NIKKI by Michelle Levigne

NIKKI by Michelle Levigne

Quarry Hall Book Five

Nikki lives a faerie tale existence, but after a chance encounter with Joan Archer, she starts to rethink her choices. Brock has changed since convincing Nikki to run away from home. Now his goal is to protect her from his drug lord boss. When his DEA contacts say they can't protect Nikki, Brock must act. He must break her heart to drive her away to be safe.

Ashamed to be the prodigal, Nikki doesn't go straight home. Joan and the Quarry Hall sisters find her and start her healing and the journey home. When the drug lord decides to bring Nikki back and use her to camouflage the organization's activities, he kidnaps her. Quarry Hall and its friends marshal their resources to find her before it is too late.

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Excerpt

"Please, Lord, help me. Show me what to do." Nikki shook her head and watched the teardrops fall on the Bible's pages. "I know what I have to do, but I don't want to. I'm a coward. I'm selfish. I'm--" She slid to her knees again, resting her head on the open Bible, sobbing.

She didn't hear the door open, didn't feel anything until Brock caught her by her elbow and lifted her to her feet.

"You are pathetic! How long are you going to lay around, crying and talking to a God who sure isn't listening? Can't you figure out what you need to do? What's it going to be, Nikki? Me or that baby?"

Later, all that she could remember clearly was that he called it a baby, not a thing, a problem.

She knew what she had to say, what she should say, but the words still caught in her throat.

"Are you gonna abort it, or not?" He dropped her on the bed. "How long are you going to put us through this?"

"I can't--"

He swung back, agony twisting his face. Time slowed, but she couldn't move out of the way as his hand came down and connected hard with her face. Her vision shattered, her neck snapped back and half a heartbeat later she was airborne. The thud when she hit the wall seemed to deafen her and knock the air from her lungs. Nikki slid down, gasping and blinking.

Brock snatched up her Bible and tore it apart at the spine. He yanked and ripped and threw pages across the bed, then across the room.

"Choose!" He threw the cover into her face and stormed out.

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IN HER SECRET FANTASY by Marie Treanor

IN HER SECRET FANTASY by Marie Treanor

Book 2 of the IN series

Desire beyond imagination…danger that’s all too real.

A sequel to In His Wildest Dreams

World-weary, burned-out undercover cop Aidan Grieve’s latest assignment has brought him home to the Highland village he couldn’t wait to leave, but something’s definitely wrong in Ardknocken.

When did his parents get so frail? What is his sister thinking, befriending the chief suspects in his investigation—the ex-cons of Ardknocken House? And why can he barely control his instant attraction to the house’s beautiful manager?

Her mind and body still mending from a vicious attack, ex-parole officer Chrissy Lennox isn’t ready for a complication like the charming, empathetic, gorgeous Aidan, a restless adrenaline junkie for whom this sleepy village has never been big enough.

Yet as easily as the meddling selkies shed their skins, desire strips away their hesitation, and not even the cold Scottish sea can cool the fire. But as Aidan’s investigation progresses, so does the danger—revealing secrets that could leave their hearts in pieces.

Warning: When our hero is good, he’s very good…but when he’s bad, he’s delicious! Also contains lusty, mischievous selkies who’ll steal your heart with one flipper while stealing your underwear with the other.

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Excerpt:

Copyright © 2015 Marie Treanor
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication

Aidan exhaled briskly and strode up the path to the road. Someone—Hugh—called an enthusiastic greeting from an upper window next door, and Aidan grinned and waved back. But he didn’t stop. If there had been less frost on the road, he’d have run, just to ease his muscles.

Settling for a fast walk, he avoided the High Street and cut down past the church towards the harbour. The salty smell of the sea, the calling of the gulls and the clean chill of the air invaded his senses, dragging a mountain of memories from childhood. A simpler life, one he couldn’t wait to escape. The enclosed, isolated life of the village had never been enough for him. He’d known he’d miss his family and friends when he left, but he’d never imagined he’d miss anything else. He must be a bigger wreck than he’d imagined.

What the hell were his bosses thinking of, sending him home for his final mission? Had they worked out before he did that he needed to come home?

Hardly. Like so much of his work, this was driven by drug abuse. There was an all mighty stink about so many recent, scattered deaths from the same batch of contaminated heroin. Especially during the festive season, although Aidan couldn’t see why the time of year should make any difference. Whatever, the suppliers couldn’t be traced beyond the little guys, and the police in Glasgow and Dundee had come up with only one tenuous connection, a known villain by the name of Gowan, who seemed to be living now in the peaceful west Highland town of Oban, where there was no real concentration of criminals—except, a couple of hours down the road, the ex-cons now living at Ardknocken House.

No, as far as the police force was concerned, Aidan was here because he had a natural cover, not because they were doing him any favours.

Laughing at himself, he walked round to the deserted harbour. A couple of cars were parked there, but there was no one around. When he was a kid, several fishing boats had tied up here, but not anymore. A few rowing boats still bobbed against the harbour wall, alongside a couple of slightly bigger vessels, including Old Tam’s, and another one covered in canvas, the one his father had given him for his sixteenth birthday. It might have been to bribe him to stay. But Aidan had just wanted to sail away in it. He grinned, remembering his fantasies of sailing down to Glasgow, even to London, and across the Channel. In reality, he’d only ever sailed north. He and his friend Dan had gone as far as Orkney, once, and even considered Norway, but Dan had had to go home.

Aidan untied the ropes and threw back the canvas. The boat smelled musty, unused, but it still drew him. He jumped down onto the deck, loving the rocking under his feet, the salty spray on his face. Shit, he could sail it off now, round the headland and back before tea.

And probably drown himself. God knew what condition the old tub was in. He began an inspection, quickly getting lost in the task and making mental notes of obvious repairs. He’d have to haul it right out of the water…

A sudden crash of breaking glass from the shore made him straighten and jerk around. A few yards from one of the parked cars, a woman had fallen in a tangle of limbs and plastic bags. Aidan vaulted over the side of the boat onto the quay and ran across to her.

Patches of black ice slipping under his feet probably explained her accident. The woman on the ground was young and slightly punk, with her black hair backcombed and tied in a haphazard yet stylish way. She wore big, jet earrings, a padded jacket with a fur collar, and black leggings, which right now displayed the full shapeliness of her legs as she tried to right herself.

“You okay?” Aidan said, crouching down beside her.

She paused, clear brown eyes flying to his. She didn’t blink. She had very long, black lashes and wore smoky dark eye shadow. It wasn’t a look he’d ever consciously admired, and yet her beauty stood out like a solitary star in a dark night sky.

It might have been the fine bone structure of her face that struck him like a blow in the chest, or the fiercely independent “Sod off, I can manage” look in her large, brown eyes. Or perhaps it was the oddly vulnerable curve of her mouth, tightened in the pain of her fall. She’d come down with some force.

A frown tugged at his brow as he tried to place her. She was about his own age, surely, or a couple of years younger like Louise. Either way, he should know her.

And with an unpleasant jolt, he did. They hadn’t grown up together, had never met, but he knew who she was.

Christine Lennox, the ex-parole officer who “worked” up at the big house, with the ex-cons. She too had an unsavoury story in her past… But whatever the truth of it, and despite his experience of the more sordid, squalid and plain nasty elements of life, he was oddly reluctant to attach it to her. She seemed too…vital.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, when she didn’t immediately answer him.

From the delicate way she shifted position, she’d bruised her hip when she landed. But at his question, she seemed to deliberately smooth away all signs of pain from her face, which flushed now with embarrassment. She’d rather have gone down without a witness.

“I survived the fall,” she said lightly, “but I doubt the carry-out did.” Her accent was vaguely Glasgow, her voice low and slightly husky—the kind that sent shivers down his spine. Apparently.

“Black ice,” he said. “Gets you every time.”

He rose and stretched down his hand to her. For a moment, even accepting that tiny courtesy seemed to hang in the balance for her. He thought she drew in a sharp breath before she took his bare hand in her gloved one, and clambered warily to her feet. She wore stout-looking boots, although on closer inspection, the soles were somewhat thin and probably smooth. Old boots. If she was rich, she wasn’t flashy with it.

She released his hand immediately, almost flustered, he thought, and began raking through her bags. They all clanked.

“Planning a party?” Aidan enquired.

“I was,” she said wryly. “Ah well, less drink is good for hangovers.”

“That much damage?”

“Nah. Only one bottle. The beer and the whisky are safe, so who cares? Thanks for your help.”

Aidan picked up the clearly leaking bag and gingerly removed the intact whisky and beer before striding over to the wastepaper bin next to the road to deposit the broken glass and soggy bag. As he returned, the girl, moving just a little stiffly, was picking up the other bags. He took one from her.

“That your car?” he asked, jerking his head towards the Land Rover.

She nodded.

“Mind your feet,” he advised.

“Thanks,” she said sardonically, and in spite of himself, he grinned.

She walked without limping to the car and opened the boot. Aidan waited until she’d dropped her own bags in before adding his and the loose items. He watched her shut the boot and glance at him with a rather charming mixture of wariness and awkward friendliness. She wasn’t what he’d expected.

A thrill of sexual interest caught him off guard. He wondered what she looked like under the coat, wanted to spark a similar excitement to his own in those clear, almost defiant eyes. What would it take to melt her bones, to have her breathless and eager in his arms?

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WOLF'S RETURN by Rebecca Royce

WOLF'S RETURN by Rebecca Royce

Black Hills Wolves Book 1

A hidden wolf pack. Lies. Intrigue. And reluctant heroes. Get to know the Black Hills…

Drew Tao left the Black Hills in disgrace, banished by his father. He has spent the last ten years a lone wolf, living on his own. Called back home, he finally gets the chance to set things right. If such a thing is possible….

Betty Holden has hated her mate every day for the last ten years for abandoning her and their pack. She's been running things in Los Lobos, and she has no intention of letting Drew Tao slip back into her life like nothing has changed-even if she has never been able to resist him.

Can there be forgiveness? And can he protect her when another enemy arrives?

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~Excerpt~

The rain pounded on the roof of the white center hall colonial, a strong, loud rhythm Drew Tao had come to associate with New Jersey in the early winter. Cold, windy, and gray without any snow to bring beauty to frigid air. But none of that mattered. Not when he could be indoors working. It could be one hundred degrees and sunny. When he was working, he hardly noticed. Finishing his task mattered more than anything else.

Drew stepped back to survey the entertainment unit he’d spent the last two days building for his client—a couple in their early twenties had commissioned his custom work for their sixty-inch flat-screen television. They would be happy with what he had created. He’d left ample space for every accessory they wanted and some places for the wife to display decorative touches. All oak, as they’d requested.

He smiled; finishing the piece was a good day’s work, and he took satisfaction in knowing the few useful skills he had in this human world could make others happy. His hands tingled. It was almost time for him to move on. Staying in one place for too long made his wolf-side twitchy. When things started to feel too much like home, he suddenly craved his pack.

And the spirits knew he’d never have that again.

The phone in his pocket vibrated, and he ignored it. Several clients were waiting to hear from him about whether or not he’d be able to work for them in the next couple of weeks. Since he needed to move on, the answer would have to be a resounding no. He could wait a few more hours to send his regrets.

It vibrated again, and he groaned. “Pushy client.” Maybe he’d dodged a proverbial bullet by deciding it was time to go.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the message. It wasn’t a number he recognized, but he never stored any names. What was the point? Anyone calling or texting constituted a temporary client who became a temporary acquaintance during his time with them. No one worth remembering—no possibility of friends or family.

He’s dying.

Drew forgot to breathe for a second.

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EXIT by Shane Filer

EXIT by Shane Filer

When your mind is your best friend, and your own worst enemy...

"Did you know I spent the whole of my fifteenth year in my room?"

Briar’s impromptu, mid-afternoon confession stirs up distant memories of the lonely time she spent trapped in her home; suffering agoraphobia — fear of open spaces.

Now it’s six years later.

She’s free, but the year's isolation has left serious personality disorders; disorders which will resurface as she relates her own story, and that of those in her orbit; Melodie, a pretty valley girl who Briar desires to be, Justine, her oldest friend, who has her own dark secret, and Dermot, a man who thinks he's the reincarnation of Robin Hood — stealing from the rich to give to the poor.

Slowly Dermot begins to draw Briar into his ever-so-exciting world, but who is leading whom on their slow descent into crime? Duel periods of Briar’s life intertwine like a rope around her neck as her lost year begins to overtake the present. It leads her to the answer to one very simple question:

“Is it what I always feared — am I losing my mind?”

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~Excerpt~

G i r l T a l k

“Did you know I spent the whole of my fifteenth year in my room?”

I sit in the trashed corner booth of an empty Indianapolis diner sipping Coke through a red and white striped straw and watch the reaction from my two friends.

We’ve been here, Melodie, Justine and I, talking, eating, and drinking for hours and we’re all in advanced stages of serious twenty-something afternoon collapse. It’s reached the time where you run out of trivial, conversational-type things to talk about, so you say something deep and personal instead.

Melodie lifts her head from the table and flicks ash haphazardly from her cigarette in the direction of an overflowing ashtray. “You’re kidding?” she asks.

“No, she isn’t,” Justine says. We’ve been friends since school, and she knows me very well.

Elbows all over the table I cup my palms around my chin and explain. “I suffered from agoraphobia. That’s what my doctors said. It sounds awful, but all it means is that I had an irrational fear of being in places or situations from which escape might be difficult in the event of a panic attack. So I avoided those situations. During my Dark Ages I left my bedroom only to eat and go to the bathroom.

“Basically I was worried about death. Abandonment. My health. My mother’s safety. The house catching fire. Food poisoning. Earthquakes. The environment. That kind of stuff.”

I tell Melodie and Justine all these things, and when I open my mouth the words just flood out, like I’ve been wanting desperately to speak them for so long. They sit and listen, perhaps too tired or too hot and bothered to do anything else. I tell them about the first time it happened… the first time I had a panic attack. When I was thirteen. One Saturday in a mall. I can remember the smell of doughnuts and ice-cream, and ferns. I remember ferns. And the sound of a radio playing that dumb Spandau Ballet song — “True” — boy do I hate that song!

“I was standing around, just hanging out with a bunch of my girlfriends, and this boy from my class, who I had, like, this incredible crush on, came up to me and said “Hi!”

“Those girls pushed me forward. I could hear them giggling behind me, saying ‘Briar’s in love’ and all that junk, and my body froze like a statue. I felt hot and sweaty. My heart was racing. I felt this numbness in my hands and this tightness in my chest like I couldn’t breathe. I had this need to breathe in more air, this need to escape. I just ran out.”

“Shit!” Melodie says.

“Shit,” I agree. “My doctor said later that this overwhelming sensation of terror is similar to the fight or flight response inherent in all animals, including humans. Genetic factors can predispose someone to panic attacks and there are a lot of tell-tale signs that I had right from an early age. I always used to cling to my mother’s leg. I was afraid of Santa Claus.”

“Oh yeah,” Melodie says. “I always hated that old, fat, red, pervert too.”

“I suffered a lot of phobias back then,” I explain further. “I would become possessed by a desire to clean the bathroom. The bathroom and I would literally be covered in Comet cleanser. But then I stopped.”

“Why?” Melodie asks. “Did your cleaning phobia go away?”

“Not exactly. I ran out of Comet.”

Sunlight is pouring in through the diner’s windows and Justine keeps glancing anxiously out there to the street. Am I boring her, I wonder? Anything’s possible — she has heard this one before.

It’s only then that I suddenly notice the sunglasses she wears at a lopsided angle on her face hide a large bruise around her left eye. It’s a horrible purple thing that’s yellowing at the edges like rotten fruit.

“Oh there’s Addison,” she says suddenly. “I’d better go. I’d better not keep him waiting.”

Following her gaze, I see her boyfriend climb from his red Chrysler LeBaron convertible. Addison Healy has tanned skin and swept-back dark hair, and I’ve never liked him. He’s far too handsome — one of those people who’ve never known what it’s like to be alone — because there’s always someone new throwing themselves shamelessly at him. Someone who’s never had to appreciate the smallest signs of affection.

Justine scoops up her purse, quickly excuses herself, and rushes out to meet him. Leaving a three-quarter full Coke bottle sitting behind on the table, she’s gone almost before I can register it. She’s gone.

I watch them get into the car. She’s talking. Explaining herself. Addison seems agitated; gesturing wildly and I read his lips: “What fucking time do you call this? I told you to be home at three!”

Eventually he throws up his arms in frustration and drives away. I turn back to Melodie.

“Why does she stay with that asshole?” she asks after a long pause. “He hits her, don’t you know?”

“No?”

“How do you think she got that bruise on her face?”

“She said she fell against the… Fuck!” I hadn’t noticed… well, come to think of it, I have seen signs, but I’ve never put two and two together. Sometimes I wonder if I am so wrapped up in my own problems that I fail to see the suffering of others around me?

“So what happened with you, Briar?” Melodie asks, toying playfully with the straw in her bottle.

“With me? Oh, after my first panic attack I returned to school and everyone laughed and talked about me, so I stopped going. Slowly I found it harder and harder to leave the house. After a while I gave up entirely.”

“When I did eventually emerge from my room, a week shy of my sixteenth birthday, it wasn’t like a beautiful butterfly emerging triumphantly from her chrysalis, but instead a tired gray moth treading cautiously into the light.”

“My doctor once speculated that my year’s hibernation was due to an irrational fear of growing up, but that’s not right! If I really didn’t want to grow up there are much more reliable methods: sleeping pills, guns, razorblades…”

“God, so how did you, like, get out of it?”

“My brother. My brother helped me. Helped me help myself, I guess.”

“Is this Jeff — twenty-seven and still living at home?”

“No, it’s Paul — twenty and away at college. You haven’t met… oh shit!”

And I suddenly remember: Paul’s arriving home today and I said I’d go with Mom to meet him at the airport. As the afternoon dissolved I’ve lost track of time.

“Is he cute?” Melodie asks as we slip from the diner out onto the pavement.

I can only nod yes.

“Can I come too?”

“No! I’ll see you later!” Melodie is super beautiful. When I first saw her, I wanted to see her again. I hardly ever see really beautiful females. I see pretty ones, hot ones, but hardly ever see a woman that just makes me turn my head and think ‘wow she is stunning.’ I think that people who are attractive just want the world to see something other than their looks. They want other aspects of their personality to shine through. I hate boring people. I hate boring guys. I feel like sometimes if I just be really quirky it will compensate for my lack of looks. Of course this never works.




On the way home I take a shortcut through an empty lot.

Once it contained a drive-in cinema, but with the rise of multiplexes it went out of business and was abandoned years ago. It’s been gone for as long as I can remember. Now in its place there’s just this: an empty wasteland. The picture screen has been torn down. Cracked concrete slabs, grass sprouting from the ruins, and at intervals, bent, misshapen poles sticking from the ground like blighted seedlings. Only a few reminders linger like pleasant childhood memories.

I love these places, even now. There’s something about them. Often I’ll come here, just sit in the lot and wonder what it must have been like. I guess they’re something I missed out on. I can imagine all the kids who must have come here to watch those simple B-movies, or make out in the back of their parent’s cars. Did they ever know what they had before it was gone? The drive-in is passing from our vocabulary. I think I have a really bad habit of romanticizing the past — to the point where the world in my mind is far more interesting that the world in real life. I often wish someone would protect me and put a “do not step on the grass” sign on me, except it would say Briar instead of grass.

There was this program on TV last week all about these old educational films from the fifties — what to do on your first date… how to remain virginal… that sort of thing, and they were so stupid and corny and wonderful! Things seemed so restrictive then, but life was uncomplicated and safe.

It seems strange to feel aching nostalgia for an era that existed well before my birth.

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THE CATALYST by Sandra K. Marshall

THE CATALYST by Sandra K. Marshall

The Riverboat Mysteries

 Dark revelations and secret love lead to personal resurrection. 

Carolyn Madison didn't kill her husband but didn't mourn him either. The rapist deserved to die, or at least she thought so. Beneath a myriad of family secrets, Carolyn drags the skeletons out of the closet and in the arms of her true love, learns to love again.

Walt Tollhouse has pined for Carolyn since she was a shy seventeen-year-old. Little did he know Robert Dubois would steal her away, and then destroy the beautiful spirit he still loved? Beneath the guise of clean-up man, the martial arts instructor never pushes his battered love but gives her the silent support she deserves.

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Chapter One

Where is the devil?

From the doorway, Carolyn Madison’s gaze sharpened as she scanned the room. Her traitor ex wouldn’t miss the opening of a new ballroom at his favorite riverboat casino in Kansas City. She couldn’t wait to tell him the Odyssey casinos were still hers. Great. He’s not here to ruin her evening.

Even after their divorce, Robert Dubois retained a position at the Odysseys. It galled Carolyn that her father had allowed her ex to remain on the board, although she knew Daddy wouldn’t have if he’d known the crime Robert had committed against her.

Unclenching her hands, she took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. She slid her moist palms down her black Halston evening dress.

Lanterns graced the walls, giving out a dim orange glow. Large, terra cotta pots of purple flowers and green shrubbery scattered throughout the area and a large fountain standing in the center added authenticity to the Mediterranean-style room.

Long tables were filled with hors d’oeuvres of Greek spinach and cheese pastries, spinach salads, and dishes of chicken, pork, and lamb. Ice sculptures of dolphins playfully cavorted at one end. The tantalizing smells of garlic, oregano, and basil from the serving pans conflicted with the guests’ perfumes as they enveloped her.

Women in elegant gowns and men in tuxedos stood in groups, chatting while sipping champagne. She’d created the perfect spot to entertain the high rollers, proving she was capable of running the casinos. The company was still hers despite Robert’s schemes.

Strolling into the room, she sidestepped people as she maneuvered through the crowd, waving and smiling when she heard her name.

The touch of a hand on her arm made her turn. Carolyn smiled at the tanned, prematurely white-haired man who was their head of security and board member, too.

“Hello, Walt. I didn’t think I would see you tonight.”

She’d always talked to Walt Tollhouse more than with other men. In the last month since he’d informed her of Robert’s treachery, she’d spent more time with him and grown to trust him.

He grinned. “I wouldn’t miss your party for anything.”

“Thanks. I know you hate crowds and don’t usually attend these shindigs, so I appreciate your coming.” Walt’s dark brown eyes crinkled with a softness she’d never seen before and brought back a memory of being in love with him as a teenager.

The CIA had grabbed him for covert operations in the Middle East, and when he had come back, she was married. Still, the last few weeks stirred a longing she hadn’t known in years. She regretted not having waited until he came home instead of jumping into a loveless marriage.

“Is the board meeting on for tomorrow?”

“Yes. Changes need to be made immediately.” Carolyn knew Walt worried about the company. Robert had sold out to a competitor by hiring one of their people. He’d made it necessary for her to run the company in order to protect it from a takeover when her father died a few months ago. She’d called a special meeting to let the other members know he’d been removed from the board.

“Good.” Walt patted her shoulder. “I’ll be there.”

“I’m grateful for your extra effort and support, Walt.” She reached out and embraced him, her cheek brushed the lapel of his gray tux, and she noted his wide chest and clean good-guy smell. “We would’ve lost the Odysseys if not for you and my father.” She gazed at him with gratitude. He’d helped her to find the courage to do what she was doing.

His arms enclosed her in a brief clasp, then he stepped back and dropped his hands to his sides. “I’d never let that happen.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” Carolyn squeezed his arm, touching solid muscle. She regarded him more closely. He was a handsome man even at fifty, and a good friend to her family as well as head of security. They’d met when he’d worked as a cashier at the casino while getting his college degree. Back then, their age difference had seemed enormous; today it wasn’t such a stretch. Five years didn’t seem as much now.

She’d avoided men since her divorce from Robert twenty years ago after six years of putting up with his affairs. It could be time for her to move on with her life. The thought made her decide she'd better go mingle because she didn’t know if she was ready to share her time with someone. Her fear of Robert shouldn’t deprive her of other relationships. Her existence since becoming a mother was devoted to her children. Now that they were grown, it was time for her to move on.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the meeting, Walt.”

“Okay. I’ll stay awhile longer to make sure a crisis doesn’t pop up this evening.”

“Thanks.” Smiling, she started to walk away, but stopped in time to keep from bumping into a group.

A twinge of a headache settled in her temples, and she rubbed the right side of her head. After a few moments the pressure lifted. There were guests to be entertained.

Carolyn waved to several people, then she spotted her children and decided to join them.

She was proud of them for working their way up in the company. Her oldest, Alan, dressed in his usual conservative dark suit, and her oldest daughter, Jolene, were total opposites. She was a peacock in a multicolored gown. Her youngest, Melanie, at twenty-two, wore a simple black sheath similar to her mother’s.

Melanie resembled a younger version of Carolyn, petite and pale. She clashed with this daughter because they were so much alike but mostly due to Robert’s influence on Melanie. At sixteen, Melanie had become rebellious, and her father encouraged her mutiny. He'd thought it was funny to turn her daughter against her. Although Jolene and Alan had their father’s dark hair and his height, six feet, they were nothing like him otherwise.

She turned to invite Walt, but he was gone. A movement in the doorway attracted her attention and her gaze fell on her ex.

He’s here. A spurt of anger slashed through her brain, the headache of a moment ago now screaming. She sped toward the entry where Robert stood, noting several ladies waved at him. Why would anyone be interested in a thieving, no-good drunk? Even though appearance wasn’t everything, his
excessive drinking had put lines on his face and added pounds to his belly.

She wove her way around people while fury surged into her chest like acid at the memories of his deeds.

She saw that he’d spied her and he turned away. He’d run, of course. Usually, since their divorce, she avoided him, so he had to know she was onto him. She pushed through the exit. He wouldn’t get away. She would let him know she’d learned of his devious plan in time to foil him.

“Darn it.” She tottered on stilettos and grabbed the rail just in time to prevent a tumble onto the bridge of wooden planks between the boat and land. Panic seized her, and she wondered if she was doing the right thing by confronting Robert; he had a history of violence.

Yes, the time had come for her to beat down her fears. She glanced ahead at the tree-lined and dimly lit parking lot. The shadows scared her, but she still followed him and reached his assigned spot before he could pull away.

She banged on the window. “Robert. Stop! I want to talk to you now. Be a man for once.” A man? Not likely. He was a rat; a big fat rodent, who sniffed and hunted for his next female victim. The motor revved and tires squealed. She jumped back when the black BMW’s back fender grazed her hip.

“You’re despicable, Robert!” She banged her hand down on the fender of the car next to her.

“Carolyn, are you all right?” Walt ran toward her. He reached for her and pulled her close. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “You’re not injured, are you?”

“No.” She wobbled and leaned against him. She wanted to melt into his dark chocolate eyes, but instead pushed him away. Their contact alarmed her--she liked his touch too much. Carolyn didn’t think she was ready for intimacy but maybe...“I-I’m fine.” Her hip ached like the devil.

“I’ll get him for this. Robert won’t harm you again.” He patted her shoulder tenderly. “Go back to the party. I’ll take care of Robert.”

What did he mean? Carolyn stared after Walt as he dashed off. She touched her arms where he’d stroked her. They radiated heat like dice rolled between two palms.

Would this gentle man really harm Robert? Remembering the stories of how he’d saved people at great risk to himself while in the Middle East, she shuddered.


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FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS by Mildred Trent

FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS by Mildred Trent

Being friends with benefits has its rewards, but what happens when you want more?

Tessa and Gavin are at that cross road. Will they move forward, or continue being just friends…with benefits?

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~Excerpt~

“The nerve of that man. What the hell was I thinking when I started up this fairy tale relationship?”

You were thinking, Dayum, he’s fine. Look at that ass and the way those jeans mold to it; the way that shirt outlines those tight abs with the hard nipples winking at you; and the way his package sat high and proud as if saying ‘here I am come take me’.

“Oh shut the hell up. Where were you when I was thinking all that? Any other time, you would have slapped me upside the head and told me to stop thinking with my hormones.”

Are you for real? Did you not hear what I just said? I would have been a fool to talk you out of at least sampling the goods.

“Yeah and look what ‘sampling the goods’ got me. In too deep and drowning.”

Well, I for one don’t care what our heart says. I need a massage and conscious has got me boiling down here.

“You shut the hell up too” Tessa said to her coochie. “If it weren’t for your picky ass, I would have never given Gavin a second thought.”

It’s not my fault I know what I like and I’m not afraid to admit it.

“Bitch please, you like anything long, fat and hard.”

I resemble that remark and still think we need to go see Gavin.

“Well, you’ll be one achy, hot bitch tonight because going to see Gavin, is out of the question.”

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SWEET DREAMS by Veronica Tower

SWEET DREAMS by Veronica Tower

Daydreams: Book 3

It’s a hot summer day and Beth is engaged in her favorite pastime—daydreaming about Grant, the college-aged young man whose cut her lawn every summer since her husband divorced her three years ago. He’s on a football scholarship with a quarterback’s lean limbs, tight abs and strong shoulders and Beth would love nothing better than to figure out how to get to know him better.

She’s imagined a thousand scenarios. Can she bring herself to act on one before the summer ends?

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~Excerpt~

Beth watched Grant hurry down the street from her living room window, his muscular ass moving enticingly within his tight shorts. He’d dressed in record time and run down the street after promising once again to return this evening. She wanted desperately to believe him, even if she was already having trouble accepting that this afternoon had actually happened. She was a forty-year-old divorced housewife. Women like her didn’t have sex in their kitchens with college quarterbacks. Did they?

The soreness in her pussy and the mess in her kitchen and her bedroom suggested otherwise.

She leaned closer to the window, trying to keep sight of Grant as he cut across his front yard and disappeared into his house. She hoped fervently that there was nothing about him, which would give them away to his mother. That would be embarrassing. While technically Grant was an adult and physically he was certainly quite mature, mothers probably didn’t want to see their sons in that light, especially in conjunction with a neighbor down the street. Beth didn’t want to be embarrassed, but she also knew in her heart and soul that she really wanted to see Grant again too. He’d made her feel like a woman for the first time since Doug had left her and that was worth a little risk to her.

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AFTERNOON DELIGHT by Veronica Tower

AFTERNOON DELIGHT by Veronica Tower

Daydreams: Book 2

 It’s a hot summer day and Beth is engaged in her favorite pastime — daydreaming about Grant, the college-aged young man whose cut her lawn every summer since her husband divorced her three years ago.

He’s on a football scholarship with a quarterback’s lean limbs, tight abs and strong shoulders and Beth would love nothing better than to figure out how to get to know him better. She’s imagined a thousand scenarios.

Can she bring herself to act on one before the summer ends?

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~Excerpt~

Beth slipped her free hand onto Grant’s side and an electric spark leapt between their bodies. She couldn’t quite believe that her fantasy was coming true. She spread her fingers across his side, feeling the hard sweaty flesh beneath the short t-shirt. Without consciously deciding to do so, she began to explore the chest beneath Grant’s shirt, her fingertips tracing the contours of his pectorals while she grew more aggressive, pressing back against him with her mouth and thrusting her tongue just as deeply inside his mouth as he was delving into hers.

They came to their knees in front of each other and she tweaked his nipple beneath his shirt while he cupped her face with his right hand and began to explore her body with his left. He moved slowly, tentatively, as if afraid he would drive her away when what she actually wanted to do was to grab hold of the hand fondling her hip and pull it right up into contact with her large breast.

A modicum of shyness wormed its way into her mind and prevented her from acting on that desire but left her free to continue to explore with the hand she’d already slid beneath his shirt. Grant’s groin nudged against her, which should have been impossible since he hadn’t scooted any closer to her. She pressed her hips ever so slightly closer to him and felt a corresponding increase in pressure at the lowest extremity of her belly. With a start, she suddenly realized just what she was feeling and just how excited Grant would have to be for the bulge in his pants to be touching her across the narrow gap between them.

Beth wanted to reach down and help him with it but before she could, Grant took matters into his own hands by pulling her down beside him on the floor and using the shift in their positions to take a moment to reposition his erection in his shorts.

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PACKAGE DEAL by Stephanie Morris

PACKAGE DEAL by Stephanie Morris

The Hennings Sisters Series: Book 3

Chante Hennings is looking for a man that can satisfy her every need and she has found him only he doesn’t want the job. Maxwell “Max” Donahue has suffered through a messy marriage and has the scars to prove it. But the interactions that she has with Max tells her that there is good man underneath all of the scarring. She knows that if she gets involved with Maxwell that he comes as a part of a package deal.

Now she just has to get Max to understand that she’s okay with that. She isn’t looking for a perfect man, she’s looking for a good one and Maxwell is that man.

Maxwell Donahue isn’t ready to become involved with another woman. For the last three years his life has been in shambles. His move to Baxley isn’t only to help his father recover from a recent heart attack, but to get his life back together as well.

Unfortunately, his libido won’t let him deny his attraction to Chante so he tries to avoid her at all cost. He doesn’t realize how difficult that will be until Chante becomes his teenage daughter teacher.

To make matters worse his daughters have decided that they want a new mother and they have chosen Chante putting a completely different spin on his carefully laid out plan.

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~Excerpt~

“Good morning, ladies. If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you to my home?”

Meghan was the first to speak, and she was straight to the point. “We are here to ask you to go out on a date with our dad.”

If the looks on their faces hadn’t been so serious, she would have laughed at the nine-year-olds statement. Instead, she shook her head. She couldn’t entertain this horrible matchmaking scheme. “No.”

Melissa spoke next. “Ms. Hennings, our father is a good man.”

Chante held her hands up in a non-threatening manner. “I don’t doubt that at all, but we have to be reasonable here. My dating your father would put all of us in an uncomfortable situation.”

“No more than we already are.” Melanie replied.

She was speechless for just a moment. How in the world did Maxwell survive these three?

“Does your father know that you are here?”

Melissa nodded in the direction of her front door. “He’s outside waiting for us.”

Chante went to the window and pulled the curtains aside. Her eyes met Max’s head on. The man had the nerve to wink at her, and the simple gesture sent her heart rate soaring.

Letting the curtain fall back in place, she shook her head again. She’d been so shocked by the three of them being on her porch that she hadn’t noticed the SUV sitting in the driveway next to hers.

“Excuse me, ladies.”

She crossed to the front door and walked out to the vehicle that Maxwell was sitting comfortably in. His eyes followed her all the way to the SUV. The window was rolled down, and she leaned into the car with more confidence than she really felt.

“Now you didn’t really think that I was going to let you sit out here and relax while your daughters have me in the hot seat did you?”

He grinned, and time stood still. His smile was lethal. “Well, they seemed so determined I didn’t think that it would take long, so I wasn’t sure that I needed to come in.”

She tried to keep a straight face at his lousy excuse as she stepped back and opened the driver’s side door. “Well, let me make it clear.”

He chuckled as he slid out of the vehicle. She tilted her head back to look at him. Lord, he was tall. Unfortunately, the man was gorgeous as well, and that was going to make this situation tough.

“Ladies first.”

She led the way back up to the house. When they returned to the living room, Melissa, Melanie, and Meghan hadn’t moved. Maxwell walked over to the recliner and took a seat while Chante continued standing, facing the girls. “Now you were saying?”

“That you should go out with our dad,” Melissa responded quickly, picking up right where she’d left off.

Chante sighed. If she didn’t know any better she would say that the three sisters had taken lessons from Chantel, Cheree, and herself.

“We trust you.”

Chante looked over at Melanie. These three had put their heads together. Either they loved their dad a lot and wanted to see him happy or they needed someone to distract him so that they could pull more antics like this. Although, it looked like they had too much time on their hands already if they had come up with a plan as insane as the one that they were trying to sell. Based on what she knew about Melissa, she was going to go with the first idea. As flattering as it was that she was the chosen one, it was also an impossible situation.

“So what do you think that people will say about me dating my student’s father?”

Melanie grinned. “From the way that Melissa talks about you, I have a feeling that you don’t care what other people say about you.”

Chante looked over at Maxwell who was sitting with a smug look on his face. If she didn’t know any better, she would say that he was enjoying this, especially since he was not on the receiving end of it for a change.

“Are you going to say anything?” Chante asked, arching a dark brow in his direction.

Max smiled and shook his head. “I already lost this battle earlier. I don’t plan on losing another. Besides, I agree with them and would love to take you out.”

His statement confirmed her earlier thought and floored her at the same time. Chante’s mouth dropped open and almost dragged on the ground. She could see that it was four against one at this point.

“See, there you go. Dad is a good man, and you are a good woman. This is a perfect combination.”

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THE LAST MAN by Cheryl Dragon

THE LAST MAN by Cheryl Dragon

A 1Night Stand Story

Jeffery Ellison and Monica Collins face off daily in Atlanta's family court system. Both want the best for their clients but they rarely agree. The sparks are obvious to everyone else, but Monica has been disappointed by men too many times. Jeff knows pushing her will only hurt the respect and trust they've built.

A match with 1NS sounds like just the thing. The pair is off to Vegas for a legal conference and to enjoy their one night stands.

Jeff does his best to spend time with her outside of work but he can't be sure she's his for the night. All he can do is hope that Madame Eve agrees with his heart and Monica will let her guard down long enough to see their passionate potential.

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~Excerpt~

He stared at Monica as she dozed. Being with her felt so easy when she wasn’t fighting things. She kept a wall around her when it came to men and rarely dated. That wall wasn’t the same as her professional veneer, but unlike most men looking for fun, he saw through both. They both had a soft spot for the kids. The idea of her as a mother turned him on, if the children were his. No other woman triggered those images in his mind.

She shifted in her sleep, and her head rested on his shoulder. The spark of protective male hormones mixed with raw sexual desire made it hard not to kiss her. Instead, he inhaled her scent while trying not to wake her. Their flight cruised along perfectly until the pilot announced their descent. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up straight. “Sorry. You should’ve woken me.”

“Why? You obviously needed some sleep.” And he’d liked the feeling of her so close.

Her eyes locked with his as the plane began the dip toward Sin City. Reflexively, she grabbed his hand and closed her eyes. He squeezed back reassuringly. He hated the hassle of travel but she really didn’t like it. She stayed frozen until the plane stopped at the gate.

“I hate flying. Why can’t they do this in Atlanta?” She let go of him and rolled the tension from her neck.

“Maybe next year it’ll be within driving distance.”

He helped her with her carry-ons and led the way to the cab stand. The bells and chimes of slot machines filled the air. She took everything in as he glanced at his phone. No calls.

“You offered to be my tour guide. So what’s the plan?” she asked with a hint of flirtation.

“Check in at the hotel. Then we can grab some lunch and start the fun. The buffet in the hotel sounds amazing. I’m starved.” Madame Eve had made the reservations and nothing less than the top of the line would do. Hopefully he wasn’t misreading Monica’s friendlier inclination to him.

She nodded. “Me, too. I couldn’t eat before the flight. Buffet sounds good.”

He smiled and looked around as they stood in line for a cab. She seemed content allowing him to handle things. They could easily be a married couple for all anyone else knew. It felt right and he hoped she sensed it, too. Some women needed to compete or show they didn’t need a man. Monica had her own style of strength and while she was quiet, he loved that she never tried to hide her femininity.

“So where are we going after lunch?” she asked.

He leaned in and whispered, “It’s a surprise.”

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A LIFE OF MY OWN by Denise Skelton

A LIFE OF MY OWN by Denise Skelton

Two unappreciative teens, a verbally abusive husband, and an aggressive and interfering ex-wife is a "normal" part of her life.

One Saturday morning when Liz's husband barks at her to, "Git your ass to the store and git my beer, woman," she literally runs into someone who gives her unexpected but much needed advice.

Liz decides it's time to get a life of her own. Traveling from Pennsylvania, to Michigan, to Washington State, she learns about friendship, happiness and love. Moreover Liz discovers who she really is.

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~Excerpt~

Lost in thought, I almost missed the turn into Wal-Mart and had to slam on my breaks to catch the driveway in time. I turned the wheel sharply to pull into the parking lot and the next thing I knew, a horn was blaring and my head snapped forward as my car plowed into the back of another vehicle.

Great! Can this day get any worse? I thought. And then, Oh shit, Brian�s going to hit the roof. Before I knew it, tears were welling in my eyes and pouring down my cheeks.

I shakily pulled to the side of the parking lot and the silver SUV that I’d hit followed me. I wiped my face with a napkin and tried to pull myself together. Sniffling miserably, I got out of the car and faced the driver of the other vehicle.

She was a petite Asian woman, maybe in her fifties. When she stepped from her car she was frowning, but when she saw my panicky tears, her face softened. Clattering quickly toward me on her spiky little red heels, she held out her hand. "Honey," she said in a lightly accented voice. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Are you just shook up?"

"I'm so sorry," I begin to cry again. "I wasn't paying attention, I didn't mean to do that. I’m so stupid! My husband is going to have a fit and I don’t know if I remembered to pay the last insurance premium because the girls needed new clothes."

She placed her hand on my arm comfortingly and made little shushing sounds, cutting off my blathering. "Look," she said, drawing me over to where her SUV was parked. "It’s not bad. There’s just a little paint here from the back of your car. And yours," she gestured to the bumper of my Civic. The plastic was chipped and cracked in places, but still hanging on bravely.

"Not too bad either. Just a little crumple, that’s all. Gives that bumper a little character. We won’t even call the police. As a matter of fact, Ill cover your little paint spot on my car with some nail polish. I’ve got just the color! No insurance company for that either." She smiled at me encouragingly, her dark eyes crinkling at the corners, and to my horror, I began to really sob. My shoulders were quivering and I could hardly breath as I cried.

She immediately wrapped her arms around me and it was like being comforted by a child, since she had to be less than 5 tall. I was shaking hard from the force of my tears, and the woman pulled out a silky handkerchief that smelled of a light and sweet, but expensive perfume, and began dabbing at my face with it.

I was so embarrassed, but I couldn’t seem to stop. After fifteen minutes of the tiny woman patting my back, as I cried my heart out at the deserted end of the Wal-Mart parking lot, my tears finally slowed, and then gave way to hiccups. She smiled again, stepped back, and stuck out her hand.

"I'm Ann," she said. "It's a rule that women who cry all over each other must be friends."

I gave a quick laugh and shook her hand. "I’m so sorry for that..."

Ann cut off my apology with a quick wave of her manicured hand. "What’s your name?" she asked.

"Liz."

"Well, Liz, I think we should get a cup of coffee and you can tell me what’s wrong. Well take my car and go to Starbucks, my treat, and I’ll bring you back in a little while."

"Oh, I couldn’t," I protested instantly. "My husband sent me out for beer" I let my sentence trail off, thinking about how terrible that sounded, but Ann just shook her head hard, making her pageboy haircut swing.

"Nope," she said. "Another rule. Women who go through car accidents and crying spells need mochas with whipped cream. Come on," she said, pulling me toward what I saw was an expensive Lexus. "Get in."

I had never been one to make friends quickly, but it seemed as if that was just what I’d done. Shaking my head at this weird twist of fate, I climbed in, trying not to think about Brian, with his face growing purple and that vein that always popped out on the side of his head when he was angry.

Ann chattered non-stop as she drove the mile or so to the coffee shop, not leaving me with a single second to feel uncomfortable about completely humiliating myself in front of a total stranger and then letting that stranger talk me into buying me a coffee. During that short time, I learned that she had come to the United States in her teens with her family, immigrating from a small village in China, before graduating from Harvard on a scholarship in her mid-twenties and joining a successful law practice as a junior partner before she even hit thirty.

Once we reached Starbucks, Ann pulled me along in her wake like a mini hurricane, ordering me a giant, fragrant mocha and, despite my weak arguments, a bowl of mushroom rice soup and a big piece of crusty French bread.

We settled into a booth. She sipped her coffee and sighed in satisfaction. "That Good. Now, tell me about yourself."

Amazingly, I found myself opening up to her. I told her about my life. Losing my mom so young and then, just a few months ago, losing my dad. I cried a little when I told her about my big brother and sister, William and Linda, and how I hadn’t seen them often in the past few years. I saw William briefly at Pops funeral. But I saw Linda a little more frequently since we both lived in Pittsburg, but that I didn’t see her as often as I’d like to. I told her about life with Brian and the girls, how it was getting harder every day, and how guilty I felt for being unhappy. I told her about Stephanie, and how I thought she was the one responsible for Sam and Shannon’s increasingly disrespectful attitudes. I even told her things I hadn’t told anyone’ like how Id always wanted a child of my own, even though I loved my stepdaughters. And the big secret Id been carrying for the last few months: that I hadn’t actually spent my entire inheritance on Pops funeral like Brian had thought. That I was terrified he would find out.

The whole time, Ann gave me her full attention, patting my hand sometimes when I teared up, and smiling at the good parts, with her dark eyes twinkling and the little crows feet crinkling at the corners.

When I finally calm down, I looked down in surprise to see that Id completely finished all of my soup and bread practically without tasting it, and there were just a few cold swallows of coffee left in the bottom of my cup.

"I'm so sorry," I said immediately, starting to get up. "I've talked your ear off and you don't even know me. I can only imagine what you must think."

"Sit down, Liz," Ann ordered firmly. "I had nothing to do this afternoon that was more important than this last two hours has been." Two Hours! I let out a little gasp.

"You needed someone, I was there. When I need someone in the future, maybe you’ll be there."

"Definitely," I nodded, thankful to have unloaded everything Id told her. "Whenever you need me." As I dug in my purse for a pen to write my phone number, my cell display was blinking madly.

Brian had called eight times, Sam four, and Shannon twice. Even the she-devil called once. I checked the time. "Oh no," I burst out. I stood gathering my things, but Ann gestured for me to sit, and I automatically plopped back down in the booth. "But my husband."

Ann interrupted. "Liz, you’ve shared a lot with me. I know I'm a lawyer, and not a shrink, but can I give you some advice?"

"Of course, anything," I said.

"Leave."

I stared at her blankly. "I know, I have to stop and pick up the beer" I began.

"No, I mean you need to leave that life. I'll take you back to your car and you just hop in and keep on driving."

"I can't do that," I whispered, immediately nervous, because we were about to talk about something that had been in the back of my mind for the last few months, something that I'd talked to my sister and brother about at Pops funeral. Something that I'd never mentioned to anyone else. The overwhelming urge to get into my car and disappear into the sunset.

"But my family," I sputtered. "I couldn’t do that to them. They need me."

Ann’s voice was firm, but sympathetic. "Liz, your 34-years-old. You've been taking care of them since you were barely old enough to take care of yourself. Think about the stories you've just told me. Your family has done nothing but take advantage of you. I'm not saying that you should never come back, but I am a big believer in fate and taking chances when someone offers them. Go, and if you don't stay gone, at least learn what it’s like to only take care of yourself for a while."

Suddenly, I was a little angry.

"You don’t know my family," I spat. "You don't know them. I haven't been forced to stay all these years. They need me and I stay because I love them."

Ann ignored my irritation, and calmly said, "Liz, when was the last time your husband or your children said I love you, or thank you?'" She looked at me with questioning eyes. "When was the last time Brian told you that you were beautiful?"

I immediately dropped my eyes, and she gently lifted up my head with the tips of her fingers. "When was the last time he said that he was grateful for everything you do for him? Or just said please?"

I just looked at her as tears burned the back of my eyes. I couldn’t remember. I know that they do, even if they don’t say it, I tried to convince myself.

Ann continued relentlessly but her tone grew softer. "If Brian and the girls don�t say those things, what do they say? Do they insult you? Yell at you? Look at how you reacted when you got into a little accident. You cried in fear of what your husband would say." It was a statement, not a question. Even after just meeting me, Ann knew that those tears weren’t just caused by our little fender-bender. I'd cried like a woman unhinged.

I sat silent, though. I didn’t want to answer her, because deep down, I knew she was right. And to admit it, I would be betraying Brian and the girls. I didn't want to admit it, but I’d been feeling like Id made a mistake marrying Brian. It was as if Pop's dying had jolted me from a long and terrible dream.

The countless insults and raging fits that Brian threw over the smallest matters had been coming more and more frequently in the last several months. He seemed to get angrier and angrier every time. He attacked me verbally for every little thing, and it was hard not to believe some of the things he said. Maybe I was ugly. Maybe I was fat or stupid. Maybe that meatloaf did taste like crap. He was also getting more and more frightening each time, seeming to fly into a rage over the slightest things. Over the last month I’ve had this overwhelming felling, I don�t know what it was but had to admit to myself that I was sure he was going to start hitting me soon.

Then the girls. When they insulted me, made jokes about my hair, which hadn’t seen a beauty salon since the Clinton Administration, or laughed at my clothes, which were mostly old and worn, Brian just laughed and egged them on. Countless scenarios ran through my head of all the times, just in the past couple of weeks, that Id been treated badly by my own family.

Ann gently touched my hand, bringing me back to the table at Starbucks. Before I could second-guess myself, I blurted out one word. "Okay."

"You sure?" she asked, face creasing in concern. "I'm nosy. I shouldn’t give advice like that when we’ve only known each other a few hours."

Now that I'd said it out loud, a little tingly feeling raced up my spine and it took a second to recognize what it was. Excitement. Oh, I had a whole lot of guilt to contend with for even considering leaving, but mostly I felt excitement.

"No." I said. "You’re right. Listen to this." I pulled ripped my cell phone from my purse. Two new messages in the span of five minutes. Turning the volume down so only Ann could hear, I played the messages on speakerphone.

The first message was Brian. "Don't forget to get more Doritos. Your dumb ass didn't grab any at the store last time. And hurry the hell up." Click.

Ann shook her head in disbelief, her face drawn up in a scowl.

Next was Sam, attitude just oozing through the phone. "Yeah, Liz. Pick me up at the mall at four."

The messages went on and on, Brian’s growing steadily more pissed off. Finally, I snapped the phone shut. Feeling better than I had in months, I looked at Ann and smiled. "Thank you so much for the soup and coffee, and definitely for your advice." I slid my number across the table.

"Please call me if I can return the favor. Can you take me back to my car now? I think I feel a road trip coming on."

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MORE LIES by J.M. Snyder

MORE LIES by J.M. Snyder

In Beautiful Liar, former childhood television star Johnny Thomas wants to get back into show business. He hires his old manager, Lou, who has heard rumors of Johnny's sexuality. Though he's advised to play it straight, Johnny falls for Brett, a photographer whose candid shots of the lovers almost sinks Johnny's career before it can get off the ground.

More Lies takes place several months after Johnny's landed a coveted role in the upcoming Roxy Greene summer blockbuster. Lou tells him Roxy wants the media to think she and Johnny are a hot item off the set to build buzz for the movie. Now that he's dating Brett, Johnny doesn't feel comfortable lying about his love life, but surprisingly his boyfriend thinks it's a great idea.

But when Johnny and Roxy meet for the first time, it's evident neither of them are keen on the charade.

If Roxy's attitude is any indication, she can't stand Johnny. What happens when she finds out he's lying about his sexuality to keep his role in her film?BUY THE eBOOK *** READ THE EXCERPT

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



Lunch is a disaster. Despite the cameras and the fans clamoring for attention mere yards away, Johnny feels invisible. Lou and Becky talk shop, leaving him to entertain Roxy, but she’s more interested in her iPhone than anything he might have to say. The few questions he asks go unanswered -- she’s either playing a game on the phone or texting someone, and it takes all her attention. Even though she sits beside him, she’s a million miles away. She even props her head on her hand, letting her hair fall like a veil to obscure her face from him.

He doesn’t know her and already he hates her.

He could really use that rum and Coke now, but when he tries to signal the waiter, Lou intervenes. “Just soda,” the manager says, staring Johnny down. “Who’s picking up the tab?”

Johnny glares at the salad sitting in front of him, a starter course he isn’t interested in eating.

As if feeling the tension at the table for the first time, Becky glances over at her daughter and clears her throat. Roxy ignores her, and Johnny feels a foot brush his under the table, then Roxy jolts as if kicked. She brushes the hair from her face long enough to frown at her mother. Because he’s watching, Johnny sees Becky mouth the words, “Put that away.”

Who’s idea was this lunch again? Because Johnny doesn’t think anyone at their table is enjoying it.

With a huff, Roxy pockets the iPhone and picks at her salad. She tucks her hair behind her ear and glances at him, still scowling. “Who are you again?”

Her mother hisses, “Roxy.”

“Johnny,” he says, glad to be spoken to at last. “Johnny Thomas. I’m in your movie.”

Roxy stabs at her salad with her fork and grunts. “Oh yeah, right.”

Uneasy silence settles over them again. Johnny watches her eat for a moment before deciding to give his own salad a try. Searching for something to say, anything that might get her talking, he asks, “Who were you texting?”

Her answer is short and clipped, hostile. “Mel.”

He almost chokes on his salad. “Boyfriend?” If so, why is he here again?

The look she gives him could curdle cheese. “Don’t you even watch my show?”

There it is -- the million dollar question. Brett had tried to prep Johnny for the luncheon by bringing him up to date on Roxy’s stardom, but Johnny only half listened at the time. He hadn’t honestly thought she’d ask him anything about her television series. Who was that egotistical?

He could lie. Shrug and say, “Sure,” and hope she doesn’t start asking random trivia questions for him to answer. Or he could be honest with her and face the consequences. Yeah, he thinks, swallowing the lettuce he’s chewed into pulp, because everything about this meeting is honest. Bullshit.

Still, the truth has to start somewhere. Reaching for his soda, he admits, “I’ve never actually seen it.”

Her eyes widen until the whites perfectly frame her irises. It’s a spooky look, dark eyes rimmed with white outlined with black kohl. It gives her a frightened appearance. “What?”

“Your show.” He gulps his drink -- too late to turn back now. “I’ve never watched it. To be honest, I didn’t even know who you were before I auditioned for the movie.”

He tenses his shoulders, waiting for the diva-esque backlash he’s sure will come.

To his surprise, she laughs.

He winces and sort of smiles as he turns toward her, not really sure what she expects. Her face is lit with an open, easy expression he can almost like. Leaning closer, she lowers her voice and admits, “It’s okay. I’ve never really watched it, either.”

With a grin, Johnny thinks, Now we’re getting somewhere. “So who’s Mel? Love interest?”

“Best friend,” Roxy corrects. “Female, I might add. So no.”

Her gaze shifts past him to her mother before dropping to what remains of her salad, and something in that worried glance makes Johnny think he’s not the only one playing a part in someone else’s script.

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SECOND BEST FANTASY by Angela Kelly

SECOND BEST FANTASY by Angela Kelly

Everyone dreams of being a rock star. Dating one is the second best fantasy.

Maggie O'Leary is a lonely lesbian dazzled by the talent and charisma of up-and-coming bisexual rock star, Janine Jordan. A romance with Janine could spell trouble, but Maggie can't help falling in love.


Set in New York City during the nineties, Second Best Fantasy follows Maggie and Janine as they embark on an exciting and surprising journey together, which carries them through the music scene toward stardom, creative artistry, career satisfaction, and finally, battles with their own personal demons.


With support and encouragement from families and friends, their life seems to be headed down the right path. But Maggie and Janine learn love is seldom simple or easy, particularly when both women are also involved in committed relationships with their own addictions. Theirs is a tumultuous love affair from the start. Can they survive the curves and upheaval along the way?


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



When Janine left for LA two days later, I became solid steel. We said goodbye at my apartment like old friends, and I as-sumed the several times she made mention of when we would see each other again was just her way of being polite.

“Too Much Trouble” had been steadily climbing its way up the Billboard charts, she would be in greater and greater de-mand with each passing day. I was grateful I’d had my three days, it was a nice story I’d get to tell my friends. Beyond that, I convinced myself I expected nothing, regardless of how I felt, or imagined she might feel. Those few days and nights had been magical, but the real world was waiting just outside the door.

Who was I kidding, that day at beach, imagining the rela-tionship would continue beyond our 3-day weekend? It was easier, simpler, and much less painful to pretend it never hap-pened. I set about a rigorous course of action to forget her that included overtime at work and more alcohol consumption and one night stands than usual. Trying to forget someone I had feelings for wasn’t new territory for me, I had a lot of practice over the years. But Janine was very hard to shake. I stopped listening to the radio, her song was everywhere. I was in Pan-dora’s Box in the village and it was on the damn jukebox. One day at work Jan strolled in wearing a Joan Orlean shirt she’d purchased the night of the party. I felt the universe was fucking with me, and I didn’t like it one bit.

About ten days after we’d said goodbye, I came home from work and a stuffed manila envelope fell to the floor as I was sifting through my mail. The return address was somewhere in LA. I sunk to the floor and started to cry, Janine had not for-gotten me after all. Smiling through my tears, laughing at my silly attempts to deny what I felt, I tore open the package. The first thing to fall out was a CD single of “Too Much Trouble” with Janine’s script in black magic marker sprawling across the cover that read, “To my Jersey girl.” If that had been all the package contained, I would have been overjoyed, but there was more. A photograph from a shoot for the next album cover showed Janine half smiling at the camera with the boys in the band surrounding her on all sides. A sheaf of cocktail napkins with random lines and paragraphs of poetry, and a note on the last napkin that said, “You’re helping me finish this when I get home.” And, finally, a brief letter:

Darling Maggie,

I am sure the moment I walked out the door you thought you would never hear from me. My dear girl, so scarred from past betrayals, I under-stand your fears. It seems so unfair that the moment I found you, this cor-porate world of music wants to swallow me whole. I never really wanted to be a rock star.

I think about you every moment alone I can steal. There is something deep within me that wants to tell you all my secrets. I’m sorry I haven’t called, it is hard for me to get away on my own for any length of time. I just keep thinking of how much sweeter it will be the next time I get to see you. I wish I could see your face when you opened the package. You probably had that little grin that starts at one corner of your mouth and spreads across your face like an artist’s hand.

Soon, Janine

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CONVERSATIONS WITH SWISHY PETE VOLUME I by A. Scott Boddie

CONVERSATIONS WITH SWISHY PETE VOLUME ONE by A. Scott Boddie

The fabulous Swishy Pete lives in upper Manhattan with his brassy, sassy friends, Minnie, Char, and Delicious. You’ll recognize him the minute he opens his mouth. He’s out and proud, overly talkative, and in your face. A typical New Yorker, but as soon as you meet him, you will never forget him.

Conversations with Swishy Pete Volume I gathers together twelve flash fiction “episodes” featuring Swishy Pete and his friends as they dish on life in the Big Apple. Sometimes deep, often humorous, these short stories bring a fresh perspective that redefines GLBT stereotypes.

So, honey, come listen in as Pete tells it like it is.

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EXCERPT:


Episode 1: Introducing Swishy Pete

“If you want to know about me and my life,” Pete said as he blew dry the final coat of clear nail polish on his right hand, “please do not ask me what I do for a living.”

“If a man is interested in making your acquaintance, how should he proceed?” Minnie asked.

“Girl, Minnie, boo-boo, let me break it down to you. Suppose some hot ‘n’ sexy man walks up to you, right?”

“I ain’t feeling any men these days,” Minnie muttered, as she rolled her eyes.

“Alrighty then, say it’s Ms. Janet Jackson,” Pete sighed.

“She’s caught up with Ali Baba, so bump her, too,” Minnie replied.

“His name is Wissam Al Mana.”

“Whatever.”

“Girl,” Pete blew up, “if you don’t let me get this story out ...”

“I’m sorry, Swishy Pete,” Minnie said, sarcastic. “Get on with it, bitch.”

“When they ask what you do for a living, professionally, they’re summing you up based on your job title. Baby, I prefer to let them make something up and save me the worry. And don’t call me Swishy -- if I wanted to be insulted, I would call my father.”

“Hello, it’s a joke.” Minnie smirked. “If they don’t ask what you do for a living, how are they supposed to pass judgment and determine whether they like you?”

“Minnie, you can be so simple sometimes.” Pete stood. “Look at me, honey. Anyone worth knowing can see I’m fabulously complex.”

“Are you saying you’re transparent?” Minnie asked.

Pete folded his hands together in prayer. “See God in everyone. Okay -- let me come at this from a different direction. If you saw a homeless man, you wouldn’t need to know his professional occupation to know at least the obvious part of his story.”

“What if he’s not homeless but just a bad dresser?” Minnie asked.

“Don’t breathe, girl, or I’ll lose you,” Pete said crudely. “Instead of asking me what I do for a living, why not ask where I was born. Hello? Ask me, bitch.”

“Hey, Swishy Pete, where are you from, girlfriend?” Minnie laughed, barely able to get it all out. “Pardon me, sir, where y’all from?”

“Where am I from? How nice of you to ask.” Pete clutched his pearls. “I’m from Oklahoma. Now, Minnie -- what does that say to you about me?”

“Umm, growing up you we were not allowed to walk backward while eating a hamburger.”

“No, fool!” Pete yelled. “That’s only true in Oklahoma City. Oklahoma is a great Broadway musical, and it speaks of my yearning to be a stage actress. Next, I was born in the small city of Cherokee -- what do you think that says about me?”

“Oh, I know -- that you are an afro-descendant of Cherokee extraction, like Beyoncé,” Minnie raved.

“No, that I performed the Cher song, ‘Half Breed,’ in drag back in the day at the club. Ho!”

“Donny and Marie,” their manager called, “your lunch breaks are over. Time to get back to work.”

“He ain’t all that just cause he’s the manager, and I don’t appreciate his tone,” Pete headed toward the back door of the restaurant after putting out his cigarette. “I could’ve been manager if I had finished college.”

“Is that why you don’t tell folks what you do for a living?” Minnie asked.

“Yep.” Pete held the door open for Minnie.

“Oh, cool. I just wanted to be clear on your process.”

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