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Fergus and the gang return in another passion-packed, erotically charged black comedy-yaoi caper complete with hot full-color illustrations, that will have you on the edge of your seat right up until the very last page.

After the dust has settled on the disastrous bank robbery that almost spelled the end of one of the sawn off shotgun wielding wise guys, there is the little matter of dividing up the loot. Every man is eager for his cut, but there’s just one problem. It seems that one of the greedy gangsters has helped himself already!

Was it the scar faced Rasputin, who’d been left alone with the lolly and an age old grudge? Could it have been the bed hopping bisexual Judas MacGregor’s pierced and perfect protégé, Vinny? Or has Vinny been too busy finding out just why the yakuza-like bodyguard, Cain, is known as The Legend?

The beautiful brothel keeper, Mikhail Majewski, is keeping a low profile while all of this mayhem has been going on. He’s not answering Fergus Campbell’s numerous texts and phone calls. Has he absconded with the readies? Or is he just a little bit tied up at the moment?

Excerpt:

If you are trying to avoid something, like say for instance, you wish to lose weight and feel that to cut out chocolate would help you get into that size ten sooner, it is never wise to assume that you could sample some of the sweet confectionery and not want more.

Mikhail Majewski was the owner of a successful brothel and for most his life lived under the impression that there was really no such thing as love. Then straight out of the blue it seemed, he fell head over his fancy heels for Fergus Campbell, a local gangster who also happened to be married. Now, it did not bother Mikhail at all that Fergus was already taken, as although many men claim their marriage to be over whilst in the midst of starting an affair, for Fergus this age old excuse was actually true. Fergus was married to a neurotic young alcoholic named Hugo. A needy little psychopath with a penchant for meddling.

Perhaps bizarrely, Mikhail had a hand in the rescue of the relationship between Fergus and his husband. The brothel keeper found love to be such a stressful state of being and knew that Hugo needed Fergus more, so it had just seemed like the right thing to do.
But as he stood outside of Fergus’s club, The Flying Garter, he told himself over and over again, he was only there as a friendly gesture. He would see how Fergus was, ask politely after Hugo and then he would leave.

He lifted his chin resolutely, then hastily pulled an ornate little mirror from out of his pocket. He checked his features before he applied some powder to his already perfectly made up face. To describe Mikhail as effeminate would have been an understatement. He wore as much make up as a woman would, perhaps even a little more and arranged his platinum blond hair in angelic curls around his quite beautiful face. Today, much like all days, he dressed from top to toe in white. Even his high heeled boots were white, the gold buckles on the side of them an echo of the many gold chains that he wore and the multitude of pale jewelled rings on his fingers.

A few tentative steps brought him towards the door to the establishment, where Rasputin, Fergus’s bodyguard and doorman, opened it for him without his needing to knock on the red painted wood. Of course, a club owned by a Campbell would have security cameras trained on the entrance. So had Fergus observed Mikhail’s cautious arrival? He dearly hoped not. Rasputin was a fearsome looking individual with a long scar that ran up one cheek and straight though a rather milky looking useless eye. Mikhail, however, had met him before and was not so taken aback by his appearance.

“Come on in, Mr Majewski.” The brutish sounding man held the door to let him pass and Mikhail walked into the club with as much confidence as he could muster. His heels clicked sharply on the dark wood of the floor, creating an assertive echo that in no way reflected how he actually felt.

Fergus sat at the bar with a newspaper in his hands, a coffee cup at his side. No steam rose from the cup so it appeared that he had let it go cold and Mikhail stared at him, battling with the urge to just to walk back outside again, climb into his limo never to return. Although he was without a doubt a violent man, Fergus was extremely handsome. He had dark collar length hair, grey eyes and naturally tan skin. A small amount of perfectly sculpted stubble accentuated his strong chin and framed his attractive mouth. He wore a crisp white shirt and Mikhail let out a helpless sigh as he noticed how the finely toned muscles of the broad back and arms underneath still showed through.

Clearly overhearing the sigh, Fergus turned his head a fraction. His eyes widened in recognition, then he turned fully, a warm smile on his lips. “Mikhail!” He got up from his seat and walked towards him and Mikhail had the sudden compulsion to embrace him but he knew that Fergus wouldn’t like that. Not such an open display of affection in a public place.

“Hello, Mr Campbell.” Mikhail extended his hand and as Fergus reached to clasp it in his own, the smile slipped from his lips.

His eyes betrayed a touch of sadness. “Mr Campbell is it now?” He nodded slowly and his fingers still held Mikhail’s in a gentle grip. “I suppose I really do deserve that. So what can I do for you, Mr Majewski?”

Mikhail angled his head and looked at him sorrowfully. “No please, Fergus…I meant nothing by addressing you as Mr Campbell…I just…I was not so sure that you would want to see me and—“

“Mikhail, please.” Fergus took him firmly by the elbow and led him to the private office next to the bar. Even though Mikhail still felt rather awkward, he had an inward thrill at the touch of the other man’s strong hand.

As soon as they reached the privacy of the small room, Fergus first closed the door, then he took both of Mikhail’s hands and he held them in his own. “Do you know that I have been frantic with worry about you? Wondering why I didn’t hear from you? You just…you just decided yourself that you were going to leave me to Hugo and you never even wondered if that’s what I wanted?” He stared into Mikhail’s eyes, his expression one of obvious loss and Mikhail looked back at him imploringly.

“Fergus, it was for the best. Hugo needs you.” He wanted to continue but Fergus shocked him by allowing Mikhail’s hands to drop from his grip. Fergus began to pace around the room and Mikhail was unsure of what to do. At a zoo in Poland, Mikhail once saw a male cheetah that had been separated from its mate and newly born young. The dangerous looking predator could see its family through the bars but could not touch them. Clearly this was a precaution in case the animal decided to kill the cubs. Fergus reminded Mikhail of the poor creature as he prowled back and forth, his mind clearly in some kind of turmoil over their enforced separation.

Praise for Big Deal Vol 1: Lust For Vengeance

I can’t wait for the second installment, as I need to know what happens next and I need to know more about Judas and Vinny. I give it 4.5 stars, only because the author will make me wait. ~~~Tiger Lily, Booked Up Reviews

Absolutely amazing! You are instantly drawn into the enticing world of Fergus and the mysterious and beautiful Mikhail. Of course the character of Judas will always be my favourite – his wicked sense of humor always makes me laugh! Definitely a book you can read and enjoy again and again! Bring on volume two!! ~~ Screaming Angel, Goodreads

Cover art: Les Byerley

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A botched marriage proposal. A mischievous wager. All leading to a game of hide and seek that turns highly erotic…

Branwell “Tinker” Locke believes in grand gestures. However, when his marriage proposal to Miss Cora Reeve is dismissed as a jape, Bran has to find another way to persuade Cora of his utmost sincerity. Even if it means using his tongue for something other than pretty words.

Cora fears that her former childhood friend is simply set upon helping her win a wager, that is, until they’re thrust together during a game of hide and seek and previously un-expressed passion blooms between them. Then, Cora is left wondering if she’s made a terrible mistake. Does Bran really love her, or was that forbidden pleasure between them in the cupboard just a moment that’s gone forever?

The onus is now on her to convince Bran that she really does want him. She’s ready to bare not just her heart and emotions, but all she has. Things a lady should never give without a promise of forever…

Excerpt:

Chapter One
A Wager & a Proposition

Six young ladies, five blondes and a brunette, occupied the skittles alley at Rievaulx House yet there was not a single chaperone in sight. This was why Miss Cora Reeve had chosen this particular moment to propose a friendly wager. “For after all,” she remarked.
“None of us wish to be purveyed like horse flesh for a second season. A little incentive might spur us on in our pursuit of husbands. So, what say we agree that whoever secures the first proposal shall win a little something from each of the rest?”

“Cora, isn’t that gambling?” Harriet Cholmonderley asked from her perch atop the old pianoforte stool. Cora’s best friend was so petite and doll-like her feet swung inches above the floor. “Are you sure it’s quite right? Won’t our chaperones be vexed with us? I don’t wish to be sent home in disgrace.” Harriet’s gaze swung fearfully toward the window. Outside on the lawn their chaperones were partaking of tea.

“Well, I don’t comprehend the problem with being invited to another score of parties,” Biddy, the youngest of the group, remarked. Since her arrival she had been interested more in the accumulation of scandalous gossip than a husband. “I shan’t put myself out to secure a proposal. None of the gentlemen here would suit me at all. They are all too fond of themselves and indulging their vices. Lord Swansbrooke spent forty minutes last night reciting the names of his hounds to me. As if I should care that he has one named Horace, let alone three.”

Cora ignored Biddy and focused instead upon her dearest friend, whose hands she clasped reassuringly. “What will our guardians care about a few chicken stakes, Harriet?

Heavens, I only mean for you to win my hat. None of us are set upon compromising our virtue. Nor do I believe I’d be able even if I were intent on such a thing, with both my mother and Aunt Tessa watching over me.” She squeezed Harriet’s knuckles and was blessed with a nod of acquiescence.

To Harriet’s flanks both Amelia and Persephone also signaled their consent. That left Charlotte, who stood holding her fan like a baton she meant to strike them with. She ticked Cora upon the arm with it. “My concern is that this is not a particularly fair wager. Certain of us are far more advantaged than others, and therefore better placed to win.”

She shot a look at Amelia. “Given Mr. Hulme’s obvious attachment, Amelia is certain to triumph.”

Amelia flushed prettily and bowed her head, so that only the blonde crown which had been interwoven with blossoms could be seen. “I think you overstate my hand. Mr. Hulme is very kind, but I don’t believe he sees me in his life in such a permanent way. I’m sure it’s only that he feels a little sorry for me.”

Kind was not quite the word for it. Attentive was more accurate, perhaps even lecherous, if one were being unkind. Nevertheless, Cora echoed the pooh-poohs of the other women. “Wasn’t it Mr. Hulme’s influence with Lord Egremont that ensured your invitation?”

Amelia had no family to speak of and only a modest living. “How are we supposed to interpret that other than as a sign of attachment?”

Amelia gave a delicate shrug. “I’m not the only one possessed of an admirer. Persephone held court to at least five beaus last night.”

“I did,” Persephone admitted, thought not with any relish. Instead, her attention rested upon the portrait of their host upon the rear wall. Alas, Lord Egremont showed no reciprocal signs of affection. In fact, he was always noticeably absent from the coterie of bucks Persephone gathered.

“Do make sure not to forget Cora,” Biddy remarked to Charlotte. “Why, she and your brother are practically married already. One only has to perceive her skill at skittles to know how much time they’ve spent together, and hardly a minute of it properly chaperoned from what I’ve heard.”

Cora opened her mouth to make a retort, only for Persephone to step regally between her and Biddy. “I believe it’s your turn, Cora.”

Very well, she’d let that slight go, but only because it was in fact the truth. Tink—or more correctly—Branwell Locke had indeed taught her the art of skittles, alongside horsemanship, dice, archery, and trout tickling, to name but a few of her more unusual accomplishments. She excelled at them all, whereas her embroidery was mediocre and her singing voice akin to a caterwaul. “We’re nothing more than childhood friends,” she huffed under her breath. “More’s the pity.”

Cora snatched up the skittles ball. She wasn’t sure when over the last few months things had changed so that Bran had stopped being her fond companion and transformed into an eligible gentleman. She supposed it coincided with her formal presentation into society.
Maybe it was merely her perception that had changed.

Bran still treated her like a sister.

She longed to be his wife.

Cover art: Les Byerley

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Gripping. Intense drama. Explosive eroticism. D.H. Starr has created a paranormal world that you can absolutely lose yourself in. Read Feed. Prey. Love. and you’ll wish you could pack a bag and move right into Whispering Hills! – Sedonia Guillone, author of Fallon’s Jewel, Ai Press

Feed, Prey, Love, a story of devotion, sacrifice, and dangerous obsession. D.H. Starr puts his own unique spin on the classic vampire tale, creating a modern society in which your neighbors might be giants, werewolves, elves, or even fairies, and where finding love isn’t nearly as difficult as keeping it…alive. Each scene draws you in, captivating your full attention until the very last page. — Eden Winters, author of The Angel of 13th Street, Torquere Press

At Whispering Hills where mortals and paranormals coexist peacefully – and romantically – love really does bite!

Talib Eldridge is a vampire who lives with guilt. 100 years ago, he accidentally turned a human to a vampire and has been afraid to get close to anyone for fear of ever losing control as he once did. When he meets Conley Berillo, his commitment to living in isolation is challenged. Immediately drawn to the human, he can’t help but fall in love.

Conley has always felt out of place. Never fitting in with others, he too has lived in isolation. When the existence of paranormal creatures is finally acknowledged, he feels an immediate affinity to the outcasts, still feared and hated by humans. Moving to Whispering Hills in Providence, Rhode Island, he knows immediately that he belongs to this new world. When he meets Talib, that conviction is only solidified.

When Jonah Townsend, the human Talib had turned about a hundred years earlier, re-enters the picture, Talib and Conley’s newfound happiness is threatened. Conley becomes the tool that Jonah uses to get back at Talib and Talib is forced to make a choice. Fight for his own happiness and risk Conley’s life, or put Conley’s safety first and sacrifice what he’s searched and struggled for over two hundred years!

Excerpt:

Talib’s heart stopped, then assumed a frantic staccato beat. From the moment the green-eyed human set foot in the door, he’d captured Talib’s attention as if he had his own gravitational pull. So strong was Talib’s need to approach the man, he had no doubt this was the person Purvis wanted him to meet. With each step, warning bells sounded in his head. What am I doing? Like a runaway train on a collision course, Talib sensed impending doom and was powerless to stop the impending crash. This is how it happened before.

Events from nearly a hundred years earlier blended with the horrors from the night before.

Hadn’t he proven to himself time and again he was a killer? Despite his longing for companionship and the emptiness which threatened to consume him, history couldn’t be denied. With his self-control difficult to manage, placing temptation in his own path was pure stupidity. What was I thinking to accept Purvis’s invitation? This is sheer madness!

It wasn’t until the thoughts of the man reached him that Talib realized he’d actually stopped moving. Why isn’t he coming to me? Talib’s focus sharpened, and he became lost in a sea of emerald green, reason dashing out the window.

Keeping his feet firmly planted to the floor, Talib swallowed the venom dripping from his fangs. Lifting cars, bending minds to his will, these tasks were nothing compared to the sheer willpower it took him to avert his eyes. Keeping his gaze trained on Purvis’s lavender carpet, he forced himself to turn away and begin trudging toward the apartment door with leaden feet. He hadn’t made it more than five steps before another set of thoughts caught his attention. He glanced around the room but couldn’t locate the source.

He’s delicious. Talib heard the whisper in his mind then quickly located its origin: another vampire who’d locked his sights on Conley. The predator who’d chosen Conley as his prey had the palest of skin and eyes a hypnotizing red. Thick blond hair cascaded over slender shoulders and framed a face with sharp, angular features. But more than the features, animalistic and primal, it was the thoughts which frightened Talib the most. Those eyes, that ass, the things I will do to him once I get him alone.

And then, as if a switch had been flipped, Talib’s vision shifted and he was seeing through the predator’s eyes. Through the unwanted connection with the other vampire he watched himself draw closer and closer toward the man he had just forced himself to abandon. Like water presented to someone stranded in the desert, Talib sensed the need driving the beast closer to the man with the green eyes. This wasn’t an approach of mere interest or attraction, it was something far too familiar to Talib…hunger. No, beyond hunger, an all-consuming thing he couldn’t name.

His retracted fangs grew violently elongated, venom drowning his mouth. A musky mix of adrenaline and pheromones permeated the air, drawing Talib like a beacon. The chemicals reacting in his bloodstream sent electrifying prickles along his skin as he worked to control the throbbing of his heart.

The thrill of a hunt, the conquest of a succulent meal and warm human blood echoed loudly in his head. Although no words had been spoken aloud, Talib examined his link to a vampire, experiencing the rush of another’s chase. As the predator drew closer to the man with the emerald green eyes, Talib’s paralysis snapped.

He recognized the threat immediately, but his breath caught as the next thought hit, not the predator’s this time. Thank God, he’s coming back. The innocence. The sheer, honest, vulnerability of this sweet man called him like a drug. A delectable, red-blooded, intoxicating drug.

Warmth chased away the chill as he took another step forward, and then his muscles clenched as the stalking vampire’s thoughts invaded his head once again. Every predatorial instinct kicked in at once. I’m gonna fuck that sweet ass. Whether the kid wants it or not, he’s mine tonight.

Remembering why he wasn’t half way to his apartment already, Talib surveyed the scene. Green Eyes focused on him and had no idea he was being stalked. Glancing toward the hunting vampire, Talib clenched his fists and lurched forward, placing his body between his rival and the innocent man.

Shoulders squared, Talib lifted his gaze to stare directly at the approaching hunter. With the control necessary to lift a parked truck, Talib forced himself to remain stationary, sending a single warning wordlessly through the air. No!

The predator slowed in his approach but didn’t stop, a combination of amusement and confusion settling on his face. Why?

Talib’s fists clenched involuntarily, his fangs barely contained within his mouth. The desire to pounce grew like a fire, threatening Talib’s tenuous hold on his anger. He is a man. Not food.
The sounds of the party faded into silence, Talib’s focus honing in on the vampire standing a few feet away. The confusion shifted to disgust as the stalker studied Talib, sizing him up. If you don’t want him, he’s mine.

Once again, the urge to leap nearly overtook Talib as he pictured his fangs ripping at this attacker’s throat. Green eyes, pure and alluring, flashed before Talib’s vision, easing his rage just enough to allow him to regain his composure. If he needed to, he would fight, but only as a last result. With the seriousness of a warrior ready to back up a threat, Talib issued his warning one last time. No.

Time slowed. Confusion blasted Talib from behind, the thoughts of an unsuspecting man ringing clearly. Indecision lashed out from the vampire who faced him. Talib’s muscles quivered as the anticipation grew. Like a spring, he prepared to pounce.

A few moments elapsed, seconds that seemingly stretched into tortured minutes before the other vampire lowered his gaze and turned from Talib, abandoning the hunt.

Talib considered following. Likely he’d simply protected one human only to set this vampire’s sights on another. Before he could act, his thoughts were interrupted. I guess he doesn’t want me.

It was an invitation to leave. Green Eyes suspected Talib wasn’t interested. He shouldn’t be. The smart thing to do would be to walk away. But maybe that vampire will return if I leave. Deep down he knew he clutched at straws for an excuse, but desire outweighed his better judgment.

Here’s the rub. If you donate 250 big ones to the tory party, you get dinner with Dave in his private chambers. It’s like..prostitution on a Westminster scale, and while I’m not willing to tart myself about like Dave does, it got me to thinking…if there’s dosh to made from dining with folk willing to donate to your “cause”…why can’t I have a bit of that action?
so here’s the price list:
£100 fuck off…dream on, baby.
£1000 gets you dinner (probably chips) and 5 minutes of my company.
£10,000 gets you dinner (probably a fish supper) 10 minutes with me and a photee to impress yer pals with.
£100,000…the worlds yer oyster..well, not really. Oysters are over rated..Half an hour with me and a proper nice takeaway of your choice.
As you can see I am considerably cheaper that Dave, and fuck knows, a damn sight better looking.

Judas MacGregor
Big Deal Lust For Vengeance by Katsura and Yuramei

Talib Eldridge is a vampire who lives with guilt. 100 years ago, he accidentally turned a human to a vampire and has been afraid to get close to anyone for fear of ever losing control as he once did. When he meets Conley Berillo, his commitment to living in isolation is challenged. Immediately drawn to the human, he can’t help but fall in love.

Conley has always felt out of place. Never fitting in with others, he too has lived in isolation. When the existence of paranormal creatures is finally acknowledged, he feels an immediate affinity to the outcasts, still feared and hated by humans. Moving to Whispering Hills in Providence, Rhode Island, he knows immediately that he belongs to this new world. When he meets Talib, that conviction is only solidified.

When Jonah Townsend, the human Talib had turned about a hundred years earlier, re-enters the picture, Talib and Conley’s newfound happiness is threatened. Conley becomes the tool that Jonah uses to get back at Talib and Talib is forced to make a choice. Fight for his own happiness and risk Conley’s life, or put Conley’s safety first and sacrifice his own happiness.

I was deeply moved. Christopher and Don first met when Don was sixteen and Isherwood was 36. Their romance began not long afterward. One of the things that touched me was that for Don, Isherwood was his one and only major relationship (this was true for Isherwood as well) and the influence Isherwood had on his formation on a human being was profound and beautiful, even down to the way Don spoke – with an English accent and with Isherwood’s inflections of speech as if Isherwood were speaking through him.

What came through so strongly and touchingly as well, told through excerpts read from Isherwood’s private journal and from Don Bachardy (who was still alive at the making of the film, Isherwood passed away in 1986) was how for Isherwood, being the older person in the relationship was, first, absolutely enchanted with Don and how for Isherwood, his love for Don was, in his own words, his spiritual path to enlightenment. I know from reading My Guru and His Disciple where Isherwood chronicles his years as the disciple of Swami Prabhavananda who practiced chastity, Christopher Isherwood could never bring himself to do the same. He felt strongly pulled to be in relationship with a partner, that it was deeply in his nature, not to be ignored or snuffed out. For him, his relationship with Don was his path.

Later on, as I reflected more and more on that, it hit me – that’s exactly what I’ve been working so hard to portray in my own writing! To bridge the gap that pervades so much of thinking and approach to sexuality, that somehow it’s different, separate, lower than spirit. Healing that gap is what my own life’s path has led me to begin to understand and because it’s so important to me, I endeavor to bring that healing into my stories, most blatantly (I guess that’s the right word) in my White Tigers series wherein the characters practice the sexual Tao and when one of them meets their soulmate, they become partners and practice together. Their love and mutual attraction become the very fodder needed to bring their minds to the understanding of reality.

Is it a paradox that a being who looks like a demon complete with horns has more compassion than a priest or that psychiatrist can do more damage than a hulking beast? The themes fascinate me and have done so throughout my undergraduate studies of lauded and award-winning writers and onto my career as a romance writer.

I have written many works, the majority of them about paranormals. My need to give them the same depth, love and development as Clive gave to his, is a definite driving force for me. I need for them to have a rich history, honor and intelligence is something that I truly hope that I portray on every page. In my novel, Thief of His Heart, I wanted to develop a culture of werecats that spanned ancient times through to contemporary, stressing the importance of their traditions to the reader as well as to the main character. The love interest of the main character, Crnswar is an intimidating force, both capable of violence, authority and love.

I have written about werewolves, vampires, demons, sorcerers and even gargoyles (and will again soon) but their outward appearances are just beautiful drapes, that they love and honor and respect one another is what I fight for and ultimately what I as an author seek to define.

When I take on a monster for a novel or short story, I ask myself several questions, such as:

* What would they eat? Of course a werewolf would eat meat, but a gargoyle would enjoy stone.

* What would they wear? A werecat would either wear little or walk around in couture.

* How do they live? Secluded or in plain sight of humans? A sorcerer can go to the mall, but a golem couldn’t

* How do they have fun? A were might like to watch nature programs on the Discovery channel where as an ice sorcerer might take to making ice cream or carving sculptures.

* What would fascinate them? Gems might fascinate cats, Serpentoids might love music and of course werecats would like catnip.

* How do they have sex? Hehehehe, I can get carried away with this.

* If there was a store that catered only to X type of paranormals, what would it sell? Gargoyles might like loofahs, goblins might like caramel apples, a witch would love a candle store, Weres might like heated muscle relief cremes after every change.

All in all, deciding upon or creating the creature to use, while fun is something that dresses up the novel, not defines it. The creatures actions are what should stand out most of all. Yes, I write about monsters, but they are not monstrous. And yeah, Clive Barker made that evident to me in his writings, art and even films (although I think it is high time that Guillermo del Toro redid Nightbreed because only he can).

Silly perhaps, but in the realm of world-building just a few of the questions that help me to bring and breath life into my monsters.

I have gotten a lot of feedback over the years, both positive and some incredibly negative. At the time, the negative feedback would make me shake! However, at the same time, I could see the intelligence of the things people were saying who were disappointed with the book and have actually reflected on their words many times over the last five years. I have also since read and watched many, many murder mysteries, studying the art of building a complex mystery. Hopefully, I’ve gotten more of a hang of this craft and will be able to make this story a more complex and intriguing mystery. I need to mention that I feel particularly indebted to two certain mystery authors, John Burdett (Bangkok 8, Vulture Peak) and to Seicho Matsumoto (Inspector Imanishi Investigates, Points and Lines) in the sense that both authors write wonderful real characters, inspiring prose, and skillfull, enjoyable as hell mysteries.

Then there’s the emotional development. I have also kept in mind the people who have loved His Beautiful Samurai for the romance between the two heroes and only endeavor to make that aspect of the book richer as well. Both Toshi and John are more three-dimensional in the newer version as I rework it since I’ve gotten to know the two of them better as well and I really hope that will come through. Anyway, thanks for reading this and please come back because I will post a snippet from the new version as soon as I get it up to par. I will also keep you all posted as to when the new shiny version of His Beautiful Samurai will be released. Take care and hope you’re having a great day. Warmly, Sedonia

Cover art: Les Byerley

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Leda MacGregor has harbored a secret love for the handsome laird Duncan since she was sixteen. When he blames her for his wife’s death, she turns to his brother Ian for comfort and finds her heart capable of loving two men.

Ian MacGregor finds his heart captured by Leda, his childhood friend. He desires her more powerfully than any other woman he has ever known. However, he is torn between the desire of his heart and the course his life must take. When he is finally free to love Leda, she is torn from him by a cruel deception.

Duncan MacGregor learns the powerful force of forgiveness from Leda and over time, grows to love her and desire her in a way he never thought possible. When his brother breaks her heart, he takes her for his own. When fate brings Ian back, he still loves Leda…

One woman. Two ruggedly handsome highlanders. She loves them both. Fortunately, they are willing to share her…

Publisher’s note: This book is previously published.

~~~~~~~~~~

Excerpt

Leda sighed deeply, snuggling against him, her hands splayed across Ian’s back. Suddenly, her contentment was replaced by the acute awareness of hard muscles underneath her touch. A flush spread on her cheeks and throat, and her breathing grew slightly husky. His touch weakened her. Sudden spirals of heat coursed through her, whispering into her breasts and down below, into her sex. She stilled, her hands resting on his back, which now rose and fell more heavily, too.

To her disappointment, Ian slowly disengaged from the embrace. The golden hue of his irises had darkened and his lids were heavy. He moved away slightly and cleared his throat. His customary mischievous grin came to his lips, although it seemed forced, and his eyes looked troubled. “Does Fanny still have her stash?”

It took her a moment for his question to register through her haze. She pulled her wrap more tightly around her, wondering if she’d imagined the tension of the previous moment. A fleeting memory of the time she and Ian had found the whiskey bottle years ago while playing hide and seek in the kitchen made her smile. “I don’t know.”

Mischief glinted in his eyes. “Wait here.” He disappeared into the butler’s pantry where Leda heard him opening cupboard doors. He reappeared in a moment, holding up the bottle of golden liquid in a triumphant gesture. “Same place as always.”

His handsome grin spread across his face, causing Leda’s heart to flutter. She watched him go to a cupboard and pull out two glasses, which he set down on the table next to her.

“This’ll warm you right up, Leda.” He opened the bottle and poured a shot into each glass. “Fanny won’t miss a few drops.” He handed her a glass and held his up. “Here’s to better days in the future.”

Leda saw a shadow of sadness darken his face and eyes, but only for a moment.

He grinned and clinked his glass lightly against hers. “Cheers.” He tipped his head back and drained his glass in one swallow.

Gingerly, she took a sip of hers. She had never liked the acrid sting of whiskey and only ever took it medicinally. In spite of her distaste for it, the drink slid through her veins like liquid heat, leaving her body in a slightly languid state.

Ian put his glass down and refilled it. “Come on, Leda. You’re falling behind.” Humor touched his voice.

She smiled and took another tiny sip. Ian downed his second glass and set it back down on the table.

Leda waited to see if he poured another one for himself. Instead, he leaned one hand on the table, standing so close to her that part of her thigh pressed against his hip. Immediately, she began to tremble and took another sip of her whiskey, a larger one this time.

Ian’s face was level with hers and he gazed at her. His hazel eyes had darkened again as he studied her. “I’ve never seen you with your hair down like that, not since we were bairns,” he said softly. His gaze traveled the length of her braid where it hung down, sloping over her right breast.

Her heart began to gallop and she felt naked, in spite of the wrap over her nightgown. “No,” she murmured. “I suppose not.”

Ian levered his weight off the table and pressed in a bit closer. He brought with him the scent of the whiskey he’d drunk, mingled with shaving soap. “May I ask you something?”

Her heart quickened. “Of course.”

“Has anyone come to keep company with you? Any suitors, I mean.”

His question made her heart lurch. Never before had he shown any interest in her social state. “For me? No.”

Ian raised his eyebrows. “You’re kidding. I thought surely there would be several lads creeping ’round.”

Heat ignited in her belly and flushed straight up her neck and into her cheeks. The pulsing between her thighs resurged. “You’re the one who’s kidding, Ian. Me? Suitors? Come now. No one wants a lass who runs around in trousers and Wellies.”

Understanding flicked across his features. “Ah, that’s right.” The way he looked at her made her heart thump loudly. Since she had grown to womanhood, Ian was the first man ever to look at her with that soft shine that she’d seen in Duncan’s eyes whenever he looked at Cait, even in the presence of others. The room began to tilt and her head swam.

He reached up and brushed his fingertips along her jaw line. His touch made her shiver pleasantly. “Those articles do hide your beauty, Leda.”

His gaze moved over her face and hair, as if he had never seen her before.

“Beauty?”

He nodded. “Aye. You’re features are very soft. Very feminine.” The gold in his eyes darkened. “You even had me fooled.”

She swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat. “Wha– what do you mean?”

Ian moved his hand to her hair, smoothing his palm over it, and fingering the top portion of her braid. “I mean, you’re very lovely.” His hand came to rest on her hair, cradling her head gently. His eyelids hooded his eyes, which had grown dusky.

“Thank you, Ian.” Her voice escaped in a whisper. She was barely able to speak, the way her heart thrashed about in her chest.

He continued to gaze at her. “You’re twenty-one now. Why haven’t you had a coming out?” You deserve one as much as any other lass.”

“Cait wanted me to have one. I always refused.”

Ian looked puzzled. “Why? You could have new dresses. You’d be stunning. I guarantee that in the same day you’d have at least four or five lads after you.”

The thought was so ridiculous to her, she giggled.

He frowned. “I mean it, Leda. Don’t you want someone?”

The question stunned her into silence, and she wondered fleetingly if Ian had seen inside her and knew of her secret love for Duncan. She looked at Ian, whose hand rested on her hair. The tenderness in his gaze so contrasted with the baleful glare Duncan had given her the other day it sent flutters through her stomach and heart. Ian was now the first man who’d ever held her in his arms and told her she was lovely. He awakened the hunger that had slumbered inside her since she’d realized her love for Duncan would always be unrequited.

Yes, I do want someone , she wanted to say. Someone who’s kind, compassionate, handsome, who finds me lovely and tells me so. I want you. She suppressed a gasp. How could she feel this way when she’d pined after Duncan for the last five years? The answer was simple. Ian was being kind to her. He was her best friend.

The words teetered on her lips. She did not dare speak them, even though they were true. Ian was as unattainable for her as Duncan had always been. Like his brother, Ian was a gentleman. He studied at Oxford and played cricket. He traveled to foreign lands. Although she, too, was a MacGregor, Leda knew her place. She was no higher in status than a crofter. Her privileges came from Duncan’s good graces, as repayment to her mother for nursing Malcolm.

She caught her breath. “Only … if he’s … like you.”

Ian looked momentarily startled. Something strange flashed in his eyes, something that appeared to be sadness. He chuckled. “You can do far better than me.” He removed his hand from her hair and leaned against the table, his palm resting on the surface, not far from her thigh.

“Why would you say such a thing, Ian?”

He chuckled again and looked down at the floor. “I say it because you deserve more than I could ever give you.”

Leda heard the criticism in his tone and her heart ached. Immediately she thought he meant his status as the non-holding brother, the man who had to carve his way in the world and prove himself because he did not inherit the estate.

Emboldened, she reached out and placed her palm against his cheek, which was smooth but for the hint of growth that he would shave off in the morning. With gentle pressure, she bid him to look up at her. “Now it’s my turn to tell you you’re speaking nonsense.”

She gazed into the greenish gold of his eyes. To her chagrin, he looked very sad. He put his hand over hers, gently pulling it away from his face and shook his head. “It’s not nonsense, Leda. I know it to be true.”

His hand was warm on hers and sent a flush of pleasant heat tingling in her arm. She loved his touch, which made her feel as heady as the whiskey.

“You’re sweet and good-hearted,” he said. “As well as bonny.” His eyes studied her. “You deserve a prince.”

“I don’t want a prince. You’re every bit as wonderful as a prince.” Her voice escaped in a whisper. She was melting under his gaze. She realized, with a lurch of her heart, that they were discussing … being together.

“You’ve always believed in me, haven’t you, Leda? That’s why I’ve always felt so safe with you.” He moved in closer, so close she could feel the heat of his body. His breathing had gone ragged. “I’ve been so blind, little swan. So blind.” He reached up and touched her cheek. “How could I have not seen you?”

Leda caught her breath softly. Her heart pumped madly and she could hear her blood rush in her ears. Her vision blurred and she felt drunk.

Ian leaned his face to hers and pressed his lips into her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed at the sweet, sensual warmth that radiated into her skin. With his fingertips, he caressed her other cheek.

He rested his lips on her skin for several heartbeats before lifting his face away and gazing into her eyes.

The sound of a man clearing his throat resounded through the kitchen. Leda’s heart thumped and her gaze whipped in the direction of the doorway.

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Bank robbers, bordellos and a whole lot of bed-hopping, as British black comedy meets Yaoi in a head on collision. Complete with gorgeous, hot full-color illustrations by rising star manga artist, Yurmaei, Big Deal Vol. 1: Lust for Vengeance will satisfy your yaoi cravings!

Fergus Campbell is straight out of prison with only one thought in his mind, to pay back his former friend and partner in crime, Judas MacGregor for stitching him up and sending him there in the first place. What he least expects on his return to his old haunts, is to fall head over heels in love with Mikhail, the stunningly beautiful owner of the best little whorehouse in town.

After one night of bliss with Mikhail, Fergus resolves to make the blond bombshell his own. But there is one thing that stands in the way between him and a relationship with the man of his dreams. He is already married the psychotic young alcoholic, Hugo. Although their marriage has been falling apart for years, the spoiled Hugo won’t let go of his meal ticket so easily. What follows can only be a wild ride of lust, mayhem and revenge!

Excerpt:

Chapter One

The music that emanated from the CD player on the table did little to heighten the mood for the activities on the large, rumpled bed. The blinds were drawn and the semi-darkness made the atmosphere seem all the more seedy. The warmth of the late summer evening added to the cloying nature of the musky odours already permeating the air.

It was a Spartan room, to say the least. Just a few items of furniture and not even a picture to grace the walls or any other surface. What was there however, bore the appearance of quality and smacked of luxury if not taste.

The brass nameplate on the door read J. MacGregor, under which someone had gouged the words fuck you into the wood.

J for Judas.

Judas was his real name, but people usually assumed that he was called that by his associates as some sort of nickname that alluded to a betraying nature. His mother told him that he was named after his father. A father that he had never known. She would practically spit this information at him, usually in a drunken slur when she had attempted yet again to drown her sorrows in a few bottles of cheap wine.

“I named you for that bastard who knocked me up. I took one look at you and saw that Judas.”

It was a statement that had always puzzled the younger Judas. Unlike the classic portrayal of the much maligned apostle as a hook-nosed dark-haired man with what Mrs MacGregor would have described as a sleekit expression, this Judas, who usually preferred to be called Jude, had fair hair and blue eyes. Lately he’d noticed that the fair was turning prematurely grey, but this didn’t seem to age him at all. The highlights through the collar-length loose waves, coupled with the piercing eyes, actually made him quite attractive, in an unconventional sort of way. He had a wide full mouth that could slip easily into a smile, usually in lust or in wicked humour.

Judas slid a second finger next to his first, which was already nestled inside the invitingly tight ass of some sweet twenty-year-old. He parted the digits slightly then looked up into his cheap date’s face. The young man’s expression changed to one of lust as the fingers moved to make him more ready, a task rendered easier by the fact that his hole was already primed with so much lube. The guy was obviously no virgin. Not judging from the way he had so eagerly spread his legs, at least. But after Judas had to listen to him whine about being ruined when he’d first attempted to enter him using spit alone, out came the trusty Vaseline. Judas had then slathered him copiously with it.

“Chill out, baby. I won’t hurt you, unless you want me to…”

“Just do it, please!” His name was Moshe, but Judas didn’t give a shit about that. Everyone was baby to him anyway. Calling everyone by the same pet name had saved him from many an awkward moment, as in the heat of passion it was considered bad manners to cry out the wrong one. If everyone was baby no one was any the wiser.

“Okay,” he grinned, “you’re the boss.”

Judas slowly slid his fingers from the promising grip then moved to lie between the young man’s thighs. He wiped his hand on the sheet then rubbed the sheathed tip of his cock against Moshe’s now slick entrance, and he pushed the head inside the small opening with relative ease.

“Mmmm…” He watched the guy’s face again. Moshe’s lips parted wider, and Judas glanced from the pretty mouth to the rigid cock he had spent the last hour or so teasing mercilessly, first with his fingers and then with his tongue so it strained in readiness to burst at any moment. The head glistened with a sweet pearl of Moshe’s fluid which then leaked slowly and somewhat hypnotically down the swollen shaft. This was such a delicious cruelty, and as Judas ran his finger through the drip and traced it back up over the hot skin, he laughed and forced his cock into Moshe’s ass just a fraction of an inch more, still intent on playing his little teasing game until the young man ruined it by boldly grasping Judas’s hips and practically engulfing the lot of him.

“God you’re a keen little fucker, aren’t you?” Judas growled. He pushed Moshe further onto his back and ran his hands over his smooth thighs to raise them up and part them against the guy’s thin chest, so allowing Judas to move still deeper inside him. If he wanted it all he was going to get it but on Judas’s terms.

He lied. Judas was the boss really.