Breached by Sira Banks

Book 1 in the Criminal Desires series

General Release Date: 14th June2022

Word Count: 80,293
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 304

Genres:

BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
CRIME
EROTIC ROMANCE

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Book Description

When a cop falls for a suspect in her latest case, she has to look into the abyss of her own desires.

Sharon Richards, a cop working for the NYPD, has to investigate a murder in one of the city’s BDSM clubs. A young woman was shot. No one heard a thing, no one saw a thing. A difficult case, complicated further by the instant attraction between her and the club’s owner, Simon Carter. Who is this man who’s not only attractive and intelligent but challenges her on every level?

It’s hard for Sharon to resist the temptation of this man, even harder not to give in to the urge to fulfill her curiosity. Why do people frequent a place like this? Can pain equal pleasure? She’s afraid to find out, yet unable to stop herself from falling deeper and deeper into a world where new desires threaten to destroy life as she knows it.

Will she solve this case and be able to protect her career as well as her heart?

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of murder, past CSA and murder of a child, and the HIV diagnosis in a minor character.

Excerpt

Suppressing a sigh, Sharon Richards wondered why she hadn’t decided on a different job.

Murder was always a grisly affair, but some days it was harder to deal with than others. This time the location, more than the crime itself, had her on edge.

Surrounded by the sights and scents of death, she scanned the place where a young woman had lost her life only a couple of hours earlier.

The room was decorated in deep shades of red and black, advertising the fact that it wasn’t a common bedroom, but a place meant for seduction. Although she wasn’t sure that seduction had played a large role in the murder.

If it weren’t for the two spotlights brought in by crime scene technicians, the lighting would be dim, with only a small chandelier on the ceiling and a lamp on a bedside table. There was no daylight, the window hidden behind heavy burgundy drapes. She suppressed a snort. Of course there wasn’t. She couldn’t imagine the people coming here wanting any spectators. Although who knew, really?

Scanning the room’s contents, she tried not to let her uneasiness show. The last thing she needed was her colleagues thinking she was squeamish. Anders and Jones, the two crime scene technicians, were nice guys. She had worked well with them on previous occasions. Still, if she showed too much of a reaction, word would spread throughout the precinct at the speed of light.

Turning her back to them, she focused on the rest of the location instead of the people crowding it right now. Even though the space was bigger than her living room, there was scant furniture. Well, cabinets for the fine china and a coffee table with a vase of fresh flowers weren’t needed in a room like this. Not when its sole purpose was to help people find release. Release of a special kind.

Why? Why do it this way? She twisted a lock of her hair around a finger before she realized what she was doing. She crossed her arms over her chest and hoped Anders and Jones hadn’t seen her.

She couldn’t let her feelings get in the way of what really mattered—the victim.

Looking over at the victim for a moment, Sharon tried to ignore the pang of sorrow in her gut. She pried her eyes away.

The murder itself must’ve happened quickly, as everything inside this place seemed to be untouched, especially the four-poster bed. That didn’t show so much as a crinkle on the sheets. Sharon’s hands, sweating inside the cursed latex gloves, itched to touch the sheets to find out if they were indeed satin, as she believed. Ridiculous.

The bed was sturdy, with an upper panel but no curtains. There was no pillow, no extra sheet for warmth, nothing to indicate any measure of comfort. It was so damned impersonal, almost a caricature of what a bed should look like, in her opinion. At least the lush carpet underneath the bed—black again—looked comfortable.

Instead of giving in to impulse, she looked at a bench on one side of the room and the pair of rings attached to the wall behind it. Rings to shackle someone. Who would want to lose their freedom to another man or woman, to be helpless in front of somebody promising not to hurt them? Still, isn’t pain the main part of the experience? a tiny voice inside her mind piped up.

A selection of what Sharon assumed were toys was placed on a rudimentary wooden table next to the bench. She counted several paddles, a whip and some other things she couldn’t place quite as easily. Well, she could always ask. Yeah, right.

As she took a deep breath, the coppery smell of blood permeated the air so strongly that she fought the need to retch. The first and last time she’d thrown up had been when she and her partner had investigated the death of a prostitute, Cindy. The woman had been stabbed to death and left to bleed out beside a dumpster. The mixture of scents had been too much, and she’d only been able to take a few steps to the side before she’d thrown up.

Reining in her wayward thoughts, Sharon walked over to the victim, kneeling down in front of the body. So young, so beautiful and so untimely deceased.

Making sure she didn’t touch the corpse, she focused on the gaping wound caused by a bullet, tearing skin and ending a life within seconds.

The shot which had taken Marlene Davis’ life had left a barely discernible pattern of blood on the dark red wall. If it weren’t for the fetid air, the woman lying like a broken doll on the floor and her glassy eyes, nothing would’ve said this was a crime scene.

Sharon crouched down in front of the wall next, trying to see the crime, to understand what had happened. She looked closely at the blood spatter. It wasn’t hard to interpret. She’d seen patterns like this one often enough to know the shot had been delivered from close range. Most likely from a person Marlene had trusted.

She got up and walked a few steps around the body. It was easy to imagine how somebody had stood in the spot she was now, close to Marlene. Had Marlene and her murderer laughed, argued? One thing was clear—at some point the perpetrator had pulled the gun and fired it at the unsuspecting woman. The bullet entering Marlene’s chest had gone right through her body, spraying the wall behind her with her blood. It would’ve been a quick death, at least. The bullet was still stuck in the wall, waiting for the crime technicians to remove it. A small caliber, most likely a semi-automatic, if Sharon had to guess.

So they knew how it had happened, but had to answer the question of why next.

They could do it, and they would do it. While a crime like this always caused drama, suffering and pain for those left behind, in a twisted way, it was routine for Sharon. Eight years of working in homicide had dulled the edge of walking into a crime scene. There would always be a moment of pity, but she’d learned to be objective, to see the crime scene first and foremost. She had to detach the emotional part of herself, or her work would consume her.

Hell, it was the job. Her job. Every murder was a puzzle she was hell-bent on solving. She would solve this one. The only question was when.

She smiled, almost calm once more. Her work had led her to a lot of places throughout the last years, but in all her years in this city, she’d never been in one of the city’s BDSM clubs—not for work reasons and certainly not for private ones. There really was a first time for everything.

At the end of the day, this was just another workplace. A place where a murder had been committed. How ironic that the victim had been shot when so many weapons had been so readily available.

She walked over to the table and picked up one of the paddles. Pictures had already been taken, so she didn’t have to worry about mixing up anything. The paddle was heavier than she had expected. How much pain would it cause when it touched human skin?

At that moment, Sharon sensed him behind her again, and the fine hairs on her neck stood up.

He was watching her—she didn’t need to turn around to confirm it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt such an instant disquiet in the presence of someone else.

There was only one thing for certain. When a main suspect was such a distraction, it was a sure sign of trouble. Putting the paddle down, she turned.

As she’d known, Simon Carter, the subject of her musings, was watching her process the scene, his dark eyes following her every movement. As the owner of this club, he had a vested interest in her investigation, yet she’d have preferred it if he had let her work in peace.

She couldn’t afford to let herself be perturbed. Trying to focus on the crime scene instead of the man, she hoped the effort wouldn’t prove futile.

Carter radiated charm and danger in equal measures. One look and she had understood he wasn’t someone to mess with. She shouldn’t find him attractive either, but she couldn’t ignore the way his deep blue shirt didn’t quite hide his muscles, how the dark pair of jeans fit his otherwise lean frame.

Carter’s eyes twinkled. Hell, he didn’t even try to hide his amusement. From the very first moment of meeting him, his knowing smirk had told her he knew about her discomfort.

In his business, Carter needed to know how to work people, how to charm or placate them. He wouldn’t charm her. She wouldn’t let him.

In contrast to her, he stood there calmly, as relaxed as anybody could be in the face of such a tragedy.

No, she didn’t like him, if only for the fact there had been a spark of interest the moment they had shaken hands. Not that she had to like him. She was here to investigate a murder, and he could be the killer. As the owner of this establishment, he was at least a main suspect.

Ignoring him for the moment, she concentrated on the medical examiner who’d entered the room and had just called out to her.

“Hey, Richards. I’d like to bag her now. If that’s okay with you.”

She returned his smile. He looked tired, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d had to pull a double shift again.

“Sure. When do you think you’ll have first results?”

“Whenever I’ll have them.” He raised a hand to forestall the complaint he knew would come. “I know you need answers and need them quickly, but there are two autopsies before this one. I’ll call you, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Amaro.”

She stepped aside so he could do his work. She’d seen enough. Looking at the body for the last time, Sharon silently promised Marlene she’d find the one who had killed her.

She turned around again and faced the man still watching her. “Mr. Carter, I need to ask you some questions. Standard procedure. Do you have an office where we could talk?”

Sure, they could talk here, or she could let him come to her office for a formal interview, but truth be told, neither place held any appeal to her. She didn’t have time to waste.

“I do.”

He gave her a look that was longer than necessary, sending a shiver down her back for no good reason. As he passed her, his arm brushed against hers, and she bit down on her bottom lip. Damn, had it really been that long since she’d gotten laid?

It was either that or the man itself, a notion she didn’t like to entertain.

He led her to a different part of the house. Hearing someone scream—a man—she stopped, but Carter didn’t break his stride. Another scream—it lay on the tip of her tongue to speak out.

“No one’s getting hurt. Not in this club. Not in a way that’s unwanted. What you’re hearing is a vid someone forgot to turn off. We’re closed for today, after all.”

She hurried to keep up with him.

“Do you think Marlene Davis was of the same opinion? That no one gets hurt here unless they want it?”

“Marlene Davis is dead.”

“And there you’ve just made my point.”

“Whatever happens here is consensual.”

People meeting to inflict and enjoy pain. She shook her head, put her hands in the pockets of her blazer. It took all kinds. They reached the end of a long hallway and opened the last door on the right. He gestured for her to enter.

Again, Sharon was surprised. In contrast to what she’d seen of the rest of the house, this room was all about business. It wasn’t sumptuous. It didn’t scream sex. Dark, sleek furniture ruled its center. There was a desk sporting a phone, a laptop and other accessories to run a business. Along the wall were filing cabinets and a print of a city alleyway. It was a spartan room, one that echoed her own basic tastes.

Carter rounded the table and sat down, gesturing to the seat on the other side of the desk.

“Can I offer you something to drink? Water? Coffee? Something stronger?”

The smell of fresh coffee tempted her to accept his offer.

“This is not a social call, Mr. Carter.”

“Call me Simon.”

It was unsettling how his eyes rested on her. His gaze was piercing, focusing on her in a way that made her think he could see right through her.

“I don’t think so, Mr. Carter. And the sooner we start, the sooner we’ll be finished, and I’ll be out of your hair for the time being.”

“Interesting. You really don’t feel comfortable here.”

She took a deep breath to steady herself and made a point of holding his gaze. She’d been a cop for too many years to be easily intimidated, even if her poker face needed some work.

“Did I say that? And what I feel or don’t feel is not the point. Marlene Davis is. Was she a regular customer?”

“What unsettles you about this business?”

She didn’t snarl, but she came close to it. This man had missed his calling. He should’ve become a cop. They always needed more detectives with good intuition who knew how to corner someone in interview. Only this wasn’t his interview, and she didn’t like being cornered.

“Just answer the question, Mr. Carter.”

“Yes, she was what we call a regular customer. She didn’t visit on a regular basis, but she was here about a dozen times. I’d have to check our appointment book to be sure. We’re not the kind of club that you can just walk into.”

Appointment book? It made sense, but the thought of people scheduling sexual activities of this kind as they would a dinner date was hard to grasp. She’d been aware that there were people with rather specialized tastes. It didn’t mean she’d taken the time to think through the details.

Carter’s eyes still rested on her. Although she was proud to keep his gaze, it was as if he could still read her. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

“If you could check the dates and get them to me, it might help. Did she always prefer the same company?”

“You mean, did she have her own personal Dom?”

“Dom?”

“A Dominant. The male equivalent of a Dominatrix. Davis was masochistic. To answer your question, no, she didn’t meet with one of our employees. She only used our premises and scheduled her own appointments. At least for the last few times.”

At her questioning look, he elaborated. “Her first few times here, she had appointments with Marco. That’s why I know she was a sub.”

“Sub as in submissive?”

He nodded, a slight smile grazing his lips that was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“But even so, you must’ve seen who she was with. Her…Dom. I saw the security camera at the entrance.”

“It doesn’t work that way. We have another door at the back of the house. Only someone already in the house can let you in through the second entrance. This door only works one way. It’s not covered by a security cam. Our clients value their privacy. Everything happening in the back of this house is private.”

He was one of those who had an answer to everything, wasn’t he? She held his gaze for a long time, remaining silent. It didn’t faze him. He didn’t so much as twitch. Nobody was that calm. They all had cracks in their armor. The only question was, what was his weakness?

“Doesn’t mean you can’t have a hidden security cam, or cams for that matter,” she finally spoke.

“If anyone gets wind of a secret cam, our credibility will suffer.”

“Having someone murdered on your premises won’t help business either.”

His lips curled upward in a slow smile. “Touché.”

“So do you have any kind of security cam covering this area?”

“No, we don’t. When I started the business, I didn’t plan on anybody being murdered here.”

“All right, let me get this straight. Davis booked a room and met with someone she let in herself.”

“Yes.”

“Did she come in through the front entrance or did she have someone let her in?”

“I already checked our cam. Yes, she came in through the front. You’ll get a copy of the data.”

“Thank you. But tell me, aren’t you worried that your customers could let in more than just their personal guests?”

“Are you asking if I’m worried our clients have big orgies or let in thieves?”

“Thieves, murderers, yes. If it were my property, I’d make sure I was protected. It’s one thing to ensure people’s privacy, but I’d also make sure it’s not my butt in the sling if things go south. I’d be the one in control.”

Another smile and her pulse sped up.

“Control can be a burden. One reason for places like this one. But this will only be a sanctuary if people can trust us. If they can’t, they won’t be able to let go.”

“They need a safe environment, knowing there’ll be no pictures of their naked glory in the paper next morning,” she mused. She had to admit it made sense.

“Yes. It doesn’t mean there aren’t safety measures. Each room has a panic button. If something’s happening that the client isn’t comfortable with, or if there’s an intruder, the client can summon help.”

“I didn’t see one in the room we found Davis in.”

“Under the bed. Davis knew that, and one of the crime scene techs dusted it for prints when I checked earlier.”

Sharon was annoyed she hadn’t spotted this herself. A slip like that was unacceptable. She ignored the thought. She could beat herself up over it later.

“Davis knew how to call for help,” Carter repeated.

It was a nice concept, in theory. But help was not in the cards for guests that found themselves literally tied up. She focused on Carter again and relayed the thought to him.

“Everyone tied up is in control of his Dom at all times. And if a Dom breaks the rules and actually hurts his sub, they’ll be banned for life and, depending on what happened, we’d file a report with the police.”

“Has that happened before?” She would check, and he had to know it.

“No, it hasn’t. But I wouldn’t hesitate a second.” His face got hard. “Safe and sane are the key words here. And if I find out who did this—”

He left the thought unfinished. So he didn’t like when something, someone, slipped by his control. His chink in the armor.

“Someone got around your security measures.” She shrugged. “There was a hole and he or she used it.”

“Only known guests, or guests cleared by them, are permitted outside the private rooms. We have bouncers to ensure no one wanders the premises.”

“You still trust your system?”

A smile made his lips curl. It was as enticing as it was dangerous. “Our business is all about trust.”

She shouldn’t take the bait. Although when had she ever done what she should do? “Trust? Didn’t Marlene trust your system too much? Someone used her, killed her.”

“No offense, Sharon. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He shouldn’t use her first name, and it shouldn’t affect her that it had.

“It’s Detective, and I think I know enough. I know a woman got killed here, and it’s my job to find out who. You don’t have to like this investigation. Just know, I won’t rest until I have answers to my questions. Speaking of which—where were you for the last five hours?”

She hadn’t shaken him or his composure. If anything, his smile had become a bit more taunting. For a second, she contemplated how his lips would feel pressed against hers, then she snapped out of it. She hoped her face hadn’t shown her struggle. It was bad enough the thought had been there in the first place.

“I was right here. Before you ask, during that time I spoke to various employees, wrote emails, took calls and made some calls myself. In short, I worked. I suggest you check for yourself. But you’re smart enough to have figured it out on your own. I could have snuck out to meet Marlene. It wouldn’t have taken long to kill her, but I didn’t. Sorry to disappoint.”

“You sound pretty relaxed, Mr. Carter.”

He leaned back in his seat. “Well, that’s because I am. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sorry about Marlene, and I’m pissed that someone killed her. This shouldn’t have happened. I’d do anything to undo it, but I can’t.”

His eyes had narrowed, but then he took a deep breath, his smile back in place. “I might not be able to prove I didn’t kill Marlene, but you won’t be able to prove I did it, either. I’m innocent, at least when it comes to that.” His dark eyes sparkled with challenge. “It’s your task to find out who murdered her. I can only offer you my help. If you want it, that is.”

Something told Sharon they weren’t only talking about the case. She didn’t like it. Not one bit.

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About the Author

Sira Banks

Sira Banks is an European author who is utterly in love with reading and even more so with writing. Always daydreaming, she began writing short stories as a young adult as the characters occupying her mind didn’t stop poking her until their stories were told.

Participating in NaNoWriMo one year, she started her first novel, and after a lot of hair-pulling, too much coffee and chocolate, she finished it some time later. Finding out that writing longer stories is addictive, she’s not quite sure she could quit it now.

She likes strong female characters with flaws who are not afraid to tackle their problems head on and male characters who are actually willing to listen and communicate.

When she’s not writing, she works as desk jokey and manages her small family, consisting of a preteen daughter and a cat aspiring to become the world’s most efficient hunter.

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Greedy Boy by M.C. Roth

General Release Date: 14th June2022

Word Count: 68,622
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 257

Genres:

BILLIONAIRE
BISEXUAL
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
MÉNAGE AND MULTIPLE PARTNERS

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Book Description

After kissing his boss, a client and his roommate all in one day, Simon finds that his love life is about to heat up.

Getting a beautiful man to look Simon’s way is usually the hard part, but that’s before he breaks his own set of rules—his ‘off-limits’ list that keeps him sane and stable. In a single day, he kisses his boss, a client and his not-so-straight roommate.

Maybe Simon is a greedy boy who sees the best in them, but he can’t help but want all three of them in his heart and his bed. Yet beauty can be deceiving. One man betrays him, leaving him with the devil and the devil’s worst enemy. Simon’s first priority is keeping them from killing each other, but when lives are threatened and the city turns against him, it may become an impossible task.

Excerpt

The building probably had more light switches than any other in the city, but with night pushing against its windows, it was nearly pitch black except for the tiny bleak emergency lights spotted along the stark walls. Within the compartmentalized offices, a few computer screens buzzed, with their colorful screensavers bouncing along with dizzying monotony.

Simon could switch the lights on as he crept through the building, but then someone might look up from the street below and wonder what was going on.

The office building emptied at six o’clock sharp every day. One by one the light switches were flicked off, so the entire building went dark as people filed out at the end of their shift. The neighboring condos were bound to contain a few curious souls who would call the cops at the first sign of something out of the ordinary.

Which was something he didn’t wanted to risk when he wasn’t supposed to be in the office in the first place.

There were only a few company rules that he’d discovered since he’d started working in the grand building a few years before. The strictest of them all was that he was never allowed to work late. His boss had called it a perk. He probably hadn’t thought to warn Simon that the deserted halls looked like the inside of a haunted house after dark.

Not that I haven’t broken enough rules today.

The biggest rule should have been that he wasn’t allowed to kiss his boss. It should have been printed in giant gold letters at the top of his orientation papers, which he’d signed for human resources on day one. There had been the salary information, the confidentiality agreement and the listed restrictions to keep employees from stealing clients and going rogue.

There had been nothing about kissing.

Maybe he should have tried harder to pay attention to the sexual harassment video they’d made him watch that had been thirty years out of date? The boredom had been so complete that he had almost passed out in the tiny plastic folding chair.

The kiss hadn’t been his fault!

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About the Author

M.C. Roth

M.C. Roth lives in Canada and loves every season, even the dreaded Canadian winter. She graduated with honours from the Associate Diploma Program in Veterinary Technology at the University of Guelph before choosing a different career path.

Between caring for her young son, spending time with her husband, and feeding treats to her menagerie of animals, she still spends every spare second devoted to her passion for writing.

She loves growing peppers that are hot enough to make grown men cry, but she doesn’t like spicy food herself. Her favourite thing, other than writing of course, is to find a quiet place in the wilderness and listen to the birds while dreaming about the gorgeous men in her head.

Find out more about M.C. Roth at her website.

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Awfully Ambrose by Lisa Henry & Sarah Honey

Book 1 in the Bad Boyfriends, Inc. series

General Release Date: 7th June 2022

Word Count: 70,329
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 273

Genres:

COMEDY AND HUMOUR
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
FAKE RELATIONSHIPS
GAY
GLBTQI

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Book Description

Bad Boyfriend, Inc—When you can’t find a good boyfriend, why not hire a bad one instead?

Liam Connelly is a university student in Sydney. He leads an orderly and predictable life of studying, working as a waiter in an upscale harbour restaurant and spending lots of time with his cat, trying to convince himself that after his last cheating boyfriend, he’s perfectly happy alone. Well, mostly happy.

Ambrose Newman is a Bad Boyfriend. Professionally. Someone’s parents don’t approve of that long-haired unemployed bass player they want to date? Well, that’s where Ambrose comes in. For a few hundred dollars a night, he’ll go to dinner with them and their parents and show them that the grass is definitely not greener on his side of the fence. It’s dead. When Ambrose brings a date to Liam’s restaurant, it’s not sparks that fly—it’s glassware.

When Liam needs a date to prove to his visiting parents that he’s not destined to die sad and alone, he calls Ambrose, desperate. If Ambrose can be a bad boyfriend for money, he can be a tolerable one too, right? Which works out great—right up until Ambrose is too nice, and Liam’s parents invite them up to their winery for the long weekend.

Suddenly Ambrose has to be a Bad Boyfriend again, to give Liam an excuse to ‘break up’ with him before his mum starts planning the wedding. But as Liam gets to know the real Ambrose, real feelings start to sneak into the fake relationship on both sides. Under the watchful eyes of Liam’s protective family, who have no idea what to make of Ambrose, their fake relationship evolves into a chance at something real.

When Ambrose has an ugly run-in with Liam’s sister’s fiancé—who’s an even worse boyfriend than him—it might cost him not only any chance he had of convincing Liam’s family that he’s not the nightmare they think he is, but his fledgling relationship with Liam, too.

Reader advisory: This book contains mention of physical abuse and a racist comment.

Excerpt

The voice was loud and obnoxious, at odds with the restaurant’s muted soundtrack of clinking cutlery, soft jazz and murmured conversation.

“Really appreciate you paying for dinner, Tom. I’m between opportunities right now but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna take just any job and be a corporate drone. Better to take a free meal when I can get one, right?”

It was followed by a braying laugh that made Liam wince and want to drag his nails down a blackboard, because that would have been preferable to listening to this honking, snorting nightmare.

Liam prayed he wouldn’t have to wait on whoever the loud idiot was, but judging by the smirk on his co-worker Judy’s face, he had a sudden sinking certainty that the table was his. Sure enough, when he glanced over to check, there was Braying Man in the middle of his section—elbows on the table, wearing a backwards baseball cap and a flannel shirt, picking at his teeth.

The idiot caught Liam’s eye and snapped his fingers. “Hey, man, can we get a bread basket or something? And booze. Lots of booze. Her old man’s paying, so make it the good stuff.” He winked, then gave Liam honest-to-God finger guns.

The guy was an utter dickhead, Liam decided. Still, part of the job was keeping his opinions to himself, so Liam made his way over to the table, face carefully impassive. His mask slipped for a split second when he recognized the girl who was gazing at Dickhead with something like worship. It was Kelly, who he shared a Marketing Communications class with at the University of Sydney, and the last time Liam had talked to her, she’d been dating someone completely different—a nice, if slightly scruffy, guitarist in a pub band. He wondered what had happened to him.

The other couple at the table had to be Kelly’s parents. They were looking at the guy with a slightly confused expression on their faces, like he was one of those hairless cats, and they couldn’t decide if they were fascinated or horrified by his existence.

Liam had to admit, Dickhead was objectively attractive when he was keeping his mouth shut. He could have been a model, with his well-muscled physique, dark hair and carefully sculpted stubble. He had a strong, straight nose, killer jawline, and even white teeth. He was just Liam’s type—or would have been, if Liam dated.

Liam cleared his throat and did his best to pretend he didn’t know anyone at the table as he said, “Welcome to Bayside. Would you like to order some drinks?”

Dickhead rolled his eyes. “Wow. I guess you weren’t listening, huh? I mean, I literally just asked you to bring us good booze.”

Liam kept his face pleasantly neutral—he’d had plenty of practice, working as a waiter in a high-end Sydney restaurant—and clarified, “What, specifically, would you like to drink, sir?” He made sure to address Kelly’s father, since he was obviously the one footing the bill.

The man smiled gratefully and started to say, “I’d like a gin and tonic, and my wife will have—”

Arsehole interrupted. “Just give me a bottle of that Don Paragraph stuff”—as someone from a family of winemakers, Liam died a tiny death at the mangled pronunciation—“and the quicker the better, yeah?”

“I’ll check if we have any Dom Perignon in stock, sir. How many glasses with that?” Liam asked through clenched teeth. God, he hoped they weren’t celebrating Kelly’s engagement to this douchebag.

Dude wrinkled his nose. “Just one. It’s for me.” He turned to Kelly and winked. “Gotta watch for extra calories in drinks if you wanna stay in shape, am I right, sweet pea?”

Liam waited for Kelly to rip the guy’s balls off—he hoped literally, but he’d settle for metaphorically—because he knew she had a hell of a temper when she was wronged. He’d been on the receiving end of it during one disastrous group assignment. But Kelly just smiled like a Stepford Wife and murmured, “Yes, Ambrose.”

Liam was pretty sure the shock on her father’s face was mirrored on his own, but he schooled his features and nodded. Ambrose tilted a menu at Kelly’s father. “This seafood platter’s meant to be for two, but you’re cool with me ordering it, right, Tom?”

Kelly’s father cleared his throat. “Kelly’s allergic to seafood.”

“That’s cool, I wasn’t planning on sharing anyway,” the dickhead—Ambrose—said with an easy grin that lit up his entire face and really, it wasn’t fair that someone who was such a colossal arsehole could be so attractive. But of course, that was how the world worked, right? Beautiful people got away with murder.

Liam turned back to the older man. “And the rest of your drinks order, sir?” he asked, taking petty satisfaction at the way Ambrose snorted and muttered under his breath.

“A gin and tonic for myself, and a glass of Connelly Cellars’ Perfect Pinot,” Tom said, and Liam suppressed the urge to preen, just like he did every time someone ordered one of his family’s wines.

“Make mine a tonic water,” Kelly said.

Liam blinked. Wow, what happened to the girl who always claimed she’d never drink water because fish fucked in it?

Something weird was going on, and whatever it was, Liam didn’t like it. He especially didn’t like that it was happening here at Bayside. People didn’t come into Bayside wearing backwards caps and being dicks. Bayside had standards—standards that Liam was beginning to worry he might have to attempt to enforce. It had water views! You could see the Sydney Harbour Bridge from the wide dining room windows! It was both fancy and trendy, and it always made the list of the top ten places to eat in Sydney. Diners weren’t supposed to wear flannel to Bayside, and Liam panicked quietly that he didn’t know if the dress code was actually enforceable or not. Liam had only been working here for eight months, but it had never come up before. People usually treated Bayside like it was a special occasion, not three a.m. at the counter of Macca’s.

“Good choice, babe. You know you’re a sloppy drunk,” Ambrose said, leaning in and patting Kelly’s face. Then he hauled himself out of his chair, scratched his belly and farted. “I gotta go take a dump. I always shit when I’m out. Make someone else deal with that, am I right?” And with that Ambrose sauntered towards the bathrooms, leaving Kelly’s parents staring after him open-mouthed.

Liam couldn’t help himself. “Kelly—”

“Hi, Liam, I guess you’ve met my new boyfriend now!” Kelly cut in, following that with a tinkling laugh that was pitched a little high with nerves. “He’s an entrepreneur.”

Liam opened his mouth to ask what happened to Greg the bassist, but Kelly shot him a glare that said she would hunt him down and personally set his dick on fire if he said another word. Liam knew that look, so he shut his mouth, went to fetch drinks and said a prayer that he wouldn’t have to be the one to clean the toilets at the end of the night. Frankly, he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Ambrose had just decided to take a shit on the floor and stolen all the paper.

When Ambrose wandered back out again at last, he didn’t walk straight back to his own table. Instead, he approached another table where a group of shiny and fashionable young women who were probably Instagram influencers or something were eating.

“Hi, ladies,” he said. He put both hands on their table and leaned forward. “My name’s Ambrose.”

“Is he—?” Kelly’s mother’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God.”

“Ambrose is very sociable,” Kelly said. “People love him.”

A ticking vein in her father’s temple called her a liar.

Liam saw the way that Tom started to strangle his linen napkin, and hurried over to the influencers’ table. “Excuse me, sir,” he said to Ambrose. “Can you please return to your own table?”

Ambrose gave him finger guns, and sauntered back over to join Kelly and her parents.

What the everlasting fuck? And Liam obviously wasn’t the only one thinking it. Kelly’s mum looked close to tears, and her dad looked half a heartbeat away from either a stroke or a homicide. In the event he actually did murder Ambrose, Liam decided to tell the police it was justified. Hell, at this point he’d probably give the guy an alibi. And the murder weapon. And a bucket of bleach to clean up the murder scene.

Kelly, though, just beamed at Ambrose like she was under some sort of spell. “I missed you, boo.” She blew him a kiss.

Ambrose shrugged. “Have we ordered yet? I’m starving. Service here is soooo slow,” he said loudly, stretching his arms over his head and attracting stares from the other tables. “Probably can’t get decent staff.”

Liam seethed and wondered if he and Tom could come to some sort of agreement regarding mutual alibis and body disposal. The walk-in freezer out the back would be a good place to store a corpse while they figured out their next step.

Liam woodenly went through the specials, which nobody ever ordered anyway, then took their menus back and excused himself. He’d only made it a few steps away from the table when the obnoxious click of someone’s fingers pulled him back again.

“Garçon!”

Ambrose. Of-fucking-course.

“Hey, change Kelly’s order to a garden salad,” Ambrose said. He grinned at Kelly. “We don’t want you getting too chunky, right, babe?”

That vein in Tom’s temple looked about ready to pop. “Kelly can eat what she bloody well likes,” he hissed in an undertone.

“A salad sounds great, actually,” Kelly said. “Ambrose knows what’s best. Babe, tell them about your business ideas.”

Ambrose straightened up, his eyes gleaming. “Have you guys heard of multi-level marketing?”

This time it was Liam’s jaw that dropped. Kelly was a business major.

“So,” Ambrose said to Kelly’s stone-faced parents, “what you do is, you have a product, and you recruit people to sell it for you. They’re called a downline. Like, some people say that it’s predatory and cult-like, but I’ve been in a cult, and ha! You won’t fool me like that twice! Well, three times. Did you bring your chequebook, Tom? I mean, I can take cash if you want to get on board too, I guess. Like, what do you think? Five grand?”

Liam stared at Kelly for a moment, wondering who the fuck she even was, then escaped to the kitchen to put in their orders before he finally snapped. He managed to resist the urge to tell the chef to spit on the seafood, but it was a close-run thing.

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About the Author

Lisa Henry

Lisa likes to tell stories, mostly with hot guys and happily ever afters.

Lisa lives in tropical North Queensland, Australia. She doesn’t know why, because she hates the heat, but she suspects she’s too lazy to move. She spends half her time slaving away as a government minion, and the other half plotting her escape.

She attended university at sixteen, not because she was a child prodigy or anything, but because of a mix-up between international school systems early in life. She studied History and English, neither of them very thoroughly.

Lisa has been published since 2012, and was a LAMBDA finalist for her quirky, awkward coming-of-age romance Adulting 101, and a Rainbow Awards finalist for 2019’s Anhaga.

Find out more at Lisa’s website and blog. You can follow her on Bookbub and sign up to her newsletter.

Sarah Honey

Sarah started life in New Zealand. She came to Australia for a working holiday, loved it, and never left. She lives in Western Australia with her partner, two cats, two dogs and a life-size replica TARDIS.

She spends half her time at a day job and the rest of her time reading and writing about clueless men falling in love.

Her proudest achievements include having adult kids who will still be seen with her in public, the ability to make a decent sourdough loaf, and knowing all the words to Bohemian Rhapsody.

Awfully Ambrose will be her fifth published novel in collaboration with Lisa Henry.

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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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