oak King—normally Ali from Packaging, in a headdress made of antlers and a myriad of leaves, flowers, and herbs—hands out our jokey gifts. Then we settle in to watch the sunset and bid the Oak King farewell for another six months. In other words, it’s a chance to eat well, drink better, and have a laugh, all the while showing appreciation for an amazing boss and honouring her beliefs, even if we’re a mix of Christians, Muslims, Hindus, and atheists. Dunno why the atheists can’t have their own capital letter. Me, I’m probably an agnostic with Taoist leanings.

“You too, Shawn,” Miriam called over to me. “Stop hogging the copier and grab a name.”

I glanced at my watch and then flicked my gaze surreptitiously out the window. Still time. If I was quick, and Miriam didn’t choose that moment to chat, I could be back at my station without missing a moment of the action. Shaking a leg, and my impressively pert behind, I slipped in between two of the admin clerks and plucked a slip of paper from the pot. Without bothering to even glimpse at the name written on it, I stuffed the folded slip into the front pocket of my jeans and returned to the photocopier. One more glance at the time—8:52—and I pressed the button to start my items printing.

There were enough pages in this print run to keep me at the copier for a good few minutes. I saved up all but the most urgent for these five minutes just before nine. It was a routine I’d been keeping for the last few months. As the copier warmed up after a night of inaction, with the gentle whirr of reanimated machinery, I took a moment to enjoy the view from the window. The azure blue of the sky contrasted with the white blossom on the tree just on the edge of the company’s land at the rear entrance. Beyond, a neat row of cottages caught the eye and drew the gaze of anyone who had time to stop and watch.

As I appreciated the view, a door of one of the cottages opened and a tall, broad man stepped out onto the path that led down a well-kempt front garden to the road. Yeah, I know that kempt means well cared for, so the well is redundant. I work in communications and I’ve a Desmond in English Lit and Environmental Science. That’s lower second class honours for those of you not in the know. Not bad for a lad from Saath London. Of course, four years at Canterbury, another four living in this small Sussex town, coupled with some conscious effort, have more or less knocked that accent out of me.

Less about me, back to another thing that was kempt and well put together. The object of my voyeuristic tendencies stepped through his gate and out onto the pavement then turned in my direction. A happy sigh escaped me as the early morning sun caught his wavy hair just right; fiery copper reflected back to me in reds and gold. His eyes were green, and flecked with amber. Not that I could see his irises from this distance—I could barely make out the strong features that made up his ruggedly handsome face. And the freckles that gave him an oddly incongruous boyish look were filled in from memory at this point. I sighed again, far too dramatically for my own liking.

Rather than concentrate on the parts of him that required my imagination, I studied the visual feast in front of me. Now he’d cleared the obstruction of his neighbour’s privet, I had an uninterrupted view, where I could drink my fill without the risk of getting caught.

Chinos—the russet pair today—encased long legs, and heavily muscled thighs bunched beneath the material with every determined stride that brought him a step closer. Finally, the man disappeared below my sight line. The photocopier whirled to a stop, spitting out the last few pages of my weekly comms report and a stack of sample leaflets for Miriam’s perusal. I had about five minutes to school my features and get back to my desk, or get caught tongue-tied. Again.

A flash of colour caught my eye as I turned away from the view and I spun back to the window expecting to see the swoop of ring-necked parakeets. The birds were becoming a more common sight in local gardens these days. Maybe the green bastards thought I was homesick and followed me from London.

Instead of the expected flap of wings, my gaze found the source of the flashes of colour: a washing line strung in the back garden of one of the cottages. Clothes hung from the line, fluttering in the gentle breeze of a pleasant June morning. Not just any clothes, though.

Nope, a whole line full of bright, skimpy, tight underwear. Underwear that I’d seen advertised in Attitude that very morning as I read on my bus journey to work. And by seen, I meant studied. Intently. Double-page spread. Three all but naked guys getting handsy with each other and appearing to love every minute of it. Hell, I’d even stuffed in my headphones, thanked any deity who wanted to listen that I was sitting in the back, and watched the ‘making of’ video. Those models were having fun, no doubt about it.

Get A Grip. Flamboyant, colourful, crotch-cupping, butt-caressing underpants. With a marketing campaign that focused on the gay man. Ask a straight guy about GAG and 95% wouldn’t know what you were talking about.

Not only that, but the garden the washing line was located belonged to—

“Morning, Shawn. Printing again?”

Now I was close enough to see the green of his eyes. The deep rumble that came from his broad chest caressed the vowel sound in my name and threatened to turn my legs to jelly.

Stupid! Answer him. All I could do was echo the greeting, anything else was beyond me, the sight of those pants hanging in a neat rainbow of colour seared on to my brain. “Morning, Tim.”

Tim faltered as though expecting there would be more forthcoming, but I had nothing. Nothing workplace appropriate, anyway. Asking your colleague to model his undies for you was probably frowned upon, even for a liberal employer like InScents, and Tim was still comparatively new and seemed kinda shy for a big guy. I wouldn’t say we were friends yet but I hoped we were getting there. So I kept my mouth shut.

The moment stretched on but it could have lasted no more than a second or two, then Tim carried on past, heading for his desk. I thought I’d detected a dusky flush of rose under his freckles but I was easily distracted and couldn’t quell the urge to watch the tight pull of Tim’s chinos as he walked away from me.

Not an unfamiliar feeling any time Tim walked in front of me.

But now I couldn’t stop myself from imaging his muscular arse cheeks enclosed in a pair of GAGs.

* * * * *

Word count: ~16700
Cover designed by Lillian Francis at Finally Love Press

Buy Links:  Payhip //  Smashwords

Universal Amazon link: myBook.to/JustHangingOut_LF

Add it to your Goodreads bookshelf here.

***** 

About the Author

Lillian Francis is a self-confessed geek who likes nothing more than settling down with a comic or a good book, except maybe writing. Given a notepad, pen, her Kindle, and an infinite supply of chocolate Hob Nobs and she can lose herself for weeks. Romance was never her reading matter of choice, so it came as a great surprise to all concerned, including herself, to discover a romance was exactly what she’d written, and not the rollicking spy adventure or cosy murder mystery she always assumed she’d write.

http://lillianfrancis.blogspot.co.uk/
Twitter @LillianFrancis_
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Email: lillianfrancis@rocketmail.com

 

 

 

Release Day Review by Gillian: Romancing The Ugly Duckling, by Clare London

There have been such heartening reviews so far for Romancing the Ugly Duckling! I’m pretty thrilled to have offered up a book that readers just *enjoy* :D.

Just Love: Queer Book Reviews

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Romancing The Ugly Ducking Clare London

Romancing The Ugly Duckling, by Clare London
Series: A Dreamspun Desires Novel
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Release Date: June 15, 2017

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

View original post 655 more words