Christmas in Killarney

Cash Cole

Christmas in Killarney
Copyright © December 2009 by Cash Cole
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eISBN 978-1-60737-464-0
Editor: Sherri Lynn
Cover Artist: Croco Designs
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About this Title

Genre: LGBT Ménage

Waking up naked in church has a way of distracting writer Colin Zachary from the writer's

block that plagues him. Harry Gill, who rescues him, is sympathetic and has altruistic intentions

until he gets up close and personal with his sexy new charge. Ditto for Harry's significant other,

Morgan O'Hanlon.

The weather is miserable, and Colin has no choice but to stay with the handsome hunks,

but he's a workaholic who hasn't been laid since Santa's last visit, and all he can think about is

easing his aching body and lonely heart. Not a problem. Harry and Morgan want him under their

Christmas tree, in their bed, in the snow—any way they can have him.

Sex aside, Colin can't concentrate to finish an assigned deadline. Harry is up to his ears in

Christmas orders, while Morg is beside himself with grief and worry that so many families will

be without funds because he has misplaced their checks. The bar's nemesis, who has tried

unsuccessfully for years to buy the business, calls on them, offering money if Morg will sell

O'Hanlon's Pub to him.

Can hot sex and a cool Santa save Christmas in Killarney?

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and

situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, male/male sexual

practices, ménage (m/m/m).

Chapter One

The angels' wings, the halos' sheen
The prettiest sight you've ever seen

Is Christmas in Killarney

Till you're naked in church alone

The first thing Colin Zachary noticed when his eyes focused was the enormous, dimly lit

cross with a crucified Christ looming several feet in the air above his head. Like some ominous

specter, judging him, and he had no idea what he'd done to earn the rebuke. Then again, he was

back home in Ireland, land of the banshee. Who knew what curse might have attached itself to

him?

His second realization, after he felt a chill, was that he was butt naked.

Colin blinked rapidly, thoughts racing in his mind until his brain screeched to a grinding

halt. He was on his back, yet the world appeared to be spinning. Breathe, Colin, breathe. How

did you get here? Why are you naked in church?

Sweeping the hands at his sides toward his chest to see if anything impeded his rising, he

felt a scratchy Berber carpet graze his palms. Then he felt the offending object that had caused

his fall. Groaning, he closed his eyes momentarily, remembering how he got there.

Jeff, his sister Shelly's son… Jeffrey's Christmas pageant, in which the eight-year-old had

portrayed Joseph. Shelly had forgotten a plastic food container that had held cupcakes, and she'd

sent him back for what she'd declared was an invaluable piece of motherly kitchen equipment,

telling him she'd meet up with him later to get it. Then he'd been stopped by a parishioner who

hadn't seen him in years. The church had closed down around them while the elderly lady had

gabbed and prodded him with questions, while occasionally commenting on his big muscles and

how he was no longer a little boy.

Colin had found Shelly's tray in the fellowship hall several yards from where they'd been

standing, and he'd made it back, past the disarray of angels' glittering cardboard wings, through a

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mine of tinsel halos. He'd managed to walk all the way to the baptistery, with one turn left to go

before reaching the main auditorium, when the lights went out and he was pitched into total

darkness. He'd tripped over something long and hard, the cupcake container had gone flying, and

he'd heard a splash.

Ass that he was, he'd rubbed his sore legs, then followed the sound of plastic hitting water,

crawled up the few steps to the pool, and leaned, reaching for what he assumed would be a

bobbing cupcake tray. That's when he'd fallen in and come up sputtering, soaked to the bone.

Colin opened his eyes, his mind more lucid. Okay, so that explains the damp. What about

the nude? He searched his boggled memory bank.

He'd found the plastic food container and climbed out of the pool, stripped out of his soggy

clothing, only to trip again, most likely because of the same damned pole. I remember!

He searched in the dark until he found the shepherd's crook used by one of the three

prepubescent wise men. Even the fact that he was naked in God's house didn't keep him from

swearing once he'd latched onto the not-so-sturdy stick. “Gotcha, goddamn it.”

Echoes of his own voice reverberated throughout the empty church, giving him the heebie-

jeebies. Point taken, Lord—just you and me, and I'm outta here if you'll give me a few minutes to

find my clothes.

He performed an abdominal crunch, rocked forward slowly, letting his back and neck pop,

and prayed he hadn't pissed himself…or worse. It'd be difficult enough explaining the wet floor

to Father John after telling him what had happened. First things first, he thought, making sure the

family jewels were intact. Next, he groped for his clothes and shoes and made the decision not to

don them just yet.

Wandering barefoot about the room where the kids had changed into their costumes, he

found what felt like terrycloth and ran it down the length of his arm to check for size. Good

enough. Probably a towel used as one of the wise men's turbans. Please, please, please let it be

big enough to go around my waist, and please bless the little shit who left it here, especially if

he's the same shit who left that friggin' staff that tripped me. Not that anyone was there to see

him in his birthday suit, but the proverbial fig leaf gave Colin a small measure of comfort,

because…who knew what might happen next?

Christmas in Killarney

3

Nature called, and he decided that since he was alone, he'd take care of business, check his

appearance in the mirror, if the bathroom had one, dry off, then dress and leave before someone

investigated and discovered that Christ wasn't the only one occupying the sanctuary.

His reflection in the tiny church-bathroom mirror indicated he wasn't dreaming, that it was

indeed his five-ten frame wrapped in a towel. Same chocolate brown eyes and hair, heart-shaped

face, and perpetual five-o'clock shadow. He was freezing his nuts off. If only he'd gone to Kings

Beach back home, where Australia was in the midst of a summer heat wave. He could be getting

a tan instead of frostbite every time he stepped outside. At least at Kings, or Queens, as he and

his friends usually called it, he'd be warm. But then he'd have missed having family at Christmas,

since the only family he had now were his sister and her brood.

Once he'd washed his face and examined himself for bruises, he was about to turn out the

bathroom light, when he heard a noise. Shit. And here I am naked, he reminded himself. What if

they lock me inside? I don't even have my car keys—they're in my pants pocket.

Goose, he thought. You can unlock the damned door, unless it's a dead bolt, and surely

they've got a phone, even though you are miles from town.

He left the light on so he could find his way back to the baptistery, where he'd first fallen,

and he prayed he wouldn't scare the hell out of whoever had come back.

When he got to the small pool where he'd left his clothing, however, he was in for yet

another holiday surprise. His clothes were gone. Whoever had come into the church had to have

gathered his wet things and taken them.

Colin didn't care why—all he knew was that even if he could weather the embarrassment,

he'd not survive the subzero temperatures.

His shaking fingers searched in the semidarkness, then flipped the latch and cracked the

double front doors to the church, shivering as cold air blasted him. A friggin' blizzard. Great.

Then in the moonlight he saw a well-bundled figure with a hooded down jacket, and the guy was

hastily walking against the wind toward an SUV, with Colin's clothing in his arms.

“Hey!” Shitshitshitshitshit. Don't let him get away. This isn't happening. Colin slid down

the steps, holding onto the ice-covered rails, all the while muttering and bargaining with God

under his breath. Lord, just give me my clothes. I know I'm a sinner and that I haven't been inside

a church for years until now, but I promise I'll do better.

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He plunged into the snow, barely registering the flurries that whipped his face and body

and the ice and snow that lashed onto his feet. “Wait!”

Colin stumbled and fell, then came up with a mouthful of snow and still shouting. “Hey—

don't do that. I'm here!” You son of a bitch. Not you, Lord. The son of a bitch stealing my clothes.

Look, I'll go to church, I'll study the Ten Commandments and the beatitudes, whatever you like,

and I'll memorize every fucking verse. Just don't let them take my clothes.

He waved and hollered louder. Finally, whoever had taken his clothing turned. Colin

started to laugh with joy, then realized he might have come up when he'd fallen, but his towel

hadn't.

Harry Gill had seen a lot of strange things in his thirty years, and he'd done most of them,

but he'd never witnessed such a sight. A naked man running from a church. He absentmindedly

crossed himself with his free hand, mumbling aloud the verse his mum had taught him.

“Spectacles, testicles, wallet, and watch.”

He'd had the holiday spirit for days and had been cooking up a storm at O'Hanlon's Bar &

Grill, which he managed for his partner, Morgan. He'd only arrived home an hour ago and had

been enjoying a fresh cup of coffee when he'd looked out his kitchen window and seen the light

in the church a kilometer or so from the house he and Morgan shared. He'd almost not gone,

considering the weather, but then he'd spotted the small sports car and figured some poor bastard

had been stranded.

Stranded was right. The bugger didn't even have his clothes. Thanks to me, Harry

reminded himself.

He'd gone inside to see why the light was on, and when he couldn't find anyone, he'd found

the soggy clothes lying on the floor. Fastidious as Father John Carmichael was, Harry knew the

priest didn't know about the clothes littering and dampening his carpets. Christmas spirit filling

him, Harry had thought he'd do the samaritan thing and clean up.

Well, now he knew who'd lost his clothing.

Harry opened his vehicle and tossed the clothing onto the floor in the back, then walked

back toward the naked man. “Father John lock you in or something?” he asked upon approach.

The poor guy looked absolutely blue. “I-I…”

Christmas in Killarney

5

Harry thought quickly. The man looked as if he was already going into hypothermia.

“Back inside with you,” he instructed. And when the fellow didn't budge, Harry picked him up

and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of Shepody potatoes and made for the church's front

door.

Inside, he set the guy on his feet and looked around before releasing him. “Fuck, John.

Where's your office?” Harry searched and didn't see anything but rows of benches in the back of

the sanctuary. He took the man over to one and had him curl up on it. “Stay there—I'll be back in

a second or two. Don't move.”

Harry took off his jacket and placed it over the man's shivering figure. He had an old

blanket in his SUV that he'd used for his dog a time or two so Rascal's paws wouldn't muddy up

the seat covers. Harry hated having nothing to offer but an unwashed blanket, but it was better

than nothing.

Minutes later, he'd closed the church doors and had them both inside the SUV and

motoring toward the house. His guest wasn't talkative, even though he'd tried a time or two to

communicate.

“We'll be home in a jiff,” Harry told him, cranking up the heat. “Just don't pass out on me.

I'm Harry, by the way. We're several kilometers from town, and nobody's open to take you

anyway except the clinic on the far end of town.” He stared through the car's windshield. “Not

that anyone's getting there for a couple of days. Not in this blizzard.”

Morgan O'Hanlon had driven up to the long driveway leading to his home just in time to

see his lover traveling toward the church. He was too far behind to roll down the window and

shout at Harry, and there was nothing at that end of the road for kilometers other than St. Finian's

Church, although Morg couldn't think of a good reason Harry would be going in that direction

unless he was headed for the priest's residence, a good kilometer on the other side.

“Crazy lad,” he muttered with a smile. He knew Harry, or Handsome Harry, as some of the

villagers called him, had been cooking all day and that Father John's Christmas pageant had been

that night. Harry was most likely taking a pot of stew and some fresh-baked bread to John.

Probably was worried the priest hadn't eaten. John was a strange little queen who watched his

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weight like other men watched their wallets. Always afraid of gaining a kilogram or losing his

hair. Vain creature, even though adorable.

Morg flexed his tired muscles. He'd been loading supplies from the truck that had shown

up late at the pub, and he was blasted tired and in need of a good hot meal and a fuck. He sniffed

his clothes as he shed them then turned on the water so it would be warm by the time he stepped

inside. “Shit, man,” he said to himself, dropping the clothes on the floor and reaching for the

soap.

Rascal came into the room to investigate. Morg rubbed the dog's muzzle and kissed him

smack on the nose, then shooed him out of the bathroom.

He stepped inside the shower, shut the shower curtain, and lathered his hairy chest, then

his armpits, ass, and cock. Thank Christ the holiday was only days away. The week before

Christmas was always a busy time at the pub, and while he and Harry turned a good profit, Morg

was always delighted to have a day or two off to enjoy his lover's company, eat Harry's home-

cooked meals, and keep to himself.

He hummed as he showered, thinking of his lover and the delicious aromas that would

soon be coming from their kitchen. He and Harry had met years earlier when both were knocking

about Europe, wondering what to do with their lives. Once they found each other, it didn't really

matter, as long as they were together. Morg's university degrees were in finance and business,

while Harry's passions were cooking and basically just being himself, chatting it up with

customers, and flashing those pearly white teeth. It had been only natural to buy the old pub and

turn it into their livelihood.

He chuckled as he braced himself against the shower stall and let the spray cover him. “Oh,

God, Harry, I've missed you today.” He cranked the heat on the shower until it blasted his back

and buttocks with fiery finesse, and the tense muscles in his back and shoulders finally gave way

to release.

Uptight Morg, who loved business but wanted to throttle most people, needed Harry's

calm, cheerful moods to lift him. Not to mention that great ass, whose cheeks fit so perfectly into

Morg's large hands. There wasn't a dog mean enough to bite Handsome Harry and not a man

stupid enough to mess with Morgan O'Hanlon, so between the two of them they managed quite

well.

Christmas in Killarney

7

Morg finished rinsing off and wrapped a large, fluffy bath sheet about his waist after he'd

dried off. He heard Rascal barking, then thought he heard the front door open and trekked into

the living room to find Harry depositing a man on a pallet beneath their Christmas tree. The

fellow was naked except for their yellow heeler's car blanket, and he was damp from head to toe.

Rascal was going nuts, sniffing him, and the poor man on the floor looked terrified.

“Back, Rascal. Here. Come with me.” Harry took the dog by the collar and led him into a

room down the hallway, then came back.

“Santa come early this year, Harry?” Morg asked, blinking as droplets of water he hadn't

captured ran from his hair into his eyes.

Harry sent him a lopsided grin, but Morg could see the concern in Harry's eyes. “Found

him stumbling out of the church,” Harry explained.

“You went to church?” Morg asked.

“I took his clothes.” Harry shucked his gloves and coat and stamped his feet on a mat near

the door.

Morg blinked. “I'm sure there's a logical explanation why you went to church to steal a

man's clothes, but…mightn't we get him a mug of coffee and cover his balls a little better before

you tell me?”

Colin stared at both his rescuer and the biggest, burliest, sexiest beast he'd ever seen. When

they stood side by side staring back at him, his mind registered that they were both a couple of

inches above six feet and that their combined sex appeal made him wish to God he had

something to cover his cock, which seemed to have thawed and risen like Lazarus from the dead.

“Has he spoken yet?” the big-chested man asked out of the corner of his mouth.

He'd set it in a fixed smile. Most likely in hopes, Colin thought, of not scaring the shit out

of me. It's not working. The man's voice was a deep, rich baritone that sent shivers down Colin's

spine.

The strawberry blond shook his head slowly, his deep blue eyes reflecting concern. “He

tried a time or two, but I couldn't tell what he was saying.”

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“Maybe he doesn't speak English.” The big guy shrugged. “All the better, I suppose,

because we'll most likely be havin' some conversations about that face and those big brown

eyes.”

The more-slender one elbowed his partner. “Don't be rude.”

“I'm just askin',” the bigger man said. “I mean, he's not a puppy you just brought home

from the pound, even if he is all eyes and nose holes right now and parked under our tree like a

new pup. I'm curious, ya know?”

Colin tried speaking, but his voice seemed to have deserted him. He cleared his throat and

tried again. “Th-thank you. For rescuing me, I mean.”

“He speaks English!” Harry chortled, clapping his palms together once.

They both beamed, and the darker of the two leaned forward, squatting, seemingly

oblivious to the fact that the terry wrap about his waist gaped, exposing his cock.

Colin blinked and tried not to stare, but it had to be the most massive weapon of sexual

destruction he'd come across. He shifted his gaze upward to lock with a pair of light hazel eyes

with gold flecks. They were almost hooded, thanks to his shaggy, dark brows.

“You'll frighten him,” cautioned the Good Samaritan, who still stood.

The big guy laughed. “He's not scared—he's horny. Look at him.” He nodded toward

Colin's cock, which had leaped from between the folds of the blanket he wore. “Hmm. Nice.” He

saw where Colin stared and winked. “Naughty boy. Wait till I know you better, and you can do

whatever you want with it.”

Colin flushed from toes to forehead.

“Never mind him.” The blond nudged his friend aside, forcing him to stand and back

away. Then he stuck out his hand. “In case you didn't hear me earlier, I'm Harry, and this is

Morgan. Just call him Morg. Let's get you into the shower and find you something to wear.”

Colin accepted the help and rose. He didn't know whether to be offended or pleased at the

looks in both their eyes. They eyed him as if he were some strange, cute animal they'd found.

“He's a bit shorter, with not much meat on his bones. I doubt anything of ours will fit 'im,”

Morgan said. “If you don't mind me askin', where are your clothes?”

Christmas in Killarney

9

Harry slapped a hand to his forehead before Colin could speak. “I left them on the

floorboard of the car. Be right back.” He picked up the coat he'd taken off. “Morg, take him to

the shower?” Then he whispered something in Morgan's ear.

Morg nodded. “My pleasure. This way, little man.”

Colin set his jaw. Little man? He might be shorter than the other two, but he'd never felt

small until now. He reluctantly handed over the blanket, exposing himself, once they got to the

shower.

Morg chuckled. “Might have a better time of it in there without the blanket, right?”

Colin stepped into the shower and watched as the big man set the knobs and closed the

curtain. The first blast of water was cold, but almost immediately he felt a pulsing, hot spray

enveloping him. He leaned into it, thankful he hadn't needed to spend the night in the church

with only soggy clothes or a thin towel to cover him.

“You'll find a bar of soap up on the window ledge,” Morg said.

Colin jumped, realizing he wasn't alone. He looked for the soap, found it, and worked it

back and forth in his hands, wondering if Morg could see through the shower curtain.

The bigger man was obviously nonplussed by Colin's nakedness or having a stranger in his

home. In fact, he was quite chatty.

“We don't get many folks from out of town up this way,” Morg said. “What brings you

here?”

Colin had lived in a dormitory during his university years for a spell, but it'd been a long

time since he'd shared quarters with anyone, and he'd never talked to someone he didn't know

through a thin shower curtain. His heart thundered against his ribs at both the probable

impropriety and the possible danger. He supposed if one of them had wanted to harm him,

however, they'd have done so by now.

“My older sister lives here. We grew up in Dublin before our parents died.”

“Oh, I'm sorry for your loss, lad.”

Colin felt the beginnings of a smile tickle the corners of his lips. Lad. “Thanks. It was a

long time ago. Anyway, she married and lives here with her husband and four children. I took a

job in Brisbane once I graduated.”

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“You're an Aussie, then? How marvelous. I love the Aussies.”

“I'm Irish,” Colin reminded him. “But I've lived in Oz for several years.”

“Then you're an Irish Aussie,” Morg said with a hint of satisfaction. “Nothin' wrong with

spreadin' your talents elsewhere, as long as you don't forget where home is, right?”

Colin was beginning to warm to Morg's propensity for ending his sentences as questions.

He was a big, lovable bear of a man, and while he looked like a virgin's nightmare, Colin was no

virgin and rather liked bears. He had a thing for athletic blonds with runners' bodies too, come to

think of it. His hands drifted to his cock and balls as he compared the two men in his mind. Then

the thought that Morg might be able to see him, or at least his silhouette, through the curtain

made him self-conscious, and he stopped before he started playing with himself.

“So you're from Dublin, eh? Harry's a Gill. They hail from County Armagh, on the east

coast, only a short ways from Dublin. They have their own castle, ya know? Well, did. I mean,

there are millions of the Gills now, so it's not like Harry can lay claim to it or anything, but I like

to rib him about it, call him my rich boyfriend. Makes him happy.”

Colin listened to Morg chatter, envying the way he said boyfriend and wishing he had

someone who was so obviously in love with him. Not that he'd taken the time during the past few

years to form any sort of close attachment.

“How long have the two of you been together?” Colin asked.

“Forever? Seems we met about ten years ago in Belgium, found out we were both of the

Blarney persuasion, that we come by it naturally, that is. Bummed around Europe together a bit,

ran out of money, and came home. I'm from here, and I had a place in town before I bought the

pub. Well, I bought it, and then Harry came along. I consider it ours. You'll have to go with us

tomorrow if, weather permits. We're having a Christmas party. Harry's our cook, and a better one

you'll never meet. He loves this time of the year. I swear, he's part elf.”

Morg parted the shower curtain, exposing Colin to Morg's friendly face. “You wouldn't

like a mug of coffee, would you?”

Colin nodded. “Love it. Thanks.” He smiled weakly. Did the big guy have no personal

boundaries whatsoever?

Christmas in Killarney

11

Morg grinned, and Colin almost shot off a load just looking at him. If Harry had the face,

Morg had the most sex appeal. All the man had to do was smile or lift an eyebrow expressively,

and already Colin was willing to bow down and say yes, master to anything Morg asked of him.

“Good God, man.” Morg stared at Colin's erection. “How long's it been since you had that

thing serviced?”

“Since last Christmas.” The words were out before Colin could stop himself.

Morg nodded, but he didn't make fun of him. “We need to take care of that for you before

you give yourself a coronary.” He closed the curtain, but Colin could tell he was still on the other

side of it.

“Harry's gone back to the church to retrieve the rest of your belongings from your vehicle,”

Morg told him. “Hope that's all right, because you won't be driving that car anytime soon.”

Shit. Really? “Weather's that bad?” Colin asked.

“Let's put it this way. I have a four-wheel drive. Big fucker. And I'll be lucky if I make it to

work tomorrow, much less throw a party. Don't have a choice, even if I have to walk. Need to do

payroll and put up more of the supplies. I didn't quite finish before I came home.”

Colin didn't know what to say. Did that mean he'd be stranded? Not that the situation

seemed so bad, considering the two men who would be accommodating him.

“I'll pay you for lodging me,” he said.

“Bullshit. You'll do no such thing. What else would we do, dry you off, only to send you

back out in this miserable shit?”

Then Colin heard the big man leave. He didn't know whether to be relieved or irritated. It

seemed ever since he'd left Oz, he'd been at the mercy of the weather or the kindness of

strangers. He was beginning to feel like Blanche DuBois. Only Tennessee Williams's ditzy

heroine had been raped and lost all her marbles. His marbles were intact, and he didn't figure he'd

put up too much of a fuss if Harry or Morg wanted sex. Hardly. It was all he could do to keep

from thinking of them. They'd be lucky if they weren't the ones assaulted.

Fucking weather. Fucking writer's block. Looked like he wouldn't make that deadline his

editor had requested. Colin snorted. Demanded was more like it. The short stories he'd been

doing for the men's magazine where he worked were to be turned in six months in advance, and

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this time Rupert Evans, the managing editor, had instructed him to have a novel they could

serialize.

“We're paying you well enough, Colin,” Rupert had told him. “Give me something meaty.

Something with real grit and emotion, something to make our readers sit on the edge of their

seats. You can do it.”

Colin sagged against the shower wall, all the frustration over the evening's events

evaporating. Whatever anger he'd felt at the kid who'd caused him to fall in the first place? Gone.

His adrenaline rush at finding himself naked in church? Dissolved. He was somewhere in limbo

between feeling peaceful and lethargic, hopeless and accepting. And he was hungry.

He was about to turn off the shower, when he realized he had no towel, only the musty

blanket that had been wrapped about him, if it was even still in the room.

The shower curtain opened again, and Morg thrust a cup of steaming coffee at him. “Take

a sip now before you get out. Better to have heat inside you—the air's a bit chill in the house.”

Colin gratefully did as he was told. The coffee was strong and laced with liquor. He stifled

a sputter.

Morg laughed. “Irish coffee, yes? Best in the world, if I do say so.” He turned and came

back with a towel much like the one he had on, only this one was folded and obviously clean.

Colin handed back the coffee, turned off the water, and grabbed the towel. “Thanks again.”

“You're welcome.” Morg still had the grin.

I am in such trouble, Colin thought.

Christmas in Killarney

13

Chapter Two

It's nice to know that there are lads

Who'll welcome you into their hearts and pad

Harry had a devil of a time opening Colin's car. Good thing, he thought, that Morg was a

fanatic about having him keep a good flashlight with spare batteries, several cans of deicer, and

plenty of ice scrapers in his vehicle. He figured while he was there, he might as well grab

everything inside, since it didn't look as if the weather would permit anyone to drive off within

the next few days. He hoped his guest wasn't some bitch who'd complain. At least the fellow

would have his luggage and whatever was inside.

He shone the flashlight on the interior of the car and surveyed the stash as he retrieved it.

Two extraordinarily heavy suitcases. Okay, so the man was a bit of a fashionista. Maybe he

planned on staying awhile. Laptop case. Harry checked inside, more out of curiosity than to see

if Colin was hiding anything weird. Just the usual—fancy new laptop, cords, thumb drives, and a

stack of men's magazines, both inside the case and scattered on the floor.

Harry nodded. Bit much for reading material on the plane. Maybe, considering the rest of

the contents, Colin was a writer of sorts.

He continued his exploration. Bag of stale doughnuts. Fuck that. Harry'd fatten him up

with good home cooking, so he left the pastries. A case of CDs that looked promising.

“What, no porn?” he mumbled in disappointment. That was okay too. If Colin were so

inclined, they'd give him plenty to watch, but Harry hoped Colin was more participant than

voyeur.

As he was about to lock up the car, Harry spied an envelope on the floorboard. He started

to pop it into the laptop bag and had a moment of guilt. He knew he shouldn't read the lad's mail,

but…after all, he and Morg would have Colin as a guest for at least three or four nights. Didn't

seem fair not to know whom they were inviting into their home and lives. He warred with

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himself for several seconds before the wind started biting into what skin was exposed beneath his

ski mask.

“Shit. Sorry, Colin.” The two-page letter had already been opened, so Harry read it. His

heart sank for Colin as he scanned the words somebody named Rupert had typed. One passage in

particular was rather poignant.

Sorry, Colin. You know I love your writing, but the last few pieces you've turned in were

pretty much shit. You know it, and I know it. Both our jobs are on the line this time. I've backed

you until we're both in a bit of a jam now. The powers that be want exceptional from both of us,

not just good. Knock my socks off. Give me something I can take to the board that will convince

them to keep us both on. Dig deep. Write from your gut instead of your head this time. Our

readers don't want to be educated anymore. They want to be entertained. Put yourself on the

page. You can do it. Give me a story that rings true and is sexy.

Harry folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. He shouldn't give a shit. He'd only

just met Colin, but something about the young man's puppy-dog eyes was just sad. Whatever was

holding him back from writing a good story, well…looked like his job was on the line, and most

likely his ego, if Harry was any judge of character. He'd seen how mortified Colin had been

when Harry saw him in his birthday suit. Not that the suit in question wasn't exceptionally

beautiful. Harry had also seen the way Colin had behaved around Morg, as if he was both

entranced and frightened. Morg could do that to the strongest of men, though. Every woman,

man, and dog they encountered wanted to hump Harry's hunk.

He wished he hadn't read the letter. He placed it back on the floorboard where he'd found it

and picked up one of the magazines to see what they were like before he took them home to

Colin. Hmm. Literary but highbrow sexy. A magazine for both the thinking and the feeling

types.

Harry found Colin's byline in the table of contents and flipped to the story. Not bad.

Typical pulp, though, nothing that rang true.

Well, that did it. He and Morg would just have to find a way to inspire their young guest

while they had him, and Harry had a plan. He and Morg hadn't had much time for one another

Christmas in Killarney

15

the past few days, and they'd already discussed having a ménage, if they found the right partner.

Maybe they were due. Maybe Colin was too.

* * * * *

Colin hadn't meant to eat so much, considering he'd eaten earlier, but the stew Harry had

warmed up had been delicious, as good as any meal he'd had in a five-star restaurant. After his

shower, he'd donned one of Harry's shorter robes that Morg had secured for him, had another cup

of coffee, then munched on some bread while Harry fussed about in the kitchen.

Then he'd helped clean up the kitchen, despite Harry's protests. It made him feel more at

home to putter about the place, drying plates and putting them away. Once most of the dishes

had been done, however, Harry shooed him away, telling him to get a feel for the place in case

he wanted a glass of water or a sandwich in the middle of the night.

As Colin's body resumed its normal temperature and his jittery nerves calmed down, he

took time to take in his surroundings.

The cottage was comfy, cozy, perfect for two men. Definitely masculine, with its wood-

beam ceiling and mantel and Stickley-type furniture, yet decidedly graceful, with soft touches

here and there, such as with the lace curtains and the occasional photo. The two men were

apparently adventurous and loved to travel, he surmised, looking at various framed shots of them

in places he recognized.

He warmed to see the square in Toronto where he'd gone to a gay pride parade with Shelly,

and her friend Kaenar. The Eiffel Tower, the Swiss mountains, even the coast of Greece and a

village in what appeared to be Tibet. Looked like his new friends and he had a lot in common.

There were moments of sadness as he looked, though, because while he lived in a high-rise

apartment in Brisbane, they occupied what he considered a real home. The occupants here had

settled and had something he didn't but longed for—stability.

His hosts came into the living area.

“You've quit eating, then?” Morg's statement was once again a question.

Colin smiled ruefully. “I'm stuffed. The meal was wonderful, Harry.”

His host beamed. “Thanks. My mum gave me the recipe. I'll share it if you like.” Harry

lifted an eyebrow. “Do you cook?”

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Colin held up a forefinger. “Have a callus from pushing the microwave for frozen dinners.”

Harry looked horrified. “God, man. That's blasphemy to a cook.”

“A chef, not just a cook,” Morg added affectionately. “I don't know what I'd do without

him, Colin, because I don't cook much either. Used to, but Harry took over much of what goes

on at the pub.” He studied Colin. “So if you don't cook, what do you do?”

“I write. Sort of.” Colin took a deep breath. “Actually, that's about all I do, and I don't even

do that well anymore. Used to be all I wanted to do.”

“What happened?” Morg seemed genuinely interested.

Colin shrugged. “I think I just got so busy earning a living that I forgot how to have a life.

My writing's dead now, boring as hell.”

“Oh, I'm sure that's not quite the case. You probably just need a vacation.” Then he

winked, but his face was kind. “Not to mention, you need to take care of that other problem we

discussed earlier.”

When he looked deliberately at Colin's cock, Colin felt himself flush hotly with

embarrassment. Fucking hell, the man had a way of cutting to the chase. Before Colin could so

much as cough, much less change the subject, Morg proceeded to tell Harry what was what.

“Colin here says he hasn't been laid since last Christmas, Harry. Now that's fucking

criminal, isn't it?”

Harry looked as if Morg had thrown cold water on him. He tried not to laugh, but it didn't

work. Colin watched as Harry's features went from frozen to fucking funny.

Morg kept chatting. “Well, I'm sure he's wanked off, Harry, but c'mon, surely while he's

here we can do something to relieve some of the poor lad's frustrations, no?”

He turned back to Colin. “Harry here has the most talented tongue in the hemisphere. I

swear to God.”

“Are you offering me up on loan, love?” Harry asked. “Should I get business cards to hand

out at the pub?”

Morg snorted. “None of that now. I was just being neighborly.”

“Neighborly, my left nut, Morgan O'Hanlon. You were suggesting I blow the fellow,

without so much as consulting me.”

Christmas in Killarney

17

“He's not offended,” Morg defended himself. “Why should you be? It was a compliment,

by God. You're bloody marvelous.”

Harry stifled a smile and tried to look stern, but the look on Morg's face did him in. He

burst into laughter, shrugging in apology to Colin.

Now Colin was laughing with Harry. There wasn't much else he could do, other than make

an ass of himself. He'd never considered his workaholic predicament particularly amusing until

then, but when he thought about it, it was laughable. Pitiable but still funny.

He glanced at the antique clock on the mantel just past their heads. Damn, nearly midnight.

No wonder he was so tired. He stood, wrapping the robe securely about him. “I appreciate the

offer, but I have to pass tonight.”

Morg shook his head. “A man passing up the opportunity to have sex with the best. That's

just wrong. It's unnatural.”

“Come to bed, Morgan,” Harry said. “I'll show our guest back to his room and tuck him in,

but something tells me he'll be asleep before you get a stiffy.”

Morg snorted. “You'd lose that bet. G'night, lad. Sleep well.” He began turning off lights.

“Colin, if you change your mind, our room is across the hall. Not that you won't be able to find

us tonight.”

* * * * *

“Do you think he'll be all right?” Morg asked as they climbed into bed. He plumped his

pillows, then patted a place for Harry to lie beside him.

Harry nodded, remembering what he'd read in Colin's car. “I do have something to tell you,

though.” He relayed what he'd learned to his partner.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Morg whispered. “And I thought maybe he was just horny. No

wonder the lad is so stressed.”

Harry snuggled into Morgan's arms and sighed. “Those stories I looked at were pretty tame

compared to what I figured he'd write. I mean, you saw him. He's gorgeous. There's no need for

him to be alone.”

“Can't rescue him like some homeless creature,” Morg said. “I like him too, but it's not like

he's up for adoption, so don't go getting any notions.”

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Harry chuckled. “I don't want to adopt him. He's cute, and he's sexy as hell. Can't look at

him as a boy.”

“Yeah. To be honest, I wouldn't have minded the threesome. You okay with that?” Morg

asked.

“Yep. But he's not ready.” Harry felt Morg reaching for him. “You, however, are more

than ready, I take it.”

“Yes indeed.” Morg pulled Harry into a bear hug and kissed him long and hard. “I love

you more than life itself, Harry, and you are plenty man enough for me. I hope you know that.”

Harry positioned himself above Morgan. “I've never doubted it, Morgan O'Hanlon, and

you know I feel the same way. So whatever happens with our young friend in there, you and I

are fine. No regrets.”

Morg lifted himself on his elbows and kissed Harry again. “Nope. Only love.”

Harry pushed Morg back onto the bed and whispered, “Hang on.”

“What?”

Harry leaped from the bed and opened their door, leaving it cracked before he crawled

back under the covers.

“You giving him a peep show?” Morg asked.

“If he wants one,” Harry said, grinning in the dark, even though Morg couldn't see him.

“Look at it this way. You and I know we have an audience, if he's still awake. That alone should

liven things up for you tonight.”

“I don't need…”

“Yes, yes, but I know you.” Harry reached between them and stroked Morg's cock. “As for

our friend, if we make noise, it won't hurt him in the least. If nothing else, it'll give him a little

night music, if you will, something to stroke to tonight while he's alone.”

Morgan's laugh was hearty. “I do believe you're enjoying yourself.”

Harry lowered himself and sucked Morg's hard cock into his mouth. He gave it several

long strokes and licks before raising his head. “A little night music, remember?”

Christmas in Killarney

19

Morg laughed, then gave an exaggerated moan of pleasure, but Harry wasn't satisfied with

pseudoapplause. He gave the blowjob all he had, and knew by the swell of Morg's balls and cock

that Morg's enjoyment was anything but a show.

Soon he heard the sounds he loved when Morg was truly into it. The deep, low, throaty

moans and guttural groans, the deeper breaths followed by more-shallow ones when his lover

was ready to come. Morg had never been slow to arouse, and Harry loved working him into a

total frenzy. That was when Morg could stand it no more and didn't want to come without him.

True to form, he brought Morg to the precipice, ready to shoot a big load, when Morg's

refusal to come without him overrode whatever pleasure he was feeling. Morg always followed

by running tense fingers through Harry's hair, then turning total alpha on him.

“Harry, now.”

Harry lifted his head. “I can't hear you, Morgan.”

Morg's voice was ragged. “Goddamn it, Harry. Now!”

Harry ignored him and continued sucking and licking, knowing exactly what would

happen next.

Morg pulled him up by his shoulders and rolled Harry over onto his stomach, his large

hands grabbing Harry's ass and spreading his cheeks.

“You wanker,” Morg said with a chuckle. “You know I don't want to finish without you.”

He spat on his hand, then slipped two beefy fingers inside Harry's hole, spreading him, readying

him.

Harry laughed, loving the feel of Morgan's cock sliding into him, filling him, completing

him. He gripped the iron bars of their headboard, fingers tightening as Morg began pumping.

Morg's balls slapped time on Harry's ass with every thrust, and Harry relished their rhythm.

The old headboard whacked against the wall, and Harry took a secret pleasure in knowing

Colin heard every thump. The headboard wanted painting, and the wall needed repair, but they

were symbols to Harry of good times with Morgan, and until the wall caved in or the bed broke,

he hoped they banged the shit out of them both.

“Fuck me, Morgan. Fuck me hard.” Harry groaned. “Yeah, that's it.”

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He knew Morg liked it when he talked dirty to him too. There was nobody around to hear

other nights, but this time…they both knew that they might not be the only performers in the

house. Morg's passion seemed fueled by the knowledge, and he did as Harry asked.

“Jesus, Harry, your ass is so hot, so nice.” Morg grunted. “I love fucking you.”

The words were an endearment, and Harry knew Morg meant it. He braced himself as his

emotions shot into high gear. As big as Morg was, he was still a gentle lover. Thorough but kind,

rough but sweet, and Harry loved him for more than his big cock. He loved him for his big heart.

The big man always gave as well, if not better, than he got, and he never said no to whatever

Harry wanted or needed.

“I love you, Morgan,” Harry said. “I love you.”

Morg exploded inside of him, and the hot juices sluicing up Harry's ass were all he needed

as incentive to join him.

“Ah!” he shouted, reaching beneath him to tug on his cock.

In the next room, Colin's hands worked feverishly on his shaft. He'd climbed into bed

reluctantly, so close to admitting to his new friends that he indeed wanted to join them, not just

be serviced by one of them. His pride almost kept him from admitting even to himself that he

longed for their touch, so he stayed silent, fondling himself at first, then going for an all-out solo

cumfest as he heard the sounds nearby.

Their voices alone were erotic. Just hearing them exchange I love yous was painfully

sweet. Their grunts and groans, however, nearly put him over the edge of reason.

He'd worked on himself silently, wishing he could voice his frustration, because it was

more than pleasure he felt, and he cursed his inability to communicate, to connect.

Colin rolled his head back, straining to climax. He bit his lower lip until pain registered,

and even then he could barely keep silent. He felt… He didn't know what. When, he asked

himself, had sex become a painful secret with him, something not to be shared? When had he

stopped interacting with others, become so detached that he had no one in which to confide, no

one to love?

When his brain registered the word love, he felt the biggest sense of loss, even as he came,

and tears welled, then spilled as it hit him full force what he'd longed for, what he'd missed.

Christmas in Killarney

21

Release should never be lonely, he thought as he silently cried. There was nothing wrong

with masturbation, but there was something definitely amiss, and now that he realized what it

was, he didn't know what to do about it.

Well, not like he hadn't had offers, as recently as tonight. Question was, what

would…what could…he do about it tomorrow?

Was this what was lacking in his work? Was this what Rupert had meant about his writing

lacking the luster it once had?

Colin felt more than his erection deflate. He felt empty. Hollow. Miserable. And after the

pain came anger with himself for letting things go to hell as they had. Sure, he had money, but a

lot of good it did him if he didn't enjoy spending it, if he couldn't be happy alone.

He sighed and wiped his eyes, vowing that this would be the last night he'd be alone by

choice. Tomorrow, he determined, he'd also pull out the laptop and start writing. He wasn't sure

what, but he'd think of something. He'd write; he'd snap out of the depression that had overtaken

both his personal and professional lives.

Didn't make sense to become an emotional hermit, to shelter himself from what he wanted

most, love. And he'd start with the two in the other room. Not feed off them but learn from them.

Find something in their relationship with one another to fuel his muse and kick-start not only his

writing but his goddamned life.

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Chapter Three

And Santa Claus, of course, is gay

A man you'd definitely like to lay

“You're up early,” Harry commented, coming into the kitchen. He paused on his way to the

coffeemaker to drop a kiss on top of Colin's head, then realized what he'd done and waited for

the younger man to jump, startled. But whatever Colin was engrossed in seemed to have

captured all his interest.

“Yes, hello,” Colin said. He sounded absentminded, but Harry didn't mind. His young

friend was furiously typing on the laptop at the kitchen table. Interesting.

Harry filled the reservoir with water, measured the coffee, and watched out of the corner of

his eye. He and Morg had fallen asleep in one another's arms, and Harry had slept like a baby.

He'd not heard Colin's door open, much less sounds of him moving about the house. Harry

wondered how long he'd been up, and asked.

A low mmm was the only response he got.

Harry edged closer to peer over Colin's shoulder, trying nosily to read what it was Colin

was typing. He was surprised.

Derek Stone had been captured. It was unthinkable. The master of deception, caught by

two soldiers in the blistering-cold Ukraine, left in the darkened shack unless they disrupted his

sleep demanding sex or woke him for an hour or two of torture as they tried forcing him to

divulge his secrets. Little did they know that he was a survivor and that he'd been in worse jams.

Christmas was a hell of a time to be stranded and alone, though, halfway around the globe from

his native Ireland.

Christmas in Killarney

23

Colin looked up, and Harry stepped back, acting as if he'd not read a word. “Hope we

didn't keep you awake last night.”

“What?” Colin blinked. “No, of course not. Fell asleep immediately.”

“Oh,” Harry said, disappointed. Colin, however, looked dazed, and after what he'd just

read, Harry suspected his reply hadn't been entirely truthful. “Would you like a bit of coffee

while I prepare breakfast?”

Colin nodded and smiled. “Sure. Mind if I work while you're doing that?”

Harry gave himself a mental hug. Perhaps his midnight tumble with Morg had benefited all

parties in the house after all. “Go right ahead. I won't bother you.”

Now that he knew, though, he could hardly contain himself and keep from standing over

Colin to make sure he truly was being creative.

Who the hell was Derrick Stone? A new character? Colin's alter ego?

Harry smiled to himself. Hey, he didn't mind posing as the lad's captor and torturing him

with sex. Whatever worked, he told himself. As long as Colin was writing.

Colin lowered his head, his fingers flying over the keys. How endearing, Harry thought.

He'd never watched anyone write before, not unless it was a letter to a friend or relative. How

interesting.

Harry puttered about, pulling bacon, sausages, and whole cold potatoes out of the

refrigerator. He started cooking the meats and grated the potatoes then tossed them into a skillet

with peppers and onions. The whole time he hummed to himself. For some reason he couldn't

quite fathom, the house had taken on a different mood with Colin there. It was nice having

another man in the house, even if he was simply a guest at this point. Colin would be good

company while Morg was in town.

Morg had listened to the weather reports before he showered, and told Harry he might as

well stay home. “Businesses are closing right and left,” he'd said. “Doesn't make sense for both

of us to go to work when most likely we'll be closing early anyway. Marty lives in town and can

handle the bar and what little food will be ordered for next week. We already have everything we

need for tonight. If the weather is too bad for you to drive your car, just stay here and I'll come

back for you and Colin so we'll all be in one vehicle.”

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Good, thought Harry. More time for him to get better acquainted with Colin after Morgan

left for work.

* * * * *

Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Rupert. After another several minutes of writing, Colin

fired off an e-mail to his editor with smug satisfaction. So it was pulp. So what? It was good

pulp. Rupert wanted grit and sex; well, he'd by God give him both. He only had the first chapter

of Dirty Deeds, but he'd already put his hero, Derek, through the proverbial wringer, had given

him all manner of horrid things to deal with and overcome, and with the rough outline he'd done,

there'd be no problem keeping his momentum. He'd put his fucking character through all kinds of

hell before he was done with him.

Colin had spent his childhood in Dublin, which locale didn't get as much nasty weather as

its southwestern counterpart, Killarney, but he knew that the winter precipitation the area had

received was unusual for Ireland. While he was sorry business would be off for several in the

county, he was, nonetheless, delighted now that he'd not be writing about winter weather

conditions for his hero while sunbathing on the beach in Queens.

Probably why my writing hasn't rung true for ole Rupert, he thought ruefully.

“Thank you, mate.” He accepted the steaming mug of coffee from Harry, who sat across

from him at the table.

“You're quite welcome. I won't bother you—you seem to be on a roll,” Harry commented.

Colin grinned, hoping he didn't look too self-satisfied. “Not at all. Is it all right that I park

myself in here? I didn't know where you'd rather I be. I don't want to be in the way.”

“This spot is probably the best,” Harry said. “There's more light from the kitchen window,

easier on your eyes. Never know, you might be at it until long past dark.”

Colin self-consciously looked at his laptop. “I feel guilty for being glad of the weather,” he

admitted.

“Oh, it's delightful, isn't it?” Harry chimed in enthusiastically. “I'm hoping it'll snow a few

more inches so we can go sledding. There's a terrific mountain out back, and I've always wanted

to jump on a bobsled. Even better would be to have a snowmobile. There aren't many places

around here that sell them, but one of the fellows who comes into the bar mentioned he'd like to

get rid of his. It'd be a nice treat.”

Christmas in Killarney

25

Colin filed the information away, wondering how he might meet the man and ask him his

price. He'd owned one years ago, and the new ones cost as much as a small car, but a used

one…maybe…

“Shit!” he exclaimed. “I forgot to call my sister. She's probably worried sick about me. I

was supposed to show up at her house after the pageant last night.”

“Jesus, Colin.” Harry checked his watch. “It's almost seven o'clock. How long have you

been up, anyway?”

“Since five. Shit. My cell phone is probably dead as a doornail too. I should have charged

it before I left her house last night.”

“You haven't unpacked. Did you just arrive?”

“Yesterday. What with my nephew's Christmas program, dinner, all of that, I never had

time.”

“Ha. Good thing.” Harry winked. “You'd have been stranded with nothing to wear.”

The feeling that he'd be imposing crept over Colin again. “I feel bad about all of this. Are

you sure I couldn't get through if I started my car?”

“Yep. Morg listened to the weather reports, and they're ghastly. Haven't you looked

outside?”

Colin shook his head, then rose to peer out the kitchen window above the sink. Holy shit.

“Told you.” Harry came to stand beside him.

“Then if there's a party, I might be able to get my car out, right?” Colin felt a mix of

hopefulness and sadness at the thought he'd be able to leave.

“Nope. That little foreign job of yours isn't going anywhere, but we can take Morg's truck

into town for the party. Our customers live closer to the pub than we do. The roads look pretty

treacherous. They'll be worse tonight.”

Colin felt the taller man's breath against the back of his neck, and the attraction he'd felt the

night before hadn't diminished one iota. God, he'd never make it another night without grabbing

Harry and kissing the hell out of him. He felt an erection tenting his pants and was grateful he'd

packed a pair of flannel lounge pants that wouldn't bind him. Still. Shit. Wouldn't do for Harry to

see the boner that had risen.

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Colin adjusted his shaft as discreetly as possible, hoping Harry wasn't watching. “If my

cell isn't working, do you have a house phone?”

Harry nodded and pointed in the direction of the living room. “By the bookcase to the left

of the fireplace.”

Minutes later, Colin's sister was pissed off, then relieved. “Damn it, Colin, we've phoned

Father John, the hospitals, the police. Finally someone drove out and said they found a frozen

towel in the snow in front of the church and your car in the parking lot, but no sign of you.”

Colin quickly explained what had happened, omitting the part about hearing his roommates

having sex.

Shelly sniggered. “You fell into the baptistery?”

“Oh, shut up. Thanks for asking if I hurt myself.”

She howled. “I'm sorry. Well, at least you're with someone who's taking care of you. They

can't be all bad if they offered you dinner and a bed.”

“Say, do me a favor?” he asked. “Before we ring off, I need you to do something for me.

My cell phone is charging, and I don't even know if there's service out here, but these blokes

have a landline. I don't know the number, though. Hang on.”

“Wait, Colin—I've got caller ID.”

“Oh. Okay, then. See if you can find a man in Killarney willing to sell his snowmobile.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Shelly asked. “What the bloody hell are you going to do with

a snowmobile after you leave for Brisbane?”

“It's to be a gift for Harry and his mate. The men who took me in.”

“Bit pricey, isn't it? A hotel wouldn't cost you that much.”

“Shelly, I've got the money, and these two are marvelous. You'd like them.”

“Hmm. Sounds like you're getting along quite well with them.”

“Not like that.” Well, not yet, he told himself. “Will you do it?”

“Who the hell would I call, Colin? Not like there's a Snowmobile Club of Killarney, you

know.”

He thought a moment. “Phone O'Hanlon's Pub, or whatever it's called. Tell them you heard

one of their customers has a snowmobile for sale.”

Christmas in Killarney

27

“That's who you're with? Harry and Morgan?”

He was relieved. She knew who they were, and she seemed pleasantly surprised, not

dismayed in the least. “Yes.”

“Oh my God, Colin, those men are so sexy. I don't know how you've kept your hands off

them. Every woman in town just cries when they find out they're a couple and not into women.”

Colin snorted. “I've been good.”

“I don't see how. Well, sure. Look, I have to run. I hear the kids getting into something. I'll

try your cell first, and if I don't reach you on that, I'll call this number.”

“Shell, ask if the man—if you can find him—will deliver it with a full tank of petrol and

ask if he'll accept my credit card. I suppose I could cut him a check, but he doesn't know me.”

“Oh don't worry about it, Colin. Mom and Dad left us both plenty of money, what with the

insurance, their estate, and all. You can pay me back later. Will you be okay? I mean, you have

your clothes, but…you're still my little brother.”

“I'm terrific. I'm even writing again.”

“Good for you! Okay, talk to you later.”

Colin hung up, thinking. He was terrific. Better than he'd felt in months.

He went back to his seat at the kitchen table and opened the laptop. As Harry finished

preparations for breakfast, Colin unplugged his laptop and made sure the cord was out of the way

so they could all sit down for a meal before Morgan left for work.

In his mind, he was already writing the next paragraph. It was easy to reverse his current

situation and turn it into pure pulp fiction. This way he didn't have to deal with his own emotions

and could escape into the fantasy that might help pay his bills in the upcoming year so that he

wouldn't have to rely on his trust or savings. He didn't mind splurging on the occasional gift or

treat from money he had set aside, but he hated living off of it if he could earn a salary.

* * * * *

Harry couldn't resist snooping. He came by it naturally—his mum, his sisters, even his dad,

loved to dish the dirt and spy on others, so he didn't think twice about reading Colin's manuscript

when Colin took another trip to the loo. Pour coffee down him, watch him type, then read what

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he's written when he has to potty. You're a piece of work, Harry Gill. Nonetheless, chastising

himself only went so far before his curiosity got the best of him.

Stone shivered in the cold, dank cell he'd been given. The bitter coffee made him want to

puke, but it was better than nothing. He knew he'd never survive unless he kept up his strength,

so he ate the days-old bread and drank the most horrid brew in the world, taking breaks between

bites to eye his captors and snatch every moment he could to do isotonic exercises, all the while

hating them and plotting his escape.

Harry lifted Colin's coffee mug, the third he'd poured for him, and sniffed. Nah. He

couldn't possibly be writing about me and my coffee or cooking. Could he? Harry looked at the

breakfast plate sitting in the sink, waiting to be washed, without a crumb on it. Colin had

polished off every bite of the Potatoes O'Hanlon, scrambled eggs, sausages, and tomato slices

with Herbes de Provence. That fucker. He is talking about me, only… Hehehe. Harry smiled to

himself. The little shit was doing some sort of reverse psychology. “Sweet Jesus, is this what's

selling these days?”

His mind barely registered the flushing of the toilet down the hall, and he kept reading.

No man should have to endure the food and the sexual torture—my God, the sexual

deviance—Stone's captors inflicted upon him.

Colin's clearing his throat alerted Harry that he wasn't alone in the kitchen any longer.

“Sorry, lad. Couldn't resist. It's not bad, you know?” Harry hoped Colin wasn't pissed.

“It's pure shit, but thanks.” Colin's face was a blank, but his warm brown eyes brimmed

with doubt.

Harry hugged him. “We all hate our jobs at some point. You'll find your passion. Keep

working on it.”

The phone rang, and Harry picked up the handset. “Hello? Oh hi, darlin'. Morg, calm

down. What do you mean the payroll is missing?”

* * * * *

Morgan ran tense fingers through his hair. He'd looked everywhere for the fucking money,

but the bag was missing. He'd had such a great start to the day too. He'd talked with the city's

street crews to make sure the roads near the pub would be cleared. He'd pulled out the Santa

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29

Claus costume he'd be wearing that night and made sure every item was polished and ready to

wear. Then he'd checked the pantry and refrigerators to see if there were any last-minute errands

to run before the party.

Sometime midmorning he'd gone to the bank and pulled out the cash to hand his

employees that night, a few hundred Euros that they wouldn't have to wait to spend, wouldn't

need to go to the bank to have any checks cashed. There hadn't been anyone in the pub with

exception to his morning crew and Sully and Squirt.

Gerald O'Sullivan, pompous ass that he was, surely was no thief, and neither was his

younger brother, Stephen, whom Sully called Squirt. Strange little fellow but no thief. If not for

Sully, Morg would have been a lot friendlier to Stephen over the years. He was sure Sully gave

the smaller man grief and rode him mercilessly for being the way he was.

Sully had come in to wheel and deal, as usual. He'd only been offering to buy the pub the

past four years, and every time Morg had responded with a negative answer. He'd tried being

jovial, but lately Sully had soured up and become almost belligerent at being turned down.

“You dumb fucker,” Morg chastised himself. He knew better than to have had that much

cash on hand, but the little velvet bags that had once held booze had been perfect gift holders.

Sentiment had overridden his judgment, and now he was well and truly fucked.

Problem was, he had no time to rectify his decision. The banks were held to certain hours,

even with the holidays, but there still wouldn't be enough time for Morg to file for a loan, get

approved, and have the money to dispense by the evening's festivities, which meant his

employees would all have to wait not only for their Christmas bonuses but for their entire two

weeks' pay, since this was the one time of the year when they were paid in cash. They'd be lucky

to have their money the day after Christmas, which didn't sit well with Morg. He prided himself

on being not only fair but generous, and this just wouldn't do.

He looked up as the door bells jangled, and nearly passed out with relief. “Oh, Harry—

thank Christ you're here. I'm about to lose my mind.”

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Chapter Four

The offer is always open

You know you'd have a ball

Colin and Harry dusted the snow and ice from their boots and shrugged out of their coats

as Morg explained.

“Oh this isn't good.” Harry's face was grim.

Colin swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat. Shit. His first reaction was to

immediately jump in with the offer to bail them out. He had the money—operative word being

had. He'd charged his cell phone and had just finished a conversation with his sister before he

and Harry had left the house. The snowmobiles—two of them!—were to be delivered while he,

Morg, and Harry were at the bar that night for the Christmas party. The payment had already

been made to the seller, who'd told Shelly that there was a second one if she wanted it. To Colin's

delight, she'd taken both of them.

He looked at his friends. The shared crestfallen expressions on their faces nearly broke his

heart. What would they do? The party was only hours away.

Harry hugged his lover. “Morg, have you checked—”

“I've looked everywhere,” Morg interrupted. “I don't know what else to do.”

The door bells jangled again.

“Ho ho ho!” A chubby, balding man snatched off his cap and scarf, which looked as if

they'd just been peppered with snowballs.

Colin heard a group of laughing boys as they raced past the bar calling out, “Merry

Christmas, Father John! Duck quicker next time!”

The man whose church in which I nearly drowned, Colin thought wryly.

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31

John stopped midsentence and stared at his friends' faces. He gave Colin a weak smile then

turned back to Harry and Morgan. “What the devil is going on? You two look like as if

Christmas has been called off.”

Morg snorted and plopped onto a bar stool. “Astute observation. Come in, John. Get out of

that wet coat.”

Harry went behind the bar and started pouring drinks as Morg explained what had

happened.

“Oh dear. I'm sorry, Morgan.” John hung his coat on the back of one of the empty chairs

and crossed the room. “And the party is tonight.” He winced, seeming to regret having reminded

them. “Maybe it'll turn up.”

“I doubt it. We're talking about thousands of Euros. The bank is closed—my staff will be

so pissed. They may not show it, but they'll be upset,” Morg said. “Ryan has four kids to buy for,

Ciara is pregnant, and Siobhan…she's a single mother. I'm such an asshole.”

Harry set three glasses of dark liquid on the bar and kept one for himself. He lifted his

glass. “It's still a fucking holiday season, and you can't let this wreck your evening, love. Drink

up.”

They all solemnly raised their glasses in salute and downed their drinks.

“Fuck, I'm sorry,” Morg said.

“Like John said, it'll turn up,” Colin said, for lack of anything more encouraging to say.

“I'm sorry, John.” Harry indicated Colin and made introductions. “Colin here is our

houseguest for a few days.”

The priest's face brightened. “You the fellow whose sports car is parked at the church, by

chance?”

Colin nodded, feeling himself blush. “I'm sorry about the wet floor near the baptistery.” He

offered a brief accounting of what had happened.

John's face broke into a grin, and his eyes welled with tears of laughter. After a few

moments, he burst into giggles. “Ha. I'll have a talk with the children next week about picking up

their things a little better.”

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The priest snapped his fingers. “You wouldn't happen to have that Santa costume here,

would you, Morgan?”

“Yeah.” Morg frowned.

“Might I use it this afternoon for a bit?” John dimpled. “I visited the shut-ins and adults at

the hospital, but I haven't visited the children's ward yet.”

“John, take a look at yourself, man. My costume would swallow you. It's way too long.”

John shook his head. “I'll get my secretary to pin it for me, if you don't mind. I could really

use it, Morgan. The children…you know?”

Morg sighed and chuckled, sweeping his hands toward a back room. “Sure. Follow me.

Not like Santa will be handing out much at the party this year. Hell, if I dressed up, it'd

completely kill their Christmas spirit once Santa announced that there wouldn't be any

paychecks, much less Christmas bonuses. T'would be a bit of a slap in their faces.”

The clergyman didn't stay long once he had the suit tucked into a reusable bag Harry found

him. John did forgo the boots, however, considering the massive difference between his feet and

Morgan's.

“Well, your tree is lovely.” John indicated the tree in the far corner. He shook their hands,

wished them well, and said he had a few more stops to make besides the children's ward before

heading home.

“You can't come back for the party?” Morg asked, his face revealing his disappointment. “I

know I've been a bit of a downer this afternoon, but do come if you can.”

“If time permits, I'd love to,” John said. “I've almost done my hospital rounds, but there are

still—” He broke off. “I'll see what I can do.” With that, he donned his winter gear and waved

good-bye, adding, “And if I'm not back in time for the party, Ceol 'S Craic.”

Colin frowned. “What did he say?”

“Gaelic,” Harry explained. “It means music and fun. Not a bad idea. The party will be here

shortly, whether we're ready or not, whether we find the money or not, so the good father is

right. We can't let it spoil our evening.”

“One more won't kill you,” Harry said, pouring another shot for each of them.

“Maybe with any luck, something else will?” Morg quipped.

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33

“Shut up.” Harry flipped him off. “Don't you know I don't give a shit about the money?”

“Well, you should, shouldn't you?” Morg tossed back the liquor. “I mean, it's half yours.”

“I care more about you, you big oaf. I'm worried you might do something rash like sell

your truck, or worse…the bar, to that son of a bitch Sully.”

Morg snorted. “Not that he couldn't get it for a decent price right now, love.”

Harry swore and slammed his glass on the bar's smooth countertop. “Fuck that. I'll market

blowjobs on the corner—we have a couple of streets that aren't being tapped right now—before I

let you do that.”

“Ah, Harry.” Morg leaned in for a kiss, and Harry obliged. “What would I do without

you?”

“Precisely that—without.” Harry winked when he said it.

* * * * *

“What can I do to help?” Colin asked when his friends busied themselves. Harry and Morg

had both donned aprons, and when Morg went to the freezer to pull out foods, Harry began

yanking out crockery and saucepans.

Harry looked at him for a moment before replying. The lad looked so lost. Not his fault,

Harry mused to himself. He found another apron and draped it over Colin's head then tied the

strings in back. “Best thing you could do would be help me get the food going, then mind it

while I find more decorations. I insist we pull Morg out of his doom and gloom and back into

party mode, and I think I know what will do the trick.”

Colin nodded. “Thanks for not sending me to a corner to sit while you two work. I feel

awful for you, mainly for him.”

“Yeah, he's taking it pretty hard.”

“Will he be all right? I mean…the business, can you recover?” Colin asked.

Harry shrugged. “Hope so, but we're pretty well at our limit with the bank. The place is

doing great, but bills have to be paid, employees… I just don't know.”

He grabbed a couple of loaves of bread and a knife and asked Colin to cut them into

rounds for crostini. “Depends upon the bank, whether they'll bail us out after the holidays. I'm

pretty sure the business will be okay, but the employees are another thing. I wouldn't blame some

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of them if they quit—I mean, they're loyal and all, but who wants to work for free, even for a

couple of weeks? Which is what it would take for us to come up with the money.”

Harry frowned. “I'm forgetting something. Hang on. I need to get the quiches out of the

freezer.” He smacked his lips. “Mini mushroom and sausages—you'll love them.” He left

momentarily, then came back and picked up the conversation where he'd left off while Colin

continued slicing bread.

“Morg worries anyway, and holidays always stress him. His dad never quite backed him

with this business, thought we'd go under within the first six months. It's been years, but the old

man still refuses to acknowledge that his son has business sense. So it's personal with Morg. His

man card, if you will. It'd be easier for him to hear a doctor to tell him he had low testosterone

than to hear his dad say 'I told you so.'”

“What is this for?” Colin asked, pointing to a mound of dough.

“Asparagus blankets. Like pigs in a blanket with sausages, only with asparagus, tomato,

and mozzarella.” Harry turned on the ovens. “Mind rolling that dough over on the make table,

now that you've cut up this bread? Just tear off a chunk and flatten it for me, if you will, and I'll

cut the squares so you can add the veggies and cheese.”

Colin cleared his throat. “If you can wait until next week, I can liquidate some stock and

pull out some money to help the pub.”

Harry stopped what he was doing and stared. “You'd be willing to do that? Colin, that's

sweet, but…you don't know us that well.”

Colin's voice was quiet as he tore into the dough and found a rolling pin. “I may have lived

in a vacuum of sorts for the past several months, but I'm a good judge of character and watch my

money. I wouldn't loan it to just anyone.”

He looked up, straight into Harry's eyes. “How well do I have to know you? I see two men

who love each other, a priest who thinks you're both special, a boss who is frantic, not that he'll

lose his business but that his employees won't have a good Christmas.” He nodded toward Harry.

“You're joking, but I'm betting you'd actually be willing to sell those blowjobs Morg thinks are

world-class to help him.”

Harry didn't know what to say. He merely nodded in return, waiting, since Colin seemed to

have more to say than he had said since they'd met him.

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35

“I know that I've never felt so at home anywhere else as when I'm with the two of you, and

don't take that the wrong way—I'm not advocating that you adopt me or anything. But while I'm

being blunt, yeah, I'm attracted to both of you—to your character, your charm, your quirky way

of loving one another, and…I've had more boners since meeting the two of you than I've had

during the past year.” He chuckled self-consciously, then became serious once more. “But that

has nothing to do with my wanting to help. Question is, do you think you know me well enough

to accept my offer?” Colin asked.

Harry indicated Colin's clothes. “I may dress like a beach bum half the time, but I know

Italian loafers and cashmere sweaters when I see them. I know you have money but little family

to speak of, and that you traveled halfway across the globe to attend a child's Christmas pageant.

That tells me a lot.” He debated before continuing. “I know you're in some sort of trouble with

your writing career and that you have deadlines, but that you're here helping pull together a

Christmas party for men you just met, so you've obviously got a good heart.”

Harry took the plunge, since Colin had bared his feelings. “And we've discussed you.

We're both attracted to you as well. We'd been considering a third party for some time, for

entertainment purposes, not anything permanent, but…Colin. There's something about you. I'd

be less than honest if I didn't say that what you've shared, your feelings, well…that we don't feel

the same way. We do.”

They smiled across the space in the kitchen that separated them. While Harry hadn't

accepted his offer, Colin seemed satisfied. He took a deep breath and went back to his task,

leaving Harry marveling at how close they'd apparently become in such a short time.

“Discuss it with Morg, then have your lawyer draw up papers,” Colin said. “For all our

protection. It'll work out.”

Harry was dumbfounded nonetheless. Morg mightn't accept Colin's generosity, but Harry

could tell it was heartfelt.

Their intimate conversation ended about the time Morg entered the kitchen, his arms

carrying packages of meat. “These seem to have thawed well enough for the Crock-Pot. Little

barbecue sound good, Colin?”

“I love barbecue,” Colin answered.

Harry met Morg's questioning eyes.

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Chapter Five

So doff your caps and find a lap

Sex and cuddling for all

“So what have you lads been up to while I was gone?” Morg asked, sensing he'd

interrupted them.

Harry dusted his hands on his apron and went to him, throwing his arms about Morg's

shoulders and squeezing tightly. “It'll keep until after the party, love. We were just talking, but

you might be interested. Later, though, okay?” He planted a kiss firmly on Morgan's lips.

Morg nodded, feeling a bit unsettled. He hoped it wasn't anything he'd done, like put a

damper on their Christmas spirit with his problem. Not that Harry wouldn't share the burden if

they went bankrupt or if their employees left.

Colin beckoned him. “Mind if I get one of those?”

“Pardon?” Morg asked, going to him.

Colin, too, dusted off his hands and stepped closer. Morg, surprised but pleased, opened

his arms and enveloped the smaller man.

“What did I do to deserve this?” he asked.

Colin, who had never made advances upon either of them, took Morg's chin in his hands

and tiptoed for a kiss, which Morg gladly gave. The lad's lips were firm but soft, extremely

masculine, and sexy, and the little shit slipped him the tongue! Morg found himself lingering

longer than he'd intended, but what the hell? Harry, whose laughter rang across the room,

certainly didn't seem to mind.

“Fuck.” Morg released Colin, who went back to work. He felt his own dick throb. “Hell of

a time to lay this one on me, you two. Is this what you were discussing?”

“Not exactly,” Harry said with a laugh, “but it's a warm-up for the party after the party.”

Christmas in Killarney

37

“Really?” Now Morg was intrigued, not just perplexed. “I need to spend more time in the

freezer, let you lads continue getting better acquainted.”

“We didn't do anything but talk, love,” Harry told him.

“Hell, I don't care. Just bring me more of that later.” Morg looked about. “What needs to

be done next?”

Harry motioned toward the meat. “Mind putting some of that in a Crock-Pot and turning

up the heat? The sauce is in the refrigerator, and I'll add it once the meat is good and hot.”

“I've got your hot meat right here,” Morg muttered, adjusting his dick in his pants but

doing as Harry asked and ignoring his lover's laugh of derision. What the hell had they been

saying? He had a difficult time getting his mind back on the party.

Not that his thoughts weren't already splintered in several directions. He'd lost their money,

their priest friend had taken his Santa suit, guests would be arriving soon, and now he was horny

as fuck and unable to do anything about it for several hours. What next?

* * * * *

Colin had never been so happy yet depressed at the same time. He felt guilty for spending

the evening partying with his new friends instead of with Shelly and her family, but he placated

himself with the thought that she and hers would be motoring toward her in-laws within hours,

so they wouldn't necessarily need him anyway. He'd told her to enjoy herself and not give a

thought about him.

“What if the weather forces us to stay and we totally miss the Christmas season without

you?” she'd asked. “I'd thought to at least spend some time with you once we're back in

Killarney.”

“Then I'll spend the day either with Harry and Morg, or I'll get a hotel room. Surely, I'll be

able to drive my car in two or three days. The streets will be cleared enough,” he'd replied.

“Yeah, those in town, but maybe not in the country.” Shelly had sounded skeptical. “You

sure you're okay?”

“Trust me, I'm fine, and I'm happy. They're nice blokes, really sweet.”

“Sweet and sexy. My God, I still can't believe you're with those two,” she said with a laugh.

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He could hardly believe it himself. He looked around to see if there was anything else he

could do.

“I don't suppose you know anything to do with tomatoes, do you?” Harry asked. “We have

several pounds in the pantry that will go bad if not used.”

“Any of them cherry tomatoes?”

“Probably about ten pounds of the stuff. For some reason, we overstocked when we last

ordered salad supplies.”

Colin grinned. “Have any bacon and mayo?”

“Tons of it.” Harry pulled out a huge jar of mayonnaise, then three packages of bacon.

“We have fruit crostatas—I suppose we could do tomato with basil and mozzarella.”

“I have something else in mind, if that's okay,” Colin said, reaching for a sharp knife.

“Little appetizer my sister and her friend Erin used to make with my mom when I was a boy.”

Harry applauded him when Colin explained the dish. “Good, no bread. We have enough

carbs on the buffet as it is.”

Colin scooped out the bite-size tomatoes and ladled mayo on top of the pulp in a large

bowl while the bacon fried and dried, ready to be crumbled. Again, he reminded himself of his

good fortune to have fallen into that baptistery. Maybe he'd missed his calling. Writing had used

to be a passion, but now he found himself thinking of other things than the current writing in

progress, or WIP, as authors called them. He wanted to write about what he was doing now, what

he'd been doing ever since meeting Harry and Morgan. His friends, who'd be lying about on the

sun-kissed sands of Kings Beach, would be astounded when he told them.

Then he saddened at the thought of leaving Ireland, leaving Killarney. He shook it off. If

Morg could forget about thousands of Euros that were missing, he could put going back to

Australia on the back burners of his mind.

Harry sidled up to him and wrapped his arms around him from behind. “What are you

thinking?” he asked softly.

Colin cocked his head to the side and received a kiss on the lips. “I was thinking about

home, or wherever home is. I'm sad at the thought of leaving here in a couple of weeks.”

Christmas in Killarney

39

“So soon?” Harry spun him around. “Why? I thought you worked from wherever you

were, no?”

Colin nodded. “But I can't stay here indefinitely, Harry. You and Morg have a business to

run, lives to lead.”

“And you don't?”

Colin sighed. “I guess that's the problem. Since being here, I'm questioning myself,

whether I should even be a writer or whether I need to do something else.”

“I thought you liked writing.” Harry sounded surprised. “I think you've improved

dramatically since you've been here. I know you've only been at it off and on for a few hours, but

this last bit is better than the first.”

Colin looked at him, feeling a sense of foreboding. “You've read that much of my work?”

Harry nodded sheepishly. “I'm an inveterate snoop, sorry. Had to. My curiosity got the best

of me.”

“When?”

“You were either asleep or in the loo, and your laptop was open,” Harry confessed.

“That piece of crap about Derek Stone and his being captured?” Colin was appalled. “I

thought you'd only read a line or two. It's pure shit, Harry. Nothing but pulp.” He was mortified.

It was one thing for Colin to consider himself a hack and receive a certain satisfaction from

getting paid for the job, but it was entirely a different matter for someone he knew to discuss it

with him. It rattled Colin to realize that he didn't consider himself much of a writer unless he was

writing what spoke to his heart, not just his wallet.

“It's what sells, baby. Nothing wrong with that,” Harry said, giving him a hug. “Like I tried

saying earlier, we all do things we don't like at times to earn a living. So write what sells until

you can afford to write what you want, no?”

“I guess.” Colin was still unnerved at being caught with his pants down and told Harry so.

Harry laughed. “Actually I haven't seen you with your pants down, but if you stick around

long enough, we'll remedy that…and a few other things.”

Colin felt himself blush furiously. It was what he wanted. It was what he craved. But he

felt so unsure of himself, now as a writer as well as a lover. It'd been ages since he'd been with

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anyone so loving and caring. What if he behaved like a schoolboy virgin or some klutzy

amateur? He sighed.

“Do you really think I can write? I mean, not just here, but period? I've been having my

doubts,” Colin confessed.

“You can do anything you want to do, and yes, you have talent, you can write. I don't think

you realize yet what it is you do best, though, not that I didn't enjoy what I read.”

Colin nodded. “You're probably right. I've just been at this for so long, being a hack, I

mean, that I feel I've lost my edge or whatever it is that keeps writers sharp and eager to sit and

pound the keys.”

Harry snuggled closer. “You just need reinforcement. A good place to write, some fantastic

Irish food prepared by a world-class Irish cook, and a relaxing, loving atmosphere. Great sex or

at least a good seduction or two wouldn't hurt. Speaking of which, I want one of those kisses like

you gave Morgan. I haven't seen his face light up like that in ages.”

“Oh he loves you—I'm sure that's not the case,” Colin disagreed.

“I know he loves me, but I still want some of that.” Harry didn't give him a chance to argue

this time. He pulled Colin closer until Colin's cock was directly beneath his.

Colin felt himself go rigid, relishing the feeling of Harry's lips pressed against his, Harry's

tongue dueling with his. Jesus, it'd been so long, and Harry tasted so good.

The kiss left him completely languid, almost comatose, and the embrace didn't end there.

Harry slipped a hand between them and found Colin's cock and massaged it lovingly, caressing

him through his jeans, making him moan with want and need.

“Baby,” Harry said, raising his lips. “Your ass is mine tonight.”

Oh God, thought Colin. If only I last until then.

* * * * *

Harry could barely contain himself. If the party weren't but a couple of hours away, he'd

have taken Colin right there in the kitchen. Morg would have joined in, and they'd have dispelled

any tension right down to the last atom.

Christmas in Killarney

41

He shook off the arousal, clearing his throat, which had gone dry. God, he needed another

drink, but he couldn't afford to get tipsy before their guests had even arrived. He licked his lips,

still tasting the younger man's mouth and wondering what the rest of him tasted like.

Morg came into the bar as Harry busied himself adjusting the decorations lining the

shelves where the liquors were kept. “You all right?”

Harry nodded. “I just kissed Colin, told him I wanted some of what you'd sampled. Big

mistake,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Pretty potent, eh?”

“And he said he's leaving soon, within a couple of weeks, back to Australia. Morg, I don't

know how well we'll take that, do you?”

“He's kinda grown on me as well, Harry, even though we only met a few hours ago.” Morg

sighed. “Just when it seems we may have found someone…and I don't mean for a one-night

stand or two…”

“Yeah. You don't know the half of it, though. He's really special—I mean, he was willing

to loan us the money to bail us out of this jam.”

“What?” Morgan's voice rose, and he immediately dropped it to a whisper. “When?”

“When you were in the freezer earlier.”

Morg shook his head. “Oh, Harry, that's generous and all, but I couldn't—we can't.”

“That's what I figured you'd say.” Harry brightened. “But look at it this way. We know we

don't want him around for his money—and hopefully he knows that too. It just makes me feel

weird. Here we'd wanted to take him to our bed, and now he's offered this, and…I just don't want

him thinking anything is underhanded.”

Morg shook his head. “He doesn't seem the type who'd think that of us, Harry. I wouldn't

worry about it. Nice as he is—no, probably because he is so nice—that's not going to happen. I

got us into this situation; I'll get us out somehow. Trust me?”

“You know I do, and, Morg…even if you can't? It's not the end of the world.”

He knew his words reassured Morg but that the bigger man was still extremely worried,

even if he wasn't as depressed as he'd been earlier.

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But true to form, his Morg plugged in the tree, rearranged packages beneath it, and put on a

happy face before the first customer entered the door, and by the time the place was full, he

could tell that Morg was having a good time.

Everyone seemed to be in the holiday spirit, with lots of claps on the back, hugs, and well

wishes offered. Even their Santa made an appearance halfway through the evening, carrying a

monstrous duffel bag that appeared to be bursting at the seams. He worked his way through the

crowd, never offering them a peek under his beard and even disguising his voice. But it was

obvious to Harry that John was beneath the costume.

John pulled Harry aside. “Let's go in the back, into the office.”

Harry was puzzled. Why couldn't John just put whatever presents he had beneath the tree

with the rest of them? But he did as asked and closed the door at John's request. Once they were

alone and unobserved, he had to catch his breath as John opened the bag.

Money—mountains of the stuff—in various plastic shopping bags.

“John! I don't understand. Where did you get all of this?”

“It's from the townsfolk, people in the church, shopkeepers, even some of the bankers who

dipped into their own pockets. All I did was tell them of your dilemma, and the money started

pouring into my hands. Look.” He indicated his shoes. “My feet are soaking.” He laughed.

Harry could barely comprehend. “You've been out in this weather all this time you've been

gone? You must be freezing, man!”

“That's okay. You wouldn't believe how this kind of charity makes me feel. It makes me

glad all over that I went into the profession I did.” John patted Harry's chest. “It's God, Harry—I

don't mean to preach, but it's the Lord working.”

All Harry could do was nod. He was speechless, and tears filled his eyes. He could barely

see through them to watch as John pointed out the bills, all denominations, literally hundreds,

perhaps thousands, of Euros all donated by people who cared about them, wanted them to stay in

business, wanted their employees to have a good Christmas.

He swallowed hard. “I don't know what to say, John.”

“Say you'll be in church more,” the priest replied. “Or just say a prayer of thanks. I think

there's plenty, more than enough to recoup what you've lost. I stopped counting about two hours

ago.”

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43

John removed his shoes and socks. “You're right—I'm freezing. One of my parishioners

gave me a pair of wool socks as they were doling money out of their wallet. They're in my

pocket. Santa will have to go out there in his stocking feet, if that's okay, but since I'm still in the

costume, would you mind if I handed out the gifts? I mean, if it's not an imposition?”

Harry's thoughts spun in circles as he tried responding with a no, I don't mind combined

with a sure, go right ahead. He put his hands to his face and felt his hot, wet cheeks.

“I'm sorry, I don't have any bags like I imagine Morgan used,” John said. “But perhaps you

have envelopes for your employees? Of course, you won't have a record of how much you're

giving them unless you sit here for several hours by yourself counting out the money and

sticking it into those envelopes. I'll help.”

Harry thought fast. “You go out there, mingle, and keep everyone laughing and talking, if

you will. Send Colin in to help me. And keep Morg out of here if you can. I'd like this to be a

surprise.” He took a deep breath. “I can't quite take it all in myself. John, thanks. You're an

angel.”

“Of course.” John swelled, puffing out his chest. “You're just now noticing? There are

angels everywhere, Harry. Even at church.”

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Chapter Six

How grand it is to snowmobile

Sing dirty ditties and eat your fill

Colin couldn't remember a holiday season so joyful, not since he'd been a boy and both his

parents had been alive. And the expression on Harry's face when he'd entered the office to help

him had been nothing compared to that on Morg's when Harry and he had handed Morg those

envelopes filled with money to hand to their employees. The bigger man's face, which had still

been lined with worry, had softened dramatically, and his eyes, which Colin had thought so sexy,

were still attractive, but they'd taken on a different kind of sensuality, one that reflected a man's

emotional core. Morg looked even more attractive, if that was possible, than his partner.

They locked arms, watching their employees open their envelopes filled with Christmas

cards, cash, and peppermints. Colin knew that he would carry the mental picture of the two of

them in his heart forever.

Hours sped by, a live band played on a dais in the corner by the tree, which sparkled with

twinkling lights and tinsel. Men and women danced, sang, and toasted one another, never

seeming to run out of steam, despite the time. A couple of cops showed up to see how everyone

was doing and to caution them about driving home if they'd had too much to drink.

Then, as some of the partygoers were leaving, a man he'd never seen before walked in,

carrying what looked like a grocery sack. More food? Colin watched as the slight man

approached Harry and Morg, who seemed a bit leery, despite the young man's mild, almost

apologetic demeanor. Colin edged closer, and he watched as Harry's and Morg's expressions

reflected a montage of emotions, going from disbelief to anger to surprise.

Harry looked up and caught his eye, motioning for Colin to join them.

Colin stepped into the small circle made up of his friends and the newcomer.

“Colin, this here is Stephen Sullivan. You may have heard us talk about his brother, the

one we call Sully?”

Christmas in Killarney

45

Colin nodded. So what was Sully's brother doing crashing their party?

“Seems Sully decided to poach our money while he was here earlier.” Morg set his jaw.

Stephen's face reflected his discomfort and shame. “He said he was only going to keep it a

couple of days, just long enough to shake you down, hoping you'd sell the bar to him. But I

couldn't let him do it.” Stephen looked imploringly at Morgan. “When he went to the bathroom,

and you and I were at the bar talking? That's when he went into your office. I swear, I had no

idea he was there, that he'd do such a thing. I am so sorry, Morgan.”

Morg, to his credit, appeared to be in a forgiving mood. He clapped the smaller man on the

shoulder. “Lad, I'm just glad you came to me, that you returned the money.”

“I wouldn't blame you if you pressed charges,” Stephen said, “but to tell the truth, I hope

you don't. He'll probably kill me once he finds out what I've done anyway. But I'd hate to see my

brother land in jail at Christmas.”

When Morg didn't respond, Harry nudged him. “Morg, it's Christmas, love. I know how

you feel, but…it's Christmas. Think of their mother.”

Morg took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “He's a bastard, Stephen, for what he did,

for how he treats you—don't think others haven't noticed. You deserve better. Someone ought to

teach him a lesson.” He bit his lips before continuing. “But it won't be me. Not at Christmas

anyway. I can't promise not to beat him to a bloody pulp before New Year's, though.”

Stephen nodded. “I understand. I won't say anything to him, though. Just let it be a surprise

if you pummel him. I really don't care. Don't want to see him in jail, but I wouldn't mind if the

bully got a taste of his own medicine.”

Someone called out, demanding a tune. “C'mon, everyone, gather in a circle. I'm not

leaving until we do the ditty. You know the one.”

Harry grinned broadly. “Take off your coat and stay, Stephen.” When it looked as though

Stephen would protest, Harry insisted. “You're a friend, man. Take off your coat, have a pint of

piss, and sing with us.”

Stephen visibly relaxed. “Thank you, Harry. Don't mind if I do.”

Morgan pulled Colin closer and whispered into his ear. “Harry told me what you offered,

dear boy.” He stood back and looked at Colin. “You're a sweet, sweet man, and I love you for

offering, but it's not your money we're interested in?”

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Colin nodded as if he understood, but he didn't. He wanted to know for sure what Morg

meant.

“You okay with that?” Morg asked, his eyes concerned. “I'm not talking about a one-night

stand. We want to get to know you better, and I mean that in every sense of the word. You've

grown on us. We'll just take things a day at time if that's okay with you?”

Colin nodded again, but he didn't have time to answer verbally what was in his heart. Morg

wouldn't have heard him anyway. The musicians struck up a chord, and the crowd kept time by

clapping. The bar song was foreign to Colin, but it was obvious from the raised voices that the

tune was a favorite with them. One man stepped to the center and sang loudly.

Morgan's a bruiser

And Harry's a loser

Then the crowd joined in the chorus between verses. Heigh-ho, down the drink goes.

But the cute lad that's with 'em

Can suck my big, stiff 'un

Shocked peals of laughter followed with one more rousing cast chorus. Heigh-ho, down the

drink goes.

“You called out the new guy's name last, Conor. You can't do that—he doesn't know the

song yet!” protested another patron.

“Well, piss on ye,” Conor shouted back. “Fuck it, I'll do another. You ready?” This time

the verse was only about Morgan, and by the end of it, Colin caught on. Whoever was the butt of

the verse was next in line to sing, making up the words off the top of his head, whether he was

sober or piss drunk.

Morgan raised his glass in preparation for the toast. His voice was loud and clear as he

sang.

Christmas in Killarney

47

Sully's a maggot

His brother's a faggot

Heigh-ho, down the drink goes.

But he's drinkin' free beers

'Cause he loves his dear queers

Heigh-ho, down the drink goes.

And so the tune went for several minutes, as round the room, one by one, customers took

their turn at the ditty. Finally someone nailed Harry with a verse, and by then several beers had

been downed and nobody was feeling much pain.

“Omigod, that was great.” Morgan wiped his eyes, then lifted his glass to Harry, calling

out, “C'mon, love. It's your turn.”

Harry took center stage and lifted his glass while the music thumped in readiness.

Morgan's me lover

He's great under covers

Heigh-ho, down the drink goes.

Good thing he can fuck

'Cause his bookkeeping sucks

Heigh-ho, down the drink goes.

“Oh now that's just mean,” one customer called out while everybody sniggered into their

beer.

“But he loves me anyway,” Morgan defended himself.

“Yes, I do!” Harry sang.

When it was Morgan's turn again, Colin saw the look in his eyes and held his glass

nervously. They hadn't known him long enough to roast him and toast him, had they?

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Nevertheless, it looked as if he was one of the pub's own. Morg not only walked to the center but

right up to face him, grinning and eyeing him like a piece of Christmas candy.

He was naked in church

Off the steps he did lurch

Heigh-ho, down the drink goes.

He's now our dear boy

To our home he brings joy

Heigh-ho, down the drink goes.

Colin leaned forward for the kiss, knowing it was coming, and he wasn't a bit surprised

when Harry's arms encircled them. He knew that he'd more or less just been presented to the pub

clients as a member of Morg and Harry's family, and for the first time in years, Colin felt home.

“I love you guys,” he mumbled, feeling hot, salty tears sting his eyes.

“We love you right back, Colin.” Harry kissed first him, then Morg. “But we still want to

get you naked.”

The look in their eyes told Colin straightaway that he needn't worry about where he hung

his hat. Home was with them, in Ireland, at least for a little while. He could write from anywhere

in the world, but he wouldn't feel this alive without Morgan and Harry.

Christmas in Killarney

49

Chapter Seven

I'm handing you no blarney

You'll be played and laid and blown

During Christmas in Killarney

When all of the boys are home

The last guest had left, the final dish had been washed, and they were all three so tired,

they could barely keep their eyes open. Several drinks while cleaning up had done nothing to

boost their energy levels, but that was okay.

Morg surveyed his pub, pleased beyond words that the evening had been a success, that his

lax behavior hadn't cost them a small fortune or his employees their paychecks. He and Harry

had decided it best to donate the monies they'd recouped to Father John, for the church. That, and

a new pair of shoes for John. The poor man had run around in his stocking feet most of the night,

but he hadn't seemed to have fared worse for it.

“Do you think Colin's happy with us so far?” he asked Harry. “I mean look at 'im,

stretched out on the bar like a buffet waiting to be served.” Morg chuckled. “Or serviced.”

Harry grinned wickedly. “He appears so.”

Colin had his hand on his arms and was staring at the ceiling, a strange smile playing on

his face.

“I want my own bed, Harry, and driving home the three of us suits me, but I don't think I

can wait for some of that. Know what I mean?” Morg licked his lips slowly. “Think we might

have a few more drinks? Maybe some whipped cream from the strawberry dessert?”

Harry chuckled. “I don't see why not.”

“Colin won't mind.” Morg nodded toward Colin. “Poor boy has been too long without

someone feasting up on that body of his. Grab some tequila, Harry, and draw the blinds. Don't

want him worried that anyone might see. They're idiots, of course, if they're out in this weather

gawking, but one never knows. Even perverts have their needs, I suppose.”

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Morg strolled over to Colin and kissed him good and proper, his tongue foraging Colin's

open, willing mouth. “Boy, prepare yourself. You're about to be treated to a few body shots. You

game?”

Colin nodded wordlessly, but he looked so nervous, Morg felt sorry for the lad. He took a

fresh bar towel from a drawer and pillowed Colin's head, stroking his hair softly. “You are so

beautiful, like a fine sculpture, lad. Your shoulders remind me of those of Antinous.” Morg

chuckled softly. “Of course, I promise not to kill you. No need for any sacrifices in this family.”

Colin laughed nervously. “Appreciate that. Just kill me with kindness.”

Morg couldn't repress a wicked grin. “Or with a few other things that lead to what the

French call the little death, maybe?” He began pulling at Colin's shirt and sweater, relieving him

of them. “Yep. Just like the god's. Broad, smooth, hairless, unlike me.” Morg self-consciously

looked down at his own form as Colin returned the favor, tugging at his shirt.

“I think you're gorgeous,” Colin whispered. “If I'm Antinous, you must be Poseidon, god

of the sea. Harry, of course, is Apollo.”

Morg swelled with pride. “Of course.”

Harry came up to Colin on the other side of the bar, setting drinks close to his supine body.

“I've wanted to fuck you since I first laid eyes on you, Colin.”

“Do you remember the museum in Delphi, Harry?” Morg asked, licking Colin's nipples,

rolling his tongue around them, then sucking them into his mouth.

“Hadrian's lover?” Harry nodded. “Such form. Lift your ass, Colin—there's a good lad.

Don't want you going home in sticky pants, not that there'll be anything left dry once I'm done

with you.”

Colin shivered, and Morg laughed. “Time for a belly-button shot, Harry. Let's have a taste

of that flat stomach.”

Harry poured a slight amount of liquor into Colin's navel and stood back as Morg slurped

and licked, moaning with pleasure.

“Give over, Morg.” Harry nudged him aside. “My turn.” Only he didn't stop at the navel.

Harry dripped a lighter liqueur from Colin's stomach to his groin and lapped it enthusiastically.

“Ah, that's what I was after,” he chortled when Colin's cock sprang to life. Harry deep throated

him, eliciting a whimpering sound from Colin.

Christmas in Killarney

51

The two of them took turns pleasuring Colin, with Morg handling stomach, nipples, and

neck, while Harry laved his cock and balls, lathering them with whipped cream, then lapping

until Colin bucked feverishly beneath.

Morg helped him to a sitting position and scooped him in a bear hug, standing him on the

floor and walking him to one of the tables where they'd made appetizers earlier. He growled with

pleasure, anticipating the tight ass before him as he bent Colin forward.

Colin leaned all the way across the table, gripping the other side, and Morg spat onto his

hands and massaged Colin's ass, spreading his cheeks and fingering his hole, widening it,

stretching it. He tried not to rush, but his adrenaline overrode his wish to be sensitive. Sensitivity

had never been his strong suit, but Harry hadn't seemed to mind—maybe Colin wouldn't.

Morg knew the inherent value of preparation, but he also had skill, and he knew how to use

his long, beefy fingers and cock. He had no illusions—he was lustier than most, no sex addict,

but certainly an admirer of the male form and unafraid to use the gifts God had bequeathed him.

He slipped another finger inside Colin's ass and wiggled it in unison with the others,

probing, seeking, issuing an invitation of what was to come. He could hear Colin's breathing as it

became more labored.

“Easy, lad,” Morg cooed. “Easy—slow and easy.” He unzipped his pants and worked on

his own dick as he played with Colin's ass. When he was certain the time was perfect, he inched

into the opening he'd been massaging and stretching.

Colin's ass was different from Harry's, not better but a bit smaller, certainly tighter since

the lad hadn't been laid since Santa last visited, and he had one adorable dimple on his right

cheek. Morg leaned forward and kissed it.

Then he moved his cock back and forth, slowly, firmly, his hands gripping Colin's

buttocks, feeling him shudder.

“You all right, lad?” Morg asked with a low growl. He could barely contain himself, so

badly did he want to thrust harder.

“I'm fine,” Colin replied, his voice barely a whisper. “God, you feel good, Morgan. You're

big, but I…can…ah…take it. Go ahead. Push—give it to me. Fuck me!”

* * * * *

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Harry swirled a leaf of mint from his glass to suck on, then set down his drink on the table

and grasped Colin's hands, feeling Colin squeeze tightly as Morg entered him full force. Harry

watched Morgan's face, and the sight was beautiful to behold. Morg was such a handsome man, a

man's man, with deep creases where his cheeks dimpled and a magnificent throat that pulsed

with energy as he fucked their new friend. Droplets of sweat formed on Morg's hairline, and

Harry released Colin and went around the table to wipe his lover's face. Then, as an afterthought,

he slid Morg's jeans around his hips and kissed Morgan's ass.

Such a delicious piece of flesh. Harry had been drawn to Morgan in so many ways, and

that muscled ass and his strong limbs were only a part of the package. He couldn't look at so

much as a minuscule part of Morg that he didn't see the whole, though. The caring and

protectiveness, the strength and the vulnerabilities.

Harry lovingly laved Morg's buttocks and stroked his balls, feeling the sac tighten beneath

his fingertips.

“That's it, love, just a bit more and you're there,” Harry whispered, massaging Morg with

more intensity.

Morg never disappointed. He grunted his appreciation, and it was music to Harry's ears.

He'd thought about what it would be like to share his lover with someone else, and jealous as he

was, Harry surprised himself by not minding so much. He knew Morg fancied Colin, as did he,

and watching the two of them together seemed natural. He'd not seen Morg in the throes of

passion with another man, so not minding was startling enough, but Harry found himself

intensely aroused as well. If anything was lacking, he realized with a start, it was that he only

had two hands and one mouth—he'd have given his left nut to be able to work on himself as

well.

Morg's deeper breathing followed by shallow breaths alerted Harry that Morg was close to

climax. Then Colin gave a guttural cry, and Harry knew that Morg had taken him to the pinnacle,

had helped him reach his release.

“Turn him, Morg—let me have 'im!” Harry braced himself against the floor as Morgan

swung Colin's limp body to face him. “Can you hold him a bit longer, love?”

Christmas in Killarney

53

“You'd better hurry, Harry,” Morg said with an exhausted chuckle. “I don't know how

much more I can hold myself up, much less Colin.” He clung tightly to Colin's middle with

muscled arms bulging, straining to stay him smoothly but gently.

Harry busied himself sucking Colin's juices, cleaning his cock from root to tip, lapping his

jizz and savoring the salty sweetness, the purely male mojito. He'd have a turn with their young

friend later, at the house. For now, though, Harry was sated, knowing his best friend and their

new addition had completely capped off the pub's party with a private soiree of their own.

* * * * *

Once they'd all sobered up, Colin was in a mindless daze during the drive back home. He

was bone tired but happy, completely exhausted yet energized, feeling as if he'd just had his

emotional and physical batteries recharged and put on hold, waiting for when he needed them.

He'd never been in a ménage, and he'd never felt so treasured, so well and thoroughly

loved.

So caught up in the night's festivities and the lovemaking afterward, he forgot about his

conversations with Shelly, forgot that the snowmobiles would be waiting for them at the house.

Morg's truck ground to a halt in the driveway, and the big man asked quietly, “What the

fuck? You expect visitors while we were gone, Harry?”

“No.” Harry wiped his eyes as if to get a clearer view and leaned forward, staring through

the windshield. “Something under a tarp. Who'd be crazy enough to drive out here in a blizzard?”

Morg killed the truck's engine, and they all piled out to see what was beneath the tarp.

Colin smiled as he saw what had to be his sister's handiwork. No man, certainly no Irishman, he

knew would spruce up the gift with a monstrous red plastic bow and a envelope the size of God's

dick. Shelly must've asked the seller or his wife to decorate the presents in her absence.

Morg and Harry both kept asking who would do such a thing. Who'd have the money for

one? Then they dug into the envelope. Outside, the card read To Morgan and Harry, and on the

inside, Shel had scribbled Merry Christmas from Colin. Fitting, Colin thought. Succinct. God, he

hoped they didn't think he was trying to buy his way into their lives.

“You crazy lad,” Morg muttered, grabbing Colin and kissing him on the lips. “What

possessed you to do such a thing?”

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Harry held up a hand. “I think I put that bug in his ear, love. We were discussing the snow

earlier and how much fun it would be…and…looks like he took me at my word that we'd enjoy

such a thing. But two, Colin?”

Colin beamed. “Practically got two for the price of one. Do either of you know how to

handle one of these beasts?”

“Ha! Just you watch.” Morg blew on his fingers and reached for the gloves in his coat

pocket. “You'll be eating my dust—er, my snowflakes. Is the key in it? Yes! Grab your hat,

Harry, and kiss your ass good-bye, because we're off to show this Aussie just how an Irishman

holds his machinery.”

“It's four in the morning!” Harry exclaimed, clearly shocked. “The moon is still out.”

“All the better, a snow ride in the clear, crisp dawn before the birds are even up.” Morg

cackled with glee.

“The neighbors might object, Morg,” Harry said. “Not like these have sewing-machine

engines that run 'em. We'll wake the entire county.”

“What neighbors—the ones two miles away? Besides, I don't care.” Morg was too busy

checking out valves and pistons, handle grips and seat comfort, to give much thought to what

Harry said. He kept chortling to himself, but his words were clear enough to Colin. “God, I've

always wanted one of these. I can't believe it. What a Christmas this is turning out to be.”

Harry gave Colin a stern glare, but Colin could tell he was joking. “Already you're

corrupting one of us, not that it took much.”

“I'd say blow me, but you'd probably try,” Colin joked back. “Not that you could do so

without a magnifying glass in this cold.”

“Not that I wouldn't try either, heh? I mean, I still owe you one. Or two.”

“If recent memory serves, Harry, you've already treated me.”

“Yeah, but one little cleanup, when I wasn't the one who got you hard in the first place?”

Colin looked at him, loving the soft light he saw in his friend's eyes. “Harry, I get hard just

looking at you. Don't you know that?”

“Ah thanks.” Harry blew him a kiss. “That does, however, put you one up on me in the

compliment department.”

Christmas in Killarney

55

“Who's counting?” Colin asked, charmed. There would be plenty of time for compliments,

blowjobs, back rubs, and conversations. He already felt a tad disarmed, like he'd been a selfish

lover earlier. He'd been so relaxed and into the ménage they'd had going before that he hadn't had

a clear thought in his head at the time. All he knew was that he'd been marvelously seduced and

well cared for but hadn't reciprocated in the least. He'd already made a mental note to make up

for it at the earliest opportunity.

“You know you didn't have to do this, Colin,” Morg said. “But I'm awfully glad you did.”

Colin smiled. “It just seemed so right, and I wanted to, Morg. Now you won't need to

worry about what to do with yourselves or with me.”

Morg immediately retorted. “Oh there was never any doubt about that, love, and make no

mistake. You're here for reasons other than the snow now, and we'll find plenty of things to fill

our time. I'm just glad you're here. Really. No gifts were necessary.”

“I don't suppose either of you would like a cup of hot chocolate or some coffee to help

wake you before you play in the snow like two little schoolboys?” Harry asked.

“No!” Both Colin and Morg shouted in unison, making Colin smile.

“Good Christ, I'm not going to have Colin naked in front of me again until we've had a

romp or two in the snow with those things,” Harry said with a mock whine. “So let's get on with

it. Who wants me behind him since I can't be in front?”

“Hop behind me, Harry,” Colin said, pulling a pair of gloves from his pocket. “I think

Morg needs some time to vent his sudden burst of energy on the snow bike.”

“Do they have petrol in them?” asked Harry.

“Full tanks—I've already checked.” Morg fairly glowed, he was so happy.

Colin glanced over at the church in the distance before mounting his bike. Moonlight

bathed it in a soft, magical light.

He said a small quick prayer of gratitude, both to their Maker and to the little shit who'd

tripped him with a shepherd's crook, thereby baptizing him in the small church pool. A lot had

happened during the few short hours since he'd awakened naked in church.

The spirit of Christmas was a strange animal indeed, Colin thought, if it could wrap itself

around a wayward, chilly heart like his had been.

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With a full moon beaming upon them, the three men gunned their engines and rode down

the snow-encrusted mountain behind Morg and Harry's house. Their laughter could probably be

heard for miles, if anyone was up sipping coffee at that hour.

Loose Id(R) Titles by Cash Cole

Christmas in Killarney

Cash Cole

Cash Cole writes male/male erotic romance, and while „he‟ is fairly new at the game, he

has a published novel with Ellora‟s Cave titled Knights & White Satin and a novella with them

titled Smooth Ride. New books are poppin‟ out everywhere, though, such as Saving Noah,

coauthored with Carol Lynne for Resplendence, and the Christmas story debuting in with Loose

Id, Christmas In Killarney. Cash shares web space with sister Lyn Cash at

http://authorlyncash.blogspot.com/

, but he also has his own blog, Brim Job, at

http://cashcole.blogspot.com

.