KITTY KAT by Anne Kane

KITTY KAT by Anne Kane

Protect and Serve Series

Kat hasn’t always been a stray -- but times are tough, and when she lost her job, her no good boyfriend dumped her. Now she’s living in a deserted basement and scrounging for food behind the restaurants in the better section of town, while attending business school during the day.

Jake feeds scraps of his dinner to the fluffy little con-artist from time to time as he walks his beat. He can’t get the sassy stray off his mind. He feels a strange affinity for the feisty little kitty, so he decides to trap her and tame her. What he doesn’t realize is, she’s a shifter, and she’s conned his heart right out of his chest.

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Protect and Serve: Kitty Kat
Anne Kane
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Anne Kane

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.

Jake hunkered down behind the glassless window, setting the cup of steaming take-out coffee down beside him. Stakeouts were nothing new, but this one was different. The suspect wasn't human; wasn't a suspect really. It was hard to believe that a hard-nosed, cynical Irish beat cop would go to all this trouble to capture one scruffy, ill-tempered scrap of a kitty cat.

He took a sip of the coffee, cursing under his breath when it burned his tongue. When he'd decided to go ahead with this scheme, he'd rigged a live animal trap from descriptions in a book he'd found in one of the old library buildings. Libraries were one of the first things to go when society broke down, but the books were still there, covered in dust and spider webs.

Bait was easy -- he'd been tossing scraps to the little feline for over six months now and he knew her preferences. Funny little thing, she preferred her meat cooked. Chicken, fried like they used to do it in those fast food places you saw on history shows, would draw her into the cage, and once the trap door shut, he'd have her. A soft thud alerted him and he stilled, his eyes narrowing as he searched the shadows of the deserted warehouse.

The little stray leapt into view from the top of a pile of dusty cartons. Her fur stuck up in unkempt clumps, affirming his decision to capture her for her own good. Once he got her home, he could look after her properly and put a little meat on her scrawny frame. Her attention flicked to the lump of chicken in the trap but she took her time, scouting the area first. Tail lashing back and forth, ears pricked forward on high alert, she stalked the perimeter of the warehouse space.

Jake suppressed a chuckle even as he respected the tiny creature's security precautions. Life had become much tougher after the collapse of the World Economic Council, and this was one of the roughest parts of the city. She might be small, but his soon-to-be little pet was a survivor.

Satisfied there was no imminent danger, the little cat padded toward the makeshift trap, her head tilted quizzically to the side. Probably wondering what this new contraption in her territory was and why it was there. Her nose twitched as she inched forward, stalking the chicken as if it were a mouse.

Jake held his breath as she entered the trap, her attention centered on the food. It seemed like forever before her entire body was inside the cage and the gate slammed down, ensnaring her just as she took the first dainty bite of the prize. Tiny as she was, the feline exploded into a snarling, spitting bundle of pissed-off fur, and Jake chuckled at the display of temper. He guessed she'd weigh less than ten pounds dripping wet, yet she acted as though she thought she were a full-sized tigress.

He unfolded himself from the chair and took another sip of his coffee. Now that she was secured, he wasn't in any hurry to face the little wildcat. Sauntering over to the trap, he stared down at his prize.

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ROMANCE NOVEL by P.J. Jones

ROMANCE NOVEL -  A parody from P.J. Jones

Smella Rosepetal must find a millionaire husband to finance her baby's heart transplant. She flies home to her deputy father's ranch in Pitchforks, Texas, where she falls in love with Deadward Forest, a wealthy environmentalist vampire.

When a deranged murderer is on the loose in Pitchforks, killing romance heroines, Deadward assumes Smella would be safer without him. Smella turns to her childhood friend, Snake Long, for comfort. But Snake doesn't have the money to save her baby, so Smella places herself in peril in a desperate hunt for a rich husband.

Time is running out for Smella's baby, and she must escape the Australian Outback, then face down Flabio, an overweight and disgruntled, aspiring cover model, plus enraged vampire wives and their homosexual, vampire, cowboy husbands, a jealous were-gerbil, James Bond, a drunk rodeo clown and Smella's strange boyfriend who wants to drain her blood, yet is repulsed by her smell.

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Excerpt:

“Miss Rosepetal. I’m afraid your baby is gravely ill. As each day passes, his heart beats slower. Eventually, it will stop.” Dr. Wannabush sat on the edge of his desk, twirling the tip of his dark, slender moustache, while he peered down at Smella Rosepetal through small, dark-rimmed spectacles.

“Not my little Joshua!” Hands clasped over her heart, the young mother‘s gaze swept over the rosy-cheeked, crimson-haired, infant sleeping in the basket beside her chair. “Doctor,” she cried, “you must save him!”

Dr. Wannabush stood, adjusting the heavy weight in his crotch while he thrust his pelvis precariously close to the bridge of Smella’s blemish-free, and not overly-large, forehead. “He will need a heart transplant, but the operation is risky.”

Smella managed to look up at the doctor’s face, despite the stiffened protrusion obscuring her vision. “How risky?” she asked.

Shaking his head, the doctor sat back down, the bulge in his plaid polyester pants looking more like an erect circus tent. “There is a fifty-percent chance he will not make it.”

“Oh, my baby!” She cried, her long tresses coming undone from their neat, maidenly confinement, in lush, cascading, dark waves, despite the fact that Smella hadn’t touched her scalp.

The doctor arched a slender brow. “And there’s more.”

“More?” she gasped.

“Your health insurance doesn’t cover this type of surgery.” The doctor leveled her with a hardened stare. “You will need five hundred thousand dollars.”

“Doctor, I’m a vulnerable single mother, desperately in need of a strong man to take care of me.” A hand flew to her brow and she turned pleading violet eyes upon him. “Where am I to get that kind of money?”

Lost in a perfectly staged, yet not painstakingly long, lapse of thought, the doctor rubbed his chiseled jaw. “Might I suggest you marry a young, sophisticated, wealthy Texas tycoon with raven hair and bulging biceps, who’s not afraid of a long-term commitment to a poor, ignorant, yet surprisingly beautiful, single mother, who for some reason has a flat stomach and firm breasts, despite the fact that she recently birthed an illegitimate child?”

“What a good idea.” Suddenly forgetting the gravity of the situation, Smella nearly jumped out of her seat, her perky breasts jiggling once, then coming to a complete, controlled stop. “How can I ever thank you?”

Dr. Wannabush shrugged, a sly grin creasing the corners of his mouth. “A quickie on top of my desk.”

Batting long, lush lashes, she shook her head apologetically. “I’m sorry, doctor, but I’m saving my virginity for my one true love.”

His forehead wrinkled in obvious confusion. “You have a baby.”

“Yes, I know. He’s the light of my life, and so smart.” She looked down at the baby again, which had somehow sprouted blond hair and a dimple in his chin. “He cries only on cue and knows not to interrupt a scene between Mommy and a minor secondary character.”

The doctor heaved a sigh. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind about that quickie?”

“No, doctor, I’m sorry. I must hurry to Texas if I am to save my baby.” Smella and her breasts quickly stood. She single-handedly lifted the infant’s basket with surprising ease before abruptly turning and heading for the door. “Thank you for everything. Maybe if you’re lucky, you will have sex in a sequel.”

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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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