Hello, and thanks to dropping by on Day 7 of the Rainbow Advent Calendar – and a great big squishy hug to Alex Jane for organising this wonderful event.

I’m A E Ryecart (Ali to my readers) and I write MM romance from the warm and sweet with all the fuzzies, to gritty, hard-edged and challenging with more angst than you can shake a stick at.

Today, I’ve got a Barista Boys short story for you. If you’ve not read the Barista Boys series, fear not, because you don’t need any prior knowledge to enjoy All He Wants for Christmas. If you do enjoy this short, you can always check out the four-book series about the men who work in a quirky little café in the heart of London’s Soho. You can find out more about the Barista Boys in the My Books section of my website, alongside details of all my other books, or see the link at the end. Enjoy!


Bernie stretched out under the duvet and the warm body snuggled up beside him tightened its grip.

“Morning,” Jared’s drowsy voice murmured against Bernie’s bare chest.

“Don’t you mean Happy Christmas?”

“What?” Jared wriggled up the bed and his tousled-haired head emerged, blinking sleepy, velvet-blue eyes. “Christmas Day? Already?”

“Hmm-mm. Maybe all that eggnog last night made it slip your mind. Plus the champagne. And maybe the glass or three of cognac.”

“Oh, don’t remind me because my head’s already doing a good job of that,” Jared groaned.

Bernie laughed and rolled over, pushing Jared into the mattress. “I know what’s good for Christmas morning hangovers. Or for any morning, hangover or not.” Bernie pressed his swollen dick against Jared’s, grinning when his lover answered with a throaty moan. God, I love him so much. Bernie’s heart skipped a beat as he gazed down at the man beneath him. How did I get to be so lucky with this man? It was a question Bernie asked himself every day. 

“I know I’m gorgeous and totally irresistible, but are you just going to stare at me all morning or are you going to give me your wonder cure?” Jared bumped his hips upwards, a teasing smile lifting his lips, and this time it was Bernie’s turn to moan.

Jared shifted and hooked his legs around Bernie’s waist, and pulled him in close. Lips met in a crushing kiss as their bodies rolled against each other, slow and sensual, warm skin against warm skin. Jared groaned and clutched at Bernie’s thick, dark hair. Bernie’s heart stuttered as Jared’s long fingers scrubbed back and forwards over his scalp. It was all the clue Bernie needed to know what it was Jared was asking him for. But then, he always knew what the man who was both his lover and best friend wanted and needed, often before Jared knew himself.

Bernie broke the kiss, his lips swollen and spit-soaked. Inching down the bed, he left a trail of kisses across Jared’s chest and stomach until he arrived at the dip of his belly button. Bernie licked and lapped and sucked, a low rumble of laughter rolling through him as Jared squirmed and moaned at his touch.

“Come on.” Jared thrust his hips upwards, full of need and impatience.

“Want your Christmas present now, baby?” Bernie breathed against Jared’s belly. “Or shall I make you wait ‘til later, hmm? Make sure you’re a good boy before Santa lets you have his sack of goodies?”

“Bastard,” Jared growled, but he couldn’t disguise the laughter in his voice.

“That’s not a nice thing for a good boy to say,” Bernie said, as he kissed his way down and nuzzled into the coarse, clipped hair between Jared’s legs. He breathed in deep, and a shiver danced across his skin. The scent of the man he loved more than anybody or anything in the world still took him by surprise, always made him feel like it was their first time together, with a world of discovery and possibilities awaiting them.

“Maybe I’m not a nice boy.”

“Oh, I think you’re a very nice boy who tries hard to be very, very naughty.” Bernie licked a long, wet stripe up the length Jared’s cock, his body shaking with barely held-back mirth as Jared writhed and muttered incomprehensive, broken words.

“Please. . .”

No attitude, no sass, just need and want and desire. Bernie took his lover into his mouth.

Hot, velvet-soft yet hard as iron. Bernie closed his eyes as Jared filled his mouth, the weight of his lover’s shaft heavy on his tongue. The salty tang of pre-come hit the back of Bernie’s throat, and his heart flipped as Jared’s hips thrust upwards. Sharp, rapid, needy, impatient and demanding, Jared telling him with every move of his body what he wanted and what he wanted now.

Bernie’s tongue laved Jared’s wet, engorged head, his breathing hitching with every lick and suck. Lips gliding down the length of his lover, Bernie drenched his senses in the warm, earthy aroma of the wonderful man who had become his everything. Bernie eased back, his lips wet and swollen, his tongue all the time stroking and caressing. Jared’s hips snapped up hard. His gasping, strangled cry, and the clench of his fisted hands in Bernie’s hair, so tight it sent waves of delicious pain across Bernie’s scalp, was the point of no return. Jared’s hips stuttered and stumbled, all rhythm and control collapsing and crashing as he gasped and emptied himself into Bernie’s ready mouth.

Bright white lights burst behind Bernie’s squeezed-shut eyes as he drank Jared down. Every last drop, he wanted it all. He sucked greedily as his lover’s body softened and relaxed, wrung out and depleted. Sweeping his tongue over the tip of Jared’s wilting cock, lapping up the very last of him, Bernie gazed up.

Jared lay back, one arm slung over his eyes as his chest rose and fell in short, shallow breaths.

“Hey.” Bernie trailed his fingertips along the crease at the top of Jared’s thigh.

Jared lifted his arm and looked down at Bernie through impossibly long lashes. A flush coloured his pale skin, and his lips were plump and red. He looked sated, debauched and adorable, and a million butterflies fluttered their wings in the depths of Bernie’s stomach.
“Hey yourself,” Jared said, his voice thick and gravelly.

Bernie edged his way up the crumpled sheet, damp with sweat, until his mouth was no more than a breath away from Jared’s. Slow and tender, Bernie trailed the tip of his tongue across Jared’s lips, which parted on a deep and contented sigh as Bernie kissed him again and again. When Bernie pulled back Jared gazed at him with so much love in his eyes, and the gentlest smile on his lips. If his life ended in that moment, Bernie knew with every bone in his body he’d die in the knowledge that he was loved so very, very much.

“Think I need to return the favour.” Jared narrowed his eyes, sweeping his fingers through Bernie’s coal-dark hair.

“Yeah, I reckon it’s time I got my present, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, I’ve got just what you want. Happy Christmas, honey.”

Bernie let go of a long, shivery sigh and closed his eyes as Jared pushed him onto his back and straddled him.
 
                                                   &&&

“Bloody hell, have you seen the weather?”

Bernie came up behind Jared, wrapped his arms around his waist, and dropped a kiss on the back of his neck. He nuzzled in and breathed up the crisp, citrus aroma of shower gel. Jared wriggled, and laughed.

“Cut it out or we’ll end up needing another shower. Look. Look at the weather. They might have problems getting here.” Jared turned to Bernie, his brow puckered in concern.

Bernie gazed out over the snow-covered city that lay beyond the walls of the apartment they shared. High on a hill in Hampstead, the views of the Heath were magnificent, the fresh snow bright and pristine under a sky heavy with clouds that threatened to coat the city with another wintery load. On cue, fat, fluffy flakes began to fall.

“They’ll be okay. Danny and Jude stayed with Stevie and Mack last night, and they’re all coming here in the same cab. Although why we’re having members of my staff over for Christmas, I have no idea.” Bernie huffed.

“You know exactly why.” Jared twisted around in Bernie’s arms, turning away from the snowy world beyond the window. He coiled his arms around Bernie’s neck, and smiled into his eyes.

Bernie’s heart melted into a gooey mush. But doesn’t it always, when he looks at me like that?

“They’re coming because they’re your family – which makes them my family, too.”

“Only Mack is, and Stevie will be once they’re married.” Bernie said, referring to his nephew and his fiancé, but the distinction was meaningless, and they both knew it. Jared wasn’t talking about blood family, but about the family Bernie had forged together under the roof of Barista Boys, the quirky little café in a tiny Soho backstreet he owned and ran.

“They’re all your family. Every kid who ever walked through the door in need of a job, or food, or a place of safety, every one of them is your family. Here, where it matters.” Jared place a palm over Bernie’s heart.

Bernie said nothing, because how could he deny the truth? Barista Boys wasn’t just a café. It was a refuge for any waif or stray who stumbled over its threshold. It always had been, and it always would be.

“Well, I wasn’t thinking of Jude as family when he broke my newest coffee machine. It cost a fortune to get fixed. I should have fired him on the spot.” Bernie coughed and tried to clear his rough, gravelly throat.

Jared said nothing, a small smile playing over his lips. Jared didn’t believe a word he said, Bernie knew, and how could he when he didn’t believe it himself?

“Jude’s a sweet kid. Perhaps not the sharpest tool in the shed, but sacking him would be like throwing a kitten out into the snow.”
Bernie groaned, and rolled his eyes, but Jared had pretty much summed up his young employee.

“Besides, you wouldn’t want Danny and him to sit in their freezing cold flat over Christmas, would you? No heating or hot water? They can’t get their boiler fixed until the New Year. And anyway,” Jared said, his smile turning wicked, “you talked the company around into replacing it without a quibble.”

Bernie shrugged, and looked away. “I give them enough of my business.”

Jared began to laugh. “I love it when you get found out and look all sheepish. But come on,” he said, twisting out of Bernie’s arms, “it’s beautiful out there, and we’re going to build a snowman!”

“What?” Bernie’s face fell as he stared over Jared’s shoulder and through the window. “It’s fucking freezing. Can’t we stay here? We can unwrap our presents.” Bernie attacked Jared’s neck at the same time he clamped his hands to his arse, kneading his lover’s firm backside through the soft, loose-with-age jeans he wore.

“No, we can’t. Come on, let’s get out there before the rest of Hampstead does. And if I judge your snowman worthy, I might just let you unwrap a very special present later.”
 
                                                &&&

Bernie piled more snow onto the misshapen lump. Not too bad for a first effort. He was freezing cold and his hands were numb, despite his heavy leather gloves. High up above London the air was crisp and clear, and the city that spread out before them was a modern, urban Christmas card.

“What the hell’s that supposed to be? Didn’t you ever make snowmen as a kid?” Jared tilted his head to the side and studied the heaped-together pile of snow as if trying to work out what it was meant to be.

“No, I didn’t. Anyway, if you wanted it to look all arty perhaps a bit of help would have come in handy,” Bernie grumbled.

“I was taking a managerial role. It’s not that bad, I suppose. For a novice.” Jared smirked, and Bernie glowered.

“What—? Shit.” Bernie half jumped, half wriggled as he tried to dislodge the snowball that found a chink in his woollen-scarfed armour and was making its freezing way down his neck. Two young teenagers ran off, laughing and shouting, stopping and turning only when they were far enough away to give him the two fingered salute.

“You deserved that, you miserable sod.” Jared was bent forward, his hands pressing into his thighs, his laughter loud in the frosty air.

“Glad I’m an object of amusement,” Bernie muttered, digging out the last of the snowball.

“Oh, come on, you grump.” Jared stood upright and hugged his arms around Bernie. “I bet you were a bad boy once,” he whispered, his warm breath wafting against Bernie’s ear.

Bernie shivered, but it had nothing to do with the icy temperature.
“Still am. Hmm, let’s go home. Please?” Bernie nuzzled into Jared’s neck.

Jared pushed him away, a big grin spread across his face. “Once we’ve finished Old Snowy. I want to make him the best snowman on the Heath.” Jared rummaged through the bag he’d brought, pulling out an odd assortment of vegetables, along with the Santa hat—and something else.

“What—hold on, is that what I think it is?”

“Might be,” Jared said with a grin.

Under Jared’s direction, the snowman began to take shape. It began to snow again, in fits and starts, adding fresh layers to the winter cityscape. More and more people climbed high on the Heath. All around them snowball fights broke out amid peals of laughter, teenagers jumped on sledges and bombed down the hill, and families built their own snowmen along with their memories of a London white Christmas.

“There.” Jared stuck the Santa hat on top of Old Snowy, then stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Not bad, not bad.” Bernie nodded his approval, but Old Snowy was more than not bad. With green apples for eyes, a long and knobbly carrot for a nose, and a thick ring cut from a red pepper, Old Snowy looked like he was staring back at them in open-mouthed surprise.

“And this. Old Snowy’s not properly dressed without this. You can’t have a snowman without a scarf.”

The rainbow scarf fluttered in the buffeting wind. They’d won it in a raffle, Bernie couldn’t remember where. It was badly knitted, the ends already coming apart, and made from some synthetic mix that scratched and rubbed. Whoever had made it, the thought, at least, had been in the right place. It was perfect to put the finishing touch to Old Snowy.

“There you go,” Jared said. “The only gay snowman on Hampstead Heath.”

“You’re nuts, you know that?” Bernie pulled Jared close, enfolding him in his arms.

“That’s why you love me.”

“I do love you, and I always will.”

Bernie sought Jared’s lips, savouring the warm wetness of his mouth, delicious and inviting against the biting cold of the strengthening wind. Pulling Jared closer, Bernie groaned as Jared’s lean and supple body pressed against his. Everything around him faded, leaving only the two of them, alone in a snow-white world.

“I think we’re providing some free entertainment,” Jared murmured against Bernie’s lips.

Bernie looked around. Nearby, two young women were building a giant snowball with the help of toddler, covered from head to foot in an elf costume. The women smiled and one gave a thumbs up, and Bernie answered with a wink before he turned back to Jared.

“Home? Hot chocolate with whipped cream, then get naked under the tree?”

Jared huffed. “With all those pine needles that are already dropping? You must be joking. But I might say yes to being bent over the sofa and—” Jared leaned in and whispered in Bernie’s ear. Bernie’s eyes widened. He’d never heard of doing that with a mince pie.
 
                                                  &&&

“Hmm, this is nice.”

“It certainly is. Are you sure we can’t pretend not to be in?” Bernie kissed his way along Jared’s neck, each one slow, languorous and lazy. Relaxed and loose-limbed, they lay entwined on the sofa. “You never did show me that trick with the mince pie. Do you think it’d work with Christmas pudding, as well?”

Jared’s laugh shimmied through him, and Bernie smiled as he pulled him in tighter.

“Only if you don’t douse it with brandy and set it alight, otherwise you risk a scorched—”

“Okay, okay. Let’s just park that idea for now.”

Jared shifted, yawned, and snuggled deeper into Bernie’s chest. Soon, the regular one-two of his breathing told Bernie he’d fallen asleep.

It had stopped snowing, but it had fallen thick, heavy, and fast. Although it was barely past midday, the sky was a deep, leaden grey, with a threat of more snow to come.

Bernie looked around him, careful not to disturb Jared. The tree in the corner, surrounded by a pile of presents, shimmered in the low lamplight. A long rope of coloured lights wound its way around it, draping across, over and under the heavy boughs, all the way to the top where a silver Christmas star took pride of place. Holly, with its glossy green leaves and scarlet berries, tumbled down from the mantle shelf above the fireplace. Christmas cards jostled each other for space on the bookshelf and the window ledge. Bernie breathed in the deep, rich aroma of roasting turkey wafting in from the kitchen and sighed. How my life’s changed around. Placing a gentle kiss on Jared’s head, he blinked away the tears that prickled the backs of his eyes. In his arms, Bernie held everything he wanted in life. His heart brimmed with optimism, hope and belief in a future he had thought could never be his. “It’s you who’s done this, baby,” he whispered. “It’s you who’s brought me back to life. Everything that’s good, it’s because of you.”

A year ago, and for so many years before, Bernie had sat alone on Christmas Day, locking himself away from the company of others as he drowned his dark, heartbreaking memories in a bottle of scotch and a waterfall of bitter tears. But not this year, and never again. Against the odds, and his own cynicism, he’d found life and love in a man who’d been as savaged by the world as he had.

Savaged, but not beaten. Jared had fought back, just as he had done, against the hand life had dealt them. In doing so they had found not only each other, but salvation, too.

Bernie sucked in a shaky breath. The time had come, and he was scared half to death.

Easing away from Jared, he padded over to the tree. Kneeling down, Bernie reached behind the extravagantly wrapped pile of gifts, each with a big, bright bow. He found what he was looking for, without searching, and his fingers curled around a small plain box, wrapped in nothing other than a silver ribbon.

“What are you doing?”

Bernie turned around, his heart thumping hard as Jared stared at him, clear-eyed and wide awake.

“I. . .” The words withered and died on Bernie’s lips. He’d had it all worked out; what he’d say, and how, every word of this speech practised, polished and word perfect. Looking into Jared’s velvet-blue eyes, he remembered none of it.

“Bernie?” Jared sat up, a tiny frown worrying his brow. “Is anything wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Bernie said, finding his voice. “Nothing could be more right.” He shuffled across, the small box clutched tight and hidden in his palm. At Jared’s feet, he looked down as an unaccustomed shyness stole over him. “I had it planned, everything I was going to say, but. . .” Bernie opened his hand, revealing the little box with the silver ribbon.

Daring to look up, Bernie’s head hummed with the rush of blood through his veins. His mouth was paper-dry, and a heavy lump blocked his throat. A tiny bead of sweat meandered down the valley of his back, and his heart beat an irregular rhythm as it crashed against his ribcage.

Slack-jawed and wide-eyed, Jared looked between the box and Bernie, and back to the box. He reached out, tentative fingers shaking as he picked it up and untied the ribbon, which slipped unheeded to the floor.

Bernie held his breath as Jared opened the lid, knowing every detail of what Jared would be seeing for the first time. Jared’s hands trembled so much the box almost fell from his fingers. Taking it from him, Bernie picked up the ring, a thin band of gold bordered by bands of platinum. He held it up, and out, to Jared.

“Jared Hastings, will you marry me?”

Silence wrapped around them, as the world and time stood still. Bernie’s heart beat heavy in his chest, as he waited for the one word that would determine his future. Jared nodded, as tears fell from his glittering eyes.

“Yes. Yes, Bernie Porter, I’ll marry you.”

Bernie pulled Jared into a kiss that was deeper than the ocean. So close, it was as though each sought to dissolve into the other, neither knowing where one ended and the other began.

The buzz of the intercom, at first faint but becoming loud and insistent, broke them apart. Bernie’s phone buzzed, and Jared’s joined in.

“They’re here,” Jared breathed. “Are we going to tell them?”

“Do you want to?”

Jared smiled, so bright Bernie all but melted from its heat.

“Yes. I want everybody to know. Our family, our friends. Everybody.” Jared leaned forward and rested his brow against Bernie’s. “I love you. I love you so much. This is the best Christmas present I could ever have wished for.”

Bernie smiled as he cupped Jared’s face between his palms.

“Better than that trick with the mince pie you told me about? I’m still waiting for you to show me.”

“I’m saving that for our wedding night.”

The intercom buzzed again, and their phones pinged with left messages. Jared glanced towards the door. “Shall we let them in, or pretend we’re not here?”

“Oh, I think they need to learn a little patience, don’t you?” Bernie said, as he leaned in and claimed Jared’s lips one more time.
 
                                             THE END

         All He Wants for Christmas   Copyright December 2018 A E Ryecart

If you’ve enjoyed Bernie and Jared’s festive tale, you might want to check out my recently released Christmas stories, Kiss Before Christmas and Company for Christmas. Both are available to read in KU.

You can find the Barista Boys four-book series here.

If you’d like to receive my monthly newsletter where I chat about what I’m writing, books I’ve enjoyed and recommend, and various writing related nuggets I think you’d be interested in, jump on board by clicking on the sign-up button you can find everywhere on the website. As a thank you, I’ll also send you a 13k word story. You can also connect with me on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

To read lots more free festive stories, join the Rainbow Advent Calendar Facebook group. Don't 'do' Facebook? No worries, just go here instead. Thanks for taking the time to read and don't forget to leave a comment if you've enjoyed sharing Bernie and Jared's Christmas morning.

Christmas is looming and Jack De Lacy needs a solution to one hell of a fix.
 
Dumped by his boyfriend in favour of his best friend, Jack’s been busy bragging about the hot new man in his life.

A hot new man who doesn’t exist.

With an important function to attend where he’ll come face-to-face with his ex, Jack knows he’ll be a laughing stock when his boasts are exposed as nothing more than wishful thinking. He’s desperate but time, like his options, is running out.

Rory Kincaid is scared he won’t last another night sleeping rough on London’s frozen, snowbound streets. With all the homeless shelters full, Rory seeks refuge in the first empty doorway he stumbles across.

Finding Rory shivering in the sub-zero temperatures, Jack can no more send him away than kick a puppy out into the cold. A shower, shave and hot drink later, and the grubby street kid is transformed into a beautiful young man.

As the attraction between them grows, so does a plan that will get Jack out of the mess he’s in and give Rory a warm, safe home for Christmas. Sweet and adorable, Rory will make a great fake boyfriend for the festive season – the problem is, neither Jack nor Rory is sure where the make believe ends and the truth begins.
 
Warning: this 37k novella contains a camp Christmas tree, a drag queen Christmas fairy called Doris, way too many jugs of eggnog, a closet posh boy, and the sweetest Kiss Before Christmas ever. 

Live on Amazon, and available to read in KU, from 15th November .

Captive Hearts is the first book in my Deviant Hearts series, and is due to be released in late February 2018. Set in contemporary London, Captive Hearts follows Dashiell Slater and Billy Grace's forbidden romance. Written in alternating 1st POV, this extract is from Billy's perspective. Billy's ready to fall, but Dashiell's there to catch him...

"We really must stop meeting like this."

Dashiell leaned against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankle and his hands in his trouser pockets. He looked at ease, and was smiling with all the warmth of earlier.

"You okay?" He bent his head to the side and looked at me, and a small frown furrowed his brow. When I didn’t answer he pushed himself away from the wall and took a step towards me.

"Yes, I'm fine." I was anything but fine, because that smile brought back what I’d seen in his eyes as we’d stood by the wall. He had no right to look at me like that, not when there wasn’t a thing he or I could do about it.

"Are you? You seem very, I don’t know, muted I suppose the word is. Yes, muted."

I wanted to scream. Yeah, I was muted, all right. Muted, meek, mild, compliant, silent. All those words and more were my default mode. It was what was expected of me, and I played my part well because muted and all the rest of it got me through each day.

"I'm okay. I should get back," I mumbled, and I made to walk past but Dashiell caught my arm and stopped me in my tracks. I stared down at his hand, wrapped around my forearm. A few fine dark hairs were scattered over the pale skin. His hands were calloused, as though he was used to rough or outdoor work, but it was his fingers I noticed, long and slender, and I wondered, just for a moment, what he might do with those fingers and how they might feel as they traced their way across my skin.

"No, you're not."

No, I wasn't all right. I was as far from all right as it was possible to be, but I tugged my arm out from his grip. I needed to get back, to the noise and the heat and Frankie's insistent squeezing and rubbing of my thigh under the linen-draped table. That’s what I needed to do, but instead I looked up into Dashiell's big blue eyes, eyes that were looking back at me with concern and compassion. I honestly didn't know if what I was seeing was genuine, or whether Dashiell was under orders from Frankie to test me, and trip me up, but at that moment none of that mattered as I stood there and unraveled.

Dashiell’s arms wrapped themselves around me, holding me up and holding me tight. There was no heat, nothing sexual in his touch, there was just warmth and strength, and I just couldn’t hold back. I cried. Big, fat, messy sobs, and it wasn’t pretty. I had snot running from my nose and drool from my mouth, and I was getting it all over his suit, the suit he looked fuck-off gorgeous in. I couldn't help any of it, and all I wanted was for Dashiell to hold me in his arms, a temporary safe haven from the mess that was my life.

"You can trust me, I'm not like the others. With whatever you need. If you want to talk—”

"There’s nothing to talk about. It is what it is.” I stepped back and dragged my hand across my face to wipe away the snot and tears. The wave was receding, and I was feeling a bit stupid as I battled to regain the control I’d lost that had resulted in me melting into a slushy puddle.

"He's asked me to report any unusual activity."

"So you're a spy? Your daily reports are just going to be a pile of blank pages." Perhaps I should have been angry, but I didn’t have the energy.

"No, I'm not. And I never would be, for that man."

Dashiell looked down at me. His eyes were still kind, but there was something else there too, as if he were thinking, and working something out.

"You don’t believe me? Would I have told you that if I intended to do it?"

"Why would you go against his orders? Frankie's not a man to make angry." If there was anyone who knew that, it was me, and I had the faded bruises and faint scars to prove it.

"Maybe I don't like being told what to do."

"I—" I didn't get any further. Dashiell pressed a forefinger to my lips, and the rest of the words melted away.

"Sometimes you just have to trust somebody, and that somebody's me."

His words were matter of fact, as if my trusting him was some kind of done deal. And you know what? In that moment that was exactly what it felt like. I nodded and Dashiell smiled big, broad and this time just a touch cocky, and God, didn't I just want him to pull me back into this arms.

"Come on, let's get back out there," he said.

He was right, because being away for too long wasn't a good idea, but as I washed and dried my face, and walked through the door Dashiell held open for me, I felt a calm I thought had been lost to me forever.

As we head towards the last days of 2017, I thought I'd post a taster of what will be my first release of 2018. I've still a handful of chapters to go, and the book will need some heavy duty editing (including this extract).

This is Billy and Dashiell's story (DASH-uhhll, although pronounciations vary). That's not the title, because I have no idea what to call it! This is a departure for me, as the story is written in 1st person POV. This is where Billy and Dashiell meet for the first time and it's from Dashiell's point of view. Be warned, it ain't a romantic start...

My thoughts shifted to the beers in the fridge at home and some late evening telly. That pulled me up short. Here I was walking out of a bar filled with plenty of men I could have some no-strings fun with, and I was looking forward to sprawling out in front of the box watching a re-run of Terminator. It was almost enough to make me turn around, go back to the others and let Andy pay for me. But not quite. Maybe I'd drop into The Crown on the way home, the drinks were a fraction of the price and there was always some fun to be had. My hand went to the back pocket of my jeans, feeling the flat little packets. Yep, everything was there for the night ahead.  But there was one thing I needed first, and that was a piss.
Instead of pushing my way out onto the street, I followed the sign to the toilets, pointing up a narrow set of stairs. At the top and down a long corridor, and through another set of doors, they were cut off from the busy bar at ground level and very little of the noise from below filtered its way upwards. Which is why I could hear the muffled cries and grunts and gasps, and the laughter. I hesitated. I didn't want to walk in on a couple of guys getting down and dirty, but I was straining to relieve myself. There was no way I was going make it more than a hundred yards, let alone home. If anybody was getting their end away, they could do the decent thing and lock themselves in one of the cubicles. I pushed the door and it didn't move. I pushed again, harder this time, and it opened an inch or two before it was slammed back. Somebody was deliberately blocking it. Another cry came through the door and a sharp gasp. Whoever was in there wasn't there because they wanted to be, and they weren't having fun. I put my shoulder to the door, and shoved hard. It flew open and I staggered in, just keeping my footing. And stopped dead.
The kid who'd come in earlier was pushed front first up against the wall. There was a smear of red on the wall tiles, from the blood that was running from his nose. His jeans and briefs were half way down his legs but his jeans were tight enough that they didn’t allow him to splay his legs, and all I could think was thank Christ for that.
A guy was pressed up against him, one hand on the kid's neck. With the other, he was rummaging around his flies, his dick already out.
"Fuck off, this is none of your business," he hissed.
"Yeah. Do yourself a favour and go, or wait and take your turn." The words were accompanied by a filthy laugh and I swung around. The guy I'd shoved away from the door was sharp featured, and feral looking. I didn't stop to answer, instead I shot my fist forward. A spray of blood, a high pitched wail and he crumpled to his knees, his hands clamped to his face as he crawled away. The guy just behind the kid fumbled his dick, now as limp as spaghetti, into his jeans. Maybe he thought getting into a punch-up with his cock flapping around wasn't the best of ideas, but whatever, it delayed his reaction and he jack-knifed in two when I landed a punch in the centre of his stomach, before I kicked him and he collapsed into a groaning, gasping ball on the tiled floor.
"Are you all right?" I asked the kid. Stupid, stupid words. How could he be all right? But I didn't know what else to say. I didn't know whether to touch him, to lead him over to the sink and wash away the blood that was already drying around his nose and upper lip. But there was one thing I did need to do. I pulled out my phone, ready to call the police.
"No. No, don't do that," the kid barked at me as he yanked his jeans up.
"What? But—"
"I said no. The police can't be involved."
His voice was shaking, but I heard the determination in them. And the fear. Why—? And then I remembered the older guy whose arm the kid had been draped over, and the men milling around looking like extras in a gangster film. Men who wouldn't appreciate the involvement of the law, even if it were to investigate the attempted rape of one of their own.
"Besides, there's no evidence. Nothing happened, and there’s nobody to take in for questioning. Look around you, they've gone."
I turned around. He was right. I’d been so focused on him that I hadn’t heard the vermin who'd attacked him crawl off, hopefully to die, but I'd not hit either of them hard enough for that.
"Thanks for your help, but I'm okay. I'm just gonna clean up before I go back down." He stared at me, and I had the feeling I was being dismissed. I'd served my purpose, and now I was being given my marching orders. And that pissed me off no end.
"No." I crossed my arms over my chest and met his stare.
He scowled and turned to the sink and grabbed a handful of paper towels, which he soaked and dabbed away the blood with. I stood and watched because I wasn't going to be given my orders by a snotty teen. Whether he liked it or not, I was going downstairs with him and was going to explain what happened to his boyfriend, or whoever the older guy was.  At least I'd have done what I could and the rest of it would be out of my hands.
The kid dried his hands and turned back to me. You wouldn't have thought anything had happened. He looked composed and calm, and somehow bland, which was one hell of a trick to pull off for somebody as gorgeous as he was. He narrowed his eyes as we studied each other. He was certainly a lot younger than me, maybe as much as seventeen, eighteen years, but as I looked into a pair of jade coloured eyes, 'kid' no longer seemed right. There was a wariness about him that went way beyond his years.
"So you're not going to go and forget this happened?"
He said the words slowly, as if he were considering the consequences, and my resolve wavered. Maybe he had his reasons for not wanting anything to be said, and I was just going in heavy with my size tens.
"O-kay. Can you just say you saved me from a mugging? Please?"
That didn't seem right, to lie about what had almost happened, it was too serious but I already knew I'd lie for--
"What's your name?"
"Billy. Billy Grace."
Billy Grace. The name taptoed down my spine, and I shivered. I swear I shivered.

It's Snippet time once more, and I'm back with another taster from Bernie, Barista Boys #4.
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Context: Jared's just turned up at Barista Boys...

“I hope you don’t mind? Me dropping in like this, I mean?”
  “No, of course not. Why would I?” I’ve been waiting for you all day. 
  “It’s your place of work, but I was doing some shopping close by.” Jared nodded down at the department store bags he carried. “This is really, really nice.” Jared looked around, and Bernie did too.
  The rough brick walls were covered in posters and prints, and shelves held books and magazines. Flyers lay around advertising gay-themed film festivals, shows and cabarets, and there was a blackboard, small but prominently placed, with the chalked up telephone numbers and websites for LGBTQ advisory and health services. Small round tables with mismatched chairs filled the main floor space, and a battered, squashy sofa was pushed up against the wall. As Jared looked around him, Bernie felt like he were seeing the café with fresh eyes.
  “Let me get you a coffee.”
  “Oh, you’re a life saver. That sofa’s inviting.” Jared sat down and looked up at Bernie. “You going to join me?”
  Bernie swallowed. He’d been about to ask Jared through to his office, where they could talk in private, away from Pete’s sharp eyes.
“Sure. Macchiato? That’s what you had at my place, and in the restaurant last night.”
  Jared tilted his head. “You remember what coffee I had?”
  “Coffee’s my profession, so yes.”
  “So your interest in me is just professional?”
  “My interest in you is – not professional.”
  Jared’s smile broadened, but he dropped his gaze and rearranged the bags that lay around his feet.
  The muted chatter of the customers, the hard tap of metal on metal as coffee grinds were discarded, the whir of the milk frother, all of it faded to nothing for Bernie as he stared down at the man who’d left him standing dumbstruck outside a tiny Italian restaurant just the night before.
  “I’ve got a guilty pleasure.”
 Bernie’s stomach tightened and his cock twitched as he looked down into Jared’s dark, pupil-blown eyes.
  “Yes?” Bernie croaked.
   Jared licked his lips, and Bernie’s cock jumped.
  “What I’d really like is one of those milky coffees, topped with whipped cream and loads of syrup. A complete and utter sugar rush. That’s my guilty pleasure and I have to indulge it every so often.”
  Bernie laughed, and Jared joined in.
  “You little shit,” Bernie muttered under his breath.
  “Yeah, I know. Sorry.” Jared grinned.
  “Is that really what you want?” Bernie quirked his brow.
   Jared nodded. “Does it offend your inner barista?”
  “For the price I can get away charging for them? Not at all,” Bernie said with a smile. “You can have whatever you want, whenever, and always on me. Give me a minute.” 

Take a look at Rainbow Snippets for some wonderful reading inspiration.

I'm an infrequent Snippeteer these days, but thought I'd drop by with an offering from my latest release, Bernie, the fourth and final book in my Barista Boys series. On a balcony, and overlooking night-time London, Bernie and Jared share a kiss...

Bernie stood and held out his hand, and pulled Jared up to standing. Their bodies bumped into each other’s, but Bernie didn’t step back, and nor did Jared. Just a heartbeat apart, Jared’s breath was warm against Bernie’s fevered skin. Jared’s eyes glittered as bright as the city lights against the inky sky, and Bernie’s heart tumbled into freefall. His breathing hitched as his gaze dropped to Jared’s mouth. Soft full lips, damp and slick, parted. Bernie shivered and his skin goosebumped as he pressed his lips to Jared’s in a slow, tentative kiss. Bernie closed his eyes. Rich chocolate combined with the warm spice of the wine on Jared’s lips, but there was more, there was the taste of Jared himself, and it was sweeter than any chocolate, and more intoxicating than any wine could ever be.

Bernie, Barista Boy #4 is now available exclusively on Amazon. Find Bernie here.
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There are so many wonderful authors and enticing Rainbow Snippets here. Click the link and find your next favourite author!

I've just come back from a writers' retreat. 

There we were, eight MM Romance novelists, spread across two caravans on a storm swept site on England's south coast. Torrential rain, winds that rocked the 'van and threatened to send us tumbling down the hill towards an icy English Channel... And the seagulls. Some of them were the size of a large dog/cow/pony (delete as appropriate). We took our lives in our hands, and it was fabulous, every single minute. There were mountains of food and rivers of wine. Add in a pinch of gossip, a liberal dose of drunken story telling, and our combined body weight in laughs, it was a recipe made in heaven to create the perfect weekend.

It was great fun, but it was also very productive because we all worked as hard as we played. Word count targets were surpassed and even obliterated in one case. Great strides were made on WIPs, and some even finished. I beat the word count I'd set myself by over a thousand words, which made me a very happy bunny indeed.

Times like this, whether it be a day, a weekend or longer are invaluable to authors because writing is a solitary pursuit. Sure, some of us might pitch up in cafes, or libraries, places where there are others milling around. But it's not the same as time spent with other authors, writing side-by-side with them, offering encouragement and support. It just isn't, trust me on that. 

The next retreat, no doubt, will take place on another out of season, windy caravan site, buffeted by wind and rain and stalked by mutant gulls.

I can't wait. Bring it on.

Bernie, the forth and final installment in the Barista Boys series, will be hitting Amazon's electronic bookshelves on 27 October. You can find the blurb on the My Books page, under the Barista Boys tab

I've loved writing this series, and I'm going to miss my 'boys' when I wave goodbye to them. The important thing is that they all sail off into the sunset with their happy ever afters because, let's face it, I've put them through the wringer. But who said the path to true love was an easy one? Not me, that's for sure.

It's not just the guys' stories I've enjoyed creating, it's also been about the Barista Boys cafe itself. The place is obviously fictional (yeah, really) but it is loosely based on a number of cafes I've been to, not just here in London but in also in Amsterdam and Utrecht in the Netherlands. A happy international mash-up!

And of course there's Soho, which I love. It's a bit scruffy and there's still a vaguely louche air but it beats with life and energy, and it scores bonus points for being the home to The French House, one of my favourite pubs.

So, it's time to drink that final coffee and indulge in one last muffin before we wave the boys, and Bernie, goodbye...

I'm doing a bit a throwback for this week's snippet. This is from Stevie & Mack, Barista Boys #3. Poor Mack, sweet little Stevie has completely wrong footed him!

"Are we just going to look at each other all night, or..?" Stevie's lips quirked.

"I could look at you forever."

"Or you could kiss me. Or I could kiss you. Mmm." Stevie stepped in closer. "Yeah, I could kiss you. I like that idea. I like it a lot."

Long, thin fingers entwined in Mack's hair. Stevie's palm against the back of his head, sure and firm, pulling him down, bringing Mack closer to soft lips, damp and parted.

Mack closed his eyes as their mouths met. How had he ever thought he would ever be in charge? Stevie had captured him, bound him in chains, and made him his.

If you've enjoyed this snippet, why not get the book? Exclusive on Amazon, for now. You can find it here.

For lots more fab snippets visit Rainbow Snippets.

I'm back with another snippet from Connor & Ash, Barista Boys #3. Poor Ash, he's got it bad!

Connor was everything Ash had told himself he couldn't have, yet the man had got under his skin. And who was that man? Boyfriend? Lover? Whatever the label, Connor made him happy and restored his belief that there was good to be found in the world. When they were apart, it was as if the lights dimmed and the shadows advanced. Each day he found himself waiting for Connor to walk into the cafe, his eyes turning to the door every time it opened. It didn't matter that Ash may have been in Connor's bed just hours before, entangled in the  crumpled sheets, or that they'd be together again that night. When they weren't together he ached to see him, be with him. Every ring of his phone, every message that dropped into his in-box, if it wasn't Connor Ash dropped in disappointment.

If you liked this snippet, why not get yourself a copy of the book? Connor & Ash is currently exclusive to Amazon, so you can read it in KU. Find it here.

For more great snippets visit Rainbow Snippets here.