Stoking the Fire (Salus Security Book 1)
Release date: March 4th 2021
Genre: Contemporary MM Romance
Length: 80K (280 pages)
Tropes and tags: bodyguard, second chance, tattoos, there’s only one bed, size difference, forced proximity, bossy bottom, suit porn, cabin on a lake, anxiety rep, NYC aesthetic, romantic suspense
Blurb:
“You hired my ex as my bodyguard?”
When Alec left NYC – left me – I was a broken mess. All my days blurred into a continuous haze of alcohol, parties, and meaningless hook-ups.
Until my sister nearly died in a car accident. Her recovery was the wake-up call I needed.
Now, three years later, I’ve cleaned up my act, sobered up, and finally became the son my father always wished I was – the heir of Van Dorf Media Group.
But being part of one of the most influential families in America has its disadvantages. Like fanatic supremacists trying to kill you.
My father’s solution? Hire Alec Bonovich to protect me.
Doesn’t matter that he’s my ex.
Doesn’t matter that just seeing him makes my pulse quicken.
Doesn’t matter that he’s the only man who’s ever broken my heart.
Because Alec is the best.
And he’s the only one I trust to protect me when my life is in danger.
Towards the end of the meal, a tinkling but insistent bell rings from inside the house, and I groan inwardly. I swear that woman can smell visitors. Either that or she has hidden CCTV installed.
“Go and say hello to Noni, Maxi,” says my mother, giving him a tired smile. “She’s been looking forward to your visit.”
We all know that’s a blatant lie, but obediently, Max rises from the table, and I go with him, like a pair of lambs to the slaughter. He’s probably wishing he’d downed a few more glasses of red wine when he had the chance. How can a defenceless wrinkly old woman instil such fear in two grown men?
Noni pretends she hasn’t heard us as we open the door, even though I know full well there is nothing wrong with her hearing. She commandeered the front parlour about twenty years ago and hasn’t budged since. Considering how long she’s lived in this room, she has very little clutter and very few possessions apart from the necessary, such as the commode chair and a low table holding an assortment of medicines and a small fan. There is the huge old telly, of course, permanently switched on, but no photographs and only one book—a tatty old black atlas that is falling apart and that we’ve never been allowed to touch. The hot fug of the room is cloying, a mixture of stale wee and dead flowers. I try to take shallow breaths.
She’s in her usual pose, bundled up under hideous crocheted blankets and propped on a pile of cushions, with the TV remote, a little brass bell, and a jug of water within reach next to the bed. Her thin white hair fans out on the flowery pillow behind her, two bony hands neatly lie across her chest. A grubby tissue pokes out of one of the tiny clenched fists. Max hovers nervously at my shoulder, and not for the first time as I tiptoe over, I wonder whether she’s dead—the frail skin drawn across her face is so chalky, her thin lips so bloodless. Two watery eyes stare sightlessly at the silent episode of Lampsi playing out on the television.
“Noni, it’s me, Georgios,” I say tentatively and will myself to cover one of those clawlike hands with my own.
The suddenness of her gaze jerking in my direction takes me by surprise, and I involuntarily pull my hand away. “I’ve brought Max to say hello. You remember Max, don’t you?”
Painfully, she inches her head in Max’s direction. (There’s not much wrong with her neck either, but from the way she hams it up, you would think her head is about to drop off). Finally, her eyes take in the handsome specimen of masculinity standing at my shoulder. She stares at him coldly for a few uncomfortable seconds before bringing the tissue up to her mouth and spitting into it with elegant disdain.
“I see him” is all she says in a hoarse whisper, but the hand holding the tissue trembles.
“Hello, Noni,” offers Max gamely, shuffling forwards. “How are you? You’re looking well.”
I had no idea he was such a good liar; she looks like she’s been sleeping in a coffin for the last hundred years. One of the claws darts out and seizes him by the wrist, and she pulls him down so that his face is closer to hers, making no attempt to hide a look of intense dislike. “You are more like him every time I see you,” she hisses, not letting him go.
Oh God, not this again.
Teodora is a bestselling, award winning author writing across genres, but has a soft spot for contemporary romance. As a passionate and vocal supporter of equal rights, LGBTQ+ themes are explored in most of her novels. A Creative Writing and English graduate, Teodora began writing full length novels in college, but only got the courage to show some of them to the world long after she graduated. She’s now been published by several publishers in five languages, and has attended book signings around the world. She loves travelling, and her wanderlust has inspired several of her novels. Her other passion is musical theatre and she can often be found in London’s West End trying to score a last minute ticket for a musical.
When she’s not writing, Teodora loves watching anime, rearranging her enormous bookshelves or walking around London, always looking for a cosy, quirky coffee shop to settle in with her Kindle and a cup of tea.
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