The Morning After

This snippet is from The Ancient, in which Bruce wakes and watches his lover–

Sometime during the night they had switched positions, and Jeffrey’s cheek was now nestling in the hollow between Bruce’s shoulder and his right breast. His eyelids were trembling, and his lips were parted, sending his breath in small puffs to flutter and dislodge a rose petal that had stuck to his upper lip. There were even a few rose petals in his hair, making Bruce wonder how many were stuck to his own body.

He smiled then, thinking Jeffrey could go looking for them.

Bruce could feel Jeffrey’s breath on his chest, and the gentle pressure of his arms that curled around his waist.  He closed his eyes for a few seconds, feeling so supremely happy and content, he couldn’t explain the half of it.

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Arthur’s Look–

Here’s a snippet from my just-released Crimson Christmas in which Arthur first sets eyes upon his potential mate–


I follow her finger, setting my eyes on the figure of a youngish man bent over the pages of a coffee table book of art. His hat rests on the table beside him, and I—I’m suddenly nervous. I recognize that curly mop from the drawing. I barely acknowledge Mimsy and Cora as they retreat back to the cubicle area with knowing smirks as I slowly approach him—he seems absorbed in the images he’s examining.

I finally get up the nerve to say something. “Excuse me? Mr. Cosgrove?” I blink as he raises his head from his book and meets my eyes, startled. christmas

Oh my dear, those eyes—
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Here’s one of my characters from Talk Of The Town–Craig’s director Oswald Brown–AKA Oz–Craig and Carl are attending a party at his loft–

“Sorry, Oz, that elevator is faster than we thought,” Craig said, blushing.  They stepped out into the entryway.   Craig took a long, good look at Oz.  He missed him.  He was one of his true friends.  He was in full Goth mode, with artfully applied eyeliner and midnight black clothing.  His sleeveless unbuttoned vest showed well muscled arms covered with dark red and blue tribal ink, and tantalizing glimpses of sculptured abs and pectorals that were equally illustrated.  Craig knew that those tattoos covered his entire torso, with a picture of a vampire with very long fangs taking a place of honor on his lower back. They had been in the studio gym one afternoon after work, and Oz’s ink man had just finished up the vampire the day before.  He was quite proud. He had a silver hoop in his left nostril, and one in his right eyebrow.  Little silver studs went up the curve of each ear.  His hair was black and straight, contrasting with his light blue eyes and tucked behind his ears. It reached down past his shoulders, with one slender braid on the left side of his head, a narrow silver chain weaved into it.  Craig smiled.  Oz really knew how to go all out.

But as he said once, he drew the line at black lipstick.

Heart’s Embers

I thought I’d leave a snippet with Bruce and Jeffrey together, after Bruce is released from the hospital. Jeffrey’s helping him take a bath  🙂

Jeffrey hurried in to put a fresh towel on Bruce’s chair then stood back, watching and smiling as Bruce lifted himself into it and dried his chest and arms. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes while he dried his face and throat, and Jeffrey stared at him, feeling more than a little horny as the towel went down to dry Bruce’s privates, taking ample time to rub that luscious crotch. Right now this was one of the most erotic sights he had ever seen, and his erection was making a tent in his shorts.

“Damn I’m thirsty as hell–,” he whispered.

Bruce smiled, then held the towel out to Jeffrey.

“I need help drying my hair.”


Alasdair and Edgar

Here’s my snippet for this week–just a quiet evening —

Alasdair and Edgar were spending a rare quiet evening together in front of the fire.  Alasdair was content.  He had fed well from an unattached hiker that had wandered into the property, and that was entirely unexpected.  It was a rare enough event to be totally delightful. Edgar had alerted him to the fact that the outside perimeter had been breached, and they had both gone out to the rear of the compound to see a long haired flannel clad hiker standing by the gazebo with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Pardon me, sirs, I–apologize if I’m trespassing. I think I’m lost.”

Alasdair approached him, turning down the hood on his wool jacket as Edgar moved around the rear to stand behind him.  Both of them knew what an outsider, any outsider meant.  Especially an unattached, unauthorized outsider.  At this time of the blood fever, it was much better than large game.

And in a very real sense, that’s exactly what he was.

The Final Betrayal

My snippet this week is the last epic argument between Bruce and Jules, after he finds out that she’s been snooping in his memory box of Jeffrey–it’s been building for a long time, and now–510563362

“Yes, I was remembering Jeffrey and yes, I still love him, in case you’re wondering,” he said.  “I never stopped.”

He paused, determined to hurt her like she had him.

“I only married you because you looked like him. You were choice number two.”

The sudden slap of her open hand against his cheek startled Bruce, shocking him into silence. Vibrating with contained fury, tears stinging her eyes, she grabbed her phone, scrolling, hitting the number she was looking for.

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Crimson Christmas

Here’s a snippet from my WIP vampire tale, due out late next week 🙂 this is a part of Arthur’s backstory–from his days helping his father in their funeral home. It’s Arthur’s turn to stay with the body overnight–

“Who is our unwilling guest tonight, then?” he asked.

Father stopped in the midst of putting on his greatcoat.

“Do you remember Terrance Squiers?”

“He of the dazzling smile and flirty grin with all the ladies hanging on?”

“Yes, that one,” Father snorted. “It’s him. A housemaid found him unconscious outside their back door almost a week ago, minus his trousers. One can only imagine why,” he said with a huff. “They cared for him until he stopped breathing. The doctors had no clue what was wrong, there wasn’t anything visibly amiss except for a wound on his—private area, most likely from some sort of wild animal.” Arthur stared at his father.

“Wouldn’t he have had more extensive wounds?”

Father nodded, agreeing with Arthur.

“One would think so, but that was the only explanation offered; I don’t think the local tarts would have been so–enthusiastic. Old Mother Sellers, was ranting on about vampires because of the condition of the body, which was very lifelike, shouting to anyone who would listen, and she must have gotten through to the poor man’s mother, because I had a request to fill the casket with white roses.” He chuckled as he grabbed his hat and walking stick. “I can’t complain, it added to our already large fee, the burial outfit was very expensive as well, came from Piggott and Smythe.”

“Seems a shame to bury it, but at least he’ll enter the afterlife dressed well, eh, Father?”

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