WIP Wednesday: The Interview

WIP Wednesday- Welcome back to Wednesday folk's where I share my current project with you - inmost cases this is an unedited excerpt of a project, but this week, I'm working on revising my holiday story The Interview, and so you're getting a dose of that!

The Interview was first published in the Story Orgy Anthology, And The Prompt Is Holiday edition two years ago. It was released as a single last year, and after being re-edited this year will be a single as well.

EXCERPT 
Copyright Dec 2011 By Lee Brazil

Chapter 1

The notes of "I'll Be Home For Christmas" wafted through the air. It seemed that no matter how many spritely and cheerful Christmas songs there were, I never heard any but the melancholy ones lately. Those that weren't blatantly sad served to remind me of what I was missing this Christmas. Who wants to hear about couples cuddling in front of the fire when they're spending the holiday alone? And who cares if Parson Brown asks to marry them when you couldn't get your boyfriend to commit to living in the same state?
I tugged my red wool cap down farther over my ears, shoved dark glasses on to block the sun from my aching eyes and headed to the library. I wanted to snarl at whatever idiot had his music playing so loud in the staff parking lot, but it wasn't worth the effort of speaking. Today was the last day of classes before winter break at the university, and I had exactly six hours of work at the library before my holiday, such as it was, started.
My boots crunched on the salted sidewalks as I wove my way between beleaguered students. The last finals were today, and the stress showed on everyone's faces. When the third student with his nose in a book nearly slammed into me, I darted from the semi clear sidewalk and tromped through the new layer of snow. I took a bitter satisfaction in marring that pristine sparkling surface with my boot prints. I didn't even care that this little side excursion might ruin my leather boots. Who cared? They were sleek and sexy, not real cold weather boots, but if no one was going to admire me in them, then what was the point?
Six miserable hours that I wished would drag out for four more days. I wasn't looking forward to going home at the end of this shift and spending the next few days being reminded that I was alone. I'd have way too much time to think about Cris and our years together. He should have been there. We'd planned for him to be there. Except, last weekend he'd called and told me about a new offer he had for an excellent position, great benefits, no more traveling. I could tell he really wanted that job.
I really wanted him to be around more, too. So I told him to go for it. Then the other shoe fell. I should have known there was a catch. There's always a catch. Turned out the only time he could interview for this position was Christmas Eve.
I'd assured him it was fine, that all would be well, that my family would keep me busy and I'd barely miss him if he stayed in California for the interview. After all, we weren't kids. He could arrive on December 26th and we could celebrate just fine.
But I was lying and he damn sure should have known it. Cris just accepted it though. Accepted and carried on as we always had, calling and texting and emailing and having our lovely long distance, open relationship.
The one I was beginning to loathe with all my being.
The familiar chirp of my cell phone had me reaching into my pocket, pausing near some evergreen shrubs just outside the library. I pushed my hair back over my shoulder as the wind whipped around the corner and sent it flying. Thin strands clung to the Chap Stick that I'd lined my lips with. Ordinarily I'd have used my favorite lip maximizer, but I'd been so down, I hadn't bothered to go through my usual winter ritual of applying mashed papaya paste to exfoliate and soften my lips. Which I guess is kind of crazy, because the whole purpose of the ritual was to keep my lips kissable in appearance and texture despite the dry cold, and just because Cris was arriving four days late didn't mean there wouldn't be plenty of kissing when he got here!
"Hello." I should have checked to see who it was before I answered. It was Cris, and I had to pretend to be cheerful and brimming with Christmas spirit when I was anything but.
"Hey Ben, I just called to remind you to get the tree after work today. You said last night that you hadn't gotten it yet, and I know it's one of your favorite things to do."
With you. I held the guilt inducing words back. With Cris, shopping for the perfect tree was my favorite holiday tradition. We made an event out of the whole thing. A thermos of hot cocoa with marshmallows in hand, we would wander through the tree lots looking for the perfect vehicle to display the antique and handmade ornaments that I inherited from my grandmother. We measured the distance between branches, studied every Scotch pine and every blue spruce, knowing all the while that we'd settle for a fragrant Douglas or red fir with its sturdy, widely spaced branches to show off the ornaments better.
I wasn't so much looking forward to finding a tree alone. Or decorating it alone. Hanging crocheted snowflakes, tinsel, and Grandma's vintage glass bird ornaments wouldn't have the same appeal without Cris's firm grip guiding my hand to the perfect spot on the tree. He tried very hard, my Cris, not to let his obsessive demand for symmetry and order mar the holidays, but the twitching always got to be too much. I confess, I deliberately placed an ornament or two in an awkward spot just to feel his hand on mine, the heat of his body close behind me.
"Yeah. I'll go when I get done here. Can you call me around four?" It would be a little bit better if I could talk to him about the choices, maybe send a photo of the final product.
"Ummm. I'll try, but I can't promise anything."
So I probably wouldn't even get that solace. "Okay. Call if you can. I have to go. Work awaits."
I hid in the stacks all day, shelving cart after cart of books, losing myself in the scent of leather and old paper. It beat working the counter where the aroma of pine from the decorative evergreen boughs—genuine, despite fire codes—and the peppermint of the candy dish just screamed Christmas. It beat smiling cheerfully and wishing sleep deprived teenagers a happy holiday—because it is a state funded school and Merry Christmas is just too politically incorrect.
In the end, I didn't bother with the measuring tape or the cocoa, just pointed my '67 Mustang straight for the nearest tree lot. Go in, pick a tree, go home and set it up so the branches could drop. I could do this, I didn't need Cris holding my hand to choose a tree.
My confidence in my ability to function as a rational adult was shaken when my first step on the tree lot brought tears to my eyes and bitterness to my heart. The scent of the pine trees made me nauseous, and the laughter of the kids running about chasing each other from Santa's sleigh to the giant snowman cut-out made me weepy. I've never been much of a people person, but I've never felt such a need for companionship either. Being on the tree lot without Cris, I was lonely. Overwhelmingly so.
I didn't have the heart to look around. Cris would have played tag with those kids. He would have coaxed me into the silly decorated sleigh and charmed some passing stranger into taking our picture.
I grabbed the first tree I found that seemed less than six feet tall and more than four. The tree needed to be tall enough to set on the low table in front of the street-side window of my living room. Everything else, I could work around. So what if the ornaments didn't line up perfectly because the branches weren't symmetrical?
I wouldn't say I wound up with a Charlie Brown tree, but the fact that the tree wasn't perfect soothed me a bit. The fact that it cost about half what we normally paid shocked me. Who knew? Somehow I had always assumed a tree for under a hundred bucks was impossible to find. I dropped the change into a bell-ringing Santa's bucket, feeling a bit better about both myself and my tree.
Funny how that works; I hadn't bought a cheaper tree intentionally to donate the rest of what I would have spent to any worthy cause. It just happened. And I felt just the tiniest bit lighter, happier, afterward.
I helped the two lot workers in red and black flannel shirts secure the tree to the roof of my car by staying the hell out of their way and not protesting about my paint job more than twice while they secured the tree with tarp and bungee cords that I provided. Cris would have been all over that, double checking and testing the security.
On impulse, I headed back over to the sleigh, where a weary looking young mom was struggling to get two rambunctious kids to sit still long enough so she could snap a picture.
"I'll take the picture if you want to get in there with them," I offered a bit awkwardly. Hopefully she wouldn't think I was some kind of stalking perv.
"Would you?" She seemed relieved and excited, maybe the rest of the world wasn't as paranoid and leery as I.
"Sure, if you'll snap a picture of me for my boyfriend after." Cris would get his annual photo of me in the Christmas sleigh after all.
She held out her gloved hand. "I'm Debbie Adams. The mischievous angels," she grimaced wryly as I awkwardly took her hand, "are Chad and Brad."
"Ben Cavelli. Twins, huh?" I accepted her camera as she seated herself between the two boys.
With their mom between them, the two demons turned into angels, smiling and snuggling into their mom's down coat, looking up at her with laughing blue eyes. I must have taken half dozen candid shots before mom got the kids positioned the way she wanted them.
Five minutes, that's all the stillness the little ones could take, but I did snap the pic the now smiling mom wanted.
I handed her my phone, showed her how to take a picture with it, and brushed off her thanks. Instead of climbing into the seat of the sleigh though, I leaned back against the painted side of the crimson vehicle and whipped off my dark glasses. I would send the picture, along with one of the tree, to Cris before I went to bed tonight. I wouldn't be looking my best, not without eyeliner and lip gloss, but I'd be genuinely smiling.
Sitting in my car, I laughed to see that the young mother had also taken a few candid shots…one of my ass in the tight denim jeans that was absolutely making the send-to-Cris cut.

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WIP Wednesday : Insomnia

This week I'm working on edits for a few stories I'd love to get out this month and early next month, so I don't have an actual WIP to share with you today. Instead, here's a bit of a flash- longish, about 1250 words- that is on my "Expand this someday" list. Meet Zeke and Jordan.

Insomnia

Flash Fiction

Copyright 2013 @Lee Brazil

"I can't sleep." Zeke yawned and belatedly covered his mouth with his hand as he noticed his host's eyes narrowing. Of course, his modesty would have been better served clutching his shirt closed over his thong underwear, but since he couldn't sleep…

"Maybe," Frosty disapproval echoed in Jordan's voice and his eyes were cold enough Zeke had to resist the urge to shiver. "You're just used to having someone else in bed with you."

And now he was fighting the urge to roll his eyes at his best friend's big brother's prudish attitude. "I don't think that's the problem, Jordy. I sleep alone plenty." Where the hell had Jordan McIntosh gotten the idea he was some sort of slut anyway?

"You forget I had the pleasure of being your next door neighbor for three years," Jordan's lips curled in a sneer. "The parade of men in and out of your door…"

Blinking, Zeke sipped the whisky in his tumbler and remembered those days. During college, he and Perry had lived in a duplex that Perry's parents owned. The unit next to theirs had been occupied by Perry's older brother Jordan, who had been ordered by his father to keep an eye on the young boys and keep them out of trouble. "That wasn't just my door." He pointed out calmly. He could say more, but the truth of the matter was that if Perry hadn't told his brother about his gay adventures during their years of schooling, then it certainly wasn't Zeke's place to do it.

"Oh, right. Perry is straight, or have you forgotten he's getting married next weekend? Which is why you," This was accompanied by a derisive, assessing glance that left Zeke's skin tingling, "are sleeping, alone, in my guest room."

"Whatever. I can't sleep because I'm too keyed up. It's been a hell of a week. I thought a drink might help, but you're right. A good fuck might turn the same trick. Are you offering?" He threw the last bit in just for shits and grins, and because he was annoyed with his friend's brother's judgmental attitude. Not like he didn't know damn well that Jordan McIntosh had been promiscuity itself until an HIV scare in his last year of college had reformed his habits.

""I'll pass. I’m not desperate enough for release to fuck just anyone." His distaste was clear in the way his head lifted and his nostrils flared. Or was it?

Zeke set his tumbler down and stretched his arms over his head, relishing the relief to his tense muscles as much as the flutter of Jordan's nostrils and the white line that bracketed his mouth. Smiling the sexy smile that made a million hearts throb on his daytime soap opera, he couldn’t resist teasing a little more. "But Jordy, Perry swore you'd take care of me." He let his lashes flutter, peeked at the six foot mountain of stoke broker in front of him from under them.

And found himself crushed between the marble counter top and what had to be at least two hundred pounds of hot, hard muscle. This time his eyes closed for real and he dragged in a breath, trying to jumpstart his heart after the foolish organ stalled with the contact. "Fuck." He breathed, feeling a branding iron of steely cock rubbing against his groin.

"That's all it would be, movie star." Hard hands closed on his shoulders. Jordan bent forward, and Zeke retreated, leaning back, struggling to unpin his arms. The movement brought their grins into even closer contact, and Zeke's cock made its own preference for resolving the sleep issue with sex instead of alcohol clear.

"Who needs anything else?" He wormed his arms out of Jordan's embrace and made the most of his freedom by wind his fingers in Jordan's thick, dark hair and dragging his mouth down for a kiss.

Jordan jerked his head back with a wordless snarl. "No kissing. Kissing is for lovers, and this is most definitely not going to be any of that romantic drivel you put on for the world."

The nearly hysterical urge to laugh at that little bit of prunes and prisms was overcome by dwelling on the fact that it made it sound like Jordan actually watched his show. "That's not me, it's script writers. I can give up on the kissing, as long as it's only mouth to mouth you're saying no to." He let his gaze drop, inventorying places on that hard body he'd like to kiss. The man wore pajamas, for Christ sake, silky green fabric that matched his eyes, clung to his body and did absolutely nothing to conceal the length and breadth of his shoulders, the flatness of his belly, or the mouthwatering stretch of cock tenting the fabric.

"Yes…you can kiss me anywhere else you like…" The sentence ended on a groan as Zeke took immediate advantage of the permission, latching his lips onto the fabric that covered Jordan's nipple. Dampening it with his tongue, he fancied he could taste the man through the silk, and twisted his hips. His cock pulsed, and he shuddered, liking the feel of the silk.

"It would be better…" Zeke pulled away, breathing hard, "naked." He finished, sliding his hands under the silk and lifting. Jordan took over, stripping the shirt over his head and tossing in on the black marble counter top. He stepped back and holding Zeke's gaze, hooked his thumbs in the waist band of the pajama pants.

"Go on," Jordan's voice had lowered, roughened, and the husky new tones conveyed a desire that encouraged Zeke to shake off any doubts. Shaking his head, he shrugged his shoulders and let his own shirt fall, leaving him standing in his thong while Jordan looked him over hotly.

Pouting slightly, he lifted a brow. "I'm still ahead of you here, McIntosh."

The pajama pants fell to a silken swirl around Jordan's feet and Zeke's gaze followed them. He kept his glance there, trained on the pool while he got his breathing under control. He was suave, debonair, a heart throb. He was experienced, this wasn't his first time at the rodeo, or on stage, or up to bat or whatever fucking metaphor you wanted to fill in the blank with.

Just because Jordan McIntosh had always been the unattainable fantasy, the image he'd jerked off to for the first time at thirteen, the crush who'd never known he was alive, was no reason to act like a virginal idiot. And he knew he'd waited too long to look back up, because  Jordon was forcing his chin up, searching his eyes and all Zeke could do was swallow and close his lids against the intrusion of that pale gold gaze, to hide everything he shouldn't be feeling.

"Fuck."

The kitchen door slammed, and Zeke crossed his arms protectively over his chest.  Fucking whisky. Now he'd never sleep. And, he'd be lucky if he didn't find himself shuffled off to some hotel in the morning despite the way the press hounded him at every sighting.

Sighing, he tossed back the last of the whisky and returned to his guest room, lying on the bed and feigning sleep when he heard footsteps in the hall outside his door. The sound stopped, as though someone stood outside the door, then continued, fading into the darkness, leaving him alone in a strange bed, with the fear that had originally sent him to the kitchen, and a healthy dose of humiliation in case that jittery someone's watching you feeling ever faded enough.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can also pick up the first book in my Pulp Friction series on sale at Smashwords this month!  

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WIP Wednesday : Gerard's Gamble

Still working my way through Gerard's Gamble, which is turning out to be more complicated than I thought it would be. Today I have just a small snippet, completely unedited, mind you. 

Gerard's Gamble excerpt

Copyright 2013 Lee Brazil

Weak winter light from the windows cast a halo of gold and fiery red highlights about the bent head, turning plain brown hair into a mystery of color, outlining lean features with shadows and highlights.

"Martin," he breathed softly.

The man at the desk looked up and his expression softened into a welcoming smile. Gerard's heart tripped, stilled and then resumed a hasty thump the made his breath catch in his throat. "Gerard, you are back sooner than I expected. How did your errand go?"

"Well, Perry as you say, caught on quickly to my ruse, and though I daresay he's got a dozen questions, I'm sure his agile mind filled in the blanks." He turned the key in the lock and began to cross the room, feeling his interest stir as Martin's blue eyes widened and his nostrils flared. "He'll be back this evening, as will the other boys, if I don't miss my guess. But…"

He paused at the edge of the desk, staring intently at Martin, taking in the beating pulse in his temple, the faint flush on his cheekbones. *Holding out a hand, he quirked a brow in inquiry. Martin slipped an ink-stained hand into his, and rose, a bemused expression on his face.

"Are you asking me to dance?" Gerard smiled at the gentle mockery.

"Something like that. We have unsettled business, you and I. Would you care to join me in a drink while we talk?" He tugged Martin out from behind the desk and over to the flickering fire.

"I…" Martin fumbled at his pocket and extracted a silver cheroot case. "I think I need a smoke."

The Behind Closed Doors Series is currently on sale at Evernight for 40% Off! 

Gerard's Gamble is the third of my contributions to the Behind Closed Doors Series I am writing in conjunction with Raven McAllan. 

Available at All Romance  for 25% off! 

Randall's Romance 

Cecelia's Claim

Harold's Haven 

Nash's Niche

WIP Wednesday : Gerard and Martin -

Welcome back to WIP Wednesday. I am continuing my work on the regency Gerard's Gamble this week, at a little more than 12K, its about 1/3 done. The first phase of writing is over, and I'm moving into the second, central portion of the story, bringing in the last little bits of the smuggling/treason plot. It's interesting because I'm getting to include some research about Venice in the 1800's, and let me tell you, I would SO love to be able to travel there!

Okay- enough of the babbling.

Gerard's GAmble
copyright 2013 Lee Brazil

Helplessly, Gerard stroked a palm down Martin's spine, cupped a taut buttock through the silk of the banyon. It had come from one of their first ventures, a trading ship to the East. The lush silk had netted them a small fortune, and Martin had selected the elegant grey on grey print for his payment. Gerard had allowed his siblings and spouse to do likewise, then the rest had been sold and the proceeds reinvested. The banyon was a reminder of Martin's faith, his friendship. Gerard calmed, the pain in his belly eased. He relaxed. Martin was his friend, first and foremost. They understood each other.

  He bent his head and inhaled a dear, familiar fragrance, lemon and vanilla, a hint of other spices. "I think, that I shall miss you more than any of the rest. The children will carry on, and that is as it should be, but what of you my steadfast friend? What will you do? How shall I picture you in my absence?"

Martin pulled back and peered into Gerard's face, his expression slightly incredulous. "I? You've left me the most daunting task of our careers. Riding herd on your offspring like a Yankee cowboy. If you must picture me as you explore the treasures of the continent, I do doubt you'll have time for it, picture me tearing out fistfuls of my hair because Harold has managed to blow up some national treasure, or wasting away from constant travel as Perry manages to annoy all his brothers. Perhaps I shall grow wrinkled and squinty eyed from worry as Randall insists on risking his life in service of our country. Yes…"

Gerard laughed until his stomach hurt. Bent double, he clutched his belly and gasped. "Please. Stop. While I can well imagine Harry blowing up something, it is more like to be Nash's ice house than a national treasure, and Perry has a good heart, despite what he may show the world. They like and respect you Martin, they always have. No…" He raised and a hand to stop more outrageous commentary. "I mean …I wish to picture you happy."

"Then picture me in the rose garden, digging up rocks and planting cuttings. Picture me, at the desk in the study, balancing our accounts and realizing that we could not only pay all the quarterly bills, but set aside a healthy portion for the boys schooling. Picture me, teaching Randall to fence, and allowing Celia to trod upon my toes as she practiced the forbidden Waltz."

*A lump rose in Gerard's throat and he swallowed hard. Seeking to hide the tears that threatened to spill over, he stepped back and let his gaze wander, searching for his clothing. "Damnation." He whispered under his breath as he realized his trousers were the only thing he'd been wearing when he'd stumbled through the door hours earlier, lips locked with Martin's, body humming with lust.

Gerard's Gamble is the third of my contributions to the Behind Closed Doors Series I am writing in conjunction with Raven McAllan. 

Available at All Romance 

Randall's Romance 

Cecelia's Claim

Harold's Haven 

Nash's Niche

WIP Wednesday: Gerard's Gamble

This week I'm working on the final book in the Regency series, Behind Closed Doors that I'm writing with Raven McAllan. This story focus's on Gerard Gretton, Lord Brigstock, and his search for love in his later years. In the first book of the series, we saw him departing England's fair shores for the continent in search of a long lost love.

In Gerard's Gamble, he returns.

EXCERPT

(Remember- these are unedited, raw excerpts and may be significantly changed in the final version.)

"Good evening, My lord." The bench rocked a bit as Gerard straddled it.

"The deed is done." The sat in silence for a few moments, Martin steadfastly gazing at a horizon that was too close, his heart tripping every few beats as he struggled to hide how the other man's nearness affected him. He could feel Gerard's unsettled emotions, sense his agitation.

"How did they take the news?"

"With characteristic aplomb and a distinct lack of furor. I wonder if they'll miss me at all or if they're just secretly breathing sighs of relief to have me off their backs and out of their way?"

His head snapped around and Martin glared at Gerard. "Of course they'll miss you! Those children positively dote upon you!"

"Those children are full grown adults who haven't listened to a word I've said since they were breeched. Even Cecy smiles and nods and goes about her merry way as though I were in my dotage." A self-deprecating gesture accompanied the words. "They've got everything I can give them, financial security, a respectably place in society, education and moral fortitude. I’m not needed."

             I need you. He wanted to shout it out so loud the stable boys would hear it. 

Available at All Romance 

Randall's Romance 

Cecelia's Claim

Harold's Haven 

Nash's Niche

WIP Wednesday: Take a PEEK at What's Next! Cranberry Pi

I'm at the very beginning of a new project (so no snippets from that one yet!), whilst working through the technical aspects of a few others. I"m not slowing down, mind you- I just have a lot going on. So here's the summary:

September 

Chance in Hell (Chances Are #5) (September)

The Jealous Guy in Story Orgy's And the Prompt Is: Bad Boyfriends (exact release date TBA)

Centurion  A Pulp Friction Heated Exchange title (September 15th)

If I'm a little scattered, that would be why!

Anyway- here's a glimpse of the next one...

The Jealous Guy 

copyright @Lee Brazil 

The whole world had discovered his favorite little vegetarian café, and while normally Sydney Huber would be pleased for the owner, a lean string bean of a man named Alisdair, today he was irritated beyond measure. It was the final straw on a day that had gone from bad to worse.

"Oh. Yes. Would you like to sit at the counter since it's just you?" Her smile grew, white teeth gleaming, painted lips stretched wide. Her head tilted inquisitively to the side.

"No. I would like to sit in Max's section, as usual." He glanced around the room, as if saying his name would conjure the man.

"I'm afraid Max's section is full. We're very busy today. I'm sorry." She held the menu to her chest and jerked her pointed little chin toward the counter. "There are several single seats at the counter." Several bar chairs were empty there, as she had said, but a good dozen people were packed in at the space, sitting practically elbow to elbow. The older woman who usually worked the counter had been replaced by another young girl, this one dark haired and pale skinned. If he sat there, he wouldn't even be able to catch a glimpse of Max in the background, the entire restaurant would be at his back.

"No, Barbie. I'll wait for a table in Max's section to open up." Fuck. Hopefully that would be soon as he didn't have time for an extended lunch today, not with his superior breathing down his neck for the teller audits.

"My name is not Barbie." A petulant tone replaced the bubbly good will in the blonde's voice. The smile disappeared and the blue eyes narrowed slightly. The thin blond pointed to her name tag. "I’m Kate."

He sneered blackly at her. "I'm not paid to remember your name, but you're paid for customer service. What kind of hostess doesn't remember the preferences of a customer who eats in their restaurant daily?"

A familiar tanned hand reached across Sydney and plucked the plastic coated menu from Kate. "One who just started yesterday?" A frisson of awareness prickled its way across Sydney's skin, weaving a trail of heat and butterflies from the point of contact to his stomach and groin. His mind leapt for the distraction, his body yearned for more contact.

A blush heated his cheeks as he realized Max had overheard him being snotty to the hostess, who was beaming worshipfully at his favorite waiter, hell, his favorite person, again. "Thank you so much Max. I tried to tell him your section was full."

WIP Wednesday: What's Chance Up to Now?

Still working on that fifth Chances Are story, so today you're just getting a little tiny tease of what's coming. This is a continuation of the scene I shared last week, with Chance and Cannon in the bar.

Chance in Hell

copyright August 2013 @Lee Brazil 

It was a simple sheet of hole-punched notebook paper; the kind every student uses in a three ring binder. Using a couple of pencils from a coffee mug of writing utensils on the desk, I smoothed it out, looking it over carefully. The short message was written in thick black lines, block printed with strange flat edges on the bottom of each letter where it looked as though the ink had bled a bit. Most likely written with a marker rather than a pen.

Deuteronomy 32:35

Vengeance is mine, and recompense, for the time when their foot shall slip; for the day of their calamity is at hand, and their doom comes swiftly.’

I whistled softly. "That's pretty definitive. You say it was on your desk?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Stolen Moment...WIP WEDNESDAY with Chance Dumont

My current project is the fifth Chances Are book, the last one in the series. It's not quite farewell for Chance and Rory, but its very hard to write. I can't say too much, because Laura and Havan will never let me live it down if I do, but just wait- December will bring a surprise for all our Pulp Friction Fans. 

Meanwhile, Chance has problems that need to be resolved, and this is where I am. (Please remember that this is first draft, unedited ms)

Chance in Hell 

copyright Aug. 2013 Lee Brazil

"I think it's best, don't you?" His brow wrinkled as his cell phone beeped and he reached for it. Anyone else might have missed the hesitation, the dread in his eyes as he checked the caller. I wasn't just anyone. I'd known Cannon long enough and well enough to recognize the fear behind his actions.

He swallowed and put the phone away without answering it.

"Something wrong Cannon?"

"Just a guy who won't take no for an answer."

"Oh yeah? Want me to have a word with him?" The offer was out before I realized how it would look, me warning guys off my ex.

"Would you? In fact, maybe you could do me a favor with that. It's this guy I met at …um…" His cheeks flushed and he swallowed again. Sin dropped a coaster and a second glass of whiskey in front of him and sauntered away in silence. Maybe the double rejection had wounded his vanity. "Look, your friend introduced us, and we went out a couple of times, but I'm not interested in a relationship and this guy just doesn’t want to hear it." He held the phone out to me, and I took it.

I glanced down at the number, but it wasn't one I recognized. I hit talk and listened to the phone ring while watching Cannon twitch nervously in his seat and gulp the blasted whiskey. Something had him on edge, and it hardly seemed like the reaction to a persistent suitor.

"Masters."

"Look," I didn't bother choosing my words wisely. In fact, it felt great to just let the anger and emotion roll out. "He's not interested in seeing you, and if that's not clear enough to get you to stop calling, well I've got any number of other options than talking to make my point."

"Who is this?" The deep graveled voice was cultured and powerful, the voice of a man who expected to be obeyed, respected, and xxx. "Why do you have Cannon's phone?"

The hell was a guy like that harassing Cannon for? "This is Chance DuMont, not that it matters. When a man says no, he means no. That's all there is to it. I'm just the kind of friend who makes sure that pricks like you understand that." Cannon's face turned white and he trembled as he picked up the glass and drained it. He waved the glass in the air for a refill, staring steadfastly at the row of bottles on the shelves.

After a brief silence, Cannon's would be boyfriend spoke again. "Is he there? Give him the phone."

"He doesn't want to talk to you." Interestingly, Cannon's head turned and his lips parted. I almost heard a whispered protest, but then he pressed them so tightly together that a thin white line formed around his mouth. He gripped his glass so tightly his knuckles whitened as well. Hmmm.

"I don't accept that. Ask yourself why he won't talk to me himself Chance."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And that is pretty much as far as I've gotten. Somehow, removing the third wheel form this relationship is harder than it should be, probably because I quite like Cannon, and I wasn't at all sure for a while there whether Chance would end up with Rory or Cannon at the end. At this point, anything can happen. 

WIP Wednesday- Stealing a glimpse of Loving Bailey

Here's another little peek at my September release, 

Loving Bailey! Still in the edit process, at the moment, 

so please forgive any errors you might find! 

EXCERPT 

The almost exuberant bubble of future happiness was nearly impossible to contain. Bailey couldn't resist sneaking kisses and caresses as Ashton piloted his car through the afternoon traffic to Bailey's house...his dad's house, since in just a few days his house would officially be Ashton's house. His boyfriend was mellow and amused, and refrained from scolding him for his inappropriate touches until his hand grazed Ashton's erect cock, trapped behind a straining zipper, causing him to inhale sharply and step a little too hard on the break at the intersection.

Even the mild frown that garnered couldn't dim his happiness.

In less than a week, they would be together in every way.

Smilingly unrepentantly, he withdrew his hand, stroking down the smooth denim covered thigh until his had rested on Ashton's knee. Ashton grunted in approval and the car swung around the corner smoothly. They were just a few blocks from the house when the first tiny doubt sank in. Would his Dad approve?

He opened his mouth to say something, but then decided he was being silly. His dad had Eden, and the gap between Eden's twenty-seven and his Dad's forty-seven, was way more than the gap between his own twenty-one and Ashton's thirty –six. There was no point in bringing up something that Ashton had used in the early days of their relationship to keep them apart.

Instead he smiled confidently at Ashton as the car was tooled carefully into a parking space at the curb several houses down from his dad's place. "This is going to be great."

The indulgent smile on Ashton's lips didn't quite match the banked lust in his eyes. "I’m looking forward to meeting your family."

Bailey leaned close over the console and kissed his chin, savoring the faint bristle that left his lips tingling. "They'll all be here. Dad, my brother, Eden. Everyone."

"I've been looking forward to meeting Eden again." A grim note in Ashton's voice  brought Bailey's gaze flashing to his face. "Oh, no need to look so concerned. I won't hurt him. I've been waiting years now to tell him what I thought about his callousness in breaking your heart." He tipped Bailey's head in his direction with a fingertip, brushed his lips lightly across his mouth. "Or I could thank him, since that incident brought us together."

Bailey withdrew slightly, a troubled frown on his brown. "He didn't ever do anything to lead me on, you know. It was just my crush. My own stupid fascination with who I thought he was. I'd really rather you didn't tell him off, since I ended up with him as a friend and you as..." 

This story is the sequel to Loving Eden, and follows the characters Bailey Harris and Ashton Duval. While it can be read as a stand alone, it does refer to some incidents from the first book. 

Loving Eden is available at Amazon, All Romance, and Breathless Press 

WIP Wednesday : Loving Bailey - the Long Awaited Story of Eden's youthful stalker

Way back when I wrote Loving Eden, in January of 2011, my dear friend and fellow author, Havan Fellows said...

"But what about poor Bailey?"

And I had an idea about poor Bailey, but he got pushed aside and things intervened, but finally, he's got his own story coming soon. This week's WIP Wednesday is an excerpt from the pre-edited version. 

LOVING BAILEY 

UNEDITED EXCERPT 

Copyright 2013 © Lee Brazil

Ashton tightened his grip and shifted Bailey closer pulling the younger man almost into his lap. Bailey went willingly curling himself into Ashton and shifting until their bodies were pressed tight together, hip to hip, and thigh to thigh,

"You're sure you want me to move in here with you?" More tease than uncertainty lurked in Bailey's voice this time, so Ashton tickled him in the ribs until he giggled and pushed Ashton away.

"The bungalow is small, I know, but it's close to the beach and the neighborhood is great. If you'd rather live somewhere else, I'm not opposed to looking, but I'd love for you to live here with me while we look." Ashton fell back against the sofa laughing. Bailey lurched forward looming over him. Their gazes caught and held. The laughter died on his lips as he took in the heat in Bailey's blue gaze. He swallowed hard as a surge of passion overtook him. They'd waited so long, resisted the desire that sparked between even as it grew more and more insistent with each glance they exchanged, each kiss they shared, each caress they dared explore. "Bailey..." he whispered.

Bailey's mouth firmed with determination. He shifted, pushing Ashton back into the sofa cushions, propping his elbows against the arm of the sofa so he could lean forward and brush his lips across Ashton's mouth. Bracing himself for a familiar onslaught, Ashton exhaled softly. He'd expected passionate demand and entreaty, this soft coaxing kiss took him off guard and he opened to it immediately.

Bailey scooped his arms under Ashton, and despite their similar size, easily maneuvered Ashton into his lap.  Ashton sat astride Bailey, their lips clinging in a dizzying caress that left him yearning for more.

The drone of the television faded into nothingness, replaced by the steadily increasing rhythm of his pounding heart. The rush of blood sensitized his skin obscured every sound outside his body, until the only sounds he was conscious of were the low soul searing noises that Bailey made as the kiss deepened, and his hands wandered.

Bailey bucked against him, pushing their groins together, and Ashton groaned. Yanking his mouth away, he panted. "Enough. Please."

"Don't you..."

"Please, Bailey. Honey, just a few more days. We've waited this long, a few more days is okay, isn't it?" In need of distance and distraction to get his passion under control, he lurched off the sofa and grabbed the takeout. "What did you get?"

"Thai. Sesame chicken and jasmine rice, from that place around the corner that you like." He didn't need to see Bailey's face to know he was pouting, Ashton could hear the displeasure in his voice.

More of that coming this September! Look for Loving Bailey wherever your favorite Ebooks are sold! 

Check out other WIPS at Laura Harner's Blog & Havan Fellow's Blog

WIP Wednesday:

Good morning readers! Today I have a portion of an upcoming release- It's my current WIP, but it's also a short erotic piece from the heated Exchange line at Pulp Friction. If all goes according to plan, this will be releasing on Friday. 

EXCERPT FROM CENTURION

Inspired by this picture.

Salicar, Healer

Trembling with tension and uncertainty about his fate, Salicar huddled on the floor of the tent. A few warm wool blankets helped ward off the chill of the earth. Still he shivered in the evening air, cold and naked. Though he could smell woodsmoke and hear the crackling of a fire outside, inside there was no flame to warm him. His muscles ached from hours of unaccustomed walking that left his feet blistered and torn.

He’d been separated from the other villagers almost as soon as they’d set up camp, and brought to this place where he’d been handed a cloth and flagons of olive oil and water and instructed in feeble, halting Greek to bath himself. His tattered dusty tunic had been taken away, and he’d been left there alone for hours. If it hadn’t been for the constant stream of voices outside, frequently punctuated by the centurion’s deep, honey dark authoritative tones, he’d have risked slipping out and escaping.

His hands were bound by a thin but strong metal chain, but he wasn’t tethered to any object. He had just enough fortitude to know that his life was at risk, and not enough to take himself out of the situation. He should have preferred death to slavery, but he couldn’t bring himself to take advantage of his solitude to find something to make it happen. A dagger, an herb, even a stout rope could achieve his end, if he only had the courage.

Though this tent was hardly luxurious, it was larger and more opulent than the others, and he had the impression it belonged to the centurion who’d eyed him with such intent interest earlier. He’d been so stunned by the man’s pure masculine presence that he’d forgotten to speak in the man’s language when he answered his query.

It was possible, he supposed, that he was here because the centurion understood Greek and was in need of a healer, but he had a suspicion from the heated gleam in the man’s eye that he was more interested in a catamite than a doctor. Would he rather die than be the centurion’s pleasure slave? 

Check out other WIPS at Laura Harner's Blog & Havan Fellow's Blog

"I've saved up a thousand kisses, a thousand experiences 

I only want to share with you."

The Man Trap Contemporary M/M Romance