Would you look at THAT Wednesday!

I'm Over at Tabitha Shay's!

Stop by and check out Always Hope on Tabitha Shay's blog... where I also discuss my ten favourites things and let you in on a little excerpt from Always :)

TABITHA SHAY

WHO WANTS A COPY OF ALWAYS HOPE & LAUREL HEIGHTS?

Up for grabs is a copy of Always Hope, available now, and Laurel Heights available 3 March 2012.


All you have to do is leave a comment and on Sunday 4 March, I'll choose two lucky winners.  One will get Always Hope and one will get Laurel Heights.  If you have a preference... please put it in your comment :)  Good luck!

 Ash Watts has his life exactly how he wants it: burgeoning career, gorgeous boyfriend, and an apartment with a fabulous view of LA. But his perfect world comes crashing down around his ears when he learns of his only sister's untimely death. A small town isn't all he finds when he lands in Freedom, Alabama for Annie's funeral. This small town is brimming with secrets; secrets that could change Ash's life forever. 

Kaleb Gibson, honest-to-God cowboy, and native of Freedom, born and bred, found his best friend the moment Annie Watts breezed into town. Her death left a gaping hole in his heart, and while Annie's brother may have her same dark hair and green eyes, Kaleb refuses to lose his heart all over again, and he can’t forgive the man for neglecting his sister when she needed him most.

Revelations from Annie's Will throw Kaleb and Ash together in ways they never imagined. Will Kaleb be able to carry out Annie’s last wishes without killing her beloved brother and without revealing a secret from his own past that could destroy everything? And will Ash stick around long enough to see that Freedom may hold an even more perfect life than he could have imagined?

AVAILABLE NOW!  

A shot rings out in the dead of night and leaves two residents dead in the exclusive, gay gated housing community of Laurel Heights, an apparent murder/suicide, but not everyone is convinced.

Detectives Scott Turner and Will Harrison are sent undercover to dig beneath the surface and discover answers. There’s only one problem: Scott and Will are not out of the closet at work. Now they are two gay men, pretending to be straight, who must pretend to be gay in order to stop a murderer.

Will the two closeted officers be able to hide their attraction while believing the other is straight? And is the killer living among them waiting to claim his next victim?

AVAILABLE 3 MARCH 2012!

JASON MANNS

Those in the Supernatural fandom will know who Jason is... those of you who don't, you're in for a real treat.

Not only does Jason have one of the most pure and beautiful voices I've ever heard... he is also a genuinely nice guy and I have the fortune to call him my friend.

You can find Jason's music and more about the bloke himself over at his WEBSITE

FRUITY FRIDAY

GUEST STAR: JOHNNY MILES!

Thank you for joining me on my brand new chaise longue, Johnny... isn't it pretty?  We have to kind of lounge together or longue together, whatever you're supposed to do on these things--and for agreeing to answer some questions for me.

It's my pleasure, thank you for inviting me!

1.         So who is Johnny Miles?

Hmmm. Good question. Can I get back to you on that? I'm still trying to figure this dirty, sentimental, open-minded, sometimes opinionated goat of a man who believes there's hope for humanity yet spirals into dark spaces.

2.                  Tell me a bit about your current WIP / latest release.

My current release is “The Rosas of Spanish Harlem.” It's a porn noir story of an 18-year-old cross dresser hell bent on losing his virginity. It's summer of 1977 and when he goes to the beach on a hot day, he spots Angel Rosa, a young Latino brazen enough to have sex with his girlfriend out in the open. Tracy becomes smitten and, after an encounter in a public restroom, he's invited to seek Angel out in Spanish Harlem, where Angel lives with his brother William and their father, Robinson. Except all is not well in the house of Rosa. Despite everything, Tracy is intrigued by the Rosa men and soon finds himself way over his head with some very dark stuff going on.

3.                  How do you work, do you pick a title first, or characters names, or how they look?

I kinda go at it all different sorts of ways. It just depends on how the inspiration hits. It also depends on whether or not the Muse chooses to stick around. Most times I'll get a story premise and the rest builds upon that.

4.                  When did you know that writing was your passion?

Oh I've always known I wanted to write. It wasn't until three years ago, when I got laid off that I became serious about writing. Now, if I'm not working on something I think I'd probably curl up and die.

5.         What was your first book and how long did it take to get it published?

My very first book ever was a piece of garbage that, in a way, I wish I'd kept just to see why it was I ever thought it could ever be published. The first thing that was accepted for publication, outside of gay porn stories that is, was “Casa Rodrigo.” I started writing it several months after I got laid off. It was submitted but not accepted in it's existing format so it was back to the drawing board with some very intense guidance and suggestions. I haven't regretted a single moment since.

6.                  What some don’t realize is that writing is a discipline and you have to proportion a part of your day to it – how long does it usually take you to complete a manuscript?

You're absolutely right about that. Writing is a discipline. However, I try to force myself to do it and nothing happens. Nothing flows. But I realize I can't just sit around and wait forever or the Muse might NEVER come! I try to give myself at least an hour. Sometimes it turns out to be broken up in spurts throughout the day but other times I can squeeze in a couple of hours. It really is something that needs to be planned for just like a doctor's appointment or a trip to market.

7.        Do you outline your plots first?  Or are you like me and just go hell for leather?

Ooo! I like that expression. Hell for leather, huh? I do like leather and the way it smells. Very sexy. Oh, sorry. You asked a question. LOL! Most times I do have a bit of a premise. I might not the beginning or the end, but I have a basic idea. Other times I have a beginning and an ending but no middle. A couple of times I've actually written a synopsis. It's worked but my characters almost invariably wind up getting into a beat-up Volkswagen beetle and appear in a tank. They still arrive at their destination, mind you, they just take the scenic route.

8.         Out of your body of work – do you have a favourite character?

I don't know that I have a favorite as I like them all for various reasons. Recently, however, the one that's haunting me is Angel Rosa from “The Rosas of Spanish Harlem” And he's not even the lead! Although I must confess he IS a piece of work.

9.         If you were to offer advice to someone starting out, what would you say?

Don't quit your day job just because you published your first story. It's going to take a while to get to the point where royalties will pay for anything at all. I think the only other thing I'd say is that if you're going to write (or follow whatever passion you have) then DO it. Don't wait until tomorrow because tomorrow might never come. Write because you want to know what happens next. Write because if you don't, you'll feel as if you'll die or explode. That, and try not to read reviews at first because a badly written review, or one that rips you a new one is one of the most detrimental things a new writer can experience.

10.       Who are your favourite authors, in any genre?

I'm afraid I haven't read very much lately, although I have a huge TBR list pending! In the past I've read and thoroughly enjoyed Armistead Maupin, Stephen King, Ramsay Campbell, Michael Jenks, Val McDermid, Harold Robbins, Sidney Sheldon. Hmmm. Looking over the ones that pop most into my head it seems I'm haunted by horror, suspense and thriller writers as well!

11.       If you hadn’t chosen writing, or rather, writing hadn’t chosen you, what do you think

            You would be doing for a living?

That depends. If I weren't married? I'd be an escort. Since I'm married, and I don't think my partner would appreciate me stepping out on him, no matter how open-minded, I think I'd have made one hell of a priest! LOL. Just kidding. Not sure. I'd have loved to be a music agent. I think.

12.      What do you do in your free time?  And don’t say writing!

Lately, if I have any free time at all it's spent sleeping. Sad, isnt't it?

13.      What makes you laugh?

Politicians. But they make me cry as well. They also give me the willies! 

Teehee, you said willies!

14.      What irritates you most about other people?

Stupidity, ignorance, speaking and judging without understanding. Arrogance. Narrow-minded and bigoted people. Religious fanatics. Politicians. Oh, wait. I said that one already, didn't I?

And finally….

15.       Would you like to share with us your favourite joke?

I'm afraid I'm not much of a jokester. I love comedy and listening to jokes but since I totally kill funny and don't have good delivery, I'd have to say “What's black and white and black and white and black and white?” Answer: A nun falling down a flight of stairs.

Thank you for coming to chat, Johnny Miles and I wish you many sales. 

Thank you! It was my pleasure to be here with you.

It's been a pleasure talking with Johnny Miles and you can find him at:-

http://johnny-miles.com/Johnny_Miles/Welcome.html, http://johnny-miles.blogspot.com/, or you can befriend him on Facebook.

And here’s a little taster of  “The Rosas of Spanish Harlem.”

Brighton Beach was practically empty when I climbed the steps from the street up to the boardwalk. I could have walked beneath it, but that was something I usually left as a treat for myself at the end of the day. After spending hours baking in the sun, it was refreshing to sink my toes into the cold damp sand beneath the elevated walkway.

In a way, it was mysterious, foreboding, and exciting. If I was lucky, a guy would stand still long enough for me to look up the inside of his shorts between the cracks and gaps of wood. If I was really lucky, he’d have no underwear on. Not that they were aware, mind you. It was just one of those happy accidents where you happened to be at the right place at the right time. In fact, if any of them knew about the pervy boy ogling their stuff, they’d probably chase after me and beat me to a pulp. Brooklyn men weren’t exactly known for being gay-friendly. At least not in public.

The other thing that intrigued me about walking beneath the boardwalk was all the litter. It consisted mostly of shattered glass bottles and empty cans. Every once in a while, you’d come across a syringe or a used tampon. But the one thing you could

always count on were used condoms—lots of them. I’d think of all that cock, all those people out there having sex, enjoying themselves, having a good time connecting.

I was hungry for the same thing.

Once I stumbled upon a condom that looked as if it had only recently been used. It had been stretched out quite a bit, and I was so intrigued I picked up it gingerly between thumb and forefinger and held it up. I was astonished at how much cum there was in there.

Unfortunately, the boardwalk could also be dangerous. More than once I’d seen homeless people hanging out. That wasn’t bad, because all they’d ask for was money; it was the group of older boys that scared, yet excited me. I had this fantasy that they would stop me, accost me, toss me around for a bit, then strip me naked in a playful manner and have their way with me.

In reality, what could happen to me was nothing like what I envisioned, and none of it had to do with sex.

Despite the dangers, the thought of feasting my young, horny eyes on a big pair of balls and a thick, meaty cock made me feel even hornier than I already was. I pushed my thoughts away and took in the last few moments of silence before the crowds came; the shop owners hadn’t opened up yet to hawk their wares and even the seagulls seemed hesitant to molest the quiet.

In the distance, to my right, Coney Island beckoned with all its gaudiness and tacky amusement rides. I used to love going there as a child. Any other time, and I would have stayed on the train two more stops—end of the line—but after the argument that morning, I preferred the quieter end of things.

I crossed the boardwalk to the beach side and drank in the vast expanse of ocean. The ocean breeze caressed my skin, and I inhaled the salty air deep into my lungs. All the tension I’d felt earlier seemed to evaporate.

Yes, this is definitely where I need to be today.

The only other people around were the city workers and the dirty old men—most of them Eastern European immigrants who sat on the benches all day, facing the ocean to ogle whatever it was that caught their fancy through the binoculars strapped around their necks.

Overhead, a rogue seagull screeched and hovered nearby, daring to break the silence and beg for scraps. It pulled me out of my reverie. With a peaceful sigh, I gripped the metal railing and made my way down the stairs, onto the sand.

To my right, a big, beefy black janitor with a shiny, bald head whistled, glancing from side to side as he unlocked the public men’s room, then disappeared inside with a metal bucket on wheels and a large mop with a dirty head.

I trudged along the beach, sand between the bottom of my feet and the flip-flops I wore, until I found the spot. I shrugged the oversize canvas bag from my shoulder. I pulled out one of my old cum-stained sheets from my twin bed and shook it. It fluttered in the breeze, flapping like a flag before finally falling gently to the sand, where I anchored it with a flip-flop at either corner. Then I placed the bag at the top corner, to my right. I pulled out the thermos filled with grape soda and propped it at the other corner, burying it a little in the sand.

Satisfied, I pulled out my towel and made a pillow out of it as the surf began to churn a bit more urgently. I pulled off my bloodred tank top then undid the top button of my cut-off jean shorts. They fell to my ankles.

I imagined one or two of the old geezers on the boardwalk, sitting on their bench, binoculars glued to their eyes as they trained on my slim, lithe body.

Eat your hearts out, I thought and bent over dramatically to step out of my shorts. I envisioned the old men leering and licking their sandpapery, wrinkled lips as I stood up straight, hands on hips.

I still wore my sister’s pink panties.

With a nasty, playful glee at whomever—if anyone—was watching me, I plopped down on the sheet and proceeded to apply baby oil to every inch of exposed flesh. Then I leaned on one elbow, and after fiddling with my transistor radio—using only my fingertips to avoid getting too much oil on the dials—I found the AM music station I liked. My favorite song was on. “Afternoon Delight” by the Starland Vocal Band.

Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight
gonna grab some afternoon delight.
My motto’s always been: when it’s right, it’s right.
Why wait until the middle of a cold, dark night.

Half humming, half singing, I lay down, closed my eyes, and was soon asleep under the hot, prickly sun.

* * * *

Voices carried on the wind. A woman giggled. There were soft whispers, and a man laughed. Something about them made me stir. I could tell they were young but still a little older than me.

“No, papi. Stop it. I already told you. Not here.”

“Aw, c’mon, baby. Who’s gonna see?” The man was cajoling, somewhat syrupy. He definitely wanted something.

“Roll your bod! Roll your bod!” This from the radio, which was fading. The nine-volt battery was dying.

I came awake and slowly rolled over, realizing I’d probably been asleep longer than I should have been. Tomorrow I’d have a real nice sunburn.

I looked up slowly, discreetly. A young Puerto Rican couple lay on a blanket about 10 feet away from me.

The woman was a typical Latina: big boobs, wide hips, a sensual mouth. She looked to be in her early twenties. Her wavy black hair blew in her face. She reached for it, pulled it from her mouth, and tucked it behind her ear.

The man was about twenty-four, and his skin was the color of caramel. His body was lean, toned, and perfectly smooth. His hair was black, and he wore it tight to his scalp. I got the impression he was quite a charmer. How else could he get away with calling her babe or mami?

It was obvious to me they were doing their best to keep their voices low, but they might as well have been talking out loud. Their whispers carried in the wind, and I could hear them as clearly as if they were beside me.

I propped my chin on folded arms and closed my eyes to slits so it would appear as if I were still sleeping. It helped that my hair was loose and wind-tossed, covering half my face.

The young man’s fingers tugged at the side of the tiny triangular patch of cloth covering his girlfriend’s pussy.

“Angel, no! Stop it, papi!”

She slapped his hand, but I could tell she was just as aroused as he was. I could sense that all he had to do was push a little harder and he’d soon get what he wanted.

Pulse racing, my small cock now fully erect, I ground into the sand to readjust myself and continued watching them.

Angel succeeded in pulling the material of her bathing suit to one side and exposed her shaved pussy. I gulped and found myself inexplicably thirsty quite suddenly.

“Papi, no. Please.” She hissed, then moaned as Angel inserted his fingers into her pussy. A small sound escaped my throat, as if I could feel what he was doing to her. He cast a glance in my direction, and I froze. After a moment, satisfied they weren’t being watched, Angel turned his attention back to the girl lying on her side before him.

She parted her lips and threw her head back, eyes closed. Angel chuckled. There was something lewd, sexy, and seductive about it.

I watched him wriggle his fingers inside her, pumping them in and out a few times before pulling out completely and sucking on them, one finger at a time. Then he brought them back down between her legs, finger fucked her some more, and pulled them out only to insert them in her mouth. She slurped on them noisily, greedily.

And all I could do was imagine I was her.

“You’re so fucking wet!” Angel whispered, his voice carrying on the wind.

“Ahhh! You’re such a pig, Angel!” Although she complained, she did nothing to stop him. “Don’t you ever get enough?”

In response, Angel pulled his fingers out of her pussy, then reached for the waistband of his black Speedos. Out flopped a large, fat, uncut cock. My eyes bugged out at the sight of him casually stroking the thick, meaty shaft in the open.

I briefly wondered if any of the old buggers on the benches could see what I was watching, and suddenly realized why they had those binoculars. For unexpected moments like this.

“Mira, mami,” Angel said. She glanced down at his cock and chewed her lower lip. “See what you do to me?”

He pulled the foreskin back, exposing the head. He looked even wetter than she did as he rubbed the tip up and down her fleshy folds. She moaned. Slowly, Angel slipped his cock inside her, filling her completely one glorious inch at a time as he placed a hand on her ass and pulled her hips closer.

Angel had stopped glancing around by this point, and I doubt either of them cared anymore if anyone was looking. With the length of his cock inside her pussy, they started to kiss.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered.

“Shhh! It’s okay, baby. No one’s looking. Besides, there’s only a few people nearby.”

“What about that girl?”

“What girl?” Angel asked. I blushed at the realization she was talking about me.

“That girl. Down there.” She raised her leg slightly and pointed toward me with her toes. I remained perfectly still, hair in my face. I closed my eyes just in case, grateful I’d rolled over onto my stomach. I might have a small dick, but an erection is an erection, and I’d have given myself away. Not to mention that I probably wouldn’t be able to see what was happening as well as I could now.

“Honey, she’s sunning herself topless. You think she’s gonna care if we’re fucking out in the open?”

Seconds later I heard slurping noises. I dared to open my eyes and looked up to see them kissing. Their hips gently rocked to and fro. Their movement was barely perceptible, but it was apparently enough to cause the right amount of friction. One of them sighed, the other gasped.

Unable to believe what was happening, I could feel precum oozing from my cock as if it were a small faucet with a leak.

Soon she was moving back and forth more quickly than he was. I could see a bit more of the underside of his shaft; it looked slick and wet from sweat and pussy juice.

My pulse was pumping in my head and my dick was throbbing as I continued to watch. I longed to crawl on my hands and knees between their legs and lick them both, but I fought the urge.

A bit more brazen now that he was lost in the excitement, Angel rolled the girl over, moving with her without pulling out. Now on her back, she spread her legs and placed her hands on his ass. He corkscrewed discreetly, pushing in and pulling out of her ever so slightly. His hip movement would’ve been easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. But I could tell. His ass cheeks dimpled as he ground into her; I could see the hollows even through his bathing suit.

As I watched them fuck, I pressed my own erection into the sand, moving my hips from side to side. I was close.

The girl suddenly gave a single, soft moan, and her entire body shuddered. Seconds later, Angel sighed, and I followed with a load of my own.

My heart was in my throat, and although I’d just come, I was now hornier than ever. My pulse raced and hormones raged. What with having just watched the couple before me, the heat of the sun, and the sound of the surf, I could barely control myself. In that moment I understood how someone might become so frantic with desire they’d pounce on the first person they saw without thought or regard to consequence.

Fuck first; ask questions later. That pretty much summed up what I was feeling.

At that moment, even though I didn’t like girls, I’d have gladly eaten her pussy just to get a taste of him. Of course, I would have preferred to suck him and sample the juices from his foreskin, but there was no chance of that happening, no matter how much I wanted it.

Frustrated, I rolled over, stood up, and raced into the ocean. I imagined myself as a red-hot poker, glowing while steam rose as I submerged myself. A moment later, I burst through the surface and bobbed in the water as my breathing went back to normal.

I’ve just got to get my hands on some dick. Oh, please! I’m so fucking horny!

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. I glanced toward the beach and saw Angel stand. Even from that distance, I could see him reach inside the pouch of his suit and readjust himself. He swaggered as he walked toward the ocean and, even though he was now soft, I could see the outline of his cock as he drew near. His balls looked to be huge, round, and smooshed up against either side of the now soft length of meat.

Obsessed with Angel, his cock, and the image of him fucking, I decided to leave the beach. I could no longer stay there. I had to get off, and masturbating alone wouldn’t satisfy me. I simplyhad to find cock! But where? How? It wasn’t the kind of thing they taught you in school. Then it hit me.

I know. I’ll go under the boardwalk.

With all those used condoms I kept finding, I was bound to run into someone horny enough who didn’t care whether he got a blowjob from a boy or a girl. But would there be anybody there at this hour, cruising around and looking for trouble?

I clambered out of the water, walked back to my spot, and quickly packed up my stuff.

BARTY, ME & DADDY MAKES THREE (BOOK 1) - CURRENT WIP

BLURB:
Evan always wanted to see his name in lights and his dream came true... sort of.  Being inside Barty Bear, Dreamland's star attraction wasn't quite what he had in mind, but he loved it.  When he meets a little girl who's lost her daddy, Evan's life changes in ways he could never have imagined.

EXCERPT:

Dean was frantic.  He was in line for cotton candy and Casey was right there, directly in his line of vision.  He’d taken his eyes off her for one minute to hand over the money and when he’d turned around, she was gone.  

Running shaking hands through his dark blonde hair his gaze darted everywhere. His heart was beating in his mouth because there was no sign of her long dark ponytail or her bright red Barty-Bear dress.  Okay, Dean, breathe.  You’re no use to her lying in a puddle of your own drool.  She's a smart kid.  She'll ask a grown-up.  He froze mid-step and every true life movie he’d ever seen flickered across the surface of his mind.  The thought of the kind of grown-up she could end up asking chilled him to the bone and a wave of nausea almost knocked him off his feet. Oh, dear God—my baby! 

Attempting to pull himself together, Dean dropped the stick of cotton candy, which frankly was responsible for the entire incident, into the nearest trash can and unfolded the park map.  “Where the fuck are the meeting points?”  They’d been to the park a dozen times or more and he’d drummed into her, if they were ever separated, to go right to the nearest meeting point.  According to the map the nearest one should be next to the restrooms across the concourse.  He was already running before he’d finished reading the map, his gaze flitting in all directions and calling his daughter’s name as he ran.

Half an hour later with two burly security guards helping him search, Dean had zipped past frantic, bypassed crazy and landed right on terrified.  What the hell was he going to tell Patti?  He couldn’t breathe, there was no air.  What the fuck was that?  There was open air all around and he couldn’t get any of it into his lungs.  His vision began to cloud as his anxiety built—then he saw her.  “Casey!” He yelled; blessed air filling his mouth, and he began to run, chasing down the monster who was stealing his little girl.  Even from four hundred yards away the guy was well over six feet and as broad as he was tall.  What kind of freak was this guy?  No slouch at 6ft 1”, Dean was what you would call more of a lover than a fighter, but this was his baby and he was taking this asshole down.  One of the security guards shouted Dean’s name and he frantically flapped his hands towards the freak and Casey, shouting, “She’s there!  Stop him!”  

Dean reached them first, panic driving him on. “Get away from my kid!” He screamed, hitting the man mountain square in the back with a Tarzan-like yell.  Catching a glimpse of confused green eyes, Dean grunted in satisfaction as the freak went down like a felled tree.  Luckily enough, Dean had the element of surprise on his side.  The guy was too stunned for a moment to retaliate—but only for a moment.

The guy managed to somehow get an elbow up and popped Dean a good one across the cheekbone and pain exploded in his face, his eye filling with water immediately. But he wasn’t letting go of this guy for anything.  He straddled the guys back and kneeled on his bicep before scrabbling for other hand and yanking it halfway up the man’s back. “You freak!  You filthy pervert!  Is this how you get your kicks?  Stealing little kids?  I’m gonna see you go away for a long time for this, man.  If you’ve touched my baby I’ll kill you, do you hear me?”

“What… fuck?” The freak mumbled, trying to turn his head, but Dean had him firmly face-planted on the ground.  “Not steal… work…”

“We’ll take it from here, sir.”  Both security guards finally reached them, obviously more out of shape than he was.  But then, Dean thought, they probably weren’t used to chasing down degenerates at Dreamland.

“Daddy!” Casey screamed, tears escaping from her thick lashes.

“It’s okay, baby,” Dean soothed, clambering to his feet as the security guards grabbed the freak, and scooping her up into his arms.  “Daddy’s here.  You’re safe now, baby.”  The relief at having her tiny arms wrapped around his neck was so overwhelming it brought him to his knees as he cradled her to his chest. 

“Daddy, they’re hurting Evan!”

“Don’t worry, they’re going to arrest him.  He can’t hurt you,” Dean reassured, rubbing tiny circles on her back.  Her ear-splitting scream was not exactly the response he expected and he winced at the vibrating of his eardrums.  “Casey, calm down, honey.  Daddy’s here.  Everything’s alright now.” 

“I work here,” the freak ground out, struggling against the grip of the security guards.

“Likely story,” Dean spat, his gaze taking in the T-shirt emblazoned with the park emblem, rage burning the back of his throat with its acidity.  “You bastard! How many kids have you lured away with that sickeningly sweet smile?  How do you sleep at night?”

“I work here you asshole!  Casey, honey, it’s okay, I’m fine.”

“Don’t you talk to her you sick son of a bitch!” Dean yelled, turning Casey’s head so she couldn’t see the display.  “Where are the cops?”

“Cops?” The freak’s eyes widened in disbelief and Dean felt a surge of satisfaction in his gut.  He probably thought he’d been clever; but Dean had him dead to rights and the deviant was going down.

“For God’s sake.  I work here you moron!  Check with management.  I found Casey on the path behind the stage.  She was crying because she was lost and she’d hurt herself.  I was taking her to Katie at Meeting Point 5.”

“I don’t recognize you son,” said one of the security guards, “and I’ve worked here for five years.”

Dean watched in stunned amazement as the giant asshole protested his innocence, and was still insisting he worked at Dreamland when the cops led him away.  He couldn’t believe how long the man was prepared to carry on the charade.  It beggared belief how low the degenerate was prepared to sink.  

TOTTIE TUESDAY!

FABULOUS REVIEW FOR THIRST

A fantastic review for Thirst from Pixie at
MM Good Book Reviews.

REVIEW THIS WAY! 4 HEARTS FOR THIRST!

ALWAYS HOPE AVAILABLE NOW! AND A FRESH TASTE TEASER!

AVAILABLE AT ALL ROMANCE EBOOKS HERE!

AVAILABLE AT AMAZON.COM HERE!

BLURB:

Ash Watts has his life exactly how he wants it: burgeoning career, gorgeous boyfriend, and an apartment with a fabulous view of LA. But his perfect world comes crashing down around his ears when he learns of his only sister's untimely death. A small town isn't all he finds when he lands in Freedom, Alabama for Annie's funeral. This small town is brimming with secrets; secrets that could change Ash's life forever. 

Kaleb Gibson, honest-to-God cowboy, and native of Freedom, born and bred, found his best friend the moment Annie Watts breezed into town. Her death left a gaping hole in his heart, and while Annie's brother may have her same dark hair and green eyes, Kaleb refuses to lose his heart all over again, and he can’t forgive the man for neglecting his sister when she needed him most.

Revelations from Annie's Will throw Kaleb and Ash together in ways they never imagined. Will Kaleb be able to carry out Annie’s last wishes without killing her beloved brother and without revealing a secret from his own past that could destroy everything? And will Ash stick around long enough to see that Freedom may hold an even more perfect life than he could have imagined?

EXCERPT:

“You know I’d come with you if I could,” Mason said for the hundredth time as he wrapped his arms around Ash, drawing him close and pressing his lips against the dark waves of Ash’s black hair.

“Yes,” Ash replied, annoyed that, in the midst of this clusterfuck, Mason sought his understanding to make himself feel better. At this point in time, he couldn’t care less about the other man’s feelings; lost in his own misery.

“What with the Marianne Wheatley thing and not to mention Ronald Kline breathing down my neck—”

“Mase, I said it’s okay, you don’t have to go over it again, it’s fine,” Ash glanced over Mason’s shoulder at the departure board and tried to ignore the anger roiling in his gut because, to be honest, it wasn’t okay—any of it.

Three days ago he’d been cocooned in a sleeping bag, in Mason’s arms, and now he stood at the security check-in at LAX about to board a flight to Mobile, Alabama. Then he had to hire a car and drive to the ass-end of nowhere. Of course, the locals preferred to call their home town Freedom, all 1872 of them. Not that he gave a shit about their feelings either, not when the purpose of his journey was to bury the only person in this world he truly loved, and who loved him—his sister, Annie.

Ash wanted to be charitable, but it was difficult. He hadn’t had a great deal of experience in relationships, but he’d assumed that when you were committed to someone, weddings and funerals were two occasions you could pretty much rely on having a date. Apparently for Mason, the ruling only applied if he could get there and back in a lunch hour. Sitting on a plane for almost six hours, some of which would be on the tarmac in Houston, definitely didn’t fit in with his boyfriend’s hectic schedule.

Glancing over Mason’s shoulder at the clock on the wall behind him, Ash extricated himself from Mason’s arms, “I’ve gotta go, I’m going to miss my flight. I’ll call you when I land,” he added, turning his head at the last minute as Mason kissed him, bypassing his lips and brushing his cheek instead. In the dim recess of his mind he guessed he should have felt bad, but he was hell bent on getting his body on the plane before he ran screaming from the airport like he wanted to. He ignored the hurt expression on Mason’s face because he had nothing left to give in the sympathy stakes and strode towards the security checkpoint to take his place in line. He’d look back when the security guard returned his boarding pass and drivers licence, he told himself— but when the items were placed in his hand, he couldn’t bring himself to. Mason represented reality and if he had any hope of getting through this, he needed to cut himself off from as much reality as possible.

Ash strode quickly to the gate without a backward glance and handed his boarding pass to the smiling stewardess who directed him towards the front of the plane. Mason had paid for the flight and when he’d insisted that Ash go first class, he hadn’t argued, silencing his inner voice who’d piped up that it was the least Mason could do if he was making him go alone. Ash stowed his bag in the overhead locker and took his seat by the window, fastening his seatbelt once he was comfortable. Well, as much as one was able, first class or not, when you were a little over six feet tall. Comfort didn’t appear to be a word airplane designers were familiar with. He took out his cell and turned it off before placing the slim piece of metal in the drinks holder beside him. Laying his head back against the seat, he gazed out at the gray of the tarmac below them.

Every bone in his body ached from exhaustion. Not that it made any difference if he was awake or not, because the last few days replayed like a badly edited movie in his head regardless. The cop had blue eyes and the left one drooped at the outer corner, giving the vague impression he couldn’t decide whether or not to wink at you. Ash wondered if that was weird; to remember the color of the eyes of the man who’d told you the one person who meant everything was gone. Was the sound supposed to fizzle out like a bad signal, leaving you with a ringing in your ears as the man’s mouth moved but no noise came out? And was it perfectly normal to throw up over the poor guy’s shoes about ten seconds before you passed out? Ash hoped so; otherwise he needed to brush up on his etiquette for future reference.

FLASH FICTION FRIDAY

Hello my pretties and welcome to Flash Fiction Friday, where you will find one hundred words per week based upon a picture chosen at random by either myself or my cohorts in this marvellous adventure.  Make sure you follow the link at the bottom of this post to see what other delights await you.

Here I sit on her right side like some giant gooseberry.  She, of course, keeps leaning in to hear what he’s saying.  That’s what he does, draws them in like a moth to a flame, with his big eyes and charming smile—asshole. The sight of her red hair brushing against his cheek as she moves in closer still and her tinkling laugh grates on my nerves as she bats her eyelashes.

It’s my own fault for introducing them. He catches my gaze and telegraphs silent thanks. I smile encouragingly—idiot.

My best friend and my sister… what’ve I done?

MORE FLASH FICTION THIS WAY

See you next week!

ALWAYS HOPE - 20 FEBRUARY 2012 - NEW EXCERPT

Blurb:

Ash Watts has his life exactly how he wants it: burgeoning career, gorgeous boyfriend, and an apartment with a fabulous view of LA. But his perfect world comes crashing down around his ears when learns of his only sister's untimely death. A small town isn't all he finds when he lands in Freedom, Alabama for Annie's funeral. This small town is brimming with secrets; secrets that could change Ash's life forever. 

Kaleb Gibson, honest-to-God cowboy, and native of Freedom, born and bred, found his best friend the moment Annie Watts breezed into town. Her death left a gaping hole in his heart, and while Annie's brother may have her same dark hair and green eyes, Kaleb refuses to lose his heart all over again, and he can’t forgive the man for neglecting his sister when she needed him most.

Revelations from Annie's Will throw Kaleb and Ash together in ways they never imagined. Will Kaleb be able to carry out Annie’s last wishes without killing her beloved brother and without revealing a secret from his own past that could destroy everything? And will Ash stick around long enough to see that Freedom may hold an even more perfect life than he could have imagined?

EXCERPT:

Grabbing his keys from the ignition, Kaleb opened the door and jumped down to the ground. His boots echoed on the steps when he climbed the porch and peered into the living-room window, cupping his hand against the glass.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to knock?”

Kaleb spun on his heel, cursing loudly, “Christ, City Boy, you scared the shit out of me!” He padded across the porch to the cane love seat under the study window. “What the fuck are you doing sitting out here in the dark?” Kaleb caught a glimpse of moonlight reflecting off the bottle of whiskey Ash raised to his lips. “Are you wasted?”

“Nearly. Wanna join me?”

“Ash—”

“Stop being an asshole for five minutes and sit the fuck down,” Ash hissed, holding out the bottle. “Have a drink.”

Kaleb ignored the voice in his head telling him this was a really bad idea and tossed his keys onto the small cane coffee table, then took the bottle from Ash’s outstretched hand. He lifted the liquor to his lips and took a healthy draw, his breath hissing from between his clenched teeth as the alcohol burned its way down his throat and expanded in his chest. “Make some room, City Boy,” he said, nudging Ash’s ankle with the toe of his boot. The other man shuffled along on the love seat and Kaleb flopped down on the cushions beside him. He took another healthy gulp of whiskey before handing the bottle back to Ash and propping his feet on the small, circular table.

The sound of Nickelback’s Burn it to the Ground broke the silence from the vibrating cell on the table. Kaleb turned his head to look at Ash, who was swigging from the bottle and ignoring Chad Kroeger. “Don’t you wanna answer that?”

“Nope.”

“Could be important.”

“Could be.”

Kaleb raised an eyebrow and accepted the bottle held out to him, “Right, I forgot, you don’t do phone calls.” He cursed as the bottle was grabbed from his hand en route to his lips. “What the fuck?”

“Seriously?” Ash ground out, his words slurring very slightly. “You wanna do this now? We buried Annie today. She’s gone. Nothing I do is going to make any difference.” Kaleb grabbed the bottle back and took several swallows before half-turning in the love seat and glaring at Ash, who was obviously only getting started. “Do you think I didn’t mean to call her back? Do you think I haven’t called myself all kinds of asshole for not picking up the phone? What gives you the right to be so sanctimonious, so fucking righteous?”

“She was my friend,” Kaleb growled. “I loved her.” He moved back when Ash twisted on the love seat and rose to his knees before ripping the bottle from Kaleb’s hands and chugging it back.

“She was my sister,” Ash spat. “I loved her more!”

“Then where were you?” Kaleb yelled into the other man’s face, getting to his own knees on the cushions. He’d be damned if he was going to have City Boy looking down on him, literally or metaphorically. “Huh? Where were you? She asked for you, did you know that?” Kaleb wanted to stop the words, but they tumbled over each other in their haste to get out. “When they were cutting her out—she asked for you.”

“What?”

Kaleb slapped his hand to Ash’s forehead in irritation. “Who do you think was holding her hand? Who do you think told her everything was going to be okay? They were going to get her out? That it wasn’t that bad? That she was going to be fine? Who do you think lied to her? Told her you were coming, that you were on your way? That I would take care of—” He bit the inside of his lip and ran his fingers through his hair, the lump in his throat so big he could barely breathe. “They kept looking at me while they were cutting her out, shaking their heads, and I had to tell her it was all going fine, it was all good. But she knew. She knew I was lying, I could see it in her eyes.”

“You were there? At the accident?”

“Of course I was, who else did you think they’d call, you?” Kaleb snapped, grabbing and downing the remainder of the whiskey in the bottle. Then slamming it onto the table, surprised that the force didn’t shatter the glass. “I’m not sure you would’ve considered your sister bleeding to death a good enough reason to return the call!”

“You bastard!”

Kaleb was unprepared for the sloppy punch Ash threw at him. The fact that he’d not eaten today meant that the neat whiskey had slowed his reflexes. The blow caught him on the shoulder and he almost toppled backwards, throwing his hands out to grab Ash’s arms to steady himself.

“I’m a bastard? I’m not the one who ignored her when she needed me! I’m not the one who sat on my ass, too tied up in my own life to support her.”

“I’m gonna kill you, you asshole!”

Kaleb grabbed hold of Ash’s hands and his breath huffed out of his body when the other man lost his balance and fell on top of him, forcing him flat on his back on the love seat. He pinned Ash’s hands behind his back and tightened his grip until Ash stopped struggling, his green gaze heated and angry as they glared at each other. “Are you finished, City Boy? Don’t mess with the bull, you’ll always get the horns.”

“God, you’re such a cliche.”

“And you’re not? What do you call this? If you wanted to get me horizontal, all you had to do was ask.” Kaleb snapped his head to the side when Ash attempted a very miss-aimed headbutt, ending up with his face against Kaleb’s throat. “What?” Kaleb could feel Ash’s lips against his skin as the other man mumbled an angry retort, and his irritation was heightened by the fact that his cock had taken a sudden interest in proceedings.

“I said,” Ash ground out, turning his head, “you’re a neanderthalic asshole.”

“A what? You just made that up. Trying to pretend you’re smarter than this poor ole country boy?”

“Let me up, so I can break your face!”

“You can’t even break wind!”

“I’m gonna rip your fucking head off!”

“Like to see you try, City Boy!”

“Stop fucking, call—”

Kaleb had just wanted to get Ash to stop talking. He probably could’ve found a better way than releasing the man’s hands, grabbing his face and kissing him. But it would be fair by that point, considering the way Ash’s hips were inadvertently grinding into his, to suggest that his brain wasn’t exactly running the show. The kiss was over almost before it had begun, a mere hard pressing of mouths, and they stared at each other, lips parted, breath panting harshly into each other’s faces. “Ash… I—” His words were stilled by Ash’s mouth against his, long fingers sliding into his hair, gripping tightly and tilting his head to enable Ash to deepen the kiss.

ALWAYS HOPE IS AVAILABLE ON THE 20 FEBRUARY 2012