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    His Gift
    His Gift
    His Gift
    Ebook57 pages1 hour

    His Gift

    By Clare London

    3/5

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    About this ebook

    Steven Macklin wakes up in a ditch one morning in foul, wet weather with no idea where he is or how he came to be there. Seriously injured, he struggles across bleak heathland to find shelter. The only house he finds is weather-beaten and deserted, although he's too sensible a guy to fall for the cliche of a haunted mansion.

    Isn't he?

    When he collapses and is taken in by the handsome Eliot, Steven finds himself in a very disturbing situation -- and in the bed of this strange, possessive man.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJMS Books LLC
    Release dateJul 18, 2012
    ISBN9781611523331
    His Gift
    Author

    Clare London

    Clare took the pen name London from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with the weekly wash, waiting for the far distant day when she can afford to give up her day job as an accountant. She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic and sexy characters.Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter 3 stage and plenty of other projects in mind . . . she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.All the details and free fiction are available at her website. Visit her today and say hello!Join up for her newsletter at http://bit.ly/2WpHlyK and receive a free short story!Clare also writes as Stella Shaw and launched her Love at the Haven series of rent boy romances in 2021.Website + blog: http://www.clarelondon.com / stellashawauthor.comFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/clarelondonTwitter: https://twitter.com/clare_londonGoodreads: http://bit.ly/2lNSfC2Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/clarelondonBookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/clare-londonInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/clarelondon11/Quids&Quills: http://www.quidsandquills.com (accountancy for UK authors)

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    • 5/5
      Wow - the Gothic feel of this very short novella blew me away. Steven awakens to find himself in severe pain, lying in a ditch in the pouring rain, and he manages to drag himself to the nearest house where a gorgeous man, Eliot, welcomes him in. Steven finds himself in Eliot's big bed almost out of time and space, utterly enthralled by their sizzling sexual chemistry. Steven can't remember his past, and Eliot says little about his life, other than he wished for someone like Steven and he appeared, his gift.

      I love, love, love the writing here. London creates this slowly growing sense of unease, potential terror and mystery. Something is Not Right here ... but what? The ending felts abrupt to me, mostly because I was enjoying all the glorious gothic elements, but I loved the swerve, the twist, the upending of what we assumed reality is/was, and give this little gem 5 stars.

    Book preview

    His Gift - Clare London

    His Gift

    By Clare London

    Published by JMS Books LLC

    Visit jms-books.com for more information.

    Copyright 2012 Clare London

    ISBN 9781611523331

    Cover Design: Written Ink Designs

    All Rights Reserved

    WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

    No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

    This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

    Published in the United States of America.

    NOTE: This story was originally published by Aspen Mountain Press.

    * * * *

    His Gift

    By Clare London

    I woke up lying on scrubland, flat on my belly, my face pressed down into the short, harsh grass. I was totally exposed to the dark, storm-filled skies above me and an increasingly high wind. It was also raining heavily, a steady beat on my back. The water clawed its way through my shirt, running in rivulets down my sides to the ground. Out of the corner of my half-closed eyes I could see tall trees in the distance, but the only things in the immediate vicinity were turf and soil: sparse, grimy, and slick with rain. I shifted slightly and my knees scraped against gravel. When I moved my leg in another direction, something tugged in resistance. I heard the deep, sucking sound of wet mud at my ankles.

    I seemed to be half in a ditch and I hurt. A hell of a lot.

    With difficulty, I struggled to my feet. I couldn’t believe how long it took me. My limbs were both exhausted and wayward, and the pool of mud was equally reluctant to let me go. It clung to my clothes, seeping through the fabric in cold, clammy trickles. My shirt was torn in several places and my jeans were sodden from hip to hem. Every time I moved, there was a fierce pain at my hip that made me shudder. When I put a cautious hand to my side, there didn’t seem to be any blood, but something that excruciating had to be really serious, I was sure. If I’d had the energy, I would have cursed long and hard.

    When I was finally upright and looked around, I saw a deep ridge in the soft mud, the width of a man’s body and running back down from the solid ground into the depths of the ditch. I’d obviously dragged my body up from there. The rain beat fiercely at the mud now, and the traces would soon be obliterated.

    I had no idea where I was, or what had happened. In fact, for a very frightening moment, I struggled to remember my own name. I patted down my back pocket for my wallet, dragged it out and flipped it open. It was soaking, like the rest of my clothes, but I could read the name on a bank card. Steve Macklin. Of course, that was my name. I was stupidly relieved. So things weren’t that bad, right? I could remember who I was. I tried to recall other things, like what day it was or what I was doing here, but I couldn’t concentrate properly. In fact, the effort made my head hurt.

    I heard noises and twisted around. Was there company in this Godforsaken place? But I quickly realised it was only the rain splattering on the stones in the ditch, combined with the remnants of my own laboured breathing. The whole area was deserted. I couldn’t see any sign of life, whichever direction I searched. I knew I had to get under cover somewhere, though, and examine where I was hurt—how badly I was hurt. Then I could worry about how the hell I got here in the first place.

    I peered over at

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