Summary:
Simple Gifts
A former ward of the state, Jason Ferris is fiercely protective of his carefully guarded private life. When he’s felled by a rogue lawn ornament at a Christmas party, Jason finds himself in the care of his first and most devastating love– dark, dangerous, and equally damaged Lt. Robb Sharpe.
Newly returned from years away in the military, Robb’s homecoming isn’t exactly the stuff of fairytales. Now thrust together after a ten year hiatus, Jason and Robb discover that perhaps some things are worth waiting for.
Dudleytown
College sophomore Alexander Strauss has one rule: no messing around with straight guys. Especially not his mouthwatering roommate, Shannon. When their ride share drives off the side of a mountain, the two young men find themselves deep in an uninhabited forest searching for their missing friend. Wandering the famously cursed grounds of Dudleytown, Alex figures something truly unholy must be at play, because only insanity could tempt him to break his cardinal rule.
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Simple Gifts
Original Review December 2016:
Simple Gifts is another great addition to my holiday shelf. First love or first crushes can be devastating when they don't work out the way you thought they would but when given a second chance years later, they can often be even better than you ever imagined. Jason and Robb's story is a beautiful tale for anytime of the year but Christmas makes it even more amazing. A true gift for the reader's soul.
Summary:
Take One Elf, Add an Older Man with Daddy Tendencies and Mix for the Perfect Christmas Romance.
Dressing up as a sexy little elf for a themed Christmas party isn’t Eli Turner’s idea of a glittering career. It’s the rowdiest event Eli’s worked this season and when a drunken proposition goes too far, his refusal to play sets off a chain of events leaving him high and dry with only the cheap elf suit on his back.
The Christmas party wealthy banker Grey Gillespie doesn’t want to be at is sliding out of control. When trouble erupts Grey rushes to intervene, but not before the cute young guy dressed as an elf flees and disappears into the freezing cold night.
The last thing Grey expects as he makes his way home is to stumble across the little elf. Eli’s dire predicament awakens every one of Grey’s deep-seated needs: to comfort, to protect, to cherish and keep safe. Grey knows exactly what Eli yearns for — his little elf just needs some gentle persuasion to understand that everything he never knew he craved is everything Grey desperately wants to give him.
Daddy’s Christmas Elf is a sweet with heat Daddy-lite Christmas love story, oozing all the festive feels and fuzzies. Hurt/comfort, forced proximity, age gap, and two men drawn together to give the other exactly what he needs.
Summary:
One is a Chicago hoodlum. The other is a young man with an abusive father.
One is not looking for love. The other is lost in a swirl of snow and despair and needs to be found.
Sean is in Harlin to visit a friend and is uncomfortable with the small town vibe. His plan is to head back to Chicago asap, but after he stops a father from beating his son, the young man catches his heart. Should Sean go or should he stay?
Ever since his mom left them, Roddy is overwhelmed by his Dad’s drinking and abuse as he struggles to keep the family shop afloat. When Dad is arrested, Roddy is left on his own.
Will Sean return home? Will Roddy find his way in the snow?
A m/m fairy tale romance retelling of The Little Matchgirl. Includes cameos from Cory and Alex from Hot Chocolate Kisses.
Summary:
Rowan #14
He never expected to find a man who makes him go against his usual no relationship rule but now he has he's willing to go all in with this holiday complication...
Cameron Vaughn didn’t need or want any complications in his life. He was building a new life and business in Rowan. Life was good and he didn’t need anything coming into his life to change that. Yet from the first words he spoke, Stefano, was under his skin. The man was arrogant and determined to date him. Cameron knew he should resist but…something about Stefano makes it hard to say no. He knew saying yes even if it’s to itty-bitty dates it will change him.
Stefano Royal is usually the first one to shy away from others but the gorgeous shy, sassy man makes him go against his norm. Cameron captures him and he was going to go with his instincts and get close to this man. This man who with one look makes him see his future. A future where they don’t let anything get in their way and they give in now and forever to this holiday complication.
What better Christmas present is there than finding your fated mate?
’Twas the week before Christmas
And all across Christmas Cove the elves were snowed under.
Preparing presents for Santa’s sleigh
To deliver to children all around the world.
But Dash—Santa’s favourite reindeer—is missing.
Vanished.
In his place, Aubron, the elf responsible for looking after all of Santa’s reindeer, finds a naked man in Dash’s stall.
A stranger he is inexplicably drawn to.
Can Aubron find Dash, and figure out who the mystery man is before Christmas is ruined?
This M/M romance from Beth Laycock features fated mates, a reindeer shifter, an elf definitely not left on the shelf, Santa, the North Pole, lashings of Christmas spirit, and of course a HEA.
Random Tales of Christmas 2022
The Cornwall Novellas by LB Gregg
Simple Gifts
Robb clammed up the second I signed a Discharged Against Medical Advice form, so the world was white noise and white snow on the walk back to the car. There was nothing to say anyway. He drove, and I stared at the road while painkillers dulled my mind. The nausea that threatened me earlier reasserted itself every time he turned the wheel too fast, but I managed. I couldn’t afford a stay at the hospital. Not to be observed for thousands of dollars I didn’t have.
I hadn’t said much to Robb, and in my own defense, he didn’t seem to mind.
We passed Cornwall’s white clapboard church, the snow-covered cemetery lined with crooked headstones, the one-roomed Post Office, and, at the end of Main Street, Riley’s—my bar. The lights were burning, and the place looked busy. I should be there, working my tail off and earning my mortgage payment. Two stories above my business, a lonely apartment waited in darkness. I pressed my nose to the passenger window as we drove past.
I should be there.
Wishing wouldn’t make going home any more likely. That wasn’t part of the deal I agreed to when I signed the DAMA, so I buried my disappointment and let Robb drive me toward my worst nightmare—A Holiday at the Sharpe McMansion.
Colorful lights whizzed by in a blur, and the last glimmer of Cornwall faded from the rearview mirror. I made one final stab at autonomy. “I feel much better.”
“Save it.” Robb croaked and stuffed an empty coffee cup into the cup holder. He squinted through the windshield, and by the dashboard’s glow, the black stubble covering his head made him look a little like a Chia Pet. “I promised my mother and Sunny I’d keep an eye on you. This was your choice.”
“Right, but I’m only staying one night. We agreed.”
“We’ll see how you look tomorrow. The old man thinks you might sue him—he may insist you stay.”
“He should let me go home, then. I can’t sue him if I’m dead.” Christmas with the senator? Honestly? I’d rather slip into a coma.
Robb shot me a look. “Not funny. I’ve seen head injuries take a turn for the worse more times than I want to count.”
I believed him. Something dire had happened to Robb—probably recently, given the purple shadows under his eyes and the deep lines fanning from the corners of his eyes and bracketing his mouth. He’d lost a lot of weight, his cheeks looked hollow, and his voice? Absolutely ruined. That might explain his silence.
We drove through thickening snow. The Housatonic River snaked blackly on one side of Route Seven and the forested hills of Cornwall towered along the other. White houses hugged equally whitened lawns, and somewhere beyond Coltsfoot Mountain, the stars hid their pale light.
I gripped my discharge papers—which consisted of a dire list of what to watch fors—and while those papers made tonight’s sleepover at the lake necessary, they didn’t make the stay any more palatable. Sunny would be at her parents’ house, but she had her own life. And, of course, she had her new life, with Lyle.
The paper blurred, and I blinked to clear my vision. I’d become a burdensome thirteen-year-old again, trucking toward another home where I didn’t belong, nothing more than a charity case. A misfit. All I lacked was a paper sack of clothes on my lap and an overworked social worker at my side.
I smoothed the wrinkles from my discharge sheet before making the first, clean fold down the center, just like old times. Leaning into the headrest, I worked without a plan, folding and creasing from memory until the sprightly form of a reindeer revealed itself in careful paper pleats.
Voilà. Origami reindeer. If only I could make a team of them and fly myself away.
I set the piece on the dash. “Rudolph will guide the truck tonight.”
Robb gave Rudolph a flat look and shook his head. “Man. You haven’t changed at all, have you?”
I couldn’t tell whether the idea pleased him or disappointed him. Still, I cringed. “Actually, I’ve changed in more ways than you can imagine.”
“Really?” The noise he made resembled a cough more than a snort. “You fell at my feet earlier, and now you’re making origami animals. It’s like the last ten years never happened.”
Fell at my feet earlier. Well, hell. “You do remember.”
Robb gripped the wheel. His stare didn’t waiver from the road. “Of course I remember, Jason. I was eighteen. I’m not the one who got hit on the head. I remember everything.”
Everything? I envisioned Robb’s younger self, his rough hand slithering inside my jeans, his mouth hot on my neck, and his long hair brushing my cheek. Don’t think about sex, no matter how earth shattering that sex was. I cleared my throat. “You didn’t act like you knew me earlier.”
“Yeah, well, right back at you. You walked past me how many times? Not even a glance. Nothing. Not a nod, or a ‘hey, nice to see you.’”
“I didn’t recognize you. You’re…” Gaunt wouldn’t sound nice. “You look different.”
“You look exactly the same.”
Dudleytown
“Shhh. Be still. Do you hear that?” Shannon yanked me against his chest. I was too surprised to do anything but dangle there until he led me into the thicket by the hand. He pulled me behind him close enough that my groin snuggled his ass with every step.
Except for the backpacks knocking me in the face and the blood on my hands…in any other circumstance, this would have been a dream come true.
Oh, fuck it. This was a dream come true. We were reenacting a moment straight from one of my favorite porno flicks: Boys & Bears.
Yes. This was absolutely the worst time to think about sex, but his calloused fingers gripped my wrist, and he dragged me into the underbrush and holy shit, his firm ass wiggled against my firming crotch. I got hard—I wasn’t proud of it. My dick stiffened like a good not-so-little soldier as his hips kissed my groin, and once we stopped, his lips brushed my ear. “Shhh.”
Torture. Absolute fucking torture.
I closed my eyes and stifled a moan. In that movie, the big guy, Duke, had fucked his little camping buddy against a sturdy tree trunk while owls hooted and coyotes howled in the distance. Naturally, they’d remembered to bring lube and condoms, and through good lighting and amazing balance they’d shucked their clothes (except somehow they’d left their boots on) and screwed as furiously as animals against the rough bark of a towering oak. Or maple. And no one had gotten a splinter in the ass.
Even so, I had tweezers…
But that wasn’t on the program for this evening—so I got a grip.
We had a minor skirmish over who was shielding who. We could have alerted the mayor two towns north of there with the ruckus we made getting ourselves hidden behind our own sturdy tree trunk, until Shannon finally wriggled behind me, and his crotch ground into my ass. He clapped on to my biceps with his strong hands. “Stay put, Allie.”
How could he be oblivious to the sexual nature of our position? I mean, really? He was on top of me, holding me, and speaking in that rumbly voice. The way he said my name…Allie…it was like sex talk. It was all I could do not to slide my hands around his hips and drag him against me.
Our bags lay in the dirt, and I focused on staying alert and useful instead of being mind-blowingly turned on. The minutes slogged by, but the night sounds were a great distraction. Chirps, ticks, snaps, and crackles. Wild animals. Wings. The wind blew endlessly through the treetops, and pinecones landed in the dirt like shrapnel. Shannon’s breath waxed and waned, fluttering into my hair. My heart beat…heartily…and his chest pressed the full length of my back.
Frankly, he was a little closer than he needed to be.
There was movement to our left—down along the Furnace Brook trail. Someone was climbing the hill. I could feel a presence way before the sound of moving feet reached my ears. Shannon whispered into my neck, and his lips touched my skin. “Don’t move.”
As if I would ever.
Seconds later a man rounded the bend and loped along the path. Shannon’s palm moved to the center of my chest, making this the second time tonight he tried to protect me. He hugged me into his body, and with a shake of his head, my heart leaped and pumped every last drop of blood straight to my crotch.
I held my breath, and Shannon held his too. His big hand didn’t move as he wrapped himself around me, and the smell of beer and pine flooded my nose.
Danger passed in a blur of feet and broad shoulders. A man raced the length of the unlit trail without a stumble or catch. He paused at the fork to take his bearings.
At least that’s how it appeared from here. I was certain of one thing—it wasn’t Ricky. Ricky had an Irish ’fro—thick, black, white-boy curls. Ricky stood taller than me, but he wasn’t as large as either Shannon or this mysterious figure. Ricky was slim and slumpy—a nutty geologist. This was a grown man standing at the crossroad, determining his path.
Shannon’s fingers dug into me. Still. Be still. I could almost hear his thoughts. Don’t fuck this up, Allie.
The figure moved; his footsteps crunched through gravel before he vanished into the bleak shadows of Dudleytown Road.
Minutes ticked by, and neither of us moved. Clearly, I inspired as much carnal interest in Shannon as a wet dishtowel, but I wished to hell I could say the same for myself. The scent of his skin flustered me. The feel of his hair flustered me. His hand on my chest…it fucking flustered me.
And the more flustered I felt, the angrier I became. “Would you mind letting go of me?”
“No. You’ll bolt. Just be still while we think.”
“Are you mental? Fuck you. Get off me.” I twisted from his grip before he could notice my boner, grabbed my bag, and slung it on. “Neither of us thinks Ricky’s down this hill. If he was, that guy would have seen him, so let’s move. He didn’t backtrack, that’s not how he operates. He must have thought he could cheat through Dudley and make it back home the easy way.”
“Okay. So we follow him.” Shannon nodded, shouldered the bags, and said for the second time, “Let’s get O’Leary and get the fuck out of here.”
Daddy's Christmas Elf by Ali Ryecart
CHAPTER ONE
“That lot out there are a nightmare, but at least they’re paying for their gropes.” Santa pulled out a wad of notes from the front of his fur trimmed, red sequinned shorts; he counted it out and grinned. “But if it means I can get the nursery finished off and fully furnished by the time the baby comes in the New Year, they can squeeze as much as they like.”
Eli’s eyes opened wide. Was that a fifty pound note Santa stuffed back inside his shorts?
“At least you’re getting something out of it, because all I’m getting is a sore arse. I’ve lost count of how many times it’s been pinched. One guy even tried to put his hand down my legging but these things are so tight I’ll have to be cut out of them at the end of the night.” Which can’t come soon enough.
Eli frowned down at himself, clad head to toe in green. Green leggings which left nothing to the imagination and were in danger of cutting off his blood supply, and a green fitted jacket which finished just above his crotch and made of horrible scratchy nylon which was making him itch. He got the costume, he understood it, he was after all one of Santa’s Little Helpers, but the make-up? Wasn’t that going too far?
Santa — Eli didn’t know the guy’s name — had told him to think of it as stage make-up. They were actors for the evening, and playing a part, he’d said as he applied eye shadow, eyeliner, and lipstick with what had looked to Eli like a practised hand. Eli’s own attempts had been less sure. Drunk drag queen isn’t the look to go for, one of the female Helpers had said with a laugh, as she wiped his face clean and re-applied his make-up. Got to make the most of those eyes of yours. She’d given him a smile and a wink as she shoved him in front of a mirror to take a look at himself.
The end result had been a surprise, and not an unpleasant one, but slap wasn’t his thing. But he could hack it, like he could hack the ridiculous costume for a few hours, because the events company was paying good money for the Christmas season and the Santa’s Little Helpers party, at a swanky West End hotel, was no exception. Eli needed every penny it paid. Loss of dignity, crushing embarrassment, and a sore arse was the price of a nice top-up to his savings account. He just wished somebody could get their hands down his front far enough to deposit a fifty pound note. Eli wrinkled his nose. Or maybe not.
“What are you doing here, wasting time? You should be out there working.”
Eli and Santa both jumped and swung around as Sheena Jolly, the event planner, strode towards them.
“I’m not paying the two of you good money to stand around gossiping. There are guests to serve. Who said you could take a break?”
“You did,” Eli said, but the woman with the bad-tempered, scrunched-up face, and the long, swishy henna red hair wasn’t haven’t any of it.
“Desserts are about to be served, and we need everybody out there. Now.” She glared at Eli, as though challenging him to argue.
Eli couldn’t afford to argue. He nodded and straightened his hat, his very stupid hat with the bell dangling from its peak. The hat that was almost as stupid as his shoes with the long, curled up toes which also had a bell hanging from their ends. Tinkly little bells, like he was somebody’s pet kitten. Thank god none of his friends could see him… But this gig, just like the others he’d worked, was all about the money. No, argument wasn’t an option.
“Service!”
The event planner jerked her head towards the kitchen.
“Desserts are ready. Santa, you’re now serving the top table. Elf, you know your tables. Get to it. Gillespie Associates is a new and highly valued client, so everything needs to be as smooth as silk. No cock ups.” With a swish of her swishy hair, Sheena turned on her heel and clattered away.
“Service! Get an elfin’ move on!”
“Let’s get on with it. I can’t afford to piss her off,” Santa muttered under his breath as they made their way to the kitchen to collect the desserts.
Eli’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, before it had even got light, and it was now almost 8.30pm. He’d hoped to be able to snag something to eat from the kitchen but he, like everybody else, had been flat out since arriving at the hotel that morning to help set up the themed party.
Eli huffed as he picked up the tray laden with four large plates, each holding a selection of Christmas treats artfully arranged in the centre. Mini Christmas pudding, mince pie, and stollen, all of them sweet and warm and accompanied by a large jug of brandy-laced cream. His stomach rumbled again and his mouth watered. Sure, he’d be able to eat at the end of the evening, but midnight, when the corporate Christmas party was due to finish, might as well have been weeks away.
Santa pushed through the door into the function room, and Eli followed.
The noise, which for a few blessed minutes had been muted, hit him full in the face. He was sure it’d got noisier and even more raucous. The party guests, a firm of City investment bankers, were the rowdiest he’d worked over the Christmas season. Everybody he’d come into contact with that night had been tanked up on the free-flowing booze, which had not only loosened inhibitions but had ripped them off and chucked them away. Eli had held his tongue, his smile fixed on his face. He’d been leered at, touched up and propositioned by both men and women. He wouldn’t have minded so much if it had all been accompanied by bank notes stuffed down his front… Or he’d have minded less. Maybe.
Just think about the money. Remember why you’re doing this. The words he said to himself before every gig. All he needed to do was Keep Calm and Carry On — just like it said on his morning coffee mug.
Eli sucked in a deep breath and widened his smile, hoping it didn’t look too much like a grimace.
“Desserts, ladies and gentlemen.” Just keep smiling.
This was the worst of the tables assigned to him. Louder, rowdier, and way ruder than the others put together, with the loudest, rowdiest, rudest guy of the lot smirking as he looked Eli up and down. Again.
“Well, it’s our very own sexy little elf. Love the lip gloss, by the way.” The guy’s smirk grew wider. “You look like you’re an extra in an adults-only seasonal special.”
The guy’s comment drew drunken laughter from the others around the table.
“Your dessert, madam.” Eli put a plate in front of a glassy-eyed woman, ignoring the remark. “Cream?”
She shook her head and instead refilled her wine glass, sloshing it over the side.
Eli made his way around the table, serving the women first. The smirking guy said nothing more as the conversation resumed. Eli gave a silent sigh of relief. The guy had been goading him all evening, but now he seemed to have forgotten about him. One more tray of desserts to bring out and then he could move on to serving his other tables. Eli poured cream for the last of the women he’d served and was about to put the jug on the table when a hand tightened around his arm. Eli yelped as he was tugged down into the smirking guy’s lap.
“What do you think you’re doing? You can’t do this. Let me go.”
“Stop being a twat and leave the kid alone,” one of men muttered. His attention flickered from his dessert to Eli and back again, where it settled, Eli all but forgotten.
“It’s just a bit of fun. It’s Christmas, and isn’t Christmas all about having fun? What do you think, elf?"
The guy’s grin turned to a leer.
Feral.
Eli’s heart beat faster. If this had been a dark street, he’d have run as far and fast as he could, but the guy, thin and wiry but strong, held him fast.
“You’re Santa’s Little Helper, aren’t you? How about helping me with this.”
“Ehhg! Fuck off, you slimy creep,” Eli burst out when the guy ground his erection against his arse.
Eli tried to push himself away, but the guy had him pinned down. Somebody — another elf, Santa, the event planner, anybody — had to come and help, but amidst the noise and drunken laughter, everybody was oblivious to what was happening.
“For god’s sake, Murray, that’s enough,” the glassy-eyed woman slurred.
“We’re only having a laugh, aren’t we?” The guy called Murray grinned wider.
Eli lurched backwards as he tried to get away, jarring his back against the edge of the table. Pain burned through him, along with anger.
“Pass the jug, I want cream,” the drunk woman muttered.
“We all want cream, don’t we?” Murray sniggered as he ran his hand up Eli’s thigh, towards where Eli’s jacket stopped just short of his crotch.
Eli shoved Murray’s hand away, his anger turning to white hot rage. No way was he taking this crap.
“You want cream? You can fucking have it.”
Eli didn’t have time to wince with pain as he twisted and grabbed the jug just before the woman pulled it towards her. With one hand, Eli swung the heavy jug in an arc — and emptied it over Murray’s head.
Eli was almost catapulted from Murray’s lap as thick cream dripped from Murray’s soaked head all over his shoulders and down the front of his suit.
The drunken laughter and chatter around the table fell silent.
“You little bastard. Can’t you take a joke? What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” Murray was panting hard, his sharp teeth bared in a snarl. Eli swallowed. The guy looked like a rabid dog, ready to attack.
Those at the tables nearest to them began to turn and stare, the start of a tidal wave of attention Eli wanted to run away from. He was shaking. From his turned up at the toes ridiculous shoes with the bells hanging from the ends, to the bell topped tip of his equally stupid felt hat, every part of Eli was shaking as fury and humiliation consumed him.
“What was I playing at? Stopping you from rubbing your nasty little dick all over my bum, for a start. That’s assault, and I’m going to report you to the police.”
Even as Eli’s threat fell from his lips, he knew it was pointless. Who around the table would back his word against their slimeball colleague’s?
Murray’s answering sneer sent a fresh wave of anger through Eli. He pulled his shoulders back, tilted his chin up, gathering together as much dignity as a man dressed as an elf could, as he let his words ring out.
“If you’re so desperate to get your rocks off, there are plenty of dark back streets around here where you can do it for a price.”
The collective gasp was louder than any of the raucous laughter Eli had been hearing all night.
Murray’s face, through the curtain of cream, turned blood red. He lunged forward as Eli staggered back, and everything exploded into fast forward.
Sheena, the sour faced events planner, hurtled forward like a bullet, a couple of minions on her heels, as she darted between Eli and Murray.
“I’m so sorry for this unacceptable and outrageous behaviour. I can’t apologise enough for what’s happened. Let me—” Sheena began to dab at Murray’s ruined suit.
“What?” Eli’s head snapped from Murray to Sheena. “He was touching me up — he had no right. What was I supposed—?”
“Please leave the function room, Elias.” Two small, angry eyes bored into him. “Now.”
“But he was—”
“What’s going on here?” The voice cut across Eli, from behind him, clipped but calm and full of authority.
“He tried—”
“Elias! Wait for me in the staff area. Now.”
Eli didn’t need to be told twice. Spinning around and almost falling over his stupid shoes, he dipped his head and did everything he could to stop himself from running.
The Little Matchboy by Jackie North
1
Sean
While he was finishing up the last of the rich hot chocolate that Cory had made for him, by hand and from scratch, no less, Sean sat on the couch and considered his options. He considered his options extra hard as he watched his friend Alex and Cory, Alex’s boyfriend and maybe fiancé, cuddling in the kitchen where they’d gone, they alleged, to fetch the homemade whipped cream that Sean had repeatedly insisted he neither wanted nor needed.
He wasn’t being a grump about it, but whipped cream had the tendency to melt and get all sludgy in the bottom of whatever container of food or beverage it had been on top of. In the meanwhile, in the day and a half that he’d been a guest in the little brick cottage on Emery Street, he’d been subjected to good food, yes, great hospitality, a comfortable couch, and about as many lovey dovey demonstrations from Alex and Cory as he could stomach. They were always at it. Kissing. Bussing noses. Making eyes at each other. Tending to the other guy’s every want and need, either real or imagined.
And it wasn’t that he begrudged Alex’s well-deserved taste of domesticity, either. Alex had come from the same rough streets of Chicago that he had. Alex had gotten messed up with the mob, and drugs, and all that stuff, and deserved to live the good life, now that he’d left all the bad behind.
Sean had kept his nose to the grindstone and as clean as could possibly be imagined while working in a busy car garage. Maybe he’d wanted to do something else when he was a kid growing up, but you couldn’t make a living being a woodcarver, now, could you. No, at least not in Chicago. Besides, cars were cool. You could make good money fixing them up, especially the older cars, where parts were hard to come by, and the grandpas and older uncles in the area looked on Sean as their young god when he could find them that fan belt with the extra half inch, an odd size, or a rare and blemish-free chrome grill for their precious De Soto or Thunderbird convertible.
Alex had gone out West from Chicago to get away from what he described as a bad situation. From the sound of his voice over the phone when he’d called Sean, the bad situation had been pretty bad, but nobody from the mob had come by the garage to ask overly polite questions of Sean as to where his buddy Alex had gone, so it was either they’d not noticed he was missing, or didn’t care. Either way, Alex was free, it seemed.
Only when he’d not come home, Sean had made a point of tracking him down, and right after Christmas had driven Princess, his Buick GS 455, between storms to arrive at the front door of the little brick house. After a drive across the country like that, his whole body had gone numb from the rattle of the muscle car that was never meant to be driven for three straight days like that. In Chicago, for jaunts and short trips to the store or whatever, sure, but for highway driving at seventy miles an hour? The car, for all it was sturdy and fast, had begun to shake, and Sean feared he’d have to do an overhaul on Princess before he drove her back to Chicago.
So. Options. He could continue to sleep on the fairly comfortable couch and watch the love fest between Alex and Cory continue. Or, he could beg off and go find himself a room at the Super 8 he’d noticed right off Highway 66 at the north end of Harlin.
The first option would drive him crazy in the next 24 hours, and it wasn’t a sure thing that the going-out-of-his-mind portion of the visit wouldn’t happen inside of 12 hours. The second option offered him a small room with a flat mattress and greasy carpet, to boot, but it was all he could afford. And, as well, it would mean that he’d have to explain his exit to said motel without hurting anyone’s feelings.
Alex’s feelings he could sort out, as he always had. Hey, I’m leaving, bye. But as for Cory? The sensitive college professor with more brains in his head than anyone Sean had ever met? Who doted on Alex so hard that Sean was tempted to suspect his motives, and who might have Alex in the palm of his hand for some nefarious reasons? Which would have been a great conspiracy to mull over, except Alex positively glowed now. Like he’d never done in Chicago. His face was bright, and his dark hair sleek and shiny, as though, now that he had someone looking after him, he was truly happy. And the last thing Sean wanted to do was upset the person who had made Alex happy.
That Cory loved Alex very much was probably the truth and being as how Sean was rather fond of Alex, there wasn’t any way he was going to come between the two lovebirds, even if it made him feel a little queasy to watch them go at it. Kissing. Loving on each other. Singing in the shower that they, yes, took together that morning.
Now that it was late afternoon, he could only hope that there wasn’t going to be a repeat shower that evening, even though it seemed like there would be, for what was wrong with a little bit of sexy fun time in a hot shower? Nothing, that’s what. Maybe he should just gird his loins and be prepared to bear it for as long as he was here. Then he could take care of Princess and head on home to his regularly scheduled life. Yes, he could go back if Alex was okay and, by the looks of things, he was more than okay, so what was Sean sticking around for?
He didn’t really know. He got up to take his now empty china mug into the kitchen, awarding himself points for bravery as he moved around the couple, who were now dancing in the middle of the tile floor to romantic music only they could hear. He sighed. They wouldn’t like it if he left, and he wouldn’t like it if he stayed. Stalemate.
“We still going on that walk thing?” he asked, putting the mug in the sink.
There wasn’t anything else in the sink. Despite Cory having just made hot chocolate, the sink was clean, no sign of a pan. There wasn’t anything on the stove, no stains or spillovers either. It was like walking into a picture in a magazine about beautiful homes. The whole cottage was like that, spotless and shining from ceiling to floor. So should he rinse and wash the mug or just leave it? Or should he put on some music so the lovebirds could sway and stare into each other’s eyes a little longer?
“The little between-holiday walk thingy?” Sean asked again, making a vague round gesture in the air and left the mug in the sink.
“The Winter Wonderland Walk on Main Street,” said Cory in a low murmur as he kissed Alex and pushed his dark hair back from his face. “It’s fun, you’ll like it.”
Of course he was going to like it! It was going to allow him to get out of the house at last, get some fresh air, do some recon of the area. And he’d been promised hot cider and local-made fudge and other edibles as well, so he was all in. Hot cider sounded so old-fashioned, so Norman Rockwell, and while that wasn’t normally his speed, he was out west now. Time to try something new.
He was just about to get out his cell phone and pump out some romantic music with undertones of post-coital bliss when Alex and Cory finally broke it up, laughed into each other’s mouths, sighed happily, and looked at Sean with their arms still around each other’s waists.
“It’ll be cold, so bundle up,” said Cory, looking vaguely parental as he appraised Sean’s outfit. It was what he always wore at the garage. No point in changing just because, right? Worn blue jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel shirt served him just fine in Chicago, and his fingerless gloves were very useful in the shop when he was working on small parts on a cold day.
“At least your coat seems thick enough,” said Cory with a shake of his head, as though he found Sean’s choice of clothes, something he was going to be burdened with for the rest of the visit.
Only, beneath the slightly disparaging tones was the warmth of concern, so strong that Sean felt it. Inside of a minute, he knew that because he was Alex’s good friend, whatever Cory had been dishing out for Alex to make him look like a sleek, domesticated house cat was soon coming in Sean’s direction. Like a clothes makeover. A thick, dashing sweater and maybe even a bowtie, such as Cory had been sporting the evening before when they’d taken him to dinner at an amazing local Mexican restaurant.
“Their abuela, she makes the refried beans in the back from scratch,” Cory had said in a confiding tone. “All of this is homemade.”
Whatever an abuela was, Sean did not know, but he wanted to find her and kiss her for her refried beans, which tasted much better out here than they ever had in Chicago. Alex had promised him more good food and other outings, so now Sean grabbed his thick parka from the hook by the door and waited. And waited through some more kissing and close-quarters discussion about whether Cory would be warm enough, and where was Alex’s hat.
Alex wearing a hat, a close-fitting knitted cap, was something that Sean never thought he would see. But he waited patiently while they wrapped scarves around each other’s necks, and kissed a few more times, and it was only when Alex jingled the house keys in his hand that Sean knew they were about to escape the love nest and step into the wild, cold world of winter.
When he opened the front door and took a huge lungful of bright, wintery air, he knew he had made it through another day inside that house. Maybe he could make a few more days staying with them, right? Without bashing his head against the wall? Maybe, maybe.
The air outside was crisp and cold, with round glittering circles around each and every streetlight. There were traces of snow as they walked along the flagstone sidewalk to Main Street, but nothing to get in their way. Though, yes, there were enough slippery spots that Alex and Cory walked arm in arm, as though even a moment’s separation from each other would put them each in danger. After which, rescue would most assuredly come, as would more kissing and maybe even a quick fondle.
Enough. Sean made himself look away and marched solidly behind them until they reached Main Street, which had been decorated with silver garland, with blue and silver swag hung between the streetlights and across the street, and signs welcoming everyone to the Winter Wonderland Walk.
It was just dark, and the sidewalk on either side of the street was lively with pedestrians and strollers and folks all bundled to the cold. And it was cold. Maybe it was the altitude, but the air felt thin, much thinner than Chicago, and sharp, and every time he inhaled he was inhaling little silver knives. He’d get used to it. He could get used to anything.
“We’ll cross and go down the other side of the street and then come up on this side. Sound good?” asked Cory.
Since Cory knew the area and the best spots, Sean nodded and didn’t say anything when Alex hugged Cory to him. Not because he’d told himself he’d done enough mental complaining, but because the smile that Alex flashed at him was brighter than any streetlight, brighter than the stars overhead, even.
Their love for each other was pure and deep, and Sean told himself he wasn’t jealous at all. He’d just never seen Alex looking like he was happy, contented, and really, like he’d been caressed all over, inside and out. There was nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. And nothing wrong with following the happy couple across the street, at the pedestrian crosswalk, taking it slow as they walked down the sidewalk in an awkward grouping of three, like a little tripod, only two of the legs were very, very close together. Enough.
They stopped at a soap store to smell the samples and take away slices of strong smelling soap wrapped in the finest wax paper. They stopped at a bar that had drink samples, inside only, twenty-one years of age and over, of fine whiskey and beer, made locally.
They stopped at a store that made and sold homemade quilts, but there wasn’t much that could be done with that except to make appreciative sounds and admire. Except Cory found a quilt being made right then and there that he said would be perfect for the summer, paid for it, and would pick it up when it was finished.
Someone, a reporter, took his picture standing next to the quilt maker and the wooden frame upon which the half-made quilt was stretched. All of this was hometown stuff that was cozy and sweet and nothing he’d experienced. Free samples, sure. But a newspaper article about Cory buying a quilt before it was finished? Local Man Buys Quilt, Read All About It. It was craziness and cuteness rolled into one.
By the time they made it down Main Street to the train tracks and up the other side, Sean was tired. Not physically, but mentally, from looking at things and being aware of his new surroundings and not bumping into people. And he was full. The fudge shop had been great, and the samples had been huge, and Cory was now carrying a big bag of the stuff for them to share later in the little brick love nest. But he was full, so he was glad to see that the last few shops weren’t offering samples of food, they were just selling stuff.
A few places had items for sale on tables out front of the shop, and most had awnings overhead, which would be helpful if it snowed to keep everything dry. The last place looked like the awning had torn or broken and was rolled back, leaving the tables and what was on them exposed. It made the storefront look bare and worn, and there was even a crack in one of the large front windows.
Sean stopped, drawn to the groupings on the long tables. Half of it was junk, and half just looked old. He thought he’d seen a little model of his Buick, but it turned out to be a plastic model that somebody had painted. They’d done a messy job, and it wasn’t a Buick.
“See anything you like, mister?” asked the kid standing at the edge of the table on the right. He was shivering in a too-thin coat and his fair hair was sticking to his head, like he’d recently been sweating before stepping out in the cold.
“We got an antique butter dish.” The kid pointed to and then lifted an old glass butter dish with a bit of masking tape on it, with $2.99 written in marker. The glass must have been really old or it must have been really cold, for when the kid picked up the butter dish, it cracked into two pieces in his hand.
Out of the door to the shop came an older man, red-faced, sweating, and smelling like beer.
“What’re you doing, Roddy? Why you breaking stuff?” shouted the man, almost in a froth of fury. “Get over here.”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” said Roddy, his shoulders going down.
Sean thought fast, second nature to him after years and years on the mean streets of Chicago. Only this wasn’t Chicago, so the streets shouldn’t have been so mean. Except they were. As the kid tried to get past Sean and go around the table to go to the man, Sean stood his ground and grabbed the butter dish from the kid’s hand.
“My fault, dude,” he said. “I’ve been looking for a butter dish just like this and now I’ve broken it.” He shook his head as though truly embarrassed and, really, quite upset over the loss of a treasured item. “Just about three bucks, right? Let me give you five.”
Cory and Alex, alerted by the fact that he wasn’t just behind them, turned around and joined Sean in their little bundle of humanity that stood between the kid and whatever his dad was planning to hand out.
“You got the five, Sean?” asked Alex quietly, pulling out his wallet. With a deft motion, he handed a five-dollar bill to the man and nodded at Sean. “We’ll keep an eye out for another butter dish,” he told Sean solemnly, as though they’d been searching together for the item.
“I’m really upset about it,” said Sean, pretending to sniff, wiping his upper lip with the back of his hand. “Thanks, Alex.”
The wool of his fingerless gloves felt scratchy and smelled of home, of the diesel fuel of trucks and the watery muck that floated on the top of the Chicago River. He felt a pang of homesickness, and a dash of something else. Righteous anger, maybe, that some jackass asshat of a guy still looked like he wanted to pound the hell out of the poor kid, who was looking at Sean with big, dark grey eyes, like Sean had just pulled him off the third class deck of a sinking Titanic. Something warned him that a confrontation wasn’t yet out of the question, so he needed to leave his mark behind so that maybe he could stop it.
“I could come back by tomorrow, if you think you have another dish just like the one I broke.” He held the two pieces of the butter dish in one hand. The break wasn’t jagged, it was clean, and would cut cleanly, if he decided to use it that way. He hefted the pieces, making them clink, drawing everyone’s eyes to them. “Tomorrow, you know. Me and my friends here.”
Alex glared at the dad, looking like his old tough self, and Cory pursed his lips together in the way of an angry librarian whose study carrels have been disturbed just one too many times.
“Yeah, sure,” said the dad, waving them away like they’d been irritating him for hours. “Start packing it in, Roddy, and make it quick. I want to catch the news and don’t want to listen to you clanking around in the shop.”
As Roddy began packing up old junk in warped cardboard boxes, there was nothing else Sean could do.
“Let’s throw this away,” he said to Alex and Cory as they walked down the street toward home.
“We’ll recycle it,” said Cory. “It’s the right thing to do.”
Of course it was. Sean wasn’t surprised, actually, that this had been Cory’s response. But that meant he had to carry two sharp-edged pieces of glass in his hand all the way home, and each time he hefted their weight, he thought of Roddy and his pale, scared face with those too-big dark grey eyes. As to what would happen to Roddy when he and his dad went inside? There was no telling, and Sean tried to shake it out of his mind.
Holiday Complication by Talia Carmichael
“She does.” Cameron eyed the man. “When Piper called and said you wanted to meet me before we walked down the aisle together, I wondered why.”
“It would be awkward to meet for first time at the altar.” Stefano smiled a roughish grin. “Seeing you I’m happy I made the trip to see you. Piper mentioned you didn’t have a date for the wedding. You do now.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” Cameron smiled amused at the audacity of the man.
He wasn’t like he expected. From how the others had talked about him he was standoffish.
“Whichever will make me have my way.” Stefano smirked.
Cameron stared at him then started to laugh. The man was arrogant and damn if he didn’t like that when he usually wouldn’t. He was blunt which was also a draw. Also, Stefano was sexy as hell. The man was pushing all his buttons. Cameron sobered. He didn’t want any complications and just looking at Stefano he knew the man was all complication.
“I don’t do relationships.”
“Me either.” Stefano said. “And no one said anything about relationships. It’s just a date. One little bitty date. Come on you know you want to.” Stefano cajoled.
“But will once be enough.” Cameron eyes widened. “Christ I can’t believe I said that.”
“You did and I am holding you to it.” He smiled then sobered. “And you are right. Once will not be enough. So, date for wedding and since I picked that one you pick the next.” Stefano moved closer. “And before you try to say since we are both going to the wedding it’s not a true date let me clarify. I will be picking you up, taking you to wedding, we do the wedding stuff and then at the reception we will eat, dance then later.” His eyes darkened. “I will take you home and kiss you.”
“Kiss?”
“For now. I’m an old-fashioned man at times. And kiss on first date.” He paused. “Second date we’ll see.”
“Second date is mine.” Cameron licked his lips. “So, I’ll be in charge and we’ll see what I want.”
“Ok.” His nostrils flared and he partially lowered his lids over those light blue eyes. “Your voice went all deep and it makes me want to take you somewhere to practice that kiss.”
“Yes.” Cameron leaned toward him.
Stefano reached for him.
The Week Before Christmas by Beth Laycock
The workshop was abuzz with activity, even at this early hour, but before I could unwrap my scarf, Santa waved me over. Dodging the elves already hard at work, I followed him into his office, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling of déjà vu.
“Did you check on Dash?” Santa asked as he paced the length of his small office.
“Yes. As soon as I left you yesterday. He was fine—even managed to polish off a good helping of his favourite moss. Then I took him out for a walk along the seashore once I’d finished all my jobs and he had fun splashing in the shallows.”
Santa stopped and spun to face me, tugging on his white beard. “Really?” I nodded and he dropped into his chair with a grunt. “I don’t understand. When I went in last night before I went to bed, the other reindeer were sound asleep, but Dash was pacing his stall, scraping his hooves across the stones over and over. Even when I spoke to him, he didn’t settle but eventually lay down. He looked so sad though, and he was still awake when I left.”
Santa sounded distraught, but I didn’t know what to say—Dash had been fine when I’d left him.
“What if it’s something serious?” Santa’s eyebrows disappeared beneath the white curls falling over his forehead.
I swallowed thickly at the thought.
“What if he can’t fly on Christmas Eve? What would we do then? There’s no other reindeer that could take his place—none of them can fly.” Santa’s eyes met mine across the desk. “Christmas will be ruined.”
I stared at Santa not knowing what to say. There was nothing to say, he was right, it would be. So, I did the only thing I could and hurried away to check on Dash.
Christmas will be ruined. All the way to the barn those words echoed through my mind. Christmas will be ruined. I yanked my feet out of the snow—almost buried to my knee—hurrying as best I could over last night’s snowfall. By the time I reached the barn, my chest was heaving, plumes of my breath misting on the air, and I didn’t think it was just the exertion of rushing.
I grabbed the large iron handle and tugged on the door—nothing. It didn’t move an inch and my dream flickered in full technicolour beneath my closed eyelids. This could not be happening.
I heaved on the handle, putting my full weight behind it, and was rewarded by the squeal of the wheels as the door slid open. Releasing a sigh of relief, I hurried inside, dashing down the centre aisle of the barn, past the stalls with the other reindeer, a couple of them lifting their heads to peek out at the commotion I was making.
I reached Dash’s stall and pulled up short. It was empty. Huh? The gate was bolted shut and Santa hadn’t said anybody else was checking on Dash. I leant over the wooden slat to peer into the stall and almost fell over the gate and inside when I spied the stranger curled up in the corner—the strange man who was butt naked.
When not working from her home in the rolling hills of Northwestern Connecticut, author L.B. Gregg can be spotted in coffee shops from Berlin to Singapore to Panama-- sipping lattes and writing scorchingly hot, often funny, stories about men who love men.
I love all kinds of MM romance and gay fiction, but I especially like contemporary stories. Born and raised in London, the city is part of my DNA so I like to set many of my stories in and around present-day London, providing the perfect, metropolitan backdrop to the main action. I write at home, in the gym, in cafés —in fact I write any place I can find a good coffee!
Jackie North has been writing stories since grade school and her dream was to someday leave her corporate day job behind and travel the world. She also wanted to put her English degree to good use and write romance novels, because for years she's had a never-ending movie of made-up love stories in her head that simply wouldn't leave her alone.
Luckily, she discovered m/m romance and decided that men falling in love with other men was exactly what she wanted to write about. In this dazzling new world, she turned her grocery-store romance ideas around and is now putting them to paper as fast as her fingers can type. She creates characters who are a bit flawed and broken, who find themselves on the edge of society, and maybe a few who are a little bit lost, but who all deserve a happily ever after. (And she makes sure they get it!)
She likes long walks on the beach, the smell of lavender and rainstorms, and enjoys sleeping in on snowy mornings. She is especially fond of pizza and beer and, when time allows, long road trips with soda fountain drinks and rock and roll music. In her heart, there is peace to be found everywhere, but since in the real world this isn't always true, Jackie writes for love.
Talia Carmichael is a romantic who believes that family, no matter if it is by blood or those you choose as family, is integral to who you are. She is an author who writes sexy stories in a variety of genres. She believes in creating stories that encompass all that falling in love or lust entails, from the highs of that first blush of attraction to the lows of not knowing if you can make your coming together as a couple work, and then finally to the acceptance of the reality of making a life together. It's all about the journey.
Among her books you'll find contemporary, futuristic, fantasy, and paranormal settings with M/M themes that will have a happily-ever-after. Her books are passionate, intense, and real… to fill the craving.
Beth Laycock’s books are influenced by her time living overseas as well as the gritty, urban landscape of the north of England where she grew up. She has been reading romance since she was old enough to tell herself that line every book lover does—just one more chapter.
As a teenager, she attempted to write her first novel, and many more since then are still gathering dust on her bookshelf. It wasn’t until she discovered the M/M genre that her muse showed up and refused to quit telling her stories about beautiful men finding love together. She hasn’t stopped scribbling them down since.
Beth’s muse usually shows up when she is in the shower, is allergic to cleaning, rarely lets her watch TV, and insists she drinks copious amounts of coffee so she can turn caffeine into words.
Beth’s books range from sweet to sexy, long to short, contemporary to paranormal, but a HEA is always guaranteed.
LB Gregg
EMAIL: lbgregg@lbgregg.com
Ali Ryecart
EMAIL: aliryecart@ryecartauthor
Jackie North
The Cornwall Novellas by LB Gregg
Daddy's Christmas Elf by Ali Ryecart
The Little Matchboy by Jackie North
Holiday Complication by Talia Carmichael
KOBO / iTUNES / GOODREADS TBR
The Week Before Christmas by Beth Laycock
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