Series Tour, Exclusive Excerpt & Giveaway:
Love At Lake Clyde by Aiden Ainslie
Book 1: King Of The Mountain
Love at Lake Clyde Series, Book 1
American cycling sensation and heartthrob Clifford Du Frey is riding the wave of success. Brand Du Frey is a multi-million-dollar business, and during the Tour de France, Clifford is mobbed by fans wherever he goes. The superstar must focus on winning the Tour de France and maintaining his fan base.
But Clifford has a secret. He has fallen hard for Gabe O’Reilly – the dreamy art student from San Francisco whom he met on a summer’s day in Paris.
Can Clifford and Gabe’s budding relationship withstand the media storm and other forces arraigned against them? Can the grit and determination that propelled Clifford to the top of his sport help him break out to find true love and happiness?
You will root for Clifford and Gabe as they take you on a steaming hot ride through France and all the way back to their native California.
Universal Link
Amazon
Add to Goodreads
CLIFFORD
When we strolled back through the Cours Saleya, Gabe stopped at a stall selling French linen shirts. He picked through several shirts till he found what he liked, “Look at this buccaneer style. My younger brother, Rick, would love it. And the fabric is so soft.”
“When would he wear it?” I asked, “To a fancy-dress ball, dressed as a pirate?”
Gabe paid for the shirt and said, “You haven’t met my brother. He would wear this to do his grocery shopping, and he can pull it off. Men and women tend to swoon in his wake.”
Why was I not surprised?
Gabe said, “I’m a bit worried about the size. He is taller than me – more like your height. Won’t you try it on?”
I shrugged, took off the straw hat, and pulled off my T-shirt. I had just slipped on the soft shirt, and Gabe was helping me button it up when a series of shrieks attracted our attention.
“There he is!”
“I told you so! Instagram said he’d been spotted in this area.”
People were pointing at us. I instantly recognized the types – a mix of lean, fit cyclists of all ages and celebrity-hungry, cellphone-weaving teenagers. They seemed to swirl around the market stalls and coalesce like the origins of a river. In no time, a human wave rumbled toward us.
“Clifford, Clifford Du Frey.”
“This is so cool….”
“Can you imagine….”
“My friends back home will be soooo jealous….”
The snippets merged into a babel of noise, and camera flashes assailed me from all sides.
“Monsieur, monsieur Clifford. Look this way, please smile.”
My dismay grew. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I had seen it happen so often. One just needed a handful of starstruck fans and a few photographers to set off a chain reaction. Quite how it worked, I had never figured out, but social media had created a mechanism for these instantaneous mob events.
I plastered a broad smile on my face and looked around for an escape route. There was no Eddie or other backup to extract us.
Four girls draped themselves around me to take selfies. I had the random thought that they were more concerned with smacking their pursed lips in the direction of their camera phones than at me. I was just a prop, like the Eiffel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe, or an ice cream cone. Someone pressed a bouquet of yellow roses into my hand and said, ”This will bring you luck and the yellow jersey.”
The crowd swelled, jostling for a chance to take pictures. I autographed assorted hats, shirts, brochures, the tanned stomach of a woman from Cannes, and a tea towel for a meek couple from Minneapolis who started pumping their fists into the air and hollering, “U.S.A., U.S.A….”
A TV camera appeared out of nowhere, and a microphone was rammed within an inch of my mouth. I broadened my smile and spouted the expected platitudes about how wonderful France and the French were and that, with the support of the fantastic crowd, I was going to try my very best to win the Tour de France.
“Merci pour votre soutien.” Thank you for your support; now, please just fuck off! How the hell was I going to get out of this? My eyes roamed till I saw Gabe three stalls down where we had bought the soaps and lavender potpourris.
His eyes locked with mine, and he pointed in the direction of an alley not far from us. Then he held up three fingers and mouthed, counting backward. Three, two, one. A commotion erupted. French curses and shouts of anger filled the air. “Merde! Imbeciles!”
All eyes were on the upturned table and merchandise scattered across the cobblestones.
I was rooted to the spot, staring, when a strong hand grabbed my wrist and yanked me out of my stupor. Gabe dragged me behind the nearest row of stalls, and we ducked low, heading toward the Palais de Justice. He sprinted across the square, and I had trouble keeping up. Man, this guy could run. Then he led me down a narrow alley between two restaurants, where we weaved our way amongst mini dumpsters and garbage cans. I could hear shouts behind us. “They went down here!” “Etrangers saglant” – bloody foreigners indeed.
We burst from the alley onto the Promenade des Anglais and sprinted for half a kilometer before Gabe had us duck between two parked delivery vans. Adrenalin coursed through my veins, and I panted heavily, trying to catch my breath. Gabe grinned and said, “Come on, old man, we’d better get out of here.”
The cheeky whippersnapper was panting at least as hard as I was, and I could not keep my eyes off that heaving chest, threatening to burst out of his T-shirt.
Suddenly he turned and jogged back in the direction from which we had come. Had he gone soft in the head? He approached a young woman who had just parked her Vespa scooter. I heard Gabe, in his adorable schoolboy French, saying, “Please miss, I need a huge favor. I need to borrow your Vespa.”
She stared at him in shocked incomprehension, and he said, “My friend, he is sick. I have to take him to the hospital. Please, I need to borrow, I mean…rent your Vespa. Just for an hour.” He thrust a 20 euro note at her.
I staggered from my hiding place, clutching my chest and breathing hard. I must have looked suitably ill because the woman’s features softened. Gabe dug in his pockets and found another 10 euro note. He said, “In one hour, you can collect Vespa at Hotel Le Royal. The key will be with the concierge.”
She took the money and said, “You Americaines, you are crazy – no? You not steal my Vespa? I get it back?”
Gabe nodded vigorously and held up a finger, “Une heure, promis.”
She handed over the key and watched in bewilderment as Gabe started the Vespa. He clamped the day pack between his feet like a local, and I leaped onto the saddle behind him. Gabe revved the little engine and roared into traffic, just as a shouting mob came running up the street.
“Yes!” I shouted into the night air. “Yes, yes, yes! Fucking awesome! You’re awesome!” I had one arm slung around his chest and the other outstretched, waving the yellow roses like a trophy. We raced along the promenade with Gabe blasting the Vespa’s squeaky horn and weaving down the white line between Maseratis and BMWs. And I knew their snooty occupants all envied us; envied us for being so alive. I felt invincible, and I whooped and hollered into the night air.
I shouted in Gabe’s ear, “Do you moonlight as a getaway driver?” In response, I could feel his chest shaking with laughter. His hair caressed my lips and nose, and I caught a whiff of something fresh and intoxicating – tea tree? It was hard to tell. The wind in my face made me feel at home, like racing. But this was so different. It was different because it was a shared experience and because I was entrusting myself entirely to someone else. Not just someone, Gabe. As we hurtled into the direction of Monte Carlo, I tightened my grip and wished this ride would never end. I could not remember ever having felt exhilaration like this.
Book 2: Master Of The Wild
They have nothing in common. Nothing, but the pain and hurt of past relationships. Conner O’Reilly moves from London to California to lick his wounds and recover after breaking up with an abusive boyfriend. He is determined to find a job and start a new life. The last thing he needs is another romantic entanglement.
But Conner hasn’t bargained on meeting Ewan Driscoll. Wild, tattooed, gorgeous, messed-up Ewan, who has more baggage than a freight train.
Will Conner be sensible and get his life back on track, or will his heart lead him into the wilderness?
Universal Link
Amazon
Add to Goodreads
Book 3: Ruler of the Waves
A cute doctor in a small town
Tyler: All I ever wanted was to be a good doctor and serve the community I had grown up in. And I wanted a loving husband to share my dream of a house with a picket fence, two children and a dog. Was that so much to ask of life? Why was it so difficult to find that man?
A moody bad boy with an insatiable wanderlust
Rickie: All I ever wanted was the freedom to sail the oceans, taste salt on my lips and feel sea spray on my face. So when Tyler Matthews offers me the chance of a week’s sailing at Nantucket, I agree to go with him. The only snag – we have to convince his snooty friends that we are boyfriends. How difficult can that be? Tyler is a good friend, I know him. Surely we can pull this off.
The only danger I did not foresee was that all my dreams could be derailed if my heart became entangled with the cute doctor who is rooted to the soil like a giant sequoia.
Can love find a way to bridge the ocean-sized chasm between two men who do not appear to be destined for each other? Read the latest book in the Love at Lake Clyde series. A delicious fake boyfriend romance with many unexpected twists and turns.
Universal Link
Amazon
Add to Goodreads
To celebrate the release of Ruler of the Waves, Aiden is giving away a $25 Amazon Voucher!
Enter the Rafflecopter giveaway for your chance to win!
About the Author:
Aiden Ainslie lives in the Diablo foothills, east of San Francisco. He grew up in various small towns and loves to draw on that small-town feel for his romances: the sense of community but also the petty grievances, intrigue and rivalries. “An author has to draw on personal experience to create authentic stories.”
According to Aiden, setting and mood are critical parts of a romantic story, hence he is always taking pictures of romantic settings to be used in future novels. Check them out on his website www.aidenainslie.com
When Aiden is not writing or listening to audiobooks, he likes to cycle and hike. During those solitary pursuits, he dreams up the characters and plots for his MM Romance novels. He also enjoys zipping around town on his motor scooter, drinking coffee at the local coffee shops, and watching people to get inspiration for his writing.
Connect with Aiden:
https://aidenainslie.com/
https://www.facebook.com/aiden.ainslie
