Do you have to plug in a soldering iron? : Strange forays into research

The old saw “write what you know” is a lovely thought. There’s some merit to it, certainly. If you have real-world experience in the ER, your dialogue and action sequences will have more depth and realism when your hero ends up there after the Big Traumatic Event. If you have some training in classical music, your hero, the concert violinist, will sound more like a musician and less like a hack.

Good. Wonderful, as far as it goes. But all writers will eventually walk themselves out into unfamiliar territory. It’s often in the small details, and while some readers will never notice, there will always be that one who points and shouts indignantly, “That’s not right!” I suppose some writers might be able to shrug that off. Me? I hate the thought of writing something the fact-checkers could call into question. It feels wrong to me to play fast and loose with the facts, which might sound strange for a writer of fantasy, but in fantasy, the suspension of disbelief is far more crucial than in a real-world contemporary. The story has to feel real, or be ready to lose the readers.

I’ve done some far-flung and varied research for my books, often on things that no one would notice but me. (Unless I had gotten it wrong–then someone would have noticed.) Perhaps the oddest bit of fact checking I ever did was to look up the names of crayon colors. Yes, a character had crayons, was fascinated by certain colors, and I wanted the right names. You wouldn’t believe how many different names Crayola has given to purple over the years, and, yes, there is a historical database out there to tell you what names were used when.

Some research should be done beforehand, of course. For my last novel, A Different Breed, I did some brushing up on Medieval Bavarian history. The basics were in my brain, but I needed to understand Duke Henry a little better before including him in the work. I love historical research, the mix of online and offline, first and second source material, the sort of delving that feels familiar and comfortable for me.

Sometimes, though, the fingers get going and the writer reaches a certain scene and…stops. Hey, wait, I say to myself, how does that really work? Or what does that look like? Or what’s that really called? The research dragon has snatched me up in its claws again and we fly away for answers before the story can resume.

My next release, Boots, coming out April 17, had several such moments. “Now, hold on, what could you possibly need to research in a re-written fairy tale?” the reader might well ask. I didn’t go into the story with any intention of writing anything but that which I already knew. I didn’t need to look into the geography. I’ve been to dozens of towns just like the fictional Pennsylvanian burg in in the story. I didn’t need to look into cats. I’ve lived with them far too long to need any more information. But details have a way of jumping out in the path to trip the unwary writer.

The boots themselves caused an issue. I’m not a big footwear fan, though I do know the importance of a good pair of boots. But what sort of boots? Make and type? Do they make child-sized ones that aren’t too cutesy? Research wise, not a huge problem. A little bit of window-shopping resolved any questions.

But then the issue of Willem’s soldering iron came up. I know my husband has one. I understand the principle behind it; though don’t ask me to use it successfully. It struck me suddenly that I had no idea regarding power source. It heats up, therefore it requires a power source. With Willem stuck in a hunting cabin without electricity, I found myself with one of those bizarre questions I would never think to ask in real life. Do you need to plug in a soldering iron?

Happily for me, and the story, the answer is not always. But these are the strange places writing takes us—ships and shoes, sleep studies and star systems, silica and soldering irons.

Write what you know? Certainly, up to a point, but only as a starting spot. A writer should be a perpetual scholar, ever curious, ever searching. Just don’t try to fake it. The research dragon, and your readers, will call you on it.

Boots - a Gay Fairytale for Modern Times

Coming April 17, 2011 from Amber Allure!

NEW RELEASE How I Met My Man

For one week only, Amber Allure is offering my latest release, How I Met My Man, at a 35% discount (that's only $3.25). The ebook is available in all popular formats, including Kindle-ready (Mobi/prc). Get your copy of How I Met My Man here.

This story blends my passion for marrying dark suspense with romance...

How I Met My ManHow I Met My Man
ISBN-13: 978-1-61124-070-2
Genres: Gay / Contemporary / Suspense / Thriller
Heat Level: 2
Length: Novella (18k words)
New Release 35% Discount (One Week Only)

BLURB
 How a guy meets his man can happen in a dozen different ways: online, at a bar, through friends, at a masquerade party...or even at the scene of a murder...

The road to love is seldom straight, and for Stephen Embert, that road couldn't possibly be more crooked. First, he arrives home to find an anonymous card in his mailbox that says, "I've been inside your house," then comes the midnight home invasion. But Stephen forgets these disturbing occurrences a month later when he attends a masquerade party and hopes to finally meet Mr. Right.

But who is the stranger in black with the disturbing emotionless mask following him? And why does the stranger always get in the way of Stephen hooking up with Jeffrey, the angelic and nearly naked leather hunk, who wants nothing more than to get Stephen alone for some romance? Appearances are not always what they seem, and discovering true love can sometimes be a matter of life and death.

EXCERPT
...The sexual tension in the room was palpable. In one corner, a pair of guys was making out, staying just shy of actual penetration, but their mouths were locked onto each other like they were ready to eat other’s faces. Their bodies, clothed in little more than denim and latex, were grinding into one another as if they were desperate to merge into one human being. I saw many flirtatious glances that I knew, before the night was over, could erupt into something akin to the guys in the corner, or maybe even full-on sex. Remember, Tabby had a scrupulously maintained playroom and, at some point, most of the revelers would wander into it.

I also saw a lot of guys simply having a good time, blowing off steam, dancing, talking to each other, laughing. Tabby had set up Night of the Living Dead to play on his huge plasma screen and several guys watched it absent-mindedly. Even I thought it was interesting how the film and the techno music went together in an eerie way.

I was sort of drifting off into my own little world, mesmerized by the zombies on the screen, when my easy buzz got interrupted. No, it got crushed, slammed to the floor, stomped into little pieces.

All because a new guest had joined the party.

You know that bartender? The one that I thought was just about the most gorgeous hunk of masculinity upon which I had ever laid eyes? Forget him. This new guy made him looked like someone on a par with, I don’t know, Andy Dick, maybe?

When I saw him come into the party and remove his coat, I truly think my adrenalin surged. I felt faint. And let me tell you, honey, I thought that feeling faint at the sight of a hunky man was the exclusive device of writers of bad romances.

But it really did happen. It happened to me.

Apparently, it happened to several other people—maybe most of them—at the party as well. A hush fell over the party and a multitude of heads tried to discreetly swivel toward the newcomer. It almost seemed like an invisible hand turned down the volume on the music, too.

He was glorious. Perfect. An unrivaled specimen of masculinity almost too beautiful to live. He stood about six two and his body was lean, tightly defined, and covered with satiny olive flesh that begged to be touched, if only you could find yourself worthy. His muscles spoke of quiet strength; they were there, visible, but had none of the pumped-up overkill of a gym rat who spent far too much time working on his body (and perhaps far too much money on steroids). He had a thick shock of black hair sticking up from the top of his head, while the sides and back of his head were shaved close. A silver hoop dangled from one ear. Surveying the party, he revealed eyes so dark the pupils were lost within the irises. I felt as though if I were to tumble into those eyes, I could die happy. His lashes—the only feminine thing about him—were long and thick. His lips full and kissable. His face was chiseled, with a very fetching cleft in the middle of his chin. That touchable skin? It was almost hairless, save for thick, coarse dark hair on his forearms and calves.

And, of course, there was a lovely treasure trail leading down, across his flat stomach, and into the black leather briefs he wore as part of his costume.

His costume was simple and inspired. He wore three things: the black leather bikini briefs, a pair of combat boots, and a plain leather harness to the back of which were attached two small wings—jet black and crafted from feathers.

He looked like an angel—but one that would quickly lead you to Hell. You would not protest.

My heart beat a little faster...

Get your copy of How I Met My Man here.

Wait For Night

By A. J. Llewellyn

Words on a page. How much do they mean? I've been thinking about this a lot lately not just because I'm a writer and reader but because I've come to realize they can mean everything and nothing.
Have you ever picked up a grocery cart in the store and found somebody else's shopping list? It's happened to me enough times that I find myself wondering about the person behind the whimsical stationery or the spidery handwriting.
On the other end of the spectrum we have the Voyrich Manuscript, or The Book Nobody Can Read. A seemingly unintelligible work written in the 15th century that nobody can decipher.
Recently I had an experience that falls somewhere between these two.
My godmother sent me a card hand-written by mother in 1972.
Big deal, right?
Well, for me it was. I was a year old at the time and she died a few short years later after a horrific battle with colon cancer. My father destroyed all trace of her. So it was an incredible gift when my godmother unearthed an old Christmas card in which my mother describes her joy at getting me to eat (I find it hard to believe that was ever a problem) and her discovery that she was pregnant again.
I'd never seen her handwriting and the card reduced me to tears. She had a lovely penmanship and wrote in smooth strokes. I touch each word, knowing she created it.
What astonished me was how people have reacted when I show them the card. People I feel close to act like it's odd that I carry it around with me. A few of my elderly friends, and those who have lost their mothers, recognize it for the treasure it is. I have scanned the card and sent it to my brothers who also value it.
Until my dying day it will remain my most treasured possession.
Words on a page.
Or, a card.
This has impacted me in a wonderful way, because the card became the jumping off point for my new story, Wait For Night, for Amber Quill Press. It comes out in April as part of the Crime and Punishment anthology and as I put the finishing touches to the story I am aware that this is probably my most personal story yet.
Without giving too much away, a young man's assault at the hands of an attacker who is liberated by the Los Angeles court system, sends him spiralling into depression...and a journey of self-discovery. He travels to a small Greek village - which I did, in search of my mother - only to find the man who hurt him has followed him there.
The Greek poet George Seferis once said, "Wherever I travel, Greece hurts me."
As I began the search for my mother's memory, she and the country from which we came have hurt me. I will never stop searching for her...or loving her. Until we meet again.
Aloha oe,

A.J.

Giving Character to your Character

Giving your characters, character

Sounds simple enough, right? But have you ever read a book that by the end, the only thing you really remember about the main characters is their names? Heck, sometimes I can’t even remember that!

So what is it about some stories that really draw you in? Plot? Sure. A good plot will get your attention. But if the characters lack any individuality or detail, can the plot still give the book what it needs to make it stick with you a while after you’ve reached THE END?

On the flipside of things, great character development and with a terrible plot will likely turn you off as well. But that’s a post for another time. Today I want to focus on some of the basics of building characters that your readers can love.

Let’s focus on the physical aspects of your character. Easy enough. So let’s say I’m writing a romance novel and my character descriptions go as follows:

He was tall, handsome, and had an air about him that drew women like moths to a flame.  

She was shapely and beautiful; he wanted her from the start.

I suppose that’s enough to give the reader a fair description.  At this point, they’re likely picturing what those descriptions mean in their minds. Every reader will picture something different. Are these characters appealing? Sure, the reader is imagining them how they want. Are they interesting? Not really. They sound like every other character in every other romance book you pick up. So what would make them stand out? Make the envision exactly how the character looks in your (the author’s) eyes?

Complexion: What does their skin look like? Is it smooth? Does the man have a beard? Stubble? Are her cheeks rosy? Sallow? Like porcelain?

What about color? Does she have olive colored skin? Pale? Ivory? Is he tanned? Translucent?

How about flaws? Come of folks, not everybody is perfect. In fact, after reading so many books about “perfect” characters, they kinda get boring. Characters need flaws, whether physical or emotional, to give them depth. So how about a scar? Or maybe rough skin? Acne scars (don’t forget, you have to describe your bad guys/girls as well). Birthmark?

Eyes: Color is usually a given. Most authors name eye color at some point in the story. As a personal opinion, earlier is better than later. The longer you delay giving readers a detailed description, the more they’re going to envision the characters how they want. If halfway through the book they’ve decided the man has shoulder length, brown hair and dark eyes (because the cover depicts him as such and we all know covers aren’t always accurate to a tee. Unless Trace designs it, then it’s going to be perfect!), then you announce he has short dark blonde hair and green eyes, your reader is likely going to feel like you’ve just pulled the rug out from under them. The hero is going to feel like a stranger.

So let’s discuss eyes. Aside from color, what else? What about shape? Are they almond? Cat-like? Thin? Rounded? Are they rimmed with dark lashes? Hooded? Are there bags under their eyes? Sometimes the first glimpse at the character isn’t always when he/she is at their best.

Nose: What kind of nose does the hero/heroine have? Thin? Narrow? Flared? Slightly crooked? Strong? Grecian? Wide? You might even get more detailed and describe the bridge separately from the nostrils.

Lips: Ahhh… One of our favorite parts of the face. But what kind of lips do our characters have? Generous? Full? Thin upper lip and full bottom? Pouty? Heart-shaped. Wide? Small? Don’t forget lips have color as well. Some are beige; some are pink, red, brown, gray, purple (depending upon the scene). You wouldn’t have a character who’s just fallen into an icy river emerge with red lips and rosy cheek. That would make no sense what so ever. They’re likely going to have a gray or ashen skin color, and purple lips.

Hair: Again, most authors as some point define their character hair color. But what about the texture? Is it coarse, silky soft? Thin? Thick? Curly? Straight? Long? Short? Does it hang in their eyes? Curl around their temples? I recently read a series of books by Marisa Chenery called Ra’s Chosen (5 books in all). In each one, she describes her characters fairly enough. But one character really stands out to me. Why? Because his hair is always in his eyes, like he’s hiding something. She still hasn’t defined what and I’m dying to know. Hopefully she’s working on book 6 and my curiosity will be satisfied. Anyway, my point being, sometimes even just their hair can be a defining characteristic that gives them character.

Body Type: *rubbing hands together* The fun stuff. Alright, I gotta admit, I won’t be as turned on by a hero with a beer belly and scrawny legs. Yes, I want the Adonis. But, that’s not to say he has to be perfect or that if he is, you can skimp on his description. What is it about him that makes him perfect? Does he have mile-wide shoulders? An expanse of chest sprinkled with curling wisps of dark hair (see, hair applied here too!). Do his pecs dance as he flexes those mounds of man flesh? Don’t forget to make him proportioned.  He can’t be ripped with bulging muscles on top, then have nice legs and a trim waist below. Huh? I’m envisioning Johnny Bravo here (cartoon character for anyone who doesn’t know). If he’s lean, make him lean all over. Maybe he’s not a hunk of stud-muscle with bulges threatening to bust through is clothes. Maybe he’s just fit and trim. That’s okay, just describe him in a manner that makes him sound fit and trim.

Body Parts: I shudder to dive in to this one. Depending on where you mind is, this has many options. Let’s start with the heroine. Let’s face it, not all of us are gifted with big bazongas.  Some of us have beestings, other have watermelons. Just make it fit. Don’t describe your heroine as 5 foot nothing, 100 pounds, and packing cantaloupes. She’s gonna need a wheelbarrow as well. That or major back surgery. Yes, some little women are Baywatch babe material, but make it believable.  What about those heroes? Are they all massively endowed? Please. Let’s be realistic. If every guy I read about has the potential to render his female counterpart unable to walk, then I’m gonna get bored. As with breasts, there’s a difference between being nicely sized and “wanting to run the other direction” sized. I suppose the exception would be if that were your male character’s main dilemma.  Maybe he needs to find him an Amazon woman who can handle him. Okay, getting off tract here!  

For any character, male or female, hero/heroine, bad guy/girl, just start at the top and work your way down, hitting on the things that you want the reader to zero in on, the things that make the character who they are.  The things that give him/her character.

Before I end here, let’s revisit those two descriptions I gave earlier:

He was tall, handsome, and had an air about him that drew women like moths to a flame.  

She was shapely and beautiful; he wanted her from the start.

Taking my own suggestions to heart, I think I can do a little better:

Shannon’s perusing gaze zeroed in on the man entering the bar. Were he any taller, he’d have had to duck to cross the threshold.  His black hair swept back from his face in a crest and hung to his broad shoulders in large waves, its color so pure it looked almost blue in the twinkling disco lights. His heavy brow and hooded eyes gave her a sense of unease. He looked almost predatory as he scanned the room.

When he suddenly looked over at her and their eyes met, she felt an overwhelming urge to run across the floor and throw herself at his feet. He had a virile air about him that undoubtedly drew women like moths to a flame. Having already experienced the unpleasant feeling of being burned by one handsome man, Shannon quickly looked away. She had no desire to be hurt again.

After settling his large frame in a vacant chair, Keith scanned the other tables, looking for a donor. Several days had passed since he’d fed, he had to find one tonight. His stomach growled in agreement.  

He settled on a slim blonde at the bar. Her long golden locks hung down her slender back in ringlet curls, almost childlike in appearance. His investigation lingered on the exposed flesh above the low waistband of her jeans. Its smooth ivory texture looked creamy and flawless, like freshly poured buttermilk. He wondered if it felt as soft as it appeared.

 They locked gazes and his breath hitched in his chest. Her cat-like green eyes sparkled with attraction before she dropped attention to the drink in his hand. He caught the hint of a faint blush on her delicate cheeks before she looked away. He wanted her; she was perfect.

Ta da! Much better. Hey, I might just keep that and use it in a book! If anyone has any input/suggestions, I’d love to hear them.

Shannon Leigh

“Giving readers the O in their erOtica”

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Where the Heart Is

I've stared at the screen for several minutes now, trying to compose an opening line that encompasses this blog entry in one sentence. So maybe the part of my brain that regulates brevity isn't working today.

Amber Quill Press/Amber Allure has a really neat opportunity for the reader with its GLBT AmberPAX program. Each PAX contains five stories from some of the best GLBT authors writing today. I count myself very blessed (and surprised) to have been among them four times. Five if you count the upcoming Rich Man, Poor Man PAX that will be out in May 2011.

If you're looking for new authors to enjoy, and save money on reading material while doing it, the AmberPAX is for you. But you can only get it at Amber Allure. Here's the info on the four collections I've been a part of:

Where The Heart Is
A Collection of "Reunions" Gay Erotic Romance
Chance Encounter - Christiane France
December Promise - KC Kendricks
Embrace My Reflection - T. A. Chase
In From The Cold - Carolina Valdez
Remember Me? - Lynn Lorenz

A Song To Remember (Vol. II) A Collection of Song-Inspired Gay Erotica
Dead Man's Curve - Vivien Dean
Devil Went Down To Georgia - Pepper Espinoza
Tango In The Night - KC Kendricks
Ticket To Ride - Shawn Lane
Your Cheatin' Heart - Mimi Riser

From This Moment On... A Collection of "Best Friend" Gay Erotic Romance
Beyond The Shadows - Deirdre O'Dare
A Hard Habit To Break - KC Kendricks
Independence Day 2 - Christiane France
Pinky Swear - Lynn Lorenz
Still The One - Shawn Lane

Stepping Out A Collection of "Coming Out" Gay Erotic Romance
Once Upon A Secret - Christiane France
Out On The Net - Rick R. Reed
Pioneers - Lynn Lorenz
Runes Of Revelation - Deirdre O'Dare
What You Don't Confess - KC Kendricks

And coming in May - sorry the links aren't up yet -

Rich Man, Poor Man
A Collection of "Opposites" Gay Erotic Romance
Between The Moon And The Deep Blue Sea - KC Kendricks
Class Distinctions - Rick R. Reed
Crossing The Line - Christiane France
Homeless In Heaven - Deirdre O'Dare
Kissed By God - T. A. Chase

That's it for today. Happy reading!

KC Kendricks
Visit my website at: http://www.kckendricks.com
Follow me on Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/kckendricks
Join my mailing list at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/betweenthekeys
Read my personal blog: http://www.kckendricks.blogspot.com
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The Impersonator Is Available This Weekend

I have the pleasure of launching the Masquerade series this weekend with the release of, The Impersonator.

After being dumped by his boyfriend, Benjamin Pomeroy has hot club sex with a gorgeous new employee at the same Las Vegas hotel where Ben works as an Elvis impersonator. And shortly thereafter, Ben abruptly loses his job when the new CEO, Maxwell Orton, decides that Elvis no longer fits the hotel’s image. 

Facing the grueling prospect of locating a steady job, Ben needs extra cash to tide himself over. To help the situation, Ben’s brother Phillip, also employed at the hotel, offers him a paying proposition—swap identities with Phillip at a masquerade ball being given by Maxwell Orton for the hotel’s higher echelon employees. Attendance is mandatory, but Phillip has made other important plans that he refuses to cancel. To Ben, the idea of switching places with his brother seems preposterous, yet harmless enough. Besides, it’s easy money, right? And after all, he’ll be wearing a mask the entire time, so no one will learn of the deception.

But the masquerade doesn’t go as planned when Ben discovers, to his complete shock, that Maxwell is actually the sexy hotel employee whom he entertained privately at the local gay club...

I hope you will check out the others in the Masquerade Series as they become available.

EXCERPT - NEW! - IN FROM THE COLD - Erotic Contemporary M/M

My Valentine's Day release! Hope you got flowers and chocolate. Lots of chocolate!

ISBN-13:978-61124-064-1
Copyright © 2011 Carolina Valdez
Cover Copyright © 2011 Trace Edward Zaber

… East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet…

Jon and Wendell were fourteen when they experimented with each other and discovered they were gay. Lovers and in love, they drifted apart after graduation when Jon left to follow his dream to rock ʼn roll stardom. A heartbroken Wendell recovered by earning an animal husbandry degree at a California university. He returned to the small Oregon town where they’d grown up to raise sheep with his father.

Ten years later, Wendell’s contentment is shattered when Jon and his band arrive to play for their high school reunion. Love surprises both men by immediately flaring into liquid heat. Jon begs Wendell to give up his life in Oregon and live with him in New York City. Wendell refuses, however, asking Jon to move in with him instead. Jon refuses and returns to Manhattan.

Will Wendell and Jon remain star-crossed lovers, or will they discover a way to bridge the distance and discover the meaning of "home"?

AVAILABLE NOW
http://www.amberquill.com/AmberAllure/InFromCold.html

EXCERPT - WARNING - EXPLICIT M/M

Wendell froze. He forgot to breathe. Warm lips touched the hollow just beneath his right ear and a tongue slowly tasted, savoring him. He closed his eyes as the tonguing changed to a wet mouth trailing kisses with agonizing slowness down his neck to where his sleep top began. Fingers slid beneath the neck and slid across his bare skin, following its line.

“I wore your gift tonight,” Jon said in a voice as rough as gravel.

Mesmerized by the touch of Jon’s mouth and hands, all Wendell could get out was, “I noticed.” When a lack of oxygen threatened to cause a black out, he drew in a long breath through his nose. Not my soap, he thought. Not my shampoo. Only Jon’s scent. His soap, his shampoo, his arms strong and familiar around me.
His lips and tongue that I have missed so very much.

He crossed his arms over Jon’s and became aware of the rock hard cock pressing against his buttocks and his dick growing long and big in response. That, too, was familiar. He didn’t want to move, to stop the mouth at his neck or destroy the pleasures rumbling inside him. He just wanted to stand there and feel Jon in the stillness, with the blazing fire shooting flickering shadows around them, and convince himself Jon was real and this wasn’t a dream.

Jon released his waist and turned Wendell to face him as his lips brushed over the corners of his closed eyes and his tongue lapped at the tip of his nose before zeroing in to devour Wendell’s mouth. As the kiss deepened and their tongues intertwined in an imitation of penetrating sex, Wendell wrapped his arms around Jon and ran his hands up and down the broad back. Jon thrust his hips against Wendell’s until they were so tight together he couldn’t tell Jon’s dick from his. It didn’t matter. Melding into him, becoming one with him was all that mattered as erotic sparks shot through him and lust caused his body to quiver.

Someone groaned, and Wendell realized it came from his throat.

Jon must’ve taken that as a signal to slip the back of his hand beneath the band of Wendell’s sleep pants, because he was there, and his hard knuckles stroked the tender flesh above Wendell’s bush.

“Lower. Go lower,” Wendell begged, hungry for and helpless against the sensual onslaught. He rocked his hips from side to side to increase the friction as the knuckles continued to rub.

Jon was trembling now. He slid Wendell’s sleep pants down and took his cock in hand.

“Not here,” Wendell warned, his voice thick and hoarse with what testosterone was doing to his vocal chords. “I’m on the verge.”

“Yes, here,” Jon insisted as he pulled his own pants down and wrapped Wendell’s hand around his tight erection. “I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long I’m not going to let you go. Besides, we have all night.

Pleasure splintered Wendell, and he exhaled with a groan as he enjoyed those all too brief seconds when everything centered in his groin and drowned his entire body in feeling.

“Oh, God, Wendell. Wendell.” Jon moaned as he came, too.
Later, they wandered to bed, stripped, crawled under the covers and died to the world.

In the deepest part of the night, Wendell roused to the weight of someone, something on his butt, something hard and velvety gliding, sliding in and out of his crack. Something nipped at his shoulder. “Is that you, Jon?”

“Who else, lover?”

He started to turn, but hands captured his shoulders and kept him in place as Jon’s knees forced his thighs apart. Hands rubbed his back as Jon licked his skin, awakening nerve endings running the length of his body. Thinking he should only feel this in his groin, the sensations caused every nerve to spring to life. Awash in feeling, he decided to relax and enjoy it, not to miss even one little flicker of arousal...


Carolina Valdez

http://www.CarolinaValdez.com
http://www.twitter.com/carolina_valdez

Note: IN FROM THE COLD is included in the five-story erotic gay WHERE THE HEART IS AmberPax
http://www.amberquill.com/AmberAllure/AP_WhereTheHeart.html

NEW RELEASE - CHANCE ENCOUNTER - M/M GAY ADULT

Chance Encounter
by Christiane France
ISBN-13: 978-1-61124-061-0 (Electronic)
http://www.amberquill.com/AmberAllure/ChanceEncounter.html
In high school and through their first year of college, Jase Thoman and Matt Lester were best friends and lovers. But then Matt’s family moved across country, Matt transferred to another school, and the pair eventually drifted apart.
Now, ten years later, they meet again by chance. Jase is a private investigator, desperate to find his kid brother, Donny, who, in addition to two other teenage boys, has mysteriously disappeared after last being seen at a local gay bar. Matt is an undercover police officer brought in on the case by the local police department in the hope he can succeed where they have so far failed.
Matt is the only man Jase has ever really loved, but ten years is a long time. They’re not the same people they once were, and when Matt tries to pick up where they left off, Jase takes a step back. His first priority is finding his brother. As far as Matt is concerned, Jase feels how he imagines a deer would feel when caught in the headlights of a vehicle with little or no chance of escape—confused, unsure, and at the same time, positive whatever he does will be the wrong thing.
Can Matt help Jase solve the mystery of his brother’s whereabouts, while also convincing him to give their relationship a fresh start?
Excerpt:
The man hesitated, frowning, but then his smile suddenly broadened, giving Jase the distinct impression the guy thought he knew him. “By all that’s holy… Jeez, I don’t believe it. This is really wicked, man.”
There was no recognition on Jase’s end. But then he constantly met all kinds of different people in the course of his job. Could be they’d crossed paths at some point, and he just didn’t remember. “What don’t you believe?”
“That it’s really you. I guess, after all this time, you’ve forgotten I’m basically a beer drinker, but right now, I’d rather have a nice cold glass of OJ.”
Forgotten? After all what time? As in I’m supposed to know you from somewhere?
Jase narrowed his eyes and looked the dude over more carefully. The lighting in the club was lousy, but somewhere between the glitter, the cheap glamour and false eyelashes, one of which was rapidly becoming unglued, there was something vaguely familiar about the guy. He searched his memory and came up dry. “Sorry, man, I think you must be mistaking me for someone else.”
The man gave a soft, sexy chuckle, raising hairs on places Jase had always thought were hairless. He flipped through his memory banks for a second time. He still didn’t recognize the face, but he knew he’d heard that chuckle somewhere before. Where or when, he couldn’t remember…but something about it reminded him of his college days and March break—cheap motel rooms, heavy breathing, sweat-soaked sheets, and the overpowering smells of stale beer and sex.
“S’okay, Jase. It’s been one helluva long time,” the guy said quietly. “And I know I have you at a disadvantage in this getup. But you were looking me over pretty good, so I figured I should say something fast in case you recognized me and blew my cover.”
“Sorry, man. Like I said, I think you’re—” Before Jase could finish what he was about to say, he realized the guy had used his name. Then, something clicked in his brain and the memories came flooding back…along with a rush of pure sexual need he hadn’t felt in a very long time. “You’re— Oh, my God, it’s— But it can’t be. You’re—”
Matt Lester in the flesh?
Jase stared at the guy standing beside him in shock. He and Matt Lester had been lovers, best friends, and roommates through the last couple of years of high school and the first year of college. Then Matt’s family had moved to the west coast, and a scholarship had caused Matt to transfer to another school. They’d kept in touch for a while and still exchanged cards at Christmas, but between distance and everyday life, they hadn’t seen one another in years. Jase wanted to ask if Matt was back living here in town, or if he was just passing through. However, before Jase could say his name out loud, Matt had him in the kind of lip-lock Jase couldn’t have broken even on a good day.
He let his body go limp and waited for the one guy he’d never thought to see again do the same. At least the idiot wasn’t using force. No tongue, just a firm hold and the pressure of his mouth to keep Jase quiet. Jase felt the rasp of five o’clock shadow against his own freshly shaved skin. He was also conscious of the faint smell of stale, sweaty clothes, and he wondered if living on the street was also part of Matt’s cover. With anyone else, it would have been a total turn-off, but with Matt it was working on Jase like the most expensive aphrodisiac. He was up, he was hard, and he knew with just a little mouth-action on Matt’s part, they’d once again be flying to the moon.
If he’d thought about it—and he had, quite a few times if he told the truth—Jase wouldn’t have expected to still feel this way, not after so long. But it seemed that was the amazing thing about memories. Sometimes they came flying back as fresh as the day they got started, and this one was what—close to nine, maybe even ten years old?...
www.chrisgrover.ca

December Promise by KC Kendricks

December Promise
Contemporary gay romance
available now at
http://www.amberquill.com/AmberAllure/DecemberPromise.html

Paul Macy moved heaven and earth to get a reluctant Lee Kendall for his college roommate. Giving up his free-and-easy lifestyle for the sexy new guy on campus had been the easiest decision Paul had ever made. Walking away from Lee, however, had been the hardest.

Now, years later, Lee Kendall’s made it to the top of his field by working hard, and playing harder in the right circles. Yet he has also come to realize that success is empty when you have no one with whom to celebrate it. But as luck would have it, an invitation to visit his alma mater brings Lee face-to-face with his first lover, and a chance for the reconciliation he never thought possible.

The sparks fly when Paul and Lee reunite, fulfilling long-denied dreams for both men. But passion isn’t a pledge, and it takes more than promises made in the dark to forge a shared future between two lonely hearts...


INTRO: (from Lee's POV)

Did he seek closure, or renewal?

"Why don’t we ask the concierge to suggest a place? I drove in, so we can take my car and go the long way around. Maybe drive up to the overlook, and check out what’s new in the view.”

Paul tapped his coffee cup to Lee’s. “I like that idea.”

Lee downed the dregs of the lukewarm liquid in his cup. Damn, contact with foam containers made coffee taste nasty. His memory came alive with recollections of how a younger Paul’s skin tasted. Would it have the same musky sweetness now? He had to get his mind off sex before he got hard.

It was too late to recall the thought. Goose bumps prickled over his thighs and belly. His cock pulsed, lengthened. He hoped Paul wouldn’t notice, but he knew better.

Paul uncurled his long frame to gracefully roll to his feet in a display of controlled strength. He held out his hand to Lee.

Lee didn’t hesitate to reach out and wrap his fingers around his ex-lover’s. Paul pulled him to his feet. Standing so close to him, face-to-face inside the aura of heat and scent, the buried sorrow of all the lost years vanished. His inaction had created the worst mistake of his life – he’d allowed Paul to walk away.

Just two short weeks ago he’d counseled a friend to follow his heart. Now he had the chance to follow his, if he were brave enough.

His chin lifted as he gazed into Paul’s blue eyes. There were so many things he wanted to say, but only one seemed relevant.

“I’ve missed you, Paul.”


EXCERPT: (from Paul's POV)

Quick as lightning, Paul wrapped his arms around Lee. Desire, swift and sweet, swept through him, jumbling his memories, as Lee’s mouth moved over his. His lips opened, and Lee’s tongue licked into his as he backed Paul against the car. His cock responded, swelling rapidly as a delicious urgency seized him. He inhaled sharply, and Lee’s spicy scent exploded in his memory, refreshed, better now for holding him again. Paul stroked his lover’s back, his hands going down to cup Lee’s firm ass. Lee pressed closer and flexed his pelvis to his. Paul gripped tighter, needing to feel every inch of the steel rod rubbing against his.

This was nuts. They couldn’t just pick up where they’d left off. Could they?
Nothing had changed. They lived on separate coasts. They’d made separate lives. It should be easy to stop kissing him and explain why this was a bad idea, and friendship was the best they should hope for. He spun Lee around and slammed him flat to the car door.

Paul shivered as Lee yanked his shirttail out of his jeans, his hot palms sliding across the planes of his chest. Paul made a sound of encouragement as Lee’s finger teased his left nipple. Trust Lee to remember how he loved to have his nips touched. He thrust his tongue into Lee’s mouth. Lee pushed against him, breaking off the heated kiss.

“Hey, easy. We need to cool down a bit.”

Paul grabbed at him, but Lee gently swatted his hands away. “I mean it, Paul.”

Behind him, people spoke. A car engine started. He shivered as the testosterone haze cleared. Lee smiled crookedly at him.

“Best we not get tossed onto the street for lewd and obscene behavior.”
He was right. Paul took a deep breath and tried to ignore the tightness in his balls. Thank heavens Lee had his wits about him. “So you think me going to my knees in the parking garage would be a bit much?”

Lee chuckled. “Uh-huh. I think the state still has laws against it.”

“I’ll do it, you know.”

“And I’ll let you, you know.”

Paul’s heart did a little dance in his chest. His stomach fluttered, swirling cold, then flaring red-hot. “Don’t say that if you don’t meant it, Lee.”

“I do mean it. Now why don’t we find some food, and think about how big a mistake we’re about to make?”

“Are you going to smirk at me?”

Dark brows knit together, Lee tilted his head. “Why would I…?”

His voice tailed off as Paul dipped a hand down the front of his jeans and settled his genitals to a more comfortable position before he tucked his shirttail in. Amusement sparkled in his eyes, turning them bright silver in the overhead lighting. He shrugged, and it was Paul’s turn to laugh as Lee made a like adjustment. Paul risked giving Lee another quick kiss before opening the car door.

“I’ll behave now.”

Lee patted his ass on the way to the other side of the car. “Tell me another one, Racy Macy.”

“Oh, geez.” Paul dropped into the passenger seat and fastened the seat belt. “I always hated it when you called me that.” Lee closed his door and walked around to the driver’s side and got it.

“No you didn’t hate it.” Lee stuck the key in the ignition and turned the switch. “You liked it, runner-boy.”

He had, when Lee called him that. When other guys used it, the underlying affection wasn’t there. Paul remained silent as Lee skillfully maneuvered the car out of the parking garage and merged with the street traffic.

“We’ve never been in a car alone together before.”

“We were on the bus one night, just the two of us.” Lee changed lanes. “I’m starving. I need more than pizza. I saw one of those chain steak houses on the way into town. Are you good with that?”

“The bus doesn’t count because of the driver, and ‘yes’ on the restaurant.”

Lord, the night on the bus. How long had it been since he’d thought about that ride? The bus driver knew there was hanky-panky going on in the last row, and cut the interior lights. Paul had kept telling Lee to stop, that the lights could come back on at any second. Lee refused, and stroked him until he almost came, then refused to finish him off until they were locked in their dorm room.

The driver gave them a stern warning as they disembarked, but Paul never shook the impression they’d amused the fellow. He squirmed in his seat as his dick rose again, and he cast a surreptitious glance at Lee.

Great. The man knew what was going on in his pants...


DECEMBER PROMISE
ISBN 978-1-61124-062-7
Contemporary gay romance
available now at
http://www.amberquill.com/AmberAllure/DecemberPromise.html

This title is also available as part of WHERE THE HEART IS, a five book PAX collection from Amber Allure: http://www.amberquill.com/AmberAllure/AP_WhereTheHeart.html


KC Kendricks
Visit my website at: http://www.kckendricks.com
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Interview with Cheyenne & Darian

Shannon Leigh:

“Good afternoon, everyone. I’m here with the main characters of More Than Prophecy, Cheyenne Ayashe and Lord Darian Andreas. Let’s start with Cheyenne.”

She turns to the pretty Native American woman, taking note of her beautiful long, dark hair and flawless olive skin.

“You came from Earth, isn’t that correct?”

Cheyenne:

Nods. “Yes. That’s right.”

Shannon Leigh:

“Tell us a little about you. Where did you live? Did you have a job? Were you…”

Shannon briefly glances at Darian.

“Ahem, involved with anyone before your trip here?”

Cheyenne:

“No, no boyfriend,” she grins, her expression betraying her embarrassment. “As much as I hate to admit it, I was kind of a bore. I loved in a small town near Tucson, Arizona, and worked as a nurse at the local hospital. I lived with my best friend Aimee—who’s probably been frantic since my disappearance—and my cat Milo. Unlike my roommate, I wasn’t much of a partier. I liked to read and would usually spend my Friday nights curled up with the cat and a good book.”

Shannon Leigh:

“Sounds like your life has taken a drastic change.”

Cheyenne:

“Blushes and nods again, her violet blue eyes drifting to Darian. “Yes. It definitely has.”

Shannon Leigh:

“Now, from what I gather, Zandar if quite a barbaric planet. Have your nursing skills come in handy since you’ve been there?”

Cheyenne:

Returns her gaze to Shannon, her expression sombered. “I’ve saved a few lives—one I wanted to, one I didn’t.”

Shannon Leigh:

“Interesting. Tell us about the day you traveled to Zandar. What was it like? Were you scared?”

Cheyenne:

Expels an incredulous laugh. “Scared would be an understatement, I was terrified! I mean, who wouldn’t be? One minute I’m getting out of my car—a 65 Mustang, canary yellow, I loved that car—and the next, the whole world goes crazy. I didn’t know if a tornado had opened up over my head or what. All I remember is watching this black hole descend upon me, and then nothingness. When I woke up, everything around me had changed.”

Shannon Leigh:

“Wow, I can only imagine what that must have been like. What did you do after you woke up?”

Cheyenne:

“For a few minutes, I was pretty stunned. I kept thinking I was the butt of some sick joke, but when no one jumped out and yelled “surprise!” I quickly realized something bizarre had just happened to me. I mean, there I was, practically naked—“

Shannon Leigh:

“Practically naked?” she incredulously interrupts.

Cheyenne:

Nods affirmation. “Yeah! I didn’t even have my own clothes on anymore. Just some sort of flimsy nightgown thingy. I might as well as have been wearing nothing. Sure as hell didn’t cover much. Anyway, I had no clue where I was, or where to go. I certainly couldn’t stand in that spot forever so I had to make a decision: take my chances in the scary forest behind me, or brave the blaring sun overhead. Either way, I had to find someone to help.”

Darian:

“Aye, an’ that’s when ya found me.”

Shannon Leigh:

Shannon watches the silent exchange as Cheyenne glances at Darian and smiles. Her olive cheeks flush prettily before she lowers her gaze. There’s no denying the attraction between them. Feeling an odd pang of jealousy, she quickly disregards it and refocuses on the interview.

 “Tell us about that. How did you first meet?”

Cheyenne:

“I’d climbed to the top of a hill to get a look around,” she explains, her voice dreamlike. Her gaze seemed to focus on a spot in the distance, staring at something only she could see. “That’s when I saw him. He stood out amongst all his men, so tall, so proud. I remember the look in his eyes when he glanced up and saw me…That’s when I ran.”

Shannon Leigh:

Leans forward in her chair, her attention riveted on Cheyenne. “What did you see in his eyes?”

Cheyenne:

Glances at Shannon before dropping her gaze to her lap. “My future.”

Shannon Leigh:

Turns to the large man seated on Cheyenne’s left. She quietly regards him, starting at large soles of his brown knee-high boots, then moving up to the tight beige pants covering his muscular legs. She lingered a little longer than polite on the generous bulge at his crotch, seemingly kept in check only by the tight lacings of his pants, before moving up to the leather jerkin stretched taut over his broad shoulders and wide chest. When her investigation finally reached his face, she noticed the knowing grin that tugged at his firm mouth. His returned stare said without words that he was quite aware of his sexual appeal.

Feeling her cheeks burn with mortification, she clears her throat and tries to get back on topic. “So, Darian…is it okay if I call you that? Or would you prefer Lord Andreas?”

Darian:

Leans back in his chair, crossing his muscled arms over his bulging pecs and his long, thick legs at the ankles. Despite his barbaric appearance and intimidating size, he looks completely at ease. “Darian will due,” she says with an authoritative voice that seems to rumble deep in his chest. “As long as ya dinna forget  who yer speakin’ with.”

Shannon Leigh:

Nods her head and thinks to herself, I better tread lightly with this one.

He obviously didn’t take to kindly to questions, or disrespect.

“Tell us a little about yourself, Darian.”

Darian:

Looks at Shannon as though she were daft. “Are ya barmy, lass? Ya ken who I am, aye?”

Shannon Leigh:

“Yes, I’m quite aware of you, Darian.” Her face burns again as she realizes her slip. “Of who you are, I mean,” she hurriedly explains. “But I’m sure the audience would like to know.”

Darian:

Shrugs nonchalantly. “I am Lord Darian Andreas, ruler of the Andreas Clan and master of the mighty Andreas Territory.”

Shannon Leigh:

Waits a moment to see if he has anything else to add. He merely stares back at her, his malachite-green eyes seemingly boring into her very soul. Feeling heat in her cheeks and moisture between her thighs, she shifts in her seat.

“Okay, then. Let’s move on. So, Darian, what did you think when you saw Cheyenne up on that hill? Were you surprised?”

Darian:

“Aye. The blast of light startled us all. My harse panicked, nearly threw me. By the time I got ‘im under control, she was standin’ there, as if the gods themselves had dropped ‘er on that vera spot.”

He glances over at Cheyenne. “An’ when I saw ‘her, I ken she was menat fer me.”

Cheyenne:

Blushes again, he dark lashes fanning across her reddened cheeks as she glances down and smiles. Catching the possessive glint in Darian’s eyes, Shannon grins as well, imagining Cheyenne running for her life as this mountain of a man, now casually seated in a chair that looks in danger of collapsing beneath his massive frame, charges after her.

Shannon Leigh:

“So what happened after you caught her? What were your plans?”

Darian:

“I dinna ken, at first. I ken she was special, but dinna ken how. I wanted ‘er, that’s all that mattered at the time.”

Shannon Leigh:

“You’re a man who’s used to getting what he wants?”

It really wasn’t a question. She already suspected the answer.

Darian:

“Aye,” he grins, flashing a brilliant smile that causes her heart to race.

Shannon Leigh:

Fans herself with her paper pad. “It’s a little warm in here, don’t you think?”

Darian:

Shrugs with indifference.

Shannon Leigh:

Clears her throat. “Tell us about the prophecy.”

Darian:

“A lass would come from Earth, bearin’ an ancient symbol. With ‘er chosen suitor, she would birth a child that would end the warrin’ between the clans.”

Shannon Leigh:

Turns to Cheyenne. “You have this mark?”

Cheyenne:

Nods affirmation.

Shannon Leigh:

Leans back heavily in her chair. “That’s sounds like a lot of pressure. How do you feel about that?”

Cheyenne:

Huffs with obvious annoyance. “It’s not fair. Because of that stupid prophecy, any man of noble birth has the right to claim me. Trying to accept being sucked into another world is hard enough, now I have every man on the planet wanting me in his bed. I don’t feel like a human being. I’m an object, a coveted prize. I’ve never been so humiliated or scared in my life.”

Shannon Leigh:

“So, you have to choose one man of noble blood. Depending on how many there are, that could be a difficult task.”

Cheyenne:

“I suppose. But I always thought I’d marry for love,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Darian:

“Ya will, lass,” he reassures. “Fer I’ve no intention of losin’.”

Shannon Leigh:

The depth of Darian’s declaration warms Shannon’s heart. She hopes things go well for these two. There’s obviously more than prophecy involved between them.

“And there you have it, folks, the crux of their dilemma. How will Cheyenne choose the best suitor to father her child? Will Darian get what he wants? You’ll just have to read their story to find out. At this time, I’d like to open the floor to questions. Anyone have something they’d like to ask Cheyenne or Darian?

Going the Distance--For Good Reason

Going the Distance

One of the many best parts of writing erotic romance—it seems that it’s almost all best parts and only a few worst parts—is building the characters. Yummy. When your job is to pay attention to every last detail that makes someone sexy, from their eyelashes to their toes, you get to do a lot of thinking about hot people.

I’ll admit that I was drawn to the initial call for Driven to Distraction, the Working Stiffs series, for some very, very shallow reasons.  Hot men. Hot men at work. Dianne and I have a real fondness for hot, working men. We would love to get a look at your stash of hot man photos, because we know you all have them.

Not to say that Ben isn't hot. You can get a glimpse of that proof on the cover of our latest story Going the Distance. He looks pretty darn good for a professor.

Ben shares our feelings about working men. He waxes poetic from time to time about how much he loves Jess, all hot and sweaty with that grime from working ground into his skin.  As far as he's concerned, there's nothing better than the way Jess looks with the grease from work staining his skin under that sheen of sweat that catches the light just the right way.

Maybe it's that all that sweat and grease reminds us of how much the men love the people they're working for. Maybe it's that it reminds us how devoted they are to jobs that make other men turn up their noses because they want to keep their hands clean. And maybe it's because all that attention and detail and hard work pays off when the man in question gets in the sack.

Lurking under all the muscle and ground-in dirt, there's often a heart of gold. A gentle soul. A caring, attentive man. And that makes him even sexier. Have a little bit of Going the Distance, and you'll see what we mean.

~~~~~

Jess woke up to an unfamiliar quiet, just the sound of Ben’s breathing breaking the silence. Sunshine streamed through the gap in the curtains, bathing him in warmth and light. He just lay there for a moment, soaking it in.

He missed Lily and Jamie, and their cheerful chaos, but these quiet moments with Ben were priceless. Jess rolled over and watched Ben sleep. He was on his belly, half his face hidden by the pillow, and one dark cheek shadowed by the fan of even-darker lashes. His body rose and fell with each breath, and his lips were curled in a half-smile that grew fuller as Jess stroked one hand down the gentle ridge of his spine.

Ben finally cracked one eye open to look at Jess, and that smile took over his face.
“Best part so far,” he murmured sleepily. He still wasn’t quite awake—the way his lashes seemed too heavy to keep up was a sure sign—but he reached out for Jess to get him closer.

Tucking himself up against Ben’s side, Jess sighed. “It’s pretty damn good, yeah.” He kissed Ben’s shoulder, then his cheek. “I like this, falling asleep with you, waking up with you. We should maybe try to do it some when we get back home, too.”

“Any time you want, baby.” Ben made these delicious purring noises as he snuggled up to Jess. “Back home, I can make you a nice breakfast, too.” He hummed happily and kissed whatever bits of Jess were closest. “Best thing I can imagine.”

“That sounds real good.” Jess slid his hand over Ben’s hip, under the sheet, where it was warm from the sun streaming in. “Just waking up with you like this is good. Better if I wasn’t pretty damn sure you gotta get up and showered for that conference of yours, but I think I can save up all the touching and kissing for later on when you’re done.”

“Please do.” Ben nuzzled in Jess’s hair. “I’ll be free around four, but I’m even tied up for lunch. There’s a really nice guidebook over by the TV, though. Take a look while I grab a shower.” Ben said he was going to get a shower but instead he rolled over on top of Jess and pinned him down with a happy growl, kissing and licking at the side of Jess’s neck.

There wasn’t nothing in the whole world made Jess so hot and bothered as Ben getting all hot and bothered over him. “You keep that up, it’s gonna have to be a damn short shower,” Jess teased, biting back a groan.

“I know, I know.” Ben kissed him lightly on the mouth and then finally got out of bed with a grumble. “Just gotta remind my brain we’ll be doing this again.” He stretched, reaching up for the ceiling and bending back a little until Jess could hear his spine creak. “Though God knows I could use a little instant gratification.”

You can find Going the Distance at Amber Allure!

~Anah Crow and Dianne Fox