X Bar by Michele L Montgomery

Excerpt:

“How many times can one person go through this, Stevie? How many more times can you handle being told the same thing over and over? For your sanity and mine, let it go and accept it.”

Steven looked at the denial letter he was holding and shook his head. “I can’t, Jorge. I can’t accept it because it’s not fair, nor is it right. The same damn excuse. I’m a gay man. They won’t approve me because I’m gay. What a crock of shit. I’d do a hell of a better job raising a child then some het couples do. You know this is true. You’ve seen them. Standing on the corners with cardboard signs begging for a fucking quarter and they’re surrounded by four, five kids dressed in rags, their eyes sad and tired. Some of those kids should be in school but instead they are standing on a corner begging. How is that okay and my being gay isn’t?” He walked to his bedroom window and looked down at the sparkling pool in the backyard. He would not cry. He was too angry to cry. Thousands of dollars he’d put into two agencies and they both said no. What the fuck did they think he was going to do with a child? “Fuck! I can’t just forget it. They are violating my rights as a human being. I have shown that I can afford a kid—hell, I can afford a bushel of ‘em—but do they care? No. They are only concerned with the fact that I’m gay. How much do you want to bet that if I were a single straight man they’d allow it, or a single straight woman? I’d get one for sure then. But if you’re gay forgetaboutit. What era do we live in?”

“Steven, you need to drop this.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t? Let me ask you this. Is it more important to you to adopt a child, to start a family, than we are? Because I’m telling you I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Add that to the other and I’m at my wits end.”

“What other? Jesus, Jorge, why don’t you just get it all off your chest and out in the open.”

“It needs to be said. I’m tired of biting my tongue. While you’re off on a mission to adopt a child, to start a family you can’t even commit to me. I’m asking you for something that should be easy for you to say yes to, yet each time I bring it up you freak out and we fight. I know what I want. I want you and only you. I’ve known it since the day we met in person. What’s it going to take? ”

Steven loudly exhaled as a way of covering up his nerves at that point. Jorge acted as if it was the easiest thing in the world and maybe it was to others but for Steven it was one of the hardest. “I told you, Jorge, I need time. This isn’t a big secret, you know how I feel. You know I love you; why can’t that be enough for right now?”

“Because,” Jorge huffed. “We’ve been dating for almost two years and I understood the first year, but come on already. I’ve agreed to your open relationship policy because you couldn’t come to terms with a monogamous relationship. But I need more now. I want more of you and if you truly loved me you’d be saying yes, but you can’t. And why is that? Huh? If I was the man for you, of your future, you would not have a problem committing to me and me only. Am I just a fill-in until your perfect guy comes along? And you want me to support your urges, your needs for a family when you can’t even commit to me?”

Steven spun around to look at his lover and while Jorge had a good point, as he usually did, Steven was scared to death to give in to what his boyfriend needed and or wanted. Steven tried the whole monogamous thing before and that was disastrous. He wasn’t ready to give his whole self over to one man. That gave the other man too much power over Steven, and that was one thing he could not allow for. Giving over all that power, that control, was a dangerous path for him, and he could not suffer through another broken heart. Not at his age. And as far as a child went, he had no doubt in his mind that he could do that on his own. But he had to be sure his partner would be as dedicated to his child as Steven knew he’d be.

“You know that’s not it at all. You know how I feel about you. Why does this have to come up every damn time you come for a visit? You know me; you know how I am, and you keep pushing me for something I can’t give you yet. All it does is put a gap between us when that’s the last thing I want. Why can’t we just enjoy what we have right here and right now? Take it slow and really be sure that we are perfect for each other in the good and bad times. Jorge, you don’t even live here. How often in the past year have we actually seen one another in person and not on the damn computer or on the phone? We don’t even live together. How can we know we’re meant to be to be together? “How can we know we’re meant to be this way? Is it because the sex? We used to take trips. We’d go hiking and horseback riding; we’d take long walks, and we’d dance. We had some of our best talks. We’ve been seeing each other for what? Almost two years and during that time I’ve seen you how many times?”

Jorge flopped down on the edge of the bed and just shook his head.

“How many times, Jorge? Is it enough for either one of us to really know this is it? This is the man I want to marry and hopefully start a family with at some point? I told you, baby, as soon as you graduate and we have that option to live at least in the same state we’ll re-evaluate our situation. Besides, you act like I’m out whoring around with as many guys as I can and that’s so far from the truth it’s not even funny. I haven’t seen anyone else nor have I slept with anyone else in over a year.”

“And that’s not saying you won’t.”

Steven brushed his fingers through his short blond hair and sighed. Steven knew he should give in to the younger man; hell, he loved Jorge, and in his heart he knew he’d found the man he wanted a life with but there was that little bit of fear that rose to the surface each time he really gave what Jorge was asking for any thought. Like now, and right now he wanted to run. That damn word felt like a ball and chain around his neck, and each time Jorge brought it up,

Steven felt it getting tighter and tighter until his airway was being cut off. “And that’s not saying that even if I do say yes that either of us won’t. There’re two here. You’re young, Jorge. Twelve years younger than I am, and what’s to say you won’t meet someone at school when I give into what you’re asking of me? You don’t know and neither do I. I’m asking you to take us one step at a time and when you graduate, we’ll take this another step ahead. That’s all I’m asking. We need to enjoy today for what it is, and let tomorrow worry about itself.”

“Well, how in the hell do we manage to get to that point, huh? Wait till I graduate? I’m ready now. I know I am. You won’t even give us a chance, and I come to San Diego as often as I can between courses and when I do you’re always too busy to really give us the attention we deserve. When was the last time we actually did anything together? We make love—we make lots of love—but there was so much more, and I miss it.”

“And I told you to give me time.”

“I’m not going to wait forever. You need to come to a decision and you need to do it pretty fast. I’m not waiting forever. You want me or do you want a child more?”

Steven swallowed back that ever growing lump in his throat. Looking at Jorge with shock in his eyes he said, “You’re asking me to choose between a family and you, us?”

“I’m asking you to just stop. This obsession you have and have had since I met you is taking you over. It’s like a cancer. It’s all you think about, it’s all you talk about.” Jorge walked closer to where Steven was standing, looked at him dead in his ice blue eyes and continued. “You had so many goals and then out of nowhere this one thing takes first place, grow roots, and bam, it’s like a possession. It’s taken you over to the point that even our friends are questioning your emotional health.”

Steven rolled his eyes, doubt taking over. “Jorge, really? Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic? And I disagree with your ‘we never do anything together’ statement. Whenever you’re in town, we’re always together. You even come to work with me and hang out at the bar until I get off. When I’m off, we’re here or at your folks’ place by the beach. And the only reason we don’t vacation as much is because that was last summer, and hello? You’re in school now. We don’t have the time to get away as often as we used to. Jorge, you just got back from seeing your family in Mexico, for two full weeks. You didn’t have to stay there that whole time, yet you chose to.”

Jorge sighed and stood up to get away from Steven at that moment. “You know how they are with parties and all that. Besides, that’s not what I was talking about. I’m talking about together, as in you and me. Just us. How are we going to get to that level of knowing each other the way you want if we don’t take the steps to see it happen? I want us to commit to each other and it’s clear you don’t. And yet you want to commit to a child. Call me confused.”

Steven sighed and turned away from his too handsome, doe eyed Hispanic lover. God, when he met Jorge almost two years earlier, Jorge was only twenty-three, a boy compared to Steven’s thirty-four year old ass. Shit, Steven considered himself lucky to have gotten the guy’s attention to begin with.

When Steven met Jorge, he wasn’t looking for another long term relationship or any relationship at all, if truth be told. He’d just separated from Clay, his abusive ex-lover, not six months prior to that. He’d always been the type of guy who liked the idea of playing the field, tasting what was out there. He was plenty young enough to play around before settling on the one. Then he met Jorge, and his eyes caught Steven, caught his heart, completely.

Jorge huffed and sat down on the side of the king sized bed. “Hell, you can kiss those little weekend trips goodbye because you can’t just drag a kid all over the place, and not only that, how will it be just us with a little one around? We’ll have no real quality time, Steven. Are you even thinking about any of that, or just yourself here?

“Steven, I’m going to go home. I think we need to spend some time apart and think about this, about us and our future. I do not want to fight with you. Not over the same old subject. It’s very tiring and I have school to think about. I have a report to do anyway.”

“Your flight leaves today?”

“My flight leaves Friday. I’ve told you that three times over the past two weeks. It doesn’t surprise me that you’ve forgotten, though.”

Steven heard the exasperation in Jorge’s voice and saw the irritation in his eyes. “So, what, you’re going to the condo on the beach, or to your place in Chicago?”

“Why does it matter where I go, as long as it’s away from you and all this fighting? I hate it. Even when I’m here with you, I’m not here with you, nor are you with me. Your head is always somewhere else. When you go to work and I sit there, you’re too busy to talk to me. It’s maddening.”

Steven counted to ten, exhaled, and said in a quiet voice, “Jorge. Just…” he paused, sighed, and turned around to face him. “Let’s not fight. I don’t see you often enough, as it is. Baby, come on,” he pleaded, closing the distance between them. “I’m sorry. I promise to work on my fears. I admit I’m fully at fault here; it’s not you at all. I love you more than I thought possible but I need to be sure. I need you to be sure because when we take that step it’s a forever thing. It’s not something we will take lightly. You know what my goals are and I know what yours are. They don’t exactly match up and we need to be sure. I mean, one example is the family thing you don’t like to think about. I do want to do that. And you said yourself you’re not ready.”

“Oh, brother,” Jorge whispered. “Don’t make this all me—my age, my school, where I live and the fact that I’m not quite ready to even think about starting a family. I’m ready to commit to you. Give me that same respect back. I love you and only you. Why can’t you hear me?”

“I hear you and what you’re saying and I’m not trying to make his all about you, this is about us.” Steven cupped Jorge’s face in his hands, and smiled. “Look, it’s still early. Why don’t we head to the beach and just kick back, take a walk, have some very bad for us food, and tie it all up with some serious fucking when we get back here.” Steven leaned into Jorge and licked his lips. “Please, baby. Let’s go have some fun.”

Jorge took a shaky breath as his eyes slipped close when their lips touched and nodded.

Steven probed those lips until Jorge opened them and let his tongue in and they both moaned, both grabbed the other in a strong urgent embrace, hands roaming up and down, front to back and back again. Steven had missed this man’s taste, his heat, his passion and it’d been only a couple hours since they’d fucked when they woke up. His dick was hard as a diamond, his brain fuzzy and his breath taken by Jorge’s maddening passionate kiss. He turned them and walked Jorge toward the bed, his hand tangled in Jorge’s soft black shoulder length hair.

The back of Jorge’s legs met up with the edge of the bed and they both went down, Steven on top of Jorge, his hands bringing Jorge’s over his head, weaving his fingers between Jorge’s, holding them down. Steven ground his dick on Jorge’s, side to side, back and forth.

“I need you. I need to be buried inside you. Now.”

Jorge panted beneath him and nodded excitedly. His hands went right to his pants, he unbuttoned them and shimmied out of them, yanking his socks and letting them drop to the floor. “How do you want me?”

“All fours, baby. I want deep and hard. You okay with that?”

Jorge nodded eagerly and got into position as Steven pulled his shirt off and grabbed the lube off the table beside the bed. “You should be still stretched, just a little lube,” he said already coating Jorge’s hole with his finger. He slipped it inside Jorge’s body and moved it around for a few moments then withdrew the digit to replace it with his dick. “That’s it, baby. Open for me. Let me in. Let me love you.”

Jorge moaned and stuck his ass out more, spread his legs and looked back at Steven, his eyes were hazed over, he was panting, his dick hard with pre-cum coming from the slit. “Do it. Fuck me.”

Steven lined his dick up to Jorge’s hole, wrapped his arms around Jorge’s body and held him tight as his dick slid into the man he loved. An instant tight, silky, warmth held his dick; he went slow and didn’t rush. He wanted to take his time and feel every bit that he could. The urge to move overpowered his wishes to just feel, though, and he pulled almost all the way out before sinking back into his lover. “You’re so fucking tight. I don’t know how long I’m going to last, baby.”

“If you don’t move, I’m going to flip us over and I’m going to ride the fuck out of you. Fuck me!”

Steven smiled, and gave Jorge exactly what he was after. He thrust in, skin on skin, hips forward and back, Jorge’s moans of absolute delight drove Steven harder, fucking Jorge fast, no mercy. He wasn’t going to last long, not like this, he felt the orgasm building, threatening to spill and he didn’t hold back. He took Jorge’s cock in his hand and pumped him in time with his thrusts and when Jorge yelled out, Steven let go, and the pressure that built in his balls and dick came rushing to the surface, rendering his world white.

“That is what I call fantastic sex,” Jorge panted as Steven pulled out of him. He plopped down beside him and pulled Jorge into his arms.

“That is what I call nap worthy.”

Jorge laughed and sat up. He traced Steven’s lips with his finger and said, “We just got up, no more sleeping today. You said something about the beach?”

Steven groaned. “Youth is wasted on the young. Just sayin’.”

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From the Ashes

A couple of years ago at the urging of a friend, I started writing slash fan fiction. At that time, I also started a Facebook account so she and I could post yaoi and slash links and photos for each other. Somewhere along the way a few authors sent me friend requests. I was a little startled, but since they were fine with my interests, I added them.

Linda Reilly was an m/m author and encouraged me to continue writing. Next, Rebecca Leigh who liked my slash and said I should keep up with it.  AB Gayle helped me with POV. The support of these ladies kept me writing once I finished the slash and I'm deeply appreciative of that.

I had only written a few chapters of my Samurai Champloo slash (Infinite Infatuation) when Linda pointed out that Samhain Publishing had a call for m/m fairy tale submissions. I remember thinking, "Yeah right! They wouldn't be interested in anything from me." But that set my mind to working and I came up with a plausible Cinderfella.

Cinder insisted that I tell his story Right Now even though I was in the middle of a chapter of my slash. So I sat down and wrote half the story in one night! About 4:00am, I decided I should really get some sleep before I had to get up in the morning for work. Big mistake! I seriously pissed Cinder off and he wouldn't talk to me for the next couple of nights. I did finally finish the story in spite of that.

Recently, Deanna Wadsworth, the queen of gab, pushed me to add to the story and submit for publication. I'm glad she did. I'm actually very pleased with the nearly finished WIP. With many thanks to Cinder's godmothers, you know who you are ladies!

I'm on the second round of edits and unfortunately do not have a cover to display yet, but I think maybe a little excerpt might be in order.

Blurb:

Cinder never thought that he could rise from the ashes of his life, but an unexpected encounter with a woman claiming to be his fairy godmother may be just what he needs. Finding himself flung into his very own fairy tale, she sends him off to meet his Prince Charming. But was the gown really necessary?

Excerpt:

Cinder glanced around. Paper lanterns floated in the trees, lined the walks, and graced the gazebo near the reflecting pool, giving the grounds a mystical air. Their warm glow caught the dancing jets of the fountain splashing merrily to his right. The musical, crystalline tones carried on the night wind’s breath. He was reminded of the enchanted gardens in the fairy tales his father had read to him when he was a child. What would happen to him if he dared walk there?

Henri led him toward the gazebo. Soon he would find out.

The cool breeze caressed his uncovered neck. Cinder shivered at the ethereal touch. Henri turned to him, the question clear in his eyes, but he didn’t know how to answer. Instead he breathed in the tangible scent of rich earth and flowing water, hoping to calm his bounding heart.

Henri lightly stroked his arm. Cinder’s breath caught at the silky brush of the other man’s fingers. He drew another shaky breath. Henri may have meant to soothe him, instead his touch set Cinder’s wayward body aflame.

They left the last of the courtiers behind as they entered the dim interior of the fanciful pavilion. Vines climbed its intricately carved posts, perfuming the air within. The music and voices of the aristocrats faded away. Only a single intrepid nightingale could be heard over the cheerful babbling of the fountain. Hidden from the rest of the court, an unworldly sense of peace filled him. Was his very own fairy tale about to come true?

Bespelled and bemused, he could feel the magic in every beat of his heart, in every trembling breath he drew.

Once inside the bower, Henri reached to cup Cinder's cheek. Unused to being touched, he nearly flinched away but managed to still, heart pounding, before giving himself away. The older man's thumb slid across his cheekbone and came to rest lightly on his mouth. Why did he want to lean into that caress?

The other man's warm, slightly musky scent filled his nostrils, drowning his senses.

Henri's other hand wrapped around his waist and drew him close while tipping his face upwards. Cinder's breath left him in a rush, stirring the noble’s hair. Henri was all that he could see, his mouth slowly, carefully descending toward Cinder’s. If he allowed this, the other man might discover his deception. He couldn’t risk that, so why then did he ache to feel Henri’s kiss? Their lips brushed, light as thistle down.

Surprisingly, Henri's mouth was soft and warm upon his own. After a moment, Henri's pressed more firmly against his. Something fluttered in his chest, trying to get out.

Cinder didn't think to pull away until he felt Henri's tongue seeking entrance. The hand on his face slipped to his nape and held firm. He froze in shock, not even daring to breathe, as flames rushed through his body. The very beat of his heart betrayed him.

The questing tongue stroked his lips and pushed between them. It slid over his teeth, seeking to enter. When he protested, Henri's tongue swept in and began a lazy, sensuous exploration that left him breathless.

Soon he found himself stroking Henri's tongue with his own. Henri responded to his fledgling attempts by pulling him closer and moaning into his mouth. He had never experienced anything so deeply sensual and erotic. He fed his own needy pleas to the other man one at a time.

Finally they separated slightly, Cinder panting heavily, trying to catch his breath. Was Henri as affected by their kiss as he was? A quick glance confirmed Cinder was not alone in his arousal. Flushed and gasping, Henri gazed at him with eyes full of wonder and something unnamed smoldering in their depths.

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Being Part of the Good

The world we live in is a complex, dangerous place. All one has to do for verification of that is turn on the news, or check the Internet. Stories of war, cruelty and evil abound. We have to look harder to find stories that make us smile, or laugh, or even shed a tear of joy. Sometimes I get philosophical when I'm faced with the bad and evil acts that occur all too often around the globe.

Romance, in any of its many facets, is a counterpoint to the brutal realism we face with regularity. The ways of love, and the stories of love, help us believe in a better world, that there is hope for us. At the very least, romance is an escape. At its best, it is a reflection of our inner selves, the love inside that needs to be expressed and shared.

M/M romance is a part of the romantic fiction genre that is fast growing, finding new readers all the time. The growth and growing acceptance of this sub-genre has been amazing, and add to the hope I feel for this human race. The exposure to more and more people, most of them reportedly straight females, demonstrates to me a growing acceptance of the variations of love.

I was at a romance readers/authors meeting this spring. In one of the sessions, a panel member was asked why straight women read m/m romance. I listened to a few answers from panel members before I volunteered my own. "Women want to know that men can fall in love." To me, the messaging behind M/M, if one wants to look for such, is the representation and verification that men are capable of the deep feelings, profound thought processes, and the both sweet and goofy behavior that comprises love. 

We need reminding that humanity is inherently good, that most of the world goes about its days functioning in a productive, constructive way. Reading, writing, believing in romance is an important part of the good. We need to perpetuate it, to expand it, to spread the hope and the love far and wide.

In doing so, we don’t just spread love; we open minds and we foster tolerance and acceptance. Seems to me the world could use a heck of a lot more of that.

~JM Cartwright 

www.jmcartwright.com

...where the romance is real

Chicks & Dicks Blog

Thank You by Cardeno C.

Happy Monday, y’all. I’m going to use today’s post as an opportunity to thank the readers out there who support small, independent publishers and the writers who are fortunate enough to have our books published through them.

I’ve heard people say that writers write because we have to, that we do it for ourselves. I can’t deny that, for me, that’s true to some extent. I started writing because I wanted to share uplifting, positive portrayals of relationships. I had characters in my head talking to me and writing down their stories felt natural. I didn’t know about Dreamspinner Press then, or about all the other independent publishers who give a venue to gay romance novels. So I posted my little stories on the internet and hoped that they’d touch someone, somewhere. And that’s when that “writing for myself” thing changed a little.

I started getting e-mails from people who were reading my writing and suddenly my characters weren’t just talking to me, they were talking to Carissa or Tony or Tricia or Bob or Jenn or Sam. And, for me, that’s the moment when I stopped writing just for myself and started writing for other people too.

The people who told me I should consider publishing my books and told me about Dreamspinner Press (thanks Tisha). The people who help without hesitation when I need someone to translate a chat (thanks Barbara, Shirley, and GiveARush). The people who review a timeline I want to post on my website and remind about things I’ve forgotten about my own books (Anita and Amanda, thanks for everything). The people who give me suggestions that make my books better (Katie, I’ll continue working on those female characters). The people who buy my books right when they’re released, even if they don’t usually like paranormals (glad I could convert you, Sam). The people who e-mail me about my stories and their thoughts about them (Marc, Elizabeth, Tricia, Terri, thank you). And the people who take the time to write reviews or tell their friends about the books (Natred, James, Anisa, Kim, you’re the reason new people buy my books, which is what helps the new ones get published, thank you).

Of course, no thank you would be complete without a shout to L.A. Borgaard, who betas all my books and remembers details that my poor brain can’t keep straight. Kelly Shorten, the best website designer ever. And Paul Richmond and Reese Dante, covers sell books - thanks for making mine amazing. 

Those are just some names, some people. There are many others who have encouraged me or who’ve written a review on a website somewhere that I’ve come across and thought about and, hopefully, learned from. I’m grateful to them too. So, that’s it from me for today.

Thank you.

CC

www.cardenoc.com

A MANtastic September

A few weeks ago I was pretty pissed off at the world because a bunch of crap was going on for me. I was thinking about the things that had been going wrong and came to a realization why it was all mattering to me so much. There was no balance, nothing feeding my sense of self-worth aside from my job and my relationship with my family (which, blessedly had always been loving and caring).

Then I went to The Garrison Institute in upstate NY for 5 days. The institute focused on contemplative mindfulness. At this retreat, we meditated and examined our feelings and how our emotions manifest physically within our bodies. For those of you who know anything about me (and certainly for those who have met me) you can imagine that sitting around meditating and examining my inner emotions isn’t my typical speed. In fairness, I’ll say the institute really turned things around for me and I’ve found a new respect for meditation and mindfulness.

Each day after our sessions were done I, and the other three people I’d gone with, went hiking. Sometimes we hiked easy trails along the Hudson, keeping to the water line and seeing some terrific views. Right across the river was West Point and the idea of hot young military fledglings filled my mind. Even cooler, there was a rope tied to this tree at a rock-cliff drop spot and I swung off the rock jumping about 40 feet (I think. I’m terrible at estimating distances). It was far, but not ridiculously far like in Hawaii or something. All I can way is WHAT-A-RUSH!

After this retreat went home to Massachusetts for the rest of the summer to spend the last few weeks with my family before work started back. My dad lives by the water and has a kayak. There’s also a pond down the street where families bring their children. The weather was mid-eighties and sunny. Basically, it was just this amazing conglomeration of all things good and wonderful. I went to the pond with my family, the kids making new friends each day. I took my niece and nephew kayaking to the sandbar near my dad’s home at low tide so they could dig for shells and horseshoe crabs. Basically I enjoyed each moment: the people, the places, the beauty around me. I even captured a snapshot of the sky one evening just because it was beautiful.

When I returned to NYC, I contacted my good friend Kenya Ferreira who’s been pushing to get me to go to the gym with her. We went to the gym. Then I went again. Then I went to my first yoga class. By the way, why didn’t anyone mention how much you freakin’ sweat while doing yoga? Yet as sore as my muscles were from working out again and as much as I fell over during certain poses in yoga, the act of doing good things for myself felt good.

So all of this stuff has happened basically over the past few weeks which has left me feeling transformed. It’s caused me to reflect on a few things which, after several rambling paragraphs, brings me to the point of this post. It’s far too easy to coast along, especially when things get tough. It’s almost like going into zombie-mode or numb is a protection mechanism that keeps us from feeling anything. Because when things seem bad, feeling doesn’t help at all, right?

Being present in my own life, taking note of the things going on, good and bad, has helped me to calm down. Rather than focusing on a particular task I have to complete that I haven’t been trained to do, I’m celebrating the fact that my colleagues are supporting me and enjoying how the process is bringing us closer together as a team.

A simple trip on a kayak, going about 200 feet away and walking on the soft sand which is only above water for portions of the day became a vivid memory because of all the details. The kids searching for shells like it was the most important thing in the world; the fact we could walk out a good 50 feet from the sandbar and still only have the water up to our knees; the rock which my niece decided to climb on and be Ariel from the Little Mermaid because it reminded her of that scene where the water splashes up behind her…those things made the moment one I’ll always remember.

Just being present has helped to calm me down and given me the space to put things back into perspective. It’s helped me to sit back at the age of 41 and say, “What’s really important here?” The changes, the fact I’m putting my emotional and physical health to the front of the line of priorities, has made me happy and proud and I feel stronger to face the challenges which we all face in our lives.

For me, taking that step, committing to it, is what has turned things around for me. What turns things around for you? I wonder who else has reflected on what makes them happy and helps them to bear the turbulence which comes by every once in a while.

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CHASER is Released!

Chaser is now officially available on the publisher website, at Amazon, at AllRomance ebooks, and everywhere good books are sold. I'm stoked because this love story, about a thin gay man who is attracted to men who have "a little meat on their bones" is one of my most unusual--and, I hope, fulfilling--love stories.

The novel is available in both paperback and ebook editions. Read on to see how you can win a FREE, signed copy delivered to your door by me--wearing only combat boots and a jockstrap. Well, maybe that last part was a bit of hyperbole. I will send the winner's copy out first-class mail, though. Details on how to enter are below.

SYNOPSIS
Caden DeSarro is what they call a chubby chaser. He likes his guys with a few extra pounds on them. So when he meets Kevin Dodge in a bar bathroom, he can’t help but stare, even if he does make an ass of himself. As far as Caden is concerned, Kevin is physically perfect: a stocky bearded blond with a dick that’s just right. (They met in the bathroom—of course he looked!) But Caden gets tongue-tied and misses his chance.

When Caden runs into Kevin one night on the el train, he figures it’s fate offering him a second shot. Caden manages to get invited back to Kevin's place for a one-night stand that turns into the kind of relationship he’s dreamed about.

But the course of true love never did run smooth, and Kevin and Caden’s romance is no exception. When Caden returns from a few weeks away on business, Kevin surprises him with a new and “improved” body—one that fits his shallow friend Bobby’s ideal, not Caden’s. Caden doesn’t know what to do, and his hesitation is just the opportunity Bobby was looking for. This isn’t the same Kevin he fell in love with… is it?

EXCERPT
Caden returned to scanning the mostly male crowd (there were a few “Graces” here and there, out with their “Wills”) and watching Gaga, trying to determine the secret of her mysterious allure. The woman probably looked like a real plain Jane when she woke up in the morning, but her obvious slavish devotion to wigs and haute couture bordering on costumes (as Caden had learned as a seasoned viewer of Project Runway), elevated her to something irresistible to look at, at once ethereal and gritty.

Bobby whispered in his ear. “See anything you like? Any prospects on the horizon?”

Bobby did have his eye on one guy, down on the lower level at one of the high-topped tables, talking with a couple of friends. He stood out because he was not built like most of the guys here, who were, to a man, either too skinny or too pumped up to register on his attraction meter.

This guy seemed comfortable in his own skin, and Caden liked the way he threw back his head and laughed when one of his buddies said something funny. Unlike most of the other guys in Sidetrack that night, he did not show any signs that he was conscious of his appearance. Caden liked that he wore comfortable clothes, a cotton sweater of faded blue-gray and a simple pair of carpenter pants, most likely Carhartt. He peered over the rail and saw the guy’s feet were encased in work boots. Ah. A blue collar man. A working guy. Just my type. Caden also liked his tousled blond hair, which revealed fetching layers of color that went from almost brown, to wheat, to pale blond, to nearly platinum, yet revealed no indication, Caden thought, of the attentions of a hairdresser. And what put him on the “edge of glory” was the crowning touch: a thick beard, not manicured into tortured geometric lines.

And he was blessedly overweight. Not fat. But a bit of gut protruded, and his thighs, in denim, looked like tree trunks. When he turned around, he revealed an ass of ample proportions, the kind Caden could just imagine as two perfect, creamy white spheres made for grasping and pulling apart.

“Is it hot in here?” Caden shouted in Bobby’s ear. He took a gulp of beer and fanned his hand in front of his face.

Bobby came back with, “No. But from the way you’re gazing dreamily into the crowd, I am betting you’ve spied some man candy that’s making your temperature rise, if not something else.” Playfully, Bobby grabbed Caden’s crotch, testing. Caden slapped his hand away. Bobby was his best friend and had been for years, perhaps due to the fact that neither of them had ever crossed the line that would allow one to enjoy the other on sexual terms. “Come on, you can tell Daddy. Which one is it?” Bobby gazed out at the crowd. “The black guy that looks a bit like Ty Diggs? Or maybe that shaved head at the bar, with the ass that looks like you could rest a tray on it?”

“Nah.” Caden looked at the object of his attraction once more, suddenly wishing Bobby’s Abercrombie stud would return, only to free him up to at least make eyes at the blond. “There’s no one. Just checking things out.” Caden thought of his therapist, Camille, and wondered what she would have to say about Caden’s inability to admit who he was really lusting after.

Again, why would it matter what Bobby thought?

Win a free, signed copy (sorry, prizewinners must live in the US) by leaving your name, comment, and e-mail on Rick's BLOG. Winners will be announced on Thursday, August 30. Good luck! And if you don't want to wait to see if you're a winner, purchase details are below.

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Up-coming release from Chris Quinton: Finders, Keepers

Finders, Keepers

release Date August 25th 

Available from Silver Publishing! 

The idea for the crime arc of this story happened a long time ago, when a beautiful medieval reliquary pendant was discovered by a metal detectorist right on the doorstep of Middleham Castle up in Yorkshire. This was the favoured home of Richard III, and to find such a rich jewel so close to one of the country's most famous castles led to all kinds of speculation in the press and certain historical societies. Was this lost by Richard himself? By his wife, Ann?

It would be nice to imagine it was, but that wasn't what sparked my imagination.

  

Now, I'm not saying for a moment that there was anything at all shady about this find. There wasn't - luck and local knowledge plays a huge part in the metal detectoring/treasure hunting circles. Yet that, and other amazing discoveries by detectorists since then, set my writerly brain cell working. 

You know, the usual author's trigger of "What if..." has a lot to answer for. When I first had the idea about an on-the-edge-of-burn-out retrieval agent having to seduce a man so he could be undercover at a crime scene, a detectorists' scam immediately jumped up and waved flags...

Finders, Keepers

Coming off a high-pressure undercover job for his company's covert Retrievals Department, and despite being on the edge of burnout, Jeff is thrown straight into another mission: set a trap for illegal metal detectorists who'll be planting a priceless reliquary in a field.

To be in the right place at the right time, Jeff seduces Alan, son of the farmer who may or may not be in on the million-dollar scam. The job should be straightforward, easy, and it is—except that Jeff’s usual guard is down, and he finds himself falling for Alan. Still trying to shake off an obsessive ex-lover Alan doesn't want commitment, just a no-strings, friends with benefits relationship. But events have a way of changing minds. 

Excerpt

Luck was on Jeff's side. He located his target at the Boat House, the first midtown coffee house and bar he checked at the end of his first day in the office. Despite its name, the place had no connection to the riverside wharfs downtown other than the pictures on its walls. Jeff paused just inside the door to remove his dark blue tie and undo the top two buttons of his cream shirt, and have a surreptitious look around as he did so. Alan Fletcher was sitting at the bar. The series of photos in the man's dossier made him impossible to miss, even when seen from behind. So did his height and untidy mess of copper-red hair badly in need of restyling. All Jeff had to do now was engineer a successful hookup.

The Boat House, conveniently situated five minutes’ walk away from the office and his apartment, hadn't changed much in eight years. The decor was still Victorian municipal green and cream tiles, gleaming brass fittings, and sepia-tinted pictures of wharfs, locks, and canal boats decorated the walls. The clientele remained the upwardly mobile types out to unwind and socialize after a hard day. Singles, too, discreetly looking to connect with the opposite sex. Or the same sex, Jeff observed. By the look of it, the House was an equal opportunities kind of place these days. He threaded his way between the crowded tables and fake-leather easy chairs to the bar, and eased himself into the narrow gap between a tall girl having an intense conversation with a bemused-looking man in a green polo shirt, and his target.

Alan had his back to Jeff and was chatting to an older couple. The woman was African-American, of average height, plump, her strong features good-natured and pleasing rather than pretty, and framed by neat black cornrows. The man was solid with muscle and built foursquare like a brick outhouse, his brown hair thinning and shot with gray. The three of them were comfortable together, in the way of friends and/or work colleagues.

Jeff leaned both elbows on the mahogany surface and relaxed with a long sigh of relief. It was genuine. He felt tired, jaded, and some of it showed.

"Hard day?" the bartender asked with a sympathetic smile.

"Yeah. Just got transferred in from the Manhattan branch. New office, new regime. You know how it goes." He ordered a beer then picked idly at the pretzels in the dish off to his left and just within his reach. He didn't move it closer.

The first swallow of beer slid down Jeff's throat like a cold blessing, and he sighed again. The woman on his right was becoming indignant, the pitch of her voice enough to engrave designs on glass, and he tuned her out with difficulty. To his left, the discussion was a lot more good-natured: an obviously long-standing friendly feud over the merits of football, soccer, and rugby. Alan had an unmistakable English accent and a pleasant, easy on the ear baritone. His laughter, when it came, was the contagious kind that brought a smile to the faces of anyone within hearing. Jeff schooled his expression to a staring-into-space vagueness and did not react.

The argumentative woman finally stormed off, followed more sedately by Alan's friends. Jeff had purposely sat close to him, and when the Englishman shifted to face the bar, he jostled Jeff's elbow. Jeff, who had timed his moment to take a handful of pretzels, let them spill.

"Damn, I'm sorry!" Alan exclaimed, turning quickly.

"It's okay." Jeff brushed a few straying crumbs from his pants. "It is kind of crowded in here." He looked up to meet Alan's hazel eyes and saw the pupils expand in the so-useful giveaway. He knew what the man saw: sable hair, deep-set blue eyes in the hawk-like Italian features he inherited from Grandma Lucreza. A young but dangerous face now he wasn't being Borya: a Mafia hitman masquerading as a male model, back in the day when male models didn't look like they'd blow away in a high wind. "Hey, you're a long way from home. British, right?"

"Yes and no." Alan's smile was engaging. "Mum was American, but I grew up in the UK. Alan Fletcher."

"Jeff," he replied with a full wattage answering smile that was all his own and had nothing to do with his last persona. Alan blinked. Target acquired, Jeff thought.