Lexxie Couper's Blog, page 13

Sexiest Sex-Scene Championship. And You Get To Decide…

 

Head on over to Scorching Book Reviews (click on the link) now to play.

And…..GO!!

GUARDED DESIRES ~ Out Now!

Book Three of the Heart of Fame series, Guarded Desires is NOW AVAILABLE!

Yay! To say I’m excited is an understatement. I hope you all love it.

Heart of Fame, Book 3

Small-screen sex symbol Chris Huntley is on the fast track to becoming the next big action-blockbuster movie star. When his latest movie takes him to Australia for a red-carpet premiere, he thinks he’s ready for anything.

But nothing could have prepared him for his raw, carnal response to his Aussie bodyguard. Sexual attraction to a man is a first for Chris. Now he realizes why his relationships with women have never felt quite…complete.

Liev Reynolds is comfortable with his bisexuality, but his attraction to Chris is an inconvenience he must ignore. For starters, there’s his professional ethics. Then there’s the long trail of female broken hearts in Chris’s wake.

Hard as they both try to keep their minds on their jobs, desire and a little matchmaking tip them over the edge. But Hollywood endings aren’t real life. And when the truth leaks out, their careers aren’t the only collateral damage.

Product Warnings

A hunky Hollywood sex symbol. A smoldering, stubborn Australian. A desire so powerful it cannot be denied. A kiss. And a photograph. This isn’t your normal boy-meets-boy story.

EXCERPT

The squeals were deafening. The feverish fans pressed at his back in a wave of maniacal rapture. He pressed back, holding his right arm out to protect Chris as he maneuvered on the backseat.

The actor looked up at him, his grin bemused. Their eyes connected for a second, just a second, but what Liev saw in their light-blue depths stole his breath. Slammed into him with more force than the screaming crowd trying to mow over him in an effort to see and touch their idol.

Desire.

Chris Huntley looked at him with desire.

There was no denying it.

Jesus.

“Let’s go,” he said, forcing his voice to sound stern as he threw the crazed crowd a threatening glare.

Chris alighted from the SUV.

The crowd squealed again. Surged forward. Pressed against Liev’s back.

He braced against the pressure, curling his hand around Chris’s upper arm to support him.

Protect.

Touch him.

Hot energy shot down his arm. Into his chest. His soul.

He ground his teeth. Ignoring the disturbing reaction, he pulled Chris into his body, tucking him close to his side. The subtle scent of expensive aftershave threaded into his breath and, completely indifferent to the volatile moment, a tight lick of heat stole through his groin.

Clenching his jaw harder, he turned just enough to shield Chris from the crowd and began walking, parting the shoving fans with one arm.

They protested louder but scurried backward, enough for Liev to hurry Chris toward the entrance.

And then a stark white light flash right in front of Liev’s eyes.

He flinched, raising his hand to his face. Chris stumbled, his shoulder bumping into Liev’s armpit. The flash fired again and a man chuckled. “Nice.”

Liev caught the actor before he could trip again. But the action was enough for the crowd to sense weakness.

“Oh my God, I love you, Chris!” a female voice screeched at Liev’s right.

“I love you, Chris!” a new female voice squealed.

“I love you, Chris!” another woman cried.

“I love you, Chris!”

“Chris!”

“Chris! Chris!”

The horde erupted, pressing in with greedy excitement. Hands snatched out. Fingers scraped at Liev. Chris let out a shout.

With a snarl, Liev hauled the actor hard to his side and swung out his arm, his fist bunched.

People went tumbling, falling over each other. The flash fired again, joined by others.

Madness took over. Like a feeding frenzy, the mob attacked.

Liev didn’t let Chris go. Nor did he falter. Shoulder down, he barged forward.

He didn’t know where Bethany was. He couldn’t risk looking for her. She was smart. Smart enough to sense the crowd and not get out of the SUV. At least, he hoped to God that was the case. For now, all he could focus on was getting Chris off the street. Out of danger.

Away.

“Here!” a man shouted somewhere in front of him. “Mr. Reynolds, here!”

Liev flicked his attention upward, glaring at the screaming mob. Behind the wall of waving, grabbing people, a man in a suit pushed toward him. His face was red and covered in sweat, his hair disheveled. He grabbed at shoulders and clothes, yanking people out of his way, clearing a path for Liev and Chris. “This way,” he shouted.

Without hesitation, Liev tightened his grip on Chris and charged forward.

Hands and fingers raked over his back and arms and shoulders, but he didn’t slow. Behind him, growing louder every second, a police siren wailed over the noise.

“This way,” the man shouted, a second before Liev reached him.

He waved Liev and Chris through the open restaurant door, muttering something Liev didn’t hear.

For a split second, Liev dared to slow, to draw breath, and then the man behind him slammed into his back and he stumbled forward.

“Through the kitchen,” the man shouted, just as Liev watched the crowd surge through the door, even as the man tried to shut it. “To my office. Go!”

Without a word to Chris, Liev pulled him through the restaurant. Passed the gaping diners, passed the wait staff, through the kitchen with its busy cooks and into an office.

Releasing Chris, he spun around, slammed the door shut and rammed the locking bolt into place. “Damn,” he ground out, palms flat on the door. “That was insane.” He looked over his shoulder at the panting, gasping actor. His gut churned at the stunned shock on Chris’s face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Huntley. That was—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish.

Chris grabbed his shoulder, yanked it hard enough to jerk Liev around and kissed him.

Liev froze.

For a heartbeat.

And then he growled into Chris’s mouth, dug his fingers into the man’s biceps, spun him around and drove him backward. Pinned him to the door.

Their tongue battled in a fierce mating that sent shots of scalding need straight to Liev’s groin. Chris bit at his lip, sucked on it. He tore at Liev’s clothes, seeking the hem of his shirt.

Liev’s heart beat harder when Chris’s fingers found his flesh.

***

You can buy GUARDED DESIRES now from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Samhain and all good ebook resellers (click on the seller’s names to go straight there!)

Two Sexy Americans Give A Reading of One Sexy Aussie’s Book

Yeah yeah, I know, that’s a looooong title, but I wanted to grab your attention (and hey, I’ve lost over 17 kgs since January – that’s 37 lbs. I think I’m allowed to call myself sexy just this once, right?)

Anyways, the utterly lovely Kat from The Book Tart and the wickedly naughty Dawn from Day Dreaming Book Reviews decided one night to read a snippet from GUARDED DESIRES. They did this in bed, in their PJs and shared it with the world.

Now, I’m sharing it with you all. Cause it is AWESOME!!

Enjoy…

Click here to view the embedded video.

Guarded Desires is available next week. You can nab it now on pre-order at Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Samhain (click on the seller’s names to go straight there!)

 

Want to Read the First Chapter of GUARDED DESIRES?

Book Three of the Heart of Fame series, Guarded Desires, releases next week (16th). I can’t believe it’s almost here. I also can’t tell you how excited and nervous I am for this book to be free in the world. If you don’t know already, this is the very first male/male erotic romance I have written. I’m incredibly proud of it. (And holy smokes, look at that cover!!!)

So without any further carry-on, here’s the entire first chapter for your reading pleasure. I hope you enjoy it. (Oh, and there’s a contest at the bottom *grin*)

CHAPTER ONE

Chris Huntley’s reaction to the tall man in the dark sunglasses scared the shit out of him.

Standing on the balcony of the harbour-side mansion the studio had rented for this trip, Chris watched the imposing Australian stride along the mansion’s private jetty away from the yacht that had delivered him. Faded blue-denim jeans barely contained thighs that were long and muscular. A broad, sculpted chest and powerful shoulders strained against a snug white T-shirt, as did biceps that spoke of impressive strength.

Aslin had said the guy was built, but damn, he hadn’t mentioned like a goddamn wrestler.

Liev Reynolds moved with the confidence and potency of a man threatened by nothing. Chris knew the attitude well. Aslin Rhodes, his brother-in-law, moved the same way. A menacing calm that said loud and clear you would get hurt and hurt badly if you tried to mess with him. Chris had always assumed it came from being an ex-soldier, but as he watched the Australian approach the mansion, he knew it had nothing to do with military training. For starters, Liev Reynolds had no military background at all.

Chris gripped the stainless-steel balcony railing harder.

His entire life, he’d cast himself in the role of sexy, funny ladies’ man. His reputation—hell, his career—was built around that role. The guy that made women laugh with his sharp wit even as he made them want to strip off their clothes and beg him to have sex with them. Just about every time he left the comfort of his home in Beverly Hills and went out in public without Aslin and his sister, more than one woman would do that very thing.

He’d made millions of dollars thanks to his sex appeal. The studio that produced his sitcom milked his sex appeal for every advertising penny. The studio of his first action film had capitalized on it in their pre and post-release marketing. The critics of the film had noted it. The pre-production media buzz of his next film, a comedy horror, was already talking about.

He was, for want of a better word, a mega sex symbol. Up there with the best of them, with the sexiest men alive. Linked to almost every delectable woman the gossip mags and celebrity sites could name. If there was a single, sensual, eligible actress out there, Chris had apparently slept with her.

He didn’t fight the reputation. In fact, he welcomed it. True, he didn’t have a girlfriend. Nor even a steady fuck-buddy, but when it came to the media important facts didn’t matter.

Chris could live with that. He’d learned to live with it. It was part of his life now. He was a sex symbol, women wanted to sleep with him and he slept with women. That was the way it was.

Which explained why he was petrified watching the Australian bodyguard his brother-in-law had arranged to protect him while back in Oz draw closer. Because he’d never ever had his dick harden at the sight of a man. Harden, for fuck’s sake.

His gut churned. A vise-like invisible band wrapped his chest. His breath grew shallow. Rapid.

With every step Reynolds took closer to the mansion, an unmistakable tension stirred in Chris’s cock.

The kind Chris only experienced in the presence of a beautiful woman.

What the fuck?

Since when was he attracted to men?

Since never, that’s when.

He stared hard at the Australian, his heart beat a rapid trip-hammer. It had to be something else. Something not Liev Reynolds.

Chris searched his brain, trying to remember what he’d been thinking about before the privately chartered motor yacht had delivered Reynolds to the mansion.

Bethany. Asleep on your shoulder. Her hair tickling your face.

Chris snapped straight, clicking his fingers. “That was it,” he muttered. He’d been thinking about the flight over and how his new personal assistant had fallen asleep on his shoulder. The first non-professional thing the young woman had done since his sister and Aslin employed her six months ago.

He’d been thinking how nice her hair had smelt, like coconut and some exotic flower. He’d been thinking about the warmth of her cheek seeping through the cotton of his shirt. He’d been thinking how disapproving his sister would be. How Rowan had been adamant his new P.A. stay as emotionally detached from him as possible.

He’d been thinking about how much fun he was going to have telling Rowie about the flight.

That had to be it. He was thinking about an attractive young woman now in his employ and his cock had taken the messages from his jet-lagged, sleep-deprived brain and mixed them up into something else. And those messages just happen to reach his cock when his gaze fell on Liev Reynolds climbing from the motor yacht.

Simple.

He chuckled out a shaky breath. Simple. Sort of. He didn’t think he was sexually attracted to his new P.A. Fuck, that would complicate things a tad, but he was sure as shit that was less complicated than being sexually attracted to the Australian bodyguard currently striding along the jetty. Being sexually attracted to a man would complicate the shit out of things. And confuse the shit out of Chris as well.

But he wasn’t. So there was nothing to worry about.

He gripped the balcony’s railing and dropped his stare to the man in question.

And bit back a groan as a thick spasm claimed his cock.

Chris’s mouth went dry. Jesus, what the hell was going on?

Think of Bethany. Think of Bethany.

Closing his eyes, he turned his thoughts to his P.A.

His cock didn’t spasm.

He opened his eyes and looked down at the Australian drawing even closer to the mansion.

His groin throbbed. His balls grew heavy.

Chris stepped back from the railing. He ground his teeth. Bunched his fists. Fuck.

Looking down at his crotch, he choked back another groan.

In a few minutes time, he was meant to be discussing with Liev Reynolds the expectations of being his bodyguard during the Dead Even press junket in Australia. How the hell was he to do that with the goddamn obvious makings of a goddamn erection?

Exhaling a slow breath through his nostrils, he slumped against the railing and watched Reynolds disappear from his line of sight beneath the balcony’s overhang.

Fuck. Maybe he should reschedule the meeting? Maybe he should have a shower and fix the unsettling erection with his hand? Maybe he should ask Bethany to join him, just to be sure that’s what the stupid erection was all about in the first place?

Maybe he should—

The soft chime of the mansion’s doorbell ended the unnerving question. He jerked around, his heart slamming fast into his throat.

A petite young woman with wild strawberry-blonde ringlets tumbling about her freckle-dusted face looked up from where she sat on a leather sofa situated in the middle of the living area. “I think Mr. Reynolds is here, Mr. Huntley. Shall I let him in?”

Chris drew in a slow breath, forcing his heart rate to slow as he counted to ten. It was a meditation technique Aslin had encouraged him to use during the filming of Dead Even, the action blockbuster on which he’d met his brother-in-law, the very film he was back in Australia to promote with a press junket and red-carpet screening. He hadn’t needed to meditate since filming ended. His sitcom was on hiatus while he was in Australia and life was pretty damn stress free at the moment.

“Mr. Huntley?”

Chris flinched at Bethany’s voice. She was only six months in to the job and already better at it than his last personal assistant. She was proficient, friendly but detached and utterly professional. And so far it didn’t seem like she was planning to kill everyone important to him like the last nut job that had been his P.A.

He smiled at the young woman, letting the tension melt from his shoulders. “Sorry, Bethany. I was wool gathering. Let him in please.”

Bethany Sloan smiled back and nodded, rising to her feet as she did so. “As you wish, sir.”

She placed the iPad on which she’d been busy arranging his schedule for the next seven days onto the coffee table in front of the sofa. Straightening the simple linen pantsuit she wore with an efficient brush of her palms, she walked from the room.

Chris watched her go. Efficient, affable and professional. Not ditzy or quirky or a closet psycho. Selected by his sister and Aslin for those specific attributes, along with the fact her security background check was spotless.

When it came to looking out for Chris’s wellbeing, his sister was thorough.

Letting out a sigh, he turned back to the stunning view of the harbour and gripped the stainless steel rail.

It made sense the arriving Australian bodyguard wasn’t responsible for his unexpected arousal. He was jet-lagged. He’d only arrived in the country three hours ago, and the flight attendant in the first-class section on the flight over had flirted with him the whole fourteen hours, even while Bethany slept on his shoulder, enamored enough with Chris to suggest—in a not-so subtle way—a threesome. Perhaps his arousal was a delayed reaction to that? He’d never had sex with two women at once. Maybe after Reynolds left he’d ask Bethany to locate the flight attendant, invite her to the mansion and suggest she bring a friend.

A wry snort sounded in the back of his throat at the thought of asking Bethany to do such a thing. His off-handed suggestion they both have a glass of wine when first arriving at their new home for the next seven days had been met with a frown and disapproval.

Come to think of it, the more he thought about Bethany the more he realised his hard-on—now currently deflating, thank fucking God—had to be a sleep-deprived reaction to her untamed hair, her freckles, her super efficiency and her complete and utter lack of adoration toward him.

Yeah, that had to be it. He was used to women of all ages throwing themselves at him, flirting with him. It stood to reason he’d be turned on by one that didn’t, right? He’d also found a challenge appealing, hence his move from award-winning sitcom star to action-film movie star. His agent hadn’t approved of the move, nor had his manager. The only one that had thought that particular challenge a good idea was his sister, and Rowan was currently on the other side of the world about to give birth, Aslin no doubt hovering over her like the proud, protective British mountain of muscle soon-to-be father he was.

If only Rowan and Aslin knew what they’d done by employing Bethany. Chris’s stupefying physical reaction to the sight of Liev Reynolds striding along the jetty had nothing to do with the man and everything to do with the young woman’s complete lack of interest in—

“Mr. Huntley?” Bethany’s clipped voice with its New York accent sounded behind him, and he started. “Mr. Reynolds is ready for you.”

For some stupid reason, Chris’s heart smashed up into his throat again.

With one final look at the sweeping harbour view before him, he sucked in a deep breath and turned to face his P.A. and the Australian bodyguard recommended to him by his brother-in-law.

He had to bite back a soft groan when his gaze fell on the man.

There were a lot of similarities in Liev Reynolds’s physique to Aslin Rhodes. Both were tall, menacing and powerfully built. However, that was where the similarities ended. For starters, Chris didn’t get a wholly disturbing stirring in his groin when he’d first met the Brit who eventually married his sister.

Reynolds was taller than he’d appeared from a distance. Taller. Broader. Stronger. Laugh lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes, eyes a brilliant blue and framed by thick dark-blond lashes. His square jaw was clean shaven, his neck a muscular column, his shoulders wide. Under the snug white T-shirt, his chest was well sculpted and muscular. As were his deltoids, biceps and triceps. A six-pack set of abs was hinted at in the shadows of the white cotton. His hips were low and narrow, and faded blue jeans did, in fact, hug thighs that were muscular and corded, just as Chris had suspected from his first view of the man. Liev Reynolds was, to put it bluntly, the epitome of male potency.

Chris’s stomach lurched.

Jesus, what was going on with him?

The Australian bodyguard took a step forward and extended his hand. “G’day, Mr. Huntley. Liev Reynolds.”

Chris looked at the offered greeting, one socially accepted between men throughout the western world. His mouth grew dry.

The Australian chuckled. “I’m not into fist bumps. Sorry.”

Chris blinked, the realization he hadn’t shaken Reynolds’s hand hitting him with sinking horror. “Sorry,” he blurted, snatching the man’s hand just as Reynolds was retracting it. Hot licks of tension shot through him at the hasty contact, spearing into his groin. His cock throbbed. “Sorry,” he repeated, ignoring the unnerving sensation as he shook Reynolds’s hand with an up-and-down motion he knew was borderline frantic. “I’m jet-lagged.”

Beside the Australian, Bethany raised one straight red eyebrow.

Reynolds laughed, returning Chris’s shake with a firm, steady grip. “No worries, mate. I can only imagine what it’s like flying halfway ’round the world. Rhodes told me to go easy on you.”

Chris’s gut clenched. He gazed up at the taller man, wishing to fuck Aslin was here right now so Chris could beat the shit out of him.

Goddamn it, thanks to the Brit, he was about to spend the next seven days in the constant company of a sexy woman who wasn’t interested in him and a…a…fuck, there was no other way to describe Liev Reynolds but sexy as well.

Sexy.

Jesus, what the hell was going on?

***

So what did you think? Now, CONTEST TIME!! Leave a comment below about the chapter and in 24 hours I’ll draw one lucky person’s name. That person will win an e-copy of Book One and Two of the Heart of Fame series, Love’s Rhythm and Muscle for Hire.

You can pre-order Guarded Desires at Amazon Kindle, Barnes and Noble NOOK andSamhain Publishing (just click on the sellers’ names to go directly there)

The Australian Romance Month at Booktopia

This month, Australian online bookstore, Booktopia will be showcasing the very best of Australian romance. And guess what? I’m a part of it. Can you believe it? Yay! I’m a bit chuffed (actually, that’s an understatement. I’m really really excited). Every week, an Aussie author will step up to the cyber mic and answer the hard-hitting questions (look out for my answer about dinner with William Shakespeare. Hee hee hee).

There’s also competitions to win great books running all month and if you buy a book from an Aussie romance author (errr, may I suggest me?) you automatically go into the draw to win a fabulous book pack. ‘Nother yay!!

Just click on the banner below to head on over to Booktopia’s info page for all the details on the showcase.

Ready to Smolder With the NEW International Heat?

Get your passport for romance! Join us on a sensual adventure!

International Heat has a new look and a new site. And to celebrate, we’re running a Passport to Red Hot Romance contest! I hope you’ll pop over to check it out! Me and Lila Dubois are organizing the kick-off, so you know comedy will ensue! (Lila is the funny one, of course. I’m the serious straight man. Honest *grin*)

In the coming months, there will be lots happening at IntlHeat including very exciting guest bloggers, awesome contests, RED HOT releases, a newsletter, Twitter and Facebook fun and much, much more! Be sure to subscribe to the site to receive emails because (like Aerosmith) you won’t want to miss a thing.

Click here to view the embedded video.

 

(Pssst. By the way, guess who designed the logo? ME!! How bout that, eh? Glad to see all those years of art school finally paid off *grin*)

COVER REVEAL: Deadly Pleasure and Captured Raputure

Guess what I found in my inbox this morning? The covers to my next two Mercy books. Check ‘em out. Aren’t they gorgeous!!

As soon as I have blurbs and release dates to share I’ll let you know, but for now, just gaze upon the awesomeness of these two covers…

*sigh*

So so lovely…

A Totally Random Snippet from My Current Work-In-Progress

This is a completely unedited, random snippet from Blame it on the Bass, my current WIP (and Book Six of the Heart of Fame series). Just thought I’d share

Enjoy…

Sonja huffed an angry breath at the tangled mess of her hair hanging in her eyes.

Push-ups. She was resorting to push-ups. Push-ups at six-am in the bloody morning. Bloody hell, surely a vibrator would be better?

Blowing at her hair again, she lowered her body—balanced stiff like a plank on her toes and palms—to the floor. The muscles of her arms and shoulders burned. Which wasn’t surprising, given she was about to count off fifty.

Fifty punishing push-ups designed to get Levi bloody Levistan out of her head.

It didn’t help every time she lowered her stiff, sweaty, hot body to the ground her nipples brushed the cool granite flooring of her living room.

The fact she was doing push-ups—fifty-one now—stark naked also contributed to her flustered state. It meant every time her nipples did kiss the floor, even for the micro-second she quivered an inch above it before straightening her arms again, her hot flesh came into direct contact with the cold stone, sending licks of depraved pleasure through her. Depraved licks of pleasure that headed without delay to the junction of her thighs.

In other words, she was doing push-ups to try and stop being horny over her old gay boyfriend, and was getting hornier with every push-up she did.

“Fuck this,” she snarled, bringing her knees up to her belly and propelling herself to her feet in a wonky burpee. Raking her hair from her face with a frustrated swipe, she stormed into the kitchen.

She was meant to be at work in an hour. Work. Like she was in any state to go to work and deal with her boss and his sexual innuendoes. Ha! After spending the night either wide awake and thinking things she shouldn’t about her gay ex-boyfriend, or fitfully asleep and dreaming debauched dreams involving her gay ex-boyfriend, his too-damn-sexy American boyfriend and herself, the last thing she needed was to go into work and read submission after submission from the slush pile, which was what she had to do today.

Being an editor at an erotic romance publisher was all very well and good, until you found yourself tormented by thoroughly erotic and disturbing dreams and fantasies, and then there/their/they’re and split-bloody-infinitives became less important than how quickly you could lock your office door and ride your hand to a climax.

It wasn’t often Sonja found herself turned on at work—thank God, given her boss’s habit of checking out her boobs every time he was near her—but after the dreams she’d had last night, reading erotic romance was going to push her to that very state.

***

There you go. A totally random share.

Lexx

 

The Entire First Chapter of Mercy: Highest Bidder

Tomorrow, Highest Bidder, the first book in my erotic sci-fi series, Mercy, releases at Ellora’s Cave. I love writing erotic sci-fi romance. Love it. It’s been awhile since I did (*sniff*) but this series is so damn fun to write, I think I will keep going back to it over and over again.

 

Today, I thought I’d whet your appetites with the first chapter. The ENTIRE first chapter. Now there’s a prologue before this, but I’m keeping that a secret. Hee hee hee.

You can head on over to Ellora’s Cave to more details (click HERE). I’ll update links for other resellers as soon as I get them

Enjoy.

(In the interest of full disclosure, Mercy started life with a different publisher back in 2009, but Highest Bidder (and the next two books to follow, Deadly Pleasures and Captured Rapture) have had MAJOR and significant re-writes and holy moley, I love it even more.)

 

Chapter One

Ezilia

Galactic Union Calendar 210

 

Dreylan Tarq was two steps into The Puckered Tip when someone tried to kill him.

The blade sliced through the space just to the right of his head, so close he felt the dank air ripple in its path. Growling silently, he snatched the short, lethally sharp blade from the air and sent it back through the sex club’s heady artificial environment with just a flick of his wrist.

Straight into the ridged forehead of the Prijchan who’d thrown it.

The Prijchan’s eyes widened, and then an ear-splitting squeal silenced the raucous club. The crowd reeled as one, seconds before the hulking blue-skinned Prijchan fell flat on his back to the filthy floor with a ground-shuddering thud, black hilt jutting from between his bulging eyes.

Dreylan turned away from the jerking form, casting an almost bored look over the gaping, silent partiers. “Anyone else want a go?” No one said a word. Or dared draw a breath. “Good.” He nodded. “’Cause I’m thirsty.”

He continued to make his way to The Puckered Tip’s bar, ignoring the gawking patrons as they parted before him.

Resting his elbows on the bar, Dreylan studied the rows of bottles and decanters lining the wall before him. Not one bottle of Ozio to be seen. He let out a dramatic sigh and shook his head. Little remained of Ezilia from before the violent interplanetary wars that gave birth to the Galactic Union, and what did was often putrid, mutated and diseased. A few cases of Ozio, however, had survived the GU’s swift and draconian “cleansing of moral decay and filth”. If a man were lucky, he could find a bar that had a bottle and indulge. After coughing up an obscene number of credits, that is.

Dreylan had the credits but it seemed he didn’t have the luck. Not today at least. “H-Two,” he ordered, flicking the barkeep a quick look. Behind him, the crowd had begun to move. To whisper.

Hearing his name in the hushed murmurs, Dreylan rolled his eyes. Gods, couldn’t he go anywhere without being recognized?

The bartender returned, trying not to stare as he placed a filthy glass on the counter. Dreylan looked at the murky, crap-brown liquid. “What the hell is this?”

The Myxmak swallowed, all four of his eyes blinking rapidly. “H-Two, s-sir. I mean Sir Tarq. I mean—”

Dreylan shook his head. “Get outta here,” he snarled, waving the quivering bartender away. Picking up the glass, he studied the contents through its grimy sides. No Ozio. No H-Two. So much for quenching his thirst. The Puckered Tip had not impressed him so far.

Returning the glass to the counter, Dreylan counted to five.

Then pulled his disruptor on the fat Terran suddenly joining him at the bar. “Hello, peace-keeper.” He leveled the gun at the man’s flabby gut. “What do you want?”

The Terran grinned. “Long time no see, Tarq. I see you took care of Blegd.”

Dreylan cast a look at the motionless Prijchan, still sprawled on the floor. Someone, he noted with a smirk, had pulled the bounty hunter’s blade from his forehead. Someone else had balanced a glass of what looked like Itillian ale over the spot where the wound would be. “These dolts get slower and more stupid every cycle.” He turned back to the bar, re-holstered the disrupter and picked up his glass. “Seriously, Mak, what idiot paid that fool to bring me in?”

Mak Wylsen chuckled, his enormous gut wobbling. “That idiot would be me, Tarq.” He slid his own weapon from its harness and placed it on the counter facing Dreylan. “He wasn’t supposed to stick you, of course, but I guess you get what you pay for. Hate to do this to you, good buddy, but by order of the Galactic Union, you’re under arrest.”

Dreylan glanced down at the peace-keeper’s neutralizer, shaking his head in disgusted contempt. “Are you sure you want to do this, Mak?”

“Not at all.” Mak pulled an apologetic face, but the gun didn’t move. “But ever since my partner got himself kicked off the force, I’ve been doing all sorts of things I don’t want to do.”

Dreylan’s grip on the filthy glass tightened and a surge of anger rolled through his chest. “I wasn’t kicked off, Mak. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know that, but anyone who wants to keep their nuts attached says otherwise.” Mak adjusted himself on the barstool, a look of guilt flashing across his fleshy face as his hand moved to his gun again. “I’m a bit fond of my balls, Tarq. I plan to keep them a few years longer, no matter how much of a fuckwit my boss is. Or how good a partner you were.”

“Which is why you’re doing exactly what the premier orders, huh?” Dreylan studied the murky liquid in his glass. “No matter how stupid…or dangerous.”

Mak had the decency to look uncomfortable. “Are you coming in on your own or do I need to restrain you?”

Still studying the cloudy glass of H-Two, Dreylan cocked an eyebrow, a knot of dark anticipation squirming in his chest. “I think I can come in on my own. I’ve been wanting to have a word with Premier Ipari for quite some time now.”

Mak shot him a disgusted look. “I’m not taking you in so you can break the premier’s nose, Tarq.”

A grin stretched Dreylan’s mouth. “I wasn’t planning on breaking his nose, Mak. I’ve already done that, remember?”

Mak raised his pistol from the bar and jabbed it at Dreylan’s shoulder. “Listen, you go in there with Aimyl on your mind and you’re asking to be shot. You may have escaped with your life the last time you and Ipari met but he’s not going to put up with any shit now.” The barrel of Mak’s pistol tapped once against Dreylan’s chest. “You start trouble,” Mak went on with a serious expression, “and I won’t protect your sorry ass.”

Hot anger scorched Dreylan’s veins as he gave his ex-partner a flat glare. “Aimyl hasn’t been in my head since she walked out of our house, Mak,” he growled. And it was the truth. His wife hadn’t entered his mind since she’d left him for that conniving, power-hungry fuck Pretorik Ipari seven cycles ago. He hadn’t given her a second thought.

Pain—tight and bitter—squeezed at his heart.

Really?

Yes. Really. Maybe. Okay, fine. The absolute last time he’d thought of his deceiving, traitorous wife was when he’d identified her body at the morgue. After the Mentuan slavers had—

A sharp crack cut through the macabre thought and Dreylan looked down at his suddenly wet hand, watching a stream of bright red blood mingle with the spilled fluid from the shattered glass in his clenched fist.

Mak snorted, re-holstered his gun and pushed his sizeable frame from the stool. “Yeah, you’re Mr. Cool-and-Detached. I can see that.”

Dreylan stared at his blood as it seeped from the jagged gash in his palm. There should have been be pain but there wasn’t. The moment his wife had left him, Dreylan had begun to detach from his emotions.

The moment the Mentuan slavers highjacked the shuttle transporting Aimyl to her new life and lover—a mere three hours into the journey—and slaughtered everyone aboard, Dreylan Tarq, once the highest decorated peace-keeper in the GU, had lost the ability to feel pain.

To feel anything.

Premier Pretorik Ipari was responsible for that.

It was time for the treacherous bastard to make amends.

* * * * *

The manacles dug into her flesh.

Naya looked down at her hands, causing her long hair to slide over her bare shoulders in a feathery caress. The bronze powder dusting her body clung to the fine strands, turning the tips into a burnished copper curtain that brushed against the thick gray manacles around her wrists. The ship’s harsh light glinted off the polished steel, highlighting her situation better than words ever could. Gods, what was going to happen to her?

“So, Terran,” a guttural voice growled in front of her. “What would you like to do?”

Naya raised her head, glaring at the hulking Mentuan standing before her. “Slit your throat.”

His red gaze roamed over her, a leering grin slowly stretching his mouth. “Mmm. A little rougher than I’d expected for a riephia. Perhaps you’re not as pure as they say.”

Naya lifted her chin. She was petrified, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him know that. “I’m more pure than you could imagine, slaver, but just because I’m a riephia doesn’t mean I don’t know how to fight.”

The Mentuan slave master took a step closer, his breath hot on her face. “I’ve been watching you, Naya. And you’re right. You do know how to fight. Hence the manacles.”

He threaded his fingers through her hair, inspecting the dark-brown strands with a critical eye. A grin played with his mouth and he returned his attention to her face. “Those cockless fucks who were guarding you all this time thought they’d kept your existence from us, but they were wrong. Empathic mesomorphs aren’t exactly commonplace in the universe. When your people discovered your existence, the heavens shook with their excitement. New Earth’s one and only chance for salvation, to buy a place in the oh so duplicitous Galactic Union, born to two worthless humans. A savior and sex slave in one innocent package. The contradiction is quite delicious, isn’t it?”

His hand snaked out and slid over Naya’s right breast. She gasped, repulsed fury pouring through her. “Get your hands off me!”

The slave master’s stare rose to her face, evil delight igniting his eyes. “I don’t think so. Not yet, at least.” He squeezed her breast again, pinching her nipple between his fingers.

Another surge of raw hatred tore through Naya and she thrashed in her restraints, glaring at the Mentuan.

“Oh, you are going to make me a shitload of credits,” he murmured, pressing his body to hers. “An untouched riephia with the spirit of a viper. What other sins does that delectable body of yours hold?”

“My future husband will pay good money for my return.”

“True,” the Mentuan agreed. “But not as much as I’ll make selling you at the Port Mercy Slave Market.”

Naya clenched her jaw, refusing to break his stare despite the icy fear rippling through her veins. Spaceport Mercy? Gods, wasn’t that on the edge of the universe? “Since you know everything about me,” she replied, “you also know who my future husband is.” She swallowed down a sudden lump of distaste. “If you don’t return me to Earth, he’ll bring the full force of the Galactic Union’s peace-keepers down on you.”

“The peace-keepers don’t concern me, and neither does your husband.” The Mentuan trailed his fingers over her breasts in slow circles. “I am Taipyr, captain and master of the slave ship Control. I am outside Union law. The GU cannot touch me.”

“Bastard.” Naya hissed, fury exploding in her chest. She lashed out again, her shackled wrists snapping to an abrupt halt inches from Taipyr’s smirking face. Sharp pain tore through her shoulders and she cried out in frustration and dismay.

“Spirit.” He nodded, lips curling away from jagged yellow teeth. “The spirit of a warrior queen and the body of a Slessorian concubine. Gods, I could fuck you myself here and now.”

Revulsion filled Naya but she held Taipyr’s leer. “You know what happens if I have sex with someone, slaver? I change. My psyche transforms until I’m emotionally, mentally and psychologically what a man wants in his perfect mate. My soul bonds to their soul—and theirs alone. Forever.” She glared at him, desperate to hide her fear. “I’m worthless to you once that happens.”

The Mentuan chuckled again. “Now, now, Naya. Do you question my intelligence? The second I learned of your existence, I researched everything ever recorded or known about your kind. Do you know what I found the most interesting?”

He paused as if allowing her to answer, his fingers working down her belly to splay over the curve of her sex. She stared at him, unable to respond.

“Not that the riephia mutation gene manifests only once every five hundred years…not that it only presents itself in human females. No. What I found most interesting was the fact that only penile penetration will trigger the empathic transformation. That means I can fuck you with anything I want. My fingers, my tongue, the hilt of my whip—anything that will fit inside your tight cunt—and you won’t change. I could sell you battered and bleeding and you would still be worth money to the right buyer. Without a cock to take you, you’re still a riephia waiting to transform, yes?”

Fresh terror erupted in Naya. Icy cold and consuming. He was correct. She was at his depraved mercy. He could do whatever he wanted, violate her in a hundred ways, as long as he didn’t penetrate her body with his penis.

Her stomach churned. Her mouth went dry.

She stared at him, determined not to show anything but strength. “Fine. Do your worst, but I want you to count the money you’re fucking away as you do. I may not be totally worthless when no longer a sexual virgin, but I am…how did you put it? Worth a shitload of credits as an ‘untouched’ riephia.”

Taipyr smiled, the expression hideous and chilling. “The body of a Slessorian, the spirit of a viper and the brains of a master merchant.” He chuckled, sliding his hands back up to her breasts. “The monks really did prepare you well for your future husband.” With one final flick at her nipples, he took a step back, studying her with a gaze that made her flesh crawl. “What a shame he will never get the chance to enjoy you.”

He crossed the room without another word, taking up watch against the opposite wall.

She closed her eyes, forcing her heart to return to its normal pace. Gods, what was she going to do? What could she do? He’d left her untouched, but who knew what the slaver would do the next time he entered the room.

She’d led a sheltered life. Growing up in the Temple of the Gods, spending every day being prepared to be the perfect wife by eunuchs who both revered and reviled her. Through no fault or plan of her own, she was a creature born to a sexual destiny, raised by men who chose to destroy their sexual ability.

And despite being unspoiled, she knew what sex was. Oh yes…

Since reaching adolescence, she’d dreamed every night of a man who introduced her to a rapturous bliss she couldn’t fathom but hungered for nonetheless. A man with smoldering eyes who entered her dreams and made her scream and cry with pleasure by just the touch of his hands and mouth and tongue.

Yes, she knew what sex was. And she had no illusions—what the Mentuan slaver might do to her would not be sex. Not even close.

Don’t think about it, Naya.

She forced her body to relax. Focusing on negative possibilities wouldn’t achieve anything.

Relax. Compose. Control…

The mantra from her lonely childhood wafted through her turbulent mind and she felt her muscles begin to loosen. Relax. Compose. Control…

She sank to the floor, heavy waves of numbness rolling over her. Relax. Compose. Control…

Her heart slowed.

Her breaths grew even.

Relax. Compose. Control…

Her head drooped forward and…

Warm hands smooth up her back, heating her chilled flesh with slow, gentle care. She shifts, moving her head a little. The hands find their way to her shoulders, massaging the knots of muscles there before skimming up the curve of her neck and tangling in her hair.

She sighs.

A low hum sounds on the edge of the darkness, soft and constant.

Fingers tug gently on her thick tresses, and she shifts again, letting her head loll forward. Warm lips find her neck, charting a slow path up to the sensitive dip at the base of her skull. She shivers, the action pinching her nipples into rock-hard tips of wanting flesh. She skims her fingers over them, shuddering at the jolts of tension charging through her at the slight contact. Immediately the lips on her neck join her fingers, nibbling and playing not only with her nipples but the entire swell of each breast. First one, then the other. He eases her onto her back and then teeth join the exploration, teeth and a tongue, wet and hot.

Naya moans, the sound like a siren’s call in the silence of the night. The mouth on her body pauses before slipping down to her navel, mapping the curve of her rib cage, the flatness of her belly, as it goes.

Outside, in the black nothingness, the low hum grows louder.

She sucks in a swift breath, knowing her lover will not stop at her navel. He never does. Her sex grows wet and heavy with anticipation and she lifts her hips, eager for his mouth to find her swollen pussy lips.

He raises his head and looks at her with piercing blue eyes. Eyes the color of an ancient Terran glacier. But it is fire that burns in their depths, desire. He smiles, a grin that shouts his intention seconds before he slides his hands up her thighs and dips his fingers into her cunt.

She arches, her cry echoing in the silence.

Yet even her cry is soft compared to the hum. The hum growing louder. Louder…

Her lover plunges his fingers in deeper, wriggling them, twisting. He strokes the sweet spot within the wet walls of her sex and Naya gasps, but all she hears is the hum.

A thumb finds her clit, rolling over it, teasing. Liquid tension claims the lower half of her body, setting it afire. The soles of her feet tingle. Her sex constricts, a wicked spasm that makes her heart race and her mouth go dry. She grinds her cunt to her lover’s hand, staring into his oh so blue eyes. Something is happening. A wave of exquisite torment is building within her core. She can barely breathe. Gods, what’s happening to her?

Her lover’s lips move, but his words are lost to the hum—now a roar. Mechanical. Powerful. Frightening. He smiles, teeth flashing, before slowly lowering his head to the junction of her thighs. His tongue licks the outer edges of her damp folds and she shudders, another cry escaping.

The hum devours it. The humming sound of the engine devours everything.

Except her.

Her lover devours her. His tongue on her sex, in her sex, lapping and licking and laving.

The wave rolls through every inch of her body. She opens her mouth to beg her lover to take her, claim her.

The thrumming engine steals her plea, but he hears her all the same.

He rises from between her legs, looms over her, his cock long and thick and dripping with pre-cum. Desire glows in his eyes. He spreads her legs wider, teasing her clit with his thumb, spreading her creamy juices over her sex. Readying her to be filled.

He aligns his rigid shaft to her weeping sex. He opens his mouth and all she hears is the growing roar, the humming roar, the inescapable roar of the ship’s engines.

Naya jerked awake, both fear and pleasure assaulting her flushed body.

She looked up at her wrists, the consuming warmth of the all too familiar erotic dream shattered by the sight of the metal bindings still keeping her on her feet. Still keeping her imprisoned.

She bit back a sob. She wasn’t writhing in ecstasy. Wasn’t in her dream lover’s arms. She was still aboard the slave ship.

“Interesting dream, riephia?” a voice growled. “Care to share?”

Naya started, fury hot in her veins. She raised her head, glaring at the hulking Mentuan watching her from the far wall. “Release me, Taipyr, and I’ll show you what a nightmare feels like.”

The Mentuan chuckled. “I have to admit, I’m tempted. The battle alone would be worth the scars I’m sure you’d cause.”

Incensed rage rolled through Naya but she held Taipyr’s stare. “I would rip your throat out before you had the chance to touch me again.”

Taipyr laughed. “Maybe,” he murmured. “But what a way to die.” He crossed to the door, his footfalls thumping on the metal floor like the beat of a death knell. The door slid open and he turned, casting her a malicious glare. “We dock at Port Mercy in five clicks. I’d say get ready, but trust me, nothing could possibly ready you for what awaits.”

***

Soooo, what do we think?

Mercy: Highest Bidder (Ellora’s Cave)

“This is not Los Angeles!” The Kiss from In and Out

I love this movie. I love how funny it is, how it handles the discovery of Mr. Brackett’s homosexuality, how it deals with the fall-out of his announcement, and I love Tom Selleck without a moustache (which I never thought I would).

Now here’s the kiss (look at the stunned confusion and ultimate surrender of Kevin Kline’s Mr. Brackett!)

Click here to view the embedded video.

Thoughts?

Now, here’s a snippet from Guarded Desires where Chris (my American Hollywood actor) fights a similar situation…in this case, it’s his subconscious desire to check out Liev Reynolds’ “package”

“I’m hanging up now,” Aslin said “Just wanted to let you know what we did.” Once again, Chris couldn’t help but smile at the pride in his taciturn brother-in-law’s voice.

“You did very well, Rhodes,” Chris replied. “Very well indeed. Give my sister a hug for me.”

“I will. Oh, before I go, how is Reynolds going for you?”

Bam. Just like that, Chris’s gut clenched. His heart jumped into his throat. His breath joined it. “Good,” he answered, squeezing his eyes shut—a stupid move, given that the second he did an image of Reynolds popped into his head.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Good? What’s going on, Chris?”

Chris shook his head. Another stupid move, given Aslin was on the other side of the world. “Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He pulled a face, scraping the fingers of his free hand through his hair. “You’re starting to sound like Rowie.”

“No, I sound like a suspicious sod, which I am. Tell me what good means?”

For a crushing second, Chris contemplated telling his brother-in-law what was going on. He trusted Aslin with his life. The Brit was the most honest, real person Chris knew. The words were there, on his tongue. And then he swallowed them. Forced them down.

Aslin was real and honest, but he was also more a…a…man than any other Chris knew. How would his British ex-SAS commando-cum-bodyguard-cum-brother-in-law react to the possibility Chris found one of his colleagues arousing?

How would Rowie deal with it?

Jesus, how was he dealing with it?

“Good means we’re still figuring each other out,” Chris finally answered, opening his eyes to stare with blank focus into the living area. Movement inside told him Bethany had finished with the platter creation in the kitchen. There was still no sight of Reynolds.

“Do you not feel safe?”

Aslin’s blunt question made Chris groan. Safe? No, he didn’t feel safe. Not from his body’s response to the guy.

Goddamn it, where was his psycho ex-personal assistant when he needed her? At least all Tilly had attempted to do was kill everyone who tried get in her way of looking after him. That was a cakewalk compared to this.

With a snort, he raked at his hair again. “I feel safe. Just getting used to the accent. It’s only been half a day. Ask me tomorrow.”

He could almost see Aslin digesting his words. If Rhodes decided there was an issue, Chris had no doubt Liev Reynolds would be replaced immediately. Aslin may be on the other side of the world, but he still protected Chris no matter what.

Did Chris want Reynolds gone? That would solve one problem, wouldn’t it?

Without Liev Reynolds around, Chris could go back to his simple life, right?

“Do you want me to find a different guard, Chris?”

Chris pulled a face at Aslin’s astute perception. He thought about the man in the shower causing him so much grief, the man who was going to be living under the same roof as him, shadowing him for the next seven days. “No,” he said. “It’s all good. Honest.” He forced a smile into his voice. “Now fuck off and go take care of my niece. And I’ve changed my mind on hugging Rowie. Punch her in the arm for me instead. I’m still wounded she didn’t insist on naming my niece Christine.”

“Never going to happen, squirt,” Rowan called out, the soft gurgles of a newborn babe’s cry punctuating her reply.

“Screw you, sis,” Chris said, hiding the lump in his throat with a choked chuckle. “Call me tomorrow, Aslin. Oh, and send more photos.”

He killed the connection before his brother-in-law could interrogate him more. Closing his eyes, he pulled in a slow breath and slid to the floor, leaning his back against the railing. Why had he said no? It had been a perfect opportunity to remove the Australian from his life. To remove the confusion before it became something…inconvenient.

“Like another fucking hard-on?” he muttered.

“You okay, mate?”

With a strangled yelp, Chris snapped open his eyes.

Reynolds stood before him. A curious frown furrowed his forehead.

Oh Christ, help me.

The man radiated confident strength, even with his dark blond hair a tousled mess of damp strands. A black polo shirt covered his torso, emphasizing his muscular frame with a subtle perfection Chris had never noticed on another man before. Black denim jeans hugged his long legs, and if it wasn’t for the fact Chris couldn’t stop his gaze lingering at the rather impressive bulge at Reynolds’s crotch, he would have made some wise-ass comment about the fact the bodyguard wasn’t wearing shoes.

But his gaze did linger on Reynolds’s groin. Long enough for the man to clear his throat.

Chris’s gut knotted. Heat flooded his face. Holy fuck. Holy fuck, he’d just been staring at another man’s package.

“Mr. Huntley?”

He jolted to his feet, unable to meet Reynolds’s eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t…geez, I…” Clearing his own throat, he scraped his hands through his hair and forced his stare to Liev’s. “I didn’t mean to, y’know…look…there. It was just at eye level.”

Reynolds’s laugh surprised him. “No worries, mate. I’m used to it.”

Chris raised his eyebrows. “You’re used to guys looking at your junk?”

“Well, when you put it like that, no. But I’ve been in the state firefighting charity calendar four years running. When you spend a month on someone’s wall dressed in nothing but a half-unzipped pair of loose work trousers you get used to being checked out. Especially when you make appearances at events to sell those calendars.”

The ball of tension in Chris’s gut didn’t loosen at Liev’s answer. It only made it worse. He’d known the man was a firefighter when he wasn’t working as a bodyguard, but now all Chris could do was picture him half-undressed, glistening with sweat, his hands wrapped around a freaking massive hose jutting out from the region of his groin. Subtlety, it seemed, was not one of Chris’s newly confused brain’s strong points.

Nor was remaining impassive to the thought of Liev. At least, Chris’s cock wasn’t remaining impassive. The stiffening heat in his trousers was enough to make him want to groan.

Damn it, he needed to get laid. By a woman. Fast.

“Want to hit a bar?” The question burst from him before he could stop it.

Liev narrowed his eyes.

Chris puffed out a ragged breath. “I’ve just become an uncle. I need to loosen up.”

A muscle in Liev’s jaw twitched. “Loosen up?”

“Ah, shit,” Chris held out a hand, “no drugs. Honest. My sister would kill me. Hell, Rhodes would kill me. No, I just need to blow off some tension. Do you know a place? Somewhere noisy?”

“I do.” Liev crossed his arms. “But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I took you there. Too accessible to the public. Too easy for you to be swarmed. And then Rhodes would kill me.”

“And I don’t want to lose my new bodyguard before I break him in, right?”

The quip was meant to be just that. A quip. It was what Chris did best—make jokes when things were tense. And things were tense. At least, for Chris they were. But Reynolds didn’t laugh.

He stood motionless, his blue stare holding Chris’s, his jaw clenched. “No. You don’t.”

A lump filled Chris’s throat. His breath choked him. He couldn’t move.

Every fibre in his body strained for the man in front of him. Every nerve-ending sparked with a carnal need he couldn’t understand. His palms itched. His mind told him exactly how smooth and perfect Liev’s muscled arms would feel to touch, how hard his chest would be, how sculpted his abs.

How thick and heavy Liev’s cock would feel in his hand.

Chris stared at him. Into his eyes. Eyes that only a short while ago where unknown to him.

Eyes that revealed nothing.

And yet, the tension hung on the air between them. Chris wasn’t completely naïve. He’d seduced his fair share of women. He knew exactly what sexual tension was. He mastered it on screen. He’d mastered it in the bedroom.

What this was, right now, was sexual tension. Real sexual tension. This was explosive. This was tearing him apart.

This was…this was…fuck, this couldn’t be.

It couldn’t—

***

What do you think? Or the kiss scene and/or the snippet?

Guarded Desires (Heart of Fame Book Three) (Samhain)

Guarded Desires (Heart of Fame Book Three) (Amazon)

Guarded Desires (Heart of Fame Book Three) (Nook)