Winter Blogfest: Kristian Parker

December 23, 2022 By 2 Comments

This post is part of Long and Short Reviews’ Winter Blogfest. Leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of Christmas at Queens Crescent as well as a prepublication copy of Pole Position.

My Real-Life Best Christmas Present by Kristian Parker

Hi everyone. I’m Kristian Parker, a writer from the north of England. Okay, I confess, I love Christmas too. So much that I’ve just released my first ever holiday story, Christmas at Queens Crescent.

The story features Jeremy Brookes, who has arrived in London to rebuild his life after losing his mother. He immediately meets handsome florist, Stuart Monroe who is also having a crisis of where his life is heading. Jeremy is instantly attracted so does the sensible thing of assuming a secret identity to get to know this man better.

Christmas at Queens Crescent is the opening book of my brand-new series, Queens Crescent. Set in one of London’s most exclusive postcodes, each house has a handsome billionaire with his own story to tell. As it happens, I’ve jammed more of them than you can shake a stick at in this book to give you a preview.

During the story, Stuart and Jeremy are talking about their favourite Christmas presents. For Stuart’s answer, I chose my real-life best Christmas present.

When I was a small child, we didn’t have loads of money, but Dad worked with electronics. So, he built me my own record deck with cassette and lights that changed in time to the music. I had headphones and a mic and would spend ages doing my own radio shows.

Sadly, these masterpieces have been lost to the passage of time. I bet I would absolutely cringe if I heard them back!

Of course, being of a certain age, presents like that gave way to Millennium Falcon’s and AT-AT Walkers but nothing gave me as much joy as my DJ set up.

To win a copy of Christmas at Queens Crescent and a pre-publication copy of the next book, Pole Position (Out in February 2023), just let me know in the comments what has been the best present you ever received and why.

Jeremy Brookes is having a mid-twenties crisis. After losing his mother, he’ taken up his father’s offer to move from Canada to London to start a new life. The problem is, he has no idea how to do it. His billionaire father as some ideas…

Once Jeremy is installed in the exclusive neighbourhood of Queens Crescent, he will have to sort his life out pretty damned quick if he’s to avoid a lifetime at the pharma company where his father is CEO and his stepmother rules HR.

Jeremy isn’t cut out for that life or that of a spoiled rich kid, worrying where his next designer label is coming from. Then he happens upon Stuart Monroe, the handsome Scottish florist with a shop around the corner. As the only socialist in Kensington, Stuart’s lowly background makes it a challenge to be surrounded by such wealth. Instantly drawn to this rebel in their midst, Jeremy decides to do the sensible thing: go undercover as Stuart’s new shop assistant to get to know the enigmatic stranger better.

What could possibly go wrong?

 

I have written for as long as I could write. In fact, before, when I would dictate to my auntie. I love to read, and I love to create worlds and characters.

I live in the English countryside. When I’m not writing, I like to get out there and think through the next scenario I’m going to throw my characters into.

Inspiration can be found anywhere, on a train, in a restaurant or in an office. I am always in search of the next character to find love in one of my stories. In a world of apps and online dating, it is important to remember love can be found when you least expect it.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

Buy the book at Amazon.

Filed Under: Erotic Romance, Guest Blogs Tagged With: , ,

Winter Blogfest: Kristian Parker

December 23, 2021 By 2 Comments

This post is part of Long and Short Reviews’ Winter Blogfest. Leave a comment for a chance to win a free copy of the first installment in my Speak Its Name series, To Light A Fire .

The Magic of Christmas

Christmas was a magical time when I was small. We would have nearly twenty family members descend on the house to play raucous games like Team Charades, Wink Murder and Pass the Parcel with more elaborate forfeits each year.

I would get so excited that sleep on Christmas Eve was an alien concept and certainly not one I was going to let get in the way of starting the big day.

My poor Mum would have to practically pin me down and sing carols in my ear as Dad carefully put the pillowcasesfilled with presents at the end of the landing. Knowing they had a huge day ahead, they would creep into bed and try to stay as still as possible.

I can remember lying there, thinking I really should try and sleep. But by two in the morning, it would become too muchand I’d creep down to the end of my bed and peep out. There they were. A great big pile of wrapped boxes delivered by actual Father Christmas. I could wait no longer.

With a warcry of “He’s been!” I would thunder down the landing and straight into my parents’ room. They probably got about ten minutes sleep maximum. But with my angelic blonde curls and grinning face, who could resist?

The next hour consisted of me trying to control my trembling hands while I ripped open parcel after parcel. I had a big extended family so I was very lucky. Star Wars toys were usually the big-ticket items with a Millennium Falcon one year followed by an AT-AT the next.

Once I’d finished, the bed was awash with torn wrapping paper. Mum would always be on the lookout for big bits for the Pass the Parcel game.

Then it was my Dad’s cue to take me downstairs and let Mum get a couple of hours. We would take a selection of toys and books. We had a coal fire in those days so Dad would stoke up the fire and we’d play for a bit. When dawn was breaking, he would wedge me in the chair next to him with a book or two. The heat and Dad’s soothing voice usually sent me off.

Dad would sit back, close his eyes and listen to the crackling sticks on the fire. Just as he fell asleep the telephone would go.

My Grandad would ring early to see what time I’d woken up. The ring of the phone would make my eyes burst open. For a second, I wondered why I was asleep downstairs then I’d remember.

“He’s been!”

 

Frank never thought he would find love…until he met his friend’s servant.

It’s 1922 and Frank Harris has finished his exams at Cambridge. He had planned on going home to his parents’ Midlands shop until his friend Charlie Fitzwilliam issues a surprise invitation to stay at his family’s stately home.

Frank has nursed a secret attraction to Charlie since their first meeting and can’t resist a chance to spend time with him, but once there, it’s Tanner, a manservant, with whom he instantly falls in lust.

Charlie tries to force a local girl on Frank, and although Frank knows he should keep up appearances, it’s Tanner who sets a fire in him.

To Frank’s astonishment, Tanner is attracted to him too, and their mutual passion kindles, then burns strong. Only, their feelings must remain a secret—discovery would mean the ruin of them both.

But how long can love that blazes this bright be hidden?

 

I have written for as long as I could write. In fact, before, when I would dictate to my auntie. I love to read, and I love to create worlds and characters.

I live in the English countryside. When I’m not writing, I like to get out there and think through the next scenario I’m going to throw my characters into.

Inspiration can be found anywhere, on a train, in a restaurant or in an office. I am always in search of the next character to find love in one of my stories. In a world of apps and online dating, it is important to remember love can be found when you least expect it.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

Buy the book at First for Romance.

Filed Under: Erotic Romance, Guest Blogs Tagged With: , ,

Sun, Sea and Spotted Squid by Kristian Parker – Spotlight and Giveaway

July 19, 2021 By Leave a Comment

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Kristian Parker who is celebrating the recent release of Sun, Sea and Spotted Squid. Enter to win a fabulous gift package and get a FREE eBook from the author!

Sam came to Spain for a summer with squid—but found a Wolfgang…

University graduate Sam is looking forward to a summer internship at Valencia’s world-famous Oceanogràfic Aquarium, but it’s fellow intern and flatmate Wolf who captures his interest.

Tall, handsome redhead Wolfgang is also aloof, and Sam burns to know what makes him tick. Being paired with him on a project has Sam imagining them spending their days out on the ocean in the aquarium’s boat, but Wolfgang only has eyes for the rare spotted squid they’re assigned to study. Charming.

But Sam won’t take second place to a cephalopod mollusc, even one with spots. He sets his sights on cracking Wolfgang’s shell…only to discover the sexy German is so far in the closet that his address could be Narnia House, Narnia Street, Narnia.

Can Sam help Wolfgang find the strength to be true to himself and his desires, or will their relationship be like the squid they’re seeking and plummet to the depths of the seabed when summer’s over?

Enjoy an Excerpt

France lay below like the skin of a huge beast, veins interlocking across it, but if I really squinted, they became roads with little cars and lorries zooming along them. From the first time I’d been on an aeroplane as a kid, I’d loved to stare out of the window at the world below. All those lives being played out beneath me sent my imagination rolling.

“And what is it you’re doing in Spain?” asked Mrs Talkative, my seat neighbour who was oblivious to my turned shoulder.

“I’m going to be working at the Oceanogràfic,” I replied, cursing myself again that I had left my headphones at the bottom of my bag, out of reach.

“Oh yes, I know what that is,” she said, holding up a guidebook as evidence. “That’s the aquarium near the beach.”

I nodded and gave her a weak smile.

“I’m surprised that your mother is letting you come out here for the summer,” she continued.

I had just turned twenty-five, so my mother didn’t really have much of a say in what I did. She had cried buckets at the departure lounge, of course. I had tried to explain to her that I had been away from her longer than eight weeks when I’d lived at uni, but nothing had stopped the waterworks.

“She just wants me to be happy,” I told Mrs Talkative.

“She sounds like a wonderful mother.” She popped her mini bottle of prosecco with a shriek of glee and poured herself a glass. “Bottoms up. Here’s to happy holidays.”

I took a healthy swig of my beer while she sipped her fizz as though she had never done anything so wild in her life.

* * * *

Two hours later and I found myself in the back of a taxi to take me to the rooms in the old town that the aquarium had arranged. I had managed to lose Mrs Talkative at the baggage carousel—otherwise, I think she would have insisted on coming and checking out my room. I half suspected her to be a sleeper agent dispatched by my mother to keep watch.

The view from the taxi seemed like any other European city. Huge furniture shops gave way to bigger supermarkets which gave way to vast warehouses. Even so, I had my nose glued to the window while I took in the city that would be my home for the next eight weeks.

As we came closer to the centre, the modern buildings slowly changed to older, more dusty ones. People on the street replaced the hard shoulder. Young people crowded around a motorcycle. Three women gossiped on the corner. A group of men were making their way into a bar. And I couldn’t wait to dive into it.

I had been to Spain before, but my family preferred an all-inclusive hotel to a city break. I had wanted a new experience…and I’d got one.

“There is a kite festival soon as well,” said the taxi driver, who had taken it upon himself to give me a running commentary.

I’ll be here for the whole summer. I can go to that festival and I’m not even bothered about kites.

The car turned onto a busy road and to my left were treetops on a level with the car.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Ah,” said the driver, puffing up his chest. “That is the Turia Riverbed Park. The jewel in our crown. Down below the road, where the river once flowed, lies a beautiful park.”

I frowned. “What happened to the river?”

“Years ago, they were sick of the flooding, so they simply rerouted the river. They made that park from land. My grandfather worked on it, you know.”

I hadn’t been too great at doing my research into the place—after studying hard for my Master’s, I’d struggled to find motivation to pick up yet another book. But I had read online that the park led to the Ciutat de les Arts i de les Ciències which held the aquarium I would be working in.

“Is the aquarium there?” I asked.

“Ah yes, so many buildings down towards the sea.”

I craned my neck behind to see if I could see the huge buildings I’d studied on the internet, but couldn’t see anything.

“You won’t see it like that. You want me to detour?” the driver-turned-tour-guide offered.

As tempting as it was, I declined. I wanted to find my digs and my fellow workmates.

I had never been the type who had wanderlust. I had been happy to wave my school friends off when they went to find themselves in far-flung places. I’d settled on finishing my studies. I’d had plenty of fun on the way too, so I didn’t feel too sorry for myself. But today made up for all that lost excitement, especially now we were on the cobbled streets of the old town. I peered out of the windows, trying to get my bearings. People were on both sides of the narrow street, jumping onto the pavement as we drove past.

Eventually we stopped outside a nondescript bar with a couple of people outside smoking. The sign seemed to be half hanging off and the rusty yellowy-white furniture in front of it had seen better days.

“We’re here,” announced the taxi driver.

“We are?” I echoed, my stomach sinking.

I rustled in my bag to get out my letter from the aquarium and checked the address. We were here. Perhaps it would be better inside. The letter said to use the door to the left of the bar.

Standing in the street once I’d paid the driver, I looked up at the grimy windows. The smokers outside the bar watched me with interest. Putting on the best confident face in my repertoire, I picked up my spectacularly heavy suitcase and made my way through the door and up the filthy staircase that greeted me.

By the time I reached the top, I had to lean against the wall. I regretted packing nearly every item of clothing I owned. I had agonised over the outfit to wear today, but first impressions counted, so I’d settled on jeans and polo shirt, tight to show off my slim waist. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror at the top of the stairs—my dark curls had gone a bit frizzy, but other than that, I didn’t look too bad.

A stunningly beautiful girl appeared out of one of the doors.

“Hola,” she said, staring me up and down.

“Hi. I’m Sam Davis.”

“Ah, typical Brit. Doesn’t know the language and expects us all to know his,” she said with a smirk.

“Hola. Encantado de conocerte. Soy Sam Davis.”

She had the decency to give a little embarrassed laugh. “Silly me. I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, should I? I’m Astrid Ström.”

We stood there staring at each other for a second before she realised she had barred my way.

“Come in,” she said.

I followed her down the corridor. To my horror, my feet were sticking to a carpet which clearly hadn’t seen a decent vacuum cleaner in decades.

A door on my left lay open. Inside, another girl was busying herself hanging up clothes.

“Maria, this is Sam,” Astrid called.

Maria stopped pulling clothes out of her suitcase long enough to give me a wave.

We carried on to the end of the passage, which had three more doors. Before I could ask about the winding staircase next to the third door, which must lead to another floor, Astrid pointed to the door on the left that had a poster of a rock band called Satan’s Flesh peeling off it. “That’s Genevieve and Paul’s room. They are in there doing things that couples do.” She giggled.

The overwhelming smell of old fried food had started to make my eyes water. I couldn’t work out if it came from one of the rooms or from downstairs.

Astrid seemed to be taking charge of everyone. How had they managed to form a tight group already? I hated being the last to turn up anywhere. I would much rather be the first and let things build around me, but I couldn’t do anything about it now.

Astrid pushed open the middle door to reveal the smallest kitchen I had ever seen. A gas cooker covered in stains and a tiny larder fridge told me I would probably be eating out a lot of the summer. The smell doubled in here. I knew I shouldn’t turn my nose up, but this had not been what I had imagined when I’d heard I would be living in Valencia’s famous old town area.

Behind the final door, she showed me a matching tiny bathroom. “I’ve given it a good clean,” she said. I clearly hadn’t hidden my first impressions. My friends always said I would be a useless poker player.

“Thank you,” I said.

That meant my room must be up the steep stairs I had glimpsed.

“We thought we’d go out for something to eat. See you in an hour?”

“Oh, okay.”

With that, she set off down the corridor to her room before stopping halfway. “Oh, choose whichever of the two rooms upstairs you like. The final member of our little group doesn’t arrive until later.”

I took a deep breath and half carried, half dragged my case up the stairs. It caught on a piece of the peeling wallpaper and managed to rip it off, sending some plaster scattering onto the threadbare carpet. At the top lay a small landing with three doors.

I peeped through one into the room it led to. It had to have been a storeroom at some point—the proportions were tiny. So much for attics having the biggest rooms. A quick peek through the middle door revealed a shower room. I opted for the final door.

I pushed it open and discovered what would be my home for the next eight weeks.

A lumpy bed sat against one wall with a black lacquer bedside cabinet to the side. A wobbly looking desk and wardrobe completed the furnishings. This is just a place to sleep. You’ll be out most of the time.

I plonked myself down on the bed and took a minute. I had made it to Spain. The view from the window showed the rooftops of the town stretching ahead to the cathedral in the distance. It reminded me of when I’d first arrived at the halls of residence at university. Some people had been nervous, but I couldn’t wait to get going and find out what adventure I had signed up for.

I took a picture of the view and sent it to my Mum.

Greetings from España. It’s lovely here. Can’t wait to get started.

It wouldn’t be a good move to show her my room. She would go mad. My case sat in the corner—I should probably unpack. But I had all the time in the world. Instead, I sat up on the windowsill and watched all the people coming and going. A bit of peace felt great.

An hour later, I ventured down to the kitchen. I hadn’t braved a shower—something told me that would need all my strength. Instead, I’d washed in the sink and changed my clothes, discovering that the bathroom was for my room and the other bedroom, meaning I’d have to remember to lock both doors when I used it.

In the kitchen I found a couple feeding each other pieces of ham.

“Bonjour,” said the girl when she saw me come in.

“Bonjour,” I replied.

“This is our Brit, then,” said the man. “I am Paul and this is Genevieve.”

“Sam.”

We put our hands in our pockets and kind of stared at each other awkwardly. “Where shall we eat?” asked Paul, breaking the stalemate, much to my relief.

“Oh, we have to have paella,” said a voice behind me. Astrid beamed away at us. “We are in the birthplace of it, after all.”

“Do you like paella?” Paul asked me.

“I love it. I do eat more than egg and chips, you know,” I said. “In fact, I make a mean paella myself…but probably not in this kitchen.”

They all laughed. Always a good sign.

“Paul has been reading about the best paella place in Valencia,” said Genevieve, staring adoringly at him. “It’s only a few streets away.”

“That’s settled then,” said Astrid.

“Ready,” said Maria over Astrid’s shoulder.

Our merry little band were all together for the first time. “Time for a selfie,” I said. Everyone got in for the picture.

“We will have to do one when the other guy comes,” said Maria.

I’d almost forgotten about the missing member. “What’s his name?”

“Wolfgang,” said Astrid. “I saw it on the email.”

Wolfgang? That sounded butch. What would he be like? I’d find out soon enough.

About the Author I have written for as long as I could write. In fact, before, when I would dictate to my auntie. I love to read, and I love to create worlds and characters.

I live in the English countryside. When I’m not writing, I like to get out there and think through the next scenario I’m going to throw my characters into.

Inspiration can be found anywhere, on a train, in a restaurant or in an office. I am always in search of the next character to find love in one of my stories. In a world of apps and online dating, it is important to remember love can be found when you least expect it.

Facebook | Goodreads | First for Romance

Buy the book at your favorite online venue or First for Romance

KRISTIAN PARKER IS GIVING AWAY THIS FABULOUS PRIZE TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A LOVELY GIFT PACKAGE AND YOUR FREE KRISTIAN PARKER ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 27th July 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

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To Light a Fire by Kristian Parker – Spotlight and Giveaway

May 25, 2021 By Leave a Comment

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Kristian Parker who is celebrating today’s release of To Light a Fire, the first book in the Speak Its Name series. Enter and get a FREE romance book from the author!

Frank never thought he would find love…until he met his friend’s servant.

It’s 1922 and Frank Harris has finished his exams at Cambridge. He had planned on going home to his parents’ Midlands shop until his friend Charlie Fitzwilliam issues a surprise invitation to stay at his family’s stately home.

Frank has nursed a secret attraction to Charlie since their first meeting and can’t resist a chance to spend time with him, but once there, it’s Tanner, a manservant, with whom he instantly falls in lust.

Charlie tries to force a local girl on Frank, and although Frank knows he should keep up appearances, it’s Tanner who sets a fire in him.

To Frank’s astonishment, Tanner is attracted to him too, and their mutual passion kindles, then burns strong. Only, their feelings must remain a secret—discovery would mean the ruin of them both.

But how long can love that blazes this bright be hidden?

Enjoy an Excerpt

Cambridge, 1922

“Come on, Harris. Don’t be a chump. You can read your precious architecture books at my place. I don’t know why you’re bothering, anyway—we’ve done the blasted exams.”

So spoke Charlie Fitzwilliam the third…or maybe the fourth, standing there in all his glory. As usual, the rest of his gang flanked him and glared at me. It didn’t do to say no to Charlie. I had been in awe of him for four years at Cambridge.

The polar opposite to me, he could make a boy feel awkward just by entering a room. Blond, muscular and his parents owned most of one of the bigger counties just outside London. I, on the other hand, had dark hair, could have been described as a little on the skinny side and certainly didn’t come from the right side of the tracks.

“Go on, Harris,” said one of his henchmen. They followed him everywhere, doing his dirty work and hoping against hope some of that Fitzwilliam magic would rub off on them. “Charlie will be bored if you don’t.”

“Why don’t you go and entertain him then?” I said gruffly.

It had been made clear when we started at university that I would be the lackey of the group and it didn’t do to let me forget it. Charlie’s lot were Harrow boys for whom Cambridge had been a natural next step. My place had been paid for by my parents saving hard and me getting the best marks possible at school.

My parents had several shops in Leicester, the middle of England, where I’d grown up and nothing ever happened. When I’d come to Cambridge, I’d been an awkward eighteen-year-old who had no idea how to use the right cutlery or which wine went with fish. Charlie had taken me under his wing, the others had been jealous and so my runt-of-the-litter position had become firmly cemented.

Charlie had more money than he would ever know what to do with. University was just a diversion, a chance to drink heavily, romance often and generally live a crazy life. The dire state of the economy didn’t come anywhere near him, happening only to other people.

An invitation to go to his house in the country could not be refused, and I found myself tempted by some time alone with him. Besides, I couldn’t apply in earnest to architectural partnerships until I knew my marks for my degree. We had sat our final exam last week and could only wait until August, when we would graduate.

I had planned to go home and help in the shops, but I would only be taking hours from our workers who needed them more than me.

“Just think of it. You can dig around my father’s books to your heart’s content.” Charlie clapped his arm around me, causing me to blush. He knew he had his fish on the line, and a grin creased the sides of my face.

“Fine. A week, no more.”

Charlie held up his hands. “A week is all I want from you. Mummy has demanded my presence in bloody Portugal after that. I’ll be dragged around endless vineyards in search of the perfect grapes for the perfect port. Oh, well done, old man. I hate being stuck in that house on my own. It’s just so boring.”

Having made the decision, I told my parents, and they were fine with it. They wanted me to get as much out of life as possible. Me having the chance to hobnob with a load of posh people would be a talking point for my mother for the rest of the year. God help her customers. They would soon be sick of hearing it.

With a heavy heart, I packed away my books, to send them home to my parents. I would never stand in this bedroom again. I had been lucky to get a set of rooms to myself—most of the other undergraduates shared. I would miss this tiny bit of independence. It might be cliché, but I had arrived a boy and was leaving a man. Charlie and his cronies were still like boys and probably always would be.

I had never gone in for the carousing life. Charlie had a reputation for smuggling girls from the local town into our halls. More than once he had persuaded me to let him use my room for a bit of privacy. As usual he had a henchman, or two, standing guard, and I would find a corner and retreat into my books. It amazed me why Charlie and his gang bothered with me at all. I must have been so boring to them, but Charlie had somehow bonded with me. On his own, when he wasn’t being an insufferable show-off, he could be quite good fun. We were both studying architectural history together. Charlie didn’t know his Christopher Wren from his Antoni Gaudi, and we’d spent many a late night sorting out his essays. In reality, I would write them for him, but I used to live for those nights. Charlie generally sat on the window ledge smoking and chatting while I scribbled away. The public image of Charlie could be hard to get past, but when he did let a person in, a decent chap lay beneath..

About the Author I have written for as long as I could write. In fact, before, when I would dictate to my auntie. I love to read, and I love to create worlds and characters.

I live in the English countryside. When I’m not writing, I like to get out there and think through the next scenario I’m going to throw my characters into.

Inspiration can be found anywhere, on a train, in a restaurant or in an office. I am always in search of the next character to find love in one of my stories. In a world of apps and online dating, it is important to remember love can be found when you least expect it.

Facebook | Goodreads | First for Romance

Buy the book at your favorite online venue or First for Romance.

ENTER HERE AND GET A FREE EBOOK FROM THE AUTHOR! Notice: This competition ends on 8th June 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

Filed Under: Erotic Romance, Guest Blogs Tagged With: ,

Venetian Valentine by Kristian Parker – Spotlight and Giveaway

February 12, 2021 By Leave a Comment

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Kristian Parker, who is celebrating the recent release of Venetian Valentine, part of the My Bloody Valentine Collection. Enter to win a fabulous gift package and a $5.00 First for Romance Gift Card!

Venice at Valentine’s? Andrew didn’t bargain on outrunning the Mafia, fighting for his life…or meeting Sergio.

Post break-up Andrew, in Venice for Valentine’s Day, isn’t alone and pining for very long before handsome local Sergio sweeps him off his feet—and into his gondola.

What should have been the most romantic evening of Andrew’s life turns into the deadliest when a dying policewoman they rush to help slips them a vital piece of evidence…and they’re accused of shooting her.

With both the Mafia and corrupt cops in hot pursuit, Andrew and Sergio must deliver the evidence to the only man who can clear their name. The only problem is he lives at the other end of Italy, which sends them on the most action-packed Valentine’s date ever.

It’s going to take some serious Valentine’s magic for the shy Englishman and the sexy gondolier to have a second date, never mind a chance at a relationship…

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of mild peril, injury, and a gun battle.

Enjoy an Excerpt

“Pronto, vuoi un passaggio?”

Not even in Venice yet and already asked if I wanted a ride.

I nodded and stepped onto the water taxi. Yes, there were cheaper options, but this being my first trip to the famous island, I wanted to arrive in style.

The crisp February air hit me as we got out onto the water. Even so, I had no intention of sheltering inside the wooden boat. I hadn’t paid a ridiculous amount of money to miss everything below deck.

Then I saw it. Venice.

It took my breath away. Beautiful pastel-coloured buildings lined the coastline with the iconic St Mark’s Campanile dominating the skyline behind. Butterflies filled my stomach as we sped towards our destination. So much history calling to me to discover it.

Whatever the driver hollered to me, I couldn’t hear above the wind in my ears. I wouldn’t have taken it in anyway, not when the island looming larger in front of me had all my attention.

Soon it stretched out and filled my eyeline. Details became clearer. The shoreline was busy with traders and visitors and all manner of people. A market selling the usual rubbish was an irresistible call to the tourists. Huge boats tugged gently against their moorings outside big houses. What a life to live in one of those. In this world of water, I couldn’t have been further away from the crowded London streets I was used to.

We pulled up to a jetty and excitement built inside me.

“Come ti piace Venice?” asked the driver, spreading his arms wide like an orchestra conductor.

“Bella.” Yes, I thought Venice beautiful, all right.

Safe on terra firma and more than ready to dive into this city, I paused at the edge of a group of people congregating on a bridge having their picture taken. They dispersed to reveal the Bridge of Sighs.

I gawked. This had been high on Matt’s sightseeing list when we’d planned the trip. But he only had himself—and his wandering hands—to blame for missing out.

I snapped out of it. The bridge before me had seen worse heartbreak than mine—they’d named it the Bridge of Sighs as convicts would get their last view of Venice before succumbing to their gruesome fate in the dungeons down below, and they would sigh.

I stood staring, absolutely transfixed. I’d only been here for five minutes, but I could understand why those sighs would be filled with such loss.

Things got even better when I got my first glimpse of a gondolier, expertly steering his craft through the city and under the bridge. I’d been dismissive of the gondolas and their high prices, but now I saw one drifting through the canals, it tempted me. Would I feel like a bit of a loser taking one on my own?

This city could be full of possibilities for me and I refused to dwell on being alone for this trip. Lots of people travelled solo and now I’d joined their ranks.

I took a selfie with the bridge in the background and sent it to my friend, Jodie.

Here safe and sound. Speak soon x.

Almost immediately I got a reply.

Go get ’em, tiger.

My phone told me my hotel lay on the other side of St Mark’s Square. All my life, I had yearned to stroll across one of the most famous squares in the world. Taking a deep breath and channelling my inner chic Italian, I set off to discover what Venice had in store for me.

Just my luck, the biggest rain shower I’ve ever encountered ruined my picture-postcard arrival. Huge dollops of rain bounced off those iconic cobbles as I dragged my case across them, making it spin out of control. In the end, I just picked it up and made a run for it. Being a lanky six foot two, it was hard for me to run stylishly, and so I ran full pelt. My painstakingly styled blond spikes were flopping with all the water, the hair gel running into my eyes and making them sting.

I must have looked like a drowned rat by the time I burst through the unassuming doors of the Hotel Buon Sonno, which caused much amusement for the achingly handsome receptionist who greeted me. I ignored his smirk as I dripped on the marble floor, although I did feel like the least glamourous person in Venice.

Zinc- Testosterone level is said to be male hormone and also responsible for the quality of erections in the bed. buy levitra no prescription What are the side-effects? prescription order viagra without Its Side effects are generally mild and manageable. This medication has been developed by the professional cialis well-known pharmaceutical house Eli Lilly and ICOS biotechnology firm. generic viagra It’s imperative that most strikes to significant points and nerve motor points. He seemed to take an age to check me in and the elevator had to be as old as the city itself as it slowly dragged me to my floor. Finally, I made it to my room and what a treat lay before me. It had a big bed and chaise-longue to the side, causing my inner chic Italian to perk up again. I could imagine myself lazing on there after a hard day’s shopping.

I unpacked, stashing my money and important stuff in the safe. Jodie had told me about the pickpockets of Venice to the point of paranoia. After that I had a long scrub in the huge walk-in shower to wash the journey away. The monsoon jets soon brought me back to life.

I lay on the bed in my bathrobe, flicking through the guidebook, when my stomach growled as though a bear had woken up in there. Would anywhere be doing meals this early? Well, time to hit the streets of Venice to find out. Go get ’em, tiger.

I threw on some clothes and headed out to see what this place had to offer. This time I took my umbrella.

Hopefully looking a little more presentable, I smiled at the receptionist as I passed him. I might not have been on the romantic getaway I’d hoped for, but why should that stop me having a little—or a lot—of fun? He didn’t return the smile. I supposed with him having seen me at my worst, my best wasn’t likely to impress him.

Opposite the hotel sat a kind of gondola park. The boats jostled together, awaiting their turn. So did the gondoliers, who laughed and joked to pass the time until their next customer appeared. It might have been February, but that meant Carnival week as well as the romantic epicentre of the year. Plenty of people queued up to pay their extortionate prices. Still tempted to take a ride, I watched a few set off, bearing smiling passengers. My hunger won out this time—my ride could wait for another day.

I had only just set off in the direction where I thought I’d seen a few restaurants from my window when, suddenly, a gondolier jumped in front of me. He looked so handsome in his standard striped T-shirt and straw hat set at a jaunty angle. He took his hat off and bowed in a ridiculously dramatic fashion. As someone who is easily flustered, I could feel my face going bright red.

“Well, hello there, stranger. My name is Sergio, the best gondolier in this whole city.”

All the other gondoliers were laughing and nudging one another…which didn’t help my out-of-control blushes.

“H-hello,” I stammered.

“Ah, he is English! I knew it. I said to my friends, here comes a member of the English aristocracy.”

I might have been named after Prince Andrew, but the similarities ended there. An auntie had traced our family tree once upon a time and found nothing but mill workers and servants. But in Venice, I could be whoever I wanted to be.

“And you were right,” I said in my poshest voice. “My grandmother, the Queen of England, told me Venice is the only place to be on Valentine’s Day.”

He threw his head back and laughed. I had never seen someone so jaw-droppingly perfect, from his shiny eyes to his perfectly groomed stubble to his strong arms which held the railing as he leaned backward. I didn’t dare look any lower.

“Then surely you wish to experience everything Venice has to offer?”

“Of course I do. But I’ve only just arrived. I want to sample some food first.”

He winked. “Sergio will help. There is a beautiful pasta place just around the corner. Tell them I sent you.”

“Oh yes? Will I get a discount?”

“No, but I will next time I am in.”

With that, he laughed his infectious laugh and went back to join his fellow boatmen. I watched him go. God bless the gondoliers in their tight black trousers. What a view.

I decided to take his recommendation. I didn’t fancy spending the evening going from restaurant to restaurant, trying to decide where to eat.

It paid off. The pasta tasted amazing. The sauce, a local delicacy made with three types of tomato, went perfectly with the white wine they brought me. My table overlooked the Grand Canal, the feature of so many paintings. As evening fell, the restaurants lining the banks turned on strings of bulbs entwined around their awnings, giving it a magical feel. They reflected in the water and cast a dappling light on the grand Rialto Bridge.

I had truly arrived in Venice. I caught myself checking every gondola for Sergio, which bugged me. The first man to pay me a bit of attention, and I fall hook, line and sinker. Thankfully, he didn’t make an appearance. I wanted my first night in Venice to be for me and not side-tracked by some man…no matter what lay beneath those tight trousers.

On the way back to the hotel, I had a couple of drinks in a bar. As I curled up in a black wingback chair and sipped my smooth red wine, I looked at my fellow patrons. Carnival fever dominated the bar, with many people in masks and outrageous outfits. A couple in front of me were intertwined, her hanging off his every word and laughing. Tiredness overcame me. It had been stressful travelling on my own for the first time. Draining my glass, I decided an early night could be excused.

The heavens opened again as I wandered back to my hotel. The gondolas had called it a night when I got there and there was no sign of Sergio. It would have been nice to share the big bed with someone, instead of missing Matt. I fell asleep reciting the reasons why I had split up with him.

It made for a scarily long list.

About the Author:I have written for as long as I could write. In fact, before, when I would dictate to my auntie. I love to read, and I love to create worlds and characters.

I live in the English countryside. When I’m not writing, I like to get out there and think through the next scenario I’m going to throw my characters into.

Inspiration can be found anywhere, on a train, in a restaurant or in an office. I am always in search of the next character to find love in one of my stories. In a world of apps and online dating, it is important to remember love can be found when you least expect it.

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