"Unlikely Match," by Lily Michaels

Contemporary MM Romance

0 Smooches ~ No Heat 1 Smooch ~Cozy 2 Smooches ~ Warm 3 Smooches ~ Simmering 4 Smooches ~ Red-Hot 5 Smooches ~ Scalding

	
Smooches ~ No Heat

Smooch ~ Cozy

Smooches ~ Warm

Smooches ~ Simmering

Smooches ~ Red-Hot

Smooches ~ Scalding

Book Blurb

Book two in the Improbable Bonds series

Almost two decades of boxing couldn’t prepare Clayton for the biggest fight of his life—one that put love on the line.

Boxing had been Clayton James’ life for nearly twenty years, but the threat of a serious injury if he continued to fight forced him into retirement. Refusing to be down for the count, he carried his love of the sport into a new career as the owner of a gym. But low membership and a tightly stretched bank account mean he’s faced with closing his doors—or taking one more match to save his business.

The bullying that Tyler Kirk thought he’d left behind in high school not only managed to carry over into college but also seemed worse. Being older than the average student because of the years he’d taken off to rehabilitate his sister after the accident that robbed them of their parents didn’t lessen the attacks he faced. His chance to find peace was in the meaty hands of the finely chiseled and sexy-as-hell owner of the gym he hoped could give him self-defense training.

Neither man expected the adversarial start of their relationship to melt into something that quenched Clayton’s long-neglected need and one that Tyler wasn’t even aware he had. Nor could they prepare for the intense sexual chemistry that flowed between them to quickly morph their training schedule into a hot and heavy hookup routine.

But the risks of Clayton’s final match are amplified when it’s no longer simply his health and well-being on the line but also the love of a good man and the promise of family.

My Review

As always, full disclosure: Lily Michaels is my bestie in real life. However, as I’ve said probably a hundred times already, that fact doesn’t influence my feelings on her words. Because I fell for her writing before I fell for her. It was our shared love of writing, and lucky happenstance, that landed us in the same writer’s group. The rest, as they say, is history.

Unlikely Match has a very “us” quality, as Lily and I like to say about the things in our lives that manage to play out in eerily harmonious ways without us even trying. We both started writing similar-ish stories around the same time—my Beauregard and the Beast and her Unlikely Match. Both had a fighter as one of the leads, among other minor similarities. However, due to life being life during that period, neither of us were fully aware of what the other was writing. Typically, we alpha read for one another, but things kept getting in the way. So, when we finally did read one another’s stories, we had one of those, “Holy cow, we are so very, very us” moments. And, I can’t lie, I adore when we have those.

This story follows Clayton, who is a thirty-five-year-old retired boxer attempting to make his dream come true of running his own gym. Unfortunately, he keeps hitting a wall, and while he’s managed to open the gym, it’s nothing but a money pit. He keeps sinking his dwindling personal funds into the venture with little to no positive gain. So when Tyler stalks into his gym, full to the brim with showboat levels of piss and vinegar that speak nothing to his true personality, Clayton begrudgingly agrees to train the sassy young man.

That is, until Clayton’s natural submissive side sees through Tyler’s facade and introduces them both to an unexpected adventure—an experienced sub leading a first-time Dom into the blissful D/s waters. It truly is beautiful, and expertly handled by Ms. Michaels. Tyler steps into his role as Dom as if he’d always known the part, and Clayton finds not only the Dominant he’s always needed, but the family he’s always wanted. Because, yes, there’s an adorable little sister Tyler is guardian of who wraps “big boy” Clayton around her tiny little pinky finger from the get-go.

I highly recommend this to all lovers of romance, but especially those who enjoy a little kink with their ooey, gooey HEAs. That’s one of Lily’s specialties, after all. This is one of those fast-paced reads that leaves you satisfied and aching for more. Thankfully, Ms. Michaels is in the process of completing the next novella in the series and—lucky you!—she’s supplied a teaser snippet for Unlikely Harmony below!

Teaser Snippet from Unlikely Harmony
Book 3 of the Improbable Bonds Series
By Lily Michaels

Chapter One
Sebastian
“You will need to be on complete, strict vocal rest for two weeks, slowly starting to speak after that. All in all I expect you will need around eight weeks of decreased vocal use before you’ll be able to sing again.” The man sitting on the opposite side of the dark walnut desk held up a hand. “These are all estimates, we will need to monitor you closely and see you back in a week.”
The doctor’s words washed over me with the potency of an arctic dip in the Pacific on a January day. I dropped my gaze from the gray haired physician in front of me to the fingers knotting in my lap. What am I if I can’t sing?
I opened my mouth to respond. Such a normal, ordinary thing, but quickly clamped it shut when I remembered the strict orders. Complete rest. I offered a curt nod, collected my light jacket and fled the office as soon as my follow-up was scheduled. Another week, another exam.
The uncharacteristically chilly pre-fall air danced across my exposed throat and I reached up to curl my fingers around it, more on instinct than anything, protective of my golden voice.
Once golden, that is.
I drew my brows together as I walked the tree lined suburban sidewalk in Red Cedar. A car would be faster—and I could easily cue up a car service or even summon an Uber—but I needed the time. To untangle my thoughts and decipher my emotions. And somehow manage to pull the deep, damn near suffocating agony that thumped with every beat of my heart under control. Singing wasn’t merely how I made my living, it wasn’t just my career, it was my life.
The phone in my pocket vibrated as I turned the corner and I slid it out, scowling at the screen as my sister’s name flashed across it. I pressed the button on the side to end the call and sent a text message instead.
Sebastian: I’m walking home. Can’t talk x 2 weeks. Can’t sing.
I left out the part of being completely gutted and thoroughly pissed off at the entire situation. She’d know. She always knew. I never actually showed it the way a good brother would, but I couldn’t imagine my world without Siobhan in it.
Unfortunately there was a reason I had a reputation for being a hard-to-please diva as well as the greatest operatic star the world had seen in decades. It was because I earned it. And Siobhan tolerated it, loving me in spite of it.
Less than thirty seconds later her response proved the depth of our connection. Followed quickly by a second message that only served to darken the black cloud of pity already circling my head.
Siobhan: Oh darling, I will have warm honey tea ready. And Mimi has missed you terribly.
Siobhan: Don’t forget, the candidate for your accompanist position is due to arrive today.
Damn, damn, and double damn. I had forgotten and was in absolutely no mood to work on a piece I couldn’t sing, couldn’t feel, couldn’t embody. How would I possibly be able to connect to the music and words when I couldn’t let them wrap around me from the inside out.
I forced my steps to shorten, slowing my pace, and insisting my mind focus on the necessary work. Writing. Creating art. Honing my already pristine craft. I’d never again let my voice be in jeopardy, but if the unthinkable were to befall me once more, I needed to be able to write the very operas that others could bring to life the way I had.
No. I squared my shoulders and sharpened my cadence. Not had, would again. This was a stumbling block, a blip on the radar of my success. I graced stages most could only dream of from Milan to Sydney to Moscow. Reporters were doggedly insistent each time I had a new album or a new tour, wanting to be the first to land a one-on-one with the Sebastian Chevalier.
Sooner than I was actually prepared for, my sprawling brick estate came into view. I exhaled a slow breath as I crossed the threshold, awaiting Siobhan’s overprotective coddling to kick in at any moment, both wanting and dreading her excessive concern at the same time.
She was a slightly overbearing mother hen despite being younger by a full seven minutes. As expected I’d barely hung my suede coat on the cherry stand beside the door when she rushed over and cradled my face between her hands. The warmth of her palms managed to unexpectedly soothe some of the ache. We’d had each other since forever. Since before father left, since before grandfather died, and since before mother decided to retire to the French Alps, as aging socialites were wont to do. But through it all Siobhan and I had each other.
“Oh Sebby.” She moved and slid her arms around my waist, hugging me with more strength than her pixie sized stature should possess. “I have a cup of honey ginger tea waiting in the living room. And a warm towel you can put on your throat. And…” She pulled back within the circle of his arms. “It’ll be okay.”
I ground my molars together, but—rather than fight when I couldn’t even whisper—gave her a brief nod and made a mental note to spoil Siobhan just a little more than normal as soon as I recovered. She deserved it.
The scene she’d created in the living room was amusing. A small, folding table was arranged beside my overstuffed slate-colored chair and the promised tea was sitting beside a towel with the latest bestseller she’d just finished reading. A decadently soft cashmere blanket spread over the arm with a memory foam pillow on top.
Over-the-top, ridiculous, and exactly what I needed. Even if I’d prefer to die a thousand deaths before admitting it, verbally or silently.
She tucked the blanket around me as soon as I curled into the chair and fluffed the pillow into place behind me. From seemingly out of nowhere, she plopped my precious little Mimi in my lap and my furry baby went about her normal routine of snuggling so firmly against me warmth spread into the corners of my somewhat cold heart. The entire time Siobhan talked nonstop. I adored her beyond words, but in that particular moment, I hoped she’d run out of things to say.
Silence was a word I was going to need to embrace over the next two weeks and it would surely be easier if she could employ some of that as well. Silence was something I appreciated only in the dark room at Devour with every sense other than touch almost fully repressed heightening the single sensation. Now? Now it would be one of the things that defined me.
And the partner I had on my last visit… I’d asked Sergio far more than I cared to admit for the man’s name and been denied just as many times.
I barely had the ability to release the pent up breath at my sister’s momentary silence when the doorbell pierced the all too brief quiet I was desperate to cling to.
Siobhan shoved a notebook and pen toward me. “Here, Sebby, you’ll need this. I’m sure that’s your interview.”
I frowned at the paper in my hands as my sister hurried to the door, stealing my precious Morkie—the only being I loved as much as Siobhan and mother—against her chest. As if Mimi’s whopping six-point-three pound self would be enough to fight off an intruder. I flung the blanket off my lap and followed. Cursing the accompanist the entire walk to the door.
Even though I knew it was irrational, I needed someone to blame and the violinist seemed like the perfect place to start. Siobhan was suffocatingly overbearing, but as frustrating as she was at times, I couldn’t bring myself to take my overly irritable attitude out on her.
I paused at the ornate French-style mirror hanging in the front hall. Each room in the house had threads of our heritage laced through them, mostly by Siobhan’s design. She loved the decadence, especially in the antique pieces she insisted were good investments.
Every strand of my sandy blond hair was perfectly in place and I nodded at my reflection. Even if I already knew I wouldn’t like the man, I’d be damned if anyone would see me looking anything less than perfect. Mute, but perfect in every other way.
My mildly arrogant resolve faltered when I took my place beside Siobhan at the door and my gaze found sparkling chocolate eyes looking at me. His clothing was entirely too casual for the type of position he was interviewing for and the case hanging from his fingertips at his side was battered and old. Neither presentation gave me much hope for the instrument lying within. The other man’s hair was messy. Not in a trendy way, but in a way that was oddly familiar although I couldn’t quite place exactly where or when I’d seen it before.
His unruly curls and all the things I tried to call negatives added up to create an odd and unwelcome stirring in the pit of my gut. Each movement of the man’s sinfully long lashes heralded a cacophony of butterflies to batter my still slightly clenched stomach.
The first attraction I’d had towards someone since my last trip to Devour was to the man here to audition to be my accompanist. Not only inconvenient as hell, completely out of character for me. GQ cover model was much more my type. As long as they were very, very good boys.
I firmed my jaw and my posture. This was merely the product of my underfed and overactive libido mingling with the frustration and irritation at having my work put on hold because I was encased in the fifth circle of hell known medically as vocal rest. Clearly I needed another trip to Devour to subvert an attraction this ludacris.
The dark haired man stuck out his hand with a lopsided grin. “Hi, I’m Jasper Lord.”
A scowl I was certain would take up permanent residence on my face settled in once again and my gaze dropped from the unruly mop of hair to the hand before jumping back again and colliding with deliciously dark eyes. I collected my beloved Mimi from Siobhan’s arms and turned on my heel.
I didn’t have the time nor the inclination to deal with any of this. Not the vocal rest, not the violinist standing on my doorstep, and certainly not for misplaced desires sparked by the unkempt man.

Lily Michaels
She/Her

Coffee, chocolate, and books make up Lily’s world, often all three at the same time. Whether reading or writing she is a sucker for an over-the-top happily ever after… only following an appropriate amount of pain, of course.

When she is not writing or reading (which is not very often) she enjoys exercising her right brain in non authorly ways such as creating mosaics, crocheting, knitting, scrapbooking, and taking one man’s trash to create something new. But never, ever ask her to draw something. That is a beast best left alone.