New Release! A Gentleman Never Does (2nd Edition) #malexmale #regency

Breathless Press, my publisher, closed its doors earlier this year. As a result, I received the rights back to many of my stories. Each of these stories will be making a reappearance, some with new editing, some with new covers, some completely overhauled. This is one of those stories.

This short, sexy regency tells the story of a couple torn apart in a time when love between men was a sin deemed punishable by death or deportation.

A Gentleman Never Does 

A Regency M/M Romance 

Short of funds, Gareth proposes to wager for love.

Does Gideon dare play out this hand?

While passing time at a debutant ball, Gideon Westwood encounters a man from his past he'd give anything to avoid.

Unfortunately for him, Gareth Belmain isn't in the mood to be pushed aside.

Wagers, romantic gardens, shared kisses and angry words overheard add fuel to the fire that flares between them.  

Will a duel put an end to Gareth's hopes for a future together?

EXCERPT

"Why hesitate? It's the card room at a debutante's ball, not a den of iniquity or a Peninsular battlefield." The lazy drawl came just before Gideon Westwood became aware of the heady scent of bay rum, the warm press of a body aginst his in the doorway.

In front of Gideon lay a room full of men in evening garb, chatting idly and playing cards with practiced boredom, mingling with the occasional jewel-clad matron flirtatiously fluttering a fan. Candlelight flickered on bored faces and servants with trays of drinks moved silently among the crowded tables. There were a few open tables, and at some a great deal of money was changing hands. He wouldn't join those. A gentleman never played deep in mixed company. Serious gambling was for the clubs; this was just a way to pass the evening while doing his duty to his family.

His carefully tied neck cloth became a little too tight, sweat dampened his palms. Behind him lurked a ballroom full of white clad young misses, each determined to capture a prize on the marriage mart. Not that he was much of a prize; he was only respectably set up, a few thousand a quarter, and though he had a scattering of titled relatives, he was unlikely, barring a plague on the house of Westwood, to ever inherit any of them. If all a young lady's family required in a husband was passable good looks, a modest country home, and a merely comfortable existence, he'd be hounded to the altar sooner or later. No sense making it easy for them by haunting dance floors and such. He'd left his lady mother chatting with the other dowagers and his younger sister making up a set with a pimple-faced baronet, and fled for safer ground. His hesitation in the card room doorway had been intended to insure that he'd avoid an encounter with the gentleman who had just spoken.

Playing cards wasn't his only option; he could blow a cloud in the gardens. It was tempting to do just that, but he wouldn't put it past the gentleman behind him to follow him to the gardens either. Better to stick to cards. Being alone with Gareth was never a good idea. Gideon didn't take his gaze from the card players though his every nerve was on alert. Much as he hated to admit it, he recognized the person behind him as much by his body's reaction as by familiarity.

Gareth Belmain, languid dandy of the ton, stood behind him, entirely too close, even in the crush of people at Lady Biggles' eldest daughter's ball. Gideon stood his ground though. He was tired of giving way to the persistent pressure Gareth put on him. They were complete opposites, and Gareth seemed to take a great deal of interest in pointing out their differences. Gideon usually just gave way, turning the other cheek. He'd known Gareth since they were infants; their mothers were bosom bows, and their family lands adjoined. If either of them had had the misfortune to be born female, they'd have been engaged at birth. Instead, they were friends, then schoolmates, then something more, and now...uneasy acquaintances perhaps best described the current status of affairs between them.

Just thinking the word affair made heat rise in Gideon's cheeks. Damnation. He shifted restlessly. He had no interest in playing cards, but it was better than having his toes trodden upon on the dance floor, and better than making simpering conversation with foolish chits. He never knew what to say to them; females in general seemed to have a marked lack of interest in the things that absorbed him: fencing, fisticuffs, philosophy, horses. He couldn't talk of the Four in Hand Club or Gentleman Jack's to a lady.

"Are you planning to stand here all night Gid? There's a table opening up. Let's play a hand of piquet and pass the time until your mama comes to coerce you into dancing with some whey-faced miss."

Gideon straightened his full six feet and shifted to stare down at the slim dandy. Gareth was stunningly garbed in buff and claret, neck cloth exquisitely tied in some complex pattern that Gideon's valet probably knew the name for, and hell's teeth... "Are you wearing face paint?" He hadn't meant the shocked whisper to be audible, but a few titters from nearby gamers and Gareth's narrowed eyes told him he'd once again erred in his judgment.

"Oh, la. It's all the crack, you know. Now come on, I'm a little light in the pocket and I mean to make a monkey off you this evening to assuage the hurt your neglect causes me."

There was too much truth to the words for them not to cause Gideon embarrassment. He was uncomfortable with Gareth, and he did neglect his old friend as a result. But Gareth knew well why. His guts tightened and he couldn't stop the scowl that crossed his face, though he quickly assumed a blank expression. "Stop it. I apologize. I didn't intend for anyone to overhear, and you are well aware of that. This foppish playacting does you no credit."

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The Captain's Cabin Previously Published Flash Fiction: #FREE #malexmale #NSFW

Great news! Some time back my publisher, Breathless Press, published a Flash Fiction anthology called Hot Shots. Since then, they've gone out of business and the rights to all these stories have returned to the authors. While I'm busy working on getting my novellas back on the market, I thought I'd share these super short, super hot, pieces with you. Hot shots had 5 stories... this is one of my favorites.

The Captain's Cabin

©Lee Brazil

Genre: historical fiction, m/m/m

Hot Flash/ Word Count: 1,000 

Mick opened the portholes to let some air into the hot and muggy captain's cabin. The rest of the crew was ashore in the mangy harbor town drinking and fucking, so it was safe enough no matter how rowdy things got when Robbie and the Captain returned. The fresh sea air tempted him to linger, but he had a deadline to meet.

His lovers had rowed ashore with the crew to negotiate a shipment of rum for their next port call at Charleston in the colonies. He'd wanted to go too, to find his land legs, but Devlin had taken one look at the state of his cabin and assured Mick that if he wanted to sit he'd attend to his chores. The threat of a whipping hadn't caused Mick's frenzied cleaning though. No. It was Robbie's thoughtfully tacked on suggestion that perhaps Mick would be better punished by being made to watch the evening's activities from the captain's straight-back chair instead of occupying his accustomed position between the two men.

He'd rushed to get the place ship shape before they returned. The whitewashed cabin was neat as a pin, whatever the fuck that meant. It was something he'd picked up from Robbie.  His lordship, the first mate. Mick shivered. Robbie was...if he'd had to choose between the Captain with his broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes, and Robbie's slender elegance, he'd have been hard pressed to decide. His captain could be rough, abrupt and harsh, but Robbie's punishments were always the more devastating.

Sweat dripped into his eyes as Mick surveyed his efforts. From the gleaming polished floorboards to the neatly hanging clothes, everything was secure. No fault could be found. He'd avoided dire threats of being forced to watch and not participate in his lover's activities.

Mick stripped down swiftly to his trousers, hanging his shirt on a peg.  Shrugging, he pushed off the trousers and hung them as well. Just in case he'd missed something, he'd give Devlin and Robbie something else to think about.

Voices drifted through the porthole on the breeze. The captain's deep baritone followed Robbie's husky chuckle. Hastily he climbed onto the bed, pretending to sleep. The voices grew louder and footfalls echoed in the empty passageway. He forced himself to relax, but couldn't do anything about the way his cock thickened heavily against his thigh. The key clinked in the lock and the door hit the bulkhead.

“Now there’s a pretty sight.  What do we do now?” Robbie's amusement was clear in his voice.

Mick struggled to keep the grin from stretching his lips and giving away his wakeful state.

“I’m sure I can think of something!”  Wicked intent echoed in Devlin's husky declaration.

A rough hand gripped his thigh, and a slick hot tongue pressed between his open lips. Warm wet silk engulfed his cock.  Mick's eyes shot open, and his back arched.  He moaned low and husky into Robbie's mouth as he met eyes gleaming with laughter.

The heated tug of Devlin's mouth on his cock, the hungry stroke of Robbie’s tongue against his own set his heart to racing.  Gasping, he pulled his mouth from Robbie’s. “I want to touch you.” His own temerity in making demands shook him.

Robbie leaned back, pulling his fine linen shirt over his head.  Nimble fingers unfastened the fly of his trousers.  Mick dragged his hands down the golden skin of Robbie’s lightly muscled chest.  Sun bleached hairs, relics of the few times Robbie threw propriety to the wind and went shirtless on deck, wandered in a sparse trail down, and he followed them, pausing to allow Robbie to unfasten the last of the buttons.  Together they spread the flaps of fabric aside, and Mick moaned in appreciation of the thick cock that burst forth.  Robbie took his cock in hand and painted Mick’s swollen lips with the damp tip.  Mick licked the moisture quickly away, then flicked the tip with his tongue. 

"Mm."

The murmur sent a glow of satisfaction through Mick. His balls drew up tight to his body, and his cock swelled painfully.  Licking and sucking, he spilled his release into Devlin’s mouth. 

Devlin pulled back and crawled up between Robbie's thighs, licking and sucking two fingers. 

Mick pause. He opened his mouth over Robbie’s throbbing cock, gliding down until his nose brushed the crinkled hair at the base, then settled into a familiar rhythm.

Robbie’s low moans mingled with Devlin’s muttered curses.  

“Ung.  Devlin, yes.” Robbie reached for Mick’s hand, guiding it under his balls to feel Devlin’s thick length sliding insistently into him. 

“Mm.” Eagerly, Mick twisted to watch. Impatient fingers fisted in his hair, and he swiped his tongue a few times across the sensitive skin of Robbie’s balls before he licked and kissed his way up the shaft.  He pressed a lingering kiss to the hand that held the cock, before reaching Robbie’s damp tip and taking his cock back into his mouth.  

Closing his eyes, he accepted Devlin's rhythm, absorbing the sounds of pleasure filling the room. He caressed every inch of flesh he could reach, massaging the jut of a hip bone, stretching to draw his nails down a spine. 

Devlin's groan mingled with Robbie’s feverish cry. Mick clutched Robbie's hips tightly, swallowing the salty cum eagerly, darting his tongue into the tiny opening to catch every drop. 

 Slowly his lovers wrestled him down onto the bed and he lay panting.The two men leaned forward, eyes locked to his lips and he trembled in anticipation.  His mouth opened on a sigh just as two pairs of lips descended determinedly.  They rubbed and pushed, fighting for possession, until first one then the other slipped a tongue inside to taste. 

His moan of appreciation was met with muffled chuckles, and a few minutes passed in long exploratory wet kisses.  When they lay breathless, cuddled together in the heat of the night, he was snuggly between his captain and the first mate, the two men he loved.

November Freebie: Ancient Rome Serial Centurion is #FREE at ARE this month only! #mmromance #serialfiction #

Good morning all! Just a reminder that Centurion, book one of my Ancient Rome serial m/m piece, is #FREE ONLY until the end of November, ONLY at All Romance eBooks. This is an ongoing serial, and the second part is already available. The next chapter is due out early in 2015.

CENTURION

"Can I be yours?"
Centurion Gaius Priscus has had his fill of war and death but knows no other life. When he meets the captive Salicar's gaze after battle, months of stringent self-denial catch up to him in a blazing rush of need.
Salicar is a healer, an educated man unused to battle but with his own experience of death. He should prefer death to captivity, but cannot find the courage to make it happen.

Will the hardened warrior, tired of death and destruction, deny his captive's plea?

Excerpt:

Paulius, a fairly new member of his century, dragged a man into the green, and threw him at Gaius’s feet.

"Sir, I found him in the far house, cowering in fear." Jerking his head toward a small cottage that the flames had just begun to lick, the soldier kicked at the man on the ground, who flinched.

A frightened cry was cut off abruptly by a second brutal kick.

Gaius looked down at the man on the ground, curled at his feet. He was thin, and his skin seemed untouched by age. One more soul to send to the land of the shades from the look of him. He certainly didn't have the look of a man accustomed to laboring from dawn till dusk. "Stand," he commanded, gesturing roughly for the soldier to raise the man to his feet.

Paulius grabbed the man roughly by the arm, jerking him upright. The man shook off the soldier’s grip and stood straight, thin shoulders set in challenge. He tilted his head and glared at Gaius from deep blue eyes, wide with fear and sparkling with defiance.

Gaius’s breath caught in his throat and he covered his reaction with a cough. A tangle of fine silky black hair hung to the man’s shoulders, his face was delicate and pale, his features reminiscent of the Greek aristocracy. Plump rosy lips set in a scowl. Months on the march without easing his needs caught up with Gaius in that moment as he stared into that face, his gaze traveling over a body that was lean and supple. Narrowing his gaze, he searched the figure before him for some sign of value, some excuse to keep him alive. The Greek was clothed simply in woven fabrics unadorned by gold or jewels. His elegant feet were dusty and bare. The rest of his person was clean though a bit unkempt. He might have some education or training that could be useful.

Hardening his voice he demanded, "Do you have some skill other than muscle?" Because there was no way that he could pretend this fragile slip of a man was fit for working the field. He was comely enough, he supposed to make a pleasure slave, and possibly intelligent enough to make a clerk, if he had the fortitude to survive the trek to the market.

He couldn't discern the man’s mumbled response, but the voice that uttered it was soft, sensual and pleasing to the ear as the man’s features were to the eye. Pretending that the indecipherable response pleased him, Gaius nodded decisively. "Put him with the others'" he ordered. 

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Part Two: Slave

When a Roman century is sent to put down a rebellion three days march from Syracuse, the village is destroyed. The few survivors are destined for the slave market, Physician Salicar among them.

Salicar has caught the eye of the soldiers' leader, Centurion Gaius Prius. Gaius is captivated by the man's dark curls and bright eyes, the purity of his face. Lust flares between them, a powerful distraction from Salicar's plight.

When Gaius offers him a choice, life as his pleasure slave or to join his companions on the auction block, Salicar is torn. In just twenty-four hours, he's already been seduced into forgetting that the centurion is his enemy and lost himself in pleasures of the flesh.

Does he dare take his chances on the auction block? Can he live with the knowledge of his own cowardice and the guilt of betraying his people for the rest of his life if he does not?

Excerpt:

The centurion shook Salicar roughly awake. "It's time."

He peeled his gritty and swollen eyes open and stared into the gloom, a little dazed by the abrupt awakening. "What? Is someone ill?" He fumbled for his bag in the darkness at the same time he realized that he wouldn't find it, because he'd been dragged from his own home the day before without any chance to gather his medicines and tools. Unaccustomed aches and pains gave him pause, and he winced. His feet and calves bore the brunt of it, but other parts, more intimate and sensitive were not so subtle reminders of his captivity.

A flicker of an indulgent smile—was it tinged with pride?—crossed the centurion's face. "It's time. We march toward Syracuse today. Dress yourself." His noble head jerked, and for the first time, Salicar noted a stoic-faced warrior standing in the tent's entrance. "Claudius will return you to the prisoners."

Shame filled Salicar, and his stomach twisted in revolt. He scrambled among the furs and blankets they'd slept entwined in to throw covering over himself, bewildered by the urge to modesty. It wasn't that he was unaccustomed to being seen in the nude, he'd bathed in the same stream as his neighbors, and frequented bathhouses during his travels. He was a doctor, by Asclepius! The human form was as familiar to him as…and he had no cause to be embarrassed by his own…he was a bit skinny, in truth, but his form wasn't…Emotion made his cheeks flame and Salicar ducked his head to hide. In his secret heart, he knew it wasn't his shape or face that made him ashamed to be seen this morning. It was the tender ache in his ass, the muscles that sent pleasurable twinges of pain and reminders of ecstasy to distract his thoughts. It was lust and regret and shame at still living when so many had died.

What made him feel so differently this time, so exposed and naked and…promiscuous? was the fact that it was clear despite his expressionless face that Claudius the warrior knew exactly what had transpired in this tent over the night. He knew that Gaius had sheathed his weapon repeatedly in Salicar's body, and if he'd been close enough to hear Sal's unrepentant cries, he knew that he'd enjoyed it immensely.

At Gaius's amused chuckle, his embarrassment turned to full-fledged and dangerous anger. "You are a cur, by Jupiter!" He cringed as the laughter stopped and Gaius's face turned to stone in front of him. The twisting in his belly coalesced into a tight, painful knot of fear. "My apologies. I'm sorry, so—"

"Silence." Gaius cut him off with a slashing hand. "We march in twenty minutes. Keep the pace."

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