FREE M/M Romance #freeread #mustread #sexysweet January Treat

Only one more week to pick up this m/m romance for free! 
Offer ends on January 31st! 

This month I'm offering readers the opportunity to download 

Free from All Romance Ebooks. 


Early 2011, it all began with a letter and a picture in the Goodreads M/M Romance Group.

Dear Author,
My marriage ended badly but I have no regrets as I now have a wonderful son. I wonder what's next for me, though, and if I'll ever find true love?
A Reader

And from those two sentences a story was born. 

This is that story. 

Devyn Strake's tattoos and piercings are sexy as hell, but what really attracts Sully Moore's attention is his new neighbor's tender care of his infant son.

Devyn shouldn't let his attraction for his handsome neighbor distract him. He's in trouble, and he has to make baby Kail his chief priority.

How does a good cop find love with a bad boy in trouble?

**Please note: This is a newly edited version of a previously released short story.

Furious, Devyn Starke stalked up the overgrown path to Kayla’s apartment. It was his weekend to have Kail. Devyn was stuck with this stupid visitation agreement, Wednesday nights and every other weekend, alternate holidays. He should have had full custody, but instead, the judge had decreed that a boy of eight months needed his mother more than his father. Bullshit. Kail needed him as much as he needed Kail.
2C. He hadn’t been here before, but, surely Kayla could afford better on the amount of child support and spousal support he’d been required to pay?
He knocked politely on the door, a sharp rap. A noise from inside drifted through an open screen window. It only took a moment to recognize the sound as the pathetic cries of a baby. He pounded his fists on the grubby door, calling out, “Kayla! It’s Devyn. I came to get Kail for the weekend.” There was no response, no sound from within but the continued cries. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Kayla had claimed he’d threatened her, asked the judge for a restraining order. The judge had eyed him up and down, noting every piercing and tattoo, and the order had been granted. His expensive lawyer and his dad by his side in his Armani suit had counted for nothing. He looked like a thug, therefore, he was a thug.
Then again, Kayla was supposed to bring Kail to him for his visits at a prearranged public place. He’d waited at the McDonald’s for over an hour past the time they were to be there. When he couldn’t reach Kayla on her cell phone, he’d given in to the anger and headed over here. She could have all the money he could get his hands on, but Kayla wasn’t keeping him from his son anymore.
He could hear Kail’s frantic cries from inside the apartment, but other than that, there was no sign of anyone being home. It was his weekend to have Kail, and Kayla was fucking nuts if she thought she was going to get away with not bringing him to the meeting place again. Restraining order be thrice-damned.
Pain ripped through him as his son’s cries grew louder on the other side of that door. He looked around frantically. Either Kayla had gotten a lot more tolerant than she used to be or she wasn’t in there. If she was, she was passed out. He had to get to Kail. The manager’s office had an out to lunch sign on the door. No help from that quarter. No one else seemed to care about the noise he made or the noise his son made.
Devyn bent forward to peer in the window, hoping to catch sight of Kayla or Kail through the window. He couldn’t see Kayla, but he saw Kail right away. The little boy stood clutching grimly at the bars of the playpen, screaming and crying, face red with exertion. Tears had etched shiny tracks down his face, and he was nude except for a bulky-looking diaper.
Desperate to get to Kail, he pulled from his pocket the Swiss Army knife his dad had given him for his fourteenth birthday. The window to the left of the door was raised just a bit. Kneeling down, he used the sharp blade of the knife to cut the screen away from the frame. Peeling the screen back he raised the window, talking as soothingly as he could to Kail. “Daddy’s coming, big boy. No need to cry. Daddy’s here.”
When Kail turned to the window and caught sight of his daddy climbing through, his shrieks subsided to sobs. The tear-drenched dark eyes ripped another hole in Devyn’s heart. Fuck. He landed on the floor under the window, knocking a withered plant over on the way down.
Without Kail’s cries, the apartment was eerily silent. Kayla wasn’t here. Devyn rose shakily and hurried to the playpen. Kail reached out to grab him, striving to climb out on his own. “Shh…I got you.” He pulled the squirming little body close, grimacing as hot liquid seeped through the soggy diaper and wet his own T-shirt. He wrinkled his nose at the scent of piss. Poor tyke hadn’t been changed in a while.
He searched the dingy room for diapers and wipes, relieved to find them and a diaper bag on the floor by the battered sofa.
On the way over to the sofa, the sticky tapes on the side of the current diaper caved to pressure and it fell off to land with a sickening plop on the floor. He left it there. Bitch could clean it up when she got back. He set Kail down on the sofa, and held him in place with one hand while he knelt next to the sofa. He patted blindly with one hand, reaching for the wipes and a diaper.
A sudden sharp prick of pain in his finger and he glanced down in disbelief. No freaking way. The thin glint of metal caught his eye. Way. A needle. His gaze zoomed to the grungy coffee table and took in the other paraphernalia there. Shit. Fuck it. He whipped his T-shirt off over his head and wrapped it around his son. Fuck this shit.
Grabbing the diaper bag, he hoisted Kail into his arms and headed for the door. He clutched his little man to him with one arm, heart aching at the baby’s desperate grip on his neck, and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. A few quick zoomed in shots of the drug stuff, a few wide angle shots of the whole room, and he was on his way. If Kayla walked through the entry while he was on his way out, he’d mow the bitch down.
Bad enough to leave the little man alone in the apartment for god knows how long, but to be using again?

He slammed the door on his way out, not caring who saw him as he cuddled his son in his arms and headed to his car. He fumbled his cell phone and hit speed dial. “Dad? I’m coming over. Bringing Kail. We need to talk. Call the lawyer.”


Book Blast: Iyanna Jenna: A Little Unwell #mmromance #pridepromotions

Book Name: Just A Little Unwell
Release Date: January 4, 2015

Author Name: Iyana Jenna

Publisher: JMS Books
Cover Artist: Written Ink Designs

Patrick Trafford is pleased with the simple life he has, spending his time tending a tiny garden accompanied by his best friend, Chad, who just happens to be a cockroach. Nevertheless, he can't hide the excitement bubbling in him when a man suddenly appears in the garden.

Damien Abner politely welcomes, albeit somewhat at a loss, Patrick's warm offer to spend time with him. To have a coffee, watch some movie, and dance along with the characters in it.
They begin to date and Patrick has never been happier, though he barely knows who Damien is -- not that it matters to him. For him, being clueless does mean bliss.


Patrick floats through the following day. When Damien shows up, Patrick takes him immediately to near the TV, sets the video cassette into place, and clutches Damien's hands as they dance. He offers coffee and cookies this time and finally brings his guitar out to the sitting room. Patrick feels a bit uneasy when Damien keeps looking at him instead of his guitar.
"Do you like it?"
"My guitar."
Confusion flashes across Damien's good-looking face for a second.
"Oh, absolutely." His smile cracks. He shifts on the couch to make space for Patrick. Patrick plops down next to him and begins to sing. It's "More Than Words," one of his favorite songs. Damien listens carefully.
Damien is silent, even after Patrick has stopped singing. His eyes turn soft.
"So, what do you say? What do you think of my voice?" Patrick asks impatiently.
Damien's still quiet. Then he closes his eyes and reaches out a hand. He touches the side of Patrick's face.
Patrick holds his breath and closes his eyes too. He doesn't dare to move. Damien's hand feels so warm and good on his skin.
He lets out a heavy sigh when the hand is gone and opens his eyes.
"That's the most beautiful voice I've ever heard," Damien says.
Patrick doesn't know what to do. He puts aside his guitar -- grabs it back -- lays it down on the table -- takes it back again and holds it close to him. He rocks slowly on the couch.
"Thank you," he murmurs -- not sure whether he is expressing gratitude for the compliment or the touch.
Damien stands up.
"You're leaving?" Patrick asks, disappointed.
"I have other things I need to do, Patrick."
Patrick swallows deep. He turns away. "Okay. It's almost dark anyway and I haven't been to the garden."
"Will you come again?"
"Do you want me to?"
"I'd love you to."
"So I'll come."
Damien waves and walks away.
As if to remind Patrick he's there, Chad crawls up Patrick's shirt front. Patrick palms him up and puts him on the table.
"Do you like him, too?" Patrick asks.
Chad only chirps.
Sales Links:
Tour Dates: January 23, 2015

Author Bio:
Iyana writes M/M short stories and novellas. Her works have been published by Evernight Publishing, JMS Books, Books to Go Now, Torquere Press, Bitten Press, Leap of Faith Publishing, Breathless Press, and Alfie Dog Fiction.
Iyana lives in Jakarta, a city famous for its traffic jams, a lot of cars and motorcycles, and people selling stuff on the roads. You can spend two hours on the road going to a place you can reach in half an hour in a normal situation. Thanks to the traffic jams, though, Iyana can come up with a lot of stories, mostly shorties, as she prefers to spend the time during her trips writing into her cell phone rather than sleeping.
Another thing Iyana loves is kitties. Right now she has three of them. Their names are Cil, Horus, and Betsy, and one kitten. When she doesn’t write, she plays with them, or they would play with her when she writes.
Where can you find Iyana?
Twitter: @IyanaJenna

Rafflecopter Prize: 2 e-copies of ‘Just A Little Unwell’

a Rafflecopter giveaway


His Dream Lover #headsup #flashsale #mmromance @allromance

FLASH SALE @All Romance
25% OFF entire catalogue
His Dream Lover

Through the gates of the sun lies the land of dreams, and beyond that...the realm of the lost.
In a private hospital room, motionless and still beneath a sheet, lies Joseph Caldwell. His surgery has passed, to all intents and purposes, successfully. The doctors offer no explanation for why he hasn't awakened from the medically induced coma. The stream of visitors trickles down to nothing, and still he lies in endless sleep. Nearly everyone has given up any hope for his recovery.
Anaesthesiologist Oliver Gideon is racked with guilt and confusion. Could he have somehow done something wrong? His superiors assure him he is not at fault, the science he reviews tells him his dosages were correct, but the longer Caldwell sleeps the more Oliver is haunted by the loneliness of the figure in the bed. He spends every possible moment with the patient, reading, talking, trying to fill the little room with sound, to stir a response that science isn't sure is possible.
Morpheus, King of Dreams has welcomed Joseph to his realm. Some dreams, he explains, are true, and some are false. There's only one way tell. Joseph loves the dream world Morpheus has woven for him, for in it, he's found something he never found in reality—a soul mate. For the first time, his life is perfect.
In the end, he has to choose. He cannot stay in the Realm of Morpheus forever. It's either back to the land of the sun, and potential loneliness or on to the realm of the lost.

Copyright © Lee Brazil 2014. All Rights Reserved, Total-E-Ntwined Limited, T/A Totally Bound Publishing.

“It’s my half day today.” As though having time off means you’ll be away from the hospital. Dr Oliver Gideon perched on the edge of the uncomfortable chair beside the bed in room 32B at Beachport Memorial Hospital and searched the pale face on the pillow for any sign that his words had been heard.
The night nurse had turned the patient’s face so he looked into the room. If he could see, that was. The comatose man’s eyelids remained obstinately closed after six months of long sleep. There wasn’t even a flicker of eye movement that Oliver could latch onto and pretend the patient dreamed, or merely slept. Those lids lay stubbornly still, immobile as the rest of the man.
Coma. It was supposed to have been a short-term state induced to enhance the body’s natural healing processes following Joseph Caldwell’s surgery. Instead, hours had stretched into days, and days into weeks, and still the man slumbered on, if sleep it could be called.
It didn’t matter that the patient’s eyes refused to open of their own accord. Oliver knew they were slate grey, almond-shaped and, when he was conscious, they telegraphed every emotion the man felt. Oliver knew that, because he’d stared down into those eyes on an operating table six months before, seen the interest in the grey depths turn to fear when he’d caught sight of the gas mask. Fear wasn’t unusual in his patients—he had a practised litany of words designed to ease the uncertainties of patients who were scared of losing consciousness.
Some people feared spiders, some feared the unknown. Joseph Caldwell, he sensed, feared losing control. He was a man who was accustomed to being careful. His whole being screamed caution and reserve, from the precisely trimmed hair to the neatly plucked eyebrows. If he peeked into the plastic carrier that held the man’s belongings he would surely find a pair of highly polished dress shoes, neat slacks, a button-down shirt and a tie. Even his build was a perfect balance of casual fitness, muscled but not buff, lean but not thin.
The patient had lost muscle and fat though over the ensuing weeks. Allowing his gaze to wander down the thin frame, skipping guiltily over the IV needles and catheter tubes, Oliver counted the man’s breaths for a minute. Each breath raised the thin sheet reassuringly, establishing Caldwell’s claim to life. Persistent, tenacious, clinging to life. He might look waxen and pale, but Joseph Caldwell lived, and that was something.
It wasn’t much consolation, and Oliver felt at times that if the man had died on the operating table he might have been better able to get over the whole mess. This lingering sleep-death tugged at his heart and head, made a mess of his entire reason for being. His mother clucked at him and told him he was obsessed. He might well be. He just couldn’t forget the way trust had replaced fear in that grey gaze, the way the man had held his gaze until sleep claimed him, had clutched Oliver’s hand until his body went limp.

“I could chuck it all,” he spoke. He sipped his coffee idly and grimaced at the bitter flavour. He’d forgotten the sugar again. “And go off to become a bohemian artist. Make splashes of colour on grey landscapes and tell the world I’m just misunderstood.” The idea had come to him more and more often of late. He had come to despise his job and the science behind it. Science he felt had betrayed him. All his life he’d loved the quantifiable, the predictable. When science screwed you over what else was there but art? Draining the cup to the dregs, he swallowed the strange lump in his throat that seemed to have been a near-constant problem for the last six months.

Crawl in Bed With Amanda Stone: The Adventures of Cole and Perry #pridepromotions #mmromance #authorinterview

Crawling Into Bed With Amanda C. Stone
And a Good Book

*Crawls up the bed to the pillows* Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?
As sexy as silk sheets are, there are too many options for bad things to happen. Like sliding of the side of the bed in an effort to look sexy for you. So we’ll stick with cotton. However I insist that they are either at least 1,000 thread count OR the t-shirt type where they are so soft you want to wrap yourself in them.

Speaking of t-shirts....What are you wearing?
I’ve got on my best pajamas just for you. You know an oversized t-shirt where you can see just a hint of shoulder, collar, and décolletage. The pants are soft and your favorite color of course. 

Green? For me? You do love me. What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?
A little bit of chocolate. And if we get it on each other, then we can always get creative in how we clean it up.

Uh... Hang on. I brought Wet Ones. Um... I mean wipes, of course. Gar! Okay, so if I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?
There’s a drawer there? I never knew there was a drawer. Let’s peek together and see what we find. Might be a fun adventure.

*eye roll* You mean you're one of those neat and organized people who doesn't even need a drawer to throw all your stuff in to? I never have enough spaces to put stuff. So, do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?
We’ll roll up like a burrito together.

*blinks* Oh no. No. I don't share my blankets. The SO says I'm more than a little OCD about them. I told him he's lucky he gets to share the bed. *ahem* Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
Of course! As long as you don’t mind my cold feet your calves. We’ll warm each other up.

*grimace* Okay. Fair is fair, I guess. What are we reading?

The Adventures Of Cole And Perry

It all started when Cole met Perry in a bar. Over three years they had some exciting adventures, and misadventures. The six stories included in this book are all about their journey from bar to wedding.
The Anniversary
Another cancellation of plans by his boyfriend forces Cole out to the neighborhood bar. Not long after arriving he meets Perry. Even as exciting as Perry is, he's unsure how the night will end.

The Fight
Cole and Perry are struggling to make time for each other and constantly at each other’s throats. A fight to the death will decide who is right or wrong in their arguments. But Cole really doesn't want to shoot Perry.

The Threesome
Deciding they want to spice up things in the bedroom, Perry wants to have a one-time threesome. Cole's nervous and doesn't want to ask any of their friends to join them. Perry finds the perfect solution.

The House
After two and a half years together, Cole and Perry want to buy a house. Once they find the perfect house, they get to spend their first morning together in their new space. Perry will have to help Cole decide which room is his favorite.

The Baby
Both Cole and Perry are exhausted. Taking care of a three month old is hard when she's up all night and is always hungry. If only they could find where they put the bottle warmer.

The Wedding
Cole is ready to make his commitment to Perry life-long. After careful planning, they created the perfect event. What could possibly go wrong? If only Cole didn't ask the same question.

Categories: Contemporary, Fiction, Gay Fiction, Humor, M/M Romance, Romance

“Cole. I have a surprise for you. I want you to close your eyes and keep them closed until I tell you to open them.”
Cole looked up from his magazine at the doorway Perry’s voice drifted in from. He put the magazine on his nightstand and closed his eyes.
“They’re closed,” he called out. He wasn’t sure where Perry was in their apartment, but he sounded close.
Rustling and a strange squeaking noise reached his ears. Cole furrowed his brows trying to figure out what Perry was up to and what he was hearing.
“Okay. Go ahead and open your eyes.”
Cole popped his eyes open. He closed them and then re-opened them again. Nope, he still was seeing what was in front of him.
“Perry. Why is there--?”
Perry cut him off before Cole could finish his thought.
“So, we had talked about fantasies and things like that. I told you this was mine. So I’d like to introduce you to Freddy. Freddy, I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Cole.”
Cole smiled at how nervous Perry was. His boyfriend was adorable trying to be brave with his ideas.
“Nice to meet you, um, Freddy. Perry, where did you meet Freddy?”
Perry had a small smile on his face that showed Cole he appreciated he was alright with what was happening.
“Online. I found Freddy on some website. Can’t remember the name now.”
Cole was stunned. His boyfriend didn’t go to those types of websites for any reason. Just meant Perry wanted to have the threesome and was willing to do it without asking one of their friends. Cole was so happy Perry had found a way to have his fantasy.


Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24515208-the-adventures-of-cole-and-perry

Rafflecopter Prize: $10 Gift Card to Amazon or AllRomance

Author Bio:
Armed with her Batman notebook, fourth grade Amanda C. Stone was ready to start writing stories about unicorns, family members, and her imaginary friends Pink Amanda and Blue Amanda. Today, Amanda is armed with a new notebook, along with a laptop, and a never ending supply of caffeine. Her stories are about all kinds of things, but the most important aspect is people falling in love.
Where to find the author:

Website: http://www.amandastonebooks.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/amandastonebooks
Twitter: https://twitter.com/amandastonebks
Newsletter Signup: http://eepurl.com/ZF60L
Email: amandastonebooks@gmail.com


Paper Sale! Limited # Order While in stock! #mmromance #smellthepages

Now on Sale! 
Paperback books are always so expensive, I hesitated to even make a paper edition of this one. But I was able to purchase author copies at a significant discount, which allows me to pass the savings on to the readers by selling them myself at a price lower than Amazon or Createspace will allow. 

The Park at Sunrise

 by Lee Brazil

Now in Paperback
(includes shipping and handling.)  


Also available through Amazon and Createspace for 7.99 plus shipping and handling. 

First they were three, now there are two. Can Jason and Morgan make a relationship work without Paul? 

For years the three of them had been inseparable, first as friends, then lovers. It's been ten years since they parted for what was supposed to be a year apart to pursue their dreams. This isn't the reunion they planned then. It's nine years too late for one thing, and they are one man short for another.

In the years since Paul's death, Morgan hasn't exactly been waiting for Jason to reach out to him. He's been too busy trying to forget, to move on. Until Jason sends the right message. Is the painting just an excuse to see his ex again?

The park at sunrise. How many nights had we ended up here? Coffee from the all-night truck stop in Jamestown in hand, steam rising as we walked, searching for that most exclusive private spot where we could see but not be seen. The bench that was sheltered by just the right number of trees, with the best view of the pond and the flagpoles and the sunrise.

Nights of parties, concerts, hanging out, or working had all ended in this spot. When the fun was done, we sobered up as the sun rose here. When we were exhausted from working those double shifts and pulling all-nighters, the sunrise reminded us why we worked so hard. When we were flying high on concert-induced endorphins, it spun wild dreams in our heads that spilled from our mouths in raucous harmony. The three of us, wrapped in one blanket, sipping from one bottle, from one cup, contemplated that sunrise. In snow and rain and heat and cold we huddled here. For four years, this place colored our lives in ways we couldn't imagine.

The bench we'd claimed as ours drew me onward. My feet recognized the path, if my mind did not. In the inside pocket of my too-thin-for-the-Colorado-cold-but just-right-for-California black leather jacket, the crinkle of paper jabbed at my soul. As much as anything else, it was why I was here.
When I found it, the bench was still the same with its old, wrought-iron rails and splintery wooden slats. I stopped. Progressing from here would be harder. The cold seeped through the inadequate leather soles of my knee-high black boots, chilling my feet. Once I'd known how to dress for the cold. Once cold hadn't mattered. I'd had their warmth to keep me warm. For years I'd had a vision, locked in my head. This bench, this park, the sun rising in the background. The first flakes of falling snow drifting down. On the bench, two men whose heads turned as I approached, who jumped to their feet with open arms and welcoming smiles. The first time we met here, the last time we met here.
Today, I had a memory. A sunrise that would start soon. I forced myself forward, placed one booted foot on the seat and hoisted myself into the familiar position, buttocks perched on the topmost slat of the bench. Splinters prickled against the seat of my 501s, but the first changing light as the sun made its appearance caught my gaze. Since the last time I'd sat here, the last time we'd been together, I hadn't sat through many sunrises. I'd observed a lot of sunsets on the Pacific coast, but the sunrise had become a time of regret.

As I leaned forward to rest my elbows on my knees and prop my chin in my hands, the crinkle of the envelope in my pocket and the crunch of dead leaves on the grass behind me competed for my attention. I drew the envelope from my inner pocket as the footsteps approached. I knew who it was. Had realized he would be here, though how he had known I would be was anyone's guess. It appeared to me that I hardly knew what I was doing, catching that plane, leaving behind friends and commitments. Me. Mr. Responsible. Reliable. Dependable. Had I even called in and told the principal I wouldn't be there for the last week of classes? I couldn't recall. He'd figure it out when the Calc I kids showed up for the key to the classroom, no doubt.

The sudden drag of a wool cap being tugged down over my long hair startled me. It shouldn't have. I should have predicted he'd be in this "taking care of Morgan" mode. At twenty two it had been endearing; at thirty two it pissed me off. Deep, calming breaths kept the anger manageable. Come here, do what needed to be done, get on the next plane back to California, back to emotional stability.
"I see you're dressed for the weather as always, Morgan." Jason's voice was husky, hesitant.
A pair of black knit gloves landing in my lap tipped me over that edge from making a snide remark to throwing an uncalled-for hissy fit.

My jaw clenched tightly. Screw breathing deeply. I yanked the cap from my head, pulling long strands of black hair from the band at my neck, and winced at the tiny pain. I flung the cap to the ground in front of us and looked up the black denim-clad legs to the black pea coat and beyond. My mouth opened to swear, but no sound came out. The hissy fit drained away to something else entirely. My pulse still raced, but for an entirely different reason.

How fair was that? How fucking fair was it that after ten years apart, my hair showed silvery streaks and my face showed my age, but Jason was still the slender, boyish youth of years gone by? Yeah, he'd shaved the dirty blond dreadlocks. Those wire-rim glasses were new, but he appeared as youthful and vibrant, untouched by life, alive as he had when we'd all parted years ago to make those sunrise dreams reality. His black jeans had the telltale smudges of paint, and I'd be willing to bet that underneath those leather driving gloves lurked more paint.

This wasn't the reunion we planned then. It was nine years too late, for one thing. We were one man short, for another.

The bench creaked as he perched next to me on the top slat, and instinctively I grabbed his knee to anchor both of us so we wouldn't topple backward. His hand covered mine before I could jerk it away, and he refused to relinquish it when I tugged. I gave in with ill grace. Jason’s touch stirred physical responses that I’d rather not experience.

"I sent you an invitation to my gallery opening last year."

"I got it."

"You couldn't make it." No judgment. Levelheaded, easygoing, that was Jason. I didn't even understand how he knew to send the damn invitation to the school in the first place. For all I knew, he still lived with his parents and painted in that fucking unheated studio over their garage.

I handed him the envelope. The envelope that had brought me here, as he had known it would, when nothing else could. "I want to buy it."

He shook his head. "It's not for sale. That's not why I sent it to you."

Heat pooled at the back of my neck, and the tiny, irritating noise of my own teeth grinding warned of a potential headache in the offing. I turned, made eye contact for the first time. "Then why? Why send it? Fuck, why paint it? How the hell could you even stand to paint that picture? It kills me that you could have done that, like it doesn't mean fucking anything to you." By the time I spit out the last words, my voice had risen enough to scare off the waterfowl in the pond.

The expression on his face was one I'd never noticed before. I thought I had all their expressions memorized, his and Paul's. Oh, Christ. "Paul." The name slipped out, the memories in. I dropped my head to my knees again, breaking eye contact. I had to create mental distance since physical wasn't possible. I was empty, raw. My stomach tightened and my eyes burned.

"Morgan, it means everything to me. It's all I have. That painting, it's the heart and soul of who I am, who you are, who Paul was." The hand clutching mine drew away, and I nearly protested as cold took its place. Then I felt him fussing. I rolled my eyes as he loosened the band from my hair and combed his fingers through it before gathering it back into a neater ponytail, smoothing the hairs pulled loose by the wool cap. It felt too good to be cared for like that again. I jerked upright and away.

"Damn it, Jason, I don't want to go there. We can't recapture the past! You are not my mother. You are not Paul." I narrowed my eyes and gave him the look that intimidated school board members and recalcitrant football players alike. "Why did you send it if you won't sell me the painting?"

"Were you here? May twenty-sixth, two thousand one? Because I was."

I stared at him. My anger was fading, heart rate returning to normal. The heat from earlier was replaced by a chill that had nothing to do with the low temperature. Surely he was kidding. "Why? Why did you bother? Paul was dead by then. You had to know I wouldn't come."

"No, I didn't. See, somehow, I never thought it was all about you and Paul. Somehow, I thought it was all about you, me, and Paul. I guess I naively believed that without Paul, you and I would need each other even more."

I couldn't speak, but the shock must have shown on my face. With an impatient sigh, Jason jumped from the bench. I automatically steadied myself, swaying slightly as the bench protested the sudden movement.

He tossed the photo from the envelope into my lap. "I have it crated and ready to ship. Pick it up at my parents' house any time. I won't be there."

I didn't look up. I didn't speak. I listened to his footsteps, muffled now by the snow that had fallen on the crunching leaves. As the colors changed and faded from the morning sky, I stared at the photo of the painting that had brought me here. Three men on a bench in a park at sunrise, three heads pressed together, three hands clasped. If one of the images was a little blurry, I couldn't tell if that was the artist's intent, the tears in my eyes, or the snow that fell on the photo.

ISBN-13: 978-1505678796
ISBN-10: 150567879X
Also available through Amazon and Createspace


M/M RomancesTranslated into French #gayromance #translation

In 2014, with the assistance of the fabulous Jade Baiser of Juno Translations, I have begun the task of translating my works into French. Currently, four titles are available with more scheduled to come throughout 2015.

Pour l'Amour de Jacob
Une histoire de désir, d'amour, de trahison.
 Et de secondes chances.

Lorsque le coup d'un soir de Malcom Jenner se transforme en quelque chose de plus, il n'hésite pas à supplier pour une seconde chance.
 Malcolm est à la recherche d'un peu de plaisir, rien de sérieux. Il a des devoirs et des responsabilités, après tout. Il ne choisit généralement pas ses amants au bureau, mais son attirance pour Jacob Renault est trop impérieuse pour qu'il puisse y résister.
Cependant, Jacob n'est pas intéressé par du temporaire. Il veut tout, le prince charmant, le château, le 'ils vécurent heureux jusqu'à la fin des temps'. Il n'y a cependant aucune règle qui dit qu'il ne peut pas avoir du plaisir pendant qu'il recherche son prince.
Dans un premier temps, aucun des deux n'est disposé à modifier sa position, mais un accord est conclu, chacun d'eux prévoyant de faire de son mieux pour changer le point de vue de l'autre. La luxure se transforme en amour, et ce qui est impossible devient simplement improbable, mais cela va-t-il être suffisant ?
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Le Parc a l'Aube

Ils étaient d'abord trois, ils ne sont maintenant que deux. Jason et Morgan peuvent-ils bâtir quelque chose sans Paul ?
Pendant des années, les trois avaient été inséparables, d'abord comme amis, puis comme amants. Cela faisait dix ans qu'ils s'étaient séparés pour ce qui était censé être un an pour poursuivre leurs rêves. Ce n'étaient pas les retrouvailles qu'ils avaient prévues. Pour commencer, elles ont lieu neuf ans trop tard, et il manque un des hommes.
Au cours des années qui ont suivi la mort de Paul, Morgan n'a pas vraiment attendu que Jason lui tende la main. Il avait été trop occupé à essayer d'oublier, à continuer sa vie. Jusqu'à ce que Jason lui envoie le bon message. Le tableau est-il juste une excuse pour revoir son ex ?

Parce que Tu es Toi

Les tatouages et les piercings de Devyn Strake sont sexys au possible, mais ce qui attire l’attention de Sully Moore est la tendresse avec laquelle son nouveau voisin s’occupe de son bébé.

Devyn ne devrait pas laisser son attraction pour son séduisant voisin le distraire. Il a des problèmes, et il doit faire de son bébé Kail sa première priorité.
Comment un bon flic peut-il trouver l’amour avec un mauvais garçon en difficulté ?

Riens de Moins que Toi

Une erreur de jeunesse conduit à une rencontre humiliante entre Nicholas Danville et Lord Victor Ware. Nicolas rentre chez lui en disgrâce et Victor continue sa vie dans le Ton. Des années plus tard les parents désapprobateurs de Nicholas l'envoient en ville pour retrouver un certain polissage avant qu'il se prépare à sa vie en tant que membre du clergé.
Une rencontre fortuite avec un vieil ami conduit à une nouvelle confrontation entre Nicholas et Victor. Cette fois, l'attraction entre eux brûle plus fort, Nicholas est suffisamment âgé pour savoir ce qu'il veut et Victor a fini de renier ce qu'il est.
De salles de bal aux jardins en passant par l'opéra, Victor veut prouver qu'une liaison passionnée entre deux hommes est possible, même sous le regard étroit du Ton.

Be Yourself

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ~e.e. cummings, 1955