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    Hard Climate
    Hard Climate
    Hard Climate
    Ebook214 pages3 hours

    Hard Climate

    By Susan Mac Nicol

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    About this ebook

    WITH BOTH HANDS

    Brawny, beautiful, complicated and sexy as hell, eco-warrior Mango Manning is everything performer and London nightclub owner Ryan Bishop wants in a life-partner. But Mango has been loving and leaving Ryan for the past two years, and Ryan’s had enough. That’s why he’s moving on. Ryan’s the monogamous type—which means now he’ll be alone at the worst possible time.

    Mango Manning knows he’s screwed up and has commitment issues. That’s why he’s been so on-and-off with Ryan these past two years. He’d thought he found a safe haven, a place to hide from the losses of his past, but there are other demons you just can’t escape. Like Ryan’s health. If Mango is to put things right, he must man up and discover a way back into Club Delish and the heart of its owner. Only then can they look to the future together, come what may. True happiness will slip through their fingers...unless they both grab on and hold tight.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBoroughs Publishing Group
    Release dateJul 28, 2016
    ISBN9781944262327
    Hard Climate
    Author

    Susan Mac Nicol

    'The Official Stuff' Susan writes steamy, sexy, and fun contemporary romance stories, some suspenseful, some gritty and dark, and she hopes, always entertaining. She’s also Editor-in-Chief at Divine Magazine, an online LGBTQ e-zine, and a member of The Society of Authors, the Writers Guild of Great Britain, and the Authors Guild in the US. Susan is also an award-winning screenplay writer, with scripts based on two of her own published works. Sight Unseen has garnered no less than five awards to date, and her TV pilot, Reel Life, based on her debut novel, Cassandra by Starlight, was also a winner at the Oaxaca Film Fest.. 'The Unofficial Stuff' Susan loves going to the theatre, live music concerts (especially if it’s her man-crush Adam Lambert), walks in the countryside, a good G and T, lazing away afternoons reading a good book, and watching re-runs of Silent Witness. Her chequered past includes stories like being mistaken for a prostitute in the city of Johannesburg, being chased by a rhino on a dusty Kenyan road, getting kicked out of a youth club for being a bad influence (she encouraged free thinking), and having an aunt who was engaged to Cliff Richard. Connect with Susan: website: authorsusanmacnicol.com facebook: Author-Susan-Mac-Nicol twitter: SusanMacNicol7 instagram: susiemax77 linkedin: susanmacnicol

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      Book preview

      Hard Climate - Susan Mac Nicol

      THE MEN OF LONDON

      From London to Flam,

      there’s no escaping love.

      WITH BOTH HANDS

      Brawny, beautiful, complicated and sexy as hell, eco-warrior Mango Manning is everything performer and London nightclub owner Ryan Bishop wants in a life-partner. But Mango has been loving and leaving him for the past two years, and Ryan’s had enough. That’s why he’s moving on. Ryan’s the monogamous type—which means now he’ll be alone at the worst possible time.

      Mango Manning knows he’s screwed up and has commitment issues. That’s why he’s been so on-and-off with Ryan these past two years. He’d thought he found a safe haven, a place to hide from the losses of his past, but there are other demons you just can’t escape. Like Ryan’s health. If Mango is to put things right, he must man up and discover a way back into Club Delish and the heart of its owner. Only then can they look to the future together, come what may. True happiness will slip through their fingers…unless they both grab on and hold tight.

      HARD CLIMATE

      A Men of London Romance

      Susan Mac Nicol

      www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com

      PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.

      HARD CLIMATE

      Copyright © 2016 Susan Elaine Mac Nicol

      Smashwords Edition

      All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.

      ISBN 978-1-944262-32-7

      Ebook formatting by Maureen Cutajar

      www.gopublished.com

      To the gorgeous and talented Adam Lambert, for giving me the music to write by—and for being the inspiration for Leslie, if people didn’t know already. I know you won’t ever get to see this dedication, but hey, it’s worth saying. We all have our muses of music. You’re mine.

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      As always, I need to thank the people for whom nothing is too much trouble: Joanne Swinney, for her observations and pointing out the obvious when I’ve missed it. Valerie Degeorge, for her constant support and being a willing ear when I need to vent. Rita R, for her excellent beta reader skills and the challenges she throws at me so I don’t get complacent. The amazing JP Bilbao, for her ability to make my story better, and who has advised me in some of the medical aspects of this book. Kirsty Bicknall, for her genuine willingness to help no matter what, and for always being there for me. And to Janice Birnie, who’s always been there for me to talk to, and who deserves this mention.

      At Boroughs, there’s my wonderful editor Michelle Klayman to thank, who makes each one of my stories the best it can be and does so much to try keep one of her writers sane. Of course, you’ve all seen my fabulous covers, and the man to thank for these is Chris Keeslar, whose genius makes my covers pop and people go ‘Oooh!’

      I’d like to say a huge thanks to the people at one of the Brain Tumour charities—the charity doesn’t want to be named—who gave me invaluable assistance while writing this book. Charities like this one, which work behind the scenes, trying to make people’s lives better, make all the difference.

      I’m not really a tree hugger. I understand the way the world works and that sometimes things have to be done to preserve a way of life, because sometimes there is no alternative. Yet sometimes there are, and that’s when people like Mango keep us steady and focused. They try and keep the balance between chaos and progress, and I have a true respect for all of them out there.

      There are so many more I could thank but then that would become a book in itself. So, if I haven’t mentioned you, know you are still loved.

      CONTENTS

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      About the Author

      Also by Susan Mac Nicol

      HARD CLIMATE

      Chapter 1

      A violent headache woke Ryan Bishop, the pain stabbing insistently with the vicious claws of a panther. He’d gone to bed with it and been plagued by troubled dreams that were now fathomless and forgotten.

      Wide awake and knowing he’d not get back to sleep, he pushed back the covers. That small movement, plus his heavy head, made him want to upchuck over the side of the bed. He stood, dizzy and nauseated, then stumbled to the bathroom, where, a few moments later, he was brutally ill. His legs gave out and he crumpled to the tiled floor, clasping onto the porcelain seat as he vomited his guts out.

      Holy shit, he groaned, throat raw from his efforts. Maybe it was those damn oysters we had last night. He and his good friend Lenny James had gone to a quiet but popular oyster bar in Covent Garden.

      Ryan wondered whether this was punishment for overindulging on seafood and a bottle of shared wine. Based on his limited alcohol intake, he didn’t think he deserved this god-awful headache. The pressure behind his eyes threatened to expel them from his head.

      He wiped his mouth with tissue paper and stood, wishing he hadn’t as his head exploded yet again. He swore, went over to the basin and winced when he saw the man in the mirror staring back at him. That man had cracked, dry, pale lips, his chalk white face surrounded by auburn curls matted around his small but slightly pointed ears. Bloodshot and bleary blue eyes blinked back at him.

      Ryan groaned. God. I look fucking awful. He reached for his toothbrush and plastered toothpaste over it. He brushed his teeth and tongue, trying to rid himself of the lingering bitter taste, and swore never to drink again.

      Half an hour later, after taking some painkillers, he felt more human. He showered, dressed in a comfortable yet trendy tracksuit and went into the kitchen to call Lenny to see if he felt ill too. As he waited for his friend to answer, Ryan made one of his special protein shakes containing milk, banana, whey protein, a dash of honey and various multivitamins. It worked to alleviate the aftereffects of drinking. He badly wanted a smoke but he was trying to give it up. The nicotine patches were making him bitchy and irritable—more so than usual—and he wasn’t sure what was worse, the effects of smoking or the constant mood swings.

      Morning, sunshine. Ryan winced at Lenny’s cheerful voice as spots danced a polka before his eyes. You’re up earlier than I expected.

      Ryan squinted at his wall clock, the display fuzzy. It was only ten a.m., so yes, by his standards he was up early on his treasured day off.

      Couldn’t sleep, he groaned as he sipped his shake. Woke up with the fucking hangover from hell and puked everything up. I wondered if it might’ve been a bad oyster?

      Lenny snorted and Ryan pulled the phone away from his oh so delicate brain.

      Bad oyster at Sonny’s? You are joking, right? He’d kill you if he heard you say anything bad about the food at his restaurant. I ate from the same batch and I’m fine.

      Yeah, well maybe you have a cast-iron stomach or something. I didn’t think I drank much either. Ryan took another sip of his shake, the headache receding a little.

      You didn’t. We finished about one and a half bottles, child’s play for us. Lenny’s voice grew concerned. Could be you’re coming down with something. Stomach flu maybe?

      Ryan nodded, glad his head no longer threatened to fall off his shoulders and roll on the floor, as if he were an aristocrat during the French Revolution. I suppose I could have caught something from the club. There was a stag group there a couple of nights ago. One of them looked a little under the weather. He was coughing and spluttering. He heaved a sigh. Shit, I feel awful. I’m going back to bed I think. Try to sleep it off a bit.

      Sounds like a plan, Lenny agreed. Brook and I are going to the theatre today with his folks. He sounded nervous. They have this box at the Valedictorian. It’s some play Brook has wanted to see for a while.

      Ryan chuckled. He knew how neurotic his friend got around Brook’s stately Kenyan, and oh so refined, diplomat parents. Well, enjoy. It’s a pity my show finished a few weeks ago. You could have brought them to see it.

      "Yes, it’s damned inconsiderate of those financial backers to decide they’d had enough of a run with your show. I loved Come to Bed, Baby. It was a classic and you were perfect for the part. Lucky you have a fancy drama degree from university. And we all know you don’t need any encouragement to be a damn drama queen."

      Ryan grinned. That was certainly true. Well, it’s not every day you get a chance to play a drag queen character named after your own night club. Delilah Delish was tailor-made for me. I know I did a lot of soul-searching about taking the part but I couldn’t refuse Monty’s offer.

      Monty Franks was a well-known producer and playwright in Ryan’s circle of friends. Ryan had jumped at the opportunity to tour with the play occasionally and perform his role at the theatre four times a week.

      Ten months was a good run and I only committed to eight anyway, so the extra two months were a bonus for Monty. I enjoyed every minute, but to be honest, I’m pleased to have more of my time back to manage the nightclub full time. It was draining jumping between the two. Kyle covered the club for me while I was on my drama queen sabbatical, but it’s time to take back the reins. Kyle Tripper was Ryan’s extremely capable front of house manager at Club Delish.

      Ryan yawned. And besides you know Laverne loves getting up on stage with me at the club and strutting her stuff with Delilah. Lenny’s cross-dressing alter ego, fashion designer Laverne Debussy-Smith, was more than happy to accommodate Ryan’s impromptu drag queen shows at Club Delish for the amusement of the patrons.

      The delighted snort from the other end of the phone made Ryan smile. Lenny was so damn happy nowadays since he’d found his soulmate. The sexy Brook Hunter was Lenny’s raison d’être, a beautiful man with an even more beautiful smile. Brook accepted both Lenny and Laverne with all the enthusiasm the man could muster. Ryan was glad Lenny had his happy-ever-after although Ryan did miss him in his bed. They’d been exceptionally compatible fuck buddies.

      Lenny sniggered. Oh God, I can see Brook’s folks watching you flounce about on stage in your tight, slutty dresses, making all those filthy innuendoes you revel in. I think Brook’s toes would have curled at the thought of taking them to see it, although me personally, I think they’d have enjoyed themselves. His voice became softer. Have you heard from Mango yet?

      Ryan’s headache came back with a force. No, he snapped. That bastard hasn’t called me in over a month. Not since he left me a little note on my pillow saying ‘Got to go, be in touch soon.’ So fuck him. I hope he’s in some primitive village being devoured by cannibals. They can eat his dick first, while he’s still conscious. That’d teach him.

      There was silence at the other end of the phone. It probably wasn’t a surprise to Lenny that Ryan’s on-off bed partner and, unfortunately, the love of his life, Mango Munroe, had gone AWOL. Mango was the reason Ryan was finding it so hard to quit smoking. The man drove him to a packet of cigarettes for solace like nothing else.

      Hell. Lenny’s voice was hesitant. I still can’t believe he fucked off like that. I mean, the guy is crazy about you, I’m sure of it. But he’s damn commitment-phobic.

      Ryan laughed harshly. His heartache joined up with his headache and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed under his feather duvet. You said it, honey. That man likes to have his cake and eat it too. We all know he struts into town to have his turn at my cute tushy and, once he’s sampled the goods, he fucks off elsewhere. And I’m the incredibly stupid, naïve sucker who lets him do it. It’s been two years, Lenny. I’m not waiting for him any longer. He can kiss my perky arse.

      I’m sure he does regularly, Ry. Lenny’s voice was dry but sympathetic. And this isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, love. Maybe it’s time to move on and find a man you deserve and who can give back what you give. You’re one hell of a catch, Ryan Bishop. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

      Ryan drained his shake and put the glass down on the countertop. He stared out the window at the street below. Two floors down, Soho bustled about its business, not knowing that Ryan’s heart was breaking in a flat above Club Delish.

      I’m ready to move on, Lenny. I didn’t tell you last night because I wasn’t sure I was going to take it further. Speaking to you now made me realise I need to. Ryan took a deep breath. "I met this paramedic guy called Eric. He came into the club a while ago to take one of my patrons to hospital after the guy had a heart attack. Eric is hot and funny. We’ve been talking and he’s been hinting for ages he’d like to take me out. You’re right. I need to forget fucking Mango. In every way. I’m tired of fighting lost causes."

      Ryan blinked one eye, which seemed to have lost focus. It took a moment before his vision cleared. Anyway, I still feel like shit so I’m going back to bed. I’ll keep you updated on the Eric situation. Have fun at the theatre with your man and his folks.

      I will, Lenny promised. Hope you feel better. Text me tonight, let me know how you’re doing. And stay focused with the whole not smoking thing. I’m proud of you for making it this far, so don’t waiver. Speak soon. The line went dead.

      Ryan sighed and trudged back to bed. He climbed in under his duvet without even getting undressed. He lay staring at the ceiling for a while, thinking about Mango and craving a smoke again.

      I hope wherever you are, you bastard, you’re having a shit time, Ryan muttered. You don’t deserve any better. And when you come back? Don’t come knocking on my bloody door. ’Cause this—he ran a hand down his body— is closed for fucking business.

      *****

      Cat shit. He was up to his ankles in fucking cat shit.

      Manning ‘Mango’ Munroe stood in the assembly hall of a small school in the middle of someplace he’d dubbed Rural Bumfuck. His eyes watered, his nose streamed and the smell seeping into his nostrils was acrid.

      He stared around in disbelief, trying not to gag. "You have got to be fucking kidding me," he muttered, as he wiped his eyes.

      Next to him, his friend Teddy was looking similarly gobsmacked and affected. I know it’s been empty a while but how much shit can thirty-odd feral cats generate? His nose wrinkled at the vile smell wafting up from the stained floor tiles.

      Mango narrowed his streaming eyes as a tatty cat slinked across the floor in front of him. This is fucking ridiculous. He squinted down at his shoes. These trainers are ruined.

      To be fair they’d only cost a tenner at Primark but still.

      "Maybe they have a damn cat signal like the dogs in One Hundred and One Dalmatians and this is their nightclub. Teddy cleared his throat. I know the council wants to reopen this place but can you imagine any of your kids going here with all this crap? Even when it’s cleaned out—yuck." He waved his water gun in distaste.

      Yeah, I’m never having kids, so wrong question. Mango looked over pointedly at Teddy’s wife Della, another member of their cat-defence party. But I guess you’ll know that feeling soon enough.

      Della was six months pregnant. When the smell had hit them as they walked in, both Mango and Teddy

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