Separate Development is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Many names, places and timelines have been altered to provide anonymity to third parties. Character names do not reflect anyone, living or deceased, whom I have ever known. However, I would like to thank the real-life members of the family portrayed in this book for being part of my life, and for their understanding and acceptance. I recognise that their memories of the events described in the novel may be different from my own. There was never any intention to misrepresent anyone; in fact, I am honoured to have known them.
Blurb
At twenty-five, recently qualified Dr Jonathan Conner leaves his comfortable life and love in London, taking up a charitable post during the last months of South Africa’s apartheid system. Weeks from a planned visit by his long-standing girlfriend, he falls in love with a young African man in the northern homeland of Venda.
Their passionate, heart-rending love story unfolds against the backdrop of conflict between social tolerances that lag behind political freedoms. Returning to England after eight years, he’s forced to confront the consequences of his decisions for those left behind in two very different worlds.
Through this story of love’s endurance beyond society’s acceptance and geographical separation, can the enduring power of the human heart overcome adversity?
Excerpt
The stark beauty of Venda’s voluptuous landscape could have replaced many an artist’s requirement for naked models of either sex. Rounded hills, writhing between cleaved valleys, yearned for lustful hands to caress their contours in pleasurable embraces. Admittedly, on that solemn day, it was not a mental image to dwell on. But I was to make the journey more than once.
The last twenty miles were dirt, dust dry, following the undulating curvature of parched hillsides. Rain was a distant memory, the last breath of summer’s bounty, yet portions of verdant green interspersed the struggling rampant growth of a forgotten season. Soon the skies would fill again with heat born clouds, storage towers of sustenance, destined to release daily torrents. Today, the brightest greens picked out pockets of humanity, cultivated patches and plots, tall stands of maize, fringed with bananas and peppered with papayas. Water was available for those who worked hard enough to find it, and the rich African soil rewarded those who took the trouble. These oases were increasing in frequency, many still surrounded by round, thatched, mud-wall huts or rondavels, some supplemented by larger rectangular versions, roofs still often traditional but occasionally replaced by bright or rusty zinc. Tracks worn by years of footfall fed the settlements. Vehicular access was rare, but where it existed, the residences built of brick, though often rendered: similar modern bungalows to mine.
As the frequency of dwellings increased, so did the appearance of structures clearly having other functions. Eventually we reached a broad flat plane. Gone were the patches of green, and in their place, the straggling thorn bushes — which conquered any area where humanity didn’t — had grown to tall spreading trees; all were bare of leaf, yet in the seasons of rain, broad panoplies of shade would provide protection from Capricorn’s sun. The space, ringed with buildings of a relatively modern construction, had occasional notices of printed or hand painted letters attached. Enclosing one side of the quadrangle stood a long dormitory style block of rough plastered walls, patched and peeling paint representing the faded choices of many years, or perhaps revealing the use of colours kindly donated at the time. Windows, placed only a few inches below the rusty corrugated overhang of the roof, in some sections without frame or glass, allowed light yet probably deterred its occupants from external distraction. Three well-worn steps led to broad double doors, also reflecting the indecision or availability of bygone supplies of colour. Only the signage appeared to have received regular maintenance. Bold black lettering, written with skilled hands on a fresh blue base, told me Sarah’s directions had led me to park in front of Ha-nthabalala Secondary School, Established 1972. Headmaster: Mr Joseph Ramanala. The name had a slightly deeper blue background, suggesting it represented the most recent promotion to the post.
About the Author
David Blyth was born in Staffordshire, in the UK. He graduated from Nottingham and Wolverhampton Universities with a BSC.hon and a PGCE. He lived for many years in South Africa, where he witnessed the political and social transformation during and after apartheid.
His interests, apart from writing, include anything that helps him to stay relatively sane.
Separate Development, which is in fact, his second novel, was written at his home in the English Midlands. It is due to be published in the spring of 2023.
His first novel, The Scars of Life, was written during a two-year overland exploration of southern, central and east Africa. Much was achieved sitting under the shade of a huge mango tree on the shores of Lake Malawi, always with a beer near at hand. It will be published during the summer of 2023.
Cold cases, hot leads, a
psychic psychopath, a copycat killer, cursed objects, the trial of the century—and wedding
plans.
Blurb
Cold cases, hot leads, a psychic psychopath, a copycat killer,
cursed objects, the trial of the century—and wedding plans.
Psychic medium Simon Kincaide and sexy homicide
detective Vic D’Amato met hunting a supernatural serial killer. Since then, Simon has
become a police consultant on cases involving the paranormal, and Vic has gotten over his
doubts about Simon’s abilities being real. Along the way, they fell in love and got engaged.
But it seems like the danger never ends.
Now, the first case Simon and Vic worked together comes
back to haunt them as the killer goes to court and all hell breaks loose. The killer has a crazy
fan setting curses on key players in the upcoming trial. Ghosts from an old cold case suggest
that someone got away with murder. And a supernatural creature attracted to fear and
death is using the Grand Strand as its feeding ground. Simon and Vic feel like they’re waging
a war on all fronts, but with the stakes so high, there can be No Surrender!
About the Author
Morgan Brice is the romance
pen name of bestselling author Gail Z. Martin. Morgan writes urban fantasy male/male
paranormal romance, with plenty of action, adventure and supernatural thrills to go with the
happily ever after. Gail writes epic fantasy and urban fantasy, and together with co-author
hubby Larry N. Martin, steampunk and comedic horror, all of which have less romance, more
explosions. Characters from her Gail books make frequent appearances in secondary roles in
her Morgan books, and vice versa.
On the rare occasions Morgan
isn’t writing, she’s either reading, cooking, or spoiling two very pampered dogs.
Series include
Witchbane, Badlands, Treasure Trail, Kings of the Mountain and Fox Hollow. Watch for more
in these series, plus new series coming soon!
Supernatural Secret Service agents Owen Sharps and Calvin
Springfield meet on the train to their new assignment in St. Louis, and sparks fly between
them. But it’s 1897, and they need to be very careful—falling in love can be dangerous for
men like them. It’s their first case together, investigating
mysterious disappearances—including the two agents who preceded them. Grim evidence
leads them to look for a darker purpose. Old ghosts haunt the railroad line, zombie rise,
signs point to ritual sacrifice, and they suspect someone is trying to open the gates of
hell. Can Calvin and Owen stop the mayhem, thwart the
vampires, and find true love, or will everything go up in smoke? Peacemaker is a high-stakes steampunk MM
romance thrill ride filled with found family, paranormal Pinkertons, intrepid reporters,
mysterious disappearances, nefarious land brokers, hellhounds, zombies, vengeful spirits,
dark spells, absinthe magic, a ruthless vampire railroad baron and a love that won’t be
denied. Before Colt and Winchester, there was Sharps
& Springfield!
Excerpt
September 1897
Chapter 1
Owen
Owen Sharps chuckled as he read his book on the train to St. Louis. He had been waiting to
get a copy of Dracula, the sensational new book from England, and had found one in a New
Pittsburgh bookstore before heading to the station.
It’s got flair, and I like how splashy Van Helsing is, but it’s obvious Stoker never fought a real
vampire.
Owen had heard about the book and its growing reputation for being frightening and
violent. So far nothing he’s written compares to being covered in blood in an ice-cold
cemetery at midnight, hammering a stake through a vampire’s heart, and trying not to get
bitten. Then again, maybe I have a skewed perspective.
“Pardon me, is this seat taken?” A drop-dead gorgeous man waited for an answer. He had
raven black hair, bright blue eyes, and plush lips that filled Owen with impure thoughts. The
stranger carried a suitcase and an overcoat, with a newspaper folded under his arm. Owen
took one look and would have booted his granny to the cargo car to free up the seat for the
man.
“It’s all yours.” Owen gave a dismissive wave, tearing his gaze away so he’d quit staring. It
wouldn’t do to drool.
“I think this might be the last open seat on the train.” The man stowed his suitcase and coat,
settling in across from Owen with his newspaper.
Owen couldn’t help giving him the once-over. He figured the man to be slightly shorter than
his own six-foot-two inches, and from the cut of his suit jacket, he had a trim, muscular
build. Owen made a mental note to be sure to get a glimpse of what was likely a prime ass
when they left the train.
“Where are you headed?” Owen thought that a little conversation couldn’t hurt. He wanted
to remember the man’s voice to go with his image on nights when he sought relief alone
with his hand. This fellow would never know he’d been promoted to the lead in Owen’s
secret fantasies. Owen particularly liked the contrast between the man’s dark hair and
athletic body to his own rangy build, blond hair, fair skin, and green eyes.
“St. Louis.” The man returned Owen’s scrutiny with an assessing gaze.
Owen sat up a bit straighter, oddly wanting to make a good impression on this person he was
unlikely to see again. He felt the weight of the man’s inspection, which made him wonder. Is
he a cop? Private investigator? Or maybe…like me?
They were both dressed equally well in suits that were department store quality but not
bespoke. The stranger’s hair was fairly short but more fashionable than military, and he was
clean-shaven. Owen wondered what a hint of dark stubble might do to heighten those high
cheekbones and accentuate the impossibly blue eyes, and he felt himself chub in his pants.
None of that, he admonished silently. It wouldn’t do to raise suspicion. He probably just
wants to make sure I’m not the sort to steal his suitcase when he’s not looking.
“I’m headed there myself,” Owen said. “Business or pleasure?”
The man looked amused at the question but not annoyed, which boded well. “Business.
You?”
Owen nodded, surprised that he wanted to continue the conversa- tion instead of returning
to his book. “The same. I’ve heard the food there is good, but I doubt I’ll have time to do any
exploring.” He found himself at ease with the stranger. “Will you be staying in the city, or
going on from there?”
“I’ll meet with my boss, but I spend most of my time traveling,” the fellow replied. “I don’t
get to stay long in any one place.”
So we have that in common too. Makes it unlikely that we might meet up again the next
time I come back to St. Louis. “Me, too. I’m a bit of a rolling stone.”
About the Author
Morgan Brice is the romance
pen name of bestselling author Gail Z. Martin. Morgan writes urban fantasy male/male
paranormal romance, with plenty of action, adventure and supernatural thrills to go with the
happily ever after. Gail writes epic fantasy and urban fantasy, and together with co-author
hubby Larry N. Martin, steampunk and comedic horror, all of which have less romance, more
explosions. Characters from her Gail books make frequent appearances in secondary roles in
her Morgan books, and vice versa.
On the rare occasions Morgan
isn’t writing, she’s either reading, cooking, or spoiling two very pampered dogs.
Series include
Witchbane, Badlands, Treasure Trail, Kings of the Mountain and Fox Hollow. Watch for more
in these series, plus new series coming soon!
Blurb Pitch and Sickle have survived enraged fae queens,
murderous forest guardians, walking corpses, and ghosts turned monstrous by the
Blight. They been tortured by sorcerers and made
playthings by enemies who have sided with the Morrigan. The ankou and his daemon prince have been forced
to confront awful secrets from their pasts. Both have made terrible sacrifices to keep the
other safe. And would willingly do much more to protect the
unimaginable bond that has grown between them. In the midst of the chaos and carnage a deadman
and a daemon have found each other. Now, Prince Vassago will need his Pale Horseman
more than ever before. With the escape from the Fulbourn comes the truth
about what lies ahead. The journey will be perilous. The great hunt has begun. And all is not as it should be for a beleagered
daemon. Can Silas and the Order outwit the Morrigan, and deliver Pitch to where
Seraphiel’s secrets lie? Or will the sorcerers’ Herlequin succeed where all the rest have failed?
CHECK OUT THE OTHER BOOKS IN THE
SERIES
BOOK 1
Book Title: The
Bandalore – Pitch & Sickle Book One
Cover Artist: Deranged Doctor
Designs
Release Date: February 25,
2021
Heat Rating: 2 flames
Length: 285
pages
Genre: Historical Fantasy MM
Tropes: Slow, slow burn, opposites attract
Themes: Loneliness and friendship
It is not a standalone book.
This is the first book in the Gaslamp Fantasy series, The Diabolus
Chronicles.
It has an unresolved
storyline rather than an outright cliffhanger.
Life as a servant of
death has its challenges.But the biggest one of all
is Silas’s daemonic guardian, Pitch.
Blurb
Silas Mercer is a dead man walking.
And the mysterious Order of the Golden Dawn have big
plans for their newest ankou and his deathly bandalore.
Life as a servant of death has its challenges.
But the biggest one of all is Silas’s daemonic guardian,
Pitch.
He may look like heaven, but he’s making Silas’s life all kinds
of hell.
The daemon is arrogant, egotistical and his appetite for
violence and tea cakes is fast outgrowing the small village where they have been
recuperating since their run-in with Black Annis.
Now, the increasingly unstable Blight is causing new havoc,
and fresh monstrosities are emerging.
Pitch and Sickle are back in the saddle, and on their way to
the haunted Forest of Dean.
But can Silas rely on his guardian’s protection?
Or will Pitch prove to be the most dangerous encounter of
all?
BOOK 3
Book Title: The Skriker –
Pitch & Sickle Book Three
Length: 369
pages
Release Date: October 20,
2021
Genres: MM Fantasy, Gaslamp Fantasy, Historical Fantasy
Silas Mercer has faced
wily boggarts, mad faerie queens and enraged forest spirits. But can he withstand a daemon
who is losing his mind?
Blurb
Silas Mercer has faced wily boggarts, mad faerie queens
and enraged forest spirits.
But can he withstand a daemon who is losing his
mind?
Pitch and Sickle are left bruised, battered and reeling after
their confrontation with the Verderer.
They have learned a startling truth behind the arrowhead
that wounded Silas, a truth that must be taken to the Lady Satine and the Order without
delay.
But his encounters in the Forest of Dean have effected Pitch
in alarming ways. The daemon’s body may have healed but his erratic behaviour and wildly
unpredictable temper grow ever more concerning.
Silas owes his life to Pitch. Their experience in the forest
has brought them a closeness he could not have imagined possible.
But what can he do for a daemon who is losing his
way?
And how long will Silas survive, if he must ride
alone?
BOOK 4
Book Title: The
Greensward – Pitch & Sickle Book Four
Length: 412
pages
Release Date: April 13,
2022
Genres: MM Fantasy, Gaslamp Fantasy, Historical Fantasy
The Lady’s Horsemen
are riding out once more. Carrying death’s scythe to where tormented souls linger. But what awaits them in a world where
divine magick has returned?
Blurb
The Lady’s Horsemen are riding out once more. Carrying
death’s scythe to where tormented souls linger.
But what awaits them in a world where divine magick has
returned?
Pitch is recovered from the injuries he received in the
Forest of Dean, and Silas won’t soon forget the part he played in setting his guardian back on
his feet.
The ankou and the daemon have been reunited in a most
unexpected and intimate way, but barely have they caught their breath when a new threat
arises.
A tortured spirit is frightening both the living and the dead
along the roads of Devon.
But is this soul a monster that must be stopped, or another
pawn in the necromancer’s mysterious game?
With Azazel’s magick re-emerging after hundreds of years,
maleficium plagues the world once more. But who is wielding the forbidden arcane magick
of the angels?
Do they work alone?
And why are they so intent on harassing the Lady’s
Horsemen?
Silas has never felt stronger, or more determined to live up
to the Order’s high expectations. He’s faced the walking dead, outwitted the enchanted Hall,
and gained an ally in the skriker.
But he’s not sure he’s equipped to handle his growing
attraction to a troubled daemon.
And Silas fears that getting any closer to Pitch and his tragic
secrets may prove as dangerous as the monsters they are riding to face.
BOOK 5
Book Title: The
Fulbourn – Pitch & Sickle Book Five
Author: D K Girl
Publisher: Lucas Publishing
Length: 133Kwords/ 458
pages
Release Date: October 20,
2022
It is not a standalone story.
While it does not end on a cliffhanger, there are
some unresolved issues.
When the King of Daemonkind comes to call, be ready
for hell to follow.
Blurb
After Lucifer’s disturbing visit,
the quest to destroy the Blight takes on a desperate urgency.
Finding Lieutenant Edward
Charters is paramount.
But what role does a mortal man
play in Seraphiel’s dangerous game?
The angel has sent Pitch a
talisman from beyond the grave, a seemingly innocuous watch that may be the key to
ending the Watcher King’s dark legacy. But to learn its secret Pitch and Silas must find the
man intended to carry it.
As the search for the lieutenant
begins, the Horsemen find themselves gifted with something more precious than any angelic
token. An evening of unexpected freedom. A night that will deepen their intimacy and bring
long-stifled feelings to the fore.
But what price will they pay for
choosing breathless pleasure over rigid duty?
The Morrigan have not forgiven
the destruction at the greensward. They are prepared to do whatever it takes to rid
themselves of the Horsemen and heed the Watcher King’s ghostly call.
The Fulbourn is Pitch and Silas’s
greatest threat yet. A place that will drive them into the depths of their
most terrible fears and seek to tear them apart.
They are closer than ever before but will that fragile new bond be
enough to save them?
Or have the daemon prince and his ankou found the nemesis that will destroy them once
and for all?
Excerpt from ‘The Bandalore-Pitch & Sickle Book One’
A rather pretty gentleman, sharp featured, pale and fine,
stepped into the room with a flourish of raised hands. His tousled light brown hair was wild
about his shoulders, and his eyes so green it was as though emeralds had been pressed into
the sockets. ‘Let the amusements begin…or should I say…continue.’
His velvet coat, a red almost as bold as the woman’s lips,
was unbuttoned, revealing a black shirt with a silver brocade of Chinese dragons upon it. An
elaborate ruffling of silk tumbled from the collar and covered a good portion of his chest. His
choice of trousers was equally curious, a rather outdated fall-front style in black silk.
The baron groaned, but his smile was ever-present. ‘Good
god, man, we thought you two would never be done.’
‘Perfection takes time, does it not?’
‘Take your seat, you rascal, and stop your showmanship, at
least just for a moment.’
Silas scratched his right palm absently, attempting to stymie
the prickle. Like many things about himself he wasn’t certain of his age, his late twenties was
likely, much the same as the man who had just swept into the room.
Mr Astaroth tilted his head, pursing lips that held a near-
perfect Cupid’s bow. ‘Am I to stand aside so another showman can perform?’
‘Exactly,’ the baron declared.
As Mr Astaroth made his way to his seat with his
companion, he had a notable effect on those in attendance. The ladies all at once seemed
incapable of deciding how they should adjust their gowns upon their seats, and the men
were equally as fidgety. All of them were fixated on Mr Astaroth’s procession across the
room. The man had not spared Silas a glance yet, even when he was deriding him, and Silas
had no issue with that at all. He was not sure he’d enjoy the pierce of those green eyes upon
him. But he could not deny there was indeed something mesmerising about the lad, the
sway of his hips, the coiled tension in his body that gave the impression he might suddenly
leap unannounced in any direction.
Mr Astaroth stopped to take a glass of champagne from the
tray offered by a somewhat flustered young footman. The liquid wobbled in its crystal
confines, and the boy’s eyes darted so quickly between the floor and the man before him, it
was as though he’d lost control of his eyeballs.
‘Thank you, kind sir. What a wonderful job you do.’ Mr
Astaroth’s smile was discomfortingly suggestive, his whispered appreciation of the boy’s
offering far too intimate, and the serving boy nearly stumbled over his own feet to move
away.
Mr Astaroth was slender, not remarkable in height, and the
angles of his face were delicate to the point of being feminine, but he held a presence that
quite overwhelmed the room. Silas’s gaze moved down the length of the man’s body to his
feet. He wore heeled boots, which meant he was shorter than first impressions allowed. The
glean of polished leather distracted Silas from what became startlingly obvious a moment
later. He tensed and closed his eyes a second, as though that might change things. But alas it
was not to be.
The ground at Tobias Astaroth’s feet held no
shadow.
Whoever this man was, he was not, for all intents and
purposes, human. Silas took hold of the arms of the chair, filled with the sudden desire to
depart. No one had thought to instruct him on an encounter such as this.
‘Stop frightening the help and get your arse on a chair,’
declared the bespectacled man at Silas’s left. ‘We know how you hate to have attention
diverted from you, so do try and behave, Pitch old boy.’
Evidently the group knew the man well enough to have
endowed him with a nickname. Silas could only imagine its origins.
‘Oh Brenton,’ Victoria, Mr Astaroth’s companion, said. ‘As
far as I’m concerned, Tobias has been on his best behaviour all evening.’ She had taken her
seat and leaned her elbows upon the table, utterly at ease.
‘Thank you, my dear,’ Mr Astaroth said. ‘You are as sensible
as you are extremely talented in the art of, what were we calling it? Tarot reading.’ He tilted
his glass towards her before turning to Silas. The air quite vanished from Silas’s lungs
beneath the daggers of his emerald stare. ‘How very nice to make your acquaintance, Mr
Mercer. I do hope we are in for a wonderful show.’
About the Author
Danielle K Girl is an Aussie who lives in stunning Tasmania with
her three furkids, cats Luffy, Sweetie and Ren.
Her idea of heaven is a farm full of rescue animals, with a
vegie garden that sprouts peanut M&M’s and chocolate wheaten biscuits.
When she’s not keyboard-deep in mysterious, beguiling
worlds, she is binge watching K-Dramas, listening to K-Pop or hiking through the beautiful
Tasmanian wilderness.
Book Title: Love
Beneath the Stars: A Matchmaker Wedding Novella
Author: Claerie Kavanaugh
Publisher: Half Caff Press
Cover Artist: Lauren Dombrowski
Release Date: April 26, 2023
Genres: Contemporary F/F Romance
Tropes: Age gap, celebrity, matchmaker, wedding
Themes: Coming out, forgiveness
Heat Rating: 3
flames
Length: 30 000
words
It is a standalone story in the
Entertaining Love series.
They say love conquers all,
but what if getting it means losing your family?
Blurb
After years of searching, a job
gone wrong finally led Hollywood’s most famous matchmaker Eve to her soulmate in up-
and-coming starlet Jemma Mason. For a year, they had pictured their perfect destination
Valentine’s Day wedding. But when Jemma’s family arrives from Montana, they quickly learn
perfection is hard to come by.
Jemma’s conservative brother
has always been distant, but when he meets his sister’s fiancée, who is seven years her
senior, he worries she’s moving way too fast and refuses to come to the wedding, let alone
keep his promise to walk her down the aisle. Can love really conquer all, or are there some
wounds that simply run too deep to be buried?
Eve and Jemma’s Wedding Novella. Sequel to LOVE AMONG
THE STARS in the standalone sapphic celebrity romance series ENTERTAINING LOVE.
About the Author
Claerie Kavanaugh has spent
most of her life telling stories, but she never imagined herself writing romance. In fact, she
used to think it should only be reserved for Hallmark movies. It wasn’t until college, when
she discovered fanfiction, that she learned what romance was truly about: not just fluffy
relationships and happily-ever-afters, but human connection, the desire to push one another
to be better, and create hope that somewhere, somehow, everyone has
someone.
When she’s not writing, she
loves to travel and explore new cultures, helping other authors polish their works as a
freelance editor, and singing while doing so. Broadway musicals are her soul-food,
something her mother and sister know well. She constantly blasts the newest soundtrack
through the halls of their Missouri home, much to the chagrin of her very sassy and spoiled
cat.
Learning to accept himself is not the only lesson the universe has planned for him.
Blurb
Eighteen-year-old Tobias Gavin is struggling to come to terms with his sexuality. For many years, the what-ifs of coming out have swirled around his head, so he has chosen to live a lie to keep from disrupting the “normal” life he has created with his family and friends.
That is until he meets Gareth David the day he enrolls for his first semester as a college student. He feels an immediate connection with Gareth…a connection that pushes Tobias to question the way he has been living his life. When Gareth coincidentally becomes Tobias’s History professor, Tobias is forced to confront his feelings and confront the universe.
Tobias must come to terms with his depression, anxiety, heartbreak, and his sexuality before he can even begin to heal his wounds. He believes that everything happens for a reason, but he learns that some experiences are meant to teach even if they cause heartbreak. Once he comes to terms with himself, he might find his knight in shining armor.
Tobias must learn to trust himself and those around him if he wants to find happiness.
Excerpt
I’m startled out of my thoughts when I hear doors open, but to avoid any more agonizing contact with Anna, I don’t glance over until I hear the deep voice of a man talking to Anna.
I glimpse Anna out of the corner of my eye and notice her entire personality has changed. She appears more alive and filled with energy. She twirls her hair between her pointer and middle fingers, flirting with the man, which goes unnoticed by him. He is standing there exchanging pleasantries with her. When he turns to look in my direction, my heart literally skips a beat.
He is beautiful.
Wow. Drop-dead gorgeous isn’t even the best phrase to describe the man standing before me. The stylish brown hair rising in waves from the top of his head looks natural and void of any hair products, like he rolls out of bed looking like McDreamy from Grey’s Anatomy on a daily basis. His light brown skin and dark brown eyes shimmer, reminding me of silky, smooth milk chocolate. Everything with me always goes back to chocolate, which is why I can’t stop looking at him as he stands next to the receptionist’s desk talking to Anna.
He isn’t ridiculously muscular, but his biceps look statuesque underneath his tight plaid button-down shirt. Dark Levi’s accentuate every muscle and curve his lower body has to offer. My mind immediately drifts to what his legs would look like if he set them free with short shorts or even his underwear. What is wrong with me?
Without even moving, he exudes confidence I only wish I could have. My mediocre body isn’t nearly as memorable as the physique standing before me. Anyone would want to talk to him, to be near his gorgeous face…touch his toned body. This man hit the gene-pool lottery when whatever higher being or the masters of the universe made him.
“Hello… Hey…. Is somebody in there?” he asks, waving his hand near my face.
My eyes adjust to his waving hand, and I realize I have been staring at him with an open mouth, looking like a brainless buffoon.
“Uuhhhh…what?!” I say like a blubbering fool.
“I asked if you are here to meet with me,” he responds with the sweetest expression, ignoring my inability to carry a conversation, which makes my cheeks burn red.
“Hahaha… I wish.” I freeze… What the fuck did I say? Oh my god, I could die. I should run out the door and lay down in the street, praying someone will take pity on me and end my suffering. I’m positive I have turned as red as the couches I’m sitting on.
He chuckles and gives me a bright and warm grin, revealing his perfectly whitened teeth. He towers over me, holding out his hand. “My name is Gareth David. I’m Dr. Richard’s teaching assistant. Who are you?”
Suddenly, an overwhelming urge to jump into his arms and put my hand through his radiantly manicured hair skips jauntily through my mind. That is perfectly acceptable for people to do, right?
I grab his hand, applying enough pressure to give an adequate handshake, so I look less like a dope.
When our hands meet, a rush of warmth spreads throughout my entire body. He glances at our hands and back into my eyes, giving me that perfect grin again. I can’t help but wonder if he observed the same jolt of energy when our hands met. The way he is looking at me makes me feel something I can’t put my finger on, but I don’t want the erotic energy to end.
After gaining my composure, I respond, “My name is Tobias Gavin. I’m here to meet with Dr. Richards about setting up my schedule for the fall semester.”
An Adonis-like smile spreads across his face, and I melt again. “Are you a freshman? I haven’t seen you around or in any of my classes.”
I look at him confused. “Didn’t you say you’re her assistant?”
He chuckles. “Teaching assistant. However, I teach my own classes and cover her classes when she is away. I know it seems weird, but Dr. Richards has taught me well. Besides, I’m almost finished with my graduate degree. I turned in my thesis a few weeks ago.”
His voice exhibits pure kindness that sends warmth through by body, helping me relax.
“May I have my hand back?” He laughs.
Shit.
My body going tense again, I realize I’m still holding his hand. I hesitate for a millisecond—my body wanting our embrace to continue—before letting go of his hand.
“I’m so sorry. I was listening to you talk and forgot to let go.” Kill me. Someone, please hire a ninja assassin to come kill me now.
About the Author
Scott E. Garrison is a debut author, who wants to share new, queer stories with the world. He currently lives in the Oklahoma City, OK area.
Alongside writing, he has a Masters in Library and Information Studies and works as a Librarian for an Oklahoma-based library system. He spends his free time reading, baking, watching movies and TV shows with his husband, and cuddling with his dogs, Jarvis and F.R.I.D.A.Y.
I’m here to destroy this town. How did I end up in a fake relationship with its hero?
I’ve spent my life proving to my grandpa and dad that I’m
more than just the Lewis family mistake. So when Grandpa sends me to Devon Falls, VT to
take some ridiculous leaf festival to court, I head straight there and get to work.
But Dr. Jack Lancer keeps getting in my way.
He’s everywhere.
Helping me out with my migraines, making me dinner, insisting people be nice to me even
though I’m the enemy. Who is this guy? The next thing I know I’m pretending to be Jack’s
boyfriend to get him out of a bind. I swear he’s putting kindness pills in my food or
something.
Jack thinks he can fix me the same way he fixes everyone
else. But I’m not broken. This podunk town will be when I’m done with it, though. And Jack?
Well, he’s about to learn the meaning of the term “collateral damage.” Because I’ll do
anything to win this case and end this festival.
Even if it means losing something that feels an awful lot like
love.
Fauxmance in the Falls is an age-gap romance featuring a small town full of quirks, a grumpy lawyer and a
charming physician, a fake relationship gone wild, some inappropriate use of a doctor’s
office, and a healthy mix of humor and angst. It stars Benson Lewis, who first appeared in
the book Counterpoint.
Excerpt
Benson stands before us, looking as wrecked as I could ever
imagine seeing him. He’s barely standing upright, and there are dark circles surrounding his
sagging eyes. He’s wearing a wrinkled pair of jogging pants and a shirt that looks like he’s
sweated through it, and his facial expression screams of absolute misery. I simultaneously
feel extremely guilty for knocking on his door and extremely glad that I did. “Benson,” I say
softly. “Migraine?”
He nods, immediately wincing at the head motion. And that
tiny little movement is all the cue I need to start taking charge.
“Elijah, I need you to run to the drug store,” I tell him
quietly. I list off a series of items that Benson likely needs.
“Be right back,” Elijah whispers, though I never warned him
about being quiet. He’s far more astute than his grandparents give him credit for. He runs off
down the hall and I step into Benson’s space, examining him with my eyes. “How long?” I
ask.
“Since the Thai restaurant.”
Shit. Almost twenty-four hours, then. “Have you taken
anything?”
“Just aspirin.” He winces at the ray of light peeking around
the door from the hallway. “Don’t have anything else,” he mumbles. I’m going to make sure
we correct that the second he’s well enough for conversation. But right now, all I want to do
is make him feel better.
“Okay,” I tell him gently. “We’ll fix it, Benson. I’ve got you.
You’re not on your own anymore.”
He stares at me, squinting, and I notice his eyes are wet.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” he says hoarsely.
I startle slightly. I know Benson well enough by now to
know those probably aren’t words he says often.
I guide him gently into the apartment, which is a small
studio with a double bed in one corner and a combination kitchen/living room taking up
most of the space. The curtains are closed tightly. They’re mostly light-blocking, at least. I
surprise him, I think, when I guide him over to the sofa and help him lay down there. “I’m
going to get you some water and change your sheets,” I whisper. “Have you been able to
keep food down?”
He shakes his head slightly.
“Well, I sent Elijah for applesauce and electrolytes. We’ll
see if we can fix that.” I can feel his eyes track me as I make use of what his small space has
to offer. I find a glass of water and help him sit up long enough to take a few sips. When he
shakes his head at me, I don’t push for him to drink more. I find clean sheets and quickly
make his bed, then grab some sweatpants and a Burlington U Law shirt from his dresser.
“C’mon,” I urge him. “Let’s get you into some more comfortable clothes.”
He holds onto my shoulders as I help him step out of his
pants. I look away to give him as much privacy as possible, but Benson draws my attention
back to him when he says, “this isn’t really how I envisioned you getting in my pants for the
first time.”
The corners of his lips are turned up in a hint of a wry grin,
and my heart speeds up. Has he really had those thoughts too? Now is not the time for that
conversation, unfortunately. “Me either,” I tell him, keeping things light as I help him into the
fresh pants and shirt.
I change the sheets on the bed and get him settled into it
before I dampen a washcloth with cool water. Some migraine patients are sensitive to any
kind of touch when they have episodes like this, but Benson sighs with happiness when I lay
the cloth across his forehead.
I sit down gently on the side of his bed. “When Elijah gets
back we’ll try food and more water,” I tell him. “Get excited for that applesauce.”
Benson grimaces. “I’ll try it,” he promises. “I already feel
better than I did. Thank you, Jack.”
I gently take one of his hands, and when he doesn’t object,
I hold it while I rub my thumb against his palm. “Thank you for what?” I ask. I’m not sure
what I’m being thanked for. Changing someone’s sheets and getting them some water when
they’re ill are about the most basic things you can do for another human.
“No one’s ever really done this before. You know. For me,”
he mutters. “Not lately, anyway.”
“Do you get migraines often?” I ask him.
He sighs. “I used to get them a lot more when I was
younger. I thought they were going away. But lately they’ve been getting worse.”
“Who used to take care of you when you got them?” I
ask.
He shrugs into the sheets around him. “I think my nannies
did. Well, some of them anyway. Until they… couldn’t anymore.” Benson grimaces again,
and I decide this isn’t the best time to have this conversation.
“You’re going to be okay,” I tell him. It’s a universal line I’ve
used a million times in my career. Some patients believe it. Some don’t. From Benson’s
expression, I can’t tell where he stands.
“It was worse last night,” he replies. “In the middle of the
night. It was so bad. They’ve gotten worse lately, like I said. I was here, in this bed, and the
pain was so awful I started to wonder if I was going to live through it. And I kept thinking…
kept thinking that I didn’t want to die by myself in a studio apartment. Alone. All by myself.”
He closes his eyes against pain I can’t see, and suddenly I need to be holding more than just
his hand.
“You’re not alone,” I tell him. I lean over farther and graze
his cheek with the fingers of my other hand. It’s a test to see if my touch hurts, but all he
does is lean farther into it. And just like that, I know I’m doing the right thing. “You’re not
alone right now,” I repeat. “And you never have to be alone again. Not if you don’t want to
be. You have me now. Me and Elijah.”
Benson has settled his cheek deep into my hand at this
point. He’s almost nuzzling it. “Not forever,” he mumbles. “Just for now. Just for
pretend.”
About the Author
J.E. Birk was raised in
Vermont and is now adulting in Colorado with intermittent success. She is a long-time lover
of stories, and she writes and reads in worlds where imperfect characters find their happily
ever after. Snag free bonus content and stay up-to-date on J.E. Birk’s news and releases by
signing up for her newsletter.
Luca Moretti is grumpy—and he wouldn’t have it any other
way. Wrangling six—Italian—siblings and the family’s
restaurants would make anyone cranky. But when his mother requests that he save his
aunt’s struggling Italian deli in charming, picturesque Indigo Bay, he has no idea that he’s about to overdose on sweetness. Luca expected his aunt’s stubbornness—she’s a
Moretti, isn’t she?—and his cousin’s resistance to actual work, but the last thing he expected
is the absolute ball of sunshine known as Oliver Billings. Oliver loves Indigo Bay. Loves owning his small
artisan bakery, Sweetie Pie’s. Helps nice old ladies cross the street. Even volunteers for the
local Sweethearts Festival. Sweet isn’t really Luca’s style, or so he thinks. But
when he discovers Oliver can be a little spicy too, his prickly exterior begins to crumble like a
well-baked crust. If Luca isn’t careful, he’s going to develop a taste for
sweets—and a particular baker’s pie. And one or two servings will never be
enough.
Excerpt
“Ah, they sent the fixer out.” Oliver sounded amused
again. “I can see it. You’re definitely more of a fixer than a baker.”
Luca shrugged. “I run my family’s four restaurants.
They do not typically need fixing.” Don’t be arrogant, don’t be arrogant. “But
Nonna’s Deli here, it is . . .an investment of ours. Not directly under my control. So I’m not
here to order changes but to . . .suggest them. Nicely.”
“Which is how they’ve managed to underperform all
these years,” Oliver said with another of those smirks. They shouldn’t have been so
frustratingly attractive. But Luca felt them deep down, stirring him up in a way he hadn’t
expected.
Oliver was definitely a very attractive package, one
he’d love to unwrap.
Would he be as sweet as promised? Or a little salty
too? Maybe even a bit spicy?
“You could say that,” Luca said. “Part of the proposed
changes are aligning the menu more directly with our other restaurants. And that includes
fresh bread, daily. Nonna’s here doesn’t have the staff, the resources, or the equipment to
do this, but you do.”
“I do,” Oliver conceded. “My schedule’s already pretty
packed, but I suppose I could fit you in. French bread? Sourdough bread? Focaccia? Rolls?
Loaves? How many dozen per day?”
Luca liked every part of Oliver he’d seen so far. He
was charming and sweet and undeniably adorable. Then there was how goddamned sexy he
was when he got down to business.
“I’m not sure yet,” Luca said. “In fact, they may not
need any at all. Giana and Enzo have my proposed changes, but they are not required to
accept all of them—or any of them, actually.”
“You must hate that, not being able to actually
impose your control over them.” Oliver said it casually, like a true control-freak business
owner, like he understood.
How did Oliver know how much he hated it? Was it
that obvious? Was it written all over his face that he’d love nothing more than to march
down the street and tell Giana and Enzo exactly what to do?
“Yes,” Luca admitted.
“Nonna’s isn’t just an Italian affectation, is it? Was
there actually a Nonna?” Oliver asked.
“My grandmother.”
“Ah, well, there you go.” Oliver leaned back, grinning.
Luca wanted to chase him, but he stayed on his side of the table, with what he thought was
pretty admirable restraint.
“So why does Enzo dislike you so much?” Luca
asked.
“That’s a long story. And I’ve got to tend to these
rolls. If they overproof . . .” Oliver shrugged. “I’m a perfectionist, what can I
say?”
“If he supposedly turns against you every chance he
gets, what’s he going to say,” Luca said, deploying the most persuasive smile in his arsenal,
“when he finds out I want to hire you to bake our bread? I need the insider info. Need to be
able to convince him it’s a good idea.”
“It’s not going to help you, and you’re not
going to like it,” Oliver said. “Though, you sorta look like there’s plenty of things you don’t
like.”
But I like you. “You’re not wrong.” It was hard to admit it, but there it was. He was particular, okay?
Particular and more than a little arrogant about his particularity.
Maybe it was good Oliver knew that now, even if all
they ever had was a date and a night—though even that was still up in the air.
“We dated,” Oliver said. His watch beeped, and he
stood, just as he’d left Luca speechless for another long moment. “Well,” he amended, with
a cute little shrug. “It was one date. But still. He wanted to continue. I did not. And that’s the
story.”
“That wasn’t a very long story,” Luca managed, and
was he trailing after Oliver in his own bakery like a lost puppy looking for his owner? Yes, he
was, a little.
About the Author
A lifelong Pacific Northwester, Beth Bolden has just recently moved to North Carolina with
her supportive husband. Beth still believes in Keeping Portland Weird, and intends to be just
as weird in Raleigh.
Beth has been writing practically since she learned the alphabet. Unfortunately, her first
foray into novel writing, titled Big Bear with Sparkly Earrings, wasn’t a bestseller, but hope
springs eternal. She has published over forty novels and novellas.
