Summary:
FBI agent Bodhi Locke is a fish out of water when he accompanies his new boyfriend, movie star Morgan Cooper Young to a glitzy studio party. But the script gets flipped when Morgan’s co-star, child actor Crystal Parish goes missing and Bodhi takes over the investigation
Did Crystal run away from home? Was she abducted? Stage mothers, rival child stars, fanatical fans; Bodhi may have the investigative experience but it’s Morgan who understands the ins and outs of that business we call show.
A perfect partnership in the public eye, but behind the scenes both men struggle with issues of trust. For Morgan, who spends his days fighting made-up monsters, it’s hard to give his heart to a man who carries a gun to work. While Bodhi is feeling pulled in two directions when it’s handcuffs all day and Hollywood all night. He loves the way Morgan makes him feel (especially when they’re sneaking in a quickie in a public place) but he’s not sure he can ever get past his jaded view of the world and live the life of a celebrity significant other.
From stakeouts to steak dinners, robberies to the red carpet – the Crystal Parish mystery isn’t all that needs solving if the boys are going to have their own Hollywood Ending.
Pull Back is the first book in the Hollywood Endings: MM Romantic Mystery series. Written in the style of some of your favorite TV bromances, it’s the perfect series for any fan who loves to ‘ship the two male leads.
Summary:
The unmistakable flutter clack of a vintage movie projector.
Dust particles dancing on an intense beam of light.
The warm, caustic smell of overheated metal.
And there, on the screen, the opening credits of The Alabaster Rose — the film, that according to urban legend, turns good men into murderers.
FBI Agent Bodhi Locke joins his TV star boyfriend Morgan Cooper Young as he heads to Colorado to film an episode of Hart’s Desire at the haunted Bramford Hotel. It’s all spooky fun and games at first as the cast and crew reenact the 1930’s party that led to the death of two silver screen stars. But when Morgan starts exhibiting signs of ghostly possession, Bodhi’s protective streak comes on strong and he’s locked in a fight to save his love from something more dangerous than a pissed off spirit.
Living through a traumatic experience is tough, but living with yourself after is even tougher.
An explosion rocks TV star Morgan Young's world and it may take more than his FBI Agent boyfriend, Bodhi Locke has to give to make it all better.
Morgan is filming a guest spot on the Hart’s Desire sister show when a bomb goes off, injuring his beloved assistant River. Feeling like he’s to blame for her being in the wrong place at the wrong time, he drops into an emotional tailspin that leaves him questioning everything, including his relationship with Bodhi.
Meanwhile, Bodhi’s search for the bomber sends him and Morgan down a winding path that leads to a fannish reveal, an unexpected murder and stand-off that could end everything for good.
The Two Shot is the third book in the Hollywood Endings series but can be read as a standalone. Steamy with a bit of fun, it’s cliffhanger free with a happily ever after ending.
Pull Back #1
CHAPTER ONE
"Do you know what I'm going to do to you when I get you home?"
The warm, wet feel of Morgan's deep voice pouring into his ear sent a shiver up Bodhi's spine. He rolled his shoulders to knock it away as he scanned the crowd to see if anyone else was listening.
Crowd or not, Morgan wasn't ready to stop. He leaned in again and continued to lay out his plan, pronouncing each word precisely and slowly, accentuating his proper British accent. "I am going to strip off that expensive suit you're wearing, handcuff you to the bed, and caress every inch of your naked skin with my lips."
Bodhi swallowed hard and tucked his chin to his chest hoping to hide the heat that was rising in his cheeks. Damn Morgan and his verbal theatrics. Much more of this and Bodhi was going to need some private time and soon.
"Do you think you could save this conversation for a more appropriate time and place?" Bodhi said, stopping short to allow a waiter to pass with a collection of champagne flutes precariously balanced on a silver tray. "This is a G-rated gathering."
"G-rated, my arse. Everyone in this room is thinking about sex, with the possible exception of Chad Wilding. He's only six years old so I venture to say those thoughts are still a few years away."
"At the very least."
Morgan ran his hand down Bodhi's back and came to rest at the base of his spine. A small gesture that wouldn't mean anything to anyone else in the room, but Bodhi knew what it meant, and it nearly wrecked him right then and there.
He inhaled to steady himself and was instantly sorry when the scent of Morgan filled his head. Black suede, raspberry, and old leather--that all came from his favorite cologne. But there was another note - fresh, sharp--the smell of confidence. Something nature had endowed him with that cameras loved, and people adored. That special something that made him not just an actor but a star.
"Look at that woman over there, the one with all of Tiffany's around her throat," Morgan persisted, directing his gaze with slight pressure to the back. "Her husband is the Chief Financial Officer for Tanglewood Films. Do you think she ever does it with the lights on? And that man over there, by the bar, he's the head of Citizens for a Cleaner Hollywood. Do you think he'd just choke and die if he knew that Roger Rocket's boy toy once gave him a blow job in the back row of a movie theater?"
Bodhi squirmed as he struggled to keep his face blank, to calm the blush that had signed a two-year lease on his cheeks.
"And that man over there," Morgan continued.
"Is coming this way, so could you please stop before I turn into a puddle right here on the floor?"
Talking dirty was one of Morgan's favorite tricks to liven up a dull party, especially a party thrown by his former employer, the family-friendly Tanglewood Films. He had spent most of his adult life inside the system and was no longer enchanted by the glitz and glamour of Hollywood. For Bodhi, though, this was all new and rocky territory. Imagine being at a party with people you saw on TV the night before! People whose work inspired you on the big screen and whose images were taped to the walls of your sister's bedroom.
It was weird. Interesting. But definitely weird.
An older man with a giant, bushy mustache made a beeline for Morgan. "Well, well, who have we here?" He slapped Morgan on the shoulder with all his might but didn't even elicit a slight wobble.
"Morgan Cooper Young! It's been years." He turned his baggy eyes on Bodhi. "And who's this? Your son?"
Ouch.
Morgan lifted an eyebrow as his lips melted into a flat smile. "Yes, I had him when I was seven. I've always been a bit ahead of curve, you know."
Nothing.
Okay.
Introductions, then. "Alfred, this is Special Agent Bodhi Locke. Bodhi, Alfred Minor, he was the DP -- the Director of Photography on the Roger Rocket films."
"Special agent, huh?" Minor gave Bodhi's shoulder a slap. "What makes you so special?"
Morgan leaned in close to the older man and whispered, "I'd tell you but then he'd have to kill you."
Minor hesitated a moment, his eyes bouncing between the two of them with a mixture of confusion and concern. Then he broke into a wide, snaggletooth grin. "Oh, I see. You're playing one of your games with me. I remember now, back in the day, you were always up to no good."
"That sounds about right," Bodhi said giving Morgan a slight tug on the sleeve.
"You caught me, Alf. Truth is, he's my bodyguard. I've become so popular I can't leave home without one. Now, if you'll excuse us, it's safer for everyone if I keep moving."
Morgan caught Bodhi by the elbow and steered him around the DP to his left and a waiter to his right. They kept moving past stuffed shirts and cliques of studio gossips. A director was going on about the lousy lighting in his last movie while a lighting man took it out on the director. Two stuntmen were busy showing off their falling skills to a group of wide-eyed females while little Chad Wilding was impressing a group with his 'cutes'.
The Tanglewood gathering was an anniversary party celebrating fifteen years of movie-making. The studio had given Morgan his big break when he first moved to the US from the UK by casting him as an outer space superhero in what ended up being a series of four movies. Bodhi had never seen Roger Rocket on the big screen but now, six months after meeting him, he had Roger Rocket in his living room, kitchen, bedroom, and bath.
Oh, the millions of fans who would pay big bucks to trade places with him for even a day. That was another one of those thoughts that bothered Bodhi if he thought about it too long. The fact that people were jealous of him was a very new experience.
Morgan led the way through the house as if he'd been there many times before. He smiled here and hello'd there but managed to avoid holding court by pointing to his watch or at someone across the room. Everyone took it as a signal that he was wanted elsewhere so they didn't press. Morgan was one of three extra special party guests, so of course, he was needed elsewhere.
"Outside, I think," he said mostly to himself as he steered Bodhi through an opening in a glass wall and out to the patio.
Free of the sea of humanity, Bodhi felt the first cool breeze of the night. The Los Angeles weather was a constant source of confusion. 90 degrees at the height of the day but cool enough for a jacket at night, especially up here in the hills. Back home in Philadelphia you'd be lucky to get a 20 degree drop after dark but with the 90% humidity you'd still soak through the sheets.
Angelinos were always quick to tell you that the city experienced only 'dry heat' - which was kind of a joke but for a fella from the East Coast, dry heat was a joy to behold.
Morgan's fingers danced up his spine, playing his boyfriend like he played the piano, urging him along a pathway lined with tulip-shaped landscape lights. The path led to an opening in a six-foot box hedge and on the other side was pure magic. A garden inspired by Alice in Wonderland with animal topiaries, oversized pottery teacups, and hundreds of firefly lights dangling from the trees.
"Wow," was all Bodhi could come up with as he tried to take it all in. Morgan wasn't as impressed with the aesthetics. He led Bodhi down the winding stone path, hand still guiding him from the back, past a melted clock, animated playing cards, and the figure of a nattily dressed rabbit.
They continued traveling through Wonderland until they reached the center of the maze, as denoted by a fountain with a stone caterpillar on a mushroom rising from the middle.
The sound of the water splashing, and tumbling drowned out the light jazz from the house. The air out here was even cooler and smelled like night-blooming jasmine.
"Magnificent," Morgan breathed the word out as he stepped in front of Bodhi.
"Seriously, this garden is incredible."
The slightest smile lifted just the corners of Morgan's lips as he slipped his arms around Bodhi, closing the gap between them. "I wasn't talking about the garden." He leaned in as if to kiss but didn't quite make contact. "I was talking about this magnificent specimen of manhood that I currently have my arms around."
The blush that had signed the two-year lease on his cheeks just renewed for another three years and began painting the whole place red.
Morgan's smile widened. He nipped a kiss, then gave Bodhi a little tug by the lapels of his suit. "As much as I adore your naked body, I find you even sexier in this suit."
"Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you."
Morgan was wearing Armani in a brighter, jewel blue that complimented his eyes. His light brown hair was neatly trimmed on the sides but unruly on the top, as if he'd just rolled out of bed and there was just enough five o'clock shadow to call it an intentional beard.
"Hmm," Morgan hummed as he ran two fingers down Bodhi's tie to the single button at the center of his suit jacket. "We'll have to figure out a way to have sex while we're still dressed." He laughed and it was an equal mix of joy and evil. "Imagine explaining those stains to the dry cleaner."
Bodhi went hard and that made Morgan's eyes glow even brighter. He leaned in for a real kiss this time, warm and delicious but slow and patient. Morgan liked to take it slow mostly because he knew his partner hated it that way.
The combination of Morgan's ministrations and a cool canyon breeze, sent a chill ran up Bodhi's spine.
It was hard to believe that less than six hours ago, Bodhi had been sweltering in a disgusting, abandoned building monitoring a wiretap and video feed emanating from Grayce Brothers Janitorial Services.
The brothers were known for their ability to take your dirty money and make it squeaky clean. Unfortunately, Angelo Grayce got caught cheating on his girlfriend with his ex-wife and you know what they say about a woman scorned. She told the FBI that she had considered Bobbiting Angelo but decided she'd rather see him rot in prison. 24 hours later they had a warrant and a stakeout schedule.
Five days of nothing but true janitorial work and then, on the day of the party, ten minutes before the end of Bodhi's shift, Bruno Grayce made Louis DePalma a deal he couldn't refuse. Worst timing in the world. As part of the take-down team, Bodhi was saddled with hours of processing and paperwork while the clock ticked.
When he called to say he wasn't sure he'd be able to make the party after all, Morgan was disappointed but understanding.
'It's fine. I'll go alone. Really. Your work is much more important than a Hollywood party.'
Well, he sounded understanding, but then Morgan was also a very good actor so Bodhi worried that it hurt more than he was letting on. Because of the stakeout and Morgan's press obligations, they hadn't seen each other for nearly a week. Not in person, anyway. They had managed to squeeze in a couple of webcam calls that had left them both spent and breathless. They'd also spoken on the phone a few times a day and texted each other at the rate usually reserved for teenage girls.
Six whole days without laying hands on each other. The longest they'd gone without since they started dating and it hurt. Seriously, it hurt and that was new and different for Bodhi. Never before had he felt such deep longing for another human being, let alone one he'd known for such a short time.
So, when Morgan took the high road, saying it was fine if he missed the party, Bodhi did something he'd never done before--he prioritized his personal life over his work life. He called in a few favors, dictated his report to an admin as he drove, and made it to the house with a half-hour to spare. Not much time to shower, shave and dress in the custom-tailored Tom Ford suit that cost almost as much as Bodhi's monthly salary.
'I like dressing you up,' Morgan had said when he handed the sales clerk his credit card. 'Makes you more mine.'
Which Bodhi found both titillating and endearing so he didn't object even though the whole process made him uncomfortable.
That was life with Morgan Cooper Young - a series of uncomfortable events offset by heart-stealing, pulse-pounding, adventurous moments that left Bodhi never wanting to say no.
Like now. Here in this garden with plenty of eyes just yards away. Morgan could offer to screw him right here over the fountain and Bodhi would have said yes.
But any further adventures were abruptly curtailed by a string of curse words uttered by an angry man.
They broke apart just as said man came around the corner from somewhere deeper in the garden. He was shouting into an older model flip phone. Fiftyish and flabby, dressed in an off-the-rack suit, he kept running his hand over his bald head as he talked.
"I'm done playing games with you," he shouted into the phone. "She was supposed to be here for the announcement, damn it! They think this is some kind of ploy to get her more money. If that's what this is--so help me, Anita. My name is on that contract. It's my ass they're going to serve on a plate if you screw this up."
He stopped walking, head tipped down, finger in his other ear as he listened. They could see him, but he hadn't noticed them yet.
When he spoke again his voice was different, still loud but more distressed than angry. "Just let me talk to her. Just let me hear it from her and I'll take care of this. Anita? Anita?" His hand with the phone fell away from his ear as he let out a round of curses. Swinging his arms with excess energy he whirled to head back up the path and that was when he saw Morgan and Bodhi for the first time. "Jesus, you scared me." He dropped the phone into his pocket then held out his hand. "Young! Good to see you again."
Morgan took the man's hand but the best he could return was a, "you, too."
"Ah, it's okay, I don't expect you to remember me, it's been a couple of years and we didn't actually talk or anything. I'm Crystal Parish's father, Charlie."
"Oh, of course!"
Bodhi suspected Morgan was still clueless, but he pulled it off as he always did. Charming and well-trained.
"Crystal's running late, I take it."
Parish made a wheezing kind of noise. "She was supposed to be here already but now her mother tells me she's sick and can't come." He ran his hand over his bald head again. "I don't believe it. Sick or not, Crystal wouldn't miss an event like this. She's going to star in Tanglewood's next picture, a female version of Oliver Twist. They were going to announce it tonight, but now I don't know."
Morgan gave the man a friendly pat on the arm. "I wouldn't worry about it; the spin doctors here will find some way to make her absence work in their favor and everyone will be better for it come morning."
"What? Oh, I'm not worried about that. Really, I wouldn't care if she gave up this acting thing altogether. Nothing but phony wheeler-dealers out to make a buck. Everyone's ready to stab you in the back for a shot at stardom. Drugs, alcohol, there's nothing good about it." Parish stopped, suddenly realizing what he was saying and to whom. "Sorry. I just mean – it's tough for a kid, the pressure, no time for friends or fun."
"It can be difficult but from what I've seen, Crystal has a good head on her shoulders."
"I know but last night. . . " He rocked back on his heels as his hand went into his pocket. When he pulled out his phone, he looked at it as if doing so might make it ring.
"What about last night?" Bodhi prodded.
"She called me. Crystal lives with my ex-wife in a million-dollar home off Mulholland with a pool and a view. I live in a rented two-room apartment in the Valley." Parish began patting his pockets. "She was upset when she called me. No, not upset, maybe sad would be a better word, reflective. She talked about the places we used to go together and about how things have changed. I felt like she wanted to ask me something but couldn't get it out. Caught me totally off guard. Usually, she calls ranting and raving about her mother. They can't agree on anything, and Crystal likes me to intercede where I can. Anita doesn't understand. She's not a baby anymore."
"How old is Crystal?"
Parish found what he was searching for, a pack of cigarettes. He took one out of the pack, stuck it between his lips then lit it with a disposable lighter. He offered the pack to Morgan and Bodhi, but they both refused. "She's not a little girl anymore," he muttered, with the cigarette dangling between his lips as he spoke. "Things have been changing for a while now but. . .something is wrong, and my ex-wife knows what it is."
"Perhaps we could look into it for you," Morgan said, giving Bodhi a nudge in the ribs.
"We could?"
"Mulholland's not far from here. We can dip out, get a breath of fresh air, and put your mind to rest. Benefits for all."
Parish fumbled with his cigarette. "I wouldn't ask, but everyone is going to wonder why she's not here. If I go, Anita won't even let me through the door."
"It's no problem," Morgan said. "Can't have a Tanglewood anniversary party without my little space princess."
"It's 56632 Rosewood off Mulholland. Do you need directions?"
"No, GPS will get us there with ease. Enjoy the party and we'll be back in a flash." Morgan did an about-face pulling Bodhi along with him, up the garden path on the way back toward the house.
"Why are you really doing this?" Bodhi whispered in case Parish had chosen to follow.
"Can't I just do something out of the goodness of my heart?"
"You? No."
Morgan gave Bodhi a sharp hip bump. "And to think I used to love you."
Bodhi felt bad for questioning Morgan's motives right up until he pulled the jet-black Porsche 911 convertible into a turnout on the cliff side of Mulholland Drive, scaring him half to death. It looked like they were heading for total disaster, but Morgan swung the car expertly into a small, paved parking area and applied the brakes in time.
"Jesus. I thought you had a death wish for a second."
"Universal City Overlook. One of about a dozen viewing spots carved out of the hillside. Gorgeous view of my current employer."
He climbed out of the car and walked through the headlights to a rustic, hewn railing. Bodhi got out of the passenger side, but couldn't bring himself to get that close to the edge.
"You've never been up here, have you?" Morgan abandoned the city view in favor of a view of a different kind. "I'm glad, now it can be one of our 'special' places."
Ah, like the VIP room at Il Piacere, or the balcony of the Palace Theater.
"Oh, now I see. Goodness of your heart, my ass."
"My heart, your ass. Nice combo." Morgan pressed him back against the side of the car and his hands began to roam. "Have I told you how fucking hot you look in that suit?"
"Yes," Gasp. "You mentioned it." Any further talk was cut off by Morgan's mouth on his, harder and sloppier than his usual style. His hands climbed up Bodhi's back as his lips moved over to his ear, down his neck, and around again to his throat. Bodhi dropped his head back to give Morgan clear passage, but instead of closing his eyes as he normally would, he fixed his gaze on the twinkling stars in the clear night sky. He couldn't remember the last time he'd looked up - at the stars, the clouds, even the tops of the buildings. That was Morgan's place, flying high at all times while Bodhi was earthbound and fully grounded.
At times like these, however, he felt the power Morgan had over him. Not just the power to drive him wild with desire, but the power to change him into a better version of himself.
The sky was enticing, but Bodhi's eyelids still rolled down when Morgan's hand slipped between his legs.
"Trying to get me off with my suit on." The words were clear enough in Bodhi's head but from Morgan's laugh, he knew they had come out all jumbled.
"You're so easy." He squeezed gently then turned the move into a rolling motion as if he were kneading a ball of clay.
Bodhi tried to reciprocate, but Morgan adjusted his stance, so his own zone was out of reach.
"Not fair." That came out clear enough. Anything else he might say was lost in a moan as Morgan kissed and squeezed at the same time.
Fine. If he couldn't have that, he'd help himself to something else. Bodhi got his hands up under Morgan's jacket, knotted his fingers in the silk shirt, and pulled until it came loose from his trousers.
That gave him access to bare skin. Warm and tan. With his eyes closed, he could easily picture the muscles in Morgan's torso and the elegant curve of his back.
Yes, Morgan looked damned good in Armani, but there wasn't a designer on the planet who could compete with what Mother Nature had made.
He was almost there when Morgan suddenly let go and backed up a step. Breathing erratically, shaking slightly; it was too dark to see his eyes, but Bodhi knew from experience that they were wide and wild.
"Turn around."
Bodhi responded without hesitation, planting his hands on the passenger side panel of the car. Morgan stepped up behind him and gave him a brief taste of his hardened cock with two layers of fabric in between. With one hand on the car to steady his rocked self, Bodhi peeled back his belt then unzipped his fly while Morgan went rummaging in the car's glove compartment.
No question what he was looking for or that he'd find it. Like a horny boy scout, Morgan was always prepared.
Bodhi was about to drop his trousers when a thought popped into his head.
"What if someone else pulls into this lot?"
"It'll be for the same reason we did, so they can watch." Morgan purred in his ear, then he backed off and the clank of a belt buckle and the rustle of fabric rose above the sounds of an active city below.
"I'm a Fed. I don't relish being arrested on an indecent exposure charge."
"Do you want me to stop?" That question was punctuated with the slap of a stiff cock against Bodhi's ass.
"God no. I just want you to get on with it already."
Morgan laughed and it was pure wicked. "Always trying to rush me." He splayed his hand over Bodhi's spine urging him to lean forward into the passenger side of the car. It was an awkward spot as there was no place to lean. The hood would have been a better surface but way too hot. The back end of the car?
Too late.
Bodhi moved one hand to grip the headrest of the bucket seat as Morgan, now sheathed and oiled, pushed up against him. A slight adjustment and a roll of the hips and he was inside. Barely, but just knowing, picturing it in his mind (thank you, erotic snapshots), sent shock waves through Bodhi's body. He widened his stance a little and leaned further into the car, fingers gripping the back of the seat like it was a life preserver and he was caught in a storm.
One hell of a storm.
Morgan leaned in too, burrowing deeper, stretching him to the point of exquisite pain.
He draped himself over Bodhi's back, arms circling, one moving up to grab hold of his tie while the other went down to grab hold of his engorged cock.
"You are my everything," Morgan whispered just inches from his ear. "You know that don't you?"
Bodhi opened his mouth to answer but ragged breaths kept him from forming words, so he simply nodded, then again more vigorously. The small action set off a chain reaction that ran down his spine and into his hips. His muscles clenched with an uncontrollable spasm, and that drove a groan out of Morgan that started deep in his chest. The spasm traveled from one to the other causing Morgan's hips to jerk and that one move nearly did him in.
A thousand words ran through Bodhi's mind: harder, faster, now, but only one word made it out. "Please."
Morgan made a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a groan. He wound his hand in Bodhi's tie and pulled down forcing him to lean further forward, giving him a straighter path that allowed him to go all the way in.
"Is that what you wanted? To feel me buried inside of you so deep it feels like you're going to burst?"
Bodhi nodded, but it was difficult since his tie was acting like a leash in Morgan's hands.
Again, he felt the heavy drape of his lover's muscular body over his back. Again, the lips by his ear, kissing the soft spot just behind before whispering, "Is there something that you want?"
Bodhi had to find his voice. Knew that a nod or a grind wouldn't be enough to satisfy Morgan. He swallowed hard then sucked in a breath trying for the moment to ignore the electrical impulses lighting up every nerve ending in his body.
"Cielo, just take me."
"Done that," a bit of street British cutting through the proper Brit. "Try again."
Bodhi moaned both from the physical and mental push. He knew what Morgan wanted to hear, so why was it so hard?
"Say it, Bo. What is it you want?"
"God damn it, just fuck me already. Enough playing around. Fuck me."
"Since you asked so nicely." Morgan let go of Bodhi's tie and laid both hands on his hips to hold him still as he pulled nearly out then rammed back into him again. Once. Twice. On the third rush, Bodhi lost it so violently, Morgan couldn't keep his hips from pistoning. Morgan cursed and from the sounds and movements that followed, Bodhi knew that he was finished, too.
There was a sudden coldness and emptiness as Morgan broke the connection between them. Bodhi rolled and turned against the side of the car then slid to his knees. The parking lot gravel was going to ruin the expensive suit, but there wasn't a force in the world that could keep him on his feet after being so thoroughly loved by Morgan Cooper Young.
"That was. . . . " All he could manage.
Incredibly, Morgan was still on his feet. He stripped off the condom and deposited it in a convenient trashcan that Bodhi suspected had seen quite a few used condoms, empty liquor bottles, and eye-popping contraband over the years.
Moving as if mildly inebriated, Morgan plucked a handkerchief from his pocket, used it to clean himself up then tucked himself in all nice and neat again.
Bodhi thought he should do the same, but his limbs weren't interested in doing anything other than quivering like gelatin on a city bus.
Morgan went back to the glove compartment and came out with a packet of wet wipes. He cleaned his hands then stooped down to assist but once his gaze was in line with the side panel of the car his face fell into a serious frown.
"Did you come all over my Porsche?"
Bodhi shrugged. "It was that or this expensive suit and like you said, easier to get the car washed than explain the stains to the dry cleaner."
"I should be mad at you, but I don't have the strength." He used the cold wipe to clean Bodhi up then helped him stand so he could re-tuck, zip, and belt his pants.
Even with all the fussing, Bodhi knew he looked like hell. From the scuff marks on his shiny shoes to the dirt on his knees to the rosy red he could feel in his cheeks. He imagined that his black wavy hair was rising up like the Eiffel Tower and his dark eyes were probably blown out as wide as saucers. Not a good look, unless of course, you were going for wrung out sex slave. If that was the case, then. . . Bingo! Nailed it.
"I adore you." Morgan leaned in and set a light kiss on Bodhi's lips, both cheeks, and finally his forehead. "Now I suppose we should complete our intended mission."
The Vertigo Effect #2
CHAPTER ONE
Morgan Cooper Young stumbled back from the edge of the rooftop before the warm wave of nausea made the decision for him. This was stupid. He wasn't afraid of heights. That was Bodhi's deal. And yet the simple act of peering down at the ground below had nearly brought up his lunch.
Try again. He walked to the edge and looked down. Once again, the street rose to meet him in a nauseatingly perfect recreation of Hitchcock's famous vertigo effect.
Shit.
He backed off once more and sucked in the deepest breath he could manage to tamp down his stomach contents and quell the spin in his head. What the hell was going on?
A guy who had jumped out of an airplane, gone zip lining in New Zealand and hang gliding in Hawaii couldn't leap off a simple roof?
He closed his eyes and listened to his body. This wasn't just a fear of heights. This was something more. A disturbance in the force. A disruption of all things Morgan.
Should have read his horoscope before heading to work. It probably said today is an unlucky day. Stay home and hide under the covers or else.
The only alternative was to admit defeat. Say he couldn't do it which, of course, they would accept, and they'd find a work around and it would be no big deal.
For them.
Morgan hated giving up. On anything.
So, he walked to the edge for the third time and jumped.
Special Agent Bodhi Locke stumbled back from the edge riding on a wave of nausea. It was stupid. He was stupid. Should have expected trouble, expected a double cross but instead, he'd given his informant the benefit of the doubt. That lapse in judgment had cost him big time. Not only was he about to lose a truck full of cocaine, but he was also rapidly losing blood.
He gripped the edge of the loading dock doorway with his left hand while he tried to pull the gun from his shoulder holster with the right. The movement activated the muscle in his torso and the pain drove him down to his knees and then on to his hip. Too late for the gun, anyway. King and his band of opportunistic brothers were already out of reach.
As the roar of the truck engine flooded the dock, another, quieter sound poured into his ear.
"Bodhi! What's going on?"
Was he so far gone he was hearing voices?
"We're coming. Hang on."
Hang on. Oh yeah. They could hear him. He was wired for sound. The agents in the truck recording everything in the hope King would give up his boss.
Only when Bodhi pushed, he gotten a knife, not a name.
Woozy, he crumpled to his shoulder, then rolled to his back. A short fall since he was already on one hip, but he felt his head make contact with the cement floor.
Not good.
"I need help." He got the words out just before a wash of warmth sucked him into the void.
If you're going to die, might as well let the thoughts in.
The wall evaporated and visions of Morgan flooded his brain. Those brilliant blue eyes which always held a touch of humor. Those long, elegant fingers. The feel of his lips, his touch, the maddeningly slow strokes, the complete and utter surrender Bodhi felt whenever Morgan wanted him.
And with those thoughts erasing the pain, Bodhi faded into the darkness.
The first seconds were the hardest and the most exhilarating. One part of the brain was thrilled by the sensation of flying through the air like a bird escaping the cage. But the other part, the practical part, said this could go horribly wrong in an instant.
Then the harness snugged, and the wire did what it was supposed to do; lower him safely to the ground. Even with his head spinning, Morgan remembered to lift his arms to get the wing effect from his Victorian morning coat. He also remembered to bend his knees when he touched down because even a controlled landing could snap your ankle if you didn't.
"Cut! Beautiful!" Amos Greene, the director shouted and the call - minus the 'beautiful' --- was echoed on walkie talkies for two blocks square. It was important to let every person in the crew know that it was now safe to walk, talk and resume work. The scene was in the can.
"For a second there, I thought you weren't going to commit," Tony Howell, the stunt coordinator, said as he unhooked the wire from the back of harness.
"For a second I almost didn't," Morgan replied, a touch of London in his voice. He shrugged off the heavy coat which went into the arms of the wardrobe assistant. Underneath was a white shirt frills around the cuffs and down the front. Only most of the front frills where hidden beneath the sturdy, reinforced, wire work vest.
"I've seen you do bigger leaps than that. What happened?" Tony persisted, genuine concern breaking through his tough guy exterior. "Something not feel right?" He began checking the vest, testing its durability, the integrity of the straps and buckles.
"Something was off, but it wasn't the equipment. When you rig it, Tony, I trust it. It was. . .Can you excuse me a second?" Morgan's assistant, River, was fidgeting at the back of the video village. There was a pinched look on her face which generally meant she had just gotten an earful from Adele Weston, the showrunner. At least once a week, Adele drove poor River to tears over something that wasn't her fault. Morgan was late for a call with a reporter. Morgan changed the script without running it by her. Morgan wasn't as charming in the dailies as he needed to be. Like River was his keeper, acting coach, and moral compass. Okay, she kind of was his keeper, but still, there was no sense yelling at her when filming ran long, and he was late for a meeting.
"Don't wander off," the director said, as Morgan ducked past the cameras, chairs, and carts. "We may need to do that leap one more time."
Which he wasn't looking forward to, but they needed what they needed, and it was his job to get it done.
"Don't tell me," Morgan said, as he approached his assistant. "Adele wants you to make sure my eyes sparkle more the next time I rip a villain to shreds."
"What? No. Not Adele." River lifted her hand and he saw that she was holding his phone. "Bodhi. He's called three times in the last twenty minutes and that's not like him."
And she would know because River had custody of Morgan's phone whenever he was in front of the camera. He had a bad habit of forgetting to turn the ringer off, which had ruined more scenes than he could count. And then there was that time when it fell out of his pocket while filming a Victorian England flashback. No one noticed, and it made it to air, giving the fans a good giggle.
River held the phone out, and as he had on the roof, Morgan hesitated. God damn it, he'd felt it. That was impossible and ridiculous but true, nonetheless. Something had happened to Bodhi, and Morgan had felt it up there on the roof.
Deep breath. Take the phone. Whatever had happened, it couldn't be too serious, because Bodhi himself had called. Good news, that he couldn't wait to share?
Morgan tapped the call indicator. Three calls within five minutes of each other and a voicemail on the most recent call. He moved further away from the crowd, tapped the play button, and brought the phone to his ear expecting to hear the warm, friendly voice of the man he loved. But it wasn't Bodhi's voice that poured out of the speaker.
"Hey, Morgan. This is McGill from the FBI, Bodhi's partner."
Every nerve in his body went on high alert, and he forgot how to breathe.
"I thought you should know that our boy got cut. Not bad. I think. The doctors are working on him. We're at Lady of Lourdes if you want to come. I mean, they tell me you two are. . . together. I'm old school, I don't know from that, but I thought I should call, that's all." There was a pause before the line cut off, like he was thinking about saying more.
What more was there to say?
It was the call he'd been dreading since he'd started dating an FBI agent. Okay, not THE call. Not the officially notification of -- nope, not that word. What was it McGill had said? Bodhi had been cut? Not shot. That was good. But cut was like stabbed, and Morgan had heard that being stabbed was often worse than getting shot.
"Morgan?" A strong hand gripped his shoulder.
Tony.
"I have to go. I'm sorry. I know it's going to screw up the day, but Bodhi's hurt. He's in the hospital. Fuck, Adele is going to have my head. But I have to go to him." Morgan shoved the phone in his pocket and began struggling to remove the stunt harness. "It could be serious. His partner called and said he'd been cut. Stabbed, I guess." He'd never felt so out of control. So filled with fear. If this was what love did to you, it sucked, big time.
"Let me." Tony pushed his hands away and expertly unfastened the least number of straps and buckles needed to free Morgan of the vest.
"I have like, five more scenes today."
"Doesn't matter. Just go and don't worry about us. We'll figure it out." Tony peeled the vest away and instantly Morgan felt lighter and faster. He started toward his trailer but stopped himself with another thought. He took out his phone and texted:
I'm on my way (heart emoji)
He had no idea if Bodhi would see it, but he wanted it there on Bodhi's phone.
When he looked up again, Amos was beside him agreeing with the stunt coordinator that Morgan should go and not worry; they'd rearrange the shooting schedule. Everyone understood.
Then River was there with his leather jacket and backpack. "I called for transpo. Oh, there it is." She pointed to the dark town car that was rolling up to the curb. Adele could go to hell; the girl was pure magic.
Last hurdle was a group of fans lining the barrier between him and the car. Fans who would expect him to stop for selfies and autographs, like he did on most days when he had a break. He hated to come off rude, but he couldn't stop, and he couldn't explain.
"I'll make your apologies," River said, reading his mind.
A couple of girls shouted his name, hoping to garner his attention. It hurt to turn his back on them, but he couldn't give one hundred percent, one hundred percent of the time. It wasn't reasonable. Expected, but not reasonable.
He dashed past the line without so much as a glance, then climbed into the backseat of the car.
"Lady of Lourdes hospital," the driver said. "About twenty minutes, if the traffic holds."
But it wouldn't because that's how it was in Los Angeles. Eighty miles per hour for a mile, then ten miles per hour for the next two. Morgan couldn't bear the thought. Even twenty minutes could be the difference between hearing Bodhi's voice and never hearing it again.
He checked his phone with the tiniest bit of hope that he'd see a return message from Bodhi.
Nothing.
Not even a return heart or a like.
The vertigo that had overwhelmed him on the rooftop was back. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, chin to chest. He could feel Bodhi's slightly calloused hands massaging his shoulders, cool lips on the back of neck.
Anything you want, mi cielo. I'm yours.
Morgan pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Their secret sign of devotion for when they couldn't be in each other's arms.
Hang on, baby. It's much, much too soon to say goodbye.
The Two Shot #3
CHAPTER ONE
Strong arms encircled Morgan from behind, pulling him tight, back to broad chest. A chin tucked into his shoulder, and he felt the scratch of a stubble beard sliding along his clean-shaven face. He closed his eyes as the man's scent—salt air and coconut oil—took him back to another place and time.
On the deck of the beach house, watching the sunset over the ocean. Those awful attempts at surfing lessons. So many late nights in one trailer or another, squeezing in a quick fix before being called back to set.
Morgan relaxed into the familiar arms, forgetting for the moment that there was a photographer recording their every move.
"I hope he's shooting us from the waist up, because full-body could present a problem." Tate rubbed against the back of Morgan's thigh to punctuate his point.
"That little thing? He'd need a zoom lens to pick up something that small."
"Funny, you never used to complain about the size." The arms tightened, going from captivating to captive, but just long enough for Morgan to appreciate the strength behind it. "Oh wait, yes, you did. You used to complain that I was too big to fit in that tight ass of yours."
That reminder went straight to Morgan's groin. He enjoyed the tingle for a second before guilt made him shoulder his way out of the embrace.
"Can we focus, please?" But even as he said it, his eyes dropped to Tate's belt line as if pulled there by a magnet. Seriously? No willpower.
Tate followed Morgan's gaze down to his own bulging package. A shock of white blond hair fell over one eye and his relaxed, surfer dude smile turned into a serious smirk.
Tate Williams was a champion smirker. It was his signature look; a big part of the skilled but snarky cop he'd played on Hart's Desire and now on Duet.
On anyone else, the look would be unappealing; more villain than hero, but combined with his boyish looks and easy manner, that smirk had landed him on the top of the fangirl charts. Well, in the top three anyway, along with Morgan Cooper Young and that tall-drink-of-water fireman from the rescue show which often cost Hart's Desire the win in their time slot.
"That's great, fellas. Now, let's move over to the desk." The photographer stepped on to Dr. Orelia's office set and the lighting crew followed, shifting their powerful beams from the cluttered bookshelves to the cluttered desk.
Dr. Tevin Orelia, the main character in the series, was a brilliant anthropologist, a police consultant, and a rabid collector of cultural oddities. The show's set decorators were always in search of one more cool item to add to the shelves, so the fans had developed a kind of drinking game around 'spot the new relic of the week.'
Morgan was particularly fond of a well-endowed fertility statue which had somehow escaped the censor's eye. When they set up for the first round of promo pictures, he positioned himself with the statue just off his left shoulder, hoping the little (big) fella would show up in a shot or two.
"Let's try a couple with Morgan sitting on the edge of the desk and Tate standing behind," the photographer suggested.
"Behind you, yet again," Tate said softly as they moved into place. "It's as if the universe is trying to tell us something."
If that was true, the universe needed to get a clue. He wasn't available. Not for Tate or any other hottie who offered himself up for fun, games, or medicinal sex. Morgan was officially a one-man man, even if that one-man hadn't been as doting in bed as he used to be. He tried to convince himself it was nothing more than the emotional aftermath of the nightmare they'd experienced at The Bramford Hotel. But deep down, he knew the shift in Bodhi's demeanor had started weeks before; shortly after Morgan had returned to work on the third season of Hart's Desire.
Fewer kisses, fewer texts, separate lives, different paths. Bodhi had passed on Comic-Con, one of Morgan's favorite events of the year, and he no-showed for the premiere of Paddy Mack's newest action film, leaving Morgan to walk the red carpet alone.
Not that their relationship problems were all Bodhi's fault. It took two to make things work and Morgan had been so wrapped up in filming the new season he'd let the little things slide. Tomorrow. Next week. Next month. He kept making plans to surprise Bodhi with a gift, or an outing, or a simple massage in front of the TV, but life kept getting in the way.
Then the crossover opportunity on Duet came up, and it was like old times; Morgan and Tate wringing every ounce of drama out of a scene, then laughing themselves sick over the stupidest things. It would have been the highlight of his month, if only he didn't feel like a cheating dog.
"Hey." Tate nudged him in the back. "I know the fangirls love the brooding, but the publicity machine is going to want a smile."
Morgan shook away the heavy thoughts and slipped into celebrity mode. Big smile, twinkle in the eye, make them believe you have a secret that's worth knowing.
"There you go." The photographer moved in closer, then arranged the boys so Tate was leaning on Morgan's shoulder. "Nice. You two look good together."
"We get that a lot," said Tate. "TV's hottest twosome."
Zayden Knox and Tobias Hart--together again.
The fandom was going to lose their shit when they saw the episode.
Hashtag: #SchoolofHartKnox
Hashtag: #HartThrobs
Hashtag: #BodhiIsNotGoingToBeHappy when he finds out I'm working with my ex-boyfriend.
Maybe the sin of omission would be better than confession. Just like how Morgan had 'forgotten' to mention he was working at Camden Studios today, just a few blocks away from FBI headquarters.
"What do you think? Time for a quickie?" Tate asked, interrupting Morgan's train of thought.
A quickie? Did Tate seriously think this was going to be like those old times?
"What? No. I'm sorry. I mean, the jokes and the flirting are one thing but we're not doing that."
Morgan watched Tate's face for a sign of disappointment or anger, but all he saw there was confusion.
"So, you don't want to do the interview with me?"
Interview.
Tate nodded to his right. To Ruth Parker, the publicist for the network.
"I need you both for like ten minutes to record some sound bites for the press," she said.
A quickie. A quick interview. Not a quick blowjob in Tate's trailer.
Before Morgan could answer, Ross the PA stepped in to announce the boys were needed on set.
Ruth grumbled, even though she was used to the stop and start pace. "As soon as you're done, then. I mean it," she called as both actors stepped off the set. "Don't disappear on me. I need those sound bites."
Morgan filed that information in the second slot of his brain, just behind the lines for the upcoming scene.
Luckily, it wasn't dialogue heavy because he'd only been given the pages the night before. He was a quick study, but it was right at the edge of how much he could memorize on such short notice. He began mentally reviewing the lines as he followed the PA out of the sound stage and over to the standing town set that ran along the backside of the lot.
Unlike its parent show, Hart's Desire, Duet had its own small studio near UCLA. Camden Studios had started out in life as a distribution center for baked goods back in the 1960s. In the 1980s, it was bought and transformed into a studio with the warehouse becoming a sound stage and the loading dock a faux street in Anytown, USA.
The flurry of activity just before cameras rolled was like catnip for Morgan. The energy was up, the magic about to happen. He stood still in the middle of the chaos, dutifully allowing the wardrobe, hair, and makeup folks to adjust, and fluff, and change. Things that worked well for still photography didn't always work on film, so his skin got a little rosier and his shirt went from deep blue to a lighter blue with a subtle pattern.
When the crowd cleared, he sat down in his director's chair for a last look at his script sides, but then his assistant River popped up at his elbow.
In her mid-twenties, petite with blue-tinted hair cut short and boyish, she reminded him of Peter Pan, but only in looks. When it came to personality, she was more of a Wendy, looking after the lost boys like a surrogate mother.
River was small but mighty, and he didn't know how he had managed to get through a day without her. She kept him on track, properly fed, well-dressed and comfortable, both at work and at home. And she managed to make it look fun and easy when certainly there were times when he wasn't fun or easy to work for.
"Couple of messages," she said as she scanned his phone and her phone, one in each hand. "Yael called just to see how the shoot was going. He said you can call him back after six tonight because he'll be in meetings until then."
"Can you—"
"Set a reminder? Done. It's on your phone and your Echo." The smart speaker he had at home acted as a River substitute when she wasn't around. "Charlie is working on your taxes and needs you to explain a couple of odd charges on your credit card. I tried, but even I couldn't figure then out. Like $356 to Heavenly Pursuits, LTD. Down payment on matching cemetery plots?"
"Sure. Let's go with that," Morgan said tamping down on the flush which came with that particular memory.
River made that tsking sound she always made when he asked her to be less than truthful on his behalf. Wasn't like he was committing tax fraud. A cemetery plot would be a personal expense, and the actual service had been a very personal expense, so no harm, no foul.
"Next?"
She tapped her phone, scrolled, then went back to his phone. "Susan from FanFriendly says you were supposed to send her something for the charity auction. She needs it by Thursday, or it'll be too late."
"Damn." Even with a staff willing to help, Morgan always felt like there was too much on his plate. "I meant to do that yesterday. It's all on the dining table at my house. Can you pack that up and get it in the mail today? It's an autographed script, photos of the cast and there's a little box with one of the blood bags from the set."
"I can do that." River held out Morgan's phone to him, and he looked at it as if it might bite.
"You're giving me custody of my phone?"
"Yes, because now I have to go to your house and then to the UPS Store. And since I'll be next to the Ralphs, I might as well do the shopping today instead of tomorrow. Which means I won't be back here before you wrap. The phone is on mute. Don't mess with the buttons and you'll be fine."
Oh, the number of takes he'd ruined with the disco ring tone on his phone.
"I will not mess with the buttons. I promise."
"Better not. Remember, you're only a guest here."
"Yes, Mother."
Her phone lit up in her hand. She looked down, tapped, swiped, and typed. "If you want anything special at the store, text me in the next hour." Then she wandered off, still texting as she went.
Morgan looked down at his own phone sensing a betrayal. Mute or no mute, he just knew the damned thing was going to ring in the middle of the best take. He considered handing it off to one of the PA's, but he didn't know any of them personally. Not like on his own show where he knew them all by name. Ross was the only one he'd interacted with on the Duet set, and that had only been for few minutes. He was a nervous fellow who would probably have a heart attack if asked to babysit Morgan's phone.
No, better to not chance it. All he needed was for an opportunistic PA to screenshot some of his more private images and texts to share with the world. Bodhi would not be happy if any of that made it on to the internet--especially since Bodhi's sister liked to troll the fansites.
Imagine her stumbling across images of her brother doing that!
He really needed to get those photos off his phone. But not now. He couldn't even look at them now, because that would cause a reaction he'd never be able to quell before stepping in front of the cameras.
"Can I get my actors in, please?" the first AD called.
Morgan pocketed his phone, then navigated through the jungle of equipment to arrive at his starting mark. Tate joined him after sharing a laugh with one of the cameramen. This was his crew. He was the king here, and it suited him.
Morgan was happy for him. They may have parted ways in the bedroom, but there was no ill-will between them. It was nice to see Tate and the spin-off succeeding, as long as they always came in second in the ratings to Hart's Desire, of course.
Last looks: the makeup and hair girls did one more touch up on the boys.
Quiet all around.
Speed: sound was recording
Camera's up: they were rolling.
Crossover Teaser Scene 3, Take 1. The electronic clapboard marked the beginning of the scene.
Morgan looked down at the ground, shook his shoulders and let Tobias Hart flow over him.
"Action."
He'd heard that call a thousand times, but what came right after was always new and exciting.
"Knox, old friend, you're crazy if you think I'm going to just hand that vial over to the Professor."
"Why? Because you want it for yourself?" Tate spat back, getting up in Morgan's face. "You did this to me!"
"I saved your life!"
Tate grabbed him by the front of his open leather jacket and shook him hard. "You turned me into a monster! A monster just like you! Do you really think Anya will stay with me when she sees what I've become?"
Morgan brought his arms up between Tate's, easily breaking the hold with his 'vampire strength.'
"I think, if she really loves you, she'll stay. She'll take care of you. She'll understand. But if she refuses, then you'll know the truth."
Tate wavered on his heels, then sort of rolled back, head lolling to one side. When he came back around, there were tears in his eyes. Real tears. "And what if I don't want her to stay? She deserves better, Hart. I deserve better."
He turned and kicked over a cement planter as noted in the script. The planter—lighter and more fragile than it would be in real life—hit the sidewalk and burst into a dozen pieces, potting soil and flowers pouring out into the street.
Morgan was about to reply with his line when a noise, ten times louder and harsher than the tipped over planter startled him into silence. He ducked for no real reason as did most everyone on the crew. Several car alarms sounded off with different tones and the scent of something acrid blew their way.
"What the hell?" was the only clear sentence, and then panic turned everyone else's words into a jumbled mess.
An explosion. Very close by. Somewhere on the lot.
"Get everyone to evacuate!" Morgan shouted, then waved his arms as if shooing chickens toward a coop. "Get on the walkies, and tell everyone to leave the studio. Now!"
Gas leak was what he was thinking. Maybe a construction crew working on a new set hit a pipe. Morgan grabbed hold of the makeup girl who was too stunned to move and pulled her into the stream of people. The first AD was on his phone with the emergency operator. Morgan moved a little faster and heard two other people making similar calls. Explosion. Explosion. The third one, a stunt man, said bomb.
Freaking hell.
That had never occurred to him, but now he couldn't get the thought out of his head. He stopped walking and looked to the other side of the lot where the trailers were lined up. That was the source. Smoke was rising from between two of the dressing rooms.
His dressing room.
"Come on, man." Tate gave him a push, but he couldn't move. Not yet. Not even with the flames that were licking the trailers not thirty yards away.
"River." Morgan pulled his phone out and commanded Siri to call her. Four rings, then it fell into voicemail.
"Come on." Tate pulled this time, but Morgan resisted. She was probably on her way to his place by now. Driving. That's why she couldn't answer. But her things were in his trailer. Her backpack. Her computer. She wouldn't have left without them.
"I have to check."
"Check what?"
Morgan ran toward the flames, and Tate ran with him. The street was just on the other side of the building, so it was easy to hear the wail of approaching sirens, growing louder as they swung around the corner to enter the parking lot.
"River! She was leaving. She probably stopped by my trailer," Morgan said, breath running out as he sucked in ashy air. It wasn't just the ash. There was a smell that burned the inside of his nose and irritated his lungs. His brain said this was a bad idea, but he had to be sure.
When they reached the trailers, they both stopped cold, stunned by the hole in the ground. Not just dirt, but the pavement itself. Pavement which had been strong enough to hold the weight of a dozen trailers had been pulverized.
There was no sign of a pipe in the hole, but it could still be a gas leak. That was preferable to thinking it was a bomb. A gas leak was an accident. A bomb was intentional. It was human.
Fuck.
Morgan sucked in a breath, but it was all hot and dirt and sandpapery.
"She's not here!" Tate said, pulling on his arm again. "Let's go."
But Morgan's trailer was the last in the line. The regulars were closest to the front. He was a guest. He was in the back. He ran forward knowing he couldn't take much more of the bad air. Knowing he was moving closer to the one trailer that was aflame.
What little clean air he had left in his lungs was expelled when he saw her body on the ground. She was on her back, but her limbs were twisted in unnatural ways and her face was both burned and bloody.
Morgan ran the last few feet feeling the heat, scooped her up into his arms, and headed for the exit. He wanted to keep running, but with every step he felt himself moving slower and slower. It was as if someone kept moving the studio gates further away.
He was still yards from the exit when a fire crew came barreling by along with a few uniformed police officers.
Someone, a fire man maybe, blocked his way and urged him to hand River to him. Morgan didn't want to let go, but he didn't have the strength to put up a fight. He felt her slight weight transfer from his arms to the other person. Then he was being led out into the parking lot where the entire crew was milling about between fire trucks and police cars.
"Are you hurt?" Hands pushed him to sitting on the curb and an oxygen mask came over his face. How was he supposed to answer with a mask over his mouth? He shook his head and breathed deep.
Damn, that was good. Refreshing and cool, working on both his lungs and his brain.
Brain.
What the hell had just happened?
A bomb in the studio?
No. It had to be an accident. An accident which may have cost River her life.
JD Sampson started writing fan fiction as a teen to fill in the gaps left behind by her favorite TV shows. More angst! More bromance! More protective bros!
From there she moved on to writing erotica for a variety of anthologies and websites. You'll find one of her stories in The Mammoth Book of The Best of Best New Erotica and in an Italian book that she can't read because she only reads English.
For the past ten years, JD has been writing about entertainment under her "other" name and now she's back to fiction and her first love "mm romance" (all those years of writing slash fanfic!)
Her current books are softer, more romantic, with a side of mystery but don't fret, there are plenty of steamy scenes that she hopes will give you tingles!
JD is a fangirl at heart so her books always include some kind of nod to Hollywood or the arts.
Pull Back #1
The Vertigo Effect #2
The Two Shot #3
Series
