Wednesday, June 22, 2016

Cover Reveal: Politically Incorrect by Jeanne McDonald

Title: Politically Incorrect
Author: Jeanne McDonald
Genre: Contemporary Political Romance
Expected Release Date: August 16, 2016
Cover Design: Jada D'Lee Designs

Summary:
Sex. Lies. Greed. Power. Scandal. Politics.

Nothing gets by Elizabeth McNeal. As a forty-five year old divorcee and a nationally renowned political strategist, she can claim to have seen it all. Most of her adult life she’s focused on two important things ─ her daughter and her career. Now, challenged by a new campaign and a new candidate, Elizabeth is forced to reevaluate the things she most values and make some major decisions that could impact her future.

William Baxter is a thirty-four year old Democratic Congressman for the great state of Texas who’s vying for an empty seat in the U.S. Senate. Accustomed to standing out in a crowd, Liam takes pride in being true to himself and the people he serves. He refuses to fall in line with the stereotypical persona of a politician. Backed by one of the richest men in Texas, Liam is offered the chance to work with D.C.’s most elite political strategist. With the odds already against him because of his party affiliation and age, it’s an offer he can’t refuse.

Apprehensive about their age differences and driven by politics, Elizabeth finds herself keeping score of their sensual game for control. For the woman who thought she’d seen it all, the man in the eccentric ties and a dashing smile teaches her a new game to play. Rules are made to be broken. Lines are meant to be crossed. But in the high stakes sport of politics, where one bad decision can destroy a campaign, can they afford to rewrite the rules to meet their desires or will they choose to remain politically incorrect?





 

Author Bio:
Jeanne McDonald is an author, a mother, a wife, a student of knowledge and of life, a coffee addict, a philosophy novice, a pop culture connoisseur, inspired by music, encouraged by words, and a believer in true love.  When she's not spending time with her family, she can be found reading, writing, enjoying a great film, chatting with friends or diligently working toward her bachelor's degree in literature.  A proud Texan, Jeanne currently resides in the Dallas/Fort Worth area with her family.


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Politically Incorrect
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The Truth in Lies #1
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Certainty of Deception #2
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The Hot Mess #2.5

The Truth be Told #3
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A Ray of Hope
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Indulgence
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Compass
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Lovers & Sinners by Hunter S Jones

Title: Lovers & Sinners
Author: Hunter S Jones
Series: The Dreams #1
Genre: Fairytale
Release Date: June 6, 2016
Summary:
Will that which you most desire destroy you?

James van Lee is a lonely gypsy boy. His isolation leads him to become the greatest rock star in the world, yet he dreams of a girl he knew long ago.

Dr. Maggie Pickett of Emory University has never loved anyone but Rhett Turnquest, but he is under the spell of Natasha, who has secrets no one will ever know.

Lovers & Sinners introduces a world of stardom and those who seek it, as well those who wish only to be loved. The story intrigues with its open sexuality, international locales, and a mysterious link to Russia’s cursed royal family with secret ties to the love affair of Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII.

Based loosely on fairy tales and legends, the journey begins in The Dreams, Story 1.


Down the hallway, James heard voices and the ping of an elevator. The soft hush of rain enveloped the early evening when he glanced outside through the blinds. He saw the limo that waited for him and he couldn’t wait to escape the clutches of his tormentor for the final time.

“I am a wealthy man, and I am Russian, so I know everything. I know about your men. That too is my fault. I should’ve loved you more and you wouldn’t look for tokens from others.”

James took his left hand and closed the blinds, leaving the room in virtual darkness except for the glow of the machines that kept his father alive. He noticed the shallow breaths from across the room.

“But you are my son, and I promise you that one day you will meet a girl and she will make you believe in magic.” His wizened eyes peered at James in the darkness, and he said, “I want you to be very careful.” He paused before continuing, “The thing you desire and love most is what will kill you.” He took four deep gulps of air, holding the oxygen tube to his nostrils. “I believe I have taught you that lesson. You have watched me chase money. Now I die alone. Hated by my own blood.”

How long is he going to go on like this? “Is this all you need to say? I must go.” James’s voice shook as he said this and his rage surprised him. He kept his hands in his jeans in order to stop himself from hurting the old man.

A frail hand reached for him in the darkness. “Please forgive me. I was never taught to love. I love you.” He wheezed the rattle of death and said, “You are a rich man at a young age. You have made me proud.” With that, his hand dropped to the bed and one of the machines began to flash rapidly. Zoe and another nurse bolted into the room.

“He’s coded,” Zoe said, looking up at James.

He looked at the ceiling as if searching for a clue, ran his hand through his hair, and said, “Do what you have to do.” With that, he walked away without looking back.

On the way down the corridor and into the elevator, his brain raced as quickly as the monitor had a few moments ago. Why did he wait until now to tell me these secrets?

What Others Are Saying:
✯✯✯✯✯ By Yoong
An adult fairytale with many interesting twists. Romance that waves through layers of intrigue, It is hard for the reader to put the book down. Lovers and Sinners by Hunter S. Jones is definitely a bewitchingly provocative and captivating book with unlikely characters woven together to form a whole.

✯✯✯✯✯ By JLC13(Verified Purchase)
All of us can relate to wonderful dreams as well as nightmares. In Lovers and Sinners this author weaves both together in such a dynamic, breathtaking way that it’s almost unbelievable. The characters in this story are multifaceted and well-developed. The plot is rich with history, romance and sensuality. If I had to describe this book in just two words, I would say it’s devilishly delicious! I look forward to reading the next installment in The Dreams series.

✯✯✯✯✯ By Mandus(Verified Purchase)
This one caught my attention and after the first few chapters, I was pretty much hooked. A beautiful story, with seemingly alive characters and a well thought out plot. I'm happy to give this one my highest rating. Well done, Jones.

Author Bio:
Deb Hunter writes fiction as Hunter S. Jones. She is a member of the prestigious Society of Authors founded by Lord Tennyson, Rivendell Writers Colony, Historical Writers’ Association, Historical Novel Society and the Atlanta Writer’s Club. Her Tudor History blog, Fear and Loathing in Tudor England, is a reader’s favorite. Originally from a Chattanooga, Tennessee, she currently lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her Scottish born husband. Her best seller, PHOENIX RISING, a fictional story of the last hour of Anne Boleyn is available on Amazon.com and at a bookstore near you.


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Pre-Release/Release Day Blitz: Picked Fresh by Posy Roberts

Title: Picked Fresh
Author: Posy Roberts
Series: Naked Organics #2
Genre: M/M Romance
Release Date: June 23, 2016
Publisher: Labyrinth Bound Press
Summary:
Hudson Oliva loves stability. He was a throwaway teen before finding Kaleidoscope Gardens, but has since thrived at the commune. When Jude Garrity moves in, life gets even better, but Hudson still craves more. He knows he has to be satisfied with their exclusive status being temporary and that Jude will eventually navigate his full sexual awakening with their other housemates.

Hudson has a journey of his own to make. It might only require going home to settle his grandmother’s estate, but he plans to use his time away to figure out how to temper his feelings for Jude and bury his jealousy once and for all. But when Jude joins him on his trip, Hudson falls even deeper in love, especially after Jude stands by his side when he finally confronts his mother for rejecting him.

However, it’s not all hearts and flowers while they travel. They’re over two thousand miles from home when Hudson learns a ruthless corporate farm threatens the commune they both love. In order to save their way of life, Hudson must ask his mother for help. And if he wants a chance at a stable future with Jude, he has to tell him the truth about his feelings, no matter if it ruins the harmony he’s tried so hard to preserve.


Jude shifted in his seat and stared at Hudson. Hudson couldn’t take his eyes off the road, but the desire to turn toward Jude and mirror him was overwhelming. “What was your first impression of me when I met you at the farmers market?”

“Should I be diplomatic or honest?”

“Honest.”

Hudson ran that day over in his mind. It was crystal clear, still, even though it had been more than nine months ago. Jude had meandered from stand to stand. He initially stood out from the crowd because of what he was wearing: a bright blue, almost turquoise wool coat over a black turtleneck and tight black jeans. In the blur of quilted plaid flannel and fleece hoodies in various shades of drab, olive, and Carhartt, Jude was all Hudson could see.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. You were… stunning.” He shook his head. “I don’t know another word for it. I was talking to some customer about how we raised our chickens, and when I saw you, I stopped midsentence. I stared, felt like a dirty old man because you looked so young, and when I turned back to the woman to carry on our conversation, I had no idea what we’d been talking about. Literally none. It was like looking at you sucked the words out of my throat and the thoughts right out of my head.”

Jude chuckled. “Seriously? Was it the coat?”

“It made you stand out, but no, it wasn’t the coat. It was everything about you. Your broad shoulders and your hair and your eyes and your fucking lips.”

“You like my lips?” Jude pulled his rose-flavored lip stuff out of his front pocket and made a show of smearing it across the bottom one. Then he rubbed his lips together and licked them, all while staring at Hudson with soft bedroom eyes.

The bus vibrated, a jagged noise piercing Hudson’s ears as he drove too far to the right, edging his tires onto the rumble strip. “¡CoΓ±o!” He maneuvered back into the center of his lane.

Jude laughed. Hudson’s heart thundered against his rib cage.

“You’re evil,” Hudson said. “Evil, I tell you!”

“Maybe.” Jude bit at his bottom lip.

“Stop. Stop tempting me with your fucking gorgeous mouth. I can’t have you doing that shit while I’m driving.”

“Okay.” Jude smirked but kept his tongue and teeth from doing anything else. He put away those hazel sex-eyes too. “So, how did you see this trip going down?”

“Just like that?” Hudson was incredulous.

“What?”

“You can just turn it on and off like a switch?”

“With you, sure.”

“Well, I can’t.” Hudson gestured to his crotch, where his dick was obvious, thick, and quickly moving on its way to fully hard, even though Jude had stopped the licking and the biting.

“Want me to touch you?” Jude’s voice was breathy as he slid his warm palm up Hudson’s inner thigh. He thumbed over the head of Hudson’s cock, and Hudson got harder. Jude played with just the head, moving back and forth, his touch light and delicious.

“Want me to drive off the road?” Hudson managed not to sound choked off.

“No.” Jude pulled his hand away and smiled like the devil. “I want you to drive. And I want you to tell me about what you want to do on this trip besides the obvious. And for the record, turning it off doesn’t happen like a switch. Turning me on with one look, easy!”

“You’re dangerous.”

“Damn right I am.”







Author Bio:
Posy Roberts writes about the realistic struggles of men looking for love. Whether her characters are family men, drag queens, or lonely men searching for connections, they all find a home in her stories.

Posy is a Jill of all trades and master of the drill and paintbrush. She’s married to a partner who makes sure she doesn’t forget to eat or sleep during her writing frenzies. Her daughter, a budding author and cinematographer, helps her come up with character names. For fun, Posy enjoys crafting, hiking, and singing spontaneously about the mundane, just to make regular life more interesting.


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Picked Fresh #2
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Naked Origin
Interested in reading how Hudson ended up living at Kaleidoscope Gardens?
Read Naked Origins—Hudson for free. This is not a romance, but for those who want to
dig a little deeper, this story covers much of Hudson’s history that is hinted at in Picked Fresh.

Farm Fresh #1
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Tuesday, June 21, 2016

Reign & Revolution by Janine A. Southard

Title: Reign & Revolution
Author: Janine A Southard
Series: Hive Queen Saga #3
Genre: Young Adult, Science Fiction
Release Date: April 12, 2016


Summary:
The Hive Queen Saga’s Thrilling Conclusion!

Rhiannon and her Hive have mastered space travel. Sort of. At least, they’re better at it. They’ve outsmarted kidnappers, survived severe oxygen deprivation, and heisted back their own ship engine from would-be thieves.

Since joining up, they’ve traveled further and further away from their home planet. But out on Yin He Garden Station (in Chinese-owned territory), home catches up at a physics symposium.

When Alan’s former research advisor makes an offer that’ll bring them home as respected members of society, Rhiannon knows she has to accept. But home isn’t exactly as she left it, and a hostile space fleet stands between her aging ship and her new/old life. Should she be running towards the fleet, or scurrying back into international space as fast as her craft can go?

1. What is the biggest influence/interest that brought you to this genre?
To cement the genre we’re talking about, I’d call The Hive Queen Saga a space opera adventure series. I’ve loved stories about space since as far back as I can remember, and action/adventure is my favorite element in every genre. So putting them together makes sense.

This particular novel, Reign & Revolution, was unexpectedly influenced by The Empire Strikes Back. (I try not to read similar books to whatever I’m writing while I’m drafting, so all my last-second influences are movies. For instance, the unexpected influence for Hive & Heist (The Hive Queen Saga, #2) was the French action film Banlieue 13.)

See, I knew from the beginning that Reign & Revolution would take place in two major locations (namely, the Chinese space station and the Welsh-colonized planet Dyfed), and I agonized over this. Can you write a book that completely changes settings halfway through? What does that do to the narrative flow?

But, as you doubtless know, ESB does this as well. It starts on Hoth, which is interesting, and then dashes off to Cloud City, which is even more interesting. All the characters have reasons to be where they’re going, and their desires intersect in surprising ways. So every time I worried that I was doing narrative fiction “wrong” because of my settings, I thought about ESB and made sure my characters had equally good motivations.

Of course, there’s a possibility I wrote Return of the Jedi instead, which also does the two-locations thing and which film critics tend to like less than its predecessor. But you know what? I like RotJ just fine, and I’d be equally thrilled to have Reign & Revolution be compared to it.

2. When writing a book, what is your favorite part of the creative process(outline, plot, character names, editing, etc)?
Plotting is my favorite part, no contest. It’s all about possibilities and puzzles. What major events do I want to happen, and why do they come about? What motives drag my main characters from scene to scene? What am I missing that makes this progression of events make sense?

I combine the plotting phase with a weeks’ long outlining phase that results in pages of information. I end this period with character backstories, lists of who has the most to lose in any given scene, and lengthy descriptions of locations (so that the action in them makes sense). For Reign & Revolution, my pre-writing notes were 60,000 words (for a 90,000 word novel!)

Figuring out how things work appeals to me. After that, it’s a matter of getting all the interesting ideas across.

3. When reading a book, what genre do you find most interesting/intriguing?
I gravitate toward space adventures—whether they’re full of hard science or are more space operatic. This genre has classics I’ve loved for years. (E.g., Bujold’s Vorkosigan Saga, Meluch’s Tour of the Merrimack, Niven’s “The Long Arm of Gil Hamilton” ß What, you thought I was going to say Ringworld for Niven? Hah! I thought I’d mix it up a bit.)

Recently, though, we’ve seen something of a resurgence of interest here. I’m so thrilled about these newer books. To name only a few of the authors from this decade: there’s Beth Revis’ Across the Universe (which I first heard of when someone compared my work to hers! Lucky!), Andy Weir’s The Martian (if you only saw the movie, you’re missing out), and Sabrina Chase’s Sequoyah series.

4. If you could co-author with any author, past or present, who would you choose?
Hmmmm. I suppose I should pick someone who is brilliant at (1) setting scenes and (2) structural timing. But that’s all rational. Purely viscerally, I’m unable to stop myself from wanting: Octavia Butler. Her work is so varied and influential. She’s amazing at intriguing concepts that fit for both social and adventure/action themes.

5. Have you always wanted to write or did it come to you "later in life"?
I would like to answer this question with a very confusing, “yes.”

When I was younger (age in the single digits, even!), I’d write beginnings of stories. Always beginnings, never middles or endings. I wrote everything, from science fiction to romance, from Choose Your Own Adventure to historical pirates. But then I stopped (except for school assignments and the odd story I couldn’t let go of).

I learned that I was a better editor than writer, and I did that professionally for a while (starting with an internship at Tor Books and then freelancing for the surge of online publishing houses).

Then in 2012, though, I got a day job writing fiction in the videogame industry. Until that point, I’d written a few short stories (maybe one every other year) and one novel (a space opera adventure, of course), but I hadn’t done much with them and I didn’t have confidence in my ability to write a saleable story.

Let me tell you, getting paid to write really increased my confidence level. Someone liked my work! Someone chose me instead of the zillions of other people who desperately want to write for videogames! And I was good at it.

Funny what a difference confidence makes. Since then, I’ve sold stories to large and small presses, published novels, and won awards for my work. My faded author-ly dreams might have stayed forever in the background if it weren’t for that little push.

Author Bio:
Janine A. Southard is the IPPY award-winning author of Queen & Commander (and other books in The Hive Queen Saga). She lives in Seattle, WA, where she writes speculative fiction novels, novellas, and short stories... and reads them aloud to her cat.

All Janine’s books so far have been possible because of crowdsourced funds via Kickstarter. She owes great thanks to her many patrons of the arts who love a good science fiction adventure and believe in her ability to make that happen.

Get a free piece of fiction when you sign up for Janine A. Southard's newsletter. The newsletter will keep you current on things like her latest release dates (and fun news like when her next Kickstarter project is coming). Usually, this is once a month or so, but sometimes goes longer or shorter. Your address will never be shared, and you can unsubscribe at any time. Plus: free ebook! (Rotating freebies mean I can’t tell you what the work is right this second.)

You can hang out with Janine online where she’s crazy about twitter and periodically updates her website with free fiction and novel inspirations.


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Reign & Revolution #3
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Monday, June 20, 2016

A Frost of Cares by Amy Rae Durreson

Summary:
Military historian Luke Alcott leaps at the chance to live in the seventeenth-century country mansion of Eelmoor Hall, home of the Royal Military School of Medicine, after being offered a job cataloging the school’s archives. Luke believes he chose the perfect place to start a new life and put his broken past behind him. But soon after settling into the old house, he hears strange noises—like footsteps—and he begins to suffer from terrible nightmares.

The only person Luke can turn to for help is the taciturn caretaker, Jay, a veteran of the Afghanistan war who carries an old battle wound. Together they try to understand Eelmoor Hall’s history and decipher what could be causing the haunting. As the weather grows colder and snow dusts the countryside, a child goes missing. Luke needs to deal with his own demons and learn to trust in love again if he hopes to face down the angry spirit and find the missing girl.


A Frost of Cares has a little bit of everything.  Paranormal, gothic, mystery, romance, history, ghosts, all tied together with a certain level of creepiness that will definitely keep you on your toes.  Halloween may be months away but it's a great read for any time of the year, however if you only read paranormal in October, you must put this near the top of your spooky TBR list.  I always find tales of mystery the hardest to review because I just do not do spoilers so I guess, I'll make this short and sweet:  I highly recommend this creepy romance!  This is the first Amy Rae Durreson story I've read but it most definitely won't be the last.  I know that not every one is comfortable when it comes to new-to-them authors but I find they fill me with almost as much anticipation as opening a new book and Durreson is no different.

RATING: 


Chapter One
IN A way this story begins with me standing by the window of my London flat on Boxing Day with a cricket bat in my hands, seriously considering smashing every bloody fucking pane of glass in the bloody fucking flat into bloody fucking shards. The thing that stopped me, in the end, was the handle of the bloody bat, wrapped in a fraying green grip. The end of the grip was peeling up, and that tiny imperfection, that little spike of lighter green, by being out of place, threatened to tear open the whole grip. Staring at it, I realized that I didn’t know whether the bat was mine or Danny’s.

Well, fuck, I thought. You’ll have to excuse the paucity of my vocabulary at this point in the story. Obviously I was drunk as the proverbial skunk, and several of its cousins as well, and I never was much good at talking about my (bloody fucking) feelings.

The bat could have been mine. For two brief summers as a gangling teenager, I had been a proud but somewhat unlikely member of my school’s second eleven. It hadn’t lasted, and I couldn’t remember if I’d kept any of that once treasured kit or whether it was in Mum and Dad’s loft with the other detritus of our childhoods.

Danny, on the other hand, was keen on every sport going: cricket, rugby, tennis, golf, football, anything that can be discussed in arcane and passionate depth with complete strangers —or as he used to put it, I like anything with a nice set of balls. And there was the dilemma. If this was Danny’s bat and I damaged it by using it on the windows…. It was unthinkable. What if he came home and found out I’d wrecked his stuff and so turned back round and walked away again?

Of course, by then I was 90% convinced that Danny was never coming home. He’d been missing for almost a decade, after all.

And that was why I didn’t break any windows. Instead I put the bat down, poured myself another drink, and decided to get the fuck out of London.

And by “another drink,” I mean the rest of the bloody pack, obviously.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best place to start this story, because I’m pretty sure right now you’re just thinking about what a sad and lonely fuckup this loser narrator is. Was. I’ve changed. Honest. Of course, I’ve no idea who “you” are. Who the fuck am I even writing this down for? I know what happened. I remember every moment of it. The only reason I’m trying to write this is because Jay thinks I’m clinging onto it a little too hard.

“Ten years ago, now,” he said to me yesterday, calmly challenging in that way only Jay can be. “You’re okay. Maybe, y’know, let it go? Let her go.”

“She is gone,” I reminded him. Of that, at least, I’m sure.

“Not if she’s still in your head.” He propped his chin up on his fist and looked at me, calm, steady, and analytical. (I still think of it as his “army face,” though I never knew him while he was still on active duty.)

“I hardly ever think about it.”

He smiled at me, wry and knowing. “Yeah? How many times this month have you slept with the light on?”

“Fuck off. Hardly any.”

“Twelve. I know because I’m in the bed with you.”

Hard to argue with that. “I can’t just switch bad dreams off.”

“You’re not going to be that guy.”

“What guy?”

“Never gets over seeing a ghost. Sits there in the old people’s home trying to scare all the nurses. I’m not letting you.”

“What am I supposed to do about it, then?”

“Get it out of your system,” he said and shrugged. “Write it down. Lock it away somewhere and stop thinking about her.”

I’m not convinced it’s going to work, but Jay asked, and since he did, I suppose I have to try. He doesn’t ask me for much. So I suppose I’m my own audience, or perhaps I’ll do the traditional thing and one day pass on a flaking and dusty, well, Word document to some eager young great-nephew.

Or not.

Jay has just leaned over my shoulder and asked why I’m writing about hypothetical nephews. Fair question, though he blatantly knows the answer as well as I do.

I do like the smell of procrastination in the morning.

Also coffee. I like coffee. Perhaps I need to make some to help me get started. Mmm, coffee. Or tea. A whole pot, brewed from the leaf, slowly strained and served with Rich Tea biscuits. I don’t think we have any Rich Teas. I could just pop out to—

Okay, and that was the point where Jay took my tablet away and made disappointed faces at me. No more procrastinating. I’ll be good.

I don’t want to write about her. What if it brings her back?

My husband is now trying to bribe me with filthy promises. Cheater.

Okay.

Here goes, in proper ghost story style:


The professor first went down to E—— Hall on the 27th December 20—. At the time when he boarded the train at Waterloo, he had little apprehension that—


No, can’t do it. Bit too much of the M. R. James in that, and I never liked old Monty much. Too much prose, too little action, and far too many phobias of damp and hairy things lurking under the bed, poor closeted git.

Truth is, I wasn’t in a fit state to be apprehending anything that day, because I was as hungover as one of those aforementioned skunks would have been if they tried to sleep it off in the bottom of a hop kiln. It was late afternoon by the time I got to the station, and I had to wait ages for a train. I’d managed to stumble over to my estate-agent sister’s that morning, timing it for while Mum and Dad were out taking their Day After Boxing Day stroll across the common, and I’d tossed my key at Katie before I could change my mind. I’d told her to go ahead and do what she’d been begging me to do for years: shove my crap and Danny’s into storage and put the flat on the market.

I’d finally had enough of waiting.

I was regretting it bitterly by the time I got to Waterloo, but I resisted the urge to phone Katie and tell her I’d changed my mind. Enough was enough.

If Danny came back while Katie was there, she’d make sure he stayed around long enough for me to rush back up to town. I trusted her, even though it galled me to ask my little sister to clean up the mess that was my life.

I had enough self-awareness to know I couldn’t do it without help, though.

I actually had a good reason to be leaving London. “Professor” is a bit of a stretch, but I was already steadily on the academic career path. I was a Junior Research Fellow at one of the lesser-known London colleges, specializing in the nineteenth-century development of the British Army. I’d done a lot of work with military archives before, and my PhD supervisor, now my boss, had done considerably more.

At the time I went to Eelmoor Hall, the Army was in a state of quiet upheaval. After seventy years, it had just been announced that they would be withdrawing British troops from Germany. By the end of 2016, the Army claimed at the time, 11,000 troops and 17,000 support staff and family members stationed overseas would be back in the UK. To house them, there needed to be a vast reorganization of British Army bases. Barracks that had long stood empty were being spruced up, and regiments and organizations were being relocated all over the country.

One of the many changes underway was the relocation of the Royal Military School of Medicine from its traditional home in North Hampshire to a cheaper and more modern campus in the northeast. The RMSM had been housed in Eelmoor Hall, between the towns of Fleet and Aldershot, since 1923, and as part of the move, their CO had written to my supervisor to ask if he could recommend a keen young chap who might be interested in spending a few weeks cataloging and organizing their archives and small museum in preparation for the move. They were offering a decent wage, it would get me out of London for a few weeks, and they were putting me up for free in the now empty hall itself.

Jay says I’m waffling again, bloody backseat driver that he is.

Well, that got rid of him, though I’ll have to offer makeup sex later. So, where was I?

Eelmoor Hall.

It was dusk by the time the taxi drew up at the gates, the sort of dull winter dusk that is only the steady fading of a gray day into true darkness. There was supposed to be an on-site caretaker, one Sergeant McBride, who would let me in the gate. I climbed out of the taxi to hit the buzzer on the intercom and started to shiver. The air here was noticeably crisper than it had been in London, and my breath immediately rose in clouds.

Sergeant McBride took his time answering and was curt when he told me to wait until the gate opened. I shoved my hands into my pockets and took another breath of that cold air. It tasted cleaner than London air, and I squinted through the gates to see the grounds of Eelmoor Hall. There were lawns on this side, and a long drive running towards a pillared frontage. The old house had two wings that stretched back from the main front so the hall was longer than it was wide, and I knew there were a number of modern buildings in the grounds behind it—offices, accommodation and teaching rooms—as well as several assault courses and firing ranges. The archive was in the library, in the east wing of the old hall.

Standing there, gazing up at the stark lines of the hall, it looked as dark and tired as I felt, its redbrick frontage turned brown by the fading light. The windows were dark, but I could easily imagine that someone was standing in there, hidden behind the heavy curtains and watching my approach.

The gate whirred open, and I scrambled back into the taxi. When we finally drew up on the front drive, a man was waiting by the front entrance, leaning back against the base of the right oriel window with his arms crossed. He wore a khaki jacket and had a woolen cap pulled down low, although a few fair curls escaped around the back. He didn’t say anything as I paid the driver and lugged my case up the low steps. Only when I put it down at the top did he nod to me. “Dr. Alcott, I presume?”

“Luke,” I corrected him and held out my hand. “You must be Sergeant Mc—”

“Jay. Not in the Army much longer.” His voice was flat. “Was expecting you a little earlier.”

That explained his bad mood. In the emotional tumult, I’d forgotten to phone and let him know I was running several hours late. “Shit, I’m so sorry. It’s been a day, man. I didn’t mean to—”

“Library key,” he cut over me, handing an old brass key over. “Master key for bedrooms and kitchens, passcode for the gate and external doors, which changes on Saturday. You’re in Room 221. The corridor can be accessed from the main stairs or the library gallery. Crates and packing material are in the ground floor store cupboard by the main library door. If you get lost or need something, I’m on extension 445, unless I’m at work.”

“And then?”

“I’m at work. This isn’t my main job.”

“Then I’m even more sorry to have screwed with your day. Don’t the Army pay a proper wage for this?”

He lifted one shoulder in a slow shrug. “They just don’t want the place to sit here empty. I live here and keep an eye on things, and they don’t charge me rent.”

“Oh, the property-guardian thing. Couple of my grad students do that. Always thought it sounded like a bit of a scam, but this looks like a nice setup.” I was babbling, thrown by his grim, unresponsive face. He was handsome, now I looked properly, and that just made me want to talk more. “I mean, it must be good to have a whole bloody mansion to call your own. Or the Army’s own, I suppose, though—” I made a conscious effort to stem the word-dribble. “Um. So. I should be getting inside.”

He didn’t move, but a faint hint of amusement around his eyes salted the grimness. He had an accent, faintly underlaying everything he said with that peculiarly Ulster combination of musicality and muscle. “If you like.”

He clearly wasn’t going to come with me, and I bit back a little irritation of my own. Okay, so I’d inconvenienced him, but he didn’t have to be rude. “Point me in the right direction?”

“East,” he said and pointed. “Thataway.”

“Cheers,” I said and lugged my case inside. I glanced back to see him still leaning against the wall, scowling out over the now shadowy line of the drive where it curled back towards the gates and the lodge.

Look, I never claimed it was love at first sight.

Inside, the foyer had that odd mixture of institutional function and faded grandeur that seems to characterize old schools and posh hotels. It was dark, but lights came on as I moved forward, triggered by some motion sensor somewhere, and I was able to follow signs to the library, the lights rising and fading as I walked. I stopped for a moment at the bottom of a stairway, wondering whether it was a shortcut to my room or whether I should just carry straight on and find the way through the library.

I must have stood still too long for the motion sensors, because the lights went off. It was dark—country dark, not London dark—with no lights outside to shine through the windows, and suddenly the big house seemed even vaster and colder. I could hear a faint rattling in the wall, a distant electronic hum from somewhere, a creak of floorboards upstairs, all the normal sounds of an old and empty building.

And, as you sometimes do in old buildings, I suddenly felt that I wasn’t alone. I thought that someone else was there in the darkness, breathing in perfect time with me, so close that I could have reached out and touched them. I startled, and the lights came back on.

I was alone, of course, in an empty hallway filled with blank notice boards. It had just been my imagination.

I made my way to the library, and once I was there, I forgot all about the creepy hallway and Sergeant Arsehole McBride and got caught up in the work. They had records in there going back to the founding of the school, and the last catalog had been done back in the eighties, when they’d actually employed a part-time archivist and librarian. His neat little cabinet of index cards was still there, although one glance showed me they were hopelessly muddled. Some of the newer material had been added, but that effort seemed to fizzle out in the mid-nineties. There was a computer, a PC old enough that it still had a floppy disk drive and a dial-up modem. A faded Post-it note on the front told me that it was available for half-hourly slots only (“Please do not abuse your extranet privileges”).

So the first step would be to find out exactly what I had in here.

I’ll spare you the details. I find them fascinating, but in the end they’re not what this story is all about. What I do need to explain is what I was thinking about that first night in the library. Jay reckons, and I agree, albeit reluctantly, that if I had been any other type of miserable, I probably wouldn’t have caught her attention in the way I did.

Author Bio:
Amy Rae Durreson is a writer and romantic, who writes m/m romances. She likes to go wandering across the local hills with a camera, hunting for settings for her stories. She's got a degree in early English literature, which she blames for her somewhat medieval approach to spelling, and at various times has been fluent in Latin, Old English, Ancient Greek, and Old Icelandic, though please don't ask her to speak any of them now.

Amy started her first novel nineteen years ago (it featured a warrior princess, magic swords, elves and an evil maths teacher) and has been scribbling away ever since. Despite these long years of experience, she has yet to master the arcane art of the semi-colon.


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