Friday Preview-Tono

Today I'd like to share a snippet of my novel, Tono. In book two of the Basque Trilogy, you see another side of Tono Garat, the Basque athlete who helped Mick Henley recover after his break up with long-time lover, Paul Alcott. Tono was a jai alai player at the height of his career when he met Mick. He was also deep in the closet. Mick's love and support gave him the courage he needed to come out and be the partner Mick deserved. Tono was also a poet, a romantic, who enjoyed writing sonnets for Mick. The Spanish poem beside the image of the book cover is one Tono wrote and read at Mick's funeral. I chose to leave it in Spanish rather than have nuances lost in translation. After Mick passes, Paul and Tono are trying to keep their relationship alive, but there are serious issues that need to be addressed. The conversation below is a start. At the end of the except I'm posting some photos of jai alai in honor of Tono and all the Basques who love this sport as much as we love baseball.

Excerpt

“When I was eight years old, my father said that I‟d have to run up and down that hill each day to strengthen my legs. No matter how tired I was, or what the weather was like, I ran. If my shoes were too tight, I ran barefoot. I helped unload fishing boats, partly because they needed another hand, but mainly because we couldnt afford to buy weights for my training. I didn't own a pair of Nike shoes until I was seventeen years old. Id play in espadrilles, something you consider "summer wear‟, but here, we wear them because they're cheap and they're comfortable.”
“Tono, I didn't know.”
“You didn't know because you never cared enough to ask.”
Paul was silent as Tono continued with his outburst. “My father accomplished small miracles getting me to the polideportivo each week. He'd take turns with other dads so that we could have our hour at the fronton, but because it was so crowded and the demand for the space so high, we'd have to play at five in the morning, which meant we left here at four. Do you know what that's like, particularly in the winter?”
“I can only imagine. It must have been difficult.”
Tono snorted in disgust. “Difficult doesn't even begin to describe it.”
“When did you move to San Sebastian?”
“When I was around thirteen or fourteen. I can't remember exactly, but it was at that time I started to win and move up in the rankings. My family began to realize that I was far better than many of the other players, and if I was going to make it, they'd have to go the extra mile. They uprooted themselves to another city for me. By the time I was eighteen, I was already under contract and playing professionally. I left for Florida when I was in my early twenties, ignorant of English and the American way of life, but I learned it quickly. And let's not forget the internal war I had with my sexuality through all of this. Hiding the fact that I was gay was extremely isolating, and I was lonely for years.”
“Tono, please calm down. You're spiraling.”
“This conversation was overdue.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you and I are worlds apart, Pol. For all your education and your fancy lifestyle, you're insular and narrow-minded in thinking that the universe revolves around your country and your way. Well, guess what? There are entire nations in this part of the world that want nothing to do with America. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I don't want to live in New York? That I hate everything about it except for you?”
“It hadn‟t crossed my mind. I just assumed you'd want to be with me, but obviously I was mistaken.”
Tono silently stood his ground until Paul held his hand and said earnestly, “We could try and make it work.”
“Who would do the trying? Me? By giving in and going back with you? Or would you actually consider living part of your life here, in another country, because you loved me enough?”
“I have a business to run,” Paul said, staring at his feet.
Tono raised Paul's face with a gentle hand so he could look into the troubled eyes. “You know I love you, rubio, but we have nothing in common, and love isn't always enough.”
“How can you say that after being in a relationship that relied on love for sustenance in the face of a deadly disease? Your love sustained Mick, our love brought him peace and gave him strength through some terrible times, so saying that love is not enough is ludicrous.”
“I can't argue with that, Pol, but neither you nor I are facing imminent death. We have to make a life together, and I don't think we can. What do we have in common, really? You hate sports, for one thing. You've never shown any kind of interest in learning more about my Basque heritage or Spanish culture in general. You're constantly berating our customs, especially the timetable, which goes against your well-regulated life. Can you even say two words in Spanish other than please and thank you? You've never made the effort to be a part of my world, yet you expect me to walk away from everything I know and love to move to a city that only holds bad memories for me.”
“You'll be able to commute as often as you want. The jet will be at your disposal.”
“Pol, have you heard anything I've said?”
Paul squeezed Tono's hand and remained mute. He was afraid to open his mouth because he knew he'd start begging, and Paul Alcott didn't beg. Or maybe he did that one time, and ironically, to this same individual. “Are you just giving up, Tono? Don't you think our relationship is worth fighting for?”
“Maybe I need proof.”
“Excuse me?”
“I need to know that it's not always going to be about you and your way. If we're going to have any kind of life, it needs to be a partnership, and a sharing of cultures. I'll never be an American. You'll never be a Spaniard, but we need to find some middle ground, or this is doomed.”

You can purchase The Basque Trilogy bundle for $9.99 at Dreamspinner Press: https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/basque-trilogy-by-mickie-b-ashling-8638-b

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Blog Tour: Open Seating at Love Bytes Reviews

I'm over at Love Bytes Reviews today. Check out the new exclusive excerpt and take advantage of another chance to click on the Rafflecopter for a freebie.

http://lovebytesreviews.com/2016/06/22/blog-tour-exclusive-excerpt-giveaway-mickie-b-ashling-open-seating/

You can also read their great review of Open Seating here:

http://lovebytesreviews.com/2016/06/10/release-day-review-open-seating-open-seating-trilogy-1-by-mickie-b-ashling/

Friday Countdown-Ride-Off

Happy Friday! It's also the final day to avail of the 25% off sale going on at the Dreamspinner Press Store (no April Fool's joke-I promise).

Today, I'm posting another excerpt from Ride-Off, the second book in the Polo Series. In this scene, Ned Temple, Preston's best friend, is pondering his relationship with Bandi, Konrad's son, who is twenty-four years younger.

NED closed the book he’d been pretending to read and tossed it off to the side with a weary sigh. There was no point in checking the time again. He knew it hadn’t advanced much since the last time he’d glanced obsessively at his Rolex. He usually called Bandi between midnight and one in the morning, UK time, and that was still an hour away. Reluctantly, he reached over to the decanter Thomas had left on the side table and poured another finger of whiskey. He’d vowed to curtail his drinking, which had escalated since his return from America, but found it impossible to take his mind off the current state of his love affair without the numbing effect of Lagavulin, the sixteen-year-old single malt whiskey he’d become quite fond of years ago.
     Not for the first time, he asked himself why he’d consented to this separation. The altruistic reasons he’d enumerated when Preston had insisted on answers made absolutely no sense when faced with an empty spot on the sofa previously occupied by the love of his life.
A self-deprecating laugh got past the tight band around his throat and he went to stand in front of the fireplace to stare into the blistering pile of logs in search of answers. Why had he let him go? Did he honestly think that Bandi would be back when the most important weapon in Ned’s arsenal had been rejected time and again?
     Over the last two years, Ned had discovered that his young lover was nowhere as shallow as the string of forgettable men he’d dallied with in the past. Before this awareness, he’d fallen back on old habits, trying to compensate for the age gap with piles of gifts. Bandi had accepted the cards and flowers, because he thought they were romantic, but he balked the first time Ned had suggested a shopping spree in London.
     “I don’t need any clothes,” the younger man had declared, looking a little affronted when Ned made a comment on sprucing up his wardrobe. “Are you ashamed to be seen with a gypsy?”
     “Don’t be silly, darling. I just thought you’d enjoy having a couple of shirts by Tom Ford. You so admired the green shirt I wore the other day. That was a Ford.”
     “I admired it on you,” Bandi said calmly. “I don’t want or need anything that fancy.”
     “What about another of pair of boots?” Ned had suggested. “There’s a marvelous shop in Knightsbridge I discovered a few years back. They stock handmade boots from Spain and Italy that feel broken in―they’re so comfortable. Wouldn’t you like another pair?”
     “No.”
     Several months later Bandi had refused to accept the Aston Martin Ned had purchased after a particularly memorable session of lovemaking. He’d been horrified at the prospect of tooling around in a vehicle he hadn’t paid for. When Ned explained it meant nothing to him but a shiny toy, Bandi had stalked off in a fit of anger, but not before hurling the keys at Ned’s chest. That incident had led to their first serious fight. He’d given Ned the cold shoulder for days until the Englishman had sworn off gift buying unless there was a legitimate reason like a birthday or Christmas. Bandi had also set spending limits. Ned wasn’t allowed to purchase anything over a certain amount or it would be summarily returned. He was so relieved to be back in Bandi’s good graces he had promised to be more circumspect when it came to gifts.
     Not one of the pretty boys he’d bedded in the last twenty years had ever turned down a present, and he found himself at a loss when confronted with a man who didn’t give a jot for material goods. It was a novelty and made Ned suspicious for weeks. By the time he’d accepted the truth that such a thing existed, an honorable man, he was deeply in love.
     The possibility of losing Bandi had resurrected painful memories of a time long ago when he and Preston were teenagers. He’d been fascinated with his American friend for years, but he could never compete with the phantom lover who was the center of Pres’s universe. Although they’dshared several firsts, Ned had always felt like a detour on his best friend’s road to happiness. It was difficult to grasp the mentality of someone so single-minded, and he’d given up trying after Preston had made it abundantly clear they were better friends than lovers. The pain of that rejection had stayed with him for a long time, and he’d been reluctant to open his heart to anyone else lest it be torn apart with hardly any remorse.
     Through the succeeding years, Ned had fallen in and out of lust several times. And that’s all it was, a physical need like eating or sleeping. He’d learned a lot about himself in the process and began to count on the one thing that set him apart from the competition―money. Ned’s looks were perfectly acceptable, but nothing out of the ordinary. His ginger-brown hair and blue eyes were typically English, and his forty-eight-year-old body was fit and lean, thanks to the well-equipped gym he’d built on the premises. In reality, he was quite forgettable when compared to Preston, still the most attractive man in the polo circuit, despite his age and silver-streaked hair.
     Ned’s big draw was his personality. Being the fourth child of a well-to-do family had led to a pressure-free existence. Familial expectations were minimal, and indulging his penchant for the horsy set was a given. As long as he didn’t get embroiled in any scandals, he was free to pursue his career in polo, which included the usual perks that came with being in the rarefied world of globetrotting, like-minded gentlemen. His reputation as a reliable player had earned him the respect of his peers, and unlike his best friend, the explosive and unpredictable cowboy, Ned was a calming presence in the challenging and oftentimes volatile sport. He was sought after as a friend and companion and his long list of acquaintances included the top echelon of society. He’d never done anything to raise an eyebrow, and even his weakness for pretty boys had been met with amused indulgence; everyone knew they were nothing but a passing fancy.
     Falling in love with Bandi had been unexpected, and the accompanying highs and lows of passion, unfamiliar, and downright disturbing. Controlling a relationship with deep pockets was far easier on the nerves, and much more predictable, but not nearly as satisfying. For the first time in his life, Ned was willing to thumb his nose at society and do the unexpected. Taking his relationship with a man twenty-four years his junior to a more permanent level, and acknowledging Bandi as his life partner, would be leaving himself open to criticism. People would say he was a doddering old fool who’d fallen into a familiar trap, but he didn’t give a damn. He knew their feelings were genuine and the naysayers could go hang themselves.

All the books in the Polo Series are currently on sale at the Dreamspinner Store, including The Sixth Chukker which releases April 8.

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=7601

Friday Countdown

Happy Friday everyone! I'm back to share another excerpt of Fire Horse, the first book in my Polo Series. In this scene, thirteen year old Preston Fawkes starts boarding school in England and meets Ned Temple for the first time. Ned is a beloved secondary character who appears in all three books.

ETON was a new world, and one I wasn’t sure I’d ever like. I complained bitterly that first weekend I was able to go off campus to visit Mom. She’d rented a flat in London and was trying to rebuild her life after the soul-searching decision to file for divorce. I’d known this was coming, but the determination in her voice was devastating. I tried to imagine my father’s face when he received the news. He might not have been suited for her, but he loved her beyond anything else. Despite his misgivings, he’d allowed my departure to study in England because he wanted to show Mom how much he cared about her culture and her feelings, but it had backfired. Ensconced in familiar routines, which included visits from old friends, Mom had moved forward, ready to shed her rough-and-tumble existence back in San Antonio. She’d often lamented that trying to fit in with her neighbors had been like fitting a square peg into a round hole.

     For once, I could relate. Turning me into a proper Etonian was like trying to train a donkey to play polo. Mom had waited too long, in my opinion. Most of my formative years were over, so learning how to eat, walk, and talk like a Brit was futile. I felt like an alien who’d materialized in this prim and proper world of good form and etiquette. Frankness and casual dress were frowned upon in most of the groups I’d tried to join, and my Texas accent was always the kiss of death. In a nation that prided itself on diversity, diction was the measure of a man’s education and breeding, and a slip of the tongue could push you back to the end of the queue before you could figure out what happened. The only people who seemed willing to bridge the gap between our cultures were the members of the equestrian club.

     Belatedly, I’d found out there were no stables on campus. That upset me more than anything else. I’d always found a sense of peace in the daily routine of caring for Thunder, and knowing I’d have to be transported by bus or car to the closest stables was infuriating. Still, I’d been promised my horse, and I wasn’t going to be deterred by this minor inconvenience.

     Thanks to Konrad’s training, my considerable knowledge of polo set me apart from all the new boys. It was the first time I commanded any respect from my peers, and it was sort of heady to see the look of admiration in their eyes whenever I scored a goal or outmaneuvered one of the upperclassmen. Ned Temple, one of the boys in the club, lived in the same house where I’d been assigned and had the room next to mine. He was fourteen, a year ahead of me, but wasn’t turned off by my age or lack of breeding―quite the opposite. He’d wandered into my room that first week, to introduce himself, and then stayed when he found out I was from Texas.

     “Are you really a cowboy?” he asked that day, brimming with excitement.
     “Yeah,” I said warily, fully expecting to see the pursed lip look of disapproval I’d come to recognize. “What about it?”
     “Do you eat beans out of a can?”
     I laughed at his naivety. “You must be into movies.”
     “I’ve seen every single western ever made,” he boasted.
     “Why?”
     “Clint Eastwood.”
     Disdainfully, I pointed out that he only starred in spaghetti westerns. “He’s no more a cowboy than you are.”
     “But he’s dangerously handsome,” Ned said with a wicked grin.
     “You’re gay?”
     He gave me a wary look. “Is that a problem?”
     “I don’t give a shit,” I said.
     “Thank goodness,” he sighed with relief. “I was positive you’d do something fiendishly western.”
     “Like what?”
     “String me up by my trainers or something.”
     “Trainers?”
     Waving away my question with a graceful flip of his hand, he mumbled, “Never mind.”
     “I think it’s pretty gutsy to blurt out you like cock.”
     “I try to be up-front with boys I befriend,” Ned said. “It saves a lot of drama down the road.”
     “Have you had much?” I asked curiously. I kept thinking of Konrad’s dilemma and his words of caution. “Drama, that is?”
     “I’m beaten up on a fairly routine basis,” he said in a resigned tone. “Still, I find it easier to be myself than to pretend. There are a lot of gay kids at Eton, but I’m one of the few who’s up-front about it.”
     “Commendable,” I muttered.
     “Are you gay?” Ned asked hopefully.
     “Do I look it?”
     “Not at all, but that means nothing. We come in all sizes and shapes.”
     “Then why ask?”
     “Your nonchalance is telling.”
     I shrugged. “Your love life is none of my business,” I said evenly, “and you can interpret my statement any way you want.” I was trying to be diplomatic without revealing anything. There’d be time enough in the future to exchange secrets. “Tell me about the equestrian club,” I said. “Do you ride?”
     Did he ever. Ned was as obsessed with horses and polo as I was, which sealed our friendship then and there. He was also loaded and had several ponies he was willing to share. Dad planned to ship Thunder over but wanted to wait until I was settled. In the meantime, I’d have to accept Ned’s kindness and learn how to work with strange ponies.
     “It’s almost time for midafternoon tea. Will you join me?” Ned asked.
     “What else do they serve? I’m not crazy about tea, toast, or soft-boiled eggs.”
     “What do you fancy?”“Pizza and soda.”
     “Soda?”
     “You know, the fizzy drinks, Coke or Pepsi.”
     “Right,” he said, nodding. “I’m sure we can get it sorted.”
     What followed were weeks of learning how to survive in my new environment. Ned was great through the transition, taking on the role of Henry Higgins to my bumbling Eliza Doolittle. He instructed me on the hierarchy of the school, corrected me when I used the wrong words, and insisted that I dress up when necessary. In return, I taught him how to think like a cowboy on the polo field. He was tentative at first, but each victory gave him confidence, and we soon gained a reputation as the daring duo.

You can purchase Fire Horse, Ride-Off, and Pre-order The Sixth Chukker at my Amazon page or the Dreamspinner Store.

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004QSCN3E

DSP: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=7601

Friday Countdown

Happy Friday everyone! As promised, here's a short excerpt from the second book in the Polo Series. This novel picks up about two years after Fire Horse ends. What you're seeing is a conversation between Preston's son, Sasha, and his soon-to-be-boyfriend, Jeremy. They're both struggling artists on Broadway and dealing with the reality of being on their own. Jeremy's trying to talk Sasha into seducing his producer for a chance at a big part.

SASHA threw the last item of clothing into his overnighter and slammed it shut.
“I don’t know why you’re going home for Thanksgiving when you’re still so mad at your father,” Jeremy commented. He was huddled underneath an afghan on the sofa and eyeing him critically.
“My mother would be devastated if I stayed away.”
“Are you sure you can handle it on your own?”
“Handle what?”
“Your father and the rest of the Brady Bunch.”
“What a joke,” Sasha retorted bitterly. “I was an only child for years and now I have to wait in line for crumbs.”
Jeremy got off the sofa, dragging the afghan along like a giant shawl. “I told you I’d come with you,” he said. “I could use a break from this cold.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“Jesus… you really need to lighten up,” Jeremy said coldly. “You’ve been a total bitch for weeks.”
“You’d be an asshole too if you had to subsist on ramen noodles.”
“Didn’t you say Preston had paid the rent through January?”
“Yes, but I’m saving my measly paycheck for February and March.”
“I don’t understand why he’s become so militant about money all of a sudden.Sasha shrugged. “He says I’m coasting through life and need some kind of incentive. I suppose being homeless and starving will light a bomb under my lazy ass.”
“Sasha, you’re not lazy at all, and I promise you’ll neither be homeless nor starving with me around.”
“I’m not taking a cent from you.”
“Call it a loan if you must.”
“Neither a borrower nor a lender be,” Sasha said gravely.
“Dude, you did not just quote Shakespeare.”
“I was quoting my grandfather John.”
“And he was quoting Hamlet! If your grandfather was so damn worried about that, why didn’t he provide you with a trust fund? Didn’t you say you were his only grandchild?”
“Well, no, but Paloma was just a name to him. Since she lived in another country, and never visited, he didn’t know her or care enough to include her in his will.”
“That’s kind of cold. No matter how you shake it or play it, she’s a blood relative.”
“He didn’t like foreigners very much.”
“Didn’t you tell me that your grandmother on your dad’s side was English?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So he must have liked imported tail at one point.”
“It didn’t work out.”
“That’s still no reason to cut out Paloma.”
“His choice,” Sasha reasoned. “Anyway, I do have a trust fund, but I can’t touch it until I’m twenty-five.”
“Shit, that’s four years from now.”
“Three and a half,” Sasha corrected. “In the meantime, I’m reduced to groveling.”
“Unless we move forward with my plan.”
“Your plan stinks.”
“When was the last time you had some protein?”
“Does spunk count?”
Jeremy made a disgusted face. “Really, Sasha?”
“Just kidding.”
“Are you even dating?”
“Your network of spies would inform you before I even unzipped my pants.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“I’m not interested in anyone.”
“No one?”
Sasha looked away.
“Moving on,” Jeremy said breezily. “Jordan is quitting due to other commitments so his alternate is moving up. They’ll need someone new to cast for that spot. Enter Alexander Nell, stage left.”
“Just like that?” Sasha said incredulously.
“After we get done with Joe, you’ll be a shoo-in for the part.”
“We?”
“Don’t be so clueless, Sash. I’ll handle the prep work; you just show up when I call.”
“I don’t know, Jem.”
“There’s nothing to think about. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“What about afterward?”
“Come on, hon. Joe’s been directing a long time and knows the score. He’s not going to press for anything more than what you’re offering.”
“Which isn’t much.”
“Don’t underestimate the power of blonds.”
“Miss Clairol has at least thirty shades that can turn the mousiest brunet into a blond bombshell.”
“You, my dearest friend, are the genuine article, as rare as a unicorn and just as elusive.”
“Moi?”
“Yeah, you.”
“Being blond hasn’t really panned out, has it? Perhaps I should try the Goth look for a change.”
“Don’t you dare,” Jeremy said, hauling Sasha into his embrace. He lifted the stubborn chin with his forefinger and gazed into the striking blue eyes that looked at him curiously. “People pay hundreds of dollars to try and look like a California dream, and all you have to do is get out of bed and run your fingers through the tangles.”
“Bandi and Paloma are more striking than I’ll ever be.”
“Oh, puleeze!”
“You can’t possibly be immune to their looks.”
“I prefer blonds.”
“That’s because you’re a brunet.”
“Why are we having this stupid conversation?”
“For lack of anything better to do,” Sasha said with a grin. “I don’t have to be at Newark for three more hours.”
“We can always have sex and brush up on our skills.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t look so horrified.”
“I’m not,” Sasha protested. Was Jem kidding or what?
“Come here,” Jeremy said, leading Sasha over to the sofa. He grabbed a few throw pillows and stacked them in the middle. “Let’s pretend the pillows are Joe.”
“No,” Sasha said, twisting out of reach. “This is ridiculous.”
“We have to rehearse or we’ll look like a pair of amateurs when we finally get Joe in a position to be seduced.”
“You’re really serious about this three-way, aren’t you?”
“I never joke about sex.”
“Neither do I,” Sasha said, throwing the pillows on the floor and sitting down. He crossed his legs and looked at his friend. “How come you’ve never asked me about my first time?”
“I don’t like to pry.”
“Don’t give me that shit. You’ve done nothing but cross-examine me about polo and my father since we met.”
“That’s different, Sasha.”
“Why?”
“I wanted a little glimpse into that rarefied world. All I’ve ever known about polo is that the cologne costs anywhere from thirty to ninety bucks a bottle, depending on the size. I knew nothing about the sport until you came along.”
“We have tons of samples at home. Want some?”
“You’re only offering now?”
Sasha giggled. “I’ll bring some back.”

I'll be back again next Friday with another excerpt of Fire Horse.

Both novels are available at the Dreamspinner Press store or on Amazon. Links provided.

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3790

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004QSCN3E

Friday Countdown

For those of you who haven't heard of the Polo Series, I've decided to post exclusive excerpts each Friday in preparation for my upcoming release The Sixth Chukker. Hopefully, you'll like what you see, and maybe catch up before the April 8 release date, because the books have to be read in order to fully appreciate the family dynamics. I'll start off with Fire Horse which started the series. This story was inspired by two things I love. Polo and Chinese astrology. Check out this short snippet.

 San Antonio, Texas
1976
I WAS ten years old when I met Konrad Schnell, Monica’s only brother. Konrad, with a K, had been fifteen at the time, and already someone to be reckoned with on the polo field. Taller than the tallest person I knew―my dad―Kon was everything I wanted to be and more. I’d never have his golden hair or meaty limbs; I wasn’t built like that, but I did have the blue eyes, although not quite as arresting as his. Konrad stood out in a crowd, so good-looking he practically sparkled, very much like my present-day Conrad.
The kids had dubbed him Big Foot because his size-fifteen riding boots had to be custom made by a specialty shop in Dallas. He was graceless on the ground but fluid and masterful on horseback. I’d met him the day he spied me losing my balance on the wooden practice pony and then tumbling headlong onto the dirt-packed floor. The sound of his throaty laugh had reverberated in the barn, and my first reaction had been to retaliate, but his size was so intimidating I didn’t think I stood a chance.
Amazingly, Konrad stopped laughing as soon as he saw my flushed face and clenched fists. What he did instead was stick his big hands under my armpits and lift me back up on the pony as if I were weightless.
“Try and grip with your knees this time, kiddo, and don’t bend over too far. If this was the real McCoy, you’d be sporting hoofprints.”
“I wish I could practice on a real pony.”
“Why don’t you?”
“My dad gets pissed every time I mention it.”
“Then why did he join this club?”
“My mother’s a big fan, so he signed up to keep the peace. As for me, he’d rather I learn how to rope and steer our cattle like a proper cowboy. He thinks polo is for rich guys who have nothing better to do than chase a ball across a field and flirt with the women in big hats.”
“It takes talent and guts to play the sport,” Konrad said heatedly. “He should try it sometime―maybe then he’d change his opinion.”
“He’d rather die than admit he’s wrong,” I said. “I don’t understand what my mom was thinking when she married him. He’s not right for her.”
Konrad hooted at my audacious statement. “What qualifies you as an authority on marriage?”
“I know when something isn’t working,” I said softly.
“You don’t know jack, kiddo. Talk to me when your balls drop and they’re covered with hair.”
My mouth sagged open. No one in my immediate vicinity ever talked about body parts, especially mine.
Konrad punched my arm playfully when he saw the expression on my face. “Come on, you little flea. Show me some moves.”
His challenge had started the ball rolling and marked the beginning of the most important relationship in my life. I became Konrad’s shadow, and he took on the role of mentor, friend, and most importantly, champion. I think he was flattered by my open admiration, and knowing I was risking punishment by escaping to the polo club whenever I had a chance had made every minute together count. I usually burst through the stable doors half an hour after school let out and his first question was always, “How much time do we have?”

Mom was our conspirator,managing the duplicity by concocting one excuse after another to keep Dad in the dark. She was still working on him to let me go to boarding school, but in the meantime, daily lessons by the local superstar would provide a good foundation for my future.
I was grateful Konrad bothered with me at all. He could have been out there carousing with his friends or warding off the beautiful women who hovered around him like gnats instead of futzing around with a snot-nosed kid who was too precocious for his own good. But we’d established a connection the afternoon he’d wiped the dirt off my breeches and plunked me back on Woody, the practice tool every aspiring polo player had to contend with. Some inexplicable thread had woven its way between the two of us and it grew tighter with each passing day.
He’d allowed me to hang out with him and his friends. The boys, all in their midteens, treated me like their mascot but used me like a stable boy, having me fetch and carry at will. It never felt degrading, though, only exciting. I knew I was being groomed by learning from the bottom up. Shoveling manure and laying fresh hay for the polo ponies was mixed in with impromptu tutorials on Woody’s back. The guys would point out my mistakes, and Konrad always stayed behind to make sure I didn’t dismount without correcting my blunders.
“It’s critical to your safety and everyone around you that you perfect this move, Flea.”
“I’m so bored,” I moaned and whined, complaining about the repetition.
“It’s a part of your training,” he’d say doggedly. “If you’re going to be a slacker, do it somewhere else.”
“Why can’t I practice on one of your ponies?”
“Not until I’m sure you won’t cause them any harm.”

Konrad treated his ponies like precious children. Later, I’d come to find out why. A polo player was only as good as his mount. The deep connection between rider and steed was never as apparent as it was in this fast and dangerous sport. They became extensions of each other, and a subtle press of knee or inadvertent pull on reins could mean the difference between making a goal and flubbing the entire match. The horses had to be as fearless as their riders, galloping headlong toward goal posts, while all around them players pushed and shoved them out of the way, screaming invectives, and doing everything in their power to prevent the opposing team from reaching the other side. Without the element of trust between horse and rider, there was no hope of excelling on the field.

Here's what some reviewers have said about Fire Horse. 

Fire Horse
“This story was Ms. Ashling at the top of her game.”
—Hearts on Fire

“I. Loved. This. Book. I was so engrossed and captivated in Preston’s story, I couldn’t even spare the time to update… I just had to get to the end!!”
—Sinfully Gay Romance Book Reviews

Fire Horse placed number 7 in the erotic romance category in the 2013 Rainbow Awards. You can purchase the novel here: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3790

Valentine's Day Excerpt

 “Life without love is like a tree without blossoms or fruit.”

Khalil Gibran 1883-1931

“What if,” I suggested, “you wake up in the next few weeks and decide you want to leave this all behind. How would you do it?”

“It’s not going to happen, Grady.”

“Humor me, Kam. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared, right?”

“Put your Hollywood dreams back in your camera,” he admonished.

Determined to play this out, I continued with my questions. “Could you get to Europe in this thing?”

“How do you think it got here?”

Ignoring his sarcasm, I asked. “Where’s your passport?”

He shook his head. “In my safe at home.”

“Which home?”

Sighing, he grabbed my head between his hands and planted a big wet one. “It’s here in Karachi, but this crazy notion of yours needs to stop, Grady. As soon as you board the plane to New York, I’m going back to Tehran, and I’ll be married within two weeks.”

“What’ll happen to the yacht?”

“We’ll put it in dry dock for the winter, and then Jon and Gus will go home for a much-needed break.”

“Where does it dry dock?”

“Right here at the boat club.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Why?”

“’Cause it’s not there,” I said. “You can’t very well escape if they impound your boat.”

“You should really become a writer instead of a cinematographer,” Kam noted, shaking his head. “What an imagination you have.”

Ignoring him, I asked, “How long is the car ride from Tehran to here?”

“Grady, stop this,” Kam said irritably.

“Answer me.”

“It’s a little under three thousand kilometers door to door. A full day at least, maybe less if we drive straight through.”

“What about gas?”

“What about it?”

“Won’t you need to stop? What if they put some kind of embargo on gasoline?”

“Who’s they?” he asked, voice rising.

“I don’t know,” I spat out. “The king of fucking Siam!” I choked on this last bit and buried my face in my hands. Without warning, I was crying and felt every bit the teenager I was. How could I expect this man to take my advice? I was a child compared to him and a crybaby to boot.

“Hey,” he said softly.

I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell by the tone of his voice that he’d banked his anger. Apparently my tears were far more effective than my logic. I looked up at him, no longer ashamed of my emotional outpouring. I wanted him to know this impending marriage was breaking my heart. I knew I had no right, but it wouldn’t hurt for him to see how much I cared.

“Come here,” he said, reaching for my hand and drawing me onto his lap.

I straddled him and stuck my face in the crook of his neck, continuing to snivel like I was ten. “I can’t stand the thought of you being so miserable,” I murmured when I could finally speak. “Living a lie will shrivel your soul, Kamran. You’ll turn into a bitter old man long before your time.”

His spoke softly against my ear. “Life without love is like a tree without blossoms or fruit.”

“Exactly,” I said, straightening up. “I agree with Gibran. I know you’re terribly conflicted about a lot of things, and I’ll never know what it’s like living in a culture where you have to follow orders blindly because of tradition, but you do have resources to fall back on should you choose to follow your heart. I want you to know that I’ll support you any way I can, and if my father can help, he will. You just need to ask.”

Excerpt from my novel Yesterday. 

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01ACZE6JI 

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=7256

Blog Tour: Day 8

I'm over at MM Good Book Reviews today. Read another exclusive excerpt, a new review, and another chance to win a giveaway.

https://mmgoodbookreviews.wordpress.com/2016/01/29/yesterday-by-mickie-b-ashling-blog-tour-excerpt-review-giveaway/

Mayon Redux

My historical romance set in post-World War II Philippines has undergone major edits, as well as a beautiful new cover, created by Catt Ford. The second edition will release on February 23,2016 under the DSP Publications imprint. Here's a short excerpt for your entertainment. It's available for pre-order on the DSPP site as well as Amazon.

Excerpt

He grazed the smooth shoulder resting right below his chin with a soft kiss and jerked in surprise when Greg stirred and mumbled, “What are you doing?”

“I’m… sorry,” John stammered, “I must have been dreaming.” There was no way to hide the erection pressing against Greg’s buttocks, so he embraced the lie. “It’s been a while since I’ve woken up with anyone in my arms, so you’re stuck with my morning wood,” John mumbled and quickly rolled away. He got up and headed toward the stream, praying Greg wouldn’t follow. The thundering of his heart and the beads of sweat dotting his forehead were precursors of imminent danger, a feeling he’d been all too familiar with throughout his stint in the Pacific. Flirting with death had been much easier than fighting the attraction threatening to unman him in front of Greg. Jesus, if this got out, Ignacio’s offer would be rescinded. He squeezed his traitorous member, willing the stubborn organ to retreat instead of surrendering to his carnal needs. He relieved himself against a tree, gratified to feel his body subsiding to a normal state. Walking around in a state of arousal was not only embarrassing, it would give Greg ammunition in case he decided to sabotage John for honing in on his job.

Glancing over his shoulder, he could see Greg watching him with a wary eye. Christ, what must he be thinking? Did he buy into his sorry excuse for what just happened? Greg walked up to him and released his own organ unselfconsciously. He hit the high grass with a steady stream of morning urine. John could smell it from where he stood, and instead of turning him off, he felt the arousal creeping up again. There was something so basically male and primal about sharing a morning piss in the middle of nowhere. Dear God….

“Why did you kiss me?” Greg asked after he’d tucked himself away. He looked John in the eye without a trace of anger.

“I told you,” John explained. “I was dreaming about a girl back home.”

“Then how come you’re still hard?”

John glanced down at the bulge in his pants and grinned sheepishly. “My dick’s got a mind of its own.”“Does it?” Greg asked. “Perhaps you should do something about it.”

“What do you suggest?” John asked in a strangled voice. The morning sun was starting to creep over the horizon, and the golden rays peeking through the lush vegetation dappled across the hard planes of Greg’s smooth chest. He’d removed the wife beater the night before, casually mentioning he preferred sleeping without it, but the chill in the air had raised goose bumps and turned his dark brown nipples into stiff nubs. Greg’s face was partially hidden in shadows, but the hunger in his green eyes was clearly visible, and John was aroused by the blatant scrutiny. The dawning light played tricks on his imagination, turning Greg into some ethereal being. He was temptation personified, and John felt like Adam succumbing to the lure of the luscious apple. Years of discipline and a rigid moral code were no match for the power of the sexual tension drawing them together in their private Eden.

Greg pointed at his own growing desire. “Your problem seems to be contagious.”

John snorted. “We can always rub up against each other like dogs in heat.”

“Is that what you do in the Marines?”

“Hell no,” John protested. “If anyone got caught in that kind of situation, it would be the end.”

Blurb

2nd Edition

The Philippines, 1946

After being discharged from the Marines, John Buchanan is offered a position as overseer for plantation owner Ignacio Saenz. The offer is unexpected, considering he knows nothing about coconut farming, but the presence of Mount Mayon, an active volcano within sight of the property, tips the scales in Ignacio’s favor. Finally John has a chance to put his lifelong passion for vulcanology into practice.

Gregorio Delgado, the current overseer, takes exception to this turn of events. He views John as an interloper and Ignacio’s offer as a thinly disguised excuse to marry off one of his six daughters. What neither of them expects is the powerful physical attraction that simmers between them. Could John be a kindred spirit, or is he just using Gregorio for his knowledge of farming to ingratiate himself with his potential father-in-law?   

As John and Gregorio begin a tour of the haciendas, John discovers he has far more in common with his new acquaintance than he thought possible. Torn between honor and desire, John struggles to define who he is and what Gregorio could mean to him. Like the unpredictable volcano, equal parts beauty and danger, Gregorio becomes an obsession that could erupt at any minute and destroy them both.   

1st Edition published by Dreamspinner Press, 2012.

Pre-order Links:

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/mayon-by-mickie-b-ashling-211-b

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01AGK2J3E

Wednesday Sneak Peek!

Father handed me an iced drink the minute I walked into the bar. It was the same Rose Collins I’d had the night before, and I drained it in three gulps. Turning to the Pakistani bartender, I asked for a refill. When he returned with a fresh drink, I thanked him and requested he write the ingredients on a paper napkin in case I ever got a craving for the stuff back home. Pulling a stubby pencil from underneath the bar, he scribbled down the recipe and listened intently as I read it aloud to make sure I could read his writing.

“Three tablespoons of vodka, lemon and lime juice.” I paused. “Do you mean lemon or lime?”

“No, sahib. You must use both.”

“Okay.” Continuing, I recited, “Two tablespoons of rose syrup, one teaspoon of Campari, a lemon wheel, and a sprinkling of coarse sugar. Is that it?”

“Yes, sahib.”

“Seems easy enough,” I commented. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sahib.”

“Come on,” Father interjected. “Our table is ready.”

Since I had lamb for lunch and grilled chicken at the picnic, I ordered scampi and pasta. Father liked my choice and ordered the same with a house salad to start. While we waited, he asked how I’d spent the day. I recounted as best I could, starting with the foray into the Empress Bazaar.

“What’s the prince like?” he asked. “Is he as arrogant as the rest of the Pahlavis?”

“No, he’s actually quite nice. He’s invited me to attend a polo match tomorrow.”

“Is that wise?”

“What do you mean?”

“Two days in a row? People might speculate.”

“That’s silly, Father. He’ll be on the turf, and I’ll be in the stands cheering him on.”

“But there’s usually some sort of gathering afterward.”

“I’m new in town, so there’s no reason why anyone would consider it odd. I don’t have the word queer tattooed on my forehead, do I?”

Father snorted. “No, you look quite normal.”

“Thanks for the endorsement,” I quipped. “We don’t all run around in drag, you know. Some of us actually pass for real men.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Then it’s about time you educate yourself,” I said forcefully. “Now that your son fits in that demographic, you’ll be meeting more and more of my friends. I would hate it if you said the wrong thing because you didn’t bother to get the right information.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, son. Diplomacy is my job.”

“And you’re very good at it, but you’ll stumble like anyone else if you don’t have the right tools.”

“Point taken,” Father said, nodding. “Is your prince gay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you people have some sixth sense about these things?”

“Usually, but Kamran is very religious, and I doubt he can reconcile one with the other.”

Pre-order Links: 

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=7256

http://www.amazon.com/Yesterday-Mickie-B-Ashling-ebook/dp/B01ACZE6JI/ref=sr_1_173?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1452688901&sr=1-173&refinements=p_n_date%3A1249102011

https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-yesterday-1959015-367.html

Cutting Out Preview and Giveaway!

 The Cutting Cords Series is featured today on The Novel Approach along with an exclusive preview of the upcoming fourth book in the series, Cutting Out, which will be released at the end of October.  Stop by to comment for a chance to win a copy of the new novel.  More details here:

http://thenovelapproachreviews.com/2014/08/25/guest-post-and-giveaway-mickie-b-ashling-cutting-cords-series-blog-tour/

Romance and Dentists-For real?

Want to read another excerpt of my upcoming novel Fractured?  I'm blogging about love and romance in the dental world over at Carson's blog.  Wait---what? Hop on over and take a look. 

http://guyslikeromancetoo.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/denists-need-love-too.html

Fractured is available for pre-order here: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=4775

Mayon Excerpt

Here's a new excerpt from my latest release, Mayon.  Walk in John Buchanan's shoes for a while as he braces for another new experience.

Excerpt

“Now, what was it you wanted to do today?” John asked.
“Sabong means cockfighting.”
“Oh… I’ve never been to a match.”
“Then we should go. Ignacio raises some of the finest roosters around these parts; in fact, some of them are right here on this hacienda.”

THE cockfighting ring turned out to be nothing more than a large open-sided nipa hut with an enclosed pen in the center. The floor was packed dirt and there were no seats to speak of. The crowd milled about with peso bills in their hands, waving and gesticulating loudly. Most of the spectators were men. There were a few women in the periphery of the area but they stayed far back and were only there to peddle local street food. There wasn’t much chance to eat during the fight, but afterward, there would be. The vendors hung around like the constant cloud of flies, hoping to reap a part of the winnings.

When John and Greg walked in, they were treated like royalty. Crowds parted to let them through, and “Goyo” was thumped on the back in friendly camaraderie. People inquired after Ignacio, but the majority seemed happy enough to see the young overseer on his own. He was familiar with most of the men, having been a frequent visitor to this pit whenever he and the Spaniard were in the area. John felt like Gulliver again, towering over the group of men who huddled around Greg to admire his gamecock. Greg had mentioned that Europeans and Americans were aficionados of the blood sport, but right now, John was the only one representing his race, and he hoped that he wouldn’t disgrace anyone by puking up his breakfast.

There were several other handlers cradling their most prized possessions, stroking the newly groomed roosters with a gentle hand. The birds were minus wattle and comb, removed early on in their growth cycle, Greg had explained, to decrease the chances of getting torn off during a fight. It made them look different from the common, everyday rooster.

The contenders themselves were bristling with excitement, almost as if they were aware of their impending fate. There was no draw in this sport. It was kill or be killed, and the gleaming curved razor attached to each rooster’s foot would be the weapon of choice. John had felt the sharp edges earlier when he’d watched Greg prepare his bird. Knowing the blade could easily slice through feathers and rend flesh to bloody tatters was so disturbing he had to turn away. There was nothing he could do to prevent the eventual outcome of the match, but nobody said he had to enjoy it. Still, curiosity prevented him from refusing to attend.

The atmosphere in the crowded hut was similar to that of a boxing match. There was an unmistakable air of aggressiveness among owners, gamblers, and contenders alike. Smoke filled the air, and those who weren’t smoking chewed betel nut, spitting on the dirt floor without reserve. John could see clumps of red-tinged spittle everywhere. Wagers were placed with bookies who determined the odds by comparing the bloodlines and appearance of each bird. Voices rose in anticipation when Greg and the other handler met in the center of the ring. This ritual, preparatory to a fight, allowed the birds to stare at their foe face to face, working them up into a feather-raising killing frenzy.

By the time the animals were dropped to the ground, they were overcome with bloodlust, attacking in a flurry of flying feathers and earsplitting screeches of battle. Spatters of blood flew through the air as the cocks fought with vicious determination. The life-and-death struggle was over within minutes. Greg’s cock won, and he strutted around his twitching opponent, who lay in a bloody heap, pecking at him a few more times to deliver the final deathblow. John looked on in distaste as the winning cock glanced left and right, flapping his wings to garner more attention. He was the champion, and he puffed out his chest like Joe Louis, crowing out his victory in ear-blasting triumph.

Greg scooped up the blood-streaked contender, checking to make sure he hadn’t been injured too badly. He whispered words of encouragement the entire time he prodded and poked, and the bristly animal seemed to calm down, responding to the gentler voice now that the battle was over. Handfuls of money were shoved at Greg, who gestured to John to pocket the bills while he had his hands full.

“Makaon na kita,” the men invited, urging Greg and John to join them in a celebratory round of drinks and finger food.

There was a shaded area off to the left of the hut with a cluster of benches and stools, where several people had gathered. Greg shoved his rooster underneath one of the more ornate benches, a gallinera, he called it, Spanish for “chicken coop.” The space under the seat was enclosed with wooden spindles, keeping the animal penned in while still allowing the air to circulate. He threw in a handful of corn kernels so the bird could celebrate his victory with a tasty treat.

Glasses filled with a milky liquid were passed around, and John took a small sip of the harmless-looking drink. “What is this?” he asked Greg, holding it at arm’s length. It delivered a wicked alcoholic punch. “It’s not going to make me blind, is it?”

“No, only drunk,” Greg smirked. “You foreigners call it coconut wine. We call it lambanog―another by-product of the resilient coconut.”

“Bloody amazing tree,” John muttered, taking another sip. It was powerful, to be sure, and he’d be three sheets to the wind if he didn’t watch it.
                                        **********************

Mayon is available for purchase  here: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3401

Now Available

Did you know that Mayon volcano is surrounded by deep coconut forests and rice paddies?  Because of the rich volcanic soil, farmers refuse to leave the area, despite the ongoing danger of a possible eruption.



Excerpt

Gregorio waved at a group of women washing clothes by a riverbed. John asked him to pause for a minute so he could watch them beat the cloth with flat boards against the river rocks. It looked like backbreaking work, and they were soaked with soap and water, but appeared to be enjoying themselves by laughing their chores away.

“Haven’t you ever seen this before?”

“Not really,” John admitted. “Back home we use washing machines.”

“How can a machine do as good a job as a human being?”

John shrugged. “I never really thought about it; my mother does the laundry.”

“I can’t imagine the clothes would get any cleaner that way.”

“You’re probably right,” John said. “Shall we move on?”

“We should stop and eat soon. Aren’t you hungry?”

“You don’t need to persuade me to eat,” John said, smiling. “What do you have?”

“They packed us a picnic lunch,” Gregorio said, kicking his horse forward. He headed toward a large mango tree in full bloom, more than able to provide the shade they would need. After he hopped off the mare, he began to unload some of the items he’d managed to stuff into the saddlebags without weighing them down. He pulled a folded mat from one bag and spread it out on a flat surface. It was large enough to sit or sleep two adults comfortably.

“That’s convenient,” John said. “What’s it made of?”

“The banig?”

“Yeah,” John said, pointing at the multicolored spread.

“Some kind of grass the women weave together. People sleep on them all the time.”

“On a mattress?” John asked.

“No.” Gregorio laughed. “On the floor.”

“Bet it would be uncomfortable without any kind of cushion.”

“It’s better than sleeping on dirt.”

“I suppose so. Do you sleep on one every day?”

“No, I have a bed.”

“Lucky for you.”

“More than you know,” Gregorio explained. “I had grandparents who took care of my mother and me. A lot of tisoys have to fend for themselves.”

“Tisoy?”

“It’s short for mestizo. That’s what they call half-breeds around here.”

“Your father?”

“Was a Spaniard. He died before I was born.”

“That explains it.”

“What?”

“Your height and the pine-colored eyes.”

“What’s a pine?”

“Haven’t you ever seen a Christmas tree?”

“Only in pictures.”

“What do you people use to decorate during the holidays?”

“Paper lanterns and nativity scenes.”

“Oh. Pine trees are tall and willowy, much like you, in varying shades of green.”

“I’m not that tall, and I’m certainly not green,” the Filipino stated bluntly. “Get your eyes checked.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my eyes,” John said gruffly, “I see you clearly. You’re at least five inches taller than most of the men around here.”

Gregorio blinked several times, trying to figure out if there was any meaning to this conversation. His brain said no, but his body didn’t agree. The redhead’s piercing gaze was doing funny things to his stomach. Moving before John realized how he was affecting him, Gregorio reached for more bundles from another bag and began to spread out their impromptu feast. There were several pieces of cold chicken, slices of breakfast ham, and wedges of hard cheese. John watched his guide grab a pandesal, the soft roll they’d had earlier, and break it in half. He stuffed it with ham and cheese and then handed it to his guest. “Eat,” he said.

“Thanks.” John took the proffered sandwich and shoved half of it in his mouth. “This is good,” he garbled.

“You want something to drink?”

“What do you have?”

“Nothing yet.” Gregorio stood and pulled a large knife out of another saddlebag, kicked off his sandals, and headed toward one of the coconut trees.

John watched him scramble up the tree like a monkey, reaching the top in no time. He hacked at a few branches and the nuts dropped like bombs. The man was barely winded when he came back down. He lopped off the top of one coconut and then pierced a hole in the hard shell. Putting it up to his lips, he began to drink the liquid while John stared, captivated by Gregorio’s bobbing Adam’s apple and the juices overflowing down his chin. He stopped drinking and licked his full lips. “What’s the matter?” Gregorio asked.

“Aren’t you planning to share?”

“Sorry,” he replied, embarrassed by his lack of good manners. “I got thirsty climbing.” He replicated his movements with the second coconut and handed it over to John. “Here, drink up.”

“This is fucking convenient, isn’t it?”

“If you can climb.” Gregorio grinned. “You would probably die of thirst.”

“You jerk.”

He loped away before John’s open hand connected on his arm.

Laughing, he began to climb up the much easier mango tree.

“Now what are you doing?”

“Getting our dessert!”

He grabbed a plump yellow mango and twisted it off the branch, sending it whistling through the air like a torpedo. “Catch,” he screamed at John, who moved reflexively and caught it without a problem. Gregorio twisted off another and hurled it toward John’s waiting hand. When he was back, sitting cross-legged in front of John, he stuck his knife into one end of the mango and began peeling back the skin as if it were a banana. After it was completely denuded, the plump yellow flesh exposed, he pushed it toward John and said, “Take a bite.”

John reached for Gregorio’s hand, overlaying his stout fingers over the slender ones holding up the mango. He bit into the meaty fruit, all the while staring into the green eyes that watched intently. The juices erupted, flooding his mouth with sweet nectar. Gregorio turned the mango slowly so John could bite into another side, ignoring the liquid running down his fingers in sticky rivulets. He was hypnotized by the hunger flaring in John’s striking blue eyes, not quite sure what to make of it, but unable to look away. After John got his fill, Gregorio put the seed down and began licking the juice off his fingers.

He took his time and sucked on each digit, pulling them in and out of his mouth, deliberately employing his tongue in a provocative way, making the American fidget. Gregorio was empowered by his effect on the redhead and felt his own body reacting to the moment. He wanted this to go on forever; on the other hand, he was disturbed by the physical attraction between them. What in God’s name was happening? The Marine had been handpicked by Ignacio for one of the girls. He was a man’s man and had the right medals to prove it. Still, the yearning in John’s eyes belied everything Gregorio believed to be true about him. The consequences of making the wrong assumption could be the biggest mistake of his life.

Finally, John choked out, “Are you done?”
****************************************************************

Mayon is now available here: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3401

Taste Excerpt

Grier barely made it home in time. Jillian was already standing in the driveway with Luca, glancing at her watch and looking irritated.

“Sorry,” Grier apologized as he navigated the V-rod into the garage. He shut down the powerful engine and pulled off his helmet, smiling at Luca who’d run up to greet him. “Hey, buddy, how’s it going?”

“Good,” Luca smiled widely. “Can I watch TV?”

“Sure. Take your stuff into the house and wait for me.”

“I’ve got twenty minutes to get to work,” Jillian fumed.

“You’re ten minutes away,” Grier pointed out, getting off the bike and sticking the helmet underneath his arm. “Who’s coming to get him?”

“Either Mom or Ali.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Since when does Ali babysit?”

“What does it matter?”

“He doesn’t know the first thing about it.”

“He’s going to have to learn if he wants to be in my life.”

Grier saw his chance to get more information. “When did you start dating him?”

“Why? Are you jealous?”

“It just seems so sudden.”

“Ali’s always had a thing for me.”

“How come I didn’t know about it?”

Jillian shrugged. “Maybe because I never paid much attention, and he didn’t want to look stupid in your eyes.”

“And all of a sudden you’re interested?”

“He’s a nice guy.”

“So is the mailman, Jillian, but you wouldn’t want to date him.”

“Why are you being a bitch?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“If the shoe fits...”

“You’re the one acting like a total cunt.”

“I should have known you’d get all pissy about this. Ali warned me that you’d be territorial.”

“Does Ali know I’m Luca’s father?”

“Of course not!”

“He needs to know.”

“I don’t agree.”

“We can’t keep this secret forever, Jillian. I was wrong to let you get away with this for so long. I want to be officially recognized as Luca’s dad.”

“Forget about it.”

“Why?” Grier couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice.

“I don’t want Luca to know you’re his dad.”

“He loves me as much as I love him.”

“That’s all well and good for now, but don’t you think his opinion of you will change when I tell him that you’d rather be with a guy than with me, his mother? You think he’ll still love you then?”

“Yes,” Grier said decisively, although he really didn’t know for sure. How would Luca react when faced with the knowledge that his father was a homosexual?

“I don’t want him to be ashamed of his gene pool.”

“He won’t be if it’s presented correctly, but he’ll be unduly influenced if you subject him to Ali and his rigid moral code. Right now Luca doesn’t even know what the word gay means.”

“Ali’s not the only person in the world who thinks it’s wrong.”

“You’ve never had a problem with me before now. Why the sudden switch?”

“Seeing you with that queer made me realize how truly gay you are.”

“And that’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? You can’t accept that you fell for the wrong brother.”

“That’s not true.”

“The hell it’s not! Your damn pride won’t let you admit that you miscalculated and put all your eggs in the wrong basket. I never lied to you, Jillian. I told you I was gay as soon as I realized it myself.”

“I know and I’m sorry it’s come to this, but I want a better life for my boy.”

“Gay men are just as successful as the next guy. Who says I can’t give Luca a good life?”

“Look around you, Grier. You’re twenty-five, stuck in a dead-end job, and don’t even have your own place. Simply put, you’re a loser.”

“I’m here because I wanted to be closer to Luca,” Grier spat out, getting right in Jillian’s face. “You fucking well know that.”

“I want him to have a good role model, someone successful that he can look up to and admire, like Ali.”

“Tell me you’re not seriously thinking about marrying him.”

“He’s offered to adopt Luca. At least he’ll be a Dilorio, Grier. Your surname will be on the amended birth certificate, even though you won’t be listed as the father.”

“No!”

“Come on. It’s the next best thing.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re supposed to be on my side, Jillian.”

“I’m on Luca’s side.”

“Don’t you think he has the right to know that his real father loves him with all his heart and would rather die than see someone else make that claim?”

“You’re going all drama queen on me, Grier.”

He gripped her arms and shook her soundly. “I’m not going to give him up without a fight.”

“Let go of me,” Jillian shrieked. “Touch me one more time and I’ll call the cops on you.”

Grier released her immediately and stepped back. His eyes narrowed and he hissed, “Who are you?”

“Who the fuck are you!”

“I’m Luca’s father,” Grier said, “and it’s about time everyone finds out."