I can’t think of a better reason or way to revive this long-dormant blog than to announce the latest release from one of my absolute favourite people in the world, Nicola Cameron!
High Tide (Olympic Cove Book 5) by Nicola Cameron
Available: June 25, 2024
Publisher: Belaurient Press
ASIN: B0D83DGBLD
A human, a mer, and a satyr walk into a coveβ¦
Handyman Scott Siddell never expected to run into a merman and a satyr in one of his rental agencyβs cottages. When he discovers that heβs also not quite human, Orrin and Rian are the only ones who can help him come to grips with his heritageβand his growing attraction to them.
Raised among humans, Orrin never had the freedom to choose. Now that he has mates, this brave satyr must fight those who want them separated forever.
Rian has spent his entire life on the run due to his siren heritage. Orrin and Scott are his one chance at happiness, but will they be able to escape the Mad Nereid and her deadly ally?
Where to Buy:
Books in the Olympic Cove series:
Excerpt:
Scott knew he wasnβt imagining thingsβsomeone had definitely been in the cottage. Goddamn it. The place would have to be rekeyed at the very least. Swearing under his breath at the extra work, Scott stomped back through the master bedroom into the great room.
And stopped when he saw a shirtless man in the kitchen. The kitchen island hid the manβs lower half but everything else belonged on the cover of Menβs Health; broad swimmerβs shoulders, a powerful chest, and arms layered with sleek muscle. His face was just as enticing with its strong jaw, sculpted lips, and the prettiest storm blue eyes Scott had ever seen.
And heβs a squatter. Belatedly, Scott dropped the clipboard and brought the gun up, aiming for center of mass as heβd been taught. βDonβt move!β he yelled.
The man blinked. βOkay.β
Shit. I canβt tell him to get on the floor. Heβll be behind the island and I wonβt be able to see him. βPut your hands up and come into the great room,β Scott ordered. βSlowly. You do anything stupid and Iβll shoot you.β
The man put his hands up, glancing down at himself. βUm, I donβt think you want me to do that,β he said, sounding strangely amused.
βYes, I do. Get in here.β
βAll right. But I did warn you.β The man stepped around the island slowly, revealing that he wasnβt so much shirtless as naked. In a friendlier situation Scott would have appreciated the view. Not only was the manβs lower half as toned and lean as his upper half, but he was also astoundingly well hung.
Scott forced his attention away from that mouthwatering cock. βFuck.β
Another blink. βBut we just met.β
βShut up.β
The manβs fingers spread wider, revealing abnormally deep webbing between his fingers. βSorry. I make bad jokes when Iβm scared.β
The guy had a nice voice, too, a smooth, soothing tenor with a slight accent. Heβs hot, built like an Olympic swimmer, and sounds like an English actor. Dammit, why didnβt I meet him on Grindr or at a bar? βGet on the floor, face down, and put your hands over your head.β
The man winced. βIβd rather not, if you donβt mind.β
βI donβt give a shit what you want to do,β Scott snapped. βIβm the one with the gun. Now get on the floor.β
βRian, did I leave my drink in hereββ Another shirtless man came out of the utility room. βOh, dear.β
Scott aimed at the new trespasserβand froze. The second man was also hot, with a nicely toned chest and arms, and his longish, curly brown hair and matching goatee would have looked at home on a surfer.
The two horns sticking out of his curls and the unmistakable points on his ears, however, were completely alien, as was the thick, shaggy coat of brown hair that started just below his waist and covered both legs down to where they terminated in a pair of cloven hooves. The only bare part below his waist was a thick cock nestled in a whorl of brown curls.
A shockingly primal wave of need slammed into Scott like a Mac truck, making the gun jitter in his hands. He was actually getting hard, what the hell, for this curly-hairedβ
βWhat are you?β he got out.
The second intruder gave him a hesitant smile. βRight, youβve probably never met my kind before. Iβm a satyr. My nameβs Orrin, and this is Rian. Weβre sorry for intruding. Itβs just that we needed somewhere to rest and the place was empty, so we thought it would be all right.β He took a step forward.
βStop!β Scott struggled against an overwhelming urge to close the distance between them, run his hands through Orrinβs hair, kiss him senselessβ Jesus fucking Christ, what is wrong with you? Heβs not even human! βJust β¦ stop.β
Orrin did, smile melting away. βIβm sorry. Weβre not going to hurt you, I swear.β
Damn skippy youβre not. He shifted the gun to his left hand and fumbled out his phone, silently relieved that he set it up to open with Face ID. βIβm calling the cops. And if either of you try to make a move on me, I swear to God Iβll shoot you.β
The satyr gave the other manβRian?βa pleading look. Rian grimaced, then took in a deep breath and started humming. The melody was unfamiliar but sweet, like a lullaby Scott hadnβt heard in years, and the mix of adrenaline and desire pumping through his veins began to drain away. He blinked, trying to keep his gun aimed at Orrin.
The humming grew louder, turning into a soft, wordless song. He lowered the gun, struggling to think through his growing exhaustion. Why was he calling the cops? Okay, maybe Orrin and Rian shouldnβt be there, but they hadnβt trashed the place or anything. And Orrin was so gorgeous with his smile and his eyes and his little hornsβ¦
The intruders approached him cautiously, Ryan continuing to sing softly as the satyr plucked the gun and phone out of his unresisting hands.
βYou must be tired,β Orrin said sympathetically, putting the objects down on a side table. βWhy donβt you lie down and take a nap?β
A short nap sounded like a great idea. Scott headed to the couch and stretched out on it, closing his eyes.
βJust sleep,β he heard Orrin whisper. βYouβll forget all about this when you wake up.β
Someone slipped a cushion under his head and draped a soft throw over him before stroking his hair. Thatβs nice. Then he heard a soft, hissed curse before sleep lured him into oblivion.
About the Author:
Nicola Cameron is a married woman of a certain age who really enjoys writing about science fiction, fantasy, and romance. When not writing about those things, she likes to make Stuff™. And she may be rather fond of absinthe.
While possessing a healthy interest in romance since puberty, it wasnβt until 2012 that she decided to write about it. The skills picked up during her SF writing career transferred quite nicely to speculative romance. Her To Be Written work queue currently stands at around fifteen books, and her mojito-sodden Muse swans in from Bali every so often to add to the list, cackling to herself all the while.
Nicola plans to keep writing until she drops dead over her keyboard or makes enough money to buy a private island and hire Rory McCann as her personal trainer/masseur, whichever comes first. Because itβs important to have goals.
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