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“This week’s theme is My Sexy Love. The first thing we thought of with this theme was Hands of Love by Wall of Voodoo. Or how about Corey Hart and Sunglasses at Night. Maybe a little of Art of Noise and Moments in Love. Then there’s the Fine Young Cannibals and She Drives Me Crazy or Chris Issac with Wicked Game. These are the things that help drive writers to write. Music, songs and the people who sing them. And we aren’t forgetting the now generation with songs like Your Love Is My Drug or Like Yesterday and the hundreds of others that remind us each and every day why we write romance. There is something special in writing about love and how two people, sometimes more, can find how important it is. It’s special to us as writers if we find a song or a series of songs that epitomize that love story.”
Here is an excerpt from my upcoming Male/Male romance Between the Notes, except in this scene the handsome prosecutor Michael is serenading the very-much-in-the-closet rock star….
As Michael stroked the strings into E Minor 7, he whispered more than sang the words, so low Damon had to strain to hear, “I heard he sang a good song…”
Damon recognized it even before Michael reached the chorus—“Killing Me Softly with His Song”—striking a chord within Damon’s chest with more force than his fingers struck the strings. My pain. My life. My dark despair. No, he couldn’t possibly know. Michael’s voice was not strong, and yet it had the power to rip off layer after layer of the protective cocoon Damon had woven around himself, leaving him bare, raw, and vulnerable—completely at his mercy—sending a chill of awareness rippling down his spine. Awareness of him. Of Michael.
Perhaps because of the raspy, ethereal nature of Michael’s voice, a surge of need forhis physical body poured over Damon. The places he imagined touching Michael burned his own skin. He wanted to run his hands across the flesh of his back, and the very thought scorched him, each finger pressed against his ribs until he thought he might spontaneously combust.
And then it was Michael’s hand he imagined, holding tight where Damon’s shoulder met his neck, stealing his breath as Michael’s heat melded into him, fusing them together. Yet they had not touched, the searing heat only in Michael’s song.
Damon’s hands ached with the need to be against Michael’s chest, sending a trembling urgency through his arms, into his heart, and up his throat until he would have been rendered mute if required to speak, let alone sing. Instead, this sensation coursed through his face, warming his cheeks and ears, prickling his sinuses and bringing him to the brink of tears—for longing, aching, needing…to touch him and be touched in return. That chill now replaced with a fever flooding through him, as if he had the flu, flushed his face and torso, increasing the strength and speed of his heartbeat until it must surely pound out of his chest.
“Was it that bad?”
Damon had no clue how long he had sat, still in thrall with Michael’s song, after it had ended, gawking at him like an idiot. Talk. Words. Speech. Damon’s head bobbled, both in response to Michael’s question and to rouse him from his trance. “No, it was brilliant.” Even forcing the words out, they slipped from his lips like spittle.
About Between the Notes:
When an underage groupie stows away on his tour bus to be near her idol, rock superstar Damon Frost suddenly finds himself facing serious charges and a federal prosecutor out for blood. He could easily prove his innocence, but only by revealing the secret he has hidden in the closet for years, destroying his image as a sex symbol. Damon thinks a deal offered by US attorney Michael Rellman will save his reputation as a ladies man, but what will protect him from his growing feelings for the handsome prosecutor and the risk to his career?