ZA Maxfield's New Romance will Make You GASP! And There's Something In It For You.
You probably all know that among my three inspirations for writing romance is the great Z.A.Maxfield whose books made me want to be a good writer. I'm delighted to say that today, ZAM is a close friend and kind of neighbor (about a half hour away) and she still inspires me all the time. If you follow ZAM, you may know that she and her family were displaced by a fire and have been living in an apartment while their house is being repaired. In the category of "it rains, it pours". ZAM is moving back into her house this week just as her new novel, Gasp! came out from Loose Id. I had the delight of beta reading Gasp! and can tell you not to miss it! So, while ZAM can't slow down to write a blog, i'm posting her cover, blurb and excerpt here so you'll all know about this terrific new gay romance.
Plus, if you leave a comment, you can win a copy of a book from ZAM's backlist. (I can vouch for most all of them.) I have to tell you ZAM doesn't know i'm making this offer, but if she doesn't want to do it, i'm good for it! LOL! So, read the excerpt and leave a comment for ZAM below WITH YOUR EMAIL!
Jeff Paxton came home from Afghanistan looking to put down roots. Instead his pregnant sister talks him into a job babysitting the volatile megastar Nigel Gasp. Nigel is stubborn, needy, and determined to be the center of attention everywhere he goes. Before long, Jeff realizes that something is bothering Gasp, and that keeping him out of trouble might be more difficult than he thought.
Nigel never planned on getting old. He simply assumed a hard drinking, hard partying lifestyle would take care of that. Now that he's turning forty, he's depressed and a little bit desperate. To Nigel, forty seems like a fine age to deposit his DNA and check out while he's still on top.
The last thing Jeff needs is to fall in love with Nigel Gasp. The last thing Nigel expects is a whole new reason to live. But how can Jeff put down roots with a man who is never in the same place twice?
Love can be shocking. Gasp! Excerpt: It wasn’t fair.
Jeff couldn’t complain to Deidre without sounding like an idiot, but it simply wasn’t fair. He’d reached rock bottom in Afghanistan on his third deployment. He’d been lonely, isolated, and depressed. He’d gotten into some trouble. Then he’d found out his mother’d had a mild heart attack and surgery to have a stent put in without bothering to let him know, and he’d decided enough was enough. He’d come home as soon as his TOS was up, longing for family, eagerly awaiting the birth of his nephew. He missed the army. He missed knowing he had an important job to do. Leaving was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but another tour of Afghanistan and he would have killed himself from sheer goddamn loneliness.
But he’d changed, and he no longer fit in at home, either. Now he was all by himself and stuck with this.
“It’s only for a few weeks,” Deidre told him.
Jeff leaned against a magnificently fragrant pine tree in the pristine early stillness of a Bluebird Mountain morning and whined—seriously, whined—at his sister like he was five. “Dee—”
“I just had a baby, for God’s sake. I can’t be everywhere at once.”
“He doesn’t need someone like me. He needs a team of hairy nuns to give him the fish eye and keep him in line. He’s out of control.”
“You think I don’t know that? Nigel is a thirty-nine-year-old man with the mentality of a hyperactive adolescent. We factor that in and move on.”
“I get that now, but it doesn’t help. The only way I can keep him out of trouble is if I have some kind of leverage. He just looks at me, smirks like I’m not even there, and does what-the-fuck-ever he wants.”
“I know he can be a pain in the ass, but that’s what you’re there for—to keep him from getting hurt or doing something crazy. He’s already in trouble for that sexcapade recording. I’ve done my best to isolate him there in the mountains. What can he do in the mountains?”
“Plenty. He can and has done plenty. It’s not as isolated up here as you think. Los Angeles is only ninety minutes away, and a lot of his friends have private aircraft.” Jeff decided it wasn’t a good time to tell her a posse of Nigel’s friends had been at the resort all night, trashing his room. “Yesterday we went rock climbing, and he was a mess.”
God. He couldn’t tell Deidre what had happened. Nigel was practically her life. They were best friends. Why couldn’t she see how far Nigel was out on the ledge? She’d always been so intuitive. Maybe she didn’t want to see her idol had been falling apart. Christ. If he told her, she’d be there in a second, long before it was advisable for her and the baby to travel.
“Can’t you keep Nigel out of trouble for a few more weeks? I need to nurse. I need to fucking bond.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that—”
“I’ve made enough milk to open a dairy. I just ordered a holiday sweater and perfume from the television. Do you know how desperate you have to be to want perfume you can’t even smell before you buy it? Meanwhile all you have to do is—”
“Can you hear yourself? Just take a second, all right?” Jeff took a deep breath. If he had to cuff Gasp to the wall, he’d make sure he was still in perfect working order when she took the reins again. “Look, it’s okay. I’m sorry I bothered you. I know it’s hard. I’ll take care of your big prince if you take care of the little one. I promise you it will be okay.”
“At least tell me what you named the baby.”
“All will be revealed in time.”
“Dee. Come on. I think as his uncle I have a right to know what the baby’s name is.”
“We haven’t told anyone yet.”
“You could tell me. Did you tell Mom?”
“We’ll let you know when we’re ready.”
Jeff smacked the tree with his open hand. “That’s bullshit, you know? It’s total bullshit. I’m here doing everything you asked me to do and now you’re playing—”
“And I had a C-section. I haven’t slept since I don’t know when”—Deidre started sobbing—“and I’m leaking from every o-o-orifice of my b-b-body.”
Jeff hissed a curse. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll handle it. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”
“What can I do? Katje and I just want to keep some things to ourselves for a little bit. You’d think—”
Hormones. “God. Chill out. It’s going to be okay. Let Katje take care of you and my nephew. That little sprout is going to be the love of our lives. I just hope he appreciates the sacrifice.”
Jeff hung up the phone. He wished he were with Deidre. He wanted to hold his goddamned nephew. He wanted to be a part of something pure for a change, and instead…instead he was stuck here, doing Deidre’s job.
He had to stop and rest again before he headed back to the hotel and the next skirmish in the Nigel Gasp wars. The altitude, along with the amount of caffeine he’d consumed, left him light-headed. Damn Nigel and damn Deidre. Family responsibility could be a heavy burden, and Deidre could play that card like no one else.
Getting his grip, he lurched along the path back to the hotel. On top of everything else, he was coming down with something. If babysitting Nigel at 100 percent was hard, he hated to think what it might be like if he was sick.
When Jeff opened the door to Nigel’s suite, he recoiled.
The aging rocker’s latest friends littered his hotel room. The place stank of sex, booze, and stale perfume.
Among them, Jeff found the heir to a pricey leather goods fortune getting sick on what looked like a hand-loomed Oriental carpet, and there was an underage girl passed out on the couch. Nigel was singing to the world at large while standing on the railing of a balcony five floors up. He took a step and wobbled, windmilling his arms. Jeff’s heart thundered, and not because he’d just attempted to jog at an elevation of five thousand feet.
Jeff slipped on the entry rug when he broke into an all-out run but righted himself and pounded across the hardwood floor and out the slider to pull Nigel down by the waistband of his leather pants. When he had a grip on Nigel—when it would have been perfectly acceptable to at least imagine killing him—Jeff pulled him into his arms and held him tight against his body.
Why couldn’t he make up his damned mind?
“What the fuck?” Nigel asked.
“Are you trying to kill yourself?” Jeff’s blood roared in his ears. “The least you could do is wait until my sister’s back before you—”
Nigel pushed back, his voice soft and deadly. “Take your hands off me, you bastard.”
Jeff put him down but kept hold of his arm. “Not if you’re going to dance around on the balcony railing like an idiot.”
Nigel’s famous blue eyes narrowed. “I’ll dance wherever I like.”
“We’re five stories up and you’re a drunken mess. If you were to slip—”
“I don’t slip. I am grace itself. Ask anyone.” The words would have been more powerful if he hadn’t turned to his friends for backup and lurched drunkenly into the wall. “Anyway, what the fuck do you care if I die? What’s one more old—”
“Okay, that’s it. We’re done here.” Jeff took Nigel’s arm and ducked to pull him into a fireman’s carry. Just like that, with Nigel’s pert ass in the air and his long hair draping along the backs of Jeff’s bare knees, Jeff felt fully in control of things again.
“All right,” Jeff shouted at those who were still capable of hearing him, “everyone out.”
Jeff balanced Nigel as he frog-marched two Nigel Gasp-look-alike boys out the door first, shoving them through as politely as he could. He barked orders at the rest, those who wandered aimlessly in varying states of dishabille. He left Sleepy Girl in the suite but used her cell phone to find and call her family.
That underage thing could come back and bite Nigel in the ass, but it was Nigel’s ass and Jeff could only protect it so far.
But damn. Nigel still had a pretty great ass for an old guy. It was right there on Jeff’s shoulder, and it was easy to see the ass in question had lost none of its allure since the early days, when it could be found clad in skintight black jeans, shaking and grinding in those old-school music videos.
Damn. In his wildest dreams he’d never expected Deidre’s job would be anything like this. Weeks of cleaning up after insensitive rich kids and deluded, aging baby boomers. Weeks of Yes, sir, Mr. Gasp, sir. I’d be happy to forego my unimportant four hours of sleep to get you toffee peanuts.
Nigel was gorgeous. He was talented. He was brilliantly funny. And he was the most spoiled, immature, self-centered…the most self-destructive human being Jeff had ever had the privilege of meeting.
What a goddamn waste.
“Out you go, Your Highness.” Time to test a theory. “The door is this way.”
“The Doors?” Nigel lifted his floppy head and looked around. “Where? Jim Morrison is dead, mate.”
“I know that, Nigel. Lo these many years. It happened before I was born. It happened before you were born, probably.”
Jeff’s usual problem was once he made up his mind to do something, it was hard for him to stop himself. He had impulse control issues too, and—just like Nigel—he had problems with authority. It was a miracle he hadn’t been rejected in the first three weeks of boot camp because of it. He hadn’t washed out because, to everyone’s surprise, he’d discovered he liked being bound by a rigid code of conduct. Let loose within that system, he’d been the most perfect Jeff Paxton he could possibly be.
Without the army, he floundered. Like now, when he needed someone to tell him how to deal with a spoiled rich man without losing his shit. Like now, when the devil on his shoulder was driving and the angel was watching scenery.
Carrying his squirming burden, Jeff exited the hotel suite and headed for the back stairs. It wouldn’t do for His Highness’s adoring fans to see him being dragged bodily outside for a little lesson in what happens if you fuck with Jeff Paxton. Sure. The paparazzi were probably using long-range telephoto lenses from every angle outside the hotel room, and what he was about to do…well, that would probably cost him his job.
Maybe he couldn’t say boo to big sister Deidre, but that didn’t mean he had to do what she wanted, exactly how she wanted him to do it.
And if she didn’t like how he did it?
She’d have to catch him to kill him, and in her condition, he had a distinct advantage.
“Did you get my toffee peanuts?” Nigel suddenly asked from where he was hanging, upside down with his head bouncing off Jeff’s ass.
“I got your damned peanuts.” Toffee peanuts. Nigel’d had Jeff call the owner of the local confectionery at three in the morning for toffee peanuts. He’d slogged out in the dead of night, and when he’d returned with the damned things, Nigel was nowhere to be found. Jeff assumed Nigel took one of his guests behind locked doors for privacy. “I thanked Rachel with an extra hundred bucks.”
“I really wanted those toffee peanuts. But now I’m feeling sick, mate. Does the world seem upside down to you?”
“Nope. My world is right on target.” Jeff slapped Nigel’s leather-clad ass hard.
Nigel gave an indignant, “Ouch. Hey!”
“Today we’re examining the words ‘selfish’ and ‘immature.’” Jeff carried his charge through the resort kitchen. This caused the staff to stop what they were doing and stare at him in shocked silence. “And the number zero. Why zero? Because zero is the exact number of times I’m going to take your crap ever again. We have now entered the zero-tolerance zone, Nigel. That is the zone between your nonsense and my gut, ’cause I can’t take your roller-coaster shit.”
Jeff shoved out through the heavy back door, which someone kept propped open with a chair, presumably to allow the cold, crisp air to circulate in the warm work area.
Nigel shrieked with outrage as soon as the chill hit his skin. “I’m going to call Deidre and have your ass so fired you will have to live under a bridge like a fucking troll.”
Jeff continued toward the lake and out onto the long boat dock, liking the way his feet made a hollow thudding sound as they stomped onto the wood—like a drum. It had a martial sound to it that appealed to him. He wished he was wearing combat boots.
“I’ve been here a week, and in that time I’ve suffered more degradation than I ever experienced in boot camp or at the hands of enemy combatants. I’ve watched you drink until you pass out and dance on railings and fly off cliffs like you don’t give a shit about yourself. It stops here.”
“Put me down, you idiot.” Nigel used his fists to beat against the backs of Jeff’s knees, but Jeff barely felt it.
“You want to die? Do you? Let me help you with that. You won’t be my first.”
Jeff reached the end of the boat dock and threw Nigel into the ice-cold water of the lake.
Just threw. Him. In. ********************* Don't forget the email! Thank you for coming by. I love blog followers! : )
Tara Lain never met a beautiful boy she didn’t love – at least on paper. A writer of erotic romance, mostly ménage and male/male, Tara loves all her characters, but especially her handsome heroes. A lifelong writer of serious non-fiction, Tara only fell in love with EROM in 2009 and, through perserverance and lots of workshops, had the first novel she ever wrote accepted for publication in 2010. After an exotic life of travel all over the world and work in television, education and advertising, Tara settled in Southern California with her soul-mate husband and opened her own small marketing business. She paints, collages, and started practicing yoga “way before it was fashionable”. Passionate about diversity, justice, inclusion and new ideas she says on her tombstone it will read, “Yes”.