Cover reveal & Excerpt – Broken Prince, Mismatched Eyes by Layla Dorine

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2015NewAbout the Book

All of his life, Caden DeMott’s mismatched eyes have made him the target of superstition and scorn. Though he is the son of a nobleman, he’s been allowed to run free over the hills and moors, mostly ignored by his family. No one ever thought to inform him that he had been betrothed since infancy, until the day his fiancé, Prince Rhys Gwyther arrived to marry him.

Rhys is the prince of the small island country of Mauritania, a land rich in gems, rose oil, and pearls, but poor in skilled artisans and seeds to grow crops. In order to further cement the trade route to the mainland, he’s been sent to marry a man he’s never met, and bring him back to Mauritania. Unfortunately, an accident years before has left Rhys with a lot of emotional baggage and very little trust in strangers.


But trust is exactly what Caden and Rhys are going to need if they are to make a life together, and help unravel the mystery of who’s been smuggling valuable gems and pearls off the island. Add in the realization that Caden’s stepmother, Mildred and her island representative, Maxwell, have been importing inferior goods for years, forcing Mauritania to become more dependent on them, and trust becomes even more difficult.

Caden possesses the knowledge to finally allow Rhys’ father to unravel the plot to ruin Mauritania, but only if the king and his son are willing to put their faith in Caden’s loyalty to his new home. Something that is difficult to do after Caden is accused of cheating on his marriage vows to Rhys with his guard, Luc. Will Rhys believe him innocent? Or will their marriage be over before it truly has a chance to begin?

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Jackson growled with hatred in his eyes as he pushed past his wife. His steps were heavy with anger as he ascended the stairs to the second floor, fists clenched so tightly that half crescent indents were forming on his palms. Outside his eldest son’s chamber, he paused and took several deep breaths, desperately seeking some small measure of calm before delivering the life-altering news. If only there were a way to be certain Rhys would be kind and understanding of Caden’s odd, distracting behaviors, but sadly, few had ever truly given the young man a fair chance. If he could, Jackson would have spared his son the kind of bitter, miserable marriage he himself endured, but he held little hope that Rhys would be any different from those who had ridiculed Caden in the past.

Knocking on the door, Jackson mentally prepared his speech while waiting for Caden to answer. When he did not, Jackson pushed open the door and let his eyes drift around the dimly lit chamber until they came to rest on the figure curled upon the bearskin rug by the hearth, two large hounds on either side of him. Jackson couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the trio before a sudden thought abruptly wiped the smile from his face.

Would Rhys allow Caden to keep the animals, or would his son be forced to leave his two closest companions behind? Jackson crossed the chamber quietly, stopping near the hearth. When one of the hounds growled low and raised his head, the white splotch of fur around his left eye identified him as Titus. When Titus saw that it was Jackson he laid his head back on his paws and closed his eyes again while the other hound, Brutes, snored on.

With a sigh, Jackson knelt and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, gently shaking him awake. Caden blinked sleepy, mismatched eyes up at his father, and as his son sat up, Jackson wondered what Rhys’ reaction to seeing Caden’s eyes would be and whether the prince was yet another superstitious fool who believed Caden’s one green eye and one white were a sign that he was devil-touched.

Fools, Jackson through to himself as Caden reached out and placed his hand on Brutes’ head, rubbing the dog’s ears. Caden’s head was cocked to one side, and he made a soft, clicking sound with his tongue that let Jackson know he was listening. While his son could speak, Caden used words sparingly and only after careful thought. It was one of the many things that made the boy so endearing in his father’s eyes. In another’s eyes, however, Jackson knew it was just another sign that Caden was different from others his age.

“I’m sorry I had to wake you. Were you up late wandering the moors again?”

Caden grinned and nodded, mismatched eyes lighting up and darting to the heavy curtains that were blocking out much of the sun and the moors that lay just beyond the window.

2015NewAbout the author

LAYLA DORINE lives among the sprawling prairies of Midwestern America, in a house with more cats than people. She loves hiking, fishing, swimming, martial arts, camping out, photography, cooking, and dabbling with several artistic mediums. In addition, she loves to travel and visit museums, historic, and haunted places.

Layla got hooked on writing as a child, starting with poetry and then branching out, and she hasn’t stopped writing since. Hard times, troubled times, the lives of her characters are never easy, but then what life is? The story is in the struggle, the journey, the triumphs and the falls. She writes about artists, musicians, loners, drifters, dreamers, hippies, bikers, truckers, hunters and all the other folks that she’s met and fallen in love with over the years. Sometimes she writes urban romance and sometimes its aliens crash landing near a roadside bar. When she isn’t writing, or wandering somewhere outdoors, she can often be found curled up with a good book and a kitty on her lap.

Layla Dorine can be found at:


Blog Tour, Exclusive Excerpt, and Giveaway – The Case No One Foretold by L.G. Fabbo-Gonnella



Title: The Case No One Foretold
Author: L.G. Fabbo-Gonnella
Series: Mark Julian, Vampire P.I., book five
Genre: Mystery, Detective, Gay romance, Paranormal
Length: Novel
Publisher: Ai Press

2015NewAbout the Book

Two men engage in an altercation in a movie lobby. Later one of the men turns up dead in a New York City alley. But this is no ordinary murder. The deceased is a sex demon and his fellow combatant was the werewolf, Jean-Claude Roué, fiancé of Mark’s shape-shifter secretary. Now the werewolf is accused of his murder and faces a trial by before a supernatural tribunal. If Jean-Claude is convicted for causing this death it will mean his execution. This time however, Mark Julian is away on a personal investigation in Kenya so Tortego, the crafty vampire chief, goes to an unusual source to secure help. Using his powers as head of New York City’s supernatural community he appoints Mark’s human partner, Detective Vincent Pasquale, to be one of the three judges for Jean-Claude’s trial. Now Vinnie must not only fight to clear his friend, Jean-Claude, he must deal with his supernatural co-jurists: the werewolf Viola Lupa and the sex demon Dale Carter. Both of his companion judges are on record as sworn enemies of “any mixed supernatural mating.” Throw in a shifty shape shifter named Andelan Clarke, Ja-ne the original Oracle of Delphi and, a sexy TV newsman from the island of Guernsey who appears to be more interested in bedding Vinnie than nailing a story and it truly becomes “The Case No One Foretold!”

The Case No One Foretold-1400x2100

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In a desolate back alley the grungy clad man Jean-Claude had assaulted met with a shadowy hooded figure. “So I did just as you asked. I saw them approaching the lobby of the movie theatre and I made a few choice obscene comments to her.” The man laughed as he recalled the incident. “Wolf boy reacted just like you thought he would when I not only refused to apologize but also repeated the words to his bitch.”

“Go on,” the figure inquired. “Tell me how it ended.”

The man looked around and then went on speaking, “I shoved him in a way that no one would see and said a few more filthy words about her. He hauled off and hit me a good one. That lousy wolf broke my damned nose. That is going to cost more, got it!” the sex demon complained as he touched his taped nose and winced. “As expected, the movie guys called the cops and he gets picked up since it looked like he threw the first punch. I made sure to yell at him as they took him out. You know the drill, just some good trash talk to goad him to reply to me.”

“Did you, as you say, goad him sufficiently,” the now smiling figure inquired, putting on a pair of gloves.

The other man nodded. “Yeah, I got him to threaten me in front of the cops and quite a few people too,” the man hooted gleefully. “Then I refused to press charges so they let him go.” He gazed at his employer. “Oh yeah, I lifted his wallet when we scuffled. Here it is.” The sex demon handed over the item to the figure. “I’m not sure why you wanted it but I got it. Told you I was a good pickpocket,” He eagerly stated as if he was seeking approval from the person in front of him. “Speaking of what you wanted, I have a question about all this, if it’s okay to ask? Why did you need that last part? You know, about getting him arrested but me not pressing charges. I would have thought having him be in jail was the object of this whole setup scheme.”

“Oh, he had to be freed,” the shadowy person uttered as he reached into his overcoat pocket. “If he was locked up, who would suspect him?”

“Suspect him of what?” the now rapidly skittish sex demon asked. Something felt very wrong now. His sex demon senses were detecting something bad was coming. “What is he going to be suspected of, boss?” He nervously asked as he gazed around realizing he should make a fast exit but still lingering in order to get paid.

“Why, of killing you,” the employer replied as he took out a small gun from his pocket and pointed it at the other man.


Prizes: 2 bundles of books one & two in the Mark Julian, Vampire P.I. series; 3 copies of Book One in the series, The Case of the Choirboy Killer

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More in the Mark Julian, Vampire P.I. Series

While each individual mystery can be read as a stand along, there are storylines that continue from one book to another, so we recommend you use the series in order:

Book One – The Case of the Choirboy killer

Book Two – The Case of the Strega’s Touch

Book Three – The Case of the Heavenly Host

Book Four – The Case of the Vampire Hunter

Mark Julian, Vampire PI Series

2015NewAbout the author

L.G.Fabbo-Gonnella is a resident of NYC. He has often said Manhattan is the underlying unspoken character in many of his books. “I guess its a love affair that I have with her,” he once said. “I could live here forever and yet still find magical things about her that I never knew existed.

When not seeking out interesting new locales for his books he can be found dinning with friends and enjoying all the city he adores has to offer.

Though he has not yet met the supernatural denizens of NYC, he does hope too one day. And yes, there is a “letter Lounge” albeit under a different name.

He can be reached at

Guest Post and Excerpt – Like No One Is Watching by Jaime Samms

Hello Tea House visitors! I am so pleased to have a chance to share a bit of Charlie’s space today. I’m excited to talk about my new book that is just freshly digitized and pixilated! It’s called Like No One Is Watching, and is dear to my because of my very own dancer in my family who helped to inspire it.

The book, actually, the entire series, is themed around a few lines from a song I heard years ago.

“Dance like no one is watching, love like you’ve never been hurt and live like it’s heaven on earth.”

Those aren’t the exact lines of the song, but they carry the gist of the idea that if something you want is worth having, if a thing you love is worth doing, you have to be all in.

I remember when I first brought my own daughter into a ballet studio. She was a tiny little thing, and I had brought her to the studio of a woman I had come to trust as a friend and mentor. It’s never easy to let go of your child into something new, but you have do it, eventually. So there I was, watching through the window at the small dancers, some of them crying, some playing with teddy bears, two of them skipping in circles, hand-in-hand, and mine, staring up at her new teacher like she was seeing either an alien, or an angel. I don’t think any of us, including the girl, knew which.

That was twelve years ago. Today, she calls this teacher her “other mom” or her “dance mom” and when I watch her on stage, I think what an amazing thing it is that she found her bliss so quickly in life. How incredible that she has embraced this thing and knows where she is headed in life. It’s exhilarating to see, and frightening to contemplate what could happen if it doesn’t work out.

And like all writers, from the fear, excitement, wishing, daydreaming of life, I birthed a story, and this is it. Because the enthusiasm of my kid’s youth has reminded me, as I had begun to flag over my writing: If you want something, if you believe in it, you have to do it. For real. Like no one is watching and like you’ll never get hurt. Because the world is what we make by our own actions: Heaven or Hell, we have the choice to make it either one.


She came to rest in front and to the right of him. He reached for her and she looked back. For an instant, he thought she was going to rush away again, the flight of a wild thing in her eyes. But she didn’t. She rose up on pointe and held a hand for him. He had to go to her, and he did so with as much flourish as he dared.

When he reached her, she smiled wickedly. “Spin me.”

“I—” He wasn’t sure he trusted his knee to remain steady.

“You can do this,” she told him. “Trust your body.”

That was the last thing he could do, but she looked so free, so truly a dancer, and he didn’t dare break her out of this newfound exhilaration, so he nodded, taking her hand and lifting their arms.

Of course, she did most of the work. His job was to remain still and steady, a point for her to come back to, her fulcrum. She managed four spins before she wobbled, and he placed a hand on her waist as she lowered her foot to the ground and sank into his grip.

He braced himself, but he needn’t have worried. As though his body remembered what his brain had tried hard to forget, he caught her and spun her, one last time, so they faced front together and she could curtsey and he could bow. They separated, repeating the curtsey and the bow to the mirrors, huge grins on their faces.

“You see?” he crowed. “I knew you could—”

Applause from the doorway interrupted him, and they both looked beyond the mirrors and each other to see the room filled with Eliza’s fellow students and Conrad, all clapping and smiling.

“Oh!” Eliza lifted a hand over her mouth in shock. “I didn’t realize….”

“And so it should always be,” Dusty whispered to her. “Always dance like no else is watching. You are very gifted. Trust yourself.”

She looked at him, flushing, her eyes shining with wetness, but she was also smiling, and she nodded.

“I think that will suffice for your class demonstration, Eliza. Thank you, Mr. Hatch”—Conrad directed his clapping to Dusty—“for a fine illustration.”

“Um.” Dusty flashed a grin. “Sure. Not a problem.”

Hurriedly, Dusty moved to the periphery of the room as Eliza’s classmates surrounded her.

“I’m impressed,” Conrad said, following him to the stereo table. “That was quite a show.”

“I did nothing,” Dusty pointed out. “I walked and I stood.”

“You gave her confidence. She trusted you.”

Dusty shrugged. “Well. It was all her idea, really.”

Conrad nodded. “She usually has good ones, when I can get her to open up. It’s hard for her. I don’t know why, but partner work is her weakness. She hesitates, and that’s when people get hurt. She didn’t with you.” “I’m just glad she managed to let go a bit.” “As am I. You managed to teach her something I could not.”

Dusty’s face heated. “I didn’t teach her anything. I just reminded her what she already knows. She did all the work.”

“Still.” Conrad touched his shoulder. “I’m grateful.”

Dusty wanted to lean into that touch. He didn’t. Gently, he moved away from it. “You’re welcome, then. I hope it helps her.”

He hurried out of the studio, unwilling to disrupt class any more than he already had. Eliza might be thrilled with what she had accomplished with all of her classmates watching, but Dusty was less than pleased that his weakness had been so prominently displayed. The last thing he needed was to reignite the yearning for something he couldn’t have back. If only he had never set foot in the damn studio in the first place.

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So this is my thing; writing. It’s what I do regardless of who is watching. Or, reading, in this case, I guess. What’s your thing? What is it you do, or want to do, that requires that leap of faith in your own abilities? Tell me in the comments, and I will chose a reply from your comments for a copy of a title from my back list.

As always, Ms. Cochet, thank you so much for letting me visit. (I’ll be watching the Dreamspinner site for Ethan’s HEA. 😉