DANGEROUS OBSESSION by TL Reeve

DANGEROUS OBSESSION by TL Reeve

I'd been through a ton of shit in my life. The guy I thought I loved left me, and the guy I thought was my friend, started stalking me. I found myself though when Mike came to me and offered me a job. Things were going good. My stalker seemed to back off and I began to live again.

However, that didn't last long. As Mike became more of a fixture in my life, my stalker became more obsessed. Now, stuck between my stalker and the man I could fall for, I had a decision to make.

Do I give up myself and go with Kyle, or do I make a stand and finally put my stalker to rest.

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~Excerpt~

 

After a shower and a quick shave, I was headed right back out the door. As I turned around, I ran straight into Kyle—literally. The door was closed behind me; my keys were in my hand. My heart pounded. Blood rushed through my veins as adrenaline and a healthy dose of fear mingled together.

 

“Didn’t you get the message at the theater, Kyle?” I tried to push past him, hoping he didn’t see the shake in my hand. He wouldn’t budge.

 

“Where did I go wrong with you, Fin? Didn’t I give you what you wanted? What you needed?” His eyes were heavy-lidded as his hand came up to cup my face. I cringed away from him. Kyle’s hand fell back to his side as he huffed out a breath of impatience.

“Didn’t I stand beside you when your parents called you all kinds of names and threw you out?”

I was paralyzed. If I opened the door he would follow me in. That wouldn’t be a good thing. “You did, Kyle. You were a great friend when I needed you most, but we weren’t anything else. We just didn’t click that way.” I tried to be easy with my words. I didn’t want him to lash out at me, especially when I didn’t have anyone around to help me.

“We clicked. You just got scared, baby,” he said, pressing me against my door. “We’ll work this out. Open the door. Let’s go inside.” Leaning in, his rotten breath puffed against my cheek.

“Hey Fin? You home?” Mike’s voice rumbled up from the courtyard. I closed my eyes and sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

 

“Yeah, I’m up here, Mike,” I called out. Never had I been so happy to hear his voice.

 

A few moments later, he bounded up the stairs. Kyle snarled; still close enough that I could feel his breath lick against my neck. “Hey, Kyle.” Mike brushed past him, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me.

 

I died and went to heaven.

 

I gasped. Mike took that opportunity to deepen the kiss. His tongue pushed into my mouth. His fingers threaded through my hair, holding me still as he thoroughly devoured me. I whimpered against his lips, the full thickness of his erection pressing against my belly. When he finally pulled back, my head was spinning.

 

“What, uh…what was that for?” I blinked a few times, staring into his blue eyes. At some point during the kiss, I’d wound my arms around his neck.

“That was called saving your ass,” he whispered against my lips as he palmed my ass cheek and squeezed it.

 

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ALPHA BEAR by Winona Wilder

ALPHA BEAR by Winona Wilder

Northern Shifters Book Two

Blake feels lost after his best friend settles down with a mate. They were both initiated into the Marcelle wolf pack as orphans, but now it’s only Blake without a past or future. He has a spark of hope when his alpha mentions a buried box that could contain the answers he seeks.

The only problem...the box is deep in bear territory.

When Gage meets a foreign bear near his bathing pond, he’s immediately attracted to the dark-haired stranger. They engage in a passionate love affair, only to question their relationship when the lust settles. Blake’s different customs continually rouse Gage’s suspicions. Is he a human, bear, or a wolf trespassing on their land?

Can an alpha bear and wolf bridge the gap in their worlds for the sake of love? Will the contents of the buried box bring them closer or tear them apart?


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Blake had survived the night in his little alcove. As soon as the morning light woke him, he restarted his search for the prospector’s cabin Redden spoke of. It couldn’t be too much farther now.

He stopped when he reached a spring-fed pond. It was clear and fresh and likely freezing cold. The crystal clear water tempted him, reminding him how thirsty he was from all his frequent exertion. Blake bent over for a drink, still cautious not to shift and give off the scent of the enemy.

“You don’t belong here.” The voice came from his right side. It was the deepest baritone he’d heard in a long time. It had a gravelly, masculine quality that grabbed his attention.

When he turned to look, there was a man watching him. He hadn’t even heard him approach, which he mentally scolded himself for.

The stranger was a god. He had a rustic appeal, with dark hair, and muscle upon muscle packed onto his large frame. Blake swallowed hard, rising to his feet. He may have been attracted to pretty boys in the past, but all that had changed in the span of two seconds. Part of him determined the man must be a bear shifter, while the other part said it was just one of those loggers or hunters who frequented the bar back home. It was odd being so close to a taller man, one with shoulders broad enough to swallow his shadow from the early morning light. As a Marcelle he was used to being the largest, the one to be reckoned with. Now he felt smaller than a mouse and wasn’t sure how that made him feel. The longer the man stared at him, the more he realized it made him feel hot. Hot and bothered.

“I’m just passing through. Looking for a cabin that’s supposed to be at the base of the Three Mountains.”

“That’s another hour from here. What business do you have there? Where’s your camping party?”

“Just me.” He held his breath, wondering who this man was and if he saw him as a threat. The guy could snap him in two if he wanted, but he stood still, his bulky body rooted in place.

“What are you called?”

“Do you mean, what’s my name?”

The man nodded once.

“Blake.” He almost mentioned the Marcelle Pack name. It was right on the tip of his tongue, as he was a proud member, but he stopped himself. If this was a bear, he’d know the name was associated with wolves. If he was human, he would be suspicious with the talk of packs.

“I’m called Gage.”

Gage’s eyes were black orbs, so deep he could drown in them. He had a penetrating stare, a quiet strength unlike anything Blake had ever experienced before. Although he’d come across some bad-ass wolves in his days, they had nothing on this man’s intimidating presence. Was Blake delirious from lack of sleep and proper food? Or was he more pent up than he expected, even finding this rustic stranger desirable?

“Great. Do you think you could point me in the right direction?”

The man stepped closer and then circled him, moving like a predator. He had over a week’s worth of scruff on his face, a light sprinkling of hair on his defined pecs, and a dark trail leading to a very well-hung cock. Nothing about Gage should register with his libido. He’d always gone for the blond, lean-muscled men who he could dominate. Now all he wanted was to be owned by this brute of a man.

“You’re unusual,” said Gage. “Where are your clothes?” He acted as if Blake was an alien, something he’d never encountered.

“Where are yours?”

Gage scowled, continuing to look him over as if he were an object he wanted to own. Did he want to be owned, claimed? Unfortunately the dark-haired god made controlling his raw sexuality an impossibility. His cock thickened as it hardened, protruding from his body. There was just something about the man’s voice and the way he looked at him that nearly brought Blake to his knees. He turned away, but Gage circled him until they were facing again. With no clothing, he settled for a poor attempt of cupping his genitals to keep them partially hidden.

“You’re aroused?”

He exhaled. “You’re not too bad on the eyes, and it’s been a long night.” It felt odd admitting he was attracted to a stranger. He rarely felt the pull from another male, which was why he hadn’t fucked around in so long.

“But you’re a male.”

“And?”

Gage made a sound that was a mix between a groan and a growl. Whatever it was, it made Blake’s balls pull up high against his body. He couldn’t stop imagining what Gage would look like when fully erect. Even flaccid, he was magnificent. He’d already decided Gage was too comfortable with his nudity to be human. But was this man actually a bear? Blake had never actually met one in person, only heard the stories. Despite his size and strength, Gage wasn’t scary and foreboding like he’d imagined. Besides a lack of refinement, he seemed harmless enough. Maybe a bit stiff, lacking a carefree edge, but he wasn’t the monster he expected.

Blake doubted Gage knew he was a wolf. That would not go over well, and since he was off his own territory, he’d keep that to himself. If this man turned on him, he wouldn’t stand a chance in this foreign forest.


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A HOALE LOT OF TROUBLE by Declan Sands

A HOALE LOT OF TROUBLE by Declan Sands

A Hoale Construction Mystery - Book 1

Adam Hoale owns a construction company called, predictably, Hoale Construction. When he finds an eye opening surprise in the walls of a house he's flipping, and a libido flaring surprise standing on the lawn, he's willing to do the right thing with the surprise in the wall while entertaining dirty thoughts about the surprise on the lawn.

But as the world finds out what he discovered, and his new boy toy seems to be keeping too many secrets to make a relationship a reality, Adam soon realizes he may just get flipped himself if he's not careful.

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Excerpt:

Bobby’s was an old style gym that smelled like sweat and focused on the basics. There was a pool, but there were no yoga classes at Bobby’s and no spin classes. The closest Bobby’s got to spin was when Zeke the personal trainer decided you weren’t pedaling fast enough on one of the gym’s scarred and ancient stationary bikes and started screaming into your face like a drill sergeant.

Zeke was straight as the edge of an architect’s ruler but he treated Adam the same as everyone else. Brief and brusque. Zeke was even gruff when he smiled. The only softness he ever showed was directed at Walter.

For his part, Walter adored Zeke, which was why Adam knew Zeke was a good guy. Dogs had a great sense of people—much better than their human friends.

The gruff trainer was well over six feet tall and buff, with rock-hard abs and bulging biceps and thighs, and he wore his brown hair short and spiky. He ruled his roost with an iron fist and very little in the way of positive reinforcement. With Zeke you got negative reinforcement and nuclear level negative reinforcement.

He even yelled at Maddy.

Nobody yelled at Maddy.

As soon as Adam opened the door Walter trotted past him and headed straight for Zeke. The big man was all the way across the large, main room, “explaining” to Maddy that she needed to use the incline controls on the treadmill or she was gonna have cellulite bubbles the size of deer shot on her thighs. According to him, the event could occur at any moment because of her general lack of motivation.

Maddy’s pretty pixie face had turned the color of rich cream and she was so “inclined” by the time Adam hit the midway point of the room that she had to work to keep from sliding off the back of the treadmill.

He wondered if he could use the cellulite threat to get her to fill out her design planning forms more completely.

“Hey, Adam!”

Adam glanced up, grinning at the man hailing him with a boxing-glove-covered hand from the ring that dominated the center of the gym. “Hey, Bobby! Lookin’ good. Nice ass.”

Bobby laughed, his ruddy face mostly hidden behind a helmet and his short, sturdy body glistening with sweat. Bobby’s boxing partner glanced at Adam, looking nervous behind his helmet. Adam winked at the man and kept moving, grinning at Bobby’s deep laughter behind him.

“He’s just tweakin’ ya, Peterson. Chill out.”

Bobby and Adam had been friends for years and Adam liked to tease him. Bobby showed every indication of enjoying the playful flirting, though he wasn’t gay. He seemed to genuinely like Adam and knew that Adam couldn’t help trying to get a rise out of the homophobes in the gym. No pun intended. There weren’t a lot of them. Bobby’s was generally a laid back, anything goes, kind of place. But it was one of few old-style gyms left so it still drew its share of testosterone drenched Neanderthals.

Adam had never been able to resist twisting the dicks of the cavemen types.

Zeke was bent over Walter, speaking softly to him to hide the fact that he was talking baby talk as he scratched his floppy ears. Walter’s thick fringe of a tail beat against Zeke’s massive thigh, his brown eyes narrowed in pleasure.

Zeke looked up at Adam as he approached. “I hope you’re ready to work a little harder this week, Hoale.”

Adam grinned. “You didn’t think an hour in the pool was a hard enough workout last time?”

Zeke swore, the very core of his phenomenal work ethic cringing at the thought. “Pansy ass. If you don’t sweat through your clothes you haven’t worked out.” He jabbed Adam in the chest and Adam had to fight to keep from flinching. He was pretty sure he’d have a Zeke digit-sized bruise on his chest later. “I’m all yours today, Zeke. Do with me what you will.”

A strange wheezing noise wafted over them and both men turned to Maddy. She’d attained a strange purple-puce color and Adam was pretty sure she was foaming at the mouth.

She tried to lift a hand in greeting but when she did she skidded backward, almost sliding all the way off the treadmill before she grabbed the handle and saved herself at the last second.

Zeke frowned. “Step it up, Rodgers. I’ve had Sunday afternoon strolls through the Arboretum that were faster than that.”

Adam felt he had to intervene. Maddy was way too competitive for her own good. She wouldn’t push back as long as Zeke pushed her forward. “I’m thinking, from the color of her face, she might be about a wheeze away from 9-1-1, man.”

Zeke snorted. “She’s fine. I’m tryin’ to put hair on her chest.” The poking digit found its way to Adam’s poor, bruised chest again, “Don’t infect her with your pansy-assed work-less ethic, Hoale.” Zeke headed toward the weight bench on the other side of the room.

Adam turned a look of stark terror on Maddy and she wheezed out a laugh, almost falling off the treadmill as she saluted him. Adam slashed a hand across his throat and trudged after the big man. The last time he’d let Zeke guide him in a weight bench workout, he’d barely been able to lift his arms for a week.

Behind him, the treadmill slowed and he heard the whir of the incline dropping back to level. Maddy’s wheezing lessened as she walked out her cool down.

He hoped she appreciated what he’d done for her.

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IT'S ALL RELATIVE by J.M. Snyder

IT'S ALL RELATIVE by J.M. Snyder

Re-released with an updated cover!

When Michael Knapp brings his lover Dan Biggs home to meet his parents, he doesn't expect things to go smoothly. His mother's been trying to marry him off for years, and sometimes he isn't even sure his father knows he exists. He has always felt like the shadow son, competing with his terminally stupid older brother and smart-mouthed little sister for his parents' attention. Coming out to them over dinner seemed like the perfect opportunity to finally get noticed.

But an unexpected phone call interrupts his announcement -- Aunt Evie, the family matriarch, is dead. With Dan in tow, Michael follows his family to Sugar Creek, where he spent his summers growing up, to prepare for the funeral.

Amid an overabundance of memories and relatives, Michael's world begins to slip. His dysfunctional family, Evie's death, and an old friend's confession all threaten to smother him. Worse, in his grief and confusion he seems determined to inadvertently push everyone away, including his lover. Can he and Dan move beyond his family and his past to a new life together, before Michael's insecurities tear them apart?

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.


Dan wakes before my parents or Ray -- it's the military in him. He can't sleep in even if he doesn't have to be on base before dawn. When I hear him in the kitchen, I give Caitlin a quick grin and hurry in to kiss him good morning. "Hey," I sigh, coming up behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist. He stands at the sink, pouring himself a glass of orange juice, and he looks something close to amazing in his gray ARMY t-shirt and PT shorts. They're tight around his ass and hang loose on his thighs -- whoever designed those things knew just how to show off a soldier's best assets. I'm glad the t-shirt hangs low enough to hide what Dan's packing from Caitlin's young eyes and sarcastic mouth.

He half-turns in my embrace and kisses me in greeting. "Did you sleep well?" he asks. I nod in reply. With him beside me, I slept like a baby.

"I can make you breakfast," I tell him, just because that's what I do in the mornings, I cook for him. Mostly eggs, though I saw some pancake mix in the cabinet, if he's up for that. Since we're alone in the kitchen, I run my hands up beneath the bottom of his t-shirt and rub his taut stomach. Kissing his shoulder, I murmur, "I love you."

He sets the orange juice aside and turns to hug me close. His hands smooth the bangs away from my forehead, tuck the wavy hair behind my ears, but the strands fall back into place on their own accord as he cradles my chin to kiss me again. "Love you," he purrs, and between us I feel faint stirrings of interest at his groin. "We can head back to bed, if you want," he suggests. "Breakfast can wait."

"My eyes!" I frown at Caitlin as she stumbles into the kitchen, eyes closed, cereal bowl in one hand and the other thrown out in front of herself dramatically to feel her way. "Jeez, boys. Take it upstairs, why don't you? What will the neighbors think?"

I kick out at her as she passes, but she's quick -- she dodges my foot and still manages to sock me in the arm with one small fist. I slap her shoulder and she hits me again. Damn, she has good reflexes. When I'm about to try a third time, though, Dan catches my hand and folds my arm between us as he holds me tight. "Don't," he admonishes. "No fighting."

I'm well aware that I'm suddenly Caitlin's age again, picking with her the way I am, but she doesn't seem to mind. "You're just jealous," I tell her. I stick out my tongue and marvel at how I can go from twenty-five to two in one minute flat. "I've got a hot boy to freak and you don't."

Caitlin flips her hair over her shoulder and gives me a look that simply says, puh-leaze. "You don't know my hot boy," she says. "I ain't jealous of yours, trust me."

Intrigued in spite of myself, I let Dan slip free and lean against the sink. "You have a boyfriend?" I ask as Dan pours himself a bowl of cereal.

"Of course," Caitlin snorts. As if she might not. "I'm not Ray, Michael. I date."

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DUSTED by Declan Sands

DUSTED by Declan Sands

Blood-Hound Book One

Bounty hunter Matthew Blood is a Bloodhound shifter, so tracking things comes naturally to him. But when one of his skips gets blasted out of a fourth floor window, Matt goes after the only other person in the vicinity, and gets fairy-smacked himself.

Rum leaves the safety of the mound to bust a fairy dust ring and rescue some captured fairies. In the process, he quickly finds himself the target of the sexy bounty hunter tracking one of the dealers. Trapped and being pursued on multiple fronts, Rum asks Blood for help.

Blood is happy to lend a hand, but he soon discovers fairy dust isn't the only addictive thing about a fairy.

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Blood-Hound 1: Dusted
Declan Sands
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2012 Declan Sands

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.


Earthbound recruit 56741 daily report. Missing subject not found. Search continues. I'll keep you apprised.

* * *

The dog snuffled him, whining as he flicked a hand to send it away. Bail Enforcement Agent Matthew Blood was on a case, and he didn't have time for the usual displays of canine worship.

The man across the street climbed out of his car and stretched. He'd been on the road pretty much all day. He'd gone north again -- Matt suspected he'd gone to Michigan, though he'd lost him around South Bend.

The little dog licked Matt's arm and he growled, low and deep in his throat. Yelping with alarm, the cute bitch scurried away. But she didn't go far. She dropped to her haunches beneath an abandoned car, her eyes periodically glowing red in the headlights arcing into a turn at the nearby intersection.

Matt returned his attention to the skip and found the street empty. "Fuck!"

Glaring at the little dog, he quickly stripped, dropped to all fours, and shifted. He slid from the shadows and padded across the street.

Scenting the area around the car, Matt took care to keep his long ears out of a shiny puddle of dirty oil as he gathered as much information as he could from the odors surrounding the car and the spot where the skip had been standing.

The car was covered with a variety of aromas, many of them from another place. The salty tang of Great Lakes sand overlaid the smell of asphalt and rich, black earth trapped in the tire tread.

He padded around to the car door and focused on the bail fugitive's scent. The man was tired, nervous -- evidenced by the strong odor of sweat -- and he'd had chili for dinner. The chili wasn't sitting well in his stomach. The bail fugitive also smelled like the product he'd been illegally carrying from Indiana to Michigan for months. The reason he'd been arrested. He'd never stopped his illegal activities, and he'd proven himself to be a runner. He should never have been let out on bail in the first place.

But Matt wouldn't tell the cops that when he brought him in. He'd just take the certified copies of the arrest warrant and the undertaking and get paid for snagging the guy. If the guy ran again he'd get paid again. And there was no danger he'd escape Matt. With his special qualities and off-Earth monitoring technology, Matt could find and bring any skips he wanted back to jail. If his employer wanted to bond them back out again it was no skin off his talented nose.

Said nose led Matt to the front door of a soot-stained brick building, where the skip's scent trail was cut off. He shoved at the door with his nose but it was firmly shut. He'd have to shift back to follow the skip inside.

Matt loped back toward the alley where he'd shed his clothes, thinking that a race of creatures which could trace its roots back millennia, with technology allowing them to travel the universe to distant planets, should have come up with a fix for the opposable thumb issue.

He rounded the corner to the alley and the little bitch lifted her head, wagging her grubby tail happily. She gave him a single bark in greeting. Matt's bark wasn't quite as happy. But it served to get her off his pile of discarded clothes.

There was a soft sound, like a gasp of supercharged air, as he was pulling on his last shoe. Matt's head shot up. Glass shattered out into the night, followed by a dull, meaty thud. Still working his way into his sneaker, Matt hobbled back out to the street and found his skip, lying in a spreading pool of his own blood on the glass-strewn sidewalk.

A sharp intake of breath from above drew Matt's gaze, four stories up, where a pale, handsome face was outlined by the jagged remains of the broken window. A terrified gaze locked onto his.

"Well, shit!" Matt started running even as the face disappeared from view. It looked like he'd be bringing a murderer to the police, rather than a lowly, dead drug smuggler.

* * *

Matt hit the locked exterior door and reared back, kicking it hard. The flimsy door slammed inward and he hit the stairs, moving at superhuman speed toward the floors above.

Footsteps pounded over his head, accompanied by the sound of terrified breathing as, presumably, the man he'd seen in the window above was making a run for it. A slim, dark form flashed by the top of the stairs as Matt hit the fourth floor landing and he leapt, hitting the runner mid-body and sending him sprawling sideways with a yelp of alarm.

They skidded across the thin, dirty carpet and hit the wall opposite the stairs. The man beneath him started swinging, his fists glancing off Matt's face and shoulders as he fought desperately to get free.

Matt struggled to hold him down while trying to still the man's flailing arms and legs. The man's breath wheezed in and out of his chest and beads of sweat flew as his desperation increased. Matt's sensitive nose scented ozone, and he registered a flash of energy just before one of the flailing fists connected to his temple and his head snapped sideways. It was a good shot for such a slender assailant, and it caught Matt off guard.

Blood ran from his nose, and he saw stars. Light flashed, heat flared, and Matt flew backward and hit the wall hard. The edges of his vision folded inward and turned black as he slipped down the wall and passed out.

* * *

Dust clogged Matt's sinuses, feeding the mother of all sneezes in his sensitive nostrils. The sneeze almost ripped his head off, sending shards of pain slicing through his brain from its impact. A moldy, aged scent accompanied the dust. His nose twitched as he fought another sneeze.

A rough tongue bathed his face, the ministrations more painful than they should have been. He struggled to open his eyes and found himself staring into the bright, brown gaze of the little bitch from the street below. When she saw he was awake she barked in greeting and stood, wagging her tail happily.

Matt tried to sit up and pain sluiced through him. He groaned and rolled to his back. He lay there for a moment, gathering his senses and trying to catalogue the pain. He decided he didn't have any specific injuries, just an overall feeling of having been bludgeoned.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Matt grimaced. His skin was hot and sore, like a bad sunburn, and he was gritty. When he looked at his fingers, there was some kind of residue on them.

Sirens sounded in the distance, bringing Matt back to the reason he was in the building. He ground his teeth and rolled, standing. Moving stiffly down the hall, he headed for the front of the building, where his skip had fallen to his death. A door at the end of the hallway was open. Matt pulled his compressed oxygen gun and stuck his head through the door. "Hello? Anybody in here?"

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HARD AS STONE by Sara Brookes

HARD AS STONE by Sara Brookes

Brady thrives on saving patients in his busy emergency room, but when things don't go according to plan, nothing prepares him for a chance encounter. There's something familiar, and mysterious, about the downright sexy-as-hell stranger he encounters on a busy Chicago street.

In Garrett's world there are no coincidences. He's been standing as the doctor's secret guardian for years. Driven by a burning need Brady unknowingly awakened more than a decade ago, Garrett finally breaks his silence. He steps in to show Brady there's more to life than rescuing those in need.

Roused by their desperate passion for one another, their desire reaches an explosive breaking point. Brady realizes one night isn't enough, but Garrett is bound by rules he can't change. Now Brady's healing touch may save more than just a life - it may just save Garrett's soul.

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By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

An Excerpt From: HARD AS STONE

Copyright © SARA BROOKES, 2011

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Chapter One



“Get me O positive STAT. She’s bleeding out.”

Brady’s hand pulsed around the small heart he cradled. He’d already tried the paddles twice, but the hole through the patient’s heart wouldn’t allow the much needed blood to remain in the lower chamber. The victim had to be stable enough in order to repair the hole.

At this point, it would take a miracle.

Unfortunately, Brady was certain he’d already used up his allotment of miracles. He’d been a doctor long enough to know how this was going to end—even as the patient had been wheeled into his emergency room.

Gunshot wounds and five-year-old little girls didn’t mix.

“Doctor?”

His gaze met the eyes of the trauma nurse who stood on the opposite side of the gurney. He recognized the despair in her expression and had seen it more times than he cared to count. She knew the same truth he did.

But tell that to the little girl who’d been brought in five minutes ago.

The very same one who had a tattered pink elephant next to her pudgy hand even as she lay with her chest cracked open.

Brady was used to this kind of disturbing image, and because of that, he’d stopped having nightmares. Most would assume he didn’t care. The reality couldn’t be further from the truth.

Lately, he’d cared far more than he was supposed to and he suspected it would be his ultimate downfall if the pattern continued.

It didn’t help matters that the girl’s eyes had been open when she’d first been brought in. Clear and bright, the crystal green color had looked alive, and full of energy despite her condition. This little girl had more courage than he could even hope to possess and he was going to do his damnedest to save her life.

The fighters always deserved a second chance.

Brady had always been stone—cold and smooth under pressure. The more intense the situation, the better he worked.

Some days were better than others.

Some, harder.

Tragedy had become a daily part of his life, and this very moment seemed to test the rock-solid exterior he was known for. Despite the fact he wanted to continue, he recognized the possibility was slim. He knew better than to torture himself—and the child—anymore than he already had.

He’d already lost her long before she’d been wheeled into the room.

With a weary sigh, he reached over to flip off the offensive beep that indicated a flatline. Even though he knew it was futile, he continued to massage the tiny organ in his palm.

The head nurse burst back through the door with her hands full of bags of red fluid. Too little, too late.

Brady knew the cadence of life as it rose and fell. He’d fought his way through the peaks and valleys, and yet there was always a constant that couldn’t be avoided—death.

Despite all Brady’s effort, that last stage of life stole this little girl. It wasn’t fair as her light had just begun to glow. The nurses across from him accepted it the moment he pulled his hand from the child’s chest.

“Call it,“ the nurse stated quietly as she dumped the bags of blood on the counter beside her.

He stripped off his gloves and frowned at the large clock on the wall. The very one that taunted him each time he had to say the few words that would devastate a family. “TOD, six thirty-two.”

The weight of the girl’s death added to the moment and he suddenly couldn’t catch his breath. The large room closed in around him and his heart raced. He threw open the swinging doors, clenched his jaw and pushed past two candy stripers gossiping in the hall.

The thin gauze over his scrubs felt heavy and thick, and he ripped it away. He chucked the blood-soaked fabric into the nearest bio-hazard bin, stepping through the doors of the waiting area. The everyday hustle and bustle of the waiting room slammed into him.

His vision started to go gray and his feet tripped over one another as he tried to move around an approaching nurse. He was dimly aware of the sound of a few people calling his name, concern heavy in all the voices, but he had to get out of there.

As he burst through the hospital entrance, the cold December air hit him in the face. The shock of it brought reality crashing around him.

He’d lost another patient.

Another in a long string of deaths he hadn’t been able to stop. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been trained in how to deal with this and he always knew how to funnel away the emotion in order to do his job.

So why the hell am I reacting this way?

His feet pounded against the pavement as he blindly wove his way through the bustling streets. He blocked the sounds around him, hearing only the rush of his heartbeat. Driven by memory rather than sight, he ran the few blocks between the sterile hospital and the building that always felt like home.

Tall columns of intricate stonework soared high overhead, ending abruptly where the flying buttresses took over. Their carving was just as ornate and detailed as the rest of the masonry around the soaring building. The idea of the graceful lines and sweeping curves went against the scientific formalities he’d spent years learning in medical school.

Why he came here time and time again remained a mystery.

He stared at everything and nothing while his heart pounded. With each beat, a fissure formed. A crack that couldn’t be sealed and even seemed to expand as the seconds ticked by. The world around him went gray again, and he finally recognized the signs of what was happening.

Racing heart.

Shallow breaths.

Clammy palms.

He was in the throes of his first panic attack.

Things like this didn’t happen to him. He was the calm, cool and collected one. The trauma doctor who kept everyone else from falling apart. That resolve propelled him quickly to the top, earning him head of the entire emergency room in just a few short years. The stalwart professional who brushed his personal feelings aside each time he walked through the curtains separating the patients.

His hands clutched the metal streetlight in front of him and he lowered his face so his forehead pressed against the back of his hands.

Breathe in.

Out.

He kept up the slow, measured breaths in order to steady frayed nerves. Why did he feel as if he was falling apart? He was a doctor, for Christ’s sake. Surely he could talk himself through this. If he kept things clinical, sterile and didn’t think about the utter fear and desperation he’d seen in that little girl’s eyes, he’d be all right.

The girl had just barely begun her life and he’d gotten a sense—in just a few minutes with her—the she’d seen more than one child should ever experience.

The knowledge caused those small fissures in his heart to fracture, split apart and come undone.

Brady wasn’t having a panic attack—his heart had broken. He’d spent so many years training to keep distance from his patients, and it all came at him in a rush.

Every cut.

Every broken bone.

Every moment he’d called time of death rushed into his soul.

Sorrow and anger swelled to burn through that icy exterior he’d worked so hard to erect. His head pounded from the sudden release of emotion and he gave himself over to it.



Garrett studied the distraught man using the streetlight to steady himself. Even as he watched from the warm comfort of the coffeehouse, the man’s pain was tangible. Garrett’s chest tightened with the knowledge that something had unsettled Brady this much.

He loathed seeing him this way as much as he hated knowing he couldn’t help. Given the wrinkled appearance of his scrubs and the way they were dotted with drops of blood, Garrett knew it had finally happened.

The normally unflappable Dr. Brady McConnell had taken a patient’s death to heart. His habit of working too hard and refusing to take enough time off had finally caught up with him. Not to mention, he never, ever did anything for himself. As most good doctors did, he put his patient’s needs before his own.

Nothing had ever visibly shaken Brady to his core—until now.

At least he was around for this moment.

Garrett couldn’t stand the sight of Brady suffering. He knew he had the power to take away Brady’s pain. Since Brady had started medical school, Garrett had always been at the doctor’s side. However, he hadn’t made himself known before this moment because he’d always stood as a silent guardian.

He pushed through the coffeehouse doors and approached the man he’d always watched from afar.

“Beautiful architecture, isn’t it?” Brady’s head snapped up and Garrett saw the pain behind the elegant blue eyes. The harried and exhausted appearance of Brady’s face worried Garrett further.

“What?“

Garrett offered a friendly smile to lessen some of Brady’s instant skepticism. He gestured to the thirty-two story building across the street with the paper cup in his hand. “I saw you staring at the building earlier when I ducked into the coffee shop to grab a latte. Are you all right?”

“Yes.“ Brady nodded, a lock of his dark hair falling over his brow.

Garrett’s fingers tightened against the cup as they itched to reach out and brush that hair out of the way. Maybe this would be harder than he thought. He’d had years to cultivate his feelings.

To Brady, he was a complete stranger.

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LOVE THOSE BROAD SHOULDERS by Cheryl Dragon

LOVE THOSE BROAD SHOULDERS by Cheryl Dragon

Pete and Chris live and work in Chicago's Boystown, a gay community where pride and same-sex love is a way of life. Aiming to boost his career at his uncle's tattoo shop, Pete enters the ink he's doing on muscleman Chris into a local contest.

However, to bare his body for the crowd, Chris wants a chance at more than friendship with the sexy artist. At minimum, Chris demands a real date - and hopes he'll get dessert.

Pete doesn't mix business with pleasure. His rules are clear but Chris is out to break every single one and win Pete's heart and body. The sex and ink are hot but Pete knows it'll catch up to him. However, since he's doing the work for free, that means Chris isn't really a customer anymore...

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By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

An Excerpt From: LOVE THOSE BROAD SHOULDERS

Copyright © CHERYL DRAGON, 2011

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Chris walked into the men’s room. Part of his job really, once the men stopped pouring in another bouncer took over and Chris worked the crowd and made sure the bathrooms weren’t an orgy. Ernie’s was a mixed club, straights were welcome and things couldn’t get out of hand.

Watching Pete splash water on his face was just a perk Chris couldn’t ignore. “You okay? I know you don’t love the club scene.”

“Fine, it just got hot out there.” Pete sighed.

Without hiding it, Chris checked out Pete. The jeans with ink residue, the white T-shirt that showed off his muscles Pete downplayed. Not as bulky as Chris, but that’s what Chris liked. Pete had a shy quality that most people didn’t see. He could be personable and fun in his tattoo shop, but in quiet moments, Chris got to see the deeper man, filled with conflict.

“I am hot without my shirt but I didn’t think I had that effect on you.” Chris stood behind Pete and made sure they were alone.

“Don’t start, Chris. Carlos was being his usual self. That’s all.” Pete straightened up and turned around. “I should go home.”

“No, don’t go because of me. Dance with the guys.”

“I can’t dance. I’m terrible.”

Chris had to agree with that assessment but that was just another endearing quality Chris loved about Pete. “No one is watching out there.”

“Right, every guy out there is guy watching.” Pete tried to leave.

Chris blocked his path. “I know, but you’re supposed to dance like you don’t care what you look like. Get the stress out.”

“That’s better done alone. Besides, I have early ink to do tomorrow. I don’t want to be sleep deprived.” Pete stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“I know. Uncle Teddy has a lot of rules. I’m not trying to mess up your goals.” Chris liked that Pete had aspirations and talent. Working in the club scene did make things blurry at times and Pete had family and support that helped keep him stay on track.

“I appreciate that. I know there is a strong chemistry between us. But it might not work. We’d ruin a friendship and…” Pete trailed off.

“You’d lose a customer.” Chris smiled.

“I don’t care about that. It’s not about the money, it’s about the ethics. You’re not going to get a body full of ink. I like that about you. The pieces are special. But if you use the customers like a dating service… I can’t be that guy. I want to be here long term. I want artists and customers to respect me, not talk about who I’ve screwed.” Pete’s deep brown eyes darted behind his stylish glasses.

Chris wanted to hold Pete, hug and then grope him. There was no doubt in Chris’ mind they could make each other feel better. Just running his hands through Pete’s spiky short brown hair would take the edge off the need. “You could always be a monk or something. Or find a guy who never wants one single tattoo.”

“When I’m ready to settle down, whatever that means, it’ll work out. I have to prove I can take over the shop. My uncle’s offer to make me a partner is a big chance. I don’t have a ton of cash so I have to earn my way in.”

Moving in closer, Chris nodded. “I get it and I won’t mess it up for you. I came in here because I wanted you to know the truth. I want that ink. You designed it just for me. I love the skyline and it’s not something I’ll regret. I’ve heard all your tattoo lectures about commitment and placement. As long as I have a shirt on, it won’t show. And it’s not like I’m going to be applying for jobs downtown anyway. And I’m not doing it just to be close to you. So don’t let it all go to your head.”

Pete nodded. “I know. It’ll be a great piece.”

The hesitation still flowed off Pete like bad cologne. Chris was close enough to know Pete smelled wonderful but this tattoo meant a lot of time. All the others Chris had done were less than two hours. He had to give Pete an out.

Clearing his throat, Chris shrugged. “I could always have Carlos do it. The drawing is done. He can run it through that machine and just follow the lines. Would that make it better?”

“No!” Pete blurted. “Carlos will take twice as long so he can grope you and you’ll pay double. Uncle Teddy watches me closer because I’m family.”

Chris let the hope fester in him but baited Pete more. “Uncle Teddy then. He’s got more experience.”

“No, that’s my work. No one is doing it but me!” Pete stepped into Chris and they were inches from kissing or fighting. But Chris could never hurt Pete. That’s why he’d waited so long and been patient about it. They had to get the playing out of their system.

Either way worked for Chris. “Okay, you can have your hands all over me for hours and hours. But don’t say I didn’t offer to let you out of it.”

“It’s style too. My art isn’t some print-out piece of crap anyone can do. Carlos and Teddy are good but they’re different. They wouldn’t do it the same way.” Pete lifted Chris’ sleeve and revealed the band. “I’ve done all your ink.”

The note of possession in Pete’s voice only encouraged Chris. “So it’d be like I’m cheating on you? I’d never do that if you want me.”

Pete started to step away but Chris couldn’t let him. Not this time. Grabbing Pete by his hard upper arms, Chris pulled him in. No time for protest or distraction, he kissed Pete softly. Pete leaned in and his hands pressed to Chris’ chest.

It’d get deep and sexual, if Chris let it. But he didn’t, he kept it gentle. His body raged to press against Pete and take him. If it was just the sex, they’d have gotten this out of their systems years ago. Chris needed more out of this.

Pete’s tongue searched for more and Chris gave him just enough. Nipping Pete’s lower lip, Chris eased his hand up Pete’s shoulder and into that hair. When Pete moved closer, Chris inhaled and got in one last kiss before stepping back. It took all his control but it wasn’t happening like this.

“Damn it, Chris,” Pete said.

“I just wanted to get it out of my system before your hands are all over me tomorrow.” He nudged Pete’s glasses up his nose. “Looks like we fogged up your lenses. Wouldn’t want that to happen with the needle in my back would we?”

“No, I already know you’re a bleeder.” Pete walked toward the door. “If you’re so horny, go play with the guys here. They’re great for flirting and randomly making out. I have to get that tattoo ready. See you tomorrow.”

Chris smiled and watched Pete leave. There was nothing random about what Chris wanted. It was a risky move, he’d thought about that first kiss so many times. But it was worth it. He just hoped it lingered with Pete as much as it would haunt Chris’ mind tonight.

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SLOW BREAK by Sara Brookes

SLOW BREAK by Sara Brookes

Jack Cotton thought he'd made the right choice to walk away from Tawse, the only BDSM club on Sypricon. But a life-altering tragedy has shown him the error of his ways. Now, he's ready to make amends and is more than prepared to kneel before the Dom he left so abruptly.

Denton is bound by the rules of Tawse, and he knows Jack's membership has been terminated. But Jack's return is all too personal and his actions can't simply be ignored. Forced to make a choice, Denton does the only thing his instincts as a Dom tell him. After all, some men, like rules, are meant to be broken.

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~Excerpt~

“I’m sorry to hear about your brother, Jack. Considering the circumstance, I’ll let this violation of the rules slide. I’m not so sure your Dom will agree with me, but that’s his problem to deal with.” Jack nodded and turned his back.

Denton glared at Miranda in annoyance. She glared right back, her bright blue eyes shining despite the low light in the room. “This ends tonight, good or bad, I don’t care. I will not have either of you endangering the rest of the members because of any kind of personal problems in or out of the club. Understood?”

Denton said nothing as the door slammed and the locks slid into place. He knew how to override the code in order to get out of the room, but the news Bastian was dead had hit him harder than he’d let on to Jack. He’d never been interested in the war taking place so far away, so whenever the news reports came on, he tuned them out.

Seeing Jack back in the club was painful enough without adding the news Bastian had been killed. He was pissed but had shown as much emotion as he dared.

Keep emotions out of the equation—at least his own.

He pressed a hand against the wall to steady himself. The quiet of the room allowed him to hear the sound of shifting fabric, and he closed his eyes to will himself away from the moment. He knew he’d find an eager submissive the moment he turned around and he didn’t know if he was ready for this step.

Caught off guard by Jack’s sudden reappearance, he wasn’t sure if he could do what his gut told him needed to be done. If it had been anyone else, he would’ve gladly taken on the task without question. But this was Jack. Asking any of the other Doms to handle this wouldn’t be justice as they weren’t the ones who had the issue.

This was his problem to fix.

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