Category: Coming Soon

Must Like Spinach coming soon on Amazon

10.07.2016 by in Coming Soon

Must Like Spinach, my new MM romance novel, releases via Kindle Unlimited in two weeks!

 

When Jonathan Fournier leaves New York for Seattle, a short-term business project sows the seeds for long-term love.

Early reviewers have good things to say…

“I love to pick up a book like this and simply float through it, enjoying the story, enjoying the escape it offers me, and being able to smile when the HEA is so satisfying.”

~ Sara MacRae Long

If you regularly review my work on Amazon, feel free to message me here via the comment button, or at con.riley.fiction@gmail.com for an ARC.

***

Here’s the summary:

Jon’s future in New York seems bright. He’s on the corporate fast track as an executive problem solver, yet he can’t help feeling hollow. Yearning for a life spent outdoors makes no sense if he wants to flourish in this city, nor does losing his cool with clients when they make bad decisions. Only leaving the East Coast behind for three months can save his business reputation.

His exile in Seattle has unexpected upsides. Jon’s rented home has a garden where his true passions blossom. It’s overgrown yet idyllic—perfect if he didn’t have to share it with another tenant. Tyler might be as cute as hell, and their landlady adores him, but Jon can’t let himself fall for someone who seems lazy.

Three months could be enough time to see Tyler clearly, but choosing which to nurture long-term—love or a business career—might take Jon longer than one summer.

***

Want to know when the book will release? Subscribe here and I’ll notify you on release day – October 21st.  I promise never to spam you — you’ll only ever get a notification from me if I have a new title on the way.

I’ll also add new and old subscribers to a giveaway on release day.

I hope you all enjoy Jon’s story.

True Brit is on the way

01.11.2015 by in Coming Soon

True Brit is on the way!

True Brit is a book of first times. It’s my first self-pub MM romance, and it’s the first book I’ve written set in Great Britain. It’s also the story of first times for the two main characters, ex-soldier Ed Britain, and his rival in the UK’s favourite singing contest, Pasha Trueman.

It’s out February 18th, and I’ll add any commenter here to a draw for a free copy.

 

Winning the United Kingdom’s favorite singing contest is a challenge for half-Afghani Pasha Trueman. He doesn’t have the best voice, but success would be life-changing. His strategy is simple—he’ll make the British public love him.

Ex-soldier Ed Britten has a different agenda. Winning means he’ll keep a promise made after a deadly Afghan ambush. His voice is his weapon, but he leaves his heart unguarded.

Ed and Pasha’s discovery that the contest isn’t a fair fight calls for creative tactics. Staging a fake love story could bring victory, only there’s more at stake than the prestigious first prize. If winning means surrendering each other, they could both end up losing.

 

True Brit will be available to preorder via Amazon, ARe, and Smashwords from February 8th.

You can add it on Goodreads right now. Just click here!

 

Recovery is on the way

05.10.2014 by in Coming Soon

My latest novel, Recovery, is due for release by Dreamspinner Press

on May 19th.

Blurb: Recovery

Salvage Stories: Book Two

San Diego is a city of second chances for Jamie Carlson. His new career as a photographer is taking off, and with the support of a loving surrogate family, he’s finally putting his party years behind him. The Bailey family helped him solve his drinking problem, but there’s no easy solution to staying sober now that Belle Bailey’s dying. Her last wish is a challenge Jamie can’t overcome without help.
Solving problems is Daniel Priest’s specialty. More than twenty years older than Jamie, he’s successful and experienced. He makes his living resolving corporate crises—but his personal life has been far from perfect. Now that his marriage is over, Daniel’s determined to make up for lost time. One night with Jamie isn’t nearly enough for him.
Daniel’s honest offer of help is more than Jamie expects from a one-time hookup. Even so, fulfilling Belle’s last wish is a tall order. Repairing her damaged family as she requests proves difficult when Jamie has to face his own past as well. Jamie could risk his hard-won recovery by admitting why he hit rock bottom in the first place. If he wants a future with Daniel, he’ll have to address those reasons head-on.

 

Recovery can be pre-ordered at Dreamspinner Press here

or from All Romance Ebooks here

 

Goodreads Book Giveaway
Recovery by Con Riley

Recovery

by Con Riley

Giveaway ends May 28, 2014.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Salvage – Coming Soon!

08.20.2013 by in Coming Soon

My latest novel, Salvage, is due for release by Dreamspinner Press on September 16th.

 

Salvage

Five years ago, an accident fractured Gabe Cooper’s family. Believing it was broken beyond repair, Gabe and his best friend Jamie Carlson left Minnesota behind for San Diego sunshine and college. Now another crisis brings Gabe home to help his ailing father, and he finally has to face the guilt that kept him away for so long.

Scott Stark also returns to Minnesota, with his young niece and nephew in tow, shouldering new family responsibilities. While Gabe comes to grips with his past, Scott struggles to accept his present role as a substitute parent, caring for two children, each with different needs. As Gabe and Scott get to know each other, reclaiming family life almost seems possible. Only two things stand in the way of love: Gabe’s unresolved relationship with Jamie, and Scott’s plan to leave Minnesota as soon as he can. Both men will have to accept past mistakes if they want to salvage a future together, and time is running out.

 

Salvage can be pre-ordered here!
Or you can enter a Goodreads giveaway to win a paperback copy

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Salvage by Con Riley

Salvage

by Con Riley

Giveaway ends September 19, 2013.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win

I hope you enjoy the story.

Aiden’s Luck Preview

12.20.2012 by in Coming Soon, Excerpt

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Aiden’s Luck
Copyright © 2012 by Con Riley

Chapter One

AIDEN DALY slumped behind his too-small desk in the far corner of his carton-strewn clothing store stockroom, and rested his head in his hands. A hesitant knock, followed by the creak of the slowly opening door that led into the store, made him lurch upright. He shoved the envelope he’d been staring at for the last twenty minutes under some papers as his store clerk, Levi, peered through the narrow gap in the doorway.

“B-Boss? Mr. Daly, sir? I know you said not to disturb you, but….” The door creaked again as Levi shouldered his way into the stockroom, sliding sideways through a gap almost too narrow for his slight frame. He passed between cartons draped with the latest consignment of clothing to arrive from Europe, his fingers automatically straightening crumpled fabric and smoothing wrinkles as he sidled closer. His tongue—a small pierced pink dart of movement—wet his lips nervously.

Aiden scrubbed his face, the rasp of his fingers against dark stubble sounding loud in the long stretch of silence as he waited for Levi to continue.

“But what?” Aiden finally prompted.

“I-I’m sorry?” Levi stuttered.

Aiden lowered his hands and tilted his head to one side as he watched his employee try to order his thoughts. Inwardly, he counted to ten before reminding Levi of what he’d started to say.

“Did you come in to tell me something important, Levi?” On any other day Aiden would have so much more tolerance. But today, after taking delivery of yet another expensive and incorrect consignment of clothing from Europe, he’d already exhausted all his patience.

Maybe his housemate, Marco, had been right.

Perhaps some people weren’t cut out for business.

Aiden’s late father, David Daly, had known everything about business—every single thing. Aiden had spent the morning wishing he could ask his dad for help, even though that made him feel uncomfortably like a kid of seventeen rather than a grown man of nearly twenty-seven. He caught a glimpse of his own drawn face reflected in his darkened PC screen, and how unprofessional looking dragging his hands through his curly dark-brown hair had left him. Perhaps it was a blessing that his dad would never see the way Aiden ran his own business.

It was a sign of his stress level that he took his bad mood out on the closest person to him at that moment. “Should I be sitting here waiting for you to explain, Levi? Or should I be out front guarding the cash register that you’ve left unattended?”

The darkening stain of a hot-looking flush crept up Levi’s throat as he backed toward the door, his haste causing him to hip-check cartons that began to tilt and teeter. Levi’s gasp, and muffled “shit” as he tried to stop boxes from falling, made Aiden feel like a real asshole. He hadn’t meant to scare the kid. He was tired, that was all. Tired of consignments arriving containing stock he couldn’t sell, and so tired of adding up cash-register receipts that lately refused to tally. He hadn’t slept well the night before—hell, he hadn’t slept well for months—and he’d gotten out of his borrowed bed that morning, in the place he was house-sitting as a favor for his friend Peter, already worn out and cranky.

None of that was his clerk’s fault. He watched Levi sweep straight black bangs from his eyes and draw himself up to his full five foot six before speaking again.

“I would never leave the register unattended, Mr. Daly. Your brother’s here. He asked me to come tell you—” He shook his head quickly. “No, that’s not it exactly. He said that you should take a look at the store security cameras.”

Aiden grudgingly powered up his PC. The screen filled with eight closed-circuit television frames revealing different aspects of the store and the customers who picked through neat stacks of clothing. Today, instead of feeling grateful every time a new patron crossed the threshold, he’d glowered as they unfurled all his neatly displayed fall merchandise. He’d felt his temper rising, so he’d turned off the PC. Last night he’d wished for a way to turn off his housemate, Marco, too when he’d told Aiden how lousy his security camera setup was. Now his brother Evan was here to talk about the same thing? Marco—fucking Marco—really couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

He studied the camera feeds, only vaguely aware of Levi shuffling closer as he leaned across the paper-covered desk. Levi’s “There, see?” was a breathy whisper Aiden felt against his cheek. Aiden peered at the screen, squinting, trying to locate his brother among the shadowy flickers on the screen.

“Do you see him?”

Aiden shook his head and then caught Levi as the palm his clerk had braced himself with suddenly slipped out from under him.

Levi looked down at what had broken his fall. Aiden’s huge hand was spread wide, supporting his ribcage, easily bearing his weight. Levi’s “Wow” was another breathless whisper followed by a louder “Oh God, I’m so sorry” as neatly piled register receipts toppled.

This time, Aiden counted to twenty.

By the time Aiden had scooped up the fallen papers, Levi was around his side of the desk. There was barely enough room there for all six foot six inches of Aiden, let alone another person, but Levi’s sudden yelp of “There, see? See!” made Aiden push his chair back so Levi could get a little closer. They both watched the black and white display as Aiden toggled the controller, zooming in until the image of one man filled the screen.

Evan’s arms-crossed stance was familiar, as was the way he flicked his pale blond bangs from his eyes in agitation, reminding Aiden strongly of the day he’d first met his adoptive brother. Aiden had been sixteen years old compared to Evan’s eleven, but Evan had bossed him around from the get-go. Ten years ago, Aiden hadn’t wanted to go to his old group home summer picnic. Revisiting the last place he’d lived before getting adopted had made him feel weird inside. But when his dad explained that Aiden was nearly grown, and his mom had been losing sleep about having no one to mother, Aiden had grudgingly agreed—shamed into tagging along.

His dad had looked at him in the rearview mirror on the way to the home and said, “We can deal another kid into our game, can’t we, son? It’ll be fun. Just you wait and see.”

Aiden hadn’t thought so. He’d been only weeks away from his sixteenth birthday. Why the hell would he have wanted a kid brother or sister? His dad had said variations of “two kids are better than one” so many times in the week leading up to the picnic that Aiden had gotten sick of hearing it. He’d hated the idea of going back there, but he’d hated the idea of upsetting his mom and dad even more so.

He owed them, and he knew it.

Once there, his mom had knelt beside a little girl in the big backyard, threading daisies into chains as they chatted, and his dad had talked with the home’s director, ignoring Aiden’s sullen teenage sulking.

The group home hadn’t been a bad place to live for a while, but moody or not, Aiden still counted his blessings that he’d been adopted when he was young. So he found it weird how the kid who sat opposite him at a picnic table had ignored all the prospective parents who tried to start up a conversation. He’d guessed that the irritable-looking kid—small, skinny, and angular, with a fall of straight, light-blond hair covering his eyes—must really like it at the home. He hadn’t even tried to make nice with any of the name-badge-wearing visitors looking for children to adopt.

Aiden had watched him glower, and had rolled his eyes.

Evan had noticed Aiden’s eye roll. He’d waited until Aiden was stuffing his face with a hot dog, then asked, “What do you think you’re looking at?”

He’d sounded so snippy that Aiden had been surly in return. He’d swallowed his food and replied, “At a dumb kid with stupid-looking hair.” He’d felt bad right away. The kid had glared across the table at him through his too-long bangs. He’d been half Aiden’s size, but had been ready to punch him—Aiden could see it coming. He’d watched Evan pull back his scrawny arm to swing. The punch hadn’t landed. Evan had grabbed one of Aiden’s curls instead and had pulled it out straight. It had corkscrewed as he released it, and Evan had burst out laughing. His amused “Look in the mirror, dumbass” had been quiet when everyone had turned to look their way, but Aiden had heard the good humor hidden behind a quickly resumed frown.

He’d spent the rest of the picnic watching as Evan scowled and glared, scaring away any of the interested adults. His actions had baffled Aiden—why would anyone want to stay in a group home? Maybe he’d responded thoughtlessly when the smaller kid defensively asked, “Now what are you looking at?” He hadn’t intended to make him reel away as if Aiden had actually punched him. Aiden had only answered Evan’s question by telling the truth as he saw it: “At someone who doesn’t want a family.”

His dad had brought over some people who wanted to hear what getting adopted had been like for Aiden, so he’d done his best to answer all their questions, when all he’d really wanted was to find the kid and say sorry. Standing close by, his dad had rested his hand firmly on Aiden’s shoulder, so Aiden had sat tight and had done his best to do his duty.

Later, he’d toured the inside of the home with his parents. The bedrooms were smaller than Aiden had remembered—much cozier, with brighter furnishings and lots more artwork on the walls. He’d snooped a little, while his mom talked with kid after kid after kid.

He’d spent a long time looking at the wall by one bed. It was covered with a collage made up of pictures torn from magazines. When he’d stood back, he saw that each section of the wall was devoted to a room in a house. There had been lots of pictures featuring parents reading to their children, and kids’ bedrooms filled with toys. In a lower corner had been multiple images of backyards where swings hung from trees, just like the one his dad had fixed up for Aiden at home years before.

He’d been bent over, taking a closer look, when Evan had shoved him in the side, sending him to the floor. Aiden was over six feet tall at that point, but Evan—who was still small even now—had been tiny and fearless. He’d knelt on Aiden’s chest, had shaken his bone-white fist in his face, yelling that if Aiden touched his stuff again, he’d be sorry.

Aiden’s family left soon after, and on the way home he’d stared out the car window as his mom said how impossible it was to choose a child. It hadn’t seemed impossible to Aiden at all. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Evan’s red-rimmed ones, and the way his fist shook as he tried to protect the home he’d made on the wall next to his bed. Aiden hadn’t put too much thought into what he’d said next. He’d told his parents that he was pretty sure he’d already met his new brother. Then, when he asked if they could go get Evan right away, his mom had cried.

His dad had looked in the rearview mirror and smiled.

Ten years later, that all seemed like something from another lifetime. He looked at the grainy image of his brother on the PC screen and couldn’t imagine not having Evan in his life.

“Okay, so Evan’s here. Thanks for telling me, although I’m not sure why we needed to look at him on the store cameras.”

“Oh!” Levi sounded flustered. “He said you should focus the camera on the man he’s watching.”

“Why didn’t you say so right away?” Aiden tried to adjust the camera angle, cursing under his breath when he couldn’t quite see whomever it was that Evan had his eye on. “Do I need to get out there?” He shifted in his seat until Levi’s hand tentatively pressed down on his shoulder.

“No. Evan said to ask if you could see what was happening.”

Aiden adjusted the cameras again but still couldn’t quite see the whole store floor. “No,” he finally admitted. “He must be standing in a blind spot.” One of the blind spots he’d denied existed last night when Marco had stuck his nose into the way Aiden ran his business. A sudden movement caught his eye as someone stood much closer to his brother.

Even from behind it was clear that this guy was up to no good.

Aiden watched, his whole body tensing, as the man shook out jersey T-shirts and then dropped them on the floor. “What the—”

“I know!” Levi sounded excited. “I didn’t get a close look at him before Evan told me to get you to watch. I didn’t need to. The guy’s not even trying to hide what he’s doing.” He stumbled a little as he leaned closer to the screen, but caught himself this time by planting one hand on Aiden’s broad shoulder again. “See? Now your brother is right next to him, and he’s still doing it.”

Levi was right. Evan was next to the guy. The detail was so hard to make out. Aiden frowned, thinking that the camera system really was a piece of crap.

“Can you zoom out?” Levi urged him to hurry, resting his much smaller hand on top of Aiden’s on the CCTV controller. Aiden slipped his hand out from underneath. “Sorry,” Levi mumbled. He let go of the controller, clearly embarrassed. “I got a little carried away,” he explained. “This is exciting, like watching a show on TV. Are you gonna call the cops now?”

“For throwing T-shirts on the floor? Nope. I save calling the cops for people who steal from me. I will kick his ass if he doesn’t quit it, though.” They both watched as Evan backed out of the shot. Aiden pulled the camera back too, and as he added distance, the image sharpened—still not perfect, but a little better. For a still-warm, late-summer afternoon, this asshole of a customer sure was wearing a heavy overcoat. Aiden looked a little closer. From the ceiling-level perspective of the camera, Aiden saw light reflecting off glasses when the man glanced quickly over his shoulder.

“Motherfucker.” That quick, sneaky glance told Aiden everything he needed to know. If the customer hadn’t stolen yet, he was surely thinking about it. Aiden had seen it too many times over the last few years. At first he’d been saddened, and then later maddened by how prevalent store theft was. Add in the patrons who returned clothes on a Monday that they’d clearly worn over the weekend—smudged with makeup, stinking of cigarette smoke, or with the labels carelessly torn out—and his losses were a serious issue.

Aiden had so many financial commitments—too many—since his dad’s death. The thought of not meeting them and of failing to fulfill his late father’s final wishes because of thoughtless customers and theft, constantly drove him crazy. It meant he had to save cash in other areas, like letting the security camera system’s maintenance contract lapse.

The sudden creak of the stockroom door opening made them both jump, Levi more so than Aiden, who caught his clerk as he lost his footing. Aiden wrapped one big arm around Levi right as his clerk’s panicked grip tightened on Aiden’s shoulder. The chair rocked under their combined weight, hitting the back wall, jolting them both so that Levi ended up perched on Aiden’s lap, both arms around his neck.

Evan’s expression, as he stood in the doorway, didn’t look the slightest bit amused. He frowned as Levi got to his feet and hurried out, then repeated Levi’s earlier actions. He walked over and shoved his way close to the PC monitor, pointing at the guy now visibly arguing with Levi, who’d started refolding the T-shirts that had been thrown on the floor.

“This,” Evan said, pointing at the PC screen, “is what happens when you don’t pick up on signals.”

Aiden shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. If you mean Levi, there are no signals to pick up.”

“I don’t mean Levi, although you really can be so blind, Aiden. It’s obvious the kid has a crush on you.” He switched cameras, and a different view filled the screen. The new angle wasn’t perfect either, but Evan persisted until an open bag to one side of the man was just visible, a still-tagged shirtsleeve hanging from its opening.

Aiden was on his feet immediately, shoving his brother out of the way and heading for the door as Evan spoke again. Aiden heard Evan’s “He’s just trying to get your attention. He’s been trying for weeks, but you don’t pick up on his signals” and ignored him.

This was no time to talk about a kid with a stupid crush. He had a thief to catch.

In less than a minute, he was through the stockroom door. He glanced at Evan’s boyfriend, Joel, who stood near the register, and he frowned momentarily at Joel’s huge grin. Aiden had tried really hard lately to get along with the guy for his brother’s sake, but seeing him smile as Aiden’s stock was being stolen pissed him off. His strides to the rear of the store were fast and furious.

Levi was red-faced again, his arms full of crumpled shirts as Aiden pushed past him, grabbing the overcoat-wearing man’s shoulder. The coat sagged in his hand as its wearer slipped it off and ran, leaving his bag full of stolen shirts behind. That was something at least, Aiden thought as he spun, reaching out to stop the thief’s escape. But without the oversized overcoat, he was much smaller than Aiden, and slipped easily away in a flash of blurred motion.

The thief ran for the exit—fast—and Aiden yelled for Joel to stop him. Aiden added Joel doing nothing, apart from stifling laughter, to his list of reasons to dislike his brother’s boyfriend, and then he ran too.

It didn’t matter that the thief had left his stash of stolen shirts behind.

It didn’t matter that Levi yelled something that sounded like “Wait, it’s only Mar—”

All that mattered was catching him. He’d had a bad week after a difficult month, and his frustration at someone attempting to take what was his ignited Aiden’s temper.

Crowds of shoppers parted before Aiden like biblical waters as he ran, thundering along the mall concourse, past the food court where a group of pretty girls yelled and pointed toward the exit. Aiden put on an extra burst of speed, sliding some as he rounded a corner too fast, glimpsing his quarry as he slipped out the mall exit doors.

Aiden cursed as he ran outside, momentarily blinded by the bright afternoon sunlight of Seattle in August, its glare reflected by multiple windshields. The lot was full, and people were everywhere.

Puffing, hauling in huge breaths, he turned in a slow circle. Light reflecting on a pair of glasses caught his eye as someone looked over his shoulder before dashing into an underground parking lot entrance. He ran again, and soon caught up with the man, who darted between two parked trucks. Aiden lunged forward as the thief stumbled, and they fell in a tangled heap.

It took a moment for Aiden to get a grip on the man who was flat on his face underneath him. He might have been smaller, but he sure was feisty, wriggling and jerking until Aiden grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him up on his knees. The last thing he expected was for the thief to burst out laughing.

Hearing his housemate’s familiar, infuriating laugh made Aiden curse again, roughly shoving him away, not caring when he yelped as he fell. Aiden sat back on his heels, stony faced and pissed off as Marco—fucking Marco Fortunato de Luca—rolled over, complaining in his husky Italian accent that Aiden had no sense of humor.

“I was only trying to help you, tesoro. Didn’t I tell you there were blind spots in your store camera setup?” He propped himself up on his elbows and peeled off his Mariners baseball cap, and then ran his hands through his sleek dark hair. Marco gave Aiden back the reading glasses that he’d used as part of his disguise. “You only caught me because I couldn’t see clearly.”

He grumbled all the way back to the store, where Aiden watched, arms crossed, expression thunderous, as Marco refolded all the shirts he’d managed to stuff into his bag before Evan and Levi had noticed what he’d been up to. He carried on grumbling as Aiden made him tidy the stock room too. Aiden tried to tune him out, but Marco was incessant, interrupting constantly as Aiden tried to concentrate on his columns of figures.

“See, this is why you need me, Aiden. You will not admit it, but you do.”

Aiden kept his head down.

He needed Marco like he needed another hole in his head.

Putting up with him and his ridiculous, excitable Italian ways was an unfortunate byproduct of sharing a house and sharing the same circle of friends, that was all. The sooner Marco went back to Milan, the better.

“You should relax more, Aiden. If you let me help you here, then you could let go a little. This work is too much for one person.” Marco went on and on and on. “Worry makes your handsome face ugly, which is a shame for everyone. I worry about your stress levels too. No wonder you get heartburn.”

Aiden bit his tongue. Marco had brought nothing but stress into his life for the whole month they’d lived together. Coming home every evening to someone who walked around the place half-naked, showing off his trim, tanned torso whatever the weather, and who thought nothing of climbing into his bed—talk to me, baby. I’ve been on my own all day—left Aiden in a constant state of…. He didn’t even know how to describe the inner turmoil that living with Marco provoked.

“But what is this?” Marco asked, his head buried in one of the open cartons, sounding suddenly delighted.

Aiden huffed, ignoring him, still angry that he’d wasted so much time chasing the infuriating Italian, who had nothing better to do than get on his nerves, all around the mall. He should start acting his age. Wasn’t he over thirty? Someone so compact and lazy shouldn’t be able to run so fucking fast. It wasn’t right. The only thing Marco ever exercised was his mouth.

“Is this another consignment of things you didn’t order, tesoro? Why won’t you let me help you when you make international deals? Or ask Morgan? Between the two of us, we speak enough languages to help you.” His voice lowered, and Aiden felt Marco’s hand on his thigh as he knelt at Aiden’s side. “Let us help you, yes? These translation mistakes could be avoided.” He removed his hand, leaving behind a scrap of pink, silky fabric—panties, ordered in error, expensive, and impossible for Aiden to return without losing money.

Aiden couldn’t look away, transfixed by Marco’s slim fingers as he smoothed out the fabric across Aiden’s wide thigh. Those fingers traced the swirls in the silky pattern slowly, making Aiden shiver.

“These are so beautiful, Aiden. Feel them. Touch them for yourself. Imagine how they would feel against your skin. It is a shame they aren’t your size.”

Aiden gritted his teeth and tried not to move a muscle. His housemate needed no encouragement. This much he’d learned already.

Marco sighed and stood again. He picked up the panties, fingering the lace that edged them.

“Maybe they weren’t a mistake.” He held them against his own narrow hips, made a small sound of approval, and then stuffed them into his pocket. “Perhaps I will model them for you after dinner.” He bent, pressed a kiss on Aiden’s cheek—another example of European behavior Aiden thought best to ignore completely—and walked away. Before he left the stockroom, he turned and asked, “Do you believe me now that you have blind spots in the store?”

Aiden grudgingly nodded.

“And do you agree that moving the cameras will help?”

He nodded again.

“I shall reposition them for you before I leave, yes?” Marco didn’t wait for Aiden to agree, but before the stockroom door creaked fully open, he added, “And you have another blind spot, Aiden. I watched your clerk closely this morning. Maybe you should look more closely at him too.” Marco paused, taking in the sudden shift in Aiden’s previously masklike expression before crossing quickly back to his desk. “I’m sorry. It is so sad when people let you down, I know.” He squeezed Aiden’s hand and then leaned over the desk, whispering, “I would never do that.” Marco lingered for a moment before walking away.

Aiden waited until Marco left and then typed a code into his PC that revealed the feed from the camera above the register. It only took a few minutes to speed through that morning’s footage. He watched as the recording approached the time that Marco had arrived at the store. He must have suspected right away what Aiden hadn’t even noticed. No wonder none of the receipts he added so carefully at the end of every day corresponded accurately to the register totals lately. Their discrepancies had frustrated him for the last few weeks.

His dad had always said that a good manager knew instinctively whom he could trust. He’d be so disappointed in Aiden’s lack of judgment.

He viewed the recording, feeling too sick and tired to be angry as he watched Levi fail to close the register fully after a transaction, quickly removing a handful of bills the moment the customer walked away. Aiden slowed the feed until he could watch, frame by slow-moving frame, as Levi pushed the cash into his pants pocket.

He should have noticed this shit himself. Instead, he’d been distracted by the envelope that still lay unopened on his desk, as it had for the last two weeks.

Aiden slumped behind his too-small desk in the far corner of his carton-strewn stockroom, and rested his head in his hands.

 *

Pre-order Aiden’s Luck here!

Aiden’s Luck

12.06.2012 by in Coming Soon

 

I was so excited to see the cover for Aiden’s Luck, the third in the Seattle Stories series yesterday.

Anne Cain did an amazing job interpreting one line of the story:

 

“Rock bottom was real easy to recognize when a hammer helped you hit it.”

I love that the banner on the cover showcases Milan’s beautiful skyline. It was a pleasure to spend some fictional time in Ben’s home city once again, this time in the company of his brother Marco.

The amazing team at Dreamspinner Press have brought the publication date forward to December 21st (I’m considering that an early Christmas gift!) and Aiden’s Luck is now available to pre-order here:

Aiden’s Luck Pre-Order

I’m in the process or organizing a giveaway right now, and I will be talking part in some chats too, so do either subscribe here, friend me at Goodreads, or follow me on Twitter (link buttons at the top of the page) if you would like to find out more about this series.

I hope you enjoy the story.

More details here!

09.16.2012 by in Coming Soon

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Saving Sean
Copyright © 2012 by Con Riley

Saving Sean

Chapter 1

“I WOULDN’T ask, Peter, but you’re the only person who can help. Or help quickly, at least.”

Former paramedic Peter Morse muted his Bluetooth as he drove. Once his friend Theo Anderson couldn’t hear him, he cursed, banging the heel of his palm against the steering wheel. He’d say no, he decided. He was a thirty-five-year-old man who knew how to be assertive. He could say no to Theo. He would say no.

All Peter wanted to do was get home. He’d been on the road for months in his new role as an emergency response instructor, training firefighters and emergency medical technicians across northern California, Oregon, and Washington. He was so close to Seattle now that he could almost smell it.

That morning he’d woken up smiling, in a motel room just like all the others he’d slept in since starting this new job. Only instead of feeling disoriented—wondering which city he’d woken up in—he’d thrown back the covers, eager to plow though the final class standing between him and home.

Home, with his hot tub and big grill in the backyard.

Home, with his entertainment center, sports channels, and super-comfy beat-up leather couch.

Home, with Theo to watch as he worked up a sweat at the gym.

This quick favor Theo requested involved driving in the opposite direction of home.

Peter would say no. He absolutely would. Definitely.

“It’s just that Maggie’s beside herself with worry, Peter. Her brother won’t answer her calls—it’s like he’s dropped off the face of the Earth—and now that her kids are sick, she’s stuck at home.”

None of that was Peter’s problem. Maggie was Theo’s personal assistant, not his. Peter yanked the rearview mirror toward him, pulled off his Mariners cap, and shoved his fingers through his wavy black hair in annoyance. He’d been told that he had kind-looking eyes and a reassuring expression by more patients than he could remember. Reassuring wouldn’t cut it now. Kind wouldn’t either. Not against Theo. Checking that the road ahead was clear, he took a moment to practice. He watched himself squint in the mirror.

“No.” Excellent. That sounded like he meant business.

Theo’s voice crackled in Peter’s ear, asking if he was still on the line. Throwing a last quick glance at the mirror, silently cursing at the way Theo’s worried tone made him wince, Peter drew in a long breath before preparing to speak.

Theo spoke first.

“Morgan says that he’ll go find Maggie’s brother if you can’t do it. He’s volunteering at the homeless shelter tonight, but he’ll leave first thing tomorrow. I’d come too, but I’m right in the middle of more layoffs….”

Theo’s voice trailed away as Peter huffed out a huge sigh. Of course Morgan would do it. Theo’s hot younger boyfriend, who spoke six languages fluently, who volunteered, and who made Theo’s smile finally look genuine, was Mr. Fucking Perfect.

Theo filled Peter’s grudging silence. “Maggie says that her brother Sean is an act first, think later kind of guy. He hasn’t signed the papers relating to their late father’s will yet, and that’s holding up money. He won’t talk to her. I’m not even sure they get along.”

Great. A family feud.

“You’re working along the Oregon coast this week?” Theo didn’t forget a fucking thing.

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, sounding suspiciously like a man who was about to agree to something. He toggled his Bluetooth so Theo could hear him again. Channeling all of his assertiveness training, he said, “Yes, I’ll be done by five.” He left the “and I’ll be driving straight home” unspoken. Fucking coward.

This was ridiculous. He had no interest in Maggie, her dipshit brother, or driving the wrong direction down Route 101.

He was going to say no. He absolutely was. No doubt about it.

Theo’s voice was a warm rumble in his ear, making Peter squirm. “She needs her share of the proceeds of the sale of her father’s place to cover her own mortgage. Things have been hard for her and Mike.”

Peter scrubbed at his hair again, shrugging as tension made his broad shoulders tighten. He wished he was at home already, enjoying his hot tub with a cold beer in hand, wearing only a smile. Instead, he was just starting the day dressed in his Emergency Medical Technician instructor’s uniform. His GPS broke the silence, telling him that the station house he was looking for was at the end of the street.

“Look, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.” That was almost a no.

“Let me know when you can talk. I don’t know….” Theo’s breathing sounded so close, Peter could even hear him wet his lips before he spoke again. “I think she’s desperate.”

#

AFTER months of delivering the same suicide/domestic-violence training course to bored-looking men and women, Peter knew the best way to work the crowd.

First, he found the joker. Every station house had one. You needed a sense of humor to get through days when everything went wrong—days when people died, even after you did your best to save them. But patients who deliberately put their lives at risk—through suicide attempts or by staying in abusive situations—sometimes brought out the worst in the people dispatched to assist them.

The moment someone in Peter’s class joked about advising suicide callers—the jumpers, the wrist-cutters, the people who took too many pills and then called 911 for assistance—to quit wasting their time, Peter called him on it.

First, he’d get the joker to stand—his broad smile indicating that they shared a sense of humor. Then he’d wink as he tied on a blindfold, making sure that it was good and tight. When Peter helped his blindfolded volunteer stand up on a chair, he did so with a chuckle.

Only after he got everyone else to shove their chairs out of the way, and to lie down on the floor beneath the station joker, would all their smiles start to falter.

Peter went through the exact same scenario at least once a week. This time, his heckler was a giant of a man. He was good looking, with fair hair and wide gray eyes reminding Peter a little of Theo, and he had the kind of solid, tanned neck Peter could imagine sucking on for hours. When the volunteer tried to uncover his eyes, Peter set that thought aside, grabbing his hands to still them. Wobbling a little on his chair, the big man hung on tight when Peter made to step away again, his thick fingers wrapping around Peter’s wrists. Nice.

Peter gentled his voice, as if they were alone rather than being watched by a roomful of personnel. “You said that suicide callers should quit wasting time. What did you mean?”

His joker had a little trouble keeping irked-bordering-on-pissed out of his tone. “You know every call to a time waster could be spent saving lives. This is dumb. I’m getting down right now.”

Peter stage-whispered, “Time wasters? People who change their mind about suicide? Are they time wasters like people whose neighbors call 911, time after time, after domestic violence incidents?”

He waited a moment and then smiled as the big man sighed before offering a grudgingly voiced, “No.” Peter smiled a little wider as he heard a quieter, “I don’t know. It just pisses me off. We try so hard to save lives. People taking their own….” He shrugged those huge shoulders. “I’m getting down now.”

“If you jump, you’re going to crush someone. A big guy like you could really do some damage. You sure you want to do that?”

His volunteer frowned, licking lips that suddenly looked dry, but he sounded almost confident as he addressed the other EMTs. “Yeah, I’m done. I’m going to count to three. That’s your warning, so move your butts unless you wanna get hurt when I jump off this chair.”

Peter’s voice was cool and calm. Assertive. “You all stay right where you are.” No one moved an inch.

“I mean it. Get out of my way.” He moved again to yank off his blindfold. Peter moved faster.

“Hey, now. Don’t make me use restraints. Isn’t that how it feels for people who can’t see another way out—like they’re handcuffed to their problems? Yeah, that job they lost, the money they owe, the family who will hate them if they know the truth. All of that can feel like a huge set of cuffs there isn’t a big enough key in the world to unlock. Maybe they lost their kid, their home, their marriage. Perhaps it’s the wrong medication that makes the voices in their head sound really fucking loud. Who knows?” Peter shrugged, then stepped back, making his volunteer flail. This time he didn’t help him find his balance.

“I thought you said you were going to jump.” Peter waited a moment before adding, “A real man would jump. A real man would do exactly what he said, right? Stick to his word?” He always enjoyed the moment of silence that followed, stretching out long and thin like the telephone wires along which 911 calls traveled.

This time, the big man’s voice sounded so much smaller. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Peter nodded at the cohort looking up at him from the floor. “Yeah, sometimes people realize that just a little too late. They want to jump, but they don’t want to hurt people. They call 911 instead.”

His volunteer nodded too. He got it now.

Peter spoke softly again. “Tell me what you need.”

“Help me get down?”

Peter did.

Later, over coffee, he heard stories about someone’s uncle, described as a selfish shit, who left four kids in a home about to be foreclosed on when he “took the easy way out.” Someone else’s cousin stayed with a violent asshole—everyone knew he was the one who helped her fall down the stairs so often—and he heard the frustration in both storytellers’ voices. In response, he told them a story he could recite in his sleep.

“I was fresh out of training when I got assigned to a truck in the city. Seattle wasn’t new to me, but I’ve got to tell you, I was still more worried about getting us lost than about pretty much anything else. I wasn’t too keen on seeing my first body either, but that’s part of the job, I guess. I told myself that I’d do my best to help, and I’d try not to do any harm.”

“That’s all any of us can do, man.” His former heckler passed him a donut. Peter took it, waiting to finish speaking before taking a bite. He’d learned that it still took a while before he could swallow past the lump in his throat, every single time he went through this.

“So,” Peter continued, “we get a call to a house in a nice neighborhood. You know the type—gated and exclusive, a late-model Escalade in the drive?” Everyone in the break room nodded. “The caller had taken an overdose. I learned a lot on the way in to the hospital. I was driving—back then I still loved the lights and sirens—but I could hear my partner shouting at our patient.” He paused to take a long, slow drink.

“My partner had no time for suicide attempts. He told our guy that maybe next time he should try a little harder. He said that a real man would face up to his problems. If he was going to kill himself, he should do it properly and quit wasting our fucking time.” He paused again and then shrugged. It wasn’t an unheard of point of view from jaded EMTs.

“Sometimes I still hear him when I dream, even though it happened years ago. ‘Just fucking do it properly.’” He set down his cup of coffee.

“Our guy did it properly, all right. He did it properly three days later, only it took him two shots to get it done. I don’t know how strong you have to be to shoot yourself once, fuck it up, and then shoot yourself again. His garage was a fucking mess, and the smell….” Peter felt a big hand, heavy on his shoulder. They’d all been there before, in one way or another. Still, he had to wait a moment before continuing.

“Beautiful house, gorgeous wife—at least I guess she might have been, but she was screaming when we arrived—and two boys still in school.” Peter shook his head, his gaze focused on the white knuckles of the EMT sitting opposite who’d talked about his selfish-shit uncle. “I can’t stop thinking that we’re in the business of helping people. Maybe if my guy didn’t feel judged, we wouldn’t have gotten the second call at all. The time between making a 911 call, our first response, and patient handover at the hospital is short but vital. I’ve checked your statistics. You guys attend over fifty medical calls a month. I know you need to hear about some different strategies.”

Around him, everyone nodded.

Now he could deliver his training.

#

“I SHOULD kick your ass.”

Turning and then slowly walking backward, Peter grinned at the big blond firefighter following him across the parking lot after his day’s training was through.

“Maybe you should.” The mirroring smile on his potential ass-kicker’s face didn’t have him too worried. Peter had wondered if the man had been interested in him, but he’d patched up too many men who’d guessed gay wrongly in the past to assume anything. Once his back was against his truck, he stopped, looking up—way up—before adding, “Or maybe I should kick yours.”

“Think you can reach it?”

That certainly sounded like an invitation to Peter. “Just how tall are you?” Tilting his head to one side, he considered logistics, wondering if he might have found the perfect way to celebrate the start of his three-week leave.

His classroom volunteer looked over his shoulder before leaning against Peter’s truck, almost close enough to touch, his eyebrows raised with amused suggestiveness. “I’ve heard that height doesn’t matter when you’re lying down.”

At five foot, eleven inches tall, Peter wasn’t short, but damn, this guy might be fun to waste some time with. He was just about to suggest investigating his height theory further when Peter’s phone rang, playing Theo’s ring tone. Shrugging his apology, he walked around the truck as he took the call.

“Hey. I’m sorry to call again, Peter. Are you done yet?”

Sighing, Peter unlocked his truck, then climbed in. He shook his head half regretfully at the firefighter, then answered Theo as he watched what might have been a great start to his vacation amble back to the station house.

“Yeah, I’m done.”

Theo had been on his mind all day. It had been months since they’d seen each other. In fact, the last time had been at Maggie’s house. He’d arrived early for poker night while Maggie and her husband, Mike, were still putting their kids to bed. All he really remembered about that evening was trying to chat normally while Morgan leaned against Theo. That was all he saw. No kissing. No new boyfriend territorially pissing on Theo’s leg. Just Morgan edging closer to Theo as they all chatted on the porch, until Theo reached an arm around his boyfriend, hauling him in good and close, taking his weight as Morgan leaned against him.

Jealous didn’t even come close to describing some of the emotions Peter had that night. What made him feel like a real asshole was that Morgan was a good guy. Hell, he’d escaped a shitty relationship himself, right when Theo was finally recovering from the death of his partner, Ben. They deserved each other—two broken men, putting each other back together.

Still.

“I’m sorry to ask you again. Maggie’s so worried. I’m not certain, but it sounds like her brother might be… volatile? This land-sale business has hit him hard. If you could just swing by and check if Sean’s okay? It’s less than ten miles south from where you are.”

Peter started the truck, putting the phone on its stand, switching it to speaker and grumbling under his breath.

“I can’t hear you, Peter. What did you say?”

“I didn’t say yes, Theo. I’m just going to drive for as long as you talk dirty to me. It’s up to you how close I get to this Sean guy’s place. What do you say? Seem fair?” Theo quickly agreed, his laugh a low rumble that made Peter grin in return. “Hey, now. Don’t you laugh at me, stud. Just hurry up and start with the sex talk. I’ve been all alone for far too long to be fussy. I’ll take whatever I can get.”

Wasn’t that the truth? Peter could have hooked up more while on the road, he guessed, but since leaving Seattle the last time, that anonymous deal hadn’t appealed to him. At least while Theo talked to him, he could pretend a little.

When he’d driven away from Seattle for the first time, nearly nine months ago, he’d hoped Theo would wait for him. Their one date had been Peter’s best in years. The way Theo made out with him the next day, as if jerking each other off was just the start, not the end, of a brand-new relationship, made Peter bitterly regret taking this instructor job. When weeks away turned into months, he couldn’t blame Theo for falling for Morgan. Not really.

Maybe if he’d been more of an act first, think later kind of guy, like Maggie’s brother Sean apparently was, he’d have gone home early and secured Theo for himself. He daydreamed that Theo was his boyfriend as he cruised along Route 101, calling him honey and baby just to hear his tickled laughter.

Peter guessed this was another benefit of their continuing friendship. Staying amicable, even after Morgan arrived on the scene, meant that his social circle in Seattle had grown so much wider. Theo talked about the friends they now had in common, while Peter silently told himself to see the bright side. Life with a little slice of Theo in it was a whole lot more interesting than life without him at all.

“Tell me about this Sean. What’s his deal?”

Theo hesitated. “Maggie says that he’s… um… difficult? He’s the baby of the family. I guess he’s still grieving for his dad.” Peter could visualize Theo’s grief-stricken expression. Lord knows he’d seen it enough last year. Before he’d gotten to know Theo better, he’d watched the man run at the gym like he was desperate to catch someone. Then he’d sag, almost puking, before heading to the showers. It took a while for Peter to figure out that Theo didn’t know whether to run away from his grief, or further into it.

“Maggie wants Sean to call her. She says to tell him that she wants him to be happy, and she’s sorry they have to sell their dad’s place. It’s just… I don’t know, Pete. I think the whole family is hurting. Mike’s only recently found some construction work, and more layoffs are coming at the office.”

Peter wasn’t paying full attention. Theo calling him Pete warmed him from the inside out, making the rest of the conversation hazy. One word: Pete. So ridiculous.

“Sean needs to do the right thing, Pete, and he needs to do it fast. There’s still time for him to get his act together.” Peter made small noises of agreement, only half listening, daydreaming that he was driving home to Theo.

“If you could just pass on the message, that would be enough. Maggie’s worried about him, but a phone call from him would make things a whole lot better. She’s tearing her hair out here.”

Peter could picture that. The last time he saw Maggie, she was sprinting across her backyard, screaming her fucking head off as her youngest child waved from the roof of a playhouse. Peter had been standing with Theo and Morgan on the back porch when Maggie ran past, her hair a long bright copper-colored flag streaming out behind her.

She’d climbed the playhouse like a monkey, scooped up her kid, and then carried her, flailing and tantruming hard, as if she weighed exactly nothing instead of being nearly half Maggie’s size. The woman was tiny but fierce, and looked kind of terrifying and awesome all at the same time, as a mom should.

“Let’s say that you manage to talk dirty long enough, Theo. How am I going to recognize Sean?”

“Oh, that’s easy. I’m looking at a picture of him right now. He’s the spitting image of his sister. She says they’re very much alike.”

Great. He had to find a furious miniature redheaded man who looked like a woman. Lucky him. He drove on, stopping only for gas. After giving up on getting any really dirty talk from Theo, Peter chatted until he thought he must be getting close to his destination.

“Where do I turn off?”

He didn’t hear Theo’s answer; he didn’t have time to listen. After coming around a sharp curve in the road, he slammed on his brakes, quickly pulling over. Several men were struggling with someone who was facedown on the pavement, possibly midseizure. After grabbing some latex gloves and throwing the cab door open, Peter ran, yelling, “Paramedic!”

In the seconds it took to cover the distance, Peter ran through possibilities. The patient wore running shorts and shoes—perhaps he’d been hit by a car and had suffered a head injury. Maybe he had epilepsy and had seized without warning while jogging. Peter started asking who-what-where-when questions the moment he dropped to his knees, pulling on his gloves, making a hands-on assessment.

Looking for signs of respiration wasn’t easy, given the face-down position and huge hoodie the prone runner wore. Peter looked up momentarily when none of his questions were answered—it would be helpful at least to know how long he’d been down—but the men were already back in their car. The squeal of tires as their car tore away gave him no answers.

Gently pulling the hood to one side, Peter’s fingers felt for signs of life as he reached with his other hand for his cell, realizing too late that it was still on his cab console. When the man on the ground shifted, then started to push up on his elbows, Peter urged him to lie still. His sudden roll caught Peter by surprise. Seizures usually resulted in a slow coming around, not sudden rolls and sitting up straight. If he had been knocked out after getting clipped by an automobile, it was even more important that he stay still.

As the victim struggled, Peter grabbed at his legs, holding them still as he spoke with his trademark calm smoothness. Peter listed all the reasons why the runner should just relax while he internally cataloged skinned, bloodied knees, and long, toned white thighs above them.

As his eyes traveled upward, noting road rash and the torn front of the runner’s shorts—whoa, fire crotch—he wondered if he was looking at the results of a collision, followed by a lengthy skid across the uneven pavement surface. He pushed up the lower hem of the hoodie, following the trail of grit and scuffed skin over one angular hip bone, assessing injuries until his patient struggled again, this time twisting until he was crouching.

Peter looked up as the runner’s hood fell back further, then stared into a face that was both familiar and completely fucking furious.

Pale skin broken up by freckles over an uptilted nose, and by road grit that grazed his left cheekbone. Wide hazel eyes ringed with bronze lashes. Full lips pursed as if ready for a kiss. Oh boy.

Hair darker than Maggie’s, but still copper-toned, escaped the hood, spilling over narrow shoulders, as Peter found his voice again. “Sean?”

Those familiar hazel eyes blinked and then narrowed. “I was taught never to talk to strange men.” Peter’s bruised and battered runner leaned close, growled, “Touch me again and I’ll fucking kill you,” and then sprang up and sprinted away, just as fast as his sister. As he slipped between trees into the nearby forest, his hair was a dark red flag streaming out behind him.

~#~

You can add Saving Sean to your wishlist here:

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3232

Saving Sean Excerpt

09.01.2012 by in Coming Soon

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Saving Sean
Copyright © 2012 by Con Riley

 

1st of 3 parts

 

“I wouldn’t ask, Peter, but you’re the only person who can help. Or help quickly, at least.”

Former paramedic Peter Morse muted his Bluetooth as he drove. Once his friend Theo Anderson couldn’t hear him, he cursed, banging the heel of his palm against the steering wheel. He’d say no, he decided. He was a thirty-five-year-old man who knew how to be assertive. He could say no to Theo. He would say no.

All Peter wanted to do was get home. He’d been on the road for months in his new role as an Emergency Response Instructor, training firefighters and emergency medical technicians across northern California, Oregon, and Washington. He was so close to Seattle now that he could almost smell it.

That morning he’d woken up smiling, in a motel room just like all the others he’d slept in since starting this new job. Only instead of feeling disoriented—wondering which city he’d woken up in—he’d thrown back the covers, eager to plow though the final class standing between him and home.

Home, with his hot tub and big grill in the backyard.

Home, with his entertainment center, sports channels, and super-comfy beat-up leather couch.

Home, with Theo to watch as he worked up a sweat at the gym.

This quick favor Theo requested involved driving in the opposite direction of home.

Peter would say no. He absolutely would. Definitely.

“It’s just that Maggie’s beside herself with worry, Peter. Her brother won’t answer her calls—it’s like he’s dropped off the face of the Earth—and now that her kids are sick, she’s stuck at home.”

None of that was Peter’s problem. Maggie was Theo’s personal assistant, not his. Peter yanked the rearview mirror toward him, pulled off his Mariners cap, and shoved his fingers through his wavy black hair in annoyance. He’d been told that he had kind-looking eyes and a reassuring expression by more patients than he could remember. Reassuring wouldn’t cut it now. Kind wouldn’t either. Not against Theo. Checking that the road ahead was clear, he took a moment to practice. He watched himself squint in the mirror.

“No.” Excellent. That sounded like he meant business.

Theo’s voice crackled in Peter’s ear, asking if he was still on the line. Throwing a last quick glance at the mirror, silently cursing at the way Theo’s worried tone made him wince, Peter drew in a long breath before preparing to speak.

Theo spoke first.

“Morgan says that he’ll go find Maggie’s brother if you can’t do it. He’s volunteering at the homeless shelter tonight, but he’ll leave first thing tomorrow. I’d come too, but I’m right in the middle of more layoffs….”

Theo’s voice trailed away as Peter huffed out a huge sigh. Of course Morgan would do it. Theo’s hot younger boyfriend, who spoke six languages fluently, who volunteered, and who made Theo’s smile finally look genuine, was Mr. Fucking Perfect.

Theo filled Peter’s grudging silence. “Maggie says that her brother Sean is an act-first, think-later kind of guy. He hasn’t signed the papers relating to their late father’s will yet, and that’s holding up money. He won’t talk to her. I’m not even sure they get along.”

Great. A family feud.

“You’re working along the Oregon coast this week?” Theo didn’t forget a fucking thing.

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, sounding suspiciously like a man who was about to agree to something. He toggled his Bluetooth so Theo could hear him again. Channeling all of his assertiveness training, he said, “Yes, I’ll be done by five.” He left the “and I’ll be driving straight home” unspoken. Fucking coward.

This was ridiculous. He had no interest in Maggie, her dipshit brother, or driving the wrong direction down Route 101.

He was going to say no. He absolutely was. No doubt about it.

Theo’s voice was a warm rumble in his ear, making Peter squirm. “She needs her share of the proceeds of the sale of her father’s place to cover her own mortgage. Things have been hard for her and Mike.”

Peter scrubbed at his hair again, shrugging as tension made his broad shoulders tighten. He wished he was at home already, enjoying his hot tub with a cold beer in hand, wearing only a smile. Instead, he was just starting the day dressed in his Emergency Medical Technician instructor’s uniform. His GPS broke the silence, telling him that the station house he was looking for was at the end of the street.

“Look, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.” That was almost a no.

“Let me know when you can talk. I don’t know….” Theo’s breathing sounded so close, Peter could even hear him wet his lips before he spoke again. “I think she’s desperate.”

 

Saving Sean is due out on September 24th. Add it to your wish list here: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3232

 

Saving Sean

08.16.2012 by in Coming Soon

I was so excited this morning to receive the cover art for the next Seattle Story, Saving Sean.

Anne Cain is a wonderful artist who took my ideas and ran with them. She did an AMAZING job.

In this novel the characters leave Seattle for a while and head for beautiful Oregon. The mountain in the banner at the top of the image is Mt. Hood. It’s truly stunning.

 

I’ll be publishing an excerpt from the story soon. Peter really deserved a book of his own. He’s a very different man to Theo. I hope you all enjoy a different kind of story.