Page 49 of Labor of Love

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lisa Oliver lives in the wilds of New Zealand, although her beautiful dogs Hades and Zeus are now living somewhere else far more remote than she is. Reports indicate they truly enjoy chasing possums although they still can’t catch them. In the meantime, Lisa is living a lot closer to all her adult kids and grandchildren which means she gets a lot more visitors. However, it doesn’t look like she’s ever going to stop writing - with over a hundred paranormal MM (and MMM) titles to her name so far, she shows no signs of slowing down.

When Lisa is not writing, she is usually reading with a cup of tea always at hand. Her grown children and grandchildren sometimes try and pry her away from the computer and have found that the best way to do it is to promise her chocolate. Lisa will do anything for chocolate… and occasionally crackers. She has also started working out, because of the chocolate and the crackers.

Lisa loves to hear from her readers and other writers (I really do, lol). You can catch up with her on any of the social media links below.

Website

BLURB

A one-night stand turned something more.

Bracken never intended to see Tanner again. One night with the handsome, self-assured barkeep was supposed to be enough to dispel Bracken’s unwelcome attraction to the big brute.

But their one night had unexpected consequences, and now Bracken is knocked up and banished from the fae realm and he needs a place to stay.

But why does Tanner have to be so—so willing? And kind. And godsdamned respectful.

It’s enough to drive a pregnant fae crazy.

Especially when Bracken’s hormones are screaming at him to climb the man like a tree. Or maybe—just maybe—to beg the human to keep him forever.

But with a baby on the line and the stakes higher than ever, can Bracken really be brave enough to let his defenses fall?

1

The trouble with serving alcohol to supernaturals was that it was very hard to gauge tolerance. After years of practice, Tanner was generally decent at guessing when to cut someone off, but there was always the tricky case.

Take Butch, for example, hunched over the end of the bar, his broad shoulders wide enough to take up two spaces. He’d just downed the last dregs of his fifth pitcher of beer—every drop consumed all by his lonesome—and Tanner had zero idea if Butch was even remotely incapacitated.

Ah, fuck. He should probably check, shouldn’t he? It would be a foolish thing to lose his liquor license over a case of being too lazy to walk to the other end of the bar.

Tanner set aside the limes he’d been cutting and strolled over. “Hey, Butch. Stand up for me.”

Butch blinked at Tanner over his pint, thick brows furrowed. Tanner was pretty sure he was a were of some kind, maybe wolf or bear. Or hell, maybe ox. Something big; that was for sure. Tanner was by no means a small man, and he was still certain Butch could toss him over his shoulder, no problem.

“Why?” Butch asked, his voice rough and deep enough that Tanner added a tally to thebear shiftercolumn.

“Just do it.”

“Why?” Butch asked again.

The repeated one-word responsescouldbe a sign that Butch had left sobriety far behind, but then again, a lack of chattiness wasn’t that out of character for Butch.

Tanner rested a hip against the bar, crossing his arms. “’Cause I need you to.”

“Hm.” Butch slowly—so very slowly—set down his empty glass. He placed his catcher’s-mitt-sized palms down on the bar and stood from his stool.

He immediately toppled to the ground, the crash reverberating through the bar. It sounded like a tree had just been felled indoors.

“You’re cut off,” Tanner told him cheerfully, leaning over the bar to make sure the poor guy was still conscious.

Butch was already sitting up, rubbing at his head. “Hmph.”

“Go home, Butch.”

“Can’t.”

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