Wednesday, November 6, 2024

πŸ’œNational Family Caregivers 2024 Part 1πŸ’œ



πŸ’–πŸ’™πŸ’šπŸ’›πŸ’œπŸ’—πŸ’œπŸ’›πŸ’šπŸ’™πŸ’–

As my mother's 24/7 caregiver, November being National Family Caregivers Month has always been important to me.  Not because I want personal recognition for what I do but to help show people that caregiving is more than just medical assistance, it can also be emotional, physical, psychological, that it effects every aspects of a person's life, it can be temporary, short term, long term, chronic,.  I would give anything to make it so my mother did not need the assistance but that isn't possible so I do this so she can have the best quality of life and still live in her own home.  So I realized that there are stories out there that have caregivers and whether it's a big or small part of the plot doesn't matter, they help show people what caregivers provide all within very entertaining romances and reading experiences. 

πŸ’–πŸ’™πŸ’šπŸ’›πŸ’œπŸ’—πŸ’œπŸ’›πŸ’šπŸ’™πŸ’–


Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3  /  Part 4



Dance on Ice by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Summary:

Chesterford Coyotes #3
For the figure skater and the hockey player, their sport demands total devotion, but can falling in love come first?

My name is Shaun Stanton, and I’m bisexual.

In hockey-obsessed Chesterford Academy, Shaun Stanton stands out as the star player and captain of the Chesterford Coyotes, and his exceptional skills have already attracted the attention of NHL scouts. He lives and breathes hockey, but there’s more to his story. His father wants Shaun to be the star he never was, and their relationship is a complex mix of guidance and intimidation. Worse, while hockey is Shaun’s sanctuary and a key part of who he is, he harbors a secret his dad can never discover: Shaun is gay He’s caught between the future career he’s destined for, and the truth he has to hide. There’s one bright light in his life, the vibrant figure skater who shares the early morning practice ice, a friend he worries about, but has now become something more—Kenji is everything Shaun wants and can’t have.

My name is Kenji Kelly, and I need to be perfect.

Kenji Kelly is a young man who walks two worlds: his family is a beautiful mix of American and Asian cultures. He loves both figure skating and hockey, and he’s a out and proud pansexual teen. While it seems to the world around him he has it all, deep down Kenji has a secret that’s slowly becoming harder to conceal. His life is the ice and his coach does not believe in failure. The one person who knows his hidden secret is Shaun, the captain of the Coyotes and a friend from youth hockey days. Shaun’s gaze towards Kenji, once filled with concern, now seems to hold something deeper, unsettling Kenji but also igniting similar giddy, burgeoning feelings in him. As their feelings for each other become stronger, the secrets both young men carry grow heavier and more distressing with each passing day.

NB: Trigger warning for mention of an eating disorder.


Original Review April 2024:
I said with the other two entries in Chestorford Coyotes and I'll say it again here: with a few exceptions I generally haven't read YA since I was about 14 years old but as this series is part of the Scott/Locey Hockey Universe there was no way I wouldn't give it a go.  And boy was I glad I did!  

Dance on Ice is an emotionally charged read that will first break the heart but then repair and warm it too.  You can't help but feel immense anger towards both Shaun's dad and Kenji's coach, Ilya. Will either be redeemable?  For that you'll have to read Dance for yourself but I will say emotions run very high and not always very favorably.

Watching both Shaun and Kenji become the people they are meant to be is hugely gratifying.  The bulk of the story is the now timeframe but through the boys' inner thoughts we get a sense of who they were before their friendship went down the crapper so seeing them move past that is as I said, gratifying but also extremely heartwarming.

Scott and Locey do a magnificent job telling Kenji's eating disorder and how it is always there, no matter how you get a hold on it with therapy and time, it will always be lingering, needing to be cared for.  What I really loved was they not only tell Kenji's side but also the side of those who care about them, who want to help, who tend to put their foot in their mouth more times than they intend in their quest to help.

It was nice to see Trent from Deep Edge, book 3 in the authors' Harrisburg Railers, the original series that jumpstarted their hockey universe.  I had a feeling he would make an appearance with the figure skating connection and the authors didn't disappoint.

Dance on Ice is a lovely story of hurt, comfort, friendship, young love, but above all healing on multiple levels.  As far as I know, Dance is the last entry in this series but I for one would love to see a holiday story to see where our young couples are 5 or 10 years down the road.  Dance may take you through an emotional wringer but in all the heart-filled amazing ways.

RATING:






Gideon by Lily Morton
Summary:
Finding Home #3
Gideon Ramsay is so far in the closet he should be a talking faun.

A talented, mercurial, and often selfish man, Gideon has everything he should want in life. Fame, money, acting awards – he has it all. Everything but honesty. At the advice of his agent, Gideon has concealed his sexuality for years. But it’s starting to get harder to hide, and his increasingly wild behaviour is threatening to destroy his career.

Then he’s laid low by a serious illness and into his life comes Eli Jones. Eli is everything that Gideon can’t understand. He’s sunny tempered, friendly, and optimistic. Even worse, he’s unaffected by grumpiness and sarcasm, which forms ninety percent of Gideon’s body weight. And now Gideon is trapped with him without any recourse to the drugs and alcohol that have previously eased his way through awkward situations.

However, as Gideon gets to know the other man, he finds himself wildly attracted to his lazy smiles and warm, scruffy charm that seem to fill a hole inside Gideon that’s been empty for a long time. Will he give in to this incomprehensible attraction when it could mean the end of everything that he’s worked for?

From the bestselling author of the Mixed Messages series comes a story about a man who needs to realise that being true to yourself is really just a form of finding home.

This is the third book in the Finding Home series but it can be read as a standalone.





Dance on Ice by RJ Scott & VL Locey
There was a heated exchange of words, Kenji skating backward and away, almost at center ice. All I needed to do was to push forward on one skate, and glide there, and we could say hello. We’d been best friends once, and if I apologized—if I was honest with him about how I’d messed up—maybe we could go back to being friends. As the argument escalated between my dad and Kenji’s coach, I felt a knot form in my stomach and I was paralyzed by my own insecurities. I watched Kenji and cursed myself for not having the courage to reach out to him.

Dad was becoming more animated, Kenji’s coach just as loud, gesticulating wildly.

I didn’t have the balls to skate to the center ice.

And Kenji didn’t turn to look at me.

Dad returned, as scarlet as me, but where my reaction was shame and confusion, his was temper and hatred.

“You’re sharing the ice,” he snapped.

He was so angry, and I didn’t know how to feel. He’d sacrificed everything for me; worked three jobs to keep me in hockey gear, drove me to every practice and game, and even volunteered as a coach for the team. The thought of letting him down filled me with guilt.

I owed him.

He’d poured his heart and soul into my hockey career, and it all centered on us practicing six days out of seven on this ice, and today we didn’t have the ice.

I should feel territorial, right? It was what Dad wanted me to feel, I was sure. Instead I felt… weird. Then something hit me. Why was I sharing the ice that was for the school? I was somewhere for the Academy teams to practice and play, and it wasn’t open to the public, courtesy of a shit ton of funding from very rich benefactors at our very wealthy campus. Why was someone from outside Chesterford Academy on our ice?

“They’ll let anyone join this damn school, freaking twirly shit getting in our way. Fucking girls out here on our ice.”

“He’s—”

“No!”

I wanted to defend Kenji, to explain that figure skaters were as valid as hockey players, same as I’d done when Kenji had left hockey for the figure skating and begged to be allowed to be friends with him still. But my dad’s hatred had spilled over and scared me.

“Shut your mouth and listen up,” Dad snapped. His reaction stung, his threats left me feeling powerless and defeated, and small.

So small.

“Figure skaters are boys as well,” I word-vomited, thankful the boards were between me and him when Dad stiffened and sent me a stare that would kill other people. Dad had never touched me, apart from fixing my hockey hold, or straightening my back, but his expression was murderous, and that meant the curses would fly and he’d take out his impotent rage on me with words. He leaned over the barrier, and my heart skipped, my chest tightened. I held my position and tilted my chin as he lowered his voice, hate dripping from every word.





Gideon by Lily Morton
I shake my head. “So what’s in store for the middle of the night?”

“It’s six o’clock in the morning,” he scoffs.

“The only way I see six o’clock in the morning is when I’m coming home to go to bed.”

“Well, Mick Jagger, that wild way of life is over for the moment, so instead we’ve got wake-the-day meditation.”

“Did you just compare me to a rock star who looks like a raisin on a pair of legs?” I blink. “Wake-the-day meditation,” I say in a tone of absolute disgust. “What the fuck is that? Am I to be responsible for the sun coming up on this ship too?”

Eli tosses a bundle of clothes at me. “I’m sorry to interrupt your messianic leanings,” he says, not at all apologetically. “Put those on and hurry up. We’ll have breakfast afterwards.”

I look down at the tight, grey marl, full-length leggings and black vest in dismay. “Surely there must be something else we can do?” I say, and I can hear the desperation in my voice. “My brother’s the spiritual yoga person in our family.”

He stops and looks at me curiously. “Is he? Is he any good?”

“Very,” I say, hearing the pride in my voice. “He teaches a class in the village now.”

“That’s an accomplishment for him, I think.”

I peer at him. “He had a stutter,” I say. “You could probably hear a trace of it in the way he speaks now.”

He nods. “It must have been nice having you as a brother.”

I wince. “Not really,” I mutter, feeling his interest sharpen, but he doesn’t ask me any questions. His infuriating lack of pushing for answers always makes me want to knock him over the fucking head with them. “I was a terrible brother,” I admit. “I was away at boarding school anyway, but when I was at home I was impatient with him and distant. I’m trying now, though,” I finish earnestly. “I want a relationship with him.”

“You must be doing something right,” Eli says in a mellow voice. “He obviously loves you.”

“That’s family. You can’t help that,” I scoff. Nevertheless, I feel a relaxing in the tenseness that always surrounds me when I think of the mess I made of the relationship with my brother.

“Not always,” he says, and there’s a finality in his voice that makes me drop the conversation.

Even though it’s early in the morning, there’s still a bustle to the ship as staff hose down the outside decks and sort out the bars to the accompaniment of a multitude of languages spoken in bright, eager voices.

I follow Eli up the steps towards the top deck, trying not to stare at his arse in those leggings. It’s actually impossible, as if my eyes are magnetized and he’s got an iron backside. Nevertheless, I manage to wrench my gaze away from the magnet’s pull and that’s when I spot it.

“Is that a tattoo on your back?” I ask, looking at the grey lines I can see as his vest shifts.

He looks back, smiling slightly. “It might be. Why?”

“No reason,” I immediately say, trying for an air of studied disinterest. By the quirk of his mouth I’m guessing I’m not hitting any acting strides today, so I give up. “I like tattoos,” I say instead.

“It is a tattoo,” he says. “It’s a dragon, which is very stereotypical for a Welsh man. And also stupid because it fucking hurt having something that big over my back.” He looks at me. “Have you got any?”

I shake my head. “Nope. It’s not really good for an actor.”

He comes to a stop, the breeze blowing strands of hair around his clear, unlined forehead. “But loads of actors have got them.”

“Now they have. When I started in the business it wasn’t encouraged.”

He nods seriously. “I guess they were too concerned with introducing sound into films at that point.”

For a beat I stare at him and then, to my amazement, laughter bubbles out and I give a disgusting snort. “Yes, damn those pesky talkies.”

Eli grins at me happily before turning round and mounting the stairs in his characteristic long-legged strides. I’ve noticed that he never seems to rush anywhere, but somehow he seems to get to places quicker than anyone else.



RJ Scott
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards

USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.

She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.





VL Locey
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)

She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.

When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.





Lily Morton
Lily is a bestselling gay romance author. She writes love stories filled with heat and humour.

She lives in sunny England with her husband and two children, all of whom claim that they haven't had a proper conversation with her since she got her Kindle.

Lily has spent her life with her head full of daydreams, and decided one day to just sit down and start writing about them. In the process she discovered that she actually loved writing, because how else would she get to spend her time with hot and funny men? 

She loves chocolate and Baileys and the best of all creations - Chocolate Baileys!



RJ Scott
FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE
NEWSLETTER  /  CHIRP  /  INSTAGRAM
AUDIOBOOKS  /  B&N  /  GOOGLE PLAY
AUDIBLE  /  FB GROUP  /  TUMBLR
PINTEREST  /  PATREON  /  TIKTOK
BOOKBUB  /  KOBO  /  SMASHWORDS
iTUNES  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS
EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk
EMAIL: vicki@vllocey.com

Lily Morton
FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE
INSTAGRAM  /  LINKTREE  /  AUDIBLE
BOOKBUB  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS
EMAIL: lilymorton1@outlook.com



Dance on Ice by RJ Scott & VL Locey

Gideon by Lily Morton


Monday, November 4, 2024

πŸ’œMonday's Musical MelodyπŸ’œ: Fen by Barbara Elsborg



Summary:

An indecent proposal leads to a future neither guy expected.

Fen is broken but does his best to hide the cracks. His life-changing condition might have stolen his first love—ballet, but he’s kind to old ladies, good at his job, and his mum loves him, even if his famous father refuses to acknowledge he exists.

Ripley’s a top flight barrister who’s used to winning. Mostly by fair means, occasionally not. He’s horrified when he learns his manipulative mother has sent family possessions to an auction house. On his way to retrieve them, he encounters Fen.

Cold, rain-soaked and hungry, struggling with his crutch and auction acquisitions, Fen just wants to get home. What he doesn’t want is to be drenched by a car and minutes later, confronted by the bad-tempered driver demanding he hand over his purchases. Hell no!

Ripley gets back his belongings but finds he wants more. Blue-eyed Fen has sparked something to life. Even as his barrister’s brain screams at him to be careful, he makes Fen an outrageous offer. Sleep with me for money. Fen should say no. Yet as he weighs his options, he realises turning Ripley down could be the biggest regret of his life.

In a tale where the pieces don’t always fit, can two imperfect men mend what’s broken in each other?

Warning
Main character with a life-limiting illness. Suicide of a character before story starts. Brief mention of rape and suicide of a man not in the story.




1
Fen hated being late. His alarm had shocked him awake at six-thirty, but getting himself mobile had proved difficult and he’d had to do stretches on the bed to persuade his legs to work properly. Otherwise, he’d have fallen over when he headed to the bathroom. Even getting dressed had been tricky this morning. He was exhausted before he’d left his bedsit. Definitely a day when he needed his crutch.

To make matters worse, the first bus he’d planned to catch didn’t turn up and the next broke down, which meant he arrived at the auction three quarters of an hour after he should have been there. At least his boss, Charles, wouldn’t be waiting to yell at him, though the yelling would come later if Fen had missed any of the items he was supposed to be bidding for.

Fen slipped into the back of the saleroom. A few days ago, he and Charles, the pricklier partner at Winn Brothers Antiques, had been to the auction preview, and Fen had carefully written down the amounts he could go up to in the catalogue, using tiny print by each item. Partly so no one but him could read what he’d written, but mostly because he knew how Charles would react if he didn’t stick to the limits. It would have been easier to bid online, but for some reason, Charles didn’t like internet bidding with this particular auction house so Fen had been instructed to come in person.

He quite liked days out but he was already stressed in case he’d missed any of the lots. There were a few empty seats near the rostrum but Fen didn’t want to draw everyone’s attention, particularly in the middle of an item being sold. He spotted a Victorian washstand that looked sturdy enough to prop up a lightweight like him, wedged his forearm crutch between it and a bookcase, and unfastened his coat. Now he had both hands free to hold the catalogue, pen and his bidding paddle.

The auctioneer brought his hammer down on a nest of tables, not on Fen’s list—phew—and announced, “Item twenty-nine.” The first item Fen had to bid for was thirty-four so there’d be no need to grovel to Charles.

When Fen heard that lots thirty-four and thirty-five had been withdrawn, he mentally groaned. Two items on his list. It wasn’t hard to predict Charles’ reaction. Even if Fen managed to win all of the other lots he’d been instructed to bid for, his boss would still find a way to be pissed off with him. Charles only had to look at Fen to be annoyed.

When they’d been to the preview, Fen had seen something he wanted too. It was an old wooden box with a damaged inlay top, though it was in a cardboard box with a lot of other stuff that he didn’t particularly want. It all depended on the price.

“Item thirty-nine,” said the auctioneer and Fen perked up. “A pair of rustic early 20th century, Lutyens-style, hardwood garden seats. Who’ll start me at five hundred pounds?”

Gulp. That was a lot, though the seats were lovely. Fen’s heart banged in his chest as he waited to see the level of interest before he bid. Five hundred was the maximum he could go to. The auctioneer came down in hundreds to get the bidding started with such affected incredulity in his voice that Fen smiled. He liked this guy. Finally, a dealer Fen knew came in at two hundred. Fen joined in at three and won them at four hundred and fifty. He held up the paddle for his number to be taken.

It was a good start but he missed out on the next three items. By a long way on two and by one bid on a punchbowl. If Charles had been here, he might have gone a little higher but Fen never went over the amount he’d been told because he had once, and Charles had taken the money from his wages. The next two lots Charles wanted had been withdrawn and Fen winced.

The box was up next.

“Lot number fifty,” called the auctioneer. “Photo frames, stamp album—no penny blacks—my son checked.”

There was a ripple of laughter.

“A few ornaments, coins, a wooden box and a small painting. No attributed artist. Several other bits and pieces. Where shall we start? Twenty pounds?”

A woman close to the front of the room bid twenty. Fen waited. There were a few people interested and Fen came in at forty-five. He’d only go to fifty so that was his one and only bid.

But when someone bid fifty, Fen waved his paddle to bid again. Shit! He’d broken his own rule. That was it. No more.

There were no other bids and the lot was his. The total cost would be more like seventy-five after auction fees. Money he couldn’t afford, money he shouldn’t have spent, but if he could restore that box and tart up the picture frames and hopefully find something of value in the rest, he should make some money.

Maybe that win turned his luck because he snagged the last four items on the list at well below the limits Charles had set. Hopefully that might improve his boss’s disposition when he learned what he didn’t get. Fen texted to tell him the auction was done, gave details of what needed to be collected, then went to pay.

Fen being unable to drive was another source of aggravation to Charles. Actually, Fen could drive, but only automatics and the big van wasn’t an automatic. All items had to be taken away on the day of the auction so Charles would have to come and drag his lazy arse of a son, Scott, with him because Fen wasn’t supposed to do any heavy lifting. At least there were enough items to make Charles’s journey worthwhile.

Fen handed over cash for his lot so it didn’t go on the Winn account. In theory, he should have used a different paddle but the lady behind the counter had let him do this before and she did again today.

Fen shot her a smile. “You’re an angel.”

“And you’re a charmer.”

“Only on Wednesdays.”

She laughed. “It’s Tuesday.”

“Oops.”

Fen waited for more than ninety minutes with no sign of Charles. It had rained solidly for most of that time, but at least Fen had been able to wait inside, though it wasn’t much warmer. Abe, one of the porters, had brought him a cup of tea. Fen tried to tell himself it wasn’t because Abe felt sorry for him, but it probably was.

“Sure someone’s coming?” Abe asked as closing time loomed.

“Yes.” No way would Charles want to pay storage fees.

When the familiar van pulled in, Fen fastened his coat, turned up his collar and went outside. He was surprised to see Charles on his own. It meant Fen would have to give him a hand loading up, a thought that made him wince. He put his crutch aside. Charles backed into the loading bay and Fen stayed under the overhang out of the rain.

“Those garden seats were pricey,” Charles barked as he approached.

“They’re nice though,” Fen pointed out. “Elegant. Just need a bit of cleaning up.” If Fen had a garden, he’d love seats like that, not that he’d ever be able to afford them. Or a place with a garden.

Charles huffed.

It was just as well Abe came out to help because Fen was struggling and Charles was getting exasperated. When his boss glared at the Victorian revolving bookcase Abe had lifted into the van, Fen braced himself.

“I didn’t tell you to buy that,” Charles said.

“Yes, you did.” But Fen’s heart dropped into his stomach. He pulled the catalogue from his coat pocket to show Charles he was wrong, and found it snatched from his fingers.

“Idiot,” Charles muttered under his breath. He brandished the catalogue in Fen’s face. “The item below, not that one.”

There was no mistaking the mark on the catalogue. “You told me the bookcase. I remember you said you had—”

“How much did you pay for this rubbish?” Charles checked the invoice, then raised his eyebrows. “Good grief.”

“It’s not rubbish,” Fen said.

He suddenly found himself knocked against the van with Charles right in his face. If Fen hadn’t had the vehicle at his back, he’d have fallen.

“Don’t fucking argue with me!”

Fen pressed his lips together, rain battering his face. This was more than Charles’ usual bad temper and Fen wondered what had happened. Had Scott pissed him off? After Charles went back into the building, Abe came over.

“You okay?” Abe asked quietly.

Fen nodded.

“That was well out of order.”

Fen moved out of the rain and retrieved his crutch. Had he made a mistake with the bookcase? He’d been sure he hadn’t but…

When Charles returned, he kicked at the box Fen had bought. “What’s this?”

“It’s mine. I bought it with my money.” Why did he feel he had to add that?

“Then you can damn well take it with you.”

I’m not getting a lift? Fen had assumed Charles would go back to the shop. Shit. That was a problem.

After the last item had been strapped into the van, Charles jumped down from the back, then closed and locked the rear doors. He drove away without a word and Fen stared at the cardboard box, which was getting wetter and wetter. No way could he carry it.

“You going to manage?” Abe asked.

“I’ll see how much I can get in my backpack.” Dump what he couldn’t.

“Want me to lift the box back up onto the loading bay?”

“Please, Abe.”

It made it easier for Fen to get at the contents and it was out of the rain.

“I’ll see if I can find you a plastic bag. Keep things dry.”

Fen shot him a look of thanks. He took off his backpack and began to slot in the items he most wanted. The wooden box first, then the stamp album and the painting. The coins and little bits were easy to slip in the side pockets and he packed in as much as he could. After he’d zipped it up, Abe returned with two supermarket bags.

“Thank you.” Fen shot him a smile.

“Charles Winn is a wanker. But don’t tell anyone I said so.”

Fen chuckled. “Don’t tell anyone I agree with you.”

He managed to get everything that was left into one of the bags, then covered the contents with the other before hooking the bag onto the handle of his crutch. If he was careful, he should be okay. It left him unbalanced, but this was the way he transported his shopping. He could cope.

Fen was wet and cold before he was halfway to the road. The rain was still teeming down, little streams surging down the hill. When he reached the point where the drive met the road, he stopped for a breather. A sleek silver car turned sharply into the driveway of the auction house and hit a huge puddle, spraying an arc of dirty water over Fen’s coat and trousers. It even splattered his face.

“Hey!” Fen shouted and wiped his cheeks with his gloved hand.

The driver either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care because he continued up to the auction house. What a wanker.

Now Fen was even wetter along with pissed off and miserable. Thoughts of calling an Uber slid into, then quickly out of his head. A waste of money when he could use public transport. He just had to keep going towards the bus stop, which wasn’t as close as he’d have liked it to be. A few moments later, the same silver car drew up alongside. Fen supposed it wasn’t too late for an apology. Or maybe a lift? If he dared ask. That’ll be the day! Plus he was too filthy for a car like this.The window went down.

“You have something of mine,” said the driver.

Fen blinked water from his lashes. That had sounded rather confrontational. He bent to look at the man, who was indeed glaring, though Fen did notice the glare faltered for a moment as they locked eyes. What the hell have I done? The guy had a thin, angular face, dark eyes and dark hair cut in one of those floppy styles that looked effortless and had probably cost more than Fen’s haircuts for the entire year. Fen’s hair was not artfully scruffy, merely scruffy. The man was in his late thirties, maybe early forties, and wore a white shirt and blue tie. Fen had a thing for smart businessmen, not that he’d ever gone out with one, but he didn’t like the anger. That alone made him not Fen’s type. Life was too short for unnecessary aggression. If Charles came up in his face again like that, Fen would look for another job. Possibly.

“I need that box of items you bought.”

Ah. Now Fen understood. He pushed himself upright. What had he missed that was valuable? Some spectacular stamp? A rare coin?

“I’ll give you a hundred pounds.”

“No thanks.” Fen kept walking. The car moved along at Fen’s pace and much as he might have wanted to, he couldn’t move any faster. He palmed his phone, ready to take a photo of the number plate if things turned nasty.

“That’s twenty-five more than you paid.”

“Even so, I’m not interested.”

“For f… The lot was supposed to have been withdrawn.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“I want it back.”

“If you hadn’t soaked me when you went through that puddle, I might have thought about it.” If he’d said please, asked nicely, then maybe, but being drenched in dirty water had hardened Fen’s heart.

“Oh Christ. Did I? Sorry. So the box?”

Oh fuck off. That wasn’t an apology. Fen had had enough of being pushed around. He kept walking. When he reached the bus stop, he looked back to see the car pulling up and the driver’s door opening. Fen snapped a couple of pictures. A horn blared as a bus came up at the rear of the car and to Fen’s relief, the man shut his door and pulled away. My bus too! That was lucky.

He pressed his phone to the reader, and the driver set off again before Fen was sitting down, which caused him to stumble, but he sank onto the seat with an audible sigh of relief. Except… He felt a bit guilty. If that lot was supposed to have been withdrawn, had the auction house messed up? There had been a lot of withdrawn items. More than Fen had usually seen. Maybe they’d all belonged to that guy. Some vindictive wife sending his stuff to be sold?

No one sat next to him for the entire journey. He didn’t blame them. He was soaked. Water was dripping down his neck from his hair and there was nothing he could do except shiver. He hadn’t taken his backpack off so he had to sit forward on the seat, the carrier bag on his lap, and he wasn’t comfortable. Fen rested his head against the window and wished, not for the first time, that this wasn’t his life.

He allowed himself one moment of misery, but no way would he let self-pity consume him. It was his life and there wasn’t much he could do about it. It wasn’t fair but then little was.

His stop was coming up so he pressed the bell and heaved himself to his feet. The stop for the next bus was a little further up the street and according to his app, due in ten minutes. He grew colder as he waited and his shivering increased. Wet, cold and unhappy. The unhappy was annoying because that wasn’t him. He wasn’t relentlessly cheerful, but he did try to stay upbeat. What was the point, otherwise? How would wallowing in misery help?

Though he did need something to change. All very well thinking he’d find another job, but that wasn’t easy. He was limited by his condition and there wasn’t much he could actually do. If he had money… He was saving what he could, the reason he hadn’t called an Uber, but he had a long way to go before he’d have enough to make his life better.

He wished he was home. He liked his little bedsit, with its own bathroom and little kitchen area with a washer-drier. He didn’t like the stairs he had to climb to reach it, nor the growing damp patch on the ceiling that increasingly looked like Australia, or the occasional gale-force wind that seeped in through the badly fitted windows, but it was home.

Right above a betting shop, but still… Fen wasn’t tempted to throw his money away gambling, unlike Scott who often bragged about how much he’d won, so when he was quiet, Fen guessed he’d lost.

By the time he’d climbed the stairs and unlocked the door of his bedsit, he was shattered. He turned up the heating and hung his coat over a chair. After he’d sponged off the worst of the dirt, he pushed the chair close to the lukewarm radiator before he stripped off. His jeans were sodden, his goose-bump-covered legs white from the cold.

A hot shower revived him and once he was in his sleep pants, long-sleeved T-shirt, fleecy grey dressing gown—thanks, Mum—and thick slipper socks—thanks again, Mum—he put on a load of laundry, then sat at the table and emptied his backpack and the carrier bag. Everything was dry, which was a relief. He’d sort it all out after he’d eaten.

Making beans on toast added a little warmth to the room. Eating them, warmed Fen. His bedsit faced the street, but there was an office on the other side of the wall that belonged to the betting shop. Sometimes he wished he had a neighbour that lived there but then again, it meant there was never any noise in the evenings, though a fair amount on Saturdays.

After he’d eaten, he had a cup of tea, no milk, he was supposed to avoid dairy products, and carefully went through his purchases. Most of the picture frames were modern and in good condition. One was silver. He took them apart to check under the backing but found nothing hidden, no money—it had been known—or X-marks-the-spot treasure maps—he lived in hope.

The stamp album was interesting, if you were into stamps, though not many people were these days. Fen checked for a Mauritius Post Office stamp, just in case, because that would be a life changer, but he suspected this was a child’s collection, though it was old. Maybe the contents of the album were worth a bit more research. Same with the coins. There were a couple of interesting-looking Roman ones.

The man in the car saying the box shouldn’t have been sold still niggled him. Fen would have to decide what to do about that because he had a feeling the guy wasn’t going to give up. The auction house wouldn’t release Fen’s details, but they might contact him to ask him to return the lot. A thought that made him check for a missed call, but there was nothing.

The little painting looked Victorian. It was an original. A mother sitting on a highbacked chair, a small boy standing next to her. They were always so stiff, Victorian portraits and photographs. He understood why no-one smiled on the photos because they had to keep still while the shutter was open, but why not smile for a painting?

This one might be worth something if he could find out who painted it and who these people were. Did the frame hide a signature? He could take off the back and look. Except even as he’d thought it, he didn’t feel comfortable about doing that anymore. He no longer felt as if any of these things belonged to him, even though he’d acquired them legally.

The wooden box, the one item he’d really wanted, was lovely even with the damaged inlay. And it was locked. Fen huffed. He hadn’t noticed that it was partly a puzzle box. Repairing the top and a dodgy hinge wouldn’t be difficult, but getting into the box might be. If he could open the top part, it might enable him to deal with the puzzle part of it.

He pushed to his feet and brought over his bag of tricks. He kept some of his tools here, the rest at work. It took him a few minutes to click open the lock. Inside was a small velvet bag and in the bag was a medal. Not just any medal. The George Cross. Wow. Fen had never held one before. It was awarded for acts of great heroism in circumstances of extreme danger. The name of the recipient was engraved on the rim. Russell Belmont. Was he a relation of the man in the car?

Fen typed into Google… Russell Belmont George Cross. Once he’d started to read, he couldn’t stop. Belmont had received the medal for valour shown in withstanding torture at the hands of Communist forces during the Korean War. When Fen read what he’d been through, he was horrified. This medal had to be returned to the man’s family. And all the other things too.

But he wanted his money back.


Barbara Elsborg
Barbara Elsborg lives in Kent in the south of England. She always wanted to be a spy, but having confessed to everyone without them even resorting to torture, she decided it was not for her. Volcanology scorched her feet. A morbid fear of sharks put paid to marine biology. So instead, she spent several years successfully selling cyanide.

After dragging up two rotten, ungrateful children and frustrating her sexy, devoted, wonderful husband (who can now stop twisting her arm) she finally has time to conduct an affair with an electrifying plugged-in male, her laptop.

Her earlier books feature quirky heroines and bad boys, now she concentrates on the bad boys, and hopes her books are as much fun to read as they are to write.


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EMAIL: bjelsborg@gmail.com




Sunday, November 3, 2024

πŸ’œπŸ‘»πŸŽƒπŸŽ­Week at a GlanceπŸŽ­πŸŽƒπŸ‘»πŸ’œ: 10/28/24 - 11/3/24



























October Book of the Month: Kill Me Sweetly by Davidson King



Summary:

Saint Brothers #2
Sometimes reality is the nightmare you must conquer.

JJ has a good life. One where he lives with the people he loves, gets to work in Saintly Sweets with his delicious boyfriend, and takes things a day at a time. Of course, that is until he comes across a broken boy so lost in a nightmare, he vows to do everything he can to help him wake from it.

There’s nothing Shepard Saint won’t do for his JJ. Even help him figure out how to save someone that may be lost to the darkness. He knows this won’t be easy, and the deeper they go, the harder it becomes to climb out.

Shep, JJ, and the rest of the Saint brothers find themselves knee deep in the worst of humanity as they try to save a lot more than they bargained for. Saving people is something Shep and JJ are born to do, but when the enemy tries to destroy everything they love, they almost lose themselves to the evils of the world. Can the love they have for each other be enough to make it out alive or have they finally met an enemy far too powerful?

Kill Me Sweetly is book 2 in my Saint Brothers series. It can be read on its own but if you’re one for order, Slay Ride is book 1.




You'd think I would get tired of saying this but it's true and for that I never tire of mentioning it: Davidson King has done it again!!!  Not that I ever any doubts that I was going to experience an entertaining read but her continued ability to harness the ever coveted "pulls the reader in" factor is just one of the greats of this book.

When I read Slay Ride last year, the book that introduced us to the Saint Brothers and their brand of justice, I knew JJ and Shep would be amazing together. Boy was I right.  Kill Me Sweetly is definitely their story but I really love the inclusion of all the brothers as well as JJ's BFF and half of the starring couple in Slay Ride, Mason. Obviously all the Saints would be involved as they are a team but it was the inclusion of the amazing chemistry between all of the family and that's the best part, JJ and Mason are family too not just the significant other of 2 brothers.  

I know that not everyone enjoys books with dual POVs but I find them to be among my favorites because we get to see a story from both characters and for me at least that helps to connect with them.  From the lowest of the lows to the highest of the highs we feel and see everything which makes them more real and lets me feel I'm not just a reader on the outside looking in but right there in the room with them, a part of the story if you will not just an observer.

Now I won't go into too much detail so I don't spoil anything.  Books with couples who are established prior to page one can lack a certain will-they-won't-they-go-get-them adrenaline rush but JJ and Shep quickly find themselves with a helluva loaded plate before them that in truth you'd expect the relationship part to take a backseat.  Okay, perhaps it does but never so far back that there is ever any doubt where they stand in each other's lives and heart.  To put it simply: they are just too darn cute together that I'll take any part of them the author gives us and let's face it, it's that chemistry and cute-iblity that drives them to do what is necessary to empty that loaded plate.

As for the mystery, the case of rescue and revenge JJ brings into the house.  I'm not going to spill any deets.  Won't spoil anything!  I will say that darkness is there in droves.  Personally, I'd say Slay Ride seemed to have more "on page" darkness, Kill Me Sweetly has plenty on page as well but IMO there seems to be more "hinting at".  I'll try to briefly explain without spoiling, the darkness, the evil of the bad guys is definitely spelled out but I found my mind imagining the depth of the evil going far beyond the words.  It's this imagining that put me inside the story right alongside the Saint Brothers dishing out their special brand of justice and why as a whole Kill Me Sweetly is far darker than Slay Ride.  However you see it though just know the author gets your blood boiling and skin itching to help and that is what makes this a winning gem of storytelling masterpieces.

Personal observation that I've gotta add: if this is what ends up on paper/screen then what heights of devilish mayhem lurks in Davidson King's brain yet to be let out? I ain't saying it's a bad thing but I guess I'm thinking this is one woman you do not want to piss offπŸ˜‰.  I'll admit, I feel blessed to be friends with her but know I only give truly honest reviews so that kindred spiritship does not factor into play when I review.  I know she's an amazing woman, great wife, great mother, great daughter and great friend but when I read her stories I can't help but think that the margin of error for triggering her balance of whether her life story gets featured on ID's Deadly Women or made into a Hallmark movie is pretty darn slimπŸ˜‰.  Either way the stories she brings us never fail to entertain and warm the heart, which is a an odd thing to say considering the usual darker tone of most of her books but I guess that blending of emotional response in me expresses my love of her storytelling acumen better than any other words I can think of.  

RATING:




Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.  ~Dalai Lama

CHAPTER ONE
JJ (JAXON)
I adored Shepard Saint.I really, really did. It had been two and half years since he’d entered my world and the second I’d laid eyes on that man, I’d known my life would never be the same.

Granted, we’d met under serious duress. My best friend forever, Mason, had been assaulted, and the five Saint brothers: Shep, Angel, Noel, Nick, and Gabe—now his forever love—had come to his rescue. Then they’d kidnapped him.…People are weird. Anyway, turned out the Saint brothers had been righting a lot of wrongs. Some seriously high-powered people had killed their foster parents and sister, and by happenstance, we’d later found out that the fire Mason’s folks had been killed in was set by these bigwigs who’d wanted to own the whole town.

Of course, drama breeds drama—and that had ended up exposing a human trafficking ring, and again Mason had been taken and hurt so badly. My sweet friend was never the same after that, but the light was slowly returning to his eyes.

We’d rescued two amazing kids from the clutches of their parents and these disgusting assholes. Heather and Andrew Gilly were happily living with their aunt Tessa and in the two-years-plus that had passed, they’d made huge strides.

Every person responsible for the pain they’d caused…well, they were dead. Weird, right? Don’t answer that—plausible deniability!

When we left that town of nightmares and moved across the country, Mason bought a plot of land and built a big house on it so we could all live together while not being on top of each other. If you hadn’t guessed, my BFF was loaded.

We started a business to protect and help people. Angel was very passionate about it and while Gabe and Mason took part, they didn’t have too much on their plate with regard to clients. Business was slow, and that had a lot to do with the fact that we weren’t advertising. I mean, it wasn’t like we could say, “Want someone dead? We’re here for you.”

So, Shep, my hunk of a man who loves to cook, opened a bakery, which was also a front for our murder-ish business. This past year with no drama had forced Shep and me to really see who we were and if we could be something without all the gunfire and mayhem.

It was challenging, but like my dad always said, “If you can take all the parts you don’t like about someone and say the good far outweighs the bad, it’s worth fighting for.”

That was what we’d been doing, fighting for each other. A day at a time. I mean, the good did outweigh the bad. The sex was…amazing. See, Shep was a big guy in all areas: Six foot three, he was broad with mouthwatering muscles. Brown hair with hints of red adorned his beard, and his Viking hairstyle was to die for—shaved on the sides and long and thick down the middle. And those eyes, blue like the most gorgeous sea. Whenever his gaze met mine, I turned to goo. And that whiskey-rough voice…

More than that, he was a good man. He cared about me a lot. He was ridiculously observant, and all I needed to do was sigh, and he’d be like, “What’s up, babe?” He was also my first-ever boyfriend. I didn’t commit, but with life being what it was…two years had sped by, and here we were. Together. Why was I afraid of us, when at the same time I couldn’t imagine us not being together?

I’d have to figure this all out, and soon. Shep was getting antsy with my odd mood swings, and that wasn’t fair to him. He knew I wasn’t sure what the future held, and all he wanted was a future with me.

I pulled the covers off my body. It was morning, and I’d promised Shep I’d run to the store and pick up the flour and eggs he needed for a wedding cake he was making. I stared at the empty side of the bed, which was cold to the touch. He’d been up for hours, unable to sleep past six. Not me—I’d sleep all day if you’d let me.

The clock read eight thirty, so I had to shake my butt. He was getting started on the cake at ten. Fortunately, the store was only two blocks from his bakery, and the weather appeared to be perfect, so I’d be able to park and walk it.

After a quick shower, I brushed my teeth and combed my blond hair out of my face. I needed a haircut. I wasn’t ugly; I was good-looking, actually. But very different from Shep. I was blond with green eyes, five foot seven, and while I wasn’t lanky, I didn’t have muscles. I had defined skin…sure, we’ll go with that.

I left the bedroom and the house was quiet, which meant everyone was already out for the day, because no one in this house slept late. Did nobody appreciate sleeping in?

In the kitchen, Mason sat at the table with his laptop open.

“Morning,” I said as I went straight for the coffeepot.

“Hey, you’re up early for you.”

I rolled my eyes and poured the sweet nectar into my mug.

“I see you woke up and chose sass for the day.” I moved over to the table with my coffee and sat with him.

“Always.” He smiled and went back to whatever was pulling his attention to the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing really. Angel, Nick, and Noel left to help some client and they can’t find any decent lodging, and then the twins started fighting and Angel called me.”

I nodded into my cup. Sounded right. Noel and Nick were identical twins with similar personalities, but boy could they fight. Poor Angel for being stuck with them.

“You’re trying to find a place for them?”

“I am.”

“You’re kind.” I drained my cup and brought it to the sink to rinse out.

“I just don’t want Angel to drive the car down an embankment and kill them all. We just bought the thing.”

Chuckling, I opened the pantry and grabbed the reusable bags for shopping. “I love how your concern is for the car and not the lives.”

He shrugged. He adored the brothers, as did I. No one would ever question that.

“I’m off to go get my man some flour and eggs.”

“Have a good day.” He was distracted, so I kissed the top of his head and left.

We had several cars, which was nice. Nothing ostentatious, thankfully. I often opted for one of the SUVs, and today it was the Traverse. I’d drive to the bakery and walk to the store. While the bakery was close to where I had to shop, it was a good twenty minutes to get there, and I wasn’t one of those “Exercise is fun,” kinds of people.

As I pulled the SUV up next to his motorcycle—because my boyfriend, he was that kind of guy—I noticed the bakery was buzzing. I was thrilled it was doing so well. He’d even had to hire someone to man the register, and I knew he’d need more help soon. I loved assisting him, and I’d continue to do so until then.

I bypassed going in, knowing he’d distract me, and walked along the street toward the little mom-and-pop grocery store.

The day was really perfect, and I couldn’t help but smile as the sun shone, the birds chirped, people laughed, the boy stared at the dumpster, the… Hold on a moment.

I took a few steps back and double-checked the alley. Yep, there was someone leering at the dumpster. He couldn’t have been very old, maybe sixteen. He was filthy, no shoes or socks on his feet, rags for clothes. He was covered in dirt, and I couldn’t tell much else about him.

I looked up and down the sidewalk, and while I should have texted someone something like, “Hey, guess what? I found a dirty man who might be insane and eat my face, but I decided to take a chance. Pray for me,” I didn’t. I just took a few steps closer.

“Hey.”

Nothing. Not a twitch, nothing at all.

“Are you okay?” I asked a little louder.

Still no movement. “My name is JJ, what’s yours?”

Okay, was he a lifelike mannequin or something? That would be so embarrassing. No, I was able to see his chest rise and fall.

“Are you hungry? I was just going to the grocery store; I can get you something.”

Shit. I was going to have to nudge him. I put my bags on the ground, slipped my hand into my pocket to grip the knife Shep demanded I carry at all times, and stepped a little closer to the man.

“Hello, can you hear me?” Maybe he was deaf. I poked his arm with my finger and he did a slow pan, stopping when he met my eyes.

“You don’t look so great. Can I help you?”

He cocked his head but still didn’t talk. His eyes were brown—that much I could tell. And vacant, like the lights were on but nobody was home.

I held out my hand to him, silently praying he didn’t attack. “Come on, I can get you some food.”

He stared at my hand for a beat then back at me. I watched as he lifted his arm and placed his—oh Lord—bloody hand into mine.

“There’s a bakery right over here, has cupcakes and muffins, whatever you want.”

I started to walk, glad that he came with me. Maybe once he sat, ate, and got cleaned up, we’d be able to figure out what was going on.

One thing I was sure of was that Shep wasn’t gonna be happy.



Slay Ride  /  Kill Me Sweetly



Davidson King
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.

She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.

If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she’d tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you’re afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.


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Kill Me Sweetly #2

Series