'Hell, Look at Me' - arrives Aug. 10th at JMS Books

Hell, Look at Me

http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=29&products_id=1213&zenid=KqFyrpg3re0G3DiJOUtFx0

BLURB:

Scene designer Charlie Cox is in a clandestine relationship with the theater's lead actor, Ricky Moore. Charlie knows it will never be more than that because Ricky is too egotistical to want to be seen in public with a man who has deep burn scars on one arm. Not that Charlie blames him, since he's certain he’s a freak in almost everyone's eyes.

Jace Parish, the scene shop boss, is in love with Charlie but will never let him know. Jace thinks he’s uninteresting because he’s thirty and starting to bald, which makes him look middle-aged. He also has never admitted to anyone he works with that he’s gay.

Liam Dolan owns the gym where Jace comes to work out his anger and frustration. Liam has been drawn to Jace from the beginning but believes Jace is straight, so he’s has never revealed his feelings to Jace.

Ricky Moore knows he is using Charlie for his own selfish ends. What Ricky can't figure out is why, when he can and does have anyone he wants in his bed, he keeps coming back to Charlie.

These four men have preconceived ideas about themselves and each other. What will it take for them to realize love is possible, if they will only give it a chance?

EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

Jace didn’t mind Charlie being in the midst of everything at times. Far from it. He admired the fact that Charlie could see when something wasn’t coming out the way he’d planned and make suggestions that didn’t mean a major overhaul of one piece of the set or another. He also liked that when he made a suggestion, Charlie didn’t get on his high horse and ignore it. Jace had worked with a designer at another theater who did just that. It was the reason he’d quit the job and accepted the one here when it was offered to him. Jace knew his business, and understood what it took to make everything fall into place the way it should.

Jace also loved being in close proximity to Charlie on a semi-regular basis for more personal reasons. Not that he would ever say anything to Charlie. That wasn’t his way.

The reason I’ll never find the right man.

He often considered that. His reticence to make the first move, or any move. Hell, look at me, he’d think, staring into a mirror, thirty and counting, skinny, okay wiry according to someone a long time ago. Already showing a trace of male-pattern baldness. He’d rub the thinning spot in his blond hair in disgust. Hardly in the same category as Ricky, or half the other men around here.

Definitely not in the same category as Charlie.

Jace watched the younger man as Charlie studied the set that the crew had just completed for act one of the upcoming show. His mass of dark auburn hair was a tangled mess at the moment from his running his hand through it. His body tapered down from fairly broad shoulders to a narrow waist and an ass that, in the tight jeans he was wearing at the moment, almost made Jace lick his lips.

“He’s pretty fine.”

Jace turned in embarrassment to see Merianne standing there. “When did you slip in?”

“Just long enough ago to see you admiring him.” She cocked an eyebrow. “So are you going to do something about it? Him?”

“Hell no.”

“Jace. Why not? I was watching you the other night. Ricky wasn’t the only person at the bar you were checking up on. I didn’t want to say anything just in case someone overheard me.”

“Thank you,” Jace replied ardently.

“My question still stands. Are you going to do something about him?”

“And my answer still stands. Hell no. Why would he want someone like me?”

“Why wouldn’t he? How many times do I have to tell you what a wonderful man you are before you believe me?”

“You’re prejudiced because we’re friends,” Jace told her with a bit of a smile. “But you’re also female. Women look for different things in a man than another man does.”

“Pardon my French, but bull. I don’t care who you are, a person wants someone who will love them, care about them, care for them when the need arises. Someone who accepts them in spite of their faults and above all else, at least in my opinion, doesn’t try to make them into something they aren’t just to satisfy their own ego.”

“Whoa,” Jace said softly. “That’s quite a list you have there.”

“Am I wrong about any of it?”

“No, but you forgot one thing. The average person wants someone they feel proud to be seen with. Someone ...”

“So help me, Jace Parish,” Merianne broke in, “if you say handsome or beautiful I’m going to smack you. That’s just exterior. It’s what’s inside that counts when it comes to loving someone.”

“You two seem to be deep into a very serious discussion,” Charlie said, walking up to them. “Deciding the fate of the world?”

“No,” Merianne replied before Jace could say anything. “Debating if our leading actor is just a conceited ass or if he thinks the pedestal he’s put himself on is his God given place so that everyone can kneel before him and pray for his attention.”

“Wow. You don’t like him much, do you?” Charlie said with a tight smile.

“I don’t like anyone who uses people for his own ends,” she replied, giving Charlie a pointed look. “And on that note, I’d better get back to rehearsal before they send out scouts to find me.” She gave Jace a peck on the cheek, whispering, “Remember what I said,” and hurried away.

Charlie asked, “Are you two ...?”

“No,” Jace said, smiling. “We’re just good friends.”

“You could do worse.”

Jace shrugged. “If I were looking to have a woman in my life, yeah, she’d be a good catch. But I’m a confirmed bachelor.” Changing the subject before Charlie could reply, he said, “So, is there anything you want modified on the set before we start painting?”

“Nope. It’s perfect. I’ll leave you to it.”

When he rubbed the scar tissue on his left arm, Jace wanted to ask if it was bothering him -- almost didn’t, thinking it was none of his business -- and then did anyway.

“I’ve been so busy today I haven’t had time to exercise it since I got here.”

“Then go do it. Damn.” Jace shook his head.

“Going ... Dad.” Charlie turned to leave, stopped, and said, “Thanks for asking, and for caring.”

Jace winced at the ‘Dad’ then quickly covered it with a smile. “That’s what us father figures do.”

“No,” Charlie told him, “that’s what friends do. And I was out of line with the dad thing. Sorry.”

“Not a problem. Now go before I have to lecture you about taking care of yourself.”

“Going.” Charlie grinned and took off for his office.

I guess I know how he sees me. Jace sighed. No, Merianne, I am not going to say anything to him about my feelings. Getting shot down is not my favorite thing. Now, or ever.

The Cabbie and the Cop – 12

“Tell me about yourself,” Mr. Harwood said to Vergil, once they’d made inroads in the meal.

“Not much to tell. I lost my job, couldn’t find another, got evicted from my place since I couldn’t pay the rent and ended up living on the streets, same as a lot of other people. The only money I make now is by doing day labor.”

“What about your family? Wouldn’t they help out?”

Vergil shrugged, keeping his eyes lowered. “My folks are dead and my sister has a family of her own in another state. I wouldn’t have felt right asking her for money.”

“Sorry to hear that, young man.” Mr. Harwood went back to eating but kept eyeing Vergil. Finally he said, seemingly out of the blue, “You’re a good looking young man.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Please call me Jasper. It’s much friendlier.”

“But you’re my boss, at least for now.”

Again Mr. Harwood changed the subject. “I’ve been given to understand that some men living on the street… Well they’re not averse to using their bodies to make more money than they could as a day laborer, or begging. Have you found that to be true?”

“Umm…” Vergil frowned, chewing his lip as if considering how to reply. “Some do, yes.”

“But it’s not something you ever thought about.”

Vergil shrugged slightly. “I thought about it. I just… It wasn’t something I felt safe doing.”

Mr. Harwood smiled, looking him over more blatantly now. “I can understand that. You don’t look like you could defend yourself if it came down to it.” Tapping his fingers together, he seemed to be thinking.

As he did, Vergil—playing the nervous card—took a big gulp of his untouched iced tea. He could feel the drug it contained hit his system and knew if he were human, his body would have reacted to it much faster than it was. To keep up the pretense, he covered his mouth to stifle a yawn. “I guess I’m not used to so much food,” he muttered apologetically. “About your question…” He yawned again and this time it was less put on as he was beginning to feel tired and a bit light-headed. He was aware when someone came into the room, heard Mr. Harwood tell the person, “Take him up to the bedroom.” Then he felt himself being lifted from the chair.

The Cabbie and the Cop – 11

“Vince Paley.”

Vergil stepped forward when the man called the name he was using, feeling like a specimen under a microscope as the man looked him over with a jaundiced eye. It was his third day here and from what the lieutenant had said this was probably make or break time.

“Do you know the city well enough to find this address?” The man handed him a slip of paper with a work order.

“I know the area,” Vergil replied, keeping his tone of voice unassertive but still certain.  

The man nodded. “It has the potential to be two or three days worth of work, assuming you handle the job properly.”

“I could use it.” He lowered his gaze, thanked the man and left.

I’m in. He hid a gleeful smile. The address matched one of the houses used by the people running the prostitution ring.

A bus ride and a short walk later he stood on the sidewalk outside the house. It was large, not a mansion but close, with a wide front lawn and a tall brick wall surrounding it. He pressed the button on the box by the pedestrian gate and when someone answered he explained who he was. A moment later there was a click and he was able to open the gate.

The walk up to the house gave him time to steady his nerves and get back fully back into character. When he arrived at the front door, it swung open. A stocky man around thirty-five years of age stood there. He introduced himself as Bernard, telling Vergil he would take him to the area which needed painting.

“Are you the owner, sir?”

Bernard shook his head. “I work for Mr. Harwood,” he replied tersely as he led the way down a long hall toward the back of the house. Coming to a door, he opened it, revealing a large room which was obviously in the process of being redecorated. “The paint and supplies are there,” he pointed to a workbench in the center of the room. “If you need coveralls there are some in that closet. Please do your best not to get any paint on the floor or the wainscoting.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll check on you from time to time, but otherwise you’re on your own.” With that said Bernard left, firmly closing the door behind him.

Knowing the type of place this was, Vergil figured there was at least one camera in the room, an idea which didn’t bother him all that much. If anything it would help to prove he was what he claimed, so he found a pair of coveralls which fit and set to work. As he painted he wondered how many other men had done this before him, and how many layers of various colors were on the walls.

Bernard did check on him, several times. The first time Vergil acknowledged his presence and got no response so after that he kept working, ignoring the man. Then, just before noon, the door opened and a different man entered the room.

“You’re progressing quite well,” the man said as he surveyed to wall Vergil was painting. “If you want to take a break…”

“I don’t think I should,” Vergil replied diffidently. “The man who hired me probably wouldn’t approve.”

The man chuckled. “I hired you. I’m Jasper Harwood and the offer stands. If you’d like to take a break I can provide lunch.”

“I… Thank you, sir.” Vergil climbed down off the ladder, set the paint tray down on the work bench after emptying the paint back into the can and then paused.

“There’s a small lavatory behind that door. You can wash the roller and brushes out in there. Just clean up when you’re finished.”

With a nod, Vergil went to do so, returning a few minutes later to find Mr. Harwood standing at the doorway. He quickly stripped off the paint-stained coveralls, leaving them neatly on the work bench and then followed Mr. Harwood into a small dining room across the hall.

Coming Friday, Aug. 8th - Yin and Yang

Yin and Yang

https://www.totallybound.com/yin-and-yang

This book is a re-release

Two men—Kenyon a street cop, and Teo a social worker—come together as they try to help a seven-year-old boy abandoned by his mother.
Neal, a young boy abandoned on the streets by his mother, is found by policeman Kenyon Hagerty and instantly bonds with him. Social worker Teo Marino becomes involved when the boy is placed in the care of Human Services. Soon after, the body of Neal’s murdered mother is discovered then later Neal’s father tries to kidnap him from the kids’ home.
Kenyon is a man looking for real love, while Teo is the consummate playboy, going from one man to another as the spirit moves him. And yet these two men, truly yin and yang, are drawn together. It takes a misunderstanding to force them to face their feelings for each other.
When Neal runs away looking for Kenyon—who he believes will adopt him—the two men must make a decision regarding Neal’s life—and their own. 
Publisher's Note: This book was previously released by another publisher. It has been revised and re-edited for release with Totally Bound Publishing.

The Cabbie and the Cop – 10

Simeon dropped off his latest fare at one of the major hotels in the city, heartily glad to be rid of the woman. She was one of the kind who liked to talk nonstop about anything and everything and felt she had a captive audience in him---which she did. He now knew more about her friends and family than any one of them probably did. He’d listened politely, nodded or commented at the proper points, and was glad she at least was a decent tipper. It made up for long ride in from the airport.

Now he was sitting in line with the other cabs in front of the same hotel, wondering if he should just cruise the streets to see what he could find. Ten minutes passed without even one of the cabs leaving with a fare. At this rate he’d be there all night.

Upward and onward He pulled out of line, getting a wave from the cabbie behind him in thanks.

He knew he’d made the right choice as the night wore on and he picked up several fares for short hops and decent tips. Not that he needed the tips. That was why he made a stop at a local free clinic to hand the money over to one of the people in charge—something he did on a sporadic basis when he’d accumulated enough to make it worth while.

He laughed to himself. I’m such a saint. St. Simeon, the Vampire. He got a mental image of a statue with his face, set in a niche on the front of a basilica and laughed harder. That’ll be the day.

With dawn approaching Simeon headed home. As old as he was he didn’t need to worry about being indoors before the sun appeared, but habits die hard even at his age. When he headed out of the downtown area he passed a group of men already lined up and waiting at a day labor place. He saw it often enough that he wouldn’t have paid any heed to them if one of the men hadn't looked vaguely familiar. He slowed to a crawl, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him. They weren’t. It was Vergil, appearing very down and out as he danced from foot to foot, his arms wrapped around in an apparent attempt to ward off the chill morning air.

I know you’re not really jobless, so what’s got you going undercover this time? Simeon wondered. Not that I’ll ever find out, but…

At that moment Vergil glanced his way. His amethyst eyes widened for a brief second before he gave a very slight shake of his head and turned away. Getting the message, Simeon sped up again, glancing in the rearview mirror to note Vergil watching his departure. Guess I was wrong. We did see each other again, for whatever that’s worth. Maybe third time lucky? He chuckled under his breath. Doubtful to say the least.