Today, fellow JMS Books writer, Ellie Thomas, is on a visit. Welcome, Ellie!

Thank you so much, Ofelia, for letting me be your guest today! I’m Ellie Thomas and I write Historical Gay Romance. In this blog, I’m chatting about my latest story with JMS Books, released on July 10th. It’s a Hot Flash entitled A Roll of the Dice.

It can be uncanny how inspiration comes out of the blue from an unexpected source. The idea for this tale started when watching an excellent three-part tv documentary on the story of Welsh art – of all things! I do love writing about that period of history, and so when the programme focused on artists of that time, including the landscape artist Richard Wilson (1713-82), who was unfamiliar to me, I was not only fascinated but it got my imagination whirring.

In the same way, my main character Joshua has Jones as a surname in honour of the Welsh artist Thomas Jones (1742-1803). Like his namesake, Joshua studies in London under the great Richard Wilson. While writing about Joshua’s experiences, I couldn’t resist including a real-life humorous anecdote about students misbehaving in class which Thomas Jones had recorded in his diaries.

So, as I had sketched in the artistic backdrop for my story, my next task was to devise my characters. When the story started unfolding in my mind, I happened to come across an article on influential black composers and musicians in Europe in the eighteenth century, including the Chevalier de St. Georges (1745-1799) who was dubbed ‘The Black Mozart’. This inspired me to make Joshua both an aspiring artist and a man of colour.

Many artists at that time, including Richard Wilson and Thomas Jones, were drawn to London to make their names in artistic circles, so that city seemed the ideal setting. Since the Royal Academy of Art in London was based in a coffee house in those very early days, that got me thinking about the St. James’ Palace area, lined with exclusive masculine gambling and drinking clubs which were a core of political power and influence at the time. These qualities embody the character of Frank, Joshua’s love interest, who moves easily amongst influential diplomatic circles. As Joshua funds his daytime art studies by working as a waiter in a gambling club by night, this seemed an ideal meeting point for my couple. In such an intensely male, hot-house situation, I could easily imagine how a spark of mutual attraction could flare into romance.

Blurb:

Joshua Jones is in London to pursue his dream of becoming an artist. As a young black man from a modest background, he works hard to pay for his painting classes, both as a fencing master’s assistant, then as a waiter in an exclusive gaming club, which his uncle manages.

During the London Season when the club as at its busiest, the last thing Joshua expects is to find romance. But when mesmerising older man, Frank Bartlett, is determined to seduce him, how can he resist? Joshua now finds he has another problem. How can he stop himself falling for the object of his desire?

Extract:

As they sat by the fireplace, Joshua looked around him with interest, noting the shelves of books and the writing desk piled high with correspondence. Pouring them both a glass of wine, Frank sat back and smiled at Joshua’s observation. 

“Does my home meet with your approval?” Frank asked.

Joshua grinned. “I was expecting more of a palace,” he replied, which make Frank laugh, revealing that strong column of his throat that made Joshua catch his breath.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Frank said, smiling.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say I was disappointed,” Joshua said with a tinge of flirtation, knowing he was playing with fire. Frank glanced at him with a knowing flickering glimmer that set Joshua’s pulses racing. He was achingly aware that the consideration and snatched conversations of previous evenings would escalate in this intimate setting.

“If you are in the mood,” Frank said silkily, reaching for a pack of cards and moving a nearby side table between them, “I thought we might play a game.”

Joshua almost blurted out that he did not gamble, when he suddenly realised that the stakes were far riskier, or rather risqué, than money. “Pick a card,” Frank invited him. Breathlessly, Joshua did so and putting it down on the table, he saw he had selected the Ten of Hearts. Frank followed suit, placing down the Two of Spades. “I lose,” he said, smiling as he shrugged off his coat.

Joshua’s eyes widened. “I think I like this game,” he said, picking the next card. As it was his turn to select a lower card, he chose to remove his neckcloth as slowly as possible, his adversary glued to his every movement. Then Frank lost his waistcoat, his large body visible under his linen shirt which made Joshua’s mouth go dry. He gulped his wine before picking the next card. They chose an equal number and in accord, both removed their shirts. Joshua could not take his eyes from that massive chest and brawny torso and Frank seemed equally breathless at the sight of Joshua’s lithe and sinewy brown body.

“Perhaps we should take this into the bedroom?” Frank suggested, rising and holding out his hand. Joshua followed willingly and as soon as the bedroom door was shut behind them, they were in each other’s arms.

Buy link:

JMS Books 

Bio:

Ellie Thomas lives by the sea. She comes from a teaching background and goes for long seaside walks where she daydreams about history. She is a voracious reader especially about anything historical. She mainly writes historical gay romance.
Ellie also writes historical erotic romance as L. E. Thomas.

https://elliethomasromance.wordpress.com/

Hello everyone! I’m glad to be back to visit the lovely Ofelia again, it’s been a while since the last time. Today, I’m here to talk about my brand new release, Flowers Under My Pillow, a contemporary story infused with some of the Midsummer magic of the olden days.

The idea for the story came from old Swedish folklore that says if you pick seven kinds of flowers on Midsummer’s Eve and put them underneath your pillow, you’ll dream of the man you’ll marry. I tried this more than once when I was a kid, but it wasn’t as romantic as it sounds. First of all, I didn’t wanna pick something that was visibly crawling with bugs because who wants to sleep on top of a gazillion icky creepy-crawlies, amirite? Secondly, my mom wasn’t a huge fan of the idea of putting flowers on my bed and staining the sheets, and she was extra grumpy if I’d picked a dandelion. And thirdly, I rarely had the patience to find seven different kinds of flowers and I’m pretty sure I picked one pink and one blue lupin and decided they counted as different species more than once.

So maybe that’s why I never dreamed of my husband any of the times slept on a bouquet of flowers? Because I cheated? 😁

Frode in Flowers Under My Pillow has better luck than I had, though, and after thirty years of dreaming of the same man with dandelions in his beard, he finally gets to meet him… 😍

Excerpt:

When I look around to take in my surroundings, I realize my feet have carried me to the cottage without me noticing, and something catches my attention on the lawn on the other side of the fence.

A closer look reveals a tripod with a big, professional-looking camera attached on top. And underneath it, a man lies on his back, surrounded by a starry sky of tiny white flowers growing low in the grass. I don’t want to disturb him and I’m just about to sneak away when he turns his head toward me.

Warm brown eyes, with crow’s feet radiating out from the corners, meet mine. But it’s his full beard, scattered with dandelions, that makes my heart tumble over itself in my chest.

Smiling eyes. A full beard. Dandelions.

Dandelions.

My hand flies to my chest as I forget how to breathe.

It’s him.

****

The man’s eyes widen, then he springs to his feet, banging his knee into the tripod almost making it topple over, but his arm shoots out, his big hand landing on the camera, stopping it from crashing down onto the grass.

“It’s you,” he says, his voice a deep rumble emanating from the pit of his stomach, vibrating its way to me, settling in my core.

It’s you.

What does he mean? Does he recognize me, too?

“It’s you,” he says again as he takes a few hesitant steps in my direction. His eyes never leave my face.

“It’s you,” I echo, brows furrowed.

The improbability of it all, of my recurring dream materializing and standing in front of me, makes me take a step backward. He leaps forward, dislodging a couple of the dandelions from his beard by the sudden movement, and I watch them sail to the ground.

When I look up at him again, it’s as though I’m zooming out of my body and look at the two of us from a distance. Two men, separated by a white picket fence, staring at each other as though they’ve seen a ghost, as though they both think they must be hallucinating. His features are so familiar; I know every line radiating from the corner of his eyes, every strand of his beard. I know all the nuances of brown in his dark eyes; as though someone swirled chocolate into a deep well of coffee and then sprinkled some gold into the mix to make it irresistible. I know the sensitive setting of his mouth. I know the intense gaze.

It makes me dizzy, and I stumble but manage to keep myself upright. I take another wobbly step backward.

“Don’t go,” he says. “Please.” He stops but holds out his hand as though he wants to touch me to make sure I’m real.

The feeling is mutual. How is this even possible? How can the man I’ve dreamed about every Midsummer these last thirty years be right here a few steps from me? As though I’ve dreamed him into existence.

I drag my gaze away from his face and take in the rest of him. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, his biceps are straining the short sleeves of his button-down shirt. He’s got a rounded belly and meaty thighs filling out his faded jeans, and his big wide feet are bare in the grass.

Heat stirs between my hips. God, he’s not only the literal man of my dreams, but he’s hot as sin, too. When I force myself to look away from his body, our gazes meet.

“You recognize me, too,” he says, eyes pleading. “I can tell from your reaction.”

I dip my chin once. “I do.”

My heart flutters in my chest like the wings of a colibri. Another dandelion falls from his beard and my gaze follows it down as it lands softly on the ground.

My mind spins with questions and it’s making me dizzy again. How can the man from my dreams stand before me in the flesh? A living, breathing human being? A living breathing human being who recognizes me too?

When our eyes meet again, I read the same confusion in him.

Blurb:

Smiling brown eyes. A dark beard. Dandelions. Sunny, happy dandelions.

For thirty years, Frode’s had the same dream. Every Midsummer’s Eve since he was a kid accompanying his sister to pick flowers to put under his pillow, he’s dreamed of the same man. A dream he never shares with anyone, that makes him wish for impossible things…like true love.

“It’s you.”

Then one Midsummer’s Eve, the man of Frode’s dreams stands before him in the flesh. Both men recognize each other despite never having met in real life. Both men are instantly drawn to each other and want to know more.

“Who are you, Viljar? Are you even real?”

Their questions are many but do the whys and the hows matter? Or should they allow the Midsummer magic that brought them together to lead the way into each other’s arms? Into each other’s hearts?

Traditional Swedish folklore tells you that if you pick seven kinds of flowers in silence and put them under your pillow on Midsummer’s Eve, you’ll dream of the man you’ll marry.

M/M Contemporary / 17 477 words

Buy links:

JMS Books :: Amazon :: Books2Read

About Nell

Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bonafide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies room), loves music (and singing along at the top of her voice but she’s no Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (Make it so). She loves words, bullet journals, poetry, wine, coffee-flavored kisses, and fika (a Swedish cultural thing involving coffee and pastry!)

Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.

Nell is a bisexual Swedish woman married to the love of her life, a proud mama of a grown daughter, and is approaching 50 faster than she’d like. She lives in the south of Sweden where she spends her days thinking up stories about people falling in love. After dreaming about being a writer for most of her life, she finally was in a place where she could pursue her dream and released her first book in 2017.

Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, short over long, and quirky characters over alpha males.

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