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.
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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 . . .
But post-rehab Tierney can’t handle more than friendship, so Dalton should be safe from repeating his own past mistakes, right? Right?
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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.”
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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.
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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