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.
The mean streets of
Manchester are the scene for a blood thirsty gang war. But with battle lines drawn, three
heroes find themselves falling in love at the worst possible time.
The war for supremacy has
begun.
BOOK 2 – NEW RELEASE
Book Title: Everything
Changes
Author: Kristian
Parker
Release Date: April 11,
2023
Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance
Trope: Close proximity
Themes: Gangster, action
Heat Rating: 4 flames
Length: 50 578
words
It is not a standalone book,
but does not end on a cliffhanger
Shaun Moseley is in a trap and it’s all his brother, Liam’ s
fault.
Living a normal life running a B&B in Blackpool, he
finds himself right in the middle of a gang turf war in Manchester. Shaun is an alien in this
horrifying new world of drugs, guns and violence.
Shaun rebels against everyone, isolating himself in the
process. But a terrifying experience opens his eyes to gang member Enzo Ponti. Shaun may
be trapped for the time being, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun along the way,
right?
He dismissed Enzo as just another hired killer but when he
scratches the surface, he finds much more there.
But evil gangster, Jonny Wellingham, wants revenge on the
gang and has set his sights on Shaun. Can he live long enough to find just how deep Enzo’ s
waters are?
Excerpt from Everything Changes
They stood side by side, watching some birds flocking over the
reservoir.
“When I was in a yoga retreat in Kathmandu, they had all sorts
of gay-coloured birds,” Shaun said. “All we have are shitty brown things.”
He kicked a stone.
“I’ve seen you doing your yoga,” Enzo said. “Did you learn it on
your travels? You should come and do some weights with me and Giovanni. It would be far
more beneficial than getting yourself into silly poses.”
“Have you been perving over me then?”
Enzo reddened. “It’s not a big house. You can’t help it.”
Shaun regretted his big mouth. Enzo had done something kind
for him and he should make an effort not to shoot him down every time he tried to speak.
They wandered a little farther down the path.
“It’s weird to think that my whole childhood was spent in that
place,” Shaun said, nodding to Manchester in the distance. “Where did you grow up?”
“I grew up in Rome. Well, a little village about an hour out of
the city. I was very lucky in a lot of ways, but…”
Shaun glanced at him. He found him difficult to read, but there
was definite pain there.
“But what?”
“Being attracted to men was not part of that world. Not until
Uncle Z came. He changed everyone’s view.”
Shaun whirled around. “You’re gay?” he asked in
astonishment.
Enzo raised an eyebrow. “Is it so surprising? Marco. Uncle
Z.”
“Bloody hell,” Shaun said. “My gaydar is way out of sync.”
“Perhaps if you’d spoken to me once in a while, you’d have had
a better chance of figuring me out,” Enzo said.
His words weren’t spiteful but simply stating a fact. A fact
Shaun couldn’t even begin to deny. Embarrassment burnt over his skin. He had been
behaving obstructively since coming to the farm. Now he could see himself through Enzo’s
eyes and he didn’t like it. “Have I been such a bitch?” he ventured.
Enzo glanced over at him and winked. Shaun had noticed that
Enzo was handsome—it was impossible not to. But he hadn’t taken the time to see his dark
brown eyes or the way they crinkled at the sides when he smiled. Whether it was the fact
he’d just saved his life or something deeper, Shaun imagined staring into those eyes and
losing himself.
“We should get back,” he said. “I need to finish tonight’s
dinner. I know my place and I don’t fancy being shouted at by Marco for not doing it.”
“And there he goes,” Enzo muttered. “Back into his shell. You
would find this whole experience a damned sight easier if you were a little nicer to those
around you. We are not all villains, you know.”
Once again, a flash of rage blew through Shaun’s system. He
didn’t want to be schooled in how to be a gangster. Not by anyone, no matter how deep
their eyes were.
“Thank you for the advice on how to survive a fucking gang
war that I want nothing to do with,” he snapped. “I was terrified today, Enzo. Do you
understand what that means? I can’t just toe the line and chuckle while my brother or any of
you go out there time and again. If I get to know you, like you, it just adds to my fears. I can’t
do it. I won’t.”
He was babbling now, but his mouth couldn’t seem to stop. To
his amazement, Enzo came over and wrapped his arms around him. Shaun fitted perfectly,
his head nestling in the crook of Enzo’s neck.
Enzo’s strong arms instantly calmed him and the shivers he had
been battling since he got in the car simply disappeared.
“I get terrified too,” Enzo said softly.
“How do you stand it?”
“I have no idea. You’re not the only one in the whirlpool, I
suppose.”
Shaun looked up just as Enzo stared down at him. Their lips
were almost touching, but then reality hit Shaun like a sledgehammer. Having an affair with
a gangster had put his brother in the hospital. He had no intention of spinning that particular
bottle.
He broke away, trying to ignore the hurt on Enzo’s face.
“They’ll be missing us now,” he said, smoothing down his jacket.
START THE SERIES WITH BOOK 1
Book Title: Fool’s
Gold
Author: Kristian
Parker
Publisher: Pride
Publishing
Cover Artist: Erin Dameron-
Hill
Release Date: March 14,
2023
Genre Contemporary M/M Romance
Tropes: Forbidden love, opposites attract
Themes: Gangster, action
Heat Rating: 4 flames
Length: 52 069 words/233
pages
It is not a standalone book,
but does not end on a cliffhanger
Liam Moseley has been living a lie ever since he joined
Manchester’s notorious crime boss Jonny Wellingham ten years ago. Liam is gay, and that
could get him killed in the deadly world he has fallen into.
When he meets handsome Italian Marco Ponti, Liam’s
whole world is turned on its head. Marco is in town looking for business opportunities for
his uncle in Rome, and makes Liam see his life in a brand-new light.
But all is not as it seems, especially when Marco shows
Liam the past isn’t always as it appears and the future can change in the blink of an eye. In a
dangerous world where each job could be Liam’s last, he finds himself fighting for love as
well as survival.
Liam will have to put everything he holds dear on the line
to make his dreams come true.
Excerpt from Fool’s Gold
“So you’re Manchester born and bred?” Marco
asked.
“Can’t you tell by the accent?” Liam replied.
Marco beamed. “I love the Manc accent. It’s
so…expressive.”
“That’s the first time I’ve heard it called that before,” Liam
said. “I’d rather have an Italian one.”
“You find it sexy?”
Marco’s eyes dared him to answer honestly. Something
about this guy gave Liam confidence. No man had ever had this effect on him. “Yeah, I do,”
he replied before glancing down.
“Why do you do that?” Marco asked, leaning forward, his
elbows on the table.
“Do what?” he asked.
“Break eye contact every time you say something. Are you
ashamed?”
Liam shifted uncomfortably. “No, it’s not that.”
“Tell me what it is, then?” Marco asked, his voice soothing
and sincere.
“I guess I don’t think I have anything to say worth listening
to,” he replied, eventually.
To his astonishment, Marco’s foot connected with his leg.
The pressure told him it was absolutely on purpose.
“I respectfully disagree, Liam. I think I’d listen to you.
Whatever you had to say.”
He had that burning sensation on his neck again. It had
made him so paranoid at school.
“Sorry, I have made you blush,” Marco continued.
“Don’t worry about it. I always bloody blush. They called
me Po at school because of it.”
Marco frowned. “What?”
“The red Teletubby?” Liam expected him to burst into that
laughter again. Most people did when he confided this, but instead, Marco just shook his
head.
“Kids can be so cruel. But who cares? They are in your
past.”
“Yeah, they’re probably sweeping up shit in the hospital
now. Serves them right.”
This time Marco did seem amused. “Said with true passion.
I like it. So, what do you do, Liam?”
Here it came. The inevitable question. He could hardly say
he was a lackey for one of the biggest gangsters in the northwest of England, so he reverted
to his stock answer. “Oh, you know, bit of this, bit of that. How about you?”
“As I said, my uncle works in shipping. I’m over here seeing
if there is any potential to expand to Manchester.”
Liam nodded. “The city is booming. You could do a lot
worse.”
“That’s what I thought. I like what I see more and
more.”
The look which followed that statement practically oozed
with intent. This time, Liam forced himself to meet Marco’s gaze. “I’ve never been to Italy,
but maybe I should,” he replied. “Rome seems pretty good from where I’m sitting.”
“Ah, you definitely should,” Marco said, leaning back. “It is
beautiful. I’ve been the length and breadth of it with my job. I worked in Venice recently. Bellissima.”
Liam had seen pictures of the water world on television.
“Better than the canals in Manchester. They’re just full of shopping trolleys and used
condoms.”
Marco laughed again. It was so loud and carefree that Liam
had to stop himself from looking around to see if anyone noticed. But he forced himself to
relax and ended up giggling along with him. It had been so long since he’d done something
like this.
“This is better,” Marco said.
“What is?”
“You are relaxing. You seemed very tense earlier,” Marco
said. “I thought perhaps you’d changed your mind about me.”
“Oh, nothing like that,” Liam said hurriedly. “It’s just that
I’m not out, you see. I don’t normally do this.”
Marco’s stunning eyes widened. “Who isn’t out these
days?”
Shaking his head, Liam took a swig of his drink. “Me,” he
said, placing the drink down. “In my line of work, it isn’t the done thing.”
A group of lads banged through the door. Liam frantically
scanned each face but didn’t recognise any of them.
“Wow. I can’t imagine being in the closet. At my eighteenth
birthday party, I came out. I figured if I had to enter adulthood, people should know what
they were dealing with. Although I like to make a statement now and then. It keeps them on
their toes.”
The lads were being quite rowdy. Even the barman
appeared nervous.
“You’re very brave,” Liam said.
“Not really. My uncle is gay too, so it was a well-beaten
path. No one in our family cares as long as you’re healthy and happy.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Marco chuckled, but Liam couldn’t relax. He watched the
group of lads out of the corner of his eye. He could spot trouble a mile off, and these lads
were desperate for it.
“We’re a long way from perfect, believe me,” Marco said.
“But we get by.”
Liam drained his glass. “You want another?”
Marco shook his head. “There are a lot of things I’d like
from you, Liam…but another drink is not one of them.”
The change in tempo took Liam by surprise. Heat crept over
his face and he didn’t know what to say in return. He had never been any good at the whole
game-playing thing. “Just nipping to the loo,” he managed before bolting for the
door.
BOOK 3 – COMING SOON – AVAILABLE FOR PRE-
ORDER
Book Title: Don’t Look
Back In Anger
Author: Kristian
Parker
Release Date: May 30,
2023
Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance
Trope: Second chance love
Themes: Gangster, action
Length: 50 123
words
Heat Rating: 4 flames
It is not a standalone book,
but does not end on a cliffhanger.
Revenge is best served cold, yet old embers can burn hot.
Lorenzo de Luca has come back to Manchester with revenge on his mind.
Supposedly killed by evil gangster Jonny Wellingham’s hitmen fifteen years ago, Lorenzo has
waited a long time for this. He has to stay focused. And he does…until a past lover comes
back into his life.
But old embers can spark a flame and the couple pick up where they left off—but the war
has only just begun, and everyone is fair game…and Lorenzo’s distraction gives Jonny the
opportunity he needs to strike a deadly blow.
Torn between his burning need for vengeance and the scorching heat of love, which will
Lorenzo sacrifice?
Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence, murder, organised crime, sex
work, and drugs trafficking. There are also instances of homophobia.
About the Author
I have written for as long as I
could write. In fact, before, when I would dictate to my auntie. I love to read, and I love to
create worlds and characters.
I live in the English
countryside. When I’m not writing, I like to get out there and think through the next scenario
I’m going to throw my characters into.
Inspiration can be found
anywhere, on a train, in a restaurant or in an office. I am always in search of the next
character to find love in one of my stories. In a world of apps and online dating, it is
important to remember love can be found when you least expect it.
Trapped between a homicidal brother and a homophobic podcaster eager to reveal her lesbian romance novels, a seventy-year-old grandmother seeks help in Clear, Alaska.
Blurb
Editor’s Pick Booklife Reviews: A fast-paced yet thoughtful romance of coming out and finding love in later life in Alaska
5 Star Clarion Reviews: A riveting novel . . . about love, courage, and solidarity
Trapped between a homicidal brother and a homophobic podcaster eager to reveal her lesbian romance novels, a seventy-year-old grandmother seeks help in Clear, Alaska. Suffocating in a loveless marriage and lonely existence, Taylor MacKenzie lives only through her writing, using the pen name Brooke Skipstone, her best friend in college and lover before her death in 1974. Afraid of being murdered before anyone in her family or community knows her life story, Taylor writes an autobiography about her time with Brooke and shares it with those closest to her, hoping for understanding and acceptance. Accused of promoting the queering and debasement of America by a local podcaster, Taylor embroils the conservative community in controversy but fights back with the help of a new, surprising friend. Can she endure the attacks from haters and gaslighters? Can she champion the queering she represents? And will she survive?
Excerpt
NO ONE in the world is actually named Brooke Skipstone.
Not for almost fifty years.
Taylor Baird MacKenzie, a long-term substitute teacher in Clear, Alaska, knew her secret had already begun to unravel. Brooke wrote novels about lesbian liberation, fierce coming-of-age stories full of high family drama. Her readers probably pictured an author in her thirties with tattoos and a gender-fluid appearance.
Certainly not a seventy-year-old grandmother with long, thick hair—still more brown than gray—wearing lined leggings and an oversized hoodie that covered her butt. And unhappily married to the same man for over forty years.
Much too old and too obviously straight to be writing such novels.
Soon, everyone would know the truth—she was the author Brooke Skipstone. How big would the shockwave be?
Taylor had long feared the repercussions and kept her pen name secret. What would her kids say? And her grandkids, who hardly knew her because she lived so far from them. And saw them even less than usual because of Covid. At times the thought of discovery had seared her guts, but the liberation of writing what she wanted, revealing the characters living in her mind and the love and pain in her heart, had become her main reason for existence.
While at her keyboard, Taylor lost herself in her secret world—vibrant, passionate, full of laughter and turmoil and utter joy. Not like her real world of silence and numbing isolation, where she couldn’t talk about what mattered most to her.
Keeping the source of her greatest happiness a secret had suffocated her life.
Taylor stood at her classroom door before her last class of the day, while students thumbed phones and talked as they sat at a picnic table in the center of the Commons area. The same kind of table she and Brooke sat at in the spring of 1973.
Soon after Taylor’s college roommate and fellow theatre major, Brooke Tobolovsky turned twenty-one, Brooke changed her last name. Though she didn’t have the internet to check, she said she had never heard of anyone named Skipstone, so claimed it for herself. She thought it sounded cool. Much better for the stage and screen. Besides, she’d always hated the sound of Tobolovsky.
Regardless of her name, no one could ever forget her. Long, thick, cinnamon-colored hair; high forehead; deep-set blue eyes; and the biggest smile Taylor had ever seen. She could play Lady Macbeth just as easily as Juliet and belt out a song like a combination of Cher and Stevie Nicks. She was the natural lead, while Taylor was the utility player—competent actress, writer, composer, and organizational queen.
Once all the legal papers were complete, they celebrated with a pitcher of beer at The Hangout a few blocks from Southern Methodist University in Dallas, Texas. They sat at a picnic table under canvas stretched between oak trees, blocking the March sun. Brooke carved her new name on the bench as they pushed flip-flops through pea gravel and peanut shells.
“Does this mean I can’t call you Tobo anymore?” Taylor laughed and snorted beer.
Brooke scoffed with a quick flash of her eyes, “I’ve put a curse on that name, as you can see. Say it at your peril.” She cocked an eyebrow.
Taylor coughed this time, spewing beer on her shirt.
“I always knew you couldn’t hold your liquor.” Brooke wiped Taylor’s chin with a napkin.
“That word will never cross my lips again.”
“Which word?” Brooke teased. Her tongue peeked out the side of her mouth as she dabbed the snot from Taylor’s upper lip. “Hmm?”
Flashing a smile, Taylor said, “From now on, you’ll be BS to me. Nothing but BS.”
Brooke narrowed her eyes and tightened her mouth. “You’d better be referring to Brooke Skipstone.”
Taylor raised her hands and cocked her head in a perfect expression of amused innocence. “Certainly.” She tried to swallow the guffaw rising from her gut. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
They stared at each other for three seconds, each holding her pose until Brooke broke into a smile. “That’s BS and you know it.”
Taylor’s guffaw erupted, and in their laughter-filled haze, they both knocked their glasses to the ground. No matter. They drank from the pitcher and later started a burping contest. Taylor conceded when Brooke burped the chorus of “I Am Woman,” earning a standing ovation from the crowd of hippie students and locals that had gathered around them. The girls walked home, Taylor’s arm around her friend’s neck; Brooke’s around the other’s waist.
They were known as B&T because they were inseparable. They’d shared the ground floor of a small rental house since sophomore year but spent most of their time acting, hanging lights, building sets, and running shows at the Owens Art Center. If one of them wasn’t around the other, people would invariably ask, “Where’s ___?” with a little frown and gasp.
Taylor wrote and directed plays and musicals mainly for teens, while Brooke snagged major acting roles every year. Taylor was involved in every one of Brooke’s shows, while Brooke sang and acted in each of Taylor’s studio productions.
They were two promising women, determined to make their own way in the world and support each other’s careers in theatre—Brooke as an actress at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland and Taylor as a drama teacher at a private school in a nearby city. After breaking up with their casual boyfriends and graduating in 1974, they headed west in a very used VW Camper Bus adorned with painted flowers to cover the rust.
They loved each other completely as friends and had only become lovers two days before Brooke’s death.
About the Author
Brooke Skipstone is a multi-award-winning author who lives in Alaska where she watches the mountains change colors with the seasons from her balcony. Where she feels the constant rush toward winter as the sunlight wanes for six months of the year, seven minutes each day, bringing crushing cold that lingers even as the sun climbs again. Where the burst of life during summer is urgent under twenty-four-hour daylight, lush and decadent. Where fish swim hundreds of miles up rivers past bear claws and nets and wheels and lines of rubber-clad combat fishers, arriving humped and ragged, dying as they spawn. Where danger from the land and its animals exhilarates the senses, forcing her to appreciate the difference between life and death. Where the edge between is sometimes too alluring.
The Queering is her fifth novel. Visit her website at for information about her first four novels—The Moonstone Girls, Crystal’s House of Queers, Some Laneys Died, and Someone To Kiss My Scars.
All Wade Lewis wants during rookie preseason camp is to
play great football and to make it to the final fifty-three man roster. He absolutely does not want Tristan
Nicholson.
His complete and total opposite. His teammate. His competition. And his roommate. During the day, Tristan unexpectedly proves to be
helpful on and off the field, but at night, when the lights go out, Tristan also becomes the
only man he can’t resist.
First, he’s a friend, then astonishingly, he becomes a
lover. And then he becomes the last thing Wade ever
expected: everything.
This novella was previously published, and some light
editing has been done, but no new content has been added.
Excerpt
Tristan had nearly found Beau and asked if he could
switch rooms, but the problem with that was that he likedsharing a room with Wade.
He was a good roommate, conscientious and kind, and apart from this inconvenient
attraction stuff, he was becoming a good friend.
And he’d already been around the NFL long enough to
know that friends didn’t exactly grow on trees.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, then, that as
soon as the light went out, after this long-ass day, when both of them should have been
exhausted and immediately falling asleep, Tristan couldn’t help himself and instead of being
safe and smart and careful, like he had been all day, like he’d used all that safety up, he
asked the question himself.
“You ever kiss a guy before, Wade?”
Wade was quiet for such a long time that Tristan
wondered if maybe he had actually fallen asleep.
He found himself holding his breath, barely able to
breathe, his lungs clogging, as he waited for Wade to answer. Listening, way too intently, for
even the minutest change in Wade’s own breathing.
Why did he even need to know?
Why did it matter so much that the answer be
no?
Finally, Wade let out a deep exhale, like he’d been
holding his own breath too. Like he’d made a decision.
“No,” he said. “No, I haven’t.”
Tristan dug his fingertips into his bedding. It was no
less dangerous to kiss Wade in this dark, private room than to do it in the middle of the day,
in the middle of the Piranhas weight room, but it was easier to justify because if they did it
here and now, nobody would ever know.
But you’d know,
Tristan reminded himself. And Wade will know.
It was those two things that kept Tristan in his own
bed, instead of joining Wade in his—and showing him just how great kissing a guy could
be.
“Is . . . is that what that was earlier? You were . . .”
Wade hesitated for so long that Tristan, hanging on every single word, every single syllable
echoing through the darkness, nearly got up and went to his side and demanded to know
what it was he was supposedly doing. Finally, though, Wade finished his sentence. “Testing
me?”
It made no sense. Why would Tristan be testing him?
He already knew Wade was bisexual. Wade had told him himself. Tristan might have tested
Wade if he hadn’t been sure. If he hadn’t been entirely sure how his flirtation would be
received.
But he definitely hadn’t been testing Wade
earlier.
He’d been irresistibly drawn to the man.
It felt unfair to pay Wade’s honesty back with a lie, no
matter how dangerous the truth was.
So Tristan told him the truth.
“I wasn’t testing you. I was . . . if you have to know, I
was . . . I find you attractive, Wade, and I wanted to kiss you. As stupid as that was. I
shouldn’t have been thinking about it. You’re not out, and there were other guys around,
and on top of that . . . it’s a huge, massive distraction that could get us both released. You
know, teams don’t really like their players hooking up.”
Don’t really was
an understatement.
It was technically allowed because it couldn’t be not allowed but it certainly wasn’t encouraged. All the Piranhas needed was a really
good reason to cut Tristan, and this would be it.
“You wanted to kiss me?” Wade’s voice was full of
wonder.
“I guess you missed the rest of that,” Tristan teased.
“You know, the part where it was—it is—a bad idea.”
“Sorry.” Wade actually sounded apologetic. “I got
stuck on that one bit. I just never thought . . . you and me. You’re so . . .”
It was playing with fire to ask.
Tristan knew it.
He asked anyway.
“I’m so what, Wade?”
“You’re so hot and confident and sure of yourself.
You’re a beacon of hope to so many closeted guys, guys who think that you can’t be gay and
play football. And then there’s me . . . not really ashamed but not open either, and not
experienced . . .”
“None of that matters,” Tristan interrupted him,
because he couldn’t listen to another moment of Wade putting himself down. “I can’t tell
you how much none of that matters.”
“It doesn’t?”
“Wade, you’re fucking gorgeous and you’re sweet,
and you’ve got this smile that lights up . . . well, it lights up everything around you. Including
me, okay?”
Wade was silent for a long time again, like he was
digesting what Tristan had just admitted to.
Like he was weighing the danger of it, the inherent
risk of it, with the reward.
But how could he, Tristan thought, dying over in his
own bed, when he didn’t know what he was really missing? He’d never kissed a guy before.
He didn’t know.
“Why,” Wade said, his voice rough, “are you still over
there, then?”
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’s published twenty-three novels and seven novellas.
In search of a story, he
found murder and romance.
Blurb
Author Christian Costner is researching material for one of
his dark thrillers and Nyemouth seems like the perfect setting for his next book. The small
seaside town has witnessed plenty of trouble over the years, and Christian thinks it will
provide him with the inspiration he needs.
He hires local tour guide and fisherman Harry Renner to
help him explore the coastline for a couple of days. Harry is knowledgeable and mature
beyond his twenty-eight years. Handsome too, though Christian thinks Harry is far too young
for him..
As the weather worsens, Harry cuts short their first sight-
seeing trip. Heading back to shore they spot a figure in distress in the water. A difficult
rescue is made far worse when they discover the casualty has a knife wound to his abdomen
and dies before they reach the safety of the harbour.
United by the trauma, Christian and Harry find comfort in
each other, but when another murder comes to light, they find themselves at the heart of a
dangerous mystery and the target of a killer more ruthless than they could ever
imagine.
Excerpt
Harry went to the bar. He didn’t know the bartender so
didn’t have to face another barrage of questions about Niko’s death. “Two of whatever these
were,” he said, holding up the empty tumblers. “Make them doubles.”
He glanced over his shoulder as he waited. Christian gazed
into the fire, looking lost in his thoughts. What was it about him? Just this morning Harry
had dismissed him as being far too old, but the more time he spent with him and talked to
him, Christian’s appeal grew stronger. He can’t
be that old, anyway, he reasoned. Ten, maybe
eleven years older than he was. It wasn’t like fancying someone his dad’s age.
Of course, Harry knew what really drove this new attraction
to Christian.
Death.
He’d learned from his time in the lifeboat how sex and
death went hand in hand. He had taken part in three failed rescues when he was a member
of the crew and afterwards he had always wanted sex. It wasn’t unusual. He’d even read an
article about it—how sex helped people to feel alive after a clash with mortality.
Is that what this is? Do I only fancy him because we
didn’t save Niko?
As he carried the drinks back to the fire, Harry realised just
how much he did want Christian. They had been through a gruelling experience. What better
comfort could there be than each other’s bodies? He didn’t want to go back to his flat on his
own and wondered whether Christian felt the same about his lonely hotel room.
Fuck it. One more drink and I’ll ask him. The worst he
can say is no.
Christian lifted his gaze from the flames when he returned.
Their eyes connected and, just for a second, a hint of a smile. “Thanks,” he said, accepting
the drink.
“Is this your favourite tipple? Whisky?” he asked, sitting
down.
“Sometimes. It depends on my mood. But at the end of the
night, when I want to unwind, it’s the best. I always bring a bottle with me when I’m working
away—for a nightcap.”
Their eyes locked again, and Harry wondered if there had
been a hint of an invitation in the last remark. Or
is it just wishful thinking?
He had never been good at reading signals.
“What’s your hotel like?” he asked in a rush. “I’ve had a
drink at the bar in Quay House, but I’ve never been upstairs.”
Christian’s brow furrowed in confusion.
Oh shit. I’ve judged this all wrong.
Then he smiled. “It’s nice. I’ve got a good-sized room that
overlooks the harbour. Actually, it’s pretty great.” He sipped. “You’re welcome to come up, if
you’d like to look around. I could also give you that nightcap.”
Harry’s pulse quickened, and a stiffness developed in his
groin. “I’d love to.”
This morning he’d been so dismissive about Christian
because of his age, and now there was nothing he wanted more than to spend the night in
his protective embrace.
About the Author
Thom Collins is the author of Closer by Morning, North
Point and the Anthem Trilogy. His love of page
turning thrillers began at an early age when his mother caught him reading the latest Jackie
Collins book and confiscated it, sparking a life-long love of raunchy novels.
Thom has lived in the North
East of England his whole life. He grew up in Northumberland and now lives in County
Durham with his husband and two cats. He loves all kinds of genre fiction, especially bonk-
busters, thrillers, romance and horror. He is also a cookery book addict with far too many
titles cluttering his shelves. When not writing he can be found in the kitchen trying out new
recipes. He’s a keen traveler but with a fear of flying that gets worse with age, but in 2013 he
realized cruising is the best way to see the world.
Check out his website for news updates and a free ebook, The Night.
With Cameron out of their lives for good, the Kaplans are ready to celebrate Yule, a time of spiritual renewal and giving thanks to the gods of their ancestors for the benevolence showed to them. Eoghan’s and Gwylim’s miraculously coming back from the dead, Aidan putting his traumatic past behind, Bennett coming home—these are only some of the things the clan is grateful for.
Eoghan and Phelan, now an established couple, have the approval of both families…except Niall, who still hopes to break them up somehow. Phelan has plans of his own; his fiancé is in for the surprise of his life, and so is the former elder of the Kaplan clan.
Carradine and Thorne, on the other hand, still hesitate to voice what they feel for each other, and Fionnuala is tired of putting up with her cold, arrogant husband, so different from her one true love.
Enter Graham, a ghost boy from the Kaplan family, who met an untimely death almost three centuries earlier, who decides to help the true soulmates find the way to each other’s heart again and enrolls the help of Gareth, Thorne’s son, and Methuselah, the resident ball python with a larger-than-life personality.
Excerpt
Gareth woke up in the dead of the night, the mighty thirst which overtook him driving him to the kitchen to quench it. Methuselah-the-python uncurled from the foot of the bed and followed the teen, hissing worriedly. There was no one on the corridors or into the kitchen, but the teen felt a shifting into the air and a chill ran down his spine.
Gareth took a small bottle of water from the fridge, twisted its cap, and emptied the contents in almost one go. Letting out a small sigh of contentment, he put the bottle into the trash can, then turned around to walk to the exit but bumped into something on the way. The object was emanating the same kind of chill Gareth sensed on his way to the kitchen.
Definitely someone, not something, he thought. “It’s freezing outside. What in the name of the gods are you doing in the snow and cold at this hour? You should be in bed wrapped in blankets, sleeping.”
“No blankets would keep me warm.” The answer came in an overwhelmingly sad voice. “And I haven’t slept in ages; I forgot what it’s like, but I’d really like to…” The one who spoke, a boy about Gareth’s age, abruptly stopped, then continued in a voice tinged with disbelief. “Wait, can you see me?”
“Of course I can. Blond, curly hair, beautiful blue eyes like the clear summer’s sky, a little shorter than me and also a bit thinner, and…” It was Thorne’s son’s turn to stop talking and vehemently shake his head. “No. That’s impossible. No way.”
Methuselah let out a long hiss as though he were confirming Gareth’s words, much to the other boy’s amazement. “You’re right, it is odd because you offered a perfectly accurate description of me.” The blond boy frowned. “Is this an expression from your time? Perfectly accurate? I’m trying to adjust and, since you are the first one I talk to in…”
“My time?” Gareth’s eyes went wide as a thought crossed his mind, making his blood freeze. “What time do or did you live in? What country?”
“Last I remember, I was seventeen in my father’s house, the Akedene Manor in Scotland, just before the brave, mighty clans were defeated by the English dogs in the Battle of Culloden.” The other boy paused a bit. “I’m Graham, the fourth son of Barclay Kaplan, laird of Akedene, and his loyal wife Annabelle.”
“I’m Gareth, the only son of Thorne St. Ives, a retired spy of sorts.” The teenager stopped to choose the right words. “What my dad does…it’s pretty difficult to explain to someone who is not from this time, as you put it.” The teen took a sharp inhale. “And I’m blind most of the time. I mean, all the time, except for now when I only see you.”
Graham gave a small smile and bent down to pet Methuselah’s head, causing the snake to express his affection through a long, soft hiss. “Is the sacred creature yours? Can he see me, too, or just using his senses?” He looked into Gareth’s eyes. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know snakes have healing and magical powers. Also, they are very wise.”
“I don’t know about other snakes, but Methuselah has quite a personality and sometimes he acts like he knows things, so yeah, I think there’s a drop of magic in him.” Gareth swallowed hard. “Back to you now; so, from what I understood, you are a ghost, right?” When the other boy nodded, he continued. “How did you end up in this situation?”
About the Author
H.M. lives with the coolest Mom in the Universe and a fat, gay, submissive tomcat. She loves writing stories about boys and men who love, cherish, respect and protect other boys and men.
Lysander is a mage
more used to commanding earth, metal, and wood than people. How is he to be master of a
slave, and the slave’s desire, when Lysander hasn’t fully mastered his
own?
Blurb
Lysander is a gentle mage who wants a warrior slave to save
his family. Wyl is a betrayed prince who wants his freedom and what was taken from him.
Their hearts and desires collide amidst storm, steel, and magic in the desert. Lysander can
master the elements, but can he master his desire for Wyl? Can Wyl fight for, let alone love,
any man that dares to own him? (Revised Edtion)
Excerpt
Arms numb, Wyl sagged against his restraining
post.
His thick, dry tongue cracked his lips, searching to find a
hint of moisture hidden in any recess in his mouth. There was no relief to be found.
He leaned his head back, wincing as the coarse rope around
his neck chafed against his raw skin. He stared at the unfamiliar sky above. Home was cloudy
skies and cool, wet winds from the sea. This sky was clear blue with a relentless sun high
above. He let his head fall forward to his chest. This sky was as cruel and foreign to him as
this ancestorless city.
How long had it taken the slave ship to travel the southern
lands, let alone Tandir? What had made his father think slavery was more merciful than
death?
Why did I not foresee D’ara’s treachery? Takesh! If I had the
spit, I’d gladly waste it on the sands to dishonor the thought of her.
She had cost him everything: his freedom, his home, his
family, and even his connection to the ancestors. He would get it all back. He would not be
one of the forgotten!
About the Author
Rose lives in southern
Indiana. When she isn’t writing, she can be found gaming or out with friends. Nearby
conventions are also familiar haunts. She’s especially fond of coffee shops and cats.
However, no matter what she is up to, her muse diligently takes notes, seeks inspiration, and
weaves together plots and ideas.
