Excerpt from 'Undercover'

Samuel was looking forward, as usual, to the latter part of his shift at Bilko, because it was then the sexy guy he had a secret crush on popped in for a few grocery supplies. Not that he’d ever spoken to him—he’d only admired from afar—but that still made it the highlight of his day.

He glanced at the clock for a third time, walked past a woman with a sleeping baby cocooned against her chest then passed by Sharon, who was humming a summer tune as she stacked beans on the shelf.

His mystery man had the cutest ass Samuel had ever seen and it was always encased in smart black pants. He usually teamed it with a plain white shirt that stretched over his shoulders and in hot weather, like today, the sleeves would be rolled up. It was the whole package that pushed Samuel’s buttons—the tilt of his chin, the grace of his movements, his statuesque height. And while thinking about packages, Samuel couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to get up close and personal with the package between hot guy’s legs.

With his shoes clicking on the hard floor, Samuel wandered past the tills. An elderly man was struggling to pack his shopping into a pull-along trolley so he stopped and helped. “There you go, sir.” He smiled.

“Thank you, young man.” The customer gave Samuel a toothy grin then walked off, his back hunched and his feet dragging on the floor.

Samuel sighed and turned back into the shop. He hoped he wouldn’t end up alone. Being single was getting dull. It had been two years since he and Nathan had split and apart from a few drunken one-night stands there’d been nothing in his love life to mention.

Unless he counted obsessing over his customer.

Who probably wasn’t even gay.

The automatic doors slid open and the man on Samuel’s mind strolled in. He always had a focused expression, and sometimes a slight frown creased his brow. Not that he could see much of his brow—his hair was longish, a little curly, covered his forehead and licked over his collar.
 

Excerpt from 'Never the Groom'

“Ian Cabot?”

He looked around to see who had called his name. Amid the travelers bustling by, a man approached with a vaguely irritated expression. A gorgeous man with neat black hair, dark eyes and a smooth, square jaw. This had to be James Reynolds, although he was nothing like what he’d expected. Based on his father’s brief description, he’d pictured someone older and nerdier.

‘The guy must work twenty-four seven.’ Coming from his father, that hadn’t been a compliment. Reynolds was dressed in business-casual with a sports coat over a blue button-down shirt and khakis. It implied he’d been working earlier in the day. Which meant that he would be even more annoyed at having to detour to the airport to pick up Ian.

Awesome, way to make a first impression on a new in-law. There was nothing to be done about it, so… He ran his fingers through the curtain of hair on his right side to make sure it covered his face and neck before stepping forward.

“Um, yeah. Are you James?”

God, he felt like an idiot. Of course, the man was his ride. Who else would be calling for him in Detroit, except the poor dude who’d been stuck babysitting him up to the wedding? His fear of traveling alone in strange places made him feel so stupid, yet try as he might, he couldn’t face making the journey on his own. His soon-to-be stepmother had said it would be no big deal for her cousin to drive him, but Alena didn’t strike him as the kind of woman to factor other people’s feelings too much into any equation.

The guy came up and stuck out his hand. “Yeah, I’m James Reynolds, Alena’s cousin.”

After a moment’s ingrained hesitation, Ian let go of his hair long enough to shake. The man’s palm was cool and his fingers were strong as they clasped his.

“Thanks for picking me up,” he said, dropping his gaze.

God, he’d already been worried about spending a long car ride with a stranger. Small talk was not his strong suit. But, having expected someone older, he’d anticipated questions about his studies, or something equally boring yet manageable. James was far too appealing and didn’t look a day over thirty. He was probably the type to be into sports, a subject Ian knew next to nothing about. Maybe that was for the best. He couldn’t discuss what he didn’t know.
 

Excerpt from 'The Soldier Next Door'

“Travis, sweetie, can you grab the potato salad out of the fridge?”

Travis glanced up from his phone to look at his mom. “Sure, which one?”

“Oh, I made the mustard potato salad since you’re home. I know it’s your favorite. Your dad bitched and bitched, but I promised I’d make him some of his favorite soon.” Judy Schultz fussed with the flowers one more time, even though they were already perfect.

Travis stood and slipped his phone into his pocket. “No, not which potato salad, which fridge?”

“Oh.” Her hand fluttered distractedly. “The one in the basement.” She yelled after him as he turned to walk away. “Oh, and can you grab the big cooler we always put drinks in? There’s ice in it already. And once that’s up, can you set up the drinks on the deck?”

“Sure, Mom.” Travis chuckled to himself and jogged down the stairs. She was always a little flustered before her annual Fourth of July barbecue. It was a huge party—half the neighborhood came, along with all of her book club friends and their families.

Travis paused when he reached the bottom step. There was a man sitting on the couch, knees spread wide, elbows propped on them, head hanging.

“Hey,” Travis called out in a soft voice, not wanting to startle the guy, but he jerked upright and for a moment Travis would swear there was sheer terror in his eyes.

“Fuck,” he swore. Travis saw him take a deep breath and when he set down the can of soda he’d been holding and placed it on the coffee table, his hand was trembling.

“Shit, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you, man…Owen?”

“Hey.” He stood and half-turned to face Travis.

Owen was taller now. A hell of a lot more bulked up. His voice was even deeper. And his eyes had the shadowed appearance of a man who’d seen far too much. But he still looked like the guy Travis had never intended to fall for.

Travis swallowed hard and stared at the man who’d broken his heart four years ago.

“You’re home.”
 

Excerpt from 'The Matchmaker'

“I know you like him.”

Josh pressed the first Velcro strap across to make sure Tom’s shoe was tight on his foot. Did I hear him correctly? “Sorry?” he said, still kneeling.

“My dad, Simon,” Tom continued. “I know you like him.”

Josh’s heart leapt to his throat. What had Tom seen? He’d tried so hard to keep his feelings under control. He needed to shut this down. “Of course I like him, otherwise I wouldn’t put up living with the pair of you.” He stood. “There, that’s you ready for school. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Tom grinned at him, mischief filling the twelve-year-old’s expression. “I won’t give up, you know.” He moved the handle forward and maneuvered his wheelchair toward the door.

Still reeling, Josh grabbed Tom’s backpack and followed him. He opened the car, pulled out the ramp which allowed Tom to guide himself inside then secured the chair before getting into the driver’s seat. Perhaps Tom would give up if he said nothing to encourage him. Perhaps pigs might fly, too. After two years of working with Tom, Josh knew better. His cerebral palsy might cause physical problems, but he had a fiendishly clever mind. Josh pondered the situation as he drove. Should he simply give in and admit his feelings for Tom’s father, after all?

“Anything special going on at school today?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Nah, just the usual. Me and Jake have our science project to finish, and we’re making volcanoes in geography. You remembered to pack my PE kit, didn’t you?”

“Of course. Do I ever forget anything?”

“We’re playing cricket today.”

Tom could stand for short amounts of time. He’d worked hard with his physiotherapist and, with the help of his teaching assistant, Mr. Grant, he managed to do many more activities.

Josh sighed. “I can’t remember the last time I played cricket. I used to be a good bowler in my school days.”

“We could play in the back garden. The more practice I get, the better,” Tom said. “We’re still having pasta for dinner, aren’t we? You promised. Dad said he’ll be on time tonight, and you know how much he likes your lasagna. I’ll eat the salad, as well, I promise.”

“I said I would and I keep my promises.”
 

Excerpt from 'Throwaway'

Garrett sat glued to his seat, trying to keep the panic rising inside him to manageable levels. The bus door opened and he froze while the other passengers filed off. Garrett planned to use every minute he had before he left. He’d spent the last of his money to get as far away from his family as possible. He’d hoped to get to the West Coast—but this little town in the panhandle of Texas had become his destination when he’d found out the cost of his ticket.

“Hey. You have to get off the bus. This is your final destination.” The driver stopped, studying him for a minute. “Does your ride know when you’d be getting here?”

The thought of his family finding him sent a chill through Garrett, but he didn’t want to be caught in a complicated lie. “Yeah. It’s a drive for them. But they should be here soon.”

He moved faster under the driver’s considering gaze. It took only a few seconds to gather up everything he owned. Anything of value, including his iPhone, he’d sold to a pawnshop several states ago. Now he was down to a second change of clothes and not much else. As he moved out of the door, the hot breath of a West Texas summer hit him as if he’d opened a blast furnace. The heat rippled across the blacktop and gravel surrounding the convenience store, which doubled as a bus station. He threaded his arm through the loop on his backpack and headed toward the building.

When he stepped inside, Garrett paused for a moment to adjust to the dim surroundings. He’d hoped it had restroom facilities like a truck stop. He appreciated the showers that gave him an opportunity to clean up. With no towel, using them became tricky, but he was willing to figure it out to wash himself.

“Welcome to the Snack Shax. Can I help you find something?”

Garrett nodded and in a barely audible tone answered. “Restroom?”

“Back corner. Kinda behind the beer cooler.”

He followed the directions the clerk gave him, which forced him to move through the hot meals part of the store. By the time he’d walked past, the aroma of food left his stomach growling. The fact that Garrett hadn’t eaten in a couple of days made it sound even louder.
 

Excerpt from 'The Coach'

“Why me?” I grumbled. “I know nothing about rugby.”

Anna Madley, editor of The Woodbridge Echo, didn’t take excuses, not from anyone. “You wrote that article on the Durham Cricket team, didn’t you? You claimed to know nothing about that when you started.”

“But rugby!”

“You’re a journalist, Josh. What you don’t know, you find out. Do your research. That’s your job.” Pushing her glasses onto the bridge of her nose, she turned her attention to the computer monitor. The conversation was over. Matter dismissed.

With gritted teeth, I left her office, returning to the icy room I shared with the paper’s other two reporters. The only window was an opaque rectangle set high on the wall, which allowed minimal daylight into the poky space. The room was poorly lit by two florescent strips and scant warmth came from a single-bar electric heater. It was mid-February and the room was freezing.

Dixie Ellis wore fingerless gloves as she tapped away at her keyboard with her bright red hair piled beneath a fur-trimmed hat.

“What did you get?” she asked, wrapping her fingers round a mug.

“Local rugby team. They’ve won a county championship and qualified for a national cup.” I sank heavily into my chair. “I hate sports stories. Why couldn’t she give it to Kenny? He always does sport. He loves that crap.”

“Kenny’s on court duty this week.”

“Has he left already?”

She nodded.

Bugger. That threw any chance of a swap to the wind.

I clicked off my screen saver and ran a Google search on the Woodbridge Warriors.

I’m a realist and knew that working on the local paper would never lead to a world-grabbing headline, but even in Woodbridge there were more compelling stories than the rugby team progressing through a competition. Dixie was following a spate of home burglaries at the upper end of town, and a pub fight on Saturday night which had turned into a near riot. I doubted our readers had much interest in the rugby win either. Woodbridge was a football town. Any other sport was redundant.