Cover Reveal – Never by Tara Lain #PeterPan


When your dreams come to life, do you fall in love — or send them back to Neverland?

Hi and welcome! Earlier this year, readers were asking me if I was going to write any more Pennymaker Tales. In fact, they were saying puh-leeeez write some more (thank you!). So i went to my Beautiful Dream Team and asked what fairy tales or stories they’d like to see retold as MM contemporary romances. One of my Team suggested Peter Pan. A light went on in my brain, and i had to create the tale of how the clash between the forever young Peter and the forever responsible Wendy would look if those two became two grownup guys named Peter and Wendall.I hope you’ll love the newest excursion of Mr. Pennymaker into love sweet love!

(The Pennymaker Tales, #4)
By Tara Lain




Wendell “Wen” Darling lives in a world of shoulds and musts. Left to care for his brother and sister by his dull drudge of a father and wacko irresponsible mother, he suppresses his creativity, slaving in an ad agency seventy hours a week, letting his no-talent supervisor take the credit.
Then his bosses blow the campaign for their biggest client and Wen gets a chance to shine—but only if he can find the artist who painted a wild, glorious wall of graffiti in the subway. Hiding behind a pillar at 2:00 a.m., Wen comes face-to-face with the scarlet-haired, elven-faced embodiment of his divergent opposite—Peter Panachek, the flighty, live-for-today painter, singer, and leader of the rock group the Lost Boys. Everything Wen takes seriously, Peter laughs off, but opposites attract, even if their kisses always lead to battles. Peter’s devil-may-care persona hides a world of secrets, self-protection, and hidden fears, until the day a drug dealer, Vadon Hooker, threatens everything Wen holds dear. Guided by the mysterious Mr. Pennymaker, Peter has to choose between facing responsibility or burrowing even deeper into Neverland.



Release Date:


November 3, 2017


Available for Pre-Order at
Also available in paperback!




Descending the stairs like a
flaming Baryshnikov came a guy as big as a sumo wrestler, wearing tight black
jeans and a T-shirt that strained over the vast expanse of his chest and belly.
Amazing, yes, but who could see him, because above his head, in a position like
some flying ballerina, he held —a guy. What a guy. The boy—he looked to be in
his teens, but then so did Wen, so who knew?—stretched out in the air with his
legs raised and arms in Superman position. He wore black jeans, just as tight
as Sumo Guy’s, and a brilliant green T-shirt that made Wen look at his shock of
hair, so red it could have been painted, and his startling, captivating face.
This had to be a leprechaun or an elf come to life. His wide eyes turned up at
the corners like a cat laughing eternally, and they were so heavily lashed they
looked enhanced with guyliner. His nose turned up, his cheekbones stuck out,
there might be a cleft in his chin, and his mouth curved in a bow. Nothing on
that face should go together—but it came out a frigging masterpiece.
Trouping down behind this
Flying Wallenda act came three more guys, all dressed in black and managing to
represent the ethnic mix of the entire world in their small group. One guy’s
skin was black, and he was so handsome he barely looked real. One of them
appeared to be a mix of African and Asian and something Middle-Eastern
mysterious. One shorter dude must be a variety of Hispanic. Plus Parasol Girl
seemed to be a member of the club.
Sumo Guy carried the elf in a
wide circle as the boy flapped his arms. Then Sumo gave him a little toss,
which made Wen catch his breath. The elf flew up and landed gracefully in Sumo
Guy’s massive arms. He threw back his head, scarlet hair flying, and yelled,
Back on his feet, the elf
proved to be maybe five foot eight or nine of compact perfection—wide shoulders
for his small size, slim hips, and long legs. He bowed low to the applause of
his band of merry weirdos and turned in a circle. Wen sucked a small breath. Look at that butt. High, round, and
hard—definitely supernatural.


He got up off the couch, padded in the dark down the
narrow hall to John’s room, opened the door softly, and listened. Just soft
snuffling snores. Good. He closed the
door again, listened at Michaela’s as he walked past but heard no sounds of
anguish or illness.  Maybe just a siren
or a truck woke him. Of course, they were all so used to the traffic sounds of
Brooklyn that seemed unlikely. Collapsing on the couch again with a sigh, he
closed his eyes. Need some sleep.
Do I hear someone breathing?
He listened harder. So soft, but still breathing.
What the hell
should I do?
Someone might be behind the curtains with a gun. No, his
curtains wouldn’t hide a three-year-old. God knew, John had tried.
The breath kind of stuttered, like a little laugh. What the hell? It came from behind his
head, closer to the front door. Damn, I
wish I had a weapon.
Without moving his head, he turned his eyes toward the
coffee table. A lazy Susan that Michaela used to help serve sat in the middle.
It was made of some kind of heavy ceramic. That would have to do.
With a huge sweep of his covers, Wen sat up, sprang to
his feet, grabbed the lazy Susan in two hands and leaped forward—
—to see Peter’s eyes widen as he flattened himself
against the wall with his hands lifted to fend off his attacker.
Wen stared at his elf face and hissed, “What the hell are
you doing here?” No, wait, wrong
“How the hell did you get in here?”
Peter pointed at the slightly open window.
Uh, wait. Wen
walked over and looked out at the four-story drop—and the old rusty fire escape
that ran beside the window. What the
He stalked back to Peter, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to the
couch. “Sit.”
Peter sat.
Wen turned on a small lamp, went into the kitchenette,
grabbed their filter pitcher of water and poured two glasses, then carried them
back to the couch. He handed one to Peter. “I figure you need it after your
adventures. How the hell did you get up that fire escape without falling or
ripping the thing off the wall? Fly?”
He grinned. “I’m a good climber.”
Wen wanted to scream, and only biting his tongue kept it
at bay. “Why did you do it? I’ve asked you to help me. You’ve said no. We have
nothing else to talk about. You put yourself at risk, and you broke into my
house where my kids sleep!”
“Kids?” His cat eyes widened. “You have children?”
“Yes, they’re my younger brother and sister. I’m
responsible for them. I have to leave them alone sometimes, and now I find out
that any criminal can waltz up that fire escape and threaten them.”
“Well, not any criminal.” He gave a half grin.
“It’s not funny.”
“No. I get that. But honestly, most people would rip that
thing off the wall. I really am a good climber and it’s very high. I think you
and your kids are safe.”
Wen planted a hand on his hip. “From everyone but you.”
“Yeah.” He giggled, which despite being shocked and
furious, kind of made Wen want to smile.



The Pennymaker Tales Series


Sinders and Ash
(The Pennymaker Tales Series, #1)
by Tara Lain
Available for order at
Kindle | AudibleNook | Kobo | iTunes | Dreamspinner Press



Driven Snow
(The Pennymaker Tales, #2)
by Tara Lain
Available for purchase at



Beauty, Inc.
(The Pennymaker Tales #3) 

Available for purchase at


Want to get these lovelies in paperback? 

Sinders and Ash and Beauty, Inc. (Pennymaker Tales)

Available for purchase at
Amazon | Barnes & Noble


About the Author


Tara Lain writes the Beautiful Boys of Romance in LGBT erotic romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her first novel was published in January of 2011 and she’s now somewhere around book 32. Her best-selling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Paranormal Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance, Best Gay Characters, and Tara has been named Best Writer of the Year in the LRC Awards. In her other job, Tara owns an advertising and public relations firm. She often does workshops on both author promotion and writing craft.  She lives with her soul-mate husband and her soul-mate dog near the sea in California where she sets a lot of her books.  Passionate about diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says on her tombstone it will say “Yes”!


You can find Tara at Lain



Presented By

Cover Reveal: High Balls #BallstotheWall #NewBook

Hi and welcome — I’m really excited to give you a nibble of the first totally new book in the Balls to the Wall Series in years. High Balls was so fun to write and i hope you’ll love reading it. BTW, another completely new Balls book will be coming in Jan 2018, so when you’ve read High Balls, you’re not done! Enjoy the excerpt.

A brand new story in the BALLS TO THE WALL Series!


Sometimes only the wrong guy can bring the 
right happy ever after.


High Balls
(Balls To The Wall Series #6 )
by Tara Lain
Though only twenty-six, single father Theodore Walters lives with his head in the clouds and his feet firmly planted in reality. At the center of his life is Andy, his seven-year-old son, with whom he shares no DNA, though nobody—including his religious-fanatic in-laws—knows that, and Theodore will do anything to keep them from finding out. Theodore works hard to get his PhD and the tenure and salary that might follow to make a better life for Andy—but the head of his department thinks his dissertation on Jane Austen and romance novels is frivolous.


Theodore’s carefully planned life goes off the rails when he walks into a popular Laguna Beach bar and meets the bartender, “Snake” Erasmo, a pierced and tattooed biker who sends Theodore’s imagination—and libido—soaring. Snake has even more secrets than Theodore and couldn’t be a less “appropriate” match, but he might be the only guy with the skills to show Theodore that happily-ever-after is for real.
Release Date:
Oct. 4, 2017


Available for pre-order at




He flipped
on some Chopin and let it seep into his bloodstream like antistress pills. Such
a weird feeling he got each month when Andy visited his grandparents. Kind of
lost. Aimless. Sure, he had hella studying to do, but he did that every night,
curled in his chair, sometimes with Andy sitting on his lap figuring out his
homework. When he sat for his orals, he’d probably start quoting second-grade
spelling instead of defending his dissertation on the modern romance novel as
the inheritor of the tradition of Jane Austen. But that was how life was
supposed to be. His life, anyway—all based on one decision made almost on the
spur of the moment when he was eighteen years old. A decision made possible by
an asshole named JP Rellico.
He stopped
at the light at Pacific Coast Highway. The traffic going north wasn’t too bad
yet, but the south lane toward Laguna already backed up to Ruby Ridge. The
drivers had that Friday afternoon look of combined relief and weariness.
A rumbling
roar sounded and Theodore jumped. Threading through traffic came a shiny
Harley, moving with more assurance than such a big machine should muster. But
the motorcycle definitely took second place to the rider. The guy stopped and
put his foot down just yards from where Theodore waited, the booted foot
attached to long, long legs with thigh muscles that challenged the black denim
covering them. Unlike a lot of Harley drivers, this man had no fat of any kind;
his long-sleeved T-shirt hugged a narrow waist and broad shoulders. Theodore
strained to see his face, but a dark-visored helmet hid it, although strands of
shaggy dark hair escaped the bottom. Most of all, Theodore noticed the tattoos
that crawled in beautiful winding patterns up the guy’s forearms where they
showed below his pushed-up sleeves. Whoa.
Just the energy of the rider screamed free.
One of those tats had to say, I don’t
give a shit
It was like
Theodore could feel the vibration of the bike all the way across the street and
deep in his balls. What would it be like to live so unrestrained? Go and do
what you want and not worry about anyone else? His cock rose like sunrise on a
summer day.
A beep
behind him woke him up. Shit. Quit
dreaming, idiot.
He stepped on the accelerator and pulled out into the
northbound lane just as the rider turned his head toward Theodore. Theodore’s
foot faltered, he craned his neck to see the guy’s face—just a glimpse—and got
the squeal of tires and another, more pissed-off beep for his trouble.
He stepped on it and sprang—to the extent the Toyota had any spring left—toward
the college.


Snake looked in the mirror again. That was Pink Hair talking.
Teddy stood beside the Greek statue and looked—scared? Anxious? Probably
embarrassed. Why did he come here? To
prance this beautiful man in front of me?
He sighed. As if I’m all that.
He turned, tried to smile, and failed. “Yeah. What can I get you?”
“Champagne cocktail for me, darling.” Pink Hair smiled and gazed
into Snake’s eyes. Did they know who he was?
Greek Statue asked for the same. Big, hunky, and handsome wanted a
beer and—that left Teddy. Snake nodded to him without meeting his eyes. “What
can I get you?”
“Beer, please. Uh, Snake, these are my friends.”
Startled at being addressed by name, he finally looked at Teddy.
“I gathered that.”
“Uh, that’s Rodney, uh, Rod, and his husband, Hunter. Rod’s a
famous painter and Hunter’s a college teacher like me.”
Snake still couldn’t get his smile muscles to move, but he stuck a
hand across the bar and shook with both men, although the one called Rod only
offered fingertips. Snake’s eyes fled back to Teddy.
Teddy glanced at the beauty next to him and said, “This is David.
He owns the Underwood Galley on Forest. He’s Rod’s bestie. His husbands are
away playing volleyball, so we’re keeping him company.”
Snake just stared. Too many words he didn’t quite grasp. Did he really say husbands? Like, plural? But bottom line—Snake’s
face broke out in a smile. “Hi, David, really pleased to meet you.” He shook
the handsome man’s slim hand as his brain repeated the mantra, Not his boyfriend. Not his boyfriend. Not
his boyfriend.
Rod said in his dancing, musical voice, “You thought David was
Theodore’s boyfriend, didn’t you?”
Snake felt the crease pop between his eyebrows and smoothed it
with intention. “Looked like it.”
Teddy really frowned. “So you assumed I lied to you?”
“Thought crossed my mind.” He glanced up at the scowling Teddy
Bear and almost laughed. “Sorry.”
Rod said, “Theodore, be reasonable. You two barely know each
other. Snake might think you would lie to him.”
Snake shook his head. “No, actually, I don’t. Teddy here’s not the
lying type. But….” He shrugged.
Rod grinned. “But you’re the jealous type.”
“Not usually. Let me get your drinks.” He turned away, but saw the
Greek god David look at Teddy with wide eyes and mouth the word Wow.
He swallowed his chuckle as he added the bitters to the champagne
and then pulled the beer from the cooler.
Rod had this funny wheedling voice. “So you call Theodore
Snake turned back with two of the drinks and flashed a smile. “Teddy
Bear, actually.”
Teddy sat back on his stool. “Snake!”
“I mean, who could call that pretty thing something so stodgy and
serious as Theodore?” He cast a sideways glance at Teddy.
David looked at Teddy too. “Uh, you better call him
Theodore—because that bear can bite.” He laughed.
“Nah.” Snake slid the other beer and champagne to David and Teddy.
“We need to get this boy to stop fighting what he is and work it.”
Rod shrieked. “Snake, I adore you! No one with an endless
vocabulary could have ever so perfectly expressed the life plan for Theodore
Snake looked at Teddy. “Walters. I didn’t know. Pleased to meet
you, Teddy Bear Walters.”
A wild giggle exploded through Teddy’s compressed lips. “You’re
all crazy!” He shook his head. “What’s your last name?”
“Snake Erasmo. Your mother did not name you Snake.”
David said, “Who did?”
“Some friends. Something to do with the walk.”
Teddy rested a cheek on his fist. So damned cute Snake wanted to
eat him. “What’s your real name?”
“If I told you, I might have to kill you.”
“It’s the only way to keep me from killing you for calling me
Teddy Bear. I mean, aren’t all Teddy Bears portly and hairy?”
“Well, my teddy bears always made me feel good, and warm, like I
had love curled up next to my belly.”
Rod sighed. “Oh my.”
Teddy blinked hard. “Okay, but you still have to tell me your real
name, or—else!”
man, I could drown in those wide eyes.
“Well, in that case, my name is
Streams. Crystal Streams, to be exact. My hippie mama was into Native culture
at the time I was born. Shit, it’s a good thing. The following year she might
have named me Frankincense or—Marjoram.”
All four men laughed, but Theodore cocked his head with a
quizzical expression. Hmm.
Snake held up a hand and walked over to the two guys who’d just
sat down at the bar, took their orders, filled them, and then slowly sidled
back to Teddy and company. Have to give
these guys time to size me up, because I think my future depends on it.


The Balls to the Wall Series



Volley Balls
Bk #1


Available at


Fire Balls 
Bk #2


Available to purchase
Beach Balls
Bk #3


Available to purchase


FAST Balls
Bk #5


Available for purchase at


Prefer paperback?
The first and second book are now available in paperback! 


About the Author

Tara Lain writes the Beautiful Boys of Romance in LGBT erotic romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her first novel was published in January of 2011 and she’s now somewhere around book 32. Her best-selling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Paranormal Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance, Best Gay Characters, and Tara has been named Best Writer of the Year in the LRC Awards. In her other job, Tara owns an advertising and public relations firm. She often does workshops on both author promotion and writing craft.  She lives with her soul-mate husband and her soul-mate dog near the sea in California where she sets a lot of her books.  Passionate about diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says on her tombstone it will say “Yes”!


You can find Tara at Lain





Presented By


More Branding Questions. Are You Up for It?

Hi everyone–
Last week, i posted a request that people tell me what they think of when they hear the name Tara Lain or see one of my books. I got lots of answers and they were very informative. Thank you all so much. BTW. it looks like i will be doing a Branding workshop at GRL, so your answers mean a lot!

One thing that came back in your answers is that you think of The Beautiful Boys of Romance. Now, i know you know them when you see them! LOL But if you have a minute, would you tell me what you think of when you hear The Beautiful Boys of Romance. Who or what are they to you? What feelings do they evoke?

Ready, set, go. Hugs!

Will You Help Me Define My Brand? I Have Something for You

Hi everyone–

If you read this blog, i’d love a comment or email from you with your opinion.(And i will give a copy of one book from my backlist to one commenter.)  Recently, a friend of mine who doesn’t usually read gay romance but does read my books said to me, “You write books about true love. That’s why i read them. That’s what makes your books special.”

Her wonderful comment got me thinking about my brand. A brand is defined as a “promise” made by a product or service which lives in the heart of the consumer–in my case, my readers.What is my brand? What does a reader expect when they pick up a Tara Lain book? What is the implied promise?

One thing i think they expect is a particular type of hero. Would you agree? My Beautiful Boys of Romance. But since half of my books are menages and half are gay romances, readers probably don’t expect that my hero is always going to be gay. He might be bisexual? Maybe even heterosexual? Do you agree? What do you think a Tara Lain hero is like?

Do you  think my friend is right? Obviously, all erotic romances are about love, but are mine uniquely about love in some way? What else? Any thoughts?

I’m asking for a reason. I recently did something very different for me. I wrote a M/F romance that will likely come out at the holidays. It’s just a short little thing. But do you think people will find this unusual–that i think heterosexuals need love too? What is your opinion?

I do not own my brand. You do. So if you have a minute will you tell me what it is in your experience? I’ll choose a winner by random number and give that person one book from my backlist. Thank you for your help! : )