A Middlemark Mystery
Where Bo Marchand comes from, gay men are just confirmed bachelors who never found the right girl. But now Bo’s a successful winemaker on the central coast of California, supporting his whole damned Georgia family, and all he really wants is the beautiful, slightly mysterious Jeremy Aames.
Jeremy’s vineyard is under threat from Ernest Ottersen, the voracious winemaker who seems to know all Jeremy’s blending secrets and manages to grab all his customers. Bo tries to help Jeremy and even provides a phony alibi for Jeremy when Ottersen turns up dead in Jeremy’s tasting room. But it’s clear Jeremy isn’t who he claims, and Bo must decide if it’s worth tossing over his established life for a man who doesn’t seem to trust anyone. When Jeremy gets kidnapped, some of the conservative winemakers turn out to be kinky sex fiends, and the list of murderers keeps dwindling down to Jeremy. Bo has to choose between hopping on his white horse or climbing back in his peach-pie-lined closet.
Buy links: Dreamspinner | Amazon
Cat gives this one 4 Meows with a 2 Purr heat index...
This is the second installment fo the Middle Mark Mysteries but you do not have to read in order. You do get a lot more of Blaise and Llewellyn from The Case of the Sexy Shakespearean but there is just enough backstory and tie in that you never get lost. I absolutely loved having them help solve the mystery of who was trying to put Jeremy out of business and why. You have several little stories, like Bo's family issues, Jeremy's backstory, the Vintners, the mystery, and of course the romance. There are lots of interesting characters, the plots and subplots flow well and blend well. There is a couple of twists, especially the ending and whodunit...I didn't know whether to laugh or gasp. It sure caught me off guard. there is lots of action. The sex comes later n the story and is sweet and a lot off the page but just enough to make the story hot.
This story will make you laugh, cry, sigh, sit on the edge of your seat and wish hard for the next book in the Middle Mark Mysteries!
Excerpt...
BO MARCHAND sipped the delicious wine provided by their host for the evening, Jeremy Aames, owner of Hill Top Wineries. It took all Bo’s self-control not to sigh just thinking about Jeremy.
Bo glanced quickly around the big restaurant and wine tasting area, which was packed with the members of the Central Coast Vintners’ Association, but there was no sign of their host. He was probably overseeing the kitchen. Hill Top was one of the few wineries that served a full menu, which made it popular for their vintners’ meetings. Still, Jeremy not being present might be good since the glorious Jeremy made Bo drool, and that could be damned bad for his illustrious image if his fellow winemakers caught on. He’d worked hard to be a leader in his industry despite his youth. No giving that away. He’d paid too high a price.
He made one more survey of the room from his seemingly relaxed position near the wall. No Jeremy, but quite another target for his attention. Standing next to the wine tasting bar, deep in conversation with two men Bo didn’t know, stood Ernest Ottersen, the central coast’s new golden boy—or he would have been if his hair wasn’t black as midnight. Same color as his heart, most people said. Bo took a sip of his cabernet franc and forced his eyes away from the snake.
Genevieve Renders separated herself from the boisterous crowd and sashayed to the corner where Bo had sequestered himself, all the better to gaze at the object of his affection without interference—if he could find him.
“Why are you being so antisocial? Come drink with us. The guys need your opinions.”
He pushed away from the wall. “Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to be an outsider. After that spread Jeremy provided, I’m just full as a tick and needed a little lay-by.”
She snorted. “Where do you get those expressions?”
“Deep in the heart of Georgia, darlin’, you know that.”
“California’s gain, dear.” She took his arm and pulled him to the largest group of arguers, made up of her husband, Randy—a name which suited him; Ezra Hamilton, the deacon of the local born-again church and mighty proud to be it; his wife, Marybeth, maybe not quite as reborn as Ezra; and Fernando Puente, owner of one of the largest wineries in the Paso Robles area—and he never let you forget it.
Randy stuck out an arm and gathered Bo in closer. “Here’s the man. You gotta help us out here, Bo. Ezra and Ferdinand”—the name Randy insisted on calling Fernando—“had been saying that Ottersen’s bound to win top prizes for central coast wines this year. Hell, he’s aced half the contracts with Napa since he opened.” His words sounded slightly slurred. For a vintner, he couldn’t hold his alcohol, but at the same time, Ottersen made people so mad they could chew barbed wire and spit out a fence, so drinking too much went with the territory.
Bo smiled tightly. “I know no more than any of y’all and have just as much to lose. Sorry.” That wasn’t entirely true, since Bo’s growing methods separated him from the pack somewhat, but still. Ottersen threatened them all. Especially Jeremy Aames, it seemed.
Bo took a quick glance around, trying to spot Jeremy. Since he had two or three inches of height on even the tallest guys in the room, it gave him a decent vantage point, but no luck.
Ezra said stiffly, “I notice Ottersen is talking to strangers. He must be getting the message that none of the other vintners like him.”
Bo noticed movement near the far wall, glanced up, and had to control the slam of his heart as Jeremy Aames walked out of the kitchen with that easy grin of his, talking to a young guy who seemed to be his assistant.
Marybeth followed Bo’s eyes. “Not sure what Jeremy has to smile about. Hell, Ottersen’s taking the biggest toll on his profits.”
Bo’s lips turned up on their own. “Jeremy always smiles.”
A waiter hurried out of the kitchen, grabbed Jeremy’s arm, and he rushed back through the door with the assistant in tow.
Ezra raised an eyebrow. “All those gay boys smile a lot.”
Bo glared at him, but not much got in the way of Ezra’s righteousness.
Marybeth slapped his shoulder. “Ezra, when will you learn to be PC?”
“Never. PC’s for Democrats.” He raised his wineglass and drained it.
Bo wouldn’t have minded giving Ezra a fist to the jaw but had no right. He’d never declared himself out of the closet, partly because it might really give his mother the heart attack she was always claiming was imminent, to say nothing of the collapse of his sisters’ imagined social standing. He kept saying when he had a relationship, he’d come out, no matter what it cost him, but not coming out meant it was doubly hard to meet someone since gay men assumed he was straight. It also meant women still thought he was fair game—with a lot of encouragement from his mother. Vicious damned cycle for a twenty-six-year-old man, but in his family, gay men were still “confirmed bachelors who hadn’t met the right woman.”
Ezra glared at the spot where Jeremy had disappeared into the kitchen. “Ottersen’ll wipe that smile off Aames’s face soon. Apparently, he’s already reverse engineered Aames’s latest vintage and snapped up a big contract that Jeremy was counting on from Shields’ brokerage.”
Bo frowned. “He just unveiled that blend. No one could have reverse engineered it that fast.”
“Yeah, well, those are the facts.” Ezra’s smile was nasty.
Bo’s hand clenched into a fist, but Gen squeezed his arm, a little too close to her chest. “How’s the family, dear?”
He dragged his eyes away from Ezra before he laid him out. Ezra was an asshole, but he had a lot of power among the other vintners. No use getting Jeremy in more hot water. He forced a smile. “Well, thank you.” He gently extricated his limb on the excuse of checking his watch and sipping his wine.
“Your mother’s health?”
He wanted to say Way better than she thinks it is, but that wasn’t fair. “Mama’s doing fine, thank you, Gen.” He stepped back. “Excuse me, please. I’m seeking a rest stop.”
She flashed teeth. “You’re so cute.”
Ezra grabbed Bo’s arm. “You’re still heading the dry farming committee, right?”
“Yes.” He glanced at Ezra’s firm grip, but the man didn’t take hints easily.
“You’ve got to keep Ottersen and his cronies off that committee. He doesn’t need any additional advantages.”
Bo shrugged himself free. “I can’t do that, Ezra. If he applies for an open seat and is voted in, I can’t keep him off.” Bo smiled. “But we don’t happen to have an opening at the present moment in time.”
“Excellent.” He smiled big and nasty.
“Excuse me.” Bo walked away from the group and threaded his way through the crowd, trying to look focused on his goal since he knew most everyone in the room and they all had something to say to him. He walked down the hall toward the kitchen and peeked in. Controlled chaos reigned inside. Cooks and waiters loaded hors d’oeuvre plates to carry out to the picky guests.
Jeremy Aames had only come to the valley a little over a year before when he bought one of the smaller wineries from a retiring old-timer. Jeremy had made a name for himself not only by enhancing some of the winery’s blends right away, but by adding a very creative kitchen that gave his tasting room enough cachet to compete with full-scale restaurants, at least for lunch.
Since Bo’s winery was the only other in the area that served serious food, people had assumed they’d be vicious competitors, but so far Jeremy had coexisted with Bo quite comfortably, recommending Bo’s Marchand Wines almost as liberally as he promoted his own brand. As a result Bo returned the favor, and they sent business back and forth so patrons never got bored.
Bo glanced around the kitchen. Jeremy’s cute young assistant directed waiters around like a five-foot-six-inch general, but Bo didn’t see Jeremy. Bo sometimes wondered if the assistant was more than an assistant. That thought made his stomach clench. He stretched his neck to the side so he could peer into the corner of the kitchen. Come on, just one glance.
Excerpt...
BO MARCHAND sipped the delicious wine provided by their host for the evening, Jeremy Aames, owner of Hill Top Wineries. It took all Bo’s self-control not to sigh just thinking about Jeremy.
Bo glanced quickly around the big restaurant and wine tasting area, which was packed with the members of the Central Coast Vintners’ Association, but there was no sign of their host. He was probably overseeing the kitchen. Hill Top was one of the few wineries that served a full menu, which made it popular for their vintners’ meetings. Still, Jeremy not being present might be good since the glorious Jeremy made Bo drool, and that could be damned bad for his illustrious image if his fellow winemakers caught on. He’d worked hard to be a leader in his industry despite his youth. No giving that away. He’d paid too high a price.
He made one more survey of the room from his seemingly relaxed position near the wall. No Jeremy, but quite another target for his attention. Standing next to the wine tasting bar, deep in conversation with two men Bo didn’t know, stood Ernest Ottersen, the central coast’s new golden boy—or he would have been if his hair wasn’t black as midnight. Same color as his heart, most people said. Bo took a sip of his cabernet franc and forced his eyes away from the snake.
Genevieve Renders separated herself from the boisterous crowd and sashayed to the corner where Bo had sequestered himself, all the better to gaze at the object of his affection without interference—if he could find him.
“Why are you being so antisocial? Come drink with us. The guys need your opinions.”
He pushed away from the wall. “Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to be an outsider. After that spread Jeremy provided, I’m just full as a tick and needed a little lay-by.”
She snorted. “Where do you get those expressions?”
“Deep in the heart of Georgia, darlin’, you know that.”
“California’s gain, dear.” She took his arm and pulled him to the largest group of arguers, made up of her husband, Randy—a name which suited him; Ezra Hamilton, the deacon of the local born-again church and mighty proud to be it; his wife, Marybeth, maybe not quite as reborn as Ezra; and Fernando Puente, owner of one of the largest wineries in the Paso Robles area—and he never let you forget it.
Randy stuck out an arm and gathered Bo in closer. “Here’s the man. You gotta help us out here, Bo. Ezra and Ferdinand”—the name Randy insisted on calling Fernando—“had been saying that Ottersen’s bound to win top prizes for central coast wines this year. Hell, he’s aced half the contracts with Napa since he opened.” His words sounded slightly slurred. For a vintner, he couldn’t hold his alcohol, but at the same time, Ottersen made people so mad they could chew barbed wire and spit out a fence, so drinking too much went with the territory.
Bo smiled tightly. “I know no more than any of y’all and have just as much to lose. Sorry.” That wasn’t entirely true, since Bo’s growing methods separated him from the pack somewhat, but still. Ottersen threatened them all. Especially Jeremy Aames, it seemed.
Bo took a quick glance around, trying to spot Jeremy. Since he had two or three inches of height on even the tallest guys in the room, it gave him a decent vantage point, but no luck.
Ezra said stiffly, “I notice Ottersen is talking to strangers. He must be getting the message that none of the other vintners like him.”
Bo noticed movement near the far wall, glanced up, and had to control the slam of his heart as Jeremy Aames walked out of the kitchen with that easy grin of his, talking to a young guy who seemed to be his assistant.
Marybeth followed Bo’s eyes. “Not sure what Jeremy has to smile about. Hell, Ottersen’s taking the biggest toll on his profits.”
Bo’s lips turned up on their own. “Jeremy always smiles.”
A waiter hurried out of the kitchen, grabbed Jeremy’s arm, and he rushed back through the door with the assistant in tow.
Ezra raised an eyebrow. “All those gay boys smile a lot.”
Bo glared at him, but not much got in the way of Ezra’s righteousness.
Marybeth slapped his shoulder. “Ezra, when will you learn to be PC?”
“Never. PC’s for Democrats.” He raised his wineglass and drained it.
Bo wouldn’t have minded giving Ezra a fist to the jaw but had no right. He’d never declared himself out of the closet, partly because it might really give his mother the heart attack she was always claiming was imminent, to say nothing of the collapse of his sisters’ imagined social standing. He kept saying when he had a relationship, he’d come out, no matter what it cost him, but not coming out meant it was doubly hard to meet someone since gay men assumed he was straight. It also meant women still thought he was fair game—with a lot of encouragement from his mother. Vicious damned cycle for a twenty-six-year-old man, but in his family, gay men were still “confirmed bachelors who hadn’t met the right woman.”
Ezra glared at the spot where Jeremy had disappeared into the kitchen. “Ottersen’ll wipe that smile off Aames’s face soon. Apparently, he’s already reverse engineered Aames’s latest vintage and snapped up a big contract that Jeremy was counting on from Shields’ brokerage.”
Bo frowned. “He just unveiled that blend. No one could have reverse engineered it that fast.”
“Yeah, well, those are the facts.” Ezra’s smile was nasty.
Bo’s hand clenched into a fist, but Gen squeezed his arm, a little too close to her chest. “How’s the family, dear?”
He dragged his eyes away from Ezra before he laid him out. Ezra was an asshole, but he had a lot of power among the other vintners. No use getting Jeremy in more hot water. He forced a smile. “Well, thank you.” He gently extricated his limb on the excuse of checking his watch and sipping his wine.
“Your mother’s health?”
He wanted to say Way better than she thinks it is, but that wasn’t fair. “Mama’s doing fine, thank you, Gen.” He stepped back. “Excuse me, please. I’m seeking a rest stop.”
She flashed teeth. “You’re so cute.”
Ezra grabbed Bo’s arm. “You’re still heading the dry farming committee, right?”
“Yes.” He glanced at Ezra’s firm grip, but the man didn’t take hints easily.
“You’ve got to keep Ottersen and his cronies off that committee. He doesn’t need any additional advantages.”
Bo shrugged himself free. “I can’t do that, Ezra. If he applies for an open seat and is voted in, I can’t keep him off.” Bo smiled. “But we don’t happen to have an opening at the present moment in time.”
“Excellent.” He smiled big and nasty.
“Excuse me.” Bo walked away from the group and threaded his way through the crowd, trying to look focused on his goal since he knew most everyone in the room and they all had something to say to him. He walked down the hall toward the kitchen and peeked in. Controlled chaos reigned inside. Cooks and waiters loaded hors d’oeuvre plates to carry out to the picky guests.
Jeremy Aames had only come to the valley a little over a year before when he bought one of the smaller wineries from a retiring old-timer. Jeremy had made a name for himself not only by enhancing some of the winery’s blends right away, but by adding a very creative kitchen that gave his tasting room enough cachet to compete with full-scale restaurants, at least for lunch.
Since Bo’s winery was the only other in the area that served serious food, people had assumed they’d be vicious competitors, but so far Jeremy had coexisted with Bo quite comfortably, recommending Bo’s Marchand Wines almost as liberally as he promoted his own brand. As a result Bo returned the favor, and they sent business back and forth so patrons never got bored.
Bo glanced around the kitchen. Jeremy’s cute young assistant directed waiters around like a five-foot-six-inch general, but Bo didn’t see Jeremy. Bo sometimes wondered if the assistant was more than an assistant. That thought made his stomach clench. He stretched his neck to the side so he could peer into the corner of the kitchen. Come on, just one glance.
Tara Lain writes the Beautiful Boys of Romance in LGBT romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her best-selling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Erotic Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance, and Best Gay Characters, and more. Readers often call her books “sweet,” even with all that hawt sex, because Tara believes in love and her books deliver on happily-ever-after. In her other job, Tara owns an advertising and public relations firm. Her love of creating book titles comes from years of manifesting ad headlines for everything from analytical instruments to semiconductors. She does workshops on both author promotion and writing craft. She lives with her soulmate husband and her soulmate dog (who’s a little jealous of all those cat pictures Tara posts on FB) in Ashland, Oregon. Passionate about diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says that on her tombstone, it will say “Yes!”
love the excerpt
ReplyDeleteThank you, Jodi. This one really twisted and turned its way to the climax! LOL
DeleteThank you so much for having me! Hugs! : )
ReplyDelete