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The Impossible Boy by Anna Martin

Check out the dates and links for this review tour where you can follow along and see the reviews for Anna Martin’s new book, The Impossible Boy. I’m hearing great things! There’s a giveaway too!

The Impossible Boy – Anna Martin

Publisher: Dreamspinner
Cover Design: Garrett Leigh
Length: 67,000 words

This is not your average love story.

Ben Easton is not your average romantic hero. He’s a tattooed, badass, wannabe rock star, working in a perfectly horrible dive bar in Camden Town. His life is good, and he’s totally unprepared for how one man will turn it upside down.

Stan isn’t your average heroine. As a gender-fluid man, he proudly wears his blond hair long, his heels sky-high, and his make-up perfectly executed. A fashion industry prodigy, Stan is in London after stints working in Italy and New York City, and he quickly falls for Ben’s devil-may-care attitude and the warm, soft heart Ben hides behind it.

Beneath the perfect, elegant exterior, Stan has plenty of scars from teenage battles with anorexia. And it only takes the slightest slip for his demons to rush back in while Ben’s away touring with his band. With the band on the brink of a breakthrough, Ben is forced to find a way to balance the opportunity of a lifetime with caring for his beautiful boyfriend.

January 21 – Urban Smoothie Read
January 23 – Bonkers About Books
February 1 – Romantic Fanatic
February 3 – Bayou Book Junkie

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Author Bio

Anna Martin is from a picturesque seaside village in the south west of England and now lives in Bristol. After spending most of her childhood making up stories, she studied English Literature at university before turning her hand as a professional writer.

Apart from being physically dependent on her laptop, Anna is enthusiastic about writing and producing local grassroots theatre (especially at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, where she can be found every summer), visiting friends who live in other countries, Marvel Comics, learning new things, and Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk.

Although her most recent work is in the LGBT Adult Fiction genre, in the past Anna has worked on a variety of different projects including short stories, drabbles, flash fiction, fan fiction, plays for both children and adults, and poetry. She has written novels in the Teen/ Young Adult genre, Romance, and Fantasy novels.

Anna is, by her own admission, almost unhealthily obsessed with books. The library she has amassed is both large and diverse; “My favourite books,” she says, “are The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins, To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee and Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood.” She also several well-read copies of Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park books and re-reads the Harry Potter novels with almost startling regularity.

Anna claims her entire career is due to the love, support, pre-reading and creative ass-kicking provided by her closest friend Jennifer. Jennifer refuses to accept any responsibility for anything Anna has written.

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BLOG TOUR and GUEST POST! Rockin’ It Forever by Morticia Knight

The Language of Music

Longfellow said, “Music is the universal language of mankind”. Then there was seventeenth-century poet and playwright, William Congreve, who included what has now become a legendary line about music in one of his plays: “Music has charms to soothe the savage beast”. But it is Hans Christian Anderson’s quote, “Where words fail, music speaks”, that is at the heart of my book, Rockin’ it Forever.

Rockin’ it Forever picks up where the short story, Rockin’ the Alternative leaves off, so it’s important to read that one first. But in both stories, the clear theme is how music brings these two yearning souls together, because truthfully, music is the only language they speak.

When I first became a part of the What’s His Passion? imprint at Pride, it didn’t take much for me to decide on what passion I would use for my men. Music has been a big part of my life since a young age. My father was a professional musician, with an engineering career sandwiched in-between, and he encouraged me early on. Sadly, I didn’t find out until after she’d passed that it was my grandmother who was the singer of the family. Although my dad could play many instruments very well, his vocals were to be avoided!

The ups and downs of my career in the music industry also informed Aubrey’s character. For those of you familiar with the alternative rock artists and songs of the nineties, that would’ve been the time that Aubrey’s band, Falling in Stereo was at the height of their fame. That was also my most shining moment. I played in and around Hollywood from 1989 to the year 2000. My CD was out in 1997, which was right when Aubrey had his biggest hit.

When it got time for Aubrey to share some of his songs (this happens early on in the short story), it didn’t feel right not to have the lyrics. Bryan, the rock journalist who falls for Aubrey then questions his own sexuality, connects to Aubrey through both his music and lyrics. You can’t have one without the other. I couldn’t have actual music playing in the book, so I decided there needed to be lyrics in order for the readers to connect with how strongly Aubrey affected Bryan emotionally.

Aubrey is searching for his one true love, he really is. But that person can’t only appeal to him sexually or be compatible in day-to-day life – that man who he gives his whole heart to has to speak the language of music. For Bryan, music is what has always mattered to him more than anything else. He’s not searching for love, because he wonders if it’s even possible for him. When he meets Aubrey, the singer he’s idolized since he was twelve, he’s attracted to him in a way he never anticipated being that he’s always identified as straight. However, there’s such an immediate soul connection, Bryan can’t help but wonder if maybe this was what he’d been waiting for all along.

Of all the arts, I believe that music is the most powerful. When I hear a song that I love, it triggers those endorphins running around in circles in my head as they do a happy dance. How many times have you played a song to evoke a certain emotion, whether it was anger, joy or sadness? People hear a song and it immediately transports them back to a time in their life when they first heard it, or reminds them of someone or a specific event.

In the Rockin’ books, Aubrey and Bryan speak the language of music beautifully to each other. They get it. And even though they have their own ups and downs, ultimately, it’s the music that leads them to their ever-after.

Author Bio and Links

Author Morticia Knight spends most of her nights writing about men loving men forever after. If there happens to be some friendly bondage or floggings involved, she doesn’t begrudge her characters whatever their filthy little heart’s desire. Even though she’s been crafting her naughty tales for more years than she’d like to share – her adventures as a published author began in 2011. Once upon a time she was the lead singer in an indie rock band that toured the West Coast and charted on U.S. college radio. She currently resides on the northern Oregon coast and when she’s not fantasizing about hot men she takes walks along the ocean and annoys the local Karaoke bar patrons.

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GUEST POST with GIVEAWAY: Cutting Edge by Ingela Bohm

Cutting Edge

After ten years of hard work, rock band Pax are enjoying a stable career, but not everyone rejoices in their success. Just weeks into their first holiday in years, a family files a complaint against them for causing their son’s death. Their lawyer assures them the lawsuit will go away quietly – after all, a rock band can’t be blamed for some poor kid’s fate on the streets.

Or can they? This is the eighties, at the height of the moral panic surrounding heavy metal, and no accusation is too ridiculous. When Jamie takes on a guitar pupil who pushes the boundaries of artistic freedom, he starts to question his own responsibility for what he puts out. At the same time, Michael meets a former bully who insinuates that Michael wasn’t as innocent a victim as he thinks.

While Michael fights his personal battle against demons from his past, he also prepares to give evidence on the part of the band in a court of law. The question isn’t just whether Pax will survive this latest blow – it’s whether Michael will.

Guest Post – Symbols and opposites

Years ago, when I still worked as a teacher, there was this one student who was a bit wild and always said what was on his mind without thinking. One day he saw my key ring, which at the time was a Celtic cross, and he blurted, “Are you a Christian?” I said no, and he went on, without breaking stride, “Are you a Satanist?”

I told him I wasn’t, and then I went home and laughed about it with my husband – because it highlighted something about symbols and the connotations they carry. For this student, a cross could be one of two things: a symbol for God or a symbol for the devil. Complete polar opposites, combined in the same artifact.

In a documentary (Headbanger’s Journey) that I re-watched as part of my research for Cutting Edge, one guy says that Satanism couldn’t exist without Christianity – that it’s so filled with Christian symbols it’s almost ridiculous. That they need each other. Of course they do – they’re part of the same belief system – but deeper than that, opposites tend to reinforce each other: there can be no light without darkness, and no good without evil. Without something to compare with, we can’t see the thing itself. Maybe that’s why we’re so enamored with dichotomies and so loath to accept the spectrum in between.

The funny thing is that for opposites to be opposites, they must have most traits in common. For example, black and white can be seen as opposites, because they are both colors. Black and an umbrella aren’t opposites, because they have nothing in common. Similarly, men and women are often constructed as opposites, but men and ants aren’t quite as useful to pit against each other.

Meanings change, however, and symbols lose their power. For me, that key ring meant neither Christianity nor Satanism. It symbolized my love of goth/punk fashion and the tarot, and it also made me think of Ireland. Some people may dismiss that interpretation as wrong, and argue that the meaning of the cross is absolute and unchanging. I respectfully disagree, since I view symbols as manmade, which means that they can be unmade.

And herein lies the magic of art. It has no power, unless and until we read things into it: feelings, memories, personal truths. Words in themselves are just ink on paper or pixels on a screen, but when people read them, they come alive with associations. For one reader, this text may activate religious defensiveness because they have a lifetime of persecution behind them. For another, the fact that I’m talking about men and women as traditional opposites will conjure feelings of anger or hopelessness.

And so it is with Pax’s music in Cutting Edge. They may have meant their songs in one way, but they’re taken in another. For Jamie’s young pupil Nathan, Pax’s lyrics appear quite meek, while the family that sues them for the death of their child views them as evil. A line like all her little cells have gone to sleep takes on a sinister meaning when the prosecutor interprets it as being about a lethal disease. Even the issue under scrutiny – suicide – means different things to different people. Some see it as the only way out of an untenable situation, while others view it as the most selfish thing you can do.

Human beings battle over such meanings every day. Words like ‘democracy’, ‘kindness’ and ‘progress’ have unstable, shifting definitions, and every time we use those words, we promote a specific meaning. No one has a claim on the absolute truth – because it’s a social truth, a fluid reflection of all the people who keep exchanging ideas.

For example, what does ‘romance’ mean? You won’t find a cut and dry definition that everyone will buy. Of course, there is a vague collection of prototypical criteria that a majority of people agree should be fulfilled for something to be called a romance, but apart from that, it’s an on-going discussion. For that matter, what does ‘m/m’ mean? Or ‘HEA’? Does there have to be a baby at the end to really seal it?

Views differ, as they always have and always will. We debate the content of terms and sometimes push the envelope to make them more inclusive. But in the midst of disagreeing, why not take a moment to consider the nature of opposites: maybe, even as we try to bring our antagonists round to our way of seeing things, we agree with them on more than we think – because most of our traits are the same.

When Jamie finally came out from the bathroom, Michael still hadn’t hung up. “But we’ve done nothing wrong!” he could be heard shouting from below. “Evan, this is just ridiculous.”

Stomach knotting, Jamie tiptoed down the stairs.

“Christ, that too?” Michael groaned. “Seriously? I mean, what do we even say to that? Alright, alright… We will, Jesus… Don’t go all dad on us, we’re thirty years old, for God’s sake.”

“What’s the matter?”

Fuck.” Michael collapsed on the chair beside the telephone table. “Hang on, Evan.” He put the receiver against his chest and looked up at Jamie. “Bottom line is, we’re fucked. No, sorry, we’re screwed. Is that a nicer word than ‘fucked’? Or should I say that we’re ‘in a bit of a pickle’?”

Jamie kneeled in front of him and took the hand that wasn’t holding the receiver. “Michael, calm down. Tell me. Has something happened?”

“You could say that.” Michael laughed without mirth. “We’re… we’re…” He looked up at the ceiling, like a sinner begging for absolution. “We’re being sued.”

Jamie just stared at him. There was a muffled outburst from the phone, and Michael raised the receiver to his ear. “That’s what you said, wasn’t it?”

More shouting from Evan.

Michael’s jaw set. “I have to tell him what you said.” He turned to Jamie again. “You won’t believe this. It’s our music. They think we’re…” He shook his head and laughed again, and this time, it was a sound of pure disbelief. “Devil worshippers!”

Jamie sat back. “Devil…?”

“Don’t ask me.”

“But we’re not even… what?”

“Apparently, it’s our fault that this girl torched her school. Or something. No, it was…” Michael stopped to listen to Evan’s hollering. “That was the tabloids, right. The court case is in Virginia. No, West Virginia.”

“Court case,” Jamie repeated dully. He wasn’t sure what the word even meant, he was so shocked.

“They’re accusing us of… well, I don’t really… Fuck the reason, we’re being called to court. In front of a judge and everything!”

“But… devil worship? I mean, where do they–”

“We’re ‘seducing America’s youth’,” Michael said, making quotation marks in the air. “Apparently, Prey encourages vandalism.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“And murder. Let’s not forget murder. We’re inveigling young working class people to rise against authority and… and… promoting anarchy, and…”

“But it must be a joke.”

Holding his gaze, Michael shook his head. “It’s not, Jamie. You want to talk to him yourself?”

“Yes, I do, dammit.” Jamie grabbed the receiver. “Evan?”

At once, Jamie’s heart sank. In that one word, he heard the full weight of what they were up against. Their usually upbeat manager sounded dejected, beaten.

“Okay, listen,” he said. “This is the situation: they think you’re encouraging Satanism and homosexuality in the young. General depravity. That kind of thing.”

Jamie couldn’t help a weary laugh. “‘That kind of thing’? What does being gay have to do with Satanism?”

“I don’t know, I’m not a priest. It doesn’t matter. Thing is, they’re calling it negligence. Law mumbo-jumbo which means you should have known better.”

“You can be punished because you should have known better?” Jamie asked, on the fence between laughter and anger. “Not a single human being should go free, then.”

But for the actions of the tortfeasor, the harm would not have occurred,” Evan read aloud from something. “Meaning, but for these songs of yours, this kid wouldn’t be dead.”

Jamie gasped. “Dead?”

“Look, you have to come up to London so that Mister Harrison can explain.”

“Mister Harrison?”

“Your lawyer. According to him, your best bet is to plead the first amendment. Freedom of expression.”

Jamie stared into space. After an eternal moment, he repeated, “Freedom of expression.”

“I don’t believe this.”

“Believe it. But look,” and now Evan started to sound like his normal self again, “I’ll take care of it. Mister Harrison is flying over from the States, and he’s positive that we can dismiss their claim. That it’s not, you know… viable. Or something.”

“Some legal word that means the people who’re suing us can go to hell?” Jamie smiled acidly.

“Pretty much. But the two of you need to come up here and meet him, okay? We need to talk strategy, and you have to be present to hear it all. You understand.”

“I think so.”

“We’ve scheduled a meeting a week from now. Mister Harrison couldn’t get away from his other duties before that. So next Thursday at ten o’clock, okay?”

“You don’t have a school talk that day, do you?”

In a daze, Jamie reached for the calendar on the telephone table. “Nope.”

“Alright, see you then.”

Evan hung up, and Jamie slumped against the leg of the telephone table. “Jesus. Was this what Ferdinand was talking about?”

“Okay, don’t panic.” Michael rubbed his forehead. “As long as we don’t panic, it’ll be okay.”

Jamie made a wry grimace. “Really.”

“He’s going to take care of it. Mister Harrison, I mean.”

But Jamie could hear the fear in Michael’s voice.

“And if they insist that we go to court,” he went on, “we show up, we tell them that they’re being ridiculous, and then we walk away. I mean, what’s their case? Death by music?”

Jamie shrugged.

“You’re not even going to talk to me about it?” Michael snapped.

“What’s the point? We’re at their mercy now.”

“So we’re just going to ignore it?”

Jamie shot him a sullen look. Then his gaze slipped to the black strands of hair that lay drying against Michael’s shoulders. A pang in his chest made him sit up straight. “That tape. The death metal thing.”

Michael hesitated. “Yeah…?”

“Don’t talk to anyone about it. The last thing we need is to be associated with a band like that.”

Michael fell quiet, half a breath down his throat. He searched Jamie’s face, and Jamie felt it redden. “‘A band like that’?” Michael repeated. “He’s the nicest guy I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah?” Jamie sneered. “Just to be clear, we’re talking about the same guy here? The one with the eyeliner and pentagrams?” He was almost hyperventilating now.

Michael gripped his hands. “Look… Okay, okay. I’ll pretend it doesn’t exist. We’ll go to London and meet this lawyer, and we’ll appear in court if we have to – we’ll do everything they tell us, and it’ll be okay.”

“Yeah.” Jamie’s voice snagged on a dryness in his throat, and Michael pulled him close for a hug. Breathing into his shoulder, Jamie whispered, “This couldn’t have come at a worse time.”

Michael pulled away and sought his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“The school talks! We’re supposed to be role models, aren’t we?”

A stiffness came over Michael, and his gaze dropped to his lap. “They don’t know about this, though. I mean, we only knew about it five minutes ago, and we’re going to our first school tomorrow. The grapevine is an impressive thing, but it’s not that fast.”

Jamie leaned his head on Michael’s knee. “I hope so.”

Michael stroked his hair – cautiously, as if he didn’t know if he was allowed. “Don’t worry,” he said in a voice that sounded tinny. “It’ll all be just fine.”

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Author bio

Ingela Bohm lives in an old cinema, tucked away in a northern Swedish forest where she can wander around all day long and dictate her books. She used to dream of being an actor until an actual actor asked, “Do you really need to do it?” That’s when she realized that the only thing she really needed to do was to write. She has since pretended to be a dietician, a teacher, a receptionist and a cook, but only to conceal her real identity.

Her first imaginary friend was called Grabolina and lived in her closet. Nowadays she has too many imaginary friends to count, but at least some of them are out of the closet. Her men may not be conventionally handsome, but they can charm your pants off, and that’s all that matters.

Ingela’s more useless talents include reading tarot cards, killing pot plants and drawing scandalous pictures that no one gets to see. She can’t walk in heels and she’s stopped trying, but she has cycled 12 000 miles in the UK and knows which campsites to avoid if you don’t like spiders. If you see her on the train you will wonder what age she is.

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GUEST POST & GIVEAWAY: Pax Cymrica: The True History Series by Angela Bohm

Ingela Bohm is the author of the series Pax Cymrica: The True History series. Join us today to find out more about the three books in the series , and read her Guest Post. Plus there’s a Giveaway!

Depressed blond man covering his face

Michael Vaughan: a study in contradictions

If there’s one of my characters I’d like to take in my arms and comfort, it’s Michael Vaughan in the Pax Cymrica series. Already shy and unassuming, he’s also cursed with bad self-esteem, courtesy of some lovely fellow students at college. He’s an example of how the scars left behind by bullying don’t just go away. The baggage can be there to stay, even though self-help gurus would have us believe otherwise.

As the series progresses, Michael eventually learns to live with the damage done to him in the past, but the road is long and arduous, and the wounds can rip open again without warning. He expects life to be tough and people to dislike him. That makes him vulnerable and quick to interpret things to his own disadvantage – but it also makes him resilient. I’m not sure Michael would have persevered for so long with his struggling band if he hadn’t been strengthened by early setbacks. He’s used to fighting for acceptance, so when the going gets tough, he gets going. He suffers, yes, but he expects to, so he doesn’t give up.

But for all of Michael’s resilience, the fact that he can get up on a stage and sing his heart out to a crowd is nothing short of a miracle. To put himself in the public eye, open to any criticism – it’s like reliving those years of torture. To begin with, he can’t even contemplate it. Why would anyone want to watch him, or listen to him? He’s got none of the traits a front man in a rock band should have: confidence, attitude, swagger.

But he has Jamie, and Jamie is the one who sees his potential. During a magical night in the woods, when they cook sausages on an open fire and sleep in a tent together, he hears Michael sing for the first time, and it’s a revelation. Michael’s voice is out of this world. Jamie can’t get enough of it.

Of course, the reason why Jamie is a sucker for voices is that I am. A voice, for me, can really make or break a band. A really good voice can speak to your hormones – think Glenn Tilbrook in Squeeze, or Chris Thompson in Manfred Mann’s Earth Band. Clear, young, a tiny bit hoarse… Just thinking about it makes me blush, and Michael is blessed with that kind of voice. Angelic, mesmerizing. Sexy. Jamie doesn’t stand a chance.

How lucky for him that Michael has a high sex drive. Yep: he wants it. A lot of it. When Michael’s self-discipline fails, it fails with a vengeance. He’s an eighteen-year-old guy who’s only just discovering what turns him on, and when the dams open, there’s no closing them again. The reader gets to be a fly on the wall for much of this. Suffice it to say that if you don’t like on-page sex, steer clear of Pax.

But despite Michael’s strong attraction to Jamie, things aren’t that simple in the beginning. For a long time, both of them try to deny their attraction. Jamie even forms a band without Michael to save himself from the terrifying feelings he’s developing for him. The first book in the series, Just Playing, is a slow burn, a friends-to-lovers story that takes a long time to develop because it’s set in a time that frowned on same-sex relationships.

In the following two books, The Road Taken and Release, the relationship, while finally acknowledged, faces ever new obstacles. I’m not making it easy for either of them – because for many, it wasn’t, and still isn’t. It takes both Jamie and Michael a long time to accept and handle their love for each other. Through all of this, I feel as if Michael is the rock, the stable one.

It’s a bit of a paradox. He seems so fragile at times. But that’s how people are: walking, talking conundrums who can baffle even their closest friends. In line with this, the portrait of Michael is a contradictory one: he’s a golden-throated front man who battles with self-esteem issues. He’s a shrinking violet with an otherworldly sex drive. He’s a broken man who thrives on adversity.

But above all, he’s a sweet, fawn-eyed young man who remains loyal to the love of his life through storms that seem set on breaking them. It’s because of these storms that it takes our heroes three books to reach a state of true happiness – and not even then will I leave them alone. Michael and Jamie have two more stories to tell before they’re done, and in the next instalment, Michael’s tortured past will make itself known again – in a completely new and unexpected way.

Poor boy. If only I could hug him. But I leave that to Jamie.

Just Playing

(Pax Cymrica: The True History, part 1)

Cover 1

Michael and Jamie seem fated to make music together. But the thrill of playing soon turns into something more, something neither of the young men can handle. Unable to just stay friends, they try to avoid each other completely. But when things start moving for Jamie’s band, a decision has to be made: either this is goodbye, or they risk everything and let Michael join.

Michael followed Jamie’s movements as he picked up a guitar and started tuning it. The wooden body lay so perfectly in his lap, like a lover waiting to be teased into song. Jamie was born to have an instrument in his arms, under his hands. Was that what the girls saw in him? Did they want to lie draped like that across Jamie’s knees, open and longing for his touch? The image sent a small arrow down Michael’s stomach and it caught fire in his groin. Oh shit. When was he going to get some control over his brain? Now wasn’t the time to think of girls. That was for tonight, for when he was alone in his bed. For when he’d slide his hand down his burning body and grasp himself firmly, exorcise those sinful feelings from his blood with hard fingers…

He crossed his legs. Ice cubes. Grass. Jamie’s sullen sister. Yeah, that worked. The heat died down somewhat, became a slow, dull ache. Soon it would be gone.

The sofa rocked as Jamie threw himself down beside him. He was grinning. “Whatcha hiding there, young man?” he winked at his crotch.

Michael couldn’t stifle an embarrassed giggle. “It’s the fucking heat!”

“Oh, so you’re not overcome by thoughts of my sister?” Jamie said, nudging him in the ribs and waggling his eyebrows.

“Please!” Michael mimed a shudder. “You may have the same genes, but you got all the charm.”

“Oh, so it’s me you’re hot for?” Jamie laughed.

“Can you just shut up about it? I’m trying to beat it down with a stick here, but you’re not helping.”

“Because I’m sooo irresistible,” Jamie goofed in a silly voice. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it!”

Jamie chuckled and started unbuttoning his jeans. Michael’s eyes snagged on the unexpected sight, widened in shock. “What – what are you doing?”

“As you said, it’s the heat. Let’s take care of it. You’re not too much of a prude to jerk off, are you? Then afterwards we can play and you won’t be all over the place.”

Michael stared at him, uncertain. Was he joking? He didn’t seem to be. He was already digging in his underwear for what looked like a half-swollen cock. Christ, I can’tnot with him watching!

But Jamie wasn’t watching. He was leaning his head on the backrest, eyes closed, fingers wrapping around himself. “Come on, Mike, just do it,” he murmured. “We’ll both feel better afterwards.”

That was true – if he even managed to come with an audience. But as his mind returned to the insistent pulsing between his legs, that particular hurdle didn’t seem to be much of a problem. Even with Jamie present, his cock was still up for it. Moving slowly, hesitantly, Michael uncrossed his legs and began fumbling with the zipper. Jamie had already started stroking himself languidly, breath coming in deep and even waves. Face burning with equal parts mortification and excitement, Michael dipped a hand beneath his waistband and pulled himself out. Despite the summer sweat on his hand, it still felt strangely cool against his throbbing cock. Stealing a look at Jamie, he was startled to see his eyes open now, ogling him. Reddening deeper, Michael closed his fingers on his shaft, determined to see this through, to not be a prude. He could feel Jamie smiling. “See? No big deal?”

Michael snorted. “I don’t know… you’re packing some heat.” His skin tingled at saying something so inappropriate, but Jamie beamed at the praise.

“Not to toot my own horn, but…” He stopped, their eyes met, and then they both burst out laughing. “Oh God,” Jamie groaned and lay back again, forehead creased in concentration. “This won’t work if you’re going to be like that. Shut up for a minute, will you?”

Michael smiled and shook his head, but lay back too and tried to get back in the mood. It wasn’t difficult. The early summer seemed to be simmering through his veins like a golden drug, sparking new life into everything it touched. When he started stroking himself it felt like electricity. He closed his eyes and coaxed the image of that guitar back into his mind, lying like a sexy blonde in Jamie’s lap. Urged on by Michael’s seething imagination, the instrument transformed into an actual girl, sighing under the expert touch of the guitarist. Maybe Michael should be ashamed for his voyeuristic fantasies, but what was there to fantasize about where himself was involved? Kate? His cock seemed about to wilt at the mere thought. Better to conjure the lovely lady-moths attracted to the flame of Jamie. Imagining them – and all the things Jamie would do to them – that would certainly do the trick.

Breath speeding up in time with his strokes, he zoomed in on those enticing caresses, the way calloused fingertips trailed lightly over yearning skin. Beside him in the real world, Jamie was breathing faster too, lending a glow of truth to the dream. In Michael’s mind, phantom hands pulled at fabric, slowly undressed a faceless beauty, plucked her secrets from her smooth body like notes from a set of strings. Jamie’s fingers slipped down between parted legs and drew honey from the deepest well. Eyes coming half open, Michael saw the fuzzy outline of Jamie’s real hands work his own flesh. He was fast: he was close. Michael squeezed harder. He didn’t want to finish after Jamie. Matching his rhythm to his friend’s, he soon felt the build-up begin and bit back on a moan. Jamie’s face was flushed pink and his damp hair stuck to his temples as he gulped open-mouthed and greedy at the air, thrusting into nothing. Picturing that cock disappearing between a pair of thighs, Michael’s stomach clenched and he felt the warm fountain shoot out and sprinkle his stomach. At the sound he couldn’t censor, Jamie’s eyes flew open. He took in the wreckage, managed a trembling grin and then went into an athletic arch as his own orgasm took him. Michael stared as the droplets landed in mother-of-pearl constellations all over Jamie’s hot skin.

And then it hit him what they had done. Overcome with shame, he hurriedly tucked himself back inside his pants and zipped it all into place. When Jamie recovered, he wiped himself in silence. A few minutes passed before they could meet each other’s eyes again.

“So… think you can play now?” The flippant question was a hollow horse, carrying the real message: we’re okay, aren’t we?

So Michael flexed his fingers, pretended to test their strength. “I’ve still got a lot to give,” he deadpanned, and Jamie snorted a grateful laugh.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

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The Road Taken

(Pax Cymrica: The True History, part 2)

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Michael and Jamie have one simple rule to follow: DON’T. Don’t touch. Don’t share rooms. Don’t even look at each other. But the music is suffering: the chemistry that made the band is gone, together with their happiness. What they need now is an innocent front, something to make people think they’ve broken it off. But when they ask Sapphire for help, they may just get more than they bargained for.

Jamie had almost gone to sleep, sated and dazed with his desperate fantasies, when there was a soft knock on his door. Groaning, he fumbled for his underwear but couldn’t find it. He gathered the covers around him and padded to the door, half in a coma. Leaning against the wall, he unlocked it and cracked it open.

The sight of Michael jolted him awake. Ruffled and anxious-looking like a homeless dormouse, he stood in the corridor in his pyjamas, holding a heap of clothes and bags in his arms. When Jamie opened the door fully he could see a shirt lying a few yards away. “Mike…?”

“Can I come in?”

Jamie hesitated.

“Forget it.” Michael started to turn away.

“No, wait, of course you can.”

“I’ll go to Cal’s room. He won’t mind.”

Well, that was a ludicrous lie. “Fucking… get in here!” Jamie gripped Michael’s wrist, pulled him inside. He peered down the corridor, made sure that no one had seen them. Then he wrapped the covers tighter around his body and hurried to retrieve Michael’s dropped shirt. Straightening up again with the abandoned-looking thing in his hands, he threw a glance at Michael. He was half hidden by the doorpost, fumbling and fussing over his chaotic luggage, trying to look busy. Something had happened. Jamie knew it with the sudden sucking ache in his chest. Why else would he come creeping to Jamie’s room like this – the one place he shouldn’t be? Michael wasn’t one to gamble, to risk everything for something as transitory as a single night together. He hadn’t come here to get laid, but to escape.

Jamie walked back, closed the door and then just stood there, hesitating. Michael was striving to look unaffected, pretending to look for something in his bag. Jamie smoothed out the shirt and laid it on a chair. Michael’s eyes flitted up and he forced a sheepish-looking smile. “I… I can sleep on the floor if you want.”

“What? Why?”

Their eyes met. Michael’s were infinitely sad. Then they dropped momentarily, took in the small expanse of bare skin that was visible beneath the folds of Jamie’s sheet. Jamie’s breath caught in his throat. Of course Michael didn’t want to share his bed if he wasn’t dressed. It was too risky. “I’ll find something to wear,” he mumbled. Then he blushed, remembering that not only was he completely naked, he was still not cleaned up after his sordid little session earlier. He had begun to doze off with his own fluids still clinging to his skin. Now he felt the rough patches flaking beneath the covers and his eyes almost filled in shame. He really was a lost cause.

But he didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity now. Michael needed him to be normal. To be a best friend, no matter how badly he wanted to be something more. “You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he heard himself say as he rummaged around in his luggage for a pair of clean boxers. “If anything, I am.”

Michael sighed. “No. Look, you’ve got a chair, I’ll be okay.”

Jamie straightened up, boxers in hand, and stared at Michael. “What happened?” he demanded.

“Hmm?” Michael looked away.

“To make you sound like that? I mean, you haven’t minded sharing my bed before.” He caught himself too late. Seeing the red creep up Michael’s cheeks, he scrambled to retract. “I mean, not like… I mean, you know… We’re just going to sleep.” He tried for a joking tone and failed miserably. “Don’t worry, I’ll cover up.”

He was just making it worse. He knew it with every passing word. Michael was looking mortified, and as their eyes locked, a trembling silence filled the room.

“I… didn’t…” Jamie tried to break it, but his tongue seemed not to be connected to his brain anymore. Michael whirled around and made for the door, and before Jamie had time to react, he was gone.

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(Pax Cymrica: The True History, part 3)

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Things are moving forward for Pax. At 35 miles per day, to be exact. Their new tour may be unorthodox, but they do have fans, tucked away in the backwaters of England. Besides, there are whispers about bigger gigs, maybe even another album. But there’s something wrong with Jamie. Michael doesn’t want to believe it, but on the eve of their big break, the truth threatens to destroy everything.

He bent over his bike again, but was distracted by the sound of crunching gravel. “Oh, shit,” Jamie muttered where he sat. “Incoming Samaritan.”

They exchanged weary looks. If travelling England had taught them one thing, it was that people were much too helpful. They’d been offered everything from directions to a sip of whisky in the rain, which was fine but for the tiny fact that the whole point of this tour was to do it the hard way.

A mud-spattered car slowed to a stop beside them, and Michael steeled himself. Just say no, he told himself. Just smile and say ‘thanks but no thanks’.

But the person in the car didn’t roll down the window, didn’t address them. When Michael squinted at the dappled glass, the young man inside averted his eyes. The car started rolling again, wheels turning out towards the road, only to swerve back and stop.

“What the hell?” Jamie chuckled. “Is he drunk or something?”

There was a moment of hesitation so palpable that Michael could almost hear it. Then the window was rolled down, slowly and jerkily, as if the hand that turned the handle was nervous. When it was almost all the way down, a young man with a wilting fringe peered out. He looked too young to be driving a car, but maybe it was just his big eyes and reedy thinness that peeled off the years. “You okay?” He scrunched up his face against the rain and put a hand over his eyes to shield them.

Michael stood up. “Yeah, thanks, we’re fi–” He stopped. The stranger was wearing the weirdest expression. Almost as if he was… awed. “… uh, fine.”

“I’m sorry,” the boy said, and then he let slip a giggle that sounded out of breath. “This is just… such an honour.” He looked from Michael to Jamie, his cheeks colouring, and then his eyes trailed away to where Becca was drumming her fingers against her saddle, fifty yards up the road. He blinked and frowned, as if there was something wrong with the picture.

Jamie stood up and brushed the grit from his tracksuit. Then he walked up to the car, leaned with his elbow on the roof and gave the lad inside his trademark look – the sideways grin, the one he’d always used for the camera. “You know who we are?”

The young man laughed and nodded, and then he held out his hand. But before Jamie could take it, he drew it back and wiped it on his corduroys, as if he was afraid of contaminating Jamie with his sweaty ordinariness. Sticking it out of the window again, he waited until Jamie hesitantly shook it. “I’m Adam, and yes,” he giggled, “I know who you are.” He was speaking too quickly, as if he was afraid of being interrupted.

Jamie chuckled warmly. “Well, hi there, Adam. Nice to meet you.”

Michael’s heart pulsed with ridiculous love. Jamie had been indulgent with another awkward youngster a couple of years back. If there was one thing he was phenomenal at, it was making people feel comfortable. Sometimes Michael was as awed by him as Adam seemed to be.

The boy wasn’t letting go of Jamie’s hand. Instead he pulled him closer to the car, confiding in a husky tone, “I have all three of your albums.”

“Oh, so you’re the one who bought them?” Michael grinned. The joke was wearing a bit thin, but he needed to say something to break the spell. It was enough to watch audience members throw yearning looks at Jamie every night. He didn’t need another rival.

Adam nodded eagerly and finally loosened his grip, apparently to swipe his fringe from his face. “Actually, I’ve got two copies of each,” he said. “I keep one in the plastic, the original plastic, um, wrapper, you know… They’ll be worth money one day.”

“Yeah, because right now, they’re worth fuck-all,” Becca snorted as she came walking back, pushing her bike. “What was it in that Virgin sales bin? Fifty pence?”

Adam gave her a filthy look, and seeing it, Michael prickled. Becca was a bloody handful, and he reserved the right to complain about her diva ways whenever he wanted, but he couldn’t stand it when other people didn’t appreciate her. “She’s right,” he said. “Fugue wasn’t exactly Top of the Pops material.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” Adam insisted, all serious and big-eyed. “People may not get you just yet, but that’s because you’re so far ahead. I get you, though. It’ll be insane, just wait and see. And when that day comes, remember me. I was a fan all along. Not like these other knuckleheads.” He jerked his thumb in the general direction of the world outside his car. “I think what you’re doing is amazing.”

“Well, thanks for your support,” Michael said, demonstratively turning a foot towards the road.

“Do you want a ride?” Adam asked. “Or I could take your, I don’t know… keyboards?”

“We’ve got a minivan that transports our stuff. Cal drives it.”

Adam relaxed so visibly that Michael almost laughed. The guy had been all wound up because their drummer was missing? This really was a fan.

“Okay,” he smiled lopsidedly and started rolling up the window again. “Well, see you tonight then. It’ll be smashing!” With that, he drove away, waving until they couldn’t see him anymore.

“Aw, bless his heart,” Becca cooed.

Jamie mimed hitting her upside the head. “Without the fans, we wouldn’t even be a band.”

“Oh yes, we would,” she sniffed. “And it would be a hell of a lot more avant garde than playing in Wiltshire town halls.”

“Whatever gave you the idea that Pax is supposed to be avant garde?”

Becca laughed, a sound that sometimes made people think she was a smoker. “Your spaced out fucking hippie album from last year?”

“It’s not a hippie album,” Jamie muttered, but Becca had already jumped onto her bike and was pedalling away as if having the last word was a matter of life and death.

Michael smiled at her receding back. “It’s like having some kind of terrier with us.”

Jamie cocked his head. “A terrier who can play.”

“And mix a wicked Black Russian.”

Jamie nodded gravely. “A talent not to be discounted.”

Their eyes met in silent laughter. A moment of hesitation – and then Jamie stepped forward to plant a soft kiss on Michael’s lips. “Darling.”

Michael closed his eyes to the grey sky above them, to the glistening wet hedges. In that moment, only Jamie existed: his velveteen lips, his warm body. The faint taste of wine. Breaking off the kiss, Michael smiled against his mouth. “At least brush your teeth before we go on tonight.”

Jamie scoffed. “I’m not snogging the audience, Mike. And bad breath isn’t actually visible.”

“Not yet.”

Another car appeared on the horizon, and they quickly stepped away from each other. Jamie withdrew his arm from Michael’s waist, and they slipped back into character. The whole country might know that they were queers, but shoving it down their throats was never a good idea.

Jamie gripped his handlebars, put a foot on the pedal and pushed off. As he swung his other leg over the cross bar, the bike wobbled a little, but then he got control over it and was on his way. Michael followed him closely, shaking his head. One of these days, Jamie was going to end up in a ditch, tangled in his bike. Not that it would make him reconsider the liquid snacking. I have one silver lining in my life, he would say, and you want to take it from me?

And Michael would retort, I’ll show you silver lining.

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rosIngela Bohm is a sucker for music and words, and whenever the two go together, she’s on board for the long haul. Every story she tries her hand at turns into a love story at some point, but that’s just her sentimental nature making itself known. She occasionally pretends to be a human being (as long as there are no dogs present), and she spends an obscene amount of time in front of really well-made TV series, trying to riddle out how the hell the bastards do it. Her current projects include part three of an ongoing book series about Shakespeare, a twisted, darker story about online courting gone haywire, and a tale of aliens and sonic miracles on a tiny Greek island.

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EXCERPT & GIVEAWAY: Resist by Heather C. Leigh

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Meet Gavin in Heather’s newest M/M standalone romance!

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All Gavin Walker, bass player for the multi-platinum selling band, Sphere of Irony, wants to do is surf, play music, and occasionally get laid. The problem is that Gavin has a stalker. A potentially deadly one. The threats he receives always mention something about Gavin being gay, which isn’t public knowledge since the record label wants to keep it quiet.

Mitch Hale used to track serial killers for the FBI. A live-changing incident led him to quit the bureau and start his own company providing computerized security for Los Angeles’ wealthiest people. Mitch doesn’t know anyone when he moves across the country from D.C. to California, and all he has for companionship is a pathetic string of failed relationships with women.

When Gavin’s manager hires Mitch to find the stalker, the men instantly hate each other. Despite the constant fighting, attraction between the two blazes hot, confusing the former FBI agent. Spending time with Gavin forces Mitch reflect on what he’s denied about himself for the last ten years. Listening to Mitch’s plan to catch a madman thrusts Gavin’s personal life out in the open for the entire world to see.

Can Gavin and Mitch stop fighting long enough to stop a stalker before someone gets hurt? Or will they stubbornly resist the feelings that develop when they’re forced to work together?

This is book 3 in a 4 part series. It is a spin-off of the Famous Series. These can be read as standalones.

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Gavin Meets Mitch

Before I can ask any more questions, there’s a knock and the door opens a crack. “Mr. Evans, Mr. Hale is here.”

“Send him in please, Donna.” Ross stands and adjusts his suit, straightening out the cuffs and fixing his expensive tie until it lays just so.

I rake a hand over my hair, but it’s pointless. I’m lucky I bothered to shower this morning after my company left. I’m sure I look like shit—with the lack of sleep and the constant stress I’m surprised I don’t look worse.

Good genes, I guess. I frown at the thought of my father.

I can hear Donna outside. “Go right on in.”

The door opens and a man enters. No, not just a man. A gorgeous man. Stunning, actually. For the second time in five minutes, my jaw hangs open.

The man is a study in opposites. His hair, swept back from his face and so dark it’s nearly black, is paired with bright slate grey eyes, a color I’ve never seen before. He looks rugged and dangerous, as if he could kill a man with his bare hands. Yet he’s wearing a tailored and expensive charcoal grey suit that showcases his body to perfection. He’s rough and he’s polished.

And I can’t stop staring.

“Mr. Hale, thank you so much for coming on such short notice.”

Ross has circled the table and is shaking the man’s hand.

“Call me Mitch, please.”

Jesus, even his voice is hot. Deep and silky, it’s as smooth as fine whiskey.

“This is Gavin Walker,” Ross introduces me, stepping aside.

It takes both of them staring at me and an uncomfortably long silence for me to realize I’m still gawking. Embarrassed, I snap my mouth shut.

“Sorry.” Jumping up from my chair, I extend a hand. “Gavin Walker. Thanks for coming.”

He clasps his hand around mine, large and hot and coarse, and pumps it firmly. “Mitch Hale, good to meet you. Wish it were under better circumstances.”

He smiles and I have the sudden urge to rub myself all over his beautiful, hard body. Heat spreads up from our joined hands, sending a flush of pleasure over my skin.

Mitch clears his throat and glances down where I’m still clutching his hand. Shit. I let go, flinching back in humiliation. I jam my hand into the pocket of my jeans, fingering the smooth, heart-shaped stone I keep there.

“Let’s sit.” Ross directs Mitch to the conference table. “Drink?”

Mitch holds up a hand. “I’m good.” I catch the slightest twitch in one of Mitch’s intriguing eyes.

“Okay. Here is the file we have so far.” Ross pushes a folder across the table.

Mitch opens it, scanning the contents. Waiting for him to read about the stalker that’s been harassing me is humiliating, yet it gives me a chance to study the man further. I should resist staring, but I can’t. He’s too gorgeous to ignore.

I flick my gaze over to Ross, who is busy returning emails on his laptop. Good. I don’t want Ross to catch me ogling the new guy. When my eyes land back on Mitch, I have to hold in a groan.

This guy is trying to kill me.

As he flips through the pages in the file—photos, descriptions, police reports—the end of his very wet, very pink tongue pokes out between his lips. Every once in a while, it sneaks back in so he can pull that lush red bottom lip between his teeth, biting on it in concentration.

Jesus. As subtly as I can, I shift on the chair to adjust the semi pressing against my pants.

More contradictions. That tongue, the biting of the lip, both so playful and innocent against the serious image he projects with the suit and the perfectly styled hair and the—I inhale deeply—hint of designer aftershave.

Suddenly, Mitch closes the folder and sits up, folding his hands on top of it. I jerk away, sitting back in my chair instead of leaning halfway over the table like a besotted teenage girl.

“This man is not to be taken lightly,” he cautions, his intelligent gaze traveling back and forth between Ross’ and mine.

Ross closes his laptop, giving Mitch his full attention. “We’re not taking it lightly. Gavin has security with him at all times since the…” Ross glances at me, “the incident in New York.”

“And before that?” Mitch asks. I stare at the hard line of his jaw then drop my eyes down to the curve of his throat where it disappears into the top of his crisp dress shirt. I pray that he doesn’t see the way my hands shake or the heat prickling my face as lust washes over me.

“Before that we weren’t documenting anything we received, just throwing them away. They were mostly letters, gifts…” Ross trails off.

“But no involvement by law enforcement?”

My eyes bounce back and forth between the two men.

Ross sighs. “Not until the New York incident.” When Mitch scowls, a look that makes him look even more dangerous and a hell of a lot sexier, Ross elaborates. “Do you know how many crazy fans are out there? Hell, Adam gets over a hundred bizarre gifts and letters a week. That’s just the strange ones. Plus, keeping this out of the media is important to the record label.”

Mitch nods. “I understand. I’m not judging. I’m just trying to get a feel for what I’ll be dealing with. That includes how long law enforcement has been checking into this guy.”

“Not long,” I whisper, surprised to hear myself speak. I’m used to being discussed as if I’m not in the room. It comes with the job—decisions made for you without your input.

Two sets of eyes focus on me and I feel my cheeks blaze hot. That intense grey stare has me squirming, and this time it’s not from embarrassment. Another rush of heat ripples down my spine. I run my hands through my hair to catch the beads of sweat that have popped up on my temples.

Mitch opens his mouth to say something then snaps it shut. He blinks a few times before speaking. “Tell me how this began, Gavin. What you’ve noticed personally.”

“Shit, how long do you have?” I scoff.

The corner of Mitch’s mouth quirks up. “I have time.” He puts two fingers into the collar of his shirt and tugs gently.

The subtle motion brings images of Mitch tearing off his clothes, sending another wave of sizzling need through me. Nodding, I take a sip of water to cool down the desire inspired by Mitch’s proximity.

Ross’ cell phone rings, startling me. I fumble with the glass, nearly spilling it.

“Damn. Sorry.”

This time, Mitch smiles. My eyes fixate on that mouth as his lips part to reveal two rows of perfect teeth.

“I have to take this,” Ross confesses. He glances over. “You okay to do this without me?”

No. I’m not okay. You’re going to leave me in a room with one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen while I’m a nervous, blundering wreck.

That’s what I’m thinking. What I say isn’t even close.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

Ross stares at Mitch. “I’ll be back to discuss the specifics of your contract.”

“No problem,” Mitch agrees. Leaning back in his chair, he crosses one ankle over his knee.

Now he’s given me a direct view of his crotch, hugged tight by those tailored grey slacks. There’s a lot to look at. Jesus. If what I’m seeing isn’t an illusion, he is hung. I don’t realize that I’m staring right at Mitch’s dick until his leg drops and he leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“It’s okay to be nervous.”

Blinking, I look up to see those deep gunmetal eyes waiting patiently for me to respond.

“Ummmm, I’m not nervous.”

I am, but not for the reasons you think.

Mitch puts his large hands back up on the table, his eye twitching again. “Do you mind if I get a drink?” He gestures towards the tray Donna set out.

“Not at all.”

“So,” he continues as he removes his jacket, hangs it over his chair, and circles the table. “Tell me about the letters.”

Mitch picks up a mug, turning his back to me to prepare his coffee. My mouth goes dry at the sight of his perfect, round ass showcased by the tight grey fabric that clings to every curve.

I can’t do this here with him. Alone. With that ass, those eyes, and the scent of whatever cologne he’s wearing. My brain won’t function properly while bombarded from all sides by filthy sexual fantasies starring Mitch.

“I-I forgot. I have somewhere to be.”

Jumping up, I catch a surprised expression on Mitch’s face right before I bolt out the door.

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Mitch dresses down for Gavin’s public appearance.

I catch the tail end of Gavin’s conversation and come down the stairs in time to see him hang up his phone.

“I need to discuss something with you in the car,” I mention as I hit the bottom step.

Gavin whirls around and chokes at the sight of me. His eyes bug out of his head like a cartoon character and his mouth drops open. Then… he bursts into laughter. The little shit. Honest to god, full belly, tears-in-his-eyes laughter.

“What?” I snap. If he hadn’t started laughing I would have sworn I saw desire on his face when I came down the stairs. Hell, his tongue practically rolled out of his mouth.

“W-what on earth? I-I mean…” The laughter continues.

I cross my arms and scowl, waiting for him to stop acting like a brat. “Are you done?”

Gavin wipes his eyes. “I don’t know, Mitch. What the hell?” He points at me, waving his hand up and down my body. “What are you wearing?”

I scoff. “We’re going to be late. Can I catch you up in the car?” Annoyed at the fact that Gavin is still giggling like a schoolgirl, I snatch my keys off the foyer table and stomp outside to wait on the front step.

“Oh god,” he whispers in a husky voice as he follows behind me.

“What?” I yell, whirling around until we’re nose to nose. I know I’m being unprofessional, but I can’t help myself. He’s being such a dick. “Am I too embarrassing to be seen with? Am I not good enough for the perfect Gavin Walker?”

“No!” Gavin responds to my accusations, holding up a hand to keep me from crashing into him.

I pull back, still furious. “I need to lock the door,” I snarl.

“Jesus, Mitch. What the fuck?” Gavin backs away from the door, heading towards the car.

I shouldn’t care what he thinks. This is work.

After locking up and pulling the car out of the driveway, I feel like the world’s biggest jerk.

“Sorry for yelling,” I say at the same time Gavin mumbles, “Sorry for laughing.”

“Christ,” I chuckle. “Aren’t we a pair?”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “So,” I can see Gavin check out my clothing again from the corner of my eye. “What is with the outfit?”

“Is it that bad?” I ask, biting my bottom lip as I glance over at all six feet plus of beautiful blonde man reclining in the passenger seat.

“No! Not at all. I’m just not used to seeing you like…this,” he says, waving his hand at my clothes again.

“Like what?”

Here we go again. I’m getting all offended. And why? Because he doesn’t like my clothes? Why the hell do I care?

Gavin lets out a long, tortured breath. “All sexy, okay? Shit.” He looks out the side window, hiding his face. I see a crimson blush spread over the one visible cheek and ear.

“Oh.” I grin. “So I’m sexy?” I tease. That explains his mixed reaction.

Gavin barks out a laugh, still staring out the passenger window. “Yeah, like you don’t know that.”

He thinks I’m sexy? For some reason that has me inherently pleased. More pleased than I should be but hell, it’s not everyday you get your ego stroked by a rock star. A gorgeous one at that.

Aaaaand, I shove that right back into the nifty little space in my brain that’s storing up all the thoughts I want to deny ever having.

It’s getting crowded in there.

I clear my throat. “Honestly, the outfit is because I just couldn’t bear the thought of even one more day in a damn suit and tie.” I shudder. Gavin tilts his head in my direction. He’s listening, so I continue. “I felt like I was choking to death. It was too much like being back at the bureau. I just…Let’s just say I didn’t want any reminders of my time there, okay?”

“What does that mean, then? If you aren’t my bodyguard, and you aren’t management, who are you?” Gavin asks.

I force a grin on my face, feeling like I might just twitch right out of my skin. Gavin might not be pleased with my solution.

“I’m your date.”

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Incite (Book One) The Sphere of Irony Series

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Strike (Book Two) The Sphere of Irony Series

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About the Author:

Heather C Leigh

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After growing up in New England, I currently live just outside Atlanta, GA.

I love the Red Sox and hate the Yankees.

I love hot, sexy romance novels, but hate long, drawn out misunderstandings as a plot line.

I love book series, but hate cliffhangers.

I love alpha males, but hate when they borderline on abusive.

Mostly? I love love love chocolate.

Stalk Her: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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EXCERPT & GIVEAWAY: Meant For Me by Ann Lister

Have you checked out this great series yet? Meant For Me is book 5 in The Rock Gods series. There’s a great giveaway to celebrate the release.

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Tony Wilcox, the quiet keyboard player for Ivory Tower, has always believed he was straight. A sexual encounter with his best friend leaves Tony questioning his heart and the unwavering attraction he has for Jared. Living and working together is no longer enough for Tony… he wants more. He wants Jared as his.

Jared Baker, the bass player for the band, has a past that is getting in the way of him fully embracing what he wants… Tony. He’s tried everything to create distance between them, but none of it eliminated the feelings he has developed for Tony.

Trying to suppress the anger and confusion from Jared withdrawing from his life, Tony does his best to get beyond the feelings he has for his friend. When Jared becomes deathly ill, it’s Tony that he calls for help and Tony has to decide if he can heal Jared without giving away too much of his heart.

Can best friends find their way to true love and discover if they were meant for each other, or will the challenges of life force them to choose separate paths?

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“I’m thinking champagne and maybe some strawberries,” Jared suggested.

“Hmmm, romantic,” Tony teased. “I didn’t know you were capable.”

“Capable? I’ll show you what I’m capable of,” Jared countered. “I’ll dribble the champagne all over your naked body and lick you clean, and then I’ll get you dirty with my spunk. I’ll use my dick to paint my name across your chest in the come smears and fuck you while I watch it dry. How’s that sound?”

“Jesussss!” Tony moaned. “It sounds fucking filthy. I love it.”

Jared laughed, a deep, throaty sound that aroused Tony even more. “I knew you’d like that scenario,” Jared said. “It’s why we’re so good together.”

“We do bring out the best in each other,” Tony bit at Jared’s neck and sucked with force.

“Let’s get naked,” Jared suggested.

“I’ll get the champagne,” Tony added.

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About the author

Ann Lister - Author PictureAnn Lister writes erotic love stories using beautifully drawn characters; flawed and emotionally damaged, and at the height of their careers, each in search of the one thing that still eludes them: love.

The Rock Gods series gave her Bestselling Author status on Amazon. Each book in this series brings her two favorite elements together: musicians and the love between two men. These stories focus on what it truly means to love; love unconditionally, love without restrictions or labels, love without fear or judgment – to just simply love.

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Ann Lister Badge5/28/2015    Jackie’s Book Reviews

5/28/2015   Elisa – My reviews and Ramblings

5/28/2015   Fangirl Moments and My Two Cents

5/29/2015              Drops of Ink

5/29/2015              Love Bytes

5/29/2015              Twinsie Talk

5/30/2015   Nephy’s World

5/30/2015   Kimi-chan Experience

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5/31/2015   Carly’s Book Reviews

5/31/2015   We Love Kink

6/1/2015   Hearts On Fire Reviews

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6/2/2015  Jackie’s Book Reviews

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6/3/2015   Multitasking mommas Book Reviews

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6/6/2015   Wicked Faerie’s Tales and Reviews

6/6/2015   Nic Starr

6/7/2015   Nessa’s Book Reviews

6/7/2015   Evermore Books

6/8/2015   My Fiction Nook

6/8/2015   Jill Prand

6/8/2015   Foxylutely Books

6/9/2015  Man2ManTastic

6/9/2015   The Novel Approach

6/9/2015  Twinsie Talk

6/10/2015 BFD Book Blog

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6/10/2015 Molly Lolly: Reader, Reviewer, Lover of Words

GUEST POST: Sinful Needs by Bella Jeanisse

Bella Jeanisse joins us today to share with us a little about her writing. She has recently released, Sinful Needs, a story set within the music industry. The story features a number of couples (m/f and m/m), including band members Scott and Austin.  Bella has also shared the whole of Chapter One if you would like a taste of the book. So check out her post and read some of the book below.

This is a spin-off of the Triple Threat series.

Lead guitarist Brandon Knight and his girlfriend Mackenzie Winters haven’t seen each other for two weeks, since she left the tour. It’s been two weeks of trials and a bittersweet longing for each other. What they don’t know is that they both have been faithful and have begun to think beyond mere lovers. When Brandon picks Mackenzie up at the airport in New Orleans, their love and lust explodes–just in time for the next leg of the band’s tour to begin.

Brandon’s bandmates, Scott and Austin, have used this time to explore their hidden feelings, and Austin finds that he wants more. With the memories of his “coming out” to his family still freshly seared in his mind, Scott refuses to acknowledge his love, fearful that they will be exposed to the world during the tour.

But, the tour is the least of Wicked End’s worries. They must deliver the most incredible album of their careers under the strain of their complicated relationships, and in a move that was a surprise to everyone except Brandon, he’s asked Mackenzie to accompany him out west during the recording.

Limits, emotional and physical, will be tested. Boundaries explored. They all will face changes, joyful and sometimes painful, that they never knew were possible, and when the lights come up, nothing will be the same again.

Guest Post

I’ve been writing since I was a young teenager. At first, it was just a way to vent. Then it became something to entertain my friends. They all wanted to be in the story of meeting our favorite boy band.

At 16, I started to write an actual book. When I had several chapters done, I gave it to a teacher to read. He thought it had promise. It wasn’t about a boy band, but a subject most didn’t speak of in the 80s—abuse.

The next person who read it told me to write about nice things. That was discouraging. I could only write what I felt, or it didn’t come out right. Many things took me away from writing in the next few years. Thankfully, I never let the dream go.

I write erotic fiction. Most of the books I write these days are about bands I created. Since they aren’t based on any real bands, it’s hard to find people who look like them. That sometimes gets complicated. However, I know what they look like. Fans tell me who they think a character resembles to them, and I am surprised when they find someone who fits my image.

Wicked End is one of my favorite bands. Their story spans two books at this point, with a third planned. They are quite diverse and for the most part, open-minded. There is Jake, a crazy womanizing lead singer; Brandon, a hopeless romantic lead guitarist and Chico, an insatiable drummer who juggles multiple open relationships. Scott, the bassist, and Austin, the rhythm guitarist, are very much in love, yet they hide it from everyone but their bandmates.

Austin and Scott are quite special to me. Several gay/bi friends have told me that I got things just right. Their struggle is one that many gay/bi men and women have in reality. Showing the world your true colors is not easy for everyone. I know firsthand that many will not accept someone as they really are. Although I do not hide who I am, like Austin and Scott, I censor myself around many people. I hope one day we can all just be who we are.

I have many more books in the works, each one unique. Each series can be read on its own, but my other bands make cameo appearances in most of the Triple Threat books. I hope you enjoy getting to know my bands and walking with them on their journeys of discovery.

Chapter One

It was the last Friday in September. Brandon Knight checked out the article in Guitarmania magazine about him and his band, Wicked End while on his phone. It turned out better than he expected. The pictures made him look like a sex object. That he was not so keen about. His girlfriend Mackenzie would be pissed. At least when other girls drooled over it.

He sat in the waiting area of Louis Armstrong International Airport in New Orleans, trying to look inconspicuous. Mackenzie’s plane was scheduled to land 10 minutes ago, but it was a bit late. He checked the clock for the twentieth time. Then he sighed and walked over to the arrival monitors. It landed! Woo-hoo!

With a huge smile, he walked over to his chair and settled down again. It would be a while before she reached him. He thought about buying a ticket to somewhere— anywhere— so he could wait at the gate, but he didn’t want to give anyone his ID. So far, no one had recognized him, and he wanted it to stay that way. Angelo, one of Wicked End’s security team, stood about 20 feet away just in case. He’d asked Angelo to stay inconspicuous.

He never wanted Mackenzie subjected to the sort of insanity they’d faced in Fort Lauderdale weeks before. Brandon wore a black felt fedora he bought in the Coral Springs mall almost three weeks ago. That, coupled with his Oakleys , helped him be semi-anonymous. Removing all his piercings was Scott’s idea, since he rarely did that . He kept toying with his eyebrow, missing the bar there. His mouth also felt weird without its piercing.

His blue jeans and Slipknot T-shirt didn’t give anything away. His black hair was in a ponytail. It had grown in the weeks on tour. He debated trimming it or just letting it go. He’d see what Mackenzie thought before deciding. The smartest move he made that day was to leave his very recognizable leather jacket on the bus. New Orleans was still hot and humid, anyway.

Angelo walked around the bank of seats Brandon sat in. As imposing as he was, he didn’t have to do much to make people avoid him. He watched their surroundings, analyzing everything and everyone. Years of sentry duty in the Marine Corp came in handy at such times. He would not allow anyone he did not recognize to get too close to Brandon.

Still on the plane, Mackenzie Winters clung to the armrests. The flight had been tortuously turbulent. She hated flying. Only when Brandon sat beside her could she relax when flying. Takeoffs and landings were the worst for her. Her body shook as the plane rolled toward the airport, finally on the ground.

Sitting in the front of the plane had its privileges. As soon as possible, she grabbed her things and headed for the exit. The walk through the terminal calmed her somewhat , but she had to relax more. Brandon did not need to know she had been miserable without him.

First thing, she headed to the ladies’ room. After washing her hands, she looked in the full-length mirror near the exit. Her clothes had been chosen for comfort on the flight . As she looked at herself, she regretted them. The form fitting jeans and simple blue top were boring and didn’t allow for easy access. Her long blonde hair was done up in a French braid, loose strands framing her face. No makeup as usual. Her green eyes looked a bit tired, but sleeping alone had been difficult. She fixed her blouse and stared at her image.

Frowning, she thought about changing into one of the outfits in her bag. Maybe he’d like the tight black dress again? With a sigh, she decided she would rather get to him quickly than change. She fingered the black crystal that hung from her neck. It meant so much that Brandon gave it to her. Smiling, she left the restroom, then realized her throat was dry.

She stopped at the convenience shop and bought a bottle of iced coffee. While waiting in line, a magazine caught her eye. A smile formed on her lips. Brandon was on the cover of Guitarmania. He was shirtless and seemed to be engrossed in his music. He had never looked sexier. She snatched a copy and added that to her purchase.

“Wow, doesn’t he look hotter than ever,” the female clerk commented when she lifted the magazine. “What I wouldn’t do…”

Hiding her jealousy, Mackenzie smiled and replied, “Those hands. The things they’re capable of.”

“Guess you have a crush on him, too. Looks a bit like Johnny Depp, huh?” The clerk rang up her things. “I’m going to the show tonight. Wonder how hard it is to get backstage.”

Mackenzie sighed. “I’m sure if you blow a roadie, they’ll get you in.” She laughed, then realized others had heard her. “I’m kidding.” She winked at the clerk.

“Yeah, I bet that does work,” she whispered. “Are you going?” She paused when Mackenzie handed over a 20-dollar bill.

With a grin, Mackenzie replied, “Yep, best seats in the house.” She tucked her change back in her purse and headed out of the store. She glanced down at Brandon’s picture, and her pussy clenched. God, I need you between my thighs. His beautiful brown eyes were closed, but that made the photo that much hotter.

She had abstained from sex for 17 days. It was the worst two weeks of her life. Some days, she cried from what felt like withdrawal symptoms. She had never resisted her urges before. The emotional turmoil was a shock.

She spent the first weekend alone, in bed, tortured by strong cravings. Her vibrator only made them worse. However, she knew she had to go through it. She had promised herself to limit her sex life. Brandon was none the wiser. She hid the whole thing from him. After a week had gone by, the need lessened, and she vowed to hold out until she saw him.

In the terminal, Brandon was getting antsy. He missed her badly, but his dick missed her a lot more. The constant erections without relief were aggravating. He jerked off a few times, but it didn’t help. He needed her pussy wrapped around his dick to get true relief. Even the thought of sex had him hard. He looked down to see his erection straining against his jeans. Hurry up, Tink.

He closed his eyes and thought about the past two weeks. His fingers flexed involuntarily as he recalled beating Dean Johnson from Gasoline to a pulp. If Jon Harris and Dominic Spinelli from Dean’s band had not been there, Dean might have been in a body bag at the end. His anger over what Dean did to Mackenzie had morphed into all-out rage. Brandon had lost control.

Scott Mason, his best friend and Wicked End’s bassist, had wanted to help him teach Dean a lesson, but Brandon acted alone. Good thing Dean didn’t press charges. The scene was a blur, but the moments after were clear.

* * *

When Brandon got back to Wicked End’s dressing room that night, he headed straight to the bathroom to wash the blood off his hands. He had sprays and splatters all over his shirt as well. His knuckles were swollen and starting to hurt. He hadn’t held back— he’d put all his strength into each blow.

After rinsing off the blood, he looked at his fingers, then flexed them. He sucked a breath in through his teeth and winced. Not good. How the hell am I gonna play tomorrow? He laid his hands on the vanity and looked to the ceiling. I did this for you, Tink. He wasn’t sure what the fallout would be, but he couldn’t let Dean get away with what he had done.

A knock on the door made him turn. “I’m in here.”

“What happened?” Scott asked through the door.

Brandon leaned over and rested his head on the vanity. “Nothing.”

“I know you, man.” Scott was concerned. “You look like you wanna kill someone. Let me in, so we can talk.”

With a sigh, Brandon opened the door. He hid his hands behind his back. “Told you I’m fine.”

Scott looked Brandon over. His eyes zeroed in on his bloody shirt. “Fine, huh?” He quickly checked Brandon’s face, turning his head side to side. “Whose blood?”

“Dean’s.” He had to tell someone. “I beat the shit outta him.”

Scott’s mouth dropped. He froze for a few seconds. “You what?”

“Beat Dean till he cried like a bitch.” Brandon scowled, the anger returning. “He had the balls to say she’d wanted him. That goddamn motherfucker.” He pushed off the vanity and turned to the door.

Scott grabbed him. “No. You got your revenge. Let it go.”

“But—” Brandon tried to stop the emotions building . “He almost—” He shut his eyes trying not to breakdown. “You know what he was about to do.”

Pulling Brandon into a loose hug, Scott closed his eyes as well. Every time he got that close to Brandon, his attraction came to the surface. He forced the thought away. “ But he didn’t. She fought him tooth and nail. He was humiliated. That was pretty funny.”

“She cold-cocked him, huh?” Brandon smiled, loving that his woman could fight her own battles sometimes.

Scott nodded. “Yep. She hit him so hard they both lost their balance. He hit the floor in shock.”

“That’s my girl.” Brandon pulled away and patted Scott’s shoulder. “Thanks. You’re always there for me.”

Just then, Scott’s mouth dropped again. He lifted Brandon’s hands and examined the swollen, torn knuckles. “Shit. You weren’t kidding. Can you play?”

“I don’t know.” Brandon pulled his hands away and cringed. “Maybe if I ice ’em?”

Scott nodded his head and tugged Brandon back into the main room. Within seconds, Scott was holding ice to Brandon’s hands . “If this don’t work, we may have to cancel tomorrow’s show.”

“What happened ?” Jake Thompson, Wicked End’s vocalist, walked up to them. His expression changed when he noticed Brandon’s hands. “Holy shit! What the fuck happened?”

“Fight,” Brandon said bluntly.

Scott replaced the quickly melting cubes, and then glanced at Jake. “I got it. He’s fine.”

The next night when Brandon couldn’t even do one song without taking a break, Jake was livid. He pulled Brandon aside. Jake bitched and moaned about Brandon being irresponsible . It was strange, coming from someone like Jake. Scott told him to shut up, and they played their set as best as possible.

* * *

A sudden voice made the memory fade. A man sat down next to Brandon, who stiffened, but replied, “Hey.” He glanced around for Angelo, who stood several feet away, watching.

“This may sound strange, but you look a lot like Brandon Knight.”

Brandon nodded nervously without looking up at his new seatmate. “I get that a lot.”

“You’re reading about him? That’s kinda ironic, isn’t it?”

With a tentative grin, Brandon replied, “Yeah, I guess. Interesting article.” He laid his phone on his thigh.

“You sound a lot like him , too.” The man’s voice sounded familiar. “Maybe you should try out for his spot. I heard he’s been a lame-ass the last two weeks.”

When the man chuckled, Brandon whipped his head around. Next to him was Liam from Delirious. One of Wicked End’s opening acts. Brandon said, “You son of a bitch. I was about to hit you.”

Liam laughed again. “Sorry, but you look like you’re gonna explode. Jake keeps bitching about you.” He paused. “Guess you’re waiting for your woman.”

Brandon smiled. “Yeah, she should be here soon.” Then his eyebrows furrowed. “What’re you doing here?”

“Same.” Liam bit his lip. “My wife and my son are flying in. I’ve missed them.” He sighed. “Please don’t tell her what you’ve seen while she was at home.”

With his mouth slightly open, Brandon tried to hide his shock that Liam was a married man. He didn’t wear a ring and was not remotely faithful. More than once, he had seen Liam nailing a groupie.

“I won’t.” Brandon felt guilty that he might have to lie about it. “I guess I’m luckier than I thought.”

Liam’s eyes opened wider. “Why?”

“Me and my girl got a deal worked out. Open relationship, for the most part.”

“Fuck, yeah. Lucky you.” Liam sighed. “My wife would cut my balls off if she knew how many other women I’ve slept with besides her.” He hung his head. “I try, but it seems I suck at the celibacy thing.”

Brandon nodded. “Yeah, I bet that would suck.” He groaned, knowing celibacy was killing him. “Hardest thing I ever did.”

“Huh?” Liam turned and saw a look of agony on Brandon’s face. “Damn. You been holding out? That’s why you hide on the bus all the time?”

Another nod. Brandon closed his eyes. “I kinda wanted to wait for her. It’s only two weeks. I love her.” A flurry of noise made them both look up. A group of passengers exited the secured area. Brandon stood to look for Mackenzie. When he spotted her, his heart leapt. “Gotta go. She’s here.”

Mackenzie saw Brandon immediately. “Baby!” She ran to him and threw her arms around him. Her emotions were all over the place. “I love you.” She sniffled, trying not to cry. It was as if she were whole again. He was the part of her she didn’t know was missing. She wept from seeing him again. She couldn’t let him go.

“I love you too, Kenzie.” He closed his eyes as he covered her mouth with his. His entire body yearned for her. “I missed you so bad.”

Her bag fell when she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Bedroom, now.”

Her desire had come to the foreground. Her pussy clenched as it always did when she was aroused. It happened so often, it was as if she did constant kegels. The one benefit of it was being tighter than most women, even after sex.

“Really?” He laughed. “Desperate for me, huh?”

She kissed him hard. “Yes. Need you now.”

He held her ass, wishing she had a skirt on. She was back to her usual way of dressing— T-shirts and jeans. He loved her that way, too. However, with a skirt, there were more options. The trembling was something new though.

“You OK, Tink?” He held her closely while she buried her face in his hair.

She took deep breaths, trying to control the awful need that consumed her. “I just missed you.” That she did, although it was so much more.

“Your hands’re shaking.” He nuzzled her neck, trying not to let his hat fall off. “You sure you’re OK?”

She nodded and leaned back to look at him. “It was hard without you.”

“I know what you mean.” He smiled and kissed her nose. “You’re mine for four days, right?”

With a grin of her own, she replied, “Yes. I don’t have to be at work until Tuesday.” She touched his mouth, surprised he had no piercings in. It was the first time she’d seen him that way since high school. Her fingers brushed his beard, missing even that.

He spun her around, collected her bag and walked back to the chairs to say goodbye to Liam, who sat texting on his phone. “I’m heading out, Liam. See you tonight.”

Liam looked up. “Sure. Hey… Kenzie, right?”

Her face heated up a bit, remembering the last time they saw each other. She was in quite a state, having just returned from a night with Jesse and Brandon. “Yes.”

“Hold onto him.” Liam winked. “He’s a good one.”

Brandon set her on her feet. “Thanks, and good luck.” He took her hand and led her to the baggage claim, Angelo on their heels.

Meanwhile, on Wicked End’s bus, Scott was showering again. Having re-dyed his long hair deep red that morning, he couldn’t wait to kill the lingering odor. Hairstylists always tried to convince him to use a more natural color. That was not his thing. Austin Reese, Wicked End’s rhythm guitarist, usually helped him with the procedure.

He was getting ready to go sightseeing with Austin. They had a few hours to kill. Since Mackenzie left, he had ignored his attraction to her and Brandon and focused on Austin. He still couldn’t express his feelings the way Austin wanted, but he made sure Austin knew he cared.

The bathroom door opened. That was normal. One bathroom for 15 men. “I’m in here.” No reply was weird, though. “Jake?” Another sound made him turn, but Scott was rinsing conditioner out, so couldn’t see clearly. “Brandon?” That was a dream. Brandon would never watch him in the shower. Then hands running up his back made him jump.

“Shh, I don’t want anyone to hear us.” Austin pressed his naked body against Scott’s back and turned off the water so it wasn’t wasted. Then he slid his hands up Scott’s body to his shoulders . “You’ve been stressed all day.” He gripped Scott’s muscles. “Damn, you’re tense.”

Austin’s mohawk lay flat on his head. Scott had dyed it blue for him a few weeks ago. Austin smiled while Scott unconsciously rubbed his body against his own. Although Scott was six feet tall, Austin towered six inches over him.

Scott moaned softly as Austin massaged his shoulders . He had been stressed. Mackenzie returning meant Brandon would be less available. He liked being close to him, even if it was only platonic. Their friendship meant a lot to him. It was different than what he had with Austin.

Austin had watched Scott stare at Brandon the last few days. He knew he had to help Scott get over him. With a grin, he wondered if Mackenzie would help him convince Brandon. She probably would. She got off on seeing him and Scott together. With Brandon in the mix, she would go all animal.

“Damn.” Scott groaned with relief as Austin worked on his neck. He glanced down. His dick was growing quickly. “You’re the best.” His lover treated him better than any woman ever had.

Looking over Scott’s shoulder, Austin smiled. He was glad he was turning him on. His own cock was already fully engorged and poking the top of Scott’s ass. “Maybe I should give you some sexual relief, too,” he whispered.

Scott gasped when Austin gripped his cock. The strong hand moved up and down slowly at first, then faster. His eyes closed as the pleasure built with each stroke. “Austin…” He put his hands on the wall in front of him. When Austin’s fingers started to rub the head again and again, his head fell back onto Austin’s shoulder.

Unable to resist, Austin turned his head and kissed Scott’s lips. He debated on having Scott face him, but liked the dominating position better. Scott submitted to him often. He enjoyed that. His other hand cupped Scott’s balls. He got pleasure out of the moans.

His eyes rolled back, Scott hungrily sucked on Austin’s bottom lip while Austin fondled his testicles. Then he moaned louder when his fingers wandered behind his sack. Austin pressed hard, his fingertips moving in a circle.

Austin said, “I know you love this,” And gasped as Scott reached back and squeezed the head of his dick. “God, I wanna fuck you.” Slowly, his hand wandered and he pressed a fingertip into Scott’s back door. “I wanna take this ass hard and fast. Make you take me bareback. Cum deep inside you. Wanna feel you gripping my dick while you cum with me.”

Chico Rivera, the band’s drummer, walked in and gaped at the male silhouettes. “Please don’t tell me you’re fucking. I don’t want that image in my head when Margarette gets here.” She was his New Orleans girlfriend, and the only Latina one.

Scott jumped. “Chico?”

“Yeah. I can see you guys’re naked.” Chico relieved himself as intended. “Please don’t start moaning again until I leave.” He didn’t care that they were bisexual, just as long as he didn’t have to hear or see anything they did together.

Austin took a deep breath . “I’m not fucking him.” Then he whispered in Scott’s ear, “Yet.”

Chico replied, “Good. That’s the last thing I need to see today.”

With a sly grin, Austin put his hands around Scott’s waist and yelled, “Oh God, Scott. Oh God. Oh God!” He held in the laugh on the tip of his tongue.

“Shit!” Chico shouted. “I fuckin’ hate you, man!” He rushed out of the room, holding his ears. “Son of a bitch.” A memory of seeing them in Scott’s bunk flashed before his eyes. “I’m gonna kill you, Reese!” He slammed the bathroom door shut.

Scott and Austin burst out laughing. They had done that to Chico several times. His aversion to their sexual antics made it easy to tease him.

After turning Scott around, Austin bent down and kissed him. Quickly, the kiss turned passionate. He stroked Scott’s tongue with his while he pressed him against the wall.

Then the door opened again. “Why’d you have to freak Chico out?” Jake loudly asked. He slid the shower door open and shook his head. “You know he can’t handle you guys kissing.”

Austin pulled back. “He could’ve knocked.” He glared at Jake, who was still watching them. “Unless you’re joining in, you might wanna go help Chico get over it.”

Jake realized he was staring. “Yeah, sure.” He averted his eyes. “Sorry I barged in.”

He didn’t understand why seeing Scott and Austin together turned him on somewhat. It wasn’t that he looked at guys that way. However, when they were going at it, in any way, his dick hardened. At least it happened when Brandon and Mackenzie got it on as well. He shook his head and turned away.

“I’m going with Chico to Margarette’s. Her sister’s in, and I’m her ‘date’ for the afternoon.” He grinned. “She better put out. Later.”

When they were alone, Scott exhaled loudly. “We need to give up before someone else interrupts. I can’t wait to get home, so I can attack you in your sleep.” He chuckled. “I’ll wake you up like you do to me sometimes.”

Austin kissed his forehead. “You do that.” He hoped Scott followed through. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Austin wanted their relationship to grow. Normally, he was the one to lavish affection on Scott. It rarely happened the other way around. He wished he could get Scott over his reluctance.

Scott put his arms around Austin. “I will. When you least expect it.”

“Austin?” Jesse, the band’s driver and equipment hauler, called from outside the door. “Jim needs you inside for a few minutes. Something about your guitar acting up.”

The bus had parked behind the downtown New Orleans Arena, and the house crew was setting up, along with the bands’ crews. Jim, Wicked End’s guitar tech, was doing some tests with Brandon’s new guitars that he’d received from Six Strings. Austin was to use one of them for the first time that night. They also planned to reveal a new song at the concert.

“Sorry, gotta go.” Austin placed a kiss on Scott’s temple. “I got us a room at the Hyatt across the street.” He took a deep breath. “This way, we won’t be interrupted again.”

Scott looked up. “You’re the best.”

AustinBook Links

About the author

IMG_1322Bella Jeanisse hails from New York City. At 10 years old, Bella picked up her first guitar. She was instantly hooked. Because of her deep passion for tall men, rock music, tattoos and motorcycles, she has gotten to know many musicians and roadies over the years—in every possible way. And although she has been writing risqué stories about musicians for many years, she has just recently taken these tales to the next level revealing, through her protagonists, the hold some of these men still have on her. They have inspired more than they ever imagined.

Now living in Florida with her three sons, she juggles domestic responsibilities, a social life, her career as an IT professional and her writing as carefully as possible. They do cross paths as you have seen in her first collection of short stories. Her life is busy and full, yet very fulfilling.

The few limits Bella puts on her love-life may be found as but a shadow in her writing. She draws from life, fantasy and inspiration to create each tale.

Bella has broadened her horizons to include short stories, Insatiable Appetites, with many more to come, some just a sentence at this point. The subjects range from military men to biker chicks to naughty doctors and much, much more.

The Triple Threat universe is growing… Reckless 2 (Tragic Soul) is up next. Gasoline 2 (Evolving Urges) is complete. Triple Threat 3 (Dual Desires) is almost done. Soon enough you’ll also get to know Silverblade, Main Street (book name subject to change), Winter Winds and Brass Monkey too… so many hot rock stars, so little time to make them come to life.

Follow Bella on Twitter @BellaJeanisse and on Facebook Join other fans in the Facebook group:

 Author Links

INTERVIEW, EXCERPT and GIVEAWAY: Brad Vance “Have a Little Faith In Me”

Join us today as Brad Vance answers some questions and shares his new release with us. Plus there’s a special announcement about a free book available on 19th/20th Feb and a giveaway as well.

Young male fashion model posing outdoors against rustic background

When Rocky met Dex, it was hate at first sight. Country superstar Dex Dexter represented everything that budding rock star Rocky McCoy had left behind him in the Deep South – the religion, the homophobia, the hypocrisy, the lies. And Rocky represented everything that Dex had denied, had turned away from, had refused…

When Rocky met Dex, it was love at first touch. Double booked in the same slot on the main stage at CrossFest, they fought for the microphone like two dogs fighting over a bone. And when their hands met…

Rocky has had enough. “No more falling for straight guys. No way. No matter how hot. Especially if the ‘straight guy’ looks to me like a major closet case.”

Dex has had enough. “No way. I can’t be gay. I can’t lose my family, my friends, my career. I can’t.”

What they’ve had enough of doesn’t matter. It’s what they’ve never had enough of that will bring them together…

young man imagine by laying on the sofa

Thanks for joining us today, Brad. Congratulations on our new release.  We are also happy to have the opportunity to ask you some questions. Instead of the usual question, we were hoping to get a glimpse into your day – A Day in the Life of Brad Vance… I hope you don’t mind us prying. 😉

On a typical day, how much time would you spend writing? Describe your writing environment.

Thank you!  Great to be here.  I spend about three hours a day on average doing the actual writing.  That’s not my whole working day, of course.  There’s making book covers, publishing, blogging, Facebooking, research (lots of research), wow… sometimes I feel like Madeleine Kahn in “Blazing Saddles” – I’m not a wabbit!

I have a two bedroom house and the second bedroom is my office.  My cats each have their own comfortably appointed chairs in here where they keep me company.  To be honest, they’re probably also in here because that’s where the electric radiator is…  The office has southern and western exposures, so there’s lot of light, which I need for my mental health.  I have a big “Emperor Palpatine” chair that makes it much easier to sit here for my long days.

Are you a night owl or a day person? How many hours sleep do you get?

Oh very much a morning person.  I’ve had a day job all my life, and I don’t have any creative energy in the evenings anyway, so I’ve had to get used to getting up early if I want to get anything done.  Elmore Leonard was always up and writing at 4 a.m. when he had a day job, but I’ve got him beat lately.  I’m a bit of an insomniac now, so I’m usually on the computer by 2:30 or 3 am.  But then, it’s winter so I go to bed at 8!  These days I’m getting about 4 or 5 hours of sleep, supplemented with a nice afternoon nap.  But, I’ve finally reached a level of success with my writing that I can finally go “day job free” in a few weeks, so maybe that will let me feel like I can sleep in a little later.

Quitting the day job. Wow, you will be making so many people jealous. Congratulations for getting to that point in your life.

Shower or bath? See we are getting really personal here. 🙂

Well, I’m 6’2” so shower!  Baths are no fun when you’re all folded up and only half your body is in the water.  But, my gym has a nice Jacuzzi, so that’s where I get my “immersion therapy.”

What’s on the menu for dinner tonight? What would you rather be eating?

Hmm.  I think tonight it’s cilantro garlic salmon patties from Whole Foods.  I’ve gotten out of the habit of cooking, but working two jobs, the day job and “being Brad Vance,” will do that to you.  I’m really looking forward to the luxury of enough time to restart that.  If I had a magic wand, and could eat one thing forever without ever getting fat, it would probably be peanut butter.  Whole Foods Honey Peanut Butter.  “I’ll have it in a bucket!”

What book is currently on the bedside table? Or maybe the bed reserved for other things, rather than reading  😉

Ohh, right now it’s just me and the cats.  I don’t have time for a boyfriend.  A social life would interfere with my phenomenal productivity right now.  I’ve got a stack of books for my alter ego, science fiction writer “Adam Vance,” on guerrilla warfare and counterinsurgency.  This is research for his “FJ One” series, starting with “Scarcity.” It’s nice to do something different, more cerebral and action-oriented, and I’m really enjoying writing these.

I’m reading Max Boot’s “Invisible Armies,” which is awesome.  I’m a huge history buff.  For pleasure, it’s Simon Sebag Montefiore’s “Jerusalem” and for semi-pleasure, semi-research, I just got a book called “Berlin Now.”  It’s semi-research because Adam’s post-Collapse world has its capital in Berlin (because Germany is really the only country right now that isn’t in debt to its eyeballs, among other reasons).  But it’s also pleasure, because I’m really looking forward to a European vacation if my sales continue to boom like they have lately.  I hope to have time to start reading fiction again soon.

What’s the best part of your day?

Right now?  Waking up and checking my sales figures 🙂  I’m hitting the jackpot with both my erotic series “Kyle’s New Stepbrother” and with “Have a Little Faith in Me.”  That feels great.  I’ve been doing this for two and a half years, and every day I’ve checked my sales.  Some days I’d get excited if I sold ten copies of something overnight.  A lot of days I’d get no sales on a new title in the first week and just be crushed.  So, right now, it’s like a drug, seeing the big numbers.

Share with us one secret or snippet from Have a Little Faith In Me, that isn’t from the blurb or excerpt.

This is a scene with Dex as a teenager, escaping his crazy family and his dad Mike for just a minute…

Dex took his guitar out to the free-standing garage, going through the back door so his dad wouldn’t have a chance to make another dumbass comment.

Because Dex was sixteen years old, emotional hurt got expressed back out again as anger.  The detached garage had become his space by default.  There was a jumble of tools haphazardly stuck on the wall, and a punching bag.  Mike had bought the bag off Craigslist one day when he thought he was a badass.  But he punched the bag about as often as he used the tools.  Not since the day he’d tried a flying kick and landed on his ass, to the hysterical laughter of his family.

Dex put on the boxing gloves.  Even in his rage he made sure to protect his fingers.  He got in a fighting stance, then began pounding the bag.

He hated his father with the raging disgust only a teenager can feel for a parent.  His dad was a deadbeat, plain and simple.  Right about now he’d be in the kitchen, the freezer door open, a gallon of ice cream in one hand and a soup spoon in the other, as if he was just going to have a bite.  And he’d fucking stand there, Dex thought as he landed a series of jabs and crosses, shove shove shoveling that ice cream down his gullet.

Then, he knew, his dad would go to work, and do just what he’d done at every job he’d ever had – goof off as much as possible, slack off and string out the easiest task as long as he could, devoting more energy to thinking of ways to get out of working than it would have taken him to do his job.

“Goin’ back to a real job when the plant opens again,” he’d say to his drinking buddies as they sprawled in the new patio furniture scattered across the front lawn.  They’d nod and raise their beers, as if any of them would ever go back to the plant, where they’d actually had to work, if they could help it.

Tonight he’d go to work at the casino, and he and his buddies would cover for each other as they took naps in the one corner of the casinos that someone had thoughtlessly forgotten to cover with a camera.  Then he’d come home, drink some more, pass out, snore like the devil from his COPD, wake up in time to throw up from his GERD, and then wash the bile back down with his first beer of the day.

When he’d pounded the bag to his satisfaction, Dex took off the gloves and took his acoustic guitar out of its case, gently.  He loved this Martin guitar.  Johnny Cash played a Martin, and that was all he needed to know.

He’d bought it for a couple hundred bucks off one of his dad’s friends who’d been short of cash and, of course, hadn’t played it in years.  Most of Dex’s paychecks went to music-related purchases, where other boys his age spent theirs on a car.  Dex was content to walk forever if that was the price he had to pay.

He got his fingers flexed, sounded out some chords, then thought about what he wanted to play.  He wasn’t a book learner, couldn’t march through the Mel Bay books, down the accepted path of orderly progression where you learned all the chords before you played the songs you really wanted to play.  He wanted to play NOW, not later.  He’d learned the opening to Nirvana’s “Come as You Are” before he ever touched “Red River” or “Amazing Grace.”

Mike played the electric guitar sometimes, when he and his friends were drunk and decided they’d “jam” in the front yard.  He’d bang on it and mess up the chords and laugh.  Then he’d take a break for another beer and announce that “Someday I’m a gonna get our old band back together.”

Dex thought about that now, and some lyrics popped into his head.

“I’m a gonna go back to work real soon, I’m a gonna fix that busted roof, I’m a gonna get that truck off the blocks, just as soon as I finish this beer.”

He laughed.  “I’m a gonna” was pretty much the mantra around here, he thought.

He knew what he wanted to play tonight.  He hadn’t learned to read music, so he played from “tabs.”  Tablature replaced complex musical notation with dots that showed you where to put your fingers.  And best of all, you could download them for free on the Internet.

He put the paper on the music stand.  His mind cleared, his anger dissipated, as he started playing the song, pleased at the way the transcription converted the piano opening to guitar.

He didn’t trust his voice yet, didn’t have the confidence to do more than whisper the words along with the song.  “Have a little faith in me,” he sighed as he played the John Hiatt song.  “Have a little faith in me…”

Thank you so much for answering my questions and the special little treat at the end! 🙂

Rocky picked up the Gibson Hummingbird.  Chris Cornell played one of these.  What more did he need to know?

He knew exactly what he wanted to play.  How many times had he played this song, how many times had he stretched his voice, discovering his own vocal range.  The notes of “Like a Stone” flowed from his fingers in a waterfall, and the words were a flock of birds banking wildly in front of the cascade, flirting with disaster.

He came to the end, the roaring finish, his eyes closed as he sang the epic wave of notes in the last word of the song, “alone.”

He’d only ever played the song when he was alone with Korey, who was no cheerleader.  Korey would nod, say, “Good job.”  And then tell him where he missed something.

When he was done, he opened his eyes.  His new friends were speechless.  “Was it okay?” he asked doubtfully.

“Holy fucking great mother of God,” Rick gasped.  “Who the fuck are you?  Where did you come from?”

Rocky smiled.  “Under a rock.  I’ve been living under a rock.”

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“The Worst Best Luck” was selected for a BookBub on February 19/20 – it’ll be FREE on Amazon those days, and has a 10k excerpt from “Have a Little Faith in Me” at the end.

Peter Rabe’s luck is about to change. Taking a co-worker’s car into the shop nets him a desperately needed $100 tip…and the attentions of Matt Kensington, master mechanic. Peter can’t believe that someone as hot as Matt could be interested in the young man his tormentors used to call “Peter Rabbit.” But, incredibly enough, he is. And when the Quadrillions lottery jackpot is up to $700,000,000, wouldn’t it be crazy of Peter not to buy a ticket on his lucky day? Matt doesn’t think much of money, having grown up on New York’s Upper East Side in the lap of luxury. He’d walked away from the professional drudgery his Harvard degree had qualified him for, to become a mechanic, to touch things that were real, to fix things that were broken. And a hot shy guy like Peter is another machine Matt wants to believe he can fix. But when Peter finds out he’s won the lottery, it almost feels like his luck has run out. Especially when Cody Burrell, his emotionally abusive ex-boyfriend, mysteriously re-enters his life just before he cashes the ticket and reveals his good fortune to the world… Peter must wrestle with the pressures of wealth on someone who’s grown up poor, the pressure of fame that comes with so much instant fortune, and most of all, with his own demons, the demons that Cody knows all too well how to manipulate.

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About the author

Brad Vance writes gay romance, erotica and paranormal stories and novels, including the breakout hits “A Little Too Broken” and “Given the Circumstances.”

Where to find the author:

Keep up with Brad at, email him at, and friend him on Facebook at

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Giveaway and extended excerpt: With Wings by Z. Allora

Releases today 5th September!

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With Wings

The Dark Angels #1

by Z. Allora

Publisher: Rocky Ridge Books
Publication Date: Sept 5, 2014
Word Count: 79,000

The blurb

The lights go down and stage lights up. The Dark Angels have arrived. With his come-hither voice and body made for sin, lead singer Angel Luv draws lovers like a magnet. And when he caresses and taunts shy guitarist Darius Stone on stage, well…it’s an act, right? But every touch lights a fire, and every flirtatious glance chips away at Dare’s certainty that he’s straight. No one else has so captured his imagination.

Temptation beckons. It’s hard not to notice the want in Dare’s eyes, the way he stares when he thinks Angel’s not watching. One wrong move might scare him away, but a work trip to exotic Bali might be the perfect place to let Dare explore his sexuality, with none to be the wiser. But their “friends with benefits” pact has an expiration date, that just might sour their friendship.

Chapter 1

The drunks in the hole-in-the wall bar were there to get laid, not to listen to Darius Stone play guitar with a gloried cover band. Fuck it, he didn’t care. He pretended his twist on another band’s musical hits was the reason a major fight hadn’t broken out in over a week and the police hadn’t intervened in over a month. It didn’t matter that the bar owner tried to cheat the band out of their take of the door. He was playing in New York City, and that helped block out the negative dialogue still powerful enough to slip around his wall of defense.

His father’s words nagged, questioning Dare’s sanity and his moral compass for following his rock and roll dreams. He’d heard the slurs and skewed stereotypes a thousand times, but each insult still stung. Musicians are nothing but a bunch of druggies and sex-depraved homos. If you’re going to play at being a musician, at least play a respectable instrument like the piano. You’re going to wind up in some alley OD’ed.

Not even the abusive words Darius carried in his heart could dissuade him from his love for the guitar. While his buddies had saved up to buy cars, he’d put his pennies away to buy a Fender American Standard Stratocaster electric guitar in ebony burst black. Every performance convinced Darius he’d made the right decision. The guitar was his first and only love.

When his eyes adjusted to the stage lights, he raised his head and was jolted by an instant connection. The guy from last night was back. Dressed in all black, he sat in the same seat, his amber eyes seeming to Dare’s fingers as they played each note. Guitar wails bridged the gap, joining them. He’d never felt so drawn to a fan, and remained captivated by the stranger throughout the entire set.

He closed his eyes and bent his fingers over the guitar’s strings, stroking out one last vibrato. Fuck, he was on fire tonight. The music injected a burst of love, mixed with lust, and the most incredible satisfaction imaginable, with an adrenalin chaser into his blood. All made better by the unique link he’d forged with the amber-eyed stranger. The connection nourished something in his soul. Nothing else came close to this kind of ecstasy—not even sex.

Fucking A, that was awesome. He opened his eyes, but now, with the music done, he avoided the stranger’s gaze and jumped off the tiny stage. It was weird to have been so deeply connected with a member of the audience. He hoped the guy didn’t get the wrong idea about him.

His gaze skated over to the guy in black, still there. He never socialized, and waved off anyone who approached. The guy’s focus remained on Darius, quite a feat since the outlandish lead singer, Paul Martin, usually demanded everyone’s attention. The shirt Paul had torn from his body, now in tatters littering the stage, was evidence that he’d do anything to get the audience’s love.

Darius hated most of the members of this lazy-assed band he’d fallen in with as a temporary replacement three years ago. On a daily basis he questioned why he’d agreed to play with a bunch of losers who thought the name “Doesn’t Matter” ironic.

But holy hell, he flew tonight. Until he found another band, he couldn’t walk away from this feeling. When it was good, there was no better high. He’d read somewhere that intermittent reinforcement was the strongest form—he’d have to agree.

He tipped his head so a lock of hair would hide his eyes while on stage fell forward. The same move worked offstage as well, allowing him to stare back at the man who appeared to be eye-fucking him.

The guy’s cool confidence could be experienced across the room. His black-polished nails ran through his hair, and he licked his full lips as if savoring something delicious. An odd sensation spread through Darius, but he refused to name it. If he were interested in guys, yeah, this would be the one for him. But Darius was straight.

As if on cue, Paige Rimsky, college student, fan, and his current fuck buddy, bounced over, reinforcing the simple fact of his heterosexuality. The celebration in her voice almost erased his unease. “I told you sitting in on the master’s class would up your game. Your phrasing was flawless tonight. I…”

She followed his line of sight. “Oh, were you showing off for tall, dark, and yummy?”

“What? No!” Maybe a little, no, the connection was just so… Why was the guy here again?

Paige put her hands up and laughed, drawing his attention. “Don’t get defensive, Dare. I’m just asking. Hell, I’d do him.”

Dare pushed his hair out of his eyes and focused on his maybe friend.

Her teasing smile turned into a dirty giggle. “I’d do you both.”

Fuck, rolling around in the sheets with the man in black and Paige wasn’t the image he needed in his head. He let his hair fall back to hide his eyes and fumbled with releasing his guitar strap. Since he’d forgotten to unplug the instrument before jumping off the stage, the wire tangled with his strap.

His sometimes bed partner snorted inelegantly, standing by waiting for him to de-wire himself. “So, who is Mr. Hotness Intensified? You think he’s as emo and sensitive as he appears?”

“No clue.” Best not to dwell on the answer to her questions, and he didn’t want to analyze why he’d love to know the guy. Untangled from the lead he’d failed to unplug earlier, he reached back to put his guitar on its stand.

“Well, he’s gorgeous. I’d fuck him.” Her voice was probably louder than she intended, and carried to their least favorite person.

Ace Starr, the asshole drummer of the band, came up and groped her. “You’d fuck anyone.”

“Anyone but you. Now take your goddamned hand off my ass or I’m going to put my fist in your fucking face.” She leaned into him and he winced.

Ouch! Damn, crunching the asshole’s foot with her heel must have hurt like hell. Paige had grown up in the foster care system and could take care of herself, but Dare was sorry she had to be on guard. If he jumped to her defense, though, she’d eviscerate him. All he could do was keep an eye out to make sure Ace and all the other assholes that crossed her path, in a bad way, were put in their places.

Ace released her ass and attempted an apologetic look. “Sorry, baby cakes. Hey, why don’t you come home with a real man tonight and not some demented elf?”

“Fuck off.” She wrapped an arm around Darius and continued to glare at numb nuts.

“Oh, honey, I would fuck you till the sun came up.” Ace used what he probably considered a sexy purr on her.

“Eww… Why would I want to do that?” Her beautiful face scrunched up, like screwing Ace was the worst possible fate.

Darius couldn’t hold in his laughter. Paige could be a real bitch when the situation called for it. Damn, he was just glad she liked him.

His gaze traveled back to the man in black. The stranger sipped a liquid with a crooked smile on his face. His expression sparkled with a little too much glee, making Darius wonder if the guy heard more than Paige’s outburst. Fuck. He didn’t need this right now.

Ace slunk away to search for a bed partner with lower standards than Paige’s. She nudged Darius. “So, my demented elf, you wanna get laid?”

Dare returned to the stage to buy time. When he twisted back around, the guy in black was gone, vanished. Fuck! Why did regret replace the nervous butterflies dancing in Dare’s belly? So what if he never got the chance to speak to the stranger?

Paige cleared her throat. She’d never had to ask twice. “So?”

No. Yes. No. “Not tonight.” He hated himself for putting a frown on her face.

“Got a headache?” She mocked him until she glanced over at the empty table. “Ah, say what you want, but I think you’re crushing on him.”

“I’m straight,” Dare protested.

“Whatever. Everyone is fluid. Some people just acknowledge it easier than others.” Spoken like a true pansexual, she was convinced everyone would be happier being gender blind and following attraction wherever it led. Paige taunted him, “Darius has a boy crush.”

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About the Author

Every one deserves a happy ending… (and I make sure they get one). I have written about hot rockers, sexy zombies, and Thailand club performers. My stories are about love, romance and are tied together with erotic sex. I utilize my time overseas and my travels to bring you to places you’ve yet to visit. I introduce you to cultures you’ve yet to explore. But with every word I write I hope to convey love is love. I look forward to hearing from you, my Pretties!

E-mail: Z.Allora@

Facebook: Z Allora Allora

Excerpt For With Wings:

Excerpt and Giveaway! Alter Ego by Meredith Russell

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Alter Ego

Meredith Russell

Book 1 in the Knowles Brook Series

Jay James is the confident, outgoing, flirtatious, lead guitarist of a 70s tribute band. But appearances can be deceiving. Jay James isn’t real. ‘Jay’ was born out of necessity and a way for James Hall to deal with life at home after coming out. James is shy and awkward, and can’t escape the shadow of his strained relationship with his mother. As ‘Jay’, James feels indestructible, like nothing can touch him, and he can have any man he wants. But is that really enough?

Danny Ashton is stuck, or at least that’s how he feels sometimes. Five years ago, he dropped out of university to look after his sick mother. He was never prepared for the hand he was dealt—a house to run, bills to pay, and a teenage brother to support.

Together, Danny and James realise ignoring their problems will solve nothing, and if they are to stand any chance of happiness and living as the men they want to be, then they need to move forward. Can the two men face their demons? Or will they end up pushing one another away?

52,500 words

“What’s wrong?” Sam might be sixteen but he wasn’t stupid. He knew Danny wasn’t saying something. “What did he want?”

“He’s cutting back my hours.”

Sam twisted his hands together in his lap. “I’m sixteen now. I could get a job. Weekends maybe at a supermarket. I could get the bus.”

Danny smiled. He appreciated the offer, but Sam needed to focus on school. “We’ll be fine.” He closed his eyes and rubbed a soothing line over his forehead. He doubted he sounded convincing.

“Can you get any extra shifts at the Spread?” Sam asked.

Unable to find full-time work, Danny split his time working behind the bar in the Spread Eagle pub a handful of shifts during the week and the Knowles Brook village social club at the weekend. “I doubt it.” He opened his eyes and looked at his brother. How had they gotten to this?

“What about that advert from last week? You applied, right?”

Danny nodded. Sure he’d applied. He’d applied to plenty of jobs. He had filled out form after form and written dozens of letters for anything that might lead to employment more permanent than him just muddling through, part-time job to part-time job, like he’d been doing for almost five years now. Everywhere wanted experience. How was he supposed to get experience if no one would take him on? He just wanted to be able to look at Sam and feel he deserved the respect his little brother held for him. He didn’t feel like the hero he knew Sam painted him out to be.

“Closing date’s tomorrow.” Maybe it was adventurous to apply for a managerial role, but they couldn’t live hand to mouth forever. He had no savings, not anymore, and despite Sam’s continual offer of anything he had saved, Danny wouldn’t take it. That money was for Sam, for his future, for getting out of this village and this house.

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About the Author

Meredith Russell lives in the heart of England. An avid fan of many story genres, she enjoys nothing less than a happy ending. She believes in heroes and romance and strives to reflect this in her writing.

Sharing her imagination and passion for stories and characters is a dream Meredith is excited to turn into reality.

As well as being an accomplished writer, Meredith is also the creator for most of the stunning cover art found on Love Lane’s website. Further details of her writing and cover art services can be found at her blog linked below.