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Mid Week Tease: Deep Water #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. Here’s another unedited scene from Deep Water, where Poseidon has taken Griffin to a local barrier island for an impromptu picnic, and is desperately trying to remember how to seduce a man.
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
Poseidon, God of the Sea, has spent millennia alone due to a single terrible act — a drunken assault on his agapetos, or fated mate, shared with his consort Amphitrite. His queen has sworn never to forgive him for his actions, and he must live with the knowledge that he drove an innocent girl to a dreadful retribution.
But when one of the Olympic Cove cottages gets a new occupant with an all-too-familiar soul, Poseidon discovers that the Fates have given him a second chance. Now he must try to right the wrongs of the past and win back both his beloved consort and the mate he betrayed.
Assuming, of course, that the Mad Nereid Thetis doesn’t interfere…
Poseidon accepted another beer and settled back into the shade of the loblollies. It had been so long since he’d seduced anyone, man or woman, that he suspected he’d forgotten how to do it. Simply appearing in his divine guise was more likely to send Griffin into convulsions than ardor. Should I send a nice array of weapons? Compliment him on his manliness and strength?
He glanced across at the pale form. No, he’d take that as an insult. Gaia, why does this have to be so difficult?
A vague recollection of something called a women’s magazine flickered through his memory. It had recommended that women talk to men and ask them about their interests in order to tempt them into relationships.
He cleared his throat. “So, er, what are your interests?”
The look Griffin gave him was memorable. “You mean, apart from getting through the next two weeks without collapsing, pissing on someone’s living room floor, or dying?” he said drily.
The words were meant to be humorous, but they scored the god’s heart. “Why do you keep joking about that?” Poseidon said harshly.
Griffin suddenly looked abashed. “Probably because there’s nothing I can do about it, and I’d rather laugh than cry. Actually, I’d rather not talk about it at all, but it’s the bloody elephant in the room, isn’t it?”
Poseidon flushed. He had no right to rebuke Griffin, especially on a subject that he would never personally face. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I just wanted to know more about you.”
“Why?” Griffin seemed genuinely puzzled. “I’m dying, Dunn. That doesn’t make me interesting.”
You have no idea how wrong you are, love. He cleared his throat. “I suspect we have some common interests. Oceanography, for one. And then there’s the Sea Shepherds. I did see your shirt the night of the cookout.”
“Oh, yeah?” The mortal brightened. “Yeah, I think the Shepherds are fantastic. I’ve actually gotten to work with them on a couple of projects. I know some people think they’re confrontational, but you can’t be afraid to kick arse now and then when it’s necessary, you know?”
To Poseidon’s relief that led into a spirited discussion about favorite conservation projects. Griffin admitted that he was especially fond of octopuses and squid, and had Poseidon laughing with a story about an octopus Griffin had nicknamed Phil. The cephalopod had learned how to break out of his locked tank, wandering across a hallway to another tank full of shrimp and helping himself to the occupants. “All I had to do was fit him with some sort of reverse scuba gear, and we could’ve knocked over any jewelry store in the country,” Griffin said.
“I could’ve told you that,” Poseidon said, chuckling. “They’re wonderful creatures, but never turn your back on an octopus or they’ll pick you clean.”
“Too right, mate.” Griffin lifted a bottle in salute, and Poseidon joined him. “To octopuses — the best sneak thieves I’d ever seen.”
A breeze rattled overhead through the limbs of the loblollies, and Poseidon realized with a start how long they’d been on the island. He reached out to the tide and noted its position. “Tide’s going out,” he said. “We’d better get back to the ship if we don’t want to be stranded here overnight.”
“Yeah, not really up for camping.” Groaning, Griffin got into a crouch, then stopped, wobbling slightly. “Bugger. Dunn, a bit of help?” he said through gritted teeth.
Poseidon stepped over. “What’s wrong?”
“Legs went to sleep. Too much time on my arse. Give me a hand up.”
Cautiously, he took the outstretched hands and hauled the mortal to his feet. He expected the sudden barrage of memory now, but it still stunned him with its intensity. Lips and thighs and long hair that smelled like green growing things and huge brown eyes—
With a start, he realized his agapetos’s eyes were still the same. Lit with sunlight, they were the color of whiskey and utterly entrancing. Spellbound, he leaned forward, watching them widen at his approach. Just a kiss. Please, my love, it’s been so long.
“Tide.”
“What?” The spell was broken.
“Tide,” Griffin repeated, eyes still wide. “We have to go, remember?”
“Oh.” Cursing his lack of control, Poseidon stepped back. “Yes, sorry. Let me just get my knapsack.”
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Mid Week Tease: Deep Water #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. We have another scene from my NaNoWriMo novel, Book Three of the Olympic Cove series Deep Water. In this scene Poseidon has received an unexpected summons from the Oracle of the Waters. However, once he finds out that the Fates are expecting him to reconcile with his estranged consort Amphitrite, things get a little…difficult. Yeah, that’s good word for it.
Next week I’ll have something tasty for you, but right now there just hasn’t been a lot of sex. Yet. Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
Poseidon, God of the Sea, has spent millennia alone due to a single terrible act — a drunken assault on his agapetos, or fated mate, shared with his consort Amphitrite. His queen has sworn never to forgive him for his actions, and he must live with the knowledge that he drove an innocent girl to a dreadful retribution.
But when one of the Olympic Cove cottages gets a new occupant with an all-too-familiar soul, Poseidon discovers that the Fates have given him a second chance. Now he must try to right the wrongs of the past and win back both his beloved consort and the mate he betrayed.
Assuming, of course, that the Mad Nereid Thetis doesn’t interfere…
The Oracle of the Waters resided in a remote grotto just off the Orkney Islands. Skylla and Sthenios headed unerringly to the hidden entrance, neatly skirting a loaded tanker trundling its liquid cargo from the oil rigs in the North Sea. Poseidon briefly extended his godsense, reading the humans who crewed the tanker. Nothing struck him as out of the ordinary; there were the usual amounts of grudges, violent thoughts, and plans of vengeance, but those existed wherever mortals gathered. He absently bestowed a blessing on them as his chariot landed neatly on the rock-strewn sea floor.
His steeds started cropping seaweed as he stepped out onto the sea floor, holding up his trident. The three-tined head began to glow, illuminating his approach to the craggy rock face that, far above, would become the seaward side of an island. What appeared to be a dark streak in the rocks turned out to be a rough entrance, and he pushed through it.
Inside the narrow cave the footing was rugged and climbed steeply. Soon he emerged from a glassy cave pool, noting the familiar glass globes hung suspended from the dark walls. Each globe contained a liquid that gave off a soft white glow, reflecting on the water’s surface with a ghostly shimmer.
Drying himself with a thought, he headed deeper into the cave, cradling the bottle of wine in the crook of his arm. About thirty feet from the water the cave narrowed abruptly, slabs of rock forming a roughly rectangular doorway. A tall, white-haired man in an old-fashioned linen shirt and homespun breeches appeared in it now, pale blue eyes gleaming.
“Welcome, old friend,” the Oracle said, his voice low but still retaining a faint Irish lilt. “I see you got my message.”
“I did.” Poseidon raised the bottle. “And I bring tribute. From my son’s private wine cellar.”
The Oracle’s eyes brightened. “Bythos? Aye, that lad always had a knack for picking vintages. Come in, then, and be welcome.”
Poseidon followed him into the back part of the cave. The anteroom was where the Oracle met those who traveled to his cave to learn the will of the Fates. From there, he accepted tribute before giving them their pronouncements. Behind the doorway, however, was the Oracle’s private chambers.
The light dimmed a bit, but the sea god could still clearly see the amazing hodgepodge of items collected by his friend over the centuries. Gold and jewels poured out of numerous wooden chests, some of them rotting with age and the ever-present moisture. Salvaged planks and driftwood sat piled in neat stacks, and various pieces of statuary were dotted here and there. In one corner, a peeling but still beautiful figurehead in the shape of a topless mermaid smiled at him in welcome.
The room was comfortably furnished with rare old pieces of carved furniture, rescued from the deep and carefully cleaned for their new owner’s use. Two chairs were arranged now around an elegantly chased brazier that filled the room with welcome warmth. He was waved to one seat, and the Oracle took the chair across from him.
“I’m glad you got here quickly,” the old man said, taking the bottle and deftly pulling out the cork. “I had the feeling that there was some urgency behind the Fates’ words.”
Poseidon accepted a filled golden cup. “Does this have something to do with the events of the past few months?”
The Oracle shrugged. “I’m simply the messenger. Only you can put meaning to the words.”
“Which are?”
Pale eyes focused on him, as if seeing into his soul. Poseidon repressed his discomfort. Once a mortal man named Donald, the Oracle’s association with the Fates have given him a gravitas that would give even Zeus pause.
“The wheel turns, and in its turning presents a gift,” he intoned. “To earn this gift, you must heal old wounds and regain the trust of those you betrayed. If you fail, you will never defeat the Maddened One.”
Poseidon waited until he was sure there was nothing more. “I assume the Maddened One is Thetis.”
The old man sighed, settling back in his chair. “Can you think of another crazed creature who needs to be defeated?” he said. “Do you know what the rest of it means?”
It was Poseidon’s turn to shrug. Healing old wounds could apply to any of the beings he’d quarreled with over the centuries. Gaia knew there were enough of them; he had a difficult, argumentative nature, and had made more than enough enemies in his long life. But he could see the point of having powerful beings on their side in the fight against Thetis. Have Bythos make a list of those who may be useful. The corner of his mouth twitched. Even the ones who currently loathe me.
As for a wheel that presented gifts, that would require some thought. The betrayed trust, however, could only refer to one thing. “It seems the Fates have decided to move into the field of marital counseling,” he muttered, taking a deep gulp of his wine.
“Ah.” Donald nodded over his own cup. “The lovely Lady Amphitrite. I take it you still haven’t reconciled with her.”
“I don’t care to discuss it.
Donald waved it off. “As you wish. But if the Fates say that you’ll need Amphitrite at your side to defeat her sister, then you might want to pick out some nice posies and work on your groveling.” He saluted Poseidon with a golden cup. “Just a suggestion.”
The sea god grunted at that. “Groveling didn’t work. Neither did flowers,” he muttered, taking another sip. And then another. “My head on a pike — that might do the trick.”
Donald made a deep, throaty sound that could have been agreement or censure. “Aye, and there’s some that say the lass deserves just that. But you can’t be lopping your head off now, friend. It needs to stay on your shoulders, where it’ll do the most good against Thetis.”
“Oh, will it? I can’t stop Thetis, you know. I tried.” The admission pained him, and he waved his cup, grimacing. “After her minion poisoned Bythos, I tried to hunt her down. I couldn’t find her. I’m the bloody God of the Sea and she’s a Nereid, part of my demesnes. I should have been able to find her.” He shook his head. “But now she’s…something I’ve never seen before. She’s been removed from my control, somehow. And that disturbs me greatly.”
The Oracle’s eyes narrowed. “How could she have moved beyond your control?”
Poseidon grimaced. “You know very well how. And if that’s the case, then this entire planet is in the gravest of dangers.”
“Have you talked to Gaia about this?”
“I tried. She’s not speaking to me, either.”
“Hm.” Donald fell silent, and Poseidon could hear the sound of dripping water and the ancient stone around them murmuring to itself. He’d always assumed that the position of Oracle must be a lonely one, but dwelling here in the living bedrock, his friend might have far more company than he’d ever assumed. “Well, then you must rely on your own counsel, and fight Thetis as best you can with the allies at hand. And from what the Fates say, that includes Amphitrite. I would suggest you go find her and tell her what I’ve told you. It might help.”
Poseidon drained his cup, placing it on the floor. “You’ve set me a difficult task, my friend. Almost Herculean, if you’ll pardon the phrase.”
The old mortal chuckled. “Better you than me, lord.”
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Mid Week Tease: Deep Water #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. I have to be honest with you — I’m hip deep in NaNoWriMo and I didn’t really have time to find a sexy teaser to share with you.
Soooo — I’m sharing a scene from my NaNoWriMo novel with you. And what is it, you ask? Why, its Book Three of the Olympic Cove series, Deep Water! (If you want to see the very first scene in the book, page back a blog post.)
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
Poseidon, God of the Sea, has spent millennia alone due to a single terrible act — a drunken assault on his agapetos, or fated mate, shared with his consort Amphitrite. His queen has sworn never to forgive him for his actions, and he must live with the knowledge that he drove an innocent girl to a dreadful retribution.
But when one of the Olympic Cove cottages gets a new occupant with an all-too-familiar soul, Poseidon discovers that the Fates have given him a second chance. Now he must try to right the wrongs of the past and win back both his beloved consort and the mate he betrayed.
Assuming, of course, that the Mad Nereid Thetis doesn’t interfere…
Heather contemplated her newest acquisition, absently tapping a purple feather duster against one thigh as she pondered. Now where should I put it? Garden statuary? Library decor?
For a junk store masquerading as an antique shop, the Lady’s Touch held some genuine treasures for those willing to search through its many, many shelves. Heather was relieved that few of the mortal shoppers who came in to browse ever noticed that the interior dimensions of the store didn’t quite match the exterior dimensions (except for that nice Englishwoman, she thought fondly, Verity something. Such a good eye for spatial differentiation).
As the interior size of The Lady’s Touch developed a certain elasticity over the years, its display system had become rather haphazard as a result, and now she wasn’t quite sure where to store the bust currently sitting on her counter. Perhaps Halloween decorations?
A warm, familiar presence bloomed at her back. “Hy, do you have time for some tea?”
She turned. Behind her stood a tall, lovely woman with long dark hair caught up in a tidy chignon. The woman’s casual but tasteful clothing — designer jeans, silk shell top, and Jimmy Choo flats — didn’t quite fit with the t-shirts and jean shorts of the local tourists, but didn’t make her stand out terribly either. She looked like a rich young matron slumming it in a seaside junk shop.
Until Heather looked into her eyes. They held an ancient pain that seared the soul.
“Oh, crumpets,” she said, tossing the feather duster onto the counter. “What’s he done now?”
“Nothing exactly, but—” The Nereid stopped, staring at the bust. A flash of bitter emotion flickered across her face. “Where did you get that?”
Damn, damn, damn. She hadn’t even thought about the bust. “I bought it at an estate sale,” she said. “It’s genuine marble, you see, and the woman who sold it said it had been sculpted by her uncle, some sort of local artist. It’s really rather well done, but I didn’t know you were coming in, otherwise—”
Amphitrite gave her a pained look. Heather realized she’d been babbling. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Er, I’ll just put it away, then.”
“No. It’s all right.” The Nereid reached out to the bust, one fingertip trailing over the creamy stone. She traced a high cheekbone, a beautifully full lip, the wide, strong brow.
Heather noticed she avoided the sinuous shapes curled around the bust’s head. “It doesn’t really look like her, of course,” Amphitrite said absently. “But then again, that’s hardly surprising. Most people never look beyond the snakes.”
With a sound she desperately hoped was supportive and not as grunty as she suspected it really was, Heather hefted the bust and bustled off. Halloween decor it is.
When she returned, the store was empty. She stepped to the door and flicked the OPEN sign over to CLOSED, then headed to the tiny office tucked in the building’s front corner. She dropped her disguise as she did; the curly red hair and green glasses disappeared, replaced by her true form as the Nereid Hyacinthe.
She entered the office, pleased to see that Amphitrite had found her electric kettle and filled it. A teapot, a bottle of milk, two mugs carrying the shop’s logo, and a plate of snickerdoodles were already out on her desk.
“Hope you don’t mind,” Amphitrite said as the kettle clicked off, wisps of steam rising from its spout. “I just really need some tea. Or wine, if you have it.”
“Not at the moment, sorry,” Heather said, thinking about the bottle of merlot upstairs in her apartment. The last thing Amphitrite needed was to start drinking this early in the day. “Let me just mash this up and we’ll have a nice talk, yes?”
After the tea had been poured, the sisters settled on either side of the desk, mugs and snickerdoodles in hand. “So, Poseidon,” Heather prompted. “What’s he done now?”
“Well … nothing,” Amphitrite said slowly. “Not exactly, anyway. I was at the cove this morning for a therapy session with Nick Gardiner and his mers.”
Once again Heather was impressed by the breadth of mortal training her sister had picked up over the millennia. “Nice to see you using your psychology degree again,” she said over the rim of her cup.
The Nereid shrugged. “Yes, well, afterwards I went over to the boys’ cottage to ask Aphros about a recipe, and Poseidon was there with Bythos and Ian. I assume they were having some sort of war council.”
“Did Poseidon say anything to you?”
“He offered to step out so that I could speak with Bythos.”
“And?”
“That was it.”
She weighed her next words. “Did you want him to say anything else?”
Amphitrite slumped in her chair. “I suppose it’s childish of me to want him to grovel every time I see him.”
“A bit, yes.”
The dark-haired goddess nodded gloomily. “We’ve done so well, avoiding each other for all those centuries. And now we wind up meeting twice in six weeks.” She grimaced. “I mean, I knew it would be possible if I agreed to be Nick’s therapist, but there’s a difference between knowing something intellectually and actually having it happen to you.”
“I know,” Heather said sympathetically. “Perhaps the two of you could set up some sort of schedule so that you don’t have to run into each other?”
Amphitrite raised a curved eyebrow. “Custody of Olympic Cove? That’s a thought. Although I can’t see him holding to it.”
Heather made a muffled noise of agreement into her tea. She’d been the sea god’s sister-in-law long enough to know that he’d ignore an agreement if it suited him. “You sure he didn’t say anything else to you?”
“No. Just stood there like a self-important martinet and looked constipated. Although I do think he tried to smile once.” Amphitrite pursed her lips. “I’m surprised his cheeks didn’t crack.”
The other Nereid chuckled at that. “Well, why don’t you arrange to meet with Nick, Aidan and Liam somewhere else? You could always use my apartment for day sessions.”
Amphitrite let out a slow breath, studying the tan liquid in her mug. “That’s very kind of you, darling, but I don’t feel comfortable bringing the mers into a human settlement,” she said finally. “Things are rather tense between them and their grotto as it is. I don’t wish to add more stress if I don’t have to. I’ll just have to bite the bullet and accept that I may see Poseidon now and then. It won’t kill me, after all.”
“Yes, one of the benefits about being an immortal, I suppose.” Heather took a quick nibble of her cookie. “Of course, it might not be a bad idea, you know. Talking to him, I mean. I think the mortals call it ‘getting closure.’”
The air in the small office grew chillier. “I don’t see how I could achieve closure with Poseidon,” Amphitrite said evenly. “Unless he did something really spectacular, such as, of, I don’t know, immolate himself in a volcano. I might be willing to watch that.”
Heather winced. “Ammie, you know I’m on your side with this. What he did was cruel and utterly heartless. But that was also thousands of year ago. At some point, you have to let it go, for your own sake.” Her voice gentled. “Tell me truly — do you even remember how she looked?”
Those sea-blue eyes clouded over, looking inwards at something Heather could only suspect. “I will always remember how she looked,” Amphitrite murmured softly. “She had large eyes, light brown, like those of an owl. Her nose was small and straight, and turned up at the tip. When she laughed, the entire room seemed to light up. And even though she was small she always stood up straight, modest and attentive, the perfect handmaiden.” Her expression hardened. “Until Poseidon betrayed her. And me.”
Heather flinched from the grief and rage in the Nereid’s eyes. “I’m sorry, sister. I didn’t mean to dredge up more pain for you.”
The dark-haired goddess shook her head. “You didn’t. That’s the problem. I carry it with me always. And that is why I cannot achieve closure with Poseidon. The bastard drove our agapetos away, and I can never forgive him for that.”
“Even though you miss him?” Heather regretted the words the moment they slipped out.
But Amphitrite simply nodded. “Even though I miss him. And I’m not sure who I hate more for that. Him, or myself.”
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Happy NaNoWriMo!
Of course I’m doing NaNoWriMo. And for all you Olympic Cove fans, there is reason to rejoice — not only is Breaker Zone coming out late this month or early in December, but this year’s NaNoWriMo book is Book Three in the series (the working title is Deep Water). I’m currently closing in on 7K and hope to have the entire 100K first draft done by November 30. So you might actually get Poseidon’s story early in 2015. I’m a giver that way, you know.
And because I’m in such a good mood, here’s a completely unedited teaser from Chapter One:
Three gods sat in a tidy cottage kitchen, sharing a bottle of rather fine wine.
This wasn’t an unusual occurrence for the cottage, or even the kitchen. With mid-afternoon sunlight playing on its rack of copper pots and aged wooden cabinets, the room radiated a certain welcoming homeliness that could make even a divine entity feel comfortable. No, the only odd thing was the *identity* of one of the gods currently sitting around the retro kitchen table.
If pressed, Poseidon (Ruler of the Sea, Earth-Shaker, Lord of Horses, et al.) was willing to admit that he felt surprisingly comfortable in his sons’ oh-so-human dwelling. And he definitely appreciated the vintage he was about to receive. He admired the play of sunlight on crystal and liquid as the level of wine rose in his glass, nodding when it had reached an acceptable amount.
The storm god across from him stopped pouring, putting the wine bottle back on the table. Poseidon found the simple act somewhat amusing. After millennia of being served by daimons, the invisible spirits of the air that tended the gods of Olympus, he wasn’t used to corporeal hands doing something as mundane as pouring him a glass of wine.
Especially when those hands belonged to Ian West, first of the new Atlantian Gods. *And, by an incredible concatenation of events that even I find hard to believe, my son-in-law.*
He covered his distraction by taking a sip of wine. The rich, earthy taste of an excellent Bordeaux rolled over his tongue, and he swallowed with genuine pleasure. “From your wine cellar, I take it?”
The other occupant of the table, a lean redhead with grey eyes, nodded. “I thought it would help, considering what we’re here to discuss,” the sea demigod Bythos said.
“Mm. So you have new information about the cause of Thetis’s madness?”
“We do. Nick was able to analyze some of her venom while she had him at her lair. He said it contained some kind of nanotechnology. That’s—”
“I know what nanotechnology is,” Poseidon said crisply. “That … is a surprise.” Thick red brows furrowed as he thought. “But it does explain how she has been able to turn various creatures into monsters.” He glanced briefly at his son, whose face had gone taut at the memory of being poisoned by the Mad Nereid’s venom. It had almost turned Bythos into a deadly monster, but Ian, guided by Gaia, had been able to purge him and save his life. “Do you know how she obtained this nanotechnology?”
Bythos shook his head. “If we still had a sample Nick might be able to study it in more depth, see if it had some sort of logo or marking symbol on it.”
“But Nick never physically had any of the venom,” Ian pointed out. His friend Dr. Nick Gardiner had arrived at the cove a week ago after fleeing a deadly lover, and had become the Bearer of the Rod of Asclepius in the process. “He did his analysis through Pythia and the Rod. As for Thetis’s lair,” Ian raised his hands and twitched both index and middle fingers at the last word, “it’s currently sitting under Barnard Whitfield’s yacht. I doubt there’s anything usable left.” The grim look left his face, replaced by sorrow. “I just wish I’d known—”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Bythos said, covering his mate’s hand with his own. “Thetis played us all cleverly, beloved. And there’s no guarantee you could have saved Claire. From what Nick said, the venom was much farther advanced in her than it was in me.”
Ian sighed. “I still wish I could have tried, dammit.”
Poseidon leaned back in his chair, long fingers toying with the almost full wine glass. Thetis’s latest move in their ongoing battle had been to go beyond the mutated mermaids known as ilkothella and turn more powerful creatures into twisted versions of themselves. Ideally these creatures would still maintain their original intelligence, but follow Thetis faithfully. With that in mind the Nereid had poisoned a sea goddess named Claire with the intention of turning the resulting monster into a leader of her army.
But the brave goddess had defied Thetis, choosing to end her life and return to Gaia rather than become one of the Nereid’s minions. A new coral reef had blossomed instantly on the site of Claire’s sacrifice, forever memorializing her courage. While this was a setback in Thetis’s plans, Poseidon had no delusions that it would dissuade the Nereid from her course of revenge.
Mid Week Tease: Behind the Iron Cross #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. This week, I’ll be sharing a teaser from Behind the Iron Cross, my historical MMF romance set in 1923 Berlin. No sex in this one, sorry, but let’s explore Sam and Kat’s relationship a bit more, shall we?
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
In the aftermath of World War I, Berlin has become a hotspot of decadent pleasures, and American millionairess Kat Tracy is determined to enjoy each and every one of them with Sam Hellman, her late brother’s lover and her convenient “fiancé.” But when the two of them meet Friedrich von Bader, a former German Army officer turned reluctant prostitute, their wicked games take on a new meaning.
Kat wandered out of her room, humming to herself. The various negotiations were going well, even better than she’d hoped. Schoengraff was still being stiff-necked about meeting with them, but Arthur was looking for ways to convince the board to come to the table. The telegram she received from the headquarters of Tracy Electrics that morning was brief and to the point: BUY ANYTHING NEW FOR WEDDING?
Uncle William had no trust in modern technology, or the people who kept it running, and had already sent her a series of coded telegrams that would make little sense to the telegram operators who sent the messages. She smiled when she told the operator to send a reply telegram with BOUGHT SOME LOVELY THINGS. STILL LOOKING FOR PERFECT GOLD RING. He would understand the precious metal was a reference to Schoengraff.
To her surprise, she saw Sam seated by the fireplace, chin propped up on one hand as he stared into the flames. She stretched out on the sofa, warming her feet. “I would have thought you’d be in bed by now,” she said.
He shrugged. “I’m not tired.”
“Mm.” She stretched her arms over her head languorously. “Tonight was fun. Those dancers were delicious, weren’t they?”
Another twitch of his shoulders. “I suppose.”
She made a moue. “Well, that doesn’t sound very enthusiastic. You certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself at the time.”
He turned from the fire, his expression drawn. “Yes, the dancer was great. I came like gangbusters. Are you happy?”
Kat blinked at the unexpected tongue-lashing. “I — I’m sorry. Is something wrong?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m going to bed.”
“Sam.” He stopped in mid-rise, and she hesitated over her next words. “Please, darling, talk to me. Perhaps I can help.”
He sank back onto the chair. “You’re good, kitten, but you can’t help with this. Nobody can.”
The expression on his face was painfully familiar. She got up and crossed to him, sinking down to the floor so that she could rest her arms on his knee. “You haven’t called me kitten in years,” she pointed out.
“That’s because you bit me the last time I did.”
“I was ten. I thought it was a baby name.”
He reached out and stroked her hair. “You always were the fierce one, weren’t you? Bart and I never stood a chance with you around.”
She took a deep breath, aware that she was treading on tender ground. “I know you miss him. So do I.”
“I know.” He turned back to the fireplace. The flickering light played across his face, revealing the slight glassiness of his eyes. “I was wondering what he’d think of us. What we’re doing.”
“You mean getting married? I think he’d understand.”
“No, not that. What we’re doing here in Berlin.”
“Oh.” She rested her chin on her crossed arms. “I don’t think he would mind. He’d want you to be happy.”
“That’s the thing. I’m not.”
She paused, unsure of how to proceed. “Is it … are you unhappy with me? I thought you didn’t mind my little games.”
He shook his head again, taking her hand and holding it. “It’s not that, kitten. I enjoy playing with you. It’s just…”
And then the pieces came together. “It’s the colonel, isn’t it?”
Sam gave her a weary smile. “I know I’m being ridiculous. He’s just as normal as he can be, after all. And he’s only doing this for the money. It’s all just fun and games. Stupid fun and games, nothing more.”
The misery on his face was tangible. She wanted to throw her arms around him and protect that huge, gentle heart from getting hurt yet again. “Oh, Sam. I’m so sorry.”
“So am I.” He shook his head. “I keep telling myself this is temporary, that he doesn’t feel the way I do. That he doesn’t want me. So I should just enjoy what I can get, right?” The glassiness in his eyes increased. “It’s not helping, though. I keep wondering what Bart—”
He cut off a sob. Kat jumped to her feet, gathering him in a hug as her own tears started. His arms unexpectedly wound around her waist, pulling her into his lap. She realized why when he buried his head in her shoulder to muffle his tears. “Oh, my sweetest boy,” she whispered, stroking his hair. “I’m so sorry.”
She remembered when the two Army officers had showed up on Uncle William’s doorstep with the telegraph from the War Department. Uncle William had taken her into his study an hour later, his eyes bloodshot from unshed tears, and informed her that he’d given the Army permission to busy Bart at Flanders Field. Sam came home soon afterwards, his right leg amputated, a lost and broken shell of the man she’d remembered and her brother had loved.
For Bart, she’d gone to the Hellmans’ home on her own every day without fail, climbing the grand staircase to the second floor where Sam lay like a corpse in his narrow boyhood bed. All the hours reading to him, talking to him, trying anything she could think of to bring him out of his shell. When the doctor finally gave him permission to try walking on his wooden leg, she was the one who had cajoled him to stand up, take the first few steps. Slowly, his body healed, although he would never again look like the happy boy he’d been with Bart. His mind eventually followed, finding its way out of the fog left by the war.
His heart, though, was still bleeding over Bart’s loss. Sometime during his recovery he carefully built a briar fence around it, thick brush and dagger-like thorns shielding himself from anyone but her. He’d had dalliances here and there since the end of the war, often with her complicit assistance, but all the men were nobodies, working class types or low-ranking soldiers passing through Bridgeport on their way home. He wouldn’t let himself love anyone, not the way he’d loved her brother, and when she proposed marriage she’d seen the flash of bitterness in his eyes. She knew she was the closest he would ever come to being back in Bart’s arms, a consolation prize that was no prize at all.
They sat there for a time, united in their love for a dead man, with the soft crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. Finally Sam gave a shuddering sigh. “I don’t know why you put up with me, I really don’t,” he said.
She smiled against the soft brown strands. “I could say the same about you,” she murmured. “It’s probably why we’re such good friends.”
“I think you’re right.” He leaned back, rubbing at his eyes. “Sorry about blubbing all over you.”
“Don’t fret. I’ll dry.” She touched his face, wiping the traces of moisture away from his eyes with a careful thumb. “Do you want to go to bed?”
“Eventually.” A corner of his mouth quirked. “Oh. Were you inviting me to sleep with you, kitten?”
She forced a fierce look. “It’s Kat now, darling. Don’t make me bite you. Again.”
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Mid Week Tease: Behind the Iron Cross #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. This week, I’ll be sharing a teaser from Behind the Iron Cross, my historical MMF romance set in 1923 Berlin.
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
As Friedrich approached the hotel room door, he heard the soft sound of piano music drifting through it. He hadn’t seen a phonograph in the room, but doubtlessly the Fräulein could order one up if she was in the mood for music.
He knocked, and the piano music ceased. A moment later Sam answered the door in his shirtsleeves. “Colonel, good to see you,” he said, admitting Friedrich into the suite. “I’m afraid Kat’s still primping for the evening. We may have a bit of a wait.”
“That’s quite all right.” Friedrich followed the limping American into the parlor. To his surprise, Sam sat down at the grand piano, long fingers drifting skillfully over the keys and teasing out the melody he’d heard in the hall. “I didn’t know you played piano.”
“Since I was a boy.” Sam moved over a bit on the bench and nodded at the space. Careful not to jostle, Friedrich sat next to him. “Mother made sure I had lessons, like all the little well-bred little monsters in our clique. I think I was the only one who actually liked to practice. Making music is one of my favorite things in the world.”
Friedrich let himself relax, listening to the tune Sam coaxed from the instrument. “That’s very nice. What is it?”
“Just something I’ve been noodling around with in my spare time.”
“You write your own songs?”
“Mm-hm, and lyrics, too.” Sam’s smile fell a bit. “Although Bart was always better at the music part than me. We used to talk about running away from Connecticut and heading down to New York City, try our luck at writing songs for the Broadway shows. You know, like Irving Berlin and Cole Porter.”
Friedrich could easily see Sam in something natty, strolling down a brightly lit street on the way to his opening night. “Why didn’t you do it?”
One shoulder rose slightly. “Lots of reasons. Uncle William might have let Bart go for a year or so, just to sow some wild oats and get it out of his system, but my father never would have let me do something as plebeian as write for Broadway.” His fingers touched the keys softly. “And then the war happened. Afterwards, well, there didn’t seem to be much point in going anywhere. So I just play for myself these days.” His mouth curved. “And friends, of course.”
Friedrich was surprised by the warmth he felt at Sam’s admission. “Would you play something for me? Something of yours, I mean.”
Brown eyes blinked at him. “Really? You don’t have to flatter me or anything if you don’t want to hear it.”
“No, I’d like to hear it. I can’t play anything myself, but I like to listen.” Lilli was an accomplished pianist, and going to Oskar’s house and listening to her after-dinner performances of Beethoven and Schubert had been a delightful occurrence.
“Okay. Well, then.” Sam paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “This isn’t finished yet, but I really like how it’s going. Tell me what you think.”
Rippling through a minor flourish, he started playing a melody that was beautiful and wistful at the same time. Softly, he sang:
Across the ocean blue,
Across the sea so wide,
We’ll find a place to go,
And there we’ll both abide.
The storms will never part us,
I swear on Heaven above,
My home is where your heart is,
My ever after love.
He stopped singing, although he continued to play softly. “It needs a little work, obviously, as well as a bridge.”
The emotion in the song brought a lump to Friedrich’s throat. “It’s about the Fräulein’s brother, isn’t it?”
“Bart, yes.” Sam stared at his fingers on the keys. “I miss him. Five years on, and I still miss him.”
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Mid Week Tease: Behind the Iron Cross #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. This week, I’ll be sharing a teaser from Behind the Iron Cross, my historical MMF romance set in 1923 Berlin.
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
In the aftermath of World War I, Berlin has become a hotspot of decadent pleasures, and American millionairess Kat Tracy is determined to enjoy each and every one of them with Sam Hellman, her late brother’s lover and her convenient “fiancé.” But when the two of them meet Friedrich von Bader, a former German Army officer turned reluctant prostitute, their wicked games take on a new meaning.
Kat stared up at the German, now perched between her splayed thighs. His sheathed cock, thick and throbbing, rested against her pubic mound. Her clit ached for contact with it. Behind him, Sam wore an intense expression as he did something to Friedrich’s lower body. From the sudden widening of Friedrich’s eyes, she could guess what Sam was doing with his fingers.
“Come on, then.” She stroked Friedrich’s cock, shifting herself slightly so that she could nudge him into position. “I want you inside me, colonel. Slowly.”
“Ja, Fräulein.” With exquisite slowness, he pressed into her. She took a deep breath at the first delicious stretch, the thick heft of his shaft as it forced her body to accommodate it. Wet as she was, she wasn’t fully open, and he had to work for the last few inches. She watched, fascinated, at the play of emotions across his face; strain, concentration, followed by the most sublime look of masculine enjoyment when he was finally seated inside her.
His eyes widened and he gasped, twitching inside her. Over his shoulder Sam loomed, his own look of pleasurable strain a close twin to Friedrich’s. “Relax,” he said hoarsely. “And breathe, dammit.”
Friedrich’s head dropped and he obeyed, pressing hard against her pubic bone as Sam pushed deeper. Her clit throbbed from the sudden attention, and she mewled happily. “Oh, I like that!”
“So do I,” Sam said, sounding breathless. “I wish you could feel it from this end, sweetheart. He’s so hot and tight. How are you doing, Friedrich?”
“Mm.” The German sucked in another breath, then nodded. “It’s good. More.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Sam said, still breathless. “Coming right up.”
At Sam’s careful thrust, Friedrich pressed harder against her, grinding oh so perfectly. She watched as pain flickered across his face, replaced by heavy-lidded pleasure. His sculpted mouth pursed into a soft oh, and he pushed back against Sam, then surged heavily into her.
Kat threw her head back, turning her cry of pleasure into a ragged gasp. She loved this, loved watching her colonel impale himself on Sam’s cock before pushing into her. He was trapped between them, a slave to both their pleasure and his own. She angled her hips to meet his next thrust, and moaned in surprise as his cock slid perfectly along her clit, setting off a firestorm in her lower belly.
Her eyes popped open. “Do that again!”
Friedrich obeyed, moaning as Sam’s thrust pushed him deeply into her. The same slide, and the same burst of ecstatic fire through her. She gasped happily. That had never happened before, not with the pets she allowed to pleasure her, or even with Sam. “Keep doing that, just like that.”
Friedrich was breathing hard now, his large body trembling against hers from the strain of holding himself in position. Sam obviously felt it as well, because he said, “Friedrich, don’t work so hard. Let me do the driving. Just relax and enjoy Kat.”
“Ja.” It was a breathless grunt, but some of the tremors eased. Under Sam’s guidance, the three of them found a rhythm that drove Friedrich’s cock perfectly over her clit, pistoning deep inside her as Sam plunged inside the German. The bed began to creak, then squeak angrily under them.
“Good thing we have a suite,” Sam gasped. “Don’t — hah — want the neighbors calling — hah! — the cops on us.”
Even with her rising pleasure, Kat still managed to roll her eyes. “Just shut up and fuck him, Sam.”
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Guess what I did this morning?
Everyone who liked my Breaker Zone MWT snippets is about to be very happy because — ta-da — I signed the publishing contract with Evernight this morning! Breaker Zone should be coming out either in late November or early December, and I cannot wait to see the cover art and make the trailer for this one.
Of course, that also means that I need to get cracking on Olympic Cove 3 because waiting eighteen months between books is not fun (I mean, who do I think I am, George R.R. Martin?). Right now the working title is Deep Water, and this one will be a little different in that it’s going to be a MMF story.
MM lovers, come back! There’s going to be plenty of hot man-on-man action for you, I promise. The initial pairing will be Poseidon (I TOLD you he was going to get his own book) and a gruff British oceanographer named Griffin Parkes who wants to spend a peaceful week at Olympic Cove before going into hospice care for his terminal cancer. But the God of the Ocean isn’t giving up that easily, especially when he recognizes Griffin as the long-lost agapetos of himself and his consort Amphitrite. Now, Poseidon must seduce a quite straight Griffin in order to save his life, then figure out how to bring Amphitrite back into their triad.
Can a still-grieving Amphitrite forgive Poseidon for the ancient betrayal that destroyed their marriage? Will the blunt, pragmatic Griffin be able to accept not only a male lover, but the fact that he’s a mythological figure reborn? Will Poseidon be able to bring the two loves of his life back together, or is he destined to lose Griffin and Amphitrite yet again? And what plans does Thetis have for this triad? And gads, how are Bythos and Aphros going to react to the idea of their parents, you know, doing it?
Only time will tell, mwahahahahaha. (And I can see Ceit staring at the screen and screaming, “WHAT? You, I, buh, WHAT?” Don’t worry, sweetie, I already have you down as one of the betas.)
Mid Week Tease: Behind the Iron Cross #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. This week, I’ll be sharing a teaser from Behind the Iron Cross, my historical MMF romance set in 1923 Berlin (which I will hopefully have finished by the end of September, please God).
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
In the aftermath of World War I, Berlin has become a hotspot of decadent pleasures, and American millionairess Kat Tracy is determined to enjoy each and every one of them with Sam Hellman, her late brother’s lover and her convenient “fiancé.” But when the two of them meet Friedrich von Bader, a former German Army officer turned reluctant prostitute, their wicked games take on a new meaning.
“You two look comfortable.”
Friedrich cracked one eye open. The Fräulein stood at the foot of the bed, staring at Sam and him. Her face was in shadow, hiding her expression.
Sam stirred next to him, giving her a sleepy grin. “Oh, hi, sweetheart,” he said. “We met up in town for lunch, and then we came back here. I’m afraid we fell asleep.”
“So I see.” She settled on the end of the mattress, hunching over a bit. “I’m glad some of us had a pleasant day.”
Sam sat up, more alert now. “What’s wrong?”
Those slim shoulders shrugged. “Not the best of days. Schoengraff still won’t talk to us, and we lost Gimmel. Brayburn got to them first.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Unconcerned by his nudity, Sam climbed out of the bedcovers and moved down to the other end of the bed, gently pulling her into a hug. “I’m sorry.”
She sighed, resting back against him. “We had the entire deal set up. All we needed were signatures on the partnership papers. And I walked in there this afternoon to see all of them smirking at me, ever so pleased with themselves as they gave me the news. Bastards.”
Friedrich felt out of place, watching the two of them cuddle. He started to get out of bed and Sam glanced back at him. The American shook his head, looking meaningfully at the pillows. Confused, Friedrich sat back, waiting.
Sam turned back to the Fräulein. “Darling, why don’t you shuck out of all this and let us take care of you? We’ll give you a nice, long back rub, then pop you in the tub for a soak while we order dinner. Sound good?”
Another sigh, heavier this time. “I suppose.”
To Friedrich’s surprise, she slipped out of her tailored jacket and blouse without a second thought, tossing them carelessly on the floor with her skirt. Underneath, she wore a cream silk slip that clung to her body in delicious ways, outlining the small, shapely curves of her breasts and hips. With Sam’s encouragement, even this was pulled off and deposited on the floor, leaving her in a bra and flimsy silk knickers.
Friedrich’s mouth went dry. He knew the Fräulein was beautiful, knew it in the same way that the Venus di Milo was beautiful. It was a cool, unattainable beauty, something more to worship than hold in his arms. But now, she was a tired, aggravated woman who simply wanted to stretch out after a long, difficult day and be tended to.
And his cock swelled at the thought. He tugged the bedclothes higher, trying to camouflage his sudden desire. Sam noticed the tenting at his groin and shot him a quick grin as he moved the Fräulein up the bed, encouraging her to stretch out on her stomach. “You relax, sweetheart. Let us take care of you.”
She mumbled something into her pillowed arms, eyes already closed. Friedrich realized they were shadowed, soft smudges of exhaustion visible now in the cupped curve. The desire abated a bit, replaced by an unexpected tenderness. She’s been working so hard. She must be exhausted, poor katze.
He knelt on the bedcovers at her side, looking to Sam for guidance. The American man reached over to the bedside table, picking up the bottle of lotion there. He shook out a good palmful of the creamy liquid, then gestured for Friedrich to hold out his own hand and deposited more lotion in it.
Friedrich followed him, rubbing the lotion between his hands to warm it, then bringing it to the Fräulein’s skin. The men mirrored each other as they worked up and down her spine, rubbing the taut muscles there. Friedrich skirted the band of her bra, but Sam just shook his head and expertly unhooked it, flipping the freed ends to either side. “Better, sweetheart?”
“Mmm.”
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So, just had my 48th birthday
And it was lovely — Ramón gave me a lingerie shopping spree as my present (woohoo!), and I got tons of birthday wishes all over social media so I was quite the happy camper. Would have been even happier if I’d been at SDCC or RWA14, but I’m going to London this year for Worldcon so I can’t really complain. Plus there’s always next year, right? (Although when a friend of mine at SDCC got an impromptu picture with both Jared Padalecki and a somewhat tiddly Misha Collins, I may have turned a slight shade of chartreuse.)
In writing news, I’m plowing ahead on my Planet Alpha submission and I’ll have a second teaser up tomorrow for MidWeek Tease. Hope nobody minds a big action scene at the end — well, hey, if you kidnap an Alphan warrior’s human bondmate, you have to expect him and his Xyran mate to open a can of alien whoopass on you, right? Fingers crossed that Evernight feels the same way. Once that’s off, I’ll get to work editing Breaker Zone with an eye on submitting it by August 13. After THAT, I go back to work on Behind the Iron Cross so that I can get it making the agent rounds in September. Plus people have been asking for Trickster and Two to Tango sequels.
Arrgh. Why do I have to sleep?
Nicola Cameron Writes 