eBook Details


Feat of Clay

Series: Men of London , Book 4.0
By: Susan Mac Nicol | Other books by Susan Mac Nicol
Published By: Boroughs Publishing Group
Published: Aug 25, 2015
ISBN # 9781942886723
Word Count: 58,000
Heat Index     
Eligible Price: $3.99

Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Epub, Mobipocket (.mobi)

Categories: Romance>LGBTQ>Gay Romance>Drama Romance>Contemporary


Feat of Clay (Men of London) by Susan Mac Nicol - Romance>Contemporary eBook

Imprisoned and tortured, undercover cop Tate Williams will find redemption in the arms of his boyhood friend, now lover, former SAS soldier Clay Mortimer.


Though they went their separate ways, Tate Williams and Clay Mortimer have been crazy about each other since their school days. Clay went into the SAS. Tate became a cop. Neither mentioned their attraction to the other. Both sought out danger. Both found it.

Imprisoned and shot in an undercover assignment gone wrong, Tate somehow survived…and found his way back into Clay’s arms. His old friend is now the owner of an elite investigation agency and everything any man could want: patient, handsome, commanding. And Clay knows what it takes to survive. But Tate can’t bring himself to share all his secrets, nightmares that force him to rebel against everything. He finds solace from his past as a graffiti artist, a childhood passion, but his demons drive away all who might care for him. Only when he faces that past—and learns that everyone has tasted despair—can the two men truly be brothers-in-arms…and more.
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Sensuality Rating:   Not rated
Tate’s insides danced with pleasure at the promise of those words. Clay winked then turned and Tate watched as he went outside onto the small balcony overlooking the green.

He bent down and picked up the crumpled piece of paper lying under the desk, dropping it into the waste bin. As he did, a series of loud, stuttering bangs from outside rent the air, rapid fire sounds that caused Tate to freeze. His heartbeat sped up, his throat dried out and he reached out to grab the edge of his desk as dizziness assailed him. Flickers of light blurred his vision as the noises outside rose in crescendo and the shrill sound of a siren could be heard in the distance. Flashes of memory sped through his mind like the fast forwarding of a DVD film. Immersed in the roar in his ears, he heard the faint echoes of his own voice crying out as bullets smacked into his body. Remembered pain and humiliation soaked Tate like a drenching acid rain from hell, burning and scalding him with his own shame and guilt.

“Bloody kids; they shouldn’t be allowed to sell firecrackers until Guy Fawkes—Tate, are you okay?” Clay’s worry and concern settled over Tate like a stifling fire blanket, dulling his senses, causing his limbs to become heavy as he struggled to get his racing heart under control. Vomit welled in his throat, rancid, foul-tasting bile that reached his mouth, causing him to gag and retch onto the floor. Clay’s hand steadied his arm and Tate lashed out in anger and self-hatred as he pushed him away.

“Leave me alone, Clay,” he snarled as he wiped his mouth. The darkness in his soul claimed him; sneering caustic jibes about just how pathetic he was buzzed in his ears. “I’m not a child and I don’t need you picking up the pieces every time I have a meltdown.”

The words were meant to hurt and yet for the life of him, he regretted hurling them at the man he loved. A chance children’s prank and yet another realisation of his frailty had ignited a self-hating flame that couldn’t be extinguished.

“I wasn’t ‘picking up the pieces’,” Clay said evenly. “You were having a panic attack. I wanted to make sure…”

“You wanted to make sure that I was all right, that the sound of fucking bangs hadn’t driven me crazy and that poor, damaged Tate could still function.” Tate spat the words and Clay’s eyes darkened as his lips thinned. “Well, you know what? You’re fighting a losing battle. Because Tate isn’t okay. He’s a useless piece of shit who’ll always be like this, so you’d be better off moving on and finding someone who can cope with hearing kids letting off firecrackers in the middle of the fucking street and who doesn’t wake you up in the middle of the night with fucking bad dreams.”

Feat of Clay

By: Susan Mac Nicol