Saturday, October 29, 2011

More Saturday Snarkage

I can't believe it's Saturday again. I've been out and about on this lovely Autumn morning, stocking up on fruit and veg from the market and enjoying the drive back over the Downs, which are gorgeous on a day like this. I intend to procrastinate for the rest of the day and try to resist the call of the fruit sherbets I bought from the supermarket.

But, enough of the travelogue, this week's snark is a wee snippet from 'Stolen Summer' which comes out in proper, solid book form on Monday. I have to wait a few weeks for the author's copies and I will take photos because it'll be a happy moment for me. There will be a giveaway so watch this space.

Don't forget to check out Marie Sexton's blog for more snark from other writers!
In the meantime, here's Colin and Evan in bed, talking.


I sometimes wondered what I’d done to deserve Colin. This was one of those times. I felt like crying. Instead, I took a deep breath, wrapped my arm around his waist and closed my eyes. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I spoil you rotten and you know it.”

“I’m a better cook than you.”

“Jeesh, one roast beef dinner and you think you’re Gordon bloody Ramsay.”

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Saturday Snark - 22 October

Heavens, I completely forgot about last week's Snark-fest. I was too busy seething with envy at all those lucky souls whooping it up in NOLA and I was busy polishing 'Mourning Jack' and making it pretty. So, here I am again with some more snark from that one.

Don't forget to stop by Marie Sexton's blog to check out all the excerpts today!


The dining room was loud with revellers, well into their main courses. Tables were littered with the remnants of cracker papers and empty bottles. I peered through the kitchen door and couldn’t help notice how the Kingston Party took up most of the dining room. We’d pushed several tables together along the wall and every seat was occupied with stable staff. Eric, his paper crown set at a rakish angle, presided at the head of the table.

“Put your tongue away,” Becky whispered. “Mr. Kingston might want you to save it for later.”

“You dirty cow.”

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

The Return of Teaser Tuesday!

I'm happy to say that the AW Purgatorians have revived the fine tradition of Teaser Tuesday. It's a chance to catch a glimpse of works in progress from a diverse collection of awesome writers.

This is from my Shiny New Idea. It's an m/m romance that's untitled as yet and is set in India in 1857. The narrator is attending a ball at a remote army outpost. He's visiting his cousin and has been left to his own devices at this party.


We fell silent, me thinking of green grass and a sky full of familiar stars, Billington thinking of God-knows what. I stole a glance at him and didn’t envy him his uniform. Even his proximity to the window and the punkah-wallah couldn’t erase the sheen of perspiration from his face.

“You’ll do well to get out of here as soon as you can.” He murmured, without prompting.

“I beg your pardon?”

“If you think it’s hot now, in a few weeks’ time it’ll be unbearable. There’s this hot wind that blows dust into every bloody crevice. It’s miserable. You can’t do anything much between sunrise and late afternoon.”

“So I’ve heard. I’d planned on visiting Simla before heading down to Bombay.”

“That’s a very sensible notion.” He glanced towards the veranda. “As is escaping this room before I suffocate. Are you coming?”

It sounded more like an order than request. I followed Billington onto the veranda where several other gentlemen obviously shared the same idea. They greeted us with nods and carried on with their conversation. Billington leaned against the railing and stared out into the inky, airless dark. “I envy you escaping this place.”

“It’s not like you to be so blunt, sir.” I’d met Billington at one of my cousin’s parties not long after I’d arrived. We’d struck up an easy friendship united by our love of fine horses.

“There’s more than the weather to worry about.” He ran a careless hand through his hair. “There’s rumours of trouble with the sepoys. This isn’t going to be a safe place.”

“I’d heard there could be trouble. So it’s true?”

“It’s more likely to happen than not.” He turned around and stared back into the crowded party. “If I had my way I’d tell every civilian to get out but I’d be accused of scaremongering. If you can change your plans and leave sooner, then do it.”

“Jesus. Have you mentioned this to anyone else?”

“I’ve tried but I’ve been told that everything will be fine.” He looked at me, his eyes dark with a scarcely concealed fury. “I know my men, I’ve tried to do right by them and one or two of them have told me there’ll be trouble. I trust them, I believe them.”

The dark beyond the house was suddenly seething with unseen threats. Just when I’d become comfortable with the strangeness of the place, Billington reminded me that there’s nothing easy or familiar about India. A peacock called out somewhere in the grounds – a haunting counterpoint to the echoes of laughter and music coming from beyond the open doors of the house.

“I consider you a friend.” Billington folded his arms across his chest. “That’s why I’m telling you this. Get out and get to Simla while you can.”

“I’ll do what I can.” I tried to arrange everything in my mind, work out what needed to be done before I could leave. Even travelling in India was a logistical tangle.

“Good.” He offered me a smile. “I always thought you were a man of good sense. What say we find ourselves a decent drink and do our best to avoid the attentions of the ladies.”

“Sounds like an excellent notion.”

He grinned then, a sudden fierce warrior’s grin. I pitied anyone who crossed him and wished God hadn’t made me a man.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Saturday Snark - Number 4

I can't believe it's Saturday again. It's been a bit of a week for me (long story) but I've been plowing ahead with the WIP, 'Mourning Jack'. Here's some fresh snark for you from that story. Don't forget to check the other snarky contributions on Marie Sexton's blog. You can find it here.

Eric’s fingers trembled on my skin. He sighed into my mouth. Our jackets whispered against each other beneath the constant thrum of wind and waves. Eric’s tongue coiled around mine and I rested against him, finding shelter. Everything in me rushed towards him, our breaths meshed, fell into sync. We bruised each other, reaching for shared warmth, for what we’d both missed.

“Get a bloody room.” A disgruntled passerby broke the embrace. A pair of terriers yapped and ran in crazed circles around us. “This is a public beach.”

“Where’s the ‘No Kissing’ sign then?” Eric snapped.

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Saturday Snark - Number 3

This is rapidly becoming my favorite blog habit, this Saturday Snark thing that the lovely Marie Sexton came up with.

Don't forget to visit Marie's blog where you'll find plenty of excellent examples of prime snark throughout the day. Clicky

This week, I've gone back to my current release Stolen Summer. This little exchange takes place shortly after Evan returns from Pakistan. He and Colin are preparing a traditional English Sunday roast for Evan's parents. But these two lads are easily distracted...


I shivered when he swept his hands to my waist, pulling me close. I wound my arms around him and kissed him back. His erection pressed against mine.

“When your parents have gone…” he gasped, his breath hot on my face.

I fought for breath, for self-control. “Yes.” I kissed him again and tasted wine on his lips.

“You’d better turn those bloody potatoes, then. The sooner we eat, the sooner they’ll leave.” He pulled away and turned to the sink. He turned on the cold water tap, ran his hands beneath the water and splashed his face with it.

I did the same, still shaken. The icy water brought me back to the warm kitchen, the aroma of roasting potatoes.

“Jesus, Evan.” Colin’s hand drifted across my crotch before he reached for the wine. “You might want to find an apron or something.” His grin was devilish.