Available today – Men of Tokyo: Sudden Heat!

Publisher: Total-E-Bound
eISBN: 978-1-907010-09-5
Genre: LGBT; Contemporary
Series: White Tigers #5
Release Date: March 30, 2009

Order Now as eBook at Total-E-Bound
A weekend of passionate sex with a master White Tiger changes the course of Hiru’s life forever…

Since an injury cut short his career as a champion martial artist, Hiru has lived a quiet dutiful life consumed mostly by his job and his ever-unsuccessful attempts to meet a woman. When his best friend and co-worker, Koji, finds love and happiness…with a man…and leaves the firm to pursue a new life, Hiru misses Koji so much he begins to suspect his difficulty with women is something other than he thought.

Maybe…just maybe…he wants men too? Well, there’s only one way to find out – stay at the White Tiger, Tokyo’s most luxurious love-hotel for gay men and be massaged, caressed and…more by Quan Chan, one of Koji’s incredibly handsome fellow White Tigers.

Quan Chan is still nursing a broken heart when he’s asked to attend to Koji’s friend Hiru. So he’s completely unprepared for his sudden intense attraction to Hiru’s boyish good looks and incredible brawny physique. Hiru is like a human supply of catnip to the White Tiger inside him. All Quan Chan wants to do is purr and rub up against the other man. In spite of the temptation that awaits him back in Shanghai, Quan Chan spends an incredible weekend with Hiru, an encounter that launches him into ecstasy for the first time in what feels like forever.

However, when circumstances force Quan Chan back to Shanghai without the promise of return, the connection between him and Hiru proves stronger than a simple weekend of pleasurable exploration and Quan Chan finds himself suspended between Hiru and Wu Li, the most alluring and sensuous young man in Shanghai, a Golden Dragon, said to launch a man into bliss by a mere glance.

Back in Tokyo, Hiru feels Quan Chan slipping away from him. All he can do is follow his heart and hope it’s not too late…

Funny and cool incident with a book

Finally after a long while, I have a chance to update here. I’ve been so busy with one thing after the next that I’ve not had time to write anything more extensive than a grocery list for the past ten days or so! I hope to get back to it soon even though life seems to have other plans for me at the moment. lol.

Anyway, today I was in the waiting room of the doctor’s office (my boyfriend had to have a catscan on his ribs due to a falling off a ladder incident a couple of days ago – he’s actually really okay, just checking to make sure) and a woman was there, waiting for her husband. She was chatting with me and Mitch and he told her what I do (Mitch is so sweet – he brags to everyone about my writing) and I just happened to have one of my books with me (the one pictured above) because as some of you might know, I’m narcissistic that way and love to read my own books. So I said, “this is one of my books.” I figured she’d take a look and probably be turned off by it since not everyone is into M/M erotic romance.

Well, after a couple of minutes she turned to me and said, “Can I buy this from you?” That was completely unexpected! So, she bought the book from me right there in the doctor’s office (it was one of the ones that is supposed to be sold anyway) and I signed it for her. She stuck it in her bag and said, “I’m not going to show this to my husband.” I hope she enjoys it! In any case, it was a nice thing in the midst of a trying and verrrry long day!

Latest sale, yay! (And yummy excerpt)

I sold Barely Covered to Ellora’s Cave. Yay! I’m especially glad since it’s the pre-quel to Barely Undercover which came out in December 2007. And so, now that it’s ready, I can give you the full blurb and a proper excerpt. Hope you like it!

Lured to Club Moritz and then stood up by a spiteful about-to-be ex boyfriend, Boston homicide detective Frank Kazaminsky does not want to stand around alone in a gay strip club…that is…until the next act comes onto the stage. Damien is the hottest guy Kaz has ever laid eyes on and he watches, completely mesmerized, as Damiens strips down to a scanty g-string.

Unfortunately, Kaz isn’t the only one who lusts after Damien’s luscious body. Another audience member wants Damien, whether Damien is willing or not and Kaz is the one who comes to Damien’s rescue. Damien is grateful for Kaz’s intervention and finds in Kaz the first person who’s ever defended him in his life. And Damien has needed protecting in the past, desperately. The attraction between them is mutual and flares into lustful, delicious passion. However, the next morning, when Damien’s attacker turns up dead, Kaz is worried that his roughing up of the man has caused the death. Is he the killer? Or is it someone else?

Kaz must find out quickly, before the trail goes cold. Otherwise, Damien will go from being the love of Kaz’s life to the top of his list of suspects.

“And now, gentlemen,” the announcer said over the cheering crowd gathered in front of the dance platform, “Pure hard-on material is coming onto the stage in two seconds. Get ready to drool, guys and give a warm welcome to…Damien!”

The crowd went wild, arms raised, practically rushing the stage. The sinewy, erotically-driven beat of Berlin’s Sex started playing and colored lights blinked rapidly from one side of the platform to the other, making a light show in the center of the stage.

The press of the crowd forced Kaz back toward the wall. Oh well. He decided not to jostle his way out and instead, leaned against the sidewall, avoiding the crush of horny guys waving bills. This Damien guy seemed pretty popular, having roused the biggest cheers of the night so far. With an eye to the stage, Kaz took a sip of his Perrier, his cop instincts having told him to remain sober from the second he’d walked into the place. Club Moritz might be Boston’s premier gay strip club, brawny bouncers and all, but there was a feeling here Kaz didn’t like. Something smarmy that had nothing to do with…

The spotlight panned to the far side of the stage where one arm appeared from the dark shadows. The mere sight roused another round of cheers, whoops and hollers. Kaz sipped his mineral water again. Theatrics had never impressed him.

“Come on! Get the hell out here!” someone nearby shouted.

Kaz’s gaze jerked to the owner of the voice, a big blond steroid monster in jeans and a T-shirt, drunk off his ass. Probably high too. Kaz had seen his type not make it into the police academy. Too much pumping iron mixed with steroid injections had drained all the blood from his brain. Kaz was big too, but being brawny didn’t mean you had to be a shithead. Had Kaz not been off-duty, he would have gone over there and questioned him in suspicion of being under the influence.

More cheers drew Kaz’s attention back to the stage. This Damien guy was in full view now.

Whoa. Kaz’s heart lurched. He lifted away from the wall and stared at the man, gaze glued to a strip of sinewy chest and abs just visible between the flaps of a billowy white shirt. Sweat gleamed on Damien’s skin and on the soft hairs glinting on his pecs. Kaz swallowed hard and he gaped openly at the treasure trail funneling down the center of Damien’s abs.

Damien moved then, flipping his head back. That drew Kaz’s look back up. Shaggy hair, the color hard to discern under the multi-colored lights, framed Damien’s chiseled face. Damien wore a big sexy smile and his large eyes flashed with promise. Wow, those were some eyes, heavy-lidded yet full of life.

That wasn’t all, Kaz noticed, scanning the guy’s face as Damien drew closer to his side of the stage. Damien’s face was movie-star perfection—softly sculpted lips, straight nose with one small bump, gleaming white teeth, right down to a tantalizing cleft in his perfect chin. As he danced across the stage and turned his back, his body-hugging black pants, shiny and smooth, set off his hard round ass so perfectly, it almost appeared they were painted on. When he slunk back around to face the audience, those shiny pants did the same for that perfectly outlined package in front.

Hot damn. Kaz’s mouth began to water. If Damien was supposed to make a guy drool and want to fit that cock in his mouth, he was succeeding.

The beat of the song thumped through the air, made the ground vibrate, a backdrop to the jeers and catcalls of the nearly all male audience. Damien danced back toward the middle where he halted in center stage, took hold of either side of his shirt and yanked it open.

That tiny move earned another round of testosterone-filled yells. Kaz could only stare, frozen as Damien slipped one arm of the shirt partway down, exposing a muscled shoulder. In time to the music, he wound his hips and then his upper body, making the shirt fall open just enough to reveal a coin-sized nipple.

Hot blood pumped suddenly through Kaz’s chest and gut, right down into his cock. He’d been watching hot guys strip up there for the last half hour or so, but this Damien guy…

“Get those fucking pants off!” ‘Roid monster’s drunken jeer sounded over the rest of the crowd.

What a frigging douche bag. For some strange reason, Kaz found himself hoping Damien hadn’t heard the lewd remark.

If Damien heard the guy, he gave no indication. He was busy teasing the crowd, whipping them into a froth. Slowly, sensuously, he lowered the other arm of his shirt, exposing both shoulders, his chest, and part of his chiseled abs. All the while, those slim hips never stopped winding.

Kaz blinked. When he opened his eyes, Damien’s shirt was off his torso and flying into the crowd, into a sea of reaching hands where it disappeared. Kaz salivated some more, wishing he’d caught the shirt. The urge to press it to his face and breathe in Damien’s scent seized him.

Shit! What the hell was going on with him? Since when did he want to smell a guy he’d never met?

There wasn’t time to wonder about it. Damien’s whole upper body showed now. The spotlight overtook the multi-hued lights, giving Kaz a glimpse of Damien’s real coloring. Hair, a rich chestnut. Skin tanned, nipples the color of warm cinnamon. And eyes…Damien turned and wound his way downstage again, in Kaz’s direction, making Kaz especially grateful then for his hawk-like eyesight…eyes a rich shade of green.

The guy was magnificent.

Kaz’s heartbeat sped up and heat simmered between his t-shirt and skin. Even the blond ‘roid monster’s lewd yelling close by faded into the background as Damien continued to dance.

Hands locked behind his head, Damien ground his hips in sensual circles, turning front and back, driving his audience to a pitch. Dollar bills cascaded through the air at him, showering the stage like paper rain.

Damien’s face broke into a wide, dazzling grin. He halted, both hands on one side of his waist.

The crowd roared.

Kaz gulped. Damien was working open his pants from the side. The black material had hidden a zipper that…inch by inch, Kaz could see ran the length of Damien’s leg.

Slowly, torturously, in time to the sinuous beat of the music, Damien lowered the zipper.

Kaz shook himself. When had he started panting? Good thing the guys around him were at least as worked up as he was, caring only about watching the sex god on the stage as he revealed one sloping hard thigh. Bit by bit the material fell away. Damien pivoted quickly, concealing his front from the crowd. They cheered and hooted. Damien rewarded them with a round of his hips and staccato flexing of his perfect, round ass cheeks, separated only by a g-string up the crevice.

Hot damn. No wonder the crowd had gone wild when the announcer had told them who was dancing next. Kaz’s mouth went dry now. Never in his adult life had he wanted to tongue a guy’s ass as badly as he wanted to right this second. And yet, when Damien turned back to the front, Kaz found his gaze roving upward, wanting to look into Damien’s eyes again. There was something to him, a sparkle.

“Fucking hot!”

Kaz turned. The blond asshole again. The guy was practically slobbering all over himself, a glazed look in his eyes while he stared at Damien. So—that was the source of smarminess Kaz had gotten when he walked in. This guy, right here, a few feet away from him. Kaz watched him, sizing him up, the way his police training had taught him. A big part of his instruction had been learning to trust his instincts. This character was trouble.

Then Kaz thought of something else. Had he, himself, been staring at Damien this way? He hoped not. And why did he suddenly feel so protective of Damien? The guy was hot as hell, obviously in control of his body and of the bodies around him. He could take care of himself.

Feeling chastened, Kaz tried to turn and couldn’t. He dared to let himself look up at the stage again. And felt a jolt right through his middle. The heat travelled right to the head of his cock.

Back on track

Finally that whatever it was I had was gone with the help of some antibiotics. The only thing left is a lingering cough. I expect it to be with me for probably two months like it was last summer when I got this thing. However, it’s good to be up to my regular energy level.

I’m also back to writing. I know I was going to work on that M/F but, well, you know how I am. I can’t resist writing M/M especially when the characters rise in my mind and heart nearly fully formed and ready to tell their story. This one is going to be futuristic/sci-fi, entitled Fallon’s Jewel. I haven’t written the blurb yet and haven’t realized the entire story at this point but the basic storyline is on an outpost in space far into the future, an intergalactic cop, Fallon, gets mixed up with a pretty and vivacious rent boy whose completely lost his memory. He knows nothing of where he came from, his real name, parents, nothing, not even why he only has one eye and must wear a patch. Little does he know that he carries with him something incredibly valuable and there are a bunch of bad people after him for it. He comes to Fallon for help and guess what? They fall in love while fighting and running from bad people and finding out who Kenji really is. I’ve onlt written the first few paragraphs but I’m giving a sneak peak anyway. Hope you like it!

Terran Outpost A, Earth year 2586

Kenji woke from that dream…no, nightmare…again, sweating, sheets sticking to his heaving chest. He sat bolt upright and covered his face with his hands, as if to protect it from the ghostly knife that always went for his left eye…that is, after his unseen captors, faces hidden by shrouding hoods, poured some kind of vile, molten substance into it.
He forced himself to breathe normally while his own subconscious screams still rang in his ears. Cold heat prickled along the bare skin of his back and shoulders, coursing down into his abdomen and groin. No matter how many times his mind realized it was not really happening, he always felt acute relief to find his ankles and wrists unshackled and to find his own thin yet soft mattress and sheets under his body.
Finally, the drip drip of the sink in the corner began to replace his screams. He sighed. Damn Grady, poor excuse for a landlord, had promised to fix the thing. Last month. If it hadn’t been for the regulated atmosphere of Terran A, the place would probably be crawling with roaches and other vermin, like back on Earth.
Lifting his hand away, Kenji peered round the tiny room. He studied it, as always, as if to make sure it were really there, as if the haven of his rented room would have disappeared during his sleep and that friggin’ nightmare would actually be happening. Not today, thank God. The dingy walls with their network of cracks in the plaster still surrounded him. Ratty but comfortable reclining chair in the opposite corner, and the table with his golden statue on it still there, the one thing in his existence which gave him any solace.
He pushed back the covers and lifted himself from the bed. The statue drew him, the way it always did, making him want to kneel before it and just sit there, hands on his thighs, head bowed, his one good eye closed. Even before taking a piss, he needed his moments in front of the statue before getting ready for work.
The thing had always been in his possession even though how he’d gotten it in the first place, he couldn’t remember. Somehow, though, it anchored him, a possible connection to his parents—whoever they might have been. And he must have had parents. No one came into existence without them. No one was just plunked down onto a planet of any kind, fully grown, and worked as a rent boy in a club for roughnecks who liked other men.
“Who am I?” he whispered to the statue. Raising his face, he opened his eye and looked at it—the perfect likeness of a round, plump man seated in a cross-legged position, one hand on his thigh, from which dangled what appeared to be a chain of beads. Seemingly uninteresting the statue was at first glance, except for the man’s expression. Serene. Happy. Lips curved upward into a smile that seemed to be for nothing in particular. Perhaps a satisfaction in existence itself, the look of a person with nothing at all to worry about. Not life, death, survival, or even loneliness. As if somehow he’d understood it all and it could no longer cause him suffering.
Of course, the statue didn’t answer Kenji, but somehow, it made Kenji feel better simply to voice his question to it.
Kenji lingered, kneeling, until he felt enough solace to rise up and get ready for work. Best to get there before the other hustlers did and establish his territory. The place was competitive enough and then he had to give a cut to the owner for letting Kenji ply his trade in that particular bar.
Kenji turned the sink on and splashed tepid water on his face. Really, he couldn’t complain. At least he made enough to keep himself fed, get a new suit once in a while and rent a room that was clean and dry with running water and enough electricity to heat up a bowl full of it for a sponge bath. Which he did, and stood in front of the cracked mirror.
As usual, his reflection sparked the same question that kneeling before his statue did. Who am I? Who were the people who’d made his physical form? He wet the washrag, wrung it out and smoothed it over his chest. What did the people look like who’d given him the smooth tanned gold of his skin? Was it his father or mother…or both…who were slim and willowy to give him the musculature of someone graceful? And his hair? Sleek and inky black, darker than the darkest Terran night. Had they both had eyes the shape of almonds, with long, heavy lashes and arched brows?
Whoever his parents were…or had been, Kenji was grateful. They’d provided him with the right tools for survival. His face and body made him popular with the roughnecks, many of whom were beefy, bulging with muscles, their chests broad and hairy, their faces heavily stubbled, in need of constant shaving, so unlike his own, which never needed shaving, smooth and hairless, as if he were a child. But he wasn’t a child. He was a man, and had been for at least six Earth years. When he put the black patch on over his eye, he looked a bit older. The thing gave him a mysterious edge that made very often enticed customers to him first.
Not that he ever showed them what lay underneath the opaque patch. He looked at it now. There was an eye there, but it was so fucked up. Sightless, staring, a cloudy blue, the skin around it damaged, with a scar that ran up onto his brow and slightly down onto his cheek, a scar that the patch never quite covered. And if he ever would have let anyone get close enough to him to ask how it got that way, he couldn’t even begin to tell them. ‘I don’t know,’ was his legitimate answer for almost everything except how to give an awesome blowjob.

Getting better

My cold is finally almost gone. It seems to have taken up residence in my chest, right behind my sternum and at about 8 p.m. every night, I start hacking away until I’ve sucked on enough cough drops to calm it down and let me sleep. Finally though, I’m almost up to my regular energy level (which isn’t abundant to begin with. I’m a bit cow-like in my movements, maybe because I’m a Taurus?) and able to get some things done I couldn’t while bogged down and feeling like complete crap.

One of those things is edits for Men of Tokyo: Sudden Heat. I’m currently on page 139 of 209 pages and planning hopefully to finish it and send it back to the editor by this evening. Other than that, I have to go grocery shopping and pick up my cat’s thyroid medicine. Her thyroid is hyperactive so if she isn’t properly medicated, the poor kitty gets painfully thin and can’t keep any food down.

Other than that, still resting some and making progress in watching Fuurin Kazan. This show is fabulous and I highly recommend it.

Still yucky

Still have this cold and cough that’s lingering on. I’m wearing a mask in the house so I don’t get anyone else sick. So far (fingers crossed), it’s working. I wish more people would do that if they have a cold and go out in public (I keep mine with me and cough into it instead of into my hands) because the last few times I’ve gotten sick it’s been from someone in the grocery store who left their germs on the handle of the cart or on some other place in the store. I have gotten better but I feel just crappy enough each day that the regular tasks I need to do feel monumental. I probably should stop being cheap and just go to the clinic. The worst part of having this damn thing is not being able to even touch my man. You can imagine the frustration as my cold now enters day 11!