I've written several seasonal stories, Christmas, Valentine's etc, but my new one, Laying Down for The Law released by MLR Press is among my favorites.
Steve Reynolds has a great job, a snazzy apartment in Los Angeles, and some good friends. What he doesn't have is a date for the upcoming office Valentine's Day party. When he tackles a burglar in his apartment, he winds up in the arms of LAPD Officer Richard Malone. Has Cupid brought Steve the ideal Valentine's date-or a man who might just turn Steve's ordered life upside down?
February 4th 2011
I hate it when I can't sleep. All kinds of crazy things go tumbling through my mind--things I should have said, things I should have done, things I shouldn't have said or done. This particular night was one of those. I tossed and turned 'til I eventually gave up, and was about to turn the bedside lamp back on and pick up the book I'd been reading before trying to reach the land of Nod.
Then I heard it.
At first I wasn't sure what it was. A rustling sound. Had I left the living room window open? No, it was a tad too cold outside for that. I lay in the dark, perfectly still, ears straining to pick up the slightest trace of any movement beyond my open bedroom door. I heard it again, and this time it most definitely sounded like someone was walking across the carpeted living room floor.
Times like this it would be good to have someone lying in bed next me. Trouble is they'd have been gone by now anyway. I never invited sleepovers ...
Trying to be quieter than a mouse I slipped out of bed, grabbed the pair of boxer briefs I'd discarded on the floor, pulled them on and tip-toed towards the door. Now I am not the big and brave and stalwart type. At five eight and a hundred and forty pounds I am most definitely a lightweight, but I work out and I'm pretty wiry, so I figured as long as whoever was in my apartment without my permission wasn't Colossus, I could probably, if I took him by surprise, take him down.
As it turned out he took me by surprise. I squealed--the only word for it I'm afraid as an arm was wrapped around my neck and I was pushed to the floor, a heavy weight on top of me. My attacker started banging my head on the floor--thank God for upgraded carpet padding. On the tile floor in the kitchen my head would have been mush.
"Get the fuck off me," I yelled, arching my back in an attempt to dislodge whoever the hell was beating me up. I managed to twist my body just enough to free my left hand and deliver a punch to the side of his head that probably hurt me more than it did him. "Ow!" Shit, that did hurt, but he must have been surprised by my attempt to fight back because suddenly the weight covering me was gone and the son of a bitch was heading for the door.
"Oh, no you don't," I roared, giving chase. Whoever said reason rules the mind hadn't done a study on gay guys who've just been attacked in their own apartment and had their heads banged against the floor. I was mad, seeing red, even in the dark, and that creep who'd been trying to rob me, of what exactly I wasn't sure at that moment, wasn't going to get away with it. I grabbed his arm, he pushed me away, I grabbed him again, he wrenched the door open, pushing me away again, this time with a lot more force. I stumbled backwards, he shot through the door, I charged after him, and both us ran into the arms of three uniformed cops.
When I say â€˜ran into the arms' I mean that quite literally, at least in my case. The would-be robber was tackled none too gently by two of the cops, forced to the ground and handcuffed in what seemed to me in the blink of an eye. I meanwhile, was being held in the strong arms of the third cop, who was chuckling.
"Okay, sir--we got him," he said, still chuckling. "No need to beat up on him anymore."
"He was beating me up," I snapped, glaring at the felon who was now yanked to his feet, looking suitably pissed off at being caught. Still fuming I glanced up at the policeman who had released me from his arms presumably convinced I was no longer a threat to the criminals of Los Angeles--and gulped.
Oh. My. God. The guy was absolutely gorgeous. Despite the fact I had almost been beaten senseless, had engaged in a rough and tumble with a man much bigger than me, and was now surrounded by LAPD's finest, I felt the heat of arousal unfurl in my briefs. I had to physically restrain myself from jumping back into his arms. Taller than me--well, nearly everyone I know is taller than me--but built. His eyes, still twinkling with amusement were a forest green under dark feathered eyebrows, his nose long and straight and his mouth, slightly curled at the corners was full and--totally kissable.
Quit staring! My reason, finally returning, made me step back and drop my eyes from his beautiful face to the metal name tag on his uniform that read, Malone.
"Hey, Rich," one of the other cops said, interrupting my silent worship, "why don't you get the gentleman's statement while we take this one in?"
"Sure thing..." Officer Rich Malone smiled at me. "Wanna go back inside and tell me what happened?"
Buy Link: http://www.mlrbooks.com/ShowBook.php?book=JPBLALAW