Gates of Heaven by M. Tasia Book Tour and Giveaway :)
Saint
Gates
of Heaven Book 1
by
M. Tasia
Genre:
M/M Contemporary Romance
MOUTH
TO MOUTH RESUSCITATION
After
the death of their mother, Frank "Saint" Jeffrey knew the
only way to protect his younger brother was to strike a deal with
their autocratic, cruel, abusive father. In exchange for his
brother's freedom to live his life as he wished, Saint promised to
follow in his father's footsteps and become a preeminent surgeon in
his father's medical practice. When events he never could have
predicted took away Saint's ability to perform surgery, the bargain
became null and void. With no safety net, and a life without purpose,
Saint moved across the country, bought a wreck of a building in DTLA,
and hoped while resurrecting the property he'd find a reason to live
again. Then Max Connor entered his life, and Saint was dragged from
the darkness of desolation into the light of love.
The
slam of his office door shook the dust from the old paintings still
clinging to the walls of plaster,
and the sound of breaking glass confirmed one had lost its battle to
hold on. Saint threw yet
another folder into his recycling bin before leaning back into his
chair and looking up at the stained
ceiling. Was he asking too much? “You
send another one packing, boss?” Larry asked as he stuck his head
in through the now opened
door. “There
has to be one contractor out there who sees my vision for this dump,”
Saint groaned. “They
want to gut everything.” Larry
walked all the way in and sat on one of the high-back, upholstered
chairs from the lounge
area. Saint didn’t even know the guy’s last name, but that hadn’t
mattered when he’d found
Larry sleeping in the corner of his building’s entryway. Larry had
needed help and so had Saint.
It worked out for both of them. At first, Saint had kept an eye on
the young homeless man as
he helped around the building, but after two months, Saint had
learned to relax a bit. If Larry had
intended to steal from him, he would have done it by now. Saint
looked down at his leather-covered hands. The black, fingerless
gloves were designed to
support and protect his still-healing hands from the wounds that had
changed everything. Larry
had been indispensable, so Saint had provided him with a room of his
own in the back of the
building as well as a cash allowance of sorts. Considering Saint paid
for all the expenses and food,
Larry was pocketing enough to take care of himself without resorting
to other means. “They
can’t gut what makes this old building unique. My grandpa used to
say there was too much
conformity in the world,” Larry answered as he wiped his sweaty,
dust-covered face, leaving
one clean streak down the side. Saint wasn’t sure where Larry had
been raised, but his accent
suggested the mid-west. “Damn
straight,” Saint agreed before standing with a soft hiss of pain. “Your
side hurting again?” Larry asked. There
had been three bullets that day. One for each hand and a third
through his stomach, tearing
a hole in his small intestines that had required over ten hours of
surgery to repair. “It’s
not bad.” Short and to the point, Saint refused to talk about his
injuries. The quicker he healed,
the faster he could put that chapter in his life to rest once and for
all. Larry
followed him out of the office Saint had created from the old storage
room behind the solid
oak bar. He had been surprised no one had ripped it out considering
it looked like it dated back
to the building’s beginnings. The wood was carved into various palm
leaf shapes and covered
an entire wall complete with mirrors. There was no way in hell he’d
allow someone to destroy
it, which was one of the many stupid things the last contractor had
suggested. Saint
had to hand it to Larry—the man worked hard. “This room looks so
much better without
all the debris and broken furniture. Were you able to find room in
the dumpster out back?” “Yep,
it’s all ready for pickup. No wasted space.” “Good
job. Are you getting hungry?” Saint asked as he looked down at his
watch and discovered
it was already early evening. Another day gone and nothing to show
for it. Why was finding
a general contractor such a pain in the ass? It wasn’t as if he was
asking for the Taj Mahal
to be rebuilt. “I
can keep going, boss.” “That’s
not what I asked.” Larry
looked down at his shoes before mumbling, “I could eat.” Saint
knew the young man was doing everything in his power not to be a
bother. Sometimes it
seemed as though Larry would make himself as small as possible to
avoid attention. Saint had been
working on the young man’s confidence, which seemed ironic
considering he’d lost his own. “You
need to tell me the truth when I ask you questions. It’s the only
way this arrangement is going
to work. If I lose track of time, you are free to tell me it’s past
supper and that you’re hungry.
At least until we can work a small kitchen in here somewhere so you
can make whatever you
want whenever. Take a shower and we’ll figure out something to
eat,” Saint instructed, bringing
a smile to Larry’s face before he took off to his room. Saint
had thought to add more to the common space when they’d cleared out
the back, or hub,
as they began calling it. Their efforts had yielded a space that
included a television, couch, his
easy chair, a small dining table set, a coffee table, microwave,
electric coffeepot, and a small bar
fridge. Looking
around, he wished he had more to show for two months’ worth of
work, but it wasn’t
as if he had much else to do. Sure, he could have stayed in a
comfortable hotel while working
out the basics of his design concept, but if he was starting a new
life, he needed to jump in
with both feet. The
buzzer for the front door sounded—another new addition—and Saint
changed direction and
headed toward the thick wooden doors. He’d hired the Sentinel crew
to install a security system
in the building. It was worth the small fortune he’d paid for the
peace of mind. While a lot
of DTLA had been or was in the process of being renovated, there were
as many places that were
derelict and some were hard-core dangerous. Saint had vowed never to
be caught unaware again. He
looked at the monitor embedded into the wall a few feet from the
front doors, checking to see
who was out there. He flipped the locks and walked out into the
waning sunlight. The warm air
hit him and he shook his head. He didn’t think he’d ever get used
to LA’s climate. Early spring
back in New York City would hold the possibility of one last grand
snowstorm or two, typically
after everyone had removed their snow tires, making traffic worse
than usual. Saint
walked the ten feet to the imposing gothic wrought-iron gate that
enclosed the front vestibule
area of the building. He’d had the gates fixed the day after he’d
found Larry sleeping in the
entryway. A courier was waiting for him, but instead of opening the
nine-foot gate, he simply held
out his hand for the man to place the envelope in it. “Dr.
Francis Jeffrey?” The busy street noise and mass of people moving
along the sidewalks was
almost deafening, and Saint quirked a brow at the kid. He asked the
question again and Saint nodded.
He was no longer a surgeon and wanted people to address him as
mister, but this kid wouldn’t
know that. The
kid handed a handheld device through the gate’s bars. “Sign
here,” he said in a bored monotone
voice. Saint hated this part. Carefully, he took the stylus from the
courier and wrapped his
fingers as far as he could around the plastic. No matter how hard he
tried, he could only make his
index finger reach his thumb and scribbled something illegible on the
digital pad. When he went
to hand back the device, the expression on the kid’s face wasn’t
surprising. Saint growled and
shoved the pad in the guy’s hands, took the white envelope, and
stormed inside before relocking
the door. He
wondered if one day it would get better when he saw the shock and
pity in their eyes. If the
stabbing pain ripping through his heart would ease over time. “You
should have let me get that for you, boss,” Larry said as he came
running to the front doors.
His hair was still damp but at least he was dressed. All Saint needed
was a twentysomething traipsing
around in a towel. He
treated Larry as he would his brother Johnny, and made that clear
after the one and only time
the man had made a pass at him. Saint knew it had to have been tough
on the street, and Larry
probably assumed there would be a price for Saint’s kindness. It
took some reinforcing, but
it seemed Larry believed Saint wanted nothing more than an honest
day’s work for Larry’s efforts.
The fact that he felt responsible for Larry and treated him like
Johnny, the brother he’d protected
by staying away, was a matter Saint didn’t want to look at too
closely. “It’s
fine,” Saint answered, but his voice came out more like a growl.
“Did you grab the card, Larry?”
He had opened a bank account for everyday expenses and gave Larry a
card tied to the account
so he could pick things up when they needed them. Larry’s
dark brown eyes looked troubled as he nibbled on his lower lip and
Saint was about to
question him when the kid blurted out, “My name isn’t Larry.”
Saint tried his best to look shocked,
but obviously he hadn’t pulled it off. “You knew?” “I’ve
been in some of the toughest barrios
in Central and South America. I would
have been more
shocked if you’d told me the truth without knowing who the hell I
was. So, what is it?” “Finn ... Finley,
but I prefer Finn.” The kid shrugged. “Well,
Finn, did you grab the card?” Saint asked again, as if the name
thing wasn’t a big deal.
Even though the trust in sharing it was. “Yeah,
boss.” Finn smiled wide. “Okay,
go grab us something you like and I’ll meet you back in the hub,”
Saint instructed before
heading for the commanding central staircase. “Um,
maybe you’d like to come for the walk.” Saint
stopped in his tracks and spun around. “Why?” Finn
found a spot in the faded carpeting unusually interesting. “It’s…
well… You never go out,
really, other than doctors’ visits.” The
fact that Finn noticed was one thing Saint hadn’t expected. That
the kid sounded as if his
concern
was genuine was surprising. “I prefer to stay in at the moment.
Thank you for asking.” “Okay,”
Finn said with his usual smile in place before taking off for the
back of the building. Typically,
they used the delivery entrance to come and go. Saint
waited until he heard the beep of the back door closing and relocking
before he began climbing
the stairs to the first floor. While he lived on the ground floor, he
dreamed of the day that
he’d have his own space on the top floor of his building.
Unfortunately, without a contractor, his
dream had stalled. This
staircase had sold him on the building. Grand, majestic, ornamental,
and stunning, it had the
odd squeak, but the grand wooden staircase was solid. When he’d
first arrived, Saint remembered
thinking it reminded him of a toothless grin with its missing parts,
but the thick carved
railings that opened up like arms gathering you in as you ventured
higher were unique and
magical. The banisters depicted the elegant curves of a cello, but
the one thing Saint loved the
most were the slight grooves in the wood from years of wear. His
imagination raced at the thought
of who might have run their hands over the same surface in the more
than hundred years of
its existence. Saint
had done a fair amount of research before choosing this building. It
had lived many lives
in the twentieth century. When
the railroads had made it out west, the people who had built downtown
Los Angeles had
come to this desert by the sea as part of the oil boom in the early
1900s. They built, then set up
shop downtown in this four-story stone building with its elegantly
chiseled façade, high windows,
and ornate detailing. Over the years, it had changed hands numerous
times. After the oil
barons moved to a larger and more prestigious space, a couple of
Hollywood producers had turned
the building into an elegant nightclub with private rooms for those
who wanted their indiscretions
to stay behind closed doors. When World War II hit, the building was
shuttered, and
in 1946 it became a small department store. In the late 1960s, when
LA sprawl moved into the
Valley and took retail with it, the building changed hands and became
a hotel with a kitschy restaurant.
The hotel became seedy and the building fell into total disrepair at
the turn of the twenty-first
century. The grand dame had sat empty until Saint came along. His
plans included a restaurant and lounge on the ground floor, and
condominiums on the upper
three floors with a roof garden with lounges for the owners’ use.
Plans.
Saint scoffed at the
word. As if he had any real plans other than getting as far away from
his old life as he could. He
looked down at the envelope still crumpled in his damaged right hand.
When were they going to
stop sending these letters? Saint pushed the offending paper into his
pocket. He’d add it to the pile
when he got back to his room. Door
after door stood open, revealing the four would-be condominium units
on the first floor:
one studio apartment, two one-bedrooms, and a large two-bedroom in
the corner unit. Another
set of four apartments mimicking the floor plan on the second floor
was part of his vision,
and he intended to occupy the entire third floor. Which
was where he stood now, the peeling linoleum tiles buckled in a few
places, leaving glimpses
of the wood planks underneath. Large, full-length, top-hung windows
flooded the faded and
stained rooms with light. Saint regretted they had to be replaced and
hoped he could find something
comparable. He walked up to the windows that would be front and
center in his new loft-style
home and looked out at the city before him. The
city of angels.
Finn
Gates
of Heaven Book 2
Finn
knew the life he’d found at The Gates was a dream his past would
ruin, so when everyone he cares about is threatened, he returns to
the streets to keep them safe, especially the man he loves.
HEART
MURMUR
Fleeing
from his existence as an outcast child in a fanatic cult, Finn
Masterson makes his way to Los Angeles, only to find an unforgiving
city with little prospects for a teenager with few life skills. After
years of living on the streets in DTLA, doing anything and everything
required to survive, Finn finds a home, a job, and kindness with
Saint Jeffrey, who is renovating a grand old building mere blocks
from Skid Row. Finn knows better than to trust a good thing, so when
harassing texts and calls culminate in threats to the people he has
come to care about—especially a former Marine, Miguel
Fernandez—Finn returns to the streets to keep those he loves safe.
But one single-minded, stubborn warrior brings Finn back into the
fold, and they defeat his last remaining enemy giving them the
freedom to pursue their forever.
Finn took a sharp left down the short hallway, through the hub and into his room before shutting and locking the door behind him. He felt like a child pulling a tantrum but his emotions were too raw and he needed time to lock them away. Finn had gotten used to being an afterthought back home, but over the last few months, he’d begun to believe it would be different here. Or maybe that was only a Saint thing. He threw his bag on the bed on his way to his bathroom. Velcro went ahead and jumped into the tub, waiting for him to turn on the water. Since he’d given her a bath two weeks ago, the cat seemed to have changed her opinion about getting wet and jumped in every time Finn took a shower. After an impatient meow from his roommate, Finn reached down and turned his shower on. In a few economical movements, Finn discarded his clothing, checked the water temperature and stepped into the warm stream. Velcro sat in her usual spot in the back corner of the tub while he let the warmth soak into his sore muscles. He’d spent most of the day moving stacks of lumber up to the first floor and his body was feeling the strain. He pushed the power button on his in-shower speaker, flooding the bathroom with the familiar whine of a Fender guitar accompanied by a serious set of drums. Finn loved rock music, from Jimi Hendrix and the Doors to Aerosmith, Rolling Stones, and Rival Sons, he listened to them all. It helped him to block out the world when he didn’t want to be a part of it. Finn let the music and water soothe him until he could finally think straight again. Yeah, he’d overreacted. There was no reason for Miguel to tell him any of his plans. Finn knew sometimes he got carried away and became too attached to people. Sure, Miguel was his friend. That didn’t necessarily include knowing what he was doing or where he was going. It didn’t matter that he felt an instant connection to the man. Finn had to get his head on straight. His anger at being rejected soon turned into embarrassment, and he hoped no one had caught on to his dramatic exit. At least it’s not as bad as the night I offered myself to Miguel and he refused. God, when would he stop acting like a frightened child? He was a grown-ass man and needed to start acting like one. No wonder Miguel didn’t view him as a potential partner. Finn stayed in the shower long after Velcro had abandoned him for dryer digs and his fingers had begun pruning. He raised his face up into the stream of water one last time before turning off the taps and the music and exiting the tub. After a quick wipe down, he wrapped the towel around his waist, ran his fingers through his short hair and stepped out into his bedroom. The high-pitched, less-than-manly scream he let loose upon finding Miguel laying in the middle of the bed, fully clothed, with Velcro purring up a storm on his chest, was horrifying enough. But he had to go one step further by losing hold of his towel, allowing it to fall to the floor and leaving him naked in front of the man of his dreams. God had to hate him, cause this shit wouldn’t keep happening otherwise. As Miguel looked away, Finn reached for his worn track pants and slid them on. “What the hell are you doing in my room?” Finn shot out as soon as he was covered. “I know I locked that door.” “Locks, really? There’s nothing I can’t get through. You should know better than that.” “Just because you can get through them, doesn’t mean you should. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were a creep.” “Come here,” Miguel beckoned as he opened his large arms wide, and Finn was helpless not to crawl into them. “I’m sorry. That was an asshole move. I should have told you first. And, yeah, I couldn’t leave without making sure you were okay and saying goodbye.” Finn calmed in Miguel’s strong arms. Wrapped in the warmth and safety of his strength, Finn worried at how this one man could have such a pull over him. One day, Miguel would have someone of his own to hold. How was Finn going to feel then, the day he saw Miguel with someone else in his arms? He’d known the man for only six months and the thought of Miguel finding someone else struck enough fear into Finn that he began to pull back. Miguel allowed him to put space between them but his arm remained around Finn’s waist. “Easy. What’s got you so spooked?” Dense much? Miguel had to know what Finn was feeling on some level, especially after admitting to being an asshole. “Spooked? Is that what you call it when someone you care about decides to throw out like it was nothing that he was leaving on a mission to fight bad guys and didn’t know when he’d be back?” Miguel smiled at the term, but Finn pushed on, not succumbing to the handsome smirk. “And then you break into my room when I’m in the shower and have the nerve to ask me why I’m spooked. Seriously?” Miguel pulled Finn back against the hard wall of his chest. In truth, Finn hadn’t fought that hard. “I’m sorry. You’re so adorable when you get riled up.” “Adorable? Adorable. I’m a man, not some kid. You could say handsome and adorable, but not just adorable. I have a man card I’m carrying proudly and I don’t need you destroying it.” Miguel’s arm tightened a second before he flipped Finn on to his back and pinned him under the Marine’s much larger body. “You don’t have to remind me you’re all man. I have a pretty good handle on that already.” His eyes were the dark blue of the summer sky during a storm. The intimate position and those effin’ eyes drew Finn in until their lips were only an inch apart. Finn wanted this so bad his body ached for Miguel, but at the last moment the big guy pulled back and lay down back to his original position. He gathered Finn close to his side once again and said, “It’s late. We both need to get some rest.” “But—” Finn began but was quickly cut off when the frustrating man turned off the lamp on his bedside table. “Go to sleep, Finn. Big day tomorrow.” Finn’s heart felt heavy and his throat closed up as he thought about tomorrow. Miguel would leave and there was a chance he might not return. “Please be careful, wherever you’re going.” Miguel’s arms tightened. “I’ll be back.” “Promise?” “Promise.”
M.
Tasia, is an author who lives in Ontario, Canada. She's a member of
the Romance Writers of America and its chapter, the Toronto Romance
Writers. Michelle is a dedicated people watcher, lover of romance
novels, 80's rock, and happy endings, who grew up with a love of
reading. Mother of three wonderful children, wife to one
understanding husband and servant to two spoiled furry children who
don't seem to realize, that they're actually cats.
Michelle
writes both contemporary and paranormal romance and believes love
should be celebrated. After all, we deserve to have romance,
excitement, intrigue and passion in our lives.
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