Where does the time go? I suddenly realised the other day that it was almost exactly a year since I published my collection of short sultry summer/heat themed m/m stories, Heat Haze: Summer Sizzlers.
To celebrate the anniversary, I’ve decided to reduce the price of the book. I’d always wanted to charge less for it but sadly Amazon have increased the lowest price margin on all self-published books, so I ended up with a higher price than I’d intended. That lowest price is still the same, but I’ve taken the book down as low as I possibly can and it’s now only £1.77 (or your local equivalent). And of course, it’s still free on Kindle Unlimited.
Five stories, five summery settings ranging from Salzburg in a thunderstorm to an abandoned railway carriage in… a thunderstorm, and including a Maltese sea cave and a desert where everything may not be what it seems.
SAND, SAND AND more sand. It’s all I can see in every direction, stretching to the far horizon where the dancing heat melds land and sky in improbable creases. Vast plains, wind-whipped ripples, towering dunes, all shifting imperceptibly to the rhythm of the air. The closest dune is marked by a line of sagging footprints, leading my eye to the tall, slender figure of my companion. As if sensing my regard, he turns, djellaba and robe flapping like prayer flags in the wind. Even from here I can see his sardonic grin.
‛You are flagging, Edward. Do you wish to stop and set up camp?’
Damn him. We’ve only been walking for an hour, which he well knows. Guide or no guide, I can’t let him get away with that. ‛Of course not,’ I reply and trudge on. It’s the truth, anyway. The molten sun hurts my eyes, but the native dress he made me wear protects me from the worst ravages of the heat. The edge of my turban still bothers me, dipping down to dangle in my eyes, but it’s better than the alternative, a slow roasting that would send me mad with sunstroke. But I do need a drink, and I am tired of sand. Sand everywhere—in my boots, weighing down my every step, in my mouth, in the very pores of my skin. ‛Fucking sand,’ I mutter, shaking one leaden foot, but quietly so he won’t hear. I already know he’s laughing at me.
The stories are all slightly steamier than most of my usual fare. Even though summer is now on its way out there’s still enough good weather around to treat yourself to the book and take it out onto a sun lounger on the patio with a tall glass of something cool.
Fancy a bit of a sizzle? You can get Heat Haze: Summer Sizzlers at the new, lower price of £1.77 here. Happy reading, and happy whatever’s left of the heatwave!
FIONA GLASS 