Holiday Party - JoLynne Valerie

Today, I have the pleasure of introducing an author who I recently had the pleasure of meeting online. She is a very spiritual and interesting person to chat with, and a joy to work with. And now, here's Ms. JoLynne Valerie!

WHOA!  How cool is it that I'm guest blogging here, today?!  SO excited!  Before we begin, I must give the proper gratitude, where it is due.  Thank you to the lovely Emily Wells, for extending this invitation.  You rock!

A few words about myself.  My name is JoLynne Valerie.  I write Paranormal Romance, Supernatural Thrillers, and Contemporary Romance.  I also work professionally as a Paranormal Investigator, I'm an expert on Intuition and Angels, and I do Intuitive Angel Readings for clients several days each week.  I also have a web show called The Angel Diaries, where you can see me at work doing my Paranormal thang!  And now, without any further adieu… LET'S GO!  Let's get right into this bloggy post!

The holidays are upon us and I thought it apropos to post a holiday scene from my Gothic Paranormal Romance, Strange Love.

Here's the setup:  Kasia and Lucas have just spent their first Christmas together.  The couple has dating a few months; they're madly in love.  And… madly in lust.  But also, they just click.  Together, they are two halves of a whole.  Theirs is a deep, soul-mate kind of love… marked by fiery passion and addictive sex --- the kind of relationship everyone wants to experience at least once, in their lives!

Nevermind that Kasia has yet to discover Lucas comes from a supernatural bloodline, making him become… eh hem… volatile on the Full Moon.  And by volatile, I mean wolfish.

For now, all Kasia knows is that Lucas is a college student, like herself.  She's studying Sociology, Lucas is studying Wolf Biology (surprise, surprise!).  Lucas' whole family is relevant; his older brother is a physician, his younger brother is studying Geology, and his father is an acclaimed oceanographer.  Kasia is getting involved with the man of her dreams, who just happens to come from a wonderful family --- or so it seems.

Their first Christmas together was great, now Lucas has gone to spend New Year's with his grandmother, in California.  Kasia's not handling the separation very well.  She misses Lucas so terribly, her heart begins to ache.  Kasia's little sister Aleksandra, a senior in high school, has an idea she thinks might help.  Check out this fun scene between Kasia and Aleksandra:

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Excerpt from

STRANGE LOVE

(Chapter 16)

by JoLynne Valerie

          I cried myself to sleep two nights in a row.

          On the third night, I awoke to someone calling my name.

          "Kas.  Wake up."

          It was Aleksandra.  I slowly opened my eyes, and looked at my sister.  She was wearing polka dotted pajama bottoms and an over-sized Tshirt that sported a huge rainbow on the front.  I blinked at Aleksandra, wordlessly.

          "You up?" Alek asked.

          I nodded, slightly.

          "Good.  Because you kept me up.  All damned night.  Do you now you still cry in your sleep, when you're gone on a boy?"

          "Huh?" I squinted at Aleksandra.  Of course I knew I'd been crying at night, buy I hadn't realized I'd been disturbing my sister.

          "Yeah.  And I can't take it.  My heart's bleedin' for ya sis.  So get up, I'm bustin' ya outta here."

          "What the hell are you talking about, Aleksandra?" I demanded.

          "Shhh!  Not so loud!"  Aleksandra reprimanded me, dropping her voice to a whisper.  She rushed over to kneel at the side of my bed.  This was no small task, as Aleksandra was wearing giant frog slippers. 

          "You're going to wake up moms and pops; they're still out like lights!"

          I scowled at my younger sister.

          She had that look on her face.  The look she wears when she's up to something, or conniving something, or preparing to connive something.

          "You going to expound on this?" I asked.

          "I said GET UP!  We gotta get you to California!"

          That got my attention.

          I sat up in bed, quickly.

          "Like I said big sis, I'm bustin' you out!"

          In whispers, Aleksandra ran down her entire plan.

          I knew Lucas' grandmother's address from sending holiday cards out to friends and family.

          That address was all I needed to know, in order to get to where Lucas was, in Moonlight Glen.

          Every boyfriend wanted to be surprised by his girlfriend, right?  Well, not every boyfriend, Alek said, but those who were as gaga for their girlfriends, as Lucas clearly was for me, would surely welcome a surprise visit.

          Aleksandra said she would drive me to the airport, she'd even go halfsies on a plane ticket with me.

          Then, she'd explain everything, smooth it all over with mom and dad.

          Aleksandra had it all figured out.

          The idea grew on me.

          What I'd initially found sketchy, I began to overlook or dismiss.

          There were so many variables, so many things that could go wrong.

          There were even more things that could backfire.

          But I was a woman in love; of course I got ready to board that plane.

          We snuck out of the house, quietly.

          I taped a letter I'd quickly written, to the refrigerator.

          The snow crunched beneath our feet, as we walked to Aleksandra's little car, parked behind my father's van.

          The interior was warm, and the windshield fully defrosted.

          Aleksandra had started the car some time ago; she'd been confident I'd go.

          On the way to the airport, I realized I actually needed Aleksandra to help me pay half the airfare, and I felt badly about that.

          "Hey sis, I can't thank you enough for this.  Tell me what I can do to repay you.  Apart from repaying you, that is."

          Aleksandra tilted her head toward me and gave me a big, lopsided grin. 

          "Oh, I'm so glad you brought this up!"

          Alek inhaled deeply and smiled, turning her attention back to the road ahead.

          "Riches I don't need, Kasia…" Alek tapped the steering wheel with her fingers.  That was quite a sight, seeing how she was wearing pale pink and magenta striped finger-less gloves.  "But I did happen upon quite a sight, when I was Googling one night."

          I smelled something.

          It was the aroma that often accompanied my sister when she was about to run one of her many schemes.

          It was the distinct smell of bullshit.

          I waited.

          "A fine sight, indeed…" Aleksandra continued.  "A cute little fella by the name of Jose.  Jose Alvarez, that is."

          My eyebrows shot up, in shock.

          "Lucas' brother??"

          "That'd be the one!" Aleksandra pointed at me, with a grin.

          "DUDE.   You're asking me to fix you up with my boyfriend's brother?  And how in the world did you see Jose on Google?  The kid's in college!"

          "Why, yes he is!  And a fine major he's chosen, too!  I can respect a man who's into rockology.  Naw, seriously; I saw a shot of the kid with the old man, on some oceanographer's website.  Kas, have you seen this boy?  Jose is seriously HAWT!"

          I stared.  My mouth opened a little.  I closed it again.  I blinked.  Then I spoke.

          "So basically, you're telling me you saw a picture of Jose online, liked what you saw, and basically came up with this elaborate plan so you could blackmail me into arranging an introduction?"

          Aleksandra feigned insult.

          "Kasia, my feelings are hurt.  You offend me!"

          "Am I right?" I demanded.

          "No.  And yes," Aleksandra said.  "The truth is, yeah yeah, I saw the kid and thought he was cute.  I might have brought it up, eventually.  Maybe.  But the part about wanting to help you get to California, because I know you're in rough shape over Lucas leaving, that's legit.

          I really do just love you Kas, and want to help."

          Alek was telling the truth; I knew my sister.

          We exchanged a smile, then.

          I breathed a little easier.

          Five minutes later, we were pulling into the airport. 

          Ten minutes after that, we were walking from the parking lot to the check-in.

          After check-in, Alek and I sat and talked.

          Forty minutes later, I boarded the plane.

          Almost six hours later, I landed in Sacramento.

          Shortly after that, I hitched a taxi west, to Moonlight Glen.

          Surprising Lucas still seemed like a good idea at that point.

END OF EXCERPT

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Whoa!  At the end of that scene, Kasia is excited to pay Lucas a surprise visit.  She has noooo idea what she's walking into!

I don't want to spoil the story, so I'll say no more, but suffice it to say…  Kasia's in for the surprise of her life!  And the love she shares with Lucas, is about to be tested!  Kasia loves Lucas (and their lovemaking) when her boyfriend is in his human form… will she be able to accept (and tolerate!) the beast Lucas becomes, in his wolf state??

Looks like Kasia is about to find out!

And… that ends my guest post!  I hope you enjoyed reading, and I hope you're inspired to get to know me a little better.

Please come visit my home on the web: www.ParaGoddess.com 

On my website, you'll find links to order signed copies for all my novels, and you can watch the sweet book trailers for my novels, too!

You can also learn more about my work as a Paranormal Investigator and Angel Whisperer.  You can even watch videos of me in action, doing Intuitive Angel Readings.

Come look around my site… there's LOTS to see and explore!  I've even got some free gifts for readers.

❤❧Moonbeams and Luv ~

ℐℴ ℒℽℎℎℯ ☽♥

Author Bio:

 JoLynne Valerie is best known for her Paranormal novels and Intuitive Angel readings.  She is known as "ParaGoddess" to her readers and fans, a name born from Ms. Valerie's extensive knowledge of the Paranormal and her commitment to live the goddess life --- a life marked by authenticity, spirituality, wellness, and passion.

Raised in a family of Intuitive women, Ms. Valerie grew up speaking the language of Intuition.  The author teaches fast-paced, interactive Intuitive Development workshops.  JoLynne also works in Paranormal Investigation and on Missing Persons Cases, when requested.

She is known for her inspirational posts, which can be found on all her social media sites.  JoLynne is also a bona fide foodie and healthy lifestyle advocate; she has just released her first cookbook.

Ms. Valerie's website is www.ParaGoddess.com, and she is active with readers on all her social media sites.

JoLynne is the former Editor in chief of natures wisdom Magazine, and full moon rising magazine; holistic and metaphysical print publications, respectively.  

She has written for Sage Woman Magazine, Family Circle Magazine, and Woman's Day.  Ms. Valerie also cohosted a television show for PBS in Buffalo, New York and had her own radio show in college.  

She graduated with a bachelors degree in journalism and broadcast from the State University of New York in Brockport.

Holiday Party - Megan Derr

And now for one of the first M/M authors I ever read (and still one of my favorites), the lovely Megan Derr!

These characters are from The Missing Butterfly, a story I wrote forever ago but which remains one of my most popular. I am well known for fluff and nonsense, and these boys are not an exception to that rule. Merry Christmas! ~Meg

Malcolm sat at the dining room table of his winter lodge, typing away on his laptop to knock out little bits and pieces of work, try to keep his to do list to under a thousand so he could enjoy his vacation with only minimal stress.

He pointedly did not look at the bottom corner where the time was taunting him, or the clock above the mantel in the living room that was ticking incessantly. It wouldn't even be close to the first time that Cassidy had shown up late. He was just extra twitchy because between his businesses and Cassidy's tour schedule, they hadn't seen each other in almost a full month.

His eyes went helplessly to the clock. Over an hour. Was everything okay? He picked up his phone for the thousandth time but so far no reply to any of his texts. Damn it. Setting the phone back down, he went back to work, slowly whittling down the stack of emails in his inbox.

By the time another half hour had passed, Malcolm was ready to flip his shit. It wasn't like Cassidy not to contact him if something was wrong.

Malcolm made himself get through ten more emails, then finally closed his laptop and picked up his phone, pulled up his contacts and debated which one to contact first—

Right as he heard a vehicle coming up the long driveway. Setting his phone on the table he bolted to the front door, watched as Cassidy climbed out of one of the lodge's enormous Land Rover and chatted with the driver for a moment. As the man pulled away with a wave, Cassidy turned and hefted bag over his shoulders, dragging the other along as he made his way up the walk to the porch. "You're a sight for sore eyes, pretty boy."

"Where the hell have you been?" Malcolm bit out as Cassidy climbed the stairs and dropped his bags. "I was—" he oofed as Cassidy launched into his arms and kissed him hard, pushed him up against the wall.

Well, far be it for him to complain. Malcolm clung to Cassidy's hips, pulled him as close as their bulky clothes allowed, moaning as he relearned Cassidy's mouth after too many days apart. When they finally drew apart, he nuzzled against Cassidy's still-warm skin, their breaths puffing in the frigid air. "Hey, rock star. Long time no see. Where the fuck have you been?"

"Let's get inside, it's freezing out here," Cassidy said, and pulled away to drag his bags into the cabin. He kicked the door shut with his foot, shucked his winter gear, and reeled Malcolm back in for more long, hot kisses. Cassidy's fingers were cold against his neck, but Malcolm had no real complaints.

Well, the clothes, maybe.

He drew back reluctantly, his own warm hands pushing beneath the soft sweater Cassidy wore to find skin. "Where the fuck have you been? I was seriously worried."

"Sorry," Cassidy replied, resting his head against Malcom's chest. His perpetually messy mop of curls was longer than usual, tangled and messy from the toboggan he'd been wearing. "Flight was late, tried to text you but reception in that place was shit and I didn't notice none of my texts had gone through until too late. Then after we arrived and I was waiting for my cab to the lodge—I watched it happen and I still don't believe it. My phone slipped from my fingers, kind of bounced-slid across the ice right into traffic and got crunched. I managed to by a new one, but it's still in its box."

Malcolm lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "I really should have guessed it was something completely stupid."

Cassidy laughed, pulled back to smile at him. "I really am sorry I worried you. But maybe my Christmas present will make it to you."

"If it's not you getting naked and staying that way for the next two weeks, then the answer is no, I can tell you that right off," Malcolm replied.

Laughing again, Cassidy said, "I am not staying naked, it's like minus five hundred out there! I actually have two presents for you. One, remember that beach house you wanted that you couldn't have because the owner wouldn't budge?"

Malcolm's heart stopped. "How."

"Let's just say I have my ways and you should be the one playing naked sex slave for two weeks," Cassidy said with a bright, happy grin. He still looked frayed around the edges, but no longer as beat up and worn out as he had been the last time Malcolm had seen him before they'd parted ways in Germany. "Part two… me and the rest of the band decided it was time for a serious break. As of January the first we are on a year-long hiatus."

"Are—" Malcolm swallowed. "Are you serious?"

Cassidy grabbed a handful of Malcolm's sweater and dragged him in close. "Would I lie, pretty boy? I barely get to see you anymore, and as much as I love being the center of attention these days, I wouldn't mind an audience of one for a bit." He kissed Malcolm softly, the sort of sweet, slow burn kiss that always left Malcolm shivering, chest aching with how fucking much he loved this man. "So what did you get me?"

Grinning, Malcolm scooped him up, laughing as Cassidy flailed and swore before finally settling where he was slung over Malcolm's shoulder. "You'll find out tomorrow when you unwrap your presents. For now, I've got some vastly more important unwrapping to do."

"I suppose that's acceptable," Cassidy said, and pinched his ass, snickering when Malcolm yelped.

---

Want more holiday stories? Well than, here's what we have for you...

Less Than Three Press presents a collection of stories about people brought together by the magic of mistletoe...

Here for You by J.K. Pendragon
Warren's life has been shrinking ever since his wife passed away. Blind, and finding it difficult to adjust to life on his own, it's easier to hide away in his house. When his friend Missy invites him to a Christmas party, an unexpected kiss with a stranger under the mistletoe leaves him confused and wondering...

The Christmas Spirit by Talya Andor
Christmas in Japan is no big deal for Ash Harmon, with his family half a world away and supernatural problems that have no respect for the holidays. When he picks up a bodyguard job for a rising star of figure skating who seems to be encountering trouble with a restless spirit, he stubbornly resists the unexpected attraction to his charge, wary of the risks that come with relationships. But the mistletoe has other ideas...

A Beautiful Thing by A.F. Henley
Sometimes, Fate gets tired of being ignored. And some nights, Fate decides something will just have to be done about it. Enter Drualus, Senior Correspondent for the Collective Assembly of Christmas Fae, working with the Night Before Reach Out Program. He's got a few short hours to change Scott Misener's outlook on life, love, and understanding. Lucky for Scott, Dru knows a tried and true trope that might just do the trick...

Ad Meliora by E.E. Ottoman
It's Christmas Eve and An-An and M.C. have plans to spend Christmas in Texas with An-An's family. But their plans are cut short when M.C. takes on a last minute case. Thankfully, though, it should be an easy exorcism.

Until they arrive at the snowbound lodge where trouble resides, and come face to face with a demon wolf unlike anything they've ever encountered.

Two Parts Mistletoe by Megan Derr
Kingston has worked hard to get where he is: owner of his own shop, master potion maker, well-respected... and lonely, too busy with life to enjoy more than his regular visits to Acacia House. If he wishes his loneliness might be eased by Hux, the man he meets at Acacia twice a month, well, someday he'll work up the nerve to ask. Maybe.

Then Hux unexpectedly visits his shop, distressed and in desperate need of help to save his employer from a love potion...

Buy links: LT3 | Amazon | ARe | Kobo

Author Bio:

Megan is a long time resident of m/m fiction, and keeps herself busy reading, writing, and publishing it. She is often accused of fluff and nonsense. When she's not involved in writing, she likes to cook, harass her cats, or watch movies (especially all things James Bond). She loves to hear from readers, and can be found all around the internet.

Website     |     Tumblr     |     Blog     |     Twitter 
Less Than Three Press     |     Email: meganaderr@gmail.com

Leave a comment, and one random winner will get a $25.00 Amazon gift card. Winner will be chosen Monday, December 15^th, and will have twenty-four hours to reply. If they do not reply, a new winner will be chosen.

Also, don't forget to enter the grand prize giveaway as well.

Holiday Party - Charlie Cochrane

For Day 3 of the Holiday Party, I have a special treat for you. Charlie Cochrane is stopping by, and she's sharing a holiday story featuring the characters of her upcoming new release, Lessons for Survivors. So, without further ado, here's Orlando and Jonty in My True Love Sent to Me!

My True Love Sent to Me

The author asserts her copyright over this story and all stories written by her, under the terms of the copyright laws in force in the country you are reading this work in.

Cambridge, December 1907

“I’ve just found out that Dr. Panesar has sent Nurse Hatfield the most beautiful bunch of red roses. Out of season as well.  It must be love.” Jonty Stewart had just returned from St. Bride’s, fairly full of the joys of winter, and wearing one of Dr. Panesar’s lovely scarlet buds in his buttonhole. Not that Orlando Coppersmith was likely to notice. He didn’t seem to notice anything about Jonty at the moment.

“Hmphmphm,” Orlando replied, immersed in a book.

Jonty eased himself into the chair the other side of the hearth from his lover. “Is that ‘Hmphmphm’ as in I think she would have preferred white or ‘Hmphmphm’ as in what a lovely gesture?”

“It was ‘Hmphmphm’ as in he should have saved his money and bought a decent jacket. His present one is threadbare at the elbows.” Orlando promptly stuck his nose back in his book.

“Everyone seems to be receiving little love tokens at the moment,” Jonty went on. “Miss Peters is getting a non-stop supply of chocolates from some chap down at St. Thomas’s, who has declared undying love for her. She takes them down to the orphanage and watches the little tykes eat them, so they reach the intended recipients. Are you listening?”

“Yes. Chocolates. Thomas’s. Tykes.” Orlando never looked up.

“Time was when you used to bring me little doo-dads. Mint Lumps. Champagne...” Jonty’s voice trailed off, a sign he hoped his lover would pick up that all was not well. But Orlando was preoccupied as usual.

“Hm? I believe I may have done. Yes.”

“Oh to hell with it. Believe you may have done? Perhaps it was another lover then, Orlando, who sent me those trifles, and I’ve got the two of you confused.” Jonty rose from his seat, in a marked manner. “I think I’ll go to my study and contemplate the nature of the relationship between the sea captain and Sebastian in Twelfth Night. Rather appropriate to the current situation, I think.”

Poor, clueless Dr. Coppersmith. He’d recently come across a new theory from a chap at Oxford, which proposed amazing things to do with the binomial theorem. Orlando was sure it was wrong, but was struggling to find the means to disprove it. The problem had occupied his thoughts for several days and nights, encroaching into areas that should by right have been reserved for his Jonty alone. This distraction had come at exactly the wrong time, as Jonty was already feeling both a bit low and distinctly taken for granted.  And to his eyes, this cold-shouldering was the last straw.

Two hours later, long after Jonty had fled for his study, Orlando had a revelation, pinpointed the error in the Oxford argument, and immediately prepared to return to the non-mathematical world. “Mint Lumps did you say, Jonty?” He looked up, wondered where his friend had gone, and then vaguely remembered the word study being mentioned.  He found an envelope addressed to him pinned to Jonty’s door.

I shall be taking my meals in here or in St. Bride’s and will be sleeping in my own bed, on my own for the foreseeable future. Orlando read the note with growing horror, each word making him more and more conscious of his recent self-absorption and lack of empathy. I feel that I’m being both ignored and taken for granted, like some poor wife of fifteen years’ standing whose husband has found a mistress. Put that in your slide rule and calculate it.

Immediate action was required, and soon, if Orlando wasn’t to remain alone and cold in his own bed all winter.

“And I don’t understand why.” Orlando was sitting in the drawing room of the Master’s lodge with Miss Peters, who was dispensing tea and sympathy. He’d explained about the Oxford mathematician and the problem with his theory and Jonty’s paddy, and the note. And how he’d tried to make amends by offering Jonty a treat; tickets for an excellent lecture on the subject of mathematical machines that he was certain should have delighted his lover. Orlando wasn’t daft and realised his first idea for a present, a translation of one of Einstein’s papers on light particles, wouldn’t be any temptation. But Jonty had just turned up his nose at the suggestion of an evening out. And evenings in remained as unexciting as they had the last few days.

“You don’t understand why he showed no interest in the difference engine? No sonnets in there, I suppose,” Miss Peters commented.  “Perhaps a little too serious for a first gesture of reconciliation. Have you thought of anything else that might break the ice?” She poured more tea, racking her brains as to how to knock some romantic sense into her guest’s head.

“Well I did think of buying him something. Like a new fountain pen—the current one blots everywhere—or a nice leather bound notebook. Ryder and Amies have some new socks in stock, too. They’re made from four ply lambs’ wool and look particularly warm so I wondered…”

Miss Peters worked hard to keep her temper. His suggestions weren’t the type of gifts to woo a poetic soul. “Can’t you think of anything a little more…romantic?”

But it was plain that, for the moment at least, Orlando had nothing more evocative in his brain. Miss Peters took pity on him, plied him with more cake, and nodded in determination. “I have an idea, or at least the germ of one. It’ll need a bit of ingenuity and patience but it might just work.”

“It had better,” Orlando muttered, and dutifully ate his cake.

Jonty arrived home from St. Bride’s to find a little note from Orlando. He wasn’t surprised; there had been a string of them the last few days. They’d been puzzled, hurt, demanding, yet none of them had borne the requisite mix of contrition and romance. He was tempted to chuck this latest one right in the bin without reading it, but decided to give Orlando one last try. Look in the pear tree was certainly a novel and sufficiently intriguing message.

Jonty sauntered down the garden, stopping as frequently as possible to inspect anything green he could find on the way, so as not to appear too eager. In the tree was a small foil-wrapped object. Opening it with care, Jonty found a bird-shaped thing, made of chocolate, which intrigued him more than the note had. He grinned, broke off the beak, and downed the rest before returning to his study. It was a good start but not enough yet.

Orlando—who had been watching furtively from the window—was pleased to see his gift was at least nominally accepted. He wasn’t anticipating an immediate thaw in relations, but there was time. Eleven more days.

The next morning, being Saturday, Orlando went into college, while his erstwhile lover lay abed; when Jonty rose, he found an envelope pushed under his bedroom door. Inside was a picture of them arm in arm, taken by Miss Peters on her very modern and highly efficient camera the previous summer. The note with it said, She called us her little turtle doves when she took it and requested May I visit you in your study this afternoon? I merely wish to hold your hand for one minute precisely.

Jonty crinkled his brow, puzzling over the note, but then smiled as the penny dropped. He took up paper and pen and produced a reply. Two o’clock. One minute only.

Orlando arrived as the clock finished its second stroke. He didn’t speak, but simply perched quietly on the desk where Jonty was marking essays. Orlando took his hand, considered it, counted to sixty (not aloud, but Jonty could almost hear the cogs turning in his mind) then smiled at him, and went. Jonty was left feeling like time had turned back to  that fatal first evening in Orlando’s room at St. Bride’s, the night they learned of the first murder. Despite the disagreeable associations of that night, he recalled fondly the first buds of mutual affection, from which their relationship had blossomed. Buds as full of potential as any of Dr. Panesar’s.

On Sunday morning, Jonty returned from chapel, this time in expectation. If his guess was correct, then he should expect a gift along the lines of a French hen, although what it could be eluded his rational processes. It was beef for lunch, he knew, as he’d seen their housekeeper Mrs. Ward doing the batter for Yorkshire pudding. On his desk, he found three tins of pâté de foie gras, which was the best alternative to a French hen Miss Peters could come up with. Orlando had wanted to keep the idea for the sixth day, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. The accompanying note with them said Please will you lunch with me in the dining room. I won’t bore you with departmental talk.

And he didn’t. They conversed hesitantly, even shyly, but all topics were of mutual interest—the doings of the fellows of St. Bride’s, and of Forsythia Cottage’s neighbours on the Madingley Road. As the meal came to its inevitable end Jonty was dismayed when Orlando rose, offered his apologies and said he had to go down to Apostles’ College, where he and Matheson were investigating a case of possible collusion and cheating over the bridge table. He didn’t anticipate being back this side of ten o’clock.

The tables had turned. Jonty was left disconcerted, with the annoying feeling that Orlando had buggered off just when he might be ready to resume normal relations.

On Monday afternoon, Jonty had just finished a consultation with one of his postgraduate students in his room at St. Bride’s, when he became aware of footsteps and giggling on the stairs. A fierce rap on his door was followed by a nervous clearing of throats—he opened the door to find the master of the St. Bride’s chapel choir and four of his best boy sopranos, who serenaded him with The Shepherd’s Farewell from L’enfance du Christ. By the end, Jonty was moved to tears, and dispensed half-crowns all around, despite one honest little lad piping up that he “needn’t bother as Dr. Coppersmith had sorted it all out already.”

As soon as the singers had gone, Jonty donned his greatcoat and went in search of Orlando, but the man wasn’t in any of the usual places where he went to ground. Jonty had an anxious wait, first in his room and then in his chair at dinner before he saw Orlando hurriedly come into Hall and give him that shy little smile that made Jonty’s heart leap.

Coffee in the Senior Common Room was given short shrift, and their conversation was tentative and timid, as it had been when they were first courting. Jonty—even though he was insecure about their future, the barrage of presents, notes and the requests that did not quite make logical sense—was enjoying himself with Orlando once more.

“I have a bottle of port in my room here. Would you care for a nightcap before we go home?” Orlando offered.  He wore the same expression as he had the night the Senior Common Room was invaded by women, and he and Jonty had to find refuge elsewhere.

“Just a small one,” Jonty replied equably.  Rising, they bade their goodnight to the other fellows who were attentive enough to notice. Their presence in the Senior Common Room was taken for granted, as was their being a couple, although purely a platonic one. Of everyone at St. Bride’s, only Miss Peters knew the whole truth.

Orlando still kept a room at St. Bride’s, in order to provide a suitable setting to torture the dunderheads. The fire burning brightly in the hearth indicated that tonight he was expecting company, although there were only the rather battered armchairs—in which he placed his victims—for he and Jonty to rest their bottoms in. The shabbiness didn’t matter, however; it was warm and reasonably comfortable for them, especially when Orlando sat at Jonty’s feet and rested his head against his friend’s leg.

Jonty didn’t need more invitation than this; he was being wooed and wooed well, and well-inclined to let bygones be bygones. He laid a hand on Orlando’s head, caressing the dark curls, as he had when they were first involved, before Orlando had seemed to take it into his head that pointing to the bed and grunting was sufficient for him in the way of romance.

“Missed you.” Orlando turned his face into the hand and gently kissed it.

“Missed you too. And this. Sharing a home is wonderful, but I yearn sometimes for the days when we just had those sets of rooms with the roaring fires and the little single beds,” Jonty sighed.

“Times move on don’t they? Yet not everything is entirely for the better.” Orlando reached up and caressed his lover’s throat. “I don’t miss the beds, though—there was never any room for me in them once you set up residence.”

“Twit.” Jonty drew the hand touching his neck up to his lips to salute it. “I must express my thanks at the way you’ve gone about this. I’ve been delighted at all the little presents—it’s been a long time since you were inclined to be so generous—and the notes with them. Shame I didn’t hold out for the whole twelve days, but I truly couldn’t.” He slid onto the floor so that he would be on a level with his friend. “May I kiss you?”

Orlando grinned. “I’ve been waiting so long for you to say those words, or something like them. Of course you may.” There was no need for words the next few minutes, the necessary equipment being put to better use. “And I’m glad you gave in now. Miss Peters and I were starting to run out of ideas.”

“Miss Peters? I should have guessed that minx had got herself involved somehow. This whole thing—it wasn’t her idea was it?”

“Only in part. She acted as a consultant.” Orlando blushed at his slight distortion of the truth but was rewarded with several more tantalising kisses.

“I would have loved to see what she had in mind for nine maids a milking.”

“Oh, that was easy—quantities of clotted cream with scones to lavish them on. It was the swans a swimming and the ladies dancing that were giving me headaches.”

“Just as I suspected. And the Lords a leaping?” Jonty’s counted off the days on his fingers, lips working through the list of presents in the song.

“Oh that was easy, we had one of the local Morris teams on standby. Might still get them to turn out, actually, and we can all watch them perform with a glass or two of hot punch in our hands.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Jonty considered for a moment, then gave a sly smile, sitting up and tipping his head towards the door. “Is it locked?”

“No, but that’s easily remedied.” Orlando grinned. “What did you have in mind that would need so much security?”

“Well, this carpet is so comfortable. And there are cushions on the chairs and…”

Orlando needed no further prompting, and produced the key to secure the lock. He turned out the lamps while he was about it— what better illumination could there be than the fire’s glow? “Just one thing though,” he scrambled through his pocket, “I had this ready for tomorrow, in case the waits didn’t break through into your icy heart.” He produced a handsome gold chain and placed it in Jonty’s hand.

“It’s lovely, such a fine colour, but I don’t see what I’m to use it for.”

“Keep it till the real first day of Christmas and then you’ll find out. Just in time.” Orlando leaned over and kissed his friend once more. “My love for you will last more than twelve days or twelve years or even twelve decades. And if I ever take you for granted again, you have my permission to thrash me to within an inch of my life.”

“Idiot. I think I may want you to take me for granted again if it has such marvellous consequences. Come now, we’d best be about things or Mrs. Ward will be calling the police to report us missing.” Jonty drew his lover closer. “You’re really the only gift I want.”

“And would you like to know what present I want?” The hoarseness in Orlando’s voice made explanation unnecessary. “It’s been a long time since we shared a mattress.”

“This floor won’t be as soft as a mattress, even with the carpet. I hope your bony backside is up to it.”

“Why mine? Why can’t it be your feather bed of a bottom?”

“Please yourself.” Jonty’s voice lowered to a whisper, hardly louder than the crackling murmurs from the fire. “I mean it. Make it exactly as you please, my true love.”

“Ah.” Orlando loosened the buttons of his trousers then worked on his lover’s, his other hand occupied with caressing Jonty’s face. “Then, to carry on the theme, this piper will pipe and he’ll be drumming your burly buttocks onto the mat.”

It took two minutes for Jonty to stop laughing. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you talk so smuttily. You’ve become extraordinarily bold all of a sudden.” Normally he would have inched down his lover’s pants and trousers, caressing and stroking, drawing out the excitement. But this time, he tugged them down. “Let’s get these wretched things off, then. They always get in the way—that’s why nightshirts are so much more civilised.” He wasn’t being civilised now, impatient for the sensation of flesh pounding against flesh.

“Jonty.” It was less a use of his lover’s name in affection than a statement of possession, both the imminent physical and the permanent spiritual. They’d done this so often before, but now it felt fresh again, the audacity of making love in Orlando’s rooms, in such haste, heightening the thrill. 

“Take me now, Orlando. I’m not sure I can wait a moment longer,” Jonty murmured.

There were no more words for a while, just the sighs and whispers of love and the groans of ecstatic and long-anticipated release.

The fire was burning low; they wouldn’t build it up again. They’d soon be home, getting a wigging from Mrs. Ward, enjoying a glass of wine, maybe utilising a comfy mattress for the benefit of a muscular if slightly bony backside.

“In keeping with the theme,” Jonty said as he dressed, “we should celebrate our first Christmas in our own home in style. The twelve days and all that.”

“If you’re suggesting I demonstrate my true love once on the first day, twice on the second and so on, I should warn you I’ll be in hospital with exhaustion by the seventh.” Orlando carefully wiped his hands on a towel. He hoped his students never guessed why he kept a jug of water in his room.

“Another good idea gone begging, then.” The final button was done up, the last shirttail tucked. “As long as we share some seasonal cheer, I’ll be happy. And what’s so funny?”

“For years you’ve called it ‘doing our duty’. Now I’ll have to call it ‘sharing some cheer’.” Orlando drew his lover close for a final kiss before they swathed themselves in wool and tweed against the cold Cambridge air. “Merry Christmas.”

“You’re a week early,” Jonty objected.

“I don’t care. I feel like a little boy who’s just opened the best present in the world.”

“Idiot.” One last coal fell from the fire, the flames guttering, the darkness in the room deepening. “A merry Christmas to you, too.”

Want to see more of Orlando and Jonty? Look for them in Charlie’s upcoming release, Lessons for Survivors.

Blurb:

A more than professional interest . . . a more than personal intrigue.

Orlando Coppersmith should be happy. WWI is almost a year in the past, he’s back at St. Bride’s College in Cambridge, his lover and best friend Jonty Stewart is at his side again, and—to top it all—he’s about to be made Forsterian Professor of Applied Mathematics. And although he and Jonty have precious little time for an investigative commission, they can’t resist a suspected murder case which must be solved in a month so a clergyman can claim his rightful inheritance.

But the courses of scholarship, true love, and amateur detecting never did run smooth. Orlando’s inaugural lecture proves almost impossible to write. A plagiarism case he’s adjudicating on turns nasty with a threat of blackmail against him and Jonty. And the murder investigation turns up too many leads and too little hard evidence.

Orlando and Jonty may be facing their first failure as amateur detectives, and the ruin of their professional and private reputations. Brains, brawn, the pleasures of the double bed—they’ll need them all to lay their problems to rest.

 Charlie is offering one commenter an ebook from her back catalogue. To enter, all you have to do is leave a comment. Contest ends December 31. Also, don't forget to enter the grand prize giveaway as well!

Bio:

As Charlie Cochrane couldn't be trusted to do any of her jobs of choice—like managing a rugby team—she writes, with titles published by Carina, Samhain, Bold Strokes, MLR, Riptide and Lethe.

She’s a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association, Mystery People, International Thriller Writers Inc and is on the organising team for UK Meet. She regularly appears with The Deadly Dames.

Website     |     Samhain author page

Holiday Party - David Berger

So to help kick off this party, I'd like to introduce a favorite author of mine who I have had the lovely joy of actually getting to meet, Mr. David Berger! Take it away David!

This is an excerpt from “Father’s Day,” one of two short stories I contributed to the anthology New Years to Christmas: 15 Queer Holiday Tales. Jason and Aaron meet in “The Hanukkah Gift,” but this story actually has the Hanukkah flashback scene where Aaron meets Jason’s family.

• • •

A few more crackers and chopped liver. Aaron was trying to convince himself that he could make it through dinner without incident; it almost became his mantra. While his mother started regaling him with stories about her friend Hadassah’s new grandson or Aunt Pesha’s poodle, he wondered if he really could bring Jason here to meet his family. Surely, Jason’s family had to have its own tzouris—drama—right? Even though Aaron thought the man was near perfect, that family had to have some issues. But, despite all the drama, he really did want Jason to be a part of his family. Six months into this relationship, and Aaron was ready for a more permanent commitment, and that also meant being a part of Jason’s son, Aryeh’s, life. That boy makes Jason smile so big and his eyes just light up. It had been hard for Aaron, since he’s not used to being around younger children, and he didn’t want to make a bad impression, especially the day they met.

• • •

Hanukkah, 2011. 11:35 p.m.

As soon as Jason and Aaron arrived at Jason’s parents’ house, all eyes were on Aaron. The house smelled of Hanukkah candles that had already burned out as well as oil from the potato latkes. Jason’s sisters, Rebecca and Michelle, whispered to each other while looking at Aaron as their brother said hello to his parents. Aryeh had already gone to bed, exhausted from staying up to play dreidel with his grandparents. Once the introductions were over, Aaron joined Jason on the couch and asked about the man sitting with Jason’s mother, Adele.

“Oh, my step-dad. Mom remarried when I was 25. He’s a good man and treats my mother well. And, he adores Aryeh. It’s a shame he’s asleep. I wanted you to meet him.”

Mrs. Blumenfeld brought a plate of latkes over to the two. Rebecca quickly followed behind to hand them plates and forks.

“Sour cream or apple sauce?” Adele nodded at two bowls.

“Both, please.” Aaron smiled up at her while she put a healthy dollop of both on his plate.

Rebecca squeezed between them on the couch, nudging her brother away playfully. “So, how’d you two meet?”

“Go easy on him, Rebecca.” Jason laughed. “Aaron, I’m going to check on Aryeh. If my sister starts asking too many questions, just shove a latke in her mouth.”

Not long after the inquisition started, Michelle came over and sat on the other side of Aaron. He didn’t mind the questions, though, and it gave him the chance to find out more about Jason’s family. Both sisters, while having similar features, had some striking differences: Michelle, the younger sister in her early 20s, had a more casual presence with a long bob of blond hair with subtle pink highlights, baby pink sweatpants and a Thor t-shirt. Rebecca, on the other hand, in her mid-30s, had French tips on her professionally manicured nails and long, brown hair, and wore a pale blue cashmere sweater with blue slacks. Jason’s step-dad, Howard, just sat in his recliner reading a novel on his Kindle, chuckling to himself about how entangled Aaron was in the third degree. He knew better than to intervene. Adele asked the girls to leave him alone and help her finish putting dishes away.

On the side table, Aaron saw a photo of Adele, her first husband, Solomon, and all three children. By the looks of it, the parents must have been in their late 20s. Jason was clinging to his father’s leg, looking up at him.

Hearing Jason’s shoes on the tile, Aaron turned to see him carrying a sleepy little boy, his head nestled under his father’s chin.

“He heard me come in.” Jason felt the need to justify himself to his mother she gave him a look. “I had to give him his Hanukkah present.”

Jason gestured with his head for Aaron to join him in the dining room, and father and son sat on a chair. Aryeh’s eyes batted open a little, checking out this strange person.

“Aryeh, this is Aaron. Say hello.”

The three year old buried his face in Jason’s chest.

“Nice to meet you, Aryeh.” Aaron held out his hand.

No response. Aaron just smiled.

“It’s okay, Jason. He’s half-asleep.” He put his hand on Jason’s shoulder. “I’d be scared, too.”

Aryeh never left his father’s lap, although he did eventually wake up enough to eat a latke, never taking his eyes of Aaron. Jason was right, though, about his parents: they were certainly night owls. He didn’t leave until 1:30 a.m., and Jason walked him to his car. Aaron leaned back against the driver’s door.

“I’m sorry about Aryeh.” Jason leaned his forehead against Aaron’s. “He was probably just tired.”

“No worries. Maybe next time, we’ll meet during normal daylight hours.”

“I think he does like you. He’s protective of me and usually throws things at people he doesn’t like. You could have been wearing that latke.”

Aaron gently kissed Jason’s lips. “Call me,” he whispered.

“Yessir.” Jason grinned.

As Aaron drove away, he felt a little sadness, especially since he didn’t remember his father being so attentive to him as a child. But, perhaps, things could change. Or not.

• • •

His mother handed him silverware and napkins to put at the table, but she kept talking about her Mahjong group or her community work at the synagogue. That woman could hold a conversation with herself quite easily. Aaron could have driven home and back, and she would still be talking, never having known he was gone. Through the front door came his sister, Rachel, kugel in hand and boyfriend in tow. Adele put the kugel on the table while Aaron said hello to his sister.

“Hey, brother.” She gave him a hug and a peck. “You remember Robert.”

They shook hands. “Of course.”

“Robert, go say hello to daddy. I need to talk to Aaron for a sec.”

Rachel took her brother by the hand and led him into the living room.

“So, where’s Jason?” She shook her hands like she’d won a prize. “Robert and I were so happy when Mom said he was coming.”

“Excuse me?”

“Wait. Didn’t Mom ask you to bring him?”

“Uh, no. I’ll bet she told Dad, he made a comment, so she said, ‘Okay, okay, Jack,’ threw up her hands, and relented.”

Rachel pouted. “You now, you’re probably right. But, she did mention she would ask you. That has to count for something.”

Aaron shrugged.

Author Bio:

DAVID BERGER is the author of the mythic fantasy series, Task Force: Gaea, stemming from his longtime love affair with Greek mythology and comic books. He has also contributed short fiction to the anthology New Years to Christmas: 15 Queer Holiday Tales. An English teacher since 1993, he currently teaches AP English Literature, IB English, and Creative Writing in Land O’ Lakes, Florida. He lives in Land O’ Lakes with his partner, Gavi, and cat, Shayna.

Amazon Author Page     |     Website     |     Twitter

Christmas Wonder Hop

Celebrate the Wonder of the Season! Visit all of the blogs to see what they love most about the season and which books have made their Christmas wish lists! There's a giveaway at each stop so be sure to visit them all!

What do I love about the season? Everything except the consumerism. Seriously, I love the Christmas season. Winter break, end of a year, a new year to start afresh, time to spend with my family and friends just relaxing and enjoying being with them...the list goes on and on. I even like getting to break out my holiday earrings and music (so long as it happens after Thanksgiving, we're all good). The weather's getting colder down here in Florida, and while I'm not a big fan of the cold, it's nice to feel a change from insanely hot. And I love to see all the decorations up. I just love this time of year, it really is a magical time to me.

As for what books made my Christmas wish list? Where do I start? Pretty much every book already on my TBR. Plus, while organizing and setting up my holiday party, I got to catch up with a bunch of authors (and a few new), so now I have even more books added to my list! It's gotten to the point where I just started telling people to get me a gift card to ARE or Amazon, because that would be easier. But my top 5 books on my list right now are:

1. Fighting Instinct by Mary Calmes
2. Megan Derr's Princes of the Blood series
3. Horny by Anne Tenino
4. Capture by Annabelle Jacobs (and then if I like it, the other 2 in the series)
5. Hidden Gem by Lissa Kasey

I want to here from you. What do you like about the holidays and/or what's books are on your Christmas wish list? I'll be giving one lucky commenter one of the books on their wish list (though I may give out more as well, depending on how many comments there are).

Plus, not only am I doing this hop all month, I’m also hosting a Holiday Party! I’ve invited some of my favorite authors to stop by and share either what the holidays mean to them or else they're sharing how their characters celebrate the holidays all month long, and many are also offering their own giveaways, so stop by every day to meet a new author and enjoy some holiday fun! I'm also giving away a $50 Amazon gift card at the end of the month, so be sure to enter that giveaway as well!

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