Now Available: Mark's Opening Gambit #erotic #mmromance #malexmale

Good Morning! Today I have exciting news. I was able to complete the re-release of another of my Breathless Press titles, Mark's Opening Gambit. This one features gorgeous cover art by BP artist Victoria Miller. It was originally published in 2012 and is one of the first stories I wrote back when I began my career as a writer. There haven't been any significant alterations since the initial edition. This edition is available at Amazon    All Romance     Smashwords  (and its distribution outlets, to include B&N, KOBO, etc) and can be purchased direct from me, if you have a Paypal account, via the Payhip service.

MARK'S OPENING GAMBIT

The son of a wealthy business man, Mark Addison is an expert at chess and hiding. Mason Grant labors with his hands in a menial position; he's open about who he is and what he wants in ways that terrify Mark. Their paths shouldn't have crossed, but now that they have...

They came from different backgrounds, yet each adheres to his own version of family duty and responsibility. One would make any sacrifice for his family's well-being. For Mason Grant that means leaving school at sixteen and working hard while living as a man of integrity to set an example for his brothers.

The other would sacrifice anything to keep his family life calm. If that means hiding who he really is from his high society, narrow-minded parents, then that's what Mark Addison will do. He just wants to run his shop, host a few tournaments, play a few games of chess.

When Mason meets fussy, precise chess tournament director Mark, he isn't expecting much more than a few hours of uncomfortable sleep in his car while his brother plays.

One disdainful look from Mark changes that.

  

Purchase Links:  Amazon    All Romance     Smashwords     Payhip

EXCERPT:

Mason surreptitiously glanced around the neat interior of Mark's Opening Gambit. The café-slash-chess parlor wasn't his first choice of places to spend a Saturday, but when his brother begged a ride to the tournament, he'd caved immediately, despite the exhaustion and body aches he'd earned the night before. Unloading trucks and stocking shelves at the grocery store wasn't a mentally challenging job, but the night shift paid a dollar an hour more and the extra money came in handy. Times were tough, and a guy without a high school diploma didn't stand a whole lot of a chance of doing something better. It also left his mom free to take the day shift at the hospital where she worked, and Mason was available during the days to ferry his brothers around to their high school events and activities.

Such as chess tournaments hosted by button-down dress-shirt-wearing, hot as hell, snooty men. He might have been a bit more eager to play chauffeur if he'd realized the Mark his brother had spoken of glowingly was such an eyeful. He'd stepped through the shop door behind Johnny to find his gaze locked with a pair of eyes so deep and golden it was like he'd stepped into honey. He couldn't glance away for the longest time, and it took the other man's slow flush to make him realize he was being rude. That first sight of the tournament host had sent a warm awareness through him. He really wished that the sight of Mark Addison—Jesus, even his fucking name was holier than thou—wasn't so appealing. Mark was perfect. Fucking perfect, or perfect for fucking, with his neatly trimmed brown hair, touched with golden highlights, his slim, wiry body, not the product of a gym but of a man who led an active life. His lips enticed Mason, and he wanted to pull the puffy lower one between his teeth and bite down, to suck it into his mouth and devour the man with kisses. He wanted to touch the pale skin and see if it was as soft as it appeared, as cold as it seemed, to stroke away the distance in those eyes and make the Mark notice him.

The golden-brown gaze didn't warm in the slightest under his own admiring regard, but scanned his faded Levi's and tight T-shirt with disapproval. Mason half expected to be informed he didn't meet the dress code for the elegant little shop. Instead, Mark Addison looked him over and dismissed him as though he were beneath notice.

Shrugging off the snobbery, Mason slapped his brother on the back. "Go get 'em, kid. Or whatever you guys call it." Hoping to sleep in his car while his brother played, he turned to leave immediately.

He met Addison's eyes again, tried for a smile, but the arrogant host stared right through him. "Students participating in the tournament are to be supervised by adults at all times."

The inflectionless voice grated on his nerves as much as the pronouncement. It wasn't like these were two-year-olds, for God's sake. It was Chess Club. By virtue of their very geekiness, they were mature, well-behaved teens.

Too bad such a sexy voice and face belonged to such a prick. Unfortunately for Mason, he couldn't focus on Johnny's progress through the tournament. All he seemed able to focus on was that slim figure moving between the tables, the unconscious grace of the small man's movements, the seductive draw of tightening khaki across his backside as he bent to survey a board or pick up something from the floor.

Addison scowled as Mark glared at him again, turning and facing resolutely out the window into the parking lot. In the reflection the glass provided, he watched Mark excuse himself from Ainslie, the kids' coach, and head in his direction, a determined expression on his face.

Good. The self-righteous prick had noticed him. Mark stopped right next to him, and they stood gazing out into the parking lot together.

"Stop staring at me like that."

Mason snorted, turned to look down at the shorter man. "Like what?"

The older man twitched and licked his lips. Mason stifled the groan that wanted to escape. He shifted restlessly.

"You know. Like...that."

"Like I want to throw you over my shoulder and take you out of here and fuck you? Sorry. Can't do that." Fascinated, he noted the flush on Mark's cheekbones deepen, heard the hitch in his breathing, and knew that he'd been right. Chemistry burned between them.

"You..." Mark glanced cautiously around the shop at the kids concentrating so fiercely on their chess games, the proud parents and coaches peering anxiously at their little darlings. Mark stuttered to a stop before starting again. "Not here. We need to talk privately. Meet me behind the shop in ten minutes."

Whoa. He hadn't expected that. Maybe Mark's buttoned-down appearance was deceptive. Mason looked forward to cracking that calm reserve and proving to the man that the clothes they wore didn't define their roles. He nodded in acknowledgment, and Mark wandered away to check on the progress of the tournament. Mason headed straight to the front door, aware all the while of Mark's furtive glances. He exited the shop and headed to his beat-up old Jetta, so at odds with the shiny BMWs and SUVs that surrounded it in the parking lot.

A brief stop at the car to pick up some things he'd need, and he strolled casually around the corner of the building, thankful that the chess café was at the end of the strip mall and not in the middle. Behind the shop was a Dumpster, and strangely enough, a wrought-iron table and two chairs on the cemented area that should have been an unloading bay. Mason noted with interest the ashtray and coasters on the table. A few potted palms provided a bit of shade and some privacy, but not enough for anything too intimate. Mark had created a little garden back here. Mason's absorption in the details of the environment convinced him that he'd overestimated Mark's intentions. More private than the store itself, yes, but hardly secluded enough for any real interaction of a physical sort.

He spied Mark peering through the back door of the shop. At the grocery store where Mason worked, the back doors were battered and grimy. Not so at Mark's Opening Gambit. The door to the back room of the shop was a shiny, pure white, fresh scrubbed, or painted or whatever. Not so much as a fingerprint marred its pristine surface, much like not so much as a hair on Mark's head dared stray out of place. It made Mason want to grab a crayon and write on the walls, muss up the environment just like he wanted to muss up those locks of brown hair.  Mark's sweet lips pressed tightly together, and his cheeks flushed, from anger or arousal maybe, as he caught sight of Mason.

Mason found his gaze drawn to those lips, wanting to pry them apart and soothe the tension from them with caresses of his mouth and tongue. He licked his suddenly dry lips in anticipation as Mark approached.

Honey-colored eyes sparkled with emotion as Mark came within touching distance. Mason fought the urge to yank him even closer as Mark halted, gazing up. He felt again the strange drowning sensation as he stared down into those eyes, unable to glance away. Thank God Mark seemed to experience it, too, because whatever angry words he'd been about to spout died on his lips as Mason ran a big, calloused palm along the smooth-shaven curve of Mark's jaw, feeling his indrawn breath as much as he heard it. The softness of Mark's jaw on his own work-roughened skin was thrilling, and Mason bent down, tilting his head to the side before smoothly bringing their lips together. With the merest brush of contact, he paused to allow Mark the chance to refuse the kiss, to pull away, to slap his face, to ream him out for having the gall to touch.

When no protest came, he sighed with relief. His eyelids drifted shut, and he pressed his parted lips more firmly on the soft, sweet lips below his own. Carefully, ignoring the throbbing demands of his body, he tasted the plump curves that had held his gaze. Not wanting to startle Mark, Mason ran his tongue lightly over those sensual lips, sliding his hand from the taut line of jaw around to the nape of Mark's neck, burying his fingers in the fine, silky strands of hair there.

Mark's unresisting acquiescence was far from the response he wanted. He guided the man's head to a better angle and slipped his tongue into the waiting cavern. Mark trembled in response. Mason wanted Mark to burn as he did, to feel the same urgent desire to throw caution to the wind and make love here in the open behind the shop. He wouldn't go that far in this public setting, of course, but he wanted to strip away the distance in Mark's eyes and make him a part of the present, force him to respond, to reach for Mason with the same urgency that Mason yearned for him.

He'd nearly given up when Mark shoved him abruptly away, glaring at him with angry golden eyes. Instead of the passion he'd hoped to inspire, the other man appeared scared, panicky even. Mason stepped forward, guilt urging him to offer comfort.

Mark scowled at Mason and pushed backward, dropped into one of the wrought-iron chairs, and reached into a pocket to pull out a packet of cigarettes. His gaze darted left and right as though searching for someone. "No. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Guilt at causing Mark's near panic, anger at being pushed aside, and, to some degree, sheer exhaustion had words spilling from Mason's mouth before he could evaluate them. "Hey, I get it. No means no. Yeah. Like I'd want to kiss a wax doll again anyway."

He spun on his heel and stalked away from the little oasis in back of the strip mall, ignoring Mark's harshly indrawn breath behind him. He shoved a hand into his pocket and curled his fingers tightly around the condom and lube he'd shoved there. Thinking with his dick. Fucking lucky he hadn't gotten knocked on his ass literally instead of figuratively.

Story Orgy Presents: Like A Wolf pt. 7 #mmromance #storyorgy #prompt

Good morning all! Before we get into today's post, I have NEWS. Story Orgy is planning a new anthology for this fall. In order to do that, we need PROMPTS from you! Please email your suggestions to lee.brazil@ymail.com or leave them in the comments here. Prompts are due by March 15th- so we don't have a lot of time. What are we looking for? 
Three things: A super power, a crisis, and a random object. 

Got it? Put on your thinking caps and let the good times roll! 

And without further ado, here it is

Like A Wolf

A Little Red Riding Hood Story In Which the Wolf Must Choose Between Innocent Red, and the Seductively Skilled Hunter He’s Been Toying With For Years

Chapter Seven
Mar 2: It was a false alarm.

“So where are you?” Robert glared around the nearly empty parking lot in the pre-dawn darkness. Even this early, before the sun had quite made its way over the tree line and the sky was shot with gunmetal and orange, he could tell it was going to be another gorgeous, warm day. 

“Uh… Sorry, Robbie. I’m--” Saul seemed a bit frantic when he answered the phone. “Having a bit of trouble.”

Morning sounds...the ticking of the engine, the hushed voices of the trees, and the occasional chirp or twitter of a bird filled the car, seeping in through the open window. Robert felt it all pressing in on him, along with the memory of how excited- stupidly excited, naively excited- he’d been driving over to Hank’s place the night before. He pushed open the door and bolted from the car and the memory of his behavior. Starry-eyed idiot that he’d been.

“Are you having car trouble?” The coffee he’d been sipping had long since gone cold, and the pit of his stomach was once more tied up in knots. Hank Wolf. The reason for his dawn appearance at the gym wasn’t far from his mind. Forget him. He’s already forgotten you. He glanced around again. Still no sign of Saul’s beater, and no sign of Saul. Just his luck, Saul’s little VW had probably finally decided to call it quits for good on some little side street. “Did Bess break down again? Do you need me to come get you?”

“No! Don’t come over. I’m… er. I’m a little tied up at the moment.” His friend’s voice rose in a squeak. 

Clearly the trouble Saul was having was to his liking. Sighing heavily, Robert sank onto the hood of his car, grimacing as it shifted under his weight. “You promised you’d be here to tell me about these machines.” The whiny note in his voice didn’t escape his notice, but he figured he deserved a few hours of whining over his lost maybe-love before he sucked it up and got on with his life.  

“I know.” Somehow Saul managed to sound both sympathetic and impatient. Having a friend who was a personal trainer had seemed a godsend when he’d wanted a distraction. 

The elastic waistband of Robert’s unaccustomed nylon shorts dung into his skin uncomfortably. He glanced morosely at the gym. Even this early he could see people inside… moving about the business of getting fit. Robert squeezed the soft flesh on his side with his free hand. Flabby. He’d never been one for a hard body… workouts were boring and gym class… He shuddered. “I don’t know anything about this. I was counting on you, Saul.”

“It’s not….” Saul stopped on a gasp. “Difficult. There should be someone at the desk. Tell them I said you should get started by warming up on a stationary bike. I’ll be there in a half hour.” Voices murmured in the background. Saul choked, his breath loud and harsh in Robert’s ear. “Forty-five… minutes.”

“Oh my god. You… Forget it. Take your time Saul. You can teach me about weights and cardio what-nots tomorrow.” He closed his phone without waiting for Saul to say good-bye. Straightening from the hood of the car, he eyed the gym with disfavor. The absolute last thing he wanted to do after a sleepless night in which he was haunted at various turns by memories of Hank’s lovemaking and the humiliating encounter with Hank’s… ex-boyfriend -  was walk into a gym full of physically fit specimens who would remind him of the handsome, blonde, smiling, suave everything-Robert-Redding-wasn’t man who’d calmly entered Hank’s house, calling out  “Hi, honey I’m home” in the absolute worst Desi Arnaz impression Robert had ever heard. 

The building in front of him epitomized everything he’d ever hated about gym as a kid. He was about to go in there and strip down to his workout clothes. Everyone in the room would see the flab of his stomach, the softness he’d never outgrown. 

Baby fat his parents had called it. 

Well, he was long past being a baby, and if he ever hoped to measure up to Hunter Grym, the fabulously beautiful ex… Well, not that he could do that. “Fuck this.” He took a determined step toward the door, then whirled around and dove for his car. “Fuck this. Measure up?”

He pulled open his car door and slid into the seat. “I’m happy the way I am. I don’t need to lose weight or tighten up for any man.” But he didn’t put the key in the ignition, and he couldn’t look away from the scene before him. 

“God damn it.” He jumped out and then slammed the door behind him. “I’m going to do a half hour on the exercise bike, but just because I want to. Not for him. Since I’m here and awake.” And you have nowhere else to go.

Inside the gym, a cute but athletic man stood at a counter with a clipboard. Exactly the sort of man Robert usually gave a wide birth, maybe unfairly, but nevertheless. He didn’t need a judgmental gym bunny making him feel bad about his physique. He managed that well enough on his own. 

Girding his loins, and maybe… just maybe sucking in his stomach a tiny bit, Robert approached, trying to convey confidence. “Hi. Saul Rosenthal sent me. I'm Robert Redding. I’d like to do a half hour on one of the exercise bikes this morning.”

The blond looked up quickly, smiling genuinely. “Welcome! Saul’s usually here by now himself. I'm going to need you to fill out some paperwork and sign a waiver.”

“A waiver?” He accepted the clipboard and pen the man handed him, reluctantly. “What am I waiving?”

“Oh… nothing important. Just verifying that you understand you work out at your own risk and that you won’t be able to sue us if you drop a weight on your foot or something.” Delicate lashes fluttered and rosy lips stretched in an entrancing smile. “Emergency contact information… the usual.”

Blinking rapidly, Robert glanced down at the papers. “Do you get a lot of accidents?” His doubts were multiplying. 

“Oh no… Why we’ve been accident free for seventy-seven days now, and that one hardly counted.” 

“Um…” The farmers’ market was looking like a better deal every minute. “I just wanted to use an exercise bike for a bit.” 

“Sorry sweetie. Those are the rules. I’d lose my job if I let you in there,” he jerked his head in the direction of the equipment room, “without filling that out.”

“Walking is good exercise, right?” He could walk the farmer’s market without filling out any papers… and if he happened to bump into Hank Wolf while he was there, well… Well then, he’d probably compound his humiliation of the night before by acting like a blithering idiot. “You got a pen?”

***

An artisan cheese maker’s blue eyes reminded Hank of Red. He ended up buying more cheese than he could use- with visions of fondues and gratins and the sexy, sensual sounds of Red moaning in appreciation as his eyes closed and he chewed Hank’s culinary creations. 

Pork and duck bacon, crisp green apples, and golden raisins joined the cheeses in the back of his truck, and Hank leaned against it, watching the sun climb higher in the sky. 

His shopping was done. He was less than a mile from Red’s diner… and it was early yet. Hunter wouldn’t be expecting him to call for another hour or more. 

There was time for him to stop by and see Red… to explain that he wasn’t really as big an asshole as he’d seemed the night before. “And what would that accomplish?” He asked the cheese laden truck. “A second date? Another meal?” A chance to get Red out of his clothes and back in Hank’s bed again? Provided Hunter found another place to stay that was. 

God damn it. 

He slammed the tailgate with more force than necessary and climbed into the cab of the truck without acknowledging to himself that he was going to the diner. The drive was fast, traffic and lights cooperating in a kind of synergy of fate that had him through the door of the diner in less than five minutes. 

Once again he sat at the counter, and this time a sylph-like waif of a girl with spiky black hair and a silver lip ring was working. “Hi, I’m Bella. I'll be your waitress. Can I get you a drink while you look over the menu?”

His glance flicked to the name tag, remembering his previous waitress and her assertion that Robert insisted on them. “Thanks Bella. Is Red in?”

She stared at him blankly. 

“Robert?” 

“Oh yeah. He’s in back scrubbing down the walk-in and getting in everyone's way. You want to see him? Who should I say is here?”

“You have to tell him a name?” He debated making something up, but what was the point? “I’m Hank.”

“What are you doing here?” Before the waitress could walk off, Red appeared in the swinging doors, his cheeks red, a bleach scented rag in one hand. The pretty, plump lips he’d kissed the night before were narrowed into a tight, angry line. 

“I was at the farmer’s market, and I thought I’d stop by and see about some lunch.” He flinched at the way Red’s eyes narrowed, the clenching of his jaw. 

“I’m not cooking for you.” Red ground out, lips barely moving. “You can order off the menu like everyone else.”

“Fair enough,” Hank nodded, striving to keep his voice soothing. “Can we talk?”

“I'm working.” He didn’t walk away though, and Hank took that as an encouraging sign. “And I have plans for this evening.”

“Can you just let the walk-in sit for a minute and come outside with me? We can walk in the sun and… Let me apologize for last night?” When did he decide he was going to apologize?

“Is that what brings you here? Well there’s no need to apologize. We had a nice meal, a little fun. What’s to apologize for?”

The blasé attitude would have pissed Hank off, if he hadn’t known for a fact that it was faker than the waitress’s hair color. “Then why are you angry?” For some reason, Red’s anger settled the emotions Hank had been wrestling with all morning. “I didn’t plan to do this in front of everyone, but if that’s the way you want it, I’m game. I don’t mind. I’m sorry that Hunter showed up like that in the middle of the night. He doesn’t live with me, and we haven’t been together in….” He paused to calculate. “Damn near a year. We broke up… I broke up with him, I should say.”

“He named your garden gnome.” Red pouted at him, and Hank felt lighter.

“Well, yeah. But there was a lot of beer involved and Octoberfest…” He smiled coaxingly. “I’ve been walking the farmer’s market all morning. How about making me something to eat?”

“How about you get today’s special?” Red nodded at the whiteboard. “After all, you inspired it.”

Hank’s gaze followed the nod. Creamy mushroom and onion soup, beet and goat cheese grilled cheese. Dark, earthy and interesting. “I’ll do it. Are you selling a lot of them?”

Shrugging, Red blushed slightly. “Not as many as we are of the tomato bisque with grilled American croutons. It’s a new thing. Not all of my customer base is adventurous.”

He backed through the door, and Hank watched him go, conscious of a smile twitching at his lips. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out, setting it on the counter in front of him. The call was from the restaurant, so he sent them a quick text with instructions for how to get started preparing for the evening’s meal. 

“So… you’re Hank, huh?” 

Bella was back, eyeing him curiously as she fussed unnecessarily with a place setting for him. 

“I am. Henry Wolf, actually, and according to my mother, but my father and I settled on Hank long ago.” What the ever-loving fuck? He was babbling. Hank Wolf… never babbled. He spoke with intent and purpose. His restaurant staff called him curt. “And you’re Bella.” It just didn’t bear examination. Though since his mind was still on the fact that Red had created a daily special inspired by him… and that he was absurdly flattered by that… 

“Yes. You know Robert from somewhere?”

“Oh Red and I are good friends.” 

“Did he really say that he made this lunch special up just for you?” She tilted her head curiously to the side, and left off playing with the silverware and the linen place mat to fidget with the salt and pepper and napkin holders. 

“That’s what I heard him say.” Pleasure in the fact still hummed through his being, making him warm and tingly and … damn. Hank grabbed his phone and started keying in the ideas as fast as he could in One Note. 

“It’s just that usually his recipes are old-fashioned, traditional things that he talks about his mom and grandmere making when he was a boy.”

Hank snorted softly. “He’s still a boy. Barely twenty-five.” His fingers flew on the tiny virtual keyboard. There. Got it. The perfect dessert for tonight’s menu. He set the phone down and turned back to Bella. “I’ve met his grandmere. She’s quite an adventurous lady.”

“I’m twenty-nine. And yes, she is.” 

The plate Red set before him was beautiful. The mushroom soup wasn’t grey and murky like many, but a delightful golden brown, topped with thin crispy mushrooms, a sprig of parsley, and a dollop of pale cream with a faint green cast. “Tell me about it?” He asked, unable to take his eyes from the plate. He pulled it closer, inhaling the rich aroma, mushroom and beef, and something else. 

“It’s a green cream- flavored with beet greens. It’s really subtle.” Red sounded flustered now. He probably wasn’t used to people demanding that he talk about the food he made. “And um… mushroom soup, with beef stock and--”

“It looks and smells amazing.” Hank cut him off, scooping up a spoonful of soup and sipping a bite. The deep, complex flavors burst in his mouth, garlic and funky mushroom, sweet and savory, a hint of acid. “And tastes amazing as well.” He ate a few more bites under Red’s beaming gaze. “You keep cooking like this, and Guy Fieri will be knocking on your door before you know it.”

“I’m not cooking to impress Guy Fieri. I just want to feed people.”

The flavor of the food became secondary to the emotion behind that statement, and Hank remembered the panic he’d felt the night before…. the impression that Red was looking for more than he was capable of giving. “Only now, he realized that that wasn’t it at all. 

He had a capacity to love. He’d loved Hunter after all. And therein lay the crux of the problem. What if he did… love Red? Then Red, like Hunter, moved on? 

“Hank? Are you okay?”

“Fine.” He pushed the bowl away. “This is great, but I’ve got to get back to the restaurant.” It was running. He knew it… Just as long as Red didn’t, then it was all good.

TO BE CONTINUED 

If you enjoyed my post, click on over to the rest of the Orgiasts and read more! 

Hank Edwards

Havan Fellows 

EM WOODS

Back on the Virtual Shelves: The Librarian Returns! #mmromance #rerelease #erotic

Hey all! Just a note that one of my very first books, The Librarian, is once more available.  It's been revised, re-edited, and re-covered with fabulous artwork by the talented Laura Harner.

Currently Available at

AMAZON

Smashwords  All Romance 

or 

Purchase Direct From Author 

(Via PayPal. Mobi, Lit, Epub, and pdf formats)

Amazon & Barnes & Noble Links Pending 

A rash vow of celibacy puts Valentine Michaels in the path of seduction.

Val is at a crossroads in his life. A college dropout, he's gone as far as he can in his career as a cosmetologist, owning his own style salon. He no longer finds satisfaction in it, though he's put years into proving to his bigoted parents that a college degree and the veneer of straightness aren't the only roads to success. They'd turned their backs on him, and he proved he didn't need them to make it.

His love life is no better than his working life. His relationships always start with a bang and fizzle into boredom, or worse, anger.

Adrian has his own agenda for helping Val: he's been in love with Val since they were freshmen. The intervening years of listening to Val's gossip about his lovers and relationships have taught Adrian just what it was he did wrong all those years ago, and he thinks this time around he now knows exactly how to get—and keep—his man.

EXCERPT 

Prologue

Adrian sat on his bed, statistics book open in his lap, studying for the test he had in the morning. The subject matter fascinated him, but his attention kept drifting to the clock on the desk across the room. The closer midnight came, the more frequently his gaze returned to the red numbers. Where had Val gone? He'd said, but Adrian had barely listened, absorbed in his book. What if something had happened to him?

His hand drifted toward the cell phone on his night table, and he picked it up. He stared down at the little device, the latest technology available. His parents had bought it and brought it up to him with his clean laundry last Sunday. They'd been so proud of it, Dad explaining all the neat features of the phone, Mom insisting on snapping a few pictures of him with it.

Adrian had stayed in their dorm room since he'd left the library at five. Val hadn't called. He flipped the phone open and checked anyway. Fully charged, as always. No messages, no calls. Except the three from his mother earlier, making sure he'd hung up the shirts she'd ironed for him, reminding him to keep the phone charged, and to eat vegetables with his dinner. He saved the messages. She would like that.

He tried to turn his attention back to his book and the test that loomed, but thoughts of what Val might be doing, and who he might be doing it with, kept intruding. They hadn't made any commitments, but he and Val had shared a bed for the past week, and he'd known he loved Val since October, when he'd kissed his blue-haired roommate for the first time. A spontaneous, awkward, drunk kiss during a dorm Halloween party, neither he nor Val had mentioned it when they sobered up the next day, though Adrian treasured the memory as the most wonderful kiss he'd ever experienced.

That had been a month ago, and in the last few weeks Val had broken up with his boyfriend, and Adrian secretly thrilled to hold his friend and offer support. One thing had led to another, one fumbling kiss to a caress, the caress to sex. From that night on, they had slept here together, exploring and learning each other's bodies, wants, and desires.

But this morning, Val had mumbled something about not waiting up for him. Adrian, too busy rushing to get ready for class and his upcoming exam, paid Val little attention. Now he wished he had. It might have saved him this anxious, sharp pain in his stomach, the heaviness of his heart. Events were scheduled all over campus. He had no chance of finding Val at any of them. Pep rallies, concerts, lectures, study groups. He wouldn't even recognize any of Val's punky friends if he ran into them.

The thump of feet in the hallway stopping outside their door drew his attention. His gaze fastened on the door and he heard the click of Val's key in the lock as the knob turned. The sight of his roommate's flushed cheeks, plump, red, kiss-swollen lips, and crazily mussed blue hair sent his heart plummeting and his stomach churning. He swallowed to keep from throwing up, and forced himself to speak.

"Where have you been?" Adrian cringed at the whiny need in his voice.

Val's head turned in slow, languid fashion and Adrian flinched. Fuck. He tried the word out inside his head, ignoring the heat along his cheekbones. His mother would freak if he ever said it out loud. It fit though. He knew that look. Val had just that look when he came. When Adrian sucked his cock, or stroked him to orgasm, he looked exactly like that: sated, flushed, and happy. But Adrian hadn't put that look there tonight.

Val's eyes lit up when he saw Adrian watching him, and he stumbled forward to collapse in a heap across the neatly folded quilt Adrian's grandma had hand-stitched for him as a graduation gift. "I'm in love." He moaned, twisting onto his side gingerly to face Adrian.

Adrian struggled to keep his face interested and not show his devastation. He was in love too. "You went on a date?"

Val nodded, his eyes drifting closed dreamily. "He's so awesome, Adrian. He's on the football team. Blond hair, blue eyes, the broadest shoulders…" Voice trailing softly away, Val's own blue-eyed gaze snapped up and locked on Adrian's. "And man, he's got skills. I've never felt like that before."

Adrian nodded, keeping an encouraging look on his face, and he closed the statistics book in his lap. No studying would happen now. He listened, his heart breaking slowly, as Val described his new boyfriend in elaborate detail.

Chapter One

Impatiently, Val flipped his powder-blue locks over his shoulder, tapping the little whisk broom against the counter where his supplies were arranged neatly. "Derek, you left me standing around at Paul's for an hour, a place I totally hate by the way, without even a phone call to say you weren't coming, and then I walk past you playing ball in the park with your friends on the way back here. I'm not overreacting!"

He ran a swift eye over his supplies. Scissors, combs, spray bottle with water, gel, mousse. Everything in order. While he prepared his workstation, he listened with half an ear to the deep voice on the other end of the phone, trying to explain or rationalize or whatever, but he wasn't into hearing what Derek had to say. The guy was an immature jerk who put his own wants ahead of everything, even if it meant leaving Val standing in a group of young college kids he barely knew, in a bar he usually avoided like the plague. He'd gone to the party in the first place for Derek. Being stood up while doing something so selfless pissed him off. Just once in a relationship, Val wanted to find a guy who put him first, who loved him more than sports, friends, and all the other temptations the wicked world offered. "Just forget it, Derek. You don't get it. It's not just last night; it's the whole last few months."

More rumbling and babbling in his ear. He ran a dust cloth over the client's chair and then adjusted its height. Prepping his station at the salon was second nature and required little of his attention. Kind of like listening to Derek. Why the fuck do I listen to this shit? Derek had all the emotional understanding of a two-ton truck. Cute as hell, but clueless about what would melt Val's heart. In fact, Derek might accurately be called dense altogether. A little consideration, a romantic gesture or two, would go a long way. Hell, an apology instead of an excuse would probably have gotten him a second chance even this morning. Eh. Who are you kidding? Derek is a symptom, not the illness itself. "Fuck off, Derek. It's over. Do me a favor and lose my number, okay?"

Flipping the phone shut, he shoved it into the pocket of his smock and busied himself cleaning up his workspace. A quick spray of glass cleaner to the mirror, a swipe or two with a rag, and he was done. Done with Derek, done with men, done with romance and love and sex, and fuck it all. He could be celibate. Masturbation didn't count as sex, did it? He'd need something if he wasn't getting any.

"Hey, Smurfette, your professor is here."

It happened. Just like that. Ted's sarcastic statement, delivered in his superior nasal twang, made Val's vow of celibacy probably the shortest in history. He put down the small whisk broom he'd been using to clean up his already spotless workstation and dusted his hands off on his powder-blue smock. The smock he had chosen deliberately to match his hair this morning because it highlighted his eyes and skin tone, even though he knew wearing it would invite the gangly receptionist to make Smurf comparisons. He'd only just made the solemn promise to himself to take a break from men and get his head screwed on straight before venturing back into the dating arena. He'd been celibate for all of five minutes maybe, if you didn't count the previous six days when he could have had sex with Derek if he wanted to, but he hadn't because he didn't. Want to, that was.

He'd almost forgotten about his regular ten fifteen appointment with Adrian Grey. Val shook his head. He knew better than that. That would be a lie and Valentine Michaels knew better than to lie. He did it so very badly. He could never completely forget about Adrian. They'd been friends for nearly ten years, since they were roommates in the dorm freshman year at NCU. Heck, for a few brief days, they'd been something more than friends, even. Though he didn't usually primp like this for his exes.

Adrian Grey, though hot as hell, exemplified everything Val was not looking for in a man. Where Val liked big, muscular men who towered over him, Adrian was only an inch or so taller than he was. Val preferred blonds, but Adrian wore his straight black hair cut long enough to curl under his jawline in front and curved higher in back to meet the university library's requirement that all male employees wear their hair above the collar. The wire-rim glasses he wore on a fine rope around his neck gave him a distracted air of intelligence and emphasized the almost delicate aspect of his refined features. His jawline was smooth and silky, whereas Val preferred the sexy appeal of rough, two-day stubble.

Everything about Adrian said successful, young professional. Adrian was solid, dependable, and reliable. All those -able words that no one had ever applied to Val. There was intelligence in those blue eyes, and humor in the tilt of that rosy mouth, and sexy didn't begin to describe his lean, firmly muscled body.

"He's a librarian, you ass," he snapped at Ted. "And he's not my type." Type or not, Val found himself checking out his hair in the mirror, adjusting the powdery blue strands as he bit then licked his lips. Ah, well, he was a beautician, wasn't he? He had to look good, even for the clients who didn't want something creative in their personal look. Surreptitiously he breathed on his hand, checking his breath, and swiped his lips with a tube of clear gloss he pulled from the pocket of his smock. And, he reasoned triumphantly, he could appreciate beauty where he saw it for the exact same reason! And Adrian was beautiful in his geeky way.

He looked up and met Adrian's eyes in the mirror as the other man strode to the reception desk to receive his share of the crap that Ted dished out without prejudice. Mmm. That blue oxford really brings out the sparkle in Adrian's eyes, doesn't it?

"Come on back. I'm all ready for you." You have no idea how ready, he snickered inside as he spun the chair and waved Adrian to sit.

He always chatted away while trimming Adrian. It wasn't like he needed to concentrate in order to trim Adrian's hair into the same style he'd been wearing for the past six years. He rolled his eyes. Another thing about Adrian that was so not his type: Adrian resisted change. He even used the same fucking cell phone he'd had in college. Val used to try to convince Adrian to try a new cut once in a while, but Adrian liked what he liked and refused all offers to dye, cut, or curl his hair into something other than the style he already wore. The chat distracted him from the heat of Adrian's body and the enticing scent of his cologne. It prevented his imagination from running away with him. In the past, the conversation had served as a reminder that Adrian was off-limits.

Gesturing slightly with his scissors and comb, he asked, already knowing what the answer would be, "So, are you going to let me cut this in a different style for you today?"

As expected, Adrian simply shook his head and seated himself in the waiting chair.

"So," Adrian said, when Val found himself tongue-tied for the first time in their long history of Friday morning haircuts, "what's new in your life? Or should I say, who's new in your life? Ted just told me you broke up with Derek."

Val flushed. Was that really the impression he'd given of himself? He came off as the kind of guy who couldn't last a week without a lover?

A bit hurt, he snapped, "What? Like I always have to have a boyfriend? There's no one right now. After that dumb-shit Derek, I'm taking a break from men for a while."

Adrian jerked in the chair, and Val cursed. "Be still. You could end up with a new hairstyle whether you want one or not, jumping like that!"

"Sorry. Just what exactly do you mean by taking a break from men?" The other man seemed bewildered for some reason.

"I mean," he declared dramatically, tossing his head, "I've taken a vow of celibacy. I'm swearing off men, drama, and love."

Adrian laughed softly. "Oh. That'll last. The next pretty boy with bulging muscles who strolls through that door for a haircut, or offers to buy you a drink at the bar, and you'll be back in the game, heartbreak forgotten."

Val gasped. "Oh, that was uncalled for! I'm not exactly heartbroken, just reevaluating where I stand on some issues. I'm tired of leading such a messy life. I need to figure myself out before I get involved with anyone else."

"I'm sorry," Adrian apologized. "I shouldn't tease you. It's just that I've known you since we were freshmen at the university, and ever since then, for ten years, you've always had a boyfriend—usually some muscle-bound, superhero jock-type."

Sighing, Val stilled his hands and met Adrian's eyes in the mirror. There was sympathy in the blue depths, but more, there lurked something indecipherable that he hadn't seen before. "It's not just Derek, Adrian," he confessed in a low voice. "It's all of it. Everything. The shop bores me. The bars and clubs are filled with younger and younger people every time I go, and I'm like a babysitter, or God forbid, my mother. Have you heard that crap they call music now?" He shook his head and went back to trimming fractions of hair from silky black locks and brushing strays from the blue oxford collar. Finished, he put aside the tools of his trade.

Adrian rose from his chair and scribbled something on a card he pulled from his shirt pocket. "Here's my cell number. Call me anytime if you need someone to listen or want to get together."

Val stared as the other man turned and left the salon brushing stray hairs from his shirt as he did so. Down, boy. He glared at his cock where it arched up beneath the buttons of his 501s. He's not your type, remember? No amount of lecturing could convince his dick though. Maybe type was one of the things he'd need to reevaluate. He tossed the number in the trash, almost hoping Adrian would see him do it. Like he needed it. He'd had that phone number memorized for ten years. Not that he used it. Who needed a phone call when Adrian arrived every Friday, regular as clockwork? Slowly he wandered to the front of the shop, past Ted in his black, horn-rimmed glasses and bleach-splattered clothing, and on out the door, startling as he realized he was following Adrian.

New Release: Take Time #mmromance #holidaystory #gay

New Release

Take Time

A Holiday M/M Romance

Previously serialized at Lee's Musings, new material added, first time in ebook format

Limited Time Offers

Offers valid until Dec. 31, 2014

25% off at https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-taketime-1711239-149.html

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Watson McQuade has big dreams, a spirit of adventure, and a craving for professional success that can't be nurtured in a small town. Fortunately for him, he also has a loving boyfriend who's been his best friend since junior high, who understands his dreams and encourages him to follow them.

Having survived the deaths of his parents and grandmother, Embry Conrad, artist, coffee shop owner, small town boy, knows all about loss. Although a perfect day for Em starts with Wats in his bed, and ends exactly the same way, Em knows Watson's urge to experience life outside their little neck of the woods comes first, and he's willing to indulge Watson's dreams, because Watson always comes home. He learned the hard way that sometimes if you love something, you have to set it free.

Although long distance relationships are hard, the reunions each time Wats returns to Turtle Neck Creek keep Em satisfied, until the day he realizes that a year has passed since Watson's last homecoming. Now it's time to make a choice—take time to fight for what he wants or set his lover free…forever.

Take Time

Chapter One

Harry Connick Jr.'s baritone voice warbled in the background, bemoaning the advent of a "Blue Christmas." The rich scent of coffee and pumpkin spice muffins filled the air, wafting up from the coffee shop below.

If Embry concentrated, underneath Harry's soothing tones, he could distinguish the complex rumble of customers' voices in the spaces between words. If he listened, really, really focused, underneath it all he could hear the sound of his blood pushing through his veins, the beat of his heart and the cracking…shattering of that organ.

But he smiled, and lifted the paint-soaked sponge he used to wash in a background on the canvas he knew wouldn't be worth a nickel when he finished…if he ever did finish it…and dabbed a bit of apple green into the dark night sky.

The large rectangle of canvas comprised all the world he could handle right now. Across the studio, Watson McQuade sat, wearing new dark-rimmed reading glasses and looking like a GQ ad in his dress shirt and sweater vest. At least he isn't wearing a tie. His laptop sat open in front of him, and his briefcase took up the second chair at the little bistro table.

When Em had cleaned out the attic space where his grandmother had stored old things, beautiful things, really, he'd had a hard time parting with some of the items, and a lot of them had found new homes in the bed and breakfast or the coffee shop. The bistro table and its two wrought iron chairs though had found their home in front of one of the huge new windows he'd installed. He liked to sit there in the mornings and drink coffee while the sun rose over the water and the town came to life below him.

Liar. He liked to sit there and fantasize that one day he'd drink coffee and Wats would sit across that table from him, but not this Wats. The one who shared the table with him in his dreams was usually naked, or given the whole picture window thing, maybe partially clothed. Maybe sleep pants, and a lovely bared chest…

He turned his head an inch or so to look at Wats again. The tightening in his gut reminded him that things weren't really okay between them. Wats was so focused on his work, the whole Christmas holiday was passing by, and at times, Em felt that his boyfriend might as well have stayed in Denver.

That's not fair.

Life wasn't fair. Hadn't he known that since he turned eleven? It wasn't fair that his parents died when he was just a kid, and it wasn't fair that his grandmother died while he was in college. Most of all, it wasn't fair that his best friend, the man he loved, could be in the same room with him and yet so far away.

"Fuck." He threw the sponge onto the drop cloth at his feet. It gave a completely unsatisfying splotch and exuded a blotchy puddle of green paint in reproof.

Wats looked up finally, casting him a questioning glance, one hand poised on his computer mouse, the other holding a sheet of paper. "Something wrong?"

Em blew hair out of his eyes and wiped his hands on a rag. What to say? "I'm not feeling this at the moment. What do you say we go downstairs and grab some coffee then head out to the square and take in the displays, maybe do some holiday shopping?"

Wats blinked, his mouth rounded in an "oh" of surprise, and he glanced back at his computer. The imminent refusal hovered in the air between them, unspoken.

Em gritted his teeth and forced himself not to leap into the breach, not to say anything. If Wats didn't want to go, then he'd accept that.

"It's just that I have to get this proposal sent off tonight." He smiled, just a rueful tilt of the lips, not a full-on light up your face smile, not the smile that Em wanted. "I promise, after this gets done, I'm all yours and we can do whatever you want."

For the next six days. And wasn’t that the whole problem? But he didn't say any of those negative things, the rants and pleas, aloud. Those were his secret thoughts, the thoughts of the man who cowered inside, the one who hated being alone, and feared a day when Wats wouldn’t come home at all.

Instead he widened his smile, nodded his head, and stepped into his flip-flops. He strolled over to the window and picked up his colorful surfing Santa Hawaiian shirt. Outside, on the village square, a group of carolers had gathered in front of the town's forty foot tall sea shell adorned Christmas tree.

A cup of coffee and a bit of fresh air, that was what he needed to get his Christmas spirit back. "Right," he mumbled, then leaned across the table to drop a kiss on Wat's head. "I'll see you in a bit then. Maybe I'll bring us lunch from the Chinese place."

Wats murmured something that might have been gratitude or approval, but probably wasn't either, as he didn't seem to be paying any attention at all to Em.

Em shrugged, pushing it off to the side, forcing the bitterness down. Wats was here, and he'd damn well enjoy the time they had together.

Six days. Not a lot of time to get all the loving in that he wanted, not a lot of time to shore up the memories he would need to fight the loneliness of January and make it to Valentine's Day. He couldn't waste that time with anger or bitterness.

"I'll have a blue…blue…Christmas…" Harry's voice faded in the distance as he left the studio, climbing down the stairwell. By the time he exited into the coffee shop, the holiday music had changed from melancholy to an upbeat pop tune from the eighties…Hall and Oates rocking around the Christmas tree to a "Jingle Bells" beat. His spirits rose at the sight of his shop, abustle with holiday cheer, full of his friends and the scents and sounds of the season. How could he help but feel that everything would turn out all right?

Wats would finish his project, they'd eat, maybe drink, watch the tree lighting ceremony that night, and tumble into bed together, and not get out until dehydration and starvation forced them to.

"Hey, boss man!" Hilary called. "Can I get you some coffee?"

Em flashed the first genuine smile of the day at his bubbly barista. "I'll take a large gingerbread coffee to go." The rich beverage sweetened with molasses and brown sugar, spiced with ginger and cinnamon was the most popular coffee of the season.

"How goes the painting today?" Hilary chatted as she mixed the beverage.

"Not so good," he admitted. "I might be a trifle distracted."

She poured the steaming drink into a large Styrofoam cup. "And what about Wats? I did see him go up there a while ago, didn't I?"

"He's doing some work he couldn't get done before his flight left." he responded defensively. "I'm getting Chinese and we're going to watch the ceremony tonight."

Hilary smiled, handed him the cup. "Well, you two come on down to our place afterward and say hi. Rick won't go to the ceremony. He says it's all commercial and doesn't want any part of it. But we've got a nice bottle of Scotch and we'd love to catch up with you all."

The idea of adding another activity in between the tree lighting and dragging Wats into his bed for a round of strenuous I-missed-the-fuck out-of-you sex didn't appeal, but they'd gone to school with Hilary, and Rick had been one of the few athletes who hadn't taken delight in shoving them into lockers or taunting them in the showers. "Okay, but it's going to have to be brief." He didn't elaborate, but saw Hilary's comprehension of his intentions in the flirty wiggle of her brows and the faint blush on her cheeks.

He left the coffee shop, waving and nodding at the regular customers, who seemed to be out in larger numbers than usual this Saturday before Christmas, lighter of heart and with a firm plan for the rest of the day.

The Chinese restaurant was right around the corner, between a used bookstore and an antiques mall. He'd enjoy browsing in both before picking up dinner. Maybe he'd find something for Wats for Christmas, maybe a little hostess gift for Hilary and Rick. That should give Wats plenty of time to finish his work.

Limited Time Offers

Offers valid until Dec. 31, 2014

25% off at https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-taketime-1711239-149.html

50% off With Coupon Code PJ79D  at Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/503389