Who keeps the Royal Marine’s heart safe when he’s running headlong into danger?
Akash Robinson fuses his Indian and British heritage into his baked creations. His life is all things sugar and spice, especially when a blind date leads him to the older military man of his dreams. Family, friends, and an unwanted admirer all threaten both his sanity and his budding romance.
Hamish Ross carries the names of his lost soldiers on his back. He takes his work seriously with no time for love. All it takes is one impulsive kiss to lead him into uncharted romantic waters.
When a sarcastic baker mixes with a stoic alpha marine, who will come out on top when the flour settles?
The Royal Marine is book four in Dahlia Donovan’s international bestselling gay romance series, The Sin Bin. Each one features hot rugby players and the men who steal their hearts.
“Hamster.” Wyatt barged into his office and sank onto one of the chairs across from his desk. “Why the hell are you doing paperwork? You hate it. Have you called him yet? Aled’s dying to know.”
“Aled’s dying to know?” Hamish didn’t buy that excuse for a moment. “You’re a gossiping twat.”
“That’s a no, then. What’s the matter with you? He’s hot—he can fucking cook. Have you tried those pie things he bakes? You’re not going all weirdly stuffy and British again, are you?” Wyatt, in his typical sharp-eyed manner, found the tender spots in Hamish’s armour and needled him ruthlessly. “Dude. Text him. Send a fucking pigeon. Scottie has zero chance with him, but he’s not the only man in Cardiff.”
Hamish involuntarily crushed the invoice in his hand, the one he’d been pretending to peruse when the American twat interrupted him. “Bloody Yank.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hit the mark?” Wyatt chuckled. “It’s almost lunch. Go pick something up at his bakery. I know that you know where it’s at.”
“Earp.” Hamish tried to silence his old friend with a glare, but Wyatt only hummed under his breath and ignored him. “Don’t you have a desk of your own? Aren’t you supposed to be working on the report for that new client?”
Wyatt’s grin only widened until he resembled a shark scenting blood in the water. “Text him, Hamster. Don’t fuck up because of the massive stick up your ass.”
Once Wyatt retreated to his own office, still chuckling loudly, Hamish tapped his fingers restlessly against the desk. The obnoxious twit had a point. Several, actually. I won’t tell him though, his ego’s massive enough. He shoved the papers away from him; invoices could wait.
I am a bit peckish.
And Akash’s bakery is only a ten-minute drive.
“Hammy Hamster.” Lily slid on her socked feet out of her office to block his path. “Grab us some pasties, will you? Nye wants the curry potato ones.”
He tried to step around her, but she danced around. “Lils.”
“Might want to spruce yourself up a bit.” She laughed when he grabbed her by the shoulders to move her out of the way. “Comb your hair at least.”
“And brush your teeth,” Vinnie shouted from his office.
“Shine your shoes?” Nye offered.
“Thanks ever so much.” Hamish pinched the bridge of his nose while everyone in the office yelled out their suggestions. “I hate each and every one of you both individually and collectively.”
Dahlia Donovan wrote her first romance series after a crazy dream about shifters and damsels in distress. She prefers irreverent humour and unconventional characters. An autistic and occasional hermit, her life wouldn’t be complete without her husband and her massive collection of books and video games.