A warm welcome to author Brian Lancaster joining us today to share an exclusive excerpt of his new release.

Welcome Brian 🙂

Blurb:

 

Sometimes it takes losing everything to realise what you had all along.

 

Up-and-coming London chef Marcus is poised on the edge of success, but apart from the occasional casual encounter, the only men who seem to stick around are investors. His best friend Lorraine Bradford—Raine—and her family used to keep him grounded, but a horrible accident took her life and left Marcus’s godchildren without a mother.

 

But if the death throws Marcus’s life into turmoil, it’s far worse for her husband, Tom—especially since she died in a car with a strange man. Tom is consumed by grief, and he shuns the help of friends. Until almost a year later, that is, when Marcus stumbles upon Tom out with his daughters and sees how far Tom has fallen. So he steps in and, bit by bit, helps them to rebuild their world until their lives return to a semblance of normality.

 

Then the unexpected happens: Tom confesses he has romantic feelings for Marcus, and nothing can ever be the same.

 

JUST before six, an hour earlier than their planned time, a knock came at the door to Marcus’s second-floor apartment. In the midst of chewing on a handpicked mint leaf from his windowsill herb garden, he looked up and froze, his stomach churning like a KitchenAid. Absorbed in his food creation mode—he had been assembling slices of marinated apple on top of pastry in a flan dish—he hadn’t even showered or spruced himself up. For a moment he wondered if his wooden spoon wall clock—a Christmas present from Katie and Charlie—had run out of battery, but then he noticed the second hand still merrily circling the clockface. Wiping his hands on a nearby tea towel, he decided the caller had to be Ruth, the neighbor from across the hall, probably returning his juicer. She’d said she might pop by at the weekend, and in his book, anyway, Friday was part of the weekend. Besides, Tom couldn’t get in without either keying in the entry code or using the video phone at the main entrance. Marcus padded barefoot over to the door and yanked it open.

Decked out in a navy boiler suit mottled with the speckled detritus of past building jobs, and wearing a tight white T-shirt beneath, showing off his bulging biceps, Tom lounged against the doorjamb dressed like every gay man’s fantasy. Dark fringed, with trademark slimline sideburns, he also wore a five-o’clock shadow and was a vision to behold. Of its own volition, Marcus’s jaw dropped at the sight, turning him temporarily mute.

“Your downstairs neighbor let me in. Think she thought I was here to fix your plumbing. Or maybe she thought I was there to fix hers,” said Tom, chuckling nervously. Sporting a handsome but unsure grin, he looked down at his own attire. “Shit, yeah, sorry. Came straight from work. Been a crazy busy couple of days. Hope you don’t mind if I change here, maybe jump in the shower first. Got a change of clothes and a pack of London Pride in the holdall. Although if you’d prefer wine, I can always—”

“Slow down, Tom. And come on in.”

Marcus began to head down the hall but turned to find Tom still standing there.

“Are you okay?”

Tom had his hand on the door handle, his voice seeming to have deserted him. Marcus noticed the hesitation in his face.

“Oh God, are you having second thoughts?”

“I’m—no—I just…. It’s all suddenly become very real.”

“Tom, it’s me. I’m still your friend. If you just want to have some grub, a couple of beers, and watch the game, I’ll be just as happy. And I can always sleep on the couch.”

Clearly Marcus would not be happy, but he couldn’t stand to watch Tom’s discomfort in his own home. Tom seemed to think the words over.

“Really? You’d be okay with that?”

“If it gets you in the door, then yes,” said Marcus. For some reason a sudden rush of his own nerves rose to the surface. If he was going to be totally honest with himself, after hearing nothing from Tom all that day or the day before, he’d wondered if the man would show up at all. “Come on in and shut the door.”

“Thanks,” said Tom, entering, then turning quizzically to Marcus. “Are you okay?”

“No, it’s nothing. You’re fine. I—I just…. You’re a little early. And you caught me in the middle of prepping,” said Marcus, about to head back to the kitchen.

“Hey, hey,” said Tom, catching his arm and pulling him back, a playful grin on his face. “I really want to be here. Just give me a little time to adjust. Can you do that?”

“Take all the time you need,” said Marcus, and he could not help the overwhelming emotion that overtook him, feeling his own features relax while staring at this man he had admired for so many years. Tom sucked in a sharp breath, dropped his bag, and then turned Marcus around so that Marcus’s back pressed up against the hallway wall. Stepping in close, he brought their foreheads together.

“I’ve had an erection the whole week thinking about tonight,” he murmured while grinding their groins together.

Marcus froze for a second before really taking Tom in. Despite the initial anxiousness, tonight there stood before him a confident, masculine sexual beast who, quite frankly, Marcus found both attractive and intimidating.

“I would answer that, but I’m giving you time to adjust.”

After a soft chuckle, Tom dropped his gaze to Marcus’s lips, and he only hesitated a split second before finding his target. Lips sealed together, Tom pushed his tongue past Marcus’s teeth, rushing to meet Marcus’s. Of their own volition, Marcus’s arms wrapped around Tom’s neck, pulling him closer, his head tilting to deepen the kiss. Before long Marcus pushed away, gasping for breath.

“Mmm,” murmured Tom, breathing heavily. “You taste of mint and apple. You know, I never thought I’d enjoy kissing another man. But you’re all I can think of these days.”

“I still can’t believe this is you. Tom Bradford. About to get naked in my apartment,” said Marcus, stroking a hand over Tom’s rough stubble. “Fuck me.”

“That is part of the plan,” said Tom, smiling, but then stopped when he saw Marcus’s expression. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” said Marcus, but his face had given him away. “Of course.”

“As you say, we don’t have to actually do the deed, Marcus.”

“I know. But I want you to have me. It’s just… been a while.”

“Then I’ll follow your lead. And you can start by taking me to your bathroom so I can grab a shower.”

“How about we can grab a shower?” said Marcus, pulling Tom with him. “The main bathroom’s off my bedroom, so you can dump your stuff there. And then I’m going to undress you.”

“How about we undress each other?”

 

BRIAN LANCASTER is an author of gay romantic fiction in multiple genres, including contemporary, paranormal, fantasy, crime, mystery, and anything else his muse provides. Born in the sleepy South of England, the setting of many of his stories, he moved to Southeast Asia in 1998, where he shares a home with his longtime partner and two of the laziest cats on the planet.

 

Brian Lancaster once believed that writing gay romantic fiction would be easy and cathartic. He also believed in Santa Claus and the Jolly Green Giant. At least he still has fantasies about those two.

 

Born in the rural South of England in a town with its own clock tower and cricket pitch, he moved to Hong Kong in 1998. Life went from calm and curious to fast and furious. On the upside, the people he has since met provide inspiration for a whole new cast of characters in his stories. He also has his long-term, long-suffering partner and two cats to keep him grounded.

 

After winning two short story competitions in 2006 and being published in a compendium, he decided to dive into writing full- length novels. Diving proved to be easy; the challenge has been in treading water and trying to remain afloat. Cynical enough to be classed a curable romantic, he is not seeking an antidote. When not working or writing, he enjoys acting in community theater productions, composing music, hosting pub quizzes, and any socializing that involves Chardonnay. And for the record, he would like to remind all those self-righteous white wine drinkers that White Burgundy, Chablis, and Champagne are still essentially Chardonnays.