Forbidden love reignites; stolen dreams lead to second chances.
Length: 60,000 words
Series: Soho Knights Book 3
Prior Reading: Recommended but not essential
Genre: Contemporary
Tropes: Second Chance, First Love, Demisexual Rep, Found Family, Forbidden Love
Trigger/Content Warnings: The MCs meet in a conversion therapy camp. Some elements of mental abuse are depicted on the page, and the physical abuse is discussed.
At just eighteen, Paolo and Max meet at a conversion therapy camp. Abandoned by their families. left to endure literal hell on earth, their love is forbidden. Their secret romance grows and as they make plans to escape, they are brutally torn apart.
They both spend the next twelve years building lives in different worlds. Paolo in the vibrant heart of Soho, London, surrounded by his found family, and Max thriving as a successful criminal lawyer in the bustling streets of New York. Both of them believing they’ve lost the love of their life forever.
Max finds himself in London after defending a mobster, which leads to an offer he literally can’t refuse. Needing thinking time before his fate is sealed, he unexpectedly crosses paths with Paolo again. The spark between them reignites, yet their reunion is fraught with challenges, and even the magical backdrop of the holidays may not be enough for them to get their second chance at love. With Paolo’s sister at risk of suffering the same fate they endured, the stakes are even higher.Stolen Dream is a tale of resilience, forbidden love, and the fight for a future that embraces who they truly are. Will they save Paolo’s sister in time, and can they find a way to be together, against all odds? Join them on this emotional journey of hope and redemption, where stolen dreams may just lead to a love worth fighting for..
KC greeted Paolo with a big hug when he arrived. She was such a wonderful woman, who had been through more than all his brothers put together. The bravery it took for her to transition in the nineties had Paolo in awe of her.
“What are you doing here on a Saturday?”
“I’m meeting an . . . an old friend.”
“Old boyfriend?” She smiled.
Paolo felt his face heating. She leant forward and whispered to him.
“Well, if it’s the guy who just walked in who looks like he wants to eat you, then I think I’ve got my answer.”
Paolo spun around and there was Max. He hadn’t gotten a proper look last night with the shock. Max had always had a broad build, but now he was built like a rugby player, with wide shoulders and a tapered waist. His hazel eyes were as captivating as they had been twelve years ago. Max smiled at him, showing those perfect dimples in his pinchable cheeks. He was clean-shaven, unlike Paolo who’d had a short beard for the last five years. His face was too babyish when he was clean-shaven.
“Can I give you a hug?” asked Max.
Paolo was too choked up, so he just nodded, and Max wrapped his big, muscular arms around him. They were the same height, but even though Paolo had packed on the muscle over the last few years, Max almost smothered him – albeit in a good way. He was wearing a citrusy aftershave, and he could happily stay like this in Max’s arms forever.
When the hug was bordering on being far too long for a public setting, they pulled apart and both smiled. Paolo gestured to a nearby table he’d claimed when he arrived. He made eye contact with KC, who gave him a warm smile and touched her heart. Paolo rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.
“Thank you for seeing me,” said Max.
Was he nervous? This wasn’t how he remembered him. Max had been the strong one when they’d been in the camp. It wasn’t just Paolo who looked up to him; it was everyone. Paolo wasn’t sure what to say. He felt tongue tied, so he grabbed a menu, passing one to Max. He knew the menu by heart, but Max didn’t need to know that.
“Did you want to get something to eat?” asked Paolo. That was a safe conversation starter.
“I am always hungry.”
He smiled, and then a dark shadow appeared in his eyes. It was clear a memory had hit him. One they shared. Paolo needed to get things back on track. Today was not a day to go down memory lane.
Oliver Takely is a passionate MM romance author who revels in dark, edgy stories featuring complex, flawed characters. With years of writing experience and a creative day job, Oliver Takely is also an avid reader of MM romance, consuming 300 books in 2023. His favourite trope is enemies to lovers, but is also a sucker for a feel-good Christmas romance. Originally from the north, Oliver now resides in the south of England with his husband and their beloved fur baby, who is treated like a princess, living their own happily-ever-after straight out of a romance novel. When not writing or reading, he enjoys holidays and indulging in lots of good food, because who doesn’t love a delicious combination?
Matt Landers and Jacob Mercer have been ride or die best friends forever. But now, on the cusp of adulthood, it’s all about to change. When summer is over, Jacob is going away to college and Matt will be stuck in Cape Charles, Virginia. Before that happens, they’ve got a plan for one more epic adventure—a road trip all the way across the country to California.
But if they want to borrow Jacob’s dad’s car, there are rules they have to follow.
1. Keep your location tracking on.
2. Check your tire pressure.
3. Be back a week before school starts.
4. Don’t spend your college money.
5. Check in every 24 hours.
There’s nothing in the rules about arguing over road trip playlists, eating too many gas station snacks, or sleeping in the back of the car. There’s also nothing about confessing your secret gay crush, falling for your best friend, and learning how to protect the heart of someone you love.
Summer might be short, but the things Matt and Jacob are going to learn about themselves will last a lifetime.
Audio Tour, Excerpt & Giveaway: Renegade By Patricia Logan
Trackers, Book 2
Though Raven Mathis and Miguel Huerta have recently opened their new recovery business, mimicking things they used to do on their own, things haven’t been going so well. They’re getting accustomed to working as partners, but business is slow. Some things have gone right. They’ve settled down in Nana’s house and are deeply in love. When they get a call asking if they can help recover a valuable pigeon’s blood ruby, they jump at the chance, even though they’re told they should probably carry guns.
When the man Miguel left for dead in the desert long ago unexpectedly shows up at their first meeting with their new client, the request that they come armed, suddenly becomes a harsh reality. Miguel is in total disbelief, suddenly faced with a ghost who might be out for blood, and when a dark stranger suddenly shows up with more threats, things start spiraling out of control. Miguel hates the fact that Raven is in terrible danger, but he can’t understand how his former lover is involved.
Figuring out how to navigate Miguel’s past may prove harder to overcome than they realize but they’re sustained by their love for each other. The rush to figure out why operatives are targeting them becomes a necessity, and though Miguel hates it, he realizes he may just have to rely on a few new colleagues to help.
He knows one thing though…killing the man he’d once been in love with, might be the only way to save Raven.
I ran down the stairs and stopped to take a deep breath before pushing through the door into the bright sunlight. It was nearly three, having spent hours discussing everything we’d talked about. I pulled out my phone when I got to my truck. I was glad for the shade I’d parked in. It was February, but it was a warm day, and my air conditioning wasn’t that great in the old truck. As I looked down at the phone, keys in hand, I suddenly felt all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
A second before I could react to pull my gun, I was body slammed front first into the driver’s side door. My keys dropped to the pavement. Steely arms closed around my midsection, but I reacted without thinking, slamming my head back as my training kicked in. I heard a sickening crunch as the back of my head caught my attacker in the face. The pain in my skull was jarring and I shook my head as I heard the curse.
“Trigg! Motherfucker! Stop!”
I stilled instantly, hearing the voice I hadn’t heard in eleven years. I pushed back, feeling the person separate from my body, and turned. Standing a few feet away from me, looking stunned in a tattered ballcap, blood dripping from his broken nose, stood John Sutter, watery green eyes streaming, as he tried to stem the blood sliding down his face.
“God damn you, Trigg,” he gasped. “That fuckin’ hurt.”
I’ve always been a sucker for a guy with muscles and a handsome face. If that makes me sound shallow, maybe I am. I’ve never had a real relationship, unless you consider the guys in my Marine Corps Recon unit. I had a great relationship with those guys. Yeah, yeah, I know we’re splitting hairs. These days, long after my retirement from active duty, the only kind of relationships I really do now are with fictional characters. I love to read, and in fact lately, I’ve been frequenting the pages of my favorite blog, Bestreads, to escape my real-life job, one I’m not very well suited for. One reviewer on there—Nightcrawler—absolutely slays me. He always makes me laugh, steering me clear of some of the worst trash out there when I’m not trying to earn money as a bounty hunter. Maybe someday the right man will come along, and he won’t simply be a book boyfriend. Someday. Lately, I can’t get intrigued by any of the guys I’ve met in bars. Hookups are becoming less and less interesting for me. I’m a reader and of late, I’m also a half decent reviewer. I work exclusively for a blog called Bestreads, working under the name of Nightcrawler and I’m not ashamed to admit, I try to make them funny. In my line of work as a recovery agent for a big insurance company, I’m finding my off hours much more pleasurable. I think about my next review and my next blog post all the time. Whenever I put up a funny two-star review, I dream of the guy who might be at home reading it, but pretty sure the kind of man who reads me, is probably living in his mother’s basement. Still, I’m a romantic at heart. Someday I might just run into him in one of my stories. Someday.
International bestselling author Patricia Logan, resides in Los Angeles, California. The author of over 75 books and nearly 65 audios including several #1 bestselling gay romances, lives in a small house with a large family. She loves to write about male heroes and the men who love them. Found families are a particular theme throughout her books. She likes to think that she infuses a wide variety of life’s experiences in every book and please trust her when she says all her books come packed with emotion and unbridled humor.
When she’s not writing her next law enforcement mystery, her next paranormal, or her next BDSM romance, she’s watching her grandchildren grow up way too soon and raising kids who make her proud every day. One of her favorite tasks is coaxing nose kisses from cats who insist on flopping on her keyboard while she types. Married to a wonderful man for nearly 40 years, she counts herself lucky to be surrounded by people who love her and give her stories to tell every day.
Pick up your favorite Patricia Logan Book from Amazon
After a monster attack to the capital city, Citadel, Sir Liam Bord seeks the witch responsible to bring him to the king for his trial and his punishment. Liam succeeds in capturing the witch, Reynald, a former royal mage whom Liam knew as a squire. Despite his attempts at treating Reynald as a prisoner, as Liam begins to understand Reynald’s motives, he can’t help but question the very system he’s always supported. The way his heart races every time they’re near each other only further complicates his mission…
Hey there, readers. It’s me, ya boi, Sita Bethel. And this is a biography where I tell you all the boring facts about my life- like how I have a degree in writing, and how my two cats, Odin and Anpu, will one day rule this land as your feline overlords. Enough of that same old, same old. Here’s the real dirt. Sita Bethel likes to wrap up like a burrito with a weighted blanket. They host coloring parties as a personal eff-you to anxiety, and read everything from trash British sensationalist novels like The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins to literary masterpieces like The Color Purple by Alice Walker. Had enough of Sita Bethel yet? If not, check out @sita_bethel on Twitter, or sitabethelfiction on Facebook, or even http://www.sitabethel.com.
Tropes: Forbidden Romance, Murder Mystery, Unhinged Twink, Age Gap, Dangerous Game of Cat and Mouse, Slow Burn with Explosive Payoff
Additional Information: NOT a standalone. Kiss Me Honey Honey is book two of three. The trilogy must be read in order. The plot and romantic arc continue throughout the entire series. Aaron & Kenny’s relationship is anything but easy. Their journey is filled with rocky moments, mistrust, and vulnerability, because the stakes are sky-high for both. Amid the darkness, you’ll find heart-pounding moments of connection, hard-fought love, and, yes, a well-earned HEA (eventually).
Available in Kindle Unlimited, e-book, paperback, and hardcover—with an alternative cover.
Blurb
Every kiss is a sin.
“Giving into temptation might not just ruin Kenny… It could kill him.”
Aaron has spent his life running from intimacy, but when his professor, Dr Kenneth Lyons, broke through his defences last year, only to push him away, the sting of rejection left an indelible mark. He’s determined to win him back and prove their connection is more than just forbidden heat. But when danger lurks in every touch, and even a single kiss becomes deadly, Aaron might not survive long enough to prove he’s worth the risk.
Kenny knows he shouldn’t want his student. Resisting Aaron has already cost him pieces of himself he can’t recover. Torn between his career and the man who’s stolen his heart, Kenny struggles to keep his distance. But when Aaron becomes the target of a ruthless killer, the fragile lines Kenny drew between them blur. And he’s forced to face the truth. Protecting Aaron could destroy his future… or shatter his soul.
As a series of brutal murders pulls them deeper into a web of danger, Aaron and Kenny are forced to confront the darkest shadows of Aaron’s past and the devastating legacy binding them together.
With their forbidden bond igniting into an all-consuming blaze, they must decide: in a world where trust is a death sentence and love could cost them everything, how far are they willing to go to save each other?
Kiss Me Honey Honey is the gripping second installment in the To Love a Psycho trilogy where passion and peril collide.
Excerpt:
“You’re not gonna kiss me, are you?” The raw, unspoken truth in Aaron’s tone twisted the knife already lodged in Kenny’s chest.
Because those lips, soft and inviting, promising everything and nothing, could shatter him completely. They might as well contain poison far deadlier than anything he’d read about in a pathology report. Because surrendering to Aaron’s meant destruction.
So he forced out his reply, “Not yet.”
Aaron’s eyes were a tempest of defiance, daring and dangerous and locking onto Kenny’s with an intensity refusing to surrender. Then, with a wicked smirk, he wrapped his fingers around Kenny’s wrist like a silken snare and, without a word, without breaking the charged connection in his gaze, he guided Kenny’s thumb into his mouth.
Kenny’s breath hitched.
Aaron’s warm, wet mouth closed around Kenny’s thumb, maddeningly sweet and dangerously seductive. Because he wasn’t crude with it, or rushed with abandon. Aaron was slow. Purposeful. Achingly tender. And his tongue curling around the pad of Kenny’s thumb burned into his memory, because Aaron wasn’t just touching him, or reminding him of their first encounter when Aaron had stretched that beautifully cruel mouth so effortlessly around his cock, but he was branding him. Owning every inch of Kenny’s willpower with every languid suck.
Kenny couldn’t look away and Aaron’s eyes stayed locked on his, bright with intensity, daring him to resist what they both knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t just a tease. It was a confession. A plea. A promise of what could be if either of them dared to take that final, irrevocable step. And when Kenny finally pulled back, sliding his thumb from Aaron’s lips with a soft, obscene pop, Kenny’s cock inflamed, telling him he wanted in that devilishly beautiful mouth. Now. Ever more so when Aaron flicked his tongue over his tip, an unspoken dare haunting the space between them.
Kenny was losing a battle he swore never to fight and Aaron was carving out the pieces of his soul he wouldn’t ever get back. Because Aaron was the only one who could ever fill them.
Falling back on the sofa, Aaron gazed up at him with a devastating mix of triumph and yearning, and Kenny knew then, with bone-deep certainty that when, not if, but when he kissed him again, he’d give permission for Aaron to destroy his entire life.
Bio:
C F White
Author
CF White writes gritty British based stories about imperfect men falling in love against the odds and has been accused of sprinkling a bit of humour into them from time to time too. Because what’s life without sprinkles?
Genre: M/M Sports Romance Standalone Trope: Enemies to lovers, bi-awakening, team owner/player, secret romance
Synopsis
Connor
Finding out those closest to me don’t see me as the great guy I think I am not only kicks me in the gut, it makes me question everything.
Until that happened, I didn’t think I had many regrets in my life. Now, I have nothing but regrets. And when my NHL team is bought out, and the new owner makes his presence known, my existential crisis kicks up a notch. Because he might be my biggest regret of all.
Parker Duchene.
I made his life a living hell in high school, and now he’s inserting himself into my career to repay the favor.
With everything in my personal life already on the line, I can’t risk hockey too. I need to figure out a way to play nice with the new owner.
Parker
I bought Colorado’s NHL team to honor my late father. I did. Only reason.
Emotionally playing with one of my many high school tormentors is a nice bonus though.
Connor Kikishkin may be the one who made me the target for years of name-calling, but I’ve always wondered if my hatred for him bordered too much on the obsessive side to truly be classified as hate.
Infatuation is probably the right word for it.
Now his whole life is in my hands, and I can’t wait to see him beg for my mercy. Seeing Mr. Popular find his humility will definitely ease the grief from losing my dad … right? Because right now, that’s all I have, and I need to hold on to it so I don’t crumble.
Ever had that dream where you’re back in high school and everyone is laughing at you, but you don’t know why until you look down and you’re naked?
I wish I was living that dream.
The man standing before the entire team is familiar yet almost unrecognizable, and his words sound like they’re coming from underwater.
Something, something, introduce. Love hockey. Twenty billion something. New owner.
Our franchise was sold? To Douche? The Douche from high school?
He’s not actually a douche. That’s just what everyone called him because of his last name.
Memories of those days flood through my mind, racing on a loop and throwing me back to being king of the school and watching as my teammates … Shit.
If the ground could open up and swallow me whole right about now, I’d appreciate it, but that doesn’t happen. Neither does our owner disappear when I try to blink him away.
I still remember that day clearly: the one where I saw Parker Duchene and my brother hunched over a schedule, heads close together. Smiling. Being … friendly. Overly friendly.
I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t know then, and I still don’t know now. The closest I can get is figuring that while Easton wasn’t out at that point, I knew he was gay, and I had to protect his future hockey career by getting in between him and the guy standing too close. Easton hadn’t even confirmed his sexuality to me at that point, but I saw something I really shouldn’t have on his laptop one day when mine had died, which was the giant tip he wasn’t straight. Exactly like the one the dude in the porn on his screen had. One of the dudes anyway. Biggest mushroom tip head I’ve ever seen. Not that I’d ever taken notice of other dicks before then. I didn’t say anything because I thought he should be the one to come out when he was ready. That, and all I could think about was what coming out would do for his career.
It’s not like there weren’t out guys in the league back then. Caleb Sorensen and Ollie Strömberg were well-known for being the first, but it was no secret that their careers weren’t exactly smooth and scandal-free. Easton had the potential to be one of the greats.
No one could know about my brother, and I wouldn’t let this scrawny, nerdy kid ruin Easton’s life.
Even though that’s the logical reason for what I did, something about it doesn’t ring true in my gut. I can’t pinpoint what it is, never could, but something came over me that day that told me I needed to separate them, so I did. I’ve had regret and confusion ever since.
I won’t deny what I did was wrong. It was so wrong. I might play rough on the ice, but violence off it is never the answer, and I threatened it. I used it. I shoved this kid against a locker and told him to stay away from my brother.
And now, he’s here.
The only question is why?
Am I really that self-absorbed to think he bought our team out of spite?
I want to say no, but …
Surely we’ve both grown in the last ten years. We’re grown-ass men now, not stupid teenagers.
He finishes his speech, which I couldn’t hear any of, and beside me, Easton asks, “Do we go say hi?”
I’d rather run in the opposite direction and keep running if I’m honest, but no. I’m going to be mature and take the high road. “I-I guess so.” Look at me with all that confidence in my shaky voice.
I’ve got this.
Yet, as we approach him, I almost chicken out. My palms sweat, my heart beats erratically, and after my brother reintroduces himself, I pluck up the courage to reach out my hand to the dark-haired, bright-blue-eyed boy who’s no longer a boy. He’s … Fuck, I don’t know what he is.
“Hey.” I stumble over what to say. “Good to see you again. Parker.” I must sound like a damn robot.
The team’s new owner cocks his head as if he’s confused, but his eyes hold nothing but contempt. “I’m sorry, have we met?”
I’m stunned speechless. That’s how he’s going to play it? Hey, fine by me. The less apologizing I have to do, the better. I’m still in the middle of groveling to Easton and my best friend, Knox, for being overprotective of both of them to the point they didn’t think they could be together because of me. I don’t need more penance added to my list of failures as a decent human being.
Parker hasn’t lost his cold stare as he says, “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer my players to call me Mr. Duchene.”
My gut sinks because he’s obviously still bitter about high school. He can pretend he doesn’t remember me all he wants, but that’s not what he’s doing. He’s here to be petty and probably vengeful, so the only thing I can do is grin and bear whatever he throws at me. Because if I lose it in front of him? I can say goodbye to the NHL and everything I’ve worked toward forever.
We, as players, rarely saw the last owner, and this will be no different. All I have to do is stay away from Parker Duchene, and everything will be fine. Great, even. Hey, if we win the Stanley Cup this year, maybe he’ll give me a pass for my past actions.
Eden Finley is an Amazon bestselling author who writes steamy contemporary romances that are full of snark and light-hearted fluff.
She doesn’t take anything too seriously and lives to create an escape from real life for her readers. The ideas always begin with a wackadoodle premise, and she does her best to turn them into romances with heart.
With a short attention span that rivals her son’s, she writes multiple different pairings: MM, MMF, and MF.
She’s also an Australian girl and apologises for her Australianisms that sometimes don’t make sense to anyone else.
MM Romance | Part 2 of 2 | Second Chances | Irish Mafia | Family | Hurt/Comfort | Age Gap | Revenge When two broken hearts have reached their limits, it’s time for a mobster to play dirty in order to let the healing begin. Don’t worry, Alfie has a plan.
That very second, the moment West said those words…I almost shattered. Again. I’d put myself out there. I’d begged him for a second chance. I’d told him I’d give up everything for him and our kids—but he’d shot me down. And now, when I let him know that I was changing my last name back to O’Dwyer, he had the balls to say his name suited me better. He stood there in front of me, trying to act like his eyes weren’t burning with unshed tears, and admitted that he didn’t know how to let me go.
Not long after, I nearly broke into a million pieces again, when Dad called and said that Mom was in the hospital. That she’d been assaulted.
No words could describe the rage that flooded me, and I couldn’t hide it from West either.
He was about to find out just how far the Sons of Munster would go to avenge their own.
—————-
Alfie belongs in the Irish of Philly universe by Cara Dee. However, Alfie and West’s story has been written so it can be enjoyed to its full extent as a stand-alone.
Excerpt
West Scott
We automatically snuck around the corner of the house, where we’d have more privacy. If Trip came out, we’d hear him and have time to hide the evidence.
It wasn’t our first rodeo.
“Colby mentioned you look like shit lately.”
I frowned. “Pardon?”
“Not in those words. He said you’re tired.”
Well, thanks a lot.
I swallowed uncomfortably and pretended to find the hedges interesting. They needed trimming soon.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Fuck, not that question.
No, I wasn’t fucking okay, and it wasn’t okay that he looked to be okay.
The pressure on my chest increased, and I took a quick pull from the smoke.
“It’s been a lot at work before my vacation,” I said. That wasn’t too much of a lie.
“Oh, right. You’re off for five weeks now.” He exhaled some smoke. “Any plans?”
I shook my head and peered down at his wrist. I wanted to give him the watch.
Would he find me utterly insane? I had no real reason, aside from missing him. Missing the days we sometimes surprised each other with little gifts, missing the days he casually adjusted my tie for me, missing the days of closeness and intimacy.
I just plain missed him.
“Would, uh…” I cleared my throat. “Would you accept a gift from me?”
“Huh?” He looked over at me.
“Or is it too weird?” I wasn’t sure. “I saw something after a meeting in the city last week, and I—” I stopped short, my heart rate picking up, and I handed him my smoke. “I’ll be right back.”
I rounded the corner again and walked briskly toward the guest room’s terrace door. I’d left the box on the bed—
“Yeah, it’s kinda weird!” I heard Alfie holler.
Right, but it was too late now. I was committed. I needed his reaction to it, because a gift like that would evoke his unfiltered honesty. That was what I was after. My initial sentiment about the gift was genuine. I’d simply wanted him to have it. But now, I…I couldn’t cope without something changing the status quo, and I was too chickenshit to do it myself.
I’d brought this misery upon myself. I’d left his house. I’d set boundaries. Respectable boundaries, in my opinion. Boundaries my mind was set to keep, whereas my heart wanted to flush them down the toilet.
I grabbed the box on the bed and walked out again.
I was an idiot. More than that, I was selfish and disrespectful and downright heartless, because this would undoubtedly trigger anger too. Rightfully so. He’d view it as my toying with his emotions.
Deep down, what I really wanted was for him to save me from myself.
Alfie waited for me around the corner, and he extended the smoke to me.
“Here,” I said. “I saw it in a store, wanted you to have it, ordered it, and…so, here.”
He had suspicion and weariness written all over him as he accepted the box. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was. I hadn’t gift-wrapped it, so the brand was embossed on the surface, and—
“Vacheron…” He trailed off and shifted where he stood. “Are you fucking kidding me, West?” There was no heat to his question, only exhaustion.
I took a quick drag from the smoke, unable to speak.
“You don’t just see this kind of watch in a store,” he told me, lifting the lid. “You find it online and order it, usually for a CEO in the private sector who’s retiring after fifty years of making everyone rich.”
He trapped his smoke between his lips and picked up the leather pouch the watch came in, and he detached the strap.
“I did see it in a store,” I said. “In a catalogue picture they had on display.”
He rolled his eyes but said nothing.
I stubbed out my smoke and stashed it in the tailpiece of the drainpipe for later.
My nerves were officially shot, and if I spoke, emotional nonsense would fly out. I wasn’t much of a crier, but I’d reached my fucking limit for what I could handle. My stomach felt tight and unsettled, I couldn’t escape the pressure on my chest, and my eyes burned.
Alfie swallowed as he saw the watch, and without thinking, he dropped the smoke and put it out under his shoe.
Say something.
“No, you know what?” he said without looking away from the watch. “This is the kind of gift a wife gives a random cabana boy to piss off her cheating husband.”
His comment did something to the air around us, deflating it somehow, and it sucked the words out of me before I could think twice.
“That’s specific. But a cabana boy wouldn’t care about something so classy.”
“It’s probably the cheating husband’s favorite brand.” Alfie didn’t miss a beat, and he glanced up at me. “Who’re you tryna piss off, West?”
Wait, what?
“Nobody.” I frowned.
“Try again.” He pinned me with an intense stare I wasn’t sure I’d ever received before. “You don’t give someone a sixty-grand watch for nothin’. Are you fucking with me? I can think of one gift you’d give your ex-husband, and it’s a Father’s Day present from the kids.”
The fact that he was in the right ballpark of what that watch cost put me on edge for some reason. I hadn’t expected him to expose me to that degree, and it threw me off.
“Happy early Father’s Day, then,” I replied stiffly.
“Quite the fuckin’ upgrade from the perfectly acceptable mug you had them give me in June,” he snapped. “I guess I’ll tell them to choose something other than a tie for you next year? Maybe a yacht would be more appropriate? You have a birthday comin’ up too. You want a house in the Hamptons?”
I gnashed my teeth. “If it bothers you so much, I’ll return it—”
“Fuck no! You gave it to me—it’s mine.” As he spoke, irritated and ever so unpredictable, he removed his old watch. “It’s mine. Put it on me. Fuck me, it’s breathtaking—but you’re off your damn rocker, West. Tell me why you gave me this.”
Roll with the punches, roll with the punches, roll with the punches.
“I wanted you to have it.” I got to touch him again, even if it was only his wrist.
“Bullshit. We’ve been over this. Is this platinum?”
I had to take a calming breath and slow things down. When Alfie grew heated and started thinking out loud, it was too easy to get swept away by his ranty monologue.
“It is. And I did want you to have it,” I insisted. “But yes, I anticipated a signature Alfie Scott reaction to go with it.” I pretended to struggle with the double clasp of the watch, just so I could brush my fingertips over the ink around his wrists.
Since the first time I’d seen his inked body, I’d discovered numerous designs I wanted to ask him about. I’d spotted our children’s birthdates, of course. Ireland, Puerto Rico, and Italy were heavily represented in the artwork. But so was I, which meant he’d chosen to eternalize memories from our years together even when he’d been trying to recover from our divorce.
I remembered the restaurant I’d taken him to for our first date, and it couldn’t be a coincidence he had the street sign for that address inked right there on his arm.
“O’Dwyer,” he said quietly.
No.
I swallowed hard. That was a gut punch. Nausea crawled up my throat.
“You changed it back?” I finished fastening the watch and had to withdraw my hands.
He studied his watch and brushed his thumb over the crown. “Not yet, but it’s on my list for next week.”
Fuck.
“Scott suits you better.” I had absolutely no right to say that.
He chuckled and peered up at me with the biggest fuck-you smile I’d ever seen.
“If it wasn’t for this watch, this is where I woulda told you to go fuck yourself,” he said. “Don’t do this to me, West. Just don’t. It’s cruel.”
I knew it was, and I felt like the biggest piece of shit on earth.
I was desperate, though. I woke up broken, and I went to bed broken. I’d made a decision that made it impossible for us to get another chance, and yet that was all I wanted.
I had to clear my throat as more emotions threatened to surface, and I didn’t know how to be honest with him without losing my composure.
Fuck composure.
“I…I don’t know how to let you go,” I managed to get out. He immediately clenched his jaw and looked away. “I can’t even fake it anymore, Alfie. I can’t sleep, I have little to no appetite, and I—”
About Cara
I’m often awkwardly silent or, if the topic interests me, a chronic rambler. In other words, I can discuss writing forever and ever. Fiction, in particular. The love story—while a huge draw and constantly present—is secondary for me, because there’s so much more to writing romance fiction than just making two (or more) people fall in love and have hot sex.
There’s a world to build, characters to develop, interests to create, and a topic or two to research thoroughly.
Every book is a challenge for me, an opportunity to learn something new, and a puzzle to piece together. I want my characters to come to life, and the only way I know to do that is to give them substance—passions, history, goals, quirks, and strong opinions—and to let them evolve.
I want my men and women to be relatable. That means allowing room for everyday problems and, for lack of a better word, flaws. My characters will never be perfect.
Wait…this was supposed to be about me, not my writing.
I’m a writey person who loves to write. Always wanderlusting, twitterpating, kinking, cooking, baking, and geeking. There’s time for hockey and family, too. But mostly, I just love to write.
Getting a boner for the monster who saved us shouldn’t make sense in any universe. But here we are.
When a piece of Earth gets ripped into a monstrous new world, I barely have time to panic before I’m fighting for my life—and for Jamie’s. Terrafeara isn’t just dangerous; it’s a nightmare brought to life, where humans like us are hunted, enslaved, or worse.
Then there’s Solan. A beast of a warrior with horns I want to ride, fangs I want to lick, and a body built for war—and for wrecking me. He swears he’ll protect me, but his idea of protection comes with possessive touches, growled promises, and a claim I’m not sure I can resist.
But I don’t have time for this. I have a kid to keep safe. And with monsters, mercenaries, and power-hungry rulers after us, staying alive is hard enough. The only way to survive is to trust Solan, trust the rebels, and trust this connection between us that’s stronger than fear.
Because in a world designed to break us, maybe love is the sharpest weapon of all.
Genres: Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance, Suspense
Themes: Bisexual, Multisexual, Pansexual & Transsexual, Magic, Sorcery, and Witchcraft, Multiple Partners, Rock Star Romance, Vampires
Series: Fragile Web (#3)
Multiverse: Blood & Fire (#4)
Book Length: Novella
Page Count: 72
Description
Treya Fischer finally has everything she’s ever wanted — two guys who adore her, and her dream job as Fragile Web’s lead singer.
Now she and her band members have the opportunity of a lifetime — a record deal. But life outside the band is another matter entirely. Determined to rein in her scandalous ways, her parents have enlisted the help of the last man she ever wants to deal with again — her ex.
Vampire David Garrison has officially joined the band as their new keyboardist. His partner, Ryan Parrish is their newest roadie. Not only are David and Ryan two of the hottest guys Treya’s ever met, they’re totally into her, as well as one another. They’ll do anything to protect her — especially from her jealous, manipulative, cheating son-of-a-bitch of an ex. There’s nothing they can’t manage, together.
Treya Fischer glanced at her cell phone and finally put it on silent. It kept ringing, but at least she couldn’t hear it. No doubt she’d get a string of texts once her mother gave up trying to call. She sighed and got out of the car. Her folks had never approved of her lifestyle, her friends’ lifestyles, their music, or her career choice. It didn’t matter that Fragile Web was growing in popularity and demand around the city. It didn’t matter that she made more than enough money to live comfortably without having to ask her parents for a single dime. She’d never be the perfect daughter they wanted. Her sister filled that spot quite well.
The door opened, and she smiled. The guys hovered, fiercely protective as always, but now they had two more who’d joined the “shelter Treya from the world” cause. Not that she disliked it. Their form of sheltering was nothing like her parents’. The guys loved her for who she was, what she could do. They didn’t try to change her or make her fit into a mold.
“You okay?” Michael asked as she headed toward him. He took the case with her favorite mic and held open the door for her. The rest of her usual equipment stayed in the rehearsal loft until shows.
“Yeah,” she said with a sigh, holding up her phone and showing the missed call notification.
Michael grimaced. “I’m sorry. Anything I can do?”
Treya shrugged, and Michael shut the door. She led the way back toward the rehearsal room. “Not really. It’s probably the same old song and dance she’s been doing for years. ‘You’re better than this. You could be an opera star.’ Blah, blah, blah.”
Michael opened up the door leading into their soundproofed rehearsal space. “You are a star. Hell, Fragile Web wouldn’t be what it is without you.”
She smiled and rose up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. You guys are just as important, you know.”
“Honey, you could walk out onto a stage in a burlap sack and sing the phonebook, and the audience would be eating out of the palm of your hand,” Scott said from the table where he was changing strings on his guitar.
Treya laughed and took her mic case from Michael. “I think you’re all biased, but thanks.”
“Maybe,” Sam said from behind his drumkit, “but we’re right.”
Treya started to reply, but two men stepped into the room. She felt herself blush when they both smiled at her. David Garrison had officially joined the band as their new keyboardist, and his partner Ryan Parrish was now one of their two roadies. Sam’s partner Cole had swooped in to help in that capacity as well.
“My dear muse,” David said, “you are magnificent just as you are. Never let anyone — not even your parents — tell you otherwise.”
Treya bit the corner of her lower lip and had to look away from the vampire’s knowing gaze. The attraction between herself, David, and Ryan was no secret, but they’d yet to act on it. Treya had no idea where to start anyway. She’d never been with two people before — and definitely not with a vampire.
Scott finished and took his place at his amp. Michael strapped on his bass and turned on his own amplifier. Sam did a couple of test kicks to make sure his pedal was in the right position. As Treya took out her beloved Sennheiser MD 441, the exact model Stevie Nicks used, she watched David get his own keyboard situated on its stand right above Treya’s Korg Kronos. She couldn’t believe they’d lucked out in finding him. Not that anything was bad with Sam’s singing, but David just added a bit of sultry oomph that meshed well with Treya. Of course, she was probably a bit biased.
David smiled at her, and a shiver ran throughout her entire body.
Okay, definitely biased.
“Did you guys hear about the scout?” Scott asked them all.
Treya turned to him. “No…”
Scott nodded and plugged in his guitar. “Black Nebula Records has been poking around the area, even hitting some shows.”
“Seriously?” Sam asked.
“Yep. Can you imagine…?”
Treya blew out a breath. “That would be… oh, my God. Beyond amazing. What are the chances of someone seeing us live?”
Scott shrugged. “There’s no telling.”
“Even more reason to really tighten things up,” Treya said. She switched on the PA system. “Let’s get to it then!”
Mychael Black has been writing professionally since 2005. He writes gay romance and erotica, but also het romance as Carys Seraphine and queer fantasy as Katherine Cook.
He’s an avid PC gamer with a love for RPGs, a horror fanatic, and a fantasy nut. He also has a weakness for anything relating to skulls, dogs, and Spongebob Squarepants.
Mychael lives on the Eastern Shore of the US with his family. He loves to hear from readers, be it via email or Facebook.
Fated Mates 
Kelli Maree PA 