Since my new story’s going to come out next week, thought it was time for an excerpt. It’s one of my “gay for you” stories. I seem to be rather fond of those. What can I say? I like seeing straight guys get shaken up.

BLURB (subject to change):

Justin falls for Kevin the instant they pass each other on a sidewalk. Only, Kevin’s not gay. The higher ups at Kevin’s company are gay, however, and Kevin’s accidental meeting with Justin gives him an idea how to get around his controlling female supervisor. If he can gain access to the top men at an exclusive gay club, he might be able to finally share his ideas.

Justin instantly agrees to be his date, despite the obvious heartbreak that’s headed his way for going out with a straight man. At the club, Kevin gets a chance to meet the company owner, Victor Chen, and the man seems interested… both in his ideas and his date.

Kevin can’t deny his attraction to Justin, but he’s not gay. Right? He should step aside and let Justin have a chance to date Victor, who’s gorgeous, rich, and shares Justin’s interest in fashion. Despite his internal struggles, he really wants to explore their growing bond. Justin is certainly game, but a part of him knows they can’t have a future together. Is there more to their instant attraction than either suspect?

*************************

Mostly edited excerpt, ©2009 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

“… and then I…” Justin stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing two chatting women to split up to go around him. Ignoring their mild glares as they passed, he stared blindly over the plastic lid of his coffee cup, wondering if he’d just seen what he thought he’d seen.

Ahead, Frank kept walking a few steps before realizing he was alone. He spun, the spikes of his highlighted hair refusing to move in the mild breeze that kept the sunny street somewhat cool. “Hey?”

Justin heard him but couldn’t be bothered acknowledge the words. He snapped around, eagerly searching for… Oh yes! The hind view of the vision of loveliness that had just passed by him. Slightly rumpled charcoal slacks loosely framed a fine little derriere and an equally rumpled ice gray button-down draped slim shoulders. Waved hair the color of good French Roast almost brushed said shoulders.

“Justin, what are you…?”

Barely hearing his friend, Justin raced back down the sidewalk, nearly spilling his coffee in his rush to catch up to a wet dream come to life. He nearly ran over a guy on roller blades and just avoided getting wrapped up in a micro dog’s leash, but he finally made it to the vison’s side. He reached out to wrap a hand around an arm. Nice, he thought, feeling the biceps. Slim, but firm.

Said vision halted and twisted a graceful neck over and up to face Justin.

Oh. My. God! Innocently seductive brown eyes kind of focused on Justin from beneath sinfully full black lashes. Confused eyes that blinked up at him, positively enchanting. Elegant and sleek, just like the rest of him, Latino somewhere in his lineage, judging by facial features and gold skin tone. There was an almost innocence in that face even though he was had to be in his mid-twenties, at least. Justin wanted to devour the generous lips that parted in surprise.

“I’ve just fallen in love with you,” Justin declared, cradling his coffee cup to his chest as he kept hold on the vision’s arm. “What is your name, and please tell me you’re gay?”

“Justin!” Frank caught up with him, grabbing the wrist of the hand that had a grip on the vision’s arm. Frank tugged but Justin wouldn’t let go. “Justin, please, you’re annoying the nice man.”

Justin blinked at the dumbstruck object of his attention as the breeze puffed a lock of shiny dark hair across the man’s brow. “Nice man, please tell me your name so I know who to dream about tonight.”

“Justin!” Frank scolded, prying at his fingers.

Reluctantly, since the vision didn’t seem to be responding in kind, Justin let Frank remove his hand. But he kept eye contact.

“Please excuse him,” Frank said, yanking Justin away. “He’s not right in the head.”

“How can I be in the face of such beauty?” Justin protested, stumbling backward as Frank tugged.

Said beauty blinked slowly, his gorgeous pink lips still parted in shock.

“I work down the street at Juster’s. It’s a men’s boutique.” Justin wanted to cry. “Come find me, Prince Charming. Please!”

The vision blinked again, closed his mouth, and turned away.

Justin sobbed dramatically, watching a fine ass in shapeless slacks retreat. “There goes the love of my life.”

Frank snorted, forcibly turning Justin toward the intersection so he wouldn’t have to drag him anymore. “You’re a complete nutcase.”

Justin sighed and sipped his coffee. “I know. But you gotta go with your instincts, right?”

“Your instincts are going to get you killed one of these days.”

Justin waved his hand and avoided a group of chatting businessmen. “I’ve gotten beat up over it before. That’s nothing new.” He hummed dreamily as they stopped to wait for the light. “But he was pretty, wasn’t he?”

“He was that,” Frank admitted, pressing the WALK button.

Justin glanced back but the vision was long gone. “Not gay though, huh?”

“Not in the least.”

“Damn.”

* * * * *

Kevin returned to his cubicle, still bemused by what had just happened. He’d left to blow off a little steam with an afternoon walk. He certainly hadn’t expected to be hit on. By a guy, no less!

Raoul got up from his chair in the next cubicle just as Kevin sat down. Immediately, Kevin was reminded of the reason he’d left. Some of his amusement died.

“She’s gone,” Raoul told him, keeping his voice low. The three people in the neighboring cubicles were all on their side and could be trusted, but beyond that was sketchy.

“Gee,” Kevin checked his watch. “Three o’clock. Must be nice.”

Stacie pushed her chair close. “She’s going to” — she made quote signs in the air with her fingers — “‘work from home.’”

All three of them snorted at that.

Kevin shook his head. “The woman never listens.” He balled his fists, staring blankly at his monitor. “I know we could get that second installation if she’d just present the idea to either Greg or Victor.”

“Fat chance. She’s way too scared of how it went last time.”

Kevin waved a hand in the air. “We’ve fixed those problems. We’ve gone way beyond that. Besides, if we just talked to the customer…”

“Please,” Stacie scoffed, “remember what happened the last time she talked to a customer?”

Snarling soundlessly, Kevin slumped back his chair.

Raoul leaned on the low cubicle wall and shrugged. “What can we do?”

Kevin grimaced. “Unless we can get to Greg –”

“Which we can’t.”

“– or Victor –”

“Yeah, right.”

“– nothing.”

Stacie patted his shoulder before wheeling back to her keyboard.

Raoul gave him a sharp look and glanced at the drawers of Kevin’s desk. He raised his brows then shrugged before disappearing around the corner into his own little space.

Kevin knew what the look was for.

He stared at the second drawer of his metallic desk. Inside was the possible answer to their problems but only if he had the balls to go through with it. No one else does. It was an invitation that a friend had given him to an exclusive party at a popular local club. Kevin was not into the clubbing scene, but it was a sure bet that at least two of the three men Kevin needed to know would be there. The club was high-class and rumored to be the place. For homosexuals. Which both Greg Hanson and Victor Chen were.

Kevin Fuller, however, was not.

Kevin blinked, the coincidence crashing into him. He wanted to go to a gay club. He’d just been hit on by an obviously gay guy. Kismet?

**********************

Click here to visit my website’s main page for Just For You

Available soon from Loose Id

So here it is, the last book of the main arc started in Dark Elves I: Taken. The children conceived in the first three books are now grown and ready to cause trouble. As a quick primer, Brevin is Salin and Diana’s son, Lanthan is Krael and Suza’s son, Tykir is Hyle and Gala’s son, and Eryhaen is Savous and Irin’s daughter. Not to mention there’s this guy… from book three… who showed up in book five… yeah, we’re dealing with him too.

BLURB:

As the first girl child born to the dark elves, Eryhaen is rhaejena—princess—and desired by all of the men around her. Born with magical gifts that challenge even the most experienced sorcerers among her people, she has the awe of her people and the devotion of her three best friends and lovers. Brevin, Lanthan and Tykir have been at her side their whole lives and each of the three young men would do anything for her and each other.

But Eryhaen needs more than untutored if eager lovers. She is out of control, and she knows it. Her magic is raw and wild, and she is not the only one who’s started to see her as a danger.

She needs help.

The only possibility is Radin, a legendary sorcerer, returned from the dead but magically unconscious for a quarter of a century. Dreams and undeniable instincts tell her that he’s the solution to her problems, if she can only wake him up.

Once she does, what then? He may be the answer to her problems, but is the legendary lover the man for her? Or is he meant for someone else?

****************************

©2009 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

Brevin’s left arm flew up, the long, slim dagger in reverse grip along his forearm to deflect Lanthan’s blade. As Lanthan began to twist away, Brevin brought up a fist, aiming for his gut. Lanthan was better than that, having spun into Brevin, catching him off guard enough so that when the smaller man’s ass rammed into his hips, he stumbled enough for Lanthan to grip his left arm and flip him head over heels. He ended flat on his back in the sand, stunned for those few precious seconds it took for Lanthan to drop to his knees and straddle Brevin’s chest, his blade at Brevin’s throat.

Lanthan’s grin was barely sane underneath the long fall of fringe that spilled over the wide band tied about his skull. “Got ya.”

Brevin snarled, fingers digging into the sand. But Lanthan’s knees pinned Brevin’s arms to the ground.

“Only because it’s left-handed.”

“No excuse,” said a deep voice overhead. “A skilled warrior fights equally well with both hands.”

Brevin closed his eyes. Lanthan’s father, Krael, was a cruel taskmaster, even in training. Especially in training. He wouldn’t accept any less than Brevin’s or Lanthan’s best even if they had just come back from battle. He wouldn’t let them have fun and just blow off steam as Brevin had hoped to do. Can’t he pay attention to the others? There were plenty of other trainees in the practice grounds for Krael to torture.

Lanthan laughed, easing up on Brevin’s throat. “Try again?”

Brevin had wondered if it was a good idea to spar so soon after their return, but after they’d left Tykir with the healers, he and Lanthan had been much too keyed up to stay in the dining hall or go to the pools. Tykir would be all right, but neither of them had truly believed it until the healer had said it himself.

“Yes.” Brevin snatched his right arm up from under Lanthan’s left knee and swung it in a roundhouse toward his friend’s head. As he’d fully expected, Lanthan shied right and back so the punch missed. Weapons dropped in the sand, they tussled, the two of them grappling until Brevin’s greater bulk won out and he had Lanthan pinned underneath him. Lanthan could barely catch his breath for laughing, his cheek pressed to the sand with one arm trapped underneath him and the other held between them by Brevin. Glistening black skin stretched over the taut muscles as Lanthan struggled underneath his weight. Brevin breathed over the closely shorn hair on his friend’s neck.

Then Lanthan stopped laughing. His ice blue eyes hooded. Clearly, he felt Brevin’s cock in the crack of his ass, rock hard. Only the dual layers of their clothing kept Brevin from pushing in immediately. Lanthan smelled divine. No. That wasn’t right. Lanthan didn’t smell like that, a scent of earth and sweet and sex. Not even fighting with his friend could get Brevin that instantly hard.

But there was one person who smelled like that, and one person who could get him instantly hard.

Lanthan blinked, his eyes shifting so he could look up at Brevin. The same thought occurred to him. And not just them. All around the practice arena, sounds of fighting stopped.

Barely rising from Lanthan, Brevin tilted his head and swiveled toward the entrance. There she was, alone and achingly stunning in one of those long, teasing shifts she preferred. Teasing because, although it was ankle-length, it was completely open at each side, held to her body only by the silk rope tied at her waist. When she walked, hungry eyes could catch tantalizing glimpses of the spare panties she wore to guard her sex. Eyrhaen. Her thigh-length hair was loose, much of it draping her slim shoulders as she calmly surveyed the cavern full of men. The men, young and older, barely moved, watching her, as aware of her heightened arousal as though she had announced it.

Then she found them, Brevin and Lanthan, and she smiled. Brevin couldn’t contain a shiver as she stepped onto the sand and began walking toward them.

Just before he shifted his weight off his friend, he glanced down at Lanthan. Ice blue eyes were closed, and white fringe almost hid his resigned look. Brevin could feel the sexual heat shimmering off him and knew that his own need was building to match it.

She had that effect on them. She had that effect on all of them.

He’d just gained his knees when two other youths raced toward Eyrhaen from behind. Brevin would have shot up to her defense, but Lanthan’s quick grip on his arm intercepted instinct and kept him on his knees. With one brief, curt nod, he showed Lanthan he was in control again, and they both remained where they were to watch.

Despite his instincts, he knew she didn’t need his help.

The boys were younger, maybe one hundred forty or fifty cycles at the most. They’d probably just come into sexual awareness. It was the only excuse for their behavior. Older males had learned their lesson with Eyrhaen. It was time for these to learn theirs.

They fell to their knees in front of her, stopping her progress. Desperate energy radiated from them, vibrating in the dry heat of the arena and spilling off the fresh bare skin of their shoulders and torsos.

“Rhajena,” one breathed, reaching for the thigh that was exposed by the nonexistent side of her shift.

The other just whimpered helplessly, hands up toward her, imploring.

She stopped, staring down at them. She could not have looked at a bug with any less interest. When the one touched her leg, she slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

He gasped, and Brevin managed not to wince in sympathy. He knew that slap. Knew that she put something extra behind it. Her touch could be bliss or torture or an agonizing combination of the two.

“Please.” The other one found his voice. Brevin knew that strangled tone too. He’d used it on a number of occasions, although he liked to think he’d never looked this pathetic in front of her. Few things would make a raedjour warrior beg, and the last few cycles had taught them that Eyrhaen was one.

“Go back to your lessons,” she chided, “both of you.” Like they were boys and not youths perhaps only thirty cycles younger than she. She stepped around them and resumed her path toward Brevin and Lanthan. At least she smiled as she approached, although he’d come to dread the smile almost as much as the frown. Her arousal beat at him, and he could only wonder what had gotten her to such a state. Her effect was far more pronounced than normal, the pleasure of it caressing him in hidden places she had yet to touch. What does she do when we’re not around? No, he’d rather not think about that.

She stopped a pace in front of them, fine sand sifting in between the toes on her pretty feet. She reached out to card her fingers through Brevin’s short locks. “I’m glad you’re back. I need you.”

Brevin closed his eyes. It was that simple. No matter what he was doing, if she spoke those words to him, he would follow her.

“Lanthan.”

He opened his eyes to see her other hand caressing Lanthan’s cheek. Excitement buzzed below his heart. Time with Eyrhaen was special, but sharing her with his friend was exquisite.

Without speaking, both he and Lanthan gathered their knives and rose to their feet. By that time, she’d turned and started out of the arena. They followed like cubs after a mother bear. Brevin felt the envious stares, but they didn’t bother him. He was one of the lucky ones, or so they thought. He and Lanthan — and Tykir — were lucky enough to be around her age, just enough older that they’d been close friends with her before her sexual needs had started to blossom. Very few of those whom she didn’t bless with her attentions understood that the luck had an evil twist.

Krael patted his shoulder as they passed, but said nothing more. He knew. He understood. As a truemated male, he didn’t feel her pull as strongly. He wasn’t immune, and as Lanthan’s father, he knew what they were to her.

She led them down a short corridor to the bathing pools. No surprise. She liked hot water. She liked being wet and clean and preferred it for her lovers. Lovers. That’s what she called them. Not for the first time he toyed with the idea of arguing with her about the meaning of that word.

“Where’s Tykir?”

Brevin and Lanthan flanked her as they walked, staring down the stray males who showed interest in delaying them. “We took him to the healers.”

She grabbed his arm, distracting him. “Is he all right?”

“He will be,” Lanthan answered, carrying the sheathed knives that were usually strapped to his forearms. He’d be taking them off again soon anyway. “They put him under so he could sleep.”

“How did he get hurt?”

“Rogues.” Both he and Lanthan spoke together, the same note of disdain in their voices.

Eyrhaen said no more on the subject.

There was a hot pool in a relatively secluded corner of the main cavern she preferred. Brevin wondered if anyone else ever used it without her presence anymore. He doubted it. The serving boys kept a fresh pile of drying cloths and vials of her favorite oils and scents on the natural stone bench that had been carved into the rock wall beside the pool.

Brevin dropped to one knee beside the small brazier to stir up the banked flame kept there. It wasn’t a bright light and didn’t provide much warmth, but they didn’t really need either. She liked to be warm, though, and she claimed to like the dim firelight. Her wishes were the rule.

Beside him, she had untied her silk belt, and Lanthan was helping her to lift the flimsy shift up and off her head. Brevin’s eyes took in the slim, lovely curves of her hips and buttocks. She shifted her stance, turned toward him just right that he could get a glimpse between her firm thighs at the rich, juicy red folds of her sex. A pang of need twisted painfully in his gut at the sight, the scent of it wafting into his nostrils to make him dizzy. He caught himself leaning toward her, mouth watering. Goddess!

When she was free of the shift, she leaned back into Lanthan. He froze, shift still in one fist, his other hand automatically sliding around her slim waist to pull her flush against him. Shorter than Brevin, Lanthan was just a little taller than Eyrhaen, allowing a snug fit when they stood close. Her eyes shut in bliss. The shift slithered out of his grip as she snuggled into the curve of his body. Lanthan bent his head, his short hair tickling the point of her ear. Nibbling at her throat, Lanthan brought his palms up to cup her breasts, squeezing them just the way they knew she liked. She moaned a reward for him.

Brevin shook himself, shifting to sit on his butt so he could pull off his boots. He knew his role in this wasn’t just voyeur. Things worked best if he anticipated. Boots off, he shuffled out of his trousers, careful with the painfully tight, hard cock that sprang free to slap his belly. He discarded the idea of tugging it. Wouldn’t give him much relief. She wouldn’t allow him to come yet anyway.

Once naked, he eased into the burbling heat of the pool. A quick dunk underwater wet his skin and let him slick his unruly hair back from his face. Minerals and natural bubbles caressed him as the water further warmed his blood.

Lights from the more public pools behind them limned Eyrhaen and Lanthan in soft white, the long locks of her hair draped across her breasts and shoulders. She had twisted her neck so she could capture Lanthan’s mouth with her own. Their black tongues played between open lips, white teeth flashing in the shadows. One of Lanthan’s hands still massaged one breast, pinching the nipple, but his other hand had slid down, fingers now cupping into her sex.

Humming happily, she pulled her lips from Lanthan and glanced down to check on Brevin. Seeing him in the water, she grinned and merrily turned out of Lanthan’s embrace. Lanthan’s fingers slid from her as she let herself fall backward toward the water.

Brevin caught her, his heartbeat speeding up when he had her delectably naked body in the cradle of his arms. Her long hair trailed like moonlight across the surface of the water as she wound her arms around his neck.

“Kiss me,” she demanded, and he obeyed instantly. Her lips opened under his, and a moan oozed from his throat into hers. She tasted of cool silver, earth, and sweet, savory sauce over fresh meat cooked just so it melted in his mouth. He released her legs so his arm was free to wrap around her back, pinning her to him. Arms fastened around his neck, she pulled her legs up to wind them around his hips. His cock throbbed between them, pressing her belly, and he slid both hands down to palm her ass, the better to press her even closer.

Lanthan was there, behind her. His scent mingled with hers, driving Brevin to suck more deeply at Eyrhaen’s mouth. His hands slid over Brevin’s, encouraging him to spread the cheeks of her ass farther apart. Brevin did and shared what he knew would be a frustration for his friend. Lanthan would want to drive home, slide his cock into either opening exposed by the spread, but he couldn’t. If he so much as tried, the magic that was Eyrhaen would shrivel his erection painfully, so much so that he would not be able to get it up again for at least a moon.

Instead, Lanthan braced his hands beside Brevin’s and knelt in the water. Brevin raised her higher at Lanthan’s nudge, then swallowed her squeal of delight when Lanthan must have started to lick her. It was a good thing she didn’t weigh much — to Brevin, at least — because if she did, he wouldn’t have been able to hold her. It was hard enough to do when his wicked friend, while laving at Eyrhaen’s anus and sex, reached between Brevin’s legs to fondle his balls.

Good thing for him when Eyrhaen ripped her mouth from his and declared, “Enough. Put me down.”

*****************

Click here for my website’s main page for Dark Elves VI: Awakening

Pairing: m/m

Buy it from Loose Id

BLURB:

Rynn made a mistake in taking the drug hextasy with his fiancée. It was supposed to be the ultimate sexual high, except that you have to sleep with the one you desire most. If you don’t, your body won’t be satisfied and you’ll die. Rynn lived, Lynnette didn’t, and now her parents want someone to pay. Either luck or Surseine, the god of justice Himself, takes pity on Rynn by putting his trial in front of one of His judges. Sursei are graced by the god they represent with the power to see truth and Sursei Shasertai finds Rynn innocent of murder.

But the drug is still out there and Shasertai and the people who travel with him are determined to root out the drug lord responsible for its existence. Shas invites Rynn to join them. He goes willingly, fascinated by the judge who gave him a second chance at life.

Rynn might be innocent and straight, but Shas isn’t. He’s gay, happily so, and very much drawn to the farm boy whose simple innocence is a balm to one who can hear through the lies. What he hears is that Rynn’s not gay, so he vows not to get involved. Until another drug, another time, gets in the way…and then he and Rynn will have to deal with the each other’s truths and their growing attraction.

Publisher’s Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, male/male sexual practices.

**********************

©2009 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

Rynn followed Sheriff Trent into the lobby of a swank hotel in downtown Taft. It was located in the high-rent district, not far from the passenger train station. A farm boy like him had no business in a place with fine woven rugs over tightly tiled floors. Heck, there were even gaslights lining the sweeping staircase to the right, and an elevator was displayed prominently across the lobby from the double front doors. The sheriff led him right up to the elevator door and pushed the button. Rynn stared at the etched metal doors and the shiny copper decorations around the edges, slightly alarmed by the muted sound of machinery clanking behind them.

“Stop scratching.”

Rynn blinked at the older man, then looked down to find his blunt nails digging through the thick wool of his clean, borrowed trousers into the meat of his thigh. “Oh. Sorry.” Balling that hand into a fist, he tucked both hands behind his back. At least the sheriff had let him ditch the jacket and tie. Now he just had to concentrate on not getting the white shirt dirty.

“Don’t be nervous.”

Rynn flinched at a dinging sound and couldn’t help but gape a little as the metal doors slid open to reveal a shiny little blue-carpeted compartment. A boy dressed in a uniform of a blue to match the carpet stood off to one side, holding open the doors. Warily, Rynn followed the sheriff into the box.

“What floor, sir?” asked the boy as they turned to face the door.

“Six,” Trent answered.

The boy nodded and pulled a lever. Silently, the metal doors shut them in. Rynn clutched at a handrail set into the back wall when the floor beneath his feet jounced.

“Rynn.”

He blinked at the sheriff’s smile.

“It’ll be all right, boy.”

Rynn nodded. Trying not to realize that they were rising in the air, he focused on something else. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

Sheriff Trent shrugged, the leather of his brown duster creaking loudly in the cramped space. “Don’t think it matters. He’s a man of the law. Hell, being sursei, he is the law. He’s agreed to take you at least as far as Vinton. It’s a lumber town. Young man your size should be able to find a job there easy enough. I’m sending references, and he’s agreed to vouch for your innocence.”

“Really?”

Again the sheriff smiled, reaching up to pat his shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Rynn. I know it, and the sursei proved it. It’s time to get on with your life away from the Dotalls. Just do me a favor and think before you do something like this in the future, huh?”

Rynn swallowed over a sudden lump in his throat, then jumped again at the sound of another ding. “Sixth floor,” announced the kid in the uniform as the compartment settled to a halt. He pulled another lever, and the doors slid back open.

Rynn was glad to step out of the elevator and follow the sheriff down the hall.

The elevator doors had barely closed when a feminine shriek sounded ahead of them. Both he and Sheriff Trent froze, staring at each other. Then they heard the thunk of a heavy piece of furniture and the clatter of what sounded like chairs. As one, they turned and sprinted toward the sounds, urged on by another shout—male this time—and another female cry.

The sheriff reached the appropriate door first, his pistol out of its holster, pointed up at the ceiling. He pulled Rynn behind him, staying at the side of the doorway as he reached in to knock. “Sursei, it’s the sheriff. Is everything all right in there?”

All sound within stopped.

“Judge?”

“Just a moment,” the female voice called. A mutter of voices preceded the clatter of the door’s lock just before it was yanked wide open. On the other side stood the blonde woman from the courtroom. At least, Rynn was pretty sure it was she. The face was the same, even if it was now partly covered by the fallen half of what might have once been a neatly pinned hairdo. Holding the doorknob, she propped the other hand on the hip of her lemon yellow skirt. The ruffles at the neck and wrists of her white blouse looked mussed; the trailing ends of a black ribbon that probably should have circled her neck dangled over her breasts.

“Hello, sheriff,” she greeted, two bright dots of color pinkening her cheeks.

“Miss Kogin.” Rynn couldn’t see his face, but the older man nodded. He didn’t put away his gun. “Is everything all right?”

She eyed the weapon, or tried. With an irritated huff, she blew at the curls that tried to blind her left eye. “Oh, we’re fine.” She glared over her shoulder. “Shas is just cheating again.”

“That would be impossible,” came a calm reply behind her.

Rolling her eyes, she stepped back. “Please, come in. Maybe you can talk some sense into them.”

The sheriff hesitated, but then he took a few cautious steps into the room. Rynn stayed right behind him.

Behind the woman, two men faced each other over a space that had clearly recently contained the card table that now lay on its side, out of their way. The tense positions in which they stood told Rynn that a fight was about to break out. To his surprise, one of the combatants was the sursein judge.

The delicate, almost feminine man who had tried Rynn’s case just a few hours previous certainly looked more masculine now, if no less gorgeous. His violet robes were replaced with snug, worn jeans tucked into well-made, black suede, knee-high boots. The toned muscles of his shoulders and arms were on display thanks to his sleeveless black top, and as it was formfitting, it also showed what looked to be a honed chest. The white-gold hair that had been braided down his back before was now loose, flowing in gentle waves over his shoulders. Two long locks from his temples were drawn back and banded with a tie at the nape of his neck, the only effort made to tame the slippery fall of hair. His face remained in profile since he wouldn’t take his eyes off the other man, but that just showed off a flawless, sharply etched profile. Expressionless, he looked perfectly capable of snatching the gun from where it was tucked into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back and firing before the man staring at him could do the same.

The man across from him scowled. Although good-looking, he could not compare to the judge’s delicate beauty. A trim, dark beard lined his square jaw, with a matching mustache shadowing a wide, thin-lipped mouth. Deep-set blue eyes were shadowed by thick black eyebrows. He was a little taller and a little wider than the judge, but he had a slim quality that the bulk of his dark blue jacket couldn’t hide. More coyote than bear. A grin hovered at the edges of his mouth. His fingers hovered over the pistol seated in a holster strapped to his thigh, at least three gold rings glinting in the ample light provided by kerosene lamps.

“Gentlemen?” the sheriff asked, stopping just close enough to the men that he could keep them both in his sights. His gun he kept out but pointed toward the faded blue carpet beneath his boots. The tone in his voice was the one Rynn had heard a number of times in the jailhouse. The one he used to command instant respect.

The sursei raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t budge. “Good evening, sheriff.” That voice. Smooth as fresh-strained cream.

Rynn edged into the room behind the sheriff, gaze darting around to see if he could spot a possible weapon in case Sheriff Trent needed help. That’s when he spotted a third man, sitting on an easy chair in the corner, feet propped on a matching footstool, watching with a small smile. It was the judge’s bodyguard from earlier, his bulk nearly overfilling the chair. He had his big hands laced behind his bald head, and his dark eyes twinkled as he seemed to enjoy the show.

Now Rynn was quite confused.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” The pretty young woman muttered angrily to herself as she stepped right up between the sursei and his opponent. “Would you stop?”

At her presence, the judge and the other man relaxed a bit, although their eyes remained locked.

She rolled her eyes, reaching up to shove back the hair that hung in her face. “Please, Shas, we have guests.” When neither moved, she glanced beyond the judge at the seated bodyguard. “Harmon!”

Chuckling, the bodyguard unfolded himself from the chair and strolled toward the center of the room. Rynn and the bodyguard were about the same size, although the bodyguard was probably a little broader than he was. Certainly he was older and held himself like the older guardsmen Rynn had known during training, wearing his experience like a badge. He, too, stepped between the two combatants, facing the man in the blue jacket. “Colton, why don’t you and me go in the other room for a minute?” Not waiting for an answer, he set one beefy hand on the man’s right arm, effectively ruining his chances at any kind of a good shot.

The man’s eyes narrowed, and then he shook his head and backed down. “You’re a cheat, Shas.”

The judge tossed his head with a laugh. Instantly, the tension in the room dissipated. “Again, I assure you, that is quite impossible.”

The bodyguard led the other man toward an open doorway at the far end of the room, and finally the judge turned to face Rynn and the sheriff.

Purple eyes. That one detail jumped out at Rynn as the judge stepped toward them. It wasn’t the eerie total color with no whites or pupils that he’d seen earlier in court. The judge’s eyes were now quite normal-looking except for the vivid amethyst that Rynn had never seen on anyone else. They were like perfectly round gemstones set in red-veined white marble. The strange color, though, seemed to go with the judge’s light complexion. Did all sursei have purple eyes, or was this one special?

Pistol holstered, Sheriff Trent snatched off his hat and exchanged greetings and a handshake with the judge. Trent had met with him earlier about Rynn, but he was clearly not very comfortable in the judge’s presence. Then the judge turned to extend his hand to Rynn. A thick gold ring glittered on his middle finger, matching two thinner bands on his thumb and little finger. A full head shorter than Rynn, he had to tilt his head up to get a good look at Rynn’s face. “We’ve not been formally introduced. I’m Shasertai Kogin.”

“Rynnis Lort.”

“Yes, you are.” The judge folded his free hand over their entwined hands. “Forgive me. I know, technically speaking, I’ve seen you, but my experiences while in Surseine’s trance are nothing compared to when out of it. I see many things clearly, but others”—he shook his head as his gaze raked down, then back up, Rynn’s chest—“I miss entirely.”

Rynn almost felt that gaze, and it made him want to scratch again. “It’s an honor to meet you, sursei.”

The judge returned to studying his face and didn’t let go of his hand. Then a small smile curled up the corners of his full-lipped mouth. “Truth preserve me, you are a fine-looking man, aren’t you?”

Appearing beside him, the woman slapped the judge’s arm. “Shas!”

Rynn’s eyes went wide when the judge raised the hand not linked with Rynn’s to draw his fingers down the beard on the taller man’s jaw. “Such rugged, handsome features.”

“Shas!”

Surprisingly strong fingers gripped the tip of Rynn’s chin, nudging his face sideways to reveal his profile. “Sheriff, is there a secret about the farms out here that I should know about?”

The woman grabbed Shasertai’s wrist and tugged his hand away. “Stop that.”

He gave her a wide-eyed look, full of false innocence. “You don’t think so?” He faced Rynn again and winked. “She thinks you’re good-looking too.”

She threw her hands in the air, rustling her skirts. “Honestly.”

The judge chuckled a little. He took one more perusal of Rynn’s face and then heaved a sigh. He released Rynn’s hand slowly, letting his fingers trail first over Rynn’s palm, then under his fingers, sending thrilling little tendrils of sensation up Rynn’s arm. “But I do recall some mention of a woman in today’s trial. A fiancée.” He cocked his head to the side, some of that silky white-gold hair spilling over his chest. “I realize you prefer sex with women, but have you tried sex with a man?”

“Shasertai!” the woman all but screeched.

For his part, Rynn could only gape. What was the man talking about? What was going on?

The bodyguard had returned to right the card table. The bearded gunman stood watching the judge size up Rynn, his expression unreadable.

The sheriff reached over to grip Rynn’s arm. “Excuse me, sursei. When we spoke earlier, I didn’t mean for you to think I was offering Rynn’s…uh, services.”

The judge’s eyes closed partway, his half smile making things low in Rynn’s belly flip. A man just shouldn’t be that pretty. It was confusing. “I’m well aware of that, sheriff. I know exactly why you asked for my help. Help I’m still willing to give, regardless of Mr. Lort’s sexual preferences.” Still smiling, he turned away, speaking over his bare shoulder. “But you can’t blame me for trying.”

The woman inserted herself into Rynn’s view of Shasertai’s retreating back, blocking the sight of slim, gently swaying hips. “I’m so sorry,” she said, taking Rynn’s hand in one of hers and the sheriff’s in the other. “My brother has a warped sense of humor.” Sometime during Shasertai’s introduction, she’d taken the pins out of her fallen hairdo and banded the long white-gold locks into a simple ponytail down her back. With her face exposed and the color of her hair, Rynn could easily see the resemblance between her and the sursei. She had the same delicate bone structure and pale features, but her eyes were a rich royal blue. Just as pretty, but the judge was more blatantly so. Why was that? To Rynn, she smiled as she tugged him and Trent farther into the room. “My name is Yolan Kogin. I’m my brother’s clerk and personal assistant.”

“Keeper.” Shasertai’s murmur carried across the room even though his back was to them, his attention on pouring amber liquid from a crystal decanter into a delicate matching glass.

She ignored him. “May we offer either of you a drink?”

Shasertai turned, propping his bottom against the edge of the drink cabinet. “I’m told it’s the finest brandy in town.” His gaze flicked over to the men now kneeling beside the table to gather scattered cards. The bearded one glanced up and caught him watching, which only made the judge smile.

“No, thank you,” said the sheriff, shifting so his overcoat creaked. “I’m still on duty. I just came to introduce Rynn and make sure everything was settled.”

One bare arm crossed over his middle, the other elbow propped on it, Shasertai brought his glass to his lips, a wicked look raking over Rynn again. “I’m sure we’ll be just fine.”

“Shas, please.” Yolan sighed. Again she spoke to Rynn, patting his arm. “We understand you might be in some danger due to this afternoon’s ruling?”

Rynn realized now that he was having a tough time keeping his eyes off the judge. Knowing that was rude, he made himself face Yolan. “Well, I don’t know about that, ma’am…”

“As I told you this afternoon, Paulson Dotall owns a large chunk of this town and the surrounding area.” The sheriff kept his attention on Yolan. “There are many powerful men in these parts whose livelihoods depend on him. If he blacklists Rynn, he’ll have no chance of finding a job anywhere in the county.”

Rynn frowned. Things were moving so fast. This morning, he’d been pretty sure he might be hanged before the week was up. Now he was free, but it looked like he was banished from the only home he’d ever known. Wasn’t losing Lynnette enough?

Yolan nodded. “That’s an understandable concern, sheriff. Quite understandable. We’re glad to offer to escort Mr. Lort to a more amenable area.”

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” Sheriff Trent fiddled with the brim of his hat. “They’re not all bad men, ma’am. But you know what money does to people.”

“Yes. Indeed.” She smiled at Rynn. “Well, we’ve agreed to escort you at least as far as Vinton. You’ll stay with us here tonight; then we’ll leave in the morning by train. Most of the staff are with the coach right now, just the four of us here in the hotel.” She waved a hand to indicate the bodyguard. “That’s Harmon, Shasertai’s bodyguard. You’ll bunk with him. And this”—she indicated the other man—“is Marshal Colton Garrah. He and his four deputies travel with us.”

Shasertai chuckled. “My dear companion.”

Colton stood, glaring at him.

Shasertai fluttered his eyelids in a ridiculously feminine manner.

Colton shook his head and then turned to nod at the sheriff, suggesting they had met. Rynn also nodded in response to the man’s silent greeting.

Yolan made a curt hand gesture toward her brother, who simply rolled his eyes and turned to splash brandy into a second rounded glass.

“Yes, well.” Yolan smiled at Rynn as Colton bent to help Harmon right the table. “I think that’s it, then.”

Rynn’s head was spinning, his eyes on the man in the dark jacket with the gun at his hip. Companion. Did that mean what he thought it meant? Together with the judge’s appraisal of him, it suggested that they were together. As a couple. He knew it was true there were men who preferred sexual relationships with other men, but he’d never met any.

“Sheriff, I’m sure you have other things to do. If you’ll give me your letter of reference for Mr. Lort, I think you can go.” Yolan held out her hand.

Sheriff Trent looked up at Rynn, searching. “Well, I…?”

“Or did you have luggage, Mr. Lort? We can retrieve that in the morning, or you can have it sent to the train station. Not to worry about expenses. We’re well supplied to handle one more for such a short trip. Although, if you’d like to supply a stipend for Mr. Lort, sheriff, I can deposit it into the bank before we leave, then withdraw it when we reach Vinton.”

Trent glanced at her, at the judge, then back at Rynn. “I just want to make sure Rynn’s all right with this.”

She stared at the sheriff for a moment, and then her eyes went cold. “Oh. I see.”

The judge’s warm chuckle was at odds with her chilly tone. A drink in each hand, he stepped up behind her, proving that he was a bare inch taller than she. He regarded both men over her shoulder. “Sheriff, I assure you that your young friend will be quite safe with us.” That unsettling violet gaze settled on Rynn. “No one will force him into anything against his will. You have my word.”

“I appreciate that, sursei.” The sheriff’s voice was soft, almost apologetic. “And of course I trust the word of a sursein judge. But it’s Rynn’s decision.”

Rynn tore his gaze from compelling purple eyes to look at the sheriff. The man had been nothing but good to him in the past month or so, despite all that had happened. “I…don’t know what to do.” His heart said to go, to leave all the ugliness behind, but at the same time, this town was the only home he’d ever known.

Sheriff Trent reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “I know. It’s hard. But I think you should go. You’ll have a better chance at a good life outside of this town, away from all the memories.”

“You think so?”

“I do. Ain’t nothing keeping you here with Lynny gone.”

Rynn shut his eyes over tears that threatened. He’d gotten good at not crying, though, somewhere over the last week. Lynny would have told him not to. Lynny would have wanted him to get out of the county she considered hideous and backward. She would have jumped at the chance he was being given and not had a second thought. He nodded and opened his eyes. “Okay. Thank you, sheriff.”

Trent patted his arm and gave him a curt nod. “You’re welcome, son.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope, which he handed to Yolan. “Here’s that letter for Rynn.”

“Excellent.” Her smile was back as she drew him aside. “Is there anything else…?”

Rynn missed what else she might have been saying to the sheriff. Without her there, the space between him and the judge came alive with…something. He had an insane urge to step closer so he could brush against the man.

The judge smiled, then winked and offered Rynn the second glass he held. “Have a drink.”

Rynn took the glass and mirrored how the judge sipped. He had to close his eyes to enjoy the pleasant burn of perhaps the finest spirits he’d ever tasted.

He felt a little like a colt breaking free from the paddock with the gate closing unheard behind him.

********************

Click here for my website’s main webpage on Sursein Judgment.

Pairing: m/m

Buy link coming soon

This is a very cool anthology. Kimberly Gardner and JP Bowie are the other authors.

A little bit of cross dressing action. This excerpt isn’t exactly sexy maybe, but I think it gives a nice idea of the dynamic between Shawn and Roscoe before the true romance starts.

BTW, Shawn is in COLLEGE so he’s old enough to be in one of my stories.

BLURB:

Switch roles? Roscoe may be a brilliant director, but Sean wants no part of this crazy idea. But when Roscoe suggests that Sean and his leading lady swap Beatrice for Benedict in their college’s production of Much Ado About Nothing, everyone else thinks it’s a terrific idea. Trapped by peer pressure and the awareness that Roscoe usually knows what he’s doing, Sean accepts the challenge only to quickly discover that he likes wearing skirts, both on and off stage. Even more than that, he likes the director’s reaction when he flashes a little leg.

*******************************

©2009 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

Bonnie held Shawn’s upper arms, staring down into his eyes. “With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest / I love thee.”

Shawn clutched at her elbows, lowering his gaze and twisting his head to the side, facing the audience. “Why, then, God forgive me!”

Bonnie cupped Shawn’s jaw with her palm, urging his face upward. “What offence, sweet Beatrice?”

“You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to / protest I loved you.” Shawn let his voice go breathy just before raising his eyes to meet Bonnie’s.

She put her arms around him, pulling him closer. “And do it with all thy heart.”

He put his arms around her, smiling. “I love you with so much of my heart that none is / left to protest.”

Bonnie leaned down, tilting her head for the kiss.

“Stop.”

They both froze at the sound of Roscoe’s voice.

Sighing, Shawn shared a suffering look with Bonnie, then stepped out of her embrace to face Roscoe.

He scowled over the table at them. “Do it again.”

Ted sat behind him but wasn’t paying much attention, his head bent over the student desk, probably doing his homework. No one else was present to witness the incessant tries of the two actors to attain the satisfaction of their director. They’d repeated this particular bit at least seven times so far by Shawn’s count. That was in addition to the emotion exercises Roscoe had put them through for the first hour of rehearsal. The scene was the emotional apex of the play, the moment when Beatrice and Benedick break through years of rivalry to take a chance and bare their souls. Both Bonnie and Shawn were putting their hearts into it, wanting to get it right. But that wasn’t enough for Roscoe.

Shawn grimaced, scrambling for the cool he’d lost about a half hour ago. “You gonna let us finish this time?”

“Are you going to put some feeling into it this time?”

He crushed handfuls of his long blue rehearsal skirt in his fists. “What the hell do you think I was doing?”

Roscoe crossed his arms, pique showing through his usual calm. “That’s a good question. Care to answer it?”

“Fuck you, man. I’m doing my best.”

“Bullshit. I’ve seen you do better when you’re jerking off in class.”

Shawn turned to face the blinded windows to the side of the room rather than face Roscoe. “What the hell am I doing wrong this time?” Because it seemed to be him. Roscoe had a few notes for Bonnie but not nearly the criticism he had for Shawn.

“You haven’t corrected anything so my answer would be the same.”

“I was softer,” Shawn growled around gritted teeth.

“That’s not what I asked for.”

“I didn’t bite her head off.”

“Slight improvement.”

“What do you want from me?”

Roscoe’s eyes narrowed. “Are you afraid of him?” He pointed to Bonnie.

Shawn sighed, a hand raised to cover his eyes. “Not this again.”

“Yes. This again.”

“Why would I be afraid?”

“You should be.”

Shawn spun, starting to pace. “What the hell for?”

Bonnie scooted to the back of the open area, watching.

Roscoe stood, rounding the table to stand beside it. “He’s a man.”

Since reason had deserted him an hour ago, Shawn blurted what he really thought. “He’s not much bigger than me. I’ll kick his ass.”

“That’s a man’s argument, not a woman’s.”

“This is Beatrice. She’d totally kick ass.”

“Beatrice talks a good game. Yes, she’d say she’d kick Benedick’s ass but he’s a veteran of wars. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars… a good soldier too… a lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honorable virtues.” Words spilled out in that trained voice, impossible to ignore. “But she knows she’s not up to the task. O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart / in the market-place. She knows she can’t do what a man can.”

A chair at the side of the open area rattled away from him. He’d kicked it. He kind of realized that after it happened. “Yeah, I know, but Beatrice isn’t scared of him. He’s never hurt her. As much as he’s done, he’s never hurt her.”

“But he can. Beatrice would deny it, but she is a woman of her times. A woman. And a woman of her times, like it or not, rail against it or not, would be at least a little afraid of a veteran soldier.” Roscoe took off his glasses and set them on the table then turned to approach Shawn. “She would have to respect that he had fought in wars. She would have to respect that he is a soldier and a lord.”

A frustrated cry burst from Shawn’s throat. “I don’t get it.” He kicked at another chair, frustration and confusion flaming behind his eyelids as his fists pulled at the sturdy fabric of his skirt. “You don’t want me to cower, do you?”

“No. I want you to use all that anger you’re feeling right now.”

“Fuck you!” Shawn whirled on him, dropping his handfuls of cloth to curl his fingers into claws. “You told me not to bite her head off.”

Roscoe’s eyes blazed as he faced Shawn from just a few paces away. When had he taken off the glasses? “You’re a woman and she’s a soldier.”

Shawn thumped his own chest. “This is Beatrice. She’s one of Shakespeare’s biggest bitches. Soldier or not, she’d kick him in the balls.”

“Not true.” Roscoe advanced, shoulders hunched slightly like a stalking predator. “She’d kick another man in the balls. She wouldn’t kick Benedick. She loves him. You’re about to say that.”

Shawn set his feet apart, skirt whirling as he snapped his hands up to his head and let out a loud, frustrated scream. “I don’t get what you want!” He tore at his hair. “First you tell me to be softer, then you tell me to be angry, what the fuck…?”

Strong hands gripped his arms. Instinctively, he reared back, lashing out, but Roscoe was a lot quicker than Shawn would have suspected. With humiliating ease, Roscoe spun Shawn around, pinning back to chest, steely arms banded around Shawn’s chest and arms, restraining him. Holy shit, he’d never realized just how big Roscoe was.

“I want you to feel helpless,” Roscoe hissed in his ear, pressing his weight against Shawn’s back, straining the smaller man’s knees.

Shawn froze, staring blindly at the dusty floor beneath his feet, overcome by Roscoe’s heat. The man stood more than a head taller and he was far more muscular than he looked.

“I want you to know deep in your heart that no matter what you do, no matter how hard you fight-” he gave Shawn a hard shake for emphasis, “-no matter how much you rant, you’re never going to win. You’re never going to overcome. You can’t. You’re helpless. You’re physically ineffectual. That’s Beatrice’s tragedy and that’s her burden to bear. She has the will of a lion in the body of a lamb.”

To his horror, Shawn realized he was shaking. He wasn’t scared. Not exactly. But Roscoe had him trapped. It was as exhilarating as it was frightening. He let his body sag a little, making himself heavy. Roscoe tightened his grip, fully supporting Shawn’s weight. Easily supporting him.

Roscoe spoke into his ear, tone harsh as a leather belt closing around Shawn’s neck. “She knows Benedick probably won’t hurt her, but they both know he can. And without much effort on his part. She knows that if he did, he’d probably get away with it.” Leaving one arm around Shawn’s torso to support him, Roscoe slid the other hand up and around to the back of Shawn’s head to grip a handful of hair. Ruthlessly, he tore at it, twisting Shawn’s head around so they were almost face-to-face. The muscles of Shawn’s neck strained. “You. Are. Helpless. And you hate it. You will rail against it. But it’s a fundamental fact that you must accept.”

Shawn swallowed, overwhelmed by Roscoe’s strength, his nearness. The man’s dark, spicy scent surrounded him, as tangible as his arms and grip. Roscoe was all around him, pressed against him.

Black eyes bore into his from underneath half-lowered lids. “You get it now?”

Click here for the site’s main page on About Something

Available now from Loose Id

Pairing: m/f, m/f/m+

Buy it here

This one is a fun (I hope) romp, pure and simple. I had the idea and much of it written pre-Dark Elves I: Taken and thought it was a neat enough idea to resurrect.

Sorry, no m/m in this one. But… the cps saw a possible connection so maybe there’ll be a follow up story.

BLURB:

Alex dumped her and Jen’s not sure why. Okay, he’d been her first, but she thought she’d done rather well, sexually speaking. Why did he all of a sudden tell her that it wasn’t working out? What was wrong with her?

Ken, Bart, Davey and Jason—her best friends—all try to convince her there’s nothing wrong with her. In fact they seek to prove it to her… by first-hand example. That’s all well and good until Jen starts to freak about that. She’s sleeping with her best friends. What’s up with that?

****************************

© 2008 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

We were laughing when we got back to my place.

I wore a terribly feminine flowered dress with a full skirt and a low neckline. Strangely, I actually liked the damn thing. It was long enough that I didn’t have to wear pantyhose — ugh, I never did get those things! — and it set off my new sandals nicely.

“I’m telling you, we should have gone in,” said Bart again, carrying bags toward my room.

I laughed harder. The whole day, Bart had been intent on playing my doting boyfriend. He’d gone to extremes, insisting on feeling me up in every dress that I tried on, much to the amazement of the wide-eyed store clerks. When he’d first cupped my ass in his large hand, I’d almost decked him, but I let it go. What the hell? We were having fun, right? And besides, it felt good. When I’d played along, he’d only gone further until, at the last shop, he wanted to follow me into the dressing room to see me try on the garters and stockings he’d insisted that I needed.

“It would have been great. Think of their reaction.”

My laughter subsided, but I was still amused. It would have been funny, but I’d stopped him. Dresses were one thing. Garters were another thing entirely. I didn’t think I was ready to go that far. Besides, even if I’d been laughing, it had been kind of embarrassing to be watched like that. It was probably normal for Bart, but I wasn’t used to being the object of attention, as I’d been all afternoon. It was exhausting!

We took the bags into my room. Despite it all, half of the purchases were actually made by me. I hadn’t let him buy me that much, against his protests.

He set the paper and plastic down on the floor by the closet. “Y’know, Jen, that really does look good on you.”

I smiled, examining my reflection in the large mirror above my dresser, smoothing my hands over the red and white roses that twined with green vines, lingering just seconds on my breasts. The scoop neck did terrific things for my cleavage, and the new push-up bra didn’t hurt any. “Thanks. I guess there’s something for dresses after all. Sometimes. But not the makeup!” I shuddered dramatically, reaching up to toss my loose hair back.

“Why not?” He laughed. “I’m told it can do wonders for your self-esteem.”

I grimaced. “Yeah, well, it’s nasty. Besides, it’s too much work to learn to do it right.” A part of me envied women who could, but it just wasn’t for me.

He stepped into view in the mirror, right behind me. He put his hands on my hips. Then his eyes met mine in the mirror.

I froze.

He didn’t. “Care to let me show you how much a man can appreciate a figure like this?” Oh, man, had his voice ever sounded that sexy before? If so, I’d missed it.

Whoa, wait! “What are you offering?” I asked, grinning feebly, trying to make light of this. I started to twist away from him.

He didn’t let me, holding firm on my hips, reflected eyes locked on mine. “I’m not joking, Jen. You look incredible.”

My smile died. “Bart, stop,” I said, trying to sound cold. The tremor in my voice ruined the effect.

“Can’t.” His fingers gently kneaded the flesh at my waist, reminding me they were there. Yeah, like I needed a reminder. “I know you don’t think of me like a boyfriend. I know we’d be awful as a couple, but” — one hand slid up to spread flat just under my navel — “I’d dearly love to make love to you.”

Ah, shit, he’d said the words. He’d said them softly. He hadn’t been joking. He hadn’t cursed. He hadn’t done any of the things that I knew to be safe between a man and a woman who were just friends.
And, damn it, his eyes and hands were burning me. Squirming worms manifested in my belly as he looked for permission to go on.

“We’re friends,” I said, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. The fabric of the dress was too sheer. I could feel the heat of his palm just inches above my sex. I should move that. Yeah. I’d do that in a second…

“Nothing needs to change, sweets,” he assured me softly, leaning in to brush the lightest of kisses on my shoulder, almost where it met my neck. Sweets. I recognized that. That’s what he called his girls. “We’ll still be friends.” Another kiss, a little more pressure. “But we could have a hell of a time this afternoon.”

The kiss felt too good. My head tipped to the side, giving him room to trail more of them up my neck. I’ll confess, I had sometimes wondered what it was like to sleep with the big man. Not seriously, but it had occurred to me in isolated moments. His bevy of girlfriends had seemed to enjoy him, after all.

“Fuck,” I muttered, closing my eyes.