Title: Third Son

Author: Mickie B. Ashling

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: October 2, 2017

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 75000

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, mystery, action, family-drama, gay, crime, suspense, explicit, criminals, bodyguard

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Synopsis

American Niall Monroe returns to Hong Kong—a city he calls home—after being away for eight years. He hopes to finally find happiness with Peter Wei, his closeted lover of fourteen years, but is disappointed to find Peter has been put in an untenable position. He must marry and produce the long-awaited grandchild or get cut off by his millionaire father. Gerard Sun, a talented artist, bursts back into Niall’s life after a one-night stand in Las Vegas. Circumstances force the men to deal with their attraction, especially when Niall’s firm considers Gerard to help promote tourism in the People’s Republic of China. James, Peter’s younger brother, has been Niall’s best friend since they were schoolmates. He encourages Niall to ditch his brother and move on. He encourages Niall to ditch his brother until he finds out Niall is thinking of dating Gerard Sun, a talented artist. Coming home seemed like a great idea until it wasn’t. Niall finds himself a stranger in a familiar landscape, slammed on multiple fronts by broken promises, jealousy, intrigue, unimaginable deceit, and undercurrents of evil. As his dreams quickly turn into nightmares, Niall reaches out to new allies for support.

Excerpt

Chapter One

“I’ve heard rumors you’re in denial,” the guy from Chatty Man commented. Leaning forward, I waited to hear Adam Lambert’s response. I’d been ignoring the interview so far, but now I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the flat-screen, not after hearing that accusation. Warily, the superstar asked, “About what?” “Being a ging.” Adam smiled, showing off those gorgeous white teeth. “I’m not in denial, just quiet about it.” “What was it like for you at school being a ginger?” Alan Carr asked. “Unremarkable. You know,” the stud confided in a mock whisper. “We’re said to have a lot of secret powers.” “Really?” “We can go for hours,” Adam replied, bursting into laughter. “Yeah, right,” I slurred, flipping him the bird. Disgusted, I got off the couch and went to refill my drink. Super powers, my ass. If that were true, then how come the guy dyed his hair black? Because it’s a myth, I concluded scornfully. Like the correlation between fingers and dick sizes. “A face without freckles is like a night without stars,” someone in the audience commented. God…give me a fucking break. My knee-jerk reaction to that old cliché was another shot of tequila. I was on day two of a monumental bender. Thank God, the weekend was almost over. Tomorrow, I’d be back to normal—innovative, focused, and coolly competent—despite this setback. Dealing with clients in my current state of mind wasn’t an option and could end up a financial disaster. A large part of my success as a top-tier exec at one of the most successful advertising agencies in the world was my inscrutable façade. It would have been the kiss of death to show any sort of weakness among Hong Kong’s movers and shakers. The majority of my clients were from the PRC. They asked to work with me, because I was born and raised here. Even though I looked like your average American, I spoke fluent Mandarin and Cantonese and knew the drill. Emotions, good or bad, were viewed as a character flaw. Men who allowed feelings to interfere with business were usually dumped like yesterday’s pork bun. I tried making out my reflection in the glass cabinets above the bar and only saw a reddish blur where my head was supposed to be. “If you’ve dated a redhead, raise your glass, if not…raise your standards.” What in the ever-loving fuck was this guy yammering about? I turned my attention back to the TV screen and muttered, “Piss off!” To my surprise, Adam looked me right in the eyes, with a sly grin plastered on his gorgeous face, and purred, “Make me.” Whoa… Blinking rapidly, I stared at the flat-screen. Was I hallucinating or what? Had the overpriced tequila finally destroyed my few remaining brain cells? I staggered toward the sofa and threw myself backward, hoping the cushions would catch me, so I wouldn’t end up on the floor with a mild concussion. They did, thankfully. Never losing sight of the flat-screen, I took another shot of the aged Patrón and shuddered as it went down my gullet. TV Adam snickered. “Are you making fun of me?” I grumbled. “You started it, honey.” Grabbing the remote, I pointed it at the TV and made stupid pew-pew noises, hoping it would blow up. The room was plunged into darkness, and the abrupt silence was a much-needed reprieve. I waited a few minutes to see if Adam would goad me again, but nothing happened. All I heard was the soft hum of the central air. Good. I could chalk this up to an overactive imagination and some wormy tequila. When I woke up on Monday morning, daylight seeped in through the vertical blinds. The noises in my head had been replaced by a relentless pulse of pain. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to focus on my goals. Aspirin, shower, change, meet with the client, close the deal, and send them on their merry way. Now was not the time to dwell on my love life or lack thereof. Glancing at the digital clock on the nightstand, I saw that I had two hours to get my shit together and walk into my meeting with a studied look that oozed calm and confidence. It would be a stretch given my current condition, but I knew I’d pull this off. I had to. There was no one else on staff who could deal with Minister Xiang Guo. She was a formidable negotiator and set in her ways. It was my job to open her eyes and help her understand that, if the Chinese hoped to improve their status abroad and lure in more tourists, they needed a serious makeover. Fucking hell… I sat up and swung my legs off the bed, immediately regretting the sudden move. My head was spinning and I cradled it between my hands, hoping that would help. When the room stopped tilting, I inched my way toward the bathroom, grabbing on to the wall whenever I found myself lurching. My earlier assessment would need a hard edit. This hangover was going to be a bitch. I reached for the bottle of aspirin, shook two in my hand, and used the shower water to chase them down. Under the stinging spray of oscillating heads, I recalled how this binge had started.

*****

Many thanks for giving me the opportunity to share an exclusive excerpt from my latest release, Third Son. The idea for this novel appeared out of the blue like all my other stories, and I jumped on the chance to explore the mind of a character whose outward appearance and psyche are completely at odds. Having grown up in a country where I was a minority—the Philippines—it was easy to relate to Niall. Although he speaks the language, and understands the prevailing mindset, a blue-eyed ginger in China sticks out like the proverbial sore thumb. This story is a departure from most of the romances I’ve written in the past and I’m happy it found a home at NineStar Press.

Make-up sex. Peter style.

“I’m on my way.”

I was getting ready for bed when my phone chimed with an incoming message from Peter. For the first time since I’d known him, I was tempted to say no, but since my homecoming had been aborted by my swift exit from the club last Friday, I allowed my libido to make the decision for me. I texted an affirmative and hit Send. My cock surged in anticipation while my gut roiled with disgust. I was pathetic. For all my success in the business world, I was an utter failure when it came to this relationship.

He doesn’t deserve you.

Gerard—who barely knew me—nailed it with deadly precision. Peter was oblivious to my unhappiness. Even James was repulsed by my blind devotion. I’d accepted Peter’s version of love for too long. It had been enough when I was a pimply-faced teenager grateful for his crumbs, but not anymore. I wanted—needed—a man who would cherish and appreciate me. Maybe if all the other pieces of the puzzle fit, I could put up with an open relationship, knowing the stable of men were just there to scratch Peter’s itch, but nothing else about our union was satisfactory.

The only time I felt any kind of emotion on his part was when he’d whisper my name during sex. And tonight was no different. It must have been slim pickings at the club because he started shedding his clothes the minute he walked through the front door. He went into the bathroom for a minute but was back in no time.

He folded back the duvet and slid into my bed. I let myself be pulled tightly against him, our naked bodies fitting together perfectly. He smelled of scotch and cigarettes, but I couldn’t detect another man on his breath.

“Niall,” he said softly. He always packed so much feeling into one word. If he could hear the love in his voice, he’d be shocked. One of these days, I would record him and watch him squirm as he tried to deny the depth of his feelings. I knew a large part of his reluctance was cultural. His parents continued to ignore the fact that he was seldom seen with a woman by his side. Occasionally, he’d cave and ask a model or actress on a date, which would throw the family spies off his scent for a while. James would never think of outing him. It had to come from Peter, but once he labeled himself as homosexual, his role as the precious first son would be tarnished forever. As long as the words were never spoken out loud, his father could continue to hope.

The entire scenario was ludicrous because I was openly gay, and everyone in Hong Kong’s gay community knew we’d been banging each other for years. But his parents were deaf and blind to gossip and believed their eldest son was a bachelor because the right woman hadn’t come along yet.

“Look at me,” Peter demanded.

I turned my face and Peter licked his way inside my mouth. He liked being dominant, and I was fine playing the submissive role. One of his hands moved across my torso, thumbing my nipples for a minute before sliding down my stomach. He toyed with my love trail before curling his fingers around my cock. As much as I loved Peter’s dark hair and smooth skin, he was fascinated by my ginger pubes and ivory complexion. The coloring that had caused me so much distress as a young boy growing up in Hong Kong was his kink.

To this day, my idealized man was Asian, and my eye always gravitated in their direction. I hated being the only redhead in my class and was pitifully grateful when James befriended me. He shielded me from bullying and snide remarks that had previously fallen my way. Being in the shadow of a Wei, one of Hong Kong’s most prominent banking families, was as good as having a personal bodyguard.

“Niall…”

Peter said my name again, but this time it came out rougher, in a voice torn between wanting to fuck me senseless and delaying my gratification, which was also another one of his kinks. He moved his head away from mine and pressed hot kisses down my chest until I felt him engulf me. His strong hands kneaded my thighs as he worked me with his tongue, sending me on the erotic journey that we’d shared so many times before.

I cried out his name as I flooded his mouth, and he swallowed greedily, accompanied by the humming that heightened my pleasure. I reached for him and dragged him up my body, only to have his mouth latch on to mine, sharing my essence.

“I want you,” he groaned, grabbing a condom from the bowl beside my bed. He rolled it on expertly, never taking his eyes off me. I felt him slick up, then the swift push and his cock filling me completely.

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Meet the Author

Mickie B. Ashling is the pseudonym of a multifaceted woman who is a product of her upbringing in multiple cultures, having lived in Japan, the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East. Fluent in three languages, she’s a citizen of the world and an interesting mixture of East and West. A little bit of this and a lot of that have brought a unique touch to her literary voice she could never learn from textbooks. By the time Mickie discovered her talent for writing, real life got in the way, and the business of raising four sons took priority. With the advent of e-publishing—and the inevitable emptying nest—dreams of becoming a published writer were resurrected and she’s never looked back. She stumbled into the world of men who love men in 2002 and continues to draw inspiration from their ongoing struggle to find equality and happiness in this oftentimes skewed and intolerant world. Her award-winning novels have been called “gut wrenching, daring, and thought provoking.” She admits to being an angst queen and making her men work damn hard for their happy endings.