Giveaway over at Redz World

Giveaway over at Redz World

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Helping Hand by Jay Northcote

Helping Hand by Jay Northcote

Jay Northcote has a new contemporary novella out.


Blurb:

Wanking with a mate isn’t gay—as long as you keep your hands to yourself.

Jez Fielding and James MacKenzie—Big Mac to his mates—are in their second year at uni. After partying too hard last year, they make a pact to rein themselves in. While their housemates are out drinking every weekend, Jez and Mac stay in to save cash and focus on their studies.

When Jez suggests watching some porn together, he isn’t expecting Mac to agree to it. One thing leads to another, and soon their arrangement becomes hands-on rather than hands-off. But falling for your straight friend can only end badly, unless there’s a chance he might feel the same.



Excerpt:

Afterwards, Jez blamed the alcohol for loosening his tongue, because he didn’t think about it before he spoke. The words tumbled out before he could stop them.
 “Man, I’m seriously horny now. Have you got any decent porn on that laptop?”
“Huh?” Mac snapped his head around to meet Jez’s gaze. Jez’s heart pounded erratically, but his dick was still standing to attention. “What… you mean, you want to wank in here? Now? Wouldn’t that be weird?” Mac sounded seriously freaked out.
Jez backtracked quickly, cheeks hot. “It doesn’t have to be weird. I’ve done it before with guys at school, and it’s never been a big deal. But don’t worry about it. I’ll go and watch my own stash instead. But I need something soon, ’cause I’m gonna explode after watching that sex scene.”
Jez was expecting an instant no from Mac. He wouldn’t have blamed him. A lot of guys wouldn’t be into what Jez was suggesting. Jez’s heart still thumped hard, but his arousal didn’t abate despite his anxiety. He was shocked by how much he wanted this.
Mac bit his lip and frowned. “Seriously. You’ve done that?”
Jez shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Yeah. Like I said, it was no big deal. Just guys messing around.”
Mac stared a moment longer, then he stood, and Jez’s heart sank as he walked away. But Mac only went to fetch his laptop from the dining table. He sat back down and then opened it and tapped in his password.
“What sort of stuff do you wanna watch?” Mac’s voice was gruff and he focused on the screen rather than Jez.
Fuck. They were really going to do this, then.

Author Bio:

Jay lives just outside Bristol in the West of England, with her husband, two children, and two cats.
She comes from a family of writers, but she always used to believe that the gene for fiction writing had passed her by. She spent years only ever writing emails, articles, or website content. One day, she decided to try and write a short story–just to see if she could–and found it rather addictive. She hasn’t stopped writing since.






Velocity - Sara York (Flight HA1710 #2)

Velocity - Sara York (Flight HA1710 #2)

Velocity (Flight HA1710 #2) by Sara York

Amazon.com | Amazon.co.uk | All Romance eBooks

The crash of Flight HA1710 brings life into focus for Phil Stewart. Before meeting Davin Tierney, love seemed only a myth to Phil, but one night in New York City changed everything, giving him something he didn’t even know existed. But Phil wasn’t comfortable saying I love you. During the crash, Davin suffers a brain injury, leaving him in a coma. Phil wonders how love can be so cruel to give him Davin and then take him away so suddenly.

Davin never intended to give Phil a second look, but Phil broke through barriers and made amazing overtures before stalling on the word love. The crash changes everything, and he’s no longer willing to play it safe, but can Phil actually change from the playboy Davin first met?



Flight HA1710 series 
Excerpt:

The day after the crash

Phil woke in a cold sweat, the sheets and blanket pressing down, keeping him from drawing in a deep breath. He struggled to sit and failed miserably. Searching for the bedside lamp, his fingers scraped against cold metal. “Ouch,” Phil whimpered as he jerked back and curled into a ball.

Flashes of trauma and death came to him. He flinched and closed his eyes, trying to block the bad memories, but they wouldn’t go away. The cacophony of metal bending and breaking filled his ears. The overhead baggage compartments opened and he covered his head, crying out for Davin, but it was no use. Chaos filled the small space as they tumbled and jerked. Then one piece of luggage came flying from a few rows in front of him and slammed into the man beside him—the man sitting in the seat Davin was supposed to be in. Phil gasped for breath, fighting to forget as he clutched the sheets close. Tears filled his eyes and sobs clogged his throat.

It wasn’t just a dream or a distant memory. He still had no clue where Davin was or if he’d even survived. How long had it been? Hours, days? Desperation threatened to overwhelm him. He sucked in air, forcing himself to calm.

A steady beeping broke through the roaring in his ears, and then he heard more noise. A light flipped on and he blinked at the brightness, trying to focus on the person who’d entered the room. A woman, tall, slender, maybe a few years older than he—though he couldn’t really tell—stepped into his view. She was wearing nurses’ scrubs.

He shivered and tried to keep the bile from rising. Was Davin really still missing? Had his lover been helped out of the wrecked plane or was he cold, his body zipped in a black bag they used after tragedies like this? Phil needed to know, but he feared what he’d find. Davin was his heart, his soul, and they’d only just begun.

“Did you find him?” Phil asked as the nurse came closer. Somehow, by some strange miracle, he’d remembered to ask about Davin when he’d come in to the ER. After surgery to repair his leg that had been stuck between rows of seats, he’d asked again. He’d been barely able to think, but Davin was all he cared about.

“Dear, just lay back and relax. It’s the middle of the night and I’m calling around, but I haven’t found him yet. There are a couple of patients who haven’t regained consciousness, or he might have been taken to the Ulster.”

“Let me look at the people who are unconscious.” Phil struggled to get up. He needed to find Davin because nothing would be okay unless he found him and told him everything—the truth about his feelings. Fuck, he’d not said the L word once, and now he desperately wanted to tell Davin that he loved him.

“Sorry, we can’t have you getting up and running around. Your leg won’t take the weight, and you need the rest.”

Phil tried to sit up again, but the nurse placed her hand on his chest and he folded, sinking into the sheets. Desperation filled him as he searched for some way to get past the nurse to Davin.

She frowned and her hand on his chest pushed harder. “I’m going to give you something to help you sleep.”

He struggled to get up, but it wasn’t any use. “No, I need to find him.”

The nurse did something to the IV beside him and the dark claws of sleep reached up, pulling him under. He didn’t want to go but was helpless against the waves of exhaustion washing over him. Sinking into darkness, memories of his and Davin’s past flew by, and he followed, seeking out the things that made him feel better.


Congratulations America

Congratulations America

Congratulations America! 


What an awesome decision today from SCOTUS. Same-sex marriage is now legal in all 50 states.

Watch this space for a Heart of Texas wedding special!








Flashbulb - Clare London (Flight HA1710 #3)

Flashbulb - Clare London (Flight HA1710 #3)

Flashbulb by Clare London

Amazon (US) | Amazon (UK) | All Romance

Blythe Harris was taking his first flight to the USA and hopefully a whole new client base for his bespoke upholstery business. An adventure for him, he was both nervous and excited to attract the attention of a handsome steward. Things might have gone further – if Flight HA1710 hadn’t failed. 

Marc Stafford is a self-confessed player, and he used his charm to seduce his cute passenger. But in the aftermath of the crash, he’s struggling to recover his confidence. The TV declares him a hero for saving passengers, but at night his nightmares trigger painful flashbulb memories of the crash.

In an Irish hospital, Bly realises that although his broken leg will recover, his career may not. And in Chicago, Marc can’t face returning to work. Neither of them can shake off the memory of their brief, sexy encounter. Both of them need to be with someone who understands exactly what they’ve been through. And on a middle ground they can make all their own.

Flight HA1710 series 
Excerpt:

Bly closed the front door behind him and Marc, leaned against the door frame, and took a long, slow breath. Part of it was to recover after his walk back to the house. Part of it was to settle his continuing excitement at the man beside him all the way

What a bloody shock it’d been! To see Marc on his doorstep, after all those weeks of thinking about him – and assuming he’d never see him again. And although Marc had been weary and dishevelled, he’d been as handsome as Bly remembered. Not only that, but the physical nearness was far more vivid than his dreams could be. With the smell of Marc’s cologne in his nostrils, and the easy masculine grace of his limbs as he leaned over the table, or walked across the room, or sat next to Bly with his long-fingered hand on Bly’s...

It wasn’t possible, was it? To feel so close to someone when you didn’t know anything about their family, or where they went to school, or how they voted, or what they liked to watch on TV, or whether they laughed at satire or slapstick. All on the basis of a few minutes of banter, a shared smile, and a quick, dirty, supremely thrilling hand job in an airplane toilet. Bly supposed he should just consider it as healthy lust – but something told him he’d be selling it short if he did.

“We never got anything for lunch,” Marc said, breaking into Bly’s reverie. “You hungry?”

“No,” Bly replied. “Maybe just a cuppa.”

Marc gave a small, quirky smile that showed he knew the Britishism. “Good idea. I’ll take a coffee if it’s on offer.”

Bly kept himself occupied with making the drinks, while Marc hovered in the kitchen doorway as if looking for something to do. Bly handed him his mug of coffee with a grin. “You’re off duty, you know. It’s my turn to serve the refreshments.” He could see the joke had gone awry almost immediately. Marc’s smile in return was strained, and his eyes narrowed with pain. Bly would have apologised, if he’d known what he was apologising for. Instead, he nodded them both through to the living room. It was sparsely furnished – Maura’s sister and brother in law were newlyweds and short on funds – but the sofa was a comfy secondhand. There was another armchair in the corner by the TV, but when Marc sat on the sofa, Bly went and joined him there without hesitation. He carefully parked his mug of tea next to Marc’s on a small foldaway table that held a small pile of books and a reading lamp.

Marc leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and wiped his hand over his face. Every movement showed his weariness, and he didn’t make any move towards his coffee. “I meant it, about going back to the US. Believe me, I understand what a dick I’ve been. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking, just turning up.”

“And I meant it about you staying on.” Bly impressed himself with his firm, calm tone. “It’s not a problem.”

“Look, don’t get me wrong.” Marc looked wretched now. “You’ve been the good guy. But this was a mistake. All mine.”

“A bloody expensive mistake,” Bly said smartly, almost enjoying the brief confusion on Marc’s face. “And you were sure last night you’d done the right thing, weren’t you? So don’t talk any more crap. I just wish you’d tell me what’s troubling you.”

“What makes you think –?”

“Marc.” The bloody man wasn’t used to talking seriously, was he? Bly tried to gentle his voice, not sure whether Marc needed pushing or cajoling. “You told me you had nightmares. You asked me if I thought about the crash. Yes,” and he repeated it, “the crash we were both in. Seems to me you don’t want to face it, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I’ve told you what happened to me, how I’ve been affected. Don’t you think it’s fair for you to do the same?”

Marc’s eyes were narrowed, his expression stricken. “I want to…” Then he seemed to change his mind, his doubt reasserting itself. “Bly, I really like you. But I barely know you. You barely know me.”

“Right.” Bly tried not to be offended. He knew Marc was struggling with opening up: he wished he knew him better, knew if now was the time to push. “But things might have been different between us, if things hadn’t been taken out of our hands.” His cheeks heated with the memory of Marc’s tongue in his ear, their shared, shocked laughter. Marc’s hand, firm and greedy, stroking his cock. “We both wanted more, right?”

Marc gave a bark of laughter. His cheeks looked flushed as well. “Fuck, yes,”

He’s remembering too! “And we were getting on well. We would have made that date for a drink, I know we would.”

Marc’s eyes met his. There was an unidentifiable look in them, but they were softer than before. “I know that too.”

“Good. But things didn’t go our way. At least, not at the time. But now…”

“Now?”

“Now, perhaps, we can start again.”

The room slipped into silence. Marc was restless, Bly could feel it. He wanted to put his arm around him. Actually, he realised with some amazement, he wanted to put both arms around Marc and pull him very close, and hold him until he calmed. Then kiss him. For a long, long time. Oh God. That worry about feeling close to someone so soon? Bly thought he’d probably just strayed from the theory into very definite reality.

Bodyguards Inc. #1: Bodyguard to a Sex God

Bodyguards Inc. #1: Bodyguard to a Sex God

To celebrate the release of Undercover Lovers on the 31st July let's take a look at where the story began for Bodyguards Inc.

The Book

Bodyguard Adam Freeman draws what everyone else thinks is the short straw at the convention for a procedural cop show - as bodyguard to TV actor Logan Brady. Or as the Internet has labelled him, Logan 'Sex God' Brady.

Logan is taking part in a convention at a London Hotel for his show 'Night Cop' and someone is threatening his life.

Adam gets more than he bargained for when his client combines coming out of the closet with them both trying to stay alive.



"....Body Guard to a Sex God by Rj. Scott is crazy good. Not only are the main characters strongly written, so are the sub characters. The writing makes it very easy for the readers to feel what the characters are feeling.  This is a fun whodunit lite read that will keep you guessing until the very end. Just when you figure it out, the game changes...."




Bodyguard Inc. Series

Book 1 - Bodyguard to a Sex God
Book 2 - The Ex Factor
Book 3 - Max and the Prince (WIP)

Buy Links - eBook

Love Lane Books  |  Amazon (US)  |  Amazon (UK)  |  ARE  |  B & N  |  Kobo  |  Smashwords  |  iTunes

Buy Links - Print Book

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

Reviews

UK Gay Romance - 5/5 - "....Body Guard to a Sex God by Rj. Scott is crazy good. Not only are the main characters strongly written, so are the sub characters. The writing makes it very easy for the readers to feel what the characters are feeling.  This is a fun whodunit lite read that will keep you guessing until the very end. Just when you figure it out, the game changes...."

Mrs Condit & Friends Read Books - 4.5/5 - ".....There are plenty of plot twists to keep you guessing to the very end, including one I didn’t see coming. I don’t want to give anything away so I’ll leave it there and wrap up by saying that I can’t wait to see more in this series...."

Click to enlarge

Prism Book Alliance - 4.25/5 - "....This seemed a really fast read and I couldn’t put it down until I had finished. It’s a real page turner that will keep your attention up to the end as working out who is the stalker is not easy as it appears, everyone is stalking him! The attraction between the two men is red hot and as much as Adam tries to remain professional he is drawn to Logan who has never had a proper relationship before. Logan is sensitive and compassionate with a small group of trusted friends who just needs a keeper and he wants desperately for that person to be Adam.

This author always gives us hot MC’s that it is very easy to fall in love for and this one was no different. Despite closets, knives, hospital trips, stalkers and living on different continents these two men fall fast and hard and seem determined to prove that insta-love exists. Now I will wait patiently to see if Ross will finally have his eyes opened!!  Roll on Book 2...."

Chapter 1 

“Hey, Blondie.”

Adam Freeman showed the office manager his middle finger at the familiar and detested nickname and then crossed to the coffee machine. He was tired and just this side of irritable and Ross Jackson knew exactly which buttons to press to wind Adam up big time. Adam hoped the middle finger would be enough to get Ross to shut up, but no such luck.

“That kind of morning, eh?” Ross offered with a laugh. He sidled up to Adam and bumped shoulders, causing Adam to curse under his breath when hot coffee splashed his hand. “It’s only gonna get worse.”

Adam needed this coffee. He lived on the opposite side of London from Bodyguards Inc., and the traffic on the motorway had been murder, even this early in the morning. He couldn’t fault the premises—a converted barn on the land of the manor house Kyle Monroe had inherited six years ago. But he could definitely fault having to battle every commuter in the city just to get his briefing.

“How can anything be worse than an hour stuck on the M25?” Adam asked wryly. Then he really wished he hadn’t. Sitting down behind his immaculately tidy desk, Ross leaned back in his chair with his long legs in front of him and his hands behind his head. He was the picture of nonchalance yet had an air of knowing something that Adam didn’t.

“The M25 is nothing on this. We had a call-in,” Ross said. “You’re up on a Pretty Boy job.”

Adam closed his eyes and cursed. His absolute worst contracts involved being in charge of what Bodyguards Inc. labeled—off the record—as Pretty Boys. Actors, singers, and in a worst-case scenario, reality TV stars. Every one of them paid well, but dealing with celebrities who had more money than sense all because they epitomized ‘star’ was his idea of hell. The last job—Jesus—that X-Factor runner-up who demanded Adam call him ‘sir’. He'd kept dropping Simon Cowell’s name like he personally knew the guy. In addition, he was arrogant, narcissistic, and had the IQ of a snail. Adam was well out of that particular job.

“Not only that,” Ross continued, “but it’s a science-fiction fantasy convention gig.”

“Convention? Like Trekkies?” Adam couldn’t believe that he’d timed his life so poorly that he was going to be surrounded by people wearing fake ears and speaking Klingon.

“No, like vampires and stuff.”

Adam cursed and Ross just grinned. Bastard. “Is it too late to take some sick days?” Adam said.

“Are you sick, Adam?” The new voice belonged to Kyle, boss and owner of Bodyguards Inc. His drawling American accent was so damn sexy and for a second Adam allowed himself to stare. Adam was fascinated by Kyle’s accent, and hell, he’d let Kyle charm him using just his voice, and maybe his large hands, any day he wanted. Pity the owner of Bodyguards Inc.—or BI as Kyle called it—was so gone on Ross, despite the fact his personal assistant remained oblivious to that fact.

“No. I’m not sick,” Adam said. No point in lying. Kyle could spot a lie a mile off.

“I have a job for you. I’m guessing Ross already gave you the heads-up? Star of an American TV series over here for a convention in London. He’s been receiving threats, had a near-miss with a car trying to run him down, and also had some objects left in his trailer on set.”

“Objects?”

Kyle peered at the list. “Antique knives on two separate occasions, four deliveries of red roses with thorns intact, and one dildo.”

“So it’s a sex thing then?” Adam wasn’t surprised. Actors weren’t renowned for high moral standards. The guy involved probably slept with everyone and had encountered someone just slightly mentally unhinged. Still, that didn’t make terrorizing the man okay so Adam concentrated on the rest of the briefing.

“The network has decided he needs tracking from airport to hotel, through the convention, and out the other side to the airplane home with a handover after one week in the US. This Friday through ten days to a Monday. Good money. You want it?”

Adam considered his options here. If he could just push past the memories of past contracts with similar clients he would be fine. It crossed his mind that perhaps he should ask if there were anything else that he could do instead.

“No chance of a nice industrial threat job? Or maybe I could work the desk for a week?” The joke fell flat as Ross narrowed his eyes at the question. No one went near the desk. That was Ross’s domain and no one else’s.

Kyle shook his head. “Sorry, dude. This is the only new thing on the BI books today. Well, not exactly the only one, but Ed and Lorna both turned Pretty Boy down. So yeah, it’s mostly your decision. If you want it, say so, otherwise I’ll tell his management team no.” Kyle waited patiently for an answer, all serious and businesslike.

“Why did no one else want the job?” Adam asked, suspicious of what he’d just heard. Kyle opened his mouth and then shut it again. Evidently the other close protection agents’ reasons wouldn’t be good ones. Ross dived in to help.

“Lorna just got off a case and she’s recuperating, as you well know,” Ross explained. Like that explained why she wouldn’t take on one of her favorite kinds of cases.

“I just got off a case as well,” Adam protested. A case involving an idiot, two guns, a case full of whisky, and a week of driving all over the bloody country. Not a good one at all.

“Yes,” Ross said dryly, “but you weren’t shot at, Adam, and she was.”

“Flimsy excuse. Bullet didn’t actually hit her,” Adam pointed out with a laugh. Gallows humor always worked best in these situations. He liked Lorna a lot; the feisty redhead was fun and damn good at her job. No one wanted to see her shot. Well, apart from her ex who had been served with a restraining order. “What about Ed?” He knew he was clutching at straws. Ed had seniority at BI, having been with Kyle since it started six years ago.

“Ed said, and I quote, ‘I can’t deal with screaming fans.’” Ross shrugged. “You know he’s far too old and grumpy to deal with screaming women.”

“He’s the same age as me,” Kyle observed. He sounded affronted and Adam hid a smile.

“See? Old,” Ross joked. Adam watched the byplay with interest. His boss was so head over heels with Ross and Adam wondered how Ross could fail to see the hurt in Kyle’s eyes at the comment. Kyle was thirty-five or as near as, and Ross was only twenty-five… still, age was an irrelevant thing in Adam’s eyes. Ross was losing out; Kyle was a good man.

“I’ll take the job,” Adam said, just to break the tension. Yes, he would do this. That was his job. He could manage ten days. Kyle tore his stare away from Ross and held out the folder with the information Adam would need. Taking the folder was implicit agreement that he would accept the job.

Kyle disappeared into his office and slammed the door shut behind him. His hurt followed him like a cloud. Ross didn’t even look up from his desk.

“Why do you do that?” Adam asked.

“Do what?” Ross responded. The question was accompanied by a distracted frown.

“Go on at Kyle about his age all the time.”

Ross huffed. “It’s only a joke. He doesn’t care. Anyway, the other computer is all yours.” Evidently the discussion was over. Ross buried himself in other work, leaving Adam to get on with what he needed to do.

There was always a strictly professional brief in the folders that Ross created and Kyle handed out. However, a good Google search often highlighted elements in the case that would be useful. Adam had four days until the client's plane landed at London Heathrow so he opened to file to build the foundation for the assignment.

Even he couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows when he saw the guy he was being assigned to look after. Logan Brady was some high-class Pretty Boy material. Twenty-nine. Brunet. Actor. Those were the basics. Adam peered at the photo; he wasn’t sure if it was just the print resolution but Logan’s eyes were really stunning and an incredibly bright blue. His hair had a soft curl to it and was in one of those short, tousled cuts. He wasn’t smiling in the photo. He had that typical shot used for publicity where he was staring moodily at something just off-camera. There was red around his mouth so Adam scratched at the photo. Nope. It wasn’t coming off the photo. Reading the label explained a lot. ‘Night Cop - Vampire, Cop. Brother, Lover. Killer, Hero. Isaac.’.

Okay. So Logan Brady played a guy called Isaac from one of these über-popular vampires-are-cool shows crossed with some kind of police procedural show. He was seriously nice eye candy. That part was going to be extremely easy to handle for ten days.

Flicking through the pack, Adam pulled out pictures of the girlfriend, a blonde-haired green-eyed beauty who clung to Logan’s arm in the photos like a limpet to a rock. Logan wasn’t smiling in any of the photos. Whether paparazzi or studio shots, he appeared to use the patented cool-vampire stare for all of them. To Adam’s eyes he just looked permanently pissed off. But then the young girls liked that kind of thing, he supposed.

A quick search had many more pictures, both the same vampire character and others going back maybe ten years to a fresh-faced Logan in some kind of teenage high school show. Adam didn’t exactly have his finger on the pulse of kids’ TV shows, nor did he watch anything with vampires in it, to be fair. But hell, if the stars all looked like this guy, then he may well change his mind. Seems vampires and pissed-off faces paid well; pictures of Logan’s house showed a small place in LA up in the hills, at least so the label to the photo said. There were paparazzi shots of Logan in his garden, Logan eating out at dinner, Logan swimming, Logan shopping. Jeez, Adam wouldn’t have been surprised to see pictures of the actor taking a shit.

The fact that the paparazzi had snapped so many photos of this TV star was no surprise to Adam. Over three-quarters of BI cases were with people in the public eye, actors, politicians, the British aristocracy, and so many other high-profile people. Adam was never sure how they coped being out there for everyone to see, but then, he guessed the money helped.

The information on the hit-and-run was sketchy. The internet had nothing apart from gossip and hearsay. Apparently a car had lost control and crossed the street, glancing the wall and coming to a stop next to Logan. Either the term ‘hit-and-run’ was not an appropriate one to use on this occasion, or the journalists hadn’t gotten the full story. Adam suspected the latter based on how the network now appeared to want to wrap their star in cotton wool.

Ross crossed over and placed sheets of paper next to the open folder. He frowned. Gone was the man who called him Blondie. In his place was serious-Ross with a focused look.

“Logan Brady’s manager sent over copies of the notes Logan’s been receiving. It’s not good. They’re all addressed to Isaac,” he said.

“The character he plays on the show,” Adam confirmed.

“Yeah. There’s also more information on the alleged hit-and-run. Logan is one lucky bastard that he wasn’t a human sandwich between two or three tons of SUV and a solid brick wall.” He left without further discussion, and curious, Adam rifled through the notes.

Words jumped out at him from the different sheets of paper; love and hate and all the emotions in between. Celebrities received threats all the time; it was almost a way of life that once you were a ‘personality’ you attracted the crazy out of the woodwork. The last case he’d worked on for the Metropolitan Police had been a stalker case and the client said she received threats just as often as she received proposals of marriage.

These notes were well written, the grammar was good, they were tidy, and Adam filed away that information as possibly useful. As to the content, there was nasty, vicious prose in one, wheedling love declarations in another, all written in the same hand and signed with the initials IR. Threats to kill Logan over some kind of relationship with an Annabelle? Adam checked the file. Annabelle wasn’t the girlfriend. A hunch had him checking the show listings. Annabelle was the heroine to Logan’s bad boy on the show, played by an actress named Marissa.

So the same guy that professed love for Logan in one letter demonstrated an equally vicious hate in the next, all because Logan’s character had kissed Annabelle in an episode. Great, so he was dealing with a total nutjob then, an irrational person with severe pretend-life issues. The car accident details Ross brought over were far more detailed than those Adam found on the internet and he spent a while looking at photos. If the car hadn’t hit a street lamp then Logan would have been seriously hurt. The driver ran but what few witnesses there were had caught sight of a woman—short, slim, with blonde hair to her waist—fleeing the scene. There were no CCTV photos, either. Apparently whoever owned Logan’s contract at the studio wanted a lid kept on things.

There was no indication that Adam had a bodyguard in the US, why did the guy’s manager think that he would need one on his visit to the UK? The probability that the perpetrator followed Adam from the US was slim. Then he reached the last note in the list. A simple two sentence missive that was written so tidily that it was a shock to read the actual words:

“I’ll be at the convention in London. I can’t wait to meet the man who is the other half of me.”

Ah. That explained the need for a bodyguard then.

“Does he have a bodyguard in the US?”

“Some kind of driver guy shadows him, but the network is getting serious and have brought someone in for you to do a handover in LA.”

“And the cops? Do they have Logan Brady under surveillance?”

“No. The agent said the cops felt it was nothing, not yet.” Adam knew where the cops were coming from, each district had a glut of certain crimes, and in LA it seemed maybe crimes against actors were the drug of choice. He knew the feeling of saying to someone, “I’m sorry, but until there is proof, until someone gets hurt, there is nothing we can do.” Still, these notes were pretty damn specific in what they were saying. As to hiring a bodyguard, BI often took on cases where the victims didn’t want police involved so that was nothing new.

“Anyway, no cops. Whoever pays Pretty Boy’s wages wants it kept low-key. A vulnerable actor makes for a shit ‘heroic, in-your-face vampire cop’ and the show is, and I quote, ‘coming up for renewal’.”

“A dead actor isn’t going to cut it much for renewal either,” Adam deadpanned.

“I checked into the initials IR; the convention organizers are cooperating but no one on their lists matches up with those initials. There are a mix of UK, European, and US fans attending the convention. Not that we can narrow it down, the letters came from the UK, tracked through to an East London PO address in Greenwich so it could be anyone already here. No addresses in the convention database match though. There are fourteen hundred attendees; it’s a big pool of bodies, eighty-five percent of them female.”

Adam looked down at the letters. Despite the statistics offered to him it would be foolish to accept at face value that a woman had written the letters. There was also no evidence that whoever wrote them would desire to drive a car straight at Logan. Nothing matched just yet and you couldn’t just cut out an entire gender based on assumption.

Ross continued, “Logan Brady is staying at the Upton Levington Manor Hotel. It’s a suite with three bedrooms so you’re sleeping there. I booked it through from tonight so whoever got the contract can get sorted.”

Adam closed the folder and knocked it once on the desktop to align the paper. A familiar buzz of excitement shot through him. Getting his teeth into a job was always a good thing. Whatever the case was.

“Good luck with your Pretty Boy, Blondie,” Ross called as Adam was leaving. A middle finger up at his friend through the glass was a nice end to the visit. He was still smiling when he reached his car over the fact he'd managed to hide Ross's stapler again. When would the man ever learn to leave the damned thing where Adam couldn’t see it?






Undercover Lovers - Completely unedited WIP excerpt

Undercover Lovers - Completely unedited WIP excerpt

Ross recalls when he applies for the job of Office Manager at BI

 “The job description said Office Manager,” Ross said.

“And you don’t have an office yet. I’ve been working out of the study in the Manor and this is all newly renovated.” Kyle shook his head, a rueful expression on his face. “We have to build the office furniture now.” He peered at an instruction booklet. “Can you read these?” He passed the leaflet to Ross who only then noticed the various sizes of wood panels on the floor the other side of Kyle.

Ross turned the sheet around in his hands until he could make sense of it all, picturing the finished item in his head, the pedestal unit that would eventually slide under a desk. Then he looked at the wood and the way that two pieces had been placed together.

“You have that one the wrong way,” he said and pointed to the larger side of whatever Kyle appeared to be creating.

Kyle frowned down at what he was doing. He looked so lost. “Can you show me.” he sounded hopeful and Ross was happy to at least give it a go. Thing is, this was an interview… right?

“Do you want to wait until after the interview?”

Kyle shook his head. “No, show me.”

Ross slipped off his suit jacket and loosened the buttons of his shirt. So much for cool calm and polished. He crouched down next to Kyle and inhaled the scent of something citrus and sharp, and stared face to face with midnight blue eyes. Stunning night sky eyes that focused right on him.

For a moment they looked at each other, then Ross dropped his gaze. He couldn’t be doing with staring into his potential boss’s eyes like some kind of teenage girl. Instead he carefully considered the construction ahead, and with a deft use of screwdriver he finally had the carcass of the drawer unit in one solid cube, with all the parts of it facing the right way. Satisfied with part one he sat back on his heels. He’d sensed Kyle watching him the whole time.

“You’re hired,” Kyle said softly.

Ross turned to face him. He was only inches away, and Ross couldn’t help but breathe in the scent of Kyle, or look at his strong featured, his stubbled cheeks and chin.

Ross swallowed. “Because I built a cabinet?”

“Ross Monroe, twenty-three years old, your birthday is September. You have three siblings, two sisters and a brother, all older than you. Your mum is a lawyer, your dad is career Navy in logistics. You went to boarding school until the age of eighteen, paid for by the Navy, and you went to York University, where you graduated with a first in Information Systems Applications. You are working towards a black belt in Ju Jitsu and you have had seven different computer and admin type jobs since leaving University, none of which you have stayed in longer than three months. Your references however, are okay, almost regretful from previous employers who wanted you to stay. And call it a gut feeling, but anyone who can visualize a cabinet from a pile of wood has good spacial awareness.”

Ross realized his mouth had dropped open. “You remember the CVs of all your applicants?”

“I only had one that made it to interview.”

Ross blinked, then looked behind him. This was a joke. Every job he’d had he’d been encouraged to leave. He was too anal about filing, he was too inquisitive, asked too many questions, he was bored and it showed… he’d heard it all before. So why had Kyle not only shortlisted him but actually singled him out?

“Oh,” was all he said.

“Would you like the job?”

“But, you seem to know me,” he began, “Or at least you’ve seen how long I lasted at other places. I’m not a good bet.”

Kyle stood and brushed at imaginary dirt from his jeans. He was tall, maybe an inch or so taller than Ross, and he was strong and imposing and built exactly how Ross liked his men.

“Those jobs weren’t right for you.”

“And this one is?”

Kyle smiled, and Hell, that smile was intriguing and sexy and … pull yourself together, Jackson.

“It is.”

* * * * *

Coming 27 July from Love Lane Books




Letters from a Cowboy by Sue Brown.

Letters from a Cowboy by Sue Brown.






Title: Letters From A Cowboy
Series: Morning Report
Author: Sue Brown
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Cover Artist: Garrett Leigh
Length: 154 Pages
Release Date: 10 June, 2015
Blurb: A Morning Report Story
Simon Wood arrives at Tamar Ranch looking for a job after being fired from his last position for seducing the boss's son. It doesn’t take much for him to prove his skills with horses, so he’s taken on, but soon he clashes hard with Chip Henson.
The animosity between them hides something very different, but not for long. No matter how hard they try to resist their attraction, eventually they give in to their need. They start leaving notes for each other, and others notice and warn them to be more careful.
Fearful of discovery, Simon leaves Tamar Ranch to save Chip’s job. When he learns that his departure sent Chip off the rails, he knows he needs to risk everything and go back for him.





HE WAITED an hour by the mill before Chip showed. The cowboy slid off his horse and into Simon’s waiting arms, his hat tumbling off his head as Simon held on to him tightly. Simon pulled him into the shadow of the mill, pleased that he could finally bury his chilly face in Chip’s neck, his nostrils full of the strong, rich scent of his man.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” he managed eventually. “Didn’t know if you’d get my note.”
“I nearly didn’t,” Chip said. “Lorne and Brad were waiting for me with rifles before I left.”
“How did you get away?”
“Lofty and I jumped them and knocked ’em both out before they could shoot me.”
Chip shuddered with the emotion, and Simon hung on even tighter, aware of just how close he’d come to losing him.
“I love you, Henson,” Simon said gruffly, feeling Chip dig his fingers almost painfully into Simon’s back. Simon relished the pain. It reminded him they were both still alive.
“Love you too, Woody.”
Simon huffed into Chip’s neck at the nickname. “Next time we go together.”
Chip pulled back to look at him. “Don’t be stupid. We can’t take that risk.”
“I’m not leaving you again,” Simon insisted stubbornly.
Chip stepped back and slid his hands down Simon’s shoulders to grasp him around the upper arms. “Don’t, Simon. You know we can’t risk anyone finding out about us. I only just escaped this time. Next time it could be you, and I can’t have that.”
Simon stared at Chip, seeing the lines around his brown eyes, carved deeper into Chip’s face in the year he’d known him. “And I’m not gonna to spend my life wondering if you’re goin’ to turn up. We can’t be together as lovers, but we can be together as friends.”
“What are you saying?”
“If keeping us safe means we stop fucking, then….”
Chip pressed his lips together, then gave a short nod. “Friends.”
Simon went to step away, but somehow he ended up with his mouth mashed against Chip’s, his hands tangled in Chip’s hair, and Chip’s erection a rigid line pressing into his hip.
The throaty noises Chip made as they kissed just ramped up his excitement.
Simon growled deep in his throat and pushed Chip against the mill wall. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much.”
“Missed you too.” Chip hauled Simon down to kiss him again.
“No lube,” Simon groaned.
“Ya got spit.” Chip’s hands were busy at Simon’s flies.
“It’s gonna hurt.” Simon was just as busy, dragging Chip’s jeans down his legs.
“Don’t care, not now. Just want you.” Chip turned in Simon’s arms and placed his hands against the rough wall.
Simon pulled Chip’s ass toward him, bare and beautiful, and all his. He ran his work-roughened hand over the tight asscheek. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Chip laughed roughly. “You need to see the doc, Woody. I ain’t beautiful.”
“You are to me. You’ll always be more beautiful than any of them painted whores in the Drink.”
“Thanks, I think.” Chip gasped as Simon spat on his fingers. “Hurry.”
Simon held Chip’s shoulder and slowly worked his fingers into Chip’s ass. “Just you wait. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He withdrew his fingers and spat on them again. He worked Chip until he was as prepared as he could get him.
Chip smacked the wall as Simon pushed in.
God, he was so tight. Simon wanted to ram in until he couldn’t go any farther, but he wouldn’t hurt Chip. “Too much?”
“Faster,” Chip gritted out. “I’m not gonna break.”
Chip might not, but Simon felt he was about to fly apart at the seams. He sank into Chip’s heat until he could rest against Chip’s back. He breathed across Chip’s ear, feeling the man shiver.
“Don’t let me go,” Chip whispered.
Simon held him tighter. “I’m never gonna let you go.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.”
Simon needed to move, but for a moment he just wanted to stay exactly where he was, Chip’s body tight around him and Simon’s senses full of his man.




Sue Brown is owned by her dog and two children. When she isn't following their orders, she can be found plotting at her laptop. In fact she hides so she can plot and has gotten expert at ignoring the orders.

Sue discovered M/M erotica at the time she woke up to find two men kissing on her favorite television series. The series was boring; the kissing was not. She may be late to the party, but she's made up for it since, writing fan fiction until she was brave enough to venture out into the world of original fiction.


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