"I am ready to meet my maker. Whether my maker is prepared to meet me is another matter."
-Winston Churchill
Showing posts with label virtual book tour café. Show all posts
Showing posts with label virtual book tour café. Show all posts

Monday, January 23, 2017

Interview with Screaming Skull Press - Book Tour




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Book Genre: Literary Fiction and Poetry
Publisher: Screamin’ Skull Press
Release Date: Already out -

Amazon links to Tony and Nicole –




Book Description:

Junkyard Lucy is a collection of stories by underground writer Tony Nesca. Stylistically alternating between Nesca's unique free-flow style, full of that incredible, rhythmic prose that only he can do, and street-tough, short declarative sentences, the writing shows incredible range. The themes are varied and widespread - from love, sex, music, death, old age, rebellious youth and everything in-between, Junkyard Lucy is a subversive celebration of being alive, a romantic, sexually charged discourse on life, alive, unfettered and free.


Excerpt One:
And I’m walking through the devil infested streets, and all I see are lights greasy and wanting, and all I see is violence and blood-red intentions, and all I see are the generals feasting on flesh, and there was an old friend of mine standing at a street corner with back against telephone pole just watching the cars go by and the lights from the liquor store red and blue and purple and orange and yellow and it’s metal-to-metal striking that note just right and the midnight crazies looking to fuck someone up, but we stop and talk and we’re not afraid and we’re not unhappy and we’re even bored kinda feeling the end of something,
“I’m just bored with all of this” I say,
He nods and smiles sadly and I wave goodbye and I see all the street-junkies hobbling along with their toothless grins and their one-note thinking, and I see the young girls with sad smiles holding on to nothing at all the predators never far, and I think of losing her suddenly and that tragic afternoon under the sun, sometimes a nice car pulls up to the liquor store and the well-groomed move forward their intentions and true meaning as rotten as everybody else’s and the bank accounts ring like a bell as their fucked-up night-world is about to begin, I think of the 1920’s and Dixieland jazz and Billy Holiday and sipping on cold gin at a Parisian café while Picasso strolls by screaming something wild and crazy, and the young victims died in back alleys then as they do now and as long as people are involved, the shit flows, and I need all your love, baby, all of it day and night…
But I see something else now, I see a movie theater with light bulbs shining on the edge of the billboard full of smiling ideas, and I see a late-night pizza joint with small line-up of guys and gals laughing into the darkness, and I see a middle-aged couple kissing in front of a closed record store and I think of good friends and screaming good times and I’m talking about the light-filled moments everywhere all around –
- and it’s day-time now and I am by a river beams of golden light coming through trees and green all around wooded path leading me into that cool-sunshine shiver and I don’t hesitate, I don’t hesitate to smile and to laugh and to feel alright, and the river ripples in the wind bright-diamond-flickers on its surface, opposite bank showing a few apartment buildings sprouting out from the ever-present green of the ever-present trees, a young woman jogs by thighs jiggling in the hot morning shadow, old man walks slowly leaning on cane smiling lovely and new his youth bubbling just under the surface, and we all wanna get along don’t we, between closed teeth she swears again, between lips parted he smokes and says goodbye, and the college students continue with their misguided learnings, and the proletarians can all kiss my ass, and the rejected rejects triumph once again, and above the skyscrapers the superheroes continue their homo-erotic wrestling, I shake god’s hand and give him a wink, he winks back and smiles and scratches his ass, all my love to you I say, and mine to you he says, then he cranks the electric guitar and starts playing some rock and roll, and all across the universe and beyond and through the back-alley love affairs and the switchblade mornings,
the inside of my mind screams happy thoughts -

________________________________________

Searching for Rebellion: Two Indie Authors Form Edgy Publishing Company
Tony Nesca and Nicole I. Nesca have one question – where have all the fearless artists gone? Unable to find a mainstream publishing outfit that suited their taste for grittier writing, the Nescas formed their own – Screamin’ Skull Press.
For the Beat Generation, controversy was the norm, not the exception.  Creators like Jack Kerouac, William S. Burroughs and Lucien Carr courted debate and made careers out of pushing the proverbial envelope with their poems, books, music and other creative expressions. Living on the fringes of society was considered to be more exciting and fulfilling than conforming to the mainstream.
Authors and married couple Tony and Nicole Nesca feel connected to that Generation through their own work, and their innate understanding of what it means to be artists whose work cannot be deemed ‘conventional’ by anyone’s standards.
Currently writing, editing and publishing their works through their self-publishing venture, Screamin’ Skull Press, Tony Nesca and Nicole Nesca have both cultivated individual styles but have the same mission.
To be frank, we see too much pushed out into the world today that is bland and formulaic,” says Tony Nesca, whose unique, humorous and lyrical sixth novel, ‘Hobo’ is out now. “Every other book is a rip-off of another rip-off. The bookstores are packed with these endless vampire stories and dystopian fairy tales. Where is our Anais Nin? Our Hunter S. Thompson?”
Screamin’ Skull Press exclusively publishes the works of the Nescas, and along with ‘Hobo’, released Nicole I. Nesca’s collection, ‘Kamikaze White Noise’ this year. Raw, electric and with a free flowing mix of prose and poetry, the companion pieces are explorations of sexual freedom, art, death and love.
We knew that mainstream publishers wouldn’t have the courage to publish the kind of work that we want to create,” says Nicole Nesca. “It’s interesting – sometimes we wonder, could Charles Bukowski find success in today’s market?
It’s as if bravery is a dirty word in literature. Fearlessness, to me, is everything to a writer. Although we have our own styles, I think that’s one thing that Tony and I saw in each other when we met – that drive to find truth and peel back the layers in our own work.”
I think we first fell in love with each other’s writing,” says Tony. “Which was a fitting beginning to our story.”
Tony Nesca and Nicole I. Nesca have published 16 distinct works through their Indie Press, and their journey toward a more rebellious future for literature continues.




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Author Bio: Tony NescaTony Nesca was born in Torino, Italy in 1965 and moved to Canada at the age of three. He was raised in Winnipeg but relocated back to Italy several times until finally settling in Winnipeg in 1980. He taught himself how to play guitar and formed an original rock band playing the local bars for several years. At the age of twenty-seven he traded his guitar for a Commodore 64 and started writing seriously. He has published six chapbooks of stories and poems (which he used to sell straight out of his knapsack at local dives and bookstores), six novels, four books of poetry and stories and has been an active contributor to the underground lit scene for twelve years, being published in innumerable magazines both online and in print.


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Author Bio: Nicole I. NescaNicole Nesca was born in Ohio. She developed a love of music, painting and writing early on and continued that love throughout her adult life. While living in Canada, she completed her first three works of poetry and prose collected in the anthology piece, KAMIKAZE WHITE NOISE., and her latest release of poems, Diamond Scarred Alley. She has been published in several E-Zines and has been a part of two anthologies.




Monday, November 14, 2016

Book Tour & Author Interview With Brandon Zenner - The After War



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Book Genre: Post Apocalyptic, Dystopian. Can fit in Thriller, Literary, and Science Fiction 
Publisher: Brandon Zenner
Release Date: October 20, 2016

Book Description:
Two years have passed since mankind faced extinction. 

Brian Rhodes and his cousin, Steven, are leaving the protection of their underground bunker for the first time, after a cataclysmic war and unrelenting disease ravaged the earth. 
On the other side of the North American continent, young Simon Kalispell is leaving the safety and seclusion of his cabin deep in the woods, traveling with his aging canine companion, Winston. 

For individual reasons, these men are traveling east, where the fragmented lives of a small number of survivors will soon be decided by the choices of a corrupt few. 

Simon Kalispell and Brian Rhodes are not yet aware, but the strength that resides inside them will soon be tested, and destiny will call for their fates to be forever intertwined.



Welcome to Immortality and Beyond. May I offer you a drink?
Vampires Wine
Witches Brew
Zombie Blast

Vampire wine, please

Zar, our Zombie Butler will fetch that for you. Zar…

Thank you Zar

*Drools* while handing drink over…



*Rolling eyes* You may return to your quarters now. Please don’t mind him, sometimes he just gets so excited when we have guest authors. He’s only ever bitten somebody once, *grins*.

Now that we’re settled in, let’s chat. Shall we?

BK:  How did your writing journey begin?

It’s hard to say exactly how it began, but if I had to give one reason, it’s because I love to read. I was a bit late to reading, mostly because I didn’t enjoy the school-issued books when I was young. Then when I was around thirteen or so, I started reading Kurt Vonnegut, and my interest exploded not only to reading but to writing too.  

BK:  Please share with us how your current release came to life...

It began with a simple idea I came up with when I was sixteen, going for a walk in a nearby park with my friends. All I had back then was a skeleton concept, but I knew I had something that I would want to one day make into a novel. It took a long time to iron-out the details, and although I tried to begin writing it when I was in my early twenties, I didn’t truly begin until I was twenty-eight. It took seven more years, and a full re-write, for the book to come to life. Now, I can’t be happier with way the book developed into what it is today.

BK:  Do you let your characters tell the story, or do you often fight with them on the direction it will take?

There is always some fighting, but I like to let my characters tell the story. Often times, I don’t know exactly how things are going to turn out until I see the characters interacting, seemingly on their own.

BK:  How do you keep your writing different from all the others that write in this particular genre?

I make no effort to change my writing style to anything other than what comes out naturally. I have no idea if my style is similar to other authors. I never really thought about it, to tell you the truth. I read all variety of genres, not only post-apocalyptic. In my opinion, if you want your writing to stand out, then write naturally, and don’t force it to be something that it’s not. The words will show it, and people will appreciate it.

BK:  Which character was your favorite to write for in this story? Why?

Tough question. So tough, that I can’t narrow it down to just one single character. In the future, I would like to write both full-length novels and short stories on many of my secondary characters, not relating to this novel at all, because I like them so much. Both of my main characters, Brian and Simon, have attributes that make them special and stand out. Brian is a bit stoic, and rough-and-tumble, where Simon is a thinker, and humane. Then there are the bad guys, Karl Metzger comes to mind, who I utterly enjoyed writing. So no, I’m sorry, but I can’t decide …

BK:  Tell us about one scene you had the most fun writing…

There are two that come to mind, although I did truly enjoy writing every last word.

Early on, there is a scene when Brian and Steven come upon a town where they are surprised to witness a large group of survivors, and see for the first time the true depravity that has become of much of humankind. They huddle at a window ledge and peer out at a procession or ruthless savages. It was a strong point in the book, and a pleasure to write.

The second scene that comes to mind is one of the last, simply titled, ‘WAR.’ After reading all four-hundred-plus pages of a book titled, ‘THE AFTER WAR,’ and there it is … war. It is a pivotal chapter, and huge for the character development of one of the main characters. I can’t tell you more without giving things away, you’ll have to read it for yourself.

BK:  If you were stranded on an island, which character in your books would you most want to be stranded with and why, and what is one thing that would be a must-have?

Simon, for sure. He’s a survivalist, and knows how to forage for food and water, and how to construct shelters. All I would need is a knife.

BK:  Now for a little fun, tell us a bit about what your office looks like. Do you need silence to write?

Last year I moved, and now I have a great office. I have a vintage ‘60s L-shaped desk, a bookshelf, a small couch, and a large corkboard full of reminders and plot-points. My last few offices, where I wrote this novel, changed a few times. First, it was a small room and was nothing special. It changed when my wife was pregnant and we needed a nursery. I then went into the basement, which was cold, dark, and not the nicest place to look at. My desk was a slab of wood in a closet, attached to shelves on the either side. But, it had some perks, like being extremely quiet, and forcing me to stare at the screen and type uninterrupted. I finished the second draft of this book down there, and I did it in record time. As far as noise, I like it quiet. I used to listen to classical music when I write, and sometimes still do, but I usually like it quiet.

BK:  What do you like to do when you're not writing?

As I hinted at, I have a young daughter named Sadie. She is my world. I spend all of my time with her. But beside from spending time with Sadie, I like to work out. When I’m working on a new project I run a lot to clear my mind. I also like to travel, although that has slowed down since Sadie’s been born. But now as she’s getting older I would like to hit the road more often.

BK:  What is one thing your readers would be most surprised to learn about you?

I have been bartending at a busy Irish bar for over thirteen years now. In the summer I work full time and in the winters I work part time. It’s great; I get a lot of free time with my daughter, and all of the hours in the day when my mind is the most active and sharp to write.

BK:  What is the craziest thing you’ve ever wanted to write, or have written, even if it never reached public eyes?

It’s not crazy, but my most popular short story is a romance piece. It’s available primarily on one site, and has garnered thousands of views and countless emails and mentions. It’s strange, because I never thought of myself as a romance author.

BK:  What is one piece of advice you can give to aspiring writers/authors?

Believe in your work, and don’t short yourself by thinking you know everything right off the bat. Make an investment in your work by hiring editors, cover designers, and formatters. Listen to what other successful authors have to say, and turn your ambitions into a job, even if it’s not making any money yet. Designate time to write, and punch in and out (metaphorically speaking).

BK:  What can we expect from you in the future?

I have many ideas for novels, one of which I’ll be starting soon. They can all be herded into the thriller genre, but they range from post apocalyptic, to medical thriller, to crime.

BK:  Where can readers connect with you?

You can sign up for my email list at http://www.brandonzenner.com, and receive the short story, HELIX ILLUMINATED for free. Facebook is also a good place, I’m pretty active: https://www.facebook.com/brandon.zenner/ - Also, I’m on twitter https://twitter.com/SlapstickII



Steven said, “What’s that—” but Brian hushed him. A rumbling noise was now unmistakable, growing louder ... and then something else. Steven’s eyes grew wide, staring at Brian. There were muffled voices in the distance—many voices, some laughing, others obscure.
Brian stood and motioned forward. They sprinted to the waist-high fence in front of the house, swung the gate back, and ran to the door. They paused. Brian held the handle and took a deep breath.
They exchanged glances, nodded, and then stormed into the house. Brian led, crouching lower than Steven, who swept his rifle to the left and right. They entered the living room and could see straight back into the small kitchen. Many of the cabinets and drawers had been left open and cleared of anything other than mouse droppings. The counters and side tables held little ceramic knickknacks and family pictures, all placed on top of yellowed doilies. Everything was covered with dust. Some pictures had fallen to the ground with the broken glass scattered about.
An ashtray sat on the coffee table, overflowing with cigarette butts, several of which had been extinguished on the table itself. Beside the ashtray were two half-bottles of brown liquor. Brian and Steven swept the bottom floor and proceeded to the stairway, passing a pile of garbage—empty soup cans, crumpled cigarette packs, broken bottles.
The stair treads groaned with each step as they went upstairs. The hallway at the top led to bedrooms at both ends and a bathroom directly across from the staircase. The bathroom was empty, and they proceeded to the far bedroom. The simple room had a bed in the center, a TV on a dresser, and two nightstands on either side of the bed. The windows were open and the wind billowed the once white curtains. A four-poster bed occupied the bulk of the room, and under a soiled knit blanket lay the form of a person.
Oh, Jesus Christ,” Steven said.
They approached the body. Brian was shaking and sweating, his finger vibrating over the trigger of his rifle. He stepped close and extended his hand to move the blanket away, but Steven reached forward and grabbed his wrist. Brian looked at him; he was shaking his head and was as white as paper. Brian looked back at the body. The form was small and shallow, and the bedding around the body was stained yellow. Bones.
They left the bedroom and ran to the room at the other end of the hallway, which faced the direction of the valley. The room had been in the process of being painted before the owner perished, and all the furniture was draped with canvas cloths. Paint cans and rollers were set on plastic sheets, dry and brittle.
They crouched behind the double window and Brian found his binoculars under his poncho. His fingers trembled on the focusing wheel.
“Dear mother of God ...”
A procession was heading down the main street of town. Two columns of savages marched in near unison. But these men were no soldiers. They were ragged and filthy, and carried with them a wide assortment of weaponry—rifles, machine guns, pistols. Many held sledgehammers, machetes, various swords, and large and small pry-bars, some the size of walking sticks. These improvised weapons were scoured at the ends to reveal the steel of which they were made, gleaming like silver, and were muddied with earth and gore. The men looked as if they had marched out of some dismal pit of hell that had vomited them forth, seeming to defile the earth of which they trod. They wore a vast array of military clothing of no particular origin and had adorned themselves and their weapons with torn pieces of red cloth, like flags, along with garnished trophies of war—what looked like dried, brown human ears and tanned hides. They cast about them a red and brown hue, as if they wore these shades as part of a collective uniform.
Pickup trucks rumbled along with the procession, their flatbeds full and covered with sheets. Long ropes trailed from the bumpers, extending to latch around the necks of several pink, naked human beings, both male and female, all with their hands and wrists bound. A body dragged along the ground, bumping over the pavement, lifeless and ground raw. The naked humans who were still alive were prodded forward by whips and crudely made spears with strips of red material tied under the points, so that they blew in the wind like macabre flags of the damned.
Brian removed his hunting rifle from his backpack, unsnapped the covers on the scope, and leaned it on the windowsill.





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Author Bio:
Brandon Zenner is an American fiction writer and an Amazon best selling author. His short fiction has been published in both print and online publications, the first being submitted when he was 19 years old. THE EXPERIMENT OF DREAMS, his debut eBook thriller, has reached Amazon's best seller list many times. His second novel, WHISKEY DEVILS, was released in early 2016. THE AFTER WAR, a dystopian thriller, was released in fall 2016. His genres of choice are thrillers, crime, dystopian, and science fiction.

Author Links -
Website http://www.BrandonZenner.com
Blog https://brandonzennerblog.wordpress.com
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/brandon.zenner/
Twitter https://twitter.com/SlapstickII
Linkedin https://www.linkedin.com/in/brandon-zenner-28781598?trk=hp-identity-name
Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7908718.Brandon_Zenner
​Amazon https://www.amazon.com/Brandon-Zenner/e/B00IQVO1UK






Friday, June 27, 2014

Book Blast & Giveaway: Wizdom and Pandora by K.M. Woodard



About The Author:

A lifetime resident of the Washington, DC area, K.M. Woodard has always enjoyed the outdoors and loves to 

travel. After working 17 years with the MetLife Insurance Company, she pursued her career as a Federal Law

Enforcement Agent with Homeland Security and has a Masters Degree in Criminology. A true Tolkien fan, her 

passion for medieval and ancient times and her personal travel adventures often inspire ideas for new books.

Her active imagination and fascination with escaping reality to a world of enchantment, mystery and suspense

has resulted in a series of novels sure to delight readers looking for fast-paced adventure at every twist and 

turn, interspersed with a smidgen of humor.

Author Links - 

www.wizdomandpandora.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/WizdomandPandora

Twitter: @wizdomandpandor

Goodreads member/blog: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7380415.K_M_Woodard

Amazon link: http://www.amazon.com/Wizdom-And-Pandora-Quest-Blood/dp/1468538020/ref=sr_1_1?

ie=UTF8&qid=1400258256&sr=8-1&keywords=wizdom+and+pandora



Book Genre: Young Adult/Fiction/Fantasy
Publisher: Authorhouse
Release Date: 10/30/2014


Book Description:

Wizdom didn't know dragons really existed. He's never ridden a white woolly mammoth or flown on a griffin. He's never known a real king or a princess or been friends with a goblin. Wizdom's never seen elves that glow blue all the time. All he's ever known are his adoptive mother and his aunt Kayden. One day he finds himself in a secret world, face to face with dragons and fire monsters. He meets an interesting girl, Pandora, who he learns is no ordinary girl, just as he is no ordinary boy. Wizdom soon finds himself on a magical journey full of secrets, sorcery, danger and evil. He fights many fierce battles and faces certain death as his quest leads him on an adventure like never before as he discovers his true identity . . . or does he?

Excerpt:

Wizdom stared in awe, unconsciously holding his breath, as
he looked up the endless staircase of gleaming black marble
before him. The air around him was damp and musty and tickled his
nostrils. Cobwebs hung overhead, dangling high above him from the
towering ceiling. Perched at the top of the stairs was a large, golden
dragon throne. Sitting on white marble, it was surrounded by statues
of goblins, gargoyles and other strange creatures. They all stared back
disconcertingly at Wizdom, some with tongues out, others with piercing
eyes, bared teeth or pointed ears. The dragon’s head held its mouth
agape, as if ready to devour him, revealing a long golden tongue jutting
out and sharp pointed teeth. The arms of the throne were created by
the front legs of the dragon and the claws made up the feet of the chair.
A huge tail jutted out from the back of the chair and coiled around
to the front like a sitting cat. Three spikes on the tail’s end glistened
in piercing diamond shards. Giant wings stood out from the dragon’s
back, poised for flight, black and shimmering like dark sapphires. Its
eyes were large rubies, and its body was sprinkled in faceted jewels.
Two spiraling horns jutted out from its head, over a foot of solid gold,
with diamonds on the tips. Held within the horns shone an enormous
crimson red stone, casting an eerie glow and dancing shadows over the
stone statues surrounding it.

What was this place? Where was he? He dared to move forward,
ever so slowly, toward this great altar. His pulse racing, palms sweating,
he paused momentarily, staring up at the dragon’s red gleaming eyes.
As he approached the stairs, the dragon’s fiery eyes stared down at him
unnervingly, as if it was alive, watching him.

Wizdom wondered about how he had gotten there. How did he
get here? He glanced around the great hall surrounding him. Flickering
candles, sconces and torches aligned the walls of marbled stone. The
ceiling was several stories high and great pillars supported the wooden
arches above him. Shadows and darkness surrounded him, except for
the faint glow of the iron torches, and the scarlet glow of the jewel
radiating from the dragon’s crown jewel. He could feel some sort of
power emanating from it as he stood there. It made him feel happy and
safe, despite his surroundings.

Suddenly, he saw movement out of the corner of his left eye. He
looked quickly, but saw nothing. Turning to scurrying sounds to his
right, he still saw nothing but black. Was he imagining things? Because
of the obscuring darkness, he could not see very far, only as far as the
torches lining the walls. He was only eleven but he was an adventurer
and never scared and despite his current situation, he normally loved
mysteries and secret places. Unconsciously, his pulse kept racing as

the silence crept eerily around him… 







Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Book Blast & $50 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway - True Nature by Jessica Freely




Author Bio:

Jessica Freely can't resist a wounded hero. As a reader and a writer, her favorite stories are of soul mates finding redemption in each other's arms. Married to the love of her life in a beautiful relationship based on mutual goofiness, Jessica also warps minds as an instructor in Seton Hill University's Writing Popular Fiction MFA program. Her dog, Ruthie, doesn't seem to care that Jessica's an award-winning and best-selling author in multiple genres. She just wants to play tug of war with Jessica's pages.

Author Links -

Jessica Freely Online:
Website & Blog: http://jessicafreely.com



Book Genre: Paranormal Gay Romance
Publisher: Loose Id
Release Date: April 22
Buy Link(s):

Loose Id Buy Link: 

Book Description:

Lake Clearwater--conservation officer and water spirit--has just been appointed guardian of Gem Pond by The Powers That Be. It's the first time in eight years he's had a real home and he's determined to protect it, even if that means hiding his attraction to his sexy new partner, Forrest Oakwood.

Forrest is a native of the Gem Pond area and the guardian of its trees. He knows the land and its people are a crucial lynchpin in the natural order. He also knows that if he comes out, his boss in the DNR, Sgt. Dennison, will find an excuse to fire him. But ignoring his true nature was a lot easier before Lake Clearwater showed up. The man's a walking, talking wet dream.

Meanwhile, local residents--human and animal alike--conspire to bring Lake and Forrest together. The land needs its guardians united and at their full power. Dennison wants to cut down the trees to make room for water slides and tennis courts. If Forrest and Lake don't embrace their passion for each other, they'll be unable to stop him and that would be a disaster, not just for Gem Pond but for the entire natural world.

Excerpt One:

It was full dark and snowing by the time Forrest finished his report. He stood up with a groan and stretched his stiff muscles.
Clearwater sat at the kitchen table, playing a game of solitaire. He looked up as Forrest entered and smiled. “Want some soup? I made it myself.”
Forrest wandered to the stove and sniffed suspiciously at the simmering pot. It actually smelled pretty good. “What is it?”
“Lentil.”
“Vegetarian, right?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t mean it’s not delicious. Here, let me get you a bowl. Sit down. What do you want to drink?”
Forrest allowed himself to be herded over to the table.
A few minutes later, Lake set a plate with bread and butter beside him, poured him a glass of milk, and set a steaming bowl of lentil soup before him. It was kind of like being a kid again only…
Only Lake didn’t look anything like his mom. He sat down opposite Forrest now, tucking his long blond hair behind his ears. His green eyes gleamed as he waited for Forrest’s reaction.
Forrest took a spoonful. Flavors of sage, rosemary, and garlic burst across his tongue, borne by the silken seduction of pulverized lentils. “Mmmmmm.”
Lake sat back, looking like a bear with a piece of honeycomb. “Good, huh?”
He nodded, but apprehension stole in upon him. “You trying to convert me, Clearwater?”
Lake widened his eyes as if to feign innocence. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Like hell. Forrest enjoyed the soup anyway.
* * * *
As he washed the dishes, Forrest’s thoughts returned to the events of the night before. He remembered Clearwater’s body stretched out in the bed, naked and tan, all long lines and flat planes. As he washed his supper dishes, his fingers tingled, remembering the silken texture of that warm, smooth skin. How he wanted to touch those rose-pink nipples, tease them, and watch them become erect, and then dip his head down, circling each one with the tip of his tongue as Clearwater’s gasps and moans of pleasure bathed his ears.
“Think I’ll turn in early and do some reading,” Clearwater said.
Forrest started, dropped the soapy bowl, and splashed water all over his shirt.
Clearwater laughed. “Sorry.”
“Just not used to having someone else around.” That should have been someone so hot around. Forrest fought to quell his burgeoning erection.
Silence. Clearwater was still there. No footsteps announced his departure. But he didn’t say anything. What was he doing? Embarrassment and irritation doused Forrest’s libido, and he was able to turn around without humiliating himself.
Clearwater stood in the doorway, staring at him.
“What?”
“Officer Riverbend… Not much of a talker?”
The understatement forced a smile to Forrest’s lips. “You could say that.”
Clearwater nodded. “I’ll try not to overwhelm you with my relentless chitchat.”
“That’s not what I meant. I just… I don’t know. It’s just…” What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he complete a sentence?
“It’s a change.”
“Yeah.”
They stared at each other in silence. Forrest felt the stillness of the winter night settle around them.
Suddenly Clearwater drew a deep breath and turned away. “Well, good night.”
“Good night.”
Forrest finished up the dishes. Yawning, he went into the bedroom and grabbed his PJs. Clearwater was already in bed. One rosebud nipple peeked out from beneath the blanket as he lay on his back, reading a book. No pajama top. What about the bottoms? 












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