Thursday, August 16, 2018

Author Of The Month - Posy Roberts - Week Three

Welcome to our third week of celebrating the amazing 

In this week's post, we'll take a look at Love On A Battlefield and Stroke Of Luck, plus a personal story Posy has chosen to share. All the way at the bottom is also another chance to win one of her books.

First up, Love On A Battlefield


Not every compass points north.

Andrew Summers is forced to spend his vacations reliving Civil War battles with his father. He hates every minute, until a blue-eyed, red-haired boy behind enemy lines catches his eye.
Shep Wells would much rather travel the world than play at boring war reenactments. He never dreamed a Texan boy would capture his heart.

Real life and years separate them; Andrew is forced onto real battlefields, but for Shep the world is a playground. They’re opposites, but writing letters closes the distance, uncovering their hopes and dreams. When Shep visits Andrew, they get to see if the tug they’ve felt for years is the compass pointing the way home.


As we lined up on the battlefield the next day, I saw that shock of auburn hair straight across from me. Before I could make eye contact, the battle had begun, horses moving, gunfire blasting, and a few men already collapsing to the ground, probably playing out some real-life soldier’s tragic end. Rather than giving the early-outs much thought, I looked back to that boy. I was curious about him, but before I was killed prematurely and seriously disappointed my father, I got my head in the game and regained my focus. I took out several Union soldiers with my fake munitions before I tripped over a rock. As I regained my footing and stood up, he was right in front of me.
I don’t recall if we gave each other a visual cue or if he said something, but we both decided to take a hit, bodies falling to the ground. We landed face-to-face, limbs sprawled out in opposite directions. My father was near, so I slammed my eyes shut, authenticating my death until I heard his voice move away with the continuing battle building.
When I dared open my eyes again, the Yankee soldier was staring at me, smiling and licking his lips. His jaw was strong, defined, dusted with stubble from who-knew-how-many-days growth, and it drew my attention to his chin and full lips. We lay there studying each other for several minutes, shamelessly staring, before he scooted closer.
So close I could feel his breaths wash across my eyelids and forehead.
I didn’t know what was happening, but I didn’t hesitate long enough to question it. I just acted on impulse and sighed. It sounded contented, and if I were being completely honest, a little bit pathetic. But finally I was able to talk to this guy I’d been admiring from afar.
He licked his lips and whispered, “I’m Shep,” barely loud enough for me to hear over the gunfire.
“I’m Andrew.” I smiled at him, earning one in return. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen. You?”
“Same. We should hang out after supper. I’m camped out over by the line of apple trees.” He used his eyebrows to gesture over my hip.
“I can’t. Not until the battle is over tomorrow. My father’s strict about fraternizing with the enemy.” I rolled my eyes.
“Sneak out,” he said, desperation leaking through his voice. “Tonight, by the water pump. Meet me after your father’s gone to sleep.” I nodded, ever so slightly.
As we continued to study each other’s faces, the battle moved off over a ridge behind Shep, getting farther and farther away. He closed the distance between us, and I didn’t know what he was going to do. I started to panic, nearly pulling away, but I stopped myself.
He hesitated, looked at me for permission, and then put his damp lips on my forehead, drawing them together in a kiss. My breath caught. I was nervous but relished in the sensation of the air rushing against my skin, the way his touch lingered. Just as the last bit of moisture evaporated, I pressed my lips to his forehead, tasting the saltiness there.
Then, I got far enough away so I could see him clearly, yet close enough I could still feel his breaths on me. We relaxed there until the battle had been won, staring into each other’s eyes, and I tried to memorize his face.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement and quickly told him, “Tonight,” before feigning death once again.

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Second in today's line-up, Stroke Of Luck 


After everything Marc owned burned to a crisp, he’s living off the kindness of others. A model condo is his temporary home, and his last dime went to essentials. He doesn’t need another distraction, but the fates conspire against him, setting up a chain of encounters that bring him face to face with Cas.

Cas’s love life has been in limbo for years, lovers moving on as soon as they discover how close he is to his best friend, Maisie. Then he meets Marc. The attraction between the two men can’t be denied, but Cas isn’t sure he can risk his friendship for a guy who will only end up leaving when he sees how close he and Maisie are.
When Marc and Cas discover they live in the same building, it’s kismet. But Marc has to invite chaos into his life if he and Cas stand a chance, and Cas faces a choice between friendship and love. Luck may be on their side... if they're willing to risk it all.


“Come on. This isn’t the place to talk about any of this.” Cas looked past Marc’s shoulder to a group of rowdy, drunk guys who looked like they were raring for any chance to fight. Marc glanced over as well.
Cas grabbed his suit coat, not bothering to put it on. He followed Marc outside and then took the lead, slowly walking back toward his building.
“Look, Marc, I’ve known for years that I can be a defensive prick. It comes with the territory, I suppose, and Maisie always says I go off half-cocked before I know ninety percent of the details.” Cas lifted his bruised hand and made a fist. It fucking hurt.
“Like nearly breaking people’s jaws.”
“He deserved it!”
Marc threw his hands up, palms out, and laughed. “Agreed, Superman, but insinuating a person is a homophobe because they couldn’t keep in a laugh because of a horrendous leather jacket—and I do mean a horrendous jacket that should’ve been burned in the 90s rather than stored in someone’s closet and fucking donated—well, I think that’s in a different realm.”
Cas stopped walking and leaned against the cool metal of a streetlamp. It wasn’t often people called him out on shit. Maisie was the only one who ever talked as calmly as Marc just had with no fuck-yous or walking away. Until now.
Marc stepped closer, and the light cast from above made his cheekbones sharper, his jaw stronger, and his eyes more intense than they already were. His hair was golden in the light, and Cas wanted to kiss him so badly.
As if his body took charge, Cas’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. His blinks felt stupidly slo-mo. Even his nipples got in on the act, tightening to hard pebbles under his thin dress shirt. And he couldn’t even blame cold air. They were hard because he was turned on.
Marc glanced down, eyeing Cas’s nipples with curiosity, before looking at him seriously.
“Listen, Cas, I don’t know who you are, but you’ve already shown me a hell of a lot about yourself. You’re a hothead, but you’re also generous and protective. Kind too. You’re a friend that sticks with people, and from what you did tonight, I know you want justice to be served. You also know damn well how to respect people, their personal boundaries, and you know when to step back and let Maisie take charge.”
“What do you mean about Maisie?”

“You read the situation. You knew the last thing Lola needed was to feel unsure, so you stepped out of the way so Maisie could get her home safe, even if your Superman complex was in full force and you wanted to fly Lola Lane home yourself.”
“You’re taking this superhero stuff a little far, aren’t you?” Cas deadpanned.
Marc took a step closer and smirked. His body heat penetrated Cas’s clothes. He was just as hot as he fucking looked.
“Maybe,” Marc whispered. “Or maybe you are. I don’t know. Not everyone wants to be saved.”
Cas could barely breathe, and then Marc stepped even closer. Cas whimpered but swallowed noisily to cover the undignified sound.
Marc slipped a twenty-dollar bill in Cas’s front shirt pocket. He had to feel how hard Cas’s nipple was. He had to.
Marc let out a noisy sigh as he stared into Cas’s eyes. Cas was positive he was going to get kissed. He was sure Marc would lean down, press his full lips to Cas’s, open his mouth, and fucking devour him right there in the street. All while toying with his nipple.
Instead, Marc pulled his hand from Cas’s pocket, nail grazing the bud on the way out, and then slapped Cas on the shoulder. “Thanks for saving my ass last weekend. The knives. Now we’re even.” Marc started to leave but then turned and walked backward. “And I’ll settle up with Maisie as soon as I get my next paycheck. Later.”
Cas was rock-hard, his dick throbbing in his pants as he watched Marc walk away.

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A personal story:

Writing sort of fell in my lap. While I had the dream many people have of one day writing a novel, I thought it would be a memoir. I never imagined it would truly happen. But a huge detour led me to writing.
My plans were to become a sex and couples therapist. My partner was all ready to be the stay-at-home dad, taking on part-time narration and acting roles, maybe writing children’s books. We had our future planned out. So months after getting married, we moved for graduate school. While there, I experienced intense exhaustion, pain that never went away, insomnia, and migraines. Doctors found nothing wrong, which soon became a theme, yet my symptoms persisted. I kept going to school, doing my best to push through the pain and exhaustion.
After finishing up my master’s program, we moved again, and I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue. What that meant in practical terms was that I had to modify my life. I had to slow down, learn how to recognize my limits.
Limits. I didn’t have any before that. Well, that’s not true. I have epilepsy, severe allergies, and asthma, but I never let any of those things hold me back. I saw challenges blocking my way, and I stepped over them.
But this was different.
Working full-time was nearly impossible, so I found a part-time teaching job. I had summers off to catch up on rest or slowly potter away at those tasks I used to do in a flash. I was a mom by this time too, and so, so exhausted. There was no way I’d ever manage a Ph.D. program, start a new career, let alone work the hours I’d need to in order to be a success.
That dream of being a therapist died a very painful death. I was left reeling, not having a clue what to do once my purpose was take away. My job wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as I wanted it to be. I loved being a mom, but my intense need to make a difference in the world and help people wasn’t satisfied.
So I started blogging about parenting things, discussing the challenges of raising a child with medical problems. I chronicled my life, my daughter’s struggles. And then one day I sat down and wrote fiction. I shared it online and my story was well received, so I kept on writing.
It was my stress relief. And soon it was my obsession.
Aside from the far-fetched dream of writing my memoir someday, writing was never in my plans. But then writing became central.
Through it, I found a new purpose. I wanted to touch people’s lives, give them a way to escape the mundane, show them the world through new eyes. If I helped people through my stories, that was icing on the cake.
I was eventually able to quit my teaching job, and now I work from home, which is a godsend. On those days I’m utterly exhausted, I can take a nap. I set my own schedule. I avoid getting overworked when I have no more spoons. And when my kid needs me for something, I’m right there.
It truly is a wonderful job. And maybe I’ll still write the memoir one day.

About the author:

Posy Roberts started reading romance when she was young, sneaking peeks at adult books long before she should’ve. Textbooks eventually replaced the novels, and for years she existed without reading for fun. When she finally picked up a romance two decades later, it was like slipping on a soft hoodie . . . that didn’t quite fit like it used to. She wanted something more.

She wanted to read about men falling in love with each other. She wanted to explore beyond the happily ever after and see characters navigate the unpredictability of life. So Posy sat down at her keyboard to write the books she wanted to read.

Her stories have been USA Today’s “Happily Ever After” Must-Reads and Rainbow Award finalists. When she’s not writing, she’s spending time with her family and friends and doing anything possible to get out of grocery shopping and cooking.


Thanks for celebrating this fabulous author with us. Come back next week for a first look at all three revised books from the North Star series, our author interview, plus one more chance to win.

Until then, happy reading!


  1. Both books sound wonderful. Thank you for the excerpts!

  2. I think you're doing what you were meant to do, but I know that giving up on dreams of doing certain things is hard. I got chronic pain in my hands when I was 16 and I had to modify my entire life.


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