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ANNOUNCEMENT: Edward Unconditionally, by Lynn Lorenz

Edward Unconditionally

QSFer Lynn Lorenz has a new MM paranormal book out:

Edward is on a mission to save his grandmother by using his power. Jack is on a mission to never come out of the closet. It’ll take a dog named Winston to bring them together.

When Jack meets Edward at a traffic stop, his world is rocked—and not for the better. Edward is the gayest man he’s ever seen and Spring Lake is a small town just getting comfortable with its own new gay couple, Brian Russell and Rush Weston. Unlike Edward, Rush and Brian are big, strapping, manly men. But manly isn’t what turns Jack on. It’s Edward—everything about the younger man drives Jack wild with desire and the need to control Edward’s wild, impetuous spirit.

For Edward, his attraction to ‘bad boys’ has been his romantic downfall. His heart’s been broken so many times he’s lost count. When he meets Jack, Edward falls for the all-American by-the-book lawman, but finds his attempts rebuffed and his pride severely wounded. Jack’s straight, or at least says he is, but Edward knows that look in Jack’s eyes—he’s seen it before in other men. How can a man so right be so wrong?

Edward tempts Jack beyond anyone he’s ever met and his desire for Edward builds each time he encounters the younger man, until he can no longer deny it or himself. But Edward doesn’t want sex on the side, he wants forever. He wants the fairy tale.

Can Jack give Edward what he wants or will Jack’s fear of being ridiculed for his choice of a partner keep them from their happily ever after?

Common Powers Book Three

Pride Publishing | Amazon


Excerpt

“Well, Winston. What do you think about Texas?” Edward drawled in his soft Georgia accent as he cast a sidelong glance at his best friend and constant companion.

Winston, a six-year-old English bulldog, didn’t answer. He was far too busy hanging over the edge of the passenger door, his face in the wind, pink tongue lolling from the side of his gaping mouth as Edward drove down the rural blacktop at sixty-five miles per hour.

“We’re definitely not in Georgia anymore.” Edward sighed. “I’ve never seen so much livestock in all my life.” He shuddered. Another field of black cows dotted the rolling hills. “Although, I’ve always wanted a brown and white cowhide Louis Quatorze chair. It would be très chic, n’est-ce pas?”

Winston eyed him sadly.

“The only good thing about Texas is the cowboys. I do love me some cowboy.” Edward gave a low, “yum yum yum,” and wiggled his eyebrows at Winston.

Winston favored him with a soft woof, then returned to flying his tongue in the wind.

“You like them too, huh? Maybe you’ll find a cow dog.”

Woof.

“Honestly, you’d probably have better luck out here than I would.”

Edward picked up the map he’d folded, laid it on the steering wheel of his Miata, and glanced at it. Spring Lake had been circled in red, and the road they were on had been highlighted in yellow.

Who’d ever heard of a Farm to Market Road? He’d exited I-10 westbound and turned south onto the two-lane road, all the while wondering where the market was or if he’d come to the farm by following the road to its end.

The idea of being on a farm gave him the heebie-jeebies. He was so not a Country Living kind of guy. More like Metropolitan Design. Sleek leather, minimalistic window treatments, grass-mat flooring. No livestock in the house.

Not lace curtains, tacky multicolored chintz, and those god-awful oval rugs from the fifties. So Lucy and Desi move to Connecticut.

He shuddered again.

But duty called. Well, not exactly duty, but his mother, Lillian. When Lillian Rawlings Beauregard bellowed, Edward Paul Beauregard, the Third, answered with a controlled, if tight-lipped, “yes, Mother.”

And if Edward valued his trust fund, and he did, he did what he was told. He gave a silent but respectful, “fuck you,” to his late father for requiring Edward to reach forty before he inherited. As if at thirty, or now at thirty-five, Edward didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life or that he’d outgrow being gay. Never mind that he’d never finished college or that he’d had numerous careers, each one more exciting than the last.

Who made the stupid rule that you had to do one thing for your entire life? Or even for a few years? Life was meant to be lived, not to wallow in a rut.

He’d have been the first to admit he’d led an unconventional life. A wild life, even. Scads of parties, beaucoup champagne, madcap friends, overseas adventures, and numerous lovers. For his father, that was right where it had begun and ended.

Edward’s lovers.

Like his latest debacle. No, he didn’t always pick the best men. Okay, he never picked the best men.

“Can I help it if I’m drawn like a moth to the flame whenever there’s a bad boy within reaching distance?” he asked Winston.

Woof.

Edward glanced at his dog. “You did not just roll your eyes at me.”

Woof.

“Since when have you started channeling my father?”

Woof.

Edward gave a long-suffering sigh.

With the gay half of Atlanta buzzing over Edward’s latest spectacular breakup, and oh yes, they always had to be spectacular—this time in the middle of the dance floor at this season’s gay black-tie ball—Edward needed a quiet place to lick his wounds. Hurt and embarrassed, Edward had crushed his slice of seven-layer chocolate Doberge cake in that cheating bastard Derek’s face, whom Edward had taken into his heart and into his condo.

Secretly relieved to get out of town, Edward had made his excuses for the rest of the social season, packed his matching Louis Vuitton travel bags, and hopped into the convertible. Then he drove to Houston from Atlanta, with instructions from his mother to visit his grandmother and find out what was ailing her.

And heal her.

#

Chief of Police Jack Whittaker had the mother of all headaches. Again.

Sitting in his white unmarked patrol car, he rubbed his forehead as he leaned back against the headrest. He’d almost run off the side of the road when his vision blurred.

“Shit.” This was the third time in the last two weeks. Whatever was kicking his ass was getting worse, not better. Now his vision was being affected.

Fear crawled into his belly and scratched at his insides. A blind man couldn’t be a cop, much less chief of police, and he was nowhere near old enough to retire. Hell, he wasn’t even forty-five yet.

Jack glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. Deep blue eyes. Deeper lines around them. A touch of gray at his temples.

There was no getting past it—he looked older.

“It ain’t the years, boy, it’s the miles.”

He’d seen a hell of a lot of miles, for damn sure.

Jack blinked, his vision cleared, but the headache pounded on. Opening his glove box, he pulled out a bottle of extra-strength pain relievers, popped two, and chased them down with a swig of cold black coffee.

He wouldn’t have been sitting out on this road if he didn’t have so many men out with the flu. Having them come in and work their shifts had only spread it faster through the ranks. But whatever Jack had, it wasn’t the flu.

On days like today, he hated his job.

When he’d pulled over, he’d been on his way back to the station at Spring Lake from a vandalism call that had turned out to be nothing more than a high school prank. Not to mention, he had a budget meeting with the mayor this afternoon.

As he’d sat there, the road had been as empty as his stomach. He put the cruiser into gear and checked for traffic in his rearview. A car appeared over the hill. His heart kicked up a notch, that familiar rush of the chase grabbing his gut. He waited, watching it eat up the road.

As the bright red Miata convertible passed him, its wind trail rocked his car. The guy had to be doing sixty—maybe sixty-five. In a forty-five.

With a growl, Jack flicked on his lights, hit his siren, slammed his foot on the gas, and fishtailed onto the road in pursuit.


Author Bio

Lynn Lorenz is an award-winning and best-selling author who grew up in New Orleans but currently lives in Texas, where she’s a fan of all things Texan, like Longhorns, big hair, and cowboys in tight jeans. She’s never met a comma she didn’t like, and enjoys editing and brainstorming with other writers. Lynn spends most of her time writing about hot sex with even hotter heroes, plot twists, werewolves, and medieval swashbucklers. She’s currently at work on her latest book, making herself giggle and blush, and avoiding all the housework.

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