Book Title: Restored Ruins (A Paranormal Gay Daddy Romance)
Author: G.R. Lyons
Cover Artist: Dana Leah at Designs by Dana
Release Date: February 25, 2022
Genre: Paranormal M/M/M Romance
Tropes: Age gap, second chances, hurt/comfort, found family, celebrity/commoner
Themes: Faith/belief/acceptance (not religious) of self and possibility, love
Heat Rating: 4 flames
Length: 60 000 words/ 240 pages
It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger. It has an HEA ending.
It is the first book in a new series.
Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited
Kidnapped by his idol? Yes, please!
Connor Jenkins is sick of rejection. Now, instead of getting close to anyone, he lives vicariously through other people’s phones and webcams. Thanks to his skills, he always gets away with it.
Until he hacks his idol.
Brendan Shyth is haunted by loss. First, the death of his boy. Then the end of his music career thanks to a grief-induced drunken accident. Fringe science regrew his fingers, but he still can’t bring himself to play again. Avoiding his fans, the media, and his manager, Brendan hides in his mansion, determined to be left alone.
Until he finds his webcam on and realizes someone is watching him. Someone other than the ghost of his dead lover, that is.
Brendan has Connor tracked down and kidnapped, meaning to teach him a lesson. But the teasing brat gets under his skin in a way that no one has in years.
A boy in need of security. A ghost in need of acceptance. A man in need of faith. With a career, sanity, and hearts on the line, can these men overcome their fears before it’s too late?
Restored Ruins is the first book in the Gentleman Hackers series. It features a boy whose hair color never stays the same, a daddy who puts him in serious time-out, a ghost desperate to be seen, and an MMM HEA ending. No pianos were harmed in the writing of this romance (though they do make good horizontal surfaces).
Had he really been kidnapped?
First of all, rude.
He tried to blink the haze from his vision while he processed this strange, new reality.
Someone had actually managed to catch him.
Well, shit. Well done.
Connor started to sit up, then paused. Two things occurred to him at once. Three things, actually. One, it was somehow morning already. Two, he was in a bed. With some amazingly soft sheets, by the way. Damn. He was going to have to figure out what they were made of and get some for himself.
Not that he could probably afford them, but, hey, a boy could dream.
He was naked.
Connor raised an eyebrow. Huh.
He stared up at the ceiling as he took stock of his body. The soft sheets cascaded over his naked skin, making him hyper-aware of every tiny movement he made. A slow inhale made the fabric brush teasingly over his nipples, and a slight shift of his leg had the sheets drifting over his groin. Connor squeezed his legs together. Holy fuck. Much more of that and he would be a horny mess, though it was already almost too late for that.
Connor paused, wondering if his kidnappers were watching him.
He bit back a moan at the idea, then muttered a curse and shook his head. He had to focus.
Connor drew his arms out from under the sheets. He wasn’t restrained in any way. There was nothing stopping him from getting out of bed and exploring the room. And he didn’t feel pain anywhere. Other than where the needle had gone in. That still stung.
Connor rubbed the spot and slowly sat up. At least his kidnapper had been kind enough to keep the ground from punching him in the face. That would not have been fun.
He paused, then probed all over his face with his fingertips, just to be sure.
Nothing hurt there. Connor: one. Ground: zero. Ha! Take that.
Chuckling to himself, he glanced around the room, trying to guess where he might be. It looked like a normal bedroom—bed, dresser, nightstands, lamps—but way more high-end than he was used to. Spacious. Elegant. Obviously expensive, but tastefully so. And it didn’t have the rubber-stamp feel of a hotel room. Connor had seen plenty of those—from casual hookups with businessmen just passing through town—so he would know.
But this was different. This was custom. Unique. This was someone’s home.
He looked to one side and saw a pair of glass doors leading out to a balcony, the view obscured by some gauzy curtains. Across from him was an open doorway into a washroom. Connor blinked. Holy shit. Even from that angle, the washroom looked enormous, and he was sure he wasn’t even seeing half of it.
On the nightstand beside him was a small computer tablet. When Connor started to reach for it, the device detected his proximity and illuminated the screen, showing him a home control panel. There were options for room temperature, dimmed lighting, and blackout window shades, amongst other things.
Connor smirked. Don’t worry, darling. I’ll play with you later.
He grabbed the sheets, meaning to toss them aside and get out of bed so he could explore the room more thoroughly, then stopped when he heard the snap of a key in a lock.
Connor spotted the door—fancy double doors, in fact—and watched them slowly open.
He blinked stupidly and almost laughed as a butler appeared in the widening gap. An actual, real-life butler. White gloves and all.
Before Connor could voice his mirth, though, the butler stepped aside and bowed his head deferentially, revealing another man who’d been standing behind him.
The second man took a few steps into the room, glaring directly at Connor.
Connor’s jaw dropped.
Vesad Stromos. Right there. In the flesh.
He’d been kidnapped by Vesad Stromos. Forget just spying on the man through a hacked webcam. He was actually inside the famous musician’s house.
Day. Fucking. Made!
About the Author
G.R. Lyons stumbled into writing as a form of trauma recovery when traditional therapy wasn’t working.
Then the story ideas just kept on coming.
Pulling from a vivid imagination as well as real-life experience as a trans man, a sexual assault survivor, and a person living with mental illness, Lyons has written multiple, interconnected series set within his fictional world of the Shifting Isles.
When not writing, Lyons can be found belly dancing around the house, studying anarcho-capitalist philosophy, buried in his never-ending TBR pile, or working out at the local CrossFit gym.
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