Sunday, April 14, 2019
Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Ace in the Picture by Jude Tresswell
Title: Ace in the Picture
Author: Jude Tresswell
Series: County Durham Quad #3
Genre: M/M/M/M Romance, Poly, Mystery
Release Date: March 31, 2019
Cover Artist: Billie Hastie
Publisher: Rowanvale Books
An art fraud, a polyamorous suspect, an asexual detective…
Polyamory and asexuality meet in this third tale about a north-east England quad.
The police suspect Raith Balan of faking a painting. So do money-launderers who sink profits into art. Mike, Ross and Phil, the three men in Raith’s life, must prove his innocence. They’re hampered by their certainty that a member of the Fraud Squad is corrupt.
The senior investigating officer is Detective Sergeant Nick Seabrooke. He knows he is asexual, but is he aromantic too? As Raith’s lovers struggle to keep Raith safe and find the fraudster, the sergeant struggles to understand why the quad is often in his thoughts.
Chapter 1
Raith stood in the kitchen in front of the calendar. His gaze shifted from the naked figure depicted on ‘October’ to the highlighted ‘Thursday 12th’ and back again. He pressed a fingertip to his lips, transferred a kiss to the mid-point of the figure’s shoulder blades and ran his finger down the spine—Mike Angells’ spine.
The real-life Mike walked into the room and filled the kettle.
“What are you admirin’?” he asked. “The model or the artist?”
Raith was the artist. “The artist,” he replied. “He’s classy. The model’s okay, I suppose.”
“Cheeky!” Mike admonished.
Changing the subject, Raith asked, “You know what day it is in two days’ time, don’t you?”
“In two days? Well, let’s see… difficult one… It must be Thursday. Aye, that’s right. It was Monday yesterday, so—”
“Stop teasing me! Do you think he’s forgotten?”
‘He’ was Phil Roberts, the man Raith had married 364days earlier.
“Don’t be daft. Of course not. You know Phil. His middle name’s ‘No fuss’.”
“That’s two names.”
“And that’s two cups of coffee. One for you. One for me,” said Mike, handing over a mug.
“None for me?” asked a third man who, yawning, had entered the kitchen. He hugged the two men already there.
“Sorry, Ross,” Mike apologised. “I didn’t make you one. I thought you were still asleep.”
“No. Just dozy,” said Ross sleepily. “I heard Phil’s car. Is it an emergency, Raith?”
“Not exactly,” Raith replied. “He went in early to cover for a colleague.”
Phil had helped to pioneer a form of rectal surgery that used nanocarbon patches to reconstruct torn tissue. He was a respected consultant at the hospital an hour’s drive away in Warbridge, County Durham.
“I’d better get sorted and get out myself,” said Ross. He was, amongst other things, a gallery proprietor in Gateshead, and his journey to work took longer than Phil’s. He yawned again.
“Are you feelin’ okay?” asked Mike, alert to Ross’s tone of voice. “It’s not like you to sound so unenthusiastic about work.” In fact, it wasn’t like Ross to sound unenthusiastic about anything. He was always lively—he personified keenness.
“I’m dead tired cos I didn’t sleep well. I had a strange text late on. You were already asleep. I don’t think you heard the phone buzz. Strange. Unsettling.”
“Oh?”
“How do you mean?” asked Raith. “We’re not going to get involved with more criminal activities, are we? I had enough of crime fighting last time!”
Even though Mike was no longer a detective with the Tees, Tyne and Wear Constabulary, the four of them were involved in a surprising amount of crime fighting. ‘Last time’ had involved an illegal immigrant, and the tensions that had arisen had threatened the survival of the quad.
That’s what they were: a gay, polyamorous quad. They lived in Tunhead, a hamlet in Weardale in the Durham hills. Once, Tunhead had rung to the sound of workers’ hammers hitting stone. In a way it still did: Ross had turned it into an arts centre full of smiths, sculptors and potters who wanted to escape the North East’s towns.
“Well, we’re not, are we?” Raith repeated.
“No.”
“Good. Well, my creations won’t create themselves. I’d better get off, too.”
In Raith’s case, ‘getting off’ simply meant walking twenty yards to his studio, a converted storehouse.
“You sure he hasn’t forgotten?” he asked Mike again before he left.
“I’m sure.”
“Okay then.”
“What’s that about?” asked Ross after Raith was gone.
“He’s bothered that Phil’s forgotten their anniversary.”
“He hasn’t.”
“I know he hasn’t. He’s takin’ him off on a trip sumwhere—but you know Raith. He needs everythin’ crystal clear and written in capital letters. And sumtimes, so do I. What was this message about?”
Ross pulled a face and explained. When he’d done so, Mike could understand his concern.
“He wouldn’t be so stupid, Ross… Would he?”
“Not stupid, Mike, but he’s gullible. He doesn’t always think. I just don’t know.”
*****
The message stayed in Ross’s mind during the forty-mile drive to the gallery and he couldn’t forget about it once he was there. Some of Raith’s paintings hung on the gallery walls. They were mainly of Weardale’s waterfalls. After heavy rain, the falls transformed from gentle trickles into rushing, gushing powerful forces of nature that the four men knew could kill. They’d seen them kill.
Raith loved to paint the waterfalls. From a distance, his torrents looked alive. The effect was linked to his use of colour. Raith was a tetrachromat; he could see a host of hues in what, to most people, was a single shade. He painted for himself, though, not for fame or money—he had plenty of both, due to his skill with clay not brushes. Several of his wares were on show at the gallery, most tagged ‘sold’ with a price that would feed and clothe all four men for a long, long time. His sensually erotic sculptures, modelled on Mike and Phil, were always in demand and beautifully, lovingly executed. But today, Ross gave Raith’s erotica a miss. He stared, instead, at the waterfalls.
What might induce Raith to produce a piece of work “with intent to deceive”, as the legal phrase was?
That was what the worrying message had suggested. That Raith’s were the hands and eyes behind a painting that the police were interested in. They thought it was a fake. For the umpteenth time, Ross asked himself why?
Raith didn’t need fame and he didn’t need fortune, but did he need the challenge of outwitting the experts? Of copying another artist’s work so accurately that no one would notice the difference?
Surely not. Momentarily, Ross’s dark mood lifted. The only challenge Raith was likely to rise to was the one of finding ways to spice up the quad’s evening meals. Two nights ago, he’d ‘accidentally’ stumbled near the saucepan with a teaspoon of chilli flakes in his hand.
“Oh, look! They’ve fallen in,”he’d said apologetically.
Ross smiled when he thought about it, but anxiety soon returned. Could Raith be feeling resentment? Sometimes, that was the driving force behind a fraud. Failed artists whose work had been refused once too often. Failed artists who took I’ll show them!literally.
No. All Raith’s resentments were little ones that quickly blew over—feeling nagged for not doing his turn on the house-keeping rota, being yelled at for leaving clay-covered dirty washing on top of the pile of clean laundry. Raith took umbrage easily, but he’d be smiling again within the hour. And anyway, he wasn’t a failed artist. He was a very successful one.
He was a strange mixture though. That complexity was part of his attraction. It was part of what made him Raith. His skill was undeniable, but his mental health was fragile— ‘bloody unhinged’ was how Mike would describe Raith in less charitable moments. He could be unpredictable. He could be very violent. He had another side, though, and it was what Mike and Phil and Ross adored about him. Canny, clued up, an ex-con hard as nails… but at the toss of a coin, as loving, as sweet and as trusting as anyone they had ever met. Mike was as loving, and often as sweet, but trusting? No. Mike was ex-CID. It wasn’t in his nature to be trusting.
Which was why Mike was already making phone calls.
I’m not Nick Seabrooke, the ace in the picture, but there are some firsthand truths peeping through the fiction. Like Nick, I’m ace and happy with it, but also, like Nick, I’m wavery on that ro/aro line–and that can cause some soul-searching. If the picture painted in the story is a very narrow one, it’s because I didn’t want to stray too far from what I know. The quad, however, are totally imaginary.
I blog at https://polyallsorts.wordpress.com. There are posts about asexuality, polyamory, beer, tattoos, book covers, and many other story-related items. There are photos of the Durham countryside, the setting of the stories, too. I’m always happy to receive and respond to comments. Well, if they’re friendly ones!
Ace in the Picture #3
Badge of Loyalty #1
Polyamory on Trial #2
Release Blitz: Finding Finlay by Ruby Moone
Title: Finding Finlay
Author: Ruby Moone
Series: MC Securities #2
Genre: M/M Romance
Release Date: April 9, 2019
Cover Design: Meredith Russell
Aaron Baker has a problem. His online clothing company is under attack. Whilst MC Securities tackle the breaches in security, he asks for an agent to pose as his fake boyfriend. He doesn’t bargain for getting a snarky, ex-marine with sad, blue eyes and submissive tendencies.
Dumped by his boyfriend, Finlay Masters concludes that the best, and safest, place for him is to return to the closet. Kicked out by his parents as a kid for being gay, closeted in the army for fifteen years, body wrecked by an explosion that cost him his job, he isn’t the best bet for any kind of relationship. Even a fake one.
As the investigation mounts, Aaron wants more, but Finn has no faith in love, never dared need anyone. Aaron talks of how lucky he is to find him, but Finn knows if he is to have a chance at a relationship at all, he needs to find himself.
Each book in the MC Securities Series can be read as standalone.
Finn cleared his throat. “Just thinking that if you fancy me, and I fancy you, we could take advantage of the situation we find ourselves in. So to speak.”
Aaron couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Finn was suggesting they had sex? “You put forward a strong argument.”
Finn stared straight forward. “You just need to know that my body is a mess. My left leg, left shoulder, chest…” he waved a hand over the area and pulled a face. “Not pretty. I can leave a T-shirt on and sweats if it’s too much for you.”
The matter of fact way Finn said it robbed Aaron of speech. The car pulled up at the venue, and the moment was lost, but Aaron knew he needed to address it, he just didn’t know how.
He walked into the hotel with Finn by his side. He looked absolutely magnificent. His military bearing was clearly apparent in the way he held himself, he looked every inch the protective boyfriend as he stood aside to let Aaron pass. They walked, shoulder to shoulder in the direction of the event. Aaron glanced sideways at him.
“Hey.” His voice was low.
Finn looked at him. His dark rimmed blue eyes unreadable.
“No T-shirts, no sweats.”
Something shone in those dark eyes. The side of his mouth twitched in the tiniest of smiles as he looked away.
Aaron couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Finn was suggesting they had sex? “You put forward a strong argument.”
Finn stared straight forward. “You just need to know that my body is a mess. My left leg, left shoulder, chest…” he waved a hand over the area and pulled a face. “Not pretty. I can leave a T-shirt on and sweats if it’s too much for you.”
He walked into the hotel with Finn by his side. He looked absolutely magnificent. His military bearing was clearly apparent in the way he held himself, he looked every inch the protective boyfriend as he stood aside to let Aaron pass. They walked, shoulder to shoulder in the direction of the event. Aaron glanced sideways at him.
“Hey.” His voice was low.
Finn looked at him. His dark rimmed blue eyes unreadable.
“No T-shirts, no sweats.”
Something shone in those dark eyes. The side of his mouth twitched in the tiniest of smiles as he looked away.
Author Bio:My name is Ruby Moone and I love books. All kinds of books. My weakness is for romance, and that can be any kind, but I am particularly fond of historical and paranormal. I decided to write gay romance after reading some fantastic books and falling in love with the genre, so am really thrilled to have my work published here. The day job takes up a lot of my time, but every other spare moment finds me writing or reading. I live in the north west of England with my husband who thinks that I live in two worlds. The real world and in the world in my head...he probably has a point!
EMAIL: rubymoone@gmail.com
Finding Finlay #2
Trusting Jack #1
Saturday, April 13, 2019
Saturday's Series Spotlight: The Carstairs Affairs by Elin Gregory
Eleventh Hour #1Summary:
Borrowed from the Secret Intelligence Service cipher department to assist Briers Allerdale - a field agent returning to 1920s London with news of a dangerous anarchist plot - Miles Siward moves into a 'couples only' boarding house, posing as Allerdale’s 'wife'. Miles relishes the opportunity to allow his alter ego, Millie, to spread her wings but if Miles wants the other agent’s respect he can never betray how much he enjoys being Millie nor how attractive he finds Allerdale.
Pursuing a ruthless enemy who wants to throw Europe back into the horrors of the Great War, Briers and Miles are helped and hindered by nosy landladies, water board officials, suave gentlemen representing foreign powers and their own increasing attraction to each other.
Will they catch their quarry? Will they find love? Could they hope for both?
The clock is ticking.
Summary:
Miles Siward and Briers Allerdale return for another thrilling Jazz Age adventure.
“Silk stockings on expenses.”
Miles’s aristocratic mother has information of importance to the British Government and he must escort her home from Bucharest immediately, but their plans go violently awry and Miles and Lady Siward find themselves on a train to Belgrade - where Miles’s lover is posted. Since their pursuers are looking for a man and a woman, might two women slip past them unnoticed?
"Is anyone on this train who they say they are?"
Briers doesn’t know whether to kiss Miles or punch him but is delighted to accompany him and his mother on their journey. All he has to do is keep an eye open for their enemies - but who exactly are they; the enormous Russian, the sinister priest, the handsome jazz pianist, or maybe the winsome young movie star? And his mother-in-law might just be the most terrifying of all!
All aboard for the ride of a lifetime, with a cast of characters you'll never forget!
I just want to start by saying, how this book sat in my kindle library for over two-and-a-half years before I read it is unknown to me, I suppose it just kept getting slid lower and lower on the shelf 😉😉. Well, whether you are like me and a little late to the party I can highly recommend giving Eleventh Hour a looksee. I haven't read everything by Elin Gregory but what I have read has always been a treat and Eleventh is no different.
Set in one of my favorite eras to read, the 1920s just made this extra special(which also makes me wonder how I let it go so long without reading it😉). As in her other books I've read, it is pretty obvious that the author has a healthy respect for history and that she takes time to get the small details right, sure there are probably a few liberties taken in the name of fiction but I can honestly say nothing really stood out in that area.
I won't say anything in regards to the case other than it is an attention grabber. When situations occur that I might have seen coming, I was still on the edge of my seat wanting to know what the next page and the page after that and the page after that was going to reveal. Spies, hidden agendas, undercover agents, Eleventh Hour has it all and you throw in some romance and what you're reading is true storytelling that is not to be missed.
As for the characters, whether it's as Briers and Miles or Brian and Millie, this pair's chemistry is off the charts both in early frustrations and later passions, the connection is undeniable. A powerful case of what you see is not necessarily what you get. Miles Siward may be a clerk from the cipher department with no field experience but don't let his lack of experience or his cover as Millie fool you, he may not be James Bond but he's no wilting flower either.
Eleventh Hour is a true gem that should not be missed.
Miles Siward and Briers Allerdale return and what a follow-up story Midnight Flit is! Superb storytelling from the get-go. A few years have passed moving this second entry in The Carstairs Affairs series into the 1930s and though the pair are not able to be together 24/7 it's pretty obvious they spend whatever time they can with each other but the story begins with them apart. When Miles' mother has vital information that puts her in danger and a need to return to London, Miles goes to escort her back. As if it would really be that simple😉😉. Danger stalks them forcing Millie Carstairs to return and a detour to Belgrade where Briers is posted.
Once again the author's respect is shown with attention to the era in the small details, which for me only heightens the brilliance of the story. The case is yet again strife with spies, danger, violence, and those not being who they say they are, are everywhere. I won't speak of the case but the blend between mystery, violence, sneaky friends and foes, and of course romance makes Midnight Flit a an all out experience that you can only get the full effects if you read for yourself . . . and trust me you will want to read this.
As for the characters, I loved seeing Millie and Brian make an appearance and how they slip into the roles so easily shows you that they are not just personas they use for the job, they have become part of who Miles and Briers are. Miles' mother is an absolute marvel, a lady of her time but also a free-thinker that is often overlooked in the era. The way she is with both Miles/Briers and Millie/Brian brings to life a relationship that many mothers/mothers-in-law of the time might not factor into the majority but is absolutely lovely to read adding humor and heart to the story.
Whether you are typically a historical reader or not, I highly recommend reading The Carstairs Affairs series otherwise you will miss out on amazing characters and overall fun and danger that hooked me in and when I reached the last page I found myself wishing I read it slower to savor the experience. If you are asking if this is a series that needs to be read in order, I have to say yes. Both entries feature a new case for the heroes but because of the personal moments everything just flows better having read Eleventh Hour first, not just the relationship between Miles and Briers but also the secondary characters who make an appearance. I can't say you'll be lost if you read Midnight Flit first but you will probably find yourself pausing a few times and wondering how certain characters came to be in the mix. However you choose to read it, just be sure you read because otherwise you will miss out on a storytelling gem.
Eleventh Hour #1
Siward picked up a small leather bag and led Briers out of the back of the building into a cobbled court.
"Nice car," Briers said, admiring the vehicle's powerful lines. "Armstrong-Siddeley?"
Siward opened the dickey seat and crammed his bag down into it. "Four-Fourteen Tourer, Mendip model. It was George's," he said as he got into his seat. "He only drove it twice. I'm keeping it in tune while he's convalescing."
Briers waited until Siward had turned the car and driven it out onto Buckingham Gate before he spoke again.
"How is your brother?" he asked.
"As well as can be expected." Siward drove carefully, without much dash, content to follow a coster's cart until sure it was safe to pass it. He glanced at Briers and smiled – a polite but unconvincing grimace. "Thank you for asking. He's walking now, at least, and is his cheerful self, but we don't know how long it will be before he can get back to work. He misses it."
Briers expected he did. He didn't know the details – all very hush-hush – and hesitated to embarrass Siward by asking. "Your brother's a brave man. He could have cut and run. He didn't owe his informant anything."
"Yes, he did." Siward's reply was sharp. "The man was risking just as much as George was, if not more. And he got George to the border, injured though he was. I hope ... I hope if ever I'm in a similar situation, I have half the courage. In comparison with that, anyone should be proud to do what they can, even if it's not what they expected to be asked to do."
"I see," Briers said. Once Siward had taken the turn into Victoria Street he broke their silence again. "So – this business. Mildred?"
"Dear God in Heaven." Siward sighed. "Don't think I'm doing it because I like it. I just happen to be very, very good at it."
"And how did you discover that?" Briers asked. "No, honestly. I'm genuinely curious, not poking fun." He turned a little on the broad seat and studied Siward's profile. "We're going to be in close quarters for a while and I like to know a bit about the people I work with. Was it at school?"
Siward's flush was immediate. Even the narrow strips of skin visible between his cuffs and his driving gloves went pink. "I didn't go to school. I had rheumatic fever when I was six and again when I was nine, so I stayed with my parents and we hired a local tutor wherever we happened to be. Hence all the different languages, I suppose. No, it was when I went up to Cambridge. I read English and wasn't doing too well. My supervisor – dear me, even he was a war hero – suggested I join the Shakespeare performance society. He felt it might give me more insight. I'm not sure it worked as he intended but, over my time there, I think I played all the main female leads – Viola, Ophelia, Rosalind, Beatrice, even Lady Macbeth. I enjoyed the challenge but that was Shakespeare, with all the weight of tradition of men playing female roles. Out in the street, it's something else entirely."
"We all have to play roles in this business," Briers said. "Just remember you are doing something unique. Something I most certainly couldn't do."
Siward replied with a peevish snort. "Well, no, because you are a proper stalwart type. You don't get people sneering at you barely behind your back. I bet you played rugger and boxed for your college."
"Good guess." Briers chuckled. "Rugby League was the big thing in my house. Pa was a follower of St Helens and when I was born, the week before they played in the Challenge Cup, he named me after the entire front row."
"Briers?" Siward's tone was sympathetic.
"Briers Winstanley Allerdale," Briers said. "Actually it should have been Winstanley Briers Winstanley, because the brothers were playing, but even Pa wouldn't go that far. Being Brian Carstairs for a week or two will come as something of a relief."
Siward chuckled. "So your father was a Rugby League enthusiast. What about your mother? Are they still with you?"
"Yes, bless them. Pa is a country doctor, with a practice outside Eccleston. Ma – well she organises things, mostly Pa. I've got a younger brother who's in the practice with Pa and a sister who's courting."
"Someone suitable, I hope?" Siward said. "Do they know what you do?"
Briers shrugged. "I think Pa has guessed. The others think I'm something to do with steel production, which I am some of the time."
"That must be difficult," Siward said. "At least when I write to my family I can tell them a little of my daily life. A clerical post with the government is close enough to the truth."
"Just how many languages do you speak?" Briers asked.
"Five usefully." Siward's tone was matter of fact. "One picks them up easily as an infant and my nursemaids were a mixed bunch. I could speak Czech and Serbian by the time I was three and learned this odd kind of dialect mixture of Macedonian and Bulgarian from an Embassy driver who had the most wonderful pet ferrets."
Briers laughed. "So if ever I need someone to give a talk to the ferret fanciers of Skopje...?"
"I'm your man," Siward said. Their eyes met for a moment and both grinned. "Charing Cross." Siward nodded to the turn ahead. "Why don't you nip in and get your baggage while I turn the car around?"
Midnight Flit #2
Secret Intelligence service operative, Miles Siward, is preparing for a mission with the assistance of his gentleman’s gentleman, Pritchard.
"Do you miss working for Father?" Miles asked after a moment. "I feel bad that I've never asked before, but I was so grateful when you agreed to come back with me and run my little establishment that I suppose it never occurred to me to ask."
Pritchard paused, his hands full of snowy linen. "Lord bless you, sir, no. Ronald and I were heartily sick of exchanging letters by then, and maybe seeing each other once a year - your father's commitments allowing. To be offered the chance to come here, with private accommodation provided, was a Godsend. My only worry was that a relationship started in the trenches and continued on paper might not weather more frequent contact."
Ronald – professional stage manager, natty dresser, a full head taller than Pritchard – was perhaps a little shrill, but one had to be shrill to be heard in theatrical circles. From what little Miles had seen of Pritchard and Ron together, though, they seemed blissfully happy and he wished them well and envied them with all his heart.
"I'm glad," he said. "Going from valet to His Majesty's Ambassador in Bucharest to the man-of-all-work of a clerk seems such a come down."
"We both know that you are far more than a clerk, sir," Pritchard grinned. "And speaking of more, Bucharest is not that far from Belgrade. While you are there, will there be any chance of meeting with the master?"
Miles snorted. "You mustn't call Briers that, it only encourages him. He'll turn up in plus fours and a monocle next, you wait and see!"
"It's meant affectionately, sir." Pritchard gave him a serene smile and tucked a rolled black tie and a pair of silk socks in beside the shirt.
"I know, and he loves it." Miles paused in smiling contemplation of Briers Allerdale – tall where Miles was short, dark where he was fair, a hard-bitten field agent where Miles spent a lot of time at his desk − and thanked his lucky stars that opposites attract. "But sadly I am only going for one night, solely to retrieve Ma and bring her home safely in time for her appointment. A side trip is completely out of the question.
"I understand, sir." From the sympathetic glint in Pritchard's eye, Miles knew that he did understand, very well.
Siward picked up a small leather bag and led Briers out of the back of the building into a cobbled court.
"Nice car," Briers said, admiring the vehicle's powerful lines. "Armstrong-Siddeley?"
Siward opened the dickey seat and crammed his bag down into it. "Four-Fourteen Tourer, Mendip model. It was George's," he said as he got into his seat. "He only drove it twice. I'm keeping it in tune while he's convalescing."
Briers waited until Siward had turned the car and driven it out onto Buckingham Gate before he spoke again.
"How is your brother?" he asked.
"As well as can be expected." Siward drove carefully, without much dash, content to follow a coster's cart until sure it was safe to pass it. He glanced at Briers and smiled – a polite but unconvincing grimace. "Thank you for asking. He's walking now, at least, and is his cheerful self, but we don't know how long it will be before he can get back to work. He misses it."
Briers expected he did. He didn't know the details – all very hush-hush – and hesitated to embarrass Siward by asking. "Your brother's a brave man. He could have cut and run. He didn't owe his informant anything."
"Yes, he did." Siward's reply was sharp. "The man was risking just as much as George was, if not more. And he got George to the border, injured though he was. I hope ... I hope if ever I'm in a similar situation, I have half the courage. In comparison with that, anyone should be proud to do what they can, even if it's not what they expected to be asked to do."
"I see," Briers said. Once Siward had taken the turn into Victoria Street he broke their silence again. "So – this business. Mildred?"
"Dear God in Heaven." Siward sighed. "Don't think I'm doing it because I like it. I just happen to be very, very good at it."
"And how did you discover that?" Briers asked. "No, honestly. I'm genuinely curious, not poking fun." He turned a little on the broad seat and studied Siward's profile. "We're going to be in close quarters for a while and I like to know a bit about the people I work with. Was it at school?"
Siward's flush was immediate. Even the narrow strips of skin visible between his cuffs and his driving gloves went pink. "I didn't go to school. I had rheumatic fever when I was six and again when I was nine, so I stayed with my parents and we hired a local tutor wherever we happened to be. Hence all the different languages, I suppose. No, it was when I went up to Cambridge. I read English and wasn't doing too well. My supervisor – dear me, even he was a war hero – suggested I join the Shakespeare performance society. He felt it might give me more insight. I'm not sure it worked as he intended but, over my time there, I think I played all the main female leads – Viola, Ophelia, Rosalind, Beatrice, even Lady Macbeth. I enjoyed the challenge but that was Shakespeare, with all the weight of tradition of men playing female roles. Out in the street, it's something else entirely."
"We all have to play roles in this business," Briers said. "Just remember you are doing something unique. Something I most certainly couldn't do."
Siward replied with a peevish snort. "Well, no, because you are a proper stalwart type. You don't get people sneering at you barely behind your back. I bet you played rugger and boxed for your college."
"Good guess." Briers chuckled. "Rugby League was the big thing in my house. Pa was a follower of St Helens and when I was born, the week before they played in the Challenge Cup, he named me after the entire front row."
"Briers?" Siward's tone was sympathetic.
"Briers Winstanley Allerdale," Briers said. "Actually it should have been Winstanley Briers Winstanley, because the brothers were playing, but even Pa wouldn't go that far. Being Brian Carstairs for a week or two will come as something of a relief."
Siward chuckled. "So your father was a Rugby League enthusiast. What about your mother? Are they still with you?"
"Yes, bless them. Pa is a country doctor, with a practice outside Eccleston. Ma – well she organises things, mostly Pa. I've got a younger brother who's in the practice with Pa and a sister who's courting."
"Someone suitable, I hope?" Siward said. "Do they know what you do?"
Briers shrugged. "I think Pa has guessed. The others think I'm something to do with steel production, which I am some of the time."
"That must be difficult," Siward said. "At least when I write to my family I can tell them a little of my daily life. A clerical post with the government is close enough to the truth."
"Just how many languages do you speak?" Briers asked.
"Five usefully." Siward's tone was matter of fact. "One picks them up easily as an infant and my nursemaids were a mixed bunch. I could speak Czech and Serbian by the time I was three and learned this odd kind of dialect mixture of Macedonian and Bulgarian from an Embassy driver who had the most wonderful pet ferrets."
Briers laughed. "So if ever I need someone to give a talk to the ferret fanciers of Skopje...?"
"I'm your man," Siward said. Their eyes met for a moment and both grinned. "Charing Cross." Siward nodded to the turn ahead. "Why don't you nip in and get your baggage while I turn the car around?"
Midnight Flit #2
Secret Intelligence service operative, Miles Siward, is preparing for a mission with the assistance of his gentleman’s gentleman, Pritchard.
"Do you miss working for Father?" Miles asked after a moment. "I feel bad that I've never asked before, but I was so grateful when you agreed to come back with me and run my little establishment that I suppose it never occurred to me to ask."
Pritchard paused, his hands full of snowy linen. "Lord bless you, sir, no. Ronald and I were heartily sick of exchanging letters by then, and maybe seeing each other once a year - your father's commitments allowing. To be offered the chance to come here, with private accommodation provided, was a Godsend. My only worry was that a relationship started in the trenches and continued on paper might not weather more frequent contact."
Ronald – professional stage manager, natty dresser, a full head taller than Pritchard – was perhaps a little shrill, but one had to be shrill to be heard in theatrical circles. From what little Miles had seen of Pritchard and Ron together, though, they seemed blissfully happy and he wished them well and envied them with all his heart.
"I'm glad," he said. "Going from valet to His Majesty's Ambassador in Bucharest to the man-of-all-work of a clerk seems such a come down."
"We both know that you are far more than a clerk, sir," Pritchard grinned. "And speaking of more, Bucharest is not that far from Belgrade. While you are there, will there be any chance of meeting with the master?"
Miles snorted. "You mustn't call Briers that, it only encourages him. He'll turn up in plus fours and a monocle next, you wait and see!"
"It's meant affectionately, sir." Pritchard gave him a serene smile and tucked a rolled black tie and a pair of silk socks in beside the shirt.
"I know, and he loves it." Miles paused in smiling contemplation of Briers Allerdale – tall where Miles was short, dark where he was fair, a hard-bitten field agent where Miles spent a lot of time at his desk − and thanked his lucky stars that opposites attract. "But sadly I am only going for one night, solely to retrieve Ma and bring her home safely in time for her appointment. A side trip is completely out of the question.
"I understand, sir." From the sympathetic glint in Pritchard's eye, Miles knew that he did understand, very well.
Elin Gregory lives in South Wales and works in a museum in a castle built on the edge of a Roman Fort! She reckons that's a pretty cool job.
Elin usually writes on historical subjects, and enjoys weaving the weird and wonderful facts she comes across in her research into her plots. She likes her heroes hard as nails but capable of tenderness when circumstances allow. Often they are in danger, frequently they have to make hard choices, but happy endings are always assured.
Current works in progress include one set during the Great War, another in WW2, one set in the Dark Ages and a series of contemporary romances set in a small town on the Welsh border.
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Book Blitz: Always Ours by JP James
Title: Always Ours
Author: JP James
Series: Always #5
Genre: M/M/M Romance
Release Date: March 22, 2019
Cover Design: Kimberly Soto
I was the victim of an LGBTQ hate crime but two handsome cops saved me. Will our love prevail?
Chance:
I didn’t know what danger was until I was assaulted one night. It was a hate crime against the LGBTQ+ community, but fortunately, two cops stepped out from the shadows and wrestled my attacker to the ground. My breath caught upon seeing them because Mason and Logan are everything I’ve ever wanted: brawny, handsome, and heroic. But something tells me there’s more to these men than meets the eye.
Logan:
We shouldn’t have taken what the young man offered. But when he knocked on our door, my twin and I gave into our deepest desires. We’re twins who share, and Chance said he wanted to feel alive again after his close brush with death. As a result, we stepped up and made it a skin-to-skin game.
But now, the relationship has gone off the rails. Chance wants more – not just our bodies, but also our hearts, minds, and souls. The problem? We’re not ready for this. We’re cops, and while the force has an unofficial “Don’t ask, Don’t tell” policy, it’s difficult to keep our innermost desires secret. But Chance wants more. He’s not satisfied with being kept in the closet. He wants to be part of our lives, out in the open and proud. Can we do this for him? Will we, when our lives and careers are at stake?
**Always Ours is a full-length MMM novel with a HFN/HEA and no cliffhangers.**
“Walk me home?” I ask the twins shyly.
I have to fight past my nerves if I want them to take me seriously. Hell, I need to do this if I’m going to take myself seriously.
Logan and Mason share glances and then nod. I know these guys are big and strong, but I can’t help going mushy whenever they look at each other. I might not ever be able to understand their twin language, but it’s a privilege to witness.
I don’t want to be alone, so I’m grateful when they agree to take me home. I live in a tiny apartment on the top floor of a five-story building. Of course, there are plenty of stairs and the three of us smile as we ascend.
“Police Academy training has nothing on this walk-up,” Logan chuckles as we hit the fourth floor.
“I’m used to it,” I explain with a spring in my step.
“I can tell,” Mason husks.
I feel the firm, sure touch of his hand at my ass as we ascend the stairs. I laugh but don’t bother batting his hand away. I love that he appreciates my body. I don’t exercise much, but I have to scale one hundred and thirty-two steps at least once a day. My lower body is made of steel, and if these guys want to admire it, I’m not going to stop them. If anything, it gives me a confidence boost.
Without thinking, I let out a low purr. It’s quiet in the staircase, and I know I can’t it play off like an actual cat escaped a neighbor’s apartment.
I turn around to face them, and find their hungry eyes feasting on my body. I watch the rise and fall of their chests as they try to calm their breathing, but my little outburst unleashed more of their animalistic grit. I consider it a privilege that I can do this to them.
Everything about these guys feels like a privilege, if I’m being honest, and I don’t want to deny myself the pleasure either. My body screams for Logan and Mason, as if I belong to them already. Doctor Marty says I should focus on the things I have control over, and I’ve been thinking about that a lot. I’m tired of feeling overwhelmed and helpless. I want to chase the things that inspire and empower me, and never look back.
Right now, what empowers me is having my buff saviors by my side. Logan and Mason treat me right. When I feel anxious, I remember their sure, comforting touches and their gentle, kind words. It warms me, and calms the ache in my heart.
It’s what I need to feel and hear tonight.
I think this does more healing for me than any therapy. I know Doctor Marty is a professional, but these guys mend my body and soul more than they know.
“My apartment is at the end of the hall,” I explain as I push the door open to the fifth floor. “Would you like to come in for a bit?”
They nod and pick up the pace behind me. I notice their eyes shift around as we cross towards my front door. In fact, I think they’ve been watching for lurkers and creeps the entire walk home. Maybe it’s their training that makes them act this way, but I like to think there’s something special about this level of security. Something reserved only for me. Dare to dream, I guess.
“This is nice,” Mason says, stepping into my apartment with Logan on his heels. I shut the door behind them, feeling my heart start to quicken.
“It’s tiny,” I tell them, but Logan shakes off my remark.
“It might be tiny but it’s clean. If you weren’t pursuing interior design, now would be the time we tried to convince you to,” he says with an affirming smile. “Your décor is amazing.”
Yum. Every word out of their mouths gives me strength.
I gesture for them to sit at the leather couch in the living room.
“My Aunt Darcy bought this sofa and also my bed. They’re the only nice things I own because everything else is Ikea, until I get a real job at least,” I joke.
“It’s beautiful,” says Mason as he grips the leather cushion beneath him.
“And there’s nothing wrong with Ikea,” Logan adds. “It has its uses.”
I pull a cushion from the closet and set it on the ground in front of them.
“Hey, don’t sit there,” Mason starts, but my hand flies up to stop him.
“Believe me, I like sitting on the ground. Plus, this way I can admire both of you at the same time,” I tell them. I can feel the blush on my cheeks but I fight through it.
“Thank you,” Logan chuckles. “You’re really sweet.” Mason smiles too.
“I wanted to tell you something,” I say as I look between their beautiful blue eyes. I take my seat on the cushion, and push my knees up to my chest as I cradle myself for comfort.
“Yes?” the twins ask. I take a deep breath.
“Well, I started going to therapy because you know the city pays for it after an attack like the one I had. I had my first session the other day, and I have another appointment next week. Until I can get my anxiety under control.”
Their eyes are a complex mix of affection and sadness, the blue going from light to dark, and then back again. They’re happy that I’m seeking treatment, but it’s another reminder of how we know one another, and how we got to this place. The good with the bad, I suppose.
“We’re proud of you,” Mason promises, looking directly into my eyes. “It’s important to take your mental health seriously.”
Logan nods all the same. “Exactly. You’re brave, but we already knew that. This is to help you recover even more.”
The blush hasn’t left my face. If anything, I feel warmer and definitely want to take my shirt off, anything to get some cold air on my skin.
“There’s something we want to ask you too,” Logan says in the next moment.
I look between them, but their expressions are unreadable. “Sure, ask away.”
“The trial for your attacker is in a few days. I was thinking about testifying, if that’s alright with you,” Logan confesses.
My chest tightens, but the twins have their hands on me before I freak out.
“We don’t want to stress you out,” Mason adds. “But the DA has asked us to get up on the stand.”
I steady my breathing, trying to focus on their touch.
“That’s alright. It’s fine. I’m going to be fine,” I say.
Mason nods, and I can feel my face burning up. It’s not like they have any choice when it comes to testifying. But still, their concern shakes me to my core. It’s all so much, how these guys take care of me and ask about getting up on the stand, as if my opinion makes a difference. In such a short time, they’ve become important people in my life. I can feel it everywhere, in my heart, in my head, and in my groin right now.
“You seem flushed,” Logan notes as his eyes rake over my face. They dip lower, taking in the rest of me as I unfurl my knees from my chest.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I can’t help it.”
I let my gaze wander over their bodies. They must like it too, both of them spreading their arms and legs wider on the couch, giving my eyes as much of them as possible.
“What do you want, sweetheart?” Mason asks. He tries to sound innocent but my ears find nothing of the sort behind his hoarse voice.
I focus again on them, succumbing to the fire building in my chest. “I want you. Both of you. Is that okay?"
I have to fight past my nerves if I want them to take me seriously. Hell, I need to do this if I’m going to take myself seriously.
Logan and Mason share glances and then nod. I know these guys are big and strong, but I can’t help going mushy whenever they look at each other. I might not ever be able to understand their twin language, but it’s a privilege to witness.
I don’t want to be alone, so I’m grateful when they agree to take me home. I live in a tiny apartment on the top floor of a five-story building. Of course, there are plenty of stairs and the three of us smile as we ascend.
“Police Academy training has nothing on this walk-up,” Logan chuckles as we hit the fourth floor.
“I’m used to it,” I explain with a spring in my step.
“I can tell,” Mason husks.
I feel the firm, sure touch of his hand at my ass as we ascend the stairs. I laugh but don’t bother batting his hand away. I love that he appreciates my body. I don’t exercise much, but I have to scale one hundred and thirty-two steps at least once a day. My lower body is made of steel, and if these guys want to admire it, I’m not going to stop them. If anything, it gives me a confidence boost.
Without thinking, I let out a low purr. It’s quiet in the staircase, and I know I can’t it play off like an actual cat escaped a neighbor’s apartment.
I turn around to face them, and find their hungry eyes feasting on my body. I watch the rise and fall of their chests as they try to calm their breathing, but my little outburst unleashed more of their animalistic grit. I consider it a privilege that I can do this to them.
Everything about these guys feels like a privilege, if I’m being honest, and I don’t want to deny myself the pleasure either. My body screams for Logan and Mason, as if I belong to them already. Doctor Marty says I should focus on the things I have control over, and I’ve been thinking about that a lot. I’m tired of feeling overwhelmed and helpless. I want to chase the things that inspire and empower me, and never look back.
Right now, what empowers me is having my buff saviors by my side. Logan and Mason treat me right. When I feel anxious, I remember their sure, comforting touches and their gentle, kind words. It warms me, and calms the ache in my heart.
It’s what I need to feel and hear tonight.
I think this does more healing for me than any therapy. I know Doctor Marty is a professional, but these guys mend my body and soul more than they know.
“My apartment is at the end of the hall,” I explain as I push the door open to the fifth floor. “Would you like to come in for a bit?”
They nod and pick up the pace behind me. I notice their eyes shift around as we cross towards my front door. In fact, I think they’ve been watching for lurkers and creeps the entire walk home. Maybe it’s their training that makes them act this way, but I like to think there’s something special about this level of security. Something reserved only for me. Dare to dream, I guess.
“This is nice,” Mason says, stepping into my apartment with Logan on his heels. I shut the door behind them, feeling my heart start to quicken.
“It’s tiny,” I tell them, but Logan shakes off my remark.
“It might be tiny but it’s clean. If you weren’t pursuing interior design, now would be the time we tried to convince you to,” he says with an affirming smile. “Your décor is amazing.”
Yum. Every word out of their mouths gives me strength.
I gesture for them to sit at the leather couch in the living room.
“My Aunt Darcy bought this sofa and also my bed. They’re the only nice things I own because everything else is Ikea, until I get a real job at least,” I joke.
“It’s beautiful,” says Mason as he grips the leather cushion beneath him.
“And there’s nothing wrong with Ikea,” Logan adds. “It has its uses.”
I pull a cushion from the closet and set it on the ground in front of them.
“Hey, don’t sit there,” Mason starts, but my hand flies up to stop him.
“Believe me, I like sitting on the ground. Plus, this way I can admire both of you at the same time,” I tell them. I can feel the blush on my cheeks but I fight through it.
“Thank you,” Logan chuckles. “You’re really sweet.” Mason smiles too.
“I wanted to tell you something,” I say as I look between their beautiful blue eyes. I take my seat on the cushion, and push my knees up to my chest as I cradle myself for comfort.
“Yes?” the twins ask. I take a deep breath.
“Well, I started going to therapy because you know the city pays for it after an attack like the one I had. I had my first session the other day, and I have another appointment next week. Until I can get my anxiety under control.”
Their eyes are a complex mix of affection and sadness, the blue going from light to dark, and then back again. They’re happy that I’m seeking treatment, but it’s another reminder of how we know one another, and how we got to this place. The good with the bad, I suppose.
“We’re proud of you,” Mason promises, looking directly into my eyes. “It’s important to take your mental health seriously.”
Logan nods all the same. “Exactly. You’re brave, but we already knew that. This is to help you recover even more.”
The blush hasn’t left my face. If anything, I feel warmer and definitely want to take my shirt off, anything to get some cold air on my skin.
“There’s something we want to ask you too,” Logan says in the next moment.
I look between them, but their expressions are unreadable. “Sure, ask away.”
“The trial for your attacker is in a few days. I was thinking about testifying, if that’s alright with you,” Logan confesses.
My chest tightens, but the twins have their hands on me before I freak out.
“We don’t want to stress you out,” Mason adds. “But the DA has asked us to get up on the stand.”
I steady my breathing, trying to focus on their touch.
“That’s alright. It’s fine. I’m going to be fine,” I say.
Mason nods, and I can feel my face burning up. It’s not like they have any choice when it comes to testifying. But still, their concern shakes me to my core. It’s all so much, how these guys take care of me and ask about getting up on the stand, as if my opinion makes a difference. In such a short time, they’ve become important people in my life. I can feel it everywhere, in my heart, in my head, and in my groin right now.
“You seem flushed,” Logan notes as his eyes rake over my face. They dip lower, taking in the rest of me as I unfurl my knees from my chest.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I can’t help it.”
I let my gaze wander over their bodies. They must like it too, both of them spreading their arms and legs wider on the couch, giving my eyes as much of them as possible.
“What do you want, sweetheart?” Mason asks. He tries to sound innocent but my ears find nothing of the sort behind his hoarse voice.
I focus again on them, succumbing to the fire building in my chest. “I want you. Both of you. Is that okay?"
J.P. James is an MM author who’s secretly been writing LGBTQ romance novels for a decade. She looks forward to bringing you more steam, heat, and passion between handsome billionaires, beautiful boys, and the men who rock her world.
Always Ours #5
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