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City Nights: One Night in Madrid by JD Martins

One Night in Madrid by JD MartinsBlurb:

Danny left Dublin for Madrid two years ago, but still scans the crowd in the Irish pubs for the face of someone from home. Though doubtful he’ll ever recognise anybody, one evening he sees Aisling, a girl he’d known – or wished he’d known – at university. Beautiful but haughty, she’d always ignored Danny, and though he’d fantasised about making love to her, she’d never so much as smiled at him.

To his amazement, Aisling is extremely friendly when she meets him all these years later and away from home. She is still snobby and condescending, but Danny decides to make her night as enjoyable as he can, hoping for one last chance to impress her and make his teenage fantasies come true. As the sultry Madrid night progresses, mere lust grows into affection, and Danny begins to see her snobbery as something else entirely. Will Aisling see Danny as more than just a way to pass her night in Madrid?

Purchase links for all formats:

http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Martins_JD/one-night-in-madrid.htm

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/15OOFtu

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/161xgxx

Amazon CA: http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B00RY328RY

Amazon AU: http://www.amazon.com.au/gp/product/B00RY328RY

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/508086?ref=cw1985

iBooks US: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/one-night-in-madrid/id955923487

iBooks UK: https://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/one-night-in-madrid/id955923487

Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/one-night-in-madrid

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/one-night-in-madrid-jd-martins/1121018278

 

Excerpt:

releaseblitz_madridDraining the glass, Danny placed it on the bar, debating whether to have another pint, or stroll home and have a glass of wine while he prepared dinner. The plan was just one pint, but he needed to tell himself that twice; once when he went into the bar and again when he’d finished the drink.

And then he saw her.

She stood quite near, surrounded by a tight knot of people at the edge of the dance floor that had parted momentarily. She wore a cotton summer dress that showed the sweep of her shoulder blades and spine. The dress was floral, red with splashes of black and dark blue. She wore soft brown leather sandals that were almost invisible against her tanned feet. Her toenails were painted red but her fingernails were French polished. A silver or white-gold bracelet hung from her right wrist, and on her left she wore a silver wristwatch, which a discreet look later told him was a Patek Philippe. In her ears she had diamond stud earrings, and on the ring finger of her right hand was a silver ring with a blue stone he couldn’t identify.

He didn’t see her face straight away, yet something deep inside him said it had to be her.

In college, he’d often stared at this girl’s long blonde hair from a few seats behind in the lecture theatre, while far below them a maths professor droned on about matrices. He knew the shape of her head and neck, had observed her tie up that hair, amazed at the beauty of the fine, straight filaments, the way the strands slid like silk over one another, yet held as one tight rope. When she was an infant her mother had clearly decided ever cutting such hair would be a sin, and she’d concurred. She plaited it, put it in a ponytail, tied it up around a clip made of what seemed to Danny like a piece of wood and two chopsticks, or simply a spare pencil. Sometimes it splayed out across her shoulders like a cascade of spun gold. Now it was pulled up in a silver clasp, to reveal the nape of a long, fine neck, and soft-skinned shoulders.

Those shoulders had been bared before, in a hot September of their freshman year, and later, during the intense study month when the cherry blossoms bloomed and fell across the lawns of campus. Danny had fantasised about slipping off that shoulder strap, letting the silky string fall down along her arm, trailing his fingers along her collarbone and ribs and pushing aside the top to expose her breasts.

When she turned around in the bar and he saw her face, Danny instantly searched through his memory to match her visage, and see all six numbers of recognition. It came out a winner. She stared back at him, her brain no doubt doing the same. Although still early, and most—apart from the pre-marriage revellers—were only on their second or third drink, Danny thought she must have been fairly merry already, because as she recognised him she smiled.

She’d never smiled at him before—not in four years of college. Then again, they’d not interacted much. They’d never really talked, never attended the same classes after second year. He’d always told himself she’d never smiled at him because she didn’t know him. Once or twice, of course, she’d turned around, casually, and seen him. But she’d seen lots of others sitting behind her, too. The back rows of the lecture theatre were filled with Danny’s friends, who’d varying levels of interest in her hair and the maths lecture; from zero to all-absorbed.

The chance to get to know her had never come around. She’d majored in chemistry, Danny in computer science. He had taken a chemistry class in second year, but she’d always seemed to sit on the opposite side of the theatre then. His gaze had often paused upon her face as he searched through those assembled in a lecture the way he did through the throng of a bar.

She was stunning. Her frame was that of someone who was fit without effort. A swimmer or a gymnast at some point, she had a fine body, breasts the way Hemingway described, wide womanly hips and a behind that eyes or hands could never tire of. She had crystal blue eyes like deep Antarctic ice, and a button nose. Her mouth was perfect. Her teeth had had money spent on them, but her lips were natural; she had a dazzling smile. But before that moment in a Madrid bar, Danny had only received the coldness of those glacial eyes.

 

 

Bio:

JD Martins has been called Spanish, Mexican, Chinese, Philippine and English and Australian. He is none of these.

He’s lived in four cities in three countries on two continents, but he doesn’t feel like he’s travelled very much. His life in each city was rather mundane and he didn’t get out much – tending to move his pen more than his body.

He still aspires to see much more of the world – probably when his wife becomes rich enough to let him retire from day jobs.

He would like to live like Ernest Hemmingway: periodically sending novel manuscripts to his publisher from various far-flung corners of the world, though he’s not sure the quality will be quite the same. Until then, he has contented himself with living like Robert Graves – in a pleasant part of Spain with a quiet life – and being able to do some things that Hemmingway did – trout fishing in Spain, game hunting in Africa, watching bullfights and running with the bulls, – and a few that he did not get to do – surfing, skydiving, bungee jumping, and getting erotic stories published.

links:

http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Martins_JD/index.htm

https://www.facebook.com/JDMartinsauthor

Google+ https://plus.google.com/u/0/113993899494442135197/about/p/pub

email: jdmartinsauthor@gmail.com

 

The Final Straight by Charlotte Howard (@shy_tiger)

The Final Straight by Charlotte HowardBlurb:

April Miller works for her best friend, Max Knight on his livery and competition yard. Their friendship has withstood many turbulent times, and while April is deeply in love with Max, she is also aware of his womanising ways and has refused to succumb to his flirtatious charms. When her ex, AJ, suddenly comes back with a business proposal, April finds herself torn between the two men.

 

Buy Links:

Kindle US: http://amzn.to/1Es09Cc

Kindle UK: http://amzn.to/1Dk0h2I

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/514851?ref=cw1985

Coming soon to all other eBook retailers.

 

releaseblitz_thefinalstraightExcerpt:

“You up there?” she called. The thud of footsteps grew louder as she made her way up the stairs. It wasn’t long before she was in the doorway, hands on hips, surrounded by a halo of curls the same colour as her temper.

The dog had followed and was panting by her leg. April batted her away, and Max rolled his eyes at the anger and frustration that exuded from her every pore, turning his back on her and dropping the towel.

“What the hell, Max?” she exclaimed, but it wasn’t because of his nudity. She’d seen him naked more times than any other woman.

He stepped into a pair of tight boxer shorts and turned around, preparing himself for the grief he had been hoping to avoid. “What have I done now?” he asked, walking towards the wardrobe and pulling out a pair of dark, shredded jeans.

“What’s the point? Do you even remember her name?”

He didn’t answer. She wasn’t expecting him to; she never did. Fastening the button on his waistband, he went to the chest of drawers and took out a clean T-shirt.

“Well, I’ll tell you what her name was,” April said, walking into the room. “Mellie Banks. Ring a bell?”

Max shrugged.

“It should,” she snapped. “Her father has three horses on this yard, or did until he turned up this morning and took them off.”

He moved behind her and started to massage at the knot of tension that had built at the base of her neck.

“Don’t try to appease me, Max,” she said, but he could tell that her anger was waning. He continued to press into her muscles, letting his thumbs make small circles either side of her spine. Bending his head to the curve of her shoulder, he placed his forehead on the sleeve of her polo T-shirt and took a deep breath, inhaling the dusty scent of straw and shavings.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her back.

She shrugged out of his touch and turned to face him. “You’re hopeless,” she sighed. The corners of her lips flickered into the smallest of smiles.

“We could just hide in bed all day,” he said, taking her hands and tugging her forwards. “Forget about Mellie Banks. Forget about the yard…”

“And who’s going to pay my bills when this place falls on its arse?”

The edge of the mattress connected with his knees and he fell backwards, pulling her with him. “You know I’ll always take care of you.”

She landed on top of him, inches away from his face. He lifted a hand and tucked a stray red curl behind her ear. With a frustrated groan, she rolled off of him and lay on her side.

“As much as I would like to be the next notch on your bedpost, we have a business to run.” She shoved herself up.

He watched as she straightened her clothes and ran her fingers through her hair.

“Anyway,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “I’m not your type. I have a brain.” She flashed him a smile before bending down to pick up the towel and tossing it in his direction.

“Ouch.” He feigned a hurt expression before getting up to follow her. Bracken panted around his ankles.

“I’ll make you a coffee, and then if you need me I’ll be saving your business.”

 

Author Bio / Links:

Charlotte lives in Somerset with her husband, two children, and growing menagerie of pets and can always be found with a cup of tea in her hand. When she’s not writing or running around after small people and animals, she loves to eat curry and watch action films.

Charlotte is an active (and vocal) member of the Yeovil Creative Writers.

http://www.charlottehowardauthor.co.uk/
https://www.facebook.com/CharlotteHowardAuthor
https://twitter.com/Shy_Tiger
http://choward2614.wordpress.com/
http://www.pinterest.com/choward2614/
http://instagram.com/choward_author/

 

Get A Valentine for Christmas: Cariad’s Holiday Collection, LOVE UNDER THE MISTLETOE is FREE!

Cariad Christmas 2014 CollectionWho doesn’t love a good holiday read? And who doesn’t love a good holiday gift? I’m very excited to offer both all wrapped up in a nice red ribbon. How about a nice Valentine for Christmas … er maybe something Christmasy for Valentine’s Day. Love Under the Mistletoe is FREE through Sunday!

 

 

Inside Love Under the Mistletoe:

Four festive treats from some of Accent’s best-selling authors, that are guaranteed to warm you up at Christmas.

Christmas For OneElizabeth Coldwell

A jilted bride discovers just how exciting the single life can be when she goes on her honeymoon alone, and finds herself the object of affection in Hawaii.

Snowed InAlice Raine

Housecleaner Allie unexpectedly finds herself snowed in with a mysterious man with a secret he refuses to share, and with only each other as company, attraction sparks between them…

The Sharpness of HollyDemelza Hart

A family Christmas reunites Holly with her estranged sister and her new boyfriend Daniel – but when sparks fly between Holly and the taken older man, can she resist temptation or will it prove a Christmas to be remembered?

A Valentine For Christmas – KD Grace

An anonymous gift-giver brings businessman Gerard Jasper the Christmas he’ll never forget when his present comes dressed in nothing but a red ribbon…

 

In Cariad’s holiday collection, Love Under the Mistletoe, you can have both A Valentine for Christmas and Christmas for Valentine’s Day! Along with my novella, A Valentine for Christmas, you get fab sexy novellas from Liz Coldwell, Alice Raine and Demelza Hart! Go ahead! Treat yourself to something fun, sexy and festive.

 

And here’s a little sexy sneak peek of my novella, A Valentine for Christmas. Enjoy! And Happy Valentine’s Day! 

Valentine 2

 

 

Blurb: A Valentine for Christmas

All work and no play, bah humbugging CEO, Gerard Jasper’s, anonymous Christmas gift is actually a Valentine — Moira ‘R.M.’ Valentine, the mysterious CEO of the Valentine Corporation. Moira’s walk on the wild side has accidentally landed her naked and bound with red ribbon under Gerard’s tree – not good when their companies are negotiating the deal of a lifetime. When two lonely people with enough baggage to fill a 747 come together for Christmas, the fireworks rivals New Years at Times Square, but can they overcome their pasts to give each other the true gift — a merger of hearts?

 

 

Excerpt A Valentine for Christmas:

It was late when Gerard got home – even later than he’d anticipated, but that was fine. Being tired enough to sleep for a week made facing the next few days a lot easier. He shoved out of his jacket and slung it over the ladder-back chair by the door, then loosened his tie, somehow not finding the strength to actually remove it completely. Ignoring the evergreen bunting strung across the balcony above the stairs, he made his way into his study. From the credenza across from his desk, he poured himself a whiskey, neat, then dropped into the Cordovan leather chair beside the fireplace. He tossed back the shot, then closed his eyes. He only intended to rest them for a few minutes before he went to the kitchen where he knew Olga had left food prepared for him. He’d specifically overseen the menu this time to make certain not a slice of turkey nor a smidge of cranberry sauce darkened the fridge. It was bad enough his apartment was decked out like Rockefeller Center, but at least he could dictate his own meals.

Yes, he had only planned to close his eyes for a minute, but it was a scuffling sound and a soft moan that startled him from sleep and from dreams of falling into deep, icy water. He opened his eyes and looked around. In the silence he could hear heavy breathing. There was another moan. He exhaled slowly and looked around the room. Carefully, cautiously, he leaned forward in the chair, wrapped his fingers around the poker in front of the fireplace and pulled it free from its stand. Holding his breath, he came slowly to his feet.

There was more scuffling and a sharp, low grunt. It sounded as though it were coming from behind the Christmas tree. Fucking tree was a health hazard, a fire hazard, and Twyla never stopped to think that it was perfect for a thief to hide behind, though how the hell anyone could have gotten past his security was beyond him. He tightened his grip on the poker and raised it like a baseball bat. Bracing himself, he took a step forward, but the next moan he heard was decidedly feminine and it was coming from under the tree! With a quick movement, he reached for the lamp near the chair and switched it on, and the moan became a little yelp of surprise.

‘What the …’ Words died in his mouth as he lowered his arm and dropped the poker against the chair. He blinked twice then rubbed his eyes. Surely he still had to be dreaming. Though this dream beat the hell out of the usual drowning dream. There was another moan and, as his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized it came from the woman lying on her side under the tree. She was completely naked except for the red velvet ribbons that seductively bound her wrists and her ankles. The only other thing she wore was a sprig of mistletoe pinned in the muss of thick dark hair that fell over her shoulders partially obscuring breasts that were obviously full enough to balance the rest of a figure that curved dangerously in all the right places. Even in that confused post-wake-up state, Gerard’s cock got the picture just fine, thank you! But what the hell was a naked woman doing tied up beneath his Christmas tree?

Before he could ask, the woman moaned again – louder this time – and doubled over as though she were in pain.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ He asked, dropping to his knees, forgetting the fact that this chick had invaded his privacy.

‘Oh, God!’ She gasped. ‘It’s my leg. I have a cramp. In my left hip and it’s making my butt numb.’ She bit back a curse that he was pretty sure would have curled his hair if she’d let it fly. But he figured perhaps she was on her best behavior – red ribbons, mistletoe and all.

It was then that both he and his cock remembered, at exactly the same time, that she was tied up. He was in complete control. He settled on his haunches and folded his arms across his chest. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ He asked.

She moaned again and tried to shift to a more comfortable position, which made her breasts bounce and her hair slide away to reveal nipples darkened and stiff atop goose-fleshed areolae. ‘I’m your Christmas present.’

He blinked. ‘My what?’

Mistletoe‘Christmas present? You know, happy holidays, noel, peace on earth … ouch! Oh hell that hurts.’ She hissed between barely parted lips and writhed in a way that should have made him sympathetic, but only made him hornier. ‘Could you please untie me so I can take care of this cramp.’

‘My Christmas present?’

‘Yup. Ouch! Ow! Please!’

‘From whom?’ Oh fuck, the more she shifted and shimmied, the more her breasts bounced and they were exquisite, and the more they bounced, the more of his brain function rerouted itself to his cock.

‘I don’t know,’ she bit back. ‘It’s a surprise.’

‘Clearly,’ he said. ‘But how do I know you’re for real?’ Surely Terrill and Twyla wouldn’t be so cheeky. Would they? He added quickly, ‘How do I know that the minute I untie you, you won’t try shoot me and rob me?’

She gave him a sour look. ‘Seriously? Where would I put a gun?’

His eyes followed down the curves of her body to the juncture between her legs with its tight nest of dark curls.

Whatever it was she was about to say, she swallowed it and offered a forced smile that was not quite coquettish, and all the sexier for it. ‘You’re welcome to frisk me.’ She nodded down over he belly. ‘Just please untie me so I can work out this damned cramp.’

He studied her for a long moment while she writhed and bit a full bottom lip he found himself wanting to taste. ‘It was pretty ballsy of someone, anyone really, to send me a prostitute as a Christmas present.’ He leaned forward. ‘I don’t need to buy sex, you know?’

‘I’m not a prostitute and you’re not buying me.’ She sucked back a sharp breath. ‘I’m a gift. Pleeeeese,’ she begged, ‘Untie me.’

‘I don’t need a gift. I didn’t ask for a gift.’

‘Of course you didn’t ask. That’s why they call it a gift.’ She practically bounced off the floor as another wave of pain hit.

‘I still don’t trust you,’ he said. ‘But I don’t like to see a woman in pain either.’ He heaved a hard-put-upon sigh and leaned forward, pulling her into his arms. She yelped as he scrambled to his feet and moved to the leather sofa in front of the fireplace. But instead of laying her down on it, he sat and turned her over his knee. What the hell was he doing? He should untie her, toss her in a taxi and send her on her way.

‘You’re gonna spank me?’ her voice came out high pitched and breathy. ‘I haven’t done anything.’

‘Might do, if you give me any grief,’ he said, realizing too late that draped across his lap as she was, she could definitely feel his erection. Well she was naked, wasn’t she? And he was a healthy male. How the hell was he supposed to respond? Besides, it wasn’t like she hadn’t been expecting to make him hard. ‘So tell me now,’ he said, keeping his voice as neutral as he did in the boardroom in spite of the message his body was giving, ‘where does it hurt?’

‘My left hip, part of my butt cheek and my upper thigh, where I was lying against the floor.’ Before he could respond, she wriggled her exquisite bottom and his cock surged beneath her. He swallowed back a tight moan. If she really were a Christmas gift, even he had to admit, she was the best he could ever remember getting.

‘Ow! Ow! Ow!’ she interrupted his silent admiration with a squrim and a curse, her bottom shimmying and thrusting her hips close to his very intrigued erection. ‘Do something! It hurts!’

Awkwardly, not knowing where to touch first, he began by massaging handfuls of well-muscled, perfectly rounded female hip; the feel nearly took his breath away.

‘Oh God! Oh God! Ow! Ow! Oh God! A little more on my butt,’ then she glanced over her shoulder when he stopped massaging. ‘Look either untie me and let me take care of it myself or massage. It hurts!’

‘You’re pretty bossy for a sub,’ he said. ‘Maybe I should spank you.’

‘I don’t care if you spank me, but just take care of the cramp first. Besides who said I was a sub?’

‘Well, aren’t you? You were all tied up.’

She jerked and nearly bucked off his lap. ‘Look I’ll be a sub, I’ll be a dom, I’ll bark like a dog if you want me to, just please massage already!’

It didn’t take many kneading handfuls of pliant bottom and thigh before he realized his mistake. The more he massaged, the more she squirmed and moaned across his lap and the harder it became for him to ignore his growing need – especially not with her running commentary.

‘Oh God! Oh God, yes! That feels so good. Ah! Ooooh! Yessss!’

He was just about to relent and untie her in order to preserve what remained of his dignity when she stopped moving, causing his hands to still on her bottom. Then she dragged in a shaky breath and gave a little wiggle. ‘Do you want me to take care of you?’

 

Download Your FREE Copy of Love Under the Mistletoe Here:

Amazon UK

Amazon US

Amazon AU

Amazon CA

 

 

Guest Blogger: Mae Hancock

tourbutton_enticinghartOccasionally all of us come across situations, which potentially threaten to end our lives, and this is a theme picked up in Enticing Hart, part of my Wyoming Lovers series. Sometimes these are just moments where we almost had a car accident or a piano almost falls on us! But there are more serious times that are prolonged owing to illness, or recovery from an injury. Hart, the hero in Enticing Hart, experiences just this situation and for some time he does what many of us do—reflect back on his life and think about the things he’s done wrong, or the things he will put right if his life is spared.

For a moment there Hart really considers his own mortality and what will happen to the people he loves if he’s not there to look after them. I quite liked exploring this part of his personality and thinking about what might happen to this person if we put him under extreme pressure. I think sometimes, dangerous situations can make us excel to get us to safety in whatever way we can; we realize that we can do things we never thought possible before.

The biggest thing about Hart’s imprisonment is that he has hope, and that’s what keeps the human spirit alive. It is ultimately his hope and love for Oak that gives him the strength to get to freedom.

Similarly, Steve’s mother Maggie faces the same danger every day with her continuing illness although the danger she is in isn’t sudden it’s been a long illness, and is set to get slowly worse over a number of years but she too is able to overcome a number of factors to continue her life. In many ways she reflects on the past and thinks of times where she was the career and not the one being cared for. Both characters draw on their own reflections of life, memories of the ones they care about to get them through very difficult circumstances and I really enjoyed working on this aspect of characterization.

 

Enticing HartBlurb

Hart Emile is tired of cruising for guys, living a soulless existence. He needs a change; so when an acquaintance gives him the number of the gay friendly Red Fox Ranch that’s hiring for staff, he heads south.

Oak Redman is eighteen years old and desperate to explore his awakening sexuality. The moment Hart lays eyes on the handsome young rancher he’s smitten. Not only is Oak hot, spirited and very persistent, he is also the ranch boss’s son and strictly off limits. Hart tries to fight his feelings and to respect his boss and the family who quickly become dear to him, but after Oak’s grandma suggests he gets with Oak he can’t deny himself the most exciting and enticing man he has ever met.

Hart’s not the only man to have noticed how sweet and charming Oak Redman is. A family friend, Steve, is also anxious to have the affections of the young rancher. Can Hart work out Steve’s dark secrets before it’s too late and keep his job, his lover and his life?

 

Published by Loose Id.

 

Excerpt

The distinctive chirps of crickets grew louder as Hart strolled away from the lakeside. Another meaningless encounter had come to an end. He’d told himself he wouldn’t do it again, and yet now he had. At least the guy had been attractive and around his own age. God, I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel. Has my life come to this? Cruising around parks and restrooms, no comfort, no intimacy, no love.

Climbing into his truck, Hart remembered the ranch name the guy had given him. He checked it out on the Internet, and then, when a much older guy approached, Hart realized he’d been reading the website too long. Oh, no, not another one. He turned the key in the ignition and started the engine. He reversed in the small gravel parking lot, then sped away.

On the borders of Wyoming’s Yellowstone Park, guys were using this beautiful location to cruise. Narrow paths and hidden patches between trees at the edge of the water proved an ideal location to get it on with someone. As the sunset dipped through water reeds, it could be an ideal romantic spot, but instead the brief rendezvous were impersonal and void of emotion.

After traveling around doing casual work for five years, he needed steady employment, a home, and a life. According to the guy at the lake, the people at the Red Fox Ranch were gay-friendly and hiring. He’d always been quite private about his sexuality, but what the hell? It’d be a change not to hide who I am all the time. Could even be a novelty. Might even be…nice?

* * * *

Hart pulled up to the front of the big, traditional ranch house, and the midday heat hit him as he stepped out of the air-conditioned truck. A line of tall fir trees stood behind the wooden building where a new job might be waiting, and a lake nestled at the foot of nearby mountains. He tapped at the door and glanced down at his clothing, tugging at the corner of his shirt to straighten it. The sound of the knocker echoed. A young woman, about seventeen, answered. God, am I in the right place? He pulled his Stetson off.

“Hello, you must be Hart? My dad told us to expect you.” The mellow warmth of her baby-blue eyes made him feel at ease. “Come in.” She opened the door wide, and he stepped inside.

The sound of his boots carried across the oak floor as he followed her to a study at the back of the house. The smell of freshly baked scones wafted on the warm air, making its way into his nostrils, and there were family photographs dotting the walls. He passed the living room where three big sofas cried out comfort in shades of cream, coffee, and chocolate. Everything was settled precisely in its place in the study, and the paperwork stacked in rows stood to attention; files were arranged flush on the shelves. This house was tidy, lived-in, loved—this was a home.

She gestured for him to take a seat in front of the desk. He perched uneasily for a moment and then shuffled back, his shoulders sinking down with light relief.

“My dad’ll be with you in a minute. Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked.

“Yes, please, miss.”

“I’m Kristen.” Smiling, she offered her small hand, and he took it.

“Pleased to meet you, Kristen.” He nodded as she scooted around the corner of the door into the hallway.

She paused at the foot of the stairs, flicking her long fair hair over one shoulder. “Dad, Mr. Emile is here,” she screeched loudly, the opposite of the ladylike girl he’d shaken hands with moments earlier, the contrast making him snort.

“I’m coming. Kristen, are you fixin’ him a drink?” A man’s deep, rough tone responded from the second floor.

“Yes!” She faced Hart again and politely smiled. He was unsure what to expect from the owner of the voice.

Heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs, but still no one appeared. Peering around the door a little more, he caught a glimpse of a man going backward and forward on the bottom step. What the fuck?

The man came into the study and smiled as he put his hand out. “You must be Hart.”

“Yes, sir,” Hart replied, accepting the firm handshake.

“I’m Bay. We spoke on the phone. Welcome to the Red Fox.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Hart replied.

Bay was about six-three, with dark hairy arms and chest. His inky-black hair and the long stubble on his rugged jaw gave him a masculine aura.

What’s with the performance on the steps?

“Thanks.” Hart sucked in a bewildered breath as Bay sank down behind the desk in front of him. Kristen appeared at his side with two coffees. Bay’s broad hand dwarfed the mug she gave him, and he pulled a coaster from the drawer, placing it in position on the desk. Then he rotated the leather square a little, moved it again, this time to the other side of the desk. There were more rotations until he positioned it precisely before placing the coffee down. Kristen’s cheeks pinked slightly as she glanced at her dad’s performance with the coaster, and she swiftly disappeared.

“Thanks for coming.” Bay rested his elbows on the arms of the office chair. He steepled his fingers, moving back into the creaking leather. “I’m looking for a permanent ranch hand, and you’d be on a three-month trial initially. I sure could use a carpenter and a mechanic around here. Your skills are pretty impressive.” Bay stopped midflow and stared toward the door. Hart followed his gaze to see an elderly lady in the doorway.

“Have you seen my slippers, Bay?”

“Grandma, no, I haven’t. Can you give us a minute?” A big crease came to the middle of the man’s brow.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there, young man.” She peered around the side of the door at Hart, and then she fiddled with a long gold necklace, which had a charm at the end. Snow-white hair curled around her cheeks. She had mischief in those twinkling blue eyes.

“Hart, this is my grandma, Mrs. Redman. Hart’s come to work with us—well, maybe—if he likes us.” Bay inclined his head, prompting Hart.

“Oh, yes. Howdy, ma’am.” What an unusual interview.

Her tiny hand met his, her fingers soft but her grip steely.

“Grandma, I haven’t seen your slippers. Has Skip taken them again? I told you not to leave them out, didn’t I?” Bay’s paternal tone checked her.

“Oh, yes, but I didn’t realize Skip was around.” She put wrinkled fingers to her lips.

“Skip’s our new shepherd-mix pup, Hart. I’ll take you to meet him shortly. Grandma, can you give us a minute?” Bay’s gaze beseeched her.

“Oh, yes, sorry. I’ll get back to my baking. Did you get Hart some coffee?”

“Kristen did.” Bay gestured to the mug on the edge of the desk next to Hart.

“Okay, I’ll say good day to you, then.” She wandered off down the corridor.

God, is this the right place? Even if it’s not, I’m not going to say anything. There’s something a bit…different. I like it here.

“Now, where was I?” Bay pulled the coffee from the coaster again, fiddling with it some more.

“The ranch—” Hart said expectantly.

Bay’s cell rang.

“Excuse me.” Bay eased it out of his jeans pocket. “Hello? He’s what?” His eyebrows knitted. “Yes, okay. I’m coming.” He buried the phone back in his pocket and stood.

“I’m sorry about this, but Skip’s got one of the chickens again. I’m going to have to go get him. Come with me if you want. Bring your coffee. There’s always some crisis happening here. There isn’t much normal about this ranch, I’m afraid.”

Hart followed Bay across the wooden floors of the house, their steps echoing. At the chicken coop, Kristen held a struggling black-and-brown puppy by his collar.

“What in the hell was he doing in there?” A muscle twitched in Bay’s neck as he opened the coop.

“I don’t know, but he’s mauled another one of the hens.” Kristen barely hid her concern as a hen lay on its side with a wing flapping a little. Feathers were scattered across the ground.

“For God’s sake, you’re supposed to be watching him. We can’t have him running wild all over the ranch.” Pushing the gate shut from inside, he glanced at Hart. “If it’s not foxes or coyotes or wolves…it’s this damned untrained puppy.”

“Can I help?” Hart asked.

“Go with Kristen. I’ll be back in a minute when I’ve sorted this mess out.”

Hart strolled back to the porch, where Kristen took his coffee mug. She passed him the wriggling puppy, which licked his face uncontrollably.

“Wait here. I’ll get the leash.” She disappeared into the house and returned to hook the clip onto the dog’s collar. He jumped from Hart’s arms.

“I’ll bring you a cup of fresh coffee. Yours’ll be cold by now. I’m sorry about this. I’d like to say it’s not usually like this, but it kind of is.”

He chuckled, and she slipped through the door again, taking Skip with her. Hart leaned on the porch railing and watched Bay leave the chicken run, holding the now dead bird and hooking the gate closed behind him. He rounded the corner of a shed and moved out of sight.

Kristen appeared at Hart’s side, still holding Skip on the leash, and handed him a steaming mug. “Please take a seat.” She settled into one of the chairs.

“Thanks.” He perched uneasily on the wooden chair.

“We have seven ranch hands living here in the bunkhouse. Are you going to stay there too?” she asked.

“If you’ve got the room.” He shuffled back, trying to relax, and tossed his Stetson in his hands idly.

“I think so. My dad’ll know.”

The house phone rang; Skip followed her inside as she went to answer it. While Hart waited, a wind chime tinkled in the breeze. From down near the barns, a cowboy headed toward the porch, his tall figure backlit by the sun. Broad shoulders tapered to a small waist. The man couldn’t be older than nineteen. The hairs on Hart’s arms stood on end. The young cowboy mounted the steps and glanced at Hart, lifting his lush, delicate features into a sweet smile.

It was enough to make Hart melt.

“Hi. I’m Oak, like the tree.” His voice held a vibrant, acquiescent note, and he reached out, taking Hart’s hand. A good, firm handshake corresponded with big, honest baby-blue eyes. High cheekbones filled with a flush of pink flattered his brown skin. Lust roared through Hart as a faint scent of cinnamon made its way to his senses. Those full, deep-pink lips needed kissing. A well-crafted bicep showed off a tribal tattoo peeping from under the sleeve of Oak’s T-shirt. The muscle beneath twitched intermittently.

Hart shifted in the dry air on the porch, and a bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck, making him shudder. “I’m Hart,” he replied, unable to get another word out.

Kristen opened the porch door and smirked at Oak. Immediate embarrassment rushed heat to Hart’s cheeks. Had she noticed his jaw dropping in awe of the rancher’s son?

“Oh, right, my dad told me you were coming,” Oak said, ignoring Kristen.

Dad? Oh, no. Could Oak be the boss’s son?

“Dad, there’s a call for you!” she shouted as Bay approached the porch.

“Kristen, honey, can you deal with it? I’m showing Hart around.” Bay stopped and rested his foot on the bottom step. “I’m sorry about the interruptions, Hart. I see you’ve met my boy, Oak.”

“Yes.” Of course, the most beautiful man he’d ever seen would be the boss’s son.

“Come tour the ranch now.” Bay gestured for Hart to follow. “So, how many years’ experience did you say you have?”

Pushing up from the wicker chair on the porch and barely able to distract himself from lean, athletic Oak, Hart followed Bay. “Nice to meet you, Oak,” he called over his shoulder, hoping to catch another of Oak’s sweet smiles. He probably has a great ass too.

He took an extra step to catch up. “I worked on ranches my whole life, sir.”

His new boss had arrived in the nick of time, because he sure as hell didn’t know what to say to Oak. Especially as Hart needed to keep his mind on the job, and not on Oak. Hart suspected Bay wouldn’t be best pleased to know Hart had one eye on his son. He should take the job seriously anyway. Crazy place—but somehow he liked it.
Copyright © Mae Hancock

 

 

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Author Bio

I’ve always written stories and enjoy reading all types of literature from thrillers to romance. I’m interested in people who experience social marginalization and these are often themes that appear in my stories. I’ve written erotic literature for pleasure for a long time, but it’s only recently I’ve put romance and erotica together and found I enjoy writing about the exciting journey we all go on when falling in love. My interests include cultural history, particularly in the Greek and Roman worlds.

Author site: http://www.maehancock.com

 

Out Now – Desert Heat by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #erotica #romance #gay #mm #military

Blurb:

Their love is forbidden by rules, religion and risk. Yet still they can’t resist.

Captain Hugh Wilkes is on his last tour of duty in Afghanistan. The British Army is withdrawing, and Wilkes expects his posting to be event-free. That is, until he meets his Afghan interpreter, Rustam Balkhi, who awakens desires in Wilkes that he’d almost forgotten about, and that won’t be ignored.

Please note: this book was previously published as part of the Unconditional Surrender bundle.

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Excerpt:

Captain Hugh Wilkes sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself for the heat he was about to be subjected to, though he already knew all the deep breaths in the world wouldn’t help. Darkness had fallen on Camp Bastion, in the notorious Helmand Province of Afghanistan, but there would still be residual warmth left to seep away throughout the small hours. Then the sun would rise, and it would start all over again. It was a damn desert, after all. But, all being well, it would be his last ever tour of the godforsaken place. The British Army was already preparing to pull out. The manpower had been reduced drastically over the previous months. It was time to leave the Afghans to get on with it. They weren’t being abandoned—far from it—they would still receive aid, training and money for years to come. But the British Army was no longer needed, apparently. It was still a volatile place, which would no doubt be monitored very closely, in case strategies needed to be reconsidered.

None of that was down to Wilkes, though. He was here with his platoon for six months, doing whatever they were ordered to do by their Company Commander, Major Hunter. It was unlikely they’d be doing any fighting—they weren’t here for offensive operations. More probably they’d be accompanying their vehicles, weapons and ammunition across the country as it was transported to the air base to be sent back home, or patrolling towns and villages as a show of presence, to reassure and protect the inhabitants.

There was only one way to find out. Grabbing his kit, he headed toward the ramp of the huge C17 aircraft with his colleagues, and followed them out onto the airstrip. Immediately, he was hit by the overwhelming smell of aviation fuel. As he moved away from the airplane this was replaced by the dry atmosphere.

Wilkes imagined he could feel the grains of sand coating his throat and tongue. He’d soon get used to it—he always did. Plus, on the bright side, he’d end up with a nice tan at the end of his deployment. Mentally, he crossed his fingers for a nice, event-free tour of duty. Letting his guard down wasn’t going to happen, naturally, he just hoped it wasn’t necessary. Hoped the insurgents would play nicely. The country was completely different to how it had been when Allied forces had gone in after 9/11. Some fantastic progress had been made, but it still wasn’t completely safe. But then, where was? People died in picturesque villages in the English countryside—though generally not courtesy of IEDs, AK-47s or suicide bombers.

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

 
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