gay romance – A. L. Lester

Holly Day: Vampire Food

Holly Day has a new release today! Celebrate National Sneak Some Zucchini Onto Your Neighbor’s Porch Day with a magic user, a vampire, and a mountain of zucchini!

Vampire Food

MM Slow Burn, Hurt – Comfort, Size Difference, Found Family, Vampire, Magic User

Author: Holly Day
Editor: Lourenza Adlem
Release: 5th August 2023
Price: $4.99
ISBN: 9781685505202
ASIN: B0CD5LQ3TM
KU: No
Wide: Yes
Buy: Amazon – JMS Books – UBL – Goodreads

A former blood slave. A strapping vampire. More zucchinis than any man could eat.

Rue Yarrow was rescued from a blood bar and taken to a gated community of supernaturals. Haunted by nightmares and memories, he does his best to avoid people. His only solace is his garden, where he uses his magic to grow an abundance of vegetables. But one day, it isn’t the zucchinis greeting him, but a severed human head.

Noah Caramine wants as little drama as possible, and interfering with a vampire clan’s business is never a good idea. He’s never met a magic user and is curious about Rue, but he fears there will be consequences for stealing the blood slaves.

When body parts start popping up inside the walls, Noah doesn’t know if someone is trying to frame them for murder or distract them from keeping the blood slaves safe. Rue never believed he’d go near a vampire again, but when threats are drawing closer, he turns to Noah. Who better to keep him safe from vampires than a vampire?

A former blood slave A strapping vampire. More zucchinis than any man could eat! Out now!

About Holly Day

According to Holly Day, no day should go by uncelebrated and all of them deserve a story. If she’ll have the time to write them remains to be seen. She lives in rural Sweden with a husband, four children, more pets than most, and wouldn’t last a day without coffee.

Holly gets up at the crack of dawn most days of the week to write gay romance stories. She believes in equality in fiction and in real life. Diversity matters. Representation matters. Visibility matters. We can change the world one story at the time.

Connect with Holly on social media: Website :: Facebook :: Twitter :: Pinterest :: BookBub :: Goodreads :: Newsletter :: TikTok

Excerpt from Vampire Food

As he rounded the house, he came to a stop. The back side was bigger than the front. Damn.
Half a second later, someone walked into him from behind. Without thinking, he dropped the spade, reached around, and grabbed them, ready to tear their throat out.
Rue stared wide-eyed at him. “Sorry.”
Noah gentled his grip. “Are you okay?”
“Sure. I was watching the trees. Not paying attention.”
Noah glanced at the trees. Apple and plum trees on this side of the garden. “The plums are almost ripe.”
Rue looked at the trees again.
“When you’re done feeling him up, can we get started?”
Rue stiffened at Asher’s call, and Noah let go of him in favor of giving Asher the finger, but he only got a grin and a wink in reply. Fucker.
“Right, let’s get to it.”
Gertrude moved to stand next to Rue. “Should we tell them to take their shirts off? We should have drinks and popcorn.” She bumped her shoulder against Rue’s.
Noah pretended not to listen but held his breath as he waited for Rue’s response.
“I should get back to the beans.”
No request to take his shirt off then. He hadn’t expected one.
“Let’s see if this rolling thing works first.” Gertrude crossed her arms over her chest.
Noah put the spade into the lawn and stepped on it to cut through the grass. Then he moved a blade length and did it again, and again, and again until he’d cut a line to the end of the garden. Then he did one more about a foot from the first line until he got a strip.
“The moment of truth.” He smiled at Rue and pushed the spade in under the grass edge. After a few tries, he got the edge to let go of the soil below. As he rolled, the grass separated from the ground.
“Oh, cool, it works.” Rue rushed forward. “I can do it, and you do another line.” He fell on his knees next to Noah, who let go when Rue touched the grass.
He got to his feet and reached for the spade. Before he started cutting the next line, Gertrude gave him a nod and a smile. “I’ll go help Chaton.”
Rue’s head whipped around. “Oh, yeah, sorry.”
“Not to worry, dear. I tried to save you from getting your hands dirty, but I see it was all in vain.” She grinned at him and walked away. Rue looked after her, some tension bleeding into his muscles, but then he shook his head and got rolling.
Asher worked at the other end of the lawn while Noah kept even steps with Rue. The roll grew rapidly, and soon Rue had to stand to roll it. They reached the end, only to start over again. After a few times, sweat was pearling and Rue was out of breath.
“Want to switch?” Stepping on a spade didn’t take too much effort.
“Yeah, maybe.”
They did one strip, but when they got about one-third into the second, Rue stopped. “There is something here.” Rue rammed the spade into the ground without any greater success. “It’s crunchy. I can’t get the blade down.” He hit the spade against the lawn again. Noah frowned as he took in the patch of dead grass. Strange.
“A stone maybe. Should I cut around it?”
Noah got to his feet, and Rue handed over the spade. There was something hard underneath, and the ground looked as if it had been disturbed, but only in a small space. Noah cut around it and pushed the spade in under the dried grass edge. As he got it loose, he grabbed it and pulled.
There, buried in the soil, was a mostly decomposed head. His gaze locked on the hair. It was dirty and mattered, but not dirty enough for him to miss the long blond strands with purple highlights. Fuck. “Gertrude!”
The stench of decay crawled into his nostrils, and he grimaced.
Rue gagged, and Noah reached for him. To his surprise, Rue turned into him, hiding his face against his chest. “Is that… is that…”
“A head, yes.”
“Madeline.”
Noah stared at the face. It was too decomposed to make out any specific features. Gertrude appeared by his side, followed by Chaton, who hissed.
“Madeline.” He turned to Rue, who was resting his forehead against Noah’s chest. “Did you kill Madeline?”
Rue shook his head, his entire body starting to tremble.
“Who’s Madeline?” Gertrude spoke in a low, soothing voice, but both Rue and Chaton were shaking their heads.
Asher looked at the head, then at Noah. “Where’s the rest?”
Oh, fuck. Were there more body parts hidden in the garden?

Buy Vampire Food: Amazon - JMS Books - UBL

Ellie Thomas visits with her new box set, Gentlemen in Love!

Thank you so much, lovely Ally, for having me as a guest on your blog today. (You are most welcome, Ellie, I’m sorry I’m late posting!) I’m Ellie, and I write MM Historical Romance novellas. My first box set of previously published Regency stories is now on release, so I’ll be chatting about the six stories comprising Gentlemen in Love.

There are various settings in my collection of Regency romances. One Summer Night is set in Regency London. The story involves the politics of the ton and the weight of power in Whitehall, as civil servant Martin falls for aristocratic Will, after a heated chance encounter.

Then there’s the popular scene of the Regency country house party. Two of my stories, A Christmas Cotillion and A Midwinter Night’s Magic share that backdrop in contrasting ways. In A Christmas Cotillion, my MC Jonathan gradually comes to terms with past heartbreak as he considers the opportunity of a new relationship with farmer’s son, Nick.

A Midwinter Night’s Magic centres on forced proximity, where long-parted lovers, Matthew and Crispin, are stuck together at a country house party over Christmas due to snowfall, despite mutual hostility. To add insult to injury, they’re expected to engage in a recital of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It takes a bit of Shakespearian magic from Puck for these two to reconcile, which was a lot of fun to write with my copy of the play to hand!

There are more countryside settings in A Marriage for Three, which takes place in the Wiltshire country town of Marlborough and rural Worcestershire. Charlotte, an independent-minded young woman, is pressed to consider a practical offer of marriage from a close family friend Anthony, despite his long-term romantic involvement with his steward, Simon. I enjoyed exploring the ties of family and mores of country life in this story, together with three likeable characters.

Fashionable resorts are always a popular setting for Regency stories. As I grew up close to some of these in the West of England, it’s hardly surprising that I would pick familiar destinations. Shore Leave has a slightly earlier setting in the latter years of the 18th century, which coincides with Bath’s heyday. It was a delight to navigate the elegant streets and Assembly Rooms of Bath, where Jacob and Sebastian meet and gradually fall in love.

Again, I chose Regency Cheltenham for The Thrill of the Chase, Adrian and Guy’s story. It’s set in 1813, slightly before the building boom and the elegant terraces so familiar to us today. At that stage, apart from a few speculative developments and several spas, Cheltenham mainly consisted of the High Street, which makes it even more difficult for shy Adrian to avoid embarrassing confrontations with Guy, the forceful object of his unfulfilled desires.

Gentlemen in Love

In Regency England, whether about their daily business in London, attending a country house party or visiting a fashionable spa town, an array of gentlemen meet their match and attain a happy ever after.

Some couples find new love, while others rekindle a long-lost spark in this collection of six light-hearted MM Regency romances from Ellie Thomas, containing the following stories:

A Christmas Cotillion: Thirty-year-old Jonathan Cavendish has long given up any thought of romance. He grudgingly accompanies younger cousin Freddy to a Christmas country house party, as Freddy is infatuated with the lovely Belinda.

To his surprise, Jonathan catches the eye of Nick, a local farmer’s son. The initial attraction seems to be mutual, but can Nick break through Jonathan’s defences and teach him to love again?

A Marriage for Three: When Anthony Wallace proposes to Charlotte Grenville, she is shocked. Lottie has always seen him as an older brother, and she is also aware of his romantic devotion to his Anglo-Indian estate manager, Simon Walker. Should she accept this financial arrangement merely to support her ailing family? And will her growing attraction to Simon be a threat to all their happiness?

A Midwinter Night’s Magic: Matthew Lewis is trapped at a Christmas country house party by snowy weather and forced to take part in a reading of a Midsummer Night’s Dream. To make things worse, his lost love Crispin Marley, to whom he has sworn undying hatred, is among the guests. Can some fairy magic from Puck help the estranged couple to make amends for once and all?

The Thrill of the Chase: In 1813, when modest Adrian Lethbridge visits fashionable Cheltenham to help launch his young cousins into society, to his surprise, he catches the roving eye of Captain Guy Ransome. The ex-army officer is everything Adrian yearns to be; devilishly handsome, experienced and confident. So Adrian is in disbelief that the attraction is mutual. But can he summon the courage to act on his desires?

One Summer Night: After a passionate encounter with a stranger in an alleyway one summer night in 1801, Whitehall clerk Martin Dunne is shocked when he encounters the object of his desire at a society function, complete with a powerful father and a pretty bride-to-be. Is his seducer not to be trusted? And have Martin’s dreams of future encounters and possible romance crumbled to nothing?

Shore Leave: Jacob Longley, Naval Lieutenant, is all at sea in the fashionable Bath Spa. As he attempts to steer his younger sister Letty through the social whirl with a close eye on her reputation, his striking looks can’t help but catch the attention of the exquisite Sebastian Fforde. Will either man break through the other’s reserve? And could their mutual attraction blossom into love?

Buy Gentlemen in Love

Excerpt from A Christmas Cotillion

Mr Hammond’s chance came when Jonathan was on the dance floor, already partnered for the next dance. Belinda, for once, was unaccompanied but still standing up, as though eager to join in. Mr Hammond was near her, but unfortunately looking in the other direction.

Jonathan glanced over in helpless frustration, not wanting to abandon his young dance partner in the middle of the floor just as the music was about to start. As he again looked from one to the other, he caught the eye of the handsome farmer’s son. He was serving refreshments amongst those who had taken part in the last set of dances. He followed his direction of Jonathan’s scrutiny clearly with a sharply raised eyebrow.

As if receiving intelligence, he nodded at Jonathan decisively, put down his tray on a side table and eased the few yards through the gaggle of couples approaching the dance floor and tapped Mr Hammond on the shoulder.

Luckily, just then the music started and Jonathan saw his expressive face indicating a social dilemma. He nodded towards Belinda and then pointed to the momentarily abandoned tray as if explaining why he could not partner the young lady for himself. When all had been made clear to Mr Hammond, he received a grateful smile from the young man, as though Mr Hammond was doing the favour. He then turned back to collect the tray and offered the contents to the thirsty crowd.

It was neatly done, with Mr Hammond now obliged by his very good manners to ask the young lady to dance. Mr Hammond braced himself and made his way to Belinda, face flushed with embarrassment as though expecting a rebuff. Instead, he received her hand and a warm smile. Jonathan didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the couple reached the floor, unimpeded.

After a hectic country dance, Jonathan and his puffing partner retired from the fray. He was satisfied to see Mr Hammond and Belinda remain on the floor for the next set of dances, now conversing with apparent ease. As he looked at this with a feeling of pleasure, a glass of sparkling wine was placed in his hand with a murmured, “That was a good notion.”

He looked around in surprise to see the farmer’s son right next to him. Close up, his eyes were very blue indeed and his wide mouth was curved in that increasing familiar smile. Jonathan felt as tongue-tied as Mr Hammond had been previously in Belinda’s presence as he stiffly thanked the young man for his assistance. He seemed unfazed by Jonathan’s constraint.

“Just call me Cupid, or rather Nicholas, or even Nick, if you prefer,” he said with another dazzling grin, before turning gracefully to serve refreshments to the guests behind Jonathan.

Buy Gentlemen in Love

About Ellie

Ellie Thomas lives by the sea. She comes from a teaching background and goes for long seaside walks where she daydreams about history. She is a voracious reader especially about anything historical. She mainly writes historical gay romance.

Ellie also writes historical erotic romance as L. E. Thomas.

Website : Facebook : Twitter : Goodreads : Bookbub

#SampleSunday… The Quid Pro Quo

I’m jumping on the #SampleSunday hashtag on twitter this week, with an excerpt from The Quid Pro Quo for you…

The Quid Pro Quo is a romantic historical paranormal murder-mystery set in 1920s rural England where nearly everyone is queer and the main couple is m/transm. Think Agatha Christie, but queer! With monsters! It’s the sequel to The Fog of War, but it works as a standalone set in the Border Magic universe.

Simon pressed the heel of his hand down onto the place the pain was radiating from. That usually helped. He sometimes wondered if there was anything still left in there. He should probably get it looked at. X-rayed, they called it, didn’t they? The hospital in Taunton had a machine, he knew.
He sighed. “Look, I didn’t just come up to show off my weaknesses to you.”
Kennett made a harrumphing sound that could have been a laugh.
“I came to ask about two things. Her alibi. And the way she describes what happened at the seance.”
“Look,” Kennett drew a breath and said in a firm voice, “she didn’t do it.”
Simon glared up at him, not quite ready to get up off the bench and fall over into the other man’s arms again. “That’s all very well. But you can’t just say that and then tell me you can’t say why you know!”
Kennett screwed up his face. “I just can’t, Mr Frost. And that’s all there is to it.”
Simon managed to stand. For all Kennett was small, he was intimidating. He scowled furiously up at Simon, face creased with anger. There was no trace of the sardonic wit about him now.
“Was she with you that night?” Simon asked quietly. It seemed unlikely, a girl like Miss Hall-Bridges and Kennett, who was a good twenty years older than her if he was a day and a lowly ex-soldier to boot. But he’d seen stranger relationships.
Kennett choked. “Bloody hell, no!” he said, almost with a shudder. “Absolutely definitely the wrong tree, Detective Frost!” There! He did return Simon’s interest, else Simon was a Dutchman.
Simon took another wobbling step forward and Kennett stepped back. Simon finally felt as if he was getting somewhere. There was something there. Why were they all protecting the woman? It was clear she was the best suspect—on paper, she had reason. But it was also clear that despite the evidence, nobody thought she’d done it. Including Simon.
Not that a lot of other people didn’t have reason to dislike the victim as well by the sound of it. His take-away from speaking to people who knew her painted a picture of the deceased as an entitled, arrogant woman who expected people to jump to her tune. He stopped that train of thought. There was never a reason to kill anyone. Never. Just because most of the people he knew had spent the last few years seeing that as the solution to all their problems didn’t mean it was right.
He drew a breath. “Then point me toward the right tree for goodness sake! If you have evidence that it wasn’t her, you’re morally obliged to let me have it!” he said, finally after a moment of silence.
Kennett shook his head again. “No, Detective Frost. I can’t. It’s not my place.”
Simon eyed him narrowly. He was backed up against the wall of the hallway, calm and not at all intimidated by Simon’s greater height.
“Do you know who killed her?” Simon asked him.
Kennett’s eyes flicked away and back again. He shook his head. “No. I don’t.” He knew something though. He finally sighed and stepped forward, putting him chest to chest with Simon and Simon had no alternative but to step to one side and let him past unless he wanted to make something of it. And he didn’t. He really didn’t. He moved aside.
Simon was left looking after him as he went down the hall to the kitchen, the door propped open against the building heat of the day. He followed him into the room, watching him fill the kettle and put it on, helplessly standing there with his hands fisted in frustration at his sides, hot with irritation in the warmth of the morning and the lit range.
“We’re done here,” Kennett said, sliding the kettle onto the hotplate and turning to face him. “You should leave, before Dr Marks gets home.”
“What, so you can sort out an alibi for Miss Hall-Bridges between you?” Simon said snarkily.
There was quite a long pause and then, from behind him, Dr Marks’ voice, deep and calm and very, very flat said, “No need, Detective Frost. Lucy and I share a bed. She didn’t go anywhere, all night.”
The silence was as absolute as if a shell had gone off and deafened him.
`

AMazon

publisher

everywhere else

World Naked Gardening Day: Is the setting for Warning! Deep Water secretly another character in the book?

Today is release day today for Warning! Deep Water, my World Naked Gardening Day story! The World Naked Gardening Day authors are Holly Day, Nell Iris, K. L. Noone, Amy Spector and I. We have all written gay romance novella’s based around World Naked Gardening Day, which happens on the first Saturday in May. Which is today! They are all releasing today with JMS Books and you can read about each of them here.

Warning! Deep Water is a 16,300 word gay romance set in the UK in 1947. George and Peter are two shy, quiet men I really enjoyed writing. They have a supporting cast of characters I would have liked to have had more space to flesh out; but sixteen thousand words is sixteen thousand words, so I was only able to give glimpses of them.

What I was also able to give glimpses of was the story setting.

My story is set on a horticultural nursery inspired very strongly by the place I grew up. I think will come as no surprise to anyone who actually reads the story that I do think of it as a character in its own right.

I think that’s less to do with my writing craft than a huge glob of self-insertion. Is it self-insertion if you put a place in? It feels like it might be, in this case anyway!

Growing up, the nursery always felt like a living being, with its own heartbeat. It needed taking care of—our days were structured around its needs. Literally the same as a person…it needed warming or cooling, water and food.

We had stoke-holes and boilers that blew warm air into the greenhouses to heat them. In the summer we had to open and shut the roof-vents and the doors for optimal air-flow to stop plants dying of heat. We’d have to remember to put newspaper over the buckets of flowers waiting to be bunched and sold in the WW2-era Nissen Hut we used as a packing shed if it was particularly cold at night to avoid them being frosted. The big bore-hole pumped water up from deep underground through hundreds of feet of pipe. Sometimes that was applied directly to the plants with the big hosepipes. Sometimes it first went in to the tank, where plant food could be added before the little pump moved it on out to where it needed to be. We got regular donations of manure from local farmers that were spread on the fallow ground between crops and then rotovated or trodden in.

We could never go and do anything as a family without taking in to account what the nursery would need whilst we were away. Our family holidays were in the autumn because in the high summer everything in the three acres under glass needed watering every other day. If we went out on a day-trip, we’d have to be home at dusk to shut up the hens.

Did I resent the hell out of it as a child?

Yeah. I did. I really, really did.

But looking back as an adult, it really was a semi-idyllic childhood; and I hope that comes across in this story. I know we often look back at where and how we grew up and we forget things—either the bad things or the good things, I guess, depending on how we feel overall about our experience. I’ve pretty much let the resentment go (really, despite the preceding paragraphs!). I feel I was able to take the good things I remember; the smell of the fine red soil in the dry greenhouses; the rich, deep greens the water tank; the sense of nurturing and growth and seasonal renewal that were always there in the background and make them a part of who I am and how I approach my life.

So…yes. In this story, the setting is definitely another character. Perhaps the most important one. Certainly the one I feel closest to, however much I love Peter and George.

Warning! Deep Water

It’s 1947. George is going through the motions, sowing seeds and tending plants and harvesting crops. The nursery went on without him perfectly well during the war and he spends a lot of time during the working day hiding from people and working on his own. In the evening he prowls round the place looking for odd jobs to do.

It’s been a long, cold winter and Peter doesn’t think he’ll ever get properly warm or clean again. Finding a place with heated greenhouses and plenty of nooks and crannies to kip in while he’s recovering from nasty flu was an enormous stroke of luck. He’s been here a few days now. The weather is beginning to warm up and he’s just realised there’s a huge reservoir of water in one of the greenhouses they use to water the plants. He’s become obsessed with getting in and having an all-over wash.

What will George do when he finds a scraggy ex-soldier bathing in his reservoir? What will Peter do? Is it time for them to both stop running from the past and settle down?

A Naked Gardening Day short story of 16,300 words.

Buy the naked gardening day box set

Read an Excerpt

“You didn’t say you liked music,” Peter said, as they were sitting across the table from each other over a cup of tea, once he’d finally pulled himself away from the instrument and reverentially closed the keyboard.
“Well,” said Peter. “It didn’t come up, did it?” He paused. “Mother used to play a bit,” he said, eventually. “Not like that, though. Hymns, mostly. She was big on chapel.”
There was clearly a story there.
“It’s nice to hear it played,” George went on. “Instruments should be used, not just sat there as part of the furniture. And…,” he paused again and blushed, “And you play very well.”
“Well,” said Peter shuffling with embarrassment. “I learned as a nipper and just carried on with it. Dad wanted me to go and study somewhere, but I wanted to get out and earn. It would have taken the joy out of it if I’d had to pass exams and such.”
George nodded. “I can see that. And you’re good with your hands.” He blushed again and became very absorbed with mashing the tiny amount of butter left from the ration into his baked potato.
Peter coughed. “Well yes,” he said. He couldn’t help smiling a little at George, although he didn’t let him see. He forged on. He really didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. “I think mathematics and music sort of go together, you know? And I was always good with numbers as well…it’s a good trait in a joiner.”
George nodded, clearly feeling they were on less dangerous territory. “Yes,” he said. “There’s all sorts of things you can use maths for; but music is pretty rarefied, isn’t it?”
Peter nodded. “This way I get to keep the music and earn a living. There’s always work for a carpenter, like you said the other day.”
He gradually became less self-conscious about playing when George and Mrs Leland were in the house over the next few weeks. It made him feel like another piece of what made him a person was coming back to life.
****
What it didn’t do was make him any less confused about what was happening between him and George. Half the time he thought George was completely uninterested. But then something would happen that would make him reconsider. The comment about being good with his hands was a case in point. It was a perfectly commonplace thing to say and George shouldn’t have been embarrassed. But he had been. Which meant he’d thought of it in a context that might cause embarrassment.
Peter spent several very enjoyable hours spread over several evenings working through different variations of what the other man might have been thinking.
George was nobody’s Bogart. But he was decent-looking. Nice face, especially when he smiled. A bit soft round the middle, but otherwise hard muscled from the physical work he did day in, day out. Clever…did his own accounts. Liked music. Made Peter laugh with his dry commentary on things in the paper or local gossip and the social pickles the girls reported on in the break room.
Peter liked him a lot. And fancied him. After the third night of considering at length how he could demonstrate how good with his hands he actually was, he gave up pretending. He fancied George a lot.

Buy the naked gardening day box set

The World Naked Gardening Day novellas

The Naked Gardening Day stories are a collaboration between Holly Day, Nell Iris, A. L. Lester, K. L. Noone and Amy Spector. They comprise five MM romance novellas featuring being naked in a garden somehow, somewhere, to mark World Naked Gardening Day on 7th May 2022.

All the World Naked Gardening Day stories

Secrets on a Train – Nell Iris

Hi everyone, hi Ally and thanks for inviting me over. You’re always so kind and generous. ❤️ (Ally: BLUSHES)

Today, I’m here to talk about my newest release, Secrets on a Train.

A few months ago, JM Snyder of JMS Books was writing with Ofelia Gränd, Ally, and me in the morning office, and she told us about an idea she had for upcoming submission calls. One of them, “Sugar or spice,” caught my attention. The idea was to write a short story (between 6000 and 12000 long) and incorporate either sugar or spice as a theme.

That submission call idea burrowed itself into my brain and refused to let go, and even though there was another project that should have gotten my attention, I pushed that particular story back and threw myself into sugar or spice.

And I’m sure it’ll come as a surprise to no one familiar with my writing, that I gravitated towards sugar since my stories don’t tend to be hot and sizzling, but sweet and emotional. My sugar story, Secrets on a Train, is no different. In fact, I’ve repeatedly told Ally and Ofelia that I’ll probably be roasted for Secrets on a Train because there’s not even an on-page kiss.

Gasp.

I know, I know! That’s a bit extreme, even for me. I usually get at least one review with every book I release lamenting the lack of heat, and now my characters don’t even kiss? What were you thinking, Nell?

But let me assure you there’s plenty of flirting and heated glances and pin-striped crotches in this story. Okay, only one pin-striped crotch, but what I’m trying to say is that the lack of a kiss doesn’t mean a lack of chemistry because the sweetness of this story is of the literal kind. Sugar. It’s two strangers in the silent car on a train connecting when one of them pours not one, not two, but three packets of sugar in his to-go coffee. And who can resist the allure of so much sweetness? Not Runar, that’s for sure.

Secrets on a Train

It’s the fountain pens that capture Valentin’s attention on the morning commute, not the perfectly imperfect man who spends his train rides using them. Not his pinstriped suits, his chin-length hair, or his perpetually raised eyebrow. But one morning when the man strikes up a written conversation, Valentin gives up all pretense. It’s not just the pens. It’s the man. Runar.

The conversations continue, and the men get to know each other better, sharing secrets they’ve never told another soul. The connection is powerful, growing stronger with every encounter, every scribbled conversation, every scorching look. But can secrets shared on a train be enough to build a forever?

M/M Contemporary / 9889 words

Buy links: JMS Books:: Amazon :: Books2Read

About Nell

Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bonafide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies room), loves music (and singing along at the top of her voice but she’s no Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (Make it so). She loves words, bullet journals, poetry, wine, coffee-flavored kisses, and fika (a Swedish cultural thing involving coffee and pastry!)

Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.

Nell is a bisexual Swedish woman married to the love of her life, a proud mama of a grown daughter, and is approaching 50 faster than she’d like. She lives in the south of Sweden where she spends her days thinking up stories about people falling in love. After dreaming about being a writer for most of her life, she finally was in a place where she could pursue her dream and released her first book in 2017.

Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, short over long, and quirky characters over alpha males.

Find Nell on social media:

Newsletter :: Webpage/blog :: Twitter :: Instagram :: Facebook Page :: Facebook Profile :: Goodreads :: Bookbub

Excerpt from Secrets on a Train

He taps the espresso cup with a quirked eyebrow, and I shake my head. No, I didn’t put sugar in his coffee. He tears off the lid and tosses back the coffee, as though it was a shot of whiskey, making me shudder.
“Bleurgh!” My exclaimation makes the old lady—who’s also traveling on this train every morning and has appointed herself the security guard of the silent car—shoots me a poisonous glare, and I mouth I’m sorry to her.
Laughter dances in Runar’s features and I make an exaggerated wince, my silent way of saying either “ouch” or “oops” or a combination of both.
Runar has written something in his notebook.
Thanks for the coffee. It was great. But why?
I point at the window and fake a shudder, and he nods as though he not only understood what I was trying to say but agreed, too. He underlines the word thanks and I smile and give him a thumbs-up without taking my eyes off what he’s written.
That purple ink. I can’t get over it. So far, he’s only used black or blue ink, serious colors to go with a serious-looking man, making his handwriting almost ominous. But the purple ink softens the sharp edges of his writing—turning the angry-looking slashes into swoops and swirls—and of the man himself.
I grab my phone off the table and tap out a question. What’s up with the purple ink?
He draws a big question mark on the paper, but his quirked eyebrow already asked the question.
It seems so…bubbly. You don’t give me a bubbly impression, so it surprised me.
Bubbly?
I nod.
Ink can be bubbly? The corners of his mouth twitch, as though he’s holding back a smile.
Today’s pen is as sleek as a samurai sword. Your usual black slashes would be more in style.
His eyes crinkle. You’re keeping track of my pens?
I nod. You haven’t used the same one twice since I started sitting across from you.
My admission—revealing that I’ve watched him every day for weeks—could’ve, should’ve, made him wary of me. Scared him even. But nothing in his demeanor suggests that’s the case. Instead, he relaxes back into his seat, crossing his legs over the knees, brushing out invisible wrinkles of his already immaculate suit, smirking as he catches my gaze following his every movement. He wiggles his foot, smirk widening as he gets the desired effect of my complete attention.
I tear my gaze away to ask him another question. How many fountain pens do you own?
He slides his calf down his shin, slowly. When his foot hits the floor, he lets his knees fall open and his hands land on his thighs. He might as well have drawn a huge arrow pointing at his junk and written LOOK THIS WAY! with his irresistible purple ink.
So I oblige him. I look at his long legs, his powerful thighs that not even the fabric of his pants can hide. And I look at his bulge, embraced and emboldened by pinstripes. Tantalizing, promising hidden wonders, making me want to fall on my knees and bury my face in the V of his legs and inhale him. Ingest him.
I run a trembling hand through my hair and let my eyes wander up his body and meet his gaze.
He leans forward to pick up the pen, his eyes never leaving me. More than fifty, he writes without looking, his words veering off the lines. I have to read it three times before understanding.
Oh right. Fountain pens.

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