Hello Naughty Author Chicks and Naughty Author Chicks devoted followers! It is a HUGE honor for me to be here today - thank you so much for having me back! It's been a little while since I was last here (my first ever guest blog - you all have a special place in my heart) and I'm delighted to join you to announce the arrival of my second book, Destiny Calls, just released from Ellora's Cave.
I'm super excited about this book. In the time since With Grace came out, I got a ton of emails and Facebook messages asking if the two police officers in that book would one day have a book of their own. Here it is! Destiny Calls is about Patrick, Brandon and Destiny, three old friends who have been either searching for or avidly avoiding true love - never once realizing (until now!) that it was standing right in front of them the whole time.
Here's a little peek into the book...
Only Brandon. The poor guy hadn’t gotten laid in months and the first man to offer to remedy that was this giant mass of stink and grease. It was nothing short of hilarious.
He figured Brandon, who even Patrick had to admit was blessed with the face of an angel, had plenty of practice beating back unwanted advances. So rather than help, he left his friend to his own devices and sat back to enjoy the show. Only because of their long years of friendship could he see the revulsion and he admired how well Brandon hid it from his…err…gentleman suitor, keeping his green eyes wide, his smile polite. The guy wasn’t backing down, though, and Patrick gleefully anticipated Brandon dropping his nice-guy act and telling the guy to fuck off. When he was riled, Brandon was every bit as intimidating as the hardened criminals they worked to take off the streets.
To say the guy was invading Brandon’s space was like saying the Pope was just a little bit Catholic. The man’s body pressed the length of Brandon’s, his lips brushing against Brandon’s blond curls. Patrick was actually starting to get a little irritated by this guy. Hell, maybe more than a little. It had to be pushing Brandon to his limits.
But when the guy announced his intentions for their trip to the men’s room, Patrick could do little more than sit with his mouth hanging open.
His whole fist? Seriously, that was just way over the line.
Standing, Patrick rose to his full six foot three inches, deliberately taking up as much space as possible by pulling his shoulders back and anchoring his hands on his hips. While Brandon’s strength in tense situations was his ability to play it cool and smooth things over, Patrick knew his best asset was pure physical intimidation. He was a damn big guy and he didn’t hesitate to use it to his advantage when needed. It went a long way toward encouraging assholes to leave him the fuck alone.
Looking down, he locked eyes with the creep trying to wrap himself around Brandon’s rigid torso. He had an almost violent urge to shove the man away, to force his oily hands off Brandon’s body. Suppressing that impulse tightened his chest and forced his voice down to a growl. “You need to back off. Now.”
Cold, little brown eyes narrowed. “Why should I?”
Patrick didn’t blink but his mind scrambled for a response. He needed a way to end this quickly and without creating a scene. The truth—my friend isn’t interested in your nasty skank ass and you mauling him like that is really starting to piss me off—wouldn’t do. He could just imagine the guys down at the station being called in to break up the fight at the gay bar and finding two of their fellow officers right in the middle of it. File that under “Not Pretty”.
No, a fight, though sorely tempting, had to be avoided. Instead, he tried the other obvious way out. “He’s with me, asshole, and I’m not in the mood to share.”
If he hadn’t been working so hard to look big and mean, he might have cracked a smile when he glanced at Brandon. It was hard to say who looked more incredulous—Brandon or his biker friend. Fortunately, Brandon’s face was hidden from everyone except him and the bartender.
Regardless, Brandon’s new boyfriend wasn’t buying it. “I’ve been watching you two. Your pretty boy here,” he snarled, thumping a hand against Brandon’s back, “has been scoping out the scene while you’ve been more interested in your beer and the hot number behind the bar.”
Well, crap. He had to give the creep high marks for powers of observation, but goddamn, he was not going to be caught out by this idiot. Reaching out, he manhandled Brandon from his stool and spun him around so they stood together, a united front. He looped his arm around Brandon’s waist, clenching the soft black leather covering Brandon’s hip and hauling him close.
It was a damn good thing Brandon was an expert at fronting a calm façade, since shock radiated from every inch of his body. “Just because I like to flirt with the bartender doesn’t mean he’s not with me,” Patrick said.
The big man laughed. “If you’re gay, I’m the Queen of England.”
“Nice to meet you, Liz. You look different in People magazine,” he shot back, his mouth outdistancing his brain for a moment. Damn it. He gave himself a mental kick in the pants and told himself to shut up. As often as Brandon’s quick talking had gotten them out of a fix, Patrick’s big mouth had gotten them into one.
He needed this to not be one of those times. Predictably, his wit was lost on their biker friend. “You’re not funny. And you’re not gay.”
“I am so gay!” he declared vehemently, ignoring the stares from the people around them. They were starting to draw quite a crowd. Not good. He briefly wondered if anyone believed him. It didn’t help that Brandon’s entire body had convulsed with suppressed mirth when he’d declared his homosexuality. He shot his friend a dirty look.
“If you two are together, prove it,” the biker challenged.
He turned back to the ugly man. “What?”
“Prove it,” he said, gesturing to Brandon. “Kiss him.”
Brandon’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. Damn. He should have seen that coming. One of Brandon’s brows lifted and Patrick could practically hear Brandon’s thoughts—What are you going to do now, you idiot? His mind raced, trying to answer that very question. Too bad he was coming up blank.
Fuck it. How bad could it be?
Turning, he speared his free hand into Brandon’s thick, dark blond hair, the curls tickling his fingers as he cupped the side of Brandon’s head. Brandon’s eyes bulged, his mouth falling open. He didn’t say a word out loud, but his face practically shouted, You wouldn’t dare.
Patrick never could refuse a dare. After all these years, Brandon ought to know that.
Tightening the arm around his friend’s waist, Patrick pulled Brandon’s long, firm thighs up against his own, their hips bumping. The crowd around them fell silent, watching. Waiting. Holding their collective breath in anticipation.
He wasn’t going to disappoint. Dropping his head, he pressed his lips over Brandon’s.
The first kiss was quick, a rubbing of mouths, Brandon’s totally immobile beneath his. It was weird but not awful. Brandon’s lips were firmer than any woman’s had ever been. And actually, it was kind of interesting, since for the first time in his life, his big frame wasn’t dwarfing the person in his arms. Brandon’s tall, lean body fitted against him perfectly.
In the spirit of wanting to end the stand-off decisively—and knowing that one peck wasn’t going to cut it—he dipped his head again, running his mouth along Brandon’s, catching his lower lip before letting it go. The fine stubble tickling his chin and his palm where it cupped Brandon’s jaw was distracting. Not bad, but…different. His heart started beating a little faster, the blood humming in his veins. He watched, fascinated, as Brandon’s gaze lost focus and his eyelids dropped to half-mast. Not pushing him away, but not actually kissing him back either.
He was about to let Brandon go, hoping their new biker friend was suitably convinced, when a wave of motion rippled through the dense crowd, emanating from the stage and forcing their audience back toward the bar. Brandon’s hand shot out, gripping the bar as he turned his back to the room, but the momentum of all those bodies crushed together was too much and the weight of the crowd pushed him forward. In an instant, Patrick’s back was pressed against the bar as Brandon’s lips, chest, hips and legs were all crushed to his.
Sweet Lord, his libido had always had a short fuse, but never in his life had anything just flipped his switch.
Brandon’s erection ground against him, the heavy shaft straining against leather and through denim. It shouldn’t have felt so good. But it did.
A very small part of Patrick’s mind thought he should be horrified, but his own cock pressed back, surging with blood and desire to match the press of Brandon’s rigid length. Another very small part of his mind thought he should resist no matter how good it felt. Brandon was his best friend, his pal. His bud.
The rest of his mind was thinking, Fuck. Yes!
When Brandon’s mouth opened beneath his lips, rational thought fled in the face of a tidal wave of desire.
Patrick’s fingers came back up and fisted in Brandon’s hair, holding his head at the angle he wanted it, needed it, while his tongue plunged into Brandon’s mouth. Brandon met the assault head-on with one of his own. Their tongues met and clashed, warred and retreated. His muscles knotted, the need escalating, his cock so hard he could barely stand straight. He wrapped his arm around Brandon and pulled him closer, so that their hips collided again and again, the length of their cocks rubbing each time Brandon’s hips twitched in response to the thrust of their tongues. Brandon’s whimper rang through his head like a bell, drowning out the sound of their audience hooting and hollering their appreciation.
The kiss was wild. Carnal. Blood rushed from his head, flooding through his aching cock before tracing fire through his veins.
God, Brandon tasted good. Familiar and different. The strength of Brandon’s arms, his sheer size, his flavor and texture. It was like Patrick’s first kiss all over again. A world of discovery in one lip-locked moment. Heat poured through him, thrumming with rough need.
The big ugly guy was gone. The crowd was gone, the music, the bartender with whom he had, indeed, been flirting. He lost track of them all, no longer caring if they were near, if they watched, if they even existed. There was only Brandon.
Who is, Patrick thought with a last grasp at reason, my best friend. Should it feel this hot? Taste this good? He sank even deeper into Brandon’s mouth and into the kiss, even as his brain sent its last reasonable transmission.
This was probably not a good idea.
Fuck! What the hell is Patrick thinking, kissing me? Brandon wondered as he rolled his hips along his best friend’s erection one more time.
Okay, scratch that. What the hell am I thinking, kissing him back?
But, of course, he knew exactly what he was thinking. He was thinking that Patrick’s kiss was better than every fantasy he’d ever conjured. The feel of Patrick’s tongue sliding along his, the thrust of that fucking enormous cock as it bucked against him, was so much better than he could have ever imagined.
Crushing Patrick’s flat belly up against his, he indulged himself, deepening the kiss, relishing the feeling of Patrick’s hands fisted in his hair, his hard muscles bunched under Brandon’s hands. He was finally kissing the man he loved and, for just one totally self-destructive moment, he was going to enjoy the hell out of it.
The man he loved. Even as he angled his head to take control of the kiss again, his tongue touching all the corners of Patrick’s mouth before Patrick regained the lead, he cursed himself. He’d known for years—maybe since they’d first met two decades ago—that he was at least part way in love with Patrick, but he had managed not to admit it, even to himself.
Which, actually, was about the worst timing imaginable. Because even with Patrick’s tongue halfway down his throat, he knew Patrick was straight. And when this kiss ended, that really heterosexual, old-school, Boston-Irish, hard-assed cop was going to return. For Patrick, this kiss would be an aberration.
For Brandon, it was a stolen moment he’d remember for the rest of his life. Even if it hurt like fucking hell.
I sure hope that glimpse makes you want to read more about what happens next - because it gets way more interesting from here. Not the least of which is what happens when Brandon and Patrick's oldest friend, Destiny, finds out the two of them have been locking lips down at the local pub. Destiny is not a woman who is afraid to ask for what she wants. And she wants them both. In bed. She can even pull that off and fool herself into believing she is immune to pesky things like love and romance. At least, for a while...
If you'd like to read more about Destiny Calls, or see an excerpt from With Grace, or read my bio, CLICK HERE. If you have questions for me or would like to learn about other upcoming releases, please stop by www.SamanthaWayland.com and leave me a message. I'd love to hear from you!
Once again, many thanks once more to the Naughty Author Chicks for having me stop by today. You ladies rock.~Sam