Wells : The first thing I notice about Conor Newell when he sits down in my high-rise conference room is how delightfully nervous he is. Then I see his tie. The one that belongs to my anonymous late-night texter. And it changes everything. Corbin Davis is a busy guy just trying to do his best as a single parent. Surrounded by a group of devoted four-footed and two-winged family members, Zak and Killian have built what should have been a dream life in their countryside farmhouse.
Colin Spencer is a tattoo artist with a past he'd prefer to keep a secret. Actually, he has a few secrets that he'd rather people didn't know about, which is why Colin doesn't do commitment. But when a shy sailor approaches him at the gym, Colin finds this guy pushing all his buttons. Growing up in a conservative family, then escaping with the Navy, Daniel Moore is an unsure virgin who feels like he can't share his true self with anyone.
Detective Cashel "Cash" Godfrey is big, tattooed, and angry so people typically keep their distance. He's fresh out of the police academy, however, no one is looking to partner with the six-foot-four beast with a huge chip on his shoulder and an inability to trust. When Cash scans the orientation room he wasn't expecting to find sexy hazel eyes locked onto him.
Eyes of the handsome Detective Leonidis "Leo" Day.
As part owner of Four Kings Security, Ace and his fellow Kings tackle everything from armed transport and investigations to cyber intelligence. Maddox - The reason I rarely go home is three simple words: I'm a liar. When the pressure to marry my childhood sweetheart became too much, I told her I was gay and then fled to New York like my ass was on fire. Now, five years later and after a drunken encounter, I find myself invited to her wedding. And I have to bring my boyfriend-the boyfriend who doesn't exist because I'm straight.
At least, I think I am. Meeting the guy I'm bribing to be my boyfriend for the weekend makes me question everything about myself. Betrayed the night before his wedding by the supposed boy of his dreams, Ethan Robinson escapes the devastating fallout by going on his honeymoon alone to the other side of the world. Hard of hearing and still struggling with the repercussions of being late-deafened, traveling by himself leaves him feeling painfully isolated with his raw, broken heart. Clay befriends Ethan, hoping he can cheer him up, and a crush on an unattainable straight guy is exactly the safe distraction Ethan needs.
Yet as the days pass and their connection grows, long-repressed desires surface in Clay If there's one thing I know, it's how to play the game If it hadn't been for that one teenage slipup where I kissed Beau Campbell, I'd be able to keep fooling myself. Football is the one thing I use to distract myself from the truth, and when I screw-up and lose the game I love, I find myself right back in Fever Falls. And right back face-to-face with Cranky Campbell, who hates me even more than he did when we were kids. But whatever magic he held over me then is still there.
He promised to never leave me. But when I needed him the most, that was exactly what he did. Wilderness guide Xander Reed has spent fifteen years trying to forget the night he turned to his best friend in his darkest hour, only to find the young man who'd sworn to always have his back was turning his on Xander instead. Two thousand miles and fifteen years of building a new life in the quiet backcountry of the Rocky Mountains should have been enough to put the memory of Bennett Crawford out of his mind.
Massive world tours. Over a hundred million albums sold. Groupies galore. Every day is a party for Viper and the guys of TBD, the biggest rock band in the world. But it all comes to a screeching halt when the lead singer walks out of the studio one day and never comes back. Ear-blistering vocals.
Butchered lyrics. Fame chasers.
Tender with a Twist
After months of lackluster auditions, Viper, the lead guitarist and resident bad boy of the group, is ready to find solace in the bottom of a bottle. Blue: When my ex walks into the resort bar with his new husband on his arm, I want nothing more than to prove to him that I've moved on. Thankfully, the sexy stranger sitting next to me is more than willing to share a few kisses in the name of revenge.
It gets even better when those scorching kisses turn into a night of fiery passion. The only problem? Turns out the stranger's brother is marrying my sister later this week. A beach vacay with my best bud since college seems like the perfect opportunity to relax, catch some rays, and enjoy a couple of nights on the town. When I find a girl who's eager to mess around with me, I figure I've got it made.
Then, I meet the intense, hot-as-hell, tattooed Eric Westright, who wrecks my world He awakens something within me - something that's always been here, but that's never pulled so powerfully Book two in the Thomas Elkin series. When some lines blur, others become crystal clear. Absolutely smitten, Thomas Elkin and Cooper Jones have decided they're prepared to give a relationship a try. What they're not prepared for is the reaction from their families, who try to force them apart.
Both men are about to learn that there are lines that define us. Sometimes the lines blur, sometimes the lines become crystal clear. One hot cop. One bar owner out for redemption. One smoking-hot summer fling destined to leave scorch marks Step one is transforming an old bar and grill into a gay-friendly eatery.
Step two? Don't piss off Nash Flint, the very hot, very stern chief of police who's not so sure he's on board with Mason's big plans. Nash Flint just wants to keep his community safe and enjoy the occasional burger in peace. He's not big on change nor is he a fan of Mason's troublemaking family, especially his rowdy older brothers. But Mason slowly wins him over with fantastic cooking and the sort of friendship Nash has been starving for. When their unlikely friendship takes a turn for the sexy, both men try to steer clear of trouble.
Nash believes he's too set in his ways for Mason, and Mason worries that his family's reputation will ruin any future with Nash. Burning up the sheets in secret is a surefire way to crash and burn, and discovery forces a heart-wrenching decision - is love worth the risk of losing everything? Really enjoyable love story with lots of emotions on a journey between two beautiful men Great narration by Marc and Iggy Thank you.
The Best Books for Middle School According to My Students – – Pernille Ripp
I will admit.. I initially bought this Audiobook because of the two narrators and I did not even read the blurb for the book first. Iggy Toma and March Bachman are at the top of my favorites list when it comes to narrations. And I think that they did a good job co-narrating this one. There were a few times I was a little disappointed but I think it was more about how the book was written and not necessarily the narration for it example; even though the narrators were being switched each chapter for their character, during the sex scenes the men talked a lot.
IMO It kind of threw off the scene a little bit. But overall the narration was done well by both men and each one brought a different voice and set of emotions to the story. Book: knowing that I knew absolutely nothing about this book before I started it was good in a way. Idk maybe it was just me but I think too much emphasis was put onto the point of Nash's age.
But, that aldo did add a little extra to the story since it was a talking point for people. Normally I have no patience for the slow burn but it was expertly done here. See specifically one adorable picnic and fishing trip! There is very little angst and a bunch of really sweet build up to a super romantic finish with some hot, yet tender chemistry thrown in for good measure. Highly Recommended! His hair had once been gloriously red and full. It had thinned a bit with time, and the gray streaked through the fire like smoke.
He was, to Maggie, the most dashing man in the world. Winking, he pulled off her cap so that her hair fell wildly red to her shoulders. And her hair shining like a new coin. It was no secret, and only a slight embarrassment to Murphy, that his love of reading was well-known. Paid me for them then and there. My daughter, my own Margaret Mary, has sold her glass in Ennis.
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Two vases, a bowl, and a…I supposed you could call the last a paperweight. All to you. I want to dance with my daughter. Murphy obliged with a jig. With the sounds of shouts and clapping hands, Tom led his daughter around the floor. Deirdre came out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face was flushed from cooking as she pulled her husband into the dance. From jig to reel and reel to hornpipe, Maggie whirled from partner to partner until her legs ached.
As others came into the pub, drawn either by the music or the prospect of company, the news was spread. By nightfall, she knew, everyone within twenty kilometers would have heard of it. With pride for you. And your sister, too. For I never would have blown the first bubble of glass without you. He thought he felt a little click behind his eyes before it cleared. Air, he thought.
He needed a bit of air. I want to smell the sea, Maggie.
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Will you come with me? Are you sure you want to go to the cliffs today? All the dark, smoky colors seemed to whirl in his eyes. He thought, ruefully, that he was a little drunk. Then again, it was the day for it. Maggie waited until they were out in the cold. Would you drive now? She was grateful for that, or she would never have been able to travel to Venice and apprentice herself in a glass house. She knew her mother had made Tom pay miserably for the money it had cost.
But he had stood firm. And I want it to be very tall, very slim. Tapered you see, from bottom to top, then it should flare out. A bit like a lily. And the color should be very delicate, like the inside of a peach. Maggie took the twisting, narrow road toward the sea. Away toward the west, the clouds were flying in, their sails whipped by the wind and darkened with storm.
Clearer patches were swallowed up, then fought their way free to glow gem bright amid the pewter. She saw a bowl, wide and deep, swirled with those warring colors, and began to fashion it in her head. The road twisted, then straightened, as she threaded the rattling lorry through hedgerows yellowed with winter and taller than a man. A roadside shrine to Mary stood at the outskirts of a village. A sigh from her father had Maggie glancing over. He seemed a bit pale to her, a little drawn around the eyes. Past the village the road narrowed alarmingly again until she was threading the lorry along like cotton through the eye of a needle.
A man, bundled tight against the cold, trudged toward them, his faithful dog following stoically at his heels. He nodded to Maggie and Tom in greeting. I want to work with more color, you see. If I could build another furnace, I could have more melts going. He took immediate umbrage and scowled at his pipe. I have two lovely daughters, each of them a jewel. They passed old stone cabins, roofless and deserted on the verge of gray-green fields that stretched on, endless and impossibly beautiful in the gloomy light.
And here a church, standing against the wind that was unbroken now, was blocked only by a few twisted and leafless trees. It should have been a sad and lonely sight, but Tom found it beautiful. Through the whistling crack of the window, he could smell the sea. He had always searched for that pot of gold, and knew the failure to find it was his. Enough only to remind him that he had failed. Too many schemes, he thought now as another sigh fetched up in his chest. His wife, Maeve, was right about that.
They chugged past another huddle of houses and a building whose owner boasted it was the last pub until New York. He chuckled. A feeling of urgency came over him as she pulled the lorry to the end of the road, where it gave way to grass and rock, and at last to the windswept sea that spanned to America. They stepped into a roar of sound that was wind and water lashing furiously against the teeth and fists of black rock.
With their arms linked, they staggered like drunks, then laughing, began to walk. Feel the air, Maggie! Feel it. It wants to blow us from here to Dublin Town. Do you remember when we went to Dublin? I loved it so much you learned how yourself. His color was back, she noted, and his eyes were shining. She went willingly with him across the uneven grass into the gnashing teeth of the wind. There they stood on the edge of the powerful Atlantic with its warrior waves striking at the merciless rock.
Water crashed, then whipped away again, leaving dozens of waterfalls tumbling through crevices. Overhead, gulls cried and wheeled, cried and wheeled, the sound echoing on and on against the thunder of the waves. The spray plumed high, white as snow at the base, clear as crystal in the beads that scattered in the icy air. No boat bobbed on the rugged surface of the sea today.
The fierce whitecaps rode the sea alone. She wondered if her father came here so often because the merging of sea and stone symbolized marriage as much as war to his eyes. A love, he knew, that had left no room for understanding the disappointments of the woman who had borne her.
A marriage is a delicate thing, Maggie, a balance of two hearts and two hopes. Nothing in the world. More than I can tell you. But I know this, Maggie, my girl. She pressed her face into his coat, drew comfort from the scent of him. And it was as hot as one of your furnaces. You came from that, Maggie Mae. Born in fire you were, like one of your finest and boldest statues. However much that fire cooled, it burned once. Something in his tone made her look up again, study his face.
Like a honeyed blade, the memory was painful and sweet. Had no right to be. And even bleeding is a pleasure. You and Brie came from it. A mistake—no, a miracle. I was past forty when you were born, without a thought in my head to starting a family. I think of what my life would have been like without the two of you. Where would I be now? A man near seventy, alone. His face softened. He studied her face, his fingers molding it as if he suddenly had a need to memorize every feature—the sharp stubborn chin, the soft curve of cheek, the eyes as green and restless as the sea that clashed beneath them.
Tough and strong, with a true heart beneath the steel. I want you, the both of you, to follow where your dreams lead you. I want that more than I can say. The roar of the sea dimmed in his ears, as did the light in his eyes. Let me get you back into the lorry. Just a twinge is all. Make your mark on the world, and make it deep so it lasts. Your heart? No, not his heart, he thought through a haze of bleary pain. For he could hear that beating hard and fast in his own ears.
But he felt something inside him breaking, bursting and slipping away. Promise me. And your mother. The thrash of the sea sounded now like a storm breaking, a nightmare storm that would sweep them both off the cliff and onto the spearing rocks. He was slipping away from her; no more how tightly she held his body, what was inside him was slipping away. Not like this. But there was nothing, no one, so she bit back a scream for help. He rested his head on her shoulder and sighed. There was no pain now, only numbness.
They came from the village, and the village beyond that. From the farms and shops and cottages. They brought food, as neighbors do for such occasions, and the kitchen was quickly stocked with breads and meats and cakes. They drank to his life and serenaded his passing. She sat near the fire in the tidy parlor while the company filled the house around her.
In the flames she saw the cliffs, the boiling sea—and herself, alone, holding her dying father. Startled, she turned and saw Murphy crouched in front of her.
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He pressed a steaming mug into her hands. It would do you good. I should have seen he was sick. He looked fine and fit when he left the pub. Dancing, she thought. Would she, someday, find comfort in that? It would have made no difference. The aneurysm killed him, and it was mercifully quick. It was the time afterward that had been slow. The dreadful time when she had driven his body away from the sea, with her breath wheezing in her throat and her hands frozen on the wheel. And for the second time felt the weight of grief and responsibility.
He looked up again; his eyes, that wild Celtic blue, met hers. And hard that I was the one to buy it. I tell you it was easier that it was you. There was a trill of laughter from across the room, lively and free. A baby was crying. She saw an old woman, an elderly and distant cousin, in worn shoes and mended stockings, spinning a story for a group of wide-eyed youngsters while she knitted a sweater. It was always a wonder to him that I preferred to be on my own.
I probably mistook it. Thanks for the drink, Murphy. And for the rest. There was no easy way to get through the room, of course. He joked about opening a pub of his own, you know. Giving me a bit of competition. A finer man never walked this earth than Tom Concannon. Maggie had words with the priest about funeral services set for the next morning, and finally slipped into the kitchen. It was as crowded as the rest of the house, with women busily serving food or making it. The sounds and smells were of life here—kettles singing, soups simmering, a ham baking.
Children wandered underfoot, so that women—with that uncanny maternal grace they seemed to be born with—dodged around them or scooped them up as needs demanded. The wolfhound puppy that Tom had given Brianna on her last birthday snored contentedly under the kitchen table. Brianna herself was at the stove, her face composed, her hands competent. Maggie could see the subtle signs of grief in the quiet eyes and the soft, unsmiling mouth. Enough for an army it is.
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