Hi guys, we have C.L. Etta popping in today with her upcoming release Love’s Tethered Heart, we have a short intro from C.L. and a great excerpt, so check out the post and enjoy! <3 ~Pixie~

Love’s Tethered Heart

C.L. Etta

Two years ago Mico and his partner suffered a savage gay bashing that left Mico a quadriplegic—and ended his dreams of traveling the world as an archeologist. Abandoned by the man he loved, he lives in isolation, tethered to his bed by the machines keeping him alive, with only his caretakers and immediate family as companions.

Assigned to interview Mico and uncover the story behind his assault and his refusal to identify his attackers, journalist Danny is unprepared for his reaction to the other man. Mico is afraid to let Danny into his life, and Danny is unsure how to change his mind. Mico is also keeping secrets, and he isn’t the only one. Danny is determined to protect Mico, and he’s determined to show Mico that their feelings for each other can thrive amidst the mechanics of Mico’s existence.

If you enjoy romantic tales of heartbreak turned to hope, the life-affirming story of Danny and Mico will make you believe in the possibility of love for everyone—no matter what obstacles they face.

C.L. Etta!

Thank you to MM Good Book Reviews for hosting me today. This is my initial stop on my very first Blog Tour. I’m excited for the opportunity to promote my latest release, and my first with Dreamspinner Press—Love’s Tethered Heart.

Three years ago, I retired from nursing and after a short stint as a couch potato, I tried my hand at noveling. Love’s Tethered Heart is my third book and undoubtedly my favorite. Inspired by and dedicated to a FB friend of mine, it’s a story of survival, determination, forgiveness, family and finding love beyond all odds. I hope you enjoy this excerpt and the book.

Excerpt

“People forget that I can hear, and I hear extremely well. In fact, my hearing is better than 90 percent of the population’s. I guess since I lost most of my sense of touch, my other senses are more acute. I don’t mean like a superhero—I don’t have those capabilities. Wish I did.”

I winced at Miguel Pacheco’s self-deprecating laugh. Some unidentifiable nuance made his amusement disturbing to hear. It wasn’t the harsh huskiness of his voice or the incessant hiss and click of the ventilator attached to his throat. If you listened beyond the words, there was pain—very real, emotional pain—veiled by his laughter.

“Tell me more about losing your sense of touch. How did that happen?” I checked my equipment, making sure it was recording every word. I didn’t want to miss anything.

“I didn’t lose it per se, more like the assailants stole it from me. My tactile sense disappeared—violently ripped away without regard to my ‘feelings’ on the matter, no pun intended.” I didn’t know how to react to his quip, so I ignored it, yet marveled at the mettle of the man. “The worst, though, is that I lost my ability to move. So here I am—a sorry mass of useless flesh and bone, tethered to the mechanical devices charged with keeping me fed and breathing. Pretty… aren’t I?” he said with a note of painful insecurity.

I had noticed little about his appearance, other than the mechanical marvels attached to him and shouting their presence. Now I noticed his hair, shiny like licorice whips, with curled tendrils that covered his ears. His slender nose wore a tiny bump where it had once been broken. There were scars, nothing too unsightly, on his forehead, and one thin, jagged mark that crossed his right cheek. With his dark hair and rakish scar, his appeal caught me by surprise. His eyes exclaimed their vulnerability, yet I read hope lurking in their depths. That was me, always looking beneath the surface for the deeper, hidden meaning. His last words expressed wistful uncertainty. “Pretty… aren’t I?” Yes, you are… more than you know. Get a grip, DeMarco.

“Are you asking me if you’re attractive?”

He stared at me, his expression half-afraid and half-hopeful. I wondered what he expected to find. Revulsion on my face? Never! He wouldn’t find any, because despite the slight disfigurements and the medical equipment, Miguel Pacheco’s cover-model looks eclipsed those of most men. But before I had the opportunity to reply, he answered his own question with a whole lot of untruths.

“That’s ludicrous of me, to ask you such a thing. I’ve seen myself in the mirror. I know how I look. My attraction quotient is in the gutter. When they see me, people turn away, children cry, and pity overflows until I’m suffocating.” The enigmatic man tethered to his bed paused and watched me, gauging my reaction. My gaze held his, enthralled as the world filled with anticipation. The silence stretched on until he broke it with a softly spoken inquiry. “You’re not… attracted to me… are you?”

I gave him a quick, lopsided smile before resuming my professional demeanor.

About C.L.

C.L. Etta, a bartender’s daughter, became the apple of her parents’ eyes at her first dimpled smile. Developing a lifelong passion for reading, C.L. spent summers riding her bicycle to the library where she filled the handlebar basket with books. Much to her chagrin, C.L.’s mother often found her under the bedcovers with a flashlight, reading in the middle of the night.

Fast-forward to college, where C.L. spent good times burning bras, working in summer-stock theater, trying out potential husbands, then to her parents’ and in-laws’ delight, finally started a family. Having raised three kids and a husband, and with varied careers as a secretary, credit union loan veep, a software support rep, a mortgage broker, and a nurse under her belt, C.L. decided it was time for a break. So, she retired.

It wasn’t until life had slowed that she heard voices—sexy male voices. Intrigued, she listened. She discovered new friends who clamored for their stories to be told. So, it was back to school where she stood outside the creative writing classroom with students who observed her silver hair and mistook her for the teacher. After completing class and going on a cruise, she sat at her computer and began telling her boys’ stories.

Eighteen months later, C.L. has contracted with two different publishers for four books. The voices in C.L.’s head are as loud as ever, giving C.L. the impetus to keep writing.

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