Solar Fantasy – Aubrey & Lindsey Retold – Ch. 16 up on Patreon!

Scene 16 of Solar Fantasy – Aubrey & Lindsey Retold is up on Patre♡n! Wherein Lindsey receives some long-awaited hurt/comfort.

Lindsey lay in his own bed in his own bedroom. But it was not morning and he was not at the hunting lodge. This was his townhouse bedroom. Which meant, somehow, he had fallen asleep in the countryside and woken up in the City.

Also, for some reason, Aubrey was here.

Did you want more Aubrey and Lindsey – but in a whole new world?

Joining me on Patre♡n will give you access to “drawer fic” – aka the 500k+ words worth of manuscripts that have been shelved until I figure out how to fix or finish them.

A new scene will go up every week. Missing (unwritten) scenes will be indicated by brackets describing what would probably happen if the scene were written. Example: [in this scene Aubrey and Lindsey ride a carousel]

Currently posting…
♡ the Aubrey & Lindsey solar fantasy project (mm) (90k)

See you on Patre♡n!

Solar Fantasy – Aubrey & Lindsey Retold – Ch. 7 up on Patreon!

Scene 7 of Solar Fantasy – Aubrey & Lindsey Retold is up on my Patre♡n! Wherein Aubrey realizes precisely who he dallied with at the party. Please enjoy this sneak peek and join me for more.

“Apparently the prince met someone at the party and is absolutely besotted.”

Aubrey, who’d spent the last few moments trying and failing to remember which prince was called Lindsey, felt a growing unease at this. “Oh?”

“Yes. So besotted, in fact, that he failed to learn the man’s name. He’s turned to Graves for help with the matter. And Graves went down the whole guest list, searching for anyone who matches the description Prince Lindsey gave, or anyone who saw such a person at the party. Several people have claimed to, of course, but Graves has discredited their testimonies.”

Aubrey’s stomach did an uncomfortable flip. “What description did the prince give?”

“That’s the funniest part. Small, dark, large eyes, sharp features. Sound familiar?” Halloway asked with a grin.

Aubrey didn’t think it very funny at all, but forced a smile.

“Finally,” Halloway continued, “Graves got so fed up with the whole business that he came to me in desperation and asked if I’d brought anyone particularly beautiful along to the party—one of my models, perhaps? And I told him no, not any of my models, but a gentleman I wish would model for me. And, upon reflection, he almost matches the description. But I cannot for the life of me imagine him taking such liberties—though I suppose the prospect of prince is a very compelling catch.”

Aubrey’s growing dread became an internal scream.

“Anyway,” Halloway said with a dismissive wave, “that’s what I told Graves. Couldn’t possibly be my man, sorry I can’t be of more help, et cetera. But isn’t it extraordinary? The mystery man is a match for you in every aspect save behaviour.”

“What does Prince Lindsey look like?” Aubrey asked.

Halloway’s mirth died on his face.

Did you want more Aubrey and Lindsey – but in a whole new world?

Joining me on Patre♡n will give you access to “drawer fic” – aka the 500k+ words worth of manuscripts that have been shelved until I figure out how to fix or finish them.

Currently posting…
♡ the Aubrey & Lindsey solar fantasy project (mm) (90k)

See you on Patre♡n!

Book Signing in Lowell, MA!

Mark your calendars! Come to lala books on Saturday, Aug. 19th, to celebrate BOOKSTORE ROMANCE DAY with local romance authors, including…

♡ Patricia Barletta
♡ Laura Brown
♡ Amber Cross
♡ Lori DiAnni
♡ Elena Markem
♡ Sara Marks
♡ Janet Raye Stevens
♡ …and yours truly!

WHEN
Saturday, August 19th

WHAT
11am – Writing Romance Panel
2pm – Romance Trope Bingo
4pm – Author Readings & Book Signings

WHERE
lala books
189 Market St
Lowell, MA

Can’t wait to see you there!

Sunday Snippet, 4.9.23

Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian fae romance collection, Tales from Blackthorn Briar, a sequel to Oak King Holly King featuring hurt/comfort and many happily-ever-afters – available wherever fine books are found!

“I’m sorry,” said Wren as their lips parted.

Shrike furrowed his brow. “What for?”

“It’s my fault you lost your chance at the white hart.”

Shrike continued staring at him for another moment or two. Then his hand came up to brush Wren’s hair off his brow and trail down his cheek in a tender caress.

“I did almost lose my heart,” Shrike murmured. “But he is found again, and reawakened, and now all is well.”

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Sunday Snippet, 3.26.23

Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian fae romance, Oak King Holly King – available now wherever fine books are found!

In the moonlight, and without his hood, Wren could see Butcher’s ears quite clearly. Now there was no mistaking them for waxwork. He could see, as well, the black woollen tunic Butcher wore and how it clung to his muscular frame, tied off with a belted leather gyrdel at the waist and hanging down not much farther than that. Nothing covered Butcher’s thighs save medieval hose, likewise black, and his black cavalier boots came up to his knees; a motley assortment of costuming eras in a monochromatic assembly.

Wren shut his mouth but kept on staring in wide-eyed wonder at his new surroundings. He’d never seen so many stars in his life. Had seen none, in fact, since he’d moved to London. The silence was new to him as well. Moreso than the muffled angles of Staple Inn, the forest had no wagons rattling endlessly over cobblestones, no people shouting, no bells ringing, none of the millions of incidental human sounds that tumbled all on top of each other every minute in the city. Just the rustling of pine needles in the wind.

Then he heard it.

An eerie sound, a howl that began low and swooped upward to end in a triumphant blast that echoed throughout the forest as if from miles off. A hunting horn.

Butcher took hold of the stag’s antlers and dug his knees into its flanks. The stag leapt off once more, darting to and fro between the trees at harrowing speed, along no path Wren could perceive. He clung to Butcher’s waist, his chest flush with Butcher’s spine, the closest embrace he’d known in more years than he cared to count.

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Sunday Snippet, 3.12.23

Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian cross-class romance, Mr Warren’s Profession, featuring hurt/comfort and a happily-ever-after – available now wherever fine books are found!

The theatre’s interior had cream-coloured walls gilded with gold inlay, framing murals of frolicking youths. Aubrey wondered how anyone could concentrate on the stage with the house so decorated, though his own interest lay in the electric chandelier far above the audience. He tried to restrain himself, but Lindsey caught him looking up.

“The, er, lights,” Aubrey explained. “Electric.”

Lindsey followed his gaze upward. “So they are!”

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Sunday Snippet, 2.19.23

Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian cross-class romance, Mr Warren’s Profession, featuring hurt/comfort and a happily-ever-after – available now wherever fine books are found!

“Then to business: our dear Lindsey, and his best interests.”

Aubrey resisted the urge to plant his forehead in his palms. “If I may be so bold as to interrupt, I believe I’ve already held this conversation with Sir Lindsey’s friends.”

“Have you?” said Miss Althorp coolly. “And what sort of conversation was it?”

“The sort where I’m told to bring no harm to Sir Lindsey, lest greater harm fall on my head.”

Miss Althorp caught a fluttering laugh in her delicate fingers. In response to Aubrey’s bewildered expression, she replied, “That wasn’t the conversation I had in mind. I intended to congratulate you on the happiness you’ve brought Lindsey, and to express my hope that you’ll continue to make him just as happy in the future.”

Aubrey thought it was rather the same talk dressed up in different clothes, but kept that thought to himself.

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Sunday Snippet, 2.12.23

Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian whaling romance, HOLD FAST – available now wherever fine books are found.

A sailor stood across the way by the very lamppost Morgan had abandoned to approach the ship. Many of his shipmates milled about nearby, but this particular sailor attracted Morgan’s attention by standing quite literally head and shoulders above the rest. He had a broad, bearded face to match his broad, brawny shoulders. Years of open-sea sun had tanned his skin and bleached his hair to the same shade. The hair—tied back, with the ends flitting about in the sea breeze, strands stiff with salt—drew more of Morgan’s interest than he would have liked to admit.

The sailor caught Morgan’s eye over the crowd, and winked.

Morgan quickly glanced away, intending to keep walking, but stopped as a thought occurred to him. The sailor had lately crewed aboard the Gayheader. Perhaps he knew where Morgan might find his quarry. Resigned, he crossed the wharf and approached him. “Your pardon, sir.”

“Granted.” A cocky grin flashed through the sailor’s grizzled beard, turning his aspect from ferocious to friendly in an instant. He rested a hand against the lamppost. Ragged blue lines across his knuckles spelled out H-O-L-D. A glance at his other hand, planted on his sinewy hip, showed the letters F-A-S-T.

Morgan forced his gaze back up to the sailor’s face. “I’m looking for Sir Evelyn Winthrop.”

The sailor’s eyes widened, but his grin never faded. “You’re in luck, mate. You’ve found the very man.”

HOLD FAST is a gay Victorian romance between a whaling harpooner who inherits a baronetcy and the estate agent tasked with turning him from sailor to gentleman – available now wherever fine books are found.

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Sunday Snippet, 1.22.23

Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian cross-class romance, Mr Warren’s Profession, featuring hurt/comfort and a happily-ever-after – available now wherever fine books are found!

Aubrey felt a slight pressure on his thigh. He glanced down to find Lindsey’s hand upon it.

He buried his initial reaction of wild, inappropriate glee deep down where Lindsey would never see it. Yet while he could hide his joy from the outside world, he couldn’t escape it within the confines of his own mind. His imagination presented a whirlwind of vignettes—Lindsey’s fingers brushing the arm of his jacket as they walked to the theatre; once inside, Aubrey taking advantage of the darkness to rest his hand in Lindsey’s lap; he and Lindsey sharing a cab home after the show, Lindsey undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, Lindsey’s mouth on his throat, Lindsey straddling him, Lindsey—

At present, Lindsey’s hand remained on his thigh. Aubrey reined in his fantasies, lest Lindsey encounter more than he’d expected there.

Or perhaps precisely what he’d expected.

Aubrey swallowed hard. Regardless of his tempting offer, Lindsey remained Aubrey’s superior. If Lindsey tired of his companionship, Aubrey would be tossed back in the gutter. The alternate possibility, that Aubrey’s own interest would wane, and Lindsey would demand continued affection as a condition of his employment, didn’t sound any more appealing. And if by some miracle a third path appeared, as the stupider parts of Aubrey’s brain hoped, wherein he and Lindsey remained inseparable in mutual bliss until the end of their days, Aubrey couldn’t conceive of a world in which he became anything more than Lindsey’s pet clerk, a filthy little secret. No. He’d moved on from that role long ago. He had no intention of returning to it now.

Then again, considering all he’d accepted from Lindsey, it looked as if he’d returned to it already.

Realising this uncomfortable truth left Aubrey with only one respectable option. He took a deep breath, gathering courage along with air, and spoke.

“Mr Althorp, I am not entirely comfortable with the position of your hand.”

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Sunday Snippet, 1.15.23

Please enjoy this Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian whaling romance, HOLD FAST – available now wherever fine books are found.

Turner took Evelyn’s wrists in his hands. Evelyn, startled, looked down at the point of contact, but made no move to resist. Truth told, he had no wish to pull away from his grip. Turner had a firm hand, sure and supportive. A touch such as Evelyn hadn’t felt in many years. He watched passively as Turner rearranged his limbs.

“Your left hand will settle onto the lady’s waist,” said Turner, placing Evelyn’s hand in accordance with his words.

Evelyn’s breath caught in his throat as his palm met Turner’s jacket. Instinct encouraged him to squeeze, to feel the flesh beneath the cloth, to pull Turner close. He ignored it.

“And your right hand,” said Turner, going on as if no untoward thoughts raced through Evelyn’s mind, “takes the lady’s left,” and here he shifted his grip, his hand palm-to-palm with Evelyn’s in a gentle hold—such soft hands, “and holds it aloft. Not down by her waist, nor up over her head, but in line with her shoulders. Allow for a slight bend of the elbow. Do not pull her arm straight out. Just hold it, thusly. You will look the lady in the eye.”

With difficulty, Evelyn tore his eyes away from the sight of Turner’s hand in his own and met Turner’s gaze.

“You will not watch your feet,” Turner continued. “Nor will you allow your glance to settle upon anything between her feet and her eyes.”

Turner’s gaze was steady as the tides—and Evelyn was just as powerless to resist its pull.

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