This one is an odd one for me, but it's the one book all the authors I know have read. You know, when you're sitting around at cons introducing yourself and they say, hey, I know you. You did that Tomb book. I love that it has a custom, hand drawn cover, that it's first person, and that it's my homage to Lovecraft and H Rider Haggard (King Solomon's Mines). I love penny dreadfuls and Weird Tales. And first person? That shit is tough, y'all. Only knowing what one character knows writing the whole novel! And Christian isn't the most reliable witness, I'm telling you.
Here's the blurb
When Christian arrives in Egypt as the man Friday to an eccentric American, he's hoping to get his chance to make history and establish his name in archaeology. What he doesn't count on is meeting brash hired gun, Eric Lawless, and falling into an uneasy partnership and ultimately love.
He's not ready for what their digging exposes either, leading him, and Eric, into a dangerous game of cat and mouse, where old spirits and older gods lead them on a dance of deception and terror deep in the tombs of the Valley of the Kings.
Here's that amazing lurid cover
And here's a wee bit to get you going!
“I think it may be a copy.” Wavering, to be sure, but there was something about the map that made me think it had been real at one time.
“So, where is it?”
“Somewhere in the West Valley?”
His brow furrowed even more deeply. “I thought only a few folks was buried in the West Valley.”
“Well, it’s true that most tombs lay in the East Valley, certainly. But this is Egypt. I never rule anything out.”
Something in his tone alerted me, and I looked up just in time to see his face blot out the light in the room when he bent and put his lips to mine.
Startled, I jumped back, my hand going to my mouth. “What are you about?”
“I thought that was obvious,” he replied, advancing.
“But this is, I mean, we have the map to decipher, and really, it’s not a good idea.”
“Why not? I promise, you can leave right after and pretend to be virtuous and all.”
“You self-righteous bastard, I left last night because I knew it was unwise, what we did. I have never claimed false virtue.” Leaving the map on the small bedside table I stalked to him and put a hand to the middle of his chest, shoving him hard.
“No? You sure acted like you had the moral high ground this morning, with my boss.” His gray eyes went dark, storms rolling in them. “He reamed me but good.”
“Well, you deserved it. You were a churl this morning.” I poked him in the chest again. “That was why I was so upset.”
“Well, then,” he said, putting his hands on my arms to pull me closer. “Let me apologize.”
His kiss bruised me, pressing my lips back against my teeth. The sting had me gasping, had me pressing forward to get more, my arms going up about his neck. I am not good at self-denial, no, indeed.
We kissed harder and harder, his tongue invading my mouth to taste me, rubbing against my tongue in the most suggestive manner. It had my prick hardening, my hips moving in a rhythm as old as time, already too aroused to last long.
“Oh, Chrissy, you’re something else.”
“Stop calling me that ridiculous name.”
He grinned wildly, kissing me again, backing me toward the bedstead. The sense of unreality was huge; so was the sense of déjà vu. He had herded me about last night like a sheepdog with a lamb.
Determined to take a more active role, I pushed him about and shoved him down on the bed. The studs on his shirt gave way easily, one of them dropping to the floor and rolling off under the bed. The tiny ping distracted me just enough that he could grab my bottom and pull me up against him, his teeth sharp and hard at my throat.
“Stop. I want to get these off.” Tugging at his shirt, I managed to get the thin linen off his shoulders, baring his not-inconsiderable charms. The planes of his chest fascinated me, and I traced them with my fingers, the difference between rough hair and soft skin utterly lovely. His nipples stood in hard little points, stiff and hot.
I touched those little bits of flesh, rubbing my thumbs over them and smiling when he gasped for me. “Yes. Oh, that’s lovely.”
“Decided to invest fully tonight, did you?”
“I invested full last night as long as we still…well.”
If he did not shut it quickly, he would make me angry, so I kissed him again, closing my eyes and sinking into him. The silence broke with the beating of my heart, and with his moan, shockingly deep in the sudden quiet.
I touched him wherever I could, and he struggled with my clothing. I fear I was no help, twisting and turning to taste more of him, all of him.
Finally he pinned me down with one hand, using the other to strip me nude, until I lay there exposed to him, a little shocked at the feel of it. I had not his breadth of chest, or length of leg, but I represented well, with muscles built through years of digging.
Thanks for reading! Look for it on ARE and Amazon, too!