🎅🎆🎄Sunday's Safe Word Shelf-Xmas in July🎄🎆🎅: Temporary Santa's Knotty Workshop by Lorelei M Hart & Jena Wade

Summary:

Temporary Santa 69 makes sure he’s not the only one coming this Christmas.

When my brother asks for a favor, I don’t hesitate! Of course I’ll help at his workshop while he and his new family take a vacation. I can handle one holiday season. And maybe I’ll use some of the magic at the naughty workshop to make a product to match my… essence.

Elf Willy doesn’t have time for nonsense or new products or anything that doesn’t fit in the perfectly crafted schedule. According to him, the elves just need to get through the season without any issues.

Having Nick’s brother Campbell there as the temporary santa isn’t going to get in the way of Willy’s goals.

Temporary Santa’s Knotty Workshop is a sweet with lots of knotty heat MM Mpreg Christmas romance featuring an omega elf who just wants to get through the season, an alpha, who happens to be Santa’s brother, who wants a special product made just for him and his… essence, a very naughty workshop getting presents ready for adults on the nice list, true love, fated mates, a whole lot of Christmas fun, an adorable baby, and a guaranteed happy ever after. This book answers the questions: What do grown-ups on the good list get in their stockings from Santa on Christmas morning?

Chapter 1

Willy

I smelled disgusting. Absolutely, positively, disgusting. I didn’t even want to be around myself. That’s how gross I was.

One would think, since I had been working in the edible-lube station, affectionately called Lube Lagoon, filling up bottles of various sizes for the past six hours, that I would smell fantastic. After all, each lube was flavored and scented with all sorts of delicious things: blueberry, cotton candy, bubble gum, chocolate, peppermint. And oddly enough, we had an up-and-coming, popular flavor of lemon. I wrinkled my nose at the idea of that on my tongue.

Each variety was a bright color to match their flavor and with a scent just light enough that you could identify it, but without being overwhelming. Unless of course you were in the room with all the flavors, then you smelled like a sugar explosion, so much so that my tongue had gone dry.

I was tempted to plug my nose, perhaps find a nipple clamp to put on it so that I couldn’t smell anything anymore. It was awful.

Finally, I filled the last bottle for the day, put it in the sample pack, and shipped it off to the wrapping station. We were three months away from Christmas and working diligently to stay on target. Looking at the calendar, it was easy for us to convince ourselves we had plenty of time. But the reality was, we were always just one mistake, one long lunch, one off shift away from being behind.

It was a lot better than it used to be, though. There was a time when we were always racing to catch up. I did not miss those times.

Thanks to Percy’s organization changes in the past two years, we would likely meet that deadline without any issue. It was the first time in a long time we’d have a Christmas season without a hiccup. But even as I had that thought, I knew better than to get too confident.

“Elf Willy, please come to Nick’s office.” The intercom boomed throughout the room.

There were giggles. There always were. Being “Willy” in the adult toy department lended itself to being the butt of many jokes. Not that I minded. I thought it was hilarious, too. I even joked that my name was an asset when I first started here.

“Perfect timing,” I said.

I slipped off my apron and tossed it in the laundry chute, then made my way to Nick’s office.

For most people, being called to the boss’s office was anxiety-inducing. It was the elf equivalent of being called into the principal’s office; 99 times out of 100 it was because you did something wrong. And it didn’t matter if you had the world’s nicest principal or not, it still sucked.

Nick was the world’s best boss, but even so, you didn’t want to be in trouble with him. And it actually made it worse, because not only did you mess up, but you disappointed someone as great as he was.

But I wasn’t worried about any of that. My best friend was his mate, and I knew that I hadn’t done anything to get in trouble. I was on the good list. I always was. If there was a best list, I’d be on that. Maybe I should put that in the suggestion box.

I knocked before going in, but the door opened right away.

Inside the office, Nick sat at his desk, wearing his red pants, white button-up shirt, and candy-cane-striped suspenders. He was not like the other, round Santas. Our Santa was more of a Daddy bear-looking type with biceps the size of most men’s thighs.

He was definitely a good-looking man, but I wasn’t looking because this man was taken. Plus, he was my boss.

Percy, his mate and my bestie, was also there. The two of them were the perfect couple. Just being around them had me thinking about what it would be like to have a mate of my own. Not that I was looking. Who had time for that? Making sure the workshop stayed on target meant I had zero time for a social life.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, sit down.” Nick gestured to the chair.

Percy came over and sat on Nick’s knee. “We have a really big favor to ask. You’re the only one we trust.”

“Oh, what is it? How can I help? Do you need me to watch the little guy? Cause you know I’ll always do that.”

Their young son was named after me, and I had a deep love for the little guy. Being Uncle Willy was the best. I got to play with him, and then when it was time to go home, I went on my merry way to my nice quiet home and sleep for a week.

“Well, you know, things have been a little crazy for the past two years, what with getting mated, having a kid, and all of that.”

“Of course. You both have done great, though. Things are running smoothly.”

They exchanged a glance. “Things are running smoothly, and there’s absolutely no reason why we won’t remain totally on target for this season. This is shaping up to be one of our smoothest seasons of all.”

“Of course,” I said. “And that’s all thanks to you two.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Willy. You’ve done a lot to help us out as well,” Nick said.

Was I getting a raise? No. They said they were going to ask a favor. And really, I didn’t need a raise, but a nice bonus and few extra days off wouldn’t hurt.

“What do you need?” I asked. “I’m more than happy to help.”

“Well, we’d like to go on vacation,” Percy said.

I’d been pestering them to take some time away together for what felt like ages. They had a great life here, but one thing that had to be rough on them was that they were never “off” of work. They could plan a whole entire day of family fun, and one issue at the factory and Nick was back to work. It was the way of things when you were Santa.

“That’s a wonderful idea! I can start planning that for January. That’s our slow time. Are you thinking beach resort or more of a family-friendly type of place? Maybe somewhere in the mountains?” I’d never planned a vacation, but I was addicted to the travel shows. I was sure I could come up with something amazing.

“Not January, Willy.” Percy looked at his mate, who nodded in reply. “We want to go on vacation now.”

My eyes widened. “Before Christmas?”

“Through Christmas,” Nick said, and I nearly fell out of my chair.

I gasped. “You can’t do that. Who will deliver the presents?”

Nick cleared his throat. “Apparently, it is a requirement of all Santas to have a certain number of vacation days. And you have to take them. No one ever told me this.”

“And unfortunately, Nick has not been complying with the policy. So he needs to take twelve weeks off before the end of the year,” Percy added.

I did the math in my head. It was not pretty.

“Twelve weeks puts us AT the end of the year!” The very end. Meaning Christmas would have already happened.

“It does. We leave tomorrow.” Percy sounded thrilled by what was happening, and I could see why. Twelve weeks with his family and no work responsibilities, but still… tomorrow?

My jaw hit the floor. “Tomorrow?” Well, spank my ass and call me a dirty boy. We were fucked. Well and truly fucked.

“But we need a Santa. We need—”

Nick raised a hand. “I’ve called in a favor with my brother. He’s going to fill in, but he’ll need help, and that’s where you come in.”

I knew Nick had a brother but hadn’t met him. What could he possibly know about this side of Christmas present fun? Not much.

So many scenarios ran through my mind. Without Nick here to keep everyone in line, there would be chaos. “Surely they will give you an exception. Just this one time. You can take three months off at the beginning of the year. They have to know that you can’t take time off during Christmas.”

“The decision has been finalized. It’s out of our hands. This came from up top.” Nick sounded as unpleased about it as I did. He’d never been one who liked being told what to do with his factory. I’d seen elves on the receiving end of his ire when they decided to butt in and demand he change something. It was not pretty.

I didn’t know where the candy canes up top was or who ran it, but I’d like to have a conversation with them. I took a deep breath. We could do this. This wouldn’t be a big deal. It would be like taking one of our monster dildos up the ass without lube, but we could do it.

“Does your brother have any experience being Santa?” I asked.

“No. We actually haven’t even spoken to him yet.”

Never mind the fact that he had just told me his brother had agreed to do it. “Oh, goodness, but he would do an okay job, right?”

“Of course,” Nick said, although for the first time in perhaps my entire career here, I did not believe his words. I wasn’t sure he believed them either.

His entire plan was based on his brother, who had no Santa experience, not only having the time available to come, but then agreeing to drop everything to do so. That was a whole lot that had to fall into place for this to have half a chance of working.

“So you’ll do it, you’ll help?” Percy looked at me with his eyes wide open, his puppy-dog face slapped on. It wasn’t as if I’d have been able to turn him down. He was my ride-or-die.

I didn’t think I had a choice. “Of course, sir. I’m the right elf for the job.”

My voice sounded more sure than I actually was. I was great at the parts of this division I worked in, but helping train someone to do Nick’s job? I wasn’t sure I even understood all it entailed. This was going to be a true test of faking it until you made it, only in this scenario, it wasn’t me who was on the line—it was Christmas.

Sunday Safe Word

Santa's Knotty Workhop

Temporary Santa's Knotty Workshop

Lorelei M Hart

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 ;). 

Jena Wade

Jena began writing in January of 2013 as a New Year's Resolution--and so far she has stuck to it!

She lives in Michigan. By day she works as a web developer, and at night she writes. Born and raised on a farm, she spends most of her free time outdoors, playing in the garden, or riding her horses. She also helps run the family dairy farm.

Lorelei M Hart

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Temporary Santa's Knotty Workshop

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Santa's Knotty Workshop

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🎅🎆🎄Sunday's Short Stack-Xmas in July🎄🎆🎅: Nice and Snow by Clare London

Summary:

With a Kick #6

Nuri’s expecting a quiet Christmas, driving his cab, doing some studying, enjoying good food and drink – and devoting some serious loving to boyfriend Eduardo. Occasionally he misses his homeland of Turkey, but he’s content to share the London celebrations with Eddy.

But what with Eddy’s distress over his new role at the local comedy club, interference in their love life from Nuri’s irrepressible brothers, a disturbing number of costumed Santas on the street, the dangerous slush on the roads, and then the portly, bearded man dressed in red, in need of an urgent cab ride…

It doesn’t look like things will be that quiet after all!

Original Review January 2024:

I'll admit as I haven't read any of the With a Kick stories, I had a bit of a hard time getting into this story.  I say "a bit" because it only took half a dozen pages or so but it wasn't instant from word one.  I wasn't lost but it took a few pages to connect to the characters already established relationship, I look forward to going back and seeing their beginning in A Twist and Two Balls, hopefully in 2024.

Even with that few-page-to-connect start, I loved the chemistry between Nuri and Eddy, it's realistic and fun.  When one has to don the Santa suit for work they find a passenger in Nuri's taxi that might give them a little different take on the red suit and the man inside.  

Yep, another deliciously fun holiday novella from Clare London.

RATING:

Nuri’s boyfriend was causing him indigestion. 

Well, it may have been partly due to the oversized portions of supper at his brothers’ Turkish restaurant, but there were emotional reasons too. Eduardo was a constant delight—Nuri wouldn’t want anyone to think he had any complaint, for goodness sake, he’d never been happier—but Eduardo was a man who needed Nuri’s attention and care. 

Right now, Eddy—his real name—was staring at Nuri over the dining table with dark suspicion in his eyes. “There was a group of them in the club last night,” he said. Eddy was a compere at the local Soho comedy club, a job that Nuri thought he did extremely well. He loved to watch Eddy up on stage, with no sign of the nerves he’d suffered as a dramatic actor, but now playing to the crowd with his impressions and clever mimicry as he bridged the gap between the comedians’ sets. 

“I think you may be overreacting.” Nuri smiled to himself, knowing what “them” Eddy was talking about. Not that he wouldn’t have stepped to Eddy’s defence if there were any real threat to him.

“But it was spooky, you know? There’ve been so many around recently. Remember the crowd we saw in the pub last night? And I’ve spotted some on the bus, and at lots of stations on the Tube. They don’t seem to care where or when they’re seen. Do you know, I bumped into one at the supermarket, too, when I went for more milk.” 

“What was he buying?” 

Eddy glanced swiftly at Nuri. “Are you teasing me?” 

Nuri smiled openly. He was sure—wasn’t he?—that Eddy didn’t really mind, because he knew Nuri’s teasing was never cruel, only fond. Nuri just couldn’t resist sometimes. And humour was so often part of the bedroom foreplay between them, leading up to some pretty sweaty and impressive— 

“Squid!” announced Nuri’s brother Adem, delivering a large plate onto their table with a flourish and a thud. “It go extra with the kofte I bring, you call… ballocks?” 

“Balls. Meatballs,” Eddy said, his voice strained. “You also brought dolma, extra halloumi, and then skewers of souvlaki. There’s too much food here, Adem.” 

“Never,” Nuri muttered, reaching eagerly for the new plate. He absently brushed a crumb of bread from his beard. Their early supper at the restaurant had become a familiar routine, especially on the days Eddy finished work after a matinee show. Of course, the trade-off was that they both had to suffer Nuri’s brothers’ attention, especially about their love life. Nuri’s family had welcomed Eddy very warmly and didn’t seem to have a problem with the two men all but living together. But just now and then… 

Adem remained staring at Eddy, his brown eyes bright with mischief. “I like hear your words, Eduardo. Very amusing, the way you say my words.” 

“For heaven’s sake.” Eddy rolled his eyes. “Your English seems to be getting worse, not better, ever since I offered to help you with your London pronunciation. I could almost believe you play up the hapless Turkish accent act when Nuri and I are here.” 

Nuri caught Adem’s eye and frowned at him. Adem winked back, and ran his tongue along his lower lip in a bizarre leer. Then he swung on his heel, his waist apron fluttering against his smart black trousers, and darted over to another table that needed service. He may have been swishing his hips just a little too much to be natural. 

“He’s teasing me too, right?” Eddy said glumly. 

“Of course,” Nuri said. He covered Eddy’s hand with his own, their hands pale and darker-skinned together on the red tablecloth. “He likes to pretend he understands the gay way. But he likes winding you around as well.”

“Winding me up,” Eddy corrected automatically, then caught sight of Nuri’s grin. “Oh God, you’re doing it too! Why am I suddenly the sole source of entertainment around here?” 

Nuri tightened his hand, a little alarmed by Eddy’s tone. “What’s really wrong?” 

“Wrong?” 

Nuri knew Eddy’s denial tactics of old. He didn’t press him, but poured a small measure of raki into Eddy’s glass, then topped it up with water from the nearby jug. Eddy watched with his usual fascination as the liquid clouded to milky white. He’d grown very accustomed to the taste over the last few months with Nuri. “Drink this,” Nuri said softly. “You need it.” 

Eddy sighed, but took a sip. Nuri knew the exact moment the sharp aniseed flavour tickled Eddy’s taste buds, because his nose wrinkled with delight. Nuri resisted the urge to reach over and smooth out the wrinkles. To hell with it. He just liked to touch Eddy, wherever and whenever. 

“I’m not angry at Adem,” Eddy said. “Or you. You’re my rock, you know that?” 

“I know that. But you are disturbed, I think.” 

“Okay. Yes. A bit.” Eddy examined the table cloth as closely as if it held a secret treasure map and only he could decipher the code.

“Tell me,” Nuri urged. “You’re not really frightened?” 

Eddy flushed. “God, that’d be childish, wouldn’t it? But it does seem bizarre. I’m beginning to feel stalked by them.” 

Nuri shook his head. “You must be sensible about this. They’re common enough here in London. Especially at this time of year. We all see them.” 

With a startling thump, Adem dropped into the seat beside Eddy. “What is this stalking?” For the first time that night, he dropped his sardonic look and seemed genuinely concerned for Eddy. 

“Stalkers?” Sadi, Nuri’s other brother and co-owner of the restaurant, paused behind Adem’s chair, his hands full of crockery cleared from another table. “Eddy, are you having trouble at the club?” 

“This month of December is very full of danger,” Adem said sombrely. “The shoplifters and pocket pickers are everywhere. I will lend you my sister’s mace spray. If you blind some person, Nuri will defence you in court when he is qualified as lawyer.” 

“Defend. And no, it’s all right, I’m not talking about thieves.” 

“Sex slavers?” Adem looked even more appalled. “They like young boys as well as the girls. Though…” He gave Eddy the once-over with what looked alarmingly like professional appraisal. “I think you are not so young any more, and they will not want one who wriggles as you do when a man like Nuri clasps you close—” 

“Enough,” Nuri said, rather sharply, though he doubted Adem would pay any heed. He never had before. “Eddy’s talking about the pretend Father Christmases. They seem to be very plentiful this year.” 

Adem and Sadi stared at him as if he’d just beamed down off the Millenium Falcon. 

Nuri sighed. “The people dressed as Father Christmas, you know? Big bellies, red jacket and trousers, thick white beard.” 

“Sounds like our new chef,” Sadi muttered. He leaned over the table toward Eddy and put on a sympathetic expression. “I understand how you feel,” he said. “Some people are scared of clowns.” 

“And beetles,” Adem added. 

Sadi didn’t look away from Eddy, but managed to reach over and clip his brother around the ear with deadly accuracy. “Those are weevils,” he hissed. “From old flour. And it’s perfectly reasonable to hate them in a restaurant.” 

“It’s not fear. I’m fine.” Eddy laughed at the banter. But the laugh was shaky. 

Nuri was concerned. He had walked with Eddy from the club to the restaurant and had seen an example of this effect. When a young Santa crossed their path by the Chinese grocer’s, Eddy had shivered and shrunk back against Nuri’s side. As far as Nuri could see, it was just a skinny young man dressed up for fun, the tee shirts he’d used to pad himself peeking out from under his tunic, a soppy smile on his face, and a rather strong smell of beer on his breath. Nuri noticed the guy’s shopping bags clinking as he passed, but had nodded an easy good evening to him. Eddy hadn’t. Nuri suspected there was still more to this situation, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—rush Eduardo. 

A customer waved from the other side of the room, and Adem and Sadi moved away from the table. 

“Tell me what is really worrying you,” Nuri said quietly to Eddy. He didn’t want his brothers zeroing back in on their problems, however amusing they found it. “I see it in your expression.” 

“See what?” 

“That it’s not just about the Father Christmases,” Nuri said patiently. 

“Well, it is and it isn’t. Sometimes I think you’re psychic.” Eddy had on his 101-Dalmation-puppy look. “Patrick asked me to help host a Christmas Eve party at With A Kick. For the children, in the afternoon. It was such a great success last year, and they love the ice creams. All non-alcoholic for the kids, of course,” he hurried to add. 

“Of course.”

“Apparently the guy who played Santa wants a break from it this year.” 

Nuri nodded encouragingly. “You are an actor, Eduardo. I don’t see the problem.” 

“Dressing up as Father Christmas? As Santa?” 

Nuri’s eyes widened just a fraction. “As I say, I don’t see…” 

Eddy groaned. “I don’t believe in Santa, Nuri. The whole thing is a bit creepy, men dressing in ill-fitting costumes with stupid cotton-wool beards. What sort of idiot am I going to look?” 

Never to me, Nuri thought, and smiled encouragingly. “You’ll have a good time. You have a gift with entertaining children. And you love Christmas.” He and Eddy had never shared one before, but Eddy had been gazing at sparkly decorations in shop windows since October. 

“I do. Yes, I do. It’s just the Santas I find weird. I don’t like them, and especially the fake ones.” 

“How can there be fake ones without a real one to compare?” 

“Smart arse,” Eddy muttered. 

Nuri looked longingly at the plate of aromatic, steaming squid, but instead he concentrated on Eddy’s distress. “In Turkey, he is real.”

“He’s… sorry?” 

“Baba Noel. Where all the Father Christmas stories began. He was a genuine Turkish man.” Eddy started to laugh, but Nuri frowned at him. “No, it’s true. The history is believed to begin with a bishop from Demre, in modern-day Turkey, who wanted to help poor people, but in secret. He helped girls without dowry, and also became the patron saint of children and sailors. Though I’m not sure of the connection between those groups. It’s said he climbed on roofs and dropped coins down the chimneys.” 

Nuri loved the way Eddy’s face expressed everything he was thinking, even while Eddy himself thought he was being so discreet. At the moment, Eddy was obviously wondering how to challenge Nuri on such a ridiculously bizarre lie. And yet, Nuri knew it was the truth. Lucky he didn’t take offence that Eddy disbelieved the history of Nuri’s heritage. Poor Eddy was a victim of his British upbringing. Nuri loved him all the more for it.

Nice & Snow  /  Smack Happy

Clare London

Clare 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.

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Nice and Snow #6

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With a Kick Series

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🌈June Book of the Month🌈: The Solstice Additions by VL Locey

Summary:

Laurel Holidays Summer Romance

As the days grow longer, a tetchy pub owner’s family and heart burst into full bloom.

Brann Argraves has never been happier. Of course the irascible barkeep wouldn’t admit that to anyone other than his love, retired country singer Kenan Gardet. And then only under extreme tickle duress.

The two men have been merrily tumbling deeper into love as the seasons rapidly warmed the small town of Whiteham, New York. Now the couple is facing a summer filled with familial growth, a small but stressful menu expansion at the alehouse, and the realization that they’re about to become grandparents to four web-footed hooligans.

The Solstice Addition is a grumpy/sunshine, established couple, gay summer romance with a not as cranky as he pretends to be barkeep, a wandering country crooner who is putting down roots, a small town alehouse packed full of opinionated clientele, two ornery geese who are sitting on a nest full of trouble, an incoming arrival from the stork, and a summery sweet happy ending.

Content warning: This story has references to past substance abuse.

I want to start by saying Brann and Kenan's journey begins in the Laurel Holidays Xmas entry, The Christmas Keeper, which BTW I have not read. I mention this for two reasons: 

1. If you want to see their beginning first, then you need to go back and read #6. 

2. Having not read their origins, I was not lost at all. Sometimes with established couples that you are not with from the beginning the reader is left with a hole filled with endless questions. That was not the case for me here. Sure, it made me curious to see how they got from point A to point G(for geese I'll talk about shortly) but never lost.

So that's out of the way. I couldn't help but love Brann and Kenan, their chemistry is true, fun and believable.  As they are an established couple, there is none of the drama that comes with beginnings and pure fun rom com all the way through. I point that out because, humor is often an element in short story/novella entries starring established couples but typically there is a small helping of drama to balance it out. Not here. Solstice Additions is just a joyful delight. I won't say more because I don't want to spoil it for anyone but, Solstice is such a gem, puts a smile on your face from page one and never lets go. I look forward to learning how they got to be so perfect for each other.

So, there is one personal tidbit I want to include. The geese! We had geese when I was little and they were evil, I mean pure unadulterated evil! Their part of the farm was the east side and the west side was the people zone, they did not stay on their side. I clearly remember one morning when I was trying to go to the end of the driveway(nowhere near the geese domain BTW, we're talking couldn't get much farther away from their land and still be on the York property) to get on the bus. They came running over, squawking to high heaven, would not let me cross, two of them pecked at me leaving holes in the knees of my jeans(which drew enough blood I was subjected to a treatment of the dreaded pink stuff, Mercurochrome), Mom came out and waved the bus driver on, got me back in the house, cleaned me up, ironed on a couple of smiling strawberry patches on my jeans, and drove me to school. They weren't around much longer after that. I clearly recall the devilish smirk on my mother's face as she raised the axe. Don't get me wrong, Brann and Kenan's feathered family is protective of their nest but my experience is different and I can't lie, had the lads been parents to pigs or sheep(which we also raised when I was little) my smile would have been just a tad bigger. I usually thank the author for bringing a happy memory to mind and though the beginning of my recalled time was a horror show to my 5 year old self, the inclusion of the geese also brought to mind their end at the hands of my mother and that is a part of the story that I hadn't thought of in too long, so I really do say, Thank You, VL Locey.

RATING:

Chapter One

“So this is Diaphony now that she’s got a tooth. Just the one tooth. My Kelli is sure that another is on the way. If you stick your finger in the baby’s mouth, you can feel it.”

I gazed down at a red-faced baby of about eight or forty months. I don’t know babies. I know beer and darts and dark-eyed singers with aged souls. Those I’m familiar with. Squalling infants. Nope. Not a clue.

“Why would you put your finger in a baby’s mouth?” I asked my great-aunt Priscilla while my sister, Nora, was busy opening yet another present from another woman I sort of knew as one of Nora’s friends from work.

Aunt Priscilla snorted into her cup of tea as if I were an idiot. “You men,” she said, shaking her silver head. “You dip your finger into some whiskey and rub it on the sore gums.”

I lowered the picture of Diaphony to gawk at the elderly woman. “I’m not real up on baby care, but even a dope like me knows that you probably shouldn’t be getting your kid soused.”

“Pah, that’s what’s wrong with all these new parents. Back when I was raising Patty, that’s Kelli’s mother, we did what worked. My kids rode in the front seat with only my arm to stop them if we got rear-ended. They drank from hoses, rode bikes with no helmets, and rode down metal slides with short shorts and they turned out fine.”

I had no reply to that, so I searched the huge condo that Nora and her husband Antoine had just moved into last month. Antoine was not here, the coward. Neither was my father or any other person of the male persuasion other than Kenan, and I found him sipping punch by the sliding glass door with some woman with blue hair and a ring in her nose.

Kenan felt my gaze, for he glanced my way. I mouthed ‘Help me!’ as Priscilla went on about how much better it was back in the day. His smile was just a small twitch at the corner of his sexy mouth. Standing under the AC vent, his long dark curls blew about his face, a look that I always found incredibly sexy. He said something to nose ring girl then slowly made his way around a baby swing, a car seat, a bouncy thing that looked like it would propel my future niece or nephew—they’d not found out, and good on them for that precluded me coming up to Ottawa to watch them pop a balloon with pink or blue powder in it—into the bright blue Canadian sky. Tiny baby clothes piled up everywhere. Bottles, diapers, and some sort of contraption for breastfeeding that I wanted no part of. The condo was a yellow duckie explosion that even my mother found a bit much.

“Hey, you,” Kenan whispered as he drew near. “Can I steal him away from you for just a few minutes? There’s something on the patio I wanted to show Brann.”

“Oh yes, of course, dear. I love corned beef.”

“So do I,” he replied with a kind pat of her hand before taking mine to lead me out onto the patio. The temps out here were pleasant, around sixty, with a touch of humidity. Nora had the thermostat set at fifty-five degrees in the condo, so it was the same temperature as a meat freezer. No shit, Antoine could hang slabs of meat in the kitchen and go all Rocky Balboa on them as training for his time on the ice.

“Oh man, this is heaven. Thank you.” I pecked his whiskery cheek. A soft wind blew up the side of the newly built tower overlooking the Alexandra Bridge. “She had me pinned down and was talking about sticking her finger into some poor kid’s mouth. No wonder the old folks all died of dysentery if that was what was considered good hygiene.”

He chuckled and turned to look over the Ottawa River, flowing peacefully along. “I’ve had your fingers in my mouth more than a few times and haven’t fallen dead yet.”

“You’ve had more than my fingers in your mouth,” I reminded him and turned to enjoy the view with him. “You know, it sucks being the only people with XY chromosomes here. Why did Dad and Antoine get to bail to play golf?”

“You know why. You’re the chosen birthing brother.”

“Between you and me, I’m not sure I want to be the chosen birthing brother. What am I supposed to do while she’s in labor? Where should I look? Why does she need me there as well as her husband? I mean, he’s seen her baby parts before, obviously, so what the hell am I there for?”

“You’re there because she loves you deeply and wants to share this moment with you.”

“I can share perfectly fine out in the waiting room, where I can puff on a cigar.”

“They don’t allow that in hospitals anymore.” He bumped my hip with his.

“Seems my mother would be the better candidate.”

“Really?”

“No, not really.” I sighed as the slider opened behind us. A gust of arctic air carrying the delightful aroma of Estee Lauder Muse enveloped us.

“Hey, what are you two doing out here?” Nora wiggled in between us, her big belly keeping her at least a good foot from the patio railing.

“He’s hiding from your great-aunt and her baby advice,” Kenan ratted me out and draped an arm around Nora. She rested her head on his shoulder. They had grown incredibly close. She liked to say he was a godsend who had brought light and love back into her brother’s life. Since I couldn’t really argue that I merely accepted they were thick as thieves now. It was kind of nice.

“Oh yeah, I’ve gotten all kinds of advice from people. Total strangers will walk up to me and ask to touch my belly.” We all went ‘Ewwww’ at the same time. “I know, it’s very creepy. And everyone has words of wisdom to pass along. Like this woman in Costco who pushed her cart into mine to inform me that if I put a pickled egg on the highest shelf of my pantry, it would prevent ear infections.” Kenan and I both stared down blankly at the perky little brunette wedged between us. “Right? I had so many questions. Is the pickled egg just sitting on the shelf? Is it in a jar alone or with other pickled eggs? How does placing this egg on a shelf combat bacteria or viruses?”

“I always suspected there was more to pickled eggs than just being disgusting bar snacks.”

“Why don’t we have any pickled eggs at the alehouse?” Kenan asked as Nora slipped one arm around both of us. Whenever she could, she enjoyed telling me she liked having two brothers. I would remind her that Kenan was my boyfriend and not her brother-in-law to which she would just bat her long lashes and giggle as if she knew something that only women knew.

“They’re evil,” I replied flatly.

Nora snorted in a most unladylike manner. “My back is killing me,” she moaned. “This baby is sleeping on my spine. And now I want pickled eggs.”

“I refuse to allow you to ingest pickled eggs. It will taint my niece or nephew. Do you want a purple kid? No, you do not. So nope to pickled eggs.”

“But Brann…”

“No. Do not try to work your sisterly wiles on me. I am a brick wall. Emotions mean nothing to me. I am a rock.”

***

An hour later, I returned from the local deli with a jar of pickled eggs. Kenan found it all quite hysterical, but I knew that someday I’d get my culinary revenge.

Karma could be a real bitch.

Saturday Series Spotlight

Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3

Xmas Mittens

Easter Redemption  /  Solstice Additions

VL Locey

V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.

(Not necessarily in that order.)

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

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

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The Solstice Additions

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Laurel Holidays Series

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🎅🎆🎄Saturday's Series Spotlight - Xmas in July🎄🎆🎅: The Wright Brothers by Lily Morton

On Circus Lane #1

Summary:

The first time Bee Bannister met Tom Wright, he couldn’t stand him.

Everything about the man aggravated him—his perfect hair and body, his confident arrogance, and the way he looked straight through Bee.

Which is why it’s such an unpleasant shock to find that he’ll be sharing space with him while on a Christmas holiday with friends in Scotland.

However, as the days fly by and snowy Edinburgh begins to work its magic on him, Bee discovers that sometimes first impressions can be very misleading. Tom is kind and funny, and somehow, rather than looking through Bee, he actually sees and likes all of him.

The two men grow closer, but will Bee follow his heart or his head when the holiday ends? And can relationships that start so badly ever lead to love?

From bestselling author Lily Morton comes a festive romantic comedy about enemies to lovers and the magic of Christmas.

This is the first book in the Wright Brothers series.

Merry Measure #2

Summary:

Arlo Wright’s introduction to his sexuality came when he saw his older brother’s best friend, Jack Cooper, in his sweaty football kit. Unfortunately, he didn’t have long to enjoy the revelation because he promptly knocked himself out on a table.

Relations between them have never really moved on from that auspicious beginning. Arlo is still clumsy, and Jack is still as handsome and unobtainable as ever.

However, things look like they’re starting to change when Arlo finds himself sharing a room with Jack while on holiday in Amsterdam at Christmas. Will the festive spirit finally move them towards each other, or is Arlo just banging his head against a wall this time?

From bestselling author, Lily Morton comes a warm romantic comedy set in chilly Amsterdam.

This is the second book in the Wright Brothers series but it can be read as a standalone.

On Circus Lane #1

Chapter One

BEE

Mariah Carey is fully embracing her time in the festive spotlight, as “All I Want for Christmas Is You” pumps out over the pub speakers. Even so, she’s barely managing to compete with the noise of party revellers. It’s one week before Christmas, and everyone seems to be throwing their all into the festive cheer.

I relax back in my chair and lift my drink to my mouth while idly looking around the converted Victorian warehouse. The bar is part of a big chain, and opened only last year. The heavy use of company colours in the space makes it look like an uneasy mash-up between Christmas and their annual general meeting. However, even their version of corporate holiday chic can’t stop the happy atmosphere.

A red-headed man leans over the bar, watching me with a sultry expression. I drop him a wink, and he brightens and immediately makes his way over.

“Hi,” he says.

I smile at him. “Hey.”

“Fancy a drink?” he asks, coming closer and gifting me a waft of his expensive cologne.

I look him up and down. “I’d love one. Rum and Coke, please.”

Smiling, he wanders over to join the huge queue.

My best friend heaves a heavy sigh next to me.

“What’s up with you?” I ask.

Ivy grimaces at me. “Well, look at you. It’s just not fair.”

“My combination of looks and brains?”

She rolls her eyes. “And your modesty. Don’t ever forget that.” I laugh, and she nudges me. “I can’t believe you. You only looked at each other once, and now you’ve pulled. Meanwhile, I can’t even get a bloke to give me a second glance.”

I drain my glass. “You’d have loads of blokes giving you third and fourth glances, but they don’t fit in with your marital timetable.”

“I told you. I don’t want casual one-night shags anymore. I’ve been there and done that, and now I want someone to spend the next fifty years with.”

“That’s alarmingly precise. What happens if he lasts beyond the time scale? Will he wake up and find you’ve chucked him in the dustbin?”

She grimaces. “I just want a bloke with a few years of monogamy in his tank. I know you don’t understand.”

“I don’t. I just want a man who’s capable of maintaining an erection for twenty minutes.”

There’s a sudden silence at the table next to us where a group of women wearing sparkly veils have been celebrating a hen party. Either that, or they’re contemplating entering a nunnery. They look at me and then immediately hoot and holler.

I grin at them, and Ivy rolls her eyes. She says, gloomily, “Good luck with your Erection Plan.”

“Is that a thing?” I ask, amused.

“By midnight, most of the men in here will be drooping like a daffodil on Mothering Sunday.”

As if on cue, a man reels over to us. He’s wearing a suit with his tie flapping limply. “Whash up, darlin’?” he slurs.

“Beyond getting pissed off your breath, not much,” Ivy snaps.

It seems to take an eternity to travel to his brain, but then he grins and sidles close to her. “Fancy a shag?”

“Ugh,” she says, shoving him. Unperturbed, he moves on to the group next to us, where his question is greeted much more congenially.

Ivy brightens as she looks to her right. “Sal,” she shouts, half standing and waving.

Her friend Sally comes towards us. She’s looking as gorgeous as ever, with her long brown hair shining in the light and her eyes sparkling.

“Alright, losers?” she says, throwing herself into the seat Ivy saved for her.

I grin at her. I don’t know Sal well, but I like her. She’s good people.

“Have you just finished work?” I ask.

“Yep,” she says, sighing. “I think Scrooge would be a better employer than mine at the moment. Last week, I had a prang in my car, and he told me to take the lunchtime off. And the stingy wanker hasn’t bought me a Christmas present.” She accepts the drink Ivy hands her with a smile and takes a healthy swig. “Never mind that, though. Are you all ready for the holiday?”

Ivy rubs her hands together. “Four days in Edinburgh. I can’t wait.”

I frown. “Who exactly is going again?”

“I knew you weren’t listening,” Ivy says. She turns to Sal. “Did you tell him facts while he was doodling? That was your first mistake. He never pays any attention.”

“I wasn’t doodling. They were valuable equations,” I protest, grabbing my next drink from the assortment that Ivy and I ordered earlier. Ivy and Sal roll their eyes, looking like disapproving meerkats.

“You’ll meet a few of the people going with us in a minute,” Sal says. “Everyone apart from Theo and Georgina are meeting us for a drink so we can get to know each other.”

“Lovely,” I say faintly.

Sal drains her drink, and I blink. I’ve only managed a sip of mine.

“I’ll go and get us another round,” she says, standing. “What do you want?”

We give her the order and watch her make her way to the bar. She grins wickedly at a group of blokes who are waiting to be served, throws her hair back, and they part like the Red Sea around Moses. In fact, Moses should have taken Sal along with him. She’d have found someone to carry the Ten Commandments in no time at all.

“Tell me again how you roped me into this Edinburgh idea,” I say to Ivy.

She digs her finger into my ribs until I squirm. “Because I want to go. I’ve never been to Scotland before, and Edinburgh is supposed to be beautiful at Christmas.”

“And where do I come in? I do have a lot of work on my plate at the moment, you know.”

She blows a raspberry. “Bee, you could take that DPhil with your hands tied behind your back.”

“I’m not sure that’s quite how it works. Well, not unless the examining board have become intriguingly BDSM themed since I took my last degree.”

“Which degree? You’ve got so many, I’ve lost count.” She leans closer. “You’re going because I don’t know any of the others, and you’re my best friend, so it’s the law that you have to come too.”

“You know Sal.”

“She’s my friend from work.” She says this as though it explains everything.

“And?” I prompt.

“Well, it’s not the same as being with someone I’ve known since I was five.” She smiles coaxingly. “We’ll have a great time, and it’ll be good for you to get away from your desk. You’ve been working so hard this term. You look tired and worn.”

“Was any of that meant to sound sympathetic?”

She cocks her head. “I was going for that, yes. Did I go too far?”

“Just a bit.”

Sal comes over in a flash of scarlet dress and long legs. “Nice blokes over there.” She plops down the drinks and gives the group at the bar a flirty wave. Then she settles down in her seat. “Now, where was I? Oh yes, the rest of the party. It’s going to be us three, plus my brother, Tom.”

“I’ve never met him,” Ivy tells me. She’s spacing her words out very precisely, as she always does when drunk.

“Lucky you. He’s lovely, but a complete wanknugget sometimes,” Sal says with the affectionate scorn of a sister. She starts to count off on her fingers. “Freddy’s coming. He’s one of Tom’s best friends, and you’ll love him. He’s awesome. There’s also Theo and Georgina. She’s my flatmate, and he’s her boyfriend.”

Ivy noisily sucks the last bit of her drink through her straw and then immediately picks up her next drink. If she doesn't slow down, I foresee an evening of holding her hair back while she hovers over the toilet.

Sal grins at me. “Then there’s Jack and Steven.”

“Ooh, I’ve met Jack. He’s lovely.” Ivy turns to me. “You’ll like him, Bee. I haven’t met his boyfriend Steven yet, though.”

“I can tell that,” Sal says, wrinkling her nose. “You still have your sanity intact.”

“Oh dear.” Ivy’s eyes widen in dismay.

“Ah, it’ll be great,” Sal says, waving her hand dismissively. “And if it isn’t, Edinburgh is a big city. I’m so glad you’re both coming.”

I grin at her. She’s incredibly charming and has a naughty air about her that I like.

She focuses on something in the distance and then waves.

I turn in my chair to see two men walking towards us. They’re bundled up in coats and already attracting attention because they’re very attractive. The dark-haired man has warm brown eyes and the perfect amount of stubble on his jaw. He has a sweet but slightly anxious expression and is holding hands with a blond man who’s smiling widely at us.

“Hey,” the blond man says. He loosens his grip on his boyfriend and extends his hand. “You must be Bee?” His voice is attractive, and his smile is very winning. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

I wipe my hand of the condensation from my glass and shake hands briefly. “Yes, that’s me. And this is Ivy.”

“I’m Steven.” He smiles at Ivy.

When Sal stands to hug his partner, Steven slides into her seat. “Just for a minute,” he says. "My feet are killing me. Jack forgot to order a taxi, so we had to walk miles from the restaurant.” His voice has a peevish edge.

The man who must be Jack turns around. He’s even more gorgeous up close. “Did I hear my name mentioned?” he says lightly, his chiselled jaw flexing.

Steven tsks. “It was a silly thing to do, Jack. You know it’s busy at this time of the year.” He gives him a loving, if still pained, smile. “It’s not like you to be so scattered. You’ll remember better next time.”

Jack’s eyes narrow, but then, obviously being polite in front of the strangers, he shrugs affably.

Sal directs a cool look at Steven and hugs Jack. “Or alternatively, we’ll get you so pissed you can’t even remember your own name.” She adds a few mumbled words that sound like, “Or who you’re sleeping with,” but a burst of laughter at the next table drowns her out.

Steven glances at the laughing women as he removes his coat and smooths it neatly over his knees. He makes a moue of distaste. “I can’t stand drunk women.”

He looks around for support but doesn’t get any, so he directs his gaze back at me. “So, Sal says you’re very clever.”

“I do my best.”

“Well, having some intelligent company on this trip will be nice. The Wrights are…” He waggles his hand. The gesture could mean anything from “they’re stupid” to “they’re mass murderers.”

“Hmm,” I say, falling back on my catchall expression for department events and social interactions just like this.

Jack leans over. “Nice to meet you, Bee,” he says with a charming smile. “I’m getting a round. What does everyone want?”

I grin up at him. “I’m fine, thank you. I have someone getting me another drink.” I look for the redhead but can’t see him in the scrum around the bar.

The others give him their orders while Steven stays quiet. Jack smiles at him. “And for you?”

Steven rolls his eyes. “Only the same thing I’ve been drinking for the last four months, silly.”

“Is it hemlock?” Sal asks sweetly.

Luckily, Steven doesn’t seem to hear her. Jack’s lips twitch as he gives Sal a nudge. She guffaws.

“Come on, trouble. You can help,” he says affectionately.

They vanish into the queue, and Steven huffs as he looks after them. “It would be good if that particular friendship went away.”

“Do you mean Sal?” I say, astonished. “She’s lovely.”

“Oh, she’s very charming. Have you met the rest of the family?” I shake my head, and he leans forward confidingly. “They’re all charming, but they’re a rackety bunch. Very loud and far too chaotic. Stoned all the time.” He mimes smoking a joint. “But Jack is ridiculously attached to Sal’s brother, Tom. They’ve been friends since primary school.”

I try to unpick that statement and look to Ivy for support, but she’s gone to the bar with Jack and Sal. She’s saying something that seems to require a great deal of gesticulation and laughter. Satisfied she’s okay, I turn back to Steven.

“Hmm,” I say again. I’m not very keen on bitchy people. It must show on my face because his expression changes.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for,” he says contritely. “I’m nervous in social situations and just tend to blurt shit. Ignore me.”

I relax instantly, feeling a wave of empathy. “I’m exactly the same.”

“So, Sal says you’re doing your DPhil. What’s it in?” Steven smiles at me encouragingly.

“Oh, it’s in mathematics.”

“Fascinating. I work in telecommunications. We were working with a university last month. Very interesting.”

“Really?”

He starts to tell me something, but I can barely hear him over the noise. I catch sight of my redhead. He grins at me and grimaces at the packed bar where he’s still queuing. I tap my watch discreetly, and he signals that he’ll wait.

Satisfied that my late evening is sorted, I turn back to Steven. My plan is to give his monologue an encouraging nod, as I’d prefer not to talk, but his voice drifts off and his expression turns sour. Reminds me of when Scrooge took a turn down memory lane.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says, staring at a point beyond me.

Before I can turn, Ivy darts over to me. “Supreme Hottie at ten o’clock,” she hisses.

I look in the direction she’s staring. “That’s not ten. It’s more like half past—” I abruptly forget what I was going to say. Something that rarely happens, but then it’s not every day I see the most beautiful man in the world moving towards us, and even better, his attention is on our table and… me. I swallow hard.

Thick, wavy, brown hair frames a chiselled face with full, pouty pink lips. He’s tall with legs that seem to go on forever and broad shoulders. His clothes don’t quite fit in with the bar’s party atmosphere, as he’s wearing heavy work boots, jeans, and a white T-shirt spattered with mud with a red plaid shirt flung over the top. However, he’s hotter than most blokes in their holiday best, and his walk backs it up. It’s a confident, loping stride, and he’s attracting appreciative looks that he seems oblivious to.

I sit up straight and offer him my patented pulling smile. It’s never failed me yet. His eyes assess me slowly, and I smile wider. My stomach falls as, instead of smiling back, he looks straight through me, his eyes flicking beyond me as if looking for a better option. It’s an utterly dismissive look, and I flush red in embarrassment.

Arrogant wanker, I think savagely.

I look around to see if anyone has spotted him bin me off, but everyone is talking loudly and laughing.

“Oi, tosser,” he says loudly, and conversation around us dims as a few people sit up for a better view of a potential fight.

“Pardon?” I squeak.

He waves a hand at me. “Not you,” he says, his tone matching that dismissive expression. “You,” he says, pointing at Steven.

“Hello, Tom,” Steven says with a distinct note of nervousness. “Good trip?”

Tom? My eyes grow big. This is Tom? The lovely person I keep hearing about is this rude, gorgeous twat?

I shift a little closer to Steven, ignoring my previous reservations about him. He obviously needs backup if he’s being confronted by this idiot. Steven shoots me a grateful look.

“Where’s my house key?” Tom grits out.

Steven’s eyes open wide. “What?”

Jack and Sal appear with handfuls of drinks. Jack’s face lights up when he sees Tom, despite Tom’s sulky twat expression. “Alright, Tom?” he says. “Have you just got back?”

“I have,” Tom says grimly. He gestures theatrically at his body. “And lo and forsooth, look at my party outfit. Now ask me why I’ve embraced lumberjack chic.” He puts his hands on his narrow hips. It makes the T-shirt ride up and I’m very cross with myself for noticing the sliver of yummy olive skin and the beginning of a very interesting V-line.

“Are you drunk already?” Jack asks.

“I’m afraid I haven’t had the chance,” Tom grits out. “I drove all the way back from fucking Northumbria and got home in good time to get changed and meet you all, only to find that I can’t get into our fucking house,” he grits out.

“Tom shares a house with Jack,” Ivy whispers to me helpfully.

“Thank you so much. I would never have guessed.” I wince as she pinches me.

“Why couldn’t you get in?” Jack frowns. “Have you lost your key?”

“Oh, not lost,” Tom says silkily. He points to Steven. “Twatface took it.”

“What?” Jack exclaims. “Surely not. How do you know that?”

“I never removed the key from my keyring. And, before I set off, I saw him fiddling with it. He’s been itching for a key to the house for ages.” He turns to Steven. “How the fuck dare you take my key without asking, you total knobhead.”

“Tom,” Jack says, wincing.

Steven sighs, and I pat his hand. Tom’s eyes narrow at the gesture, and I offer him a glare of my own, which makes him blink.

“Bully,” I mouth. He either doesn’t notice, or he chooses to dismiss me. Again.

I’d like to say I’m sticking up for the underdog, but I can’t for two reasons. Firstly, I suspect the underdog is probably at fault here, and more than likely Steven has a vicious bite of his own. Secondly, I know myself. I’m still smarting at Tom’s dismissive look. It brought back more than a few unpleasant memories of my adolescence.

“I needed a key,” Steven says defensively. “Jack never remembered to get one cut for me.” He glances reproachfully at Jack as if this is all his fault.

“How farsighted of Jack,” Sal breathes. She’s moved to stand next to her brother, her eyes bright with irritation.

Tom rolls his eyes and pats her hand. “Step down, psycho,” he murmurs.

She grins at him and kisses his cheek. “Glad you’re back,” she says and sits down on the arm of my chair.

Steven glares at Tom. “So, I borrowed your key. Is it really a big deal?”

“Yes. You took my key without asking for my permission. And I’ll take a wild guess that you had a copy made and never asked your boyfriend about it.”

Steven settles back in his seat and crosses his legs nonchalantly. “You can have it back,” he says sweetly.

“You bet I can. Now.” He snaps his fingers and holds out his hand.

Steven huffs, reaches into his pocket, and then drops two keys into his palm. “Happy now?”

“Are you coming home with Jack tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Then no, I’m not.”

“Tom.” Jack sighs.

Tom grimaces. “I’m going home to get changed. Are you coming to the Stardust bar? The drinks are half price. Freddy’s already there.”

“I’m in,” Sal shouts.

Tom gives her a crooked smile that is not attractive at all—not one bit. I smile at Steven in solidarity, ignoring the peevish look on his face.

“What about staying here?” Jack asks. “You can get to know everyone and say hello.”

“No need,” Tom says cheerfully. “I can do that really quickly.” He looks around at us. “Hello, everyone,” he says with a charming air. “Coming to Stardust with us?”

Everyone smiles and choruses greetings at him. The next thing I know, they’re standing and gathering their coats. I glare at Tom and become even more irritated when he appears to miss my expression.

“Meet you at Stardust, then?” Tom says to Jack.

Jack shoots a look at his boyfriend, and Steven huffs. “Oh, don’t mind me.”

“Okay,” Tom says happily. “Come on, Jack,” he coaxes. “We can have a drink and let loose. We’ve broken up for the holidays, baby.”

Jack grins at him, his slightly anxious air completely gone. “Okay, then.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Steven stands and stomps off towards the toilets.

Tom claps Jack on the back. “I’ll leave you with that.”

“Thank you so much.”

Tom nods at us and walks away.

Ivy comes to stand next to me, and we watch him march out of the bar. I can’t help noticing the swell of his world-class arse.

Ivy looks at me. “Where’s your coat?”

“Where it was before the lord and master appeared. And coincidentally, where it’s staying.”

She blinks like a tiny drunken owl.

“I’m not coming,” I explain.

“What? Really?”

“Do you mind?” I ask. “Will you be okay?”

She waves a careless hand. “We’re going on to Sal’s afterwards, so I’ll get a taxi home from there. Why won’t you come, though? Is it Tom? You were glaring at him like he’d eaten the last Penguin in the biscuit tin.”

“He looks the type to do that.” I shrug. “He shows up and is appallingly rude, and then flashes a smile and expects everyone to follow him. What a complete twat,” I finish disapprovingly.

“Good-looking one, though.” She leans into me. “And we’re going away on holiday with him.”

“Well, hopefully, he’ll stay far enough away that you can stare at his face and be able to ignore his personality.”

“Oh, come off it. I can’t blame him for being cross.” She looks around to check Steven is out of earshot. “He’d got no right to take Tom’s key. He doesn’t pay rent in their house.”

“I’d lock Tom out if I lived with him. I’d lock him in a room in Outer Mongolia.”

She stares at me. “It’s not like you to be so judgemental, Bee.”

I shrug. “Men like that wind me up.”

“Maybe you’ll end up sharing with him,” she says slyly.

“Only if I was impossibly evil in a former life.” I smile at her. “Never mind,” I say, looking past her at the redhead. “I’ve got other fish to fry tonight, and if I play my cards right, I won’t have to speak to Tom at all while we’re away.”

Merry Measure #2

One

Arlo

The taxi pulls up at East Midlands Airport, and, after grabbing my bags and almost throwing the money at the startled driver, I fall out of it.

“Thank you,” I gasp and start to run towards Departures, my feet skidding in the slush.

Catching the eye of a security guard, I amend my pace to a dignified jog that hopefully doesn’t scream drug mule or gun-toting maniac to someone who has the power to cavity search me. He shakes his head in a slightly patronising manner as I immediately get myself stuck in the revolving door.

“Shit!” I gasp, trying to get free, but the bag on the back of my shoulder refuses to budge. “Sorry, didn’t mean to do that.” The door makes a high-pitched whining noise and judders to a stop while the guard stands there looking stoical and slightly bored. “But don’t worry about me,” I call, straining to get myself through the opening as several people tut from behind me. “I’m excellent in small, tight spaces. Not that I’m implying something seedy,” I gasp as I wriggle like a tortoise stuck in a revolving door. “Not me.”

“Could we get a bloody move on?” a bloke says from behind me.

“Maybe,” I say through gritted teeth. I pause. “You could always try giving me a push,” I shoot back hopefully.

I hear a muttered, “Fuck me,” but then strong hands push me from behind, and I shoot through and into the building with a clatter. My grumpy Samaritan steps neatly around me and walks off, muttering under his breath about twats.

Ignoring him, I gather myself and look around frantically for the flight-information kiosk. But my gaze immediately lands on something better than the kiosk.

He’s leaning against the booth, his attention on his phone, a slight frown of concentration on his face. Two of the attendants eye him and whisper and giggle. I can’t blame them. Jack Cooper is gorgeous with his thick black hair and warm brown eyes. He’s wearing a camel-coloured jumper and faded jeans that show off his long, rangy body, and he looks as neat and tidy as ever.

“Hey,” I say breathlessly as I race up to him. “I’m so sorry I’m late. The alarm on my phone didn’t go off, and then the taxi driver was so slow. I’m sure I could have got out and pushed the car faster.”

He looks up and grins. It’s warm and wide and lights up his whole face, and it’s as familiar to me as my childhood home. It should be, because he’s been in my life for as long as I can remember. Since the day he met my older brother at primary school and became best friends with him.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says immediately, a tone of familiar comfort infusing his voice. “I was getting a bit worried, though. I thought you were going to miss the flight.” He looks behind me. “Why is that security guard eyeing you like you’re Charles Manson?”

I wave my hand airily. “Probably because I’m an intriguing bad boy.”

He raises one eyebrow. “Really?”

I grimace. “No, of course not. I got stuck in the revolving door.”

His laughter is warm and hearty, the kind that makes you want to chuckle along with him. “You do make me smile,” he says affectionately.

“Well, that’s very good,” I say briskly. “This holiday in Amsterdam is going to go swimmingly, then.”

He holds out his hand in a mute command, and I reluctantly place one of my bags in it. “We’d better make a move,” he says, sliding the strap over his shoulder. “We haven’t got much time.” He reaches into his messenger bag and removes a leather travel wallet. Unzipping it, he produces his ticket and boarding pass. They’re pristine. “Have you got yours? Give them to me, and I’ll do the honours.”

I reach into the pocket of my jacket and produce my crumpled paperwork. It’s creased to hell, and there’s a stain across it where I spilt coffee on it last night. It rests in his hand like a big paper turd.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “It’s—”

“Coffee?” he asks, laughter lighting his eyes.

I shrug. “Could have been whisky from my incredibly wild life.”

“The day you don’t have your coffee is the day England will fall.” He winks at me. “Ready?”

I nod and follow him. Usually, when I travel abroad, it’s chaos. I invariably lose something or turn up at the wrong time, or on one memorable occasion, the wrong airport. However, with Jack, everything goes perfectly. We pass quickly through the check-in as he unerringly picks the queue that begins to move as soon as we join it. Things even go smoothly in Customs. Usually, my naturally guilty expression results in me being searched and asked prying questions about my intentions, like I’m a drug-smuggling Mr Darcy, but today we sail through. Probably because of Jack’s choir-boy expression.

We emerge into the bustle of the Departures lounge. I inhale the scent of coffee and look hopefully over at the nearest coffee shop. Jack shakes his head, but obligingly makes his way over to it.

The place is warm and bright, with Frank Sinatra in the background entreating everyone to have themselves a merry little Christmas. I lean against the glass display case, eying the baked goods as my stomach rumbles.

“Are you having caffeine withdrawals?” Jack asks, coming up next to me. “You’re looking rather jittery.”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” I mutter. “I was in a bit of a rush this morning, if you didn’t get the memo.” He laughs and leans against the counter as I place my order. “Want something?” I ask him. “A croissant?”

He makes a face. “Not this early, thanks. Anyway, they’re full of sugar.”

“That’s the best bit,” I say, mystified.

“I’ll have a cup of green tea, though.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Why?”

Humour tugs at his full mouth. “Because it’s very good for you and gets rid of toxins.”

“So does coffee.”

“Since when?”

I wave my hand airily. “It was in some study I read.”

He chuckles, and I take my drink, smiling a thank you at the barista. I remove the lid immediately and, closing my eyes, inhale the scent greedily.

“What are you doing, Arlo? Don’t you normally use another orifice for drinking with?”

I open my eyes and direct a mock glare at him. “Don’t rain on my moment of holy communion. This smell has the power to make me wake up, regardless of how much sleep I’ve actually had.”

He shakes his head, taking his own drink and smiling at the barista. She looks like she’s considering swooning. I can’t blame her. I’ve been close a few times myself.

“How do you cope with school hours, Arlo? Or do your students come in a lot later than I remember?”

I smile at him. “They’re six, Jack. They come in when they’re dropped off by their parents, and knowing some of those, I’m eternally surprised that we’re not forced to do sleepovers. Private schools are run by the parents. Don’t let anyone ever tell you any differently.”

He laughs and makes his way out of the coffee shop, the crowd obligingly parting for him like he’s Jesus with a bread roll.

I follow him, attempting not to ogle the gorgeous swell of his bum in his jeans. It’s a losing battle and one I’ve fought since I was eleven and eating soup in the kitchen of my family home. Young Arlo had looked up and seen a vision at the door—Jack in sweaty football gear that clung to his fifteen-year-old body like glue. And then Young Arlo had promptly had several revelations about his sexuality. He’d had to shelve thinking about them for a few hours, however, because he inhaled a crouton and, while choking, fell over and knocked himself out on the kitchen table.

Not my finest moment, but looking back, not my worst either.

That summer, I spent several months following Jack and my brother around, much to my brother’s mystification, as we were at that point in our relationship where he frequently wanted to batter me. I ceased my youthful pursuit of Jack when two things happened. The first was that my brother threatened to pull off my arms and legs slowly and then tell mum, if I didn’t stop following him and impeding his wooing of his crush at the time. The second was that Jack got himself a girlfriend—Samantha Hampson. I’d wallowed in misery for at least a month, and then my natural optimism surfaced, telling me that he’d notice me soon and that Samantha was a total ho and unworthy of my beloved.

He never did notice me, of course. Samantha went the way of many of his girlfriends, and then, after he came out as bisexual, his boyfriends. They were all perfect-looking, and they dated exclusively and generally looked like something from toothpaste commercials. But invariably something went wrong, and they’d vanish, only to be replaced by the next perfect specimen.

I curl my lips at the thought of his latest one. Steven, who is spectacularly good-looking but also a complete twat. He’s cold and deeply possessive of Jack’s time, but Jack never seems to notice. My stomach roils a little at the thought that Steven has lasted longer than anyone else. Maybe this is it. They’ll get married and settle down and raise children or penguins, or whatever people in perfect relationships do.

Not that I’d know. My love life is as scatty as my timekeeping, and my partners have all largely become the stuff of family legends—hilarious stories to be related at family parties to newcomers, like the time my boyfriend from university got stupendously drunk and refused to talk to anyone apart from our family dog. After a full weekend of deep and meaningful chats, Fee-Fee looked like she was glad to see the back of us when we went back to uni.

I don’t think I ever expected Jack to look at me, though. I’m his best friend’s little brother. The nuisance whose knees he patched up after a fall and who he tried to teach how to fish until he had to give up when I fell in the river. He’d never look at disastrous me.

Unfortunately, even with this knowledge, I’ve never been able to completely shelve my youthful infatuation. Maybe because it was first love—intensely painful when it happens to you, like slamming your head into a kitchen table, but bits of it linger in lines on your heart. Maybe it’s also because he’s a genuinely lovely person, inside and out. He’s kind and thoughtful and clever and has never talked down to me.

We make our way over to the bank of seats near the huge window. I determinedly turn my gaze away from the view of the planes waiting outside. There’ll be plenty of time to think about flying later. I focus my interest instead on Jack, who is stripping off his jumper to reveal a white T-shirt that clings to his chest and highlights his bulging biceps. His skin is a lovely clear olive, and, as he folds his jumper into his bag, the veins in his forearms flex.

We sit for a few minutes in a comfortable silence as he drains his drink and surprisingly doesn’t look like he’s going to vomit afterwards. Then he makes sure the teabag is neatly set inside the cup before fastening the lid back on as thoroughly as any barista. I watch him affectionately. Jack gives new meaning to the word careful. He’s a perfectionist through and through, which in his job is good, because who wants an architect who gets a bit distracted and forgets to include the roof on a house? However, I’m not sure his carefulness is good for him in his private life. He could really do with letting go a bit.

He gathers my empty cup, which looks distinctly grubbier than his own, and vanishes to place them neatly in the rubbish bin.

I smile at him as he comes back. “Why didn’t you travel with everyone else? East Midlands Airport is a bit far from London.”

I’m on a one-year contract to cover maternity leave at a private school in Derby, but the rest of my family and friends are in London.

“Disappointed?” he asks.

I laugh. “Of course not.”

“I hoped you wouldn’t mind.”

“Why on earth would I?” I ask, mystified.

“I was visiting my parents, so I said I’d catch the plane from here instead.”

I grimace before I can help myself and then pretend to cough as he looks at me curiously. I fucking hate his parents. They are, in my opinion, responsible for the way Jack is so obsessed with perfection. He’s their only child, which was probably a blessing for all other potential children, but it meant that they focused their full attention on him. He had to dress the best and be the best at all times. There was no time for youthful indiscretions when there were A-Levels to be taken in the future and sports to come first in. And that was when he was seven. It’s a testament to Jack’s inherently sweet personality that he didn’t turn out like Attila the Hun with those parenting techniques.

“How lovely,” I say faintly, and he watches me with humour twinkling in his eyes. “How are Derek and Barbara? Did they enjoy the move?”

His parents moved to Eyam a few months ago, a tiny village in Derbyshire whose last natural disaster before Derek and Barbara was the Black Death.

“Much the same as usual.”

“That bad, eh,” I say carelessly and then blanch. Shit.

Before I can apologize, he laughs and says, “Probably. Especially after I shared my news.”

Oh my God, he’s engaged. I stare at him, aware that I must look like I’ve inhaled cat sick, but I can’t stop myself.

“You okay?” he asks, looking torn between patting me on the back or performing the Heimlich manoeuvre. He’s had to do both for me over the years.

“Fine, fine,” I say heartily. “Erm, what news?”

He grimaces. “Steven and I split up.”

“Really? That’s amazing.” I say this way too loudly, and the couple next to us immediately look up. I frown at them repressively while getting my jubilation under control. When I’m satisfied that I’ve done it, I pat his arm. “I’m so sorry. How awful for you both.”

“Really?” The incredulity is loud in his voice. “You couldn’t stand him.”

“That’s just not true. Where on earth did you get that idea from?” I ask heartily.

“Erm, you told me.”

“Really?” I wrack my brain. “When did I do that?”

“When you were drunk last Christmas.”

“Oh. Oh dear, I’m so sorry.”

He laughs. “Why? You were being honest. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

“Really?” I sound as breathy as Marilyn Monroe in her heyday. I really want to know what other things he likes about me, but I settle for asking, slightly uneasily, “And what else did I say? Because I have no memory of this conversation at all.”

“That’s because you finished your dad’s eggnog off.” We both shudder at the thought, because that stuff is heinous, and then he carries on talking. “You ranted about private school parents and how demonic small children are and then told me very seriously that Steven was a complete wanker, and I could do better.”

“Oh,” I say faintly. “Well, I wasn’t wrong. Although my delivery sounds less than ideal.”

He stares out of the window, and I watch him, rather than the planes. “You weren’t,” he says. “You actually made me think about what I was doing, Arlo.”

“Obviously, I didn’t make you think very hard. You lasted another year.”

He shrugs. “Only because Steven’s been out of the country on a job for six months.”

“What exactly is it that he does?” I ask sweetly. “Contract assassin?”

“Telecommunications.”

“Well, bless him, he’s never lacked the ability to get his thoughts across,” I say with a shudder.

“I should say thank you, Arlo.” He throws his arm over my shoulder. It’s warm and heavy, and being this close I can smell his woody Guerlain cologne. It always makes me want to sniff him.

I swallow hard. “I must say I’m a little concerned about that,” I say honestly. “What if in twenty years you’re still bemoaning your lost love and howling my name in anguish?”

He blinks. “Wasn’t that Miss Haversham? I don’t think I’m temperamentally suited to wearing the same clothes for twenty years.”

I laugh. “There is that. How did your parents take it?”

He grimaces. “As you’d expect.”

“I try not to have expectations of your parents,” I say earnestly. “Other than not to move too quickly near them, lest it activate their hunt and kill settings.”

He laughs, but it fades quickly, leaving him looking a bit sad. “They were very disappointed in me, actually.”

“Really?” I ask, startled. “I thought they viewed the male part of your bisexuality as something to be hidden in the attic with all the pesky dust collectors like books and art.”

He smiles. “Ah well, they liked Steven. He appealed to them because he was so focused and goal-driven.”

“That’s one way to put it,” I say sourly. “As soon as they met, I bet they all got their calculators out and worked out their capital allowances for the year.”

Steven was far too driven for Jack. In my opinion, Jack needs someone a lot more relaxed. Someone who will make him feel comfortable rather than trying to wind him up even tighter the way Steven did. I steer my mind away from the thought that I’d be good for him, but it’s a damn truth that he’s more relaxed with me.

He laughs. “Well, they liked him.” He looks thoughtful. “Which really, when you look at it, should have been a warning for me. The equivalent of a code red in a nuclear reactor.”

“Steven hated me, anyway,” I say. “He always treated me like I was five years old, and at the last barbeque, he told me I was flippant in the same tone that most people use to call someone a cunt.”

Jack bites his lip but doesn’t correct me. I knew it.

He changes the subject adroitly. “Anyway, I stayed the night and thought I’d fly with you.” He smiles at me, his eyes as warm and rich as a packet of chocolate digestives. “I thought it’d be nice to have you all to myself before the madness starts.”

My heartbeat picks up speed, and I remind it to pipe down. It misbehaves so badly around him some days that I’m glad I’m not hooked up to monitors.

“And it’s not because I’m freaked out by flying?” I ask.

“I didn’t like leaving you to fly on your own,” he says in a serious tone.

My heart achieves lift-off without my permission. “Really? That’s so lovely.”

He looks up at the Departures screen. “We’re boarding,” he says, standing up and gathering his bag in his usual hyper-efficient manner.

I swallow hard. “Oh, are we really? How super.”

He grins down at me. “Come on. Ninety minutes and it’ll all be over.”

I pause. “What? Life?”

He blanches. “No, I meant the flight.”

My stomach immediately springs a nest of baby birds. “Oh absolutely,” I say heartily. I get to my feet and look out of the window at my fate. “Well, it could be worse. At least we’re not flying in that old banger.” I point to a small plane sitting on the tarmac.

He looks beyond me and bites his lip. “Oh no, of course not.”

I stare at him. “Oh my God,” I say faintly. “We are flying on that, aren’t we?”

He holds his hands up to forestall my almost certain attack of the vapours. “They’re excellent planes, Arlo. We’ll be absolutely fine.”

“It’s got propellers,” I say far too loudly.

He grabs my bag, hanging it from my shoulder, and wraps my coat around my shoulders as if caping a superhero. “It’ll be fine,” he says firmly. “You want to go to Amsterdam at Christmas, don’t you?”

“Yes, but is it possible to walk there?”

“It’d be hell on your shoe leather, and you wouldn’t be back in time for the new school term.”

“You think you’re dissuading me with that, but you’re not,” I inform him, obeying his guiding hand and joining the queue of people waiting to get on the grimy death trap. Everyone looks far too perky and happy. I look around for a fellow sufferer and find one in the form of the woman in front of me who is visibly shaking.

“Yes, but what if a bird flies into one of those propellers?” she says too loudly, judging by the glare that she’s receiving from an air hostess.

The people around us shift uneasily, but I nod approvingly. And then her question sinks in. “Oh God,” I say faintly, fumbling in my messenger bag and retrieving my pills.

“What are you taking?” Jack asks immediately, a look of concern on his face like he thinks I’m throwing a handful of ecstasy tablets down my throat. Not that I wouldn’t be tempted if I thought they’d do the trick.

“Valium,” I say, popping one from the blister pack and swallowing it dry. “The doctor prescribed them.”

“Couldn’t you try something else? Like hypnosis?”

“Only if you fancy trying to calm down hysterics at fifty billion feet in the air.”

“Thirty-one thousand feet. We’d be in space, otherwise.”

“Oh, fuck. Now you tell me that.” I shake my head. “We’re going to be flying too low. Can this day get any worse?”

The woman in front of us moans in agreement.

The air hostess takes our boarding passes and passports, and I watch her with an eagle eye to make sure she obeys all security procedures.

“Arlo, come on.” I can tell Jack’s trying not to laugh. He puts his arm around my shoulder and guides me out onto the concourse. The wind hits us icy cold and fierce. “You’ll be fine.”

“Touch wood.”

“It’s a bit early in the morning for that, and we’re in public.”

I shake my head but can’t conceal my smile. “Are you making the funny, Jack?”

He grins. “Only a little bit.”

We reach the incredibly tiny plane and join the slow-moving queue of people, none of whom look like they’re contemplating their deaths. I try to avert my gaze from all aspects of the aircraft as we wait to walk up the steps, but I accidentally look at the propellers again and give a little whine. “Oh my God,” I say, fumbling in my pocket.

“What are you doing now?” Jack asks.

“Taking another tablet. This one isn’t working.”

“Arlo, you only had the last one a minute ago. Give it a chance to work and… Oh Christ, you’ve taken it.”

I swallow it and nod. “Yep. Don’t worry.”

“Should you be taking two in quick succession?” he asks anxiously, pulling the packet off me and reading the back of it like he’s got a medical degree.

I wave my hand casually. “Don’t worry about it. They’re more guidelines than hard and fast rules.”

Lily Morton

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

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

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

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

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On Circus Lane #1

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Wright Brothers Series

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