The Rule of Three by Kristian Parker

General Release Date: 7th June 2022

Word Count: 51,253
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 211

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
MÉNAGE AND MULTIPLE PARTNERS

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Book Description

When a handsome stranger arrives, James and Ed have to make a choice that will change their lives.

James Durkin is happy. He’s landlord of the pub, chair of the parish council and secret lover of his best friend, Ed Cropper. But Ed, tired of living in the shadows, dreams of living openly, something James can’t contemplate.

Then there’s Arthur Whittaker. When the handsome young primary school teacher comes to live in the village, he signals a future that neither James nor Ed ever saw for themselves.

But the small Yorkshire village of Napthwaite is a place that’s resistant to change, meaning the three men must be strong enough to forge their own path…

Will they overcome the odds—and tradition—to find the love they crave, or will their brave new world crumble to nothing under the pressure?

Reader advisory: This book contains instances of homophobia, and references to parental death and on-page drug taking.

Excerpt

Disco music blasted from the float passing by, and the crowds jamming the pavements dancing and waving in the spring sunshine cheered as a drag queen belted out Holding Out For A Hero at the top of her lungs.

A six-foot-tall man dressed as Wonder Woman threw a condom directly at Ed Cropper It ricocheted off his head and fell straight into his beer.

“Lo siento,” ‘she’ cried and blew him a kiss.

She disappeared into the crowd, soon to be replaced by a marching band in stockings and suspenders. The parade waited for no one.

Ed fished the rogue item out of his beer and slid it into his shirt pocket.

James Durkin wrapped his arm around his shoulder. “Could you be any more Yorkshire? Waste not, want not?” he asked, laughing.

Ed leant into the hug, the throng of sweaty bodies pushing them together and the overwhelming smell of poppers permeating through the crowd. It only ever gave him a headache. He wondered what the hell anyone was doing sniffing them in the glaring Spanish sun.

“Ah, guapo, guapo,” shouted another drag queen, resplendent as Ursula from The Little Mermaid. She made a beeline for Ed and James, kissing them both on the cheeks before plunging their faces into her bosom.

They gasped as they came up for air and she blew kisses.

“It’s bloody mental this year.” James grinned.

The parade tailed off, leaving the crowd to disperse. Every bar had rainbow flags and cheap shots, but several years’ experience had taught Ed that Maspalomas Pride was a marathon, not a sprint…although the glint in James’ eye said he’d happily hit the booze.

“Right. Come on, you,” Ed said. “Let’s get some supplies and have a disco nap. Keep your strength up.”

“Spoilsport,” James replied.

They broke off from the crowd and wandered down an alley towards the apartment they’d rented. It was so close to everything that they’d snapped it up the second they’d come home last year.

James put his shirt on and walked with a spring in his step. Ed caught sight of them both in a boutique window. The drag queen had been right. They did make a handsome couple. Six-foot-three James had piercing blue eyes, a receding hairline that he shaved and lightly tan skin. Ed, on the other hand, had long dark curls, a beard and an even deeper tan from working outdoors most of his life.

Once inside, the cool relief in the supermarket made Ed gasp. It had been so hot in the middle of that crowd. James stood by the huge fan, letting his shirt billow behind him.

“What are you like?” Ed chuckled, picking up a basket and starting to think about what they needed.

James followed him up the aisle. Ed picked up some juice and bits to snack on. He absolutely refused to turn the cooker on in the apartment, but they had to survive, didn’t they? He turned and saw James holding up eggs, bread and cheese.

“Please can I have your French toast for breakfast?” James asked with his pathetic puppy-dog face.

Ed sighed. “Not a chance, buster. You can take me out for French toast.”

James slowly dropped the items in the basket. “But no one makes it like you do. You’re the best French toast chef this side of Paris.”

Ed couldn’t resist those eyes. “Fine, seeing as it’s you.”

“Thank you, Eduardo,” James said with a wink. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

It made Ed cross when James called him that and he bloody knew it. “Will you now?”

“Definitely.”

“Then you’ve definitely got a deal.”

Ed went to kiss him but leapt like a scalded cat as James put a hand on his chest and pushed him away.

“What are you doing?” James whispered, checking around the deserted aisle to see if anyone had seen them.

Ed’s chest still stung from where James’ fingertips had rejected him. “Nothing.” He continued walking up the aisle but could sense James wasn’t following him and spun round. James had that confused face he used to pull in primary school when asked a particularly difficult question. Ed had found it adorable then and he still did.

“What is the matter with you?” James asked calmly.

It drove Ed mad that he never seemed to lose his cool. Ed threw the basket down on the floor with a clatter. “Ten minutes ago, you were happy to kiss a drag queen and take your shirt off. Now you push me away?”

James snatched up the basket. “Are we having an argument in the fucking shampoo aisle?”

“No, James. We couldn’t do that because someone might hear us,” Ed replied and stormed past him and out of the shop.

Tears were threatening to escape as he dashed across the busy street and down another alley which led to their apartment. He had the key and let himself into the dusty stairway where they’d kissed on nearly every step after they’d got home the night before.

Today he stomped up each one, desperately trying to leave his anger on them but only feeling more uptight the higher he climbed. By the time he got inside, the tears had gone and he paced the apartment. James would be here any minute and Ed really didn’t want to ruin the holiday by having a row.

He grabbed a beer from the fridge and walked out onto the balcony. The dull thud of the dance music from the huge party a stone’s throw away swept across the rooftops. Gaggles of men would be dancing in each other’s arms. Not afraid of anything.

Ed had always known he was attracted to men, but there had only ever been one he’d truly wanted. The man charging across the street below with a bag of shopping. He took a long slug of the cold beer and waited for the intercom to sound. It didn’t take long before the harsh buzz filled the room. With a sigh, he wandered over.

“Are you going to let me in?” James’ crackly voice questioned him.

Ed pushed the button and replaced the receiver. As a couple, they weren’t the type to be constantly arguing and making up. They achieved this mainly as Ed did everything he could to keep the peace. He hated confrontation. It upset him and he’d replay it over and over, long after James had forgotten about it.

But he’d started this one and now James’ footsteps echoed on the stairs. He would soon be wanting answers and Ed just wasn’t ready to have the conversation he’d been practising for a while now. He went out onto the balcony again. James had a habit of filling a room and could be totally overpowering. Ed had always been more the type to shrink and marvel at how James could find a way to talk to anyone.

James came through the wooden panelled door and threw the shopping bag down onto the glass dining table. “Are you going to talk to me?” he asked, joining Ed on the balcony. He took his beer from his hand and had a swig.

Ed got up and padded inside. James’ eyes bored into him as he got another drink from the buzzing fridge. It annoyed him that James had left the door open. He worried about mosquitos getting in, but the look on James’ face hadn’t lessened any and he thought it best to leave it for now.

“I’m still waiting, Ed.”

Ed went back outside and sat on the rickety old chair. “Why couldn’t you kiss me?” he asked eventually.

“You know why,” James said, leaning against the railing. “What if someone sees us?”

Ed threw his hands up in the air. “We’re miles away from anyone we know. And who cares if they do?”

“It’s just not my thing. You know it isn’t.”

But what if it’s mine? Ed couldn’t face carrying on this conversation. They had dinner plans for the evening and he had no intention of eating with a cloud hanging over them. “Fine, whatever. I’m sorry I caused a scene. It just hurt me, you know?”

He got up to put the shopping away. James grabbed hold of his arm and drew him inward, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Ed could smell the citrussy aftershave James had bought at the airport. It worked well on him, and he allowed himself to be drawn into a hug.

“You daft bugger. I love you no matter what. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you and I’d bloody kill anyone who did.”

Feeling the strong arms resting on his shoulders made everything all right again. It always had.

“Come here,” James said with a glint in his eye.

He moved Ed so he faced out to the whole of Maspalomas and stood behind him, lifting his arms like Leo did to Kate in Titanic.

“I bloody love this man,” James shouted, almost deafening Ed in the process. “I always have and I always will.”

A few people down below cheered. James spun him around and planted his lips on his. “There you go. Happy now?”

With that, he went inside and busied himself putting the shopping away. Ed watched him, marvelling at how pleased with himself James seemed. But the nagging doubt inside Ed still gnawed away at him. James had done it to keep him sweet, not because he wanted to. This secret love affair seemed to be all James wanted. A week in the sunshine every year then sneaking around the village they lived in for the rest of it.

Ed sighed and tried to shake the feeling that had been creeping into his mind for months.

The feeling that this…wasn’t enough for him anymore.

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About the Author

Kristian Parker

I have written for as long as I could write. In fact, before, when I would dictate to my auntie. I love to read, and I love to create worlds and characters.

I live in the English countryside. When I’m not writing, I like to get out there and think through the next scenario I’m going to throw my characters into.

Inspiration can be found anywhere, on a train, in a restaurant or in an office. I am always in search of the next character to find love in one of my stories. In a world of apps and online dating, it is important to remember love can be found when you least expect it.

Follow Kristian on Facebook.

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All Hell by Katy Hunter

Book 3 in the Half Blood series

General Release Date: 7th June 2022

Word Count: 15,059
Book Length: NOVELLA
Pages: 64

Genres:

ANGELS AND DEMONS
BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
MÉNAGE AND MULTIPLE PARTNERS
PARANORMAL
REVERSE HAREM

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Book Description

When all hell breaks loose, you call in the angel…

Cal, Travis, Max and new-guy Suriel are on the case. The paranormal convention is in town, and they are the star attraction.

But under the surface, tensions are bubbling. Max feels pushed out, Travis is dealing with a horny little problem and Suriel is in love.

Plus, there’s the little issue of Cal’s evil nemesis trying to take over the depths of Hell, one demon at a time.

Can Cal find harmony in her harem while once again saving the world?

It’s going to be a devil of a job…

Excerpt

The future had been on my mind recently. Right now, for example, unbeknownst to me, imminent death was what fate had planned—and not for the first time today.

“Just tell us where you hid the damn gold.”

I slammed my hands down onto the rickety old wooden desk and peered into his devious little green eyes.

“Fuck you. And fuck your boyband, too,” cackled the little green asshole. “I’ll see you in Hell.”

“Not if I see you f—” The spray hit me in the back of my mouth as I shouted my reply. At first it tickled, almost like a feather or a fluttering butterfly, then bam, my throat seized up. I uttered a mumbled ‘crap’ and fell to the ground. Again.

Damn it. How many hidden poison sprays did one leprechaun have?

I imagine Suriel stepped in to do his magic, because before I knew it, I was staring into his piercing blue eyes as he loomed over me, his mouth on mine, his tongue removing the last of the poison…very, very slowly.

I peered over his curls to see two very pissed off boyfriends. This was the second time that Suriel had needed to give me the literal kiss of life today, and they were not amused. Not least because, as they probably suspected—something I knew to be true—that no tongues or even bodily contact was needed for him to do his thing. A click of his fingers and I would be back in the world of the living. Such was the strength of this devilishly cheeky angel.

“Suriel…” I said into his mouth, making him jump away. “I think I’m good, thank you.” I sat up and looked at Connor, the aforementioned leprechaun. Time to get back to work.

“I’ll take it from here,” said Travis, my delicious demon and crime-solving partner. He rolled up his sleeves and revealed his very impressive biceps. The man only had to look at a bench-press for them to grow another inch wider, much to Max’s chagrin.

My lady parts did a little flutter of admiration. Those deliciously ginormous arms. Sigh. I don’t know if it was due to the life-threatening situations we’d been through over the last couple of years or the fact that we were all going through some stuff at the moment, but I was in love with my boyfriends, like deeply, deeply in love with them.

I couldn’t be in a room alone with any one of them without wanting to just rip their clothes off and ravage them then and there. But this wasn’t the time or the place, and damn it, we really needed to find that gold.

“I’m fine,” I replied, trying to stand up then falling down when everything went a bit pear-shaped.

“Clearly not,” said Max. He helped me to my feet, stuck an arm around my waist and escorted me, rather brusquely, from our makeshift interrogation room. “Travis will get it out of him. He always does.”

I peered over my shoulder to see Travis holding Connor up by the tip of his beard. Maybe Max had a point.

I turned to Max and grinned at him suggestively.

“Really, Cal? You just died…twice. You’re not even a little tired?”

I shook my head and played with the buttons on his shirt. “Is it my fault that I’m in love with the most handsome warlock on the planet? No. It’s your fault for existing.”

He rolled his eyes and feigned exhaustion. “It’s possible to have too much of a good thing, you know?” Then he opened a door, checked to see what was in the room then whisked us both in, throwing me up against the wall and slamming the door behind us. “A quickie—and I’m in charge,” he said before gripping my hair, yanking my head back and smacking his lips onto mine. Oh, bless him. As if he were ever going to be in charge.

He pulled away and snarled a little in delight. His eyes darkened and a sparkle of magic twinkled in them as my G-string tightened around my pussy before slowly gliding down my inner thigh and dropping to my ankles.

He spun me around, pinning me just a little too hard against the cold brick wall. Unzipping himself, he pushed his cock between my butt cheeks and thrust it against my pussy.

He slid his fingers up my back, glided them around my body and grabbed onto my nipples, pulling and flicking them until they hardened to his touch.

Mmm-m…heavenly.

We knew each other’s turn-ons, each other’s erogenous zones, completely. I didn’t think I could love this man more.

He sank his lips down onto my neck and bit me, making my head jerk up. Max and I had been playing with pain for a while, pushing each other, going a little too far. My endless desire for him gave us all the time in the world to experiment. Our carnal knowledge of each other expanded with every slap-filled, nibble-induced orgasm.

He traced his fingers slowly up to my wrists then lifted my hands above my head and thrust himself inside me. There was never a need for fussing with condoms and lube when Max was around. He’d worked out how to magically cover his ass—or his dick, in this case—a long time ago. Nobody was getting pregnant on his watch.

I gasped as he plunged into me harder and harder, pummeling into me. There might not be anybody in this room, but someone walking down this corridor would have no doubts as to what was going on in here. I was most definitely getting the banging I’d desired.

He got off on PDA, but I preferred to keep it in the bedroom. My father—as my mother loves to remind me—was a bit of a prude. Mum, on the other hand, coming from a magical family, had no such qualms. Sex, when you’re a witch or a warlock, involves no shame, no judgment. I like to think I inherited a bit of both worlds.

Max let out a gasp. I recognized what it meant. It was his ‘I’m about to come’ sound.

He knew damn well that I needed clitoral stimulation. It wasn’t our first rodeo. He hadn’t even grazed my clit, and this was going way too fast for my liking.

So much for being in sync sexually.

“Max,” I cried out, between gasps. “Touch me!”

He giggled in my ear. “First she wants to be fucked. Now she wants to come, too?” He slowed his rhythm but didn’t make any move toward my clit. “And what if I don’t want to make you come?”

The fight for dominance in our relationship was endless. Max liked to think he was the commanding force between the two of us. Unfortunately, I quite liked to believe that I was the commanding force, too.

I twisted my hands around, grabbed his wrists, thrust back my hips hard enough to make him withdraw, swung myself around and threw him onto the floor with me sitting astride him. “I don’t come, you don’t come,” I said as I sank down onto his dick.

He laughed and pulled his wrists from my grip, putting his hands behind his head and enjoying the ride. “I thought you said I could be in charge.”

“I said no such thing,” I replied as I twirled my pussy against the very base of his cock, rubbing my clit against him and bringing myself to fruition all by myself.

I slowed down as the waves of pleasure coursed through my body, and he sped up underneath me, bouncing me up and down, groaning with pleasure as he brought himself to conclusion.

I flopped down onto him as he lay prostrate on the dusty floor. “Are we fucking or fighting? I can’t quite tell.”

“Both? Neither?” His smile waned. “If you’d just let me dominate you, I wouldn’t have to seek it elsewhere.”

“And where would the fun be in that?” I sat back on my knees and heaved myself up, searching for my underwear. I turned to look down at him. “You’re happy, right? You’d tell me if something was wrong?” He liked our little power struggle, didn’t he? Wasn’t that what it was all about? It had always been like that. Sometimes I held the whip, sometimes he brought out the nipple clamps. He got his need for submissives elsewhere, and that had always been the case. It was what he did—what he’d always done.

Making love to Max was harder than a work-out. The constant play-fighting was what made it different, special. It was what made it ours.

“It’s nothing. I’m being silly. Don’t listen to me,” he said, with a touch of remorse. I gave him a hand and pulled him to his feet. He leaned down and kissed me on the nose. “I love you. I’m sorry. It was great, and I ruined it.”

“Forgiven,” I replied instead of pushing it further. I should have done it. I should have said something then and there.

Before it was too late.

Before I’d almost lost him for good.

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About the Author

Katherine E Hunt

Katy Hunter lives on a mountain in France with her husband, kids and two dogs.

When she’s not writing you can find her curled up in front of the fire, book in one hand and a glass of chardonnay in the other.

Follow Katy on Instagram and sign up to her Facebook reader’s group. You can also find her on Facebook and follow her on Twitter

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Speech and Debacles by Heather DiAngelis

General Release Date: 31st May 2022

Word Count: 70,490
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 304

GENRES:

BISEXUAL
CONTEMPORARY
GLBTQI
ROMANCE
YOUNG ADULT

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Book Description

Who knew Speech and Debate could be such a thorn in the side?

Drama class is nothing like Taryn Platt’s favorite TV show—no one has broken out into song yet, and there isn’t nearly as much kissing. But the seventeen-year-old is surprised to find one thing going the way she’d hoped. It turns out she’s not half bad at acting. When her Drama teacher recruits her for the school’s powerhouse Speech and Debate team, she can’t believe her luck. Even better when she finds out the guy catching her eye, Riker, is one of the team’s strongest competitors—and hopefully he got the hint that she likes boys as well as girls. But when painful, amped-up cramps invade her pelvis, performing on demand and getting close to Riker become increasingly less feasible.

Up until junior year, Riker Lucas had one life goal—break into the world of voice acting to perform video game voiceovers. Then one look from the green-eyed new girl from Speech brings on a second goal—getting himself over the hurdle of actually talking to her. The task proves impossible when a nagging inner voice constantly reminds him how worthless he is, how he doesn’t stand a chance.

Taryn’s pain worsens, keeping her out of commission at the most inopportune moments, and Riker’s oppressive self-denigrating thoughts steal his interest from his favorite activities. As Riker and Taryn float closer together, then farther apart, they both must work to find ways of coping—or they’ll miss out on each other as well as their performance goals.

Reader advisory: This book contains mentions of depression, social anxiety, and chronic illness.

Excerpt

Taryn Platt had dragged herself to school today, but the logic behind the gesture escaped her—besides the obvious fact that Grandma had made her. Even her mom hadn’t said more than, “You should probably get moving.”

Taryn powerwalked through the crowd toward the Arts Wing, her backpack bouncing on her shoulders with each overextended step. Because Grandma wouldn’t accept any excuses to stay home.

Grandmas were unreasonable like that.

Yesterday, Taryn’s arrival at a new school on her first day of junior year had been a miserable mess of trudging through hallways and forgetting names. Now here she was on day two, unprepared for a second round of suffering but required to endure it all the same. A different set of classes than yesterday, a new set of people to remember. Block scheduling was a royal pain in her jean-clad butt. And, good lord, this gigantic school hadn’t made it easy.

Taryn’s previous school hadn’t come close to the square footage—acreage—of this place, even if the student population had been larger. Apparently, that’s what happened when you switched from an inner-city school to the rich suburbs…from Mom’s foreclosed-on house downtown to Grandma’s detached home, complete with paved driveway and pruned flowerbeds.

A boy whizzed past, grazing Taryn’s shoulder and leaving a cough-worthy draft of cologne in his wake. A girl two paces ahead skidded and caught herself before weaving onward, as if passing cars in traffic via squeaky-clean tennis shoes. Everyone in this deep sea of backpacks had mastered the fine art of arriving to class on time.

She turned the final corner to the Arts Wing and slowed. The crowd was considerably thinner here. Hell, maybe she was early for the first time since starting at Fir Grove High School.

Yeah, right.

Now if she could only find her damn Drama class.

Taryn retreated to the wall and tapped her phone to life to check her schedule, like she hadn’t already memorized it. There it was in plain letters—Drama III, Auditorium 1B. Surely this school couldn’t have more than one auditorium, let alone enough auditoriums to break them down into sublevels “A” and “B.” Her old school had shared the “auditorium” with the gymnasium, which meant there was definitely no room for a Drama class—let alone Drama I, II, III and IV, one level for each grade.

A gold placard above the double doors in front of her said “Auditorium 1.” No “B” in sight. With a deep breath, she climbed the five steps to the main entrance. Then she pulled open one of the large red doors. Inside the auditorium, the lights were dim—not a single student.

Day two and I’m lost again. Typical.

Maybe there was another door around the corner. Taryn’s lack of experience aside, she was pretty sure auditoriums had multiple entrances.

She pattered down the steps, turned to the right and sped down the hall and around the corner. The damn bell was going to ring soon.

Halfway down the hall, she came across another door that, judging by its position, must have been a side entrance to the auditorium. She tugged on it and peered in but was met once again with a dimly lit empty room.

Fudge nuggets.

Another door down the hall led to a dark backstage area. Definitely no classes going on in there. Just a quiet area with shadow-filled corners, the kind of place she’d love to escape to and catch her breath.

But no time for that. She turned another corner at the end of the hall, sped past several closed doors with no windows that apparently didn’t lead to classrooms. At least by now she had a shallow understanding of how the wings were dispersed across the campus—the sciences just past the registration desk, the humanities near the main entrance and so on. As such, she’d intended her first day in the Arts Wing to go much smoother than this.

Only two more corners before she was back where she started. Based on her luck, the next hall sure as hell wouldn’t have the room she was looking for. Then she’d be stuck going to the office with a desperate plea for help. “I found an auditorium but apparently not the right one?” Pathetic.

On the next turn, something sharp jabbed into her shoulder.

“Ow! What the—”

“Holy—” came a voice several inches above her.

Her hand flew to her shoulder as she took in the victim of her rush. She’d somehow managed to run into a freaking elbow, of all things. A very pale elbow connected to a very pale arm speckled with blond hair.

“I’m so sorry,” the voice said.

Right. Elbows were typically attached to human beings. Taryn looked up to find a boy a head taller than herself. He had the widest cheekbones she’d ever seen, despite his frown. Freckles dotted his face, and on top of his head was a swooped-up arrangement of whitish-blond hair.

She blinked hard, struggling to recall where she’d been headed before her shoulder had rammed into the cutest freaking elbow she’d ever seen—a thought she’d never expected to pop into her head.

“That’s okay. It only hurt a little.” Or maybe more than a little.

One side of his mouth crooked into a smile. “I’ve been told I have sharp elbows, so you know, I’m a walking hazard.”

She laughed as he stepped aside. He splayed his hands out to give her the full go-ahead.

Above them, the bell rang. Taryn looked up at it, as if that would make her hear it better. At least she wasn’t the only person still in the halls. Being late didn’t feel nearly as bad when someone else was late, too.

“Shit. I have to go.” She stepped past him. “Thanks for the elbow warning. I’ll watch out for them next time.”

Jesus H., stop embarrassing yourself.

“Noted!” he called after her as she sped down the hall. She glanced over her sore shoulder for a quick smile to acknowledge his remark, but he’d already disappeared. It was only then that she realized she should’ve asked for directions. Too late now. And probably for the best, since stumbling through an awkward question to a cute boy would have been slightly more humiliating than showing up late for class. Or so she assumed.

She heard the correct auditorium before she saw it, a jumble of words wafting toward her. When she reached the door, almost a full hallway circle from where she started, it was wide open, with “Auditorium 1B” above it. She slipped inside and halted.

The teacher was already at the front of the room. Instead of assembling the students, though, he was lost in conversation with a tall boy who was clutching a tan satchel slung across his torso. Neither seemed to notice her.

She took a step forward, unsure where to sit. A couple dozen students were scattered throughout the room in the most casual classroom setting she’d ever seen. The red padded seats of the auditorium angled to the back of the room in an upward slant. While two walls were made of concrete, the other two were flimsy wooden partitions that extended from floor to ceiling. They wrapped around two sides of the room like a curtain, blocking the students into a makeshift room with theater seats but no stage.

There were far more rows of seats than necessary. The students in the room could sit two to a row with room to spare. And for the moment, that seemed approximately how they were spread out. Was the teacher just supposed to shout across the room?

She found a bare spot halfway up the rows and slunk over. It was probably a rule against nature to be shy in a Drama class, but to hell with that. People could come to her if they wanted to talk.

Not that they would. But that wasn’t the point.

If the teacher had noticed that it was time for class, he gave no indication. In fact, no one in the room seemed to give a flying flip about the clock or the bell or whatever schedule all the other teachers cared about at this fancy, multi-auditorium school. Come to think of it, that guy in the hall with the elbow spears hadn’t been in a hurry to get to class. For his sake, she hoped his teacher cared as little about punctuality as hers did.

The door to the room closed. Her ears perked up at the sound.

But the teacher hadn’t been the one to close it. No, a pale arm was retreating from the doorknob. The guy from the hall, showing up late as if he knew the teacher wouldn’t care, in stark contrast to her desperation to find the room

He walked up the stairs at the edge of the auditorium, passing rows of seats. Then he glanced her way.

She swallowed hard and darted her gaze to the front of the classroom, where the teacher was continuing his side conversation. Cute though he might be, Elbow Guy was not her type. Not only had he been late for class, but he’d been walking in the opposite direction of the classroom when the bell rang.

Still, her hand found its way to her shoulder, rubbing the sore spot. There’d probably be a bruise by bedtime.

Satchel Guy at the front took his seat, and the teacher glanced at the clock. The students in the auditorium phased out their conversations, as if they knew the time had finally come.

The teacher cleared his throat. “Welcome, welcome, welcome. This is Drama III, the class for juniors where none of your dreams will come true, but at least you’ll have fun. If you didn’t sign up for Drama III, or if you have some weird agenda against fun, then now’s your chance to split.”

Chuckles bubbled around the room as the teacher looked around expectantly. No one stood.

“Good. Welp, I’m Mr. Banley-Zimmerman. Most of you probably know that, and if you didn’t, then I probably don’t know you yet. Rest assured, we’ll get acquainted. Sorry in advance for that.”

More chuckles. Okay, so this guy was a bit…eccentric. Maybe that came with the territory for Drama teachers. At her old school, the few people actually paying attention would’ve rolled their eyes at a guy like this. Here, though, the students just went with it.

And hey, maybe that was a good thing. Maybe she was in good company for once.

Because yeah, she’d always had a thing for acting, even if she’d never done it. She had no clue if she’d be any good at it, no idea if she’d one-hundred-percent freeze the moment she was on a stage.

Except…

Except this was where she wanted to be. Just like the characters on Timbre!, also known as the greatest TV show of all time, period, where a group of teenage misfits formed a musical theater club. The show was also known for its power ballads, shocking revelations and super intense kissing.

Hells yes to all the kissing. Girls kissing girls, boys kissing boys, boys kissing girls. Enough to give Taryn’s bisexual heart all the feels. Which might or might not be why she ran a fan account with more followers than there were students in her school.

Not that she would ever admit that to a single soul inside Fir Grove. Announcing she was a super fan probably wasn’t the way to make new friends fast.

Unlike the characters on Timbre!, Taryn couldn’t sing—of that much she was sure. But if going to a new school meant new beginnings, then now was the time—the only time—to take a leap and get on a stage. To show up for a fine art she loved but had never practiced beyond observing her favorite television show.

Maybe she’d suck at acting, maybe not. Either way, no backing out now.

“Taryn Platt?”

Taryn blinked. Did someone just call her name? She looked left, then right. A few people watched her, and others looked around the room like they were also confused.

With a glimpse at the front of the room, her heart stuttered. Mr. Banley-Zimmerman stared directly at her, a goofy smile on his face.

“Are you Taryn Platt?” he asked. His voice was gentle, neither mocking nor unamused.

She blinked again. Speak! Tell him it’s you!

“Yeah,” she croaked.

Wow, way to go, Ms. Hidden Talent Actress.

“Thank you kindly, Taryn.” Mr. Banley-Zimmerman tapped at the tablet resting on the podium in front of him. “Gavin Varns?”

The attention now off her, Taryn closed her eyes as the teacher continued taking attendance. How long had she been lost in television fantasies? What else had she missed the teacher saying?

If she’d been paying attention, would she have caught Elbow Guy’s name? Not that she needed it or anything. Because, again, he was most assuredly not her type. Though, one more look couldn’t hurt…

She opened her eyes and glanced down the row. Elbow Guy leaned back in his seat, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee. And his eyes were already on her.

She blinked twice on reflex and looked back to Mr. Banley-Zimmerman—a much safer focal point. He cleared his throat and moved to the first row with a stack of papers, likely syllabi. She could do this. She could gather her nerves and be awesome at Drama class. Definitely.

No one would find out she didn’t belong.

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About the Author

Heather DiAngelis

Heather DiAngelis produces scholarly publications by day and writes young adult novels by night. If she has enough energy on the weekends, she can be found binge-watching shows with a cat nearby, losing lightsaber battles against her husband and sons, and perpetually wishing for more time. She focuses on the intersectionality surrounding queer characters, with the hope that a teenager will someday find themselves in one of her stories.

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Unforgettable by J.P. Bowie

General Release Date: 31st May 2021

Word Count: 54,503
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 218

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
SECOND CHANCE

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Book Description

Reunited twenty years after their teenage split, Blake and Alex are determined that this second chance will have a happy ending…

When Blake Carson enters a photographic exhibition in Los Angeles, he’s astounded that the gifted photographer is Alexander Martin, with whom he’d been in love when they were both teenagers. Alex disappeared from Blake’s life without explanation, and his ultra-religious parents ran Blake off.

Reunited, the two men realize that the feelings they’d had for each other twenty years ago are still there, and the pair is determined to make up for the years stolen from them. They plan a future together, and even talk of adopting an abused child Blake had represented in court.

But the darkness of Alex’s past isn’t so easily shaken off. A phone call from his homophobic father brings back bitter memories of his parents’ cold-hearted abandonment of him to a conversion therapy center and threatens to revive the resultant PTSD he’s fought so long to overcome.

Can the love he and Blake share free Alex from the shadow of the trauma inflicted on him all those years ago?

Reader advisory: This book contains mention of mental and physical abuse and conversion therapy, references to abusive parenting, and an on-page attempt to sexually coerce.

Excerpt

Blake had never been one for art shows and, unlike a lot of gay guys, not that much into musicals either. So why he was peering into the window of an art gallery in downtown LA showcasing the work of one Alexander Martin was a bit of a mystery. For a long moment he stood gazing at the display of a black-and-white photograph featuring a rocky seashore, boiling surf surging under a cliff wall.

Nice, he thought at first glance. A bit Ansel Adams. The major difference being when he stared at the photograph more closely, the subtle outline of a naked man reached out as if to touch the waves.

“Beautiful…”

His murmured comment must have caught the attention of a woman standing a few feet away from him. She smiled then gave him a flirty look. “Takes one to know one, I guess,” she said.

“Sorry?”

“You know what I mean.” She opened the door to the gallery and held it for Blake, probably amused at his flaming cheeks while she gazed without any sign of embarrassment at him, again with the flirting. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how good-looking you are, sweetie.”

Blake stared at her, slightly amazed at how bold she was, and now that they were almost toe to toe, he could tell she might just be old enough to be his mother.

She patted his shoulder. “Alexander Martin’s exhibition is to the right, down the hall there,” she said. “It’s a private showing today, but go ahead. I’m sure he won’t mind. Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” Blake mumbled then added, “You seem to know your way around the place.”

She smiled. “I should. I come here every time they have a new exhibition.” She held out her hand. “Doreen Leslie.”

“Blake Carson.” He shook her hand. He was so bad at this kind of thing. Give him a courtroom floor and he was at home, but talking to strangers not so much. Socially inept, his last boyfriend had called him. “N-nice meeting you.”

“You too, honey. Now go enjoy Alexander Martin’s work.”

With that, she turned on her very high heels and walked quickly away. Still a little surprised by her overt friendliness, Blake watched until she disappeared through a frosted glass doorway with some gold lettering on it. He had to admit it was nice to stand in the gallery’s cooler air. It was September, and the usual California warmth had turned a trifle sticky mid-month.

Alexander Martin… He used to know a boy called Alexander Martin, except he’d known him as Alex. They’d been best buds—more than that really—but that had been many years ago and there was no way this could be any more than mere coincidence. Right? The Alex he’d known had never shown any interest in photography―at least not that he could remember― and this work lining the gallery walls was, even to Blake’s plebian eye, pretty spectacular.

He glanced down at the brochure in his hand. There was a picture of the artist, and although there was a resemblance to his boyhood friend, he might be wary of going, ‘Wow, reunited after all these years’. If in fact Alexander Martin was anywhere around in the gallery, and they just happened to bump into each other.

Of course, the man in the photo was an adult, a handsome adult without a doubt, but the boy in Blake’s memory had been a tow-headed skinny kid with a beaming smile. And now? Blake took a second, closer look at the picture, and there was that smile that stirred something inside him, something warm, a distant memory of a summer’s day when he and Alex had gone skinny-dipping together in Baker’s Pond.

But that had been in DC, or rather, in Bakerton, a small town outside the city with lots of trees and farms and a swimming hole. Just like they’d done so many times each summer, they’d laughed, cavorted and playfully wrestled in and out of the water—but the day that Alex had kissed Blake, everything had changed.

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About the Author

J.P. Bowie

J.P. Bowie was born in Scotland and toured British theatres in numerous musical shows including Stephen Sondheim’s Company.

He emigrated to the States and worked in Las Vegas, Nevada for the magicians Siegfried and Roy as their Head of Wardrobe at the Mirage Hotel. He is currently living with his husband in sunny San Diego, California.

Find J.P. on Facebook and Twitter.

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Trapped by Doubt by Jayce Carter

Book 2 in the Dark Sanctuary series

General Release Date: 31st May 2022

Word Count: 83,619
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 307

GENRES:

BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
MÉNAGE AND MULTIPLE PARTNERS
REVERSE HAREM

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Book Description

It will take three Dominants to drag this submissive out of her safe little rut.

After a chaotic childhood, Ell uses routine and order to feel safe. When she goes to Sanctuary, a well-known BDSM club, the last thing she expects is to run into anyone she already knows, let alone three Dominants who are all too willing to mess up her perfectly ordered life.

Clint, Ethan and Fox have gone to Sanctuary for years, but after a bad experience with a submissive, they’re gun-shy about taking on anyone else. However, when they see Ell there, they can’t resist the pull to the sweet, stubborn woman.

When Ell is attacked in her home, the men help her move into an apartment in the same complex as them, which lets them explore each other—and their own wants—that much more. But there’s Ell’s trouble with trust, the men’s doubts about her commitment and mounting suspicions about the attack on her to deal with.

The quartet will have to learn how to let go of their pasts and trust one another to have any hope of finding happiness—and staying alive.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence and abduction, and mentions of child abuse.

Excerpt

There was something about the courthouse that Ell both loved and hated. She loved the clear rules and the regimented way it ran. There was never a question about what the next step should be, about what was and wasn’t allowed and about how a person went through those steps.

However, another part of her remembered coming as a child and the crushing disappointment that happened no matter how it went. Being there as an adult was different, gave a person a sense of power, but as a kid?

She recalled sitting beside a social worker, trembling, never sure how it would go or what that meant for her. Would they hand her over to her mother? Her father? Some relative she’d never met who wanted good karma points for taking in the poor, destitute child? Or would she take the gamble that was foster parents?

It was terrifying—always.

Which was exactly why Ell handed a closed cup of hot cocoa to the boy sitting on the bench in one of the many long hallways.

Donnie Denton, the first case she’d ever been assigned on her own. She could still remember walking in to see him, black eye but ready to take on anyone he needed to to survive. It had broken her heart to see him like that, to know he’d lived a life where he’d needed that hard edge.

He took the hot cocoa and offered a rough thank you. While other case managers had had trouble with him—they claimed he lied and was disrespectful and labeled him a lost cause—Ell had taken to him right away. She still smiled each time he went to respond with cursing but stopped himself, as if he knew it wasn’t appropriate to say in front of her.

At fourteen, Donnie stood taller than her and had started to put on more bulk. Even still, she couldn’t help but see the kid he’d been when she’d first met him.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered softly, holding the cup between his hands.

“You don’t need to apologize.” Ell took her seat beside him.

“Yeah, I do. I fu—I screwed up. You shouldn’t have to waste your time cleaning up my messes.”

Ell shook her head. “I know you—if you got into this fight, you had a good reason, right?”

The color leeched from his lips as he pressed them together, the universal signal for ‘I’m no snitch’ that he got whenever she questioned anything. Then again, he was going to have to go back to that life, to those streets, and the sorts of people who existed in that world didn’t forgive betrayal.

“I’m not trying to find out who it was,” she pressed, gesturing at his split lip and his black eye, all signs he’d taken a hell of a beating. “I’m just saying, I know you have a good heart. You wouldn’t be out there attacking random, innocent people. So for this to happen, you had a good reason.”

He let out a long breath before taking a sip of the drink. He held it in his mouth for a long moment, as if thinking, then swallowed. “Someone wanted me to do a job, but they didn’t tell me the real job. When they did? I told them to fu—I told them no. Well, he didn’t take no very well.”

Ell set her hand on his back and rubbed, knowing there wasn’t much she could do for him. It was like his path had been made for him before he’d ever been born, and no matter how hard she tried, she had no idea how to get him off it.

The creaking of a door caught Ell’s attention, and sure enough, Jeff Jadzen walked out of his office. Exactly the man she’d been waiting for.

Ell rose to her feet after nodding at Donnie, her way of assuring him she’d handle it.

Jeff took one look her way and walked faster.

Too bad Ell was perfectly fine with running in heels.

“Jeff, I need a minute—”

“Sorry, Ell, but I’m really busy. Set something up with my secretary.”

“I tried. I haven’t heard anything back in a week, and I’ve called every day.”

“Like I said, very busy.” He reached the men’s room, then smiled like he’d won some prize. “It was nice to see you. Call the office and we’ll try to get together next week.” He ducked into the bathroom, his voice floating out as the door swung closed.

Next week would be too late. The pretrial was set for Friday of this week, and she shuddered to think about Donnie ending up in juvie, of how quickly the rest of his options could float away.

Which was the exact thing that had her walking into the men’s room. She’d been in far worse places in her life for far less noble reasons.

“Please tell me you didn’t follow me into the men’s room.” Jeff spoke through a closed stall door, the annoyance palpable.

“I wasn’t finished talking with you. At least now, you can’t leave.”

The longest sigh came from the stall. “Which charity case are you here about this time?”

“Donnie Denton.”

“Him again? Come on, Ell, you run yourself ragged and for what? Donnie isn’t some six-year-old who needs you to save him—he’s basically an adult in his world. Stop seeing him as something he isn’t.”

“He’s fourteen—that’s still a kid. He isn’t a bad kid, either.”

“You say that because you didn’t see the other person in the fight. Donnie shattered his eye socket with a bat.”

That took her off guard, the level of violence new. Still, Ell shook her head, reassuring herself that she knew Donnie. He didn’t lie to her. If he didn’t want to tell her something, he just wouldn’t, but he didn’t lie.

“You know what it’s like for people who live in that area.”

“Yeah, I know, because I see what happens to the victims.”

“Some victim. They wanted Donnie to do a job that was bad enough he turned it down once he knew the details.”

“Is that what he told you? Well, his ‘turned it down’ moment ended up being inside someone’s house as they robbed it. Did he leave that part out? That the woman walked in and saw them there.”

Ell cringed at the little detail that, well, yeah, Donnie had left out. Still, it didn’t change the rest. “Well, did Donnie touch the woman?”

Silence let her know she was right.

There was the flush of a toilet, then Jeff walked out and headed for the sinks. “No. According to her, Donnie’s friend pulled a bat, and when Donnie objected, the two got into a fight. Scared the poor woman half to death, and when Donnie won, when the other man took off, Donnie said sorry and escaped through a window. We caught him down the street.”

“You see? He was trying to help.”

Jeff dried his hands, then turned to face Ell. “You see the best in people, Ell, and that’s great, but it’s going to get you killed. These kids you help, they aren’t innocent and fragile. By the time they hit their teenage years, a lot of them are already killers. They’re dangerous, and they’re manipulative, and if you’re not careful, it’ll end you.”

How many times had she heard that sort of warning? People who told Ell that she should pick a safer job, that she should do something else?

It didn’t matter. She knew exactly why she did what she did. “Donnie has a shot. If you throw him into juvie, you’re just going to solidify this path for him. Prison doesn’t rehabilitate kids. It just makes them into better criminals.”

Jeff rubbed the corners of his eyes. “What do you want me to do? He broke into a woman’s house and put someone else in the hospital. I can’t just look the other way with that.”

“Community service.”

“What?”

“He needs to see there are options for him, that there’s a life he can still have that isn’t on the streets. Assign him community service hours, and I’ll make sure to find him a place to work them where he can do some good, where he can see a different life is possible.”

Jeff’s expression twisted the way it always did when he was in thought, when he was trying to see all the possible outcomes. His job had jaded him, but he wasn’t a bad man.

Finally, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll get it all drawn up and present it to his public defender. Make sure he understands that this is it, though. This is his one big shot. If he gets involved in something else like this, you won’t be able to save him again.”

Ell agreed, thanked Jeff, then exited the men’s room. A quick conversation with Donnie outside let him know the details, and even though he wasn’t the sort to admit to being nervous, the shuddering breath he released said he had been. He thanked Ell, then took off.

She would have driven him home, but Donnie was used to using the bus system. He always refused when she tried, saying he’d meet her wherever it was.

A glance at her watch told Ell that she didn’t have another appointment until later, which gave her time to gather herself. When she slung her bag over her shoulder and turned, however, she ran directly into someone else.

Hands grasped her arms to keep her upright, and Ell glanced up to find a familiar face grinning down at her.

Ethan Jaymes, a detective she’d dealt with more than a few times. He was tall, dark and handsome—all the things that made her certain he was also trouble, especially when he smiled at her the way he always did. His green eyes danced with an amusement that his voice mirrored. “Aren’t you in a hurry?”

She pulled away, extracting herself from his strong grasp. “You were the one standing far too close.”

“I said your name, and you didn’t hear me. Distracted?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Well, believe it or not, my world doesn’t revolve around you.”

He let out a soft laugh, the way he always did when she soundly rejected him. It was odd, because sometimes it seemed the meaner she got, the more Ethan liked her.

And, just like clockwork, Ethan’s shadow came around the corner.

Clint Faire, Ethan’s partner, and an unnerving presence who had always made Ell fidget under his intense stare. He peered at her, no pleasure or surprise showing in his hazel eyes. He had a light brown beard and mustache, both well groomed, but shaved his head. If he weren’t dressed so well, she’d no doubt think he was some muscle-head up to no good. “Ms. Hayden,” he said, his tone as respectful as always.

Ell nodded back, still trying to calm her racing heart from her surprise at seeing Ethan. It shouldn’t have surprised her that much—the two detectives were often at the courthouse—yet they always managed to make her feel out of control.

Which was about the worst feeling she could imagine. Ell was the sort of woman who preferred everything in its place, everything well-regulated and scheduled. Ethan and Clint managed to make her feel the opposite, as if she couldn’t quite get a hold of all the pieces of her life, as if she couldn’t make sense of it all.

And why, she had no idea.

She’d known the two men for years, though never well. She wouldn’t call them friends by any stretch of the imagination, but they’d worked together from time to time—both on the same side and not so much.

“So who are you harassing today?” Clint asked in his matter-of-fact way that always made Ell’s cheeks heat.

“I wasn’t harassing anyone. I was doing my job.”

“And who did your job require you to harass today?” Clint pressed.

“No one.” Ell crossed her arms and tapped her foot, trying her best to make her annoyance as clear as possible.

“She followed me into the men’s room,” Jeff answered as he walked past, not slowing down to talk, seeming more than happy to rush across the hall so he could hide in his office again.

Ethan let out a hard laugh at that, and the fact he accepted her actions without question annoyed Ell. Yes, she was dedicated, but he could have had a second of ‘Are they being serious? Would she really do that?’ doubt.

“I needed to discuss something important with him, and he wanted to hide in the bathroom.”

“You’re going to get yourself into trouble one day,” Ethan said as he caught his breath from his laughter. “It’s good to go to bat for your kids, Ell, but be careful that you don’t put yourself in a position you don’t want to be in.”

His words ran through Ell like they always did, tinged in something she tried so hard to ignore. Why was it that Ethan managed to get beneath her skin like this? His voice was like honey, something sweet enough to draw her closer, but also sticky enough she feared it might trap her.

All the reasons it was a bad idea had gone through in her head on nights when she stayed up thinking about him, even about Clint. She had her life in order. She’d perfectly crafted each part of it, fitting the pieces together, making exactly the picture she wanted. The idea of anyone else coming into that, of them possibly tearing apart everything she’d worked so hard to put into place, terrified her.

Life was hard and scary and dangerous, but if she kept the pieces in their spots, if she made sure everything went where it belonged, she could avoid the pain and fear she’d known so well as a kid.

So Ell offered a quick goodbye before she risked falling any further into either man, before she risked everything she’d built, her perfect house of cards.

The last thing she needed was to let either of these men blow down all the hard work she’d put in.

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About the Author

Jayce Carter

Jayce Carter lives in Southern California with her husband and two spawns. She originally wanted to take over the world but realized that would require wearing pants. This led her to choosing writing, a completely pants-free occupation. She has a fear of heights yet rock climbs for fun and enjoys making up excuses for not going out and socializing. You can learn more about her at her website.

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The Billionaire’s Appetite by L.A. Day

General Release Date: 31st May 2022

Word Count: 24,700
Book Length: NOVELLA
Pages: 102

GENRES:

BILLIONAIRE
BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE

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Book Description

She wanted funding—he needed submission. He would give her more than she asked for.

Charity’s father pulled the funding for her research, but she may have found the perfect replacement. Silas is a billionaire and he agrees to meet to discuss her proposal. After an embarrassing first encounter with the gorgeous but elusive billionaire, she didn’t expect him to help her.

Silas Radford is intrigued by the beautiful and brainy scientist. She asks for funding, but he wants a partnership—and not just in business. Sparks fly between them the moment they meet, but there are a few issues to set to rest before he can close the deal.

But Charity doesn’t realize Silas is friends with the father she feels betrayed her. And even if they can get past that, he still has to show her the full extent of his darker appetites…

Excerpt

Today was the day. Finally, I had been granted an interview with the elusive Mr. Silas Radford. I paced as I looked over my notes and waited for the ride service. Radford Towers dominated the downtown skyscape, so I knew I would have been able to find his office, but that downtown traffic would have shaken my nerves. If I wanted to get funding for my research, I couldn’t get rattled. I needed to project a calm, confident image.

I tugged at the hem of my suit jacket. I was wearing my best, black power suit. A full-control bodysuit helped contain my overly abundant curves and give me a professional look. I eyed myself critically in the hall mirror. There really was no taming “the girls” but at least they didn’t bounce when I moved. I took a deep breath and practiced my walk. Frowning, I looked at my sensible shoes. Unfortunately, I could only trust myself with two-inch heels. Anything higher and I would almost certainly land on my more-than-prominent ass. It was fine. I was a scientist, not a model.

A text alerted me that my ride had arrived. I took one more look to make sure my messy bun was still in place and I hurried out of the door. My interview wasn’t for an hour. I had given myself plenty of time in case of an emergency. Twenty minutes later I was seated in the lobby. No way was I going to his office forty minutes early.

People-watching was a hobby of mine and this lobby was like an anthill, busy people running every which way. A tall, muscular man strolled through the door like he owned the place. His dress shirt was partially unbuttoned and his chestnut hair looked like someone had run their fingers through it, but even slightly rumpled he still exuded raw masculine power. I wondered if he’d enjoyed a tryst at lunch. I licked my lips. I could picture him bending a petite female over his desk, lifting her skirt and paddling her bottom before ravishing her from behind. A shiver rode up my spine. Obviously I’d read too many steamy romances lately.

I nibbled my lip as my eyes roamed over every delicious inch until I met sparkling blue eyes brimming with amusement. Caught! Heat traveled up my neck to my cheeks. The alarm on my cell alerted me that it was time to head upstairs. Saved by the bell, I stood, grabbed my portfolio and strolled toward the elevator. This time I was the one being scrutinized. Mr. Hottie was deep in conversation with a security guard but his eyes followed me as I walked across the lobby. Chin up, shoulders back, I strode confidently. A man like that wouldn’t be interested in a nerdy girl like me. In actuality, he probably would be for a night. I’d lost count of the number of men who had told me they fantasized about titty-fucking me. The ridiculous thing was that they thought I should be flattered. Can’t live with them, but if science keeps progressing, we might be able to live without them. I would love to find a man who appreciated more than my breasts and ass.

The elevator dinged on the next-to-top floor of the tower. The doors opened to an impressive lobby. A smiling, middle-aged receptionist greeted me. “Hello, Dr. Jones. Please have a seat.” She waved her arm at a couple of tufted yellow accent chairs. “Mr. Radford will be available shortly. Would you like coffee or a bottle of water?”

“No. Thank you.” I smiled and perched nervously on a chair. The next twenty minutes could make or break my project. I ran through my proposal in my head.

“Mr. Radford will see you now. Right this way.” The receptionist led me down a short corridor and opened one of two mammoth wooden doors.

I stepped into a lavishly decorated room that reeked of old money. Taking a deep breath, I plastered on a smile and approached the massive leather-topped mahogany desk as the executive chair spun to face me.

Frozen, I watched Mr. Hottie rise from the chair. A sexy, knowing grin tugged at his lips. I stared with mouth ajar. It couldn’t be. Dammit, I cursed inwardly. Well, I’d lost any chance at this funding.

He approached, holding out his hand. “Dr. Charity Jones, I’m Silas Radford. It’s very nice to meet you.”

My hand was engulfed in a warm, firm grip. “It’s nice to meet you too,” I muttered. How could this be Silas Radford? I’d heard my father mention him in passing and had assumed he was much older.

His blue eyes sparkled. “Come,” he commanded in a whiskey-rough voice. He waved me forward and I wondered about his choice of words. I really needed to get my mind out of the gutter, but this man stirred something dark and foreboding inside me.

Two plaid wing-backed armchairs faced his desk and I took a seat and crossed my legs, trying to regain my composure. I could probably secure the funding in exchange for sexual favors, but I didn’t mix business with pleasure. I cleared my throat. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” He’d retaken his seat, crossed his hands and cocked his head to the side. “I read your proposal. I believe you’re seeking money for…”

“I am inquiring about funds for my research. I am a scientist.”

He glanced down. “Right. I’ve read it and conducted my own research. You have an impressive professional portfolio as well as an interesting project.” His eyes rose from the folder to meet my gaze. “I recognized you downstairs. I’d intended to introduce myself before I got waylaid.”

My cheeks flushed under his scrutiny. I realized he’d brought up the incident to unnerve me. “I’m a people-watcher. I enjoy observing…”

“I noticed. It’s probably the hormones.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You enjoy examining human interactions.” He arched a dark brow. “Your research is on hormones, correct?”

“Oh yes, it is.” This man was sharp. He was fucking with me and enjoying it. “My research is on hormones and hormone replacements. I read a publication recently on how today’s women prefer more feminine men and dad bods. I found it interesting.”

His chuckle was deep, dark. “I’m sure a certain type of woman does. But there’s another type of woman who prefers more of a take-charge, physical, dominant male, wouldn’t you say?”

I arched my brow. “I couldn’t say. That’s not my area of expertise.”

“You’re looking to replace current hormone therapy for menopausal women.” He flipped through my proposal.

“Yes. Current HRT, while effective for many, also has dangerous side effects. Aging women still want to feel like women but not risk their lives to do so.”

“Are you looking for a little blue pill for women?”

I smiled tightly, refusing to be intimidated. I was certain I’d already lost the funding so… Fuck it. I tipped my chin up defiantly. “Certainly, women’s sexual arousal is part of it. The scientific community has spent an enormous amount of money on erectile dysfunction. Don’t you think women deserve the same? After all, won’t men benefit from it as well, or maybe men don’t really care if women enjoy intercourse.”

Mr. Radford threw back his head and roared with laughter. “I like you. You aren’t intimidated easily. You may have heard I’m controlling and I like to get my way, but sometimes I like a challenge.”

“Thank you. I believe in standing up for oneself. And I hadn’t heard that about you, so thanks for warning me.”

One brow rose. “Really? What have you heard?”

I eyed him warily, sensing a trap. I had the feeling he was toying with me and that this was all a game to him.

“Out with it. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

At this point, there was no reason to hold back. “I heard you were an acute businessman by day and a cold-hearted womanizer by night. Were they wrong?”

His gorgeous eyes locked onto me in a way that made my insides quiver. “I like to think I have a head for business.”

“And the rest?” I grinned, awaiting his reply.

“The women I entertain know the score, but that might be changing. I could fund your research if you agree to my terms.”

“Mr. Radford…”

“Call me Radford.”

I sighed. I was sure his terms involved me on my knees, and that just wasn’t happening. Not that he wasn’t knee worthy. He absolutely was, but I wouldn’t sell myself for money.

“Radford, I don’t know what your terms are but…”

He leaned ever so slightly closer. “I want you to pretend we are involved.”

“Excuse me?” I straightened in my chair.

“If you want funding, I need something in return.”

That answer took me by surprise. Why would a man as powerful and gorgeous as Radford need a fake girlfriend? “May I ask why?”

“You said yourself, I’m known as a womanizer, but I have a new venture in mind, which will require me to appear to be in a serious, committed relationship.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “It will be pretend? I won’t sell myself for funding.”

“Of course not!” His smile was wicked. “I would never expect a professional woman such as yourself to barter your, uh, goods.”

His voice had dropped a level and I shifted uncomfortably. That tone alone made my blood zip through my veins. Once again I had to wonder why he would need any help finding an appropriate woman. “I don’t understand. I’m sure you are acquainted with women who would be willing to play the role of girlfriend. After all, you’re attractive in a non-feminine, non-dad bod way.” I smirked. “Plus, you’re a billionaire.”

“Is my money what you first noticed about me?” He watched me through a hooded gaze.

I remembered feeling his presence before I’d seen him, then being robbed of my breath by his sheer physical authority. “Initially, in the lobby, I didn’t know you had money. I noticed your…” I licked my lips slowly. “Smile.”

He lowered his eyes to my assets. “The first thing I noticed about you was the mischief that sparkled in your eyes.” One eyebrow rose, as if he dared me to question his words. “But to answer your question, the women I know might want to make the position permanent. After all, as you mentioned, I am a billionaire.”

“You don’t think I’ll want the position permanently? I mean, there is all that money!”

“I think you are dedicated to your profession and have little time for a relationship.”

He had me there. I cleared my throat and delved into the details of his proposal. “What would be involved in this deal, and for how long would you need my services, so to speak?”

“Dinner engagements, social functions, I’m sure you know the drill. I’m thinking a few months should be sufficient.”

“I wouldn’t want this to look like a quid pro quo, like I sold myself for funding.”

“Of course not! We will convince everyone that we met and fell madly in love.”

“Madly in love?”

“I will be totally smitten with you and you will be with me as well. Can you do it?” There was challenge in his eyes.

I swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m sure I could appear smitten.” I was positive it wouldn’t be hard to act smitten. The trick would be not to fall for the man.

“Of course, we will have to project an intimate relationship.”

“How intimate?”

“Hand holding, hugs, kisses the type of touching lovers do in public.”

“If I consider this there can’t be other women. I won’t be made to look like a fool.” Was I really considering this?

“Agreed.”

I furrowed my brow as I looked at him. Was he sober? “You’re going to go months without sex?”

His eyes twinkled. “We’ll see.”

“What does that mean?”

He shrugged. “I could decide to end the deal sooner, but of course you would still get the funding.”

“Will that be in the contract?”

“Of course, but you might decide to enjoy the rewards of being my girlfriend.”

“I already said I wouldn’t sell myself.”

“Understood. Any sexual relationship arising from our agreement wouldn’t be part of the agreement and would have to be initiated by you.”

Under his scrutiny, I squirmed in my chair. He had a way of getting under my skin with those penetrating eyes and that sexy voice. “That won’t happen.”

He leaned back and shrugged. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

“This whole thing is crazy.” I jumped to my feet.

Slowly, he rose from his chair. “You need funding. I need a fake relationship. We both get what we want.”

Seated he was hot as hell, but standing he projected confidence, dominance, and something in me reacted to him in a way I wasn’t entirely comfortable with. I let out a shaky breath. “Yes. But…?”

“Are you afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?” A sexy smirk curved his lips and devilry blazed in his eyes.

I tugged on the bottom of my blazer. “Absolutely not! I never mix business with pleasure.” I sounded more confident than I felt.

“Are you worried I might make advances toward you?”

“Hardly! I doubt I’m your type, and let’s not forget I might then get designs on your money.”

He grinned. “I do have one question. Why did your father pull his funding?”

“How do you know he did?”

“I do my research,” he replied.

Of course, I thought. Any astute businessman would question why my funding had been canceled. “It was a family issue. He wanted too much control.”

“He wanted to dictate your research?”

“No. My life.”

“Ahh, family issues.”

“Yes.”

“Fine then.” He held out his hand and I grasped it firmly, doing my best to ignore the sizzle of awareness his touch aroused.

I considered my options. They were limited. This was a better option than humbling myself before my father. What’s the worst that could happen? He’d already jump-started my dormant libido. If I was foolish enough to encourage his advances, I’d probably get the best orgasms of my life out of a tryst with him. What if I tore my clothes off, begged him to fuck me and he said no? Unlikely, he was a womanizer. I could handle this, I thought, then I took another look at his smile and wasn’t so confident. “For the record, this is a horrible idea.”

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About the Author

L.A. Day

L.A. Day is a multi-published author of erotic romances. Her heroes might be bikers, shifters, vampires, aliens, time-travelers, barbarians, billionaires, or CEO’s but they are always strong, assertive men! Her heroines might be tough or submissive but they are always sassy, funny, and sarcastic. In real life, Laura is a wife, mother, and dog lover. She loves to collect pottery and you can often find her at antique and resale shops. Her friends are often SHOCKED that their seemingly sweet friend writes dirty books.

Follow L.A. Day on Instagram and check out her website.

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The Devil You Know by S.J. Coles

General Release Date: 24th May 2024

Word Count: 98,131
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 402

Genres:

BILLIONAIRE
CELEBRITIES
CONTEMPORARY
CRIME
CRIME AND MYSTERY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

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Book Description

The law is about how you represent the truth. Love is no different.

Reader advisory: This book contains a graphic description of murder and references to suicide, pedophilia, blackmail, pre-marital infidelity, and child pornography.

Excerpt

Hilary took a deep breath. His shirt, new on that morning, was sticking to the small of his back. He looked up at the Hart-Gosfords’ Mayfair townhouse and told himself, yet again, that it was just another case.

You can do this.

He straightened his back, let out the breath and pushed the intercom.

“Yes?”

“Hilary Whyte from Gunnerson and Gains to see Mr. Hart-Gosford.”

The gate buzzed and swung open. Hilary transferred his briefcase from one hand to the other so he could wipe his palms on his trousers as he climbed the steps to the front door. Before he could knock, it was opened by a short, stiff-necked man with a smart suit and a grim expression. The scar of an old piercing marred one eyebrow and another, more jagged, bisected the fleshiest part of his neck. The marks, combined with the crew-cut, made him more look like private security than house staff, though it didn’t surprise Hilary that the Hart-Gosfords felt the need for both.

“This way.”

Hilary resisted staring at the minimalist paintings and crystal sculptures as he followed the butler into a well-appointed parlor. It was best not to appear daunted by such things, even though just one of these pieces was probably worth more than he made in a year, even now.

Tall windows flooded the room with weak spring sunshine. Two women with the same shade of platinum hair looked up as he entered. The younger, who sat on the edge of a mauve love seat, wore a carefully schooled expression, the sort executed best by those who spent a lifetime practicing it. But Hilary detected strain in her slate-gray eyes. The older woman managed to look down her nose at Hilary, even though she barely grazed five feet in her thin-heeled patents. Her eyes, a shade paler than her daughter’s, were sharper than cut glass.

“Mr. Hilary Whyte, ma’am…for Master Dominic.”

“Thank you, Merriweather,” the younger woman said, her accent crisp. “Some coffee, I think. Coffee, Mr. Whyte?”

“Yes, thank you,” Hilary said, finally spotting the other figure in the room. Dominic Hart-Gosford stood with his back to them as he poured whiskey into a tumbler on a chrome sideboard. Even at this distance, Hilary could see that his hair had darkened since school, now a brown just this side of black. He’d also added yet more muscle to his six-foot-three frame. Hilary fought to keep his face neutral.

“You’re the solicitor Walter recommended?” the older woman said, examining Hilary like he was something she’d just stepped in.

“That’s right.”

“This is simply not acceptable—”

“Mother—”

“No, Amelia,” the older woman cut her off. “This simply will not do. You…Mr. Whyte. How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine, Mrs. Hart.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “I was not aware Walter Gunnerson had a sense of humor—or that he would have such poor taste as to use my son-in-law’s murder trial as a chance to exercise it.”

“I can assure you, Mrs. Hart, I am a fully qualified solicitor with years of experience in criminal defense.”

“How can you possibly have years of experience?”

“By dedicating almost every waking hour to my profession since I was eighteen years old,” Hilary replied without inflection. “Mr. Gunnerson supplied you with my trial record, I believe?” Mrs. Hart narrowed her eyes. “If that is not enough to reassure you, you are more than welcome to apply to the senior partners for a change of counsel. But, in the meantime, there is rather a lot to be done. So, if you don’t mind…” Hilary indicated the open door.

“I suggest you don’t get too comfortable,” Mrs. Hart said, then swept from the room.

“I’m sorry for my mother,” Amelia said, standing and clasping her manicured hands together. “This is a trying time.”

“I understand,” Hilary said with a careful smile. “But it will take at least a few hours for your mother to try to have me removed from this case. In the meantime, my time is best served speaking with your husband.”

“Yes, of course.” She glanced back at Dominic. He stood, gazing out of the window, his drink untouched in his hand. Hilary took in the broad shoulders, the trim waist, the controlled stillness in his stance and hurriedly suppressed the memories that threatened to surface before they could show on his face.

Amelia stepped forward, lowering her voice. “My husband is innocent, Mr. Whyte. Whatever you think you know, you must believe that.”

Hilary smiled but did not speak. Amelia left as Merriweather appeared with a silver tray of coffee and china cups and set it down.

“You sure you don’t need me, sir?” he said, his eyes on Hilary.

“I’m fine, Merriweather. Thank you.”

Merriweather withdrew, closing the door behind him, and Hilary fought the impression that the room had shrunk.

Dominic finally turned around. Hilary had told himself many times in the last few weeks that he’d forgotten what this man looked like—that he’d successfully wiped the image from his mind, along with the sound of his voice. But as he took in the eyes, blacker than midnight, the hard, almost cruel set to a jaw that would otherwise be considered handsome, it was like Hilary was again sprawled on the PE changing room floor, that same face hanging over his, bloodied lips twisted and mocking, his fist raised for another blow.

“So, it really is you.” Dominic didn’t speak loudly, but it was like a stone had dropped into the silence of the room. “I could have laid a considerable amount of money on never seeing you again.”

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About the Author

S. J. Coles

S. J. Coles is a Romance writer originally from Shropshire, UK. She has been writing stories for as long as she has been able to read them. Her biggest passion is exploring narratives through character relationships.

She finds writing LGBT/paranormal romance provides many unique and fulfilling opportunities to explore many (often neglected or under-represented) aspects of human experience, expectation, emotion and sexuality.

Among her biggest influences are LGBT Romance authors K J Charles and Josh Lanyon and Vampire Chronicles author Anne Rice.

Find S. J. Coles at her website and follow her on Instagram.

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Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

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