Book Blitz: The Scent of a Man + Giveaway

the scent of a man


The Scent of a Man
Romantic Comedy Anthology

Date Published: February 5, 2021

Publisher: DCL Publications


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Warm your heart, put a smile on your face, and get ready for a bellyful of laughs with this collection of four original romantic comedies. Featuring laugh-out-loud tales by some of today’s most talented authors, ‘The Scent of a Man’ will pull you into the world of true love and the antics and misadventures that it takes to find it. Your cure for the doldrums and tribulations of the real world awaits in this shining collection of PG-13 short stories of lively, eclectic and humorous proportions. Remember, there is no greater scent than the scent of a man, so settle back, get comfortable, and take a nice, deep whiff of hilarity.

The Scent of a Man Blitz

Love Cabin‘ by Miriam Newman

He thinks she’s a snob. She thinks he hates women. It’s going to take a lot to work this out.


Exiled to Love‘ by Jae El Foster

An exiled witch must learn to live without her powers, but will she risk losing everything to save a mortal’s life?


The Scent of a Man‘ by Jennifer Patricia O’Keeffe

An injured woman must endure homecare with the aid of a handsome man that threatens to win her heart.


The Scent of You‘ by Kristi Ahlers

A woman, terrified of flying, boards a plane at her brother’s beckoning. Can a first class surprise shake her from her nervous angst?


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About the Authors

Miriam Newman

Fantasy poetry driven by myths and legends has been my passion for as long as I can remember. I was published in poetry before catching the romance writing bug. I bring that background to my writing along with a lifelong addiction to horses, an 18 year career in various areas of psychiatric social services and many trips to Ireland, where I nurture my muse. My published works range from contemporary fantasy romance to fantasy historical, futuristic, science fiction and historical romance. Currently I live in rural Pennsylvania with a “motley crew” of rescue animals. You can see my books at









Goodreads Author Page

Amazon Author Page

Jae El Foster

When the muses speak, Jae El Foster writes, and he has been doing so for nearly twenty years, tackling some of the most intriguing genres out there. Delivering fresh, incomparable tales of horror, science fiction, and romance – sweet or spicy – he pens with seasoned skill the tales that his muses deliver to him. His bestselling works include such titles as ‘Restless,’ ‘Beauty Within,’ ‘Where the Demon Is,’ and ‘Only at Christmas.’

Social Links:

Twitter: @JaeElBooks

Instagram: @JaeElBooks



Amazon Author Page


Jennifer Patricia O’Keeffe 

Jennifer Patricia O’Keeffe is an author of romantic comedy and anything quirky. She resides in Tennessee, just outside of Nashville where she shares a home with her cats. Ms. O’Keeffe loves to make the world laugh and to find humor and love in the least likely of places. Readers may keep up with her and her writings by following @authorjpokeeffe on Twitter.


Twitter: @authorjpokeeffe


Amazon Author Page


Kristi Ahlers

Kristi Ahlers is a California girl! She grew up in Northern California in a small city called Yuba City. Since then she’s lived in Brussels, Belgium, and England along with a myriad of other locations. A former flight attendant, she was able to continue to feed her love of travel. This has greatly influenced her writing, allowing her to pen stories about places she’s managed to visit and things she’s experienced.




Twitter: @KristiAhlers


RABT Book Tours & PR

Book Blitz & Excerpt: An Invitation + Giveaway

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An Invitation
Jasmine Hill

Heat Rating: Burning

Sexometer: 2
Word Count: 41,500
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 170

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Book Description


Accept it if you dare…

Twenty-four-year-old personal trainer Bree Lewis has no time for love, so a mysterious invitation to a Valentine’s Weekend Gala has her intrigued. It seems crazy to accept, but perhaps she’ll meet a hot guy there who’ll be the distraction she desperately needs…even if the gala is taking place at a strange mansion in a secret location.

For weeks Vincent has been watching over Bree from the shadows, keeping her safe until the moment is right to make himself known to her. But when he sees Bree’s name on the Gala invitation list, he has no choice but to attend the event.

When Bree and Vincent meet, their attraction burns until the very air around them ignites. But things aren’t what they seem at the mansion and, shockingly, even Vincent is harboring a deadly secret. And when the guests start disappearing, it’s clear that something is very wrong.

Bree and Vincent are tested to their limits in their fight to escape the mansion and the deadly dangers that lurk there. It seems there’s no hope for the couple…unless Vincent is prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence, death and gore.


Bree fingered the invitation. Thick card, heavy. Expensive. Gold, embossed print and gold love hearts in elegant filigree bordering the scalloped edge. A date, time and a title for the event, the Valentine’s Weekend Gala. She flipped it over, but the back offered no more information than the front, only an image of Cupid, bow and arrow raised, an impish grin on his cherubic face. No sender details or address or even a request for an RSVP. Just the date and time that she would be picked up and conveyed…somewhere. She studied the accompanying envelope, but there were no postmarks or postdates, nothing to indicate whence it came. Just her name in elegant script—Ms. Bree Regina Lewis.

She tapped a nail on the invitation, fascination taking hold. It was madness to consider going—she couldn’t even tell anyone where she’d be. But the intrigue and mystery were a heady attraction. With yet another Valentine’s Day looming bleak and unpromising, perhaps this event was just what she needed. And did the Cupid image mean something? Was it the promise of some kind of romance? But, really, who could be behind such an invite? The host must be a bored and eccentric millionaire with too much time and money on his hands.

The training schedule she’d been working on forgotten, she sat back in her chair and stared out of her office window. She could take a friend, but the invitation didn’t specify ‘plus one’. That should raise a red flag, but she wouldn’t let a small detail like that stop her, reckless as she was by nature.

Valentine’s Day fell on a Saturday and she’d be picked up on the Friday, presumably for the gala the following evening. Friday the thirteenth… The day and date were considered unlucky and the movies by the same name definitely didn’t leave her with a warm, fuzzy feeling. But she wasn’t superstitious and the host hardly had a choice in the matter of dates if it was to be a Valentine’s weekend. It was obviously just a coincidence and nothing nefarious—really, a gift that she was lucky to be included in. And she had two weeks to plan her wardrobe.

According to the limited information provided, the Valentine’s Weekend Gala would start on the evening of the thirteenth and progress through to the afternoon of the fifteenth of February. Bree had no way of knowing if different attire was required for different events, so she’d just have to pack taking all considerations into account. And, of course, an evening gown would surely be required for the Saturday night Valentine Gala that must be taking place. She’d never been to a ball, so she’d need a dress for the occasion.

She logged into her online banking to check her account balance. The number of zeros was not promising, particularly when she took rent, food and bill payments into consideration. Her credit card balance looked more encouraging. She hadn’t been putting much on credit, purely because her personal life had been unexciting of late, to say the least. If she worked additional shifts she could easily pay for a new dress and shoes and some extras. It was worth it, to add some spice to her life.

She switched over to the gym training roster she’d been working on and typed her name into the vacant slots. Instructing boxing classes and early morning boot camps meant that she would have some early starts and later evenings. At least the Australian summer kept the days warm and sunny and enjoyable for any outdoor activity. Her personal training schedule could also bring in more income for one-on-one training. She input her name next to the clients who’d requested personal sessions. Normally she’d take about three to four per week, but for the next two weeks she ensured that she’d take two sessions a day. She’d have very little free time, but the extra money would be worth it.

She grabbed her mobile and selected her best friend’s contact. “Nell, tell me you don’t have anything going on this Saturday!”

“Hello to you too.” Nell laughed. “As it happens, I only have some laundry and housework to look forward to and I’ll do anything to put that off. What do you have in mind? Tell me it’s more interesting than my current plans. Please!”

“Are you up for a shopping trip?”

“That depends. You’re not shopping for white goods, are you? If you need a new fridge, I think I’ll pass.”

Bree giggled. “No, I need a new dress—an evening dress—and I want your opinion.”

“Where are you going? Is the invite for two?”

Bree paused. How was she going to tell her best friend about the mysterious invitation? Nell would most certainly demand to go with her once she knew the details—or lack of.

“It’s a work thing,” Bree lied. “The gym’s putting on an event for our clients.”

She felt a pang of guilt about lying to her friend, but she reasoned it was for the best. Nell would just worry, and she knew her friend well enough to know that she wouldn’t let the issue go without a myriad of questions that Bree couldn’t answer. Nell was cautious and practical while Bree was bold and impulsive. They were yin and yang and always joked that it was their opposite characters that made them work as best friends.

Nell’s sigh reached her across the connection. “Fine. You go to your work thing and I’ll help you shop for it. Perhaps you’ll meet some hot gym junkie. Then you can stop focusing on that phantom man you keep dreaming about.”

Bree started when her friend mentioned the exact thing that had been in the back of her mind. Bree too hoped she’d meet someone who could dispel the man of her dreams. She cleared her throat. “Great. I’m taking training sessions until midday on Saturday. How about I pick you up at twelve-thirty? We can have lunch then shop afterwards.”

“Sounds good. See you then, girlfriend,” Nell sang before hanging up.

Bree smiled at her friend’s uncanny knack of seeming to read her mind. Bree had told Nell about her dreams and about the man who featured in them constantly. A man whom she’d never met. She couldn’t even liken him to anyone. He was an enigma. A handsome, spellbinding enigma who preoccupied her sleep. It was getting to the point where she found herself comparing all the men she met to the man of her dreams. It was strange how his scent would stay with her for hours after she awoke, a masculine spice like no other that stimulated her senses to a distracting level. It was troublesome and irritating and she hoped fervently that this mysterious Valentine’s Day Weekend would throw a physical, flesh-and-blood male into her path.

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About the Author

Jasmine Hill

Jasmine was born in Australia and grew up in Sydney. She currently lives in Madrid, Spain with her husband.

She adores reading all genres but in particular she enjoys erotic romance novels and thrillers.

Jasmine loves writing and is always looking for new ideas for stories that will provoke inner passions, stimulate the senses and ignite the imagination.

Her interests include cooking, traveling, yoga and skiing.

She has won some short story competitions and is now excited to have started publishing her erotic romance stories through Totally Bound Publishing.

Follow Jasmine on Facebook an Twitter.



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Jasmine Hill’s An Invitation Giveaway


Book Blitz & Excerpt: Shooting Valentine + Giveaway

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Shooting Valentine
Rebecca Fairfax

Heat Rating: Burning

Sexometer: 2
Word Count: 42,786
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 173

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Book Description


The heart is the most dangerous target.

Rafael de Almeida, Brazil’s most gorgeous TV heart-throb, is in London for PR events and to audition for a very different kind of role to the charming seducer he’s famous for and tired of. He wants gritty and raw, a part that asks him to do more than flash his sexy smile and flex his killer abs.

Ex-police officer Keeley Stewart has never even seen the historical costume drama Valentin that catapulted Rafael to fame, and couldn’t care less. He might be the sexiest man in Brazil, but Keeley, now working for a private agency, just wishes it wasn’t her assignment to look after Rafael while he’s in London. She can’t let him get under her skin, not when she’s there to save his.

And literally so, when someone takes a shot at Rafael within minutes of her meeting him. Soon, mounting threats and betrayals leave the pair stuck with each other and on the run, trying to find out who wants Rafael dead. They also discover there’s much more to the other than ‘dumb cop’ and ‘spoiled silver-screen star’, and that, despite themselves, they have a whole lot more in common than just the white-hot attraction blazing between them…

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes describing attempted murder.


The saucy-looking redhead, one of five similarly dressed women in the VIP room of Harts nightclub, licked her lips, leaving them shiny. She pouted, her message clear. Pick me! Pick me! Rafael de Almeida, receiving it loud and clear, threw her a sly wink in acknowledgement, making sure the other women in their split skirts, waist-cinching belts and laced leather corsets over low-cut white blouses didn’t see. He turned to the waiting fan club president who was overseeing this meet-and-greet. He’d been doing this long enough to know the best practice.

“Kath.” He’d studied the information that his PA, Lourdes, had given him, and now made sure to pronounce this woman’s name correctly, despite the th sound being tricky for a Brazilian. She’d made the effort to say his properly, sounding the R farther back in her throat, almost like an H. “Kath, you wouldn’t be so cruel as to make me choose just one of these beautiful ladies, would you? Especially when they’ve all taken such trouble with their Marisol costumes, hmm?”

He plucked the red rose from the basket that Nita, the fan club secretary, was carrying. “This should go to Kath, for organising this, don’t you think, ladies?” He presented the sweet-smelling, long-stemmed flower to her, making her blush, before grinning at the five women dressed like the female lead in his former series. “And there’s something for all of you, for all your hard work as regional club leaders too.”

Only half of them asked for a kiss on their cheeks as he signed each of them a glossy new photo from the shoot Lourdes had set up especially for his first foray into Europe, making for a relatively calm atmosphere in this club. He hadn’t heard one hyena-like shriek, seen fat, glistening tears in any eyes or felt any pincer-like fingers squeezing his ass all evening.

Maybe English fans were more inhibited than Latin or South American ones? In which case, thank God. Or maybe they were overawed by this South Kensington club, one of London’s most exclusive—not a place they’d be likely to frequent, making it an extra bonus for the fan club organizers and the fans who’d won the contest to meet him. He wondered why Lourdes had chosen Harts. She’d probably googled ‘chic clubs, London’ and gone with the venue judged the most ‘in’ or snootiest. It was tame, compared to some of the wilder places he’d been to in his native Rio, or in South America, but he liked it. Lourdes would too, if she were here.

He made sure the secretary got plenty of photos for the fan mag, as well as the few members of the press who were there for their magazines or papers, and paid extra attention to the guy from Taffeta, who was writing a feature.

The wet-lipped redhead from earlier looked from him to the life-size cut-out of him that was part of the temporary décor of the chic VIP area. “Hoped you might come in your costume,” she murmured.

Rafael followed the direction of her gaze to the cardboard version of him. Its leather boots showed off long legs, its tight breeches clung to toned thighs and the mostly unlaced flowing poet’s shirt showcased firm abs and broad shoulders. His hair had been longer then, left messy in careless waves well over his collar, for the lighter tones of sandy brown near his face to highlight his dark green eyes. He tilted his head from the historical Valentin to the cardboard figure on the other side of the cordoned-off space. The costume drama Valentin had been followed by the contemporary Heart of Valentin, with him glossier and sleeker, but still dedicated to taking from the rich and greedy and distributing it to the poor and downtrodden.

“I got a new designer suit and shirt!” he joked. “Ones Valentin 2.0 would wear.” He was tieless as usual, his shirt open at the neck, but the pocket square sticking out of his breast pocket made up for that lack.

“It’s…nice,” the woman agreed.

Rafael wondered what adjectives were really running through her mind. These sorts of events were difficult enough as it was—for all he made them look easy—without the added cringe factor of appearing in a costume from a long-running historical TV drama that had been off the air for three years. Gone but not forgotten…

Well-trained but a little restless, he stood as soon as he’d finished signing photos and strode deeper into the roped-off VIP space, which wasn’t in a side or back room here at Harts, but up ladder-like steps from the main floor of the club. The second part involved greeting the competition-winning fans.

Seeing that one of the guests was a guy made him stop. “Are you a reluctant plus-one?” he asked the man.

“No. No. I mean, no.” The young guy clapped a shaky hand to his breast, beating it as if in time with an accelerated heart rate. He shook his spiky blond head. “I’m a fan! Got the poster and everything. Brought it for you to sign…”

Rafael closed his eyes. He bet he knew which poster the guy was referring to before he unrolled it—Valentin sitting on the ground against a bale of straw, one leg stretched out and one bent, shirt mostly undone. Yep. He fingered the holes in the corners from where the poster had been thumbtacked to a wall.

“Didn’t you know you had an LGBT following?” the guy asked, his tone faltering as Rafael paused.

“LGBTI,” Rafael corrected with a grin, signing the poster. “Yeah, there’s a lesbian and gay chapter of the fan club. Oh, and two years ago, a drag queen float in the carnival chose Marisol and Isaura—if you remember that character—as their theme and invited me as the guest of honour. Great fun. I wasn’t aware I was popular with gays in the UK, though.”

The guy scoffed. “What, the guy judged the Sexiest Man in Brazil?”

“That was a few years back,” Rafael demurred.

“Well, Sexiest Man on TV, three years running?”

Rafael laughed and shook the guy’s hand before moving on. He suddenly wished Lourdes were with him, but her being eight months pregnant had taken that off the table. And no—he’d wanted to come alone. To take a break. Or…make this the forerunner to a break. He paused near the balcony railing of this raised section and looked down over the club floor. The place had been decked out for Valentine’s and gleamed with the requisite hearts-and-flowers décor. The tables behind him sported crystal dishes containing heart-shaped chocolates in shiny pink and red wrappers, and the tables below held fat pink and red roses.

“Is Diana with you?” a reporter called out behind him.

“They split up,” half a dozen voices answered, the duh loud in their tones. “Amicably,” at least two people added.

It wasn’t a line for the press—it was true. Didi—Diana—a model and now an Instagram influencer, whatever that was, and he were both busy and had barely seen each other towards the end. All his splits had been amicable. Mimi, his Marisol, who’d sadly been deemed too old now to be his love interest in Valentin 2.0, and he remained friends, meeting up for dinners regularly. Joana, the rally driver who’d competed in the Dakar race, and he still went to each other’s events. Oh, his relationships were heated, hot and heavy, as his friend Ro liked to say, just not…deep. The way he liked it.

“Does that mean you’re free to dance?”

He turned back to the group at that invite, delivered by the hopeful redhead, and, grinning, held out his hand to her. He answered questions from the press in between dances. Yes, he was looking forward to seeing a little of London. Yes, he was here for a Valentine event in Europe. Yes, he was here alone…

Which made him pause. There was supposed to be an agency PA or handler or something. The efficient and organised Lourdes had set it up, and he doubted she’d have made a mistake. He’d been meaning to call her and ask but hadn’t wanted to worry her, and he was managing fine by himself. He’d found the hotel from the airport—okay, the driver waiting for him had. He’d found this club. Well, all right, the cab the hotel porter had whistled up from the rank had. But he’d been doing this for so long that he knew the drill. He’d been doing this for so long that he needed if not a break, then a change…

As if his thoughts had become a wish, he spied his quarry. Franz Peterson. “Excuse me.” Rafael kissed the hand of his current partner and left her at the bottom of the VIP stairs, then waved at the short, squat, balding London director and the taller woman with him. “We meet at last. So pleased you came.”

Franz gave a crooked-toothed slash of a grin that was more like a grimace. “After you badgering me nonstop on the phone to set up a meet? Yeah, we do. Oh, and you’ve got her to thank.” Her was the woman he was with, if the jerk of his thumb towards her meant that. His new wife, his long-term casting director in the string of gritty, often gangland, movies he made. “She loves you. I should hate you,” Franz added.

“Well, I hope you don’t, seeing as I want to work with you.” Rafael stared him in the eye before taking his wife’s hand and kissing it. He ordered them all a drink while Franz was still grating out a rusty laugh at what he’d said.

“Lemme see I got this straight,” Franz said a few minutes later, swirling his glass, making the ice cubes clink. “You wanna audition for my next film? You know I make movies about schemers, criminals, crooks, gangs, con men—underworld figures in general, where nobody comes off well, right? Films with a lot of action, a lot of fights, a lot of blood…”

“I do and I like them all. You’re an excellent director and storyteller and deserve every one of the accolades you’ve won.”

“Well, thanks, I guess, but I dunno.” Franz looked him up and down. Rafael knew what he was seeing—the perfect white teeth, the tan complexion, the glossy hair, the expensive suit. “You looking to change your image? Think you can pull off gritty Latino from the streets, yeah?”

Rafael had to laugh. The guy had no idea. “Oh, I might be closer than you know.” The short but powerful man didn’t intimidate him in the least. “And what have you got to lose?” Rafael held eye contact, so the director was the first to drop his gaze.

“I’ll give it some thought,” he muttered. “Amy?”

“It…could be interesting…” his wife replied, slowly.

Rafael kissed her cheek this time, as he saw them both off. Franz had been wavering, swayed by the publicity of Rafael de Almeida auditioning for one of his signature hand-grenade-to-a-fist-fight movies, and Rafael bet he’d let the news leak, and soon. Good. He’d miss the Ouro TV Network that had been his home since he’d started working in the industry, and its owner, Alberto Marchal. Both had treated him well, Alberto something of a surrogate father, but it was time to move on.

Inviting him to audition would be more than a publicity stunt—Rafael thought Amy Peterson had seen beyond that. She excelled at her job, and her husband bowed to her expertise. Rafael had grown up having to hustle, to work hard for what he wanted, and had no scruples about doing so now, using every weapon at his disposal.

A woman waiting in line to enter the club caught his attention. It wasn’t her looks or appearance that made him pause—although the pretty brunette was nicely, if a little conservatively, dressed—but her manner. The way she moved her head slowly, taking everything in about her surroundings, but not like a first-timer at a glitzy place might, trying to impress it all on her memory. More like a soldier might, say, scanning, assessing for threats or danger. Interesting.

As if feeling his scrutiny, she turned her head slowly and caught his eye. Intrigued, Rafael raised an eyebrow in invitation, to be met with a narrow-eyed glare. He laughed, then inclined his head—it was her turn to speak to the door guardians and they’d indicated as much, twice. She scowled at him and hurried forwards. He almost walked up to help, but someone called his name from inside.

Duty calls. Pasting on a smile, he went to answer it.

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author

Rebecca Fairfax

After having lived and worked all over Europe, Rebecca Fairfax is back in her native UK, bursting to share all the stories she’s dreamed up and describe all the places she’s seen and all the people she’s met. Romantic suspense, light contemporary, urban fantasy—it’s all on the way.

Her life is not her own—it belongs to her demanding Old English Sheepdog and her bossy British Blue cat. Once she accepted that, things got easier.

Follow Rebecca on Facebook and Twitter.



Enter to win a FREE Rebecca Fairfax romance book!

Rebecca Fairfax’s Shooting Valentine Giveaway

ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A FREE REBECCA FAIRFAX ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 23rd February 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

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