Tempting You On Tuesday – Scars and Ruin by Avril Ashton

ruinavrilashton

One. Of. My. Favorite. People. EVER.

Do you hear me? E.V.E.R. Ever.

And her books? OMFG… EVER!

Scars and Ruin. Her brand new book. Hot. Emotional. Raw.

The man known as Dutch is fine with being hated and feared. He keeps his mask on and his secrets close. There’s only one person who reaches past all that to who he used to be before the job hit too close to home. Sacrifices must be made, and Dutch steps up do just that. He’ll gladly pay the price to make sure Varun Patel is safe.

Loyalty to family expects it. His heart demands it.

And Patel rejects it.

Half of Varun Patel’s life resides in broken shadows he’d rather not remember. The other half is taken up by a man whose words push him away while his actions hold Patel close. Patel can’t forget the one night he spent in Dane Hutchins’ arms. The night promises were made. The night promises were broken.

If it were up to Dutch, Patel won’t ever know the bargains struck in his name. He won’t ever know the memory of them keeps Dutch fighting in his bleakest moments. But Dutch should’ve known that in the lonely hours, Patel would come for him.
And when that time arrives, there’s no saying no. There’s only the inevitable.

Love amid the ruins.

Warning: Contains references to sexual abuse/rape.

 

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Excerpt:

His heart skipped a beat. More than one, if Varun Patel allowed himself to be honest. All the noise in his head went quiet at the brush of rough fingertips over his naked chest.

Over his heart.

Gray eyes locked on his face, watching him intently, the other man unblinking.

Patel wanted to make him blink. Wanted to hurt him, shatter him. Much like Dane Hutchins had shattered him. He should stay away, and truth be told, he’d done good so far. Except here he stood, courting the destruction. Eagerly anticipating that sweet ruin. Too much time had gone by between when he’d had Dutch crying out his name and now. So much shit remained between them, all those obstacles put there by Dutch himself.

He didn’t want Patel. Dutch had spoken the words himself, loud and clear and concise.

They wouldn’t work, he’d said all those years ago with their combined sweat still on his skin. With Patel’s cum glistening on the back of his thighs. Just a fuck, with Dutch’s palm prints on Patel’s ass, and strands of Dutch’s hair still in his grip.

Those words he’d groaned when Patel slid inside him? The words they’d said to each other? Meant nothing. Spoken in the heat of the moment, Dutch claimed.

But not too long ago, Patel had stood outside Dutch’s office door, listening to him get fucked by Kyo, the silent man with death in his eyes and blood in his past. Fingers leaving inprints on the wall, Patel had listened as Dutch shouted for him.

Him.

Patel.

With another man’s dick inside him.

“Ruin me,” he whispered the words again.

Dutch’s eyes darkened and a muscle ticked in his jaw, but he didn’t take the bait. Didn’t accept the offer. Maybe he saw it for what it was… Desperation.

Patel wanted to feel. He only felt when Dutch was near.

Hunger, raw and breath-stealing. Heartache. Anger, visceral and all-consuming. And sadness, too. Of all the things he felt when he came close to Dutch, the sadness scared him most of all.

“Your wife is worried about you,” Dutch told him again. Somehow he always sounded so composed, untouchable. Smooth.

Patel made himself smile. “She sent you.” Of course she did. Dutch wouldn’t be there otherwise.

“She came to me, yes.”

It didn’t escape Patel’s notice that Dutch didn’t take his hands away. Those fingertips remained, barely there, but still so present.

“She offer me up to you again?” He lifted an eyebrow. Between Dutch and Stoyan, it was a fucking wonder he hadn’t already careened off the goddamn deep end. She continued to play matchmaker, knowing full well Dutch would never go there again. Shit, Patel couldn’t survive going there again.

“Stoyan wants you to be okay.”

Patel chuckled darkly. “You think you being here helps with that?”

“I want you to be okay.” A shadow crossed Dutch’s face. “I know today’s gonna be tough for you—”

“I was doing fine,” Patel told him. “I was doing more than okay, until you showed up.”

“The hooker and the coke?” Dutch asked. “It’s not even noon. That’s your version of okay?”

“Away from you,” Patel snapped. “That’s my version of okay.” But that wasn’t even in the same universe as the truth, was it?

Any expression on Dutch’s face disappeared, and once again those gray eyes held nothing. “So I’ll leave.” He tugged his hands, but Patel held on to him.

“Too late for that now.” He shuffled closer, tipped his head down a bit so that his nose touched Dutch’s and their lips brushed.

“We’re gonna finish what your hands on me started,” he whispered. “Our mutual destruction.”

“Don’t do this.” Dutch’s words were tight, but the fingers on Patel’s chest curled. Nails scraping at his skin, a thin trail of sharp pleasure.

“Why?” Patel asked. “Tell me why.”

“You’ll regret it tomorrow. You’re not in your right mind and—”

“No!” He whipped his head up and grasped Dutch’s jaw, holding him steady. Dutch shivered and the pulse on the underside of his jaw picked up speed. Patel could do that. He could make Dutch shiver and he could make him sweat, but he could never make him stay. “Why did you make those promises to me inside that hotel room? Why did you let me need you? Why did you walk away when I know you wanted to stay?”

He felt Dutch flinch.

“I didn’t want to stay.”

“No?” Patel dropped his hand and stepped back, allowing Dutch’s hands to fall away from him. He missed that touch. Missed it, but he pretended otherwise as he circled Dutch, stood at his back. “You meant to ride me then leave with my cum dripping down the back of your legs?” he asked softly. Lips at Dutch’s nape, Patel touched him, sifting fingers through hishair at Dutch’s nape.

He shouldn’t touch. Anger consumed him. Pain, too. But lust drove him. Ruled him.

Dutch made a sound, and Patel fisted his hair, yanking his head back so that Dutch was plastered against him, his back to Patel’s so very hard front, his head on Patel’s shoulder.

“You meant to be here, years later, crying out my name as Kyo tries in vain to wipe away the imprint of me on you?”

“Varun.” Dutch’s voice was different now, full of warning and need and the hunger he probably wished he didn’t feel.

Patel could make him do that, make him feel and make him pretend. He could never make Dane Hutchins stay.

“You didn’t want to stay,” he murmured against Dutch’s ear. “What did you want to do? Tell me.”

“Let me go.”

You can learn more about Avril by following the links below:

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Guest Post – Author Avril Ashton

She is one of my very favorite authors. When I discovered her Brooklyn Sinners series, I was hooked from the first word. SHE is Avril Ashton. We don’t talk a lot and we don’t hang out online together, but she’s become someone I look up to, we email sometimes, and have a deep, abiding NEED for coffee and most all things cake related. She’s no nonsense and she tells it like it is. 

Please welcome her. It’s not the first time she’s been on the blog and it certainly won’t be the last. 

Avril:

These past few months have been filled with newness. Lot of newness. I moved my family to a new state on a whim, a hope and a prayer. Talk about new. Then I published my first self published book. Let’s not discuss that whole never say never ish. I’d always said I wouldn’t do it. So yeah, I’m steady eating crow. *coughs*

I’ve been re-evaluating my career, my process, my everything. I’d always wondered about my style. Like, what is it I’m known for? Can you pick up a book without knowing the author and be able to say yup, that’s an Avril Ashton book? After much thinking, I feel as if you should. At least, I feel as if you should know my brand and what I write, and know that it’s gonna be chock full of certain things, feel me?

I wrote So Far Gone because I wanted something short and not that complicated to take my mind away from the labyrinth of sticky ish that is my Sinners. The story wasn’t all that complex and the angst wasn’t all that deep.

In my mind.

Then I publish the book and I’m getting feedback that the book is all kinds of dark and painful. I had to question myself, like seriously? Is it really that messed up and if it is, how come I didn’t see it? Is my pain/angst threshold so jacked that I can’t even see it? Maybe my brain sorta figured hey, it’s not the Sinners, therefore it can’t be all that bad. An automatic pacifier. Crazy, but hey.

Here’s my thing: You should know by now how my stories run. I’m never going to apologize for what and how my brain translates my stories from my fingers to the page. Everything that’s there is meant to be. If you’re crying it’s because you’re meant to and if you’re all hot and bothered, embrace that, too. Now, you can step away from it, and put me on your “don’t read” list because I broke your heart. That’s sad, but hey, who am I to tell you how to feel?

I only hope to make you feel something, what that is, I have no control over.

It’s only fair that you know what to expect from my books. Let me tick them off my fingers for you. Heartbreak, pain, happiness, and arousal. Not a lot, but I’m pretty sure that about covers the range of human emotion.

I don’t know how to not make you feel something, and if I did, why would I? My goal has always been to make someone feel, to make you experience something, a genuine and valid emotion. There are authors out there who I really envy, because they can write awesomely funny and light-hearted stories that just make you laugh all day long.

That’s not me. You should know this. I don’t do much laughter.

There are authors who I envy who write amazing stories that warms the heart, but never makes you cry. It’s all a steady flow of aww.

That’s not me. You should know this.

I want to wreck you.

There’s a quote I printed out that sits on my computer desk.

“Break their hearts. Then fix it.”

That’s my goal.

To break you down. Sounds kinda horrific? It’s not. The worlds I build, the men I introduce you to aren’t the sunshiny kind, why would my books convey that? The subject matter is never soft or light-hearted, why would you expect that from me?

Loving each other isn’t easy in any of my books, why would you expect sunshine and roses and kumbaya?

I love romance. I love sex. I love angst and conflict and happily ever after. I give all of that to you. In my way. Don’t expect me to be someone I’m not, to write something that isn’t me.

Picking up one of my books ensures that you will go through it. You will run the gamut. I go through it, don’t for a second think that I don’t. I’m there on the frontlines, hurting before anyone else does. Don’t for a second think I’m writing my books just for the shock value, angst for angst sake.

But reading one of my books means that you understand, this is how I do things. It’s my way. Not for the faint of heart. If you’re looking for sweet and uneventful, my books are as far from it as you can get. They’re not the safe, sigh-worthy kind.

They’re the snot-crying, heartbreaking kind.

It’s for some. Not for all.

And you know what? I’m fine with that.

 

so-far-goneSO FAR GONE

Avril Ashton

 One night? Feels like three years…

Jacob Donnelly wants something new. Something different. Which is why he’s got a one-way ticket to New York and his bags packed. One last night out to the bar finds him in a sexy stranger’s bed, giving in to an explosive chemistry Jacob had been searching for, but never found. Until now. It’s too bad he’s leaving town, although once he finds out his one night stand’s true identity, Jacob can’t get away fast enough.

Cash Warner made a mistake. It doesn’t matter that he’d never felt anything like the fire generated between him and Jacob. He doesn’t plan to ever see his one-night hookup ever again. Except he does. When the reality of what they’d done fully sets in, Jacob flees, leaving Cash struggling with how to deal with the bitter taste of betrayal he can’t escape. Because even with Jacob gone for years, Cash can’t stop wanting more of that one night. Fate conspires against them once again, bringing Jacob home after tragedy strikes, and they’ll find it near impossible to keep their distance despite being committed to other people.

 

EXCERPT

Time fell away and he became lost in the sight of the man he watched. Something about this Cash perked his body right up, made his blood sing. Tonight of all nights. The feeling was bittersweet. He’d never had a reaction to another man quite like this.

“Hey there.”

Jacob jerked his head up and almost gasped. Cash sank into the chair opposite him, dark gaze intent.

“Uh…”

“You been looking at me.”

That wasn’t a question. “I—” Jacob licked his lips.

“You.” The word mocked Jacob, but Cash’s gaze was searching.

“Yes.” Jacob cleared his throat. “I’ve been watching you.”

“You looking for something in particular?” Cash lifted a dark eyebrow and Jacob stared at him, trying to gather his thoughts. Cash didn’t break the gaze, he held Jacob tightly to him as surely as if they were locked in an embrace.

“Yes,” Jacob said slowly. “I was looking for something, but I…I think I may have found it.”

Cash blinked then, heat blazing in his eyes. He nodded once, but didn’t move otherwise. “I’m Cash.”

“Cash.” Jacob spoke his name for the first time testing it out. He liked it. “Jacob. I’m Jacob.”

“Jacob.” Cash smiled and Jacob shivered. “You should go to the men’s room, Jacob.”

His brain wasn’t working properly, wasn’t getting enough oxygen or something because for a second there, Jacob felt bewildered. Lost. He couldn’t process the words Cash spoke. He stared and Cash stared back, waiting…waiting…

“Oh.” He jerked backward then jumped to his feet. Cash’s gaze dropped to Jacob’s crotch. He followed the gaze then cursed.

“Shit.” He was hard. Clearly.

Cash’s lips quirked. “Bathroom?”

Jacob inhaled. “Yes.” One last gaze into Cash’s eyes and Jacob went. He walked to the bathroom on unsteady legs, palms sweaty, fists opening and closing as he tried to grasp and identify what it was he was feeling. He didn’t understand it.

Links

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AuthorPicBIO

A Caribbean transplant, Avril now lives in Stone Mountain, GA., with a tolerant spousal equivalent. Together they raise an eccentric daughter who loves reading and school (not so much school anymore). Avril’s earliest memories of reading revolve around discussing the plot points of Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys with an equally book-minded mother.

Always in love with the written word, Avril finally decided to do the writing in August of ’09 and never looked back. Spicy love scenes, delicious heroes, and wicked women burn up the pages of Avril’s stories, but there’ll always be a happy ending; Av remains a believer of love in all its forms.

Addicted to cake, the ID Channel and the UFC, Avril writes Erotic and GLBT Romance for Ellora’s CaveEvernight PublishingeXtasy BooksSecret Cravings Publishing and Total-e-Bound.

 

Visit: http://www.avrilashton.com

Friend me on: http://facebook.com/writeravrilashton

http://www.twitter.com/#!/AvrilAsh

Interview with Author Avril Ashton

I am in fangirl mode today, y’all. Avril Ashton is one of my very favorite M/M authors. Her Brooklyn Sinners series is incredible. These men are larger than life and broken and hard and searching and HOT! I squeed all through an email to her after I read the first one and haven’t stopped hanging on every word she writes or says since… If you have not read this series, go, do it as soon as you get done reading the interview below, or so help me…

lovethesinner1. I know I’ve asked before, however, please talk again about how you came up with the Sinners series…  

I was listening to Rihanna’s Man Down. In it she talks about shooting a man, in public, taking his life. A scene flashed before my eyes of that shooting. Two men. One gets shot. Who did it and why? What’s the story? I based Love the Sinner (Brooklyn Sinners #1) on that premise and worked backward, exploring the characters and their motivation. I’m a huge fan of conflict, of gray areas, of the anti-hero, so I thought well, hell, why don’t we have two men fall in love? Why don’t we make it a cop falling in love with a gang leader, the same gang leader he’s trying to arrest? The same one who shoots him? Eh? Eh? I loved it! I’d only planned to do that one book, but as supporting characters popped up I had to change that train of thought fast. It appeared everyone had secrets, everyone wanted love, and they all wanted me to tell their story.

2. Do you have a favorite set of characters in the Sinners books? They make you laugh, cry, get all kinds of HOT… Are any of them more favored in your mind?

I love them all. Clichéd, but man, so true. They’re all damaged, all so completely taken the instant they meet that one special person. They offer no excuses about the life they lead, just state the facts and let you make your judgments. I love that about the men of the Brooklyn Sinners. Cop and Angel do it for me, they always will, because they were the first, they broke the mole. JP and Shane hold me captive because of how broken Pablo was, how much losing Angel hurt him. Shane comes in and bumrushes his life, twists him into a freaking emo-pretzel, and forces him to choose between the life he led and the one he wanted. Syren and Kane. Ho boy. Another beast, but the most personal. The subject matter, especially Syren’s personal demons, are mine, so I relived some pretty heavy stuff while writing A Sinner Born. I still love Syren and Kane because no one could’ve handled Syren, but Kane.

3. Which comes first…the music or the book idea?

Both at the same time. Really. Sometimes hearing a song sparks a scene. Just like Melanie Fiona’s  “4 A.M” sparked that fierce, brutal love scene with Angelo and Cop in LtS in Coney Island the night of Angel’s birthday party. I heard that song and the scene was there, all I had to do was write it down. And that was before I’d even written page one of chapter one. Other times, the story comes then a song suddenly makes sense, and fits beautifully. Like Lupe Fiasco’s Battle Scars. That song made so much sense while I was writing A Sinner Born. It fit both Syren’s physical and emotional state.

sinnersavior4. Pantser or Plotter? Panster. I sit down to start a new WIP with the book title, my characters name, and at least one scene in my head that I know just has to be included. How, when or why, I never know.

5. You need your coffee as much as I need mine, so… Dark, Medium, or Light roasts? Cream? Sugar? Syrup? How big is your favorite mug? How many times do you refill your favorite mug each day? What is your favorite drink from Starbucks?

Believe or not, I’ve never tasted Starbucks. Regular coffee mug, refills about twice if I make it. Sometimes I buy from the Dunkin Donuts three doors down from me. I’m not one for any kind of fancy mess. Folgers. Light and sweet. Cream and sugar. Easy peasy. I’m a New Yorker. Don’t need anything more than that.

6. And cake… You like cake. What is your hands down favorite cake?

Cake! In the West Indies we have a cake called Black Cake. It’s basically a cake infused with rum and wine. Dark food coloring gives it its name, it is black and soft and hmm. I’m freaking drooling right now. My sister-inlaw makes them with peanuts and dried fruits. It’s so good. Usually it’s only made in West Indian households at Christmas time. Depending on the amount of liquor involved, one slice can get you drunk. The last time she made it for us, ‘cause I don’t bake, I ate one all by myself, in about one hour. I murdered that cake. R.I.P. Now I need to go beg her to make me one. Thanks very much.

7. What’s the best compliment you’ve gotten on one of your books?

That someone likes it. That alone makes my day. I’m easy to please.

8. How did you get started writing?

I’ve always been into it, but I lost my way for while. It took me getting with Mr. A, and him being all kinds of awesome and creative, to give me the impetus to finally say, this is what I love, this is what I want to do. I began writing in summer ’09 and here I am.

9. Who is your favorite all-time author, book, characters?

Can’t pull anyone off top, but the book that sticks in my mind is Mary Lynn Baxter’s Like Silk. I was reading it at the EDJ one day, crying my eyes out and thinking, this is what I want, to make someone cry while reading my book.

10. Will Mr. A ever appear in a book as a secondary character?

LOL Every one of my characters are influenced by Mr.  A. He’s the original Brooklyn Sinner and my own personal anti-hero. He’s all over those books, son.

asinnerborn_msrA Sinner Born

Book three in the Brooklyn Sinners series.

One man buried in secrets. Another still grieving the love he lost. Their worlds collide in a battle between memories, old and new, while trust hangs by a fragile thread.

Syren Rua is at war. He battles painful childhood demons and his intense need for the first person who makes him feel. As Faro, Syren makes deals with the worst while taking the steps necessary to bring his family’s killer to justice. He isn’t one to indulge in selfish needs, but he’ll make the time in this instance. Syren has been watching Kane Ashby, craving the grieving man for his own. He’s always stayed away from temptation, but that’s about to change.

Kane isn’t over the death of his long-time partner. He’s certainly not ready for a relationship, sexual or otherwise, but Syren isn’t a man who takes no for an answer. The unpredictable Syren offers nothing but secrets and brings with him memories so dark, they could wipe out any chance the two might ever have. Syren brings Kane’s heart back to life. But it is also Syren who could inflict the most damage.

Inside Scoop: One of our heroes has a panty fetish. And it’s hot. This book also contains brief references to rape and child abuse.

A Romantica® gay/lesbian erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

Ellora’s Cave | Amazon

 

“Heard you were looking for me.”

Kane scowled at the man on his computer screen. “Really, it’s been days since I told Gabe to tell you to call me.”

The man now known as Rafe Soto-Ashby lifted his shoulder in a careless shrug. “I was busy.”

“Uh-huh.” Rafe did freelance architectural work out of the couple’s home in North Carolina, nothing major to bring attention to himself and Gabe, just enough to keep him out of Gabe’s hair and to keep Rafe busy and engaged in something he liked doing. “What are you working on?”

“Community center for at-risk teens.” Rafe’s face broke out in a grin. “Good stuff.”

With a spark in his eyes like that, Kane could understand how his brother fell in love with the former gunrunner. Now Kane only felt slightly guilty for wanting to shoot Rafe when he found the man in his brother’s kitchen naked except for a pair of tight black briefs. He was Angelo Pagan then and his body was nuts. Kane may have peeked a little.

Okay a lot, but he was entitled.

“What’s up?” Rafe asked.

Kane leaned forward on his elbow as he stared into the laptop he’d placed on the island in his kitchen. “In your former life you had dealings with a guy named Faro, right?”

For his part, Rafe didn’t so much as blink. “Is this an official question, Marshal?”

Kane glowered. “Of course not. This is me, your brother-in-law, asking you something I really hope you answer.”

Rafe crossed his arms. “Personal then?”

“Which response gets me an honest answer from you?” He took a sip from his coffee cup, watching over the top as Rafe leaned forward.

“You tell me what’s got you asking about Faro and I’ll tell you what I can.”

Kane sighed. “I know who he is because he told me. What I want to know is why he knows who I am. He helped me find a runner in New Orleans and he’s been, uh, calling me.” He looked away from the computer when he spoke the last part.

“Calling you, how? Threatening?”

He shook his head at Rafe’s sharp words. “No, nothing like that. The opposite really.” His face heated and he really didn’t want to talk about Faro anymore. “He says I intrigue him.” God, he embarrassed himself saying those words.

Rafe cocked his head to the side, his mouth open. “Intriguing, huh?” He barked a laugh. “Good one.”

Kane waved his words away. “I need to know how to make him go away. I don’t need a criminal calling me and compromising my job. I’m sure you have something I can use.”

Rafe’s eyebrow shot up. “Blackmail, Marshal?”

“He’s a smug little brat with too much time on his hands,” Kane said fiercely. “I want him gone.”

“Uh-huh. I hear you.” Rafe didn’t sound convinced. Not at all.

“Do you have anything I can use?” Pretty please.

“I have a lot of information on Faro. He trusts me and I trust him.” Rafe came in real close on the screen. “He was the one who helped me get out of Brooklyn. He was the one who watched out for your brother when I was locked up. He knows my secrets and I know…some of his.”

Kane stared at him. “What?”

“I’m not telling you shit to use against him, Kane. You can forget that.” Rafe got the saddest smile on his face. “I can tell you this. Faro is a man with many faces who wears a lot of hats. He’s a great number of things to a great number of people, none of them real. None of them true.”

“Talking riddles now, are we?” Kane gripped his coffee cup tighter. “Can’t you just tell me if I should stay away from him or not?”

“Do you want to stay away from him?” Rafe didn’t wait for a reply. “Faro is a lot like many men I know, he’s not all good nor is he all bad.”

“God, you’re no help at all.”

Rafe barked a laugh. “I think you like him, Marshal. Despite thinking you know who he is. Eerily familiar.”

“Yeah, whatever. Do you keep in contact with him?”

Rafe’s face morphed into a blank slate. “We speak. Do you want me to give him a message, warn him off?”

Hell no. “No, I’ll do it.”

“Oh?”

God. Kane felt the blush wash over his face. “He, uh, I have his number.”

“I just bet you do.”

 

AUTHOR BIO

A Caribbean transplant, Avril now lives in Brooklyn, N.Y with a tolerant spousal equivalent. Together they raise an eccentric daughter who loves reading and school (not so much school anymore). Avril’s earliest memories of reading revolve around discussing the plot points of Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys with an equally book-minded mother.

Always in love with the written word, Avril finally decided to do the writing in August of ’09 and never looked back. Spicy love scenes, delicious heroes, and wicked women burn up the pages of Avril’s stories, but there’ll always be a happy ending; Av remains a believer of love in all its forms.

Addicted to cake, the ID Channel and the UFC, Avril writes Erotic and GLBT Romance for Ellora’s CaveEvernight PublishingeXtasy BooksSecret Cravings Publishing and Total-e-Bound.

Visit: http://www.avrilashton.com

Friend Avril: http://www.facebook.com/writeravrilashton

http://www.twitter.com/#!/AvrilAsh

http://avrilashton.tumblr.com/

Guest Author: Avril Ashton

I’d like to thank Lissa for having me on. She suggested I talk about the Brooklyn Sinners series, give some insights into the creation, the stories and the characters, so I will. There may be some spoilers so cover your eyes if you don’t wanna know stuff.

It could be great stuff *wink*

Right now there are two books available in the Brooklyn Sinners series, Love the Sinner and Sinner, Savior which recently released.

The idea for LtS came to me simply: a good guy falls in love with a bad guy. Okay. Cool. What else? Rihanna’s Man Down came out and suddenly I had a scene. Someone gets shot. Who and why? I worked out those questions and the what-ifs, with the shooting scene as the central theme and working my way out. The result was the first chapter of Love the Sinner.

I originally planned for this to be a two-book series centered on Gabe from LtS and his brother Kane. I had no plans to give Pablo from Sinner, Savior a book. None. Here’s a tip when reading my books; if a secondary character has a common-as-hell name, he’s not getting a story. LOL Sorry, that’s how I roll. So I named Angelo’s best friend Pablo and wrote him off as just the friend, nothing more. Then came the birthday party in LtS and suddenly things are changing. I’m typing and literally screaming out loud, “What? No way!” What was up with this guy just bum-rushing his way into my story and changing stuff?

I ignored him.

Then Angelo <spoiler alert> goes to jail and Pablo takes over the gang and I knew he won’t be letting me pass him by. The plan was to go from Gabe and Angelo (Love the Sinner) to Kane and Mr. S (A Sinner Born) but noo, Pablo was all up in my head talking ‘bout “Chick you broke my heart, you better fix that ish.”

I mean, the guy just insists upon himself.

I listened to him.

Here’s what I can tell you about the series: After A Sinner Born, there are two more books to be written. That’s right. You heard it here first, exclusively. Both couples are introduced in Sinner, Savior. One couple is featured prominently and the other is carefully hidden. Maybe I’ll share one day soon. If someone finds the right thing to bribe me with, or the incriminating evidence to blackmail me. There are no plans for other books beyond the five. The last two have no titles yet and will be shorter works. Novellas.

What’s also included in Sinner, Savior: We see more of Mr. S or Syren Rua. First introduced in Love the Sinner, readers know Mr. S is masquerading as Faro. In SS Syren also features prominently and we see him flirty, sexual, funny and easy going. I can tell you this, Syren is a man with a lot of faces. He wears many hats and is a lot of things to a lot of people, none of them real or authentic. In writing Syren’s book, I delve into a lot of dark things which triggers a whole bunch of personal and emotional stuff for me.

It’s hard, but needs addressing.

Ooh. Remember the Coney Island penthouse in LtS? It’s also in Sinner, Savior and methinks will show up in A Sinner Born. It appears that’s way all the men go to make nookie. Heh.

 

Is there anything else you guys wish to know? If you have questions, just leave them in the comments and I’ll answer. One commenter will win a PDF of Sinner, Savior.

 

BLURB

Sinner or Savior? Each man has a choice to make. It should be simple. It never is.

Gun runner Pablo Castillo has cemented his reputation in the gun trade as callous and cold-hearted. Personal feelings no longer matter, not with everyone out to make him a sacrifice on their way to the top. He remains untouchable, until a meeting with a rival gang leader and a new deal brings him face-to-face with temptation.

Dev is the right hand to a sadistic bastard out for blood and glory. He hides his true feelings of distaste for his boss, not the least of his many secrets. He could’ve sworn those secrets were safe, but after meeting Pablo he’s not so sure. The two men come together in a heated affair neither can deny, battling themselves, each other and a deadly enemy bent on spilling blood. Pablo and Dev will have to stick together or walk away from a love neither man expected to find. The choice should be simple. It never is.

 

Reader Advisory: Contains brief scenes of gang-related violence.

At Ellora’s Cave: http://bit.ly/RDZ4wm

 

EXCERPT

Done with his shower, Pablo stepped out with a shudder. The cool breeze scattered goose bumps over his skin. Water dropped from his body and pooled at his feet on the exposed tiles, but he ignored it and opened the mirrored medicine cabinet.

He poked around the bottles of painkillers and Vaseline in search of a disposable razor. He’d forgotten to get himself shaped up and his beard was coming in hot and heavy. No razors, but a folded piece of paper tucked in between a box of bandages and a bottle of peroxide caught his attention. He picked it up and slowly opened it after closing the cabinet.

Pablo stared.

It was a drawing. A very good drawing of him.

Angelo’s cop.

His eyes were closed, his face relaxed as if he were sleeping. The curls on his head were a mess, every strand drawn with exquisite detail. The cop’s lashes touched his cheek, curved and shadowed perfectly. His parted lips were full.

The paper in his hand shook and Pablo blinked.

A fat drop of water landed on the drawing, on the tip of the cop’s nose.

Pablo blinked again.

Another drop of water.

The shaking grew stronger and he clenched his fist, crumbling the sketch in the lower right corner. There was a thickness in his throat, one that didn’t budge no matter how much and how often he swallowed.

Angelo drew this. Pablo knew it. In his heart. In his gut. The person who drew that picture loved his subject. It was shown with every stroke of that fucking pencil.

Every shade, every crooked line was a touch. A caress.

A kiss.

All the things he’d longed for in silence. In darkness. While he berated himself for feeling the way he did about his best friend, for wanting someone he knew, knew, wasn’t gay, Angelo was here. Making love to someone else.

A man.

A cop.

The anger and betrayal choked him and he tore at the paper, shredding it, eyes burning.

It wasn’t fair. None of it. Angelo got to have his happy ever after and what did Pablo get? More pain than he knew what to do with. More anger drowning him, and no one to trust. No one to love.

The man he loved, loved someone else. Chose someone else. Died for someone else. And he was alone, fighting to keep his head above water and his heart still beating. But hardest yet was waking up to a life without the man he’d called his best friend.

He did his best to understand in the beginning, but here and now, faced with this, with the evidence of all he’d lost, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to move on. He’d definitely never be able to trust again, not that he ever did.

Angelo had the dubious honor of being the only man he’d trusted.

Look how well that turned out.

He’d never allow anyone the luxury of hurting him, of cutting him as deeply as Angelo had.

He held his fist up, over his head, staring into the mirror as he opened his palm and allowed the confetti to fall. On him. All on him. A reminder of just how easy it was to destroy something, someone you love.

He met his eyes in the mirror and cringed at the weakness.

“Motherfucker!” He punched the mirror and glass shattered all over the sink, sending his image shimmering out of focus and pain shooting up his arm.

He stared silently as blood dripped off his cut hand into the sink and onto the floor.

What was a little bit more blood, a little bit more pain, heaped onto the mountain he already carried with him, inside him?

His cell phone blasted the theme song for ESPN’s SportsCenter from the bedroom and he twisted away from the wrecked mirror, entering the room and grabbing the phone from the bed with his uninjured hand.

A text message from Dev. He was a block away.

Pablo quickly composed a reply with one hand, giving him instructions on the back entrance and the code to the gate. He wasn’t too worried about trusting Dev with info like that, the man had a lot to lose as well, but he’d change the code before he left. Just in case.

He pulled on a pair of jeans then went downstairs. He flicked on the light switch then ran his bleeding hand over his head with a grimace. He really needed a shave, but that would have to wait. He stood on the balcony, looking out over the amusement park as loud screams of happiness reached his ears and the sticky-sweet aroma of cotton candy and hot dogs made his stomach rumble.

He couldn’t recall the last time he ate, but food would have to take a backseat to the upcoming activities. He planned to lose himself in Dev tonight.

A knock came on the penthouse door and he swung around, taking his time as he made his way across the room. He unlocked the door and pulled it open. Dev’s eyes were somber, concern etched into his features as his gaze roamed Pablo’s face.

“Fuck! What happened?” Dev pushed his way in and grabbed Pablo’s wrecked hand. “You’re bleeding.”

Pablo frowned and yanked his hand away. “What?”

Dev gestured. “I—You’re bleeding. There’s blood on your head and neck—” He lifted his hand and Pablo flinched away.

Dev blinked. “I heard about what happened.” He licked his lips and Pablo’s body clenched. “York knows and he’s looking for any way to exploit it.”

His lips were moving, but Pablo couldn’t fully process what Dev was saying. The plain white tee he wore hugged the muscles in his forearms and the distressed jeans were snug, covering shit Pablo suddenly salivated to see.

“Hey.” Fingers cupped his jaw, warm and rough. “Castillo, you okay?”

What the fuck was with all the concern? Pablo couldn’t bear it. He yanked Dev’s hand away from his skin and pushed him up against the locked door. Satisfaction settled in his gut, hot and addicting when Dev’s eyes widened and those Goddamn lips parted.

Dev’s movements stilled.

“If you want to talk, this ain’t the place.” He watched as his breath rustled the hair brushing Dev’s forehead. “I want your mouth for something else,” he rasped. “Wrapped around my dick.”

Dev’s throat worked. His pupils dilated and Pablo rubbed against him, swallowing a moan. His prick ached with the contact but it wasn’t enough. Visions of Dev on his knees, mouth stretched wide around him, eyes bulging, sped up his hips.

Shit. He indulged in one last sweet grind before pulling away. Dev’s cheeks were flushed, eyes over-bright as his chest heaved. Pablo kept his gaze on him and palmed his own crotch.

“Get on your fucking knees.”

 

Author Bio/Links

l always wanted to have a sexy bio, one to reflect who I am, but after drawing a blank, l could only come up with: I eat cake and I read books…ooh, and I write ‘em too. No one liked it and after massive peer-pressure and pouting, I managed something more…suitable?

A Caribbean transplant, Avril now lives in Brooklyn, N.Y with a tolerant Spousal Equivalent. Together they raise an eccentric daughter who loves reading and school (not so much school anymore). Avril’s earliest memories of reading revolve around discussing plot points of The Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys with an equally book-minded mother

Always in love with the written word, Avril finally decided to do the writing in August of ’09 and never looked back. Spicy love scenes, delicious heroes, and wicked women burn up the pages of Avril’s stories, but there’ll always be a happy ending; Av remains a believer of love in all its forms.

Visit: http://www.avrilashton.webs.com

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Friend Avril on: http://www.facebook.com/writeravrilashton

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