Friday, March 29, 2013



Professor Seth Dustin thinks he’s alone in the world, but when he meets another shifter, he’s forced to reevaluate his whole life. Dex Connor is gorgeous, talented, and male—everything Seth had no idea he wanted.

However, when Seth discovers Dex is keeping dangerous secrets from him, he must decide if he can forgive the man who has become his closest friend, the man who stole his heart. Seth never expected to find himself in the midst of a territorial fight with a rival clan. He doesn’t know how to deal with the jealous hostility of a woman who wants Dex for herself. Love is unexpectedly complicated, but is being alone better?

Rocker, shifter, mate: Dex is all of these, and more. Professor, shifter, loner: Seth wants more. When two shifters meet, instinct takes over.



“Shape shifters have one true mate. A lot of us don’t find that person. Some of us do and lose him, like my sister lost hers. They were so young they never even bonded.” He lifted a shoulder. “I knew almost from the moment I met you.”

Seth swallowed thickly. “I think you’re insane.” He meant it nicely, but still, Dex couldn’t imagine he would take this seriously, could he?

Dex laughed and shoved his chair away from the table. “I promise I’m not.”

Seth leaned his elbows against the solid wood and tried to figure out what the hell there was to say to that. His erection hadn’t flagged, either, oh no. In fact, his cock was harder than ever and had been since Dex said the word “mate.”

“Dex—” he began, then stopped, shocked at how rough he sounded. He pushed away from the table, edgy and aroused and not sure what to do with himself. He glanced at Dex whose eyes had gone dark.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Dex said, standing up in one graceful movement. The muscles in his arms flexed beautifully.

For a shifter who can’t shift, he certainly is in great shape, Seth thought vaguely, then Dex’s lips were on his and he stopped thinking at all. Dex hauled him up against his body and Seth shuddered. This kiss was even more incendiary than the last one, maybe because he wasn’t angry anymore, maybe because he wasn’t as shocked as the first time. He wasn’t sure he cared why. He ran his hands through Dex’s hair and hung on, crazily aroused by the feel of another man’s stubble against his mouth.

“Jesus, Dex,” he panted when Dex nibbled down his jaw. “What are we doing?”

Dex growled. All the hair on Seth’s body stood up and he pushed against Dex, trying to get closer.
The table dug into his hip and he realized that Dex was pushing back at him, shoving him into the wood. Seth snapped. He groaned and grabbed Dex by the shoulders, swinging him around and walking him backwards until they hit the kitchen sink with a thump.

“Seth, fuck,” Dex said, kissing him again. Seth moaned and jammed his hands down Dex’s jeans.

“Off, take these off,” he said, hips jerking uncontrollably as Dex bucked against him.

“Seth, wait,” he said, but Seth wasn’t listening anymore. He didn’t want to know what new piece of annoying information Dex thought he absolutely must know. He wanted to rut against Dex’s hard, smooth, gorgeous body until he came, and he wanted to do it right the fuck now.

“Shut up.” Seth grunted, slipping a hand in between them to fumble at Dex’s jeans. “You talk too much and I’m done listening.”

“God, what are you—” Dex began, but Seth had the button open now. He eased the zipper down, breathing harshly against Dex’s throat.

“Be quiet,” Seth said, licking under his ear. Dex’s flavor burst over his tongue and he sucked in a breath as the taste of wild and hot and mine exploded in his body. “God, Dex, you taste incredible.
Why do you taste so good?”

“Seth, if we do this, there’s no going back,” Dex muttered, his hands busy ripping Seth’s hoodie to shreds.

“I don’t see you stopping,” Seth taunted, biting him again. Dex shuddered against his mouth and he licked the spot where his teeth had just been. He loved the way Dex moved under his touch. Then Dex pushed him away and literally tore his hoodie off his body. “Holy shit.”

Dex smiled, fierce and possessive. “You were taking too long.”

Dex had a point. Seth blinked, suddenly right on the fucking edge of climax. He jammed his fist against his balls, trying to stave it off. “If you keep ripping my clothes off me, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

Dex dropped the pieces of Seth’s top and reached for his sweatpants. Seth danced away. “Fuck. Let me do it so you don’t break anything. Take your shirt off, for Christ’s sake.”

Dex snarled, but did as Seth asked, throwing it across the kitchen. His hair came out messy, but it made him look even hotter. Seth stared at Dex’s body, dazed at the sight of a huge tattoo covering most of his left hip and disappearing into his open pants. “Jesus, that must have hurt.”

Dex ran a finger up the design. “When I lost the ability to shift, I had the clan artist ink my lost animals onto me.”

Seth looked at the intertwined wolf and eagle and several other creatures cavorting across Dex’s skin. He wanted to taste them, run his fingers over them until he knew them as intimately as he knew his own. “It suits you,” he said gruffly. He eased his sweats over his erection carefully. When he straightened back up, he found Dex staring at him, eyes hot.



Tuesday, March 26, 2013



After the deaths of her husband and child, tragedies that she blames herself for, Andrea “Andy” Sheaver has shut herself off from the world. The only place she finds any relief from her shattered heart is Club Splendor, where she and her husband often frequented together. There, Andy submits to pleasure and pain in situations so her grief is forgotten for a little while.

But Hunter Sullivan won’t stand idly by and watch Andy self-destruct. A friend of her husband, and the owner of Club Splendor, Hunter has kept his love for Andy hidden for years. He refuses to think of her at the club, cold and detached as she’s become, looking for an easy fix to take away the pain in her heart. Hunter wants her to be vibrant in life again and sets out to prove he is exactly who she needs.  


Buy Links:

Excerpt © Kacey Hammell, 2013
Hunter sighed, which caught Andy’s attention. Her eyes met his briefly before lowering to her hands, which were clenched tight in her lap.
“Look, Andy,” he began.
“What do you want, Hunter?” Her forest-green-eyed gaze met his. Anger swirled in their depths.
“I’m tired of this. Dammit.” He snarled, rising, and crossed to the fireplace. He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned one arm on the mantel. He looked over at her, stomach churning with indigestion and pain. He’d loved Patrick and Peter too. Could she not understand that she wasn’t the only one suffering?
“Tired of what? I never asked you here.”
“This!” Hunter spread his arms wide. “You. I’m so tired of seeing you locked away in this house, never leaving and pictures gone.”
“Go to hell,” Andy spat and leapt to her feet. She moved behind the loveseat, obvious fury making her hands shake as she laid them on the back of it. “You don’t have any say in how I live. I never asked for your opinion. If you don’t like it, get the hell out of my house. And my life!”
Hunter breathed deep, nostrils flaring. He could no more walk away from her than he could from the Sheavers. She was as much a part of his life, and his heart, as they were.
But his love for her went far beyond sisterly.
He pushed that thought away, buried it deep within himself as he’d done for years. She was Patrick’s girl, his wife. He always honored that.
“Dammit, I don’t want to argue with you, Andy. But you really need to move on. Live life again and leave this house.”
“I leave the house. You don’t know what I do every day.”
“Oh yes, you go out. Like the other night? Why did you go to the club? I thought we agreed you were no longer a member,” Hunter demanded, curious about her answer.
“No. You decided I was no longer a member. Not me. I never said I wanted that. Who are you to make decisions for me?” Andy retorted, cheeks flushed, hands on her hips.
Hunter had to admit he was finally seeing a glimpse of the fiery, strong woman she’d been until this last year. He liked her eyes ablaze, jaw clenched and fury radiating off her body. He just needed to provoke her enough and challenge her to move beyond these walls and back to the things she loved to do.
“I don’t want to make decisions for you.” He took a calming breath. “Listen, the club is not the place for you any longer. Without Patrick… There’s no need for you to be there anymore.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He was the one who wanted to show it to you. He never really thought you’d come to enjoy it as much as you did. Neither of you interacted with others. What can you find there now without him?”
Andy smiled, cold and detached. He hated that smirk.
“Oh, come now. You know what happens in your club. Surely, I don’t have to spell it out for you.”
Goddamn her.
Yes, he knew what she’d done inside the room she’d once used with Patrick. Though he normally didn’t interfere in his members’ activities unless there was a problem, he did ask Paige and Nolan if Andy had simply watched. He’d been shocked, then livid, to learn a few details of what happened between the three of them.
Andy had always been a devoted wife to Patrick, faithful to the core. To know she’d been an active participant at the club for the first time had suddenly left him empty and alone.
But he couldn’t allow his feelings on the matter to distract him from pushing her back into life.
He shrugged. “No. You don’t have to spell it out for me. But is that what you truly want and need in your life?  Sex with strangers? Do you need to find comfort in people who don’t care about you?”
Andy glared at him. “That is none of your business.” Her voice rose as she continued. “What I do in my life is for me to decide. I never asked to have you in my life. Don’t expect me to want you there now.”
His heart clenched. Her words were like a punch to the gut.
Yes, he’d sort of come as a package deal when she’d married Patrick. But the Sheavers were the only family he had. And when Peter was born, oh, he’d played the dutiful uncle to the little boy. Though she’d never voiced her frustration at his being in attendance at nearly all family gatherings or taking up some of Patrick’s time once a week for a guys’ night out, he’d understood the stone-faced woman who left the words unsaid.
“I always promised Patrick I’d look after you if he couldn’t.”
“Fuck off, Hunter. Don’t give me that.” Her hands fisted at her sides. “Look, please just go. I don’t need you here. I have things to do.”
He wouldn’t be so easily dismissed.
“Things to do? Like what, plan your next adventure at the club? I don’t think so. Why? Explain to me why you felt the need to go there?”
Arms wide, she yelled, “I wanted to fuck somebody. Is that what you want to hear? That I wanted to have a cock inside me for the first time in almost two years? I wanted to have a man inside, pounding me—brutal and painful. What better place to do that than at the club where I know I’m safe?”
Hunter’s heartbeat accelerated. To know she needed someone that close to her was agonizing. It was a barren and desperate act of someone who had nothing to live for. Or didn’t think she was worth much.
“Why pain? You couldn’t have found satisfaction in that. No pleasure, Andy? You, of all people, found pleasure in that kind of sex? I don’t believe for a moment that you’re now into rough sex,” Hunter said, gruff. His mouth was dry, and confusion made his head hurt. Would he never understand this woman?
Andy crossed her arms over her chest. She looked out the window behind him. Her gaze was unfocused, filled with pain.
“Yes, pain. It’s what I deserve, isn’t it?” Her gaze captured his. Hunter felt his heart crack at her desolate look.


Monday, March 25, 2013


When movie-queen Lennox Cordova threatens to expose the past, superstar Heston Demming's life spirals into a whirlwind of danger, deceit—and murder? Will old secrets be unearthed and lives destroyed? Will unseen forces guide the destiny of the Demming family's entertainment dynasty?
Come join Heston, Poppy, and their children as they seek passion, artistic fulfillment, and spiritual awakening along the sunny shores of wealthy, glitzy, tropical Florida—Naples, South Beach, and the Florida Keys.
In this sequel to A CHANCE TO SAY YES, you'll discover romance, revenge—and redemption? And a rock-music legend to die for...

Excerpt from A Wild Dream of Love by Tina Murray, PH. D., copyright, 2012;
page 22

Wild in an otherworldly trance, shaman Kipp danced in the zone. Dressed in tight black jeans and sleeveless leather vest, the tall, sinewy singer’s overt sensuality and craggy face held his worshippers spellbound. Rippling across the bicep of his right arm was his famous tattoo—planets revolving in a solar system surrounded by stars. Singing, he was a wormhole to the throbbing universe.

The anthem came to an abrupt halt, fizzling out in a sparkling light-show flurry. In the train-crash crescendo, Kipp thrust his pelvis repeatedly at the cheering crowd, until their annihilation was accomplished and the cacophony ceased. Drained and spent, he dropped limply to his knees and bowed humbly to the crowd. He hated that song now. He was glad to be done with it.  Breathing slowly in and out, he felt an ominous current moving through the crowd. Lulled by lust, the rapt onlookers threatened to erupt in thunderous, random excess.

He knew what they wanted. Dripping sweat, he was too exhausted to resist. He stared out at the yearning throng. Why should they be satisfied just to ogle his wiggling ass? If they tore him limb from limb tonight, he would let them. He wanted them to.

Let’s get this over with. 

Springing to his feet, he bowed again, this time deeply, from the waist, and rising in a flourish, bounded cavalierly across the stage, microphone in hand. A ripple of anticipation buoyed the crowd. They knew. As the final encore, he was about to sing his signature song. Don’t Die Wondering. What they didn’t know was that tonight would be the last time he would ever sing this or any other song.

Readying his instrument, he drew deep breaths, his hand pressed to his sleek, gently rounded abdomen. Sober, but fatigued and titillated, he ran his gaze across the volatile crowd swarming before him in the packed concert hall. Aroused, he willed his lean, muscular body to relax, but failed.  Fans screamed as he pretended to unzip his black leather pants and massage his member.

“You need to calm down,” he teased into the microphone. He leered seductively at the restless audience. Lecherous shouts rang out. One last time, he felt his power surge...


Thursday, March 21, 2013

COLLAR AND BELL by Zenobia Renquist

COLLAR AND BELL by Zenobia Renquist

A Forever Wicked Story with Changeling Press

He wants no greater prize than the love of his sexy kitten.

Eric Miller has a dilemma. He has seven years to make his company succeed so he can sell it and prove to his father he has what it takes to head the family business. Eric's two brothers are out to prove the same. Only one can inherit, and it doesn't look like it'll be Eric until he adopts a little black cat that changes his life.

Simone is willing to help in exchange for his complete obedience. Under her direction, Eric finds his desires shifting from running a company to a certain sex kitten whose purr drives him wild. The deadline is nearing, and Eric's time with Simone is about to end. He plans to find a way to make her stay... even if it's on his knees.


Forever Wicked: Collar and Bell
 Zenobia Renquist
 All rights reserved.
 Copyright ©2013 Zenobia Renquist

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

 "Fuck!" Eric picked up a throw pillow and chucked it across the room as hard as he could. It hit the far wall and then plopped to the floor, causing no damage. Eric felt like that pillow -- decorative and superfluous.

He was the middle child of three boys. Richmond Miller, his father and the head of an apparel company worth billions, wanted to leave the presidency to the most capable son. To prove that capability, his father charged his sons to oversee smaller divisions of the company, make those divisions lucrative, and then sell them. The son who, after seven years, brought in the most money from his sale would win the presidency.

To keep his sons from competing directly and possibly interfering with each other, Richmond had told them to pick different aspects of the company. Daniel, the eldest, had gotten first pick and taken men's athletic shoes. Thanks to his basketball player endorsements, the company couldn't keep the products on the shelf. Jonas, the youngest, had followed Daniel and taken men's athletic wear. Jonas shared athletes with his brother and sometimes commercial spots.

And then there was Eric. He'd been stuck with women's apparel. He remained convinced his father was sabotaging him, since no one in his family thought he had the ability to run a company. Athletic apparel was easy. It had even turned into a fashion statement over the years. Women's fashion changed so much from one moment to the next that keeping ahead of the curve and making money seemed impossible.

Eric didn't know the first thing about women's fashion. He hardly paid attention to his own clothing choices. He bought whichever suit the clerks suggested for his medium, gym-trained build. If the occasion called for casual, he wore jeans or khakis and a single-colored cotton polo shirt. Easy.

He sighed again and shoved his hand through his short-cut black hair. It had been long once, almost to mid-back. His father had insisted he cut it so Eric would present a more businesslike appearance.

That hadn't been the end of the suggestions. And by suggestions, he meant orders. Richmond hadn't sugarcoated his words. He wanted Eric to act more like him, the way Eric's brothers did. Trying to emulate his father had given Eric an ulcer before his doctor ordered him to stop.

That was Eric. Good at taking orders. His brothers always told him he would make a great vice president, someone in the background who took care of the little things while someone else handled the big decisions. He didn't think they were wrong, though he would never admit it aloud.

He startled when a sleek black cat hopped on his lap. Simone. He'd taken her in seven months ago when he found her cold and starving in one of his warehouses. He'd never had a pet before, and some whim made him decide to make her the first.

Pets were supposed to be soothing and help relieve stress. Or so Eric had read. Simone was a great stress reliever, but he wasn't in the mood today. He scooped his hand under her belly and gave her a toss. "Not now."

The cat glared at him from where she landed. Her tail sliced the air as it switched back and forth.
"I had a bad day. All right? Sales are shitty. The employees aren't happy so customer service is being affected. The seven year deadline is almost over, and my father is probably going to stick me with this sinking ship just to teach me a lesson. How am I supposed to impress Heather's father when I'm two steps away from poverty?"

Heather was the girl Eric had liked since high school. Unfortunately, his brothers liked her too. She'd been stringing all three along since they met, never committing to one over the others. She also happened to be the daughter of the president of the company with which Richmond wanted to merge. A marriage would grease the wheels of that merger, so Richmond had encouraged his boys to pursue Heather. The brothers had come to the agreement that whoever won the seven-year trial would also win Heather. The other two brothers would back off.

Eric no longer wanted Heather. Life had introduced him to a woman more suited to him that he loved beyond distraction. He did still want Heather's company, but that dream was going down with the ship that was his failing company.

Simone continued glaring at him.

He yelled, "What?"

With a soft growl, Simone left the room.

"Shit." Eric got up and chased after her, following her to the bedroom. "Simone. Simone, wait. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. Simone?" He looked around the room but didn't see her. Going to his knees, he looked under the bed.

When he sat back, he startled at the sight of the woman standing on the other side of the bed from him. "Simone?"

Her emerald green eyes flashed with her anger. She had her fists planted against her wide hips with her legs spread apart in a classic pissed-off stance.

Eric knew he'd screwed up when he yelled at her but he couldn't bring himself to be that worried about it since Simone was naked. She'd shifted from cat to human, and clothes didn't come with the shift.


ESTHER EGG HUNT by Sam Cheever

ESTHER EGG HUNT by Sam Cheever

Book 3: Holidays are Hell Series

This Easter, rather than dying…again…Esther’s gonna resurrect some serious feelings in her sexy perdition guide.

Esther Mills is caught in Hell’s version of ground hog day. Every year she’s resurrected on Easter and relives her death, only to be escorted to Hell again.

The one thing that makes her life tolerable is being escorted back to Hell each time by Lucifer, her sexy perdition guide. Esther and Luc share a hot crush. But for some reason he won’t act on his feelings.

So this Easter, Esther’s gonna make sure Luc can’t ignore her any longer. She’s going to take her life back…and when she’s done with her sexy devil, he’s not gonna know what hit him!


Holidays are Hell: Esther Egg Hunt
 Sam Cheever
 All rights reserved.
 Copyright ©2013 Sam Cheever

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Fire lit the night sky, painting the thin film of clouds with orange and yellow light. Esther Mooring laid her head back and sighed, enjoying the cooler air that came with the night. Another burst of fire lightened the sky, ending in a series of fiery loops that made a funny whirring noise as they plunged toward the ground.

Esther's neighbors cheered, and somebody popped the cork on a bottle of something bubbly. She frowned, wondering what it would be like to celebrate Good Friday eve like a normal person. Well, at least a normal dead person living in Hell.

She sipped white wine and scratched a quickly growing bump from a bug bite. Hell didn't have regular mosquitoes. They were more like small airplanes that buzzed and snapped razor-sharp teeth as they dived toward you.

Esther generally hid in the house at night. But the holiday fireworks display was too tempting to resist. So she'd come out dressed head to toe, with her hand-held flamethrower clutched in one hand to sear the biting bastards when they tried to dive-bomb her.

Good Friday was a major holiday in Hell. Unlike Christmas, which Hellions ridiculed and banned as fiction, the pre-Easter holiday from her youth was celebrated as a happy event, with presents and parties.

Esther had never joined in the fun. Not because of any residual childhood memories about the sober way her parents had treated the day, but because, for her, the spirit of the day was all too real.
The only thing that made it bearable was knowing she would soon see him again... gorgeous Luc with the intense green eyes and perfect, round behind that made her mouth water. Though her sexy perdition guide barely spoke to her, she knew he was interested by the way that serious green gaze followed her every movement when they were together.

A loud buzzing brought Esther's head up and she reacted quickly, pressing the button to send a narrow flame into the sky from her mini-thrower. The fanged bloodsucker spread its wings and tried to stay outside the range of the flame, but it didn't quite make it. The fist-sized bug sizzled into ash in the space of a heartbeat, falling to the ground and joining a dozen of its evil compatriots.

"Happy Good Friday, Esther."

She looked up and smiled at her neighbor, Alice, who'd spoken to her from behind a privacy fence. The woman was painfully shy, but she'd been friendly enough to Esther, even though Esther had been honest with her about her situation from the very first day. "Hey Alice! Thanks. Are you going to any parties?"

"No. How about you?"

Esther shook her head. "I'll be going in to pack as soon as the fireworks are over."

Alice's smile drooped. "Oh. Yeah. I'd forgotten. I'm sorry."

Esther shrugged. "Thanks."

"Maybe they'll put you here again."

Esther shook her head. "I gave up hoping for that a couple of years back. I'm afraid the judges get too much pleasure from jerking me around."

Alice frowned. "I don't get it. Your situation is rare. I don't know why they wouldn't work a little harder to help you. It's not fair."

Esther smiled. "Thanks, Alice. I appreciate your support. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"Whatever happens, take care of yourself, Esther."

"I will. You, too."

Alice nodded and waved before turning away and disappearing behind her fence.

Esther smiled too. Because she hadn't been just making conversation. She fully intended to get control of her situation this time. She was done letting fate decide her future. She'd been bitch-slapped by that evil hag more than enough.

It was time for Esther to grab fate by the hair and send her packing.

She frowned, thinking of what was ahead of her. She'd thought she'd known what Hell was. But she hadn't realized that, for her at least, it meant reliving her death, over and over again.

Killed in a rockslide.

She shook her head, still not believing she'd died so stupidly. Esther had been active all her life. A true daredevil, she'd functioned under a continuous bucket list mentality. She'd jumped from airplanes, swum with sharks, traveled the Serengeti, and climbed the highest mountain peaks she could find.

She'd been caught in an avalanche in the Rocky Mountains.

She'd been badly stung by a jellyfish, and had come this close to being eaten by a lion.

None of that scared her as much as reliving her death -- and resurrection -- every year.

That first year she'd just stood there and watched the rocks bear down on her. The second year she hadn't acted quickly enough to escape dying again. But this time -- the third year of her resurrection -- Esther intended to take steps.

Then she thought of Luc. Sexy, wonderful Luc. She'd really only spent time with him when she was newly dead. Not the best time or place for building a relationship. But over the years they'd formed a certain kind of comfortable relationship built on silence and understanding.

He was mostly silent, and Esther understood he was going to be that way.

Only thing was, she thought of nothing else all year long. Even her ongoing and impending death didn't hold her thoughts as often as Luc did. She thought about the way his sexy, dark green gaze raked over her, touching her with heat, and the way his big, calloused hands pressured her so gently as he guided her toward the portal that would lead to her doom.

And the way he fought for her, every single year, trying to get the evil, nasty judges to give her a permanent place to return to every time. He'd nearly gotten himself thrown into the fiery pits on her behalf the previous year.

Esther thought that was the moment she'd started to fall in love with him. But something was holding him back. Something was keeping him from taking the next step with her. And Esther was tired of waiting.
So this year, when she faded away from Perdigo and landed in the road behind her car, Esther wasn't going to just stand there and let herself be crushed all over again. She was going to run. And if Luc wanted her badly enough, he would have to chase her. At the thought, she experienced a delightful little thrill.

Esther suddenly realized the hardest part of the whole thing would be resisting the overwhelming urge to let him catch her.


Tuesday, March 19, 2013



Fleeing from her cheating husband, Moira Shaughnessy stumbles across a man she never wanted to see again. A brutal storm and deadly magic open her eyes to the power of the love between them.

A ranger for the U.S. Park Service, strong, competent Moira Shaughnessy is in serious trouble. Fleeing from her cheating husband, a Native American shaman, she stumbles into the arms of a man she never thought she’d see again. He hurt her once by choosing his druid heritage over her. Can she take a chance on him now?

Pursuing very different motives, both men follow her deep into the backcountry. Moira is caught in the crossfire between Celtic magic and Native American shamanism. A freak blizzard compounds her problems, taxing her survival skills to the max. Against the specter of almost-certain death, the sweetest, purest love she’s ever known rises to the fore, engulfing her in unbelievable passion.


Chapter 1

 Moira Shaughnessy’s booted feet hit the ground in front of the Family Medicine Clinic. Slamming the door of the dusty white Park Service pickup, she considered ignoring her boss’s orders, peeling out of the parking lot, and heading for the Baxter Pass trailhead. She had a crew to oversee, goddammit. And a work project to complete. But her boss, John, had been painstakingly clear, both yesterday at Park Headquarters in Three Rivers, and just ten minutes ago on the sat phone. Granted, he’d been far more pointed on the phone.

“It’s not a suggestion, Moira,” he’d growled. “This is a directive—from me. I want to hear from someone with MD after his name before I authorize you to head up that work detail. Do not set one foot on that trail before you receive my orders, e-sign them, and e-mail them back to me.”

“But that’s usually a formality—”

“Not this time. No buts. I made you an appointment at the clinic in Bishop that clears some of our crews. They’re open until six. I already lost two rangers this summer in the Pinecrest fire. That was two too many in my book, so get your butt into that clinic.”

Moira had thought she could avoid dealing with the whole mess by leaving the office early yesterday and taking one of the northern passes over the Sierra Nevada Mountains, but John had tracked her down.

Phooey. I ran, but guess I couldn’t hide…

It was downright annoying that her boss needed a doctor to reassure him she wouldn’t collapse or something in the backcountry. For the briefest of moments, she felt like pounding her fist into the nearest tree—then she pulled herself together. Nothing was wrong with her, except her slimy, cheating husband. Sure, she’d lost a few pounds since she’d moved out, but she hadn’t been all that hungry.

Problem was John remembered similar struggles from years ago when she’d first started working as a park ranger. She hadn’t eaten enough then, either, and had gotten far too thin. Just her luck, he’d been overseeing a backcountry work detail when she’d gotten woozy and fallen off one of the mules.

Understanding surfaced. Her boss cared about her. That wasn’t a bad thing. The anger bled out of her with a whoosh.

“May as well get this over with,” she muttered. Moira walked briskly to the clinic, pushed the door open, and went to the counter.

“Yes?” A young woman with dyed red hair looked up from her computer screen with eyes so green she had to be wearing colored contact lenses.

“Moira Shaughnessy. I think you’re expecting me. My boss called from Kings Canyon-Sequoia Park Headquarters.”

The receptionist clicked a few keys. “Your insurance card, please.”

Moira blew out an impatient breath. She dug through her fanny pack for her wallet, extracted the plasticized Blue Cross card, and handed it over. “I’m really in a bit of a hurry—”

“Here’s your card back.” The clerk gestured at the nearly full waiting room. “The doctor will be with you as soon as he can. He had a full schedule before he agreed to work you in.”

“Is it okay if I go outside for a few minutes? I need to lock my truck. I, uh, didn’t think I’d be in here for very long.”

“Sure. So long as we know where to find you.” The phone trilled. The woman picked it up, Moira obviously forgotten. “Family Medicine, how may I help you?”

Moira paced up and down the parking lot. Fall had turned the aspen trees lining Bishop’s streets to shades of red and gold that were really quite striking, but all she could think about were the minutes ticking by. It was twelve miles from the trailhead to the top of the pass, and a couple more to where her trail crew was. Leaving today would be foolhardy at this point. She’d never even make the pass before night fell.

“Damn it!” She glanced at her watch. How long was this going to take anyway?

“Ms. Shaughnessy?” A man’s voice sounded from behind her.

She spun, surprised out of her funk. And stopped dead. “Tim?” Moira stared at the tall, rangy man with long, white-blond hair and ice-blue eyes. He was dressed in teal scrubs and sandals with a stethoscope draped around his neck. A broad grin split the clean planes of his face. She’d forgotten how heartbreakingly beautiful he was.

“I saw the name and hoped it was you.” He held out a hand, but she felt frozen in place. “After all, how many Moira Shaughnessys could there be?”

She just stood there, flabbergasted. What were the odds? She hadn’t seen Tim O’Malley since they’d both graduated from U.C. Davis. When she realized her mouth was hanging open, she shut it with a snap.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” One corner of his mouth turned down in an expression she remembered all too well.

“It’s just … I mean I never expected…” She felt warmth rise from the open neck of her buff-colored uniform shirt. Heat suffused her face until she was certain every freckle was outlined in bright, living color.

“Hey, mo ghrá. I know we didn’t split up under the best of circumstances…”

“No shit. And you can skip the beloved part.” A familiar anger stirred, but she batted it aside.

“Moira, I’m sorry. I was sorry then, and I still am.” He sounded so sincere, it tugged at her heartstrings. Part of her wanted to believe him, and part of her was afraid to.

“Grannie told me some of it—about the arch druid stuff. And you having to be celibate or something.”

His brow creased. “I’m glad she did. I was sworn to silence about druid affairs.” He cleared his throat. “In fact, I still am.”

“What she told me didn’t make it any easier. I tried to call you—a bunch of times.”

“I know.”

“Christ, Tim, it’s been close to ten years.”

He looked chagrined. “I suppose I know that, too.”

Her heart, already damaged from her sham of a marriage, squeezed painfully in her chest. She’d loved Tim once. And thought he’d loved her. They’d known one another since they were children growing up in the same sprawling Irish immigrant community.

“So what happened?” She eyed him, struggling for equanimity. “It’s a long way from druid to doctor. Or are you a nurse here?”

“Nope, I’m the doc. My training took up eight of the ten years since—”

The clinic door flew open. A harried-looking, overweight woman in white scrubs rolled her eyes. Her short brown hair stood up in spikes. Her muddy green gaze shot darts. “There you are. Dr. O’Malley, you have patients.”

He waved her to silence. “Fine, Bridgette. I’ll be in soon.”


He made shooing motions with both hands. “I said I’ll be in soon.”

Bridgette’s face screwed itself into a disapproving frown. “Whatever,” she snapped and banged the door shut.

Tim closed the few feet between them and laid his hands on Moira’s shoulders. “Can I buy you dinner? Or maybe just a cup of coffee, if you’re still mad at me and not willing to risk an entire meal.”

“I’d like that, but I’m on my way to work. See…” She took a big breath and let an annotated version of her story tumble out of her. She mentioned her divorce and her lack of appetite, but skipped the low points about her marriage, figuring it wasn’t really any of Tim’s affair. “Last time I wasn’t very hungry happened was right after you and I broke up. I’d just started working for the Park Service. Unfortunately, my boss has a long memory.”

Tim listened until she was done talking, and then placed his stethoscope in his ears. “Take a deep breath.” He moved the bell to several locations on her chest, and then had her turn around and positioned it on her back. “Your heart sounds healthy to me.” He gripped her wrist, taking her pulse. “You should be fine so long as you start eating again. What is it your boss needs?”

“A phone call, I think.”

“Not a fitness for duty statement?”

She shook her head. “No. Nothing so formal.” Not yet anyway.

“Good, because that would require a real physical and some labs. Jot his number down for me.” He pulled a small notebook out of a pocket and handed it to her along with a pen.

As she gave it back, he caught her hand in his. “I’ve thought about you so many times over the years. I guess I always believed—” His voice broke off, and it was his turn to redden. “When will you be back through Bishop so we can talk? Or, better yet, I’ve got a few days off. I could backpack with you—”

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “It’s against regulations to bring civilians, other than the trail crew, on Park Service work projects.”

Blue eyes twinkled at her. “You told me you were going in over Baxter Pass.”

“Yeah.” She found herself smiling back at him. “So I did. I’m also telling you not to follow me.”

He bent his head and his lips brushed hers. It was so sweet and so fleeting, she was flooded with memories. She pulled away, her heart doing flip-flops. “If it won’t be different this time, don’t start.”

“Things will be different. I would have called you. Almost did a hundred times, but I felt so rotten about—”

“Dr. O’Malley.” Bridgette clumped across the yard and grabbed his arm. “You have patients.”

He shook her off. “When have you ever known me to leave before I’ve seen each and every one of them?”

“Never.” She sounded sullen.

“And it won’t happen today, either. Get back inside, and hold down the fort. If you could take vitals on everyone it would be a big help.”

Bridgette’s gaze moved from Tim to Moira. Pursing her lips, she went back into the clinic.

Tim turned to Moira. “It was wonderful to see you again. Here.” He scribbled something on one of the tiny sheets of notebook paper, tore it off, and handed it to her. “My cell. Call anytime.”

“I just may take you up on that.”


Tim wasn’t ready to go back into the clinic. His emotions were too close to the surface. He watched Moira’s truck drive out of the parking lot and down West Line Street. The last time he’d seen her ate at him like an out-of-control cancer. They’d spent hours in his apartment arguing. Though he’d dissected it many times trying to figure out what he could have done differently, he’d never come up with anything useful.

He made an effort to stuff the memory into its subterranean hidey-hole, but it wouldn’t cooperate. Knowing the professional objectivity he’d need to face a waiting room full of patients had just scattered like so much dust, he set off at a brisk pace intending to circle the block. Bridgette and the clinic would just have to give him a few minutes more.

* * * *

“I tell you I’m done.” Tears streamed down Moira’s face. It was swollen and blotchy. “I’ve waited for you since I was sixteen years old, Tim O’Malley. That’s six years. I didn’t expect much back then, but we’re nearly done with college. You won’t do any more than kiss me. You won’t live with me. You won’t talk about getting married.” She jumped to her feet and ran to a window.

He grabbed her arm. “I—I do love you, Moira. I’ve told you I want to save sex until after I’m married.”

“Well I don’t. Just in case you’ve forgotten, you never asked me to marry you.”

“You’re not being fair. There are things I can’t tell you.”

She whirled, golden eyes on fire. “Fine. Keep your fucking secrets. And keep your fucking virginity. I talked with Father O’Brannigan—”

A chill marched down his spine. “You what?”

“You heard me. I had to talk to someone. Even he said it wouldn’t be the end of the world if we had sex. He said God would forgive me so long as we got married. What’s the problem? Do you like boys? Jesus, even the clerk at the corner store is hotter for me than you are.”

“Mo ghrá—”

“Don’t ‘mo ghrá’ me.” She twisted out of his grasp. “Just get out of here. Don’t worry. I’ll be gone by the time you get back.”


“For the love of Christ, just leave. If you ever loved me—” Her face crumpled.

Feeling like he was being torn in two, Tim stormed out of his apartment. The minute he got to the bottom of his steps, he began to run. He loved Moira. Loved her with every fiber of his being. But he understood his duty to his druid heritage, too. Slated to be the next arch druid, he was forbidden physical congress with women. His magic needed to be honed to the highest possible level. Sex would interfere.

Tim ran until sweat streamed down his sides despite the chill of an unseasonably cool June in California. A full moon hung low, clinging to the horizon. It was a lover’s moon. He cursed, drowning in irony. A lover’s moon, but not for him.

He wasn’t surprised when he ended up ten miles north of Davis at the druids’ priory. Despite it being three in the morning, he pulled the bell chain. Its somber chime matched his mood.

The intercom next to the carved oak door crackled. “What business brings you here?” It was a standard druid greeting, though the speaker sounded half-asleep.

“I must see Liam. Now.”

“Tim O’Malley. Is that you?”

Tim blew out a ragged breath. “Yes. Now let me in, goddammit.”

A tone sounded and the door swung open soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. A man he didn’t recognize hustled up the long hallway. “Master.” He inclined his head.

“I am no one’s master. Go back to sleep. I know the way.”

Liam McAllister’s quarters were on the third floor of the rambling stone structure that had once been a Catholic monastery. Tim pounded up the stairs, stomach so tight he wondered if he’d vomit. He’d just raised a fist to pound on Liam’s door when it opened and the arch druid stood before him. If the older man had been asleep, it didn’t show.

“Welcome, son.” Liam held out his arms, but Tim shook his head. Without waiting for an invitation, he stalked into the spacious quarters with leaded glass windows. The moon mocked him, front and center in those windows.

“You must release me from my vows.”

Liam’s thick brows drew together. “You must know I cannot do that. You did not take vows. You were born to your calling.”

Tim spun to face the man who’d been like a father to him. Long, white hair framed his clean-shaven face. Bright blue eyes radiated concern. The arch druid was tall—of a height with Tim—and wraith-thin. Black robes flowed around him. “But it’s not like I’m the Dalai Lama.” He took a breath to steady himself. “You don’t understand. I love Moira. It’s tearing me up inside that I can’t have her. Christ! I can’t even tell her why I can’t make love to her—or marry her.”

Liam nodded slowly. He reached a kindly hand toward Tim. “Actually, you are a lot like the Dalai Lama. ’Tis the goddess who picks our progression. Would you care to sit, son? I believe a spot of spirits might calm you.”

“Irish whiskey will not solve this.”

Liam furled his brows. “A dram of good Irish whiskey will solve practically anything. Or at least soften it till it feels more manageable.”

He pulled a decanter close and poured amber liquid into two cut crystal shot glasses, pushing one toward Tim. “You will be able to wed once your training is complete and you sit in my place.”

Battling frustration, Tim drained his glass. The whiskey burned going down. It matched the fire in his soul. “You don’t understand. That may have worked hundreds of years ago. Not anymore. Look at you. Goddess willing, you’ll live another twenty or thirty years. Maybe more. By then Moira will be long since married to another. Hell, she could be a grandmother.” He banged a fist on one of the tables scattered about the room. A lamp rattled ominously and he reached to steady it.

“Please,” Tim begged. “At least let me tell her why I can’t wed her.”

Liam shook his head. “I cannot do that. The workings of our society have always been secret. ’Tis how we shielded ourselves from the machinations of the Church.”

“The Church isn’t still out to get us. Not actively, anyway.”

Liam turned on him, blue eyes ablaze. “Thinking like that will land you in trouble. Have you not followed their exorcisms? Or their dogma? And ’tis not just the Catholics I’m talking of here. What do you believe clerics think of those like us who can call magic, engage in spirit travel, and commune with gods, spirits, and the dead?”

Tim’s shoulders sagged. He felt like a sail with the wind knocked out of it, attached to a ship that would never find port. “That we were evil.”

Liam nodded. “Organized religion’s raison d’être is to rid the Earth of wickedness. Moira is Catholic. She goes to confession. I tell you, son, we cannot risk it. ’Tis not been so very long since they killed one of us. Surely you recall Sean Newbry. ’Twas scarcely an accidental drowning. His astral self came to me whilst he was dying.”


“The parish priest had caught him in the midst of a blood offering ceremony, talking with Earth spirits. Sean was certain the cleric followed him since he’d taken care to go deep into the Sierra foothills.”

Tim fought a sinking feeling. “You said drowning.”

“And are you certain you want the grisly details?”


“Four priests waylaid him late one night, bound him, gagged him, tied a heavy weight about his waist—”

“Enough.” Tim sat heavily. He dropped his head into his hands and remembered what Moira told him about talking with Father O’Brannigan. “But I don’t want to live without her. Hell, I don’t know if I can.”

“I understand.” A considered intake of breath and Liam continued. “I gave you permission to attend medical school. That was a concession, as I’d rather you were here by my side. Then you came up with that idea about a public health degree.

“Mayhap it would be best if you did not see Moira—or even call her—at least for a while. Try to immerse yourself in your studies. Believe me, son, when I tell you the goddess takes care of her own.”

A sob rose from the depths of his soul. Mortified, Tim tried to swallow the next one back down. He stuffed a knuckle in his mouth and bit down hard. Liam was there, then, just like he’d always been since Tim’s parents had died, arms close around him.

“’Tis all right. Life does not give us easy choices.” He patted Tim’s back. “There is no shame in tears.”

* * * *

Forcing himself to return to the present, Tim took a deep breath, and then another. He wasn’t twenty-two anymore. He could stand up to Liam if it came down to it. He pulled open the side door to the clinic and went to the tiny staff room, where he knew he’d find the afternoon’s schedule posted. Despite reliving painful memories, he felt more alive than he had in years.

The goddess had brought Moira back into his life. Things would be different this time. He was going to see to it, even if it meant confronting Liam and walking away from druidry forever.


Monday, March 18, 2013



Can Melody convince her best friend's uncles that she is enough woman for the both of them?

When Melody Madison, new first violin, first chair of the New Haven Philharmonic gets strange threatening letters from a deranged fan, she has nowhere to turn. With her family gone, she has only her best friend, Carmen and Carmen's uncles to turn to. Can the men help her in her time of need and will she be able to keep her hands to herself so they can protect her?

When Mitch and Wyatt Baldwin meet their niece's college roommate for the first time, they are shocked to realize that she is their much-anticipated mate. After years of waiting and searching, they find it difficult to believe she has been so close, but yet so far for the last several years. When they find she is being stalked by a fanatical admirer, they take her security into their hands. After all, it is their right and their privilege to protect what is theirs.



    “I told you we should have gotten better seats.” Hell, it wasn’t as though they couldn’t afford better seats. Mitch scowled down at his companion. “I want to see her. It’s been almost a year.”
    So far all he could see was the woman in front and between himself and Wyatt who wore the largest, most hideous hat he’d ever seen in his life. He rested his elbow on the padded armrest and rubbed the spot between his eyes.
    “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had more tender feelings for Carmen than an uncle should have.” Wyatt grinned at him.
    “Shh…” a woman complained behind them. “I paid for tickets to hear the orchestra, not to hear you two flapping your lips.”
    Mitch fought the urge to look back and growl at the woman. He wanted to express his anger, not scare the woman into wetting her pants. Like all shifter males, he could make his eyes glow in low light and his growl would be that of a male tiger. Somehow, he didn’t think that would go over well in the auditorium.
    Instead, he listened to the music and tried to pick out the sound of the violins. He liked classical music, he really did, he just liked being able to see a particular player and pick out the sound of their instrument. Tonight, he wanted that player to be his niece.
    He and Wyatt loved Carmen as though she were their daughter. Her parents, killed during the time of the uprising in Paradise, left her in their care. To keep US officials from trying to put her into the system when she attended her first live-in music school at the tender age of twelve, they decided to adopt her in Mason where they knew the long-time sheriff and the county judge.
    The two human men knew that Mitchell and Wyatt only had her best interests at heart and finalized the adoption, for Carmen’s safety and wellbeing while out in the world. Many schools of music, like Juilliard, were after all very competitive schools and she would need her uncles close by to lean on.
    With that in mind, they even went so far as to move to New York so they would be close by in case she needed them. It was a waste of their time. She’d loved the university and all of the friends she made there.
    It wasn’t long after she turned sixteen that she’d come home from Juilliard talking of a girl named Melody. They’d become fast friends and Mitchell couldn’t have been happier for her. Except…she came home carrying the strangest scent. It wasn’t her. He knew that, but he couldn’t place what it was about the scent that made him take notice, other than it made him want to have that scent near him always.
    As though obsessed with the smell, he had even gone through her things to find what kind of perfume she wore that could produce such a reaction in him. It wasn’t her perfume. After a week or so, the scent faded from their home and he was able to think of more important things again. Still, the memory remained and every time he saw her, he could smell it on her, this sweet elusive scent that did something strange to his insides.
    At first he thought it was only him, but Wyatt finally admitted to smelling it as well after her last visit. What was it that grabbed their attention so fully every time she came home? She wasn’t their mate. They knew that beyond a doubt. Had she been their mate, they would have experienced el calor by now. No, this was something different.
    He listened to the orchestra play, still trying to pick out the sound of Carmen’s instrument in vain. He knew she was first violin, second chair, but he also knew the sound he’d zeroed in on wasn’t the first violin part. This was a violin soloist playing a melody, something different from the rest. It was haunting, beautiful. Just as beautiful as the woman he saw playing it. She appeared the same age as Carmen which would make her approximately twenty-two or twenty-three.
    Her long hair fell down the long curve of her back in an auburn cascade. The gold highlights shone in the lights that beat down on the stage. Her black dress did nothing to hide the fact that she had a body any shifter male would be proud to sink his **** into.
    Curvy in all the right places, she was no frail wraith like most of the women these days. She had meat on her bones and that drew the tiger in him like nothing else could have done.
    Her music was that which he’d honed in on when the song started. He looked at her as she played, an expression of complete concentration mixed with something he could only describe as love on her beautiful face.
    This woman was first violin first chair and the woman he and Wyatt had been hearing about for the last several years. In fact, Carmen had tried to set them up with her a few times. She was certain her uncles needed a wife and she wanted her best friend to be it. Nothing would make her happier than making Melody Madison a part of their strange little family.
    Mitch shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. Just looking at the woman made his **** hard. Hell, he hadn’t gotten hard just looking at a woman in fifty or more years. What was it about this human woman that made him want her more than he had wanted any woman for years?
    Do you see the woman on the edge of the stage, Wyatt? The violinist in front, closest to the conductor?
    What about her? Wyatt asked through the mind link they had had for as long as they could remember. Neither of them could remember if they’d had it before their first blood exchange or not. All they knew was that they had exchanged blood regularly to help each other out of binds when they were younger.
    Calling for help while outside of Paradise wasn’t an option when they were younger. The old council would have no one leaving the town without permission. Doing just that was something the two of them had done as often as possible when they were children. They knew they were shifters like those in Paradise, but unlike those in the town, they were tiger shifters, not cougars and jaguars like most of the rest.
    From what they had learned from their adopted parents, they had been found weeks apart in different parts of the country. Blood tests confirmed they weren’t related, though they were both found near the body of a dead female tiger. Presumed dead, no one knew where their fathers were.
    Sometimes he wondered if the council kept such a tight rein on them as children because they feared what they would become. After all, they were tigers. If they desired, they could take out any male shifter in Paradise with their size alone.
    She’s beautiful. I believe she’s that Melody Carmen has been yammering on about for the last few years.
    He felt Wyatt stretch upward in his seat to look over the woman with the big hat sitting in front of him. They should require these old women to take their huge hats off or sit in the back, he groused before he nodded. I see her. You’re right. She is a looker.
    Mitch turned to look at his friend who suddenly wore a strange expression. She brings out something in you, doesn’t she?
    Wyatt nodded. I shouldn’t feel this way for Carmen’s best friend, Mitch. Hell, haven’t we been telling Carmen that we wouldn’t touch her little friend?
    What they felt was right and what their bodies demanded could be two totally different things. If what he suspected was true, Carmen’s little friend just may be their mate.
    What if the scent he’d been picking up on Carmen all of these years had been their mate growing into adulthood, her body preparing itself to breed? He pressed his hands into his lap, trying to control the raging hard-on he sported.


TAKE ME by Megan Slayer

TAKE ME by Megan Slayer

The phrase "get me out of here" just got a sexy makeover.

Talia wants nothing more than to shirk her duties on the set of her latest movie. Why? So she can be with her heartthrob husband, actor Ryker Thomas. But she never expected him to kidnap her... or did she?


Take Me
 Megan Slayer
 All rights reserved.
 Copyright ©2013 Megan Slayer

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

"Ten p.m., and all I want is a good fuck." Talia Sanderson shrugged out of her robe and stepped into the steamy shower. Hot water sluiced over her body as she shook out her hair from the clip. She rubbed her hands over her body and groaned. Thirty-six days since she'd seen him and the same number of days since she'd had sex.

"I miss Ryker." Ryker Thomas, voted sexiest man alive and the one man she gave up control to. She leaned against the shower wall and sighed. "Stupid tabloids. Let the guy have a life. He can be hot and in a relationship."

She palmed her breast and gave her nipple a pinch. If Ryker were there, he'd have her against the wall and open to his inspection. She shivered. God, he loved to fuck in the shower... the bed, the wall... his trailer, her trailer... anywhere they could have sex. Touching herself didn't have the same effect as being with her husband. He knew where to touch her and where to kiss to make her moan. She hurried to clean herself. Maybe he'd have the phone on so they could have phone sex or something.
Anything was better than sitting in her trailer in the middle of the Nevada desert waiting for another day of filming to begin.

On the bed, her phone beeped. Her heart leapt. Only Ryker had the number. Talia pounced onto the mattress and pressed the buttons to retrieve the message.

I have a challenge for you.

She grinned and answered the text.

I'm game.

Her hands shook as she awaited the return message.

Get your trench coat. Wait for me on the bed.

Wait for him! She glanced around the trailer in search of her trench coat. Nervous giggles erupted from her throat.

An answer. She hadn't given him an answer. Shit.

Yes, Sir.

Talia waited, but no response came. Sure, someone could be fucking with her and posing as Ryker, but she doubted it. The tabloids expected to know everything about him -- where he went, if he drank, who went with him and if anything illegal happened. Not much fun to be the sexiest man alive that way.

She donned the trench coat and considered what to pair with it. Despite having a teensy trailer to live in while she filmed Shades of Red, she insisted on having at least twenty pairs of shoes, mostly boots, on hand for any occasion. She grabbed her favorite pair of buckle-adorned, knee-high boots. Ryker didn't care what she wore as long as she was comfortable. "I love you in nothing at all."

A shiver went up her spine. Damn, she wished he were there. She plopped down onto the edge of the bed to zip the black stiletto boots, when a thought occurred. He said to wait, but for how long? Would he actually be the one to show up or would he send another decoy? She didn't want to leave with someone and hated playing games to keep the paparazzi at bay. For the last year, she and Ryker had denied having any sort of a relationship. Then again, he'd denied his relationship with Tristan was more than friendship. She knew better. Tristan and Ryker loved each other as much she loved Ryker.
"He's my husband," she grumbled. "I want to be with him no matter what."


Sunday, March 17, 2013

DON'T ASK, DON'T TELL by Melissa Kendall

DON'T ASK, DON'T TELL by Melissa Kendall

Sergeant Jason Holt and his boyfriend Sergeant Patrick Wentworth have been in a secret relationship for almost ten years.

When the daily paper brings news of the repeal of the military’s ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy, they think their prayers have finally been answered.

Yet things aren’t always as easy as they seem, with not everybody at work supportive of their lifestyle and even their parents skeptical. Will they finally be able to be out and proud?



My mind filled with images of when Patrick came into my life.

We met our first day at the United States Military Academy in West Point, New York. I was a Texan boy following in the footsteps of a long line of military men, Patrick a local New Yorker escaping a troubled life. Drawn to each other right away, it didn’t take long for us to become the best of friends.
Only after we graduated from West Point did we both recognize our feelings were more than platonic.

Together, we shipped out to the 504th BFSB at Fort Hood. We bunked together for the first year, and everything was great, until one night about three months after we arrived, things changed.

I jumped in the shower while Patrick went to get takeout for dinner. When I finished getting clean, I headed out of the bathroom to get dressed. Not expecting anybody to be about but me, I didn’t bother wrapping a towel around my waist. A gasp and the thud of paper bags meeting the floor made me realize my roommate had returned.

I looked up, not expecting to see the expression of pure lust on Patrick’s face. I went from flaccid to erect in all of a second, my body’s reaction unmistakable. In two large strides, Patrick closed the gap between us, his lips colliding with mine in a passion-filled kiss. When my brain caught up with my body, I threw my arms around him, pulling him against me in a tight embrace, all the while our lips and tongues danced.

Years of pent up sexual tension seemed to explode from both of us. Our hands caressed everywhere, unable to get enough.

Feeling fabric under my fingertips instead of skin I pulled away from the kiss and set about trying to get him naked as fast as possible. I unbuckled his belt, and then unbuttoned his fly. As I pulled his jeans open, my heart skipped a beat as his dick sprang out at me. I cocked my eyebrow at him, questioning his choice of commando. He just shrugged. Since he’d given me such easy access, I wasted no time taking full advantage. I pulled his pants down until they were around his ankles, placing my mouth around the head of his cock before he even got a chance to step out of them.

“Holy fuck!” Patrick moaned. “Jesus, Jason ... so ... fucking ... good.” He placed his hand on the back of my head, guiding my movements.

I’d been on the receiving end of having my dick sucked many a time, but never given it. On my knees in front of him, I appreciated the comforting weight of his guidance. Unable to fit more than half his length in my mouth, I wrapped my hand around the base and moved it up and down in time with my mouth. The cacophony of grunts and groans coming from Patrick made my dick ache. I wrapped my spare hand around my own cock and moved it in time with my ministrations on his erection.

I glanced up and noticed him staring at me, lust written all over his face, and I almost came on the spot. I’d always hoped someone would look at me in such a lascivious manner, and for at least a year, I’d been hoping it would be Patrick. However, to see the expression on his face directed at me made my heart beat a million miles an hour. I moaned around his cock, knowing it always got me close to coming. All of a sudden, his cum shot down the back of my throat as he let out a feral sounding growl. The combination of hearing him come and knowing I brought him that pleasure sent me over the edge, my release spilling all over my hand and the floor.

Collapsing in a spent heap on the floor, we remained there for quite a while, the reality of what we’d done sinking in.

The military did not accept gays. I’d known when I enrolled at West Point, the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy meant I’d have to hide a side of myself. Raised in an army family, I understood I could never fully be myself by joining. I’d thought I could do it, no problem. Meeting Patrick, I realized hiding my sexual orientation wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d thought.

Once we both got our breath back, we crawled into Patrick’s bed and curled up together, dinner lying forgotten on the floor. We had many firsts that night. For the most part, however, we talked about what happened and what we wanted to happen.

It shocked both of us to find out we’d been harboring feelings for one another for at least a year. We’d also each chosen careers in the military even though we were both well aware we were gay.

Patrick’s hand waving in front of my face brought me out of my memories.

“Where did you go, babe?”

“Sorry, darlin’, I was just remembering the first time I gave you a blow job.”

A smile reappeared on his face. “Mmmm, I remember that well.”

“Me too. How about a do-over?” I asked with a cheeky grin.

“Sounds like a plan.”



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