Steamy Nights 1: Machinations - Available now from Changeling Press In Edinburgh's menacing, old-town district, prostitutes are mysteriously disappearing. Fighting for her life in the dark of the night, Miri stabs the wrong man -- an eccentric University student named Caratacus -- and ends up in his arms. Although he's determined to find a way to get back to his own dimension, Caratacus lets Miri distract him long enough to try to put an end to the killings. But she knows that's all she is -- a distraction. How can a penniless whore hope to make him forget his lost love? And will his amazing steam-powered machines save Edinburgh -- or destroy it?

Reviews:

"...“The Time Machine” meets “Jack the Ripper” in a gripping tale of dark intrigue in Victorian era Edinburgh. Machinations is the first installment of what promises to be an engrossing series...  Miri and Caratacus have good chemistry, and their bond, while initially sexual in nature, hovers on the brink of being love. Machinations ends with an incredible cliff-hanger, and I can only hope that Ms. Treanor provides us with another segment soon." - Whitney, Fallen Angel Reviews, 5 Angels.
 

Excerpts:

   Tonight, “Auld Reekie” lived up to its name.
   Miri shivered in the dank mist that clung to her hair and clothes and almost entirely obliterated the dismal street ahead. She wondered if she should risk approaching the one faint glow in the dark -- which had to be the World’s End pub -- and find some warmth.
    The trouble was, you got better trade through discretion. Men were warier of paying for their pleasures in front of friends. And God knew she needed customers tonight. Billie would be furious if she didn’t bring in some money. She really didn’t want to give him an excuse to rage, or to sell her on, not now with all this going on…
    And as her unquiet stomach reminded her, another day without food would leave her weak and open to illness.
    Miri drew her thin, shabby shawl more closely around her, and shifted from one foot to another in a vain attempt to prevent the damp seeping through the holes in her ancient boots.
    She thought she heard something -- a shuffling sound muffled by the thick, smoke-laden fog. It came from behind her, at the steep steps leading down to the least savory part of the city. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, forcing her into motion.
    She took a few hurried steps forward, nearer the pub’s welcoming glow, careful to keep hold of the small, sharp scissors in her pocket.
    How are customers meant to see me in this pea-soup? she wondered miserably. Why are none of them on the street yet?
    Because they’re all safe and cozy in the pubs, gossiping with delicious shivers, no doubt, about the disappearing girls. Like Jeanie.
    Her empty stomach twisted. The loss of her friend and mentor was huge. She missed her companionship, her laughter, her sheer practical good-sense. She hated to imagine what had happened to Jeanie and to the others… This was Edinburgh’s old town -- rank, filthy, smoky, riddled with dark passages and grim corners where murder could be done without interruption…
    Three men loomed out of the mist, almost on top of her. Startled, she fell back with a silent gasp of terror.

      “You,” he said, but since he paused and bent to adjust something on the engine, it could have meant anything. Impatiently, he snatched off his steamed up spectacles and tossed them on the ground. Miri wanted to pick them up before he stood on them, but her trembling legs wouldn’t move.
     He said, “Your admirers have gone, haven’t they?”
     She nodded. He tightened something forcefully with the spanner. “Did you show them a good time?”
     “They’ve got no money,” she whispered, and wanted to die. To make it worse, he turned his attention from the engine to her. She wondered how much he could see without the glasses.
     “Don’t you ever do it just because you want to?”
     “Free shots?” she hazarded. Hope began to rise in her. “Sometimes…”
     “And how does that work out for you?”
     “I… what do you mean?”
     He sat back on his heels. “Does it give you pleasure?”
     “I don’t… You shouldn’t ask me such things!”
     “Why not?”
     “Because I’m a whore! And you’re not interested in using me!”
     “Using you? No, that’s true.”
     She turned her head away. As shame doused her excitement, she was conscious of the pulse beating between her legs. It seemed to throb to the rhythm of the pistons beside Caratacus’s head.
     He said, “Doesn’t mean I’m not interested in you. I’m just asking if you like sex? Making love?”
     Curiosity brought her head back round to look at him. Considering the subject matter, his voice had sounded cool, almost clinical, but his intense green eyes were hot and misted, mesmerizing her. Behind him, she was aware of the pistons plunging rhythmically up and down, almost like the act of love. Sex…
     Excitement rose again, higher. She felt daring, wicked, talking to him like this, she wanted to tell him what she did, see his reaction, tell him more…
     She gasped, “I like to give men pleasure. Apparently I’m good at it.”
     “Oh I’ll bet you are. You could just lie there and be good at it. But I’m interested in your pleasure. What -- or who -- makes you orgasm?”
     She thought her knees would buckle.
     “I don’t think I… should I? No one’s complained…”
     He shuddered, maybe with laughter, although he didn’t smile. He rose to his feet, reaching up one hand to hold onto the beam above his head.
     “I think you should.”
     “You’ve no right. You don’t even want me…”
     “I want to make you orgasm.”
     She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with anyone, with him. She should be dying of shame, and yet if he stopped it now, she’d explode… So she drowned in his hot eyes and whispered, “How would you do that?”
     “Oh lots of ways… all the ways I thought of last night while your breast pressed into my naked skin. I think I’d kiss you lots -- your mouth is shaped for kissing. I’d catch your little tongue when it sneaks out to wet your warm lips, and I’d lick it and bite it. I’d hold your lovely breasts in my hands and kiss your nipples, caress them until they stood out like organ stops, begging for more.”
     Steam had begun to belch harder from the engine. Miri knew how it felt. Her imagination followed every word Caratacus spoke and her whole body was on fire.
     “I’d open your legs, bathe my fingers in your wetness. And if you let me, I’d put my cock in you and fuck you until you screamed with joy.”
     Miri moaned, pressing the heel of her hand hard against her pubic bone, wishing the thin shabby fabric of her gown wasn’t there. She couldn’t see him now for the steam, so she just closed her eyes and listened to his voice.
     She gasped out, “Why didn’t you do these things last night?”
     “I had an idea you’d appreciate me more for being allowed a night’s sleep.”
     “You could have had me any time…”
     “A fuck for fourpence? I don’t have the money, so you have to have the orgasm.”
     She snapped her eyes open. “My payment?” Suddenly, she was outraged, as ugly reality swept over the delicious fantasy. Caratacus emerged through the cloud of steam and kept walking.
     “No. Mine,” he said and, seizing her damp face between his hands, he covered her mouth with his.



 

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