Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Destiny by Faith Starr

Title: Destiny

Author: Faith Starr

Series: Hilltops #1

Genre: Contemporary, Suspense, BDSM

Release Date: February 21, 2017

Publisher: Loose Id

Summary:
Blindfolds, bondage, board meetings. All in a day's work for Noah Dorian, co-owner of Hilltops, an exclusive club for those who like a bit of spice.

Enter Jordin Turner, a psychology student who is doing research on the BDSM lifestyle.

Noah agrees to provide her with information via telephone but when she comes to the club for an observation, his world is turned upside down. Jordin is strong, confident, intelligent, and beautiful; traits he has never seen packaged together in a woman he likes this much. He's always guarded his heart, but Jordin makes him want to open his heart and free himself from his demons.

Jordin has had her fair share of heartache, including an ex who made her doubt herself. Especially in the bedroom. Noah's dominant nature gives her a chance to change that. His desire and his dominance help her break the chains that hold her back.

Noah and Jordin. Sometimes love is destiny.

#1:
“You don’t have to argue every point. I’m simply making my own observations.”

Why did his breath have to smell as good as the rest of him? It was almost hypnotic, if not tempting every fiber in my being to lean forward to see if he tasted as good as he smelled. Damn Noah Dorian.

“That’s supposed to be my job.” Oh my gosh. I sounded like a schoolgirl with a childhood crush, giggling stupidly.

“Yes, it is, but I’m having a rather good time doing your job too.”

“Why’re you doing this, Noah?” Confusion filled me. I was a little light-headed in addition to the other slew of symptoms having a field day inside me. He was pretty much suffocating me with his charm and good looks.

“All I’m doing is pointing out to you that you don’t always have to keep yourself so tightly wound. Sometimes it’s nice to let loose.”

“And what’re you implying?”

“I’m merely suggesting that you allow me to bring some of your curiosity to life.”

Say what? “You mean like mentor me in BDSM? Sorry, but I’m not a bow down, please and thank you, Sir, type of a woman.” Reality check! It was time to dodge this bullet. Unfortunately, it was somewhat impossible since he had me caged between his strong arms.

“I’m not so sure about that. Besides, you’ll never know unless you try.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression, Noah. I think maybe I should go.” I needed air. I needed to get out of this room. I needed Noah Dorian. That’s what I needed.

#2:
I couldn’t take it anymore. My dick could only behave for so long. My poor impulse control and I pushed her against the car, tasting those succulent lips again. Something I couldn’t stop thinking about. Luckily, her mouth voluntarily welcomed my tongue. I could only imagine what else it could do to her luscious body.

“Because I know you feel it too.”

Her eyes blinked several times as they stared into mine, her breaths jagged between her slightly parted lips. That was all the reassurance I needed to know she would be there on Saturday night.

I backed away and took her hand in mine, suddenly with more pep in my stride. I walked her to her car and made sure she got in safely, her wittiness taking a hike and replaced with desire. Her eyes had hunger in them, and I knew exactly how to feed it. This woman had no clue how fucking sexy she was. I intended to make that concept very well known to her.

She looked up at me and almost whispered her good-bye, her lips swollen and begging for more.

I leaned down and slid my hand into her hair, tilting her chin upward so I could have one more taste to hold me over until the weekend. To my surprise, she fisted my hair desperately. I planted a gentle kiss on her lips to find her almost panting when I pulled away. I released my hold on her and smiled. “Good night, Jordin.”

It took all the self-control I had to walk away after the kiss. My dick ached, wanting to blow, but it wasn’t something I couldn’t take care of later.

Author Bio:
When she's not managing her husband’s medical practice or taking care of her three kids, Faith Starr loves writing erotic romance fiction.

Faith is passionate about putting herself into the minds of her characters, giving them a life of their own with all of the emotions that go along with it. She is head over heels in love with each and every alpha male she creates and the confident women who steal their hearts.

Faith has found her passion writing in the romance genre. Creating heartfelt love stories has become key in giving her inner spirit the creative outlet it desires. She is a hopeless romantic, with a little spice, who truly believes in the “Once Upon a Time” and “Happily Ever After” ending.

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The Monet Murders by Josh Lanyon

Summary:
All those late night conversations when Sam had maybe a drink too many or Jason was half falling asleep. All those playful, provocative comments about what they’d do when they finally met up again.

Well, here they were.

The last thing Jason West, an ambitious young FBI Special Agent with the Art Crimes Team, wants--or needs--is his uncertain and unacknowledged romantic relationship with irascible legendary Behavioral Analysis Unit Chief Sam Kennedy.

And it’s starting to feel like Sam is not thrilled with the idea either.

But personal feelings must be put aside when Sam requests Jason’s help to catch a deranged killer targeting wealthy, upscale art collectors. A killer whose calling card is a series of grotesque paintings depicting the murders.

Sam and Jason are back!  Their relationship has been months of phone calls and skyping  but then they find themselves once again on a case together and the relationship that Jason believed they were heading towards is not quite the same page that Sam was reading.

As with book #1, The Mermaid Murders, Sam and Jason are still not quite up to the status of Jake and Adrien from the author's Adrien English Mysteries but for this reader they are definitely giving my favorite detecting odd couple a run for the top notch in my heart.  What can I say about the mystery?  Well, I won't say too much because I don't want to give anything away but I will note that my interest was piqued from the very beginning and not once did it falter.  The Monet Murders may be more relationship driven but the mystery is not forgotten.  The passion between the boys that began in The Mermaid Murders only grows with each page, despite Sam ending it before it really has a chance to begin.

Every time a new Josh Lanyon release pops up in my notifications I know that I am in for a treat and I was not disappointed with The Monet Murders.  I am already looking forward to Sam and Jason's next case.

RATING:

For a time he was occupied in playing shuffleboard with the buses and delivery trucks and taxis clogging the crowded streets, but inevitably his thoughts circled back to the passenger in the seat beside him.

Given how irate Jason had been at being conscripted into Kennedy’s investigation, it was odd that what he mostly felt now was a sense of letdown, even disappointment, that Kennedy would not be returning.

But wasn’t it normal that his feelings should be confused? The situation was just…so strange. All those months. And when they finally did get together…

Nothing.

Worse than nothing. It was like they had never met. Never made lov— Oh, hell no. Not that. Never had sex. That’s what he meant.

His anger faded, leaving him depressed, disheartened. What the hell had happened to change everything? He just couldn’t understand it. He was baffled.

Yeah. Baffled.

The traffic lurched to a sudden standstill. Jason’s phone vibrated. He ignored it. Around them, a few impatient drivers vented their frustration with honks, but the seconds continued to tick by. Pedestrians in every size, shape, and color crowded the sidewalk beside them, darting around the cones and sawhorses and hoses of the workmen tearing up the pavement with jackhammers. The pound of the pneumatic drills was not as loud as the silence stretching between himself and Kennedy.

In disbelief, Jason heard his own voice—hesitant, slightly strained—break the silence.

“Look. Did I…do something?”

“No,” Kennedy said at once. And that was a relief. A relief that Kennedy did him the courtesy of not pretending he didn’t understand. In fact, it was as if he had been sitting there thinking the same thing as Jason. “It isn’t you. It’s nothing you’ve done or didn’t do.”

He didn’t elaborate, though, so Jason—who already felt like he was out on a very flimsy limb—had to stretch still further.

“Because I don’t understand.” Excruciating to have to put this into words. His face felt hot, and his heart was pounding as though this was a high-risk situation. He was not used to it. Not used to…caring so much. It wasn’t that he’d never been turned down before or even been dumped. It always stung, but it hadn’t hurt. Not really. Not like this.

Kennedy didn’t answer immediately, and Jason couldn’t bear the silence.

“Is it the promotion? Are you thinking that I would somehow trade on our friendship? Or that other people might think I was trading on our friendship?”

“No,” Kennedy said, again adamant. “I don’t think that. And I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks.”

So what the hell was it? Because he was not wrong, not imagining things. Kennedy was confirming it was over. But he wasn’t telling him why, and that really was the part Jason needed to understand. They’d talked two weeks ago, and there had been no hint that everything was not…

Was not what?

Okay? Fine? Normal? None of that applied. They’d had a long-distance relationship that was more like phone tag. In other words, they’d had nothing.

And kudos to Kennedy for recognizing that fact and breaking it off.

Although this was more like passive resistance than breaking it off. But whatever. Over. Done. Finito. Let it go, West. It only gets more embarrassing from here.

A couple of excruciatingly long seconds passed while he tried to think of a way to change the subject, scrabble to the solid ground of…anything, for the love of God. How about them Cubs?

The traffic ahead of them crept forward, and Jason eased off the brake, letting the Dodge roll a couple of inches.

Because I care about you, Jason. More than I thought I could.

His eyes blurred.

Jesus Fucking Christ. Was he about to cr—tear up over this? No way. And sure as hell not when Kennedy was sitting right beside him. For God’s sake.

Kennedy said suddenly, “I…like you. Nothing has changed.”

Right. Except everything.

Jason made a sound in the back of his throat that was supposed to be…not what it sounded like. Which made him angry and enabled him to get out a terse, “Right.”

“But it isn’t…practical to try to…” Kennedy was picking words as painstakingly as somebody gathering shards of glass. “It’s not enough to…build on.”

Wow. Maybe he was misremembering, but getting shot three times hadn’t hurt this much. And anyway, what the hell did that mean? It’s not like Jason had been pushing for more. He had accepted Sam’s terms. Not that Sam had really given him terms.

He wanted to say something to the effect of what he had said in Kingsfield: Whatever. It was just supposed to be a fucking date.

But of course it wasn’t just a date. Not anymore. Somehow they had managed to move beyond that never-to-be date to something more. Something deeper. And yet less concrete than even a date.

It made no sense for him to sit here like his heart was breaking when they didn’t even know each other. It was ridiculous. Pathetic.

“It’s okay,” he said flatly. “You’re right.”

He felt Kennedy look at him, but he kept staring straight ahead. He shrugged.

“I should have told you sooner,” Kennedy said. “Made my position clear.” Had it been anyone but Sam Kennedy, Jason would have said there was guilt—regret?—in his tone. “But I like talking to you.”

“Yeah. Well.” He was relieved his voice had steadied again, because inside he was a churning mess of confused emotion. Mostly pain. “I liked talking to you too.”

Neither of them had anything to say after that, and the nearby crush and crash of broken cement filled the distance between them.

The Mermaid Murders #1

Summary:
Special Agent Jason West is seconded from the FBI Art Crime Team to temporarily partner with disgraced, legendary “manhunter” Sam Kennedy when it appears that Kennedy’s most famous case, the capture and conviction of a serial killer known as The Huntsman, may actually have been a disastrous failure.

The Huntsman is still out there…and the killing has begun again.

Sam Kennedy and Jason West have the potential to be the next Jake Riordan and Adrien English.  I know what you are thinking, "that's one helluva prediction".  Maybe it is, but considering Jake and Adrien are one of the couples I tend to use as a personal rating system when it comes to romantic mysteries, I think it is more than a prediction.  They have the kind of chemistry that ignites your soul to the point that you could care less about the mystery they are actually trying to solve.  Luckily, Sam and Jason don't let that "WOW" feeling get in the way of their job.  The mystery behind The Mermaid Murders may or may not keep you guessing all the way through, that depends on the way your mind works, this reader has been reading/watching murder mysteries since I was 10 years old so very few actually keep my creepy mind stumped.  That right there is what I rate a mystery on, keeping the reader hooked even when they are 99% sure they know who did the deed or deeds and that is why Josh Lanyon's latest thriller is a must read.

RATING:

Author Bio:

A distinct voice in gay fiction, multi-award-winning author JOSH LANYON has been writing gay mystery, adventure and romance for over a decade. In addition to numerous short stories, novellas, and novels, Josh is the author of the critically acclaimed Adrien English series, including The Hell You Say, winner of the 2006 USABookNews awards for GLBT Fiction. Josh is an Eppie Award winner and a three-time Lambda Literary Award finalist.

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The Monet Murders #2

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Saturday's Series Spotlight: Enlightenment by Joanna Chambers

Titles: Provoked, Beguiled, Enlightened

Author: Joanna Chambers

Series: Enlightenment #1-3

Genre: Historical M/M Romance

Cover Design: Natasha Snow

Provoked #1
Summary:
David Lauriston is struggling to build his reputation in Edinburgh’s privileged legal world. His humble origins are enough of a hurdle, never mind his recent decision to defend a group of weavers accused of treason, prompting speculation that he may harbour radical sympathies. The last thing he should be doing is agreeing to help the brother of one of the convicted weavers find the government agent who caused his brother’s downfall.

David’s personal life is no more successful. Tormented by his forbidden desires for other men, and the painful memories of the childhood friend he once loved, David tries his hardest to live a celibate existence, castigating himself whenever his resolve slips.

But then—into David’s repressed and orderly world—bursts Lord Murdo Balfour.

Cynical, hedonistic and utterly unapologetic, Murdo could not be less like David. Whilst David refuses to entertain the prospect of entering into a loveless marriage for propriety’s sake, Murdo is determined to wed one day—and has no intention of giving up the company of other men when he does so. But as appalled as David is by Murdo’s unrepentant self-interest, he cannot resist the man’s sway.

Murdo tempts and provokes David in equal measure, distracting him from his promise to find the agent provocateur responsible for the weavers’ fate, and forcing him to acknowledge his physical desires.

But is Murdo more than a mere distraction?

Is it possible he could be the very man David is looking for?

Beguiled #2

Summary:

Two years after his last encounter with cynical nobleman Lord Murdo Balfour, David Lauriston accidentally meets him again in the heart of Edinburgh.

King George IV is about to make his first visit to Edinburgh and Murdo has been sent North by his politician father to represent his aristocratic family at the celebrations.

David and Murdo’s last parting was painful—and on Murdo’s part, bitter—but Murdo’s feelings seem to have mellowed in the intervening years. So much so, that he suggests to David that they enjoy each other’s company during Murdo’s stay in the capital.

Despite his initial reservations, David cannot put Murdo’s proposal from his mind, and soon find himself at Murdo’s door—and in his arms.

But other figures from David’s past are converging on the city, and as the pomp and ceremony of the King’s visit unfolds around them, David is drawn into a chain of events that will threaten everything: his career, his wellbeing, and the fragile bond that, despite David’s best intentions, is growing between him and Murdo.

Enlightened #3
Summary:
David Lauriston has been recuperating at Lord Murdo Balfour’s Laverock estate for the last five months. At Laverock, he has regained his health and confidence and has found—with Murdo—more happiness and contentment than he has never known before.

David is all too aware that some day soon he will have to leave Laverock—and Murdo—and return to his legal practice in Edinburgh, just as Murdo will have to return to his life in London. But when David’s mentor, Patrick Chalmers, asks David to return to Edinburgh to visit him on his deathbed, it seems that day has come sooner than either David or Murdo would have wished.

Chalmers begs David to undertake one last piece of business for him: to secure the future of Chalmers’s daughter Elizabeth. But to carry out his old mentor’s wishes, David must travel to London, with Murdo.

No sooner have the two men arrived in the capital than they encounter Murdo’s ruthlessly manipulative father, who reveals a shocking secret that rocks David to his foundations. What’s more, when David discovers Elizabeth is facing far greater danger than even her father feared, he is determined to help her, no matter the cost to his own safety.

As the stakes rise, it is Murdo who must choose what he is prepared to sacrifice to keep David at his side, and ask whether there is any possibility of lasting happiness for men like them.

Provoked #1
David is struggling to make a name for himself in the legal profession, or at least do what he feels is right and create a secure and stable future.  Lord Murdo is not quite so noble  in his life's pursuit but he does have an idea of what his future should look like.  When these two meet, its pretty obvious that neither will ever quite be the same.  Provoked is a lovely introduction into Joanna Chambers' Enlightenment series.

Beguiled #2
It's been two years since David and Lord Murdo were last together and their lives kept moving forward but when they are once again thrown together by outside forces, they find that as much as their ideas of tomorrow haven't changed, how they see themselves in said future may not be quite the same.  It's very rare when I can say I enjoyed the sequel as much, if not more, than the original but that is what I found myself feeling as I read Beguiled.

Enlightened #3
Having been together for the five months since the last page of Beguiled, Enlightened finds David and Murdo enjoying something they never thought they would be able to have, domesticity with each other.  Naturally, life is not that easy.  We get to see Murdo's father in this installment and let me tell you, he is not a pleasant man.  Enlightened finds the couple traveling to London with not so happy tasks but will it be the end for the pair or will they be able to find a way around societies' idea of proper morality?

Overall Series
With this being a trilogy you have to read the entire series to see the whole story.  As any followers of my reviews know, I am a true history lover so when I find a new(or new to me) historical I tend to gobble them up.  Well, I have never felt so satisfied after binge reading a trilogy before as I have with Joanna Chambers' Enlightenment.  David and Lord Murdo will definitely try your patience but their passion for life and each other, even when they deny it, will bring a little zest into your life and a pep to your step.  Don't get me wrong, you will most certainly want to wring their necks more than once but it only adds to the passion and heart of the story.

I loved the secondary characters as well, there isn't a single one that could be labeled as just filler, they all a part to play in the journeys of David and Murdo.  It's through the couples' interactions with these characters that we get to see what drives them, we see that David wants to help others from the beginning but it isn't really until Beguiled that we realize Murdo isn't as selfish or self-involved as originally portrayed.  It may be cliche but there is more to him than meets the eye and it's lovely watching David discover Murdo's drive and heart.

It isn't often that I find myself saying that with each installment the story got even better, sequels by nature are often inferior to the original but not with this trilogy.  A truly lovely historical that showed the morality of the time but never lost the passion the characters have for life or each other.  Enlightenment has a little bit of everything but at the center of it all is heart and that only grows with each page.  So blessed that this series crossed my path and makes a great addition to my historical shelf.

RATING: 

Author Bio:
Joanna Chambers always wanted to write. She spent over 20 years staring at blank sheets of paper and despairing of ever writing a single word. In between staring at blank sheets of paper, she studied law, met her husband and had two children. Whilst nursing her first child, she rediscovered her love of romance and found her muse. Joanna lives in Scotland with her family and finds time to write by eschewing sleep and popular culture.

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Dreaming at Seaside by Addison Cole

Title: Dreaming at Seaside

Author: Addison Cole

Series: Sweet with Heat: Seaside Summers #2

Genre: Sweet Contemporary Standalone Romance

Release Date: June 14, 2017

Summary:

Sweet with Heat: Seaside Summers features a group of fun, flirty, and emotional friends who gather each summer at their Cape Cod cottages. They're sassy, flawed, and so easy to relate to, you'll be begging to enter their circle of friends!

Dreaming at Seaside is the sweet edition of New York Times bestselling author Melissa Foster's steamy romance novel Seaside Dreams. The stories and characters remain the same, and convey all of the passion you expect between two people in love, without any explicit scenes or harsh language.

In DREAMING at SEASIDE...

Bella Abbascia has returned to Seaside Cottages in Wellfleet, Massachusetts, as she does every summer. Only this year, Bella has more on her mind than sunbathing and skinny-dipping with her girlfriends. She's quit her job, put her house on the market, and sworn off relationships while she builds a new life in her favorite place on earth. That is, until good-time Bella's prank takes a bad turn and a handsome police officer appears on the scene.

Single father and police officer Caden Grant left Boston with his fourteen-year-old son, Evan, after his partner was killed in the line of duty. He hopes to find a safer life in the small resort town of Wellfleet, and when he meets Bella during a night patrol shift, he realizes he's found the one thing he'd never allowed himself to hope for--or even realized he was missing.

After fourteen years of focusing solely on his son, Caden cannot resist the intense attraction he feels toward beautiful Bella, and Bella's powerless to fight the heat of their budding romance. But starting over proves more difficult than either of them imagined, and when Evan gets mixed up with the wrong kids, Caden's loyalty is put to the test. Will he give up everything to protect his son--even Bella?

“Bella? Are you here for the summer, or do you live here?”

She stacked the chocolate on top of a graham cracker, added the warm marshmallow, and then topped it off with another graham cracker. She stared at it for a minute before cocking her head in his direction and answering.

“I’m here until the s’mores run out.”

Then let me run to the store for more marshmallows.

She took a bite of the gooey treat and licked a streak of chocolate from her lower lip. She had a dab of marshmallow on her cheek, and once again, it felt natural to reach over and wipe it clean with his finger.

Bella narrowed her eyes. Oops. There was that invisible boundary again. Maybe she wasn’t into him after all.

“I was saving that for later,” she said. With her back to Evan, who was preoccupied with his own dessert, she grabbed his hand and brought it to her mouth. His pulse quickened with the expectation of a sensually evocative suck. With wide, amused eyes, she turned his finger sideways and nibbled the sticky marshmallow off like it was corn on the cob.

“I’ll teach you not to steal my sugar. Open up.” She shoved the s’more toward his mouth.

“No, that’s okay.” He leaned out of reach to tease her.

“Come on. No one can resist s’mores.” She leaned in closer, holding the s’more to his lips. Her knee pressed against his thigh. “You know you want it.”

Yeah, I do. He took a bite of the sweet, sticky treat. Heat flashed in Bella’s eyes as she dragged her finger along the edge of his lower lip and held it up to show him the smear of chocolate before she slowly, seductively, sucked her finger clean.

Holy. Moly.

Beautiful, smart, and sexier than any woman he’d ever met. Bella piqued curiosities and desires that had been slumbering for way too long.

 

 

Seaside Dreams(Seaside Summers #1)

Summary:

Seaside Summers is a series of stand-alone romances that may also be enjoyed as part of the larger series.

IN SEASIDE DREAMS... Bella Abbascia has returned to Seaside Cottages in Wellfleet, Massachusetts, as she does every summer. Only this year, Bella has more on her mind than sunbathing and skinny-dipping with her girlfriends. She's quit her job, put her house on the market, and sworn off relationships while she builds a new life in her favorite place on earth. That is, until good-time Bella's prank takes a bad turn and a sinfully sexy police officer appears on the scene.

Single father and police officer Caden Grant left Boston with his fourteen-year-old son, Evan, after his partner was killed in the line of duty. He hopes to find a safer life in the small resort town of Wellfleet, and when he meets Bella during a night patrol shift, he realizes he's found the one thing he'd never allowed himself to hope for--or even realized he was missing.

After fourteen years of focusing solely on his son, Caden cannot resist the intense attraction he feels toward beautiful Bella, and Bella's powerless to fight the heat of their budding romance. But starting over proves more difficult than either of them imagined, and when Evan gets mixed up with the wrong kids, Caden's loyalty is put to the test. Will he give up everything to protect his son--even Bella?

Author Bio:

SIGN UP for ADDISON'S Sweet with Heat newsletter. Fun, flirty romance with a dash of heat.

Addison Cole is the sweet alter ego of New York Times and USA Today bestselling and award-winning author Melissa Foster. She writes humorous and emotional sweet contemporary romance. Her books do not include explicit sex scenes or harsh language. Addison spends her summers on Cape Cod, where she dreams up wonderful love stories in her house overlooking Cape Cod Bay.

Addison enjoys discussing her books with book clubs and reader groups and welcomes an invitation to your event.

Addison’s books are available in paperback, digital, and audio formats.

Addison Cole

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Dreaming at Seaside #2

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Read, Write, Love at Seaside #1

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Friday's Film Adaptions: Farewell, My Lovely by Raymond Chandler

Summary:
Eight years ago Moose Malloy and cute little redhead Velma were getting married - until someone framed Malloy for armed robbery. Now his stretch is up and he wants Velma back. PI Philip Marlow meets Malloy one hot day in Hollywood and, out of the generosity of his jaded heart, agrees to help him. Dragged from one smoky bar to another, Marlowe's search for Velma turns up plenty of dangerous gangsters with a nasty habit of shooting first and talking later. And soon what started as a search for a missing person becomes a matter of life and death . . .

ONE
It was one of the mixed blocks over on Central Avenue, the blocks that are not yet all Negro. I had just come out of a three-chair barber shop where an agency thought a relief barber named Dimitrios Aleidis might be working. It was a small matter. His wife said she was willing to spend a little money to have him come home.

I never found him, but Mrs. Aleidis never paid me any money either.

It was a warm day, almost the end of March, and I stood outside the barber shop looking up at the jutting neon sign of a second floor dine and dice emporium called Florian's. A man was looking up at the sign too. He was looking up at the dusty windows with a sort of ecstatic fixity of expression, like a hunky immigrant catching his first sight of the Statue of Liberty. He was a big man but not more than six feet five inches tall and not wider than a beer truck. He was about ten feet away from me. His arms hung loose at his sides and a forgotten cigar smoked behind his enormous fingers.

Slim quiet Negroes passed up and down the street and stared at him with darting side glances. He was worth looking at. He wore a shaggy borsalino hat, a rough gray sports coat with white golf balls on it for buttons, a brown shirt, a yellow tie, pleated gray flannel slacks and alligator shoes with white explosions on the toes. From his outer breast pocket cascaded a show handkerchief of the same brilliant yellow as his tie. There were a couple of colored feathers tucked into the band of his hat, but he didn't really need them. Even on Central Avenue, not the quietest dressed street in the world, he looked about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food.

His skin was pale and he needed a shave. He would always need a shave. He had curly black hair and heavy eyebrows that almost met over his thick nose. His ears were small and neat for a man of that size and his eyes had a shine close to tears that gray eyes often seem to have. He stood like a statue, and after a long time he smiled.

He moved slowly across the sidewalk to the double swinging doors which shut off the stairs to the second floor. He pushed them open, cast a cool expressionless glance up and down the street, and moved inside. If he had been a smaller man and more quietly dressed, I might have thought he was going to pull a stick-up. But not in those clothes, and not with that hat, and that frame.

The doors swung back outwards and almost settled to a stop. Before they had entirely stopped moving they opened again, violently, outwards. Something sailed across the sidewalk and landed in the gutter between two parked cars. It landed on its hands and knees and made a high keening noise like a cornered rat. It got up slowly, retrieved a hat and stepped back onto the sidewalk. It was a thin, narrow-shouldered brown youth in a lilac colored suit and a carnation. It had slick black hair. It kept its mouth open and whined for a moment. People stared at it vaguely. Then it settled its hat jauntily, sidled over to the wall and walked silently splay-footed off along the block.

Silence. Traffic resumed. I walked along to the double doors and stood in front of them. They were motionless now. It wasn't any of my business. So I pushed them open and looked in.

A hand I could have sat in came out of the dimness and took hold of my shoulder and squashed it to a pulp. Then the hand moved me through the doors and casually lifted me up a step. The large face looked at me. A deep soft voice said to me, quietly:

"Smokes in here, huh? Tie that for me, pal."

It was dark in there. It was quiet. From up above came vague sounds of humanity, but we were alone on the stairs. The big man stared at me solemnly and went on wrecking my shoulder with his hand.

"A dinge," he said. "I just thrown him out. You seen me throw him out?"

He let go of my shoulder. The bone didn't seem to be broken, but the arm was numb.

"It's that kind of a place," I said, rubbing my shoulder. "What did you expect?"

"Don't say that, pal," the big man purred softly, like four tigers after dinner. "Velma used to work here. Little Velma."

He reached for my shoulder again. I tried to dodge him but he was as fast as a cat. He began to chew my muscles up some more with his iron fingers.

"Yeah," he said. "Little Velma. I ain't seen her in eight years. You say this here is a dinge joint?"

I croaked that it was.

He lifted me up two more steps. I wrenched myself loose and tried for a little elbow room. I wasn't wearing a gun. Looking for Dimitrios Aleidis hadn't seemed to require it. I doubted if it would do me any good. The big man would probably take it away from me and eat it.

"Go on up and see for yourself," I said, trying to keep the agony out of my voice.

He let go of me again. He looked at me with a sort of sadness in his gray eyes. "I'm feelin' good," he said. "I wouldn't want anybody to fuss with me. Let's you and me go on up and maybe nibble a couple."

"They won't serve you. I told you it's a colored joint."

"I ain't seen Velma in eight years," he said in his deep sad voice. "Eight long years since I said good-by. She ain't wrote to me in six. But she'll have a reason. She used to work here. Cute she was. Let's you and me go on up, huh?"

"All right," I yelled. "I'll go up with you. Just lay off carrying me. Let me walk. I'm fine. I'm all grown up. I go to the bathroom alone and everything. Just don't carry me."

"Little Velma used to work here," he said gently. He wasn't listening to me.

We went on up the stairs. He let me walk. My shoulder ached. The back of my neck was wet.

TWO
Two more swing doors closed off the head of the stairs from whatever was beyond. The big man pushed them open lightly with his thumbs and we went into the room. It was a long narrow room, not very clean, not very bright, not very cheerful. In the corner a group of Negroes chanted and chattered in the cone of light over a crap table. There was a bar against the right hand wall. The rest of the room was mostly small round tables. There were a few customers, men and women, all Negroes.

The chanting at the crap table stopped dead and the light over it jerked out. There was a sudden silence as heavy as a water-logged boat. Eyes looked at us, chestnut colored eyes, set in faces that ranged from gray to deep black. Heads turned slowly and the eyes in them glistened and stared in the dead alien silence of another race.

A large, thick-necked Negro was leaning against the end of the bar with pink garters on his shirt sleeves and pink and white suspenders crossing his broad back. He had bouncer written all over him. He put his lifted foot down slowly and turned slowly and stared at us, spreading his feet gently and moving a broad tongue along his lips. He had a battered face that looked as if it had been hit by everything but the bucket of a dragline. It was scarred, flattened, thickened, checkered, and welted. It was a face that had nothing to fear. Everything had been done to it that anybody could think of.

The short crinkled hair had a touch of gray. One ear had lost the lobe.

The Negro was heavy and wide. He had big heavy legs and they looked a little bowed, which is unusual in a Negro. He moved his tongue some more and smiled and moved his body. He came towards us in a loose fighter's crouch. The big man waited for him silently.

The Negro with the pink garters on his arms put a massive brown hand against the big man's chest. Large as it was, the hand looked like a stud. The big man didn't move. The bouncer smiled gently.

"No white folks, brother. Jes' fo' the colored people. I'se sorry."

The big man moved his small sad gray eyes and looked around the room. His cheeks flushed a little. "Shine box," he said angrily, under his breath. He raised his voice. "Where's Velma at?" he asked the bouncer.

The bouncer didn't quite laugh. He studied the big man's clothes, his brown shirt and yellow tie, his rough gray coat and the white golf balls on it. He moved his thick head around delicately and studied all this from various angles. He looked down at the alligator shoes. He chuckled lightly. He seemed amused. I felt a little sorry for him. He spoke softly again.

"Velma, you says? No Velma heah, brother. No hooch, no gals, no nothing. Jes' the scram, white boy, jes' the scram."

"Velma used to work here," the big man said. He spoke almost dreamily, as if he was all by himself, out in the woods, picking johnny-jump-ups. I got my handkerchief out and wiped the back of my neck again.

The bouncer laughed suddenly. "Shuah," he said, throwing a quick look back over his shoulder at his public. "Velma used to work heah. But Velma don't work heah no mo'. She done reti'ed. Haw, haw."

"Kind of take your goddamned mitt off my shirt," the big man said.

The bouncer frowned. He was not used to being talked to like that. He took his hand off the shirt and doubled it into a fist about the size and color of a large eggplant. He had his job, his reputation for toughness, his public esteem to consider. He considered them for a second and made a mistake. He swung the fist very hard and short with a sudden outward jerk of the elbow and hit the big man on the side of the jaw. A soft sigh went around the room.

It was a good punch. The shoulder dropped and the body swung behind it. There was a lot of weight in that punch and the man who landed it had had plenty of practice. The big man didn't move his head more than an inch. He didn't try to block the punch. He took it, shook himself lightly, made a quiet sound in his throat and took hold of the bouncer by the throat.

The bouncer tried to knee him in the groin. The big man turned him in the air and slid his gaudy shoes apart on the scaly linoleum that covered the floor. He bent the bouncer backwards and shifted his right hand to the bouncer's belt. The belt broke like a piece of butcher's string. The big man put his enormous hands flat against the bouncer's spine and heaved. He threw him clear across the room, spinning and staggering and flailing with his arms. Three men jumped out of the way. The bouncer went over with a table and smacked into the baseboard with a crash that must have been heard in Denver. His legs twitched. Then he lay still.

"Some guys," the big man said, "has got wrong ideas about when to get tough." He turned to me. "Yeah," he said. "Let's you and me nibble one."

We went over to the bar. The customers, by ones and twos and threes, became quiet shadows that drifted soundless across the floor, soundless through the doors at the head of the stairs. Soundless as shadows on the grass. They didn't even let the doors swing.

We leaned against the bar. "Whiskey sour," the big man said. "Call yours."

"Whiskey sour," I said.

We had whiskey sours.

The big man licked his whiskey sour impassively down the side of the thick squat glass. He stared solemnly at the barman, a thin, worried-looking Negro in a white coat who moved as if his feet hurt him.

"You know where Velma is?"

"Velma, you says?" the barman whined. "I ain't seen her 'round heah lately. Not right lately, nossuh."

"How long you been here?"

"Let's see," the barman put his towel down and wrinkled his forehead and started to count on his fingers. "'Bout ten months, I reckon. 'Bout a yeah. 'Bout--"

"Make your mind up," the big man said.

The barman goggled and his Adam's apple flopped around like a headless chicken.

"How long's this coop been a dinge joint?" the big man demanded gruffly.

"Says which?"

The big man made a fist into which his whiskey sour glass melted almost out of sight.

"Five years anyway," I said. "This fellow wouldn't know anything about a white girl named Velma. Nobody here would."

The big man looked at me as if I had just hatched out. His whiskey sour hadn't seemed to improve his temper.

"Who the hell asked you to stick your face in?" he asked me.

I smiled. I made it a big warm friendly smile. "I'm the fellow that came in with you. Remember?"

He grinned back then, a flat white grin without meaning. "Whiskey sour," he told the barman. "Shake them fleas outa your pants. Service."

The barman scuttled around, rolling the whites of his eyes. I put my back against the bar and looked at the room. It was now empty, save for the barman, the big man and myself, and the bouncer crushed over against the wall. The bouncer was moving. He was moving slowly as if with great pain and effort. He was crawling softly along the baseboard like a fly with one wing. He was moving behind the tables, wearily, a man suddenly old, suddenly disillusioned. I watched him move. The barman put down two more whiskey sours. I turned to the bar. The big man glanced casually over at the crawling bouncer and then paid no further attention to him.

"There ain't nothing left of the joint," he complained. "They was a little stage and band and cute little rooms where a guy could have fun. Velma did some warbling. A redhead she was. Cute as lace pants. We was to of been married when they hung the frame on me."

I took my second whiskey sour. I was beginning to have enough of the adventure. "What frame?" I asked.

Film
Detective Philip Marlowe's search for a two-timing woman leads him to blackmail and murder.

Release Date: December 9, 1944
Release Time: 95 minutes

Cast:
Dick Powell as Philip Marlowe
Claire Trevor as Helen Grayle/Velma Valento
Anne Shirley as Ann Grayle
Otto Kruger as Jules Amthor
Mike Mazurki as Moose Malloy
Miles Mander as Mr. Grayle
Don Douglas as Police Lt. Randall
Douglas Walton as Lindsay Marriott
Ralf Harolde as Dr. Sonderborg
Esther Howard as Jessie Florian
Ernie Adams as bartender at "Florian's"
George Anderson as detective
Ralph Dunn as detective

Author Bio:
Raymond Thornton Chandler was an American novelist and screenwriter.

In 1932, at age forty-four, Raymond Chandler decided to become a detective fiction writer after losing his job as an oil company executive during the Depression. His first short story, "Blackmailers Don't Shoot", was published in 1933 in Black Mask, a popular pulp magazine. His first novel, The Big Sleep, was published in 1939. In addition to his short stories, Chandler published just seven full novels during his lifetime (though an eighth in progress at his death was completed by Robert B. Parker). All but Playback have been realized into motion pictures, some several times. In the year before he died, he was elected president of the Mystery Writers of America. He died on March 26, 1959, in La Jolla, California.

Chandler had an immense stylistic influence on American popular literature, and is considered by many to be a founder, along with Dashiell Hammett, James M. Cain and other Black Mask writers, of the hard-boiled school of detective fiction. Chandler's Philip Marlowe, along with Hammett's Sam Spade, are considered by some to be synonymous with "private detective," both having been played on screen by Humphrey Bogart, whom many considered to be the quintessential Marlowe.

Some of Chandler's novels are considered to be important literary works, and three are often considered to be masterpieces: Farewell, My Lovely (1940), The Little Sister (1949), and The Long Goodbye (1953). The Long Goodbye is praised within an anthology of American crime stories as "arguably the first book since Hammett's The Glass Key, published more than twenty years earlier, to qualify as a serious and significant mainstream novel that just happened to possess elements of mystery".

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