Just when I have enough works-in-progress on my plate, another inspiration bubbles up. This one? The third in my Toshi Genjin/John Holmes Beautiful Samurai series from Torquere Press. 
This book will bring together my beloved men from the White Tigers series, in particular Kiku, Basho and Timothy as well as crime psychologist Michael Di Santo from my upcoming Acts of Passion. Michael was Toshi’s first lover during Toshi’s college years in the States and so you can imagine, his presence in Tokyo will add an extra element of tension for Toshi and John’s still budding relationship!
In Beautiful Samurai, Old Ghosts, Toshi and John return to the White Tiger at Kiku’s request to solve an old crime in which Kiku’s cook at the White Tiger, Basho, was victimized. In order for Basho to be able to travel to the UK with his lover Timothy, this crime will have to be solved. Otherwise, Basho is in danger of being murdered any time he might try to leave the country.
In comes Michael Di Santo, guest lecturing at a university in Tokyo. Michael contacts Toshi in the vague hope of reviving old passions. Toshi needs his help on this current case and well, the events that ensue are for the rest of the story! I have included an unedited snippet from what I’ve written so far. Hope you like it!
Excerpt:
Prologue
Toshi, please don’t leave me. I love you.
Michael waited for Toshi to answer, to drop his suitcase and take Michael in his arms, but Toshi just stood there, large, perfectly almond-shaped eyes wide, staring back at him. “You know I have to leave, Michael,” he said. “We both know it.” He didn’t smile. Didn’t frown. His face was emotionless. Loveless.
Michael’s panic assaulted him, a wave of prickly heat through his entire body. Didn’t Toshi understand what he was doing? “I was wrong,” he said, hearing the panic in his own voice. “I want you to stay.”
Still, Toshi remained silent, clutching the handle of his suitcase, as if that little act alone could prove his determination. Behind him, the large plate glass windows framed Toshi’s slim form. Through the window Michael glimpsed the huge jet that would take his lover back to Tokyo, away from him forever. The rumble of the engine hummed, growing louder with each second, until the noise reverberated through Michael’s very soul. It made his very teeth chatter. “No, Toshi, no!”
Michael reached out but Toshi slipped from his grasp. He turned, suitcase in hand and walked slowly toward the gate. No one stood at the entrance to take Toshi’s ticket and Toshi passed right through without looking back.
“No!” Michael ran, his lungs burned, his heart pumped, but no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t get near Toshi. Toshi disappeared down the gateway, vanishing into the mist that shrouded the jet’s entrance. Michael halted, gasping for breath. The whirring grind of the jet was deafening. Louder and louder it grew—
Michael’s eyes jerked open. His lungs burned. His mouth was parched, as if he’d been eating sand. He pulled in a breath, only to find his mouth had been hanging open. The deafening whir of jet motor continued, not fading as his nightmare was fading. Blinking, he sat up. His muscles ached and protested the movement, the effect of being crammed into an airplane seat for how many hours? As long as it took to get from San Francisco to Tokyo.
He heaved a deep breath and wilted back into his seat. He’d rather have gotten up and moved around but the obese man stuffed into the seat next to him and the equally thin woman asleep in her aisle seat made such a thing impossible. He’d have to wait until landing. It couldn’t be too much longer now, judging from the faint pink light in the pale sky out the jet’s window.
A flight attendant was making her way down the aisle, serving morning coffee. Michael smelled the delicious aroma like a balm and lowered his tray table. If he couldn’t get up and walk around, he could at least enjoy a cup of coffee. A cup usually helped to dispel the recurring dream that still haunted him to this day.
And now he was actually, for the first time in—was it ten years?—going to be in the same city as Toshi. Not that they would see each other…necessarily. Toshi didn’t know he was coming. Really, Toshi didn’t know anything about him anymore since they’d not spoken in forever. Though Toshi’s cell phone number was still programmed into his phone.
A little while later he’d collected his luggage and passed through customs. “Dr. Di Santo?” A voice beckoned him just as he went through the gate out into the main glassed in terminal. A bustle of people in front him cleared, revealing the source of the voice. A short, stout balding man with a genial smile held up a sign with Michael’s name. He recognized Dr. Yamada, head of the psychology department at Meiji University, the man who’d invited him to guest lecture about criminal profiling the spring term.
Michael went toward him and bowed.
“Excuse my English,” Dr. Yamada said when they’d finished the polite greetings. “It’s not so good.”
Michael smiled at him. “Then we’ll speak in Japanese, as we’ve been doing,” he said in Japanese.” People never thought Michael spoke Japanese, considering his Italian last name and sort of Caucasian appearance, but his mother’s parents had emigrated to California from Tokyo during the American Occupation after World War Two and his mother and then he, in turn, had grown up bi-lingual. In fact he was sure his fluency in Japanese had enabled him to get closer to Toshi in the first place, as he’d been the one to help Toshi learn English during their time together.
“Of course. Of course.” Dr. Yamada reached for one of Michael’s bags. “This way. I have a taxi waiting. I’ll see you to your new lodgings.”
“Thank you.” Michael followed his host through Narita Airport and out to the curb where a driver already had the trunk open for Michael’s baggage. When the trunk had been closed, Michael slipped into the backseat next to Dr. Yamada and they pulled away from the curb. Michael sighed and settled back. In the distance, the Tokyo skyline jutted in an uneven line of sky scrapers against an awakening sky. Pinks and grays were fading with the sunrise, giving in to clear blue. The sight gave him fleeting memories of visits to family here in his teens with his parents; vertical neon signs in Japanese, flashing myriads colors, like a giant bubble gum machine, bustling crowded streets full of stores and unexpected corners with delicate gardens, stone bridges and traditional temples with arches and chanting priests.
Though he carried on polite conversation with his host, the sights through the window reminded him more of Toshi, and his former lover’s presence. Perhaps once he was settled he’d call Toshi’s number. Yes, that’s what he’d do. Not that he’d try to get back together with Toshi. But maybe, just maybe, they could have some time together. The way they used to.