Flashback Friday - Under a Rogue Moon

Way back when I was first starting out in e-publishing, I looked around at some of the pubs to see if anyone had a submission line they were looking specifically for. One pub was doing twisted fairy tales - I think it was Whiskey Creek - and since I was looking for an idea for my second book, I thought I'd give it a try. 20k into it, I realized that my idea would be too big and the notion of sticking to the original fairy tale too limiting. So I gave up on trying for that and just wrote the story.

The result was Under a Rogue Moon.

If you look closely, you still see remnants of the fairy tale I chose to twist (Little Red Riding Hood). Flanna has red hair instead of a cloak, lives with her grandmother, and the big bad guy is a werewolf. The family business is a bakery, too. But my hero, Jason, broke the mold for me. To date, he is still one of my favorite heroes that I've ever written.

BLURB

All it takes is one bad night for hunter to become prey.

When werewolf hunter Flanna McRae allows a single wolf to escape from her monthly hunt, the last thing she expects is for him to come after her. But fellow hunter Jason Randolph is convinced otherwise. His months-long hunt of the Romm pack has led him straight to the doorstep of her quiet English home. He doesn’t care that his quick-witted charm seems to get under Flanna’s skin. All he wants is to finally get his kill.

Until Flanna manages to get under his skin as well.

Their explosive affair is inevitable, but with the full moon less than three weeks away, Flanna’s convinced they are living on borrowed time. Romm is deadly and relentless, and it’s going to take more than the passion Jason inspires to stop the werewolf from destroying everything she cares about. Or is it finally enough?

EXCERPT

With his new Nissan parked in the drive, the house looked older somehow, more worn around the eaves. Flanna saw the way he looked at everything, not missing a single detail, and yet, Jason never commented on the property, choosing instead to continue with his light gibes that kept her slightly on edge. She took him around the side of the house and showed him the range she used for shooting practice, and then trekked further onto the grounds to take him to the old barn that had been converted into her training room.

“Nice,” he said, standing in the doorway.

The entire space was devoted to the hunt, whether it was weapons preparation or fitness-related. Her father did all his metalworks in the far corner, and most of his silvers were arrayed along the wall behind it, sparking against the aged brick. There was a boxing ring in the opposite corner, and various ropes and punching bags were scattered throughout the barn, giving Flanna ample opportunity to hone any one of her skills.

She watched Jason carefully, trying to best gauge his reaction. He sounded like he meant it, but she got the distinct impression that he was used to more affluent ventures.

He probably saw their whole set-up as antiquated, but then again, he hadn’t made a joke about the space either. Knowing what she knew of him already, that said a lot.

“Did your father train you?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “He picked this house especially because it had the barn he could use for his weapons and the like. What about you? Is hunting a family thing for you, too?”

Jason chuckled. “Only if it’s got money at the end of the trail.” He was suddenly standing right in front of her, blocking the way out of the barn. “I’ve gotta ask because I’m dying to know, and it’s probably going to make things worse, but what the hell. Why is it you don’t like me?”

Nobody could leave her speechless quite like Jason Randolph. Her mouth opened, closed, open again as her mind searched desperately for some kind of response that didn’t make her sound even more foolish than she already felt. In the end, the best she the best she could manage was, “Excuse me?”

“It’s not that that’s not OK,” he went on. His eyes were twinkling, and his mouth was twisted into a half-smile, but underlying his joviality was a note of disappointment. “It’s just … well, that’s kind of a new one for me. I mean, people don’t usually start disliking me until they’ve had a chance to really get to know what a jerk I can be, and I haven’t been around here long enough for that to happen with you. So, I’m asking. What is it about me that rubs you the wrong way? My devilish good looks, or my sparkling personality maybe?”

The question bothered her. Not because he was asking, but because she suddenly felt like she’d been caught out on something, a child with a shameful secret forced to share it when she really didn’t want to. Her cheeks blazed in embarrassment, and her hair seemed suddenly too heavy down her back. But Jason wasn’t moving from her path. If she wanted to get by him, she would have to resort to being physical, and that would just be wrong on far too many levels. She didn’t have much of a choice but to give him some kind of answer.

“You joke too much,” she said bluntly.

His head cocked in amusement, his eyes narrowing slightly as they regarded her. “So … you have a phobia for funny?”

Her flush deepened. “I just don’t think it’s always appropriate,” Flanna said. “You make light of things that I wouldn’t. What we do … it’s serious business, and it looks like you treat it like it’s not. I don’t care if my father or Guillaume or Tony Blair himself thinks you’re God’s gift, but I think you’re going to get yourself killed. And … enough people die already.”

“What you’re saying, then, is that you’d miss me if I wasn’t around.”

“What? No! Stop twisting my words!” Whirling away, Flanna began to pace the length of the wall, doing everything she could to keep from looking at him. “This is exactly why I don’t like you. You always say just the wrong thing, and it’s … it’s…”

“Sexy as hell?”

“Infuriating!”

She hadn’t realized she was moving so close to him until his hand shot out and
curled around her bicep, forcing her to a halt.

“You accused me last night of being emotionally invested in getting Romm,” he said. Something dark flickered behind his eyes. “You were right. But if I went at all this with the same seriousness you do, I would’ve slit my wrists a long time ago. This is who I am, Flanna. This is how I don’t explode.” He paused, and she felt the slightest of caresses along her arm where his thumb began to stroke it. “Kind of like how you go to places like Rage.”

Her skin was burning beneath her sleeve where he was touching her, and her throat was dry, refusing to work properly in the face of his casual reference to her night in New York. “You don’t know anything about why I went there,” she whispered.

Jason shook his head, the strokes along her bicep growing stronger in tiny, almost imperceptible fractions. “I think I know a lot more than you’re willing to admit.”

When he let her go and took a step away, Flanna stumbled, not expecting to lose the balance he’d been giving her. Already he was heading back up to the house, whistling under his breath. Apparently their conversation was over. Part of her wanted to thank him for dropping it, but another, almost equally vocal part wanted to chase after Jason and make him finish what he’d started. She wanted to know why he cared so much about getting Romm, and she needed him to understand that he wasn’t nearly as astute as he seemed to think he was.

“I’m hungry,” she heard him call out. She glanced up to see him looking back at her over his shoulder, that damnable grin on his face again. “What does a guy have to do to get a hot breakfast around here?”


For more information, visit Liquid Silver Books.

Flashback Friday--The Streets of Florence

Given yesterday's post about Italy, I thought I would post today about The Streets of Florence. I'm really fond of this story for two reasons--first, because I wrote it while I was in Florence and tried to pack as much of the atmosphere and details as I could and second, because it was the beginning of a so far very happy and lucrative relationship with Amber Quill Press. It was the Heatwave Winner in 2006, and AQP is a by-invitation only publisher. Also, the cover incorporates a photo I took in Florence--the building, not the man.

Anthony has spent his entire adult life chasing Christine, but she never allows herself to be caught. Once he finally stops searching for her, he runs into her on a business trip to Florence. He knows it can only end as it always does, with her walking out and him heartbroken. Nevertheless, he follows her back to her hotel, where he learns a shocking secret that can turn their entire relationship upside down...

And an excerpt.

Christine stopped outside room 207 and unlocked the door. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and unusually naked—unusually vulnerable. Those eyes stung his heart. He’d been driven through the streets of Florence by lust and the memories of it. But now he saw the girl he’d fallen in love with twenty years ago on a bright Sunday morning, and she was all he could see.

Anthony took her hand, gently bringing it up to his mouth. He kissed the knuckle of each finger, barely touching his lips against her skin. Still holding her hand, he opened the door. He inhaled deeply as she brushed against him, intoxicated by the sweetly familiar scent of her hair.

They stood in the room silently, within touching distance, but not making any contact. A purple past swirled between them, almost thick enough to touch, almost thick enough to keep them from touching.

“I missed you,” she finally whispered.

The small concession was enough to make Anthony move. He folded his arms around her, holding her tightly against him, and kissed her deeply. It was like kissing a completely different woman. She didn’t resist him at all, didn’t fight him. She melted beneath him, wrapping her arms around him, responding to his mouth with passionate sincerity.

“Say you missed me, too,” she said against her mouth.

“I missed you,” he breathed, pulling the coat from her shoulders. They let it fall to the floor without a second glance. His hands worked frantically, desperate to get beneath her clothes and touch her soft skin. He pulled her sweater over her head and unsnapped her bra. “I missed you, I missed you.”

They tumbled backward to the bed, Anthony still undressing her as they moved. Christine stretched out in front of him, as sleek and smooth as a cat in the filtered sunlight. He pulled her lacy thong down her thighs, following the path of his fingers with his lips.

“I missed you,” he murmured against her thighs like a prayer. “I missed you.” He licked the sensitive skin of her inner-thigh, tasting the salt-sweet spice of her skin. “I missed you.” What he meant was I love you, and they were the last words he could speak now.

Flashback Fridays--The Zebra Wore...

After the success of The Zebra Wore Fishnets, I became interested in Aden and Kevin's back story. They were clearly very passionate about each other, and they had been together for a long time. Kevin even went to law school because of Aden! So I ended up writing two short stories, The Zebra Wore Black Leather and The Zebra Wore Blue Jeans, and published them with Whiskey Creek Press as a Torrid Teasers collection.

Kevin needs a nude, male model to finish an art project. Aden is the last person he expects to knock on his door. Handsome, charming, and a little dangerous, it's lust at first sight for Kevin. But this lust has the potential to grow into something much more powerful.

And now, a new excerpt.

Kevin studied the sketch in the early morning light, his body tingling at the memory of Aden naked just feet away from him. The image of Aden’s nude body was seared on his memory—all he had to do was close his eyes. He knew he wouldn’t be able to move onto a new project until he finished this portrait, and he suspected that Aden would somehow affect all his future work.

A sharp rap on the door pulled Kevin from his thoughts. “Yeah, coming.”

Aden was leaning against the wall, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Aden? I thought…I didn’t think you’d be here today.”

“We have a project to finish, right? Also, I still need that cash. Do you have a light?”

“Come in…I…no, I don’t. I don’t smoke,” Kevin said, shutting the door behind him. His heart was lodged in his throat, his breath caught in his lungs.

“Oh.” He tossed the cigarette away before pulling his shirt off. “Same position as before?”

“No…I mean, yes, but the lighting is different, see? We’ll have to wait until this afternoon. You can come back if you want…”

“Well, maybe we can find a way to kill a few hours,” Aden said, sitting on the couch. Grinning, he put his feet up on the table. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s best if you come back after lunch,” Kevin said, handing Aden his discarded shirt.

Aden took it from him, but he didn’t put it on. “Why don’t you like me, Kevin?”

Kevin blinked. “What? I…what? No, I like you. Why do you think I don’t?”

“Well, you beat a pretty hasty retreat last night, didn’t you? And you look less than thrilled now.” Aden stood up, still clutching his shirt. “I guess I read this wrong.”

Kevin’s tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth. He reached for Aden without
thinking, stopping him before he could turn to the door. “I left last night because I was a little surprised. I mean, I…” Kevin took a deep breath, deciding to tell the truth and damn the consequences. “Tamara is really amazing, and I feel like a fool for turning it all down, I do, but I…”

“What?”

Kevin looked up into Aden’s eyes, knowing that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to lie to him, or turn away. “I want you.”

Aden smiled, stepping closer until only an inch separated them. Kevin looked down at Aden’s bare skin, itching to touch him, kiss him, lick him. It was a physical need, like eating, and the need was accompanied with a physical pain. If Aden stayed, Kevin didn’t think he could control himself. He already felt a little drunk, a little dizzy, just from the close proximity.

“Why didn’t you just say so last night?” Aden asked, his breath warm against Kevin’s mouth.

Kevin’s self-control reached its breaking point and snapped. He grabbed Aden’s shoulder, his fingers digging into Aden’s skin as he crushed Aden’s mouth beneath his, kissing the blond with all the lust roaring through his body. He ran his other hand down Aden’s chest, finally touching the firm skin that had haunted his dreams the night before. Aden kissed him back with as much ferocity, not holding anything back, grabbing the back of Kevin’s head to hold him in place.

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Flashback Friday on Sunday--Mosaic Moon

The third book of the Master Chronicles is Mosaic Moon. It's the first menage in the series, as Jesse and Emma finally come to terms with the fact that they really, really like each other a lot...oh, let's not be coy. They love each other.

Emma Coolidge is accustomed to isolation. Born with the ability to read emotions, Emma reached adulthood without learning how to control her special gift, leading to a life of self-imposed seclusion. Until she meets Gideon Keel and Jesse Madding, a vampire fighting for good and his human lover. Both men befriend her and introduce her to people who can help her create a normal life for herself. Everything is great for Emma for the first time in her life—except for one small problem. She longs to be part of Jesse and Gideon’s lives, and their darker games involving bondage and sadism, but believes her desire can be nothing but a private fantasy.

Gideon adores Jesse and wants nothing more than to give him everything he wants. When Gideon realizes Jesse wants Emma, as well, he decides to invite Emma into their games. But a disturbing new crime distracts Gideon from his goal. Jesse and Gideon are forced to investigate a string of grave desecrations that are somehow siphoning power from the most powerful mage in Chicago. They must unravel the mystery of who is stealing Black John’s power, why, and how to reverse it before they can devote their time and energy to their mutual desire for a third in their bed.

Genres: Gay / Ménage (M/M/F) / Bisexuality (M/M) / Dark Fantasy / Vampire / BDSM / Fantasy / Witchcraft / Magic / Mystery / Detective / Series
Heat Level: 3
Advisory: This book contains graphic violence, hardcore bondage and punishment, and blood play. May not be suitable for the more sensitive reader.

And now, for a never-before-posted excerpt.

Emma laughed. "I think you've even got Jimmy Hoffa in there." Her attention returned to Jesse, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth for a moment before adding, "Why don't you come with us? You can see how much a fool I make of myself live and in person then."

A night in Ethan's company, even if it meant spending time with Emma, was not his idea of a good time. He'd probably punch the other man in the face, for one thing. Gideon would approve, no doubt, but Jesse knew he shouldn't put himself in the path of temptation.

"I can't tonight," he said with genuine regret. "We don't really have the time to spare."

"White might be too young for him," Ethan said.

Jesse frowned. He knew the popular dance club, though he really never got the chance to go. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Emma shot Ethan a small frown. "Ethan just doesn't know you like I do."

"I'll take you dancing, Emma, as soon as we take care of John's case. How does that sound?"

The suggestion was out of Jesse's mouth before he thought to stop it, but the delighted smile she turned in his direction banished any residual anxiety he had about making it. "I think that's a great idea," she said. "We've never had a chance to do that before now. Well, there was Sangre, but..." For a moment, her eyes flickered to his neck, and he knew she was remembering the leash and collar he'd worn the first time they'd met. Her blush deepened, but there was a twinkle in her eye when their gazes met again. "You can handle wearing clothes at a club, right?"

Jesse's lips twitched. "I don't know. I never tried." With a smirk he added, "I guess what I used to go dancing in could generously be called clothes."

"You used to go clubbing?" It was genuine surprise in Gideon's voice. "You never told me that."

Jesse looked up, tearing his attention away from Emma for the first time. "I guess it never came up. But, yeah, I used to go all the time." He smiled a little sheepishly.
"My whole first year at Cambridge is more or less a blur."

"A blur?" Gideon cocked a brow. "I don't believe you."

Emma laughed. "Why would he lie about something like that?"

"Because Jesse never likes to do anything halfway," came Gideon's amused response. "He just wants us to think he was the biggest clubber ever."

"Maybe he was." She turned to Jess, taking a step closer. Her breasts just barely brushed his arm. "Are you sure you can't come tonight? We need to prove Gideon wrong."

Jesse was very tempted to take her up on her offer. The thought of her on the dance floor made him throb. But Ethan shuffled his feet at the door and cleared his throat, bringing Jesse back to reality. But there were other ways to prove Gideon wrong.

"You don't believe me? I have proof."

Gideon leaned against the jamb. "This ought to be interesting."

"Don't move," Jesse ordered before turning to the stairs. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He had never mentioned his clubbing days to Gideon because they were hardly the bright point of his life. And the pictures that remained of those days were private, and probably more than a little silly. Was it some misplaced sense of pride? Was he trying to impress the woman he had already decided would never be more than a friend?

Maybe he just felt like showing off.

He found a half-dozen photos stashed away in an old picture album that he kept in the closet. Each one featured him and one or two other young men--the faces changed from photo to photo, and he had been fucking most of them. Which might have been one reason why he never showed them to Gideon before. His own youth surprised him, and he was half-naked in all of them, his leather pants hanging low on his hips. His eyes and lips were heavily accented with make-up.

He returned to the office and presented them to Gideon. "That's all that still survives."

"No way he gets to see and I don't," Emma announced.

She bounded around the desk to slip past Jesse, into the narrow space left in the doorway at Gideon's side. Her face was bright with expectation, but as her dark eyes settled on the pictures in Gideon's hand, they widened, her smile fading into something more lax. When Gideon slid the top to the bottom of the stack, her full mouth made an o shape, and stayed like that for the duration of the slide show.

She took them from Gideon when he'd gone through all six, flipping through them again more slowly, deliberately, as if she didn't want to miss a single detail.

When she started a third rotation through the pictures, Jesse reached for them and gently pried them from her fingers, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. He pulled the top drawer of his desk open and slipped them inside. "I suppose Gideon could argue that those pictures were posed and don't really prove anything at all," he joked lamely.

"They prove you look hot in eyeliner," Emma offered.

Jesse smiled self-consciously. It was the same smile he always offered when Gideon complimented him. "That's what they used to tell me."

"They also prove you don't have nearly enough leather in your wardrobe." As Gideon shifted his weight, Jesse noticed his definite bulge. "I'm going to have to fix that."

"Yes, I'm sure he looks great in eyeliner and leather," Ethan said from the door. "Emma, didn't you want to get dinner before we went to the club?"

Emma jerked at Ethan's voice, and a flush of satisfaction coursed through Jesse when he realized she'd momentarily forgotten about Ethan's presence. It dissipated quickly, however, when she hurried to his side, slipping into his arm before glancing back at Jess and Gideon in apology.

"Call me about when you want me to help you with this grave robber thing," she said.

Jesse nodded. "I will. Have fun tonight."

She waved and the door clicked behind them. His gaze remained on the empty space she left behind, as though he could conjure her back if he concentrated hard enough. The room seemed empty without her in it. Until he looked over his shoulder and noticed Gideon was watching him--staring at him.

"Well, that was a brilliant move, Einstein," Gideon said dryly.

"What?"

"Getting the girl all worked up and then letting her just walk out of here. I'll bet Ethan thanks you in the morning."

Jesse frowned. "I didn't."

"And you didn't have to pry those photos--those fucking hot photos--out of her greedy little hands, either, right?"

Jesse sat down heavily. "Was she flirting with me, too?"

"She asked you to go out with them. Twice. You do the math."

The math said he might have to admit that Gideon was right. "Was she really worked up? I mean, could you tell she was...aroused?"

The question was the first thing to draw Gideon from his office doorway, coming to the desk to perch on the corner. "Jess, I've been telling you this for days now. Yes, she was excited. It started when you offered to take her dancing yourself, but the second she saw those pictures..." He shook his head. "You never listen to me."

"Oh, my God, and we let her go out with Ethan."

"And you know he's going to take advantage of the situation."

Jesse grimaced. "I can't stand the thought of him touching her."

"Then don't let him." Gideon rested his foot on the chair between Jesse's legs, nudging his aching balls with his toe. "Let's get dressed and go to White."

Jesse looked at him through his lashes. "You do realize I won't be wearing a collar there, right? And I don't own any leather pants any more."

"Trust me. You don't need to get glammed up to get Emma's attention. You walk in there, you ask her to dance, there is no way in hell she is saying no." Grabbing Jesse's hand, he pulled him to his feet, standing at the same time. He grasped his hips, rubbing their hard cocks together with a wicked gleam in his eye. "Do you think you'll be hard like this when you dance with her?"

"Oh, yes." Jesse sighed. There would be no hiding his arousal from her then. The thought sent a hot jolt straight to his groin. He had gone out of his way to hide any sign that he thought of her sexually for the past several months, but knowing he was going to be honest left him relieved. And very excited. "Will you dance with us, too?"

"I think I'd rather watch this first time." Gideon leaned in and licked along Jesse's jaw, ending at his ear. "I'll save my dance for when we get her home tonight."

Jesse shivered. All of his fantasies were so close, almost within his grasp. Could he be just a few hours away from everything he wanted? "I do love it when you watch." He turned his head and kissed Gideon's neck. "Come on, let's get dressed before I change my mind."

Flashback Friday - Two Lives in Waltz Time

I am in love with the 30's and 40's. I think it's my favorite time period, in regards to history. If I could just get more people to love it as much as I do - and buy stories about it - I'd write a hell of a lot more set in that time period, that's for sure.

The one story I do have is Two Lives in Waltz Time. It's the longest of all my novels, and probably the most romance-y. I was lucky enough, too, for it to be a 2006 RT Award Nominee. But I got to play in that playground, which made me happy, and ultimately, that's what it's all about.

Art restorer Maddy Cardinale loves her job. In fact, the only downside to working the night shift at her prestigious New York museum is fellow restorer Cash Vinci. As charismatic as they come, Cash is the most confident man she has ever known. He’s also handsome, sexy as hell, and determined to get under her skin, no matter what the cost.

When an unusual painting arrives at the museum, neither of them anticipates the magic unleashed by a fleeting touch of the canvas. Suddenly, Cash and Maddy aren’t in their workshop any more. They are both dressed to kill, plunged into the alternate reality of the posh 1940’s nightclub portrayed in the painting. Even worse, the couple learns all too quickly that the club sells more than drinks, and the only reason Maddy doesn’t have to offer more than a dance to the male clientele is because everyone believes she is engaged to Cash.

Dependent on one another as never before, the pair must work together in order to unravel the spell that has them trapped. Vengeful ex-girlfriends, jealous mobsters, and surprise enemies drive the couple into each other’s beds and hearts, sharing secrets as well as passions. The only question is, will they survive long enough to admit their true feelings to each other? Or will their dance be cut short?

EXCERPT

“What is it you think you’re going to do for the rest of the day?” he asked as she headed straight for her bedroom.

She hadn’t given it much thought. Her only plan had been to get as far away from him as possible.

“Can I make a suggestion then?” he continued when she didn’t bother to reply.

Maddy paused at her door, glancing back to see Cash walk to the large unit along the wall. When he opened it, she saw an antiquated record player tucked inside, complete with records lined up next to it. “What’re you doing?” she asked.

He ignored her query, flipping through the record sleeves before extracting one to place on the table. The quiet strains of something her grandmother used to listen to filled the room, its jazzy undertones warming her with familiarity.

“You don’t know how to dance, do you?” He didn’t pose the question with animosity. It was more of a statement of fact; he’d witnessed her feeble attempts firsthand. “So, unless you want to continue with the barfly routine, maybe I should show you a few steps.”

“You know how to dance?”

The incredulity in her voice earned her a brilliant smile. “You really think I’m going to pass on a way to pull beautiful women?”

When he put it that way… “I thought I was doing fine last night.”

“You were. And you have the hangover to prove it.”

She stood there silently, long enough for the first song to end and the second to begin. Cash never made a move, waiting patiently by the record player, dancing eyes watching her with growing amusement.

“You know this only works if you’re actually within touching distance, don’t you?” he asked when the second song ended as well.

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“Think a little bit closer then.” With a long step, he marched forward and took her hand, leading her back to the open space in the middle of the room. “You didn’t have this much of a problem dancing with me last night.”

Maddy colored at the reminder. “I was drunk, remember?”

The song was a slow waltz, and Cash settled his hand at the small of her back to pull her gently against his body. He didn’t start moving his feet right away, though. Instead, he leaned in, his mouth hovering just next to her ear. “Don’t tell me you can only dance with me when you’re drunk,” he murmured. “Because something tells me you’d feel even better in my arms stone cold sober.”

Then they were gliding, feet shifting those few inches as the music coaxed them into a familiar pattern, torsos melding in a sinuous grace that was pure instinct. She didn’t respond to his playful taunt; there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t incriminate her further.

But as he led her through that first lesson, Maddy hid away her pleased smile. He was right about one thing.

It definitely worked best when they were touching.


For more information, visit Linden Bay Romance.

Flashback Fridays--Brindisi Bedfellows

A long, long time ago, when Vivien and I first began writing together (for fun, not profit) we came up with a "bunny" about two jilted men, going off to find comfort and revenge against the one guy who hurt them both. We really liked this idea. In fact, we bonded over it a little. But we never wrote it! Then one day we were discussing submitting something to Liquid Silver because we like to keep a steady release schedule with all our publishers, and I said "Remember this idea..."

My good friend Ann helped us with the title, though Vivien always knew she wanted the word bedfellows involved. My sister had lived in Italy for three months (I've been there too, but only for three weeks) and so she helped us a lot with pictures and details she remembered. All our books are special, of course, but I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for this project.

Getting dumped is never fun.

Getting dumped by your boyfriend on the eve of your first vacation in six years because he decides to reconcile with his ex-wife is agony.

Heartbroken Christian Davis is drowning his sorrows when his ex-lover’s best friend swoops in and throws his world into chaos. Trip Watson is gorgeous and gregarious and everything Chris doesn’t need right now. But none of that seems to matter when Trip finds out what Andrew did to him. Appalled by Andrew’s callous treatment, Trip announces the best way to get over the break-up – and to rub Andrew’s face in it – is to go to Italy as planned and spend the next three weeks having the time of his life. With Trip.

Mutual lust drives them together. Andrew could very well push them apart. Especially if the truth about Trip’s relationship with him ever comes to light.

The following four days were a blur, mostly because, in the end, Trip and Christian didn’t venture too far from their hotel room for any length of time. Chris seemed more than content to allow Trip to make up for what he was already thinking of as “the Andrew incident,” encouraging long hours spent sprawled atop their bed, mouths and hands doing nothing but exploring the other’s body. That worked for Trip. That more than worked for Trip. It was his favorite method of distraction, and frankly, both of them needed it now. Andrew was being an absolute ass about the entire situation, with the piece de resistance, his nasty closing comment to Trip on the phone.

It hurt. There was no denying it. And Trip meant it when he’d told Chris he was done with Andrew. Not even Trip was that big of a masochist.

It helped to have Christian in his corner. Trip felt more than a little guilty that Chris had found out as he had, but better the truth get out now than later, he realized. It wasn’t like Andrew was even emotionally committed to Trip. Everything he had was saved for Lexie, and it was now them against her and Andrew.

Trip was slowly realizing he liked that arrangement.

At the end of their week in Rome, they boarded the Eurostar to Lecce, ready to begin the second leg of their holiday. All Christian could talk about was the architecture he’d read about, but Trip was looking forward to spiriting him away to the beach. At some point, he wanted to get some photos of Chris, something to remember the trip by after they returned to London. Seeing him lying on the white sand felt like the best opportunity to show Chris that, yes, there was life after Andrew, and yes, he was more than attractive enough to pull somebody more deserving of his company. It would be a shot in the arm for him, Trip thought. And a hot reminder for himself.

After they were seated and had their wine, Trip stretched out his legs so his feet were entangled with Christian’s opposite him. “So six hours until we get there, huh?” he said with a smirk. “Whatever are we going to do for six whole hours?”

Christian smiled. “Nothing that’ll get us kicked off the train, I hope.”

Trip pretended to pout. “Well, that’s no fun. Haven’t I taught you better than that yet?”

Christian sipped from his wine, and Trip couldn’t help but notice the stray drop of liquid that clung to the corner of his lip. “You haven’t taught me anything about the proper way to fool around on a train.”

“We’ll save that lesson for the tube in London. If you can shag on the Underground, you can shag just about anywhere.”

Chris chuckled. “How many times have you shagged on the Underground?”

“Enough to know when the bill are least likely to catch you,” he shot back.

As they laughed together, it dawned on Trip that while he had spent a week with Christian already, he actually knew very little about the other man’s life in London, other than the unfortunate parts that included Andrew. If pressed, he wasn’t even sure what Chris did for a living, and suddenly, the desire to find out was all-consuming. He wanted to know about it all.

“So how long have you lived in London?” he asked. Might as well start off with an easy question.

“Oh, most of my life. Grew up there, then moved back after university. What about you?”

“Moved there after I dropped out of uni. All my family’s back in Southend or thereabouts, so wasn’t too far of a go for me. Only place to be for what I wanted to do, though.”

Christian looked at him thoughtfully. “Shoot for fashion? Or was that supposed to be the job that held you over until you could do what you really wanted?”

Trip didn’t talk about his aspirations much. The people who tended to surround him didn’t much care about art and beauty so much as fashion and parties. But Christian’s positive response to his portfolio gave him courage, and he ducked his head in embarrassment as he made the confession.

“I wasn’t even twenty. I was green enough to think a few professional credits under my belt would mean I could write my own ticket. And in London, if you’re a photographer, you’re either covering the fashion world or part of the stalkerazzi.” He shrugged. “Lurking about in bushes for hours on end wasn’t my idea of a good time.”

“Given your options, you clearly made the right decision. I doubt you’d have the patience to lurk in bushes for hours, anyway.” Chris paused. “It’s worked out, though, hasn’t it? I mean, even I knew your name. And that was before I met Andrew.”

“It has its ups and downs. Didn’t convince Paolo to look at my folio, for instance.” This was going down a path he didn’t care for, and Trip searched for a way to redirect the conversation. “What about you? Bit ashamed to admit it, but I don’t even know what you do to pay the bills.”

“Don’t be ashamed. I haven’t mentioned it because I didn’t think hip photographers would want to be seen with what amounts to a customer service rep.”

Somehow, it didn’t surprise Trip. The way Chris had reacted when they’d first met was indication enough that Trip’s way of life was foreign to him. It was probably why he got the impression Christian thought he was this exotic creature, and while that was a fantasy Trip cultivated for most of the people he met, it didn’t feel right to foster that with this one.

“I’d never see anybody in my family, if that was the case,” Trip replied. Absently, he tilted his foot to run his toes along the back of Christian’s calf. “Nothin’ wrong in bein’ a suit. There’s something to be said for having some stability in your life.”

“What some call stability, others would call bloody boring.” Chris glanced out the window. “Not that I’m bored. I’m mostly not. I was getting a bit burned out, though. You know when you call the bank over a mistake, and the first two people you speak to can’t help? So they kick you up to the manager and by then you’re furious and ready to take it out on anybody, regardless of how innocent they are? I’m the guy who gets that abuse.”

The look on his face made Trip want to close the distance between them and smother him in kisses. He settled for toeing off his boot and sliding his foot up into Christian’s lap, caressing his thigh in long strokes that grazed across his crotch.

“Then it sounds to me like you needed this holiday,” he said. “Trick will be, not to forget how you feel now when you’re back on the job.”

“It’ll be some trick,” Chris said, sliding lower in his seat. “Do you think I’ll be able to find somebody willing to come over to the office every day to play footsie?”

Trip felt Christian’s cock thickening with every stroke along his thigh. “You could have anybody you wanted to, mate. Look at how you pulled that pretty boy our first night in Rome.”

Chris ran his fingers over the top of Trip’s foot. “That was just a fluke,” he said dryly. “Some people are attracted to desperation wrapped in leather.”

Trip regarded him with a thoughtful tilt of his head. “Don’t know about that. You had me long before I got to see you in those trousers.”

Christian offered a wry smile. “So you’re just attracted to desperation wrapped in denim?”

“You don’t seem all that desperate to me now.”

“Only because I’m drinking less,” Chris said lightly, his fingers still dancing over Trip’s foot. Sobering, he added, “Last week I thought, well, not too sound overwrought, but I thought I lost the love of my life.” He grimaced. “Christ, that does sound too overwrought.”

Trip grinned to ease his discomfort. “Look at who you’re talking to. If it’s not melodramatic in my world, it doesn’t get looked at. There’s nothin’ wrong with having feelings. Especially since I know they don’t just go away ‘cause you want them to.”

“No, they don’t. But they do start to fade eventually. Now I’m beginning to feel more like I just lost a year of my life.”

“You didn’t lose a year. You were happy, weren’t you?”

Christian hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “As much as I’ve tried to convince myself otherwise, it was one of the happier years of my life. Guess that’s why it hit me where I live.” He squeezed Trip’s foot. “Though as far as happy weeks go, this last one is surprisingly close to the top of the list.”

The admission startled Trip with how quickly it warmed his gut, and he had to duck his head to hide his pleased smile. It wasn’t just that it had been a great week for him; it was that someone like Chris, someone without anything to gain, would reciprocate even a fraction of his current contentment. Because that’s what he was. Content. And it was shocking how good it felt.

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Flashback Fridays--Mad World

On July 5, 2003, I wrote a little short story about a fateful meeting between a cop and prostitute, and I shared it with some friends. On November 10, 2003, that short story was turned into the first chapter of Mad World. The title and the inspiration came from the song Mad World, originally by Tears for Fears, but the version I was listening to was the Gary Jules version at the end of Donnie Darko. I started with the line I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad, the dreams in which I'm dying, are the best I ever had.

I don't write with outlines. I rarely write with themes in mind. Jason and Daisy are hard, scary characters. And the more I explored of their world, the more I fell in love with them. This book is the least romantic thing I have ever written (and yet, I think it's a great love story, I really do), and when I reached the end of the first draft, I understood the theme, or the conflict. What happens when your soul mate is the person most likely to destroy you.

I can honestly say, without exaggeration, that there is more of myself in that book than any other I've written. It went through approximately six drafts and revisions. I worried about every single word, every single moment, every single kiss, every single fight. Not that the book isn't flawed. It is. But I still love it.

For all my hard work (and I never worked so hard in my life) nobody wanted to buy this book. Every publisher I submitted to rejected it because it wasn't romantic enough, because there's too much sex, because Jason is not a likable hero. He isn't. He's an asshole. And Daisy is damaged to the point that she can't be fixed. They fuck, and they fight, and they bleed each other literally and metaphorically, and they're cruel, and they fall in love out of spite.

Though it is now published with Whiskey Creek, it barely has any sales. And I think that's always going to hurt me. I have other books that didn't sell well and will never sell well, but I barely give those a second thought. I don't have any other book that feels so much like it is my baby.

Anyway, here's the blurb:

Mutilated corpses litter Pomona, California, and Detective Jason Squires is pressured to find a killer who leaves no evidence. His private life is a nightmare as well. Estranged from his wife after the death of their infant son, he finds himself in the grip of growing obsession with young prostitute Daisy Winters.

As Jason and the killer dance around each other, Jason is increasingly distracted and frustrated by Daisy, who never loses control in their mercurial, passionate, and violent relationship. When the killer closes in on Jason—first murdering his wife, then targeting Daisy—the detective discovers that his lover doesn't need his protection.

Daisy is willing to do whatever it takes to protect herself and her interests, and she will take down anyone who gets in her way...including Jason himself.

Mad World is the story of Jason and Daisy. Their lives are tied together forever by an agonizing love and intense passion, and neither will escape the situation unchanged.

Here's an excerpt:

One eye was swollen, as well as her lip. A bruise had blossomed across her cheek. Her other bruises had just started to fade, and now her face was fucked up again. As fresh rage washed through her, she grabbed her purse. Inside was Warren’s wallet.Just the sight of the faded and used leather made her feel better. She needed some new clothes, and furniture, and he had several credit cards. She’d max them out before he even knew they were gone. He also had several hundred dollars in cash, and that made
her smile, though it hurt her lip.

Daisy tried not to think about what Jason would do to her when he saw the evidence of what had happened. Draco would have devised clever schemes to punish her without adding more marks and bruises to her body. She didn’t want him to see how angry
and helpless she felt either. She didn’t want him to know that she was so weak…didn’t want him to think that she had any weaknesses.

Because he would be wrong.

Finally, over an hour after she stepped into the shower, she felt like she could face Jason. He’d take what he wanted from her, and hopefully that would be enough to make him leave. She’d just close her eyes and think about the fact that she was at least six hundred dollars richer. In a few days, she would have enough to get the fuck out of Dodge. A small part of her hoped that he would just want to take care of her, but she squashed that thought as soon as she had it. It would be stupid and ridiculous to think for even a second that Jason would have any sort of gentle or benevolent feelings for her.

She wasn’t in the least surprised to see Jason stretched out in her bed, like he owned it. His brow was creased, and he was tapping his fingers nervously. It looked as though he was deep in thought. Without speaking, Daisy laid out on the bed, still unable to really look at him.

He quietly hooked his finger around her chin and forced her to look up. Jason examined her face and then stood up. It wasn’t long before he returned with ice, wrapped in a towel. He sat down on the bed again, and gently placed the ice on her eye. Daisy waited for several minutes, but Jason didn’t make another move
towards her.

Daisy didn’t know how to react. Should she thank him?

Should she tell him it wasn’t necessary and to get the fuck out of her house? Should she give in to the rage that still threatened to overtake her and take it out on him? She could scream and punch and kick and claw and lose herself in his familiar, known violence. He could take it. But he wouldn’t.

Blackness welled up inside of her, and all she could see and feel was coated in it. The resolution that she had made in the bathroom to make Warren pay was lost. The joy over the money and credit cards slipped away. She closed her eyes and imagined putting an end to the constant pain with one final bang of fury and passion.
She could push Jason and push him and push him. Every button, every sore spot, everything he didn’t want her to touch. Then all her problems would be solved.

Daisy could see it clearly. It flashed in her mind like a bright Technicolor movie, everything sharply in focus. He’d pound into her and she’d sneer and laugh and mock him until his strong fingers wrapped around her neck and squeezed, until the world turned fuzzy, then gray, then black. Just like that.

“Jason?” Her voice was soft so she wouldn’t betray her emotions.

“Hmm?” Jason moved the bundle of ice to the other side of her face.

“I’m…tired.”

“Okay.”

“I mean…” Daisy paused and shook her head. “Look, if you want to fuck me, can we just get it out of the way? I want to go to sleep.”

Jason pulled the ice from her face, and set the towel on the floor. “It’s a chore, then?”

“It’s always a chore. Everything…” Daisy sighed and turned her head. “I just want to sleep.”

“Then go to sleep,” Jason replied indifferently.

“You don’t want to…”

“Go to sleep Daisy.”

“Are you staying here?”

“Do you want me to?”

The question seemed genuine and sincere. In her mind, she felt his hand on her throat. In reality, it fluttered above her face, the tips of his fingers barely touching her. Daisy didn’t speak immediately. Instead she turned on her side away from him and flipped off the light. When the darkness had safely fallen over them
and obscured her face, she answered softly, “If you want to.”

Jason did.

More information here.

Flashback Friday - Keeping Time

I have a weakness. I love, love, LOVE writing and reading stories that take place partially through correspondence. A Hidden Beauty has our gay poets writing letters back and forth, we just wrote a short series of e-mails in our May Calendar Boys story, but the one that started it all was Keeping Time. Ben and Ana meet online and correspond first through e-mails, then chat. Those first few chapters were some of the fastest Pepper and I have ever written, lol.

Ana Seger first meets Ben Scalia over an Internet message board dedicated to her favorite band and is immediately charmed by his humor and good-nature. Even when she learns Ben is a few years younger than her, she continues talking to him though email, chat rooms, and even on the phone.

Driven by strong lust, she agrees to meet him at a concert, but she’s unprepared for the reality of their age difference, and more, the strength of her desire for him. She tries to end their affair before it can begin, but Ben is more than ready to fight for her, and a chance to show her how good they could be together.


EXCERPT

bj_scalia: Are we playing 20 questions again? You're not going to get all upset about getting personal after we log off, are you?

ana_moon: Sometimes I engage my fingers without putting my brain in gear. Especially when it comes to you.

bj_scalia: Now that just sounds naughty.

ana_moon: *blushes* Yes it does

bj_scalia: I didn't say it was bad.

bj_scalia: And now you've *definitely* caught my attention.

ana_moon: Now I guess I better decide what I want to do with it

bj_scalia: Take your time. I'm a patient man. Especially when it comes to getting what I want. I got you to finally chat with me, didn't I?

ana_moon: I guess I'm going back to 20 questions mode. What is it that you want from me?

bj_scalia: Now or in general?

ana_moon: both

bj_scalia: Your company, as much as you're willing to share it. Some laughs. I'd ask for a photograph but that makes me feel a little skeezy.

ana_moon: I don't have one on my computer, or else I would send you one. Skeezyness be damned.

bj_scalia: Will you tell me what you look like? I'll share if you will.

ana_moon: My mother is black and my father is white, so I've got a nice year-around tan. And a lot of curly hair that I no longer try to tame. I've been told I have a nice smile. And I'm about 130.

bj_scalia: Yeah. I'm a goner.

ana_moon: *laughs* Your turn to share.

bj_scalia: 6'3", 175, light brown hair and green eyes. Or blue-green, if you ask my mother. I also hate to shave so seeing me scruffy is not unheard of. But just scruffy. It doesn't take long for the itching to drive me crazy and I get rid of it.

ana_moon: I have to admit, I have a weakness for the scruffy type

ana_moon: with blue-green eyes. I don't think I've ever met anybody with blue-green eyes, actually

bj_scalia: Yes, you have. Me. :D

ana_moon: I meant besides you ;) Do you have photographic proof?

bj_scalia: Of the eyes? No. I can probably get you photographic proof of other details, though...

ana_moon: Wow, my mind just went to a naughty place.

bj_scalia: Ha. My evil plan has worked then.

ana_moon: You're some sort of evil genius. What other details were you referring to?

bj_scalia: I have a picture of my size thirteen feet. Because you know what they say about men with big feet...

ana_moon: he wears big shoes?

bj_scalia: Exactly.

ana_moon: what are you doing with a picture of your size 13 feet? Do you need to prove your shoe size often?

bj_scalia: I had to prove to my mother that I'd actually gone out and bought new shoes. When I went home at Christmas, I got hell for showing up in my favorite Nike's because there was a hole in the bottom that the snow seeped through and got my foot soaked. I wouldn't let her buy me shoes while I was there, because hello, I'm not 12, but I did have to promise to do it as soon as I got back to LA.

ana_moon: lol. She should have just been happy you showed up in sneakers instead of sandals or flipflops. I'm not even sure I have the proper footwear to travel to a place with snow.

bj_scalia: Only the fact that I grew up there saved me from packing my sandals. I live in them on the weekend. It's Nike's during the week because of all the walking on campus, and running when I realize I'm late getting to class. And we're not really sitting here talking about my choice of footwear, are we?

ana_moon: You brought it up. Besides, I've learned a lot about you from this discussion. You're a good son, but independent enough to insist on buying your own shoes. You sprint across campus a lot, which tells me you're in good shape...

bj_scalia: I never said I was fast, lol.

ana_moon: Fast isn't always a good thing anyway

bj_scalia: I do swim regularly, though.

ana_moon: So you are in good shape. Is it wrong if I want to ask if you wear a speedo or trunks?

bj_scalia: Speedo. I could go put it on for you right now, if you want. ;)

ana_moon: Depends. What are you wearing now?

bj_scalia: Just sweats.

bj_scalia: What are you wearing?

ana_moon: Sweats, too. And my favorite Moon T-shirt from their Green album tour

bj_scalia: I love that tour. But I don't want to talk about Moon. I want to talk about you. Or me. Or you and me.

ana_moon: I suppose that means you're tired of talking about your foot and swimwear, too. So you really didn't mind my drunk emails?

bj_scalia: Absolutely not. They were just starting to get really interesting when they stopped. Did you fall asleep?

ana_moon: Fell asleep. Passed out. I guess it depends on how you look at it. I'm glad you didn't mind, because I've been thinking about the exchange. A lot.

bj_scalia: Me too.

ana_moon: what have you been thinking about?

bj_scalia: The part about you and me and a wall.

bj_scalia: There. Now you know I'm a perv.

ana_moon: That's ok. I've been thinking about that part, too.

bj_scalia: I'm suddenly very glad I'm wearing baggy sweats.

ana_moon: lol Is the other thing they say about big feet true?

bj_scalia: It is for me. Not that I've measured. Since high school, that is. ;)

ana_moon: *laughs* I doubt it's changed much since then.

bj_scalia: In size? No. In other ways? Let's just say I've moved from being a sprinter to going the long distances.

ana_moon: I'm not calling you a liar, but I have a hard time believing you don't already have a girlfriend

bj_scalia: Why?

ana_moon: Because you have excellent taste in music, you're smart, you're funny, you've got big feet and can go long distances. Unless you're some sort of troll, I'd expect somebody would have snapped you up by now.

bj_scalia: lol, no, I'm not a troll. But I am kind of picky about the women I go out with. I have this annoying habit of wanting to have a conversation after all the really hot sex, or before even. And I mean a real conversation. Not shit about shopping or fashion or Brangelina. Important stuff. Like Decrepit Moon. ;)

ana_moon: lol. I have to have all my conversations before the really hot sex. If you can have conversations *after* the hot sex, you're doing something wrong

bj_scalia: I'm young. I have stamina. ;)

ana_moon: I bet you do.


For more information, visit Amber Heat.

Flashback Friday - The Canvas of Her Skin

I've always been a long story person. When I first writing prose again when my son was born in '01, everything I wrote was long and twisty, mostly because I loved suspense and thriller so much so that was what I was writing. As I honed my skills, I knew that I had to learn how to write shorter works, something I still struggle with to this day. My stories always want to get more complicated, which invariably adds to the length.

The very first shorter work I attempted was a submission to Liquid Silver for the Zodiac collections in 2005. I didn't get selected, which invariably didn't surprise me because my Zodiac connection was metaphorical and really, really, really thin. So I looked around to see where else I could sell something that was only 15k and discovered Phaze. I submitted, then had the pleasure of meeting then chief editor at Epicon. Two weeks after I got home, I had an acceptance for The Canvas of Her Skin.


All Mark Douglas wants to do is paint his landscapes in peace. His agent has different ideas. When she demands Mark take a life studies class in order to bring more warmth to his work, the last thing he expects is to meet a woman who turns everything he believes on its ear.

Free-spirited Tallulah Weaver inspires Mark to do more than paint. He seeks her out beyond the classroom walls, though somehow even that encounter doesn’t turn out as he expects. Is she simply fresh inspiration? Or will Mark finally get past his fears to take the promise of a new beginning she’s offering?

EXCERPT

A soft nudge at his foot made him finally look up. Dressed in baggy jeans and a translucent blouse that made her curves even more appetizing, Lou looked down at him with a bemused smile on her face.

"You're very early," she said.

Her voice was deeper than he'd imagined, though really, she hadn't spoken in his dreams and most of his thoughts of her had been obsessions with the flow of her body within the aspects of water. Still, it was musical, with the faint lilt of a Texan accent nearly forgotten shading her cadences.

When he scrambled to his feet, Mark realized just how tiny she really was. Stretched out on the dais before the class, it had been impossible to get a true feel for her height, and for some reason, his imagination had had her in Amazonian proportions. But he was six-two, and here, beyond the realm of his fantasies, she had to tilt her head back to look up at him when he stood. It was disconcerting.

"Do you talk?" she teased when he didn't say anything right away. "Or are you one of those savants who expresses everything through painting?"

"I talk," he said, and then immediately felt like a fool. This was not how he'd envisioned meeting her. "You just took me by surprise."

"That's why I nudged you first. You looked like you were in your own little world. It didn't look like a happy one."

Her gentle teasing relaxed some of the knots in his stomach, and Mark let his smile join hers. "I just want class to get started," he said. "I didn't get as much done as I wanted to yesterday."

"You have all week," she said. "And it's not like I'm going anywhere."

"I know, but…" This was getting ridiculous. He wasn't supposed to be tongue-tied around her; it just wasn't his style. Awkwardly, he stuck his hand out, hoping that a formal introduction would put him more at ease. "Mark Douglas."

She took it, and her hand, though smaller than his, molded to his slim fingers perfectly. "Tallulah Weaver."

It suited her. Exotic and simple all in one breath. The only thing he found curious was why she'd used her full name instead of the nickname the class instructor had shared.

"Why are you here so early?" he asked.

"I didn't have anything else to do."

He glanced at his watch. There was almost an hour before class was due to start and since it was glaringly obvious that he was just going to be sitting here that entire time, it was better for him if he actually did something with it.

Like get to know the model even better.

"Have you had breakfast?" he blurted. "Because I haven't, and if you haven't either, then maybe we could get some together. While we wait. Because we need to eat. To keep our strength up."

Her lips twitched in amusement. Mark suspected that if he was in her shoes, he'd be outright laughing at the idiot standing in front of him. This was just one more reason why he was better off alone.

"Actually," she said, "I already ate. But if you went someplace where I could get a coffee, I'd be willing to tag along." Her amusement turned into a full-blown smile. "I could make sure you don't fall over before you get some food in your stomach. It wouldn't be good for you to pass out and then miss the class you're so excited about."

He took her up on the offer, gathering his supplies and tucking them beneath his arm as she led the way through the building. Instead of the rear exit, she took him to the front, dismissive of the locks that would prevent them from re-entering right away.

"They'll be around to open them before we get back," she said in explanation.

"You sound like you know the routine pretty well. Do you model here a lot?"

She shook her head. "Actually, this is my first time, but a friend asked for a favor. I have a hard time saying no to people."

The faint question if she was only joining him for breakfast because of that very reason darkened Mark's mood, but he forced it aside, unwilling to spoil the moment with reality. Leading her to the small café nearby, he held the door open for her when they arrived. Unbidden, his eyes strayed to the soft sway of her hips as she walked toward the counter. She was more exciting up close and personal, and if possible, sexier with her clothes on. It was as if she was completely unaware of her appeal, wearing her femininity with a casualness akin to breathing.

It had been a long time since Mark had met anyone who seemed so genuine.

True to her word, she just ordered coffee to his ham and egg bagel, loading the dark fluid with milk and sugar before taking it to a small table in the window. "Are you enjoying the class?" she asked as he dove into his sandwich.

He shrugged while he chewed. "I don't usually do people," he said once he'd swallowed. "But this is turning out a lot better than I'd thought it would. I guess I've been inspired."

Her cheeks pinked, and she ducked her eyes as she sipped at her steaming coffee. Mark had to resist the temptation to reach out and touch her. Sometimes, she still felt surreal to him.

"So, what am I supposed to call you?" he asked. "Lou or Tallulah?"

"Whichever one you prefer," she replied. "I pretty much answer to both. Somebody used to call me Tally once, too."

"Why did you get introduced to the class as Lou, then?"

"It's about creating art, right? Well, you have to admit, Tallulah comes with baggage. Preconceived notions. Going by Lou forces you guys to come up with your own interpretation." Her nose wrinkled up as she considered it. "It made a lot more sense when we thought of it yesterday."

It dawned on him that he still didn't really have an answer to his question. As tempting as it was to just accept her claims to call her what he wanted, Mark wanted something more than that. He'd already spent the last twenty-four hours creating fantasy; now he wanted the reality.

"What do you like to be called?" he asked, straining for nonchalance. He deliberately didn't meet her eyes, though as he took another bite of his sandwich, he couldn't help but glance up and see the surprise in her deep blue eyes.

"Tallulah," she admitted. "It's…"

When she struggled to find the right word, he said it for her.

"Unique."

Her soft smile was the only confirmation he needed that he'd said exactly the right thing.


For more information, visit Phaze.

Flashback Friday - Unveiled

Today at Gimme Fever Friday for the Amber Quill readers group, authors are posting excerpts from stories featuring vampires. Pepper and I have written a lot of vampires, lol. In a lot of ways, I think Unveiled is one of our strongest stories. I always loved the idea of the art collectors, and we got to write a relationship that was past the initial falling in love stage and in the can we really make this work phase. It also introduced Emma to the dynamic, and while her inclusion has created a little bit of controversy with some of our readers, we love her. She provides a necessary piece of the puzzle of their relationships. She keeps Jesse rooted in the human world, something Gideon can't do, and she shows Gideon that he's not the only one who has felt alone.

Gideon Keel and Jesse Madding have seen dozens of gruesome crime scenes over the years, but nothing compares to the grisly discovery they make in a small apartment above a sporting goods store. The body has clearly been put on display, and clues in the apartment indicate that while she was dying, party guests were enjoying rich caviar and expensive champagne. The two men are mystified.

They receive help from an unexpected source—a young woman they rescue from an auction at the vampire club, Sangre. Emma Coolidge is determined to save her sister from the same monsters Gideon and Jesse are hunting. While both men are utterly fascinated by her beauty, her intelligence, and her rare talent as an empath, they value her for her friendship. The three plan a sting operation to infiltrate the small group of “art connoisseurs” by sadistically turning Jesse into a living work of art, but will it be enough to save the city from more vicious murders in the name of beauty?

Advisory: This book contains graphic violence, hardcore bondage and punishment, torture and blood play. May not be suitable for the more sensitive reader.

EXCERPT

...Jesse swallowed around the lump in his throat as four hands spread gray body paint over his chest, back, neck, and throat with soft sponges. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even twitch when Emma hit a ticklish spot on his ribs, or Gideon purposefully brushed against the sensitive area along his lower back. His thighs were beginning to itch as the mold hardened around his legs, and his shoulders ached. But it was a familiar ache, and something he could focus on, in spite of the fact that Emma was spreading another layer of paint over his stomach and kept sending him shy glances. Or the fact that Gideon occasionally brushed his lips across a bare patch of skin before
coating it with the sponge.

“How long will it take for this to set?” Jess asked.

“Not long,” Emma said without looking up.

Her warm breath fanned across his lower abdomen, slithering downward, inside the covered waistband of his underwear. The molding hid his hips completely at the moment, but as soon as it was hard enough, Gideon was going to carve parts of it away, exposing portions of Jesse’s legs so that he looked like one of Michelangelo’s unfinished statues. The idea had been Emma’s. It was elegant and unusual, andJesse’s favorite part was that it wasn’t going to shed his blood in a room full of rabid vampires. He just had to sit still while Gideon and Emma did all the work.

Which, unfortunately, was easier said than done. It was very difficult to remember this was serious business, when all of his senses were telling him something else entirely. Restrained and almost entirely immobile, in a room full of toys he couldn’t see but knew were there, while soft hands continually teased and caressed him. His mind was at war withhis body, and his body was winning. He needed something to distract him, and he desperately sought questions to ask. Anything would do, as long as they were talking about serious business and not about the growing ache in his groin.

“What about my head? Are you going to put the hood on me today?” As soon as he asked, he regretted it. What if the answer was yes? The sensory deprivation would make him infinitely aware of every single whisper of breath, every bit of contact.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” He never even felt Gideon move behind him; the sudden words across his ear made goose bumps erupt along Jesse’s arm. “You should see what we’re doing to you at least once. I want you to know exactly what the others are going to see.”

Jesse almost sighed with relief. “Oh, okay.”

He looked down to the top of Emma’s blonde head, but he couldn’t see her face. She hadn’t even batted an eye when he began to undress, but then, why would she? She had already seen him in his birthday suit, and at the time he had been more concerned about her safety than his own modesty. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if some of the looks she cast over his body had more behind them than just professional curiosity. And then he wondered why he cared, and then he wondered if she knew what he was thinking about.

“I itch all over. This paint is going to drive me crazy.”

“That’s only because it’s still wet,” Emma offered. “Here. I’ll show you.”

Setting aside her sponge, she turned her head and pursed her lips. A warm blast of air rippled over his forearm, and Jesse’s breath hitched. At his back, Gideon stiffened slightly, and the hand that had been painting along his spine slowed. He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know Gideon was watching Emma. What he didn’t know was whether she knew the effect she was having on him or not.

“There.” She sat back on her heels and looked at him with eyes so dark, they were almost black. “It’s dry. Does it itch now?”

“No,” Jesse said, his throat tight. “It feels better now.” Some devil prompted him to add, “But my chest still itches.”

Emma tilted her head like a curious cat, and her eyes took on a definite shine as she weighed his words. Slowly, she gathered her long hair with one hand and held it out of the way at her nape before leaning in toward his body. Inches away, she pursed her lips again, directing her warm breath across his left nipple.

Jesse didn’t shudder, but he did tremble slightly. He could sense Gideon, still hovering over his shoulder, watching everything. Emma would be able to sense what he was feeling, and he didn’t have a prayer of hiding his arousal from Gideon. The fact that they both knew what they were doing to him only heightened the sensation. It was a vicious and unfair cycle.

Her breath slowed, then stopped, but Emma only pulled back enough to create the smallest of margins between her mouth and his skin. “Would you like for me to do the other side, too?” she murmured, looking up at him.

No. Yes. Fuck.

“I’d appreciate that.”

His fingers curled into fists as she mimicked her earlier action, nails digging into his soft palms. He didn’t know what to think about this. Up until that moment, he had recognized her beauty in a sort of objective way, but he’d never thought of her sexually. Now ants were marching down his spine, and the sudden damp brush of Gideon’s tongue against his ear made his heart race.

“Watch her,” Gideon whispered, his voice so low Jesse sincerely doubted Emma would be able to make out the individual words. “On her knees. Asking permission. Now you know how you make me feel when you act the same way.”


For more information, visit Amber Allure.

Flashback Fridays--Surrender's Edge

Ahh. Surrender's Edge. It is one of my favorite books, and not just because it's a big seller for me. I started it, ran out of steam, and then let it sit for months. But I decided I wanted to finish it, and so I went to my cubicle on campus every morning at 7 am to work on it for 90 minutes before I had to teach. It was slow going, but I finished it, and it was released in February 2007. I was chatting with Vivien while working on it, but because of school and what not, we weren't collaborating full-time. Even so, she very sweetly helped me think of a title, and so I owe this title to her. I probably would have gone with something dumb like "Untitled" or something. I suck at titles.

Anyway, here's the blurb:

Geoffrey Kirk has been in love with his best friend, Nash, since almost the moment they met. Convinced that Nash would never return his feelings, he forced himself to move on, and fell for his assistant, Sunny. Despite his strong feelings, he never acted on them, and when he discovered Sunny and Nash together, he thought he lost his chance for happiness forever.

Until Sunny and Nash make it clear that he hasn't lost anything...and he still has a great deal to gain...

And here is a never-before-posted excerpt.

Geoffrey pushed his food aside, hoping that now he could give up the pretense of caring about dinner. “What were you trying to tell me today?”

“I was hoping we could get through the meal first,” Nash said wryly.

“It’s been driving me to distraction all day.”
Nash leaned back in his chair and dropped his fork. “Yeah, me, too. But probably for
different reasons.”

“Probably for the same reason,” Geoffrey corrected.

“Our first place was smaller than this room, wasn’t it?” Nash asked conversationally.
Geoffrey looked up, surprised by the parallel to his own thoughts. “If it wasn’t smaller, it wasn’t much bigger either.”

“We practically lived right on top of each other.”

Geoffrey nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Sleeping in the same room every night, sharing a bathroom, pooling our money for beer and smokes. I thought we didn’t have a single secret between us.”

Geoffrey stiffened. “If you’re suggesting I ever did anything that was inappropriate…”

Nash shook his head quickly. “No, I’m not. And that’s just the thing, Geoff. I don’t understand how we could be so close for so long, and I just never knew. I keep thinking about it. Either you’re a great actor, or I’m the biggest jerk on the planet.”

“Can’t it be a little of both?” Geoffrey asked with a smile.

“It probably is,” Nash acknowledged. “I’ve also been thinking a lot about missed chances, about things I could have done, should have done, differently. You may never have done anything to tip your hand, but there were…openings. There were times I could have acted.”

“And you wish you had?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because I liked the way you kissed me.”

“Oh. And you…want to make up for lost time now?” The question was more curious than hopeful.

Nash nodded.

Geoffrey’s stomach dropped like a stone. He reached for his beer, hoping the cool liquid would help sooth the sudden dryness of his tongue. Nash silently watched him drink, and his eyes seemed riveted to Geoffrey’s mouth as he licked the drops of beer from his lips.

“Do you?”

Geoffrey blinked, surprised that the question even had to be asked. But then, Nash had extended such an invitation before, and Geoffrey had done everything he could to get away from the issue.

“Nash…” Now seemed the time for open honesty, and Geoffrey tried to brace himself for the fallout. “This isn’t…this isn’t a game to me. This isn’t something I can just do on a lark. It’s…it’ll hurt me too much.”

“What will?”

“If you wake up tomorrow morning and decide this was all a mistake.”

“That won’t happen.”

“How do I know that?”

“Because I’m asking you to trust me.”

Geoffrey swallowed. It was as simple as that. All he had to do was trust their
friendship, trust Nash’s word, as he always had.

“You do trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

Nash smiled. The smile that stopped Geoffrey’s heart in his chest. It was rare, that smile. And perfect. He’d smiled that way when he landed his first job after they graduated, and again when they opened the doors of their own firm. It was the smile Geoffrey had seen when he opened Nash’s door and saw him with Sunny. It was the smile that Geoffrey had always coveted.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Flashback Friday - Liaisons in Jubilee

Sometimes, Pepper and I are a little...pragmatic in how we approach our writing schedule. A little over a year ago, we had only sold two titles - Chasing Silver, which we knew wasn't going to come out until Fall 2007 (and then got bumped), and Craving Kismet, which was scheduled for Summer 2007 (and then got bumped). We hadn't even dreamed up The Master Chronicles yet, and we really had no idea how quickly we'd be writing/publishing collaborative titles.

But we knew we wanted to get our name out there, because we wanted Chasing Silver to do well. So when the call for submissions for Samhain's summer Heat Wave came out, we decided to write a short story to try for a slot. If we made the cut, we'd have two summer titles then.

That's how Liaisons in Jubilee was born.


Sometimes the truth is the greatest aphrodisiac.

Katie Mayes is the Executive Manager for a large, east coast beach resort. Unfortunately, her boss has discovered her one secret – her seasonal flings with Caleb Beckett, the Entertainment Director for the resort. Company policy dictates no internal fraternization, especially between managers and their subordinates, so her boss gives Katie a choice. Caleb or her job.

She avoids personal encounters with Caleb, until one fateful night a week before the resort’s big summer launch. Then, she runs into him at a local nightclub. When Caleb approaches her, she tries to give him the cold shoulder, but he follows her onto the dance floor where the music, her desire, and his persistence break her will. She claims it’s only one more night before they break it off completely, but Caleb insists on more. Far from an ending, he views the summer as their true beginning.

EXCERPT

Twisting in his arms, Katie meant to walk away, but his searing gaze kept her pinned against his chest, just as effectively as his hard hands. She leaned forward, her breasts crushing to him with a familiar ache, and settled her mouth at his ear. It took a moment to say the words. His scent made her mouth go dry and she had to swallow more than once in order to find her voice again.

“Quentin knows,” she breathed.

“So? Is he the jealous sort?” Caleb joked. When she didn’t smile, the light in his eyes dimmed, and he managed to look like he might be taking this seriously. “What did he say to you?”

“He gave me an ultimatum. You or my job.” She couldn’t resist. It only took turning her head the scantest of inches to trail her mouth along his jaw. “You think anything else could’ve kept me away?”

Caleb wrapped his arm around her, rotating his hips and grinding against her. His other hand slid between her thighs to brush along her pussy, before moving up again to cup her ass and hold her closer to him. Tilting his head, he brushed his lips over her neck and said, “That’s a very serious threat. Maybe you should go.”

“Maybe I should.”

But now that his arms were around her and it wasn’t just his hands holding her in place, Katie was having a hard time remembering why she couldn’t at least enjoy the dance with him. His body was strong and warm, his mouth sinful, and following his lead was as easy as breathing. She closed her eyes to let the music wash over them, her fingers threading through the long strands of his hair, and when she felt him kiss her neck again, Katie shivered.

“Miss me?” she murmured.

“Yes.” He kissed a trail along her jaw. “I missed your mouth, and I missed your ass, and I missed the way you shout my name.” He rested his lips on the corner of her mouth. They swayed to the music, not even an inch separating their bodies. “I think about you, think about holding you like this. Do you think about me?”

“Maybe.” Yes. “Maybe there’s nights when I get done with work and my feet start heading for your place before I can tell them to stop.” Maybe I get to your door before I talk myself into turning around. “And maybe when I’m lying in my bed at night, the only way for me to come using my vibe is to pretend it’s you.”

The music stopped, but Katie didn’t move. His breath fanned across her cheek, and she parted her lips to let her tongue dart out and taste the texture of his skin. The soft rasp of his moustache tickled, making her mouth water, and she exhaled, long and soft and slow as the need for him shuddered through her. “Maybe I should tell Quentin to mind his own fucking business.”

Caleb began guiding her off the dance floor, but not quickly. “I think that’s exactly what you should tell him. Come up to the balcony with me. I think we can find a private spot there.”

She couldn’t delude herself into thinking that staying at the club would keep her hands off him, but at the very least, it would keep their fucking to a minimum. And really, she hadn’t sought Caleb out. She couldn’t be blamed for it. They were colleagues who had run into each other in a public place, and if they were seen together, it was easily explained as coincidence.

But she was going to make sure they weren’t seen. And maybe this would slake her thirst for him, at least temporarily.

Lacing her fingers through Caleb’s, Katie shot him a wicked grin when he glanced down at their hands. “Someplace dark,” she agreed, hoping he would take the hint. “I’ll let you lead the way.”

For more information, visit Samhain Publishing.

Flashback Friday - Chains of Jericho

Since I have a new vampire story coming out this weekend, I thought it was appropriate to have the flashback this week from the very first vampire story I ever had e-published. As it turns out, it's also the very first story I had e-published as well. It's called Chains of Jericho:

Declan Jericho is a vampire with a purpose. His best hope for success is a brilliant young cancer specialist, but unfortunately, saving the undead isn’t exactly the career path Dr. Maya Sheldon has in mind.

Maya finds her entire belief system thrown into question when Dec kidnaps her from her hospital, taking her to his home so that she can develop a cure for the mysterious illness that is killing the young vampires in his care. Her instincts as a doctor kick in quickly. Vampires or not, she’s unable to abandon her charges. Working with Dec, it soon becomes clear that there's more than a professional interest between them, but as their attraction grows, darker secrets threaten their newfound relationship. Dec has his own reasons for wanting the young vampires cured, and he’s not telling.

EXCERPT

Her eyes flew open.

Staring blindly at the wall in front of her, Maya listened to her heart pounding inside her chest, panicked for escape and determined to make its presence known. The vestiges of her dream still clung to her skin with tiny claws, and it took a full minute for her to realize that not everything she felt was a remainder of her imagination.

At her neck, Dec’s mouth suckled gently at the exposed skin around the edges of the bandage, lapping at the soft skin with a lethargy that belied any provocation on his part. She stiffened, waiting for the teeth to come, just as they had in her dream, just as they had after her encounter with Danny. Perhaps the pain wouldn’t be that great this time.

But they didn’t.

All she felt was the wet probe of his mouth, the careful attention of his tongue. His arm was still looped around her waist, holding her firmly against him as he’d told her would be necessary before she fell asleep, and now, there was the added pressure of his erection nestled firmly against her bottom.

Just like in her dream.

No wonder her mind had gone there.

Her body was betraying her. The almost tender exploration of his mouth was more of a lover’s than anything else, and it had been far too long since Maya had experienced any sort of intimate contact with the opposite sex. While her thighs started to tremble from the intrusion of his arousal, she was fighting not closing her eyes again and giving over to the sensations he was creating, clinging to the reminder that she was there against her will, that he’d trapped and kidnapped her for purposes yet to be disclosed, that---.

His thumb brushed along the underside of her breast.

There was no holding back the moan that escaped from her throat.

The movement at her throat stopped at the sound, and before Maya could react, Dec was gone from the bed, the blankets that had been in disarray around their legs now completely gone. She rolled over just in time to see him go straight for the refrigerator, pulling out the sports bottle and draining its contents without a glance back at what he’d left.

“Are you OK?” The question blurted from her lips before she could stop it.

It took him a moment to respond. Licking at his lips, Dec kept his eyes averted from hers as he tossed the empty sports bottle aside, and then said, “I’m sorry. It’s not an excuse, but I wasn’t…really awake. It’s been a long time for me.” He shook his head, and repeated, “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. He was clearly distressed about his behavior, which, considering the fact that he was a vampire, made no sense whatsoever. Weren’t they supposed to be monsters? Killing people, feeding off their blood, all that Dracula nonsense? She’d never really given it much thought, to be honest; there were enough real monsters in the world vying for her attention without needing to go looking for the pretend ones. Except he wasn’t so pretend, was he? He’d bitten her. She’d seen his face. She’d seen Danny’s, seen it change. Like he’d told her before they turned in, she couldn’t argue with facts displayed before her very eyes.

“Do you need anything?” he was saying. He stood before the wardrobe and pulled out a plastic bag. “I have extra clothes for you, and some toiletries, but I wasn’t sure how long you’d be staying so it’s not much for now---.”

“You still haven’t told me what’s going on.” Toiletries? What kind of kidnapper bought toothpaste for his hostage? “Something about a long story?”

His hands stilled. “Are you sure you don’t want a shower first?”

“You’re stalling.”

“No, I just don’t know where to start.” He dropped the bag with a sigh and started to pace, every step feral with an energy that was just begging to be unleashed. “It took me a long time to find someone I thought could do it. I just never stopped to consider what would happen once I got that someone here.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“I suppose I’m not.”


For more information, visit Linden Bay Romance.

Flashback Friday - Master of Obsidian

In a little over a week, we have a novella coming out that - though it's not getting counted as technically part of The Master Chronicles - is part of the Master mythology. It's a prequel to the book that started it all, Master of Obsidian.

In the spirit of celebrating that first story, that's where we're pulling this week's Flashback Friday.

To say Master holds a soft spot in our hearts is an understatement. This was the book that introduced us to Gideon and Jesse, and the sheer fact that we're planning 9 books total for these guys - not including the prequel that comes out soon - is testimony to just how much we adore them.

Jesse Madding has been working for Gideon, a vampire fighting to maintain the balance between good and evil, for two years, and has loved him for nearly that long. When Gideon slams him against an alley wall and demands sex, Jesse is too happy to oblige, but it opens doors in their relationship that Gideon isn't sure he wants to enter. Especially since he suspects he was under the powerful influence of an unknown substance, and Jesse is his best friend.

As they try to negotiate a new relationship involving Jesse’s willing submission to Gideon’s darker desires—including bondage, pain, and bloodplay—they learn that a new drug is being distributed in the city. Known simply as "obsidian," this drug unleashes a vampire's demon, destroying any sense of self-control. Widespread use of obsidian could bring chaos to Chicago and turn the city into a bloodbath, but even as Jesse and Gideon race to contain it, they're consumed and distracted by their own growing passion and burgeoning emotions...

Advisory: This book contains graphic violence, hardcore bondage and punishment, torture and blood play. May not be suitable for the more sensitive reader.

EXCERPT

In the darkness, Gideon found the end of the leash without fail. He turned on his heel and strode toward the front of the building, walking a pace ahead of Jess, and nodded at a large, black vampire seated by the door. The other vampire nodded back, rising from his stool to pull open the door. He never even gave Jesse a second look.

The first thing he noticed about the club’s interior was the temperature. Most clubs Jess was familiar with were stifling, crowded places that left little room to breathe. Sangre was comfortably cool, in spite of the throngs of people that dotted the large, open room. Large fans overhead kept the air circulating, and the music that he’d detected outside made the atmosphere pulse. Not from a band, though. Huge speakers were scattered around the perimeter, filling the space with sound.

It might be full of vampires, but Sangre felt like a living creature. Jesse’s heart sped up a little bit faster.

Gideon began leading him through the crowd, taking him past long, low couches populated with writhing bodies, and nooks where no light escaped, only the occasional cries and whispers. It took little time to realize vampires outnumbered humans by a ratio of almost ten to one, and even less to understand why he knew the difference. He wasn’t the only one wearing a leash. At various points, groups of men and women were congregated around a single collared person, who was usually naked.

Jesse’s mouth went dry. No wonder there was no band. The humans were Sangre’s entertainment.

Gideon hadn’t gone through any of the rules with him, or given him a single hint of what to expect. Was that part of the test? Jesse wasn’t sure, but he thought it was best to err on the side of caution. He kept his mouth shut, and except for the occasional frantic glance around the club, he kept his eyes on the back of Gideon’s neck. Despite his heightened senses, his excitement, his terror, and the growing ache in his groin, he couldn’t help but notice how nice Gideon’s shoulders were.

Gideon came to a stop at the bar, but Jess hung back as he ordered a pint of blood and a double whiskey. As they waited for the order to be filled, Gideon turned around and leaned against the bar, his elbows resting on the edge.

“So?” His gaze was glittering. It was difficult to tell in the dim lighting if that was a trick of Jesse’s overactive imagination or a result of being so near to his demon. “What do you think?”

Jesse didn’t respond immediately. It’s nice, his typical non-answer, was entirely inappropriate. This place wasn’t nice by any definition of the word. Scary? Loud? Thrilling? All true, but also probably not the answer Gideon wanted.

“It’s not anything like I expected,” Jesse said, not bothering to raise his voice over the music. He decided to go with honesty. If Gideon didn’t want an honest response, he shouldn’t have asked. “It’s…a bit intimidating. But exciting. I’ve heard of places like this, of course, but I never thought I’d get a chance to see one from the inside.” He smiled a little sheepishly. “That’s not the only reason it’s exciting, of course.”

Gideon’s lust-filled eyes raked over him, until Jess squirmed. “There aren’t many rules here,” he said. “Do as I say. Don’t speak until spoken to.” Their drinks arrived, and Gideon picked up the whiskey first and handed it to Jess. “That’ll help you relax. I haven’t seen you this tense since we got cornered by that mob down at the pier.”

Jesse accepted the drink gladly. This would probably be much easier if he was a bit buzzed, though he didn’t want to get drunk. He didn’t want to have the temptation of blaming alcohol later for this. He needed to be fully aware of everything he did, everything he agreed to.



For more information, visit Amber Allure.