by Radclyffe
Table of Contents
Synopsis
Acclaim for Radclyffe’s Fiction
Applause for L.L. Raand’s Midnight Hunters Series
By Radclyffe
Secrets of the Heart
About the Author
Books Available From Bold Strokes Books
Secrets of the Heart
Two BFFs decide to spend Valentine's Day together and discover the true love they've been seeking in all the wrong places.
Previously published in The Perfect Valentine, ed. T. Szymanski and B. Johnson (Bella Books, 2006).
Acclaim for Radclyffe’s Fiction
In Prescription for Love “Radclyffe populates her small town with colorful characters, among the most memorable being Flann’s little sister, Margie, and Abby’s 15-year-old trans son, Blake…This romantic drama has plenty of heart and soul.”—Publishers Weekly
2013 RWA/New England Bean Pot award winner for contemporary romance Crossroads “will draw the reader in and make her heart ache, willing the two main characters to find love and a life together. It’s a story that lingers long after coming to ‘the end.’”—Lambda Literary
In 2012 RWA/FTHRW Lories and RWA HODRW Aspen Gold award winner Firestorm “Radclyffe brings another hot lesbian romance for her readers.”—The Lesbrary
Foreword Review Book of the Year finalist and IPPY silver medalist Trauma Alert “is hard to put down and it will sizzle in the reader’s hands. The characters are hot, the sex scenes explicit and explosive, and the book is moved along by an interesting plot with well drawn secondary characters. The real star of this show is the attraction between the two characters, both of whom resist and then fall head over heels.”—Lambda Literary Reviews
Lambda Literary Award Finalist Best Lesbian Romance 2010 features “stories [that] are diverse in tone, style, and subject, making for more variety than in many, similar anthologies…well written, each containing a satisfying, surprising twist. Best Lesbian Romance series editor Radclyffe has assembled a respectable crop of 17 authors for this year’s offering.”—Curve Magazine
2010 Prism award winner and ForeWord Review Book of the Year Award finalist Secrets in the Stone is “so powerfully [written] that the worlds of these three women shimmer between reality and dreams…A strong, must read novel that will linger in the minds of readers long after the last page is turned.”—Just About Write
In Benjamin Franklin Award finalist Desire by Starlight “Radclyffe writes romance with such heart and her down-to-earth characters not only come to life but leap off the page until you feel like you know them. What Jenna and Gard feel for each other is not only a spark but an inferno and, as a reader, you will be washed away in this tumultuous romance until you can do nothing but succumb to it.”—Queer Magazine Online
Lambda Literary Award winner Stolen Moments “is a collection of steamy stories about women who just couldn’t wait. It’s sex when desire overrides reason, and it’s incredibly hot!”—On Our Backs
Lambda Literary Award winner Distant Shores, Silent Thunder “weaves an intricate tapestry about passion and commitment between lovers. The story explores the fragile nature of trust and the sanctuary provided by loving relationships.”—Sapphic Reader
Lambda Literary Award Finalist Justice Served delivers a “crisply written, fast-paced story with twists and turns and keeps us guessing until the final explosive ending.”—Independent Gay Writer
Lambda Literary Award finalist Turn Back Time “is filled with wonderful love scenes, which are both tender and hot.”—MegaScene
Applause for L.L. Raand’s Midnight Hunters Series
The Midnight Hunt
RWA 2012 VCRW Laurel Wreath winner Blood Hunt
Night Hunt
The Lone Hunt
“Raand has built a complex world inhabited by werewolves, vampires, and other paranormal beings…Raand has given her readers a complex plot filled with wonderful characters as well as insight into the hierarchy of Sylvan’s pack and vampire clans. There are many plot twists and turns, as well as erotic sex scenes in this riveting novel that keep the pages flying until its satisfying conclusion.”—Just About Write
“Once again, I am amazed at the storytelling ability of L.L. Raand aka Radclyffe. In Blood Hunt, she mixes high levels of sheer eroticism that will leave you squirming in your seat with an impeccable multi-character storyline all streaming together to form one great read.”—Queer Magazine Online
“The Midnight Hunt has a gripping story to tell, and while there are also some truly erotic sex scenes, the story always takes precedence. This is a great read which is not easily put down nor easily forgotten.”—Just About Write
“Are you sick of the same old hetero vampire/werewolf story plastered in every bookstore and at every movie theater? Well, I’ve got the cure to your werewolf fever. The Midnight Hunt is first in, what I hope is, a long-running series of fantasy erotica for L.L. Raand (aka Radclyffe).”—Queer Magazine Online
“Any reader familiar with Radclyffe’s writing will recognize the author’s style within The Midnight Hunt, yet at the same time it is most definitely a new direction. The author delivers an excellent story here, one that is engrossing from the very beginning. Raand has pieced together an intricate world, and provided just enough details for the reader to become enmeshed in the new world. The action moves quickly throughout the book and it’s hard to put down.”—Three Dollar Bill Reviews
Secrets of the Heart
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Secrets of the Heart
© 2006 By Radclyffe. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-139-6
This Electronic Original is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, NY 12185
First Bold Strokes Books Electronic Edition: August 2017
Originally Published in The Perfect Valentine ed. T. Szymanski and B. Johnson (Bella Books, 2006).
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Ruth Sternglantz
Production Design: Bold Strokes Graphics
Cover Design By Melody Pond
By Radclyffe
Romances
Innocent Hearts
Promising Hearts
Love’s Melody Lost
Love’s Tender Warriors
Tomorrow’s Promise
Love’s Masquerade
shadowland
Passion’s Bright Fury
Fated Love
Turn Back Time
When Dreams Tremble
The Lonely Hearts Club
Night Call
Secrets in the Stone
Desire by Starlight
Crossroads
Homestead
The Color of Love
Secret Hearts
Honor Series
Above All, Honor
Honor Bound
Love & Honor
Honor Guards
Honor Reclaimed
Honor Under Siege
Word of Honor
Code of Honor
Price of Honor
Justi
ce Series
A Matter of Trust (prequel)
Shield of Justice
In Pursuit of Justice
Justice in the Shadows
Justice Served
Justice For All
The Provincetown Tales
Safe Harbor
Beyond the Breakwater
Distant Shores, Silent Thunder
Storms of Change
Winds of Fortune
Returning Tides
Sheltering Dunes
First Responders Novels
Trauma Alert
Firestorm
Oath of Honor
Taking Fire
Wild Shores
Heart Stop
Rivers Community Novels
Against Doctor’s Orders
Prescription for Love
Love on Call
Short Fiction
Collected Stories by Radclyffe
Erotic Interludes: Change of Pace
Radical Encounters
Edited by Radclyffe:
Best Lesbian Romance 2009-2014
Stacia Seaman and Radclyffe, eds.
Erotic Interludes 2: Stolen Moments
Erotic Interludes 3: Lessons in Love
Erotic Interludes 4: Extreme Passions
Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games
Romantic Interludes 1: Discovery
Romantic Interludes 2: Secrets
Breathless: Tales of Celebration
Women of the Dark Streets
Amore and More: Love Everafter
Myth & Magic: Queer Fairy Tales
By L.L. Raand
Midnight Hunters
The Midnight Hunt
Blood Hunt
Night Hunt
The Lone Hunt
The Magic Hunt
Shadow Hunt
Secrets of the Heart
I must have looked suspicious because the sales clerk moved to the end of the counter nearest me, leaned his elbows on the smudged glass surface, and fixed me with a baleful stare. I suppose the fact that I’d been standing in front of the card rack for twenty minutes, unmoving, struck him as odd. If he’d known me, he wouldn’t have found it strange. He might even have appreciated how impossible it was for me to choose a Valentine’s Day card for this particular woman.
From the instant I’d scanned the messages scattered over the ubiquitous pink and red cards, I’d known it was hopeless.
Be Mine. Forever Yours. Your Forever Love.
Perfect sentiments, and everything I wanted to say. Except she didn’t know, and I didn’t dare tell her.
“Help you with something?” he grunted.
When I didn’t answer, he probably thought I was crazy or just plain rude. He had no way of knowing that I wasn’t seeing any of the cards and that his voice barely registered as background noise. I was replaying the conversation I’d had over breakfast that morning with the woman who had put me in such a quandary.
*
“So,” Sheri said as she stuck her head in the refrigerator and rummaged around on her shelf for something I wouldn’t even recognize as food, “got a date tonight?”
“Uh-uh,” I replied around a mouthful of last night’s pepperoni pizza. We’d agreed when we moved in together that we’d keep our food separate because she pronounced my eating habits “disgusting,” and I contended that cold pizza and beer was an all-American meal. On the other hand, yogurt and granola and things that resembled the stuff that came out of a lawn mower bag struck me as being unnatural.
She turned around and leaned her back against the closed enamel door, spoon in one hand, a carton of purplish gooey stuff in the other, wearing only a lacy white bra and very, very tiny bikini panties. In between those minuscule scraps of material masquerading as garments was an acre or so of alabaster skin that stretched and dipped over one of the nicest landscapes I’d ever seen. The rosy areolas blushed beneath the snowy white silk as if embarrassed by my scrutiny, and I hastily looked out the window. I fixed on the latticework of telephone wires superimposed on the zigzag line of the fire escape that hung by a few loose bolts from the adjacent apartment building. If I squinted, the view resembled a Mondrian, which was far safer for my blood pressure than the image of a Judy Francesconi calendar model that I saw every time I looked at Sheri. Being a MFA grad student tended to make me think like that. Sheri, on the other hand, was studying modern dance. Her body was her instrument, and she thought nothing of displaying it. We were roommates. I was gay. She wasn’t.
In all fairness, it wasn’t that she didn’t think of me as a sexual being when she walked around the apartment in less than a chin-to-ankle cloak, which is probably the only kind of garment that wouldn’t have made my heart sing and my lower regions beat out a frantic rhythm in accompaniment. She was just comfortable in her skin and had no idea that I dreamed about using her body as my canvas to paint upon. I had decided months ago on gold body paint. Just a subtle rendering, to accent the already perfect picture—a circle around her right nipple connected by a diagonal slash across her high arched ribs to a ring that rimmed her shallow belly button. I could feel her skin beneath my fingertips as I spread the wet glitter along the path my tongue longed to follow, ending in a dusting of promises in the blond curls between her thighs. My gold-tipped fingers would guide her legs apart, and then I would lower my head to—
“Davy? Da-vi-da. Hel-lo-o.”
I jumped and flushed. Or flushed more, to be strictly accurate. Sheri stopped with her spoon halfway to her mouth and looked at me with an odd expression. “What’s the matter with you? You look sick.”
Lovesick, maybe.
“Nothing,” I croaked. Then I coughed, trying to cover how tight my throat had become as I’d made my imaginary journey down her body. My hands trembled, and I shoved them between my blue jean clad thighs.
“So?” she asked.
I shook my head, totally befuddled. Had we been talking about something? My nipples were stiff beneath my T-shirt, tingling and tight, unashamedly clamoring for attention. The rest of me was on point too—hard and wet, the desire to taste her skin so intense it sucked all the blood and good sense from my brain. Jesus, it was getting so I couldn’t be around her for more than five minutes without going crazy. “So, what?” I finally managed.
She cocked a hip, which tightened that little patch of silk flush across her mound, hinting at the prominence of her clitoris where the tantalizing rise gave way to the valley beyond. I brushed the back of my hand over my mouth, afraid I might be drooling.
“Do. You. Have. A. Date. Tonight?”
“It’s Tuesday,” I said stupidly.
“It’s Valentine’s Day, so that doesn’t count.”
Valentine’s Day. But I want you to be my Valentine.
“Oh. No. I forgot.”
I supposed I should ask her the same thing, but I just didn’t want to know. It was getting harder and harder to watch her go out on dates and then spend the night pretending I wasn’t thinking about what she was doing, or about what someone might be doing to her. I’d envision her in her sexy short skirts and tight little tops, having dinner with some guy, or dancing with him, or—uh-uh, no. I couldn’t go there. In fact, I’d started spending more and more Friday and Saturday nights away from the apartment just so I wouldn’t see her going out. I was getting to be a regular at the all-night movie theater around the corner on Chestnut.
“Does that mean no date?” she probed.
I nodded.
She gave me a quick little smile and dropped her spoon into the sink. Then she leaned over, opened the cabinet beneath it, and discarded her yogurt container. When she straightened up, my eyes were still leveled at the place where her breasts had been seconds before, riveted on the nipples just peeking out over the scalloped lace edges. I tore my eyes up her body to her face, and she grinned.
“Me neither,” Sheri said. “Wanna have dinner with me?”
“Sure. You want to try that sushi place we read about in the Weeken
der?”
Her smile got kind of funny, as if I’d missed something.
“No, I thought we’d eat here. You buy some wine, and I’ll make dinner.”
“Like cook?”
She walked past me and ran her fingers through my hair. “Yes, dummy. Like cook.”
*
Be Mine. Forever Yours. Your Forever Love.
I stared at the cards. It was impossible. She’d think I was crazy. I turned around and walked out of the drugstore empty-handed.
I did better with the wine. Sheri pronounced it, “Yum. Good.”
“That looks good too.”
I stood behind her as she stirred colorful things that didn't really look like food together in a big pan on top of the stove, her wineglass on the counter beside her. She’d pulled her thick blond hair up off her neck and held it in place with a tortoiseshell comb. A few wisps had escaped, and they trailed down over her throat. The steam, spicy and rich, rose from whatever it was she was cooking and mingled with something sweeter, something her. I leaned in closer to breathe her scent, and my crotch brushed over her ass. The touch charged through me, setting every nerve ending ablaze. For a second I was so stunned, I didn’t move. Then, before I could jump away, she gave a little roll of her hips and pushed back into me. That’s when I knew I’d lost my mind. Because she couldn’t be doing that. Could she?
“Davy?”
“Huh?”
