Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Manipulation Update... and Blurb!

Great news, Bo and Lucky fans! I've just gotten Manipulation edits back from my editor, Jerry L. Wheeler, and the super-talented L.C. Chase is polishing up the cover.

Now, for the blurb! (Drum roll, please!) 

Lucky has a new life. His old life wants him back.

He traded trafficking for taking down criminals with the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau, and a drug-lord lover for a man on the right side of the law. Bo Schollenberger found the way past the thorny defenses of Lucky’s heart, and made Mr. I-Get-Along-Fine-Alone think about his and his closets, stevia in the sugar bowl, and a picket fence—with a good lock on the gate.

Now Bo is missing, and a voice long silenced asks, “Did you miss me?”  Lucky must deal with a devil from his past to get Bo back.

And if Bo isn’t willing to come? A drug ring needs its back broken before flooding the US with a designer high, seductive and undetectable. But there’s a fine line between good and evil, and a truckload of temptation urging Lucky to cross. 

Comments? Suggestions?

Monday, September 29, 2014

Fantastic News!

I've just received some fantastic news! Corruption has won an Honorable Mention at the 2014 Rainbow Awards!

Happy dance with me, and follow the link for more details.


  

Sequel to bestselling novels Diversion and Collusion.

Renegade biker. Drug runner. Recovering addict. Wanted by the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau. But he isn’t a crook, he’s the law.

SNB Agent Bo Schollenberger’s solved his cases using his brains and not a gun, and with his partner, not alone. Now he’s handed a tough new case involving designer drugs that turn users violent. One false move could end his life as he immerses himself into a motorcycle gang to locate the source. His fate depends on how well he can impersonate someone else. Someone named Cyrus Cooper.

Cyrus is everything Bo Schollenberger isn’t, including the badass enforcer for a smuggling ring. He establishes pecking order with his fists and doesn’t take shit from anybody, not even the undercover agent who comes to help his case.

Simon “Lucky” Harrison’s always been the best, whichever side of the law he was on. Former trafficker turned SNB agent, he damned well ought to be undercover in this motorcycle gang, instead of hanging around the office going crazy with new policies, new people, and “inter-departmental cooperation” that sticks him in a classroom. Yet he’s passed over for the SNB’s biggest case in decades in favor of the rookie who shares his bed. A man Lucky thought he knew.

When survival depends on a web of tangled lies, lines blur, worlds collide, and a high stakes game turns friend to foe. Lucky knows the difference between Bo the agent and Cyrus the outlaw, but does Bo?


Find Corruption at Rocky Ridge Books.

Sunday, September 28, 2014

What's in a Word - It's in His Kiss

It's been a while since my last "What's in a Word" post, where I examine single words that I feel are lazy and should learn to work harder. Today's word: kiss.

"What's wrong with kiss?" you ask? Like "walk" and "look", it's a perfectly acceptable word...that conveys minimal information.

There are so many different kinds of kisses. The worried mother imparting a peck on the forehead to her nervous first-grader; that shy, fleeting connection of lips and cheek beneath the mistletoe; that drive-by, barely there, absent-minded morning kiss that leaves a sinking feeling in the heart, because you know, sense in every ounce of your being, the relationship you're reading about is on the skids. Then what about that toe-curling, heart-clenching, soul-searing tongue-to-tongue connection of two lovers reunited? Although all of these circumstances involve lips and are indeed "kisses", they are vastly different and short-change a story by being reduced to the lowest common denominator.

Let's use Henri and Seb from my latest release "A Matter of When" to make a point, shall we? Rocker Henri is self-assured, even as an emotional mess. Opera tenor Sebastian is shy and reserved, dedicated to his craft, and needs a bit of coaxing for kissing.

Henri kissed Seb. 

Okay. Yeah. They kissed. So what?

Henri dragged his lips down Sebastian's nose and across both cheeks before finally seeking out his lover's mouth. 

Slow, unhurried. These guys have time. And don't you think this is just the start of something that may continue all afternoon?

Henri took advantage of his lover's gasp, plunging his tongue into Sebastian's mouth. Sebastian hesitated but a moment then dropped his inhibitions, matching Henri stroke for stroke with a passion normally reserved for the stage.

See, very different circumstances. And "kiss" just wouldn't have set the mood. This also has added impact in that Seb is acting out of character, venturing out on a ledge and displaying trust with this one simple gesture.

Not all kisses are loving. In the story, Henri is placed in a situation where his freedom rides on his ability to prove he's crazy. Here's the scene:

He had to do something, anything, outrageous. Beyond rehab stints, trashed hotel rooms, or drunken brawls in seedy clubs. What to do? What to do? Escape lay at his fingertips if he could push his manager a fraction of an inch further. What the hell could he do to piss her off?
Gaze falling on the cop, Henri muttered, “Sorry, pal.” He brought both hands up to hold the officer’s head and slammed his lips down, initiating a game of tonsil hockey with a surprised opposing team.
Some authors have the ability to take the simple act of kissing to new heights and impart intimacy into the meeting of lips to rival any sex scene, to leave the reader breathless.

Like all other words I've mentioned in these posts, sometimes "kiss" is the right word to use. But others? Get creative. Or as the folks I beta for often hear, "Make me feel it!"

Friday, September 26, 2014

A Matter of When Strikes Again!

It never fails. I write the best book I can, pay attention to my betas, crit partners and editors, and lovingly polish the story until it's as shiny as I can get it. Then, it's launched out into the world. I bite my nails. Will this be the book everyone hates? Should I have said that differently on page 70? Will folks know what I mean on page 112? Jeez, a typo! OMG!

So those first reviews can send a writer reaching for the bottle or let them breath a sigh of relief.

There's been a lot of happy sighing at my house, and not a glass of consolation wine in sight. So far, my latest work, A Matter of When, has been very well received.

Yesterday Rainbow Book Reviews' reviewer Lena Grey had this to say about the story:

"There are many things I love about this book. I'm always drawn by anything to do with almost any kind of music, so I automatically loved Sebastian and Henri. I especially enjoyed Eden's song lyrics. They added real depth. The secondary characters are fantastic, particularly Tess; she is simply ethereal, just like the song written for her implies, and a fantastic female role model as well. Portraying the serious subject of abuse was no easy task, but Eden did a great job of showing how easily someone can take over our lives, but how incredibly difficult, physically and emotionally, it is to get out of this crippling position. I recommend this story to everyone who enjoys music, strong character growth, suspense, intrigue, villains, and two handsome men who find each other while finding themselves. Thank you so much, Eden, for making my heart sing."

Read entire review at Rainbow Book Reviews:




 Wealth. Fame. Gold record. Hookers and Cocaine front man Henri Lafontaine has it all…including a control freak manager, band members who smile as they sharpen blades for his back, and last but damn well not least, a fan out to steal his heart. Literally. Trying to write hit songs and plan a comeback in the midst of the hi-fi white noise of LA feels more like watching his world implode, until he’s offered a month in the Colorado Rockies for vocal coaching.

Sebastian Unger’s rich, classically trained tenor inspires wicked thoughts. More than a pretty choir boy, he cracks the whip without hesitation to drive tattooed bad-boy Henri to give his all to his music. Working, fighting, and finally establishing a fragile peace, they find inspiration and perhaps more in each other. But the clock is ticking. Time will pull Henri back to the grit and gold of LA’s mean streets and fame machine, while Sebastian must return to the opera circuit, where a mysterious man known as “the patron” holds far too much sway. Only the trust they've built on a handful of notes bridges their two worlds...and shields them from malice.


A Matter of When is now available at:
Dreamspinner Press
Amazon
All Romance eBooks

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Lovely Words for A Matter of When

Woot! I woke up this morning (far too early, if you ask me) to another stellar review for A Matter of When. Caroline at Prism Book Alliance had this to say about the Henri and Sebastian's story:

"This book absolutely held me from the minute I started it the minute I finished. I fell head over heels in love with Henri and Sebastian and their quiet but passionate love affair."
Find entire review here:

Wealth. Fame. Gold record. Hookers and Cocaine front man Henri Lafontaine has it all…including a control freak manager, band members who smile as they sharpen blades for his back, and last but damn well not least, a fan out to steal his heart. Literally. Trying to write hit songs and plan a comeback in the midst of the hi-fi white noise of LA feels more like watching his world implode, until he’s offered a month in the Colorado Rockies for vocal coaching.

Sebastian Unger’s rich, classically trained tenor inspires wicked thoughts. More than a pretty choir boy, he cracks the whip without hesitation to drive tattooed bad-boy Henri to give his all to his music. Working, fighting, and finally establishing a fragile peace, they find inspiration and perhaps more in each other. But the clock is ticking. Time will pull Henri back to the grit and gold of LA’s mean streets and fame machine, while Sebastian must return to the opera circuit, where a mysterious man known as “the patron” holds far too much sway. Only the trust they've built on a handful of notes bridges their two worlds...and shields them from malice.


A Matter of When is available from Dreamspinner Press and your favorite booksellers. 

Saturday, September 20, 2014

A Fabulous Review for A Matter of When

I don't know many authors who don't shake in their boots when a new book releases, waiting to see how the story will be received. I'll be flat honest here, A Matter of When isn't a hit, so I feared the reviews. Today's five-marble review at Cryselle's Bookshelf helped to ease my mind.

Here's a bit of what Cryselle has to say:

"In trademark style, Eden Winters has swirling issues in the background, well drawn secondary characters (I wanna hear Tessa play the bowls, or the Chinese takeout, or both!) and a sense of place that leaps off the page."
Read the entire review here:

Friday, September 19, 2014

Writer's Police Academy or Eden's Excellent Adventure

Earlier this month I had the privilege of attending an amazing event that I can't recommend highly enough: Writer's Police Academy in Greensboro, NC.  (Love their logo!)

Yes, you heard right, and it's exactly what the title says--a police academy for writers, and a way for us to interact with the cops, undercover operators, and forensics experts that we love to write about. A phrase I heard many times while there: "Get it right." And also, "Forget what you see on CSI." No videos were allowed, and we had to ask if we could take pictures. To be honest, there was so much going on that I didn't get a lot of photos. Sigh. I'll know better next time.

I arrived on Thursday and immediately ran into Lloyd Meeker. One fear I believe all the M/M authors shared was that we'd be the only one in attendance. Well, I knew I wouldn't be, for roommate Silvia Violet arrived shortly thereafter (bringing me yummy vegan chocolates from Asheville!), and later on we met up with Kaje Harper. Woot! Reunion!

We were given programs at sign-up, featuring a variety of classes at various times. So many to choose from! I want... but wait! This one sounds good, but that one  sounds better, and what about this one?

Here's a complete list of classes. I've underlined the ones I attended (and will describe them below), and the only reason I didn't attend more is that up to ten were taught in a single time frame, with most classes offered twice. Decisions, decisions with this kind of lineup!

3rd Alarm Blaze
Cyber Crime
Deep Undercover
Domestic Murder
EMS Ride-Alongs
Firearms 101
Investigation of Felony Murder
Romance Behind the Badge
Why Good Cops Go Bad
Women in Law Enforcement
Building Searches
Fingerprinting and the ARIS System
Microbial Forensics
Memoirs of an Undercover Detective
Prostitution Sting
Researching Exotic Crimes
Tracking Down the Evidence: Footwear Impressions
Broken Bones, Ballistics & Backdrafts: Technical Stuff that Writers Get Wrong
Firearms Forensics
K9 Demonstration
Policing "Back in the Day"
Murder Typology: Varieties of Multiple Murder
Police Gunfighting
Special Ops: What are They Good For?
Suspicious Fire Deaths
TSA/Airport Security
Crime Scene Processing/Evidence Packaging
Equivocal Death Investigations: Manners, Causes, and Mechanisms
Forensic Art and Witness Recall
Real Cops for Real Writers: The Psychology of Cops
Self-Defense for Women
The First Five Minutes of a Code Blue
Underwater Evidence Recovery
ABCs of Death Investigation from a Nurse ME's Perspective
EMS and Crime Scene
Handcuffing and Arrest Techniques
Special Ops: K9, water/dive, SWAT, bike patrol, and more

There were also demonstrations, such as first response to a car wreck, Disarming the Bad Guys, and how a SWAT team blows a door open.

Also there were seminars in the auditorium: From Fact to Fiction with guest speaker Lisa Gardner and Prosecutors, Judges, and Investigations with guest speaker Alafair Burke


 And let's not forget An Evening with celebrated author Michael Connelly!



 There were also prizes galore! Baskets filled with books and other goodies to make writers drool.

Special, by-lottery events:
Aviation and Aerial Surveillance
Jail Tours
Ride-along with on-duty patrol officers

Now, for the classes I attended:

Deep Undercover-Although we were allowed to take pictures of our speaker, we were asked not to post them online. The class started with a 20/20 clip that I actually remember seeing a few years ago, about an officer with the bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms going deep undercover inside a motorcycle gang. (Sound familiar to one of my plot lines?) What an amazing class. And I felt so badly for the officer. Yes, you do get caught up in your created persona, and even make friends with those you'll have to arrest, while being away from your family and friends. My heart went out to that man. I'd hoped to get a signed copy of his book, but hadn't realized they'd be for sale in the class, and didn't have money on me that first day. I couldn't find him at the official book signing event either. Sigh.

Building Searches-I can't believe I didn't get more pictures of me and Silvia Violet "storming the castle" as it were. Our instructor really knew his topic, and we got to see firsthand how officers conduct and home search. After the session, the instructor helped me physically block off the scene in Manipulation where Lucky, Bo, and new character Cruz have to find bad guys in a factory. Woot! At the end I clearly visualized their every move!

Memoirs of an Undercover Detective-What a fabulous instructor, retired NYPD Undercover Detective Marco Conelli. Now, put aside all you've seen on TV about big, rough, undercover cops. This man is one of the softest spoken and unassuming people I've ever met. When I asked him about it, he said: "If you intimidate the suspects they won't cooperate. The drug dealer has to feel he can own you before he'll sell to you." We also learned how to make fake track marks using free weights and a lead pencil, but I digress. I told him all about Manipulation's plot, and he agreed that all the twists and turns sounded perfectly feasible, and even made a few suggestions. He, too, had books for sale, of the YA category, which I purchased for my grandson. He signed them: "To the future fireman." Aww...


Next up was Broken Bones, Ballistics & Backdrafts: Technical Stuff that Writers Get Wrong, which saved Bo in Manipulation from getting shot. Really.

Police Gunfighting - In which I learned how wrong TV and movies are. Most gunfights last three minutes or less, and cops do not pull their guns as often as we seen in film. They're taught early on that "pull the trigger and your life changes. There will be a suspension pending investigation, there will be Internal Affairs, and there will be a lawsuit." Officers don't willingly go there.

Crime Scene Processing/Evidence Packaging- OMG! This class was invaluable to the aspiring crime writer! Not only did I learn exactly how things are done, the speaker gave us her e-mail address to ask question for our books.

I e-mailed her, gave her parameters for the dead body, she asked questions, then gave lots of detail. LOTS. Yeah, that scene will be accurate.


Real Cops for Real Writers: The Psychology of Cops - I have a whole new sympathy for officers of the law. The lifestyle becomes so ingrained that the life expectancy of a career officer who retires is only five years, unless they find new purpose. This class ripped my heart out.

Handcuffing and Arrest Techniques - I only got to stay in this class of a little bit, as my Meggitt session (see below) started about halfway through. Interesting. The instructors were knowledgeable and entertaining.

Perhaps the most intense event of all for me was the Meggitt Session, in which I got to take part in a simulated shootout. Wow! Talk about an adrenaline rush, and a whole new respect for officers and the danger they face.

We were given several scenarios, and had to decide if and when to shoot. Most of us in the demonstration hesitated and either we or our partners were shot.The hardest situation was no one wanted to shoot an eleven year old girl. She killed us all.

We discovered that in this tense situation, things happen very fast, and officers rely on muscle memory more than conscious thought in heated moments. Time actually does distort in such an adrenaline-charged situation.

Mixed in with this fabulous curriculum was dinner and hanging out with Lloyd, Silvia, and Kaje. Lunches could be bought on site, but those of us with special diets had to bring our own food. And so Little Miss I-packed-enough-food-for-an-army got to share her meal with another hungry vegan. We bonded over vegan chocolate cake from Whole Foods.

Look for lots of interesting tidbits in Manipulation, picked up during my weekend spent with professionals.

Next year they'll offer two venues: Greensboro and another TBA. If you get the chance, go. You won't regret it.

I bought another book while there, from retired police officer and even organizer Lee Lofland.


A full list of presenters can be found here.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Lyrics From A Matter of When

In my latest release, A Matter of When, I needed lyrics for lead singer, Henri Lafontaine. After digging through my hard drive a bit, I found some songs that I wrote that I felt would work for the story. Although portions are used in the text, I've included all lyrics in their entirety at the end of the story as bonus material.

At the beginning of the book, Henri is in a very bad frame of mind, and the song he sings in the opening scene reflects his melancholy.



A Matter of When (Date with a Bullet—Original Version)
Got a date with a bullet,
Got a date with a gun,
No matter what I do,
One day it’s gonna come
You say that you love me
But you only speak in lies
Put me down every minute
And I gotta say good-bye
’Cause got a date with a bullet
Got a date with a gun,
And every day that I stay with you
The closer that day comes
Got a date with a bullet,
Got a date with a gun,
No matter what I do,
One day it’s gonna come
It’s just a matter of when

One of the key plot points is how much this song evolves over time, as does Henri himself. 

The second song I included was written from a woman's POV, but changed to a man's in the story.



Ice Inside (Original Version)
Ice inside where her heart used to be
Though she hides it well so none can see
With a smile on her face she fools passersby
I know her well, I see the lie
They only see what she wants them to see
But she can never hide the truth from me
She feels so warm when she acts the part
He can’t see the icicle she has for a heart
He feels complete when she’s by his side
But there’s ice inside, there’s ice inside
He only sees what she wants him to see
But she can never hide the truth from me
Some may believe
Some won’t care
Deep within, she hides despair
Lonely with her lover near
The pain is more than she can bear
There’s ice inside, there’s ice inside
Ice inside where her heart used to be
Though she hides it well so none can see
With a smile on her face she fools passersby
I know her well, I see the lie
When she stands before her mirror at night
Only I can see the ice inside

All lyrics written by Eden Wunters

 Wealth. Fame. Gold record. Hookers and Cocaine front man Henri Lafontaine has it all…including a control freak manager, band members who smile as they sharpen blades for his back, and last but damn well not least, a fan out to steal his heart. Literally. Trying to write hit songs and plan a comeback in the midst of the hi-fi white noise of LA feels more like watching his world implode, until he’s offered a month in the Colorado Rockies for vocal coaching.

Sebastian Unger’s rich, classically trained tenor inspires wicked thoughts. More than a pretty choir boy, he cracks the whip without hesitation to drive tattooed bad-boy Henri to give his all to his music. Working, fighting, and finally establishing a fragile peace, they find inspiration and perhaps more in each other. But the clock is ticking. Time will pull Henri back to the grit and gold of LA’s mean streets and fame machine, while Sebastian must return to the opera circuit, where a mysterious man known as “the patron” holds far too much sway. Only the trust they've built on a handful of notes bridges their two worlds...and shields them from malice.


A Matter of When is now available at:
Dreamspinner Press
Amazon
All Romance eBooks

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

A Heartfelt Apology to Fans of the Diversion Series

I'd just like to take a moment to apologize to the fans of the Diversion series for the delay in the fourth installment, Manipulation.

As you can imagine, with each book Bo and Lucky dig deeper into their cases, and as such, Manipulation required a lot of research. A LOT of research. Everything from the DEA scheduling of hydrocodone products to what a dead body looks like after six months, kept in X circumstances.

And some of that info can't be readily gleaned from the Internet.

Thank goodness that pal Silvia Violet suggested I attend the Writer's Police Academy in Greensboro, NC. Not only did I gain valuable insight for my books, I also have tons of resources now, like a real live forensics expert who asks a lot of questions then tells me about dead bodies. (I'll explain more about the Writer's Police Academy later.)

But rest assured, the manuscript for Manipulation is now complete and being beta read one more time before it's sent off to my editor. I hope to have a lovely new cover to show soon.

Hugs,
Eden

Monday, September 15, 2014

Announcement!

In honor of the release of A Matter of When, and to hopefully give readers a taste for hot rockers, for a limited time Highway Man is free on All Romance eBooks.



Killian Desmond’s dreams died in a flash of pain and the scream of twisted metal. He lost it all the night a tour bus sailed off a mountainside, sending his band—with his brother—to their deaths.

Killian is dead too, if the papers are to be believed, and living a half-life of odd jobs, rodeo rides and pick up gigs. The road that once meant freedom is now Killy’s exile. No strings, no ties, no names for the one-night stands.

Answering a tribute band’s ad thrusts him face to face with his past, and into the arms of the one man who just might understand.

A Matter of When - Release Day Character Introduction - Henri Lafontaine

At long last A Matter of When is now available from Dreamspinner Press. Hot rocker meets reserved opera star. But all isn't smooth sailing on the journey to make beautiful music together.

Today I'd like to introduce Henry Lafontaine, dubbed "Henri" by his manager, lead singer of rock band Hookers and Cocaine. Caught in a downward spiral of his band's self-imploding, he has two choices: give up, or pick himself up and move on.

When you've been in rehab enough tim e to have developed a favorite facility, it's time for a change.  New band, new manager, new songs. But where to begin?

Henri's new manager sends him to the mountains of Colorado for vocal coaching, and opportunity to write new songs, and to get him away from the crazy stalker who drugged him at a party. But the handsome man who answers the door isn't the old man Henri looked up on the Internet. No, instead of Sebastian Unger, he winds up with "Unger the Younger" a rising star of the opera circuit, and not the kind of man Henri ususallly goes for.

But what is life if not an adventure and taking chances?

What better way to introduce you to Henri that with a snippet straight from the book?

***


“I’VE GOT a date with a bullet, got a date with a gun….”

Every word ripped out of Henri Lafontaine, taking pieces of his soul. He pleaded with the audience, tuning out the pinch of tight leather against his knees, and knelt on the edge of the stage. Pain meant he lived, he breathed, he felt.

“No matter what I do, one day it’s gonna come.”

Frenzied fans reached for him, too far away to ease his cloying loneliness. A vise gripped Henri’s innards—more than sweat poured from him with the fatalistic lyrics. One misstep, one leap from the stage, one dive into the pit of sycophants, and the arms reaching for him, the clutching, grasping hands, would hold him close. But not close enough to melt the numbness inside.

“You say that you love me, but you only speak in lies.”

He raised his voice, keeping the tempo pounded out by the quartet of musicians behind him. Not the kind of folks he wanted at his back. Hookers and Cocaine. A stellar name for a group. Most of the members lived up to the title.

“But I do love you, Henri! I do! I do!” A young woman with a tomato-red faux hawk shoved her way closer. Henri beckoned. Security would rip him a new one for violating protocol. Oh well, better to ask forgiveness than permission.

He crammed his whole heart and soul into belting out:

“Put me down every minute, and I gotta say good-bye.”

Images of his manager, his bandmates, critics, and certain members of his entourage flashed behind his closed eyelids. Pressure built in the back of his throat, sending his voice out wavering. Dampness trailed down his cheeks, accompanying a desperate plea for help, which the masses likely understood as merely the lyrics to a top-forty hit.

Aching, longing, isolation, fear—his constant companions.

He panted for a moment, letting the guitar solo wash over him, and swept a sweaty curtain of ebony out of his eyes with one hand. Damn but Ricky played like a maniac. Too bad about the “unmitigated asshole” thing. The guitar for hire coaxing ethereal melodies from a six-string bordered on miraculous, but could be better if he played from the heart and not for the money, the groupies, and the fame. Ditto the drummer, Giles, whose cocaine habit stifled true talent, and doubly so for Vince on the keyboards, “reducing his art” for the paycheck, when he’d bragged often enough of contemporary rock and roll lying far beneath his master’s degree in music.

While the rest of the band wanted the trappings of rock stardom, Henri wanted one more breath. One more inhale, one more exhale. And a little less pain.

A bass beat throbbed, charmed to life by a traitor who’d sold out his brothers to a tabloid. Tomorrow’s headlines would rip the band apart—if they managed to last until dawn. Serpents. He’d surrounded himself with serpents. Or rather, his manager had, someone else with dollar signs in her eyes, blinding her to the golden goose’s swan song.

The fan fought her way forward through a sea of writhing bodies, and Henri extended his hand, signaling “come hither” with wriggling fingers, animating the image etched on his wrist. Fanciful creatures entwined with ivy trailed up his arm, disappearing under his T-shirt sleeve. Before the girl answered the call, the mob closed in, grabbing, clinging, tugging Henri half off the stage. The world turned upside down. He hung over the platform’s edge. Oh shit! He grabbed at an amp and missed. Falling, falling.

“I’ve got you.” Arms around him, but not in the way he needed. A scowling security guard clamped on tight. Great. Just what he needed.

As though he’d not been denied his greatest wish of human contact, Henri started in on the chorus while the guard shoved him back on stage.

“’Cause I’ve got a date with a bullet, got a date with a gun.”

Rising to his feet, head bowed, he cried out for rescue, from thousands who heard the words but not the message.

“And every day that I stay with you, the closer that day comes….”

The band wound down, the drummer dropping back, the bass and keyboards quieting. The lead guitar softened to allow Henri to deliver the final words in what passed for a whisper during a live show.

“It’s just a matter of when.”





THE ENCORE, the reporter gauntlet, the picture taking and autograph signing went by in a blur. Then Henri took the limo ride from hell.

“What’s got into you tonight, Henri? You seem a little down. Or should I be asking, ‘What hasn’t gotten into you?’” Ricky snickered. “Oh, maybe you want to go down.”

“Did you notice that big-titted chick down front?” Giles chimed in. “Oh, wait, of course you didn’t.” He lowered his voice so only Henri could hear. “You would if she had a dick.” He paused long enough to suck up a line of coke off a tray he’d found in the limo’s bar.

Fucking assholes. Thank God their manager wasn’t here. Henri could better handle their homophobic slurs than their kissing up to Marguerite and laughing behind his back when she treated Henri like a four-year-old. Lord knew she babied her moneymaker, even if her hovering did cock block him. He had to play the straight boy for the fans.

“Fuck off,” he told his band. Hell, at least they hadn’t invited groupies along for the ride this time. The last thing he needed was Giles pounding into some half-naked woman right next to him.

But if they dared use the n-word, by God, he’d have to kill somebody.

He stared out the window. Buildings seemed to merge together as the limo whizzed by, their features further blurred by darkness and window tint. The car slowed to a stop at a red light. What if he simply jumped out and ran? Never stopped running, never looked back? Found a place to hide where no one could ever find him?

Oh yeah. Think of all the people depending on you, he heard in his manager’s voice. Stop being selfish. One cancelled show cuts into a lot of paychecks. Roadies, vendors, the band…. Not to mention herself.

He squeezed his eyes shut. A hamster on a wheel. A damned moneymaking hamster. No one gave a shit about him, just the money. One more concert, one more town. C’mon, Henri, get up on that stage. Think of your fans, Henri. Think of your family, Henri. Think of the band, Henri.

The next time the car stopped, the band crawled out into chaos. More fans, more grasping hands. A security guard guided him into the hotel, through a crowded atrium, and into a private, invitation-only party. At least his tormenters scattered, finding better amusements than “bash the closeted lead singer.”

In the background, Henri’s recorded voice wailed through the playback of tonight’s show, jacked up high to compete with the revelry of a crowded club. Wasn’t anyone tired of hearing him yet? “Great show, man,” a fan gushed, pumping his hand and grinning into his face.

“If you say so,” he replied once they’d left.

His bandmates took full advantage of their A-list reputations, Ricky throwing a quick wave to the crowd before departing, a blonde clinging to his arm. Giles tossed back his and someone else’s share of drinks from the open bar, occasionally rubbing his nose. Yeah, probably pretty damned numb by now. Vince held court at one end of the room, yet Henri, trained singing automaton, kept to the shadows. Maybe folks would forget him, letting him quietly sneak away. Margo, no, “Marguerite” trained eagle eyes on him. The rest of the band was free to do as they pleased, but the lead singer, the star in her eyes, had damned well better stay until she said otherwise, for once he left, the party would end, as would her evening’s networking.

“Buy you a drink?”

Henri spun around. A handsome man offered a glass. “No, thanks.” The pounding behind his eyes didn’t need any alcohol-fueled assistance to split his brain in two, and his anxiety meds hadn’t kicked in. The driving music and gyrating bodies surrounding him certainly didn’t help. After parties sucked, big-time.

“Aww… c’mon. Have a drink with me.”

A beguiling smile lured him in. Normally, he’d arrange a discreet meeting later in his hotel room, but something about the fan’s creepy smile said, Leave this one alone. He had “I kiss and tell” written all over him. Henri didn’t need another leaked sex tape. It had taken a lot of spin-doctoring and a look-alike claiming responsibility—for a price—to clean up the mess the last time he’d chosen the wrong bed partner.

He gave what he hoped passed for an apologetic smile. “No, really. I can’t.” Where was his manager when he needed her to chase off the undesirables who couldn’t forward his career, or at least dispel the latest bout of gay rumors?

Tall, Dark, and Won’t Leave replied, “I came all the way from New Jersey to see you. The least you can do is drink with me.”

All the way from New Jersey? Where the hell were they now? Oh. Right. Anaheim. Or was Anaheim last night? They were still in California, weren’t they?

Liquid swirled in a glass a few inches from Henri’s nose. “It’s your favorite,” the guy crooned. “Jack and Ginger.”

Oh, how Henri regretted letting slip such a factoid in an interview—about five years ago, when he actually had liked Jack and Ginger. Hell, to get rid of the moron, he’d pay any price at this point, then go back to his brooding. Floor-to-ceiling windows afforded a breathtaking view of the city—whatever its name was—his scowling manager reflected in the dark glass. Would everyone go the fuck away and leave him alone? If she wouldn’t come run this asshole off, Henri would do it himself. “Fine!” He grabbed the glass and swallowed half the contents. Anything to get this fuckwad gone.

The guy’s grin widened. “I’m your biggest fan.”

I bet you say that to all the rockers.

“You have millions of fans, but no one understands you like I do.”

Where had Henri heard that before? Oh yeah, Sacramento, LA, Portland, Seattle…. Name a town and someone there had spoken those same words.

His manager approached. Finally! “Henri, this is Lisa. Lisa, Henri.” Marguerite pushed a buxom brunette his way. “Lisa here is your biggest fan.”

Henri read between the lines: You need to be seen with a woman if you ever hope to dispel those nasty rumors. No way to dispel the truth, though.

The woman was pretty, but her maniacal grin didn’t bode well for protecting Henri’s privacy either. She could be the sister of the admirer he was currently attempting to fend off.

“Go away, bitch. I got here first,” the would-be suitor snarled. Okay, no relation, or possibly a highly dysfunctional, competitive sibling rivalry.

The woman snapped an angry retort. Marguerite waded into the fray. Henri beat a hasty retreat. Damn but his head pounded double-time now. The world fuzzed around the edges of his vision, and whatever he’d eaten before the show threatened to reappear.

Bodies blocked his way, but he lowered his head and soldiered on. Puking in front of two hundred witnesses wouldn’t win him any support from his manager. Hell, he couldn’t fucking belch without making headlines.

“Sir, are you okay?”

Henri glanced up at a broad chest, the word “Security” stamped across a tightly stretched T-shirt. No use lying. “I don’t feel too good.” Nice, broad arms. The guy who’d broken his fall earlier. I owe him a car or his own island or something.

“Would you like me to escort you to your room?” Nothing sinister or even suggestive peeked out of the man’s eyes. Just concern. Henri hadn’t gotten concern from anyone in a long time. Too tired to come up with a smartassed retort, he merely nodded. Maybe he could fall again and earn himself another inadvertent cuddle.

The security guard tapped his earpiece, spoke a few garbled words, and wrapped a hand around Henri’s biceps. “Not now, please,” the man said to anyone who stepped into their path. He hustled Henri to the exit.

Henri’s chest filled with lead. Why the fuck couldn’t he breathe? Too many people. The air cleared a bit near the elevator. His knees buckled. What the fuck? “I’m not drunk, I swear.” He grabbed at the wall and missed.

The guard steadied him. “I’m not judging, but maybe you’d better let me hold your drink.”

What? Henri was still holding the damned thing?

Without realizing quite how he got there, Henri leaned back against elevator walls. The coolness felt good against his skin. “Room 1216.” It was 1216, wasn’t it? Or 1218?

“May I have your key, sir?” The guard released Henri’s arm and held out his hand.

Shuffling, being pulled, the snick of the key in the door, followed by the sweet relief of his room. Hey! Room 1216! Got it in one.

Standing by the window of his penthouse suite, Henri stared out at the night. A string of red taillights marked a mass exodus from the arena down the block. His stomach rolled. Did anyone at the party downstairs miss him yet? Thank God his manager wasn’t hovering over him like some overzealous fruit fly claiming dibs on a piece of rotted apple. Henri snorted. My, how well the description fit him. Something within had died long ago, leaving emptiness within.

He took his glass from the guard, raised it in silent toast to his reflection, and tossed back a mouthful, a bitter brew to kill his pain. Haunted eyes blinked back at him. Tired, so tired. Concerts wiped his energy, and every song came from his heart, taking a piece of him that never regrew. A shriveled prune of a thing, his soul must be now. He needed his pills. The ones the doctor prescribed for emergencies. He hadn’t already taken one yet, had he? His head pounded.

He fumbled his way to the stereo and pushed the play button. Trent Reznor moaned about hurt. “I know exactly what you mean, man.”

“Would you like me to stay?” Arms folded across a well-formed chest. Bulging biceps. Blond buzz cut. Huh? Oh, yeah. Security guard. Asking to stay. But no invitation lurked in his eyes. Mild alarm, maybe.

“Would you? I mean, for a little while?” Henri staggered away, the need to sleep bearing down on him, an oppressive hand forcing him toward the turned-down bed. Slowly he peeled his T-shirt off, wincing at the stench of sweat. Maybe he should have taken a shower first. Too late now.

The guard’s eyes widened, likely taking in the skinny torso and the ink decorating what many viewed as a rock god. Henri was merely himself. If only this man didn’t know who he was and saw Henry, not Henri, the product of an imaginative manager. Ah, I’ve grown maudlin in my old age. Old at twenty-seven. Ancient.

An idea crawled to the surface of his muddled thoughts. “Sleep with me.” Had Henri actually spoken those words out loud?

“Fraternization with clients goes against policy. Besides, I’m straight.” No anger. Just business as usual. How many rock gods had propositioned the man?

Henri giggled. “So am I, if you ask my manager. No, I don’t want sex.” He didn’t. Really. “Hold me.”

“You want me to hold you?”

“I feel swimmy-headed. Need an anchor.” Nice line. He should use it again for something. Oh yeah. Maybe put it in a song.

“I could lose my job.”

“No, you can’t. I’m the boss, no matter what my manager says.”

The crisp sheets felt cool against his heated flesh, and if his bedmate noticed his slightly sweat-ripe scent, he gave no clue. The fully clothed guard arranged himself beside Henri, the image of adorable confusion when Henri didn’t attack. Henri had been fucked enough for the time being, and fucked over once too often. Tonight he’d lie in the arms of a stranger, Henri Lafontaine, a publicist’s creation. Tomorrow, he’d take his fucking life back, gold record be damned.

He cuddled into the stranger’s too-limp embrace. “Once I’m out, you can go.”

“You really don’t look too good. Is there someone I should call?”

Henri barked a humorless laugh. “No one gives a shit. Trust me.”

The man grabbed Henri’s wrist and raised his other arm to his face to better see his watch.

“What are you, a doctor?”

“I’m studying nursing. And your pulse is slow. Your breathing is shallow too. I think I should call somebody.”

“No, really. I’m fine.” Henri snuggled more firmly into his human pillow. Hell, physical contact was physical contact. He would take what he could get.

Something loosened in his chest, and he closed his eyes, imagining a lover’s attention, someone who cared about Henry the man, and not Henri, the rich rock star. He conjured up his own bedtime story: they’d met at a party, fallen in love, shared a house, a life. They’d gone out to dinner, made love, and were now settling in for the night. In the morning they’d…. Well, there wouldn’t be a morning for him and Nameless Guy, would there? Nameless Guy would be gone; Henri would wake alone, like he did every morning, even those mornings when he woke to find his bed filled to capacity with naked bodies.

A tear slipped beneath his eyelid, blazing a hot trail down his cheek. The aching inside flared anew, his heart bursting into a million crystalline shards.

The guard lay stiffly on the bed and wrapped an arm around Henri. Fingers stroked his forehead, brushing hair out of his face. Well, he’d be damned. One lucky woman had landed this guy.

But holy hell was it hot in here or what? His stomach rolled. Oh shit. How much had he drunk again? He glanced around the room. Where the hell was he? On the third try he managed to hoist himself out of bed. Where was the bathroom?

“Sir, are you all right?” came from behind him.

Sir? Who the fuck had he brought home? Henri’s stomach lurched again. Why wouldn’t his damned legs hold him? “Oh fuck!” The floor rose up to meet him.

A Matter of When is now available at:
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 Wealth. Fame. Gold record. Hookers and Cocaine front man Henri Lafontaine has it all…including a control freak manager, band members who smile as they sharpen blades for his back, and last but damn well not least, a fan out to steal his heart. Literally. Trying to write hit songs and plan a comeback in the midst of the hi-fi white noise of LA feels more like watching his world implode, until he’s offered a month in the Colorado Rockies for vocal coaching.

Sebastian Unger’s rich, classically trained tenor inspires wicked thoughts. More than a pretty choir boy, he cracks the whip without hesitation to drive tattooed bad-boy Henri to give his all to his music. Working, fighting, and finally establishing a fragile peace, they find inspiration and perhaps more in each other. But the clock is ticking. Time will pull Henri back to the grit and gold of LA’s mean streets and fame machine, while Sebastian must return to the opera circuit, where a mysterious man known as “the patron” holds far too much sway. Only the trust they've built on a handful of notes bridges their two worlds...and shields them from malice.