Excerpt from Rough Around the Edges

The moment Kai walked into The Underground clutching Olly’s hand, he knew he’d found his place in the world. The club smelled of leather and polish and men. The low light soothed his eyes and made him feel less visible, which suited him just fine. He liked to disappear into the background—it was safer that way. Joe steered them toward a table ringed by comfortable low chairs but they couldn’t sit down straight away as there were so many people milling around them that it took a while to get through the throng. Kai lost his grip on Olly and grabbed hold of Joe’s sleeve instead while Olly held onto Joe’s other arm—it was the only way to avoid being swept away.

“Cut the crowding, people!”

Kai turned around. Someone was standing on the bar, yelling.

“Give them some space. You’ll hear all about it soon enough.”

The crowd thinned as people went back to their tables and settled down, though the level of chatter and sense of excitement remained high. The man from the bar hopped down and came across to speak to Joe. Kai earwigged shamelessly and caught a little of their conversation.

“Why don’t we let Carey and Alistair get reacquainted and I’ll get the three of you some drinks?” Though he was talking to Joe, the man—who Kai figured had to be one of the bar staff—kept his gaze firmly fixed on Kai.

Kai examined the floor, afraid that if he looked back, those stormy gray eyes would mesmerize him.

“Sounds good,” Joe answered. “It was a long drive. Fresh orange juice for all of us please, Harry.”

Now Kai knew the man’s name. Harry. He liked it. It sounded strong and confident, just like the way the man appeared. Joe took a seat at the table and Olly immediately clambered onto his lap. Kai didn’t sit down straight away—he stood and took in the view. Everywhere he looked there were gorgeous men—all shapes and sizes, all colors and ages. Men who seemed comfortable in their skins.

His eyes widened as he realized just how little some of the club’s members were wearing. He spotted latex and leather in a variety of colors, though black was in the majority. Most of the chairs were occupied, but there were also men sitting on cushions on the floor or kneeling, with their heads bowed. It was a feast for Kai’s eyes. Belatedly, he realized that he was staring and that his mouth was open. He snapped his lips together and cast around anxiously to see if he’d offended anyone. If the winks he got when he made eye contact were anything to go by, apparently he hadn’t.

Kai checked the whereabouts of his new friends, needing the security of knowing where they were and that he wasn’t alone. Alistair stood a few feet away, wrapped in the arms of a handsome older man who acted like he’d just won the lottery. Kai assumed that must be Carey, Alistair’s Dom. Just behind where Kai loitered, Olly sat in Joe’s lap, chattering away while Joe listened, looking cool and serene. Kai felt a little pang of envy at how happy they all seemed. Still, he should be grateful. He’d just been rescued from a terrifying ordeal. Alistair had said he could stay with him and Carey for as long as he needed. He was safe. He had somewhere to go, people who cared about what happened to him. He had much to be grateful for.

“I’ve never seen so much leather in one place before,” Kai whispered. He hadn’t addressed the comment to anyone in particular. It was just an observation but Olly grabbed his hand and tugged him to a chair.

“You should be here in the evenings. There’s considerably more bare flesh to ogle then. Though it’s hard to beat hot men in tight leather at any time of the day. I don’t think there should be time limits on visual stimulation, do you?”

Kai shook his head hard. Olly made a good deal of sense.

“You shouldn’t be eyeing up other men,” Joe snapped at Olly. “And they shouldn’t even be glancing in your direction. You’re mine.”

Kai stared. It was the first time he’d seen Joe’s icy-cool demeanor slip into something more emotional.

Olly chewed his lower lip and gazed back at him adoringly. “You’ll just have to punish me, Sir.”

Kai giggled. Olly was so naughty. He liked him enormously. They could have loads of fun together. He perched on the edge of his chair and people-watched for a couple of minutes. There was so much eye candy to enjoy. Not that I’d have the first clue what to do if one of these men approached me. Olly and Alistair seem to think that I’m a sub, but what does that mean? I’m not sure I want to be spanked!

Excerpt from Scorched Edges

“We have ourselves a firebug, Beau, and he or she seems intent on destroying every derelict building south of the fucking river.” Commander Norm Archer kicked the leg of his battered desk as he passed. A new dent joined several already present, creating a pattern on the abused wood. Steel toe capped boots came in handy at times of stress. Archer threw himself into his chair and slumped forward to stick his elbows on the desk and rest his head in his hands.

Salter Beauman took an ‘at ease’ stance automatically. Eight years in the marines had fixed the position into his body’s memory and he couldn’t help himself. He stood, legs shoulder-width apart, hands clasped loosely behind his back, and maintained eye contact with his boss. His cranky, soot-streaked, exhausted boss.

“He picks his targets well,” Beau said. “This one isn’t stupid or careless, he only torches places where he can prepare thoroughly without much risk of anyone seeing him.” Beau had little doubt that the arsonist was a man—the vast majority were. He’d eat his boots if the bug turned out to be a woman. “So what’s his motivation?”

“Who the fuck knows?” Archer scrubbed his hands through what remained of his filthy hair. Normally silver, it was currently ash gray. “Could be your average fruit loop with too much time on his hands or he could be trying to get someone’s attention. It might be the fires are the only things that get a rise out of his dick. Fuck. Should have taken early fucking retirement when it was offered.”

Beau chuckled. “They’ll take you out of here in a box, boss, we all know that. Sooner or later this guy is going to make a mistake, they all do eventually, you know that. He’ll get complacent, then he’ll get careless.”

“No doubt,” Archer agreed. “The only question is how much this idiot is going to escalate before the boys in blue are able to arrest his ass and toss it into a nice, fireproof cell.”

Beau grunted. That had them all worried. Every fire put the entire crew in danger, but those started by a criminal who delighted in making things burn were far more risky. “He’s already getting more ambitious. Allotment sheds first then that derelict fish-packing place, this time a house. The property might have been boarded up and empty but it was in a terrace and there were plenty of people around. A residential area. Jesus, if we hadn’t arrived as quickly as we did, it could have been much worse. As it is, two families are going to be living in temporary accommodation for a while, until their homes are cleaned up. You know how long smoke damage takes to deal with.”

“I do. Fucking carbon sticks like glue to every available surface. You’re second in command. You’re closer to the men than I am. How are they dealing with this?” Archer asked.

“Well, we’ve assumed that we had a serial bug on our hands for a while now. The old hands are angry but professional. The newbies are scared and trying not to show it. Every shout that comes in they half expect to be another nasty one and that puts them on edge. Being off for the next forty-eight hours will help. Fatigue makes everything seem worse than it is.” Beau rolled his neck and listened to the cracking joints.

“You’re a little haggard yourself, Beau. Are you worrying about the same thing I am?”

Beau frowned at the cryptic comment but nodded. “All the shouts that can be attributed to the firebug have been during our watch.”

“Could be a coincidence,” Archer said, tapping his pen on the desk.

“And I might meet a nice girl, settle down, produce a couple of kids and adopt a mutt from Battersea.”

Archer snorted. “Pigs might levitate. Maybe the next forty-eight hours will prove us wrong. If the next watch find spray-painted messages on the walls, we’re off the hook. If not, we have a serious problem. In the meantime go get cleaned up, find yourself a nice young man and get laid. It’ll do you good.”

“I might just do that, though I can’t guarantee he’ll be ‘nice’.” Beau checked his watch. “Nine o’clock. Shit. I don’t suppose I’m getting paid overtime for this, am I?”

Archer had a bout of mild hysteria, and Beau took that as his cue to leave the room. As he walked down the corridor toward the showers he could hear laughter and chatter coming from the recreation room. The night shift were settling in and a tempting aroma of cooking food permeated the air.

“Beef stew and dumplings.” Beau identified the meal under preparation. His stomach rumbled. “Dinner at the club, I think.” The smell made up his mind and he changed his plan for a quiet night in. In the locker room he stripped off his grimy kit and dumped it in the laundry crate. The big plastic bin was almost full, testifying to the fact that his watch had already passed through and the rest of the team were on their way home. Naked, Beau padded to his locker and grabbed his washbag. He stank of smoke and sweat and couldn’t wait to get the acrid stench out of his nostrils.

One of the things the fire service managed to get right was the shower facilities. Endless hot water and powerful water pressure were essential at the end of a long, dirty shift. Beau scrubbed away some of the stress of the day along with the grime. He shampooed his hair twice and let his head hang as mucky water sluiced down the drain. Jet-black strands hung in front of his face, a little longer than regulations strictly allowed. Tiredness washed over him and he pushed it away. His two days off couldn’t come soon enough.

Beau dressed quickly. He hadn’t planned to go to the club that night so didn’t have his leathers or even a dressy pair of trousers, but his jeans were clean and the pale blue button-down shirt he wore was smart enough. Carey Hoffman, the owner of The Underground, didn’t enforce a dress code, but very few members showed up in casual clothes. Beau only intended to go there to eat, so he wasn’t too concerned about fitting in. He pulled on his jacket, slammed his locker door decisively and left.

From the fire station it was a thirty-minute walk across Westminster Bridge, around the Houses of Parliament to The Underground. Beau took his time, enjoying the cool night air. He loved the relative calm of London by night as opposed to the noisy bustle of the day. There were still plenty of tourists around snapping pictures of the Thames and Westminster Abbey. Big Ben told him it was nine-thirty as he made his way into quieter streets and eventually to The Underground’s discreet entrance. The only indication that the building housed a club was the presence of a couple of impressively muscled men loitering on the pavement. Beau nodded to the bouncers, flashed his membership card and went inside.