Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Five Days on Ballyboy Beach by David J O'Brien

FIVE DAYS ON BALLYBOY BEACH
David O'Brien
ISBN: 9781310829987
ASIN: B00NIVD8K2
Length: Novel
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Price: $3.99

Buy here - Tirgearr Publishing

A startling revelation - the long-time friend you never viewed romantically is actually the person with whom you want to spend the rest of your life.

But what do you do about it?

For Derek, a laid-back graduate camping with college friends on Ireland's west coast in the summer of 1996, the answer is … absolutely nothing.

Never the proactive one of the group - he's more than happy to watch his friends surf, canoe and scuba-dive from the shore - Derek adopts a wait and see attitude. Acting on his emotional discovery is further hindered by the fact he's currently seeing someone else - and she's coming to join him for the weekend.

As their five days on the beach pass, and there are more revelations, Derek soon realises that to get what he desires, he'll have to take it. Events conspire to push him to the forefront of the group, and, as unexpected sorrow begins to surround him and his friends, Derek grasps his chance at happiness. After all, isn’t life too short to just wait and see?

10% of the author's royalties will be donated to WWF,
the World Wildlife Fund.

• • •

“Do you remember everyone you’ve ever kissed?”

We were sitting around the fire, which sent its flames up from the dry driftwood to spread light past us to the tents behind. It illuminated the hazel copse a little way off, but was beaten by the darkness before reaching the waves that softly washed up on the shore, thirty yards away.

Just the two of us, Sinéad and I, sat beside the fire. Sarah was in the dunes, and John and Bill had gone to the town to get more drink. We’d all thought that we’d have been drunk already, but we weren’t yet. We nearly were—at least I was—but not quite enough. The two lads had decided to walk the mile to the pub and get a dozen more cans of beer and a bottle of Jameson, and some lemonade for the two girls. Us men were fairly sure that by the time we’d finished the beers we’d be ready for the whiskey straight, or with just a little fresh, cool water from the stream beside the copse. It gurgled in the silence behind me, down a few rocks into a wide brackish pool that drained slowly down the beach at low tides, meandering through the sand.

I watched Sinéad looking back at me as she thought about the question. She was beautiful. I could see that in the firelight. Why couldn’t I see that during the day? Was it the night? Don’t be stupid, Derek, I told myself. It’s the booze! And the knowledge that you’re sharing your tent with two lads.

Still, she was beautiful. But she was better than just attractive— she was smart and funny and all those adjectives that people throw around when describing the people they fancy. She was one of my best friends—definitely my best female friends. That's why she was there, of course, because she was not just a pretty face. Yet that was a pity right now, when all I wanted was someone sexy.

“Yes," she answered. “I remember everyone. But then, I haven’t kissed very many people. Only twelve.”

I looked back at her eyes, my own betraying my surprise. “Really? You have only ever kissed twelve people?”

Sinéad laughed softly and nodded. “Yes! And I knew them all before I kissed them. Does that surprise you so much? Why do you ask anyway? Can you remember all those thousands of girls that you have kissed?” She asked this in a gently mocking way, and I blushed a little, though probably not enough for her to notice in the light from the fire.

I looked into the flames for a moment, then met her eyes again. “I haven’t kissed thousands of girls! And I am not that surprised about you only kissing twelve guys, though I am curious as to how that is,” I smiled, wondering how the hell it was possible. “But, I have to admit that I don’t remember every girl I’ve kissed. I don’t remember kissing some of them that I know I have kissed. It depends on the circumstances of the kiss. Sometimes I was fairly drunk.”

She laughed, and I laughed with her. I took a swig of beer and she did the same, then I looked at the fire again, not really wanting to look straight at her as I continued. “Sometimes though, I see a girl, and she looks so familiar, and yet I’m sure that I don’t know her, and she gives no indication that she knows me, or that I seem familiar to her. Or sometimes I see a girl who I don’t recognise or think I have met before, but who looks at me like she knows me or should know me, and I just wonder, if maybe a few years ago, I wasn’t holding her on a dance floor and kissing her. It’s really strange.”

When I raised my can again she was still looking intently at me. “Everybody forgets people. People don’t stay looking the same all their lives, so you are going to not recognise people, eventually, and if you didn’t know them all that well in the beginning, you're going to forget them sooner. I’ve forgotten lots of people I used to see around. I haven’t forgotten the people I have kissed because I knew them quite well, and I still know some of them very well. Why I haven’t kissed people I didn’t know is none of your business, really. But to be honest, it just happened that way: I was never not going out with someone for very long. But anyway, there have been lots of men I knew well and didn’t kiss, and I still remember them. Kissing doesn’t have that much to do with your memory—even if you think that you should remember the ones you kissed more than the ones you didn’t.”

I said nothing, but nodded and took another swig of beer, raising it high and draining the last of its contents into my mouth. She again took my cue and drank.

“What if the people you think you know are girls that you would have liked to kiss, but never did?”

• • •

David J O'Brien was born and raised in Dun Laoghaire, Ireland. He studied environmental biology and later studied deer biology for his PhD, at University College Dublin. Instead of pursuing his life-long interest in wolves and predator-prey interactions, after completing his doctorate, he taught English in Madrid, Spain, for four years while his girlfriend finished her doctorate in molecular biology. They married and moved to Boston, USA, so his wife could pursue her career and David decided that teaching was a vocation he was happy to continue. After seven great years teaching Biology at Boston's Cathedral High School and Zoology at Bridgewater State College, he returned to Spain three years ago so his wife could set up her new research group in her hometown of Pamplona shortly before their daughter was born. He currently teaches English and science in Pamplona, while looking after his daughter and writing.

David has loved writing since his teens. He began with poetry and had one of his first poems published in Cadenza, a small Dublin poetry magazine at the age of fourteen. Since then several more have been published in journals and anthologies such as Albatross, The Tennessee State Poetry League, Poems of Nature and various anthologies of Forward Press imprint in Britain. He began writing fiction soon after and wrote the novella that would later become Leaving The Pack at the age of seventeen. Though his academic writing took precedence for a number of years, and he is still involved in deer biology and management, he kept writing other things in his spare time and has always dreamt of one day being able to do it full time. While living in Madrid, he wrote some non-fiction articles for the magazine Hot English and while in Boston for the newspaper Dig.

An avid wildlife enthusiast and ecologist, much of David's non-academic writing, especially poetry, is inspired by wildlife and science, and he sometimes seeks to describe the science behind the supernatural. He has written a little bit of everything: to date a four-act play, a six-episode sit-com, various short stories and five more novels.
His Young Adult paranormal novel The Soul of Adam Short will be published in 2015 and a novella under the pseudonym JD Martins was published in January.

David is currently working on sequels to Leaving the Pack and an Ecological Fiction novel set in Scotland called The Ecology of Lonesomeness, He is also plugging away at a long novel set in the pre-Columbian Caribbean, and a non-fiction book about the sociology of hunting.

Find David Online

Website - http://davidjmobrien.wordpress.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/DavidJMOBrien
G+ - https://plus.google.com/u/0/+DavidOBrienauthor
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/OBrien_David


My Husband's Sin by Mary T Bradford

MY HUSBAND'S SIN
Mary T. Bradford
ISBN: 9781311869883
ASIN: B00MX5TJZ2
Length: Novel
Genre: Contemporary Fiction
Price: $4.99

Buy here - Tirgearr Publishing

In the weeks following Lillian Taylor’s burial, her four loving adult children assemble for the reading of her will. For the grieving youngest sibling, Lacey, life is about to come crashing down as a deep secret is revealed. The fall-out affects every member and they struggle to regain the happy family unit they once shared. Each of the siblings, take the reader on a journey as they try to come to terms and learn to handle this huge revelation.

• • •

JULY

Lacey fled the Sherman and Jones Solicitors’ office in turmoil, only pausing to catch her breath before descending the cold solid steps. The appalling words kept ringing in her ears. How the bloody hell could a mother do this to her child? A bitch, that’s what she was. Lacey should have trusted her instinct all through the years.

The pleasant July day was lost on her. Without thinking further, she sought solace in the bar further down the street. In the dimly-lit pub she was the only woman.

Lacey Turner didn’t drink alcohol this early, but placed in front of her now was a double vodka with bitter lemon. Taking the glass in her trembling hand, she drank swiftly. The sour liquid made her shake her head. God, it was unpleasant. In one corner, two elderly men were sipping their stouts. Another up at the bar was reading the day’s paper.

The barman came over to where she sat and smiled. “A tough morning so far then?” He wiped down the glass-topped table and replaced some beer mats with fresh un-tattered ones.

Lacey didn’t reply. She couldn’t. The shock of this morning’s events was still gripping her tight. Christ, her life had been turned upside down in the stroke of a pen. Her hands still shook.

Looking the barman up and down, she acknowledged he was kind of cute. If times were different, she might even flirt with him; his tight black t-shirt groaned across his chest, but she didn’t have time to daydream. Reality had her gripped in its cold heartless hand.

“Can I have another?” Lacey called out to the bar attendant as he moved on to wiping down other tables. He nodded and went to the bar to get her fresh drink.

Her mind was swimming with horrible thoughts of her mother. Dear Lord, she mustn’t think like that any more. She was Lillian, not Mother. Where do you start to pick up the pieces of your life after something like that? Her mobile phone rang: it was Sally. Lacey snapped at it, turning it off in one quick touch. Bloody family. Her bloody family!

The fresh glass was placed in front of her. He seemed to linger for a moment, waiting for Lacey to make eye contact. She really did not want his company but he wasn’t going anywhere, judging by his stance before her. She looked up at him. Yep, definitely cute.

“You could try talking. This will only lead to a headache and misery.” The guy smiled encouragingly, but all she did was stare back at him, confusion and anger in her eyes. Throwing a twenty on the table, she stood up and paused.

“Maybe misery is what I deserve.”

Her taupe Guess handbag and caramel jacket hung on the chair. She shoved the bag onto her shoulder, took her jacket, and walked out. Kind, attractive barmen were not what she wanted. She desired space and freedom to take in and assimilate the horrible rotten words that she’d heard today. Who would believe it? Who would have thought when she’d wakened this morning at seven, that five hours later her life would have crashed down around her? With her mind troubled, she wandered without direction through the busy streets.

Lacey’s world had stopped, yet around her cars passed by beeping their irritation with the slow traffic, people pushed and chatted without a concern for the young woman in their midst. She strolled along, not fully noticing life around her. Those words, those poisonous words, kept swirling in her mind. The look of horror on her siblings’ faces would be etched on her memory forever. She couldn’t face them right now. What must they think of her?

“Watch it.” The woman grunted at Lacey.

“Sorry.” Lacey didn’t know what she was apologising for, but it startled her into realising she needed to get home. It would be safe there.

• • •

Mary T Bradford has been writing mainly short stories for a number of years now and has enjoyed success with her fiction in many magazines, newspapers and anthologies both in Ireland and abroad. It was because of this success, Mary took the plunge and self published her first collection titled, A Baker’s Dozen (2012) and is available in both print and e-book format from Amazon and other sites. She decided to tackle a novel when one of her stories kept getting longer and the word count continued to climb and so ended up with My Husbands Sin. She has also branched out into writing plays and has seen her work shortlisted and performed.

When taking a break from writing and reading Mary loves to crochet or cross-stitch, crafts in general interest her. Living in County Cork, Ireland, she is married and is a mother of four children. Having overcome open heart surgery in 2008, Mary made the decision to dedicate more time to her writing as her children were almost raised and were starting to spread their wings. Family is important to her and her writing often reflects the ups and downs of life that all families go through daily.

Connect with Mary through any of the links on this page and that is something else Mary enjoys, chatting with people!

Find Mary Online

Website - http://marytbradford-author.blogspot.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mary-T-Bradford-Author/464343040298924
Twitter - http://www.twitter.com/marytbrad
Pinterest - http://www.pinterest.com/marytbradford
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Bradford_MaryT


Going Against Type by Sharon Black

GOING AGAINST TYPE
Sharon Black
ISBN: 9781310882845
ASIN: B00NJ2OL4M
Length: Novel
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Price: $4.99

Buy here - Tirgearr Publishing

Some would say Charlotte ‘Charlie’ Regan has it all. Beautiful, smart, athletic, and a great job working as a journalist – in the almost exclusively male sports department. But Charlotte is not quite so sure as she seem. Recently split from her overbearing boyfriend, she escapes for weekends surfing in the Atlantic, and spends her free nights watching sports, roaring at the TV.

Derry Cullinane is a fashion writer, gossip columnist, and sophisticated man-about-town – The go-to guy for any woman seeking expert advice on what fabulous outfit to wear for any given occasion. He’s also tall, dark, good looking . . . and straight! So what’s the snag? He has a track record of dating glamorous, vain, and shallow women.

Charlie gets an opportunity to write a new column under the pen name Side Swipe, but soon is drawn into a war of words and wit with a rival paper’s columnist, The Squire, and their verbal fireworks get readers and editors talking. Yet neither Charlie nor Derry knows just who the opponent is.

When Charlotte and Derry meet at the Races, the attraction is instant. As their relationship develops, so much more proves at stake than protecting their alter egos. But a blunder puts Charlotte’s job in jeopardy just as Derry’s past makes front page, and Charlotte begins to doubt her feelings. When Side Swipe and The Squire are finally forced to reveal themselves, will they revert to type – or confound everyone’s expectations?

• • •

Charlotte had waited years for Donal to utter those magical words. This morning he'd finally said them.

'We're trying you out as a columnist, Charlie. Go grab 'em by the–'

'Thank you, Donal,' Charlotte replied fervently. Yesssss!!!! She mentally punched the air. 'I won't let you down.'

Maybe not the magical words every girl longed to hear but for Charlotte Regan – sports reporter for Ireland Today – they were music to her ears.

Now she sat at a blank computer screen in the noisy sports department and thought hard about her first column. The sports editor had given her carte blanche. She grinned mischievously as she typed her introduction.

What witless wonder dreamt up the idea of men's underwear with the logo 'Small' emblazoned on it?

And what was English striker Adam Small thinking when he recently dunked his two big feet into the tacky world of big brand fashion?

'Charlie?'

'Donal!'

'What are you down to do this weekend?'

Oh, let's see. Paint my toenails. Bathe in goats milk. Have wild sex with that gorgeous new reporter in the newsroom.

'I'm covering the hurling match on Sunday...'

'I need you to get down to Cork. There's open war! Nine months stand off and the players have called a strike from next week. No one gets that GAA bloodletting the way you can.'

'Uh hmm. I was there yesterday. Just drove up last night.'

'Yesterday? Monday? You were in Cork?' Donal's eyes widened. Charlotte nodded. What other yesterday was there? Maybe he was surprised she'd gone down on a day off.

'And I got a story.'

Donal rubbed his nose as he stared in bewilderment at Charlotte. 'What are you talking about, Charlie?'

She smiled patiently.

'I mean I went into the dressing room last night and got a story. JJ Nevin's not being disciplined. The selectors haven’t been stood down. Nevin’s switching codes. He’s going to sign for Galway. He’ll be playing soccer in the Airtricity League.'

Donal, Charlotte thought, not for the first time, did a great goldfish impression.

'When were you going to tell me?' he managed finally. Then, as an afterthought added, 'hang on, you went in where last night?'

'The dressing room.'

Donal glanced over at the deputy sports editor, Tim Hanlon, who grinned and shrugged. 'They let you in?' His eyes narrowed.

'Not the first time I've been in a men’s dressing room,' Charlotte said, enjoying herself now. 'Well yes, but...'

'What am I supposed to do? Let the male reporters steal a march? Who'd stop me anyway?

After JJ was substituted, he was taking a shower. I'd never get a story if I were shy!'

'Nobody could accuse you of being shy, Charlie,' John Dempsey, the soccer correspondent announced as he strode in and threw a newspaper down on the adjacent desk. 'We talking about the weekend activities?'

Charlotte rolled wide-set, hazel green eyes and grinned.

'Not yet.' She switched her attention back to Donal. 'Anyway, Nevin – clothed in a towel I might add – and I had a long talk. He filled me in on the whole thing.
They're announcing the signing on Thursday.'

'And we lead with the story tomorrow in the supplement!' Donal said, slapping his hand down delightedly. 'You boys hearing this? None of you will ever be half the man Charlie is!'

• • •

Sharon Black trained as a journalist and worked for The Evening Herald and The Irish Examiner.

She has had short stories published and she won the 2010 Dromineer Literary Festival short story competition.

She lives in Dublin with her husband and their three children.

Find Sharon Online

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sharon-Black-Author-Page/1433997893531882
Twitter - https://twitter.com/Authorsharonb
Blog - http://www.sharonblackauthor.blogspot.com
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Black_Sharon


A Sure Thing by EH Ward

A SURE THING
E.H. Ward
ISBN: 9781310179785
ASIN: B00JX0YGSU
Length: Novel
Genre: Thriller
Digital Price: $4.99

Buy here - Tirgearr Publishing

Irish stud farm manager and bloodstock expert, Oliver McMahon, is tired of his life, and a boss who neither rewards, satisfies, or recognises his abilities. He turns to his very wealthy brother, Richard, for help in setting up his own venture, only to be rejected and, in the process, discovers a family secret.

On the brink of despair, Oliver remembers and calls in a favour owed to him by a man who has risen to become one of America’s most powerful mafioso. Oliver gets back on track with a rich client, a large budget, top class horses, and an old flame rekindled.

As the Thoroughbreds start winning, Oliver reconnects with his college sweetheart and all his dreams are being realized. Soon, he’s pulled into a tangled web of narcotics, murder, deceit, and sinister threats.

When Richard is murdered, Oliver has to face the awful truth that a decade-old act started the chain of events which led to his brother’s killing.

Oliver has no choice but to become as ruthless as Richard if he’s to extricate himself from a lose-lose situation. Death or a lifetime in prison – the stakes have never been higher.

• • •

Dublin - November 25th, 2005

Richard McMahon swung his white Mercedes off Clontarf Road and wound slowly through the streets. He took an indirect route to his luxury apartment block, checking the mirror every time he turned. He was fairly sure he was not being followed, but in the grey half-light of a drizzly evening, all the cars looked similar in the mirror. He pulled into the parking lot and stared at the bushes and shrubs that shielded it from the road.

The streetlight was not working. A bead of sweat formed at his hairline. He lit a cigarette and devoured it. Richard’s skin was grey, almost translucent, his brow was furrowed and his crow’s feet were craggier than usual. An all-day meeting with his lawyer had robbed him of energy and any sense of security that he had had a few days ago.

His company was still reeling from the drugs find, and he stood to lose a fortune. Then there was the matter of the suddenly silent Italian flight steward. Still, he was glad he had left the letter for his brother, even if it was too late to make amends – he should have treated Oliver better and helped him out when he came looking for Richard’s backing and support.

Slightly calmed by the nicotine, he scanned the car park, picked up his briefcase and the long, heavy torch he kept on the passenger seat. He locked the car and hurried toward the sanctuary of the building. There was a sound from the bushes. He shone the torch, but could only make out leaves and shadows.

“Come out! I, I know you’re there,” he called, with a quiver in his voice. Breaking into a trot, he made for the lobby door.

Swearing, he dropped his briefcase trying to pull the passkey from his pocket. He never got to turn the lock.

* * *

The hooded man checked the photograph in his hand and satisfied himself that it was Richard McMahon approaching the lobby door. Looking left and right, he silently crossed the road and came up behind his target. As he moved, the iron bar slid down the anorak’s sleeve into his hand. The blow dropped Richard to the ground. He was out before he hit the floor.

The man glanced down the street, then took his victim’s watch, ripped the shoes from his feet, and searched for a wallet. Pocketing the banknotes, he tossed it aside. Then he stabbed a used syringe into his victim’s neck.

Richard groaned. “Please, please . . .”

The man rose to his feet and bent over Richard. “You should’ve kept your mouth shut,” he said. Then he swung the iron bar in a long slow arc. There was a dull crack and blood spilled onto the stone tiles.

The man walked briskly down the street, turned the corner and continued through four or five cross streets. He reversed his anorak and dropped the bar down a storm drain by the kerb on an empty street. The shoes he stuffed into a bin behind a convenience store. He fondled the Rolex and considered keeping it, but reluctantly tossed it into the waters of Dublin Bay.

As he walked along the coast road, he smiled, pushed the hood off his head and made a call.

“You tell our friends, it’s done.”

• • •

E.H. Ward grew up around horses in Limerick, Ireland. After a brief stint in the British Army, he worked in Australia breaking-in wild horses, set up a stud farm in Inner Mongolia, and trained racehorses outside Beijing. He worked for ten years at Coolmore Stud in Ireland, Kentucky, Australia, and China, set up a stud in Mongolia, and trained racehorses in Beijing in the late 90s. Then he upgraded the Turkish National Stud. Today, he manages a racing and breeding operation along the Aegean coast. He writes analytical articles, horseracing and sales reviews for The Irish Field newspaper and James Underwood's Digest in the UK, as well as fiction.

He currently divides his time between the stud farm near Izmir, and southern France, where his wife has a vineyard.

Find Eric Online

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/EHWardhorsewriter
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Ward_EH


Matt Costello Mysteries by Brid Wade

WATCHERS
A Matt Costello Mystery, #1
Brid Wade
ISBN: 9781301038794
ASIN: B00EOSPPKE
Length: Novel
Genre: Mystery
Price: $2.99

Buy here: Tirgearr Publishing

When the remains of a woman are found in Drohola Woods, ex-Garda detective, Matt Costello, is called in by the estate owner to help with the investigation. Clues lead Matt down a twisting path to a more gruesome discovery -- the woman is one of ten who disappeared ten years ago. And now, fresh bodies are turning up.


SLEEPING DOGS
A Matt Costello Mystery, #2
Brid Wade
ISBN: 9781310890864
ASIN: B00KSN9PW8
Length: Novel
Genre: Mystery
Price: $2.99

Buy here: Tirgearr Publishing

When a judge is murdered in his home and the murder weapon belongs to Billy Hannan, a man missing for three years, Matt Costello is brought in. As he digs deeper, he finds a web of deceit and a cover-up with roots embedded deeply in the annals of Irish history. Matt can't let sleeping dogs lie if he's to find the killer and get to the truth of what happened to Billy Hannan.


WILD JUSTICE
A Matt Costello Mystery, #3
Brid Wade
ISBN: 9781310245770
ASIN: B00O07M5F2
Length: Novel
Genre: Mystery
Price: $2.99

Buy here: Tirgearr Publishing

After a chance encounter with an unhappy young girl, Matt is moved by her sadness and offers to help, giving her his card. When his phone rings that night, he finds the girl sobbing on the other end, begging for help. Matt finds himself thrown into the hunt for her father and his murderer.

• • •

Born in Dublin, Ireland, Brid’s family hails from the inner city, making her a true blue ‘Dub’. One of four sisters, she was educated by the Holy Faith Nuns in Larkhill. Always drawn to the arts, Brid studied piano at the Municipal School of Music. Later she joined a band where she played the electronic organ and sang harmony with her sister. They were known as The Honeybees.

At nineteen, she met her future husband and travelled to Manchester for a year before returning to Ireland where they married and she settled down to become a stay-at-home mum to their three children. At that time she learned to paint, which led to her joining The North Dublin Craftworkers’ Association, on whose behalf she ran the annual Christmas Craft Gift Fair in the city centre. This led to a new career within the exhibition industry.

In 2001, seeking a change of environment, Brid moved to Kilkenny City and began to write. An avid armchair detective, she chose her favourite genre; crime fiction. Her aim was to create a character in a series of mystery stories based in modern Ireland. Matt Costello is that character. In 2006, she relocated to Inistioge, a picturesque village outside Kilkenny City, where she continues to write and paint.

Find Brid Online

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/BridWadeAuthor
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Wade_Brid









The Kyklos Trilogy by David Toft

THE CYCLES TURN
The Kyklos Trilogy, #1
David Toft
ISBN: 9781301691340
ASIN: B00CEJW3SM
Length: Novel
Genre: Occult Fantasy
Price: $2.99

Buy here - Tirgearr Publishing

The discovery of a crucified cat in the chapel of his school plunges headmaster Augustus Braithwaite into a battle against forces, and worlds, he previously didn’t know existed.

Augustus acquires an ally in Sharna, a young woman he rescued from execution in her own world, and they return to his school to confront the power head on.

Only one of their enemies, teacher Edward Braine, horribly disfigured but still maliciously strong, survives. Together they track him across Ireland to a final confrontation on the island of Inishbofin.

WORLDS END
The Kyklos Trilogy, #2
David Toft
ISBN: 9781310288708
ASIN: B00J2DRZSQ
Length: Novel
Genre: Occult Fantasy
Price: $2.99

Buy here - Tirgearr Publishing

It is nineteen years since Augustus and Sharna’s victory over Edward Braine’s coven on Inishbofin. Across England the renewal cycles of other covens should be under way, but Augustus and Sharna have not been summoned to thwart their expansion.

Alrik, their nineteen-year-old son, is missing again.

A brutal serial killer leaves a gruesome trail of mutilated girls across Ireland.

Could the three be linked? Could Edward Braine still be alive? In striving to answer these questions, Augustus is tempted back to Ireland and into the most desperate struggle of his life.

• • •

Born in Bradford England, David Toft gained a degree in Education before going on to work in London and Warwickshire. He now lives in South County Dublin, Ireland with his wife, Mary.

David has been writing adult fantasy and paranormal fiction for over twenty years.

Find David Online

Website - http://authordavidtoft.wix.com/david-toft
Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/authordavidtoft
Twitter - https://twitter.com/dmtoft
Author's Den - http://www.authorsden.com/davidtoft
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Toft_David





Coming in 2015:
Let There Be Light

Winters and Somers by Glenys O'Connell

WINTERS AND SOMERS
Glenys O'Connell
ISBN: 9781311894632
ASIN: B00KRPTT6E
Length: Novel
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Price: $3.99

Buy here: Tirgearr Publishing

Irish PI, Cíara Somers, makes a good living testing the ‘temptability quotient’ of men for their insecure lovers…but when NY homicide cop and author of red hot romances, Jonathon Winters, makes her take him on as a partner in her Dublin agency, he gets the wrong message from her raunchy style . . . especially when he wants her for himself.

Somers isn’t the type to let a man push her around – the incorrigible Grannie Somers raised her to be her own woman. But when she discovers that even Grannie drools over the sexy Winters, she can’t help but wonder what it would be like to indulge in one of the fantasies that have millions of women reading his romantic books.

And when Somers finally gets her first real case – to capture the notorious jewel thief dubbed The Diamond Darling – she has to survive the help of her weird relatives, the landlady from hell, two stoned friends, a stray dog – and Winters himself . . .

• • •

Cíara Somers prowled among the top drawer clientele of the exclusive Dublin nightclub, her scarlet lips pursed in a sexy pout.

When a hearty male hand slapped her bum, she clamped down on her instinctive reaction to impale the man’s foot to the shiny wooden floors with her wicked four-inch stiletto heel. Instead, she cracked a sultry smile and batted her dark eyelashes provocatively.

After all, she was working tonight. And you could hardly blame the poor darlings. Frankly, any man who didn’t respond to her artfully designed siren’s call had to be dead. At least from the neck down.

The nightclub catered to very rich business and professional Dubliners – the place positively reeked of money – but she was after a specific fish, so it wouldn’t do for a woman like her to draw too much attention to herself. If the eagle-eyed club management copped on to what she was up to, she’d be thrown out on her mini-skirted rear end.

She spotted her prey over by the bar, drinking alone and looking sorry for himself. Bingo! He looked exactly ready for the company of a beautiful, sympathetic blonde. Straightening her back to accentuate the rounded swell of her breasts, Cíara sashayed up to the bar with a hip-sway that would raise any healthy hetero male’s blood pressure off the charts.

She leaned on the bar, the action pressing her cleavage into a picture that instantly mesmerized the barman and several other men. But here was the tricky part – to attract only the one she wanted.

Attracting him wasn’t hard at all. The tall, thin man on her right turned his head to follow the barman’s gaze – and was hooked immediately. Slowly, his eyes traveled from her chest to linger on her mouth, before taking a slow detour to her toes while taking in other vital areas along the way.

“Well, hello there,” he growled. A wolfish smile lit up his face and he treated her to a display of crooked teeth. She suppressed a shudder. This was work, after all, but just occasionally it would be nice to work on a guy she really fancied.

Later she’d remember the old saying about being careful what you wished for in case it came true, but tonight she was just another working girl.

So she returned the smile, twitching her lower lip into that full ruby pout that men found so irresistible. She let a wave of blonde hair fall forward over one eye as she languidly stretched out a sun-tanned hand and drew a blood-red fingernail down his shirtfront.

“Hello, yourself,” she purred, and watched with satisfaction as he swallowed the bait.

Thirty minutes later, she extricated herself from her target’s roaming hands, giggled throatily and excused herself with the need to powder her nose.

“Don’t be too long, baby, I’m having a hard time waiting!” he leered, and gave her an indulgent slap on her behind as she walked away. Cíara turned to wink at him and blow a scarlet-lipped kiss in his direction.

He’d already invited her back to his place for a nightcap ‘…and whatever else we fancy!’

• • •

Glenys O'Connell writes romantic suspense and comedy. She became interested in crime & criminal psychology when covering the crime beat as a journalist for a large daily newspaper. This led to a degree in psychology and qualifications as a counselor - but writing is her first love and she says romantic suspense satisfies her cravings for both romance and crime! She is also the author of two books on mental health issues, several childrens’ books, and is an award winning playwright. She was born in Lancashire, England, and has lived and worked in the UK, Ireland, and currently in rural Canada.

Find Glenys Online

Website - http://www.glenysoconnell.com
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Twitter - https://twitter.com/GlenysOConnell
Roses of Prose - http://www.rosesofprose.blogspot.com
Romance Can Be Murder - http://www.romancecanbemurder.blogspot.com
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/OConnell_Glenys