Interview with Shira Anthony

How did you start your writing career?

I’ve been writing since I was a kid, although I never finished more than a short story until about five years ago.  My first original story was a smutty pirate romance (heterosexual) that I wrote to see if I really could write explicit sex.  It’s an X-rated Harlequin style romance.  Romantic, but explicit.  But what really got me hooked?  When a good friend and fellow author (my Prelude co-author, the lovely Venona Keyes) suggested we write an MM story together.  That was it:  I started writing gay romances exclusively and have never looked back!

Tell us about your favorite character from your books.

I have a few, but hands down one of the two main characters in my brand new release, Prelude, is my absolute favorite.  David Somers is the fictional conductor of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.  He’s the heir to a Wall Street investment company and is fabulously rich.  On the surface, he’s sophisticated and poised.  A world-class musician.  Underneath it all, though, he’s a total mess.  He’s insecure and afraid to take a chance at a relationship even when he knows violinist Alex Bishop is a “keeper.”  It was so much fun writing David’s slightly stilted way of speaking and the way he navigates fancy donors’ parties, and then showing the reader what he’s really like underneath the polished veneer.  Fortunately, Alex is sharp enough to figure David out.

Where do you dream of traveling to and why?

I’ve traveled all of the United States and Europe.  I lived in France when I was a kid (I write about those experiences through my Blue Notes Series characters).  I’ve also been to a good portion of the Caribbean (I got my open water scuba certification last year).  But I’ve never been to the Far East.  I find Japanese and Chinese culture amazing, and I love exotic foods.  I would love to spend a few months traveling around Asia and exploring.  Maybe even take a trip across China, like Rob Gifford describes in his book, China Road. 

Does travel play in the writing of your books?

Yes.  Definitely!  My classical music series, Blue Notes, features musicians who travel the world over in their careers.  Each book is set in a different city.  The original book in the series, Blue Notes, was inspired by one of my trips to Paris (my favorite city).  It features a former musician turned lawyer who runs away from his cheating fiancée to find himself in Paris.  The second book in the series, The Melody Thief, is set in Milan, Italy.  With each story, I try to incorporate what I know about the city so that the location is a bit like a character of its own.

Tell us about your current release.

Prelude is the fourth book in the Blue Notes Series of classical music themed gay romances from Dreamspinner Press.  Each of the Blue Notes books is a standalone novel, and the novels can be read in any order.  Secondary characters in one book may become main characters in another, and all the characters inhabit the same “universe” of musicians.

Prelude is the story of David Somers, who appears in all the other Blue Notes novels.  David is a superstar conductor who underneath the smooth exterior is lonely and unhappy.  David hears music in everything he experiences, and always dreamed of being a composer.  But he can’t seem to translate the music in his head onto paper.  When David meets crossover violinist Alex Bishop, David hears amazing music.  Alex is warm and outgoing where David is aloof and insecure.  But underneath it all, the two men have far more in common, and through their music, they connect in a way David never thought possible.

Prelude was written with my good friend, Venona Keyes, and was published by Dreamspinner Press on May 6^th.

Tell us about your next release.

My next release is a “and now for something completely different” kind of story!  Stealing the Wind, the first book in the Mermen of Ea series (also from Dreamspinner Press), will be released in August or September of this year.  Unlike the Blue Notes Series, the Mermen series is a sequel series, meant to be read in order.  The books in the series are more plot-driven/adventure stories than my Blue Notes romances.  Fantasy/supernatural genre and set in the Age of Sail in an Earthlike place. 

Stealing the Wind is the story of Taren Laxley, an orphan who is sold into indentured servitude when he’s a baby.  He grows up learning to rig the great sailing ships that sail into the harbor and dreams of going to sea.  When he’s kidnapped by pirates, he finally realizes his dream.  Later, he is taken captive aboard the Phantom and meets its captain, Ian Dunaidh.  Taren is surprised to discover that Ian and his crew are not human—they are Ea, mermen shifters who can transform and live beneath the waves.  More surprising is that Taren learns he, too, is Ea.

Stealing the Wind is a bit sexier than my contemporary romances.  It features a ménage (MMM) sexual initiation and a bit of dubcon at the beginning, although it is strictly a MM pairing.  It also gave me the chance to imagine what merman sex might be like.  But that’s a story for another day!

Does your significant other read your stuff?

Sometimes he does.  He’s a pretty busy man, so it’s been hard for him to keep up with my books.  He is instrumental in helping me with my characterizations, though.  He’s got great insight into human behavior and he’s helped me develop many of my favorite characters.

Do you have critique partners or beta readers?

I do!  I have a circle of wonderful authors who also write for Dreamspinner Press who I beta read for and who beta read for me.  They’re tough, but they’re wonderful.  I rely on them for substantive help, and they do put me through my paces!  I also have a wonderful senior editor I work with at Dreamspinner who is a gem.  I have no doubt my books are successful because of my editor and my beta readers.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

Just that I’m so thrilled that my books connect with my readers.  I can’t tell you how wonderful it’s been to know that there are readers waiting for the next book in my Blue Notes Series, and that they have come to love my characters as much as I loved writing them.  I have the best readers!  I really do. 

Blurb for Prelude:  World-renowned conductor David Somers never wanted the investment firm he inherited from his domineering grandfather. He only wanted to be a composer. But no matter how he struggles, David can’t translate the music in his head into notes on paper.

When a guest violinist at the Chicago Symphony falls ill, David meets Alex Bishop, a last-minute substitute. Alex’s fame and outrageous tattoos fail to move David. Then Alex puts bow to string, and David hears the brilliance of Alex’s soul.

David has sworn off relationships, believing he will eventually drive away those he loves, or that he'll lose them as he lost his wife and parents. But Alex is outgoing, relaxed, and congenial—everything David is not—and soon makes dents in the armor around David's heart. David begins to dream of Alex, wonderful dreams full of music. Becoming a composer suddenly feels attainable.

David’s fragile ego, worn away by years of his grandfather’s disdain, makes losing control difficult. When David’s structured world comes crashing down, his fledgling relationship with Alex is the first casualty. Still, David hears Alex’s music, haunting and beautiful. David wants to love Alex, but first he must find the strength to acknowledge himself.

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Bio:  In her last incarnation, Shira Anthony was a professional opera singer, performing roles in such operas as Tosca, Pagliacci, and La Traviata, among others. She’s given up TV for evenings spent with her laptop, and she never goes anywhere without a pile of unread M/M romance on her Kindle.

Shira is married with two children and two insane dogs, and when she’s not writing, she is usually in a courtroom trying to make the world safer for children. When she’s not working, she can be found aboard a 35’ catamaran at the Carolina coast with her favorite sexy captain at the wheel.

Shira’s Blue Notes Series of classical music themed gay romances was named one of Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Word’s “Best Series of 2012,” and The Melody Thief was named one of the “Best Novels in a Series of 2012.” The Melody Thief also received an honorable mention, “One Perfect Score” at the 2012 Rainbow Awards.

Shira can be found on:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/shira.anthony
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4641776.Shira_Anthony
Twitter: @WriterShira
Website: http://www.shiraanthony.com
E-mail: shiraanthony@hotmail.com

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Excerpt from Prelude

Chapter Two

Chicago, Present Day

David Somers had a headache.  He’d hoped it would pass, but it had only gotten worse in the past fifteen minutes.  He waited stage left as the orchestra finished tuning. 

Deep breath.  Focus.

The concertmaster sat back down—the signal for David to walk onto the stage of Orchestra Hall.  His hall.  His orchestra.  He breathed in slowly before walking onto the stage, his expression schooled, utterly focused.  The Armani tux he wore was perfectly pressed, his posture faultless, and his stride confident.  The orchestra stood as he entered.  The hall, filled to capacity, rang with polite applause. 

But David’s disinterested poise was merely a sham—he was irritated to the extreme.  Only his strong sense of duty had brought him back to the stage tonight for the second half of the program.  That, and the potential sponsors of his modern music series whom he knew sat in the center box seats—the box that had been owned by Somers Investments for more than sixty years.

He glanced stage-left to where the soloist waited to make his entrance.  David had seen him for the first time only moments before, and he'd been left with the distinct impression of a street thug.  Tattoos, indeed.  There was no place for such a thing in the refined world of classical music.  True, the soloist had worn the traditional tails of an artist making a solo appearance with the Chicago Symphony, one of the finest symphony orchestras in the world.  But that was de rigueur, expected of him, regardless of his personal tastes.  No, it had been the telltale ink visible at the other man’s throat as he buttoned up his shirt that had taken David by surprise.

"Lastislav Voitavich is ill," his personal assistant, James Roland, had told him as he arrived at the back entrance to Symphony Center that afternoon, "but we've managed to find a replacement."

David hadn’t been concerned.  Such last-minute substitutions were rare, but not unheard of.  He knew there were plenty of violinists who would give their eyeteeth to take the stage under his baton and with such a prestigious orchestra.  There were few conductors on the classical music scene with his reputation, let alone as young as he.

"Has the replacement performed the piece before?"

"Of course, Maestro," James assured him. “Several times, I’m told.”

"That will be sufficient."  It would be just that—sufficient—nothing more and nothing less.  That was the way of all last-minute substitutions.  The evening would not be a memorable one, but David would make sure that his audience did not leave disappointed.  The orchestra’s performance would, at least, be outstanding.

"There is one thing you should know, though," James added in a quavering voice.  It meant little that they’d worked together for nearly five years; David had never been an easy man to please.  But then, one didn’t get a reputation like his by having lax standards.  David was a perfectionist and proud of it.

He glared at James—he didn’t appreciate being troubled with such nonsense before a performance—he needed time to prepare, to focus on the music, and review the score.  "What do you wish to tell me?"

"Th… the… the soloist… he… ah—"

"I don’t care who he is, as long as he can play the Sibelius."  David ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"He… he can, of course.” Beads of sweat appeared on James’s forehead.

Five minutes before he’d taken the stage for the second half of the concert, when he read through the bio James had handed him, David realized what a mistake he’d made by not pressing the issue further.   It’s a concert.  Nothing more.  There will be time to kowtow in apology to the board tomorrow, if need be.  He detested kowtowing, but he also knew he did it quite well.

David rarely made any sort of public speech, let alone an announcement in the middle of a concert.  He despised public speaking, but there was nothing to do for it—the substitution had been too eleventh-hour to print something to add into the programs.

“Good evening,” he began with a practiced smile.  “There has been a slight change in tonight’s program. Our featured soloist, Lastislav Voitavich, has taken ill.”   There were murmurs from the audience, so David waited until the hall was silent before continuing, “Alexander Bishop has graciously agreed to perform the Sibelius.”  Instead of voicing their disappointment, the audience applauded with surprising enthusiasm.  “Thank you.” David was unsure what to make of the response.   He nodded toward the wings.  There was renewed applause as the violinist took to the stage. 

Alex Bishop.  A rock star masquerading as a classical violinist.  Tattoos and groupies.  He didn't doubt that the man was competent—his assistant was young, not stupid.  Still, David loathed this "new breed" of musician who all too often graced the covers of magazines like Time and, more recently, Rolling Stone.  Tattoos, indeed.  In David’s estimation, the term “crossover artist” was a mere marketing tool, intended to exploit an artist’s good looks and increase sales. 

He signaled for the concertmaster to provide the soloist with an opportunity to tune before turning to face the orchestra, his back to the audience.  The Sibelius Violin Concerto was a challenging but not an overly taxing piece, and he’d rehearsed his orchestra well.   The orchestra will shine, despite any deficit in the quality of the fiddle playing. He raised his baton and did his best to ignore the auburn hair that fell onto the soloist’s shoulders in a tumble. 

Alex Bishop was attractive enough.  Tall and muscular—taller than David himself.  David was surprised he even noticed, but then there was something about Bishop that commanded attention.  Still, in spite of his apparent ease in front of the large crowd and his undeniable stage-presence, David knew Bishop was no more than a pretender to the world of classical music.  All hype and no substance—a creation of Hollywood agents and a second-rate player, no doubt.  He’d heard so-called “crossover” artists perform before, and he hadn’t been impressed.

Bishop glanced over to David, his instrument tucked under his chin.  Their eyes met for a brief moment.  Bishop’s dark brown eyes simmered with passion and focus.  David raised his baton higher, the signal to the orchestra for the downbeat.  One deft flick of the baton later, the orchestra began the first measures of the Sibelius Violin Concerto in D Minor.

As a conductor, David had always preferred the less emotional, modern repertoire to the sweeping romanticism of Brahms, Mahler, or Sibelius.  Tonight's program had been a nod to the wealthy patrons who kept the orchestra’s finances in the black.  It was a tedious thing, to be required to accommodate the common musical tastes of his benefactors, but David tolerated it, knowing he'd been able to include a less tonal, more challenging piece of music later in the symphony's performance schedule.  In David’s opinion, the Sibelius concerto was no exception.  He was unmoved by its soaring and plaintive melodies, although he knew that his audience would respond to it with enthusiasm.

David glanced over at Bishop.  Their eyes met again as Bishop began the first few notes of the solo line and the heady tones of his violin filled the concert hall.  With practiced concentration, David returned his focus to the score that sat on the podium in front of him.  He didn't need to read the music to conduct the piece—he had committed every measure to memory—but he sought the distraction. 

Strange.  He’s better than I expected.  Far better, really, although David would hardly admit it to himself.

Bishop finished the opening phrase of the movement with obvious ease.  Again, David found himself taken aback by the intensity of the other man's playing, as well as the natural musicality and the warm tone he was able to coax from the fiddle.  The violin Bishop played was serviceable, but it was no Stradivarius or Guarneri.  Still, David found it remarkable that the instrument sounded nearly as resonant the as finest instruments he had heard through the years.  “A good instrument can make the performer,” his old friend and predecessor, John Fuchs, had once told him.  “But without talent, it is only an instrument.” 

As the evening progressed, Bishop began the second movement: a slow and sensual adagio.  Once more, David found himself transported by the artistry with which Bishop conveyed the depth of the composition, and again David found himself struggling to maintain his focus and not lose himself in the music.  After the third and final movement, the crowd jumped to its feet.  Amidst the enthusiastic applause were resounding calls of "Bravo!" from some of the patrons.  Including, David noted with pleasure, the two men and one woman seated in the Somers’s box.

The audience was satisfied with no fewer than four bows, each time calling back both soloist and conductor to the stage with more cheers and applause.  As they walked back and forth across the stage for each bow, David watched with interest, half-expecting Bishop to react as a rock star might and toss an article of clothing to his adoring fans.  He did nothing of the sort, instead bowing with surprising grace and maintaining the decorum expected from a soloist performing with a world-renowned symphony orchestra.  David noticed that rather than basking in the glow of the audience’s response, Bishop appeared slightly ill at ease with the adulation, although he smiled personably and with genuine appreciation.

After the final bow, David followed Bishop offstage.  He had intended to retreat to his dressing room, but several fans already crowded the wings, blocking the way.  Irritated by the lack of security, David attempted to walk around the gathering crowd by taking a path through the wings instead of directly out to the corridor.  Several orchestra members milled about, clearly anxious to congratulate Bishop on his performance.  Seeing David, they nodded in a formal manner—they had long since learned that the he did not wish to be disturbed after a performance.  David returned each gesture with a curt nod, sidestepping the approaching fans before slipping out the door and into the hallway.

He closed the door behind him and looked up into a pair of dark eyes.  Bishop, it appeared, had also sought to avoid the backstage chaos.  He smiled at David, holding his violin and bow in his right hand.  “Maestro,” he said.  Transferring his instrument to his left hand, he offered his right hand to David.  The casual warmth of the gesture took David aback—he was used to being the one to initiate such contact with the orchestra’s guest artists.

They shook hands in silence.  There was a moment’s hesitation before David withdrew his hand and said, "We appreciate your willingness to fill in at the last minute."

"It was my pleasure," the violinist murmured.  He watched David as if unsure what to make of him.  "I've played the concerto a few times, although never with such a skillful conductor."

David, accustomed to compliments, remained unmoved.  "Thank you."

Bishop shifted inelegantly on his feet.  "Listen," he said, "we're having a little party at my place.  Just a few friends, a couple of beers, that sort of thing.  Nothin' fancy.  Would you like to join us?"

"I appreciate the invitation, but I’m expected at a donors’ party in a few minutes."

"No problem." Bishop smiled and nodded.  "I understand." 

Was that disappointment David saw in the other man’s face?  Unlikely.  He’s relieved.  Besides, can you see yourself at a party with a few friends and a ‘couple of beers’?  He’s just trying to be kind.  Then, realizing that his response had been quite rude, David said, "Perhaps another ti—"  His words were cut short by shouts and giggles as two teenage girls launched themselves at Bishop, nearly knocking his violin from his hand. 

David stepped backward to avoid the onslaught and almost collided with a woman with long blond hair who swooped in to protect Bishop from the girls.  The girlfriend, no doubt.  Time to leave.  He turned and strode quickly down the hallway to his dressing room, closing the door and taking a deep breath on the other side.

Welcome Shira Anthony

Tell us about your favorite character from your books.

While it’s difficult to choose, I think my favorite character is the conductor, David Somers, who appears in all of the books in my Blue Notes Series.  David comes from a wealthy New England family and was raised by his grandfather, the CEO of a multinational company.  He’s “richer than God,” as some of the other characters describe it, and cool as ice on the outside.  Inside, he’s a warm, romantic man who was forced to hide his emotions from others after a difficult childhood.  He’s gay, but he married a woman when he was quite young, and she helped him navigate social situations and helped to ground him.  But when she dies, he retreats into himself.  That’s where David is at the beginning of Blue Notes #4, “Prelude,” the next book in the Blue Notes Series (tentative April 2013 publication).

Tell us about your current release.

My most recent release is the third book in the Blue Notes Series, “Aria.”  The Blue Notes Series are interconnected contemporary gay romances that are music themed.  Each is a standalone novel, and the books in the series can be read in any order.  “Aria” is the story of opera singer Aiden Lind and lawyer Sam Ryan, who appears in “Blue Notes,” the first book in the series.  “Aria” is a very personal story for me, since I spent about fourteen years singing opera.  It’s a realistic story about long-distance relationships and making sacrifices and compromises in order to maintain a relationship.  It’s also a story about moving on from loss.

When in the day/night do you write? How long per day?

I write every day, but since I have a full-time job as a lawyer in real life, I mostly write at night and on the weekends.  On the weekends, I can sometimes spend 10-12 hours writing and/or editing.  I’m usually doing both, since I have releases every 3-4 months.  It’s a very hectic schedule, but I love it (most of the time!).

Where do you research for your books?

Most of the “research” in my books comes from my own life experiences.  They weren’t kidding when they said, “Write what you know!”  My music themed books are drawn directly from my own experiences as a musician (first as a violinist and later as an opera singer).  Since my sister and mother are also musicians, I’ve been able to draw on their lives, as well.

I also have a series coming out this year that is a bit of a change of pace and is a fantasy about pirates and mermen shifters.  My research for that one?  My husband’s love of sailing (we own a 35’ catamaran and sail her at the North Carolina coast) and my love of the water and travel.

What do you think makes a good story?

Good characters make for good stories.  My Blue Notes books are primarily character driven.  I want to read about characters with flaws and watch them grow through their experiences and/or their love relationships.  Much as I enjoy good plots, without the strong characters to go with them, I tend to get bored. 

Plotter or Pantser? Why?

I’m both a plotter and a pantser, really.  I generally have an idea of an overall plot (I call that the “bones” of the story) when I begin to write, but it’s very basic.  I have a beginning, middle and end in mind.  After that, I become a pantser as I write, following the characters’ growth and changing directions when my characters tell me to (no joke, sometimes they really do!).  Maybe I should be worried that they talk to me...

Tell us about your family.

I come from a family of musicians.  My mother is a harpsichordist and former pianist, and my sister was a fabulous cellist who, like me, gave up music when she was in her late 20s.  My dad is tone-deaf, but he adores music and can tell you the composer of a piece of music even though he can’t sing along with it to save his life!

Do you use a pen name? If so, how did you come up with it?

My pen name has a musical connection.  “Shira” means “song” in Hebrew.  I thought that was fitting, since music was and still is a big part of my life.

Do you listen to music while writing? If so what?

I can’t listen and write—my brain wants to follow the music too much.  But I do tend to pick pieces to listen to depending on what I’m writing.  It’s easy with the Blue Notes Series.  Each book has a musical “theme” of sorts.  For “Blue Notes,” it was Brahms.  For “The Melody Thief,” it was Dvorak.  For “Aria,” it was a sexy duet from a Bizet opera.  And for “Prelude,” it was Sibelius.  Each of those pieces shows up in the books as central to the story in some way.

Tell us about your favorite fan letter you have received.

I think the most moving letter I ever received from a fan was from a gay man who is also a musician.  Not only did he tell me my Blue Notes Series moved him to tears, he also told me that it meant a great deal to him to read a series of gay romances that had the musical connection to his own life and career.  And he mentioned that he’d been a little uncomfortable with the idea of a woman writing gay romance, but that he’d realized what mattered was how the books made him feel, not the sex of the person writing them.  I can’t tell you how wonderful it felt to hear that!

Buy Link

Blurb:

 Five years after a prestigious scholarship jumpstarted his opera career, Aiden Lind has it all: fame, choice roles, and Lord Cameron Sherrington to share his life with. Maintaining his façade takes effort, but under his poised, sophisticated mask, Aiden is still the insecure kid from rural Mississippi. Then he walks in on Cam with another man, and the illusion of perfection shatters. 

Philadelphia attorney Sam Ryan never moved on after his partner died, though he tried. Instead of dating, he keeps himself busy with work—but when he unexpectedly runs into ex-lover Aiden while on a rare vacation in Paris, he’s inspired to give their love a second chance. First, though, he’ll have to get Aiden to forgive him. Because when Sam was still grieving five years ago, he broke Aiden’s heart.

When rekindled lust blossoms into a true romance, it seems like the start of something wonderful. But Aiden’s career has him on the road much of the time, and the physical distance between him and Sam starts translating into an emotional disconnect. If Aiden and Sam can’t learn to communicate, their separation may prove more than their love can bear.

Excerpt:

“MR. LIND?” The stage manager poked her head into his dressing room. “There’s a Mr. Ryan to see you.”

“Thanks, Carla.” Aiden guzzled the rest of his bottle of water and went to the door.

“Sam. Damn, it’s good to see you.” He pulled Sam inside and shut the door, then kissed Sam, lingering lightly over his lips before embracing him. There hadn’t been any earlier flights from Philly to Miami, and they hadn’t seen each other before the concert.

“You were wonderful.” Sam put down the small overnight bag he was still holding and swept two fingers over Aiden’s lips, a gesture that made Aiden shudder with pleasure.

Aiden smiled the same pleasant smile he always gave when someone complimented him. It mattered little that the reviews of his performances were universally good; he still felt uncomfortable with the praise. Even a little undeserving. “Thank you.”

He’d worried that the weeks apart might have made their reunion a bit awkward, but as usual, Sam set him at ease with another kiss.

“So what’s on the agenda to celebrate the New Year? You promised you’d let me know what you were up to when I got here.”

“Did I?” Aiden did his best not to smile.

“Is it something I’ll like? Because I’m thinking spending the night in a hotel with you would be fine with me.” Sam laughed against Aiden’s throat as he feathered kisses there.

“My lips are sealed.” Aiden pushed Sam playfully away, then grabbed a small duffel from off the lighted table. “I think you’ll like it, though. Just the two of us. Romantic.”

Sam put an arm around Aiden’s waist and pulled him back, this time to claim his lips.

“This is just the two of us.” There was a mischievous twinkle in Sam’s eyes.

“Do lawyers always argue?”

“Of course.”

Aiden pulled away and straightened his bow tie and cummerbund. “Mr. Ryan, we’re on a very tight schedule here. The limousine is waiting outside and”—Aiden pushed up his sleeve to check his watch—“we have four hours to midnight. I’ll hold you in contempt if we’re late.”

Sam held up his hands. “I’m throwing myself at the mercy of the court.”

“You’ll behave?”

“You might have to make me behave.” Sam’s eyes glittered with lust.

“Shit. You’re incorrigible.” He aimed Sam in the direction of the door, giving him only a minute to grab his bag before pushing him into the corridor. “This way,” he said as he gestured to the entrance to the street. A moment later they were outside, and Aiden was leading Sam over to a limousine. There, the driver took Sam’s suitcase and held the door for them.

Once settled inside, Sam looked at Aiden with a raised eyebrow. “Nice. So are we headed to some swanky party that only the rich and famous are invited to?”

Aiden only shook his head. “My lips are sealed.” Okay, so Sam proved him wrong on that point pretty quickly with a deep kiss. But he wouldn’t give up the secret. “Keep trying. I’m liking this.”

“Clearly I’ve miscalculated. I should be withholding my affections. Then maybe you’d come clean and tell me where we’re headed.”

Aiden bit his lower lip before opening a panel to reveal a bottle of chilled champagne and two crystal flutes. Then, without missing a beat, he said, “Something to drink?”

“Isn’t it a few hours too early?”

“It’s past midnight in London,” Aiden pointed out as he opened the bottle and filled their glasses.

A few minutes later, they were settled in each other’s arms. “I missed you, Aiden.  Sam’s voice was soft in Aiden’s ear. “More than you know.”

“Oh, I think I know.” Aiden’s heart felt as though it were going to burst.

THE limousine stopped about twenty minutes later. Sam looked out the window. They were in a parking lot illuminated by several lights. There was what looked like a small building at the edge of the lot, but other than a single light at the entrance, there was nothing to identify it. When Sam looked to Aiden for an explanation, he just took the champagne flute from Sam’s hand, placed it alongside his own on the console, then pulled something out of the same cabinet in which he’d found the bottle and glasses.

“Gonna tell me what that is?”

Aiden held the object out so that Sam could see it. A flashlight.

“What are you up to, Lind?”

The driver opened the door and Aiden illuminated their way, leading Sam across the parking lot and down a paved walkway. The faint scent of the ocean wafted on the breeze, and the air was cool. “You’re not very good with surprises, are you?”

Sam shook his head and chuckled. “Depends.” He snaked an arm around Aiden, nearly knocking him off balance before pulling him tight to claim Aiden’s lips. “As long as it involves you and sex, I’m good with it.”

“Could be.” Aiden slipped out of Sam’s grasp and continued to walk and point the way. “Watch your step here.”

A band of metal met the pavement, and the path beyond was wood. The smell of salt water was powerful here. A dock. “Aid—”

“You might want to take your shoes off.” Aiden was already slipping out of his patent leather oxfords and rolling up the legs of his tux pants. Sam did the same, unable to suppress a grin. Wherever they were going, he was having fun. He felt like a kid again. “You can leave them here. Ralph will pick them up when he comes with the bags.”

“Bags?”

Aiden took Sam’s hand, and they walked to the end of the dock until they reached a large white wall. A restaurant, perhaps.

Then the restaurant’s lights went on, illuminating the surface of the wall. “Holy shit.” It wasn’t a restaurant. It was an enormous yacht—at least a hundred feet long. “Where did you…?”

“Mr. Lind?” A man wearing a crisp white uniform, complete with captain’s hat, walked toward them down the gangway at the end of the pier.

“Richard?”

“That’s me. So good to have you joining us tonight. And this is Mr. Ryan?”

Sam offered the man his hand. “I’m Rich Cowan. Captain of the Prelude. Good to meet you.”

“The Prelude?”

Rich looked to Aiden, who nodded.

“She belongs to David Somers.”

They climbed aboard and Sam tried not to stare as a young woman dressed in white pants and a white polo greeted them.

“This is Amy. She’ll be attending to you gentlemen. We’ll be getting underway for the Bahamas in a few minutes. We’ll arrive by morning. Maestro Somers sends his compliments and says you should enjoy yourselves. We’ll arrive back in Miami in time for your flights on Monday morning. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.”

“Dinner will be ready in about an hour,” Amy told them after Rich left. “Would you like to dine on the foredeck?”

“Sounds wonderful.” Aiden turned to look at Sam, who nodded his approval.

“Do you need me to show you the stateroom?” she asked.

“I know the way. Thanks, Amy.” Aiden turned to Sam after she left. “Well? How did I do?”

“Not bad.” Sam did his best to keep a straight face. But then Aiden smiled, and Sam grabbed him and crushed his lips against Aiden’s. “Better than that,” he said after the kiss broke. “Amazing, really.”

“We have an hour. How about thanking me up close and personal.” Aiden took Sam’s hand once more and led him down a set of stairs to the cabins below.

THEY sat on the foredeck, having finished one of the best meals Sam had ever eaten.

Not that the starry sky and the company had anything to do with it.

“Remind me to thank David next time I see him.” Sam stood up and began to massage Aiden’s shoulders.

“My fairy godfather.”

Sam laughed.

“David’s been too good to me.” Aiden’s voice was slightly wistful now. “Not only this, but he helped me out of a bad situation.”

“Cam?”

“I’m not sure I’d have had the guts to move out if it hadn’t been for David. Hell, I tried to find a place of my own in London and he told me to stay. Said he didn’t spend much time there anyhow.” Aiden leaned into Sam’s hands, and Sam kissed him on the top of his head.

“You sound almost like you don’t think you deserve his friendship.”

Aiden’s shoulders tensed beneath Sam’s fingers. “Am I that obvious?”

“No.”

“Sometimes I worry that I can’t even begin to give back what he’s given me.”

Sam moved in front of Aiden and drew him up off the chair with a hug. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, you know.”

“You think?” Aiden’s laugh was bitter.

Sam traced a line over Aiden’s lips. “I think I could kick myself for letting you go. Twice.”

Aiden’s smile looked strained. “Are you sure you want this? I mean, there’s a reason you let me go before. My lifestyle isn’t exactly the best for long-term relationships.”

“It was never about your lifestyle.” Sam wasn’t exactly sure how to explain his hesitation. “I just wasn’t ready.”

“You don’t need to justify it, Sammy.”

“I know. But I wish—”

“Here and now. That’s what matters. Fuck the rest of it.”

“Right.” Sam inhaled a long slow breath and looked over the bow at the moon rising on the horizon. And yet he couldn’t help but think of New Year’s past. And of Nick. “You’re right. Fuck the rest of it.”

“Happy New Year, Sammy.”

“Happy New Year, Aiden.”

Bio:

In her last incarnation, Shira Anthony was a professional opera singer, performing roles in such operas asTosca, Pagliacci, and La Traviata, among others. She’s given up TV for evenings spent with her laptop, and she never goes anywhere without a pile of unread M/M romance on her Kindle.
 
Shira is married with two children and two insane dogs, and when she’s not writing, she is usually in a courtroom trying to make the world safer for children.  When she’s not working, she can be found aboard a 30’ catamaran at the Carolina coast with her favorite sexy captain at the wheel.
 
Shira can be found on Facebook, Goodreads, Twitter (@WriterShira) or on her web site, http://www.shiraanthony.com. You can also contact her at shiraanthony@hotmail.com.