Guest Post | Smoke by Amy Spector

Today, we have Amy Spector back on the blog! She’s here to talk about Smoke, her newest story, and I don’t know how long ago it was I first saw the cover – years ago. I’ve been wanting to read it ever since, and I have it, I actually opened it the other day, read the first page, and then something happened that forced me to put away my phone. I will get back to it, though! Welcome, Amy!

Smoke FB 3

Firstly, I wanted to give a big thank you to Ofelia for letting me stop by her blog!

Saturday was release day for Smoke, my newest paranormal M/M romance. It was a long time in coming—a super long time—being that I started the story it in early 2018 just before taking a two-year break from writing. But, even though my life took an unexpected turn, I never doubted I’d finish the story. I loved Saalik too much to abandon him. And now I’m thrilled to finally share it with everyone!

Wyatt Calder is trapped in a life he never wanted. It would take a miracle to escape. Or at least a little magic.


Smoke Cover HalfSizeWyatt Calder is trapped— in a rundown neighborhood, in a dead-end job, by the endless string of trouble his brother drags to their door—and it seems he’s destined to slowly fade away within the aging walls of Picket House, longing for his best friend’s cousin. That is until his upstairs neighbor Abel Walters dies on the staircase just outside Wyatt’s door.

Saalik has spent most of his existence asleep and waiting for the next person to discover his bottle and claim their wishes. And the last four years playing prized possession to Abel Walters and spying on the downstairs neighbors. But he has a plan. And, like every plan worth planning, it has taken patience. But if life as a Jinn has taught Saalik nothing else, it’s taught him that.

When a break-in sends Wyatt out his second-story bedroom window and into his dead upstairs neighbor’s apartment, he finds more than a place to hide. He discovers a magical solution to all his troubles.

Or does he? Because really, when is life ever that simple?

Paranormal Gay Romance: 19,936 words

 Buy Links: JMS Books • Amazon • Universal Buy Link


Wyatt woke to the sound of the ocean. It roared in his ears and he could smell the salt in the air and feel the heat of the sun as it beat down on his face.

He smiled and opened his eyes to a darkened room. The curtains of the window above him blew in with a cold breeze, rain drops coming in with each gust. He was freezing.

A movement drew his attention away from the open window and he found a man watching him. Wyatt jerked up, startled, banging his head against the wall in his hurry to be upright and the man watching him took a silent step back and laughed.

“Fuck.” Wyatt squeezed his eyes tight, rubbing the spot at the back of his skull. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“But then, I don’t think you’re particularly brave.”

“Huh?” Wyatt stopped rubbing and opened his eyes. The man was…well fuck, the guy was naked.

Wyatt watched as he walked on bare feet around him where he sat on the floor of the unfamiliar room. One of the dead man’s rooms, he realized, and grimaced. “I’m sorry about Mr. Walters.”

“Are you?” The guy stopped and studied Wyatt a moment as if trying to gauge the truthfulness of his statement. A trail of blue smoke drifted in a lazy and hypnotic way from his nose, creeping down his body to swirl around the wrist of his right hand, weaving playfully between his fingers. It was quite a trick, like how Wyatt’s grandfather had been able to breathe out donut shapes with his cigar smoke. “I’m not.”

With that he turned around and silently padded out the room, leaving Wyatt where he sat on the cold floor.

When Wyatt realized he wasn’t coming back, he pushed himself up and noticed that the shelf he’d knocked over the night before had been tipped back up and everything returned to its place. Slowly, he ventured out into the rest of the apartment. The rooms were much the same as his in that they had a similar floor plan; small eat-in kitchen, living room, a short hall that held a bathroom, a bedroom on either side. Beyond that, it was nothing like his own place. Instead of old carpet, the floors were warm dark wood with colorful rugs. The woodwork was a bright, clean white and, unlike Wyatt’s place where it had been replaced years before with something cheap, looked like it was original. The walls were a neutral cream. What you could see of it anyway, as each and every one was covered in sketches and tapestries, and paintings in large ornate frames.

He maneuvered around the obstacle-course of furniture, following the sound of activity down the hall and into a bedroom where he found his host hunting through a chest a drawers, pulling out pants only to discard them on the floor.

“Who’s that?” Wyatt asked pointing at the painting the hung above the dresser.

“Raphael’s Portrait of a Young Man.”

“The painter?” Wyatt knew how stupid the words were before they were out of his mouth, and from the look on the naked man’s face, he agreed. Embarrassed, Wyatt looked away from his eyes, only then realizing what his host was doing. “Mr. Walters’ pants aren’t going to fit you.” The old man had been taller for one thing, and bigger around.

“No,” the naked man agreed. “But they will fit you. And I want yours.”

Wyatt looked down at his old sweats with their elastic waist and drawstring. “You want to wear mine?”

“Yes. Tell me to.”

“Tell you to what?” Wyatt rubbed at his head again. Was there a bump or was he imagining it?”

“Tell me you want me to wear your…”

“Sweats.” Wyatt supplied.

“Exactly. Tell me to wear your sweats.”

“What’s your name?”

The man blinked. “What?”

“Your name? What’s your name?”

His brow furrowed—dark brows over darker eyes—and then he shrugged. “Saalik. But someone I used to know called me Saal.”

“Okay, Saal, I would like you to wear my sweats.”

 You can also read out a longer excerpt HERE. 

About Amy

Amy SpectorAmy Spector grew up in the United States surviving on a steady diet of old horror movies, television reruns and mystery novels.

She blames Universal for her love of horror, Edward Gorey for her love of British drama and writing for awakening the romantic that was probably there all along.

Amy lives in the Midwest with her husband and children, and more cats than is strictly necessary.

Check out Amy’s BioLink to find out where you can find her online and to learn how you can receive a free book.

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