Seriously, Luki and Sonny and a couple of fellow characters are going on tour tomorrow… well, very limited tour. There will be another contest, I believe there may be an early review available, and the characters and I will have something to say. (I’m interviewing them again.) The shenanigans will begin at 12 noon Pacific on Thursday and go through Friday night sometime. (Too specific?)
Best to start at
my Goodreads blog.
The rest of the posts will be
at Drops of Ink (Anne Barwell’s page),
at Rhys Ford’s Blog,
at Emotion in Motion (Elizabeth Noble’s site),
and my own Wordpress blog, Sylvre.com.
And, on Saturday, a last bash for Yes at Dreamspinner Groups discussion board.
What about today’s winner? I’ll announce in a comment to this post one hour after the party ends, and post at my Goodreads blog–the link is above.
Thank you everybody for coming to the party, reading, commenting, playing! It has truly been a pleasure.
The image above is a bit of the beautiful land along the Strait of Juan de Fuca. If you’ve been following Luki and Sonny, you’ll know that Luki has adopted Sonny’s home as his, and Sonny’s home is situated on the shores of the Strait. Though this is perhaps a rockier shore than Sonny’s, it’s close enough, and beautiful enough, so that we can use it to set the scene for the beginning of this little tidbit, which happens on a day when Luki is feeling lots better than he has for a while…
Sonny walked out of the house carrying an empty basket, planning to take the
sheets and blankets off the line. He had dyed and woven the sheets himself,
heavy winter silk for this time of year, as a gift for Luki, and for himself,
too. He loved them best when the sun shone for a day and he could dry them
outside. They tossed like brilliant flags for hours, and when he put them on the
bed they smelled of the wind. But on the way to his task, he caught sight of
Luki practicing Tai Chi in the wet sand at the edge of the waves. He set the
basket near the door and changed course, heading for his favorite drift log.
Once there he stripped his shirt to feel the sun on his skin and sat to watch
his lover, his partner, his heart’s precious desire dance in the cooling fall
“As beautiful as ever,” he said aloud. Silently he added, as beautiful as
`before’. He steered his thoughts away from defining `before,’ and he didn’t
stop to consider whether, in a physical way, Luki really was just as beautiful.
It didn’t matter. Luki remained the most glorious person alive, for him. And
Sonny wanted him. His nostrils flared at the thought of Luki’s skin sliding
against his own.
He wasn’t starved for sex, by any means. Over the past weeks, on the days Luki
felt okay, they’d made love sometimes. But the feeling, the tone and timbre of
it had changed in some way that was so elusive Sonny couldn’t even weave the
feelings into thoughts. Not that he wanted to. He struggled, in fact, not to
think about it, not to notice that it was always him that initiated sex, that
Luki’s involvement felt subtly like compliance, that though they shared their
bodies, though their orgasms sometimes grew fierce, to Sonny it felt a little
But when Luki finished the Tai Chi form, stretched up toward the sky, and turned
to catch his eye, Sonny knew something was about to begin, and it would be
different. It would be dangerous and safe and sweet all at once, as only Luki
could make it. Because Luki had that look, that deceptively icy challenge that
was his version of come-hither. A call that always scared Sonny just a little
bit, a call he couldn’t, would never want to resist. The one outward sign of the
heat Sonny knew lay just on the other side of Luki’s eyes was his white teeth
and sweet pink tongue sliding over his lower lip. Luki came closer, stopped a
long two strides outside Sonny’s reach. An outrageously, but oh-so-sweetly cruel
distance, so sensual Sonny’s breath flooded away and left him open-mouthed and
All this before even a touch.
Sonny rose and moved forward locked into Luki’s ice blue eyes, relieved and even
more turned on to see that old, secret smile hiding behind them. Luki gathered
up Sonny’s long, heavy hair, wrapped it around his hand, and pulled Sonny
closer. Luki had done just that very thing the first time they made love, years
ago. Now, as then, it swept Sonny into passion he would have been hard pressed
Thank the saints no need for that arose. They kissed, inched closer, kissed
harder—tongues twining, lips pressing and sliding. Chest to chest, their hard
pricks pressed together and strained against the clothing that separated them.
Mouths still locked together, Sonny made small, pleading noises in his throat.
And when Luki’s mouth left his to kiss and suck and nip at his neck, Sonny said
it out loud. “Please, Luki?”
Luki kissed his way back to Sonny’s lips then looked him in the eye, separated
only by the length of their noses. “Right here, baby,” he chuckled, “or in the
Sonny, ever practical, realized it was a very good question, took a look around
at the coarse sand, twigs, and splinters. “Yeah,” he said, “in the house, I
think.” As he started to walk that way, though, Luki’s arms, feet, lips, and
other body parts kept interfering, and when he got to the clothesline and the
dry sheets and blankets he’d come out to collect, he tripped into them,
hopelessly tangled. “You did that on purpose,” he said against Luki’s temple.
“Maybe,” Luki answered, and slew all Sonny’s resistance—such as it was—by simply
dragging the flat of his own tongue across Sonny’s open lips.
Thank god for blankets falling from the line to land beneath them, covering the
cool grass. Thank heaven for the low-slung sun painting their skins as they shed
clothes, turning them together into amber sliding over gold. Thank providence
for hand-loomed, winter silk sheets falling from the line, waiting to warm them
as blue twilight snuck up to slip in with its chill.
They sank to the ground, Luki rolling full onto his back and Sonny kneeling
beside him, pulling at Luki’s clothes and then staring openly at Luki’s bare,
hard penis, its shining glans, the sweet orbs of his testes resting below,
sparse, dark curls framing it all. His mouth watered so copiously that he
thought he might literally drool, but he couldn’t stop looking, couldn’t close
his eyes to what seemed at the moment the most scintillating wonder. But then he
glanced up and saw Luki watching him, and the thought evaporated.
“Now, baby,” Luki said, and, meeting no resistance at all, firmly but gently
pulled Sonny’s head down to his erection. Under a cloud of silk, Sonny imbibed.
Delicious. Sweet. Savory. Smooth. Slick. Hard.
Then Luki, still on his back, lifted Sonny’s head away, looked at him with a
soft smile in his eyes, and swiped a thumb across Sonny’s wet lips. He turned
Sonny and pulled him down so that they lay almost on their backs, nearly but not
quite spooned. He wrapped his arms around Sonny, arms still powerful despite his
illness and speaking so loudly of safety that the last little bit of caution,
the bit that Sonny always tried to reserve, fled. “Luki,” he said. “Oh god,
Luki chuckled, sweet in Sonny’s ear. His voice but a rough whisper: “Easy,
baby. Easy. We have lots of time.” He adjusted their positions slightly and
reached both hands around to tease and stroke over the front of Sonny’s body.
“Here,” he said sliding hot hands over Sonny’s belly. “Does that feel good?” He
didn’t wait for an answer. “And here, baby,” he crooned, pinching Sonny’s
already hard, sensitive nipples. “And this … Oh yeah, sweetie, this.” He ran
the flat of his hand down past Sonny’s erection, combed through the thatch of
dark hair to curve his hand under Sonny’s balls and gently squeeze. And then he
stroked up, dragging his fingers along the shaft of Sonny’s penis, so slow and
long it seemed to Sonny almost forever.
Almost forever, but not quite, because there was an after.
Luki touched and teased, caressed, stroked, until Sonny’s breaths came long and
deep, each one an almost-moan of pleasure. Licking across his ear, Luki
whispered. “Sweet man. Sweet, sweet man.”
“Luki,” Sonny breathed.
And then Luki proved once again that he knew Sonny well
and loved him a lot, because he heard Sonny’s worry in that one word, buried as
it was in passionate breath. Luki tightened his embrace a little, briefly. “What is it, baby? What do you
Sonny shivered at the touch of Luki’s breath in his ear. “Oh,” he said, in
surprise. But then, “Oh god, Luki. I want you so much. I want you in me, want
you to take my ass, but damn … damn.”
Luki twisted around now and looked at him, brow crinkled in puzzlement. “What,
sweetie? What is it?”
Sonny rolled over and buried his head in Luki’s shoulder. “Honey, the lube’s in
the house!” Luki laughed right out loud, which was such a rare and wonderful
event that Sonny forgot to be angry about being laughed at, and about the mood
“Sonny,” Luki said once he’d stopped laughing and controlled a light cough.
“Sweetie, you are the best thing that has ever happened to the world. And I love
you. And I’ve got the lube thing covered—it’s almost like I planned it. Where’s
my shirt?” He rooted around under the heavy sheets until he found it, reached in
the breast pocket, and pulled out the tube of high-powered lip salve he got as a
fringe benefit of chemo. “Look baby,” he said, and then when Sonny lifted his
head, added, “Ta-daa!” He laughed again.
Sonny, uncharacteristically grave, said, “But Luki, you need that!”
“No,” Luki said, his voiced once again infused with passion. “A little goes a
long way. See?” Gently chewing his lower lip, he squeezed a dab onto a finger
and reached down to rub it over the head of Sonny’s penis, circling the ridge,
drawing it—still with one finger—down the underside and over the testes’ sac,
sliding like satin all the way. He leaned over to slip his tongue past Sonny’s
open lips, then bit the bottom one lightly and tugged at it. He started up a
rhythm with his hand, moving it up and down Sonny’s hard penis, torturing him
with pleasure until finally Sonny became assertive.
“Give me that,” he said, and grabbed the tube, collected some of the serum on
his fingers and applied it to Luki’s erection, giving the same treatment he got.
They lay together, kissing and tonguing, stroking together until Sonny finally
cried out, “Stop! Fuck me, please Luki. I mean now.”
I’m pretty sure your day would be fine if I skipped right to the part about the cat, nevertheless here’s my standard bio:
Lou Sylvre hails from Southern California but now lives and writes on the rainy side of Washington State. When she’s not writing, she’s reading—fiction in nearly every genre, romance in all its tints and shades, and the occasional book about history, physics, or police procedure. Her personal assistant is Boudreau, a large cat who never outgrew his kitten meow. The noise she makes with bagpipes should be outlawed, but she plays guitar okay and loves to sing. She also loves her family, her friends, a Chihuahua named Joe, and (in random order) coffee, chocolate, sunshine, and wild roses.
Here’s a couple of extra facts: I’m a civil servant of sorts, a job I do in order to bring in enough money to feed and house my cat. At 17, I hitchhiked across the US in both directions (Long Beach, CA to Woonsocket, RI, then to St. Joseph, Missouri, then back to Long Beach). It wasn’t fun, but it was an experience. I frequently write at Barnes and Noble in the cafe. I know–weird.
Pictures of me? I have none, really.
Well, okay, that’s the crocheted version, made by Swallow. Ultra-cute but not quite as sexy as the real thing. I admit.
Pictures of my assistant? Sure! Here you will find him practicing the dark arts (in the basket), endeavoring to help me see the light about my mistaken plot twists, and finally resting from his efforts. His name is Boudreau (he’s French).
The cover artist for Yes is Reese Dante, and she’s also done the covers for the other two Vasquez and James books I’ve had published to date.
Loving Luki Vasquez
and Delsyn’s Blues
Those are wonderful covers, right? But now, here’s my favorite, the cover to brand new release, Yes Get ready to feast (your eyes). Here it is:
And now the blurb
Yes: A Vasquez & James Novella
Professional badass Luki Vasquez and textile artist Sonny James have been married for five years, and despite the sometimes volatile mix, they’re happy. From their first days together, they stood united against deadly enemies and prevailed. But now the deadly enemy they face is the cancer thriving inside Luki, consuming his lungs.
As Luki’s treatment proceeds, Sonny hovers near, determined to provide every care, control every thread of possibility just as he does when he weaves. But he can’t control the progress of the cancer or how Luki’s body reacts to the treatment regime. Sonny tries, but Luki dances with cancer alone—until he gets a startling reminder of the miracle of life. With renewed determination and mutual love, the two men emerge from their coldest winter into a new spring day.
And the contest: Simple. Just ask me a question–any question, about me, the book, the characters, as personal or broad, trivial or important as you wish. Ask in the comments here, and you’re in the running for an ebook copy of Yes. Be warned, however, that if I don’t know the answer I reserve the right to make one up.
(Still to come, excerpt(s), author update (also update on my assistant, Boudreau-the-large-grey-cat), some tidbits about Vasquez and James, and maybe another contest…
Hello! I’m Lou Sylvre, author of the Vasquez and James books, including Yes (A Vasquez and James Novella), released by Dreamspinner Press today.
I know it’s standard to start the party by posting the blurb that’s on the website, and I will do that in the next post. Right now I’m going to break with tradition. I’m going to start out by saying: Yes is not about the wedding. Seriously. Read on…
A brief history of Vasquez and James:
Luki Vasquez and Sonny Bly James met by chance on the street in the early pages of Loving Luki Vasquez, and got their relationship off to a rocky beginning. When a not-quite-sane criminal threatened their lives, they each recognized in the other the “good thing” they might have missed. They survived because Luki’s a badass and Sonny’s the very definition of courage, so naturally they got together for good.
Well… sort of for good. By the time Delsyn’s Blues rolls around, beginning late the following winter, Sonny has driven Luki away in the midst of his own misery about his nephew Delsyn’s failing health and eventual death. But it turns out Delsyn’s death was a murder, and bad things keep happening after that, and of course Luki is determined not to leave Sonny to face this on his own. Circumstances like murders and gun running—yes gun running—need a badass, like, say, Luki Vasquez just for safety’s sake. So their back together, but the relationship is up and down once again. But, by the time Delsyn’s Blues ends, the lovers are fiancés, and a wedding is in the works.
To repeat, Yes is not about the wedding. No It takes place five years after said wedding has occurred. (Tomorrow, the characters might talk a bit about the wedding in their interviews, but expect to attend the wedding in the next V and J suspense thriller, Finding Jackie, still in the creation stages.
Yes is sort of about the cancer in Luki’s lungs. I say sort of, because it’s really not about the disease, but about the struggle Luki and Sonny face in their fight for Luki’s life, how they live with it, love through it. Although authors usually don’t like to give away the end, in talking about Yes, I make an exception. Readers, it is a romance, and the ending is a happy one. But in telling you that, I’ve told you nothing at all about the soul of this story, which lies in the hearts of these two exceptional men.
I’ve enjoyed having the opportunity to share some bits of Delsyn’s Blues. I certainly hope you enjoyed the reading, and want to read more. If you do, and if you enjoy reading paperback rather than ebook the first 20 paperbacks purchased at Dreamspinner will be signed by me. In addition, if you won a paperback today, I’ll sign your copy, too.
I’ll contact contest winners via the email left here on the comment, or the email you sent your entry with if you sent it directly to me. You can check back here, or check at my Goodreads author blog: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4873260.Lou_Sylvre/blog. That’s also the best place to keep in touch, and I hope you will. Comments and questions are always welcome on the blog or my “chat group” at Goodreads, and I post about my own writing—including what’s coming up for Sonny and Luki—there, more than anywhere else. And, I didn’t get a chance to blog about a couple of things that I wanted to get to today, so that will be coming up on Goodreads, mostly for fun.
Thank you so much for being here today, and huge thanks to Dreamspinner Press genies for hooking me up with this opportunity to blog.
(This is one of the softer, gentler, isles in the San Juans, just at nightfall.)
Climbing over the gunwale, Luki remarked, “Why did you call this a bucket? Looks like a perfectly good boat.”
“Look over the side, back there.” Sonny pointed.
“Melvern’s Bucket,” Luki read. “Oh.”
“So, anyway,” Sonny said. “Off we go to Mack’s Island.”
Luki had already sat down and started to do his routine weapons check. He tended not to be as heavily armed these days as he had been when they first met. But he still had his favorite handgun and two knives, and of course, a supply of ammunition and nylon handcuffs. He
was taking stock now, making sure everything was where and how it was supposed to be, a job clearly requiring that a cigarette hang out of his mouth. He puffed at the damn thing without using his hands, which meant he had to keep his eye squinted like Charles Bronson in The Mechanic and his face scrunched up on one side—the side with the scar. Sonny hated that he looked damn sexy that way.
“It’s not fair,” he said.
“What’s not fair?”
That something can look sexy and kill you at the same time. He shook his head to dismiss Luki’s question, didn’t answer at all out loud.
Besides, there were other things he needed to have his mind on now. And he hadn’t forgotten that one reason Luki seemed lightly armed was because he, Sonny, still had his other gun. Sonny didn’t bring the subject up, but he was pretty sure Luki hadn’t forgotten either.
Sonny set the boat in motion, having a fair idea of the coordinates and a fair sense of direction. Not more than fair, out on the water, just like he only had a fair ability to drive the damn boat. Melvern had insisted he learn, but… well, it just wasn’t a car. He couldn’t remember the first time he’d lain across a hood wrenching on a car engine, but as far as activities go, cars had always been what he loved best—aside from weaving and dyes and that sort of thing. And now, aside from Luki. Everything to do with Luki. Including staring at Luki, watching him smoke his lungs dry and play with guns. Disgustingly, Sonny wanted to weave him like that.
“I hate being on the water,” Luki said.
“Yeah?” It didn’t surprise Sonny; he just didn’t know why.
“I’ve had not so good things happen around water, you know?”
“Like getting beat up and cut and generally gay-bashed?”
“And almost drowning while getting blown up in a river.”
Luki holstered his gun and adjusted the position of the leather accessory, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and looked up at Sonny.
Not smiling. “That too.”
Sonny sighed and stepped over to his lover, letting the Bucket drive itself for a moment. He stood in front of Luki, so close he had to
part his legs to either side, which basically parked his sex in Luki’s face. He wished they had more time, but second best would have to do. He buried his hands in Luki’s curls, forcing him to look up. Then he bent low and eased into a kiss, a long, sweet, sucking and sliding one.
After a moment, he regretfully eased off, kissed Luki’s nose on the way by, and stepped back to the wheel. “Very nice,” Luki said, voice huskier than ever. “But there must be an explanation.”
“Now you’ve had something good happen to you on the water. I hope.”
Luki didn’t answer for a moment—which was okay. He absently patted the big red dog, which had been sticking close to Luki since they’d come on board and now leaned into Luki’s legs and stared with him at the gray planks that made up the deck. There was no way to know if either of them saw what they were staring at. After a moment, Luki looked up, chewing his lip, then he let it slip from between his teeth. “You love me, Sonny.”
Luki said, “I love you back.”
As mentioned in an earlier “mini-excerpt”, Sonny James wears a beany and scarf, putting it on to arm himself against weather and grief when Luki coaxes him out for a chilly walk. But when I first wrote the scene, he had on something far more sensilble, but less colorful and less meaningful. Here’s how the change occurred:
Friend and fellow writer Rhys Ford has a friend who goes by the name Swallow when she does her fine amigurumi. Amigurumi is a Japanese textile art creating small, detailed dolls with yarn. Rhys asked Swallow to create Luki and Sonny for me, and when she did, she gave Sonny a beany and scarf. These are so much in the spirit of Sonny that I took the idea and ran with it. Here are the dolls. You can’t tell from the photo very well, but even though Luki is dressed in finery, Sonny’s jeans are pretty stressed… ! Perfect.
By the way you can find Swallow’s fine work here: http://swallowtt.blogspot.com/
DELSYN played the blues, played his frustration and grief away with old songs, heart songs, songs that did the crying for him and let him laugh. Mostly, anyway.
It was hard, and it didn’t get easier. The summer before, he’d nearly died; he’d been long unconscious, and his brain had almost starved for oxygen—lacking the blood that was instead filling the spaces in his joints. He’d surprised everyone but his uncle Sonny James when, despite everything, he lived. Perhaps he’d surprised even Sonny when his brain recovered, worked almost like normal. But his joints hadn’t been so forgiving, and every bend of knee or ankle, every bit of weight to bear meant pain, sometimes as hot and swift as lightning.
He’d just turned eighteen. This wasn’t the way the world was supposed to work.
Del’s world had narrowed down mostly to Sonny’s acres, a beautiful place that he’d known all his life, but even there he couldn’t go wherever he wanted. A wheelchair is useless over rough, soft ground, and crutches worse, dangerous even. He loved this place and hated it for the trap that it had become. His music—his guitar and his mercifully spared hands—helped. Sonny did what he could: drove him up the coast to Neah Bay, into Port Angeles for a movie, into Port Clifton—the nearest town—for Frappuccino at Margie’s. A couple of times, Luki Vasquez—the man his uncle loved—had carried him on his back as easily as if he’d been a child, took him down to the beach, and helped him wade through the low waves at the edge of the Juan de Fuca Strait.
But he hadn’t once been in the forest, Sonny’s forest, the woods he’d grown up in—and that mattered. One night he’d felt particularly lost and frustrated, and after saying goodnight to Sonny and Luki, he’d left the house by the back door and made halting, unsteady progress on his crutches to the line of trees that guarded the thick forest beyond. The smells, cedar and dust and new-formed frost, were memory and real all at once, and Delsyn desperately wanted to be in there with the trees and insects, just breathing the same air. So, placing the crutches carefully where they didn’t sink, following one weak leg at a time, Delsyn went in.
He only made it a few steps before he needed to rest, so he propped his crutches against a familiar stump, a gigantic memory of the old-growth forest that once lived there, still rotting into red dust a century after it had been cut. He settled himself down carefully into its folds, glad he couldn’t see the bugs that were certainly feasting off the soft pulp even at this time of night. By shifting from foot to foot, he could rest his legs, and then he’d leave. But he was glad he’d come. For once, he’d go to sleep with sweet, forest-scented dreams.
He heard a scrabbling at his feet—probably a vole or a shrew, but he wanted to know just what it was that made the sound. “Light,” he mumbled. “I need a little light.” He always had his phone with him even though it was useless for making calls around Sonny’s place, where no signal could snake past the giant barrier of the Olympic Mountains. He used it to play games. He took pictures. He recorded his own music, the blues he loved to play. He planned to add the SD card to the tapes he’d made on an old cassette deck and give them to Sonny for his birthday in May, if he could wait that long. But for now he thought the phone could help him. He slid his thumb over the screen to light it up but soon realized the glow wasn’t enough to see the ground, and he knew he couldn’t bend down close if he wanted to be able to get back up. “Bummer,” he said and was about to slip the phone back into his pocket when he heard voices.
A man’s voice, rough and hard. “You’re an idiot! A fool, and if I’d known that before I got involved in your little retirement venture, I would have stayed miles away. Those twins are devious, worse because they’re stupid, too, and everyone in the life knows that—even their own daddy. You managed to pull them in, as lame as you are; that should have told you something.”
“I’m not sure it was them—”
“What an ass! They practically advertised the location. They’re the reason we had to move the samples.”
“And you’re the one who brought ’em here. Not the brightest, in my opinion.”
Del caught the sarcasm in the words, could imagine the man’s gesture encompassing Sonny’s land: “Here.”
“I know this place,” the first man said—a voice Delsyn didn’t recognize. “No one will look here. All we need is a little time when the owner—and his latest fuck—are absent, and we can move it again. Arrange it.”
“Don’t even, you bastard. You’re stupid, and thanks to your little minions, nobody’s going to touch this stuff until it cools off. We’ll be lucky to move the goods by spring.”
The men were moving now, Delsyn guessed; their conversation became obscured by a rustle through leaf-trash and brush. Then, suddenly, he realized the voices were getting closer, and all at once he felt very exposed, very crippled, and very scared.
One set of footsteps moved back into the forest, but the other seemed to be looking for an exit, and that one would pass right by Delsyn. If Del had been fully able, if he hadn’t needed the crutches, he could have held still. But he had no faith in his body, and panic sent him stumbling toward the edge of the trees. He wanted to be out before the man caught him.
He might be killed, he thought. He didn’t want to die hidden in the dark.
Too late. Aching to move legs that wouldn’t cooperate, Del shouted “Uncle Sonny!” But he was so afraid, his voice barely stumbled past the fear in his throat. And he was too far away from the house. And Sonny and Luki didn’t even know he was out here.
The voice seemed slimy, seemed to ooze up Delsyn’s spine. “Now, Del, take it easy. You know me. You know I’m not going to hurt you.
All I need is for you to tell me what you think you heard so I can explain. You probably misunderstood. We wouldn’t want you to get yourself hurt, now would we?”
Delsyn tried to answer, hoping he’d be smart enough to talk his way out of it. But he didn’t because he couldn’t. Ever since last summer, when he got upset—good or bad—his throat and tongue locked up, like he couldn’t get the language in his brain to come out into the world. And then….
A blow—no more than a slap, but Delsyn felt the change. Felt the simple knot that had held his damaged brain together slip free. Not in the dark, he thought, and he pushed forward as he fell. With moonlight in his eyes and shining silver on the coastal fog around him, Delsyn began to die.
Later, he knew he was no longer home, knew they had taken him someplace machines could reach him with their long plastic arms. A place to wait. And while he waited, he heard things.
A doctor said, “… very probably will not wake up.”
Sonny answered, “But he woke up before.”
Sonny spoke to Delsyn, sometimes, discussing and scolding as if they were riding in the Mustang on the way to the store. The nurses came in, usually chattering, one of them sounding young and very sweet. Other patients, still able to cuss out loud. Even Luki, singing the blues for him in that scratchy voice when he thought no one else was around. Del wanted to smile. He wanted to touch someone. He wanted to sing too. Then his brain came apart a little more and he dreamed a little farther down in the darkness where it was far too quiet. He entered a tunnel that led to the other side of that line, that fence between life and death. He felt pretty good about it. He’d done the best he could to say goodbye.
And he thought that, after all, dying might have been his own idea.
Okay, here’s a peek at both books, covers and blurbs, and incidentally if you click on the cover images it takes you right to the Dreamspinner Press “store.” The links are to the ebooks, but they’re available in lovely print editiions as well.
(For my next trick, I’m posting about a contest.)
Reclusive weaver Sonny Bly James controls every color and shape in his tapestries, but he can’t control the pattern of his life—a random encounter with Luki Vasquez, ex-ATF agent and all-around badass, makes that perfectly clear. The mutual attraction is immediate, but love-shy Sonny has retreated from life, and Luki wears his visible and not-so-visible scars like armor. Neither can bare his soul with ease. While they run from desire, they can’t hide from the evil that hunts them. After it becomes clear that a violent stalker has targeted Sonny, Luki’s protective instincts won’t let him run far, especially when Sonny’s family is targeted as well. Whether they can forgive or forget, Sonny and Luki will have to call a truce and work together to save Sonny’s nephew and fight an enemy intent on making sure loving Luki Vasquez is the last mistake Sonny will ever make.”
Sonny James and Luki Vasquez are living proof that the course of love never runs smoothly. Ambushed by grief, Sonny listens to a voice singing the blues from beyond the grave. While revisiting the sorrows and failings of his past, in the here and now he puts up a wall against love. Just when Luki chips through that barricade, the couple becomes the target of a new threat from outside: an escalating and unexplainable rash of break-ins and assaults. Thoughts of infidelity rise between them, a threat that may strain their newly mended love past its limits. To come through the trials alive and together, Luki and Sonny will have to unite against enemies who were once friends and overcome crippling hatred and overwhelming fear. If they succeed, maybe then they can rekindle the twin flames of passion and love.”