Don’t get too involved is one of the first things they tell you when you join the force. Jeremy Poe has never had a problem with that one until now. He blames it on the magic and persuasion of the blue moon hanging overhead, or maybe it was just the magic of Saylor Grace herself. Either way, he’s satisfied that this is a gamble totally worth taking.
Speaking of gambles, Saylor’s made a huge one by driving her beat-up old car all the way across the country with nothing in her pocket except her raw talent. It was supposed to be a safe bet, it was supposed to be forever… sometimes, ‘forever,’ has a funny way of working out.
“You did what and you want me to do what now?” Yale stared at me hard like I’d lost my fucking mind, and I honestly couldn’t tell him I hadn’t. I mean, what I was doing for Saylor was nuts and could cost me everything. I mean, the rip I would get wouldn’t necessarily be a total career-ender, but the trust it could damage with some of the other guys in the rest of the department? That was something you could never get back. You make a big enough questionable decision like this one and you could wind up having every decision questioned.
“Yale, I know –”
“I don’t think you do know Poe!” He went to his office door and shut it and I stood there feeling three inches tall compared to the prosecutor’s five-foot-five even though I was well over six feet. I looked down at him as his gaze smoldered in my direction and a muscle in his jaw ticked.
“Hey, none of you were really like this with Youngblood,” I said with a nervous laugh and his eyes blazed.
“One, Youngblood knew Chrissy. Two, Chrissy was gainfully employed with a degree, and with a roof over her head. She wasn’t some unknown street musician making poor life decisions driving across the country to live with some sight unseen internet boyfriend!”
“Okay, so maybe she was having a solid blonde moment – I mean, she is a blonde but I’ve already agreed to let her stay for a couple more nights.” I was hedging on the timeline hard, but Yale was smokin’ hot and acting more like my dad than my equal and brother. The only reason I wasn’t telling him to go fuck himself right now was that I could see how worried he was and truthfully, I got that.
If my best friend Blaze had come at me with this shit, I probably would have blown a gasket of my own, but there was just something about Saylor Grace and it wasn’t something I could explain. It was something that had to be experienced, and I thought that it was too damn convenient that she was parked outside Yale’s office at lunch and I figured if I could get Yale on my side, the other brothers would follow.
Yale was, after all, one of the toughest nuts out of all of us to crack. That, and I knew, if he just met her – even for only a few minutes – Saylor Grace would have him on her side and she could use every ally she could get in this city on her new start.
“I’m just asking if you could drop this off to her at lunch. If I did it, I’m gonna be late for my shift.”
He breathed in slow, in through his nose and out and grated out, “Fine, but only because I want to have a look at this girl so I can judge for myself and you had better be at church tonight.”
“Whoa, hey,” I said handing over the key on its key chain. “This isn’t club business.”
“Really?” he asked, holding up the fob with the key with the club crest on it. “You’re part of this club, Poe, and being part of this club means we look out for you as much as you look out for the rest of us.” He took a seat on the edge of his desk and I suddenly felt like I’d been called into the principal’s office. I tried not to smirk at the mental image. Now was totally not the time.
“That means, when it looks like one of our members is about to go off the rails it’s our duty and responsibility to get him back on track.” He fixed me with a hard look.
“Look, Yale, I know it sounds completely batshit fucking crazy, but I swear. She’s a good girl. She radiates it.”
Six couples meet their destinies at the hands of fate… with a little magic thrown in for good luck.
Middle Man — Empath, servant, sex toy. Gen fills all these roles, but not the one he longs for most… lover.
To the Highest Bidder — Ben’s best friend Becca presents him with a very unusual gift: lunch with Mitch DeSantis, star of the wildly popular show Case Files. Ben’s a huge fan, but in person Mitch is a complete ass. Ben leaves hoping never to see DeSantis again. Fate has other plans.
Dream of Me — Ever turn a nightmare into a dream come true?
The Pet Promise — Kail has just spent the last year as the master’s pet… complete with four legs and a tail. But Kail’s fallen in love, and he’s determined to stay with Master Nerrin… even if it means keeping the puppy ears for the rest of his life.
Why Did the Chicken? — What happens when Cupid passes the task of matchmaker over to a mischievous shape-shifting imp? Chaos. Pure chaos.
What the Cat Dragged In — What could possibly bring an owl shifter and a cat shifter together? For Kyle and Bryan, lust is the catalyst that gets them off to a hot but rocky start. What comes as a surprise to both of them is that lust can so quickly become something much, much more…
Publisher’s Note: The stories in Feathers, Fur & Dreams have been previously released in ebook format.
“Gen is a man most will identify with…. Ms. Steele is able to bring his anguish, determination, and devotion to life and help us share in his struggles and eventually his happiness. Those who enjoy romance with a futuristic twist will enjoy Middle Man.”
— NeNe, Fallen Angel Reviews
Praise for Dream of Me
“Kate Steele delivers a wonderfully written mini-masterpiece. Everything flows smoothly and the characters come alive in your head.”
“Kate Steele never fails to surprise me with her ability to write very different types of books, while still retaining her writing style and voice. Incredibly heartfelt at times, hilarious in others, Why Did The Chicken? is a fantastic Halloween treat.”
Kate’s love of books started from the moment she read those fateful words: run, Spot, run! It took her awhile to discover that she didn’t have to just read and imagine, but that she could also write stories and so here she is writing romance and loving it. Like chocolate – her ultimate favorite food, with pizza running a close second – writing became addictive. Whether it’s paranormal, contemporary or science fiction about werewolves, otherworldly creatures or the average Joe, she can’t get enough.
As for the everyday details, Kate lives in a turn of the century house located in the midst of Indiana farm country, and is kept company by family, along with demanding dogs, contrary cats and a pair of occasionally sweet, and definitely noisy, lovebirds. When not writing, she reads, is an enthusiastic grower of iris, and a fanatic fan of Japanese manga and anime.
After a crash left him with new mental and physical scars, Jackie Vasquez has finally regained his focus, flair, and bright outlook. Though he’s letting Brian Harrison’s marriage proposal simmer, it’s not for lack of love. He’s set his sights on putting his life right first — a new job and a fresh start at graduate school. But Los Angeles — the city of devil winds — has new trauma in store for him. Another accident leaves him with the stump of a leg and defeated spirits, adrift despite Brian’s devoted attentions.
While Brian copes with his own emotional trauma, he hopes to break through Jackie’s apathy, but work at Vasquez Security takes more and more of his time and attention. Specifically “the Espen case,” which his boss — Luki Vasquez — has forbidden him to pursue. Help comes on all fronts from friends and family for both Brian and Jackie, but even as it does, danger mounts from outside. Can the two men find their way back to love as well as passion and fulfillment in their D/s roles? Can they survive the confrontation with danger that seems to loom closer and darker every time LA’s hot winds blow?
The morning after their stellar session, when Brian got out of bed, he discovered Jackie was already up. The fortune cookie was no longer on the night table. Brian walked out into the open front rooms of the apartment looking for his boy, eager to kiss Jackie soundly and get his answer to the marriage proposal.
Jackie had left three of four diagonally cut pieces of cinnamon-toast on a plate, two strips of bacon in a pan, and half a pot of coffee still keeping warm, but he was nowhere to be seen. Brian poured himself a cup of hot coffee and grabbed both bacon strips with his fingers. He sat down in his usual spot at the table, wondering if he should feel disappointed, worried, or perhaps unconcerned. Jackie had certainly demonstrated his feelings for Brian the previous night.
But the question Where the hell is he? kept popping up in his mind as he devoured the bacon and chased it down with coffee. Then, as he helped himself to Jackie’s toast leavings, the question evolved into Why the hell would he leave without a word?
Followed closely by Why hasn’t he answered about marrying me?
Shit. “No” would be better than silence…
Wait. No, it wouldn’t. But shit…
After he polished off the toast and talked himself out of putting a shot of J&B in his second cup of coffee, he remembered that phones and text messaging existed. Hopeful, he swallowed most of the coffee down and went to the bedroom to fetch his phone. Aha! A text awaited, and it was from none other…
— Good morning, Bri. I’ll be home soon. Before I forget. What happened to that broken drawer in the playroom? —
It took Brian a number of seconds before he could even make sense of the question, so far was it from what he’d expected — and desperately hoped — to see, but eventually he put it together. Annoyed, but glad Jackie had at least not forgotten him entirely, he texted back.
— It had a lock, no key, and I couldn’t pick it. I broke it. Where are you? —
Brian waited, sitting on the unmade bed in his skivvies, only vaguely aware of Marley head-bumping his arm hoping for a good scratch and not even noticing the sun blazing through the window and baking his left shoulder. He didn’t get an answer. He sighed very deeply, well aware of how piteous it sounded, and then he moaned, “Dammit, Jackie.” Sure the devil boy would be his undoing someday, he gritted his teeth, resolving not to worry until something clearly indicated he should.
He picked up his phone to send another text, but before he could do so, he got a mixed media message. As often proved to be the case with images, it had taken a long time to get to him, having been sent even before the text he’d already responded to. It was a selfie. Jackie looking very fine and dressed for success, wearing a blazer the same color as his eyes and a tie… one of Brian’s, he believed.
He texted back: You look good. Why are you wearing a tie?
He waited. No answer.
He waited some more. No answer.
He started to wait some more, said “Fuck it” out loud, and sent a final text. What did your fortune cookie say? And wherever you are, be careful.
Brian dressed, walked down to the office, and had already situated himself at his desk and powered up his PC when a reply came.
I love you, Brian.
Brian didn’t reply. He was already tired from the strange interaction. He just gathered up his things and, sighing again, turned his attention to work.
More and more he found he accomplished the tasks of management easily. He whipped through the morning’s e-mails before Livvy showed up, made a pot of coffee, assigned Lonny to manage a personal security situation for Korean corporate officers in Los Angeles for a wedding, and reviewed the latest financial reports with Ahmad. After a break, during which he tried unsuccessfully to reach Jackie by phone and then spent fifteen minutes crocheting with Livvy while she talked about her nephew’s latest musical triumphs, he worked on a plan he’d been putting together to point VSI-LA in a profitable direction over the next couple of years.
LA was rife with security companies, a good number of them with high level capabilities. It was why Luki had never concentrated his energies here — a big market with an even bigger pool of competition, and as successful and respected as Vasquez Security was, it remained a small- to- medium-sized fish in the large pond. That made it difficult to compete with the likes of Security Group International, and SGI’s office in LA was more than triple the size of Brian’s little group.
But he thought the office could do better than it had. The key was targeting the right niche. He’d researched, and he’d found two of the least monopolized areas to be security for transient high level corporate officials — like the Koreans in town this week — and event security for small to medium-sized posh gatherings. VSI was set up well to grow in those market areas, and his report included the necessary facts and figures for Luki to make a decision as to whether to invest in the additional personnel, training, equipment, and advertising to accomplish it.
Now he set his mind to propose one additional area of investment, one he wasn’t at all sure Luki would approve. For one thing, it involved privately dealing with things that technically should be the domain of law enforcement agencies. For another, it involved putting someone in the middle of very dangerous situations — negotiating with kidnappers and dealing with blackmailers — and nobody on staff at present in Los Angeles was qualified. But Brian knew Luki had done that type of work, and he had other agents in Chicago who could do it. Luki could do the training, and Brian really wanted to be trained and to do the work. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to do something so patently risky, except that he hadn’t studied what he’d studied and gone on staff with the London Metropolitan Police in order to spend all his time at a desk.
Whatever the reason, his brain got ridiculously excited at the idea. He’d need a partner, and he thought Amy might be a good choice. If not, they could hire someone. With Luki’s connections in the business, Brian had no doubt they’d pick up jobs if word got out VSI-LA was equipped to deal with them.
Interestingly, he’d found a file indicating Espen had been looking into the same field of operations a few weeks before his disappearance, but he hadn’t compiled any reports except a list of other security companies that offered the same services.
As that thought passed casually through his thoughts, a realization jolted him — as if lightning had struck and revealed Espen’s secrets. Two entries in the notebook had been different than all the others. Both had the letters RL, a date, and what was surely an amount of money. Only one had been crossed out.
Espen was a gambler, possibly an addict. Espen had been deep in debt to someone represented by the initials RL. He’d paid RL once, but not the second time. Around the same time, he’d compiled that list.
It clicked. He hadn’t been thinking of the business, he’d gone looking for help with a blackmailer.
Lou Sylvre loves romance with all its ups and downs, and likes to conjure it into books. The sweethearts on her pages are men who end up loving each other — and usually saving each other from unspeakable danger. It’s all pretty crazy and very, very sexy. As if you’d want to know more, she’ll happily tell you that she is a proudly bisexual woman — a mother, grandmother, lover of languages, and cat-herder — of mixed cultural heritage. She works closely with lead cat and writing assistant, the (male) Queen of Budapest, Boudreau St. Clair. She lives in the rainy part of the Pacific Northwest, and hearing from a reader infallibly brightens the dreary weather. Find her through her links listed here, or drop her a line at lou.sylvre@gmail.com.
Rain — The gangs of the underground can be brutal. I know this well and have the scars to prove it. So when a team of rough-looking men start nosing around the slums of Rockwell, I make it my business to know what they’re up to. One in particular catches my eye. He’s rough and scary looking, but his touch is gentle when it needs to be. He’s older and more experienced in every way than me, but I’m still drawn to him. I’m not sure why, but I want him. And when I let him take me, I’ll savor the experience until it’s time to go.
Arkham — The little pixie warrior is a conundrum if ever there was one. She’s strong and capable but scarred inside and out. I can’t fix what’s broken inside her, but I can share her burdens and make her part of my circle. I’ll take her with me, with Bones MC. She’ll be protected there.
But who’s gonna protect her from me?
**WARNING** Bones is a rough MC. They can be violent, but they’re protective to a fault. The men love sex and the women don’t shy away from it. If you think you can handle their brand of loving… read on!
“What the fuck are we still doin’ here? We cleared this sector yesterday.” Arkham wasn’t usually one to complain, but this micromanaging shit was for the birds.
“You pay, we come play.” Torpedo was the top man in the field on this mission. He and Arkham took point as they walked down the street. They weren’t in Afghanistan or Tripoli, or Ukraine. They were in a moderately sized city in the good ole U. S. of A. called Rockwell. ExFil had been hired by a group of disgustingly rich hero wannabes to help locate a runaway. Kid had been missing for three days, and his mother, who was a member of the staff of said disgustingly rich hero wannabes, was more than frantic. They insisted the child was in this area of the city. How they knew that he didn’t know, but orders were orders.
“How the fuck do these guys know that kid’s in this part of town?” Goose had been vocal about his protests from the get-go. All of it because of the micromanaging. “We’ve searched high and low. The kid ain’t here.”
“It’s not like we’ve got anything else to do. We’re gettin’ paid by the hour. They want us to look here, we look here.” Shadow was the newest patched member of Bones and probably the most levelheaded and calm person Arkham knew. “We just flex some muscle if we see anything suspicious and be ready to bean someone if they need it.”
“Yeah. Way wide latitude,” Arkham grumbled. “I don’t like this.”
“Cain knows these guys personally,” Torpedo said. “If he says go, we go. We follow orders.”
“Ain’t never been good at following orders.” The back of Arkham’s neck was tingling like a son of a bitch. Never a good sign. “’Specially not from no pretty-boy, badass wannabe.”
“My understanding,” Torpedo explained, “is that these guys are the real deal. Seems Cain served briefly with Azriel Ivanovich. He’s part owner of Argent Tech.”
“The company that makes all those pretty gadgets Data is always forcing us to use? I hate the bastard already.” Arkham wasn’t opposed to technology per se, he just hated being forced into it. “Most of that shit is just used to dumb down the real work. I mean, I can fuckin’ shoot straight and follow a compass. And I don’t need a fuckin’ leash shoved up my ass in the form of one of those fancy GPS things he hardwired into our radios and phones. Hell, even our fuckin’ bikes are tracked. Where’s the end?”
“You’ll have to take that up with Data and Cain.” Torpedo shrugged, his body posture letting Arkham know Torpedo was just as vigilant as he was, even while carrying on the conversation. “I just make sure you use it.”
“Next thing you know he’ll be wantin’ to tag us with some kind of chip under our skin.”
“It’s already being discussed.”
Arkham stopped dead in his tracks. “I will bust a motherfucker up.”
Torpedo looked over his shoulder, grinning. “Gotcha.”
Everyone laughed.
“Motherfucker.”
Though he continued the disgruntled conversation, Arkham was only half paying attention to his brothers. Their actual mission was extremely vague. All they seemed to do was patrol the poorest section of the city and give people mean looks. They’d questioned every single person they saw, but no one had seen the boy. Arkham had no idea if he believed any of them or not.
The streets were mostly dark at night. Though the streetlights were replaced almost daily, by the end of the day they’d all be broken out again. Drug deals routinely went down in rundown buildings in the process of being renovated, though the team from ExFil had stopped some of it during their search. Drug sales continued regardless. Arkham thought Bones more suited to this than ExFil, but their employer had insisted on the paramilitary version. While Bones was the rough and ready MC, ExFil was the more disciplined and civilian accepted military-like organization run by Cain. This city needed the military, not the outlaws. Conditions had seemed to improve somewhat, but there was still a long way to go. Oh, well. Not his turf. Not his problem.
“How the fuck did a place like Argent Tech end up in this shit hole? It’s no bigger than Somerset and has way less to offer. Not to mention at least a third of the city is nothing more than slums. These people certainly don’t benefit from the tech giant.” Shadow had that part right.
“I agree, brother,” Arkham said. “Not sure what our goal here is, but it seems like more of a policing effort than searching for a missing kid. I’m ready to tell ‘em all to shove it up their ass.”
“The point is for us to give Ivanovich and his associates the help they need in locatin’ a missin’ child. And they are tryin’ to better the place.”
“You’re just trying to defend Cain’s decision to take this job, Torpedo,” Arkham groused. “You don’t like it any more than we do. If they’d let us do this our way, we might have found the kid already. That’s what’s pissin’ me off.”
“Ain’t sayin’ you’re right. Ain’t sayin’ you’re wrong. But if you don’t shut the fuck up about it, I will turn Suzie on your ass so quick it will make your head spin. Stunner might have let her use most of the red and green glitter on him, but I know where there’s a whole fuckin’ tub of pink glitter, and I’ll point her in the right direction.”
That got a laugh from everyone. Evan Arkham snorted. “Harsh, brother,” he grumbled.
They passed the next hour in silence. Still, that tingle between Arkham’s shoulder blades persisted. They were being watched. Had been since they’d gotten off the Goddamned plane. “When I find that son of a bitch, Imma throw him a beatin’.”
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Goose had turned and was facing away from them now, guarding their six as they slowed their trek down the sidewalk.
“Someone’s been watchin’ us since the second we got off the fuckin’ plane.” Arkham tried to watch his area, but he knew the threat was from above. Now that he’d mentioned it, he gave up all pretense of pretending not to be actively seeking their stalker. He raised his gun to the rooftops, putting his infrared goggles in place. Everyone followed his lead.
“I thought I was just being paranoid,” Goose muttered.
“No.” Arkham had learned long ago to listen when that sensation was trying to tell him something.
Just as they rounded the corner, Arkham spotted him. “Got the bastard,” he muttered. “Two o’clock, theater roof. He’s got a rifle scope, but I can’t confirm a weapon.”
“Copy that,” Torpedo said. “Shadow, you and Arkham fall back. See if you can go up the back way and get him from behind. We’ll patrol the alley to the west. If he follows us, should be easy pickin’s for you guys.”
“Radios on,” Arkham ordered. “I’m not losing anyone to a rookie mistake.”
“Got it,” Shadow and Goose confirmed on top of each other.
“Up the east side. And don’t kill him unless he deserves it.”
“He already deserves it for giving me a headache, “Arkham said, readying his rifle.
“Bastard has it coming.” Torpedo didn’t argue. Arkham was a hard ass, but he wouldn’t make a kill unless it was warranted. They all knew it and didn’t insult him by suggesting otherwise.
Shadow was the best partner he could have for a situation like this. The man’s special talent was disappearing into the shadows. Hence his name. Arkham was good, but he let Shadow take the lead on this one. If Arkham was spotted, Shadow would already be in position to defend him. It hurt to admit the big man was better than Arkham at anything, but truth hurts sometimes. Only meant Arkham would be working on that particular skill set even harder.
It took them seven minutes to gain the roof and another one to lay eyes on the target. He was slender, small. A boy? Arkham stayed put for several minutes. Shadow followed his lead, not breaking cover before Arkham gave the word.
The kid followed the perimeter of the roof, never taking his eyes from the team below. If he knew they were light two men, the kid didn’t seem overly concerned. He stopped right next to Arkham. He could have reached out and touched the boy. Two more steps, and he’d run into Arkham. Instead, he stopped, never taking his eye from the scope.
“You’re all clear,” the kid said. “They’ve made a circle around the theater. All four of them. If you’re going to take them, now’s the time.”
Three things registered for Arkham. First, his team was about to be ambushed by an unknown number of hostiles. Second, the kid wasn’t a boy. It was a girl. Third, she was deliberately deceiving whomever she was talking to.
Erotic romance author by night, emergency room tech/clerk by day, Marteeka Karland works really hard to drive everyone in her life completely and totally nuts. She has been creating stories from her warped imagination since she was in the third grade. Her love of writing blossomed throughout her teenage years until it developed into the totally unorthodox and irreverent style her English teachers tried so hard to rid her of.
Chris Everhart attends his best friend’s weeklong wedding festivities. He meets handsome, enigmatic, Owen, and in a haze of attraction ignores the strangeness surrounding Owen. Convinced he’s falling in love, Chris spends every moment he can with Owen, until on the final day of his best friend’s celebrations he discovers a heartbreaking and shocking truth. He and Owen can never be together.
Traumatized, lonely, Chris can’t settle into another relationship, and then, after two years of wishing he could feel the way he felt for Owen with another man, fate intervenes. He meets gorgeous, gentle Matthew.
Spooked, Chris is about to run from Matthew who reminds him so much of Owen, but Matthew asks Chris to dance with him.
In Matthew’s arms, Chris can’t ignore the feeling of belonging that rushes over him.
Will he take the risk to love again, or continue to yearn for a ghost?
Read a teaser
The early evening sun glowed in the sky. Birds still sang. The breeze caressed his face, gentle and warm. Only white wisps of cloud trailed across the sky. It was an evening meant to walk hand in hand with a lover.
Chris sighed and drank some of his whisky. Since his boyfriend left him nearly a year ago, he hadn’t met anyone who stirred his heart. If there were any gay guys at the gathering, he’d yet to identify them. Since he was the only gay man among his friendship group, Chris expected to be the only person who hadn’t hooked up with someone by the time the bride and groom met at the altar. He smiled to himself recalling a work colleague’s words about wedding festivities. “That’s what usually happens isn’t it … you sleep with someone out of sheer envy for the “glowing with love” bride and groom?” Chris had laughed when the guy put air commas around the words “glowing with love.” “Some might. I might not,” but in his heart he dearly wished for a gentle, handsome man to love. Chris was lonelier than he admitted to himself or anyone else.
Four days of games, parties, and outings stretched ahead of him. Chris forced a more positive mood. This is a beautiful estate. I should explore. Phil’s parents owned the huge old house on a wealth of gardens. Ben, Phil’s dad, ran his events planning business from there and often one or two of the large rooms were used for conferences. Presently, the estate was closed for two weeks as the families and friends assembled to celebrate Phil’s wedding.
He peeled the label that named him from his jacket lapel, and stuffed it into his pocket. Then left his half-empty glass on a bench beside a row of rose bushes, heavy with large pink blooms, and wandered off down the path that wound around the house. The hem of his jacket trailed along two of the flowers and the perfume shed by the roses followed him.
The path forked at a corner of the house, and Chris took the one that led into an archway of trees. The path beneath his feet changed. Some of the paving stones held large cracks where tiny white daisies grew among dark moss. Chris bent and picked one—so small, yet soperfect. He put it into the buttonhole on his collar. The tree branches met at their canopy and only a few slanting rays of sun penetrated. Some scented climbing flowers wove through the trees, twining around their trunks. Chris smiled, enjoying the fragrant enclosure. Peace dropped over him as he walked.
At the end of the path, he turned at a fork that led toward the house again. Chris considered striking out across the lawn for a look at what appeared to be a small round pond, but the evening sun had disappeared behind a bank of clouds. He glanced upward at the sky. A few large orbs of rain splattered on his face. Funny, only minutes ago it didn’t look like rain at all.
He walked more rapidly in the direction of the house as the sky became overcast. On this side of the building, he could see a long line of windows, two of which from that angle, seemed to be French doors, and they were flung open. As Chris neared them, strains of music floated in the descending twilight. Fairy lights glittered, strung across the tops of the doors, and as the rain fell, the drops reflected their silvery twinkle.
By the time Chris reached the entrance, dark stars of raindrops patterned his dove-gray suit jacket and dampened his face. Chris dashed into the room accessible from the large glass doors and froze. He’d expected this to be another way into the living room he’d left earlier, especially with the lure of music guiding him, but a totally different and smaller room lay before him, and in the middle of the parquet, a man danced a kind of waltz, alone, clutching a rectangular cushion to his chest.
Copyright E. D. Parr 2020, Evernight Publishing
Five facts about Christopher Everhart
He’s a corporate lawyer
He lives in an ultra-modern apartment, all glass, chrome and sparkly concrete
He can’t dance
He drives an SUV
He loves burgers and salad
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On new release special price at Evernight Publishing
Ferris wakes on the Sea Queen, an enchanted cruise ship sailing on a chocolate sea. He has no idea how he got here, but he desperately wants to go home to his boyfriend.
The alchemist is the only person who can help Ferris, but he’s been kidnapped. The ransom is high tea with scones and jam.
Meanwhile, the passengers are gearing up for the Winter Masquerade, a ball where love and magic reign.
With a murderous musician, an absent boyfriend, and a mystical party, Ferris soon learns that Wednesday is not the day to fall in love.
Pitch black. Then candlelight. One lonely flame lit the face of a plump-faced man in a robe.
“How did I get here?” I asked.
“That’s not important right now,” the monk replied. “It’s where you’re going.” He reached for a journal, which sat on the stool to his right, and set the candle in its place. He flipped several pages and held it to the flame. “Are you fond of voyages?”
I shook like nervous prey. “I really need to know how I got here.”
“You’re a troubled man in need of rest and recreation. And a healthy dose of self-reflection.”
“But—”
“I wish you’d stop asking questions. You’ve never bothered listening to those who’ve responded.”
Harmonious chants filled the silence. These men’s voices calmed me, even though a dozen questions still needed answering.
Another light appeared coming from a round window. I shuffled toward it. There I was in the dark on the other side. I lay sleeping.
Kevin lives with his husband, Warren, in their humble apartment (affectionately named Sabrina), in Australia’s own ‘Emerald City,’ Sydney.
His tall tales explore unrequited love in the theatre district of the Afterlife, romance between a dreamer and a realist, and a dystopian city addicted to social media.
His first novel, Drama Queens with Love Scenes, spawned a secondary character named Guy. Many readers argue that Guy, the insecure gay angel, is the star of the Actors and Angels book series. His popularity surprised the author. The third in this series, Drama Queens and Devilish Schemes, scored a Rainbow Award (judged by fans of queer fiction) for Best Gay Alternative Universe/Reality novel.
So, with his fictional guardian angel guiding him, Kevin hopes to bring more whimsical tales of love, life and friendship to his readers.
Months ago, I almost killed the man who kidnapped my sister, and now the FBI wants me to do it again.
A serial killer is striking at the height of spring break, and the FBI has only one lead—all of the dead women were left to look like me.
I’m the FBI’s last resort to track this deadly predator by using my special abilities.
Only this time, I’m tethered with a tracking device to watch my every move, and without weapons at my disposal.
Not to mention the FBI intends to use me as bait.
The only question left is whether I can outsmart the killer and survive when my name is sitting at the top of his hit list.
He’s the only man my father can trust when the cartel attempts to take us out. A vicious motorcycle gang member, he’s deadly with his fists and firearms.
He’s also the bastard responsible for my mother’s death.
I’m the one who’ll make him pay. A too-young, too-innocent woman he lusts after but refuses to touch.
He might believe he’s strong enough to withstand my plans for retaliation, but I will bring him to his knees and have my revenge.
“We have to go.” Dad tugged me toward the exit. “Stick to my heels—don’t look at anyone, don’t speak to anyone.”
I nodded dumbly, using my free hand to swipe tears from my cheeks in an attempt to be the strong woman he wanted. If only he’d have offered a quick hug—the thing I always longed for and never received—the fortifying sense of having firm ground to stand upon, to depend upon outside of monetary means.
“The car’s at the end of the alleyway. You’ll get in the back, lay down, and stay down until I say.”
I nodded again, knowing to never argue with Dad’s commands.
One last quick scan of my face and he turned, grasping the exit door’s handle. Dad peeked out head moving left then right. “Stay close,” he whispered, pulling the door open far enough for us to slip through.
I stepped out into the dark after him, my breath loud in my ears as cold bit at my exposed, over-heated skin. Dad’s dress shoes slapped on the sidewalk, my heels clicking as we hurried up the alleyway.
A crowd still stood at the front of the club, but Dad pushed through, people closing back in behind us as we fought to get to the car.
I kept my focus on his tense shoulders rather than scan the crowd for faces I might recognize—my guards, or his men from the compound I’d called home. Every muscle inside me trembled, shaking my limbs. The second we escaped the throng, he headed toward a tan car I didn’t recognize, his head in constant motion as he scanned the immediate area.
Dad grasped the car’s back door handle.
Pop!
“Get in!” he shouted as people began screaming behind us.
He yanked open the door, and I dove in headfirst, my heart in my throat.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…
I curled up on the cloth seat, hugging my knees to my chest, trembling from fear as much as the cold.
Another gunshot sounded, and Dad slammed the door behind me.
Please be okay… I clenched my eyelids shut.
A third shot sounded through the ringing in my ears, and I bit my lip to keep from shrieking, curling even tighter into myself. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I held my breath … waiting. Needing Dad to be okay. Needing him to get in the car and take me far away from the shit.
The driver door tore open, and a quick peek revealed Dad hopping in.
“Fuck!” He pulled away from the curb like a bat out of hell, tires squealing beneath us, and I clenched my eyes shut again, trying to still my breathing and calm the fuck down. Rather than spew a million questions and distract Dad as he muttered curses and sped down one road after another, I kept quiet except for sniffles when my nose threatened to drip.
Violence came with Dad’s line of business. I’d learned that first hand, and the aftermath of that war had left me without a mother, left my father broken and shut down toward his only living relative—me.
The only daughter.
The only heir to the fortune and empire he’d built from running drugs with a cartel I wished I didn’t know anything about.
“Shaun!” Dad barked. “Get your seat belt on. Now.”
He swerved, and a car sped alongside us as I sat up. Two men sat in the front, neither of which I recognized.
The one in the passenger seat raised a gun.
“Gun!” I shrieked, and Dad slammed on the brakes.
Lower lip between my teeth, I slid out of the shoulder strap and laid back down, curling up as tight as I could.
Dad stomped on the gas again.
Metal scraped—the car shifted.
Dad cursed low and long…
We sped up. He slammed the brakes again enough to tumble me off the seat had I not had the belt across my lap. More speed, more metal screeching—tears and snot mingled on my face, but I couldn’t be bothered to care.
I’d always thought keeping my eyes closed as a child meant no one could see me, that I hid in my own little world. Untouchable. Invincible.
I’d learned the day Mom died, the closing of one’s eyes couldn’t shield one from the horrors in life.
The car suddenly shifted—spun.
I bit my lip, tasting blood as I whimpered.
Sounds of screeching—metal smashing—a loud explosion.
Our car came to a standstill, silence engulfing the air around us.
Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.
Alonzo J.A. Huss
(Bossy Brothers, #5)
Publication date: January 13th 2020
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense
Read as book five in the Bossy Brothers series or as a standalone book.
TARA
Lonnie Derringer is a filthy-mouthed, dirty-talking, long-distance fling.
(That’s been going on for two years.)
I know, I know. That’s not a fling. This might be getting serious.
I think about him all the time. I look forward to our quickie lunch dates and the way he whispers in my ear every night from two-thousand miles away.
He’s the best boyfriend I never had.
Until I find out his name isn’t Lonnie, it’s Alonzo.
Until I find out he’s not some boring accountant with a dead-end job, he’s a six-foot-four, yoked-out, tatted-up fisherman who never wears a shirt!
That’s right, girls. He’s been catfishing me online for two… freaking… years!
And then he becomes more than just the best boyfriend I’ve never had.
He becomes my target.
ALONZO
Tara Tanner is the perfect long-distance girlfriend who lives in the Land of Far, Far Away.
She’s a blonde, bookish bundle of sexy-overachiever. A wicked little siren with a filthy mind and an eye for pencil skirts. And every time I ask her to ‘send-me-a-pic-or-it-never-happened’ she goes above and beyond.
She is, quite simply, the most perfect woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to never meet.
I didn’t set out to lie to her and I didn’t expect to meet her.
But one day she shows up at my house, and guess what?
She wasn’t the only one being catfished for two years.
Because she’s not who she said she was either.
Bossy Brothers: Alonzo can be read as book five in the Bossy Brothers series or as a standalone story and features a sexy game of guess-who between a librarian obsessed with pencil skirts and a fisherman tatted up with mermaids. It’s long-distance fling filled with dirty-talking, sexy selfies, and safely-hidden secrets… until it isn’t.
Until the day they meet and realize… Love in the Land of fake Far, Far Away can’t ever compare to the real thing.
“Fort Collins Public Library, how can I help you?”
“Yes. Hello. I have a question about a book.”
“Yes, sir. That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to hear it.”
“Well, it’s not a question about a book, per se. I’m looking for something specific. To read.”
“Well, you’re talking to the right girl. I’m a book expert. I even have the pencil skirt, tight white blouse, severe ponytail, and dark-framed glasses to prove it.”
“Hmmm. What’s your name? It’s just… I like to use a woman’s name when I talk books with them.”
“Ohhh… Tara. I’m Tara. Do you… like women who talk books back to use your name as well?”
“Hmmm. Intriguing question, Tara. I’ve never thought about it before. But yes. Yes. I’d like that. I’m Lonnie. A too-smart, button-down-shirt-wearing accountant who loves numbers and making things… balance.”
“Balancing. I like that.”
“You do?”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“What kind of balancing are you picturing? Like… financial statements and checkbooks?”
“Nnn-nooooo. More like… the kind of balance you need when a hot, sexy accountant is fucking you up against a wall.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry. My imagination is… well, wild. And I’m a bit bored at the moment. There’s absolutely no one else here in the library with me. I guess I’m just looking for a little fun while no one’s watching.”
“Are you sure you’re a librarian?”
“Positive. But I’d like to clarify one thing before we continue. I don’t mind people watching.”
“Oh.”
“Now tell me. What kind of specific book are you looking for? I’m excited at the prospect of pleasing you.”
“This might sound a little weird, Tara.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve heard it all, Lonnie.”
“It’s a very… odd trope I’m looking for.”
“Trust me, Lonnie. I’m here to help. What trope are you looking for today?”
“OK, so… it’s the one about the… well, let’s call him under-socialized—”
“Got it. Our protagonist is a man who is maybe… an accountant?”
“Exactly.”
“Great. Keep going.”
“And he meets this… other under-socialized person. Female. Maybe a…”
“A librarian?”
“Yes! Exactly. This accountant meets a librarian and they…”
“Fuck?”
“No.”
“Have cam sex?”
“Mmmm… not quite. But close.”
“OK. I think I understand. But I need a little clarification, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all, Tara. How can I clarify?”
“Well, this accountant. Can you give me a better description? Just so, you know, I can clearly envision this… book… in my head.”
“Sure. He’s about six foot four.”
“Oh, my.”
“Yeah. He’s big.”
“Big as in…?”
“Tall. Yup.”
“Oh.”
“But he’s big in other ways too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Like… you know. Biiiig.”
“Big as in… I can’t fit my hand around it?”
“How big are your hands?”
“Small to average.”
“Then definitely not.”
“I see. OK. Got it. He’s girthy.”
“Exactly.”
“What else?”
“Well, his hair is light brown.”
“Hmm. Eyes?”
“Let’s go with hazel.”
“Hazel green? Hazel blue? Or hazel brown?”
“Hazel green-brown.”
“Delicious.”
“What?”
“Oh. I’m eating pudding. And I just licked my spoon. It’s delicious.”
“Pudding, huh?”
“Mmmm. Pudding. OK. I have a better picture of our hero. But what of our heroine? This… librarian.”
“Well… she’s a typical librarian. And you’re a librarian.”
“That I am, Lonnie.”
“Well, this librarian is on the small side.”
“Small as in petite? Or small as in… not more than a mouthful?”
“Petite.”
“Oh. So she’s ample in all the right places. Like me.”
“Like you, huh?”
“Mmmm-hmm.”
“And she wears… well, pencil skirts.”
“Also like me.”
“And a tight, white, button-down blouse that shows off her ample…”
“Breasts?”
“I was going to say ‘pocket protector.’”
“Lonnie?”
“Tara?”
“You’re making this difficult.”
“How so?”
“I’m on my lunch break here.”
“Oh, am I disturbing you?”
“Not at all. I’m just waiting for you to get to the good parts.”
“The part where they bond over books and numbers?”
“No, the part where he talks dirty to her on the phone while she’s on her lunch break so she can come on her fingers and make him pretend to lick them.”
I laugh.
“It’s not funny. Come on!”
“It’s roleplaying.”
“I know. I’m done with it. I gave you the perfect in and all you had to do was say, ‘Yeah, the kind of balance when he fucks her against a wall’ and we’d be halfway home right now!”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“You’re doing this on purpose! You know I only get thirty minutes for lunch today! It’s book club Monday and I’ve got every damn housewife in Fort Collins in here with her wine-stained book-of-the-month-club edition paperback acting like she’s all literate and shit.”
I laugh again.
“Lonnie. Phone-fuck me right now. Or I’m hanging up and never answering your pervy calls again.”
Author Bio:
JA Huss is the New York Times Bestselling author of 321 and has been on the USA Today Bestseller’s list 21 times in the past five years. She writes characters with heart, plots with twists, and perfect endings.
Her new sexy sci-fi romance and paranormal romance pen name is KC Cross and she writes novels and teleplays collaboratively with actor and screenwriter, Johnathan McClain.
Her books have sold millions of copies all over the world, the audio version of her semi-autobiographical book, Eighteen, was nominated for a Voice Arts Award and an Audie Award in 2016 and 2017 respectively. Her audiobook, Mr. Perfect, was nominated for a Voice Arts Award in 2017. Her audiobook, Taking Turns, was nominated for an Audie Award in 2018. Five of her book were optioned for a TV series by MGM television in 2018. And her book, Total Exposure, was nominated for a RITA Award in 2019.
She lives on a ranch in Central Colorado with her family.
Can the attraction between Gemma and Jake outlast the grape-picking season in her vineyard?
Gemma has managed the family wine-making business ever since her husband died and left her alone with their daughter. But this fall, there’s something in the air that makes her moody and restless. It doesn’t help that the usual team of seasonal workers left her in the lurch.
Jake’s life revolves around his sports career. When an injury forces him to rest, he becomes a mentor to a troubled teen, Tommy. Trying to reform him, he takes him on a working vacation to an old vineyard.
As Jake helps Gemma get the work done, they struggle to ignore the attraction they feel for each other. There is no point giving in when Jake will have to leave for France at the end of his vacation and Gemma can’t leave her vineyard.
He bent down and picked up her feet, still in her work boots. He propped them up on his knees and started unlacing the boots.
“What are you doing?” she asked, appalled, and placed her glass on the table.
“I’ll massage your feet. They must be killing you.”
She made a horrified sound. “They’re dirty. And smelly.” She swatted his hands away, but he didn’t relent.
“You’ve never smelled my socks after a game. You don’t know what smelly is.”
One boot thudded to the ground and the other one followed shortly after.
“Jake,” she tried again, but he had already pulled off her socks. She hid her face in her hands.
The first contact of his warm fingers on her sore feet had her rolling her eyes to the back of her head. A moan tore from her throat. Torn between mortification and pleasure, she didn’t open her eyes when she heard Jake chuckle.
“That good, huh? And I’m just warming up,” he teased.
Her mind wandered to other things he might be good at. Heat swamped her body. She wriggled on the sofa, tension wiring her body with a need she hadn’t felt in ages.
His fingers massaged and kneaded her feet and toes. She bit her lip to stop herself from making any more suggestive sounds. She laughed when he hit a ticklish spot.
“Oh, did I discover a chink in your armor?” Jake asked.
“You’re deluded. My armor is intact.” Gemma giggled when he tickled her again. “Stop! Please, stop!”
She laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe, but he wouldn’t stop tickling her.
“Admit it!” he demanded, a wicked grin splitting his face.
She shook her head, stubborn yet gasping for air, tears of laughter in her eyes. But then she couldn’t take it anymore. “Okay, okay. I admit.”
“Aha,” he said, victorious. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Her whole body hurt from the strain of trying to get her feet away from his wicked fingers, but the tiredness was heavy and pleasant. “You’re evil,” she complained, wiping her eyes, a silly grin on her lips. She couldn’t remember when she had last laughed like that. It was quite a change from the morose mood earlier. Everything in her felt alive and buzzing with a pleasant sort of tension.
“You don’t know the half of it. Now that I know there’s a crack in your defense, I’ll find others, bigger, wider ones.”
“Please don’t.” She said it as a joke, but the significance of her words struck her a second later.
Jake looked at her as if he too had heard more in her words than she’d planned to say. He pulled her feet back in his lap, so her legs were stretched out, and he rested his large hands on top, warming her skin. He gazed out over the grassy stretch of sloping land which separated the house from the sea. The ripples on the water looked gray and lazy in the late evening. The breeze off the sea tasted briny in Gemma’s mouth.
“Did it ever occur to you,” he said, pausing shortly before he continued, “that you don’t need it? Your armor?” He looked at her then. It was too dark for her to be able to decipher the look in his eyes. She tried to figure out what to say without sounding pathetic, when he added, “You don’t have to answer that. Just think about it.”
Gently, he lifted her feet and got up from the sofa. He placed her legs back down onto the cushion, holding them for a moment. When his hands let go, she felt a chill in the spot where he’d touched her skin.
