Spirit Sanguine

by Lou Harper

  “What’s going on?” Harvey asked.

  “I think Augustine sent us a gift. C’mon, let’s check it out.” Gabe grabbed his puffy coat from the rack and pulled it on while bounding up the stairs to street level.

  “Shiny!” Harvey exclaimed.

  And indeed it was—the brand-spanking-new, midsize black SUV practically sparkled next to its weather-beaten neighbors. It was a good thing the previous day’s flurries hadn’t turned into a serious snowfall, or the deliveryman would’ve had a hard time finding a parking spot.

  Gabe pushed the buttons on the remote that came with the keys. The SUV obediently beeped and flashed its lights, ready to serve. If it was a dog, it would’ve wagged its tail.

  Harvey bounced up to the car, yanked the passenger side door open and admired the view for a moment before hopping in.

  By the time Gabe got in on the other side, Harvey was already adjusting knobs and dials and had the owner’s manual open in his lap. “Fuck me till I’m blue in the face! This is one tricked-out baby. SAT NAV, all-wheel drive, even heated leather seats. Augustine must really like you,” he said in a teasing tone.

  Gabe was rather impressed and surprised himself. “I was hoping he’d give us the old SUV. I didn’t think he’d do this.”

  He fiddled with the seat and steering column till they were adjusted to his liking.

  Harvey shoved the manual back into the glove compartment. “It’s just the right size too—not so huge it would draw too much attention but big enough for the job. With the tinted windows and all-black interior, it’s so man-in-black. We might have to dress the part.”

  “Mulder and Scully?” Gabe asked, his mind jumping tracks.

  Harvey wasn’t taken by the idea. “Nuh-uh! If I pretend to be a woman again, it’ll be the whole nine yards, silk and lace, a dress and high heels. No pantsuits and sensible shoes, thankyouverymuch.”

  “Good point.” Gabe popped the tailgate open and got out of the car.

  They surveyed the cargo space with special appreciation.

  “You can fit a body in here without even putting the backseats down,” Gabe remarked.

  “Two if they’re nice and tight,” Harvey added with a dreamy lilt.

  The impish gleam in Harvey’s eyes brought images to Gabe’s mind that had nothing to do with catching misbehaving vampires but plenty to do with misbehaving itself.

  He hooked his fingers into Harvey’s belt loops and pulled his lover close. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Harvey tried and failed to look innocent. “I have no idea what lurks in that kinky brain of yours, Angel. Why don’t we go inside and you can tell me all about it?”

  About the Author

  Under a prickly, cynical surface, Lou Harper is an incorrigible romantic. Her love affair with the written word started at a tender age. There was never a time when stories weren’t romping around in her head. She is currently embroiled in a ruinous romance with adjectives. In her free time Lou stalks deviant words and feral narratives.

  Lou’s favorite animal is the hedgehog. She likes nature, books, movies, photography, and good food. She has a temper and mood swings.

  Lou has misspent most of her life in parts of Europe and the US, but is now firmly settled in Los Angeles and worships the sun. However, she thinks the ocean smells funny. Lou is a loner, a misfit, and a happy drunk.

  Web site: www.louharper.com

  Blog: louharper.blogspot.com

  Look for these titles by Lou Harper

  Now Available:

  Last Stop

  Two plus one equals scorching hot fun.

  The Hot Floor

  © 2012 Josephine Myles

  Dumped by his boyfriend and reduced to living in a grotty bedsit, Josh Carpenter has gotten used to expecting the worst. Now he lives only for his job as a glassblower…and occasional glimpses of his sexy downstairs neighbors, Rai Nakmura and Evan Truman.

  Every time he overhears the diminutive academic and the hunky plumber having loud and obviously kinky sex, Josh is overwhelmed with lust…and a longing for a fraction of what they have.

  To his amazement, Rai and Evan find his embarrassing tendency to blush utterly charming, and the three men grow closer over the course of the long, hot summer. Despite Rai’s charming flirtation and Evan’s smoldering gaze, Josh is determined never to break his new friends’ loving bonds.

  On the night a naked Josh falls—quite literally—into the middle of one of Rai and Evan’s marathon sex sessions, the force of their mutual attraction takes control. But just as Josh dares to hope, he senses a change. Leaving him to wonder if the winds of love are about to blow his way at last…or if history is about to repeat itself.

  Warning: Contains one well-endowed stud with a sexy accent, one improbably toppy bottom boy with an unfortunate owl obsession, and one blushing naïf who can’t believe his luck. Also, the occasional indulgence in mathematical spanking and some shameless armpit sex.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for The Hot Floor:

  “Hey, Josh—great to see you, hon.”

  Rai stepped back into the tiny entrance hall to let me in, then ambushed me with a hug as the door swung shut behind me.

  “Oh, hi. Good to see you too.” I hoped the chocolate HobNobs I was carrying weren’t getting crushed to bits between our bodies. It was either that or they’d be melted into one giant cylindrical biscuit. I did my best to concentrate on those biscuits, because Rai’s tight embrace and faint aroma of herbal shower gel were stirring up an entirely inappropriate physical response.

  “Come on in,” Rai said as he pulled back, taking hold of one of my hands. “We’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

  It was only a step through to the living room, and there Evan was, sprawled on the sofa and seeming to take up far more space than one man should. He had on a pair of camouflage combat trousers—huge bare feet sticking out of the bottom—and a faded Massive Attack T-shirt with the arms and neck cut off. I remembered Denise’s comment about his lack of style, but hey, it suited him.

  Evan gave me a lazy smile and got to his feet. “Ey up, Josh. Hey, you brought snacks.” His blue eyes lit up as he spotted the biscuits and big bag of Kettle Chips. “There’s a man after my own heart. You should be taking notes, pet.”

  I watched Rai flip Evan the bird with a sunny smile. “I do the brainy stuff, you do the brawny stuff—that’s the deal, lover. You want me to go shopping and make dinner, you have to learn how to do your own accounts.” Rai turned to me and winked. “I will take these through to the kitchen and get us some drinks, though. What do you fancy, Josh. Tea? Coffee? Beer?”

  “Beer sounds good,” I said, my voice only quavering ever so slightly as Rai took my meagre offerings, his fingers brushing mine. “Thanks”

  As Rai disappeared through to the kitchen, Evan pulled me into a bear hug. Christ, I really wasn’t used to all this touchy-feely stuff. It’d been way too long since another man had wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me in close to his rock-hard, musky-smelling body.

  Uh-oh. I felt like the life was being crushed out of my lungs, and my dick was starting to chub up. How sick was that? And embarrassing too, because there was no way Evan wouldn’t be able to feel it, all squished up close like he was.

  “Can’t breathe!” I panted, and Evan loosened his hold.

  “Sorry, mate. I get a bit carried away sometimes. Don’t know my own strength.” He cast a rueful glance down at his bulging arms, then gestured at the sofa. “Make yourself comfy.”

  The sofa ballooned with excess stuffing and was covered in a hideous seventies-style orange geometrical print. It faced the windows, next to a leather recliner that looked like it must have been an expensive investment back in the eighties, and a tatty beanbag tossed like an afterthought into the corner. As I didn’t much fancy the beanbag or taking what must be the best seat, I gingerly sat at one end of the sofa and took a proper look around.

  The retro theme seemed to extend to
all the decor, what with the giant Swiss cheese plant climbing up by the windows, the wooden bead curtain covering the bedroom doorway, and the kitsch prints up on the walls. There was even that bizarre one of the woman with green skin that you sometimes see abandoned in charity shops. Someone must have had a thing for owls because they were everywhere, in the form of pictures, mantelpiece ornaments and even an appliqué cushion on the sofa. The evening sun was still warming up the hills across the valley, but the room was lit with the warm glow from a couple of lamps with the bases made out of wine bottles, and a red-and-amber lava lamp.

  “I like what you’ve done with the place,” I said, which was probably an exaggeration, but it felt kind of homey.

  “Huh? Oh, this stuff. Yeah, Rai likes picking things up at car-boot sales. He reckons they’re the antiques of the future, but he’s deluded. Who’s going to want to pay good money for macramé plant holders? Only sentimental fools like him.” Evan flopped down on the other end of the sofa and gestured to the hanging pots of spider plants in the two sash windows.

  “I heard that, Evan Truman.” Rai waltzed back into the room with three open bottles of Peroni clutched between his fingers. “Don’t you go bad-mouthing my spider plants, or you’ll find they start multiplying.”

  “They already are,” Evan grumbled, but I could hear the affection in his voice. “They’re as bad as the owls. They’ve taken over the bedroom. Can’t get dressed without knocking into one of the things. It’s like summat out of the Day of the bloody Triffids in there. You better watch it, Josh, or he’ll unload some baby spider plants on you, and before you know it, you’ll have hundreds of the bloody things.”

  “Don’t listen to him.” Rai grinned, displaying a row of ever-so-slightly crooked teeth that just made him look even more adorable. “They’re an excellent return on investment. They’re the gift that keeps on giving, unlike this big lummox.” Rai stood between us and kicked Evan in the shin. “Shift your fat arse over, Mister. You always take up all the room.”

  Evan smiled and stretched his legs and arms out even farther, so Rai gave up and plonked himself down on Evan’s lap.

  “Ow,” Evan complained. “You’re getting heavy for a little fella. I won’t be able to lift you up anymore if you keep putting on weight.”

  Rai pouted and looked down at his skinny body, temptingly showcased in a skinny-fit brown-and-orange swirly shirt and chinos. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to get more exercise, old man.”

  I longed for that kind of gentle teasing. The kind that comes from someone who knows all your quirks and faults and loves you anyway. I took a long swig of my beer to wash the yearning away. It didn’t work.

  “How was the conference?” I asked, figuring that would be a dull enough topic to numb the loneliness welling up inside me.

  Evan snorted. “Same as ever. A bunch of know-it-all lefty liberals trying to set the world to rights.”

  That earned him a swift elbow in the ribs from Rai. “Watch it, or I’ll out you as a closet Guardian reader.” Rai turned to me, his eyes sparkling with intelligence. “It was fascinating. We were debating likely barriers to the worldwide implementation of the Tobin tax, and how best to put pressure on tax havens to ensure fair wealth distribution throughout the world.”

  “Wow.” I really didn’t know what else to say. “I didn’t know that’s what you were studying.”

  “Economics isn’t all about grabbing money from the poor to line the rich guys’ pockets,” Rai announced grandly. “Some of us are trying to change the world for the bet— Stop it!” That was to Evan, who was apparently trying to tickle Rai’s ribs. “Right. I’m going to go sit on Josh’s lap if that’s the way you’re going to behave.”

  Rai leapt up and gave me a cheeky smile. I promptly flushed, choked on the last of my beer and ended up trying to cough my lungs up.

  “Hey, it’s okay, chuck. Slow down, just breathe.” A warm, heavy hand landed on my back and rubbed in firm but gentle circles. I eventually caught my breath and looked up to find Rai and Evan staring down at me, concern in their eyes. I stared for way too long, admiring the view. They were as different as glass and sand, yet you could see they were the same deep down.

  “How do you do it?” I blurted out.

  Rai frowned. “What, the Tobin tax?”

  “No, the two of you. You’re don’t seem to have anything in common, but you fit together just right. I don’t get it.” I really didn’t. The bottle of beer and the earlier conversation with Stella had loosened my tongue, and I kept going, even though I knew I’d be kicking myself in the morning.

  Limericks, lies, and puppy-dog eyes…

  Slam!

  © 2013 JL Merrow

  Jude Biggerstaff is all the way out and loving it—mostly. The Anglo-Japanese university graduate is a carnivore working in a vegan café, an amateur poet with only one man in his life. His dog, Bubbles.

  Then there’s “Karate Crumpet,” a man who regularly runs past the café with a martial arts class. Jude can only yearn from afar, until the object of his affection rescues him from muggers. And he learns that not only does this calm, competent hunk of muscle have a name—David—but that he’s gay.

  Jude should have known the universe wouldn’t simply let love fall into place. First, David has only one foot out of the closet. Then there’s Jude’s mother, who lies about her age to the point Jude could be mistaken for jailbait.

  With a maze of stories to keep straight, a potential stepfather in the picture, ex-boyfriends who keep spoiling his dates with David, and a friend with a dangerous secret, Jude is beginning to wonder if his and David’s lives will ever start to rhyme.

  Warning: Contains a tangled web of little white lies, a smorgasbord of cheesy limericks, a violin called Vanessa, some boots that mean business, and the most adorable little dog ever. Poetry, it’s not…

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Slam!:

  There were three of them, all dressed in hooded jackets, as if they thought clichés were the best thing since sliced victims. Their hoods were pulled down low over their faces like cowls as they stalked towards me. The monks who mug, I thought, letting out a mortifying little hysterical giggle and desperately trying not to panic. I sped up a bit, but they sort of milled around me, and I found myself crowded into an alleyway.

  My stomach roiled, and not just because I was crammed in next to an overflowing plastic rubbish skip with a pungent reek.

  “What you got, Chinkie?” the biggest one asked. “Let’s have it.”

  I hate that. I really hate it. I mean, if you’re going to be racist, at least get your facts right. “I’m not Chinese, I’m Anglo-Japanese. And I know martial arts,” I added desperately.

  “Go on, then—let’s see you.” They stood around, laughing at me while I tried to remember the karate-kid pose and—crucially—what you were supposed to do next. Get your head kicked in, probably.

  “You’re just a skinny little poof,” the big one said. “Come on, hand it over.”

  “What?” I clutched my violin case a little tighter.

  “Everything. You can start with that—might fetch a few quid on eBay.”

  Another one laughed. “It’d make a good fire.”

  I stepped back in horror, wincing as the back of my head cracked against the brick wall. Bright sparks of pain spread across my vision. “Please don’t hurt my violin!”

  This time, they all laughed and came towards me.

  I’ve never learned to fight. Always relied on my height to make people think twice about attacking me, and my long legs to get me out of any sticky situations that might nevertheless arise. All I could think of was protecting my violin. I hugged it close to my chest—which was apparently as good as painting a big Hit Me sign on my stomach, because that’s what the biggest one did.

  My lungs seized, and I doubled over. I managed not to fall, but only because the wall was right behind me and the rubbish skip propped me up on one side. My violin was easily pried from my weaken
ed fingers as I struggled to breathe.

  I thought they were going to hit me again, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I curled up tight, my empty arms over my head. Oh God. I was going to die. I wondered if Stinky Cheese Guy would cry at my funeral. Would he even bother to turn up, the bastard?

  Then a new voice rang out in the alleyway. A strong voice, booming with masculine authority. “Oi! Leave him alone!”

  I risked opening one eye. Oh. My. God. It was Karate Crumpet. He stood at the mouth of the alley in front of a throng of gleaming white suits, bouncing on the balls of his bare feet, fists clenched in front of him and a snarl on his face.

  I managed a gasping, wheezing breath. He’d come to save me, and brought the pyjama posse with him. I could have kissed every single one of them. Even the ugly ones, and the hard-faced girl with the Essex face-lift up-do.

  The looks on my muggers’ faces was priceless, as they went from menacing thugs to would-be innocent bystanders in nought point three seconds. “Nuffin’ to get worked up about,” one of them said, holding up his hands. “We was just talking, all right?”

  “Conversation’s over, gents. I suggest you be on your way.” There was a brief staring match, which Karate Crumpet won hands down—not that he ever did put his hands down; sensible man. I wouldn’t trust those bastards as far as I could throw them. Which was probably nowhere near as far as Karate Crumpet could throw them. The trio did that we’re going now but we could take you easy if we wanted to swagger out towards the main street.

  “My violin!” I croaked, realising one of them still held it.

  The hard-faced girl stepped forward and held out her hand, the ends of her black belt swinging with subtle menace. The hoodie thrust the case at her sullenly. She managed not to drop it, thank God, and cradled it lovingly as she brought it back to me. I felt horribly guilty about judging her earlier. “Here you go,” she said. “Are you all right?”

  “F-fine,” I stuttered, hugging my violin.

  Karate Crumpet came up to ask the same thing, his clear blue eyes staring into mine from about six inches away. I wondered briefly if a manly swoon was in order, but I didn’t want to drop my violin after they’d gone to so much trouble to keep it safe. Then I tried to take a step forwards and realised I might not have any choice in the matter.