Chance to Win Anomalies

Today's my day over at the Amber Pax blog to talk about my story in the collection that came out on Sunday. There's a long excerpt from Anomalies for you to read, different than the one on the website. Even better, everybody who comments on posts this week has a chance to win all five stories in a random drawing on Saturday.

Check it out!

Want another taste?

What, you thought I was done with Against a Wounded Landscape? Nope, not even close.

Today over at the Amber Pax blog starts the blurbs and excerpts posting for the upcoming pax release. Against a Wounded Landscape is on deck today, with another excerpt that takes place just after the one I posted on Friday.

Go take a look! There will be other sneak peeks for the rest of the stories during the week, all leading up to the release on Sunday.

A taste from Against A Wounded Landscape

A week from Sunday, my fantasy long novella, Against a Wounded Landscape, comes out at Amber Allure. Here's a little taste:

*_*_*

Pushing Aldray into the corner, Tanash stripped away his blades from their scabbards and threw the tattered blanket over his prone body. One dagger he slipped into his boot. The other, he palmed as he crept behind the open door to listen for the other guard. He would much prefer a sword, but his was hidden with his belongings outside Enthmore’s ramparts. Trying to move around the castle visibly brandishing a weapon—even on this day of celebration—would hinder his quest.

“Aren’t you done yet?”

Tanash pressed to the heavy wood, using the murk to his advantage, as the other guard plodded close. His great height put his gaze higher than the small window in the door, allowing him to track the guard’s progress. As the guard paused inside the threshold, Tanash shoved forward with all his might.

The edge of the door slammed into the guard’s side, knocking him to the ground. Before he could find his feet, Tanash was there, his arm around his throat, squeezing until the body went limp.

Though both guards were now incapacitated, Tanash worked swiftly, binding their wrists and ankles with strips torn from the blanket, gagging them with their socks. He left both men slumped in the corner when he locked the cell behind him, then tossed the keys into the cesspit under the stairs. While he wished he could take one of their uniforms to help blend into the population above, neither was remotely close to his size. He made do by peeling away the worst of the ragged clothing he’d stolen to feign poverty and left behind the dungeon he’d used as a foothold into the citadel.

The corridor was empty when he emerged from the dungeon. Most of the castle’s residents would be in the streets or at the arena, taking part in the dances and exhibitions that were a part of the kingdom’s annual festivities to mark their growing prosperity, a detail Tanash had planned on. He’d picked the fight with the soldier at the pub a week ago, specifically so he would be locked securely in the dungeon on this day. It was his single best opportunity to search the citadel and escape with his prize.

If he got caught, there would be no second chance. One look at him, and the king would know he was a knight of Tasora. Tanash would be executed before the sun fell.

He moved with the stealth of a man half his size. As he stole through the lower level to reach the center salon, each footfall was light and quick, unheard even by him. He’d never been inside this particular castle, but he’d seen others when he accompanied King Cersamor, enough to know that variances were slight.

And he was right. The stairs leading to more private chambers curved up into a balcony overlooking the salon. He took them three by three, then doubled over to keep from being spotted below.

Nobody was up here, either. He had the luxury of pausing at every closed door he found to listen for sounds within.

He stopped at the very last one. Closing his eyes, he blocked out the distant jubilee to focus on the hollow echoes at his ear.

Wood scraped across stone.

The rustle of silk.

A long, drawn out sigh.

As he hoped, the room was occupied. The only question remaining was whether its denizen was friend or foe.

Still Time!

There is still time to donate for breast cancer research and receive the Shades of Pink II anthology as our thank you! Here's a taste of my story, "Pure Rose."

*_*_*

“So are we on for Friday?”

“I am.”

“Me, too.”

“I thought your office had that party on Friday night.”

Rose grimaced as Devilmaycare’s question distracted her from the fight on the screen, her thumbs flying over the controller to keep from dropping the gold she’d just won as the two-headed troll pulled a scythe out of nowhere and began hacking at her arms. “I told you, I’m not going.”

“Duck!”

“If I wasted that forget spell just to have you drop the gold—”

“You didn’t waste it!” Rose snapped. “I’ve got this!” Or she would, anyway, if everyone would just stop chirping in her ear so she could concentrate. These days, she only got two nights a week to get online and beat the crap out of things. It was supposed to be escapist and fun, not another bitch session for pointing out everything that was inadequate with Rose Meszaros. She would’ve been done with this battle already if it wasn’t for Devilmaycare distracting her. For that matter, why were they already discussing their next game date when the fight wasn’t even over yet?

At least they had the good sense to stay quiet while she switched out her pata for a battle axe. The ornamental sword was prettier and more precise, but right now she was more interested in as much immediate carnage as possible.

Cheers went up through the connection when one of the troll’s heads went flying. The second was off before the idiotic monster even had the chance to notice the first was gone.

“That’s how you do it,” Devilmaycare commented, noticeable admiration in his tone.

“Took her long enough,” Raygunnz sniped.

“I saved your damn gold, didn’t I?” Rose collapsed back onto her couch, the adrenaline seeping from her muscles now that the worst threat was gone. “Who let that troll through, anyway?”

“I think it was hiding in the armory,” LeanGen said. “So about Friday—”

“Why aren’t you going to the party?”

Rose sighed. This was the last thing she wanted to talk about, but Devilmaycare wouldn’t let it go until she gave him a reason to. “It’s Grease-themed.”

“So?”

“So? Costumes are required.”

“Dude, I’d love to go to a party like that,” LeanGen said. “Sandy was hot.”

Raygunnz snorted. “Rizzo was the hot one, idiot.”

“Rizzo was the easy one.”

“That doesn’t mean she wasn’t the hot one, too.”

“Just because Rizzo wasn’t afraid of taking what she wanted doesn’t mean she was easy,” Devilmaycare chimed in.

“It was in the fifties.”

“Why are we analyzing Grease characters instead of talking about Friday?” Rose said.

“Because you haven’t said what’s so bad about going to the party yet,” came Devilmaycare’s smooth response. “You love cosplay.”

“In the right environment.”

“What’s wrong about work?”

Before she could reply, distant shouts came through the online connection. “Hey, I gotta go,” LeanGen said. “My roommates are home. Someone send me a message about Friday, will you?”

He disappeared, as did his elf avatar on her TV screen.

“Looks like game over.” The cleric that Raygunnz played slipped his orb into his robe pocket. “Don’t forget to put the gold in the vault.”

With that, he was gone, too, leaving Rose alone with Devilmaycare.

A Flight in Ice over at the Amber Pax blog

Curious about my next release? There's a blurb and an excerpt of it over at the Amber Pax Collections blog today in anticipation of it coming out on Sunday.

Check it out!

WIP Wednesday

I'm just about to wrap up Placeless, the next Bay Wolves story. This one is about Keaton McGrath, one of the wolves that was rescued along with Elijah in Boundless. Keaton is a very young wolf, with issues controlling his shifts. This is the opening of the story, our first real introduction to him.

* * *

The wind whipped past my face as I raced over the wet grass, filling my lungs with the stinging air and my nose with the smells of dirt, earthworms, and the tulips and cherry blossoms that bloom so vividly in March here. The trees were a blur, obstacles to navigate through and around rather than stop and enjoy. I wasn’t in Golden Gate Park at five in the morning to appreciate the scenery.

I was here to run.

When you’re an untagged wolf in San Francisco, you take whatever you can to roam as free as you might need or want.

Though I caught the occasional scent of another wolf, I never saw one during my runs. I don’t know why. The park seemed like the perfect place to get out some of the urges that often threatened to overwhelm me during the day. They thrived on randomness, it seemed. Anything could trigger them. A beautiful blonde’s perfume. The slope of a burly stranger’s shoulder. A car backfiring. I’m sure if I brought it up in group, any of the others might be able to explain why it happened, but I would never let it get that far. They might find value in talking about the trauma that bound us together, but I didn’t. I only went because if I didn’t, Corey would find out, and since I relied on Corey’s generosity for a place to stay, I couldn’t do anything to piss him off.

He didn’t know about my runs, either. Another reason why I chose coming so early.

I blocked out thoughts about my day to day, to better concentrate on my few minutes of freedom. Here, now, I was wolf. I couldn’t claim this territory as my own, but I could pretend, and that was all I needed.

Faster.

Around the tree.

Through an unseen puddle.

My lean muscles burned as I challenged them with greater speed.

There was no such thing as too fast.

I lost all concept of time. I measured my run in terms of heartbeats and the color of the sky, occasionally tipping my nose up to see its sooty spread shift and fade. Getting caught by dawn could strip my one liberty away if someone saw me. At best, wolves were considered second-class citizens. At worst, we were feared. If the wrong person caught me out…

I angled toward the tree where I’d stashed my clothes. The worst had already happened to me when I’d been kidnapped for the sadistic pleasure of men and women rich enough to afford my company. I wouldn’t do anything stupid to risk getting trapped again.

Though shifting back into my human form was the last thing I wanted, I did it. I’d been a wolf for almost a year now, and it still wasn’t easy. Where others could change shapes back and forth at will, I had to force my thoughts to images of what I looked like standing on two legs instead of four, with bare skin instead of fur, with the face that looked back at me in the mirror instead of the muzzle I lifted to the moon to howl. Corey said going to group would help me learn how to balance the two parts of me, but what did he know? He was a lawyer, for Christ’s sake. He wasn’t even wolf. He couldn’t begin to comprehend the struggle I went through on a daily basis.

Lowering my nose to the grass, I breathed in and out, waiting for my pulse to slow. Shifting was easier that way. Adrenaline turned me into a walking time bomb. Once it didn’t feel like my pelt was vibrating in time with my heart, I let the shift begin.

Another excerpt of What the Heart Thinks

The excerpt on the publisher site for What the Heart Thinks is the moment Joe, the DJ, first sees Fess. Today, I'd like to share how Fess sees Joe. This takes place after they've been chatting on the phone for a few weeks, and Joe has finally agreed to meet Fess in public. A breakfast date that started off on the wrong foot.

*_*_*

...He topped six feet by several inches, with legs like tree trunks and hands that would leave no doubt they’d touched you when the time came. His auburn hair was done neat and short, and if it was more Super Cuts than super chic, that just fit with Joe’s no nonsense personality. Fess was rather enamored with the beard Joe so blindly sported, and his hazel eyes were clear and intelligent, unblinking and intense when he decided to fix them on a person.

That didn’t happen enough, as far as Fess was concerned. Too often, Joe would look elsewhere, or duck his gaze, anything but look at Fess directly.

But what Fess couldn’t resist, what he’d never been able to resist ever since the first time he heard Joe on the radio, was that voice. When Joe spoke, thunder rolled in the distance. It was slow and hypnotic, like every word meant something, sinking beneath Fess’s skin to take root deep in his gut and send tendrils of smoke and fire out to every single nerve ending he possessed. He hadn’t heard a word of Joe’s broadcast that first time, too lost in how molten his body became just listening to him. He’d jerked off as soon as Joe went off the air, coming so hard he’d crashed for hours afterward.

That voice was his porn of choice over the next few months, but as he listened, he discovered the man behind it. Meeting him in person hadn’t changed a single thing about how attracted he was to him. If anything, it had enriched his fantasies since he now knew exactly what Joe looked like.

Joe didn’t know any of this, of course. After Fess’s stupid stalker comment, he couldn’t afford coming across as an even bigger groupie freak than he was. That might change down the road, or if Joe continued to be a dumbass about believing Fess would want to go out with him, but for now, Fess was going to keep his mouth shut on that particular detail.

An excerpt from Enthralled in Silver

Want to read more about my m/m/f, Enthralled in Silver? Here's an excerpt, where Claire meets Seth, one of the two men who will change her life:

His features were finely carved, almost delicate—a sharp blade of a nose, a shallow dimple beneath the high arch of his left cheekbone. Though his skin was dark, his eyes were the palest of amber, haunting and piercing at the same time. They were framed by the thickest lashes she’d ever seen on a man. He regarded her in silent inquiry as she tried not to stare.

At least she wasn’t openly checking out his trim body. Courtesy of her graphic fantasies, she already knew what it looked like under his crisp white shirt and tailored black pants. She knew how many ridges she’d be able to count on his abdomen, that his bellybutton was an innie, that his cock was uncut.

Though they’d been intense, she’d assumed her dreams had been simple erotic releases. Everybody had them, so it made sense to believe hers were the product of a fertile imagination and fierce hormones. The living, breathing, gorgeous proof they were more than that now stood in front of her, prompting questions about how it could be possible for the Pavaro magic to manifest in her when she’d always been taught it followed the male lineage alone.

“Can I help you?” he said.

Her brain stuttered. His voice was more molten in real life than it had been on the phone. Heat crawled its way down her neck, along her spine, seeping out along her limbs to melt them into near-uselessness.

“Claire Pavaro,” she blurted. “I have an appointment with Ms. Rieke.”

For a split second his pupils dilated and his nostrils flared. Just as quickly, it disappeared, his smile warming to the point where she wondered if she’d imagined it. “Ah that’s right. We spoke on the phone.” He held out his hand. “Seth Lancour. I’m Celeste’s personal assistant.”

The naughty voice in the back of her head had more than one idea about what duties she’d demand from Seth if he were her personal assistant, but she managed to slap a muzzle on it before it got her into real trouble. “I know I’m early.” She slipped her hand into his. “It’s a chronic condition.”

A twinkle appeared in his pale eyes. “I hear they have treatments for that these days.”

She laughed, in spite of her discomfort with her attraction to him. “I’d probably be too early for that too.”

*_*_*_*

Don't forget that any comment left on the blog from now until 2/28 will be eligible to win my sterling silver necklace giveaway!

Opening from my menage WIP

I really need to come up with a title for my menage WIP. It's starting to bug me that I don't have one yet. But I thought I'd share the opening scene from it today, and give you a taste of what it's like.

*_*_*_*

The stone walls trembled, rumbling with the enraged growl of a roused beast. Beyond them, the crash of the Calisatar Sea hitting the shore echoed even louder. The whole world seemed to scream in protest to the attacks, but Avaren Rala blocked it all out. He couldn't think about the stronghold crumbling around their heads or the battles that waged outside. He had one order, and he would not fail it. Could not fail it. Ryelmund, his liege and master, would never forgive him if he did.

Nobody stopped him. He took the stairs three at a time, letting others pass by as they fled for safety without a second glance. Only once did his hand stray to his broadsword, when a barrel-chested servant tried to grab his arm, but Avaren shot him a hard stare and the man yanked back with swiftly mumbled apologies. The door he wanted, still thick and solid and mercifully shut, was at the end of the corridor. He reached it without further interruption.

The moment he pounded on the scarred wood, the latch turned and a familiar set of green eyes gazed through the opening. Relief washed through him. He hadn't known how terrified he was she wouldn't be in her chambers until this very moment. "Come, my lady." He held his hand out to her in solicitous offering. "I'm to get you to safety."

He blocked the view of any who might be in the vicinity as Loraledra pulled the door wider. Instead of the scarlet gown she'd worn at dinner when the attacks had begun, she wore soft trousers and boots, apparel from a bygone time when she hadn't yet been queen and propriety wasn't such a strict mistress. The auburn curls that were the envy of women both noble and not had been tied back in a leather strap, a heavy braid falling along her spine. Her cloak and blouse did little to hide her full, soft breasts, though at least her height might work to their advantage and fool the marauders into believing she was a man for a few moments while they made their escape. Still, her sensible clothing was only a costume. Anyone with eyes would take one look at her and know in an instant she was the renowned Queen Loraledra.

"Where's Ryel?" she asked, glancing past his shoulder.

Avaren set his jaw. "On the shore leading the fight."

But when he tried to take the satchel she'd had prepared, she refused to relinquish it. "Then you should be down there with him. Don't worry about me. I'll take care of myself."

Ryel hadn't warned she might argue, but Avaren had been prepared for the worst. "I'm sorry, my lady. I can't allow that."

Her eyes flashed. "Your liege needs your sword more than I do."

"I'm under direct orders."

"So I'm giving you a new one."

"I can't." Gripping her upper arm, he pulled her through the doorway. She fought him every inch, her muscles firm beneath his fingers, but as much as he hated having to resort to force, he couldn't allow her to squirm her way free, even if she was the queen. "Please, your majesty. If he worries about you, his mind isn't fully on the battle. Tonthery needs both her king and queen."

The furious set of her jaw didn't soften, but the guilty slide of her gaze to the tiny windows overlooking the sea gave him hope. A moment later, her stance relaxed, the death clutch he'd had on her satchel loosening. "Fine," she ground out. "But as soon as I'm somewhere secure, you're to return to him, understand?"

Avaren nodded in acquiescence. Though he wasn't certain Ryel would approve of such a compromise, it satisfied all of their needs. Ryel's to protect Loraledra. Hers to support Ryel. Avaren's to fulfill his duty to both of his lieges.

One More Bloom excerpt

Preorders have begun for the Shades of Pink anthology to benefit breast cancer research. The suggested donation is $5, but really, any little bit helps.

There's a teaser for my story, One More Bloom, up at Kallysten's blog today. Here's the blurb:

Lovers Adam and Rachel have been cursed for over a century, doomed because the world wasn’t ready to see past the colors of their skin. But now, under the canopy of Washington DC’s cherry blossoms, Adam finally has the means to put an end to it, once and for all.

I love this short. It very much appeals to the romantic in me, that sense of one lover willing to do whatever it takes for the happiness of the other, regardless of the cost.

The opening of my latest WIP

I've been working at this untitled short story all week, and I thought I'd share the opening today. It's an m/m erotic contemporary for a train-themed collection, and I'm shocked at how quickly it's going, considering how little actual writing time I've been able to commit to it.

And I really need to figure out what to call it.

*_*_*

I don't sleep.

Okay, that's obviously a lie. Everybody sleeps, or else we'd be a planet full of psychopaths. I can already hear Dr.Willoughby scolding me. "Stop exaggerating, Sean. You're not doing yourself any favors."

She was a bitch, but she was right most of the time so I guess I should probably listen to her when she decides to poke her nose into my psyche these days.

I don't sleep much.

That's more accurate.

I go two, maybe three hours tops. That's my last parting gift from Dr. Willoughby and the staff at Bronx Lebanon. It's not their fault. Fuck, they were great, everything considered. It's just that after spending so many weeks sedated and stuck in bed when that hospital was the last place I wanted to be, I think my body has revolted. It's like it thinks that if I go to sleep again, really asleep, I'll end up back there, and that's the last thing I want. I've worked too hard to move past it all.

So after work, I get on the train and I just ride until my head feels like a cannonball and my brain is tripping over itself trying to remember where my stop is. That usually happens around four, five in the morning. I don't leave Manhattan. I'm not that fucking nuts. Plus, it helps that I look the way I do. People don't mess with a guy who's six-two and packing a hard two-twenty. They take one look at the shaved head and tatts and assume the worst.

If Dr. Willoughby saw me now, she'd probably have a field day telling me how I'm trying to live down to people's expectations, but that's not it. It's about putting on armor. It makes me feel stronger if I think people see me that way. Trust me, I need that boost. When you get broken bad enough, and then fix yourself up again, you never want to end up in that place again.

The thing about the train is how easy it makes it for me to shut off. It's quiet. Sometimes, there'll be pockets of people coming from a late night party or show, but I've gotten better about avoiding the parts of the city where that could happen. I like that I can sit there, and the rhythms of the train, the rocking, the hum, the hollow roars, all of it works to erase the effects of my day. Nothing to distract me. Nothing to do. Just be.

That's why I wasn't prepared the first time it happened.

Aria of the Eclipse

Yesterday, my upcoming release, the 35k novella Aria of the Eclipse, was highlighted at the Amber Pax Collection blog, complete with cover, blurb, and official excerpt. So I'm going to share that with my readers today.

Nothing has ever excited Tylen Merodine more than being invited by the Regent himself to celebrate the first solar eclipse in his planet’s recorded history. It’s the party of the millennium, and if he has to restrain his normal exuberant instincts to fit in, that’s what he’ll do to be a part of it. His good intentions vanish, however, the moment he’s presented to the Regent. Because there, in a gilded cage, playing music unlike anything Tylen’s ever heard, is the most beautiful alien he could imagine.

For more than twenty years, Dek has lived in captivity, performing at the whim of those who see him as an animal. The Regent is just the latest in a long line of owners, and while he’s kind, he’s still blind to Dek’s sentient nature. Only music gives Dek a voice, until Tylen breaks the rules and sneaks in to see and speak to him alone.

The time they have together is stolen and precious, the minutes ticking away until the eclipse is past and they have to go back to the way their lives were before. But when the Regent shows an unexpected interest in Tylen’s future, they begin to wonder if their worlds need to remain so separate... 

* * *

...My attempt to try to defuse my embarrassment was met with a frown and a shake of his head. “I wouldn’t do that. You cannot help your circumstances. You are what you are.”

I snorted. “You need to tell that to Dourack. All he’s done is lecture me since we left home. He especially wasn’t thrilled with our presentation.”

“Because you broke protocol?”

“Even you noticed?” I sighed. “Damn.”

Dek edged off the bench he sat on and crept forward until he knelt as close as he could to me with the bars still between us. “It’s only bad if it harms your time here. If you had behaved as every other notable Johaf presented today, I would not now have the pleasure to call you friend.” He held out my scrambler. “I hope I do have that pleasure.”

“Of course you do,” I rushed to say. But when I took my scrambler back, I couldn’t look away from his hands. The filaments laid flat against the inside of his fingers, tucked away so tight I wondered if it was deliberate.

I must’ve stared too long because he reached farther, turning his wrist so his palm was up, the fingertips grazing the edges of the bar. Slowly, he splayed his hand, and the strands unfurled in finespun splendor.

“On my planet,” he started, his voice soft and hypnotic, “we do not have the advanced technologies you do. Our homes have no walls. We look to the sky as our creator, the water our mistress. These…” He bent his thumb inward, allowing the longest tendril to emit a single, soft note. “The music is secondary, a consequence for their main purpose.”

“Which is?” My query was a whisper, reverence paid due to the honor of learning something I knew few people understood.

“They help us travel on the wind. We can coast across the water’s surface without fear, then.”

I finally looked up. Dek wasn’t looking at his hand, but at me, his nose only inches away, his gaze fathomless. I’d been wrong about the blackness. The same gray marking his skin flecked his eyes, affording them a light that took away the melancholy I don’t think he realized he wore. Part of me understood the Regent’s pride in showing Dek off. He truly was the most magnificent creature I’d ever seen, more than his peerless music could ever be.

“They’re your wings.”

I hadn’t even realized I’d said it out loud until he smiled. “I suppose that’s one way to look at them.”

“But you can control them.”

“Yes.” To prove it, they folded back against his skin, without his flexing a single muscle.

My scrambler seemed so unsophisticated compared to his physiology. As I slipped it back in my pocket, though, Dek touched the back of my hand.

“Can you use that whenever you wish?” he asked.

I don’t know which shocked me more—the fact that he’d reached through the bars or how hot his fingertips were compared to my skin. I felt the slight tickle for long seconds after he withdrew and had to fight the compulsion to rub it deeper into my hand. “As long as I don’t get caught.”

“Perhaps…if there isn’t another event for you to attend…you might come back later tonight? It gets…lonely.”

The words cost him. Pride, or fear, or embarrassment. Maybe all of the above. Even if I did have a party to get to, I couldn’t allow that to count for nothing.

“No might about it. I’ll be here.” I grinned. “I could even sneak down to the cellars and borrow some of the Regent’s wine. We could have our own event.”

“That won’t be necessary. Your company is more than I could ever ask for.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d been kidding. He seemed so grateful for what was essentially a huge honor to me. What person in their right mind wouldn’t embrace a chance like this? To get to know someone like Dek? To give him a few hours of reprieve from a life he’d resigned himself to? I wasn’t passing this up, even if it meant this would remain my secret for the rest of my life.

I met his eyes. The gray was brighter than before. It was probably just a trick of the light, but I decided to believe it was because of me, because of this budding friendship bonding between us.

“I promise you,” I said. “It’ll be a night we’ll never forget...”

Another excerpt from The Low Between

The excerpt on the Amber Allure website comes early in the story, and I'm dying to share more of my guys with everyone. This comes later in the story, after Carlo and Joe have agreed to work together. Carlo has crashed at Joe's place while Joe took care of some business. Joe is on his way back...

*_*_*_*

The six-block walk to the store was swift. Though traffic was starting to pick up, the distant horns and growling engines disappeared once he was inside. He relaxed automatically. This was his haven, the one place he felt secure. It had been since his discharge from the Army, when he'd been struggling to find a new home in the city determined to haunt him. Everywhere he'd turned, he seen reminders of Emmett. Buying the business from old Mr. Morgan had been his last resort at starting fresh.

The sanctuary still worked. When he started up the silent staircase, he almost felt like he could handle anything Carlo might throw at him to add to his headaches.

More silence greeted him as he let himself into the darkened apartment. For a moment, he wondered if Carlo had decided to try and survive on his own, but as his eyes adjusted, he saw an outline stretched out on the couch. Rather than turn on the overhead light, he crept around the edge of the room to flick on the bedroom light instead. Enough spilled through the open door to reveal Carlo, fast asleep, the army blanket Joe used to hide the sofa's shabbiness pulled tightly around him.

He shouldn't stare. It wasn't his right. But Carlo Baresi truly was a gorgeous young man, and it had been too long since anybody but Joe had slept on that couch. Besides, he didn't have an audience. Nobody could see him appreciating the fine slope of Carlo's nose, or the way his hair fell boyishly across his forehead, or the soft full pout of his slightly parted lips. Only Joe would know, and he was too tired to care about the right or wrong of it.

With a sigh, he leaned against the doorjamb and drank his fill. If he'd been bolder, if they didn't have this business hanging over their heads, he would've liked to kiss Carlo when they traded places in the cab. Hell, he would've liked to do a lot more than that, but kissing would've sufficed. Carlo had the mouth for it, lush and ready to burst at the first nibble. With those dark eyes tilted up at him, Joe would've been a goner, incapable of refusing a single request, be it simple or sexual.

He hadn't kissed anyone since Emmett. For all his fantasies, he doubted he'd be kissing anybody any time soon. It was ridiculous to even consider. Carlo had the looks to be a real heartthrob if he ever got a decent break with his acting career. If by some miracle he wouldn't refuse a man's advances, someone as battered by life as Joe would never catch his attention.

Yet, in spite of what should've been common sense, he wondered. There had been moments when Carlo's gaze lingered a moment too long, or his nostrils had flared as he fought for some kind of control. Joe had caught Carlo watching him on the ride back to the store, too, not to mention the blush at Carlo's unfortunate assumption they'd be sharing the apartment.

The corner of his mouth quirked. Looked like Carlo had been right on that count.

When Carlo shifted in his sleep, Joe stepped back into the bedroom and shut the door to temptation. He could use a couple hours himself before opening the store. For all the anxiety Copper caused, there was something comforting about knowing Carlo was in the next room. He might even invade Joe's dreams if Joe could relax enough to slip that deep.

It wouldn't make tomorrow any easier, but it sure would save tonight from being a complete disaster.

*_*_*_*

Don't forget about my giveaway! Leave a comment, and your name will be throw in the hat for a chance to win this collection of classic noir films on DVD.

Another excerpt from A Simple Charm

Four more days until the release of A Simple Charm, so I'm going to share another excerpt for everyone to get a taste.

This is in Seb's (the carnival barker) POV. His second encounter with Levi, when Levi has snuck out of his house in the middle of the night to watch the carnies.

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“So tell me what your favorite part of today was,” Seb prodded. It felt important to keep Levi talking, utilize the one skill he could guarantee to wind a proper web around the moment and cocoon it safely away.

“The whole day.”

Seb laughed. “Oh, come on, there must be something you liked better than anything else. The rides? The games? The acrobats?”

“What do people usually say when you ask them that?”

“Ah, now, you’re making assumptions that might not be true. I don’t go around gathering up comment cards when people shuffle on back home. My job is just to get them onto the midway.”

“You do more than that.”

“Did you see me leave my stage at all today? No, you didn’t, because that’s where I work from. I get to see everyone when they’re still excited about what’s to come, not after they’re hot and tired and want to go home to sleep until Tuesday.”

“That’s not what happens.” Levi’s sudden vehemence came with a roll onto his side, more of their limbs coming into contact as he propped his head on his hand to stare down at Seb. Their closeness finally gave him the chance to see the pale brightness of Levi’s eyes, burning again with a fervor that stole Seb’s breath away. “What you do, it’s magical. It really is. People love you.”

The corner of Seb’s mouth lifted into the semblance of a sad smile. “They love the carnival. There’s a difference.” One he’d learned too late.

“And you’re part of that,” Levi insisted. “Some of them wouldn’t even go in if you weren’t there to tell them how wonderful it was.”

His estimation of what lit Levi up had been wrong, or rather, incomplete. It wasn’t just that he was smart. Innocence radiated from every pore, the type that would wither at the first sign from the real world that the dreams he concocted could never come true.

“What is it you do?” Seb asked, changing the subject. “You’re too old for school, right?”

A quick frown pulled Levi’s brows together. “I hope so. I’m almost twenty.”

“Practically ancient.”

“Not that much younger than you.”

Only in biological years. “There’s more to age than a number.”

“I know that, but you don’t or you wouldn’t tease me like I’m some kid.”

“And what kind of experience could life have possibly thrown at someone like you to make you capable of even thinking such a thing?”

His lashes ducked, and his gaze slid to the side. Avoidance. Brought on by shame? Fear? Seb craved discovering why, though at the same time, a curl of anxiety wound through his gut at finding out the answer. He didn’t want his ideals of Levi shattered, just like he knew Levi wouldn’t want his fantasies about the carnival destroyed. Out here, they could live in a bubble where both existed peacefully together, but only if they took care not to burst it with the wrong words.

“I’m sorry,” he heard himself say. “That was rude of me.”

His apology had the desired effect. Levi let out a long, ragged breath, and lifted his eyes to Seb’s again.

“I work in the general store,” Levi said, going back to Seb’s earlier question. “I’m kind of an apprentice there. Working my way up.”

“Does your family own it?”

He shook his head. “My mother’s the teacher in town, and Pap works out on my grandfather’s farm. I’ve always been better at books than baling hay.”

“Bookworms belong in college.”

“Is that how you see me?”

Such a simple question, but more simmered behind those eyes, an almost desperate hunger that had nothing to do with college, everything to do with Seb. The walls around them strengthened, willing away the rest of the world for at least a few minutes longer.

“It’s my job to notice things.” The corner of his mouth tipped. “And I’m very good at what I do.”

“You said that this morning. About noticing things.”

Had he? His exact words eluded him, but apparently they hadn’t done so for Levi. “Because it’s true.”

“But sometimes, what looks like truth is really magic.”

“Ah, we’re back to that again. At college, they’d teach you different, you know.”

“I can’t go.”

“Why not?”

“We can’t afford it. But that’s all right. With the store, it’s all still good. It’ll work out for everyone in the long run.”

Seb didn’t believe him. Someone who stole out of his bed in the middle of the night to watch carnies sleep would never be happy stuck behind a counter, waiting on old biddies and cranky farmers until some girl convinced him to settle down and lock himself into an even duller future.

The opening of A Simple Charm

Since I posted cover art for it yesterday, I thought I'd post the opening of A Simple Charm today.

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There wasn’t a spot in the whole of Brookburn, Indiana where the tiny colored flags on top of the tents pitched outside of town weren’t visible. The red and yellow wisps fluttered whether Levi could feel a breeze or not, captured in a world of their own making, someplace separate and magical where the wind didn’t whip up the dust to get trapped in places it had no business being. He even caught them dancing at night, when he climbed out his window to sneak down to the gulley that cut the carnies off from the rest of town. He’d stretched out on his stomach, as flat to the packed earth as he could get, and drunk it all in until the last light had been extinguished.

Everywhere he looked was an explosion to his senses. Colors rainbows would’ve been jealous of. Laughter and music and hushed whispers as shadows emerged from one tent only to meld into a single entity before disappearing into another. Roasting meat and strong whiskey that made his stomach rumble even though he’d had his fill at suppertime. His fingers curled into the dry grass, because he needed to stay put, not make a run for it like everything inside screamed at him to do.

He crept back home before the night relinquished its hold on the sky. His dreams for the few hours he got before Pap pounded on the door for him to get to his chores left Levi with a hollow longing in his chest.

“Mr. Trumbull’s closing the store tomorrow,” he commented at the supper table, staring at the beef he sawed away at on his plate rather than anyone else at the table.

“Now why would he go and do a fool thing like that? Saturday’s your busiest day of the week.”

Levi had been working at the general store since ’27, when he was twelve and it became increasingly obvious to his burly father that his only son was built more like his wispy mother. He wasn’t short, but he’d always been too scrawny for most of the labor out on Granddad’s farm. Pete Beckerman talked Artie Trumbull into giving Levi a job, in hopes the hours helping with inventory and making deliveries around Brookburn would put some meat on his bones.

It hadn’t, not really, though Levi had always wondered why Mr. Trumbull had kept him on when there were plenty of men in town who could’ve used the extra wages to take care of their families. Money was tight, jobs hard to come by, and yet, the store became his second home, his haven when everywhere else felt wrong.

“He says everyone will be at the carnival tomorrow anyway,” Levi said in response to his mother’s surprised question.

Pap snorted. “And then at church on Sunday like they didn’t throw good money after bad just the day before.”

“You never know, Pete.” Levi and his sister Annie might have cringed a little at the harshness of Pap’s tone, but Mom was unfazed as always. She reached for the mashed potatoes to scoop another spoonful onto Pap’s plate. “I heard someone over in Jagerstown won a brand-new stove in that grand raffle of theirs.”

“A stove.”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Those people don’t even have homes. How would they find the money for a stove?”

“Mr. Trumbull’s going.” Nobody in town really trusted the carnies, so Pap’s reactions were hardly unusual, but Levi wished he could see what else they offered, the dreams they held out with both hands to anybody who wanted them. Those fantasies were all Levi had thought about from the moment the first flyer showed up on the post outside the newspaper office, though his were buried so deep, they’d need more magic than a few pretty flags and some fast words to be set free.

“Well, with the store shut, he doesn’t have much else to keep out of trouble, now does he? Some of us have real work to do.”

Levi stopped trying then. Pap was just like the soil he tilled, practical, unchanging, ultimately immovable.

The night was cooler than its predecessor, the rustle of air coming in through his open bedroom window as bewitching as the not-so-far-away carnival. Levi leaned through the opening, stretching to peer around the Joslin house next door. Common sense said he shouldn’t be able to smell or hear anything, not from this distance, but he would’ve sworn on every Bible in Brookburn that it was right there. All he had to do was reach out and close his eyes and he was back at the edge of the gulley, the ground cold beneath his belly, his blood hot to make up for the chill everywhere else.

A soft rap came at his closed door. He jolted back, barely in the room when Mom let herself in.

Her gaze drifted to the window behind him. She knew. He didn’t have to say a word because she always knew, and that frightened him more than anything else. Some things should remain a secret. Some things had the power to hurt more than he would wish onto his greatest enemy, and the only way to make sure they didn’t was to lock them away from her omniscient eyes.

“Did you have plans tomorrow?” she asked.

Levi shrugged. Anything he’d hoped to do was built on fancies, as implausible as catching a cloud to make it rain when they most needed it at the height of summer. “Read, maybe.”

“Annie wants to go to the carnival. You should take her.”

The sudden lurch inside his chest made it hard to breathe, harder even when his heart took to racing like Scott Joslin’s best horse within the passage of the next moment. “What about Pap?”

She smiled. “I’m not telling you to take him.”

“What’ll you say?”

“You don’t worry about that. Just keep an eye on Annie, get back in time for supper, and if you manage to win me a new stove, well, that certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

She left him to spend the night too excited to sleep, hours lost to imaginings as he tossed and turned until dawn.