From Morocco to Paris

Blurb: Zane Reed dreams of being a director, but first he has to learn the ropes by taking every crap job in the movie industry. Employed as personal assistant to actor Elliot Butler, Zane hopes to further his education when Elliot works with famed director Saul Brennan. However, Zane gets an education in something else entirely when he meets Davey Alexander, one of the production’s costumers.

Davey, vivacious and erotically-charged, shakes reluctant, sexually-confused Zane down to his core. The two begin a torrid affair that leaves Zane wrestling with demons from his past as much as wrestling with Davey in the sheets. During filming, from Morocco, to Cairo, to Paris, the two struggle with desire and muddled emotions. In the end, Zane will have to overcome–and define–himself, if he wants to keep the most intriguing, passionate man he’s ever known from walking out of his life.

Excerpt: The lights of the city stretched out in the distance, fading toward the shadowy mountains on the horizon that arched against the blackened sky. Zane stood at the window, the cool night air on his skin, a forgotten cigarette burnt to the filter in his hand. He heard shifting on the bed behind him, then the sound of feet slapping on the floor. Hands slid over his chest, a warm body pressed to his back.

“This suits you,” Davey murmured.

Zane wore his djellaba, fastened only at the waist. He shifted, noticed the cigarette, and ground the butt out in the ashtray on the windowsill.

“So I’ve been told,” Zane said.

Davey roamed his hands lazily over Zane’s chest, over the djellaba, beneath the soft folds.

“I’ll miss this place too,” Zane said softly. “I’ve never been anywhere more beautiful.”

“Me either.” Davey’s warm breath seeped through the fabric over Zane’s shoulder.

Davey quit moving his hands and rested one lightly on Zane’s chest, over his heart. They were silent for a few minutes, the stillness broken only by the sound of the wind and the subdued noises of the midnight city.

“Davey,” Zane finally said softly. “I can’t do this, you know I can’t.”

“Why?” Davey asked, just as softly.

Zane felt panicked now, having his emotional barriers kicked down. “I’m too scared. Of the future. Of the past. I just…can’t. This isn’t how it was supposed to
be. It was never supposed to go this far.”

“But it has.”

“But I can’t take it any further, Davey. Sex is fine, but things are getting complicated.” Even as he said these words, trying to make them sound confident, his heart twisted.

Davey was silent a moment then he said, “It doesn’t matter.” He rested his cheek on Zane’s shoulder, and his voice vibrated against his back. “You do what you need to, and I’ll endure it. I’m not asking anything of you.”

“That makes me a horribly selfish person. It’s not fair to you.”

“Unrequited love is as old as humanity.” Davey lifted his head and removed his hand from Zane’s chest. “You’re not doing anything that hasn’t been done by a
million people before you.”

Zane tried to turn but Davey stopped him, playing with his hair.

“And people have gotten over it since the beginning of time,” Davey said. He tugged Zane’s hair gently and released him. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head over it.”

Zane turned and watched Davey walk back to the bed, his bed, watched him crawl under the covers.

“Davey, I just — ”

“Stop talking about it. Everything will be all right; I’ll make sure of it.”

The dull light through the windows glowed softly on Davey’s face, and he smiled before settling down. No invitation to come to bed, no entreaty. Simply a bare pillow and an open spot Zane could take or leave as he chose.

Zane stood at the window a while longer, not looking at the city but with his hand over his eyes, elbow resting on the wall. Tomorrow, Cairo and the end of their crazy, exotic romp, if he had any say. Soon he’d have his head about him again, concentrating on his work, concentrating on his education. Soon he could go back to sleeping alone, instead of crawling into bed with Davey.

Buy it at Torquere Press!

Lydia Nyx on GLBT Bookshelf

An Angel For Christmas by Lily Grace

Purchase from Torquere Press

By: Lily Grace

Publisher: Torquere Press

Genre: m/m, Contemporary Paranormal

Length: Novella (24,400 words)

ISBN: 978-1-61040-120-3

Blurb

Sebastian has done the one thing a guardian angel is never supposed to do. He’s fallen in love with a mortal. When his human falls into serious jeopardy, Sebastian descends to Earth without permission.

Kevin’s bartending job just doesn’t pay enough, his mother's hospital bills keep piling up, and now he’s borrowed money from the wrong person. He needs a miracle this Christmas season. Kevin just didn’t expect it to come in the form of an actual angel.

Not caring that he's breaking all the rules that govern guardian angels, Sebastian helps Kevin all he can. But the consequences of Sebastian's actions could be dire for the angel, unless Kevin can perform a miracle of his own.

Excerpt

Sebastian's eyes widened. He wasn't sure who was more shocked, he or Kevin. He hadn't meant to lower his guise of invisibility, but now it had happened twice in one night. Kevin distracted him. Sebastian had never been able to be this close to Kevin before. He had always had to look from so far away. The proximity overwhelmed him. He knew he had crossed too many lines to count back in the alley, but his punishment would be worth it. Watching Kevin sleep, being so close, knowing his mortal charge was safe... it was worth everything.

"Please, do not be frightened!" He held up his hands, voluminous sleeves falling down his arms to his elbows. "I mean you no harm." There was no going back now. No point in disappearing. The damage had been done.

Waves of terror and confusion washed over Kevin's face. His eyes were wide and blinking rapidly. Sebastian understood this would be difficult for him to understand. He waited patiently, giving Kevin a few moments to collect himself.

Kevin's hands came up to his face and rubbed furiously at his eyes. Sebastian smiled when Kevin looked surprised that he was still there. Kevin had beautiful eyes. They were so unusual. Blue-gray, like Cape Cod after a storm.

"Y...you're not real. I'm still dreaming." It came out as a statement.

"I promise you are awake." Sebastian tried to make his voice as gentle as possible.

"Who are you?" Kevin's voice was edged with astonishment and a small amount of fear. He pushed his back flush against the headboard and gripped handfuls of bedding tightly.

Sebastian took a chance and moved slightly closer, trying to offer reassurance with his smile. This was where Kevin would need to suspend disbelief and have a little faith.

"My name is Sebastian. I am your guardian angel."

"Right. I'm definitely still dreaming."

Kevin's hands once again went to his face, and he sighed deeply. At least he didn't look frightened anymore.

"This is a dream. I'm not crazy, and there are no such things as angels." He spoke more to himself than to Sebastian. "I'm going back to sleep. When I wake up, you won't be here."

Kevin reached for the bedside lamp, and once again the room was bathed in darkness. Burrowing under the covers, Kevin pulled the quilt up over his head as if that would make everything go away. Sebastian didn't blame him. Not really. Everything Kevin had been taught had told him that Sebastian couldn't be real. Sebastian still found that it hurt, though. He wanted Kevin to believe... needed him to. Hopefully things would be better in the morning. Sebastian wasn't going anywhere.

Sebastian moved to a sitting position near the end of the bed, keeping vigil over his charge until morning.

http://bookworld.editme.com/AnAngelForChristmas

http://www.lilygracetales.blogspot.com/

Impasto (part of the 'Mine' anthology) by Lydia Nyx

Blurb: Alexander is a vampire and his human lover–and dearest possession–Laurent has finally agreed to be turned. While in London so Laurent can visit his mother one last time as a human, Alexander sits in the darkness of their hotel room contemplating Laurent’s beauty in post-coital slumber. Alexander endeavors to paint a portrait of him in words in his well-weathered notebook, but despite observing all the trappings of their lives together, and Laurent himself, he finds only one word can encapsulate him: mine.

Excerpt: Now came the centerpiece of the painting, the object that would tell the observer exactly what had happened here, if they hadn’t already guessed. Most likely they had, but were wondering with who, and why. The ‘who’ was simple enough, the ‘why’ a bit more complicated, and had been, for nearly two decades.

The sheets on the bed were white cotton. They were soft and had smelled of industrial detergent. They’d been wound around Alexander’s bare legs earlier, before he’d gotten up and pulled his pajama bottoms out of his suitcase. Atop the sheets was a cream-colored blanket, then a green and white comforter with pink flowers printed on it. Both were tangled, twisted. Pillows were scattered at the top of the bed, one on the right propped against the headboard and slumped toward the edge of the mattress. The smell of detergent had been replaced by the scent of sweat and sex, skin and musk, and just a little blood, that sweet, coppery odor. Alexander fancied he could smell it still, even over the damp air and lingering cigarette smoke.

On the left side of the bed, the fire behind his inspiration lie tangled up in the sheet. He was on his stomach, his bare shoulder blades angular and sleek, his arms sprawled out to either side and his right hand lost amongst the mounds of pillows. The left dangled off the bed, fingers curled against the box springs, swaying slightly with his breath. The comforter was draped over one leg and the other rested atop the blanket, long and muscled and bare, the light picking out downy hair on the back of his calf. Across the white pillow beneath his head, sable curls were flung scattered and wild, a few clinging to the back of his neck. One tumbled onto the smooth, pale skin of his back, a dark, tempting ringlet on a bed of creamy velvet. Alexander felt the urge to go over and pluck it up between his fingers, curl it around his knuckles, press it to his lips.

Beneath the sheet, the shape of his lover’s body was exquisite, long and slender, a sloping back and narrow hips, jutting hipbones and slim thighs. The swell of his ass was subtle, the sheet so far up his bare leg Alexander could just see the soft round beauty of one cheek peeking out.

How could anyone capture such glorious beauty on canvas? Michelangelo would have thrown his brushes into the Tiber upon seeing him, knowing he could never replicate such a thing in pigments and oils.

Buy the anthology at Torquere Press!

Lydia Nyx on GLBT Bookshelf

Midnight Dalliance by S.J. Frost

I'm excited to announce the release of my newest short story, Midnight Dalliance! Now available at Torquere Press.

Excerpt:

As he gazed at the horse, Dalton remembered the first time he'd seen Sweet Revolution, eight years prior. He was only fifteen at the time, still living in his hometown of Ashford in Kent, England, and watching a show jumping competition on television, dreaming of someday competing at the same level with the world-renowned Grand Prix riders. He felt hypnotized by the horses' sleek coats, their fluid movements, their power as they flew without wings over the jumps. Bays, grays, blacks, and chestnuts came one after the other, and then the announcer called out a new horse with his unknown, twenty-year-old rider.

The moment Sweet Revolution stepped into the ring, the crowd had fallen silent, as if struck speechless by the stallion's beauty, with his tobiano coat of glistening black and winter white, his mane and tail a blend of both colors. When he cleared his first jump that day, it was the beginning of his legend. It turned out "Revie" was aptly named, as a revolution is exactly what he caused in the eventing world. He brought attention to it like no other horse before him and became adored by people around the world, but for more than simply his flashy pinto coloring. Graceful and fearless, no jump could intimidate him. Show jumping, dressage, cross-country -- there was nothing the stallion didn't excel in.

Dalton, too, became a devoted fan of Sweet Revolution, but for more than the stallion's amazing ability. Also on that day, as the camera zoomed in on a smiling Kelvin Crofton praising the horse for the clear round they'd just jumped, he felt something deep inside him respond.

Dalton strove to learn everything he could about the American rider and discovered the Crofton family owned a large ranch in Texas. They were famous on the Quarter Horse circuit for the fine cutting and reining horses they bred. Despite Kelvin having diverged from his Western roots to English riding, part of it continued to hold onto him. He had gained the nickname "Cowboy" among those on the eventing circuit for the beige cowboy hat that never left his head except when he entered the show ring. Before going in, when the hat was still in place, Kelvin presented a rather mismatched image in his formal show attire of white riding breeches, white shirt with white stock tie, black jacket, and tall, black English riding boots.

Dalton thought Kelvin's ways were incredibly charming, even though they'd never actually met. He'd ridden all his life, but breaking into the same level of world-class competition as Kelvin was no easy thing. First, it took money, a lot of it, something his family didn't have. Second, he needed an extremely talented horse, which also took a lot of money, or at the very least, high connections with people who owned quality mounts, another thing he didn't have. When he tried to make those connections, no one was willing to put an unproven rider on their priceless horses, for which he couldn't blame them. Horses of such caliber were of far greater value than his own meager life.

But those days were behind him now that he owned Midnight Dalliance.

At least, he hoped those days were behind him. A tendril of doubt snaked through his heart as the image of his black Hanoverian stallion came to his mind. It'd taken every bit of the inheritance money from his grandmother to purchase the horse, so much so that he couldn't afford to get the stallion back to England, forcing them both to remain in the States, which he didn't view as a bad thing. Upstate New York had been a beautiful place to live, and he had a feeling that, from what little he'd seen of it so far, Kentucky would be lovely to call home for a while. What troubled him was that he'd thought the stallion was destined to be a champion. After four months of working together, now he wasn't so sure.

Dalton exhaled a hard breath to expel the negative feelings inside him. It wasn't the time to worry about that. This was the first, and probably last, time he would ever see Sweet Revolution in person.

Kelvin brought the stallion to the center of the jumping ring. He unbuckled his riding helmet and removed it, extending it to the side as he bowed in the saddle to raucous applause and blinding cameras. He'd done nothing more than canter the stallion around the ring, but he could've just won gold in the Olympics again for all the celebration. He placed his helmet back on his head, not bothering to buckle it, and with a subtle touch to the stallion's left side, he turned Sweet Revolution away from the crowd toward the gate leading out of the ring.

Dalton stepped back to join the gathering of riders and trainers waiting for Kelvin and Sweet Revolution. He hastily combed his fingers through his short, dark blond hair. As the pair exited, Dalton flashed a bright smile up at Kelvin, but Kelvin's gaze remained focused downward. He seemed oblivious to the cheers and calls around him. Dalton turned in place as they passed by, watching Sweet Revolution slowly walk away, wondering why there were tears in Kelvin's soft brown eyes.