Hello, and welcome to the Billionaire with Benefits Blog Tour!
*fanfare, etc*
You might have noticed this book took me
a while to write . . . or maybe you didn’t notice, but take my word for it, it
did. That might be why it ended up longer than it needed it to be. Ultimately
we trimmed over 15,000 words from the original Billionaire manuscript, so posts from me (as opposed to spotlights
and reviews) are all going to be cut scenes from the book. Sort of like the
extras on a DVD, but, you know, not.
A list of stops on the tour can be found here. Why would you want to follow the
tour? Well, because I’m giving away a fabulous, one-of-a-kind Voodoo Ken Kit,
which the winner can use to seek revenge on any or all of their exes. How do
you win? Check the bottom of each tour post for details.
* *
*
It’s just a friend
thing
Before
confessing his gayness to his best friend, Tierney Terrebonne’s sex life is
strictly restroom. After confessing his gayness to his best friend . . . it
doesn’t improve much. Why bother trying when the man he’s loved for fourteen
years (see: “best friend”) is totally unattainable? Good thing Tierney is an
old hand at accepting defeat; all it takes is a bottle of bourbon. Or fifty.
Repeat as needed.
Dalton
Lehnart has a history of dating wealthy, damaged, closeted, lying, cheating,
no-good, cowardly men, so of course he’s immediately attracted to Tierney
Terrebonne. Fortunately, Tierney is so dissolute that even Dalton’s feelings
for the man would be better described as pity. Which becomes sympathy as they
get to know each other. Followed by compassion, concern, caring, and
hopefulness as Tierney struggles to change his life. When the man comes out
very publicly and enters rehab, Dalton finds himself downright attached to
Tierney. And as everyone knows, after attachment comes . . .
Uh oh.
But
post-rehab Tierney can’t handle more than friendship, so Dalton should be safe
from repeating his own past mistakes, right? Right?
* *
*
Tierney’s life is full of meetings. He’s
an ambulance company executive, so that’s about two-thirds of his job. But I
won’t bore you with details of why that’s necessary, I’ll just set-up this
scene, how about?
The night before his next meeting,
Dalton’s cat attacks Tierney, leaving many scratches on his butt, and now one
of them is infected. This makes it hard to sit, and also makes a trip to the
doctor necessary. Tierney’s always-mercenary assistant, Gina, is happy to help
him out with that . . .
(FYI, in the final book, I uninfected the
cat scratch, and none of this happens—because I are an author, and I don’t need
no stinkin’ antibiotics to cure one of my boys.)
Not because the meeting required any input from him—he
was there so he’d have a heads-up on any potential lawsuits from pissed off
customers. The only thing he was
required to do at the meeting was to sit down, and once he did that he was far
too preoccupied with the claw marks on his ass to think about Dalton. Well,
other than thinking of him as other than the owner of the hellspawn that had
lit his butt cheek on fire.
“What’s going on?” Gina whispered near the end of the
meeting. He must have been squirming too much.
Gritting his teeth over the pain, he sat up straight.
“Nothing.”
She watched him suspiciously until all the medics with
problem cases had gone over the details and they were finally released from the
damned conference room.
“Tierney, seriously, you were like a jumpy cat in
there.” She was following him down the hall.
Cat. Ha. That’s
funny. “It’s
private, okay? I don’t need your help.” He halted and she nearly ran into him
when he rounded on her. “Except can you call my doctor and see if he can fit me
in this afternoon? Or, shit, where’s the nearest urgent care clinic?” Because
seriously, he’d swear the pain was creeping up his back. What if that evil
beast had given him blood poisoning?
“I’ll call your doctor. What should I say is the reason
for your visit?”
“Nice try.” He grimaced at her, before spinning around
and heading back down the hall. “I’ll go to urgent care.”
She sighed, then called after him. “There’s one on
McGillivray at Ninth. But it’s really busy, you might have to sit in the
waiting room for hours.”
He stopped cold. Had he imagined Gina stressing the
word “sit”? Nope. Looking back at her
over his shoulder, she was wearing that narrow-eyed smirk on her face.
“Where’s one that isn’t busy?”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, since you’d have
to drive across town to get to it. Sitting. In your car.”
He whirled around and stalked back to her, stopping
well within personal intimidation distance.
She faked buffing her nails on her blazer, then quirked
a brow at him.
Christ. “Before I say anything else, how much
will your silence cost me?”
She bared her teeth. “Oh, I’m sure we can work
something out.”
* * *
Want a chance to win Voodoo Ken? Well,
keep looking, because this isn’t the post with the magical question. FYI, I’ll
ship worldwide, so anyone can enter.
* * *
Raised on a steady diet of Monty Python,
classical music and the visual arts, Anne Tenino was—famously—the first patient
diagnosed with Compulsive Romantic Disorder. Since that day, Anne has taken on
conquering the M/M world through therapeutic writing. Finding out who those
guys having sex in her head are and what to do with them has been extremely
liberating.
Anne's husband finds it liberating as
well, although in a somewhat different way. Her two daughters are mildly
confused by Anne's need to twist Ken dolls into odd positions. However, other
than occasionally stealing Ken1's strap-on, they let Mom do her thing without
interference.
Wondering what Anne does in her spare
time? Mostly she lies on the couch, eats bonbons and shirks housework.
Check out what Anne’s up to now by
visiting her site.
http://annetenino.com
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