Prism Book Alliance® would like to thank Eli Easton for stopping by today. Please give them a warm welcome.
Title: Merry Christmas, Mr Miggles
Author: Eli Easton
Publisher: Self Published
Genre: Contemporary, Gay, Gay Romance
Release Date: 11/23/2016
Toby Kincaid loves being the junior librarian in his hometown of Sandy Lake, Ohio. He spends his days surrounded by books and chatting with the library patrons. He especially adores the head librarian, Mr. Miggles, who is kind, witty, knowledgeable about everything, and hopelessly addicted to Christmas. Sean Miggles is also pretty cute—especially for an older guy who wears ties and suit pants every day.
But Sean keeps himself at a distance, and there’s a sadness about him that Toby can’t figure out. When Sean is accused of a crime he didn’t commit, he gives up without a fight. Toby realizes that he alone can save the library—and their head librarian.
Toby will need to uncover the darkness in Sean’s past and prove to him that he deserves a second chance at life and at love too. And while Christmas miracles are being handed out, maybe Toby will get his own dearest wish—to love and be loved by Mr. Miggles.
Let’s Hear It For Hot Librarians by Eli Easton
“Librarian” isn’t the first profession you think about when you think of sexy men. Firemen, cop, professional athlete, race car driver… those are sexy professions. You can immediately visualize the six-pack, sweat, and testosterone. But a librarian?
Hold on. I want to make an argument in favor of sexy librarians. In my new Christmas story, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Miggles”, the two MCs are the head librarian and the junior librarian of a small town library. Two librarians for the price of one! Let me convince you about their romance worthiness:
They’re smart (“brainy is the new sexy”).
If you’re turned on by witty, intelligent banter (and, come on, who isn’t?), then a librarian MC is the way to go.
“You might offer a finger, since you’re standing there,” Mr. Miggles said without looking at me.
I wasn’t awake enough for this, seeing as how it was 8 a.m. But I took the two steps to the conference table in Santa’s Headquarters and deliberately placed a single index fingertip on the fold of the wrapping paper to hold it in place while he tore tape off the dispenser.
He glanced at my face, amused. “So literal, Toby. What are we going to do with you?”
“Give me an extra week off with pay?” I suggested. I watched him tape the edge of the gift wrap—an embossed gold design—with great care, as if anyone would notice what the inside of the box looked like.
“I was thinking of something more in the ‘punishment’ category versus the ‘reward’ category, as it happens.”
Shit. Did that bring some dirty images to mind. I blinked rapidly and kept my finger in place with admirable fortitude.
They know where to find all the good erotica.
There’s an entire shelf somewhere in the library with The Kama Sutra, The Monk, Justine: Or the Misfortunes of Virtue, and fifty other classics of erotica. AND he’s read them all.
They’re nerdy (= cute).
A cute guy in a T-shirt and baseball cap is… a cute guy in a T-shirt and baseball cap. But a cute guy in horn-rim glasses, a tie, or suspenders? That guy is adorable. There’s a buttoned-up quality to a nerd that makes you want to unbutton.
All that reading and education is bound to broaden a man’s horizons and make him more empathetic.
Mr. Miggles sat in one of the kiddie chairs. His tie dangled as he leaned forward on knees raised so high they were above his waist. Did I mention Mr. Miggles was tall? He had an open book in his hands. Standing halfway in, halfway out of the chair next to him, with one of her knees on the seat, was Tanya. He’d managed to get her coat off and was reading a book to her. Tanya’s body language was aloof and wary, as if she didn’t want to be engaged. But I could tell from the way her eyes were fixed on Mr. Miggles’s face, and her tongue poked out in concentration, that she listened intently to the story.
He looked perfectly content, reading in a measured voice that was full of gravitas, and turning pages slowly, like he had no place else to be. And, hey, the kid wasn’t screaming. I left them to it.
And if my heart felt a little soft and hot and gushy in my chest when I sat back down at my desk, well, that was just between the library and me.
They know how to research things.
I’ll just leave this one here.
They will quote poetry in the bedroom. And mean it.
His fingers traced the hairs on my forearm where it lay over his stomach. “And your very flesh shall be a great poem.”
I smiled. “What’s that from?”
“You heathen. It’s Whitman. When are you going to read Leaves of Grass?”
“Soon,” I promised. “It’s on my Kindle.”
“That line always made me think of you,” he admitted, sounding as though he was embarrassed by the fact. “Even before, when I thought I knew better than to lust after my beautiful young junior librarian.”
“It did?” I was pleased. “And your very flesh shall be a great poem?”
“Yes. It did. In fact, I knew you’d be trouble the day I hired you.”
I laughed. “What?”
“When I interviewed you. My instinct told me those blue eyes could be my downfall. But at the time, I thought I was dead inside. And you were so… qualified. And nice. Why did you have to be so qualified and so nice?”
I covered a yawn. “I think maybe you damaged your brain just now. From lack of oxygen.”
They have private access to the stacks at night.
“Later.” I crooked my finger, inviting him over.
He approached me slowly, looked around. Granted, the massive glass walls at the front of the library didn’t lend themselves to privacy, especially at night when the lights were on—which is why I led him deeper into the stacks. He followed. I glanced at him over my shoulder and saw the spark of anticipation turn into a full-on desire. Like I said, Mr. Miggles had never been a stupid man.
I made my way to the love seat and coffee table in the mystery section, the most private nook in the entire library. It, too, was festively adorned. The lights on the miniature Christmas tree cast colored jewels over the wall and bookcase. I stopped there and turned to look at him. Without a word, I thumbed open the button on my jeans.
His chest heaved with a deep breath, and he looked around. “I thought we, um, agreed. Not at the library.”
I unzipped slowly, placed my palms on my hips to slide my jeans down. “During working hours, certainly. There’s no one here now. And there are no cameras. There aren’t, are there?”
He laughed. “No. Only the one on the front door.”
“Well then.” I gave him a wicked smile. “Christmas does only come once a year.”
About the Author
Having been, at various times and under different names, a minister’s daughter, a computer programmer, a game designer, the author of paranormal mysteries, a fan fiction writer, an organic farmer, and a profound sleeper, Eli is happy these days writing love stories as a m/m romance author.
As an avid reader of such, she is tinkled pink when an author manages to combine literary merit, vast stores of humor, melting hotness and eye-dabbing sweetness into one story. She promises to strive to achieve most of that most of the time. She currently lives on a farm in rural Pennsylvania with her husband, three bulldogs, two cows, pot belly pig, and cat.
Her website is www.elieaston.com
You can email her at firstname.lastname@example.org
I have a number of paperbacks, most of which are signed, to giveaway. Over the between now (11 Mar 2017) and 31 Mar 2017, every comment on the blog (this post and all other new posts), will be entered to win 1 of these paperbacks. There are also some misc swag items, so there will be a few packs of these to give away as well.
Thank you so much for your support over the last 4 years. Prism will be closing its doors on 1 April 2017. All content will remain available, but no new content will appear after 31 Mar 2017. As such all request forms have been turned off. Again Thank you,
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