Fatal Shadows

Vintage books, old china, antiques; maybe I love old things so much because I feel impermanent myself.

Drink your coffee -- people in Africa are sleeping.

And yet there was something about his strength, his arrogance, his sheer size that got under my skin. He probably couldn't even spell vanilla. He was probably selfish in the sack. Probably selfish and greedy and...unsophisticated. And hung like a horse.

He was probably selfish in the sack. Probably selfish and greedy and...unsophisticated. And hung like a horse.

Have I ever told you, you look like Monty Clift? he inquired in a deep, seductive voice. Before or after the accident?

Hey, its not much of a closet is it?" "No. Its not. I don't like closets. Life's to short to spend hiding in the dark.

And why is it the best looking ones are always straight?

You're kind of a smart ass when you're not flat on your face.

Cops before breakfast. Before coffee even. As if Mondays weren't bad enough.

I dug out the powder blue cashmere cardigan my mother Lisa gave me the Christmas before last, pulled on my oldest, softest Levi’s. Comfort clothes; the next best thing to a hug from a warm, living body. Lately there had been a shortage of hugs in my life. Lately there had been a shortage of warm, living bodies.

...do you have someone you can stay with? Hell, stay with your mother. The Pentagon doesn’t have the security system she’s got.” I really would rather die. “I’m not putting my mother in the path of a serial killer. Thanks for the thought.” “God help the serial killer who tackles your mother,” Riordan muttered.

Just shut up and listen.” “Well since you ask so nicely….” There was silence. I listened. He didn’t say anything. “Are we communicating through the Psychic Hotline or what?

You don't look so hot, Adrien." "Yeah, well I'm having a bad heart day." His upper lip curled in a semblance of a smile. "Tell me about it.

Everything a gay man does makes a political statement. Everything matters: where you bank, where you shop, where you eat. When you hold your lover’s hand in public

That's one of the oldest tricks in the world, Adrien-with-an-e.

Thought of Riordan. Thought of a big hand wrapping around my shaft, sliding up and down, pumping hard...harder. The head of my cock leaked a single salty tear to slick my own hand's efforts. Yikes. Think of Bruce. Yeah. Better. Safer. Saner...

They met at one of the Bouchercon mystery conferences. Love among the midlist. “It’s raining cats and dogs!” Ted announced, which gives you an idea of the sort of thing they write.

Then I got another mental image of him, broad chest covered in blond pelt, muscular forearms, big smooth cock jutting out of a silky nest. Riordan ordering me down on my knees, his hand tangling in my hair as he pulled my head toward his heat. The laugh died in my throat.

I couldn't see him putting up with the restraints and discipline of being a Bottom - he wouldn't have been able to remember half the rules - and no sane person would allow Rob to be his Top.

My mother made a sound that from a lesser woman would have been a snort.

You feel rain in a used bookstore. The old pages pick up the damp and mustiness like old bones do rheumatism.

Okay, baby?" Riordan was walking toward me. I realized he was talking to me.

You know, this won’t be an easy thing, Adrien.” An officer-involved shooting was not going to be fun, righteous or not. “The investigation you mean?” “No.” He gave me that crooked smile. “No, I don’t mean that.

Nick’s body covered Perry’s, and he could feel Perry’s fast and frantic heartbeats against his chest. Fast as the frightened pound of something small and gentle ‑‑ a rabbit or a fawn. But when he pulled back to study Perry’s face, he could see the shine of Perry’s eyes and the gleam of his teeth, and he was smiling, not scared, just excited. Nick’s mouth covered Perry’s, and Perry’s lips were warm and soft and welcoming. His breath was light and fast, and it seemed suddenly, strangely precious to Nick. A surge of unexpected emotion tempered his ‑‑ considerable ‑‑ lust.

Maybe he had a gaydar anti-cloaking device.

Homosexuality just wasn’t what it used to be in the Golden Age of mystery writing.

Welcome to the closet, I thought, is it dark in here or is just me