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Authors: Charlie Cochrane

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BOOK: Lessons in Power

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“You still don’t.”

He laughed and I was abruptly reminded that this was not the first time he had been in my bedroom. I

remembered some other things too—things I’d thought I’d forgotten: the smoky, sweet taste of his mouth, his husky laugh, his strength—and his gentleness. You don’t expect gentleness from a twenty-five-year-old macho cop, but he had been…tender. Energetic, but tender.

I had handed him the drinks tray while I unlocked the door, now I watched him set the tray of gin and tonic water on the table by the wall. I opened my mouth to ask if he was married—but there is no way to ask that it doesn’t sound like you have a personal stake in the answer. It’s like asking a man if he’s gay—

which would have been my second question.

And while I had no personal interest in J.X. Moriarity, hearing him confirm tonight that he was

straight would have felt like the very last straw.

So I watched him open the closet and push my few clothes aside. He stepped into the bathroom and

shoved the shower curtain back.

I squatted down and looked under the bed. “All clear.”

His expression told me that I was not taking this seriously enough.

He examined the window casings while I went to rinse my muddy glass out in the bathroom.

I sat on the bed and unscrewed the bottlecap. “Would you like a nightcap? I think there’s a plastic cup in the bathroom. Or you can use the coffee pot to drink from.”

He studied me.

“Look, Kit, I realize it’s none of my business, but go easy on that stuff. You need to keep your wits about you.”

“I’m never wittier than when I’ve had a few drinks,” I informed him in my best Elsa Lancaster

imitation. Not that he would have a clue who Elsa Lancaster was, she was well before his time. Well before mine, too, now that I thought about it, but the evening had aged me.

J.X. sighed. “I know you’ve had a rough day. But this is for real. If someone really wanted into this cabin, it wouldn’t be hard to get inside.”

“I’ll sleep with one eye open.”

“Better yet, sleep with that chair propped beneath the door handle.”

Great minds.

“Okay.” I held up the bottle. “Sure you won’t have one for the road?”

He shook his head. “I need to sleep. I’m dead.”

“Unfortunate choice of words.” I poured gin in the glass. Studied the still bubbly tonic water. That

bottle needed to be opened in the bathroom over the sink to minimize loss of vital fluids. “Sleep tight.

Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

J.X. opened the cabin door. He hesitated. “Steven can be a real asshole.”

“There it is again, the keen eye of the master detective.”

His mouth tightened. “Don’t forget to lock this door.”

I rose, went to the door. He stepped out and I closed the door, sliding the bolt home. I leaned against it and closed my eyes.

“What is the matter with you?” I whispered.

Then I nearly jumped out of my skin as someone banged on the door. I backed away and called, “Who

is it?”

“Me.” The muffled voice was male.

Heart thudding, I got out, “Me who?”

“Kit!”

I recognized the exasperation. I unbolted the door and opened it.

J.X., looking unexpectedly self-conscious, pointed to a few cabins down and said, “Look, if

something does…happen. I’m right over there. Cabin six.”

“Within screaming distance,” I observed.

“Uh…yeah.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll try not to take advantage of the situation. I know you need your beauty rest.”

He gave a funny laugh, shook his head and turned away.

“J.X.?” I said.

He stopped. I fastened my hand on the damp collar of his leather jacket and drew him through the

doorway and back into the cabin. With my free hand I gave the door a shove. It snicked shut. J.X. reached back and locked it.

What if the man of your dreams is also the one of your nightmares?

Sleight of Hand

Edwin Matthews just wants to get some sleep. Traveling by steam train with his family, the

melancholic nineteen year old is plagued by restless nights and recurring dreams of a fiery disaster. When a mysterious magician comes aboard, the troubled insomniac’s trip takes an interesting turn.

Tall, dark, and incredibly handsome, the flamboyant Sir Marco Satori offers to cure what ails Edwin.

Spurred by equal parts curiosity, desperation, and attraction, Edwin agrees to the experiment. Suddenly he finds his quiet journey turned into a wild ride of life, love, sex, death…and a few strange things in between.

He also finds himself claimed—in more ways than one—while a promise of “eternity” may be more

than Edwin bargains for.

Warning: This book contains violence, dubious consent, masturbation, anal penetration, light D/s,
frock coats, cravats, questionable Victorian parlor tricks, and hot sex between beautiful men on a fast-moving train.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Sleight of Hand:

Edwin sat in the center of the tufted fainting couch, spine straight and hands folded primly in his lap.

Satori rummaged through the bar selection, tracing a finger across the bottles rattling gently together in time to the clack of the train wheels. Edwin stole a glance at the older man’s backside. Satori had removed his coat, revealing his svelte frame of slightly broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist. A strip of white silk shirt showed between the hem of his waistcoat and his tightly fitted trousers, the waistband hanging unfashionably yet enticingly low on the hipbone.

Tearing his eyes away before they drifted lower, Edwin scanned the coach’s interior and was affected

by the same vague sense of disorientation he’d experienced upon entering the carriage. The space was

furnished with the usual trappings of a gentleman’s parlor, adorned in sumptuous velvets, silks, brocades and leather, in varying hues of black and red trimmed in ebony wood, the floor checkered with black and white tiles—nothing too out of the ordinary, if perhaps a bit ornate.

What lent the private saloon such an unusual quality was that the dimensions seemed off. At first, the space had appeared a touch wider than it should have been. Now, as Edwin shook his head and blinked, the width seemed proportionate but the floor appeared to have been stretched a few feet longer. He considered that the checkerboard pattern created an optical illusion—at least that was the only logical explanation for Edwin’s skewed spatial perspective.

His gaze focused back on the bar, a curiosity unto itself. The requisite bottles of brandy and rum and such were interspersed with various sizes, shapes and colors of bottles, jars and crockery, appearing to serve more as a pharmacopeia than a place to shelve liquor.

“Ah, here we are,” Satori announced. He stepped from behind the curved, polished counter with a

small blob-neck bottle in hand. On first appearance Edwin thought the glass to be black, but as the

illusionist passed through the window light, Edwin noted it to be dark olive amber.

Satori levered the wire bail stopper from the neck, releasing the pressure of the contents with a soft
pop
, followed by the tell-tale hiss of effervescence. He passed the bottle to Edwin, the brush of fingers sending another surge of current down Edwin’s arm, charging him to the very core. Clearing his throat, Edwin wafted the opened neck under his nose. The liquid bore no scent, the fizzy substance greeting him only with a light kiss of moisture across his upper lip.

“Mineral water,” Edwin observed, one eyebrow lifted in question.

“Lithia water, to be precise.” Satori took a seat in the wingback chair directly across from Edwin.

“Bottled at a secret source for which the location may not be divulged. Widely touted as a hangover cure, although users have reported other benefits.”

“Such as?” Skeptical, Edwin held the near-opaque glass up to the light. He thought back to the acrid

tincture of black hellebore he’d been prescribed daily at the hospital, the one which had left him doubled over for the next hour while his gut clenched in painful spasm. After his discharge, he’d read up on the herb and learned it to be toxic. He’d concluded that the alienists were no worse than charlatans peddling snake oil.

“A calming of the mind,” Satori replied, “a soothing of the nerves.” He crossed one leg over the other and propped an elbow on the chair arm. Two fingers denting his brow, he nodded. “Drink.”

Deciding he had nothing to lose—and at the point where he would gladly welcome being poisoned—

Edwin took a tentative sip. The bubbles fizzed pleasantly against his lips, while a scant taste of metal lingered on his tongue. Head tilted back, he continued drinking, allowing the cool beverage to trickle down his throat. Pausing to lick his lips, Edwin hazarded a glance at his would-be shaman and found the other man watching him intently. Despite the cool drink, Edwin felt the unwanted flush creep back up his neck.

He shifted in his seat, and realized the bottle had gone dry.

Satori rose. “Very good. Let’s get started, shall we, before we enter the tunnel.”

As he took the bottle, their bare fingers brushed, jolting Edwin’s senses once again. Attempting to

cover his reaction, he cupped his fist to his mouth with a feigned cough.

His ploy failed. “My dear boy, this simply won’t do.” Satori set the bottle aside on the end table. “If the hypnosis is to be a success, you must relax.”

Satori nudged between his knees and thumbed Edwin’s chin. Edwin had long grown accustomed to

the closeness necessitated during a physical exam and had learned to tolerate the trained, analytical touch of

the medical practitioner. However, Satori was no licensed physician, and his approach came off as

decidedly more intimate. Discomfited, Edwin began to shut his eyes, but instead found himself captivated by the mage’s searing gaze.

He flinched at the sensation of Satori unpinning his tie. His pulse raced at the whisper of crisp silk being slid from around his collar.

“There, doesn’t that feel better?” Satori asked.

“Yes,” Edwin conceded with a mumble, his neck free of the starched fabric.

Satori opened the first few buttons of Edwin’s shirt. Edwin swallowed, his heart pounding now. The

magician cupped his face in both hands and rolled his head from side to side, tracing the pads of his thumbs across Edwin’s cheekbones. He massaged the pressure points behind Edwin’s ears. Examining the throat

nodes, his touch lingered at Edwin’s throbbing jugular.

“There’s no need to be nervous, Master Edwin. Lie back and make yourself comfortable.”

Cradling Edwin’s head in one hand, he eased Edwin sideways. Following Satori’s lead, Edwin lay

back against the headrest. Peering up, he watched the magician take his place behind the high rounded corner that graced one end of the sofa. Satori smiled downward, his ebony mane framing his face, and

began to massage Edwin’s temples.