The Omega's Krampus Christmas by Lorelei M Hart
Summary:Never take an elf’s cookie… even if it is for a good cause.
School teacher Alger loved his job, his town, and his volunteer work at the local children’s hospital. That is until he loses it all with one mistake: he gave away the wrong cookie. Now cursed to be a Krampus and scare children into behaving, he is miserable. Beyond miserable. At least there’s an out to his curse: Find unconditional love. If only it were as simple as that.
Widower single father Jordan is not a fan of Christmas, not since his alpha’s accident. Each year Jordan fakes it, slapping on his best Christmas Cheer persona in the hopes of making it special for his son. Each year it gets a little bit easier. Who knows… maybe one year the holidays will be merry and bright.
When an unexpected blizzard comes to town, Alger and Jordan end up trapped together and learn that there really is magic in Christmas snow.
The Omega’s Krampus Christmas is a super sweet with knotty heat MM Mpreg Holiday retelling of the fairy tale Beauty and the Beast featuring an alpha who accidentally pissed off the wrong elf, an omega who sees the heart within, more Christmas cookies than anyone should eat in a lifetime, a magical sleigh ride that leaves more than just Santa’s bag being filled, the cutest cat ever…as in ever, Christmas wish lists a mile long, a Christmas miracle or two, including an adorable baby on the way. If you enjoy true love, fated mates, a little bit of whimsy, and your mpreg with heart, download The Omega’s Krampus Christmas today.
I gotta start by just saying: WOW!!!
Christmas romance with a twist✔️
Fairytale with a twist✔️
It's that "with a twist" that gives The Omega's Krampus Christmas an extra special level of holiday yummyness. I've always been intrigued by holiday stories that go outside the box by having Krampus involved and Lorelei M Hart really brought the intrigue to the table here. I should add that not only did I find this story to be my favorite of this holiday season's reading but it is also my first mpreg, first omegaverse, and my first Lorelei M Hart read. That's a lot of firsts to venture into especially with a holiday story.
Alger, aka Krampus, and single dad Jordan have an instant connection but after decades of a lonely existence, Alger has built a wall around his heart. Will he let Jordan and his daughter Thea in? As you can probably guess my answer: you'll have to read this one for yourself to discover if Alger opens up. I will say that I couldn't help but love every character in the story, each one played a part, nobody was extra, nobody was page filler they all added to the story and to Alger and Jordan's journey.
There is really not much more I can add without being tempted to divulge too much of the story. I will say that if you aren't fond of mpreg, I still highly recommend this Christmas tale because The Omega's Krampus Christmas is so much more than mpreg. This is a story about seeing beyond the surface, letting someone in, and opening one's heart which is something we all need to do more of and not just during the holiday season. Definitely a delightful, heartwarming holiday gem.
Summary:
Men of Gilead #3
Clay and Daniel fell in love as enlisted men during Desert Shield, but Don't Ask Don't Tell meant they had to keep it a secret. After Clay's convoy was ambushed, PTSD changed him and their relationship ended in a horrible fight on Christmas Eve.
Twenty-five years later, they've reconnected on Facebook, and Clay finds out that Daniel will be alone on Christmas Eve. Impulsively, he sets out for Daniel's hometown of Gilead, Ohio—where Daniel is now the mayor—to surprise him with a visit. But a blizzard strikes and Clay wrecks his car. All hope at seeing Daniel is lost. Until a mysterious old man named Nick offers Clay a ride.
The weight of past wounds and the scars of war might make their reunion awkward, but Clay is willing to take the risk to win back his lost love. Despite a lifetime of disappointing holidays. Clay hopes that this soldier is finally coming home for Christmas.
Summary:
Snowed Inn
What’s worse than being stranded at a mountain resort by an avalanche three days before Christmas? Being trapped with your teenage crush—who kissed you and ran away.
Reno Pierce spends all his time creating music in his studio, quite happily alone, but at the insistence of his rom-com-loving dad, he finds himself at a Colorado mountain resort speed dating event. His dad wants Reno to bring his ‘Mr. Right’ home for Christmas, but what he finds instead is his teenage crush. Twelve years ago, he’d been head-over-heels in love with his older brother’s best friend, Tate. His straight best friend. But everything changed one magical night, when Tate kissed him like his life depended on it—and then ran away.
Six months after a bad breakup, Tate Boylan is still feeling the damage done to his confidence. Thanks to his hopeless romantic sister, who booked him a quaint cabin at a mountain resort and insisted he ‘boost his morale’ with a night of speed dating at The Retreat, he’s feeling much better. Until he sits at a table across from his best friend’s younger brother. The one he’d fallen for as a teen, kissed at a party, and never saw again.
Now that an avalanche has cut the hotel off from the rest of the world, Tate might have a chance to prove to Reno that this time he won’t kiss and run.
All the books in the Snowed Inn collection are standalone stories and can be read in any order.
Summary:
Boone doesn’t think he’ll find much on his Reno hotel TV, but he’s looking for a little something to brighten his day. Instead of adult entertainment, though, he finds an advertisement for the headlining act at the casino, rock star Gerald High. Boone doesn’t know Gerald High from Adam, but he knows the man behind the stage name: his old high school buddy, Danny.
Lead singer Danny is a mess when Boone forces his way into the penthouse suite, not sure he knows what day it is, or even where he is. He remembers Boone though, the cowboy who got away all those years ago. Can Boone give Danny the merry Christmas he never expected to have?
This is a previously published title. The publisher had changed.
Summary:
Mal's first priority is giving his six-year-old son the best Christmas ever, a goal made trickier by a recent move to New England after losing his job. As a single dad, he's not looking for romance—especially not with a blond California boy ten years his junior.
After being ridiculed at the family business, Luca sets out to prove himself by opening an eco-friendly gift-wrapping store in a small town with a hard-on for Christmas that’s about as far from LA as he can get. Out of his comfort zone in snowy Maine, love is the last thing on his mind.
But the magic of the season has other ideas. As Mal and Luca collide on wintery streets, will they let their first Christmas in Lighthouse Bay lead to happily ever after?
Random Tales of Christmas 2022
The Omega's Krampus Christmas by Lorelei M Hart
Prologue
Alger
Once Upon a Time
Teaching school paid next to nothing, but I had cheap lodgings and some of the families made me meals from time to time, which helped keep body and soul together. Some did not consider teaching a man’s job, one that could support a family, but at least for the time being, my pleasure in helping to form young minds superseded any other factors.
Especially at the holiday season. On the last day of school before the Christmas vacation break, we suspended regular classes to bring all the classes together in the decorated auditorium for a holiday recital and festivities before sending the children to their frolics until the New Year.
This year, our class would be singing a selection of Christmas carols and I, dressed in the red suit of Saint Nick popularized by Clement Moore’s ’Twas the Night Before Christmas or A Visit from Saint Nicholas would appropriately read that story to close the event. As I prepared for my reading, a little sadness tugged at my heart. It was easy to pretend I had enough time with these children during class terms, but on holidays, when they were with their real families, the loneliness seeped in. Maybe I should have aspired to another career.
Sitting in the armchair placed at the front of the stage, with my students seated on the floor around me, my heart warmed. Sometimes the poverty many of them lived in daunted their spirits, but now smiles of pride at their performance lifted the corners of their lips. They’d indeed done well, and Santa Claus might have taken notice from his North Pole residence. I cleared my throat, bemused at my suspension of logic. Christmastime always made me sentimental, reminded me of my parents and brother, grandparents, all those who’d already departed this realm. They would celebrate the birth of the Christ Child with the angels in heaven, while I sat in my rented room eating whatever someone thought to bring me from their holiday table.
Even my landlady, who often included me in her holidays, would be away. I’d put her on the train myself, this morning, laden with presents and baked goods she’d prepared. I didn’t resent her good fortune this year. Her married daughter had remembered she had a mother for the first time since my arrival and invited her for the festive season. Mrs. Dougherty’s excitement had been contagious, buoying my spirits as I waved until the train disappeared down the tracks.
Such a good soul, she deserved happiness. A tug on my trousers reminded me of where I was, and I began the poem. I recited more than read the beloved verses, putting as much heart into them as possible. My gift to the children whose faces I gazed into every school day, who learned their letters and numbers at my tutelage.
I taught the youngest of them, tasked with giving them a love of learning as much as any specific knowledge. If they had that love, they would do well going forward.
Finishing the reading, I closed the large book on my lap and chuckled as I thought Saint Nicholas might have before going up the chimney after laying out the gifts for the children of the house in the story.
Silence for a moment had me worried I’d not done justice to the tale, but then appreciative applause reassured me. The book was one my mother read the same story to me from, precious in its faded covers and holding just as much magic now as then. After I finished, the headmaster stood from his seat at the back of the stage and made a short speech. The same speech, word for word, as last year and the year before. But it suited the occasion and sent everyone off with a smile and a wave.
A few other teachers and I supervised some of the older boys putting the auditorium to rights before closing the school for two weeks. When we were done, and all the handmade decorations removed, it looked so dull. But clean and ready for the events of a new term.
As we were leaving, I spotted a bit of litter near the stage, so I bid the others goodbye, said I would lock the doors as I went, and crossed the room to pick it up. Alone, I looked around again. Just an hour or so ago, it had been filled with singing and laughter and bright colors both in the decorations and the students’ and their families’ holiday best attire.
Now, there was just me, in my brown jacket and trousers, not one sprig of greenery or red ribbon in sight. And since we’d turned down the furnace, the warm air in the room was being replaced by a distinct chill.
Time to go home.
I was about to leave the building when I saw a small boy sitting on a chair by the door, kicking his feet and staring at the floor. Little Timothy from my class. All by himself. I approached him and took the seat beside his.
“Timothy, did your fathers leave without you?” All the families were invited to the holiday recital, filling the auditorium with their appreciation for their children’s performances.
“No, Mr. Bobell.” His legs slowed their kicking but did not stop. Nor did he look up from his focus on the black-and-white tiles.
Oh. “They were unable to attend today, then.” He looked so sad.
“They never come. Like they didn’t come on Meet the Teacher night. Or our spelling bee or...or anything. Sir.”
I didn’t always get to speak to every parent when they came. Some were shy or just never made it to the front of the room for one reason or another. But from the children’s reports, nearly all their parents or guardians attended when we invited them. Making the invitations was always a fun and popular activity for our art class the week before, and I had some very talented artists in my room this year. Timothy was one of the best. “Sometimes parents are very busy with their responsibilities and cannot take time to enjoy themselves. It’s a shame. But we must try to understand.”
He did lift his eyes to mine at that point, and they held all the pain and disappointment no child should have to experience.
“I have to lock up now, Timothy. Can you see yourself home?” Some did, and some others had a parent or older sibling to walk them.
“Yes, sir. I always go home alone.”
Alone. I had a feeling he often arrived into an empty house. His worn shoes and everyday clothes had stood in stark contrast to most of the other children’s holiday outfits, but poor didn’t mean abused or neglected, and not all had new clothes. But his sad loneliness said it all. How had I not realized just how bad things were? Maybe because we were not allowed to interfere with students’ outside of school, and parents had absolute authority there. Knowing they had it rough made it even harder to do my job and treat all the children equally.
Still.
Timothy stood and started for the door, but on a whim, I stopped him with a question. “Timothy, what is your wish this Christmas?” If it was within my power to grant it for him, I would, even if it meant I skipped a meal or two.
“A cookie,” he replied. “Like my grandma used to make before she died.”
My heart squeezed so hard, I gasped for a moment before recovering my breath. My mind worked furiously. Where had I seen cookies? A big cookie on a plate! “Timothy, do not leave. I will be right back.”
I dashed down the hall to Mr. Samberg’s class where, on his desk, sat a plate with a large, perfect, dark-brown molasses cookie. A single delight that might bring a smile to a young man’s face. Mr. Samberg was gone already, and by the time we returned from our holiday, it would be gone anyway, food for a stray mouse.
Timothy was still there when I returned, and I gave him the cookie, thrilled to see the sadness retreat from his expression while he studied the marvel in his hands. “This is all for me? This whole cookie?”
“Merry Christmas, Timothy.” I held the door open, turned off the lights, and followed him outside. “Be a good boy, and I’ll see you after New Year’s.” I locked the door and by the time I turned to leave, the little boy was nowhere in sight. I wished I had so much more to give to this child and to the others who might have less-than happy Christmases for different reasons this year.
Like me, many had lost relatives in the Spanish Flu epidemic a few years before, others had folks who were out of work or had debt that made it impossible to buy things for a festive meal or gifts.
Saddened by the thoughts that not all the children I taught would have what all children should have for Christmas, I trudged away from the school building.
“Hey, you. I have a bone to pick with you, Mr. Teacher.”
That couldn’t be...but it was. An elf.
Welcome Home, Soldier by Deanna Wadsworth
I’M GONNA freeze to death.
That’s what Clay Fisher got for being an idiot.
A lovesick, stupid idiot.
Outside his Chevy Malibu, white swirls of snow whisked across open farm fields, making visibility impossible. Clay cursed and slammed his fists on the steering wheel, sending a sharp pain up his elbows. Wincing, he rubbed his fingers together.
How did I forget gloves?
“What were you thinking, coming out to the boonies at this hour?” he asked himself.
It’d been a fool’s mission, a reckless, impulsive decision.
And apparently one that would end his life.
Clay pursed his cold lips together, his breath already frosting in front of his face.
No!
Stuck in a snowbank on a backwoods country road in the middle of a damn blizzard would not be how this soldier went down. He’d survived the Gulf War, cancer, addiction, and the death of pretty much everyone he’d ever loved.
Unsure if he believed in God, miracles, happily-ever-afters, or any of that bullshit in storybooks, Clay sent a last-ditch prayer heavenward. “Please, help me get out of this alive. This can’t be how it ends. Not before I see him one more time.”
Daniel Millhouse.
His very name was like a prayer, a call home.
Breakfast Included by LC Chase
Chapter One
Thursday, December 22
“Ugh, kill me now.”
Reno dropped his head into his hands when his tenth date of the night got up and moved to the next table. He drew in a deep breath, held it, and exhaled slowly on the off chance he could “Zen away” his frustration. Who knew four-minute speed dates could be so painfully long? Only halfway through the event, and he didn’t know if he could make it to the end.
“Go to The Rainbow Inn,” his dad had said. “Get out of your music studio and meet some men,” he’d said. “It’ll be good for you.”
Reno snorted. Right.
He really hadn’t had the time to spend driving all the way up to The Rainbow Inn—as it was known to the locals but was officially named The Retreat—for their gay speed-dating event, but his dad was set on him finding someone to share his life with. Before Christmas, which was all of three days away. He thought Reno spent too much time alone with his music and was constantly trying to set him up on blind dates.
Reno loved his dad. He couldn’t have asked for a better role model growing up, and his dad hadn’t batted an eyelash when Reno had come out. He’d just ruffled his hair, kissed the top of his head, and said, “I love you. Now, go set the table for dinner.”
So, for his dad’s sake, Reno said yes to a night of festive speed-dating. At least this way he didn’t have to spend half the night trying to come up with the politest way to cut a date short. A couple dozen four-minute dates with built-in endings he could handle much better.
And thank his gay stars for that.
His first date’s opening line was “I just want someone to have sex with while I look for my soul mate”. Insulting much? Reno had never used it before, but he was pretty sure that was what Grindr was for.
Things hadn’t improved a great deal from there.
Next up was a gorgeous young man—emphasis on young. He must have had some incredible fake ID because there was no way the kid was even old enough to drive, let alone attend a speed-dating event where the minimum age was midtwenties. He’d only been interested in finding a Sugar Daddy, it seemed. The moment Reno had said that wasn’t his scene, his “date” spent the remaining few minutes scanning the crowd for better prospects. Interesting thing Reno noticed: when the young man wasn’t all bright eyes and big smiles, he did look old enough to be there.
Following him was a very attractive man in a stylish suit that probably cost as much as Reno’s baby grand piano but whose personality was drier than the first Christmas turkey his dad had cooked after his parents divorced. All Reno could glean from the guy was that he worked at some legal firm in downtown Denver and was, of course, rich. Maybe this man was whom Reno’s last date was looking for.
There had been one interesting man. He was shorter than Reno by a good half foot, with curly dark hair, a closely trimmed beard, and kind brown eyes, who worked as an oceanographic cartographer. He’d been wearing an ugly green Christmas sweater depicting a naked muscular man with a Santa hat. A gift box hid his junk, and the saying read, “I have a big package for you.” Reno had laughed out loud. The ice breaker had been perfect, and he’d enjoyed their short conversation. Unfortunately, there had been zero spark. A romantic relationship wasn’t on the horizon for them, but Reno could see them becoming good friends.
Then there was the guy who looked down his nose at Reno with disdain after learning Reno was a musician. Funny how so many people assumed the “sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll” stereotype when he told them what his career was. Of course, his age and appearance leaned a little more toward rock ’n’ roll than classical composer. He didn’t have long hair or wear dark eyeliner; he didn’t have a ton of piercings and wasn’t covered in tattoos, though his fashion sense did tend toward denim, leather, and Doc Martens.
But the date that took the cake was the one that had just ended. The man hadn’t fully sat down before he started talking a mile a minute. His hair was dyed as black as night, and his complexion was so pale he could have passed for a vampire. His eyes were an unnatural shade of gold that could only be attained with colored contacts, and his veneers were so blindingly perfect Reno found he couldn’t look at them directly for more than a couple of seconds. Reno hadn’t said a single word as his vampire date barely took a breath—maybe he was a vampire!—as he regaled Reno with stories of his lavish jet-set lifestyle and all the countries he’d visited. The man had been trying way too hard to impress. Under all that costume and big talk and name-dropping, he was probably a great guy, if terribly insecure in himself to be putting on such a show.
Reno sighed and took a long draft of his microbrew. One thing about The Rainbow Inn, they always had the best local beer in Colorado. He rolled his shoulders back and mentally sang along with a jazzy Christmas song playing in the background while he psyched himself up to sit through another painful four minutes.
His next date, a tall, lean-muscled redhead, sat down, and the world tipped on its side. Or maybe it was just the ground shaking. Like when a semitruck and trailer rumbled past his house and the whole place shook.
Tate . . .
Reno’s breath caught in his throat.
It was Tate-fucking-Boylan. His eyes—a gold-specked green hazel that Reno had never forgotten—widened in surprise, and his mouth formed a soundless O. It had been over a decade since Reno had last seen Tate. Twelve years to be exact. Tate was his older brother Ricky’s best friend—the “straight” best friend who’d kissed Reno and then run away—but Reno would have recognized him anywhere. His heart raced and lurched to punch at his ribs as though it knew the heart beating just a few feet away was its other half.
“What are you even doing here?” Reno blurted.
Shit. Even he heard how breathy his voice sounded. Heat burned his cheeks, and he took a desperate gulp of his not-nearly-cold-enough-to-cool-him-down beer. How could he still react like he did as a teenager after all these years?
This was so not how Reno had pictured seeing Tate again. Not once in the thousands of reunions he’d imagined in his mind, year after year. He should be angry. Thought he would be. Wanted to be. He was due some righteous indignation for the way Tate had bolted on him. But at that moment, he felt like he’d finally reached an oasis after walking too many miles across a sweltering desert.
“Reno Pierce,” Tate replied with a note of awe in his voice, a voice that was deeper and huskier than Reno remembered. A shiver of excitement cascaded over his skin. “As I live and breathe.”
Dumbstruck and lovestruck. That’s what he was, and it was just as frustrating as it had been when he was a kid. When he’d followed Ricky and Tate around like a lost duckling that had imprinted on the wrong species and was never more than a foot off Tate’s heel. When he’d worshipped the ground Tate walked on, hung on his every word, and doodled their initials inside hearts in his schoolbooks. When he’d dreamed that Tate loved him as much as he loved Tate, and Tate would sweep him off his feet, and they’d live happily ever after. Just like in the movies.
But then Tate had broken his heart after one blissfully exquisite moment in time when their lips had touched and every single nerve in Reno’s body had lit on fire. Reno closed his eyes for a second, needing to push away old memories and regroup. He’d outgrown his Godzilla-sized Tate crush years ago. Or so he’d thought.
A round of gasps spread throughout the room like a wave.
“Well, this is different,” Tate said in a hushed amusement-infused voice. He sounded the same, but there was a lower resonance to his voice that came with age and experience.
Reno briefly wondered what Tate’s life had been like during their years apart before he opened his eyes to . . . total darkness? He blinked a few times, attempting to adjust to the lack of light, but there wasn’t anything to adjust to. Not even a sliver of light filtered below the doors to the main hallway.
Light from a cell phone flashlight punched a hole in the black, waved back and forth, and a few seconds later, Clark, their event host, shouted to be heard above the confused crowd. “Can everyone look this way, please?”
He clapped his hands, and once he had everyone’s attention, he set his phone down so the flashlight created a spotlight on him.
“Okay, I know that was a bit of a surprise, but I need you all to keep calm.”
Nothing in Clark’s voice gave Reno any cause for concern. Power outages in the mountains were a thing. Heck, he lived on a mountain, and it happened more often than he could count. “Honestly, this isn’t anything strange for an old hotel all the way out here in the mountains.”
“It isn’t?” someone a couple of tables over from Reno’s asked. Reno could just make out the speaker’s features—it was dry-personality guy in the expensive suit.
“Last year, we had the same thing one night. Turned out it was a blown fuse. And I believe up here, power lines go down all the time. Before you know it, the generator will kick in and—”
Reno shielded his eyes and blinked a few times. It took a few seconds to readjust to the sudden brightness. The overhead lights had been low to begin with, so the Christmas lights that ringed the room could take center stage and set the mood for the daters, but after the few minutes of complete darkness they may as well have been high-powered floodlights.
“See, just like that,” Clark said with a note of pride in his voice.
Reno’s vision cleared, and Tate was right there. In full living, breathing, technicolor-vision focus before him. He was even more gorgeous than Reno remembered, and Reno’s heart did that excited little fluttering thing it had done every time his teenage self had seen Tate. As though his heart didn’t understand the passage of time and he was still that clumsy kid tripping over feet he hadn’t yet grown into.
“This is wild, seeing you here,” Tate said once everyone settled back down.
His grin was conspiratorial, like he had a secret to share. Tantalizing lines bracketed his mouth. They didn’t quite form a dimple, but close enough that Reno wanted to slide his tongue along them. The kiss they’d shared once upon a time replayed in his mind again.
The best and worst moment of his life.
His greatest desire and biggest embarrassment.
He’d crushed so hard on Tate back then, but Ricky had taken his big brother role seriously and was protective of him—overly so. He’d noticed how Reno looked at Tate with hearts bulging out of his eyes like a cartoon character. He’d sat Reno down and explained that Tate was straight and to let it go. But Reno hadn’t believed him. He’d seen the way Tate looked at him when he didn’t think anyone was looking.
It had all come to a head the summer Ricky had thrown an “adios, high school” party before he left to play for an American Hockey League team out of state, and Tate left for university in California. Every time Reno scanned the crowd for Tate, he found Tate looking at him. Tate would only hold his gaze for a second and then turn away as though suddenly realizing he’d been caught staring. At some point during the party, Reno wandered off to the bathroom. When he’d opened the door to leave, Tate had been standing there, looking nervous but determined. He’d looked over both shoulders and then walked Reno back inside, closed the door, and after a long stare, leaned down and kissed him. Though it was Reno’s very first kiss, he’d thrown everything he had into it. He hadn’t done too bad either, he remembered proudly, if the hardness of Tate’s erection pressed against his thigh had been anything to go by. That single kiss had been the most amazing of his life. Even after all these years, no kiss had ever truly compared. There was always something missing.
The day after that life-altering kiss, Tate had ignored Reno. At first, Reno had chalked it up to Tate being majorly hungover. But then he’d taken off early for university, without saying goodbye, and Reno hadn’t heard a single word from him since. Ricky had told him to stop mooning and not to lose his heart to straight guys, but Ricky had never known about that kiss. He didn’t know his best friend wasn’t quite as straight as he’d thought.
“You left,” Reno said flatly. He winced internally at the pout in his voice. He wasn’t a heartbroken kid anymore, dammit. Apparently, all it took was five seconds in Tate’s presence to regress twelve years.
The spark in Tate’s gaze dimmed, but Reno refused to feel any guilt. He wasn’t responsible for Tate’s actions. Tate was the one who kissed and ran, after all.
Tate opened his mouth, but his reply was cut off by Clark, who’d called for a ten-minute break. Their four-minute date was over.
“I’ll be right back,” Tate said as he rose from the table. He raised the empty bottle in his hand to indicate he was going for a refill. “Can I get you anything?”
Reno shook his head and narrowed his eyes. Sure, he would be right back. Tate was running again.
Reno cursed himself for noticing how nicely Tate’s ass looked in his well-fit pants as he walked away, and retrieved his phone from his back jeans pocket to check the time. There was a text on the lock screen from his dad. He opened it with a smile that slipped as he sighed.
Dad: Hope you found your Mr. Right.
Dad: Call me in the morning with all the details.
All the details. Reno snorted. His dad was a hopeless romantic—especially around the holidays. Even after a messy divorce, he still believed in true love. Reno did too, but he wasn’t going to find it tonight.
Tate’s grin flashed in his mind.
Reno shook his head and tapped out a quick reply to his dad. He hit Send, but a “message failed” error popped up. Huh, no bars. He shrugged and pocketed his phone.
He should just head home now and be done with all of this. Except he didn’t want to leave just yet, not now that he’d reconnected with Tate. Even though he still harbored resentment at having been left behind, remnants of how he’d once felt for Tate—always felt for him—refused to fade.
Before Reno decided to stay or go, Tate reappeared. He stood by the table and fidgeted with the label on his beer bottle. Reno’s gaze dropped to his long, slender fingers, and the first note of desire played low in his belly.
“I went to university,” Tate said as if that answered why he’d taken off on Reno.
He stared at the table for a second as though he was gearing up for a spiel. But once again, Clark interrupted to announce the official end of the break and start of the second half of the evening’s dates.
“Wait for me after?”
The vulnerable note in Tate’s voice shifted something inside Reno’s chest, and he nodded. He didn’t want to give in so easy, but of course he would wait for Tate. Who was he fooling? If he really thought about it, he’d been waiting for Tate ever since he’d run off to university without so much as a “see ya”.
After Reno’s “date” with Tate, he couldn’t stop thinking about him and couldn’t for the life of him remember a single guy who’d sat across from him for the rest of the night. If he’d thought the four-minute dates before Tate had dragged on, after the break, they were excruciating. Every minute until he could talk to Tate again felt like an eternity.
When the last date finally ended, Clark called for everyone’s attention again. He quickly reminded them about filling out their match cards and how he would be contacting everyone who’d made mutual matches so they could connect on their own later. Then, oddly, he asked everyone to remain in the event room until further notice. A frisson of confusion ran through the crowd. Reno glanced at his watch. Whatever it was, he hoped it didn’t take too long. He’d have to get back on the road for home soon. It was already a late night, as it was.
He flipped his match card over on the table and checked only one box—the one beside Tate’s name. He handed his card off to the bartender since Clark had left the room again and sat on a barstool. He ordered a virgin tequila sunrise since he didn’t want to be buzzed while driving the winding mountain roads home from the hotel. There was always the option of booking a room for the night—which was another reason The Retreat’s speed-dating events were such a big draw—but he’d rather sleep in his own bed.
A waft of spice and bergamot teased Reno’s senses and announced Tate’s arrival as he sat on the stool next to him. From this point on, he knew he’d always associate those scents with Tate. His childhood crush ordered another beer before turning to face Reno.
“I thought you stayed in California.” Reno picked up their conversation as if there hadn’t been an hour break in between. “After university.”
Tate shook his head. “Only for the summer after graduation. I live in Boulder now. I, uh, work at NCAR.”
“You what?” Reno rocked back on his stool. He’d known Tate was into climate science, but figured he’d end up working at a research center in California. “For how long?”
“Six years.”
Reno snapped his mouth shut while his mind tripped over itself in search of words that made sense. Reno lived in Boulder. Well . . . he lived up the mountain in Nederland, but he was down in Boulder often. Tate had been living so close all these years, and Reno had had no idea.
Not once had Ricky mentioned that to him, and they talked on the phone as often as Ricky’s hockey schedule allowed after he’d been drafted to play for Vancouver’s NHL team. Had Ricky kept that from him deliberately? Reno was a grown-ass adult and didn’t need his big brother to look out for him anymore. He could make his own mistakes quite nicely, thank you very much. Not to mention, Tate was obviously not straight.
No, Ricky wouldn’t do that. More than likely, Ricky had just forgotten about Reno’s crush and Tate just never came up in conversation anymore. That and Reno never asked either, so he couldn’t lay it all on his brother.
“Does Ricky know?” Reno asked. He avoided eye contact by swirling the straw in his glass, blending the grenadine into the orange juice until the whole concoction was a deep orange-maroon color.
“That I moved back home? Yes.”
“No, I mean, that you’re gay.”
“What makes you think I’m gay?” Tate challenged, but there was a teasing note in his voice.
Reno turned a glare on him. His tone was sarcastic when he said, “Oh, I don’t know. Kissing other men? Attending gay speed-dating events?” He shrugged. “Just a guess.”
Tate’s grin morphed into a brilliant smile that sent another flurry of flutters in Reno’s chest. “I’m bisexual if you need a label. And yes, Ricky knows.”
Ricky knew? Reno looked away again, fighting down a flare of unexpected hurt. “He never told me.”
“Ricky and I don’t travel the same circles anymore, and with him in the NHL and always on the road, we don’t get to catch up very often,” Tate said with a touch of regret in his voice. “And even though I was his best friend, he didn’t think I was good enough for you.”
Reno swung his head around. “Are you kidding me?”
Tate’s shoulders lifted and dropped. “I’m out now, but I was in the closet for a long time. It wouldn’t have been fair to you, and we both knew it.”
“Neither of you had the right to decide what was or wasn’t right for me.”
Tate studied him for a long minute and then said softly, “No, you’re right.”
Reno fell silent. As revelations went Tate’s weren’t all that earth-shattering, but to know he’d been living so close all these years and their paths had never crossed . . . What did he say to that? Were they not ever meant to be? He sighed and looked away, but Tate kicked at the leg of his chair to get his attention. When he met Tate’s gaze, his big easy smile lit up his eyes.
“We’re here now,” Tate said. “Tell me about you. I haven’t seen you gracing the cover of the Rolling Stone yet.”
Reno laughed and fidgeted with his straw again. “I was never going to be a rock star. Fame wasn’t what I was after.”
“No? What was it, then?”
“A compulsion to create emotion through sound.” Reno snapped his mouth shut. He had not meant to say that out loud. Now Tate would know that he hadn’t been just a geeky band kid; he was an adult band geek. Sure, his whole life revolved around music, but he was highly successful at it, and he did it without being on the paparazzi’s radar. Which was exactly how he wanted it. “I mean, I compose.”
“Compose? Like for orchestras?” Tate sounded genuinely interested.
Reno nodded as he warmed up to his favorite subject. “I’ve composed some symphonies for the Denver Symphony Orchestra and a few others, but these days I mostly compose film scores.”
“No way!” Tate leaned forward on his stool, obliviously sending another wave of his distracting spicy scent Reno’s way. “Which movies?”
Reno took a sip of his drink. “You know the new action flick with Chris Hemsworth?”
“No!”
“Yes.” Reno couldn’t help grinning back at Tate, who looked like a kid that had just been set loose in a candy store.
“He’s hot,” Tate said with a dreamy note to his voice as a smile tugged his mouth sideways.
Reno laughed and clinked his glass to Tate’s bottle. “Cheers to that.”
Surprisingly, the conversation flowed easier than Reno would have thought after all their time apart, and he was glad his dad had talked him into coming up here tonight. Even the anger he’d harbored for so long after Tate ditched him faded into the ether. Perhaps this was the closure he’d needed to finally move on.
He sucked up the last drops of his mocktail and glanced at the clock behind the bar. It was getting late. He pushed his empty glass away.
“Another?” Tate asked as he flagged the bartender down.
“No, thanks.” Reno shook his head and, with a reluctance that surprised him, said, “I need to get on the road before it gets much later.”
“I’m afraid you might be out of luck there,” the bartender said. His name tag read Grady, and he wore a revealing black tank top that showed off the amazing tattoos on his forearms and biceps. “Rumor has it there was an avalanche earlier, and the road is blocked.”
“What?” Reno burst out at the same time as Tate, and for a split second, his thoughts wandered to how well their voices harmonized. They could make music together.
Reno snorted at his stupid thoughts. He and Tate would not be making music together. Of any kind.
Grady paused a second and then nodded as he grabbed Reno’s empty glass. He dropped it in a soap-water-filled bucket behind the bar. “That’s why we have to wait here for Bryan, the manager, to let us know what’s going on.”
Reno slumped back in his seat, dismayed. “But I can’t stay here tonight.”
“Uhm . . .” Tate shifted around to face Reno head-on. His expression was hopeful. “I have a cabin. You’re welcome to stay with me if you can’t get out.”
Reno’s brain screeched to a halt.
Spend the night with Tate? All alone in a snowed-in cabin up on a mountain? Sounded like the stuff of romance novels, and as much as the teenage Reno would have jumped for joy at the idea, the adult Reno knew that would be the worst of all the worst ideas. But also . . .
“You have a cabin?” Reno said instead. “That’s . . . a bit presumptuous, no?”
Chuckling, Tate held his hands up in surrender. “It’s a rental. Kaylie booked it for me.”
Reno opened his mouth and closed it. Twice. Reno had never spent much time with Tate’s older sister. She’d always seemed like a cool girl who had it all together and didn’t take any crap from anyone, and Reno had admired her for that from afar.
“I’m not sure what to say to that,” he finally replied.
He flagged Grady with the tattooed arms over and ordered another tequila sunrise. This time with the tequila since it didn’t seem like he’d be driving anywhere soon.
A point proven when Clark called for everyone’s attention a little after midnight. He introduced Bryan, The Retreat’s manager, and turned the floor over to the slim, dark-haired man in a rumpled suit who looked just as frazzled. In his white-knuckled grip was a clipboard.
“Thank you for waiting here,” Bryan began.
After a few murmurs from the crowd, he continued. “So, here’s the long and short of it. An avalanche has blocked the road about half a mile from the hotel—”
The crowd erupted into a frenzy of questions and complaints and ridiculous solutions like skiing or snowshoeing out—five miles, in the dark—or using sled dogs, of which there weren’t any. Even melting the snow to what . . . swim out? Reno shook his head. The only thing they could do was be patient and wait for the road to be cleared. Surely by morning, the road crews would have traffic moving again.
Bryan clapped his hands and brought the crowd’s attention back around.
“We think the best idea is for everyone to get at least some sleep, and we’ll regroup in the morning. We can double up in rooms with some careful organization, use rollaways, and luckily, we do have some empty rooms and some of the cabins.” He gestured to a tall, lean man with dark hair standing beside him. “Chet has some room assignments, so if you could come up one at a time.”
“So,” Tate said beside Reno. “Looks like you’re going to need somewhere to spend the night after all.”
Reno regarded him for a few seconds while his heart warred with his mind. He so badly wanted to say yes, but also, he had a feeling it would be a very bad idea.
“Or I could get my own room,” he countered.
“You heard the man.” Tate grinned that sexy grin of his again. “They’re pairing people up. Why not pair up with someone you know?”
Because I won’t be desperately fighting to keep my hands off anyone else.
But with his luck, he’d probably end up paired in a room with his overcompensating vampire date and be stuck listening to endless tales of his incredible life all night.
“Breakfast is included,” Tate sweetened his offer in a sing-song voice when Reno hadn’t replied.
Reno studied him. He didn’t look like a scientist, but then, Reno didn’t look like a classical composer either. Not that either of them had to adhere to any specific appearance for their chosen fields. The warm-toned white Christmas lights hanging over the bar spun gold threads through Tate’s full head of fiery-red hair. It was riding that fine line of needing to be cut or left alone to grow out, and the perfect length to twine his fingers through. Would Tate’s hair feel as soft against his skin as it looked? His gaze dropped to Tate’s full lips and smirking mouth, bracketed by those damn enticing grooves in his cheeks.
This was trouble, and he knew it. He didn’t do one-nighters. Not even with Tate Boylan, who had planned to hook up tonight, or he wouldn’t have booked a cabin. Reno had no intention of having his world rocked by Tate, which he knew it would, only to be left behind once again. But it would only be one night, right? Surely, he could be an adult and keep his wits about him. He could sleep on a couch or even the floor, and in the morning, the roads would be cleared, and he could hightail it home before he made a fool of himself.
Reno huffed. “Fine, you win.”
If Reno had thought Tate’s smile was blinding before, the one he graced Reno with this time might as well have been the sun.
Tate stood and gestured for Reno to follow him.
Such a bad idea . . .
Needing To by BA Tortuga
1
Wacey Boone flipped channels on the TV, trying to find something that wasn’t Law and Order or ESPN Classic. He wasn’t real sure he needed to watch a football game from three years ago. Hell, he might have to resort to it, but he’d try all his other options first.
Hotel TV sucked at the best of time. Reno casino TV was even worse.
Eventually, he ended up on the special menu, pondering some adult entertainment. He wasn’t much on boobies, but a nice cock would work. He could pretend it was a guy sucking it, right? He reached for his beer while commercials played for the in house shows down at the casino. Man, the hotels were always pushing something, from weird circus shit to girl groups who tried to sound like the Supremes.
He stopped, beer halfway to his lips when he saw the headlining act pop up on the screen. Holy shit.
The name on the screen was Gerald High, but the face was Danny Michaels, as sure as he was living. Him and Danny had been buds all through school. Hell, he’d been there when Danny’d gotten his first electric guitar.
That boy could play as well as Boone could ride, and that was saying something. Problem was, Danny looked like hell.
Super-skinny and ghost-white pale, mis-matched eyes staring through the screen. Damn.
He stared, the commercial playing over and over, the way Danny moved on stage weird, disjointed, like he was one of them puppets. Danny had always moved so well.
That wasn’t his old friend, was it? Surely... Weird.
He tilted his head, staring some more. He turned up the sound, and there was a riff he knew, something Danny has written years ago. Damn.
Boone frowned, grabbed his phone and dialed Cotton’s woman. Emmy was the tech guru of the bullriding tour, and she ought to be able to help him out.
“‘lo?”
“Can you find out if Gerald High is staying here at the host hotel?”
“Yeah... who is this?”
“Wacey Boone. Cotton says you can find out anything.”
“I can. Hey, Boone. Are you going to stalk him or something? Because that’s creepy.” He heard typing, her nails clacking away on the keyboard.
“No, honey. We went to high school together. I thought I’d take him to lunch.”
“Oh, that’s sweet. He’s in the penthouse suite. I can try to get the concierge to send him a note or something...”
“Naw. I got it. That’s all I needed to know.” He’d just march his ass up there and knock. If they beat him down for it, well, that was that.
“Okay. Have fun and don’t forget you have that email interview during the break.”
“Yeah. Got it.” He had it written down somewhere. Hell, that was how he had Emmy’s number; he’d archived her last reminder about interviews. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Welcome, sir. Safe travels.” He heard a soft, warm giggle. “Cotton!”
Lord. He had to hang up before they embarrassed him. Everyone knew Cotton was an idiot about that girl. She was pretty as hell. If Boone swung that way, he might have gone for her himself.
The penthouse elevator needed a key or something, but he figured the stairs had to stay open in case of a fire.
He grabbed his ball cap and his wallet, then headed for the elevator. He’d get as far up as he could and then he’d walk stairs and just go knock. That would work, right?
Sure.
He got to the elevator and there was a dude there -- one of the room service guys that he’d met a few days before. “Hey, there. How’s it going?”
“Good.” Impulsively, he pulled out a twenty. “Can you get me to the Penthouse level? That singer guy is an old high school buddy of mine.”
“Gerald High? Really? That’s too cool.” The guy took the bill and nodded. “I got a key. Once you’re up there, though, you’re on your own. Those security guys are BIG.”
“I figure so. Thanks, man.” People ought to be nicer to room service guys. They had the inside track.
“Sure.” The elevator opened. “Hope you get to see him. Call if you need anything.”
“Will do.” He stepped off and the doors closed behind him. Boone looked around curiously; he’d never been up in the penthouse before. Or in the hall of the penthouse level, he reckoned.
There was a huge son of a bitch sitting at the door, eyebrow arched, bald head shining with sweat. “You lost, man?”
“No, sir.” He figured he’d just brazen it out. “I’m here to see Danny.”
“No one here by that name.” “Uh-huh. You tell that 'Gerald' that Wacey Boone is here to see him. He’ll see me.” He crossed his arms, waiting. He wasn’t scared.
One dark eyebrow went up, but Godzilla lifted a phone, dialed. “Jack, there’s a... Wacky?”
“Wacey.”
“Right. Wacey Boone here wantin’ to see Mr. High.” There was a pause, then a sigh. “No. Boone. Like Davy Boone.”
His lips twisted. “It was Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone.”
“Whatever.”
“It’s an important distinction.” What the hell did they teach people who grew up outside of Texas? Lord have mercy.
The man’s eyebrows went up again, and he put the phone down with a thump. “He’ll see you.”
Of course he would. It had been years, but they’d had them some fun once upon a time. Long nights soaked in beer and sweat and music and riding horses out where they could be alone.
The big dude let him into a huge suite, a shitload of half-dressed kids making out on couches, loud music playing.
Boone couldn’t help but raise a brow. This verged on psychedelic or something. Not like his introverted buddy at all. He picked his way through, nose wrinkling at the smell.
“You Daniel Boone?” A painted up whore of a man simpered up to him, one hand on a skinny, bare hip. “Gerald’s in the back with Spencer.”
“Well, then I guess you ought to show me.” His fists clenched. This guy rubbed him the wrong way. Kinda made Boone want to smack the smug face.
A door was opened, Danny sprawled in a wing chair like a dead man, a man kneeling in front of him, pushing something into an IV in Danny’s arm. Oh, man.
Oh, no.
Shit, what would Danny’s daddy think of this mess? The man would be damned pissed, that was what. Boone stood to his full five-six and drew a deep breath. This shit had to stop right now.
“Y’all get out of here now. I need to talk to him.” Boone started shooing people out the door.
Eyes that were just a tiny pupil and big color -- one blue, one brown -- blinked at him. “Dub. Dub, it is you.”
“Hey, man.” He would have called Danny by his old nickname, too, but there was too many people around. “Kick all these folks out, huh? I need to talk at you.”
“Get out. All of you.”
The doughy man kneeling in front of Danny frowned, shaking his head. “You sure, Gerald?”
“You too, Spence. Go. This is my oldest friend.”
“I’m not leaving you with a redneck. You’re fucked up. This could be some kind of hoax. I don’t know him and--”
“Get out now.” Danny growled, swaying in that big chair.
Everyone looked at him, then Danny, and Boone just squared his jaw and dared them to say anything. He’d start breaking heads soon. He might be small, but he was tough.
They filed out, the Spence guy grabbing his arm. “Don’t fuck with him. I’m his manager. I’ll have your ass for breakfast. You hear me? He’s important.”
“Back off.” Anyone who could feed Danny drugs wasn’t looking out for him, and Boone would feed the feller his teeth with a punch if he didn’t get lost.
“I’ll be right outside the door, G. Okay?”
Danny’s head bobbed like one of those toys whose parts were all connected by strings. “Uh-huh.”
The slinky assholes finally left, and Boone let the silence stretch a moment while he studied the man. Too skinny by far. Eyes cloudy with little pinprick pupils stared back at him, and his jaw hurt from clenching it against the shouting.
“Hey, Danby.” They could call him Gerald or G, but Boone would always think of him as Daniel. He didn’t know who Gerald High was, but Danny, or Danby as Boone called him just to be different, had been his best friend.
“Hey, Dub.” Daniel gave him this slow, wondering smile. “Are you really here?”
“Yeah. Here for the finals. Saw your ad on the TV and thought I’d come on up.” Danny looked even worse than he had on the commercial down on the television. The crooked smile was the same as it’d always been, though. “Yeah. They play it a lot.” Danny blinked again, tried to stand. “I’m a little fucked up. You want a beer?” “
You tell me where and I’ll get it.” He didn’t know what he wanted to do. He wanted to hit something.
“The fridge is right there.” Danny pointed to a little silver fridge and he opened it up. Beer and booze bottles filled it up.
“You like being fucked up, Danby?” It popped out before Boone could stop it.
“Huh?”
“I just wondered.” He didn’t want to fight or nothin’, so he opened up a beer and let it go.
“It’s just... how it is? How are your folks?”
“Good. Mom went on a cruise out of Galveston last week.” He wandered, looking at the odd bits of stuff strewn around the room.
“Ah.” Danny’s eyes followed him, unfocused and odd.
“So, is this a temporary gig, or are you headlining here?” He guessed since they’d spent the money of a commercial that it was a big thing.
“They want... Who the fuck knows anymore? I show up, do my thing, come back here.”
“They want what?” He grinned, keeping it easy. Just an old friend, sitting and jawing.
“Blood, I think.” Danny winked, head lolling. “My soul.”
“Well, that sucks.” He set his beer aside and went to look at the IV in Danny’s arm. “What’s this?”
“Spence put it in. Makes things easier.”
“That don’t answer the question, Danby.” What was so hard about being a rock star, anyway? This Penthouse was pretty damned fancy.
“It’s an IV.”
Well, he knew that. He’d had more than a few himself. Seen even more than that in sports medicine.
“I’ve had them. I mean what’s it delivering?” There. That way there was no question what he was asking. If Danny didn’t want to answer then fine, but no more evading.
“Ox. I got a doctor. A prescription. I’m legal.”
Uh-huh. Right. Fuckers.
“You like all this, Danby?” Suddenly he had the terrible urge to grab Danny and run. Like he had a right to after all these years. This wasn’t like the Danby he knew, though. Not at all.
“No.” Danny looked him right in the eyes, looking about a million years old, and so sad. “But that’s the way it is. This is what I do. Why did you come, Dub?”
“Because I wanted to see you. I think about you a lot, man.” Okay, it was usually when he was drunk, late at night and lonely o’clock. Didn’t mean it wasn’t true.
“Oh.” Danny smiled and for a second the man was nineteen again, full of mischief. “You still passing for straight?”
He laughed, the sound surprised right out of him. “These days I’m passing for a monk.”
“That’s a damn shame. You were always good with your hands.”
“I’m even better with my mouth.” His cheeks heated, but he’d been told it was the truth. More than one cowboy had said so in the back of a king cab. It was probably a lie, since he was always in a hurry, but they’d said it.
“That doesn’t surprise me.” Danny’s lips quirked in a one-sided smile. “You look like walking sex.”
His face was going up in flames. “Yeah? Thanks.” He wasn’t nothin’ special. Just Wranglers and a white shirt and his boots and hat, but if Danny liked it, he was pleased.
“Yeah. Come on. I want some sun.” Danny stood up, swaying dangerously, and led him into a pair of double doors, past a huge bed with crumpled covers.
He moved right up to support Danny with one hand, following him to the balcony, which was huge. Even had picnic tables. The view was fucking amazing.
“Nice.”
“Yeah?” Danny shrugged. “I like the sun.”
Boone didn’t bother to point out that it was snowing. Danny was going to catch his death, for God’s sake. It was almost Christmas, and in Reno that meant cold.
Danny plopped down, the man’s face ghostly white with the weird makeup. “
Be right back, man. I need to use the head.” And find a washcloth and a blanket.
“It’s right there.”
The bathroom was fucking enormous, strewn with pills and make up and towels, along with sheets of paper covered in scribbles. Music. The whole thing was sad. It looked like Danny hid in the head a lot.
Some of the scribbles could be good songs. Danny still had it. It was just clouded by the drugs. He sighed, wetting a washcloth, getting it steamy, looking for a big bath towel that was clean-- oh, a robe. Good deal.
“What are you up to, man? Where’s G?” That came from Spencer. The smarmy little manager dude on the other side of the door. Creepy fucker.
“Dub? Are you there? Don’t let him in.” Danny’s voice floated back to him, too, and that was just sad, that he didn’t trust his manager.
“I’m right here.” Boone came out to the balcony thing again, smiling as he held out the robe. He got Danny all cuddled up in it before easing him back down to wipe his face. “I want to see you, huh? No more make-up.”
A Gift Wrapped Holiday by Amy Aislin
Mal slowed at the bottom of a driveway and nodded at the house. “This is me.”
“I was wondering who lived here,” Luca said, taking in the house’s boxy structure.
“Why? Because it’s hideous?”
That startled a laugh out of Luca. “Well . . . yes. It doesn’t match the rest of the houses.” The area just west of Christmas Lane housed Lighthouse Bay’s historic homes, but this modern construction was decidedly not historic. Luca had passed it a couple of times on his evening gift deliveries and wondered what the owner had been thinking. “Why’d you buy it if you don’t like it?”
“I’m not. I’m leasing.”
Even so, Mal had gone all out with the decorations. Icicle lights hanging from the roof, flashing multicolored lights framed around each window, static white lights around a nine-foot-tall pine tree, and a lit-up reindeer family. He even had some sort of spotlights buried somewhere in the yard that swirled red and green snowflakes on the house in an unidentifiable pattern.
“Which is probably another reason I haven’t unpacked,” Mal continued. “I hate this place.”
“Why lease it, then?”
Mal blew out a breath that ghosted the air in front of him. “The short version is that I was in a rush.”
“And the long version?”
“The long version is something I’ll have to give you another time.”
Luca glanced at Otis. “I think he’s asleep.”
“Bet he gets a second wind as soon as I walk in the door.” Mal’s voice was a disgruntled grumble that Luca shouldn’t have found as charming as he did. “Thanks for walking us home.”
“Thanks for letting me. I like talking to you.”
Mal’s smile went lopsided. “I like talking to you too. Still want to do it again sometime? I promise not to feed you ice cream while it’s below freezing outside. Real food only. Scout’s honor.”
Luca’s armpits went damp despite the winter weather, and butterflies took flight in his belly. He dug his toe into the sidewalk. “You must really want to date me if you’ve asked me out twice in one week.”
“Or I just want an adult to talk to for once,” Mal said, a teasing tilt to his smile.
Luca stuck his tongue in his cheek and backed down the driveway, keeping his gaze on Mal’s. “Or maybe you like me.”
“Damn. And here I thought I wasn’t being obvious at all.”
The butterflies floated into Luca’s throat. “Text me?”
“I will.” The darkness enveloped Mal as he moved away from the sidewalk and into the shadow of the house, but Luca could still see the quirk to his lips. “Good night, Luca.”
“Night, Mal.”
Luca watched Mal and Otis head inside, waved at Mal through the glass-fronted door, then turned toward his own home only a couple blocks away, an extra bounce to his steps.
Lorelei M. Hart is the cowriting team of USA Today Bestselling Authors Kate Richards and Ever Coming. Friends for years, the duo decided to come together and write one of their favorite guilty pleasures: Mpreg. There is something that just does it for them about smexy men who love each other enough to start a family together in a world where they can do it the old-fashioned way ;).
Deanna Wadsworth might be a bestselling erotica author, but she leads a pretty vanilla life in Ohio with her wonderful husband and a couple adorable cocker spaniels. She has been spinning tales and penning stories since childhood, and her first erotic novella was published in 2010. She has served multiple board positions for different RWA chapters, including President of the Rainbow Romance Writers in 2017. When she isn’t writing books or brainstorming with friends, you can find her making people gorgeous in a beauty salon. An avid reader, she also loves gardening, cooking, music, and dancing. Often she can be seen hanging out on the sandbar in the muddy Maumee River or chilling with her hubby and a cocktail in their basement bar. In between all that fun, Deanna cherishes the quiet times when she can let her wildly active imagination have the full run of her mind. Her fascination with people and the interworkings of their relationships have always inspired her to write romance with spice and love without boundaries.
Cover artist by day, author by night, L.C. Chase is a hopeless romantic, free spirit, and adventure seeker who loves hitting the open road just to see where it takes her. When not writing sensual tales of men falling in love, she can be found designing romance novel covers, taking photos, drawing, horseback riding, or hiking the trails with her goofy four-legged roommate.
L.C. is a two-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Pickup Men and Pulling Leather; an EPIC eBook Awards winner for Pickup Men; runner-up for Best Gay Contemporary Romance and Best Gay Book in the 2016 Rainbow Awards for A Fortunate Blizzard; honorable mention for Best Gay Contemporary Romance in the 2015 Rainbow Awards for Pulling Leather; and Best Gay Mystery/Thriller in the 2012 Rainbow Awards for Riding with Heaven. She is also a nine-time Ariana eBook Cover Art Awards winner.
You can find L.C. on her website, lcchase.com, and subscribe to her totally sporadic, no spam newsletter works in progress, new releases, newsletter exclusives, and more.
Texan to the bone and an unrepentant Daddy's Girl, BA Tortuga spends her days with her basset hounds, getting tattooed, baking, and eating Mexican food. When she's not doing that, she's writing. She spends her days off watching rodeo, knitting, and surfing Pinterest in the name of research. BA's personal saviors include her wife, Julia Talbot and coffee. Lots of coffee. Really good coffee.
Having written everything from fist-fighting rednecks to hard-core cowboys to werewolves, BA does her damnedest to tell the stories of her heart, which was raised in Northeast Texas, but has heard the call of the high desert and lives in the Sandias. With books ranging from hard-hitting romance, to fiery menages, to the most traditional of love stories, BA refuses to be pigeon-holed by anyone but the voices in her head, and she's determined to give her cowboys their happily ever afters.
Amy's lived with her head in the clouds since she first picked up a book as a child, and being fluent in two languages means she's read a lot of books! She first picked up a pen on a rainy day in fourth grade when her class had to stay inside for recess. Tales of treasure hunts with her classmates eventually morphed into love stories between men, and she's been writing ever since. She writes evenings and weekends—or whenever she isn't at her full-time day job saving the planet at Canada's largest environmental non-profit.
An unapologetic introvert, Amy reads too much and socializes too little, with no regrets. She loves connecting with readers. Join her Facebook Group, Amy Aislin’s Readers, to stay up-to-date on upcoming releases and for access to early teasers, find her on Instagram and Twitter, or sign up for her newsletter.
Lorelei M Hart
EMAIL: Lorelei@mpregwithhart.com
Deanna Wadsworth
LC Chase
iTUNES / AUDIBLE / GOOGLE PLAY
INSTAGRAM / SMASHWORDS / B&N
EMAIL: authorlcchase@gmail.com
lcchasedesign@gmail.com(cover design)
BA Tortuga
The Omega's Krampus Christmas by Lorelei M Hart
Welcome Home, Soldier by Deanna Wadsworth
Breakfast Included by LC Chase
Needing To by BA Tortuga
A Gift Wrapped Holiday by Amy Aislin
KOBO / WEBSITE / GOODREADS TBR
