Summary:
How tangled can a romantic web get?
When gruff arctic explorer Dominic Hartington-George seeks sponsorship for his latest expedition, his London PA insists on a more media-friendly profile—like dating celebrity supermodel Zeb Z.
Zeb can’t make the date, so he asks his identical twin, Aidan, to stand in for just one evening. Aidan, a struggling playwright, shuns the limelight to the extent people don’t even know Zeb has a sibling, but he reluctantly agrees.
When the deception has to continue beyond the first date, Aidan struggles to keep up the pretense. Dominic likes his sassy, intelligent companion, and Aidan starts falling for the forthright explorer. But how long can Aidan’s conscience cope as confusion abounds? Will coming clean as “the other twin” destroy the trust they’ve built?
This story offers you a gruff anti-socialite, an introvert whose good nature gets taken advantage of, the glamorous world of London modelling, fake boyfriend, a charmingly hotch-potch theatre group, a heart-to-heart at the top of a mountain, and a mischievous pair of blue briefs!
Author Note: this is the same book as previously published by Dreamspinner Press, but with a new cover, and now published by the author.
Summary:
Is this the makeover of a lifetime?
Ambitious fashionista Perry Goodwood lands the project of his dreams—track down a celebrity family’s missing brother in the Scottish Highlands and bring him back to London for a TV reality show. But first he must transform the rugged loner into a glamorous sophisticate.
Greg Ventura has no use for high fashion. He lives on the isolated island of North Uist to escape the reminder that he’s nowhere near as handsome as his gorgeous brothers and avoid the painful childhood memories of being bullied.
Greg wants nothing to do with city life, and Perry’s never been outside London. When Perry is stranded on North Uist, this conflict seems insurmountable. But Greg is captivated by the vivacious Perry, and Perry by both the island and his host.
However, Perry’s one heartfelt wish remains: that ugly duckling Greg fulfill his potential as a swan.
This story offers you a grumpy recluse, a lively yet determined fish out of water, a remote and wildly beautiful Scottish location, opposites attract, straight-talking friends, an impossibly glossy celebrity family, and a loyal and mischievous dog!
Author Note: this is the same book as previously published by Dreamspinner Press, but with a new cover, and now published by the author
With Romancing the Ugly Duckling, Clare London has brought a modern M/M romance twist to the childhood story we were all told to show us that the inner self is where true beauty lies and to never judge a book by its cover. Greg left the city and everything behind to outrun his childhood of being the local bullies favorite target. Peter's job is to find the elusive brother to a celebrity family so they can be the newest reality television hit. What they find is what neither was looking for.
I have never read Dreamspinner's Dreamspun Desires series before but if any of them are half as good as Romancing the Ugly Duckling I know I'll love them. Is it really an opposites attract trope? Well, that might be a bit too simplistic labeling but on the surface it's probably pretty accurate. Having a pretty good inkling as to where the tale ends can sometimes ruin a story but sometimes it can make it even better because the truly intriguing bits are found in the journey.
Romancing makes for perfect summer reading, who am I kidding, it's a lovely read any time of year. The lessons we learned, or should have learned, from the ugly duckling tale of our childhood should never leave us but unfortunately those are the lessons we too often forget so not only does Clare London bring us a beautifully written fun romance but she reminds us that a person's worth is not just what we see on the surface. You won't be sorry for giving this one a chance.
RATING:
I have never read Dreamspinner's Dreamspun Desires series before but if any of them are half as good as Romancing the Ugly Duckling I know I'll love them. Is it really an opposites attract trope? Well, that might be a bit too simplistic labeling but on the surface it's probably pretty accurate. Having a pretty good inkling as to where the tale ends can sometimes ruin a story but sometimes it can make it even better because the truly intriguing bits are found in the journey.
Romancing makes for perfect summer reading, who am I kidding, it's a lovely read any time of year. The lessons we learned, or should have learned, from the ugly duckling tale of our childhood should never leave us but unfortunately those are the lessons we too often forget so not only does Clare London bring us a beautifully written fun romance but she reminds us that a person's worth is not just what we see on the surface. You won't be sorry for giving this one a chance.
RATING:
Greg and Perry’s first Christmas dinner together. Cue a storm, a power cut, and rogue red cabbage in the Scottish Highlands!
This is a short story featuring the apparently mis-matched couple Greg and Perry.
Read how they first met - and the romantic rollercoaster that followed! - in the novel ROMANCING THE UGLY DUCKLING.
Romancing the Wrong Twin #1
A younger man darted out from what must have been the living room, clutching a leather jacket to his chest as if in protection. He saw Aidan, glanced at Tanya with widening eyes, then back at Aidan. Then he thrust out his hand and said perfectly cheerily, “I’m Eric. He threatens to kill me on a daily basis.”
Aidan just shook hands and nodded. He had no idea what to say to that, or even what it meant.
Tanya frowned at Eric. “Whatever. We’re just going. The car will come for you at seven. In the meantime, if you’d like a drink?”
But Eric took her arm and guided her toward the front door. “They can cope with that themselves, Tanya. Come on.”
And Aidan was left on his own in the hallway.
He took a deep breath to center himself. The house wasn’t huge, but it was in a very fashionable area of Ladbroke Grove and far more luxurious than his own small flat. That said, there wasn’t much furniture and the decoration wasn’t modern. The hallway walls were painted in plain, cool colours. No pictures hung on the walls, and there was only a single bureau and hat stand, albeit in quality wood. Eric had left the living room door ajar behind him, and Aidan took a quick peek inside before announcing himself. From what he could see, again the walls were plain and the furniture sparse. It was as if the owner was in the process of moving out—or had never really settled in.
A male figure paused in front of the half-open door. He was distracted by something on the other side of the room, so Aidan got a first secret glimpse of the man he’d been told so much about.
Dominic Hartington-George..
He was much more handsome in real life than on TV, though in most of the documentaries, he was wrapped up in furry parkas or oilskins with his face more than half-hidden with a scarf and balaclava. Today he was wearing a very smart pair of dark trousers, a startlingly white dress shirt—which had to be brand-new to still have that sheen—and a well-cut suit jacket that settled comfortably across an impressive set of shoulders. His hair was a fabulous thatch of dark curls, and he had a dark beard and mustache to match. Guiltily Aidan recalled Zeb’s mischievous nickname: Hairy Guy. But that conjured up a Wild Man of Borneo kind of image, and H-G was far from that. The hair was naturally unruly but had been styled to a level just off his shoulders, and the beard was well trimmed.
Aidan had never been attracted to hairy bears, not that he’d ever had much of a choice. As Zeb had gleefully pointed out more than once, Aidan seemed to attract needy and spiteful wankers who got off on bleeding him dry of any compassion and care. Oh, and his money too.
Okay. Self-pity over, right now. I’m not Loser Aidan now. I’m the charismatic and disgustingly fascinating Zeb Z.
For the first time in this bizarre performance, Aidan felt the tickle of mischief. This just might be fun after all. He pushed the door fully open, walked into the room, and cleared his throat.
H-G turned slowly around to face Aidan fully. His gaze ranged over Aidan’s body, and his eyes widened. “Well. They didn’t lie.”
“Who didn’t? What about?”
H-G raised his eyebrows. “Well, firstly, they said you were a bit feisty.”
Feisty? Aidan hadn’t heard that word outside of romance-novel blurbs.
“And you wouldn’t be fazed by… you know.”
“No, I don’t know. By what?” Aidan bit his lip to stop a laugh escaping.
“My celebrity.”
Jesus. Zeb was right. The man was one big blob of arrogance. “No,” Aidan said coolly. “I’m not.”
“That’s from working in the business, I suppose.”
“Business?” Oh, right, he was meant to be Zeb. “Yes, of course. When you’ve seen so many guys without the spray tan and makeup,” he gabbled without thinking first, “you soon realise they’ve got the same equipment under it all.”
H-G blinked twice, hard. And then he laughed—a loud, bold sound, echoing warmly in the bleak room.
Aidan wanted to laugh with him, but maintained his cool stare. “What’s so funny?” Had he blown it already? He hadn’t even left the house with the man yet.
“They didn’t tell me you were witty, Zeb. I may call you Zeb?”
Why? “Oh yes, right. Of course.”
Dom’s language was quaintly old-fashioned, but Aidan found it rather charming, especially after the theatrical bickering of the Dreamweavers and his brother’s exuberant and affected chatter.
“And secondly?” Aidan prompted.
“I’m sorry?” H-G frowned at him.
God, what a scowl he has. “You said they didn’t lie, and then you gave the first reason.”
H-G raised his eyebrows. “You have a good memory.”
Yes, he does have lovely eyes. “Yes, I do. Especially when I’m listening.”
H-G’s mouth twisted as if he were trying not to smirk. “Secondly, they didn’t lie about your looks, and that you were even better-looking in real life. I concur. You’re bloody gorgeous.”
Aidan wondered whom H-G was talking about. Zeb was the one who’d made a career based on his looks. Aidan made his on ignoring his own. So obviously H-G was talking about Zeb—or Aidan-as-Zeb. Aidan tugged self-consciously at the skintight jeans. His briefs felt uncomfortable between the cheeks of his arse and the hairs on his lower belly had snagged under the buttons of the fly. How the hell did Zeb manage to walk straight in these on a daily basis? “And you’re bloody blunt,” he returned smartly.
H-G tilted his head. He was smiling openly now as if he was enjoying the banter. “I’ve never seen any reason to be otherwise.”
H-G’s gaze didn’t make Aidan entirely comfortable. “Like what you see?” he said rather too snappily.
But H-G just laughed again. “You’re not as androgynous as you look in the magazines either.”
“What does that mean?”
“You look all man to me.” H-G’s eyes darkened, and for a moment his gaze grazed over Aidan’s groin area.
Aha! “So you’ve seen me in magazines?”
H-G flushed. “Now and then. Dentist’s waiting room, you know?”
Aidan felt he’d scored a point there but wasn’t sure how to follow up any advantage. This was turning into an odd kind of tennis match.
H-G cleared his throat. “Look, let’s both be frank about this, okay? I know this is just a promotional exercise. The sponsor is very committed to equality issues, and to have a gay couple approaching them is apparently a good PR thing.”
“You’re doing this solely for the money?”
“Not to the extent of turning gay for it, no,” H-G snapped back.
For the first time, Aidan saw a flicker of the real emotions inside the man. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry.” H-G seemed to make a conscious effort to get his temper back under control. “I know you didn’t. It’s just one thing I never compromised on. I know who I am, what I feel, and what I like.”
“That’s good,” Aidan said more gently. “I suppose you might have trouble with it sometimes.”
H-G gave an angry shake of his head. “Anyone doesn’t like who I am isn’t worth being with. That’s always worked for me.”
Apart from having to hire a date for this evening. But then, Aidan didn’t have a boyfriend either, did he? And he was the complete opposite to the aggressive H-G. Aidan didn’t keep his sexuality hidden, but he didn’t go broadcasting it around either. Unlike my outrageous twin. Could this outfit be any more obvious? The jeans squished his balls back and pushed his cock forward. The electric blue sweater had slipped off his shoulder again so that he felt like a provocative 1950s starlet, and it was itching his neck on the other side. It made his mood just as scratchy. He wondered briefly whose approach would be more successful in finding a soul mate—his, H-G’s, or Zeb’s
Romancing the Ugly Ducking #2
Two men stumbled through his doorway, personification of the cold and the wet. Their clothes steamed and glistened in the light of Greg’s hallway, and their faces were grey, their features grimacing against the weather. Puddles of water started gathering on the mat almost immediately.
“Thank fuck you were in!” one blustered. He was swaddled in a full-length waterproof coat and trousers, with heavy Wellington boots and a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face. Despite the disguise, Greg recognised Dougie, and not just because of the cursing. Dougie always knew how to dress appropriately for the weather.
The other man hadn’t moved an inch since they staggered into the hallway. He stood at least seven inches shorter than Greg’s six foot three, dripping into a growing puddle of water around his feet, and he was shivering. It was obvious that he most certainly wasn’t dressed for the downpour. He had no waterproof clothing, no headwear for protection, just a lightweight jacket that had probably been very stylish before it got drenched. Now it looked as elegant as a used dishcloth. At least he was wearing a sweater, in concession to the chillier evening, but his jeans were oddly ripped at the knees and completely sodden. Greg could see the skin beneath the rips turning red with the cold. And his footwear…. Greg swallowed heavily, not sure whether to laugh or cry. His visitor wore a pair of suede boots with a stacked heel and a neon logo on the side. Greg couldn’t tell what they’d looked like originally—or read the logo—because they were now stained the colour of sheep shit.
“What the hell, Dougie? Who’s the sprat?”
Water was running down the sodden creature’s face and into its white-lipped mouth. The gargled noise that came from its throat may have been a greeting, or an attempt to avoid drowning.
Dougie snorted. “It’s your London guest, man. Had ye forgotten he was coming?”
Oh my fucking God. Had that gone ahead? Greg hadn’t given the project a thought after his last testy postcard to Geoff. He was sure he’d made it clear that hell would freeze over before he had any bloody interest in their daft schemes, and there was no point in them sending any tomfool design team over to talk to him.
Hadn’t he?
Dougie shook his head angrily, spraying the hall afresh with raindrops. “Have you let your fucking phone run flat again? Poor wee thing couldn’t get through t’ you, and there’s nae answer at his posh London agency. Lucky I was out at the ferry collecting supplies for the shop. Found him standing around, nae more than a drowned rat.”
Greg stared at the newcomer, aghast. “But I told them not to bother. I wasn’t going back to London, I wasn’t taking part in any bloody stupid TV programme, and I definitely didn’t want an even more bloody stupid stylist coming here!”
The young man spluttered again. His face had gained some colour now he was indoors. Or—Greg winced belatedly—perhaps that was fury at the insults.
“Looks like he didn’t get the memo,” Dougie muttered.
“What’s his name?”
Dougie rolled his eyes. “Christ, man, we haven’t had time t’ share birth histories! Poor bastard said he was coming t’ meet you, so I brought him right here.” He peered at the visitor as if he’d unearthed the Loch Ness monster and found it less than impressive.
Greg felt much the same. Uncertainly, he asked again, “What’s your name?”
“Peregrine Goodwood,” the man said. “From the Latham Agency.” His voice was surprisingly clear, and he looked older than Greg had first thought, when he’d been nothing but a streak of damp clothing. But he was still a skinny little thing, with no fat reserves on his body. He looked slight enough to be blown away in the gales around here. Apart from that, Greg couldn’t tell what he properly looked like because his face was scrunched up from cold and distress, and his hair could’ve been anywhere between blond and black. The relentless Highlands rain painted everything the same muddy hue.
“Peregrine? What kinda joke is that?” Dougie whooped with laughter. He shucked back his hood and shook the excess water off his hair like Rory did when he’d been swimming in the loch. He wasn’t remotely concerned about waterlogging Greg’s furnishings, though Greg didn’t have much time for the Ideal Home Show himself.
“Call me Perry,” the man said defensively. Like Dougie, he gave himself a shake, shifting his hair off his forehead. “Look, are we just going to stand here taking the piss out of my name? Or can I dry off somewhere? Otherwise I’m likely to develop hypothermia.”
Greg was taken aback at the kid’s assertiveness and, to be honest, a little impressed. He thought this slim, effete little thing would’ve talked and walked like all the airheaded media types he saw last time he was in the English capital. Instead, Perry looked ready to give as much lip back to Dougie as he got.
“Come to the fire, for God’s sake. Dougie, bring in his case and fetch some towels from the airing cupboard.”
Dougie raised his eyebrows but dragged a once-smart, now sopping wet suitcase into the hall, then marched off toward the kitchen in his boots, trailing water as he went.
When the young man seemed too cold and distressed to move briskly enough on his own, Greg prodded him forward into the living room. Rory had vanished from his basket, probably resettling somewhere else in the cottage to continue his restful sleep. Greg had plenty of sympathy with that, having had his own peaceful evening so rudely interrupted. He guided Perry to stand on a spot on the rug in front of the fire.
“They told me it’d be like this,” Perry said resentfully.
“What?”
“Scotland. They said it always rained.”
Greg felt his hackles rise. “It was perfectly bonny last week. Looks like you brought the bloody rain with you. This blew up in only the last few hours.”
Dougie marched into the room in his jeans and sweater, having presumably abandoned his waterproofs and boots in the kitchen, and with an armful of towels. Greg picked up the first one, a thick, pale-coloured quality bath sheet. His mother had never been to visit him here, but had considered her duty discharged with a gift set of linens. Greg had never bothered using them for himself.
Dougie whipped the towel out of his hands and started rubbing at the young man’s hair. But Perry snatched it from Dougie in turn.
“I can manage on my own, thank you very much.” Clutching the towel in one hand, he peeled off his jacket with the other, then held it out at arm’s length.
Greg frowned. “What d’you want us to do with that?”
“Do you have a hanger for it? It’ll need to dry out in its shape. A padded one would be best.”
Dougie stared at him and laughed.
Greg cleared his throat. This guy was the limit. “I don’t have any padded anything, apart from a quilt. I may be able to find a wooden hanger.” He’d inherited a wardrobe from Mary McMullen’s granny when he took on the croft, and there had been a few fittings left in there. He kept his own clothes in a drawer, although he did fold things neatly. He wasn’t a complete savage.
Perry handed over the jacket with a much less confident air, then glanced down at his other damp clothing. His shirt clung snugly to his chest.
To his surprise, Greg found he was looking too. Perry was slender, but he had a nicely shaped torso, and enough muscle tone for his build. Something glinted under the material, on his left nipple.
Piercing?
Greg’s mouth went dry. He glanced across at Dougie, to find his friend grinning at him.
“Is there somewhere I can dry off?” Perry asked, his voice tight.
“Yes. I mean, yes, there’s a small utility area off the kitchen.” Greg used it sometimes to wash up and change after he’d been out on the peat bog. He also hung up his washing there to dry when the weather was too bad to air it in the garden. “Here, I’ll show you.” He turned awkwardly, bumping into the sofa and tumbling the remaining pile of towels onto the floor.
“I’ll find it, thanks.” Perry didn’t actually sound very grateful at all. He turned and shuffled out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen. His boots squelched with every step, and a trail of water dripped behind him from the hem of his jeans.
When he was out of sight, Dougie chuckled. “If we’re talking about rainbow tartan, he’s your perfect candidate. How come ye never grew up a fairy like that?”
Greg scowled. Anyone could tell Perry was gay, but he wasn’t sure he liked Dougie laughing at the kid like that. “We’re not all the same, man.”
Dougie held his hands up in supplication. “Didn’t mean t’ offend. We’re all different, I know, rainbow or not. We okay?”
“Yes, we’re okay.” Greg smiled ruefully. “I’m just not in a very good mood. This whole thing caught me unprepared.”
“Hello?” Perry called from in the kitchen.
Greg moved nearer the door. “Everything all right?”
“I… my shirt’s ruined. Do you have anything I could wear while it dries out?”
Greg chased away the unbidden and worrying vision of Perry bare chested. “There are clean clothes in the laundry basket behind the door. Probably a sweatshirt and some tracksuit bottoms.”
“Thanks.” Perry’s voice wobbled. For God’s sake, he wasn’t crying, was he? “I didn’t want to come here tonight, you know. But every step has taken so long, the whole day was gone before I knew it. And the ferry journey… I wasn’t remotely prepared for that.” He sounded like he gulped air in quickly at the memory.
Dougie grinned and winked at Greg, waving his hand up and down to approximate the choppy seas that afternoon.
“Then they never sent me any information about where I’m staying, so I thought I’d go into town and check the hotels.”
“Does he mean in Lochmaddy?” Dougie muttered. “Wouldn’t have taken him very long.”
“But I couldn’t find a taxi rank anywhere, either.”
“Dunderheed thinks he’s back in the city,” Dougie growled, his Scottish accent broadening.
Greg shushed him with a gesture of his own. “There’s a bus,” he answered Perry. “Though not frequent. And it’s best to book a taxi in advance.”
“I thought….” Perry’s voice broke a little more. “I expected that had been done already.”
Greg bit his lip. Sounded like the poor sod had just been dumped here.
“Do you have the number of a local B&B?” Perry asked. “I’ll make do with that until….” His sigh was audible even through the kitchen walls. He sounded like he’d run out of viable options.
“Ach,” Dougie butted in. “It’s a trek back into Lochmaddy, even if I had the time t’ take you. Out here, the only place is Fergus and Mary’s, where they rent out rooms t’ bird watchers in season. But you can’t go there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Their youngest is having her bairn early, so they’ve shut up for weeks.”
“But I need somewhere to stay!”
“Babies take precedence, man,” Dougie said gleefully.
Perry fell silent again.
Greg shifted restlessly. Bit difficult to chat through two doors. Then Dougie nudged him fiercely in the ribs.
“You going t’ put some breeks on?”
“What?” Greg looked down and realised he was dressed in nothing but an undervest, a pair of woolly socks and his boxers. The pair with purple thistles on that Dougie had bought him for a joke birthday present.
“Oh, shit!”
How the Glitch Stole Christmas #2.5
“What the hell’s going on?” Greg cried.
Everything seemed to be wet. He could smell the damp, and see the water glistening: from the pile of towelling, the smooth tiles under Perry’s knees, and even Perry himself, with hair plastered to his pale forehead. When Perry reached out a hand, Greg watched horrified as dribbles of water ran all the way up his arm.
“Everything is ruined!” Perry cried. “Christmas is a disaster!”
Greg blinked, trying to understand what Perry meant. Personally, he wasn’t particularly fond of the season at the best of times. Too many years of his brothers breaking his toys before lunch, then one or other of them arguing with their parents until someone was either in tears, or on the way to A&E. The teasing and melodrama had spoiled most family celebrations for him. But now he had Perry, he’d been sneakily looking forward to enjoying the glamour and glitz the young London-ite had brought to the previously restrained Scottish isle of North Uist.
“Did you forget to get the turkey out to defrost?” Greg asked. He thought he could see its white, shiny lump of a carcass on the draining board beside the sink. There were other lumpy items piled up around it, which was… also odd. “We can eat late, no problem. We’re not going anywhere else today.”
“It’s not just the turkey!” Perry wailed. “The power’s off and everything in the fridge will go bad. The freezer’s already defrosting.”
They didn’t freeze much food, preferring to cook everything fresh, but, of course, there was always a supply of their friend Dougie’s best rhubarb, and plenty of ice cream, which they both adored. Greg peered at the appliance in question. It was difficult to see any details because their spare duvet was draped over it.
“I’ve been trying to keep the cold in for as long as possible.” Perry bit back another sob.
“Why are you even up at this hour?”
“I’ve barely slept—I’ve been waking every couple of hours, panicking I’d forget something for today’s festivities. So, I thought I’d get up and check on the turkey, start getting the vegetables and tatties ready.” Perry knelt back on his heels, lifting up his worried face. “But none of the lights would come on. I wasn’t sure where the fuses were, so I was going to come back up and ask you. Then… then I found a puddle, right by the fridge.” He grimaced. “It’s soaked right through my socks.”
Greg crouched down and lifted a sodden towel out of his boyfriend’s hands. Perry had it in some kind of a death grip; it took surprising strength to prise it away. Then he offered his arm to help Perry stand up beside him…
Saturday Series Spotlight
Clare LondonClare London took her pen name from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant.
She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic, and sexy characters.
Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter-three stage and plenty of other projects in mind… she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.
Clare loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her on all her social media.
Romancing the Wrong Twin #1
KOBO / AUDIBLE / iTUNES AUDIO
Romancing the Ugly Ducking #2
KOBO / AUDIBLE / iTUNES AUDIO
How the Glitch Stole Christmas #2.5
Romancing the . . . Series
KOBO / iTUNES / iTUNES AUDIO
