For the Lost Time

by Heather Blair

Genres: Time Travel Romance; American Romance; LGBT & Pride; New Adult Romance; Romantic Suspense; new york; time travel romance; LGBTQ; gay romance; 1920s

Synopsis

When Diego Delgado closed his eyes it was 2020. When he awoke, he was one hundred years in the past.

Thrust into the dawn of the Jazz Age with no money and nowhere to go, Diego encounters a veritable bouquet of acquaintances including a kind-hearted factory owner, a free-spirited flapper, a worldly-wise mystic, and a strong-willed heir named Thomas Greely.

Diego, desperate to return to the future and reunite with his young daughter, must blend in with the roaring twenties lifestyle while searching for answers.

But distractions are all around him, especially Thomas who is both beautiful and charismatic, and Diego must grapple with the reality that even if he succeeds in returning home, half of his heart will stay behind.

Release date: April 18, 2020

Print pages: 381

Content advisory: homophobic actions/behavior

Sample

There he was, standing by the darkened bay

window, staring ominously into the night sky—the most handsome man Thomas Greely had ever laid eyes on.

He was very tall, over six feet to be sure. Perhaps six foot two? Three? And in all that long space between the top of his umber head and the soles of his umber oxfords, there stood an astonishing figure. He was broad-shouldered and slender-waisted, his posture delicately sloped at the shoulders as if he carried a lofty burden upon them.

From where he stood, paralyzed with curiosity, Thomas could make out only the man’s profile. A long neck dotted with oversized freckles, a square jaw, a subtly cleft chin. His single visible eye showed an iris so dark one could hardly distinguish where it ended and the pupil began. The look of it might have been sinister were it not so spellbinding.

Every muscle in Thomas’s body ached to reach out and touch him. To trace the line of that commanding jaw with the pad of his thumb and follow it to the tip of his sturdy chin. To connect the dots of those beauty marks and discover the shapes they made. To brush the back of his fingers against the grain of his sandpaper stubble.

Thomas then began to wonder why the stubble was there at all and why the hair atop the man’s head hung a bit loosely in one spot. Why such sorrowful crinkles marked the wide plane of his forehead, and most puzzling of all, why did he cast a million-mile stare out the window with such torrid focus?

Why, why, why?