Backlist Bitz

A series of Exclusive Excerpts from my backlist – which always needs some extra love *wink*. Today it’s FLASHBULB: contemporary erotic romance, with an HEA ending.

BLURB: Blythe Harris was taking his first flight to the USA and hopefully a whole new client base for his bespoke upholstery business. An adventure for him, he was both nervous and excited to attract the attention of a handsome steward. Things might have gone further – if Flight HA1710 hadn’t failed.

Marc Stafford is a self-confessed player, and he used his charm to seduce his cute passenger. But in the aftermath of the crash, he’s struggling to recover his confidence. The TV declares him a hero for saving passengers, but at night his nightmares trigger painful flashbulb memories of the crash.

In an Irish hospital, Bly realises that although his broken leg will recover, his career may not. And in Chicago, Marc can’t face returning to work. Neither of them can shake off the memory of their brief, sexy encounter. Both of them need to be with someone who understands exactly what they’ve been through. And on a middle ground they can make all their own.

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Add it to your Goodreads here.


Bly looked back at him, paused, and then sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m dosed up on sedatives and not necessarily acting… myself.” And then he laughed, a soft, happy sound, directed totally at Marc.

Marc laughed too. He felt lighter; his mood more relaxed than it had been for a while. “Did I say you were cute?”

Bly nodded, blushing. “Just now. Though it’s not something we say a lot in the UK. Don’t worry—I know it’s just a line.”

Holy crap. Marc was ambushed by the strength of his reaction. Bly’s blush was just the right mixture of sweetness and awareness. Just a guy, right? Another conquest? No… something else. The promise of novelty and charm, as well as adventure! Marc took stock of their situation. The plane was relatively settled, and no one was using the rear restrooms. He was on his own in the galley. He lifted his hand to touch Bly’s lips with his fingertips, very briefly and very, very gently. He meant it as a come-on, a question to see how far Bly was prepared to go, but was startled at how much it felt like a caress.

Bly’s lips parted, and his tongue darted out to moisten them. The tip caught Marc’s index finger. Marc felt instantly dizzy. Shit, he’d never suffered with any kind of airsickness, and he ate and drank all the right things before a flight. He hadn’t gotten the flu since he was a youngster. Why the hell was he swaying on his feet like he was going to pass out? He grasped the edge of the counter to steady himself and leaned into Bly. “It’s not a line. You are cute. I’m really tempted to take advantage of that, you know?”

“I know,” Bly whispered. He licked his lips again. His cheeks were as pink as if the summer sun had caught them on a hot, lazy afternoon. His eyelids drooped as if he were tired, hiding the full force of his gaze, and he leaned back into Marc. “I’m fine with that.”

Marc glanced over Bly’s shoulder. He could see down the aisle, and none of the other flight crew were around. Most passengers were still in their seats, and only a few were up, stretching their legs and complaining about the delay to any crew that came their way. Marc took a step back so that the galley wall hid them from view, and he breathed in Bly’s scent. Six more inches and he’d be able to touch that damp, pursed mouth. Five… four… three…

He never got to zero. Bly snuck a hand around the back of Marc’s neck and pulled him into the kiss. Fuck. Bly tasted really good. Not just because of his full, soft mouth, but the way he pressed hard onto Marc with enthusiasm that sent a thrill shimmering all the way down to Marc’s cock.

“How long before we take off, do you think? It’s been an hour since I boarded.”

“Huh?” Marc realised Bly was talking to him. Marc was still licking his lips from the kiss and craving more. “I don’t know. Minutes, hopefully.” Or unfortunately. He wouldn’t mind spending many more hours kissing Bly Harris.

“We’ve had a relationship in an hour.” Bly gave a soft giggle. “Haven’t we?”

“Depends on your definition.” Marc catalogued his relationships in five steps—and usually only reached the first four. “We’ve met, hooked up, argued. Now all we have left is to split and then reconcile.”

Bly looked rueful. “Oh no, we can’t split yet. We haven’t had the sex.” And then he blushed again. “God, did I say that aloud? It must be the tablets.”

“You’re okay? If you’re really affected—”

“No, I’m fine. A bit woozy, but it’s a good feeling. Relaxed.” Bly must have seen the uncertainty in Marc’s expression, because he pulled Marc’s head down again and whispered in his ear, “I’m feeling pleasantly uninhibited.”

Marc smiled at the happy, hazy look in Bly’s charming eyes. “Come here.” They kissed again, and Marc dropped his hands to cup Bly’s arse. Bly arched against him, responding beautifully. “Let’s find somewhere more private,” Marc murmured. “We can add the next step of that relationship.” A single restroom was just beside the galley. Hardly anyone used it because there were plenty of facilities farther down inside the plane and most of the rear-seat passengers were either asleep or engrossed in the movies the crew had put on for them during the delay. Marc nudged Bly towards the restroom door.

Bly hesitated. “You’ll get in trouble, won’t you?”

Bly’s eyes glinted with desire, but he was still worried about Marc. That was a first. “Please, Bly. Let me worry about that.” Marc nuzzled Bly’s neck. His cock was hard now, the tantalising smell and texture of Bly’s hair making his whole skin come up in gooseflesh.

Bly was right, of course. If Marc were caught, he’d be fired. It wasn’t the first time he’d had fun in the restroom—though there was never gonna be enough space to start an orgy—but he had always gotten away with it before. And today there was something about Bly that was pushing all his buttons. The risk was worth it.

They wriggled inside quickly, and Marc locked the door. The light came on brightly, but two grown men in the tiny space caused discreet shadows around them. Marc was greedy for Bly’s mouth and it seemed Bly wanted just as much from Marc. They clung to each other, kissing and panting. The counter dug into Marc’s hip, but he ignored it. “We have to be quick,” he muttered, then wished he hadn’t said it. He didn’t know Bly well enough—haste could be a real mood killer, or it could really turn a guy on.

It seemed to have the right effect on Bly. “Everything else has been quick,” he gasped breathlessly, his lips ghosting over Marc’s as if he couldn’t bear losing touch with them. “That works for me.”

Maybe it was zing of the illicit atmosphere, but Marc hadn’t felt anything as good as Bly for a long time. He opened his mouth and accepted Bly’s tongue hungrily. “You taste so good,” he whispered, then wondered how often he’d said that to a man, wherever they got it on. Didn’t he have any special words just for Bly? He slid one hand behind Bly’s neck, holding him close, almost tenderly. No, it was a tender grip, and that startled Marc more than anything else. When he slid his other hand down between them to Bly’s groin, Bly leaned back over the sink and widened his legs as much as the space allowed.

“You okay?” Marc whispered.

“Yes,” Bly whispered back. “Oh, yes!”

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About clarelondon

Clare London took her pen name from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant. She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic, and sexy characters. Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter three stage and plenty of other projects in mind... she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home. Clare loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her here: Website: E-mail: Blog: Facebook: Twitter: Goodreads: Amazon: Google+ :