With Abandon: With or Without, Book 4

made up of reflected
    light and mysterious shadows, as enigmatic as the moon. “I was just saying I’m glad you have your sister back. Maybe when I’m thinking about you I can think of that and I won’t feel so bad for what we did to
    you.”
    “You don’t need to feel—” Dylan’s voice stopped. “I can’t say what you need to feel.”
    “I have to go and start over somewhere, and I’d like to know that you don’t…that you won’t be
    feeling responsible for me or some stupid shit like that.”
    Dylan’s hand came down on William’s so timidly he didn’t move for fear that Dylan would snatch it
    away. “I wish I could give it all back to you. I’ve been trying to think of a way you could keep your college credits and maybe even renew your scholarship, but I can’t think how to do that without risking your—”
    “Shh. Don’t worry.” William turned his hand and carefully laced his tender fingers with Dylan’s.
    “But I do worry. What are you going to do?”
    “I don’t know. Look at you, going all concerned for me—like in that syndrome.”
    Dylan snorted. “Stockholm syndrome? Doesn’t it sort of feel like you’re my hostage now?”
    William gave up a sad smile. Maybe he could be honest for once. Maybe it wouldn’t get him in too
    much trouble to say what was on his mind.
    In his heart.
    He lifted his gaze and found Dylan watching him. “ Papi , I’ve been your hostage since day one. Since the first time I saw you.”
    The grip on William’s hand went slack.
    “You don’t seem to know it, but you’re one very fine motherfucker, Dylan. My personal walking wet
    dream.”
    Dylan whispered, “How come you call me papi ?”

    William tilted his head. “I don’t know. It’s just a thing. Like when Esme calls you m’hijo .”
    Dylan didn’t break eye contact. He held William’s gaze for a long enough time that it made William
    want to look away, but he forced himself to meet those strange light eyes. What he found there was
    something pure and—probably—more honest than he was ready for. He didn’t find acceptance,
    necessarily, but what he saw didn’t cause him to lose hope, either.
    “You should sack out, huh?” Dylan said quietly.
    Disappointment flooded him. “Yeah.” William got up and carried his blanket back to bed.
    “Lots to do tomorrow.” Dylan padded to his own bed. “Ernesto has a list a mile long and I’m not sure
    we can do half of the chores with the grounds so wet.”
    “There’s new shit that will come up with the storm.”
    “Yeah. Maybe more roofs to check out.”
    “Night, Dylan.” William turned his back and pulled his covers over his head.
    “Night, William.”

    Giving screwball mystery a whole deadly new meaning.

    All She Wrote
    © 2010 Josh Lanyon

    Holmes & Moriarity, Book 2
    A murderous fall down icy stairs is nearly the death of Anna Hitchcock, the much-beloved “American
    Agatha Christie” and Christopher Holmes’s former mentor. Anna’s plea for him to host her annual winter
    writing retreat touches all Kit’s sore spots—traveling, teaching writing classes, and separation from his new lover, J.X. Moriarity.
    For J.X., Kit’s cancellation of yet another romantic weekend is the death knell of a relationship that
    has been limping along for months. But that’s just as well, right? Kit isn’t ready for anything serious and besides, Kit owes Anna far too much to refuse.
    Faster than you can say “Miss Marple wears boxer shorts”, Kit is snooping around Anna’s elegant,
    snowbound mansion in the Berkshires for clues as to who’s trying to kill her. A tough task with six amateur sleuths underfoot. Six budding writers with a tangled web of dark undercurrents running among them.
    Slowly, Kit gets the uneasy feeling that the secret may lie between the pages of someone’s fictional
    past. Unfortunately, a clever killer is one step ahead. And it may be too late for J.X. to ride to the rescue.
    Warning: Contains one irascible, forty-year-old mystery writer who desperately needs to get laid, one exasperated thirty-something ex-cop only too happy to oblige, an isolated country manor that needs the thermostat cranked up, various assorted aspiring and perspiring authors, and a merciless killer who may have read one too many mystery novels.

    Enjoy the following excerpt for All She Wrote:
    I want to fuck you, Kit.
    I raised my head, cleared my throat. “Come again?”
    J.X. smiled at me, a lazy smile. His eyes were dark and