Cover Reveal! BRUSH WITH CATASTROPHE by Tara Lain #paranormalromance

At night, he paints. In a world where the supernaturals can bring down lightning and manifest wealth, Sammy can paint. What happens when a witch’s “prophetic” paintings always come true and his latest painting is of the human he has a crush on? The answer? Magic!Check out the brand new cover for the 2nd Edition of BRUSH WITH CATASTROPHE!!

Hi and welcome! How do you like the new  cover for my paranormal romance, Brush with Catastrophe? This is the second book of the Aloysius Tales after Spell Cat and features some characters I have never written before –or since. This is quite an epic tale of good versus evil. I hope you’ll enjoy it. : )

Brush With Catastrophe 
(The Aloysius Tales Series, #2) 
By Tara Lain


Blurb:
Sammy Raphael is a crappy witch, and on top of that, he can’t seem to get a boyfriend. Where other supernaturals can bring down lightning and manifest wealth, Sammy can paint. Granted, the “prophetic” paintings he creates at night always come true, but they never predict anything important. Sammy feels like a total loser with a worthless ability.
One night he paints a gorgeous guy who turns out to be his secret crush, the human Ryder, but Ryder’s changed so much he’s almost unrecognizably beautiful. Then Sammy paints an angel who turns out to be a witch. But is that witch also a devil—a devil who can bring down Sammy’s whole community and everyone he loves? And why the hell does Ryder keep changing? Aloysius, the black cat familiar, always backs a winner. So why is he backing Sammy?
Available for pre-order at

 

Also available in paperback
Release Date: 
April 14th 2017
Excerpts

 

“Hey, have you seen any new guys
around? Really handsome. Tall with long hair.”
Chen started to laugh. “You have
been out of it, haven’t you?”
Sammy stared at his friend. “What
do you mean?”
“Speak of the devil.” Chen nodded
down the sidewalk.
Sammy turned. Coming toward him,
smiling exactly like the painting, was a guy. Mr. Gorgeous. In the painting
he’d been tall and lean, but in motion his walk was like music in human form.
His baggy jeans tightened over hard thighs as he moved, and they outlined a
package that looked better than a birthday present to Sammy. How-dy.
The guy waved. “Hey, Sam. Hi,
Chen.”
What?
The painting guy got closer, and
the wind caught the nearly shoulder-length hair and tossed it back from his
perfect face. Ears! Pointed ears. Only one guy had ’em. “Alvish?” It couldn’t
be. But those ears didn’t lie.
Alvish, the BFF who only two
months before had been inches shorter than Sammy, now looked down on him by an
inch or more. “Hi, guys. How was summer?”
Sammy knew his mouth was hanging
open. “Summer, hells! What happened to you?”
Alvish shrugged, flexing his
muscular shoulders. “I kind of had a growth spurt.”
That was an understatement. “I
didn’t recognize you. I mean, aren’t you twenty? Who grows that much at twenty?
You only came up to my chin last semester. And”—Sammy waved at the masterpiece
in front of him—“and weren’t your eyes brown?”
Alvish smiled. “I know. Weird,
huh?”
No damned fair. Sammy had fought
his attraction to his friend every day of their acquaintance, but Alvish used
to be a skinny, short guy with big, pointed ears. Hence the nickname. Now Sammy
wanted to start at Alvish’s toes and lick his way to the tops of those ears in
one huge orgy of oral gratification. This new Alvish was so hot Sammy held his
art case in front of his crotch, trying not to spill the beans… or whatever
else was inclined to spill. And this transformation was also damned strange.
Sammy started to walk toward
class again. He needed to get his brush in his hand and forget everything for
an hour. Alvish and Chen fell in beside him. Chen was in his class. The guy
loved to paint, even if his life was planned around numbers. Alvish studied
history and was Dr. Barth’s fair-haired boy. But the history building was on
the way to the art department so he hung with them.
Chen looked past Sammy toward
Alvish. “So, Alvish, what did it feel like growing so fast? Even your hair
grew, man.”
“It was interesting. Hey, could I
ask you guys a favor? I guess I never told you. I don’t much like the name
Alvin. And since I kind of grew into my ears, I thought I might change to my
middle name. Would that be okay?”
Chen shrugged. “Sure. It’ll be
tough to get used to, but I can try. What’s the name?”
“Ryder.”
Sammy stopped. Bloody fucking hells. Pictures of the
new, improved Alvish riding his ass with what was likely his new and improved
cock almost sent Sammy into an orgasm.
Alvish call-me-Ryder looked at
him. “You all right?”
Sammy started to walk again.
“Sure. I thought of something I need to do later.” That would be to get away
from this dream walking, can’t-ever-have-him friend before he blew in his
jeans.

 

 

Ryder
cocked his head. “You’re so talented.”
Gods,
Sammy’s heart had to slow down, or he’d pass out. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
Ryder
looked up with a soft expression. “You mean coming from a dumb historian who
doesn’t know a palette knife from a fork?”
“No,
I mean coming from you. My friend.”
“Don’t
go out with Lucien, Sammy.”
What the fuck? “Why? Come on, Ryder. Sure, I don’t have a
background check on him, but I probably know as much about him as I do you.”
Ryder
looked at his feet. “Point taken.” The green eyes flashed up. “But I think he’s
cheating on you.”
“What?”
Ryder
walked over to the kitchen counter, picked up a glass, filled it from the
faucet, and drank.
Sammy
wanted to beat him over the head. “Come on. Tell me what you mean. Stop stalling.”
“I
can’t prove it, but I’ve talked to a couple of people who seem to have a
relationship with him and seem to think they are somehow special to him.”
Sammy
couldn’t catch his breath. “Well, we’re not exclusive or anything. I don’t have
any claims on him.”
Ryder
scratched Al, who was purring so loudly that Sammy could hear it clearly. “Is
that true? Or has he implied that you’re his boyfriend?”
“Not
exactly.”
“I
think you deserve better, Sams. I think you can do better.”
Well, shit! Sammy threw up his hands. “That’s real easy to say
when you have an unlimited supply of tits to drool over.” Sammy crossed his
arms. Maybe they’d protect his heart. “I haven’t had a real boyfriend in over a
year, and even that one wasn’t serious. I’m lonely, damn it. I want to be with
someone, and Lucien is smart and funny and charming, and he seems to like me a
lot.” He spread his arms wide. “Is that so unbelievable? That a gorgeous guy
like that could actually go for a skinny scarecrow like me?” He could feel his
ears getting hot, and hurt stored over years poured out of him. “Maybe that’s
why you think he’s cheating. You can’t believe he could want me!”
Ryder
stared at him, his eyes shiny. “That’s not true. I’d never feel that way. I
think anyone with a brain would want you.”
“Then
there must be a lot of dumb people!” Sammy’s breath came hard. Shit, he was
attacking his best friend. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I know you don’t think
that.” He ran a hand through his hair. He probably really looked like that
scarecrow now. “Look, he’s going to be here soon. I promise I’ll ask him. I
will. Okay?”
Ryder
frowned. “I’m worried about you.”
“I
know. I don’t understand why, but I know you are. I’ll talk to him.”
“Okay.”
“You
better go unless you want to ask him yourself.”
“No,
I’ll go.” Ryder walked to the door and turned. He extricated Al from his neck
and handed him to Sammy. “I care what happens to you. I care…. I wish…. Hell,
be careful.” He opened the door and walked out, then closed the door behind
him.
Sammy
collapsed onto the couch, still holding Al against his chest, and threw his
head back. “Why the fuck does this have to be so hard? Why can’t I just have a
boyfriend?”
 

 

The Aloysius Tales Series

 

 
Book #1
Spell Cat
Available for purchase at
            

 

Also 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

Fire Balls is Released! #gayromance #ballstothewall #firefighter #oppositesattract

Hi and welcome! I’m so delighted to be re-releasing one of my most popular stories  — Fire Balls! I hope you love this romance of opposites attracting between a feisty painter and a quiet firefighter! Be sure to enter to win on the Rafflecopter and thank you for visiting!  : )

Tour Stops 

February 8, 2017 
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Wicked Faerie’s Tales and Reviews

February 10, 2017 
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Wicked Faerie’s Tales and Reviews
Bookworm Brandee

Fire Balls
(Balls to the Wall Series, Bk #2)
By Tara Lain


Blurb:

Renowned artist Rodney Mansfield stands five foot six, has pink hair, six earrings, a black belt in karate—and a desperate yearning for firefighter Hunter Fallon. But Rod, the Runtback of Notre Dame, knows he’ll never land the beautiful “straight gay” guy, so Rod musters his altruism and helps his more masculine friend Jerry attract Hunter. As if a broken heart wasn’t enough, Rod saves Hunter from a firehouse homophobe—humiliating Hunter in front of his dad!

Hunter lives a dream life—his father’s dream. While he’d like to teach literature in college, read poetry in the sun, and find a strong guy to top him, he fights fires for his dad. Hunter hates flamboyant guys like Rodney. So why can’t he resist him? Maybe it’s time to admit this is one flame he has no desire to put out.

 

Available to purchase
      

 

 

Excerpts

 

He leaned back on the couch. “Anyway, he’s dreamy,
straight-up divine. Sweet and nice and smart. Shit, man, have you ever seen
anything so beautiful?”
Too much. Rod got up and went back to the easel.
At least he didn’t have to stare into Jerry’s smitten face. Crap, he wanted to
be happy for the guy. He really did. “He’s beautiful, all right.”
“And guess what? He asked about you.”
No breath. “He, uh, did?”
“Yeah. Said you were so talented. See, I told you not to
leave.”
“Didn’t want to be a third wheel.”
“Hey, my man, you’re my brother from another mother. What I
got, you got. So I’m going on another date with him, and he loves to read and
shit. Could you tell me some stuff to talk about?”
Oh dear God. “So what have you read, Jerry?”
He looked at his hands. “I, uh, read a few romance novels.”
“I think it’s okay to talk about those, but you have to know
some other writers too. So think. What did you read in high school?”
“Comic books.”
“Graphic novels?”
“Yeah. Man, I love Watchmen and X-Men and Batman.”
“Comic books.” He walked over to a bookshelf he kept tucked
away in the corner of the studio. When he rested on the couch, he loved to read
himself to sleep. “Have you ever heard of Lord Byron?”
Jerry shook his head. “Sounds like a rock star.”
“He kind of was for his time. He was a poet.” He took out a
slim volume and began to read from Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. “Roll on,
thou deep and dark blue ocean—roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in
vain; man marks the earth with ruin—his control stops with the shore.” When he
got to “unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown” he looked up.
Jerry’s big blue eyes shone with tears. “Hey, man, that’s
awesome. Probably not a surfer, I guess. All the ‘thees’ and ‘thous’ sound kind
of old. But that dude knew what a surfer feels, man. We ride on top of the—what
did he call it?—deep and dark blue ocean. And we know we can sink and never be
heard from again, man. Axed. It’s how we want to go if we gotta.”
He had to stop underestimating this man. Rod walked over to
the couch and handed the book to Jerry. “Just be yourself. He’s got to love
you.”
“Wow, thanks. But I’ll read this, man. Every word, or at
least the words I understand, okay?”
He smiled. “Okay.”
“I sure do like the way you read it, though.”

Rod laughed, took back the book, and began to read.

 

The firefighters piled out onto the hard-packed dirt drive
and hauled the hose toward the hydrant out by the highway. Shit, they were just
going to make it… if they were lucky.
“Save him. Help, please, help,” one woman screamed, pointing
toward the building.
What? He gave his spot on the hose to another man and ran to
the woman’s side. “Ma’am. What do you mean?”
The woman on the driveway was white as a cloud and pointing,
her mouth working. “Rod. Rodney. He ran in. Do something.”
He gripped her arm. “Ran in? Rodney ran in there?” Ice froze
his heart.
“Yes, yes. I came over to see, and suddenly he just ran past
me and straight in the door. I don’t know where his car is….”
Hell no! He pulled on his respirator and ran
toward the door of the studio. His heart beat way too fast. Had to get control.
Why, why would Rod do it? What was worth his life? His life. He couldn’t die. Hell, no.
“Fallon, wait. Don’t go in alone,” Cam screamed behind him.
Hell, no. No time to wait. Rod was in there.
The screen door, the damned squeaky screen door, hung half
off its hinges. He tore it away and, hunched against the heat, moved into the
studio. Smoke. Embers raining down. The heat pushed like a wall through his
gear. The flames crawled along the half-missing roof like a snake slinking
along a branch, hissing.
Stop. Think. The part of the structure
closest to the door remained most intact. He dropped to the floor and scooted
along a few feet. Not much in here. Beside him, the old desk had burned nearly
to ash. His heart hammered. Breathe slowly. Don’t panic.
Where is he?
Can’t be too late. No, hell, no. Never
too late.
He crawled another couple of feet and pressed his head down by
the floor, squinting through the smoke…. Yes!
A body. Rod. Collapsed on the floor clutching a small canvas
to his chest. The insane idiot. No painting was worth this. Crouching, Hunter
covered the few steps.

Jesus,
Rod looked so small. And… so still. Hell,
no
. Hunter pulled Rod into his arms. Felt right. Felt good. Hunter took off
his respirator and fitted it over Rod’s nose and mouth. Breathe for me, baby.
Rod’s body hung, limp as a doll.

 

 

The Balls to the Wall Series


Volley Balls
Bk #1

Available at
 
      

 

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