A Sunset at Pencarrow tour stop—featuring chocolaty goodness from New Zealand, sexy excerpt, and a giveaway

Hi everybody. Here I am, back on Rhys Ford’s blog to talk about a Lou Sylvre release for the first time in… I don’t know—a long while—and I’m very happy (and grateful) to be here. This release is different for me, as it’s my first co-authored book, written in cahoots with Anne Barwell. Sunset at Pencarrow is a contemporary novella, part of Dreamspinner’s World of Love collection, focused on New Zealand. For this stop on our blog tour, I’m going to tell you about the fun I had making (and eating) a New Zealand favorite treat, called for completely unexplained reasons, Afghans. Before I get to that, though, I want to let you know that the cover, the blurb, buy links, and an excerpt are part of the post too—just scroll down. And don’t miss the chance to enter our Rafflecopter giveaway—more than once, if you care to increase your chances to win.

Now about those Afghans

I learned some wonderful things about New Zealand while writing this story with Anne and the foods our reluctantly romantic couple ate during their two-day sightseeing jaunt were a part of that. One of the New Zealand treats our characters ate in the story is a filled and flavored cake bite Kiwis call lamingtons. I baked those too, and blogged about it on June 9, on the Dreamspinner Press blog. While I did find them tasty, in my mind, they don’t quite measure up to the divine chocolaty goodness that is an Afghan biscuit.

(Of course, when I say biscuit, I mean cookie. As an aside, I will confess it took me years to figure out why British Victorians in romance novels were so fond of biscuits with tea, when I far prefer mine with gravy. I did eventually figure it out. Cookies and crackers both are biscuits in the UK way.)

I baked Afghans with the younger of my two daughters on the what turned out to be the first really warm day we’d had in 2017. I got the recipe from a website called Just a Mum NZ, and the picture on the site of the finished product looked absolutely scrumptious.

All along the way, however, the dough seemed “wrong.” It didn’t seem like enough cocoa powder to make such a dark product. The dough seemed too stiff, even for cookies. Adding uncrushed cornflakes just seemed strange. Nevertheless, we followed the recipe to the letter. When it came time to prepare the cookies (er… I mean biscuits) for baking, it dawned on me that the dough was stiff because they were to be formed cookies (rolled into a ball and slightly smushed), rather than drop cookies. Duh. They were about the same consistency as the refrigerator dough you slice for pinwheels and such, except they had cornflakes in them. And after baking, they looked gorgeous.

I had to fight myself to do it, but I didn’t eat a single one (and neither did my daughter) until they were iced and topped with walnuts. When I finally ate one, I fell in love—they are so good fresh. Who would have thought that a day later they would be even better! The textures are wonderful. The cookie itself is a little like shortbread but slightly melty and with a finer crumb, the cornflakes incorporated give both a bit of crunch and a bit of chew, and the icing and the walnut provide perfect contrasts. They are indeed more chocolate-rich than I expected given the amount of cocoa powder, and the flavors complement each other perfectly.

In order to save myself, I sent them all with my daughter to share at the office—where they disappeared toot suite and lots of people wanted the recipe.

New Zealand, I’ve got to hand it to you. You’ve accomplished something totally unexpected. Move over Scottish shortbread, I have a new favorite cookie. Or biscuit, as the case may be.

Okay, now are you ready for my super-cheesy segue to talking about Sunset at Pencarrow? Here it is:

At first, I didn’t think I was going to like Afghans, much like Rusty didn’t think he was going to like Nate. Later though, it’s just possible that Nate became Rusty’s very favorite flavor. (I swear I can see you readers rolling your eyes, hear your groans. Still, I can’t apologize.)

Read on for the blurb and a tiny, quite NSFW excerpt (because sex and chocolate, chocolate and sex). Enjoy! (And then make yourself some Afghans, a wonderful New Zealand treat, to eat while you read the book. Hah! How’s that for a tacky plug!)

The blurb:

Kiwi Nathaniel Dunn is in a fighting mood, but how does a man fight Wellington’s famous fog? In the last year, Nate’s lost his longtime lover to boredom and his ten-year job to the economy. Now he’s found a golden opportunity for employment where he can even use his artistic talent, but to get the job, he has to get to Christchurch today. Heavy fog means no flight, and the ticket agent is ignoring him to fawn over a beautiful but annoying, overly polite American man.

Rusty Beaumont can deal with a canceled flight, but the pushy Kiwi at the ticket counter is making it difficult for him to stay cool. The guy rubs him all the wrong ways despite his sexy working-man look, which Rusty notices even though he’s not looking for a man to replace the fiancé who died two years ago. Yet when they’re forced to share a table at the crowded airport café, Nate reveals the kind heart behind his grumpy façade. An earthquake, sex in the bush, and visits from Nate’s belligerent ex turn a day of sightseeing into a slippery slope that just might land them in love.

World of Love: Stories of romance that span every corner of the globe.

And the excerpt:
They’d fallen asleep zipped into the sleeping bags and covered with their thin blankets. Rusty hadn’t wanted to break the connection with Nate—even if it had been nothing more than sex. They weren’t spooning, not quite that intimate. Yet when he woke with the smell of Nate and sex permeating the darkness, he became a slave to it, couldn’t seem to stop himself from wrapping his body around the man. He may even have groaned as he pushed his erection against Nate’s prickly-haired thigh. Of course Nate woke up, and before Rusty could even start to think or talk, Nate took his lips in a hard, biting kiss. Heat surged through Rusty. He broke away, unzipping the bags to push the covers back so he could follow his nose down to Nate’s cock, which was already leaking precum and gleaming in the moonlight. The sight and smell of it entranced Rusty like a hypnotist’s gem, and he lowered his mouth down to savor the taste. He knew right then that the memory of blowing Nate would be burned into his brain as one of the hottest things he’d ever done.

Here’s some buy links, and you can get 30% off at the Dreamspinner Store if you use code PENCARROW at checkout!

Thank you, Rhys, for hosting us on our blog tour, and thank you all you readers for stopping by. Anne and I would love to have you visit us elsewhere on the blog tour. For a complete schedule and links to the blogs, just click right here.

Last but not least, here’s a link to the giveaway—win book money or books!
Lou Sylvre and Anne Barwell’s Sunset at Pencarrow Giveaway

Dim Sum Asylum Cover Reveal and Excerpt… Now a Full-Length Urban Fantasy Novel! Coming June 9 from Dreamspinner Press.

And the lovely and fantastically talented Anne Cain​ JUST sent me the final piece, the cover.. so here you go, Roku MacCormick and Dim Sum Asylum. Now a full-length novel and coming out on June 9, 2017!

Dim Sum Asylum is now up on Amazon for pre-order. (Cover will be updated as soon as Amazon gets around to it) AND the Dreamspinner Press link to follow shortly. Just remember, if you purchase a paperback through DSP, you get the ebook for free. So watch the sales and take advantage of DSP’s two-for-one offer.

When I wrote Dim Sum Asylum for Charmed and Dangerous, I really want to revisit the world at some point. About a year ago or so, Lynn West at Dreamspinner Press said… hey, you know Dim Sum Asylum? I want it as a book. So, an additional 85,000 words or so, Dim Sum Asylum is now a full-length novel and I got to play with all the growly, scaly things I wanted to. And man, it was fun. The original story is woven into the novel and I tried to keep as true to the original as I could but there were some changes. A few. *grins*

And a Bonus Saturday Excerpt from the new Dim Sum Asylum. Continue reading “Dim Sum Asylum Cover Reveal and Excerpt… Now a Full-Length Urban Fantasy Novel! Coming June 9 from Dreamspinner Press.”

Dirty Heart…Now on DSP PreOrder!

WOOOOOOOOT! Excerpt available!


dirty_heart_cover_smaller_blogFormer LAPD detective Cole McGinnis’s life nearly ended the day his police partner and best friend Ben Pirelli emptied his service weapon into Cole and his then-lover, Rick. Since Ben turned his gun on himself, Cole thought he’d never find out why Ben tried to destroy him.

Years later, Cole has stitched himself back together. Now a private investigator and in love with Jae-Min Kim, a Korean-American photographer he met on a previous case, Cole’s life is back on track—until he discovers Jeff Rollins, a disgraced cop and his first partner, has resurfaced and appears to be working on the wrong side of the law.

As much as Cole’s fought to put the past behind him, he’s soon tangled up in a web of lies, violence, and death. Jeff Rollins is not only trying to kill Cole’s loved ones, he is also scraping open old wounds and long-forgotten memories of the two men Cole loved and lost. Cole is sure Rollins knows why Ben ruined all their lives, but he isn’t looking for answers. Now Cole is caught in a cat-and-mouse game with a cold-blooded killer with the key to not only his past but his future.

Kai 2… *loading*

Today is ask about Kai Day.  So, let me give a quick what’s up. *grins*

Update on Kai Gracen Book 2.

  • It has a tentative name: Thunder Horse Rock
  • I do not have a cover yet
  • Thunder Horser Rock will be released this year
  • I am on chapter fourteen
  • Kai’s a bit pissy at the moment of this writing.

This is from the opening of Chapter One.
A step or two later, a torrent of swirling winds kicked up from the shore, sweeping over the crinkled black landscape and into tight clefts of jagged peaks at the base of the Pendle range. The juts stabbed at the air, envious of their craggy mountains looming behind them and snagged the interest of the smaller lizards on the draconian food chain. Dotting an upper mesa like dollops of stygian meringue, they provided a safe haven of sorts for the lesser beasts, a place where battles for territory and mates were raged under a sea of stars. The rising wind was harsh, grabbing at my shout and whisking my panicked mewling off as if it never existed.

Screaming into the wind was as useless as pissing in it except you didn’t get a mouthful of pee when you turned your head.

Considering the dragon riding my ass, I’d take the mouthful of piss any day.



Fish Stick Fridays Excerpt.

25832741How about a little bit of Fish Stick Fridays to start off your Monday?

Half Moon Bay woke to a veil of gray and wet, the air thick with fog and a pounding cold rain a degree away from hail. The drops sliced at Lang’s face as he ran from his parking spot to his shop, cursing himself for not taking one of the spaces in front of Between the Lines.

“Customers.” A vicious snap at his cheek made him flinch, and Lang juggled his messenger bag around, tugging his jacket’s hood down. “Spaces for customers.” None of whom were there at eight in the morning and probably would be in their right minds if they stayed home altogether.

The wind carried more than the cold with it. A taint of salt and spoil ran along its edges, carried up from the shore. With the wet came the rot, decomposing leaves and grasses piling up until they grew hot from the decay. The rain broke through composts and brush, a frigid hand scraping back the dank until the grungy smell carried through the streets.

It was early, too early for most people to be out, but there was already a light on over at the auto shop. Shaking out his jacket, Lang spotted a sheriff’s car and two dusty vans parked to the side of the building, their windows misted nearly opaque. From where Lang stood, there was no sign of that day’s violence except for the shops’ boarded-up windows and a few specks of glass tumbling around in the gutter’s flow. Deacon’s truck sat close to the field, its camper top a dull beige as the torrential downpour scraped the dust from its paint.

It’d been two days since their ride to the coast and back ended in tragedy, and the air still felt heavy with confusion and regrets. There was no blood on the asphalt, no piercing screams bouncing off of the surrounding wood and brick walls. Picked clean, the whole cul-de-sac seemed more an eerie ghostly backdrop than an actual crime scene, but Lang’s nerves knew differently. He could still see Eli lying broken apart in Abe’s terrified embrace, and there were echoes of booming pops in his ear, the smell of blood steeped into his mind and senses.

When he looked up, Lang’s day went from dreary to full-out shit when he saw Deacon limp out of the auto shop and stand in the chilling rain. His head was thrown back and his eyes were closed, weariness hanging on his shoulders. He looked bruised and worn, beaten up by the past few days.

Angled with one end farther from the rest of the businesses, the auto shop had been a later addition and set up by its original owner, Lang’s great-grandfather, a Chinese-born immigrant who’d not wanted the street’s bad luck to flow into his shops. As a result, the end unit was a slanted jog off of the main building, the end cap of a long L, practically spread open for everyone to see inside if the bay doors were open.

They were all open now, rolled-back shutters laying Deacon’s life out for everyone to see. There were people inside the shop, pacing shadowy forms picking at bricks and the floor. A grim-faced cop stood a few feet away from the spot Deacon’d shoved Lang and Zig to keep them out of the shooter’s sight.

Seeing how open and vulnerable the space was, it struck Lang how close they’d come to dying.

Fish Stick Fridays is being released by Dreamspinner Press on November 30.

Deacon Reid was born bad to the bone with no intention of changing. A lifetime of law-bending and living on the edge suited him just fine—until his baby sister died and he found himself raising her little girl.

Staring down a family history of bad decisions and reaped consequences, Deacon cashes in everything he owns, purchases an auto shop in Half Moon Bay, and takes his niece, Zig, far away from the drug dens and murderous streets they grew up on. Zig deserves a better life than what he had, and Deacon is determined to give it to her.

Lang Harris is stunned when Zig, a little girl in combat boots and a purple tutu blows into his bookstore, and then he’s left speechless when her uncle, Deacon Reid walks in, hot on her heels. Lang always played it safe but Deacon tempts him to step over the line… just a little bit.

More than a little bit. And Lang is willing to be tempted.

Unfortunately, Zig isn’t the only bit of chaos dropped into Half Moon Bay. Violence and death strikes leaving Deacon scrambling to fight off a killer before he loses not only Zig but Lang too.

B. Snow’s Emily’s Magical Bejeweled Codpiece! Welcome!

*Heh…thank you for the plug. Welcome B. Snow!

Thanks, Rhys, for letting me chat a little about Emily’s Magical Bejeweled Codpiece, a short novella of about 16,000 words. I know Dreamspinner would not like me calling it crackfic, but it really did start out as the most ridiculous thing. I mean, it’s about a codpiece!

Well, okay, it’s not really about a codpiece. It’s about Tom and his not-quite-boyfriend Peter and the object of Tom’s desire, Benedetto Emilio Nesci. Tom would drop Peter in a heartbeat if he could have Nesci, but he can’t, because Nescilived and died four centuries earlier.

At this point you may be thinking that Tom’s kind of a dick, and, well, yeah, he is. But he’s an honest dick who won’t make a promise to Peter that he can’t keep. He’s also a bit of a clean freak, which causes some problems when he gets whisked back in time to the 16th century.

Here, just read the blurb, it will make more sense than my blathering:

EmilysMagicalBejeweledCodpieceLGEmily’s Magical Bejeweled Codpiece
Tom, museum curator and expert in Renaissance jewelry, doesn’t think his boyfriend Peter is “The One.” Peter is perfectly happy with Tom, but Tom is obsessed with the artist Benedetto Emilio Nesci—exciting, passionate, extraordinarily talented… and dead for over 400 years.

Tasked with researching a bejeweled codpiece, Tom abandons his professional ethics—and his sanity—to try on the codpiece and is transported halfway around the world and back in time, right into Florence, Italy and Nesci’s workroom.

After his initial panic subsides, Tom seizes the opportunity to allow Nesci to seduce him, but Tom discovers not everything about the sixteenth century is as romantic as he’d imagined. Getting back to the modern world and Peter becomes Tom’s only wish, but desire and reality are two completely different things, and Tom might not get what he wants this time around.

“THERE’S NO nice way to say this, so I’ll just say it. My great-uncle was an old pervert.” The woman’s mouth tightened, as did her grip on the cardboard box she was holding.

Tom bit his lip, trying not to give her a verbal slap. He wasn’t going to argue with her—Zaz Edison had been an old pervert. But he’d been a fun, witty, engaging old pervert, and everyone, including Tom, had liked him. Well, everyone except his great-niece, apparently. Tom sorted through possible responses for something to say that wouldn’t be too offensive; the man had died just two days earlier.

“Well,” he began, but the woman shook her head impatiently.

“No, please, I really don’t want to talk about it. I just want you to take care of this.” She thrust the box at Tom, and as she did so, the notebook sitting on top of it slid off and fell to the ground. The woman picked it up and set it on Tom’s desk, her lips moving in a weird way, as though she was holding back a swear word or a string of them. “Uncle Izadore left it to a museum in San Francisco, and I have no idea how to get it there. You don’t just slap a FedEx label on something like this. Or maybe you do, I don’t know.” She blew out a breath. “You museum people must know how it’s done.”

She made “museum people” sound one step above carnies, but Tom barely heard her through the fog of shock that crept over him. A museum in San Francisco? Zaz had been a patron of the local museum for years; he knew Tom was the jewelry expert there, and yet he’d left something valuable, something interesting, to another museum?

“If he hadn’t left specific instructions in his will,” the woman went on, “I’d have thrown it out with the rest of his pornography.”

That got Tom’s attention. “What did you throw out?”

She gave Tom a look, then spoke to him as if he were an idiot. “Everything! His house was filled with…. God knows what. Books, magazines, DVDs. Even old movies. I didn’t look that carefully. I don’t want to know.”

Jesus, not just a prude, but a stupid one. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Not at all.”

“That stuff was vintage—”

“It was filth! And now it’s all in garbage bags outside the house. You’re welcome to it if you get there before trash pickup.”

“Fine.” Frigid bitch. Poor Zaz.

She must have read Tom’s face, because she scowled. Then she pulled a piece of paper out of her purse. “I’ll need you to sign this receipt.”

“I’m not going to sign it before I know what I’m receiving.”

“It’s in the box.” She jiggled her foot as Tom set the box on the desk. “I just can’t have that thing in the house. I have children.”

Tom allowed himself an eye roll as he opened the flaps of the box and began digging through the packing peanuts. His fingers hit something hard—a wood and glass display case by the feel of it. He pulled it out, then froze when he saw what was inside.

Tom stared down at the object, then carefully set the case on the desk before snatching up the notebook.

“Are you going to sign the receipt or not?”

“Give me a minute.” His heart was racing. He flipped through the notebook until he saw the name he was looking for, then snapped it shut and grabbed the receipt. He signed it, then shoved it back at the woman.

“I know none of this is legally binding, so I’m relying on your professional ethics. Uncle Izadore spoke highly of you. I know you’ll be honest, if only out of respect for him.”

“I still don’t understand what you want me to do.”

“Ship it to the San Francisco museum. I’ll reimburse you and pay you for your time. ” She pulled a business card out of her purse and handed it to him. “I just don’t want to see it ever again.”

“Will do,” Tom managed.

She turned and walked out of the room without another word, and a few seconds later, the front door shut. “You forgot your ruby slippers,” Tom muttered.

Peter poked his head into the office. “She seems nice.” He grinned, leaning against the doorframe.

Tom let his eyes wander down the smoothly muscled lines of Peter’s body, remembering how he’d let his tongue do the wandering the night before, just after Peter had gotten out of the shower. He turned back to the box on his desk. “She’s Zaz’s great-niece, and she threw out the erotica he collected for decades. He’s probably spinning in his grave.”

Peter’s grin lost some of its brightness. “I was sorry to hear about him. He was a nice old guy. Hung out with me at that museum party.”

“He was probably checking out your ass.”

“Yeah, he was. But not in a creepy way. He was funny. And he seemed really happy you’d brought me.” Peter crossed the room and bent down, then wrapped his arms around Tom. “Are you okay? I know you’re sad that he’s gone—”

“No, it’s… um.” Tom tightened his grip on the display case. “I need some time alone with this.”

“Alone with—Emily’s Magical Bejeweled Codpiece,” Peter read off the label inside the display case. “What the hell is that?”

“I’ll explain later.” Tom set the case on his desk and opened the notebook.

Purchase Link: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=6568

CunningPlan[A]LGAnd hey! From today until July 6, Dreamspinner is having a sale on paranormal e-books, so that means my novella, A Cunning Plan, is on sale! It’s a Regency with a teeny bit of shifter plot (seriously, what was I thinking??) http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=4429

That means Rhys’ “Ghost” books are on sale, too, in case you don’t already have them. (Nice plug, eh, boss? :D)

Thanks again, Rhys!

About B. Snow
B. Snow found her way into the magical world of gay romance by way of fanfic and slash, and original characters began banging on her brain several years ago. If she can conquer her chronic procrastinitus, she may get that banging written down someday.

Originally from the West Coast, B. Snow and her husband now live in the Atlanta area, sharing a house with a cat who has them very well trained.

You can find more information at her woefully neglected blog and at her Facebook page. You can e-mail her if you don’t mind waiting a few days for a response. See above: procrastinitus.

Blog: http://bsnowwriter.blogspot.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/bsnow.writer

E-mail: bsnow.writer@gmail.com

Excerpts… Murder, Ink and Sloe

How about a few excerpts? Just for a lazy Sunday. What’s coming down the line over the next few months. Don’t forget to enter The State of the Rhys Giveaway on The Novel Approach if you haven’t already.

Murder and MayhemMurder and Mayhem

All Rook could smell was blood.

Hot. Metallic. Dirty. Blood.

It stung his senses, an angry hornets’ nest of odors he couldn’t outrun—even as he pounded down one of Hollywood’s tight back alleys. Rook could hear shouting, piercing rushes of sound caught in the maze of brick, glass, and cement behind him.

A sun-faded aluminum can crinkled when he stepped on it. Folding up over the edge of his high-top, it clung to his foot for a stride before gravity dislodged it. Nearly tripping over his own feet, Rook stumbled, then caught himself with a grab at a rolling trash can, tipping the enormous black receptacle to the ground. Garbage poured out of the heavy bin, foul, sticky liquids gushing out from its depths, and as Rook jigged around the stream, he was very aware of the sounds of footsteps closing in on him.

He’d be damned if he let them catch him. Continue reading “Excerpts… Murder, Ink and Sloe”

Snippet from Down and Dirty.

Down_and_Dirty_RhysFord_small“Yeah, be honest.” He was going to throw it out there. Ichi had nothing to lose and Cole—it wasn’t like Cole had to find out he’d teased Bobby before the man tossed him out on his skinny ass. “Why would you change now? You think there’s something between us? Like what?”

“You know there is. And it gets me to wondering a few things sometimes.”

“More things? Other than this one thing?” Ichi dropped his hands to his thighs, waiting for Bobby to make the next move. “Like what exactly?”

“Like whether or not you want to be bent over a bed or lying on it,” Bobby purred as he tilted his head back. “You know, when I fuck you.”

There was no mistaking the challenge in the man’s darkening eyes or the cocky set of his grin as he twisted sideways to stare at Ichi over the back of the couch. It was a game Ichi knew well—one he’d played a thousand times before—the shoving out of a chest and the tossing of salt into a dohyō. It was a look he’d gotten right before he suckled down the gummy, hairy insides of a fertilized duck egg and shouted in triumph when he extracted the beak before he swallowed it. And it was a smile much like the one he’d gotten before he’d shot across a bed of salt flats in a broke-assed Harley held together with spit and a prayer.

Folding his arms across the back of the couch, Ichiro leaned in and gave Bobby a cocky smile of his own, tilting his head as he drawled slowly, “What makes you think you’re the one who’s going to be doing the fucking?”

Get Down and Dirty in ONE WEEK! And an Excerpt!

Are you ready for Bobby and Ichi?

Excerpt from Down and Dirty

Down_and_Dirty_RhysFord_smallBreathing a sigh of relief, Jae collapsed into the Jeep’s cushioned seat and grinned mischievously over at Ichiro. “See? Told you we wouldn’t get caught.”

“You’re going to get me killed one day, Kim Jae-Min.” Ichiro’s breath was still coming hard and fast, and he wondered if his heart would ever slow down its skipping beat. “Fuck, my knee hurts like a son of a bitch. I can’t believe you jumped on me.”

“I wouldn’t have had to do that if you’d been watching the front.”

“We wouldn’t have gotten out of there if I hadn’t been there to catch you. How were you going to get from the balcony to the floor? They were through the door like rabbits.”

“True,” Jae agreed, his eyes bright with energy. “But it was fun. Does your knee really hurt?”

“Badly,” he murmured, bending it slightly to test its flexibility, then wincing as the joint protested loudly. “Yeah, okay it hurts a little bit. I probably just strained it.”

“Come to the house, then. We can put ice on it and get something for inflammation. My car’s safe at your place. I can get it later.” Jae settled back, extracting his camera from under his arm. “Besides, Cole wanted you to have dinner with us.”

“And Bobby,” Ichi grumbled. “Maybe I should have let the cops catch me.”

“Bobby isn’t bad.” Jae shrugged off Ichi’s muttering dissent. “When I needed him to check on Cole, he was there. During—when things were going bad between us. He’s a good friend to Cole. As long as you don’t go to bed with him, everything is good.”

“That bad in the sack?” Ichi teased. “And how would you know?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” Jae sniped back. “He’s bad for the heart. He goes through tons of … men… over the past few months. The longest I’ve seen him with someone was three weeks, and that’s because I think he was actually twins—one good and one naughty. He’s a good friend just bad for the heart, I think. Not for you.”

“Not like I’m planning to go to bed with him, Jae.” He eased the Jeep into another lane. “Yeah, nice to look at but—you don’t need to warn me off. Look, don’t touch.”

“Just don’t ever let it go beyond that or things will get very messy. I don’t need to know who Cole would choose, you or Bobby, and if things go as they always do with Bobby, Cole’s going to end up having to make that choice.”

Pre-Order Down and Dirty at Dreamspinner Press


From the moment former LAPD detective Bobby Dawson spots Ichiro Tokugawa, he knows the man is trouble. And not just because the much younger Japanese inker is hot, complicated, and pushes every one of Bobby’s buttons. No, Ichi is trouble because he’s Cole McGinnis’s younger brother and off-limits in every possible way. And Bobby knows that even before Cole threatens to kill him for looking Ichi’s way. But despite his gut telling him Ichi is bad news, Bobby can’t stop looking… or wanting.

Ichi was never one to play by the rules. Growing up in Japan as his father’s heir, he’d been bound by every rule imaginable until he had enough and walked away from everything to become his own man. Los Angeles was supposed to be a brief pitstop before he moved on, but after connecting with his American half-brothers, it looks like a good city to call home for a while—if it weren’t for Bobby Dawson.

Bobby is definitely a love-them-and-leave-them type, a philosophy Ichi whole-heartedly agrees with. Family was as much of a relationship as Ichi was looking for, but something about the gruff and handsome Bobby Dawson makes Ichi want more.

Four Excerpt

Maybe this will help…

Excerpt From the Four…

Death selected a ripe orange from the fruit bowl on the counter, hitching himself farther back onto the kitchen counter, the marble cold under him, even through the thickness of the low-slung cotton pants he’d tugged on after his workout.

The sudden screech of thumping music had broken the quiet of their penthouse, but Death didn’t mind. It was good to have Mal around, and Death was willing to make adjustments for their youngest. As their new Pestilence, Mal brought a youthfulness to their Four that was long missing, although the other two didn’t see it as much of a good thing as Death did. At least this time the volume hadn’t been loud enough to rattle the windows. They’d replaced a broken mirror recently, a victim of Mal’s music.

When the eldest Horseman bent over, his inky hair curved down over his strong jaw, the thick black curtain nearly hid the sharp angles of his cheekbones. Behind him the city glowed under the waning sunlight, holding back the San Diego night creeping in from the horizon.

Sliding his thumbnail against the dimpled orange skin, Death inhaled the sharp citrus oil of the pierced rind. Curving his nail carefully around the rim of the navel, he pushed down gently to barely break the surface. The fruit still lay under in its bright rind, seemingly immune to the immortal’s fingers. A door opened down to the left of the kitchen area. Then Ari strode into the common area, fresh from a shower.

Ari’s rib cage ran thick in one spot, a cicatrice blooming on a stretch of tanned skin. The sunburst peeking over the towel’s edge caught Death’s attention, pulling him away from his orange and the problem that had landed in his lap. War’s scar was as familiar to him as his own but much more intriguing, rays of thinner lines spiraling out from a single spray, and still it tugged at his imagination. He gave the thin scar running down his left eye ridge and over the bridge of his nose much less thought.

Death wondered if their scars were from their deaths, one of the few times he’d given himself permission to wonder about where the Horsemen all came from, but the answer, like so many others, was out of his reach. Pestilence, the most recent of their Four, had none on him. Death was amused at the irony of a Pestilence dead from a disease. Min’s flat belly was carved with a half-moon arc between her hip bones, nearly a pinkie width of tangled skin.

“Ah, we’re alone. Okay, maybe not totally alone, but unless Cooties comes out of his room, we’re alone enough. Want to neck and have some fun?” Ari’s white teeth nipped at the dark-haired man’s ear, barely skimming the soft flesh before Death pulled away and gave him a muted disapproving look Ari was quite used to. Eyes slanted slightly upward, he glanced a black warning at Ari’s familiarity with his body.

“Stop it.” His eyes dropped, voice soft in a whisper, a reluctant protestation made out of habit. Looking at the recalcitrant fruit, Death worried once more at the rind, crushing the pulp inside. “I’m thinking.”

“You think too much sometimes. And give me that. I’ll open it for you.” His rough voice broke Death’s study of the fruit. Disgusted at the mess made of the orange, he reached for it, tugging at the fruit until Death let go.

Death gave up the orange reluctantly, long fingers opening under the press of Ari’s callused hand. Ari met the other immortal’s contemplative dark eyes with a steady stare, refusing to give in to Death’s stubbornness. Looking down, Death avoided the other man’s frank gaze, staring instead at the towel knotted about Ari’s waist.