The Nine Lives Of Christmas

The Nine Lives Of Christmas

Sunday, 13 December 2015

After a stray cat adopts Zachary, he meets Marliee and realizes the single life is not as fulfilling as he thought it was.

Love this cheesy hallmark Christmas film. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt3889642/

Read more »

New York Christmas Audio - Cover Reveal

New York Christmas Audio - Cover Reveal

Friday, 18 September 2015

Coming this December in Audio, narrated by Sean Crisden

 

Christmas, and the man of his fantasies is back in Chris's life.

It's been far too long since Christian Matthews has seen Daniel Bailey. In fact the last time they met, Chris was a senior in college and he was the TA tasked with helping Daniel, who was a way-too-confident freshman.

Seven years down the road, Chris is licking his wounds after being asked to leave the private school where he was teaching. He has no job, no money, and has to rely on his friend Amelia for the job and a room to live in. He needs a freaking Christmas miracle to make this Season anything other than a total loss.

Then Daniel comes back into his life and suddenly everything seems possible. Not only is Daniel still the man Christian wants more than anything, but this time Chris may well actually tell Daniel how he feels.

Read more »

Gorgeous 5/5 review for Jesse's Christmas

Gorgeous 5/5 review for Jesse's Christmas

Thursday, 11 December 2014

Prism Book Alliance

"... I really enjoyed Jesse’s Christmas. I would love to see more from these men because I want to now how their forever turns out. This story was beautiful in its artistry and deceptive depth. I recommend this to everyone. ..."

* * * * *

For more reviews, excerpts and buy links click here: Jesse's Christmas

Read more »

Natale a New-York di RJ Scott

Natale a New-York di RJ Scott

Tuesday, 9 December 2014

Dopo "Il miracolo di Natale", Rj Scott torna con una nuova novella natalizia tradotta dalla cara Claudia Milani e dalla sua collega Esme White. Un appuntamento da non perdere!

Sinossi: È passato molto tempo dall’ultima volta in cui Christian Matthews ha visto Daniel Bailey. Si erano incontrati all’università: Chris era all’ultimo anno e, in veste di assistente alla cattedra di letteratura, dava ripetizioni alla matricola Daniel che a tutto pensava meno che allo studio.

Sette anni dopo, Chris sta cercando di restare a galla dopo che la scuola privata per la quale lavorava gli ha chiesto di abbandonare la sua posizione e l’ha minacciato di far scoppiare uno scandalo. Non ha un lavoro, non ha soldi e deve affidarsi al buon cuore dell’amica Amelia per riuscire a sbarcare il lunario e avere un posto dove dormire. Gli servirebbe un vero e proprio miracolo di Natale perché quell’ultimo anno si rivelasse qualcosa di completamente diverso da un totale fallimento.

Poi arriva Daniel e all’improvviso tutto sembra di nuovo possibile. Chris si rende conto che non solo lo desidera ancora con tutto se stesso, ma questa volta potrebbe addirittura trovare il coraggio di confessargli ciò che prova.

* * * * *

Traduzione: Claudia Milani, Esme White
Lunghezza stampa: 90 circa
Editore: Love Lane Books
Lingua: italiano
Reperibile dall'8 dicembre prezzo Amazon e Love Lane Books (e credo AllRomance)

L'acquisto

Amazon (Italy) | Amazon (US) | Amazon (UK) | Kobo

Recensioni

Romanticamente Fantasy Sito - 5/5 - "....Il libro Natale a New York è lungo circa 100 pagine, quindi si divora in un batter d’occhio. È scorrevolissimo e riesce a farti immergere nell’atmosfera natalizia in uno dei luoghi magici per eccellenza: New York.

I due protagonisti ti entrano nel cuore: Daniel, bellissimo poliziotto dagli occhi nocciola, sicuro di sé e ricco da far paura, e Chris, ex docente di letteratura, calpestato nell’anima solo per il fatto di essere gay e che non riesce a vedere quanto vale e quanto sia meraviglioso.

Durante la lettura non mancheranno sorrisi e lacrime, specialmente in un paio di scene dove non saprete se piangere o arrabbiarvi, se continuare a leggere o chiudere tutto e passare oltre...."

Estratto

Capitolo 1

Mercoledì 21 novembre

Cominciò tutto nello spazio di un respiro: nelle orecchie il classico di Natale di John Lennon al settantacinquesimo passaggio, e nelle narici il profumo dei muffin al mirtillo di Amelia. Fu come trovarsi davanti, insieme, l’Inferno e il Paradiso, oltre a tutta la serie di cliché che stavano nel mezzo. Una sorpresa così improvvisa da lasciarlo completamente disorientato.

Daniel.

Daniel Bailey, il rampollo dei Bailey di Boston, il ragazzo che Chris aveva desiderato con ogni fibra del suo corpo. Da sempre.

Alto - tanto, tanto alto - con capelli castani e bellissimi occhi nocciola, una fossetta sul mento e lineamenti forti, Daniel meraviglia Bailey era la perfezione fatta uomo. Avevano studiato assieme quando Chris era l’assistente alla cattedra d’inglese e Daniel, che doveva recuperare un credito in letteratura, era stato inserito nel programma per studenti con ‘necessità particolari’ - un eufemismo coniato da chi, al college, lavorava duramente, e usato in senso dispregiativo per etichettare quegli studenti che dei libri invece se ne fregavano. Daniel apparteneva a suddetta cerchia di sfaccendati: non si applicava mai in nulla eppure, in qualche modo, riusciva sempre a cavarsela.

D’altronde, non c’era motivo per cui dovesse impegnarsi nello studio. A venticinque anni sarebbe entrato in possesso di un fondo fiduciario, mentre già da matricola vantava vacanze in Europa e possedeva una Ferrari - anzi due - in bella mostra nel parcheggio del campus. La carriera futura spianata, quando una volta finiti gli studi sarebbe entrato a far parte dell’impero di famiglia, per Daniel la vita scorreva liscia come l’olio, e forse anche per questo sembrava essere avvolto da un’aura che illuminava tutto ciò che lo circondava.

E adesso, a ventinove anni, era ancora in ottima forma. Doveva essere quella la sua età, giacché Chris aveva già passato i famigerati trenta… più due. Ed era ancora, ovviamente, alto. Aveva ancora quelle lunghe ciocche ricce che gli ondeggiavano ad arte attorno al viso, e indossava denim che costavano più di quanto Chris guadagnasse in una settimana di turni al caffè, insieme a una di quelle T-shirt orribili, ma pur sempre costosissime, che lui adorava. Era di un colore misto tra il marrone e il blu, e addosso a un uomo meno imponente, più basso, grasso e brutto sarebbe parsa davvero tremenda. Su Daniel, invece, il cotone seguiva la linea dei muscoli ben definiti, gli aderiva al torso e scendeva a sfiorargli i fianchi, per poi coprirgli quella zona che anni addietro Chris era solito associare, nella sua mente, al Paradiso in terra.

“Chris? Chris Matthews, sei proprio tu?”. La voce profonda e dal tono raffinato lo fece trasalire e il suo sesso scattò immediatamente sull’attenti, provocandogli una dolorosa erezione contro la cerniera dei pantaloni, celata fortunatamente dal grembiule che indossava e lo qualificava come una delle dolcezze di Amelia. Niente era cambiato dai tempi del college: Daniel gli faceva ancora lo stesso effetto. Per di più gli stava parlando; l’ultima volta era successo circa dieci anni prima, in occasione della cerimonia di laurea. Senza scordare l’incidente natalizio dello zabaione. Merda, perché doveva tornargli in mente proprio lì? In quel momento? Nel pieno dell’ora di punta di metà mattinata?

Una volta, sotto Natale, erano rimasti entrambi all’università e si erano ritrovati unici inquilini degli appartamenti che condividevano, ciascuno separatamente, con altri studenti; finché, più per fortuna che per scelta, si erano incontrati al bar del campus. Il caffè era stato accompagnato da una discussione su Grand Theft Auto, seguita a sua volta da una sfida a muso duro nell’appartamento di Daniel. La casa abitata dal giovane era completamente diversa da quella specie di deposito che Chris divideva con altri sette disperati. Daniel viveva infatti insieme a due soli altri studenti, e ognuno di loro aveva la benedizione di un bagno privato – un lusso che era solo uno dei tanti esempi dell’abisso che li separava. Ancora oggi, Chris non riusciva a rammentare da chi fosse partita l’idea dello zabaione, nonostante il ricordo di ciò che era seguito lo avesse rincorso per parecchi anni.

Daniel aveva rovesciato delicatamente il contenuto di una busta della spesa sul piano di lavoro della cucina e Chris aveva afferrato al volo una bottiglia di bourbon per impedire che rovinasse a terra. Avevano seguito scrupolosamente la ricetta per la creazione dello ‘zabaione perfetto’, concentrandosi come solo due ragazzi imbottiti di birra avrebbero potuto. Al miscuglio di uova, zucchero, noce moscata e panna avevano aggiunto del brandy, ancora un po’ di brandy e infine del bourbon, di cui Chris aveva preso un generoso assaggio per giudicare se fosse o meno utilizzabile. L’alcool lo aveva reso audace. L’uomo dei suoi sogni era lì davanti a lui, a solo un passo di distanza, e gli sventolava il liquore sotto il naso chiedendogli se potessero usarlo. Alla fine ce ne avevano versato dentro mezza bottiglia.

Il primo assaggio dell’intruglio aveva fatto annaspare Chris in cerca d’ossigeno, il secondo l’aveva anestetizzato. Di quello che era accaduto nelle ore successive conservava ben pochi ricordi, a parte lo scambio di baci disordinati sotto il vischio. L’alcol gli aveva intorpidito i sensi al punto di fargli perdere l’occasione per spingersi oltre, giacché il suo sesso non si sarebbe levato in volo nemmeno se Brad Pitt si fosse messo a sfilare nudo per la stanza chiedendogli una seduta di sesso anale. Al suo risveglio, si era ritrovato sul pavimento, in bocca il sapore di un topo morto e il culo intatto, mentre Daniel russava sul divano. A quel punto si era dileguato, aveva camminato per i due isolati fino al suo appartamento e aveva trascorso il resto della giornata a svuotare il contenuto del proprio stomaco per ben dieci volte dentro la tazza del bagno. Ma quei baci… ne avrebbe decisamente voluti ancora. Purtroppo, non li aveva mai ottenuti.

E adesso l’uomo che aveva cercato di dimenticare con tutte le sue forze gli stava di fronte, magari aspettandosi anche una risposta sensata da persona normale, mentre la sua testa era invece completamente vuota. Sapeva benissimo cosa avrebbe dovuto dire e come ma, alla stregua di un nerd, seguendo il più tipico dei cliché cinematografici, produsse solo una specie di squittio capace di pizzicare esclusivamente l’udito di adolescenti e cani di piccola taglia. Finse un attacco di tosse, con tanto di colpetti alla gola, e deglutì prima di riprovare a parlare.

“Ehilà.” Eloquente. Ma anche no.

“Chris Matthews, quello del college, giusto?” ripeté Daniel con cautela. Sembrava un po’ confuso, quasi fosse preoccupato di aver sbagliato il nome o magari averlo scambiato per qualcun altro.

“Muffin?” iniziò a dire Chris. “Mmmh, sì, Chris… del college… Lavoro… ehm… Muffin?” Dio, era talmente uno sfigato che persino la sua erezione si nascose. L’alta, misteriosa e sexy figura di Daniel aveva ridotto praticamente a zero le sue capacità verbali, vanificando quattro anni di studi universitari.

Daniel sorrise. Un sorriso semplice, grande e allegro, che riempì i suoi occhi nocciola e gli si allargò su tutto il viso. E che dire, maledizione, di quelle due fossette, così carine, profonde e - in mancanza di un termine più adatto - pacioccose?

“Da quanto tempo!” Daniel era chiaramente interessato a prolungare la conversazione e così lui, ma era davvero imbarazzante l’incapacità del proprio cervello e della propria bocca di connettersi per verbalizzare un qualsiasi pensiero coerente.

“Uh, uh,” riuscì solo a farfugliare. Daniel aveva sempre avuto il potere di annodargli la lingua. Cambiò piede d’appoggio sperando di non essersi fatto notare e blaterò: “Cosa posso darti?” Senza volerlo gli uscì con un tono troppo spiccio, e maledisse tra sé quella sua inettitudine a socializzare coi ragazzi sexy.

Daniel sembrò farsi a sua volta taciturno: l’entusiasmo che aveva illuminato i suoi occhi fino a un momento prima sbiadì e le sue ampie spalle si irrigidirono leggermente. Ma durò poco e forse Chris lo aveva solo immaginato, perché nel giro di un istante tornò impettito e osservò con avidità l’accattivante esposizione di muffin, indicando alla fine quelli al mirtillo.

“Dodici di quelli, per favore.”

Chris li sistemò nella scatola, concentrandosi nell’operazione in modo da non dover incontrare gli occhi di Daniel, e poi gliela porse con un lieve sorriso che l’altro però non ricambiò, preferendo mettergli in mano una banconota da venti dollari. Chris trafficò col resto e gli posò due dollari e venticinque centesimi direttamente sul palmo aperto della mano. Daniel lo fissò con un’espressione colma d’attesa, che mutò in confusione prima che girasse sui tacchi e uscisse dal negozio.

“Parlando di cose buone da mangiare!” La frase, detta a bassa voce, arrivò all’orecchio di Chris seguita da un fischio leggero. Si voltò e vide Amelia, il suo capo, intenta a destreggiarsi come un prestigiatore fra una teglia di muffin e un cabaret di paste alla crema.

“Mmm?” Chris pensò che la donna si riferisse ai muffin appena sfornati, quindi le tolse di mano il nuovo lotto di dolci e lo sistemò nella vetrinetta.

“Il ragazzo che hai appena servito: quello alto, tenebroso e sexy.”

“Daniel.”

“Oh. Mio. Dio,” fece Amelia con un mezzo sospiro. “Christian James Matthews, gran baldracca che non sei altro, sai già il suo nome? È proprio vero che le acque chete rompono i ponti!”

“Ci conosciamo dai tempi del college, okay? Non sono una baldracca, Ame,” brontolò Chris, prima di servire il nuovo cliente che aveva reclamato la sua attenzione e che ordinò tre muffin, una pasta alla crema, un macchiato, un cappuccino con molto latte e un moca.

Si occupò di quel cliente e anche di quello successivo, il pensiero di Daniel accantonato dalla necessità pressante di sostenere il ritmo della sfacchinata del pre-Ringaziamento-ancora al lavoro-ho bisogno di un muffin.

Riflettendoci, anche se dopo l’incidente dello zabaione Daniel aveva iniziato a evitarlo al di fuori degli orari di lezione, la cotta che Chris nutriva nei suoi confronti non si era per nulla affievolita. Eppure aveva preferito portare a termine gli studi senza mai dichiararsi. L’altro ricordo che gli era rimasto impresso nella memoria era quello del suo ultimo giorno al college, quando Daniel lo aveva incantonato nel parcheggio del campus e lo aveva abbracciato stretto.

“Grazie per l’aiuto che mi hai dato con le lezioni.”

“Prego,” aveva risposto lui, le stesse identiche parole con cui aveva salutato tutti gli altri studenti del primo anno che aveva aiutato. Breve e conciso.

“Ci rivediamo fra qualche anno,” aveva promesso Daniel.

“Okay.”

La frase del ragazzo gli era tornata in mente una volta in auto, mentre ascoltava la musica orripilante scelta dalla madre, ma non aveva creduto nemmeno per un secondo che si sarebbero davvero incontrati di nuovo.

Che importava se da quel momento e per undici lunghi anni, il giovane Bailey fosse stato il protagonista dei suoi giochi di mano erotici? Che importava se molto probabilmente aveva appena perso l’occasione di una vita per parlargli da uomo adulto e vaccinato? Tanto non lo avrebbe rivisto mai più. New York era una città immensa e il negozio di Amelia, anche se popolare, solo una caffetteria fra tante, e pure un po’ fuori mano.

Che peccato, però! Daniel Bailey era ancora una vera bellezza!



* * * *



Nello spogliatoio Daniel scambiò gli abiti civili con l’uniforme, poi si affrettò alla propria scrivania, lasciando cadere la scatola con i dodici muffin al mirtillo sul tavolo al centro dell’ufficio. Aspettandosi un commento da un momento all’altro, non fu per nulla sorpreso quando questo arrivò proprio per bocca del suo partner, Alex Strachen.

“I muffin sono così terribilmente gay, Bailey,” disse. “Dannazione, tesoro, non potevi prendere le ciambelle, i biscotti o qualcosa di più etero?”

“Ah, ah, Strachen,” rispose lui asciutto. Gli tolse la scatola e chiuse il coperchio. “Li porto a quelli dell’amministrazione, allora.”

“Non avere fretta,” lo fermò l’altro. Allungò una mano e la scosse, il palmo rivolto all’insù. “Da’ qua.”

Daniel riappoggiò con calma la scatola davanti al collega, poi si abbandonò sulla sedia più vicina e si servì a sua volta.

“Sono di Grand Street?” notò Alex con la bocca piena, indicando il logo sul lato della confezione. “È almeno a dieci isolati di distanza.” Ingoiò il boccone e prese una sorsata di caffè, facendo una smorfia per il sapore orribile della caffeina. “E dalla parte opposta della città rispetto a dove abiti.”

“Che intuito, detective!” lo canzonò Daniel. Schiacciò con i denti un mirtillo intero e il succo aspro del frutto gli invase la bocca. Dio, quei muffin erano paradisiaci. Li osservò sparire uno dopo l’altro, via via che i colleghi li prendevano dalla scatola. Una piccola parte di sé non avrebbe voluto condividerli, tuttavia in quel modo sarebbe potuto tornare al negozio subito dopo il Ringraziamento e avrebbe rivisto Chris.

“Ha qualcosa a che vedere con quel ragazzo? Sei riuscito a trovarlo?” gli domandò piano Alex sporgendosi verso di lui. Anche se lì al dipartimento erano tutti a conoscenza della sua omosessualità, Alex era sempre molto attento a non divulgare particolari sulla vita privata di Daniel.

“Ne parliamo dopo,” rispose lui. Il resto – quando saremo fuori da qui – non c’era bisogno di pronunciarlo a voce alta.

Dopodiché cominciarono a lavorare, controllando i rapporti, prendendo gli ordini per la giornata e organizzando il loro turno. Era quasi mezzogiorno quando finalmente lasciarono il dipartimento per pattugliare le strade, benedicendo la neve che, se non altro, rallentava un po’ il solito caos. La gente si muoveva ancora senza meta; le auto continuavano ancora a passare col rosso e a tagliare gli angoli così da sfiorare con le ruote i piedi dei pedoni in attesa, però c’era qualcosa di nuovo nell’aria, come una nota di eccitazione. La prima neve era sempre qualcosa di eccitante, avanti che cominciasse a sciogliersi o, peggio ancora, a diventare poltiglia. L’aria fredda di novembre gli sferzò il viso, ma non gli importava: si sentiva a casa.

“Dai racconta. Quel tizio che hai cercato, il fratello o quello che era, ti ha dato qualche dritta utile?”

Contrario a ricorrere ai mezzi della polizia, Daniel si era affidato al buon vecchio lavoro da detective. Aveva parlato con il fratello di Chris, che sapeva lavorare al Times, e si era fatto dare i particolari circa la sua attuale occupazione. Con l’indirizzo stretto in pugno – e dopo essere uscito di casa con due ore di anticipo rispetto all’inizio del proprio turno – aveva finalmente, dopo tutti quegli anni, potuto rivederlo. Strano che proprio l’uomo che gli aveva dato l’impulso a impegnarsi nello studio fosse finito a lavorare in una caffetteria. Nella sua testa, Chris era un insegnante, o aveva addirittura continuato la carriera accademica fino a diventare titolare di una cattedra di letteratura inglese. Di certo non si aspettava di vederlo servire caffè e muffin.

“Sì, lavora lì come commesso.”

“Ed ecco spiegati i muffin. Ti ha riconosciuto?”

“Sì. Subito.”

“Eri in uniforme?”

“No, l’ho lasciata in centrale ieri e me la sono messa quando sono arrivato. Non volevo spaventarlo fin da subito.” Si strinse nelle spalle, incerto. “Era bianco come un fantasma, e non portava gli occhiali.”

“Ti ricordi addirittura che portava gli occhiali?” Alex scoppiò a ridere. “Cavolo, ragazzo, sei proprio cotto come una pera. Davvero hai pensato a lui per tutto questo tempo?”

C’erano molte cose del suo passato che Daniel non aveva condiviso con Alex, il quale era informato solo dei fatti principali: rampollo di una ricca famiglia, scuole private, laurea, poliziotto. Non sapeva nulla di Chris e dell’influenza che questi aveva avuto sulla sua giovane vita. E a Daniel andava bene così; erano dei ricordi che conservava con cura.

Sospirò. “È qualcosa che è rimasto in sospeso. Avrei dovuto cercarlo già da molto tempo.”

Alex gli lanciò uno sguardo indagatore, evitando nel frattempo di andare a sbattere contro una donna che si era fermata all’improvviso per guardare una vetrina senza curarsi minimamente di chi le stava attorno. Fece una smorfia, ma continuò a camminare. Erano abituati a molto peggio. Tutte le persone che percorrevano i marciapiedi di New York avevano, per qualche ragione, fretta ed era compito loro, in quanto poliziotti, assicurarsi che tutto scorresse nel miglior modo possibile.

“Allora perché non l’hai fatto?”

Daniel adocchiò uno sciatto Babbo Natale che chiedeva la carità fermo all’angolo di una strada e lo guardò male finché questi non colse il suggerimento e se la filò. Aveva imparato l’arte dello sguardo d’acciaio vedi-di-non-rompere da Alex e gli riusciva alla perfezione. Qualche volta il linguaggio del corpo e l’uniforme funzionavano meglio delle parole.

“Non era mai il momento giusto. Prima ero all’università, poi in lotta con la mia famiglia, poi all’accademia e poi sfinito. È solo da poco che ho cominciato a sentirmi a posto.”

“Un po’ pericoloso se lui era tanto importante, non trovi? E se avesse incontrato un altro bellissimo spilungone con gli occhi nocciola e fosse fuggito sull’isola di Tortuga?”

“Stai dicendo che sono bellissimo, Strachen?”

Alex rise sotto i baffi e prese una chiamata alla radio. Era richiesto il loro intervento in una strada poco più avanti, e all’improvviso la conversazione passò in secondo piano.

Mentre si occupavano della faccenda – un coniglio morto, un imbroglione, un bambino in lacrime e sua madre – Daniel cercò di fare ordine nei propri pensieri. Chris era rimasto molto sorpreso di vederlo quella mattina, però l’aveva riconosciuto. Era positivo, no? L’uomo era esattamente come Daniel lo ricordava: affannato, carino – anzi no, bellissimo – e con quel sorriso che gli faceva sentire le farfalle nello stomaco. Sarebbe tornato a trovarlo molto presto e, con un po’ di coraggio, gli avrebbe anche chiesto di uscire.

Una volta presa la sua decisione si concentrò sul perché un ragazzino di quattro anni avesse trovato un coniglio morto dentro una scatola da scarpe.

Cose che succedevano solo a New York.

Read more »

Unwrapping Hank - Eli Easton 6/5 & Recommended Read

Unwrapping Hank - Eli Easton 6/5 & Recommended Read

Sunday, 23 November 2014

Sloane loves a good mystery. He grew up as the son of two psychiatrists, so he finds most people tediously easy to figure out. He finds his way to Pennsylvania State University, longing for a rural experience, and ends up being lured into joining a frat by Micah Springfield, the hippest guy on campus.

Nothing in Sloane’s classes is as intriguing as Hank Springfield, Micah’s brother and fellow frat house member. Hank looks like a tough guy—big muscles, tatts, and a beard—but his eyes are soft and sweet. He acts dumb, but he’s a philosophy major. He’s presumably straight, but then why does Sloane feel such crazy chemistry whenever Hank is around? And why does Hank hate Sloane so much?

When Sloane ends up stuck on campus over Christmas, Micah invites him to spend the holidays at their family farm in Amish country. It’s a chance to experience a true Americana Christmas--and further investigate the mystery that is Hank Springfield. Can Sloane unlock the secrets of this family and unwrap the heart hidden inside the beefcake?


Review 6/5 and only the second book I've read this year to get that!


This to me is a perfect Christmas book... love... holidays... family... animals... more love... a *bad* guy... the *good guys* and most of all humour. I love Eli Easton's books and this one is just the right book to sit with the Christmas tree and lose yourself in a funny, endearing, happy, loving and it left me smiling like an idiot.


Buy Links

Amazon (US) | Amazon (UK)

Read more »

Jesse's Christmas

Jesse's Christmas

Sunday, 22 December 2013

This story that was originally released by Silver publishing.

I loved this story so much upon re-release, I have re-edited and added 10,000 words to the original story.

I expanded the story without losing the intrinsic story of a man who hates Christmas and the man who shows him how he can learn to love again.

The Book

For Jesse Connor, Christmas is nothing but a series of bad memories. It takes a man imbued with the spirit of Christmas to help him realize that the Christmas spirit lies in everyone. If they only know where to look.

Re-written and expanded for 2013
Originally written in 2011

As usual, for a re-released book, Love Lane Books will supply a free replacement if you purchased an original version. Simply email rjscott.team@gmail with your receipt of purchase.

Buy Links

Amazon (US) | Amazon (UK) | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Smashwords | iTunes

Reviews for the re-released, updated story

Prism Book Alliance - 5/5 & a Recommended Read - "Finally, the thing that connected with me the most was the ending. The story was so well written ...  I loved their vows of forever. This is how the instant love connection is done right and in a way that is utterly believable and satisfying. And how did the author pull that off you wonder? She made it so the reader participated in the HEA. She allowed Jesse to admit he was scared and that he needed Gabriel’s help in finding and sustaining forever. She allowed the reader to add his or her own take on what that means. She allowed me to add that bit of realism into the ending myself because we all know that forever is not perfect, and this forever admits to that."

Mrs Condit & Friends read books - 5/5 - "....The question becomes, will Jesse be able to give up his sophisticated, if very insular, life in NYC for the coddled life as the partner of a small town teacher? Or will the small town teacher be able to leave his comfortable position as the beloved teacher and organizer of almost every facet of the month long celebration of Christmas in his hometown? We watch, knowing what their choices should be, hoping that they will be, and knowing that love just has to win in the end. Doesn’t it? An excellent story, set during the Christmas season, but meaningful at any time of the year...."

Reviews for the original story, released 2011

Rainbow Book Reviews - "....This is a wonderful story which made me smile and re-appreciate the meaning of Christmas. I loved reading about Jesse, who is totally disillusioned. Christmas is ruined for him, and while it isn’t clear, at first, exactly what happened, the gradual revealing of his reasons added a nice extra layer to the story. Equally, the gradual thawing of his heart as he meets and gets to know Gabriel is the perfect setup for a heartwarming story. It is an interesting variation on the Christmas grinch storyline...."

Blackravens Reviews - 3/5 - "....It’s impossible not to smile while reading this tale of lost and found love, as Jesse and Gabriel struggle (all too briefly) to develop a relationship in a situation that could ultimately be temporary. After all, Jesse is on an assignment for Christmas...."

Excerpt

Welcome to

Eden Vale, Vermont

Winner of Best Christmas Small Town**

2009

(**For towns with populations under 1200)

* * * * *

Prologue

~Two Years Ago~

The end when it came was utterly brutal and sudden. One minute Jesse Connor was planning the most romantic way to propose to his boyfriend of three years, the next said boyfriend was gone. And not just gone in a ‘popped out for a coffee’ way. But gone in an ‘emptying closets and trashing the place’ kind of way. Even the original Jesse Connor prints on their bedroom wall were gone, removed from the frame with the frames themselves stacked haphazardly against the wall.

Everything Jesse felt about the season was wrapped up in this particular Christmas, the day he was going to ask Jonah to marry him. He had the tree and the decorations and all the perfectly chosen and appropriate presents organized. He even had the damn platinum ring burning a hole in his pocket.

And now everything had gone to hell.

“Sir, you’ll need to come with us.” Jesse spun on his heel. There was a cop standing inside his apartment, feet straddling the threshold between bedroom and main living room. This was a joke. Any minute now the cop would strip off and give him a lap dance and everything would be revealed to be one huge joke.

“I think I’ve been burgled,” Jesse murmured. He felt icy cold; the window wide open to the outside air was letting in gusts of snow every so often. The snow landed on the widescreen TV, which lay on its side with half of its guts hanging out, and melted immediately.

“Sir, we have some questions. Please come with us.”

“Where?” was all Jesse could ask. “Outside?” He was in a daze. Where was Jonah? Why was the TV destroyed? Where had his photos gone? Why was all of Jonah’s stuff not in the closet?

“The FBI are waiting in the hall, sir.”

“What? Sorry, what?”

“Sir, you’ll need to come with us,” another cop said. Where had he come from? Jesse blinked at them both.

“What are you doing here? Where’s Jonah?”

“We’re hoping you will tell us that, sir.” This time it was a different voice belonging to a man in a cheap suit with frown lines bracketing his eyes who stepped in past the cops.

“I don’t know.” Jesse pulled out his cell again, but checking it for the hundredth time wasn’t going to change the fact that there was no new message from Jonah. “Maybe he’s delayed at the bank?” Jesse offered.

“We both know that is unlikely,” the Fed said with a scowl. “He’s not going to return to the scene of a crime.”

Cops in his apartment. And now Jonah was being accused of something. And Jonah had gone. The music in the apartment next door started up, signaling the fact that Henrietta who worked in marketing at the same company as Jonah had arrived home. The strains of Christmas music wound their way through the walls and into Jesse’s hearing.

“He’s supposed to be here. We were due to go to the ballet. I had tickets.” Jesse looked at the decorated tree that lay on its side, then back at the empty frames, and finally he faced the cops in his and Jonah’s apartment.

“I’ll need your cell phone, sir.” The Fed held out his hand.

“Will it help you find Jonah?” Jesse asked uncertainly.

“I surely hope so,” the Fed answered brusquely.

“What did he do? What’s happened? I don’t…”

The Fed was talking to the cops, telling them not to let anyone in, instructing them that Jonah may well be desperate and try anything at this moment in time.

Jesse followed the Fed numbly out into the hallway. The door to Henrietta’s apartment was open, and she stood in the doorway with a stunned expression on her face. Her eyes were bright and she was crying.

“Oh my God, Jesse,” she said as Jesse came to a stop in front of her.

“Henrietta? Are you okay? What’s happened?”

“It’s Jonah. He’s taken down the whole bank.” She put a hand to her mouth. “He’s wiped millions in trading. It’s all over the news, he’s destroyed us.”

“I don’t understand?”

“Did you know?” she shouted. Jesse stumbled back against the wall as she advanced on him with horror in her eyes.

The Fed moved between them. “Sir, you need to come with me.” Jesse saw one of the cops nod, and in a few seconds he was bundled out of the building and into a cop car.



When he got home, twenty-four hours had passed and Jesse’s world had been destroyed. He tore the tree to small pieces and threw the gifts in the garbage.

And he promised himself one thing. Never again would he fall so far in love that he was blinded by it.



Chapter 1

~This Christmas~

“Your apathy is getting serious, and you have deadlines, Jesse.”

The words repeated on an audio loop in his head. Emma meant well. As his agent she had a responsibility to keep him in line. God knows he hadn’t been the best client over the last year.

“I get why you’re angry,” he hedged in the vain hope he would placate her.

“You agreed to this contract, Jesse. The photos for their website are important to them and are central to their whole Christmas marketing campaign.”

“I know, Emma—”

“They’re paying good money for Jesse Connor’s work, and let’s face it, your accounts are running on empty now. Eden Vale may be the only thing that gets you inspired.”

He argued so hard. He used to love Christmas. The expectation and the uplifting joy that people carried around with them was so intrinsic to the memories he had of the season before two years ago. Now though? Well now, in his opinion, Christmas was something he wanted to forget, winter was cold, and in fact every damn thing connected to the season sucked. Emma had been so patient listening to everything he said and then passed him the leaflet that signed his death warrant. That is what it was. A damned document to screw him over in life’s shitty path. So sue him if he was being melodramatic, but his response was a well-thought-out curse word that made Emma narrow her eyes in a flash of temper.

“Is there a problem, Jesse? You know you are only getting away with this artistic bullshit because the clients are desperate for the work of the Jesse Connor.”

Her words had created a curious mix of gratitude and fear in him. Something as simple as a client still wanting him actually seemed more like a noose around his neck.

“Yes, there’s a goddamn problem with all of it. This is simple. I can’t do it, Emma. I don’t have the passion I need for creating art, let alone have anything to do with Christmas. That isn’t some random statement. I really can’t give them what they want.”

“Jesse—”

“No, Em, I know you are trying to help, but I don’t feel Christmas. Not in a single cell of my body.” He pushed every raw emotion he had into the simple words. She ignored him and instead changed the subject back to the visit to Christmas-ville.

“The first event in Eden Vale is three days away, Jesse. I booked you a room from tomorrow, right through December, up until the third of January.”

“What the hell? I thought you were joking.” Jesse sat forward. “I said no, and I meant it. You have to get me out of this contract, tell them I was drunk when I signed it. Because I sure as hell am not going to freaking Vermont.”

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “You are going. The newspaper has hired you and wants to bring Christmas to their website viewers, and they want it to be a Jesse Connor Christmas.”

“Shit, Emma—”

“The deal is done, and it’s your only option. You knew what you were doing when you signed the contract—”

“I needed the advance—”

“Which you now can’t pay back, right?”

She was right. That ten thousand dollars was enough to pay the rent on his place and keep him in food for a few months. He needed a job of some sort to keep him going after that.

“I hear McDonald’s is hiring,” he snapped.

“Yeah, I can see the headlines now. Jesse Connor, former award-winning photographer and ex of the imprisoned Jonah Miles et cetera, millions lost and so on, has hit rock bottom tossing burgers.” She wasn’t trying to be cruel, but every word hit home. Only Emma could get away with some of the brutal honesty she could dish out.

“Fuck, Emma.”

“Consider this an intervention, Jesse. Pack a bag and get the hell away from the City. Leave your memories here and take my car.”

“Your car?”

She had dangled the keys to her cherry red, and eminently sensible, Prius. He hated that damn car, too small, too stifling, and too much like hard work. In fact, he hated driving. There was a reason he had always loved the city where you get from A to B without wedging yourself in a tin can.

“I’m not just your agent, okay? I’m your friend, Jesse.” She crossed to where he sat and wrapped her arms around him from behind. “The Prius will get you to Eden Vale, and I paid for a room in a small hotel there as an early Christmas present. The paper wants a photo a day from the first of December to the twenty-fifth for their website with short copy for each. Now go.”

Jesse was left with no arguments to counter the near-military precision with which his agent forced him to leave New York. Dammit but she was good at her job. It was go to freaking Christmas-ville or fight with Emma to get a reference from her so he could apply to McDonald’s or to stock shelves at Walmart.

And now he was sitting in the damned Prius in the mountains at God knows what point on his journey, and his resentment was near bubbling over. He pulled over to let a van pass on the narrow road, and the moment’s respite was filled with the hurt that flooded him that Emma, his friend, had him by the balls. His best friend—his only friend—yet she consigned him to the middle of freaking nowhere in her damn tin can of a car. His life really couldn’t get any worse. He’d had his heart broken by a thieving scheming fucker of a boyfriend, lost all his money, mislaid his muse on a permanent basis, and now it seemed like he was going deep into the Green Mountains of Vermont to a small town in the Mount Snow Valley, population proudly displayed as 1,007, called Eden Vale. Where, allegedly, he was going to find Christmas.

The town was at the end of a winding valley road that seemed too narrow at some points for two vehicles to pass at the same time. The rural mountainous countryside would have appeared pretty, even stunning, to anyone other than Jesse. He desperately needed coffee, but he doubted the inhabitants of this place had ever visited a Starbucks, let alone had one on the small Main Street. The town itself, as he passed through it, was nothing more than a cliché—a couple of chain grocery stores, a gas station, and a beauty parlor advertising discount for the under-twelves. For a moment, Jesse pitied any kids being stuck here so far from civilization.

“…predicted at least five inches…skiing center that has opened a new…”

The radio was intermittently spitting out sections of news interspersed with lame attempts at Christmas music, a mix of carols and pop songs from the seventies. Emma hadn’t told him her CD player was on the blink, and despite searching, he hadn’t found a jack for his iPod. The farther into the mountain he climbed, the worse the reception became, but turning off the radio was impossible as the damn thing was broken. Taking his eyes off the road, let alone hoping to stop somewhere, was inadvisable. If he stopped, he would be blocking the damn road. His satellite navigation, courtesy of his cell, had also decided to fritz out on him, and he hoped the damn hotel was easy to find.

“…stay safe folks and here is ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ by the wonderful Mariah Carey…”

Great. Just great. Torture me with that!

The Eden Vale Hotel was almost exactly what Jesse was expecting. Like something out of a Hallmark Christmas film, the small building looked old and was nestled firmly against the hillside above the valley and probably had awesome views of the diminutive nowhere town. Jesse sighed. Emma had said it was small… Clearly she hadn’t been lying about that. He stopped the Prius outside the main door in the parking space, and with the engine off, the radio thankfully cut Mariah’s vocals short.

Inhaling and glancing to his left, he took in a vista of the town sprawling before him. Most trees were bare of leaves, but some held tight to gold and were stubbornly clinging to autumn. The road here was steep, cut up into the sides of the valley, and it really wasn’t surprising that the population was as low as a thousand souls given how remote it seemed, though intellectually he knew Wilmington, with its bars and entertainment, wasn’t that far. Maybe he should consider visiting and even taking up skiing? He shuddered. That meant willingly exposing himself to snow, and that was never going to make it on to his to-do list. There weren’t many buildings on this side of the valley, and what he could see were sparse and spread out—dwellings clinging tenaciously to this ass-end valley exit from Mount Snow. Each place was separated geographically by challenging terrain, and it was easy to admit that, if a person wanted quieter rural appeal, then Eden Vale would be perfect.

He stepped out of the car and pulled out his two bags and the suitcase on wheels. The cold of an early winter wind gusted around him, and he shrugged lower into his jacket. Coffee. He needed coffee, possibly reinforced with whiskey.

The lobby was empty, although to call it a lobby was a slight exaggeration. The desk was small and off to one side and was full to bursting with leaflets and notices; he skimmed the closest of them as he dinged the small bell for attention. Apparently the local moms’ group was meeting in the school auditorium, Jenny Absolom was calling for volunteers for a church fundraiser, and the carol concert was at seven pm on Christmas Eve. The list of events, from candle-making to—jeez—midnight carols, was just a little bit too much “joining in” for his liking.

“Hello, Mr Connor. You found us, then.” The chirpy bright voice matched the chirpy bright woman walking around him to stand behind the desk.

“Yes.” Jesse wasn’t entirely sure what else to add to that. He completed the formalities, the whole time checking out the person who was explaining in rapid fire about amenities and rooms. Looking like—and he hated thinking this—a storybook grandma, she was taking his details, talking, and laughing all at the same time. Short and slim with dark blonde hair, she seemed to radiate happiness along with an obvious desire to please.

Okay, so it was a little full-on, and Jesse, to be fair, was tired, but he couldn’t help but exchange a smile when she said she was showing him to his room. She was simply infectious and the welcome was…welcoming.

“You’ll be in number twelve, our scarlet room,” Mrs McClurey—call me Diana—informed him. “Be careful with the door. It sticks sometimes. Always remember to turn the tap off fully, and if you want anything, please dial zero on your room phone.”

“Thank you” was all he could manage as his day began to catch up with him.

Diana chatted away as she showed him to his room. Opening the door with a flourish, she stood to one side to usher him in. He entered the room and put his bags on the floor. “We have a snow warning out tonight. We may have a beautiful carpet of white when you wake up tomorrow.”

Great, Jesse thought. The Prius would need clearing, and he was bound to fall on his ass. Snow and Jesse meant an inevitable accident. He hid his irritation behind a smile and said nothing.

It was darkening outside as evening pulled in, and he was a long way past tired into tripping-over-exhausted after hours of driving. He glanced around the room, seeing that the size of it was a step down from his apartment.

“Would you like a sandwich in your room? Or you can join us for dinner in the dining room at seven.” Mrs McClurey, sorry, Diana, was hovering with a smile on her face. Taking four hours to just get out of New York had not formed a particularly good start to this whole chasing Christmas thing, but he’d had snacks in the car, and he was way more tired than hungry.

“No, thank you. I’m really not hungry, and it’s been a long journey. I plan on catching up on sleep.” Unintentionally, he punctuated the words with a wide yawn behind his hand, but thankfully, she didn’t question why he was yawning and ready for bed so early in the evening. Clearly she had guests who arrived exhausted and just needed sleep.

Diana could certainly talk. She continued talking, and Jesse found himself mesmerized by the air of energy around her and her piercing blue eyes.

“Once we had twenty inches of snow in one night; it broke county records for Eden Vale. For tomorrow they’re forecasting about five. My son will be here to clear the pathways in the morning, so you don’t need to worry about slipping right outside the hotel.” Jesse didn’t like to ask if this son was going to clear a whole passage from here to town. She sighed. “It’s a real shame the snow has to be cleared, but if you wake up early, it’s beautiful nature untouched by human hand.”

Jesse made an appropriate noise of agreement, the spark of an idea for the first photo in his head. Nature untouched by human hand. Tried and true it might be, but taking a shot of virgin snow would get him a few days ahead of himself. He had three days before the first shot needed to be posted to the blog with copy. No pressure, then. Finally, after some more sighing over the wonderful possibilities of beautiful snow, Diana left and pulled the door shut. He glanced around the room as soon as he was on his own.

It really was nothing fancy to look at, no high-tech appliances like TVs or stereos, not even a coffee maker. The room held old, mismatched furniture that looked to be made of various different woods, but his artist’s eye admitted it held a certain charm. The drapes he pulled across the windows were a vivid striped scarlet and gold. He guessed they were the reason for the name of the room, and thanked the heavens he wasn’t in a bedroom called the orange paisley room.

After stripping, he pulled on jersey shorts, then brushed his teeth in the small bathroom, admiring the huge claw-foot tub set to one side. No shower, but he could get into long lazy soaks. He tumbled onto the queen-sized bed, sprawling diagonally, and the bed groaned and creaked under his movement. He wasn’t a huge guy, but this was clearly an old bed that probably wasn’t going to take his weight, let alone the weight of two people. He and a boyfriend, for example.

Oh yeah, he’d forgotten. I don’t have one of those, do I?

Not for the first time in the last two years, a familiar anger rose in him, and it was a welcome emotion. Anger grounded him. He should never forget what Jonah had done to him, let alone the thousands of people involved in the fall of the investment company he worked for.

He closed his eyes and tried for sleep, although it didn’t seem to want to come to him quickly. Instead, his head was full of what-ifs and maybes, of the threat of snow and ice and a wind chill to freeze his balls.

The proposal to photograph and write on the theme of the biggest damn holiday of the year was so open to interpretation he could write anything and capture any image. But he couldn’t imagine what might possibly inspire him this Christmas.

Jonah was supposed to have been his Valentine, his Thanksgiving, and his Christmas rolled into one. The idea of making new December memories with the man he’d loved had seemed so bright. But what Jonah had done to him had killed any thoughts of making memories that mattered stone dead.

Doing what he did best, he pushed past the memories and made a list in his head and then concentrated on Post One for the website blog post, which he labeled “Expectation” in his head. What did a picture-postcard Christmas-themed town need first? Diana was right. Snow. Maybe he should get some photos of the first snow before the son arrived to clear it in the morning. That would make a suitable first page. He could always cobble words together, try and recall what Christmas before Jonah’s betrayal had been like. Maybe he could copy/paste something from somewhere. Mentioning virginal white and the promise of Christmas were words he could copy from any old Christmas website. He set his cell alarm for a little before seven, ten minutes before sunrise, and then checked his messages. There was a text from Emma asking if the Grinch had arrived in Christmas-ville yet, and he sent back a brief here in response.

No sense in sending anything else. She wouldn’t expect a lengthy response from him. She was his agent, and he was Jesse Connor. He was an artist; he wasn’t going to waste his precious time or hers on unnecessary words. He winced at his internal monologue. Who the hell do I think I am?

Sighing, he closed his eyes. Emma was his only connection to anything remotely resembling a friend now. He’d pushed everyone else away with his misery and his remoteness, oh and the fact the world and his freaking wife wanted a piece of him because of Jonah. Opening his eyes, he grumbled as he reached for the cell and sent her another message.

Hotel nice. I’m fine. He even added a smiley face after he recalled the keys he needed to press to make one. It took him a while to find the close bracket symbol. Not a good start.

Satisfied he had done enough to stop her worrying, he put his cell down and lay back to stare at the high ceiling. Then he began to count back from hundred and waited for sleep to chase him down.



Chapter 2

Gabriel McClurey stamped the snow from his boots on the porch before pushing his way into the warm kitchen. His mom didn’t immediately turn to face him, busy as she was with coffee. Given it was still dark outside, coffee would be welcome and might go some way toward waking him up. He yawned behind his hand and caught sympathy in his mom’s eyes when she faced him.

She handed him the coffee and kissed him on the cheek. “How deep is it?”

“Enough so I left the Jeep at the bottom of the drive.”

“They said five inches.”

Gabriel huffed. “More like twenty in the drifts and the end of the drive is completely blocked.”

“I appreciate you coming to help,” Diana said with a smile.

He knew she’d probably been up as long as him, busying herself around the small hotel, and he didn’t begrudge coming up early to clear the worst of the snow from the front of the place. This place was family owned and he had as much of a stake in it as she did, but she’d never once said anything when he announced he was going to become a teacher. Just like when he’d told her and his dad that he was gay at the tender age of thirteen. His mom lived by the motto that life was all about being committed to something that made you happy.

Being a teacher made Gabriel happy.

Living here in this small town in the mountains of Vermont made Gabriel happy. Add in a warm kitchen, his mom’s dark, hot coffee, and snow and he was pretty satisfied with life.

“Did you get through to Kane?”

Gabriel sighed. The only thing he and his mom disagreed on was the subject of his ex-boyfriend. Five years together and now three years apart and still Diana insisted Gabriel invite Kane up for Christmas.

“Like I said, Mom, he’s got a new boyfriend now, and he’s spending Christmas in London with him.”

Diane pursed her lips in thought. “Maybe he’ll come visit in the New Year,” she said.

“You do know he’s my ex, right?” Gabriel teased.

Diana smiled. “Of course I do, but he’s still your friend and I liked him a lot. I’ve been thinking about that anyway.”

“About what?” Gabriel hated it when his mom was all thinking about things. It never boded well for Gabriel when he was the focus of her thoughts.

“About a boyfriend,” she began. Gabriel opened his mouth to interrupt, but she waved a finger under his nose. Hell, it was way too early for this. “You’re not going to meet anyone in Eden Vale. You need to spend much more time in the city.”

Gabriel started to say something again, but his mom quickly continued.

“I don’t mean there, I mean New York or San Francisco or LA or something.”

“Mom, I am not touring the country looking for a boyfriend.” He smiled in disbelief.

“Your dad wouldn’t want you alone,” she added with bright eyes.

Jeez, now she was pulling the dad card on him.

“Dad wouldn’t want me trawling bars looking for a man,” Gabriel offered gently. “Anyway, how am I supposed to get out of town now?” He gestured at the door. “My Jeep would be unlikely to make it off the mountain, let alone into a city. Speaking of which…” He stood and shrugged on his thick coat before pulling on heavy-duty gloves, a beanie, and winding a scarf around his face. “Snow isn’t gonna clear itself,” he mumbled into the wool.

He escaped before he had to listen to any more boyfriend advice. He and his mom were close, but this time of the year she grew melancholy with memories of his dad who had passed six years before, and wanted everyone to be happy.

Contemplating where to start with the snow clearing, he was pleased to see the soft lightening of the sky as dawn broke over the mountain. That would make it easier to clear the snow in the right places. For a second he simply stood and looked out over the snow that lay pristine and untouched apart from his footprints on the driveway.

Seemed a shame to destroy such beauty, but he knew his mom had guests at the moment, and he was a good son.

As he began to shovel he hummed to himself, something the kids had been working on at school, and he soon got into a rhythm of movement that had the snow piling softly to the side of the walkway.

His mom was wrong. Gabriel was happy. Lonely maybe, but always happy.



* * * * *



Jesse woke at the seven am alarm he had set on his cell and washed up at the sink, eyeing the bath longingly. Later, he promised himself and then dressed in jeans and layers from T’s to sweaters. With the drapes open, he realized Diana and the US Weather Service had been right. The snow had certainly fallen overnight, and the start of light over the valley had a beautiful quality. The early morning dawn appeared feeble against the sea of white and highlighted the absolute and utter stillness. Pulling on boots and then grabbing his Nikon, he left his room in a hurry and made it downstairs in record time. Throwing open the front door, he was ready to jump into his work, already in artist-makes-brilliant-art mode, and he had exactly what he wanted. Undisturbed snow lying just as it should—deep and crisp and even.

“Morning.” The single word came from a man shoveling snow, Jesse’s pristine untouched snow. There went the whole first freaking post. Obviously the guy had started clearing in the dark. What kind of an idiot did that? Shit.

“Stop,” Jesse said loudly—probably not what Mr Dressed-as-a-snowman expected, even though he did, in fact, stop shoveling.

“I’m sorry?” he queried. He pulled at the scarf across his face and frowned at Jesse, then down at the cleared snow.

“I need photos,” Jesse explained as he turned away from a quick glimpse of blue eyes and raised eyebrows. Already he was looking desperately for an untouched angle that included the hotel. Damn it to hell, the son had cleared a great big scar on the blanket of icy stuff.

“Photos of…?”

“Virgin snow. Can you please stop shoveling?” Panic filtered through him at the thought of not getting this photo now, and it wiped out any attempt he might make at social niceties. Yes, he was coming across as rude, but in his head, he justified the rudeness as he always did. Artists were temperamental, and people made exceptions for his behavior all the time.

“I can give you five,” Shovel Guy said slowly and leaned on the tool he wielded with such deadly photo-destroying accuracy.

Jesse vaguely nodded his thanks, his mind already gauging light and angles, concentrating on what he needed to do. The white carpet covered everything, giving him maybe three inches or so of perfect utter stillness. Even the parked Prius had a beauty about it when hidden in pure white. He inhaled the cold air and centered himself. He could do this. The snow might well be the first official photo he had taken in a while, but it wasn’t as if he’d forgotten how to take photos or how to frame a shot. Snow crystals sparkled in the winter trees, and the clouds looked heavy with the promise of more of the cold stuff to come. Despite the sun’s weak wash, the lighting was perfect, and focusing on what he wanted, he caught the crystal, the blue tinge from the early light, the sky, and the taller grass that bent with the weight of snow. Backing away from the parking area, he captured one of the stubborn trees he had seen yesterday and the frozen leaves attached to thin twigs, all perfectly acceptable images for the website.

“You the photographer, then?” the shoveling guy asked. Jesse groaned to himself. Talk about stating the obvious. What a thing to say. Not only that, but the guy probably expected an answer. Shovel Guy, the hotel owner’s son presumably, had a low and husky voice, but Jesse didn’t want or need interruptions if he only had five minutes to capture a whole post. The more photos he took, the more likely it was that he would take a photo that mattered. Perhaps if he ignored the other man, he would shut up. “Do you want to see something?” Shovel Guy asked. “A ways up the garden is an old shed. It’s where we store the wood for the winter—”

“No, that’s fine,” Jesse interrupted with an abrupt wave of his hand. Maybe the man clearing the path was a sandwich short of a picnic. Why the hell did he think Jesse wanted to see a shed? Jesse bent low at the waist to examine the petals of some winter flower burned at the edges by the sun and filled with small deposits of snow. The tall tree it was near must have protected it from the really deep stuff.

“It’s a good photo.”

God, the guy was persistent. “Jeez, man, will you leave me alone to concentrate?”

Jesse spun on his heel to face the guy as he spoke, the same guy who had now pushed the hood of his huge parka away from his face. Jesse wasn’t sure who was more shocked—the guy who looked utterly gobsmacked at what Jesse had just said or Jesse at seeing more face. Jesse couldn’t stop himself, photos or no, post or not. He stared. And he probably had his mouth open. It certainly felt like it as the cold air hit his throat. Shovel Guy was gorgeous, beautiful, with a strong stubble-darkened jaw and the same brilliant blue eyes as Diana.

“Sorry, I was…” Jesse began weakly, but he really had no explanation. Hell. Those were really intensely cerulean eyes. Blue Eyes shrugged at the apology and then smiled. He took off a glove and held out his bare hand, a warm, wide, and very strong hand that gripped Jesse’s firmly.

“Gabriel McClurey,” he said, introducing himself on the shake.

“Jesse Connor,” Jesse responded quickly. “I get involved,” he explained weakly with a wave of his now-freed hand at the snow around them. “In a world of my own.” Then he stopped talking because he didn’t want to come across as an idiot.

“I need to get shoveling,” Gabriel said finally to break the uncomfortable silence. Jesse realized he’d been standing there staring with his mouth open. “Shed’s up that way if you want to go yourself.”

Gabriel dismissed him. He was sending him off to find the shed himself. Damn. Eye candy like Gabriel McClurey was something he didn’t want to lose sight of.

“Could you show me—”

“Sorry, man, I need to shovel,” Gabriel said quickly. He pulled the scarf back over his mouth. Clearly the conversation was over.

“Okay,” Jesse said reluctantly. “Thanks.”

Gabriel resumed the long sweeping motions that cleared the pathway, and Jesse hovered for a while out of sight. He took a few shots of the tall, broad, blue-eyed Gabriel bent over and flexing to clear snow. Gabriel was too wrapped up for Jesse to see what he wanted to see, but a few photos of “man in action” would be okay. Wouldn’t it? Who was to know? He wasn’t taking them for the blog, just for himself. Ass up in the air, Gabriel moved to attack a new path of white. God. Now that was an easy part of body to see; jeans molded Gabriel to like a second skin, stretched across a firm, tight butt. Feeling suddenly guilty, Jesse slunk away in the direction indicated. For the first time in nearly two years he was appreciating the male form, and it felt odd and more than slightly like a betrayal of his wish to wallow in angst.

Still, he hadn’t seen a man that gorgeous since… Well, he wasn’t sure he had ever seen someone with a face so model perfect. Said man had a wonderful white smile, long thick lashes, and cheekbones to die for. Jesse wondered idly if maybe he could get this Gabriel to pose for him before he left Eden Vale. Maybe naked in the snow? Jesse had done some model photography before. In Gabriel’s case it didn’t matter what the body was like under the clothes because that face could sell just about anything. Idly he wondered what exactly the rest of Gabriel looked like under that bulky parka. Gabriel was tall, maybe a shade over Jesse’s five ten, but he could be any size width-ways under the navy blue down. Jesse laughed to himself. Gabriel could be a six-stone weakling under the coat, although somehow he doubted it.

The shed north of the old hotel looked to have been built the same time as the house. It was sturdy in the way wooden structures were when supported by the presence of the solid hillside rocks above them. Jesse could see moss on the corners of the roof peeking through the mantle of snow. He checked out the shed from different angles and took some halfway decent shots of snow on the old wood. Still, the shots were simply decent, and he wasn’t going to rock the world of photography at this rate.

Cautiously, Jesse pushed open the door. A light dusting of snow fell onto his hands, and he made a mental note to dig out the thin insulated gloves that allowed him to have full control of the delicate cameras he used.

Once inside, his imagination was captured instantly and tingles traversed his spine. From this vantage point, he saw the snow outside framed by the door and frosted windows. No snow had made its way inside, and the respite from the cold proved welcome. He did a complete three-sixty and finally realized that if he stood behind the wood inside and crouched down, he had the perfect picture—the logs piled ready for burning with the glow of white snowfall behind them. It was artistic and exactly what customers expected from him. He already had words to accompany the picture he could see in his mind…the supply ready and waiting to keep the inhabitants of the hotel warm and cozy, the scent of sap and freshly chopped wood redolent of winter. Readers would eat it up.

He explored a bit more of the gardens and shot a few of the hotel with the rest of the town laid out before it. The valley was steeper than he remembered from his drive up. If there were to be much more snow, driving out of the valley in the Prius would be impossible. Well, he’d known that. The hotel literature clearly pointed out that snow closed off Eden Vale at least once a year. The town sprawled across the vista, filled with houses all painted in different colors. He focused on one in particular, a small house in a row of similar places painted the same blue as the beautiful, dazzling, sexy McClurey eyes. Well, Gabriel McClurey’s anyway. He lifted the camera and zoomed in to focus close on the single house, framing the shot with branches heavy with snow. Sweet.

An hour after he’d begun, he finally wondered if Gabriel would still be in front of the hotel. His reasons for wanting to see the other man were twofold. He needed to thank him for the inspiration for post one and maybe at the same time have another look at that beautiful face. He wasn’t in luck. Gabriel had gone. In his place sat a cleared pathway from hotel to street and snow piled neatly to either side in regimented rows. Damn.

Read more »

Out Today - A Home For Christmas, by Diane Adams

Out Today - A Home For Christmas, by Diane Adams

Saturday, 21 December 2013

The Book

Book 6 in The Making Of A Man series

Jared and Alex Douglas-Ross enjoy the freedom of their lives as couple without children, but still intend to have one or two…someday. 

They register as foster parents as step in that direction, but any real plans for having a child remain a vague part of their future. 

A time that turns out to be closer than they imagine when fire, once again, changes the course of their lives.




















Buy Links

Love Lane Books | All Romance | Amazon (US)  | Amazon (UK)

Excerpt

Christmas Abroad

Jared drew Alex closer into his body. The wind was chilling despite the warmth of the heavy coats they wore. Alex happily tucked himself under Jared’s arm though his eyes never left the incredible view spread out before them, one made more breathtaking by the flurry of snow buffeted by the wind. The lights and elegance of Paris spread out before them a virtual feast for the eyes.

Alex grinned when Jared drew in a sharp breath and turned in an effort to see it all at once. He allowed Jared to pull him around in a tight circle, careful not to bother the other patrons enjoying the view from the Eiffel Tower that night.

“I told you it was amazing.” Alex guided Jared to the railing where they stood in momentary silence taking in the extraordinary beauty of the night before them.

“You didn’t do it justice,” Jared accused. Alex’s smile broadened in response to the half grin Jared gave him. “If you had, I may have found time to bring you before you were fifty.”

“I would have if you’d let me talk about it.” He nuzzled Jared’s cheek. “The last time I stood here was my sixteenth birthday. A lifetime ago.”

“And you let someone else kiss you.” Jared turned from the view to frown at him. Alex’s laugh rang out.

“That was totally your fault.” Alex touched Jared’s cheek with gloved fingers, but memory supplied the feel of bare skin under his caress. “Besides, it was the last time I kissed anyone but you.”

Jared didn’t say anything in response, but Alex didn’t mind. He was used to deciphering Jared’s expressions, and the one he wore in that moment was one of his favorites. He stepped into the warmth of Jared’s full embrace and accepted the tender kiss with a surge of affection.

“I love you, too,” Alex whispered into the cold air between them as they drew apart. Jared’s hand was bare, his fingers cold when he touched Alex’s face. He turned into the caress and his eyes fluttered closed when Jared’s thumb traced the line of his jaw, fingers sliding to curl around the back of his neck.

“It’s beautiful here, but I’m ready to go.” Jared rubbed his nose against Alex’s, his breath warm against his cheek as he spoke. “The view in our room is much better, and I still have a birthday present to give you.” Jared’s mouth covered Alex’s in a second kiss. Burning intensity replaced the tenderness, and want blazed through him in immediate response to Jared’s need. Passion built between them as their tongues slid together, creating a heated counterpoint to the wind and snow on their skin. Panting, Alex broke away with a laugh, his cheeks bright with more than the cold. He grabbed Jared’s hand and pulled him toward the exit.



* * * * *



Hours later, Jared lay splayed on the bed beside Alex. Blankets were twisted at their feet, sweat still sheened their bodies, and they’d yet to cool down enough to reach for them. They lay shoulder to shoulder, fingers entwined on the bed between them, and toes playing a lazy game of footsy.

“So, when exactly are you going to remember you’re pushing sixty?”

The fact Alex still sounded breathless brought a slow smile to Jared’s face. “I figure sometime around seventy,” he teased and turned to meet Alex’s eyes in the dimly lit room. “Maybe not even then if you’re still putting up with me.”

Alex rolled and snuggled against Jared. He rested his head on his shoulder. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see then, won’t we?” Alex teased and nuzzled Jared’s neck and ear. “Thank you for bringing me. I know how much you like to be home for Christmas.”

“Since home is where you are, I guess it’s not much of a problem.” Jared smiled into Alex’s hair and hugged him close with the arm wrapped around his shoulders. “I miss everyone, but having you to myself is such a treat it makes up for missing the family bash.”

“You can be so sappy.” Alex didn’t sound unhappy by the fact. He pressed a kiss against Jared’s shoulder. “It’s a good thing we built that house for Clark and Stevie so big, or we’d have to hire a convention center when we have a reunion.”

“Good foresight on your part,” Jared laughed. “Who knew things would get so far out of hand?”

Alex lifted and looked down on Jared. “I did. That first Christmas after we were married, it became pretty clear that our family was going to be unconventional and very, very large.”


A Cry for Help

Alex rubbed a hand through his hair to knock the snow out of his dark curls before he climbed into the passenger side of the truck. He preferred his Camaro, but on wintery nights filled with snow and ice, he welcomed the security promised by the big vehicle.

“That was good.” Rubbing his overstuffed belly, Alex groaned and leaned against the seat.

Jared settled behind the steering wheel with a grin in Alex’s direction. “I figured that out considering how much you ate. You better remember you aren’t as young as you used to be.” Jared gave Alex a teasing grin before he started the truck and turned his attention to backing out of the snow-covered parking lot.

“What? Are you saying I’m getting fat?” Alex’s eyes grew round, and he lifted his shirt to stare at his concave belly. He looked up to see Jared’s gaze had drifted from watching for traffic to Alex’s exposed skin. He jerked his shirt down. “Road! Dude!”

Jared rolled his eyes and checked for traffic. “Parking lot. I can’t believe you still say dude. What are you, twelve?”

Alex made an aggrieved noise as Jared pulled out into the empty road. “That’s it, make fun of a guy for trying to hold onto his youth. It’s Clark’s fault anyhow, blame him. Do you really think I’m fat?”

Jared sighed. He turned up the heat and the radio. “Alex, after the year you had, I don’t think you could get fat if you ate like that every day. Which you don’t.”

Sensing they were on the verge of another ‘you need to eat more’ discussion, Alex regretted teasing Jared. “I eat.” The protest slipped out despite his best intentions. He couldn’t force his appetite to return to pre-fire dimensions.

“Hmm.” Jared turned down an unfamiliar street, and Alex sat up to peer through the windshield.

“Where are we going?” The wipers kept the snow cleared off the windshield, but the roads were slick with ice. Alex didn’t think it seemed like a good night to go off the beaten path.

“I heard one of the houses south of the tracks has a bad roof. I won’t be able to see much, but I wanted to drive by and check on the overall condition of the house.” Jared’s lips tightened and he studied the buildings on the side of the road as businesses gave way to houses that grew more dilapidated with every mile. “Some of the ones back here need a lot more than a new roof to be habitable, if they’re even salvageable.”

Alex swallowed any protest about driving through such a bad part of town at night. Once Jared got it into his head to help someone, nothing would keep him from doing everything he could to make it happen. Alex had the feeling the rest of the winter would be spent trying to turn houses that should be abandoned into safe homes. Despite his misgivings, pride warmed his heart. Jared’s compassion was one of the things he loved most about his husband.

A flicker caught Alex’s eye and he leaned closer to the side window, rubbing the fog off the glass with his sleeve. “Jared, what’s that?” He saw the flicker again, bright against the dark of the night. “Is that a fire?”

Jared downshifted, slowing the truck and peering down a side street little wider than an alley in the direction Alex pointed. “I don’t know.” He sounded reluctant to investigate, and Alex knew why.

“Stop worrying about me. What if someone’s in trouble? We have to go see.” Alex turned to face Jared. His brow furrowed as he looked over Alex’s shoulder out the window.

“Damn.” Putting the truck into gear, he turned down the narrow lane. Alex studied the street sign as they passed it.

“Merry Street. Yeah, right,” he muttered and focused on the flickering light. It grew steadily brighter as they approached. “God, Jared.” Alex tried to open the truck door as soon as it became obvious they’d happened upon a house fire.

Jared grabbed his arm. “Alex! We’re still moving.” Alex made himself sit still, hand clutching the door handle. One side of the small building burned furiously, but no one was in sight. The truck rolled to a stop. In spite of his alarm, Alex couldn’t make himself open the door; fear formed a burning knot in his belly and his chest constricted. On the verge of panic, his eyes fixed in horror on the conflagration in front of him.

“Alex.”

In the reflection of the window, he saw Jared reach for him, but before he could respond, a small dark form barreled into the side of the truck. Startled, Alex stared. Small fists beat on the truck.

“Help! You have to help me!” The sound of a terror and panic he remembered all too well drove Alex out of the truck in a way nothing else could have. Heart hammering, he rushed to the side of the frantic figure.

A boy, somewhere between thirteen and fifteen, launched himself at Alex. He was dressed only in a pair of old jeans and ragged sweatshirt with nothing on his feet. He clutched Alex’s coat. “Sissy is in there! Please help her. I can’t get in. I tried and I can’t, it’s so hot. Please. Do something, please.”

Alex’s heart seemed to freeze in his chest, and his eyes rose to the fire. Someone was trapped. He took one step and then another and then he was running toward the burning house. There had to be time, he couldn’t let someone die. He could find a way. He didn’t know Jared had caught up with him until he took him down in a full-body tackle.

“Over my dead body,” he growled, eyes hard in the shifting light of the fire. Before Alex could answer, the slight form of the boy flashed by, and Jared barely caught him by the sleeve, pulling him to an abrupt stop.

“LET ME GO! She’s just a baby.” The boy sobbed, fighting against Jared as the fire burned brighter. It seemed to be worst on the right side of the building. Alex realized it was an abandoned business, not a home at all. He didn’t have time to ask any of the multitude of questions suddenly buzzing through his mind. The kid collapsed beside them, crying so hard his body shook with it. “She’s just a baby, please. Please.”

Jared looked up at the fire and jumped to his feet. Alex let him haul him up by the hand.

“Get me the blanket from behind the seat. I’ll do it.” Jared’s command fell flat between them. Alex stared at him in wide-eyed horror.

Letting Jared go felt a hundred times worse that doing it himself. “No.” The word whispered out without Alex’s permission. He couldn’t risk Jared, not for anything. Terror sent chilling tendrils down his spine at what he read in his eyes.



* * * * *



Jared laid a comforting hand on Alex’s arm. “You know we have to try. Now run. I need that blanket.” Jared shoved him in the direction of the vehicle and turned to the shivering, distraught boy. “Where is she?”

“The room by the back, but the fire is in the hallway and I can’t get back inside. There’s a window, but I can’t get it open.” The boy’s dark brown eyes fixed on Jared’s face. “Will you get her? She’s not even one yet.”

Jared broke eye contact with the boy when Alex ran up with the blanket. Jared unfolded it and shoved the blanket into the snow before stripping off his coat. He thrust it toward Alex. “Get the kid into this and in the truck; he doesn’t even have on a pair of shoes. Call 911. Stay. In. The. Truck.”

Without waiting for Alex to respond, Jared snatched the blanket out of the snow and wrapped it around his head and shoulders, using his hands to clasp it closed from the inside. The snow clinging to the blanket sent an icy chill down his back, but he ignored it and headed for the back of the small building at a run.

Around back Jared spotted the small window right away. The panes were broken where the boy had tried to get inside, but it remained firmly closed. The heat increased the closer he got to the building as the fire sizzled and spit in the falling snow. One half of the building had been completely engulfed in flame, and Jared knew he had no business going inside. The snow in the blanket melted and trickled steams of lukewarm water down his back. Heart pounding, he approached the window with caution, his attention focused on deciding what to do.

If he got it open, the window would be a tight fit for him to climb through. He didn’t know how he’d get out with a baby in arms. Letting the blanket drop into the snow at his feet, Jared grabbed the edge of the frame and attempted to push it upward. It became immediately clear the wood had warped. The window stuck fast, refusing to open. Jared couldn’t hear anything from inside, and peering through the broken glass didn’t help; he couldn’t see through the smoke. If he didn’t get in there soon, anyone inside wouldn’t be alive to save whether or not the fire reached the room.

Taking a step back, Jared closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but the effort to calm his racing heart failed as soon as he drew the smoke into his lungs. He bent double, coughing. Something just under the porch caught his eye. Kneeling, Jared reached out and closed his hand around the familiar shape of a hammer’s grip. Not as good as a crowbar but a damn sight better than nothing. Getting back to his feet, hope suddenly reborn, Jared attacked the window. He slipped the claw under the edge and was rewarded when the old wood gave way, splitting under the pressure. He slid the tool along the window ledge, using the leverage it gave him to tear out the bottom of the window. Jared used the blanket to knock out the rest of the glass, and once the pressure of the misshapen wood had been eased, the window slid open with a rough noise that grated on his ears.

Laying the blanket over the ledge, Jared wormed his way through the opening to drop inside to the floor. He crouched there, disoriented. The shapes he could make out looked more like a storeroom than a bedroom, and for a second he thought he’d come through the wrong window. Jared dug in his pocket for his keys and used the small flashlight he had attached to the ring in an attempt to see. Despite the shelves and boxes, he identified the small portable crib right away, relieved know the baby was close to the floor and out of the worst of the smoke. He edged forward. The floor felt unnaturally warm under his hands and he worried the fire had made its way under the building. If it had the place could collapse any second. Flames licked under the tightly closed door, and the sight made his heart stutter.

Read more »

Christmas Countdown 2013 - 7 December

Christmas Countdown 2013 - 7 December

Saturday, 7 December 2013

My favourite Christmas songs 8th of 10

Coming in at number 8 is The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl with their awesome Fairytale Of New York.

It was denied the 1987 Christmas No.1 spot in the UK by the Pet Shop Boys, who I also love. I found a Fairytale of New York it to be quirky, dramatic, funny and has me singing along every single time even if Shawn MacGowan good do with a good visit to the dentist!

Today's featured Anthology Author is

Caitlin Ricci with her story A Jaguar for Christmas

Jackson doesn’t really understand why everyone is so excited about Christmas. The holiday hasn’t meant anything but loneliness to him for years. But when a new model comes in for a photo shoot, will it be the chance he needs to break out of his old routine and try something different?

Info on Caitlin Ricci

Caitlin can be found on her blog here.

Did you like her story? Facebook her here to let her know.

Not read it yet? Download the anthology for FREE at Love Lane Books or All Romance eBooks

Mr RJ's Crap Joke Section

Today on Facebook dear RJ likened me to a Christmas Elf. So guess what...We have a fine rubbish selection of Elf based Christmas jokes for you today.

Will start with one from Ann Marie who commented with this groaner on the 5th's competition.  Bless you Ann Marie and I have the same trouble with RJ.  I can only get away with so many :).

Which one of Santa's elves is the best singer?

Elf-is Presley!

What does Santa do with fat elves?

He sends them to an Elf Farm!

Did Rudolph go to school?

No. He was Elf-taught!

What does Father Christmas do when his elves misbehave?

He gives them the sack.

Until the next time.  Adiós...

The Twenty Five Days of Christmas Competition

For the master post explaining prizes, etc, visit Competition and prizes for the twenty five days of Christmas
Don't forget every entry you make counts towards the grand prize on 25 December.  So if you enter every day, you will have 24 chances for to win..

Today enter the competition to win a rather unique signed hand coloured RJ Scott doodle, your choice of ten signed postcards and a RJ Pen.

Read more »

Love Lane Christmas Anthology Submissions

Love Lane Christmas Anthology Submissions

Tuesday, 24 September 2013

Love Lane Books...

...Is not a publisher who takes submissions in general. However, every so often we may call for a themed collection of free short stories. This is to showcase new talent alongside existing talent.

The current call, with a closing date of 30 September is *Christmas*.

Celebrate Christmas with RJ Scott

As you all know, Christmas is my favorite time of the year. I would love this year, to run a promotion aimed at new authors, but to also include existing authors.

Love Lane Books, my self publishing company, is inviting authors to write a free short story for a compilation.  I'm planning to pull them all together for download from 1 December from www.lovelanebooks.co.uk, AllRomance etc. It would be available to download for free, Love Lane won't be charging anything for it.


Theme

The theme is Christmas. This could be the day itself, the emotions surrounding it, the season of winter, a wedding, family, a new meeting, a reunion, paranormal, contemporary, historical, in fact anything.

Details

Short stories - from 3,000 up to 12,000 words
M/M, M/M/M you get the idea (no F's - sorry!)
Must have a theme of romance, HEA, or at least a HFN
Theme - Christmas
Heat levels - any
No bestiality, nechrophilia, etc etc

Each MS should be in a word document and emailed to rj@rjscott.co.uk. Include the following within the document on the first page:-

Your author name and a small bio if you like
A blurb for your story. Try and keep it to a few sentences.
Your email
Author Contact Details for readers
A list of other books available from you and the publisher name.
A statement that your work is an original piece of writing.

The closing date for all submissions in 30 September 2013

The cover will be supplied by Love Lane Books and the stories will be compiled into one volume. You can also post the stories on your own websites after 1 December. There is no payment for these stories, and as the price of the compilation is zero there will be no accrued royalties. The copyright remains with the author at all times. The author is responsible for editing, although all stories will be read to pick up anything really glaring.

To existing authors

You know the score about editing etc so I won't go there (!)... But, the reason I want to do this was that I think this is a good way for existing authors to support new authors, and each other.

To new authors

You should get your story beta read, and edited if you can, with proofreading. You are selling yourself and this is a chance to get your story out there.

Read more »