Sunday, 30 November 2014

Guest Blogger ~ Haley walsh: Foxe Den [Skyler Foxe Mysteries 3.5]

Skyler Foxe Mysteries 3.5
Release Date: December 2012


Blurb:
FOXE DEN follows high school English teacher Skyler Foxe and his friends throughout the holidays, from Thanksgiving to New Year’s. Along the way, Skyler gets to inflict his mother on his boyfriend Keith, meets Keith’s parents, and just generally tries to navigate the treacherous waters of a brand new relationship. Unlike the novels, this novella hasn’t any mystery to solve. It’s the sort of stuff that happens between characters once the book cover is closed; a gift of “DVD extras.”

Excerpt:
Helen herded the others out of the kitchen and steered them to the family room. “Let’s all take a few minutes to sit down, get everyone a drink, and we’ll relax before dinner.”

The family room had an enormous fireplace, with heavy beams overhead and a few animal heads on the wall. One particular deer was giving Skyler the stink eye. In the corner was a magnificent Christmas tree, with an array of sparkly ornaments and twinkling lights. 

Howard handed Skyler his drink and Keith grabbed Skyler and sat him down beside him on the sofa. The boys sat on the floor in front of the X-box, ignoring the adults and drinking Coke out of cans, and Sarah and Van took the sofa across from them.

“Bree not here yet?” asked Keith.

Howard swirled his bourbon. “Toni’s having issues,” he said, using air quotes. “They’ll be here soon.”

“So Skyler,” Helen began after taking a sip of her drink. “Keith told me all about your trouble with the school. I was appalled to hear that you were shot in the line of duty.”

Both twins whipped around to stare at him with wide-open mouths.

He wasn’t in the line of duty,” said Keith quickly.

“No kidding?” asked Mick. “You were really shot? With a gun?”

It was the last thing Skyler was expecting. He stared at everyone and their concerned expressions and looked helplessly at Keith.

“He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Were you there, Uncle Keith?” asked Jon.

“Yes. I was working in the capacity as a Special Agent.”

Skyler looked from one twin to another. “I wasn’t really supposed to be there, but I was trying to bring the bad guy to justice.”

“Wait,” said Sarah. “I’m confused. I thought you were a high school English teacher.”

“I am.”

“Then what in the world were you doing chasing down bad guys and getting shot?”

The twins were still staring at him in wide-eyed wonder. Uncle Keith’s boring teacher boyfriend was suddenly looking mighty interesting. “It’s kind of a long story. I’m just glad Keith was there to save the day. He took down the bad guy.”

“Did you shoot him, Uncle Keith?” asked Jon.

Sarah frowned. “Boys…”

“Yes,” said Skyler, somewhat proud of Keith. “He did. He shot him. He…killed him.”

Silence.

Skyler looked around. “He had no choice. He would have shot Keith and then finished me off. There was no choice.”

“Then you did the right thing, son,” said Howard.

Keith looked stoic but Skyler could feel the tension in him. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe it hadn’t been Skyler’s place. But he saved Skyler’s life, dammit, and Skyler was grateful and proud of him. “It’s not something Keith takes lightly,” he said in explanation.

“Of course not,” said Howard. He handed Keith his bourbon. “A man with a badge has to make a thousand decisions a day like that.”

“Which is why I gave up that badge once,” said Keith. “But it’s neither here nor there anymore. It’s done.”

The twins still blinked at him. Skyler had the feeling that the English teacher and Uncle Keith’s cool factor just spiked.

They all chatted lightly about their holidays and then Helen announced that dinner was ready. Instead of sitting down to a formal dinner, everyone was invited to get their own bowl of chili and fix it how they liked it. Beers were offered to the grown-ups and then they all returned to the family room for informal eating.

Skyler ate and watched the interaction between Keith and his brother, parents, and sister-in-law. It was all so normal, a bit loud with friendly arguments at times, but mostly relaxed except for the bit of tension in the corner of the room where Skyler the Stranger sat. They tried to include him and he tried not to be a wallflower, but this was definitely not the usual social situation he was used to.

After everyone had had their fill, dishes were cleared and the adults continued chatting. Skyler excused himself to freshen up and went upstairs alone. In the en suite bathroom he looked at himself in the mirror. Hair in place. No chili or stringy cheese on his face. Nothing in his teeth. So far so good. He cupped a hand over his mouth and breathed, getting a whiff of his onion breath. Better brush my teeth. He got his kit from his luggage in the guest room and returned to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, refreshed his cologne, straightened his hair, and stared at his reflection. “You have to go back down there. They’re nice people. They made Keith, after all.”

Reluctantly, he turned off the light and went to the top of the stairs. But as he descended he overheard the conversation below and slowed on the steps, finally stopping.

“He’s pretty young, isn’t he, Keith?” The voice of Sarah, his sister-in-law. “I mean, he’s young enough to be our son.”

“If you were a mother at fifteen,” grumbled Keith.

“Young and blond,” said Van, laughing. “That’s how he likes ’em.”

“Van!” said Helen.

“Come on, Mom. Did you forget his last two boyfriends?” He laughed anew. “Face it, bro. You’re a sucker for a pretty blond.”

Skyler thought he heard Howard snorting.

“Look, you guys, Skyler is a special person,” said Keith. “It doesn’t matter to me how old he is. Or how blond…dipshit.”

Sarah’s shadow moved across the room. Skyler pressed himself against the far bannister so he wouldn’t be seen. “So is it serious?” she asked. “Is this ‘the one’?”

“They’re always ‘the one’,” said Van.

“That’s not true,” said his mom. “Keith is responsible. He isn’t a playboy. Just like you and Bree. After all, how many girlfriends did you have, Van? As I recall, things got pretty serious with you and Sarah early on. But Keith. I have to agree that Skyler does seem a bit young, though very charming. Are you in love with him?”

The room suddenly got quiet. Skyler held his breath. Keith wasn’t talking loud enough. All Skyler could hear was soft murmuring voices. He leaned over the railing, straining to hear. Farther…farther…

“Who are you?”

Skyler jolted, nearly going over the side. Heart racing, he grabbed the railing and turned. A little girl, about eleven or twelve, had poked him and looked up at him from the step below his.

He shushed her and took her arm, leading her softly down the stairs and around the corner, away from the gossiping adults. “I’m Skyler,” he said quietly. “Are you Toni?”

“Yeah.” She had brown, stringy hair. One ear bud was in her left ear and the other dangled over her Adventure Time t-shirt. “You’re Uncle Keith’s ‘special friend’,” she said, using air quotes. “Like I don’t know what that means. Do I have to call you ‘Uncle Skyler’?”

“Um…I don’t think so.”

“Good. Are you a teacher, too?”

“Yup. High school English Literature.”

“Sounds boring.”

“It’s not. What grade are you in?”

“Why do grown-ups always ask that? Like it’s the most important thing to me?”

“All right. What is the most important thing to you?”

She shrugged with her whole body.

“Right. That’s why we ask that.”

She smirked and then turned away, looking past the stairs toward the family room. “My mom’s in there. She’s Uncle Keith’s sister. It’s all boring.”

“Why don’t’ you play X-box with your cousins?”

“I don’t like the games they play.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment until Skyler spotted her ear buds again. “What are you listening to?”

“The Shins.”

“Oh cool. I like them.”

“You do not.”

“I do, too. I love ‘Turn On Me’.”

Her eyes widened. She grabbed her iPhone in her pocket. “I have that. Want to listen with me?”

“Yeah.” She found the song in her phone and cued it up. She offered the other ear bud and Skyler put one knee to the floor, his head near hers, and popped the ear bud in his ear to listen to the song.

Until someone tapped him on the shoulder. 

Now take a look-see at the latest In the series.

Skyler Foxe Mysteries #5
Desert Foxe
Release Date: November 2014


Blurb:
Skyler and his friends go to Palm Springs for the annual White Party and find murder!

Out and proud high school English teacher Skyler Foxe and his posse of friends go to the annual Palm Springs White Party for a weekend of fun, frivolity, and luscious men. But there are boy troubles of all kinds ahead. Skyler's boyfriend and high school coach Keith Fletcher has to endure an embarrassing number of Skyler's former hook-ups, one of the SFC might be going solo, Skyler encounters unexpected and unwelcome participants at the party, and there's a murder on the dance floor, literally at Skyler's feet! Both Skyler and Keith are drawn into investigating more than murder when the FBI asks Skyler to do the unthinkable.

Excerpt:
The drumming and chanting went on and on without stopping. That's fine, he thought as he made his way across the compound. It might help mask his disappearance. Not that anyone had yet seen him up close, and that was fine, too. With any luck, he'd be out of there by tonight anyway.

The distant blaring lights from the city lit the desert, glowing as bright as a full moon along the edges of whispering dunes and scrub. The cities of the desert sprawled away from him, with their twinkling lights; an island in an otherwise dark desert sea. The air smelled of the soft scent of wildflowers and the pungent aroma of creosote. He even heard the faint squeak of a fluttering bat overhead, and he turned toward the sky, searching for it amid the scant stars, chased away by the city glow, even way out there.

He made it to the Quonset hut and opened the door carefully. Eyes adjusting to the dark, he saw that all was clear and then slipped inside.

Time was of the essence now. He already felt he had outstayed his welcome. He couldn't chance another trip here, not this close to zero hour.

He found a locked door in the barn-like space and got his hopes up that it would be here and then this darned thing would be over. Not that he hadn't enjoyed it, thinking of the tall Indian posing as his lover. But he knew the man was harboring a secret, and it made him nervous. The man was made of secrets, but it hadn't accounted for the uneasy feeling in his gut. They'd argued about it once, as if they were already lovers, but the man seemed as if he had wanted to tell him something, confide. It would have to wait.

The rest of it was getting dicey. It had that feel to it, as if it were coming to a close very shortly. But it also had the feeling of walking on the edge of a razor. Castro had spied him once or twice across the cavernous hall, but hadn't deigned yet to talk to him. His cadre of thugs kept all comers at a safe distance. And that was fine, too. For now.

He used his pocket tools to quickly jimmy the lock and edged inside. His Maglite was in his hand, but he used it sparingly. He didn't want the light to shine from under the storeroom door. Pushing back the damp blond hair from his forehead, he stared at the stacked boxes, thinking.

This wasn't it. It wasn't the place.

"Damn!" He barely breathed it. This wasn't it. Because that would have been too easy.

The storeroom door opened suddenly. He froze. A hulking shape appeared in the shadowy doorway before the door quickly shut again.

"Are you in here?" whispered the voice of the tall Native American.

He sighed in relief, his hand itching for his Glock tucked in the back of his pants. "Shit, you gave me a heart attack."

The tall man moved closer into the room, almost up against him. He smelled his scent unsullied by cologne, a sharp masculine scent. The tall man, John Joseph, was gay, out and proud. He exuded confidence, but it was dangerous falling into that trap. The man didn't know, couldn't know all the secrets surrounding him. "I heard some talk at the powwow," said John Joseph. "Something I don't think I was supposed to hear. I think they might be moving them soon."

"And we don't even know when and where," said the shorter blond man.

"Soon. We really have to be on alert. You'll have to be ready to go. Have you found anything here?"

"No. I don't see us getting many more chances." He looked around and felt the walls close in. Time was slipping away, and it was getting far too dangerous. "Look, John Joseph. You've been a great help. But I don't think it's fair to involve you much further in this. I don't know how much longer I can protect you."

The Indian laughed. "You protect me? Look at me." He patted his flanks, looking down at the blond man. "I think I can protect myself."

He rolled his eyes. "Who's got the training? Never mind. I'm pretty sure our cover's about to be blown."

"Speaking of blown..."

He jerked his head toward the taller man. They'd been dancing around it. But nothing could be done when they were surrounded by so much danger and while they were on the job.

But boy, had he wanted to.

He looked down at his shoes, feeling his face heat up. "How about when this is over?"
John Joseph stepped closer. "When will that be?"

"Soon. Trust me. I can feel that we're getting close. We'd better—"

The door opened again. The light flicked on and the men in the doorway stopped.
Now the walls really were closing in.

Author Bio:
Haley Walsh tried acting, but decided the actor’s life was not for her. Instead, she became a successful graphic designer in Los Angeles, her hometown. After fifteen years of burning money in the ’80s and early ’90s, she retired from the graphics industry and turned her interests toward writing. She became a freelance newspaper reporter, wrote articles for quirky magazines, published award-winning short stories, and now writes an acclaimed gay mystery series, the Skyler Foxe Mysteries. She’s lived all her life in southern California, sampling wines and chomping chocolate. Yeah, it’s a living.

Find Haley Here

Saturday, 29 November 2014

Guest Blogger ~ Shayla Mist: Christmas Commitment [Boughs of Evergreen]


Release Date: December 1st [pre order now]
Publisher: Beaten Track Publishing

Links to buy:
Blurb:
Dick hates Christmas. This year more than ever because he's been dumped by his boyfriend. There's only one way to prove to Zack he's serious about their future together: coming out to his family. Dick might be willing to do that, but what if it's already too late?
Excerpt:
“What are you doing here?” 
I flinched at the harshness of his voice. He was early, and he’d approached in his silent and stealthy way, like a wild cat, cornering its prey. That was pretty much how I felt. Taken by surprise, I stood there frozen, my carefully prepared “speech” completely forgotten. Zack was his usual beautiful self, with those huge green eyes and long eyelashes and that cute, pouty, oh-so-talented-and-versatile mouth; and that made me feel like even more of a loser. 
“I asked what you’re doing here,” my lover (well, technically my ex) repeated in an unusually angry voice, looking at me like I was some kind of cockroach. I swallowed my saliva and opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. I tried again, closing and opening my mouth like a fish washed ashore. Still nothing. 
“Go home, D,” Zack finally said with a sigh. His anger seemed to evaporate suddenly, and he looked exhausted. I wanted to reach closer and wipe the tiredness away from that sweet-looking face, but I knew he didn’t welcome that kind of gesture anymore. We were supposed to act like strangers now.
 Despite his tired plea, I tried to get closer, making a couple of hesitant steps until only one more step separated us. I dared cupping his cheek gently and, to my amazement, he closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. Maybe all was not lost. Maybe we could still build something together. Maybe he’d forgive me and we could go back… 
“No. Stop.” He shook his head and stepped away from me. All of a sudden, the magic was broken, along with my foolish hopes. 
Zack turned his back on me and moved toward his front door, then unlocked it with hurried movements.
 “Go away. It’s over,” he mumbled, struggling with the lock. 
“Zack!” I love you. 
“I said go away!” he almost yelled. And before I had time to react, he banged the door in my face. The metallic sound of the door locking felt like a prison sentence. I knew he was there, listening behind that door for my retreating footsteps, for I didn’t hear him move. We just stood, each on his side of the door, until I was so frozen I felt paralyzed. I eventually moved. 
I swear I heard him sigh in relief when I finally stepped away. I guess that meant we really were over…
Author Bio:
Shayla made her debut in the writing world during elementary school with a heart-breaking story about how her grandma’s chicks died from an unknown disease. It was published in the school newspaper, spurring a significant amount of pitiful looks directed her way. Being a stubborn Aquarius, she kept on striving, publishing cheesy love poetry, an endeavor that thankfully proved to be far more successful. Her writing life changed dramatically when she read her first yaoi manga and discovered her real calling. Imagining guys together has become her favorite pastime. Aside from writing, daydreaming about men and devouring any M/M book she can get her hands on and, she also loves manga, kpop, jrock, classical music, crafts and art. An earnest romantic, she’s always been convinced there’s a soulmate out there, searching for her. It appears he’s been lost. Maybe word hasn’t gotten to him that cars are faster than white horses. In case you’ve seen a prince on a white horse (though a sports car would be preferable), Shayla would very much appreciate if you let her know.
Find Shayla Here
 Email 
About Anthology:

Language: English
Published: 21st November, 2014
Publisher: Beaten Track Publishing
ISBN: Vol 01: 9781909192898; Vol 02: 9781909192911
No. of  pages: Volume 1 - 402: Volume 2: 396
Category: Fiction

BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Boughs of Evergreen is a two-volume collection of short stories celebrating the holiday season in all its diversity. Penned by authors from the UK, the USA, Scandinavia and Eastern Europe, these are tales of the young and the not-so-young from many different walks of life.

Themes of family, friendship and romance take readers on a journey through some of the major holidays, both past and present, including Thanksgiving, Advent, St. Lucia Day, Hanukkah, Eid, Saturnalia, Winter Solstice, Yule, Christmas and New Year. In each we find at the very least hope, and often love, peace and happiness.

Each story will also be published individually as ebooks on 1st December, 2014.

Proceeds from sales of this anthology will be donated to The Trevor Project. The Trevor Project is the leading national organization [USA] providing crisis intervention and suicide prevention services to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and questioning (LGBTQ) young people ages 13-24.
For more information, visit: www.thetrevorproject.org.

THE STORIES: (links go to samples and author biographies)

Volume One

Volume Two 







Guest Blogger ~ David Russell: Dreamtime Sensuality [Anthology]

Buy Links: 
Blurb:
Many a dream can be realised with a little forethought. The characters in this quartet of stories are intelligent, sensitive and literary. They are also supremely voyeuristic and open-minded. Their intelligence is counterbalanced by inhibitions, which they can only lose by premeditated seduction scenarios, which relate intimately to their professional, creative and cultural lives. The great effort each couple puts into arranging a scenario seems to enhance the quality of the experience. A great source of inspiration for this and other works has been the novel The Girl Beneath the Lion by André Pieyre de Mandiargues.
Seductive Semaphore: Fashion Designer Bethesda and journalist Hector live opposite each other, with windows facing. They make initial contact through visible, provocative gestures. Soon afterwards, they get direct contact when Hector assists Bethesda with her folio. She invites him round to model for some of her fashion creations, and proceeds to seduce him. The seduction continues with a ritual visit to a sports centre, and then to a beach. They leave it open as to whether their relationship could ever become long-term.
The Heroine and the Author: Dreamer Hecate discovers she has a terminal illness. She wants to make the most of the time she has left by being celebrated in literature as a charismatic, legendary figure. She meets Ferdinand, a ghost writer, who is happy to undertake this massive project with her. In the process, She gets an idea of his physique through jogging and the fitness centre. Then there is a seduction scene inspired by the literary models of Sappho and Donne. Being ‘open-minded’, they make a pact for each one to go and have a sexual adventure – his hetero, hers lesbian. Their relationship is enhanced by this extra dimension.
Dreamtime Sensuality: Romona, highly literary and highly inhibited, goes to an exotic island location. She deeply desires a passionate encounter. At the Pension where she stays, she meets Stefano, who fulfils her requirements exactly. The proprietress of the Pension picks up on Romona’s shyness, and gives her reassurance, including some practice in the art of kissing. Romona orchestrates an elaborate beach seduction scenario, and they are both fulfilled. They never meet again, but their exchange of emails and text messages goes on indefinitely.
Dancing with Danger: Verona is a Scriptwriter and Gareth an archaeologist. They both have ‘retreats’ near the coast, and discover their common interests. Verona contrives a half-seduction on a deserted beach, wearing 18th century retro gear – related to their common interests. After some further encounters, they give each other a ‘dare’ to go and have a really risky encounter with someone really dodgy. Gareth finds a young woman on the run. Verona has a rapturous encounter with someone who gets hauled in by the police, suspected of terrorism. She uses her charm on the interrogating police officer to extricate herself. So Verona and Gareth both meet up again, to tell their respective tales.  
Excerpt:
Hecate read some verses of Sappho, which she felt totally appropriate to his slender grace, so nearly androgynous. She quoted a phrase demanding his fixed, concentrated stare into her eyes. The eye contact was clinched Hecate’s introduction was a quote from her. 
Ferdinand responded to the prompt; he knew what he had to do—gradually, at intervals, he removed his garments one by one as she breathily read the hypnotic, seductive phrases. 
His garments came off with ease and grace, he obviously had some long-repressed desire to do this. At last, he stood before her, beautiful, naked, and slender. Somehow, his spirit prevailed over his earlier reticence, he shed his shyness with his clothing. Since she saw him in trunks, Hecate anticipated this moment with such relish. If the pool had been empty when they were there, she would have taken them off there, or in the shower. Perhaps something could happen, or even be premeditated in the future, on a deserted beach, secluded amid the dunes.
She handed him a volume of the collected poems of John Donne. “Now, I think you know which one I want you to read me. Hmm…while we’ve been working together, I bet you’ve had some reveries of me undressing, you undressing me.”
“I have to admit that is so and I know which poem you mean, it’s Elegy Nineteen—To His Mistress Going to Bed.
“We really are on the same wavelength darling. I had learned of that poem as a young girl, with a desperate desire one day to enact it. Every word of it struck home as I disrobed alone, for years I yearned for that lovely partner to give me those instructions live.”
Ferdinand beamed, then quoted from near the end of the poem referring to the poet’s nakedness at the beginning of the action. Then he proceeded to read, with his lovely, hypnotic voice. 
He really made Hecate’s girdle feel like Saturn’s rings As she undid her sash and cast it down, she felt her abdomen was bathed in heavenly light, visible only to spiritual eyes. 
The request to remove her ‘breastplate’ gave her an etheric shudder. Taking off the brooch at the top of her dress felt like casting away a shield, affirming that strife and combat had been replaced by love.
 In response to the exhortation to unlace, she felt deliciously nervous as her fingers twitched on her zips and buttons. 
As the gown went off following the next command, Hecate felt she had emerged from a perennial cocoon, that she was the sun liberated from the constricting veils of night. 
As for a ‘coronet’, Hecate was only wearing a slide, but removing it certainly helped her locks flow freely.
 It was great to feel liberated from footwear; earlier on her high heels had felt so sexy. But now her stockinged feet tingled with electric desire.
 With her underwear, admittedly she found nylon, calico and silk sexier than linen, but the word, so sensually uttered, really relevant. (from The Heroine and the Author—Story 2)

Author Bio:
b. 1940. Resident in the UK. Writer of poetry, literary criticism, speculative fiction and romance. Main poetry collection Prickling Counterpoints (1998); poems published in online International Times. Main speculative works High Wired On (2002); Rock Bottom (2005). Translation of Spanish epic La Araucana, Amazon 2013. Romances: Self’s Blossom; Explorations; Further Explorations; Therapy Rapture; Darlene, An Ecstatic Rendezvous (all pub Extasy (Devine Destinies). Singer-songwriter/guitarist. Main CD albums: Bacteria Shrapnel and Kaleidoscope Concentrate. Many tracks on You Tube, under ‘Dave Russell’

Find David Here:

Thursday, 27 November 2014

Let's Play Catch Up On Blog Stories

Okay, well as you may or may not know last week I wrote the last episode of Sentinels Of Varvuse 1: When The Walls Come Tumbling Down. It was sad to see the story end, but I wanted to let you all know it isn't the last we'll see of them.

In January 2015 I will be starting Sentinels of Varnuse 2: Wind Walkers... where we'll follow Arron & Vayne on their search for Simian... though they aren't the main characters. that's still Raven Blue & Crimson Redhawk. We'll also see Crimson's brother... Nico and his mat Dominic.

You'll still have to forgive my grammar & punctuation because apparently I still suck at it... LOL... #2 will probably have the same cover as #1 I'll just change the headings and titles.


Wednesday, 26 November 2014

Guest Blogger ~ Selina Kray: Like Stars

LIKE STARS
Release date: November 14th
Released From MLRPress


An Edwardian Christmas For All!

I’m Selina Kray, a first-time author whose new book, Like Stars, is out now from MLR Press and all fine eBook vendors. A huge thank you to N.J. for hosting me today!

My historical M/M romance, Like Stars, is set in the Edwardian era, so for a Christmas dinner scene, I had to do a bit of research. It was a time when the commercialization of Christmas really took hold, where the businesses that had been founded during the industrial revolution learned to monetize the holidays. Prince Albert and Charles Dickens’ enthusiasm for the holiday helped popularize it. Toys and decorations flooded the market like never before, but, curiously, the season’s biggest mascot had not yet found universal acclaim:

Father Christmas had been a figure in English history since medieval times. He represents the Christmas spirit of goodwill, but he did not bring gifts. He came from Odin and wore a blue-hooded cloak and white beard, and had an evergreen wreath around his head. St Nicholas, the Christian saint, visited Dutch children on Christmas Eve and left toys and candy in their straw-filled clogs. If the children were bad a birch rod would be left instead of sweets. By Edwardian times, Father Christmas and St. Nicholas had merged together, and Father Christmas was pictured in a red suit and brought gifts to good children who hung up their stockings on Christmas Eve.” [Source Link]

For the upper classes, Christmas was yet another chance to flaunt their wealth, with lavish decorations, opulent gifts, and of course a feast fit for the King—if he happened to pop round for a visit. The usual nuts, fruits, cookies, and minced pies were prepared for nibbling, while Christmas dinner itself could sometimes be a 14-course affair, which might include oyster soup; vegetables in aspic; duck liver terrine; and a roast bird stuffed with apples, chestnuts, and pork. The piece de resistance was a flaming plum pudding, though some also served a Buche de Noel. With lots of fruitcake. In England, as everywhere, you can never have too many desserts.

The Edwardians were also known for playing games at Christmas, some family-friendly, some decidedly… not. One of the most famous is Snapdragon. Some brandy is poured into a large bowl, sprinkled with raisins, then set aflame. The aim of the game is to pick out the raisins without, say, lighting your cuff on fire. Nothing says Christmas like a second-degree burn!

In Like Stars, the Christmas festivities prove even more hazardous to one character’s well-being. A few months earlier, Nathaniel Thredgold returned to Ravensworth Hall to reclaim his place as heir to the estate and family fortune. Only problem is, he was supposed to have died in the war eight years earlier. Some members of his family believe his story, and some think he’s an imposter. His youngest brother Frederick falls squarely in the latter camp, and he decides Christmas dinner is the perfect place to prove Nathaniel a fraud once and for all. Even Nathaniel’s long-lost lover, Wesley Douglas, isn’t certain it’s really him. There’s only one sure way to prove his identity—reveal their boyhood affair—but that way leads to the gallows.

No matter how you’re celebrating this holiday season, I wish you a very merry one, indeed!

-Selina


BLURB:
What if your true love walked back into your life five years after his death?

Nathaniel Thredgold has finally returned from the war. Or has he? His lover, Wesley Douglas, isn’t sure. Wesley must put aside his engagement, his disbelief, and his anger to give his professional opinion. The truth about their relationship isn’t an option. But is this stranger really the Ravensworth heir and Wesley’s long-lost love? When your heart’s at stake, there’s no room for doubt.

Set in the Edwardian era, Like Stars is a tale of mysterious identities, scandalous family secrets, and lovers in a dangerous time.



EXCERPT:

Summer, 1907
Dr. Wesley Douglas' entire world unraveled and re-spun itself the instant he saw the hooded man looming in the doorway of the Raven's Claw Inn. It was not his custom to stare so openly, but neither was he accustomed to seeing a ghost with the face of his long-dead lover under the midday sun. Haggard as the grim reaper himself, his face half-concealed by the drape of his long black hood, this specter from his past stole down the side alley that led to the main road. The sight was so unexpected, so breath-stealing, that Wesley nearly plowed into an overhanging sign as he turned to follow him.

He shut his eyes for a second, indulging in a violent and hopefully unseen shiver. Cursing under his breath at his susceptibility, he steered his horse around the man, then veered into an about-face confrontation. Rallying his senses, Wesley looked again, staring flagrantly at the man's few discernible features, scrutinizing every visible curve and slope of his visage for confirmation of the dour-clothed stranger's identity. When a lone, dark eye flickered into view, Wesley's heart leapt in his chest.

His shock was such that he dropped his horse's reins. Bracer reared, his flailing hoofs threatening the sheep that clotted the street like blow-off tufts from a cotton field. If Wesley had not been suffering some form of spook-induced paralysis, he might have flown off his horse and chased the scoundrel down. He might have gripped him by his collar and spat in his face. He might have struck at him with little more than his long-kindling agony and a riding crop. As it was, he could only gawk at what must be a ghost.

If it were a commonplace occurrence to encounter Nathaniel Thredgold's ghost whilst traversing the small, shadowy lane between the dressmaker's and the inn, Wesley might have patronized the area more frequently. As it was, the herd of ornery sheep stationed themselves, with airs of glowering intimidation, before the butcher's shop, thus blocking all traffic, equine and otherwise, on the high street. This was not an uncommon occurrence in the picturesque yet somnambulant village of Haversham, a close-knit and somewhat cloistered community in the wilds of Derbyshire. Nestled a touch too snugly between two towering hills, village life flowed at the same pace as the current of the tranquil river that arced around it to the east.

With shaking hands, Wesley gripped Bracer's reins and heeled into his flanks, urging the horse to vault over several clusters of sheep, who baaed indignantly. Soon, he was galloping down the country roads at such velocity that wind blew through his hair, even on a stagnant midsummer day. It was only once they jumped the stone fence into the courtyard of his cottage home that he dared draw breath, dared let his shock overtake him, dared wonder what manner of mischief now stalked the path to Ravensworth Hall.

By the time he shucked his boots and crept through the side door, Wesley was a good way to composing himself. The unseasonable humidity, never welcome to one of his fair complexion, had made him so woozy that he had fallen victim to fanciful imaginings of the most pedantic and fruitless sort. What, after all, had he truly seen of the man? A veiled visage? A lurching step? A sallow cheek, its edges darkened by the drape of his hood? No scientist of merit could form a concrete notion, let alone a hypothesis, based on such scant evidence. Servant to logic and rational thought that he was, he could only conclude that, once again, his damnable emotions had colluded to deceive him, to make real what he very well knew could not be.

A dry, strangled cough from the parlor broke his reverie; he took a moment to further scold himself, then sought out the patient he had ordered home some three hours ago. Beatrice, alas, was exactly where he had left her, bundled up to her red, flaky nose on the divan, a bowl of steaming, cheese cloth-covered water cradled on her lap. With a sigh, Wesley dropped his saddle bag, then moved into her line of vision. Bea met his stern look with a defiant one, which would have been almost comical, given her puffy pallor, if his ride home had been without incident. With a huff of annoyance, he plucked a recently used thermometer from the side table and studied the mercury line. Dissatisfied, he gave it a violent shake, then plunged it back under her tongue before she could protest.
"I pray you've cancelled the remainder of my appointments?" Bea nodded, scowling. "Very well. Another hour's rest, and then I must insist upon escorting you home."

When she opened her mouth to protest, the thermometer fell out, rescued from a fiery bath by the cheese cloth. "I mean to spend the night on the ward, Wesley."
"You will not. Your mother and aunt are far more capable, not to mention eager to coddle you."

"More capable than a medical doctor?"

"At coddling, yes." He snatched up the thermometer and stuck it back in her mouth. "I might remind you that a doctor's office is supposed to be free of sickness, that we take a care not to infect further illness on our patients."
Unimpressed, Bea spat the thermometer out again.

"As I might remind you that Mother and Auntie would gladly concede the right to coddle me if it meant you showed sign of the devotion you oft proclaim, but, to their minds, regularly fail to demonstrate."

Wesley swallowed a grunt of irritation, then collapsed onto the far end of the divan, narrowly avoiding her toes. He considered this a moment, then glared in her direction. "Do I truly, or is this a ploy to evade their questions, nagging or otherwise?"

Bea frowned. "It is a ploy. But only because they have been so relentlessly inquisitive of late. You promised them a wedding."

"And I mean to deliver one. You know very well it has only been a year since I repaid the last of my father's debts. If we are to live comfortably, then the lavish wedding they expect will have to wait a while longer. A state of affairs that is not helped by your languishing in the patients' ward when ill."

Beatrice sighed, which brought on another hacking fit. Wesley sprang to his feet, fetching the cup of tea that cooled on the side table. A few sips calmed her throat. He rubbed soothing circles into her back; she straightened to accommodate him. He wished he could offer her his shoulder. It was of great comfort to him that they did care for each other, even if their impending marriage was one of the utmost convenience.

"It is just such a trial to endure them, even when well," she griped. "If I had known they meant to drape me from head to foot in ribbons and lace, then I would have agreed to flee to the continent and elope."

"You must allow them their fun, if only in the name of preserving the illusion of our romance. Though I can imagine the effort it requires when feeling poorly. Still, we cannot take advantage of their laxity in chaperoning us. That, too, discourages local nobles from calling on my services."

"Aye," Beatrice acknowledged, though she looked the more miserable for it.

His aggravation having fled with the rise of his sympathy, Wesley found himself more amenable than before to compromise.

"I shall fetch them here," he concluded, with a pet to her blanketed head, "so long as you swear to confine yourself to this parlor and the guest quarters for the better part of a week. That, I trust, will give us both ample opportunity to demonstrate our boundless affections, and I will bear some of the endless questions in your stead. Does that suit you?"

"Infinitely well," Beatrice smiled, her relief and exhaustion plain. She reached for a clean handkerchief then, using it as a barrier against infection, and clasped his hand.

Once again, Wesley found himself grateful for the friendship between them, one that not only permitted their strange, face-saving partnership, but was also of immense comfort to him in times of doubt and strife. Sensing her fatigue, he tucked her into the divan, then set about boiling more tea. Though he craved a moment's introspection, a private examination of the day's events would have to wait on meddling law-mothers and flu-waylaid fiancees.

Author Bio:
Selina Kray is the nom de plume of an author and English editor. Professionally, she has covered all the artsy-fartsy bases, having worked in a book store, at a cinema, in children’s television and in television distribution, up to her latest incarnation as a subtitle editor and grammar nerd (though she may have always been a grammar nerd). A self-proclaimed geek and pop culture junkie who sometimes manages to pry herself away from the review sites and gossip blogs to write fiction of her own, she is a voracious consumer of art with both a capital and a lowercase “A”.

Having long ago realized that she was the Salieri to the lit world’s Mozarts, she has embraced her love of erotica with intricate plots, complex characters, and lots of heart. Whether she has achieved this goal is for you, gentle readers, to decide. At present, she is hard at work on future novels at home in Montreal, Quebec, with her wee corgi serving as both foot-warmer and in-house critic.

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