QSFer J. Hali Steele has a new MM paranormal tale out: Tender Distraction.
Hot men, the grim reaper, and an archangel who is—nasty!
A near collision sidetracks two lives.
Cristophe Kingston hasn’t dated since… Okay, it’s been months. Hands in his pockets, he watches an endless line of revelers enter a club he frequents. Something, an odd chill, forces Crist to hurry away and he carelessly lurches into traffic.
Already late for a deadly assignation, Lex Torcher figures what the hell—a perfect diversion. Too many years on earth has Torch craving human touch. The stranger who steps in front of his bike will surely have gentle, soft hands, hands capable of performing what others never do.
Torch’s momentary distraction, his brief interlude, pits him against his boss culminating in an all-out battle for Crist as Torch’s employer is none other than—the Grim Reaper, an unpredictable and greedy monster!
MM Paranormal Romance/ReligErotica
Contains sex between two hot men, there are religious themes, an archangel helps out, and they curse…quite a bit!
Feeling human was not something to be proud of—especially in his case.
Lex Torcher ran late for a rendezvous. Never understood the importance of his type of work being held to a particular time and place. Whenever someone died, they were dead. Period. No matter time or place. Dead.
Anyway, feeling human is where he found himself tonight. An odd sensation to say the least. Approaching the nightclub his prey partied at, he stopped behind a cab unloading passengers. Waiting, he eyeballed a lean man of medium height standing, shoulders slumped, against a wall not far from the entrance. Sun hadn’t set yet and acute vision showed a well-manicured dark beard hugging a striking, chiseled face with lips pressed together tightly as he watched men exit the vehicle and seek club entrance from a burly bouncer. Pretty boy.
“Take your hands out of your pocket,” Lex whispered.
The stranger never moved.
Hearing tires squeal as the cab pulled away, Lex sprung forward and was immediately assailed by a swift, cold wind which blew strands of long, black hair across his face. Sweeping it away, he observed in slow motion as the stranger straightened, took three strides, and stepped from the curb. Fuck me! After brushing the human, Lex swerved left nearly sideswiping an oncoming car. Not that it would kill him, but he loved his new bike. He’d just picked it up from the custom shop that handled his special builds. Lex went through quite a few hogs every year eliciting lectures from his employer because he refused to use his bosses shop manned by handpicked apprentices.
Lex’s machines always looked and performed better.
Screeching to a halt between two pricey American cars, he slammed the kick stand down and glared over his shoulder to see the guy leaning against a car rubbing his face. Torch threw his leg over the seat and, intent on giving the fool a piece of his mind, he strode to where he slouched. For shits and giggles, let him see hellfire flame from eyes that would become black as night.
Dragging a misshapen, rusted cross kept on a chain around his neck from under his tee shirt, he rubbed it. Lex discovered his artifact had no use other than keeping his superior from his mental path unless deciding to open his mind which he did very carefully since unearthing the relic on a trip to Hell’s antechamber nearly four months ago.
Called Torch by those frequenting the hallway of death, Lex was the Grim Reaper’s righthand man, his favorite carrierof souls.
How did he get that lofty seat? Simple—he collected more individuals from earth’s realm than anyone and was assigned to snatch a wayward soul for Reaper tonight at the very club he damn near killed an innocent.
Reaching the stranger, he jerked to a halt and gazed into eyes green as a cool, moss-covered forest floor. Eyes, contradicting hands subconsciously hidden in pockets, held an unyielding glint.
Torch discerned a lot in those eyes.
Tiny specks of gold danced around pupils widened in distress. “I’m sorry,” he gasped.
“Are you okay?” Not Lex’s concern. Rage should brim over considering he’d be late meeting the mark and miss his opportunity to nab Reaper’s requested deposit. “You need to be careful.” Staring into green pools, anger dissipated immediately. Lex had no words to describe pounding behind his ribcage.
“This is my car. I… I tried to get out of the cold. Didn’t mean to step into traffic.”
The last day of summer had passed, it remained very warm, yet Lex experienced the same icy breeze. It chilled him to the bone and he wore a leather jacket. Strange. “Yeah, well, you did and I almost took you out.” He looked at the car. American and costly. “You look a little shook up. How bout we grab a bite to eat or coffee until you calm down.” Lex wanted to take hold of trembling hands but he only touched humans when absolutely necessary as a jumble of thoughts cartwheeled into his mind. Some of them disturbing.
“I couldn’t trouble you. I’ll be fine.”
Ahh, sweetheart, you are not getting off that easy. “I insist. Cafe around the corner serves excellent steak and eggs.” Torch amped up instilled supernatural charm and, had he not been distracted by a pretty face, breathtaking eyes, and a slight body, he’d have grown wary when the smell of his hellacious pheromones remained absent. Scented something delicious. “Tell you what. I’ll leave my bike here, give you the keys to hold until we’re done eating. Come on. We’ll take your car and as soon as you’re able to drive safely, you can leave.” Lex edged him back around to the passenger side careful not to contact skin. “Names, Lex Torcher.”
“Cristophe.” He dug in his pocket and fished out a set of keys. “I’m really okay.”
A hand carelessly wavered toward Torch who failed to move. Damn! As he’d surmised, soft. Humanly soft… Yet, no feelings, no emotions. Nothing. “I’m free right now and hungry. You’d be doing me a favor.” Unlocking the door, he nudged Cristophe inside. “It’s really not far.” Rounding the car, he swept dead bugs from his jacket and leather pants. What am I doing? Slipping into the driver’s seat, he said, “Nice car.”
When he drove automobiles, Lex preferred exotic European models. One sat in his garage and peering sideways at Cristophe, he considered taking it out of mothballs.
How sexy the stranger would look with metro sexually precise hair windblown.
J. Hali Steele wishes she could grow fur, wings, or fangs, so she can stay warm, fly, or just plain bite the crap out of… Well, she can’t do those things but she wishes she could!
Multi-published author of Romance including Contemporary, LGBTQ, Paranormal, and ReligErotica stories where humans, vampyres, shapeshifters and angels often collide. When J. Hali’s not writing or reading, she can be found snuggled in front of the TV with a cat in her lap, and a cup of coffee.:
A Sovereign Spot: www.sovereignkind.blogspot.com
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