When the only way to be together is to stay apart.
Michael and Jamie have one rule to follow in their new life as touring musicians: DON’T. Don’t share rooms. Don’t collaborate on the songs. Don’t even look at each other withoutpermission from the powers that be.
But the music is suffering. The chemistry that made the band is gone, together with their happiness. It all seems hopeless, until they get an idea: what they need is an innocent front. In short, a beard. Sapphire offers to help, and while they get a little more than they bargained for,the price they pay seems worth it.
But when Michael has an accident, they have to hire a temporary bassist. The new guy may be a virtuoso on his instrument, but he also has plans above his station. Little by little, Michael’s place both in the band and by Jamie’s side is taken over by other people. The question becomes, how much is he willing to sacrifice to stay in the closet?
This is the second part of the Pax Cymrica series, and I found it every bit as good as the first. Second books sometimes suffer from not knowing where to go next, but there is none of that difficulty to be found here. The writing is smooth throughout, and the story feels just right as the next phase.
At times this was really hard to read. Michael has such a high degree of insecurity and almost painful self-loathing. The fact that he and Jamie aren’t even supposed to be together, let alone be open about it, contributes greatly to Michael’s state of mind. For some readers, this might feel like a bit much, but I appreciated the author’s skill at writing such raw agony. The only way I can think to describe it is that it’s emotionally erotic.
I loved the side characters in this one. It was fun to hate “O’Devil” (and I love Jamie’s nickname for him). I developed significantly more respect for Patrick than I had in the first book and just how much he did for them behind the scenes. Zoltan regularly made me want to punch him, and [spoiler: highlight to read] I almost cheered when Michael finally got in a good one. I had mixed feelings about Sapphire because I loved what she tried to do, and it’s devastating the way she failed. I see why Jamie couldn’t muster more sympathy for her, which makes the whole thing that much more human.
It felt to me like there’s less sex in this one than the last, but I can’t say for certain. It doesn’t really matter; what’s there is just the right amount and quality for the path the story takes. Michael and Jamie are really good together. Not just because they’re sexy but because the depth of their love and friendship makes everything that much sweeter between them.
All in all, this is an excellent follow-up to book one. I was given the first two in exchange for honest reviews, but I liked them so much I immediately bought the whole set as soon as I finished the second one. I’m hooked, and I can’t wait to see where these two go.
For outstanding writing, achingly real emotions, and a story that’s held me captive, this gets 10/10 fountain pens.
Jamie had almost gone to sleep, sated and dazed with his desperate fantasies, when there wasa soft knock on his door. Groaning, he fumbled for his underwear but couldn’t find it. He gathered the covers around him and padded to the door, half in a coma. Leaning against the wall, he unlocked it and cracked it open.
The sight of Michael jolted him awake. Ruffled and anxious-looking like a homeless dormouse, he stood in the corridor in his pyjamas, holding a heap of clothes and bags in his arms. When Jamie opened the door fully he could see a shirt lying a few yards away. “Mike…?”
“Can I come in?”
Jamie hesitated.
“Forget it.” Michael started to turn away.
“No, wait, of course you can.”
“I’ll go to Cal’s room. He won’t mind.”
Well, that was a ludicrous lie. “Fucking…get in here!” Jamie gripped Michael’s wrist, pulled him inside. He peered down the corridor, made sure that no one had seen them. Then he wrapped the covers tighter around his body and hurried to retrieve Michael’s dropped shirt. Straightening up again with the abandoned-looking thing in his hands, he threw a glance at Michael. He was half hidden by the doorpost, fumbling and fussing over his chaotic luggage, trying to look busy. Something had happened. Jamie knew it with the sudden sucking ache in his chest. Why else would he come creeping to Jamie’s room like this–the one place he shouldn’t be? Michael wasn’t one to gamble, to risk everything for something as transitory as a single night together. He hadn’t come here to get laid, but to escape.
Jamie walked back, closed the door and then just stood there, hesitating. Michael was striving to look unaffected, pretending to look for something in his bag. Jamie smoothed out the shirt and laid it on a chair. Michael’s eyes flitted up and he forced a sheepish-looking smile. “I…I can sleep on the floor if you want.”
“What? Why?”
Their eyes met. Michael’s were infinitely sad. Then they dropped momentarily, took in the small expanse of bare skin that was visible beneath the folds of Jamie’s sheet. Jamie’s breath caught in his throat. Of course Michael didn’t want to share his bed if he wasn’t dressed. It was too risky. “I’ll find something to wear,” he mumbled. Then he blushed, remembering that not only was he completely naked, he was still not cleaned up after his sordid little session earlier. He had begun to doze off with his own fluids still clinging to his skin. Now he felt the rough patches flaking beneath the covers and his eyes almost filled in shame. He really was a lost cause.
But he didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity now. Michael needed him to be normal. To be a best friend, no matter how badly he wanted to be something more. “You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he heard himself say as he rummaged around in his luggage for a pair of clean boxers. “If anything, I am.”
Michael sighed. “No. Look, you’ve got a chair, I’ll be okay.”
Jamie straightened up, boxers in hand, and stared at Michael. “What happened?” he demanded.
“Hmm?” Michael looked away.
“To make you sound like that? I mean, you haven’t minded sharing my bed before.” He caught himself too late. Seeing the red creep up Michael’s cheeks, he scrambled to retract. “I mean, not like…I mean, you know…We’re just going to sleep.” He tried for a joking tone and failed miserably. “Don’t worry, I’ll cover up.”
He was just making it worse. He knew it with every passing word. Michael was looking mortified, and as their eyes locked, a trembling silence filled the room.
“I…didn’t…” Jamie tried to break it, but his tongue seemed not to be connected to his brain anymore. Michael whirled around and made for the door, and before Jamie had time to react, he was gone.
Ingela Bohm lives in an old cinema, tucked away in a northern Swedish forest where she can wander around all day long and dictate her books. She used to dream of being an actor until an actual actor asked, “Do you really need to do it?” That’s when she realized that the only thing she really needed to do was to write. She has since pretended to be a dietician, a teacher, a receptionist and a cook, but only to conceal her real identity.
Her first imaginary friend was called Grabolina and lived in her closet. Nowadays she has too many imaginary friends to count, but at least some of them are out of the closet. Her men may not be conventionally handsome, but they can charm your pants off, and that’s all that matters.
Ingela’s more useless talents include reading tarot cards, killing pot plants and drawing scandalous pictures that no one gets to see. She can’t walk in heels and she’s stopped trying, but she has cycled 12 000 miles in the UK and knows which campsites to avoid if you don’t like spiders. If you see her on the train you will wonder what age she is.
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