Hi there!
I am
delighted to be guest blogging on Unrandom Randomness. It's such an honor and a
joy! Thank you for having me!
My name is
Bailey Queen, and I am a new author to the MM Romance universe. I've written
before, under a different pen name, and my current catalogue has a smattering
of romance and erotica titles, some MF and some MM. MM Romance is my favorite
genre, and I am loving life writing in this universe right now and getting to
spend time with so many great people!
I was asked,
"Where did you get your inspiration for these characters? How did you come
up with this story?" Great questions! You see, I take a dartboard, and I
tack some names up, some plot points, etc., and then I take a blindfold… JJust kidding.
I actually
like to build my stories wholly from my characters. I started with Ben. Ben is
very near and dear to me. I know many Ben's in my life, men who have left parts
of themselves and their souls behind somewhere, thanks to conflict, war, or
agonizing pain. They've cut something of themselves out, trying to never feel
that loss, that emptiness, ever again.
For Ben,
eight years of service in the military during the height of the Iraq War,
including rough and brutal combat tours, have weighed heavily on him. On top of
that, Ben had his heart ripped out, and the compounding effect of the loss and
pain brought Ben to a complete halt. His heart and his soul froze, and he
refused to feel anything, anything at all, ever again. He moved on with his
professional career, entering the FBI, but his soulless approach to life
dragged down everything he touched.
He's tired,
tired of trudging forward and tired of persevering. Ben guards himself with
rigid barriers and harsh silence.
And then
there's Tanner. I created Tanner by listening to people's desires. We hear, all
the time, people wishing and dreaming for a different life. For something more
exciting, more adventurous. Occasionally, some of us do have that kind of life,
filled with adventure and intrigue. At the core of our lives, though, we always
want the same thing—someone to share that life with.
Tanner is a
man who, on the face of it, seemed to have everything. A dazzling career, a jet
set lifestyle, a long string of lovers. Tanner was a former flight attendant,
and he spent much of his life living in exotic locations and exploring the
globe, and spending his nights with different men as often as he pleased. On
the surface, Tanner's life seemed be a dream. Wouldn't we all want that?
Adventure, travel, lust, and great sex?
There's a
hole in Tanner's world, too, though. He's missing the heart of his life, and
while jet setting and exotic lovers are fun and fascinating, Tanner wants more.
He wants the apple pie life. The morning after, and everything else. Bedhead
and a shared closet. He wants a partner. When tragedy befalls his family,
Tanner moves home and tries to set up a new life for himself, going back to his
roots as a rancher in small town Pennsylvania.
He's
confident, but quietly so, comfortable in his skin in a way that we often wish
we were. He's lived, and he knows what he wants.
Ben—frozen
in place and too rigid and hurt to move forward from the pain in his life—crashes
into Tanner — a man
who wants to find his partner and his equal—one night,
with devastating consequences. What could *possibly* go wrong when these
two men collide?
That one
meeting—a single, stolen night—could have been the end of
their story, but darkness from Tanner’s past rears its head, and Ben is called
back to Tanner’s small town for the murder investigation. As the bodies begin
to pile up, Ben and Tanner circle each other warily, both men wanting—and
needing—something from the other. Both men are torn in half—Tanner
by his past coming back to haunt him, and Ben by the force of the investigation,
and his role as a lead FBI agent. Could the man he, almost inexplicably, is
falling for be the murderer they seek?
What I hope
worked for you in this story is the sizzling sexual tension, the cautious
circling of the two men as they negotiate both each other and their own souls,
and watching as they work together for a future where Ben and Tanner might be
able to find space for each other inside their hearts and souls. I loved
writing this story and sharing Ben and Tanner with you.
Thank you for
having me!
Compromised by Bailey Queen
Published 11th of January 2016
Contemporary Erotic Romance
Murder in the country.
A one-night stand that refuses to end.
Ghosts from the past that return to haunt.
Special Agent Ben Diggs can’t stand what has become of
his life, so much so that he hits the road one night, maybe to crash his bike,
maybe to drive off into the night and never be heard from again. But he meets
Tanner Bagley, a rancher from rural Pennsylvania in a hick dive bar, and sparks
fly. For the first time since everything went to hell, he feels alive again.
Ben runs from his emotions as a rule, and he flees in
the middle of the night, trudging back to his dreary life in Baltimore and his
failing job as a FBI agent. But then his team is assigned to investigate a
murder in that same backwater township in Pennsylvania where he met Tanner, and
it’s a different set of sparks that fly when faces Tanner again.
As the bodies start to pile up, tensions flare, and
Ben is stuck between teammates that question his every move and a devastatingly
handsome rancher whose heart he bruised. The lies keep piling up, and Ben is
forced to stake his career – and his very life – on the trembling hopes of his
wounded heart.
Deep in the countryside, someone is hunting gay men in
Middle Creek, Pennsylvania… Gay men all with ties to Special Agent Diggs’
one-night-stand…
LINKS
Excerpt
Outside Gettysburg, on the highway halfway between the
battlefield and nowhere, the tiny ranching township of Middle Creek boasted a
one-stop diner and dive bar on its outskirts. Complete with an after-hours tack
shop for all of your midnight ridin’ and ranchin’ needs, it was a neon oasis in
an ocean of farmland. There was a mechanical bull in the back, and peanut
shells and hay littered the split-wood floor. Wagon wheels and deer heads hung
on the walls, as did Christmas lights. A rickety old karaoke machine belted
tunes that were out of style the day they came out, decades ago. In one corner,
a stage made up of leftover pallets bungee-corded together hosted the local
talent—fiddlers, guitar strummers, and banjo killers—every Thursday evening.
On Fridays, it was “Prime Rib and Shrimp Special”
night, and the diner was packed from four in the afternoon until eight in the
evening. Afterward, only the drunks and the loners stayed, downing beers at the
worn mahogany bar as bad Elvis covers droned amid twinkling Christmas lights
and the buzzing glow of beer signs. Ben had been there once before, on another
night when he just had to ride, to get away from everyone and everything. He
hadn’t gotten drunk that night, but he’d been close. It was a modern miracle
he’d made it home, and he’d stayed off the booze for a whole month after.
Tonight, he was going to get ripped. Look out, liver.
Suit up, kidneys. Snorting, Ben tossed his keys into his helmet and cracked his
neck. His eyes caught on his reflection in his mirrored visor. Messy dark hair,
scruff that could only just be called a five o’clock shadow. Chapped lips
turned down. And his eyes—God, when had he gotten so damn old? So damn worn
down? His gray eyes were dead and dull, and he even bored himself. He spun his
helmet around, banishing his reflection, and climbed off his bike. His jeans
sighed, loosening around his balls and his thighs, and he unzipped his dark
leather riding jacket as he strode into the bar.
Four other drunks tonight, two at the bar and two
trading stories over mugs of beer at a back corner. They were old, at least one
hundred and eighty four, and they had to be sharing memories of their time in
the War of 1812. Were there Diggs dying in that war too? His pops had drilled
him about their proud history, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember
which illustrious ancestor had sacrificed in that war.
Ben slid onto a barstool at the very end of the bar—a
signal for leave me the fuck alone—and propped his helmet up so he couldn’t see
himself. He clasped his hands together, leaning against the mahogany, and
waited.
After a good fuck long of a while, the bartender
stopped drying his glasses and wandered over. His gaze lingered on the helmet
and then slid over to Ben’s raised eyebrows. He stopped just outside the edge
of Ben’s “don’t fuck with me” bubble.
“What’ll it be?” Bored, the old man waited for Ben’s
order with a sour twist to his lips.
“Yuengling. And keep them coming.”
The bartender nodded and wandered off, filling a pint
glass with Ben’s beer before sliding it back down the bar to him. Ben flipped
his credit card out to open the tab and cracked his neck again, rolling his
head from side to side.
Three beers in, and more bad Elvis covers, the bells
over the diner’s door jangled, announcing a newcomer to the fray. Ben shot a
glance over his slumped shoulder.
Blond hair caught his eyes. He sat up straighter and
tried to get a better look, all the while trying to appear like he wasn’t
interested at all.
He had blond hair, cut short and trimmed neatly, and a
long-sleeved, plaid flannel shirt stretched over a firm, muscled body. As he
moved toward the bar, Ben noticed tight, faded, button fly jeans cupped a firm
ass and hugged down tight legs—legs meant for gripping and riding, for wrapping
around thick, powerful mounts and holding on. In scuffed work boots, he stopped
before the bar and hooked one onto the leg of a barstool as he leaned forward,
resting against the bar top.
Slowly, Ben’s gaze wandered up the newcomer’s body,
and he came face-to-face with the man’s raised eyebrow and quiet smirk. “Hi,”
the blond said, never dropping that damned smirk. “That your bike outside?” He
jutted his chin toward Ben.
“Huh?” Ben frowned. He sat back, and his elbow jostled
his helmet. Oh, right. His helmet. Dead giveaway and all, just like he was
being. He straightened, tried for nonchalance. “Yeah. Just stopped in for a few.”
He nodded to his beer and shut his damn mouth before he got into more trouble.
“You’re not from around here.” It wasn’t a question.
Blondie pulled out the barstool next to Ben and plopped down, still smiling.
His chocolate eyes laughed at Ben as he stuck out his hand. “M’name’s Tanner.”
Ben stared and then slowly took it. He shook once, but
pulled back when he felt Tanner’s thumb stroke down the back his hand. “Ben.”
He turned back to his beer.
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Author
Bailey Queen is the pseudo name of a romance and
erotica author. It's my secret identity in the publishing world online. :)
Bailey Queen is a romance author who has been writing
fiction since 2001. She's recently started writing under this pseudo-name and
is having a great time doing so! She writes adventure, mystery, thriller,
sci-fi, and fantasy, all with a LGBTQA angle. She likes to challenge
conventions and provide readers with interesting characters and storylines.
Bailey has lived around the world, and she loves to put places she's
lived/traveled into her stories!
****
Email: William@NineStarPress.com
Website: www.NineStarPress.com
Facebook: NineStar Press
Twitter:
@NineStarPress
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