First Kiss: His American Detective by Summer Devon

This is a featured article column called FIRST KISS. We ask authors to share a first kiss scene from one of their books published in 2017. And each author graciously sent in an excerpt. Enjoy!

Title: His American Detective
Author: Summer Devon
Genre: Historical Romance, LGBTQ
Publication Date: September 1, 2017
Buy Link: Amazon

The sole survivor of his family’s gruesome murder years earlier, “Poor Little Ned Lawton” has struggled to put the dark events behind him. So when a brash New York detective darkens his doorway demanding an interview, the wealthy young gentleman immediately shuts him out. But a rash of murders in America are mirroring of the London killings, and Patrick Kelly knows Ned might be the key to stopping the bloodshed.

Lawton, now called Edmund Sloan, is a wealthy young gentleman and philanthropist. He’s spent most of his life pushing all memories of his old family and that horrific day from his thoughts. Now a brash, provocative American detective insists he dredge up the past.

Together, Patrick and the unwilling Edmund must uncover the truth of the murders before the killer strikes again, whether it is in New York or London. As they hunt down secrets from his past, Edmund can’t hide his other secret from the sharp-eyed detective: the attraction he feels for men and the enticing Patrick in particular.


Patrick usually had some sympathy for a man who didn’t want to crave other men and who longed to banish that lust as quickly as possible. He’d had moments like that in his own life. Heck, less than hour ago he’d considered seeking out an anonymous encounter. But for some reason, Ned’s intention to use him to reach orgasm—and nothing else—annoyed him. It would be a challenge, he decided.

“Ah-ah.” He bent forward and pressed his mouth to Ned’s jaw. He inhaled the scent of the flowers around them, of the male nearly in his arms, all expensive linen and wool and lust. “If you want this, I’m more than happy to oblige, but only if we go at a slower speed. We talk when I want to talk.” He punctuated each word with a tiny kiss or nip. “Or perhaps if and when you want to talk.”

“Oh no. No,” Ned groaned the words, and he raised his chin like a dog offering its throat. Giving up control. Oh no, no was right. Ned obviously didn’t want to blame himself for whatever happened.

Patrick cupped Ned’s warm face in his palms and leaned forward. A gentle touch, nearly a kiss, their breath mingling until Patrick needed more. He slid into kisses, deeper and deeper, and then he grew as urgent and feverish as Ned.

For a time, he allowed himself to taste, and feel—and he groaned and moved closer, thinking only that he needed a shave and perhaps his beard burned Ned’s lips and softer skin. Such soft skin and lips and delicious kisses. He’d pressed Ned to the door, and his hands moved from his cheeks down, down, over his shoulders and then around Ned’s body clinching him tight so they again pressed together, hard, moving, panting.


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