Dayton Sharpe wasn’t looking for a relationship when he went out for a run, but when he’s forced off the road, he finds the person missing from his life–Nicholas. Will he realize the man of his dreams isn’t out of his reach, but right beside him?
Nicholas Malone likes his privacy and his seclusion. He writes for the local paper, online magazines and novels. He has everything he needs–his cat and his writing. But he’s lonely. When Dayton, the hunky jock next door ends up at his doorstep, he has to decide if he wants to be alone for the rest of his life or if it’s time to break his norms to find love.
The ghost at my door claims to be my ex-boyfriend, back from the dead. Yeah, right.
Ghosts don’t exist. I know they don’t. Why? I’ve never seen one. I’ve seen everything else—from Sasquatch to hell hounds and more…even vampires, but I’ve never laid eyes on a ghost.
Go figure. It’s Halloween. All sorts of stuff happens on the spookiest night of the year. There will be plenty of people out having a good time, scaring each other and begging for candy. They’ll try to get me involved, but I know better.
Have I mentioned I hate Halloween? Two years ago on October 31st, my world fell apart and I know it’ll never be fixed. No ghost can ease my broken heart and bring my boyfriend back to me. None.
Paul tapped the remote, silencing the television. He could’ve sworn he heard someone besides the people on the screen talking. The voice sounded like Tristan, but that was impossible. Tristan Evans had died two years ago.
“Come on, Paul. Hasn’t it been long enough?”
Damn it. That had to be Tristan’s voice, but from where? He glanced around the room. With the exception of the cat, he was alone. He’d locked the front and back doors and checked the house to ensure everything was safe. Right after Tristan had died, he could’ve sworn he’d heard Tristan talking to him. The shrink dismissed the voice as being a figment of Paul’s imagination and longing. Paranoia, the shrink called it. Paul only lasted the rest of the session before finding a new psychiatrist.
Hearing Tristan had to be a figment of Paul’s imagination—again.
“If you won’t properly speak to me, I’ll stop coming to you.”
Paul squeezed his eyes shut. In his mind he saw Tristan leaning against the bedroom doorframe. He wore his favorite ratty, body –hugging blue jeans, no socks or shoes and the old Flashes shirt he loved. The muscles in his arms bulged and his dark hair flopped over his forehead. His blue eyes blazed as he tipped his head to the side. Even as a memory, he sent warm shivers through Paul’s system.
“You’ve got to stop hating the holiday we both loved. Hate won’t bring me back.” Tristan strode towards him and hooks his thumbs in his front pockets. “Cheer up. Please?”
Tears slipped down Paul’s cheeks. The hurt he’d bottled up for the better part of the last two years came back in a rush. “I know I should, but I can’t. I lost you and seeing all of the Halloween decorations makes that loss so fresh and raw. I can’t do it. I love you, but I can’t keep ripping myself open.”
“Then keep loving me.”
Paul wiped his face and opened his eyes. He needed to get his shit together. Talking to a figment of his imagination wasn’t going to help his situation. Still, the words poured out of him. “How? How do I forget the man I love?”
Tristan sat opposite him on the bed. “You keep my memory alive, thus keeping me alive.”
Paul blinked. He’d opened his eyes. There was no way Tristan could be on the bed with him. No way. He’d buried his lover. “You’re a ghost. Ghosts don’t exist. What the fuck is going on?” He scrambled off the mattress and landed on the floor with a thud. One of the pillows flopped over onto him and he shoved it away. His mind had to be playing tricks on him. “No. Ghost do not exist.”
“Technically I’m not a ghost, but you’d be surprised.” Tristan—or what sure as hell lookedlike Tristan—sighed and stood. He turned his back on Paul. “It all comes down to rules and you know how much I hate rules.” He glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “I found a way around the rules.”
Paul rounded the bed and placed himself between Tristan’s ghost and the cat. No one hurt Milo—not even a crazy ghost who claimed to be Paul’s ex-boyfriend. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re doing this, but the joke is over. You had your fun and old Paul looks like a moron. You won, now get the hell out of my house.”
“Aww, honey, I’m not trying to dupe you.” The man strolled across the room to the bed. “Paul, I’m here.”
My favorite holiday food are two foods. One is the cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie. Now I’m not a baker, so I go for easy. I don’t cook well, either. Thankfully, DH does, but this is about my recipes.
So…. Pumpkin Pie:
Libby’s Easy Pumpkin Pie Mix (1 can)
1/3 cup evaporated milk
2 deep dish pie shells
Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Mix the pie mix, milk and eggs together until fully combined. Pour mix into two pie shells. Cover edges of pie shells with foil. Bake for 15 minutes at 425. Reduce heat, then bake at 350 degrees for an additional 50-60 minutes. Cool on wire racks. Serve and enjoy!
The other recipe is for the cranberry sauce. Remember I said I’m not a cook. Yeah, I’m not.
1 Ocean Spray Jellied Cranberry Sauce, 14 oz
Open can, slice knife between edge of can and sauce, dump sauce onto plate, cut into slices and serve. Done.
See? I told you I’m not a chef.
What about you? What are your favorite holiday recipes? Share!
Books that influenced me. Wow. What a thought and prompt. Hmm… I’m going to have to really think on this. What books influenced me…
I started reading as early as I could. I had an aunt who insisted I learn to read. It’s probably because she’s only about 9 years older than me and I was a big baby doll to her.
The first book that really sticks in my mind as a book that influenced me has to be Now We Are Six by AA Milne. I read this book in the second grade because we could earn pizza points if we could explain it to the teacher after we’d read the book. I thought I understood the book and explained it. Apparently, it wasn’t enough of an explanation because I didn’t earn the point for the book. I remember reading it and grinding through because I wanted to earn that prize. I’m easily motivated by prizes (or I was I guess). I remember the prose being pretty and about Winnie the Pooh. It made me read the rest of the books in that group and not get docked for not understanding the books after that.
Another book I’ve been influenced by is Nancy Drew. The Clue of the Tapping Heels to be precise. It had a cat on the front. I saw this book at my library when we were old enough to go to the general books section. We didn’t have to pick from the younger children’s area. I went right to the Nancy Drew section and got this book. The cat! I wanted that puffy black cat. I must’ve read this book a dozen times. I got my first library fine because I didn’t want to turn it back in. It influenced me because I learned how to be a strong girl who can solve clues and not have to get any older. Okay, aging hits everyone, but not Nancy Drew. 🙂
Then came Sweet Valley High. I know these are sort of brain bleach stories. They always have a happy ending and everyone is still friends even when they aren’t. I get it. But the thing about these books is they taught me not everything in life is perfect. I had no idea what a Fiat Spyder was, but I wanted to drive one. I didn’t know people could spend that much time at the beach, but I wanted to try it. Beyond that, there were the plots that involved stalking, being kidnapped, friends turning on friends and being teens. The crazy angst, the I will die if my boyfriend doesn’t come back…the sibling rivalry, but also the heart in these books inspired me. I wanted a twin sister (although I’m pretty sure the world isn’t ready for two of me) and I wanted those steady boyfriends, too. Oh well.
The final one I’ll mention right now has to be Murder on the Orient Express. If you’ve read my posts you’ll know I’ve talked about this book being a turning point for me. First, I got on an Agatha Christie kick simply because the books were at my local Ames store and I bought them because I had that much allowance money. I could buy my own books. It was a radical idea and I loved it. The other reason, as you might already know, is that I got into the biggest amount of trouble (up to that point) for that point. I read this book instead of diagramming sentences. I know how to diagram those sentences and benefited more from reading the book, but whatever. I got into trouble and realized I rather liked reading and not always following the rules. I still am a notorious rule follower. I like order (but don’t look at my desk–it’s a mess). Oh well.
What books influenced you? I’d love to know.
If you celebrate, have a happy Thanksgiving. If you don’t, then have a happy Thursday. 🙂
Winners may choose any Changeling Press E-book currently in production at ChangelingPress.com at the time the prize is awarded.
Free e-book download links will expire if not used within 30 days from the date on which they were awarded.
Christmas titles will also be available for purchase at Amazon.com, BN.com, Kobo, and iBooks. Purchases made at these locations will not count as contest entries. Only purchases made at ChangelingPress.com between November 23th and December 31st, 2019 will be eligible for prizes.
Get your rocks off however
you want at Club Desire. We’re not easy and we’re not free, but we are
discreet. Find your fantasy in the Club.
Mix one lanky shortstop
with two brawny Doms and what do you get? A white hot good time.
On the baseball field,
shortstop Rocke Houseman commands the crowd. They cheer as he makes plays and
hits home runs. He loves his job in professional sports, but there’s something
missing. He wants to be true to himself. When he tears up his knees during a
critical play, his whole life is thrown into chaos. He turns to the one place
he knows to find balance—Club Desire.
Carson and Jeremiah are a
packaged deal. You deal with one, you deal with both. When the gutsy sub comes
into Desire and wants a Dom, they step in to help him out. Rocke fits their
bill—he’s athletic and lanky, but knows how to take direction. Can they help
him work out his issues one ménage at a time? Or will the passion exploding
amongst them be the final out?
The two men—he wasn’t sure who was Jeremiah and who was
Carson—took him down a long hallway to a room. When the taller one opened the
door, bright white light spilled into the darkened corridor.
“This is our room. First we talk then we play. Do you think
you’re able to keep up with us?” The shorter of the two men leveled his gaze at
Rocke. He stood only about an inch shorter than Rocke’s six foot frame. His jaw
flexed as he stared at Rocke, and a tiny bit of scruff glimmered on his cheeks.
At this point, Rocke didn’t have anything to lose. He’d been
pushed away by all but the last two Doms in the building. Rocke sighed and
dipped his head. “I’d like to play.”
“Very well.” The taller one ushered him into the room. Unlike
the other rooms, this particular room more resembled a bedroom. No BDSM bed or
bar contraptions. There was just a plain bed with white sheets. Thick carpet
muffled their footsteps as the Doms led him to a leather couch and armchair.
The room reminded him more of an apartment than a play place.
“Before we get down to business, my name is Carson.” The taller
one extended his hand. “This is my partner, Jeremiah. We’ve been together for
eight years. We don’t take many subs, and when we do, it’s only one at a time.
You are Rocke Houseman, correct? Sit.”
Something in Carson’s voice made Rocke want to comply. He
debated sitting on the chair but only for a moment. This was a test—had to be.
He knelt on the floor at their feet and bowed his head. Fuck. His knee screamed
with pain, but he ignored the hurt. He’d never get better if he kept giving in
to his injury.
“Very good but we don’t want you on the floor. Sit in the
chair.” Carson perched on the edge of the sofa, and Jeremiah stood behind him
with his arms folded. Where Jeremiah seemed to be covered in sleeves of
tattoos, Carson was all pristine muscle. Carson leaned forward. “We could read
the tablet and find out what your boundaries are, but we’d rather hear them
Rocke’s gaze vacillated between the two men. Most Doms didn’t
want to talk. They read the dossier and went right into play. Rocke wobbled to
his feet, careful not to wrench his knee, then sat on the armchair. The shards
of pain subsided, and he laced his fingers together. Hopefully, Carson and
Jeremiah hadn’t seen him wince.
“Go on,” Jeremiah prompted. The harness he wore bit into his
“I’m not a heavy player in the BDSM world. I’ve never tried
most things. No inclination to.” Rocke shrugged. “My biggest kink is
threesomes. I like a dick in my mouth and one in my ass. You can use a cock
ring, cock cage, handcuff me, nipple clips or spank my ass red…I’m game. But no
permanent marks. I can’t have anything that’ll show in the locker room.”
“Why?” Carson prompted.
Rocke shifted in his seat. The leather creaked beneath him.
They’d find out sooner or later—don’t
leave marks if you don’t want to have to explain them to everyone in detail.
The locker room was worse than a newsroom. They had to know everything. But he
needed to trust Carson and Jeremiah. Something about the pair made him want to
take a chance. They didn’t seem like others in his past who’d wanted to exploit
his waning celebrity status.
“I’m a professional baseball player. I’m the shortstop for the
Falcons. Eight years with a .285 batting average—well, until I blew out my
knee. ACL injury three games from the playoffs and we’re in first place in our
division. Sucked.” Rocke groaned. He’d given away a lot of info.
“We saw that play. You’re lucky to be standing without
crutches.” Jeremiah rounded the sofa and sat beside his partner. “And you still
got the double play.”
“I did.” The tips of his ears burned. They’d seen him on the
field? “I have to ask—who’s your favorite team?”
“Grizzlies,” Carson replied. “The team that took you out.”
“Ah.” Maybe, this wasn’t such a good idea. Rocke sank down in
his seat. “They’re a formidable team. I wish I hadn’t gotten cocky.”
“You had to. It’s who you are.” Carson rubbed his chin with his
index finger and thumb. “Who was your Dom before? We noticed you took a shine
“Everyone here.” Rocke snorted. The harder he’d tried to please
a Dom, the faster he pushed them away. “You’ve probably heard all about me. I’m
“How so?” Jeremiah reclined on the sofa and draped his arms
across the back. “Details.”
Did they want to shame him? Jesus. “I like to talk. I don’t
want to be demeaned. I’m not wild about wax and shit on my body.” His voice
cracked, and the fury deep within him came to a head. “I want to be tied up and
fucked. Use me like the God damn media does.”
He’d lost his temper. Fuck.
He couldn’t breathe. Rocke rested his head in his hands.
“Sorry. I’m good at following orders, but I tend to top from the bottom. I’m
hard to control, I guess.” They’d boot him just like the others. He might as
well get up and leave…once his knee decided to cooperate. He closed his eyes
and focused on controlling the pain in his soul. If he pushed the searing hurt
deep, it wouldn’t bother him.
“Hard to control is in the eye of the beholder.” Carson placed
his hand on Rocke’s thigh. “You may be one of the more challenging subs, but
it’s not a death sentence. It simply means you haven’t found the right
Peter Pan was supposed to be the boy who never grew up. Then
Neverland blew sky high. Now he’s very much an adult and playing adult games.
There’s one woman he wants for his bed, his cuffs, his toys… yeah, he’s ready
to do all sorts of naughty things to Wendy. If he can find her.
Wendy Darling never expected Peter to come back. She’d grown
up and moved on — to write white-hot BDSM tales. Can her perfect Dom be the
one man she never thought she’d see all grown up?
“Is that a trick question?” Her resistance blew
all to hell. She’d keep her heart behind a wall, but she’d let him have his way
with her body.
“I’ve got a better idea.” He pulled her into his
lap, having her straddle his thighs. “I’ve been away for too many nights.
I owe you so much more than just a tour of a sex club for the Fae to fuck
humans. I want you to see I’m all grown up. I want more than a business partner
or a lover. I want you.”
Wendy trailed her fingertips down his chest. The heat in his
groin matched the need settling between her legs. She had to say something to
test him one more time. “Don’t say what you don’t mean. You’re not dressed
to stick around.”
Peter tugged the elastic from her hair and combed his
fingers the tangled strands. “That’s better. I land on my feet, remember?
I’ll manage.” He sniffed the air. “Do you realize you smell like
“Toilet cleaner. Sexy, I know.” She rolled her
eyes. “If you’d showed up half an hour later, I’d probably smell like the
peony shower gel I use.”
“I don’t know. Lemon can be very sexy on the right
woman.” He brushed a lock of her hair from her eyes. “You wear it
“You wear it very well.” He threaded his fingers
in the hair at the base of her neck. “Very, very well.”
His breath warmed her skin, and she fisted his shirt in her
hand. Peter captured her mouth in a kiss. The tingles shot from her lips to her
heart, to her toes, and back. His tongue speared between her lips. Wendy sucked
on him, simulating sex with his tongue.
Peter broke the kiss first, but didn’t relent from her.
“You taste like sin,” he puffed.
“Sin has a taste?”
“Considering you write about sex, I’d think you’d
know.” Peter swatted her ass with the flat of his hand. “Take off
your shirt. I want to see you.”
The tingle on her ass combined with the grit in his voice
and resonated to her core. She yanked the shirt up over her head and tossed the
discarded garment across the room.
Peter buried his face in her chest and groaned. His day-old
whiskers scraped against her lace-covered breasts. Cream slickened her panties.
He reached behind her and flicked the clasp on her bra. “I want this
gone.” He heaved the bra in the same direction as her shirt. “That’s
better. If I had my way, you’d never wear one again.”
The chill of the night caressed her bare breasts. She
shivered. Peter rubbed his cheek on her chest again and bit down on her nipple.
Streaks of pleasure-pain ripped through her body. She tensed and smoothed her
palms along his arms. Absorbed in the moment, she rocked on his lap and
Wendy froze. Anticipation ricocheted through her veins. This
was the part she loved — her lover exerting control and her not knowing what
he’d do next.