Two Chicks Obsessed with Books & Eye Candy

Sharing our love of M/M Romance

new release

Off Balance: Painted Bay #1 by Jay Hogan: New Release Review

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When JUDAH MADDEN flees his tiny suffocating home town in New Zealand for the dream of international ballet stardom, he never intends coming back. Not to Painted Bay. Not to his family’s struggling mussel farm. Not to his jerk of a brother. Not with his entire life plan in shreds. And certainly not into the tempting arms of MORGAN WIPENE, the older, ruggedly handsome fisheries officer who seems determined to screw with Judah’s intention to wallow in peace.

But dreams are fickle things. Shatter them and it’s hard to pick up the pieces. Hard to believe. Hard to start again.

And the hardest thing of all? Finding the courage to trust in love and build a new dream where you least expected to find it.

Amazon – Kindle Unlimited

I know Jay Hogan has several titles out, but this is the first time I am reading one. You know I am a sucker for a ballet dancer, right? Such a sucker that I didn’t even really read the blurb. Just said “GIMME!”

Fall from grace, early retirement, having to return home to the tiny town he hated, Judah is in a bad place. And he meets Morgan, a guy still grieving his wife while going through the motions of life. They quickly decide neither wants a relationship and to just be friends. HA! Ha I say! That never works out.

Morgan is the consumate relationship guy. Judah has only been in 1 relationship- and that ended when his career did. These guys are nothing alike and yet are so great together.

Center to their story is Judah’s health issues. And while a lot of time was spent with him dealing with it, I also didn’t feel like it was overboard. It isn’t something that can be ignored and it was almost it’s own character. Seeing how Judah dealt with it, how Morgan dealt with it, how family and friends dealt with it.

There’s also a subplot of poachers that Morgan is trying to catch. I didn’t grab me as much, but it kept him busy as I imagine his job normally isn’t that exciting.

There is A LOT of sex in this book. They cannot keep their hands off of each other. And I get it. And I think this is the first time in a book there was a sex scene that actually took advantage of the dancer’s flexibility. Wink wink.

There were quite a few side characters- Judah’s brother who resents him, his mother who has her own secret, his best friend and his daughter who has her own challenges and Morgan’s cop friend who offers a bit too much advice in my opinion. But all of the characters had good parts in the story, even Judah’s bully from high school. They all added to the story without acting as just filler.

I really enjoyed this book and look forward to book 2. Especially if it is who I think it is.

4 Pieces of Eye Candy

Short Stack by Lily Morton: New Release Review

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What happens after the happy ending?

Drawn together for the first time, this is a collection of Lily’s short stories about the much-loved men from her Mixed Messages and Finding Home series. Follow them through awkward marriage proposals, birthdays, a fraught babysitting job, and a very drunken Eurovision Song Contest party.

It includes stories previously written for her website and readers’ group, along with deleted scenes and four brand new and exclusive short stories – Bad Valentine, Marrying Jude, Babysitting Billy, and House Hunting.

Amazon – Kindle Unlimited

If you are a fan of Lily Morton‘s guys, from Milo to Oz to Henry and all of them in between, you will enjoy this collection.

Catching up with various couples from 2 series, we get short stories that are set after the end of the book but at times before the epilogue as well as scenes that were cut for various reasons.

There’s funny- Babysitting Billy, Swoony- Marrying Jude, and short “clips” that just give you a little more into the men.

Obviously you will need to have read the books or you won’t feel a connection to the characters. But for those of us who feel invested in these characters, it was really lovely to revisit them. And even though Milo is my favorite character, Gideon in Babysitting Billy is my favorite story.

4.5 Pieces of Eye Candy

Prince Ivan, A. Wolfe & A Firebird by Eric Alan Westfall: Blog Tour, Exclusive Excerpt, and Giveaway

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Dear Reader,

What do you get when you combine a greedy Great Tsar, his two cheating, bullying older sons, his youngest esser (shh! no saying that aloud) son, stolen gold apples, a Firebird quest, A. Wolfe who has the power t’assume a pleasing shape, a magickal sandstorm, as well as two bands and a full Symphony of Gipsumies?

A rollicking, roisterous Russian Fairy Tale, with vigorous esser activities in tents, halls, bedrooms and alcoves, with and without the assistance of PSTs. Plus princely parades, a duel over Gus, new lyrics to an old drinking song, and the possibility of bits of blood, gobs of gore or moments of mayhem. As required by CORA (the Code of RFT Authors), should these occur, your author will give you timely warning.

Ah. Still not ready to part with your kopek-equivalent? Consider the fun you’ll have reading chapters like:

“To Kvetch, Or Not To Kvetch? A Reader’s Choice”

“Ivan Has A Close Encounter Of The F-Word Kind”

“Second Direction Questers vs. The Caliph’s Sayer Of Sooths”

“Will Sasha Succeed In Seducing Prince Ivan?”

“Bad Prince Ivan! No Touch Cage!”

“A Travel Pause For Gratuitous Sex In The Tent—Which Does Not Advance The Plot—At The Insistence Of The Characters”

“A Necessary Interlude To Consider The Age-Old Questing Question: What The [Expletive Of Your Choice, Dear Reader] Do We Do Next?”

If you buy it and try it, you’ll like it, or so says your most talen…er…humble author.

p.s. If Karrie Jax and I have covered you and blurbed you to buy, look for “Dear Reader, Along The Way, Did You Happen To See The Allusion To Olivier?” in the TOC. It’s a spot-the-allusions chance at gift cards of $25, $15, or $10.

166,000 words of story fun and frolic, plus a 2160-word teaser from another MM fairytale: The Tinderbox

Author Name: Eric Alan Westfall

Publisher: Eric Alan Westfall

Release Date: Monday, September 7 2020

Cover Artist: Karrie Jax

Genres: fairy tale, fantasy, MM(M), Russian fairy tale

LGBTQ+ Identities: Gay

Keywords/Categories: Russian fairy tale, fantasy, magic, magick, shifter, fairy tale, gay, queer, LGBTQ, fairy tale, new release, announcement, giveaway

Amazon

Smashwords

Soldiers Watching, Watching, All Through The Night

The finest soldiers in the Imperial Army—or at least, the finest of those in and about Moscow and unfortunately readily available by nightfall—stood guard around the tree. The first-finest stood shoulder-to-shoulder around the outside edge of the grass circle, facing the tree. The second-finest were facing outward, shoulder to shoulder, and butt to butt with the inner group. No thief would get through their lines. The apples were safe.

The soldiers stayed awake the whole night, those on the inward side of the circle watching the tree, those on the outward side watching…everything outward.

Very well, if the truth must be told, and it should be, when one advertises a tale as a true tale, not every soldier stayed awake. There were a surprising number whose years of service had led to the development of the skill of sleeping while standing up. A lesser number within that group could sleep with their eyes wide open. Soldiers with those skills were envied, and deserved emulation, rather than being poked and prodded into wakefulness—which only annoyed them and made them vengeful at a later date, time and place of their selection.

The others employed a variety of methods for staying awake, including several piss-challenges, the primary one being, for those who have never engaged in them—whether from a physical inability or other reason for not—hauling out your prick and seeing if you could piss farther, or perhaps further, than your competing comrades in pissery. The grammatical distinction was not something Imperial soldiers were ever taught. While the stars and a sliver of moon produced enough light to decide the piss-distance winner, or leave room for reasonable wrangling over who’d won, there wasn’t enough light for reading any piss-writing.

One particularly creative group of soldiers, carefully on the side of the circle opposite the side leading in the direction of the Palace, had another use for their pricks while staying awake. They pulled them out, stroked them hard or fast or slow, with a variety of twists, and swirls, and knob or slit thumbing, bringing themselves off in various challenging ways, such as greatest and least volume, greatest and least distance of the furthermost spurt—or fartherest, as the strokers weren’t any better educated than their pissing colleagues in another part of the circle—greatest and least length and girth, et cetera.

Both pissers and strokers were confident the traditional morning dew would, if not wash away, at least obscure the offerings they gave to the grass.

With the exceptions noted above, the circled soldiers were reasonably alert, fairly wakeful and watching as well as they could. Not one of them noted the brief, bright flash of red-gold-white above the branches and then in the branches, nor heard any fluttering or flapping.

Being the astute reader you are, especially with the stonking great clue in the title, you’ve already figured out who the apple-thief is. For the sake of readers less erudite than yourself, when leaving a review, or telling your friends what a great read you just had, do as audiences did when being fortunate enough to see that brilliant play, The Persecution’s Witness. The Tsarevich who penned the play commanded, more than suggested, in the playbills and large signs in the lobby: “On penalty of possible participation in a spectacle, don’t disclose the ending.” Or, as here, the identity of the thief.

Just a thought. A simple expression of authorial concern for reader health, safety, and heads-on well-being.

The rings of finest and second-finest soldiers were justifiably proud of themselves. They’d stood there, absolutely still, not budging—well, for the most part—until dawn crept over what would have been a window sill if they’d been back in the barracks. The apples were safe.

Except…when the Great Tsar and a gaggle of Greater and Lesser Generals made their way to the tree as dawn did its creeping thing, and the circles of the finest (inner) and next finest (outer) soldiers opened to let the Great Tsar, his magickal platform, and the generals through, the count disclosed another apple was gone.

True, only a golden apple. But still…[see above].

The soldiers, frightened by their failure, faced the Great Tsar’s renewed fury with something less than equanimity, as visions of Axemen comething all over the place danced in their heads. The Great Tsar was ready, willing, and might well have reverted to a faithful, down to the last stroke, swish and fall, imitation of his ancestress, the famous—no one quite dared to put the “in” in the front of the word—Red Tsarina, known throughout All The Russias, et cetera, for her famous phrase, having the same word issue—“Off with his head!”

But a more mathematical head prevailed, allowing the soldiers to keep theirs. Well-acquainted with the Great Tsar’s skills at both counting apples and calculating value for both varieties, Lesser General Andrei Levovich Tolstoy pushed his superiors aside, not quite begging a pardon per push, and asked the Great Tsar to assist him with a mathematical problem. An apple-related mathematical problem. One which could not wait until later for resolution.

The Great Tsar could not resist the lure of numbers, especially numbers closely connected to past and possible future apple losses.

General Tolstoy pointed out the tree numbers. The magnificent tree, the largest apple tree of all the apple trees in all the, et cetera, et cetera, with its forty-foot height and crown diameter. The twenty-foot width of the glorious green sward circling the tree. An eighty-foot diameter. A circumference of three thousand sixteen inches.

The General pointed out the soldier numbers. The Imperial Army’s finest (available) soldiers, with the best muscles and broadest shoulders in All The…et cetera, had an average shoulder width of sixteen inches. It had taken one hundred eighty-eight soldiers rubbing against one another—in a most manly, soldierly, shoulderly manner—to form the inner circle. Using six inches as the average soldier’s depth, from the back of his butt to the front of whatever might protrude the most (not considering prick-protrusions in the calculations), added another foot to the diameter. It took one hundred ninety-one soldiers to form the outer butt-to-butt ring.

Three hundred seventy-nine of the Imperial Army’s finest/second-finest soldiers gone, if the Great Tsar in his infinite wisdom and fairness—and he was more infinitely wise and fair than any other ruler in All The…et cetera—should decide to have a gloriously bloody Axeman Cometh spectacle.

Consider the cost of cleaning up all that blood, all those bodies. Consider the cost—all that gold gone from the Imperial Treasury—for replacing them.

It was a dilemma.

Eric is an American Midwesterner, and as Lady Glenhaven might say, “He’s old enough to have sailed with Noah.” In the real world he writes for a living, with those who would claim what he writes is fiction. His partner of thirty years—who died unexpectedly in 1995—enthusiastically encouraged him to try to get his writing published (mostly poetry back then, plus some short stories), but he didn’t have the guts to do so until 2013. At this point he’s not sure which was officially first, The Song, or Like a Mountain, Waiting.

Starting then, he’s published 13 novels and novellas, 1 poetry collection, 2 short story collections, and 3 short stories. God willin’ and the crick don’t rise, 2020 will also see The Tinderbox out and about. But since real life is, as we all know, a pain in the (anatomical site of your choice)…no guarantees.

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/Eric-Alan-Westfall-1045476662268838/

Author Twitter: https://twitter.com/eawestfall43

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A Long Way Back (Unfinished Business Book 2) by Barbara Elsborg: New Release Review

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A serious accident may have left Tay’s body broken, but he’s determined to live an independent life at any cost. Except he’s barely coping. Alone and isolated in London, his only solace comes from the pain numbing drugs he’s become addicted to.

Ink’s on the run. He keeps his head low, but London streets don’t feel safe. The only way to stay under the radar is to keep moving and not let anyone or anything get close. But the stray mutt that’s latched onto Ink has other ideas.

A chance encounter and Ink’s bungled attempt to free himself from his four-legged companion leads to the offer of a job as a live-in helper. Tay’s moody and difficult, but he’s also scared and vulnerable, and Ink finds himself saying yes when he should be saying no.

Can Tay and Ink find a clear path on the road towards true love? Or will their broken lives prove to be one roadblock too many?

This is the second book in the Unfinished Business series but can be read as a standalone.

This story has dark elements and possible triggers for some—bullying, death of a minor, violence, terrorism and drug addiction.

Amazon – Kindle Unlimited

If you read The Making of Jonty Bloom, you know Tay. Jonty’s best friend who was greivously injured by Jonty’s then boyfriend. On the road to recovery now, he moves to London to get away from family and Jonty after Jonty announces he is in love and has a boyfriend.

But recovering from a catastrophic injury requires help, even if he doesn’t want it. And Ink, a homeless man he ran into in the park, somehow gets himself hired as Tay’s helper.

Ink has his own secrets, which take a long time to come out which made me wonder what it possibly could be. I liked that I wasn’t able to guess what it was. And while it was a wee bit unbelievable, the author addresses her use of artistic license there. Ok, I’ll take it.

And while there were other things that were a bit hard to believe (Tay seems to graduate from mostly in a wheelchair to being on 1 crutch rather quickly), the story itself was quite good.

Ink, the guy who really should be angry at the world, is just trying to get by. And Tay, who is recovering much more than expected, should be happy with his progress, but really is angry too often.

They play off of each other really well and with the added character of a dog named Dog. I loved Dog. And I loved Ink. And even though he was grouchy and nasty, I kind of loved Tay.

Ink’s backstory/secret was absolutely heartbreaking. Absolutely gutted me. And the whole time he is just trying to help Tay.

Oh, and their relationship. ADORABLE! Seriously. Two seriously inexperienced guys together. Stumbling together, discovering together. Swoony. They had chemistry together, but sex didn’t consume their story. Which it easily could have being that they are in their 20’s and so inexperienced.

If you read Jonty’s story, you will love this one. They are very different, but written in that same style that makes you love the characters and immerses you in their world.

4 Pieces of Eye Candy

Cat’s Got Your Heart by Jem Zero: RDB, Excerpt and Giveaway

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A Fluffy Feline Isn’t the Only Thing They’re Fighting For

Adopting a cat doesn’t sound hard. Then Jericho Adams meets Harinder Mangal, the surly pet store employee who loves animals and hates customers. Their first encounter inspires more than simple loathing—it puts the ball in motion for an absurd game of deceit that boasts a fluffy cat named Dumpling as the prize.

Harinder hates Jericho’s attitude, especially when it comes to owning a pet. He attempts to chase the other man from his store and is shocked when Jericho overcomes every obstacle, no matter how bizarre. Not only that, but he generates some of his own wild inconveniences that leave Harinder seething in his ugly sweater and mom jeans.

Before either man can get the other to crack, Harinder finds himself unexpectedly homeless. Despite their mutual antagonism, Jericho invites Harinder to crash at his place. The increased proximity makes it difficult for Harinder and Jericho to maintain their respective ruses, not to mention stopping themselves from actually caring about their pet-parenting rival.

Title:  Cat’s Got Your Heart

Author: Jem Zero

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: October 5, 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 75100

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, contemporary, gay, trans, new adult, enemies-to-lovers, interracial, pet store, pets, snark, nerds, bullying, grief/grieving, hurt-comfort, romantic comedy/comedy of errors

Goodreads

Amazon

NineStar Press

Jericho Is Not Prepared

There’s a Petco another half hour down the bus line, but it’s snowing and Jericho doesn’t have that kind of time. Well, he does. But his phone is only at thirty-seven percent battery, and he’s not patient enough to go that long without entertainment. Fortunately, there’s a small hole-in-the-wall ten minutes from his apartment.

Aquariums & More doesn’t have a website, but according to Yelp, the “more” includes live pets. Half the Yelp reviews complain about hostile and unwelcoming employees, but that’s none of his business.

The pet store looks even shittier in person than it did in the picture. Multiple neon signs have been added since the pixelated, overexposed image was captured—probably somewhere in the early 1800s. Combined, they shine so brightly they distract from the puke-green awning, torn from years of weather, with faded navy font that looks like it’s trying to be Comic Sans but isn’t quite.

The visual assault is such that Jericho briefly overlooks the grime on the windows and how there seems to be something alive inside the trash can.

Any animal bought from this place is guaranteed to have three kinds of rabies and possibly congestive heart failure in addition to being intellectually dishonest and a kleptomaniac. It’s perfect for his sister, Shiloh, so Jericho spits a wad of tasteless gum into the cigarette disposal (he isn’t going near that trash can) and steps inside.

The bell on the door jingles merrily, but upon passing the threshold, there’s no one in sight: no customers, no pimply teenage employees, not even a grizzled old man to regale him with stories of putting live mice in freezers.

Alrighty then.

Along the entire front wall is what must be a six-foot-long, gargantuan tank full of…sand and wood? Jericho looks closer, blinking when he sees some small things skittering through the thick foliage. Oh, hermit crabs.

“They’re not for sale,” a rough voice says behind him.

He startles, but not enough to make a fool out of himself. Instead of swinging around to face whoever came up behind him, Jericho casually rolls his back. See? He isn’t bothered in the least.

“There’s a sign right there.” He points down at the far corner of the tank where Hermit Crabs $5 per ea. is written in Sharpie on an off-white piece of cardstock. It’s placed away from the reach of the fluorescent tank lighting as if someone doesn’t want it to be noticed.

A dark hand reaches into his line of sight and unceremoniously rips the sign off the tank. “That was a prank,” the other person says. “Feel free to ignore it.”

“Okay,” Jericho says—because sure, whatever—and turns toward the speaker. The voice made him expect someone at least moderately intimidating, but the fluffy hair, round cheeks, and full lips are suspiciously cherubic despite the rather genuine scowl. Also, this guy is, like, five feet tall, give or take a few inches. “Do you work here?” He’s dubious about whether or not this is customer service or an attempt at stealing his lunch money.

The guy rolls his eyes—which makes Jericho think the answer is no, and he’s about to be held at gunpoint in a pet store—and then he grabs the front of his mustard-yellow sweater and tugs the wrinkles straight to reveal a worn laminated tag that reads: Hello, my name is Harinder. The first thing Jericho notices is that his nails are painted black, although heavily chipped. The second thing he notices is the bottom of the nametag where the phrase How may I assist you? has been cut off at the bottom and heavily frayed.

Harinder drops the sweater and reaches up to brush his overgrown bangs out of his eyes, then folds his arms over his chest. It turns him into a puffball of rumpled wool and flyaway hair, which Jericho fails to find either professional or impressive. A hissing alley cat, at best.

Speaking of. “Do you have any kittens?”

If Harinder’s face looked offended before, now it looks straight-up murderous. “If you want a kitten, I invite you to look into one of the mills of inbred, abused, unloved, soon-to-be-abandoned, backyard-bred animals. Might I suggest Craigslist, or some cushy chain pet shop balanced on the rusty, beloved seesaw of quality photography and appalling ethics? There’re at least three of them downtown.

“If you want to pay five hundred dollars for an animal you’ll only care about until it stops being small and inoffensive, be my guest, but I’m afraid I can’t fff— I can’t help you.”

Jericho blinks very, very slowly. He didn’t miss that aborted f-bomb, but as with the Yelp reviews, that isn’t Jericho’s problem. He tries again. “Do you have any…cats?”

Hunching his shoulders around his ears, Harinder jabs a thumb at the wall behind him. “Cat kennels are through that door.”

“Thanks.”

There are, in fact, no kittens. However, the eight kennels filling in one side of the room give him enough to choose from. The moment he catches the attention of the room’s inhabitants, there’s a chorus of noise as all the cats come to the doors of their steel prisons to bat fluffy paws through the bars in a sordid appeal for pets.

Jericho obliges the nearest one, threading his fingers through a gap and allowing the animal to smash its head into them, purring enticingly. He wiggles his hand as best he can to facilitate a more effective petting motion. This one is a skinny tabby, and the note on the front of its—his—cage says he’s two years old and calls him Princeton.

It’s such an obnoxious yuppy name that Jericho can’t help but snort. What a terrible name for a cat. He shakes his head and moves to inspect the next prisoner.

In total, there are nine cats. Two green-eyed, gray longhairs inhabit one of the lower cages. They remain curled around each other, staring dispassionately at Jericho from the back of the kennel.

“Fuck y’all too,” Jericho comments, leaving both “Lacey” and “Casey” to their own shitty devices.

A ten-year-old Abyssinian boy going by the name of Sir Charles immediately becomes his favorite. Jericho loses about five minutes trying to cram his whole hand through the tight bars so he can stroke his sleek honey-colored fur.

He doesn’t think giving Shiloh a pet that might die soon is the best idea, and he isn’t prepared to take on his own cat, so he moves on.

He ends up two cages to the left, shoulder pressed against the wall, studying a creamy Siamese point. She has a shaggy medium-length coat, faint textured stripes, and piercing blue eyes, with which she regards him coolly before padding over to give his extended fingers an inquisitive sniff.

Her body is long and lanky. Regal, Jericho thinks for all of thirty seconds before he looks at her infocard and discovers that her name is Dumpling.

A short, surprised laugh bursts from his chest; Dumpling’s ears flick backward in disapproval. She’s perfect. At a solid four years, she’s old enough to know how to use a litter box and, hopefully, a scratching post, but isn’t quite aged enough that he has to worry about being strong-armed into frequent vet-related errands.

The adoption fee is sixty-five dollars. A little steep, but manageable. Before he can do anything about it, the door to the kennel room bursts open and Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony Performed Entirely by Cats nearly deafens him.

Harinder snarls. “What the f—” His teeth settle for a moment on his bottom lip. “—are you doing?”

“Just looking,” Jericho says, pulling his hand away from the cages and shoving it in his pocket as if he was doing something wrong, although he’s pretty damn sure petting cats in a pet shop is not actually illegal.

“I’ve heard people use their eyes to do that,” is the surly reply. Of course this jackass would go there.

“Gonna call the cops?” he asks, rolling his eyes. Jericho is used to threats of police intervention in his simple existence. No innocence when you’re Black. Even being albino doesn’t change that.

Harinder’s face clouds. “I wouldn’t.” Then he wraps his whole fist around a cable lying against the room’s back wall and gives it an unnecessarily forceful yank. A thick brown curtain rolls up to the ceiling, exposing a greasy window. Harinder doesn’t say anything more, but the message of “I can see you and will rain unholy hellfire down on anything that displeases me about your conduct” is clear.

Jericho doesn’t respond. He only finds his voice when Harinder turns toward the exit. “Hey, wait. I want to buy a cat.”

Harinder stops dead, spine stiffening. Again, Jericho imagines some kind of small, furry creature raising its hackles in a misinformed attempt to look threatening.

“We don’t sell cats,” Harinder says, voice gravelly.

“Uh, what?”

He turns around, jaw clearly set. “I. Said. We don’t sell cats, you—” He clamps his mouth shut.

“What are these here for, then?”

Harinder’s eyes flick to the kennels, then back to Jericho. “They’re up for adoption.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Jericho rolls his eyes again. “Fine. How do I ‘adopt’ a cat?”

Jem Zero is a disabled lesbian who lives in a house built by zir great-grandfather with zir family and two rescue greyhounds. Zir work is unapologetically queer and strives to communicate the frustration of being limited by one’s meatsack & brainjuice.

While arguing zir way through an Accounting Certificate, Jem makes a living as a portrait artist and, similar to most tortured creators, is attempting to establish zirself in creative writing.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

http://www.jemzero.com/

https://www.facebook.com/jemzero.art

http://twitter.com/jem_zero

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Hide to Seek (London Lies 2) by C F White: RDB, Excerpt, New Release Review and Giveaway

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Jackson Young has gone into hiding. Fighting to get his name cleared and his truth heard, he’s followed Fletcher Doherty to Ireland for a safe haven from those who want to silence his story.

As they work on Jackson’s biography, their growing attraction gets harder resist. Fletcher’s made it clear though—their professional boundary isn’t to be crossed, especially with so many loose threads from each of their pasts left hanging.

But as he learns more about the once coveted celebrity’s rise to fame, and the manipulation and control that came with it, Fletcher finds it increasingly difficult to distance himself from their intimate moments. Lust fuelled attraction is easy to ignore, but an emotional connection is harder to deny.

Surrounded by Fletcher’s meddling family, and ex boyfriends who still harbour feelings of being jilted, Jackson has to play the part of his lifetime. Can he prove that he does have talent and win Fletcher’s heart as well as his trust?

And can he do it all before their idyllic hideaway is compromised?

Hide to Seek is the second book in the London Lies trilogy and is a slow burn, hurt/comfort, romantic suspense series.

Book Title: Hide to Seek (London Lies 2)

Author and Publisher: C F White

Cover Artist: Ethereal Designs

Release Date: September 30, 2020

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romantic Suspense

Trope/s: Enemies to lovers, slow burn

Themes: Hurt/Comfort

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 76 000 words/ 318 pages

It is not a standalone story.

Goodreads 

Amazon US – Kindle Unlimited

Amazon UK – Kindle Unlimited

Jackson joined him at the edge of the boat as the land disappeared into the murky water that sloshed up against the stern. He didn’t say anything. Neither did Fletcher. Their silence wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t comfortable either. It was a shared moment of reflection. Of knowing this could be the only peace they might have in a long while. A three-hour ferry ride from Holyhead to Dublin on international waters meant they couldn’t be found yet. They’d managed to get through ID control without any real problems. For how many times Fletcher had done this journey, he knew the ferry border control wasn’t as meticulous in checking details as the airlines would be. It was why across water was the only way. And they needed to breathe in this sanctuary while they still could. Fletcher wasn’t sure what awaited them in Ireland. He had apprehensions about going home, about bringing Jackson Young and all that came with him, to his family. But where else could they go?

So they shared a silent agreement to just stand, stare and be.

Until Jackson broke it with an intrepid inhale and a twist of his body to face him. “We should talk,” he said through the gust of howling wind.

“Should we?” Fletcher kept his gaze forward. Or backward as it were.

“This thing.” Jackson flapped a hand between them, his fingertips brushing Fletcher’s arm. “Us. We should probably acknowledge it.”

Fletcher breathed in, his chest rising, and slapped the railing to stand straighter. He closed his eyes, then opened them but kept his gaze on the distant horizon and not on the man beside him who was conjuring up feelings he didn’t want to concede to. Not then. Not when there was so much else left to learn between them.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Jackson slid his hand onto Fletcher’s cheek, demanding he look at him. A hand that stayed there a moment too long, with blue eyes delving into his soul and a soft thumb brushing along his yearning lips.

“You do, do ye?”

Jackson removed his hand and Fletcher’s cheek tinged with the heat left behind, but the flecks of ice cold seawater carried up by fierce winds slapped his skin and soon wiped the warmth away.

“You think this is too complicated to deal with now. That we need to focus on the book. On ourselves. On hiding. That’s why you left me down there, isn’t it? You can’t face me.”

“What did you think? This would be a romantic mini break?”

“I think we need to acknowledge there’s something going on. We can’t ignore it. I spent my life ignoring what was in front of me and look what happened.” Jackson threw his hands in the air, indicating their current situation.

“I’m not ignoring you, Jax. There’s no time for us. You want this truth out, then we’re gonna have to prioritise.”

Jackson hung his head, the disappointment and hurt seeping off his deflating body. But Fletcher couldn’t do this. He couldn’t rebound so quickly again. Time after time he’d done that, and each time had hurt worse than before to the point he couldn’t trust his feelings anymore. Nor could he trust that Jackson wasn’t clinging onto anything that would save him. How could this be real? How could either of them think that this could be something?

“I can be friends.” Fletcher made a concerted effort to keep his voice low, neutral, soothing. “Neither of us are ready for romance.”

Jackson breathed through a smile. “Are you an old romantic, Mr Doherty?”

“Aye. I am.” Fletcher wrapped his jacket around him, arms folding. It was to stave off the blustering wind chill but also, maybe, to act as the physical barrier to coincide with the one he built up with every wretched word he spoke. “I don’t jump into bed at the first sign of attraction. So when I said, let’s see what happens, I meant it.” He sniffed as the ferry dipped and swayed, aiming for the open arms of Dublin port. “But first things first, we have to get you off this ferry as Cameron Dale.”

This is a new to me author. Book 2 was up for review, but they sent book 1 as well because it is absolutely necessary. It is a continuing story.

Book 1, Fade to Blank, sets up the relationshp between Jackson and Fletcher.

Jackson, Jax to his fans, was half of a super popular celebrity personality couple. Not a couple as in love, a couple like Regis and Kelly. Until his live in girlfriend is murdered and he is in jail awaiting trial.

Fletcher is a celebrity gossip columnist. He doesn’t particularly like his job, he wants to be a real writer, but this helps pay the bills. He did review opening night of a play that Jackson was in- and totally panned it. Jackson never forgot.

Jackson is released after 6 months because the prosecutor can’t come up with enough evidence. He wants to clear his name, so he tracks down Fletcher to do it. To do what, exactly? Write Jackson’s autobiography.

One of many head scratching moments.

Jackson is in hiding though because he is hated. People think he killed his girlfriend. It LOOKS like he killed his girlfriend. And no one is standing by his side. Especially not his former co-star.

Book 1 is spent with Jackson hiding, Fletcher trailing behind him trying to keep up while carrying his laptop waiting for Jackson to start telling his story. Which he keeps putting off. Or avoiding things. Uh, if you want your biography written, perhaps you should start telling the story?

There is also a bit of a side story with Fletcher and his live in, older, actor boyfriend. Seems to me that Fletcher is obviously arm candy, but he doesn’t get it.

Book 2: Hide to Seek

Jackson and Fletcher flee to Fletcher’s family’s farm in Ireland. Having been found out, it seemed the safest place to hide. So we have some new players- Fletcher’s parents, sisters, a brother in law and nephews and most importantly, Fletcher’s childhood best friend and teenage lover.

So besides still trying to drag Jackson’s story out of him (I still don’t see the purpose of this), he is also dealing with his family’s financial issues, a former flame who wants him back and powerful people looking for Jackson. Because now there is speculation of a human/child trafficking ring. WHAT???

More than once Fletcher says “forget it, I am not doing this book”. But sticks around. Apparently sparks were flying between them. I didn’t see it. Because they have ZERO chemistry. Both Jackson and Fletcher are wet noodles. And my god Fletcher says “feck” a lot.

Book 3 is out in December to conclude this story. I honestly don’t know if I will read it. Maybe if my schedule isn’t too full. I just don’t care about them. The human trafficking thing is completely convoluted, who really killed Jackson’s girlfriend is kind of on the backburner and now they are sleeping together and nearly in love? Sorry, nah.

3 pieces of eye candy

Brought up in a relatively small town in Hertfordshire, C F White managed to do what most other residents try to do and fail—leave.

Studying at a West London university, she realised there was a whole city out there waiting to be discovered, so, much like Dick Whittington before her, she never made it back home and still endlessly search for the streets paved with gold, slowly coming to the realisation they’re mostly paved with chewing gum. And the odd bit of graffiti. And those little circles of yellow spray paint where the council point out the pot holes to someone who is supposedly meant to fix them instead of staring at them vacantly whilst holding a polystyrene cup of watered-down coffee.

She eventually moved West to East along that vast District Line and settled for pie and mash, cockles and winkles and a bit of Knees Up Mother Brown to live in the East End of London; securing a job and creating a life, a home and a family.

After her second son was born with a rare disability, C F White’s life changed and brought pen back to paper having written stories as a child but never the confidence to show them to the world. Now, having embarked on this writing journey, she can’t stop. So strap in, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

 

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