Oleander House: Bay City Paranormal Investigations, Book 1

he stroked beneath Alec’s sac.
He approached Alec’s hole and Alec noticed.
“No.” Alec’s eyes were unfocused, his face heated.
“No, what?” Liam kept his thumbs where they were, caressing the sensitive skin between balls and anus.
Again, Alec shut his eyes briefly, his breathing unsteady. “No fucking.”
    The road back to bestsellerdom can be deadly.

Somebody Killed His Editor
© 2009 Josh Lanyon
    Holmes & Moriarity, Book 1
Thanks to an elderly spinster sleuth and her ingenious cat, Christopher Holmes has enjoyed a celebrated career as a bestselling mystery writer. Until now. Sales are down and his new editor is allergic to geriatric gumshoes.
On the advice of his agent, he reinvents his fortyish, frumpy, recently dumped self into the sleek, sexy image of a literary lion, and heads for a Northern California writers conference to try and resurrect his career. A career nearly as dead as the body he stumbles over in the woods.
In a weirdly déjà vu replay of one of his own novels, he finds himself stranded in an isolated lodge full of frightened women—and not a lawman in sight. Except for J.X. Moriarity, former cop and bestselling novelist. The man with whom he shared a one-night stand—okay, maybe three—long ago. The man who wants to arrest him for murder.
A ruthless, stalking killer, or a hot, handsome exlover. Which poses the greater danger? It’s elementary, my dear Holmes!
Warning: This book contains a washed-out bridge, an isolated hunting lodge, desperate writers, guilty secrets, a killer on the loose, and one very hot ex-cop who wants his former lover in handcuffs—for all the wrong reasons!
Enjoy the following excerpt for Somebody Killed His Editor:
Someone was howling—a thin, breathless cry that was, in fact, more breath than cry.
Me.
Far from splitting the night, my bleat barely carried three feet, so I had no trouble hearing my attacker’s exasperated, “What. The. Fuck?”
I knew that voice.
I bit off the rest of my screech and sat up, wincing as pain shot up my spine. I was sitting in a puddle, icecold water soaking through my trousers. The last time I remembered being decked had been a playground rumble at Our Holy Mother. I’d been thirteen. My bounce had been better back then. Now I felt like I’d wrenched every muscle in my already worn-out body. And my back…I’d be lucky if I wasn’t crippled for a month. I wiped the mud off my face.
“I am so going to sue your ass,” I spluttered.
“Well, what the hell are you doing out here?” J.X. demanded.
No apology seemed forthcoming. Also, I couldn’t help noticing, neither was help from the lodge. Were we too far away to be heard? Not a happy thought.
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m going to my cabin.”
“Crawling on your hands and knees?”
“I wasn’t on my hands and knees till you knocked me down.”
“You sure as hell were skulking in the bushes.”
“I heard something—you—and I was making sure it was safe.”
He continued to stare down at me. I wished I could see his face. His motionless outline caused my scalp to prickle. Then he reached down a hand.
His hand was warm on my chilled one. Again I was aware of his wiry strength. He wasn’t much taller than me, but he was in a hell of a lot better shape. He pulled me to my feet and dropped my hand.
“What are you doing out here?” I asked, uneasily rubbing the twinging small of my back.
“Grabbing a log for my fireplace.” He reached past me and picked up a nice stout sawed-off limb. “It’s going to be a cold night.” He picked up another log. “Here’s one for you.”
“Thanks.” I stepped out of range, trying not to be too obvious about it. Not that I didn’t appreciate the gesture, but there was something unconvincing in his manner. What had he been looking for out here?
J.X. still held out the log. I took it gingerly.
“I’ll see you to your cabin.”
I followed him down the dirt path that cut across the open field toward the cabins. The sodden clouds had parted and a lackluster moon gilded everything in unnatural light. In the absence of the rain and wind, the stillness seemed uncanny.
Mostly to fill the uncomfortable silence between myself and J.X., I said, “There’s something eerie about the stillness.”
“It’s the eye of the storm.”
“You mean there’s more rain on the way?”
“Oh yeah. We’re a couple of hours away from another downpour.”
“Great.”
“Which is your cabin?”
“That one—with the lights