Monday, October 19, 2015

International Hockey Romance Month Author/Book Spotlight - Samantha Wayland's Home & Away





More hockey goodness is about to come your way! Today the lovely and talented Samantha Wayland is here to share the news about her latest M/M hockey romance, Home & Away.





Blurb:

Rupert Smythe is fond of many things. Callum Morrison isn’t one of them.

Rupert is a quiet, thoughtful business man and, sadly, a total wimp. Maybe not the ideal candidate to run a professional hockey team, but he signed on to do it anyway. As his life has reminded him on an almost daily basis since, this isn’t the most brilliant idea he’s ever had. And that was before Callum showed up.

Being in the spotlight is just part of being a professional athlete, but Callum needs a break. He arrives in Moncton unannounced, determined to help grow the team he just bought, and under the assumption he’d be welcome. Possibly he should have tried to make a better first impression.

Callum figures he can push through the rest of the summer, never expecting two kids, a host of friends, and his growing feelings for Rupert to derail everything he has ever believed about what he wanted, and what he could have.


Excerpts

PG-13:
Callum hadn’t meant to frighten the guy. Hadn’t for one moment thought he could. Jesus H. Christ, Rupert managed a professional hockey team. This was not an occupation for the faint of heart. And until that moment, Rupert had been happy to lock horns, his cheeks red and accent clipped, practically radiating prim British outrage. It had been kind of adorable—not that Callum was ever going to admit that out loud. To anyone. Ever. He had only intended to get in Rupert’s face and make his point. He would never lay a hand on someone in anger.
Well, okay, he’d never lay a hand on someone in anger off the ice.
Now Callum was left with Rupert looking like he had a very large and profoundly uncomfortable poker up his butt. He was glaring at Callum like if he tried hard enough, he might be able to light Callum on fire.
There was probably something wrong with Callum that this didn’t make Rupert any less attractive.
Could long-term celibacy lead to the early onset of dementia?
Rupert’s lips pursed, and Callum realized he was about to get another tongue-lashing—of the uptight, bitchy variety, not the potentially more fun kind.
“What do you want me to do?” Callum asked, hoping to forestall the lecture he probably deserved.
“Pardon?” Rupert asked haughtily. His tone made it clear that Callum was the equivalent of something stuck on the bottom of Rupert’s shoe. The accent helped, too.
“Where do you need me? What should I do? I said I would help, and I will,” Callum said. He’d come here because he loved his sister and wanted to help her—with or without her permission—but he also wanted to learn more about the team he’d bought into, and the people who were running it.
That included Rupert Smythe, even if the other man obviously wished Callum were several thousand miles away and never to be heard from again.
Rupert studied him dubiously and Callum forced himself not to fidget. He tried to think how he could present himself as helpful. Which, okay, was probably a little late, but whatever. “I need to check into my hotel at some point, but otherwise I’m ready to start now. Whatever you need.”
“You came directly here?”
“From the airport. Yes.”
Rupert lost his bitch face long enough to look worried. “Is everything okay in Boston? I know you told Garrick that nothing had happened, but you seemed to be in a hurry to get him out of here.”
Callum grimaced. “No, they’re fine. I mean, as far as I know. And I don’t want to know more. Because any further discussion about what may or may not be happening in Boston may or may not get into the details of my sister’s love life, which may or may not involve more than one man and—ugh. Yeah, no.” He shuddered.
A hint of a smile curled Rupert’s lips. “Fair enough.”
Callum stared at Rupert’s mouth. “So, where do you want me?”
Rupert’s frown returned, and with it the efficient, controlled businessman. “There is a meeting of the construction team at one o’clock.” Rupert thrust a massive binder across the desk. “This is my copy of the project information. Garrick has another. Learn it.”
Callum knew an olive branch when it was waved in his face. Or smashed over his head, as the case may be. “Great.”
He didn’t miss how Rupert stepped back, putting himself more than arm’s distance away again. What the fuck was up with that?
“It’s still only part of what you’ll need to know, but perhaps if you learn something, you’ll get through the meeting without embarrassing yourself. Or me.”
Seriously, the dude was such a bitch.
“I’ll see what I can do.”


R:
Callum had never seen anything sexier or more ridiculous than Rupert obviously flustered and wary. Goddamn, there had to be something wrong with Callum that he found it so arousing. So adorable. But Rupert was usually so poised, so civilized, and all Callum wanted to do was wreck him.
He wanted to make Rupert look as messy as Callum had felt since they’d kissed.
His hands were on Rupert’s face, their hips bumping together, before Rupert could do more than squawk. Then it was all lips and tongues and, holy shit, Callum had no idea what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop doing it.
Why had he been avoiding this? He couldn’t remember. It must have been because he was a fucking idiot, because this was as good as he remembered. As good as he’d been pretending he’d imagined. Better, maybe, because this time he wasn’t just letting it happen. This time, he shoved his fingers into Rupert’s hair to learn it was as soft as he’d guessed. This time, he traced his fingertips against Rupert’s scalp, along his ear and down his neck, delighting in how Rupert shuddered against him. After a week of ignoring how much he wanted this, he let himself wallow in it. Let himself taste and touch and know.
It was amazing. And terrible. Because now he was dangerously close to coming in his pants, which wasn’t something he’d ever done before, and, as it turned out, wasn’t on the embarrassingly long list of things he wanted to try.
He ached for some relief. Some goddamn friction. The little noises Rupert made, which Callum swallowed, made his hips jerk, seeking. They stumbled back until Rupert’s shoulders hit the door and he gasped into Callum’s mouth, the sound strangling off when their bodies met and smashed together from knee to shoulder. It still wasn’t enough. Callum cupped one of Rupert’s perfectly round ass cheeks in his hand and ground Rupert into the door.
“Callum,” Rupert groaned between kisses, the sound firing straight down Callum’s spine, his cock jerking in a desperate bid to answer that plea.
He curled his fingers into Rupert’s hair, holding fast, and kissed along Rupert’s cheek and down his neck, drawing on everything Rupert had done and all the ways Callum had imagined turning that back on Rupert in the days since. He licked behind Rupert’s ear, nipped the lobe, then sucked his way down the strong muscles beneath until he reached the edge of a starched collar. He buried his nose there, taking in a deep draught of cologne and shampoo and detergent and Rupert, imprinting the scent on his brain.
God, Rupert was totally fucking him up.
Rupert pushed at his shoulder and Callum growled, trying to stay right where he was. A strong grip in his hair yanked him back, but before he could object—or possibly finally succumb to the need to come in his pants because, yeah, turns out hair-pulling was fucking hot—Rupert sealed his lips over Callum’s and Callum was lost. Drowning. Chests pressed tight, hips grinding. Seeking. Fucking desperate for something.
His heart stopped when someone pounded on the door.
Sheila’s muffled voice barely reached them over their panted breaths. “Rupert? Mr. Smythe? Are you okay?”
Rupert tipped his head back against the door with a thunk, still clinging to Callum. Callum buried his face in Rupert’s collar once more.
“Yes, Sheila. I’m fine. Is anything the matter?” Rupert called out politely. Callum smiled against the warm skin of Rupert’s neck and wondered if everyone in the office could hear the rasp in Rupert’s voice.
“Garrick is on the phone,” Sheila replied. “He said he couldn’t reach you. He sounds a little freaked out, boss.”
Callum vaguely recalled the buzz of Rupert’s phone on his desk. His own phone had gone off in his back pocket and he’d ignored it completely.
“Shit,” he whispered, carefully stepping away from Rupert.
Rupert’s hand grasped the doorknob, as if he needed it to hold himself up. “Tell him I’ll ring him in a moment, please,” Rupert called through the door.
Callum wished everyone could see Rupert’s hair standing on end, his lips pink and swollen, the pleat of his trousers utterly ruined by the erection tenting them. He dragged his eyes back up to Rupert’s face and met his hot blue gaze.
“We’re going to come back to this,” Rupert promised softly.
Callum smiled. “Okay.”
Rupert looked somewhere between eager and surprised, and Callum felt a pang of guilt. He’d been an asshole, again, so worried about what an idiot he’d been, how obviously inexperienced and pitiable, that he hadn’t considered that Rupert might have been left wanting, too.
He never wanted Rupert to be wanting. Not for anything Callum was able to give.
             



Buy Links:

Author Bio:
Samantha Wayland has three great loves in life; her family, writing books, and hockey. She is often found apologizing to the first for how much time and attention is taken up by the latter two, but they forgive her because they are awesome and she clearly doesn’t deserve them.
Sam lives with her family—of both the two and four-legged variety—outside of Boston. She is a wicked passionate New Englander (born and raised) who has been known to wax rhapsodic about the Maine Coast, the mountains of New Hampshire and Vermont, and the sensible way in which her local brethren don’t see a need for directional signals (blinkahs!). When she’s not locked away in her home office, she can generally be found tucked in the corner of the local Thai place with other socially-starved authors and an adult beverage.
Her favorite things include mango martinis, tiny Chihuahuas with big attitude problems, and the Oxford comma.

Sam loves to hear from readers. Email her at samantha@samanthawayland.com or find her online here:




Other Books by Samantha Wayland
Destiny Calls
With Grace
Fair Play (Hat Trick Book One)
Two Man Advantage (Hat Trick Book Two)
End Game (Hat Trick Book Three)
Crashing the Net
Home & Away


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