3/01/2012

New Release: Loving Eden



New Book coming March 2nd, 2012 from Lee Brazil

Sometimes two people meet, fall in love and everything just clicks.  Sometimes, things aren't quite so easy.


Loving Eden by Lee Brazil
Breathless Press
Contemporary M/M

Eden   St.  Cyr wants to let the boy who's crushing on him down easy. Drew Harris wants to protect his son from what he considers a disastrous relationship. Neither of them counted on being attracted to the other.

Eden   St.  Cyr has wandering feet.  He shuffles around the country from place to place and college to college, changing majors and lovers at whim. When Bailey Harris starts following him home, mooning around and showing signs of affection,  Eden  hatches a plan to let the kid down lightly before he leaves for the next semester, the next college, and the next lover.

Drew Harris is stunned at the changes in his son.  His responsible dependable, cheerful boy has become a moody despondent, irresponsible teenager. Drew knows exactly who to blame, too.  When Eden doesn’t' return his phone calls, he's forced to be a little more devious in his plans to get the bad influence out of his son's life.

An unexpected attraction derails both men from their plans, but when Bailey walks in at the least appropriate time, can things be put right?

Sneak peek Excerpt

"You're one of Bailey's friends? I'm Drew, his Dad." The man asked, reaching down and picking up  Eden 's back pack.
"Yes," He mumbled in reply, striving to fight down the shivers of arousal that rippled through him with the deep voice. The effect from the answering machine was magnified in person. That voice was a caress in itself, stroking over his body, making him tingle with awareness.
"Let me show you where you'll be sleeping. I'm putting you in with Bailey. Sorry I can't stay and talk, but I've got to get down to the market in town and pick up some supplies for our weekend."
Eden  willingly followed the man into the house and down a short hallway. Bailey's dad opened a door and gestured into the room. "Here you go. People should be arriving soon, but I hope to be back before anyone else gets here."
Eden  stepped up to the doorway inadvertently brushing against that hard muscled body as he did so. Heat seared through his thin T-shirt and gooseflesh prickled his arms. He bit his lip to keep the moan inside, just nodding his head, too afraid that his arousal would show to speak. He ducked his head and made to move into the room, when a hard warm hand closed around his upper arm. He found himself turned to face Bailey's dad, and looked up into puzzled blue eyes.
"We'll talk later, yes?" The man asserted.  Eden  was trapped in the depths of those deep blue eyes and unable to utter a response. A big, calloused hand came up to cup  Eden 's jaw, thumb rubbing gently over the two-day growth of beard he hadn't bothered to shave. Shaking his head, Drew began to speak again but then his head tilted slightly to the side and his lips came down.  Eden caught his breath in surprise. Surely Bailey's dad wasn't going to kiss him?
But he was. Warm dry lips pressed to his own briefly, sliding a little to the side, nipping lightly at his own lower lip. The gentle kiss swept right across his mouth in a brief warm touch that left him craving more. It had barely begun before Drew pulled away. Wow. Pressing his fingers to his still tingling lips,  Eden stared after the handsome man who'd shown him his room. Definitely scrapping plan A for this weekend.

**~~**

Crawl into Bed With Remmy Duchene

Remmy has announced his contest winner: Alexx Momcat!  
Congratulations Alexx and thank you to everyone who stopped by! 



Crawling Into Bed With: Remmy Duchene
____________
And a Good Book
      Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?: Whatever is clean and what time of year it is. I'm Canadian so if it's winter, those silk ones will do no good lol.



      What are you wearing?: *looks down* My leather thong...*grins* no ripped jeans with a graphic MBLAQ Tee.


What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?: Before this health thing - Hickory sticks. After the health thing: Carrot sticks and digestive cookies.



If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?: Oh come on! Really, you are going to do this to me? *sigh* There's a box of condoms with dust on it *grins* am just playing I don't have a nighstand per say. It's more of a thing with books under it. But if I did, there would be empty boxes of condoms and empty cans of Red Bull!



Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?
Kick them off. Half the time the heat is up too high in the winter and well, the sheets just disappears *crawls into Lee's bed and kicks blankets off*


Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
Nah, that just sounds like torture.


     What are we reading? Rajan's Seduction
   

Sons of Eros 2: Rajan's Seduction
Successful Bollywood actor Rajan Anatolis has done many things to prepare for a role, but nothing like following a SWAT team. Captain Xavier Crawford hates untrained shadows. But how can he possibly object when the man is so damn sexy?
Rajan Anatolis has made the move from Bollywood to Hollywood. His first role is playing a New York City SWAT officer. In order to prepare, he has to shadow the Century City CT SWAT team and he and his brothers are worried about the risks involved. But more hazardous is dealing with the sexy leader, a mocha Adonis who hates untrained observers interfering with his work and putting his squad at risk.
Xavier Crawford loves his team. The last thing he wants is some untrained, spoiled actor coming in and putting them all in danger. He isn't ready for Rajan or his reaction to the gorgeous man; the moment he sees him, all Xavier wants to do is rip the actor's clothes off. What happens when what he wants and what his heart and body want are different things?

Excerpt:
When morning finally dawned over Excelsior, it wasn't welcomed. Xavier Crawford wanted nothing to do with it. His eyes burned as though someone had tossed sand in them and every muscle in his body hurt. The day before his team busted through a door and he had to tackle some guy with a handgun. Moaning, he rolled over and pushed into a sitting position, rubbing his lower back with a large hand. Each time he woke up to so much discomfort he thought about getting a new bed, but why bother? He was the only one sleeping in it. Once again, he thought of a new bed and this time, he hobbled down the stairs into the den. He turned on the laptop and scanned the internet until he found the furniture store he'd always used. Searching through the website--he found a large bed and grabbed the phone.

"Don't you want to come see it first?" the salesman on the other end questioned.

Xavier rubbed his eyes. "Look, my back feels like someone ran over it with a dump truck. My spine is all out of whack and if I sleep on this old bed one more night I'm liable to become a paraplegic. So get the bed over here and do it by end of day. Can you do that? Because if you can't I'm going to have to find another store who can."

"No, we can do that, sir," the salesman replied. "Will there be anyone there to let the delivery men in?"

"I have to go to work. But tell me what time they'll be here and I'll make sure someone is here."

"That's just it. We have some deliveries before yours."

"Yeah, yeah whatever. Just get it here."

Xavier offered up his credit card number and all the particulars before hanging up. He might as well use some of the inheritance his aunt left him after her death. He wasn't sure he wanted to use any but he didn't make that much on a cop's salary. He'd never had to touch the money before, but he really didn't think his back would survive. With his first job of the day done, he picked up the phone again.

"Hey Marty. Are you going to be home today?" Xavier asked.

"Sorry man," Marty Samms replied. "I'm heading to Amsterdam right now. But Ali will be. What's up?"

"I'm having a delivery today and someone has to be at the house. But we both know I won't be here and I need it today."

"Are you finally getting a new bed? Because your old one is like--torture."

Xavier laughed. "Yes father, I am getting a new bed."

"All right. I'll ask Ali to come over. And don't worry, she'll make sure they set it up for you and everything. We both know they don't want to mess with her."

Xavier thanked his best friend. "Tell Ali I'll buy her dinner."

Marty laughed. "Yes, as long as it's Japanese, my sister will be all over it."

"I remember."

The shower was next, right after he flipped on the coffee maker. By the time he got out of the shower, Xavier knew he had to run if he was going to make it to the station on time.


* * * *


Xavier walked into the station house and chucked his jacket into his chair. He had no idea why he even brought it. It wasn't cold outside. For some reason he was in a horrid mood that morning and the fact he'd driven through Eros to get to Century ticked him off even more. The traffic through the small town was a nightmare. He turned on his computer and scanned the daily reports. Nothing caught his attention but there were a few warrants on his desk he and his team needed to execute for the local police. The badge he wore dug into his side but he was so used to it. He ignored it and fingered through the different warrants. He found the hardest one and stuck it to the top. He figured if they could get that one done first--it would give his team a high... motivation to go after the others.

Dragging his fingers through his hair, he walked into the break room to find two of his team members there trying to catch peanuts in their mouths by tossing them in the air first. Xavier blinked but said nothing. He walked to the coffeemaker and dumped some coffee into a cup. He took a sip, made a face and chucked the cup and its contents into the sink.

"Battery acid, huh," Mark "Muse" Dempsey chuckled.

"You coulda warned me!" Xavier muttered irritably and flopped into a nearby chair. He reached into a box on the table and pulled out a donut.

"What? And miss the look on your face?" Jackson "Salsa" Brown questioned. "You're kidding, right?"

He made a sound in the back of his throat.

"I really think you need to get laid," Muse laughed. "It's been too long and you're starting to implode."

Xavier made a face. "Pervert."

"Did you go see the Cap'n yet?" Muse asked. "He's been asking for you."

"Shit!" Xavier dropped the donut back in the box and pushed from his chair. "Just when I thought the day couldn't get worse."

"What did you do this time?" Salsa wanted to know.

"Who said I did anything? If I did, I can't remember."

Both Muse and Salsa burst out laughing and Xavier simply stormed from the room muttering a few well-placed profanities. He stopped by his desk trying to remember why he detoured and when he couldn't, Xavier made his way to the captain's office and knocked.

"Come in!" Captain Fiorelli called.

Xavier stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. Without being invited to, he tossed his body into a chair and stretched his legs out before him. The captain was still having a hushed conversation on the phone by the window, so he waited quietly but impatiently to be addressed.

"Sorry about that. Never have children," Fiorelli joked, hanging up the phone. "Or have children but give them up for adoption the moment you realize they're becoming teenagers."

Xavier laughed. "My father would agree with you. You wanted to see me?"

"Yes... There's this actor who received his first English role," Fiorelli said. "And he will be playing a SWAT officer. I would like him to shadow you."

Xavier arched a brow. He really didn't like the idea. Shifting in his seat, he held his breath only releasing it when he spoke. "I don't like this," he said. "I can't babysit some actor."

"Look, the commissioner asked this favor and I told him yes. He's just going to follow you around. The rules are simple--he doesn't go through the door with you guys, ever. He must wear a vest and keep his head down."

"That's going to make me feel better? Cap'n! It's a civilian!"

"I know. But he won't be following too long."

"How long?"

"A week."

"Oh no--that's not too long at all. When does this start?"

Fiorelli looked down at this desk to a piece of paper before him, he seemed to skim the info there before looking up at Xavier. "Tomorrow."









And as a special treat, Remmy has something he'd like to give away:


CONTEST
Ok so it's been a while since I've had a contest. But I feel its time to celebrate the fun that is my Sons of Eros series.
PRIZES (Pick one)
"DARK SIDE" T-shirt from Family Guy
"Bazinga!" Shirt from Big Bang Theory!
A Mr. Rajan Anatolis Tshirt
Mr. Savaro Anatolis Tshirt
Mr. Laird Anatolis tshirt,
A Jose's Thang tshirt.
**There will be Two draws**

What you have to do to win?

Because you already bought your copy of Rajan's Sedution. Send me the name of the movie he was thinking of about while standing in the ring at Xavier's home.
(***HINT*** The title is in Hindi) No, spelling doesn't count because I know the language is hard but it has to be as close as possible. ** Readers, comment on this blog and you will be entered into the contest to win!**

...
send your entries to remmy.duchene @ gmail.com

Entries close March 2, 2012 and winners will be announced on Remmy's blog!




2/28/2012

Crawl in Bed with KevaD


Crawling Into Bed With
KevaD aka David Kentner
And a Good Book

*crawls across bed* Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?

Actually, they’re forest green flannel under a patchwork down filled quilt. I like to snuggle in our northern Illinois winters.

*shivers* Yeah, I can see why. What are you wearing?

Only as a courtesy, sweatpants and a sleeveless sweatshirt. Commando normally reigns here.

Ah.  Hence the down.  What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?

Pizza! I’ve petitioned the FDA to make pizza its own food group. Pepsi to drink.

Oh, you may never get rid of me now. You wouldn't believe how many people won't even let me nibble a cookie in their beds. If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?

. Uhm… the nightstands are small bird’s eye maple school desks made in 1902. No drawers, but the seats fold up.

I see.  That's pretty cool, actually. Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?

Roll up in the winter. I keep the window cracked open because I sleep best in fresh air. During the summer, the sheets are satin, the windows are wide open, and other than a strand of sheet over my chest, everything lolls about in the night air.

Wow...so, can I come back in summer then? Oops...somebody is frowning at me over that one.  Never mind. Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?

If you don’t mind fur. Oh. Fair warning. If I doze off, I’m a hugger.

Mind fur? You've got to be kidding...fur makes me purr. What are we reading?


Whistle Pass.” It’s a full length novel published by Dreamspinner Press. I’d debated telling this story for a while. When some friends complained to me they were having trouble finding suspense novels featuring gay men who didn’t have sex in the book, I went right home and started writing. In fact, I dedicated the book to Robert, the most vocal of my friends on that issue.
Once Robert reads the copy I gave him, if he gives me a thumb up, then I’ll know I succeeded, no matter what else happens.

Blurb:

On the battlefields of WWII Europe, Charlie Harris fell in love, and after the war, Roger marched home without a glance back. Ten years later, Charlie receives a cryptic summons and quickly departs for his former lover’s hometown of Whistle Pass. 
But Roger Black isn’t the lover of Charlie’s dreams anymore. He’s a married, hard-bitten political schemer who wants to secure his future by destroying evidence of his indiscreet past. Open homosexuality is practically a death sentence, and that photo would ruin Roger and all his wife’s nefarious plans. 
Caught up in foggy, tangled events, Charlie turns to hotel manager Gabe Kasper for help, and Gabe is intrigued by the haunted soldier who so desperately desires peace. When helping his new lover places Gabe in danger, the old warrior in Charlie will have to take drastic action to protect him... or condemn them both.

Excerpt:

September 1955
CHARLIE HARRIS leaned forward, pinched the end of the Lucky
Strike between his thumb and forefinger, and inhaled the last drag
possible before the smoldering tobacco burned his lips. Easing the
smoke out his nostrils, he dropped the stub to the floor and ground it
out with the sole of his boot. The carcass joined the other dozen or
more shredded on the floor of the bus.

He sat back, rubbed the two-day stubble, coarse as sandpaper, on
his cheek, and inhaled the garbage stench of smoke, sweat, banana
peels, and God knew what else the other passengers had stuffed in the
paper sacks they’d leave for somebody else to clean up. The kid
wearing the coonskin cap and Davy Crockett fringe coat, curled up
asleep in the seat across the aisle, had peanut butter and jelly smeared
around his mouth like cheap lipstick. Why the mother didn’t clean the
crap off the brat was beyond him. Maybe she’d tired of his incessant
running up and down the walkway, too, and was afraid to touch him for
fear of an encore.

Charlie turned his head and stared at the window. The low light
from the recessed lamp above him, under the luggage rack, illuminated
his dark hair. His haloed reflection stared back against the pitch of the
moonless night. Drops of drizzle running down the glass in rivulets
disfigured his features, but not the memories. He shifted in his seat,
resting his cheek on the backrest.

Need you had been the only words on the telegram—not an I want
you stuck anywhere on the yellow paper. The first time Roger had said,
 “Need you,” Charlie’d fallen into his arms and bared his heart, soul,
groin, and ass.

He dug the open pack of Luckies out of a pocket in his pea coat,
shook the end of one out, and held it between his teeth. He returned the
dwindling cache to the pocket, pulled out a book of matches, folded the
cover behind a lone match with one hand, and scratched it across the
striker without tearing it from the pack. The tobacco sizzled as he
inhaled. He blew out the match flame when he exhaled and watched the
smoke bounce off his reflection.

What was it? Nine years? No. Ten. Ten years already since the
war ended and all the troops came marching home. Those that weren’t
buried in some rathole of a town he couldn’t pronounce the name of in
some European country he never wanted to see again. He blew out
another cloud of smoke. He wasn’t a twenty-year-old kid anymore. But
sure as hell, the minute Roger said, “Need you,” he’d walked off his
job and caught a bus. For what? A chance of love with a man who’d
walked away without looking back when they stormed the beaches of
the good old US of A?

Moron.” He rolled his body away from the reflection and stared
at the beige metal above him. Another drag, another burst of smoke.
Lightning shattered the darkness. Thunder clapped against the
bus. Raindrops transformed to a hail of rifle and machine gun bullets.
Charlie jerked. His eyes prowled the terrain for where the
Germans’ attack would come from—goddamnit! It’s just rain. He fell
back against the seat, brushed a jittery hand over his hair, and took a
long, comforting pull off the cigarette. So long ago, so damn long ago,
and still it took so little to bring the horror back to life.

Whistle Pass. Whistle Pass,” the driver called out.

Charlie sat straight, grateful for something else to fill his mind
with, and looked over the top of the wide brim hat of the passenger in
the seat in front of him. Through the windshield eight rows away, a
smattering of lights appeared in the distance. He crinkled his nose.
Figured. He’d guessed a town in Illinois called Whistle Pass a hundredfifty
miles or so from Chicago wouldn’t be more than a pinhole on a
map. By the few lights, he’d nailed it.

He narrowed his focus and strained in an attempt to look beyond
the glare of the glass and drizzling rain but couldn’t make out anything
except the glow of random streetlights as the bus entered the city. A
porch light here and there indicated houses along the street. The bus
rounded a slow curve, and a lone parking lot light’s glow illuminated
jewels of rain on wet cars. A string of multicolored triangular banners
hung limp. A dealership. He sat back and took in the blur of more
houses.

The bus rounded another lazy curve, and the downtown spread
her Main Street curbing like a whore. Each block had streetlamps
strategically interspersed so every storefront was revealed. Vaughan’s
Saddle and Tack, Goldman Jewelers, A&P Grocery, Ash Penn’s
Stationery, Matson Jewelers…. Charlie chuckled. The business district
looked about five blocks long, and two jewelry stores were battling it
out for control of the bangle industry.

A hiss from the brakes. The bus slowed and pulled to the curb in
front of a four-story building. A giant L with “Hotel” painted down the
stem of the letter hung from an iron bracket. Rain dripped to the
sidewalk from the base of the sign.

Charlie pushed out of his seat. In the aisle he rolled cramped
shoulders, flexed the stiffness out of a knee, and combed his fingers
through his hair before he retrieved his duffle from the overhead. The
fact he was the only passenger to do so didn’t escape his notice. He
pinched out the final draw of nicotine from the cigarette between his
lips. Dropping the remnant to the floor, he opted to step over, not on,
the butt and strode to the front of the bus.

The driver pushed the handle of the extended bar of the door, and
Charlie stepped out onto the wet sidewalk. Drizzle quickly painted his
face. A drop fell from the tip of his nose. He swiped the next one and
took a deep breath. The air was clean, but beneath the overlay of rain
was a taste of fish. Dead fish. He inhaled another lungful of air. Yeah.
A river was somewhere close by.

Gears hissed into place. The engine revved, and the bus drove off.
Diesel fumes encased in a swell of black smoke threatened to cloak
Charlie. He stepped toward the building, away from the bus’s lingering
stink. The wood-framed glass door had “Larson Hotel” painted in gold
with black trim. He pulled it open, hoping they’d have a room
available. If they didn’t, he was pretty much screwed.

He guessed the lobby’s ceiling to be around twelve feet with three
ceiling fans suspended on pipes to about eight feet. Four black couches,
a few wooden armchairs, and potted plants here and there decorated the
place. At the far end of the room, the elevator’s iron gate stood open,
the operator’s stool empty. A solitary broad-chested man puffing on a
cigar sat on a couch. A snap-brim hat pulled low shadowed his face.
Smoke curled upward, only to be blown back down by the fan blade’s
slow rotation. To the right of the elevator was a wooden stairway, the
banister nearly black from decades of hands sliding over it. A
grandfather clock in a corner tolled 3:00 a.m.

Charlie turned left to the long, dark wood counter. A bank of
pigeonholes, several with keys, was mounted to the wall. He smiled.
Keys in the slots meant there was probably a vacancy. With the office
chair at the desk unoccupied, he slapped a palm onto the silver bell.
The clang rolled around the room. A pair of curtains parted, and an old
man walked out.

“Morning. Sorry. No trains due in, so I was laying down.” He
looked around and lowered his voice. “Most of our guests work for the
railroad. Railroad changes crews in Whistle Pass. Not many tourists of
late. Looking for a room? Don’t have much right now, though.”

Charlie set his bag on the floor. “Yeah. Whatever you have’s
fine.”

The old man set a book on the counter. Opening it, he handed
Charlie a pen. “Need you to register. How long you staying?”

Charlie wrote his name underneath a bevy of names without
addresses. “Not sure. You need my address?”

The old man plucked a key from a slot and pivoted back around.
“Not really. Nobody’s business but yours. That’s the way I see it,
anyway. Manager tends to disagree, though, unless you work for the
railroad, of course.” He flashed a wry smile. “But he ain’t here, is he?”

He spun the book around and started to close it but paused. “Charlie
Harris?”

Charlie tensed. The whiskey-dry voice spoke his name like the
employee recognized it. “Yeah. Why?”

The clerk turned, set the key back in the slot, and pulled another
one from a different hole. He handed the key to Charlie. “Had a note to
expect you sometime tonight. Room 412’s reserved for you. Paid in
advance for a week.”

Confused, Charlie looked at the brass tag with a machine-pressed
L and 412. “Who got me a room?” And why a week? Not like the Roger
he knew to have things planned out in advance.

“Don’t know. Note didn’t say. You can ask the manager when he
comes in later. Need help with your bags?”

Charlie picked up the duffle. “Nah. I got it.”

“Good, ’cause I couldn’t help you anyway. You’ll have to use the
stairs. I’m not allowed to leave the lobby since I’m the only one
working. So there’s nobody to run the elevator.”

An amused snort leaked out of Charlie. The old man couldn’t
leave the lobby unattended, but he could steal a few winks in the back
room. He wheeled and noticed the sitting area was now empty.

The thick leather soles of his work boots clunked echoes as he
walked up the stairs. Curtains of fresh cigar smoke hung in the air. On
the second floor, Charlie made the turn and spotted half a cigar
smoldering in a pedestal ashtray. The band identified it as a Red Dot.
He glanced up and down the hallway but didn’t see anything that
seemed out of place, other than a wasted choice smoke. He cocked his
head and listened. Nothing. Unbuttoning his coat, he headed for the
third floor landing.

On the third floor, he stalled his progress and looked and listened
again. A stuttered snoring crawled along the empty hall. Charlie shook
his head and blew out a breath. “You’re just nervous about why you’re
here. Shake it off.” He grabbed the banister and pulled himself up the
stairs, his booted steps rhythmically clomping his advance. At the
midway point, he palmed the ball on the banister break and made the
turn.

A Black Cat shoe heel came at him too quickly for Charlie to
react. The blow caught him between the eyebrows.

Charlie slammed against the wall. Pain exploded in his head.
Blinded from shock, he swung the duffle. The weight of the bag in his
left hand pulled him to his right, so he let go of it, balled a fist, and
blasted it back across his front. The backhand blow struck pay dirt in a
jaw. The attacker cursed. Charlie followed up with a right fist to the
shadowy figure coming into focus. His fist hammered into a rib cage.
Charlie pumped two more quick jabs into the ribs.

“Gack.” The man’s torso leaned left.

Charlie reached out, grabbed two handfuls of shirt, and flung the
man past him, into the wall. Staying with his target, he planted his feet
and loosed a flurry of punches onto the exposed back, over the kidneys.
The snap-brim-hatted attacker’s knees bent, and he sank to the
floor.

Click. Click. Charlie whirled. At the top of the stairs, two more
men. Young. Late teens, early twenties maybe. Each wore blue jeans
and a black leather jacket, and… each held a switchblade knife.



My Web Site: http://www.kevad.net/


Be Yourself

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ~e.e. cummings, 1955