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Excerpt From: A Bit of Me

Xavier Talbot rolled over in bed and groaned. His head was throbbing and his mouth was as dry as could be. He suspected sunlight was creeping in through the blinds, not that he was willing to open his eyes and check. It was too bright behind his eyelids for the blinds to have been pulled closed properly. Xavier dragged an arm up over his brow and winced as his muscles protested the move.

What the hell had he done last night?

A groan from beside him had Xavier’s eyes popping open. Who the hell had he done last night?

Images flashed through his mind, blurry scenes from the night before. Walking into his office, finding… Oh no!

Xavier didn’t want to look. He really, really didn’t. That didn’t stop him from craning his neck and turning his head.

His stomach lurched as blond hair tipped with blue brushed against his nose. The hair moved, his bed partner’s head tipped back, and Xavier found himself looking down into worried blue eyes. Shit!

"Morning," Billy said, his voice thick with sleep and his breath ripe with the vestiges of alcohol.

"Jesus!" Xavier snapped to full awareness as he scrambled back, both from shock and to escape Billy’s potent morning breath. Had Xavier been a little less hungover and a lot less shocked he might not have misjudged how much mattress he had left.

As it was, he hit the floor with a resounding thud that shot through his entire body and knocked the air right out of his lungs. He wheezed, feeling like he’d been kicked in the gut. Billy peered over the edge of the bed, his eyes lit with amusement.

"If I’d have batted my eyes at you and called you Big Daddy, would you have gone right through the wall?"

Xavier narrowed his eyes at the little shit and then breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed Billy still had his silver shirt on. It wasn’t much of a shirt, granted, but it gave Xavier hope that he hadn’t done anything stupid, like fuck the man.

He cringed and closed his eyes. That would be like fucking his brother, and that was just…gross. But the thought spurred his brain into gear, and memories of last night came flooding back. He’d been in a foul mood because he was short staffed, because a couple of idiots had got into a fight over a twink, because the deposit from the night before hadn’t added up and he had a sneaking suspicion of why that was so—he’d had problems with his brother Randy ‘borrowing’ cash from the register before. The last thing he’d needed was to walk into his office and find Randy sitting at his desk.

Well, that was almost the last thing he’d needed. Seeing Billy’s blond and blue hair bobbing up and down had been the straw that broke the camel’s back—or Xavier’s temper.

Normally he kept a tight rein on his emotions, but finding his moronic brother using his office as a fuck room had thrown gasoline on the ember of anger boiling in his gut. And to know it was Billy Randy had been in there with—Xavier growled and opened his eyes to glare at the smaller man.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he snarled. Billy was like a brother to him, more so than Randy had ever been. Granted, Billy was a much younger, much more annoying, trouble-making brother—and those last two descriptions were really saying something, considering the crap Randy always seemed to stir up. But at least Billy’s brand of trouble wasn’t malicious. He was just naïve and he didn’t ever think about repercussions, whereas Randy was a bully who got off on his delusions of power.

Randy was an ass.

Billy shrugged and looked remorseful, sort of. He was hard to read sometimes. "Well, I told Randy I didn’t want to, but he wouldn’t leave me alone so I thought if I got him off he’d just shut up. It seemed like the quickest way to get him to go away."

Excerpt From: A Bit of Me

Xavier Talbot rolled over in bed and groaned. His head was throbbing and his mouth was as dry as could be. He suspected sunlight was creeping in through the blinds, not that he was willing to open his eyes and check. It was too bright behind his eyelids for the blinds to have been pulled closed properly. Xavier dragged an arm up over his brow and winced as his muscles protested the move.

What the hell had he done last night?

A groan from beside him had Xavier’s eyes popping open. Who the hell had he done last night?

Images flashed through his mind, blurry scenes from the night before. Walking into his office, finding… Oh no!

Xavier didn’t want to look. He really, really didn’t. That didn’t stop him from craning his neck and turning his head.

His stomach lurched as blond hair tipped with blue brushed against his nose. The hair moved, his bed partner’s head tipped back, and Xavier found himself looking down into worried blue eyes. Shit!

"Morning," Billy said, his voice thick with sleep and his breath ripe with the vestiges of alcohol.

"Jesus!" Xavier snapped to full awareness as he scrambled back, both from shock and to escape Billy’s potent morning breath. Had Xavier been a little less hungover and a lot less shocked he might not have misjudged how much mattress he had left.

As it was, he hit the floor with a resounding thud that shot through his entire body and knocked the air right out of his lungs. He wheezed, feeling like he’d been kicked in the gut. Billy peered over the edge of the bed, his eyes lit with amusement.

"If I’d have batted my eyes at you and called you Big Daddy, would you have gone right through the wall?"

Xavier narrowed his eyes at the little shit and then breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed Billy still had his silver shirt on. It wasn’t much of a shirt, granted, but it gave Xavier hope that he hadn’t done anything stupid, like fuck the man.

He cringed and closed his eyes. That would be like fucking his brother, and that was just…gross. But the thought spurred his brain into gear, and memories of last night came flooding back. He’d been in a foul mood because he was short staffed, because a couple of idiots had got into a fight over a twink, because the deposit from the night before hadn’t added up and he had a sneaking suspicion of why that was so—he’d had problems with his brother Randy ‘borrowing’ cash from the register before. The last thing he’d needed was to walk into his office and find Randy sitting at his desk.

Well, that was almost the last thing he’d needed. Seeing Billy’s blond and blue hair bobbing up and down had been the straw that broke the camel’s back—or Xavier’s temper.

Normally he kept a tight rein on his emotions, but finding his moronic brother using his office as a fuck room had thrown gasoline on the ember of anger boiling in his gut. And to know it was Billy Randy had been in there with—Xavier growled and opened his eyes to glare at the smaller man.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he snarled. Billy was like a brother to him, more so than Randy had ever been. Granted, Billy was a much younger, much more annoying, trouble-making brother—and those last two descriptions were really saying something, considering the crap Randy always seemed to stir up. But at least Billy’s brand of trouble wasn’t malicious. He was just naïve and he didn’t ever think about repercussions, whereas Randy was a bully who got off on his delusions of power.

Randy was an ass.

Billy shrugged and looked remorseful, sort of. He was hard to read sometimes. "Well, I told Randy I didn’t want to, but he wouldn’t leave me alone so I thought if I got him off he’d just shut up. It seemed like the quickest way to get him to go away."

Excerpt From: A Bit of You

Jeez, Xavier can be such a grouch! Billy couldn’t be too irritated at the man, though; after all, Xav was getting older and obviously couldn’t handle his liquor worth shit anymore.

Billy snorted as he fixed breakfast for the both of them. Xavier had freaked out last night when he’d found Billy kind of willingly but not totally in a way giving a blow job to Xav’s brother Randy. The fight between the brothers had been scary as hell to witness, especially since Xav was already shit-faced by then and Randy had taken advantage of it by pounding the crap out of his brother. Billy had finally threatened Randy with a letter opener he’d grabbed off Xavier’s desk.

As far as Billy knew, Xavier hadn’t remembered that little nugget, which, considering Randy had just clocked Xav in the temple before that? Yeah, he wasn’t likely to remember much from last night—other than the blow job thing and a fight with Randy following.

Billy was trying his best to hide his own guilt from Xav, but he really, really wished Xav hadn’t walked in on Randy and him last night. Now there was going to be more trouble between the brothers. They didn’t exactly get along to start with, but Billy hadn’t wanted to be the cause of any further estrangement between them, which was why he’d just blown Randy anyway rather than go running to Xav. Xav was the only family Billy had, even if they weren’t related by blood. He’d never been close to Randy—and a blow job or whatever didn’t change that, especially not when Billy hadn’t wanted Randy’s nasty dick in his mouth.

Besides, sex was just sex, it didn’t make you like someone, or love them, and Billy loved Xav. He had rescued Billy from the streets when he was just fifteen. Billy had been heading down the path to an early, and most likely violent, death already, so it was a stroke of luck or fate, or whatever, when he’d happened to proposition the handsome man one evening on the street.

And, now, here he was years later, wondering how much damage he’d caused between Xav and Randy. Truthfully, Billy had known Randy hated him for a while now. He hadn’t paid any attention to Billy the first few years he’d lived with Xav, but lately, definitely over the past year, Billy hadn’t been able to ignore the way Randy had been treating him. He wished the fucker had just kept right on ignoring him, but Billy suspected Randy was jealous, more because he thought Billy was getting chunks of Xavier’s money than because Billy and Xav were close. If Randy had wanted to be close to his brother, all he’d have had to do was talk to Xav with consideration instead of constantly bitching at him.

“Right.” Billy snorted. All Randy wanted from his brother was money. Xavier and Randy had both inherited a lot of money after their parents’ deaths. How much, exactly, Billy didn’t know or care. Xavier had been smart with his share and invested. Randy had burned through his in a matter of years and had nothing to show for it other than an unhealthy addiction or three.

Billy poured Xav some coffee and headed to the bedroom to wait for him to get out of the bathroom. He wondered, if things had been different, if he and Xav had met when Billy was an adult—if he’d lived long enough to be an adult—whether they’d have had a different sort of relationship. He didn’t think so, but it was hard to imagine it because Billy kept getting grossed out. Xav was too much like an older brother, or a father even.

Still, Billy got really lonely. Not horny-lonely; that could be cured at the club. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, and his natural exuberance drew plenty of interested men. The thing was, they were only interested in getting off. Billy hadn’t even had an actual boyfriend.

Maybe if he got out more… Billy sighed. Like that would happen. He worried about Xav being alone so much. Xav didn’t even bother with quick hook-ups any more, hadn’t for a while now, and anyway Billy usually worked at The Xxchange, the club Xavier owned, almost every night. His nights off were usually spent vegging out in front of the TV watching reruns of sitcoms or reading a book. Sometimes both if he was having trouble chilling.

Of course, if he read a romance, like he did sometimes, then he’d even feel lonelier. Billy wondered if guys like those in the books existed. Then he thought about Adam and Les, and a few other gay couples he’d heard about—and there was even a triad or ménage or whatever it was called, and everyone was supposedly all happy and lovey-dovey.

How is it they can all find someone else—or hell, a couple of someone elses, and all be happy and crap when I can’t even get a freaking boyfriend?

Billy stewed on the question for a while until Xav came out of the bathroom. He obviously hadn’t thought Billy’d be sitting there on the bed because Xav was completely naked and, while he was magnificently built, it was kinda like seeing your dad naked. Billy cringed inside but decided, judging by the angry glare Xav was giving him, this was an opportunity to tease them both right out of their funky moods.

Billy pasted on his brightest smile. Too bad he didn’t slap his brain into gear first. “I made you coffee and toast. You look pretty good naked. Your dick’s bigger than Randy’s.”

Xav looked stunned, then he looked green as he turned and ran back into the bathroom, his firm butt flexing and bouncing just a little with each footfall.

Billy sighed and silently cursed himself. Maybe one day he’d learn to think before he spoke. Until then, it sounded like he might have a mess to clean up in the bathroom.

Excerpt From: A Bit of You

Jeez, Xavier can be such a grouch! Billy couldn’t be too irritated at the man, though; after all, Xav was getting older and obviously couldn’t handle his liquor worth shit anymore.

Billy snorted as he fixed breakfast for the both of them. Xavier had freaked out last night when he’d found Billy kind of willingly but not totally in a way giving a blow job to Xav’s brother Randy. The fight between the brothers had been scary as hell to witness, especially since Xav was already shit-faced by then and Randy had taken advantage of it by pounding the crap out of his brother. Billy had finally threatened Randy with a letter opener he’d grabbed off Xavier’s desk.

As far as Billy knew, Xavier hadn’t remembered that little nugget, which, considering Randy had just clocked Xav in the temple before that? Yeah, he wasn’t likely to remember much from last night—other than the blow job thing and a fight with Randy following.

Billy was trying his best to hide his own guilt from Xav, but he really, really wished Xav hadn’t walked in on Randy and him last night. Now there was going to be more trouble between the brothers. They didn’t exactly get along to start with, but Billy hadn’t wanted to be the cause of any further estrangement between them, which was why he’d just blown Randy anyway rather than go running to Xav. Xav was the only family Billy had, even if they weren’t related by blood. He’d never been close to Randy—and a blow job or whatever didn’t change that, especially not when Billy hadn’t wanted Randy’s nasty dick in his mouth.

Besides, sex was just sex, it didn’t make you like someone, or love them, and Billy loved Xav. He had rescued Billy from the streets when he was just fifteen. Billy had been heading down the path to an early, and most likely violent, death already, so it was a stroke of luck or fate, or whatever, when he’d happened to proposition the handsome man one evening on the street.

And, now, here he was years later, wondering how much damage he’d caused between Xav and Randy. Truthfully, Billy had known Randy hated him for a while now. He hadn’t paid any attention to Billy the first few years he’d lived with Xav, but lately, definitely over the past year, Billy hadn’t been able to ignore the way Randy had been treating him. He wished the fucker had just kept right on ignoring him, but Billy suspected Randy was jealous, more because he thought Billy was getting chunks of Xavier’s money than because Billy and Xav were close. If Randy had wanted to be close to his brother, all he’d have had to do was talk to Xav with consideration instead of constantly bitching at him.

“Right.” Billy snorted. All Randy wanted from his brother was money. Xavier and Randy had both inherited a lot of money after their parents’ deaths. How much, exactly, Billy didn’t know or care. Xavier had been smart with his share and invested. Randy had burned through his in a matter of years and had nothing to show for it other than an unhealthy addiction or three.

Billy poured Xav some coffee and headed to the bedroom to wait for him to get out of the bathroom. He wondered, if things had been different, if he and Xav had met when Billy was an adult—if he’d lived long enough to be an adult—whether they’d have had a different sort of relationship. He didn’t think so, but it was hard to imagine it because Billy kept getting grossed out. Xav was too much like an older brother, or a father even.

Still, Billy got really lonely. Not horny-lonely; that could be cured at the club. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, and his natural exuberance drew plenty of interested men. The thing was, they were only interested in getting off. Billy hadn’t even had an actual boyfriend.

Maybe if he got out more… Billy sighed. Like that would happen. He worried about Xav being alone so much. Xav didn’t even bother with quick hook-ups any more, hadn’t for a while now, and anyway Billy usually worked at The Xxchange, the club Xavier owned, almost every night. His nights off were usually spent vegging out in front of the TV watching reruns of sitcoms or reading a book. Sometimes both if he was having trouble chilling.

Of course, if he read a romance, like he did sometimes, then he’d even feel lonelier. Billy wondered if guys like those in the books existed. Then he thought about Adam and Les, and a few other gay couples he’d heard about—and there was even a triad or ménage or whatever it was called, and everyone was supposedly all happy and lovey-dovey.

How is it they can all find someone else—or hell, a couple of someone elses, and all be happy and crap when I can’t even get a freaking boyfriend?

Billy stewed on the question for a while until Xav came out of the bathroom. He obviously hadn’t thought Billy’d be sitting there on the bed because Xav was completely naked and, while he was magnificently built, it was kinda like seeing your dad naked. Billy cringed inside but decided, judging by the angry glare Xav was giving him, this was an opportunity to tease them both right out of their funky moods.

Billy pasted on his brightest smile. Too bad he didn’t slap his brain into gear first. “I made you coffee and toast. You look pretty good naked. Your dick’s bigger than Randy’s.”

Xav looked stunned, then he looked green as he turned and ran back into the bathroom, his firm butt flexing and bouncing just a little with each footfall.

Billy sighed and silently cursed himself. Maybe one day he’d learn to think before he spoke. Until then, it sounded like he might have a mess to clean up in the bathroom.

Excerpt from: A Christmas Favour

“Oh, I’m so glad Thanksgiving holidays are over now.” Angela sighed and turned to Mike, gathering a sack of groceries from her car.

Mike took the bag from her. “I know what you mean. Now we’ve got to make it through the Christmas holidays.”

He followed her up the short steps into her apartment.

“I’m going to get my place ready for a spiritual cleansing this week. It’s been a long time,” she continued.

Mike cocked an eyebrow. “You actually do that shit, huh?”

She smirked. “Yes. You knew that about me before we started dating.” She took the sack from him and started putting things away.

“I know. It’s just weird, that’s all.”

Angela frowned. “I thought you liked weird.”

“I do.” Mike reached for Angela’s hand and took it in his. He kissed it as he gazed longingly into her eyes. “I love your eyes, Angela.” He leaned towards her lips and kissed her. She hesitantly pulled away from him.

Mike looked puzzled. “Is something the matter?”

“No. I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night. I think I’d better turn in early tonight. It’s Friday, and I’d like to get some rest. I hope you don’t mind.” She tried her best to look sad, and the puppy dog look won out.

He snorted. “If you’d learn to eat more meat, you’d probably feel better.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “We’ve been over the meat issue many times before. I’ve just never been a big fan of red meat.”

“I know. I’m mostly picking on you anyway, but I am concerned about your health. The protein—”

She pressed two fingers against his lips in slight irritation. “It’s sweet, but I’m fine. I promise.”

His shoulders sagged. “Okay. I promised the boys I’d game with them this weekend, anyway.” Mike tried to mimic the puppy dog look.

“Call me later?” She turned away from him, glancing over her shoulder.

“I sure will. I love you, Angela.” He kissed her, and his smile returned.

“You too.” Angela closed the door quietly. She walked over to the nightstand, picked up a black photo album, and dusted off the cover. Angela found the picture of her and a taller man with long midnight black hair that framed a rough, unshaved face. His arms were around her and they were both smiling. To my best friend, forever and always, Christian, the caption beneath the picture read.

A visit from you would really make my day, she thought. She set down the photo album and went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea.

Her kitchen was tiny, barely big enough for two people. The rest of her apartment was fairly open—one couch, a few pictures on the walls and some ironwork candleholders over the fireplace that needed cleaning. In one corner, Angela kept a kitty bed for the stray cats she picked up and gave a home to.

After her cup of hot water was boiling, she added the tea bag, stirred it and brought the cup to her nose. The aroma and warmth of green tea helped her nerves. The past week had been stressful. Mike tried to be helpful by coming over to see her, but as usual, he was just in the way. The winter holidays were a mess for her since Christian stopped coming into town. * * * *

Christian picked up his smart phone and pager, stuffed them in his pockets, gathered up his laptop and headed for his car. Work sucked badly when the servers were down in Dallas, because that meant a trip out of town. He could at least call his best friend and former lover. Maybe they could go out for drinks or hang out and spend some time together. He felt guilty. It had been two years since he’d seen Angela and almost as long since he’d last called or written.

Her absence from his life was beginning to bother him, though relationship troubles were routine for him since losing his last girlfriend. It seemed Christian’s very healthy sex drive had interfered with her religious studies and training to be a missionary. She’d always complained about him working so hard in the secular world when he could have been preaching the good faith. He laughed at the idea as he tried to recall her face and couldn’t. He didn’t mind parting with her.

It was still early, but Angela should be at work by now. Chris hooked his Bluetooth earpiece around his ear, picked up his smart phone and dialled her work number, impatient for the phone to connect. The two rings seemed like forever until she answered.

“Hello, Anderson Insurance…”

Her sweet voice was all it took to put him in a better mood.

“Angela, hi.” Chris remembered to breathe.

“Christian…?”

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s uh, been awhile.” He twiddled his thumbs.

“Do you realise how long it’s been?” She sounded irritated with him.

He slumped in his seat and let out a long, slow breath. “Too long. And I’m sorry.”

“You had better be.” A beat passed before either of them spoke again.

“What’s going on? How have you been?” Chris picked up the stylus from his phone, tapped it against the dashboard nervously.

“I’ve been fine. You do remember this is my work line, right?”

He could almost see her smirking at him, the way her eyes narrowed yet still gleamed with desire for him. “Yes, and again, I’m sorry. I only have a moment anyway. I’m coming into town next weekend on business and might be able to get some free time.”

He thought he heard her breath hitch. “Would you like to get together?”

“Sure. I could really use some company.”

Despite the sadness that was in her voice, he was certain he could cheer her up. The thought of smelling her sweet essence, cuddling against her soft skin brought a grin to his face. “All right. I’ll call you as soon as I get in, okay?”

“Please do,” she whispered.

Excerpt From: A Christmas to Remember

Daniel Hoffman stared out of the backseat passenger window of his friends’ black SUV into the foreign, snow-covered terrain. He still wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to spend the holidays with his best friends, Chance Devlin and Jared Lont. The pair made a terrific couple, but they really didn’t need a third wheel tagging along to spend Christmas and the New Year in a cabin on the frozen shores of Lake Huron. He doubted it was the romantic getaway that Chance had pictured when he first proposed the idea to Jared. Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had no idea what his friends had been thinking.

He would have been better off staying in the city where there were plenty of things to keep him occupied…and keep his mind off Collin and how wonderful Christmas was supposed to be. He would have been perfectly happy spending the time in the archives helping new genealogists discover their family history, or a more advanced family historian untangle the stubborn threads of a complex line to reveal long held secrets.

For the hundredth time during his waking hours, he cursed himself for getting talked into the vacation. He should be at the archives. Not that his boss would be welcoming or particularly accommodating. Ashley Marks was a great boss, but she had kicked him out the door with orders not to show his face until the seventh of January. He hadn’t taken a vacation, called in sick or missed a day of work in over eighteen months. He had even begun taking private clients and researching their family trees for them.

Daniel sighed. He knew the exact date things had changed - the eleventh of June. The day the state police had come to his work and told him that his partner of three and a half years was dead - killed by mini-van driver who hadn’t been paying attention and who hadn’t really seemed to care that she’d killed someone. She’d repeated plenty of times that she was a Christian and hadn’t meant it, but never once had she said she was sorry. Not even as the judge had convicted her of vehicular manslaughter.

Tears welled as he thought of the last moments with Collin before he had left that morning.

"God, you’re a lousy liar. I hate you, Daniel. You need to figure out if you really want me in your life anymore or not," Collin had shouted before stomping out of the house. "You have until I get home from work - "

"Danny, hey, you with us back there? We’re going to stop at Meijer’s. There are a few things we need to pick up," Jared said, his dark eyes looking at him in the rear-view mirror. "My sister, Janice, called earlier to say that the cabin hadn’t been re-stocked after the hunting trip."

Daniel nodded and turned back to the window. At least that was something he didn’t have to worry about. There were no memories of him and Collin at the cabin. Collin was a city boy through and through. He’d said on more than one occasion that college was as rural as he ever wanted to get. He’d grown up in San Francisco and hated the smaller city surrounding the college he’d attended. Daniel, on the other hand, had grown up a few hours from their destination in Grand Rapids and didn’t mind the country occasionally, even while he loved his home and friends in Philadelphia.

Excerpt From: A Cowboy in Ravenna

Trinity March’s heart slammed against his ribs. He sat up on his sofa bed. He should have been deeply asleep, but the argument at the pack gathering had nagged at him all night.

Trin had brought Calhoun to the meeting, argued they hire him to help protect their women and children. Their alpha had scoffed. So what if one of the villages had been attacked by rogue shifters, with warriors killed, women and children enslaved? They’d been weak. The tribe Trinity had served as shaman was three times as large. They didn’t need an enforcer like Calhoun.

Calhoun’s attitude hadn’t helped. His chilling appearance in black leather and mirrored shades had matched his reputation as he’d leaned against his motorcycle, his scarred face impassive. He hadn’t seemed to care if the pack hired him or not.

Trin shoved hair out of his eyes, knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep with worry eating his gut. He’d felt this way for months.

He looked out the window and through the yellowed lace curtains he glimpsed a light on in the cabin of his elderly human neighbour, Mr Jenkins. The old man had been limping when they’d both visited their mail boxes yesterday. Trin needed to mix up a remedy, use it as an excuse so he could put a hand on the man’s shoulder, touch him, heal him, if only temporarily.

Thinking of healing eased the tension, brought back normality. He would get up and grind some herbs fresh from the garden out back. Then he’d find a way to convince his alpha to see Calhoun, to speak to him alone.

Outside, that light from Mr Jenkins’ cabin flickered as a shadow moved, fluid as dark liquid.

A wolf.

Trin’s enhanced eyesight caught the turn of the knob on his cabin door. It opened softly, admitting the breath of the night.

The scent he caught was unwashed skin, motor oil and stale beer.

It did not belong to any of his pack mates.

The cabin only possessed two rooms, the great room where he was lying on his sofa bed, and his son Sage’s room. Listening to the drum of his heart, Trin eased the covers off, hyper aware of the too-loud rustle of his bedding.

He rolled off the bed and onto the floor, snaking to the ground.

Bang! His pillow exploded.

“Dad!” Sage screamed.

“Get the kid!” a harsh voice ordered. “And for Christ’s sake don’t hurt him like you did the other kids. This one has power, thanks to his papa. I want him undamaged for our buyer.”

Trin recognized that voice. Dempsy, leader of the rogue shifters.

Trin flung himself at the men, his needle claws spearing into someone’s gut, shredding internal organs. He yanked them free, watched the burly man with long, unwashed hair drop his pistol. “Huh?” The stranger touched his unravelling intestines before he fell on them.

Trin’s rep was as a gentle, solitary healer. These rogue shifters had assumed he wasn’t a warrior. They probably thought he wouldn’t fight to protect what was his.

They were wrong.

“Fuck! Kill him!” Dempsy shouted, stepping back as the lamp swung in an arc above, highlighting the pool of blood on Trin’s hardwood floor.

Trin fell to his knees, taking punch after punch, his face splitting. The pain—

Couldn’t shift.

Hands ripped at his clothing. They were going to play with him before they killed him.

“No!” He grabbed Dempsy by the balls, twisting his grip, fired by hate. Dempsy screamed, grabbing his crotch as he crumpled to the floor.

Free, Trin crawled, body blazing pain like ugly neon.

He had to… He had to shift. No matter what, he had to shift! Something stirred inside him. A huge shadow, a claw of death. He would rip him up, comin’ out. Rip him to shit. His wolf, but not his wolf. He shook his head, disoriented.

He staggered to Sage’s room, leaving a bloody handprint on the door as he shoved it open. A spark of agony chewed skin off his shoulder as a bullet thudded into the wall beside him. Hurry, hurry. Dammit, I have to hurry.

Time seemed to slow… He could see each freckle on Sage’s pale face standing like stars on a milky background. Sage, eight years old, wearing his favourite blue pyjamas, huge eyes fixed on his face, looking for direction, for reassurance.

Sage.

Trin scooped up his son, shouldering the door shut behind him. It boomed and trembled. A kick?

They’re coming.

He dropped Sage back on his feet and shoved the chest of drawers they’d painted sky blue in front of the door.

Sage opened his mouth.

Trin covered it, making a ‘shhh’ gesture with his finger to his lips.

He herded Sage to the window, opened it, sweat stinging his skin. The dresser scraped across the floor behind them.

They’re coming.

“No matter what, you don’t come back here,” he told his son. “You run. Run like never before, you hear me, little robin?”

“But I want to stay with you!” Sage whispered. “I can shift, I can fight!”

“No.” God, he hadn’t had time to prepare Sage, to tell him of their special legacy. “Daddy won’t be safe. You need to run. Promise me.”

He didn’t have time to kiss his son, to pull him close. His heart ached with love, with words, useless now. Sage’s eyes, the shape of his face, the sturdy little shoulders.

Trin shoved Sage out the window, saw him look back one last time, saw him running for the trees.

Trin swung around, blades erupting from his fingers, his hair rippling in a rage down his back as his coat grew.

A great grey wolf sprang for the men who had come for his son.

“He’s shifting!” he heard one of the rogue shifters yell. “Shoot him! Shoot the fucker!”

Bullets hit him, blood erupting from his body, hurting, left leg giving out. Couldn’t fall. Not yet, not yet. Trin had to protect his son. Protect. All he was, all he would ever be, a father in his heart, his gut, lit him.

His shadow elongated, distorted like a nightmare smeared across the wall.

Growing, tearing flesh and bone. He screamed… The thing would kill him as it was born.

Shifting again. Becoming.

“Shit! Shadow shifter!”

He was towering death.

They fired, bullets pinging, chewing off wood chips, blood.

Massive claws flashed.

Excerpt From: A Detour Home

“This is going to be so cool!” Cameron exclaimed, his jaw slack with shock, eyes sparkling with surprise and growing excitement as he regarded his best friend’s smug face. “Wait.” His baby blue eyes narrowed. “You’d better not be joking.”

“Nope.” Jon grinned at Cam’s reaction, one he had been anticipating for hours—ever since he got the phone call from his Uncle Dave offering them jobs on his road crew for the summer. Apparently, he had a state highway repair contract to fulfil and needed more warm bodies.

Jon wasn’t under any illusions. He’d worked for his uncle the previous summer, and it was damn hard work, sometimes twelve-hour days, sometimes even more, all in the hot, humid Midwest weather. But it was great money, way more than any other job guys their age could get. And this year Cam could finally go, too, since Dave had a lucrative clause in the contract for finishing early and needed reliable help.

“It’ll be hard work,” he cautioned lightly, knowing Cam wouldn’t care.

“Who cares? Bring it on,” Cameron almost shouted, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in that funny way he had. Jon watched him with enjoyment as he pumped his fist in the air a la Tiger Woods, then collapsed in a sprawl beside him on the couch.

“Wow, on our own together all summer! Drinking beer with the guys, staying at hotels, eating out.” Cam’s leg jostled his and Jon looked down absently to where they pressed together.

“Hey, look at you,” Jon observed with surprise, staring over at Cameron with new eyes. “Geez, your thighs are almost as big as mine.” He exaggerated somewhat, but Cam had filled out quite a bit when he hadn’t been looking.

Excerpt From: A Firm Hand

James Montford slowed his horse to a walk as he took in the view of Mariah Griffin trotting her prize black mare. The woman’s lush curves and fearless nature called to him.

When she looked over her shoulder for him, she pulled up and turned to trot in his direction. “Are you tired, my lord?” Her breasts bounced as she brought her horse to a stop. The dress was in no way revealing, but James had an active imagination.

“Not at all. Simply enjoying the view of your uncle’s estate.” He knew she’d never believe it, which was precisely why he’d said it.

“If you’re bored, please do not continue on my account. Alice’s headache ruined your afternoon of riding with her. I simply needed to get some air, and on my uncle’s estate I can ride alone with no impropriety. You need not feel obligated.” She walked her horse around his, circling him like a vulture.

“I enjoy riding as well, Miss Griffin. Your company only adds to the view.” James had no designs on Alice, Mariah’s cousin, but her parents wanted him for a son-in-law. With neighbouring estates, the socialisation was inevitable. Until Mariah’s arrival, part chaperone and all friend for Alice, James had not spent much time here.

He and Mariah spoke rather openly to one another but stayed away from any topics of significance. That suited him well. He was in no haste to marry. The institution made most people he knew miserable. Mariah didn’t pressure him about Alice or any other attachment.

“View?” She looked down with a grin. “My mare is not for sale, my lord.”

He chuckled. She rebuffed his compliment and yet a touch of pink glowed in her cheeks. “I’m not shopping for horses. I have a well-stocked stable.”

“So I hear. My aunt wanted me to invite you to dinner. Hopefully, Alice’s headache has passed.” Mariah’s face turned serious as she nodded to the sky. “Rain is coming. We should go back.”

“Eager to escape me?” He glanced up and saw her assessment was accurate. Annoyance boiled in his veins. Nature plotted to keep him from some relaxing time alone with Mariah. His desire for her fought his need to remain unattached.

Mariah made him feel things no other woman had. But she was a lady, the daughter of a rich man. Innocent and honourable in all things. Yet they had a connection. He was an earl, worthy of her, but if she knew his true nature, he suspected she’d run.

He knew she had three brothers. Perhaps if he treated her like a little sister, the lust would pass. “Shall we race?” he asked.

She nodded. Few men would suggest such a thing to a grown woman, but they’d begun a habit of teasing one another already. He wanted to watch her best him. It’d provide interesting dinner conversation.

“One, two, three.” He took off, and she didn’t sprint past him. Her lighter body and sleeker horse should’ve overtaken him at the average pace he’d set his mount. James wondered if she was now taking in the view? He felt lightheaded for a moment as his stomach ached in confusion and desire. To possess her was a dream, but dreams were false and easy. Reality hurt people, and he had no wish to upset anyone. He’d created a quiet life he could tolerate.

He pulled up at the stable and entered. Dismounting, he looked about for the stable boy and heard rustling in the hay. Defiling a chamber maid was no excuse for neglecting duty. James rounded the stall to chastise the couple. He stopped in his tracks and wanted to use his riding crop in a multitude of ways. Alice’s headache had apparently been cured by the affections of the vicar.

“Edmund?” James levelled a challenging glance at the man.

The vicar stepped in front of the dishevelled young woman. “Forgive me, my lord.”

“Your lordship.” Alice tried to cover herself.

“You’ve won, my lord. The rain is starting. Where is everyone?” Mariah followed James’ path, and her jaw dropped as she took in the scene.

James helped her off her horse, relishing the feel of her firm body beneath his hands. She barely gave him a nod as she glared at her cousin. The play of the race and the weather no longer proved of interest to either of them.

“Alice!” Mariah grabbed her cousin and pulled her away from Edmund’s arms. “What are you doing?”

Excerpt From: A Fistful of Emmett

“I’m sorry Emmett, but we’re gonna hafta let ya go. I hate to do it. The bank ain’t givin’ us any options. They’re takin’ the place. Beth Anne and I’ll give you a nice reference letter if ya need it. You’re a good worker. You should be on your feet in no time. You can stay here fer a while. At least until the auction.”

Well didn’t that beat all? What the fuck was he supposed to do now? FBR Acres had been his home for goin’ on ten years. Fred hadn’t told him things had gotten that bad.

“Is there anything I can do?” Emmett took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. He was uncomfortable about money talk as it was, but this was the only family he had and he’d do anything for them.

“It’s too late. We just can’t do it anymore. We’re gonna retire down Florida way. The kids are puttin’ us up for a bit.”

“Shit, Fred. You should have told me. I would have helped.” He hit his hat against his leg to get rid of some of the dust, and put it back on his head.

“Couldn’t let ya do that, Em. Even with your help, we would have gone under and we weren’t takin’ ya with us. Things just ain’t what they used to be,” Fred lamented.

“When’s the auction?”

“We got two weeks to get everything ready. We ain’t takin’ much with us. The bank is takin’ the rest. Lock, stock and barrel. We get to keep the vehicles and of course the personal items. Red is yours free and clear. Also have a little cash set aside as your last payment. We worked it out the other night. I hate that I have to do this, Em.” Fred frowned and squinted—a sure sign he was upset with the way things had gone down. Emmett had seen that look a time or two over the years.

“Not your fault. Like ya said, I’ll get back on my feet in no time. I have chores to get done and should finish working on the tractor so it’s ready for next week. I assume that goes in with the auction.”

“Yep.” Fred looked down at his feet.

“Thanks for Red. I appreciate it. And don’t worry so much. In two weeks, you’ll be seeing your grandbabies and living a life of leisure. You deserve it.” Em gave Fred a slap on the back and left for his day of chores.

Just because life was going to hell didn’t mean he could let the chores go. He’d worry about what to do later. Not like he had a lot to pack anyway. His life didn’t lead to much in the way of personal items and he never really went anywhere. The ranch was his home. His day consisted of getting up, working and going to bed, with the occasional trip to Austin for a quick lay. He loved the ranch life or he wouldn’t still be here. It was all he knew.

Fred and Beth Anne had helped his momma raise him. Summers had been the best because he got to spend them at the ranch. Sure, it was work, but he loved the animals and he loved feeling needed. When his momma died, he’d moved in full time to help out and he’d never looked back. Now he would have to leave.

Excerpt From: A Game of Chances

The light on Marcus Duncan’s old-fashioned answering machine blinked steadily, which was just annoying because he knew who it had to be.

He didn’t know why his ex, Steven, would be calling him, but there was no one else who would—not with Steven getting their friends in the split.

A loud, irritated sigh left him, even as he reached out and pressed the play button, his finger staying there for purposes of immediate deletion. He still didn’t want to hear Steven’s voice, not really. Not even now, two months after he’d kicked the bastard out of his?their?old place.

“Hey, Mar?” the voice started, and Marcus smirked at the beep the machine made when he pressed the button. If only it were as easy to erase the fourteen months he’d wasted on Steven in the first place.

“Sorry, I got cu?” the same voice, and this time Marcus snarled just a bit as he repeated his earlier motion, skipping past the message that was obviously a continuation of the last.

“Got cut off?” he spoke to the machine, feeling just a little bit like an idiot, but also…not. A guy needed to vent sometimes, Marcus figured, even if there was nobody there to hear him. “You’re lucky it’s just your messages I’m cutting off, asshole.”

And that was true enough, even though any action that was more proactive than just putting out Steven?along with his assorted random, but very expensive crap?would have landed Marcus in jail. Marcus still would have liked to have—but that was mean. And petty. And would have implied that Steven had had entirely too large of an impact on his life.

Marcus wouldn’t give the jerk the satisfaction.

One more message from the jackass was skipped, and Marcus’ finger was already starting to press the button again before he realised it was a different voice.

Different and… Oh, just listen to that little bit of drawl. It was charming, really, though Marcus would never say so out loud. Charming wasn’t the sort of word he generally flung about, after all.

“Um, hey. I don’t know if… Look, this might be a wrong number, but I’m trying to find an M. Duncan who used to live at 2437 Endwhisle Place? If… Okay, if this is the wrong number, then never mind, but if it’s not, um…I think you forgot to file a change of address with the post office and I’m getting all sorts of mail for you. Some of it looks like it might be important, so… Um, okay. If this is the right M. Duncan, call me back at…”

Marcus scrambled for a pen, finally digging one out of the pile of receipts and scraps of paper on the table by the phone. Then he had to start again, skipping Steven’s messages a second time so he could copy down the number.

The guy hadn’t left a name, but Marcus supposed it didn’t much matter. He apparently had whatever mail had slipped through the cracks at the post office, because Marcus clearly recalled filling out the stupid form. And giving it to one of the clerks, too.

He’d been getting mail at his new place, but that didn’t mean the postal service couldn’t have screwed up a time or two, and who knew how they managed to find every piece of mail for one single person anyway? Marcus surely didn’t.

And hell, if even one envelope was important, Marcus figured he owed the guy. It would have been so much easier to just throw it all away.

He almost picked up the phone, but his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Things had gotten kind of crazy at the restaurant bar that afternoon, so Marcus hadn’t had time for lunch, which was possibly ironic, and…well, right at the moment, there was a pizza out there just calling his name.

Or maybe Chinese. Marcus wasn’t sure. Probably whatever was closest. He wasn’t fully certain of what that was, though he’d been in his new place for going on three weeks.

He’d know soon enough, he figured, after quickly exchanging sharp black pants for tight jeans, dress shoes for sneakers, and his sweat-stained T-shirt for a similar one that was definitely clean. He might not have loads of free time, what with the hours he worked, but Marcus always made sure to do the laundry at least once a week.

It was one of the things Steven?with his entirely dry-clean-only wardrobe?had always complained about. He’d been of the opinion that Marcus should have spent those two hours catering to him. He’d wanted Marcus to hire a service, for God’s sake. As if doing his own laundry was a sign that Marcus was inferior or something.

Well, maybe he was, but not to Steven. And doing his own wash was necessary, not to mention a skill that had taken Marcus months to get right, even with the advice from his uncle’s housekeeper—and hadn’t Connie gotten a laugh from that?

Marcus had never even seen a washing machine until he’d been twenty-three, and being able to handle his own day to day needs made him feel accomplished. Normal. Not that Marcus had ever bothered to explain that to his now-ex, which sort of implied that they really had been just as badly suited to each other as Marcus had feared, just a few months in. But he’d stuck it out, mostly because he’d never been good at being on his own. He was starting to get good, though—more comfortable with his own company, anyway.

None of which was bringing him any closer to being fed, Marcus reminded himself with a wry grin as he scooped up his keys and headed out the door.

Excerpt From: A Game of Chances

The light on Marcus Duncan’s old-fashioned answering machine blinked steadily, which was just annoying because he knew who it had to be.

He didn’t know why his ex, Steven, would be calling him, but there was no one else who would—not with Steven getting their friends in the split.

A loud, irritated sigh left him, even as he reached out and pressed the play button, his finger staying there for purposes of immediate deletion. He still didn’t want to hear Steven’s voice, not really. Not even now, two months after he’d kicked the bastard out of his?their?old place.

“Hey, Mar?” the voice started, and Marcus smirked at the beep the machine made when he pressed the button. If only it were as easy to erase the fourteen months he’d wasted on Steven in the first place.

“Sorry, I got cu?” the same voice, and this time Marcus snarled just a bit as he repeated his earlier motion, skipping past the message that was obviously a continuation of the last.

“Got cut off?” he spoke to the machine, feeling just a little bit like an idiot, but also…not. A guy needed to vent sometimes, Marcus figured, even if there was nobody there to hear him. “You’re lucky it’s just your messages I’m cutting off, asshole.”

And that was true enough, even though any action that was more proactive than just putting out Steven?along with his assorted random, but very expensive crap?would have landed Marcus in jail. Marcus still would have liked to have—but that was mean. And petty. And would have implied that Steven had had entirely too large of an impact on his life.

Marcus wouldn’t give the jerk the satisfaction.

One more message from the jackass was skipped, and Marcus’ finger was already starting to press the button again before he realised it was a different voice.

Different and… Oh, just listen to that little bit of drawl. It was charming, really, though Marcus would never say so out loud. Charming wasn’t the sort of word he generally flung about, after all.

“Um, hey. I don’t know if… Look, this might be a wrong number, but I’m trying to find an M. Duncan who used to live at 2437 Endwhisle Place? If… Okay, if this is the wrong number, then never mind, but if it’s not, um…I think you forgot to file a change of address with the post office and I’m getting all sorts of mail for you. Some of it looks like it might be important, so… Um, okay. If this is the right M. Duncan, call me back at…”

Marcus scrambled for a pen, finally digging one out of the pile of receipts and scraps of paper on the table by the phone. Then he had to start again, skipping Steven’s messages a second time so he could copy down the number.

The guy hadn’t left a name, but Marcus supposed it didn’t much matter. He apparently had whatever mail had slipped through the cracks at the post office, because Marcus clearly recalled filling out the stupid form. And giving it to one of the clerks, too.

He’d been getting mail at his new place, but that didn’t mean the postal service couldn’t have screwed up a time or two, and who knew how they managed to find every piece of mail for one single person anyway? Marcus surely didn’t.

And hell, if even one envelope was important, Marcus figured he owed the guy. It would have been so much easier to just throw it all away.

He almost picked up the phone, but his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Things had gotten kind of crazy at the restaurant bar that afternoon, so Marcus hadn’t had time for lunch, which was possibly ironic, and…well, right at the moment, there was a pizza out there just calling his name.

Or maybe Chinese. Marcus wasn’t sure. Probably whatever was closest. He wasn’t fully certain of what that was, though he’d been in his new place for going on three weeks.

He’d know soon enough, he figured, after quickly exchanging sharp black pants for tight jeans, dress shoes for sneakers, and his sweat-stained T-shirt for a similar one that was definitely clean. He might not have loads of free time, what with the hours he worked, but Marcus always made sure to do the laundry at least once a week.

It was one of the things Steven?with his entirely dry-clean-only wardrobe?had always complained about. He’d been of the opinion that Marcus should have spent those two hours catering to him. He’d wanted Marcus to hire a service, for God’s sake. As if doing his own laundry was a sign that Marcus was inferior or something.

Well, maybe he was, but not to Steven. And doing his own wash was necessary, not to mention a skill that had taken Marcus months to get right, even with the advice from his uncle’s housekeeper—and hadn’t Connie gotten a laugh from that?

Marcus had never even seen a washing machine until he’d been twenty-three, and being able to handle his own day to day needs made him feel accomplished. Normal. Not that Marcus had ever bothered to explain that to his now-ex, which sort of implied that they really had been just as badly suited to each other as Marcus had feared, just a few months in. But he’d stuck it out, mostly because he’d never been good at being on his own. He was starting to get good, though—more comfortable with his own company, anyway.

None of which was bringing him any closer to being fed, Marcus reminded himself with a wry grin as he scooped up his keys and headed out the door.

Excerpt From: A Game of Hearts

"Okay, seriously? This is so not what I signed up for." He was complaining. River even knew he was complaining. He didn’t much care, though. The last thing he’d even considered when he and his sister, Moon, had decided to test with the Farmingdale Gentleman’s Club was that he might end up where he was—butt-naked and ass up on a cold table while some nameless guy slathered slickness on his ass. Why was he doing this again?

"You can stop whining any time," the man said, hands still moving, still getting the job done. "Besides, you’ll be thanking me soon. You know what I’m about to do. It’ll hurt without the goop."

River grunted and pushed his hips against the table, trying to get away from the careful but still firm touches. "It doesn’t exactly feel good, even with it."

A snort. "Lord, you guys are all the same. You act tough, but the minute something gets a little bit uncomfortable, you start bitching and moaning. Now, hold still. This won’t take long if you’ll just shut up and let me do it. Then you can go cry about how abused you are."

The guy chuckled and River seriously considered stopping him. Except he was right. It didn’t hurt as much as it had when they’d started. In fact, it was starting to feel almost good. "Fine," River grumbled, pillowing his head on his arms. "Go ahead. Do it. It’s not like I have all day."

"You sure you’re ready?" More of the cool, slick substance touched his bottom and River sighed as the careful spreading made it warmer. "I really don’t want to hurt you any more than I have to."

"I know, okay? Just...get it done, since you’re so damned insistent." He winced at the first sharp pressure, felt the burn. "Don’t stop. Just...fuck, man. Go for it."

The guy made a sound then, but River couldn’t tell if it was annoyed or amused. "Don’t rush me." Okay, amused, River decided. "I’m actually really good at this, or so I’ve been told. So just lie still and let me take care of you, got it?"

More sharp burning, and River closed his eyes and just breathed through it, slow and steady, body held tense and tight, though he knew it wasn’t helping.

"Okay. I’m done." Fuck. Finally. "Let me get you cleaned up and you can be on your way." Soft, damp cloth and a slight citrus scent, soothing his sore ass, and that was actually nice. "Okay. You can get up now."

River grunted and rolled carefully on to his side, then flipped his long blond braid back over his shoulder. "My pants are kind of messed up. Any chance of some scrubs or something?"

The nurse chuckled and tossed thin, folded fabric at him from across the room. "I still can’t figure out how you managed to land ass-first in a fireplace, but at least we got the blisters lanced before they went fully septic. The antibiotic ointment should keep them from coming back, but you’ll need to apply it three times a day for the next week. Also, you want to let the affected area get as much air as possible. And keep it clean."

River sighed and climbed gingerly from the examination table, making a face when the paper stuck to his skin. "Yeah, yeah. Keep my ass covered in gel and let it all hang out. Got it, man." He pulled on the scrub pants, easing them carefully over his burned rear. "That’ll be a big hit up on the Ranch, huh?"

"We’ll all try to restrain ourselves," he heard from behind him and River couldn’t help grinning when he turned to the door. "Now, come on. You’ve got debriefing."

River laughed. "I think I’m about as debriefed as a guy can get, man. And this dude just told me I’m supposed to stay naked as much as possible, so briefs? Not so much."

The too-pretty man in the doorway shook his head even as his laugh joined River’s. "Bad puns must mean you’re feeling better. Come on, River. Report, then you can head on up. I’m sure your usual room is ready and waiting."

"Good," River muttered, relieved. "I’m telling you, Marcus. I could use a little downtime. This last Game." He shook his head at the man he’d got to know fairly well over the last year or so. "Maybe I’ll tell you tonight. Unless you and Tanner have plans, dude."

They might, River figured. Marcus and Tanner were both busy guys; they had to find alone-time when they could. The last thing River would ever do was get in the way of that. Well, unless they asked him to, he thought with a grin as he followed Marcus from the room, moving slowly out of deference to his poor, burned ass.

Marcus glanced back and River figured the guy must have seen his wince because Marcus slowed down to walk beside him. "No special plans, Riv. Why don’t you come to dinner at the house? Cook’s making steak." He smirked. "Or he is since they called up to say you were on-site and injured. We’ll even let you eat on the couch so you can lie on your side."

Right, River reminded himself as he and Marcus made their way to the elevators outside Med. That was why he did it. The sense of family. Like he wasn’t just another Gentleman, but a friend, too. It pretty much made it all worthwhile.

Excerpt From: A Game of Hearts

"Okay, seriously? This is so not what I signed up for." He was complaining. River even knew he was complaining. He didn’t much care, though. The last thing he’d even considered when he and his sister, Moon, had decided to test with the Farmingdale Gentleman’s Club was that he might end up where he was—butt-naked and ass up on a cold table while some nameless guy slathered slickness on his ass. Why was he doing this again?

"You can stop whining any time," the man said, hands still moving, still getting the job done. "Besides, you’ll be thanking me soon. You know what I’m about to do. It’ll hurt without the goop."

River grunted and pushed his hips against the table, trying to get away from the careful but still firm touches. "It doesn’t exactly feel good, even with it."

A snort. "Lord, you guys are all the same. You act tough, but the minute something gets a little bit uncomfortable, you start bitching and moaning. Now, hold still. This won’t take long if you’ll just shut up and let me do it. Then you can go cry about how abused you are."

The guy chuckled and River seriously considered stopping him. Except he was right. It didn’t hurt as much as it had when they’d started. In fact, it was starting to feel almost good. "Fine," River grumbled, pillowing his head on his arms. "Go ahead. Do it. It’s not like I have all day."

"You sure you’re ready?" More of the cool, slick substance touched his bottom and River sighed as the careful spreading made it warmer. "I really don’t want to hurt you any more than I have to."

"I know, okay? Just...get it done, since you’re so damned insistent." He winced at the first sharp pressure, felt the burn. "Don’t stop. Just...fuck, man. Go for it."

The guy made a sound then, but River couldn’t tell if it was annoyed or amused. "Don’t rush me." Okay, amused, River decided. "I’m actually really good at this, or so I’ve been told. So just lie still and let me take care of you, got it?"

More sharp burning, and River closed his eyes and just breathed through it, slow and steady, body held tense and tight, though he knew it wasn’t helping.

"Okay. I’m done." Fuck. Finally. "Let me get you cleaned up and you can be on your way." Soft, damp cloth and a slight citrus scent, soothing his sore ass, and that was actually nice. "Okay. You can get up now."

River grunted and rolled carefully on to his side, then flipped his long blond braid back over his shoulder. "My pants are kind of messed up. Any chance of some scrubs or something?"

The nurse chuckled and tossed thin, folded fabric at him from across the room. "I still can’t figure out how you managed to land ass-first in a fireplace, but at least we got the blisters lanced before they went fully septic. The antibiotic ointment should keep them from coming back, but you’ll need to apply it three times a day for the next week. Also, you want to let the affected area get as much air as possible. And keep it clean."

River sighed and climbed gingerly from the examination table, making a face when the paper stuck to his skin. "Yeah, yeah. Keep my ass covered in gel and let it all hang out. Got it, man." He pulled on the scrub pants, easing them carefully over his burned rear. "That’ll be a big hit up on the Ranch, huh?"

"We’ll all try to restrain ourselves," he heard from behind him and River couldn’t help grinning when he turned to the door. "Now, come on. You’ve got debriefing."

River laughed. "I think I’m about as debriefed as a guy can get, man. And this dude just told me I’m supposed to stay naked as much as possible, so briefs? Not so much."

The too-pretty man in the doorway shook his head even as his laugh joined River’s. "Bad puns must mean you’re feeling better. Come on, River. Report, then you can head on up. I’m sure your usual room is ready and waiting."

"Good," River muttered, relieved. "I’m telling you, Marcus. I could use a little downtime. This last Game." He shook his head at the man he’d got to know fairly well over the last year or so. "Maybe I’ll tell you tonight. Unless you and Tanner have plans, dude."

They might, River figured. Marcus and Tanner were both busy guys; they had to find alone-time when they could. The last thing River would ever do was get in the way of that. Well, unless they asked him to, he thought with a grin as he followed Marcus from the room, moving slowly out of deference to his poor, burned ass.

Marcus glanced back and River figured the guy must have seen his wince because Marcus slowed down to walk beside him. "No special plans, Riv. Why don’t you come to dinner at the house? Cook’s making steak." He smirked. "Or he is since they called up to say you were on-site and injured. We’ll even let you eat on the couch so you can lie on your side."

Right, River reminded himself as he and Marcus made their way to the elevators outside Med. That was why he did it. The sense of family. Like he wasn’t just another Gentleman, but a friend, too. It pretty much made it all worthwhile.

Excerpt From: A Game of Skills

It was the small tinge of wildness in the blond’s eyes that had Morgan Day pausing—wildness at rest, because the young man wasn’t at all agitated. He wasn’t doing anything but standing there, tray in hand while he stared at Morgan. Then Morgan saw a small ripple of recognition swim over those near-black eyes and only years of hiding in plain sight allowed him to keep his response to a purely internal shit.

He forced his own gaze to pass over the young man. Forced himself to pat his pockets as if he’d slowed merely to confirm that he had everything he needed. His steps were measured and sure as he moved on, eyes straight ahead as his mind muttered left, right, left, right, feet following the careful cadence from long years of practice. He held to it until he rounded the corner, at which point, he…ran.

Blocks passed in an eternity that seemed to stretch on and on, but he didn’t dare move any faster. He could hurt someone by accident, moving at full speed, but more importantly, running full-tilt into some strolling person just wandering about as people were prone to do on warm and sunny Saturday afternoons might hurt him. Might slow him down enough that he wouldn’t make it in time.

The deli slipped past then a block farther, the laundry. He slowed there to look through the glass storefront then slid back into his fast jog. Plenty of people, but not the ones that mattered. Then the little grocery where they did all their shopping and three doors down, the local pawn shop.

Morgan ducked inside, one hand digging deep into his pants’ pocket as he tried to remember exactly how much cash he had with him.

Not enough. He knew that for a fact as he exited the store, one side of his jacket weighed down by his purchases. Not nearly enough, which meant he would have to take a chance later, but he’d work it out. He would. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.

Two more blocks that he ran by memory, knowing what lay between the pawn shop and the dingy little second storey walk-up they were calling home for the moment.

“Ellie!” he called out, even as he fumbled with his keys, the urgency singing through his veins, screeching a nails-on-chalkboard soprano that hurt so much nothing would help other than having it stop. “Ellie! Rico! We gotta move!”

The door swung too far, knob slamming into the wall behind it from his hard shove.

“Morgan!” Ellie shrieked, the sound loud and strident and almost as bad as the urgent need to get the hell away, to get out. “There goes our deposit, damn it!”

“Christ! Fuck the deposit, Ellie, we need to fucking go!”

He was already shoving a few extra things into the big duffel bag he would shoulder like he always did, and Rico was doing the same, though slower and with a smaller bag. But Ellie? God damn it, Ellie was just standing there as if they had all the time in the world. As if she’d really believed they’d be staying this time. In Brooklyn. For long enough to get the deposit back on the one room shit-box when their so-called lease expired.

“Damn it, Ellie,” Morgan growled, ignoring her crossed arms and narrowed green glare. “Get your shit! We’re already on borrowed time!” His own bag full enough that he could barely clip the top closed, he tossed it at the door and started in on her backpack. Her entirely empty camping backpack. “Jesus fucking Christ! Which part of ‘always be ready’ do you not understand? Or are you just tired of breathing?”

It wasn’t until he came out of the bathroom a few minutes later to throw what Ellie called her ‘girly supplies’ into her bag that she seemed to realise he was serious, and damn it, Morgan would make her pay for making him touch them. Later. Once they were gone and safe. Once Rico was safe.

“You’re serious,” Ellie nearly whispered, her usually gold-toned face suddenly white and stark. Good. It meant she was remembering. Meant she was finally catching up with just how screwed they would all be if she didn’t get her ass in gear.

“I’m always serious,” Morgan grunted, checking the straps on Rico’s backpack, which was necessarily much smaller than Ellie’s, but no less important to them all. “Here,” he said, giving Rico a smile as he pulled the snub-nosed revolver from his jacket and handed it over. “You remember how to use this, don’t you, Rico? Brace yourself against a wall or something big and sturdy—”

“Point, aim low and shoot. Duh.” Well, at least Rico was on board, which was more than Morgan could say for Ellie because she was still just standing there, bone-pale and shaking.

“Damn it, Ellie, get your fucking bag on and let’s go!” He could be wrong. It was possible. Maybe the guy at that café hadn’t really recognised him, but Morgan couldn’t take that chance, couldn’t afford to even hope. Not with Ellie and Rico’s lives depending on him to trust his instincts. “Or do you want the kid in their hands?”

If he’d cared any less for Rico, he would have gone easier on Ellie, but while his and Ellie’s lives were at stake in one way, Rico’s was endangered in an entirely different manner. Morgan would die himself if it meant keeping Rico from whatever the people after them had planned, even without knowing exactly what that was.

It couldn’t be good; that much Morgan was sure of. Any group that would resort to illegal means to ‘acquire’ a child once the legal avenues had been exhausted couldn’t possibly want that same kid for philanthropic reasons.

“Okay,” Ellie finally answered, pack on her back and strapped solidly around her waist. “Let’s do this.” She was breathing fast and hard, but she looked steady, finally. Ready.

Thank God, if he even existed. If he did, Morgan figured he’d forgive the uncertainty. After all, God would have to know exactly what the three of them had been through in the last two years. It was enough to shake anyone’s faith, especially someone who’d never been a true believer.

“You and Rico will need to hide once we get to the bodega,” Morgan said, giving Ellie a quick nod when he saw the nine millimetre held down beside her leg. She was thinking again. Good. “I have to collect that package then we’re out of here.”

“For fuck’s sake, Morgan, you couldn’t have taken care of that first?”

Morgan nodded, short and sharp, as he hit his zone and emotion drained away. “I could have. I thought it was more important to get the two of you out of here before our ‘visitors’ crashed the party. Now shut the fuck up and follow my lead. You too, Rico. We’re nowhere near out of the woods yet.”

“Or even out of Brooklyn,” Rico piped in, and Morgan would have to remember that later. Would have to tell Rico that being precocious was all well and good, but being a smug little pain in the ass was another thing entirely. Later.

Excerpt From: A Game of Skills

It was the small tinge of wildness in the blond’s eyes that had Morgan Day pausing—wildness at rest, because the young man wasn’t at all agitated. He wasn’t doing anything but standing there, tray in hand while he stared at Morgan. Then Morgan saw a small ripple of recognition swim over those near-black eyes and only years of hiding in plain sight allowed him to keep his response to a purely internal shit.

He forced his own gaze to pass over the young man. Forced himself to pat his pockets as if he’d slowed merely to confirm that he had everything he needed. His steps were measured and sure as he moved on, eyes straight ahead as his mind muttered left, right, left, right, feet following the careful cadence from long years of practice. He held to it until he rounded the corner, at which point, he…ran.

Blocks passed in an eternity that seemed to stretch on and on, but he didn’t dare move any faster. He could hurt someone by accident, moving at full speed, but more importantly, running full-tilt into some strolling person just wandering about as people were prone to do on warm and sunny Saturday afternoons might hurt him. Might slow him down enough that he wouldn’t make it in time.

The deli slipped past then a block farther, the laundry. He slowed there to look through the glass storefront then slid back into his fast jog. Plenty of people, but not the ones that mattered. Then the little grocery where they did all their shopping and three doors down, the local pawn shop.

Morgan ducked inside, one hand digging deep into his pants’ pocket as he tried to remember exactly how much cash he had with him.

Not enough. He knew that for a fact as he exited the store, one side of his jacket weighed down by his purchases. Not nearly enough, which meant he would have to take a chance later, but he’d work it out. He would. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.

Two more blocks that he ran by memory, knowing what lay between the pawn shop and the dingy little second storey walk-up they were calling home for the moment.

“Ellie!” he called out, even as he fumbled with his keys, the urgency singing through his veins, screeching a nails-on-chalkboard soprano that hurt so much nothing would help other than having it stop. “Ellie! Rico! We gotta move!”

The door swung too far, knob slamming into the wall behind it from his hard shove.

“Morgan!” Ellie shrieked, the sound loud and strident and almost as bad as the urgent need to get the hell away, to get out. “There goes our deposit, damn it!”

“Christ! Fuck the deposit, Ellie, we need to fucking go!”

He was already shoving a few extra things into the big duffel bag he would shoulder like he always did, and Rico was doing the same, though slower and with a smaller bag. But Ellie? God damn it, Ellie was just standing there as if they had all the time in the world. As if she’d really believed they’d be staying this time. In Brooklyn. For long enough to get the deposit back on the one room shit-box when their so-called lease expired.

“Damn it, Ellie,” Morgan growled, ignoring her crossed arms and narrowed green glare. “Get your shit! We’re already on borrowed time!” His own bag full enough that he could barely clip the top closed, he tossed it at the door and started in on her backpack. Her entirely empty camping backpack. “Jesus fucking Christ! Which part of ‘always be ready’ do you not understand? Or are you just tired of breathing?”

It wasn’t until he came out of the bathroom a few minutes later to throw what Ellie called her ‘girly supplies’ into her bag that she seemed to realise he was serious, and damn it, Morgan would make her pay for making him touch them. Later. Once they were gone and safe. Once Rico was safe.

“You’re serious,” Ellie nearly whispered, her usually gold-toned face suddenly white and stark. Good. It meant she was remembering. Meant she was finally catching up with just how screwed they would all be if she didn’t get her ass in gear.

“I’m always serious,” Morgan grunted, checking the straps on Rico’s backpack, which was necessarily much smaller than Ellie’s, but no less important to them all. “Here,” he said, giving Rico a smile as he pulled the snub-nosed revolver from his jacket and handed it over. “You remember how to use this, don’t you, Rico? Brace yourself against a wall or something big and sturdy—”

“Point, aim low and shoot. Duh.” Well, at least Rico was on board, which was more than Morgan could say for Ellie because she was still just standing there, bone-pale and shaking.

“Damn it, Ellie, get your fucking bag on and let’s go!” He could be wrong. It was possible. Maybe the guy at that café hadn’t really recognised him, but Morgan couldn’t take that chance, couldn’t afford to even hope. Not with Ellie and Rico’s lives depending on him to trust his instincts. “Or do you want the kid in their hands?”

If he’d cared any less for Rico, he would have gone easier on Ellie, but while his and Ellie’s lives were at stake in one way, Rico’s was endangered in an entirely different manner. Morgan would die himself if it meant keeping Rico from whatever the people after them had planned, even without knowing exactly what that was.

It couldn’t be good; that much Morgan was sure of. Any group that would resort to illegal means to ‘acquire’ a child once the legal avenues had been exhausted couldn’t possibly want that same kid for philanthropic reasons.

“Okay,” Ellie finally answered, pack on her back and strapped solidly around her waist. “Let’s do this.” She was breathing fast and hard, but she looked steady, finally. Ready.

Thank God, if he even existed. If he did, Morgan figured he’d forgive the uncertainty. After all, God would have to know exactly what the three of them had been through in the last two years. It was enough to shake anyone’s faith, especially someone who’d never been a true believer.

“You and Rico will need to hide once we get to the bodega,” Morgan said, giving Ellie a quick nod when he saw the nine millimetre held down beside her leg. She was thinking again. Good. “I have to collect that package then we’re out of here.”

“For fuck’s sake, Morgan, you couldn’t have taken care of that first?”

Morgan nodded, short and sharp, as he hit his zone and emotion drained away. “I could have. I thought it was more important to get the two of you out of here before our ‘visitors’ crashed the party. Now shut the fuck up and follow my lead. You too, Rico. We’re nowhere near out of the woods yet.”

“Or even out of Brooklyn,” Rico piped in, and Morgan would have to remember that later. Would have to tell Rico that being precocious was all well and good, but being a smug little pain in the ass was another thing entirely. Later.

Excerpt From: A Gentleman's Harlot

Pearl Lewis looked up from her sewing, needle poised above the small square of white fabric. “What did you just say?” She stared at Frances, one of two childhood friends who had come for afternoon tea, taking in her flushed cheeks and devilish smile. Frances’s words had held such a hint of daring, of non-conformation, that Pearl wanted her to repeat them just so she could revel in them again.

Sitting on Pearl’s left, Frances smiled and shook her riot of blonde curls back from her face, the corn colour enhanced by the sunlight streaming through the two windows behind their wing chairs. “I said, would you not just love to visit the new men’s club and become one of their women?”

Pearl tried to hide a smile. Frances’s shocking statements never failed to amuse her. She dropped her needle to her lap and covered her mouth with one hand. Her cheeks flushed at the thoughts Frances’s suggestion brought, and she closed her eyes for a moment to sift through the images. Men fondling women—Oh God, how…naughty!—women touching men there, and several people at once, all naked, all having…sex.

Pearl opened her eyes to find her other friend’s face directly in front of hers, Elizabeth’s black hair hanging rod straight as she hunkered down and placed her hands on her knees. Her dark blue eyes were hooded due to the unsightly frown she wore, and Pearl started, slapping her hand over her heart.

“Oh, you scared me, Beth! I did not expect to see you there like that.”

Elizabeth leaned closer, head tilted, the ornately carved mahogany mantelpiece behind her framing her as though she were a painting. Elizabeth regarded her with such scrutiny Pearl grew uncomfortable.

“What did you see just then?” Elizabeth asked, her voice quiet, a hint of reproach in her tone. The case clock beside the crackling fire ticked for several seconds, and her mouth formed a tight pink line that did not become her. She whispered, “With your eyes closed. What did you see?”

Pearl cleared her throat and looked away from Elizabeth to Frances, who smothered a giggle behind her long, slender fingers. Pearl tried to convey that she needed help by widening her eyes, but

Frances made much ado about continuing with her sewing, pursing her lips in concentration.

“I…I really do not think,” Pearl turned back to Elizabeth, “it is proper for me to say.”

Elizabeth widened her eyes and reared back, as though in shock that Pearl had refused to share her thoughts.

Pearl rushed on. “Oh, it is not because I do not want to share. I do, but you are so…sensitive about certain things that I would hate for you to leave here somewhat…disturbed.”

“Disturbed?” Elizabeth stood abruptly and paced up and down the cream and blue patterned rug before the fireplace, her dark green dress swishing with each step. “Whatever do you mean?” She paused, staring first at Frances and then at Pearl. “Oh! You were not thinking…you did not…?”

Pearl clamped her lips closed, nodded and looked down at her lap, picking up her sewing. “I thought things I perhaps should not have, Beth.” She jabbed the needle through the material—a handkerchief she was embroidering on each corner—and pricked her finger. “Ouch!” She jumped up, placed her sewing on the chair seat and popped her finger into her mouth. The taste of copper flooded her tongue.

“Really, Pearl! You are almost as bad as Frances.” Elizabeth paced again, throwing an appalled glance at the blonde. “I wish you two would hurry along and get married like me. Then perhaps you would not wish to discuss such a thing as being a gentleman’s harlot. Pearl, your mother and father would spin in their graves if they heard even a snippet of the conversations you two have, and it is a blessing your aunt is old and easily fooled. If she were to walk past this door she would never let you leave this house!”

Pearl chanced a peek at Frances, who eyed her from beneath lowered lashes, her lack of control obvious as her cheeks reddened and her mouth curved. Frances released a peal of laughter, throwing her head back.

Pearl giggled, unable to remain chastised. “Oh, Beth, please! Surely you know Frances was only talking. It is not as though she intends to do such a thing.” Pearl looked at Elizabeth.

She stalked back to her seat and sat with dignity and grace. “One never knows with Frances,” she muttered, lifting her reticule on to her lap and dropping her sewing inside. “And, much as I love you both, I really do not feel I can visit for afternoon tea once a week if the conversation is going to revolve around things like…that. The gentleman’s club of which you speak is situated in a terrible part of the city, so I heard. Frances, how you could even contemplate visiting such an establishment, even if it were in a respectable part of London, is beyond me.” She glared at Frances, then stood and hung her bag over her forearm. “And to think only an hour ago we were discussing the terrible murders that have been occurring,” she paused for her usual dramatic effect, “in the very same area!” Sharp lines marred her forehead. “I shall wait out in the foyer. Gerald will be here shortly to collect me.” She flounced from the room, shutting the door loudly behind her.

Pearl stared at the door, her mouth hanging slightly open. Frances’s laughter filled the room again, and Pearl turned to look at her, ready to admonish the young woman, but she failed. Her own laughter spilled, loud and hearty, and tears welled in her eyes.

“Oh, we should not laugh at her, Frances.”

Frances composed herself and adjusted the neckline of her rose-pink dress, patting it once satisfied it lay in place. “She has become so priggish since she married Gerald that I cannot stand it. I say these things to rile her, you know.”

“I am well aware of that.” Pearl smiled. She took her sewing from her seat and put it on the round occasional table between their chairs. She glanced out the window at the front lawn, spying Gerald’s coach trundling up the curved driveway. “He is here. Should I see her out?”

Frances snorted. “Oh, leave Mrs Prissy to see herself out. If she sets eyes on us any more today she is likely to explode. Besides, your aunt might have waylaid her. I hear someone talking.”

Excerpt From: A Gentleman's Harlot

Pearl Lewis looked up from her sewing, needle poised above the small square of white fabric. “What did you just say?” She stared at Frances, one of two childhood friends who had come for afternoon tea, taking in her flushed cheeks and devilish smile. Frances’s words had held such a hint of daring, of non-conformation, that Pearl wanted her to repeat them just so she could revel in them again.

Sitting on Pearl’s left, Frances smiled and shook her riot of blonde curls back from her face, the corn colour enhanced by the sunlight streaming through the two windows behind their wing chairs. “I said, would you not just love to visit the new men’s club and become one of their women?”

Pearl tried to hide a smile. Frances’s shocking statements never failed to amuse her. She dropped her needle to her lap and covered her mouth with one hand. Her cheeks flushed at the thoughts Frances’s suggestion brought, and she closed her eyes for a moment to sift through the images. Men fondling women—Oh God, how…naughty!—women touching men there, and several people at once, all naked, all having…sex.

Pearl opened her eyes to find her other friend’s face directly in front of hers, Elizabeth’s black hair hanging rod straight as she hunkered down and placed her hands on her knees. Her dark blue eyes were hooded due to the unsightly frown she wore, and Pearl started, slapping her hand over her heart.

“Oh, you scared me, Beth! I did not expect to see you there like that.”

Elizabeth leaned closer, head tilted, the ornately carved mahogany mantelpiece behind her framing her as though she were a painting. Elizabeth regarded her with such scrutiny Pearl grew uncomfortable.

“What did you see just then?” Elizabeth asked, her voice quiet, a hint of reproach in her tone. The case clock beside the crackling fire ticked for several seconds, and her mouth formed a tight pink line that did not become her. She whispered, “With your eyes closed. What did you see?”

Pearl cleared her throat and looked away from Elizabeth to Frances, who smothered a giggle behind her long, slender fingers. Pearl tried to convey that she needed help by widening her eyes, but

Frances made much ado about continuing with her sewing, pursing her lips in concentration.

“I…I really do not think,” Pearl turned back to Elizabeth, “it is proper for me to say.”

Elizabeth widened her eyes and reared back, as though in shock that Pearl had refused to share her thoughts.

Pearl rushed on. “Oh, it is not because I do not want to share. I do, but you are so…sensitive about certain things that I would hate for you to leave here somewhat…disturbed.”

“Disturbed?” Elizabeth stood abruptly and paced up and down the cream and blue patterned rug before the fireplace, her dark green dress swishing with each step. “Whatever do you mean?” She paused, staring first at Frances and then at Pearl. “Oh! You were not thinking…you did not…?”

Pearl clamped her lips closed, nodded and looked down at her lap, picking up her sewing. “I thought things I perhaps should not have, Beth.” She jabbed the needle through the material—a handkerchief she was embroidering on each corner—and pricked her finger. “Ouch!” She jumped up, placed her sewing on the chair seat and popped her finger into her mouth. The taste of copper flooded her tongue.

“Really, Pearl! You are almost as bad as Frances.” Elizabeth paced again, throwing an appalled glance at the blonde. “I wish you two would hurry along and get married like me. Then perhaps you would not wish to discuss such a thing as being a gentleman’s harlot. Pearl, your mother and father would spin in their graves if they heard even a snippet of the conversations you two have, and it is a blessing your aunt is old and easily fooled. If she were to walk past this door she would never let you leave this house!”

Pearl chanced a peek at Frances, who eyed her from beneath lowered lashes, her lack of control obvious as her cheeks reddened and her mouth curved. Frances released a peal of laughter, throwing her head back.

Pearl giggled, unable to remain chastised. “Oh, Beth, please! Surely you know Frances was only talking. It is not as though she intends to do such a thing.” Pearl looked at Elizabeth.

She stalked back to her seat and sat with dignity and grace. “One never knows with Frances,” she muttered, lifting her reticule on to her lap and dropping her sewing inside. “And, much as I love you both, I really do not feel I can visit for afternoon tea once a week if the conversation is going to revolve around things like…that. The gentleman’s club of which you speak is situated in a terrible part of the city, so I heard. Frances, how you could even contemplate visiting such an establishment, even if it were in a respectable part of London, is beyond me.” She glared at Frances, then stood and hung her bag over her forearm. “And to think only an hour ago we were discussing the terrible murders that have been occurring,” she paused for her usual dramatic effect, “in the very same area!” Sharp lines marred her forehead. “I shall wait out in the foyer. Gerald will be here shortly to collect me.” She flounced from the room, shutting the door loudly behind her.

Pearl stared at the door, her mouth hanging slightly open. Frances’s laughter filled the room again, and Pearl turned to look at her, ready to admonish the young woman, but she failed. Her own laughter spilled, loud and hearty, and tears welled in her eyes.

“Oh, we should not laugh at her, Frances.”

Frances composed herself and adjusted the neckline of her rose-pink dress, patting it once satisfied it lay in place. “She has become so priggish since she married Gerald that I cannot stand it. I say these things to rile her, you know.”

“I am well aware of that.” Pearl smiled. She took her sewing from her seat and put it on the round occasional table between their chairs. She glanced out the window at the front lawn, spying Gerald’s coach trundling up the curved driveway. “He is here. Should I see her out?”

Frances snorted. “Oh, leave Mrs Prissy to see herself out. If she sets eyes on us any more today she is likely to explode. Besides, your aunt might have waylaid her. I hear someone talking.”

Excerpt From: A Ghost Story

Manchester, England 1899

From Lord and Lady Maplethorpe:

You are cordially invited to attend an intimate soirée on the evening of February 24th at 8 p.m. The renowned poet Mr Robert Clavell will entertain us with a short dissertation of his recently published poem, Lannisbourne. A light supper and refreshments will be served.

Robert sighed as he read the words printed in an elegant scroll on the very expensive card he held. He wished now he had never agreed to attend or read a stanza or two from his latest poem. Lannisbourne meant more to him than being listened to by a gin-swilling mob of degenerates masquerading as nobility. In his opinion, the secret life he led was a damned sight more palatable than the ghastly indulgences favoured by some of the Maplethorpe’s friends.

Only yesterday, he had heard through the gossip mill that a young girl had been admitted to the local hospital suffering from a severe beating after attending a private party given by some well-heeled fops. Robert had a suspicion as to whom the gossip referred. He shuddered, hoping against hope that George Russell would not be one of the attendees at tonight's soirée. The man was a thorn in Robert's side, a self-proclaimed 'master of the verse', and one to quickly deride Robert's work at every turn in the editorials he wrote for the newspaper bequeathed to him by his late father.

A discreet tap at his bedroom door pulled him from his dark thoughts. "Come in, Danvers."

His manservant appeared in the doorway, a small smile on his lined face. Danvers had been his parents' manservant before their tragic accidental deaths five years earlier in a hotel fire in Venice, Italy. As their only surviving heir, Robert had inherited the townhouse on Featherstone Avenue, and he had asked Danvers to stay on in his employ.

"Mr Edmonton is here, Master Robert. Shall I tell him you will be down momentarily?"

"Ask him to come up please, Danvers. I'm not quite finished dressing."

"Do you require assistance?"

"No, no... I can manage." Robert rarely asked Danvers to assist him with his wardrobe, requiring him only to draw his nightly bath and occasionally help with a bothersome button or collar.

"Very good, Master Robert. I shall send him up directly."

"Thank you, Danvers."

Robert breathed a sigh of relief that he had managed to garner his friend John Edmonton an invitation to tonight's gathering. John, a successful lawyer based in London was in Manchester for a weekend visit, staying at a gentleman’s club. With John there it would be bearable, and perhaps afterwards they could return here for a brandy, and...

Another tap on the door, this one more robust, and John entered, his handsome face wreathed in smiles. "Robert, how dashing you look in your best bib and tucker!"

Robert chuckled and opened his arms to his friend. "And you will turn every head tonight, John."

"The only head I want to turn is the pretty one perched on your shoulders." John wrapped his arms around Robert and kissed him, gently at first, then as longing and need took over, with a fervour that had both men moaning into each other's mouths.

"Oh, Robbie..." John groaned his pet name for Robert softly against his lips. "It’s been too long since last we enjoyed one another's company like this."

Robert ran a hand over John’s thick, sandy-coloured hair, his fingers straying over the nape of John’s neck in a tender caress. "I know, my love, but it's difficult when we live so far apart."

"You could move to London." John kissed Robert's neck. "What is there here for you that makes you refuse to leave?"

"This is my home, John. I have friends here..."

Excerpt From: A Gift of Daybreak

Andy managed to keep the sneer off his face until he left the room the wedding had taken place in. What a sham it’d been and only because the little viper had gotten herself pregnant. A rush job for the sake of propriety. Not that Reece had any sense of propriety and surely the little viper whore didn’t have any, either. Why his cousin had to live dangerously, let alone why he had to make Andy go to Vegas for the damn thing, Andy would never know. The place was so hot. Andy might be a snake, but he liked cooler more temperate temperatures. Of course, he could have made his excuses and turned down the invite, but he’d accepted for some reason unknown to him.

Truth was, Andy was growing bored. Maybe it was that his cousins were now mated and had children or maybe he was just getting to that age. He needed something new in his life. Certainly not a mate or child but something different, perhaps he needed a new yacht. He considered the idea as he walked the halls to his room. Knowing Remy and Reece’s penchant for practical jokes and their drive to make him the butt of every one, he’d requested to be put as far away from them as possible. He was an easy target for them, seeing himself as above such childish pranks.

He’d been glad of the decision to move after seeing the colour of Reece’s hair for the wedding. Dye in his hair gel apparently did wonders. Normally a dark blonde, it’d been coloured into a stunning purple, a colour that didn’t go with his seething face. He did match rather well with Remy who’d been dressed up as Elvis for the occasion. For a moment, Andy had almost felt sorry for their mates, but the girls didn’t seem to mind.

Maybe, I shouldn’t go back down at all, he thought to himself as he fetched his key card from his wallet. It had been a mistake to go into Vegas in the first place. It was full of crime and sleaze. All one had to do was watch the TV to discover that.

He’d just pack his bags and leave, his cousins wouldn’t miss him. He’d already shown face, and the boys would no doubt figure that he’d gotten lucky. That was only if they don’t think too carefully about it, and Andy had never accused his cousins of thinking.

He slipped the card into the lock, opening the door and ready to pack his case. Stopping short, he caught a whiff of scent from his room. There was a female inside. Groaning inwardly at Reece and Remy, he opened the door carefully, scared of what he’d find. He wouldn’t touch a woman from Las Vegas with Reece’s cock, let alone a ten foot pole.

A stately woman dressed in a green safari dress with her hair done up in a multicoloured turban and wearing large, tortoiseshell glasses that spanned above and below her eyes sat in the centre of the room. She was the colour of light coffee, with large berry-coloured lips, and her hands, adorned only with a large diamond ring, sat in her lap.

This was no hooker.

She uncrossed her legs and sat up a little more. “And a good morning to you, Mr. Derrell.” she said in a soft voice, thick with a Mexican accent.

“If your here for turning down service, I’ll pass. Leave the mint on the pillow,” he quipped lightly, leaning against the wall. This woman, whoever she was, was Ophidian, a weresnake, just like him, and she was very unwelcome.

“Your attempts at levity are dry and rather uncalled for,” she said and took off her glasses. She blinked large, almond-shaped, green eyes at him. “And such flip from a snake who grew up in the system… I would have thought Archon Rizdon would have taught you better.”

He felt his eyes narrow. “True she did, but she also taught me manners. One does not simply encroach into another’s territory without permission. I’m staying in this room for however long that may be. Bad form to break into another’s room.”

“You speak about territory when you’re actually in mine.” She stood and went to the window. “I came here for a quiet chat and you feel the need to challenge an Archon?” She shook her head.

“Archon?” he blinked, mentally chastising himself. “Of course, I meant no disrespect. I would be a fool to offer any such challenge, and I assure you I’m not a fool.” He stepped away keeping more of a distance. If this was indeed her territory then she could be only one woman. Olivia. A viper in every respect and a most dangerous woman. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? The happy couple is downstairs, if you wish to offer them your congratulations.”

“And I already have. My mate is conveying my felicitations. I am here to speak to you.”

“Excellent.” The word sounded forced even to him.

Excerpt From: A Knight of Passion

Scottish Highlands, 1338

Lady Riana Ellis dribbled three drops of poison from the wooden phial into the goblet sitting on the nightstand beside the wine she would drink.

Fill the goblet to the brim, and death would be quick.

But the fires of Hell that followed would last forever.

Even hellfire paled in comparison to the nightmare that was Arundel.

If not for her younger sister living as ward of the Duke and Duchess of Arundel, Riana would have ingested poison long ago…if not for the fact the duke and duchess now had food tasters, she would have slipped poison into their food long ago. Instead, she must now feed the lethal fluid to Sir Neas Dunbar in order to save Siusan from the duke’s cock.

Riana fitted the top back onto the phial. She shivered despite the fire that crackled in the hearth to her left, and rubbed gooseflesh from her naked arms. The duchess’ order to murder the knight came with the explicit instruction, “Fuck him hard first.”

Anger clenched Riana’s stomach. The duchess thrived on the fact this would be the man's last night amongst the living, and had issued the edict because she wanted to watch. Her morbid fascination would be Riana’s advantage—if she pulled off what was to be the performance of her life.

The very thought of watching a man fuck the woman who was about to murder him would have the duchess panting like a bitch in heat. Already, she would be sitting behind the large painting that hung over the bed…waiting. Riana had purposely kept her naked breasts from the duchess’ view, knowing just the sight of her rounded buttocks in the soft firelight would hold the older woman spellbound in anticipation of that first glimpse of rosy areolae and dark curls.

In the hours the duchess watched Riana from behind the painting, Siusan and their surrogate father Glen would flee Arundel for a village in the south of France. By the time Sir Dunbar sucked Riana’s nipples into painful hardness, the duchess would be unable to tear herself from watching them. When he finally stuffed his fingers between her folds and rammed his cock into her arse, Siusan and Glen would be riding hard. The knight was sure to do all this and more, for the duchess would instruct him as she did every man Riana serviced: “Ride her hard. She is made for it.”

Siusan and Glen’s final security would be if the duchess had brought one of her favourites from among the servants to suck her cunt while she watched. Once she had satiated her perverted desires, and Riana fed the knight the poisoned wine, the duchess would retire to her chambers and await news that Sir Dunbar had been found dead in his bed.

The Sheriff would be called from his chambers, where the duchess had installed him the night before, and he would conclude the knight had died of a heart attack while rutting between Riana’s legs—even if the duchess had to throw coin his way to ensure the verdict.

If Riana administered the poison first, Sir Dunbar’s heart would slow while he pumped into her, until, at last, the veneer of death would be complete. That would be a sight that could keep the duchess distracted indefinitely. But Riana had been unable to overcome her revulsion at thought of the knight’s cock going limp inside her as his dead weight pinned her to the mattress.

Sir Dunbar had left a trail of English blood across the Scottish Highlands. The duchess was a fool to think anyone would believe the heart that beat within his massive chest could give way due to even the most rigorous thrusts of his cock into a woman’s cunt. Yet, if the duchess had her way, he would fuck Riana, she would hang for his murder, and Siusan would take her place as Arundel’s whore.

Excerpt From: A Legend Arises

“Emma!” Ailig Bennett bellowed as he left his horse in the care of his squire and rushed into his keep. Behind him, the ocean crashed against the shore at the foot of the hills where his keep had been built. He cared little for it or the oncoming storm. He pulled off his leather gloves as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the great hall.

Servants scurried around, lighting torches to break the oncoming darkness.

“Emma,” he called again. He headed towards the doorway at the back of the wall which would lead to the stairs spiralling to the upper chambers housed in the north tower. The solar was there and no doubt Emma, as well, as she bent over her stitching. He smiled at the thought of pulling his new bride into his arms and unravelling her carefully braided hair.

Would she welcome him with as much vigour as that which coursed through his veins? He’d left her behind on their wedding day, answering the urgent call of his king. On that day he’d hated his liege, but with King Henry’s contingent of messengers waiting, he had been unable to tarry.

Today, finally, he would be one with his bride.

Reaching the floor above the great hall, he strode towards his thinking chamber. Another set of stairs within it lead to the solar. “Emma,” he called more gently as he crested the top of the stairs.

His bride stood in the large chamber, her back to him as she stared through an arrow slot at the waves below. His breath caught at the sight of her long brown braids cascading to her slim waist. He could not wait to give the bride gift he had purchased for her on his journey.

She spun at the sound of his voice, a smile lighting her face.

Perhaps he could wait to gift her. He would wait until after they’d united. His manhood stirred beneath his heavy knee-length mail, lengthening and thickening in his need for his wife. He had waited so long for her, more than the months this latest call to duty had required. Emma had long ago caught his eye. He had curried her favour in the ways he had learned in the king’s courts until her green eyes shone with the love he felt in his middle.

“Ailig,” she exclaimed, dashing towards him. Her arms closed around his neck as he lifted her into his embrace. His mouth took hers as one hand lifted to bury in her hair, already pulling loose strands free. She tasted of honey and Emma. He groaned as his lips pushed hers apart and his tongue delved inside, scraping along hers as he reclaimed her sweet mouth. How he’d dreamed of the pleasure while he had been away, this one pleasure he had indulged before they were wed. This one pleasure he’d taken many times after they were wed, the last moments before the king’s messengers had dragged him away to his duty.

Emma made a small sound and pressed into him, her arms tightening around his neck. Unlike many noble marriages, theirs was a love match. Indeed, Emma had not been a noble until he’d taken her to bride. She’d been the daughter of a merchant in the village a short distance from the keep. Though he was noble, it had taken some time to claim her. Emma had feared marrying a knight and losing him to battle. As if to feed that fear, the king had called him away immediately. It had ripped at Ailig’s gut to see the terror in her eyes.

Excerpt from: A Legend Accomplished

Emily Harteger looked up from the text she’d just scrawled in her notebook, glancing around her as a powerful wave surged up the shore and puddled around her bare feet. She smiled, the warmth of familiarity creeping over her. Before long, the water would surround the stone where she sat. How many times had that happened when she’d been distracted?

She blinked. What was she thinking?

That had never happened to her. She’d never been to this beach before today.

Being here was like déjà vu or something equally weird. For the last fifteen minutes, it had seemed as if she’d finally arrived home. She knew this place.

Everything was familiar—the crash of the waves on the rocks jutting from the ocean. The trees lining the shore. The castle overshadowing the beach as it stood high above her on a rocky hill. Even the wind seemed to carry a familiar scent of ocean and wood smoke.

Yet she’d never been here. She’d never been out of the United States before this week.

She looked up at the shadowy castle, wondering if the interior would be as she’d seen it in her head. Likely not. She was just a romance writer with an overactive imagination. Wasn’t it that imagination that had drawn her here to the northern shores of England?

Another wave engulfed her ankles while she watched the water hypnotically lap at the shore. She breathed in the heady scent of the salty sea air and closed her eyes. This was the sort of place where Ailig and Emma, the hero and heroine of her latest novel, had fallen in love. She imagined what it had been like for young Emma when she’d fallen in love with Ailig. Emily could see her sitting on this rock, waiting for him to arrive so they could have a few stolen moments before her parents realised she was missing.

“My love,” he’d whisper as he knelt beside her knees and cupped her cheek with his work-roughened hand.

Emily jerked as her imagining became so vivid she felt his hand. Her eyes popped open, and she choked back a surprised scream as she stared into a pair of dark blue eyes.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his voice a deep rumble of concern. “The tide is coming in, and I was afraid you’d fallen asleep.”

Hastily, she stuffed her notebook in the bag beside her and yanked the tote’s strap up her shoulder. “I’m fine. Thanks.” She attempted to smile and soften her snapped words. She didn’t mean to be abrupt. It was just—

He was the very embodiment of the man she’d envisioned as Ailig. Tall and sturdy with dark brown hair and blue eyes. Full lips, prominent cheekbones, muscles made to make a girl feel safe…he had it all. Granted his hair was shorter than Ailig’s whose hair fell to his shoulder blades, but aside from that difference and the modern jeans with a knit shirt, he could be her knight.

Excerpt From: A Madam into a Mistress

Redemption, Nevada, 1885

Madam Cherie Launbauer flung open the front door to her brothel.

“We’re closed—,”

Her next words died in her throat, and she gasped, her eyes rounding when she saw her guest and recognised him instantly.

The man on her doorstep towered over her, his muscled frame blocking out the moonlight that gleamed against his broad back. His wild blond hair curled against his shoulders, while his full, sensual lips lifted into a heart-stopping smile.

It had been eight years since she’d seen him last, and there were visible changes, but one thing would never change, she was sure, and that was his piercing sapphire eyes that were so intense she swore they could burn a hole straight to her soul. Another thing she sure would never change, no matter how much time passed, was the devastating effect his probing stare always seemed to have on her body. She shivered at the wave of heat that suddenly coursed through her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked shakily, finally finding her voice.

He pushed past her, and she bit her lip to keep from letting out a low moan when his hard, muscled body brushed against hers. He smelled of sandalwood and pure masculinity, a combination that had always been lethal on him, and she shuddered as the scent of him filled her lungs.

“I’m here to arrest you,” he said, shaking her from her thoughts, and she blinked at him wondering if she’d heard correctly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Ms. Parkins, although I hear it’s Launbauer these days.” He gave her a sardonic grin. “You’re under arrest.”

“For what?” she sputtered.

U.S. Marshal Shane Duckett slid his gaze over the woman before him. These past eight years had certainly been kind to her. He almost wished they hadn’t been. So many times, he’d imagined she was now a dried up old whore—her lifestyle taking its toll on her. But the woman before him seemingly hadn’t aged a bit. Her skin was still as creamy smooth as he remembered, her flowing midnight tresses still unruly. They appeared soft as silk as they fell in wild abandon around her angelic face. Her liquid hazel eyes were still as hauntingly beautiful as they’d been the day he met her.

He hated to arrest her, especially when he knew a jail cell was the last place she belonged. In his bed was certainly a preferable alternative for the lovely, Cherie Launbauer. But he’d come all this way and had dedicated the last six years of his life to tracking her down. He’d spent two years in a federal prison because of her, envisioning this very moment—the day he would haul her back to jail, and nothing would stop him from seeing Cherie was brought to justice.

Excerpt From: A Man Like No Other

“What the fuck?!”

Serefina LeBenoit cursed again as she tracked the movement through the object up to her eye.

“What’s wrong?” a whispered voice questioned in her ear.

“We have a problem,” she muttered, moving the scope between the ongoing deal and the approaching man. He wore a black vest with the letters DEA in white across the front.

He had a fluid grace about him, despite how cautiously he progressed. His blond hair was tied back, and dark glasses sat upon his ruggedly handsome face. Suddenly, he froze and glanced in her direction, a slight frown filled his features. She remained immobile out of instinct even though she knew he couldn’t spot her.

“What’s the prob?” the voice asked. It was male and belonged to Hector.

She wiped the sweat from her brow after the unknown man faced forward again. “God damn DEA agent approaching. You know they can’t travel alone.” The second the agent began moving once more, so did she. “ETA, two minutes.”

She ran with subconscious perception. Having traversed these areas countless times, she had the confidence to do so blindfolded. She ran hard. Fast. Pouring everything into it, for she knew if that man made it before her, there would be bloodshed. She stashed her earwig down the front of her bra and kept going.

She was fast.

He, unfortunately, was faster.

The unmistakable sound of gunfire reached her. Damn it! Sounds like it’s all going to hell over there. Have I cursed the DEA yet?

Gun deals were dangerous anyway. Throw in the unexpected arrival of a federal agent, and sure as shittin’, this would happen.

Trigger-happy, over-testosteroned…

Her mood dropped even further south when she came around the final corner. DEA swarmed, they were cuffing others, her team included, and shouting to one another. A glint to the right caught her eye and she turned. There was a shooter in another corner sighting down on the agent she’d had in her own scope. She never hesitated, just took aim and fired. Seconds later, she found herself slammed on the ground, gun scattering across the pebbled ground, an agent digging his knee into her back. The hiss of pain almost slipped through but it stopped courtesy of the anger flooding her.

Black boots filled her vision and she looked up. Her blond Adonis stood there, powerful arms crossed, staring at her with blue eyes. His face was composed of sharp angles—nothing soft about him—and raw masculine strength. Intense, panty-wetting strength. The kind which would have affected her if not for the fact she was in the process of being cuffed, the small sharp rocks slicing into her skin. Even so, dude was hot.

Damn hot. And when did I claim him as mine?

He stepped forward, reminding her of a predator when she was jerked to her feet. His height added to the intimidation factor. Well, it would have had she been intimidated. As it was, she wasn’t. However, with each passing second, her ire grew. If there was one thing she hated it was incompetence. She flicked her eyes in Hector’s direction and sent him a look she knew he would understand for silence and pass it along to the rest. Then she lifted her chin and held the gaze of the man before her.

“Who are you?”

His voice, while angry, was decadent, rough-hewn and dangerous. She stared at him. He had a body to die for. One that would give her hours of pleasure to explore.

Okay, I obviously need to get laid.

“I’ll ask you again. Who are you?”

The rough baritone had a deep Texas drawl to it and felt like he pulled velvets and silks across her naked body. Harsh, intense need filled her from the soles of her feet to the top of her head.

Really, really need to get laid.

Sinfully long lashes lowered when he narrowed his gaze. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”

“Do you?” she retorted, not backing down from his acute look.

“I’m arresting you.”

Excerpt From: A Marriage of Convenience

Michael Taylor had been talking on his cell phone when he’d stepped into the busy beer tent line. A jostle from behind had almost shoved him into the woman in front of him. His hand had swiped across the bottom of her back and in that second, everything else had faded away. Electrical currents had showered him. The second her soulful brown eyes had landed on his, it was as if he’d just hit mach one in his jet.

He’d stood still as her eyes had travelled hungrily over him. Part of him had wanted to preen while more of him had wanted to lift her up, carry her away from everyone and kiss her senseless. And keep going from there.

What the hell am I thinking? I don’t know this woman, but damn if I don’t want to.

She wore a purple open-backed shirt that perfectly offset the nutmeg hue of her skin and a pair of hip hugging black jeans. He saw sandals on her feet and if he moved his head just so, he could see the dark purple on her toenails.

While their physical connection was over almost immediately, the ardent impression still lingered between them. He wasn’t blind to the desire swirling in her eyes no matter how she tried to pretend indifference.

Paying for her beer along with his, it seemed only natural to settle his large palm against the smooth, dark skin of her back as they left the overcrowded beer tent.

He had no problem following her. The gentle scent on her skin reached out and wound around him, making him yearn for more of her. He craved to find out if her perfume was just around her neck or if the tempting smell went all the way to her feet.

When she stopped to allow a group of people to pass, he leaned forward and murmured, “Michael,” into her ear.

Her head turned, positioning her full tempting lips a hairsbreadth from his, and she whispered, “Ayanna.”

He kissed her. He had no choice. Her mouth had teased him as it formed her name and challenged him to sample her lips. She tasted divine.

The innocent kiss quickly evolved into something more. Michael hungered for all that this woman offered. He dominated the kiss, using his tongue to sweep throughout the recesses of her mouth.

His cock swelled and dug into her side as Michael plundered her mouth. He groaned his pleasure as the kiss lengthened.

The roar of jets in the sky rumbled around them and put a miniscule distance between their bodies as he struggled for restraint.

Ayanna’s lips were swollen from the force of their kiss.

“I want you,” he stated bluntly as he watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She ran her tongue over her lips.

“Yes,” she breathed huskily.

“After the show.” Taking her hand, he led her to a vacant spot on the ground. They watched the show like any other couple, holding hands, exchanging kisses, and occasionally staring into each other’s eyes. As the park had begun to empty after the show, Michael kept one muscled arm around her, anchoring them together. They’d stopped at the entrance. Pressing her against the cool wall of a ticket booth, Michael ran his hands through her short hair. Strong legs settled on either side of her thin body, eliminating any means of escape.

Excerpt From: A Pint Light

There must be an easier way. Valerian grimaced as he retracted his fangs, sealed the punctures with a flick of his tongue, and let his inebriated, middle-aged snack slide down the wall to rest in a heap at his feet. After a moment of wrestling with his irritatingly overactive conscience, he bent to prop the fellow up comfortably against the brick wall of the alleyway. Well, as comfortably as one could be, considering the lucky donor was not only drunk, but also a pint light. With one last glance around to confirm he was still unobserved, Val re-entered his club through the heavy metal door he had left propped open with a dairy crate. Low tech solution to the automatic lock mechanism, but anyone who knew Val also knew he wasn’t one to waste magic on trivialities. Not that he had power to waste anymore. Middle-aged for his kind, it was getting harder by the decade to take enough blood to keep his power level up. Middle-aged? Ugh. Val shook off the disturbing thought.

That need currently sated, he was free to concentrate on the current crisis. Or crises, he corrected himself resignedly. Damn problems never came one at a time. No, they hammered at him like the waves on the North Shore of Maui. He stopped in his tracks at the tempting thought of Hawaii, and whipped out his cell phone, sending a brief text to his travel agent. With a bit more spring in his step, Val resumed his path through the back of the club, winding smoothly without pause past customers and employees alike as he headed straight into the office.

“Get that lightweight tossed out, Val?” Killian, his oldest friend and business partner, quipped from the couch.

Val rolled his eyes at the lame joke, but restrained the comeback K was obviously looking for, instead using a tiny push of magic to shove Killian’s feet off the coffee table as he slammed the door behind him.

“Geez, relax Valerie. What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Killian took a moment to stretch his endless, jeans-clad legs out in a quiver in front of him before dropping his heels right back on the table with a thump.

“Don’t call me Valerie,” Val automatically replied, before his gaze narrowed on Killian. His copper-haired friend looked entirely too innocent, and Val knew there was nothing more dangerous than K with that sweet look on his face. He gave a mental nudge, found nothing, and gave up with a grunt.

The ennui was starting to really get to him, but he also didn’t need the upheaval that was about to land on his doorstep. “K, don’t you ever tire of making the same tired jokes over and over again?” He began pacing back and forth in the confined space. “And sitting here night after night scuffing up my table with your damn boots before finding some overly endowed bimbo to take home and swap bodily fluids with?”

Killian stared at him with a sincere frown creasing his pale forehead. “Are you okay, Val? You seem a little, uh, tense.”

Excerpt From: A Pirate's Passion

“Fuck.”

The heavy jolt catapulting her from the pilot’s chair told Tera that a tractor beam had locked onto her ship. Her small, fast, yet admittedly stolen, scout ship.

“Fuckfuckfuck.”

She righted herself and, bracing her stance with widespread legs, hunched over the controls, skimming the readouts with disbelief. She was well and truly caught, her chance at thumbing her nose at the Republic evaporating with each second of the beam’s grip. It was only a strike destroyer that held her—one of the smaller ships in the Space Fleet’s arsenal—but her getaway was even smaller, without any mass she could leverage to break free.

So close. She had been so close...

A second jolt almost sent her tumbling to the floor again and this time she didn’t waste a moment. She knew the feel of a tractor shear when she felt one. She mumbled as she seated herself, her fingers flying over the console, marrying words to the commands she had to execute on an unfamiliar board. Rotate. Dive. Accelerate. Turn. Again.

Despite the scout’s anti-grav unit, acceleration pushed Tera further back into the thick upholstery, sliding her from one side of the seat to the other. She used the relative stability of a brief respite in gyrations to lock herself into the chair’s harness then—with a savage grin—started a series of manoeuvres that would take her to the edge of blacking out. But would also, if she was as good a pilot as she thought she was, speed her out of the destroyer’s—and the government’s—grasp.

She didn’t know why the shear had kicked in. Maybe her pursuer had burnt out one of its tractor units. Maybe it had suffered a cascade failure. Whatever the reason, Tera d’Olzon wasn’t hanging around to find out. She spared a glance at the sensor display and smirked against the changing g-forces at what she saw. The Republic ship was falling behind—already it was a little over two light-seconds away from her, and the gap was slowly increasing—although it was trying valiantly to catch up.

They wouldn’t. Tera knew exactly what kind of craft she’d stolen when she jacked the scout from Tor Gamma’s B Cluster shipyards, and it didn’t fail her as she lengthened the distance from her enemy.

It was all her fault and she knew it. If she hadn’t been so complacent after her last crease-jump, she would have detected the flicker of screen-noise that indicated a camouflaged Republic craft out on patrol. And, instead of staying sharp and crafting an avoidance plan, she bought trouble. Even now, she knew she couldn’t divert any of the ship’s precious memory to planning a possible hyperspace crease entry. Not yet. She wasn’t far enough away to ensure that the destroyer wouldn’t also tag her along the same exit path, and didn’t want to lose her edge in post-crease disorientation.

The distance from the destroyer lengthened to ten light-seconds—almost enough for her to chance an initial calculation—when her ship got hit by another tractor beam.

Where had that come from?

Sensor maps showed nothing, except for one minuscule blip on the edge of a screen, big enough only to indicate a small comet or meteor. But whatever whacked into her ship held more punch than a large rock and, judging by its tenacity as she again threw her little craft into another series of extreme movements, more power than the destroyer she had left behind.

After ten minutes of fruitless struggling, Tera gave up. Whatever had her in its grip was not about to let her go. And considering that it was already travelling at high velocity, pulling her along like a recalcitrant toddler—with more than enough energy to burn—it would be futile fighting against it any longer. Her engines had redlined five minutes ago and the temperature in the small cockpit was rising as the life-support systems tried to compensate for a battery of overheated equipment.

With a sigh, she powered down the engines, and jolted sharply once more before the tractor adjusted to her sudden lack of resistance. Whatever had nabbed her wasn’t Republic—they valued their privacy for one, still masquerading as an inanimate piece of rock as they dragged her through the sector at a phenomenal velocity—but, at the moment, any other player might be equally as dangerous as the galaxy’s renowned bully. She would need to be on her guard.

Excerpt From: A Plain, Ordinary Cowboy

"What the fuck, what’s that little bitch doin’ here?"

Deputy Micah Danvers’ enhanced senses caught the menacing whisper through the friendly chatter in White Deer’s June town hall craft fair. He zeroed in on two young cowboys, Deke Masters and Jared Marks, obviously liquored up and ready to rumble. Oh yeah, he’d had a run-in with them shortly after he’d come to town. Definitely troublemakers. Despite knowing he could handle them, Micah’s gut tightened.

He purely hated dealing with mobs. They brought back bad memories.

Someone bumped into him. His hands fisted.

"Hey, sorry, Deputy Danvers," Juan, a young kid who lived with his mother above the town bakery, murmured before running over to his friends.

"Sorry," Micah answered softly, even knowing the kid wouldn’t hear him. His face reddened at the slip. He forced himself to relax.

His attention returned to the two cowboys, trying to see what they were up to. The crowd shifted, so Micah saw the men were glaring at a pretty young woman with long black hair and golden skin sitting at one of the craft tables. She smiled as she held up a handful of twigs, demonstrating something to the folks in front of her table.

Micah frowned. Whoever she was, she was a stranger and he didn’t like strangers.

Micah ate the same cereal for breakfast every morning. He always bought the same blue and brown shirts. He picked up plain white briefs. He liked everything the same and he liked knowing who was in town.

He closed his eyes, trying to catch her scent. Citrus. She was wearing something like grapefruit.

Micah tilted his head, not sure he liked it. It was...different. Kind of abrasive, but also strong, fresh.

His cock hardened.

And whoa, what the fuck was that?

Survival instinct kicked in, warning him to stay far, far away from the new woman in town. Something about her smelt...forbidden.

Micah was frowning when Mary Watson rejoined him, squeezing his arm as if to ask him what was up. He looked at her and felt vaguely embarrassed, as if he’d been caught.

Keep it low key, asshole, he told himself when his gut clenched again. Don’t stand out.

Mary worked as a secretary at the little town hall, so Micah saw her often. They’d become good friends. He liked her straightforward grey eyes and warm smile as well as the long brown hair that fell to her waist.

"Did you find that gelding you were interested in looking at again?" he asked her.

Mary nodded. "Be a good horse for your stable, cowboy," she said, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Huh, don’t think so. My barn is almost as much a ruin as the cabin," Micah said. "And my roof leaks. Gotta fix that first."

"He’s a beauty, Mike," Mary said, using the nickname she and some of the townspeople now occasionally used. In all the towns where he’d lived, Micah had never had a nickname before and somehow that made White Deer home even if it was dangerously close to the village where he’d grown up...and fled.

Excerpt from: A Present Christmas

Agnes sighed heavily as she made her way to her sister’s cottage. No doubt, she’d have to listen once again to the litany of criticism Esmeralda always had for her on these visits. Hopefully, Judith wouldn’t be there to regard her with the faint sneer that always seemed to hover around her thin lips whenever Agnes was in the room.

It was that time of year again, when the world was in rhyme—or so the song went—but all it meant for Agnes and her sisters was that they would be meddling in other people’s affairs in the hope that they could make them see the error of their ways. It was something Agnes had not excelled in for the last couple of years. Particularly last year—oh, that had been nasty. After Agnes had failed to move the miserable old bitch from her miserly ways, it had taken all of Judith’s threats of hellfire and damnation to scare the woman into including her young grandson in her will. And even then, it had been done with ill grace. Agnes hoped she didn’t have to deal with someone that belligerent again.

Esmeralda was standing in the doorway as Agnes walked slowly up the garden path that led to the little cottage in the woods. Like Agnes, Esmeralda was not tall, barely five feet in heels. Their sister, Judith, was the tall one. Esmeralda had once remarked that Judith had to be tall for the future was limitless, whereas the past and the present took up much less room.

“In fact, dear,” she’d said with a patronising air, “I wonder that you have to be almost as tall as me, when the present is so fleeting.”

Fleeting maybe, Agnes had groused to herself, but it could still be a giant pain in the neck! She forced a smile to her pixie-like face as she came within a few feet of her sister.

“You’re late, Agnes dear.” Esmeralda’s pursed lips said it all. It was going to be one of those afternoons.

“And good afternoon to you, too, sister dear,” Agnes said. “Is the kettle on for tea?”

“Of course. Come along in—there have been some changes made to this year’s business.”

“Oh, pocks weed!” Agnes plunked herself down on one of the cosy armchairs by the fire. “What kind of changes?”

“Language, dear. We’re not going to be working together this year. You’re on your own.”

Agnes’s eyes widened. “On my own—but why?”

“Because the young man you’re to help is only too painfully aware of the past, and if you do your job properly, the future will take care of itself.”

“Oh, dear,” Agnes murmured. “So it’s all up to me?”

“It really shouldn’t be too hard, even for you, Agnes.”

“Huh! Thank you for that vote of confidence. And what will you and Judith be up to, may I ask?”

“Someone in the White House needs a lot of help this year—end of an era, and all that.” Esmeralda handed Agnes a cup of tea. “She’s having to give up a lot, and gain very little in return, I’m afraid. It’ll be my job to help her forget most of the horrors of the past eight years, and dwell only on the good times. I’m sure there must been a few, at least.”

“And who have I got?” Agnes asked. “William Calder, twenty-seven years old.” Esmeralda picked up a file from the kitchen table and opened it. “Five ten, one hundred sixty-five pounds, eyes blue, hair dark blond…you can take this file with you, but from what I see here, he’s recently out of a relationship and a job. Very low self-esteem, is hating the prospect of Christmas on his own—and frankly, the Boss is a little concerned that he may be contemplating suicide.”

“Oh, my. Doesn’t he have family?”

“An only child to elderly parents—both deceased, it says here.”

“Poor boy.” Agnes held out her hand. “Let me see…” She took the file from her sister and flipped it open. “Oh, but he’s so cute. Stunning eyes. Boy, those are baby-blues all right—and what a lovely smile—nice teeth.”

“And he’s gay, Agnes.”

“Oh…well, at least, he’ll smell nice.”

Her sister rolled her eyes. “Agnes, be serious. This is an important mission for you—so don’t mess up…”

Excerpt From: A Prideful Mate

Kevin looked out the window at the pride of lions sunning on the porch, and released the sigh building in his chest. Leaning against the window frame he thought over his life. As much as he loved the ladies, the addition of Adrian, the alpha’s mate, brought back feelings he’d long suppressed. The craving for the touch of another man burned through him each time he saw Talon stroke Adrian’s skin.

Kevin didn’t want Adrian for himself—he wasn’t suicidal—but the looks exchanged between the mated pair reminded Kevin how good it could be with another man.

Equal.

As much as he loved the lush feel of a woman’s body, he’d always known it was the hard form of a man he preferred. Now that he had two cubs of his own, it was time to find his mate.

“Thinking about leaving us?” Tia, the mother of his little boys, wrapped her arms around his waist, settling her chin on his shoulder.

Kevin knew she was asking, more for curiosity, than that she cared if he left the pride. Tia was more than capable of raising their boys, but she was his friend and cared for him in her own offhand lion way.

Kevin sighed again. “Not really.” He nodded towards the couch where Adrian was curled up beside Talon. For a lone wolf, the smaller man was a cuddler. “Just wishing for a mate of my own, I want what they have.”

Tia tilted her head. “Extremely loud sex?”

Kevin threw back his head, laughing. “No. Well, I wouldn’t object to that either, but I meant a relationship with a guy.”

“Pickings are a little lean on the mountain, big guy,” Tia said, releasing him and giving him an affectionate pat on his back. “Maybe you should ask Adrian if he knows anyone.”

Shaking his head, Kevin looked at the pair. “I don’t think I could go for a wolf. Don’t get me wrong,” he held up his hands to ward off a blow, “there’s nothing wrong with Adrian. I just have a feeling my mate will be feline.” He took a careful step away from Tia in case she decided to attack anyway. The females were psychotically attached to Adrian, mostly because he made them chocolate treats. They all purred whenever he stepped foot into the kitchen. Kevin suspected Adrian laced his brownies with catnip, but he’d yet been able to catch the wolf at it.

Tia frowned. “There aren’t any other prides nearby. Oh!” Her face lit up. “What about that new dating service.”

Kevin let his expression show his opinion of that idea. “I’m not signing up with Werekin Wanted. I don’t care if they guarantee a match or your money back.”

“Hah!” Tia pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You looked into them.”

Kevin blushed. He hated to admit it. He had considered the site. Shit, he was getting desperate, but as Tia said there weren’t a lot of choices up on the mountain.

“I might have looked at the site, but I don’t think I can go through with it. I mean how pathetic is a guy who finds someone through an online dating service?”

“About as pathetic as a guy who’s afraid to try because he might fail,” Tia said. She nudged him with her shoulder. “The boys are old enough that you don’t need to be here all the time. They aren’t babies.”

“I know.” How could he explain that he had an unnatural affection for his children? Most lions would’ve moved on after his babies were born, but Kevin adored his five and seven-year-old and couldn’t bear to leave them.

“I’m not saying you have to go,” Tia said, as if reading his mind. “We all love having you here, we just want you to be happy.”

Excerpt From: A Prideless Man

James Everett woke up and made the mistake of moving. Pain ripped through his body like burning brands. Gasping, he blinked back tears while trying to keep still. By now he should know better than to try any motion first thing in the morning. His Rheumatoid Arthritis made waking every morning a new definition of agony. Only the medicine his father cooked up in his lab relieved the pain. He grabbed his bottle of medication, wincing as the pills made a light rattling noise inside the container. Shit, he was almost out. He didn’t want to have to call his father. He hadn’t talked to him since their last fight over Shifter rights.

A man that fanatical had to be wrong.

That’s why he’d moved to this town. To learn more about the creatures his father branded as evil and James had always found so fascinating, especially the lions. The lion pride kept him here. He didn’t know why, but when they came into town he always felt an uncontrollable urge to join them. Not only because of the gorgeous alpha—it was very clear Talan was devoted to his little wolf—but because something about the lions called to him.

Watching the alpha and his mate made James long for a relationship of his own, but who would want a skinny guy on heavy pain medication? Or when touching caused screams of agony, instead of moans of pleasure. Yeah, he was a real catch.

Slowly he rotated his wrists, easing the joints into their assigned roles of moving through the day. Next his fingers got attention as he stretched his hands, listening to the sickening popping noises they made as he flexed each digit. Curling his toes he listened for the crackles before rotating his ankles. Hell, with all the crackling, snapping and popping he was his own breakfast cereal. Eventually, his familiar routine paid off and his aching joints loosened enough to sit up. A cry of pain tore from his chest as he shifted positions. He quickly stifled further sounds. He didn’t want anyone running to his rescue. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. If she found him suffering, his holistically-inclined landlady wouldn’t hesitate to recommend at least a dozen homemade remedies. She’d already hinted as much. James wasn’t fooled into thinking they would work. He’d tried every possible solution before he turned ten. By twenty-three there weren’t any new treatments to try anymore.

Unlike most people with arthritis, weather didn’t affect his RA, and neither did his amount of activity. In a moment of whimsy he once told his father it was probably the phases of the moon causing the flare ups. His father’s screaming response proved the man had absolutely no sense of humour.

Looking around his small apartment James felt depression descend again—not for the size of the apartment, but for its solitude. He could afford a bigger place. His trust fund was large enough. However, he liked the small MIL unit he rented at Ms Tyler’s house. She was a sweet Labrador shifter and though she said he smelt off, once he assured her the scent was medication, not inherent evil, she happily rented him the place.

James tried to save as much money as possible since his constant pain made it impossible to hold down a steady job and he had no idea how long his trust fund would need to stretch. Currently he taught classes online which finally let him find a use for his expensive college education.

Sliding into his ergonomic leather desk chair, James popped his pills and booted up his laptop while waiting for the drugs to take effect. He sometimes took extra medication on really bad days, but he hated how loopy the drugs made him feel. He’d rather suffer through pain than walk around in a drug-fuelled haze, especially if he ran into the sheriff again.

His cheeks burned whenever he thought of the sexy bear shifter. Sheriff Louis Arktos, a big barrel-chested bear shifter with black hair and dark eyes, starred in all of James’ hottest daydreams. He’d seen the other man watching him from time to time, but he didn’t dare get his hopes up. After all, what did he have to offer such a strong, fit manly man? Some days he could barely make it across the room without screaming.

Sighing over the hopelessness of his infatuation, James logged into the college website and answered several emails from his students. His slow two-fingered typing took forever, but eventually he got through them all. After he finished working he checked his personal email account. His father’s name sat in bold text squatting at the top of his inbox like a waiting spider beckoning him to its web. With strong resolve he closed his email and shut down the computer. He would deal with his father tomorrow. He had no idea how to explain to his shifter-phobic parent about moving to a town almost completely populated by shape shifters.

* * * *

“I haven’t seen him yet, Sheriff.”

Lou looked away from the window and into the amused eyes of his waitress, Kelly. “Who’s that?”

“Now, Sheriff, we both know you’re waiting for that odd-smelling boy.” The deer shifter waitress gave him a sweet smile.

“He doesn’t smell odd. He smells wonderful.” Beneath all the medication, James’ scent drove Lou wild even as he wondered about the human’s health problems. The pain the other man suffered carved deep lines on either side of his mouth and the slow methodical way he moved made Lou wince with sympathy and wish he could comfort the stoic human.

“We all know you’ve got it bad for him. The only thing I wonder about is why he fights it. He wants you so bad even Blaire commented on how he looks at you.”

Excerpt From: A Rebound Affair

“I think I’m in love with your wife.”

Jackson Downing stood ramrod straight, and steeled himself for the blow he knew would come. He deserved to be pummelled by Jacob and they both knew it. His brother had warned him that his attraction to Camille was more than just attraction. But he’d sworn to Jacob he was over her, that he’d accepted their marriage and was moving on, but he had lied. He was certain Jacob had known he’d lied, but his brother had said nothing at the time.

A tense silence permeated the room as they regarded each other warily. He had to admit he was a little surprised Jacob hadn’t launched over the desk and beat the shit out of him as soon as the words left his mouth. Jacob had inherited the infamous Irish temper of their maternal grandfather, more so than any of the Downing brothers. So, he took it as a good sign that since Jacob hadn’t resorted to violence, he still might be open to talking this out.

“I know,” was all Jacob said, his already harsh face giving away nothing as he sat behind his desk, his entire body rigid.

“I figured you knew, which is why I’m leaving.”

Jacob sighed. “And I had a feeling you were going to say that.” He stood up from his chair and Jackson met the identical dark sapphire gaze of his brother.

“I don’t want you to go, but I know this has been hard for you.”

Jacob had no idea. Watching the woman he’d spent the past seven months falling in love with walk down the aisle with the brother he was closest to, was more than hard?it was excruciating.

“I know you’ve been itching to get back down south to oversee the drilling project on Natalie’s old land in Hockley but with the wedding it had to be pushed aside…”

“And now you want to go in my place.”

Jackson shrugged. “It could take a while to get the pipe in place, months even. You’re a newly wed and it just doesn’t make sense for you to be gone for months away from Camille when I can go instead.” He wanted to add that he needed this trip more than anyone else, but he didn’t. They both knew how desperate he was to get away from Macon, Texas.

“It’s going to be a tough job and you’re going to have your hands full with a foreman who is pissed that we’re the new owners. I haven’t met him, but he hasn’t returned any of my calls and our email exchanges have been less than polite?”

“I don’t care. I’ll deal with it.” He knew Jacob wouldn’t deny him this. Besides they were well aware that with his laidback attitude and easygoing demeanour, Jackson had always been better suited than any of his brothers in dealing with business conflicts and handling negotiations.

“Alright.” Jacob nodded. “If you want to go then the job is yours.”

Jackson released a drawn out breath. Separated by just two years, Jackson knew his brother well, and could tell from the strained expression on Jacob’s face that he really didn’t want him to go, at least not like this. But, they both knew he had to.

There was no way he could remain in Macon any longer. Being away and dealing with the distraction of getting the pipeline running would hopefully give him the time he needed to get over Camille.

It had all seemed so simple. For six months Camille would serve his sexual needs and those of his three brothers, and when her time was up they would all walk away. Then, Camille would get her ranch back when it was over. But at some point along the way, Jacob and Camille had raised the stakes by falling in love. It was just unfortunate that he’d fallen in love with her too. He didn’t begrudge his brother or Camille for finding happiness with each other. But he would be lying if he didn’t admit that he hadn’t taken it so well when Camille chose his brother over him. That she’d fallen in love with his brother and not him.

One of the hardest things he’d ever had to do was to stand beside Jacob and watch as he said “I do” to Camille. Ever since that day he’d been distant and withdrawn from Jacob, and it pained him to think their relationship would never be the same ever again. That had been the deciding factor for him. He had to leave and at least try to move on for all their sakes. He’d lost Camille and if he didn’t learn to get over her, he would lose his brother too.

Excerpt From: A Ring and A Promise

Cary felt a trickle of sweat rolling down the centre of his back as he and his uniformed classmates baked on the unseasonably warm day. At least five hours they’d been out in the sun, but the end was finally in sight as the Second Lieutenant was welcomed back to the stage.

The surge of excitement in the group was palpable as the class was told to rise. Everyone knew what was coming next. Various scattered cheers broke out as they all stood, hats in hand. Under the pretence of stretching, Cary craned his neck and was barely able to see the service dress blues of his best friend two rows behind him and a considerable distance to the left. But try as he might, he couldn’t manage to see Owen’s face. Cary’s own summer whites at least had a shot at reflecting the sun. Owen must be sweltering in his dark Marines uniform.

Cary had seen him standing tall above the other graduates earlier as all the Marines had risen for their commissioning, pride and intensity radiating from the face he knew as well as his own. The moment before he’d retaken his seat, Owen’s gaze had zeroed in on his for a brief moment, a reconnection Cary had welcomed at the end of a busy, hectic week.

Cary sighed. Pretty pathetic to be missing him already with so much separation ahead of them. It was only a handful of hours and a hundred feet of distance right now. The enforced intimacy of sharing quarters for four years was going to abruptly end-way sooner than Cary was prepared for.

"I propose three cheers for those we leave behind! Hip, hip-"

"Hooray!" Cary shouted with the rest of the graduates.

"Hip, hip-"

"Hooray!" He tensed in preparation.

"Hip, hip-"

"Hooray!" Cary released all of the excitement of the day and uncertainty about the future in a huge upwards heave of his arm. Over one thousand hats flew into the air then smiling people were embracing and congratulating each other all around him.

Without the structure of the orderly rows of seats, when Cary looked back again, he could no longer pick Owen out of the crowd. Usually his friend and classmate’s height made him instantly recognisable, but then again, there were a lot of tall soon-to-be-Marines out here today...

"We did it, Care Bear." The familiar low whisper in his ear was accompanied by a firm clasp to his shoulder.

A breath gushed from him in relief. He graciously finished shaking hands with a female middie near him before he spun around and thumped up against Owen in a fierce hug. He couldn’t think of another occasion where he’d be able to hold his lover in public—the repeal of ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ notwithstanding—and unashamedly took advantage of the rare opportunity.

Owen tensed for a second then curled his body to pull Cary in as close as possible, the muscles he took pride in maintaining flexing and rippling under his dark uniform. Cary closed his eyes and gave himself up to that strength. Just another minute...

Hands closed upon his shoulders and firmly set him away to a more respectable distance. Owen’s warm brown eyes met his from under dark brows, arched in warning. Cary took the hint and dropped his probably all-too-revealing gaze.

"Guys! Ring knock?"

The voice of Jared—another of their company—at his side reminded him he hadn’t turned his ring crest-outwards yet. Before he could make a move to do so, warm fingers raised his hand slightly. He watched between their bodies as Owen gently rotated Cary’s ring upon his finger. It felt like an intimate moment, even though they were surrounded by the chaos of thousands of people, even with Jared standing there watching.

Owen started to withdraw his hands and Cary instinctively seized them, not wanting to lose the chance to do the same for him. The ring resisted his efforts at first, then glided around Owen’s long ring finger. He made himself let go long before he wanted to.

Cary made sure the first fist bump of their proudly displayed Naval Academy crests was between him and Owen, before turning and doing the same with Jared and Mike, who had also joined them.

"You guys got family in town?" Mike asked as they stood in a tight cluster.

Excerpt from: A Sexual Spark

“Oh…shit,” I muttered under my breath. Something wicked had just walked through the door, and I knew like any woman—even a mutt like me—knew deep down in her soul when a predator neared. A hush fell over the dimly lit bar, the hairs on my neck rose and my body tightened as if a heat wave suddenly blasted down it.

My every nerve awakened screaming, big, bad, and dangerous had entered the bar, yet I couldn’t stop myself from swinging around on my heels, letting my eyes sweep through the haze of smoke and shadows until they landed on his large form.

He had to be over seven feet tall, owning the space as he walked. The crowded bar separated for him like Moses parting the Red Sea. I wasn’t the only one who sensed the predator in him. The man was nasty on two well-sculpted legs that flexed and bunched with ground-eating strides, he took to the only empty booth near my station, then easily slid that big frame of his into it. He dominated the space around him. A man who knew no equal, he reminded me of a deadly panther—powerful and sleek.

He wore dark, exotic wraparound sunglasses and dressed all in black. His pants were indecent as hell, leaving nowhere for me to look but at the bundle prominently covered by luscious, black, shiny leather. I wasn’t sure what size shitkickers he wore, but damn that man had the biggest feet I’d ever seen. Ripping my eyes off his crotch, I made my way up over the boundaries most would call a chest, yet on this dangerous creature, it seemed more like stacked mounds of muscle forming very wide and impressive shoulders, twisting and rippling beneath his leather jacket as he moved. The kind of shoulders a girl could wrap her legs around and ride his face for days.

I could only describe his hair as a thick messy shag of pitch-black that teased around his face, brushing just past his broad shoulders. It had that ‘I just got fucked’ look that only someone like him could wear and still look wickedly handsome. Now, if I rolled out of bed with that kind of hair and did nothing with it, I bet the first person who saw me would start barking. Not really smart, but I always say some people have shit for brains, too. Hey, I might have been half human, but the other half was wolf, which made me a bitch to begin with, so I wouldn’t push it.

His face, what I could make of it with those damn shades on, looked like carved granite for as much as the man ever changed expressions. His face must’ve had one expression—harsh and deadly looking. High-cut cheekbones and a cruel mouth made me think of whips, blindfolds and handcuffs. Now that might be my own fetishes coming into play, but I seriously doubted it. His aura cloaked him in a dark malevolence and, for some sadistic reason—one that I couldn’t explain—it totally turned me on.

My hands felt clammy, and I resisted the urge to rub them down my slick leather skirt, which would’ve been hard to do with the bottles of beer hanging off my fingertips of one hand and a full serving tray balanced on the other. To say the man made me a tad bit nervous would have been an understatement. Then, a deep smug male chuckle flitted through my mind. I squinted, trying to get a clearer image of Mr. Dangerous over there, and wouldn’t you know it, his face broke into a big-ass grin. Why that telepathic, broadcast-snatching bastard. I closed off my mind like locking up the vault to Fort Knox. One thing I really didn’t care for was a man that knew he was all that and a candy bar. It really rubbed my fur the wrong way.

No man, no matter how good-looking, was going to throw this girl off her game. Then he cocked a finger at me, motioning me over. Like I’d run panting to his side. Not happening in this lifetime. I just gave him a cool nod of my head to show I’d seen him, and turned away, making sure to put an extra swing in my ass, as I made my way to the bar to rid myself of the empty beer bottles. What I really wanted to do was wipe that cocky male grin right off his face. But no…I took a deep breath instead, gathered myself together, pulled my shoulders back; I let my twins lead the way towards his booth. I stopped right in front of him, giving him my best bored face and cocked a hip for added effect.

Excerpt From: A Special Christmas

“Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring-ting-tingling too. Come on, it’s lovely weather for a sleigh-ride together with you…”

As he slowed his BMW almost to a halt on the crowded freeway, Brett Masters groaned and snapped off his car radio. No way was he going to start being bombarded with Christmas songs this early in the year! Especially in his present frame of mind. Grudgingly, he had to admit it wasn’t all that early. He’d actually been preparing for this particular Christmas for some time, ever since he’d got Jamie to agree on a Christmas Eve and Christmas Day for just the two of them—alone in a log cabin hideaway up in Big Bear Mountain…

It had taken a long time, and all of Brett’s considerable salesman technique, together with lots of kisses and caresses to convince Jamie that it would be fabulous, and that their respective parents wouldn’t mind if they showed up the day after Christmas to join in the family celebrations.

That last part had been the most difficult to navigate, and Brett had spent a lot of time on the phone with his mom then Jamie’s mom, explaining that as it was his and Jamie’s fifth Christmas together and he wanted to make it a really special one. His mother had positively whined at the prospect of a Brett-less Christmas, but he’d remained adamant. After all, for the past five years he and Jamie had accommodated their families by celebrating their Christmas together early then flying off Christmas Eve—Brett to Kansas City, Jamie to Jacksonville, Florida—to pass the next three days surrounded by their many siblings and their siblings many, many kids.

“Imagine what it’ll be like, Jamie,” he’d whispered in his lover’s ear after what he remembered now as an extremely hot bout of sex. “Just the two of us waking up on Christmas morning together—no kids jumping up and down on the bed, demanding that you get up right now and help them open those scads of gifts they get every year.”

They had compared notes after every Christmas and had laughed repeatedly at how similar their Christmas mornings were, all those miles apart.

Excerpt From: A Subtle Breeze

Ezekiel Matthers stood looking down at his mother’s grave. She’d been gone for almost four years now, and he still couldn’t get used to the fact that he wasn’t going to see her again, at least not in this lifetime. There were mornings when he stumbled into the kitchen bleary-eyed from sleep and swore he could smell her perfume, a soft, sweet scent he had never encountered on anyone else. It always left him with the feeling that he had just missed her, like she had slipped out the door to head to work right before he could hug her.

“Enough,” he muttered, kneeling down to place the bouquet of yellow roses he’d brought with him up against the tombstone. “I sure do miss you, Mama. I bet you’re having the best birthday yet, dancing with angels on those golden streets.” Zeke closed his eyes as a soft breeze caressed his skin, bringing with it a faint fragrance that somehow soothed his soul. The loneliness that was his ever-present companion still gnawed at him, but he pushed it down, as always.

Zeke had all but given up on finding someone to share his life with. When his mama was still alive, he hadn’t wanted to risk bringing trouble down on them, on his mother and sisters, by having a relationship out in the open. There had already been too much such trouble once people found out he was gay, and his mama and sisters had been confronted in town on more than one occasion. Ezekiel had, too, but it had never concerned him like it did when it happened to any of his loved ones. On top of that, somewhere in the darkest corner of his heart, Zeke had held out hope that his oldest sister, Eva, would eventually ‘come around’, as Mama had said she would. That hadn’t happened, and when Mama died, the chasm between him and Eva had grown into what he feared was an unbridgeable size. Zeke didn’t know if he even had the strength, much less the desire any more, to bother with trying to fix that sad relationship.

That gentle breeze seemed to nudge him, almost chastising him for his melancholy and defeatist thoughts. Zeke shook his head at his fanciful musing, saying a silent prayer for his mama before opening his eyes and standing. He grunted a bit when his right knee popped, something that gave him problems courtesy of a fight—an assault really, though calling it a fight made it somehow seem less personal, less planned. The damage to his knee, caused by a pipe and a few homophobes, was not extensive but it did act up on occasion. All things considered, he figured he was lucky that was the severest injury he had sustained from the encounter. If Elizabeth and Enessa hadn’t overheard the men plotting minutes before and rushed to follow them… Well, he had no illusions. Those men had intended to get him out of McKinton, one way or another.

Giving one last glance to his mama’s grave, Ezekiel turned and headed for his truck, noting another vehicle pulling in to the cemetery. He squinted, recognising Enessa’s little hybrid—that looked way too tiny for the number of people in it. Deciding he didn’t feel up to making conversation with whomever she had with her, Zeke waved in her direction and picked up his pace so he could leave before she even stopped her car. He groaned when he realised he wasn’t going to make it. Enessa parked and jumped out of her car, running straight for him.

“Zeke! Wait!” Enessa ran full tilt, almost careening into Ezekiel before stopping. He couldn’t quite hold back a grin. Nessa was just too sweet to stay irritated with for more than a few seconds. He caught her forearms, preventing her from teetering over courtesy of her sudden stop.

“Thanks, Zeke!” Enessa smiled up at him, eyes lit up like the Fourth of July. “Why were you trying to run off?”

He sighed, wanting only to get back to the ranch where he could keep himself busy with work. “Nessa, I’m really not up to having to play nice with your friends right now, and I have a lot of work waiting for me at the ranch.” Zeke tried to ignore the look she gave him, refusing to be guilted into hanging around.

“But, Zeke…I just wanted to visit Mama and my friends were here, and you know Gloria. The other…” Enessa trailed off.

Ezekiel put his arm around her shoulder, using it to steer her in the direction of her car, not paying any particular notice to the two people lingering by the hybrid.

“Nessa, go visit Mama. Take your friends with you, do what you have to, honey, but I am just plain not in any mood to be chatty with your buddies, okay? Not right now.” He watched her digest what he said, saw she wasn’t going to be hurt by it. “Go on, now. Your friends are waiting for ya.” Zeke tipped his head in their general direction, assuming that’s what they were doing.

Enessa surprised him with a big hug before she stood on her tiptoes and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek.

“I’m not sure they’re waiting on me, but okay. Since you aren’t feeling very friendly right now and have so much work to get back to, would it be okay if I invite my friends over for supper? I’m making fried chicken and mashed potatoes, gravy and biscuits and—”

Zeke laughed, shaking his head. One way or another, Nessa was going to make him meet her friends, and there was no reason he could think of not to do so this evening. Not without hurting her feelings, anyway.

“Nessa, if you’re going to fix one of your homemade meals for supper, you can bring over the entire college campus for all I care.” He hugged his little sister, maybe not so little now at twenty three, but she’d always be little to him, especially as she was a good eight inches shorter than his own six-foot, three-inches.

“I’ll see you—and your buddies—at the supper table, okay?” Zeke let her go and headed back over to his truck, pushing aside thoughts of supper and company, already focusing on the tasks waiting for him when he got home. Soon his mind was making lists and shifting around priorities, leaving no room for him to dwell on things like his mama’s death or how lonely he was.

Excerpt From: A Tender Roughness

Kincaid Vaughn turned his chopper onto the road leading to the AJ Ranch. He flicked a switch to slow the throttle, and noted it was a smooth transition. So far, he was pleased with how his new custom Yamaha was operating. He had built it for himself in his own free time. His shop, Vaughn Choppers, was so busy he didn’t have much time to work on his own bike. It had taken him a year to get the bike done. This was his inaugural ride.

He frowned at the rolling hills of green, dotted with cattle and horses. Kincaid sighed. He couldn’t figure out how he had let his close friend Jolie James convince him to come to her family ranch for a weekend of horse riding. Her assurance that horse riding was like riding a motorcycle did nothing to ease his concerns. He knew it was a load of shit, anyway. A bike, he could control. A horse, on the other hand, was a being that could think on its own. And he was sure that if it decided it didn’t like him on its back, it would pitch him off. He tightened his hands on the bars of the bike, imagining how much that would hurt.

Jolie had been working on getting him out for a visit for over six years. They had met when she was still a newbie marketing director who had taken on his shop’s marketing plan. Kincaid hadn’t wanted a new person, since he had a good working relationship with the man who had previously handled his account. The company’s explanation that the previous person was no longer available for his account, although he still worked in the firm, had pissed him off. He’d fired them. Jolie had shown up at the shop anyway, and her brash attitude and refusal to take no for an answer had convinced him to give her a chance.

She had taken it and got his business more worldwide exposure. They had started out as business associates, but quickly became friends. When she had left the marketing company to work for her brother’s businesses, Kincaid had asked her to keep working on his business. She had agreed, saying that after all her hard work she wasn’t about to let someone else muck it up. Kincaid and his family were part of her family now, and she wasn’t about to let that change.

Family was the reason why he’d finally let her convince him to come to the ranch. He hoped he could talk Jolie into just hanging out at the cabin and shooting the breeze. Knowing her, she would not be hard to convince. They had a good friendship, and she liked to mess with him. He returned the favour, but they both understood how far they could go with each other. That was why their friendship worked so well. That, and she wouldn’t put up with his shit. Jolie would call him on it, then proceed to tell him off. She never stayed mad with him for long, nor he with her. She was like the little sister he and his brothers never had. All his family loved her. The male cousins, uncles, and Kincaid’s dad all enjoyed her sassy wit and devil-may-care attitude. She stood up to them and called all of them on their crap as needed. The female cousins, aunts, and his mom loved that she stood up to the men and could put up with the craziness of their family.

Kincaid frowned as he thought of Jolie’s absentee brother, Alistair James. In all the years he had known Jolie, Kincaid hadn’t met him. But he had heard about the numerous times he had cancelled plans with Jolie. Alistair didn’t seem to have time for Jolie, his only family member. He was too busy jet-setting around the world, making money. Kincaid hoped to meet Alistair one day, so he could tell him what he thought of the way he treated Jolie—like another business obligation instead of family.

From Jolie he knew that, although Alistair used Hollisville as a base of operations for his business, he didn’t actually have offices here. Over the years, the few times Jolie had mentioned Alistair was in town, he had been conducting business from the ranch or the office space he rented for his employees who were in Hollisville. Recently, Jolie had moved into the new permanent offices of James Corporation, which was adjacent to Alistair’s latest business venture—Enigma, the research and development firm that his brother’s partner, Enrique, had founded with friends. When Kincaid had asked Jolie if Alistair would be more present in Hollisville and for her, she had said that since he was rarely in Hollisville, he’d decided it would be a waste of space to have an office of his own. It had taken everything in Kincaid not to tell her what he thought of that. Jolie was fiercely protective of her brother. He had learnt not to say anything about his true thoughts about Alistair James.

Excerpt From: A Very Personal Trainer

My life back then was full of someones and somethings—non-specific people and objects who needed my attention in various ways. The trouble was that the someones and somethings appeared to outnumber the units of my attention by a factor of about ten to one. To be frank, things were getting out of hand.

I had let my gym membership slide, my wardrobe was like a rummage sale and any poor dogs needing bones would have been better off canvassing Old Mother Hubbard. My kitchen table was piled high with parking tickets, overdue bill reminders and dog-eared takeaway menus with the phone numbers circled in black marker.

Life was getting away from me, and I didn’t like it.

A typical dinner of the period—pasta à la microwave. In other words, some hardened curly things in a blisteringly hot, tasteless sauce. It hardly embodied temptation. Neither did the pile of unironed clothes, the half-finished tax return or the dishes in the kitchen sink. That bottle of Merlot and family-sized tub of Phish Food on the other hand…

No, Lara, no. I would sometimes catch myself off guard in the mirror—pale, pasty, carrying several more pounds than my clothes could handle. My skin was dull and my eyes looked tired. I needed a haircut, but the last time I’d managed to get one I liked was in 2005. The messages on my phone told me that I’d missed a dental check-up and my brother’s birthday. The shit was in close proximity to the fan. I was out of control. I had to do something about it. Quickly.

I opened my handbag and almost shut it again on being confronted with a hundred balled tissues, some capless lipsticks and three metric tonnes of loose change. But I had to brave the shoulder-borne rubbish dump if I was to make any progress, so I let my fingers pluck at the detritus until I unearthed the treasure I sought. The newspaper clipping Shona had given me when we’d met in Starbucks a few days earlier, still intact, not ripped or shredded yet. I’d been ten minutes late for our meeting and she’d been angry—actually really angry, not the kind of eye rolling ‘it wouldn’t be Lara if she wasn’t a bit late’ indulgent exasperation. I was hot at the memory of it, and so ashamed of myself.

“Hasn’t it ever occurred to you, Lara, that constant lateness is incredibly disrespectful? It says, ‘My time is worth more than yours.’ Well, guess what? Your time is not worth more than mine. You need to sort yourself out.”

“I’ve tried, Shona, I really have…” I wailed, teary-eyed.

“I know you have.” But her face was still grim. Forgiveness was a long way off yet. “You’ve tried. But your willpower alone isn’t enough, is it? Look.”

She handed me the clipping.

Excerpt From: A Week in the Snow

“You sound happy. Are you?”

Rebecca smiled and shifted the phone on her shoulder. She stared at the single candle on the mantel. The clock had just chimed midnight. “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“This isn’t just a want. It’s a need. It’s like breathing, or my heart beating. I can feel it right now, between my legs.” She slid a hand down her naked belly. “I want to lie underneath you and open my legs for your hand, at the same time as you slide your cock into my mouth.”

Her own words turned her on just as much as his did, and she let her fingers walk farther down, until she was brushing the neatly trimmed hair at the apex of her thighs. Her nipples were sensitive and tingling, and the cool breeze from the air conditioner kept them hard. She curled her toes against the end of the couch as she listened to his voice, coming low over the phone line.

“You like that, don’t you? My cock in your mouth? You like it when I pull your hair and hold you there and make you take it, don’t you?”

She touched her clit with her fingertip, then dropped her head back and moaned.

“And at the same time, I’m pushing two fingers into you—no, how about three?—just slamming them in, because you’re so wet already, and I’m driving them in and out, and every now and then I press on your clit, right there. You like that? I can hear you panting for it. You wouldn’t be panting if my cock was in your mouth, would you? You would be fighting to breathe while you came and came and came.”

Rebecca ran one finger on either side of her clit, scissoring it gently, rubbing up and down. The tingles got bigger and her mind started to venture off into the fantasy, the thought of his hands doing those things to her. She imagined her own hands would be on her nipples, playing with them while she bent her head back just so, taking his cock in deep enough to please him, but not deep enough to gag. His fingers would be working magic between her thighs, sliding into her when she needed to be filled, pulling back and teasing her before she could come, making her beg with moans before he slid his fingers in again. That delicious stretching would overcome her and she might forget the motion of her mouth, forget the way she was supposed to move, and he would have to pull on her hair to get her attention again.

That was what did it for her this time—the thought of him pulling on her hair, maybe a little bit frustrated with her, demanding she pay attention to his cock. She imagined the velvet skin sliding between her lips, the tense muscles in his thighs, the way he would look at her as he came. She imagined all of it, except the one part she didn’t have to imagine.

“Oh, fuck, Becca—I’m going to come!”

He hollered when he came, his voice loud enough to make her pull the phone away from her ear. He held his breath for a moment, then let it out on a moaning exhale. Rebecca smiled as her own orgasm hit, right in time with his. She arched under her hand, everything but the voice in her ear forgotten, as the orgasm swept from her middle and out to her fingers and toes. Her whole body tingled, her nipples hard enough to hurt, her clit humming under her fingers.

When she relaxed and opened her eyes, she saw the candle. It had burned halfway down, the flame dancing on a small breeze.

“Was it good for you?” he asked, his voice low and dramatic. As if on cue, Rebecca giggled. She always giggled after a really good one, and that was right up there in the top ten. He laughed with her, and that made her feel warm inside. So what if he was thousands of miles away? At moments like this, he felt close enough to touch.

After long minutes of talking about what had just happened, he yawned. She knew he would be going to bed soon, and, even though her time zone put her an hour ahead of him, she would be awake for hours yet, thinking about the coming week and what it might have in store.

He was thinking of it, too. “Have you decided what to pack?” he asked.

“I’ve already packed one bag with the essentials.” She stretched, delighting in the feel of her legs, a little too tense, reminders of what she had just done. The orgasm still thrummed through her now and again. “It’s going to take two bags, though—I’m doubling up on everything to survive those chilly temperatures.”

“Iowa is chilly in the fall,” he agreed.

“You can keep me warm.”

“Don’t forget the vibrator,” he teased.

“Gene,” she teased right back. “I thought we were just going to have coffee.”

“Of course we are. The morning after.”

She giggled again and nestled deeper into the couch. The thought of going to see him was like an adventure. She was always the good girl, the one who was reliable and safe and careful, and this felt like doing something she had always wanted to do, but had never had the nerve. She was going to meet her online boyfriend and she was going to fuck him silly, and then she was going to fuck him some more, and to hell with the good girl act.

“The morning after sounds good,” she said. “Are you going to make it for me?”

“You’re the woman,” he replied. “It’s your job.”

That was the only thing about Gene that drove her crazy. She always hoped he was joking about the macho way he viewed things; that he really did believe in equality, that he wasn’t as chauvinistic as he seemed. But the more time went on, the more she thought maybe he really believed a woman’s place was in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant. Each time the thought came up, it made her wonder: what in the world was he doing with a woman like her, who ran her own business and was determined to make a name for herself?

“Speaking of jobs, mine is waiting on me, and I need to get a few things done before I go to sleep,” she said, dangling more bait. “I have to wrap up this latest project before I come to see you.”

Gene yawned, as though the project she had going wasn’t interesting in the least.

“Okay, babe. I’m going to go to sleep. You might want to get some sleep, too, so you can make that drive.”

“I’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure you won’t fly?”

She didn’t want to fly, and she had told him that over and over. She wanted to drive her way up from Florida to Iowa, her camera on the seat beside her, ready for good light. She could already imagine all the farms along the way, the old barns begging for a picture, the town squares that deserved to be caught by her lens. The point of the trip was to see Gene, but what was wrong with taking some time of it for herself?

“I really want to take some photographs on the way up.” She had said it a hundred times if she had said it once, and she was getting tired of the same old saw. She carefully filtered the note of wariness out of her voice.

“Okay.”

Excerpt From: A Week in the Snow

“You sound happy. Are you?”

Rebecca smiled and shifted the phone on her shoulder. She stared at the single candle on the mantel. The clock had just chimed midnight. “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“This isn’t just a want. It’s a need. It’s like breathing, or my heart beating. I can feel it right now, between my legs.” She slid a hand down her naked belly. “I want to lie underneath you and open my legs for your hand, at the same time as you slide your cock into my mouth.”

Her own words turned her on just as much as his did, and she let her fingers walk farther down, until she was brushing the neatly trimmed hair at the apex of her thighs. Her nipples were sensitive and tingling, and the cool breeze from the air conditioner kept them hard. She curled her toes against the end of the couch as she listened to his voice, coming low over the phone line.

“You like that, don’t you? My cock in your mouth? You like it when I pull your hair and hold you there and make you take it, don’t you?”

She touched her clit with her fingertip, then dropped her head back and moaned.

“And at the same time, I’m pushing two fingers into you—no, how about three?—just slamming them in, because you’re so wet already, and I’m driving them in and out, and every now and then I press on your clit, right there. You like that? I can hear you panting for it. You wouldn’t be panting if my cock was in your mouth, would you? You would be fighting to breathe while you came and came and came.”

Rebecca ran one finger on either side of her clit, scissoring it gently, rubbing up and down. The tingles got bigger and her mind started to venture off into the fantasy, the thought of his hands doing those things to her. She imagined her own hands would be on her nipples, playing with them while she bent her head back just so, taking his cock in deep enough to please him, but not deep enough to gag. His fingers would be working magic between her thighs, sliding into her when she needed to be filled, pulling back and teasing her before she could come, making her beg with moans before he slid his fingers in again. That delicious stretching would overcome her and she might forget the motion of her mouth, forget the way she was supposed to move, and he would have to pull on her hair to get her attention again.

That was what did it for her this time—the thought of him pulling on her hair, maybe a little bit frustrated with her, demanding she pay attention to his cock. She imagined the velvet skin sliding between her lips, the tense muscles in his thighs, the way he would look at her as he came. She imagined all of it, except the one part she didn’t have to imagine.

“Oh, fuck, Becca—I’m going to come!”

He hollered when he came, his voice loud enough to make her pull the phone away from her ear. He held his breath for a moment, then let it out on a moaning exhale. Rebecca smiled as her own orgasm hit, right in time with his. She arched under her hand, everything but the voice in her ear forgotten, as the orgasm swept from her middle and out to her fingers and toes. Her whole body tingled, her nipples hard enough to hurt, her clit humming under her fingers.

When she relaxed and opened her eyes, she saw the candle. It had burned halfway down, the flame dancing on a small breeze.

“Was it good for you?” he asked, his voice low and dramatic. As if on cue, Rebecca giggled. She always giggled after a really good one, and that was right up there in the top ten. He laughed with her, and that made her feel warm inside. So what if he was thousands of miles away? At moments like this, he felt close enough to touch.

After long minutes of talking about what had just happened, he yawned. She knew he would be going to bed soon, and, even though her time zone put her an hour ahead of him, she would be awake for hours yet, thinking about the coming week and what it might have in store.

He was thinking of it, too. “Have you decided what to pack?” he asked.

“I’ve already packed one bag with the essentials.” She stretched, delighting in the feel of her legs, a little too tense, reminders of what she had just done. The orgasm still thrummed through her now and again. “It’s going to take two bags, though—I’m doubling up on everything to survive those chilly temperatures.”

“Iowa is chilly in the fall,” he agreed.

“You can keep me warm.”

“Don’t forget the vibrator,” he teased.

“Gene,” she teased right back. “I thought we were just going to have coffee.”

“Of course we are. The morning after.”

She giggled again and nestled deeper into the couch. The thought of going to see him was like an adventure. She was always the good girl, the one who was reliable and safe and careful, and this felt like doing something she had always wanted to do, but had never had the nerve. She was going to meet her online boyfriend and she was going to fuck him silly, and then she was going to fuck him some more, and to hell with the good girl act.

“The morning after sounds good,” she said. “Are you going to make it for me?”

“You’re the woman,” he replied. “It’s your job.”

That was the only thing about Gene that drove her crazy. She always hoped he was joking about the macho way he viewed things; that he really did believe in equality, that he wasn’t as chauvinistic as he seemed. But the more time went on, the more she thought maybe he really believed a woman’s place was in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant. Each time the thought came up, it made her wonder: what in the world was he doing with a woman like her, who ran her own business and was determined to make a name for herself?

“Speaking of jobs, mine is waiting on me, and I need to get a few things done before I go to sleep,” she said, dangling more bait. “I have to wrap up this latest project before I come to see you.”

Gene yawned, as though the project she had going wasn’t interesting in the least.

“Okay, babe. I’m going to go to sleep. You might want to get some sleep, too, so you can make that drive.”

“I’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure you won’t fly?”

She didn’t want to fly, and she had told him that over and over. She wanted to drive her way up from Florida to Iowa, her camera on the seat beside her, ready for good light. She could already imagine all the farms along the way, the old barns begging for a picture, the town squares that deserved to be caught by her lens. The point of the trip was to see Gene, but what was wrong with taking some time of it for herself?

“I really want to take some photographs on the way up.” She had said it a hundred times if she had said it once, and she was getting tired of the same old saw. She carefully filtered the note of wariness out of her voice.

“Okay.”

Excerpt From: A Wicked, Wild Three Day Affair

“There he is!”

Monica Peterson peered over the shoulder of her best friend, straining to catch her first glimpse of Soledad’s soon-to-be husband, Drake. “Where? I don’t see anyone.”

“Right there,” Soledad exclaimed, and Monica followed her lithe frame with curious eyes as she raced through the crowded airport to fling herself into the arms of an extremely handsome man.

Her eyebrows knitted together as she raked her gaze over Drake Bradshaw, who was the much talked about and well-lauded love of her friend’s life.

“Well, she told me he was white,” she muttered under her breath, navigating her way through the bustling, baggage-claim area towards them. But she hadn’t quite been expecting the Stetson wearing, blond-blue eyed hunk who looked more like he’d stumbled off the last rodeo circuit and less like he was the CEO of a midsized computer software firm.

“They’re definitely making computer geeks in prettier packages these days.”

As she drew closer to the couple, she realised Drake hadn’t come alone. Her gaze slid over the tall, distinguished man, his large frame encased in a custom-tailored, charcoal grey suit that fit him perfectly. He stood off to the side, his handsome face twisted into a dark frown as he stared straight at her with piercing green eyes that bore into her so deeply she almost swore he could see straight to her soul.

Her steps faltered, and she cursed her four-inch, spiked-heeled sandals, but she knew her shoes had nothing to do with her stumble. It was the way he looked at her, that probing, searching stare of his that caused a curious stirring in her belly.

Whoa. What the hell? He was certainly good looking. Okay, very good looking but she tamped down her body’s instant and completely unexpected attraction to him. He didn’t like her. She could tell by the way he openly glared at her, and when his arrogant gaze roamed over her before abruptly glancing away, she knew she wasn’t going to like him, either.

She shook with barely controlled anger. He’d just dismissed her. The jerk. He didn’t even know her, yet he’d already written her off, which left her to ponder the identity of this mysterious and bad-mannered man.

“Monica, this is Drake,” Soledad gushed with a bright smile, dragging Monica’s attention to the beaming couple.

Shaking her head, she bit back a tiny grin. She’d never seen Soledad like this, but she was happy for her best friend. She certainly deserved a good man, and it seemed as if she’d found one in Drake.

“Hello, Drake. It is certainly a pleasure to finally meet you.” She stuck out her hand, but he ignored it as he tugged her into his arms for a burly hug.

She was so taken aback by his friendliness that for a moment she just stood there frozen with shock.

“Soledad talks about you all the time,” Drake said. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, too.”

“Honey, you’re suffocating her.”

“Oh, sorry,” Drake said, his arms relaxing around her.

“It’s fine.” She smiled as she patted his back, grateful she could breathe again when he released her.

Excerpt From: Aaron's Awakening

Aaron pressed an ear to the door of his father’s bedroom and listened intently. Stefan would tan his hide if he knew Aaron was eavesdropping, but how else was he supposed to learn anything? In a few months’ time he’d be twenty, but his father still treated him like a child.

Stefan and his mate, Cody, had been secretive around him lately-their conversations halting whenever he walked into the room. His father was keeping something from him-Aaron was certain of it. Tonight he intended to find out exactly what was going on.

Aaron only hoped his father’s evasiveness had nothing to do with the pack. The last time his position as alpha had been challenged, Cody had nearly got killed. Aaron had been made to watch the challenge and there hadn’t been a damn thing he could do to stop it. He was a little older now and stronger. He wouldn’t let his father or Cody go through something like that again. Not if he could help it.

The hushed voices in the room fell silent. Aaron pressed closer trying to hear more clearly. He yelped when the door was yanked open, and he fell forwards into the room, landing on his knees.

"I knew he was listening!" Cody exclaimed, pointing his finger at Aaron.

Stefan grabbed Aaron by the ear and dragged him along the floor further into the room. Aaron had gone through a growth spurt in the last six months. At six-foot-two, he now stood shoulder to shoulder with his father but Stefan pulled him along as though he was no heavier than a feather.

"Do you want to explain yourself?" Stefan put his hands on his hips and frowned at his son. Stefan’s nostrils flared and Aaron was sure he saw the vein in his father’s temple pulse.

"Well, if you won’t tell me what’s going on with the pack, I have to find out for myself, don’t I?"

Stefan rolled his eyes. "How many times do we have to tell you there is nothing going on with the pack?"

"I’m not a kid anymore, Dad. When you are gonna start treating me like an adult?"

"When you start acting like one," Stefan boomed. "And stop listening at doors."

Aaron narrowed his eyes. "Is someone challenging you again?"

"Oh, for pity’s sake!" Stefan threw his arms up in exasperation. "Cody, can you help me out here?"

"Aaron, come sit over here." Cody patted the bed next to him and smiled reassuringly.

Aaron sighed, got up off the floor and walked across the room. He sat down next to Cody and waited to hear what he had to say. His father’s mate would be sure to tell him the truth.

"No one has challenged your father’s position as alpha, I promise you."

"Then what’s with all the secrets?" Aaron asked. "You’re keeping something from me. I know you are."

Cody looked to his mate, as if for consent. Stefan’s shoulders slumped in resignation but he said nothing. Cody turned back to Aaron and nodded.

"Yes. We have been."

Excerpt From: Abiding Heart

Honolulu, Hawaii Wednesday, January 21, 1942

I lay in bed, listening for my lover’s footfall. It was a little before seven o’clock in the morning and he’d been gone almost an hour. I wrestled with my desire to give him a little more time before I charged off looking for him. I let out a breath. I hadn’t been aware that I’d been holding it, not really, but I worried each time he was away from me. I never said anything, but I felt my fears were reasonable considering that he had been captured by Japanese forces at sea just a few short weeks ago.

Miraculously, he’d managed to escape.

I kept giving myself reasons to stay in bed, keeping it warm for him, just like he’d asked me to. I held the pillow that contained his scent—ylang ylang and sandalwood. I gave myself up to the sweet, soothing sounds of The Andrews Sisters singing I’ll Be With You In Apple Blossom Time. I wanted to be with Jason all the time. I entertained myself by imagining what I would do to him when he came home.

The lush, yet breezy harmonies relaxed me. I had almost drifted off when my lover, who’d had a rough night’s sleep, walked back into our little Chinatown studio.

He gazed at me the way he always did lately, as though he couldn’t believe he was with me, that I was real. I saw the emotions crossing his face as I smiled, holding my arms out to him. He dropped his gas mask on the bedside table. The music stopped and the radio announcer read off the latest news bulletin.

“All citizens be alert. There will be fines issued to anyone seen without their gas masks—”

“Turn it off, baby, please,” Jason begged.

Music was fine. Constant, negative news was hard to take, especially when war bulletins came in each and every minute. I understood how he felt. He was weary. Bone weary. I was his respite.

I leaned over my side of the bed.

“Let me find some music,” I said. I fiddled with the dials. We’d picked up the astounding 1937 Deforest Crosley tube radio and twenty-three-inch tall cabinet for the princely sum of three dollars at one of the many yard sales that had sprung up around the islands over the last few weeks. With families leaving Hawaii in droves, they were desperate to offload the things they thought they couldn’t ship back to the mainland. It was in immaculate condition and the sound quality was superb. We liked to turn the radio’s ‘magic eye’ and find our favourite music as we lay in bed. We adored making love to Glenn Miller, Artie Shaw and The Andrews Sisters. For the minutes we listened to their lovely songs, the world was a beautiful, peaceful place again…

We had a fully furnished home in Waikiki, but I had turned it over to the military government as a gesture of goodwill whilst my lover had been on a clandestine mission for our country. Jason still hadn’t quite forgiven me, but I had taken out some of his favourite antiques, his clothes, books—and a box of booze—so we had everything we needed.

I so loved the little studio he owned in a back alley off Maunakea Avenue. We’d managed to pick up some wonderful pieces of furniture and kitchen utensils for it. Jason liked to joke that we could hardly move because we had so much stuff, but I found it hard to walk past these frantic families without purchasing something. I loved that our new little home was big enough just for the two of us. And I loved living in Chinatown. In the months before he met me, the studio had been Jason’s little crash pad. When he worked late at his bank, he would spend a few hours here then return to work. Now it was our love nest. Chinatown was our world. People accepted us…no, they embraced us.

No music. Just news. And none of it good.

“Turn it off, baby, I want to concentrate on you.”

This time I did as he asked. I turned back to him. He had a lustful gleam in his eye as he kicked off his shoes, then dropped his trousers and shirt on the floor. As usual I got a thrill seeing him naked.

“Get in here, you.” I held out my arms again and he slipped back under the covers with me. He smelt faintly of dry cleaner fluid.

A whole week we’d been back in Waikiki, and we’d thrown ourselves into our new projects. Jason had resumed running his family’s bank here in Chinatown. He’d given loans to several local businessmen to take over stores that had been abandoned by people anxious to leave the islands, thanks to the attack on Pearl Harbor.

Jason himself had purchased two laundries and a dry cleaner. Together, we had given several friends money in order to plant and harvest fruit and vegetables at their homes—Victory Gardens that had started cropping up on the expansive windward side of the island to combat chronic food shortages.

Hopeful families in Waikiki had started planting in allotted spaces in public parks, and we had given them money, too. We hoped this positive war effort would be the antidote to the drunken, debauched honky-tonk bars that sold lethal imitation gin and watered-down drinks to the armed forces streaming into the islands.

He had left our bed at the crack of dawn to open all three of his businesses. He would return in a couple of hours to keep an eye on things. Restaurants, laundries and dry cleaners were the unexpected boom industries, thanks to the war effort. But right now, my job was Jason.

He snuggled in my arms, pressing kisses on my throat and neck. His cock fell against my warm thigh. Hmmm…it needed some attention. He moved his face up to kiss me.

“I love you,” he said. I loved hearing it. I never got tired of hearing it, but I worried that he still hadn’t told me what had happened to him out in the ocean when the Japanese forces seized his ship. Jason was understandably traumatised, but if he couldn’t tell me, then how in the world was he going to tell the military tribunal next week?

My hands moved down his body. He shivered as the back of my hand grazed his leaking cock head. He was the most responsive lover I’d ever had. He lay back on his pillow and grabbed my head, threading his long fingers through my blond hair.

“Oh, Tinder.” Our lips met, our tongues dancing against one another. My arm brushed against his cock. I wanted to suck it. As far as I was concerned only two things should ever touch his cock. My mouth and my ass.

He wouldn’t let go of me. Sometimes—and this was only since we’d returned to Waikiki from rural Maui, when he had bad dreams and then plunged into the world of strangers—he seemed afraid. He never expressed this to me. It was just my feeling. As I kissed him, allowing my mouth to linger over his chin and down his throat, I decided that from now on, no matter what he said, I would accompany him wherever he had to go. My name came to his lips again as I licked a trail down his skinny chest. I loved every inch of his body. And he knew it.

“Please,” he whimpered. “Please.”

Excerpt From: Aboard Pleasure

“This is a bad idea. I don’t have time to take a vacation right now,” Violet complained as her two best friends practically pushed her up the gangplank of the luxury cruise ship. She squinted in the bright Miami sunlight as if she’d just emerged from a cave, and in a way she had.

“There is more to life than legal briefs,” Mirabelle said.

Carrie jumped in. “Yeah, there are silky briefs and boxer briefs and?”

“Men without briefs!” the three of them finished the old joke together—one of many they’d made up as they’d helped each other survive law school nearly ten years ago.

At the top of the walkway, a blond, hunky guy—wearing khaki shorts and a polo shirt that spanned impressive chest muscles—held a clipboard.

“Hel-lo, Sailor,” Carrie whispered under her breath. “Sign me up for whatever you’ve got on your clipboard, baby.”

“Hi, Stan.” Violet chose to read his nametag rather than give him a pet name. “Can you point the way to our cabin?” She held up her boarding pass.

His smile was wide and showed brilliantly white, straight teeth. He must have made his dentist proud. And she must be dead not to feel any kind of attraction to him. Maybe too much time in her work cave had killed her senses.

“No problem, ladies,” he said after glancing at their passes. “Your cabin is on the Silk Promenade. Head through those double doors and take your first staircase to the right. Past the shops, take a left turn, then a right, and head towards the bow of the ship. Your cabin will be on the left side about halfway down.”

Violet stared at him blankly, having got lost after the shops. Behind her, she heard Mirabelle muttering the directions over and over again as if to memorise them.

“Oooh, thanks so much,” Carrie chimed. “We’ll catch you later when you’re not so busy.”

Violet tugged her and Mirabelle away from the throng of people gathering around Stan for directions.

“Wasn’t he hot?” Carrie gushed.

Violet looked at Mirabelle. “Did you get the directions?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

“Thank God one of us is spatially gifted,” Violet said. “Lead the way, O Talented One.”

Violet followed her friends up the stairs and past the shops as Stan had directed. When they reached a T in the hallway, Mirabelle stopped and repeated the directions.

“To the right,” she directed.

“You’re sure?” Violet asked.

“Yep.” She nodded and took off down the hall. At the next T, she took a left, and they found themselves in a long hallway with numbered doors on each side.

“He said it was about halfway down. What’s the number again?” Mirabelle walked ahead of them.

Excerpt From: Abracadabra

Savannah ‘Savi’ Davis warmed up for her Tae Kwan Do session by doing forty jumping jacks, followed by forty push-ups, then forty squats and finally forty leg lifts. Then came the leg stretches. How she used to hate the way they seemed to tear her muscles, how they made her cringe in pain, but now that she was getting limber, she loved to stretch her legs far and wide, almost straight out like a karate master. Dreams of achieving her black belt aside, this exercise not only helped her to kick higher and harder, it helped her to stretch in incredibly hot sexual positions.

The stretching like this reminded Savi of the steamy sex she’d indulged in with her lover Mark right here in this studio. Mark who made her panties wet. Mark who made her tremble with wanton desire. Mark who made her erupt with the most dynamite orgasms of her twenty-nine years. Mark who was now incarcerated.

Although Mark wasn’t here, memories of him still made her wet. At least her panties would be wet…if she wore any. At times like this when she missed her lover with every molecule of her being, she didn’t choose to wear panties, just her white cotton slacks. If some hottie saw the shadow of her bush, the slit of her pussy, it only made her sizzle hotter. Sometimes just their hot, lustful looks made her come without Mark’s huge cock rocking in and out of her or even the aid of her own fingers.

The slightly scratchy material, in particular the inseam, rubbed against her clit and she threw back her head and moaned in delight. Her long hair caught back in a high ponytail tickled her back, especially the bare midriff where her T-shirt hiked up.

Mr. Lee, her Tae Kwon Do instructor, tossed her a warning frown and she caught several classmates sneaking furtive glances at her in the floor-to-ceiling mirror that displayed the entire studio. She didn’t care if the women’s glances held censure for the men’s held anything but. They reminded her of Mark’s sweltering stares, his burning eyes and his hot and ready response. God, she missed her Mark.

She loved the Tae Kwon Do studio, in particular because she’d met Mark here when she started her karate training. He’d been her first partner and as a second-degree black-belt, he’d given her private tutelage, sometimes even after hours at the studio as he assisted the master. This place was a storehouse of awesome memories.

A soft, dreamy smile curved her lips. Lost in her own world, she continued her stretching exercises as if on auto pilot.

“The other right, Miss Davis,” Mr. Lee called out just like Mark used to, when she rolled into her neighbour’s space.

Mark… Everything reminded her of her Mark.

She shot an apologetic smile to the green-belt scowling at her, then moved back into her own space. Still, she had trouble getting her mind off Mark.

Closing her eyes, she pretended Mark was beside her. The scent of musky sweat permeating the studio and infusing her uniform, and the steady, sexy beat of the workout music, all worked together to enhance her mesmerising fantasy.

She forgot where she was as she slipped into another world, to one where she and Mark, who had been her first Tae Kwon Do master, had the studio all to themselves, where they gyrated in time to the beat of the sensual music belting through the studio. She recalled how they performed their own quasi-Tae Kwon Do routine, part karate, part animalistic dance.

Excerpt From: Abyssinian Heat

I never thought I would find anyone who meant as much to me as Charlie did. He was always there for me, knowing when to comfort me when I was down, when to entertain me with some silly trick and when to rush to investigate those strange noises that sometimes startle you awake in the middle of the night. He loved me unconditionally, and I would have done anything for him in return.

But no cat lives forever, and when the vet diagnosed an inoperable tumour on his spine, I had no choice but to say goodbye to my companion of the last eleven years. Though his end was quick and painless, I was in floods of tears as I walked home from the vet’s surgery, Charlie’s body wrapped in one of my favourite T-shirts so I could bury him in my back garden, beneath the cherry tree.

Finn did his best to console me. He had been my on-off lover for long enough to know just how much Charlie meant to me, and when I arrived at the flat, clutching the handle of the cat carrier so tightly my knuckles were white, he was there to fold me in a big hug and let me know everything was going to be all right.

His muscular arms held me close and I let my head rest against his chest, reassured by his solid masculinity. “Let’s lay Charlie to rest, then I’ll run you a bath,” he suggested. “I’ll use plenty of that ginger bubble bath you like.”

Excerpt From: After All These Years

"You are a gift," the stranger murmured.

I didn’t feel like a gift. I was a forty-something mother of three children who hadn’t flown the nest so much as they had fallen from it. I had too much grey in my hair, an aching back and a minimum-wage job at a fast food restaurant that always left me with a rabid distaste for anything fried. It was the dead of winter in Chicago, the snow was piled up in high drifts everywhere and my train was more than fashionably late.

I looked up from my book and wiped the hair from my eyes. My knitted cap was too small—it was something left over from the kids and it must have been from the middle school years considering how old the thing was. I touched it and was suddenly aware of my well-bitten fingernails.

"What did you say?" I was certain I had heard him wrong.

The man was tall. His dark hair was long, curls and waves that fell to his shoulders, greying at the temples. The cold wind picked it up and blew it back from his face. He was dressed in a trench coat, one of those plaid ones that always reminded me of private dicks in old-fashioned movies. He looked like he needed a good shave and a long nap.

"You are a gift," he said again, and this time I was certain I had heard him correctly. I was also certain he was a little bit nuts. They were everywhere, especially at this time of year.

"I don’t have any change to spare," I said, and looked back down at my novel.

A laugh rumbled up out of him. It was low and soft and kept going, like a train coming down the tracks. I glanced back up at him, but he wasn’t looking at me. His head was thrown back and he was gazing up at the grey sky, at the clouds that hovered too close. The laughter broke loose. It was loud and full-bodied, the kind of laugh that came from a man who had no worries in the world.

The belt of his trench coat opened a bit and I caught a glimpse of what had to be silk underneath it. That’s when I noticed his shoes, polished to a high shine. On his wrist was a watch that looked expensive.

"Oh, shit," I said. "I’m sorry. I thought—well, you know what I thought."

He stopped laughing. It seemed to take a massive effort. "It has obviously been a long time since you thought of yourself as a gift."

"A gift?" I looked at him closely. He could still be one of those nutcases. He might just have a lot of money to take with him while he went down to the funny farm.

"A gift, a present, a Christmas delight," he said merrily, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to understand.

"You lost me."

He looked around at the other people nearby. Most of them were sitting on benches and not paying the least bit of attention. This was the part of town where someone could be mugged and nobody would lift a finger to stop it.

"These people sit here among angels, and they haven’t a clue."

Excerpt From: Aftermath

Darren Brown eyed Red, the Rhode Island Red rooster, cautiously, watching for any signs of agitation from the bird. Generally he didn’t have any problems when it was time to feed the critters and gather eggs, but every now and then that red rooster got his feathers ruffled and decided Darren looked like a walking whipping post. The rooster tipped its head to the side and clucked. It was the sign Darren had been waiting for. He wouldn’t have to toss the food from the bucket and run for cover this morning.

A ripple of unease clambered down Darren’s spine as he stepped off the front porch of old widow Hawkins’ place. Virginia, the café owner, and Deputy Nixon, along with Nixon’s life partner, Carlin, had bought the place with the intention of turning it into a hang-out for the elderly. There’d been talk of Darren staying on once the conversion was done, kind of like a groundskeeper or something, Darren wasn’t sure. The talk never went far since Darren didn’t do much to encourage it. He didn’t know how long he was going to be in town and hated the idea of letting anyone down if he left. As it was, Virginia and the others had agreed to let Darren stay here as long as he kept the place up—and took care of the chickens, a job that had, up until Darren moved in a couple of months ago, belonged to Deputy Nixon.

Darren glanced around as the uncomfortable feeling increased. He knew that sensation, the one that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was the one that told him someone was watching him, and his heartbeat accelerated until he thought he might burst an artery. But as hard as he looked, he couldn’t find anything suspicious. Nothing was out of place, and there was no one here but him and the chickens. He’d heard rumours of ghosts—spirits, Severo insisted they be called, and didn’t that little guy creep Darren out? Those pale eyes seemed to drill right into Darren so he did his best to avoid meeting them. It was a challenge since Severo liked to have lunch almost every day with his boyfriend, Sheriff Stenley.

Still, despite the talk, Darren didn’t worry about such things as lingering spirits. People just stopped when they died. He knew that, believed it if he didn’t believe anything else. One second they were there, laughing, loving you, then they weren’t, and everything about them vanished except what you carried in your memory. Even if you wished you didn’t carry anything of them at all.

Darren shook off the paranoia that threatened to swamp him. No one was here besides him. He hefted the bucket of chicken feed and waved it at Red. “You looking for this?” Darren flinched. The sound of his own voice only seemed to emphasise how alone he was, yet he couldn’t shake the idea that he was being watched.

The rooster clucked and flapped its wings. Darren shoved aside his discomfort and reached into the bucket for a handful of feed. He tossed the mixture on the ground and waited. Sure enough, Red gave him a haughty look, or as haughty a look as a chicken could give, then strutted to the feed and began pecking at it. Soon the hens joined the rooster, fussing and clucking as Darren spread the food around.

“Be nice,” he scolded when a few of them got agitated. “There’s plenty to go around.” Darren edged around the chickens and went into the coop, gathering eggs and placing them in the bucket. When he thought he had them all, he left the coop and headed back to the house. He’d put the eggs in used egg cartons and take them to Virginia, the owner of Virginia’s Café and his boss, who liked to use them while they were nice and fresh.

Since it was Sunday and the café wasn’t opening until eight a.m. instead of the usual five a.m., Darren had plenty of time to get to work and deliver the eggs. Used to waking at four or earlier, he’d found himself wide awake and bored out of his mind by four-thirty. He’d tossed and turned and even beat off, but finally gave up on sleeping in and got up around five-thirty. Now it was a little after six and he figured there was no reason to hang around any longer. Virginia would already be at the café, and he could go in early, she wouldn’t mind.

Darren loped up the porch steps and that creepy feeling ramped up in intensity until he couldn’t draw a breath. Hand tightening on the handle of the bucket, he pivoted slowly and scoured the area. Nothing. No one. It looked as it had every day so far. Darren inhaled and forced air into his lungs then shuffled to the front door. He hadn’t got more than three steps inside before he heard the pop of the screen door at the back of the house slapping shut.

The bucket of eggs slipped from his suddenly lax fingers. Fear flashed through him, settling in his joints, turning them to gel so that Darren’s knees buckled and hit the floor. Fragile shells cracked under his weight, warm wet yolk and albumin seeping through his denim jeans.

Dizzy with the intensity of his fear, Darren caught himself as he fell forward. His hands slipped in the mess he made, undermining his efforts to keep himself from going down. Darren’s chin cracked sickeningly against the floor but he didn’t notice it or feel the pain. All he could hear was the voice in his head telling him he’d been found and begging him not to run again.

Excerpt from: Afternoon Delight

Savannah Claymore turned her head to look at her friend and condo mate, Lori Avondale, and said, “This really sucks big time.”

She saw Lori lift her sunglasses and glance sideways at her. “What could possibly suck? We’re out here on our private patio, the sun is shining gloriously on our nude and freshly waxed bodies, your favourite jazz is in the CD player, and we’re sharing a pitcher of orange mimosas. Even better, we don’t even have to think about work for two whole days.”

“No men.”

“Excuse me?” Lori sat up and swung her legs over the side of the chaise. “Did you say no men?”

“You heard right. Oh, we’re not exactly without them.” Savannah picked up her mimosa and sipped at it. “We’re just sort of between them. Right?” she sighed, and sipped at her drink. “But I do miss them.”

“Wait. I’ll run to the wall over there, wave my tits down at the sidewalk and see if I can rustle up one or two.”

Savannah burst out laughing. “You would, too.”

Lori studied her friend for a moment. “Having adventures is fun, but do you ever wish you could find that one special man? Someone who could fulfil all your fantasies and you’d be satisfied to settle down with?”

Savannah stared. “Settle down? Why would I want to settle down? I’ve got a great career, a great condo mate and a fantastic sex life. Give that all up?”

Lori shrugged. “You wouldn’t have to give up anything except the other men.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Oh, and one of us would have to find another place to live.”

Savannah finished the drink she held. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve never really thought about it. Have you?”

Lori nibbled her lower lip. “Not a lot. But every so often I get a feeling inside as if, oh, I don’t know, a piece of me is missing.”

“What we need is a new man. Actually, I was thinking of a specific man.”

Lori inclined her head towards the adjoining patio. “Our new neighbour? The hunk next door?”

“You bet. Have you taken a good look at him?”

“Oh, yeah.” Lori wiggled her eyebrows. “Yum yum.” Savannah licked her lips. “Yum is right. I’d like to get my mouth around him. But I swear, I think he’s either gay or blind. If you had two women lying outside in the nude practically in your face, wouldn’t you at least show a little curiosity?”

“I can show curiosity without the hunk next door.” She moved to sit sideways on her lounger next to Savannah and fished two orange slices out of the pitcher. “I’m curious how you’d look with a little decoration. Shall we see?”

Savannah giggled. “Exactly what do you have in mind?”

“You’ll see.”

Excerpt From: Aftershocks

Foreia, One week ago

The muted glow of everdark hovered over the deep blue grasses of Foreia’s rich fields. The black bark and flaming red leaves of giant firn trees framed the surrounding area, the scent of sweet scythia flowing through the warm air like a blessing of welcome. Jonas Chase, leader of the rebel Djinn army, grinned with pleasure. Lavender clouds covered the pink-red sky, a sight that never failed to impress him, and made him want to bask in his homecoming.

A muffled curse and angry words, unfortunately, drew his attention. Jonas stared at his responsibility, Prince Cadmus Storm, the Earth Lord, and uttered a loud, drawn-out sigh. Surrounded by a dozen Djinn warriors and the Dark Lord who’d promised them freedom, Cadmus nevertheless made an impressive sight as he commanded Foreia’s terrain to aid him against his imagined enemy.

Why couldn’t the damned Light Bringer do anything the easy way?

Golden soil erupted, crushing navy grass into muddied chaos. Quakes of rock shifted, and the air reverberated with the threat of Storm Lord vengeance.

“Fine, be a dick.” Cadmus snarled over his shoulder, catching Jonas in a glare he found impressive for its sheer ferocity. “Kill me if you want. But I’m taking as many of you to the Next with me as I possibly can.”

Of the remaining Storm Lords, the Royal Four—more commonly referred to as The Tetrarch—promised a life Jonas’ people had been dreaming about for centuries. The princes didn’t know it yet, but once one of the Royal Four became overking of Tanselm, life in their rich, magical world would change, and for the better.

Tanselm, a realm of infinite power and splendour. In addition to the fruitful fields, pastures of green and forests of rich trees and earth, Tanselm housed a sentient majesty, an overwhelming centre of magic that called to Light and Dark beings with equal intensity. The few times Jonas had been privileged enough to ‘visit’, i.e. spy, he’d felt vastly more powerful standing in that magical plane of existence, even more so than in his homeworld of Foreia.

Surprised at Tanselm’s acceptance of him, a Darkling, he’d begun to recognise his Dark Mistress’ words as truth—that Tanselm existed to accommodate more than just Light Bringers. Which wasn’t to say the future Tetrarch wasn’t needed to destroy the evil ‘Sin Garu and his hated minions, the Netharat. Those vile wraiths, ice demons and monsters would happily feast on creatures of Dark and Light, if only to perpetuate the chaos that salved their undying hunger. The Dark only knew how many overlapping worlds in existence would fall should ‘Sin Garu take Tanselm. Such pure magic in evil hands would destroy Foreia, Aelle, Earth, and so many other worlds not able to withstand such power.

No, despite the differences between the Djinn and the Storm Lords, Jonas knew they shared a common purpose—to live and prosper without Dark Lord oppression.

Studying Cadmus, Jonas shook his head. Four identical princes with the power to command the elements. Light Bringers and Storm Lords all, yet each brother was decidedly different. Darius, the Prince of Fire, had a temper and little patience. Marcus, the River Prince, possessed an annoying tendency towards arrogance, but thankfully his affai, his new bride, was wearing him down. Aerolus, the Wind Mage, controlled the winds as easily as he ruled magic, a young sorcerer with the potential of his legendary uncle, Arim, Tanselm’s notorious Killer of Shadow.

And Cadmus. Jonas still wondered at the one called the Earth Lord, a brown-eyed royal who could charm the scales off a dragon. Keeping an eye on Marcus had been tedious but easy in comparison. Cadmus, on the other hand, protested the measures to keep him safe at every turn. While Jonas could feel for the independent royal, he found Cadmus’ quirky sense of humour and annoyingly clever escape attempts vexing, not to mention exhausting.

He watched Cadmus take on more than he knew he could handle and had to hand it to the Storm Lords. They had been born to royalty, but their parents had not raised whiny and weak monarchs. These men, especially Cadmus, possessed strength and stubbornness in spades. From what Jonas’ cousin had affirmed, Cadmus’ reputation as a charmer and ladies’ man had been well-earned. Light-hearted but kind, he had seemed to be the easiest of the four brothers to turn.

Staring at him now as he tried to bury half a dozen Djinn under Foreia’s life-giving earth, Jonas found it hard to reconcile the easy-going Cadmus with the Light Bringer warrior before him.

“Enough,” Jonas’ Dark Mistress said in a soft voice. The Dark Lord took several steps closer to Cadmus but shook her head when Jonas attempted to intervene. “Earth Lord, the vision you saw was a message from me.”

“Bullshit. I saw you die, you and your bastard brother, B’alen.”

Her ice-blue eyes narrowed. Her smile, when it came, was as effective a weapon as her dark flame. “B’alen is indeed dead. And you Storm Lords owe me a debt of gratitude for it.”

“Gratitude?” Cadmus snorted and threw several approaching Djinn from him with bursts of energy that visibly swelled from the ground. “If not for you Dark Lords, Tanselm would be in one piece.” Cadmus blasted another group of Djinn, his power growing with his rage. “My father, my uncles and aunts and cousins would all still be alive.”

A large tree groaned as it shuddered under a massive force, its roots reaching through the ground for the Dark Mistress’ legs.

She glided as if on air, stopping a few feet from Cadmus. Jonas could feel the tension filling the space between them with chaotic power. Tendrils of negative energy snarled at him, and he flashed into the natural form of the Djinn, in truth, unable to help himself. He didn’t even try to fight it, knowing he was much more powerful in his energetic state. His physical form blurred, keeping a man’s outline while consisting not of flesh, but of white, blazing energy surrounded by a black aura that danced like flame.

He was Djinn. He was powerful. And he had been born to return his people to their homeworld--to Tanselm, where they rightfully belonged.

“Hear me, Earth Lord,” the Dark Mistress uttered in a low voice filled with bleak promise. “You know nothing of true pain, of torture and worse at the hands of those you love. So carry the regret of your loved ones’ passing close to your heart, and be content that you will once again join them in the Next.”

Excerpt From: Aged to Perfection

“You want me to do what?” Rachel Michaels gaped at her best friend in horror before turning her attention to the other woman in the room. The cute blonde aesthetician, Tammy, stood off to her right, wearing a smirk and a pink smock.

Rachel eyed the vat of hot wax and gulped. I’m too old for this shit!

“Seriously, Jan.” She laughed, nervously looking at her best friend. “Tell me again exactly why it is you think I need to be completely bald. I’ve lived my entire adult life without having a Brazilian done, and I’ve been just fine.”

“Have you really?”

She scowled at her friend. Alright, so her life had been pretty dull lately, but a Brazilian? That seemed a bit extreme. It wasn’t like anyone was going to see it anyway. Jan walked closer and looped her arm around Rachel’s shoulders in a familiar gesture that had been getting them both into trouble for fifteen years.

“Come on, Rach, live a little. You used to be so much fun. What happened to that wild spontaneous girl I used to know?”

“She got lost, along with everything else in the marriage, before I got tossed aside for the younger model.”

Jan pulled Rachel tighter against her body and squeezed. “Your ex was an idiot. Come on. It’s your fortieth birthday and you’re newly divorced. I thought we decided it was time to shed your inhibitions. You know ‘off with old, in with the new’.”

“Yeah, but when we had that discussion, I didn’t think my bikini line was in question. I thought you were talking just a little spring cleaning.” Rachel blew out a deep breath. “Fine, but you are so buying me a drink when this is done.”

She slowly walked forward like she was heading towards the guillotine rather than a waxing table. Tammy’s bubbly grin made Rachel want to smack her. With her eyes narrowed, she stared down the aesthetician. “You’re getting far too much enjoyment out of my discomfort.”

“I promise you’re going to love the results,” Tammy replied. “I’ll leave the room and allow you to get comfortable. You’ll want to undress completely from the waist down.”

“Jesus,” Rachel muttered. “But if I hear so much as a giggle out of either of you, I’m out of here,” she told them, ensuring her tone left no question that Rachel meant business.

“You won’t hear a peep out of me because I’m waiting for you outside,” Jan told her.

“What? You dragged me in here, and you aren’t even going to hold my hand?” Rachel whined.

“Trust me, honey. This will be much easier on you without an audience.” Jan shuddered. “I know I certainly wouldn’t want you to see me having this done.”

Rachel eyed the door, wondering if she could escape. “Why would it be that bad exactly?”

Jan giggled. “It is going to be completely worth it when it’s done. You will feel like a new woman. Honest.” She reached out and squeezed Rachel’s hand. Instead of reassuring Rachel, it only increased her wariness. Just what the hell had she signed on for?

With Jan out of the room, Rachel removed her jeans and underwear. Eyeing her white blouse, she decided it was probably wise to remove it as well. Clad in only her bra, she lay down and grabbed the towel that was draped on the edge of the table, trying desperately to cover her body.

Excerpt From: Alex's Appeal

“What kind of a crap outfit leaves a customer standing at the door with enough luggage to choke a small army? Lazy bunch of no good…”Alex Brookfield let the rest of the sentence fade into nothingness while he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

Across the beautifully appointed lobby, he saw the owner and his good friend, Ethan Roberts, tense. The man spun away from the picture window and faced him, a scowl distorting his normally handsome face. An instant later, the frown faded, replaced by a gaping-mouth look of confusion.

Alex couldn’t stop the laughter from erupting. The look on Ethan’s face was hilarious. The wide-eyed stare, priceless.

“Well, fuck!” Ethan managed to get out after only a few more seconds of obvious confusion. “Alex, I should have known it was you.”

Alex, dressed in his usual suit and tie, strode across the floor, leaving his large suitcase where it was, blocking the doorway. “Possibly, but I’m glad you didn’t. I haven’t had a good belly laugh like that in months.”

With his hand extended, Ethan took a couple of steps forward and grasped Alex’s hand, giving it an enthusiastic shake. “Welcome to Whiskers’, Alex. It’s been too long, my friend.” The owner of the inn patted Alex on the shoulder then pulled him closer for a warm hug. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Thanks, Ethan.” Alex accepted the hug. For an instant, it brought back memories of college days when he and Ethan had been more than friends. But that was a long time ago, and they’d parted on the best of terms. “Really, to leave a man’s luggage sitting by the door. Anyone could walk in and swipe it, you know. And me being a lawyer and all, I’d have to sue.” The last words came out with laughter that came bubbling up again.

“Bloody hell, man.” Ethan grinned and pulled him towards the front desk. “My luck, you’d do it and claim you’ve got all the family treasures, the deeds to any property you own and the winning lottery ticket you purchased not ten minutes ago.”

“You know it.” Alex beamed. Tension he hadn’t realised had been knotting his shoulders seeped out of him the further into the inn he went. “So, the place is doing well, I hope.”

“Yeah, we’re just getting into the busy season. Bookings have really picked up since the beginning of the month.”

“Excellent, I’ll adjust the numbers when I sue.” He tried deadpanning it but managed to keep a straight face for only a few moments. It felt good to laugh.

Ethan chuckled along with him. “Nice. I’m so glad you’re a friend, not just my lawyer.”

“Kidding aside, the place looks great.”

Ethan seemed to glow with pride. “We haven’t made many changes. A new coat of paint, added some artwork that I felt suited the place better. Cade keeps the grounds up and does all the little fixes that need attending to.”

“Cade? Would that be the same Cade Wyatt who’s been here for years?” Alex remembered the man from a previous visit—a hunk if there ever was one, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Ethan’s special someone.

“Yeah, the one and only.” He leaned closer and whispered, “My one and only.”

“If I remember the man correctly, and I always remember good looking men correctly, you’re a very lucky guy. He’s a hunk.” Alex pushed down another sudden flash of memory. His own special someone was gone, and he still missed him terribly.

“He’s around here somewhere,” Ethan said and reached across the desk for the register and a pen. He glanced down the list of names. “Tell me you booked ahead.”

“Yes, a couple of weeks ago.” Alex leant in and scanned down the page.

“Here it is.” Ethan placed his finger on the line. “Logan probably took the call. I have him manning the desk when I’m ‘occupied’,” he said with a smile and wink. “How long do you plan to be with us, Alex?”

“Not sure, I’ve got some thinking to do.” He took the pen Ethan offered. Bending forward, he signed on the dotted line then tossed the pen aside. Reaching into the back pocket of his suit pants, he pulled out his wallet and retrieved both his driver’s licence and credit card. “For sure the weekend. I’ll go from there, if that works?”

Excerpt From: All Jakced Up

Forty and fucked.

Actually, fucked up is more like it.

Jack Manning leaned against the bar, sipping his drink and indulging in his own private pity party. Friday night and all around him in Eli’s, their favourite bar, his friends were celebrating his fortieth birthday. A death knell that had crept up on his rapidly dissipating youth. Not that he didn’t appreciate the cheer and good wishes—it just sucked that everyone was coupled-up except him.

"Still looking for the perfect woman?"

A hand clapped his shoulder and he turned to see his closest friend, Mike Moreland, grinning at him. Jack just shrugged and took another slug of bourbon.

"She won’t find you if you stand there glaring at everyone," a musical voice said.

Carly, Mike’s wife. Great. They were double-teaming him.

"It’s my birthday," he told them with an edge to his voice. "I can glare if I want to."

Carly stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, "Loosen up a little, will you? Lose the jacket and tie. Forty could be just the beginning for you."

Yeah, right.

"Come on, buddy," Mike urged. "Let’s have a little cheer here."

Jack did his best to stretch his mouth into a smile, but the effort was obviously so bad Carly burst out laughing.

"Okay, okay. I think the glare suits you better."

One by one his friends settled up their tabs, wished him a happy birthday and drifted out, off to their homes or whatever couple of activities might be on their calendars.

How the fuck did everyone else find the right person and I’m still going home to Mr Big?

Mr Big was a cat of indeterminate heritage who had adopted him a couple of years ago and seemed to be the only housemate in his future. He wasn’t a bad catch. His friends told him that all the time. He owned a one-man financial services business that did well. A house that was small but well-furnished in a good neighbourhood. Had no really bad habits to speak of. Considered himself fairly intelligent. He worked out regularly and kept himself in good shape. He might’ve liked to have been a couple of inches taller but it wasn’t a game changer.

So where was the woman for him? At forty, surely he should have found her. Instead he was a single man in the coupled-up crowd of his friends. With no change in that status in the foreseeable future. When people asked him why he wasn’t married yet he wished he had some other answer to give them other than he hadn’t yet met the right woman.

But that was a big part of it. His friends told him he was too picky. Had expectations that were too high. That there were plenty of women right under his nose who were perfectly acceptable.

Trouble was, he didn’t want an ‘acceptable’ woman. He wanted one who would make his friends look at him with envy. One who would validate him as a babe magnet, something he’d never been able to lay claim to.

Excerpt From: All of the Voices

The call from dispatch had Deputy Matt Nixon groaning and rolling his eyes even as he tossed aside his half eaten burger and started up the cruiser. Ten-fourteens occurred regularly at Mrs. Hawkins’ place, and Matt, like every other employee at the Sheriff’s department, dreaded being on the receiving end of the call. All of the times he had been unlucky enough to be on duty when old widow Hawkins claimed a prowler was on her property, not once had there been anyone other than the woman herself waiting for him when he arrived.

And every single one of those calls, Matt had cringed when he’d knocked on Mrs. Hawkins’ door. Well, maybe not the first time. He’d been inexperienced and idealistic and kind of thought the other deputies were full of shit and trying to pull one over on him. It wasn’t until he heard the raspy-voiced widow hollering for him to ‘come on in’ that Matt had faced the slowly dawning horrific reality. After all, who, if there was a prowler about, would leave the damn door unlocked?

He still shuddered with the memory of that first call, because he’d been so sure the gossip had been just that—gossip and not truth—until he started turning that unlocked door knob. Matt had scrambled frantically to recall the rest of the crap the other deputies had teased him about when he was sent to Mrs. Hawkins’, and remembering his fellow officers warnings was about the only reason he didn’t pull his gun when he finally opened the door and was promptly attacked by about two hundred pounds of nearly-nude, quivering old woman.

“Better watch yerself, boy,” Deputy Sparks had sneered, “that crazy ol’ bitch will be on ya the second ya get in the door. She’ll be humping ya like a dog in heat and—” Matt had walked away, his stomach quivery over the sheer amount of disdain in the former deputy Sparks’ voice.

“The man was a bigoted fuckwad anyway,” Matt muttered, pushing aside the anger thinking of Sparks always brought. As for Mrs. Hawkins, the old woman was just lonely, and granted, her means of getting attention were more than a little startling, but in the past few months, Mrs. Hawkins and Matt had come to a sort of truce. She still called in complaints about prowlers, but she no longer dressed in frilly lingerie when she greeted Matt.

Most of the time she had a plate full of cookies and a glass of milk waiting for him. Matt had offered to stop in and check on her when he wasn’t working, but Mrs. Hawkins had declined. She had her routine, and he wasn’t the only deputy who got called out to her place. He was just the only one who got cookies. The only one who’d befriended the old widow instead of mocking her. The only one who saw the lonely, scared elderly woman hiding under the façade Mrs. Hawkins presented to everyone else.

It hadn’t been that way between them before Matt had nearly died, but that traumatic event seemed to have been what made Mrs. Hawkins see past the laid back persona Matt usually affected. And so between them, they’d forged an odd friendship.

Mrs. Hawkins lived alone a few miles out of town on the remains of an old farm that used to be productive. After the death of her husband, Mrs. Hawkins had sold off most of the farm land, equipment and livestock, keeping only an acre or so surrounding her house.

She also kept several chickens, and Matt hated those damn birds. There was one in particular, a Rhode Island Red rooster, who seemed determined to emasculate him, either physically or through humiliation. If Matt thought he could get away with blowing that damn bird to bits, he’d do it. Maybe he could accidentally back over the evil avian on his way out. No doubt the red menace would be chasing after him, trying to peck and claw at any part of Matt he could reach. God, he hated that rooster!

Matt floored the gas pedal as a wave of unease washed over him. He’d been about half an hour away from his destination when the call came through. Normally he hauled ass to the widow’s place, because you just never knew, but this time, he needed to get there faster. His spine seemed to ice over, sending chilly tendrils throughout his body.

The red rooster was forgotten as fear dug its claws into his gut, spearing him in the same spot he’d been stabbed four months ago. He couldn’t say why or how he knew it was so, but everything in him clamoured and screeched in alarm, much like it’d done right before he’d had that knife driven into him.

Matt gasped as his vision dimmed, the memory of the attack springing to life in his mind, the hot slice of the blade through skin and muscle, the agony that ripped right along with the knife. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, Matt willed the cruiser to go faster even as he took a turn at a speed that nearly caused the vehicle to roll.

He had to hurry, before it was too late. Whatever was going on in his head, Matt couldn’t let it distract him, not now. Not when he knew in some inexplicable way death was coming.

Excerpt From: All or Nothing

“Wow, he’s hotter than I remember.”

Shannon Delaney followed her friend’s gaze and frowned. Holly was checking out Zac Malloy—best friend to Shannon’s husband and their current houseguest.

“I wonder what he looks like in uniform. You know I love me a military man. Is he involved with anyone?” Holly asked.

Shannon turned back to her friend. Holly stared at Zac like she could she was starving, and he was exactly what she craved.

“Hol, be careful there,” she warned. “He’s hot, no denying that, but the man is just…” she struggled to find the right words, “intense.”

“Intense can be good.” Holly chuckled, but sobered when she met Shannon’s gaze. “What’s up? Has he been bothering you or done something to piss you off?”

“No, nothing like that. Hell, he doesn’t really talk to me. He’s been here for a couple of weeks and he’s maybe said five words to me.” Shannon shrugged. “Sometimes he’ll just stare at me, like he’s going to say something, then nothing. He seems happier on his own, that’s all. I mean, look at him now. Everyone’s here, enjoying the barbeque, and he’s standing away from the group, all by himself. He’s not even making an effort to fit in.”

She glanced back towards the man in question and, as if he knew they were talking about him, found his gaze on her. Her heart skipped and her stomach tightened. That was the real problem—how she reacted to the stares. He watched her so intently. She half-expected him to pounce on her, and the sad part was the thought of it excited her. And that made her feel guilty as hell.

“Have you talked to Nate about it?”

At the mention of her husband, Shannon felt her face heat, and she looked away from Zac quickly.

“No, of course not. Zac’s his best friend. I’m not going to whine about him looking at me. Besides, he’ll find his own place soon and will be out of here. So it really doesn’t matter.”

“You know, maybe you’re being too hard on the guy, Shan,” Holly said. “He’s been out of the country for the past year and a half. Maybe he’s just doesn’t know what to say or how to start a conversation with you. Heck, he hardly knows you. You’ve been married to his best friend for a year, and the only time he’s ever seen you was when he was on leave for the wedding. Maybe it’s just awkward for him.”

Shannon thought about it. Everything Holly said was spot on, and it wasn’t like Shannon had gone out of her way to welcome the man. Guilt settled heavily in her gut. This was her husband’s best friend, and she hadn’t even made an effort. She sighed.

“You’re right. I’ve been a real bitch about the whole thing,” she admitted.

“Well, no time like the present to change,” Holly said brightly.

“What?”

“Looks like the man is out of beer. Bring him a fresh one, and be your wonderful charming self. If not for Zac, then for your man.” She gave Shannon a small shove.

Excerpt From: All Roads Lead to Ripon

See Jane. See Jane run. Did it count as running when the reason for fleeing the country was self-preservation? Jane Templeton had been asking that question for a week and a half, ever since she’d gotten on the plane in the Pittsburgh airport and left her old life behind forever. She wasn’t sure where she’d end up starting over but it certainly wouldn’t be anywhere near Pittsburgh. She’d throw herself off a roof before she let herself get sucked back into that life again.

Jane took a calming breath and stared blindly out the train window. She shouldn’t be thinking about that now. She had almost three months to come up with a plan and there was no way she was going to waste the entire time dwelling on it. Not when she was finally taking the trip she’d dreamed about. True it was ten years later than originally scheduled but she was determined to enjoy it as much as possible before facing the reality of her new life, whatever that may be.

Noticing the passing scenery, Jane sighed. The Yorkshire Dales. As pretty and inviting as she remembered. Soon she’d be in Harrogate, a place that held many fond memories. Unfortunately none of her friends lived there anymore but the quaint town itself still held enough appeal to draw her back even without them.

The train pulled into the Harrogate station. Jane grabbed her military surplus duffel and made her way to the exit. She stepped onto the platform with a smile. She was almost there. A day in Philadelphia, six in Toronto, three in London, four planes, two trains and now just a short hike from the station to Agate’s Guest House and she would finally be able to let herself relax. She really was going to make it. All on her own. Without any major disasters. Without even getting lost. Her smile grew. See? She was competent enough to accomplish this so that meant she was more than capable of looking after herself the rest of the time too. Didn’t it?

Walking along Leeds Road, Jane was more than tired, but in a good way, for the first time in what seemed like years. She’d started coming back to life four months earlier when she walked out of the Mount Lebanon house that had become more of a prison the last few years than a home. As it turned out, leaving the structure hadn’t severed her tethers as she’d expected. Once she accepted that, she knew the only way to truly end things with her former jailer was to put enough distance between them to make any continued harassment impractical because she knew there wasn’t a place on earth she could go where it would be impossible. There was a slim chance that having an entire ocean separating them would make it so inconvenient that it would manage to discourage him, or so she hoped. She’d left some false trails along the way and hadn’t told anyone her final destination. She’d have at least a little reprieve before he located her. Not that there was any doubt he would sooner or later. Maybe, with luck, he’d have decided it really wasn’t worth the effort and give up before then. Luck. She was definitely due for some of that since she’d had absolutely none for several years now. She shook her head. There were two things she’d never understand. One, how the man she’d lived with for almost seven years knew so little about her and two, why it had taken her so long to realise that.

Jane turned the corner onto St. Georges Road and stopped to stare at her intended residence. It was a three story stone building, partly covered by ivy, definitely imposing-looking but not at all menacing. To Jane, it seemed protective and welcoming. Sighing, she shifted her bag to her other hand. It felt heavier than it had when she’d claimed it in the Manchester airport earlier, even more so than when she’d checked it in London. She knew it was an illusion, but she’d been travelling for days after months of building tension following years of stressful living. It was a small miracle that she was still standing at this point. And a major triumph.

“Good evening.” The clipped greeting startled Jane from her thoughts.

“Oh. Hi,” she responded, gaping openly at the impeccably dressed man by the impressive car she hadn’t noticed, even though she was standing within touching distance. With a curt nod, he got in and drove away. “Wow,” she whispered when she finally managed to move from the spot, long after he’d gone.

When she’d called from London about availability, Jane only reserved the room for a week since it was sight unseen. The inside made her feel instantly comfortable so she asked about extending her stay to two months when she checked in. After a lengthy assessment, her request earned her a very enthusiastic reception from the owner, Mrs. Agate. Her room assignment was switched from the second floor with shared facilities to the third with a private bath. Apparently she’d passed some unspoken test which rated what she was sure was an upgrade at a reduced rate. If her hunch was correct, her stay in the guest house now also included a tour guide, local historian and pseudo-mom. Jane hadn’t revealed anything other than the required personal details, but she suspected that it was only a matter of time before Mrs. Agate knew everything there was to know about her. Not that the woman was blatantly nosey. It was more that she was so peppy and outgoing with her infectious cheerfulness, that Jane suspected she wouldn’t be able to resist the standing invitation for a cup of tea and a bit of chat once she had her bearings.

She’d probably still be downstairs if she hadn’t pleaded exhaustion and promised to join her the following afternoon.

Excerpt From: All Tied Up

From her place of concealment deep in the shadows, Naymeen watched the little man nervously pace the tiny landing bay. It was obvious, from the way he stayed out in the open, he wasn’t a soldier. No soldier would have made himself such an easy target. Lucky for him, no one was even aware of his arrival. Lucky for him—but luckier for her.

He whirled as she moved forward from her hiding place. A look of alarm crossed his face as he took in the black torso armour and the gun in the holster on her hip. His voice trembled as he spoke. “You’re not the person I’m supposed to meet.”

She shook her head.

He stepped back.

She snorted at his attempt to put some distance between them and advanced on him.

His face paled, the colour leaching from his flabby skin. “Are you here to kill me?”

He didn’t know that wasn’t to be his fate, that he was only a means to an end.

A tight smile lifted her lips. Yet it must have done little to reassure him, as his voice quivered when he asked again, “Are you going to kill me?”

She gave him his reprieve. “Not this time.”

He looked relieved—but not for long.

“I’m well aware you’re here from Jaehdang,” Naymeen went on, “a planet that is under sanction by the United League of Veluvian Planets, to enter into clandestine negotiations with Mr. A. C. Blackshott, one of the wealthiest men in the galaxy. Therefore, you are definitely persona non grata here on Gheldar.”

If possible, he grew even whiter as she revealed the details of his supposedly covert mission.

“Do you really think the League would allow a meeting to take place between an envoy from a hostile planet and a man with an unlimited cash flow?” Naymeen shook her head for emphasis. “It just doesn’t seem like a good thing. So that’s why I’m here.”

Her leather boots nudged his fancy shoes as she invaded his space. “It’s my job to encourage you to go back home. Or, if necessary, persuade you a bit more forcefully.”

Now she was afraid, from the look on his face, the poor creature was going to faint.

“I’m not a killer, Mr. Chengalie. At least, not this time.” He started, but whether at her use of his name or at the reference to her status as a ‘sweeper’ for the League, she couldn’t be sure. Yet she wondered why he was surprised. It was obvious she knew everything about his task, and it also was obvious that, considering whom he was meeting, the League would send in an enforcer, a cleaner-upper of the situation, as it were.

Naymeen was still annoyed they hadn’t allowed Blackshott and the envoy to get together so she could find out the purpose of the meet, but the group seemed more concerned with prevention. She knew that kind of short-sighted thinking often came back to bite one in the arse—with a vengeance. She hoped they were prepared for that possibility.

But now, it was time to perform her duty. “Let me put it to you this way. It would be better for everyone, especially yourself, if you were to turn around and head back home without delay.”

As the realisation apparently took root in his brain that her purpose really was to rout but not kill him, a smidgen of boldness crept into his backbone. He puffed himself up in protest. “But I can’t leave.”

Naymeen wanted to laugh at his sudden burst of indignation. “Anyone from a sanctioned planet is banned from Gheldar—and from every other planet within the jurisdiction of the League. You need to leave, immediately.”

Excerpt From: Retribution

“Commander Rave Anders, a panel of your peers has found you guilty of theft of government property. You are hereby dishonourably discharged and sentenced to thirty days on the penal colony Devil’s Island.”

Rave fell to his seat in disbelief as the panel left the room. Just like that, his military career was gone, like so much smoke. Most would think that was the worst thing, but it wasn’t. The worst was Rave’s lover, Kain, couldn’t be found.

A hand landed on his shoulder. He turned, hoping to see Kain. His stomach sank when he saw his friend, Sela instead.

“It’s no use, Rave. It’s as if he’s disappeared. His parents don’t know where he is, either. I’m sorry.”

He rested his head in his hands. “I can’t believe it, Sela. He’s out there, somewhere, hurt. He’d be here if he was able.”

Rave looked up at Sela and saw the guards approaching behind her.

“I’ll do what I can to find him, Rave.”

He gave a sharp nod and turned to follow the guards to the pod waiting to take him to Devil’s Island, his thoughts in turmoil. How would he survive the next thirty days? Being in the military put a target on his back and Devil’s Island was one of the worst prison colonies in the universe. His heart ached at the thought of Kain, alone and hurt while he could do nothing about it. Nothing really mattered if Kain wasn’t safe. The guard shoved him into the craft and shackled him to the seat.

After the criminals were processed, the ship started the journey to Devil’s Island.

“Hey, you’s that military thief? Yep, you is. You’s the guy whose got fucked up the ass, but then, I hear ya like that, don’t ya?” The passenger beside him snickered. “I’m sure you’ll get plenty of action on DI.”

Rave leaned over and yanked him close enough that Rave could smell the man’s putrid breath. “Shut the fuck up.”

“No need to gets with the rough stuff. I ain’t after that pretty ass,” the man mumbled as Rave shoved him back into his seat.

Rave closed his eyes to block out the upcoming nightmare. He had two hours to devise a plan that would keep him from getting killed while being detained. He had a lover to find.

One step at a time.

His thoughts drifted.What had happened?

That question played over and over in his mind. One minute, Kain had left the ship. The next, the Alliance had boarded the ship and arrested Rave. Two days before the ship docked, the crew had conducted an inventory and those government boxes hadn’t been there. The Alliance had shown up, and suddenly, there the boxes had sat, pretty as you please. Something wasn’t adding up.

Rave didn’t do suspicion. He placed his faith in all his crew and expected their trust in return. Kain had never given him a reason not to trust him. Hell, Rave loved the man. He couldn’t love a traitor, could he? Focus, Damn it! Worry about now.

The force of take off glued him to the seat. He swallowed then bit his lip. He wasn’t prepared, not really. All the training in the world couldn’t prepare a person for a prison colony—an open world full of the worst criminals in the universe. He couldn’t figure out why the Alliance wanted to send him to a high security planet. He should have been shipped off to one of the minimum security colonies.

When the flight smoothed out, Rave forced himself to relax. He had to get some sleep. He wouldn’t get much on DI. Rave prayed he would wake from this nightmare, wrapped in the comfort of Kain arms, ready for their morning romp.

Kain, where are you?

Excerpt From: Salvation

“What the fuck?” Rock stumbled as the ship shuddered. He looked up as Sela ran onto the bridge. “Hold on to something. A ship just exploded in our path.” He focussed on steering the Salvation out of the flames but something caught his eye. “Se, there’s an emergency pod! See if you can find their frequency and hail them,” Rock said over his shoulder, fully expecting her to jump to it. She was efficient that way. He scanned the area to see if there were any other emergency crafts, but didn’t see any other pods in the aftermath of the explosion.

“I’m supposed to be on vacation. I didn’t sign up for this,” Se grumbled.

“You didn’t have to come, you know.” It came out more harshly than he’d intended, but they were in crisis mode right now.

“Rave wouldn’t have forgiven me if I’d let you go on a gun run on your own,” she said clearly, then he thought he heard her mumble, “Stupid libido.”

“I’ve been doing this solo for a while. I don’t need my hand held by Rave and your cousin. Or you for that matter. Shit. Someone’s shooting at the pod. You get a frequency yet?” Rock threw back at her.

“I’m going as fast as I can.”

“Go faster,” he snapped. He wasn’t irritated with her but he needed to get to the pilot of that pod. He’d apologise later. Maybe.

“Damn it, Rock. If you don’t like my speed, do it yourself.”

“Stop arguing with me. I’d like to find out why my gun sale went south.” He didn’t understand her need to fight him at every turn. Most days it was a turn-on, but this wasn’t the time or the place for his cock to take charge.

“What are you talking about?” Se sounded peevish.

“That ship was my contact. Maybe whoever escaped in the pod has the answers I need.”

“Put more pressure on me, why don’t you?” Se said under her breath.

“Se!” He was about to lose what little sanity he had left. Didn’t she know that?

“It isn’t the fate of the world. It’s one gun sale.” Se sighed, pushing her hair out of her face.

“Those guns were going to a planet being overrun with marauders. The inhabitants need to protect themselves or they’ll be enslaved. So, yeah, the fate of someone’s world could be at stake. We need that pod.” They were going to have to do something about the sexual tension between them soon because he couldn’t take the fighting anymore. He’d rather be fucking. And now wasn’t the time. Damn.

“Stop it with the bleeding heart stuff. I’ve got them,” Se mumbled almost to herself.

“I’m the bleeding heart?” That made him smile. He’d never been known for his sympathy. Not that he wasn’t sympathetic, but money was a bigger motivator.

Se laughed. “Just talk to the pod. You’re keyed in.”

And just like that, his sanity was back. They really did work well together.

“Emergency pod, this is the captain of the Salvation. Do you need assistance?”

There was no response. Fuck. That couldn’t be good.

“Are you sure this is right?” He looked over at Se.

“Yes. They probably don’t know if we are friend or foe. They did just come off an exploding ship and who knows who’s there or what shape they’re in.” Se shrugged.

“This is the captain of the Salvation. We will shelter you. Please acknowledge,” Rock tried again, realising that Se was correct—anyone could be in there and only a handful of people had known he was meeting up with the ship.

“How do you use this thing? Hello? Hello?” A masculine voice floated over the airwaves.

Rock bit back a shout of relief. “I hear you. Do you need us to bring you in?”

On screen, another shot hit the pod. Rock couldn’t look away—it was like a bad vid streaming in 3D, and he had front row seats.

“Rock, you need to get that ship in here or it’s going to fall apart.” Se’s worry coloured her voice.

“Emergency pod, we’ve got a lock on you. Don’t touch anything. We’re bringing you in.” Rock manipulated the controls and the pod slowly inched its way towards the Salvation.

Come on, come on.

It was taking forever. Or seemed to be. He needed to upgrade his fucking equipment.

Excerpt From: Almost Home

The kiss caught her off guard.

One moment Suzanne was standing in the doorway to Helena’s den, scanning the occupants and wondering if she knew anyone at all at this party. The next moment someone twirled her around and fastened a pair of firm lips on hers. Out of instinct or habit, she closed her eyes. The darkness heightened her other senses. Powerful arms circled her body and pulled her against a fuzzy male chest. Her partner’s scent rose around her, a complex mix of soap and musk, evergreen and wood smoke. His tongue teased the seam where her lips met and she let him enter, her self-protective reflexes dulled by his warmth and the glass of merlot she’d downed on her arrival. His mouth tasted of eggnog and candy canes, appropriately seasonal. He was delicious, in fact—not just his mouth but the quiet confidence of his probing tongue, the sculpted muscle she felt under his sweater, his bold hands wandering across her back to her buttocks. She hadn’t enjoyed a kiss like this in a long time.

She’d felt chilled and tense ever since her plane touched down in frigid Boston but now her muscles began to unknot. He was a miniature sun, melting her, turning her languid and dreamy. She clutched at his solid form and returned his kiss, trading heat for heat. Tropical colours paraded behind her eyelids—fuschia, lime, peach, and aqua—shimmering like the water in her pool back home. She even began to perspire, her long-sleeved velvet dress suddenly too warm for comfort.

He pulled her full hips against his lean ones. A tell-tale lump, wonderfully hard, pressed against her belly. Her panties and tights dampened, too.

Normally she would have resisted but stress and alcohol made her susceptible. She allowed the kiss to lengthen and deepen, sinking into the pure pleasure of it.

A smattering of applause brought her back to awareness. “Whoa there!” hooted one of the guests. “You two want some privacy?” Suzanne broke away from the man who had ambushed her. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” Embarrassment added a sharp edge to her voice.

Excerpt From: Aloha Kaua

Michaela Donovan had just finished the best Screaming Orgasm of her life. Several of them, in fact, and each had been the perfect mix of vodka and Kahlua. Now, she feared the alcohol was getting to her. She glanced around the dimly lit bar, much darker than it ought to be, considering her watch indicated it was barely late afternoon. The windows were covered with blinds, but through the slats she could see how bright it was outside. Not a surprise. She’d only been there two days, but, thus far, Hawaii had proven to be a sunny, cheery place.

Everywhere except right here. She looked around again. The bar was deserted except for a couple who really needed to take the lift upstairs to their hotel room. Michaela wasn’t sure if the man’s tongue was all the way down the woman’s throat, but it had to be close. His right hand caressed her breast through a sheer, gauze shirt, and both of them seemed oblivious to everyone else in the world. They were a cute couple, both blond enough so it was easy to tell they weren’t native. She’d tried not to stare while nursing her last drink, but it was somewhat like a train wreck. No one wants to look, but it’s hard not to.

The only other person in the room was a middle-aged, black-haired bartender who’d been friendly but not too chatty with Michaela. She’d liked him better before she’d noticed him ogling the couple who couldn’t keep their hands off one another. He obviously enjoyed looking and wasn’t trying to hide the fact. No wonder he hasn’t asked them to leave. He’s getting off on the show.

When his hand slipped underneath the short apron he wore, Michaela shoved away from the bar. That, I don’t need to see. She wished she’d never noticed the man and woman. Their public display only made her hornier than she already was. After tossing some cash on the table, Michaela clutched her small, white handbag and stumbled towards the exit. She spotted a ladies’ room off to the side and changed her mind, slipping inside.

Excerpt From: Always Christmas in Lincoln

I have to walk past Ho, Ho, Ho! every day and I don’t understand it. It’s the middle of July and the window is filled with Christmas trees, tinsel and snow. It’s been like that since last Christmas and will be like that next Christmas and it won’t change much in between. Funny thing is that tourists and locals alike flock to that place all year round.

They’ll laugh when they go past, maybe even exclaim their shock, but moments later they’ll be in there and, nine times out of ten, they’ll exit with a holly-patterned bag in hand. I’ve never been in. I hate Christmas at Christmas time and I sure as hell don’t want to be reminded of its existence every damn day, but to get to my quirky vintage boutique I have to walk past the place. I find it depressing.

Most people accept it because the shop used to be empty and an empty shop in Lincoln is not to be tolerated. It looked scruffy and locals did not like that one bit. I don’t count myself a local, though. I only moved into the area a year ago, from the far less glamorous Wirral. All right, so I come from Birkenhead, but thankfully I don’t have that Scouse screech - my parents brought me up a whole lot posher than that. In their world, we lived in Cheshire - after all, that’s what the postcode indicated.

I’d visited Lincoln with my mum on one of those weekend coach trips. I’d treated her for her sixtieth birthday and I’d fallen in love with the place. The cathedral is dramatic and dominant, as is the castle, and everything in between is so quaint and ‘olde worlde’. The high street is less picturesque, but I avoid going down that end of the hill as much as I possibly can.

Yes - there is no escaping the hill, I’m afraid, and many people huff and puff and come to a stop outside my window on Steep Hill, pretending to be interested in my stock when really they just want a breather before they take on the rest of the slope. I find that it works out very well for me, since many of these people actually come in and purchase something once they’ve got their breath back.

I love the range of people I meet in my little boutique. It never ceases to amaze me how many people from all over the world I have buying things in my shop on a weekly basis. I can virtually guarantee I’ll see a German, an American, someone who’s Chinese and a Scottish person every week - close to every day, in fact. Lincoln is a massively popular tourist destination.

As I opened up on that bright, sunny morning, I smiled. I loved my job. I sourced clothing from all over the country, along with jewellery and knick-knacks with a vintage feel. I get to pick and choose things I like and fill my shop with them. I don’t sell a thing that I don’t love and that makes for one very happy shopkeeper, I can tell you.

I say shop like it’s something impressive but it’s not a particularly huge one. The building is pretty ancient - not quite as old as some of the other buildings along this cobbled street, but still old enough to have been around when Shakespeare was bigger than X Factor. I felt the age of the place like a comforting blanket the first time I came to visit. I knew I wanted it the moment I walked in the door and, although small, it’s perfectly formed for what I need.

I’m lucky - my parents gave me capital to set up my business. However, I pay them back a significant sum each month and so I have to work hard to ensure I make enough money to pay them and keep a roof over my own head - which, believe me, is hard work.

I set about sorting out my stock and putting a float into my till and all the other daily routines I do.

I like routine. I like everything to happen just so and at the right time. I’m not a fan of surprises; I’m not terribly impulsive. All of which probably explains why I haven’t been on a date in more years than I care to remember, and why I was lonely. I was. I was mostly happy on my own. I could do what I wanted, how I wanted and when I wanted, but some nights I did just long for somebody to snuggle up to. Someone to share my dreams with.

Excerpt From: Always the Quiet Ones

"So I’ll see you guys later in the week?"

Nicola shrugged on her jacket, looking from one of her closest friends to the other. Dana smiled and nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. Lee gave her the barest of nods, stoic as always, then sneaked a stray fry from Dana’s plate while she wasn’t looking.

Nic laughed. "Okay, I better get back to the office. I’ll catch you guys later."

Dana watched Nicola go, eyes drawn irresistibly to her swaying hips. A sharp slap on her hand brought her attention back to her remaining companion. "Lee! What was that for?"

"Checking out Nic." It wasn’t as though either of them was dating her, but Lee had always been protective of the impish girl he’d gone through school with. Without waiting for Dana’s reply, he reached for the cheque the waitress had left on their table. Conversation over.

Only that had never worked with Dana.

"I’ve seen you doing the same thing, lots of times," she protested, pulling cash from her purse.

Lee fixed her with one of his patented stares, but she was undeterred. "Not to mention the way you look at me..."

"Your point, Dana?" he asked, snapping out the syllables of her name. Surely by this point he knew exactly what was going through her mind and was just treading carefully in case he was wrong.

Nicola was the connection between them; she and Dana used to work at the same company, and Lee and Nicola had known each other since they were at high school. Dana wasn’t sure whether Lee liked her as a person, or whether he just tolerated her because of Nic, but she knew one thing—he wanted her. Wanted them both.

And what girl wouldn’t want Lee? Dana knew Nicola had for a while, but refused to act on it out of fear of damaging their friendship. And Dana herself? Well...she wouldn’t say no. To either of them.

She had to get the two of them together somehow—she was sick of being piggy-in-the-middle, watching them shoot longing glances at each other when they thought no one was looking. The trouble was, she wasn’t sure exactly how to go about it.

Feeling reckless, she said, "I just wanna know if you’re thinking what I’m thinking."

Excerpt From: Of Crimson and Collars

Ben awoke to soft lips kissing their way down his chest, and he opened his eyes, growling.

Katie smiled and moved lower, licking him. �Um�good you�re awake,� she whispered and kissed the tip of his now turgid cock.

�So it would seem,� he rasped groggily, narrowing his eyes at her. �Why aren�t you in your box?�

She pouted. �You didn�t tell me to leave last night, lover. I thought I would surprise you,� she said as she licked a slow line up his shaft. �You like when I use my mouth on you, so I am.�

�So you are, pet.� He smirked down at her, all traces of sleep fading fast. He stroked over her soft hair. Kate was a perky little blonde thing, but she would need to learn her place soon. Human pets often did. The only thing Ben hated more than pawing was being woken up. It was his own fault for not putting her back in her box, which was more of a small room, when he�d finished playing with her the night before. It wasn�t a mistake he�d make again or one that he�d readily admit to making. She�d have to be punished for this, a task that, with her hot mouth working him so sweetly, he was more than ready to take on.

She smiled again and slipped down his shaft completely then came back up slowly, sucking sweetly but firmly on him. She pulled off his cock with a pop and licked her lips. �Does this please you, my darling?�

�Less talking, more sucking,� he growled, pushing her mouth back down his turgid cock.

She set to work, moaning and humming as she palmed his sac. She was enjoying herself, luxuriating in the feel of him in her mouth.

�This is about me, not you,� he instructed, pinching her nose with one hand. The other drove her head further down his shaft. �I told you there were rules,� he drawled lazily. He pumped himself deep into the back of her throat, enjoying the suction every airless gasp for breath that she made. �Countless ones. You dare wake me then make it up to me by giving lazy head?� He shook his head, disgusted, ripping her off him and pushing her further back on the bed. �On your knees.�

She shivered and nodded, doing as he asked, and licked her lips. On all fours, she knew better then to make him give her more direction. She lowered her shoulders to the bed and put her ass higher in the air and let her legs part ever so slightly. Her pussy glistened with her ever-growing juices, waiting for him.

�I don�t make you stay here, you know,� he told her, moving up behind her and stroking over her soft fleshy ass. �You can leave any time you want.� He waited to hear her response.

�I�I don�t want to. I need you�� she moaned and wiggled her rump at his attentions. �You�you�re everything.�

�Of course, I am, but there are rules to follow if you want to stay with me. I�ve already explained them to you, and I hate repeating myself.� He knew she wouldn�t leave, she couldn�t, and they never did. One taste of him, and women couldn�t refuse him, some trick of genetics nobody quite understood.

His mother had been a Strigo, a royal, time demon. Ben had inherited all her time abilities. As for his father, well, that was another story. Since his mother had abandoned him on the court steps, no one was really sure what he was. Neither mother nor father was around to answer any questions that he might have had, and Ben did have them, a lot of them.

�Forgive me. I�m sorry, my darling. Please�please, don�t send me away. I will fade without you.�

�I�m not going to do that just yet,� he warned, not dismissing the idea right away. New pets were always a chore. �But you�ll have to prove to me that you want to be in my bed, pet. Tell me, what do you think would be a fitting punishment?�

�Anything you wish to bestow on me, my darling. Anything,� she panted and shuddered. �Only, don�t turn me away.�

�I�m not your darling, I�m your Master, and I want you to come up with a fitting punishment, or I�ll leave you on your own for two weeks to think one up.�

She whimpered and shook her head. �Please�� She frowned. �Deny me release? Or the use of those stunning tricks you pull with me,� she offered and bit her bottom lip, looking over her shoulder at him with pain-filled eyes.

�Very well,� he nodded, pleased with her answer. �Don�t you dare come, or I promise you, you�ll be out.� He moved up behind her, slapping her ass hard and leaving a red imprint.

She gasped and nodded, closing her eyes, but before she did, he spied a small look of relief in them. �Anything, Master. I shall endeavour to obey you in all things. Your pleasure is my own.�

�A much better attitude.� He smiled proudly, stepping up behind her. �Now, be a good girl, and don�t disappoint me.� He took his cock, guiding it into her slick heat.

She shivered as she always did as he entered her and gasped as he reached the hilt of his body and hers. She moved slowly, knowing how he liked to play, rolling her hips to give him room to manoeuvre.

Excerpt From: To Collar and Keep

Harlequin Donahue�s desk was strewn with textbooks, legal pads and highlighters, and he sneered at it. His father, Boris Donahue, clan leader of the Rummer Satyr house, barked into the phone as he kept it away from his ear. He might be a Satyr, but his hearing was as precious to him as any normal person.

�Harlequin, you will be at the Olanis gathering early. The Grecian contingent is coming three days before and you must be present, no exceptions.�

He winced at the mention of his full name, rolled his eyes and sighed. While it wasn�t a problem for him to meet his future female, he did have other responsibilities he had to tend to. As a Rummer prince, he was charged with becoming a leading force in the scientific community, as all the rest of the clan elders before him. His area of expertise was physics, and while still young compared to most getting their doctorate, Harley was driven by the need to be the best and most powerful Satyr of the Rummer clan. That meant taking over the scientific department of Rummer International, his clan�s defence and aerospace firm, something he was more than prepared to do. Granted he got his degree. The fact that the Olanis celebrations were less than two weeks away and his finals were this week, the stress was unbelievable. Throw on top of that, meeting his intended, and he was stressed, pent up and pissed off. Who had time to fuck when they were trying to create the perfect future?

�Father, there isn�t a shot in hell of me not making the celebrations, let alone getting there late. But I do have a few things I need to close out before I get there, and I do have finals.�

�You�re a Satyr!� his father bellowed. �Do what you do best, fuck the grades outta them and get your ass there.�

�Would that it were possible, but even I have standards, and I�m not getting bound to any one of those buzzards, not to mention two of my professors are guys.� At his words Karina, his flavour of the year, sauntered in nude and came to kneel at his feet, smiling up at him.

She was beautiful, and very comely, but she wasn�t special enough to truly be a Satyr prince�s property. Lower Satyr maybe. Sure, she was tall with russet coloured hair, big hazel eyes, a perfect body and breasts, a mouth and lips made for sucking cock, not a mark on her latte coloured skin and a mind to rival half of the world�s Nobel Prize winners, but she wasn�t Beloved material for a prince such as he. No, Harley, like those before him, would have a Beloved, and wouldn�t settle for less than royalty. Which was probably why he agreed to the match with Arabella.

There was a possibility that he would bring Karina with him to the gathering, and pass her off to the congregation the first night of the celebrations. She would enjoy it, she was fully integrated as a pet, and he had cultivated her over the year just as an experiment. It wasn�t that he needed to, but the fact that he could was his driving force.

It wouldn�t be the first time a prince brought a living present for someone to master. He petted her hair and nodded, needing the distraction, and she quickly opened his pants and set to work sucking sweetly on his cock. She was good, and this was the limit on what he was allowing himself. He had no time to engage in his normal menu of carnal desires, so this would have to do. It was a damn good thing she sucked cock like a pro. He sighed and affected his bored expression, careful not to give her any form of praise, and turned his attention back to his father, who was still raving about his prior commitments.

�Harlequin, I don�t care what you have to do, get your ass to New York in five days� time!�

�Can do, Father. Where are we meeting?�

His father sighed. �Olanis this year is not at Belvedere Castle. After the summit and the issues that came up once Esben and Minerva left, Milton decided we would use Site B, so you will escort the contingent to New Paltz, New York, to Mohonk Mountain House. Arturo and his people will be meeting you at the Waldorf Astoria on Saturday afternoon, and you will be gracious and accommodating. Everything has been set up by way of transportation, just get them from the city to the hotel upstate so you can claim your place.�

Harley was rather aware of the bullshit that had transpired months before during the convergence summit with Esben and his Beloved, Minerva. He had heard Esben rail and complain about his now father-in-law�s arrogance for quite a while.

Milton was a jerk, and Esben had been plotting against the old codger ever since he and Minerva had left the summit early. Esben really hated Milton, mostly for his assumptions and arrogance, which was amusing considering Esben�s own monster ego. No doubt word had gotten out to the European Satyrs, and they smelled dissention within the American clans, especially with the Olanis celebrations pushed to the spring months, and Harley knew his father did not want the alliance he and Arturo had been cultivating for the better part of twenty-five years compromised by Milton�s nefarious plans.

�Understood. Now if you don�t mind, I have something here that requires my attention.�

�Better be someone and not something, Harlequin,� Boris growled with frustration. He always thought Harley spent more time between the pages of a book than between the legs of a willing woman.

His father hung up, and Harley closed his eyes enjoying the soft suction from his pet servicing him. Yes, he thought. Her talents shouldn�t go to waste. She will have to come with me.

This was going to be tight. If he timed it just right, he would be able to finish his last exam and get him and Karina on the family jet before Friday. He was going to make it by the skin of his teeth, but nothing worth it was easy.

Excerpt From: Amuse Me

Wilmington, North Carolina

I sat at my computer stuck in a writing rut and listening to the Eagles on my iPod. My boyfriend had left me at the same time I was due to turn in my latest erotic romance to my editor—and I had nothing.

I massaged my temples hoping something would strike a chord in my brain. A mere spark of an idea that would be fun to write, fun to read and leaving my fans breathless and begging for more. The more I thought about it, the harder it was to convert my thoughts to the blank computer screen.

The blinking curser mocked me as I stared at the white page. Dammit, Rich may have fucked my life up but he wasn’t going to take a way my passion for writing. I wouldn’t let him, no matter what it cost.

In high school, young love blooms like tulips in the spring—sometimes developing into loving, lasting relationships and sometimes setting one up for heartache. Rich, I thought, would be the loving lasting relationship kind of guy but, boy, was I wrong. We’d dated throughout high school and college. I’d heard sex changed the relationship, but I was stupid and naive. Rich was a sexual being and aroused feelings within me no other man had. If only those feelings had been mutual.

I’m twenty-five years old and it took me seven years to discover the man I’d thought I loved—the mushy, gushy kind of love—had cheated on me. Not once or twice—no that was too easy. He’d fucked every girl he’d come in contact with.

For six months he’d been out of my life, yet he still haunted my dreams. I’d found out two days ago, from my best friend, that his latest conquest was having his baby. The more I thought about it, the more I hated him. I wanted payback. I needed it for some weird reason.

I started typing, letting my anger fuel the words on paper, my fingers flying across the keyboard as my thoughts sputtered from my brain. For once in my life,

I was taking all the writing advice I’d thought was crap and putting it to good use. I wrote what I knew.

I made my real life story an act of fiction.

A few hours later I’d plotted, planned and brainstormed about all the events I’d experienced and a few from my imagination as well. I had a five-page plan of events, a storyline and the perfect ending. Funny, how something so obvious was hidden right under my nose.

My side of the story mixed with a little imagination would be my vengeance. After all, paybacks always were hell…

Excerpt From: Anarchy in Blood

Aaron Baker stood on the South Lawn, hands clasped in front of him. “Come on Dudley, do your business so I can get back to the game.”

The white poodle/Maltese mix, didn’t seem to be in any hurry to relieve himself. Aaron glanced at his watch. Halftime had to be over by now. “I’ll give you some of my pizza crust if you just hurry up.”

Dudley glanced up at Aaron. If he didn’t know better, Aaron would swear the dog was telling him to fuck off. Of all the odd jobs he had as President Richard Douglas’ personal aide, this was the one he hated the most. It wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs, hell, he’d had two growing up, but Dudley wasn’t your average dog.

Nope, Dudley was the Mata Hari of dogs. In the President’s presence, Dudley was cute and cuddly, but Aaron knew the five pound ball of white hair was far from innocent.

“Pee or I’ll make Rick see the importance of having you neutered,” he growled.

Dudley didn’t even acknowledge the threat, intent on sniffing a patch of grass. How could a man’s man like President Douglas own such a pain in the ass dog? Aaron was moments away from picking Dudley up and taking him back inside when, low and behold, the dog finally peed.

“Shake it off. I don’t want your dribbles on the front of my shirt.” Aaron chuckled when a secret serviceman glanced at him like he was crazy. Yeah, he probably was. It wasn’t often you saw a man standing on the White House lawn arguing with a pooch.

Aaron did his normal scramble to catch Dudley and lift him into his arms. “My favourite time of the week, and I’ve missed half of it because of you,” he scolded Dudley as they entered the west wing.

As soon as they were inside, Aaron set the dog down, not surprised when Dudley shot in front of him towards the President’s study. He followed the dog like the obedient aide he was. He could hear the roar of the crowd coming from the television set before he even entered the room.

“What did I miss?” he asked, resuming his spot on the navy sofa.

“Packers fumbled. The Skins may just have a chance to pull this one off,” Rick Douglas announced, getting Dudley resettled in his lap.

Aaron took off his shoes and rested his feet on the footstool. “Maybe they’ll show a replay.”

“Sorry, already did.”

“Damn.” Aaron smiled as he picked up the bowl of popcorn beside him. If anyone had told him a few years earlier that he’d feel completely comfortable hanging out with the President of the United States, he would’ve told them they were crazy.

He glanced over at the handsome man. It was hard for him to think of Rick as anything other than a family friend, mentor and father figure. Aaron had first met the charismatic politician when he was barely five. He remembered Rick dropping by on special occasions, but Aaron didn’t really get to know him until he’d turned seventeen. Aaron needed a few volunteer activities to add to his college application. He had no idea that he would become completely enraptured with the Pennsylvanian state representative running for a national senate seat.

After his senate win, Richard Douglas had kept in close contact with Aaron, even asking him to intern during the summers. For a college student majoring in political science, it had been a dream come true. His mother’s family had wealth and clout but nothing compared to Rick’s family. Aaron enjoyed spending time with Rick, as he’d insisted Aaron address him.

Their relationship continued to grow, Rick eventually taking Aaron into his confidence one night while they were working late on the presidential campaign. “Have you talked to Cameron lately?”

Rick automatically glanced around to make sure no one else was within earshot. He grinned and pressed his finger to his lips. “Last night. I snuck out after Larissa retired for the evening. I had to use the passageway to get around the Secret Service, but it was worth it.”

Aaron shook his finger at his boss. “I know you don’t want anyone to know, but you’re not just a senator anymore. If the Secret Service finds out you’ve been using those tunnels, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Rick winked. “That’s why they can never find out.”

Excerpt From: Anarchy in Blood

Aaron Baker stood on the South Lawn, hands clasped in front of him. “Come on Dudley, do your business so I can get back to the game.”

The white poodle/Maltese mix, didn’t seem to be in any hurry to relieve himself. Aaron glanced at his watch. Halftime had to be over by now. “I’ll give you some of my pizza crust if you just hurry up.”

Dudley glanced up at Aaron. If he didn’t know better, Aaron would swear the dog was telling him to fuck off. Of all the odd jobs he had as President Richard Douglas’ personal aide, this was the one he hated the most. It wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs, hell, he’d had two growing up, but Dudley wasn’t your average dog.

Nope, Dudley was the Mata Hari of dogs. In the President’s presence, Dudley was cute and cuddly, but Aaron knew the five pound ball of white hair was far from innocent.

“Pee or I’ll make Rick see the importance of having you neutered,” he growled.

Dudley didn’t even acknowledge the threat, intent on sniffing a patch of grass. How could a man’s man like President Douglas own such a pain in the ass dog? Aaron was moments away from picking Dudley up and taking him back inside when, low and behold, the dog finally peed.

“Shake it off. I don’t want your dribbles on the front of my shirt.” Aaron chuckled when a secret serviceman glanced at him like he was crazy. Yeah, he probably was. It wasn’t often you saw a man standing on the White House lawn arguing with a pooch.

Aaron did his normal scramble to catch Dudley and lift him into his arms. “My favourite time of the week, and I’ve missed half of it because of you,” he scolded Dudley as they entered the west wing.

As soon as they were inside, Aaron set the dog down, not surprised when Dudley shot in front of him towards the President’s study. He followed the dog like the obedient aide he was. He could hear the roar of the crowd coming from the television set before he even entered the room.

“What did I miss?” he asked, resuming his spot on the navy sofa.

“Packers fumbled. The Skins may just have a chance to pull this one off,” Rick Douglas announced, getting Dudley resettled in his lap.

Aaron took off his shoes and rested his feet on the footstool. “Maybe they’ll show a replay.”

“Sorry, already did.”

“Damn.” Aaron smiled as he picked up the bowl of popcorn beside him. If anyone had told him a few years earlier that he’d feel completely comfortable hanging out with the President of the United States, he would’ve told them they were crazy.

He glanced over at the handsome man. It was hard for him to think of Rick as anything other than a family friend, mentor and father figure. Aaron had first met the charismatic politician when he was barely five. He remembered Rick dropping by on special occasions, but Aaron didn’t really get to know him until he’d turned seventeen. Aaron needed a few volunteer activities to add to his college application. He had no idea that he would become completely enraptured with the Pennsylvanian state representative running for a national senate seat.

After his senate win, Richard Douglas had kept in close contact with Aaron, even asking him to intern during the summers. For a college student majoring in political science, it had been a dream come true. His mother’s family had wealth and clout but nothing compared to Rick’s family. Aaron enjoyed spending time with Rick, as he’d insisted Aaron address him.

Their relationship continued to grow, Rick eventually taking Aaron into his confidence one night while they were working late on the presidential campaign. “Have you talked to Cameron lately?”

Rick automatically glanced around to make sure no one else was within earshot. He grinned and pressed his finger to his lips. “Last night. I snuck out after Larissa retired for the evening. I had to use the passageway to get around the Secret Service, but it was worth it.”

Aaron shook his finger at his boss. “I know you don’t want anyone to know, but you’re not just a senator anymore. If the Secret Service finds out you’ve been using those tunnels, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Rick winked. “That’s why they can never find out.”

Excerpt From: Animal Instincts

The white wolf ran as fast as she could, lungs burning with the effort, legs stretching out as far as they could. Thank god she was in wolf form, not human, but that brought other problems. She thought she’d scoped out the new territory thoroughly enough, but then she’d run into some other creatures when she was in wolf form who told her a horror story that made her blood freeze.

Trapped and captured, they told her. Their friends disappearing. Rumours of a big preserve on a ranch, land big enough to hide it all. Where the trapped animals were hunted and killed. Sometimes maimed first, then released to be hunted again.

Stay away, they’d told her.

Her brother, John, as usual, had been too curious. Now he’d been gone for two days, and she feared the absolute worst. She needed help, but where was she going to get it? She’d been so sure she’d find the peace she longed for in Texas. And she’d heard about a group of shifters trying to reform a pack. Now she needed to connect with them more than ever.

But her first priority was staying alive.

She heard the voices coming close punctuated by drunken laughter, and the increased thunder of hoof beats as she finally reached the huge oak tree where she’d left her clothes. Praying she had enough time, she paused, forced herself to shift, and scrambled up into the tree. She clung to the thick branch, naked and shivering, while the men passed beneath her. When she was sure it was safe, and movement couldn’t be detected, she pulled her clothes back on. But it was nearly dawn before she had the courage to climb down from the tree and stealthily make her way back to her campsite.

* * * *

Drew Noland sat on his back porch cradling a cold beer in his hands, watching the first edge of night creep over the Texas Hill Country. He loved this area of South Central Texas, the mixture of rolling pasture land with tree-dotted hills, copses of trees here and there in the vast areas of emptiness where civilisation had only bumped the edges. Ranch country. Cattle, goats, sheep, all being raised in what Drew considered the closest thing to heaven on earth. He drew in a deep breath, inhaling the mingled scents of nature that never failed to stir his senses.

He’d bought his small ranch ten years ago when he landed in the Hill Country and decided it was a safe place to stay. Running about a thousand head of cattle, he made enough to keep the ranch in the black, needing only a minimum of hands to help and still have time for his work with The Sentinels.

Now he was doing one of his favourite things—watching night lower its blanket over the countryside and the first appearance of the stars in the velvet sky. It gave him a feeling of peace he hadn’t known until he came here, peace that had been stolen from him, just like it had from his partners. A sliver of moon drifted into the sky. He heard the soft whinnying of horses in the barn, broken now and then by the distant wail of a coyote.

He’d heard other ranchers discussing the increasing presence of the predator, said there’d never been this many coyotes here before. But what bothered Drew was the talk in the feed store and the diner of the chance spying of other animals not indigenous to the area. Someone even mentioned wolves, which made Drew’s guts tie up in a knot. He knew there were no wolves around here except for himself, when he wasn’t in human form.

He knew what madness even the whisper of a wolf could do in a community, and a tiny thread of fear unravelled inside him. A human pack was far more dangerous than any group of animals. It was how his pack had been destroyed. How he, himself, had nearly been killed, hiding in the woods in the northern state where they’d lived, woods that he was so familiar with—shifting to his human shape during the day to avoid detection. Men determined to kill wolves at all costs were like rabid dogs, crazed and maniacal.

Few members of his pack had survived, and they’d scattered for safety. Some hand of fate must have led them all to Texas, where he ran into the Spencer brothers working at the Houston Stock Show. The three of them had managed to find the other five remaining members, all gravitating to a small town outside San Antonio.

Excerpt From: Another Cougar in Town

Renee Gafford tapped on the front door of her girlfriend’s house and sighed nervously. Whatever plans Jessie had cooked up would probably crash, knowing Renee’s recent luck, but it was the thought that counted. Besides, a few icy margaritas sounded pretty good.

She shoved a mint in her mouth. The porch light flashed her reflection on the glass storm door. She checked her perm for any strays, too much flatness, too much poofiness or foreign objects. Just a little on the flat side thanks to the Pensacola humidity, Renee’s hair needed fluffing. She also hung her sandy bangs over her left eye. She did look pretty damn good. Surely some guy out there would at least ogle her. In case that didn’t do the trick, she also adjusted her girls. Not many men could resist a peek at her cleavage, ready to burst out of the low-cut dress. At least until their eyes roved off to some stick-figure blonde.

The door creaked open and Jessie Valencia charged out to her and attacked with a larger than life hug. “Oh…I’ve missed you so much, girl!”

Jessie’s dark curls itched Renee’s nose as they embraced. Blowing them off of her cheek, Renee said, “It’s great to see you, too.”

“Get in here. We’ve got to get this party started.” Jessie locked fingers with her and tugged her through the entryway. Their high heels clicked across the tile. “What are you drinking?”

Renee failed to remember if Jessie could mix a good margarita. If the tequila overpowered the orange liqueur, it resulted in just a plain old horrible drink. She didn’t typically nitpick cocktails, but the margarita, in all its complexity, deserved a caring bartender—like a hot-blooded woman deserved a passionate lover. “I’ll have some white wine if you’ve got it.”

Air conditioning swept away the clammy feeling on Renee’s skin. A Lady Gaga video played on the big-screen HDTV that dominated one wall. The low volume provided a nice rhythm and ambience to chat. A glossy bar with lighted shelves greeted them as they cut around the corner into the living room. “Nice,” Renee commented, nodding with pronounced satisfaction.

“Thanks,” Jessie said, releasing her grasp. “When I started going out more, I thought I might like to have an appetiser in the quiet of my own place before I hit the scene. It’s been great for that and after the clubs close.” She whipped around the bar, stopped suddenly and checked out Renee from head to toe.

“You…look…so…hot.”

Excerpt From: Apollo's Choice

Apollo looked at his temple. Marble stone columns stood tall with a slight influence from Thrace architecture. He knew it was odd to mix cultures, but a party was a party. And Mother Nature shared her bounty with multiple species, right?

The mere splendour of his temple was a sight to behold. Ornate purple cloths hung on the walls, framing exquisite tapestries woven with the finest of silks. Gold adorned everything from goblets to his throne. A fountain stood in the middle of an open space. The statue of Apollo playing his lyre while surrounded by beautiful women reminded him of his love of music and sex. Many of his followers had worshipped at this temple, drinking from this very fountain. Hell, last night’s party with Dionysus had ended with an orgy of him and six beautiful women who’d had a little too much of the fountain’s gifts.

What a wonderful way to forget an affair that had gone awry.

Now, he lay across a chair, legs thrown over the sides with a drink in hand. His blond hair fell over his face, hiding his eyes and the smile he still wore from last night.

Sighing, he remembered this one buxom redhead who had offered herself completely to him. He took her in every imaginable position, let her do anything to him she wanted. They’d both come several times and still, after several hours, he wasn’t satisfied. She, of course, was out cold. Tired, being human and all.

Being the fertility god as well as god of wine had certain advantages. “Who wants to be god of war when we can drink and fuck for eternity?” Apollo laughed aloud.

He’d decided to send a message to his followers that another festival was to be held in his honour this evening. Zeus and the other gods be damned, but Apollo was really becoming accustomed to having the masses worship him. Apollo was the god of Nature, of wine. The two were related. From nature came grapes. From grapes came wine. From wine came indulgence.

He scoffed at the mere thought that Zeus had even the kindest thought for one of his sons, let alone one who actually served a purpose. It seemed that both humans and gods alike shared the problem of discarding unwanted children.

Those weren’t the worries of Apollo though. His biggest concern was trying to figure out just how many women he could fuck in one night. It didn’t matter to him who, as long as fun was had by all.

Hell, he even wondered if some of the other gods would show themselves tonight. To see Hera drunk and dancing could be a total mess, or it could be great fun. He was betting on the latter.

He knew his little redhead would be present tonight. She’d been so intoxicated from his love and wine that he sent her home with Hermes, the messenger god, just to make sure she arrived home safely.

He yawned. A nap was in order. Even the gods had to rest from time to time.

Excerpt From: Aria

Light as a whisper, the blood red fabric of the gown moulded to the curves of her breasts and hips, swirling out into a full, ankle-length skirt that brushed against her legs like a lover’s caress with every move she made. Hair the colour of obsidian, piled on top of her head and secured by a single feathered barrette, was a stark contrast to skin so pale as to be almost luminous. She lifted her eyes to meet their reflection in the mirror, grey as the sky before a storm, and dread slowly unfurled in her stomach, like a lazy snake unsure whether or not it could be bothered to strike.

“Aria.”

She turned at the sound of her name, a hitch in her breath as the snake’s forked tongue hissed a warning. “Michael.” Resentment at his presence tightened her chest; guilt turned the screw. She lowered her eyes, not quite able to meet his.

“I know you’ve been expecting me, Aria, and I know you don’t want me here.” Michael stepped out of the shadows. There was no rebuke in his voice, and his eyes—so like Aria’s own—held real regret.

“Michael…” It was a plea, an entreaty for understanding and compassion.

“It’s time to come home, Aria. I can’t go on covering for you.” His expression held the understanding she sought, but there was also resolve. Her time was running out fast.

“Has my absence been discovered?” Panic clutched at her and she laid a hand over her heart, as if to prevent it from breaking free of her chest.

Shaking his head, Michael stepped forward and laid a comforting hand on her arm. “Not yet, but you know that can’t last forever. Come with me now?”

Pain surged sharp and sudden through Aria. She turned away from her brother, arms wrapping tightly, protectively around herself. It was too soon, she wasn’t ready…

Excerpt From: Art of the Written Word

His body glistened in the blazing sun, water dripping from his dark hair onto his muscular chest. She followed the route of the droplets as they rolled down his smooth brown skin, catching the light as they navigated his defined abs. Soon, she found her gaze directed at his crotch.

“You should go in, the water’s lovely and warm.”

Looking up at the fine specimen, she felt her face colour with embarrassment, offering a tight smile as he walked past where she sat on the warm sand. Turning to watch him walk up the beach, a shiver of excitement shot up her spine as she saw him turn back to look at her, holding her gaze for several long moments.

She knew it was definitely going to be the holiday of a lifetime.

Yvonne stood at the door of her small home office, considering the young man as he in turn considered the plain, white wall. Tensely awaiting his verdict, her nails skidding across the glossy paint on the doorjamb, she almost felt the need to hold her breath.

Since his arrival, the atmosphere in the house had been different, charged with an energy she wasn’t used to.

He looked much younger than she would have imagined, and the stirring thoughts that flooded her mind left her faintly self-conscious. He couldn’t be more than twenty-five years old.

He was her gift to herself—or rather his services were—after getting her first romance novel, Holiday Pursuits, published. She had sought to hire an artist who would paint the book’s cover as a mural on the wall of her study and, after a little internet research, she’d found Garvey. A man who, as it turned out, was over six feet of wiry muscle with slim dreadlocks hanging uniformly to his shoulder blades, the black interwoven with strands of sun-bleached brown.

Though it was overcast, he had chosen to cover his fit physique with only a T-shirt and long shorts, his dark skin on display beyond the thick khaki cotton. Yet it seemed appropriate, like he had brought the sun with him.

“I could do much more,” he confessed, looking at the cover of the book she had given him. “Don’t mistake me—this a nice picture, still—but I can do better.”

She was almost mesmerised by his deep voice, to the point where she only heard snippets of what he actually said as he spoke of colours, size and originality as an argument against someone else’s work.

His blended accent didn’t know what it wanted to be, seeming to have picked up qualities from a number of different lands. The underlying West Indian lilt was unmistakable, though, reminding her of a childhood of climbing mango trees, tending to chickens and running down the lane to get a pink snow ice from Miss Marcy when her mum gave her a few cents. Her own history was unrecognisable from her clipped English tones, the result of many years of teaching English literature.

Everything he uttered came with a cool confidence, easily convincing her to agree to give him free reign. Simply being held in his gaze made her very aware of her own body, every slight feeling magnified as if she was being studied. “What do you have in mind?” she asked, overcoming her sudden shyness enough to advance into the room, relinquishing the support offered by the doorjamb.

Her loose muslin trousers, designed for comfort, seemed to become tighter with every step she took, clinging to her body as if they were shrinking. Heading for her desk, aligned with the wall across from where Garvey stood, every step seemed like a loud thud when her bare feet were in reality silent against the wood.

Simply being close to the familiar spot gave her comfort, lessening the risk of her collapsing on legs that had turned to jelly, though her temperature remained high. Even at a distance from him, she still found that his height forced her to angle her face upwards to look him in the eyes.

“Something original, that won’t age—this image gon’ look old quick. Maybe something personal to you.”

Yvonne’s brow furrowed, the nape of her neck prickling as she predicted the direction the conversation would take.

Turning to face her fully, Garvey raised the copy of her book. “I can borrow dis?”

Yvonne nodded, hiding the nerves she felt at the prospect of him judging her words.

“If you have any memorable experiences, I can recreate them in picture form.”

“Memorable experiences?”

“You know, any special occasions between you and your partner.” He raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Don’t worry, I will keep your business private.”

The warmth of faint embarrassment quickly spread up her chest and neck to reach her face. Does he actually expect me to regale him with tales from my sex life? “No, nothing like that.”

There was something knowing about his easy smile, his high cheeks lifting further and accentuating the flash in his dark eyes. “That’s all right, I can still give you a nice result.”

“I’m glad.”

Yvonne felt her body relax, leaning against the rear of her swivel chair, filled with relief at his acceptance of the commission. Impressed with every one of the paintings displayed on his website, she had set her heart upon him because he stood out from the rest. She would have been disappointed if she had been forced to choose someone else because he didn’t want to do it.

Relief turned into a faint empty sensation as a sense of finality marred the meeting.

“Garvey, can I offer you a drink?”

Excerpt From: Art of the Written Word

His body glistened in the blazing sun, water dripping from his dark hair onto his muscular chest. She followed the route of the droplets as they rolled down his smooth brown skin, catching the light as they navigated his defined abs. Soon, she found her gaze directed at his crotch.

“You should go in, the water’s lovely and warm.”

Looking up at the fine specimen, she felt her face colour with embarrassment, offering a tight smile as he walked past where she sat on the warm sand. Turning to watch him walk up the beach, a shiver of excitement shot up her spine as she saw him turn back to look at her, holding her gaze for several long moments.

She knew it was definitely going to be the holiday of a lifetime.

Yvonne stood at the door of her small home office, considering the young man as he in turn considered the plain, white wall. Tensely awaiting his verdict, her nails skidding across the glossy paint on the doorjamb, she almost felt the need to hold her breath.

Since his arrival, the atmosphere in the house had been different, charged with an energy she wasn’t used to.

He looked much younger than she would have imagined, and the stirring thoughts that flooded her mind left her faintly self-conscious. He couldn’t be more than twenty-five years old.

He was her gift to herself—or rather his services were—after getting her first romance novel, Holiday Pursuits, published. She had sought to hire an artist who would paint the book’s cover as a mural on the wall of her study and, after a little internet research, she’d found Garvey. A man who, as it turned out, was over six feet of wiry muscle with slim dreadlocks hanging uniformly to his shoulder blades, the black interwoven with strands of sun-bleached brown.

Though it was overcast, he had chosen to cover his fit physique with only a T-shirt and long shorts, his dark skin on display beyond the thick khaki cotton. Yet it seemed appropriate, like he had brought the sun with him.

“I could do much more,” he confessed, looking at the cover of the book she had given him. “Don’t mistake me—this a nice picture, still—but I can do better.”

She was almost mesmerised by his deep voice, to the point where she only heard snippets of what he actually said as he spoke of colours, size and originality as an argument against someone else’s work.

His blended accent didn’t know what it wanted to be, seeming to have picked up qualities from a number of different lands. The underlying West Indian lilt was unmistakable, though, reminding her of a childhood of climbing mango trees, tending to chickens and running down the lane to get a pink snow ice from Miss Marcy when her mum gave her a few cents. Her own history was unrecognisable from her clipped English tones, the result of many years of teaching English literature.

Everything he uttered came with a cool confidence, easily convincing her to agree to give him free reign. Simply being held in his gaze made her very aware of her own body, every slight feeling magnified as if she was being studied. “What do you have in mind?” she asked, overcoming her sudden shyness enough to advance into the room, relinquishing the support offered by the doorjamb.

Her loose muslin trousers, designed for comfort, seemed to become tighter with every step she took, clinging to her body as if they were shrinking. Heading for her desk, aligned with the wall across from where Garvey stood, every step seemed like a loud thud when her bare feet were in reality silent against the wood.

Simply being close to the familiar spot gave her comfort, lessening the risk of her collapsing on legs that had turned to jelly, though her temperature remained high. Even at a distance from him, she still found that his height forced her to angle her face upwards to look him in the eyes.

“Something original, that won’t age—this image gon’ look old quick. Maybe something personal to you.”

Yvonne’s brow furrowed, the nape of her neck prickling as she predicted the direction the conversation would take.

Turning to face her fully, Garvey raised the copy of her book. “I can borrow dis?”

Yvonne nodded, hiding the nerves she felt at the prospect of him judging her words.

“If you have any memorable experiences, I can recreate them in picture form.”

“Memorable experiences?”

“You know, any special occasions between you and your partner.” He raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Don’t worry, I will keep your business private.”

The warmth of faint embarrassment quickly spread up her chest and neck to reach her face. Does he actually expect me to regale him with tales from my sex life? “No, nothing like that.”

There was something knowing about his easy smile, his high cheeks lifting further and accentuating the flash in his dark eyes. “That’s all right, I can still give you a nice result.”

“I’m glad.”

Yvonne felt her body relax, leaning against the rear of her swivel chair, filled with relief at his acceptance of the commission. Impressed with every one of the paintings displayed on his website, she had set her heart upon him because he stood out from the rest. She would have been disappointed if she had been forced to choose someone else because he didn’t want to do it.

Relief turned into a faint empty sensation as a sense of finality marred the meeting.

“Garvey, can I offer you a drink?”

Excerpt From: Artistic Sights, Heavenly Delights

As she bashed back whipping tree branches and picked carefully through thorns Hermione wondered why she had said yes to this posh young man. She’d like to have said it was merely for Philip’s good looks and charm but she had to face up to the fact it was the money involved that had motivated her the most.

“We’re nearly there.” His upper-class accent seemed out of place in that jungle of branches and mulch. “I told you it was a bit overgrown. It’s worth it though.”

“I’m sure it is,” Hermione replied as she dragged her bags and canvas case through the dense thicket and glared at the back of his soil-brown wind cheater. She knew the reason she’d done this and was grumpy at herself for it. Money should not dictate art but if some rich guy wanted to offer her an obscene amount just to paint his portrait in a certain place—what else could she do?

However, when she’d agreed she hadn’t realised she'd be pushing her way through overgrowth as thick and thorny as that in the fabled Sleeping Beauty story. She’d thought he was talking about a neatly manicured corner of the manor's gardens. It wasn't until he headed into an enclave of shady, newly-leafed trees that she began to suspect otherwise.

Philip couldn’t be completely unaware of her worries. Every tut and gasp and long exhalation had to show her less than complete enjoyment of the day so far.

“Here we are,” Philip said as suddenly the mess of twigs gave way and an obvious clearing came to light.

“Wow.” Hermione took in the vast array of different greens and was awed by the majesty of nature. Across one side was a small pond, mingled grey and green reflected in the water. At the other end a host of bright bluebells shone between the blades of vibrant grass.

“You didn’t lie, did you?” She smiled at him.

He grinned back. “This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.” He sighed and stared into the vast yet stark blue sky.

“It’s very well hidden away, isn’t it?”

Excerpt From: As You Desire

Rafi bit back a curse as he waited for his current master, Lacey, to make her final wish. He heard her stunned gasp from her bedroom and stifled a yawn as she rushed back into the living room dressed in a denim mini-skirt and a tight pink T-shirt that clung to her breasts.

She swivelled in the mirror, admiring her new slim, stacked body. "Look at me! I haven’t had this skirt on since...well, never. I can’t believe it-I’m freaking hawt now!"

Rafi cringed as she let out another squeal of delight.

"Omigoodness...look at my butt. Do you see it?"

He didn’t bother responding as Lacey continued to gush over her new curves.

"You still have one wish left to use."

Lacey giggled with excitement, twirling like a ballerina in front of the mirror.

"It’s so hard to decide. I still can’t believe this happened to me!"

These were the moments he hated being a Djinn. He was so tired of fulfilling empty, mundane, utterly typical wishes.

C’mon, lady, I don’t have all day.

He blew out a breath, frustrated with everything. It would be so easy to help her make a decision. All he’d have to do was give her a gentle mental push and use the unique ability he’d been born with to project his thought into Lacey’s mind.

Too bad it was strictly forbidden behaviour for any Djinn capable of the gift within the Brotherhood.

Wishes were to be made freely. The reality was he actually did have all day, all month...hell, all year if that was how long Lacey decided to take to utter her last request.

Lacey glanced away from her reflection to cast a quick look at him through the mirror. "What’s the matter, gorgeous? Am I taking too long for you?"

The smile he gave her spiked the intensity of the headache thumping against his skull.

"Time is of no consequence for me."

Rafi crossed his arms, wishing Lacey lived in the tropics instead of this godforsaken frozen farmhouse located in the middle of nowhere.

"Maybe that’s it...I could wish to live forever, like you."

"Trust me-living forever isn’t as great as it sounds."

A stab of pain hit his heart and Rafi steeled himself as it travelled down the length of his body.

How long had it been since he’d allowed himself to feel that heartache?

He blinked, trying to erase images of smiling grey eyes, silky chestnut hair and-

"I can come to you later. Give you some time to make your final decision."

Excerpt From: As You Wish

She was running. Her bare feet crushed the dry, cracked earth. A branch scratched her face and knocked her off balance. She pushed her body to move faster. The unforgiving terrain tore at the soles of her feet. Blood seeped from the dozen of cuts caused by tiny sharp rocks.

He…or it was gaining on her. The gruesome, guttural panting of the creature boomed in her ears. The animal was only a few paces behind her. A taunting laugh filled the night air.

She stifled a desperate scream. Escape. She had to escape, but it was nearly impossible to see anything in the pitch-black nightscape.

Up ahead, her mother’s voice guided her towards safety.

Another hideous howl pierced the eerie silence.

She was so close. Just a few more feet…

Karis was jarred awake by her own desperate screams. She sat up, sweaty and shaking. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest. Goose bumps swept over every inch of her skin. Still shuddering, she scanned the room. She was alone, safe at home in her own bed. She glanced at her small alarm clock, dismayed to see it was two-thirty in the morning. She had only slept for a few hours.

She took several deep breaths and lifted her hand to her face. The skin still throbbed where the branch scratched her.

“It was just another nightmare,” she whispered.

With the agitated rhythm of her heartbeat still thudding in her ears, she flipped the switch of her lamp on her nightstand. Nothing was out of place. No one was hiding in the dimly lit corners of her room.

“You’re losing it, Karis,” she said, hating the quiet serenity of her bedroom. It mocked the icy cold dread wrapping around her.

Her hands trembled as she reached for a pill and her water bottle. She swallowed down a Xanax and sighed. She hated her weakness, the fear seizing her even now when she knew she was safe.

Karis swung her legs out of bed and pulled on a silk robe. She shivered as her bare feet touched the cool wood floors. She padded into the bathroom and flipped on the light. Her eyes drifted to her reflection in the mirror and she gasped.

There was a thin line of blood on her cheek! She reached for a tissue and wiped at the red streak. There was no blood on the tissue and no sign of injury on her face when she looked back in the mirror.

What the hell was going on?

She turned on the faucet and splashed water on her cheeks. With a frustrated curse, she shut the water off and roughly patted her face dry. Tears threatened to fall, but she swallowed them down. Her mother was alive somewhere. She had to be.

Her doctor was convinced the nightmares were caused by the stress of her mother’s disappearance and Karis wanted to believe in the diagnosis, but she sensed the dark dreams were something more. The nightmares were always the same, but now they were increasing in frequency and becoming more vivid. Bedtime had become a battleground. Five months of interrupted sleep and worry was beginning to take a toll on her mentally and physically.

Her mother’s old cuckoo clock chimed downstairs, reminding her of all the boxes she had in her living room since her mom’s house had foreclosed. Restless and unwilling to climb back into bed, she walked out of the bedroom and headed for the stairs leading to her living room.

She switched on the light, struggling not to succumb to the tears still filling her eyes. Everything her mom had ever cared about was now in storage or stacked on her living room floor.

One box marked Rare Finds & Books caught her eye on the coffee table. She walked across the carpet to the box, thinking about her mother who loved travelling the globe to meet other gifted people. She had acquired trinkets and artefacts she believed held some kind of magical powers along with loads of literature about magical realms and physic phenomena from all over the world.

With the box in her hands, she moved to the couch. She lifted the cardboard flaps and casually shifted through books apparently from Egypt—the last place her mother had visited before disappearing. Her fingers touched something hard and cool and she wrapped her hand around the slender neck of the object. She pulled up, surprised by the weight of the intricately painted, cylindrical-looking bottle.

Excerpt From: At Her Service

Winter, 1207.

Cumbria, The Marches, England.

The smoke from the tapers made her guests’ eyes water, and though she brushed a finger under her lashes to rid herself of one tear, Elise Dumond could still see Simon de la Poer at the back of the great hall. God preserve her, she would see him if her eyes were closed. If she were blind. Indeed, if she were dead, she would see him in hell. And, oh, would it not be sweet succour to die and know she would remain in his company forever and end this torture of being parted from him for all these endless years?

She fiddled with the stem of her goblet and drank back more red wine. Then drank again, unnerved by the sight of the man who had taken her in his arms as a youth and put his firm, hot lips to her own with sweet promises of a lifetime of love.

Who had he delighted like that these past twelve years?

Ha! She took another draught.

Who had he not ravished in his bed? In Londontown, the fabled knight Simon de la Poer was reputed to have bedded any woman of noble birth desirous of spreading her legs for him and paying him her weight in gold to compensate him for his services. Elise caught back a sob of jealousy for all those women he’d touched, for all those he had kissed and to whom he’d whispered pretty words of devotion as once he had to her.

She put forth her cup for the maid to refill. The girl scurried over, understanding her mistress was in the mood to drink. Drink myself to distraction. Drink myself to oblivion.

Unbidden, her eyes drifted towards the back of the hall, past the tiny man and the tall, dark Oriental who were Simon’s odd companions. Her gaze locked on the man she wished she did not see.

Christ in His Glory, this man was unmistakably the warrior they called Knight Divine. Simon de la Poer, who had earned his moniker attacking the Infidel in Jerusalem with his lord King Richard of England, possessed all the imposing aspects of a man with whom any woman would desire a night in heaven. He had matured to a massive build. Tall as the sconces, broad in the chest as two men, muscular in his black velvet tunic, his grey hose hugging his bulging calves, he seemed Herculean.

She wished she could tear herself away from eating him up with her eyes. Wished she could ignore his quicksilver stare that met her own. Wished she could refuse her husband’s order to offer up her immortal soul to keep what was hers here on earth. Yet she had no choice but to obey her husband and strip herself bare then lie down with her noble lord in their marriage bed tonight—and invite Simon de la Poer to join them.

Her future depended on her cooperation. Her ability to continue to live here until she died, in the grand keep with retainers and serfs to do her bidding, required it. Aye, she had ranted and raved against her husband and his plan these past two months. Still, Alphonse, earl of this estate and master at Atherton, brooked none of her objections. He had written to London, summoned Simon here to the wild, frozen north-western climes. And now tonight, she faced climbing into bed with her husband of twelve years, a randy but dying man, then giving herself to the famed knight, who once was her childhood friend fostered in her father’s castle.

Excerpt From: Attitude Adjustment

“Five hundred hours of community service and suspension of your driver’s license until it’s done.” Judge Blackbird slammed the gavel down.

“Five hundred…?” Linc protested under his breath. “I wouldn’t have gotten caught if that damned old biddy hadn’t pulled out in front of me!”

His lawyer, Harvey, tugged on his arm, trying to shut him up.

“Old biddy, huh?” The judge looked down at him from behind thick spectacles. His gaze swung to the court reporter. “The Court retracts the sentence it just gave this young man.”

Linc’s chest puffed up, feeling vindicated.

“Mr. Parrish, the older citizens of our community should be revered, not blasphemed. Your license is suspended and you now have one thousand continuous hours of community service. At the Aviary.”

He pounded the gavel. “Case closed.”

“This is a bird sanctuary?” Linc asked as his lawyer turned off the highway at Desert Springs and drove up and around the curved drive. Desert palms and a variety of flowering plants graced the front of a magnificent two-storied stucco house with tall white columns across the front. “I can hang out here for awhile. No sweat.” Harvey had explained that continuous service meant Linc had to stay there, but he had access to his cell phone and laptop, which were about all he needed to do his job.

“You just don’t get it, do you, Linc?” Harvey asked.

“Get what? I only had a couple of drinks and was driving home minding my own business. I got a ticket because some old lady pulled out in front of me. Otherwise, the cops would never have checked my breath.”

“No, I mean about being here.”

Linc shrugged. “How hard will it be to watch a bunch of birds for a month or two?”

Harvey laughed. “You’re on your own, boy.” He tossed Linc’s duffle on the ground beside the car. “Remember, no driving, and you’re stuck here for the duration.”

“No problem. I’ve got it covered.” Linc picked up the duffle, slung his laptop strap over his shoulder and sauntered up the steps. “I can handle birds; it’s that old bat who caused my problem.”

He walked into a foyer larger than his entire condo in Ventura Beach. All this for a bunch of birds? He shook his head, thinking some old lady with too much money must have left it all to her parakeet when she’d died. He didn’t really have anything against old people. After all, he had a grandpa in a retirement home nearby, but shit… Money like this could buy a good quarterback for the Forty-Niners football team.

He bent over to look at a directory that was attached to the wall only about four feet off the floor. A hand slid across his butt, lingering where his legs met his crotch. He jerked upright, whirled around and then had to glance down to find the culprit.

“Nice firm butt. Betcha got a lot of muscle under there.” A hunched-shoulder, old lady, not more than four feet tall, grinned lewdly up at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Copping a feel. Don’t tell me you didn’t like it?”

“Oh sure. Every guy likes getting felt up by some ninety-year-old lady.”

“Seventy-three, and honey if I ain’t dead, I still got working parts.” Her gaze slid over him, stopping at his crotch.

“That’s really gross.” He quickly looked around the entry, trying to figure things out. “Why is this directory so low?”

“Have you noticed the residents? They’re either short, in wheel chairs, or hunched over with age. How do you expect us to see it up at your altitude?”

“Residents?” Linc asked, a horrible suspicion making its way to the front of his brain. “I didn’t know birds could read?”

The old lady snorted. “Birds? You must have been sent over by Judge Blackbird.”

“Yeah, so?”

She laughed outright, shaking her head. “Gotta give Blackbird credit. You’re not the first youngun who didn’t know where he was going. Welcome to the Aviary.” She swept her arm in an arc to encompass the entire place. “A sanctuary for old birds and biddies, like myself.” She continued laughing as she walked toward a door in the centre of the far wall. “I’m Florence – just call me Flo -- Campbell. Come on. I’ll take you to Suni.”

Stunned, Linc followed her through the door and across a large open area awash with light from the windows on both sides. An area to one side held a television, piano and a couple of love seats and overstuffed chairs. Pink and white crepe paper streamers draped the archways and doors, and red paper hearts were taped haphazardly on the walls. Acid churned in Linc’s stomach. Birds didn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day.

Excerpt From: Away From It All

"So, is your husband treating you to this getaway?"

Staring out of the taxi’s window at the rapidly receding outskirts of Lincoln, it took Alyssa a moment to realise the driver was speaking to her.

"Only you’re my second fare out to Thornton Hall this afternoon. The first was another single lady, just like you, and she was telling me her husband’s paying for her to have a week in the spa out of his annual bonus. Deluxe suite, all the trimmings. Nice work if you can get it, eh? So I just wondered..."

"No, this is my treat to me." Alyssa’s tone wasn’t curt enough to be rude, but she hoped she’d given the driver enough of a hint that she didn’t want to discuss the subject further.

Not that she’d planned to visit the spa on her own. Originally, the intention had been to take a break with Kay, her oldest and best friend.

"We deserve this," Kay had said, as she’d flipped through the Thornton Hall brochure, with its pictures of serene women in white towelling robes lounging around the pool, or having hot stones applied to their back in one of the many treatment rooms. "I mean, you worked so hard for that promotion. It totally should’ve been yours. And what happens?"

"Don’t remind me."

After assuring Alyssa he’d recommend her for the position as head of public relations, her boss sat back and watched while the role went to her assistant, Ryan. Brash, over-confident Ryan, who only seemed to have been with the company five minutes, but knew all the right things to say—and all the right backsides to kiss. Whereas she’d kept her head down and relied on the quality of her work to speak for her, always playing strictly by the rules. And where had that got her?

"What you need is some me time, Alyssa, away from the office politics, all that bitching and backstabbing." Kay had pushed the brochure under Alyssa’s nose, pointing out the spa’s newly-opened candlelit pool. "How nice does that look?"

"Very."

It took no effort to imagine herself relaxing in that pool, basking in the idyllic atmosphere created by those flickering candle flames. No cares, no worries, her only pressing decision being whether to spend time in the steam room or the hot tub before dinner. Kay was right. It was what she needed. A few days of being pampered and indulged, and the opportunity to lick her wounds out of sight of the office gossips. Already, she was sure, the fact she’d been overlooked for promotion was being discussed round the water cooler. Why not go somewhere she couldn’t be affected by any of the pitying glances, or have to put on a smiling face for the benefit of people she really couldn’t stand?

"So should I book us in?" Without waiting for an answer, Kay had already been reaching for her phone.

Alyssa had grinned at her friend’s eagerness. "Go ahead. If nothing else, it’ll give me an excuse to buy the swimsuit I saw in that Sunday supplement. You know, the black one with the cut-outs?"

"Oh, yes. Very sexy." Kay had giggled. "Perfect for luring some hot guy into a no-strings hook-up in the hot tub. Or maybe we’ll get lucky, find a masseur who likes to leave his clients with a happy ending..."