The Lonely Ones by Bailey Bradford
Marshall’s all city, and Rex is all cowboy, so it’s no wonder sparks fly when they meet.
Marshall Evans never wanted to inherit his grandfather’s Thoroughbred horse ranch. He doesn’t know much about raising and training racehorses, and he knows even less about the man who left him what he sees as a burden. His grandfather wasn’t a nice man at all, and he left the ranch to Marshall more as a fuck you to the one person who did want the ranch, who had tried to buy it, and had put up with years of verbal and at times, physical abuse, only to have his home yanked out from under his feet. Rex Martinez had only ever had one home, and that was the ranch. Now he was about to lose it.
Marshall arrives in the small town of Erring, NM, only to be confronted by this silently furious man, and together, they’re going to have to work out what to do. The will stipulates that Marshall can’t sell the ranch to Rex, because Allen found out Rex was gay. Rex didn’t know he knew, but the old man had no idea about Marshall since Marshall hadn’t been raised anywhere near him.
It’s not as simple as selling the ranch, either. Marshall thinks it will be, but no. He can’t put Rex out of a home so easily.
Racing for Home by Morticia Knight
Groom Charlie loves the Piedmont Farms horses—but not nearly as much as the man he can never have, Edward Piedmont.
At the age of twenty-two, Charlie has lived at Piedmont Farms—the largest race horse breeding facility on the east coast—for eight years. For five of those years, he’s been desperately in love with Albert Piedmont’s oldest son, Edward. At one time, he believed Edward’s declarations that they’d be together forever. It was a brutal slap in the face when Edward married a local heiress and moved away to live with her on her family estate. Only his love of the horses, including one in particular, has kept him from complete despair.
Edward knows that horse groom Charlie must hate him after being abandoned when Edward married Alice, but he’d thought he was doing the right thing at the time. After three years of a sham of a marriage, Alice has found someone who she really wants to marry, and Edward is free to divorce her. Edward moves back to Piedmont, desperate to get Charlie back, even if they would still have to hide their love.
Charlie wants to believe that Edward still loves him and that he can believe in him once again. But love between two men in 1912 America is even worse than love between someone of a higher and lower station. Charlie fears that it would never be possible for them to truly have a life together.
Edward’s father, Albert Piedmont, is also hiding. However, his secrets pertain to the possible loss of his once wildly successful horse breeding farm. When everything begins to rapidly crumble, Edward has to make a desperate move to secure a future for him and Charlie before it’s too late.
The Secret of Delville Wood by Helena Maeve
A handsome, naked man in his bed is the kind of surprise Silas lives for. The dead body hanging outside his window, not so much.
In the shadow of the Great War, three soldiers made a fortune on racetracks either side of the North Sea. Their families thrived with the clandestine passions of youth, wanting for nothing while whole nations suffered the scarcities of peace. By their grace and generosity, Axel, a young man once forced to sell his body, became a champion.
Yet the lure of fast money hides many dark deeds and Pia Eckdahl’s manor on Lake Sågträsk is no exception. Hired to cleanse the Swedish socialite’s house of evil spirits, Nigerian-born Silas doesn’t care much for horses, racing or the affectations of the nouveau-riche. But he does care for Axel. Caught between peddling his heritage for an extortionate sum and investigating a suspicious suicide, Silas soon finds himself delving into a decade-old family secret that could well destroy his lover’s racing future.
Keeping the Luck In by L.M. Somerton
Since when was a squirrel crossing your path bad luck?
Like his father before him, Rory Ironstone was born and bred to be a blacksmith. Standing six feet five in his socked feet, he’s built like a barn door. He loves his job at Camworth Racecourse forge, tending to the beautiful racehorses and creating ironwork art in his spare time.
Pip Ryder is a summer stable hand and newly qualified vet who longs for someone to love him as much as they do his four-legged charges. He admires Rory from afar, but is too shy to admit his interest goes beyond the anvil.
When the horseshoe above the forge door is knocked off, Rory believes his luck has fallen out. Pip comes to the rescue but when Rory shows more than a platonic interest, he bolts.
Rory is convinced that the only way to re-fill his horseshoe with luck is to get Pip back and keep him.
Just my Luck by Ethan Stone
Appearances can be deceiving.
Kieran Jones is as used to short jokes as Sam Shaw is to being teased for his height. When they meet at a nightclub there’s an instant attraction, and not just because of the stark difference in their bodies.
After a passionate night, Sam sneaks out, positive he won’t see the hot guy again. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s in town to do a job and he doesn’t need a distraction. He never imagined that growing up on a farm and knowing all about horses would help with his career, but it has and he can’t let anything get in the way.
However, jockey Kieran is connected to Sam’s mission and Sam has a tough choice to make—use Kieran to get it done or walk away. It could spell the end of the relationship before it’s even begun, but a life or death situation makes Sam realize just exactly how much he cares for Kieran and how much he wants a future with him.
Horses and Harleys by Molly Ann Wishlade
Life’s not just about horses and Harleys, but sometimes you have to get back in the saddle if you want to go along for the ride.
Henry Lockhart is a rich, successful businessman but life at the top can be lonely, especially as he vowed never to fall in love again after a painful bereavement.
Alex Castillo grew up in a small town where small minds made his life a misery. A disastrous love affair with a married man and the recent death of his mother led him to flee his hometown in search of a better life.
When their worlds collide after Alex takes a job as a groom at Henry’s stables, they both know that life will never be the same again.
But they’ve both been hurt, they’ve both suffered loss, shame and regret.
Can they find a way to be together, or will they both ride off into the sunset alone?
The Lonely Ones by Bailey Bradford
Marshall Evans parked his rental in the driveway of the dilapidated residence. The whole place—land, house, barns, stalls, equipment—looked much worse than he remembered. Selling it might be more of a problem than he’d expected.
The slight throbbing that had started up behind his eyes after his flight had landed became a more intense pain. Marshall sighed and tried to remember where he’d put his migraine meds. Not in the carry-on, damn it. He’d have to get out in the hellish heat and retrieve his suitcase from the trunk.
Closing his eyes, he tried to take a few deep, cleansing breaths, counting silently as he did so.
The whap to the driver’s side window almost gave him a heart attack, and Marshall screeched at an embarrassingly high-pitched level. His head pounded as he whipped it around to glare at the man bent over and glaring back at him. Even through his own anger, Marshall could see how attractive the stranger was, and it made him even more pissed off for some reason.
“What the fuck is your problem, man?” Marshall growled, reaching for the window switch. He only thought how foolish it might be to lower the window after the fact. By then, the glass was halfway down and he could think of no way to salvage his pride—if that were possible, considering his squeak of alarm—should he raise the window up again.
“You’re trespassing,” the stranger drawled, his dark brown eyes glittering with irritation or some other unfriendly emotion. His thin lips were pressed together so tightly the skin around them was almost white against the rest of his darkly tanned face.
“I’m not trespassing, you are,” Marshall snapped back at him. “So—”
“I live here.”
Marshall shut off the car. “Oh really.” It wasn’t a question. He made it sound as snotty as possible. “Funny that wasn’t mentioned when Mr. Rogan called me.” Allen Evans’ attorney hadn’t mentioned anyone else living on the property.
The man blanched and after narrowing his eyes until they were almost closed, he looked away toward the house. “Yeah, well. Rogan is a son of a bitch, and your grandpa wasn’t much better.”
Marshall opened his mouth to argue, but promptly closed it. There was, after all, a reason he’d never been back to visit his grandpa after that last time. Then it occurred to him that he was at a serious disadvantage, because the stranger knew who he was, at least in a general way.
Racing for Home by Morticia Knight
I wish I’d never come here all those years ago.
Charlie lounged in the hay of one of the empty stalls at Piedmont Farms, idly chewing on a bit of straw. As one of the grooms at the top race horse farm in Long Island, New York—perhaps all of the east coast—he’d been designated to prepare the larger stall for Golden Dreams. The champion mare was nearing her time to foal and Charlie had kept himself busy with his chore. The only thing that ever prevented his thoughts from drifting into melancholy waters was taking care of his beloved horses.
Not my horses.
He let out a self-pitying groan then mentally chastised himself. No good ever came of wishing for what could never be. He had to be tough, be a strong man, survive. That’s what his papa had told him before he’d sent him off to the farm to live for good when he’d turned fourteen. His ma had been felled by a local influenza outbreak in 1904, which had left his father to care for him and his siblings. The job Charlie had taken at the farm to help ease the family’s burden had inspired his father to speak with Albert Piedmont about taking him on full-time. A growing boy about to become a man was much more expensive to feed than his two younger sisters. Once they’d left the area a couple years later, he’d never heard from them again.
Eight years.
For eight years he’d lived at Albert Piedmont’s beautiful horse farm, and for five of those years, he’d been in love with Albert’s even more beautiful son, Edward. He ran through all the significant milestones from his life in his mind. Losing his mother. Being forced to leave home. The first time he’d locked eyes with Edward and known they were meant to be. Their first kiss. When he’d lost his virginity in the very stall where Charlie currently lay, and they’d declared their everlasting love to each other. The day Edward had left Piedmont to go live with his new bride, Alice Normandy, on her family’s estate across the island.
He pushed himself up from the hay, angry that he’d let his musings stray so far. He slapped at the bits and pieces of straw clinging to his woolen trousers, then smacked his newsboy cap back on his head, giving it one final pat before stomping out of the enclosure. The early spring chill hadn’t yet given away to the warmth of the impending summer, and he had horses to worry about. Not traitorous ex-lovers.
The Secret of Delville Wood by Helena Maeve
“Is there something you wish to tell me, mon chou?”
Silas had thought the sitting room empty. He whirled around when that familiar, smoky voice trilled out of the shadows.
The wingback by the silent hearth was inhabited by a silk and rhinestone lampshade number, which revealed more than its fair share of long, pewter-dark legs. Their owner’s silhouette resolved in the dark, looking more like Silas than any other resident of this little corner of Scandinavian paradise.
Beatrice Lazare tipped forward, grinning. “I didn’t scare you, did I?”
His heart still relaxing its fervent drumming, Silas mustered a shallow smile. “You’re a riot.”
She was also up well past bedtime, although in Silas’ experience, jazz singers weren’t exactly known for keeping reasonable hours.
Even her chuckle was melodious. “Drinking on the sly, are we?” She clucked her tongue. “What will our hostess think?”
“Tell her and find out.” His good mood wavering, Silas resumed his straight shot to the sideboard. Beatrice could be pleasant company in small doses, provided she was sober and her sharp wit focused on a target other than Silas. Fulfilling neither condition, this run-in was best cut short.
The crystal decanter clicked against the rim of a clean glass. Silas had to concentrate to avoid spilling Ms. Eckdahl’s liquor in the dark. “Then again, what our hostess doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”
“You rake… Oh, no,” Beatrice tittered, when Silas began to splash the Norwegian akevitt into another stem glass. “None for me.”
“It’s not.”
Beatrice’s T-strap heels met the oak floor with the click of castanets. “Ah, bon?”
Pulsing clouds of Chanel No. 5 heralded her approach. Silas feigned indifference as she draped herself over the sideboard like she might have done a grand piano, sending glasses and decanters wobbling on their silver trays. With the staff dismissed sometime before midnight, no one had been left to tidy up when the household guests had finally retired.
“Go on,” Beatrice wheedled. “You can’t leave me hanging. Who is it, the ice queen or the ingénue?”
Silas fanned his fingers around the bowl of both glasses, raising them elegantly out of her reach. “Neither.”
“Ms. Eckdahl herself, then?”
A note of disbelief had entered Beatrice’s voice. Silas knew it was petty to take pleasure in thwarting her nosiness but couldn’t resist. “Bonne nuit, Beatrice.”
Keeping the Luck In by LM Somerton
Pip heaved yet another barrowload of mucky straw from the stable. He walked backward, finding it easier to pull than push, and almost collided with one of the other stable hands.
“Oops, sorry!” He put the barrow handles down and rested for a moment, hands on thighs.
Carrie grinned at him. “I can’t believe you keep coming back for this hard labor every summer, Pip.”
Pip grinned back. As always, Carrie’s smile was infectious. “Unlike you, I need the money. I have student loans up to my eyebrows and my new job doesn’t start until September.”
Carrie pulled a piece of straw from Pip’s hair. “I’ll let you take me for a drink tonight and you can tell me what it’s like to be a fully qualified vet. I want to hear all about this job, just to make sure it’s good enough for you, you understand. Now you don’t have to study every minute of the day, we can check out the talent at the same time. You’ve been practically celibate for the last three years.”
Pip shook his head. “Are you ever going to stop trying to set me up? Our taste in men is poles apart and you know full well I haven’t had time to get out and meet people.”
Carrie wrinkled her nose, making her freckles merge together. “You just need re-educating and I’m the girl to do it. I’ll come and find you around six. Make sure you have a shower and change because I’m not taking you out dressed like that.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Pip peered down at his mud-stained navy jodhpurs and ratty T-shirt. His ankle boots were caked with mud and straw.
“You look hotter than I do, that’s what the problem is. Wear something unflattering, I don’t need the competition.” Carrie flicked her bright orange hair and pouted. “It is so unfair that you’re prettier than I am. My butt swells to huge proportions in jodhpurs.”
“It does not.” Pip rolled his eyes. Carrie was attractive in a curvy, girly kind of way and she knew it. “You’re just fishing for compliments. Now get out of my way, I have shit to shovel.”
“And that’s why you spent five years at vet school.” Carrie stuck her tongue out at him then flounced off.
Just My Luck by Ethan Stone
I wasn’t exactly sure why I was at the club. Well, I did know, but I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to get laid on my first night in a new town, especially when I started my new job the next day. Regardless, there I was, at CC Slaughters observing men of various ages and sizes bumping and grinding to the beat of the techno-club music.
After finishing off my whiskey, I ordered another one from the cute, young bartender who handed it to me and winked.
“Here ya go, cowboy.”
My dark, wide-brimmed hat set me apart from everyone else in the bar. Living in a large, metropolitan city was new for me, a necessary part of advancing in my career. I could’ve ditched the hat and boots to fit in more with the crowd, however I had never hidden who I was and wasn’t about to start now. Well, I did hide certain aspects of my life but that went with the job.
Stepping away from the bar, I approached the crowd, still keeping a distance. I took a sip and leaned against the wall. Most of the guys were younger than me but that didn’t stop my ogling. Younger men weren’t usually my type, but after several years with a man five years my elder, I craved something different.
Not that I was looking for a relationship, not at all. One night was all I wanted. A ‘Welcome to Portland’ present for me before I started what could be an intense and time-consuming job. However, it had to be just the right man.
I knew it the second I spotted him. He was a smaller man, couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. He moved with a smooth, graceful quality that entranced me instantly. At first he was dancing with a small group of women he was clearly friends with, then a guy with blond hair slid in behind my brunet stud. The object of my affection spun around, noticed the intruder, and glared at the guy so strongly it stopped the guy in his tracks. My guy waved him off. The other dude dropped his chin to his chest and sulked away.
The interaction made me laugh. The guy obviously knew what he wanted. The question was whether I was his type or not. He peeled off his sweaty T-shirt and the disparities between the two of us couldn’t have been more pronounced. In addition to the foot and a half height difference between us, I was as hairy as he was smooth. I had wide shoulders and a chest that tapered down to muscular abs. His upper body and torso were flat. The distinctions just made me want him more.
Horses and Harleys by Molly Ann Wishlade
Henry peeled his eyes open and waited for his vision to clear. His mouth was furry and his head threatened to explode. He dragged open the drawer of his bedside cabinet then dug around until he found two aspirin.
Tablets swallowed, he closed his eyes and lay still, willing the medication to disperse quickly into his bloodstream. It was becoming routine, this morning-after-the-night-before suffering. He knew that it had to stop but so far he’d been lacking the willpower—or even the inclination—to end the destructive cycle.
A rustling at his side made his eyes spring open again, and he cursed as pain ricocheted through his skull.
“Shit!” He blocked out the world with his hands and took a few deep breaths.
“Hey, handsome.” An unfamiliar voice penetrated the haze and Henry flicked back through his memories to try to place it.
Nothing.
Zero.
His mind was blank, his body ached with dehydration and toxins and his heart was heavy.
“How’re you feeling, lover boy? That was one hell of a party last night.”
Henry blinked cautiously behind his broad palms, allowing the light to seep in. If he took it slowly, maybe it wouldn’t hurt. He peered at the man who lay tangled in the sheets beside him.
Who the fuck…
The interloper started to laugh. The noise was deep and throaty, the guttural chuckle of a heavy smoker. “I take it from your expression that you don’t remember inviting me to stay the night? I’m George Monroe.”
Henry sat bolt upright. There had been champagne. Lots and lots of champagne. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if they had emptied his well-stocked wine cellar last night.
There had been business. Talk of horses. Upcoming races. Breeding plans.
Then there had been pleasure. Lots and lots of hedonistic, no-strings-attached, primal fucking.
And now he had the hangover from hell and an empty heart to prove it.
Typical Saturday then.
Marshall Evans parked his rental in the driveway of the dilapidated residence. The whole place—land, house, barns, stalls, equipment—looked much worse than he remembered. Selling it might be more of a problem than he’d expected.
The slight throbbing that had started up behind his eyes after his flight had landed became a more intense pain. Marshall sighed and tried to remember where he’d put his migraine meds. Not in the carry-on, damn it. He’d have to get out in the hellish heat and retrieve his suitcase from the trunk.
Closing his eyes, he tried to take a few deep, cleansing breaths, counting silently as he did so.
The whap to the driver’s side window almost gave him a heart attack, and Marshall screeched at an embarrassingly high-pitched level. His head pounded as he whipped it around to glare at the man bent over and glaring back at him. Even through his own anger, Marshall could see how attractive the stranger was, and it made him even more pissed off for some reason.
“What the fuck is your problem, man?” Marshall growled, reaching for the window switch. He only thought how foolish it might be to lower the window after the fact. By then, the glass was halfway down and he could think of no way to salvage his pride—if that were possible, considering his squeak of alarm—should he raise the window up again.
“You’re trespassing,” the stranger drawled, his dark brown eyes glittering with irritation or some other unfriendly emotion. His thin lips were pressed together so tightly the skin around them was almost white against the rest of his darkly tanned face.
“I’m not trespassing, you are,” Marshall snapped back at him. “So—”
“I live here.”
Marshall shut off the car. “Oh really.” It wasn’t a question. He made it sound as snotty as possible. “Funny that wasn’t mentioned when Mr. Rogan called me.” Allen Evans’ attorney hadn’t mentioned anyone else living on the property.
The man blanched and after narrowing his eyes until they were almost closed, he looked away toward the house. “Yeah, well. Rogan is a son of a bitch, and your grandpa wasn’t much better.”
Marshall opened his mouth to argue, but promptly closed it. There was, after all, a reason he’d never been back to visit his grandpa after that last time. Then it occurred to him that he was at a serious disadvantage, because the stranger knew who he was, at least in a general way.
Racing for Home by Morticia Knight
I wish I’d never come here all those years ago.
Charlie lounged in the hay of one of the empty stalls at Piedmont Farms, idly chewing on a bit of straw. As one of the grooms at the top race horse farm in Long Island, New York—perhaps all of the east coast—he’d been designated to prepare the larger stall for Golden Dreams. The champion mare was nearing her time to foal and Charlie had kept himself busy with his chore. The only thing that ever prevented his thoughts from drifting into melancholy waters was taking care of his beloved horses.
Not my horses.
He let out a self-pitying groan then mentally chastised himself. No good ever came of wishing for what could never be. He had to be tough, be a strong man, survive. That’s what his papa had told him before he’d sent him off to the farm to live for good when he’d turned fourteen. His ma had been felled by a local influenza outbreak in 1904, which had left his father to care for him and his siblings. The job Charlie had taken at the farm to help ease the family’s burden had inspired his father to speak with Albert Piedmont about taking him on full-time. A growing boy about to become a man was much more expensive to feed than his two younger sisters. Once they’d left the area a couple years later, he’d never heard from them again.
Eight years.
For eight years he’d lived at Albert Piedmont’s beautiful horse farm, and for five of those years, he’d been in love with Albert’s even more beautiful son, Edward. He ran through all the significant milestones from his life in his mind. Losing his mother. Being forced to leave home. The first time he’d locked eyes with Edward and known they were meant to be. Their first kiss. When he’d lost his virginity in the very stall where Charlie currently lay, and they’d declared their everlasting love to each other. The day Edward had left Piedmont to go live with his new bride, Alice Normandy, on her family’s estate across the island.
He pushed himself up from the hay, angry that he’d let his musings stray so far. He slapped at the bits and pieces of straw clinging to his woolen trousers, then smacked his newsboy cap back on his head, giving it one final pat before stomping out of the enclosure. The early spring chill hadn’t yet given away to the warmth of the impending summer, and he had horses to worry about. Not traitorous ex-lovers.
The Secret of Delville Wood by Helena Maeve
“Is there something you wish to tell me, mon chou?”
Silas had thought the sitting room empty. He whirled around when that familiar, smoky voice trilled out of the shadows.
The wingback by the silent hearth was inhabited by a silk and rhinestone lampshade number, which revealed more than its fair share of long, pewter-dark legs. Their owner’s silhouette resolved in the dark, looking more like Silas than any other resident of this little corner of Scandinavian paradise.
Beatrice Lazare tipped forward, grinning. “I didn’t scare you, did I?”
His heart still relaxing its fervent drumming, Silas mustered a shallow smile. “You’re a riot.”
She was also up well past bedtime, although in Silas’ experience, jazz singers weren’t exactly known for keeping reasonable hours.
Even her chuckle was melodious. “Drinking on the sly, are we?” She clucked her tongue. “What will our hostess think?”
“Tell her and find out.” His good mood wavering, Silas resumed his straight shot to the sideboard. Beatrice could be pleasant company in small doses, provided she was sober and her sharp wit focused on a target other than Silas. Fulfilling neither condition, this run-in was best cut short.
The crystal decanter clicked against the rim of a clean glass. Silas had to concentrate to avoid spilling Ms. Eckdahl’s liquor in the dark. “Then again, what our hostess doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”
“You rake… Oh, no,” Beatrice tittered, when Silas began to splash the Norwegian akevitt into another stem glass. “None for me.”
“It’s not.”
Beatrice’s T-strap heels met the oak floor with the click of castanets. “Ah, bon?”
Pulsing clouds of Chanel No. 5 heralded her approach. Silas feigned indifference as she draped herself over the sideboard like she might have done a grand piano, sending glasses and decanters wobbling on their silver trays. With the staff dismissed sometime before midnight, no one had been left to tidy up when the household guests had finally retired.
“Go on,” Beatrice wheedled. “You can’t leave me hanging. Who is it, the ice queen or the ingénue?”
Silas fanned his fingers around the bowl of both glasses, raising them elegantly out of her reach. “Neither.”
“Ms. Eckdahl herself, then?”
A note of disbelief had entered Beatrice’s voice. Silas knew it was petty to take pleasure in thwarting her nosiness but couldn’t resist. “Bonne nuit, Beatrice.”
Keeping the Luck In by LM Somerton
Pip heaved yet another barrowload of mucky straw from the stable. He walked backward, finding it easier to pull than push, and almost collided with one of the other stable hands.
“Oops, sorry!” He put the barrow handles down and rested for a moment, hands on thighs.
Carrie grinned at him. “I can’t believe you keep coming back for this hard labor every summer, Pip.”
Pip grinned back. As always, Carrie’s smile was infectious. “Unlike you, I need the money. I have student loans up to my eyebrows and my new job doesn’t start until September.”
Carrie pulled a piece of straw from Pip’s hair. “I’ll let you take me for a drink tonight and you can tell me what it’s like to be a fully qualified vet. I want to hear all about this job, just to make sure it’s good enough for you, you understand. Now you don’t have to study every minute of the day, we can check out the talent at the same time. You’ve been practically celibate for the last three years.”
Pip shook his head. “Are you ever going to stop trying to set me up? Our taste in men is poles apart and you know full well I haven’t had time to get out and meet people.”
Carrie wrinkled her nose, making her freckles merge together. “You just need re-educating and I’m the girl to do it. I’ll come and find you around six. Make sure you have a shower and change because I’m not taking you out dressed like that.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Pip peered down at his mud-stained navy jodhpurs and ratty T-shirt. His ankle boots were caked with mud and straw.
“You look hotter than I do, that’s what the problem is. Wear something unflattering, I don’t need the competition.” Carrie flicked her bright orange hair and pouted. “It is so unfair that you’re prettier than I am. My butt swells to huge proportions in jodhpurs.”
“It does not.” Pip rolled his eyes. Carrie was attractive in a curvy, girly kind of way and she knew it. “You’re just fishing for compliments. Now get out of my way, I have shit to shovel.”
“And that’s why you spent five years at vet school.” Carrie stuck her tongue out at him then flounced off.
Just My Luck by Ethan Stone
I wasn’t exactly sure why I was at the club. Well, I did know, but I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to get laid on my first night in a new town, especially when I started my new job the next day. Regardless, there I was, at CC Slaughters observing men of various ages and sizes bumping and grinding to the beat of the techno-club music.
After finishing off my whiskey, I ordered another one from the cute, young bartender who handed it to me and winked.
“Here ya go, cowboy.”
My dark, wide-brimmed hat set me apart from everyone else in the bar. Living in a large, metropolitan city was new for me, a necessary part of advancing in my career. I could’ve ditched the hat and boots to fit in more with the crowd, however I had never hidden who I was and wasn’t about to start now. Well, I did hide certain aspects of my life but that went with the job.
Stepping away from the bar, I approached the crowd, still keeping a distance. I took a sip and leaned against the wall. Most of the guys were younger than me but that didn’t stop my ogling. Younger men weren’t usually my type, but after several years with a man five years my elder, I craved something different.
Not that I was looking for a relationship, not at all. One night was all I wanted. A ‘Welcome to Portland’ present for me before I started what could be an intense and time-consuming job. However, it had to be just the right man.
I knew it the second I spotted him. He was a smaller man, couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. He moved with a smooth, graceful quality that entranced me instantly. At first he was dancing with a small group of women he was clearly friends with, then a guy with blond hair slid in behind my brunet stud. The object of my affection spun around, noticed the intruder, and glared at the guy so strongly it stopped the guy in his tracks. My guy waved him off. The other dude dropped his chin to his chest and sulked away.
The interaction made me laugh. The guy obviously knew what he wanted. The question was whether I was his type or not. He peeled off his sweaty T-shirt and the disparities between the two of us couldn’t have been more pronounced. In addition to the foot and a half height difference between us, I was as hairy as he was smooth. I had wide shoulders and a chest that tapered down to muscular abs. His upper body and torso were flat. The distinctions just made me want him more.
Horses and Harleys by Molly Ann Wishlade
Henry peeled his eyes open and waited for his vision to clear. His mouth was furry and his head threatened to explode. He dragged open the drawer of his bedside cabinet then dug around until he found two aspirin.
Tablets swallowed, he closed his eyes and lay still, willing the medication to disperse quickly into his bloodstream. It was becoming routine, this morning-after-the-night-before suffering. He knew that it had to stop but so far he’d been lacking the willpower—or even the inclination—to end the destructive cycle.
A rustling at his side made his eyes spring open again, and he cursed as pain ricocheted through his skull.
“Shit!” He blocked out the world with his hands and took a few deep breaths.
“Hey, handsome.” An unfamiliar voice penetrated the haze and Henry flicked back through his memories to try to place it.
Nothing.
Zero.
His mind was blank, his body ached with dehydration and toxins and his heart was heavy.
“How’re you feeling, lover boy? That was one hell of a party last night.”
Henry blinked cautiously behind his broad palms, allowing the light to seep in. If he took it slowly, maybe it wouldn’t hurt. He peered at the man who lay tangled in the sheets beside him.
Who the fuck…
The interloper started to laugh. The noise was deep and throaty, the guttural chuckle of a heavy smoker. “I take it from your expression that you don’t remember inviting me to stay the night? I’m George Monroe.”
Henry sat bolt upright. There had been champagne. Lots and lots of champagne. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if they had emptied his well-stocked wine cellar last night.
There had been business. Talk of horses. Upcoming races. Breeding plans.
Then there had been pleasure. Lots and lots of hedonistic, no-strings-attached, primal fucking.
And now he had the hangover from hell and an empty heart to prove it.
Typical Saturday then.
A native Texan, Bailey spends her days spinning stories around in her head, which has contributed to more than one incident of tripping over her own feet. Evenings are reserved for pounding away at the keyboard, as are early morning hours. Sleep? Doesn't happen much. Writing is too much fun, and there are too many characters bouncing about, tapping on Bailey's brain demanding to be let out.
Caffeine and chocolate are permanent fixtures in Bailey's office and are never far from hand at any given time. Removing either of those necessities from Bailey's presence can result in what is known as A Very, Very Scary Bailey and is not advised under any circumstances.
M/M Erotic Romance author Morticia Knight enjoys hot stories of men loving men forever after. They can be men in uniform, Doms and subs, rock stars or bikers - but they're all searching for the one (or two!) who was meant only for them.
When not indulging in her passion for books, she loves the outdoors, film and music. Once upon a time she was the singer in an indie rock band that toured the West Coast and charted on U.S. college radio. She is currently working on more installments of Sin City Uniforms and The Hampton Road Club, as well as the follow-up to Bryan and Aubrey's story from Rockin' the Alternative.
Helena Maeve has always been a globe trotter with a fondness for adventure, but only recently has she started putting to paper the many stories she's collected in her excursions. When she isn't writing erotic romance novels, she can usually be found in an airport or on a plane, furiously penning in her trusty little notebook.
Lucinda lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.
She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire. She's fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle (and some not so subtle) leanings towards BDSM.
Ethan StoneEthan Stone doesn’t write your typical boy meets boy stories. With a combination of love and suspense he makes his characters work hard for their HEAs. If they can survive what he puts them through, then they can survive anything. He enjoys Romance with an Edge.
Ethan has been reading mysteries and thrillers since he was young. He’s had a thing for guys in uniform for just as long. That may have influenced the stories he writes.
He’s a native Oregonian with two kids. One of whom has made him a grandfather three times over; even though he is way too young.
Molly Ann Wishlade has always been an avid reader and writer of stories. Her lifetime of reading has taken her from the magical worlds of The Faraway Tree and The Borrowers, to the Greek myths and legends, to Sweet Valley High and Judy Blume’s Forever, to Asimov’s science fiction, Jane Eyre’s torment and Stephen King’s masterpieces. More recently she has wandered through the vivid historicals of Philippa Gregory; the bubbly, gritty delights of Adele Parks and the fast paced thrillers of James Patterson. She loves getting lost in a novel and often regrets finishing one as the characters are usually missed like old friends. She regularly indulges her insatiable hunger for romance and passion in the delicious worlds created by romantic novelists and is working on several novels herself.
What precious spare time she has is spent with her family (one gorgeous husband and two bright and beautiful children), taking long walks around the beautiful Welsh countryside (although she’s still waiting for the rescue greyhound she wants to accompany her), cooking her own secret recipe curries, drinking Earl Grey (in copious amounts) and discovering delicious wines. Oh, and she also loves to ski.
She wants to take readers on the rollercoaster that is life through the creation of her own characters, relationships and worlds.
She appreciates feedback, recipes and wine recommendations.
Bailey Bradford
EMAIL: bailey@baileybradford.com
Morticia Knight
EMAIL: MorticiaKnight@gmail.com
Helena Maeve
EMAIL: helena@helenamaeve.com
LM Somerton
ITUNES / GOOGLE PLAY / AMAZON / ARe
EMAIL: lmsomerton@aol.com
Ethan Stone
ARe / TUMBLR / GOOGLE+ / GOOGLE PLAY
EMAIL: ethanstone.nv@gmail.com
Molly Ann Wishlade
KOBO / iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY / ARe
