About Me

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I've been writing since I could first hold a pencil, and by all accounts I didn't limit myself to paper. Walls, tablecloths and the occasional sibling were all fair game, and it shouldn't be surprising to learn that markers were banned in my home with all due haste. Although I now content myself with inconveniencing electrons, the desire to bring the stories in my mind to life hasn't waned. In my spare time, I read, putter in the kitchen, and relax on my terrace or at the lake, weather permitting, with my corgi who strives to be part muse, part food disposal. I'm also addicted to coffee and have a close relationship with my Keurig.

Saturday, May 24, 2014

Because nothing's better than a book sale...

The wonderful folks at Torquere are having a Memorial Day sale!

Use code STARS to get 20% off at torquerebooks.com and prizmbooks.com/zencart through Monday, May 26th!

If you haven't had a chance to get your copy of Ghost's Sight, now is the perfect time. It's an ideal beach read, and just in time for the summer. What are you waiting for?

Friday, May 23, 2014

Here we go again...

It's official, and that means I get to say it out loud: Torquere Press has accepted Ghost's Dilemma, the sequel to Ghost's Sight.

I have to admit that I'm as giddy as I was the first time around. There's something incredibly awesome about getting that email, and signing the contract. But doing it the second time brings its own realizations.

I'm a writer. I said it before I got published, because it's what I do in every moment of time I can spare, every day. My head is full of stories, and even if no one had given me the chance to see my name on the cover of a book, I'd still write. But that second acceptance is also an affirmation. I'm committed now, and I intend to keep writing, and keep submitting my writing for publication.

Oh, I'll moan when I get the comments from my editor, and I'll agonize over marketing blurbs, and cover art. But deep inside, I'm going to be giggling like a kid on their birthday.

Thursday, May 15, 2014

It's a sale!

You can use code RT2014 through Sunday, May 18th to get 20% off at torquerebooks.com and prizmbooks.com.

There's nothing like a good book sale to get ready for the summer, and some of my very favorite authors publish with Torquere. So what are you waiting for? Go buy books!

(I'll give you a hint to get you started. You can buy my book, Ghost's Sight, there.)

Monday, May 12, 2014

"Play It Safe"

Play It Safe

All rights reserved by the author, and unauthorized duplication is prohibited.


Sam Waterston looked at the man beside him in bed, not as startled as he would have been six months earlier, when he had first tumbled Terence Mori into the nearest rack and screwed the slim tech until he was cross-eyed and howling.

"See, that's what I like about you, Ter. Always with the sweet talk. You know just how to get a guy's juices flowing," Sam said, grinning as Mori punched his arm, hard.

"Unlike you raider rats, I don't go into complete brain failure after I shoot my load," Mori retorted. "I've been thinking about Bogies."

Sam laughed. "I'm wounded. Five minutes ago, I had you yelling to Buddha and all the kami, and the minute you catch your breath, you think about Bogies." He reached over to tug on Mori's thick black hair. "Tell me. And use little words, lab rat."

Sam was able to understand only about a tenth of what Mori did in Medlab, but he knew Mori was determined to come up with as many ways as he could to keep Sam and the rest of the raider pilots alive. Considering that the Bogies had been bioengineered by the B'nari in the first place, Mori's talents were more than appreciated by all the pilots.

"Okay." Mori sat up, his eyes bright with excitement. "You know I've been working on nanobots to help insulate against the sonics that the Bogies use to disorient you pilots. That's all well and fine, but it's reactive. I'm just responding to their threat."

"And hoping to shoot my ass full of 'bots," Sam muttered, chuckling when Mori punched his arm again.

"What I should be thinking about is being proactive, and engineering something that can attack their systems," Mori continued, shifting a bit on the narrow bed. "We come up with a bioweapon, and I can load it in 'bots and add them to your tracer projectiles."

Sam shifted to rest his head on Mori's thigh, almost eye to eye with Mori's cock. "I'm sort of seeing how this chain of thought might have come up." He laughed out loud when Mori gave him an indignant look. "Shit, all weapons are phallic, to some extent. Fucking the enemy over is more than just a metaphor when I slam a missile into his engine's intake."

"Now who's sweet talking who?" Mori said, his cock twitching reflexively under Sam's scrutiny. "I'm serious about the being proactive thing, though. We need to take the fight to them."

Sam tugged Mori back down, reaching for the cool white sheet and pulling it up over them both. Mori settled into his favorite position, his back pressed against Sam's chest and his ass tucked into the curve formed by Sam's thighs and groin.

"You're sexy when you're fierce, you know that, Ter?" Sam rested his cheek against Mori's hair, his arm wrapping around the slender tech, and he fell asleep moments later.

Smoke filled the corridors of the Leviathan as Sam tried to find his way down to Level 18 and Medlab. He choked, the stench of overheated circuitry and burning fabric filling his nostrils while the klaxons screamed in his ears. Emergency lighting was not enough to penetrate the gloom, and the smoke only seemed to thicken as he ran. Sam fought down a wave of panic as he turned a corner and found himself in an unfamiliar corridor.

It was like some B-vid horror show, and Sam shuddered as he looked around, trying to reorient himself. It was impossible to be lost in this section of the ship. Sam knew it intimately. This was the pilots' quarters, where he had slept almost every night since he had been assigned to the Leviathan, not counting those nights he had spent with Mori. Or the nights Mori had spent with him, squeezed into his narrow rack. This section of the corridor should have held the stairs, and Sam's head whipped back and forth as he looked for the familiar door.

Harsh voices rang out from the corridor he had just left, and Sam pressed himself against the wall, his heart racing. He felt his hip, knowing that his sidearm was not there. It was all part of the nightmare, to be alone and unarmed, on a ship that was burning and crawling with Bogies. They would be looking for Mori, for the man that designed the 'bots that were grinding away at them inexorably. Sam sucked in a ragged breath, working up the nerve to make the open dash down this corridor and around the corner, to where the stairs had to be waiting. He took the first step, eyes tearing and lungs burning, and he heard Mori scream his name.


Sam felt someone shake him, hard, and he came awake with a start. "Ter!" He turned his head to look at the slim tech, eyes wild as he cupped Mori's face between his hands. "You were screaming..." Sam groaned as Mori's eyes widened, his hands dropping away. "Sorry. Fuck. I must have been dreaming."

"That was some dream," Mori muttered. He shifted, moved his head to Sam's shoulder, one arm around Sam's waist, and settled back down.

Sam lay there, feeling his heart rate slowly fall back to acceptable levels.

"Ter?" Sam nudged his lover until he got a grunt. "Do me a favor? Forget the proactive shit, okay?"

"Thought I was sexy when I was fierce, raider rat," Mori mumbled, a small smirk curving his lips.

Sam snorted. "Sexier alive, lab rat."

That dragged a sleepy chuckle out of Mori. "That was almost sweet. Remind me to fuck you in the morning."

"You going to do it?" Sam grunted as Mori rearranged himself, settling back in his favored position.

"Play it safe? I will when you will. Now shut up and let me sleep."

Sam curled around Mori, his face buried in Mori's thick black hair, trying to breathe around the fear that closed off his throat.

Friday, May 2, 2014

"Hunting Elysium"

All rights reserved by the author, and unauthorized duplication is prohibited. This one's for you, Melrick.

Hunting Elysium

September is one of those months in New York City. It's as brash and steamy as Times Square used to be, before the morality brigade got their panties in a twist and drove the hookers and the neon elsewhere. You have to head downtown now, or to the outer boroughs. That's just not right. No one should have to go to Staten Island to get an itch scratched.

But there I was, walking around the sanitized version of Times Square, dodging the tourists as they stood around gawking at the imitation sleaze. It's times like this you wonder if anyone in this town speaks English anymore. I was disgusted enough to want a cigarette, but you can't do that anymore, either. No whores, no tobacco, no oversized cups of sugary soda to take the edge off the warmth of the night. It's enough to make you want a real drink, but yeah. Not after last time.

Besides, I had a job. A real job, that might get me out of this rat trap of a neighborhood for good. I didn't need a lot more. I'd been saving for this for a long time now, squirreling away the favors for that one big payoff. Damned if I was staying in this town, in a place where Hell's Kitchen was as expensive as Yorkville used to be, before Yorkville turned into a place where only millionaires can live. None of the old places were around anymore, and nowhere felt like home. I needed to get out, and I wasn't going to let anything distract me.

Last time, though. It was a night a lot like this one. I was hot, and frustrated, and the bar door was open. The stale smell of beer that spilled out on a wave of cold air smelled like an Elysian field. Yeah, I read. I'm not stupid. Just subject to poor judgment.

I started with a beer, just to take the edge off. I wasn't planning on more. I wasn't. But she looked at me, and she smiled, with those red lips and those dark eyes that promised sin. What else was I supposed to do? I ordered her a drink, and when the barkeep reached for the Dewar's, I told him to make it two.

I don't even remember her name. Maybe she never told me. I remember the creamy feel of her skin when she slid against my bare arm. I remember the way she stood, tall and curvy, and held out her hand, the nails long and crimson. The last time I'd seen anything shine so perfectly had been a set of false fingernails some asshole was hawking on a corner. I watched her brush the dark curls off her shoulder, saw them tumble down her back, and I knocked back my scotch. The fifth, or maybe the twelfth. Not like I was keeping track.

She led me around the corner, used a shiny brass key to open a plain sort of door. The stairs were carpeted, a fact that managed to penetrate the magnetism of her swaying ass as I followed her. The same key opened another door, a matching brass "8" bright against the black wood. I didn't think there was a motel room I hadn't been in by now, but this was something else. I suppose the bit of blood on the pillow should have warned me, but the scotch made me stupid and that silken skin made me drunk.

She let me get naked, my cheap boxers feeling like a billboard advertising how far down the ladder I was from her, with her satin slip clinging to the lush curves of her. I could see the tight peaks of her nipples, and I reached for one strap as I shoved those crappy, faded boxers down, my cock as hard as a beat cop's night stick. I could smell her, musky and exotic, with the faintest scent of lilies and old earth that didn't click until later.

The satin slip ran over her curves like cool water to pool at her feet, while I gawked like a horny teenager. Dark nipples, dusky and proud against that pale skin, a perfect triangle of dark curls hiding her sweet core. I think I moaned. Shit, I all but drooled. Guys like me, we didn't meet women like this. But if she wanted to slum, who was I to complain? I pushed her back onto the featherbed and the cotton sheets that felt softer than clouds, and I felt my cock slide into the tightest, wettest pussy I'd ever encountered. I know I moaned then.

At least the razor was sharp. I never felt it at all, balls deep as I was in her heat. I saw her open her mouth, saw her teeth, as sharp and pointed as any shark, saw them turn as red as her lips. Yeah. Like I said, poor judgment.

But that was then, and tonight was the job. She was back, and the Big Guy wanted her stopped. Apparently, having a lamia stalking the streets of New York was bad form. And let's face it, it's not like she could kill me twice. I wasn't going to bet on my chances if the Big Guy's wife caught wind of this, though. Hera was the one that cursed his little piece on the side and made her the poor dating choice that she was today. Hera was more than capable of killing me hundreds of times, even more creatively than her lamia had. Don't fuck with a pissed off goddess.

Still, Zeus had promised. Do in his ex once and for all, and the Elysian fields awaited. I patted my pocket, feeling the blade he'd given me, the tingle of power reassuring as I paced and waited for the scent of lilies and old earth to lead me home.

And now for something completely different...

I thought I might post one or two very short pieces that I've published online. I think letting readers see what I'm like is a good thing, don't you?

Please keep in mind that what I write is for adult audiences. That's why you get that warning, after all, so no wagging fingers at me for any salacious content in the next post. I promise it won't be gruesome, but it's not innocent, either.