Some Assembly Required - Excerpt and Blurb

Some Assembly Required will be out November 6th!

Two weeks and counting!

Blurb:

Rise of the Amazons book 2

Amazons are real and meeting in Las Vegas.

Renowned photographer Dianne Fender was too late to save her Grandma Maggie. Now, no matter what she has to do or suffer, she is determined to control her psychic abilities so she can protect Liesel Grant, the new Amazon Matriarch. The odds are against her since Liesel has been shot at, kidnapped, robbed, and generally pissed off by the Mightys—a secret race of superhuman men.

Doctor Sergei Sky must find a cure for the harsh Amazon gene mutations to help his family and others. Dianne, a double Amazon, is his best bet to test his early research. Plus, once he teaches her how to use her powers, she can find Liesel’s stolen codex—an ancient record of the Amazons.

Together they travel to Las Vegas for the first International Amazon conference. Assassination attempts, all you can eat buffets, a Harvest Team out to slaughter those who would expose the Mightys, and a Vegas wedding— Amazon style. Yep, things are totally going as planned.

Excerpt:

Chapter 1

Dianne Fender’s thoughts, and those of the hundreds of people in the church, flipped through her mind like a slide–show set on extra fast. She knew, even before she left the hospital, that her grandmother was dead. The new goal—keep Liesel Grant alive.

Grandma Maggie should have been buried in an Indian ceremony, not this grand-scale chapel and graveside service. Dianne was pretty sure that thought was hers. With little effort she could take a mental survey on A) how many people felt the ‘service was lovely’ or B) those who wished there’d been candles instead of the brightly lit overhead electric chandeliers. Option C) that Maggie had never died in the first place. Dianne choose that one.

At least the pallbearers would be Amazons.

Bravery Not Included - Excerpt

Bravery Not Included launches my Amazon series. Here is the excerpt:

Being an Amazon didn’t automatically make you a morning person. “Whose idea was it to go so f’ing early?” Liesel Grant turned her head so her little sister wouldn’t see her stifle another yawn. She could always attribute the moisture in her eyes to the glare of headlights from other cars. Harriett saw anyway and laughed, the dork.

“It’ll give us more time to talk.” Harry grinned at her sister, annoyingly chipper and fully awake without the aid of caffeine. “This once-a-week get together has been canceled twice.”

 Liesel could hear the hurt in her sister’s voice. “I really am sorry I canceled last week.”

 “You’d better be. And you can prove just how sorry by buying breakfast.” Harriett kept her eyes on the road.

“Crap, Harry. I’ll do better—”

“What? Like it’s just you?” Her baby sister flipped her golden hair off her shoulder to look at Liesel. Then Harry looked back at the road and sighed. “How long since you’ve seen Karma for anything but babysitting? She doesn’t return my calls and I’ve not seen her for over a month.”

Liesel didn’t want to fight. The sun had to be up before people could fight. It was a rule. And if she tried to defend their older sister Karma, they’d fight. It wasn’t that she didn’t agree with Harriett. She did. But you stuck up for your sister.

Headlights flashed in their eyes again as they took the sharp corner. A Suburban ignored the twist in the road, popped the curb, hit the canal’s guardrail and kept going. The sound of steel folding like aluminum foil, ground down Liesel’s spine as the Suburban pushed through the metal barrier. The sound, like a fucking dog whistle, had all her senses on full alert. It switched Liesel to ready mode.

Release Day +1 and Excerpt

Yesterday Closet Case, Peat's coming out story, was released from Dreamspinner Press. Woot! Woot!

Here's an excerpt. Enjoy.

WHEN his cell phone rang, Peat Harris stood in that breath of space between car collision and awareness, an instant of structured chaos. He had made the stupid mistake of calling home the day before, so he couldn’t curse fate for this awkward moment about to happen.

Higher Learning: excerpt of Men's Shirts, Short Skirts

Men's Shirts, Short Skirts is part of Dreamspinner's college anthology Higher Learning
October 17, 2011

Here's an excerpt:

“You look very fuckable.”

Since I'd gotten to the costume party, I heard a few compliments about looking hot in the black mini skirt and trench coat. Even a few of the frat boys had cat called and whistled. It didn't bother me. It just meant our win of the five hundred dollar grand prize was a lock. My roomies in their tight red mesh shirts and dark khol eyes were getting a lot of attention from the ladies. Which was great since the costume idea had been a tough sale. If we didn't win, which we would, they'd still have a blast and hopefully get some play. Even timid Tommy looked good as one of my backup singers and was chatting up a cheerleader.

I turned my head slightly, smile on my face just in case the speaker had a judge ribbon pinned to his shirt. Not a judge. It turned out to be the activist from my psychology class. You know the type. Recycles, won't wear leather, marches in protests. Looks a bit like the male version of an earth mom. A hippie minus the peace signs and psychedelic clothes. I thought his name may have been Roger. In class he slouched in his seat and took up our whole row with his personality. He’s cute, smart and truth be told I’m a bit intimidated.

My friend Lorrie, who I’d been talking to, stepped in for me. “Really? I was going for gruesome.” Unless the guy was into the walking dead, no way would anyone say fuckable about her tonight. Normally? Totally. But with peeling flesh and bloody splatters...well, I'd had to look her in the eyes when we talked so I didn't focus too long on the rotting flesh and get queasy. She was just giving the guy an out. I looked like a chick from behind, even with the top hat, because the black corset gave me an hour glass shape. But up close, even with the makeup and half veil, it was pretty obvious I was all male.

“Actually, I meant your friend.”

I turned a bit more to eye Roger the Activist. He was dressed as a cop. The irony of it, a down-with-the-man, free spirit buttoned into the blue uniform of a police officer, made me laugh.

He touched the badge on his respectable pec and grinned, possibly knowing what I was thinking. “It's my brother's uniform.”

It looked good but there were other cops at the party, just like there were other zombies, so I wasn't worried he'd be competition. The smile and blush and the way he shifted under my leer, made me think he'd spoken before he really got a look at me.

I decided to ignore his earlier comment, like Lorrie, willing to give him an out now that he had seen me and would realize I was a guy too. Don't get me wrong, he looked plenty doable every day. Add the uniform and I was swallowing to keep the drool from ruining my lipstick. I have always had a thing for men in uniform. Recently I had the opportunity to try out handcuffs and I definitely had a horny spot for restraints. So, rebellious hottie with a pair of cuffs on his hip? Hot, hot, hot. But you couldn't hold someone to something they said at some loud college party.

This was the house party. The people who lived here promoted the monthly event all over social media. The place was huge. I’d come to a couple parties last year and still hadn’t made it to the backyard.

“Lorrie, Officer Do Right is in my psychology class.” I figured it was close enough to an introduction that it covered the fact I couldn't remember his name. Now I'd politely pull him into the conversation. I couldn’t remember what we were talking about, the hottie had me distracted, but we’d wing it. “We were just talking--”

“I'm serious.” He rushed to talk over me. “You look good.” He stepped close and let his hand brush across my exposed thigh, just above the thigh high black boots.

G. I. Joe Holiday - Excerpt

Declan Mathews has two objectives after surviving Navy SEAL Hell Week: keep his secrets hidden and enjoy what may be his last Christmas with his family. But Deck’s holiday plans are shot to bits when his commanding officer orders him to sit for artist Mason Cartwright. How in blue blazes is Deck supposed to stay safely in the closet when there’s a gorgeous, funny man staring at his ass for hours on end? It will take a Christmas miracle.

An excerpt:

The commander acknowledged Deck's salute. “Congratulations on Hell Week, Mathews. At ease.”

“Thank you sir.” Deck soft-gripped his hands behind his back and waited to see why the commander had sent for him. He refused to read too much in to it. He was too tired to do more than just respond appropriately. If the commander wanted hand springs, Deck was fucked.

“I'm glad to see your swim time improving,” the commander said, a subtle reminder of how close he was to not making it and that the commander knew all. The senior officer sat behind his desk. Sitting next to him was Chief Davis from Phase One and a civilian, possibly a contractor GS-13. Deck could just see him out of the corner of his eye. He could be a SEAL in street clothes, but if so he had impressively bad posture.

Deck nodded his head. “Sir.”

“I served briefly with your Uncle Ted in Desert Storm.”

“He's family, sir, even if he is a Marine.”

The commander tapped a knuckle on a manila folder on his desk. It probably had his whole family tree. All the way back to Lt. Jacob River Mathews, a cavalry officer during the revolution. “I'm sure all the Mathews are saying the same about you.”

“That they are sir.” The branch in-fighting had died down after 9/11, and there was a general sense of acceptance among his relatives and the different branches of the military. Until the Army played the Air Force in Football, and then all civilities were blown to shit.

“We have a special project we would like you to consider.”

He'd just been told to jump; now he had to figure out in which direction and onto what. “Sir?”

“Some political heads have commissioned a war memorial for the new special warfare building at MacDill in Tampa.”

“Wasn't that built five years ago, sir?”

“Seven. We've done our best to put it off as long as possible.”

The civilian in the corner laughed and slouched a bit further in his seat. Deck glanced at the man and then looked back at the commander. He wished he hadn't looked. The man’s sexy smile had his whole body twitching with awareness. Deck locked down his response but fought off the retreat to full stone. If he overreacted, Davis would suspect something was up. He carefully moderated each movement.

“You going home to Idaho for the holidays, Seaman?”

“Yes sir. My father retired north of Mountain Home Air Force Base.”

“Why Mountain Home?” asked the sloucher in the corner.

And since it was better to err on the side of regulations, Deck turned slightly to address the stranger. “Sir, it was their last station, and Mom couldn't be bothered to move again.”

He laughed again and stood up before taking a step toward Deck. “Now I could definitely get used to a hottie like you calling me sir.” Bold as brass, in your face.

It was a test. Had to be. And Deck wasn't going to fail now. “Thank you. I'll remember to pass the compliment along to my mother.” He looked back to the commander, who was scrutinizing Deck's response. Davis scowled and shifted in his seat like he'd gotten too much sand in his shorts. “Commander, you mentioned a war memorial?”

“Yes. This is Mason Cartwright. He is the artist in charge of the project. He says he needs a model for the sculpture.”

What the fuck? “Mr. Cartwright, you should consider using Lt. Kaoru or Petty Officer Lange. Both are recent SEALS that have honorably contributed to the history of—”

“I need a live model. Er, lack of tact. Sorry. Kaoru and Lange were both brave and honorable men. But I need to work with a 360 visual, not a flat photograph. Plus, to be quite honest, I need someone who won't freak out if I stare at his ass.”

Definitely a test, and one he would fail miserably if he had to pose nude in front of this gorgeous man. He had to figure out a way to get out of this without drawing too much attention. He had a horrifying visual of standing nude and erect while Mason carved his body out of wood while the commander took notes of how often his dick twitched in response to Mason's smile. Torture. Think, Deck. Think.

The commander had his record down to his sock size, so he couldn't claim a religious reason for declining, and he had always believed in the adage of protesting too much. “Having someone stare at my ugly ass isn't the scariest thing I've done this week. Not even close.”