Release Blitz + Giveaway: Death at Bayard Lodge (The Mary Grey Mysteries #2) by Winnie Frolik

 

Title:  Death at Bayard Lodge

Series: The Mary Grey Mysteries, Book Two

Author: Winnie Frolik

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/20/2022

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 67800

Genre: Historical, LGBTQIA+, historical, crime, lesbian, district nurse, private detective, 1930s, country house, death

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Description

When district nurse Mary Grey and her lover Harriet accept an invitation to visit the latter’s godmother in the beautiful Lake District, they’re hoping for a relaxing outing. But from the very start, they find themselves pulled into a web of intrigue, resentments, deceit, and violent passions.

Young newlywed Rachel Florry is found on the lawn with her skull smashed in and there’s no shortage of suspects. From the girl whose fiancée Rachel stole, to a sinister vagrant, to Rachel’s own mystery lover.

Mary calls on her old friend and partner, private detective Franz Shaefer to come down to Bayard Lodge and help solve the case. But as they unearth buried secrets and hidden agendas, they themselves are at risk.

Excerpt

Death at Bayard Lodge
Winnie Frolik © 2022
All Rights Reserved

England
Summer 1937

The horrific events of the previous winter, when the notorious beauty and heiress Harriet West had lost her brother, her uncle, and her fiancé, had yielded one unexpected benefit. She was suddenly free of any and all social obligations. After all, nobody could expect a girl who’d been through such heartache and trauma as Harriet to attend anyone’s coming-out ball or go somewhere for a spot of shooting, much less throw any parties herself. It was perfectly understandable she would wish to keep to herself and see only a few very close friends.

It made perfect sense for her to settle in a flat in the city rather than stay in the Newcastle mansion that was really far too big for one or even two single women. Nor was it so surprising she chose to have a flatmate. Many perfectly respectable unmarried women these days preferred to live with female companions rather than be completely alone. True, that Harriet’s live-in companion, Mary Grey, was a district nurse was rather unusual, but there was little harm in it. And it really was quite a nice little flat, located in a most modern building in a fashionable neighborhood with on-site service. The flat had a tidy little kitchenette and main living area. The plumbing and heating were quite modern and state of the art. Harriet had an excellent time furnishing the place in the Art Deco style, with sleek lines, metallic finishes, and walls hung with photographs and modern art. Some of the experimental abstract pieces Harriet gushed about looked to Mary’s eyes like things a child could have drawn, but it was Harriet’s money. She did at least like one piece: an extraordinarily colorful and vibrant tableau featuring flowers, monkeys, and birds done by some Mexican artist named Frida.

Ahab, the ginger cat Mary had inherited from a deceased patient, settled into his new surroundings quickly and would spend hours sunning himself on the window ledge. The building had a regular charwoman on staff to handle the cleaning. This had at first bothered Mary; unlike Harriet she wasn’t used to being waited on, but as Harriet pointed out, if they didn’t let the woman clean the place, she would be out of a job. And she had both a crippled husband and two children to support. Mary conceded the point. Besides, over time she came to admit it was nice to be able to come home to a neat and tidy space without exerting oneself.

Harriet had purchased a bar trolley which they kept faithfully stocked with her favorite brand of sherry. They had a little icebox, and Mary could whip up the occasional meal. (Harriet was hopeless as a cook and had once started a fire attempting to make toast.) Other times they’d go out to one of the many little cafés in the area where they were becoming steadily known to the point where they could address a number of servers by name.

Occasionally, Mary and Harriet would quarrel over money; the latter did not see why the former insisted on paying her share of the groceries and rent.

“It really isn’t necessary,” Harriet would protest.

“Oh yes, it is,” Mary insisted. “If nothing else to help maintain appearances.” Nor, much to Harriet’s frustration, would Mary allow her to buy her expensive things. But otherwise, theirs was a life of domestic tranquility. For the sake of appearances, they had picked a place with two bedrooms, but in practice only one was ever used. In the early stages of their relationship, there had been considerable confusion, excitement, and laughter in determining how to make their bodies fit together well. Fortunately, Mary had many years’ experience in such matters and had been more than happy to put her knowledge at Harriet’s disposal. The latter had proven a most adept pupil, and together they had achieved new heights of sapphic pleasures. To Mary, it seemed for a time the two of them had created their own little Garden of Eden.

Then came the summons from Mrs. Diana Allenby.

It arrived in a thick blue envelope. A formal engraved document in beautiful calligraphic script addressed to Miss Harriet West. Requesting the pleasure of Harriet’s company at a country house party at Bayard Lodge, held by Mrs. Diana Allenby on the final weekend in August. She was asked to RSVP at once.

‘Well, surely you can just tell them you can’t attend,” Mary reasoned when Harriet handed her the invitation. “You’ve done it before!” For although Harriet had the perfect excuse for not going out, people still invited her. The people in question were to Harriet’s mind a load of vultures who just wanted an excuse to revel in last winter’s scandal. She’d taken grim satisfaction in turning them all down. This, however, was a different thing entirely.

“You don’t understand,” Harriet told her. “Read this.” She passed over a handwritten letter that had been included with the invitation, and Mary dutifully read aloud.

My beloved goddaughter,

At that, Mary looked up. “Wait, is she really your godmother?”

“She is,” Harriet confirmed.

“And I haven’t heard of her?” Mary wondered.

“Well, she stays at her own place most of the time,” Harriet explained, “and I haven’t been down there for ages. But I’ve known her all my life. She and Mother were very close. Indeed, for many years I called her Auntie Di.”

At this Mary involuntarily bit her lip. Given the familial relationship, it would be far harder for Harriet to bung off Mrs. Allenby the way she did others.

I’ve heard you’ve quite dropped out of society these past nine months. Now after all you’ve been through, my poor child, I certainly don’t blame you for wanting your space. But I do worry about you. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you last! As you know, your late mother was like a sister to me, and I have always considered you family as well. And I worry about you, my child. I truly do. It cannot be healthy for you to hide yourself away from the world like some cloistered nun of old.

This, thought Mary, was stretching things a bit. Living in a very nice city flat with a roommate and a cat was hardly a hermitage. Nor did Harriet’s situation with Mary truly resemble that of anything allowed in a convent. At least not any convent Mary had ever heard of! Though, really, who knew what went on behind closed doors? And as Mary knew full well, there was more than one reason for a woman to voluntarily swear off the company of men. It would be an interesting area for ecumenical investigation. She didn’t get the chance to share these musings with Harriet, though, as the latter continued to read aloud.

Which is why, my dear, it would mean so much to me for you to attend this outing. I’ve deliberately kept it to a smaller gathering, and you already know the Florrys.

“Who are the Florrys?” Mary wondered aloud.

“Raymond and Rachel Florry,” Harriet responded. “Raymond works in London at some big banking firm. I’ve seen him at other gatherings, but the one I’m really familiar with is his wife, Rachel. She and I were schoolmates together, along with her cousin Lily.” She paused momentarily as if uncomfortable. “Actually, Lily was with Raymond first. They were even engaged. But then Raymond broke things off at the last minute. Practically left her at the altar. And not long after he started being seen publicly with Rachel. Which of course led to people wondering if something hadn’t happened between him and Rachel while he was still with Lily.”

“Oh my,” Mary commented. “So, Rachel stole her cousin’s fiancé?”

“Apparently. It was quite the scandal at the time. They say Lily had a complete breakdown and hasn’t spoken to either one of them since. Anyway, Rachel and Raymond just got married this past March. I haven’t seen her in ages either.” Harriet looked sad at the thought as Mary read on.

And some other young people as well. The fresh air will do you good and the new cook is superb! And you know there’s not a more beautiful place in England to come visit in autumn than here!

“Well, that’s quite a boast,” Mary observed.

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Meet the Author

Born and raised in Pittsburgh, the Carnegie Library in Oakland was always my second home. I was diagnosed as being a high functioning autistic in college. I hold a useless double major in English literature and creative writing. I’ve worked at nonprofit agencies, in food service, and most recently as a dog-walker/petsitter but the siren song of writing keeps pulling me back into its dark grip. I have co-authored a book on women in the US Senate with Billy Herzig, self-published The Dog-Walking Diaries, and in 2020 my first novel Sarah Crow was published by One Idea Press. I live in my hometown Pittsburgh with my better half, Smoky the Cat. Find Winnie on Facebook.

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: The Poison Bottle (Treasure Trove Antiques #3) by L.M. Somerton

 

 

The Poison Bottle by LM Somerton

Book 3 in the Treasure Trove Antiques series

General Release Date: 26th July 2022

Word Count: 58,408
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 231

Genres:

ACTION AND ADVENTURE
BONDAGE AND BDSM
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
MYSTERY
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

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Book Description

There’s no antidote to the malignant craving for power and wealth.

Landry Carran should know better than to get involved in yet another murder mystery, but it was hardly his fault that someone dumped a dead body on the doorstep of Treasure Trove Antiques. He can’t resist recruiting his friends to help him play detective.

Meanwhile, Landry’s partner and Dom, Gage Roskam, is doing real detective work that proves hazardous to his health and brings with it the assistance of an annoying Englishman who Gage believes should be behind bars.

The case twists and turns across Seattle’s antique trade, and the bodies multiply. As clues are solved, it becomes apparent that those closest to Gage are in grave danger. He’ll need to control his errant sub, deal with the most irritating Brit ever born and solve the case if he wants to prevent more death.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence, abduction and murder.

Excerpt

Landry Carran gave his ass a rub and grinned at the resulting ache. His boyfriend and Dom, Detective Gage Roskam, had delivered a stupendous spanking less than an hour earlier, and Landry was still glowing—physically and mentally. He gave a happy jig then bounced down the stairs from the apartment he shared with Gage to Treasure Trove Antiques, which occupied the ground floor of the building and was his place of gainful-ish employment. The two cups of strong coffee and bowl of sugar-laden cereal that he’d had for breakfast ensured his current energetic state would last for at least an hour, which was when his best friend and assistant, Petey Templeton, would join him. Landry didn’t usually have to open the store alone, but Petey had finally given in to a nagging toothache and had an early dental appointment.

“Such a wuss,” Landry muttered. “Can’t believe I had to bribe him to go.” Worth it though. An assistant who doesn’t want to eat baked goods is no use to me at all. That globe he had his eye on was a small price to pay. Petey had a thing for maps and had fallen in love with a battered globe that dated back to the nineteen seventies. It was about as accurate as a Fox News report, but Petey liked finding the mistakes. Landry had gotten so fed up of Petey whining about his tooth, he’d promised Petey the globe if he put aside his phobia of dentists and got it taken care of. Landry had also persuaded Carson, Petey’s boyfriend, to act as escort and make sure he made his appointment. Carson had been happy to help because, as he’d put it, “a boyfriend who cries when you kiss him does not boost a man’s confidence.”

Bopping and humming as he went, Landry unlocked the door between the building’s stairwell and the store. As he entered the cavernous space, piled high with antiques and collectables, he took a deep breath. The familiar scent of beeswax polish, old wood and leather always settled him and put him in the right frame of mind for a day at work. He moved around the store, turning on an eclectic mix of lighting—mainly old lamps that were for sale because his boss, Mr. Lao, insisted that they were more attractive to potential buyers when lit. Of course that meant that whenever they sold one, a corner of the store would be in the dark until Mr. Lao obtained a new one to replace it, but Landry didn’t mind because part of Treasure Trove Antiques’ charm was its nooks and crannies. He knew the stock inside and out but loved seeing the wonder on customers’ faces when they spotted something unique or unusual hidden behind an aging armoire or balancing on top of a bookcase stuffed with rare tomes. He glanced around, checking that all was as he’d left it the previous evening. Everything was as it should be. Not that there was any reason for him to think otherwise, but there had been an incident with a mouse once when somehow, the tiny rodent had set up home in a basket of vintage tablecloths and had nibbled a hole through two of them before he was spotted. It had taken a humane trap and enough peanut butter to feed a raccoon, let alone a mouse, to catch the beast, so Landry was constantly on the lookout for any sign of critters in the store.

He grabbed the long pole he needed to lift the security shutter into place then went back into the hall. He left the building then crossed the yard to the alley gate. After his usual fight with the padlock, he rounded the corner of the building to the street. His friend Prisha, whose dad owned the Eastern Emporium opposite Treasure Trove, was outside brushing down the sidewalk with hot soapy water. Landry gave her a wave before jogging across the road.

“Hey, Prisha, what’s going down?”

“What came up, more like.” She grimaced. “Somebody deposited the contents of their stomach on the sidewalk last night. So gross.”

Landry wrinkled his nose. “Better you than me, especially first thing in the morning.”

“Hey, if you want to do a girl a favor, I’d be happy to hand over the broom.”

“No can do.” Landry grinned. “Petey’s at the dentist so I have to open on my own this morning. Gotta go before hordes of voracious customers start beating on the security shutter.”

“Yeah, I can see where they’re lining up around the block.” Prisha went back to brushing. “I’ll come over on my break later. You can buy me a coffee.”

“Deal. Have a good morning.” Landry skipped back across the street, managing not to trip over his pole. He had less trouble opening the security shutter than closing it because he didn’t have to get the hook on the end of his pole through the tiny D-ring that allowed him to draw it down. It was way above his head and like trying to thread a needle while standing on the deck of a pitching boat. Opening up just meant using the pole to push the shutter back into place once he’d released the padlock that locked it to a concealed ring in the sidewalk. A padlock that was no longer in place.

Landry frowned. He distinctly remembered snapping it shut the night before because he’d scraped a knuckle doing it. “Fuckety-fuck. What the heck is going on?”

There was no sign of vandalism or any other damage to the shutter. Landry shrugged, slipped the pole into place then pushed. The shutter rolled up of its own accord, only needing a shove for the last couple of feet. Landry unhooked the pole then gaped. In the recessed store doorway was a person, huddled in a ball, facing away from him.

“What on earth…? Hey, padlock thief, you can’t stay there.” He groped in his pocket for a few dollars. “Go get yourself some breakfast.”

Whoever it was didn’t move. With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Landry propped his pole against the store window then leaned over his visitor. He touched his shoulder, gave it a little shake and the man rolled toward him.

“Holy fuck!” He was dead. Completely and absolutely deceased. Blood stained the front of the beige trench coat he wore. There was a blue tinge to his skin and his eyes were open, staring.

Landry danced back a few steps as he stared at the corpse. “No, no, no… This is not good for business. I mean, poor guy, but why my shop doorway?” His cell was inside so he turned and waved frantically at Prisha who dropped her broom before running across the street. “Call 911! I found a body.”

Prisha, who was always good in a crisis, did a quick turn and rocketed into the Eastern Emporium. She was soon back with her dad at her side.

“The cops are on their way,” she said, putting an arm around Landry’s now shaking shoulders. “You should call Gage. Here, use this.” She handed over her cell, but Landry’s hands were trembling too much to punch in the number. Prisha grabbed it back. “Tell me the number. I’ll call him for you.”

Landry reeled it off without thinking. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the dead body and his bloodstained clothing.

“Gage, it’s Prisha. I’m here with Landry and… Yes, he’s fine but the dead guy he just found behind the security shutter isn’t looking so good.”

“What?” Landry heard Gage’s yell even from where he was standing. He took the cell back.

“Can you come home, Sir?” Landry used the honorific without thinking, defaulting to his role as Gage’s submissive rather than his boyfriend in his stressed state. “There’s a b-b-b…body. A real-life body, I mean it’s a dead body but it’s real. An actual genuine, honest to God, not breathing, corpse. And it’s in the shop porch blocking the door and there’s blood. Gage, why is there a dead person in my shop doorway?” Tears welled in Landry’s eyes and he sniffled.

“I’m not really in a position to answer that question yet, love. Stay put. Sancha and I are on our way. Who’s there with you?”

“Petey’s at the dentist and Mr. Lao isn’t here but Prisha and her dad have come over.”

“Stay with them. I mean it, Landry. You are not to go anywhere on your own.”

“Not going anywhere,” Landry mumbled as Gage ended the call. “How can I go anywhere when there are dead people?”

“It’s one dead person, Landry, not a massacre.”

“Where there’s one, there might be others. That’s logical.” Landry glanced around in case more corpses littered the place.

Prisha gave him a comforting hug. She and her dad had been joined by the guy who had been cleaning windows at the café next door to Treasure Trove and the crew of a passing garbage truck. The manager of the café arrived with a tray of coffees and a plate piled with Danish pastries.

“Someone came into the café and said there’s a body out here. I know it doesn’t seem appropriate,” she said, “but a hot drink and something sweet will take your mind off what’s going on, Landry. It’ll help with the shock.”

“Thanks, Mary.” Landry discovered that shoving a cherry Danish in his mouth made all the difference. A new infusion of sugar and caffeine into his system helped him see things in a more clinical light and stop thinking about how on earth a dead man had gotten behind the security shutter. “The padlock,” he said, spraying crumbs. “When I came to lift the shutter earlier, the padlock was gone. I wonder where it is.”

The small crowd started searching up and down the sidewalk and it wasn’t long before there was a shout from one of the garbage crew. “Found it!” Landry, coffee in hand, walked over to look at where the guy was pointing. The padlock lay in the gutter, partly covered by a discarded banana skin.

“I guess we should leave it where it is,” Landry said, “in case of fingerprints.”

“That’s right. I’m Elton.” The garbage guy held out his hand, which Landry shook, hoping that his fingers wouldn’t be crushed in the process. Elton was built like a linebacker.

“Nice to meet you, Elton. Shame it couldn’t have been under better circumstances.”

“You’d be surprised how many bodies we come across in our line of work,” Elton said, sounding philosophical. “We get training on what not to do when it comes to possible evidence. We were about to empty the dumpsters along the street when we saw what was going on, so we’ll leave them until the cops get here. They may want to keep the contents to search through for clues.”

“Well, I never thought of that.” Landry was fascinated.

“I don’t suppose antique selling is a job that gets you involved in much crime,” Elton said.

Landry thought about the last few months, the adventures he and Gage had had, first with his lucky cat and then the gilded mirror. “No, not really. Old stuff is tame.”

“I wonder if there are any pastries left.” Elton ambled toward the café where Mary was eyeing him like a piece of prime beef. Landry shook his head. “People sure do meet under the strangest of circumstances,” he muttered, watching Elton get coy and stutter in front of Mary.

Sirens announced the arrival of the cops and not long afterward, Gage’s Jeep screeched to a halt next to a patrol car. He and Sancha jumped out and while Sancha went over to the uniforms, Gage headed straight for Landry.

“Again? Really?” He drew Landry into a tight hug.

“So not my fault,” Landry mumbled into the hard planes of Gage’s chest. “It’s not like I have a sign up saying ‘leave your dead bodies here’, is it?”

“You attract trouble like a magnet.”

Landry nuzzled against Gage’s body. He could feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt and smell the gel he’d used in the shower that morning. “Do not.”

“Do so.”

“Someone cut off the padlock. It’s in the gutter over there. They must have lifted the grill, dumped the body in the porch then pulled it down again.”

“I want you to go sit in the café,” Gage said, “while Sancha and I get the investigation started.”

“Will you be assigned the case?” Landry asked.

“If the captain doesn’t think I have a conflict of interest, it’s quite likely.” Gage steered Landry toward the café. He gestured for Prisha to come over and asked her to stay with Landry.

Landry didn’t want to leave the safety of Gage’s arms but knew he had to let him do his job. Once he’d settled at a table in the café with Prisha next to him, he took a deep breath and eased some of his tension with a roll of his shoulders. He slurped his coffee. “Here we go again.”

“Are you ready for another adventure?” Prisha asked.

“It’s not like I had a choice the first time, or the second. Hopefully this will amount to nothing.” Landry didn’t need Prisha’s skeptical expression or his own gut feeling to tell him that amounting to nothing was the least likely outcome of the morning’s events. He wondered if impending doom merited another pastry.

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About the Author

L.M. Somerton

Lucinda lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.

She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire. She's fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle (and some not so subtle) leanings towards BDSM.

You can follow Lucinda on Facebook, Twitter and her Website.

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: Just Calamarried (Sucker For Love Mystery #5) by K.L. Hiers

 Author K.L. Hiers and Gay Book Promotions returns with new release info for Just Calamarried (Sucker For Love Mystery #5)! Read more about the tentacle romantic suspense and enter in the $25 Amazon gift card giveaway!

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Just Calamarried (Sucker For Love Mystery #5)

Author: K.L. Hiers

Publisher: Dreamspinner

Cover Artist: Tiferet Designs

Release Date: March 22, 2022

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Tropes: Mpreg, Wrongly Accused, Double Murder

Themes: Love Conquers All

Heat Rating:  4 flames

Length: 61 000 words/257 pages

It is not a standalone story. It is book 5 in the Sucker For Love Mysteries series.

The story does not end on a cliffhanger.

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Amazon US   |  Amazon UK   |  B&N   

Blurb

Newlyweds Sloane and Loch are eagerly expecting their first child, though for Sloane that excitement is tempered by pregnancy side effects. Carrying a god’s baby would be enough to deal with, especially with the whole accelerated gestation thing, but it’s not like Sloane can take maternity leave. He works for himself as a private investigator. Which leads him to his next case.

At least this strange new mystery distracts him from the stress of constant puking.

When two priests are murdered within hours of each other, a woman named Daphne hires Sloane and Loch to track down the prime suspect—her brother—before the police do. Between untangling a conspiracy of lies and greed, going toe-to-toe with a gangster, and stealing a cat, they hardly have time to decorate a nursery….

Excerpt 

Sloane Beaumont had known and persevered through many hardships: the death of his parents, losing his job as a detective, and the struggle of establishing his own private investigation business.

Oh, and saving the world from ancient murderous eldritch gods who wanted to awaken their even more murderous father and destroy all of humanity, of course.

He was a fighter, a warrior, a Starkiller amongst mortals.

It was hard to believe he was being beaten by morning sickness.

Then again, it was crazy enough dealing with the fact he even had it to begin with, since men usually couldn’t get pregnant. Most men, however, weren’t married to a very well-meaning but ultimately irresponsible god.

“You are the most beautiful creature in all of the universe,” Loch was soothing. “Even when you are depositing your stomach contents into the porcelain bowl, you are stunning, my sweet mate.”

“Oh, by the gods.” Sloane groaned and rested his head against the toilet seat. “That’s very nice. And very gross. Thank you.”

“Here, my love.” Loch presented him with a slitted tentacle, the tip ghosting over Sloane’s lips.

“Thanks.” Sloane lightly sucked on the tentacle, closing his eyes as a rush of sweet liquid flooded his mouth. It was the divine nectar of a god, easing his nausea and the cramps in his stomach immediately.

It was also technically Loch’s come.

Though it was sort of weird to drink it so casually, it had incredible healing properties, and Sloane could use all the help he could get right now.

Carrying the child of an ancient god was turning out to be a real pain in the ass.

“I don’t understand,” Sloane grumbled as he got up to wash his face. “The first three months were great. Solved some cases, went apartment hunting, got the one with the extra bedroom I liked, got everything packed and moved, no problems. Not a one! Awesome. I didn’t get sick, I felt wonderful, I was happy. And now….” He threw up his hands. “This!”

“I’m sorry, my sweet Starkiller.” Loch frowned. “Gods don’t usually spawn with mortals. I’m not sure exactly what we should expect with this pregnancy.”

“What happens with the gods?” Sloane dried off with a towel. “There’s not much written about the actual spawning. Just that, you know, some of you choose to do it by yourselves whenever you want.”

“It can vary. Many gods mate and one will carry a spawn for nine months exactly as mortals do. The triplets, Eb, Ebb, and Ebbeth, on the other hand, were spawned directly from Baub’s breast with a mere thought. My half-sister, Chandraleth? Salgumel carried her for a hundred years before giving birth.”

Sloane paled. “I might be pregnant for a hundred years?”

“No!” Loch paused. “Probably not. It’s unlikely. You could always lay an egg instead of giving live birth. I think one of my uncles did that.”

Groaning, Sloane dragged himself into their bedroom. “By all the gods, I’ll be in a nursing home by the time I’m having our egg baby!”

Loch was right behind him and gently swept him up in a tentacle-filled embrace.

The touch of Loch’s true flesh was always wonderful and flooded Sloane’s entire body with a rush of sweet warmth. It was the touch of a divine being, and it was without comparison. Even so, Sloane’s thoughts were determined to make him miserable.

“Two words,” Sloane grumbled. “Egg baby.”

“My sweet Starkiller, all will be well,” Loch promised, kissing Sloane’s hands. “My family will be visiting soon for your Neun Monde celebration. My mother is the goddess of fertility! If anyone can help us with your pregnancy, it is she.”

“Yeah, but my ‘Neun Monde’ might not be nine months! It might be a century! When are we supposed to have it?”

“I am not qualified to answer that.”

“Is there any way you could maybe call your mom now? Maybe she can hook me up with one of her blessings?”

“I can call my sister. She always hears me. I’ll let her know to bring Mother as soon as possible so we can take care of you.”

“Thank you.” Sloane sighed in relief. “There, now I feel better.”

“Really?” Loch beamed.

“Yes.” Sloane kissed him. “I love you.”

“And I love you, my beautiful mate.”

About the Author 

K.L. “Kat” Hiers is an embalmer, restorative artist, and queer writer. Licensed in both funeral directing and funeral service, they worked in the death industry for nearly a decade. Their first love was always telling stories, and they have been writing for over twenty years, penning their very first book at just eight years old. Publishers generally do not accept manuscripts in Hello Kitty notebooks, however, but they never gave up.

Following the success of their first novel, Cold Hard Cash, they now enjoy writing professionally, focusing on spinning tales of sultry passion, exotic worlds, and emotional journeys. They love attending horror movie conventions and indulging in cosplay of their favorite characters. They live in Zebulon, NC, with their husband and their children, some of whom have paws and a few that only pretend to because they think it’s cute.

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: A Valentine to Die For (Noir Nights #1) by Aver Rigsly

 

Author Aver Rigsly and Pride Publishing share a new romance in time for Valentine's Day, A Valentine to Die For (Noir Nights #1)! Read more about the first in a new series and enter in the First Romance gift card giveaway!

A Valentine to Die For by Aver Rigsly

Book 1 in the Noir Nights series

General Release Date: 8th February 2022

Word Count: 41,450
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 171

Genres:

CRIME
CRIME AND MYSTERY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
HISTORICAL
VALENTINES

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Book Description

Having a secret admirer can be deadly.

Ricky Morris, private investigator on New York’s elite Upper East Side, has forged a shady yet profitable life as a gumshoe for wealthy Manhattanites after burning the bridge to his law enforcement past. When women in the city are targeted by a sweet-toothed murderer in the week leading up to Valentine’s Day, the last thing Ricky expects is to be hired by the younger brother of the man who ruined his life.

Timothy Ward, young, fresh patrolman for the N.Y.P.D. who never thought he’d have to step outside the law, finds himself in desperate need of Ricky’s help when he fears his brother, James Ward, the Deputy Chief, could be behind the killing spree.

With Valentine’s Day fast approaching, both men will have to work in the shadows, putting their careers and lives on the line to get to the bottom of the murderer’s sickly sweet and cruel plans. That is, if the burning heat of undeniable—and very forbidden—lust between them doesn’t consume them in the flames of reckless desire first…

Reader advisory: This book contains period-typical attitudes including slurs. There are mentions of on-page gunplay, and a slow-burn between the main characters over the course of the series.

Excerpt

February 1954. New York City.

“Mrs. Banks…this is going to be hard to hear.”

“What exactly are you telling me, Mr. Morris?”

Ricky’s head was pounding, right behind his eyes and down the back of his neck. A full-blown shit-show of a hangover. He took a last puff of his cigarette and smooshed the butt of it out in the ashtray.

“I’m sorry to say, but it’s what you were afraid of.”

“I knew it,” she snapped, her ruby-painted lips pursed tight. “I just knew it.”

“Unfortunately, I have photo evidence here of your husband, on multiple occasions, visiting, let’s say…some of the less savory parts of the city, ma’am.”

He reached into the top drawer of his desk, plucked out a glossy photograph and slid it across for Mrs. Banks to inspect.

“And who is she? Who is the whore?”

“Actually, there are three different broads here.” He pulled out a couple more photos, a short stack of four-by-five gelatin silver prints that he had developed himself in his makeshift darkroom. He laid the photos out, candid shots of Mr. Banks in his snazzy Buick Roadmaster, ladies hanging in through the passenger-side window, sitting beside him in the car, kissing the side of Mr. Banks’ thick neck—and those were just the photos that were considered decent compared to the others processing down the hall.

“I should have goddamn known. Theo is a fucking pig and always has been.”

Ricky raised his eyebrows but kept his cool, nodding to make her feel better. That was just Mrs. Banks—that sharp tongue of hers was very unladylike, no matter how expensive her silk pantyhose and real mink coat were, or how many strands of pearls she looped over her hand-tailored housedress.

Regardless, she wasn’t wrong about Mr. Banks. Ricky had spent the last week tailing Theodore Banks around the Financial District. Theo was a man who knew how to make dough. A pencil-pushing broker, Banks was the perfect example of a man whose money didn’t buy happiness. His wife was half his age—a stunning doll in her own right—and Ricky had noticed the moment they’d met how well she presented herself. She was a real looker of a dame, but Theo had a wandering eye and a penchant for not keeping his prick in his pants.

It was sort of pathetic how easy it had been to track him down and snap the photos of him getting a messy blow job in the front seat of his Buick. The fella had hardly lasted more than five minutes. Ricky did not envy Mrs. Banks, the poor woman, considering what she must deal with in the marital bed.

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?” she asked, digging into her handbag and rummaging around before pulling out a sleek chrome cigarette case. She popped the clasp and pulled out a menthol from the red velvet-lined inside. Her hands were shaking.

“Here, let me.” Ricky stood and leaned over the desk, offering her a light from his silver Zippo. Her red lips wrapped around the end of the cigarette and smoke curled up as she took the first few puffs.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Of course, and, Mrs. Banks? As for the…delicate predicament you find yourself in…”

“Yes?”

“As I see it, your best course of action would be to pursue a legal divorce.”

“Divorce? Like hire a lawyer?”

“That would be what I would do in your position, ma’am. You’ve suffered long and hard from a husband who is not only an adulterer, but who has also been recklessly spending your household income on lewd, and may I add, illegal activities.”

“Well, yes. Who knows how much money he’s thrown away on those filthy prostitutes?”

“Exactly, ma’am. May I ask, Mrs. Banks, is your name also on all your husband’s accounts?”

“Yes…”

“Well, I'm certain that if you ask a bank teller to show you all withdrawal statements for the past few months, you will see quite a bit of cash being removed. I could even give you the dates that all these photographs were taken, which I suspect would match the same dates of the withdrawals. On top of that,” Ricky said, hardly feeling the pounding headache as he played his role of charming confidant, “while these photos here might be argued against and possibly dismissed by the right defender in a court of law, I have in my possession downright illicit photographs that would be impossible to sweep under the rug. The more proof of the wrongdoing built against the accused, the better chance the court will grant you a larger portion of your husband’s estate.”

“Is that so?” Her cigarette smoldered forgotten between her fingers, her hands no longer shaking.

“Yes, indeed. Between the photos I have and any bank statements showing the frivolous spending, you could make out with quite a pretty penny, Mrs. Banks. More than enough, I’d say, to keep a lady such as yourself very comfortable.”

“At least until I find a second husband,” she quipped. “I can’t help but notice that you aren’t wearing a wedding band, Mr. Morris. Are you single? Or maybe that quiet blonde girl at the door is your girlfriend?”

“You mean Liz? No, she’s just my secretary and close friend. And I have never been interested in marriage. I’m a simple bachelor and I enjoy it that way.”

“Such a shame,” she said. “So, what do I owe you? For your services, and for those other photographs you mentioned. I would very much like to purchase those as well.”

“In my line of work as a private investigator, I am often the bearer of bad news, and I feel terrible for your hardship, ma’am, so I’ll give you a courtesy discount. It would be my honor. How about we call it…eight hundred and fifty for everything, and I’ll be happy to have done business with you, Mrs. Banks.”

“Do you accept traveler’s checks?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“Splendid.” She dug around in her handbag again, and Ricky leaned back in his chair. He lit a new cigarette, pleased with himself. Tonight, he was going to order a juicy steak dinner with all the fixings and a hefty glass of whiskey to go along with it. Jobs like these were perfect for milking desperate housewives. Show them a few pictures of their sleazy asshole husbands, and they turned to putty in his hands. Gold-diggers like Mrs. Banks were the best kind of all—all too eager to spend their husband’s money.

She handed over the checks, almost nine-hundred-bucks’ worth, and Ricky tucked them safely into his desk drawer.

“Much thanks indeed, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Mr. Morris. I will be sure to mention your name if any of my friends need similar help.”

“That’s all I can ask for, ma’am. You know where to send them. My door is always open to those in need.”

If they had the green for it. Simple as that.

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About the Authors

Aver Rigsly

Aver Rigsly was born and raised in the Boston, Massachusetts area and spends her days working at a travel agency in Quincy. Some of her favourite places to visit are Washington D.C., Bangor, Maine, and most of all New York City. When she isn’t working a trip or writing LGBTQA+ romance obsessively, she spends her free time relaxing with knitting, needlepoint, video games, or marathoning horror movies with the family.

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: Someone To Watch Over Me by Libby Simone

Author Libby Simone and IndiGo Marketing celebrate the release of romantic suspense, Someone To Watch Over Me! Find out more and enter in the NineStar Press credit giveaway!

 

Title: Someone to Watch Over Me

Author: Libby Simone

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 01/11/2022

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 63900

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, crime, gay, pansexual, BDSM, porn star, private detective, film set, porn industry, voyeurism, blackmail

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Description

Arthur Adams takes his job seriously, keeping good guys safe and investigating bad guys. When his company is hired to secure the set for a film crew, the job seems straightforward, if not simple. Of course, the films are adult and graphic, so the situation can get hard fast. And it does.

Kit is an adult film star and an anomaly: he’s educated, experienced, and in the business for the fun of it. The seedy realities of his world reveal themselves, however, as his ex’s behavior grows more threatening. Unfortunately, the ex is wealthy and well connected in addition to being a stalker.

As Arthur watches Kit more closely, he finds it more difficult to look away.

The threats against the production become increasingly worrisome as Arthur’s team digs into the background of a rival studio, and they become personal as he unpeels Kit’s layers. As the case uncovers abusers, traffickers, and would-be murderers, all of Arthur’s skills and resources will be put to the test.

Excerpt

Someone to Watch Over Me
Libby Simone © 2022
All Rights Reserved

Arthur wraps a hand around his coffee mug and pulls apart the brittle beige window blinds to peer out at the street below. The morning is cool, even after the fog lifts. People pass quickly, hands in pockets. They do not look up. Steam radiates from the back of the newsstand across the street, and Arthur takes a sip, watching it curl and dissipate.

The building is mostly empty today. The pipes squeak upstairs, and something scurries in the walls. Business has been slow. Business is always slow.

“Get in here, Arthur.”

“Coming.” He leaves the window and sets the mug on his desk, which he sidesteps to make his way to the door. He turns the corner and steps over the uneven floor plank. He scratches his elbow and raises an eyebrow. “What do you need?”

Maurice leans forward in his desk chair and fixes Arthur with an impassive gaze. His office smells of Big Red and sulfur, and he scribbles onto a steno pad with a stubby yellow pencil. Arthur leans against the doorframe and watches. The desk is cluttered, as usual, with a gas station coffee cup, photographs, and the morning paper. Maurice gestures to a seat, and Arthur shakes his head. “I’ll stand,” he says, provoking an annoyed glare.

“Suit yourself.” Maurice runs his hand across the desktop. It’s easily the sturdiest piece of furniture in the place, bought secondhand from an auction at the old library. They had to haul it in through the window, and Arthur is convinced someday it will fall through the floor. It hasn’t yet. It probably won’t until Maurice retires and he’s sitting behind it instead. “Client coming by in a few minutes. I’m putting you on this one.”

“This early?”

“It’s nearly ten.”

Arthur shrugs. “Philandering husband or wife?”

“Neither. Guard duty.”

“Guard duty? Why would I—”

“Because I’m assigning this one to you.”

“Maurice—”

“It’s going to require coordination with an outside security team.”

“You know I don’t like—”

“I don’t give a damn what you like, son. You’re good at it, and I’m assigning you the case. That’s the end of the story. You got something to say?”

“No.” Arthur grinds his teeth.

Maurice nods and unwraps a fresh piece of chewing gum. “Let her in when she arrives. And clear your datebook.” He snorts at his joke.

“Anything I should know first?”

“I’d hate to spoil the surprise.”

The surprise arrives promptly at ten, as if she waited outside the frosted glass door until the turn of the hour. She is striking, with coal-black hair and piercing blue eyes, outlined dark despite it being a weekday. She wears a tidy knit suit with a well-tailored skirt and silk shirt buttoned high on her neck. “Therese Spielman,” she says, shaking his hand. Her skin is ice cold, and her grip is tight. “Pleasure.” She doesn’t smile, but most people don’t when they hire a private investigator. Arthur leads her to Maurice.

“Welcome. Please, have a seat.” The vinyl on the chairs splits and flakes, but they’re serviceable. If Therese notices, she’s too polite to complain.

“You’re the gentleman I spoke to on the phone.” She glances from him to Arthur and lifts a meticulous eyebrow.

“Yes,” Maurice says, “I’m the one you talked to. This is Arthur. He’s my number one.”

“I see. Very militaristic.”

Maurice tilts his head in a nod. It’s easy to spot, even if Arthur no longer calls him by rank. “You said you want someone who can coordinate your security team. Arthur’s the man for the job.”

She looks him up and down. “I see.”

Arthur clears his throat. “And what exactly is the job?”

“We make films, Mister—”

“Adams. You make films? Here?”

“We are a long way from Hollywood, it’s true. But, yes, I assure you, we make films too.”

“They’re pornographers, Art.”

“Huh. Okay.”

Therese watches him and purposefully nods. “You’ll do.” She looks him up and down again. “You’ll do nicely, and if that”—she pointedly looks down—“matches the rest of you, I may have even more work for you than securing our warehouse.”

“Warehouse?”

“Am I done here?” she asks.

“Yes.” Maurice smiles. “Thank you, Ms. Spielman.”

“I’ll see myself out.”

Arthur finally takes a seat. “What’s going on? Guarding a porn shoot at a warehouse? You’re serious?”

Maurice shrugs and unwraps another piece of gum. He takes out his chewed piece and sticks it to the lid of the coffee cup. “I tried to get details over the phone, but she’s prickly as fuck, and cagey. Said they’ve received some threats—notes and letters warning them to close up shop or else. Looks like the whole thing probably has something to do with a rival company. She’s worried about a stalker. They’re shooting for two weeks in the warehouse district, down by the docks. Basically, she doesn’t want questions asked; she said she just wants”—he reads from a note—“‘a smooth production schedule.’”

“Huh.” Arthur drums his fingers on his leg. “Two weeks for porn?”

“I’m not sure that’s the relevant question.”

“You’re right. Why do they need extra security? What rival company?”

“Now you see why you’re on the job.”

“Tell me about the threats.”

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Meet the Author

Libby Simone lives in Kansas City, where she learns for a living and writes for fun. When she isn’t designing research or napping, she can be found taking long walks, people watching, and dreaming up different worlds.

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: Head Over Tentacles (Sucker for Love #3) by K.L. Hiers

Author K.L. Hiers and Gay Book Promotions celebrate urban fantasy release, Head Over Tentacles (Sucker for Love #3)! Read more about the latest in the series and enter in the $25 Amazon gift card giveaway!

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Head Over Tentacles

Author: K.L. Hiers

Publisher: Dreamspinner 

Cover Artist: Tiferet Design

Release Date: August 24, 2021

Genre: Paranormal Romance, Mystery

Tropes: Tentacles! Wedding Drama, Meeting the In-Laws, The Cat Did It

Themes: Love Conquers All

Heat Rating:  4 flames

Length: 60 000 words

It is not a standalone story but does not end on a cliffhanger.

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Blurb

Private investigator Sloane Beaumont should be enjoying his recent engagement to eldritch god Azaethoth the Lesser, AKA Loch. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have time for a pre-honeymoon period.

The trouble starts with a deceptively simple missing persons case. That leads to the discovery of mass kidnappings, nefarious secret experiments, and the revelation that another ancient god is trying to bring about the end of the world by twisting humans into an evil army.

Just another day at the office.

Sloane does his best to juggle wedding planning, stopping his fiancé from turning the mailman inside out, and meeting his future godly in-laws while working the case, but they're also being hunted by a strange young man with incredible abilities. With the wedding date looming closer, Sloane and Loch must combine their powers to discover the truth—because it’s not just their own happy-ever-after at stake, but the fate of the world….

Excerpt 

“Hi!” the young man said. “It’s okay! You can just call me Jay.” He smiled down at the carrier. “This is Mr. Twigs!”

“Please, come in,” Sloane said, trying to fix his hair as he opened the office door. He ushered Jay in, saying politely, “So, your roommate is missing?”

“Yes,” Jay said, setting the carrier on Sloane’s desk and opening it up. “Everyone at the department thinks I’m going nuts, and Milo said you would be able to help me.”

“I’ll definitely do my best!”

“My roommate has been missing for almost two days now, and this is not like him at all. He hasn’t been to work, he hasn’t been home, but his car is still in the parking lot. The detectives wanted me to wait before filing a missing persons report, and nobody is listening to me.”

“And you think that Mr. Twigs here might be responsible?”

“I’m Silenced, so you know, no magic for me, but I know the sound portals make. I’ve heard it on a ton of documentaries. I know I heard one right before he vanished, and no one else was home except Mr. Twigs.”

The cat slinked out of the carrier and perched right on the corner of Sloane’s desk, its tail swishing. It was fluffy, black, and it was wearing small round sunglasses.

Loch kneeled down, eyeing the cat suspiciously. They were nearly nose to nose, locked in an intense stare.

“Huh,” Sloane said, blinking slowly. “The cat… wears sunglasses?”

“Oh!” Jay blushed. “I know it sounds crazy, but his eyes are really sensitive to light. So yeah. I tried to take them off and he got really upset.”

“Wait, you didn’t buy them?”

“Oh no!” Jay laughed. “He had them on when I found him. He’s a rescue, and he’s, like, literally the sweetest—”

“He is a foul and wretched creature!” Loch suddenly shouted, spinning wildly and promptly smacking the cat across the room. “Go back to the depths of Xenon, you disgusting fiend!”

“Mr. Twigs!” Jay screamed in horror.

“Azaethoth!” Sloane roared, shocked and furious. “How could you? It’s just a cat!”

“That is not a cat!” Loch argued, his tentacles beginning to unfurl. “It’s a monstrous fiend that just looks like a cat!”

“Owww,” a new voice complained, the fluffy black cat picking himself up from the floor and yowling in complaint. He hopped back up on the desk, his tail lashing as he hissed, “That was super rude!”

“Mr. Twigs…?” Jay stared in awe. He started to reach for the cat but drew back. “You’re… you’re talking?”

“Duh,” the cat replied sweetly. “Now, Jay, why don’t you forget all about this and go to sleep?”

Jay’s eyes rolled back, and he immediately dropped on  the carpet face-first.

“What the fuck are you?” Sloane demanded, his hands moving to summon a shield of bright starlight. Loch stood in front of him protectively, his thick tentacles writhing around him and poised to strike at any second.

The cat laughed, transforming into a very thin and very naked young man. He tilted his sunglasses down, grinning slyly to reveal a mouthful of pointed teeth as he teased, “Meow, motherfuckers. Name’s Asta. I’m here to save the world.”

About the Author 

K.L. “Kat” Hiers is an embalmer, restorative artist, and queer writer. Licensed in both funeral directing and funeral service, she worked in the death industry for nearly a decade. Her first love was always telling stories, and she has been writing for over twenty years, penning her very first book at just eight years old. Publishers generally do not accept manuscripts in Hello Kitty notebooks, however, but she never gave up.

Following the success of her first novel, Cold Hard Cash, she now enjoys writing professionally, focusing on spinning tales of sultry passion, exotic worlds, and emotional journeys. She loves attending horror movie conventions and indulging in cosplay of her favorite characters. She lives in Zebulon, NC, with her husband and their children, some of whom have paws and a few that only pretend to because they think it’s cute.

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: Island Detective (An Isle Story #6) by Sue Brown

Happy Canada Day!

Author Sue Brown celebrates the new release, Island Detective (An Isle Story #6)! Read more about the contemporary romance and enter in $20 Amazon gift card giveaway!

 

TITLE: Island Detective

AUTHOR: Sue Brown

RELEASE DATE: 30^th June 2021

PRICE: $3.99

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Universal - https://readerlinks.com/l/1828736

Series Link - https://readerlinks.com/l/1828737

BIO:

Cranky middle-aged author with an addiction for coffee, and a passion for romancing two guys. She loves her dog, she loves her kids, and she loves coffee; in which order very much depends on the time of day.

Come over and talk to Sue at:

Newsletter: http://bit.ly/SueBrownNews

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/sue-brown

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/suebrownstories

Her website: http://www.suebrownstories.com/

Author group – Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/suebrownstories/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SueBrownsStories/

Email: sue@suebrownstories.com

  BLURB:

Skandik and Owens, private detectives. Can they find a man who vanished over thirty years ago? Or will their first case break them apart?

With a new job as a private detective on a small island, Olaf has everything he’s dreamed of. A life as an openly gay man, a partner who adores every fuzzy hair on his body, and his adopted family and friends who love him. So why does he feel something is still missing?

With a promotion that’s his for the taking, Paul has everything he never dreamed of. His closeted cop is finally in the same country as him. His interfering family and friends are happy for him. So why isn’t he satisfied?

Then on his first day of business Olaf gets the worst possible case. To discover whether a sixteen-year-old gay boy who disappeared thirty-five years ago is alive or dead. As they delve into the dark history of the boy’s family, both Olaf and Paul are forced to confront their relationship.

Will Paul take the promotion? Will Olaf walk away if he does? Or will they face the fact that their relationship is more important than anything else?

  TEASER:

“Look at my man. A Private Dick.”

Paul Owens smirked as he studied the door.

Olaf Skandik.

Private Investigator.

Olaf rolled his eyes. “You had to get a dick joke in there somewhere, didn’t you?”

“Well duh. Did you expect anything different?”

“I expected it sooner,” Olaf admitted, admiring his name on the door.

Paul raised his eyebrow. “Are you going to open the door or are we going to spend all day staring at the sign?”

Olaf huffed as he fumbled with the key. His hands shook as he made a second attempt to get the key in the lock.

“Let me do it,” Paul suggested.

But rather than taking the key from him, Paul placed his hands over Olaf’s and guided the key in. It turned like a charm.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” Olaf admitted.

Paul pushed the door open. “This is the start of your new life, babe. Olaf Skandik, private detective. Finder of lost dogs and cheating husbands.”

Olaf had a horrible feeling he was right.

They surveyed the small office, barely large enough for a desk and a chair.

“It’s…compact,” Paul said diplomatically.

“It’s all I can afford at the moment.”

He’d been lucky that the offices were still empty above the Blue Lagoon restaurant. He wasn’t sure about having Wig and Nibs as his friends and landlords, but at least there was an endless supply of coffee downstairs.

“You know you can never complain about my flat again,” Paul said with undisguised glee.

Olaf gave a resigned sigh. “I know.”

He’d contemplated working from home, but he didn’t want clients knowing where he lived. This office, barely larger than a shoebox, was all he could afford until he was established, unless he asked his parents for money. Which was never going to happen.

“It’s very beige.”

His landlords, Wig and Nibs had decorated the room in neutral colours, but Paul was right. It was beige.

“But it’s all yours.”

Olaf turned to see Paul grinning at him, and the warmth of his smile sent a message straight to his dick. He pushed the door shut with one foot and raised an eyebrow.

“Bend over the desk,” he ordered.

Paul’s smile went from warm and happy to heated need. “You want to christen the desk?”

He was head down, ass up, before Olaf had time to say, “I do.”

Olaf grinned. His boy never mucked about.

He slid his hands under Paul’s sweater, tugging at the T-shirt so he could reach the warm skin beneath.

Paul flinched. “Christ, you could have warmed your hands up, you bastard.”

“I am warming them up. On your back,” Olaf pointed out, totally unrepentant for the goosebumps under his fingertips.

“It’s a good thing I like you,” Paul grumbled.

Olaf bent over him to whisper in his ear. “Oh, I think you do more than like me, Mr Owens.”

Paul scoffed in the back of his throat, but the shiver told a different story. “Get on with it. I haven’t got all day.”

Olaf grinned. His boy was all mouth. For a man with no patience, he could be reduced to a boneless heap when Olaf took things slow. They’d been together for eight years—on and off, and, okay, maybe more off than on in the earlier stages—but they’d always come together with clashing need. Making love to Paul Owens was still at the top of Olaf’s things-to-do list.



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