Release Blitz Review + Giveaway: The Sinner & The Saint by Rj Scott

Title: The Sinner & The Saint

Series: Ellery Mountain Book 8
Author: Rj Scott

Publisher: Love Lane Books Ltd

Cover Design: Meredith Russell

Genre/s: Military, Gay Romance, MM

Ellery Mountain Series

Book #1 - The Fireman & The Cop

Book #2 - The Teacher & The Soldier

Book #3 - The Carpenter & The Actor

Book #4 - The Doctor & The Bad Boy

Book #5 - The Paramedic & The Writer 

Book #6 - The Barman & The SEAL

Book #7 - The Agent & The Model

Blurb

Army medic Ben Rockwell is in Ellery to work with the Veterans Center creating a new specialist unit for post trauma care. Desperate to make amends for battlefield decisions he regrets, he is focused on the unit and nothing else. Until some stranger moves in next door and throws him a curveball. He’s no hero, even though everyone says he is, and the lies burn inside him.

Leaving drama and chaos in his wake, Nicholas Merrick fled London and is hiding out in his friend Jason’s house, until everything back home dies a death. The choices he made in his life were to keep his best friend safe, but as a result everyone sees him as the bad guy.

When these two meet, the attraction is instant. Can they ever be their true selves, and find love as a result?

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Loud banging, with added yelling, pulled Nick out of a nightmare. After a restless, irritable, crunchy-messy night of tossing and turning, he had finally fallen asleep some time before dawn, and now at fuck o’clock in the morning there was knocking at the front door. And some asshole shouting words that he couldn’t make out. Was this part of his dream? He couldn’t tell.

For the longest time he lay flat on his back, unwilling to move. The sheets were wrapped around him like a mummy, the quilt on the floor, and he was still in that half world between nightmare and reality. Even closing his eyes didn’t help dispel the vivid images of him walking up to the Oscar podium completely naked and with the Queen pointing and laughing at him.

Naked as the day he was born, hanging loose and free, and no one saying a thing. Apart from the laughing that was. Like it was okay that one of the Oscar nominees was walking up the steps free of any and all clothing.

Not to mention no one commented on the Queen throwing popcorn at him.

Yep, it had been that kind of nightmare, and it wasn’t the first time he’d had it. And where the Oscar fear came from he didn’t know. There would never be a chance of an Oscar for. Not for the guy whose acting career had happened by accident and formed only because of a personal rebellion against his straight laced family. His resume included two sequels to the highly profitable, but formulaic, shit-bad, Angels of Bedlam franchise, with his entire fee going charity because he didn’t need the money.

Nick hadn’t been in the first UK funded Bedlam film. Said film had been praised for its ingenious twist on a dark horror romance. No, he was the handy British villain in the next two, the studio cashing in on any money that was left out there in a saturated market by ticking all the boxes. Explosions, tick. Strong, but mostly naked, female lead, tick. Sexy down on his luck, in te wrong place at the wrong time, male lead, tick.

And him, the ubiquitous bad guy with the English accent.

The follow up were certainly not Oscar material, and once Nick pulled his fragmented sleep-addled thoughts into line, he focused on the statistical likelihood of even being nominated for an Oscar in the first place, let alone accepting it naked.

“Fuck me,” he muttered to the empty room and rolled onto his front. The banging had stopped and no one actually knew he was here, so, he wasn’t going to answer the door in a place that wasn’t even his.

Jason McInnery and his husband, Kieran, lived in this stunning home, in the small town of Ellery, Tennessee. Glass floor to ceiling, wide open rooms, a pool in the garden, and the most comprehensive jungle gym he’d ever seen for Jason and Kieran’s son, Jonas. Even the damn guest room was beautiful, a huge wood carving took up nearly one wall, and the view from the window out to the mountain was stunning. At least that was the adjective he was supposed to use for what he could see. Objectively, he could see it was spectacular, but was too lost in confusion since he got here to think about it too much. A quick glance at the clock showed him it was five am, like midnight or something back in London, and still dark in the shadow of the mountain, so he rolled over and pulled the covers up to his neck.

Even in the middle of the chaotic remnants of his nightmare he welcomed the heat that cocooned him and willed the knocking to stop. Which it did. The mess of dreams forgotten, he drifted on as many good thoughts as he could muster and was very nearly asleep when the banging started up again. He groaned and hid his face under the pillow, willing the person creating the noise to go away. Then it ceased again, and he closed his eyes, but didn’t remove the pillow. Dawn was too close now and the room would fill with light because he hadn’t even taken the time to pull the drapes.

Unfortunately, his bladder had other ideas about what he needed to do, and cursing, he grabbed the sheets and untwisted himself. Feet planted on the floor he scrubbed a hand over his face, the untamed beard was just another reminder of everything that was horribly wrong about his life right now. Normally he would have just the right amount of stubble, but the last instalment of Angels of Bedlam, cunningly entitled, Bedlam Adrift, called for him to be a castaway, hence the beard, which he’d left to tangle.

No point in worrying about it anyway. He’d left London to get away from paparazzi, and their incessant need for more, and he was in unofficial hiding. Therefore, no one would see his beard, or his bloodshot eyes.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror.

“Jesus, you look fucked.”

Bedhead. Bags under his eyes. Beard. It was a whole cacophony of B-shit. Yawning widely, he padded across the bedroom to the half bath, emptying his bladder and washing his hands. He’d gone to bed as nature intended. Well, warm nature anyway, completely naked, which probably led to nightmare. Packing back home had been done in less than five minutes, his priority was money, passport, his phone, his laptop and associated chargers. It seemed like his messed-up head hadn’t thought any kind of pajamas were needed, or indeed underwear.

The next choice was shower or bed, and the exhaustion of the past few days, the media attention, making sure Heather was okay, fleeing the UK, ending up here in the middle of rural Tennessee, it was all too much and he sighed.

“Bed it is,” he muttered to his reflection. As soon as he woke up he was going online to order everything he’d forgot to pack. Jason had said to help himself to anything he needed but helping himself to his friend’s clothes didn’t feel right.

He yawned again, and stepped out into the cooler bedroom, eyes only half open.

“Hands where I can see them,” someone shouted, and Nick, startled, his heart pounding, fell backwards into the bathroom, catching himself on the jamb as best he could. He blinked to focus on the man in front of him.

The cop.

The gun.

The cop holding a gun on him. Immediately he raised his hands, and then lowered them to cover his junk, and then raised them again when the cop didn’t move.

Review

I have read and loved all of the Ellery Mountain Series, and this one doesn’t disappoint.

Nicholas Merrik ran to Ellery to escape the mess he turned his world into. To escape the chaos he hides out at his friend Jason’s house where he meets Dr. Ben Rockwell. Both of them are running or hiding from something and thing Ellery is only a temporary stop to where there going.

When Nick and Ben’s relationship start to change direction they both must open up about their pasts and maybe, just maybe their futures with collide.

I loved Nick and Ben from the beginning and their story kept me drawn in from page 1.

I recommend to all MM romance lovers!
Kris

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RJ’s goal is to write stories with a heart of romance, a troubled road to reach happiness, and most importantly, that hint of a happily ever after.

RJ is the author of the over one hundred novels and discovered romance in books at a very young age. She realized that if there wasn’t romance on the page, she could create it in her head, and is a lifelong writer.

She lives and works out of her home in the beautiful English countryside, spends her spare time reading, watching films, and enjoying time with her family.

The last time she had a week’s break from writing she didn’t like it one little bit and has yet to meet a bottle of wine she couldn’t defeat.

She’s always thrilled to hear from readers, bloggers and other writers. Please contact via the following links below:

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Release Day Review + Giveaway: Why I Left You by Colette Davison

Book Title: Why I Trust You

Author: Colette Davison

Publisher: Smudged Ink Press

Genre/s: Gay contemporary romance

Length: 76,000 words/363 pages

Release Date: April 23, 2018

It's a standalone story but part of a loosely linked series (Why I Left You and Why I Need You)

Blurb

Martin is the larger than life funny guy, the one who’s quick to soothe other’s pain, whilst hiding his own. He wants nothing more than to find ‘the one’, but his love life consists of a string of break-ups. He’s close to giving up on love, until he meets Ryan online, the artist whose work speaks to his soul. There are just two problems: Ryan already has a boyfriend and he lives in California, which is one hell of a long way from England.

Working with Martin to develop a game is supposed to be purely business; a way for Ryan to earn the money to leave his abusive boyfriend. Except, he finds himself falling for the enigmatic Englishman. Wondering what kind of spark there might be if they were in the same country is one thing, escaping his boyfriend is another.

Wounded by their past relationships, Martin and Ryan have to learn to trust each other in order to have a chance at building a future together.

    

Excerpt 1

"So, I've been meaning to ask, do you surf?"

Ryan blinked at Martin's question, which had seemingly come out of the blue just as they were wrapping up their latest call.

He adjusted his position; the laundry room floor wasn't exactly comfortable. "Uh, no, I can't surf."

Martin chuckled softly down the phone. "Isn't that what all you guys do in California? You surf, have bleached-blond hair and golden skin, and say, 'Totally rad, dude' a lot."

Ryan couldn't stop himself laughing, which actually felt really good, though he did smother the sound with his hand. Not that anyone in the apartment block was likely to be awake at three in the morning, let alone wanting to do laundry.

"You don't?" Martin's voice was full of fake shock.

Ryan laughed even harder. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a hand against his ribs, taking deep breaths to try to calm himself. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like that.

"No," he gasped.

"Really? Because I keep expecting you to say, 'Cowabunga, dude.' So, I guess pizza isn't your favourite food, either?"

"Umm… I think you're confusing the 'surfer dude' stereotype with the Ninja Turtles." Ryan wiped his eyes. He leaned back against the washing machine he was sat in front of, careful to keep his bruised lower back from making contact with the unforgiving metal. "If that's what you think I'm like, does that mean you wear a three-piece suit, carry an umbrella and drink tea constantly?"

"Oh, yeah," Martin said. "That's an absolutely spot-on description of everyone in Britain. Even the women wear tweed suits all the time."

Ryan tried to hold the fresh burst of laughter inside him, but his ribs hurt too much to manage it. "And you're all soccer mad."

"Football," Martin corrected. "And we all dunk biscuits in our tea."

"What? Yuck. Seriously?"

"Yes," Martin said in a very serious tone. "Trust me, you haven't lived until you've dunked a chocolate digestive in your tea."

Ryan grimaced. He wasn't sure what a chocolate digestive was, but the thought of dunking a biscuit in a hot drink turned his stomach. Surely, it would just make a horrible mess? When he was a kid, his mom had given him milk and cookies, which he'd happily dunked, but cookies were way more solid than biscuits.

"I'll take your word for it," he said, not eager to ever try it out.

"You don't have to. I'll make you tea and biscuits if you come visit."

Review

Why I Trust You by Colette Davison is the third book in the Why I series. You can find our reviews for Why I Left You and Why I Need You by following the links. Each one can be read as a stand-alone and is loosely tied together by recurring characters.

I started reading the Why I series from the very beginning and have followed Colette throughout the series. I fell in love with her writing from the first page. Each book is an amazing work of art and her latest release - Why I Trust You - did not disappoint. In fact, while I love the first two books, this book goes above and beyond. It has to be my absolute favorite - and that says quite a bit.

Martin is a computer developer who is on a mission to find the best graphic artist for his latest game that he’s crating. An over - achiever who turns everything he makes into gold has quite the high standards for the person he hires. Ryan is an artist who is in an abusive relationship but wants to get out of it. He wows Martin with his art designs for the game that’s being developed.  Both men have trust issues from their past.

There is so much I can say about this book. It’s sweet, sexy, hot and loving. So many feelings that this story draws out of you! There are times when I  actually found myself laughing out loud and other times when I wanted to beat the living daylights out of Ryan’s ex, Zane. The story grabs you by the arm, draws you right in, and refuses to let you go until the very last sentence.It’s a must read for anyone who loves a good romance with characters who are working toward bettering themselves and overcoming obstacles.

I’m a complete and total #TeamMartin and #TeamRyan fan! Thank you Colette!

Buy The Books

Available on Kindle Unlimited

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About the Author 

Colette’s personal love story began at university, where she met her future husband. An evening of flirting, in the shadow of Lancaster castle, eventually led to a fairytale wedding. She’s enjoying her own ‘happy ever after’ in the north of England with her husband, two beautiful children and her writing.

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Book Blitz + Giveaway: Five Dares by Eli Easton

Title: Five Dares

Author: Eli Easton

Cover Design: Natasha Snow

Publisher: Self Published

Release Day: April 2nd, 2018

Blurb

Andy Tyler has been the class daredevil since middle school. Over the years, he’s convinced his best friend, Jake Masterson, to perform some dangerous-looking stunts with him. But the dare they attempt on the night of their college graduation goes sideways. The firecrackers explode too soon and both of them end up with badly burned palms.

But hey, nothing gets the “terrible two-o” down for long, and they recuperate in style at Andy’s family cottage in Cape Cod. As the weeks go by, both Andy and Jake grow frustrated over the inability to use their hands for all sorts of daily activities—including getting off. So Andy begins a new series of dares that don’t just cross the friendship line, they obliterate it.

But what might be mere sexual relief to Andy is serious business to Jake, who only recently got over years of secret pining for his straight best friend. Inevitably, the burns heal, summer ends, and hearts are broken. To fix things, Andy will have to face the greatest dare of all.

Excerpt

The first few weeks at the cottage we had good weather and spent most of our time outside. Walter said our burns were coming along well. So far we’d avoided making things worse, which was a miracle. The burns were gnarly looking though, and painful when he rewrapped them.

My palms were the bright red of fresh blood. They looked like they’d been dipped in boiling water, with layers around the edge turning white and loose in spots. My hands alternated between a mild burning and piercing pain that went supernova anytime I accidentally clenched them or bumped them into something. Doing or lifting anything that required any pressure on the skin whatsoever was right out.

So by the time we’d been basking on the Nantucket Sound for two weeks, I was climbing the fucking walls.

“I’ve never been this damn horny in my life,” I complained to Jake, bitterly and sincerely.

It was almost noon, and we were sitting out on the dock like we usually did. It had been great hanging out together. We’d caught up on a lot of stuff we never seemed to get around to talking about during school—his upcoming new life. Harvard. Our mutual friends and exes. We’d told ghost stories. We’d taken long walks and kicked around a soccer ball for hours. We’d played poker on Jake’s tablet and consumed six seasons of The Walking Dead on the big-screen TV. It was nice having undivided Jake time, but I’d reached the point where frustration had me close to tears.

Not tears of boredom either. Sexually frustrated tears.

“Turn page,” Jake responded. He was reading on his Kindle.

“I’m not sure how that would help me get off,” I joked.

Jake snorted, but he didn’t rise to the bait.

I shifted in my chair. I wasn’t kidding. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone more than two days without an orgasm. Probably not since I’d figured out the magical wonderland that was my dick when I was eleven years old. I’d had a permanent semi for days now, and my loose, silky gym shorts—worn because I could get them up and down by myself if I scooched against a wall—were doing nothing to disguise it or help it go away.

I moved my bandaged hands onto the arms of the deck chair and looked down at myself. Even looking at my crotch made my dick grow under the silky blue fabric. It was like a hopeful puppy anticipating attention.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Jake glance at it too. He leaned forward in his chair, hunching toward the Kindle, which was propped on a little table in front of him. “Turn page.”

“You did not just read an entire page.” I smirked.

“Shut up, Mr. TMI.” Jake fake-read some more.

But I knew I had his attention. “Have you figured out a way to get off yet? Because I haven’t.”

“No,” he said in a distracted voice. Despite his blasé look, I knew there was no way he was absorbing a single word on that Kindle screen.

“Me neither. I tried humping the bed, but it didn’t work. Fucking mattress is so soft and lumpy.”

“Can you not give me the gory details?” Jake hunched further and stared at the Kindle.

“Rubbing against the tiles in the shower didn’t work. They’re too hard.”

He snorted. “What are you, the Goldilocks of self-love?”

I chuckled. “That’s me. I need something just right.” I used a filthy voice on the last bit.

Jake shifted uneasily but didn’t look at me. “Too bad Amber dumped you. Maybe you could call her and play the poor invalid card. She might be willing to drive down for a conjugal visit.”

“Nah. So not worth the bowing and scraping I’d have to do.”

I gave it a moment, trying to build up my nerve.

I hadn’t been kidding. I’d tried a half-dozen ways to get off, but nothing was working. So I’d put some serious brain power into figuring out a solution. I was good at working around obstacles, but the obvious answer—the thing I really wanted—involved Jake, and I wasn’t sure how he’d react.

Just thinking about it, I plumped up further, causing a definite tent in my shorts. I half expected Jake to tease me, something like, You could poke someone’s eye out with that thing.

But all he said was, “Turn page.”

“So . . . you haven’t gotten off since before the hospital?” I asked.

“No,” Jake said quickly. “And it’s not helping to talk about it, thank you very much. It’s like when you talk about having a tickle in your throat, it makes you want to cough.” His voice was tense. I saw his eyes flicker toward my shorts, though he didn’t turn his head and he continued to pretend to read.

My heart pounded. I felt exposed at the moment, my semi obscene, so I sat up and hunched forward too, elbows on my knees. I watched a ski boat go by. The roar of the motor was loud. I waited until it had passed. Then I swallowed and told myself it didn’t matter. It was no big deal to suggest it. And if he said no, it was no biggie. I could play it off as a joke. But it really didn’t feel that way.

“Speaking of a tickle in your throat . . . I have an idea about how we can get off.”

“You do?” Jake’s tone was fast and curious. Definitely interested.

“Yup.”

“Like what? Gonna have Walter install a Fleshlight in the shower?” He chuckled.

I huffed. “Yeah. You know my dad combs through every one of my credit card statements. No way am I ordering a Fleshlight. Not to mention the fact that I’d have to kill myself after asking Walter to install something like that.”

Walter, our nurse, was in his fifties, white, bald, and pudgy. He had a squeaky-clean fundamentalist thing going on and had mentioned “praying” for us several times. Ix-nay on asking Walter to mount a fuck tube in the shower.

“So what then, Oh Planinator?” Jake sat up from his slouch and looked at me.

Unable to meet his gaze, I studied the water. “Okay, so just hear me out before saying no.”

“Oh shit. You only say that when it’s really whacked.”

“Come on! I’m serious.”

Jake sighed, but I could swear there was a new tension in the air. He was no longer pretending to read his Kindle. He leaned back in his chair and waited. “Go on, then. Spit it out.”

I grinned and turned my head to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the goal, yeah.”

He kicked my leg lightly with his bare heel. “Just say it.”

“Okay. So. We can’t jerk off, right?” I held up my bandaged hands a little.

“Obviously.”

“Well, have you ever heard of guys who can, you know, suck their own dicks?”

There was a sharp inhale from Jake, but he kept his face blank. “Yeah. I can’t though. Not even a little bit.”

“I know. Me neither. So I thought . . .” Fuck. This was hard to say. Incredibly hard to say. But there was no point in beating around the bush. “Okay. So. What if we sucked each other, like, at the same time, and pretended we were doing ourselves? Sort of self-suck by proxy.”

I’d intended to keep a jokey tone during this, so I could claim I was teasing. But the words started tumbling out, and there was a hollow ringing in my ears. I honestly didn’t have the slightest fucking clue what my tone had been or how it must have sounded to Jake.

Next to me, he went deadly still. He stared down at his knees. There was a little frown behind his brow. He looked worried. Or disturbed. Or both concurrently.

I fought the urge to overexplain or justify. Play it cool. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes as if soaking in the sun. “It would get the job done.” I shrugged.

“Did you honestly just ask me to suck you off?” Jake asked in a quiet voice.

“No. That’s not what I said. Don’t go all homophobic on me, bro. Look, we can’t use our hands at all. Fact. If you could suck yourself, you would—right? Fact. But you can’t. I’m in the same boat. So I’m thinking if we were end to end, we could close our eyes and pretend we’re doing ourselves. And we’d get off. And we wouldn’t have to get Walter or anyone else involved. It’s really the best solution.”

Jake was silent again for a long moment. “I’m not doing that.” His voice was firm, grim, like he meant it.

Honestly, I was surprised. And a little hurt.

“Fine,” I said. “It was just a suggestion. You got a better idea? Or do you want the worst case of blue balls ever? Because I’m about to crawl the fucking walls.”

“I’m not doing it,” he repeated adamantly.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time, Jake.”

In my peripheral vision, I could see he was stiff and tense, like he might bolt. But, finally, he relaxed. He leaned forward toward the Kindle. “Turn page,” he said, his voice tight.

“What if I dared you?” I asked, unable to let it go.

“Jesus, Andy, fuck off!” Jake snarled. He got up and stormed toward the cottage. We’d figured out that if we kicked the bottom of the screen door, it would bounce open for a second, long enough to get one foot in. He did this harder than necessary and went inside. I was so shocked, I let him go without a word.

Goddamn it. I’d known it would be risky to bring it up, but some part of me believed Jake would jump at the chance. Or, worst case, brush it off as a joke. I hadn’t expected anger. Jake had never told me to fuck off like that. Not that I could remember.

Shit.

Okay. Bad idea. Abort, abort. But it was too late to take it back.

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About The Author

Having been, at various times and under different names, a minister’s daughter, a computer programmer, a game designer, an author of paranormal thrillers, a fan-fiction writer, an organic farmer, and a profound sleeper, Eli Easton is happy these days writing love stories.

As an avid reader of such, she is tinkled pink when an author manages to combine literary merit, vast stores of humor, melting hotness, and eye-dabbing sweetness into one story. She promises to strive to achieve most of that most of the time. She currently lives on a farm in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, with her husband, three bulldogs, two cows, a cat, and a potbellied pig. She enjoys reading in all genres and, when she can be pried away from her iPad, hiking and biking.

Eli Easton has published 24 books in m/m romance since 2013. She won the Rainbow Award for Best Contemporary Romance in 2014 (The Mating of Michael) and in 2016 (A Second Harvest). Her Howl at the Moon series of humorous dog shifter romances have become fan favorites and placed in the Rainbow Awards and the Goodreads M/M Group Reader’s Choice awards. She is best known for romances with humor and a lot of heart.

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RELEASE BLITZ + Giveaway: Rising Tide by Bryce Winters

Book Title: Rising Tide: A Changing Tides Novel

Author: Bryce Winters

Publisher: Self Published

Cover Artist: Resplendent Media

Genre/s: MM Contemporary Romance

Length: 73,000 words

It's a standalone story. The first book in a trilogy (The Changing Tides Trilogy)

Blurb

The rising tide brings storms...

Harris Brewer has seen it all – and cut it open. As a cardiac surgeon, he's used to challenges, used to surprises. But when he's slapped with a high-profile malpractice suit the last thing he expects is to get shipped off to a tiny Oregon town to 'let the lawyers handle it.' Then he sees a big blonde hunk jogging down the street and realizes that maybe a hot vacation fling is just what the doctor ordered...

The rising tide brings change...

Never get involved with a tourist. That's been Reid Colburn's policy and it's served him well. They come, bring their money, and leave. That's good enough for his restaurant business – and his heart. But this new guy in town, he's something else. Reid can’t deny enjoying the relentless flirting. Too bad Dr. Stud is just passing through...

The rising tide erodes the past...

Despite being careful to avoid it, Reid finds himself on the brink of falling in love. They both knew this was a temporary thing, so why does it hurt so bad when Harris going back to Los Angeles becomes the inevitable reality? Maybe Reid shouldn't be fighting against the tide. Maybe he should just ride this stormy affair to wherever it leads...

Excerpt

Reid left Harris to peruse the menu, refreshing drinks and chatting with other customers. But even while he remained busy, his attention stayed hung up on the newcomer. By the time he came back around to Harris, the man was staring at him again, chin resting in one hand, the other drumming a simple rhythm on the bar. Reid smiled at him, ignoring the swooping sensation in his stomach.

“What’ll it be?” Reid asked.

“Since I liked your first recommendation, I thought you could give me another,” Harris said, a suggestive smile playing on his lips.

Reid knew Harris meant something off-menu. Preferably in a bedroom. Reid also knew he should shut this down now. It had gone on too long already. He plastered on a distant but friendly smile and said, “Fish ‘n chips. We use rockfish, which has a richer fish flavor if that’s what you’re looking for. Cod can be a little bland. We have cod, too, if you’d prefer.”

Harris pushed the menu toward Reid, all traces of his flirtatious behavior gone. “That sounds good. The rockfish.”

Reid kept the smile on his face, though a hollow ache had suddenly bloomed behind his stomach. Disappointment. In himself for not going along with Harris' suggestive behavior and letting himself have a little fun. He was surprised to find that he wished he had given a different answer, that maybe the night could have taken a different turn for both of them. He resisted the urge to try and salvage it, to flirt back with Harris.

"Coming right up," Reid said instead, heading toward the kitchen.

Julie’s kitchen was on top of it tonight, and Harris’ order came up quickly. Harris ate in silence, though Reid felt the weight of those incredible eyes. They held a sad mystery in them, one that Reid wanted to discover. But Reid had his hands full with drink orders and customers at the bar, the night picking up rapidly. The Irish drinking songs had already begun in the dining room, much to Sasha’s chagrin.

"These men know nothing," she groused. Reid laughed. Sasha had immigrated from Russia only a short time ago. Reid didn’t know much of her past besides what Sasha had been willing to share. He knew she used to be a ballerina, but she remained stubbornly closed-lipped about the rest. Including the family she left behind. Her thick accent threw a lot of customers off at first, but she was generally friendly unless you said the wrong thing to the wrong person.

"They're still paying customers, Sasha," he said as she hefted another heavy tray full of beer.

She muttered something in Russian as she wandered off. Harris snorted and laughed at his end of the bar.

"She's got a mouth on her," he said.

"You understood that?" Reid asked, curious.

"Yeah," Harris said, finishing off his beer. Reid noticed that his plate was empty, with only a used lemon slice and a little bit of tartar left in its bowl.

Reid's curiosity and interest in the man ratcheted up ten-fold. It had been hard enough to convince himself to stick to his principles without Harris proving to be even more interesting.

Instead of asking Harris how he knew Russian or even what Sasha had said like he so desperately wanted to, Reid gathered Harris' plate and took it into the back. Then he printed Harris' tab and slid it his way with an easy smile.

"I hope you enjoy your stay in Seaside," he said and left Harris to it, though every ounce of his being screamed in protest as he walked away.

A few minutes later, well after Reid had watched Harris slip out the door without so much as a wave goodbye, Sasha picked up Harris’ receipt and let out a sharp curse in Russian. At least, Reid had always thought it was a curse. She said it a lot. Reid abandoned the drink he had been pouring and made his way to Sasha’s side.

"What is it?" he asked, looking over her shoulder. Then he choked on air as surprise shot through him.

Large loopy letters spelling out one-thousand dollars resided on the tip line.

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About the Author 

Bryce Winters lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and two crazy cats.

She’s a professional tutor by day, writer by night, and loves helping students achieve their goals. When she's not writing, Bryce enjoys crocheting ridiculously large blankets and reading all the romance she can get her hands on.

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