Ora disponibile: Uno Stregone a Waikiki per A.J. Llewellyn

A Wizard in Waikiki Italian 23Uno stregone a Waikiki
Autore: A.J. Llewellyn
Serie: Uno stregone a Waikiki Libro I
Genere: gay romance, M/M, paranormal, sovrannaturale
Editore: Ai Press
Lunghezza: romanzo breve
eISBN: 978-1-937796-90-7
Prezzo: 2.99 USD

Livello di sensualità: 3 fiamme

Acquista da: Amazon Kindle|Amazon IT|BN Nook|Google Play

Cover art: Les Byerley
Traduzione: Martina Nealli

Evocato da un lontano passato, Konu emerge dal mare per esercitare il suo potere in cambio della libertà di vivere e di amare… Se le forze del male non lo trovano per prime!

È un giorno di sole come tanti altri a Waikiki quando dall’oceano emerge un individuo di straordinaria bellezza e prestanza, sconvolgendo i presenti. Si chiama Konu, è uno degli antichi stregoni il cui potere dimora ancora nelle sacre pietre, ed è venuto da molto lontano – da Tahiti – per ristabilire l’equilibrio nella battaglia invisibile fra il bene e il male.

Senza uno straccio d’abito a coprire la sua nudità, Konu si dirige al recinto dove sono ammassate quattro grosse rocce che la maggior parte dei turisti neanche degna di uno sguardo. Sono le Pietre degli Stregoni, posizionate fra la spiaggia e il passaggio pedonale del Kalakaua Avenue. La vista di una giovane di origine asiatica che stende con noncuranza un telo sulle pietre lo indispettisce al punto da spingerlo a intervenire, attirando ancora di più l’attenzione generale. Un poliziotto vorrebbe arrestarlo per indecenza, ma il nonno della ragazza, scambiandolo per un senza tetto un po’ svitato, gli offre il suo aiuto.

Apparso dal nulla nella Waikiki dei giorni nostri, Konu è sconvolto e traumatizzato dai cambiamenti; in più, ben presto si rende conto di essere solo. Riuscirà a trovare il proprio posto sull’isola… e forse anche l’amore?

Capitolo uno

Si levò dalle gelide, oscure profondità dell’oceano, la sofferenza e la paura che lo dilaniavano mentre la sua forma umana si plasmava lentamente ed emergeva, invocando aria. Dolce aria preziosa. Doveva respirare. Quando infine incespicò sulla sabbia bollente, il calore gli scottò i piedi, ma il dolore al corpo svanì appena fece i primi respiri affannati e profondi. La sua forma umana era talmente strabiliante da sembrargli perfetta, nonostante i piedi doloranti.

Non era questione di ego. Da cinquecento anni gli era proibito di godere del proprio corpo fisico, terreno.

Sono vivo. Sono umano. Sono qui!

Smaniava dal desiderio di fermarsi e… esserci, assorbire l’istante per cui aveva a lungo atteso, ma Konu percepì su di sé gli sguardi della gente in spiaggia. I lunghi capelli neri gli si appiccicavano al viso e alle spalle, bagnati dall’acqua di mare. Con gli occhi passò in rassegna la massa dei corpi sulla riva… le striscioline di tessuto colorato che indossavano.

Era venuto da molto lontano. Sotto il riparo delle tenebre, con le stelle come unica guida, era giunto nel luogo chiamato Waikiki. Ora, nella luce del tardo pomeriggio, logorato nelle forze, era stato costretto ad abbandonare l’inviolabilità del mare. Aveva tentato di attendere la notte, ma era stanco… tanto stanco.

Per cinquecento anni, la sua anima e quelle dei quattro stregoni insieme ai quali aveva operato, avevano osservato in attesa.

In lontananza, ai margini della sabbia, intravide delle grosse bestie… suoni possenti, lo sfavillio del fuoco delle torce tiki, il bagliore dei sorrisi. Udì delle risa e una dozzina di lingue diverse che cozzavano fra loro. Poi le vide. Le immagini, i suoni, tutto si placò. Ebbe un colpo al cuore alla vista delle pietre.

Le sue pietre.

Avvampò di rabbia quando una giovane donna stese un asciugamano spesso e colorato sulla cancellata, toccando uno dei quattro massi che rappresentavano il mana sacro degli antichi stregoni del quindicesimo secolo – Kapaemāhū, Kapuni, Kahāloa e… Kinohi, il nonno di Konu. Konu era stato il quinto stregone, il sacro guardiano delle pietre… fino a che non lo avevano bandito.

«Ehi!» gridò la giovane mentre lui strappava via l’asciugamano bagnato dalla cancellata in ferro che circondava le pietre e lo gettava a terra.

Sul tessuto stropicciato vide la parola Aloha.

Strinse gli occhi a fessura e spostò lo sguardo sulla giovane donna. Che fosse lei il segnale che stava cercando?

Allungò il braccio fra le sbarre per toccare i massi tondi. Non era semplice. Il cancello serviva a tenere lontane le mani infide degli umani. Lanciò uno sguardo ai colombi bianchi che sedevano vigili sulle rocce. Le testoline degli uccelli si voltarono a guardarlo. Quei guardiani del focolare in miniatura sembravano esausti quanto lui. Erano uccelli sporchi, arruffati e molto malati. Konu lesse le loro energie. In un lampo vide migrazioni e morti a migliaia. Questi erano i superstiti. Si erano raccolti sulle pietre come da sempre solevano fare le creature in difficoltà. Avevano bisogno del suo aiuto.

La cancellata era chiusa da un piccolo lucchetto che in condizioni fisiche normali avrebbe potuto rimuovere facilmente, ma adesso era indebolito dal viaggio. Era un sollievo che le quattro Pietre degli Stregoni fossero intatte. Quasi gli si spezzò il cuore alla vista di un uccello particolarmente scheletrico, che pareva vicino alla morte e giaceva sulla roccia di suo nonno. Continuava a becchettarsi, punzecchiandosi una ferita aperta sull’ala. Konu avvicinò la mano, impossibilitato a raggiungerlo. L’uccello zampettò più vicino. Nascose la testa sotto l’ala e Konu adoperò la sua magia. Cercò di capire se l’uccello volesse vivere o morire, ma ormai la gente aveva iniziato a sballottarlo. Doveva agire in fretta.

Donò vita alla creatura, e con un gesto della mano fece apparire qualche verme sulla superficie delle roccia. L’uccello li ingollò con fervore. Il potere sovrannaturale della pietra avrebbe ripristinato il suo nucleo vitale. Konu lottò per toccare la pietra. Vide che la gente aveva portato delle offerte. Lungo le colonne della cancellata erano appese lei di orchidee violette. Ce n’era persino una di conchiglie. L’accarezzò esitante. Era lì da poco.

Di fronte c’erano due targhette di bronzo. Esaminò la scrittura. Era inglese. Dovette rieducare la mente per leggere le parole.

Le voci intorno si fecero più chiassose mentre la sua mano sibilava come un lampo accanto al potere senziente delle rocce. Ah, la magia vi dimora ancora. Percepiva le energie singole, eppure in qualche modo unite, che pervadevano le pietre. Inspirò a fondo e poggiò la mano sull’ultima, quella che rappresentava suo nonno. Konu, da lungo esiliato dalla famiglia, bramava un contatto sincero con Kinohi. Avvicinò la mano alla roccia, ma toccò invece una lei gialla. L’ilima, il fiore degli dei.

Chinò la testa e pianse.

Non ci hanno dimenticato.

A lungo aveva atteso, e ora che era lì, le emozioni avevano preso il sopravvento. Si aggrappò per un attimo alle sbarre di ferro, sbattendo le palpebre per scacciare le lacrime calde dal proprio volto. Allungò di nuovo la mano, e stavolta sfiorò la pietra del nonno. Un tenue crepitio dall’interno. Il mana era ancora lì. Inquinato, ma c’era. Dormiente. La pietra aveva tentato di proteggersi. Ora capiva perché la sua famiglia lo avesse mandato lì.

L’uccello che aveva guarito si era alzato sulle zampette traballanti. Konu vide che una era rotta. Con un altro scatto del polso, guarì l’arto ferito. L’uccello lo scrutò con l’occhietto tondo e nero, saltellò sulla roccia più alta e si accoccolò per osservarlo.

«Vola» disse Konu, ma il colombo rimase coi suoi compagni.

«Mi ha buttato l’asciugamano per terra!» gridò la donna accanto a lui. «Qualcuno chiami la polizia. Questo qui è un lolo… è matto!»

Konu cercò di non reagire con rabbia di fronte alla donna che tanto si agitava per il telo. Cercò di ascoltare, di osservare… di attendere. Aveva sperato in una qualche ispirazione divina, in un messaggio dal cielo, ma durante le settimane trascorse da quando aveva intrapreso il viaggio da Tahiti, era stato costretto ad affidarsi solo al suo intuito e alle costellazioni. Avvertì una mano pesante sulla spalla.

«Signore, a Waikiki non è permesso girare senza vestiti» gli disse una voce. Konu sospirò. Tentò di dissolversi, ma non ci riuscì.

«Mi scusi, agente. È con me».

Konu si girò verso il punto da cui proveniva la voce; abbassò gli occhi stanchi e affaticati e scoprì che si trattava di un anziano signore di origine asiatica. Minuscolo, quasi gobbo e con metà dei denti in bocca, e tuttavia possedeva ancora una grande forza vitale.
Lo conosco… no…

Per un fugace istante, fu attraversato dall’ombra di un ricordo.

Konu non aveva mai visto quell’uomo; di questo era sicuro. Il suo antenato… Sì, ora ricordo. Devo rammentare il suo nome. Ho un debito di gratitudine nei confronti di suo nonno… o è lui che ce l’ha nei miei? Sono stanco… tanto stanco.

Il vecchietto strappò l’asciugamano alla donna e lo avvolse alla vita di Konu. Konu era tentato di protestare, ma l’uomo in uniforme con la mano sulla sua spalla lo scrutava con aria severa. Il vecchietto gli afferrò la mano.

«Non voglio andare» disse Konu quando il vecchio si allontanò di corsa dall’oceano, con lui al seguito. Rimase senza fiato alla vista delle macchine mostruose sulla strada. Emanavano una puzza tremenda. Che fine aveva fatto la sua adorata spiaggia immacolata di Ulukou?

La giovane donna li seguì con un’espressione imbronciata, le braccia incrociate sul petto, finché non furono sul lato opposto della strada.

«Chi è questo?» chiese, facendosi schioccare qualcosa nella bocca, da cui uscì un pallone rosa. A quel punto, Konu si sentì in pena per lei. Oh, povera donna, era chiaramente ammalata. Aveva bisogno del suo aiuto.

«Signorina, di che origine è il tuo male?» chiese.

«Male?» Il vecchio lo fissò. «Non è malata».

Konu indicò il pallone che le usciva dalla bocca.

«Quella è gomma da masticare. Ne vuoi una?»

Gomma da masticare? Konu scosse la testa. La vita a Waikiki non era come l’aveva immaginata, né come la ricordava.

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Now Available: The Case of the Heavenly Host (A Mark Julian, Vampire P.I. Mystery)

The Heavenly23L.G. Fabbo-Gonnella
Series: Mark Julian, Vampire P.I. Book 3
Genre: vampire, paranormal, gay romance, mystery and detective, suspense
Imprint: Ai Press
Length: Novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-80-8

Flame rating: 2 flames- Stories will have some love scenes. These will be more sensual then graphic and will mostly rely on euphemism.

Cover art: Louca Matheo
Photograph: Christian Campbell
Model: Jacopo Rampini

Buy from: Amazon Kindle or read free for Kindle Unlimited subscribers!

It’s a madhouse as Mark and Vinnie prepare for their wedding. Jaime is missing in action consumed with her quest to find “just the right forties’ gown” for her own pending nuptials. Vinnie is stuck on a complex “secret” case and has no free time to help with any marriage planning. Mrs. Pasquale, Vinnie’s mom, is locked in a battle of wills with an archbishop who won’t let her priestly cousin bless, “any such unions”. Worse, Tortego is offering to preside over the ceremony in his capacity as, “the leader of our vampire clan who is still an ordained priest you know”!

But things really get crazy for Mark when an angelic messenger for the Heavenly Host approaches him. Dark forces are gathering and Mark is called into action to find the missing sword of the Archangel Michael. As Mark begins his search he encounters two dark angels who take no prisoners in their quest to find it first. Murders abound and the hunt is on to find the sword and end their killing rampage before more innocents are slaughtered. This time Mark Julian will face his worst crisis and in the end no one will ever be the same.

“And the prophets spoke of the blackened angels of destruction who spread their dark wings across the earth seeking to blot out the love of God!”

Publisher’s note: This book was previously published by Nazca Plains under a different pen name. It has been extensively edited for re-release with Ai Press.

Excerpt:

Prologue

Marcus Claudius Marcellus had been born in what was later designated as 45 B. C., though historians wrongly cited the date of 42 B.C. He was the only son of Octavia, the daughter of Gaius Octavius, an honest but relatively unimportant man who had the luck of being related to Gaius Julius Caesar through his wife Julia.

Gaius Octavius later had another child, a son also named Gaius Octavius, who was adopted by his soon to be illustrious Uncle Julius and who rose up to become known to history as Augustus, the First Citizen of Rome. Marcus, the nephew of said Augustus, had become a young man with a very bright future indeed.

When his Uncle Octavius, also known as Augustus, later had his own daughter Julia wed to Marcus, things only improved for Marcus. To everyone this marriage signaled that he was the appointed heir to Augustus’s rank and offices when the latter expired. One day he would become the First Citizen of Rome.

Marcus had loved Julia quite intensely, and she had indulgently understood that the objects of his primary sexual arousal were always of the more masculine variety. In those days there was none of that latter day narrow-minded and judgmental morality concerning whom one slept with so his taste in bedmates was never a real problem. Still, Marcus discreetly avoided any gossip that would cause embarrassment to his young wife. Emotionally the two were deeply devoted to each other.

The people of Rome had taken the strikingly good-looking young couple to their hearts, and life was good. In truth, the pair had been quite happy until one night in 23 B.C. when two vampires hired by practitioners of the dark arts attacked Marcus and Augustus. These practitioners were angered by Augustus’s order that all such persons were to be exiled from Rome. Luckily the first citizen escaped unharmed but Marcus was not as fortunate. Though not killed, he was unintentionally “turned” by his vampire attacker. He awoke from his assault to find himself as one of the vampire clan.

Augustus had been grief stricken over this calamity but rigidly firm. Marcus was given to understand that a vampire, was not a proper heir for the Roman people. Marcus left into a bitter exile while the people were told their darling young future heir had died from an undisclosed illness. Julia was soon to be locked into a loveless political second marriage to an old man she despised. After that man’s death, she married a third time, again to suit her father’s political ends, a man she also hated. After a few years, her father exiled her to an island on alleged charges of adultery. Upon Augustus’s own demise, her third husband, the Emperor Tiberius, had her killed.

Marcus wandered the earth, ultimately arriving in the New World over a century ago where he then claimed a new city as his home. New York City reminded him of ancient Rome with its whirling brashness, its excitement, and its defiant attitudes toward all comers. Here one could and did become anything they wanted to be or to be known as, and so Marcus Claudius Marcellus became simply Mark Julian, honoring his beloved wife by adopting a form of her first name as his last. Here he began his new career as an investigator for the supernatural denizens of “his city.” Together with his trusty secretary Jaime, shape-shifting sex demon with a dress code straight out the forties, and his human lover, New York City Detective Vincent Pasquale, he stood ready to take on all cases that came his way.

“And the prophets spoke of the blackened angels of destruction who spread their dark wings across the earth seeking to blot out the love of God”

It Begins:

The Darkness Foretold To Deaf Ears

It was another typical day in the great city along the Hudson River. The visiting tourists took in the sights while her inhabitants were simply trying to get by in the always-exhilarating madhouse called New York City. Life flowed onward at a hectic pace unless one took the time to really stop and pay closer attention to the surroundings.

Today a raggedly dressed, wild-eyed old man stood on the corner of New York City’s busy Forty-Eight Street and Broadway, shouting at the top of his lungs to the crowds milling around him. His clothes were ripped and ill fitting. In simple truth, he also smelled rather ripe. “And the ancient prophets spoke of those antediluvian days when there arose the blackened angels of destruction!” he endlessly ranted at the scurrying people. “Loathsome creatures that sought to spread their dark wings across the earth to blot out the true love of God. But the shining silver sword of the Most High’s light seared open their rotten flesh, sending them cascading back in terror into their hellish hole!” Trying to ignore his cries, nervous tourists kept their distance and mimicked the “don’t bother me” attitude of the city natives who seemed oblivious to the old man’s presence. The tourists moved on, absently noting that such men and women were considered to be part of the typical sights in this great city. Indeed, many felt people like him only added to the color of the area’s hustle and bustle.

Surrounding the old man were the bright lights of the theatre district that hosted New York’s biggest tourist businesses: Broadway shows. To many visitors this entertainment attraction was the major reason they came to the metropolis on the Hudson. Many residents, however, were quick to decry an industry that seemed to be less about creating “new shows” and more about the resuscitation of past musical hits. For musical aficionados “The Great White Way” now hosted more revivals than some southern Pentecostal faiths. Amidst the tourists gawking at the lights and debating which shows to see, the man continued his shouting.

“Yet now new messengers of malevolence from them have come out from their putrid lair, seeking to find the light and cast it away,” the old man yelled to people who continued to ignore him. “They are here among us even now, seeking to raise their ancient evils once more and blot out the true love of God. They walk here with us today. They are here in this Sodom even now. Do you not see them here in front of me?” He pointed at a giggling, attractive youthful couple who seemed to find his accusation amusing. The brown haired youth, for he looked to be all of nineteen at best, was clad in tan colored chinos and a light green crew neck sweater. His long-haired blonde female companion, who appeared to be the same age as well, wore a light blue dress that ended just above her knees. They seemed to be the perfect embodiment of a purist’s idea of how middle-class and respectful American youth should appear. “Take them and destroy them now, before it is too late,” the old man railed, still pointing at the clean-cut pair who seemed more amused then concerned about becoming the object of the man’s ire.

“Hey buddy, take it somewhere else,” a bored overweight policeman said as he walked up to the elderly man. “You’re bothering people here. I want you to go now or I’ll run you in for blocking the sidewalk.”

“Officer, you must arrest those two,” the man sobbed, pointing once more at the now obviously smirking youthful duo.

“Yes, we are quite evil,” the dark-haired boy laughed as his fair-haired companion gleefully tittered gleefully.

The officer shot a look of annoyance at them. “A couple of kids from the ‘burbs out on a date, I bet,” he thought. “Okay, you two get moving as well.” he grumbled as he hustled the older man away toward a side street.

The old man groaned in despair. “I am sent by the Most High as a prophet who is come to warn you. Why will no one listen?” He gazed at the irritated law officer. “You are not going to arrest them are you?”

“Go now or it’s going to be you that gets arrested,” the officer barked and released the elderly man with a push. the prophet took one last look at the grinning couple and shuddered.

Posted in Available Books, L.G. Fabbo-Gonnella, Mystery/Romantic Suspense, Vampire | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Now Available: Deep Probe by A.J. Llewellyn and D.J. Manly

DeepProbe23Deep Probe
Authors: AJ Llewellyn and DJ Manly
Genre: M/M; Multiple partners; Gay romance; Furturistic/Sci-Fi
Length: Novella
eISBN: 978-1-937796-51-8
MSRP: 4.99
You pay: 2.99

Cover art: Les Byerley

Buy from Amazon Kindle|BN Nook|AllRomance Ebooks|Google Play

Boy meets boy. Boys meet rod. A sneaky rod that steals men’s hottest dreams. And acts on them!

Space has no fury like an intergalactic sex fiend given free reign. From the twisted, seductive mind of film director John Bruno comes DEEP PROBE, penned by best-selling authors A.J. Llewellyn and D. J. Manly.

DEEP PROBE, a hot M/M science-fiction tale set on a planet far, far away features six astronauts on a rescue mission to a distress signal. They find no signs of unusual life. One of the crew. however, pockets a mysterious green rod. He soon finds it has a mind and sexual tastes all of its own…

Publisher’s note: Deep Probe has been previously published. It was edited and re-released by Ai Press.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

“Gross!”

Walter Gross, the new Lieutenant appointed to the Starfleet Cruiser stepped back guiltily. Man, for the resident geek the guy had a gigantic cock.

“This machine is mine,” Beckett snapped.

“Sorry, sir.” Gross always spoke in a deferential way but Beckett, the ship’s commander, knew this kid was trouble. Though only a few years separated Gross from Beckett, experience and attitude counted for a lot. Not to mention intelligence. Beckett hated getting lumbered with Gross, but he’d lost the coin toss back on the Starport Dock. His crew had hyper-stopped long enough to refuel, fill the food machines, get a couple of new crew members, and replace the ship’s doctor who’d started suffering anxiety attacks during their last orbit. They also had fresh medical supplies, including, for medicinal purposes…the reward of these incredible, new fuck bags.

Beckett stepped up to Unit One. It might have been an inanimate object, but he’d started to develop an odd attachment to this industrial-looking sex machine. Gross gave him some space, moving over to Unit Four. There were six in all, enough to accommodate the entire crew. Since their installation, on-board tensions had eased somewhat, though there were days when tempers flared.

Beckett was so horny he could spit. Seventeen months orbiting the solar system was a long time for a group of men to be away from their partners or the pursuit of ass or pussy…away from any possible sexual human contact.

Since sex between crewmembers was forbidden by their military superiors, they’d all given the fuck bags a serious workout from the moment they’d taken off again three weeks ago. Beckett unzipped his fly, took hold of his cock and slipped it into the tight opening inside the machine. Fuck. It seemed to know him, seemed to groove especially to his needs.

He tried to relax. The ship was under Cruz’s command for the moment. Cruz. Shit. Stop thinking about him and that gorgeous mouth.

He pressed the Oral function. The machine hummed, massaging his huge shaft like a warm, wet mouth as he moved back and forth into it. He loved the slick, slippery feel. Dimly aware of Gross hammering like a jack rabbit a few machines away, Beckett knew his new recruit was fixated on his own pleasure. Still, Beckett craved privacy. He slipped on his earbuds and pressed Fuck. He never lasted long with this button. He could control the tempo, even the heat. He wanted to feel like he was fucking an extra-tight ass.

Aaahhhh…bliss. He peered down at the screen in front of him. Which porn movie did he want to watch? Though naturally gay, lately, he’d been watching all kinds of movies. He’d noticed the guys who said they were straight—or at least claimed to be—had taken to watching gay porn. They’d all lost a few inhibitions these last few weeks.

I hope that’s a good thing. Mmm…this morning, I want a man. Yeah. I wanna watch gay porn. He felt the ass-muscle mechanism clamping down on his cock. God, this thing was good. His heart raced. Torn between coming and easing back a little, he chose the latter. He slowed down his speed. He felt the tightening in his ball sac recede. He wanted to watch a lot of ass fucking. He chose an oldie, but goodie, Morning Wood.

Beckett watched the action, fantasizing he was in the scene. When he was back on earth and he got a flat bicycle tire, he could never remember anyone as sexy as these guys being around needing a hand…or an ass. He had never had two hot, scantily clad guys wanting to relieve his personal pressure as well as that of his bicycle tires.

He winched the pressure on his cock up a little to the Virgin Ass nodule. Oh, yeah. He watched the hot stud on screen getting fucked by one guy, and sucked by another. Beckett closed his eyes briefly and imagined lying in such a beautiful room himself, the sun on his face, a breeze blowing filmy white curtains…shit…this was dangerous. It wasn’t the porn star he was balling, but…

“Hey.”

Beckett’s eyes opened. He gulped. On the verge of coming, the slow, sexy smile on the face beside him sent his orgasm into the stratosphere. Or wherever the hell the fuck bag sent the gallons of come he’d been pumping into the thing for weeks now.

Nobody could ever guess he had a secret crush on his First Lieutenant, Jason Cruz.

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Now Available: Surviving Elite High by John H. Ames!

SurvivingEliteHS26Surviving Elite High
Author John H. Ames
Genre: M/M; Young Adult; GLBT
Length: Novel
Series: Surviving Elite High, Book One
eISBN: 978-1-937796-53-2
MSRP: 7.99
You Pay: 4.99

Print ISBN: 978-1-937796-43-3
MSRP: 15.99
You pay: 12.99

Cover art: Les Byerley

Buy from: Amazon Kindle|BN Nook|AllRomance Ebooks|Google Play

John Henry Ames is a sixteen-year-old boy from a small New Jersey town. Humble, shy and studious, John lives as an outcast in the shadows of an elite high school where he is tormented by two psychopathic bullies. Just when he is on the verge of dropping out of school due to overdue payments, a teacher enrolls him as a tutor in a program where he meets the school’s star quarterback and hero, Nick Anthony Hawking.

Nick needs John’s help to pass and graduate high school. As John becomes closer to the jock, he develops a strong affection towards him even though Nick has a reputation for sleeping around with a lot of women. Nick becomes his friend and protector in school. Their growing friendship helps to bring out the best in each of them and as they grow closer, John begins to wonder…and hope…that maybe Nick’s studly activity is a front for something else. He hopes to get much closer to Nick.

When unspeakable tragedies threaten the school…and John’s life…John and Nick have a chance to discover what they really mean to each other. But high school is a hard place to be yourself. Will Nick and John follow their own hearts or return to the safety of their own shadows?
Surviving Elite High is a breathtaking saga that illustrates a flourishing same-sex love, family, and friendship.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

My knees shook. I don’t really know why I was so nervous that morning. I had walked down these same corridors before, but this was my first time here as a junior. I stood looking down the main hallway as the world slowly passed me by, and feeling as if I was completely invisible to everyone. I hugged myself for comfort, then took my first step and froze again. With my heart pounding hard against my chest, a stupid knot developed inside my stomach. I hated the feeling of uncertainty and distress brought upon me by them. I glanced around, trying my best to spot Madison or Kitty, but I was completely alone among all the commotion happening around me. I lowered my head and continued with my excruciating journey toward class. Out of nowhere, two shadows blocked my way. I looked up and came face to face with my two tormentors, the reasons for my anxiety: Jacob Ashmore and Matthew Ward, better known as the basketball jocks.

“Hello, little guy,” Jacob drawled, leering down at me. He stood six inches taller than me and was strong as a bull. “Did you miss me?”

I stumbled backward, trying to put distance between us.

“Where are you going, bitch?” Matthew barked, grabbing me by the collar of my shirt. He pulled me in and lifted me into the air, making my feet swing from side to side. “Talk to me, old friend.”

“I…I was—”

“Shut the fuck up, fag!”

“Let’s give him the welcoming,” Jacob suggested with a grin.

Oh, no, not the welcoming. Anything but the welcoming. I knew what they wanted to do. They were going to throw me inside the huge trash can behind the school and make me face the humiliation.

“Put him down!” shouted a familiar voice. We all turned to look. It was one of my best friends, Kitty Scott, and, boy, was I happy to see her pointing at them. Her red hair was visible from a mile away, and her black eyes seemed demonic. I thanked God that I was safe now. Matthew gazed at her with a smirk, knowing that Kitty would explode and make a big scene out of the way he treated me. He unwillingly let me go, and I fell flat on my ass. There was no time to waste. I ran to Kitty’s side before they changed their minds.

“See you soon, pussy,” Matthew added. He and Jacob turned around and walked away down another hallway. When they were out of sight, I turned to Kitty, who was all steamed up. Her freckles seemed to have spread to an angry red. A scowl soon developed on her face. “Why do you let those assholes treat you like that?”

“Geez, Kitty. They’re bigger and stronger than me, you know. Plus, they’re jocks.”

“I thought they’d stopped bullying you.” Kitty led me down the crowded hallway.

“So did I. Besides, two against one is an unfair fight, especially against me. Have you looked at me lately?”

Kitty stopped in front of her locker and opened the small compartment before glancing at me from head to toe. I wasn’t small. Five feet and seven inches was a reasonable height. I was too skinny, though. I didn’t have any muscles, and she wanted me to fight those two giants. Was Kitty insane?

“I know, but you’ve got to stand up to them. Madison and I can’t be with you every single second of the day. They bullied you around for two whole years, and it has to stop now, Johnny Boy!” Kitty slammed the door closed.

“I know,” I murmured as I spotted Madison behind her. “Hello, Madison!”

“Hello, my two best friends in the whole wide world,” Madison answered, standing beside us and showing off her vibrant smile. Madison Adams’ black hair complemented her porcelain skin and sultry dark eyes. The chick was hot, and she was one of my best friends as well. After scanning our worried faces, her smile disappeared. “What happened? I thought you’d be excited to see this slut?”

That was Madison, all right. She knew how to sum things up in one sentence.

“Jacob and Matthew,” mumbled Kitty, walking down the hallway.

Madison embraced me with one arm, and we immediately dashed after Kitty. While we tried to catch up with her, Madison turned to me. “Are they still bullying you?”

“Ye—”

“Yes, they are!” Kitty had stopped walking and was waiting for us a few feet away. When we reached her side, she began walking next to me. As usual, I was in the middle of the two. “Those good-for-nothing jerks.”

“I thought they’d stopped bothering you, Johnny Boy.” Madison added.

“Yes, for the summer.”

“Consider yourself lucky. Who wouldn’t want to get roughed up by two hot jocks?”

“Me, for one, Madison,” I answered. We walked into English class, and I sat in the first chair of the first row. Kitty sat beside me, and Madison sat behind her. This was our usual seating arrangement for all our classes.

They turned to me, and Madison continued. “Don’t worry, just stick with one of us and you’ll be fine.”

“I know, but we still have gym, and I’ve got to change with them.”

“That’s hot! Take some pictures for me.”

Kitty rolled her eyes when she heard Madison’s request. “Sorry, kiddo, we can only do so much. You’ve got to stand up to them.”

“I’m dead meat! Why does this school have to stress sports so much? Four years of mandatory physical education is just crazy. Why in the world would they do that?”

“Blame the Children Against Obesity Association. No more sugar in this school, as if we need to lose weight. We’re perfect,” Madison answered.

“Yeah, soon they’ll start to sell sugar like crack,” Kitty added, high-fiving Madison.

The girls giggled their little hearts out. I missed them so much. All of a sudden, the door opened and a young man stepped inside. It was Nicholas Anthony Hawking, also known as Nick Wild Hawk, captain of the Elite Hawks. Girls had nicknamed him Nick Wild Fuck because of his promiscuous nature. He was six feet tall with light tan skin, short dirty blond hair, and crystal baby blue eyes. The guy was dreamy or walking sex. Well, that’s what Madison always said. Nick was the most popular jock in school, the school’s star quarterback, and athlete extraordinaire. He was as perfect as they came.

“I want to have his babies.” Madison stated while Nick walked to the back of the class to sit down with his friends.

“Why does he always have to walk in like that? As if he’s some type of god or something? He wasn’t like that a few years ago,” Kitty replied.

“He is a god. Look at him, Kit. The guy’s hot,” Madison answered her question.
“And a stupid jock,” I added irritably.

“I know that you hate jocks, but Nick is F-I-N-E! Look at the package between his legs. It looks like the perfect Christmas present to me.”

“I agree with John. He’s a jock and a huge dick.”

“Yeah, I bet he is,” Madison smirked. Kitty and I rolled our eyes to the back of our heads. Madison was something else. “Don’t get me wrong, Johnny Boy, all jocks are assholes, but this one is fine.”

“Why don’t you say that in front of his girlfriend then?”

“Are they still dating?” Kitty asked us.

“Yes, they are, that lucky bitch,” Madison replied.

Everyone knew that Allison and Nick were a couple. They were crazy for each other, or so it seemed. Allison was the head cheerleader and last year’s student body vice-president. Nick was, not surprisingly, last year’s president. Everyone knew they had won because of their tremendous popularity and extreme wealth. They disgusted me.

“People like Nick and Allison make me sick.”

“Us, too,” Kitty answered with Madison nodding to her statement.

I took a deep breath. I was being unfair to Nick and Allison just because of Matthew and Jacob. “I just hate that I’ve got to endure two more years of mandatory physical education.”

“Stand up to those stupid pricks, then,” Madison told me. “We don’t want them to bully you anymore.”

I agreed with her. I needed to do something, but what could I do? It was my word against the word of two rich kids. I was doomed. That moment, the door opened once more, and Mrs. Carter, our new English teacher, walked in with a huge smile from cheek to cheek on her face. She quickly introduced herself, putting an end to our conversation and my conflicting thoughts.

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Disponible en español: Eternamente Audaz por Jeff Erno

Eternamente Audaz23Eternamente Audaz
Autor: Jeff Erno
Serie: Eternamente Vampiro
Libro anterior: Eternamente Joven
Género: Romance gay, Juvenil, M/M, Romance paranormal, Vampiros
Extensión: Novela
eISBN: 978-1-937796-93-8
Índice de clasificación: 3 Llamas
Precio: 4.99 USD

Portada: Les Byerley

Comprar de: Amazon US|Amazon ES|Amazon MX|AllRomance Ebooks|BN Nook|Google Play

La saga Eternamente Vampiro continúa…

A raíz de la indescriptible masacre, Robbie y Colt han escapado a las tierras salvajes de Alaska para hacer frente a su futuro inmortal. Las cosas no son tan seguras para sus enemigos jurados, Dylan e Issa, los soldados Matarianos juraron cazarles y matarlos.

Dylan está a punto de comenzar su primera cacería de vampiros y quiere que Issa sea su compañero, pero Issa está mucho más preocupado por encontrar a su hermano y rastrear al chico rubio que casi muere en el campo de batalla. Todo el elenco del primer libro se reúne en esta emocionante continuación de su historia, junto con una serie de nuevas caras —amigos y enemigos— cuyas vidas se entrelazan de alguna manera, y se cruzan en sus esfuerzos para luchar contra el mal y alcanzar su propia felicidad. Humanos, cambiaformas, caminantes diurnos y vampiros de sangre pura se enfrentan entre sí con la orientación de tres hermanas enigmáticas —una ménade, una nigromante, y una bruja humana la tercera—. Giros argumentales y sorpresas marcan los caminos de estos personajes diversos, siempre audaces en su afán por aferrarse a todo lo que aprecian.

Extracto:

Capítulo Uno

Se despertó gritando, como había hecho casi cada vez que intentaba dormir. Las vívidas imágenes se reproducían en su cabeza como un rollo de película. Implacables gráficas pesadillas, o más precisamente, flashbacks. La doctora dijo que sufría de estrés postraumático, pero ella no sabía ni la mitad.

Los medios locales habían cubierto la historia, etiquetándola como un extraño ataque de lobos en el que dieciocho campistas habían muerto y otras dos docenas resultaron heridos. Issa sabía la verdad. Todos la sabían, todos los testigos. Había habido un ataque de lobo, de acuerdo, pero esos no eran lobos ordinarios. Y a raíz de la confrontación, habían dejado una carnicería como nada que Issa pudiera haber imaginado. Había partes del cuerpo esparcidas por todas partes, de tal forma, que muchas de las víctimas no eran ni siquiera reconocibles.

Peor que estas imágenes horribles eran los recuerdos de Issa de los asesinatos de vampiros. Pensó que había estado preparado. Había aprendido todas las lecciones, había completado horas de prácticas de tiro al blanco, e incluso había visto vídeos gráficos. Claro, sabía que sería sangriento, y sabía que desgarrar el corazón de un vampiro de su pecho no era trabajo para aprensivos. Sin embargo, no había nada que pudiera haberlo preparado para verlo en vivo y en directo.

Si algo sabía con certeza, era el hecho de que él no estaba hecho para el trabajo. No tenía ningún deseo de ver otra vez lo que había presenciado esa noche, y definitivamente no era un asesino de vampiros.

La onda expansiva de conmoción se había trasmitido a través de la comunidad Matariana cuando el rumor de la tragedia se extendió rápidamente. Se había convocado una reunión de emergencia para evaluar las pérdidas y para discutir una adecuada respuesta. La devastación afectaba a todas las familias Matarianas, pero más significativamente a los que habían perdido a un ser querido joven.

Issa conocía a todas las víctimas. Habían sido sus compañeros de clase. Sus compañeros de clase de dieciséis años. El campamento de instrucción militar era un rito Matariano de iniciación, uno con el que cada niño Matariano estaba ilusionado. Esta coyuntura crucial proporcionaba la transición de las fantasías juveniles de asesinos de vampiros a la realidad del trabajo real de campo. La finalización de la formación militar culminaba con una ceremonia de graduación, seguida de las asignaciones de las primeras cacerías de los cadetes.

Pero no había habido ninguna ceremonia este año. En lugar de ello, toda la comunidad se reunió para un enorme servicio conmemorativo. Incluso los asesinatos de vampiros logrados con éxito, normalmente una causa de gran fiesta, no habían compensado las trágicas pérdidas.

—Es una guerra —dijo el padre de Issa con calma—, y la gente muere en las guerras.

—Niños, Ibrahim. No eran más que niños —señaló su madre.

Tristemente, Issa conocía a muchos en la comunidad que compartían los sentimientos de su padre. Más que hacerles vacilar e incitarles a contemplar los asesinatos sin sentido, la tragedia les había enfurecido y les hizo aún más sanguinarios. Hablar de venganza ya corría como la pólvora, y ahora un nuevo enemigo se había añadido a la lista. Los Matarianos no solo luchaban contra los vampiros, sino también con los hombres lobo.

Las muertes de los compañeros de hermandad de Issa pesaban sobre su corazón, sin embargo, él no anhelaba venganza. De hecho, no culpaba a los vampiros ni a los lobos. Sabía por qué habían venido. Se encontraban en una misión de rescate, estaban allí para liberar a los prisioneros que los Matarianos estaban cruelmente torturando. Cuando fueron asaltados por un ejército de cadetes listos para la batalla, ellos respondieron, y se perdieron muchas vidas.

Y la tragedia había acontecido en ambos sentidos. Al menos cuatro desde el otro lado habían sido heridos de muerte, un lobo, dos vampiros, y un humano. Issa había oído los jubilosos aplausos de sus compañeros guerreros Matarianos cuando los dos vampiros fueron eliminados, y el recuerdo le ponía enfermo. Brendan y Richard eran pareja, y se habían amado mucho. Habían permanecido juntos durante años —por lo menos décadas, si no siglos—.

Para Issa, su relación no parecía tan diferente a lo que él compartía con Dylan. De acuerdo con las enseñanzas Matarianas, los vampiros eran monstruos chupasangres, ni siquiera humanos, y la mayoría de las personas no pensaban que fueran en realidad ni siquiera capaces de amar. Impulsados únicamente por su hambre, las relaciones personales les eran secundarias. En la mayoría de los casos, eran criaturas solitarias que existían solo con el propósito de alimentarse. Máquinas de matar, y nada más.

Pero Issa descubrió lo contrario. Lo sabía por su conversación con Brendan, porque había visto cómo Richard había reaccionado cuando se reunió con su amante. Y había sido testigo de una conexión similar entre el vampiro de aspecto juvenil y el humano —el pequeño chico rubio—. Jesús, no parecía mayor que los cadetes. ¿Era Robbie?

El vampiro estaba enamorado del chico. Issa solo podía especular sobre lo que había sido de ellos. Tal vez habían llegado a un lugar seguro al final, pero si fuera así, eso implicaría que Robbie había sido convertido. Seguramente no habría sobrevivido a una flecha atravesada en el corazón.

Issa no quería saberlo. No podía soportar la posibilidad de que el chico, obviamente enamorado, se hubiera sacrificado por su amante. E incluso si de alguna manera se había salvado, no quería pensar en lo que eso significaría. Serían objetivos. Blancos fáciles. El ejército Matariano ya estaba planeando una guerra total, un ataque masivo y tajante como represalia. Estaban decididos a erradicar a todos los vampiros del mundo entero, de una vez por todas.

Pero los ancianos ni siquiera sabían toda la historia. Solo Dylan e Issa eran conscientes de todo lo que había sucedido esa noche. Eran los únicos Matarianos en ser testigos de la presencia de Raoul y Shadi.

—No puedes contarlo —había declarado Issa—. Si se enteran, les buscarán y matarán a mi hermano.

—Issa, él ya no es tu hermano. —Dylan trató de razonar con él—. Es un vampiro de sangre pura. Ni siquiera es humano, y no tiene ninguna lealtad a ti o a tu familia.

—¿Y si fuera tu hermano?

Dylan dio un paso atrás, y luego asintió lentamente. Issa sabía la intimidad que compartía Dylan con su hermano Taylor. Nunca le daría la espalda a su propia carne y sangre, sin importar las circunstancias. Por último, suspiró. —Está bien, no lo contaré. Pero esto tiene que terminar aquí. Desde este punto en adelante, Shadi ya no existe. Por lo que a nosotros respecta, se ha ido para siempre.

Issa estuvo de acuerdo, pero no verbalizó una respuesta. Nunca podría hacer tal promesa, ni siquiera a Dylan. Shadi era su hermano, e Issa no podía fingir que estaba muerto. Aunque tal vez no fuera posible de inmediato, un día encontraría a su hermano y tendrían su encuentro. Mientras tanto, tenía que hallar una manera de perdonarse a sí mismo por todo lo que había sucedido. De alguna manera tenía que hacer que las pesadillas se detuvieran para poder seguir con su vida, y para poder concentrarse en su futuro con Dylan.

Mientras yacía solo en su cuarto a oscuras, pensó en estas cosas y se quedó mirando fijamente al techo. —Te encontraré de nuevo, Shadi —susurró.

Posted in Available Books, Jeff Erno, libros en español, Vampire, Young Adult | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Now Available: Wrestling With Passion by D.H. Starr

WWP cover23Wrestling With Passion
Author: D.H. Starr
Previous book: Wrestling With Love
Genre: M/M romance; Gay Fiction
Imprint: Ai Press
Length: Novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-86-0
Price: 5.99 USD

Buy from: Amazon Kindle|AllRomance Ebooks|Google Play|BN Nook

Trade paperback available at Amazon
ISBN13: 978-1-937796-87-7
Price: 12.99 USD

Flame rating: 4 flames- Stories have frequent love scenes that are explicit and described using graphic and direct language.

Cover art: Louca Matheo

Scott and Derek’s epic passion continues into sophomore year with new challenges to face and overcome. There is one problem: How can you fight an adversary you can’t see?

Derek has always helped others, often placing himself in risky situations. Scott has lived with instability his entire life, moving from place to place, never able to set roots. Surviving the obstacles set in place by Scott’s unloving father and overcoming the threat of an unstable fellow student their freshman year, they start their second year of college believing they’ve overcome all of the barriers blocking their future happiness.

All that changes when a troubled student, Tim, enters their lives. Derek can’t help but reach out to the drug-abusing freshman. Scott can’t suppress the paralyzing fear of losing Derek, the one stable thing in his life. As they compromise their own internal needs in an effort to support each other, resentment builds and guilt festers.

Is this new obstacle, the demons that live deep inside each of them, the one that might tear them apart?

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Damn it sucked having to sleep apart from his boyfriend. Derek Thompson stretched his arms over his head, trying to push the sleep out of his body. He’d grown used to ending each day and starting each morning in his lover’s arms. Whether starting with innocent snuggling or heated blow jobs, each day seemed more vibrant and exciting with Scott by his side.

The late August sun shone through the window of his attic bedroom. His parents kept the room just the way he’d left it before his first year at Boston University and, for the summer, he’d made the place his home once again. A poster of Howie Day hung over his bed and his shelf contained several first place trophies from his years of varsity wrestling.

When he moved home for the summer his mom had been adamant. “You know I love Scott, but until the two of you are married, or at least engaged, you live by my rules under this roof. That means no hanky-panky.” He’d scrubbed himself in the shower for a good thirty minutes after that lecture, but water didn’t get hot enough to cleanse the ick from that conversation.

Glancing at his alarm clock, he grunted. Six-thirty. He threw the covers off and got out of bed. Slipping into sneakers and running shorts, he stopped off in the bathroom. The cold water he splashed on his face dribbled over his shoulders and down his chest and back. The chill helped revitalize him. He made quick work of brushing his teeth, then relieved himself.

Exiting the bathroom, he tiptoed down the stairs to the front door, not wanting to wake his parents. Once outside, he jogged toward the Charles River. He picked up speed a few blocks later, thoughts of Scott’s smile and his powerful physique urging Derek to get to their meeting spot as quickly as possible.

As he approached the river’s edge, Scott’s muscular form came into view, silhouetted by the sun glistening off the water’s surface. Over the summer Scott had put on at least fifteen pounds of muscle, his chest sculpted with rounded pecs and his shoulders accentuating a sturdy frame. Derek suspected he’d bulked up to be in prime shape for wrestling after his successful season during freshman year. Of course, Scott would have to get used to a new weight class, but challenges never stopped him from succeeding.

He’d pestered Derek to join the team as well, but Derek had become deeply involved with the Alliance, BU’s LGBTQ association, and he didn’t trust he’d be able to continue as an active member, wrestle, and keep up with his classes.

As he drew closer, Derek could make out Scott’s creamy skin, along with the contours of his muscles as they knit together along his body. He finally reached his boyfriend, winded, but not from running.

“You’re out of breath. You okay to run today?” Scott’s brow creased as he placed a hand on Derek’s cheek.

“Yeah. You’re so hot I can’t stand it.” Derek ran his fingers along Scott’s chest and leaned up, brushing his lips against the stubble on his lover’s jaw. Before he had a chance to step back, Scott had him wrapped in strong arms, securing his lips over Derek’s.

Derek savored the way Scott’s tongue swirled in lazy circles, tousling playfully, and tasted a hint of orange. Scott stepped back and surveyed Derek from head to toe. “You’re one to talk. No shirt? You know what your chest and abs do to me.”

Derek smiled, his gaze dropping to Scott’s mid-section. The shorts were a bit fuller than usual in the groin. “Seriously? Right before a run? Can’t you keep it in check for a minute?”

Scott tilted his head back and laughed. Pointing at himself he uttered one word: “Kettle.” Then he pointed at Derek, whose own shorts had become a bit snugger. “The pot that’s calling me black.”

A wise crack flew to Derek’s lips, but when he met Scott’s gaze words melted away. The sun crested over the Boston skyline, rays shining in Scott’s eyes highlighting their blue-green brilliance. Birds chirped, a symphony of nature serenading them. Derek glanced at the river, listening to the gentle purr of a motor boat and click and dip of oars in water as rowers sailed over the surface of the glistening river.

Moments like these, early enough so he and Scott had the world to themselves, pumped life into Derek.

Giving Scott a playful shove, he took off along the running path parallel to the river. For several minutes they jogged, the sound of their feet padding along the ground. Their breathing synchronized as they increased their speed.

Derek loved their morning ritual. Meeting at the footbridge, they’d run west, away from Boston, for two miles. Then they’d cross another bridge and run back ending their loop having run just shy of five miles.

A half hour later, sweat covering his body, Derek sprinted the final leg, Scott right on his heels. While Scott was bigger and stronger, Derek was faster. Scott’s competitive nature wouldn’t allow him to concede victory, and he’d always try to win, convinced, Derek assumed, that one day he might actually succeed.

Derek’s feet pounded against the pavement and pumped his arms like pistons, as he sped toward the finish line. Scott was a worthy opponent, but no match for Derek. The steady beat of Scott’s footfalls urged Derek to push harder. Drawing from the last of his energy reserves, he forced his muscles into overdrive.

The footbridge drew closer. Derek sucked in air while keeping track of the sound of Scott behind him. He turned onto the bridge, trying to ignore the burn in his calves and thighs. Once on the other side of the bridge, he slowed and then jogged in place, sweat covering his body.

Scott was right behind him and, once he reached Derek, collapsed onto the ground in a heap. Derek continued his stationary jog and observed as Scott clutched his side and heaved in deep breaths. After a few moments, he raised his finger and pointed at Derek. “Almost…had you…that time.”

Posted in Available Books, D.H. Starr, Novel length | Leave a comment

Disponible en español: El Camino por A.J. Llewellyn

ElCamino23El Camino
Autor: AJ Llewellyn
Género: M/M, paranormal, demonios, ángeles
Extensión: Novela
eISBN13: 978-1-937796-82-2
MSRP: 5.99
Precio: 2.99

Portada: Les Byerley
Traducción: Traductores Anónimos

Comprar de: Amazon US|Amazon ES|Amazon MX|AllRomance Ebooks|BN Nook|Google Play

Un seminarista de California conoce al hombre de sus sueños durante un recorrido a pie en España. Antonio no tiene ni la menor idea… de que el apuesto Jeb es un demonio tormenta.

Cada año, miles de personas hacen un viaje espiritual llamado El Camino, una antigua travesía por Europa, cruzando Francia, Portugal y España. Cuando Antonio se embarca en El Camino, está a un paso de convertirse en diácono de transición, la fase final antes de ser sacerdote, pero siente que su nuevo deseo por otros hombres viola su vocación elegida. Incluso mientras se cuestiona su capacidad para entrar en la vida religiosa, sus sueños son perseguidos por un misterioso y guapo extraño que despierta sus pasiones. En el viaje conoce a un compañero peregrino, Jeb, quien está cuestionando su propia vida y busca respuestas. Jeb se parece al hombre de sus sueños…

No tiene ni la menor idea de las opciones que necesita para hacer que su corazón se encuentre en apuros… más de lo que jamás podría haber imaginado. ¿Cómo puede él, un hombre devoto de la obra de Dios, posiblemente amar a un hombre que ha vendido su alma al diablo?

Nota del Editor: Este libro ha sido publicado previamente, reeditado y reimpreso con Ai Press.

Extracto:

Antonio se arrodilló en el suelo a unos metros de distancia del hombre desnudo que se reclinaba en su silla de madera forrada de cuero, observándolo. El hombre se tocaba el pene con una mano lánguida. Sonrió, haciendo señas a Antonio, que estaba hipnotizado por los largos y afilados dedos del magnífico hombre, los blancos y parejos dientes y el pelo largo y suelto.

El deseo parecía llamear en los ojos del hombre, sus gestos de repente eran impacientes. Antonio sabía que sí, quería que le chupara. Había velas encendidas a su alrededor, el único sonido que Antonio podía oír eran sus respiraciones cada vez más cortas y agudas.

Antonio contuvo el aliento. Le encantaba el sonido de la pasión creciente del hombre.

—¿Quieres que te vende los ojos? —preguntó el hombre cuando Antonio se arrastró hacia él. Era difícil con las manos atadas detrás, pero lo único que le importaba era tener su boca alrededor del miembro que se balanceaba delante de él.

—No. Quiero mirarte.

El hombre sacudió su brillante pelo castaño, sus ojos se oscurecieron con lujuria mientras miraba a Antonio. Recorrió las últimas pulgadas restantes del suelo, ganándose una sonrisa del hombre que permanecía en la silla.

A solo una pulgada de distancia ahora, Antonio mantenía la boca abierta. Estaba lo suficientemente cerca como para empaparse de los detalles más nimios del pelo en el pecho del fantástico hombre. Este se deslizó un poco hacia adelante en su enorme y regia silla, ansioso por el contacto de la boca en su polla.

Antonio había pensado que podría querer estar con los ojos vendados, al ser tan tímido sobre la desnudez y con otro hombre, pero se sorprendió de encontrar que estar atado era suficiente. Quería poder ver la reacción del hombre mientras lo chupaba. Se lamió los labios. Se moría de ganas.

Llegó al borde del asiento, el olor del cuero y de piel cálida y varonil pasó directamente a Antonio y hacia su pene.

El hombre frente a él gimió, se mordió el labio, con su dura polla sobresaliendo hacia adelante hasta que tocó la ahora húmeda boca de Antonio. Permitió que su pene se deslizara a través de los gruesos y exuberantes labios. Se miraron profundamente a los ojos.

—Abre —susurró el hombre y Antonio hizo lo que se le ordenó, sorbiendo la polla más grande que había visto en su vida. Levantándose un poco más sobre sus rodillas, se esforzó duramente para aspirar tanta polla como pudo dentro de su boca. Parpadeó. Pensó que podría ahogarse, pero el hombre le susurró palabras de lujuria, dulces palabras de aliento.

Joder.

Antonio pudo saborear el almíbar agridulce del pene del otro hombre. Era consciente del endurecimiento del suyo propio. Era una deliciosa tortura no poder tocarlo. No es que necesitara hacerlo. Siempre se corría, sobre todo cuando el hombre alejaba su polla de la boca Antonio y rogaba que le lamiera el culo. Nunca fallaba. Antonio cerraba los ojos, su boca descendía hacia el lugar especial y privado del otro hombre y…

Mierda.

Se corrió.

Antonio abrió los ojos. Una ola de tristeza se apoderó de él, incluso cuando experimentó el alivio salvaje de la masturbación. El miedo lo consumió momentáneamente mientras absorbía el desconocido entorno. ¿Dónde estaba? Oh, sí, en Monte Calvario, el monasterio benedictino y casa de retiro espiritual de Saint Mary.

Se aferró a su ablandado eje para prolongar la sensación de euforia, con cuidado de no rozar la sensible cabeza. Se recordó respirar, y luego sonrió. Guau. La fantasía del hombre en la silla siempre encendía sus pasiones. Tenía ganas de profundizar en el placer del amante sin nombre, sin rostro, pero nunca podía llegar tan lejos. La recién descubierta dicha de la autogratificación había venido con innumerables emociones. Estar atado a su fantasía, absolvía a Antonio de la responsabilidad por sus acciones, al menos en su mente. También encontró que esto alimentaba su excitación más y más.

Pensamientos y comportamientos completamente inapropiados para un hombre destinado al sacerdocio, Antonio se daba cuenta. Se había negado a sí mismo durante mucho tiempo, pero a la edad de veinticuatro años, había llegado como una sacudida, y una bendición. Soltó su polla y se dio la vuelta en la pequeña cama.

Su habitación era grande y en su mayoría contenía elementos funcionales pero confortables y sin embargo, todavía parecían mucho más lujosos que sus aposentos habituales en el Seminario de Saint John en Camarillo. El jarrón de gruesas ramas de romero entrelazadas con rosas lavanda que había en su escritorio ofrecía a la habitación un olor celestial, así como un toque de calidez.

Antonio estaba tumbado con el brazo bajo la cabeza, escuchando los sonidos del desconocido monasterio. Todo estaba en calma y tranquilo, como se suponía que fuera. Inquieto, balanceaba los pies sobre el borde de la cama y miró por la ventana de sus aposentos privados.

Se preguntó si alguien alguna vez había roto el voto de silencio de Monte Calvario. Eran casi las ocho de la tarde. Pronto sería la puesta del sol y el Gran Silencio oficial descendería sobre la propiedad como un pesado manto hasta la mañana siguiente. Ya le irritaba. ¡Silencio! Todo lo que siempre obtenía era silencio. Y austeridad. ¿Por qué Monseñor Loftus había sugerido un año sabático aquí cuando Antonio deseaba hablar y hablar y, en buena medida, hablar?

Miró fijamente los exuberantes terrenos con sus árboles poco comunes, los jardines bellamente cuidados y las magníficas montañas de Santa Bárbara que los rodeaban. Podía oír las olas del mar rompiendo al pie de los acantilados. Sí, era impresionante. Esto debería ser un breve respiro antes de volver al seminario de St. John, pero había sabido al instante en que había llegado aquí, que esta vida no era para él. El viejo Monseñor había sido inteligente en dirigirle a Monte Calvario. La vida de un sacerdote significaría mucho silencio. Una gran cantidad de contemplación.

Ya había dicho a Monseñor en una conversación telefónica por la mañana que necesitaba más tiempo. Monseñor había estado de acuerdo, sugiriendo que se tomara un mes de descanso. Incluso había lanzado al aire la idea de El Camino.

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Disponible en español: Eternamente Joven (vampiro, homoerotico) por Jeff Erno!

Eternamente Joven23Eternamente Joven
Autor: Jeff Erno
Género: Juvenil-M/M-Vampiros
Extensión: Novela
eISBN: 978-1-937796-79-2
MSRP: 7.99
Precio: 4.99

Enlaces de compra: Kindle Espana|Kindle Mexico|Kindle US|BN Nook|AllRomance Ebooks|Google Play|Kobo

En menos de un verano, el tímido e introvertido Robbie Myers pasa de tener dieciocho años y no haber sido besado nunca a la apasionada intensidad del primer amor que podría durar eternamente. Literalmente…

Robbie Myers de dieciocho años de edad tiene dificultades para hablar con la gente. No solo es tímido, sino que parece decir algo equivocado cada vez que abre la boca, sobre todo al apuesto desconocido y misterioso que se presenta en su trabajo del supermercado, lo defiende de un compañero agresivo y luego le pide una cita. No puede creer que un atractivo y mundano chico malo de diecisiete años de edad, Colt Abernathy esté realmente interesado. Sin embargo, no puede negar que el fervor ardiente en los ojos oscuros de Colt es solo por él. En cuestión de un instante, Robbie es apartado de su plan de asistir a un colegio comunitario mientras que vive en casa con su madre y ahorra para un coche, hasta la tierna y ya apasionada exploración de un intenso primer amor. Poco sabe Robbie…

Convertido durante el apogeo de la Guerra Civil, Colt ha quedado atrapado en el cuerpo de un solitario chico de diecisiete años de edad. Cuando ve al joven delgado, de pelo rubio, y ojos azules, empujando una fila de carros de la compra al otro lado de un aparcamiento, Colt sabe al instante que están destinados el uno para el otro. Solo hay un problema mayor: si sobrevive a la batalla inminente entre los vampiros y los Matarianos –un ejército de brutales cazadores de vampiros– va a vivir para siempre. Robbie no es…

Extracto:

Cuando Robbie salió, decidió esperar un par de minutos para ver lo que pasaba con Jerry. Si realmente fuera despedido, Robbie le vería salir. Se quedó junto a la entrada, donde seguía teniendo una visión clara de las cajas a través de la ventana. Unos tres minutos más tarde, vio a Jerry regresar a su zona de trabajo. Comenzó a correr de acá para allá, reponiendo las bolsas para los suministros en los pasillos de las cajas. Robbie se sintió aliviado. Al parecer, a Jerry no le habían echado. Probablemente solo hubiera sido sermoneado y advertido con severidad por Wandrie.

A la mayoría de los chicos que trabajaban en la tienda no les gustaba el Sr. Wandrie. Todos se burlaban de él a sus espaldas, posiblemente solo porque era el jefe. En opinión de Robbie, el Sr. Wandrie era un tipo bastante decente. Había días en los que el hombre parecía un poco gruñón, pero eso era así para todos.

Robbie se preguntó por un momento si el Sr. Wandrie había oído a Jerry llamarle maricón. Bueno, debió haberlo oído. Eso había avergonzado a Robbie, y esperaba que el Sr. Wandrie no se formara una idea equivocada sobre él. Así es como los tipos como Jerry llamaban a los demás, especialmente cuando estaban furiosos. En realidad no significaba nada. Era como cuando la gente decía que algo era “gay” solo porque no les gustaba. Era una forma de hablar o algo así.

Para ser sincero, había herido sus sentimientos. No entendía por qué Jerry había dicho algo como eso. Era tan obvio que era…

—¿Todavía estás aquí?

Robbie dio un salto, sorprendido por la voz detrás de él. Se volvió para enfrentar al chico que había visto antes, el que tenía la chaqueta de cuero.

—Oh Dios mío, me has asustado.

—Lo siento, tío. —El chico de la chaqueta de cuero se rio—. No fue mi intención acercarme a ti sigilosamente.

—Pensé que Jerry iba a ser despedido —dijo Robbie—. Le llamaron a la oficina del gerente.

El chico asintió con la cabeza.

—Bueno. Ya era hora.

—Oh. Um, yo no quiero que se meta en problemas ni nada de eso. Definitivamente no quiero que, ya sabes, pierda su trabajo.

—¿Por qué no? Es perezoso.

Robbie se encogió de hombros.

—Dijo que no se sentía bien.

El chico de la chaqueta de cuero se rio de nuevo.

—Eres una… cómo debería decirlo… persona muy confiada, ¿no?

—Uh, no lo sé. Supongo que sí.

—Bien, Robbie, creo que deberías tener cuidado. Algunas personas no son muy dignas de confianza.

Robbie le miró. Sus ojos eran más oscuros que antes, ahora eran casi negros. Tal vez fuera debido a la tenue iluminación.

—¿Cómo sabes mi nombre?

—Llevabas una tarjeta de identificación. La leí antes, cuando estabas aquí fuera empujando los carritos.

—Oh.

—Mi nombre es Colt, por cierto.

—¿En serio? —Sonrió Robbie, pero se dio cuenta al instante de lo grosero que debió sonar—. Lo siento, nunca he oído hablar de nadie que se llamara así.

—Abreviatura de Colton. Es un nombre de familia. Y no lo sientas, es bastante inusual.

—Oh, bueno, me gusta. —Cuando su nuevo amigo le miró a los ojos, Robbie sintió que se sonrojaba—. Uh, quiero decir… bueno, es un nombre genial.

Colt se acercó más a él, invadiendo su espacio personal.

—Así que ¿ya has terminado tu turno?

Robbie asintió.

—Sí —susurró.

—¿Estás esperando a que alguien te lleve o algo así?

—Nah. Vivo a un par de bloques de aquí, en el camping.

—Estupendo. —Sonrió Colton—. Te acompañaré a casa.

—¡No tienes que hacerlo! —espetó Robbie—. Uh, quiero decir, es muy amable de tu parte, pero…

—Sé que no tengo que hacerlo, pero ¿y si quiero hacerlo?

¿Por qué querría acompañarme a casa? Robbie no estaba muy seguro de qué pasaba con este chico, pero realmente le gustaba. Tal vez fuera lo sexy que parecía con esa chaqueta de cuero. Tal vez fueran sus ojos, tan oscuros y misteriosos, o la profunda resonancia de su voz.

—Está bien. Es cosa tuya.

Colt se agachó y recogió la mochila que Robbie había colocado a su lado en la acera.

—Muéstrame el camino.

Robbie se echó a reír.

—No tienes que llevarla, ¿sabes? Puedo arreglármelas.

—Quiero llevarla —dijo Colt, su voz firme y confiada—. Ya no me cabe duda, realmente eres una buena persona, alguien a quien me gustaría tener como amigo.

—Gracias. —Robbie no podía creer que este chico estuviera siendo tan agradable, tales atenciones le hacían sentirse un poco abrumado. Era sexy y encantador, casi demasiado bueno para ser verdad—. Pero en realidad no sabes nada de mí. Por lo que sabes, podría ser un asesino o algo parecido.

Colt se echó a reír con un poco más de entusiasmo del que Robbie esperaba.

—Esa sí que es buena. —Palmeó a Robbie en el hombro, y luego le dio un cariñoso apretón. Robbie sintió que sus mejillas ardían.

Caminaron juntos un trecho, con Robbie a la cabeza. Robbie no estaba seguro de qué decirle a su nuevo amigo, cómo seguir la conversación.

—Supongo que estás diciendo que no parezco muy peligroso.

—Bueno, tío, para ser sincero, no, no lo pareces. Tienes el aspecto de ser un hombre tan bueno que la gente se aprovecha de ti en ocasiones.

Colt estaba empezando a sonar igual que su madre.

—Tal vez —asintió—. Pero creo que prefiero que la gente me considere demasiado bueno y no demasiado mezquino.

—Es cierto. Pero tienes que tener cuidado. Ser bueno no es lo mismo que ser crédulo. Aun con todo, tienes que defenderte y no dejar que la gente te utilice.

—Como Jerry. —Robbie sabía que lo que Colt decía era verdad, pero simplemente no estaba en su naturaleza discutir con la gente.

—Sí, como ese idiota. Era evidente que no estaba enfermo. Solo estaba tratando de acosarte para que trabajaras un tiempo extra para así poder irse a casa.

Robbie asintió y bajó la cabeza.

—Oye, ¿cómo sabes que Jerry dijo que estaba enfermo?

—Me lo dijiste cuando estábamos en la tienda.

—¿Te lo dije? —Robbie no lo recordaba—. ¿Eres nuevo aquí? ¿Vives también en el camping?

—No, no vivo en el camping, pero soy nuevo en Boyne. Me mudé la semana pasada.

—Oh, guau. Así que ¿irás al instituto o estás en la universidad?

Colt negó con la cabeza.

—No voy al instituto, ni a la universidad. Ya me gradué.

—Oh, pensé que tenías mi edad. Me gradué el mes pasado.

—Estudié en casa —dijo Colt—. A mis padres no les gustaban las escuelas públicas. ¿Qué edad crees que aparento?

—No lo sé. —No quería responder por miedo a equivocarse—. Diecisiete tal vez.
Colt se echó a reír.

—Te equivocas.

—Lo siento, no soy bueno adivinando la edad de la gente.

—Tengo bastante más de diecisiete años —dijo Colt, sin dejar de sonreír—. Bastante más. ¿Me creerías si te dijera que tengo ciento sesenta y siete?

Robbie se echó a reír.

—Guau, tienes buen aspecto para tu edad. Debes tener una dieta fantástica y un gran régimen de ejercicios.

—Oh, sí. —Le guiñó un ojo y luego pasó un brazo sobre el hombro de Robbie—. Principalmente una dieta líquida.

Robbie se volvió hacia él, inhalando cuando lo hizo, y de inmediato se dio cuenta de cuán tentador era el olor de Colt. Llevaba algún tipo de perfume de sándalo. Paró de caminar y miró a los ojos de su amigo. Parecían mucho más oscuros que antes, pero tal vez se debiera a la luz tenue de las farolas a su alrededor.

—¿Cuántos años tienes realmente? —susurró Robbie.

—Tenía diecisiete la última vez que lo comprobé. —La voz de Colt era ahora más suave y sensual.

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Meant For Him by D.H. Starr is available!

Meant for Him23Meant For Him
Author: D.H. Starr
Genre: Gay romance; M/M romance
Previous book: Meant For Each Other
Imprint: Ai Press
Length: Super novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-76-1

Trade paperback
ISBN13: 978-1-937796-77-8
Price: 12.99 USD

Buy from Ai Press|Amazon Kindle|BN Nook|AllRomance Ebooks|Google Play

Flame rating: 4 flames- Stories have frequent love scenes that are explicit and described using graphic and direct language.

Another hot guy from Greenwich Village is about to meet his match. That is, if he doesn’t mess things up…this time.

After the failure of his relationship with Jeremy, Andrew Jamieson threw himself into the routine of his high powered job on Wall Street. After two years, however, he is unable to quell the longing in his heart, a place Jeremy once filled. That is, until he meets Peter, the local bartender in Jeremy’s favorite watering hole. Peter is hot, sweet, sensitive and…masterful. He brings out a side of Andrew he never knew he had and he can’t get enough. However, when the same issues arise that caused his relationship to fail with Jeremy, Andrew fears he’s destined to ruin his chances with Peter. Will Andrew love Peter enough to let himself have the one guy in the world who could be meant for him?

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Andrew Jamieson pressed the handles of the weight machine away from his body, the strain on his muscles a welcome distraction from the day’s aggravation. Two promotions, managing an entire section of Goldman Sachs trading division, and paychecks to support the lifestyle of a king meant nothing. What good were they if none of them it could fill the void which settled in his heart after his split from Jeremy?

He’d spent two years pouring himself into work and into working out. Still, no amount of money and no extra definition to his already toned body could erase the fact he was alone. Well, maybe not alone since he had friends, but most definitely lonely. He’d taken his eight years with Jeremy for granted, pushing his own wants and needs on the man.

The truth they’d both been hiding from became too much to ignore when Craig, Jeremy’s childhood friend, came back into the picture. They’d wanted different things. At least Andrew kept telling himself they did. Otherwise he’d have to admit he’d fucked up the best thing in his life. And for what? A killer condo overlooking Central Park?

Counting out the final reps, Andrew focused on the muscle burn. It was easy enough to concentrate on the tremor in his bicep when he curled a weight or the creases of his stomach with each crunch, but having the arms of a Greek god was no use when there was no one to hold in his embrace. Washboard abs meant nothing if he couldn’t spoon a warm body against his skin.

He shut out the self-pitying thoughts, wiped down the seat of the weight machine and headed to the locker room. He made quick work of undressing and slipped an altogether too small towel around his waist. There were perhaps seven or eight guys changing and they made no effort to hide their sidelong glances at his powerful physique. Even the admiration of others, many of whom were impressively built, couldn’t lift his sense of isolation.

After a quick shower, he considered a long sit in the steam room and perhaps fifteen minutes in the sauna, areas renowned for locker room hook ups. He’d sworn off those after the first few months of being single. Instead of boosting his ego, the anonymous encounters only served to remind him what he’d had and lost.

Slipping into his regular clothing, Andrew ignored the several men assaulting him with their eyes, and worked his way out of the gym and to the street. The chill of late winter still carried on the air, but the promise of spring lingered beneath the vestiges of cold.

Birds chirped and the trees had begun to sprout buds. People had replaced woolen coats and scarves with lighter jackets. Several food vendors were set up along the sidewalks and the familiar smell of falafel and roasting franks wafted through the air. All signs of warmer weather and new beginnings.

But nothing seemed new. Trudging down Fifty-Ninth Street, the southern border of Central Park, toward his luxury apartment, he couldn’t help but resent the couples wandering along, hand in hand.

A young couple, about his age, stood at the entrance to the park holding one another in an embrace. The man leaned in and placed a tender kiss on the woman’s lips. When he’d initially found this place, he’d hoped he and Jeremy could take such strolls, simply enjoying each other’s company, or heading a few blocks West to Madison Avenue where they purchased a hi-def television or perhaps a Bluetooth surround system. Andrew found solitary use of the equipment far less enjoyable than he’d imagined.

To make matters worse, Jeremy finding everything he wanted in Craig only intensified Andrew’s sense of disconnectedness, a constant companion lately. As if reading his mind, his phone buzzed, Jeremy’s name emblazoned on the screen.

The typical responses of excitement and regret filled him each time Jeremy called, in that order. He pressed ‘Accept’ and brought the phone to his ear. “Hey you.” He mustered as much cheerfulness as he could and still sounded depressed.

“What’s wrong?” Jeremy’s concern was tangible. Yet he wasn’t there to sling an arm over Andrew’s shoulder or pull him into a comforting hug. No warmth, only the chill air of late winter.

“Nothing. Just worked out and I’m a little sore.” His lie probably fell on all too knowing ears, but he refused to wallow in his own misery.

“Oh. Okay.” Jeremy maintained a chipper bounce to his tone, although it didn’t fool Andrew. “We still on for dinner tonight?”

Shit. I totally forgot about that. He and Jeremy had managed to remain friends despite the circumstances breaking them apart. He liked Craig, but seeing the two of them together was still difficult. “Uh. I—”

“Don’t even! I’ve been slaving away in the kitchen for the past two hours.” The chastising tone helped to thaw some of the ice surrounding Andrew’s heart, even though the familiarity broke it just a bit more. “Besides, I haven’t seen you in two weeks.”

“Fine. Is there anything I can bring?”

“Just yourself.” A brief silence interrupted Jeremy’s usual talkative nature. The pause was long enough for the hairs on Andrew’s arms to stand on end. “We invited Pete over too.”

There it was. Another one of Jeremy’s dinners, code for hookup. Andrew dropped his head so his chin rested on his chest and he came to a dead halt in the middle of the sidewalk. “Jeremy. If you’re trying to—”

“I’m not trying to do anything, but you’ve been a working machine for the last two years. It’s not like you to cut yourself off from people. You deserve to find someone. I worry about you.”

Affection spread through Andrew like fingers of warmth comforting him from within. For eight years he’d come home to Jeremy’s nurturing. And for most of those years, they’d been happy. Until Andrew’s career took off. Once that happened, Andrew’d wanted more for the two of them. He’d pressured Jeremy about his choice of career and his complacency. He’d viewed Jeremy as unmotivated and thought it was his job to push the man to achieve his full potential. Yet Jeremy was still teaching, still making a pitiful salary, still living in the East Village in a small apartment, and still happier than Andrew had ever seen him.

“I’ll be there around six. Please don’t expect anything with Pete. When I’m ready, I’ll find someone.”

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En español: Señora de Dos Lairds por Sedonia Guillone

señoraLairdsLarge23Señora de Dos Lairds
Autor: Sedonia Guillone
Género: Menage a trois / histórico / Highlanders
Largo: Novela
eISBN: 978-1-937796-69-3
Precio: 5.49 USD

Calificación sensualidad: 4 llamas-Las historias tienen escenas de amor frecuentes que son explícitos y se describen utilizando el lenguaje gráfico y directo.

Compra e-book de: Ai Press|Amazon Kindle|AllRomance Ebooks

Arte de la cubierta: Les Byerley

Una mujer. Dos rudos y guapos highlanders. Ella los ama a los dos. Afortunadamente, ellos están dispuestos a compartirla…

Leda MacGregor ha albergado un amor secreto por el apuesto Laird Duncan desde que tenía dieciséis años. Cuando este la culpa de la muerte de su esposa, ella se vuelve hacia su hermano Ian para que este la consuele y encuentra que su corazón es capaz de amar a dos hombres.
Ian MacGregor sabe que su corazón pertenece a Leda, su amiga de la infancia. La desea con más fuerza que a cualquier otra mujer que ha conocido. Sin embargo, se debate entre el deseo de su corazón y el curso que su vida debe tomar. Cuando por fin es libre de amar a Leda, son separados por un cruel engaño.
Duncan MacGregor aprende cuan poderosa es fuerza del perdón de Leda y con el paso del tiempo, crece su amor y la desea de una manera que nunca creyó posible. Cuando su hermano le rompe el corazón, la toma para él. Entonces el destino trae a Ian de regreso, aún amando a Leda…
Una mujer. Dos rudos y guapos highlanders. Ella los ama a los dos. Afortunadamente, ellos están dispuestos a compartirla…

Excerpt:

La poderosa presencia de Duncan llenó la habitación. Lo sintió escabullirse tras de ella. Las manos fuertes del Laird se cerraron con suavidad pero con firmeza en sus caderas. El calor de sus manos quemaba por debajo del fino algodón de su camisa de dormir, presionando en su suave carne con fervor posesivo.

El momento había estado anhelando durante años había llegado.

“Phyllida.” El aliento de Duncan acarició un lado de su cuello, haciendo que sus párpados cerrados revolotearan. Se puso de espaldas contra él, deslizando sus manos por sus caderas, a través de la suave redondez, femenina de su vientre. Sus manos se posaron en su pecho, los dedos índices de cada mano rozaban peligrosamente cerca de la parte inferior de sus senos.
Leda se permitió descansar contra él. Se deleitó con la dura protección masculina de su cuerpo presionado su espalda. Duncan la hacía sentir tan segura y cálida. Sus ojos se abrieron cuando la dureza de su erección empujó en la hendidura entre sus nalgas. Su respiración profunda y poso sus manos sobre él, permitiendo que sus dedos exploraran el calor de piel, las venas, y su oscuro cabello rizado de sus fuertes manos. Su aliento, ahora ronco y desigual, latía en sus oídos, convirtiéndose en promesas eróticas. “Duncan, te he fallado. Lo siento mucho.” Ella comenzó a llorar.

“Calla ahora”, le dijo.

En silencio, miró por la ventana abierta a los árboles y al césped. A lo lejos, colinas verdes bajaban por el lago Garmond en los confines de la cañada.

“Mi hermosa Leda”, susurró Duncan. “Te perdono.” El tenor de su ronca voz, más potente que el mejor whisky, envió acaloradas emociones a través de sus pechos, y su corazón le dolía con la liberación de su culpabilidad. Su perdón fue más dulce, más curativo que un bálsamo. Poco a poco, tentativamente, deslizó su palma hacia arriba, por su pecho, a las suaves ondas de sus pechos…

Leda se sentó de golpe, su pecho jadeaba. Hundió la palma de su mano en la frente, recuperándose. Había tenido sueños similares sobre Duncan en los últimos cinco años, y siempre la sacudían. Pero ninguno tan intenso como este.

La húmeda brisa del verano, flotaba por la ventana abierta, levantando suavemente las cortinas de gasa blanca. El temprano rosa de la salida del sol se mostraba por encima de las distantes colinas.

Su sexo seguía pulsándole con la locura del sueño y sus pezones hormigueaban en contra de su camisón. Las sensaciones la llenaban de culpa. A causa de su incompetencia, Duncan había enterrado a su amada Caitlynn y a su hijo muerto el día de hoy, y ella, Phyllida, ni siquiera tenía la decencia de parar sus románticos deseos— no, su lujuria— para el miembro del clan que había amado en secreto durante años. Especialmente cuando fue por su culpa que Caitlynn murió.

Leda exhaló y volvió a caer sobre las almohadas, con el corazón encogido dolorosamente. Empuñó sus manos para que dejaran de temblar. Por enésima vez, repaso todas las posibilidades en su mente, viéndose a sí misma detener el flujo de sangre que había escurrido la vida de Caitlynn. Había empleado hasta la última gota de los conocimientos de partera y de enfermería que su madre le enseñó. Sin embargo, la horrible sensación que podía haber hecho más la atormentaba, como una piedra bajo su piel.

Acomodándose más profundamente en la cama, se quedó mirando la salida del sol. La finca ya se sentía más oscura y sombría, sin Caitlynn, la hermosa mujer que había traído la luz y la risa al sobrecargado laird, lleno de responsabilidades. Cait fue un fuerte contraste a su marido, quien llevaba el peso de sus responsabilidades con un aire pesado. Duncan sorprendió a todos los que conocía durante su corto matrimonio, porque él había pasado esos cinco años llenos de las risas que ahora había perdido.

Ahora Caitlynn se había ido, y Leda tendría que vivir el resto de sus días sabiendo que la había matado.

De repente, Leda recordó que Ian, el hermano menor de Duncan, estaría en casa esa mañana para el funeral. Ella e Ian tenían la misma edad y habían crecido casi toda su vida juntos. La idea de verlo, a su compañero de juegos infantiles y su mejor amigo, fue lo que la hizo sobreponerse y forzarse a sí misma a levantarse de las profundidades de su suave colchón. Calzó sus zapatillas y cruzó la habitación a su guardarropa. Abriendo bien las puertas, pensando en que ponerse. No era que tuviera mucha elección. Había preferido siempre el uniforme de todos los días que era una blusa, pantalón, suéter, y botas, a las faldas y vestidos.

A pesar de su tristeza, Leda sonrió espontáneamente ante los recuerdos que le vinieron a la mente. Caitlynn, que había sido la encarnación de la feminidad, había intentado una y mil veces, sin éxito, romper con su atuendo masculino. A pesar de que Leda se había sentido siempre como una boba junto a la esposa de Duncan, la ropa masculina la había protegido, manteniéndola invisibles a los ojos de los hombres, especialmente de Duncan. Si no la notaba, era mucho más fácil ignorar el hecho de que nunca podría devolver el cariño que guardaba a su tutor. Además, nadie podía montar a caballo, escalar montañas y árboles, y explorar las orillas de un lago en un vestido de té.

Audrey asomó la cabeza por la puerta. “¿Necesita una mano, Señorita Leda?”

Leda sonrió a la mujer, de mediana edad, y que si se preocupa de la condición social. Antes de que su padre se perdiera en el mar, en su barco de pesca, Leda había pasado los primeros años de su vida en una cabaña rústica en las Orkneys, y nunca había sido una criada. Nunca creció acostumbrada realmente a ser atendida. “No lo creo, Audrey. Gracias.”

Audrey frunció el ceño e irrumpió en el cuarto de todos modos. “Yo no le creo, Señorita.” En un soplo de faldas almidonadas, se dirigió a una cómoda y sacó un corsé y medias de color oscuro de un cajón.

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