Ed Topliss has a problem.
Two and a half years ago, he was approached by a publishing executive of dubious credentials, who said, “If you can write a grammatical letter, you can write a sex novel.” Since then, Topliss (who also writes under...
The madman clung to the side of the hill, hidden by darkness and trees. Staring over his left shoulder he could see the lights in pairs crossing the bottom of the night, round whites when coming aslant, red dots when going. Only the circling red...