Riptide Publishing
PO Box 1537
Burnsville, NC 28714
www.riptidepublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.
One Under
Copyright © 2018 by JL Merrow
Cover art: Garrett Leigh, blackjazzdesign.com
Editor: Carole-ann Galloway
Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at [email protected].
ISBN: 978-1-62649-686-6
First edition
March, 2018
Also available in paperback:
ISBN: 978-1-62649-687-3
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London Underground worker Mal Thomas is staying in Porthkennack to recover from a traumatic experience. Getting more bad news from home is the last straw—until big, blond museum curator Jory Roscarrock steps up to offer some comfort.
As a doctor of English literature, Jory should be in a prestigious post at a top university. But a youthful indiscretion led him to abandon academia to come back to his hometown, Porthkennack, and the controlling family he’s never really felt a part of. He’s delighted to find a kindred spirit in Mal.
But Jory’s family hurt Mal’s best friend deeply, and while Jory is desperate to repair the damage, his own mistakes threaten to keep him and Mal apart. Meanwhile, Mal is torn between his feelings for Jory and his duty to his friend—and his fears that a failed relationship could be more than his shattered confidence can take. Jory must convince Mal it’s worth risking everything for their love.
With thanks to all those who helped with this book: Pender Mackie, Kristin Matherly, Jenre. And especial thanks to Alex Beecroft for creating the wonderful world of Porthkennack for me and my fellow authors to play in, and giving it such a rich and inspiring history.
About One Under
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Also by JL Merrow
About the Author
More like this
The phone rang, shockingly loud in the hush of the almost-deserted naval museum. Especially seeing as the lone young man who’d been mooching around the exhibits had set his ringtone to . . . well, Jory couldn’t have named the song or the artist, but it was something modern and rappy, and seemed to be largely about Yo Momma.
It cut off as the young man answered the call. “’Sup?”
He listened for a minute, then spoke again. “Aw, Mum, no. Not Hermione. You’re sure?” The tone was completely different from the one he’d used only minutes ago when speaking to Jory—“Two pounds? You serious? How do they even pay your wages? I mean, no offence, mate, but it ain’t like you got punters queuing up down the street”—and not in a good way.
Then, it had been light. Carefree. Gently mocking. It had seemed to imply a cheeky grin and a wink might not be out of the question. Not that Jory was in any position to judge how accurate that was, given he’d slipped into his usual habit of blushing and staring at his feet when confronted with anything vaguely resembling flirtation. He’d probably only imagined the flirtation. And now . . . Now the tone promised only troubled frowns, with a small but not insignificant possibility of tears. Jory glanced up from his desk, and a sympathetic pang shot through his chest. The man looked devastated.
There was a pause. Jory tried not to stare too overtly while still appearing alert and available should any assistance be required. It wasn’t just because the visitor was so good-looking, although if he was entirely honest with himself, Jory might have shifted his chair around earlier to ensure a better view of those cut-off jeans and, more to the point, what was in them.
Now he felt guilt stricken for ogling the poor man in the face of his obvious distress.
“Why didn’t you tell me she was ill? I could’ve come back. You should’ve told me. I could’ve been there for her when . . . when it happened. Ah, shit.” The young man sagged against the wall, his free hand raking through his light-brown hair, narrowly missing The Wreck of the Troilus. Not that the painting would be any great loss had he knocked it clean off the wall and let the artwork go the way of its subject.
“Yeah. No. Yeah, I’m fine. Mum, I’m fine. It’s just . . . it’s Hermione, you know? We’ve been through a lot together, me and her, and now she’s . . . No, I’m good. I’m fine. You’ll do right by her, yeah? Proper burial? Yeah, yeah, I know. Yeah, love you too.”
He hung up, shoved his phone
