HERE WITHOUT YOU by Megan Slayer

HERE WITHOUT YOU by Megan Slayer

Some guys have all the luck and some guys love the pain. Slash Gunderson knows that feeling well. His place behind the drums for Glow is a dream come true. Can he accept his need for kink and the man who makes his heart beat?

Hiram Moline loves his job as the head of security for Glow. He's also in love with Slash. There's one major glitch -- someone has been sending Slash threatening letters. Hiram's not about to let anything happen to Slash. Can he convince Slash they've got something strong or will the stalker get the upper hand?

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Here Without You
Megan Slayer
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2012 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.

"There is nothing like the feeling of walking in the door after a long tour and knowing you don't have to go anywhere for at least a week." Slash Gunderson tossed his duffle bag onto the floor and took a deep breath. The pine scent of his rustic home swirled around him, embracing him like an old friend. He loved the sound of silence. He'd thought about getting a bulldog or a couple of cats, but touring made having a pet damned near impossible. The silence also reminded him he didn't have the one thing he really wanted -- someone to share the house with. Not a roommate or a housemate, but a lover. Someone he trusted and wanted to be around. Sure, he loved the guys from Glow like brothers, but being that two were married and one was in a permanent relationship, he wasn't likely to score a hook-up.

Hook-ups. Slash toed off his running shoes, then flipped through the mail he'd picked up from the floor. No one really knew his address, so getting mail was like getting gold. "Bill, bill, bill," he muttered and flipped through the thin stack of envelopes.

One envelope bore smears and a scrawled address line. The return address had suffered more smearing, but the handwriting... he knew that writing. Knew it eerily well. V -- the crazy behind the mutilation letters -- was back.

He gulped and fought back the bile on his tongue.

The author of the letter made a point in large script to let Slash know who he or she was -- sort of. Another letter couldn't be good, and this one had something heavy in it.

The more Slash touched the envelope, the more he realized there wasn't just a piece of paper inside. Slash looked around the foyer and tossed the letter on the floor. Damn. If someone wanted to poison him, especially V, then Slash's need to read the mail had helped start the process.

He dropped the remaining letters onto the side table and took out his cell. He pressed the buttons to call the one person he trusted. Save for the police and the other guys in the band, there weren't too many people Slash counted on. Hiram ranked in the top slot.

"Moline."

The tingle shooting up Slash's spine shifted from fear to excitement. Every time he heard Hiram's bass voice, his body reacted. Hiram Moline's ensemble screamed, "I can kick your ass with a smile and not break a sweat." All muscle and brood with the right amount of snarl to make him sexy. Just being around Hiram scrambled Slash's brains. "Hey, man. I've got an envelope here. Can't read the damn thing."

"Okay. Is it like before?"

"I think so."

Besides being the best security guard Slash knew, Hiram cared. They'd gone out more than a couple times and ended the night together. They had a bond, unconventional, with handcuffs and a serious need to be spanked, but a bond nonetheless. When Hiram held him, Slash felt at ease and adored. Was that nuts?

"I'll be there in a moment."

The reassurance in Hiram's voice lifted Slash's spirits for a heartbeat. "How?" Where was Hiram if he could be there in a little bit? Slash turned to the sound of gravel crunching and peeked through the glass panels on either side of the front door. The fear subsided a bit.

Hiram climbed out of his truck and marched up the walkway. Good timing. Slash disconnected the call and placed the phone next to the discarded mail. "I was on my way here anyway. I wanted to talk to you, but I'd like to get this sorted out first. Let me see what you have."

Normally when Hiram walked through the door, all Slash could think of was jumping on him. Not with a strange letter lying at his feet. The fear came back and lumped in his belly.

"Fuck." Slash tapped his foot. "I should've called the cops first." God, he hated when his confidence tanked.

"Probably." Hiram's brows knotted and the muscles in his jaw tensed. "Doesn't look suspicious, but hell, who knows with this shit?" He groaned. "I'm not sure what the hell to do. If we open it and it's got something wicked in it, we're fucked. If it's on the level, we're not." He shook his head. "Fuck it. I don't feel right about letting it go."

Slash's skin crawled. He listened to Hiram make the phone call, but his thoughts went every which way. The life of a rock star quite frankly rocked. He loved every moment in the studio, the concerts for the fans, the meetings with the Glow Kids. Touring left a bit to be desired, but most of that was the time sitting idle in the bus. Whoever said the miles were endless wasn't kidding. He blew out a long breath and swallowed past the lump of fear in his throat. He held one of the scariest parts of being famous -- people who wanted to harm anyone in the media spotlight. His palms sweated and his foot bounced like it did when he got nervous. Having Hiram there helped, but as Hiram said, who knew what was in the letter?

Hiram nodded again and slipped his phone into the holster on his jeans pocket. "Called Mitchell Green with the Olmstead Police Department. He said they'd bag it and test your hand for chemicals. Shouldn't be ten minutes. No sweat."

No sweat. Slash closed his eyes. The only thing he feared more than the damned envelope was an attack from a fan. For all he knew the letter was the attack. He'd always imagined someone would try to hurt him while he was on stage.

"You're over-thinking." Hiram stepped in close enough his breath warmed Slash's cheeks. "Hey. I'm not about to let anyone hurt you."

Without looking at Hiram, Slash opened his eyes. The honesty in Hiram's voice got to him. His heart raced. Fuck buddies weren't supposed to have feelings for each other, and that was what he and Hiram were, right? He had to say something. "You say that to all the band members. Half the band is your family."

There, that put the emotions on ice and got his blossoming feelings back behind the wall surrounding his heart.

"That's not fair." Hiram tipped Slash's chin up, forcing him to look into Hiram's eyes. Instead of ridicule, something else shone in the icy blue depths...

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IN MIND'S EYE by B.A. Tortuga

THE MIND'S EYE by BA Tortuga

Jake likes Vegas, but it gets a little hot when he wins too much at one casino. So Jake has a choice; he can go to the middle of nowhere and try to kill this guy some mob boss wants dead, or he can die himself.

Keye is on vacation and minding his own business when Jake shows up. As a hitman, he thinks it's pretty damned funny that Jake is the man sent to kill him, at least until he starts to figure out what talents Jake has going for him. Can these two band together and stay alive?

Author's Note: This book is dedicated to Frank, the lizard that lives in my bathroom. No. Really. Frank the Bathroom Lizard keeps me young. And screaming.

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EXCERPT:

Keye sat in the back booth, the one on the side of the diner with no restrooms and no windows. He liked to be able to watch folks come and go, to know that he had nowhere to run. Being backed into a corner made him sharper, smarter. An easy escape route made for a lazy Keye.

The people coming in and out were regulars, for the most part, having coffee, saying hi, and eating chili sizes and hash and eggs. Normal. Easy. Good. He approved.

The guy walking toward him wasn't a regular. Keye knew it like he knew that he could crush the man's windpipe with one squeeze. His neck was only so big.

Of course, when said skinny little wild-haired freak sat down, looked at him with one light blue eye, one dark brown one, and said, "I'm supposed to be here to kill you. Weird, huh?" he knew he was absolutely right.

Keye sat back, hands flat on the table, and stared. "You want some coffee?"

"Absolutely." The little guy waved down the waitress, ordered a coffee with a smile, then turned back to him with a bright smile. "So, there's this guy -- Gianni de Marco? You know him? Ugly, broad, lots of nice hair, but way too much pomade? He's in Vegas. He has all my money and he's a big asshole -- wanted to cut my fingers off, what a turd, huh? Anyway, he's hiring people to kill you. Well, blackmailing me to kill you, but I always figure if a guy's willing to blackmail one man, he's willing to hire someone else. It's like a slippery-slope deal. Anyway, I thought about it, because seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money, but if I won it once in Vegas, I can win it a couple three times in Shreveport, and I have the weird feeling that murder would lead to blood and puss and stuff, so no. I decided to warn you instead."

"I think he needs to switch to decaf, honey," Keye told the waitress. She left again, and Keye stared at the guy some more. "De Marco, huh?"

"Uh-huh. He's a fuckmonkey. You're very broad. I was surprised, you know? All I had to work on was this little memory deal and a fuzzy picture like from the TV. All pixelated and shit from the security cameras. I guess that's what the hat was for, though, huh? Hiding your face?"

"Well, I wear a hat occasionally." Hell, he was from Texas. He wore a hat a lot, cowboy or gimme cap, whatever. "What's a fuckmonkey?"

The guy's laugh rang out -- and how it wasn't purely insane, Keye wasn't sure, but it wasn't. "I haven't the foggiest, but it's a great word, isn't it? Fuck. Monkey. Fuckmonkey. It's like asshat, but with more flinging poo."

Lord, have mercy. Some days a man just had to go with what was put in front of him. "So, you're not gonna kill me."

"God, no. That's creepy." The man drank deep from his coffee, then smiled. "I mean, I found you, which is good, I guess, but I'm a tracker, not a hunter. Did you really get that scar on your chin from falling out of a barn? I don't know that I've ever been in a real barn."

Keye kept his face immobile by force of will alone. How the hell did this guy know where he’d gotten his scar? "You been talkin' to my momma or something?"

"She died three years ago. She was..." The guy's nose wrinkled, one long finger sliding on his hand. "Oh, man. Yuck. I'm sorry, that sucks. Bad memory, huh? Let's not go there. That's bad. And you dealt with it all and I'm really glad my name's not Lionel, because you just... you don't like that name at all."

Keye felt his brow furrow, which meant this guy was really something. He didn't know what. His voice came out pretty even, though. "How do you know this shit?"

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THE SOLDIER & THE STATE TROOPER by Cherie Noel

THE SOLDIER & THE STATE TROOPER by Cherie Noel

Career soldier Christie Collins figured out early that love could be lost in the blink of an eye, leaving an empty place that was just another pothole on life's rocky road. The detours of sudden single fatherhood and a nosy best friend who won't let even death stop her from interfering in every date leave Christie convinced that finding a partner is next to impossible.

State Trooper Robert Lindstrom catches Christie speeding along the stretch of highway he patrols and a routine traffic stop turns into love lights flashing and instant attraction for these two men in uniform. It looks like smooth sailing to their happily ever after until an unexpected deployment sends Christie into danger. Can their love survive both bombs and the betrayal of Christie by his closest comrade?

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Chapter One

Christie stretched his arms over his head, arching his back languorously. Mmmm. The sun on his face felt so good. It was warm and light like a gentle touch. It...

Sunlight. On his face.

Oh God. He was going to be late signing out on leave.

Christie flung himself off the bed toward his closet. He grabbed the first pair of jeans he could lay his hands on. Thank God he didn't need to be in uniform. There wasn't time to iron one. He'd already missed the 0630 Physical Training formation. If he made it to the base before the 0900 formation he might skate by with just dirty looks from First Sergeant Bartone.

If the first sergeant didn't decide to give him an article fifteen.

Crap. If Christie got that, he'd end up losing his leave as well. He could barely afford the gas to get to work now. An article fifteen would cut his pay in half for forty-five days.

Christie yanked a favorite soft green oversized sweater off the back of the closet door. First Sergeant Bartone was a stickler for his troops being on time. The last man to earn the first sergeant's ire over a lack of timeliness had been a big mechanic named Ingals. The poor guy had to wear a wall clock around his neck for a week as his "corrective action" for being thirty seconds late to Physical Training. Considering how late Christie was running, the first sergeant could easily give him extra duty.

A few months before, that would have just been something for his buddy Evans to kid him about afterwards. Now-

A sharp wail echoed from the other room.

Frankie.

Christie pulled on his jeans. If he got extra duty, he wouldn't be able to pick up Frankie from daycare before it closed. The daycare charged you a buck a minute for being late. After fifteen minutes they called social services on you, and your chain of command. Christie shuddered. That would suck big hairy donkey balls.

The first thing First Sergeant Bartone would ask would be why he hadn't activated his family care plan. Sure. Like Aunt Cate could just give up her life for forty-five days to come out here and hold his hand. Ha! Like he'd even ask her to after all she'd already given up to raise him after his parents died.

The first thing social services would ask would be if he had a history of abandoning his daughter.

So.

Yes.

Once.

But how was he supposed to know Evans's beater was going to break down on the way back from their errand in town? He'd run the two miles back to post in twelve minutes flat. Best time ever. Too bad it wasn't on a physical training test. At least it got him back before the worker called Child Protective Services.

Christie didn't go anywhere in Evans's car anymore. They took Christie's brand new, very reliable Neon if they had to run an errand in town for their squad leader or the platoon sergeant.

He threw his sweater over his head. Pulling socks up as he stumbled across the hallway, he fell through Frankie's door. Miss Kitty, a calico short hair that adopted his little family the day they moved into their new military housing, peeked at him through the slats of his daughter's crib.

"Good morning Miss Kitty...I have to grab Frankie and run honey, but I promise I'll be back in just a little while with your breakfast."

Great. Now he was talking to the cat. Christie really needed to find a sitter and get out of the house once in a while.

Scooping Frankie out of her crib, Christie took a moment to snuggle her warm sleep-sweet little body against his chest. He pressed his nose into her silky black curls and breathed in her baby smell. Nobody had ever told him he'd get addicted to the way she smelled. To be fair, Carolyn and Lisa hadn't had time.

Christie was supposed to be the happy go lucky poppa who visited once a year when he was on leave and sent lavish birthday presents. Caro and Liss knew how to be moms. What did he know?

Blinking rapidly, Christie hurried over to the changing table. He quickly stripped Frankie out of her sleeper and sopping-wet diaper. Once her little bottom was clean, dry, and again encased in a diaper, he popped her into a butter-yellow onesie. Tiny little matching pants followed by even smaller socks a moment later completed the outfit. Christie checked the diaper bag's contents against the list he'd gotten from his Aunt Cate to be sure it was stocked for emergencies. Everything was squared away like a baby first sergeant was coming to inspect. Christie gave himself a little pat on the back.

Frankie started to fuss, so he slid his hand under her to pick her up from the changing table. It slid in a warm gooey mush that coated the table's surface. Christie closed his eyes and prayed for strength. Today was laundry day. He dug around in the diaper bag. Coming up with a mismatched pair of red pants with yellow ducks on them and an orange shirt with big purple polka dots on it, he resigned himself to carting around the world's tiniest clown.

At least she wasn't wearing a big red clown nose.

Though that would have made Caro laugh till she peed on herself.

Christie didn't have time to hunt down another top, so he wiped off the edge of his goo-smeared cuff with a couple of baby wipes.

Missing Caro throbbed through him, feeling worse than the tooth that had needed a root canal last year. There were a thousand things he still wanted to do with her.

God. And that drunk who hit the car killing her and Liss was still around to do stuff with his family. It wasn't fair.

He squeezed Frankie into the slightly too small clothes. Her little Buddha belly peeping out at him stirred up memories of Liss rubbing Caro's pregnant belly. He swallowed the tightness in his throat and scooped up Frankie and the diaper bag. He grabbed his wallet and keys from where he'd thrown them on the kitchen counter the night before and they were headed to the car.

Christie buckled little Frankie into her car-seat, marveling at how much like her mother she looked, with her fair skin and bright blue eyes. She fought him every step of the way, wiggling, waving her little arms and even catching him on the chin with a well timed kick.

Caro, a little help here?

Caro? Hello, ghost girl, how is it you're able to be around to screw up every potential date I've run across lately, but not here when I need you?

"Geez Christie, you're a grouch this morning! Could you possibly think in a surlier tone of mind? No?"

Cut the crap Caro, and just work your magic.

"Fine, fine! Just be quiet and let me sing to her."

For Caro singing to the baby meant making up her own version of some lullaby. Today it was her special version of ‘Hush little baby'.

Hush little Frankie

Don't say a word

Your Poppa's gonna buy you

A mockin' bird

An' if that mockin' bird don't sing

Momma's gonna put you in the baby-swing

An' if that baby-swing don't soothe

Momma's gonna sing an' get you in the groove...

The jazzy swing to the music calmed Frankie, her little body relaxing into the car seat and her eyelids getting droopy as her kicks slowed until they seemed to keep time with the music. After Caro sang through it a few times, the baby was content with the bottle she was drinking from and the comforting presence of her favorite stuffed animal wedged in next to her as an impromptu pillow. Her little eyelids fell half shut.

Finally, they could get going. Christie closed her door quietly and then raced around to the driver's side. He blew out a frustrated breath as he slid behind the wheel.

Christ on a cracker. Frankie would know what Caro sounded like when she sang but she'd never really know Caro. She wouldn't know Liss either. Not as her moms.

Christie bit his top lip. If he got to post on time, and signed out on leave for the next month, he'd have time to get used to this slightly hollow and lopsided world without his best friend alive and sparkling in it somewhere, keeping it tilted at just the right angle.

*~*~*

Robert kept one eye on the scanner as he perused the morning's headlines. He couldn't believe they'd finally passed the LGBT Civil Rights Amendment. It tickled him to no end to know he now had as much right as anyone else to marry in the country that he spent every day keeping safe. He tipped his Sugar Creek to-go cup toward the paper as if toasting it. He thought about texting his youngest sister and asking her to pick up a couple extra copies of it...and then realized she would do that without any prompting from him. Nikki was a goddess, or at the very least a demigoddess. Robert had unabashedly worshipped at her feet since the day his mother brought her home from the hospital. Even when she was manipulating him into spending his entire annual vacation babysitting his niece for the second year in a row.

A silver car blew past him fast enough to rattle the pages of his paper through the open window. His scanner clocked the little Neon at seventy-two. Idiot. The speed limits were there to keep people safe.

Robert flipped his lights and siren on as he pulled onto the road.

The Neon quickly maneuvering to the shoulder of the road mollified him somewhat. He ran the car's plates through his computer, giving a cursory glance to ensure the driver had no outstanding warrants.

The car was registered in Gouveneur, NY to one Christie Collins, age twenty-six. Not reported stolen, no priors on the driver.

Robert unfolded himself from behind the wheel of his vehicle and placed his state trooper hat on his head. It was time to present Ms. Collins with the natural consequences of her actions. As he passed the rear of the car he saw a baby seat in the back of the car. Robert's temper spiked again. He rapped on the driver's side window, looking down as he finished filling out the handwritten portion of the idiot woman's ticket. The window whirred down, and then a faint sniffling sound came to his ears-if she thought a few tears were going to get her out of a justly deserved ticket she was dead wrong.

"Ms. Collins, I'm appalled that you would drive so far above the speed limit with an infant in your vehicle. I need your license, registration, and proof-"

The baby started wailing.

Robert knew he'd spoken sternly, but he hadn't intended it to be harsh enough to frighten the baby. The requested items were thrust at him even as she turned away toward the baby.

"I-I'm so-sorry officer. D-don't cry Frankie, it'll be okay. I promise it'll be o-okay honey. It's not the same as before. There w-wasn't an accident sweetie. Do you remember the flashing lights? I remember them too, baby. "

The voice wrapped around Robert as softly as the cashmere throws his Gran Olava used to put over him when he'd fallen asleep on her sofa. A warm heaviness invaded his groin.

Sweet Goddess, a woman was turning him on.

She had unbuckled her seat belt to twist her upper body thru the gap in the two front seats. In fact, she climbed half into the back seat, making shushing noises to her baby in between weepy sniffles and nonsensical babble. Her firm, round ass was in the air, wiggling back and forth until it ended up pointing straight at him as she bent over the driver's side seat. Robert's cock finished hardening in a rush. He whipped his trooper hat off to hold in front of his crotch.

"I-it's okay honey, don't cry. They can't fire me from the Army. And if the first sergeant takes my leave away for being late signing out I bet the daycare will let you come back e-early. Don't cry honey. I don't think they'll take you away b-because of o-one sp-speeding ticket...even if I can't pay it. I'll j-just get an article fifteen and..."

Robert felt about two inches tall. If she'd been in uniform he probably wouldn't have started writing the ticket, but it was too late now with the way everything was computerized and every printed ticket needing to be accounted for. He sighed. The least he could do for her was to give her a clear explanation of how she could get out of having to pay the fine. Hell, Judge Wallace was such a big supporter of the armed forces he'd probably completely wipe the ticket off her driving record.

"Look honey, I'm sorry you're late signing out on leave, but that's still no reason to speed, especially not with the precious cargo you're carrying. If you go to traffic court on the 17th, Judge Wallace has a rep for being extremely lenient with armed forces service members. Just explain to him what you were explaining to your baby there, and he'll most likely waive your ticket."

Robert walked back to his cruiser and printed the computerized section of the ticket off. After stapling it to the handwritten portion, he made sure to circle the part explaining how to contest the ticket. He highlighted the date and time of her court appearance. Satisfied he had done everything possible to help her, he walked back to stand next to her open window.

"Here's your ticket ma'am."

That got him a watery sounding chuckle. Robert looked up to assess whether she was becoming hysterical. What could end up being as much as a two hundred fifty dollar ticket, depending on the judge's ruling, was nothing to be laughing over. His gaze slid up from her lush pink mouth and honed in on mesmerizing blue-green eyes. He could easily imagine those gorgeous eyes looking up at him while the full lips were wrapped around his cock and all that sexy stubble...Robert's eyes flashed back to the stubble covered jaw.

Well.

Better than having to deal with finding himself suddenly bisexual at thirty-three years old. Robert knew he owed his dad a six pack of expensive German beer. It was stupid to bet against Robert Sr. when he started predicting how one of his kids would meet their ‘special' someone. He'd told Robert he would fall in love at first sight.

Christie Collins. But he had a kid. No ring though...divorced? Widowed? Sweet Goddess, Robert hoped he was at least a little bent. It would be a waste if that man was completely straight.

*~*~*

Christie laughed nervously at the stunned expression on the handsome trooper's face. It wasn't the first time someone had taken a glance at him and mistaken him for a woman. It likely wouldn't be the last. He made a valiant attempt to corral his careening thoughts.

His laughter trailed away when the state trooper resettled his uniform hat on his head. The action revealed the prominent bulge the man was sporting. Christie nervously licked his lips.

The trooper had obviously seen something he liked while Christie was bent over leaning into the back seat. Christie hoped he didn't get angry about it now that he knew the person he'd gotten turned on by was a man.

"It's okay officer. I get that a lot. I hated my name when I was younger. I was gonna change it, cause there's already enough confusion over how I look. My mom really loved it though. I promised her I wouldn't change it before she died."

Christie glanced up at the trooper again. The flashing lights of his patrol car shone in the edges of Christie's vision. He gestured in their direction.

"She was killed in a car wreck. Drunk driver. That's why I hate the lights. Flashing. Umm, I won't change my name. That's what I meant. I keep it even though it causes me trouble sometimes. Once a guy didn't believe I was a man until I actually showed him the goods...er, sorry. That's probably not appropriate. I-I talk too much when I'm nervous. Umm. Could I have my ticket now? I really need to get to post."

The man, Trooper Lindstrom according to his name badge, gave Christie what looked like a half-lustful/half-incredulous look as he handed over the ticket. He then briskly popped his mirrored shades back on, silently tipped the round brim of his beige hat and strode back to his car. Christie watched the man's powerful looking thigh muscles bunch and release as he strode away.

After the trooper pulled out and around him, Christie sat for a few minutes, resting his hands on the steering wheel as he took slow, calming breaths. He tried biting his lip, but the pain wasn't enough to put him back together this time. He let his mind wander to the gorgeous trooper who had just screwed any chance he had of getting to the base before 0900.

Christie must have mistaken that look.

It couldn't have been lust.

The gorgeous trooper was probably straight.

What a waste.

Christ on a cracker, he'd even tried to be nice about the whole thing.

Christie refastened his seat belt, put his car in gear, and eased back onto the black top. He held his speed down the whole way to the base, carefully staying at least four miles below the speed limit the whole way. There was no way he could handle being pulled over again.

Christie had seen what they did to Jackson after his wife left him. The one time the guy got drunk and passed out on his own patio, his bitch of a neighbor called his command. Those bastards put his kids in foster care, saying he was neglectful and he had to wait until he got done with his enlistment to get them back. People just didn't get it.

It was hard enough to have a family in the military with two parents in the family, and only one a soldier. It was a hundred times harder when the one parent is the soldier. If they said Jackson was neglectful for falling asleep after a few beers-with his kids already in bed asleep-Christie could just imagine what would happen to him for speeding with Frankie in the car.

Shit.

He couldn't think about that without losing it again. Instead he'd just think about Trooper Hardbody. That was worthy of at least a little smile.

It was too bad all that gorgeous hot maleness was probably two dates away from a wedding with some girl. Christie glanced in the rearview mirror, smiling when he saw Frankie was contentedly sucking on two of her little fingers.

"Well, my little mouse, it's not like I could really have asked him out while he was writing my ticket anyway. He might have thought I was trying to bribe him with my luscious self."

Frankie pulled her fingers out of her mouth and smiled at him. He didn't care if the lady in the grocery store last week had told him that it was only gas. He knew better. His girl was laughingly agreeing with her poppa. She was a smart girl after all. Blowing spit bubbles, slobbering food all over yourself, and wetting your pants didn't become a sign of mental deficiency until sometime after your third birthday.

Christie's smile was bittersweet. If not for Liss and Caro dying in such an untimely manner, he might have missed every one of those sweetly gummy smiles. Tears prickled at the edge of his eyes. Resolutely wiping the back of his hand across his eyes, Christie determined to live every moment as the gift it was. Caro and Liss had put so much off for later. When they had enough money saved they would do such and such. When the baby was old enough to remember, they'd travel. They hadn't gotten a later. It would be a fitting tribute to them to savor every moment he had with Frankie, and all the people in his life.


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TAKEDOWN by Stacey Kennedy

TAKEDOWN by Stacey Kennedy
A 1NightStand Story

U.S. Marshal Wyatt Tanning has been on the hunt for a killer on the run in Turks and Caicos. A week into the investigation, he has absolutely nothing to show for his efforts. Feeling defeated he returns to Castillo Resort to drown his frustrations.

There he meets UFC fighter, Rye Daniels. Now the resort’s bartender, Rye recognizes a man that has been beaten down, but he also senses a shared attraction that is hard to ignore. Wyatt might not be ready to step out from behind the shadow of lies, but Rye will stop at nothing to unleash the beast within.

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~Excerpt~

Wyatt stretched in the leather seat of his rented truck. A week of chasing Katrina Whittaker had brought nothing but dead ends. His team of U.S. Marshals were strategically positioned at different hotspots in Turks and Caicos, yet the search resulted in them running in circles. She’d proven to be smart and didn’t stay in one place long.

A murder in Houston, Texas resulted in a warrant for her arrest, and it was Wyatt’s job as Chief Deputy U.S. Marshal to bring Katrina home. Unfortunately, he couldn’t locate her. She had family in Turks and Caicos, and Wyatt’s team got word she’d fled the day her warrant had been issued. Wyatt still tried to understand how she’d made it to the Caribbean island without her passport or the ability to board an airplane, but he’d been in this game long enough to know anything was possible.

Releasing a long deep sigh, Wyatt ran his hand over his tired face. Katrina had gotten under his skin and he couldn’t wait to slap handcuffs on her. Day and night, they’d set up surveillance and staked out possible leads. The damn woman wasn’t anywhere to be found. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Ten o’clock. Where had the day gone? He’d sat in this seat for well over twelve hours. His ass hurt, his legs tingled with pins and needles, and he needed sleep. More than ready for this to be over, he grabbed his cell phone from the cup holder and held the button on the side to initiate a radio single. “Wyatt to Taryn.”

“Whatcha got, Chief?” Taryn Kincaid, his right hand woman, responded. Always ready and eager for the hunt ahead, he’d promoted her to Supervisory Deputy U.S. Marshal not long ago because of her exemplary work.

“Jackshit,” he grumbled. “You?”

“Nothing here either, Sir.”

Wyatt scanned the area, the luxurious condominiums located on the beachfront known to be Katrina’s grandmother’s house. Nothing stirred, except a cat or two crossing the street on a hunt for dinner.

His team, Taryn plus the four other deputies she resided over, had slept in their trucks only about ten hours the whole week and he felt the weight of it. He pushed hard in the beginning of the investigation to put heat on Katrina, leaving her nowhere to hide. The idea flopped. His team needed rest, as did he. “Go back to the hotel, check in, and we’ll gather back up at seven hundred hours and start again.”

“Ten four.”

The hum of the radio cut off to silence. Starting the engine, Wyatt shot a final look toward the condominium, nothing to indicate Katrina had been there. He put the truck in drive and drove off, spying lush greenery around him.

Turks and Caicos was a quiet island and Wyatt expected as much. Most along the stunning beachfront properties were tourists looking for some peace. He wouldn’t mind some time off himself. He loved his job, lived for the hunt, but a vacation sounded all too good. Long hours with little fun and he longed for more excitement than his present non-existent love life. So much in fact, he enlisted the services of 1NightStand, a match-making service out of Las Vegas, a few months back. He hoped Madame Eve would find a woman to fulfill his dreams since he’d yet to find one the traditional way.

Turning onto Grace Bay, Wyatt entered the main district of the island. Only a few minutes down the road, Castillo Hotels and Resorts appeared and he sighed in relief. The resort, like nothing he’d ever seen before with its Greek architecture, white textured walls and large pillars out the front. Spotlights beamed up from the ground to bask the building in a warm glow. Palm trees decorated the landscape, among many other tropical plants Wyatt couldn’t identify.

At the main entrance, he stopped and put the truck in park as the valet attendant approached. Stepping out, Wyatt handed the keys to the attendant and in turn took a numbered ticket. “Let me grab my stuff before you head off.” Turning on his heel, he strode toward the cab of the truck and grabbed his duffel bag.

He placed it on the ground to reach into his pocket, took out some cash and handed it to the attendant, who smiled in thanks before jumping into the driver’s seat. As the truck pulled away, Wyatt made his way toward the resort, marveling at the structure. When he entered, the size of the building left him in awe. High ceilings, marble floors—owner Jackson Castillo hadn’t held back when he built the resort. Once at the counter, Wyatt dropped his duffel bag and reached back to grab his wallet from his pocket to show his identification.

“Welcome to the Castillo Resort,” the greeter said, happy as a clam. Her big brown eyes twinkled. Wyatt understood why she’d been chosen for the job. Her kind face made him feel welcome.

He read her name tag, Susanne, before glancing back up to her face. “Wyatt Tanning, checking in.”

Susanne examined his ID for a moment before she glanced away and typed on her computer. “Ah, Mr. Castillo has given you the presidential suite for your stay.”

Nice of him, but not needed. “That isn’t necessary, any room will suffice.”

“No, no,” Susanne retorted. “Mr. Castillo’s orders, I’m not given the liberty to disobey them.” She handed him a key card. “We hope you have a wonderful stay here, Mr. Tanning. If you need anything at all, just pick up your phone and it will direct you to the front desk.”

Wyatt took the card, placed it in his wallet and returned it to his back pocket. “As long as I have a bed, I’ll be happy.” He said it more to himself than to Susanne, and she didn’t bother with his remark, instead moving on to the couple who approached the desk.

Newlyweds. The assumption not hard to come by, the pair couldn’t keep their hands off each other, plus the gleaming new rings on their fingers were a dead giveaway. Wyatt wondered what such intense love would feel like, never having it, he had nothing to compare it to. He sighed away his pity and considered going up to his room to crash, but decided to get a drink first to wash away the frustrations of the hunt that went nowhere.

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WINNER TAKES ALL by Cheryl Dragon

WINNER TAKES ALL by Cheryl Dragon

Kyle wants Jim and Kyle gets what he wants no matter how hard he has to fight. This time, he'll fight harder than ever because Jim thinks Kyle's a player and he's been around players before. He suspects Kyle's games have ulterior motives, and he's not about to fold.

As competitors at a tradeshow, they show off their martial arts skills to demonstrate their products, but they soon discover they share a fetish for taking wrestling and fighting to the next level - late night wrestling matches that end with the winner getting whatever he wants.

But with everything on the line, it will be a fight to the end to discover which winner takes all.

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Excerpt:

Kyle Ogden never got tired of tradeshows. As he and his coworker, Arthur, put together their booth at the Martial Arts Supply Show in Vegas, Kyle kept an eye out for friends and customers.

Like most businesses, even with a big market, it was really a small world. Kyle had started with the Right Fit Equipment company out of college. At first, he’d done everything from Youth Sports to custom athletic shoes, but once his boss had learned Kyle had a brown belt in Karate and was working on other martial arts, she’d put him on the wrestling and very hot martial arts circuit. Kyle loved it!

“Your boy toy is over there.” Arthur nodded to the booth across the aisle. If Kyle was the demo specialist, Arthur was the tech guy.

“Shut it. His company isn’t exactly gay friendly.” Kyle looked over. Jim Park stood there surveying the booth area with his ice queen of a coworker, Ms. Chen. Both were Asian, but Jim was friendly and laid back. Ms. Chen wasn’t very social especially with the competition.

Arthur just shook his head. “He gives you a different excuse every show. Why do you bother?”

“Do you give up every time a potential customer says no?”

“He’s not a customer. He’s the competition. Dating the enemy when you’re in marketing and strategy wouldn’t be smart. Jim’s got some sense. You’re crazy.”

“Well, he won’t date me so it’s not a problem.” Kyle stared at the lean muscle on Jim’s tall body. With dark eyes and straight black hair that flopped into his eyes at times, Jim was hot. Kyle enjoyed the view when Jim bent to work on the booth. A firm ass, strong legs, and a sculpted back all hinted at the sexy man under the clothes.

Jim worked for the private company, Ping Inc. They were smaller but loved to put a dent in Right Fit’s market share. Not only conservative, Ping went for the traditional styles in everything.

“Get yourself an Asian boyfriend and get it out of your system. Jim isn’t going to bite. You’ve been trying for over a year. It’s getting boring,” Arthur said.

“I’ve dated all types of guys, it’s not the Asian thing. It’s him. He’s intense when we talk.”

“I’ve heard he’s straight.”

Kyle shook his head. “No way. He’s playing it for Ms. Chen. Some companies you just can’t be out at. Go distract Ms. Chen.” Arthur had a thing for her. Kyle knew it was just a fantasy, but he’d use Arthur to get Jim alone.

“No, she’s better in my imagination wearing leather and riding me.” Arthur turned and went back to work.

Kyle chuckled. “We’ve all got our things, man. Go ask her how she is with a riding crop?” Working these shows together for a while now, Kyle and Arthur knew each other well. Kyle would lay down good money that Arthur liked his women in charge.

“Kyle! She’d slap me and stab me with those high heels.” Arthur’s tone wasn’t scared or repulsed.

“You’d love it.” Enough torturing Arthur. “Fine, tell her you heard a couple distributors talking about acquiring Ping. That they are in talks with the big boy owners. You don’t want to spread rumors, but you thought she should know.”

“You’re mean. Then what? She’ll ask who and where they are.” Arthur was a tech guy in more than sales. He knew how much force a fall mat could take and the strength of their clothes. Most of what they did at shows was clothing and safety related gear. Safety was essential as kids got into martial arts more and more.

Clothing styles varied and individualization was growing as more people tried it. Which meant new supply companies popped up all the time to compete. Many flopped. Some like Ping had found a niche in traditional styles. Their lines were classic. Right Fit wanted to be cutting edge.

Ping employees were conscious of the competition and that the owners could sell them in a second for a tidy profit. “Tell her you didn’t get names, but you’ll find them. Take her around looking. Of course, you can’t find them. Maybe, they’re in a private meeting? You’ll let her know when you see them. That way you can go back and flirt more with her.”

“Wild goose chase.” Arthur didn’t object too much and smoothed his hair.

“And compliment her shoes. Buy her a coffee. Geez, I’m gay. Getting girls shouldn’t be my area.”

“Her shoes? She’ll think I’m gay,” Arthur said.

Kyle took another look. Open toe with red painted toenails, black high heels with red dragons on the side. “No man, those are fuck me heels. Tell her you like the Chinese dragon art. She’ll bite.”

“Her restraint is better than Jim’s. You need to get Jim alone and make a move.” Arthur popped a breath mint. “You owe me one.”

Kyle watched Arthur catch Ms. Chen and lure her away with business talk. It was the one thing she couldn’t resist. A little tradeshow fun couldn’t hurt. Kyle enjoyed yanking Jim around since Jim refused to flat out say he wasn’t interested or to just go out with Kyle. He needed to find Jim’s weak spot. What couldn’t Jim resist?

Walking over, Kyle helped Jim position part of the booth backdrop. “You can run, but you know you’ll see me again. Nice set up today.”

“Ping and Right Fit. Close in the alphabet so close in proximity. Your company should pay for prominent end space.” Jim pointed to the huge booths on the ends.

Kyle shook his hand. “Nah. We do quality and style in the martial arts stuff. Those guys are into quantity and flash for the uncommitted. We’ll take that business, but we don’t go in that big. Wastes money to over compete.” He moved closer. “Hit my next belt in Tae Kwon Do. How are you doing?”

Straightening the picture on the booth wall, Jim shrugged. “Good. I’m considering others. I’m more about control and strength.”

“I’d be good for that,” Kyle joked. “Come on. Ms. Chen is nowhere in sight. Quite being so paranoid.”

Jim stopped arranging and looked at Kyle. “Stop. We have a lot in common, and we could be friends, but I’m not playing out my personal life at a work function.”

“You won’t see me outside of work so you’re tying my hands.”

Jim glared. “I’ve told you. It’s not right. We’re competitors. There are at least four good reasons for us not to do anything. Our careers are number one.”

Leaning in, Kyle got close to Jim’s ear as if what he said was a trade secret. But he inhaled the masculine scent and had to control his desire to kiss Jim right there. “When I get you naked, we won’t be talking about customers or company policy. You’ll be begging for more.”

Jim took a half step back and leveled a harsh stare at Kyle. There was fire behind his eyes. The stare lacked the icy edge Ms. Chen managed, but it said back off. “You seem to be doing the begging. I think you’re working very hard for another no. Plenty of men here would say yes so it must be our products.” Jim set a new pad sample on the counter area.

“I didn’t know you had a new mat coming out. Actually innovating, Jim? Shocking for Ping.” Kyle felt the pad.

“As much protection with half the bulk.” Jim nodded with pride.

“Nice. But I’m not the tech guy. I’ll let Arthur press Ms. Chen for specs. I want to know why you keep dodging me. Even at the martial arts class, you won’t spar with me even though we’re well matched.” Kyle had first notice Jim at the academy. Maybe that was it, seeing Jim all sweaty in combat. L.A. had a few good academies. Jim had walked into Kyle’s about fifteen months ago.

Then Jim had been at the very next tradeshow Kyle had worked. It was fate. With Jim’s passion for the competitions, Kyle knew they were a fit. If only Jim would give it a try.

After the initial rejection, Kyle had truly tried to get Jim out of his mind. Hitting on other men, dating and enjoying them was one thing, but he couldn’t get the idea of Jim’s quiet restraint out of his head. Sparing with Jim would be ten times as arousing, especially in competition.

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AS ADVERTISED by Jamie Samms

AS ADVERTISED by Jaime Samms

Tyler should know; as an ad executive, the packaging is what sells. And Jake is quite a package. So what if neither long-time friend Marty nor his landlady think much of Jake. Tyler is determined not to see the dark side of his lover, but when the truth becomes undeniable not even a evening soaked in martinis will let him hide from it.

Weathering Jake's lies and secrets gets easier under the sheltering support of new friends, Libby and Steven. In fact, Tyler figures a lot of things might get easier with gorgeous, attentive Steven around.

Tyler should have known better. Again. Not even someone as seemingly perfect as Steven Jessop comes completely as advertised. This time, though, Tyler has to make a decision. After all, even if what you see is not what you get, Steven's imperfections might just be what he's always wanted, if only he can sell Steven on giving love another chance.

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WIN - Leave any of the authors or the publishers a question today at their Cyber Launch Party and your name goes in the hat for your choice of any of these new releases!  Please leave your email address so we can contact you if you are today's winner - Good Luck!
As Advertised
Copyright © 2011 Jaime Samms

All rights reserved, Freya's Bower.




By reading this excerpt, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are younger than 18 years old, you must exit this site at once.


When Tyler knocked on Jake’s door, said assistant, a new, doe-eyed, fresh-out-of-school kid with blond hair hanging in his pale face, opened it, muttered something about being delivered, and scampered from the room. Tyler couldn’t help but notice he had already ditched his jacket and his tie was crooked

“What did you do to that poor thing?” he asked, setting Jake’s coffee on his desk.

The other man was standing at the window glaring down at the traffic. “Took you bloody long enough.” He snatched up the coffee and punched the tab open. “I haven’t done anything to him. Yet.”

“Maynard’s going to have a fit if you scare off another assistant.”

“Maynard can—”

“Go fuck myself?” Maynard’s voice held just enough sarcasm to bite.

Both Jake and Tyler turned as their boss entered the room.

“Morning, boys,” Maynard said.

Tyler nodded; Jake glared.

“I just had a conversation with Adam, Jake.”

Jake grunted and turned back to the window.

“If you might refrain from molesting your assistants, it would be appreciated.”

“Excuse me?” Tyler took a small step forward. “I’m sure there’s some misunderstand—”

“It was a little tap on the ass,” Jake said. “He needs to get over himself. Send him back here, Maynard. I’ll behave.”

“I’d appreciate it.” Maynard turned to Tyler. “And you. I want to talk to you about Steven Jessop’s party tonight. I’ll come by your office.”

Tyler managed to hold in the heavy sigh he felt building. “Sure. I’ll be there in a few.”

Maynard left, and Tyler waited a beat, hoping Jake might explain what had just happened. When the silence stretched, he finally spoke up. “Tap on the ass?”

“You need to not make a thing over this, Ty.”

“I’ll be in my office.” Tyler took his coffee and his pricked ego and left Jake staring out the window.

His gut told him there was more than one grope behind Adam’s hasty retreat, but his head told his gut to shut the fuck up and get to work. He had no interest in his heart pleading not to be a damn fool. Instead, he buried himself so deeply in a new ad campaign that Maynard’s knock on his open door a half hour later made him jump.

“Tyler. Got a minute?”

“No.”

“About this party. I assume you’re going?” Maynard sauntered in and perched on the corner of the desk. His cheek pinched up the corner of Tyler’s draft, causing a pulse of irritation to pump through Tyler and leave behind a grimace.

“Maybe.”

“Well, go. I want you to feel Jessop out. Or up. Whatever it takes. He has a lot of advertising money to spend, and I want him to spend it here. Get him to consider our firm, sell him on us, and the account’s yours.”

“And here I thought you were just out to take a load off my mind. Tell me to go out, have fun, relax.”

“‘Scuse me?”

“Nothing.”

“Good. Let me know how it goes.” He didn’t wait for a response, no doubt fully expecting Tyler to just agree. At the door, he stopped, turning with a twisted smile on his face. “And have fun, Tyler. Maybe even get laid. Be good for you.”

Jackass.

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IN FROM THE COLD by Carolina Valdez

IN FROM THE COLD by Carolina Valdez

East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet...

Jon and Wendell were fourteen when they first experimented with each other and discovered they were gay. Lovers and in love, they drifted apart after graduation when Jon left to follow his dream to rock 'n' roll stardom. A heartbroken Wendell recovered by earning an animal husbandry degree at a California university. He returned to the small Oregon town where they'd grown up to raise sheep with his father.

Ten years later, Wendell's contentment is shattered when Jon and his band arrive to play for their high school reunion. Love surprises both men by immediately flaring into liquid heat. Jon begs Wendell to give up his life in Oregon and live with him in New York City. Wendell refuses, however, asking Jon to move in with him instead. But Jon refuses to abandon his career and returns to Manhattan.

Will Wendell and Jon remain star-crossed lovers, or will they find a way to bridge the distance and discover the true meaning of "home"?

Note: IN FROM THE COLD is included in the five-story erotic gay WHERE THE HEART IS AmberPax 

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Excerpt:

...Wendell froze. He forgot to breathe. Warm lips touched the hollow just beneath his right ear and a tongue slowly tasted, savoring him. He closed his eyes as the tonguing changed to a wet mouth trailing kisses with agonizing slowness down his neck to where his sleep top began. Fingers slid beneath the neck and slid across his bare skin, following its line.

“I wore your gift tonight,” Jon said in a voice as rough as gravel.

Mesmerized by the touch of Jon’s mouth and hands, all Wendell could get out was, “I noticed.” When a lack of oxygen threatened to cause a blackout, he drew in a long breath through his nose. Not my soap, he thought. Not my shampoo. Only Jon’s scent. His soap, his shampoo, his arms strong and familiar around me.

His lips and tongue that I have missed so very much.

He crossed his arms over Jon’s and became aware of the rock-hard cock pressing against his buttocks and his dick growing long and big in response. That, too, was familiar. He didn’t want to move, to stop the mouth at his neck or destroy the pleasures rumbling inside him. He just wanted to stand there and feel Jon in the stillness, with the blazing fire shooting flickering shadows around them, and convince himself Jon was real and this wasn’t a dream.

Jon released his waist and turned Wendell to face him as his lips brushed over the corners of his closed eyes and his tongue lapped at the tip of his nose before zeroing in to devour Wendell’s mouth. As the kiss deepened and their tongues intertwined in an imitation of penetrating sex, Wendell wrapped his arms around Jon and ran his hands up and down the broad back. Jon thrust his pelvis against Wendell’s until they were so tight together he couldn’t tell Jon’s dick from his. It didn’t matter. Melding into him, becoming one with him was all that mattered as erotic sparks shot through him and lust caused his body to quiver.

Someone groaned, and Wendell realized it came from his throat.

Jon must’ve taken that as a signal to slip his hand beneath the band of Wendell’s sleep pants because he was there, and his hard knuckles stroked the tender flesh above Wendell’s bush.

“Lower. Go lower,” Wendell begged, hungry for and helpless against the sensual onslaught. He rocked his hips from side to side to increase the friction as the knuckles continued to rub.

Jon was trembling now. He slid Wendell’s sleep pants down and took his cock in hand.

“Not here,” Wendell warned, his voice thick and hoarse with what testosterone was doing to his vocal chords. “I’m on the verge.”

“Yes, here,” Jon insisted as he pulled down his own pants and wrapped Wendell’s hand around his tight erection. “I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long I’m not going to let you go. Besides, we have all night.”

Pleasure splintered Wendell, and he exhaled with a groan as he enjoyed those all too brief seconds when everything centered in his groin and drowned his entire body in feeling.

“Oh, God, Wendell. Wendell.” Jon moaned as he came, too.

Later, they wandered to bed, stripped, crawled under the covers and died to the world.

In the deepest part of the night, Wendell roused to the weight of someone, something on his butt, something hard and velvety gliding, sliding in and out of his crack. Something nipped at his shoulder. “Is that you, Jon?”

“Who else, lover?”

He started to turn, but hands captured his shoulders and kept him in place as Jon’s knees forced his thighs apart. Hands rubbed his back as Jon licked his skin, awakening nerve endings running the length of his body. Thinking he should only feel this in his groin, the sensations caused every nerve to spring to life. Awash in feeling, he decided to relax and enjoy it, not to miss even one little flicker of arousal...

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