excessica publishing

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 3,500
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Paul wasn’t looking for anything special that rainy autumn afternoon when he met Max in a Chicago Starbucks. But Max was—a simple, uncomplicated romp while his boyfriend was out of town on business. And Paul was only too happy to oblige.

There was only one problem: Paul was HIV positive. And just a few weeks after his hot encounter with Max, a letter arrived for him, containing some legalese about HIV infection being a criminal act, with a few chilling words:

Dear Paul,

You infected me. You didn’t tell me. You need to pay.

All the best,


Those words turned Paul’s world upside down. He had told Max. Hadn’t he? They had used a condom. Hadn’t they?

Come along for a heart-pounding ride full of secrets and lies.

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excessica publishing

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 3,500
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Cover Art by Alessia Brio
Professional Reviews

Seriously Reviewed, 18/20 SCORE

"The warning needs to include instant attraction, the dangers of giving in to lust, regrets then curl-the-toes tension and a conclusion that cuts like a knife. Reading Reckless left me emotionally bleeding...I found the writing smooth and the descriptions painted the story perfectly. Life isn’t always beautiful. Read Reckless and see why."

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Max sat down across from me. Before sitting, he gestured toward the chair opposite (faux blue leather) with his cup of café mocha. “Taken?” He raised a pair of sexy/bushy eyebrows and my heart beat a little faster when I saw the pale green of the eyes beneath them.

I smiled and shook my head.

Max opened a magazine (here, the memory fails to supply details; my guess would be something like the New Yorker or Atlantic Monthly, in actuality it was more likely Vanity Fair or W, but I digress; wouldn’t you?) and flipped through a few pages, not really reading. There was a restless air about him.

He was dressed all wrong. The damp September day that felt more like November. Yet Max wore a T-shirt, plain white, with a pair of worn and frayed cargo shorts, and flip-flops. His legs were strong and tan, calf muscles defined, and dusted with curly black hair. He was striking, but not gorgeous. His nose was too big and his lips too full for beauty in the conventional sense.

He nudged me with his toe. “Where’s your laptop? Why aren’t you reading Details? Or something by David Sedaris, maybe?”

I grinned. “Think you’ve got my number?”

“I don’t want your number. Then you’d want mine. Only fair. But that would lead to all sorts of complications.”

“Not looking for complications.” I returned to peering out the window. In spite of the way his looks arrested me, I was not too titillated by the idea of flirting (or more) with a man someone else was calling boyfriend, partner, or even husband.

“What are you looking for, then?”

I raised my cup. “Coffee.”

Max was quiet for a moment, pretending to concentrate on removing a piece of lint from his cargo shorts. He looked up. “I’m looking for the zipless fuck.”

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