Excerpt From: Back Home

"J, are you coming?"

Jordan Salter jumped a little and glanced up from his work, refocusing tired eyes that had been intent on minute hand work on a three-by-three post of kiln-dried walnut. He widened his eyes fractionally in the gathering evening gloom, blinking and attempting to make sense of the new focus of his concentration. The ache behind them was the icing on the cake—a by-product of the nagging headache that had tracked him all day and the need to concentrate on creating the intricate detail work that he was determined to finish. He closed his eyes briefly, gritty exhaustion in them, and he let out an almost incoherent, "Wha…?"

"You said you were going to be finishing early today."

"Wha…?" What is it with people interrupting my work?

Whoever it was in the room with him flicked on the overhead light, courtesy of the electrical work that had been completed and signed off today. Jordan winced.

"It’s past eight and you’re still here?"

Jordan blinked steadily—if it was eight o’clock then why the hell was Ben standing in the house? He should have gone home two hours ago. Come to think of it, why was Ben dressed to the nines in his Sunday jeans and a clean shirt? Jordan remembered last seeing his friend and colleague in overalls, working on wiring. Ben Craig was the only subcontractor they called on and then only in an emergency.

"You said to come back for you. To remind you about the party." Ben was clearly and deliberately speaking in words containing minimal syllables, and he spoke slowly enough that Jordan could absorb the words. Tension stiffened the older man’s stance, and his expression schooled itself into a frown. What was he supposed to remember? Suddenly, through the fatigue, the memory clicked into place. The party. Hayley’s party. She was twenty-two today, and he’d been invited to join the Addisons and associated friends at The Olive Garden for dinner.

"Shit."

"In it, big time," Ben muttered, walking across the kitchen and, almost as if he couldn’t help it, sliding the palm of his right hand over the unwaxed, still-dull brown wood that Jordan had chosen for the newel post. Fingertips barely touching the surface, Ben traced the grain and nodded. Jordan looked from the wood to Ben and back again, mind working feverishly to keep his focus on the fact that he’d promised to be at the party.

"She’ll be pretty," Jordan offered, wondering if he was coming across as defensive even as he dismissed the thought and focused on the beauty of the wood.

"She’ll polish up well," Ben agreed. "Walnut was a good choice."

"I just get…" Involved, he finished in his mind. Engrossed to the point that he felt no weariness until his attention was broken. From intricate carved details on newels to the hand-turning and intricate inlay work for chair backs, Jordan had always been mesmerised by the forms he could create. The patterns and the curves under his fingers had always been inside the wood, as far as he knew. Able to find the faintest of grains, he would sand and shape and polish, thinking of nothing except the beautiful wood beneath his touch. Once he saw the purpose of each piece of wood, and had paid attention to the shapes buried in each piece, he laid out the finished product in his head. Giving his thought to the raw potential in front of him, he focused on having the wood’s final shape match the completed mental image. He often didn’t know where to start, but when he was in the zone, when each tiny cut made the beauty of the wood show in striations of pale brown and gold, he couldn’t snap himself out of it.

Tonight wasn’t the first time over the last few months that he’d forgotten something, nor would it be the last. Jordan was tired, and he felt years older than his twenty-nine. He commonly put in eighteen-hour days. First had come the hard physical work on the larger aspects of renovation, then the labour-intensive detailed finishing woodwork on Mistral House had consumed him.

Recession had hit the construction industry hard, and he was the sole remaining staff member of Addison Construction. AC’d had no choice—people had had to be let go, and he was finishing this contract on his own, with just Ben in and out for things he couldn’t do, electrical being one of them. When Jordan was working on the final touches in a renovation, he sank into the process, the carving and staining and completing his only reality. Intensely involved and completely cut off from the rest of the world, such things as birthday parties and promises to attend them didn’t exist.

AC needed to flip Mistral House as soon as they could—the very existence of Phil Addison’s company depended on the cash flow realised from the sale of the home. Added to the stress of the need to finish, he’d had little more than three hours sleep last night, and he was into his nineteenth hour working today.

He glanced back down at the smooth wood, the texture of the newel satiny and solid beneath his fingertips, judging that he only had a quarter hour, maybe half, and this part of the detailed intricate work would be finished.

The kitchen cabinets, each custom made, were solid walnut, generations of growth in the sturdy wood. Jordan’s elaborate detailing accentuated the highlights and lustre of the wood’s deep honey tones. Jordan had created a pedestal, circular-topped kitchen table and four chairs as well, and the rails complemented the other wood in the room. The kitchen was the crowning glory of the carpentry in this house renovation and a source of great pride to Jordan.

He had, after all, done most of the work single-handedly, since Phil had become too ill to work alongside him. The kitchen was his baby, and he just needed to finish the detailing—tonight. Ben stood, waiting for an answer if his subtle shifting from foot to foot was anything to go by.

Excerpt From: Back to Hell

Luc Hellbourne jolted awake, his nightmares fading as his bedroom came into focus. The warm heat of his lover Bran snuggled up against him further calmed him down. Damn. He’d had them again! Ever since he’d escaped from hell his dreams had been a jumbled mess of odd visions. Unfortunately, he never remembered any of the details when they receded, leaving behind the unsettling belief he’d missed something important.

Carefully he separated his body from his lover’s. Luc knew from experience he’d be unable to fall back to sleep-too many mornings he’d woken up the same way.

Still groggy, he set his feet on the floor only to yank them back up when he encountered a body. Glancing over the side of the bed, he found his rescued demon Carn lying beside the bed with his bonded vampire Jerrod beside him. They were close to each other but not touching.

As if sensing Luc’s regard, Jerrod’s blue eyes blinked open. "Good morning, Master."

"Good morning, Jerrod. Is there a reason you and Carn are sleeping beside my bed?"

Bran was going to shit puppies if he awoke to people under his feet.

"You haven’t slept lately. We were hoping our presence would calm you," Carn said in a sleep-roughened voice. "In the book it says you might start to fade if you don’t get enough sleep."

"What book?"

The pair exchanged a look before Jerrod reluctantly answered, "The pack book. Nikko let us have it once you decided to live away from the vampires. He wanted to make sure you were taken care of."

Nikko. Even hearing the vampire’s name stabbed holes in Luc’s heart. As much as he loved Bran, he still had moments of complete sorrow over losing his vampire. He tried to hide his pain from his werewolf lover but Luc knew at times Bran could sense his unhappiness.

Shaking his head, Luc returned to the discussion at hand. He vaguely remembered the pack mentioning they were compiling a notebook about how to take care of Luc years ago, but he’d thought it was a joke. "They seriously made a book?"

Jerrod nodded. "It’s called The Care and Feeding of Lucifer Hellbourne. One of the things in it says if you don’t rest well you might start to fade. Carn and I were worried."

"Thank you for your concern, but you don’t need to worry. I’m not fading." Breaking into tiny parts in a slow excruciating manner...but not fading.

"Sorry, Master." Carn’s red skin became a little redder. "Why don’t I go get you some breakfast, Master?" he offered.

"That would be great." Luc gave the demon a smile to let him know he wasn’t angry. Carn had suffered enough abuse at the hands of Luc’s brother that the young demon still flinched whenever he thought someone was angry with him.

As soon as he’d left, Jerrod slid his fingers through Luc’s hair. "Kiss me good morning, Master?"

Luc sighed but he knew the young vampire well enough by now to know that Jerrod would pull the I need to bond with my master card if Luc didn’t agree to at least a kiss.

Jerrod only belonged to Luc because Luc had saved him from his old master. However, Jerrod often used Luc’s reluctance to harm him as an invitation to take advantage.

After a few minutes of kissing, Luc set Jerrod away from him. Jerrod’s cheeks glowed with passion and his eyes had a bright light of need as he watched Luc.

"Why don’t you go see if Carn needs any help in the kitchen? It’s probably time for you to feed again."

Jerrod squeezed Luc’s cock. "I found something I can feed on."

Luc knew the vampire had meant that in a sexy way but his erection trembled with fear. "I don’t think I want your fangs anywhere near my dick when you’re this excited. Go drink from Carn-that’s why I have him here."

Luc knew if Bran woke with Jerrod sucking Luc off, the shifter might lose control and kill him. While Bran understood the necessity of Luc bonding with Jerrod, he wouldn’t appreciate it if Luc started each day fucking the sexy vamp through the mattress.

Excerpt from: Bad Boys, Bad Boys

Mack hooked the heel of his boot on the barstool rung across the room and wrapped his long fingers around the thick shaft of his beer bottle. Geo shivered with hungry appreciation. He watched the supple stretch of buttery black leather pull taut across Mack’s shoulder blades and the lift of the bottle rim to his lips. The bottle paused midway and Mack threw back his head on a bone-vibrating laugh.

“There he is,” Will yelled, knocking his shoulder against Mack’s.

“Hey,” Mack yelled over the din of sports commentary. He lifted his bottle in the air. His coat swung open, flashing the gold-on-leather detective’s badge of the

Maple Grove police department. “We were wondering where you were. What took so long?”

Geo’s lips pulled into an obligatory smile. It was nearly impossible to look Mack in the eye after the graphic sex dreams he’d been having about him for the last week. One had brought him to full wakefulness, belting out Mack’s name as his body convulsed in orgasm.

Crap of it was, he couldn’t exactly avoid him. Geo fingered his own badge, looped through his belt. Finding another man attractive made Geo gay, he supposed. Finding his fellow detective attractive, made it complicated. Gay partners. Sounded like a redundancy, but Geo didn’t think Mack or the other detectives would find it as amusing. Hell, he didn’t find it amusing, just incredibly erotic.

Pulling himself together, Geo pasted a smile on his face and ploughed through the bar’s smoky dimness as though he walked against a stiff wind.

“Covey case,” he said when he reached Mack and Will.

Mack shot him an asking look. “What could have happened in the twenty minutes since I left the office?”

He did lift the bottle to his lips this time, and Geo stole a glance at the hard amber glass pressing his partner’s mouldable lips. The rolled rim of the bottle resembled the flared head of a thick cock. Unavoidably, he imagined the firm, full lips pressed to the tip of his dick, sipping the mushroom head as he came in ball-wrenching spurts.

His gut clenched on the image. His brain desperately wanted to return everything to normal. The way it was before he grew sexually aware of his partner.

Geo slid his hands into his pockets to cover his physical reaction but couldn’t tear his eyes off Mack’s throat. It worked over each swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath silky tanned skin. Geo broke into a cold sweat.

“Chief wants a ’round the clock stakeout with Douglas and Nix.” Hours of sitting, alone, with Mack in a dark car. Not touching but wanting to and not really wishing to explore why touching Mack was fast becoming an obsession.

Fucking torture.

Excerpt From: Bad Conduct

Captain Tyler Gibson shivered from anticipation. Or was it a first class case of nerves?

Before turning on his webcam, he double-checked that his door was locked and his curtains tightly shut. Although no one should barge in on a captain’s private quarters, one never knew, and he couldn’t afford to be caught.

“You should stop this madness before you get busted, idiot,” he murmured under his breath.

Yet, the book lured and cajoled him to practice its magic. Of all times to read the Kama Sutra, on a lonely deployment to Iraq probably wasn’t the best. He ached to touch his lover, Bianca, and to be touched by her.

He couldn’t wait to go stateside, to make Bianca his bride. He should have done it before shipping out to Iraq. If not for her concerns about their sometimes third lover, Brendan, he would have.

The book laid propped open where he could refer to it. The rest of the room was neat, ready for inspection. Hospital corners made the blanket taut on his bed. It wouldn’t stay that way once he began pleasuring himself, pretending it was Bianca’s hands caressing him.

An instant message signal beeped on the computer, and his heart raced. His gaze bounced to the double monitor sprouting from the steel desk.

His pulse hammered in his throat. His hands grew clammy so he wiped them down his side. His cock thrummed.

Bianca… His love.

He moved to open it, squinted at the screen name and his heart stopped. It was Brendan.

Chills raced down his spine, and he broke into a cold sweat. He needed to go cold turkey on the man and had tried to do so, but Brendan kept IMing and emailing.

To Tyler’s shame he was still turned on by the guy. He didn’t have the same type of feelings for Brendan as he did for Bianca, but he still got a hard-on thinking of the man’s hot bod. Why had Bianca given Brendan to him as a Christmas gift, wrapped in a huge red bow and nothing else?

His breath burned in his throat, and his nostrils flared. He stared at the invitation and his body burned.

God, but he was in hell.

His gut clenched, his nerves on the razor’s edge.

Bianca was due at any moment, and if she got the slightest inkling he was having sex, even cyber sex, with Brendan, he feared what she would do.

If he answered Brendan’s summons, could he get him off in time? If he didn’t answer, Brendan would keep pinging him. Surely, Bianca would hear. Even if she didn’t, he would know.

The monitor glowed like a fiend, as deadly as an armed enemy soldier. After inhaling deeply, he lowered himself to the computer chair and typed, “I can’t talk. I have an important online meeting.

The message came on that Brendan was typing. Then words flashed on the screen. “With who?”

Shit!

He was against lying but typed anyway, “My commander. I’ll email you later.”

“<> Surely you can squeeze in a quickie.” Then a nude live shot of Brendan popped onto Ty’s screen.

Ty’s breath grew shallow and his fingers itched as Brendan stroked his hard, shiny cock and gazed through the screen with a come hither look.

A scream strangled in Ty’s throat and he wanted to throttle and fuck the guy all at the same time. Brendan could be such a bitch.

A very sexy bitch.

He stepped out of the shower stall, still completely naked, and saw David Browning, his mentor, his trainer…he sighed…the man he secretly had a crush on.

David Browning, owner of Balls to the Walls, was standing in front of a sink, shaving. The mirror on the wall had odd shaped patches of steam clinging to it.

While he’d been in the shower, running soap over his chest, down his stomach, lathering his balls and slipping a slick finger into his anus, he’d thought of nothing but David.

Callum had imagined David bending him over the sink in a moment of passion and burying his cock deep in his tight little hole. His own balls would fill to exploding. When David pounded his prostate, Callum would explode, even without touching his cock.

The water had all but run cold as Callum stretched out his hands and used the wall for support. Even the fantasy of his mentor teaching him about man on man love had the power to bring him to his knees.

David obviously hadn’t noticed Callum yet, so he seized the rare opportunity to shamelessly, openly stare.

A snow-white towel was draped around David’s lean waist. Across his back were a few good sized scars. From what, Callum didn’t know. Rather than detract from

David’s good looks though, the ragged, raised scars only made him sexier.

The towel was fairly thin, not at all like the ones Callum had at home. But this gym-sized piece of material allowed Callum to see the length of David’s legs, along with the power in his thighs, and the tightness of his arse.

His biceps were well honed from hours at his own training facility, teaching and demonstrating, which he did while being supportive and full of encouragement.

He’d intentionally kept the place small, he said. It wasn’t a big health club. It was more like an exclusive studio in a primo location. David hadn’t bought a lot of equipment. Rather, he had a select group of machines that were top of the line and designed for maximum results. His list of clients was A-list, as well.

First class, all the way around. He worked with only one person at a time, and, as Callum knew, David gave each client all of his efforts and energy. Every time he was here, he felt unique and special, even if he occasionally caused more trouble than he was worth.

The older man’s patience had no limit that Callum had ever seen. Surely there had to be, though. No one was as rigid and self-controlled as David Browning.

There were times Callum was tempted to goad David, make him snap. He wanted to bust past the damn veneer of sleek sophistication and see the man beneath. And Callum had tried, oh, had he tried to get to the other man. He’d train hard, then completely stop, or he’d over-do it. If he wasn’t getting enough attention, he’d show up early, or, with a swagger, show up a quarter of an hour late. But he’d never shaken his mentor.

And that made him lust after him all the more. He’d fantasised about David the entire three months they’d trained together, and damn it, he was getting impatient with want and need. Especially now that he’d seen David in that oh-so-skimpy and tantalising towel. His cock stuck out in front of him, hard as a rock.

He needed sex; raw, passion-filled, down and dirty sex. He needed to be possessed. He needed to be fucked, and not just by anyone, by the one man who meant more to him than any other.

In his more rational moments, Callum wondered why David would take note of another wanna be footballer. He worked with dozens of men, young and old, in shape and out of shape, men with dreams and goals who came here looking for a magic elixir. In that respect, Callum was just another ordinary bloke.

David turned on the tap and rinsed his razor beneath it. He was old-fashioned, Callum noticed. He shaved with a Damascus steel and rosewood straight razor. A Zowada, if he didn’t miss his guess. He’d eyed one of them, himself, but he’d been too cheap to spring for one. Maybe he’d have to rethink his decision.

A two-sided Russian leather and linen strop lay on the side of the sink, and he actually had a shaving mug with the Balls to the Walls company logo on it.

If he didn’t miss his guess, David also used a badger bristle brush. Class. Everything about the man screamed class and elegance. No, screamed wasn’t the right word. Exuded. David would never scream, as much as Callum would wish otherwise.

Excerpt From: Barbells at Christmas

Lisa Weller was not pathetic. She knew this because she told herself so, and lying to oneself would just be silly, so therefore she must be telling the truth. It was absolutely not pathetic that she was sitting in her freezing cold Honda Civic at eleven p.m. on Christmas Eve, dressed in her gym wear and staring at the double doors leading into her local 24/7 Fitness.

Surely lots of people worked out on Christmas Eve! People who wanted to give themselves the gift of rockin’ abs, or pull a hundred kilos before the year was up. People wanting to stave off that holiday fat. People who were Jewish, or Muslim, or Buddhist or Hindu or nothing at all!

Or maybe, she thought, looking at the only other two cars in the parking lot, people whose crazy mother got drunk and flew to Bolivia for a plate of frog legs from Lake Titicaca and whose father is too busy with his other family to bother calling and whose boyfriend dumped them yesterday so he could spend Christmas in Chicago with that cute blonde from accounting. Not that she was bitter. She hoped Rick and Shirley were very happy together. Maybe they’d eat mustard-slathered hot dogs and go to a museum and take a romantic walk along Lake Michigan, and maybe they’d fall in and drown.

She’d even send flowers to the funeral. That’s how magnanimous and un-pathetic she was. A spirit too great and generous to be broken by Rick’s stupid wandering hands and roving eye, and he had a tiny dick anyway, so there.

Now that the pool of potential Christmas Eve gym rats had dwindled to pretty much just her, Lisa allowed herself to slump forward and bang her head on the steering wheel a couple of times. Just how little dignity did one have to have to even show up at the gym at this time of night on Christmas Eve? Apparently she’d hit the threshold because a few seconds later, she heaved a sigh, wrenched at the car door handle, and popped out into the freezing night air.

The cold hit her in the face like a slap, but riding on the air was the scent of the smoke from burning hearth fires. The soft, delicious smell curled gently in her head. The contrast between the sharp night and the languid smoke seemed cruel, because it was the smell of someone, somewhere, having a cosy, loving yuletide night. Her heart ached.

Excerpt From: Bare Facts

The planet of Ciaran 3123 A.D.

“Your laws don’t happen to be my laws,” the astrokrafte captain stated in a husky monotone.

Nude, Mirah Verlyn crouched directly behind the intriguing man and observed her sister as she spoke to him. He was one of the few men she had ever had the privilege of laying eyes on. Too bad the view was from the back. Every muscle in her body quivered at the sight of the curved planes of his backside and his muscular shoulders.

She had to hurry to find herself a spot to stow away on this ship. When the astrokrafte was in outer space, she would commandeer the unworthy-looking space vessel.

Repressing a sigh and hoping her sister’s invisible magick spell would remain in force for long enough to aid her in finding a hiding place and the docking area around Bazime, Mirah tiptoed down the astrokrafte’s narrow corridor. In her mind’s eye she could see Bazime playing the part of a port authority guard but several things were wrong with the image she was thinking of. Bazime spoke in a nervous tone, while a guard would have spoken with callous insensitivity. Mirah hoped that the captain wouldn’t catch on to the fact that Bazime’s magick spell was blocking out the activity on the dock behind her. She couldn’t help but send a prayer to the Ciaran goddess Merlasi that the captain wouldn’t look behind him at the wrong moment. If by some horrible mischance he did and her spell wavered even for a second, he would see a slim, nude woman furtively searching for a place to conceal herself on his ship.

Mirah could visualise the captain crossing his arms over his chest and blocking Bazime’s way past him onto the ship.

“Boarding your ship is simply a precaution,” Bazime said.

Mirah sighed with relief. Thankfully, Bazime had changed her tone. She had no intention of searching the ship. She skulked down the corridor, peering in the compartments with her third eye, the one which permitted her to look through thin walls and around ninety-degree corners.

It seemed that Deven Blaylock was proving to be a more difficult assignment than Bazime had bargained for.

“Captain Blaylock,” Bazime replied sweetly. Mirah turned to see her sister clench her fingers around the clipboard and press it against her smallish breasts with fierce determination. “Within minutes, you’ll be on your way.”

Bazime’s voice was low and urgent now, more in character with the role she was playing. This ordeal of acting as a guard and maintaining the invisibility shield to block the movements of the real guards was worse than a nightmare.

“Precaution against what?” the captain asked in a gruff, disbelieving voice.

Would he see through her sister’s deception? His sheer physical presence and the fact that he towered over Bazime couldn’t have helped suppress her trembling nerves.

“Against the terrorist threat presently engulfing Ciaran.” Did her sister straighten her shoulders? Was she looking into the captain’s eyes without flinching, as if it was her business to demand entry onto his ship to hunt for anything that could be deemed suspicious? The planet of Ciaran had never experienced a terrorist threat before and was unlikely to with such strict and vigilant security.

The captain heaved a sigh of irritated impatience. “I haven’t heard of any terrorist attacks.”

“That’s because you’re not privy to council matters,” Bazime bluffed.

Mirah cringed. She imagined her sister’s rigid self-control in maintaining eye contact with him.

“And I suppose you are?” His tone was of utter scepticism.

Was Bazime going to destroy their mission before it began? Mirah crouched low, hoping the captain didn’t have an eye in the back of his head.

“As port authority, yes,” Bazime admitted.

Huh! Bazime had no more access to the Ciaran council than the captain did. In fact, very few Ciarans did.

“Why are you being so evasive? Lieutenant Bazime, is it?”

Mirah huffed, picturing the tall captain glancing at Bazime’s holographic nametag as if he hadn’t seen it before. “I haven’t been allowed off my astrokrafte since I landed here forty-eight hours ago, not even for some sightseeing, which I find highly unusual. Before I allow you aboard my ship, you’ll have to give me a much better explanation than terrorists.”

“My captain wouldn’t be too happy to be disturbed from her immediate duties. However, if she was forced to do so, she’d be happy to search your ship herself.”

Would the captain believe her sister’s unlikely story? She continued to search for a hiding place. One compartment was smaller than a child’s spin toy, another wasn’t much larger than a treasure chest. Each place she looked at was far too small for her five-foot-three-inch frame.

Excerpt From: Bared to Him

"Which floor?"

"Twelve, thanks," Myka said slightly breathlessly. He’d patiently held the elevator door open while she hurried across the lobby of the downtown Denver office building. She’d been at lunch too long—the quarterly gathering with her college girlfriends had been too scandalously delicious to leave. As the waiter had brought a second glass of wine for each of them, they’d shared stories of their sex lives—the thrills and droughts—and now she was running late for a meeting with a client.

The man pushed the button for the twelfth floor and then fifteen, presumably for his. The elevator doors slid shut.

"How’s the book?"

Self-consciously she moved the bestselling paperback behind her. "I just borrowed it from a friend." Borrowed it? Prised it from Kathleen’s unwilling fingers was more like it. Everywhere Myka went, it seemed people were talking about the book, and, after some of her friends’ confessions over lunch, Myka had been desperate to read it. She knew little about BDSM, yet what she knew intrigued her. But where would she find a man into that kind of kink? Her last boyfriend had freaked out and left when she’d brought out scarves and asked him to tie her up.

"Do you know anything about the book?" he asked.

She took a second look at him. He was taller than her, by at least six inches, and that said something since she was unusually tall. In heels, she wasn’t used to looking up at many people.

He appeared to be in his late thirties. His dark hair had a smattering of appealing grey at the temples. It added to his distinguished good looks.

His eyes were a startling green. She had the odd sense that he saw through her tough exterior into her innermost secrets.

She knew she was staring, but she couldn’t look away. His scent seemed to brand the air—something crisp and outdoorsy, a stamp of primal male power and intrigue. Even his clothing captured attention.

Myka made a decent living as a financial adviser, and she recognised quality. The suit that had been exquisitely tailored to fit his toned body cost at least a month of her salary.

"So, do you?"

She was lost. "Do I what?"

"Do you know anything about the book?"

He captured her gaze. Instinct told her to look away, but she couldn’t. Unnerved, she stepped forward so she could exit quickly. "It’s hard not to," she said. "It’s being talked about everywhere." Realising she was in danger of babbling, something she did not do, she countered, "Have you read it?"

"I haven’t read it, no. There’s no need."

A bell dinged, signalling that she’d reached her floor. "No need?" she asked.

"I live the lifestyle," he said.

The doors slid open.

He moved forward, crowding her space. She’d have to brush past him to exit. He pressed the button to keep the doors open. "Look me up if you’re curious."

This man, tall and broad, had an air of easy command, as if he was accustomed to issuing orders and having others obey. She had an insane urge to treat him with respect he’d yet to earn. She felt her body grow warmer.

He stepped aside, and she exited the elevator. The doors slid closed.

Excerpt From: Battle of Thrills

Friday

Their private game began almost by accident.

At seven p.m., Elle Matthews headed for the bathroom to transform herself for her night out. After wriggling into a tiny mini-skirt and a clinging shirt that showed just the right amount of cleavage, she returned from the bathroom to find Jared at her workstation, studying the background research she’d been about to drop by his desk on the way out.

Jared Lancaster, one of the Beechbank Courier’s star journalists and a close friend. Intelligent, often impatient, but always there for her.

Except in a friends-with-benefits way. She didn’t even dare hint at her attraction to him—workplace romances could be so messy, and screwing up her friendship with Jared wasn’t on her agenda.

He noticed her change of clothing and raised an eyebrow, smiling a little. “Going out?”

“Friend’s birthday,” she explained, plucking the file from his hands and hoping she wasn’t blushing. “And I wasn’t finished with that.”

Ignoring his glare, she picked up a pen from her desk. It slipped through her fingers and skittered across the floor towards Jared, and they both bent to pick it up at the same time, ending up crouching scarcely a foot from each other.

He grabbed the pen first and handed it to her. She took it with murmured thanks, then glanced up at him as she began to rise.

The expression on his face stole the breath from her lungs, and she could have sworn he was looking down her shirt a moment ago…

Her mind in turmoil, Elle straightened and turned to the research document. Trying to reorder her thoughts, she dropped into her desk chair, filled out the paperwork on the last page and slotted it into the file.

Holding it out to Jared, she crossed her legs, forgetting she really shouldn’t do that in this skirt. His eyes strayed to her exposed thighs, and she was pretty sure he got a glimpse of her thong, too…

“See something you like?” she asked softly, pushing back her nerves and focussing on the desire his gaze provoked.

He took the file from her, not bothering to look through it. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he said, “I’m not playing your games, Elle.”

“Okay,” she agreed easily, shrugging. “Let’s play yours.”

Excerpt from: Bear Combustion

Tarek’s heart pounded with pure joy for the first time in months. He watched his muscular companion race across the clearing and up a hill. Bright sunlight danced off his long raven hair and beautifully browned flesh. Long legs leapt deadfall easily, and when he landed in the soft loam, he was so light-footed he barely made a sound.

His whoop of excitement made Tarek laugh and shake his head. Inuka was a free spirit, full of life and laughter. It’d been a long time since Tarek had the luxury of feeling that way. He felt slightly guilty, lounging and relaxing this way in the warmth of the morning sun. As the leader of the bear changeling tribe, Tarek had responsibilities.

He’d been dealing with the grief of losing his mate, Skye, in a tragic hunting accident. The blow had been hard to recover from, but Tarek’s clan needed him, and they wouldn’t allow him to wallow in self-pity or mourn for too long. Slowly, he’d dragged himself up from the depths of despair. Life was finally returning to some sort of normalcy, though it had taken what seemed like forever.

He grinned as Inuka wiggled his luscious brown arse towards him. The loincloth he usually wore had been tossed aside, giving Tarek the pleasing view of his glorious, naked form. Inuka reached his goal and turned. Arms crossed over his wide chest and his feet spread shoulder width apart, he smiled down at Tarek from the top of the low bluff.

Tarek paused, and his gaze went from the chiselled features of his face down the man’s smooth chest and flat stomach and then moved lower. It came to rest on his obvious arousal, and Tarek’s own shaft throbbed in response. A sparse mat of sleek, dark hair surrounded Inuka’s thick cock, but left his balls nearly hairless. Tarek’s mouth watered.

“Come on, you lazy bruin,” Inuka’s deep, booming voice chided. “I thought we were going for a swim.”

Tarek gazed at the man who was blatantly trying to seduce him. Ever since Inuka had joined his clan not long ago, there’d been a spark between the two of them.

He’d tried to tamp it down before finally realising there was no need. Skye was gone. Tarek had loved him with all his heart, but several seasons had passed, and nothing was going to bring him back.

Eventually he’d taken solace in the arms of Raven, another member of his clan. Hours spent with the oft-times too serious man were never planned. More often they found themselves alone together when a primal instinct took hold. Their coupling was heated and intense, always satisfying and passionate. Convenient. Comfortable.

Raven gave him the affection he’d been desperately missing in his life and he gave Raven mind-blowing orgasms. Tarek smiled. Not a bad trade-off.

Inuka, on the other hand, held the promise of something more. When Tarek had stared deep into his golden-flecked brown eyes that morning, he’d seen lust tinged with another emotion, one he wasn’t prepared to name. Their relationship was too new, too fragile. They hadn’t even fucked yet. Then Inuka had suggested they go swimming in the river, and Tarek was sure they both knew what was implied. He sensed Inuka wanted it as much as he did, though he wasn’t exactly certain what he offered. A quick, one-time roll in the hay? Or possibly something more? Tarek was open to possibilities.

He started up the hill, shedding his loincloth on the way. His cock thickened and rose to full erection. Climbing was a torment, his heavy shaft slapping his thigh with every step. Pre-cum anointed his flesh.

He’d reached the top and was within arm’s reach of Inuka when the man turned and raced for the line of trees.

“Fuck!” Tarek raised his fist, playfully shaking it after him. “You’re going to get it when I catch you.”

Over his shoulder Inuka called, “Maybe that’s what I was hoping for.” Laughing, he turned and clambered over a pile of boulders between himself and the darkness of the forest.

By the time Tarek got there, the beautiful man had vanished. A growl in his throat turned to a deep chuckle. The excursion was making him hornier, and by the way Inuka behaved, it was doing the same to him. When he got his hands on the playful man, Inuka had better watch out.

Excerpt From: Bearing Fruit

Bruce parked the car at the home of his next and final delivery of the day. Driving around in the van all day in the height of South Florida summer made him hot and sweaty, regardless of the working air conditioner. Wishing for a shower, he looked down at the wet material of his clothing, the damn things sticking to his body.

He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, glad that he wouldn’t have to work the next couple of days. Go Fridays. He did need to get some studying done, but that would be a small price to pay for a work-free weekend. He hadn’t had a weekend off in six months, no fun, no relaxation, no hanging with his friends.

He’d have to call Jason later, maybe they could shoot some pool together on Saturday. He needed to unwind—something indoors and cool.

Exiting the vehicle, he made his way to the back of the truck where he retrieved the fruit bouquet. The refrigerated trunk provided a blast of cold air, a welcoming respite for his sweaty flesh.

With clipboard and bouquet in hand, he strolled along the paved driveway and passed the parked car on his way to the front door of the two-story house. Ms. Prudence Campbell, he read the name as he rang the doorbell. Stepping back from the door in case it swung out instead of in, he fidgeted. The front door of the house faced west, the setting sun beating down on him while he waited.

Ms. Campbell had better answer the door soon, he thought, before he drenched her fruits with his sweat. Shuddering at the image, he palmed the clipboard, fanning himself. Sometimes, he really hated South Florida.

Finally, the door swung open. Deliciously cool air escaped the house, wrapping intimately around his heated skin. But the sight of the person opening the door, kicked up the heat level of his body, warmth spreading through his heart and tingling at his cock. Damn!

The woman was gorgeous. Milk chocolate complexion, warm brown eyes, full pouting lips, wearing a button up blouse and short as sin skirt. Braided hair pulled back in a ponytail, her clothes accentuated her womanly curves, highlighting her lush features. Want, his body shouted at him. “Ms. Prudence Campbell?” he stammered, ready to spew the next part of his rehearsed verses at her confirmation.

Instead of answering, her eyes travelled from his toes to the top of his head. Licking her lips, her eyes appeared to go out of focus, glazing over with lust. The corners of her lips tipped up, curving into a smile.

Skimming her face, his eyes settled on hers, falling into her stare. They stood there for long seconds just watching each other. Inhaling deeply, her scent hit him, immediately hardening his cock. What the hell?

He didn’t know what to make of his reaction. His attraction to this woman was so sudden, so overwhelming, so all-consuming. In an instant, he had forgotten about the temperature outside and about his burdens. All he wanted was to look and taste and smell this woman.

Suddenly, the woman snapped out of her haze and wrapped her hand around his wrist with a very strong grip. Pulling him into her home, she continued to drag him along and he let her. His skin tingled where her fingers touched him and he couldn’t help but imagine how he’d relish her touch on another more intimate part of his anatomy.

“Um… Miss Campbell?”

Looking over her shoulder, her voice husky and inviting, she offered, “Call me Pru.” Her destination became clear when they entered the kitchen. A lone stool with three fans pointed directly at it sat near the counter and on the counter was a bowl filled with ice cubes. Leading him all the way to that stool, she plopped down on the chair and asked, “Now what do you want?”

Excerpt from: Beauty on Fire

Sweat ran down Tamia’s skin in rivulets as the hot Australian summer beat down her back. She groaned as her chest ached with the need to take in air. Tamia had pushed herself too hard, run for too long. It was just another weekday morning. Another start to an already endless day.

Still, she ran with all her might, trying to outrun the visions that plagued her as she slept, but the act was useless. The litany of visions thundered through her mind with every step she took.

She couldn’t outrun the dreams…the visions that shook her to her core every night.

She couldn’t outrun him.

Tamia had been visiting him every night for years now. In two weeks she would turn twenty-nine. It would mark the eleventh year that she’d been dreaming of him, going to him as she slept.

The dreams were never the same. Yet, they were all similar. One thing connected every image…the golden man with bright greens eyes who promised to love her for eternity.

She jerked to a stop at the sight of the Now Open sign on the jewellery store’s brightly painted banner. She’d been running down the same city street for more than six months, and she’d never once noticed that there was a store being renovated.

“Damn, I’m getting worse,” Tamia muttered to herself as she wiped one arm across her forehead. Lately she had become more and more oblivious to the world around her. She spent way too much time daydreaming, waiting for the moment when she would fall asleep and return to her lover’s arms.

Someone moved beside her, drawing her attention. Tamia squinted at the blinding summer sun as she tried to move out the man’s way. Waves of heat swam across her vision splintered by the bright rays of the morning sun. She turned away, trying to avoid the bright lighting. It was then that she noticed the opals in the store’s front window.

She loved opals, had fallen in love with the gemstone at first sight when she was little more than six. But she had yet to find that perfect jewel that called out to her. Maybe today is the day, she thought as she glanced back at the display where several eye-catching stones sat. She sniffed herself once to make sure she was decent and grabbed the door handle.

Tamia made great money selling her paintings of a man so beautiful he made the senses cry out, but she knew the moment she walked in, the shop was out of her price range.

The décor was tasteful. The merchandise was purposely placed, but there wasn’t nearly enough to justify the size of the boutique. Still, she strode a little deeper into the store, telling herself the air conditioning was reason enough not to turn and march out. Even though it was barely nine in the morning, the temperature was sharply rising, reminding her all too well of the muggy Miami summers she’d trekked across the globe to avoid.

Excerpt From: Before He Cheats

Monday

“My, my! Does Rupert have you house-trained already? He doesn’t usually trust his toys with a key until their spirit’s been completely broken.”

Leon Powell frowned as he glanced over his shoulder. “What did you—?” He quickly cut himself off when he saw who stood at the bottom of the steps leading to Rupert’s front door.

Somehow James Campbell was still able to look down his nose at Leon, even while standing a good three feet below him.

Leon opened his mouth, but hurriedly closed it again, before he ended up something he shouldn’t. Heaving his heavy backpack into a more comfortable position on his shoulder, he took a deep breath.

Be polite, he reminded himself. Rupert does business with the guy. It would probably be a really bad idea to call him an arrogant pillock and slam the door in his face.

“I’m sorry,” Leon said in his best ‘I’m dealing with a professor I need a good grade from’ voice. “I don’t think Rupert’s home right now, but when he gets back I’ll make sure he knows you called.”

Turning his back on James, Leon once more offered his key up to the lock on Rupert’s front door.

Toy… Broken… Trained? James’ words niggled at the back of his mind, but Leon did his best to push them away as he opened the door and stepped inside. He had plenty to think about after a day full of lectures and workshops. He didn’t need anything else messing with his brain.

Crouching down to pick up the day’s post, Leon only just stopped his backpack sliding off his shoulder and scattering a dozen thick text books across the elaborately tiled entrance hall.

Suddenly, the front door jerked towards him, almost knocking him off his feet. Leon looked up just in time to see James stride past him in a blur of expensive tailoring, as if he were no more important than the damn doormat.

“Rupert’s—” Leon begun again.

“I’ll wait.”

Before Leon could say another word, James had marched straight into Rupert’s study, as if he was the only one who actually had a right to be there. Leon’s fist tightened around his keys as he pushed the jagged bits of metal into his jeans pocket. He was the one with the keys. He was the one who Rupert actually wanted to find waiting for him when he came home.

Quickly slamming the front door, Leon tossed the mail on the hall table and rushed after James.

Backpack hurriedly tossed into its habitual resting place beside the big leather sofa, Leon shoved his hands into his pockets. A moment later, he pulled them back out and made a conscious effort not to look like a nervous little school boy as he watched James run a critical eye over the various books and ornaments on Rupert’s shelves.

Leon barely held back a sigh when he realised there really wasn’t any polite way to get rid of the man. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Doesn’t Rupert prefer his boys to kneel when asking their betters if they can be of service?” James asked, as he draped himself languidly into one of the high backed chairs flanking the fireplace.

“Boys?” Leon repeated, blankly. As in boys plural?

James’ laughter was like fingernails on a chalkboard. “Don’t tell me Rupert has you thinking you’re the only submissive in his stable.”

Submissives and stables and everything else be dammed. The only fact that really registered in Leon’s mind was the possibility of his boyfriend screwing other guys. A strong hand clamped around his heart and squeezed several beats out of it.

For just one brief moment, Leon was too shocked to try to school his features into displaying anything other than his honest reaction. Sod’s law that he had to meet James’ eyes during those same few seconds.

“Child, Rupert’s one of the most highly respected dominants in the city,” James said. “You didn’t really think you’d have him all to yourself?”

Leon just stared at him unable to bring a single word to his lips as he slowly lowered himself onto the sofa. It was either that or collapse to the floor as his knees buckled beneath him.

Excerpt from: Beg Me

Sable gazed around the room, absorbing the men and women in elegant evening clothes. Self-consciously she smoothed her hand against the fabric of her silk sapphire sheath and tucked a stray auburn curl behind one ear. She’d pulled every string she could to wrangle an invitation to this fundraiser for the top socially elite, with one objective in mind. And there he was. Alex Courtland, billionaire owner of the Auto-Tech software company.

Writing a series for Erotic Fantasy Magazine called “Every Man’s Fantasy” she’d interviewed the sexiest men in the country. The articles were a raging success because for a change, they were told from the man’s point of view.

From the moment she’d first met him at a media function, Sable wanted not only the interview but the man. Tall and lean, he carried an aura of power with him that was almost visible. Thick midnight black hair was worn long and tied back at the nape of his neck. Eyes like hot coals stared out from under lashes so thick most women would kill for them. His finely chiselled features could have been created by a sculptor.

She’d come here tonight determined to get what would be her final—and most exciting interview. She’d heard all the whispers about him, how he was into bondage and S & M, how he worked to break the spirit of the women he took to his isolated Maine retreat, and how he never saw them again after that. Two words were used to describe him in the boardroom and the bedroom—ruthless and cold.

Alex Courtland was all about control, and Sable knew about that. Control was how she’d turned lumpy, dumpy Sally Morgan into the mysterious Sable M, and how she maintained that image.

Just looking at him made her nipples harden and liquid soak her crotch. For months now, he’d played a starring role in her darkest fantasies, and she could almost come just being near him. How could one person have such an effect on her?

As she watched him he turned, and his eyes locked onto hers. If she’d been aroused before, it was nothing to what she felt now. She wasn’t sure she could walk without her own liquid seeping down her legs.

Apparently she wasn’t going to have to, because here he came, crossing the room with big, powerful strides, his eyes like lasers burning holes into her.

“Ah, the persistent Sable.” He plucked a champagne flute from a passing waiter, then let his eyes take a lazy trip over every inch of her body, all five feet of it. “Are you here tonight to stalk me?”

She took a sip of her own champagne to calm her chattering nerves. “If you’d take my calls, I wouldn’t have to follow you around.”

“You must have worked a great deal of magic to come here tonight.”

“I have…connections.”

“I’ll bet you do.”

A quartet in the corner began to play a soft ballad, and a few couples moved onto the miniscule dance floor. Alex took both glasses and placed them on a nearby table then took her hand and tugged her towards the floor.

“Dance with me. We can discuss your…proposition.” She let him pull her onto the floor and into his embrace. The spicy scent of his cologne teased at her nostrils, and the heat of his body flowed into hers. They were touching from shoulder to knee, her breasts pressed into his hard-muscled chest, his hard cock pressing into the softness of her belly.

Excerpt From: Beguiling Briley

She fell in love on April Fool’s Day. That alone should have told Briley Evans she’d lost her mind. Love had never factored into her life. She knew two of her friends were happy with the men in their lives. But love…for her? Never in a million years would she have used her name and that one word in the same sentence. The emotion might work for other people, but she lived in reality where love existed only in movies and sappy greeting cards.

The two exceptions to the rules in the game of love came in the form of Emma and Olivia. Two of her four closest friends had found men who genuinely cared about the women and didn’t want to change a thing about them. Given that all five friends shared a waist size larger than the usual starving super models said a lot about the men who loved them.

The night her world flipped upside down happened by sheer accident and stupidity as did most things in her life. Briley needed to get her laptop fixed. Instead, she ended up giving her heart away. Not the plan when she’d walked into Immortality, the tattoo and computer repair shop one of her friends had recommended. And not that she allowed herself to acknowledge the strange emotions. Love meant leaving yourself open to pain. Since Briley wasn’t a masochist, it left love off her to do list.

The nights were still cold in Avalon, so she’d bundled up her generously curved self and driven over. The shop stood out, not in the seedy porno/biker way she’d imagined. The frosted glass and simple lettering looked classy not cheesy. Housed in an old warehouse district, the store looked clean and inviting. A shock, but a pleasant one.

A bell tingled over her head as she opened the door to warm air and the scent of peppermint. Definitely not the clean smell she’d expected either. Briley looked around, trying to get a feel for the place and maybe a hint of the talent that supposedly worked there. Instead, she saw him.

He had his back to her, a thick hunter green sweater fitted over his runner’s frame as he bent over and fiddled with the strange looking machine in front of him. Tousled dark brown hair curled over the tanned nap of his neck while long fingers played over wires. Worn jeans and brown scuffed hiking boots completed the back frame of the picture, and Briley’s stomach tightened from just that small glimpse of him.

Stupidly, naively, she shrugged the reaction off. After all, she saw good-looking men, including their nicely formed fronts, all the time at Club Botticelli, the club one of her best friends, Olivia, owned. What did the curve of one man’s neck matter? Even though said neck made her mouth water with the urge to bite and nibble her way across his skin. She could almost taste the salty tang of his flesh on her tongue.

Irritated at her unusual and completely out of character response, Briley straightened her shoulders, made sure her chin tilted up in just the right angle and cleared her throat. If no one else had come at the door’s chiming, surely he must be the lone employee there. Granted, the time she’d chosen to show up was rather late, but still a place like this, which catered to people’s temporary emotions with permanent reminders, should be accustomed to late arrivals. Not to mention all the people staring at the blue screen of death and two-seconds away from throwing their now useless computers off tall buildings or bridges.

Being the owner of her own business Briley knew you had to put the client first. She did it every day at her travel agency. Customers first, personal life second. The motto had gained her a great reputation, a solid client list and a very lonely personal life.

When the man with the nibble worthy neck didn’t turn around at her subtle attempt to get his attention, Briley decided to make herself known by getting deep into his personal space. She wanted her computer fixed and ready tonight before she lost what little remained of her sanity.

Her boots made a sharp clicking sound in the quiet of the room, yet the stranger refused to move and continued to play with whatever had caught his focus. He hummed a low tune under his breath as he worked seemingly content and happy. When she rounded the flat table to face him, she finally saw why. Two small black buds were cradled in his ears and were also the source behind the humming. When he jerked upright at her presence, she found herself staring into the most startling light green eyes surrounded by silver rimless glasses.

With a quick pull, he stumbled to his feet, dropping everything in his hands as he stared at Briley. “Ah…” In a vague wave he brushed away the stray lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes. “Hi.” He flashed a bright and slightly flustered smile. “Didn’t hear you come in,” he confessed and sheepishly pulled the buds out of his ears.

Excerpt From: Behind Iron Lace

The offices of Y not ask Y! were like an oven. Strike that—the temperature was unbearably close to sauna level, if said sauna just happened to be located in hell. What a day for the damned air-conditioning unit to die. Wiping sweat from his forehead before it could drip into his eyes, Darcy Butler glanced up towards the ceiling fans almost in supplication. He prayed for a hint of cool air. Just a hint. One slight breeze, was it too much to ask?

One hundred degrees in the shade, with a heat index of nearly one-ten, according to the radio. God, how do people live like this? he wondered, and not for the first time since moving to New Orleans last winter. It was too hot to do anything but lie naked in a tub of ice. Shit, it was only June, early June at that—still spring. Summer was still to come and, if spring were any indication, he was not going to survive to see the fall.

"I absolutely cannot do this today," he said to the two people sitting across from his desk. He couldn’t focus on the budget or any other trivial little detail. Irritated, he tossed a pencil on his blotter and peeled his sodden shirt away from his body. "I’m afraid someone might die of heat exhaustion if we don’t get out of here."

"Why don’t we call it a day then, Dar? The repair crew can’t get here until tomorrow anyway." His partner Bailey flashed him a suggestive smile that he studiously ignored. "I, for one, wouldn’t mind finding a nice cool pool to slip into."

He and Bailey went all the way back to freshman year at college when they had been dreaming of setting the world on fire. Now it looked as if they would spontaneously combust before they ever got the chance. Or, worse, melt clean away. "I will gladly settle for an air-conditioned bar and a cold beer. Okay, yeah, send everyone home—we’re not going to get anything done today. Tomorrow either…" He paused for a moment. There was something he had to do today, he just couldn’t remember. Then it dawned on him. "Oh crap, I have an appointment with a new graphic artist in an hour."

"What’s the name?" Bailey spun his phone around and, with a few deft finger jabs, she paged through his appointments. "Caleb Mitchell?" She raised a questioning brow, to which Darcy nodded, and she shot off a text in seconds flat. "I told him to meet you at O’Doul’s down the street instead of here."

"Thanks, Bailey." Darcy hated the damned phone, hated text messaging, hated technology. Sometimes he wondered how he’d ended up in a technology-based field at all, publisher of his very own e-magazine that—thanks largely to Bailey and Chester, her secretary—they’d somehow managed to take international, even in a tanking economy.

Moving to New Orleans last Christmas had been a money-saver, he reluctantly admitted, though he still wasn’t entirely happy about the move. The building was in the heart of the French Quarter and, because of the damage to the lower floor, it had been a steal. With a little time and a little more money, Darcy had managed to find a talented group of contractors who’d made quick work of bringing the building back to life.

During the winter and the gorgeous spring, Darcy had been quite happy with his new home… Then June and this ridiculous heat wave had hit. Now he just wanted to go back to Oregon and the tranquillity of a mild, heat-free summer. He tried not to panic whenever some well-meaning local assured him this was nothing, that he should wait until summer really got here in August. He wasn’t going to make it to August.

"Aw, shucks, boss, ’tweren’t nuthin’." She laughed, not really at him as much as because he was a hopeless technophobe. Darcy just took the teasing in stride, mostly because it was funny as hell. He’d long ago decided Bailey could have the gadgets all to herself. He’d stick with words and content, thank you very much.

Glancing over to the man sitting beside her, Darcy caught Chester smirking. Chester seemed to smirk a great deal, Darcy thought briefly before wondering for the millionth or so time what sort of pseudo-symbiotic relationship the two of them had.

His long-time best friend and sometimes lover, Bailey was taller than him, taller than Chester too—nearly six-foot one in her bare feet—and slender as the proverbial reed. She kept her straight hair short, in one of those weird Japanese comic book styles, very short in back with longish bangs framing her face. She dressed like a supermodel, preferring anything couture she could get for bottom basement prices off the Internet. Today was no exception, except she was dressed for the weather, while he wasn’t.

Chester… Did the man even have a last name? Chester was prime-grade emo kid, all grown up and graduated to hipster. He was so thin Darcy wondered if he actually ate at all. His hair stood in chopped spikes, the tips blond and whatever colour he liked for the day—today the tips were turquoise to match his surfer tee. He was younger than either of them, maybe twenty-three, probably even younger. He’d started out as an intern from U of O last fall and had followed them down to be Bailey’s secretary.

Excerpt From: Below the Surface

In one particular pocket of darkness between the planes of existence, sorcerer 'Sin Garu slid a pale, long-fingered hand through his hair and wondered, not for the first time, how he'd allowed one measly Storm Lord, the Prince of Fire, and his affai to escape.

The Storm Lords, four brothers, identical in appearance, similar in elemental magic with a smattering of psychic ability and not a one of them a match for his own dark magic. Yet here he sat, while Darius, Prince of Fire, fucked his bride like a rutting bull in the heavenly splendour of Tanselm.

'Sin Garu had been close to decimating the Storm Lord line for good, his effort to regain his rightful place as overking of Tanselm almost within reach. Yet instead of sitting atop the gilded throne in the heart of his homeland, he wasted his time in the shadows. Always in the shadows.

Instead of a council of Dark Lords, of elders and liaison rogues at his disposal, he had to make use of the reviled, the denigrated and most pathetic monsters of the dark. My distinguished Netharat army, he thought with bitter amusement.

Glancing over his shoulder at a quivering mass of bloodied wraith, he shook his head. "How foolish of me to trust you to get it right for once." He stared in disdain at Mirego, his once most-valued wraith, and waved a hand in the air while muttering a small spell under his breath. Burning Mirego to ash hadn't cured him of his rage, but revitalising the wraith to endure more torture was doing the trick.

The wraith's white eyes streaked with red, then putrid green. Its lumpy yellow skull turned both black and grey with bruises, and its waxy flesh was reduced to pits of skin covering hollows of pain and bloodied engorgement. Mirego tried to scream around the internal dark fire created by 'Sin Garu's sorcery, but couldn't. The sorcerer's unbridled power sapped the last fetid breath the wraith would ever give.

'Sin Garu gazed dispassionately at the rotting creature he'd spent so much time training and cursed Darius Storm and his chosen bride to everlasting torture in the black realms of hell.

"My lord?" a hesitant voice echoed.

"What?"

The wraith hobbled clumsily into the stone-walled room and bowed low, not meeting his gaze.

"My lord, the others are waiting for further instruction. The River Prince has had no apparent contact with Arim as of yet, and the woman is at it again, this time with fire."

'Sin Garu's mind filled with curiosity, dismissing Darius Storm and his bitch, Samantha. Instead his thoughts turned to brother number two-Marcus, the River Prince, and the odd woman who seemed to possess all manner of magic in an otherwise mundane world.

"Tell me her name again," he ordered, pleased when the wraith kept his bow low, his eyes firmly trained on the ground.

"Tessa Sheridan. I've placed a scrying bowl on the table, my lord." The wraith pointed a shaky talon in the direction of the bowl.

"Very well." 'Sin Garu strode to the table, working to contain his excitement. He might have failed with the first royal prince, but there were three more royals, three more brothers providing him potential to destroy the Storm Lords and their incestuous Tetrarch.

Why men should be deemed fit to rule due to a chance of birth astounded him. When the Dark Lords had ruled Tanselm, leadership fell to those who would win it by battle and then only through the death rite.

The Storm Lords, however, believed in an incredible hand of destiny, that one of a quadruplet of royals could birth the next Tetrarch, or Royal Four, providing a continual line of rule by one family.

No chances to overthrow the system, no way to win the kingship by means of war or trickery. Only by obliterating the entire kingdom of Tanselm, its four territories and its defending spellcasters, could 'Sin Garu wrest control of his homeland.

He only needed to kill one Storm Lord to confuse and disrupt the others. A hole in Tanselm's defences would truly serve to open the way. But it would be even better to kill one of the Royal Four affai. Destroying a man's heart and hope was imminently more satisfying than simply killing him.

The sorcerer smiled, pleased that this time he'd been more thorough with his enemy. "Well done, dark one," he addressed his prostrate messenger. "Now go before I forget my mood and bring some light into this place."

He chuckled at the look of horror on the wraith's face and leaned over the scrying bowl, intent on seeing her again.

Reaching into his pocket for a strand of her dark red hair, he dropped it into the shallow bowl and stirred it with one elongated nail.

An image of Tessa Sheridan shimmered on the dark water. A wide smile, a straight, haughty nose and sparkling, light blue eyes stared through him at something pleasing her in her magicless little world.

Excerpt From: Ben

Mari jolted out of bed. Something had woken her up and she was a bit disoriented. She threw off her blankets, stumbled to the front of her apartment and paused with her hand on the doorknob, still not all the way awake.

Something isn’t right.

She cocked her head at a noise coming from the other side. It was times like these she wished she’d listened to her brother and had that peephole installed. The rustling sound came again and the knob turned in her hand. That woke her up.

What the hell?

She backed away and looked around to find a weapon. The only thing close was an umbrella so she grabbed it and waited. It seemed like hours, though it was only seconds later when someone stepped through the doorway. She closed her eyes and swung the umbrella like a bat. It made a nice swooshing sound, then a whack as it connected and a thud when the person fell. She opened her eyes and her jaw dropped.

On her floor was Ben—all six foot three inches of him. Mari flipped on the light so she could see him better. He was dressed in blue jeans and a red T-shirt that showed off his dark complexion. His black hair was barely there with its short Marine high and tight cut. His full lips looked so inviting and she wanted to kiss him, but she was pissed off and he’d probably have heart failure if his best friend’s sister gave him a lip lock.

“God damn it, Ben! How many times have I told you to knock!”

Mari went with anger, it was easier than focusing on how much she wanted in Ben’s pants…or him out of them.

“Well shit, Jellybean, if you’d lock your door, I might just knock.” He looked up at her from the floor, rubbing his head.

Mari put her hand out to help him to his feet, not letting his big brown eyes distract her. She was upset. He’d just broken into her house and she hadn’t seen or heard from him in weeks.

“When are you going to realise I’m not a kid anymore and stop calling me by that ridiculous nickname?”

Secretly she liked Ben calling her Jellybean, but she’d never let him know that. Lusting after her brother’s best friend probably wasn’t the best thing she could do, but she couldn’t help it. She’d been in love with the man for as long as she could remember and he never saw her as more than a friend’s annoying sibling.

Mari thought things might go differently after they both attended a family friend’s wedding. The dance she’d shared with Ben had been wonderful, but he ran off right afterwards. This was the first time she’d seen him since the reception.

“What did you hit me with?”

Ben still rubbed his head and she chuckled at his hurt expression. She also noticed that he’d ignored her comment about the nickname.

“An umbrella, I couldn’t find anything else.” Mari shrugged and put the umbrella away.

“Just wait until I tell Fin.”

“What? That you broke into his poor defenceless sister’s house? And you leave my brother out of this. What are you doing here anyway?” It was nice to see Ben back to his old self. This was who she knew and loved. Not that man who had left her on the dance floor feeling so alone and confused.

Ben snorted. “I’m taking you out. Go get dressed, Jellybean.”

She liked how he dismissed the poor defenceless part. Of course it helped having an older brother and his friends teaching her ways to make sure her dates didn’t get too grabby.

“Why me? Isn’t Fin home?” Mari plopped down on her couch.

“He’s out on assignment.” Ben moved to sit down beside her.

Mari loved the way his cologne smelled and she liked having him here beside her. She really didn’t feel like going out.

“Shoot, that’s right. I forgot he was delayed because one of the pilots got sick. He’s due back any day. Can’t you wait?”

“Nope, I just got my orders; I’m off to Iraq day after tomorrow.”

Shit, it was bad enough when Fin went on assignment, but to have Ben leaving too ripped her heart out. If anything happened to them she’d lose her mind.

“How long will you be gone?” Mari hoped the fear didn’t creep into her voice. She’d become better at hiding her worries and putting on a happy face.

“It’s supposed to be a month hitch to help out and do some training, but you know how that goes. So go, get dressed we’re gonna paint the town.”

“Just where are you taking me?”

She needed to stop thinking about the bad and live in the moment. After all—she was going out with Ben.

“It’s a surprise.” Ben winked at her.

“I need to know how to dress. And I can’t stay out too late. I have work tomorrow.”

“I thought you were on summer break? One of the perks of working in a school.”

“I will be, in a couple of weeks.”

“You know, when I was in school, our librarian was a troll. I don’t think your students know how lucky they are to have a hot librarian.” Ben slapped her thigh and smirked.

Mari pushed his hand away and got up from the couch. She grinned down at him before turning to go to her room. This Ben wasn’t afraid to touch her. She wondered what had changed.

“You think I’m hot?” she said over her shoulder.

Ben smacked her ass. “Go get dressed.”

Mari paused for a second to take in this new, playful Ben. Maybe tonight would be her chance to show him she wanted more from him than friendship. With that thought in mind, she went to raid her closet for the right outfit.

Ten minutes later she walked out of her room to find Ben at her bookshelf gazing at old pictures of the four of them. Growing up, Ben, Fin and Joe, a family friend lovingly referred to as Magnus, had done everything together. Originally, she had always stayed on the sidelines. It wasn’t until she went to college that the boys let her into their little group. She didn’t date much and that could be because the three of them ran off any guy interested in her. Mari shook her head at the memories. They were great ones and she missed Joe, but he’d been gone from the group for a while now. Ben—he was her constant. The only exception was her twin brother. They shared a different kind of bond. She cleared her throat and put thoughts of her brother in danger out of her head.

“You ready?”

Ben turned and the look on his face was priceless. His eyes widened and he sucked in a breath.

“You aren’t wearing that, are you?”

She glanced down at herself, “What’s wrong with what I have on?”

Mari had on a form fitting white tank top that ended at her belly button, showing off the loop she’d got pierced there on a dare from one of her friends last summer. Her jeans were black and fitted just right and she’d topped it off with a pair of sparkly red heels.

“What is that?” Ben pointed at her belly ring.

“I got my belly button pierced. It isn’t a big deal. Are you ready to go or not?”

“Do you have…ah…anything else pierced or tattooed?” Ben looked worried.

“That is for me to know and you to find out.” Mari winked at him and headed out of her doorway. She made sure to put a little extra wiggle in her walk. Ben Davies was going down.

Mari waited by Ben’s truck. He didn’t take long to catch up with her. She stood by while he opened the door for her, always the gentleman.

“Now will you tell me where we’re going?” she asked after Ben settled behind the wheel.

“No, and I want you to close your eyes. Like I said, it’s a surprise.”

Excerpt From: Ben

Mari jolted out of bed. Something had woken her up and she was a bit disoriented. She threw off her blankets, stumbled to the front of her apartment and paused with her hand on the doorknob, still not all the way awake.

Something isn’t right.

She cocked her head at a noise coming from the other side. It was times like these she wished she’d listened to her brother and had that peephole installed. The rustling sound came again and the knob turned in her hand. That woke her up.

What the hell?

She backed away and looked around to find a weapon. The only thing close was an umbrella so she grabbed it and waited. It seemed like hours, though it was only seconds later when someone stepped through the doorway. She closed her eyes and swung the umbrella like a bat. It made a nice swooshing sound, then a whack as it connected and a thud when the person fell. She opened her eyes and her jaw dropped.

On her floor was Ben—all six foot three inches of him. Mari flipped on the light so she could see him better. He was dressed in blue jeans and a red T-shirt that showed off his dark complexion. His black hair was barely there with its short Marine high and tight cut. His full lips looked so inviting and she wanted to kiss him, but she was pissed off and he’d probably have heart failure if his best friend’s sister gave him a lip lock.

“God damn it, Ben! How many times have I told you to knock!”

Mari went with anger, it was easier than focusing on how much she wanted in Ben’s pants…or him out of them.

“Well shit, Jellybean, if you’d lock your door, I might just knock.” He looked up at her from the floor, rubbing his head.

Mari put her hand out to help him to his feet, not letting his big brown eyes distract her. She was upset. He’d just broken into her house and she hadn’t seen or heard from him in weeks.

“When are you going to realise I’m not a kid anymore and stop calling me by that ridiculous nickname?”

Secretly she liked Ben calling her Jellybean, but she’d never let him know that. Lusting after her brother’s best friend probably wasn’t the best thing she could do, but she couldn’t help it. She’d been in love with the man for as long as she could remember and he never saw her as more than a friend’s annoying sibling.

Mari thought things might go differently after they both attended a family friend’s wedding. The dance she’d shared with Ben had been wonderful, but he ran off right afterwards. This was the first time she’d seen him since the reception.

“What did you hit me with?”

Ben still rubbed his head and she chuckled at his hurt expression. She also noticed that he’d ignored her comment about the nickname.

“An umbrella, I couldn’t find anything else.” Mari shrugged and put the umbrella away.

“Just wait until I tell Fin.”

“What? That you broke into his poor defenceless sister’s house? And you leave my brother out of this. What are you doing here anyway?” It was nice to see Ben back to his old self. This was who she knew and loved. Not that man who had left her on the dance floor feeling so alone and confused.

Ben snorted. “I’m taking you out. Go get dressed, Jellybean.”

She liked how he dismissed the poor defenceless part. Of course it helped having an older brother and his friends teaching her ways to make sure her dates didn’t get too grabby.

“Why me? Isn’t Fin home?” Mari plopped down on her couch.

“He’s out on assignment.” Ben moved to sit down beside her.

Mari loved the way his cologne smelled and she liked having him here beside her. She really didn’t feel like going out.

“Shoot, that’s right. I forgot he was delayed because one of the pilots got sick. He’s due back any day. Can’t you wait?”

“Nope, I just got my orders; I’m off to Iraq day after tomorrow.”

Shit, it was bad enough when Fin went on assignment, but to have Ben leaving too ripped her heart out. If anything happened to them she’d lose her mind.

“How long will you be gone?” Mari hoped the fear didn’t creep into her voice. She’d become better at hiding her worries and putting on a happy face.

“It’s supposed to be a month hitch to help out and do some training, but you know how that goes. So go, get dressed we’re gonna paint the town.”

“Just where are you taking me?”

She needed to stop thinking about the bad and live in the moment. After all—she was going out with Ben.

“It’s a surprise.” Ben winked at her.

“I need to know how to dress. And I can’t stay out too late. I have work tomorrow.”

“I thought you were on summer break? One of the perks of working in a school.”

“I will be, in a couple of weeks.”

“You know, when I was in school, our librarian was a troll. I don’t think your students know how lucky they are to have a hot librarian.” Ben slapped her thigh and smirked.

Mari pushed his hand away and got up from the couch. She grinned down at him before turning to go to her room. This Ben wasn’t afraid to touch her. She wondered what had changed.

“You think I’m hot?” she said over her shoulder.

Ben smacked her ass. “Go get dressed.”

Mari paused for a second to take in this new, playful Ben. Maybe tonight would be her chance to show him she wanted more from him than friendship. With that thought in mind, she went to raid her closet for the right outfit.

Ten minutes later she walked out of her room to find Ben at her bookshelf gazing at old pictures of the four of them. Growing up, Ben, Fin and Joe, a family friend lovingly referred to as Magnus, had done everything together. Originally, she had always stayed on the sidelines. It wasn’t until she went to college that the boys let her into their little group. She didn’t date much and that could be because the three of them ran off any guy interested in her. Mari shook her head at the memories. They were great ones and she missed Joe, but he’d been gone from the group for a while now. Ben—he was her constant. The only exception was her twin brother. They shared a different kind of bond. She cleared her throat and put thoughts of her brother in danger out of her head.

“You ready?”

Ben turned and the look on his face was priceless. His eyes widened and he sucked in a breath.

“You aren’t wearing that, are you?”

She glanced down at herself, “What’s wrong with what I have on?”

Mari had on a form fitting white tank top that ended at her belly button, showing off the loop she’d got pierced there on a dare from one of her friends last summer. Her jeans were black and fitted just right and she’d topped it off with a pair of sparkly red heels.

“What is that?” Ben pointed at her belly ring.

“I got my belly button pierced. It isn’t a big deal. Are you ready to go or not?”

“Do you have…ah…anything else pierced or tattooed?” Ben looked worried.

“That is for me to know and you to find out.” Mari winked at him and headed out of her doorway. She made sure to put a little extra wiggle in her walk. Ben Davies was going down.

Mari waited by Ben’s truck. He didn’t take long to catch up with her. She stood by while he opened the door for her, always the gentleman.

“Now will you tell me where we’re going?” she asked after Ben settled behind the wheel.

“No, and I want you to close your eyes. Like I said, it’s a surprise.”

Excerpt From: Bend

“Come on, baby,” Annabelle gasped, “you know I’ll ride you hard and dirty if that’s what it takes! Uhn!” Her ass hurt, her thighs were screaming, and she was being pounded within an inch of her life. She was pretty sure her internal organs had been battered and were even now free-floating in her body, her ovaries and kidneys high-fiving each other as they switched spots. “Christ!” A particularly hard slam had her teeth snapping together and black dots dancing in her vision, but she was still…hanging…on! Take that, you stubborn, crazy—

“Annabelle! What the fuck are you doing?” Rory yelled and diverted Annabelle’s attention at the worst possible time. The horse beneath her kicked his back legs out at as he lowered his shoulders and twisted, then jerked and reared up—and Annabelle hit the dry, hard dirt with a bone-jarring thud that surely turned those floating organs into a sloppy pulp. “Annabelle! Shit! I told you to leave Manilo to me! He’s too ornery and just too much horse for you!” Rory slid to his knees beside her, reaching for her before stopping with his hands just above her shoulders like he was afraid to touch.

He should be, Annabelle fumed, despite the pain in her body. If he hadn’t been such a damn momma about this, I wouldn’t have been distracted. As much as she’d love to point that out to him, she wasn’t sure she could even breathe yet, much less light into him. Somehow she managed to sit up and suppress the shudders that wanted to rip through her. Getting thrown sucked. Getting thrown while your hovering brother watched sucked stubby monkey toes.

“Sis, how…where does it hurt?” Rory rolled his eyes at his question before Annabelle could. “Stupid question, I know. Manilo tossed you off like you were nothing, and you landed damned hard.”

“No kidding,” Annabelle huffed out, the words scraping her throat. Was there nowhere on her that didn’t hurt? “’Cause you screeched like a momma at me, distracted me. Thanks.” Geez, her chest hurt. She glared at Rory until the prancing horse behind him caught her eye. Manilo looked inordinately pleased with himself, and in case she didn’t get the visual clues, he nickered and tossed his head before bolting across the corral.

Rory must have decided if she was well enough to snark at him, she was okay to touch. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her lightly. “If you hadn’t got on Manilo like I told you not to, then there’d been no startling you, would there?”

Annabelle groaned and knocked his hands away. “If you would stop treating me like a helpless female, then you wouldn’t have screeched and scared the beejeezus out of me! I’d still be on Manilo!” Maybe. Manilo made a sound which she was sure was the equine version of laughter and reared up. Rory’s hand on her cheek brought her attention back to him. The concern in his midnight eyes, so like her own, almost made her not quite furious with him.

“I can’t help worrying about you. You’re the only sibling I have, the only family…” Rory’s eyes grew damp and his lower lip trembled.

Well, crap. That always kills my mad. “I know, but—” Annabelle raised her hand to cup his and hissed as pain shot through her wrist. Tendrils of heat speared down to her elbow and up to her fingertips.

Rory rocked back on his heels as he chewed on his bottom lip. “You need to get checked out. Is that the worst of it, your arm…wrist?” he corrected when Annabelle shook her head. “Anything worse that would keep me from helping you up? I can call an ambulance.” Rory glanced over his shoulder. “Chance!”

“No,” Annabelle muttered, because everything hurt, but her wrist was definitely throbbing in a worrisome way. “No ambulance. Just my wrist is all that’s hurting.” She could hear the heavy thud of boot steps, knew Chance was running over after hearing Rory’s frantic yell. In seconds he was there too, looming over both her and Rory. His lips twitched as he looked down at Annabelle.

“Just couldn’t stay off of Manilo, could you?” Chance asked, amusement tinting his voice.

Annabelle thought she did well to refrain from an answer of ‘duh’. “Obviously I couldn’t stay on him.” Then she gave Rory a withering look. “Although, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten thrown if doofus there hadn’t started screeching like a banshee at me.”

Chance huffed out a laugh. “I’m rather fond of his, hm, screeching, myself.”

“Gross,” was the only answer she had for that.

“So where’s the most damage?”

“My left wrist,” Annabelle snapped out before Rory could answer for her. The pain was steadily increasing in her wrist, and she wasn’t the type to handle pain gracefully. “And it hurts like a mother.”

“I can imagine,” Chance agreed. “Let’s get you up and to the doctor. He can fix you up in no time. Then you and your brother can have a throw-down over whose fault it was your ass got dumped.”

One of the things Annabelle loved about Chance was that he stayed out of her and Rory’s disagreements. She knew he most assuredly sympathised with Rory in private, but he’d never intervened or criticised her openly, and she could respect that. Chance should be on her brother’s side. Rory deserved someone who’d stand by him through any and everything after the crap he’d been through.

But it’d be nice, not that Annabelle would admit it out loud, if she had someone who would stand by her, too.

Excerpt From: Bend

“Come on, baby,” Annabelle gasped, “you know I’ll ride you hard and dirty if that’s what it takes! Uhn!” Her ass hurt, her thighs were screaming, and she was being pounded within an inch of her life. She was pretty sure her internal organs had been battered and were even now free-floating in her body, her ovaries and kidneys high-fiving each other as they switched spots. “Christ!” A particularly hard slam had her teeth snapping together and black dots dancing in her vision, but she was still…hanging…on! Take that, you stubborn, crazy—

“Annabelle! What the fuck are you doing?” Rory yelled and diverted Annabelle’s attention at the worst possible time. The horse beneath her kicked his back legs out at as he lowered his shoulders and twisted, then jerked and reared up—and Annabelle hit the dry, hard dirt with a bone-jarring thud that surely turned those floating organs into a sloppy pulp. “Annabelle! Shit! I told you to leave Manilo to me! He’s too ornery and just too much horse for you!” Rory slid to his knees beside her, reaching for her before stopping with his hands just above her shoulders like he was afraid to touch.

He should be, Annabelle fumed, despite the pain in her body. If he hadn’t been such a damn momma about this, I wouldn’t have been distracted. As much as she’d love to point that out to him, she wasn’t sure she could even breathe yet, much less light into him. Somehow she managed to sit up and suppress the shudders that wanted to rip through her. Getting thrown sucked. Getting thrown while your hovering brother watched sucked stubby monkey toes.

“Sis, how…where does it hurt?” Rory rolled his eyes at his question before Annabelle could. “Stupid question, I know. Manilo tossed you off like you were nothing, and you landed damned hard.”

“No kidding,” Annabelle huffed out, the words scraping her throat. Was there nowhere on her that didn’t hurt? “’Cause you screeched like a momma at me, distracted me. Thanks.” Geez, her chest hurt. She glared at Rory until the prancing horse behind him caught her eye. Manilo looked inordinately pleased with himself, and in case she didn’t get the visual clues, he nickered and tossed his head before bolting across the corral.

Rory must have decided if she was well enough to snark at him, she was okay to touch. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her lightly. “If you hadn’t got on Manilo like I told you not to, then there’d been no startling you, would there?”

Annabelle groaned and knocked his hands away. “If you would stop treating me like a helpless female, then you wouldn’t have screeched and scared the beejeezus out of me! I’d still be on Manilo!” Maybe. Manilo made a sound which she was sure was the equine version of laughter and reared up. Rory’s hand on her cheek brought her attention back to him. The concern in his midnight eyes, so like her own, almost made her not quite furious with him.

“I can’t help worrying about you. You’re the only sibling I have, the only family…” Rory’s eyes grew damp and his lower lip trembled.

Well, crap. That always kills my mad. “I know, but—” Annabelle raised her hand to cup his and hissed as pain shot through her wrist. Tendrils of heat speared down to her elbow and up to her fingertips.

Rory rocked back on his heels as he chewed on his bottom lip. “You need to get checked out. Is that the worst of it, your arm…wrist?” he corrected when Annabelle shook her head. “Anything worse that would keep me from helping you up? I can call an ambulance.” Rory glanced over his shoulder. “Chance!”

“No,” Annabelle muttered, because everything hurt, but her wrist was definitely throbbing in a worrisome way. “No ambulance. Just my wrist is all that’s hurting.” She could hear the heavy thud of boot steps, knew Chance was running over after hearing Rory’s frantic yell. In seconds he was there too, looming over both her and Rory. His lips twitched as he looked down at Annabelle.

“Just couldn’t stay off of Manilo, could you?” Chance asked, amusement tinting his voice.

Annabelle thought she did well to refrain from an answer of ‘duh’. “Obviously I couldn’t stay on him.” Then she gave Rory a withering look. “Although, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten thrown if doofus there hadn’t started screeching like a banshee at me.”

Chance huffed out a laugh. “I’m rather fond of his, hm, screeching, myself.”

“Gross,” was the only answer she had for that.

“So where’s the most damage?”

“My left wrist,” Annabelle snapped out before Rory could answer for her. The pain was steadily increasing in her wrist, and she wasn’t the type to handle pain gracefully. “And it hurts like a mother.”

“I can imagine,” Chance agreed. “Let’s get you up and to the doctor. He can fix you up in no time. Then you and your brother can have a throw-down over whose fault it was your ass got dumped.”

One of the things Annabelle loved about Chance was that he stayed out of her and Rory’s disagreements. She knew he most assuredly sympathised with Rory in private, but he’d never intervened or criticised her openly, and she could respect that. Chance should be on her brother’s side. Rory deserved someone who’d stand by him through any and everything after the crap he’d been through.

But it’d be nice, not that Annabelle would admit it out loud, if she had someone who would stand by her, too.

Excerpt From: Bending Tyme

Esme pulled her favourite vintage quilt over her head, her peace disturbed by the cell phone set to vibrate and engaging in a jumping-bean dance on her nightstand. Reluctant to emerge from the delicious fantasy she had spun during those pre-dawn minutes, Esme nonetheless groped for the phone and read the latest in a stream of texts from her best friend—former best friend, Esme decided.

The text would probably contain the usual tirade from Charisse. She had only grown worse since Esme had announced the grand opening of their Massachusetts office to her Canadian staff.

Getting off to your ‘Lord of the Locket’ works great for your fantasy life, Esme, but let’s find you a man with a heartbeat for this party. To Esme’s chagrin, Charisse had compiled a list of suitable candidates as soon as Esme had made the announcement.

Sure enough, this latest message from Charisse read, C nu list—BB4B, Charisse’s text-talk for ‘buff bachelors for boffing’. Esme turned her cell off, eyeing the early nineteenth-century ball gown and undergarments gracing the mannequin across the room. She grimaced at the corset laces hanging down the wire form, wondering how many awkward turns around the dance hall would result in her breasts popping right over the top of the bodice. Not for the first time, Esme regretted her decision to let Charisse take the reins for this launch party. Ah well… Esme let her gaze fall to the itinerary on her nightstand. Just this one bash stood between her and a much-anticipated three-month globe-trotting vacation while she turned the reins over to Charisse and her husband Timone. Esme eyed the corset again. I can handle even that for just one night.

At least the heirloom locket draped around the wire neck of her body-double was intriguing. Esme climbed out of bed, snagged the locket and stretched the nude length of her body before sinking down on the tufted stool in front of her vanity and opening the ornate locket.

One side silver, the other gold, the unusual, mismatched ovals of the locket afforded a vexing puzzle even for Charisse and her husband—Esme’s resident experts in nineteenth-century antiques. However, three additional jewellers in the field had each documented the piece as genuine, despite its eccentric design. Esme’s interest, however, lay not in the unusual mix of metals or the locket’s certificates of authenticity, but in the miniature portrait nestled in the gold side of the locket.

This unique piece had come into Esme’s possession eight weeks ago. The crew she had hired to repair part of the foundation in the Boston office building had unearthed a small, metal box buried in one corner. Esme had broken open the decaying box to reveal the locket within. Every morning since, caught in that sleep-state where grudging awareness of fresh Earl Grey tea brewing in her kitchen skirmished with her desire to revel in her fantasies for a few minutes longer, she had made love to the man in the portrait.

Esme opened a drawer, rifling through its contents. She glanced at his portrait, considered the battery-operated vibrator she held, and put it down again. No toy stashed in his nightstand would take double As…

Esme shifted forward, cradling the locket in one hand, slipping the other between her legs. His eyes, an unusual aquamarine blue—artistic licence, Esme imagined—mesmerised her nonetheless. She traced his mouth with her gaze, imagining his lips on hers.

Esme dropped the locket, closing her eyes, still seeing each fine detail, spreading her pussy lips with one hand, stroking her clit with the other, surrendering to the heat spreading through her. She opened her legs wider now, moving her fingers in and out, slow and gentle, imagining him fingering her wet cunt, his face—not hers—reflected in the mirror in front of her.

Esme lifted her fingers to her tongue, the scent and taste of her own arousal exciting her further. She lost herself in the fantasy, imagining him there, beside her…

Excerpt From: Beneath the Changing Moon

August 2009 - Blood Moon

All vampire rituals took place beneath the cycle of the Blood Moon. Our blood was thick in the heat and sluggish in our veins. I wasn't quite twenty-five when my mom took me to the Blood-Seer. Mom had a fresh manicure and the sick-sweet smell of the chemicals made me gag. I didn't know how she could stand it. My appointment was early in the month, because we weren't rich enough to afford the Seer's work beneath the full moon, but she was wise and her power always great.

Her fingers were dry and rough like gnawed bone when she took my hand and led me into her workroom. The lights were dim, the windows curtained. Night fell late and I was often tired in the summer, but anticipation stirred me, wound me up.

She laid a fire despite the heat, and the warmth of the room was oppressive. My eyes dried out and my skin tingled. When her fingers passed along my arm, numbness followed her touch.

It was better that way, for she lifted my wrists and laid open my veins.

I had felt nothing like it before. I would feel nothing like it ever again.

The Blood-Seer put her mouth to my skin and drank me down, but did not pierce me with her fangs. If she did, her venom would contaminate my blood and she wouldn't get a good reading from it. That was almost the worst thing which could happen.

She drank for so long my head lolled back and my eyes closed. It hurt too much-it felt too good-to sleep, but my bones were heavy and my joints ached. I was due another growth spurt soon. Mom measured my progress on the wall. She was pleased I was tall like her. I could tell because she smiled widely every time I grew even a centimetre.

"Be still." The Blood-Seer's voice was as dry as her hands. I slit my eyes open and watched as she gathered my blood into little glass vials. She would smell it, analyse it, put it under the microscope, add her powders, do her science-magic. No one but a Blood-Seer could know the exact process. We trusted that she was well trained. We trusted that she knew.

No one ever questioned her.

My dad, like all the other fathers, waited for the results of her tests to throw me as extravagant a party as we could afford. It would still be a simple party because we couldn't afford anything else, but if the Blood-Seer's prognosis was good enough, he, like all the other fathers, would go into debt to make sure all of the best families-all the rich families-knew my blood was pure, my body ripe for pregnancy.

I fell asleep in the car on the ride home, my head on the cool window, lulled by the steady throb of the engine. I'd helped rebuild it the last time it broke down. When Mom woke me, her voice was warm and filled with happiness. She believed the Blood-Seer would tell us great things. At twenty-five, she had gone to a Blood-Seer beneath the almost new Blood Moon and had been told she was barely Fertile and would have difficulty getting pregnant. She feared she'd never find someone to bind with and never be a mother. She had been lucky, she always told me, that Dad had looked past her bad blood. When Dad had gone to the Blood-Seer in his time, he had been deemed fully Fertile. She believed-she hoped-I would take after him.

It was a whirlwind two weeks of work and preparing the celebration for my coming of age. At the end, mere days before my party, word came from the Blood-Seer and my world crashed down.

I was Infertile, she said, and my mother sank to her knees and clawed at her face because her tongue had died and her hope melted away.

Excerpt From: Bent For His Will

Sun-streaked blonde hair fell to her waist. Dirty blonde, just like the girl. Renna Polo was as kinky as they came. Speaking of coming… “Tell me again why we can’t go to your place.”

Pushing Renna back against the corridor wall, Logan sliced his leg between her toned thighs. Damn, he stood six-two and she was nearly as tall as he was. Easily five-ten. Long limbs, tight body and a wicked sense of humour.

He skimmed his lips along her jaw and down her neck. Her silken hair draped over his hands as he stroked the ladder of her spine, to the dip of her lower back, then cupped her luscious ass. Two perfectly round cheeks filled his palms.

“My roommate’s parents are in town. She said it’s bad enough when I keep her up all night. She doesn’t think her parents would appreciate our interests.” A moan rolled from her throat as she rocked against him. Renna more than moaned, she screamed through her orgasms. How was he going to fuck her at his place? He also had a roommate.

He pulled back and smiled. Hard nipples prodded against the clingy tank top hugging her chest. Although she didn’t wear lipstick, Renna wore a shitload of makeup on her eyes. Heavy kohl liner and long, sexy lashes rimmed stormy bedroom irises a deep shade of blue. Those same eyes would widen and sparkle when he plunged into her slippery sheath until she shattered. “Can you be quiet?” Heat from her pussy burned through the fabric of his trousers. Fuck, his dick was hard and ready.

“No. So maybe you had better fuck me out here.” She swivelled her hips and he groaned. “Who lives across the hall?” The upper floor of the old textile plant had been split into four loft apartments. The rent and proximity to USC more than compensated for the view out of the large industrial windows.

“This is LA. I don’t know my neighbours. They don’t bother me and I don’t bother them, which is why we should go in, but only if you promise to be quiet.”

“I can try. You might have to punish me. Paddle my ass before you fuck me.”

“How can I resist?” Why would he? She was hot, horny and totally into him. Logan’s pulse spiked and he smiled. He could admit he wanted more from her. He knew he hadn’t had enough.

“You can’t.” She smirked. “So maybe you shouldn’t be so good.” She slid her hands into his suit coat, gripped his hips and tugged him closer. “Let’s see if you can be quiet while I fuck you in the ass like you did me the other night.” She squeezed his butt.

Logan claimed her lips and hungrily ate at her mouth. His tongue lashed at hers, sucking, tasting, emulating the way he was going to thrust his cock into her as soon as he had her in his room, in his bed with her legs wrapped tight around his waist. “Shh. Will is asleep.” Not to mention Logan and his roommate Will Pennington had an unwritten rule not to bring dates to their loft. One large open room wasn’t conducive for intimate encounters with moaning and heavy breathing.

“Will loves me,” she said.

He snorted as he slipped the key into the door handle and popped the lock. “He might love you, but I promise, he won’t love waking up and seeing my ass in the air while I fuck you unconscious.” At least, Will had never hinted he’d like to see Logan’s ass.

“I’ve never lost consciousness.” She caressed his cock bulging against the zipper of his slacks. “But I think you should try. I’ll climb on top of you, ride that monster in your pants then it’ll be my ass in the air.”

Logan opened the door then softly closed it. “Believe me, your ass isn’t going to do anything for Will.” He slipped off his suit coat and draped it over the back of a recliner. A dim light above the stove cast a pale glow into the main area of the loft. Shadows darkened the perimeter, but Logan could see Will asleep in his bed.

“That isn’t a very nice thing to say. What’s wrong with my ass?”

Logan pulled her into his arms and backed her against the door. “You have an amazing ass. You’re just not his type. You’re my type.” He kissed her pouty lips.

“As in easy and horny? Or blonde with tits?” Her low, throaty laugh sent an arrow of quivering heat along his spine. “Or is it my charming personality?”

“Maybe it’s just that you love to fuck as much as I do,” he whispered as he tugged open the snap of her jeans.

“Are you going to ravish me here, or do I get the pleasure of your bed?”

“Oh, you’ll get pleasured.” He tucked his thumbs into the waistband of her jeans, touching silken skin. Inching her jeans over her hips, he dropped to his haunches to tug the denim down to her ankles. He lifted her left foot, flicked the strap of her sandal off her heel and tossed the shoe to the side. He then lifted her right foot. Removing the sandal and jeans, he leaned into the apex of her thighs and breathed against the scrap of silk covering her smooth, hairless slit. Cupping the back of his head, she swivelled her hips, rolling her pussy into his mouth.

A hungry growl rumbled from his throat. He gripped her ass and buried his mouth in her honeyed heat. Thrusting his tongue against the silk, he wet the fabric until the material moulded to her clit. Her head fell back and thumped against the door.

He chuckled and backed away. Hooking a finger in the drenched material sliding into her folds, he grazed her pussy lips with his knuckles. She whimpered, but he didn’t linger in her slit. He slithered the thong down her legs, running his fingertips over her smooth flesh. Warmth simmered in his balls. He rested his forehead on the sexy plane of her pelvis and drank in her seductive essence. A touch of perfume, a hint of musk and the sweet bloom of her arousal. He shifted his lips and kissed her belly.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he whispered.

“Good.” She stepped out of the wispy panties, then widened her stance. “It’s okay.” She weaved her fingers through his hair. “I like being a little crazy. You will, too.”

Logan grasped her leg, lifted it to his shoulder and delved into her cunt. Slicing his tongue through her soaked folds, he lapped at her cream. “Fucking hot.” She rose onto her tiptoes and rocked her hips. God, she was like the ocean. Wet, wild and just a hint of salty decadence. He screwed his tongue into her hole.

“More,” she whispered.

Excerpt From: Best Mates

Alec Russert snuggled deeper into the crook of Kevin Crosby's arms and laid his ear against his lover's heart. Enamoured by the sexy swirl of dark blonde hair on Kevin's chest, he traced his lover's flat nipple. Despite his nearness to the sexiest man on earth, he couldn't get his mind off his best mate and her predicament. "That bloody sucks for Jennica. She believed Thad was 'the one'."

A low growl rose from Kevin's throat as he feathered a kiss across Alec's lips. "Bugger that. If he's 'the one', I"m a talking horse. She's far better off without that wanker."

Alec's heart ached for Jennica. "Yeah, I know. But she has her heart set on having a baby and her biological clock is ticking." Alec twisted in his lover's arms. When his cock grazed Kevin's, shudders of delight rippled through him and his cock flexed.

Kevin moaned and he wrapped his fingers around Alec's cock. "Righto. She's such a dinosaur. What is she? All of thirty-five?"

It was hard to think straight as his blood began rushing into his dick. It was an effort to stay coherent when Kevin played with his cock, while his strong arm held him. Breathlessly, he murmured, "Thirty-six."

"Blimey, she's older than the dinosaurs."

His own desires surfaced. "We're not getting any younger, either. I know how she feels."

A frown pinched Kevin's brows, and he drew back. "We don't have biological clocks."

Missing his partner"s warmth, Alec screwed up his face. "Not in the same way. But do you really fancy a kid when you're too old to enjoy it? I want one now, when I'm still able to get down on the floor and play with it."

Kevin stared at him cross-eyed. "You're serious about this, aren't you? Do you know how hard it is to adopt? Even for a married heterosexual couple? How expensive? It's a real ball-breaker."

Alec"s mind clicked away at mach speed as a smile tugged his lips. "Who said anything about adoption?"

Kevin released his cock and jerked away from him, disbelief shadowing his soulful eyes. "Don't even kid about a thing like that. It's not funny."

Hurt, Alec pulled away, losing his erection. He poured a glass of sparkling wine from the bottle he'd left on the nightstand and took a sip. When the bubbles tickled his nose, he screwed up his face. "Who's joking? I want to be a dad. I thought you did, too."

Kevin swore and swung his legs over the side of their bed. The muscles in his back bunched as he hunched over and massaged his forehead. Wrenching around, he looked at Alec. "Well, yeah. Some day. Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"

Alec did his best to keep a straight face as he downed the rest of his poison in one large gulp. Then he shoved his unruly hair away from his narrowed eyes. "What do you think I'm thinking?"

Kevin blew out a long sigh, his eyes blazing blue wildfire. "That you want to put the bun in Jennica's oven?" Wariness and a million more questions flooded Kevin's eyes. "Have you thought this through? Or is this another of your hare-brained schemes?"

Alec's heart twisted almost as wryly as his lips. He'd been doing little else but thinking about it. He walked on his knees across the bed and hugged the love of his life. He rested his cheek against Kevin's as his heart turned over. "I love kids. I love you. I want us to be a family. We have a lot to offer a child."

Kevin turned his head so that his breath warmed Alec's face. "With Jennica? Or would she raise the kid and we just get occasional visitation? Would he know we're the dads?"

Alec tried not to frown as he pulled back to study his partner's expression. Jitters ran down his spine. This was not how he should have proposed this suggestion, he realised. Instead of his post coital suggestion, he wished he'd prepared a romantic dinner, lit the room with dozens of flickering candles and played Kevin's beloved soft jazz CD. After plying his lover with his favourite chardonnay, then he should have brought up the subject. Alec wanted to kick his own bloody arse.

Before he could reply, Kevin continued, "Do you think she'd go for it?"

Alec took in a deep lungful of air and almost fell over in relief. "We're her favourite men in the world, aren't we? And we're a lot more bleeding reliable than any of those wankers she's been hooking up with."

A grin feathered Kevin's lips, and a rainbow of wonder dawned in his eyes. "You and I are going to be daddies."

Without warning, Kevin wrapped his arms around Alec and bent him back onto the mattress with a deep, heartfelt kiss. "So'which of us will donate the DNA?"

Excerpt From: Between A and Z

“Mia! C’mon. What’s taking you so long?” Mia’s best friend, Shirle, yelled from the doorway of the sculpting studio. “Put down the tools and take a step back from that mountain of clay. You’ve been at it all day. It’s Friday night. Time to party.”

“Just a minute!” Mia called back. She rested her hands on the shoulders of the life-sized clay man in front of her and stared at his featureless face. “Show me your face,” she whispered. “I’ll stay here all night with you if you’ll just show me your face.”

Sometimes, she felt like she could hear him talking to her inside her head, but tonight he was quiet. She refused to analyse the mental health issues that hearing voices in her head could signify. Rather, she chose to focus on how she’d gotten more emotionally involved with this sculpture than anything she’d ever done before. She knew in her gut this was going to be one of the most special pieces in her body of work.

Squinting, she peered closer at the clay where his face should be, but she saw nothing to indicate how his eyes, nose or mouth should look. “You’re not ready to come out yet, are you?” she asked the lifeless form. “Fine, then I’m going dancing. I’ll be back tomorrow if you feel like showing up…if I don’t get lucky tonight.”

She pulled the plastic cover over her clay man, wiped her tools clean, and clicked off her work lamp before joining Shirle at the door.

“Girl, we’ve got to hurry if we’re going to make you party-presentable by eight.” Shirle grabbed Mia’s wrist and dragged her out of the studio.

Mia cast a final look over her shoulder at her latest project. She’d dubbed him Adam, because he was the first man she’d ever created. Most of her work had been female torsos with their curves and soft lines, but a few months ago her muse became adamant that it was time for her to produce a man. Though, she might have been confusing her surging libido with her artistic muse.

She’d been abstinent for nearly a year, but not because of any kind of premeditated plan. She’d been finding it hard to meet any men who met her criteria. She wasn’t especially selective, but the pickings over the past year had been slim to none.

Tonight was Shirle’s attempt to end Mia’s long dry spell and give her vibrator a night off. Shirle had organised a huge gathering of artists, actors and musicians from her Facebook connections, specifically sending the call out to all the straight, single men in the Chicagoland area. It was unofficially being called the Break Mia’s Abstinence Bash.

Excerpt From: Between Tooth and Paw

"This is an incredibly stupid idea."

"It is the only way."

"If they kill each other off, that is one thing. But, I will not condone throwing the girl in the middle of it all."

Jasmine Neal knelt naked in the middle of the hotel bedroom. Her training had long ago instilled in her that during a scene a submissive's gaze should never rise from the floor. Unable to look up and see anyone's face, she watched various pairs of expensive shoes walk around her as a dozen eyes trailed over her skin, examining her body from every angle.

Forcing herself to stay still under their casual inspection, she made yet another attempt to work out which voice belonged to which pair of circling shoes.

"Perhaps she will be a good influence on them." A woman's voice. High heeled stilettos-very expensive but discreetly so-they fitted the cultured tone of voice perfectly. Old money, a vampire perhaps.

"Huh!" That exclamation, no doubt, belonged to the scuffed loafers. The edge of the man's trousers had frayed where they'd rubbed on the floor. Poor perhaps or, more likely given the situation, a man who was simply careless of clothes and appearances. Perhaps, a man who felt more at home in a fur coat than a tailored suit-a werewolf.

"Then perhaps she will distract them," the woman suggested.

"The situation has been explained to her and humans are far more resilient than you give them credit for. I have every confidence she will survive the encounter."

Jasmine didn't need the help of footwear to identify that voice. She knew Mr. Washington's voice very well. Harsh, commanding and undeniably dominant. Even if she hadn't known already, she would have guessed he'd wear military boots-each one always polished to a gleam by another person's hands. A submissive's hands. In this particular case, by her hands.

"It is all the damn humans' fault anyway. All those stupid stories about how much vampires and werewolves hate each other. It puts ideas into our children's heads. We've lived in peace-each species happily minding its own business for hundreds of generations and now we are brought down to this!"

A new pair of shoes came into her view. Black lace ups. Polished, but not excessively so. Well made, but not by any designer of note. Nondescript, just like the voice she attached to it.

"She is their physical type," Mr. Washington said. "She's been well trained and she knows what's required of her. She'll follow her orders."

"She is still only one woman," that was Mr. Nondescript. Jasmine struggled to attach a species to him. Zombie? Ghoul? Maybe the man was even another human. It was possible a human besides Mr. Washington had made it onto the council of elders-highly unlikely, but possible.

"Do not underestimate women," the high heeled possible-vampire said from somewhere behind Jasmine. "There are many times when more can be accomplished by a smile from a woman than by the threats of a hundred armed men."

"I'd prefer to be in the middle of those armed men, if I was going to be the one stuck between those two brats."

Excerpt from: Between Two Lovers

April knew she was in deep shit the first time she laid eyes on the tall dark skinned bartender. If this was her best friend Joey’s boyfriend he had damn good taste. “Curt’s not here,” Joey said in her ear.

Oh good, April breathed a sigh of relief. That meant she still had a chance at the six-foot four or five bald god in front of her. Her eyes met his and she smiled.

“Hi there,” Mojo said, staring at April.

“Where’s Curt?” Joey asked.

April lost track of the conversation, too busy staring into the blackest eyes she’d ever seen. Joey was starting to get irate beside her and the bartender finally broke eye contact. Leaning towards Joey they exchanged a few heated words.

Wanting those beautiful eyes back on her, April interrupted. “Can you make a strawberry daiquiri?”

It worked as Mojo reached out and took a long strand of her blonde hair between his fingers. “I’ll make anything you want, darlin’.”

April’s pussy tingled at the heated look. She ran her tongue over her lips shamefully.

Joey shook his head. “I’m going to Curt’s. Can I take your car?”

“Sure,” April said without looking at him. When she made no move to dig the keys out of her purse, Joey cleared his throat. “Oh, sorry,” she said and handed him the keys.

“You sure you’ll be okay until I get back?” he asked April.

“I’ll make sure no one bothers her,” Mojo answered.

“Yeah, and who’s gonna watch you?” Joey said.

“Hopefully, this little lady,” Mojo said with a wink.

“I’ll be fine,” April said, giving Joey a push towards the door. There was definitely something about the big man in front of her. She hadn’t felt this sexually attracted to someone in…in forever. April turned back to the bar. “Now, about that drink, sir.”

The bartender cupped her cheek from across the bar, and ran his thumb over her lips. Oh my.

“The name’s Mojo.”

April wondered if his name had something to do with his obviously mixed ethnicity. She could pick out the African American in him by the darker colour to his skin, but there was something else, something almost exotic about the large man. She couldn’t resist touching the tip of her tongue to the large digit as it continued to caress her lips. Mojo’s nostrils flared as he fed the whole thing into her mouth. April didn’t know what was wrong with her, but she readily sucked on the near-stranger’s thumb.

“Damn,” Mojo groaned. He leaned forward and replaced his hand with his mouth, delving his tongue inside.

Oh shit I’m in trouble. It was confirmed at the first brush of his tongue against hers. Breaking the kiss, April looked into Mojo’s black eyes. “You don’t seem like a Mojo. Is that your real name?”

“Nope. Name’s Morgan Jones, but no one calls me that except my lover.” Mojo’s black eyes twinkled. “Feel free to use the name if you want.”

Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Wait. “Did you just say you already have a lover?”

Mojo nodded. “His name’s Jasper and he’s hotter than hell. You’d like him.” He ran his hand down the column of her neck. “And he’d like you.”

Excerpt from: Beyond Meddling

"Boy, you're a damn fool."

Evan Wilton sat upright in bed, scanning the room for the source of the voice that awakened him. He saw no one. Of course he wouldn't. His grandfather, the man he thought he'd just heard was dead. He died over three months ago. It was merely a dream. He flopped onto his back and draped his arm over his eyes. His grandfather was dead. When would he just know that and not need to continually remind himself of the fact? How long would it take?

"I'm speaking to you, boy. The least you could do is pay attention."

"Pop?" Evan asked aloud, feeling the fool for doing so as he cautiously removed his arm.

"Of course it's me. You think after all these years you'd recognise my voice."

"But you're dead," he stated.

"So? What's your point?"

"I'm dreaming. That's it. I have to be. It's just because I miss the old coot so much that I think I can still hear him."

"Old coot? Who you calling an old coot, boy?"

Evan shook his head. He rubbed his eyes and looked around the room again. This time he saw his grandfather leaning against the doorjamb. He jumped out of bed. "Pop? What the fuck?"

"Put some pants on, boy. It's too early in the morning to be waving that around. And watch your mouth."

Evan pulled on some shorts and sat on the edge of the bed. "Pop?"

"Jeez, would you get with it already, boy? You act like I've never visited before."

"It's not that, Pop. It's just that you're dead. I wasn't expecting you."

"Harrumph. You should've been. Someone has to knock some sense into that fool head of yours."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? What. Do. I. Mean? The girl, you idiot. The girl. Be. You're going to lose her if you don't get your head out of your ass."

"Be," Evan sighed tiredly. "She's already gone, Pop."

"Stupid fool. Serve you right if she was, acting like that," the recently deceased Walter Evans grumbled. "You still have time if you'd stop hiding like some snivelling coward and be the man that I know you are."

"She doesn't really want me. I'm not good enough for her."

"Hogwash. Stop talking out your ass and think for a minute here. She's got a good head on her shoulders. Yup, Belynda Himmel is one of the finest women I ever met. Right up there with your Gran and that's saying something."

"Yeah she is, so what the hell would she want with a loser like me?"

"Damned if I know when you're saying stupid shit like that. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and go after her. There's still time."

"But she's leaving in a few days."

"So what? She asked you to go with her. She never impressed me as the kind of girl who would do that frivolously."

"She didn't know what she was saying."

"Horse feathers and you know it. Or you would if you'd bother to consider it rationally. The girl loves you, though why I'll never know with that attitude. Keep it up and she won't."

"Love? You're wrong, Pop. Be doesn't do love. She said so herself."

"Damn fool. If you believe that you're further gone than I thought. She's scared. Been burned a few too many times. Doesn't want to call it that is all. But that's what it is sure as shooting."

"I don't think so."

"No? Then what would you call it?"

Evan squirmed. "Lust."

Excerpt from: Beyond the Vision of Dreams

The mouth around his cock hummed as he throbbed within it, fucking it brutally. The woman attached to it, moaned and then pulled off, smirking, turning so she was on all fours. He growled and grabbed her hips, sliding into her sopping pussy. She moaned and turned her gaze to the mirror in front of her, suddenly there, and watched him fuck her, her bright green eyes going wide then shutting as he felt her coming, his body shuddering with her, feeling himself spurting into her slick warm flesh...

Remy sat up in bed and looked at the clock. It was just before dawn, and he was alone, much to his distaste. Fucking dreams. I swear one day I'm going to remember all of them. Then they are in for a serious load of trouble. He swung his legs out of bed and padded naked to his bathroom. He didn't turn on the lights, his night vision perfected by his heritage, as Pythons were almost blind in the daylight, but could see as clear as day in the darkness.

He gained the sink and turned on the faucet, running his hands under the cold water and bringing a small pool up to his face, effectively waking himself up. This is just getting ridiculous. I haven't had a decent night's sleep in a week. Maybe I need to get laid. Nah, well yeah but that's not going to help it. That's the last time I suggest fucking 'til dawn to Elise. Shit knows that's exactly what happened, but shit if I'm still pent up. He smiled at himself in the mirror and walked back out to his bedroom, intent on actually trying to get some sleep.

The same girl every night was getting a little old. Not that he was against monogamy, but the fact that he didn't know the raven-haired beauty with the brilliant-green eyes, had never seen her in his life, disturbed him slightly. The dreams were always erotic, and while the parts he remembered were never the same, the same woman starred in them night after night.

He laid back down, the cool air of the night filtering through the open French doors to his private deck and caressing his body like the dream lover he still thought about. Thank god Succubi don't really invade dreams, or I'd be worse than fucked. He stretched his muscular body on the steel-coloured sheets and groaned, the dark-haired beauty still playing havoc in his waking mind.

Whoever she was, she was quite the whore in the bedroom. Was she real? He knew some of the others in the créche, or nest, had prophetic dreams but in the thirty-five years of his life, not once had it happened to him. Either way, it bore looking into, and once he was truly awake, his head not fuzzy with the fog of sleep, he would revisit the problem with a renewed sense of purpose. Now...

His eyes closed, and she came to him again, her coy smile and lush glossy lips beckoning him. He smiled and cupped his once again rampant erection, grasping with just enough pressure to make him groan. He stroked himself, growling, his dream girl taking over pumping his cock in his head, his self gratification replaced by her sweet caresses straight from his mind.

It didn't take long as he was already worked up from the dreams, and he came hard, groaning and licking his lips, his hot, sticky cum pooling on his ab-riddled stomach. Pants escaped his mouth, and he whistled. "Well fuck if that didn't do the trick," he said as he quickly cleaned up and turned his head towards the window.

The dregs of sleep he had felt were turning into tendrils, and he yawned, his eyes growing heavy as the sun started to break on the horizon.

What seemed like minutes to him was actually four hours as his alarm went off. "Christ." He sat up, grabbed a cigarette and lit it, inhaling the harsh smoke.

"Breakfast of champions. Fuck, at least, it's not a bottle of gin."

He walked to the bathroom once again and went through his morning routine, finishing his shower and dressing in under fifteen minutes. He could hear and feel the rest of the house already up and about around him, their latent energy hum resonating throughout the vast mansion. He dreaded going down to the morning room. Remy Crane was a lot of things, but morning person wasn't one of them.

He hoped he didn't catch wind of Elise on his way down since he was still a little stung from her turning down his offer the night before. Thinking he could banish the woman who turned his dream crank nightly by actually getting some physical tail was the plan, but the Archon, or nest leader, Elise Rizdon, had not shared his ideas or the sentiment. Not that he'd expected her to, but it had been worth a shot.

Excerpt From: Bi Now, Gay Later

“Do you reckon he spends a lot of time thinking about having sex with women?”

Denton Greenwood’s lips quirked into an amused little smile as he turned to his friend. “I have no idea who you’re talking about. But, since we’re in a gay bar, I’ll go out on a limb and guess that no one in here spends a lot of time thinking about doing anything with a woman.”

“Jerry’s not gay though, is he?” Peter pointed out. “He’s bi.”

Denton’s fingers tightened around his glass as his eyes automatically sought out a blond head of hair in the crowd. Someone stepped to one side. Jerry came into view. “He’s not bi.”

“He says he’s bi.” Peter drained his glass and put it clumsily on the little table between their leather arm chairs. “Do you think that means he thinks about screwing women as often as he thinks about screwing men?”

Denton clenched his jaw as he watched Jerry nod his agreement with whatever the man standing next to him was saying. “He’s gay.”

Peter shook his head. “He says he’s bi. He should know.”

“I am his master,” Denton snapped. “I know which way my lover swings, and Jerry is as gay as any man in this bar.”

Even on his eighth pint, Peter seemed to realise he’d hit a nerve. “How’s it working out between…?” he trailed off.

Denton continued to watch his lover speaking to some of his friends, all of them other collared submissives, on the opposite side of the room.

“Everything’s fine,” he snapped. It didn’t sound like it when he bit the words out like that, but it was the truth.

In the months since Jerry had come under his protection, the younger man had turned out to be a damn near perfect match for him.

“He seems to have come into his own since you gave him his permanent collar,” Peter offered.

Denton nodded. That was true too. He’d never guessed that the stunning, if rather tentative, submissive who had first come to his attention would thrive so well under his rules and discipline, but Jerry had a way of wrapping rules around himself as if they were a comforting blanket, and taking every limitation his master put upon him as a gift. And, more than any of that, he had a way of throwing himself so wholeheartedly into his submission that the idea of letting him go had quickly become unthinkable.

As loath as Denton was to act soppy for anyone, even Jerry, he could just about admit that the submissive was the only one of his lovers he had ever actually fallen in love with. As long as they were alone and not doing anything overtly romantic at the time of any such admission, of course. A dominant had to hold on to some sort of standards. He wasn’t so far gone that he was willing to shout it from the roof tops or let heart toting teddy bears worm their way into his life.

Denton held back a sigh. Damn near perfect, was all well and good. But knowing his lover could be completely perfect if he would just admit he was gay just made it all the more difficult to accept the younger man’s stubborn insistence that he was bisexual with every day that passed. To feel perfection there, waiting just out of his reach, it was like a persistent itch at the back of Denton’s neck.

Excerpt From: Bid High

"You didn't!" Amber Wilson was shocked. In disbelief, she stared at her two best friends.

Trish nodded. "I did!"

Jessica laughed with Trish. "It wasn't easy either. The auction has been sold out for months."

"I'm not going!" Amber argued. They really expected her to go to an auction, bid on a stranger and have sex with him? Her best friends should know her better than that.

"You're going," Trish told her sternly. Then Amber watched with horror as Trish took the tickets from her purse.

Amber tried a different angle. "You can't afford those!" She was not going.

"Actually I didn't. They were-a gift. And you two are my dates."

Jessica stirred her coffee. "We don't need dates. We buy them there." She giggled.

Taking a drink of her coffee, Amber tried to come up with another excuse. "I can't afford the men there."

Her two friends exchanged amused smiles. "It's for charity. A very good charity. And we all know you're loaded anyway."

Amber sighed, knowing no excuse would be good enough. "I'd be so embarrassed."

Reaching out a hand, Jessica patted her arm. "We'll be there for support. I'm sorry we had to do it this way but you need to get out there again."

"It's been three years, honey," Trish added.

"I know how long it's been," she snapped, not wanting to dwell too much on why it had been three years. "And it's not that I'm not ready, I just haven't met anyone I find...interesting."

"Maybe Friday night you will," Trish pointed out gently.

Excerpt From: Biscuits and Bunting

I stared down at the anaemic remains of the biscuit. I was late to the meeting, which meant I'd ended up with the plain ones, the ones the WRVS always hand out to stranded refugees alongside a cup of grossly milky tea. I didn't know which was worse-the soggy biscuit or Cornelia Parker rabbiting on about the Jubilee celebrations.

"What do you think, Kieran?"

I abandoned the biscuit and glared across the table, mildly fascinated by the concertina pleats on Cornelia's upper lip, the hallmark of a forty-a-day smoker.

"About what?"

"The fact that Mr Hamlyn hasn't responded to the Committee's request to use the grounds of the Hall for the Jubilee celebrations."

"He hasn't?"

"Not a word."

"Has anyone actually seen Mr Hamlyn since he moved in?" This was Brenda Hall, the village postmistress. "He hasn't been in the shop."

"That's because he has his groceries delivered from Waitrose." I'd seen the van turn into the long gravel drive more than a few times. "Perhaps he's not one for getting involved in village things. For all we know, he could be a gibbering recluse with a penchant for collecting abandoned cats."

I couldn't blame the man for avoiding getting involved with this lot. I was only doing it because I ran a catering business and was considered the ‘go to' person for all things edible. Plus, it was a hell of a boost for the business.

Cornelia pursed her lips, bristling. "Must you always be so facetious?"

"What do you want me to do? Knock on his door and demand he let us use the grounds?"

I found myself the object of several hopeful glances.

Cornelia's pleats smoothed out. "I think that's an excellent idea, from one businessman to another."

Think of the business, think of the business.

"All right. I'll go and see him. I can't promise anything. I'll be lucky if I get past the gates."

"It's worth a try. Bless you, Kieran." Brenda leaned across the table and patted my hand.

"I'll go tomorrow. It's best to get it over with and it gives us time to find another venue if he says no."

The nods of approval told me I'd finally said the right thing. My reward was being able to zone out for the rest of the meeting. I gazed out of the window and considered my plan of action. I wouldn't have done any of this if it wasn't for the fact that my business was perilously close to going tits up. No one wanted executive lunches any more. These days it was sandwiches and bags of crisps. Not the best way for a catering business to break even, let alone make money.

* * * *

The first hurdle was the huge pair of wrought-iron gates, guarded by an intercom screwed into one of the stone pillars. I pressed the button and waited, trying not to stare at the security camera parked on top of the other pillar. I did think about tugging my forelock.

"Hello."

I glanced at the camera. "I'd like to see Mr Hamlyn, if that's possible."

"Can I ask what it's in connection with?" The voice, distorted by static, was machine-like in its neutrality.

"I'm here to talk about the Diamond Jubilee celebrations next year. I know it's a bit early, but the Organising Committee sent Mr Hamlyn a letter. As we haven't heard anything, I decided to pay a call on Mr Hamlyn. If that's all right. I also brought a welcome basket." I held the basket out for inspection, not that the camera probably picked up all that much.

There was a brief pause. I watched a blackbird hop across the drive while I waited. The basket was getting heavy.

Excerpt From: Black Cat Fever

Darkness had settled over the city like a thick cloak, scudding clouds hiding all but the hazy image of the full moon. It was hot for October in Texas, but the fall weather was always unpredictable. And anything could happen on Halloween, weather-wise or otherwise.

Dea Russo leaned closer to the mirror in her bathroom, applying an extra layer of eye liner to her lids. She had to look her very best tonight. More than her best. Once again, it was the night for her to find her mate, and once again, she prayed for the success that had eluded her so far. At thirty-two, she was beginning to despair of ever making the connection.

"The time has not been right before,"Zia Stella had said just that morning when Dea had been complaining that she'd end up being an old maid. An old cat. Maybe someone's familiar.

"Maybe he's just not out there," she protested.

"Dea. Bambina. It must be the right one."

And that had been the problem. Year after year. For her kind, her breed of shifter, there was only one night to find one's mate. Halloween. And the mate must also be a shifter of the same kind. No crossbreeding, she'd been warned. Others had tried it with disastrous results. The pack wouldn't stand for it, anyway. Especially not with her. The daughter of the alpha.

"You know the story," Zia Stella had told her over and over again. Since the death of her parents, her Zia and Zio were her closest family. "We came here from the Old Country in a small boat more than three hundred years ago, on the special night. There were not that many of us. Maybe two dozen. That was all that was left of a once-large pack. The moon was full when we landed and lit the way for us as we found places to hide before dawn. We had barely escaped massacre by other breeds and swore a solemn oath to keep the race pure."

"You are the one to carry on,2 Zio Rigo always reminded her. "The power passed from your father to you. The future of the pack depends on the proper selection of your mate."

Yes, yes, yes. She could recite it by heart now. The problem was, she hadn't been tempted by anyone at all, panther or mixed. So they were still without a permanent leader.

Excerpt From: Black Dog

"Garrick, I’m freezing! Can we please go back inside now?"

Tristan’s pleading was falling on deaf ears. He knew that repeating himself would be useless. When Garrick was in one of his painting trances, there would be no shifting him. Tristan sighed in frustration. As much as he adored Garrick, there were times that his lover could be the most infuriating man on the planet.

Tristan shifted his position slightly and succeeded in gaining some attention.

"How many times do I have to tell you to keep still, Tristan? You fidget like a four-year-old." Tristan watched with amusement as his lover’s expression went through a progression from annoyed to affectionate to mildly sheepish guilt. "Sorry, I’m doing it again aren’t I? I can’t help it—you look so fucking hot. Five more minutes, then we can go. I promise."

Tristan rolled his deep brown eyes dubiously. He doubted that Garrick would ever be able to stop being so demanding when he painted. It was a part of who he was.

Tristan considered what an outsider would see if someone were to come upon the two of them unexpectedly. It was early October and the woods around Faversham Park were vibrant with a riot of colour. Every shade of gold, orange, red and yellow competed for prevalence in the canopy above them. There was little warmth in the autumn sun, but the light flickered through the trees, turning leaves to glowing jewels all around.

Beneath Tristan’s bare—and very cold—feet, a thick carpet of dark green moss skirted the spreading trunk of the ancient oak he was positioned alongside. His long, slim legs were encased in soft, antique brown leather trousers, which sat low enough on his hips that the initials ‘G.B.’, branded just above the bone, could clearly be seen. He was naked from the waist up, pale skin taut across the toned muscles of his slender frame. His nipples felt tight and hard from the cold, and were aching a little in a way that he thought might be pleasantly relieved by a warm tongue and soft lips.

He shivered, not solely from the cold, and focused on Garrick’s dark, tumbling waves and sculpted cheekbones. He was so gorgeous that Tristan could almost forget the wide leather collar Garrick had locked around his neck. Almost, but not quite—it was just too uncomfortable. About three inches wide, it was very stiff, forcing him to keep his head up. The small gold padlock that held it closed rested on his skin, just heavy enough to ensure that he could not ignore its presence. His dark brown, copper-streaked hair stirred in the breeze as he rested his weight against the gnarled bark of the tree and steeled himself for a longer wait.

When they had come out that morning, he’d been wearing a loose, cream cotton shirt that Garrick had chosen for him. Then he’d asked Tristan to unbutton it while he’d paced around looking for the right angle to paint from, and finally he’d said, "It’s no good. Take it off. The image will work much better that way."

"Don’t try and pretend that this wasn’t always your intention, Garrick. I can see right through you," Tristan had objected.

Garrick had just given him an evil grin and held out his hand for the shirt. Tristan had been shivering ever since.

Finally, Garrick put down his brush and straightened up. "Okay. That’s enough for today." Tristan waited expectantly as his beautiful boyfriend crunched through the fallen leaves towards him and gathered him into his arms. "If you didn’t look so beautiful, I wouldn’t get quite so absorbed."

Garrick handed him his shirt and a warm pullover, then turned to pack his kit away.

"So the fact that I’ve been freezing my butt off for hours is all my fault?" Tristan rolled his eyes, dressed quickly and went to help. "I’m soaking in a hot bath when we get back. I’m frozen."

Garrick twitched one eyebrow slightly. "Is that an invitation?"

"Maybe. Now, can you please unlock this collar? It’s bloody uncomfortable."

"No."

"What do you mean, ‘no’?"

"Does that really need translation? I want you to keep it on for a while. It looks amazing."

Excerpt From: Power of Attraction

Fear swamped Wesley McCarty as he looked at the date on the newspaper in disbelief.

January twelfth.

He had lost six months of time and had no idea of what he had done. Swearing viciously, he leant back against the couch. He ran his hand over his head. The last thing he remembered was going to bed early. When he woke he was so relived, hell thankful, he hadn’t dreamed.

Wesley looked down at his hands and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank God, no blood, cuts, or markings. You’re doing okay, Wes.”

Even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. It was just the beginning of summer when he went to sleep yet when he woke there was snow on the ground. He tried to remember what had happened.

Black waves of pain hammered in his head. He swallowed the nausea bubbling in the back of his throat. He breathed rapidly in and out. The feeling passed. After some time, the pain lessened and he could think.

Oh God, what is happening to me? I’m losing my—

Wesley cut off the thought before it could form. No. There is a reasonable explanation. There has to be one.

Wesley sat up and pushed the button for the answering machine on the table next to the couch. As the many messages played, he started to shake. By the last one he knew that one of his vague explanations weren’t going to fix this. His friends who were also his business partners would want an explanation. Besides this one, there were times before that he had disappeared for a few hours, or days, and he had easily explained them away. This last disappearance of so many months would only make them question all the other times he had been gone before. He wasn’t ready to answer any questions. He had no clue himself what was going on.

“What am I going to do?”

He slumped deeper into the couch and closed his eyes while he thought up various explanations for his disappearance. None sounded believable enough for his partners to buy.

With a sigh, he opened his eyes. His gaze landed on the tapestry over the fireplace. The profusion of colours of the scenic mountains, waters, and beautiful landscapes was a backdrop to a woman seemingly in the shadows. He couldn’t make out her features, but still got a sense of her happiness and sultry beauty. Her head was tilting back, and she held her body as if waiting for something. When he had received the piece from his friend Ian McIntyre, the note had said it was called Prophecy. Although it should have seemed like a weird name, it somehow seemed to fit.

He remembered the note had also extended an invitation to come to Blackstone Haven.

With a sense of purpose, he stood. He knew where he was going.

You’re running away. He ignored the voice in his head and continued to look at the tapestry.

The scene called to him.

In a swift motion, he picked up the letter opener from the table, turned, and threw it. It quivered, embedded into the wall behind him.

Shocked, Wesley stared at it. Slowly, he made his way over to it. A feeling of unease swept him as he saw the bug pinned to the wall with the opener. He curled his hand over the handle and tried to pull it out. He couldn’t.

Tugging hard with both hands, he was able to release it. Wesley looked at the letter opener, then at the mark it in the wall.

“What the hell?”

His voice echoed in the emptiness. He glanced around the room that usually gave him comfort. The long, dark brown couches, chairs, and other items he had chosen years ago when he had bought the house seemed to not be the same. The walls were closing in on him.

“I’ve got to get out of here.” Wesley turned quickly and made his way back upstairs.

Three hours later, he was shifting gears in his SUV. The tension in his shoulders and the closed in feeling had eased as he put the city behind him. He patted the head resting against his thigh. A tongue licked his hand.

“Newt, you’re not getting any steak for dinner, no matter how nice you try to act,” Wesley said.

A bark sounded, and he glanced at his copper-red and white Siberian husky, who had sat up beside him. Newton barked again. Her parti-coloured eyes—one brown, the other blue—twinkled with mischief.

“Don’t give me that look.” Wesley returned his attention to the road.

He had swung by Pan’s—one of his business partners—house to get Newton on his way out of town. He was grateful that Pan was out of town, too, or he would never have got away without questions. At least this time, they would know where he was. He had sent them all emails.

Newton barked.

“I’m not a coward. It is better not to talk to them right now,” Wesley defended.

Excerpt From: Power of Instinct

The usual rhythm of kneading did nothing to calm Ian McIntyre. He went through the motions, but something was off. He stiffened.

“You really should lock your doors, Ian. Someone might just wander in.”

At the sound of Sinai Blackstone’s voice, Ian gritted his teeth. He continued working, making Ianis B Special—the intricate dessert that was his most popular seller. He listened as Sinai moved around the kitchen. For the last few months, he had become used to her coming by in the mornings before he opened or anyone else arrived. He didn’t need to see her to know she was making herself a cup of tea with a dollop of honey and a stick of cinnamon. Next, she would take a dish and help herself to the same pastry she had every day. The scrape of a plate reached his ears. Sinai came back into view.

He took in her honey-skinned beauty. Her highly carved cheeks, full nose and round chin all blended together to create a minxish sexiness. A smug smile spread over her lush lips. She walked towards him with a graceful, sensual movement that seemed to create a beat that resonated in him. He clenched his fist as heat flooded low in his gut. Her fragrance of coconut and shea butter came to him over all the scents in the bakery. Her wild, kinky curls were pulled back into her usual braid, taming them. His cock hardened painfully. Then rage pulsed in his blood. She put down her tea and pastry, taking a seat on the stool across from him.

Ian ignored her, bending his head to make pastries. After a few moments, not hearing her usual sounds of pleasure as she ate and drank, he looked at her. There was an expression he couldn’t define on her face. It made him uncomfortable. It was as if she could see all that he was. That was not something he ever wanted. Especially from her. A stronger flash of annoyance filled him. Sinai blinked, her thick curly lashes fanning briefly over her amber eyes.

“You’re not to blame for what happened with The Klionhs,” Sinai said softly.

Ian’s fingers squished in the dough. Years ago, when they had been in college, he and his friends had created The Klionhs—a gene-altering drug. They had been young and foolish, blinded by the idea of getting into the genetic code and manipulating it. They had succeeded more than they could have imagined. The Klionhs enhanced the user, giving them super-human power and strength as well as a few other things. Basically, anyone given the drug would become a finely-tuned assassin, one who would kill and kill well. They would be able to live a normal life and, when needed, be called upon. When they realised it was deadly, they had created the antidote and destroyed the formula. They had vowed never to reveal the formula to anyone. After college they had thought it was all forgotten. It wasn’t. A few months ago they realised they had been given The Klionhs without their knowledge and were being used as guinea pigs by Dr Abrams—a man they all despised.

Ian slowly released it and went over to the sink. Mechanically, he turned on the water and washed his hands. A hand gripped his arm. Ian studied the short nails and delicate-looking fingers. Raising his head, he narrowed his eyes. Sinai didn’t back down. She held on to his arm and turned him to face her. Ian turned off the faucet and let her move him. He leant back against the counter. Sinai crowded close to him.

“Whatever happened, that was—”

“Stay the fuck out of it.” He cut her off, jerking his arm from her hold.

Sinai’s amber eyes narrowed, and she stepped closer. Her scent filled his senses. Ian kept his control, refusing to let her see how she affected him.

“Stop being a fucking ass and I will,” Sinai countered.

Ian crossed his arms over his chest. “You act like we’re friends, Sinai. You hate my guts, and the feeling…well, you can guess how I feel.”

Sinai turned away. Ian reached for her, but stopped himself. He didn’t have anything to say. He had been attracted to her since they were kids. They had grown up in Blackstone Haven together. Their families’ histories could be traced back for generations. Next to the Blackstones, his family was the oldest in the town. As children Sinai and he had been friends, and close, but when they had become teenagers, that had changed. Even as a teenager, he’d known they could never be together. Although he didn’t know all the details of her family’s legend, he knew enough to know that wanting her was an exercise in futility. He’d left for college, and then set out to build his life away from Blackstone Haven, and especially from Sinai.

Yet the town had called to him, and he had returned to make his home in Blackstone Haven. He had known he had to keep her at a distance, for his own good. He chose to fight with her instead of giving in to his baser instincts. He would never admit it aloud, but he looked forward to their battles of wits. It was true they liked to bicker. Yet, in the last few months, it had grown more vicious than usual. Ian blamed The Klionhs. He supposed it was due to whatever side-effects the drug had. Knowing Dr Abrams, he wouldn’t have cared what happened because of his secretive experiments on Ian and the other members of Conundrum. Dr Abrams might have got rid of the nasty side-effect of death, but this not-being-comfortable-in-his-own-skin feeling was getting to Ian.

Sinai’s voice caught his attention. “I don’t hate you, Ian. It’s just—”

Excerpt From: Happy Ending

"Keep on doing this and I promise you won’t be sorry."

The masculine voice penetrated her beautiful dream—invaded it. Still, she felt so at peace in her fantasy that she tried to hang on to the vivid images. Eyes closed, she lay on her side at the foot of a maple tree in the heart of a bright meadow. Her head rested on the blanket she held in one of her hands. Birds chirped above, their song carried by the amorous whispers of a spring breeze.

Far away a cow mooed, the bellowing sound seemed to float in the air. Golden rays gleamed through her eyelids, stroked her arms, and enveloped her body in a warm embrace. The smell of fresh grass caressed her nose and she inhaled slowly to capture the verdant fragrance. Her heart filled with an inner peace she didn’t want to let go of, she kept her eyes shut and curled her hand tighter around the blanket.

"I said keep on doing this and I promise you won’t be sorry."

That voice again. The rough undertone jostled through her wonderful fantasy, weaved its way into it to dispel the peaceful vision beyond the wavering meadow. God, but she wished so much to stay there. Lips parted, she exhaled a long sigh before opening her eyelids.

She didn’t see a green, grassy field but some kind of brownish cloth very much resembling suede. Actually what she had taken for a blanket seemed to be the front of a pair of pants. As if she was an outside observer she studied her hand pressed against the tight fabric, her fingers splayed over a lump. Funny enough, the hard lump felt alive.

Her gaze travelled up, taking in the curious belt around his waist, the light brown shirt opened at the neck, the square jaw covered with the stubble of several nights, the full lips, the piercing green eyes regarding her with… What? Certainly not hesitancy.

She looked down again, her mind seemingly still caught in the dream and not yet ready to function. As she tensed her fingers to apprehend reality, the mass hardened under her palm. Eyes widening, she stared at her hand as if the limb had become an independent part of her body. Oh, God, she was holding the private parts of a total stranger.

The shocking realisation had her rolling over in a heartbeat, landing on her back with a dizzy feeling. But in doing so, she had pushed against the tight lump to gather momentum.

"Ouch! That’s not the way to treat a man."

Although she wanted nothing more than to let her mind wander in the blue depths of the cloudless sky above or maybe dive back into her oblivious dream, she cast him a quick glance.

He winced, his back straight against the sturdy maple tree of her dream, his legs spread out. Notwithstanding the fact that her head had been resting on his hard thigh for God knew how long, she had fondled his…No, she didn’t want to think about this now.

A perfect stranger he was and 'perfect' appeared like the precise term to describe him. As he stood up to do some pulling around his crotch she felt her breath surging out of her lungs. So tall and lithe in his suede and leather outfit. So utterly gorgeous it almost ached to look at him.

Her heart hopped. Her stomach swivelled. She sat up in an attempt to brush aside her body’s impulsive reactions, but the bright rays of the sun cascading down on him and enhancing his maleness didn’t help. Who was he? Why had she been napping with his thigh as a pillow? And beautiful as the meadow was, how had she ended up here?

While trying to control her erratic pulse, she noticed her own clothes. Leather boots laced around her ankles and calves, black suede pants and open-necked shirt loose enough to allow freedom of movement, her outfit appeared similar to his but with a feminine cut. Hung around her neck, a piece of something shiny rested between her breasts.

"Time to go."

His sharp tone interrupted her new discovery. She looked up to find him straightening the belt around his waist while checking the position of two daggers on his hips. Now who walked around with that kind of weapon? If he did feel threatened in a quiet meadow, why not use guns?

When he bent down to the foot of the tree to pick up the long dark cloak he had been sitting on, she realised he hadn’t been talking to himself, but he expected her to follow him.

"I don’t know you and I’m not going anywhere with you."

"Good thing I wasn’t asking for your opinion then."

She jumped to her feet as he flung the cloak over his right shoulder then extracted a piece of leather string from the pouch at his belt. But she didn’t leap fast enough to avoid his dangerous nearness. Although he scanned their deserted surroundings, he seemed focused solely on her.

"Give me your hands."

"You’ve got to be kidding!"

She took a step back, her attention fixed on the leather string he fiddled with. Did he really mean to tie her up? Insane as the idea sounded, the stranger’s resolute stance showed his sudden impatience to be on the move. To go where? And why would he want her to accompany him? Whatever his destination, she wouldn’t be a part of it.

"Look, this is some kind of mistake. I’ve never seen you in my life and I have no intention of going with you."

A hint of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth, but his gaze remained frozen while he reached out to her.

"Didn’t I mention I’m not interested in your opinion?"

She took three steps back this time, a small knot moving up and down her dry throat. A cow bellowed again in the distance, probably the same one. A light breeze ruffled her hair and the man in front of her waited. Without daring to shift her attention she cocked her head.

"God, who are you?"

"No time for niceties. I’m dead and we need to find a shelter for the night. It’s getting late."

In spite of his rigid attitude and icy glare he looked so damn alive that she almost laughed in his face. Yet she had been distracted. A single stride and he grabbed her wrists to twirl the string around them so fast she could only gasp. When he let go, her hands were fastened up, though not so much as to induce pain. Shifting her eyes from her fingers to his face, she stammered before swallowing the knot in her throat.

"What do you want with me?"

"Let’s go."

He turned round and started walking down the gentle slope, crushing grass under his boots. She stared at his straight back, feeling like he was trampling her beautiful fantasy. Although she didn’t want to follow him, the thought of spending the whole night alone by the maple tree with her hands tied didn’t appeal to her. No, it didn’t.

The sunny warmth on her skin already felt cooler. Like a heavy ball, the sun had sunk to the west, its rays no longer brightening the verdant meadow. Also heading west, the man now didn’t seem to care if she followed. Or he knew she would. Alarmed by the coming darkness, fearful of hungry, wild animals, she had no choice but to go after the stranger. She moved.

Excerpt From: Blake's Choice

Mandy sat at the bar, fiddling with her beer bottle and staring at the man in the corner. He was there nearly every time she was, which was every Friday lately. Since her best friend Karen had hooked up with Daniel, they came here a lot.

The guy in the corner looked familiar, and not just because she saw him every week. Had she met him before? Mandy was pretty sure she’d remember if she had—the guy was smoking hot. Tawny blond hair, just long enough to tell that it curled. Teal-coloured eyes highlighted a face that had surely been carved from granite—no man should have cheekbones that high. The eyes had to be contact lenses, though. Eyes that colour just couldn’t be natural. He was almost pretty, except for the piercings. Three in each ear, two in his left eyebrow, one in his nose. And the tattoos on both arms and the side of his neck. She was pretty sure he’d have more under his shirt.

"Stop staring." Toni’s amused voice cut into Mandy’s thoughts.

She turned to face forward on her stool and found her favourite bartender propped against the other side of the bar, grinning. Her hot pink tank top matched her hair and revealed a heavily tattooed torso.

"I’m not staring," Mandy defended herself, even as heat rose in her cheeks. Toni’s smirk told her she wasn’t fooling anyone. "Okay, so maybe I looked for a little longer than is polite, but you have to admit he’s hot."

"He is," Toni agreed, but didn’t say anything else.

Mandy raised an eyebrow. "He’s here a lot," she prompted. Toni was normally verbose, but for some reason she was being close-mouthed. "What’s his name?"

Toni took Mandy’s beer bottle—which was not quite empty—and replaced it with a shot of tequila, a salt shaker and a piece of lime. "How should I know?"

Mandy surveyed her new drink, lips pursed. She didn’t cope very well with tequila, but Daniel was driving, so… First salt, then the burn of tequila, followed by the sharp, sour tang of lime. Mandy gasped then sucked vigorously on the lime, glaring at Toni. "What was that for? You know I always regret tequila." Toni shrugged, and Mandy circled the conversation back to where she wanted it. "You know all the regulars. I refuse to believe you don’t know who he is."

"You can refuse all you want." Toni cracked a small smile, and refilled Mandy’s shot glass.

Excerpt From: Blame it on Bollywood

Tariq looked around the empty soundstage, plagued again by a sadness he hadn’t been able to shake in weeks. The movie he’d just filmed had been difficult to shoot and physically demanding, and he was happy to see the back of it.

He drove home, taking his usual route over the bridge so he could see his house across the bay. Part of him wanted to hide away, but another part hated the empty silence he knew awaited him inside the sprawling, Mediterranean style house he’d had built a few years earlier. When he arrived and pushed open the main door, the emptiness seemed to suck him inside.

The light on the answer machine blinked. He considered ignoring it, but it could be an important message from his parents back in England. His mother’s voice told him they were coming to visit in a few days’ time to stay with an aunt of his who lived in a nearby suburb, and they were bringing someone with them she wanted Tariq to meet. His parents still hadn’t given up on the idea of arranging a marriage for him. He didn’t know if he ever wanted to get married at all, but if he did, it would be because he was in love, not because of some sterile contract into which his parents had forced him. Sure, it had worked for his parents. They had come to love each other eventually, and they’d had a long and happy life together. Tariq understood why they wanted the same for him. But he wasn’t his parents’ responsibility anymore, and he wouldn’t do something he didn’t believe in just to please them. The last time he’d discussed the issue with them, his mother’s tears had shamed him into saying he would at least think about it, but she hadn’t mentioned it since. Tariq groaned, dreading the conversation he would be forced to have when he called her back and told her he hadn’t changed his mind. The call could wait for now—he wasn’t in the mood.

Later, while he was watching TV alone for yet another night, he wondered at the hollow feeling that had been blighting him in recent weeks. He had good friends and family and a casual relationship with an interesting and beautiful woman whom he saw occasionally. But Sita wasn’t the problem.

For a while, he’d thought their relationship might grow into something more, but as he’d got to know her better, Sita had proven to be a little bit shallow and a whole lot ambitious. He’d found out just how ambitious the young actress was when he’d opened one of the glossy magazines she carried with her everywhere and had seen a personal photo of the pair of them and an article full of such detail that the writer could only have got it straight from Sita. The fact she’d talked publicly about their private lives didn’t bug him nearly as much as the way she’d done it behind his back. Though his trust in her had been shattered, their relationship carried on through convenience because neither of them had the time to meet anyone else. Tariq found it a little ironic that he saw less and less of the woman who had used him to raise her public profile now that her career had taken off. It was little wonder he found no joy in being with her anymore.

Even his charitable work didn’t fill the emotional void it once had, although it was the personal achievement of which he felt most proud. His charity rescued the victims of child and slave labour and financed half a dozen shelters to keep orphans out of the clutches of the traffickers.

Grimacing at his mood, he switched off the TV and headed up the stairs to the bed that would be empty again.

Excerpt From: Blame the Wine

The dusty, dingy little diner was full, even with the current state of cleanliness—or lack thereof. People from the surrounding offices didn’t care about anything except the incredible, well-prepared food at a reasonable cost. They flooded in, like waves to the shore. As one tide left, another swept in.

"Honestly, Simone. I’m going to try getting his attention one more time. If that doesn’t work, I’m out of there. I mean, how long can I keep trying?" Cara picked at the caramel tart she hadn’t been able to resist with the cheap metal fork, and flicked the blob of fresh cream that sat on top to the side.

"But you have said that tons of times. Besides, what are you going to do to get his attention? Hmm? Walk naked through the typing pool?" Simone bobbed the straw in her smoothie as she eyed her friend with a frown. "It’s been what? Eighteen months since you saw him, and you’ve mooned over him from a distance ever since you met him eighteen months ago. You need to move on, Cara. That is, unless you know something you haven’t shared?"

The query was arch. Cara shivered even as she shook her head. "No."

Simone quirked an eyebrow, obviously unconvinced with her answer. Cara let out a deep sigh of frustration. "There’s a position…it’s only temporary, for a PA reporting directly to him." She speared a forkful of tart, chewed quickly and swallowed, before continuing. "In his office, full-time for the period of the engagement. I saw the memo yesterday. I mean, I have the skills, right? I can type, answer phones, make coffee, file, greet people. What’s more, I can probably do it better than all those size eights in the typing pool that Ms Jackman seems to prefer." She nodded thoughtfully. "All I have to do is get past the ogre in Human Resources."

Simone stared at her, disbelief clear on her face. "Girl, I so remember that woman. If you think you can get past her, you’re doing better than I ever did. That’s why I left Veha Industries, remember? Maybe it’s time to haul out your resumé and consider some other options." Simone shook her head and billows of crimson hair swirled through the still air.

Cara understood she only had her best interests at heart. But this time she knew the outcome would be different. Could feel it in the air.

"Cara, she’ll hang you out for breakfast before she offers you anything like a position in that office. Remember her mantra? Good looks and good work make for a positive workplace?"

Cara wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the truth in the statement, but as always she conceded that Simone didn’t sugar-coat anything. It was another great reason for their long-term friendship.

Cara nodded quickly. "Yeah, I know, but if I don’t try, then I won’t know how close I can get to him, right? And the only way to catch his attention is to get past the ogre and see him in person." Cara quaked a little at the information she needed to share. The favour she needed to ask. "Anyway, I tidied up my resumé and dropped the application into a memo envelope yesterday, so it’s too late to back out now. I mean, fortune favours the brave. Doesn’t it? If I don’t snag an interview, I’m going to visit the career advisor across the street and register with them. I’ll look for temp work until something more long-term shows up. I can see what they have on offer and well…who knows? Maybe a job with the right boss is just waiting. But I’d rather this worked out, to be honest." Her voice trailed off into a whisper. "I really wish he would notice me."

Simone took a long slurp of her banana drink, and Cara noticed her questioning gaze even as she squirmed. Finally Simone must have realised the truth in her words and nodded. "It’s your funeral. So anyway, you had better show me this memo if you want me to be a referee for you. I’m guessing that’s what you need, right? I’ll have to know what I have to say about you before they ring."

Cara smiled. "Thanks, Simone. I knew I could count on you." She slipped a piece of paper out of her handbag and handed it over. "Sorry it’s a bit creased. It was in the bottom of my bag, I stashed it so none of the others from the pool would see it. You know how that is."

Simone snorted, accepting the crumpled pages, and nodded. "Yeah, I do. Eat or be eaten."

Simone scanned the sheet while Cara fidgeted, picking at the tart she now regretted as she thought about him. Dillon Veha. The one man who filled her dreams each night. She’d tried everything else she knew to capture his attention, each action more unsuccessful than the last, including undoing buttons, personally delivering memos and the most desperate? Offering to deliver the memo to the gym locker room, knowing he was in there. Now, after eighteen months of listening to her aunt ask her when she was going to bring home a nice boy, and watching her sisters pop out perfect little babies, she conceded the time had come to move on. With or without Dillon Veha. If only she could move on with him. Therein lay the problem with her plan. She needed one last chance to make it work.

Excerpt From: Blink of An Eye

Scott Carnes was sick and tired of being a hero. Sick and tired of being put on display like a fucking show pony, with a chest full of medals to compensate for his missing left eye.

He shifted in his chair, listening uncomfortably to a list of his accomplishments as a Pararescueman in Afghanistan. Tuning out the announcer’s voice, he looked over the fundraiser’s dinner crowd. All were opulently dressed, fitting the elegant setting of the Oklahoma Governor’s mansion. At least he was home again, or almost home.

"…Afghanistan, where he was awarded the Airman’s Medal, Bronze Star, and two Purple Hearts. Ladies and gentlemen, our honoured guest, Senior Airman Scott Carnes." The emcee, a burly lumberjack of a man shoehorned into an ill-fitting tuxedo, waved Scott to the podium.

He stood, experiencing the same wash of vertigo he’d had for the past few days, since he’d been allowed to walk out of San Antonio’s Wilford Hall Medical Centre under his own steam. They said it would go away as his equilibrium adjusted to the loss of sight, but it didn’t make life any easier in the meantime.

An hour later, he choked down the last of his gourmet coffee and frou-frou cheesecake and fled for the door.

Home. All he wanted was to make it home to Guthrie in time for his birthday tomorrow, lonely though it might be.

* * * *

Cassidy Thompson swiped a damp rag over the spotless linoleum counter and stared out of the big picture windows into the ominously still Oklahoma night. The comforting, rich smell of coffee and pastry swirled in the air around her, but even that couldn’t settle her jangling nerves.

Something was going down…She could feel it, and so could her customers, if their lack of attendance was any indication. She was glad she’d let her one full-time employee, Erica, take some extra time off. There wasn’t enough business to justify her pay tonight.

Hell, it was late August and the weather just wasn’t right for this time of year.

On a normal Tuesday night, Cassidy’s Cuppa Café would have been hopping with regulars and tourists who’d wandered out of the Main Street district, even this close to her nine o’clock closing time. Not so tonight. The locals knew better than to stray far from home during conditions like this, and the visitors seemed to be sticking close to their hotel rooms.

The bell above the door chimed, pulling Cass’ attention away from the window to her brave-the-elements customer.

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to examine the young man standing in profile to her. With strong, regular features, he looked like any other twenty-something Oklahoma college student. Probably ROTC, she thought, noting the strawberry-blond hair cut high and tight and the well-toned build only slightly camouflaged by faded jeans and an Oklahoma State University T-shirt.

Ah, if only I were ten years younger…

She took a closer look…Yeah, he had an athletic, yummy body, but there was something about the way he carried himself—almost as if he were cradling an injury—that was in direct contrast to the air of invincibility he projected. It was strange, because she’d seen the same look in the mirror more times than she could count over the years.

Cassidy liked to think she could tell a lot about people before they even opened their mouths. In this case, she was pretty sure she’d hit the nail on the head… This boy had suffered, was probably still suffering, as a matter of fact, but wouldn’t let a damned soul know about it.

Then he turned and the breath clogged in her lungs. One sky-blue eye assessed her in a decidedly tactical manner. The other was concealed behind a black eye patch that contrasted starkly against his pale skin. While she knew he could have lost the eye as a child, in a farming incident or car accident, something made her think it had been recent, very recent…and most likely ugly.

"What can I get for you?" Cassidy tossed the rag over one shoulder, happy that her voice hadn’t wobbled. The last thing this kid needed was someone feeling sorry for him. Not that he looked as if he’d take it.

"Regular coffee, black…and maybe a piece of pie." His voice was deep and resonant, too resonant for a man in his early twenties. The impression of injury she’d sensed before was gone now, and in its place was certain, calm surety.

Excerpt From: Blood Bride

Hope hauled the last heavy box up the stairs of the manor house, occasionally catching glimpses of the way her midnight black hair shone in the sunlight, when she passed the window in the living room of her apartment. "Thank heavens this is the last one," she muttered to herself, sliding the box down to rest on the floor, before straightening and rubbing the nagging ache in her back. She could have had help, all she needed to do was ask, but now that she was an adult she needed to stand on her own two feet, she reminded herself.

Straightening up, she looked around at the mass of boxes waiting for her to delve into. "Well, gone away and back again. Where do I start first?"

The phone trilled and she started for an instant, before extending her hand to the receiver on the shelf beside her. "Hope."

"Miss Hope, do you require any help? Lisi is wondering if you require her assistance." The muffled voice of one of her guardians flowed out of the earpiece. She had forgotten that living at the manor meant the goldfish bowl lifestyle she had tried her best to escape at college. Not that she’d had much opportunity to live a free lifestyle. She’d been lodged with a guardian family within the college grounds. Even then, her personal team of five guards had shadowed her every move—to classes, shopping and even to the hairdresser’s.

They hadn’t escaped her notice, the looks some of her classmates had thrown her way. Longing for the lifestyle they’d thought she enjoyed. Little did they know, Hope would happily have swapped, a lot of the time. Downtime had existed within a carefully vetted group of companions, each from houses of similar status. The cloying atmosphere she hated, but, nonetheless, she had submitted to her parents’ will. Only a few times had she sought to do activities that they would have deemed inappropriate, but her conscience had always kicked in, and she had derived no enjoyment from the guilty feelings that had overcome her.

"No thanks, Jeffrey. I have all the boxes up here and I am going to take my time going through everything." How could she explain that she needed a freedom that had been denied? That this small and almost insignificant rebellion was one she embraced? But she couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to Jeffrey to share that.

"Fine, Miss Hope. Oh, and I am supposed to remind you, the new Master has requested your presence in his library after sundown."

She nodded, knowing it was expected that she would take her oath of fealty. "Oh. Right. I’ll be down for sunset." She laid down the receiver. It’s one thing to owe your continued safety to a vampire nest Master, but quite another to be at his beck and call all the time, just as her parents had been. Her temper spiked momentarily. The emotion coiled through her then she shuddered, pushing away the negative thought, while absently reaching for the boxes she needed to stack, store or unpack. The rough exterior of some of them brushed against her hands. For now, she had time. Lots of time.

Ripping the tape off the first box, she then started to root through it, unwrapping reminders of her slightly more free college life, formulating arguments to put to her parents, knowing that the dice were stacked against her. Her life had been mapped out since her birth, but perhaps she could find a way around some of the roadblocks. At least she hoped so. With that thought, she set to work.

* * * *

He stretched in the bed, feeling the cool sheets around his body, savouring the experience of knowing he could rise when he wanted to. Luxuriating as he came to full awareness of his surroundings. His bed. His home. His nest. A feeling of exultation swept through him. One he had experienced several times in the last six months since he had become Master.

Xavier had only recently been transferred to this nest, after Cyrus had been called to ascend to a seat on the Council with his predecessor Cressida, the most senior of the vampires on the Council.

A new Master had been required for the nest, a situation arising from the ascension of Cressida who had saved the child Hope from the rogues. The death of another of the Council meant that Cyrus had answered a call to accept a seat. It was an almost unheard of event for a nest to have two new Masters in under a hundred years, but Xavier had accepted his unexpected promotion. Not that he would take it for granted—no, he worked beside his vampires as required, so they knew he would ensure their safety while they ensured his.

The household he had taken over was well run, and he had no fears for the financial status, even though they had lost the manor and many assets during the dark days of clearing the rogues who had attacked the house. Indeed, he had been with Cyrus the night he had ascended and had seen the great strides Cyrus had made during his Mastership.

He swiped a hand over his stubbled face and a voice to his left said quietly, "Master, refreshments for you." A crystal goblet appeared in a white hand at the edge of his vision. He accepted it with a grunt, the ruby red liquid inside calling to him on a primal level. Blood wine. Sustenance that would ease the clawing hunger he always felt on awakening.

His teeth extended and his mouth opened. The first drop touched his tongue and a frisson moved through him, the ecstasy of drinking flowing into his body. He took his time, savouring the flavours.

Young.

Full bodied.

Tart aftertaste. The wine, the only human sustenance he could now enjoy. Food was relegated to a memory of things long past.

He closed his eyes as the last drop flowed, and breathed deep. Yes, a Master could very quickly become accustomed to this lifestyle, but not now and not today. He needed to meet this Hope, the one who had turned their entire world upside down. James had told him little about his daughter, save that she would need to remain within the house, protected from the world. That someday she would assume the mantle of leading the house from within, while her brother oversaw the legal and financial affairs of the nest.

He pushed the bed covers away, unconcerned about nudity as he padded to the bathroom. He might be a vampire, but he still bathed and shaved, a thought that made him chuckle. Even after all these years, when vampires had made their entry into the human world, humans outside nests thought vampires had no need for those daily rituals.

He moved through his ablutions. She would be waiting for him, but he would present himself to her in his most urbane incarnation. She would take her oath of fealty, then he would meet with his advisers, James and David leading the human contingent.

Excerpt From: Blood Lure

Hungary 1810

Jared Lantos was in a hurry. He had promised his father he would attend that evening's meeting of the Elders, and he was late, or was going to be late if the damned carriage driver didn't get a move on. Truth be told, he hated the meetings, and only attended out of familial duty, added to the fact if he didn't show up, his father would rant on for hours about dereliction of duty and insubordination, ad nauseum. If only to spare his mother those tantrums, Jared attended the meetings as often as he could.

Jared was a lawyer, and a busy one, something his father had yet to understand. Janos Lantos had never quite grasped the idea his son had important clients who just might need his services more urgently than an Elder meeting.

Elders, he thought grimly. An arcane society that had no place in modern Hungary. A group of men who dabbled in the black arts, who gave all their time and money to the furtherance of communing with the dead, and as far as Jared knew had not once conjured one spirit. He shook his head in frustration. Another wasted evening lay ahead, listening to nonsense, watching the old codgers nod sagely as if they understood every silly word spoken. Surely they did not believe every worthless spell and incantation cast by the Head Elder, whom Jared considered no better than a street hawker of tawdry baubles, would actually bring forth good fortune for all present, arming them with magical shields to ward off those who would do them harm. Yet, sadly, Jared knew that was exactly what they did believe, his father included.

Ah well, tonight would be the last time he would attend one of these asinine affairs. It was his intention to inform his father that, as of next month, he would be moving to Budapest to take up a position as a partner in a larger law office. A far more prestigious company than the one in which he was presently employed.

He stretched his long legs out in front of him and gazed at the passing scene from the carriage window. The open window brought in a warm breeze that ruffled his long golden hair. He glanced at his fob and sighed. Yes, he was late, and there was little he could do about it. The carriage shuddered, throwing him to one side as it came to an abrupt halt.

"What is it, cabbie?" he yelled, straining to see what had caused the sudden stop.

"Body in the street, sir"

A body? He climbed down from the carriage and walked towards the small crowd gathered around a prone figure on the ground. The victim looked to be young, a young man, his clothes of a decent cut and material. Not a vagrant then?

"Is he dead?" he heard someone ask.

"Looks like it," came a reply. "Just waiting for the militia."

"Stabbed, he was"

"No one's safe these days."

"Robbers and murderers everywhere."

Jared suddenly felt as though he were being watched. He looked around the assembled crowd and caught the eye of a tall, handsome man who smiled at him and raised a hand to the brim of his hat in salute.

Do I know you? Jared wondered, returning the man's smile. Perhaps they'd met at one of the many business soires he'd attended recently, but surely he would remember one as comely as this. The man moved towards him and touched him gently on the arm. A visceral thrill coursed through Jared's body at the man's touch.

"We"re not needed here," the man said, steering Jared away from the crowd and into a darkened alleyway. A door opened, and they stepped inside. A long hallway stretched before them, dimly lit with a faint pinkish glow, and lined with several doors. "Here" The man pushed open a door and stepped aside to let Jared enter. Jared did so without thought, without fear, even though he found all this to be very strange. A tiny prickle of excitement, of anticipation, coiled on the nape of his neck.

The man removed his hat and cloak, signalling that Jared should do the same. As if in a blur, he was suddenly standing so close Jared could taste the man�s sweet-scented breath on his lips.

"I have need of you, my beauty"

Excerpt From: Blood Lust

Tommy Cordain was depressed. He knew he shouldn’t be, but for the life of him he just couldn’t shake the feeling of despondency he’d woken up with, and now couldn’t dispel.

"Damn it," he muttered, pouring himself the third cup of coffee of the morning. His mood might have been lighter if his lover, Andrew Berés, was there with him, but Andrew wouldn’t be up and about until later in the day—and therein lay the problem—or at least, one of the problems.

Since Andrew had left New York and moved in with Tommy their relationship had grown stronger than Tommy had ever dreamed it would. He’d never been in a monogamous relationship before, had never felt like committing himself to only one person, until he met Andrew. And Tommy had never been happier.

So what was the problem?

Andrew was a vampire.

But that wasn’t the problem. Well, if Tommy was really honest with himself, hell yeah, it was the problem. Because, until Andrew had come into his life, Tommy had been okay with the prospect of growing older. Not that he’d really thought about it that much. His parents were older, and they still enjoyed an active life, taking trips, even going line dancing every week. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d figured that when he was their age, late fifties, he’d probably still be going to the gym, take the occasional hiking trip, go swimming, jogging, all the things he did now. He’d look older, but that didn’t matter, did it?

Well yes, it kinda does, ’cause Andrew won’t look older—will never look older.

Andrew would always look like he was in his mid—twenties, the age he’d been when he was changed—younger than Tommy was now. Andrew was over two—hundred years old, yet sometimes Tommy felt older than him, and in reality, at twenty—nine, he was. Andrew had told him that with regular infusions of vampire blood, he would age much more slowly than a normal human—he might even live to be a hundred, perhaps a hundred and fifty years old without much change in his physical appearance. And in the ecstasy of their love making after Tommy had discovered what Andrew really was, all of that had seemed just fine—fantastic even—but now, he wasn’t so sure.

Tommy had been drained almost to the point of death by Lazlo Marek, Andrew’s devious uncle, and he’d been saved by drinking Andrew’s powerful blood. That rich essence had already added several years to Tommy’s life, something he’d thought incredible at the time, but now, it didn’t feel right.

What about his parents, his friends, those he would lose over the years—and wouldn’t they at some point wonder why they were aging and he was not? How could he explain that away? There was also the fact that Andrew couldn’t meet any of his buddies for lunch, couldn’t go to the ballpark with him, couldn’t go for a swim in the ocean, unless it was a moonlight swim.

And those were definitely great. The two of them under a starlit sky, swimming out as far as they could, then floating in each other’s arms, buffeted by gently rolling waves. Sometimes Andrew would hold him and they would skim over the surface of the ocean, locked in an embrace, their naked bodies fused as one. Oh God, yeah, the sex was always the best. Each and every time better than the time before, if that was possible. Andrew was beautiful, his body perfect in every way, his face one that any artist would long to capture on canvas, his hair like black silk, his eyes...

Yeah, he’s the hottest guy I’ve ever been with. I’m so damned lucky to have him in my life, but I can’t overlook the fact that one day he’s going to leave me behind.

Tommy wasn’t arrogant, but he knew he was no slouch in the looks department. He’d been told numerous times he was hot. He kept his quarterback physique in shape with regular workouts—the rigours of his job as a firefighter demanded he be at his best, physically and mentally at all times. Yet he knew the day would come eventually when all that would fade.

I’ll become baggy and saggy and my vampire boyfriend will start lookin’ around for the young and the hung...

"Tommy?"

The sudden call from the bedroom made him jump. Andrew was awake?

"What’s wrong?" he asked, pushing the bedroom door open. "Did I wake you?"

"Yes. Your anxious thoughts entered my consciousness. Come sit by me."

Tommy walked quickly through the darkened room and sat on the edge of their bed. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Andrew reached up and cupped Tommy’s face with a cool hand. As always, Andrew’s touch induced a shiver of ecstasy in Tommy and he turned his face into Andrew’s palm and kissed it gently.

"Sorry I woke you."

Excerpt From: Rogue's Rage

Raven lay in the cage praying for death. How long had she been here? What more did he have planned for her? Surely he could not hurt her more than he already had. She had never known a man so hungry for power. It was easy to see now that he craved the crown and would do his best to remove anyone that stood in his way.

She had overheard Wilhelm speaking of how his brother, the Queen’s husband, had been killed. The Queen’s brother, who ruled as king at her side, had left to search but already Wilhelm plotted the man’s demise. It was apparent that he did not plan for Raven to ever leave this room alive or he would not speak thus in front of her.

She had come to speak with the Queen, to tell Ona of the whispers the wind carried of a great evil that threatened all. Instead she had met the evil head on and alone. There were six of them who approached while she was bathing in the stream. But she had not shown any fear. She was native and her weapons were always available to her.

Rising from the water, she had broadened her stance and held her hands to the side.

“You are trespassing,” one of them stated but she could scent the lust on them in the air.

“I thought that the land belonged to any and all,” was her soft reply. In all honesty the land belonged more to her and her people than to any other. They were the natives, the ones who had been here since the beginning and would remain here always.

“Trespassing is a very serious and punishable offence,” one of the others said and licked his lips. Goddess spare her from men who thought themselves gods among men.

“Then I will just dress and be on my way,” she said softly and sighed as snickers filled the air. This would not be pleasant, at least not for them.

“Out of the water now,” was the only reply she received.

Slowly she moved forward her mind already planning what course she would take once aground. She could feel the shift of the dragon under her skin, the protector of those of native royalty. Did these men have no idea of the power she could wield?

For a native, weapons were always within reach lying just under their skin. If you glanced at her back you would see her sword. The hilt descended from the back of her neck and squared off so that it spread out to her shoulder blades before stopping just beneath them. The long blade trailed down her spine ending in a sharp point at the small of her back where a small dragon curled around the tip. Both dragon and sword could be pulled from her skin and used in defence unless she was rendered unconscious. Then both would return to the skin until called forth once more.

She stepped from the water and slipped her hand high then lowered it behind her neck. One more chance was all they would get before she drew it from her skin and prepared for battle. One of the group stepped forward and his leer was like a psychic caress over her flesh.

One meaty paw reached out and his filthy fingers pinched her nipple and tugged at it. “Perhaps we should punish you ourselves,” he breathed, stepping closer to her.

And Raven kicked into fight mode. Her knee lifted into the hardened flesh of his cock while one palm flashed out and connected with his nose sending his body in two different directions. The knee made him want to curl forward while the palm sent his head snapping back. The result was him at her feet, fingers hugging his knees to his chest while his nose gushed blood.

She stood at the ready, one hand returning to hover behind her neck though she had yet to call forth the blade or the dragon. A tingle under the skin, like a premonition cautioned her to wait, to be careful in revealing all she held.

The men paused around her as if her actions had given them pause in their plans. Then there was a tremble in the air and everything seemed to still. Her hand hovered and fell as a scream was ripped from her lips and she landed in a heap on the ground. Her hands slapped at her flesh that suddenly felt as if it were afire with flames. She tried in vain to use her hands to put the flames out and rolled about fighting what she could not see. Then the pain overtook her and mercifully she passed out.

When she awoke, she was tied down and unable to move or access her weapons. A man stood before her and she knew beyond a shadow of doubt that this was the Wilhelm that had been spoken of and that he was the great evil. He stood over her taking in the shape of her body, the curves and dips, but she could not feel lust on him. A shadow moved and her glance was pulled towards another.

A woman. Danuja and obviously the source of the flames she had felt before. She stood behind Wilhelm and said nothing.

“So you are finally awake,” he said, grabbing her attention back. “I was wondering how long you would deny me.”

Excerpt From: Mage Magic

Serena was in love. She had been from the moment she knew her child existed. Now, with the slight rise in her belly making her condition more noticeable, she was grateful for the long robes her station required. And yet she had never felt less worthy of being a priestess. She had fallen for the smooth words of a man and given him the life-changing gift of her virginity. He had used that gift to somehow pull a small portion of her power that had been bestowed from the goddess. Serena still didn’t know how he’d achieved that.

She did know that once she had fancied herself in love with him, and she had believed he was in love with her as well. But then she’d come across him with her friend, Lydia, and the steamy scene her gaze had taken in proved that he felt nothing for her. A few months later she’d discovered she was pregnant with Wilhelm’s child and knew that she must make plans to leave the castle and her friend, Queen Ona, before anyone else became aware. It was acceptable for a priestess to bring new life into the world, but not as an unmated woman.

She brushed her hands softly over the slight bulge of her growing child as she stood on the terrace of the Queen’s Temple and planned her journey to the Temple of the Goddess. Only by leaving could she ensure that her child would be safe. Serena could already feel the immense strength her nurturing babe held. This child would have more power than any priestess had ever known. The goddess had appeared to Serena in a vision and told her that she must journey by the next full moon, leaving her friends and the only home she’d ever known behind. And the moon would be full this night.

“Priestess.” Queen Ona’s voice pulled her from her thoughts as her friend joined her on the terrace. Ona was like a sister to her. They had been close since they were mere children and it broke Serena’s heart to realise she would never glance upon Ona’s face again.

“My Queen,” she said and gave a bow of her head in deference to the title her friend held. When she looked up and met Ona’s eyes, she saw the glisten of unshed tears there. “What is it? What has happened?”

“Everything changes this night,” Ona said as Serena grasped her hands and held tight. Rarely did they use the designations they were entitled to when alone. Here they were friends, sisters, and the Priestess and Queen just didn’t exist.

“What changes?” Serena asked and gasped when Ona slipped one of her hands down to cradle the bulge of Serena’s belly. “How did you know?”

“There is much I have been shown,” Ona answered. “And there is little time to see it all done.”

“What have you seen? What is it that comes our way?” Serena asked.

“The goddess has bestowed the gift of foresight on me for this event,” Ona said. “I know that with the dawn of tonight’s full moon you will begin your journey to her temple.”

Serena nodded, lost for words. Why would the goddess share this wisdom with another? Then she shook her head at the touch of jealousy and focused on speaking with Ona. Her friend was good and pure, and the queen they all loved and respected. Why not share it with her?

“Yes, I will travel at the first touch of the moon in the sky,” Serena told her.

“Yet, there is one more task I must ask of you before you leave,” Ona beseeched her. “One thing that you must do to ensure all is set for the future.”

“What is it?” Serena asked. “I will do whatever the goddess has bid you to ask of me.”

“I know you will, sister,” Ona said and hugged Serena close.

They stood that way for a long moment, just holding onto each other, both seeking and giving comfort to one another. Finally Ona pulled back and led Serena back into the heart of the Queen’s Temple. She stopped in front of the golden chest and, taking a chain from her neck, she bent to open it, revealing the Staff of Light.

It glowed, a mixture of the gold and pure white that formed it.

“What are you doing, Ona?” Serena gasped.

Never was the Staff to be removed from the protective case. If it fell into the wrong hands there was no limit to the destruction that could be caused.

“You must take this with you to the Temple of the Goddess,” Ona said. “It is the only thing you will carry on your journey. It will hide you so that no one will see you as you travel. It will protect you from the elements and see you safely to your destination. Once you reach the Temple you will be met by the keepers. One will show you another container much like this one that will be the new home for the Staff.”

“I don’t understand,” Serena said. “Is it no longer safe within these walls?”

“No,” Ona answered. “There is one that hunts for it even now. It must not fall into his hands.”

Excerpt From: Blood Relations

Los Angeles: Sometime in the Future

Rob Lydell pushed open the door of the crowded downtown Los Angeles club and made his way through the press of bodies towards the bar. He knew he wasn't the only human in the bar, and it wasn't the first time he'd been in vampire company, yet he couldn't quite rid himself of the nervous prickle running down his spine. Trying to avoid the curious and lascivious stares thrown his way, he kept his eyes on the mirrored shelves behind the bar crammed with bottles of liquor.

The bartender, a tall, darkly handsome vampire, gave him a cursory nod and a, "What'll it be?"

"Just a beer, thanks-light."

The vampire's eyes flitted over Rob, taking in his blond, blue-eyed, wholesome good looks. "Haven't seen you in here before."

"I'm looking for someone," Rob said, his tongue passing over his lips as he watched the ice-cold beer being poured into a frosted glass.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Gabriel Torrance. You know him?"

The bartender nodded as he handed Rob his beer. "Not well, but he comes in here most nights. We've talked." The tips of the vampire's fangs showed as his lips curled back in a smile. "He likes to talk." He eyed Rob with just a hint of suspicion. "You a friend of his?"

"No."

"Didn't think so. Torrance doesn't care much for mortals."

"Why's that?"

"Can't trust them, he says. Nothing personal, but he's not exactly wrong about that. Every day, there's another restriction placed on us. I thought when they made us legal mortals would leave us alone-but it seems the ones who run this city are determined to undermine what the federal government put in place five years ago."

"That's what I want to see him about"

"Well, here's your chance." The vampire bartender looked over Rob's shoulder. "He just walked in."

Rob turned, his eyes searching the crowd, his breath catching in his chest at his first sight of Gabriel Torrance. He was just as he'd been described to Rob. Average height, just an inch or so under six feet, wide shoulders, a shock of thick auburn hair combed back from a face that was arresting in its aquiline beauty-but it was his eyes that took the total focus of Rob's attention. Mesmerising was the only way to describe the vividly green orbs that locked for a moment or two on his own dark blue eyes before sliding away to survey the other patrons standing at or near the bar.

Torrance was simply but stylishly dressed in a dark green linen shirt that perfectly accentuated the green of his eyes and black jeans outlining his muscular thighs. A hint of a smile touched his lips as he ordered a glass of zinfandel from the bartender.

"And how are you tonight, William?" he asked cordially.

"Very well, Mr. Torrance." The bartender jerked his head at Rob. "This gentleman was asking about you earlier."

Torrance turned and locked eyes with Rob again then he took a long, slow sip of his wine, never dropping his hypnotic gaze from Rob's.

"Uh, hi- I'm Rob Lydell." Rob wasn't sure whether he should offer his hand or not.

Torrance solved the problem by putting his wine glass down on the bar and holding out his hand. "Gabriel Torrance."

The hand Rob took in his was cool and dry, and he shivered. Not from the coolness-he knew all vampires had skin that was less than warm to the touch. He had shaken hands with a vampire before, but the contact he'd made with this man was different-½cool, yes-but he couldn't ignore the tingle that pulsed through his fingers and up his arm.

"You wanted to speak to me?"

"Uh, yes." Rob's gaze slid away from Torrance's to a far corner of the bar. "Could we, uh, perhaps sit over there?" He indicated a corner table.

"Certainly." Torrance smiled. "Lead the way," he said, picking up his wineglass. He put a hand on Rob's shoulder as they passed through the crowded bar. "Just so I don't lose you in the throng," he said, his voice low and close to Rob's ear.

Excerpt From: Blood Resurrection

France, 1425

Bernard

So that you don't take me for a hallucinating idiot in some of the things I have to tell you, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Well, not so little really—maybe quite important. I'm a vampire. Yes, it's true. Please don't shudder with fear. I'm really quite a nice fellow, and I promise I won't take any bites out of your neck or suck on—your blood. Well, not unless you say "go ahead", first.

My name is Bernard Fournier—yes, I'm also French, but please don't hold that against me, either. A French vampire, I hear you saying. What else is he going to confess to us before the story's end? Lots of things, actually, some good, some not so good, and some quite terrible—but, I must not get ahead of myself.

My life began, some six hundred years ago, in a little village in the south of France. The name of it is irrelevant, for it no longer exists—it being just one of those long forgotten casualties of the wars that have raged off and on throughout the centuries, before and since I was born.

I was born a bastard, the product of ravishment by pillaging knights, thrown into a rubbish heap by my less-than-doting mother then discovered by an old woman digging for scraps of food. Amazingly, she didn't eat me but handed me over to some monks who baptised me to redeem me from sin and gave me the name Bernard. They raised me after a fashion, using me as a slave to fetch and carry then when my prettiness began to show through the grime and filth I was covered in due to their neglect, they abused me. Truth to tell, I had no idea as to what I looked like or why I had suddenly become an object of lust. I had never seen my reflection. Such a thing as a mirror was not hung in the monastery stable.

Not an impressive start to anyone's life you might say and I would have to agree. So is it any wonder that my mind was consumed with thoughts of escape, and sometimes, with revenge? Many times, I would lift my eyes and look beyond the monastery walls to the fields and forests that lay so near, and yet so far, with their promise of freedom. Escape was impossible, however, for the good monks fettered me securely at night and, in the daytime, tied a length of rope to my ankles, long enough to not impede me in my chores but not quite long enough to enable me to run through the monastery gates.

For eighteen terrible years, I lived thus, wondering why the God the monks prayed to several times a day and praised as the Almighty Saviour did not care to save me. What had I done to deserve this wretched life? I asked Him each night as I knelt in the stable straw that served as my bed.

I had long since become immune to the vile advances of the monks, merely lying passively as they had their way with me, not even protesting when they would beat me afterward for being the temptation they could not resist. When left alone, I would lie on my back, staring up at the stable's wooden roof, and imagine myself being able to fly away from this place of torment. If only I could escape, I thought, and never have to look again at the cruel and leering faces of the men who brutalised me, I would forego any desire for revenge. To be free of them and their hypocrisy would suffice.

* * * *

Perhaps God did hear my silent pleas after all, for it came in the form of a tall and handsome man, who arrived at the monastery late one night, requesting shelter from an impending storm. The monks and I had been busy shoring up doors and windows, getting the livestock inside and bringing enough food and water indoors to last them until the storm abated. The previous year, they had been confined within the chancery walls for three days. I, of course, had not been permitted to shelter there and had to huddle inside the stable, listening to the howling winds and lashing rain and wondering what would happen to me should the stable be carried away in the gale.

I watched with interest as Prior Hubert conversed with the tall man who had a military bearing and was dressed in fine clothes. Greedily, the Prior snatched the coins the tall man offered him then ushered him indoors, away from my sight. A moment later, one of the monks bade me to take the man's horse to the stable and bed him down for the night.

The horse was a fine steed, its saddle and trappings of the best quality, and I handled all of it with care as I stowed them away in a corner of the stable, before preparing to brush the horse down. In the distance, I head the rumbling of thunder, heralding the storm's approach.

"That's all right"" A deep, melodious voice behind me made me jump. "I'll take care of him."

Excerpt From: Blood Slave

The smaller man clawed at the leather as Leland Hawkes wrapped it tight around his throat.

"Are you insane?" he demanded.

Keats Metcalf wriggled against him as he struggled to turn around and look over his shoulder. "Leland?" he gasped.

Leland relaxed his hold on the collar just far enough to let his friend drag a little air into his lungs.

Keats tugged at the leather again, fretting about the restriction around his neck as if that was the only thing in the world he needed to be worried about right then. "What are you doing here?"

"Stay still," Leland snapped, doing up the buckles and fastening the wide collar tight around the other man's neck.

Keats reached around and tried to slap his hands away, but that was little more than an irritating distraction. The final fastening clicked into place. The thick strip of leather practically covered Keats' entire throat.

It made Leland feel just a fraction better about the world.

Spinning his friend around, Leland pushed the smaller man up against the wall and held him easily in place with a hand in the centre of his chest. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I asked first!"

Leland glared down at his friend. Keats returned his inspection, all big blue eyes and floppy blonde hair. All ridiculously childish games wrapped in a grown man's body that made Leland"s cock rise and his teeth ache.

"What are you doing here?" Leland asked again, saying each word very slowly as he fought to control both his temper and his libido.

Keats tilted his head on the side as he studied him, obviously not the least bit afraid of the fact a man with twice his strength had him pinned to the wall. He also seemed entirely at home with the fact he was stark bollock naked.

Leland took a deep breath and glared into Keats' eyes despite the temptation to drop his gaze and admire the best view of Keats that had ever come his way.

"I'm investigating a secret society," Keats whispered conspiratorially.

Leland stared down at him. "You're..." He shook his head. Even for Keats, that was a new kind of crazy.

Keats squirmed against his hand, trying to push himself up onto his tiptoes and whisper to him. Against all sense, Leland found himself leaning down to make it easier for Keats to brush his lips against his ear.

"Vampires," Keats whispered.

Every muscle in Leland's body tensed. "What?"

Keats lips teased his cheek as he grinned. "They think they're vampires."

"They think they are vampires," Leland echoed as he straightened back up to his full height.

Keats looked just a tiny bit repentant-like a puppy that had been caught chewing a slipper and now regretted displeasing his master.

Excerpt From: Blood Talisman

The tall, dark-haired man stood outside the Los Angeles Central Library gazing up for a moment at the imposing Egyptian-themed edifice. Artfully illuminated at night time, each carefully carved symbol of the ancient world stood out in stark relief against the white-stone walls.

A wry smile touched his handsome, finely featured face as he contemplated the fact that the setting at least was appropriate for what he sought. The world of antiquity might just hold the key to unlocking the mystery he was determined to solve. Much of what he wanted for his lover and himself, might rely on the answers, positive or negative, he was convinced he would find within a certain tome housed somewhere in the archives of this building.

In just a few minutes the library would close for the night. He wasted no time, quickly passing through the main doors into the cavernous marble-lined entry hall. He smiled at the security guard, knowing that he was about to tell him, 'Sorry, we’re closing'. Instead, the guard returned his smile—the power behind those ice-blue eyes immediately making the guard forget that the tall man dressed in a full-length black leather coat who now strode past him with purpose towards the door that plainly read ‘No Admittance’ had actually pushed it open and had disappeared.

The guard stood to one side as the library’s employees and a few stragglers exited, then he locked the doors and walked over to the security desk. Apart from the routine checks he would make periodically he would stay at his post until he was relieved at midnight by the graveyard shift.

Andrew Berés descended the flight of stairs leading to the underground archives. It was dark, the power having been turned off in any unnecessary areas of the library. Not that it deterred Andrew. He could see in the dark better than any cat, or bat, for that matter. His vampire vision could pick out anything within the murky recesses of the basement.

If I were the Talisman of Ardocan—where would I hide?

If not the Talisman itself—and it did seem unlikely that it would actually be among the artefacts and documents piled high before him—at least some mention of it, be it myth or reality. Somewhere here, there must be some clue, a cross reference perhaps pertaining to its existence, or non.

Andrew’s laser-sharp vision seared through the closed document boxes and crates, negating some as useless, pausing over others that looked as though they might be interesting, before dismissing them and moving on to the next box.

Marcus Verano, the most powerful of all vampires, had told Andrew he feared the Talisman did not exist, and at the time Andrew had been prepared to accept Marcus’ scepticism, yet the demon Dakar had insisted that it was indeed real. If Andrew were to doubt either man’s word, it would certainly be that of Dakar—a devious and treacherous demon, now dead. Dakar had inhabited Andrew’s lover’s body then had tried to seduce Andrew himself, all the while betraying his king by gathering a rebel force to usurp Kardis and take control of the Underworld region Kardis governed.

Yet hope, mingled with some doubt, remained in Andrew’s heart.

His lover, Tommy, was a brave and beautiful man with whom Andrew wished to spend the rest of his existence. But Tommy was mortal and worried that as he grew older Andrew would leave him for someone younger. Despite Andrew’s protestations to the contrary, he knew that in Tommy’s darker moments that fear still existed, and with it a wish that Andrew, too, was mortal, and that they would grow old together. Something that, as the months had passed, and their love had become stronger, deeper, Andrew had longed for with all his heart.

Tommy had offered to give him his lifeblood, had pledged to accept the ‘change’ despite the fact he would be distanced from his family and friends, something Andrew knew tore at Tommy’s heart and conscience. Because of his lover’s willingness to sacrifice his closeness with those he held dear, Andrew was determined to at least try to find an alternative.

He had not mentioned his quest to anyone, not even to Tommy. Why build up hopes within him if the search should prove fruitless after all? Nor had he told his best friend Jared Lantos, although he knew Jared would not judge his actions. Jared also had a mortal lover. Although frowned on by certain segments of vampire society, it was not all that unusual for vampires’ companions to be human. A regular infusion of vampire blood kept a mortal’s youthful appearance, delaying the aging process and giving him or her many more years of life. But they were not immortal, and eventually a decision would have to be made…

Andrew paused in his search and a shudder ran through his body. The thought of losing Tommy was not something he could accept, nor the desolation he knew he would feel as keenly as a wooden, silver-tipped stake to his heart.

There must be an answer! Somewhere in all of this there must be a clue, however small, however remotely connected to the Talisman itself. Something to give hope…

Despair filled him as he neared the final row of boxes. Perhaps Marcus was right after all, and Dakar would be proven a liar, perpetuating the demon reputation for evading the truth at all costs. Or perhaps, his search—though fruitless here as it had been in New York and Washington D.C.—should continue in some other archive—in Paris or Athens or—He paused again, a flicker of recognition dancing before his eyes.

The word, Ardocan.

Excerpt from: Blue Dragon Challenge

She wouldn’t have to fake it with Scott. If he’d take her to bed.

With his cock deep inside her, an orgasm would be a delicious, mind-blowing experience. Was he even aware of her need for him as he sat on the floor, his legs crossed Indian style, talking to her about an absurd topic like godmothers?

Scott, the heir apparent to the Vandarian throne, overwhelmed her bachelor flat with his intimidating presence. Her room was almost larger than the small principality that few had heard of but meant everything to him. He’d dropped in an hour earlier to visit but his countenance was melancholy, an unusual state of affairs for the normally cheerful prince.

“So what do you think? Is there such a person as a godmother?” he asked, tilting his handsome face upwards to look into her eyes.

Justine couldn’t help herself. She spiralled forward into those inquisitive blue eyes, the colour of a shimmering sapphire. Her breath caught. If only he would see her as he saw his other fly-by-night women, attractive, desirable, a female who would do anything for one hot, hot night in bed with him. She’d strip naked for him, spread her legs wide apart so he could feast his eyes on her weeping pussy. Her nipples puckered into tight buds just thinking about the ways she could lure Scott into her fantasy sex world.

“Want a beer?” she asked in an attempt to break the tenacity of her lurid thoughts.

Quickly, she rose and headed for the fridge where she would be alone for a second or two. How could he ignore her blatantly aroused behaviour? What would nudge him into noticing her as a female, hot and ready for her prince?

She handed him the beer. As her fingers brushed his, sparks flashed. “Did you feel that?” she asked, hoping he had not only felt the sparks but had seen them arcing from their hands like brilliant garnets and translucent diamonds.

“Felt what?” he asked absently.

“Never mind.” If Scott hadn’t experienced the arcing himself, there was no point in explaining the phenomenon. She’d return to admiring his fantastic physique. The man was drop dead gorgeous. All the time he spent in the gym had paid off too. A white golf shirt encased his broad chest but the sleeves couldn’t hide the rippling muscles of his biceps. Neither could his dark jeans hide the massive size of his cock. Justine sucked in a breath. Heat seared her cheeks, forcing her to rub them with her palms. She sighed. He was so overpoweringly sexy.

“Justine? Justine?” she heard him call her name from far, far away. She ran her tongue over her lower lip and sighed again. She had to snap out of her mooning after him. “Yes?” she said, wondering what he’d been discussing so intently. If only she weren’t so damned attracted to him, maybe she could get on with her life instead of waiting for him to make a move.

“You’re usually right with me, word for word.” Scott’s eyes shone with humour. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You had me with ‘usually right with me’. Under your strong, muscled body. Justine cleared her throat. “I was thinking about the girl you’re going to marry,” she blurted. Her cheeks flamed hotter. What business of hers was it who he married? If he wanted her, Justine, wouldn’t he have said or done something? Scott was such a forward man. He left nothing to chance, even when he inched up the face of a sheer mountainside, just for the sheer thrill.

His thick eyebrows squirreled together. “What does that have to do with godmothers?”

Flustered, she waved a hand in the air. “I don’t know.” Should she dare admit the truth to him? That she was in love with him? Had been for the last five years since she first set eyes on him that fateful day in University?

“Are you coming down with a cold or something?” Effortlessly, he rose and sat beside her, wrapping his muscled arms around her waist. Definitely not a lover’s hold.

“I think I might be.” She felt protected and safe in his embrace, as if she belonged. Why couldn’t he see how they fit together so perfectly even if she wasn’t of noble blood?

He nuzzled her forehead with his chin, his shadow beard scraping against her tender skin. Justine thought of how those tiny, sharp hairs would feel against the inside of her thighs as his warm lips travelled towards her demanding pussy.

Excerpt from: Blue Magic

The intercom buzzed, interrupting Ethan Water's train of thought. He hadn't been having a particularly good day and didn't want to speak with anyone. Reluctantly, he pushed the voice button. "Yes, Sarah?"

"Delivery downstairs, Mr. Waters. They need a signature."

A smile crept across his lips. The unexpected news instantly put him into a better mood. "Tell Frank I'm on my way."

Ethan finished penning a letter to the Smithsonian National Museum of History and buttoned the jacket of his dark navy suit. Few things put a smile on his face these days, but a new addition to his museum seemed do the trick.

He hurried out of his office and down two flights of stairs, his palm sliding along the smooth, lacquer banister. At the far side of the hallway, he pushed his way through the double doors and out to the shipping garage.

With a large grin, he greeted his long-time friend and main delivery guy. "How's it going, Frank? What do you have for me today?"

The portly man took out a handkerchief and dabbed his forehead. "Afternoon, Ethan. Not sure what I brought. Can't seem to read the writing. Must be from overseas." He held out a clipboard and pen. "I'll need you to sign the top copy of the invoice."

"You got it."

Curious to see what was inside, he quickly scribbled his signature and fished out a box cutter from his jacket. He slid the sleek silver blade along the top of the box puncturing through several layers of packaging tape.

When he'd cut through all the tape, Ethan pulled the sides open and took a step back. His eyes instantly lit up.

Inside stood an oval-shaped, full-length mirror framed with thirty or so blue gems within a crystal inlay. A blue felt cloth protected the glass of the mirror.

Frank's whistle echoed throughout the garage. "Whoa, looks like you got yourself quite a beauty there."

What an understatement. Ethan ran his fingers along the decorative jewels, admiring the intricate details then chewed at his lip. In all his thirty-five years he'd never seen anything so beautiful. "If I'm not mistaken, I'd say these are real sapphires. Take a look. What do you think?"

His friend leaned in and squinted. "Sure looks like the real deal to me." Shivers ran along Ethan's back. "This has to be worth a fortune. I mean, the value alone of a single sapphire of this size and cut." The mirror looked like it belonged in a castle, not a modest-size museum in Astoria, Oregon. "I hope it didn't get sent to me by mistake."

"I doubt it," Frank chuckled. "Your address happened to be the only thing I could read on the box. Do you want me to go ahead and store it in the warehouse for you?"

Ethan stroked his chin, still in awe over the unexpected delivery. "You know, I think I'm going to store it in my office for the time being. I'd like to do some research on it. You say it didn't come with any other paperwork?"

"I'm afraid nothing except the invoice." Frank handed him his copy.

"Interesting," he mumbled and studied both sides of the paper. The idea of finding out more about the mirror intrigued him and would be a welcome distraction. "Well, you know how I like mysteries. Thanks again, and don't work too hard today."

His friend gave him a two-fingered salute and started for his truck. "I won't."

Ethan grabbed a dolly from the corner of the garage and carefully scooted the box onto it. He lowered it to an angle and rolled it towards the elevator. Inside, he held his breath. Of all the things that could bother him, small places were the worst.

When the door opened, he breathed a sigh of relief and pushed the dolly straight to his office. Carefully, he slid the mirror out of the box and placed it in the corner near his desk. Warm from all the activity, he removed his jacket and loosened the collar of his shirt. It had been several weeks since he"d done anything related to exercise, and he felt out of shape.

He sat in his leather seat to look over the invoice. Almost immediately, his secretary rapped lightly on the open door. "Knock, knock."

Excerpt From: Blue Moon

Tuesday Grayson stretched out on a homemade quilt and stared at the cloud-filled sky. �So, tell me more.� Sara Grayson giggled. �Okay, so one day in the perfect cloud kingdom, a dragon came. He flew across the sky, smoke trailing after him.�

�Not sure that looks like a dragon.�

�This is my story,� Sara reminded. �And it looks like a dragon to me.�

�Fine.� Tuesday waved a hand towards the clouds. �It�s a dragon.�

�So the dragon is flying around and he decides that he would like to rest.� Sara glanced briefly at her aunt. �He found a large field of clover and thought it a good place for a nap.�

�I agree.� Tuesday let her hand move off the blanket and brushed the thick clover they were laying on. �You don�t think he�ll mind sharing his napping ground with us nearby?�

�He�s the friendly sort.� Sara tucked her hands behind her head and sighed. �He landed in the field and checked the clover for rocks. Once he was satisfied that the clover was rock free� he curled up on his left side and fell fast asleep.�

�Does he dream while he slept?� Tuesday asked.

�Yes, of course, he dreams. He had the best dream.�

�Does he dream of candy and ice cream?�

�Large mountains made of ice cream and rivers full of soda.� Sara sighed. �And in his dream, he eats a whole mountain and drinks one entire river of soda.�

�I bet he�ll be sick.�

�Oh no, dragons can eat all the ice cream they want and never get sick.� Sara laughed. �I wish I was a dragon.�

�If you were a dragon, you wouldn�t fit in your house.�

�I could be a tiny dragon.�

Tuesday laughed and let her gaze move over the puffy white clouds. �A tiny dragon, indeed.�

�Is my daddy still mad at you?�

�Yep.� She grimaced at the thought. It had been difficult coming home, and facing the ire of her oldest brother hadn�t made the move any easier.

�Mama says he�s being a jerk.�

�That�s one way of looking at the situation. Your daddy had plans for the Blue Moon and assumed he would get it.�

�Everyone in town knows that only a Grayson woman can own the Blue Moon. It�s a tradition,� Sara announced and grinned. �I�m a Grayson woman.�

�You are indeed.� Tuesday grinned. �And one day, the Blue Moon will be yours.�

�Truly?�

�Of course, even if your Uncle Brian marries and has a little girl, you�ll be the oldest. It will go to you.�

�I�d take good care of it and them, too.�

�I know you will, darling.� Tuesday swallowed hard. Her own self-doubt crowded in quickly. While her aunt had always seemed confident Tuesday could protect the inn, there was a part of her that was concerned that her brother would continue to make things difficult. How could she protect the legacy of her family and fulfil the obligation to the ghosts if she was not there?

�Can I stay tonight and watch them dance?�

�No.� Tuesday shook her head. �When you�re older.�

Sara snorted. �It�s not fair. I�m a Grayson and there are kids all over town who�ve seen the Blue Moon ghosts dance.�

�Your mother would have my head.� Tuesday glanced towards her. �How are the kids seeing the dance?�

�There�s a hole in the privacy fence.�

�Well, I suppose if a body knew about that hole they might get to watch tonight. Especially since I�ll be patching that hole tomorrow.�

Sara laughed. �You�re the best.�

�Don�t get all scared and scream,� Tuesday murmured. �They won�t hurt you.�

Excerpt From: Blueprint for Love

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are beginning our descent into the Los Angeles area."

At the sound of the flight attendant's announcement, Kyle Rutherford shifted in his seat and gazed out the window at the dark clouds covering the city below.

"The captain has informed us that there is currently a thunderstorm over LA, and there may be some turbulence as we descend, so please ensure your seat belts are securely fastened."

Great, Kyle thought, it's pissing down rain and Jen can't meet me. His sister had called just before he'd left Cincinnati to tell him her youngest daughter was sick and she couldn't leave her alone to get to the airport as planned. Hope there's a cab available. At least, rain was preferable to the weather he'd just endured in Cincinnati.

He'd spent a week with his parents as a sort of penance for not being in touch more often. His mother's constant harping about that fact had finally given him the guilt trip she'd intended.

"I mean, Kyle, Jen manages to come twice a year-and brings the children."

So he"d groaned inwardly and arranged for a week off from his job. He'd rather have flown to Hawaii, but truth to tell, he'd actually enjoyed his time with his mom and dad-despite the shitty weather. Unlike a lot of his gay friends, Kyle hadn't suffered from parental shame and horror when he'd come out-his mother's only lament had been that she'd wanted him to supply her with more grandchildren. Turned out both his parents had known he was gay for some time before he'd told them.

"Lack of a steady girl," his father had grunted. "Dead giveaway."

Lack of a steady boyfriend too, Kyle had thought wryly. Over the years, that hadn't really changed. Yes, there had been boyfriends, just not steady ones. Kyle had come to the conclusion that 'steady' was not in the vocabulary of most men he'd dated. That was the reason he'd be dateless this evening-Valentine's Day evening. How pathetic was that?

Excerpt From: Bodies of Light

She had failed.

Suspension was supposed to be dreamless. Still, frustration and disappointment swirled through her consciousness. Pain nagged her, the ache of goals missed, work left undone. What work? She could not recall. She knew only that it had been critically important.

Layers of confusion swaddled her mind like heavy blankets, smothering any attempt at logic. The incoherence of her thoughts disturbed her further. Images, words and symbols crept into focus then faded before she could decipher their meanings. The need to understand was an itch she could not scratch.

She hung in a dark, foggy void, disembodied and disoriented. Only her emotions had any clarity. She could not banish the certainty that she had been tested and found wanting.

Then came the light.

In the void there was no time. Without transition, light arced through her, golden arrows that pierced and scattered her despair. She had no eyes but somehow she was drenched in rainbow-edged glory. Shimmering waves of aquamarine and cerise danced before her—through her—banishing her darkness. She heard the light as well as saw it, a strange melody that pulsed in rhythm with the glow, tugging at her heart. Irrational joy flooded her.

“Christine.” The voice wound in and out among the chords. It caressed her being, promising comfort and release from care.

“Christine.” A second voice (yet how could she know this, without ears to hear?) whispered in the brief pauses between notes, deeper, darker, a gorgeous contrast with the flaring colours that bathed her thoughts. The new voice spoke of pleasure, of desire and exquisite satisfaction.

“You are not alone,” the first voice murmured.

“We are with you,” the second announced, bold and bright as a trumpet call. At the same time, sensation rippled through her. Invisible hands cupped and massaged her breasts (but she had no body, no breasts…) until sparks flew from the nipples to merge with the spiralling brightness. Fingertips trailed along her non-existent skin, triggering pleasure so intense it frightened her. The silver voice—as she pictured the first—soothed her without words. The bronze voice laughed like ringing bells and coaxed ever more unbearable delight from her insubstantial body. Her soundless moans rose to join the prismatic symphony in which she floated.

The twin voices teased and enticed her, urging her to let go. “We will support you,” they crooned as pleasure suffused her. She stopped trying to understand how she could experience such arousal when she had no limbs, no sex. She was the pleasure, a multi-hued whirl of harmonious vibration in crescendo.

Silver-voice sang her to the top. Bronze-voice held her there, his power shuddering through her, driving out the fear. “Now fly,” said the darker voice and released her.

Pure white energy bloomed from her, rushing outwards. Bliss followed in the wake of the blossoming brilliance. The music swelled to a blinding chorus then thundered into silence.

Darkness descended once more, warm and welcoming, cradling Christine like a beloved child. She reached out mentally for the two voices, but caught only faint echoes of their presence. A twinge of sorrow marred her comfort for a moment, then evaporated. All was well.

Christine slipped deeper into the sweet unconsciousness of suspension, forgetting her doubts and regrets.

Excerpt From: Brier's Bargain

"...DEFG..." Brier placed the last file in the appropriate spot and closed the drawer. "Do you have anything else for me to do, Sheila?"

"No, sweetie, you're all done. Why don't you see if Bram is ready to call it a day?" the accounting office secretary said with a smile.

"Okay. See you Monday." Brier picked up his coat and started to leave, but Sheila called him back.

"Brier? You forgot your paycheque."

Smiling, Brier turned and picked his cheque up from the table where he'd laid it earlier. "I'm gonna need this, too."

"Yeah? Special plans this weekend?"

"The carnival's in town. Bram and Declan promised to take me."

"Oh, isn't that nice. You have fun."

"I will." With one last grin, Brier went to find his twin brother. Since being released from the psychiatric hospital nearly three years ago, Brier had worked and lived with Bram and his partner Declan.

He knew Bram was taking him to the carnival to help get his mind off of Jackie. Brier stopped walking and rubbed his eyes. Thinking about the only man he'd ever truly been in love with still made his chest hurt. Jackie had said he loved Brier too, but then Jackie had gone away to some foreign country and left him all alone.

Brier knew it was Jackie's job to go train bodyguards for Three Partner's Protection Agency, the company they all worked for, but it didn't make it any easier to be alone. He waved hi to Mac as he passed his office on the way to Bram's.

He poked his head in and smiled. "You almost finished?"

Bram looked up from his computer, those little tiny reading glasses perched on the end of his nose that Brier thought made his brother look so smart. "Yep. Just give me another ten minutes or so."

"Okay. I"m gonna see if Mac's going to the carnival."

Bram nodded and went back to his computer. Brier travelled back down the hall to Mac's office. He leaned against the doorjamb and waited for Mac to notice him.

"Hey," Mac greeted. "How was your day?"

"Good. I got everything filed that Sheila asked me to, and I finished painting the break-room."

"I know. The break-room looks terrific. I'm glad you suggested we go with the yellow. It really livens it up."

Brier felt a blush creep up his cheeks. Mac always said nice things to him, but it was still hard for Brier to take a compliment without getting embarrassed. "Are you going to the carnival?"

Mac smiled and leaned back in his chair. "No, I think we'll skip it this year. You?"

"Yeah. Bram and Declan are taking me." Brier held up his paycheque. "Except I'm paying for myself."

"That's good."

Brier tapped his foot on the leg of the desk. He wanted to ask a question, but didn't want Mac to get mad at him.

"Something wrong, Brier?"

Brier shook his head. "I was just wondering if you'd talked to Jackie? He hasn't called me for a while."

Mac looked uneasy for a moment before his attention shifted to the door. Brier looked over his shoulder at Bram. "You ready?" Bram asked.

"Yeah. I was just asking Mac if he'd talked to Jackie."

Bram took a deep breath. "I imagine Jackie"s too busy to call anyone these days. Don't take it personally, brother."

Brier stood and stuffed his cheque back into his coat pocket. He had a feeling something was going on. For several days he'd caught Bram whispering to Declan. A couple of times Brier thought he heard Jackie"s name, but when he questioned Bram, his brother always denied it. Maybe Jackie wasn"t coming home. What if he fell in love with someone else and didn"t want Brier anymore?

He felt that throbbing thing start in his head again. Brier lifted his hand to the thick scar on the side of his skull to rub away the pain, but it didn't help. The scar his father had given to him as a baby was a constant reminder that he'd never be as smart as his twin brother. How a father could abuse an infant and then just sign over custody to the state when that abuse had permanent repercussions, Brier still didn't understand. At least he was happy his father had been convicted after abuse led to the paralysis of his younger brother Thor. Brier didn't feel a bit sorry that his father had been murdered in prison. He began to rub harder at the raised scar that ran in a large arc above his right ear.

"You okay?" Bram asked, stepping into the office.

"Head hurts."

"Did you take your medicine?"

Brier hated it when Bram tried to baby him. He wasn't a baby. "Yes. It just hurts sometimes when I get upset." He pushed past Bram to the hall. "See you Monday, Mac. If you talk to Jackie, tell him I said hi."

Bram stayed in Mac's office for a few more minutes. Brier decided not to wait on him and went out to stand by Bram's car. It was hot outside, so Brier took off his jacket. He thought it was weird how the mornings could be cold, but then the afternoons would get so hot.

Bram finally came out of the building and unlocked the doors. "I guess I should've given you the keys. You could've started the air conditioning."

Brier didn't say much. He got in and fastened his seat belt before leaning his head against the window. The hot glass felt good as it rubbed on the scar. "Are we going to eat at the carnival?"

"Whatever you want. This is your night." Bram pulled out of the parking lot and headed for home.

Brier turned to his brother. Bram had been very patient with him since Jackie left. He hated that he'd had the meltdown while staying at the Triple Spur. Ever since that night, Bram had treated him differently. The way he'd been treated when he'd first been released from the psychiatric hospital in Oklahoma.

The hospital reminded him of Carl, Jimmy and Rick, the men who'd sexually abused him in the hospital. Bram had told him that Carl and Jimmy were in a little trouble, but they wouldn't be going to jail, and the police hadn't found Rick yet. He'd moved away. "Have you heard anything about Rick?"

Bram got a surprised look on his face. "What brought that up?"

Brier shrugged. "I don't know, just thinking about stuff."

"Sounds like some pretty heavy thinking."

"Maybe," Brier mumbled.

"The police haven't located Rick yet, but when they do, they want to put him in jail."

"Because of me?"

"Because of what he's done to several men in the hospitals he's worked in." Bram shifted in his seat, and didn't look at Brier anymore. "They want you to testify, but I told them no."

"Why?" Brier asked.

"I don't think you're up to sitting in a courtroom with Rick, telling everyone in the room about the things he did to you."

Brier pressed his scar harder against the glass. "I don't wanna see him. He's scary."

Bram nodded and reached over to squeeze Brier's hand. "I know, buddy. That's why I told the police they'd have to find another way to convict him." Brier felt better. At least Rick couldn't get to him if he didn't see him. Rick used to tell him he'd kill him if he ever told. Brier knew he'd do it to. Rick was a bad, bad man.

"I have money to buy us all corndogs for supper," he said, trying to change the subject.

"Are you sure that's what you want to do with your paycheque? I can buy my own dinner."

"You buy me dinner all the time."

"Okay. Corndogs it is."

Excerpt From: I Love Rock n Roll

With his worn leather bag slung over his shoulder, he stepped up to the reception desk. “Archer Brant to see Keifer Zane.”

He hated using a name other than his own, but the public seemed to think they had a right to know who the man was who’d won a spot in Keifer’s bed. So far, Archer Brant had been investigated by every tabloid on the newsstands. He was damn glad the agency had created complete false identities for all their bodyguards.

The young woman at the front desk picked up a phone and spoke quietly to someone. She ended the call and passed a key card to Archer. “PH three. Fit the key card into the provided slot when you enter the elevator.”

“Thanks,” Archer replied.

“Do you have bags?” the woman asked to Archer’s retreating back.

“Just this one and I think I can handle it,” Archer assured her. No way was he going to tip some shmoe to carry his bag upstairs. He stepped onto the elevator and fit the card in the slot.

Although he’d spoken to Jimmy several times on the phone, he hadn’t seen the rock star for nearly three months. He was supposed to meet up with Jimmy in Philadelphia, but flights had been screwed up to the point it didn’t make sense. After apologising profusely for the mix-up, Archer had agreed to fly to Los Angeles for the next leg of Jimmy’s tour. Shit. I need to remember to use Keifer instead of Jimmy.

The doors opened and Archer carried his bag to room three of the penthouse floor. He grinned and shook his head at the large double door to the suite. He knocked on the door and was surprised when a guy he didn’t know answered.

“Hey, you’re that guy!” the unknown man said.

“Yes I am. And you are?” Archer questioned.

“Yo, man, I’m Dreamer.”

“Of course you are.” Archer pushed inside and glanced around the large living room. Every available surface was taken up with long-haired kids all below the age of thirty in baggy ripped jeans.

“Where’s Ji-Keifer?”

One of the guys pointed towards a closed door. “Been in there all day.”

Archer gave the slugs one last glance before striding over to knock on the door.

“I told you to leave me the fuck alone,” Keifer yelled.

Archer took a chance and opened the door, sticking his head inside the room. “It’s Archer.”

The lump in the large bed rolled over and for the first time in months, Keifer smiled at him. “Hey, old man. It’s about time you got here.”

Archer snorted as he tossed his bag to the floor. “Old man? That’s a bold statement for someone only three years younger than I am.”

Keifer put his finger to his lips. “Shhh, I’m only twenty-eight, remember?”

Archer laughed and fell onto one of the large overstuffed chairs. “Yeah and you started in the business when you were only thirteen.”

Archer wondered what it would be like to live a lie in order to appeal to your fans. “So what time do we need to head out?” he asked, throwing his feet up on the end of the bed.

Keifer sat up and scrubbed his hands through his hair.

Getting his first good look at Keifer, Archer’s eyes widened. “Wow. Someone got a haircut.” The last time he’d seen Keifer, the man had long black hair nearly to the middle of his back.

“Yeah. I needed to cut it back home. Mom’s neighbours didn’t feel comfortable with a damn hippy living next door.” Keifer grinned and Archer grinned in return.

“I like it.”

Keifer laughed. “You’re the only one. Benny’s been all up in my ass demanding I get some extensions put on.” Keifer winked. “I’ve refused.”

“Good man. He told me to dye the tips of my hair black. My boss told him to fuck off.”

Keifer continued laughing as he stood and stretched. Clad only in a tight pair of white trunks, Archer was forced to look away or suffer the embarrassment of an obvious woody.

“I’d better get in the shower. We need to head to the stadium in thirty minutes.”

Archer nodded, suddenly remembering the men in the other room. “By the way, what’s with the groupies?”

Keifer waved his hand. “Roadies. Benny didn’t want me alone until you got here.”

Archer’s eyebrow lifted. “Trouble?”

Keifer shook his head. “I got another letter. I’d have just added it to the stack, but Benny freaked.”

“From now on, I open your mail,” Archer stated in an authoritative tone, hoping Keifer wouldn’t argue with him.

Keifer nodded amicably and walked into the bathroom.

Archer’s job would actually be a lot easier if he didn’t like the guy so much. Keifer was nothing like Archer had imagined. He’d seen the guy on television for years. It seemed Keifer was always in the headlines, either by attending Hollywood parties, rocking out on stage for charity or in news clips.

Excerpt From: Seb's Surrender

Jared Grant pulled his thin jacket tighter around him and walked into the cold, blowing wind of a cloud-covered Albuquerque evening. He was so intent on getting to work on time, he didn't notice the car that pulled up beside him until a horn honked.

Jared jumped and spun around, ready to run. The driver of the shiny black El Camino SS rolled down his window.

"What're you doing out here?" Sebastian James asked.

Jared took a tentative step towards the car, truck, whatever it was. "Going to work."

Seb sighed and put the car in park. "Get in."

Jared opened the door and a blast of heat warmed him within seconds. He buckled his seatbelt and waited for Seb to pull away from the kerb. "It's just up here another six blocks."

"Yeah, I know where it is. Mind telling me what the hell you're doing walking to work in this weather?"

Confused by the man's anger, Jared inched closer to the passenger door. "Um...going to work?"

"Are you asking me?"

"Huh?" Seb confused Jared more than anyone he'd ever been around.

"You do that a lot, you know."

"Do what?"

"Make statements into questions. It's the lilt up on the end of your sentences, like you're not sure if you're going to work or not."

"Oh. Yes, I'm going to work."

Seb shook his head and pulled back into traffic. "So why are you walking instead of catching a ride?"

"Brier went home sick."

"So why not ask someone else?"

Jared tried to concentrate on the questions, but he kept getting distracted by Sebastian"s dangerous-looking beauty. "I don't know anyone else well enough to bother."

With a disgusted sigh, Seb reached into the pocket of his black leather jacket and handed Jared a business card. "Call me when you need a ride. If I'm not on a job, I'll take ya."

Jared read the black and red printed business card. It listed Sebastian James as a security specialist and gave his phone number. "What's a security specialist do?"

"Whatever needs doing. Mostly I assess situations and make recommendations on the level of security a specific job requires."

Sebastian pulled into the small gas station parking lot. Jared opened the door, glancing back at the handsome man. "Thanks for the ride."

Seb reached out and grabbed Jared's arm. Out of reflex, Jared tried to jerk his arm back and lowered his head. Sebastian released his grip with a growl of what sounded like irritation. "How late're you working?"

"I don't get off until two."

"In the morning?"

Jared nodded his head. He knew his job sucked, but beggars couldn't be choosers. "It's the only shift they had available."

Seb rubbed his hands over his face. Jared could tell he irritated the man, but he wasn't the one who'd asked for a ride. "Call me, and I'll pick you up. You've got no business being on the streets that late."

Jared walked home from work every night at that time. He wondered why he was suddenly being told he had no business doing it. As grouchy as Seb acted, Jared doubted the man would appreciate a wakeup call at two. Instead of arguing, he stuffed the card into his jacket pocket and got out of the car. "Thanks again for the ride."

He walked into the store and acknowledged the older woman behind the counter. Mrs. Bell seemed nice enough, but she was the nosey type and Jared preferred to keep the skeletons in his closet safely locked away.

Jared stowed his jacket under the counter and watched out the window as Seb pulled out of the parking lot. Why had he waited so long? Jared shook his head. In the three weeks since he'd come to Albuquerque with Brier, Sebastian seemed to run hot and cold where he was concerned.

Seb was the one who'd insisted Jared file assault and rape charges against Rick Sutcliff, but since then, it seemed like Seb could barely stand to be around him. Jared couldn't help but to think Seb was disgusted by him now that he knew everything Rick had done to him.

Even thinking of Rick had Jared"s stomach clenching into knots. It had been bad enough that Rick terrorized and raped him, Brier and Peter while in the hospital, but then Rick had showed up on his doorstep in Lubbock demanding to be let in.

Jared had been so afraid of the man, he'd done as he was told. From that day until Brier came knocking on his door, Rick had made his life a living hell. It was the lowest point of his twenty-five years, which was saying a lot.

He glanced down at the long straight scars running up both wrists. Even the events that had pushed him into trying to end his life hadn't been nearly as hard as the punishment Rick doled out on a daily basis.

"I'm off," Mrs. Bell called, grabbing her purse from the locked cabinet under the counter.

"Have a good evening."

Excerpt From: Seducing the Sheik

Browning Automatic Rifle in hand, Gavin Burk slowed his breathing. Whoever the intruder was, he would be welcomed through the view of his scope. If the dumb fucker was trying to sneak up on him, he was doing a piss-poor job.

Gavin had been replacing shingles, when his perimeter alarm had sounded. He"d gotten off the roof and behind the boulder in seconds, waiting.

"Gavin?" a familiar voice called through the heavy timberline.

"Ahh, fuck." Gavin relaxed his grip on the rifle. It had been almost ten months since he'd spoken to his friend.

"What're you doing here?" Gavin got to his feet and waited.

As graceful as a wolf, Jack Drake stepped out of the brush and grinned. "I figured someone should check on your raggedy ass, Grizzly Adams."

Gavin had been in the business long enough to know a lie when he heard one. "Might as well come up to the house. I've a feeling I won"t get rid of you until I hear you out."

Jack stopped walking and bent over, bracing his hands on his knees. "Give a guy a chance to catch his breath, will ya?"

"Pussy," Gavin grumbled, scratching his beard. He turned and started the three hundred yard walk to his hidden sanctuary. He'd been damn lucky to find the perfect piece of land to call home. He smiled to himself. Actually, luck had had little to do with it. He'd purposely looked for an area out in the middle of nowhere to avoid people. Gavin glanced over his shoulder. But they still managed to intrude from time to time.

Reaching the small four room cabin, Gavin left the door open and hung his rifle beside the front door. He had already set about making a pot of coffee when Jack finally stumbled into the living room.

"Damn," Jack panted, pushing off his backpack and collapsing on the couch.

"You're gettin" soft, Drake."

"Fuck you. I've been hiking for three days to get to your little hidey-hole."

Gavin left the pot to do its thing and joined Jack on the sofa. "You should've called. I"d have driven the snowcat down and picked you up."

"I would've if you'd invest in a damn phone!" Jack growled.

Laughing, Gavin gestured to the ham radio set-up on the desk. "I've also got a satellite phone. Guess I forgot to give you the number."

"Asshole." Jack started unlacing his wet hiking boots.

"Get comfortable why don't you?" Gavin drawled. If anyone else had come barging into his solitude with a surly attitude, Gavin would've shown them the door, but Jack was different. Some things you put up with on principal, and Jack was one of them. Jack had been the one person to put his life on the line to try and save Dusty when the CIA had failed to protect him.

"Coffee?" he asked, when the familiar beep of the automatic coffeemaker sounded.

"Sure." Jack carried his boots over and set them by the front door.

From his position in the small kitchen, Gavin watched Jack as he made the rounds of the living room, studying Gavin"s gallery of photographs.

"You're getting damn good at this," Jack remarked.

"Hope so. They pay me big bucks to know what the hell I'm doing." Gavin carried two mugs into the living room and set them on the coffee table he"d made by hand. He joined Jack in front of a series of snowscapes he'd captured in black and white the previous winter.

"Hard winter?" Jack asked.

"Not particularly. Average, I guess." Gavin knew he was leading up to something.

"Ever think of your time in the desert?"

"Nope." It wasn't exactly the truth, but the dreams he still had of the desert were anything but pleasant. Gavin turned and sat in his favourite chair. "What's going on, Jack?"

Jack moved back to the couch and picked up his coffee. "I have a favour to ask."

Gavin narrowed his eyes. Despite all Jack had done for Gavin, he'd never once asked for anything in return. The fact he asked now, didn't bode well for Gavin refusing. "What"s that?"

Excerpt From: Taming Black Dog Four

Addy Gabriel-Constentine speared a bite of steak with her fork and glanced around. The four men who'd been given the task of guarding her continued to glower across the table at each other.

The sexual tension between the four was so thick she could cut it with her knife. She knew what had happened the last time they had worked together, but the men needed to get past their failure to protect Maria Valdez.

From the information Addy had been given by Mac, the head of Three Partners Protection, Maria's death couldn't have been avoided. Yet the team known as Black Dog Four still blamed their client's death on the sexual relationship they'd indulged in with each other.

Life in the Constentine mansion had become almost unbearable. "I spoke with Joe Dunn earlier."

Jack Drake, the blond, clean-cut, all-American of the group, looked up from his plate. "Any news?"

"The Feds did a random search of Lenny's jail cell and came up with a hidden cell phone." She almost giggled as all four men stopped chewing and stared at her. Well, that's one way to get their attention.

"Did they get anything off the phone?"

Addy continued to calmly eat her dinner. Letting the men know the conversation with Joe had shaken her, wasn't an option. As skittish as the four of them already were, she knew if they thought she was worried, she wouldn't even be allowed to go to the bathroom alone.

"Joe said they're working on it, but so far it looks like Lenny called only those throw-away prepaid phones."

Lobo pushed his chair back and strode towards the window, his long dark brown hair bounced with each step he took. He unclipped the small radio from his belt. "Dean?"

"Yeah," a voice sounded over the radio.

"Anything unusual?"

"No. Why?"

"Lenny Rafalo's been in contact with someone on the outside. Keep your eyes peeled."

"Will do."

Lobo continued to stare out the window.

"Sit down and finish your dinner," Addy told him.

"I'm not hungry," Lobo mumbled.

Addy's gaze went to Jack. He seemed to be the only one of the group that could calm Lobo.

Jack rolled his eyes and stood. He pushed his chair in and walked toward the six-foot-four-inch ex-mercenary. "Hey," he said, putting a hand on Lobo's shoulder. "Why don't you come with me into the command post?"

Lobo turned away from the window. "You think we need to go over security?"

"Yeah."

Addy smiled at the pair as they walked out of the room. She eyed Renaldo and Carlo. The two were almost a mirror image of each other with their closely cropped black hair and big brown eyes. If she didn't know better, Addy would swear they were brothers. "Well, don"t you need to go over security, too?"

Carlo set his glass down and shook his head. "Two of us with you at all times, remember? Jack'll let us know if the plans change."

The comment brought up an interesting question. "I've noticed that you all seem to defer to Jack. Is he team leader?"

Renaldo shrugged and glanced at Carlo. "Not officially."

Addy could tell Renaldo wanted to say more, but was worried. "I know the four of you used to be lovers."

"Mac tell you that?" Renaldo shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Yes. He felt I had a right to know about what happened the last time you all worked together." She reached out her hand and covered Renaldo"s. "Mac told me you couldn't have saved Maria."

"Yeah, well Mac doesn't know everything," Carlo mumbled.

Addy sighed. She could tell from their closed expressions she wouldn't get any more out of them, at least not yet. She wiped her mouth with her napkin and set it on the table next to her plate. "If the two of you will excuse me, I need to call Joe, I mean Agent Dunn, back."

When she stood, both men got to their feet.

"I'll be fine. Promise."

Excerpt From: To Bed a King

With the sun slowly dipping into the Arabian Sea, bodyguard Raven Stone watched his young charge play soccer on the palace lawn. He noticed a boy of thirteen or fourteen off to the side, watching from the shadows. The boy's skin was much lighter than the other children. Raven wondered if that was what kept the boy away?

Raven readjusted the holstered Glock at his side before walking over to have a word with the young teenager. How many times had Raven felt left out as a boy? Although his adoptive parents and siblings always treated him like one of their own, the stark difference in Raven's skin and hair colour made it impossible to forget he wasn't a real Stone.

"Would you like to play?" Raven asked the boy.

With his eyes averted, the teenager shook his head. The light brown dreadlocks were another stark difference in his appearance from the other boys. "They won't let me."

A wave of indignation fuelled Raven to march onto the makeshift soccer field, disrupting the game. He stood in front of Crown Prince Faris, the twelve-year-old he was hired to protect, and narrowed his eyes.

"That boy over there told me you won't let him play. Why? Because he's obviously not a Jurruan? You think just because he looks different he doesn't deserve to be treated with the same respect you show everyone else?"

Faris glanced over at the boy and shook his head. "That's Nalu. We don't let him play because he cheats and spits when he doesn't get his way."

Raven glanced back at Nalu. "What if I talk to him about playing nice?"

Faris shrugged his shoulders like any twelve-year-old would. "Suit yourself, but it'll be his last chance as far as I'm concerned."

It seemed young Nalu was already labelled a troublemaker. Raven knew what it was like to be fit into an identity at such a young age. "I'll speak to him."

Although Raven's label had changed from wild child to slut as he grew older, the names still hurt and didn't nearly define who he was as a person. Still, it seemed easier for most people to pigeonhole others into categories.

Before he had a chance to get off the field, Nalu turned and began to walk away. Raven started a slow jog. "Wait up."

Nalu eventually stopped and turned to face Raven. "I cannot stay. I have work."

"Work? What kind of work?"

Nalu pointed towards the sea. "A ship is coming. I might be needed to work."

Raven stared at the luxurious yacht pulling into the harbour. "I'm sure whoever it is already has a full staff onboard."

Nalu's big green eyes began to shimmer in the orange glow of the setting sun. "No. They always have something for me to do."

Before Raven could question Nalu further, the teenager took off towards the harbour at a fast run. Raven watched the retreat until Nalu was out of sight before turning back to the ongoing game.

As he began a survey of the surroundings, Raven couldn't get the image of Nalu's watery eyes out of his head. He would have to speak with Ghazi about what kind of work a teenager could pick up on a visiting yacht. His gut told him it wasn"t something Nalu was looking forward to.

* * * *

Freshly showered, Raven finished dressing and surveyed himself in the mirror. Although he thought it was ridiculous to wear a suit to dinner every night, it was a rare occurrence when a client actually requested his presence at the formal dining table.

The black suit, combined with his dark Native American complexion made his white smile even more dazzling. Raven grinned at himself. "You are one good-looking sonofabitch, Raven Stone."

Raven strode out of the en suite and stopped at the dresser. He extracted the three silver rings he always wore from a shallow dish and placed them comfortably on his fingers, the final ring fitting securely on his right thumb.

After one last adjustment to his expertly knotted necktie, Raven was ready. Every evening Raven dressed to impress, and although he'd attracted the flattering attention of several of the palace staff, he"d yet to gain King Ghazi"s favours. Perhaps he should step up his game?

Excerpt From: Brier's Bargain

��DEFG�� Brier placed the last file in the appropriate spot and closed the drawer. �Do you have anything else for me to do, Sheila?�

�No, sweetie, you�re all done. Why don�t you see if Bram is ready to call it a day?� the accounting office secretary said with a smile.

�Okay. See you Monday.� Brier picked up his coat and started to leave, but Sheila called him back.

�Brier? You forgot your paycheque.�

Smiling, Brier turned and picked his cheque up from the table where he�d laid it earlier. �I�m gonna need this, too.�

�Yeah? Special plans this weekend?�

�The carnival�s in town. Bram and Declan promised to take me.�

�Oh, isn�t that nice. You have fun.�

�I will.� With one last grin, Brier went to find his twin brother. Since being released from the psychiatric hospital nearly three years ago, Brier had worked and lived with Bram and his partner Declan.

He knew Bram was taking him to the carnival to help get his mind off of Jackie. Brier stopped walking and rubbed his eyes. Thinking about the only man he�d ever truly been in love with still made his chest hurt. Jackie had said he loved Brier too, but then Jackie had gone away to some foreign country and left him all alone.

Brier knew it was Jackie�s job to go train bodyguards for Three Partner�s Protection Agency, the company they all worked for, but it didn�t make it any easier to be alone. He waved hi to Mac as he passed his office on the way to Bram�s.

He poked his head in and smiled. �You almost finished?�

Bram looked up from his computer, those little tiny reading glasses perched on the end of his nose that Brier thought made his brother look so smart. �Yep. Just give me another ten minutes or so.�

�Okay. I�m gonna see if Mac�s going to the carnival.�

Bram nodded and went back to his computer. Brier travelled back down the hall to Mac�s office. He leaned against the doorjamb and waited for Mac to notice him.

�Hey,� Mac greeted. �How was your day?�

�Good. I got everything filed that Sheila asked me to, and I finished painting the break-room.�

�I know. The break-room looks terrific. I�m glad you suggested we go with the yellow. It really livens it up.�

Brier felt a blush creep up his cheeks. Mac always said nice things to him, but it was still hard for Brier to take a compliment without getting embarrassed. �Are you going to the carnival?�

Mac smiled and leaned back in his chair. �No, I think we�ll skip it this year. You?�

�Yeah. Bram and Declan are taking me.� Brier held up his paycheque. �Except I�m paying for myself.�

�That�s good.�

Brier tapped his foot on the leg of the desk. He wanted to ask a question, but didn�t want Mac to get mad at him.

�Something wrong, Brier?�

Brier shook his head. �I was just wondering if you�d talked to Jackie? He hasn�t called me for a while.�

Mac looked uneasy for a moment before his attention shifted to the door. Brier looked over his shoulder at Bram. �You ready?� Bram asked.

�Yeah. I was just asking Mac if he�d talked to Jackie.�

Bram took a deep breath. �I imagine Jackie�s too busy to call anyone these days. Don�t take it personally, brother.�

Brier stood and stuffed his cheque back into his coat pocket. He had a feeling something was going on. For several days he�d caught Bram whispering to Declan. A couple of times Brier thought he heard Jackie�s name, but when he questioned Bram, his brother always denied it. Maybe Jackie wasn�t coming home. What if he fell in love with someone else and didn�t want Brier anymore?

He felt that throbbing thing start in his head again. Brier lifted his hand to the thick scar on the side of his skull to rub away the pain, but it didn�t help. The scar his father had given to him as a baby was a constant reminder that he�d never be as smart as his twin brother. How a father could abuse an infant and then just sign over custody to the state when that abuse had permanent repercussions, Brier still didn�t understand. At least he was happy his father had been convicted after abuse led to the paralysis of his younger brother Thor. Brier didn�t feel a bit sorry that his father had been murdered in prison. He began to rub harder at the raised scar that ran in a large arc above his right ear.

�You okay?� Bram asked, stepping into the office.

�Head hurts.�

�Did you take your medicine?�

Brier hated it when Bram tried to baby him. He wasn�t a baby. �Yes. It just hurts sometimes when I get upset.� He pushed past Bram to the hall. �See you Monday, Mac. If you talk to Jackie, tell him I said hi.�

Bram stayed in Mac�s office for a few more minutes. Brier decided not to wait on him and went out to stand by Bram�s car. It was hot outside, so Brier took off his jacket. He thought it was weird how the mornings could be cold, but then the afternoons would get so hot.

Bram finally came out of the building and unlocked the doors. �I guess I should�ve given you the keys. You could�ve started the air conditioning.�

Brier didn�t say much. He got in and fastened his seat belt before leaning his head against the window. The hot glass felt good as it rubbed on the scar. �Are we going to eat at the carnival?�

�Whatever you want. This is your night.� Bram pulled out of the parking lot and headed for home.

Brier turned to his brother. Bram had been very patient with him since Jackie left. He hated that he�d had the meltdown while staying at the Triple Spur. Ever since that night, Bram had treated him differently. The way he�d been treated when he�d first been released from the psychiatric hospital in Oklahoma.

The hospital reminded him of Carl, Jimmy and Rick, the men who�d sexually abused him in the hospital. Bram had told him that Carl and Jimmy were in a little trouble, but they wouldn�t be going to jail, and the police hadn�t found Rick yet. He�d moved away. �Have you heard anything about Rick?�

Bram got a surprised look on his face. �What brought that up?�

Brier shrugged. �I don�t know, just thinking about stuff.�

�Sounds like some pretty heavy thinking.�

�Maybe,� Brier mumbled.

�The police haven�t located Rick yet, but when they do, they want to put him in jail.�

�Because of me?�

�Because of what he�s done to several men in the hospitals he�s worked in.� Bram shifted in his seat, and didn�t look at Brier anymore. �They want you to testify, but I told them no.�

�Why?� Brier asked.

�I don�t think you�re up to sitting in a courtroom with Rick, telling everyone in the room about the things he did to you.�

Brier pressed his scar harder against the glass. �I don�t wanna see him. He�s scary.�

Bram nodded and reached over to squeeze Brier�s hand. �I know, buddy. That�s why I told the police they�d have to find another way to convict him.� Brier felt better. At least Rick couldn�t get to him if he didn�t see him. Rick used to tell him he�d kill him if he ever told. Brier knew he�d do it to. Rick was a bad, bad man.

�I have money to buy us all corndogs for supper,� he said, trying to change the subject.

�Are you sure that�s what you want to do with your paycheque? I can buy my own dinner.�

�You buy me dinner all the time.�

�Okay. Corndogs it is.�

Excerpt From: Seb's Surrender

Jared Grant pulled his thin jacket tighter around him and walked into the cold, blowing wind of a cloud-covered Albuquerque evening. He was so intent on getting to work on time, he didn�t notice the car that pulled up beside him until a horn honked.

Jared jumped and spun around, ready to run. The driver of the shiny black El Camino SS rolled down his window.

�What�re you doing out here?� Sebastian James asked.

Jared took a tentative step towards the car, truck, whatever it was. �Going to work.�

Seb sighed and put the car in park. �Get in.�

Jared opened the door and a blast of heat warmed him within seconds. He buckled his seatbelt and waited for Seb to pull away from the kerb. �It�s just up here another six blocks.�

�Yeah, I know where it is. Mind telling me what the hell you�re doing walking to work in this weather?�

Confused by the man�s anger, Jared inched closer to the passenger door. �Um�going to work?�

�Are you asking me?�

�Huh?� Seb confused Jared more than anyone he�d ever been around.

�You do that a lot, you know.�

�Do what?�

�Make statements into questions. It�s the lilt up on the end of your sentences, like you�re not sure if you�re going to work or not.�

�Oh. Yes, I�m going to work.�

Seb shook his head and pulled back into traffic. �So why are you walking instead of catching a ride?�

�Brier went home sick.�

�So why not ask someone else?�

Jared tried to concentrate on the questions, but he kept getting distracted by Sebastian�s dangerous-looking beauty. �I don�t know anyone else well enough to bother.�

With a disgusted sigh, Seb reached into the pocket of his black leather jacket and handed Jared a business card. �Call me when you need a ride. If I�m not on a job, I�ll take ya.�

Jared read the black and red printed business card. It listed Sebastian James as a security specialist and gave his phone number. �What�s a security specialist do?�

�Whatever needs doing. Mostly I assess situations and make recommendations on the level of security a specific job requires.�

Sebastian pulled into the small gas station parking lot. Jared opened the door, glancing back at the handsome man. �Thanks for the ride.�

Seb reached out and grabbed Jared�s arm. Out of reflex, Jared tried to jerk his arm back and lowered his head. Sebastian released his grip with a growl of what sounded like irritation. �How late�re you working?�

�I don�t get off until two.�

�In the morning?�

Jared nodded his head. He knew his job sucked, but beggars couldn�t be choosers. �It�s the only shift they had available.�

Seb rubbed his hands over his face. Jared could tell he irritated the man, but he wasn�t the one who�d asked for a ride. �Call me, and I�ll pick you up. You�ve got no business being on the streets that late.�

Jared walked home from work every night at that time. He wondered why he was suddenly being told he had no business doing it. As grouchy as Seb acted, Jared doubted the man would appreciate a wakeup call at two. Instead of arguing, he stuffed the card into his jacket pocket and got out of the car. �Thanks again for the ride.�

He walked into the store and acknowledged the older woman behind the counter. Mrs. Bell seemed nice enough, but she was the nosey type and Jared preferred to keep the skeletons in his closet safely locked away.

Jared stowed his jacket under the counter and watched out the window as Seb pulled out of the parking lot. Why had he waited so long? Jared shook his head. In the three weeks since he�d come to Albuquerque with Brier, Sebastian seemed to run hot and cold where he was concerned.

Seb was the one who�d insisted Jared file assault and rape charges against Rick Sutcliff, but since then, it seemed like Seb could barely stand to be around him. Jared couldn�t help but to think Seb was disgusted by him now that he knew everything Rick had done to him.

Even thinking of Rick had Jared�s stomach clenching into knots. It had been bad enough that Rick terrorized and raped him, Brier and Peter while in the hospital, but then Rick had showed up on his doorstep in Lubbock demanding to be let in.

Jared had been so afraid of the man, he�d done as he was told. From that day until Brier came knocking on his door, Rick had made his life a living hell. It was the lowest point of his twenty-five years, which was saying a lot.

He glanced down at the long straight scars running up both wrists. Even the events that had pushed him into trying to end his life hadn�t been nearly as hard as the punishment Rick doled out on a daily basis.

�I�m off,� Mrs. Bell called, grabbing her purse from the locked cabinet under the counter.

�Have a good evening.�

Excerpt From: I Love Rock n Roll

With his worn leather bag slung over his shoulder, he stepped up to the reception desk. �Archer Brant to see Keifer Zane.�

He hated using a name other than his own, but the public seemed to think they had a right to know who the man was who�d won a spot in Keifer�s bed. So far, Archer Brant had been investigated by every tabloid on the newsstands. He was damn glad the agency had created complete false identities for all their bodyguards.

The young woman at the front desk picked up a phone and spoke quietly to someone. She ended the call and passed a key card to Archer. �PH three. Fit the key card into the provided slot when you enter the elevator.�

�Thanks,� Archer replied.

�Do you have bags?� the woman asked to Archer�s retreating back.

�Just this one and I think I can handle it,� Archer assured her. No way was he going to tip some shmoe to carry his bag upstairs. He stepped onto the elevator and fit the card in the slot.

Although he�d spoken to Jimmy several times on the phone, he hadn�t seen the rock star for nearly three months. He was supposed to meet up with Jimmy in Philadelphia, but flights had been screwed up to the point it didn�t make sense. After apologising profusely for the mix-up, Archer had agreed to fly to Los Angeles for the next leg of Jimmy�s tour. Shit. I need to remember to use Keifer instead of Jimmy.

The doors opened and Archer carried his bag to room three of the penthouse floor. He grinned and shook his head at the large double door to the suite. He knocked on the door and was surprised when a guy he didn�t know answered.

�Hey, you�re that guy!� the unknown man said.

�Yes I am. And you are?� Archer questioned.

�Yo, man, I�m Dreamer.�

�Of course you are.� Archer pushed inside and glanced around the large living room. Every available surface was taken up with long-haired kids all below the age of thirty in baggy ripped jeans.

�Where�s Ji-Keifer?�

One of the guys pointed towards a closed door. �Been in there all day.�

Archer gave the slugs one last glance before striding over to knock on the door.

�I told you to leave me the fuck alone,� Keifer yelled.

Archer took a chance and opened the door, sticking his head inside the room. �It�s Archer.�

The lump in the large bed rolled over and for the first time in months, Keifer smiled at him. �Hey, old man. It�s about time you got here.�

Archer snorted as he tossed his bag to the floor. �Old man? That�s a bold statement for someone only three years younger than I am.�

Keifer put his finger to his lips. �Shhh, I�m only twenty-eight, remember?�

Archer laughed and fell onto one of the large overstuffed chairs. �Yeah and you started in the business when you were only thirteen.�

Archer wondered what it would be like to live a lie in order to appeal to your fans. �So what time do we need to head out?� he asked, throwing his feet up on the end of the bed.

Keifer sat up and scrubbed his hands through his hair.

Getting his first good look at Keifer, Archer�s eyes widened. �Wow. Someone got a haircut.� The last time he�d seen Keifer, the man had long black hair nearly to the middle of his back.

�Yeah. I needed to cut it back home. Mom�s neighbours didn�t feel comfortable with a damn hippy living next door.� Keifer grinned and Archer grinned in return.

�I like it.�

Keifer laughed. �You�re the only one. Benny�s been all up in my ass demanding I get some extensions put on.� Keifer winked. �I�ve refused.�

�Good man. He told me to dye the tips of my hair black. My boss told him to fuck off.�

Keifer continued laughing as he stood and stretched. Clad only in a tight pair of white trunks, Archer was forced to look away or suffer the embarrassment of an obvious woody.

�I�d better get in the shower. We need to head to the stadium in thirty minutes.�

Archer nodded, suddenly remembering the men in the other room. �By the way, what�s with the groupies?�

Keifer waved his hand. �Roadies. Benny didn�t want me alone until you got here.�

Archer�s eyebrow lifted. �Trouble?�

Keifer shook his head. �I got another letter. I�d have just added it to the stack, but Benny freaked.�

�From now on, I open your mail,� Archer stated in an authoritative tone, hoping Keifer wouldn�t argue with him.

Keifer nodded amicably and walked into the bathroom.

Archer�s job would actually be a lot easier if he didn�t like the guy so much. Keifer was nothing like Archer had imagined. He�d seen the guy on television for years. It seemed Keifer was always in the headlines, either by attending Hollywood parties, rocking out on stage for charity or in news clips.

Excerpt From: Taming Black Dog Four

Addy Gabriel-Constentine speared a bite of steak with her fork and glanced around. The four men who�d been given the task of guarding her continued to glower across the table at each other.

The sexual tension between the four was so thick she could cut it with her knife. She knew what had happened the last time they had worked together, but the men needed to get past their failure to protect Maria Valdez.

From the information Addy had been given by Mac, the head of Three Partners Protection, Maria�s death couldn�t have been avoided. Yet the team known as Black Dog Four still blamed their client�s death on the sexual relationship they�d indulged in with each other.

Life in the Constentine mansion had become almost unbearable. �I spoke with Joe Dunn earlier.�

Jack Drake, the blond, clean-cut, all-American of the group, looked up from his plate. �Any news?�

�The Feds did a random search of Lenny�s jail cell and came up with a hidden cell phone.� She almost giggled as all four men stopped chewing and stared at her. Well, that�s one way to get their attention.

�Did they get anything off the phone?�

Addy continued to calmly eat her dinner. Letting the men know the conversation with Joe had shaken her, wasn�t an option. As skittish as the four of them already were, she knew if they thought she was worried, she wouldn�t even be allowed to go to the bathroom alone.

�Joe said they�re working on it, but so far it looks like Lenny called only those throw-away prepaid phones.�

Lobo pushed his chair back and strode towards the window, his long dark brown hair bounced with each step he took. He unclipped the small radio from his belt. �Dean?�

�Yeah,� a voice sounded over the radio.

�Anything unusual?�

�No. Why?�

�Lenny Rafalo�s been in contact with someone on the outside. Keep your eyes peeled.�

�Will do.�

Lobo continued to stare out the window.

�Sit down and finish your dinner,� Addy told him.

�I�m not hungry,� Lobo mumbled.

Addy�s gaze went to Jack. He seemed to be the only one of the group that could calm Lobo.

Jack rolled his eyes and stood. He pushed his chair in and walked toward the six-foot-four-inch ex-mercenary. �Hey,� he said, putting a hand on Lobo�s shoulder. �Why don�t you come with me into the command post?�

Lobo turned away from the window. �You think we need to go over security?�

�Yeah.�

Addy smiled at the pair as they walked out of the room. She eyed Renaldo and Carlo. The two were almost a mirror image of each other with their closely cropped black hair and big brown eyes. If she didn�t know better, Addy would swear they were brothers. �Well, don�t you need to go over security, too?�

Carlo set his glass down and shook his head. �Two of us with you at all times, remember? Jack�ll let us know if the plans change.�

The comment brought up an interesting question. �I�ve noticed that you all seem to defer to Jack. Is he team leader?�

Renaldo shrugged and glanced at Carlo. �Not officially.�

Addy could tell Renaldo wanted to say more, but was worried. �I know the four of you used to be lovers.�

�Mac tell you that?� Renaldo shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

�Yes. He felt I had a right to know about what happened the last time you all worked together.� She reached out her hand and covered Renaldo�s. �Mac told me you couldn�t have saved Maria.�

�Yeah, well Mac doesn�t know everything,� Carlo mumbled.

Addy sighed. She could tell from their closed expressions she wouldn�t get any more out of them, at least not yet. She wiped her mouth with her napkin and set it on the table next to her plate. �If the two of you will excuse me, I need to call Joe, I mean Agent Dunn, back.�

When she stood, both men got to their feet.

�I�ll be fine. Promise.�

Excerpt From: Seducing the Sheik

Browning Automatic Rifle in hand, Gavin Burk slowed his breathing. Whoever the intruder was, he would be welcomed through the view of his scope. If the dumb fucker was trying to sneak up on him, he was doing a piss-poor job.

Gavin had been replacing shingles, when his perimeter alarm had sounded. He�d gotten off the roof and behind the boulder in seconds, waiting.

�Gavin?� a familiar voice called through the heavy timberline.

�Ahh, fuck.� Gavin relaxed his grip on the rifle. It had been almost ten months since he�d spoken to his friend.

�What�re you doing here?� Gavin got to his feet and waited.

As graceful as a wolf, Jack Drake stepped out of the brush and grinned. �I figured someone should check on your raggedy ass, Grizzly Adams.�

Gavin had been in the business long enough to know a lie when he heard one. �Might as well come up to the house. I�ve a feeling I won�t get rid of you until I hear you out.�

Jack stopped walking and bent over, bracing his hands on his knees. �Give a guy a chance to catch his breath, will ya?�

�Pussy,� Gavin grumbled, scratching his beard. He turned and started the three hundred yard walk to his hidden sanctuary. He�d been damn lucky to find the perfect piece of land to call home. He smiled to himself. Actually, luck had had little to do with it. He�d purposely looked for an area out in the middle of nowhere to avoid people. Gavin glanced over his shoulder. But they still managed to intrude from time to time.

Reaching the small four room cabin, Gavin left the door open and hung his rifle beside the front door. He had already set about making a pot of coffee when Jack finally stumbled into the living room.

�Damn,� Jack panted, pushing off his backpack and collapsing on the couch.

�You�re gettin� soft, Drake.�

�Fuck you. I�ve been hiking for three days to get to your little hidey-hole.�

Gavin left the pot to do its thing and joined Jack on the sofa. �You should�ve called. I�d have driven the snowcat down and picked you up.�

�I would�ve if you�d invest in a damn phone!� Jack growled.

Laughing, Gavin gestured to the ham radio set-up on the desk. �I�ve also got a satellite phone. Guess I forgot to give you the number.�

�Asshole.� Jack started unlacing his wet hiking boots.

�Get comfortable why don�t you?� Gavin drawled. If anyone else had come barging into his solitude with a surly attitude, Gavin would�ve shown them the door, but Jack was different. Some things you put up with on principal, and Jack was one of them. Jack had been the one person to put his life on the line to try and save Dusty when the CIA had failed to protect him.

�Coffee?� he asked, when the familiar beep of the automatic coffeemaker sounded.

�Sure.� Jack carried his boots over and set them by the front door.

From his position in the small kitchen, Gavin watched Jack as he made the rounds of the living room, studying Gavin�s gallery of photographs.

�You�re getting damn good at this,� Jack remarked.

�Hope so. They pay me big bucks to know what the hell I�m doing.� Gavin carried two mugs into the living room and set them on the coffee table he�d made by hand. He joined Jack in front of a series of snowscapes he�d captured in black and white the previous winter.

�Hard winter?� Jack asked.

�Not particularly. Average, I guess.� Gavin knew he was leading up to something.

�Ever think of your time in the desert?�

�Nope.� It wasn�t exactly the truth, but the dreams he still had of the desert were anything but pleasant. Gavin turned and sat in his favourite chair. �What�s going on, Jack?�

Jack moved back to the couch and picked up his coffee. �I have a favour to ask.�

Gavin narrowed his eyes. Despite all Jack had done for Gavin, he�d never once asked for anything in return. The fact he asked now, didn�t bode well for Gavin refusing. �What�s that?�

Excerpt From: To Bed a King

With the sun slowly dipping into the Arabian Sea, bodyguard Raven Stone watched his young charge play soccer on the palace lawn. He noticed a boy of thirteen or fourteen off to the side, watching from the shadows. The boy�s skin was much lighter than the other children. Raven wondered if that was what kept the boy away?

Raven readjusted the holstered Glock at his side before walking over to have a word with the young teenager. How many times had Raven felt left out as a boy? Although his adoptive parents and siblings always treated him like one of their own, the stark difference in Raven�s skin and hair colour made it impossible to forget he wasn�t a real Stone.

�Would you like to play?� Raven asked the boy.

With his eyes averted, the teenager shook his head. The light brown dreadlocks were another stark difference in his appearance from the other boys. �They won�t let me.�

A wave of indignation fuelled Raven to march onto the makeshift soccer field, disrupting the game. He stood in front of Crown Prince Faris, the twelve-year-old he was hired to protect, and narrowed his eyes.

�That boy over there told me you won�t let him play. Why? Because he�s obviously not a Jurruan? You think just because he looks different he doesn�t deserve to be treated with the same respect you show everyone else?�

Faris glanced over at the boy and shook his head. �That�s Nalu. We don�t let him play because he cheats and spits when he doesn�t get his way.�

Raven glanced back at Nalu. �What if I talk to him about playing nice?�

Faris shrugged his shoulders like any twelve-year-old would. �Suit yourself, but it�ll be his last chance as far as I�m concerned.�

It seemed young Nalu was already labelled a troublemaker. Raven knew what it was like to be fit into an identity at such a young age. �I�ll speak to him.�

Although Raven�s label had changed from wild child to slut as he grew older, the names still hurt and didn�t nearly define who he was as a person. Still, it seemed easier for most people to pigeonhole others into categories.

Before he had a chance to get off the field, Nalu turned and began to walk away. Raven started a slow jog. �Wait up.�

Nalu eventually stopped and turned to face Raven. �I cannot stay. I have work.�

�Work? What kind of work?�

Nalu pointed towards the sea. �A ship is coming. I might be needed to work.�

Raven stared at the luxurious yacht pulling into the harbour. �I�m sure whoever it is already has a full staff onboard.�

Nalu�s big green eyes began to shimmer in the orange glow of the setting sun. �No. They always have something for me to do.�

Before Raven could question Nalu further, the teenager took off towards the harbour at a fast run. Raven watched the retreat until Nalu was out of sight before turning back to the ongoing game.

As he began a survey of the surroundings, Raven couldn�t get the image of Nalu�s watery eyes out of his head. He would have to speak with Ghazi about what kind of work a teenager could pick up on a visiting yacht. His gut told him it wasn�t something Nalu was looking forward to.

* * * *

Freshly showered, Raven finished dressing and surveyed himself in the mirror. Although he thought it was ridiculous to wear a suit to dinner every night, it was a rare occurrence when a client actually requested his presence at the formal dining table.

The black suit, combined with his dark Native American complexion made his white smile even more dazzling. Raven grinned at himself. �You are one good-looking sonofabitch, Raven Stone.�

Raven strode out of the en suite and stopped at the dresser. He extracted the three silver rings he always wore from a shallow dish and placed them comfortably on his fingers, the final ring fitting securely on his right thumb.

After one last adjustment to his expertly knotted necktie, Raven was ready. Every evening Raven dressed to impress, and although he�d attracted the flattering attention of several of the palace staff, he�d yet to gain King Ghazi�s favours. Perhaps he should step up his game?

Excerpt From: Bollywood Desires

"All-Star Security, how can I be of service?" Brent rested his elbows on the desk and used his thumb and forefinger to massage his temple. "I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand Hindi...or Punjabi. Do you speak En-?" Brent stared at the handset open-mouthed before slamming it down in its cradle. He cursed under his breath.

"Another hang-up?" Jessie leant back in her chair and applied bright red polish to the nails of her left hand.

"Fifth time today and it’s only ten in the damn morning. Do you have any idea how much work we’re losing because Jack won’t get his head out of his ass and hire us a secretary who speaks Hindi?"

"We have a secretary who speaks Hindi." Jessie held up her hand to the light and admired her newly painted nails.

"Yes, and Jameela is great, but she only works three days a week. What about the rest? I’m a bodyguard, not a damn receptionist. I’m tired of this shit, and don’t you have any work to do?"

"Tea break," Jessie explained.

Brent looked at the clock on the tiny office wall. Jessie had been at work precisely forty minutes, and he hadn’t seen her do a damn thing. And when had he started using the word ‘damn’ so much?

He tugged on the collar of his white linen shirt and groaned out loud. The lousy air-conditioning unit in their small rented office only worked when it felt like it. Mumbai had two temperatures, it seemed. Hot...and ridiculously hot. Brent wasn’t a fan of either.

"Can you remind me again why we moved to this piss-poor excuse for a city in the first place?" vJessie put down the nail polish and stared at Brent, eyebrows raised. "I’d be delighted," she deadpanned. "My idiot husband got you drunk one night and convinced you the pampered princes and princesses of Bollywood would pay top dollar for experienced British security personnel. You, like the jackass you are, agreed with him. And here we are. So thanks for that. I owe you one."

Brent grinned. It was a good thing he’d known Jessie most of his life. If they’d just met he could have been easily offended by her sarcasm. But despite her dry wit, she was absolutely right. Brent had no one to blame but himself. He’d been working as a bodyguard in London when his best friend Jack had come up with the idea to move to Mumbai. Jack was convinced that Bollywood, India’s version of Hollywood, could do with a few more bodyguards and before Brent had time to think seriously on the idea they were already on the plane. That would teach him not to be so damn impulsive.

"Watch your mouth," he joked. "And if you value your life I wouldn’t let Jack hear you call him an idiot either."

Jessie snorted. "It’s nothing he hasn’t heard from me before. Besides, he happens to like my mouth." She grinned salaciously. "Especially when I use it to—"

"Please, God, don’t give me any details," Brent interrupted. "I only ate breakfast an hour ago and I’d like to keep it down."

Jessie chuckled. "Come on, Brent, you love hearing about my sexploits...admit it."

Brent was about to argue the fact when the phone on her desk started ringing. Jessie smirked and quickly picked up the handset. Witch.

"All-Star Security, how can we help?"

Brent’s eyebrows all but disappeared behind his hairline when Jessie began nodding and speaking to the caller in English. How the...?

"Slow down, sir, and start again. How exactly can we help you? Your client has been receiving death threats? I see, and has he reported the matter to the police? Yes, okay, yes. Oh, well, that does sound like something we can help you with. Yes, sir. I can get one of our top security experts to come out and have a chat to you about some of the services we provide." Jessie looked at Brent and rolled her eyes. "No, sir—the consultation would be free of charge."

Brent watched on in complete amazement as Jessie took the booking and finished the call. When she hung up she grinned, rather too smugly for his liking.

"What were you saying about needing another secretary?"

Brent frowned. "Just give me the damn details."

* * * *

"Bhenchod! Are you out of your fucking mind? No way am I having some amateur, star-struck, mall security guards following me around all day like puppies. I haven’t got time for this, Rahul. The IIFAs are in a couple of months, and until the award ceremony is over I need to be more accessible to my fans, not less. If we leave it another few weeks, all of the media hype will have died down and I’ll be able to continue using my current agency."

Raj knew he sounded like a petulant child but he felt entitled, damn it. How the hell was he supposed to get used to a new set of bodyguards with everything else he had going on in his life? And what if they couldn’t be trusted? He needed men around that would be able to keep their mouths shut about his personal life. The last thing he needed was people around him that would go blabbing to the press at the first opportunity.

"With all due respect, Rajkumar, you have no choice in the matter. A guard from your agency shot a man in cold blood. That isn’t going to go away. The press will never forget it, and the threats you’ve been receiving cannot be ignored. In any case, the agency I plan on employing is British, not Indian. A few of their bodyguards are members of the British Bodyguard Association. I did some checking and they are the best in their field, so you don’t have to worry about your guards being star-struck—they probably won’t even know who you are."

Excerpt From: Bollywood Desires

"All-Star Security, how can I be of service?" Brent rested his elbows on the desk and used his thumb and forefinger to massage his temple. "I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand Hindi...or Punjabi. Do you speak En-?" Brent stared at the handset open-mouthed before slamming it down in its cradle. He cursed under his breath.

"Another hang-up?" Jessie leant back in her chair and applied bright red polish to the nails of her left hand.

"Fifth time today and it’s only ten in the damn morning. Do you have any idea how much work we’re losing because Jack won’t get his head out of his ass and hire us a secretary who speaks Hindi?"

"We have a secretary who speaks Hindi." Jessie held up her hand to the light and admired her newly painted nails.

"Yes, and Jameela is great, but she only works three days a week. What about the rest? I’m a bodyguard, not a damn receptionist. I’m tired of this shit, and don’t you have any work to do?"

"Tea break," Jessie explained.

Brent looked at the clock on the tiny office wall. Jessie had been at work precisely forty minutes, and he hadn’t seen her do a damn thing. And when had he started using the word ‘damn’ so much?

He tugged on the collar of his white linen shirt and groaned out loud. The lousy air-conditioning unit in their small rented office only worked when it felt like it. Mumbai had two temperatures, it seemed. Hot...and ridiculously hot. Brent wasn’t a fan of either.

"Can you remind me again why we moved to this piss-poor excuse for a city in the first place?" vJessie put down the nail polish and stared at Brent, eyebrows raised. "I’d be delighted," she deadpanned. "My idiot husband got you drunk one night and convinced you the pampered princes and princesses of Bollywood would pay top dollar for experienced British security personnel. You, like the jackass you are, agreed with him. And here we are. So thanks for that. I owe you one."

Brent grinned. It was a good thing he’d known Jessie most of his life. If they’d just met he could have been easily offended by her sarcasm. But despite her dry wit, she was absolutely right. Brent had no one to blame but himself. He’d been working as a bodyguard in London when his best friend Jack had come up with the idea to move to Mumbai. Jack was convinced that Bollywood, India’s version of Hollywood, could do with a few more bodyguards and before Brent had time to think seriously on the idea they were already on the plane. That would teach him not to be so damn impulsive.

"Watch your mouth," he joked. "And if you value your life I wouldn’t let Jack hear you call him an idiot either."

Jessie snorted. "It’s nothing he hasn’t heard from me before. Besides, he happens to like my mouth." She grinned salaciously. "Especially when I use it to—"

"Please, God, don’t give me any details," Brent interrupted. "I only ate breakfast an hour ago and I’d like to keep it down."

Jessie chuckled. "Come on, Brent, you love hearing about my sexploits...admit it."

Brent was about to argue the fact when the phone on her desk started ringing. Jessie smirked and quickly picked up the handset. Witch.

"All-Star Security, how can we help?"

Brent’s eyebrows all but disappeared behind his hairline when Jessie began nodding and speaking to the caller in English. How the...?

"Slow down, sir, and start again. How exactly can we help you? Your client has been receiving death threats? I see, and has he reported the matter to the police? Yes, okay, yes. Oh, well, that does sound like something we can help you with. Yes, sir. I can get one of our top security experts to come out and have a chat to you about some of the services we provide." Jessie looked at Brent and rolled her eyes. "No, sir—the consultation would be free of charge."

Brent watched on in complete amazement as Jessie took the booking and finished the call. When she hung up she grinned, rather too smugly for his liking.

"What were you saying about needing another secretary?"

Brent frowned. "Just give me the damn details."

* * * *

"Bhenchod! Are you out of your fucking mind? No way am I having some amateur, star-struck, mall security guards following me around all day like puppies. I haven’t got time for this, Rahul. The IIFAs are in a couple of months, and until the award ceremony is over I need to be more accessible to my fans, not less. If we leave it another few weeks, all of the media hype will have died down and I’ll be able to continue using my current agency."

Raj knew he sounded like a petulant child but he felt entitled, damn it. How the hell was he supposed to get used to a new set of bodyguards with everything else he had going on in his life? And what if they couldn’t be trusted? He needed men around that would be able to keep their mouths shut about his personal life. The last thing he needed was people around him that would go blabbing to the press at the first opportunity.

"With all due respect, Rajkumar, you have no choice in the matter. A guard from your agency shot a man in cold blood. That isn’t going to go away. The press will never forget it, and the threats you’ve been receiving cannot be ignored. In any case, the agency I plan on employing is British, not Indian. A few of their bodyguards are members of the British Bodyguard Association. I did some checking and they are the best in their field, so you don’t have to worry about your guards being star-struck—they probably won’t even know who you are."

Excerpt From: Bollywood Dreams

The sun glittering off sequinned shalwar kameez was blinding. Amar Vartak’s kurta stuck to his back, and his forehead prickled with sweat. For an Indian boy who’d never left Northern England in his life, the heat here was stupefying. Huddersfield never reached these dizzying heights. To be thrown head first into the colour and spectacle of a Bollywood movie set, in the heart of Mumbai, was a culture shock. His Hindi was barely recognisable—it was laced with a heavy, Northern accent and peppered with English slang phrases. People didn’t understand him. They smirked behind his back. He was the whitest Indian boy on set.

But this was his dream come true. Bollywood films were what he lived for and fantasised about at home. Not for the grandiose spectacle, the music, the beautiful women, but for the actors.

He glanced across the crowded lot at the most pristine trailer on set and the tall, handsome man exiting it. There he was.

Rama Kamane was currently the hottest thing in Bollywood, and ‘hot’ was a word that didn’t do him justice. The set smouldered in his presence. Camera lenses fogged up. He oozed sexuality from every pore and then some. The censors didn’t like his films and frequently cut them. They were too suggestive. Rama was all testosterone and animal magnetism.

His reputation was legendary. He had a different woman on his arm every week, flaunting his sexuality in this conservative society. But most of the time he lived in America, where these things were acceptable and where he was trying to break into Hollywood films.

Amar had spent night after night lying in bed with his hand around himself, watching this man. It was wrong, he knew that, but he couldn’t contain his lust.

He shook with anticipation as Rama spotted him and set off across the lot. The actor moved with the fluid grace of a big cat, his lean body encased in a sharply cut Italian suit, his shirt open to show a smooth expanse of caramel-coloured flesh. His black hair stuck up in carefully teased, shiny spikes. He wore mirrored sunglasses.

“Hi, you must be my supporting actor.” Rama spoke in English with a trace of an American accent. There was no one more Westernised than him, and Amar was the one from Huddersfield.

Supporting actor, not co-star. Amar bristled instantly. That was another thing for which Rama was famous. Being an arsehole. Amar reluctantly shook his hand with his own damp one.

“Amar Vartak.”

“Hello, Amar Vartak. I’m Rama.” Rama’s hand was cool and his grip firm. He introduced himself as if he didn’t need a second name. Confident that everyone in the world knew who he was. He smiled, pink lips pulled back over blindingly white teeth.

Amar stared at him. He saw the awe on his own face reflected back in the mirrored sunglasses.

Rama grinned wider. “You make a good little brother.” He patted Amar on the cheek and walked away.

Amar stood still in shock. Rama referred to the fact that Amar played his prospective brother-in-law in the script, the brother of the woman Rama would chase throughout the entire film. He and his sister were commoners while Rama played a prince. Of course. What irked him even further, though, was the pat on the cheek. What am I, a dog? Someone who might faint with gratitude over the touch of a superstar like Rama?

Amar’s heart sank as his gaze followed Rama across the lot. It was better not to meet your heroes. They always let you down.

Excerpt From: Bollywood Nightmare

Johnny

I never meant to upset anyone. I swear I’m a happy-go-lucky fun-loving kind of guy, but apparently I rub some people up the wrong way. Hi, I’m Johnny, well, to you I’m Johnny, I don’t give my real name away to humans. I’m a Djinn and I belong to Rahul. His family captured me many moons ago and passed me down through the generations.

Rahul met a woman some time past, they were both young and in love and they married. It caused a huge stir as not only was Laura British she was white British—I’m talking like new-laid snow, folks—and a Bollywood star marrying out of his faith and his race caused a big kerfuffle all around the world, not just in Mumbai.

They’ve proved their critics wrong because twenty-three years later they are still together and as much in love as ever. It makes me sick to my stomach to see them fawning all over each other. It’d upset you too if you were stuck in another world far away from the one you loved. Back in Jennistan is my girl. I don’t even know if she is still my girl after all these years. I am hoping so. We were hopelessly in love back in the day. We doted on one another and were pledged to be married.

Anyway, that’s more than you really need to know. I’m getting old and stupid. I should keep my guard up more often but living with humans taints me, makes me weak.

So, I like to tell stories. Ask anyone. I told a really good one a while ago all about Rahul and his arranged marriage and how I saved the day. It was brilliant and would have been a massive hit if the damn author hadn’t decided to add in Laura’s side of the story too. She just doesn’t have the art like I do. Anyway, here’s a new story for you, I do hope you’ll enjoy it. Actually, I don’t give two hoots if you do or not, I’m just telling it to pass the time in this infernal hell of a human world I live in.

* * * *

So yes, Rahul and Laura married. It was almost a fairy tale. He worked in the movies and she became the translator she’d always dreamed of being. They were disgustingly happy and content and I had high hopes that Rahul would finally wish me free. Then one evening as he supped cold beer in the stifling heat of midsummer I asked him about it.

"So, you’ve got everything you ever wanted, right?"

"Yes," he replied, lazily wiping sweat from his brow with the back of a hand.

"And you’re in love and so very happy, right?"

"Oh, yeah." He still got that dewy-eyed possessed look every time he thought of Laura. Sickening.

"Then you don’t really need me anymore, right?"

"Wrong."

"Come on, Rahul. You have true love and we Djinns can’t even grant that wish, nuh-uh, but I did, didn’t I? I got you married to your true love."

"Your ego has no bounds, Johnny. Yes, no doubt you helped and I thank you for it but the true love came about naturally despite the odds."

"Oh blah, blah, blah. Whatever. I thought you were going to wish me free when you were happy and settled and all that crap."

"Yes, I was going to but something has happened recently to change my mind."

"What’s happened? Has Laura come to her senses and shagged someone hunkier and richer than you?"

"Now you’re just being petulant. No, Laura has not. She has, however, given me some good news."

"She’s returning to England and she’s taking her Britpop CD’s home with her?"

"No, Johnny. Just listen for a minute, would you? Laura is pregnant."

"Oh."

"Is that all you have to say? Geez. I thought you were meant to be the eloquent one."

"Congratulations on the imminent birth of your little crying bratling. Here’s to sleepless nights, smelly nappies and toddler tantrums."

I disappeared then into my little tea kettle. No puff of smoke, no drama. Just a fully grown man shrinking and slipping down the spout of a tall, Eastern-looking brass kettle. It might not be much but I called it home. Bottles were over-rated and don’t get me started on lamps. Pregnant. Shit. I hadn’t considered what would happen then.

"Please, Johnny. Don’t sulk." I could hear Rahul perfectly well through the metal walls of my home. I really should think about getting them soundproofed. "I was all for releasing you, really I was, but now I’ve created new life. We’re going to have a baby, Johnny—well, Laura and I are, you’ve got nothing to do with it—and it’s a big scary world out there. How can I send my little Farishta out into it alone? It would be remiss of me to do so when I have the greatest gift known to mankind. I’m sorry, Johnny, but what’s a few extra years of being my servant, really? I am a good master, I am not a slave driver. And once my little one is established then maybe I will wish you free."

It was not the first time I’d heard the speech, in fact I’d heard variations of it several times over the years. Certain of my masters did seem to care for me and they would promise my freedom, then suddenly they had the prospect of becoming daddies and all sense went out of the window along with my hopes and dreams of freedom. Having your heart ripped out and your dreams stomped on wasn’t something you got used to but sadly it was something I jadedly began to expect from my arsehole human masters.

Excerpt From: Bollywood Superstar

Tiny bells jingled around Jas’ waist as she gave a graceful twirl, arms arched over her head, hands cupped to make a lotus shape in the air.

“So what do you think? Will I knock Ajay Amir’s socks off?”

Silence greeted her question. She held the pose a moment longer before breaking it and flapping a hand beneath Krishnan’s nose.

“Krish? Earth to Krish.”

He looked up from the receipts he had been studying too closely to be genuine, eyebrows hiked, lips firmly set.

“I don’t get why you’re entering this contest,” he said. “When they find out you aren’t Indian, they’ll disqualify you.”

“They won’t find out. Look at me. I look like Kareena Kapoor.”

It was true. Jasmine Wyatt, despite her very white heritage and minuscule drop of Mediterranean blood, resembled her Bollywood icon more closely than most of the Asian girls in the neighbourhood. Her head of glossy, blue-black hair was tied back in an elaborate plait for the purposes of the audition, highlighting her creamy, coffee skin, sparkling almond-shaped eyes half-drowned in mascara, and sensual lips.

“You look like Kareena Kapoor after a collision with Max Factor,” sniped Krishnan. “How much lip gloss? Did you leave any for the rest of Leicester?”

“You don’t want me to succeed, do you?” Jas pouted and thrust out a hip so the layers of diaphanous silkiness that made up her skirt shifted and stroked her thighs.

“You can’t keep the masquerade up forever. Besides, why do you think white girls can’t apply? Isn’t that racist or something?”

“It didn’t say. I just think I stand a better chance if they think I’m Indian. I’m Jasmeena today, not Jasmine. And I’m borrowing your surname.”

“I hope people don’t think you’re any relation of mine.”

“Aww, Krish.” Jas leaned on the counter so the fountain of tiny gold coins that constituted her bikini-style top clattered down on its Formica surface. “You almost are my family. My big brother.”

“Are you going? I’ve got shelves to stack.”

“Your empire to run.” Jas wheeled around dramatically, opening her arms to encompass the rows of tins and packets and bottles that made up the thriving corner shop. “Your fortune to make, big bro,” she said.

And that was all he could be, despite the crush she’d had on him for the several years she’d been working in the shop. He’d never marry a white girl. He was too traditional. Come to that, he’d probably never marry. He was far too busy running his clutch of grocery shops to indulge in frivolities like dating. What a horrible waste of a handsome man.

Excerpt From: Bon Appétit

Demi Summers squirmed and writhed as her husband, Alex, suckled her nipple, and his thumb massaged her clit. Yearning for more, she pushed her breast deeper into his mouth.

At forty-five, her husband had finally grown into his skin. His shoulders were no longer bony with his skin stretched taut over them, but strong and broad like his Viking ancestors. When he glanced up at her, passion filled his normally laughing, slate grey eyes, showing more than a hint of the storms that brewed. Moonbeams glanced off his hair, making it brighter than it already was.

Around her breast he asked in a ragged voice, 'What else would you like me to do?'

'Fuck me. No mercy,' she longed to say but bit her lip.

Ever since Alex's diabetes had grown severe, he hadn't been able to get an erection solid enough to fuck her. His doctors were afraid to give him the miracle medications on the market because of his poor health. Instead, she said on a moan, 'Lick my pussy.'

Alex lifted his head and with a twinkle in his eyes, rubbed his chin across her breast grazing her flesh with his scratchy five o'clock shadow. 'Would you like me to get the toys?'

The toys were a poor substitution for what she longed for. The word 'toys' made her 'taste' dry toast with only the merest hint of butter. But fearing she'd never get the real thing again, afraid she'd slaughter his feelings if she slipped and admitted that, she nodded. 'Yes.'

When he left her and dug around in their private drawer, the mattress shifted and she rolled to her side. She let her gaze drink in her sexy hubby, let herself wish his cock would get hard enough to fuck her, wish she could feel a man's big, hot cock driving into her. Two years was a long time to go without being one with a man.

Although she'd never say it to him, she imagined their trysts must be the same as having lesbian sex. It felt good. She had orgasms. But she sorely missed having a real cock plunge her pussy. She missed the full union of being with a man. She missed the rapture and the ecstasy.

Guilt and shame overcame her. It wasn't Alex's fault he couldn't get an erection. He was still a sexy, loving man in every other way. His name tasted like delicious sweet apples on the tip of her tongue. He understood her rare condition, Lexical-gustatory synaesthesia, and he'd never treated her like a freak or made fun of her for tasting words. His kisses rocketed her to heaven, and she still longed for the day he would fuck her until she was in utter bliss.

Her mother had warned her about marrying a man twelve years older, had predicted this very thing. But Alex was only forty-five, not seventy. His diabetes had become debilitating early in life.

Alex turned to her with a wicked smile. He crawled onto the bed, pulled her into the middle of the mattress and buried his face between her legs. His head dipped until she could only see his springy hair, then his tongue swept her slit, long and sensually. He lapped at her and sucked her clit.

Excerpt From: Bonded

A chill wind bit at Tara’s face as she descended from the shadowed plane into her lesser human form. The world had changed since her departure nearly a month before—her safe haven of a home had burnt down during her absence. Heat brushed her cheeks, and she forced back her anxiety. The home had very little meaning to her. By now, she’d learned not to get too attached to this world or the material possessions most humans tried to collect.

She raised her eyes to a moonless sky, envisioning the new moon and the power it held behind her xaran curse. Tara bit her tongue—she knew better than to second—guess the decisions of the Divine. You need to play your part just like everyone else.

She clicked her tongue. It didn’t matter if her being human now kept balance between both planes. The shift always made her uneasy, especially when she was left inside her weaker form. Even so, she’d be stuck here another month, so it was best if she got used to it.

Rousing herself from behind the charred supports of her home, Tara inhaled the scents of alcohol, raw sewage, car exhaust fumes and a long winter’s night. She coughed around the unappetising fragrance, wondering if it was too late to go back—to fall into darkness for another month.

Her lack of a home wasn’t what troubled her, and clothes could easily be replaced—but none had ever seemed to fit her as well as her furred, xaran skin. Damn this plane and its foolish human creatures. She spat into the snow at her feet. Although her xaran spirit remained, her appearance cloned those she so readily mocked. She was on their plane now, stuck in her human form with all its attached weaknesses.

Such was the xaran curse—one month of a human’s frail life to every month served under the Divine. Supposedly, it was to retain some form of balance between the shadowed plane and the one connected to everyone else on Earth. It didn’t help that, each time she shifted, she returned a month later than when she left, which usually meant different circumstances. A lot can change in a month.

Tara growled under her breath and bit her lower lip as she inspected her scant articles of clothing—not nearly enough to keep her warm during the last days of winter. She’d have to get indoors and hope no one took notice of her short blouse, knee-length skirt and fierce, feline—like eyes. Just keep your head down and mind your own, she chided herself. Making eye contact with another human usually translated as a formal invitation for conversation and company. She wasn’t interested in either one.

Rolling her shoulders back, Tara straightened her blue blouse and buttoned up the front. Her nipples hardened from the cold, causing the thin fabric to tighten around them. She wouldn’t need to make eye contact at all, not when it came to her lacking a bra and having such a pale complexion.

Tara pulled her raven—black hair from under the back of her shirt, brushing the few flakes of snow from it. The corners of her mouth curled as she imagined her hair looking much like her xaran skin, black as night speckled with dark brown and white flecks. She purred at the memory of the warmth of her xaran skin and everything it entailed. Put those thoughts out of your mind. Get somewhere warm if you hope to return to that plane again.

Stepping out of her crumpled home, Tara turned left, picking up her pace as she headed for the local bar. Even if she didn’t want the company, the bar was a lot better than standing out in the cold. And that was all this was about—survival.

Tara pressed through the doors to the bar, delighting in the warm air as it blew against her face. Goose bumps emerged all over her body, reacting to the changing temperature and the man staring at her from the far end of the room. Tara averted her eyes and made for the bar, gingerly perching on one of the stools when she got there.

She raised her eyes to the barkeep, inspecting him from under her long eyelashes.

"Tara." The barkeep beamed, leaning over the bar to greet her. "Haven’t seen you for a time."

Excerpt From: Bone Idol

Dorset, October 1875

Henry rapped once more at the door to the cliff-top rectory. Nobody answered. Stepping back, he looked up at the darkened windows. He pulled his greatcoat around himself and shivered. A fat moon hung above the house. The stars here were bright, like splinters of ice scattered across the black sky—so different from the yellowish night skies of London, where the gas lights reflected sickly from a low fug of smoke and dirt. But at least that covering blanket gave an illusion of warmth, however unwholesome. Here, nothing stood between him and the brisk, chilly winds of the English Channel.

When the telegram arrived, Henry had not been able to resist—a new species of plesiosaur found on the beach near the Reverend Arthur Boundry’s rectory! The bone hunter in him had been enchanted. He had hastily packed a valise and set out for Dorset at once.

Now he was standing, shivering and hungry, in the middle of the night, on the doorstep of a man whom he only really knew through his letters. Worse, a thin drizzle was beginning to fall. He should have found an inn for the night and called in the morning, at a more civilised hour. But he had been excited and had just assumed that the reverend would be, too. How could anyone sleep when there was a fabulous fossil find to be retrieved, examined and catalogued?

Heaving a weary sigh, he turned away from the dark rectory and looked out at the choppy waves, ink black under the moonlight but capped with frothy white. There was little to be done until morning. He decided to stroll along the beach. The exercise might at least keep him warm—and awake.

Shivering in the damp air, he followed the course of a lively, gurgling stream that bubbled up from the ground and then flowed downhill, splashing over shards of rock not yet smoothed by its course, towards the shore. The rain had become heavier and the wind was picking up. Henry huddled miserably in his greatcoat, hands in his pockets and eyes downcast. His feet slipped on slick, brown seaweed as he got closer to the shore, and he swore when he stepped into a rock pool, soaking his boot and crushing a crab that had been going peacefully about its night-time business.

Cold, and increasingly damp and discouraged, he squelched on along the beach, one boot full of water. He had been walking for perhaps a mile, lost in his thoughts, the rain quite heavy now and whipped into his face by the blustery wind, when he thought he heard a shout.

Squinting through the rain, he thought he could make out a number of bobbing, yellow lights ahead of him on the beach. The wind brought him snatches of urgent conversation, occasional incomprehensible shouts. He stepped up his pace as the rain became a downpour, suddenly energised and alive with excitement.

As he drew nearer, he saw a group of people standing amongst the fallen shale at the bottom of the cliffs. There was an air of bustle about them as they stepped nimbly about on the wet rocks, struggling to keep the light from their lanterns on two of their number who knelt on the slick stone, apparently engrossed.

"Hallo!" Henry called, approaching the group. "Can I be of any assistance?"

"Elkington! Is that you?" The Reverend Arthur Boundry bounced to his feet, face wreathed in smiles as he peered myopically through the rain at Henry.

The little old clergyman was utterly soaked through, his spectacles spotted with rainwater and one of the lenses smeared with damp sand. Henry greeted him with enthusiasm, but his attention was taken, unexpectedly, by the reverend’s companion. Rising with a sort of nervous, febrile energy from his position on the wet rock, he wiped his filthy hands on his shirt front. His fingers, Henry noticed, were small and very slender. The fingernails were caked with sand. Henry raised his eyes to the man’s face and felt a strange, unwholesome jolt down his spine as he took in the quick, honey-brown eyes and the soft, smiling mouth. His hair was a riotous mop of curls, and Henry found himself wondering what colour it was in the daylight.

The Reverend Arthur Boundry followed Henry’s gaze. "Oh, yes," he said. "My son, Albert. Albert, this is Mr Elkington. You have heard me speak of his paper on the reconstruction of the Maidstone Iguanadon. He has some interesting ideas...very interesting indeed."

It was true that, between them, they had come up with some quite radical ideas based on Mantell’s assertions that the beast was probably bipedal. But for some reason, Henry could not think about that at the moment. His attention was taken by the young man who had risen to his feet to greet him.

The reverend’s son wiped his hand again on his thigh, and held it out to be shaken. His smile lit up his face. "Mr Elkington," he said.

Excerpt From: Bought and Paid For

�Oh, my good Lord! Tell me you�re kidding.� Parker raised his eyebrows almost comically high over his piercing blue eyes. The creases in his forehead nearly crawled up into his hairline.

�Aw, come on, Dr. Easton, you said you�d help out.�

Parker leaned down from his six-four height and put his frown right in Dixie�s face.

�We both know I did not mean I would be part of�of�that! There is no way I�m going to walk out on a stage and let people ogle me like a�a�crap, you�ve got me lost for words. You know I meant I�d donate, not participate. I think the idea of an auction for dates with people is ridiculous.�

�It�s not. It�s been proven to be a good money maker. It�s for the last bit we need for the new wing, which, by the way, will have your office in it when it�s done. It makes sense for you to be part of it. Besides, you�ll bring top dollar. Everybody says so.�

�Everybody knows? Already? What the hell!�

�Hey, I didn�t put your name on the list.� Dixie, sweet southern Dixie from the PR department, was trying not to cower in the presence of his obvious anger.

�Who did? Who put my name on that list?�

�Maybe I shouldn�t say,� Dixie said.

�Tell me.�

Dixie�s explanation ran together so quickly, Parker had a hard time following the words. �Actually, the committee got a letter saying that you would go for over ten thousand if you would participate, and as a group, we decided it would be stupid to turn down that much money for the project.�

�You�re kidding. No, I�ve got to stop saying that. This is a nightmare. You actually got a letter saying someone would pay that much to go out with me? Hell, I never go out. I never have time. Who in the world would pay that much? Do they even know I�m�?� Parker paused.

�Gay? Uh, I believe so. I guess you want to see the letter, huh?�

�Oh, yeah. I want to see it. And this is not necessarily a done deal yet.� He put out his hand for the letter he figured she had in the overstuffed folder she clutched to her ample chest.

Parker usually didn�t go for the intimidation routine, but he was not going to get roped into taking part in this auction thing the PR department had come up with to get their much-needed funds. He was all for more money for cancer research. They definitely needed the new wing. He didn�t care where his office was located, but the new equipment would make a huge difference along with the added rooms and offices.

�Here it is, but it�s not going to tell you much. It�s not signed.�

�Then how do you know it�s legitimate?� Parker asked, disgusted and looking for any way out of this. He scrubbed one hand through the dark brown curls on his head. Hell, he hadn�t even had time to get a haircut in weeks, and the damn stuff grew like crazy. Personally, he hated it. His mind jumped back on track when Dixie answered.

�There was a follow-up phone call. A man called the office, asked if we�d received his letter, and assured us it was the real thing. He said we should make sure you know that he�s good for the money and that he promises to make the date one you�ll enjoy.� Dixie blushed as she related the last part of the message.

�This is ridiculous,� Parker stated, fuming.

�But you�ll do it, won�t you? You won�t let us lose that much money, just for one night, will you?� She was still trying not to cower, and Parker began to feel bad.

�When is this damn thing again?� he asked, resigned.

�Friday night.�

�This Friday night. You�re kidding.� He had to come up with a new word!

�No, sir. Haven�t you seen the signs all over the hospital?�

�I may have seen them. I just haven�t paid any attention to them, since I�d planned on making a donation only.� Parker stalked off in his best huff strut.

Excerpt From: Bound and Determined

Bollocks.

Jack Quinn propped his elbow on the polished wood bar of the lower downtown pub and drank deeply from the pint of stout as he watched the petite and smoking hot Sinead O’Malley move into action for a solo.

He’d seen pictures of her—his sworn enemy—online. His luggage contained a folder full of information about her.

He’d chased her across two continents and through half a dozen cities in the United States. He thought he knew everything about her, and still, nothing had prepared him for the first in-person sight of her.

He’d known she was an Irish step dancer, but the dossier provided by his grandmother’s people hadn’t mentioned that the talented Ms O’Malley also played three different types of drums as well as the bagpipes.

Seeing a good-looking woman, enemy or not, in snapshots was one thing, but he’d had no idea he’d have such an immediate, raw, unwanted masculine reaction to seeing her athletic body.

Her cutoff white T-shirt was too tight across the swell of her breasts and left part of her toned midriff bare. If she was wearing a bra, it wasn’t very serviceable. He imagined he could see her nipples all the way from here.

Her kilt was way too fecking short. It barely covered her well-shaped arse. And when she danced he saw a pair of sexy black knickers. At least she wasn’t commando beneath the skirt.

Her muscular legs were bare, and her socks had pooled around her ankles.

Even though he watched her squeeze the pipes from halfway across the pub, his cock hardened.

Noise in the room diminished as gazes turned towards the stage. Every man in the place was likely sporting an erection. Lust was palpable. If she were his woman, he wouldn’t stand for her being dressed that way in public and he’d want her wearing a whole lot less in private.

He took another long drink from the glass. He’d be needing another pint in only minutes. A man needed fortification to manage the likes of Sinead O’Malley and manage her he would.

He wouldn’t be leaving Denver without her in tow. He intended to possess her. Ride her. Claim her. Dominate her. Make her his submissive. Claim her as his.

The eight hundred year feud between their clans ended now even if he had to tie her to his bed and spank the sass out of her.

Since it wouldn’t be seemly to drag her off the stage, bend her over, yank down her knickers, make her call him Sir as he fucked her ragged on top of a table, he bided his time.

She’d started dancing with the group a few years ago as a way to pick up a little extra cash. The file revealed at least that much. He hadn’t taken the time to listen to the CD provided of her music and he was surprised by how much he enjoyed the sound of the Celtic-infused rock band that pulled from all nations. Or maybe he was just intrigued by the lass and wasn’t really hearing the music.

All the other band members fell silent as she worked the pipes.

A spotlight hit her. He recognised the Kelly tartan…from her mother’s side of the family. The Kellys’ were one of the few Irish clans entitled to wear a tartan—the same as the royal house of Stewart.

Because of the distance and the way she held the bagpipes, he couldn’t quite read the writing on her white T-shirt. The distance and dim lighting made it impossible to see her eyes, even though the information he had on her said they were green.

Then again, the file said she had blonde hair. It hadn’t mentioned the fiery highlights that seemed to ignite in the overhead lighting. It hadn’t mentioned that the lengths fell in bedroom-like disarray across her forehead and around her face and shoulders.

It looked the way it might after a good, long, hard screw.

“Got your eye on that one, have you, mate?” the barkeep asked, pocketing the tip Jack had left on the bar. “She’s been in here half a dozen times in the past year. A right handful, she is. Won’t be having none of the likes of you.” He glanced at her then back at Jack. “She won’t be having any of us for that matter.”

“We’ll be seeing about that.”

“Good luck,” the man said. “She always vanishes after the show. She doesn’t stay at the same place the rest of the band does. She’s talented all right. But she ain’t interested in any socialising. She’ll cut any man to the quick.”

Jack nodded, considering himself warned. “Fetch me another pint, mate.”

The bartender nodded and moved off.

Excerpt From: Bound and Determined

Bollocks.

Jack Quinn propped his elbow on the polished wood bar of the lower downtown pub and drank deeply from the pint of stout as he watched the petite and smoking hot Sinead O’Malley move into action for a solo.

He’d seen pictures of her—his sworn enemy—online. His luggage contained a folder full of information about her.

He’d chased her across two continents and through half a dozen cities in the United States. He thought he knew everything about her, and still, nothing had prepared him for the first in-person sight of her.

He’d known she was an Irish step dancer, but the dossier provided by his grandmother’s people hadn’t mentioned that the talented Ms O’Malley also played three different types of drums as well as the bagpipes.

Seeing a good-looking woman, enemy or not, in snapshots was one thing, but he’d had no idea he’d have such an immediate, raw, unwanted masculine reaction to seeing her athletic body.

Her cutoff white T-shirt was too tight across the swell of her breasts and left part of her toned midriff bare. If she was wearing a bra, it wasn’t very serviceable. He imagined he could see her nipples all the way from here.

Her kilt was way too fecking short. It barely covered her well-shaped arse. And when she danced he saw a pair of sexy black knickers. At least she wasn’t commando beneath the skirt.

Her muscular legs were bare, and her socks had pooled around her ankles.

Even though he watched her squeeze the pipes from halfway across the pub, his cock hardened.

Noise in the room diminished as gazes turned towards the stage. Every man in the place was likely sporting an erection. Lust was palpable. If she were his woman, he wouldn’t stand for her being dressed that way in public and he’d want her wearing a whole lot less in private.

He took another long drink from the glass. He’d be needing another pint in only minutes. A man needed fortification to manage the likes of Sinead O’Malley and manage her he would.

He wouldn’t be leaving Denver without her in tow. He intended to possess her. Ride her. Claim her. Dominate her. Make her his submissive. Claim her as his.

The eight hundred year feud between their clans ended now even if he had to tie her to his bed and spank the sass out of her.

Since it wouldn’t be seemly to drag her off the stage, bend her over, yank down her knickers, make her call him Sir as he fucked her ragged on top of a table, he bided his time.

She’d started dancing with the group a few years ago as a way to pick up a little extra cash. The file revealed at least that much. He hadn’t taken the time to listen to the CD provided of her music and he was surprised by how much he enjoyed the sound of the Celtic-infused rock band that pulled from all nations. Or maybe he was just intrigued by the lass and wasn’t really hearing the music.

All the other band members fell silent as she worked the pipes.

A spotlight hit her. He recognised the Kelly tartan…from her mother’s side of the family. The Kellys’ were one of the few Irish clans entitled to wear a tartan—the same as the royal house of Stewart.

Because of the distance and the way she held the bagpipes, he couldn’t quite read the writing on her white T-shirt. The distance and dim lighting made it impossible to see her eyes, even though the information he had on her said they were green.

Then again, the file said she had blonde hair. It hadn’t mentioned the fiery highlights that seemed to ignite in the overhead lighting. It hadn’t mentioned that the lengths fell in bedroom-like disarray across her forehead and around her face and shoulders.

It looked the way it might after a good, long, hard screw.

“Got your eye on that one, have you, mate?” the barkeep asked, pocketing the tip Jack had left on the bar. “She’s been in here half a dozen times in the past year. A right handful, she is. Won’t be having none of the likes of you.” He glanced at her then back at Jack. “She won’t be having any of us for that matter.”

“We’ll be seeing about that.”

“Good luck,” the man said. “She always vanishes after the show. She doesn’t stay at the same place the rest of the band does. She’s talented all right. But she ain’t interested in any socialising. She’ll cut any man to the quick.”

Jack nodded, considering himself warned. “Fetch me another pint, mate.”

The bartender nodded and moved off.

Excerpt from: 'The Retreat' by Portia Da Costa

"Ooh!"

"Are you all right, Sarah?" he asked, his voice soft and powerful in her ear.

Was she all right?

She supposed she must be, but in the space of an instant she just couldn't stop shaking.

Sarah's heart fluttered and raced as she advanced into the spacious room. It was almost as if she'd just entered some kind of arena, before a huge crowd, with an ordeal ahead of her. Which was stupid, really, because this was the most luxurious and beautiful bedroom that she was ever likely to stay in. The Retreat was an exclusive country house hotel, a heritage listed building and five stars to boot, so it was about as far from a horrible ordeal as it was possible to get to stay here.

But it wasn't the original beams, the open fireplace, or even the huge bed with its brass head and foot rails and traditional English chintz bed linen that had caught her breath, and made her pulse race�it was a simple, almost inconsequential thing that had just happened in passing that had made her gasp.

As they'd entered the room, Ben had tapped her oh so lightly on the bottom to encourage her forward.

It should have been nothing. It was nothing. Just a harmless, affectionate gesture from a man she really, really, really liked, and possibly more than liked. Something that by rights she should barely even have noticed.

But the tiny gesture, over so fleetingly, had almost pole-axed her. She was still trembling and she'd broken out into a sweat.

It was as if the world had just changed, and she'd changed with it, irrevocably.

"How do you like it then?" Ben's hand settled on her waist as she stood looking around, not really seeing or appreciating the lovely room or the breath-catching view from the window, of the early evening sunset gilding the park outside. The porter was waiting just behind them, and she fought for composure, hoping he couldn't tell she'd suddenly gone slightly mad, or work out why her face was suddenly bright pink and blushing furiously.

Get a grip, woman!

"It's gorgeous-I really like it. I love the chintz and the furniture and the view-it's all so-old English."

I'm babbling, she thought, trying to focus on the traditional furnishings and the gentle scent of cottage garden potpourri that filled the air.

She turned, hardly daring to look at him. Had he felt the change too? It had been so huge it couldn't just be restricted to her, surely?

Ben was studying her, as he so often did. His warm brown eyes were mild, yet intent and full of secrets. If he'd sensed the turmoil inside her, he wasn't giving any indication. But then, he was the sort of man who gave very little away at the best of times. He was so composed, so contained, always in control.

Excerpt from: 'S&M 101' by Sierra Cartwright

"I'm not just bored," Julia said, popping a peanut into her mouth, "but out of my skull, mind-numbingly, someone-please-save-me bored." She dropped the empty shell onto the pub floor, then rubbed her hands together to clean off the salt.

"And?"

"I think you should spank me."

Trevor Kendall's hand froze, the pint of beer mid-way to his lips. Without taking a drink, he lowered the glass back onto the table. "I beg your pardon?"

"I've heard rumours."

The incredibly hot, sexy man sitting across from her raised a brow, but when he said nothing, she propped her elbows on the table, and linked her hands together. Very deliberately, and fortified by more than a few sips from her margarita, she leaned forward, placed her chin on top of her hands and went on, "I've heard rumours that you like a little-variety in your sex life."

"Let me get this straight-"

His blue eyes darkened, as if there were a storm brewing somewhere inside. She shivered in excitement.

"You've heard that I like variety, and you're bored, so I should spank you?"

Despite the noise in the London hotel's pub, she heard him perfectly. His voice was rich and deep, commanding. She gave a little shiver. She so wanted to hear him command her, telling her to strip, telling her to stand, how to spread her legs-God, it was getting hot in here. "Yes," she said. "You should spank me. And then fuck me."

"You must be bored," he agreed.

Frustratingly, she couldn't get a sense of whether or not he was going to take her up to his room.

"We've been at this trade show for a week," she said, "smiling at potential customers, being on our best behaviour, trying to pretend our feet don't hurt like mad. Behaving. Well, I've had enough. I want to be bad." She cracked another shell and poured the nut towards her mouth, catching it with her tongue.

"Do you have any idea what you're asking for?" He picked up his pint again. This time he took a long draught from it.

She'd bet big money, big money, that he would be divine at eating her pussy. "I've been fantasising about you for two years, Trevor," she confessed. "Two years. Do you know how long that is in dog years?"

He smiled.

"It could be another six months, maybe a year before I see you again." And that was the truth. They worked for different companies, on different continents. New York was a universe away. But they had the trade shows in common. "Rumour has it you're staying on for a few days of relaxation."

He nodded.

"And I put in for some holiday time. Hoping."

"Hoping?" he prompted.

Good God, was she really this bold? "Hoping we could hook up." It was an American statement, but she trusted the meaning would translate just fine.

Excerpt from: 'Getaway Girl' by Lisabet Sarai

Be careful what you wish for. Peg's mum used to tell her that. It was the standard response whenever Peg wandered off into one of her daydreams. You never knew whether you'd really enjoy all those things you craved, riches or fame or adventure. Every dream had its price.

Mothers do have a way of being right. Look at Peg's situation now.

She lay on a pile of burlap bags scattered over the floor of a commercial van. Her wrists were tied behind her back with grocery twine. Her ankles were bound together in a similar manner. A handkerchief stuffed into her mouth effectively prevented her from making any sound.

Seated opposite her, cross-legged, was a man with a gun.

All she had wanted was to get away from the soporific quaintness of Kirkby Malzeard, just for a while. Some new sights, a bit of fun, some relief from her responsibilities and the boredom of day-to-day village life.

Now look at her, a hostage in the custody of desperate criminals. Trussed up like a turkey under the watch of a gorgeous but obviously dangerous man whose name might or might not be Lionel, whose devilish smile made her insides quiver like pudding, who pretended to be kind but who never for a moment took his eyes off her body or his hand off his revolver.

Peg contracted her arm muscles and discreetly tried to pull her wrists apart. If anything, the loops of twine grew tighter, biting into her flesh.

"I wouldn't recommend struggling," said Lionel, his grin broader than ever. "You'll do yourself damage."

He seemed to be right, just as Peg's mum had been.

Peg flopped over onto her side and brought her knees towards her chest, trying to find a more comfortable position. Her skirt rode up around her thighs. The burlap scratched against her bare skin. Lionel's eyes narrowed at the view, and his breath quickened. He's turned on, Peg realised. He fancies me. Fear lanced through her. She was a helpless captive. He could do whatever he wanted.

It was strange. The thought was more thrilling than terrifying. Not that he could do much now in any case, with her legs bound together tight, and the two of them lurching back and forth as the van bounced along the country road. Later� well, she would worry about later when it arrived.

"Hey, Jack. Any idea how close we are?"

The driver grunted. "Haven't got a clue. Ask her, why don't you? She's the native."

Lionel leaned forward, close enough that Peg could smell his forest-scented after-shave. "If I take out the gag, do you promise not to scream? It wouldn't do you any good anyway, but the sound of a girl yelling always puts me off."

The handkerchief seemed clean and Peg could breathe through her nose, but the gag was hardly comfortable. She nodded. Her captor obliged her by removing it and stuffing it back into his breast pocket.

"So, how far is it to your gran's cottage?"

"I can't really say without knowing where we are, can I? Have we passed the Grewelthorpe crossroads?"

"Jack?"

"It was too dark to read the signboard, but there was a four-way junction about two miles back."

"What about the railway? We should have crossed the rails a mile or so before."

"Yeah, there was a grade crossing, I think."

"It should be about two more miles, then. There'll be a sign on the left for Lawton Dale. Turn there; the lane dead ends at the cottage."

Despite Peg's instructions, Jack almost missed the turn. He swung the van wildly at the last minute, tossing his passengers around in the back. Peg's body was thrown almost into Lionel's lap.

Excerpt from: 'All Roads Leads to Ripon' by Barbara Huffert

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.

Excerpt from: 'Kit and Mouse' by Dakota Rebel

"Excuse me miss?"

I turned to see a young man standing behind me with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He was blushing severely and biting his lower lip.

"Yes?"

"Um, my friend over there wants to buy you a drink." He turned and pointed to the end of the bar.

I glanced over to see a tall, muscular, blond guy waving at me.

"Then why didn't he come over here and ask me himself?"

"I don't know." The kid blushed again and looked down at the floor. "Maybe he's shy."

"Him?" I laughed softly. "No offense love, but you seem to be the shy one out of that boisterous group."

I had noticed the entire pack of them walk in to the pub an hour earlier. They were drunk and loud and pretty obnoxious. All of them except this one. He was definitely younger than the others, by at least five years. I figured he was legal, but probably not by much. Nineteen, twenty tops. He was also a head shorter than the rest of the guys, which would have made him barely taller than me at five foot five. He was kind of scrawny, with dark hair cut military short and big, wide blue eyes framed by the thickest eyelashes I had ever seen. Basically, he was exactly my kind of man.

"What's your name sweetie," I asked him.

"Mouse," he said softly.

"Mouse? That can't be your real name."

"No, my real name is Colin. But everyone calls me Mouse."

"I wonder why." I smiled.

"Because I'm so quiet I guess, and I'm kind of small," he said.

"Yeah, I got that. I was being sarcastic. You're not that great with people are you?"

"I'm okay. I just don't like to talk a lot."

"Not even to me?"

"Especially not to you."

His answer startled me a little. "What's wrong with me?"

"Well, for starters you're a vampire." His face turned so red it was almost glowing. I could see the blood pumping faster up the vein in his throat. Cute and smart�sort of.

"What makes you think that?"

He gave me an eloquent look, somewhere between confusion and "you're fucking kidding me, right".

I smiled, making sure my fangs peeked out between my lips. His eyes widened but he didn't step back, which impressed me.

"You're not so scared you'd run from me?"

"I never said I was scared, I'm just not a big fan of vampires."

"I see. And how did you know I was a vampire?" I watched his face to see if he'd attempt to lie to me. But he didn't. Instead he leaned closer and whispered against my ear.

"I could smell you a mile away." His tone made it sound sensual not offensive.

"And what do I smell like?"

"Peaches-and death." He moved back and watched me struggle with my next words.

"Not very flattering, love." I laughed softly, though not because of any humour in the situation. It was more of a nervous laugh. Which was ridiculous. I could have crushed the kid like a bug under my Manolo Blahnik clad heel. But something about the look he gave me made me question that thought as soon as I had it.

"It may not sound that way, but it wasn't meant as an insult, and it is not an unpleasant smell by any means." He stepped closer again. To casual observers, it must have looked like he was trying to dance with me. Slowly moving forward and back. Touching me then not. As if he couldn't make up his own mind what to do with me.

Excerpt from: 'Bound By Love' by Cassidy Ryan

Rhys Matthews jerked upright in his battered armchair, his head snapping from side to side. He groaned when he realised he'd succumbed to sleep in the old chair in his studio for the third night in a row rather than climb the stairs to the big comfortable bed in his living quarters.

A frown wrinkled his forehead and he wondered what had pulled him from sleep. Not a dream, he was sure. He was too damn exhausted to dream these days.

The answer to the question came before he had even finished thinking it, and he pushed himself out of the chair, moaning with discomfort as his body's cramped muscles and aching bones made their displeasure known.

He made his way down a short flight of stairs to the front door, feeling significantly older than his twenty-six years. He pulled the heavy, scarred door open and found a uniformed delivery man standing on the other side, a patient smile on his face.

"Mr. Matthews?" he asked pleasantly.

Rhys squinted against the early morning sun. "Uh, yes." His voice was thick with sleep and disuse. When was the last time he had spoken to another human being?

Rhys took the package and tucked it under his arm, then reached out and scribbled his name on the line indicated.

"Thank you sir. You have a good day now." With that the delivery man turned and headed smartly in the direction of his van, parked at the end of the narrow, cobbled lane.

Rhys stood in the open doorway for a couple of minutes, blinking dumbly at the package, then, giving himself a mental shake, he shut the door and climbed the stairs back to his studio.

For a moment he paused to consider the canvases in front of him. He was preparing for another one-man show, and as usual, had gotten lost in his work.

He couldn't help smiling around the inevitable nervous flutter in his empty stomach. He was pleased with the way things were going.

Forcing himself to move, lest he get caught up again before he had a chance to shower and eat something-when was the last time he had eaten? He grinned to himself. He'd last eaten about the same time he had spoken to another living being-the boy who had delivered the pizza two nights ago.

He placed the package on the battered workbench that held his materials and would have left it there to go upstairs and sort himself some breakfast, but the neat, copperplate handwriting on the wrapping caught his attention. A thrill so intense it took his breath away ripped through his body. He reached for the package and tore at the paper with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning.

Inside was a thrillingly familiar carved-wood box with a brass latch holding it closed, along with a heavy, embossed card the colour of parchment which read,

"Meridian, 8:30 tonight."

His entire body come to life. His blood rushed in his veins, his pulse raced and his skin fired.

Excerpt from: 'The Retreat' by Portia Da Costa

"Ooh!"

"Are you all right, Sarah?" he asked, his voice soft and powerful in her ear.

Was she all right?

She supposed she must be, but in the space of an instant she just couldn't stop shaking.

Sarah's heart fluttered and raced as she advanced into the spacious room. It was almost as if she'd just entered some kind of arena, before a huge crowd, with an ordeal ahead of her. Which was stupid, really, because this was the most luxurious and beautiful bedroom that she was ever likely to stay in. The Retreat was an exclusive country house hotel, a heritage listed building and five stars to boot, so it was about as far from a horrible ordeal as it was possible to get to stay here.

But it wasn't the original beams, the open fireplace, or even the huge bed with its brass head and foot rails and traditional English chintz bed linen that had caught her breath, and made her pulse race�it was a simple, almost inconsequential thing that had just happened in passing that had made her gasp.

As they'd entered the room, Ben had tapped her oh so lightly on the bottom to encourage her forward.

It should have been nothing. It was nothing. Just a harmless, affectionate gesture from a man she really, really, really liked, and possibly more than liked. Something that by rights she should barely even have noticed.

But the tiny gesture, over so fleetingly, had almost pole-axed her. She was still trembling and she'd broken out into a sweat.

It was as if the world had just changed, and she'd changed with it, irrevocably.

"How do you like it then?" Ben's hand settled on her waist as she stood looking around, not really seeing or appreciating the lovely room or the breath-catching view from the window, of the early evening sunset gilding the park outside. The porter was waiting just behind them, and she fought for composure, hoping he couldn't tell she'd suddenly gone slightly mad, or work out why her face was suddenly bright pink and blushing furiously.

Get a grip, woman!

"It's gorgeous-I really like it. I love the chintz and the furniture and the view-it's all so-old English."

I'm babbling, she thought, trying to focus on the traditional furnishings and the gentle scent of cottage garden potpourri that filled the air.

She turned, hardly daring to look at him. Had he felt the change too? It had been so huge it couldn't just be restricted to her, surely?

Ben was studying her, as he so often did. His warm brown eyes were mild, yet intent and full of secrets. If he'd sensed the turmoil inside her, he wasn't giving any indication. But then, he was the sort of man who gave very little away at the best of times. He was so composed, so contained, always in control.

Excerpt from: 'S&M 101' by Sierra Cartwright

"I'm not just bored," Julia said, popping a peanut into her mouth, "but out of my skull, mind-numbingly, someone-please-save-me bored." She dropped the empty shell onto the pub floor, then rubbed her hands together to clean off the salt.

"And?"

"I think you should spank me."

Trevor Kendall's hand froze, the pint of beer mid-way to his lips. Without taking a drink, he lowered the glass back onto the table. "I beg your pardon?"

"I've heard rumours."

The incredibly hot, sexy man sitting across from her raised a brow, but when he said nothing, she propped her elbows on the table, and linked her hands together. Very deliberately, and fortified by more than a few sips from her margarita, she leaned forward, placed her chin on top of her hands and went on, "I've heard rumours that you like a little-variety in your sex life."

"Let me get this straight-"

His blue eyes darkened, as if there were a storm brewing somewhere inside. She shivered in excitement.

"You've heard that I like variety, and you're bored, so I should spank you?"

Despite the noise in the London hotel's pub, she heard him perfectly. His voice was rich and deep, commanding. She gave a little shiver. She so wanted to hear him command her, telling her to strip, telling her to stand, how to spread her legs-God, it was getting hot in here. "Yes," she said. "You should spank me. And then fuck me."

"You must be bored," he agreed.

Frustratingly, she couldn't get a sense of whether or not he was going to take her up to his room.

"We've been at this trade show for a week," she said, "smiling at potential customers, being on our best behaviour, trying to pretend our feet don't hurt like mad. Behaving. Well, I've had enough. I want to be bad." She cracked another shell and poured the nut towards her mouth, catching it with her tongue.

"Do you have any idea what you're asking for?" He picked up his pint again. This time he took a long draught from it.

She'd bet big money, big money, that he would be divine at eating her pussy. "I've been fantasising about you for two years, Trevor," she confessed. "Two years. Do you know how long that is in dog years?"

He smiled.

"It could be another six months, maybe a year before I see you again." And that was the truth. They worked for different companies, on different continents. New York was a universe away. But they had the trade shows in common. "Rumour has it you're staying on for a few days of relaxation."

He nodded.

"And I put in for some holiday time. Hoping."

"Hoping?" he prompted.

Good God, was she really this bold? "Hoping we could hook up." It was an American statement, but she trusted the meaning would translate just fine.

Excerpt from: 'Getaway Girl' by Lisabet Sarai

Be careful what you wish for. Peg's mum used to tell her that. It was the standard response whenever Peg wandered off into one of her daydreams. You never knew whether you'd really enjoy all those things you craved, riches or fame or adventure. Every dream had its price.

Mothers do have a way of being right. Look at Peg's situation now.

She lay on a pile of burlap bags scattered over the floor of a commercial van. Her wrists were tied behind her back with grocery twine. Her ankles were bound together in a similar manner. A handkerchief stuffed into her mouth effectively prevented her from making any sound.

Seated opposite her, cross-legged, was a man with a gun.

All she had wanted was to get away from the soporific quaintness of Kirkby Malzeard, just for a while. Some new sights, a bit of fun, some relief from her responsibilities and the boredom of day-to-day village life.

Now look at her, a hostage in the custody of desperate criminals. Trussed up like a turkey under the watch of a gorgeous but obviously dangerous man whose name might or might not be Lionel, whose devilish smile made her insides quiver like pudding, who pretended to be kind but who never for a moment took his eyes off her body or his hand off his revolver.

Peg contracted her arm muscles and discreetly tried to pull her wrists apart. If anything, the loops of twine grew tighter, biting into her flesh.

"I wouldn't recommend struggling," said Lionel, his grin broader than ever. "You'll do yourself damage."

He seemed to be right, just as Peg's mum had been.

Peg flopped over onto her side and brought her knees towards her chest, trying to find a more comfortable position. Her skirt rode up around her thighs. The burlap scratched against her bare skin. Lionel's eyes narrowed at the view, and his breath quickened. He's turned on, Peg realised. He fancies me. Fear lanced through her. She was a helpless captive. He could do whatever he wanted.

It was strange. The thought was more thrilling than terrifying. Not that he could do much now in any case, with her legs bound together tight, and the two of them lurching back and forth as the van bounced along the country road. Later� well, she would worry about later when it arrived.

"Hey, Jack. Any idea how close we are?"

The driver grunted. "Haven't got a clue. Ask her, why don't you? She's the native."

Lionel leaned forward, close enough that Peg could smell his forest-scented after-shave. "If I take out the gag, do you promise not to scream? It wouldn't do you any good anyway, but the sound of a girl yelling always puts me off."

The handkerchief seemed clean and Peg could breathe through her nose, but the gag was hardly comfortable. She nodded. Her captor obliged her by removing it and stuffing it back into his breast pocket.

"So, how far is it to your gran's cottage?"

"I can't really say without knowing where we are, can I? Have we passed the Grewelthorpe crossroads?"

"Jack?"

"It was too dark to read the signboard, but there was a four-way junction about two miles back."

"What about the railway? We should have crossed the rails a mile or so before."

"Yeah, there was a grade crossing, I think."

"It should be about two more miles, then. There'll be a sign on the left for Lawton Dale. Turn there; the lane dead ends at the cottage."

Despite Peg's instructions, Jack almost missed the turn. He swung the van wildly at the last minute, tossing his passengers around in the back. Peg's body was thrown almost into Lionel's lap.

Excerpt from: 'All Roads Leads to Ripon' by Barbara Huffert

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.

Excerpt from: 'Kit and Mouse' by Dakota Rebel

"Excuse me miss?"

I turned to see a young man standing behind me with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He was blushing severely and biting his lower lip.

"Yes?"

"Um, my friend over there wants to buy you a drink." He turned and pointed to the end of the bar.

I glanced over to see a tall, muscular, blond guy waving at me.

"Then why didn't he come over here and ask me himself?"

"I don't know." The kid blushed again and looked down at the floor. "Maybe he's shy."

"Him?" I laughed softly. "No offense love, but you seem to be the shy one out of that boisterous group."

I had noticed the entire pack of them walk in to the pub an hour earlier. They were drunk and loud and pretty obnoxious. All of them except this one. He was definitely younger than the others, by at least five years. I figured he was legal, but probably not by much. Nineteen, twenty tops. He was also a head shorter than the rest of the guys, which would have made him barely taller than me at five foot five. He was kind of scrawny, with dark hair cut military short and big, wide blue eyes framed by the thickest eyelashes I had ever seen. Basically, he was exactly my kind of man.

"What's your name sweetie," I asked him.

"Mouse," he said softly.

"Mouse? That can't be your real name."

"No, my real name is Colin. But everyone calls me Mouse."

"I wonder why." I smiled.

"Because I'm so quiet I guess, and I'm kind of small," he said.

"Yeah, I got that. I was being sarcastic. You're not that great with people are you?"

"I'm okay. I just don't like to talk a lot."

"Not even to me?"

"Especially not to you."

His answer startled me a little. "What's wrong with me?"

"Well, for starters you're a vampire." His face turned so red it was almost glowing. I could see the blood pumping faster up the vein in his throat. Cute and smart�sort of.

"What makes you think that?"

He gave me an eloquent look, somewhere between confusion and "you're fucking kidding me, right".

I smiled, making sure my fangs peeked out between my lips. His eyes widened but he didn't step back, which impressed me.

"You're not so scared you'd run from me?"

"I never said I was scared, I'm just not a big fan of vampires."

"I see. And how did you know I was a vampire?" I watched his face to see if he'd attempt to lie to me. But he didn't. Instead he leaned closer and whispered against my ear.

"I could smell you a mile away." His tone made it sound sensual not offensive.

"And what do I smell like?"

"Peaches-and death." He moved back and watched me struggle with my next words.

"Not very flattering, love." I laughed softly, though not because of any humour in the situation. It was more of a nervous laugh. Which was ridiculous. I could have crushed the kid like a bug under my Manolo Blahnik clad heel. But something about the look he gave me made me question that thought as soon as I had it.

"It may not sound that way, but it wasn't meant as an insult, and it is not an unpleasant smell by any means." He stepped closer again. To casual observers, it must have looked like he was trying to dance with me. Slowly moving forward and back. Touching me then not. As if he couldn't make up his own mind what to do with me.

Excerpt from: 'Bound By Love' by Cassidy Ryan

Rhys Matthews jerked upright in his battered armchair, his head snapping from side to side. He groaned when he realised he'd succumbed to sleep in the old chair in his studio for the third night in a row rather than climb the stairs to the big comfortable bed in his living quarters.

A frown wrinkled his forehead and he wondered what had pulled him from sleep. Not a dream, he was sure. He was too damn exhausted to dream these days.

The answer to the question came before he had even finished thinking it, and he pushed himself out of the chair, moaning with discomfort as his body's cramped muscles and aching bones made their displeasure known.

He made his way down a short flight of stairs to the front door, feeling significantly older than his twenty-six years. He pulled the heavy, scarred door open and found a uniformed delivery man standing on the other side, a patient smile on his face.

"Mr. Matthews?" he asked pleasantly.

Rhys squinted against the early morning sun. "Uh, yes." His voice was thick with sleep and disuse. When was the last time he had spoken to another human being?

Rhys took the package and tucked it under his arm, then reached out and scribbled his name on the line indicated.

"Thank you sir. You have a good day now." With that the delivery man turned and headed smartly in the direction of his van, parked at the end of the narrow, cobbled lane.

Rhys stood in the open doorway for a couple of minutes, blinking dumbly at the package, then, giving himself a mental shake, he shut the door and climbed the stairs back to his studio.

For a moment he paused to consider the canvases in front of him. He was preparing for another one-man show, and as usual, had gotten lost in his work.

He couldn't help smiling around the inevitable nervous flutter in his empty stomach. He was pleased with the way things were going.

Forcing himself to move, lest he get caught up again before he had a chance to shower and eat something-when was the last time he had eaten? He grinned to himself. He'd last eaten about the same time he had spoken to another living being-the boy who had delivered the pizza two nights ago.

He placed the package on the battered workbench that held his materials and would have left it there to go upstairs and sort himself some breakfast, but the neat, copperplate handwriting on the wrapping caught his attention. A thrill so intense it took his breath away ripped through his body. He reached for the package and tore at the paper with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning.

Inside was a thrillingly familiar carved-wood box with a brass latch holding it closed, along with a heavy, embossed card the colour of parchment which read,

"Meridian, 8:30 tonight."

His entire body come to life. His blood rushed in his veins, his pulse raced and his skin fired.

Excerpt From: Bound by Love

Rhys Matthews jerked upright in his battered armchair, his head snapping from side to side. He groaned when he realised he’d succumbed to sleep in the old chair in his studio for the third night in a row rather than climb the stairs to the big comfortable bed in his living quarters.

A frown wrinkled his forehead and he wondered what had pulled him from sleep. Not a dream, he was sure. He was too damn exhausted to dream these days.

The answer to the question came before he had even finished thinking it, and he pushed himself out of the chair, moaning with discomfort as his body’s cramped muscles and aching bones made their displeasure known.

He made his way down a short flight of stairs to the front door, feeling significantly older than his twenty-six years. He pulled the heavy, scarred door open and found a uniformed delivery man standing on the other side, a patient smile on his face.

“Mr. Matthews?” he asked pleasantly.

Rhys squinted against the early morning sun. “Uh, yes.” His voice was thick with sleep and disuse. When was the last time he had spoken to another human being?

The man’s smile deepened. “Don’t sound too sure there. Haven’t had your morning coffee?” As he spoke he held out a package wrapped in thick brown paper and a clipboard. “If you would just sign here, sir.”

Rhys took the package and tucked it under his arm, then reached out and scribbled his name on the line indicated.

“Thank you sir. You have a good day now.” With that the delivery man turned and headed smartly in the direction of his van, parked at the end of the narrow, cobbled lane.

Rhys stood in the open doorway for a couple of minutes, blinking dumbly at the package, then, giving himself a mental shake, he shut the door and climbed the stairs back to his studio.

For a moment he paused to consider the canvases in front of him. He was preparing for another one-man show, and as usual, had gotten lost in his work.

He couldn’t help smiling around the inevitable nervous flutter in his empty stomach. He was pleased with the way things were going.

Forcing himself to move, lest he get caught up again before he had a chance to shower and eat something—when was the last time he had eaten? He grinned to himself.

He’d last eaten about the same time he had spoken to another living being—the boy who had delivered the pizza two nights ago.

He placed the package on the battered workbench that held his materials and would have left it there to go upstairs and sort himself some breakfast, but the neat, copperplate handwriting on the wrapping caught his attention. A thrill so intense it took his breath away ripped through his body. He reached for the package and tore at the paper with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning.

Excerpt From: Bound by Moonlight

It felt good to be free. Sasha sat at the bar and put in her order for a drink before she glanced around the smoky room. With Max now mated to Chloe, she decided she had to get out of that house. The lustful looks, the intense kisses, the hours spent in their room-it all made her physically sick. How could he not see how much Sasha loved him?

Before he'd left to service the newbie, Sasha told him she'd wait for him. She wanted him to know she would be there after he cleared his head and came back to his pack. Janie's death had taken a huge toll on him. He'd only been helping her during her first change and she turned on him, wanting his blood. Sasha had wanted to help him and he had run away.

The bartender brought her the drink and she sipped it. When Max had come back, he'd been different. Immediately, Quinn had thrown him into another case of helping a new wolf through her transition-Chloe. And Max had fallen in love with her. Tears filled Sasha's eyes as she nursed her broken heart. She couldn't stand to be around them any longer.

"Vodka tonic," a guy said to her right. She glanced over at him and he smiled. "You new here?"

She'd travelled nearly fifty miles from the Grey Wolves' land with the hopes of never spotting one of her pack mates out and about.

"Just passing through." She sipped her drink. Where she planned on going was still up for debate.

He pulled up the seat next to her and sat. "Where are you headed?"

She sniffed at the air. In a bar full of humans, the scent of one lone wolf seeped through the room. A male wolf who definitely called to her inner female. She turned, glancing over her shoulder at room. There was nobody she knew, and the scent was definitely one she didn't recognise. Who was he? What did he want?

The man beside Sasha kept talking and she tuned him out, nodding occasionally. She considered herself a lone wolf now, a stray, and knew the dangers of being one. Which was why she decided to head to humanland. It was on rare occasions wolves associated with humans. She thought she'd be safe. But with a male lurking around, her fear spiked up a notch.

"Uh, I do hate to interrupt you," Sasha handed the bartender money and grabbed her jacket, "but I need to go."

She moved away from the bar, casually glancing around for someone out of place. She found nothing. Maybe her senses were messed up. Maybe she was used to being around males and she missed it. Dreamt it. Maybe she was losing her fucking mind. The possibility of the last one was probable. And it definitely explained why she was jittery.

Taking a deep breath and forcing herself to calm down, she opened the door and stumbled into someone on the other side. Arms wrapped around her and held her in place while the wolf scent grew stronger.

"Are you okay, miss?"

She inhaled and pushed away from him. His eyes were a deep blue, capturing her and holding her immobile. She swallowed hard as her heart sped up. He had long black hair and tan skin. Stay calm. She glanced at his six-foot-two frame and took in the black leathers he wore. There was no doubt in her mind that the man standing before her was the wolf she'd sensed.

He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes. "Hello? Can you hear me?"

"Yes." Her voice sounded raspy. She cleared her throat. "I'm fine. Sorry for running into you."

"That's okay." His gaze didn't waver. "You need to be more careful though. A woman like you shouldn't be around here at night, alone."

She nodded and backed away from him. "I"m going home."

Sasha moved past him and headed towards the nearby woods. She needed to go somewhere else. Somewhere even farther. Home wasn"t an option anymore.

Excerpt From: Bound in Blood

Madrid, Spain: 1635

With considerable interest and excitement, Count Enrique Galvez watched the young man who had just entered the Grand Salon of the Palazzo de Granada. Tall, wide shouldered, with a mane of dark, almost black hair, and dressed fashionably in a coat of dark-green silk, the man exuded confidence and finesse. He would have been a stand-out in any social gathering, but here, amongst Madrid's nobility and jaded elite, he was magnificent.

Galvez was quick to make himself known. As soon as the man had been announced as Señor Carlos Galeano and greeted by his host and hostess, Galvez hurried across the room to where he stood making polite conversation.

"Your servant, Señor Galeano." The count bowed slightly. "I am Count Galvez, and I bid you welcome."

Carlos stared at the handsome count appraisingly. He had heard of him, and what he had heard were reasons not to seek him out as a friend. Still, garbed in a fine suit of blood-red silk, his dark-blue eyes alive with humour and mischief, Galvez seemed a suitable choice with whom to spend a few minutes of amiable conversation.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Count." Carlos returned Galvez's smile and bow. "Now, perhaps you can show me where I can quench my thirst."

"Indeed I can."

Galvez tucked his hand under Carlos' elbow and steered him across the crowded salon to where servants poured wine into large crystal goblets. Carlos could not help but notice the admiring stares he received from both men and women as they passed, nor the sometimes wary looks those same people cast upon his companion. Galvez picked up a goblet from one of the trays and handed it to Carlos with a quizzical lift of his left eyebrow.

"Red. Is it to your liking?"

"It is. Salud, Count."

"Salud." Galvez picked up another glass and, with a sultry smile, raised it. "To your health." His gaze locked on Carlos' golden-brown eyes. "And please call me Enrique. These endless formalities seem redundant nowadays."

The men sipped their wine then Carlos looked around the salon for a familiar face. "Ah, there she is," he said, relieved to see his cousin, the Lady Andorra, chatting with a group of dignitaries on the other side of the room.

Galvez frowned. "You know the Lady Andorra?"

"She is my cousin."

"Ah." Galvez looked at Carlos from under his lashes. "She shares your beauty-a pity she does not also share your charm."

Carlos stiffened with shock at the man's rudeness, but before he could utter the angry retort that sprang to his lips, the count chuckled and touched his arm. "The Lady Andorra does not care for me and makes no bones about it. I see her coming this way, so I shall leave you immediately, although temporarily, and avoid her ire." He turned on his heel and disappeared into the noisy throng.

Carlos watched with awe as his cousin glided across the floor towards him. The Lady Andorra was a woman of unsurpassed beauty. Regally tall, she wore a gown of some golden gossamer like material that shimmered and drifted about her body as though it were a part of her. Her pale creamy skin and startlingly large dark eyes under a luxurious fall of black-as-midnight hair made her the envy of every woman in the room and the object of lust for every man. But if these men and women had known Andorra's otherworldly beauty hid a dark secret, their envy and lust might have turned to sudden fear.

"Carlos, you have been here all of two minutes, and already, you have conversed with that charlatan, Galvez." Andorra's eyes held reproof mixed with concern. "The man is not a worthy companion for you."

"And good evening to you too, my cousin." Carlos lifted her cool hand to his lips. "May I say you look more beautiful than ever?"

"You may." Andorra melted under her cousin's charming smile. She tapped him gently on his chest with her fan. "But please beware of men like Galvez-and the company he keeps. The Comte d'Arcy is a friend of his."

"Who?"

"A degenerate who, it is rumoured, dabbles in the black arts."

Carlos shivered with mock fear. "Oh, then by all means I shall avoid their company. One should be very afraid of those who dabble in what does not exist."

He grinned, and Andorra tapped him again on the chest-this time harder. "Do not laugh at me, Carlos. Galvez and d'Arcy are reprehensible scoundrels and should be barred from attending these soirées. "

"My dear cousin, if you were to bar every scoundrel from attending, this room would be near to empty."

Andorra managed light laughter. "You may be right about that, Carlos, but there are scoundrels-and then there are men like Galvez and d'Arcy. Just be careful, is all I ask."

Excerpt From: Bound to Her

Steadying himself against the railing, Luka surveyed the room. A few paddles had fallen on the floor from the door slamming shut. A rose-coloured flogger hung from the back of it and swung back and forth.

The woman who'd stormed out hadn't even bothered to apologise for what she'd done or had been trying to do.

"Fuck!" Luka yelled. Pounding his fist on the railing in front of him, he steadied himself. The broad he'd just let go hadn't been able to get him off. She wasn't his mate" nor a very good submissive, either.

Too many damn bitches trying to top from the bottom.

Never try to top a wolf from the bottom. It was a dangerous thing to do, unless you wanted to be his dinner.

Worse yet, this partner was human.

Clutching a singletail with one hand, he lifted his free one to touch the gold, diamond-shaped pendant that swung against his sweat-covered chest. It hadn't so much as warmed when he'd brought her into this room and stripped her.

She was hot, too. Pert tits that thrust out, long, curly hair that swayed past her ass when she tilted her head back and gave him a glance at her exposed curves. And the trail of her slender neck had made him hard.

But her appearance did nothing for the pendant that was supposed to bind him to a woman.

Sighing again, he hung the singletail back on one of the tacks from the toy wall. Heading towards the exit of this room, he decided going upstairs for a drink was the best course of action.

Oh, and he'd probably have to have Tiffany come over and clean up the room. His occasional submissive-in-training hadn't been over in probably six weeks, now, and the house was becoming a mess.

He'd sent her away in hopes that another female wouldn't smell her and become insanely jealous.

Snorting, he headed upstairs and into the kitchen. Setting his hands on his hips, he pondered what to drink.

Glancing at his wet bar, he mentally perused what he had on hand. Vodka? No, too cold for now. Scotch? He wasn't in the mood for a cigar.

Bourbon? Nodding, he walked into the kitchen and retrieved a glass from the bar, filled it with two ice cubes and poured himself a drink.

Bringing the liquid up to his lips, he inhaled the charred American oak aroma. He took a sip and pondered his next move. He only had a few days left before the moon cycle came full circle and Diana chose a mate for him.

He didn't want her doing that.

Despite the fact all wolves belonged to Diana, they were still sovereign. At least as Northern California's pack Alpha, that was his stance.

The fact was that if Diana chose his mate, he'd be relegated to being the pack beta. Leaders moved before it was time, she said. Not when the time was up.

Taking a larger sip of bourbon, he let the alcohol slide down his throat and warm him. It was winter outside, and regardless of the fact he"d been born a wolf, the creature comforts of humans still amused him.

Setting his glass down on the marble countertop, he picked up the phone and called for Tiffany to come over. The conversation was brief. He spoke, she listened.

He spoke more. She agreed and happily scheduled time to come over.

She was the perfect submissive, it seemed.

Excerpt From: Bound to the Billionaire

Bared to Him by Sierra Cartwright

"Which floor?"

"Twelve, thanks," Myka said slightly breathlessly. He’d patiently held the elevator door open while she hurried across the lobby of the downtown Denver office building. She’d been at lunch too long—the quarterly gathering with her college girlfriends had been too scandalously delicious to leave. As the waiter had brought a second glass of wine for each of them, they’d shared stories of their sex lives—the thrills and droughts—and now she was running late for a meeting with a client.

The man pushed the button for the twelfth floor and then fifteen, presumably for his. The elevator doors slid shut.

"How’s the book?"

Self-consciously she moved the bestselling paperback behind her. "I just borrowed it from a friend." Borrowed it? Prised it from Kathleen’s unwilling fingers was more like it. Everywhere Myka went, it seemed people were talking about the book, and, after some of her friends’ confessions over lunch, Myka had been desperate to read it. She knew little about BDSM, yet what she knew intrigued her. But where would she find a man into that kind of kink? Her last boyfriend had freaked out and left when she’d brought out scarves and asked him to tie her up.

"Do you know anything about the book?" he asked.

She took a second look at him. He was taller than her, by at least six inches, and that said something since she was unusually tall. In heels, she wasn’t used to looking up at many people.

He appeared to be in his late thirties. His dark hair had a smattering of appealing grey at the temples. It added to his distinguished good looks.

His eyes were a startling green. She had the odd sense that he saw through her tough exterior into her innermost secrets.

She knew she was staring, but she couldn’t look away. His scent seemed to brand the air—something crisp and outdoorsy, a stamp of primal male power and intrigue. Even his clothing captured attention.

Myka made a decent living as a financial adviser, and she recognised quality. The suit that had been exquisitely tailored to fit his toned body cost at least a month of her salary.

"So, do you?"

She was lost. "Do I what?"

"Do you know anything about the book?"

He captured her gaze. Instinct told her to look away, but she couldn’t. Unnerved, she stepped forward so she could exit quickly. "It’s hard not to," she said. "It’s being talked about everywhere." Realising she was in danger of babbling, something she did not do, she countered, "Have you read it?"

"I haven’t read it, no. There’s no need."

A bell dinged, signalling that she’d reached her floor. "No need?" she asked.

"I live the lifestyle," he said.

The doors slid open.

He moved forward, crowding her space. She’d have to brush past him to exit. He pressed the button to keep the doors open. "Look me up if you’re curious."

This man, tall and broad, had an air of easy command, as if he was accustomed to issuing orders and having others obey. She had an insane urge to treat him with respect he’d yet to earn. She felt her body grow warmer.

He stepped aside, and she exited the elevator. The doors slid closed.

Made for Him by Desiree Holt

I’m not making a mistake. This is the chance of a lifetime. Everything will be fine.

Teri Choate locked her fingers together in her lap, watching through the helicopter window as the Friday afternoon sun lit the waters of the Atlantic Ocean below her. A representative of Micah Sheridan’s had arrived at her condo in San Antonio at noon to take her to the private airstrip where the Sheridan Worldwide helo awaited her. Now, as they got closer and closer to his private island off the coast of Maine, as the weekend loomed before her, she forced back the case of nerves that kept trying to take over her body. This weekend was a test, for both her and Micah Sheridan. He wanted to push her, to see if she could fully match his needs as a Dom. What would he ask her to do that would show him she trusted him completely?

She wanted desperately to unlock his heart, because she’d had the misfortune to fall in love with the man and that was a disaster in the making. Could she submit to him as completely as he demanded, no matter what level he took her to? And could he finally unlock the shackles he kept around his emotions to make their relationship emotional as well as physical? Commit to something long term?

She had struggled for so long with the clash between her submissive nature and her strong personality. It had been a big step for her, even before she’d met Micah, to blend those two parts of her. Two sides of the same coin. The result had been some less than satisfactory relationships, leaving her to constrain her sexual activities to impersonal sessions at The Castle, the private bondage club she belonged to. It never ceased to amaze her that while she ran an executive employment agency that served clients everywhere, making decisions that involved power and money, once she took off her clothes she turned into someone else. She was sure that was the reason she’d never been able to build a lasting relationship.

Until Micah Sheridan. The man she knew could take control without controlling her.

At thirty-eight he had amassed a global fortune and was both respected and feared in business communities all over the world. The world saw him as a man in elegantly tailored clothing with a sharp business mind and a ruthless attitude, yet still playing with all the toys a man of his wealth accumulated.

She’d done her homework on him. She was aware that this home she was on her way to was only one of many. He had a villa in Cannes, one in Acapulco, a condo in Hong Kong and a chalet in Switzerland. He raced cars for fun, skied both the Alps and the Andes, kept fully outfitted yachts at each of his villas, and never carried a suitcase because every one of his homes was outfitted with his needs.

Waiting for Him by Natalie Dae

Shara twirled a lock of her dark hair and stared across the spacious penthouse living room at her Dom. Naked and spreading her legs, she leant back on their black leather sofa and waited for him to notice her. To say hello and smile. To give her that look, the one that told her she was his world and he’d left work behind.

He’d swept in minutes ago, long black hair streaming behind him, and dumped his briefcase on the walnut sideboard that housed alcohol and crystal glasses, napkins and their best silver cutlery. He’d seemed preoccupied, acting as though she wasn’t even there. That stung a little. Hadn’t she been eagerly anticipating his arrival? Hadn’t she been glancing at the clock, seeing only a minute or two had passed since she’d last checked? Hadn’t her heart been hammering, her pulse racing, her mind conjuring images of how their evening would go? Yes, she’d experienced a pang of hurt, of regret that, despite their talking to one another via computer for the best part of the day, his mood had changed rapidly since they’d last had contact.

Something had happened in between. Someone or something had upset him.

She could only hope he still wanted to play. Still wanted her.

He appeared lost, leaning his folded forearms on the top of the armchair like that, gazing into space somewhere in the vicinity of the large mirror hanging above the roaring fireplace. She wondered what he was seeing, what he was thinking, and whether she could erase it, make it all vanish so he never had to go through a moment’s hurt for the rest of his life. People thought because they had money they had no worries, but they didn’t know a damn thing. Life still went on for them much as it did for those who earned less, except their cash could solve the minor issues or remove boredom by allowing them to disappear on their boat for the day or dine out. He’d had a hard morning at the office, she knew that much, preparing for a meeting later in the afternoon, and all the money in the world wouldn’t take that tired, strained look from his face. Only she could do that by preoccupying him, or listening to what was on his mind and suggesting ways to solve issues.

I want to hold you, John.

She couldn’t, though. She’d have to wait as she’d been instructed, until he pulled himself back to the present.

His hair fell forward off his shoulders, partially obscuring his features, the rise of his cheek and the tip of his nose the only things she could see. The light from the chandelier caught his hair, giving that dark sheet a silver glimmer. She longed to touch it, to sift her fingers through the softness then fist it tight, forcing him to look at her, to acknowledge that she’d been waiting for him like this for an hour. To let him know if they needed to abandon their plans that was all right. It would be a letdown, considering she’d worked herself up into a state of frenzied excitement as he’d told her to do, but she was prepared to forgo play tonight if that was what he needed.

Look at me, John. Speak to me. Tell me what’s on your mind.

But that wasn’t the way it worked—the way he worked. He would only tell her what was wrong once he’d mulled it over, once he had to admit that he couldn’t find the solution alone. He hated to burden her.

Come to Him by Justine Elyot

She should have expected a lot of paperwork, but somehow the number of times she was required to sign on dotted lines still came as a shock to Erin.

"And the non-disclosure agreement," said the lawyer smoothly, passing another sheaf of printed material across the desk.

She read it through, trying to take her time and be level-headed, but her vision skittered across the page, picking up legalese phrases here and there. The gist was that she was never to discuss what passed between her and the lawyer’s client with any third party—most specifically she was never to publish any account of her experiences with him, nor ever mention his name in connection with hers.

Picking up the pen and signing, yet again, she let her eye fall on the printed-out copy of her original advertisement on MasterMe.com. That nervous moment of pressing the button and making her plea live to hundreds of thousands of fellow fetishists seemed a million years from today. She could barely read it without cringing now.

"You’ve all heard of the girl who auctioned off her virginity. Well, I’m no virgin, but I do need funding for my MA in Women’s Studies, and I can offer something that might well appeal to those dominant men among you.

I’m offering my submission.

Subject to agreement of limits etc. for a period of one calendar month—will probably have to be August owing to academic commitments—I can obey your every command and satisfy your every whim.

Tempted? Please apply to downcasteyes@submail.com.

I look forward to hearing your orders."

A blizzard of interest had buffeted her inbox, most of it spurious, but in the end she had narrowed down the field of bidders to three.

The winning bid had taken her breath away.

One million pounds.

Enough to fund a lifetime’s research, let alone the tract she intended to write on the contrast between Victorian and medieval attitudes to female sexuality. She had almost vomited when she had seen the email with the offer.

Of course, it had to be a hoax. Nobody would offer that. Nobody in their right mind, surely.

But communication over the telephone with ‘Mr Nobody’s’ legal team had convinced her that it was serious, and now she was meeting his solicitor in his London office to finalise the arrangement.

It didn’t help that a couple of journalists had seen her advertisement and posed as bidders themselves, hoping to get a story about what kind of woman might do such a thing. Erin had sniffed out their misogynistic agenda straight away and blocked them, but she was wary all the same.

Play to Him by Wendi Zwaduk

"You’re going on another date with him?" Kayla wrapped a lock of Rhiannon’s hair around the barrel of the curling iron. "I didn’t think he dated anyone twice."

"This is our third date, but who’s counting? And, really, what’s a date? We’re not going anywhere special. I’m just playing music for his customers. Nothing exciting." Rhiannon stared at her reflection in the mirror. Talk about scoring the best stylist in the business. She trusted Kayla to make her look beautiful before each show. Rhiannon pursed her lips and pinched her cheeks. The fat curls accentuated the sunken qualities of her face. She frowned. At twenty-seven, she already looked old. The black liner made the blue in her eyes pop and contrasted with her ivory skin well and paired with the inky colour of her hair nicely, but she worried everything looked too dark and moody. She shrugged. She played moody music, why not look the part? "Do you think I should ramp up the liner?" She squinted. "It’s too light, isn’t it?"

"You’re nervous for a not-really date, that’s a very-much-so date."

"I’m not nervous." What a liar. Rhiannon rubbed her sweaty palms on her thighs. Hell yes, she was nervous. Sebastian Chastain, billionaire playboy and owner of Rock Hard Toys and Gear, didn’t give second engagements. Unless the woman really tickled his fancy, he rarely offered a first chance for a play date. He’d signed a contract with her to play whenever he wanted and she’d agreed.

She shivered. Tingles radiated over her back from the memories of his whip spread over her skin. Her pussy creamed and she clenched her knees together. Besides, there was a chance the concert wouldn’t lead to more.

"Whatever." Kayla rolled her eyes. "Your hair is done. Thoughts?"

Not bad. Rhiannon twisted the cascade of curls on the top of her head. "I like it." The updo would keep her hair out of the way during the session with Sebastian. "Thank you."

"Cool." The stylist gathered her brushes and the bottles of hairspray. "Good luck. Maybe this guy will be the one who gets you to settle down."

"Settle down? Kayla, I don’t want to be tied down to a family and responsibilities. I want to be free and figure out who I am."

"And not be lonely." Kayla winked and strolled out of the room.

That word. Lonely. Rhiannon frowned at her reflection and sighed. She’d been without the affection from a man for so long. But she had a reason for keeping things separate. She stood and turned away from her image. Sebastian, though detached in the emotions category, gave her the kink she needed. And he was stable. He understood her boundaries.

Die for Him by Amy Valenti

What kind of billionaire holds a business meeting in a nightclub?

I put the finishing touches to my lipstick and clicked the cap back into place, then put it back on the dresser, not without reluctance. I’d have loved to take a purse with me, but it would just get in the way if I needed to move quickly.

"You ready?" Rick called from the living room.

"Think so." I picked up my only essential item for the evening, my trusty Glock pistol, and tucked it into its holster at my hip. After taking a last look around me, I headed out to meet Rick, who was staring, perplexed, at the collection of extreme sports gear piled in the corner.

"I thought you were on jury duty this week, not snowboarding and skydiving."

"Oh." I eyed the corner distractedly. "I keep meaning to pick that up, but I use it all so often that there doesn’t seem like much point."

He shuddered. "Man, I don’t know how you keep throwing yourself out of planes and down mountainsides and stuff. That would freak me the fuck out. Aren’t you scared of dying or something?"

I should be so lucky. I bit back the words before they emerged. I didn’t want the guys I worked with to know I couldn’t find much to live for these days and needed a good jolt of adrenaline to get my kicks. That’d get me suspended on psych leave, or worse, fired. I could hardly handle two days of jury duty, never mind a life of leisure with no wages to fund my need for extreme sports.

Rick turned and looked me up and down. "Nice. I love the way the Kevlar brings out your eyes."

"Thanks." I rolled my eyes and adjusted the vest below my black shirt. Said shirt was the loosest piece of what could pass as clubwear I owned, but to a trained eye like Rick’s, the body armour was easy to spot. Luckily, I wasn’t trying too hard to pass myself off as a civilian—I was only covering up the vest to avoid freaking out the rest of the club’s patrons. It wasn’t a sexy look, but it was functional. "Remind me where this club is, again?"

"Just off Miller Street." Rick switched to businesslike, heading for the door, and I followed, locking up behind us. "I’ll drive."

"And you’re sure it’s an invitation-only night?"

"Positive. While you were sitting around taking it easy on jury duty, we were vetting the guest list and checking out the venue. You’re gonna love it."

Judging by the grin on his face, I wasn’t too sure about that.

I slid into the passenger seat and buckled up, waiting for Rick to do the same on the driver’s side before continuing the conversation. "So why is he having a business meeting in a nightclub anyway? He’s only got one more night until the big meeting that’s put his life in danger to start with. Wouldn’t he be safer waiting until this is all over?"

Excerpt From: Bound to the Billionaire

Bared to Him by Sierra Cartwright

"Which floor?"

"Twelve, thanks," Myka said slightly breathlessly. He’d patiently held the elevator door open while she hurried across the lobby of the downtown Denver office building. She’d been at lunch too long—the quarterly gathering with her college girlfriends had been too scandalously delicious to leave. As the waiter had brought a second glass of wine for each of them, they’d shared stories of their sex lives—the thrills and droughts—and now she was running late for a meeting with a client.

The man pushed the button for the twelfth floor and then fifteen, presumably for his. The elevator doors slid shut.

"How’s the book?"

Self-consciously she moved the bestselling paperback behind her. "I just borrowed it from a friend." Borrowed it? Prised it from Kathleen’s unwilling fingers was more like it. Everywhere Myka went, it seemed people were talking about the book, and, after some of her friends’ confessions over lunch, Myka had been desperate to read it. She knew little about BDSM, yet what she knew intrigued her. But where would she find a man into that kind of kink? Her last boyfriend had freaked out and left when she’d brought out scarves and asked him to tie her up.

"Do you know anything about the book?" he asked.

She took a second look at him. He was taller than her, by at least six inches, and that said something since she was unusually tall. In heels, she wasn’t used to looking up at many people.

He appeared to be in his late thirties. His dark hair had a smattering of appealing grey at the temples. It added to his distinguished good looks.

His eyes were a startling green. She had the odd sense that he saw through her tough exterior into her innermost secrets.

She knew she was staring, but she couldn’t look away. His scent seemed to brand the air—something crisp and outdoorsy, a stamp of primal male power and intrigue. Even his clothing captured attention.

Myka made a decent living as a financial adviser, and she recognised quality. The suit that had been exquisitely tailored to fit his toned body cost at least a month of her salary.

"So, do you?"

She was lost. "Do I what?"

"Do you know anything about the book?"

He captured her gaze. Instinct told her to look away, but she couldn’t. Unnerved, she stepped forward so she could exit quickly. "It’s hard not to," she said. "It’s being talked about everywhere." Realising she was in danger of babbling, something she did not do, she countered, "Have you read it?"

"I haven’t read it, no. There’s no need."

A bell dinged, signalling that she’d reached her floor. "No need?" she asked.

"I live the lifestyle," he said.

The doors slid open.

He moved forward, crowding her space. She’d have to brush past him to exit. He pressed the button to keep the doors open. "Look me up if you’re curious."

This man, tall and broad, had an air of easy command, as if he was accustomed to issuing orders and having others obey. She had an insane urge to treat him with respect he’d yet to earn. She felt her body grow warmer.

He stepped aside, and she exited the elevator. The doors slid closed.

Made for Him by Desiree Holt

I’m not making a mistake. This is the chance of a lifetime. Everything will be fine.

Teri Choate locked her fingers together in her lap, watching through the helicopter window as the Friday afternoon sun lit the waters of the Atlantic Ocean below her. A representative of Micah Sheridan’s had arrived at her condo in San Antonio at noon to take her to the private airstrip where the Sheridan Worldwide helo awaited her. Now, as they got closer and closer to his private island off the coast of Maine, as the weekend loomed before her, she forced back the case of nerves that kept trying to take over her body. This weekend was a test, for both her and Micah Sheridan. He wanted to push her, to see if she could fully match his needs as a Dom. What would he ask her to do that would show him she trusted him completely?

She wanted desperately to unlock his heart, because she’d had the misfortune to fall in love with the man and that was a disaster in the making. Could she submit to him as completely as he demanded, no matter what level he took her to? And could he finally unlock the shackles he kept around his emotions to make their relationship emotional as well as physical? Commit to something long term?

She had struggled for so long with the clash between her submissive nature and her strong personality. It had been a big step for her, even before she’d met Micah, to blend those two parts of her. Two sides of the same coin. The result had been some less than satisfactory relationships, leaving her to constrain her sexual activities to impersonal sessions at The Castle, the private bondage club she belonged to. It never ceased to amaze her that while she ran an executive employment agency that served clients everywhere, making decisions that involved power and money, once she took off her clothes she turned into someone else. She was sure that was the reason she’d never been able to build a lasting relationship.

Until Micah Sheridan. The man she knew could take control without controlling her.

At thirty-eight he had amassed a global fortune and was both respected and feared in business communities all over the world. The world saw him as a man in elegantly tailored clothing with a sharp business mind and a ruthless attitude, yet still playing with all the toys a man of his wealth accumulated.

She’d done her homework on him. She was aware that this home she was on her way to was only one of many. He had a villa in Cannes, one in Acapulco, a condo in Hong Kong and a chalet in Switzerland. He raced cars for fun, skied both the Alps and the Andes, kept fully outfitted yachts at each of his villas, and never carried a suitcase because every one of his homes was outfitted with his needs.

Waiting for Him by Natalie Dae

Shara twirled a lock of her dark hair and stared across the spacious penthouse living room at her Dom. Naked and spreading her legs, she leant back on their black leather sofa and waited for him to notice her. To say hello and smile. To give her that look, the one that told her she was his world and he’d left work behind.

He’d swept in minutes ago, long black hair streaming behind him, and dumped his briefcase on the walnut sideboard that housed alcohol and crystal glasses, napkins and their best silver cutlery. He’d seemed preoccupied, acting as though she wasn’t even there. That stung a little. Hadn’t she been eagerly anticipating his arrival? Hadn’t she been glancing at the clock, seeing only a minute or two had passed since she’d last checked? Hadn’t her heart been hammering, her pulse racing, her mind conjuring images of how their evening would go? Yes, she’d experienced a pang of hurt, of regret that, despite their talking to one another via computer for the best part of the day, his mood had changed rapidly since they’d last had contact.

Something had happened in between. Someone or something had upset him.

She could only hope he still wanted to play. Still wanted her.

He appeared lost, leaning his folded forearms on the top of the armchair like that, gazing into space somewhere in the vicinity of the large mirror hanging above the roaring fireplace. She wondered what he was seeing, what he was thinking, and whether she could erase it, make it all vanish so he never had to go through a moment’s hurt for the rest of his life. People thought because they had money they had no worries, but they didn’t know a damn thing. Life still went on for them much as it did for those who earned less, except their cash could solve the minor issues or remove boredom by allowing them to disappear on their boat for the day or dine out. He’d had a hard morning at the office, she knew that much, preparing for a meeting later in the afternoon, and all the money in the world wouldn’t take that tired, strained look from his face. Only she could do that by preoccupying him, or listening to what was on his mind and suggesting ways to solve issues.

I want to hold you, John.

She couldn’t, though. She’d have to wait as she’d been instructed, until he pulled himself back to the present.

His hair fell forward off his shoulders, partially obscuring his features, the rise of his cheek and the tip of his nose the only things she could see. The light from the chandelier caught his hair, giving that dark sheet a silver glimmer. She longed to touch it, to sift her fingers through the softness then fist it tight, forcing him to look at her, to acknowledge that she’d been waiting for him like this for an hour. To let him know if they needed to abandon their plans that was all right. It would be a letdown, considering she’d worked herself up into a state of frenzied excitement as he’d told her to do, but she was prepared to forgo play tonight if that was what he needed.

Look at me, John. Speak to me. Tell me what’s on your mind.

But that wasn’t the way it worked—the way he worked. He would only tell her what was wrong once he’d mulled it over, once he had to admit that he couldn’t find the solution alone. He hated to burden her.

Come to Him by Justine Elyot

She should have expected a lot of paperwork, but somehow the number of times she was required to sign on dotted lines still came as a shock to Erin.

"And the non-disclosure agreement," said the lawyer smoothly, passing another sheaf of printed material across the desk.

She read it through, trying to take her time and be level-headed, but her vision skittered across the page, picking up legalese phrases here and there. The gist was that she was never to discuss what passed between her and the lawyer’s client with any third party—most specifically she was never to publish any account of her experiences with him, nor ever mention his name in connection with hers.

Picking up the pen and signing, yet again, she let her eye fall on the printed-out copy of her original advertisement on MasterMe.com. That nervous moment of pressing the button and making her plea live to hundreds of thousands of fellow fetishists seemed a million years from today. She could barely read it without cringing now.

"You’ve all heard of the girl who auctioned off her virginity. Well, I’m no virgin, but I do need funding for my MA in Women’s Studies, and I can offer something that might well appeal to those dominant men among you.

I’m offering my submission.

Subject to agreement of limits etc. for a period of one calendar month—will probably have to be August owing to academic commitments—I can obey your every command and satisfy your every whim.

Tempted? Please apply to downcasteyes@submail.com.

I look forward to hearing your orders."

A blizzard of interest had buffeted her inbox, most of it spurious, but in the end she had narrowed down the field of bidders to three.

The winning bid had taken her breath away.

One million pounds.

Enough to fund a lifetime’s research, let alone the tract she intended to write on the contrast between Victorian and medieval attitudes to female sexuality. She had almost vomited when she had seen the email with the offer.

Of course, it had to be a hoax. Nobody would offer that. Nobody in their right mind, surely.

But communication over the telephone with ‘Mr Nobody’s’ legal team had convinced her that it was serious, and now she was meeting his solicitor in his London office to finalise the arrangement.

It didn’t help that a couple of journalists had seen her advertisement and posed as bidders themselves, hoping to get a story about what kind of woman might do such a thing. Erin had sniffed out their misogynistic agenda straight away and blocked them, but she was wary all the same.

Play to Him by Wendi Zwaduk

"You’re going on another date with him?" Kayla wrapped a lock of Rhiannon’s hair around the barrel of the curling iron. "I didn’t think he dated anyone twice."

"This is our third date, but who’s counting? And, really, what’s a date? We’re not going anywhere special. I’m just playing music for his customers. Nothing exciting." Rhiannon stared at her reflection in the mirror. Talk about scoring the best stylist in the business. She trusted Kayla to make her look beautiful before each show. Rhiannon pursed her lips and pinched her cheeks. The fat curls accentuated the sunken qualities of her face. She frowned. At twenty-seven, she already looked old. The black liner made the blue in her eyes pop and contrasted with her ivory skin well and paired with the inky colour of her hair nicely, but she worried everything looked too dark and moody. She shrugged. She played moody music, why not look the part? "Do you think I should ramp up the liner?" She squinted. "It’s too light, isn’t it?"

"You’re nervous for a not-really date, that’s a very-much-so date."

"I’m not nervous." What a liar. Rhiannon rubbed her sweaty palms on her thighs. Hell yes, she was nervous. Sebastian Chastain, billionaire playboy and owner of Rock Hard Toys and Gear, didn’t give second engagements. Unless the woman really tickled his fancy, he rarely offered a first chance for a play date. He’d signed a contract with her to play whenever he wanted and she’d agreed.

She shivered. Tingles radiated over her back from the memories of his whip spread over her skin. Her pussy creamed and she clenched her knees together. Besides, there was a chance the concert wouldn’t lead to more.

"Whatever." Kayla rolled her eyes. "Your hair is done. Thoughts?"

Not bad. Rhiannon twisted the cascade of curls on the top of her head. "I like it." The updo would keep her hair out of the way during the session with Sebastian. "Thank you."

"Cool." The stylist gathered her brushes and the bottles of hairspray. "Good luck. Maybe this guy will be the one who gets you to settle down."

"Settle down? Kayla, I don’t want to be tied down to a family and responsibilities. I want to be free and figure out who I am."

"And not be lonely." Kayla winked and strolled out of the room.

That word. Lonely. Rhiannon frowned at her reflection and sighed. She’d been without the affection from a man for so long. But she had a reason for keeping things separate. She stood and turned away from her image. Sebastian, though detached in the emotions category, gave her the kink she needed. And he was stable. He understood her boundaries.

Die for Him by Amy Valenti

What kind of billionaire holds a business meeting in a nightclub?

I put the finishing touches to my lipstick and clicked the cap back into place, then put it back on the dresser, not without reluctance. I’d have loved to take a purse with me, but it would just get in the way if I needed to move quickly.

"You ready?" Rick called from the living room.

"Think so." I picked up my only essential item for the evening, my trusty Glock pistol, and tucked it into its holster at my hip. After taking a last look around me, I headed out to meet Rick, who was staring, perplexed, at the collection of extreme sports gear piled in the corner.

"I thought you were on jury duty this week, not snowboarding and skydiving."

"Oh." I eyed the corner distractedly. "I keep meaning to pick that up, but I use it all so often that there doesn’t seem like much point."

He shuddered. "Man, I don’t know how you keep throwing yourself out of planes and down mountainsides and stuff. That would freak me the fuck out. Aren’t you scared of dying or something?"

I should be so lucky. I bit back the words before they emerged. I didn’t want the guys I worked with to know I couldn’t find much to live for these days and needed a good jolt of adrenaline to get my kicks. That’d get me suspended on psych leave, or worse, fired. I could hardly handle two days of jury duty, never mind a life of leisure with no wages to fund my need for extreme sports.

Rick turned and looked me up and down. "Nice. I love the way the Kevlar brings out your eyes."

"Thanks." I rolled my eyes and adjusted the vest below my black shirt. Said shirt was the loosest piece of what could pass as clubwear I owned, but to a trained eye like Rick’s, the body armour was easy to spot. Luckily, I wasn’t trying too hard to pass myself off as a civilian—I was only covering up the vest to avoid freaking out the rest of the club’s patrons. It wasn’t a sexy look, but it was functional. "Remind me where this club is, again?"

"Just off Miller Street." Rick switched to businesslike, heading for the door, and I followed, locking up behind us. "I’ll drive."

"And you’re sure it’s an invitation-only night?"

"Positive. While you were sitting around taking it easy on jury duty, we were vetting the guest list and checking out the venue. You’re gonna love it."

Judging by the grin on his face, I wasn’t too sure about that.

I slid into the passenger seat and buckled up, waiting for Rick to do the same on the driver’s side before continuing the conversation. "So why is he having a business meeting in a nightclub anyway? He’s only got one more night until the big meeting that’s put his life in danger to start with. Wouldn’t he be safer waiting until this is all over?"

Excerpt From: Bound Together

Simon studied the binding on the book he held and sighed. Shredded beyond repair on the spine and the cover was spotted with damp. He opened it carefully and ran a gloved finger down one badly foxed page, smiling as he caught a familiar sentence or two. Kidnapped had been one of his favourite books as a child.

With a final, friendly pat, he set the book aside and took out another from the box on the floor, enjoying the flash of anticipation. He'd bought the box the day before at an auction sale, contents unseen. Lot 399, assorted children's books. They could have been dog-eared copies of abridged Enid Blyton paperbacks; they might have been something collectable by Brent-Dyer or Oxenham, tales of girls at boarding schools, not to his own taste, but they'd be greeted eagerly by some people he knew.

Or they might have been much older as was the case here, much-loved, often-read, but stored in appalling conditions and really, virtually worthless.

It didn't matter. He treated himself to one of these grab bags from time to time after the serious bidding was over; his reward for a tiring day making small talk with fellow book collectors. His work at the British Library, one of the team dealing with keeping the books in as perfect condition as possible, meant that his professional life and his hobby flowed into each other. Sometimes it got a little too much and he needed to remind himself that collecting books was something he enjoyed.

He put the book he held back into the box without identifying it, suddenly restless. Spring had come to London in a flurry of flowers and rain and the air smelled faintly of something other than exhaust fumes and the exhaled breath of too many people.

Simon found his thoughts turning to Mole, who had felt a similar distaste for the mundane and left his home to find the river and Ratty. The river didn't appeal, but going out for a drink did, even if it was Monday and most places would be dead. And if he ended the night in a hotel room somewhere, smiling at a stranger whose name he wouldn't bother to remember in the morning, well, that was another form of treat and it had been too long since he'd indulged himself.

He was twenty-eight, but sometimes he felt as if the numbers that made up his age had been flipped. Shaking off his unsettled mood, he went to take a quick shower and was about to unbutton his shirt when he heard a knock at the front door. His house was a high, narrow one, sandwiched between two others that had been converted into offices-which meant that it was quiet in the evenings, but parking was impossible. Visitors were usually looking for his neighbours. He tugged at the front door, which had a tendency to stick in the damp, and pushed the tails of his shirt back inside his trousers with his other hand.

"Yes?" The man on the doorstep was young enough to be one of the office workers, who all seemed to be in their early twenties, a phone permanently clamped to their ears, but he lacked their brittle polish and the piercings in his left ear, three of them, jagged-edged heavy hoops, were a world away from a discreetly fashionable statement.

All swagger and spit. Simon eyed him coolly, noting the muscles under the leather jacket and the short, bright gold of his hair, unabashedly artificial. It would feel stiff against his hand, and dry, and he'd let his hands wander in search of where it grew darker, softer, crisply curling. My type? Oh, fuck, yes, but somehow I doubt he's here to offer me a complimentary blow job.

Excerpt From: Boy Toys

Dana Matthews stared out the car window at the passing English countryside and tried to tamp down her resentment over this assignment. Okay, perhaps it wasn’t resentment. It was more frustration than anything else.

Since her research scientist position in the United States had been eliminated, she’d been dancing on a taut wire—taking the same job within a different branch of the company, transferring to a new country, leaving behind her husband. Ex-husband now, she reminded herself. He’d been set to join her until she’d discovered a few months abstinence had been too much for him. He’d screwed their next door neighbour, Miss skeezy pants—Miss I’m-twenty-two-and-you’re-not skeezy pants—and tried to claim it was a mid-life crisis.

“You okay, Dana?”

Dana glanced over at the brown-haired man beside her and nodded. Jason Kerzi and the other passenger of the car, Christopher Brown, were part of her problem. Also research scientists, but working different projects, the two were headed to London to meet with the Powers-That-Be and explain the findings on their latest work…something about frog DNA and a cancer gene. She hadn’t worked on their experiments so other than witnessing excited whispers from the other side of the lab while they ran computer models, she didn’t pretend to know what they’d discovered.

Their work had little bearing on her own experiments. Which made her question her presence on this trip.

There was no doubt in her mind, she’d been sent to chaperone the dynamic duo while they met with the big wigs who were flying over from the Former British Territories AKA the United States. It galled her. Why should she play mother-hen to the boys? Thirty-seven wasn’t old, damn it. Certainly not eighty. Surely the twenty-somethings could keep themselves in line for a few days.

This assignment put her last frayed nerve on edge. Not because the meeting would suck up her weekend. Not even because she had to chaperone. She took a deep breath and inhaled the intoxicating scents of her companions’ colognes.

Her tension stemmed from the fact that she found both men unsettlingly attractive. Attractive? That was an understatement. She wanted them both with a lust befitting a nubile co-ed. And she’d done her best to hide it for the last eight months. That didn’t stop her from alternately fantasising about one or the other of them in her bed each night.

She sighed, hoping neither of them caught her mooning over them this weekend. How embarrassing would that be? Hopefully, they’d get to their hotel and she could closet herself in her room until morning. After several hours closed in this car with them, she could use a break from their magnetism.

Maybe she was going through some sort of mid-life crisis. She stifled a snort. She’d always told her husband she’d trade him in for two half his age. At twenty-seven each, Christopher and Jason almost qualified.

Christopher turned in his seat to look back at her, the late-afternoon sun catching his golden-blond hair. “Are you sure you’re not feeling a bit off? We should be there soon and you can nick a bit of sleep before tonight.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Tonight?” she repeated slowly, looking between the two of them.

Jason’s blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Yes, we’ve been talking—”

“Plotting, you mean,” she interrupted.

He laughed and her pussy immediately clenched. Her fingers fisted on the seat beside her. Please, God, don’t let them be able to smell how aroused I am. Aroused? Pathetic. What would they think if they knew their co-worker, a woman ten years older, wanted to fuck them? They’d probably be horrified…especially when they discovered she harboured thoughts of having both of them at once.

Jason patted her hand, sending a tremor to her core. “You’ve never visited London except for a brief trip from Heathrow. We want to show you the sights.”

“I don’t think so,” she replied, her voice a bit shaky. “It’s been a long day. You two go party—or whatever you’ve got planned—and I’ll hang out in my room.”

The men exchanged a glance, then each resumed a face-forward position. She suddenly suspected there had been a plethora of silent communication in their small exchange. Great. Now she was paranoid, too? She took a deep breath and tried to remember she was a respected scientist in her field. This lack of self confidence wasn’t necessary.

Excerpt From: Breaking the Devil

Sometimes Mack wondered what the hell he’d been thinking, to spend his life in Texas when he could have moved on once his father passed away. Maybe before then, even, but it’d have been one hell of a fight.

His father had been a controlling man, claiming his family more as property than as loved ones. Even from the grave, he’d probably have found a way to drag Mack home if he’d ever tried to leave.

Lord, he was getting fanciful. Too many years in the heat, probably cooked something upstairs.

Summers in Texas were brutal, cooking a man from the inside out, it seemed. August in particular was a real bitch, with temperatures frequently hitting triple digits.

He should have moved somewhere like Montana, although he’d probably have died from shock when the temperature dipped below freezing. Still, he’d have got out of Texas, seen a little more of the US of A than just his part of the Lonestar State.

Oh well, what’s done is done. I got my life here, and if I don’t like it, ain’t no one to blame but myself.

"Hey, boss, I’m gonna go check the fence along the west pasture, make sure Rancy patched it up right."

Mack grunted at Fred, one of the newer hands he’d hired—newer being relative as Fred had been there for about two years now. He waved Fred off and was left alone again with his thoughts, which was never a good thing. Mack snorted at his melancholy mood and strode from his porch across the dusty yard.

He knew where he wanted to go—the same place he kept finding himself drawn to again and again here lately. There wasn’t a reason for him not to. He had a few minutes, and the hands were all out working. He could indulge himself in a few minutes of observation.

Mack stopped at the corral under the hot Texas sun, sweat trickling down his back to pool at the waistband of his jeans from the short walk he’d taken. Another few hours and he’d be soaked and smelling as rank as one of his bulls.

Well, he wasn’t the only one, and a hard day’s work should leave a man sweaty and in need of a good scrubbing. Preferably with someone else doing the scrubbing for him, but that wasn’t going to happen. No use thinking on what it’d be like if it did.

Mack redirected his train of thought to something useful, like what he’d come out here to look at. He cocked his hip and propped one booted foot on the lowest wooden rail, his arms resting on the top one as he watched the beast inside the corral snort and paw at the ground.

Inside the corral stood the meanest, foulest stallion he’d ever seen—and also the most magnificent. A huge horse, too, his size matching his nasty disposition. Mack wondered half the time why he’d ever bothered buying the damn critter. The other half of the time he admitted it was because he didn’t like anything that was easy, not in most cases, at least. While he didn’t want a horse that was going to stomp him to death, he did like a challenge.

As the sun shone onto the horse’s coat, Mack couldn’t help but notice how that deep, dark colour reminded him of things better left forgotten. Of one man, specifically, that he wished he could forget. He’d had rich auburn hair and a temperament not dissimilar to that of the pissed-off horse now before Mack. Years ago, that temper the red-haired man had wielded had flamed hot and burned into a passion so fierce it’d left scars behind.

Shaking his head, Mack pushed back the memories of Justin. There was no use in dragging back up all that pain and longing. He’d already wasted way too much time on what-ifs and maybes. He should have learnt his lesson many times over, but one thing he had in common with that ornery red horse—he was pretty damned stubborn too. Just not stubborn enough to keep those memories buried where they belonged.

The heat must have melted his resolve because Justin kept popping up in his thoughts. It was a waste of time, because Justin was long freakin’ gone, and Mack figured that he had never meant more to the man than a fast fuck, a way to get off.

Hell, he didn’t just figure it, he knew it. Hadn’t Justin told him so himself? Yeah, he’d broken something inside Mack all those years ago.

Sometime since, Mack had heard that Justin had joined up in the military—the Marines, specifically. He was supposed to have all sorts of medals and such. Used to be every now and then when Mack was in town, he would overhear Justin’s daddy talking about his son’s accomplishments, but Mack’s pride kept him from making any inquiries.

If he’d had enough pride, Mack figured he wouldn’t have even given enough of a shit to listen to the gossip. But those talons of need Justin had dug into him long ago had never been completely disengaged.

The old man had been dead for a while now, and Mack hadn’t heard anything else about Justin for a good while. Strange, really, because his tiny little hometown was a hive of gossip. Guess there ain’t no one who knows anything about Justin, so they can’t talk about him.

Well, regardless, he reckoned it was a good thing he had just been an experiment. That way Justin hadn’t had to worry about that whole Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell thing. Mack would bet even with it being lifted, there was still plenty of problems facing anyone who wasn’t straight in the military. Hell, unless you was straight, you couldn’t marry in most states, and your spouse didn’t get military benefits anyway even if the marriage was done up all legal.

"Enough already," he scolded himself. It was a certainty that Justin hadn’t wasted years—years—dwelling on what might have been. Normally Mack didn’t think on it so heavily himself, but that angry red horse just stirred up memories. He really shouldn’t have agreed to tame the damn critter.

The stallion snorted, pawing at the ground and tossing its head, sending that silky mane rippling in the faint afternoon breeze.

"Fuckin’ red devil." Mack reached slowly into his shirt pocket to pull out a few sugar cubes. He was vaguely aware of hoof beats coming from off to the side, but didn’t pay any attention since he figured it was just one of the hands coming back in from working.

Mack concentrated on keeping his body relaxed, his voice low and smooth and sweet. The words didn’t matter so much, but the tone… Well, that was the trick, wasn’t it? Making a mean beast listen to you, lulling it into complacency—or at least out of murderous intent. Mack extended his arm, sugar cubes in hand. Bribing the beautiful bastard hadn’t worked yet, but maybe eventually it would.

Excerpt from: Breaking the Rules

�What do you think you�re doing?� A strong hand gripped Margo�s shoulder.

Margo was in no mood for harassment. After three hours trudging the aisles of World Foods looking for items to satisfy Wives-R-Us� pickiest client, she was pricklier than a porcupine, and some stranger was about to fall victim to her quills.

She was only shielding her eyes from the sun, studying the shade of blue paint going on her house. An innocent pursuit. So she took her time giving the painter a nod of approval, hoping to annoy the man behind her. �It�s fine,� she said.

�It isn�t fine. You can�t use that colour.�

His voice was deep and sexy and the scent of Polo, her favourite male cologne, wrapped itself around her. But Margo didn�t like bossy men and didn�t enjoy being told what to do.

Shaking loose from his grip, she whirled on him. �What do you think you�re doing, manhandling me? And who do you think you are, telling me what I can and can�t do?�

He took a step back and held up a hand as if to ward her off. �I�m Britain Hunter and I live in the corner house over there.�

He pointed to the other side of the street but she couldn�t tear her eyes off him. Britain was tall, dark and drop-dead handsome, and if that was clich�, it was true but an understatement. Gazing into hot, whiskey brown eyes set in a chiselled face, she struggled to maintain her composure. If ever a guy had bedroom eyes, this one did. Picturing him straddling her, his face close, his breath hot on her face, his lips parted� Her pulse raced and the heat built in her loins. This man was her neighbour, yet she�d never seen him before, and now she longed to see every inch of him.

Turning away at last, she took a glance and saw a house identical to hers. Even the colour would be the same when hers was finished. Britain was much more pleasant to look at. His full lips appeared totally kissable and the slight stubble of beard that shadowed his face invited her touch. Wishing she could caress his cheek and run her fingers down over his chin to his neck where a tiny patch of chest hair peeked over the top of his shirt, Margo felt herself grow moist.

�That colour is no longer available.� He stood with his feet wide apart, arms folded.

It was a shame he was so disagreeable. His firm tone and stance reminded her of a school principal who�d given her detention for spraying her hair purple. She folded her arms. �There was plenty left at the paint store and if it�s all gone now, that�s not my problem. I bought what I need and it�s going on my house now.�

�Don�t you see�?� He pointed at his house again.

�Of course I do.� Margo shrugged. �If you don�t want them the same colour, why not paint yours a different one? I�ve already bought the paint and I love that shade.�

�Be reasonable.� He sighed heavily. �The house where I live is completely painted. My grandparents had two coats put on when the renovation began. Yours is barely started and you can return the unopened cans for a refund.�

Did he live with his grandparents or had they formerly resided there? He�d have a hard time bringing dates home with them in the house. With his looks he�d have no trouble attracting women. She was drawn to him like a bee to honey and she�d like a taste of what he had to offer. Maybe he rented from them and lived there alone. Odd she hadn�t noticed him around.

He stepped close and, towering over her, kept his arms folded. If he was trying to intimidate her it wasn�t working, but his male presence at close proximity did make her hot. Beads of perspiration popped out on her upper lip and rivulets ran down over her tingling nipples. If his sexual parts measured up to the rest of what she saw� Damn, she had to stop this line of thinking before she jumped the guy.

�You do know the homeowners in Wainwright Place are attempting to restore this neighbourhood and these houses to their original beauty, don�t you?�

�I�m not an idiot. Of course I know it. Would you like to see the floors I�ve refinished? Or all my cancelled checks for repairs and restoration?�

�I�m sorry, Mrs.�?�

�I�m not �Mrs.� Anyone. It�s Ms. and I�m Margo Allen.�

�Ms�� he began but she eyed him sharply. �Geez. What do you want me to say? Margo?�

�Why not? As neighbours arguing, I think a first name basis is acceptable.�

�This isn�t really an argument. It�s an informative discussion.�

�Ha!�

�You don�t want to be informed, you want to argue, but I�m a peace-loving guy.� He must have heard her say �ha� under her breath again because he smiled. He was even more devastating wearing a grin. �Do you try to make something out of nothing every time?�

She assumed what she hoped was an innocent expression and he shrugged.

�Okay, Margo, if you�ll call me Brit. Britain was my mother�s maiden name and I wish I�d had an older brother so he�d have gotten stuck with it. Even a sister. But no such luck.

�Margo, if you don�t mind me asking, did you read your covenant?�

His smile was boyish and appealing but she was smart enough to know he was trying to soften her up. �Covenant, shovenant. I�m not a churchgoer. And I am not familiar with covenants that have to do with painting your house the same shade as your neighbour�s.�

Britain chuckled but she wasn�t about to give him the satisfaction of asking what was so funny. He was tanned so he must spend a lot of time outdoors, and she wondered if he made it a habit to police the neighbourhood for errant homeowners. With longish brown hair and thick eyelashes, he was sexy as hell. Too bad he was set on aggravating her.

�The covenant I�m talking about is with WPHA. Wainwright Place Homeowners� Association. Everyone who buys here has to sign an agreement to follow certain regulations.�

�I wouldn�t have signed anything so binding I couldn�t paint my own home the colour I want.� She tossed her head and the curls she�d been letting grow tickled her bare shoulders. She�d donned a yellow knit sundress after work at Wives-R-Us, making the most of the bright, hot days of late summer. Before long, autumn would cast its shadow over the Indianapolis suburbs.

Brit seemed to be taking advantage of the lingering warmth too. He wore khaki shorts that revealed strong leg muscles. His blue short-sleeve shirt pulled tight across his chest while displaying magnificent biceps, causing her to wonder what kind of work he did. Living in this neighbourhood he could be independently wealthy, but it would have to be old money. He was too young to have amassed his own fortune.

He had the nerve to laugh again. �You didn�t read it, did you? You signed the papers for a million dollar house without reading the fine print.� He threw up his hands and she seethed. �The architecture is basically identical in Wainwright Place, and using different colours gives them individuality, the covenant maintains. And I can�t argue. How about you?�

Hands on hips, she looked up and down the block and saw no two homes were painted the same shade. Even the gingerbread trim differed. She should have noticed. She decorated home interiors, for hell�s sake. Whether it was his looks and appeal�okay, sex appeal�or his manner, she kept flubbing up in front of him. She�d moved here for the house and no other reason. Most of the residents were senior citizens and had lived here a long time so they knew one another. Margo hadn�t socialised, but looking at Brit, realised she should have been more observant. The last thing she�d expected to find in Wainwright Place was a hot guy. Why had he moved here? Why am I so curious about this troublemaker?

Feeling the heat rise to her cheeks, she spoke quickly, hoping to end this embarrassing encounter. �Well, the powers-that-be should have given me a better colour. Look at this.� She slapped a hand against the exterior wall next to her front door. �Putrid tan. Puce, I think it�s called. Or maybe it�s puke. I didn�t choose it and I don�t like it.�

�Puce is dark red and this is yellow ochre.�

Damn, she�d done it again. Messed up in the vocabulary department. She wasn�t stupid, but she certainly was coming across that way. �It looks like baby poop. How the hell do you know so much about colours?�

�I�m in construction and that�s one of the things I had to learn. I don�t know what happened to painting houses white or colours with simple names but�� Brit shrugged. �There�s an approved list to choose from, one colour to a resident and Colony Blue is mine.�

He gave her what she supposed was meant to be a consoling smile, but she wasn�t consoled. What the hell colour was she supposed to use?

�If you want to learn more about the guidelines for owning here, there�s a WPHA meeting tomorrow night at six�� He broke off, chuckling. �In the aquamarine meeting house on Town Square.�

He walked off without a backward glance and she should know because she watched him all the way to his front door. Lean with broad shoulders and a narrow waist and hips, he was damned impressive. Margo�s heart fluttered, and wondering how he was in bed, she felt the heat build in her loins. �Aquamarine�. She smiled Brit�s stress of the fancy colour name proved he also had a sense of humour.

'Maggie's Menage' by Lacey Thorn

"You want me to play the whore for you? For the good of the company?"

"Watch your mouth Margaret Rose. Twenty five is not too old for a spanking young lady." She turned to look her father in the eye, saw the rising colour on his face and couldn't resist.

"Oh. You think that will make the men you have waiting hot for me. Show them a little kink to get them revved up?"

"Damn it Margaret. That is enough." That vein was really throbbing in his head now. And the colour was slowly going from red to purple.

"Does the business mean that much to you, Daddy? More than me?" She already knew the answer but some inner demon forced the question out of her mouth.

"I've spent my whole life building this company and I"ll be damned if it dies out after I'm gone. The name Houston will count for something long after I'm gone."

That demon was still there whispering in her ear. "I could run it. I know the ins and outs of the business. I thought you were grooming me for just that."

He laughed. Her father threw his head back and laughed and that last bit of the needy girl searching for the crumbs of her father's love disappeared. In her place was a woman he would regret creating.

"Like I would ever leave my baby to a woman. Your mother proved to be one failure after another. Only one child and even that was second rate. The damn woman couldn't even stay healthy. It was a blessing when she died."

Yeah, it probably was. For her mother. But for the four year old girl left behind it had been hell. She had always known that her father only let her work for him because he didn't know what else to do with her. But that tiny spot had remained, unwilling to give up hope that she was wrong.

There was a knock at the door and her father Dom Alexander Houston turned from her. Dismissing her without a second thought. And the anger began to grow inside her.

"The gentlemen that you've been expecting are here Mr. Houston." Her father's personal assistant said from the doorway. The woman was young, blonde and built. And most certainly sleeping with the boss. Maggie felt sorry for her. She wouldn't last any longer than the rest and when her father was done that was it. The poor girl didn't have a chance.

"Send them in."

Maggie stayed her ground refusing to leave without him coming right out and telling her to. If he forgot she was still here long enough then she would stay.

Appearances meant everything to him and he would do nothing to seem more than a doting father.

Two men stepped into the room. Both were tall with dark hair. One was maybe six feet even with broad shoulders and a stocky build. His body rippled with muscles beneath the suit that was obviously tailored just for him. His hair was clean cut, almost military short. What there was of it was a dark brown, almost a mocha shade.

His eyes when he glanced her way were a dark chocolate brown with what looked like flecks of gold in them but she would have to get a closer look to be sure.

The other one was taller, maybe six-foot-two or so with a much slimmer build. His clothes were just as tapered but revealed longer, leaner muscles. His hair was longer touching the top of his collar in back and dark as night. His eyes were a startling shade of blue that made one think of a perfect sky.

Testosterone oozed from them and filled the room. A shiver went down Maggie's spine and she wondered which one her father wanted her to marry. She had to think that they must want it as much as the old man did or they wouldn't be here. Neither seemed like the type that would be easily manipulated. No these were definitely alpha males. What she was planning for them might be more fun than she anticipated. But best of all it would destroy her father's plans to marry her off to the man of his choice. She couldn't contain the grin of triumph that tugged at her lips. Let the fun begin.

'Boy Toys' by Brynn Paulin

Dana Matthews stared out the car window at the passing English countryside and tried to tamp down her resentment over this assignment. Okay, perhaps it wasn�t resentment. It was more frustration than anything else.

Since her research scientist position in the United States had been eliminated, she'd been dancing on a taut wire�taking the same job within a different branch of the company, transferring to a new country, leaving behind her husband. Ex-husband now, she reminded herself. He'd been set to join her until she'd discovered a few months abstinence had been too much for him. He'd screwed their next door neighbour, Miss skeezy pants-Miss I'm-twenty-two-and-you're-not skeezy pants-and tried to claim it was a mid-life crisis.

"You okay, Dana?"

Dana glanced over at the brown-haired man beside her and nodded. Jason Kerzi and the other passenger of the car, Christopher Brown, were part of her problem. Also research scientists, but working different projects, the two were headed to London to meet with the Powers-That-Be and explain the findings on their latest work-something about frog DNA and a cancer gene. She hadn't worked on their experiments so other than witnessing excited whispers from the other side of the lab while they ran computer models, she didn't pretend to know what they'd discovered.

Their work had little bearing on her own experiments. Which made her question her presence on this trip.

There was no doubt in her mind, she'd been sent to chaperone the dynamic duo while they met with the big wigs who were flying over from the Former British Territories AKA the United States. It galled her. Why should she play mother-hen to the boys? Thirty-seven wasn't old, damn it. Certainly not eighty. Surely the twenty-somethings could keep themselves in line for a few days.

This assignment put her last frayed nerve on edge. Not because the meeting would suck up her weekend. Not even because she had to chaperone. She took a deep breath and inhaled the intoxicating scents of her companions' colognes.

Her tension stemmed from the fact that she found both men unsettlingly attractive. Attractive? That was an understatement. She wanted them both with a lust befitting a nubile co-ed. And she�d done her best to hide it for the last eight months. That didn�t stop her from alternately fantasising about one or the other of them in her bed each night.

She sighed, hoping neither of them caught her mooning over them this weekend. How embarrassing would that be? Hopefully, they'd get to their hotel and she could closet herself in her room until morning. After several hours closed in this car with them, she could use a break from their magnetism.

'Best Mates' by Ashley Ladd

Jennica Chapman felt so low she didn't think she could sink any further. Hurt and angry, she ripped up all the pictures she had of her ex, Thad, threw them in the sink and lit a match to them. As she watched the flames devour Thad's handsome but sleazy face, she gritted out between her teeth, "Up in flames with you. Kev and Alec had you pegged. Why didn't I listen?"

Afraid the smoke was getting too thick and would set off the fire alarm, she turned on the tap and doused the flames. Catching her blurry reflection in the tap's chrome, she stared at her distorted reflection. "Because you're a blithering idiot. Because you wanted a baby so badly, you would've settled for the wanker."

Mad at herself for letting the last two years tick away as her eggs grew stale, she scoured the sink and threw Thad's ashes into the rubbish.

Unfortunately that didn't make her feel much better. Neither did cranking up her music, soaking in the tub, or digging into a quart of Ben and Jerry's.

Her door shook with a sudden pounding and she rolled her eyes. Not in the mood to fend off a door-to-door salesman, and in particular hoping never to lay eyes on Thad again, she ignored it.

The hammering increased and Alec called out, "I'm not going away. I know you're in there, Chapman."

A rush of affection for her best chum washed out some of her raging anger. She raced for the door and flung it wide. Ecstatic to see friendly faces, she threw herself first into Alec's arms and then Kevin's.

She didn't know which was more handsome. They were both heartthrobs. Alec was the ultimate bad boy rocker with unruly hair that grazed his shoulders and a perpetual roguish smile that would melt her heart if he were straight-sometimes it did anyway. Bohemian, he always wore ragged jeans, a shirt that lay half-unbuttoned exposing a matt of very sexy chest hair, and gold earrings. Also like usual, he wore a sexy five o'clock shadow on his lean cheeks. She thought it the sexiest thing on earth. Well, maybe the second sexiest. She had a hard time suppressing a naughty grin and keeping her gaze from drifting south to the sexiest thing between his legs.

Kevin on the other hand was the clean-cut, London book editor who always wore preppy clothes. His blond good looks and clear blue eyes had broken more than a few hearts, male and female. He kept his hair tapered short and well-groomed. Often she wondered how the two had hooked up, but she'd shrugged it off as opposites attracting.

'The Wager' by Dakota Rebel

I ran into Maxiel, our local vampire pub, at eight-fifteen PM. I was late, as usual, but he would be expecting that. I had never yet been on time for this weekly date. He might even worry if I got there on time or, heaven forbid, early.

I scanned the few occupied tables and found Will in the corner already nursing a beer. And even from across the room I could tell the waitress was flirting with him. But I couldn't blame her. I'd been with Will for twenty years, and I still flirted with him every chance I got.

He looked up, saw me watching him and flashed me a grin. I did a little finger wave and started towards him. The waitress disappeared quickly, which also didn't surprise me. I'm not known as an understanding girlfriend. And I like it that way. It keeps the skanks away.

Not that I ever really worry Will would stray. I believe I keep him plenty happy.

"Hey Sadie." He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me deeply. I ran my fingers through his hair and kissed him back just as hard. The feel of his skin against mine never failed to send little shocks through my body. I could spend eternity with him and he would still make me shiver in anticipation of what was coming. Because with Will, something was always coming. Luckily it was usually me.

I heard a loud thunk and turned to see the waitress had brought the beer Will had ordered for me. Foam ran down the side of the bottle from the force with which she�d slammed it on the table. I hissed at her through my fangs. She rolled her eyes then walked away.

"Bitch," I muttered. "Why don't you come back here and fucking try me, you American twat?"

"Shh. She's not worth it. Besides, she'll probably be gone by the end of the week anyway. Just let it go." He nuzzled my neck, his fangs just barely scraping the skin.

I smiled. He was probably right. Most of the waitresses who had problems with me disappeared before too long. We were very good customers at this pub and the owner liked to keep us happy. And what made me happy was being able to spend time in public with Will without having to worry about waitresses making unwanted passes at him.

'Four Play' by Desiree Holt

Holly Martin climbed out of the big four wheel drive vehicle, looked around her and let out a long breath. A heavy breeze lifted strands of her auburn hair and whipped them across her creamy cheeks. She pulled her jacket a little tighter around her small frame and looked at the man who'd arrived with her.

"Oh, Michael. It's beautiful." She stretched out her arms and turned in a circle. "Just absolutely beautiful. It reminds me of my grandparents' place in Maine."

And so it did. This cottage just outside of Glendale, in the Isle of Skye, looked as if it had been set down in paradise. Made of stone and wood, it perched on a windswept bluff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Surrounding it were acres of natural grounds. Michael had told her it was a wildlife habitat, and this was the only house that would ever be built here. It made a perfect, private setting for the outrageous sexual adventures in which Duncan McLaughlin and his friends engaged in on a regular basis.

Holly had been looking forward to this visit ever since Michael had approached her about it. She'd met Duncan McLaughlin when he'd come to Denver on a business trip and stayed with the two of them. By then ménage with closely selected friends had become a regular occurrence, something she'd grown into and not only felt comfortable with but thoroughly enjoyed. The memory of the week the three of them had spent together sent shivers through her.

The thought of another week alone with both men spent entirely in sexual activities had given rise to many nights of erotic dreams. All through the long plane trip, the connecting flight and the drive, her body had tingled with anticipation, knowing what she was stepping into.

She and Michael had been together for four years. Tuning in to her natural submissive desire on their first date, he'd brought her along carefully to the type of D/s relationship he liked, introducing her to things she'd never thought she'd dare to try. By the time she'd experienced her first ménage, she'd been willing to try anything as long as it gave him pleasure, knowing that she was the one who controlled that pleasure. It was both freeing and empowering.

'Monsoon Fever' by Lisabet Sarai

Priscilla had been crazy for Jon when they met. She couldn't get enough of him. She�d been a virgin when they wed, but before long she was as randy and ready as any woman of the street, or so he claimed. Back in those days her sexual audacity had excited him. Memories of their early adventures made her cheeks burn and her thighs dampen.

Somehow, though, his early ardour had cooled. It could have been the increasing weight of his business concerns, or the terrible hardships of the war years. It might have been due to the fact that, despite frequent and vigorous efforts, she could not seem to conceive. They both wanted children. In the beginning, the notion that they were creating a child together added a special thrill to their lovemaking. As the years went by without her becoming pregnant, they stopped talking about children. Silently, each of them oscillated between guilt and blame. When they made love, the unspoken recriminations made it more and more difficult for them to connect.

If only they could try again-but Jon hardly touched her now. She could easily remember the last time, on the steamer a few days out of Portsmouth, when she had been seasick and Jon was trying to comfort her. She hadn't been in much of a condition to enjoy herself, but still his attentions had been welcome.

Nearly two months ago! Priscilla was frustrated beyond belief. Being here in India made it worse. Assam was much cooler than Delhi or Calcutta, but inevitably, in this climate, they wore fewer clothes. The native food, with its spices and chillies, tended to stir the blood. And the native people were far less circumspect than the English about their bodily functions.

Once, walking past the village on an errand, she had come across a man and woman coupling in the shade of a huge bo tree. Hidden behind a brake of bamboo, embarrassed but unable to look away, Priscilla had watched their mating. The man pulled the woman�s sari aside and bared her lower half. She spread her thighs wide, wrapping her legs around his waist as he drove his organ into her sex. He shrugged off his simple cotton garment as he churned on top of her, each thrust eliciting a deep moan of pleasure from his partner.

Priscilla could see sweat glistening on his mahogany skin. She was close enough that she could smell them, sweat and musk, garlic and palm oil. Gold bangles gleamed on the woman's ankles, which were hooked around the man's hips. She rocked back and forth seeking her pleasure. The man finally growled and ground his pelvis savagely into the woman's depths. She answered with a keening cry that certainly must have been audible in the village a hundred yards away.

'Maggie's Menage' by Lacey Thorn

"You want me to play the whore for you? For the good of the company?"

"Watch your mouth Margaret Rose. Twenty five is not too old for a spanking young lady." She turned to look her father in the eye, saw the rising colour on his face and couldn't resist.

"Oh. You think that will make the men you have waiting hot for me. Show them a little kink to get them revved up?"

"Damn it Margaret. That is enough." That vein was really throbbing in his head now. And the colour was slowly going from red to purple.

"Does the business mean that much to you, Daddy? More than me?" She already knew the answer but some inner demon forced the question out of her mouth.

"I've spent my whole life building this company and I"ll be damned if it dies out after I'm gone. The name Houston will count for something long after I'm gone."

That demon was still there whispering in her ear. "I could run it. I know the ins and outs of the business. I thought you were grooming me for just that."

He laughed. Her father threw his head back and laughed and that last bit of the needy girl searching for the crumbs of her father's love disappeared. In her place was a woman he would regret creating.

"Like I would ever leave my baby to a woman. Your mother proved to be one failure after another. Only one child and even that was second rate. The damn woman couldn't even stay healthy. It was a blessing when she died."

Yeah, it probably was. For her mother. But for the four year old girl left behind it had been hell. She had always known that her father only let her work for him because he didn't know what else to do with her. But that tiny spot had remained, unwilling to give up hope that she was wrong.

There was a knock at the door and her father Dom Alexander Houston turned from her. Dismissing her without a second thought. And the anger began to grow inside her.

"The gentlemen that you've been expecting are here Mr. Houston." Her father's personal assistant said from the doorway. The woman was young, blonde and built. And most certainly sleeping with the boss. Maggie felt sorry for her. She wouldn't last any longer than the rest and when her father was done that was it. The poor girl didn't have a chance.

"Send them in."

Maggie stayed her ground refusing to leave without him coming right out and telling her to. If he forgot she was still here long enough then she would stay.

Appearances meant everything to him and he would do nothing to seem more than a doting father.

Two men stepped into the room. Both were tall with dark hair. One was maybe six feet even with broad shoulders and a stocky build. His body rippled with muscles beneath the suit that was obviously tailored just for him. His hair was clean cut, almost military short. What there was of it was a dark brown, almost a mocha shade.

His eyes when he glanced her way were a dark chocolate brown with what looked like flecks of gold in them but she would have to get a closer look to be sure.

The other one was taller, maybe six-foot-two or so with a much slimmer build. His clothes were just as tapered but revealed longer, leaner muscles. His hair was longer touching the top of his collar in back and dark as night. His eyes were a startling shade of blue that made one think of a perfect sky.

Testosterone oozed from them and filled the room. A shiver went down Maggie's spine and she wondered which one her father wanted her to marry. She had to think that they must want it as much as the old man did or they wouldn't be here. Neither seemed like the type that would be easily manipulated. No these were definitely alpha males. What she was planning for them might be more fun than she anticipated. But best of all it would destroy her father's plans to marry her off to the man of his choice. She couldn't contain the grin of triumph that tugged at her lips. Let the fun begin.

'Boy Toys' by Brynn Paulin

Dana Matthews stared out the car window at the passing English countryside and tried to tamp down her resentment over this assignment. Okay, perhaps it wasn�t resentment. It was more frustration than anything else.

Since her research scientist position in the United States had been eliminated, she'd been dancing on a taut wire�taking the same job within a different branch of the company, transferring to a new country, leaving behind her husband. Ex-husband now, she reminded herself. He'd been set to join her until she'd discovered a few months abstinence had been too much for him. He'd screwed their next door neighbour, Miss skeezy pants-Miss I'm-twenty-two-and-you're-not skeezy pants-and tried to claim it was a mid-life crisis.

"You okay, Dana?"

Dana glanced over at the brown-haired man beside her and nodded. Jason Kerzi and the other passenger of the car, Christopher Brown, were part of her problem. Also research scientists, but working different projects, the two were headed to London to meet with the Powers-That-Be and explain the findings on their latest work-something about frog DNA and a cancer gene. She hadn't worked on their experiments so other than witnessing excited whispers from the other side of the lab while they ran computer models, she didn't pretend to know what they'd discovered.

Their work had little bearing on her own experiments. Which made her question her presence on this trip.

There was no doubt in her mind, she'd been sent to chaperone the dynamic duo while they met with the big wigs who were flying over from the Former British Territories AKA the United States. It galled her. Why should she play mother-hen to the boys? Thirty-seven wasn't old, damn it. Certainly not eighty. Surely the twenty-somethings could keep themselves in line for a few days.

This assignment put her last frayed nerve on edge. Not because the meeting would suck up her weekend. Not even because she had to chaperone. She took a deep breath and inhaled the intoxicating scents of her companions' colognes.

Her tension stemmed from the fact that she found both men unsettlingly attractive. Attractive? That was an understatement. She wanted them both with a lust befitting a nubile co-ed. And she�d done her best to hide it for the last eight months. That didn�t stop her from alternately fantasising about one or the other of them in her bed each night.

She sighed, hoping neither of them caught her mooning over them this weekend. How embarrassing would that be? Hopefully, they'd get to their hotel and she could closet herself in her room until morning. After several hours closed in this car with them, she could use a break from their magnetism.

'Best Mates' by Ashley Ladd

Jennica Chapman felt so low she didn't think she could sink any further. Hurt and angry, she ripped up all the pictures she had of her ex, Thad, threw them in the sink and lit a match to them. As she watched the flames devour Thad's handsome but sleazy face, she gritted out between her teeth, "Up in flames with you. Kev and Alec had you pegged. Why didn't I listen?"

Afraid the smoke was getting too thick and would set off the fire alarm, she turned on the tap and doused the flames. Catching her blurry reflection in the tap's chrome, she stared at her distorted reflection. "Because you're a blithering idiot. Because you wanted a baby so badly, you would've settled for the wanker."

Mad at herself for letting the last two years tick away as her eggs grew stale, she scoured the sink and threw Thad's ashes into the rubbish.

Unfortunately that didn't make her feel much better. Neither did cranking up her music, soaking in the tub, or digging into a quart of Ben and Jerry's.

Her door shook with a sudden pounding and she rolled her eyes. Not in the mood to fend off a door-to-door salesman, and in particular hoping never to lay eyes on Thad again, she ignored it.

The hammering increased and Alec called out, "I'm not going away. I know you're in there, Chapman."

A rush of affection for her best chum washed out some of her raging anger. She raced for the door and flung it wide. Ecstatic to see friendly faces, she threw herself first into Alec's arms and then Kevin's.

She didn't know which was more handsome. They were both heartthrobs. Alec was the ultimate bad boy rocker with unruly hair that grazed his shoulders and a perpetual roguish smile that would melt her heart if he were straight-sometimes it did anyway. Bohemian, he always wore ragged jeans, a shirt that lay half-unbuttoned exposing a matt of very sexy chest hair, and gold earrings. Also like usual, he wore a sexy five o'clock shadow on his lean cheeks. She thought it the sexiest thing on earth. Well, maybe the second sexiest. She had a hard time suppressing a naughty grin and keeping her gaze from drifting south to the sexiest thing between his legs.

Kevin on the other hand was the clean-cut, London book editor who always wore preppy clothes. His blond good looks and clear blue eyes had broken more than a few hearts, male and female. He kept his hair tapered short and well-groomed. Often she wondered how the two had hooked up, but she'd shrugged it off as opposites attracting.

'The Wager' by Dakota Rebel

I ran into Maxiel, our local vampire pub, at eight-fifteen PM. I was late, as usual, but he would be expecting that. I had never yet been on time for this weekly date. He might even worry if I got there on time or, heaven forbid, early.

I scanned the few occupied tables and found Will in the corner already nursing a beer. And even from across the room I could tell the waitress was flirting with him. But I couldn't blame her. I'd been with Will for twenty years, and I still flirted with him every chance I got.

He looked up, saw me watching him and flashed me a grin. I did a little finger wave and started towards him. The waitress disappeared quickly, which also didn't surprise me. I'm not known as an understanding girlfriend. And I like it that way. It keeps the skanks away.

Not that I ever really worry Will would stray. I believe I keep him plenty happy.

"Hey Sadie." He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me deeply. I ran my fingers through his hair and kissed him back just as hard. The feel of his skin against mine never failed to send little shocks through my body. I could spend eternity with him and he would still make me shiver in anticipation of what was coming. Because with Will, something was always coming. Luckily it was usually me.

I heard a loud thunk and turned to see the waitress had brought the beer Will had ordered for me. Foam ran down the side of the bottle from the force with which she�d slammed it on the table. I hissed at her through my fangs. She rolled her eyes then walked away.

"Bitch," I muttered. "Why don't you come back here and fucking try me, you American twat?"

"Shh. She's not worth it. Besides, she'll probably be gone by the end of the week anyway. Just let it go." He nuzzled my neck, his fangs just barely scraping the skin.

I smiled. He was probably right. Most of the waitresses who had problems with me disappeared before too long. We were very good customers at this pub and the owner liked to keep us happy. And what made me happy was being able to spend time in public with Will without having to worry about waitresses making unwanted passes at him.

'Four Play' by Desiree Holt

Holly Martin climbed out of the big four wheel drive vehicle, looked around her and let out a long breath. A heavy breeze lifted strands of her auburn hair and whipped them across her creamy cheeks. She pulled her jacket a little tighter around her small frame and looked at the man who'd arrived with her.

"Oh, Michael. It's beautiful." She stretched out her arms and turned in a circle. "Just absolutely beautiful. It reminds me of my grandparents' place in Maine."

And so it did. This cottage just outside of Glendale, in the Isle of Skye, looked as if it had been set down in paradise. Made of stone and wood, it perched on a windswept bluff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Surrounding it were acres of natural grounds. Michael had told her it was a wildlife habitat, and this was the only house that would ever be built here. It made a perfect, private setting for the outrageous sexual adventures in which Duncan McLaughlin and his friends engaged in on a regular basis.

Holly had been looking forward to this visit ever since Michael had approached her about it. She'd met Duncan McLaughlin when he'd come to Denver on a business trip and stayed with the two of them. By then ménage with closely selected friends had become a regular occurrence, something she'd grown into and not only felt comfortable with but thoroughly enjoyed. The memory of the week the three of them had spent together sent shivers through her.

The thought of another week alone with both men spent entirely in sexual activities had given rise to many nights of erotic dreams. All through the long plane trip, the connecting flight and the drive, her body had tingled with anticipation, knowing what she was stepping into.

She and Michael had been together for four years. Tuning in to her natural submissive desire on their first date, he'd brought her along carefully to the type of D/s relationship he liked, introducing her to things she'd never thought she'd dare to try. By the time she'd experienced her first ménage, she'd been willing to try anything as long as it gave him pleasure, knowing that she was the one who controlled that pleasure. It was both freeing and empowering.

'Monsoon Fever' by Lisabet Sarai

Priscilla had been crazy for Jon when they met. She couldn't get enough of him. She�d been a virgin when they wed, but before long she was as randy and ready as any woman of the street, or so he claimed. Back in those days her sexual audacity had excited him. Memories of their early adventures made her cheeks burn and her thighs dampen.

Somehow, though, his early ardour had cooled. It could have been the increasing weight of his business concerns, or the terrible hardships of the war years. It might have been due to the fact that, despite frequent and vigorous efforts, she could not seem to conceive. They both wanted children. In the beginning, the notion that they were creating a child together added a special thrill to their lovemaking. As the years went by without her becoming pregnant, they stopped talking about children. Silently, each of them oscillated between guilt and blame. When they made love, the unspoken recriminations made it more and more difficult for them to connect.

If only they could try again-but Jon hardly touched her now. She could easily remember the last time, on the steamer a few days out of Portsmouth, when she had been seasick and Jon was trying to comfort her. She hadn't been in much of a condition to enjoy herself, but still his attentions had been welcome.

Nearly two months ago! Priscilla was frustrated beyond belief. Being here in India made it worse. Assam was much cooler than Delhi or Calcutta, but inevitably, in this climate, they wore fewer clothes. The native food, with its spices and chillies, tended to stir the blood. And the native people were far less circumspect than the English about their bodily functions.

Once, walking past the village on an errand, she had come across a man and woman coupling in the shade of a huge bo tree. Hidden behind a brake of bamboo, embarrassed but unable to look away, Priscilla had watched their mating. The man pulled the woman�s sari aside and bared her lower half. She spread her thighs wide, wrapping her legs around his waist as he drove his organ into her sex. He shrugged off his simple cotton garment as he churned on top of her, each thrust eliciting a deep moan of pleasure from his partner.

Priscilla could see sweat glistening on his mahogany skin. She was close enough that she could smell them, sweat and musk, garlic and palm oil. Gold bangles gleamed on the woman's ankles, which were hooked around the man's hips. She rocked back and forth seeking her pleasure. The man finally growled and ground his pelvis savagely into the woman's depths. She answered with a keening cry that certainly must have been audible in the village a hundred yards away.

Excerpt From: Broken

“Those things will kill you,” Marilyn Struthers said, plopping down on the bench beside Gabriel Stalling. Jumping guiltily, Gabriel hastily tucked his pack of cigarettes back into his coat pocket. As bad as he wanted a smoke to calm his nerves, he knew there was no chance of that at the airport. His blue gaze flickered from Marilyn who slouched on the bench reading the latest issue of Daily Starz to the arrival gate where he waited for Tristan to walk through. Tristan, his twin brother, a man he hadn’t seen in seven years, was finally coming to see him. His stomach twisted in anxious knots. He wondered how Tristan would react to him. Would their meeting be awkward and strained? Would the conservative brother he remembered turn up his nose at Gabriel’s long hair, multiple piercings and tats?

“Oh, look at this!” Marilyn exclaimed. An amused grin tilted her bare lips. Like Gabriel, Marilyn had gone to special lengths to blend in with the regular crowd. Her usual makeup and gothic style were tamed. With her face devoid of makeup and her fiery curls corralled under a blue baseball cap, Marilyn’s image was unlike her stage persona. She was just another citizen at the busy terminal in L.A. She turned and showed Gabriel the pages of her magazine.

“Kane already has a big head.” She laughed.

Daily Starz featured a picture of their guitarist, Kane Golden, a six foot three, ebony statue of a man with pale blond dreadlocks. Kane was hard to miss with his striking appearance, and it seemed as if the paparazzi had easily found him. The blown-up photo was of Kane leaving a club with two women on his arm—one of which was up and coming actress/model Sylvia Valentine. The caption read like the Twix commercial: Two for me. None for you.

Gabriel couldn’t help but chuckle at the playboy. Sylvia’s career would probably skyrocket because of her link to Kane. Over the past two years, Kane had gained the reputation of a star maker. The media just couldn’t get enough of him, and their band’s guitarist was at home in front of the camera. Unlike most members of Thrice Broken, Kane didn’t go out of his way to avoid the paparazzi, and all the band members were happy to let the playboy take centre stage.

Gabriel was leaning over to share a word with Marilyn and get a better look at the writing below the photo when his cell phone vibrated. He unhooked it from his belt and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Are you sure you don’t want me over there, Gabe? The airport’s getting pretty busy.”

“No, we’re fine, Brogan.” His eyes scanned the mass of moving people and restaurants dotting the airport lobby. “Where are you?”

“Coffee shop, three o’clock.”

Gabriel instantly turned his attention to Starbucks and found his bodyguard, Brogan Hewitt, perched at one of the tiny tables, stirring a drink in a brown coffee cup. The big man looked like a giant at a kiddie table. Gabriel laughed. “Take a walk, big guy. Stretch your legs. Mary and I will be—”

“It is you, isn’t’ it?”

Damn.

Two young men with deeply tanned complexions and the look of surfer boys about them stopped before the bench and peered at Gabriel. Gabriel tugged the bill of his baseball cap down over his eyes, but it was too late. He’d already been outted. The boys grinned, and hurried over. One even produced a marker from his back pocket.

“Oh, man, Gabriel Stalling!” He spoke loud enough to make Gabriel wince. Other pedestrians started to shoot curious looks in their direction. “We’d be honoured to get your autograph.”

“I’ll be there in a minute, boss,” Brogan grunted, obviously spotting the two young men. The line went dead in Gabriel’s ear, and he snapped his phone closed. Beside him, Marilyn groaned and slapped her magazine down on the bench.

“Oh, shit. It’s Marilyn!” the surfer boy on the right exclaimed.

Marilyn pasted on a smile, prepared to play the part of gracious rock star.

“Could you sign our T-shirts, Mr. Stalling? Ms. Marilyn?” Surfer boy number two asked.

Gabriel nodded, eager to sign and exchange pleasantries so that the curious stares would go away. The last thing he needed was a mob. He appreciated his fans, and he loved making music, but the mobs and stalkers he could do without. Sometimes he just wanted to be normal. That’s why he had waived Brogan’s suggestion that they come to the airport with a full escort of bodyguards. He’d insisted that they could blend in with the crowd. The turn of events ensured that Gabriel would never hear the end of it from Brogan.

Their bodyguard managed to appear at Gabriel’s side only seconds before a small crowd began to gather, whispering excitedly about the two stars. Sighing at the buzz going through the crowd, Gabriel didn’t protest as Brogan took out his phone and demanded airport security. Gabriel finished signing the T-shirts of the two surfer boys before turning his attention to more eager fans.

The two rock stars continued to sign until airport security showed up to put a barrier between them and the crowd. Camera flashes went off as Brogan escorted them away from their bench. A few exchanged words with security got them past the restricted glass doors and into the quiet interior just beyond the arrival ramp. It was there that they waited until Tristan’s flight was called.

Wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans, Gabriel straightened from the wall he’d been leaning against and eagerly searched the flood of people for his brother. His heart gave a stuttering beat as he spotted Tristan. Clad in a black suit and tie, his brother looked exactly like what he was: a classier version of Gabriel. His blond locks were cut short in comparison to Gabriel’s shoulder-length hair. He was ringless, clean shaven and impeccably dressed. They’d filled out about the same. Both men were lanky and tall, with broad shoulders and a tiny cleft in the chin. Gabriel thought his brother might have him by a few pounds, but none of it was excess fat.

Tristan spotted him, and a slow grin spread across his face. He nodded, changing direction as he made progress to Gabriel’s side.

“Damn, I didn’t think you could get more gorgeous, Gorgeous,” Marilyn said, speaking to him but staring at Tristan.

Gabriel laughed, but inside, his heart was pounding a mile a minute. My brother. My torment. In L.A. With me.

Excerpt From: Broken Colour

Frankie Black gripped the edge of the mattress with one hand and tapped the ticking seconds off with the other, as he watched the clock beside the bed. He’d been awake for over an hour, after yet another nightmare forced him from the sleep he so desperately needed. The scars on his back still burned from the memories of the fire that had taken his family nearly twenty years earlier.

The digital clock’s display changed to seven and classical music filled the room. Frankie ran to the bathroom, groaning with relief with his morning pee. "Too close," he whispered to himself as he shook off and flushed the toilet.

Moving to the sink, he ran the faucet and began to scrub the dream from his flesh. Satisfied, he turned on the shower and retrieved a towel from the rack. Under the spray, he methodically washed the rest of his body. He followed the same sequence daily, hair, neck, arms, torso, ass, groin, legs, and feet. Always ending his morning shower with his back, he reached for the terrycloth back scrubber. Although soft, the material was still harsh enough to remind him of the night so long ago. "Good morning, Mom. Morning, Dad." Frankie took a deep breath. "Morning, Brian." They were the words he so desperately wished he could say to the people he’d loved and lost.

Rock music filled the bathroom, indicating Frankie’s fifteen minutes were up. He turned off the spray and hung up the back scrubber before opening the curtain. Stepping out of the tub, he grabbed the towel. He reached over and turned off the horrible music on his way out of the bathroom. He stopped at his desk and stared at the calendar. "Wednesday." He picked up a marker and drew a diagonal line on the blocked date.

Committing the day to memory, Frankie opened the dresser, removed a single red crew sock, and tossed it towards the bed. He looked forward to summer, but until then, he was forced to wear socks. Frankie smiled, dreaming about the day he could rub his bare feet against the green grass.

With a sigh of resignation, Frankie opened the closet and fingered his way through the dozen or so long peasant skirts. He ended up with one of his favourites in yellows and blues that reminded him of the Caribbean.

The painting in the corner of the room caught his attention. Could it be his imagination or was it mocking him? "Shut up," he mumbled, turning his back on the colourful canvas. He opened the sock drawer once again and pulled out a navy crew, and threw it on the bed to join the red one.

After adding a plain white T-shirt to the pile, Frankie dressed quickly, only getting distracted from his task twice, once by the sound of a bird singing on his balcony and once by a wayward red string on one of the socks.

He ran a brush through his drying, shoulder-length hair and wrapped a ponytail holder around his wrist, in case it was windy outside. Once he was ready for the day, Frankie finally turned and faced the painting.

Each time he looked at the depicted landscape, he saw something different. He could definitely tell he’d been in a dark mood the day before. "Hmmm," he hummed. Maybe it would look different once he carried it out into the morning sunlight.

Frankie slung the canvas bag, which held his easel and room key, over his shoulder. He opened the large wooden art box and checked his supplies, remembering he was running low on burnt sienna. A trip back to his closet yielded a tube of oil paint and another sash brush.

Content that he was prepared for the day, he slipped on his worn pair of brown leather Birkenstocks. He lifted the painting carefully, despite his current disgust with it, and grabbed the art box.

He met John in front of the elevator. "Morning," he greeted one of his favourite maintenance workers.

"How’s your morning?"

"Typical. Do you know if they’re serving green beans at the buffet this morning?" The elevator doors opened and Frankie stepped inside. John didn’t offer to help, Frankie had made it clear to the entire hotel staff he didn’t need anyone else handling his supplies.

John grinned and shook his head. "Not for breakfast, but Phil’s working this morning, and we both know he’d cook you up some if you ask him."

Excerpt From: I'll Stand By You

Arriving in Kansas City after a long drive from Chicago, Mike Shriver pulled into his clients’ driveway. Ray DeMonico and Brent Atwood obviously had excellent taste, and by the look of the house, a hefty bank account. The large Tudor-style home was exactly as he’d pictured it after talking to Ray for hours over the phone. He’d met the two men only once, when he’d flown in to take final measurements and contract a foundation company.

The meeting with Ray and Brent had gone well, and when a room was offered in the couple’s home for the duration of the job, Mike had taken them up on it. He got out of his pickup and opened the back driver’s side door. The backseat was full of tools, blueprints and anything else he could think of that he’d need for the projected eight month schedule.

"Need help?" an enthusiastic sounding voice asked.

Mike glanced over his shoulder at Brent. "Sure." He handed Brent the rolls of blueprints he wanted to go over with the two men. "If you can get these, I’ll grab my suitcases. Is this a secure enough area to lock my tools up and leave ’em out here?"

"Probably, but Ray cleared a bay in the garage for you just in case. If you want to pull around, he’s already got the door open for you."

"Sounds good." Mike shut the back door and climbed behind the wheel as Brent disappeared into the house. It was hard to believe the two had not only invited him into their home for the better part of a year, but had made room for his work truck. He slowly pulled into the garage, praying the long extended-cab would fit.

Ray opened the door that led into the house and held up his hands to indicate Mike still had another foot of room. Mike nodded his thanks and put the truck in park. Before getting out, he took a moment to stare at Ray through his mirrored sunglasses. Although both men were hot, Mike and Ray had connected with each other almost immediately. Despite feeling guilty about it, Mike looked his fill before getting out of the truck. "Thanks for the space."

"No problem. We use this bay for storage more than anything."

Brent stepped into the garage and wrapped an arm around Ray’s waist. "I hope you’re hungry. Ray’s been cooking all afternoon."

"Starved," Mike said, squeezing between the front bumper and the wall with his suitcases in hand. "I thought about stopping in Des Moines, but wasn’t sure what the two of you had planned, so I decided against it."

Ray took one of Mike’s suitcases and led the way into the house.

Mike was so focused on the fantastic smells wafting from the stove; he didn’t immediately notice Brent standing behind him. When a hand landed on his ass, Mike jumped in surprise.

"I’m glad you’re here," Brent said, winking.

Mike’s immediate reaction was to look at Ray who was shaking his head with a resigned expression on his face.

"Sorry," Ray said. "Brent doesn’t always know when to behave himself."

"Don’t apologise for me." Brent released Mike’s ass and hopped up onto the black granite kitchen island. "I know a good ass when I see one. I was just confirming my suspicions."

Mike took off his sunglasses and set them on the counter. He wasn’t sure if he should comment or not. Ray didn’t seem angry at Brent, but he did sound embarrassed by his partner’s actions.

"As far as rooms, you’ve got your pick. We have four guest rooms or, something I thought would be even better, a studio apartment over the garage. It’s supposed to be for hired help, but with only the two of us here, we don’t need anything but a weekly spit and shine," Ray said, moving to the stove to stir the sauce.

"The studio sounds good. That way I won’t have to be in your hair any more than necessary," Mike replied.

Bracing his hands on the edge of the island, Brent leant forward. "The room across the hall from ours is a lot nicer."

Ray hit the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot harder than necessary before he set it down. "I’ll help you take your things up to the studio."

Mike wasn’t sure what was going on between the two men, but he nodded and picked up his suitcase. He followed Ray up the staircase just off the kitchen and took the opportunity to check out the man’s ass. The first time they’d met, Ray had worn a suit. Mike had to admit Ray’s ass was better displayed in the pair of worn jeans he currently wore.

The staircase opened up into a large room with a small kitchenette in one corner, a bed in the far corner as well as an enclosed space Mike assumed was the bathroom. The centre of the room held worn, but nice, leather furniture. "This is fantastic."

"Thanks. We recently redid the family room, so I had them put all the old furniture up here. Well, except the bed, that came from my bachelor days." Ray chuckled as he carried Mike’s suitcase towards the bed. "If that bed could talk I’d be in a world of trouble."

The statement caused Mike’s cock to perk up. He set the second suitcase down. "Are you sure about this?"

"I’m sure."

"Let me know if I start to wear out my welcome, and I’ll find a hotel or something," Mike said.

"Brent made you nervous, didn’t he?" Ray asked.

Nervous wasn’t exactly the word Mike would have used. "Is there something going on I should know about?"

Ray leant back against the antique wardrobe. "Around three years ago, Brent decided he wanted to try a threesome. It wasn’t something I was interested in, but I went along with it because I was afraid of losing him." He took a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest. "Since then we’ve done it a few times, but never for more than a weekend. When I told him I’d invited you to stay here while the athletic club is built, he just assumed you’d spend some time in our bed. I tried to tell him it wouldn’t work because you weren’t some random stranger we could just get rid of after the weekend, but Brent argued that you were an adult and could make up your own mind."

Excerpt From: Soul Restoration

"Hey, Pete, John wants you to head over to the Wilson job after you finish here," Brent barked, shoving his cell phone in his pocket.

"Sure thing," Pete Braxton answered. He opened the last bag of coco shell mulch and sprinkled it around the freshly planted fountain grass. It was almost five, which meant he’d get overtime for making the trip across town. Cool. He could use some extra cash. With a leaking water heater and his truck payment overdue by a week, anything beyond his normal six hundred a week was gravy.

After quickly cleaning up his supplies, Pete climbed behind the wheel of the company truck and took a left out of the driveway. When the local news came on the radio, he reached for the knob to change the station but stopped when he heard his brother’s name.

"In overnight news, Shawnee Mission Parkway was the scene of a deadly head-on collision. Both drivers, Braxton Investments owner and CEO, David Braxton, and Wayne Potts of Lenexa were killed instantly."

Pete slammed his fist against the knob, effectively breaking the radio and splitting his knuckle open. "Fuck." He shook his hand while looking for the nearest place to pull over. Despite their estrangement, he’d always hoped there’d be time to make up, to become brothers once again. That wouldn’t happen now. It was over. He was well and truly on his own. Coming to a stop in a grocery store parking lot, Pete searched through the glove box and finally came up with a couple of drive-thru paper napkins.

What now? What was a brother who wasn’t wanted supposed to do? Pete felt lost, like he was adrift without a boat. Which didn’t make any sense since he’d been on his own for almost ten years, but having a brother who didn’t want him was different than having no brother at all.

How can I be mad at a dead man?

Pete’s phone rang, startling him. He glanced at the caller ID before answering. "Hey."

"Where’re you at?" John, Pete’s boss and the owner of the landscaping company, asked. "Brent called and told me you left, but that was over thirty minutes ago."

Pete looked at the clock on the dashboard. Jesus Christ, how long have I been sitting here? "Sorry, I just heard some bad news," he mumbled.

John cleared his throat. "So you heard. Sorry, man, that’s why I wanted to see you. The police called looking for you, but I didn’t want them to get to you first. News like that…"

"Yeah." Pete swallowed. "So, am I supposed to call the police or something?"

John paused. "David’s body’s already been identified by his secretary. I think the police were just looking to inform the next of kin of his death."

Pete nodded to himself. It felt weird to hear himself referred to as David’s next of kin. Sure, technically, he was, but David had readily gone along with his father’s wish to have Pete out of the family and their lives. "Okay."

"They told me if I saw you to have you call David’s lawyer. I’ve got a number right here."

"Miller, Cambridge and Stone, right?" Pete recited the name of the law firm the Braxton family had used for years.

"No, actually, it’s a man named Matthew Field. He’s got an office out in the ‘burbs somewhere," John corrected.

Matthew Field. "I’ll give him a call."

"You need a few days off?" John asked.

"Not sure yet. I’ll give you a call as soon as I figure it out." Pete knew he hadn’t processed the news of his brother’s death because he still wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about it. Was it callous to hate someone who’d just died? "Thanks, John."

"Call if you need anything," John said before hanging up.

Pete took several calming breaths before heading home, back to the one bedroom house he shared with Cheddar, a huge, long-haired orange cat.

The minute Pete stepped into the house the cat was there, waiting for him. Cheddar’s favourite means of getting attention was to headbutt Pete’s calf until he got what he wanted. "In a minute," he said, ripping the napkin from his hand. The cut to his knuckle had dried, but he’d need to get it cleaned up eventually.

He opened the old console stereo he’d bought at a second-hand store down the street and withdrew the yellow-paged phone directory. While searching the attorney section, he was continually assaulted by Cheddar. Pete ripped out the page with Field’s phone number. "Okay, dinner, got it," he told the cat.

Cheddar let out a mew that sounded more like a cuss word.

Pete rolled his eyes and stuck the page to the fridge with a take-out menu magnet. "Technically, it’s not even time for you to eat, so don’t get all snippy with me."

Nonplussed by the admonishment, Cheddar sauntered over to his food bowl and plopped onto his side. He stared up at Pete and yawned, evidently trying his damnedest to exert his dominance over the situation.

Excerpt From: Bubbles and Troubles

He was tall, lean, and corded with muscle. He slipped through the shadows like mist. Carmen chased him, frustrated, and called out. He’d disappeared into the rustling leaves, and she felt utterly bereft. Would she never feel his touch again?

She whimpered in the silence of the woods, lonely and cold. He was gone, and she was alone.

Then he was at her back once more, solid and warm, towering over her. Carmen leaned into him, overwhelmed with relief and longing.

"You’re back," she breathed. "You came back for me. I hoped so much that you would."

He cupped her breast with his right hand and slid his other down her belly. The skin of her abdomen warmed and moulded to the shape of his fingers and palm.

His erection pressed into the small of her back and he moved his left hand lower, yanking down her skirt and panties. Carmen’s breaths quickened. She reached behind her and drew him closer, gripping the clenched cheeks of his bare ass with her hand. "Yes," she whispered.

He stroked between her legs, teasing the edges of her pussy lips with the lightest of touches, before sliding his fingers inside. Carmen arched against him and felt wetness flow from her cunt over his knuckles. She writhed in his embrace, twisting her spine so that his hardened shaft ground against her lower back. He shoved his fingers deep within her, stretching her, and Carmen spread her thighs wide. She covered the hand that fucked her with her own, urging him to push deeper and faster.

Abruptly, he forced her to her knees on the woodland floor. Carmen caught herself with her hands and gasped to feel the tip of his cock nudging the entrance to her pussy. She lowered her weight onto her elbows and thrust her ass high into the air.

He entered her with one aggressive stroke. His shaft, impossibly thick and long, seemed too big for her, but her dripping wetness eased the snug entry. "Fuck, yes," Carmen whispered. She feared that she might split into pieces, skewered by that magnificent organ of his. It was a delicious, searing, perfect pain.

She flattened her chest on the ground, bending in two. The dry leaves rustled beneath her, delicate and feathery on her sensitive nipples, as his thrusts shook her entire body.

"Come inside me," she murmured. "Fill me up."

He trembled and stopped briefly, pulling out with elaborate slowness, and gripped her waist tightly. Eager wetness coated Carmen’s lower lips.

Then he shoved it all in, fucking her furiously, and came with a roar. She fell into her own shuddering, raging climax. The walls of her pussy contracted in rhythmic spasms, matching beat-for-beat the spurts of thick fluid that gushed from his shaft.

Carmen bucked against him, drawing out her orgasm, and scraped her tits on the leaf-strewn forest floor.

* * * *

Cock-a-doodle-doooo!

Carmen exhaled and pulled her slickened fingers from between her legs. Cool grey light flooded the room.

Once more, that huge stray cat was sitting outside her window on the ledge, staring in.

"Like what you see, kitty-cat?" Carmen asked.

The fluffy grey cat meowed, brilliant blue eyes flashing, and leapt away. Carmen made a mental note to buy some cat food at the store and try to convince the big tom to stick around. Recently, she’d noticed signs of mice in the chicken coop—she could use a good mouser.

Life on Carmen’s little farm meant rising at the crack of dawn, but she loved every day of her life in the eastern Kentucky country. She stretched with a satisfied groan and then used a tissue to wipe off her sticky fingers.

* * * *

"Come on, girls! Breakfast time!" Carmen opened the door to the henhouse and scattered scratch feed over the ground. Agatha, the dove-grey Silkie, and Bella, the black-and-white speckled Andalusian, trotted over and began pecking away. Scarlett and Melanie, the fluffy, fancy Faverolles, stuck close together and approached cautiously. The other birds sometimes bullied them. Carmen thought they must be jealous since Scarlett and Melanie were by far the prettiest chickens in the flock.

Gretel, the robust black Jersey Giant, sidled up next to Carmen. Gretel was as friendly as she was hefty. Suellen, the orange New Hampshire Red, worked her way in between Agatha and Bella. Spare Tire, the Bantam rooster, hopped down from his favourite black rubber perch and strutted around his girls. Carmen’s mellow golden Labrador, Dax, exited his doghouse and sat by Carmen’s feet with a proprietary air. He and Spare Tire had an uneasy truce. Both felt it was their job to protect the girls—the chickens and Carmen—and Carmen had made it clear that peace between her boys was the only option. Dax locked eyes with Spare Tire and huffed, then trotted back to his doghouse to observe the scene from the comfort of his cedar chip bed.

Rewind it all five years and Carmen would never have imagined that she’d be living here in this old cabin next to the woods, with six chickens, a rooster, and a big yellow dog as her foster children. Not to mention working at an organic vegetable co-op. Oh, and belly dancing. I’m a regular hippie, she chuckled to herself. City-boy Ian would be totally appalled.

Excerpt From: Bull Rider

“You’re kidding, right?” Wes Scott angled forward, eating up his co-workers words. He could barely hear Becca over the mayhem around them.

Leaning his elbows on the table they were lucky enough to have grabbed, Wes shook his head at the noise. The table overlooked the dance floor, and had the strategic advantage of being right beside one of the five bars inside the place.

Wes and Becca were the only ones manning the table while Jayne was out two-stepping, but he expected more people to show up later to keep them company. At least, that’s what they’d told him. This was supposed to be a welcome to Canada party, a little cultural outing for all of them to find out more about the country they’d be living in for a while and the people they’d be working with.

It was the only reason he was here tonight having his ears assaulted by the twangy sounds emanating from the band on stage. He wouldn’t have come voluntarily otherwise. Not that he had anything against country music, it just wouldn’t be his first choice.

Becca had been in the province for a few months now, but she’d already claimed the Alberta culture as her own. She was originally from Glasgow and she’d already tried to tell him the same story three times now about how Calgary and Glasgow were supposed to be linked. It didn’t make any more sense the last time than it did the first but he’d nodded and smiled anyway.

The rest of the blokes he was going to be working with were from all over Britain, all of them coming together here as complete strangers to work at the BFBS Radio Station on BATUS, the British Army Training Unit Suffield located practically in the middle of nowhere.

Working at the station was his first posting out of the country—it was practically his first time travelling out of England—but Jayne had assured him they’d be the best of friends by the time they went home. This was her second posting in a foreign country and she’d declared herself the unofficial expert.

All the DJ’s were living in Ralston Village, right on the edge of BATUS, but he’d never been more thankful to find out it was only a few hours outside Calgary. Wes was a London boy, himself, and couldn’t imagine living in a small village for any length of time without at least trying to go into town to a nightclub or something. Although, he hadn’t quite imagined this when he’d told Becca and Jayne he wanted to go out somewhere for the night.

His first time in a country bar and he would’ve assumed he’d stick out like a sore thumb. He’d worn a grey golf shirt over pressed jeans tonight because it was the only thing remotely country-ish that he owned. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly country-ish, but hell, not like he was going to wear chaps and a cowboy hat.

Although, he sure would like to see a few of these guys in arseless chaps. There was something about a cowboy that got his blood stirring. Among other things.

Excerpt from: Burning Touch

“I’ll be okay. Thanks for a nice evening.” Halle James tried not to gag as she spoke the words that were a bold faced lie. She gave her friend Kathryn a look that clearly said they would be talking about all that had happened that night. Kathryn winced then came to her.

“I’m sorry,” Kathryn said softly as she hugged her.

“You owe me big,” Halle replied in an equally soft voice.

Kathryn stepped back and went to her husband Chris. They both glared at the man named Dillon whom Halle had dubbed as octopus. Dillon returned the look and sauntered down the block whistling. She sighed and waved at her friends as she walked away from them. Her skin still crawled at the memory of the dinner she’d just had with her friends. They’d been matchmaking again. Dillon, the octopus, had groped her all evening until she’d finally had enough. When she had told him she would cut off his hands if he didn’t keep them to himself, he hadn’t even blinked. He just leered and said he liked it rough.

She’d had seen the look of fury on Chris’ face and had known he was about to deck Dillon. Although she would have enjoyed seeing her date sprawled on his ass, Halle hadn’t wanted a scene. To alleviate the brewing fight, she’d gotten up to leave. Her friends had followed her, as well as the Octopus, outside the restaurant where they’d been having dinner. Dillon was so oblivious to the ass beating he was about to get he’d made another salacious comment. Chris had lunged at him. Dillon was quick on his feet and moved out of the way. It had taken both her and Kathryn to calm Chris down. Instead of leaving, Dillon had stuck around a little distance from them and acted offended. Making a nuisance of himself, he said he didn’t know what their problem was.

Shaking off the thoughts of the evening, Halle swore silently. Her friends didn’t get that she wasn’t interested in them finding her a man whom they thought was perfect for her. Each time they’d tried had been one disaster after another. When she’d asked them to stop, they had backed off for a bit then the matchmaking had started again.

“Tonight is the last straw,” Halle vowed.

Excerpt From: Burnt Island

It began with the dog walking around in circles and ended with me on a plane to Athens, Greece, tracking my father's boyfriend. Yeah, you heard it right. Just when my dog, Jezebel, needed me most, I couldn't come up with the funds to treat her sudden onset of vestibular disease. A call to my dad for a loan got me an unwanted job, but it also meant the money I desperately needed to take care of my best friend in the whole wide world.

My vet is an awesome guy. He's not the type to chisel his human clients for expensive tests, but when my Australian shepherd, Jez, started tilting her head, scratching her ear, walking in circles and falling down, Dr Lang warned me it might be very serious. He couldn't tell if her vestibular problem was because of an ear infection or a brain tumour. This meant a slew of tests. In my work as a private eye, I have good months and bad months. Lately they've all been bloody awful. In this tough economy, people have been taking matters into their own hands, following cheating spouses themselves...or just turning a blind eye to their shenanigans.

No matter how many times I tell a love-sick spouse that you get what you pay for, a few have ignored me, with catastrophic results. As much as any guy wants to know if his wife is diddling another guy, nobody really wants to see it for themselves. And then there is the matter of getting caught. There isn't a person alive who looks attractive acting like a stalker...

But enough about that. I was frightened enough about Jez having a disease I couldn't spell, let alone treat. New York was bracing itself for some sweltering, triple—digit summer heat, and my A/C was on the fritz. I'd have to get that repaired as well if I was going to keep Jezebel comfy.

When I called him for a loan, my father, Leo Gannet Sr, was unusually willing to pay for the initial battery of tests. He gave Dr Lang's office manager his credit card details right over the phone. I should have been suspicious, but I wasn't until he said, "Leo, we need to meet and discuss terms."

Terms? What terms?

As I grabbed a taxi to meet him for coffee on Manhattan's lower east side, I watched the day's heat shimmer in waves from the scorching bitumen. I bounced along on the uncomfortable, macramé—covered back seat, the strong smell of curry and rice permeating the cab. I held on for dear life, worried the back door of the decrepit vehicle would fling open, tossing me to the kerb. As we slammed to a halt outside Bluestockings Café, I wondered if my father's terms meant a repayment plan I'd have to make—with interest.

Dad waited for me inside Bluestockings, an activist café and bookstore he would never have frequented when he was straight. A contract—law attorney, he'd always been the epitome of Brooks Brothers couture. Now he was gay, he dressed like a frickin' rich, hippie weirdo with tie—dyed T—shirts and hemp pants and gave free legal advice to old ladies selling organic produce. I noticed prayer beads lurking against his hairy chest and gem stone bracelets clinking on his wrists. I detected a strong whiff of patchouli incense when he threw his arms around me. Though I wanted my father to be happy, I wished he could have done it whilst maintaining a closer relationship with soap. He still looked distinguished...sort of. He needed a shave and a trim. He looked bleary—eyed and exhausted.

Holy cow. Had he been crying?

Dad hugged me like it had been weeks since we'd seen each other. Upon reflection, it had, so I let him hug me. He oohed and aahed over me.

"Leo, great haircut, son. Have you been working out?"

We both had the same chocolate brown hair that did whatever the hell it wanted, only his had started turning grey, probably from the stress of living a double life. Now he was out, he'd quit the weekly facials and manicures.

"I gotta be me," he kept saying. I just didn't know who the hell that was anymore.

He cupped my face in his hands and looked at me with eyes the same blue as my own.

"You look good," he said.