💗🧡💛💚💙💜🥰💜💙💚💛🧡💗
For this year's Valentine's Day posts I set down to choose 5 of my favorite heart-pounding tales of romance. As it turned out, 5 was just not doable and I ended with a list of 12 and have broken it into 2 parts. Some of these are flat out romances, others are mystery, thriller, horror, Christmas novellas, some have heat levels that scorch up the pages and others are off-page and leaving it up to the reader to imagine. With all 12 picks, no matter what sub-genre, trope, and dangers that face the couple it is the love the main characters have for each other that is unmistakable, that pulled me in and stayed long after I finished the last page.
💗🧡💛💚💙💜🥰💜💙💚💛🧡💗
Summary:
Dublin Virtues #1
Patience is a virtue. But what if you wait too long?
While Xander Ekman’s dream of becoming a successful artist has come true, his love life has gone from bad to worse. Sick of the endless string of one-night stands, he accepts the challenge when his best friend, Erik, bets him that he can’t be celibate for a month. Now all he needs is a reminder to keep his distance in the heat of the moment.
Troy Moriarty doesn’t have time for love. He’s too busy trying to keep his recently opened tattoo parlor afloat. Besides, ever since the man who was supposed to be his business partner abandoned him to run the shop on his own, he has a hard time trusting others.
When Xander turns to Troy for a tattoo that will remind him to be patient, the attraction is instant. But faced with Xander’s month of celibacy, Troy’s trust issues, and a nemesis lurking in the background, their relationship may be doomed before it has a chance to begin.
While Xander Ekman’s dream of becoming a successful artist has come true, his love life has gone from bad to worse. Sick of the endless string of one-night stands, he accepts the challenge when his best friend, Erik, bets him that he can’t be celibate for a month. Now all he needs is a reminder to keep his distance in the heat of the moment.
Troy Moriarty doesn’t have time for love. He’s too busy trying to keep his recently opened tattoo parlor afloat. Besides, ever since the man who was supposed to be his business partner abandoned him to run the shop on his own, he has a hard time trusting others.
When Xander turns to Troy for a tattoo that will remind him to be patient, the attraction is instant. But faced with Xander’s month of celibacy, Troy’s trust issues, and a nemesis lurking in the background, their relationship may be doomed before it has a chance to begin.
I'm going to jump right out of the gate and say what a lovely story Patience is, realistic and beautiful. Now, as any one who is familiar with my reviews knows that I don't do spoilers. Having said all that, Xander and Troy could have saved themselves quite a bit of time and stress had they been more upfront with each other from the get go. Sometimes stories with misunderstandings, miscommunication, or lack thereof, make the reader just want to scream and shake their ereader but not Patience. Let's face it, if there was no drama then you would be reading a 10 page leaflet instead of a full length novel and where is the fun in that? But Patience is much more than just drama caused from miscommunication, there is a clear reason why both Xander and Troy haven't divulged everything to each other, but those reasons you'll have to discover for yourself.
Along with the budding romance between Xander and Troy, I loved the true bromances boy men have with their lifelong friends, Eric and Lorcan. Helena Stone has created a journey that blends the title, the reasoning behind it, and interesting characters that will keep you hooked from the first page to the last. You might actually even discover something about yourself as you ride along with Xander and Troy in their quest for a healthy future that all began with a little tattoo.
Helena Stone is a new author for me and after just one story I'm already looking forward to more, beginning with Equality, Dublin Virtues book 2 which follows Eric and Lorcan. She is definitely an author I'll keep on my radar.
RATING:
Summary:
Matter of Time #6
Jory Harcourt is finally living the dream. Being married to US Marshal Sam Kage has changed him—it’s settled the tumult of their past and changed Jory from a guy who bails at the first sign of trouble to a man who stays and weathers the storm. He and Sam have two kids, a house in the burbs, and a badass minivan. Jory’s days of being an epicenter for disaster are over. Domestic life is good.
Which means it's exactly the right time for a shakeup on the home front. Sam’s ex turns up in an unexpected place. A hit man climbs up their balcony at a family reunion. And maybe both of those things have something to do with a witness who disappeared a year ago. Marital bliss just got a kick in the pants, but Jory won’t let anyone take his family away from him. Before he knew what it felt like to have a home, he would have run. Not anymore. He knows he and Sam need to handle things together, because that’s the only way they’re going to make it.
Blogger Note: Below you'll find my 5th overall series review which I wrote after doing an audiobook listen as well as my original review for But for You. Once I started doing an annual re-read of Jory & Sam's journey, it was clear to me that it's all or nothing, hence the overall review. As for why I chose this entry for my Valentine's Day post, I think it shows how far the men have come, both as individuals and a couple and now they have a family of their own it just really expresses the love they have for each other in every page.
Overall Series 5th Re-Read 2019:
Again there's really nothing new I can add that would express how much I love Jory and Sam. Not everyone likes the kind of alpha male that Sam Kage is and I too don't always appreciate that element but when the dynamic between the two men is so powerful as Sam and Jory then I completely fall in love. Just because Sam is so alpha don't think Jory is a pushover, oh no he definitely has no problem voicing his opinion either and I think that is what makes them work for me because its an even balance of push and pull from both.
Now as for the audios, there are four different narrators, three for Jory/Sam and one for Duncan/Aaron in Parting Shot. Some might find that off-putting but I actually found it fitting. Just why there is different narrators I don't know but as a listener, I found each one did a brilliant job and yes they are noticeably different but they bring the perfect nuances for where the characters are in their journey, we all change as life goes and Paul Morey, Jeff Gelder, and Finn Sterling showcase that wonderfully. Tristan James brings Duncan and Aaron's story to life that is a perfect fit for the Matter of Time series.
Again there's really nothing new I can add that would express how much I love Jory and Sam. Not everyone likes the kind of alpha male that Sam Kage is and I too don't always appreciate that element but when the dynamic between the two men is so powerful as Sam and Jory then I completely fall in love. Just because Sam is so alpha don't think Jory is a pushover, oh no he definitely has no problem voicing his opinion either and I think that is what makes them work for me because its an even balance of push and pull from both.
Now as for the audios, there are four different narrators, three for Jory/Sam and one for Duncan/Aaron in Parting Shot. Some might find that off-putting but I actually found it fitting. Just why there is different narrators I don't know but as a listener, I found each one did a brilliant job and yes they are noticeably different but they bring the perfect nuances for where the characters are in their journey, we all change as life goes and Paul Morey, Jeff Gelder, and Finn Sterling showcase that wonderfully. Tristan James brings Duncan and Aaron's story to life that is a perfect fit for the Matter of Time series.
This was a perfect addition to Jory and Sam's love story. Very interesting to see them in a complete family setting and still never lose a beat of their individual nature. They've both grown so much since their first meeting and yet maintain the fresh passion that brought them together all those years ago. Quite possibly the best in the series.
RATING:
Summary:
Haven Hart #7
Haven Hart stands on the edge of good and evil. Having balance between the two is the only thing keeping the town from crumbling to the ground. For years, one man has been charged with maintaining that balance. Poe.
The air of mystery surrounding Poe is one of necessity. He’s the keeper of secrets and for good reason. He’s stood alone against the most ruthless men and women, always hiding behind the curtain to help his friends defeat what seeks to destroy them.
Now, after all this time, the city he loves, the people he has protected, and the secrets he’s kept hidden are in serious jeopardy. Poe will need the help of his friends to fight the ultimate battle; not just save Haven Hart but everything and everyone he holds dear to him.
When the dust settles, will betrayals be forgiven? Will the city still be standing? Will Poe’s beloved be at his side or will everything crumble? One thing is for certain, everything will be tested, and questions will finally be answered. Raven’s Hart is the final installment in the Haven Hart Series.
***IMPORTANT***
This is the 7th book in the Haven Hart Series it is NOT a standalone and all others need to be read before this one.
The air of mystery surrounding Poe is one of necessity. He’s the keeper of secrets and for good reason. He’s stood alone against the most ruthless men and women, always hiding behind the curtain to help his friends defeat what seeks to destroy them.
Now, after all this time, the city he loves, the people he has protected, and the secrets he’s kept hidden are in serious jeopardy. Poe will need the help of his friends to fight the ultimate battle; not just save Haven Hart but everything and everyone he holds dear to him.
When the dust settles, will betrayals be forgiven? Will the city still be standing? Will Poe’s beloved be at his side or will everything crumble? One thing is for certain, everything will be tested, and questions will finally be answered. Raven’s Hart is the final installment in the Haven Hart Series.
***IMPORTANT***
This is the 7th book in the Haven Hart Series it is NOT a standalone and all others need to be read before this one.
I'm going to start by saying: WOW! HOLY HANNAH BATMAN! THE FORCE IS STRONG WITH THIS ONE! Now, I've used all those terms repeatedly to express my absolute and complete love for both Davidson King's art of storytelling and the Haven Hart Universe but this time I'm adding it to express my love for Joel Leslie & Philip Alces narration. I've loved their portrayals from the beginning but in Raven's Hart, they are not only telling Poe & Phin's story but all the characters return in this amazing series conclusion(😭BOO! to the ending of this amazing series😭 but 😍YAY! to the brilliance of it's telling😍). Personally, I'll confess I was worried how well the individual characters from past entries would be differentiated. I need not have worried because there wasn't a single second where I wasn't sure who was who. Talented narration, talented storytelling, what more could a person ask for? Maybe more😉😉😉lol.
First, I have to give myself a big hand of applause👏👏👏👏👏👏 because I managed to do something I have never done before with a book that I have anticipated as much as I have with Raven's Hart: I savored the read! That's right, you heard me, I savored the read. Normally, my biggest tell as to whether it's a winning gem is I just have to know how it ends so I read the book as I quickly as life allows but then when I get to the final page I kick myself for not reading it slower to prolong the amazing goodness. HOWEVER, I knew Raven's Hart was the finale to Davidson King's Haven Hart Universe so I forced myself to "linger" so I could put off that final page and the goodbye as long as possible. So excuse me a minute while I give myself another round of applause👏👏👏👏👏👏.
Now on to Raven's Hart. What can I say without spoilers? Very little actually so as to the plot: HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!!! OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG!!! THE FORCE IS STRONG WITH THIS ONE!!!! Can you tell I liked it? We finally learn Poe's story and what a story it is! Poe, a man who went from yoga-in-the-park BFF to the-man-with-access-to-the-vaults to THE MAN! and he did it all with heart, a heart that beats, breaks, and bleeds. We finally learn what keeps that heart going. That's it, that's all the plot points you are getting from me, any more would just give too much away. Sorry, not sorry😉.
Everyone returns to rally around the man who has helped them(albeit reluctantly at times). I was going to say "the entire cast of characters returns" but I changed it to just "everyone" because to say "cast of characters" puts a spotlight on them being fictional. And yes, I know they are fictional, Haven Hart is fictional, but Davidson King has done such an exceptionally amazing job at world building and character development that they seem so real, that you could meet them pumping gas, getting milk, returning books to the library, etc. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Davidson King is more than an author or writer, she is a storyteller, an attention-grabbing, heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping storyteller.
If you have been reading Haven Hart from the beginning then you probably already have Raven's Hart in your sights and on your list but if you haven't now is the perfect time to start. As I started with, Poe's story is the finale to this amazing journey so you can read from beginning to end and you really do need to read this series in order. Yes, each entry focuses on a different couple(or throuple in Triple Threat and Snow Storm features Snow and Christopher from Snow Falling which started this amazing journey) with it's own beginning and ending but each book also holds clues to the full mysterious journey. I really can't recommend Haven Hart Universe enough and I'll fill you in on a little secret, if they ever made this into a film series Haven Hart would be a very close second to the Star Wars Saga on my favorite films of all time list(and if you know me then you'll know how huge that is because I've been a SW fanatic since I saw the original back in 1977 when I was only 4 years old)😉.
One last note: I said Raven's Hart is the finale to Haven's Hart and it is but we do get to see more of Simon's story in 2020. Who knows maybe if we are super, duper, uber nice Miss King will write a holiday novella/coda some day😉😉. Either way, its been onehelluva ride, Davidson King and Thank You for this amazing world you gave us.
And one more thing . . . the cover designs for this whole series has been amazing. Morningstar Ashley of Designs by Morningstar have captured the setting of Haven Hart and the ongoing stories incredibly with eye-catching awesomeness.
RATING:
Summary:
Adrien English #4
Gay bookseller and reluctant amateur sleuth Adrien English's writing career is suddenly taking off. His first novel, Murder Will Out, has been optioned by notorious Hollywood actor Paul Kane.
But when murder makes an appearance at a dinner party, who should be called in but Adrien's former lover, handsome closeted detective Jake Riordan, now a Lieutenant with LAPD — which may just drive Adrien's new boyfriend, sexy UCLA professor Guy Snowden, to commit a murder of his own.
But when murder makes an appearance at a dinner party, who should be called in but Adrien's former lover, handsome closeted detective Jake Riordan, now a Lieutenant with LAPD — which may just drive Adrien's new boyfriend, sexy UCLA professor Guy Snowden, to commit a murder of his own.
Overall Series 5th Re-Read 2019:
Adrien with an "e", what can I say that I haven't already said? Nothing really because I absolutely adore Adrien and Jake. Yes, there are multiple times I want to whack Jake upside the head but he's learning, albeit slowly sometimes but still learning. There's heartbreak, there's joy, there's murder, and well there's plenty of love(even if it takes Jake a little longer to accept).
All but the final Christmas novella is narrated by Chris Patton and his voice is perfect for these two. I couldn't imagine listening to anyone else bring life to the pair but then when I listened to So This is Christmas, read by Kale Williams, he too is . . . well for the lack of a better word(and not to sound redundant😉) . . . brilliant. Obviously there is a difference between the two narrators but since Adrien and Jake are settled, or as settled as they can be considering Adrien's knack for stumbling into mayhem, which changes people and so the difference in narrators kind of reflects that I thought. So I say spot on to all involved bringing Adrien English and Jake Riordan to life.
Adrien with an "e", what can I say that I haven't already said? Nothing really because I absolutely adore Adrien and Jake. Yes, there are multiple times I want to whack Jake upside the head but he's learning, albeit slowly sometimes but still learning. There's heartbreak, there's joy, there's murder, and well there's plenty of love(even if it takes Jake a little longer to accept).
All but the final Christmas novella is narrated by Chris Patton and his voice is perfect for these two. I couldn't imagine listening to anyone else bring life to the pair but then when I listened to So This is Christmas, read by Kale Williams, he too is . . . well for the lack of a better word(and not to sound redundant😉) . . . brilliant. Obviously there is a difference between the two narrators but since Adrien and Jake are settled, or as settled as they can be considering Adrien's knack for stumbling into mayhem, which changes people and so the difference in narrators kind of reflects that I thought. So I say spot on to all involved bringing Adrien English and Jake Riordan to life.
Original Review 2013:
Another great entry in the Adrien English Mysteries. I enjoyed the interactions between Adrien and Jake now that 2yrs has gone by since they stopped whatever it was they actually had. The mystery was well developed with interesting and intriguing revelations. Truly a great read!
RATING:
Another great entry in the Adrien English Mysteries. I enjoyed the interactions between Adrien and Jake now that 2yrs has gone by since they stopped whatever it was they actually had. The mystery was well developed with interesting and intriguing revelations. Truly a great read!
RATING:
Summary:
Tidal #2
A love worth the wait.
When Riley Porter-Wright comes out as bisexual and confesses his feelings for Carter Hamilton, it severs their friendship. Carter’s rejection forces Riley to move on and he’s shocked to learn Carter’s marriage has fallen apart.
Overwhelmed by his failure as a husband and father, Carter misses Riley, but feels guilty for disappearing after Riley's coming out. After Riley extends an olive branch, the former friends agree to repair their relationship.
Slowly, Carter pieces together a new life. He admits his attraction to men, and confesses his feelings for Riley. Leery of Carter's initial rejection, Riley turns his focus on a new man, Will Martin.
Riley and Carter’s renewed rapport intensifies, and Will becomes insecure. Will's resentment increases until he issues an ultimatum, forcing Riley to refocus his energies away from Carter.
Disappointed, Carter fosters new friendships with men like Jesse Murtagh. Aware of the changes in Carter’s life, Riley is uncomfortable knowing Carter has moved on.
Carter and his ex-wife, Kate, navigate new waters as their children learn their parents are dating other people. Will can’t deal with his jealousy and ends his relationship with Riley.
Unattached for the first time in years, Riley and Carter slowly transition their friendship into a relationship. Carter comes out and leaves his job, accepting the reality of being disowned.
Riley and Carter go public with their relationship, but worry the fallout will affect their families. Drawing strength from each other, they meet the challenges of being an out couple head on.
💔💫💞Reader Advisory: This book contains polyamory and infidelity.💞💫💔
When Riley Porter-Wright comes out as bisexual and confesses his feelings for Carter Hamilton, it severs their friendship. Carter’s rejection forces Riley to move on and he’s shocked to learn Carter’s marriage has fallen apart.
Overwhelmed by his failure as a husband and father, Carter misses Riley, but feels guilty for disappearing after Riley's coming out. After Riley extends an olive branch, the former friends agree to repair their relationship.
Slowly, Carter pieces together a new life. He admits his attraction to men, and confesses his feelings for Riley. Leery of Carter's initial rejection, Riley turns his focus on a new man, Will Martin.
Riley and Carter’s renewed rapport intensifies, and Will becomes insecure. Will's resentment increases until he issues an ultimatum, forcing Riley to refocus his energies away from Carter.
Disappointed, Carter fosters new friendships with men like Jesse Murtagh. Aware of the changes in Carter’s life, Riley is uncomfortable knowing Carter has moved on.
Carter and his ex-wife, Kate, navigate new waters as their children learn their parents are dating other people. Will can’t deal with his jealousy and ends his relationship with Riley.
Unattached for the first time in years, Riley and Carter slowly transition their friendship into a relationship. Carter comes out and leaves his job, accepting the reality of being disowned.
Riley and Carter go public with their relationship, but worry the fallout will affect their families. Drawing strength from each other, they meet the challenges of being an out couple head on.
💔💫💞Reader Advisory: This book contains polyamory and infidelity.💞💫💔
When last we saw Riley Porter-Wright and Carter Hamilton, Riley had recently come out and admitted he was bisexual but Carter wasn't open to Riley's new found freedom and in the process wasn't there when his best friend needed his support. Now, as Carter's marriage has fallen apart, as disappointed as Riley was by the lack of support from his friend he decides to reach out to Carter and together they decide to rebuild their friendship. Calm focuses on Carter's acceptance of his sexuality and explores his attraction to men all while repairing his much loved friendship with Riley. As well, we see Riley himself has a new man in his life, Will Martin. Will the boys' new found self-acceptance lead them to a better direction, not only in love but also with family, friends, and each other?
I am just going to start by saying WOW!!! As much as I loved Wake, Calm surpasses it. I pretty much touched on as much of the plot as I am going to in the above paragraph so let me just say that there is so much heart in this story, frankly I can't think of a more appropriate word to describe it than "heart". As with Wake, there is a little bit of everything in here: family(both good and bad), heat, passion, and even though this duology is a love story, for me it's even more a tale about friendship and discovery.
I won't lie, I was not overly happy with Carter when book one ended but the author's assured me that his journey was really only beginning and they were right of course. I love both men but I do think Riley tugged on my heart a little more, simply because he was the first to accept himself and a part of me just can't forget how Carter basically turned his back on his friend. Having said that, Carter will break your heart with the struggle he faces but he doesn't let himself get beaten down, he's a fighter even when he doesn't see it in himself.
Not only are you getting an amazingly well written story with intriguing characters but you may walk away learning something about yourself or at the very least, be reminded of what's really important in life. It may seem a cliche but happiness is not about the things or the stature but the people and emotions they fire up within you. Calm will leave you breathless, will leave you in tears, will break your heart but it also warms you, makes you smile, and can open your mind and heart to the possibilities out there, not to mention showing you just how important friendship truly is.
I can't wait to see what these two bring us in the future, both solo and combined efforts. Brigham Vaughn has firmly set her place on my favorite author's list and K Evan Coles is well on her way to being there too. When I first decided to go from reading slash fanfiction to published work, I asked some of my reading BFFs where to start, well it was K that first suggested I start with RJ Scott's Texas series and it has come full circle because now I am loving K's own work.
RATING:
Summary:
Texas #6
Jack is focusing on building an equine therapy school for children with special needs and works hard along side his normal horse training and breeding program. He and Riley have settled into a softer, quieter, kind of family life, but that doesn't stop them using the barn with the door to the fullest!
But the lull comes before the storm.
Riley and his new assistant travel to Laredo, and across the border into Mexico as part of an exploratory team and things very quickly go to hell. Riley is caught in some serious Cartel problems and suddenly everything Jack holds dear is threatened.
Add in Vaughn and Darren's story, revisiting Robbie, Eli, Liam and Marcus, alongside Sean and Eden and the wedding that never was, and this story promises you everything you wanted from a Texas series book.
Blogger Note: And another one I have included the overall series review from my audiobook listen as well as my original review for Texas Fall. And once again, when I relive Jack and Riley's journey it's all or nothing. As for why I chose Texas Fall, the 6th entry in the series, for all the heart feels it gives me? I won't spoil it for newbies to the world of the Double D but the hurdles the men face and how they deal with it as a family and couple says it all.
But the lull comes before the storm.
Riley and his new assistant travel to Laredo, and across the border into Mexico as part of an exploratory team and things very quickly go to hell. Riley is caught in some serious Cartel problems and suddenly everything Jack holds dear is threatened.
Add in Vaughn and Darren's story, revisiting Robbie, Eli, Liam and Marcus, alongside Sean and Eden and the wedding that never was, and this story promises you everything you wanted from a Texas series book.
Overall Series 5th Re-Read 2019:
As I've said many times before, RJ Scott's Texas series was the first published M/M genre book that I read so they will always hold a place of pride in my heart. No matter how many times I read or listen to the journey Jack and Riley Campbell-Hayes, their friends and family take I never tire of it. The characters and the paths they take are so real, so honest, the good and the bad, the heartache and the healing, it never fails to put a smile on face.
As for the audio versions, I can't imagine anyone other than Sean Crisden bringing these stories to life. Sean's voice make Jack, Riley, and the whole Texas family(which grows with each entry because its not just blood that connects everyone) real. Honestly I felt as if I looked up I'd see Jack with Solo Cal out in the yard or Riley on the floor with his maps.
If you haven't read/listened to Texas before I highly recommend giving it a go but it is a series needed to be experienced in order. I warn you though Jack and Riley can be addictive, you'll never want to say goodbye and now thanks to audio you really don't have to😉😉.
As I've said many times before, RJ Scott's Texas series was the first published M/M genre book that I read so they will always hold a place of pride in my heart. No matter how many times I read or listen to the journey Jack and Riley Campbell-Hayes, their friends and family take I never tire of it. The characters and the paths they take are so real, so honest, the good and the bad, the heartache and the healing, it never fails to put a smile on face.
As for the audio versions, I can't imagine anyone other than Sean Crisden bringing these stories to life. Sean's voice make Jack, Riley, and the whole Texas family(which grows with each entry because its not just blood that connects everyone) real. Honestly I felt as if I looked up I'd see Jack with Solo Cal out in the yard or Riley on the floor with his maps.
If you haven't read/listened to Texas before I highly recommend giving it a go but it is a series needed to be experienced in order. I warn you though Jack and Riley can be addictive, you'll never want to say goodbye and now thanks to audio you really don't have to😉😉.
Original Review 2014:
Just when I thought I couldn't love Jack and Riley more, Miss Scott amps up their tale with drug cartels, trials, and new additions to the Double D, both in business and personal matters. Watching Liam overcome his past and grow alongside Marcus is so heartwarming. The kids may not have been in this installment as much but when they were, they stole the show. The boys may not be drowning in lust in this one but boy, when they partake, all I can say is I was afraid my Kindle was going to short circuit.
RATING:
Helena Stone
Helena Stone can’t remember a life before words and reading. After growing up in a household where no holiday or festivity was complete without at least one new book, it’s hardly surprising she now owns more books than shelf space while her Kindle is about to explode.
The urge to write came as a surprise. The realisation that people might enjoy her words was a shock to say the least. Now that the writing bug has well and truly taken hold, Helena can no longer imagine not sharing the characters in her head and heart with the rest of the world.
Having left the hustle and bustle of Amsterdam for the peace and quiet of the Irish Country side she divides her time between reading, writing, long and often wet walks with the dog, her part-time job in a library, a grown-up daughter and her ever loving and patient husband.
Mary Calmes
Mary Calmes lives in Lexington, Kentucky, with her husband and two children and loves all the seasons except summer. She graduated from the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California, with a bachelor's degree in English literature. Due to the fact that it is English lit and not English grammar, do not ask her to point out a clause for you, as it will so not happen. She loves writing, becoming immersed in the process, and falling into the work. She can even tell you what her characters smell like. She loves buying books and going to conventions to meet her fans.
Davidson King
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.
When she's not writing you can find her blogging away on Diverse Reader, her review and promotional site. She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.
If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she'd tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you're afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.
Josh Lanyon
K Evan Coles
K. Evan Coles is a mother and tech pirate by day and a writer by night. She is a dreamer who, with a little hard work and a lot of good coffee, coaxes words out of her head and onto paper.
K. lives in the northeast United States, where she complains bitterly about the winters, but truly loves the region and its diverse, tenacious and deceptively compassionate people. You’ll usually find K. nerding out over books, movies and television with friends and family. She’s especially proud to be raising her son as part of a new generation of unabashed geeks.
K.’s books explore LGBTQ+ romance in contemporary settings.
Her books range from short stories to novellas. They explore gay, lesbian, and polyamorous romance in contemporary settings.
To stay up to date on her latest releases, sign up for the Coles & Vaughn Newsletter.
Just when I thought I couldn't love Jack and Riley more, Miss Scott amps up their tale with drug cartels, trials, and new additions to the Double D, both in business and personal matters. Watching Liam overcome his past and grow alongside Marcus is so heartwarming. The kids may not have been in this installment as much but when they were, they stole the show. The boys may not be drowning in lust in this one but boy, when they partake, all I can say is I was afraid my Kindle was going to short circuit.
RATING:
Patience by Helena Stone
Here we go again. Xander stared as the man he’d spent a few sweaty hours with walked away without a backward glance. He closed the front door as softly as he could before his guest reached the stairs leading to the street. With a sigh, he rested his forehead against the smooth wood. Weariness crept into his bones, swiftly followed by anger. He squeezed his hands into fists and raised one before lowering it again. The middle of the night was not the time to slam his hand against the door, no matter how frustrated he was.
“Don’t hold back on my account.”
Xander’s heart stuttered at the unexpected voice coming from behind.
Shit. Bollix. Fuck. Xander raised his hand again and forcefully hit the door, immediately regretting the action as pain seared through his arm.
“Another one bites the dust, I see.”
Xander spun around, fury and embarrassment battling for dominance, as he glared at his housemate, and most of the time best friend, Eric.
“What are you doing up at this ungodly hour?” Xander didn’t try to keep the frustration from his voice, in the hope that an attack would hide the discomfort he experienced.
“I’ve got no idea. Give me a minute. What could possibly have me awake at this time of night?” Eric remained expressionless as he stared at Xander. “It may have been the bed frame rhythmically hitting the wall between our bedrooms earlier. Or the noises from the shower. Or maybe it’s because you still haven’t done anything to stop the hinges on your door from squeaking every time it opens or closes. Take your pick.”
“I…” Xander swallowed, biting down on a smart retort as he realized his housemate had a point. He glanced at Eric’s face and was just in time to see his features relax and a small smile tug at his lips.
“Cat got your tongue? It’s not very often you’re lost for words.” A smirk appeared on Eric’s face but the sting had gone out of his tone and Xander allowed himself a small sigh of relief.
“I’d love to know what’s up with you, though. You’ve always been popular, but I’ve never known you to slut around like this in the past. Is this a new thing? Something you developed while I was overseas?”
Xander opened his mouth to give a flippant reply then pressed his lips together again. He might not like to admit it, but once again, Eric had a point. Instead of answering, he shrugged and shook his head, hoping it would be enough to make Eric drop the subject and allow them to go back to bed. It was three in the morning. Apart from the opportunity for a few hours of undisturbed sleep, Xander couldn’t come up with a possible positive spin to put on his guest’s early departure.
“Let’s have a cup of tea, seeing as we’re both up, anyway.” Eric didn’t wait for an answer but turned and walked toward the kitchen.
Xander watched his friend’s retreating form and sighed before reluctantly following him. He didn’t want to have this conversation but he’d known it was coming. It had been six weeks since Eric had returned from Canada where he had worked and lived for two years. It had made sense to offer his spare room to the man who’d been his best friend since they’d both been ten years old, just as it had seemed logical to tell Eric there was no need for him to hurry about finding a place of his own. Reasonably priced accommodations were next to impossible to find in Dublin unless you were prepared to live in a shoebox, and Xander had more than enough space in his apartment. Of course, Xander hadn’t stopped to consider what having a live-in guest would mean for his nocturnal adventures. He sighed as he realized he wouldn’t be able to fob Eric off with half-answers and evasions either. The man knew him too bloody well.
When Xander dragged himself into the kitchen, the kettle was on and Eric had two mugs waiting on the counter.
“It’s still the middle of the night.” Xander figured it was worth a try. “You need to get up for work in a few hours. We could have this conversation later today.” Or not at all. Xander didn’t hold out any hope for that possibility.
Eric turned from the counter and looked at Xander. All signs of levity were gone and replaced by concern. “It’s okay. I’m wide awake now, anyway, and I’ve been trying to find an opening for this talk for days. Might as well take advantage of the opportunity.”
“I don’t really want to—”
“Leave it, Xander. You know me well enough to realize I’m not going to let it drop, now that I’ve opened my mouth.”
Xander nodded. Eric rarely dropped an issue after he’d broached it—something he used to admire in him. He sat down at the kitchen table and waited in silence for the kettle to boil and for Eric to make their tea. Only when they both had a steaming mug in front of them did Eric speak again.
“So, what is going on with you? It’s shocking how much you’ve changed in only two years. If I remember correctly, you used to say how you couldn’t see the attraction in one-night stands.”
Bollix. This was not what Xander had prepared himself for. He’d been ready for a speech about him being a selfish bastard. He was happy and willing to apologize for not taking Eric into consideration when he brought people home and took them to his bed. He didn’t want to talk about why he did it, though.
“I haven’t been that bad.” As he said the words Xander realized that not only did he sound childish, he also wasn’t being honest.
“Really?” Eric raised an eyebrow. “You reckon ten one-night stands in six weeks is unremarkable?”
“You’ve been keeping count?” Indignation swept through Xander.
“I told you, your nighttime activities have been hard to miss or ignore.”
Indignation evaporated and was replaced by shame. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m still getting used to sharing my house. I’ll try and be quieter in the future.”
“No!” Eric shook his head. “That’s not why we’re having this talk. I want to figure out what happened to you. Where’s the Xander I used to know and what have you done with him?”
Xander hesitated. He understood exactly what Eric meant but didn’t want to consider the question or try to formulate an answer so he attempted to buy himself some time. “What do you mean? I’m the same Xander I always was.”
“No, you’re not.” Eric almost sounded sad. “If you had ten casual hook-ups in the decade between coming out and the day I left for Canada it was a lot. Do you remember that talk we had before I went? I could have sworn you told me you were ready to settle down, be responsible and hopefully find a long-term partner. That is what you said, right?”
Xander could only nod.
“And you did some of it. You established yourself as an artist and illustrator and managed to snap up your own apartment. So what happened to creating stability in your love life?”
Xander picked up his mug and took a sip of the still too-hot tea, buying himself some more time as well as a burned tongue.
“Hey,” Eric’s voice was soft and gentle, “it’s me you’re talking to. Remember me? I’m your friend. There’s nothing you can tell me that would make me love you less. Just spit it out.”
“Men.” Xander stopped talking and swallowed. “Men happened. If there is anybody our age out there looking for a relationship I’ve yet to find him. I tried, trust me. I really did.” He thought back and had no problem remembering how it had all unfolded. He’d gone out, and more often than not, he’d end up talking to a man he liked. They’d spend the evening chatting, drinking, flirting and laughing and by the end of it there never seemed to be a good reason not to bring him home.
“Those first few times, I hoped that sex would lead to breakfast together, an exchange of phone numbers followed by more dates, more nights and maybe a relationship.” Xander was surprised to find it still hurt. “It never worked out like that. Those men would leave as soon as we’d both gotten off. Some might take a shower first, but with one or two exceptions they never stayed long enough for scrambled eggs.”
The few times a man had stayed until morning, the atmosphere had been so uncomfortable even Xander had been glad when his hook-up had decided it was time to leave. And all of that didn’t even take into consideration the selfish bastard he’d brought home three months or so ago. For that man, it hadn’t been enough to just leave. He’d humiliated Xander first. Anger bubbled up again as Xander remembered how he’d ended that night crying in the shower—disgusted with himself and angry with the world.
“I guess you could say I gave up on the whole idea. After a few months, I’d gotten the message. I was good enough for some hot sex but not interesting enough for anything beyond that. So now I just take what I can get. There’s no point in continuing to set myself up for disappointment.” Xander clamped his mouth shut. He wasn’t going to go on and tell Eric about that prick who’d made him cry. Just because Eric was his best friend didn’t mean Xander was happy to share all his humiliations with him.
Xander put his now empty mug on the table and rested his hands next to it. When Eric reached across and squeezed one of them, Xander realized he’d been far less successful at keeping the hurt out of his voice than he’d hoped.
“Are you at least enjoying these one-night stands?”
Eric’s question made perfect sense, and yet it pulled Xander up short. He’d never asked himself that, and now that the issue had been raised, he wasn’t sure it was something he wanted to pursue.
“It’s fun while it lasts.” Xander realized he once again said a lot less than he might have. He didn’t want to admit these nights left him feeling increasingly empty and alone, and he definitely didn’t want to tell Eric that his confidence had all but disappeared once it had become clear that the men he encountered never saw him as relationship material. These days, picking up men was almost a necessity—a confidence boost he needed to convince himself that he was still attractive in the eyes of others. If he wasn’t good enough for a relationship, he needed the reassurance that he could at least still connect on some level.
“Have you ever considered that you might be going about it the wrong way?” Eric sounded almost hesitant when he spoke.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” Eric shrugged. “Seems to me that if you take every man you meet straight to your bed they could be excused for concluding you’re not in the market for a relationship.” Eric grinned. “And now I sound just like my father when he tries to talk some sense in to my baby sister.”
Xander stared at his friend, trying to figure out if he could be right. “That doesn’t sound right. I mean, picking up men is perfectly normal in the crowd I hang out with. Everybody does it. Some end up in a relationship, although they appear to be in the minority. Most men don’t, and as far as I can tell, they’re perfectly fine with that.”
“How can you be sure about that?” Eric asked. “Would anybody who doesn’t know you as well as I do be able to tell you’re less than happy with the situation?”
Xander contemplated the question for a few moments. “Probably not,” he eventually conceded. “I don’t want others to be aware of that. It’s bad enough I’m clearly not relationship material. I’m not about to advertise how much I hate that.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Anger crept into Eric’s voice. “Jaysus, if I didn’t see you as my brother I’d have a relationship with you myself. The problem is, you don’t give people the chance to get close to you. They’re probably all convinced you’re only interested in a quick fuck and they’re accommodating enough to give it to you.”
Eric looked away as if his outburst had surprised him as much as it had shocked Xander. “I’ve got an idea.”
“You have an idea.” Xander smiled for the first time since they’d started their talk. “Why does that sentence scare the shit out of me? Oh…wait, it’s all coming back to me. In the past, one of your ideas led to me being stranded in the middle of Paris without any money. And then there was the time I ended up being brought home by the gardai.”
Eric beamed back at Xander, apparently sharing Xander’s relief that their conversation had taken on a lighter tone. “Nothing like the ideas I had on those occasions. Besides, the gardai incident had far more to do with your poor impulse control than my idea. Anyway, I wonder… Are you up for a little bet?”
“What are we betting on?” Xander wasn’t sure whether or not to worry about what might be coming next.
“I bet you can’t go a whole month without bringing another man home.” Eric paused for a moment. “Or without going to another man’s place.” Eric grinned, clearly delighted with himself for closing the loophole before Xander had even spotted it.
“How’s that a bet?” Xander laughed. “If I just stay at home for a month there’d be no risk of me picking anybody up.”
“That would be considered cheating.” Eric smiled before his expression turned serious again. “The bet would mean that you’d live your life as you always do, be your usual sociable self, with the one exception that you wouldn’t have sex with anyone.”
Xander sat back and stared at his friend as he considered the proposal. He and Eric had always been competitive and he was tempted just to say yes and jump into the challenge but he detested losing too much not to take his time before replying.
“Spell it out for me,” Xander said. “I would still go out. I can still talk to men, and what else? Would I be allowed to kiss? Give or receive blow jobs? Is it just about lack of penetration or is there more to this bet of yours?”
“You’re considering taking up the challenge then?” Eric asked.
“Yes. I think so.” After all, Xander pondered, given how frustrating the meaningless one-night stands have recently become, I can’t imagine a month without picking anyone up being any worse.
“Nice one.” Eric’s grin was almost wicked. “Here’s the deal. You can date. You can kiss, but you can’t get naked, so blow jobs are off the table for a month, too.”
“Harsh.”
“Hey, it’s a bet. There’s supposed to be something at stake or it wouldn’t be worth it,” Eric said.
“While we’re on the topic of stakes, what happens if I win?” Xander hesitated before going on. “Or if I lose for that matter?”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Eric stared off into the distance, leaving Xander caught between excitement and apprehension. He’d already made up his mind to accept the challenge but he’d spent more than enough time around Eric to realize the man could come up with devilish ideas once he set his mind to it. Xander studied Eric’s face and recognized the moment he made his decision.
“I could suggest something silly or outrageous, but I’m actually serious about this so let’s keep it simple. Whoever loses takes care of the other and the house for the subsequent month. That’s the cooking, cleaning, laundry, shopping, the whole shebang. How about it? Are you in?”
“Fuck, yeah. It’s only one month. Easy win for me.” Xander laughed and was surprised when Eric didn’t join him.
“I hope you’re right, mate.” Eric got up from his chair and moved around the table before resting a hand on Xander’s shoulder. “I really hope you’re right. You haven’t been yourself since I returned and I want the old you back.” Eric squeezed Xander’s shoulder one last time and walked on. “I’m going to see if I can’t get a few more hours of sleep. You should do the same.”
Xander yawned as he watched Eric return to his bedroom. Getting some shut eye sounded like a good idea.
“Don’t hold back on my account.”
Xander’s heart stuttered at the unexpected voice coming from behind.
Shit. Bollix. Fuck. Xander raised his hand again and forcefully hit the door, immediately regretting the action as pain seared through his arm.
“Another one bites the dust, I see.”
Xander spun around, fury and embarrassment battling for dominance, as he glared at his housemate, and most of the time best friend, Eric.
“What are you doing up at this ungodly hour?” Xander didn’t try to keep the frustration from his voice, in the hope that an attack would hide the discomfort he experienced.
“I’ve got no idea. Give me a minute. What could possibly have me awake at this time of night?” Eric remained expressionless as he stared at Xander. “It may have been the bed frame rhythmically hitting the wall between our bedrooms earlier. Or the noises from the shower. Or maybe it’s because you still haven’t done anything to stop the hinges on your door from squeaking every time it opens or closes. Take your pick.”
“I…” Xander swallowed, biting down on a smart retort as he realized his housemate had a point. He glanced at Eric’s face and was just in time to see his features relax and a small smile tug at his lips.
“Cat got your tongue? It’s not very often you’re lost for words.” A smirk appeared on Eric’s face but the sting had gone out of his tone and Xander allowed himself a small sigh of relief.
“I’d love to know what’s up with you, though. You’ve always been popular, but I’ve never known you to slut around like this in the past. Is this a new thing? Something you developed while I was overseas?”
Xander opened his mouth to give a flippant reply then pressed his lips together again. He might not like to admit it, but once again, Eric had a point. Instead of answering, he shrugged and shook his head, hoping it would be enough to make Eric drop the subject and allow them to go back to bed. It was three in the morning. Apart from the opportunity for a few hours of undisturbed sleep, Xander couldn’t come up with a possible positive spin to put on his guest’s early departure.
“Let’s have a cup of tea, seeing as we’re both up, anyway.” Eric didn’t wait for an answer but turned and walked toward the kitchen.
Xander watched his friend’s retreating form and sighed before reluctantly following him. He didn’t want to have this conversation but he’d known it was coming. It had been six weeks since Eric had returned from Canada where he had worked and lived for two years. It had made sense to offer his spare room to the man who’d been his best friend since they’d both been ten years old, just as it had seemed logical to tell Eric there was no need for him to hurry about finding a place of his own. Reasonably priced accommodations were next to impossible to find in Dublin unless you were prepared to live in a shoebox, and Xander had more than enough space in his apartment. Of course, Xander hadn’t stopped to consider what having a live-in guest would mean for his nocturnal adventures. He sighed as he realized he wouldn’t be able to fob Eric off with half-answers and evasions either. The man knew him too bloody well.
When Xander dragged himself into the kitchen, the kettle was on and Eric had two mugs waiting on the counter.
“It’s still the middle of the night.” Xander figured it was worth a try. “You need to get up for work in a few hours. We could have this conversation later today.” Or not at all. Xander didn’t hold out any hope for that possibility.
Eric turned from the counter and looked at Xander. All signs of levity were gone and replaced by concern. “It’s okay. I’m wide awake now, anyway, and I’ve been trying to find an opening for this talk for days. Might as well take advantage of the opportunity.”
“I don’t really want to—”
“Leave it, Xander. You know me well enough to realize I’m not going to let it drop, now that I’ve opened my mouth.”
Xander nodded. Eric rarely dropped an issue after he’d broached it—something he used to admire in him. He sat down at the kitchen table and waited in silence for the kettle to boil and for Eric to make their tea. Only when they both had a steaming mug in front of them did Eric speak again.
“So, what is going on with you? It’s shocking how much you’ve changed in only two years. If I remember correctly, you used to say how you couldn’t see the attraction in one-night stands.”
Bollix. This was not what Xander had prepared himself for. He’d been ready for a speech about him being a selfish bastard. He was happy and willing to apologize for not taking Eric into consideration when he brought people home and took them to his bed. He didn’t want to talk about why he did it, though.
“I haven’t been that bad.” As he said the words Xander realized that not only did he sound childish, he also wasn’t being honest.
“Really?” Eric raised an eyebrow. “You reckon ten one-night stands in six weeks is unremarkable?”
“You’ve been keeping count?” Indignation swept through Xander.
“I told you, your nighttime activities have been hard to miss or ignore.”
Indignation evaporated and was replaced by shame. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m still getting used to sharing my house. I’ll try and be quieter in the future.”
“No!” Eric shook his head. “That’s not why we’re having this talk. I want to figure out what happened to you. Where’s the Xander I used to know and what have you done with him?”
Xander hesitated. He understood exactly what Eric meant but didn’t want to consider the question or try to formulate an answer so he attempted to buy himself some time. “What do you mean? I’m the same Xander I always was.”
“No, you’re not.” Eric almost sounded sad. “If you had ten casual hook-ups in the decade between coming out and the day I left for Canada it was a lot. Do you remember that talk we had before I went? I could have sworn you told me you were ready to settle down, be responsible and hopefully find a long-term partner. That is what you said, right?”
Xander could only nod.
“And you did some of it. You established yourself as an artist and illustrator and managed to snap up your own apartment. So what happened to creating stability in your love life?”
Xander picked up his mug and took a sip of the still too-hot tea, buying himself some more time as well as a burned tongue.
“Hey,” Eric’s voice was soft and gentle, “it’s me you’re talking to. Remember me? I’m your friend. There’s nothing you can tell me that would make me love you less. Just spit it out.”
“Men.” Xander stopped talking and swallowed. “Men happened. If there is anybody our age out there looking for a relationship I’ve yet to find him. I tried, trust me. I really did.” He thought back and had no problem remembering how it had all unfolded. He’d gone out, and more often than not, he’d end up talking to a man he liked. They’d spend the evening chatting, drinking, flirting and laughing and by the end of it there never seemed to be a good reason not to bring him home.
“Those first few times, I hoped that sex would lead to breakfast together, an exchange of phone numbers followed by more dates, more nights and maybe a relationship.” Xander was surprised to find it still hurt. “It never worked out like that. Those men would leave as soon as we’d both gotten off. Some might take a shower first, but with one or two exceptions they never stayed long enough for scrambled eggs.”
The few times a man had stayed until morning, the atmosphere had been so uncomfortable even Xander had been glad when his hook-up had decided it was time to leave. And all of that didn’t even take into consideration the selfish bastard he’d brought home three months or so ago. For that man, it hadn’t been enough to just leave. He’d humiliated Xander first. Anger bubbled up again as Xander remembered how he’d ended that night crying in the shower—disgusted with himself and angry with the world.
“I guess you could say I gave up on the whole idea. After a few months, I’d gotten the message. I was good enough for some hot sex but not interesting enough for anything beyond that. So now I just take what I can get. There’s no point in continuing to set myself up for disappointment.” Xander clamped his mouth shut. He wasn’t going to go on and tell Eric about that prick who’d made him cry. Just because Eric was his best friend didn’t mean Xander was happy to share all his humiliations with him.
Xander put his now empty mug on the table and rested his hands next to it. When Eric reached across and squeezed one of them, Xander realized he’d been far less successful at keeping the hurt out of his voice than he’d hoped.
“Are you at least enjoying these one-night stands?”
Eric’s question made perfect sense, and yet it pulled Xander up short. He’d never asked himself that, and now that the issue had been raised, he wasn’t sure it was something he wanted to pursue.
“It’s fun while it lasts.” Xander realized he once again said a lot less than he might have. He didn’t want to admit these nights left him feeling increasingly empty and alone, and he definitely didn’t want to tell Eric that his confidence had all but disappeared once it had become clear that the men he encountered never saw him as relationship material. These days, picking up men was almost a necessity—a confidence boost he needed to convince himself that he was still attractive in the eyes of others. If he wasn’t good enough for a relationship, he needed the reassurance that he could at least still connect on some level.
“Have you ever considered that you might be going about it the wrong way?” Eric sounded almost hesitant when he spoke.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” Eric shrugged. “Seems to me that if you take every man you meet straight to your bed they could be excused for concluding you’re not in the market for a relationship.” Eric grinned. “And now I sound just like my father when he tries to talk some sense in to my baby sister.”
Xander stared at his friend, trying to figure out if he could be right. “That doesn’t sound right. I mean, picking up men is perfectly normal in the crowd I hang out with. Everybody does it. Some end up in a relationship, although they appear to be in the minority. Most men don’t, and as far as I can tell, they’re perfectly fine with that.”
“How can you be sure about that?” Eric asked. “Would anybody who doesn’t know you as well as I do be able to tell you’re less than happy with the situation?”
Xander contemplated the question for a few moments. “Probably not,” he eventually conceded. “I don’t want others to be aware of that. It’s bad enough I’m clearly not relationship material. I’m not about to advertise how much I hate that.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Anger crept into Eric’s voice. “Jaysus, if I didn’t see you as my brother I’d have a relationship with you myself. The problem is, you don’t give people the chance to get close to you. They’re probably all convinced you’re only interested in a quick fuck and they’re accommodating enough to give it to you.”
Eric looked away as if his outburst had surprised him as much as it had shocked Xander. “I’ve got an idea.”
“You have an idea.” Xander smiled for the first time since they’d started their talk. “Why does that sentence scare the shit out of me? Oh…wait, it’s all coming back to me. In the past, one of your ideas led to me being stranded in the middle of Paris without any money. And then there was the time I ended up being brought home by the gardai.”
Eric beamed back at Xander, apparently sharing Xander’s relief that their conversation had taken on a lighter tone. “Nothing like the ideas I had on those occasions. Besides, the gardai incident had far more to do with your poor impulse control than my idea. Anyway, I wonder… Are you up for a little bet?”
“What are we betting on?” Xander wasn’t sure whether or not to worry about what might be coming next.
“I bet you can’t go a whole month without bringing another man home.” Eric paused for a moment. “Or without going to another man’s place.” Eric grinned, clearly delighted with himself for closing the loophole before Xander had even spotted it.
“How’s that a bet?” Xander laughed. “If I just stay at home for a month there’d be no risk of me picking anybody up.”
“That would be considered cheating.” Eric smiled before his expression turned serious again. “The bet would mean that you’d live your life as you always do, be your usual sociable self, with the one exception that you wouldn’t have sex with anyone.”
Xander sat back and stared at his friend as he considered the proposal. He and Eric had always been competitive and he was tempted just to say yes and jump into the challenge but he detested losing too much not to take his time before replying.
“Spell it out for me,” Xander said. “I would still go out. I can still talk to men, and what else? Would I be allowed to kiss? Give or receive blow jobs? Is it just about lack of penetration or is there more to this bet of yours?”
“You’re considering taking up the challenge then?” Eric asked.
“Yes. I think so.” After all, Xander pondered, given how frustrating the meaningless one-night stands have recently become, I can’t imagine a month without picking anyone up being any worse.
“Nice one.” Eric’s grin was almost wicked. “Here’s the deal. You can date. You can kiss, but you can’t get naked, so blow jobs are off the table for a month, too.”
“Harsh.”
“Hey, it’s a bet. There’s supposed to be something at stake or it wouldn’t be worth it,” Eric said.
“While we’re on the topic of stakes, what happens if I win?” Xander hesitated before going on. “Or if I lose for that matter?”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Eric stared off into the distance, leaving Xander caught between excitement and apprehension. He’d already made up his mind to accept the challenge but he’d spent more than enough time around Eric to realize the man could come up with devilish ideas once he set his mind to it. Xander studied Eric’s face and recognized the moment he made his decision.
“I could suggest something silly or outrageous, but I’m actually serious about this so let’s keep it simple. Whoever loses takes care of the other and the house for the subsequent month. That’s the cooking, cleaning, laundry, shopping, the whole shebang. How about it? Are you in?”
“Fuck, yeah. It’s only one month. Easy win for me.” Xander laughed and was surprised when Eric didn’t join him.
“I hope you’re right, mate.” Eric got up from his chair and moved around the table before resting a hand on Xander’s shoulder. “I really hope you’re right. You haven’t been yourself since I returned and I want the old you back.” Eric squeezed Xander’s shoulder one last time and walked on. “I’m going to see if I can’t get a few more hours of sleep. You should do the same.”
Xander yawned as he watched Eric return to his bedroom. Getting some shut eye sounded like a good idea.
But for You by Mary Calmes
Chapter One
THE man was a pig, and it wasn’t just me who thought so. Rosa Martinez, who lived on the other side of the Petersons, agreed with me. In fact, all the women who lived on our cul-de-sac were of the same mind. Oliver Peterson, whose wife had just caught him cheating on her—again —was filth. It wasn’t the fact that they already had two children; it was the fact that she was currently pregnant with a third.
Sam, the love of my life, my partner, husband, and the guy who was parenting two small people with me, just shook his head the night before and kissed me breathless after telling me for the nine-hundredth time to please not get involved. Leave the neighbors alone; this was not Housewives of Wherever, we were not on reality TV. I had explained over the McDonald’s that the man had brought home instead of having me cook—which, after the last time, we had both agreed would never happen again—that I was involved because I was her friend.
“No,” he told me as we put the kids down. “You use that word so loosely. She’s an acquaintance, Jory, she’s not a friend.”
“She’s my neighbor, Sam, and her man’s a dog, and if she needs my help with whatever, I’m gonna give it to her.”
“I’m not saying not to be nice to her, but just don’t stick your nose in their business.”
I ignored him.
“Jory Harcourt!”
I gave him the most indignant look I could manage. “So I’m what, nosy now? I’m the busybody neighbor?”
He threw up his hands in defeat.
I gave him a superior grunt because I thought he was on his way out of the bedroom to check the house, make sure all the doors were locked, make sure the stove burners were all off, but then I realized he hadn’t moved. “What?”
“You’re very cute.”
I squinted at him. “Thirty-five-year-old men are not cute.”
“You’ll always be the twenty-two-year-old club kid I saw for the first time lying in the street with a beagle on top of him.”
“I thought George was a Jack Russell.”
“Nope.” He came toward me. “Beagle.”
“Go away.” I smiled at him, trying to shoo him out of the room. “Go make sure the zombie horde can’t get us.”
But instead of leaving, he grabbed me and slammed me up against the wall in our room. With his hot mouth nibbling up the side of my neck, his hands frantically disrobing me, and his hard groin pressed to my ass, my mind went completely blank. There was no way to concentrate when I had 220 pounds of hard-muscled man focused on getting me in bed.
But the next day, as I staggered around my kitchen—I never had been and never would be a morning person—and saw my neighbors on their front porch, Christie Peterson smiling tentatively, her husband scowling, I just wanted to go over and punch him out. I had an idea what I must have looked like: robe on, T-shirt and pajama bottoms under that, bunny slippers looking all bright-eyed and happy, I resembled the nosy neighbor in every sense.
A throat cleared behind me.
“Don’t you have to go to work?” I asked pointedly. It was Wednesday, not Saturday.
The warm rumbling chuckle was next. “You think maybe now since you’ve got one kid in preschool and the other in first grade that you should start thinking about going back to working from your office?”
Obviously my sanity was in question, because I was still working from home. I hoped the look I gave him when I turned and squinted conveyed my displeasure.
He snorted out a laugh.
I all-out scowled at the supervisory Deputy US Marshal standing beside me at the kitchen sink. We had both been looking at the Petersons. “Why would you say that?”
“Say what?”
I growled.
He pressed his beautiful lips together in a hard line so he wouldn’t smile.
“Sam?”
“No reason.”
“Spit it out.”
He cleared his throat. “I just think that perhaps you being home during the day is giving you cabin fever, and maybe you need to get back out in the real world and talk to the grown-ups.”
I huffed out an exasperated breath. “Sam, just because I don’t go to the office doesn’t mean I’m starved for adult contact. I talk to Dylan every day, I talk to Fallon every day. They’re my business partners, they need me, and they keep me involved with what’s going on at the office.”
“Okay.”
“I send out more e-mails than both of them combined!”
“I’m sure you do,” he said, sliding his hand around the back of my neck, then squeezing gently, massaging, and easing me closer. “I just think that maybe getting out of this house during the day would do you some good.”
I batted his hand away, whirling on him. “I go to the store, to the park, drop kids off at school, pick them up… when do I not see people?”
He grunted, rolled his eyes, and put his coffee cup down in the sink before his dark smoky-blue eyes flicked to mine.
“No,” I almost squeaked, turning to run.
So not fast enough.
You would think that a big man could not move like that, with so much speed, but Sam Kage’s athleticism and strength were never to be underestimated. At forty-six, he was just as powerful as he’d been when I first met him, and I finally understood the whole getting better with age thing. The man looked the best he ever had, and he lived well in his skin, so content, so happy both personally and professionally.
I was so proud of him and told him so often. He was an amazing father, a wonderful husband, a great son, and the kind of friend anyone would be happy to claim. I was biased because I loved him, but still, I saw people look at him and knew the truth. Four years after beginning his new job as a marshal, he was now the supervisor of the Chicago field office, overseeing five other deputies and three clerks. I had thought once he moved up, he’d become a sheriff, but apparently all they did was add the “supervisory” in there. A sheriff was a totally different thing. It made no sense from a Western standpoint. In every movie I had ever seen, the deputy got moved up to sheriff. As usual, Sam had just shaken his head at me.
As I ducked around the island in the middle of the kitchen, I thought for half a second that I would get away from him, but as he grabbed, yanked, and pinned me against the refrigerator, I realized how wrong I had been.
“All I meant to imply,” he began, tilting my head up with a hand on my chin, “was that since you have a six-year-old and a four-year-old now, you can do a half day at the office instead of working full-time from home. It might be nice after you drop them off to pick up a fancy cup of coffee and go to your office and actually see Dylan and Fallon and talk to them face to face.”
I was really far too interested in his mouth to listen to him. He had the kind of lips made for kissing, plump and dark, and when he smiled, there was this curve in the corner that could break your heart. Not that the rest of his rugged features were without appeal. His dark smoky blue-gray eyes with the deep laugh lines at the corners, his long straight nose, the hard square jaw, and the thick copper-gold eyebrows were a treat too. And his voice, over the phone or in person, deep and husky, edged with a growl, could send rippling heat through my entire body. But the man’s mouth, the shape of it, the feel of it… really, I was a fan.
“Are you listening to me?”
I lifted up from my height of five nine to his of six four, and he bent down at the same time. Our lips met and parted, and his tongue slid deep to taste me.
The sounds from the peanut gallery—choking and retching—and the tug on my robe instantly drained the heat from the encounter. Sam snorted out a laugh as he broke the kiss, both of us eyeing the short people standing close to us.
“That’s disgusting,” Kola assured me with a glare that a six-year-old shouldn’t have had, full of judgment and revulsion.
“Why?” I asked snidely.
“Your mouth has germs,” he informed me haughtily. “That’s why you told Hannah not to lick Chilly.”
“No, I told her not to lick Chilly because the cat doesn’t like to be licked by her.”
“He licks his body.”
“He does,” Hannah, our four-year-old, agreed with a nod. “Kola’s right.”
“But he doesn’t want you to do it,” I assured my daughter, directing my comment to her.
“How do you know?” Kola questioned.
“Yeah,” Hannah Banana chimed in again, always her big brother’s backup. “How do you know?”
I had to think.
Kola waited, squinting at me.
Hannah was waiting as well, one of her perfectly shaped dark brows arching. It was new. She had the same way of looking at me that her father did, like I was an idiot.
“Do not lick the cat! Nobody licks the cat!” Sam ordered when the silence stretched for too long.
I started laughing; only my husband would have to make such rules.
He looked down at his son, Mykola Thomas Kage, six years old going on forty, who was full of questions and opinions.
We had adopted him when he was three, from an agency in the Netherlands. When we had made the final trip to bring him home, he had seen us from the window of the orphanage director’s office and run to the door to meet us. We had been there two weeks and he already called Sam Daddy, which Sam was madly in love with hearing. But though Kola had been taught the American word meaning father, it was not his, not the one he had grown up hearing and had been waiting to use for someone who belonged to him. So he had tried out the one he knew on me.
Pa.
So simple a word but it meant so much.
I had heard it in the streets when we visited, along with the more formal, vader, and seen kids run to their fathers using it. Not the papa I knew, not what Sam’s father was called by his grandchildren, but instead just pa. When Kola called to me, I answered to it, and his face, the way it lit up, the absolute blinding joy, had been a gift.
Sam was Daddy, and Daddy represented Kola’s new life and his new family in the United States, and I was the comfort of the old. I was Pa, and he had named me.
Of course it didn’t matter to me what name he settled on. He could have called me Jory for all I cared; he was my kid, and that was all I gave a damn about. He was legally and completely mine and Sam’s, and that was what mattered. And we were good, the three of us, until the first agency we had contacted back when we’d started the whole adoption process called to tell us that there was a little girl from Montevideo ready for adoption. I had forgotten about them because they had never come through, but that turned out not to be the case. You heard from them when it was time, and it finally was.
I was surprised, Sam unsure, until the professional but not personable and definitely not warm gentleman slid the picture across the desk for us. He needed to know if we wanted the little girl in the photograph.
Yes, we wanted the angel very much.
Our family went from three to four with the coming of the little sister that Kola wanted nothing to do with until we were all home under one roof. He resented all of us going to the airport to pick her up, hated her crying in the car, and was really annoyed that Sam was carrying her instead of him. He was starting to fret, it was all over his face—until Sam knelt and picked him up too. Kids are so funny. As soon as Kola figured out that Hannah was planning on sharing us with him, that she wasn’t there to take his spot, that nothing was changing in the love department, just some tweaking in the time area, he decided he liked her. And now, with him at six and her at four, their bond was noticeable.
They fought like cats and dogs… but only sometimes. She cried, he moped, they chased each other and roughhoused, but nine times out of ten, I found her in his room in the morning. When we were out, he held her hand, he fixed things when she couldn’t, and he was supremely patient when she was trying to impart some tidbit of information. I was like, Spit it out, kid, but Kola just nodded and waited until some incident about a bug on a flower was all communicated in excruciating detail.
He brushed her off if she fell down, made her remember her mittens and hat, and could be counted on to translate her wishes to others if Sam and I were absent. Dylan Greer, my best friend, was really surprised because she was certain that, sometimes, Hannah Banana—or B, as we all called her—spoke in tongues. But Kola would just say that she wanted milk or a crayon or a flashlight. And he was never wrong. He was an excellent big brother, and she adored him.
Hannah Regina Kage—her middle name after Sam’s mother—had the most adorable little button nose on the planet. I would lean in to kiss her sometimes and nibble on her nose instead. It made her squeal with delight. Putting her toes in my mouth was also cause for raucous laughter. Even at a year old, she had a good laugh. It was not timid or soft. She was small, but how she expressed herself was big. People heard the deep, throaty sound and were enchanted. I had been under her spell at first glance.
In our neighborhood in River Park, sometimes people still looked at us when we were out walking. And most questioned Kola when they got close, since with his deep-set cobalt-blue eyes, sharp European features, and dark-brown hair, he didn’t look like either me or Sam. But Hannah, who was half-Uruguayan, was obviously adopted. What was funny, though, was that people sometimes questioned whether Gentry—born with my brother Dane’s charcoal eyes instead of my sister-in-law Aja’s honey-brown ones—actually belonged to his own mother. I always wondered why people cared. If your kid was blue and you were orange, who gave a crap as long as you loved and cherished the blue kid? People still surprised me.
“Pa.”
Hannah was looking up at me like I was the village idiot.
“What?”
“If Kola can’t lick Chilly, you can’t lick Daddy.”
I had a terrible image of giving Sam a blow job just then, and he probably knew it, which was why he grabbed me and covered my mouth with his hand. “Will you two go finish your breakfast, please?”
They left then, but not without casting looks back.
Sam moved his hand but bent and kissed me. I received it happily, and of course, there was more retching.
“Kola Kage!” I admonished him even as I laughed. “Will you knock that off?”
“Ewww,” Hannah squeaked out.
When I looked over at them, Kola was mixing his oatmeal with butter and brown sugar, making it burp with his spoon.
“Just eat it,” I told him.
“I’m making it edible.”
Edible. Damn kid and his damn vocabulary.
“Leave the Petersons alone,” Sam sighed, long-suffering as he was.
“I am.” I bit my bottom lip.
“Jory…,” he cautioned me.
I tried for innocent.
“Daddy,” Kola said, back beside us, looking up at Sam.
“Don’t lick the cat,” Sam reiterated, bending down to one knee as his son stepped into his arms and put his hands on his face. “All right?”
“Okay.” Kola nodded.
“Okay,” Sam sighed, pulling Kola close, hugging him tight for a minute.
“What’s homonic?”
“I dunno.” Sam yawned, leaning back so father and son could look at each other. “Where’d you hear it?”
“Pa told Auntie Dyl that Jake’s parents won’t let him come play at my house ’cause they’re homonic.”
Sam nodded. “That’s homophobic, and that means that Jake’s parents don’t want him to come over because you have two fathers.”
Kola squinted at Sam. “Why?”
“Some people just don’t like it.”
“Why?”
“Well, I think that some people are afraid of what it means.”
He shook his head. “What does it mean?”
“That if you can have two fathers, maybe things are changing.”
His scowl made his little eyebrows furrow. It was adorable. “I don’t understand.”
“I think you will when you’re older, buddy.”
“It’s dumb.”
“Yes it is,” Sam agreed, hugging him again. “But I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” He hugged Sam back tight, both arms wrapped around his neck. “Stuart and his mom are coming with me and Pa and Hannah and Uncle Evan and Bryce and Seth and Auntie Dyl and Mica and Mabel and Tess and her dad to the movies next Saturday, so Jake’s the one who’s missing out.”
“Who’s coming again?” Sam teased him.
“Stuart and his mom are coming with—”
“Stop,” I cut Kola off. “Your father heard you the first time.”
Sam grunted and looked up at me. “How come I didn’t get invited to the movies?”
“First”—I smiled at him—“the Chipmunks give you hives, and secondly, won’t you be fishing with Pat and Chaz that Saturday?”
“What Saturday are we talking about?”
“We’re leaving tomorrow for Phoenix, for the reunion, and we’ll come home Sunday.”
“Yes, I know this.”
“Okay, so then I’m talking about not this coming Saturday, since we’ll be out of town, but the one after that.”
“Oh, so that’s right, then.” He smiled brightly. “I’ll be fishing. Sorry I won’t make the movie, babe.”
“Liar,” I said flatly.
He cackled.
But it was going to be fun. I was going with my two kids, my buddy Evan was bringing his sons Bryce and Seth, and Dylan was schlepping her two kids: her son, Mica, who was her oldest, and Mabel, her daughter, who was the same age as Kola. It was unfortunate that they had made another Alvin and the Chipmunks movie, but all the kids were dying to see it, so we were making a day of it. I was still waiting to hear from Aja to see if she was coming along as well. I knew that Robert and Gentry were just as interested in helium-fueled rodents as the rest of our kids, but Aja wasn’t, and she could use a day off.
Aja, who had been in the public school realm when she first married my brother, as first a principal and then assistant superintendent of schools, had found herself unable to enact change at that level. Aja could not amend policy or allocate funds, but instead of growing bitter about what she saw happening around her—the apathy and deliberate ignorance—she decided to do something about it. In her present position as the associate dean of education at De Paul University, training and inspiring the next generation of teachers, she was preparing bright minds for the real world as well as toughening skins. She armed them and motivated them and made sure they knew she would always be a resource for them even after they graduated. All that plus parenting two children, being a wife, attending a myriad of social functions with her husband, and the result was a worn-out Aja Harcourt. I wanted to help lessen her load.
As I was driving back home after dropping off Kola and Hannah—they both went to the same Montessori school close to Oak Park—I called Aja from the car and offered to take her two short people off her hands instead of having her join us. I was immediately called a saint.
“Jory, I need some me and Dane time.”
“How ’bout I pick Robbie and Gen up next Friday after school and keep them until Sunday morning? We’ll all go to brunch and you can have them back. But that gives you Friday night and all day Saturday. Whaddya say?”
I thought she was going to cry, she was so thankful.
“So is that a yes?”
“Ohmygod, yes, that’s a yes!”
“You’re starting to sound like me.”
“Thank you, baby.”
“What is family for?”
“But you’re the only one I trust.”
“That’s not true.” I smiled into the phone as I turned from the side street I was on into traffic on Harlem Avenue, heading for home. I went maybe ten feet before I and everyone else on the street came to a grinding halt.
“Yes, but since Carmen got her dream job globetrotting around the world and my folks fled to Florida and Alex to Delaware, you and Sam are the only family I’ve got here.”
“You have a lot of other girlfriends,” I told her as I tried to see what the problem was around the SUV in front of me.
“I know, but I would check in with the others, I don’t need to check with you and Sam. He’ll kill anyone that comes near my kids, and you worry more than I do.”
“I don’t worry.”
She snorted out a laugh over the phone.
“That was very undignified,” I said as I leaned back in the driver’s seat of the sleek black minivan I utterly adored. Everyone else I knew had SUVs that were, I was certain, helping to destroy the environment. My minivan was not part of Satan’s master plan, and I loved my car that proclaimed me married with children as well as safety conscious. I was looking forward to Kola starting soccer in the spring so the picture of domestic bliss would be complete. I had a sweater all picked out.
“You bring it out of me,” Aja cackled.
“Whatever, I’ll call you when I get back from the reunion on Sunday.”
She started snickering.
“What?”
“Family reunion.” She was laughing now. “Oh the horror!”
“It’ll be fine,” I told her as I noticed a man striding by my window. It was weird that he was walking down the middle of the street and not on the sidewalk, but since we were in gridlock, he was in no danger of getting run over. “Hey, your kids like Mountain Dew and Oreos, right?”
“They’re staying with you for two days. Feed them whatever you want.”
I was laughing when I hung up, but when the SUV in front of me suddenly reversed, crashing into my front bumper, I yelled and laid on my horn. But the car didn’t stop—it kept grinding metal, and I realized that he, or she, was trying to get enough of an angle to go up onto the curb to the right.
I took a picture of the license plate with my phone, thanked God that my kids weren’t with me, and was about to call the police to report the accident when I saw the passenger door of the SUV open. What was confusing was that the small woman who scrambled out had keys in her hand. It was like she had been driving but had not wanted to get out of the driver’s side door. When she flung open the back door, a little rocket seat was visible: she had a toddler.
I got out fast and went around the back of my van—even as the guy in the car behind me honked, leaned out, and told me to get back behind the fucking wheel—and darted to her side.
She whirled on me with a can of pepper spray in hand.
“Wait! I’m here to help.”
Her eyes were huge as she looked at me, shoved the can into my chest, and told me to look out for the guy so she could get her son out of the car. She had been too frightened to even open her door.
“What guy?”
“I don’t know, some psycho. I think he killed the man in the car in front of me,” she cried. “I think he has a gun or—oh God!”
Turning, I saw a man advancing on us. “Move your fucking cars!”
“Get inside!” I ordered her. “Lock it!”
She climbed into the backseat around her kid, and I heard the locks behind me as the man advanced on me fast.
He had a lug wrench, not a gun, and since I could run if I needed to, I went from terrified to annoyed very quickly. “What the hell are you doing?” I barked at him. “You’re scaring the crap out of this lady!”
“Move your cars! This whole street is just full of fucking cars!”
He wasn’t even looking at me; I doubt he could have told me where he was or what he was doing. Maybe the road rage had made him snap; perhaps something else. I didn’t know and I didn’t care—he was carrying around an automotive tool like a weapon. That was really my only concern. The lady in the SUV was freaked because her kid was in the car and this guy was acting crazy. If my kids were with me, I would have had the same reaction.
“Stop,” I ordered him. “Don’t come any closer.”
He kept coming, and he raised the wrench like maybe he was thinking of braining me with it. I aimed the nozzle of the pepper spray and made sure to get his face.
His scream was loud and wounded, but he didn’t drop the tool.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
It was the guy who had yelled at me earlier, whose car was in gridlock behind mine.
“You just attacked this guy?” he roared right before he hit me.
I went down hard, hitting the van as I bounced off it, but from my angle, I could see the guy I had sprayed coming at him.
Kicking hard, I knocked the guy who had just hit me off balance, and he tumbled to the ground beside me.
“What the fuck are you—”
“Look out!” I yelled as the guy with the lug wrench came after us.
“Oh shit,” he screamed, scrambling back away from me, moving to run.
“Drop the weapon!”
“Get on the ground!”
Normally, policemen—even though I’m married to an ex one—are not my favorite people. As a rule, they catch me doing crap I shouldn’t be but somehow miss everyone else talking on their cell phones, running red lights, and speeding.
But right at that moment, as I saw the uniforms, noted the drawn guns, and heard the orders being roared out, I was comforted.
The guy dropped the lug wrench and went to his knees.
“All the way down, face on the pavement!”
“You saved my life,” the guy who hit me said.
“I—”
But something slammed the back of my head, and everything went dark.
MY HUSBAND, my brother, family, and friends would say that yes, Jory Harcourt is a trouble magnet, but I think it’s more coincidence than anything else when fate decides to screw with me. Especially this time: I was going home from dropping off my kids, a trip I made Monday through Friday, normally without incident. How was I to know that I would end up in the crosshairs of accidental crazy?
“A what?” the policeman who was taking my statement at the hospital asked.
“Trouble magnet,” I told him as I sighed deeply.
“How did you get knocked out?” he asked me.
“I guess the lady I told to stay in her SUV, she opened the door really fast and I was sitting right beside her car and… you know.”
He nodded. “I see.”
“That’s why vans are better, the doors slide,” I educated him.
His smile was patronizing.
“I—”
“Jory!” His yell bounced off the walls, and I winced.
The officer looked startled. “Who was—”
“Scooch back,” I ordered, and took a breath to get the required amount of air into my lungs. “In here!”
The curtain was flung open moments later and there was Sam, jaw clenched, muscles cording in his neck, eyes dark and full of too many things to soothe at once.
“Detective Kage?”
Sam turned to the officer.
“Oh, no, marshal.” He tried to smile at my glowering man.
Sam’s attention returned to me, and I smiled as I lifted my arms for him.
Moving fast, Sam closed the short distance between us and hauled me forward and crushed me against him.
It was not gentle; the entire movement was jarring and hard.
I loved it.
“Scared me,” he said as he clutched me tight.
I knew I had, which was the reason for the grab. I leaned into him, nuzzled my face into the crook of his neck, and slid my arms under the suit jacket and over the crisp dress shirt. He smelled good, a faint trace of cologne, fabric softener, and warm male. I whimpered softly in the back of my throat.
“Those calls take years off my life, you know?”
“What calls?”
“The Jory’s in the hospital calls.”
I nodded, and there was a rumble of a grunt before he leaned back and looked down into my face. His eyes clocked me, checking, making sure I was whole and safe.
“I’m fine,” I said as he lifted his hand and knotted it into my hair, tilting my head back as he examined my right eye and my cheek.
“Yeah, you don’t look fine,” he said, and his voice was low and menacing. “Who did this?”
“There was a guy behind me, and he didn’t understand why I sprayed the man with the lug wrench, and he—”
“Stop,” he cut me off, dropping his hand from my hair as he turned his head to the policeman. “Talk.”
I could tell from his change of tone that he wasn’t waiting on me, but apparently the officer could not. “Hello?” Sam snapped icily.
“Oh-oh,” the guy stammered and then recounted to Sam the events of the morning.
“So the lady in the SUV knocked him out when she opened the door?” He was trying to make sure he understood everything.
“Yes.”
Sam grunted.
“She’s really sorry about it. She told me that your partner there saved her life.”
That didn’t make it any better, at least for Sam.
“My van is—”
“We’ll take care of the van and get you a rental until it’s fixed. Just don’t worry about it.”
“No, I know,” I snapped at him. Sometimes—a lot of the time—Sam treated me like an invalid. It was happening more and more lately, like I needed to be taken care of, same as the kids, because I couldn’t think for myself or reason things out. “I just wanted to know where my vehicle was towed to… Officer.”
I had turned to the man in uniform, pinned him with my gaze—my question was directed to him—and he was still looking at Sam to see if he should answer me.
“Officer?”
“I can find out where the—”
“No,” I shut Sam down, eyes wide as I waited. “Where’s my car?”
“We, um.” He coughed as he passed me a business card from his clipboard. “Had it towed to a garage downtown and—”
“Just stop,” Sam barked at me, snatching the card away. “Sit here while I go find your doctor and figure out if you have a concussion or—”
“Sam—”
“After I get you home, then we’ll worry about the damn van.”
“I can—”
“Stop,” he ordered again, and because I didn’t want to have a scene, I went still and quiet and stared at the clock on the wall.
The officer muttered something and left, and Sam told me that he had to go and find out about the other people in the accident and would see about my release at the same time.
I stayed quiet.
“You’re gonna sulk now?”
I turned my head and was about to say something when he lifted his hand.
“I don’t wanna fight with you. Just let me do this.”
“I’m not a child, Sam. I can take care of my own car. I can do—”
“So I shouldn’t be here? I shouldn’t have even come?”
“No, I just… lately it seems to be the Sam Show and not the Sam and Jory Show. You do everything, and I don’t get why that’s happening.”
His eyes searched mine.
“Sam? Do you think I’m helpless?”
The glare I was getting would have terrified most people. But this was the guy who loved me, and as always, when I stopped and actually used my brain, I understood what was really going on.
He was terrified.
I had scared the crap out of him that morning, and because he was waiting for the other shoe to drop anyway… it was almost like he was expecting bad news. And he was—he was expecting the worst.
“You think me and Kola and Hannah could get taken away.”
“What? No,” he said quietly, not a lot of force behind his words. “No.”
He was such a liar.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, putting my hands on his heavily muscled chest, unable to stop myself from curling my fingers into his shirt, holding on. Yes, he was being overprotective, but not for the reasons I thought. He didn’t think I was stupid; he just didn’t want to let me, or his kids, out of his sight for any reason. Not ever. And because he was trying not to be suffocating, he was managing the exact opposite. “I wasn’t thinking.”
He took a breath. “What’re you talking about?”
“The more you work, the more you see, the more you realize that this, what we have, is not the norm. Most people don’t get the kind of happiness that we have, the home we have, so you get over protective and smothering.”
He furrowed his brows, and I smiled up at him as I hooked my legs around the back of his thighs. He leaned closer, hands on either side of me on the narrow hospital bed. “You think you know me?”
I nodded, my fingers unclenching from his shirt. “Yes. I know you well.”
He bent toward me, and I twined an arm around his neck to draw him close. His breath fanned softly across my face before his mouth settled over mine.
I loved to kiss him. Whenever, however, for as long as he’d let me or as long as he wanted to. I was his for the taking.
He swept his tongue in, mating it with mine, tangled, rubbed, pushed, and shoved. Our lips never parted, not once, even for air. I felt his arms wrap around me, crush me to his chest, and hold tight. I had a hand knotted in his hair, and the moan I couldn’t stifle was low and aching. When he suddenly shoved me back, breaking the scorching, devouring contact, my whine of protest was loud.
He was flushed and panting, his lips swollen, his pupils blown as he stared at me.
I was breathing hard, my lungs heaving for air as I smiled at him.
“Crap.” He finally managed to get out a word.
My smile was wicked.
“You’re not supposed to kiss me at work.”
“You kissed me,” I reminded him.
“Crap,” he said again and swallowed hard as he straightened up, stepping away from me, obviously fighting to get his body back under control.
“You can nail me in your car.”
His frown came fast, and so did my grin.
“What?” I smiled wide.
“A Deputy US Marshal does not nail his spouse in the car.”
I arched an eyebrow for him. “Are you sure?”
He pointed at me. “I will take you home to our bed and nail you.”
“Oh yes, please.” I waggled my eyebrows for him.
“Just sit there,” he growled at me. “And wait while I get you signed out of here so we can go get the kids.”
“Not today, Marshal,” I told him.
He looked surprised. “You didn’t plan to pick up your children today?”
“No, your mom’s picking them up and then we’re going there for dinner.”
He squinted at me.
“You know she’s a planner,” I said cheerfully.
“Lemme get this straight,” he sighed. “We’re gonna be with them on a plane tomorrow, with them at a resort from Thursday to Saturday, and then with them again on a plane on Sunday coming home, but we’re still eating with them tonight because they won’t see us?”
“Your mom likes to coordinate and you know this, so just let it go.”
“Why?” He was annoyed.
“Why does she like to plan things or why are we indulging her?”
“The second one,” he grumbled. “Why do we do that?”
“Because we love her,” I said like it was obvious.
“No, screw that. I’m gonna call her and tell her we—”
“Why would you rock the boat? Why would you upset the delicate balance of all things Regina?”
I loved his mother, Regina Kage, with absolute abandon, and of everyone—her own children, their spouses, and all her grandchildren combined—she and I got along best. The reasons for that were twofold: first, because I’d never had a mother and craved one like a drug; second, and most of all, because I didn’t ever try to change her. We never fought; I allowed her to rearrange anything in my house she wanted, make suggestions on parenting—because really, her kids came out good, so where was the argument?—and most of all, when she fussed, whenever she fussed, I was at her disposal to lend a hand. We were good.
“Jory—”
“Let it go, Sam.”
He rolled his eyes, but we both knew he wouldn’t say a word. No one said a word to Regina Kage. We all did exactly as she wanted. She was the matriarch, after all.
“Seriously, though, we should cancel, you’re in no—”
“I’m fine, and besides, I think she had trip itineraries printed up, and I want to make sure to get mine.”
He was disgusted, but I got the smile I was after with the shake of his head, the you are too much and I give up one that I loved.
“So,” I said softly as my gaze skated over him. God, I loved looking at him. The broad shoulders that the suit jacket accentuated, the snug fit of the tailored dress shirt over his massive chest, and the stubble that covered his square, chiseled jaw even though he’d shaved that morning before work.
“What?” he asked, and his voice was husky as he stared at me.
“You’re gonna take me home?”
“Yes.”
“And stay with me?”
“Yeah. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
I stared into those eyes that I loved as much now as I had the first time he’d kissed me all those years ago. “You’re taking care of me again.”
He grunted and it was all male, all growly bear. “And?”
“And it’s nice.” I smiled at him, taking a loose hold of his tie.
He sighed and I got a trace of a smile. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
“Wait,” I said before he could leave.
“Why? What?”
“Come gimme kiss.”
“No.” He snorted out a laugh and then bent and kissed my forehead before he walked out of the room.
I was lost in thought, every brain cell I possessed absorbed with Sam Kage and what I was going to do to him with an afternoon alone, when my name was called.
“Mr. Harcourt?”
When I turned, there was a doctor there, and I registered almost instantly that it really wasn’t fair. He got to look like that and be brilliant? Normally you were smart or pretty, not both. He even had bright blue-green eyes. I noticed that because they were the exact shade of turquoise that I wanted when I was growing up. I had hated my brown eyes with a passion. Now things were different. My daughter and I had almost the same shade of deep chocolate brown with hints of gold, and the man who woke up in bed with me every morning never failed to mention that as eyes went, mine were his favorite color.
“Mr. Harcourt?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I flashed him a quick grin. “That’s me.”
“Hi.” He smiled warmly as he closed in, offering me his hand. “I’m Dr. Dwyer, and—”
“Jory, you—”
“Sam?”
My doctor called my man by his first name.
Sam stood there looking utterly gobsmacked.
Both men, my partner and the doctor, froze as they stood staring at each other.
What the hell…?
Doctor Dwyer had been interrupted by Sam’s return, and Sam had apparently been quite startled to see the doctor when he came charging back into the room.
I kept looking between them, feeling weirder by the second.
“Kevin,” Sam finally said.
The man took a step forward, and the smile, the light that hit his eyes, the shiver that ran through his long, lean swimmer’s frame, was not to be mistaken for anything other than absolute, quivering, pulse-pounding, blood-racing joy. Whoever he was, he was deliriously surprised and delighted to see Sam Kage.
I waited and realized that I had stopped breathing.
Who was this heavenly creature, this doctor who was looking at Sam like he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life?
“You….” Sam sucked in a breath. “What are you doing here?”
“Jesus,” the doctor gasped and rushed forward, arms lifted, ready to reach out and grab hold, reclaim.
Sam moved faster, meeting him and cutting him off, so basically, with his forward momentum halted, the good doctor was brought up short, almost to a jarring, lose-your-balance stop. Sam leaned, gave him the guy clench, tight-tight, then pushed off and back so Dr. Dwyer was basically left abandoned and bewildered, arms empty, looking lost.
“Nice to see you,” Sam said quickly, stepping close to the bed and taking my hand at the same time. “Jory, this is Dr. Kevin Dwyer. We met in Columbia when I was there working that drug bust after Dom went into witness protection. He was with Doctors Without Borders at that time. What are you doing here in Chicago?”
Years ago, Sam had left me recovering in the hospital to track down a drug cartel in Colombia on a tip from his corrupt partner. We had been apart for three years, and at some point he had met the good doctor.
Dr. Dwyer seriously looked like someone had punched him in the gut or run him over with a truck. It was hard to tell which better described him at that moment. “I,” he started but stopped, and then his eyes flicked to mine. “Jory?”
I smiled at him. “Yes.”
He nodded. “Sam told me all about you.”
And yet Sam had never, ever mentioned Kevin Dwyer to me. “Did you date?” I asked the doctor, because I didn’t mess around.
“Jor—”
“No,” he cut Sam off. “We lived together for three months.”
And my world imploded.
THE man was a pig, and it wasn’t just me who thought so. Rosa Martinez, who lived on the other side of the Petersons, agreed with me. In fact, all the women who lived on our cul-de-sac were of the same mind. Oliver Peterson, whose wife had just caught him cheating on her—again —was filth. It wasn’t the fact that they already had two children; it was the fact that she was currently pregnant with a third.
Sam, the love of my life, my partner, husband, and the guy who was parenting two small people with me, just shook his head the night before and kissed me breathless after telling me for the nine-hundredth time to please not get involved. Leave the neighbors alone; this was not Housewives of Wherever, we were not on reality TV. I had explained over the McDonald’s that the man had brought home instead of having me cook—which, after the last time, we had both agreed would never happen again—that I was involved because I was her friend.
“No,” he told me as we put the kids down. “You use that word so loosely. She’s an acquaintance, Jory, she’s not a friend.”
“She’s my neighbor, Sam, and her man’s a dog, and if she needs my help with whatever, I’m gonna give it to her.”
“I’m not saying not to be nice to her, but just don’t stick your nose in their business.”
I ignored him.
“Jory Harcourt!”
I gave him the most indignant look I could manage. “So I’m what, nosy now? I’m the busybody neighbor?”
He threw up his hands in defeat.
I gave him a superior grunt because I thought he was on his way out of the bedroom to check the house, make sure all the doors were locked, make sure the stove burners were all off, but then I realized he hadn’t moved. “What?”
“You’re very cute.”
I squinted at him. “Thirty-five-year-old men are not cute.”
“You’ll always be the twenty-two-year-old club kid I saw for the first time lying in the street with a beagle on top of him.”
“I thought George was a Jack Russell.”
“Nope.” He came toward me. “Beagle.”
“Go away.” I smiled at him, trying to shoo him out of the room. “Go make sure the zombie horde can’t get us.”
But instead of leaving, he grabbed me and slammed me up against the wall in our room. With his hot mouth nibbling up the side of my neck, his hands frantically disrobing me, and his hard groin pressed to my ass, my mind went completely blank. There was no way to concentrate when I had 220 pounds of hard-muscled man focused on getting me in bed.
But the next day, as I staggered around my kitchen—I never had been and never would be a morning person—and saw my neighbors on their front porch, Christie Peterson smiling tentatively, her husband scowling, I just wanted to go over and punch him out. I had an idea what I must have looked like: robe on, T-shirt and pajama bottoms under that, bunny slippers looking all bright-eyed and happy, I resembled the nosy neighbor in every sense.
A throat cleared behind me.
“Don’t you have to go to work?” I asked pointedly. It was Wednesday, not Saturday.
The warm rumbling chuckle was next. “You think maybe now since you’ve got one kid in preschool and the other in first grade that you should start thinking about going back to working from your office?”
Obviously my sanity was in question, because I was still working from home. I hoped the look I gave him when I turned and squinted conveyed my displeasure.
He snorted out a laugh.
I all-out scowled at the supervisory Deputy US Marshal standing beside me at the kitchen sink. We had both been looking at the Petersons. “Why would you say that?”
“Say what?”
I growled.
He pressed his beautiful lips together in a hard line so he wouldn’t smile.
“Sam?”
“No reason.”
“Spit it out.”
He cleared his throat. “I just think that perhaps you being home during the day is giving you cabin fever, and maybe you need to get back out in the real world and talk to the grown-ups.”
I huffed out an exasperated breath. “Sam, just because I don’t go to the office doesn’t mean I’m starved for adult contact. I talk to Dylan every day, I talk to Fallon every day. They’re my business partners, they need me, and they keep me involved with what’s going on at the office.”
“Okay.”
“I send out more e-mails than both of them combined!”
“I’m sure you do,” he said, sliding his hand around the back of my neck, then squeezing gently, massaging, and easing me closer. “I just think that maybe getting out of this house during the day would do you some good.”
I batted his hand away, whirling on him. “I go to the store, to the park, drop kids off at school, pick them up… when do I not see people?”
He grunted, rolled his eyes, and put his coffee cup down in the sink before his dark smoky-blue eyes flicked to mine.
“No,” I almost squeaked, turning to run.
So not fast enough.
You would think that a big man could not move like that, with so much speed, but Sam Kage’s athleticism and strength were never to be underestimated. At forty-six, he was just as powerful as he’d been when I first met him, and I finally understood the whole getting better with age thing. The man looked the best he ever had, and he lived well in his skin, so content, so happy both personally and professionally.
I was so proud of him and told him so often. He was an amazing father, a wonderful husband, a great son, and the kind of friend anyone would be happy to claim. I was biased because I loved him, but still, I saw people look at him and knew the truth. Four years after beginning his new job as a marshal, he was now the supervisor of the Chicago field office, overseeing five other deputies and three clerks. I had thought once he moved up, he’d become a sheriff, but apparently all they did was add the “supervisory” in there. A sheriff was a totally different thing. It made no sense from a Western standpoint. In every movie I had ever seen, the deputy got moved up to sheriff. As usual, Sam had just shaken his head at me.
As I ducked around the island in the middle of the kitchen, I thought for half a second that I would get away from him, but as he grabbed, yanked, and pinned me against the refrigerator, I realized how wrong I had been.
“All I meant to imply,” he began, tilting my head up with a hand on my chin, “was that since you have a six-year-old and a four-year-old now, you can do a half day at the office instead of working full-time from home. It might be nice after you drop them off to pick up a fancy cup of coffee and go to your office and actually see Dylan and Fallon and talk to them face to face.”
I was really far too interested in his mouth to listen to him. He had the kind of lips made for kissing, plump and dark, and when he smiled, there was this curve in the corner that could break your heart. Not that the rest of his rugged features were without appeal. His dark smoky blue-gray eyes with the deep laugh lines at the corners, his long straight nose, the hard square jaw, and the thick copper-gold eyebrows were a treat too. And his voice, over the phone or in person, deep and husky, edged with a growl, could send rippling heat through my entire body. But the man’s mouth, the shape of it, the feel of it… really, I was a fan.
“Are you listening to me?”
I lifted up from my height of five nine to his of six four, and he bent down at the same time. Our lips met and parted, and his tongue slid deep to taste me.
The sounds from the peanut gallery—choking and retching—and the tug on my robe instantly drained the heat from the encounter. Sam snorted out a laugh as he broke the kiss, both of us eyeing the short people standing close to us.
“That’s disgusting,” Kola assured me with a glare that a six-year-old shouldn’t have had, full of judgment and revulsion.
“Why?” I asked snidely.
“Your mouth has germs,” he informed me haughtily. “That’s why you told Hannah not to lick Chilly.”
“No, I told her not to lick Chilly because the cat doesn’t like to be licked by her.”
“He licks his body.”
“He does,” Hannah, our four-year-old, agreed with a nod. “Kola’s right.”
“But he doesn’t want you to do it,” I assured my daughter, directing my comment to her.
“How do you know?” Kola questioned.
“Yeah,” Hannah Banana chimed in again, always her big brother’s backup. “How do you know?”
I had to think.
Kola waited, squinting at me.
Hannah was waiting as well, one of her perfectly shaped dark brows arching. It was new. She had the same way of looking at me that her father did, like I was an idiot.
“Do not lick the cat! Nobody licks the cat!” Sam ordered when the silence stretched for too long.
I started laughing; only my husband would have to make such rules.
He looked down at his son, Mykola Thomas Kage, six years old going on forty, who was full of questions and opinions.
We had adopted him when he was three, from an agency in the Netherlands. When we had made the final trip to bring him home, he had seen us from the window of the orphanage director’s office and run to the door to meet us. We had been there two weeks and he already called Sam Daddy, which Sam was madly in love with hearing. But though Kola had been taught the American word meaning father, it was not his, not the one he had grown up hearing and had been waiting to use for someone who belonged to him. So he had tried out the one he knew on me.
Pa.
So simple a word but it meant so much.
I had heard it in the streets when we visited, along with the more formal, vader, and seen kids run to their fathers using it. Not the papa I knew, not what Sam’s father was called by his grandchildren, but instead just pa. When Kola called to me, I answered to it, and his face, the way it lit up, the absolute blinding joy, had been a gift.
Sam was Daddy, and Daddy represented Kola’s new life and his new family in the United States, and I was the comfort of the old. I was Pa, and he had named me.
Of course it didn’t matter to me what name he settled on. He could have called me Jory for all I cared; he was my kid, and that was all I gave a damn about. He was legally and completely mine and Sam’s, and that was what mattered. And we were good, the three of us, until the first agency we had contacted back when we’d started the whole adoption process called to tell us that there was a little girl from Montevideo ready for adoption. I had forgotten about them because they had never come through, but that turned out not to be the case. You heard from them when it was time, and it finally was.
I was surprised, Sam unsure, until the professional but not personable and definitely not warm gentleman slid the picture across the desk for us. He needed to know if we wanted the little girl in the photograph.
Yes, we wanted the angel very much.
Our family went from three to four with the coming of the little sister that Kola wanted nothing to do with until we were all home under one roof. He resented all of us going to the airport to pick her up, hated her crying in the car, and was really annoyed that Sam was carrying her instead of him. He was starting to fret, it was all over his face—until Sam knelt and picked him up too. Kids are so funny. As soon as Kola figured out that Hannah was planning on sharing us with him, that she wasn’t there to take his spot, that nothing was changing in the love department, just some tweaking in the time area, he decided he liked her. And now, with him at six and her at four, their bond was noticeable.
They fought like cats and dogs… but only sometimes. She cried, he moped, they chased each other and roughhoused, but nine times out of ten, I found her in his room in the morning. When we were out, he held her hand, he fixed things when she couldn’t, and he was supremely patient when she was trying to impart some tidbit of information. I was like, Spit it out, kid, but Kola just nodded and waited until some incident about a bug on a flower was all communicated in excruciating detail.
He brushed her off if she fell down, made her remember her mittens and hat, and could be counted on to translate her wishes to others if Sam and I were absent. Dylan Greer, my best friend, was really surprised because she was certain that, sometimes, Hannah Banana—or B, as we all called her—spoke in tongues. But Kola would just say that she wanted milk or a crayon or a flashlight. And he was never wrong. He was an excellent big brother, and she adored him.
Hannah Regina Kage—her middle name after Sam’s mother—had the most adorable little button nose on the planet. I would lean in to kiss her sometimes and nibble on her nose instead. It made her squeal with delight. Putting her toes in my mouth was also cause for raucous laughter. Even at a year old, she had a good laugh. It was not timid or soft. She was small, but how she expressed herself was big. People heard the deep, throaty sound and were enchanted. I had been under her spell at first glance.
In our neighborhood in River Park, sometimes people still looked at us when we were out walking. And most questioned Kola when they got close, since with his deep-set cobalt-blue eyes, sharp European features, and dark-brown hair, he didn’t look like either me or Sam. But Hannah, who was half-Uruguayan, was obviously adopted. What was funny, though, was that people sometimes questioned whether Gentry—born with my brother Dane’s charcoal eyes instead of my sister-in-law Aja’s honey-brown ones—actually belonged to his own mother. I always wondered why people cared. If your kid was blue and you were orange, who gave a crap as long as you loved and cherished the blue kid? People still surprised me.
“Pa.”
Hannah was looking up at me like I was the village idiot.
“What?”
“If Kola can’t lick Chilly, you can’t lick Daddy.”
I had a terrible image of giving Sam a blow job just then, and he probably knew it, which was why he grabbed me and covered my mouth with his hand. “Will you two go finish your breakfast, please?”
They left then, but not without casting looks back.
Sam moved his hand but bent and kissed me. I received it happily, and of course, there was more retching.
“Kola Kage!” I admonished him even as I laughed. “Will you knock that off?”
“Ewww,” Hannah squeaked out.
When I looked over at them, Kola was mixing his oatmeal with butter and brown sugar, making it burp with his spoon.
“Just eat it,” I told him.
“I’m making it edible.”
Edible. Damn kid and his damn vocabulary.
“Leave the Petersons alone,” Sam sighed, long-suffering as he was.
“I am.” I bit my bottom lip.
“Jory…,” he cautioned me.
I tried for innocent.
“Daddy,” Kola said, back beside us, looking up at Sam.
“Don’t lick the cat,” Sam reiterated, bending down to one knee as his son stepped into his arms and put his hands on his face. “All right?”
“Okay.” Kola nodded.
“Okay,” Sam sighed, pulling Kola close, hugging him tight for a minute.
“What’s homonic?”
“I dunno.” Sam yawned, leaning back so father and son could look at each other. “Where’d you hear it?”
“Pa told Auntie Dyl that Jake’s parents won’t let him come play at my house ’cause they’re homonic.”
Sam nodded. “That’s homophobic, and that means that Jake’s parents don’t want him to come over because you have two fathers.”
Kola squinted at Sam. “Why?”
“Some people just don’t like it.”
“Why?”
“Well, I think that some people are afraid of what it means.”
He shook his head. “What does it mean?”
“That if you can have two fathers, maybe things are changing.”
His scowl made his little eyebrows furrow. It was adorable. “I don’t understand.”
“I think you will when you’re older, buddy.”
“It’s dumb.”
“Yes it is,” Sam agreed, hugging him again. “But I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” He hugged Sam back tight, both arms wrapped around his neck. “Stuart and his mom are coming with me and Pa and Hannah and Uncle Evan and Bryce and Seth and Auntie Dyl and Mica and Mabel and Tess and her dad to the movies next Saturday, so Jake’s the one who’s missing out.”
“Who’s coming again?” Sam teased him.
“Stuart and his mom are coming with—”
“Stop,” I cut Kola off. “Your father heard you the first time.”
Sam grunted and looked up at me. “How come I didn’t get invited to the movies?”
“First”—I smiled at him—“the Chipmunks give you hives, and secondly, won’t you be fishing with Pat and Chaz that Saturday?”
“What Saturday are we talking about?”
“We’re leaving tomorrow for Phoenix, for the reunion, and we’ll come home Sunday.”
“Yes, I know this.”
“Okay, so then I’m talking about not this coming Saturday, since we’ll be out of town, but the one after that.”
“Oh, so that’s right, then.” He smiled brightly. “I’ll be fishing. Sorry I won’t make the movie, babe.”
“Liar,” I said flatly.
He cackled.
But it was going to be fun. I was going with my two kids, my buddy Evan was bringing his sons Bryce and Seth, and Dylan was schlepping her two kids: her son, Mica, who was her oldest, and Mabel, her daughter, who was the same age as Kola. It was unfortunate that they had made another Alvin and the Chipmunks movie, but all the kids were dying to see it, so we were making a day of it. I was still waiting to hear from Aja to see if she was coming along as well. I knew that Robert and Gentry were just as interested in helium-fueled rodents as the rest of our kids, but Aja wasn’t, and she could use a day off.
Aja, who had been in the public school realm when she first married my brother, as first a principal and then assistant superintendent of schools, had found herself unable to enact change at that level. Aja could not amend policy or allocate funds, but instead of growing bitter about what she saw happening around her—the apathy and deliberate ignorance—she decided to do something about it. In her present position as the associate dean of education at De Paul University, training and inspiring the next generation of teachers, she was preparing bright minds for the real world as well as toughening skins. She armed them and motivated them and made sure they knew she would always be a resource for them even after they graduated. All that plus parenting two children, being a wife, attending a myriad of social functions with her husband, and the result was a worn-out Aja Harcourt. I wanted to help lessen her load.
As I was driving back home after dropping off Kola and Hannah—they both went to the same Montessori school close to Oak Park—I called Aja from the car and offered to take her two short people off her hands instead of having her join us. I was immediately called a saint.
“Jory, I need some me and Dane time.”
“How ’bout I pick Robbie and Gen up next Friday after school and keep them until Sunday morning? We’ll all go to brunch and you can have them back. But that gives you Friday night and all day Saturday. Whaddya say?”
I thought she was going to cry, she was so thankful.
“So is that a yes?”
“Ohmygod, yes, that’s a yes!”
“You’re starting to sound like me.”
“Thank you, baby.”
“What is family for?”
“But you’re the only one I trust.”
“That’s not true.” I smiled into the phone as I turned from the side street I was on into traffic on Harlem Avenue, heading for home. I went maybe ten feet before I and everyone else on the street came to a grinding halt.
“Yes, but since Carmen got her dream job globetrotting around the world and my folks fled to Florida and Alex to Delaware, you and Sam are the only family I’ve got here.”
“You have a lot of other girlfriends,” I told her as I tried to see what the problem was around the SUV in front of me.
“I know, but I would check in with the others, I don’t need to check with you and Sam. He’ll kill anyone that comes near my kids, and you worry more than I do.”
“I don’t worry.”
She snorted out a laugh over the phone.
“That was very undignified,” I said as I leaned back in the driver’s seat of the sleek black minivan I utterly adored. Everyone else I knew had SUVs that were, I was certain, helping to destroy the environment. My minivan was not part of Satan’s master plan, and I loved my car that proclaimed me married with children as well as safety conscious. I was looking forward to Kola starting soccer in the spring so the picture of domestic bliss would be complete. I had a sweater all picked out.
“You bring it out of me,” Aja cackled.
“Whatever, I’ll call you when I get back from the reunion on Sunday.”
She started snickering.
“What?”
“Family reunion.” She was laughing now. “Oh the horror!”
“It’ll be fine,” I told her as I noticed a man striding by my window. It was weird that he was walking down the middle of the street and not on the sidewalk, but since we were in gridlock, he was in no danger of getting run over. “Hey, your kids like Mountain Dew and Oreos, right?”
“They’re staying with you for two days. Feed them whatever you want.”
I was laughing when I hung up, but when the SUV in front of me suddenly reversed, crashing into my front bumper, I yelled and laid on my horn. But the car didn’t stop—it kept grinding metal, and I realized that he, or she, was trying to get enough of an angle to go up onto the curb to the right.
I took a picture of the license plate with my phone, thanked God that my kids weren’t with me, and was about to call the police to report the accident when I saw the passenger door of the SUV open. What was confusing was that the small woman who scrambled out had keys in her hand. It was like she had been driving but had not wanted to get out of the driver’s side door. When she flung open the back door, a little rocket seat was visible: she had a toddler.
I got out fast and went around the back of my van—even as the guy in the car behind me honked, leaned out, and told me to get back behind the fucking wheel—and darted to her side.
She whirled on me with a can of pepper spray in hand.
“Wait! I’m here to help.”
Her eyes were huge as she looked at me, shoved the can into my chest, and told me to look out for the guy so she could get her son out of the car. She had been too frightened to even open her door.
“What guy?”
“I don’t know, some psycho. I think he killed the man in the car in front of me,” she cried. “I think he has a gun or—oh God!”
Turning, I saw a man advancing on us. “Move your fucking cars!”
“Get inside!” I ordered her. “Lock it!”
She climbed into the backseat around her kid, and I heard the locks behind me as the man advanced on me fast.
He had a lug wrench, not a gun, and since I could run if I needed to, I went from terrified to annoyed very quickly. “What the hell are you doing?” I barked at him. “You’re scaring the crap out of this lady!”
“Move your cars! This whole street is just full of fucking cars!”
He wasn’t even looking at me; I doubt he could have told me where he was or what he was doing. Maybe the road rage had made him snap; perhaps something else. I didn’t know and I didn’t care—he was carrying around an automotive tool like a weapon. That was really my only concern. The lady in the SUV was freaked because her kid was in the car and this guy was acting crazy. If my kids were with me, I would have had the same reaction.
“Stop,” I ordered him. “Don’t come any closer.”
He kept coming, and he raised the wrench like maybe he was thinking of braining me with it. I aimed the nozzle of the pepper spray and made sure to get his face.
His scream was loud and wounded, but he didn’t drop the tool.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
It was the guy who had yelled at me earlier, whose car was in gridlock behind mine.
“You just attacked this guy?” he roared right before he hit me.
I went down hard, hitting the van as I bounced off it, but from my angle, I could see the guy I had sprayed coming at him.
Kicking hard, I knocked the guy who had just hit me off balance, and he tumbled to the ground beside me.
“What the fuck are you—”
“Look out!” I yelled as the guy with the lug wrench came after us.
“Oh shit,” he screamed, scrambling back away from me, moving to run.
“Drop the weapon!”
“Get on the ground!”
Normally, policemen—even though I’m married to an ex one—are not my favorite people. As a rule, they catch me doing crap I shouldn’t be but somehow miss everyone else talking on their cell phones, running red lights, and speeding.
But right at that moment, as I saw the uniforms, noted the drawn guns, and heard the orders being roared out, I was comforted.
The guy dropped the lug wrench and went to his knees.
“All the way down, face on the pavement!”
“You saved my life,” the guy who hit me said.
“I—”
But something slammed the back of my head, and everything went dark.
MY HUSBAND, my brother, family, and friends would say that yes, Jory Harcourt is a trouble magnet, but I think it’s more coincidence than anything else when fate decides to screw with me. Especially this time: I was going home from dropping off my kids, a trip I made Monday through Friday, normally without incident. How was I to know that I would end up in the crosshairs of accidental crazy?
“A what?” the policeman who was taking my statement at the hospital asked.
“Trouble magnet,” I told him as I sighed deeply.
“How did you get knocked out?” he asked me.
“I guess the lady I told to stay in her SUV, she opened the door really fast and I was sitting right beside her car and… you know.”
He nodded. “I see.”
“That’s why vans are better, the doors slide,” I educated him.
His smile was patronizing.
“I—”
“Jory!” His yell bounced off the walls, and I winced.
The officer looked startled. “Who was—”
“Scooch back,” I ordered, and took a breath to get the required amount of air into my lungs. “In here!”
The curtain was flung open moments later and there was Sam, jaw clenched, muscles cording in his neck, eyes dark and full of too many things to soothe at once.
“Detective Kage?”
Sam turned to the officer.
“Oh, no, marshal.” He tried to smile at my glowering man.
Sam’s attention returned to me, and I smiled as I lifted my arms for him.
Moving fast, Sam closed the short distance between us and hauled me forward and crushed me against him.
It was not gentle; the entire movement was jarring and hard.
I loved it.
“Scared me,” he said as he clutched me tight.
I knew I had, which was the reason for the grab. I leaned into him, nuzzled my face into the crook of his neck, and slid my arms under the suit jacket and over the crisp dress shirt. He smelled good, a faint trace of cologne, fabric softener, and warm male. I whimpered softly in the back of my throat.
“Those calls take years off my life, you know?”
“What calls?”
“The Jory’s in the hospital calls.”
I nodded, and there was a rumble of a grunt before he leaned back and looked down into my face. His eyes clocked me, checking, making sure I was whole and safe.
“I’m fine,” I said as he lifted his hand and knotted it into my hair, tilting my head back as he examined my right eye and my cheek.
“Yeah, you don’t look fine,” he said, and his voice was low and menacing. “Who did this?”
“There was a guy behind me, and he didn’t understand why I sprayed the man with the lug wrench, and he—”
“Stop,” he cut me off, dropping his hand from my hair as he turned his head to the policeman. “Talk.”
I could tell from his change of tone that he wasn’t waiting on me, but apparently the officer could not. “Hello?” Sam snapped icily.
“Oh-oh,” the guy stammered and then recounted to Sam the events of the morning.
“So the lady in the SUV knocked him out when she opened the door?” He was trying to make sure he understood everything.
“Yes.”
Sam grunted.
“She’s really sorry about it. She told me that your partner there saved her life.”
That didn’t make it any better, at least for Sam.
“My van is—”
“We’ll take care of the van and get you a rental until it’s fixed. Just don’t worry about it.”
“No, I know,” I snapped at him. Sometimes—a lot of the time—Sam treated me like an invalid. It was happening more and more lately, like I needed to be taken care of, same as the kids, because I couldn’t think for myself or reason things out. “I just wanted to know where my vehicle was towed to… Officer.”
I had turned to the man in uniform, pinned him with my gaze—my question was directed to him—and he was still looking at Sam to see if he should answer me.
“Officer?”
“I can find out where the—”
“No,” I shut Sam down, eyes wide as I waited. “Where’s my car?”
“We, um.” He coughed as he passed me a business card from his clipboard. “Had it towed to a garage downtown and—”
“Just stop,” Sam barked at me, snatching the card away. “Sit here while I go find your doctor and figure out if you have a concussion or—”
“Sam—”
“After I get you home, then we’ll worry about the damn van.”
“I can—”
“Stop,” he ordered again, and because I didn’t want to have a scene, I went still and quiet and stared at the clock on the wall.
The officer muttered something and left, and Sam told me that he had to go and find out about the other people in the accident and would see about my release at the same time.
I stayed quiet.
“You’re gonna sulk now?”
I turned my head and was about to say something when he lifted his hand.
“I don’t wanna fight with you. Just let me do this.”
“I’m not a child, Sam. I can take care of my own car. I can do—”
“So I shouldn’t be here? I shouldn’t have even come?”
“No, I just… lately it seems to be the Sam Show and not the Sam and Jory Show. You do everything, and I don’t get why that’s happening.”
His eyes searched mine.
“Sam? Do you think I’m helpless?”
The glare I was getting would have terrified most people. But this was the guy who loved me, and as always, when I stopped and actually used my brain, I understood what was really going on.
He was terrified.
I had scared the crap out of him that morning, and because he was waiting for the other shoe to drop anyway… it was almost like he was expecting bad news. And he was—he was expecting the worst.
“You think me and Kola and Hannah could get taken away.”
“What? No,” he said quietly, not a lot of force behind his words. “No.”
He was such a liar.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, putting my hands on his heavily muscled chest, unable to stop myself from curling my fingers into his shirt, holding on. Yes, he was being overprotective, but not for the reasons I thought. He didn’t think I was stupid; he just didn’t want to let me, or his kids, out of his sight for any reason. Not ever. And because he was trying not to be suffocating, he was managing the exact opposite. “I wasn’t thinking.”
He took a breath. “What’re you talking about?”
“The more you work, the more you see, the more you realize that this, what we have, is not the norm. Most people don’t get the kind of happiness that we have, the home we have, so you get over protective and smothering.”
He furrowed his brows, and I smiled up at him as I hooked my legs around the back of his thighs. He leaned closer, hands on either side of me on the narrow hospital bed. “You think you know me?”
I nodded, my fingers unclenching from his shirt. “Yes. I know you well.”
He bent toward me, and I twined an arm around his neck to draw him close. His breath fanned softly across my face before his mouth settled over mine.
I loved to kiss him. Whenever, however, for as long as he’d let me or as long as he wanted to. I was his for the taking.
He swept his tongue in, mating it with mine, tangled, rubbed, pushed, and shoved. Our lips never parted, not once, even for air. I felt his arms wrap around me, crush me to his chest, and hold tight. I had a hand knotted in his hair, and the moan I couldn’t stifle was low and aching. When he suddenly shoved me back, breaking the scorching, devouring contact, my whine of protest was loud.
He was flushed and panting, his lips swollen, his pupils blown as he stared at me.
I was breathing hard, my lungs heaving for air as I smiled at him.
“Crap.” He finally managed to get out a word.
My smile was wicked.
“You’re not supposed to kiss me at work.”
“You kissed me,” I reminded him.
“Crap,” he said again and swallowed hard as he straightened up, stepping away from me, obviously fighting to get his body back under control.
“You can nail me in your car.”
His frown came fast, and so did my grin.
“What?” I smiled wide.
“A Deputy US Marshal does not nail his spouse in the car.”
I arched an eyebrow for him. “Are you sure?”
He pointed at me. “I will take you home to our bed and nail you.”
“Oh yes, please.” I waggled my eyebrows for him.
“Just sit there,” he growled at me. “And wait while I get you signed out of here so we can go get the kids.”
“Not today, Marshal,” I told him.
He looked surprised. “You didn’t plan to pick up your children today?”
“No, your mom’s picking them up and then we’re going there for dinner.”
He squinted at me.
“You know she’s a planner,” I said cheerfully.
“Lemme get this straight,” he sighed. “We’re gonna be with them on a plane tomorrow, with them at a resort from Thursday to Saturday, and then with them again on a plane on Sunday coming home, but we’re still eating with them tonight because they won’t see us?”
“Your mom likes to coordinate and you know this, so just let it go.”
“Why?” He was annoyed.
“Why does she like to plan things or why are we indulging her?”
“The second one,” he grumbled. “Why do we do that?”
“Because we love her,” I said like it was obvious.
“No, screw that. I’m gonna call her and tell her we—”
“Why would you rock the boat? Why would you upset the delicate balance of all things Regina?”
I loved his mother, Regina Kage, with absolute abandon, and of everyone—her own children, their spouses, and all her grandchildren combined—she and I got along best. The reasons for that were twofold: first, because I’d never had a mother and craved one like a drug; second, and most of all, because I didn’t ever try to change her. We never fought; I allowed her to rearrange anything in my house she wanted, make suggestions on parenting—because really, her kids came out good, so where was the argument?—and most of all, when she fussed, whenever she fussed, I was at her disposal to lend a hand. We were good.
“Jory—”
“Let it go, Sam.”
He rolled his eyes, but we both knew he wouldn’t say a word. No one said a word to Regina Kage. We all did exactly as she wanted. She was the matriarch, after all.
“Seriously, though, we should cancel, you’re in no—”
“I’m fine, and besides, I think she had trip itineraries printed up, and I want to make sure to get mine.”
He was disgusted, but I got the smile I was after with the shake of his head, the you are too much and I give up one that I loved.
“So,” I said softly as my gaze skated over him. God, I loved looking at him. The broad shoulders that the suit jacket accentuated, the snug fit of the tailored dress shirt over his massive chest, and the stubble that covered his square, chiseled jaw even though he’d shaved that morning before work.
“What?” he asked, and his voice was husky as he stared at me.
“You’re gonna take me home?”
“Yes.”
“And stay with me?”
“Yeah. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
I stared into those eyes that I loved as much now as I had the first time he’d kissed me all those years ago. “You’re taking care of me again.”
He grunted and it was all male, all growly bear. “And?”
“And it’s nice.” I smiled at him, taking a loose hold of his tie.
He sighed and I got a trace of a smile. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
“Wait,” I said before he could leave.
“Why? What?”
“Come gimme kiss.”
“No.” He snorted out a laugh and then bent and kissed my forehead before he walked out of the room.
I was lost in thought, every brain cell I possessed absorbed with Sam Kage and what I was going to do to him with an afternoon alone, when my name was called.
“Mr. Harcourt?”
When I turned, there was a doctor there, and I registered almost instantly that it really wasn’t fair. He got to look like that and be brilliant? Normally you were smart or pretty, not both. He even had bright blue-green eyes. I noticed that because they were the exact shade of turquoise that I wanted when I was growing up. I had hated my brown eyes with a passion. Now things were different. My daughter and I had almost the same shade of deep chocolate brown with hints of gold, and the man who woke up in bed with me every morning never failed to mention that as eyes went, mine were his favorite color.
“Mr. Harcourt?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I flashed him a quick grin. “That’s me.”
“Hi.” He smiled warmly as he closed in, offering me his hand. “I’m Dr. Dwyer, and—”
“Jory, you—”
“Sam?”
My doctor called my man by his first name.
Sam stood there looking utterly gobsmacked.
Both men, my partner and the doctor, froze as they stood staring at each other.
What the hell…?
Doctor Dwyer had been interrupted by Sam’s return, and Sam had apparently been quite startled to see the doctor when he came charging back into the room.
I kept looking between them, feeling weirder by the second.
“Kevin,” Sam finally said.
The man took a step forward, and the smile, the light that hit his eyes, the shiver that ran through his long, lean swimmer’s frame, was not to be mistaken for anything other than absolute, quivering, pulse-pounding, blood-racing joy. Whoever he was, he was deliriously surprised and delighted to see Sam Kage.
I waited and realized that I had stopped breathing.
Who was this heavenly creature, this doctor who was looking at Sam like he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life?
“You….” Sam sucked in a breath. “What are you doing here?”
“Jesus,” the doctor gasped and rushed forward, arms lifted, ready to reach out and grab hold, reclaim.
Sam moved faster, meeting him and cutting him off, so basically, with his forward momentum halted, the good doctor was brought up short, almost to a jarring, lose-your-balance stop. Sam leaned, gave him the guy clench, tight-tight, then pushed off and back so Dr. Dwyer was basically left abandoned and bewildered, arms empty, looking lost.
“Nice to see you,” Sam said quickly, stepping close to the bed and taking my hand at the same time. “Jory, this is Dr. Kevin Dwyer. We met in Columbia when I was there working that drug bust after Dom went into witness protection. He was with Doctors Without Borders at that time. What are you doing here in Chicago?”
Years ago, Sam had left me recovering in the hospital to track down a drug cartel in Colombia on a tip from his corrupt partner. We had been apart for three years, and at some point he had met the good doctor.
Dr. Dwyer seriously looked like someone had punched him in the gut or run him over with a truck. It was hard to tell which better described him at that moment. “I,” he started but stopped, and then his eyes flicked to mine. “Jory?”
I smiled at him. “Yes.”
He nodded. “Sam told me all about you.”
And yet Sam had never, ever mentioned Kevin Dwyer to me. “Did you date?” I asked the doctor, because I didn’t mess around.
“Jor—”
“No,” he cut Sam off. “We lived together for three months.”
And my world imploded.
Raven's Hart by Davidson King
A light tap caught my attention, and I looked up to see Tony and Snow standing there. Snow, ever his curious self, was looking up, down, and around, absorbing it all, never to forget.
“Thank you, Tony, I’d like to speak with Snow alone, and then perhaps, if he has further questions pertaining to security and what you know, the two of you can talk later.”
“Okay, holler if you need me.” He smiled at Snow who nodded, and then left the room.
It wasn’t so much an uncomfortable silence as it was worrisome. Snow wasn’t a quiet person. He spoke up for everything he believed in, and on many occasions, gave me a good tongue lashing. To see him walking through my office and not making eye contact with me was jarring.
“Snow?” He jumped when I spoke but turned my way. “Would you like a drink?”
He chuckled, but it held very little humor. “What’s the strongest thing you’ve got?”
Ahh, so he was having trouble with all this. Understandable. I walked over to the small cart with some beverages and poured us each a Jack and ginger ale. I knew he didn’t like drinking because of his father, but he wasn’t kidding that he wanted a drink.
“Thanks,” he said as he took the drink and sipped it. “So, this is really weird.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Did you read my note?”
He rolled his eyes at my obviously stupid question. “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t. You have Jason Momoa over there come to my house, tell me he can’t say much but to read this thing and to follow him. You’re lucky Christopher wasn’t home, or Bill for that matter, or I wouldn’t have been able to sweet talk Donny into trusting my life choices and going with Aquaman.”
“Thank you, Tony, I’d like to speak with Snow alone, and then perhaps, if he has further questions pertaining to security and what you know, the two of you can talk later.”
“Okay, holler if you need me.” He smiled at Snow who nodded, and then left the room.
It wasn’t so much an uncomfortable silence as it was worrisome. Snow wasn’t a quiet person. He spoke up for everything he believed in, and on many occasions, gave me a good tongue lashing. To see him walking through my office and not making eye contact with me was jarring.
“Snow?” He jumped when I spoke but turned my way. “Would you like a drink?”
He chuckled, but it held very little humor. “What’s the strongest thing you’ve got?”
Ahh, so he was having trouble with all this. Understandable. I walked over to the small cart with some beverages and poured us each a Jack and ginger ale. I knew he didn’t like drinking because of his father, but he wasn’t kidding that he wanted a drink.
“Thanks,” he said as he took the drink and sipped it. “So, this is really weird.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Did you read my note?”
He rolled his eyes at my obviously stupid question. “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t. You have Jason Momoa over there come to my house, tell me he can’t say much but to read this thing and to follow him. You’re lucky Christopher wasn’t home, or Bill for that matter, or I wouldn’t have been able to sweet talk Donny into trusting my life choices and going with Aquaman.”
Death of a Pirate King by Josh Lanyon
CHAPTER ONE
It was not my kind of party.
Sure, some people might think the dead guy made it my kind of party, but that wouldn't be a fair assessment of my entertainment needs-or my social calendar. I mean, it had been a good two years since I'd last been involved in a murder investigation.
I sell books for a living. I write books too, but not enough to make a living at it. I did happen to sell one book I wrote to the movies, which is what I was doing at a Hollywood party, which, like I said, is not my scene. Or at least, was not my scene until Porter Jones slumped over and fell face first into his bowl of vichyssoise.
I'm sorry to say my initial reaction, as he keeled over, was relief.
I'd been nodding politely as he'd rambled on for the past ten minutes, trying not to wince as he gusted heavy alcoholic sighs my way during his infrequent pauses, my real attention on screenwriter Al January, who was sitting on the other side of me at the long crowded luncheon table. January was going to be working on the screen adaptation of my first novel Murder Will Out. I wanted to hear what he had to say.
Instead I heard all about deep sea fishing for white marlin in St. Lucia.
I pushed back from the table as the milky tide of soup spilled across the linen tablecloth. Someone snickered. The din of voices and silverware on china died.
“For God's sake, Porter!” exclaimed Mrs. Jones from across the table.
Porter's shoulders were twitching and I thought for a moment that he was laughing, although what was funny about breathing soup, I'd no idea-having sort of been through it myself recently.
“Was it something you said, Adrien?” Paul Kane, our host, joked to me. He rose as though to better study Jones. He had one of those British public school accents that make insignificant comments like Would you pass the butter sound as interesting as Fire when ready!
Soup dripped off the table into my empty seat. I stared at Porter's now-motionless form: the folds on the back of his thick tanned neck, the rolls of brown flab peeping out beneath the indigo-blue Lacoste polo, his meaty, motionless arm with the gold Rolex watch. Maybe forty seconds all told, from the moment he toppled over to the moment it finally dawned on me what had actually happened.
“Oh, hell,” I said, and hauled Porter out of his plate. He sagged right and crashed down onto the carpet taking my chair and his own with him.
“Porter!” shrieked his wife, now on her feet, bleached blonde hair spilling over her plump freckled shoulders.
“Jesus Christ,” exclaimed Paul Kane staring down, his normal unshakable poise deserting him. “Is he-?”
It was hard to say what Porter was exactly. His face was shiny with soup; his silvery mustache glistened with it. His pale eyes bulged as though he were outraged to find himself in this position. His fleshy lips were open but he made no protest. He wasn't breathing.
I knelt down, said, “Does anyone know CPR? I don't think I can manage it.”
“Someone call 911!” Kane ordered, looking and sounding like he did on the bridge of the brigantine in The Last Corsair.
“We can trade off,” Al January told me, crouching on the other side of Porter's body. He was a slim and elegant sixty-something, despite the cherry red trousers he wore. I liked his calm air; you don't expect calm from a man wearing cherry-red trousers.
“I'm getting over pneumonia,” I told him. I shoved the fallen chairs aside, making room next to Porter.
“Uh oh,” January said and bent over Porter.
By the time the paramedics arrived it was all over.
By then we had all adjourned to the drawing room of the old Laurel Canyon mansion. There were about thirty of us, everyone, with the exception of myself, involved one way or the other with movies and movie-making.
I looked at the ormolu clock on the elegant fireplace mantle and thought I should call Natalie. She had a date that evening and had wanted to close the bookstore early. I needed to give Guy a call too. No way was I going to have the energy for dinner out tonight-even if we did get away in the next hour or so.
Porter's wife, who looked young enough to be his daughter, was sitting over by the piano crying. A couple of the other women were absently soothing her. I wondered why she wasn't being allowed in there with him. If I was dying I'd sure want someone I loved with me.
Paul Kane had disappeared for a time into the dining room where the paramedics were still doing whatever there was left to do.
He came back in and said, “They've called the police.”
There were exclamations of alarm and dismay.
Okay, so it wasn't a natural death. I'd been afraid of that. Not because of any special training or because I had a particular knack for recognizing foul play-no, I just had really, really bad luck.
Porter's wife-“Ally,” they were calling her-looked up and said, “He's dead?” I thought it was pretty clear he was a goner from the moment he landed flat on his back like a harpooned walrus, but maybe she was the optimistic kind. Or maybe I'd just had too much of the wrong kind of experience.
The women with her began doing that automatic shushing thing again.
Kane walked over to me, and said with that charming, practiced smile, “How are you holding up?”
“Me? Fine.”
His smile informed me that I wasn't fooling anyone, but actually I felt all right. After two weeks of hospital, any change of scenery was an improvement, and unlike most of the people there I knew what to expect once someone died a public and unexpected death.
Kane sat down on a giant chintz-covered ottoman--the room had clearly been professionally decorated because nothing about Paul Kane suggested cabbage roses or ormolu clocks--fastened those amazing blue eyes on me, and said, “I've got a bad feeling about this.”
“Well, yeah,” I said. Violent death in the dining room? Generally not a good thing.
“Did Porter say anything to you? I couldn't help noticing that he had you pinned down.”
“He mostly talked about salt water big game fishing.”
“Ah. His passion.”
“Passion is good,” I said.
Kane smiled into my eyes. “It can be.”
I smiled back tiredly. I didn't imagine that he was coming onto me; it was more…an actor picking up his cue.
He patted my knee and rose. “It shouldn't take much longer,” he said, with the optimism of inexperience.
They kept us waiting for probably another forty minutes and then the doors to the drawing room opened silently on well-oiled hinges, and two cops in suits walked in. One was about thirty, Hispanic, with the tightly coiled energy of the ambitious young dick, and the other was Jake Riordan.
It was a jolt. Jake was a lieutenant now so there was no reason why he'd be here at a crime scene--except that this was a high profile crime scene.
It was like seeing him for the first time--only this time around I had insider knowledge.
He looked older. Still ruggedly good-looking in that big, blond, take-no-prisoners way. But thinner, sharper around the edges. Harder. It had been two years since I'd last seen him. They didn't appear to have been a fun-filled two years, but he still had that indefinable something. Like a young Steve McQueen or a mature Russell Crowe. Hanging around the movie crowd, you start thinking in cinema terms.
I watched his tawny eyes sweep the room and find Paul Kane. I saw the relief on Kane's face, and I realized that they knew each other. Something in the way their gazes met, locked, then broke--not anything anyone else would have caught. I just happened to be in a position to know what that particular look of Jake's meant.
And since I was familiar with the former Detective Riordan's extra-curricular activities, I guessed that meant the rumors about Paul Kane were true.
“Folks, can I have your attention,” the younger detective said. “This is Lieutenant Riordan and I'm Detective Alonzo.” He proceeded to explain that Porter Jones appeared to have been the victim of some kind of poisoning and they were going to ask us a few questions, starting with who had been seated next to the victim during the meal.
Paul Kane said, “That would be Valarie and Adrien.”
Jake's gaze followed Paul Kane's indication. His eyes lit on me. Just for a second his face seemed to freeze. I was glad I'd had a few seconds' warning. I was able to look right through him, which was a small satisfaction.
“I don't understand,” the newly widowed Ally was protesting. “Are you saying-what are you saying? That Porter was murdered?”
“Ma'am,” Detective Alonzo said in a pained way.
Jake said something quietly to Paul Kane, who answered. Jake interrupted Alonzo.
“Mrs. Jones, why don't we move next door?” He guided her towards a side door off the lounge. He nodded for Alonzo to follow him in.
A uniformed officer took Alonzo's place and asked us to please be patient and refrain from speaking with each other-and immediately everyone started speaking, mostly protesting.
The side door opened again and everyone looked guiltily towards the doorway. Ally Porter was ushered straight out.
“The performance of a lifetime,” Al January commented next to me.
I glanced at him and he smiled.
“Valarie Rose,” Detective Alonzo requested.
A trim forty-something brunette stood up. Rose was supposed to direct Murder Will Out, assuming we actually got to the filming stage-which at the moment felt unlikely. She wore minimal makeup and a dark pantsuit. She looked perfectly poised as she passed Detective Alonzo and disappeared into the inner chamber.
She was in there for about fifteen minutes and then the door opened; without speaking to anyone she crossed into the main room. Detective Alonzo announced, “Adrien English?”
Kind of like when your name gets called in the doctor's office: That's right, Adrien. This won't hurt a bit. I felt the silent wall of eyes as I went into the side room.
It was a comfortable room, probably Paul Kane's study. He seemed like the kind of guy who would affect a study. Glass fronted bookcases, a big fireplace, and a lot of leather furniture. There was a table and chairs to one side where they were obviously conducting their questioning. Jake stood at a large bay window that looked down over the back garden. I spared one look at his stony profile, then sat down at the table across from Detective Alonzo.
“Okay…” Alonzo scratched a preliminary note on a pad.
Jake turned. “That's Adrien with an 'e',” he informed his partner. “Mr. English and I have met.”
That was one way to put it. I had a sudden uncomfortably vivid memory of Jake whispering into my hair, “Baby, what you do to me….” An ill-timed recollection if there ever was one.
“Yeah?” If Alonzo recognized there was any tension in the air, he gave no sign of it, probably because there's always tension in the air around cops. “So where do you live, Mr. English?”
We got the details of where I lived and what I did for a living out of the way fast. Then Alonzo asked, “So how well did you know Mr. Jones?”
“I met him for the first time this afternoon.”
“Ms. Beaton-Jones says you and the deceased had a long, long talk during the meal?”
Beaton-Jones? Oh, right. This was Hollywood. Hyphens were a fashion accessory. Ms. Beaton-Jones would be Porter's wife, I guessed.
I replied, “He talked, I listened.” One thing I've learned the hard way is not to volunteer any extra information to the police.
I glanced at Jake. He was staring back out the window. There was a gold wedding band on his left hand. It kept catching the light. Like a heliograph.
“What did he talk about?”
“To be honest, I don't remember the details. It was mostly about deep sea fishing. For marlin. On his forty-five foot Hatteras luxury sport-fishing yacht.”
Jake's lips twitched as he continued to gaze out the window.
“You're interested in deep sea fishing, Mr. English?”
“Not particularly.”
“So how long did you talk?”
“Maybe ten minutes.”
“Can you tell us what happened then?”
“I turned away to take a drink. He-Porter-just…fell forward onto the table.”
“And what did you do?”
“When I realized he wasn't moving, I grabbed his shoulder. He slid out of his chair and landed on the floor. Al January started CPR.”
“Do you know CPR, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Beaton-Jones said you refused to administer CPR to her husband.”
I blinked at him. Looked at Jake. His tawny eyes were zeroed in on mine.
“Any reason for that, sir? Are you HIV-positive by any chance?”
“No.” I was a little surprised at how angry I was at the question. I said shortly, “I'm getting over pneumonia. I didn't think I could do an adequate job of resuscitating him. If no one else had volunteered, I'd have tried.”
“Pneumonia? That's no fun.” This also from the firm's junior partner. “Were you hospitalized by any chance?”
“Yeah. Five fun-filled days and nights at Huntington Hospital. I'll be happy to give you the name and number of my doctor.”
“When were you discharged?”
“Tuesday morning.”
“And you're already back doing the party scene?” That was Jake with pseudo-friendly mockery. “How do you know Paul Kane?”
“We met once before today. He's optioned my series character for a possible film. He thought it would be a good idea for me to meet the director and screenwriter, and he suggested this party.”
“So you're a writer,” Detective Alonzo inquired. He checked his notes as though to emphasize that I'd failed to mention this vital point.
I nodded.
“Among other things,” remarked Jake.
I thought maybe he ought to curb it if he didn't want speculation about our former friendship. But maybe marriage and a lieutenancy made him feel bullet-proof. He didn't interrupt as Detective Alonzo continued to probe.
I answered his questions, but I was thinking of the first time I'd met Paul Kane. Living in Southern California, you get used to seeing “movie stars.” Speaking from experience they are usually shorter, thinner, freckled, and blemished. And in real life their hair is almost never as good. Paul Kane was the exception. He was gorgeous in an old-fashioned matinee-idol way. An Errol Flynn way. Tall, built like something chiseled out of marble, midnight-blue eyes, sun-streaked brown hair. Almost too handsome, really. I prefer them a little rougher around the edges. Like Jake.
“Hey, pretty exciting!” Alonzo offered, just as though it wasn't Hollywood where everyone is writing a script on spec or has a book being optioned. “So what's your book about?”
A little dryly I explained what my book was about.
Alonzo raised his eyebrows at the idea of a gay Shakespearean actor and amateur sleuth making it to the big screen, but kept scribbling away.
Jake came over to the table and sat down across from me. My neck muscles clenched so tight I was afraid my head would start to shake.
“But you also run this Cloak and Dagger mystery bookstore in Pasadena?” Alonzo inquired. “Was Porter Jones a customer?”
“Not that I know of. I never saw him before today.” I made myself look at Jake. He was staring down. I looked to see if my body language was communicating homicidal mania. In the light flooding from the bay window my hands looked thin and white, a tracery of blue veins right beneath the surface.
I folded my arms and leaned back in my chair, trying to look more nonchalant than defensive.
We'd been talking for thirty minutes, which seemed like an unreasonable time to question someone who hadn't even known the victim. They couldn't honestly think I was a suspect. Jake couldn't honestly think I'd bumped this guy off. I glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. Five o'clock.
Alonzo circled back to the general background stuff that is mostly irrelevant but sometimes turns up an unexpected lead.
To his surprise and my relief, Jake said abruptly, “I think that's about it. Thanks for your time, Mr. English. We'll be in touch if we need anything further.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but what came out was a laugh. Short and sardonic. It caught us both by surprise.
It was not my kind of party.
Sure, some people might think the dead guy made it my kind of party, but that wouldn't be a fair assessment of my entertainment needs-or my social calendar. I mean, it had been a good two years since I'd last been involved in a murder investigation.
I sell books for a living. I write books too, but not enough to make a living at it. I did happen to sell one book I wrote to the movies, which is what I was doing at a Hollywood party, which, like I said, is not my scene. Or at least, was not my scene until Porter Jones slumped over and fell face first into his bowl of vichyssoise.
I'm sorry to say my initial reaction, as he keeled over, was relief.
I'd been nodding politely as he'd rambled on for the past ten minutes, trying not to wince as he gusted heavy alcoholic sighs my way during his infrequent pauses, my real attention on screenwriter Al January, who was sitting on the other side of me at the long crowded luncheon table. January was going to be working on the screen adaptation of my first novel Murder Will Out. I wanted to hear what he had to say.
Instead I heard all about deep sea fishing for white marlin in St. Lucia.
I pushed back from the table as the milky tide of soup spilled across the linen tablecloth. Someone snickered. The din of voices and silverware on china died.
“For God's sake, Porter!” exclaimed Mrs. Jones from across the table.
Porter's shoulders were twitching and I thought for a moment that he was laughing, although what was funny about breathing soup, I'd no idea-having sort of been through it myself recently.
“Was it something you said, Adrien?” Paul Kane, our host, joked to me. He rose as though to better study Jones. He had one of those British public school accents that make insignificant comments like Would you pass the butter sound as interesting as Fire when ready!
Soup dripped off the table into my empty seat. I stared at Porter's now-motionless form: the folds on the back of his thick tanned neck, the rolls of brown flab peeping out beneath the indigo-blue Lacoste polo, his meaty, motionless arm with the gold Rolex watch. Maybe forty seconds all told, from the moment he toppled over to the moment it finally dawned on me what had actually happened.
“Oh, hell,” I said, and hauled Porter out of his plate. He sagged right and crashed down onto the carpet taking my chair and his own with him.
“Porter!” shrieked his wife, now on her feet, bleached blonde hair spilling over her plump freckled shoulders.
“Jesus Christ,” exclaimed Paul Kane staring down, his normal unshakable poise deserting him. “Is he-?”
It was hard to say what Porter was exactly. His face was shiny with soup; his silvery mustache glistened with it. His pale eyes bulged as though he were outraged to find himself in this position. His fleshy lips were open but he made no protest. He wasn't breathing.
I knelt down, said, “Does anyone know CPR? I don't think I can manage it.”
“Someone call 911!” Kane ordered, looking and sounding like he did on the bridge of the brigantine in The Last Corsair.
“We can trade off,” Al January told me, crouching on the other side of Porter's body. He was a slim and elegant sixty-something, despite the cherry red trousers he wore. I liked his calm air; you don't expect calm from a man wearing cherry-red trousers.
“I'm getting over pneumonia,” I told him. I shoved the fallen chairs aside, making room next to Porter.
“Uh oh,” January said and bent over Porter.
* * * * *
By the time the paramedics arrived it was all over.
By then we had all adjourned to the drawing room of the old Laurel Canyon mansion. There were about thirty of us, everyone, with the exception of myself, involved one way or the other with movies and movie-making.
I looked at the ormolu clock on the elegant fireplace mantle and thought I should call Natalie. She had a date that evening and had wanted to close the bookstore early. I needed to give Guy a call too. No way was I going to have the energy for dinner out tonight-even if we did get away in the next hour or so.
Porter's wife, who looked young enough to be his daughter, was sitting over by the piano crying. A couple of the other women were absently soothing her. I wondered why she wasn't being allowed in there with him. If I was dying I'd sure want someone I loved with me.
Paul Kane had disappeared for a time into the dining room where the paramedics were still doing whatever there was left to do.
He came back in and said, “They've called the police.”
There were exclamations of alarm and dismay.
Okay, so it wasn't a natural death. I'd been afraid of that. Not because of any special training or because I had a particular knack for recognizing foul play-no, I just had really, really bad luck.
Porter's wife-“Ally,” they were calling her-looked up and said, “He's dead?” I thought it was pretty clear he was a goner from the moment he landed flat on his back like a harpooned walrus, but maybe she was the optimistic kind. Or maybe I'd just had too much of the wrong kind of experience.
The women with her began doing that automatic shushing thing again.
Kane walked over to me, and said with that charming, practiced smile, “How are you holding up?”
“Me? Fine.”
His smile informed me that I wasn't fooling anyone, but actually I felt all right. After two weeks of hospital, any change of scenery was an improvement, and unlike most of the people there I knew what to expect once someone died a public and unexpected death.
Kane sat down on a giant chintz-covered ottoman--the room had clearly been professionally decorated because nothing about Paul Kane suggested cabbage roses or ormolu clocks--fastened those amazing blue eyes on me, and said, “I've got a bad feeling about this.”
“Well, yeah,” I said. Violent death in the dining room? Generally not a good thing.
“Did Porter say anything to you? I couldn't help noticing that he had you pinned down.”
“He mostly talked about salt water big game fishing.”
“Ah. His passion.”
“Passion is good,” I said.
Kane smiled into my eyes. “It can be.”
I smiled back tiredly. I didn't imagine that he was coming onto me; it was more…an actor picking up his cue.
He patted my knee and rose. “It shouldn't take much longer,” he said, with the optimism of inexperience.
They kept us waiting for probably another forty minutes and then the doors to the drawing room opened silently on well-oiled hinges, and two cops in suits walked in. One was about thirty, Hispanic, with the tightly coiled energy of the ambitious young dick, and the other was Jake Riordan.
It was a jolt. Jake was a lieutenant now so there was no reason why he'd be here at a crime scene--except that this was a high profile crime scene.
It was like seeing him for the first time--only this time around I had insider knowledge.
He looked older. Still ruggedly good-looking in that big, blond, take-no-prisoners way. But thinner, sharper around the edges. Harder. It had been two years since I'd last seen him. They didn't appear to have been a fun-filled two years, but he still had that indefinable something. Like a young Steve McQueen or a mature Russell Crowe. Hanging around the movie crowd, you start thinking in cinema terms.
I watched his tawny eyes sweep the room and find Paul Kane. I saw the relief on Kane's face, and I realized that they knew each other. Something in the way their gazes met, locked, then broke--not anything anyone else would have caught. I just happened to be in a position to know what that particular look of Jake's meant.
And since I was familiar with the former Detective Riordan's extra-curricular activities, I guessed that meant the rumors about Paul Kane were true.
“Folks, can I have your attention,” the younger detective said. “This is Lieutenant Riordan and I'm Detective Alonzo.” He proceeded to explain that Porter Jones appeared to have been the victim of some kind of poisoning and they were going to ask us a few questions, starting with who had been seated next to the victim during the meal.
Paul Kane said, “That would be Valarie and Adrien.”
Jake's gaze followed Paul Kane's indication. His eyes lit on me. Just for a second his face seemed to freeze. I was glad I'd had a few seconds' warning. I was able to look right through him, which was a small satisfaction.
“I don't understand,” the newly widowed Ally was protesting. “Are you saying-what are you saying? That Porter was murdered?”
“Ma'am,” Detective Alonzo said in a pained way.
Jake said something quietly to Paul Kane, who answered. Jake interrupted Alonzo.
“Mrs. Jones, why don't we move next door?” He guided her towards a side door off the lounge. He nodded for Alonzo to follow him in.
A uniformed officer took Alonzo's place and asked us to please be patient and refrain from speaking with each other-and immediately everyone started speaking, mostly protesting.
The side door opened again and everyone looked guiltily towards the doorway. Ally Porter was ushered straight out.
“The performance of a lifetime,” Al January commented next to me.
I glanced at him and he smiled.
“Valarie Rose,” Detective Alonzo requested.
A trim forty-something brunette stood up. Rose was supposed to direct Murder Will Out, assuming we actually got to the filming stage-which at the moment felt unlikely. She wore minimal makeup and a dark pantsuit. She looked perfectly poised as she passed Detective Alonzo and disappeared into the inner chamber.
She was in there for about fifteen minutes and then the door opened; without speaking to anyone she crossed into the main room. Detective Alonzo announced, “Adrien English?”
Kind of like when your name gets called in the doctor's office: That's right, Adrien. This won't hurt a bit. I felt the silent wall of eyes as I went into the side room.
It was a comfortable room, probably Paul Kane's study. He seemed like the kind of guy who would affect a study. Glass fronted bookcases, a big fireplace, and a lot of leather furniture. There was a table and chairs to one side where they were obviously conducting their questioning. Jake stood at a large bay window that looked down over the back garden. I spared one look at his stony profile, then sat down at the table across from Detective Alonzo.
“Okay…” Alonzo scratched a preliminary note on a pad.
Jake turned. “That's Adrien with an 'e',” he informed his partner. “Mr. English and I have met.”
That was one way to put it. I had a sudden uncomfortably vivid memory of Jake whispering into my hair, “Baby, what you do to me….” An ill-timed recollection if there ever was one.
“Yeah?” If Alonzo recognized there was any tension in the air, he gave no sign of it, probably because there's always tension in the air around cops. “So where do you live, Mr. English?”
We got the details of where I lived and what I did for a living out of the way fast. Then Alonzo asked, “So how well did you know Mr. Jones?”
“I met him for the first time this afternoon.”
“Ms. Beaton-Jones says you and the deceased had a long, long talk during the meal?”
Beaton-Jones? Oh, right. This was Hollywood. Hyphens were a fashion accessory. Ms. Beaton-Jones would be Porter's wife, I guessed.
I replied, “He talked, I listened.” One thing I've learned the hard way is not to volunteer any extra information to the police.
I glanced at Jake. He was staring back out the window. There was a gold wedding band on his left hand. It kept catching the light. Like a heliograph.
“What did he talk about?”
“To be honest, I don't remember the details. It was mostly about deep sea fishing. For marlin. On his forty-five foot Hatteras luxury sport-fishing yacht.”
Jake's lips twitched as he continued to gaze out the window.
“You're interested in deep sea fishing, Mr. English?”
“Not particularly.”
“So how long did you talk?”
“Maybe ten minutes.”
“Can you tell us what happened then?”
“I turned away to take a drink. He-Porter-just…fell forward onto the table.”
“And what did you do?”
“When I realized he wasn't moving, I grabbed his shoulder. He slid out of his chair and landed on the floor. Al January started CPR.”
“Do you know CPR, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Beaton-Jones said you refused to administer CPR to her husband.”
I blinked at him. Looked at Jake. His tawny eyes were zeroed in on mine.
“Any reason for that, sir? Are you HIV-positive by any chance?”
“No.” I was a little surprised at how angry I was at the question. I said shortly, “I'm getting over pneumonia. I didn't think I could do an adequate job of resuscitating him. If no one else had volunteered, I'd have tried.”
“Pneumonia? That's no fun.” This also from the firm's junior partner. “Were you hospitalized by any chance?”
“Yeah. Five fun-filled days and nights at Huntington Hospital. I'll be happy to give you the name and number of my doctor.”
“When were you discharged?”
“Tuesday morning.”
“And you're already back doing the party scene?” That was Jake with pseudo-friendly mockery. “How do you know Paul Kane?”
“We met once before today. He's optioned my series character for a possible film. He thought it would be a good idea for me to meet the director and screenwriter, and he suggested this party.”
“So you're a writer,” Detective Alonzo inquired. He checked his notes as though to emphasize that I'd failed to mention this vital point.
I nodded.
“Among other things,” remarked Jake.
I thought maybe he ought to curb it if he didn't want speculation about our former friendship. But maybe marriage and a lieutenancy made him feel bullet-proof. He didn't interrupt as Detective Alonzo continued to probe.
I answered his questions, but I was thinking of the first time I'd met Paul Kane. Living in Southern California, you get used to seeing “movie stars.” Speaking from experience they are usually shorter, thinner, freckled, and blemished. And in real life their hair is almost never as good. Paul Kane was the exception. He was gorgeous in an old-fashioned matinee-idol way. An Errol Flynn way. Tall, built like something chiseled out of marble, midnight-blue eyes, sun-streaked brown hair. Almost too handsome, really. I prefer them a little rougher around the edges. Like Jake.
“Hey, pretty exciting!” Alonzo offered, just as though it wasn't Hollywood where everyone is writing a script on spec or has a book being optioned. “So what's your book about?”
A little dryly I explained what my book was about.
Alonzo raised his eyebrows at the idea of a gay Shakespearean actor and amateur sleuth making it to the big screen, but kept scribbling away.
Jake came over to the table and sat down across from me. My neck muscles clenched so tight I was afraid my head would start to shake.
“But you also run this Cloak and Dagger mystery bookstore in Pasadena?” Alonzo inquired. “Was Porter Jones a customer?”
“Not that I know of. I never saw him before today.” I made myself look at Jake. He was staring down. I looked to see if my body language was communicating homicidal mania. In the light flooding from the bay window my hands looked thin and white, a tracery of blue veins right beneath the surface.
I folded my arms and leaned back in my chair, trying to look more nonchalant than defensive.
We'd been talking for thirty minutes, which seemed like an unreasonable time to question someone who hadn't even known the victim. They couldn't honestly think I was a suspect. Jake couldn't honestly think I'd bumped this guy off. I glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. Five o'clock.
Alonzo circled back to the general background stuff that is mostly irrelevant but sometimes turns up an unexpected lead.
To his surprise and my relief, Jake said abruptly, “I think that's about it. Thanks for your time, Mr. English. We'll be in touch if we need anything further.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but what came out was a laugh. Short and sardonic. It caught us both by surprise.
Calm by K Evan Coles & Brigham Vaughn
Riley Porter-Wright whistled as he let himself into his West Village apartment on a warm Thursday night in April. He’d left work with a spring in his step. He had a date with Will Martin—his boyfriend—that night, and a three-day weekend ahead of him.
As senior vice president and head of the e-pub division of his family’s publishing house, Riley had been delighted to share the year’s first quarter data for his division at the board meeting that afternoon. The numbers had been high enough to impress even Jonathon Porter-Wright, the CEO of the company and Riley’s father. He was a demanding man under the best of circumstances and the flicker of pleased surprise that had crossed his face during Riley’s presentation had been gratifying.
Although completely estranged from his parents since his coming out and divorce the previous fall, Riley still had to deal with his father at work. He was no longer concerned with living up to his father’s expectations, but Riley felt perversely pleased that the better he performed, the more of an ass his father appeared to be. There was a certain measure of satisfaction in proving to his father that being an openly bisexual man hadn’t done a thing to affect his career. If anything, finally feeling content with his life had improved Riley’s performance.
He’d left the office immediately after the board meeting and hurried home. He hastily dressed in a tux, then checked his watch to be sure he wasn’t late as he dashed out of the door. Why the Metropolitan opera held premieres on a weeknight, he didn’t know, but thankfully, Will didn’t have any classes to teach at NYU that evening.
Riley texted Will on the way to his building. He came out to meet Riley after the town car pulled up. The driver held the door while Will slid inside and gave Riley a brief, warm kiss. “Hey, good to see you.”
“You, too.” They’d both been busy in the past few weeks and hadn’t been able to spend much time together. Riley smiled at him, struck again by Will’s high cheekbones and classic good looks. Riley hadn’t seen him in a tuxedo before, but he wore it well. “How was your day?”
“Mmm, faculty meeting this afternoon and most of my students seem to have spring fever, so I’m glad it’s over,” Will replied with an easy grin, his blue eyes brightening. “Getting better now, though. Yours?”
“Great, actually, and I’m looking forward to tonight.”
They kept the discussion light while the car crossed Manhattan, but Riley’s anxiety rose as they neared the Kennedy Center. He straightened his bow tie for the umpteenth time. Will set a hand on his thigh, the touch warm and heavy.
“Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” Will asked softly. “You seem jittery.”
“Of course.” Riley gave Will a reassuring smile. “I’ll admit I’m…anxious about how it will go, but I refuse to let anyone keep me from living my life. I love opera and I want to share that with you.”
That night was the gala premier of Giulio Cesare and Riley had spent the better part of a week debating if he should invite Will to be his date. Riley had done little socializing with anyone from his past since his abrupt coming-out the previous November and subsequent divorce from his now ex-wife Alex. The possibility of seeing his parents was nerve-racking. Even worse was the thought of seeing his former best friend, Carter, and Carter’s wife, Kate. Carter had been shocked by Riley’s coming out and Riley’s confession that he loved Carter had driven a wedge between them. Riley hadn’t had any contact with Kate and, other than a brief and awkward run-in during the holidays at Serendipity when Carter had been out with the kids, Riley hadn’t seen Carter, either.
Will knew enough about his past that he wouldn’t be caught off-guard if an awkward situation arose, but that didn’t make it any easier. The thought of Will and Carter in the same room caused his anxiety to rise.
In the three months Riley and Will had been seeing each other, Will had more than lived up to Riley’s first impression of him. Not only gorgeous, he was thoughtful and well-read. Patient, too, while Riley shook off the hang-ups from his past and struggled to figure out the new path he was on. In fact, he’d been more than patient.
Although they’d been intimate in every other way, Riley hadn’t reached a point where he was ready to let Will penetrate him or vice versa. Will assured Riley he shouldn’t feel rushed and reminded him some men never wanted anal sex, but, still, it bothered Riley. They’d decided not to see other people, but sometimes Riley held Will at arm’s length when he should have been pulling him closer. Taking him to the opera tonight was one way to include Will in another part of his life. He genuinely cared for Will and thought maybe, in time, he could fall for him.
Riley could hardly say he was over Carter, but thoughts of Carter had grown less and less frequent. As time passed, the acute pain of losing him had faded to a dull ache. Time certainly did heal wounds, but, unfortunately, it did nothing to lessen the feeling that something important was missing from his life.
“I’m glad you invited me,” Will said, bringing him back to the moment.
Riley smiled warmly at him. “I’m glad you were willing to come. I don’t think my ex-wife will be there—she really only bothered with the events here to network—but I can’t promise anything. Let’s just hope we can make it through the night without any drama.”
“If there is, we’ll either ignore it or cut out early.” Will shrugged and slid his hand a little higher. He leaned in to whisper in Riley’s ear. “No matter what happens, the night can end in my bed with your dick in my mouth and you coming so hard you see stars.”
“Promises, promises,” Riley teased, his voice more breathless than he intended. He closed his eyes for a brief moment as Will feathered kisses against his jaw, then glanced at the driver in front of him. He was grateful for the man’s discretion and that he hadn’t once glanced at them in the rearview mirror. Although finally at ease with showing affection with Will in public, Riley didn’t want to make the driver uncomfortable.
Will pulled back when the car slowed to a stop and Riley looked up in surprise, realizing they were already in front of the Lincoln Center. He stepped onto the sidewalk and waited for Will to follow, nodding at a few people mingling outside the entrance whom he recognized. He couldn’t resist a peek at the fountain, half-expecting to see Carter standing beside it. But the familiar silhouette was nowhere in sight, so he turned back to Will.
“Still nervous?” Will asked quietly as they walked through the lobby, with its endless red-carpeted floors and the mid-century Sputnik-style chandeliers that had been a gift from the Austrian government.
“A little,” Riley replied. “Mostly trying not to think too much about your comment in the car. I’m afraid these pants don’t hide much.” He grinned wryly wry and Will laughed.
“Sorry.”
“As long as you follow through, I have no complaints.” Riley’s grin faded when they stepped into the cocktail reception. He glanced around anxiously. To his relief, the only familiar faces in sight were distant acquaintances and he and his date were able to get a drink and mingle. People stared, of course—he’d expected that—and there were a few who gave him and Will a suspiciously wide berth, but frankly, it went better than he’d anticipated.
Riley had just begun to relax when he spotted his parents. His good mood immediately plummeted, replaced by an increasing tightness in his chest. “That’s my parents ahead,” he murmured. “Brace yourself.”
The woman standing next to his mother noticed him. “Oh, look, Geneva, it’s Riley.” Her tone held a nasty note, as if she merely wanted to make a jab at his mother. Riley didn’t know Helena Finch well but enough to remember she was someone who should be aware of the current situation. Perhaps she disliked his mother, or maybe she just wanted to catch a bit of the gossip. He smiled thinly when he approached them, hoping for Will’s sake that the typical Porter-Wright way of handling difficult situations would hold out tonight. Ignoring the situation and acting politely in front of company sounded good to him.
“Will, this is Jonathon and Geneva Porter-Wright.” He nodded to his parents. “Jonathon, Geneva, this is William Martin.” He didn’t see any point in elaborating on Will’s part in his life. “Will’s a law professor at NYU.”
His mother nodded frostily and his father put out his hand. The gesture seemed hesitant and begrudging.
“Nice to meet you both.” Will’s tone came across as polite, but there was little of his usual warmth.
“Likewise.” His father didn’t try to hide his disdain.
A rotund gentleman who looked as if he might pop the buttons on his jacket at any moment held out his hand to Will. “Marcus Finch. I went to NYU law myself back in the day.”
Riley glanced at his mother, but she wouldn’t meet his eye. Outwardly, she appeared cool and composed, but Riley would bet agitation churned under the surface.
Helena gave Riley a knowing smile. “And Will is here with you? How interesting.” Her voice dripped with innuendo.
“We’ve been seeing each other for a while.” Riley kept his tone polite but cool. “On top of being a law professor, Will is a writer. We have a great deal in common.”
Will made small talk with Marcus while Riley remained silent.
“It appears they’re seating for dinner,” Geneva said after a few minutes, her voice brittle. “Come, Jonathon, we should find our seats. Nice seeing you, Marcus and Helena. Riley. Mr. Martin.” She disappeared before they could reply and Riley made polite excuses to the Finches. He and Will found their table, grateful to end the encounter. His parents would make sure their paths didn’t cross again that evening.
Riley didn’t relax until dinner had concluded and Will followed him to his box for the beginning of act one. He took a seat next to Will, relieved that dinner had been calm and uneventful.
“I’m glad you came with me tonight,” Riley told him with a smile. Will briefly touched Riley’s knee.
“I am, too.”
The final knot of worry in Riley’s chest dissipated and he got comfortable, eager to see the production. Unfortunately, the good mood only lasted until intermission.
Riley and Will were enjoying the champagne and dessert when a blonde in an ice-blue dress crossed his field of vision. Riley tensed at the sight of Kate Hamilton. He glanced around, trying to be casual as he searched for Carter, but found him nowhere in sight. Riley frowned. The crowd was thick, but Carter stood tall enough to be seen in any group. Perhaps he was in the restroom or had stepped outside to take a call. Kate headed toward him, although she hadn’t made eye contact yet.
Riley set down his champagne glass, his hands suddenly nerveless and clumsy when Kate spotted him. Her eyes went wide and she came to an abrupt stop. “Riley.”
“How are you, Kate?”
“I’m fine.” Her smile seemed automatic, forced. Riley paused, really looking at Kate. She appeared to have lost weight and her normally bright eyes and smile were dimmer than usual. Although beautifully made up as always, something was off.
“Will, I’d like to introduce you to Kate Hamilton, a good friend of mine. Kate, this is Will Martin, law professor, writer and my date this evening.”
The corners of Kate’s mouth briefly tightened before she smiled at Will and held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Will.”
“Likewise.” Will, in turn, appeared relaxed and comfortable. Clearly, whatever was obvious to Riley wasn’t to someone who had never met Kate before.
“Are you as big of a fan of opera as Riley is?” Kate asked.
Will grinned. “I’m not sure anyone’s as big of a fan as Riley, but I do enjoy it.” Will brushed his fingertips across Riley’s back. “I’m glad he wanted to share it with me.”
“Oh, I’ve been known to give Riley a run for his money,” Kate said lightly.
A little more warmth appeared in her eyes, but she still seemed off and Riley turned to Will, laying a hand on his arm.
“Would you get me another glass of champagne? I’d like a moment to talk to Kate, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Will reassured him.
“Thank you. I’ll try not to be long.” Riley squeezed Will’s arm.
“Take your time. I’ll be over by the bar when you’re done.” He nodded at Kate. “Very nice to meet you, Kate.”
“You, too.”
Will left with a smile and Riley felt grateful for his understanding. He turned back to Kate, growing serious. “Are you sure everything’s okay? You don’t seem…” He wasn’t sure how to finish. Kate seemed unhappy, stressed. “Is it that Carter’s around and you’re worried about us running into each other?”
She shook her head. “No. Carter’s…Carter’s not here with me.”
Kate’s fingers trembled as she smoothed them over her pale blue dress and, although it took him a moment, Riley finally registered what was wrong with the picture. A faint stripe of lighter skin adorned the third finger of her left hand instead of the glittering diamond ring Riley had carried in the breast pocket of his tux the morning of Carter’s wedding. He wanted to ask her about it but realized there were too many people around. “Can we talk? Privately?”
She nodded, the motion tense and jerky. Riley steered them toward a secluded alcove, reminded of the night he and Carter had discussed finding a woman to join them. It seemed like it had been a lifetime ago, rather than just over a year. “What’s going on, Kate? I know you well enough to know you’re not okay.”
She let out a shaky breath. “Riley, a lot has happened since we last saw each other.”
He bit back a disbelieving laugh. “I’m well-aware.”
Her expression softened. “I know. You’ve been dealing with…well, more than any man should. I’m sorry to hear about your parents. They’re completely out of line.”
“It wasn’t unexpected.”
“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”
“And what about you? Is something going on with you and Carter? I noticed you aren’t wearing your ring.”
She glanced down at her left hand with a wistful glance. “Carter and I are separated. We’re in the process of filing for divorce.”
Riley blinked at her. “You what? Christ, what happened, Kate?”
The sad smile was trained on him, her tone gentle, but the words barbed. “You came out.”
Blanching, Riley tried to make sense of what she’d said. “I don’t understand.”
Her gaze remained unflinching, but her voice became so quiet he could barely hear it. “Carter told me the truth, Riley. The girls in college, the escort…your feelings for him.”
The news hit him like a ton of bricks. “I’m so fucking sorry, Kate.” His voice grew raw. “We never meant to—”
“I know. But it hurts deeply to know my husband and a man I considered a good friend betrayed me that way.” Kate’s voice shook. Riley saw the strain on her face as she struggled to keep it together. She looked away and he gave her a moment to compose herself before she continued. “How long, Riley?”
“What do you mean?”
“How long have you loved him?”
“Since college,” he admitted. “Probably since the moment I met him.”
She shook her head and dropped her voice to a whisper. “The whole time. Long before Carter and I met.”
Riley swallowed, his throat suddenly tight.
“How could you let him marry me?” she continued. “How could you stand beside him at the altar and hand him the ring when you loved him?”
“Because I truly believed it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t tell him how I felt—I could hardly even admit it to myself. He loved you—he really did—and I thought if he married you, the feelings I had for him wouldn’t matter. Asking Carter to divorce you to be with me last November was out of line. I shouldn’t have done it, but I couldn’t cope with hiding my feelings for him anymore. I thought he needed to know the truth. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love Carter, but I understand he doesn’t feel the same way about me. I know that now.” His voice sounded strained, even to him. “I wish it hadn’t taken the end of both our marriages and our friendship to prove that, though.”
“Me, too.” She stared him straight in the eye. “You know, he’s been a wreck since then, Riley. And when he ran into you before New Year’s, he became so depressed. He barely slept or ate—he just…wasn’t himself. He couldn’t live with the lies anymore and it all fell apart after that.”
“It kills me to know I hurt both of you.” He looked down, unable to meet her gaze. “I’ve come to terms with the fact I’ve lost Carter. I’m moving on now. Figuring out my life.”
“And Will?”
“We’re seeing each other. I care about him, but we’re—we’re taking things slow. He doesn’t know the exact details, but he knows there’s someone else I still have feelings for.”
“As long as you’re being honest with him.”
“I am.” Riley shoved his hands in his pockets. “I won’t live a lie like that again. I never should have done it in the first place.”
“I think the worst part is, I didn’t know I was,” Kate said softly, tears shimmering in her eyes. “I think somewhere deep down, I knew there was something between you and Carter, but I truly didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to believe the happy marriage and family were real.”
“Carter loves you and the kids. I know he does,” he whispered, his voice raw. “There are so many things I wish I’d done differently. Hurting you and the kids…I hope you know how much I regret it. Although I hoped Carter would want to be with me, I don’t think I ever believed he’d leave you. I know he didn’t want to tear apart your marriage or your family.”
“We can’t always predict the outcome of these things.” She laid a hand on his forearm, her smile wistful. “Besides, you coming out may have precipitated this, but it became inevitable. Once Carter stopped being honest with me, this was bound to happen. I am so, so angry at both of you, but I am trying to understand it. I can’t imagine what keeping your feelings a secret must have been like. Maybe once the hurt passes, I’ll be able to forgive you.”
He nodded, his heart aching. “It’s more than I deserve.”
Before she could reply, the lights dimmed briefly, indicating intermission had ended. She offered him a small, sympathetic smile. “I need to head back to my seat, but, Riley, I’m glad we talked.”
“So am I. Take care of yourself, Kate.”
“You, too.”
He stood staring after Kate until someone gently touched his upper back. He turned to see Will staring at him with a worried frown.
“Are you all right?” Will asked.
Riley shook his head to clear it. “Yeah. We should get back to our seats, though.”
Will nodded and fell into step beside him, his gaze worried. Riley couldn’t blame him. The conversation with Kate had completely thrown him and he knew he was acting oddly. He needed some time to process it.
Throughout the second half of the performance, Riley felt grateful for Will’s silent presence. He hadn’t asked Riley to explain, had merely sat beside him and laid a comforting hand on his knee. Riley didn’t know what to think of the conversation with Kate. Despite having wanted Carter to end his marriage, the news that Kate and Carter were no longer together felt like an unexpected blow. It would be difficult to come to terms with his partial responsibility for it. He’d never wanted to hurt Carter or Kate and his heart ached for Sadie and Dylan.
He instinctively wanted to reach out to Carter and see if he needed to talk, but Riley wondered if Carter would welcome it or not. Would he blame Riley for the end of his marriage? Was there any hope of repairing their friendship?
As senior vice president and head of the e-pub division of his family’s publishing house, Riley had been delighted to share the year’s first quarter data for his division at the board meeting that afternoon. The numbers had been high enough to impress even Jonathon Porter-Wright, the CEO of the company and Riley’s father. He was a demanding man under the best of circumstances and the flicker of pleased surprise that had crossed his face during Riley’s presentation had been gratifying.
Although completely estranged from his parents since his coming out and divorce the previous fall, Riley still had to deal with his father at work. He was no longer concerned with living up to his father’s expectations, but Riley felt perversely pleased that the better he performed, the more of an ass his father appeared to be. There was a certain measure of satisfaction in proving to his father that being an openly bisexual man hadn’t done a thing to affect his career. If anything, finally feeling content with his life had improved Riley’s performance.
He’d left the office immediately after the board meeting and hurried home. He hastily dressed in a tux, then checked his watch to be sure he wasn’t late as he dashed out of the door. Why the Metropolitan opera held premieres on a weeknight, he didn’t know, but thankfully, Will didn’t have any classes to teach at NYU that evening.
Riley texted Will on the way to his building. He came out to meet Riley after the town car pulled up. The driver held the door while Will slid inside and gave Riley a brief, warm kiss. “Hey, good to see you.”
“You, too.” They’d both been busy in the past few weeks and hadn’t been able to spend much time together. Riley smiled at him, struck again by Will’s high cheekbones and classic good looks. Riley hadn’t seen him in a tuxedo before, but he wore it well. “How was your day?”
“Mmm, faculty meeting this afternoon and most of my students seem to have spring fever, so I’m glad it’s over,” Will replied with an easy grin, his blue eyes brightening. “Getting better now, though. Yours?”
“Great, actually, and I’m looking forward to tonight.”
They kept the discussion light while the car crossed Manhattan, but Riley’s anxiety rose as they neared the Kennedy Center. He straightened his bow tie for the umpteenth time. Will set a hand on his thigh, the touch warm and heavy.
“Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” Will asked softly. “You seem jittery.”
“Of course.” Riley gave Will a reassuring smile. “I’ll admit I’m…anxious about how it will go, but I refuse to let anyone keep me from living my life. I love opera and I want to share that with you.”
That night was the gala premier of Giulio Cesare and Riley had spent the better part of a week debating if he should invite Will to be his date. Riley had done little socializing with anyone from his past since his abrupt coming-out the previous November and subsequent divorce from his now ex-wife Alex. The possibility of seeing his parents was nerve-racking. Even worse was the thought of seeing his former best friend, Carter, and Carter’s wife, Kate. Carter had been shocked by Riley’s coming out and Riley’s confession that he loved Carter had driven a wedge between them. Riley hadn’t had any contact with Kate and, other than a brief and awkward run-in during the holidays at Serendipity when Carter had been out with the kids, Riley hadn’t seen Carter, either.
Will knew enough about his past that he wouldn’t be caught off-guard if an awkward situation arose, but that didn’t make it any easier. The thought of Will and Carter in the same room caused his anxiety to rise.
In the three months Riley and Will had been seeing each other, Will had more than lived up to Riley’s first impression of him. Not only gorgeous, he was thoughtful and well-read. Patient, too, while Riley shook off the hang-ups from his past and struggled to figure out the new path he was on. In fact, he’d been more than patient.
Although they’d been intimate in every other way, Riley hadn’t reached a point where he was ready to let Will penetrate him or vice versa. Will assured Riley he shouldn’t feel rushed and reminded him some men never wanted anal sex, but, still, it bothered Riley. They’d decided not to see other people, but sometimes Riley held Will at arm’s length when he should have been pulling him closer. Taking him to the opera tonight was one way to include Will in another part of his life. He genuinely cared for Will and thought maybe, in time, he could fall for him.
Riley could hardly say he was over Carter, but thoughts of Carter had grown less and less frequent. As time passed, the acute pain of losing him had faded to a dull ache. Time certainly did heal wounds, but, unfortunately, it did nothing to lessen the feeling that something important was missing from his life.
“I’m glad you invited me,” Will said, bringing him back to the moment.
Riley smiled warmly at him. “I’m glad you were willing to come. I don’t think my ex-wife will be there—she really only bothered with the events here to network—but I can’t promise anything. Let’s just hope we can make it through the night without any drama.”
“If there is, we’ll either ignore it or cut out early.” Will shrugged and slid his hand a little higher. He leaned in to whisper in Riley’s ear. “No matter what happens, the night can end in my bed with your dick in my mouth and you coming so hard you see stars.”
“Promises, promises,” Riley teased, his voice more breathless than he intended. He closed his eyes for a brief moment as Will feathered kisses against his jaw, then glanced at the driver in front of him. He was grateful for the man’s discretion and that he hadn’t once glanced at them in the rearview mirror. Although finally at ease with showing affection with Will in public, Riley didn’t want to make the driver uncomfortable.
Will pulled back when the car slowed to a stop and Riley looked up in surprise, realizing they were already in front of the Lincoln Center. He stepped onto the sidewalk and waited for Will to follow, nodding at a few people mingling outside the entrance whom he recognized. He couldn’t resist a peek at the fountain, half-expecting to see Carter standing beside it. But the familiar silhouette was nowhere in sight, so he turned back to Will.
“Still nervous?” Will asked quietly as they walked through the lobby, with its endless red-carpeted floors and the mid-century Sputnik-style chandeliers that had been a gift from the Austrian government.
“A little,” Riley replied. “Mostly trying not to think too much about your comment in the car. I’m afraid these pants don’t hide much.” He grinned wryly wry and Will laughed.
“Sorry.”
“As long as you follow through, I have no complaints.” Riley’s grin faded when they stepped into the cocktail reception. He glanced around anxiously. To his relief, the only familiar faces in sight were distant acquaintances and he and his date were able to get a drink and mingle. People stared, of course—he’d expected that—and there were a few who gave him and Will a suspiciously wide berth, but frankly, it went better than he’d anticipated.
Riley had just begun to relax when he spotted his parents. His good mood immediately plummeted, replaced by an increasing tightness in his chest. “That’s my parents ahead,” he murmured. “Brace yourself.”
The woman standing next to his mother noticed him. “Oh, look, Geneva, it’s Riley.” Her tone held a nasty note, as if she merely wanted to make a jab at his mother. Riley didn’t know Helena Finch well but enough to remember she was someone who should be aware of the current situation. Perhaps she disliked his mother, or maybe she just wanted to catch a bit of the gossip. He smiled thinly when he approached them, hoping for Will’s sake that the typical Porter-Wright way of handling difficult situations would hold out tonight. Ignoring the situation and acting politely in front of company sounded good to him.
“Will, this is Jonathon and Geneva Porter-Wright.” He nodded to his parents. “Jonathon, Geneva, this is William Martin.” He didn’t see any point in elaborating on Will’s part in his life. “Will’s a law professor at NYU.”
His mother nodded frostily and his father put out his hand. The gesture seemed hesitant and begrudging.
“Nice to meet you both.” Will’s tone came across as polite, but there was little of his usual warmth.
“Likewise.” His father didn’t try to hide his disdain.
A rotund gentleman who looked as if he might pop the buttons on his jacket at any moment held out his hand to Will. “Marcus Finch. I went to NYU law myself back in the day.”
Riley glanced at his mother, but she wouldn’t meet his eye. Outwardly, she appeared cool and composed, but Riley would bet agitation churned under the surface.
Helena gave Riley a knowing smile. “And Will is here with you? How interesting.” Her voice dripped with innuendo.
“We’ve been seeing each other for a while.” Riley kept his tone polite but cool. “On top of being a law professor, Will is a writer. We have a great deal in common.”
Will made small talk with Marcus while Riley remained silent.
“It appears they’re seating for dinner,” Geneva said after a few minutes, her voice brittle. “Come, Jonathon, we should find our seats. Nice seeing you, Marcus and Helena. Riley. Mr. Martin.” She disappeared before they could reply and Riley made polite excuses to the Finches. He and Will found their table, grateful to end the encounter. His parents would make sure their paths didn’t cross again that evening.
Riley didn’t relax until dinner had concluded and Will followed him to his box for the beginning of act one. He took a seat next to Will, relieved that dinner had been calm and uneventful.
“I’m glad you came with me tonight,” Riley told him with a smile. Will briefly touched Riley’s knee.
“I am, too.”
The final knot of worry in Riley’s chest dissipated and he got comfortable, eager to see the production. Unfortunately, the good mood only lasted until intermission.
Riley and Will were enjoying the champagne and dessert when a blonde in an ice-blue dress crossed his field of vision. Riley tensed at the sight of Kate Hamilton. He glanced around, trying to be casual as he searched for Carter, but found him nowhere in sight. Riley frowned. The crowd was thick, but Carter stood tall enough to be seen in any group. Perhaps he was in the restroom or had stepped outside to take a call. Kate headed toward him, although she hadn’t made eye contact yet.
Riley set down his champagne glass, his hands suddenly nerveless and clumsy when Kate spotted him. Her eyes went wide and she came to an abrupt stop. “Riley.”
“How are you, Kate?”
“I’m fine.” Her smile seemed automatic, forced. Riley paused, really looking at Kate. She appeared to have lost weight and her normally bright eyes and smile were dimmer than usual. Although beautifully made up as always, something was off.
“Will, I’d like to introduce you to Kate Hamilton, a good friend of mine. Kate, this is Will Martin, law professor, writer and my date this evening.”
The corners of Kate’s mouth briefly tightened before she smiled at Will and held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Will.”
“Likewise.” Will, in turn, appeared relaxed and comfortable. Clearly, whatever was obvious to Riley wasn’t to someone who had never met Kate before.
“Are you as big of a fan of opera as Riley is?” Kate asked.
Will grinned. “I’m not sure anyone’s as big of a fan as Riley, but I do enjoy it.” Will brushed his fingertips across Riley’s back. “I’m glad he wanted to share it with me.”
“Oh, I’ve been known to give Riley a run for his money,” Kate said lightly.
A little more warmth appeared in her eyes, but she still seemed off and Riley turned to Will, laying a hand on his arm.
“Would you get me another glass of champagne? I’d like a moment to talk to Kate, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Will reassured him.
“Thank you. I’ll try not to be long.” Riley squeezed Will’s arm.
“Take your time. I’ll be over by the bar when you’re done.” He nodded at Kate. “Very nice to meet you, Kate.”
“You, too.”
Will left with a smile and Riley felt grateful for his understanding. He turned back to Kate, growing serious. “Are you sure everything’s okay? You don’t seem…” He wasn’t sure how to finish. Kate seemed unhappy, stressed. “Is it that Carter’s around and you’re worried about us running into each other?”
She shook her head. “No. Carter’s…Carter’s not here with me.”
Kate’s fingers trembled as she smoothed them over her pale blue dress and, although it took him a moment, Riley finally registered what was wrong with the picture. A faint stripe of lighter skin adorned the third finger of her left hand instead of the glittering diamond ring Riley had carried in the breast pocket of his tux the morning of Carter’s wedding. He wanted to ask her about it but realized there were too many people around. “Can we talk? Privately?”
She nodded, the motion tense and jerky. Riley steered them toward a secluded alcove, reminded of the night he and Carter had discussed finding a woman to join them. It seemed like it had been a lifetime ago, rather than just over a year. “What’s going on, Kate? I know you well enough to know you’re not okay.”
She let out a shaky breath. “Riley, a lot has happened since we last saw each other.”
He bit back a disbelieving laugh. “I’m well-aware.”
Her expression softened. “I know. You’ve been dealing with…well, more than any man should. I’m sorry to hear about your parents. They’re completely out of line.”
“It wasn’t unexpected.”
“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”
“And what about you? Is something going on with you and Carter? I noticed you aren’t wearing your ring.”
She glanced down at her left hand with a wistful glance. “Carter and I are separated. We’re in the process of filing for divorce.”
Riley blinked at her. “You what? Christ, what happened, Kate?”
The sad smile was trained on him, her tone gentle, but the words barbed. “You came out.”
Blanching, Riley tried to make sense of what she’d said. “I don’t understand.”
Her gaze remained unflinching, but her voice became so quiet he could barely hear it. “Carter told me the truth, Riley. The girls in college, the escort…your feelings for him.”
The news hit him like a ton of bricks. “I’m so fucking sorry, Kate.” His voice grew raw. “We never meant to—”
“I know. But it hurts deeply to know my husband and a man I considered a good friend betrayed me that way.” Kate’s voice shook. Riley saw the strain on her face as she struggled to keep it together. She looked away and he gave her a moment to compose herself before she continued. “How long, Riley?”
“What do you mean?”
“How long have you loved him?”
“Since college,” he admitted. “Probably since the moment I met him.”
She shook her head and dropped her voice to a whisper. “The whole time. Long before Carter and I met.”
Riley swallowed, his throat suddenly tight.
“How could you let him marry me?” she continued. “How could you stand beside him at the altar and hand him the ring when you loved him?”
“Because I truly believed it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t tell him how I felt—I could hardly even admit it to myself. He loved you—he really did—and I thought if he married you, the feelings I had for him wouldn’t matter. Asking Carter to divorce you to be with me last November was out of line. I shouldn’t have done it, but I couldn’t cope with hiding my feelings for him anymore. I thought he needed to know the truth. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love Carter, but I understand he doesn’t feel the same way about me. I know that now.” His voice sounded strained, even to him. “I wish it hadn’t taken the end of both our marriages and our friendship to prove that, though.”
“Me, too.” She stared him straight in the eye. “You know, he’s been a wreck since then, Riley. And when he ran into you before New Year’s, he became so depressed. He barely slept or ate—he just…wasn’t himself. He couldn’t live with the lies anymore and it all fell apart after that.”
“It kills me to know I hurt both of you.” He looked down, unable to meet her gaze. “I’ve come to terms with the fact I’ve lost Carter. I’m moving on now. Figuring out my life.”
“And Will?”
“We’re seeing each other. I care about him, but we’re—we’re taking things slow. He doesn’t know the exact details, but he knows there’s someone else I still have feelings for.”
“As long as you’re being honest with him.”
“I am.” Riley shoved his hands in his pockets. “I won’t live a lie like that again. I never should have done it in the first place.”
“I think the worst part is, I didn’t know I was,” Kate said softly, tears shimmering in her eyes. “I think somewhere deep down, I knew there was something between you and Carter, but I truly didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to believe the happy marriage and family were real.”
“Carter loves you and the kids. I know he does,” he whispered, his voice raw. “There are so many things I wish I’d done differently. Hurting you and the kids…I hope you know how much I regret it. Although I hoped Carter would want to be with me, I don’t think I ever believed he’d leave you. I know he didn’t want to tear apart your marriage or your family.”
“We can’t always predict the outcome of these things.” She laid a hand on his forearm, her smile wistful. “Besides, you coming out may have precipitated this, but it became inevitable. Once Carter stopped being honest with me, this was bound to happen. I am so, so angry at both of you, but I am trying to understand it. I can’t imagine what keeping your feelings a secret must have been like. Maybe once the hurt passes, I’ll be able to forgive you.”
He nodded, his heart aching. “It’s more than I deserve.”
Before she could reply, the lights dimmed briefly, indicating intermission had ended. She offered him a small, sympathetic smile. “I need to head back to my seat, but, Riley, I’m glad we talked.”
“So am I. Take care of yourself, Kate.”
“You, too.”
He stood staring after Kate until someone gently touched his upper back. He turned to see Will staring at him with a worried frown.
“Are you all right?” Will asked.
Riley shook his head to clear it. “Yeah. We should get back to our seats, though.”
Will nodded and fell into step beside him, his gaze worried. Riley couldn’t blame him. The conversation with Kate had completely thrown him and he knew he was acting oddly. He needed some time to process it.
Throughout the second half of the performance, Riley felt grateful for Will’s silent presence. He hadn’t asked Riley to explain, had merely sat beside him and laid a comforting hand on his knee. Riley didn’t know what to think of the conversation with Kate. Despite having wanted Carter to end his marriage, the news that Kate and Carter were no longer together felt like an unexpected blow. It would be difficult to come to terms with his partial responsibility for it. He’d never wanted to hurt Carter or Kate and his heart ached for Sadie and Dylan.
He instinctively wanted to reach out to Carter and see if he needed to talk, but Riley wondered if Carter would welcome it or not. Would he blame Riley for the end of his marriage? Was there any hope of repairing their friendship?
Texas Fall by RJ Scott
Chapter 1
Jack was happy. He had a soft beer buzz going, and he was with his horses. The only thing that could make things better was if Riley was with him, but he wasn’t going to pull Riley out of the party just to keep Jack company. On the other hand, he wasn’t moving inside any time soon. He had enough finger food to last him a few days wrapped in a napkin, and he didn’t need to go back in unless there was some kind of natural disaster. Parties and Jack Campbell-Hayes did not mix; even New Year’s was something he avoided. Not that he was introverted, it was just the whole entire family was here—every single one of them—and they all wanted to talk to him about one thing or another. When Max had decided it was too chaotic and disappeared with Carol into his sensory room, Jack had wanted to go as well.
“You can’t hide the whole night,” Riley said from behind him. Jack turned to face his husband, leaning back against the stable door and waiting for the lecture. Riley was happy as a pig in shit right in the middle of it all: juggling babies, catering, socializing, and hell, everything that Jack was avoiding right about now. “People asked where you were,” Riley added.
Riley sure looked good tonight, his blond hair just this side of bed-head spiky, his long legs in black pants, the dark green shirt so perfect against his warm skin tones, and his hazel eyes sparkling with enthusiasm for life. Sexy. Very sexy, all toned and slim and hard and hot. Jack cleared the thoughts of kissing the life out of Riley from his head. He’d need all his faculties to deal with Riley when he knew damn well Riley wanted him to go back inside and host the party.
Anyway, he was suspicious that anyone really worried where he’d gone. “Who asked?”
Riley stepped right up into his space, close enough so that Jack could inhale the scent of his man. The combination of familiar citrus was underscored by deeper notes of mulled spices from the kitchen and some punch concoction Eden had made.
“Actually, no one asked,” Riley admitted. “Josh mentioned that he was impressed you’d lasted an hour.”
Jack huffed a laugh. He was surprised his brother hadn’t come out and hidden right next to him. Seemed that enjoying socializing skipped the male Campbell line entirely.
“So,” Jack began slowly. “What are you doing out here?”
Riley placed his hands on Jack’s hips, then slid his fingers through belt loops to tug Jack away from the door and flush up to him.
“I was asking myself,” he explained, “just where would my husband be when it’s only ten at night and he was looking for peace. I tried everywhere.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Jack’s lips, then smiled down at him, that few inches in height he had just enough to force Jack to lean his head back a little. “Actually that’s a lie. I looked in the twins’ room, checked in on Max, then came here.”
“Is Max okay?”
“Carol is keeping an eye on him. He doesn’t get why all these people are here and it’s all a bit much for him, but he’s okay.”
“And the twins? Did Connor still look restless?”
“Connor was fast asleep.”
“And what about Lexie—”
“Lexie was sleeping too, so I came out here and I found you.”
Jack twisted his fingers together behind Riley’s head and brushed his erection against Riley’s. It didn’t seem like they were in each other’s company more than ten seconds and Jack was already turned on. Thank God Riley appeared to have the same problem.
“What we gonna do?” Jack asked. He had plenty of ideas, the best of which involved rope and the barn and a whole lot of lube.
Riley slanted his head and kissed Jack thoroughly, never taking his hands from Jack’s belt and never moving. When they separated for air, Riley was smirking. Jack knew exactly what his husband was going to say. He wanted him back inside in that hell called the New Year’s Eve party.
“No,” Jack protested immediately.
“Two hours, Jack, just two hours. Go in, be all kinds of sociable, and as soon as the clock strikes twelve, you can come back out.”
“Riley—”
Riley silenced Jack with a finger pressed to his lips. He leaned close and whispered, “Two hours is all, Jack, you can manage that, and if you’re a good boy…” Jack couldn’t hold back the laugh at that point as Riley waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“What do you plan on doing as my reward?”
Riley leaned in for one last kiss, then turned smartly on his heel.
“For you to find out,” he threw over his shoulder. “You have five.”
Jack turned back to pet Solo Cal, who butted him and whuffed on his hand.
“God save me from being sociable,” Robbie muttered as he joined Jack at the stable as soon as Riley disappeared. “If I have to dance once more…” His tone threatened payback, and Jack imagined Eli was still hogging the small dance area that everyone had made in the marquee off the kitchen, little more than a few tables pushed to one side. Eli and Riley, along with Marcus, Eden, and Hayley, had been dancing like they were on uppers.
“You bring beer?” Jack asked.
Robbie handed over a cold one and gestured to the three more under his arm. “Thought I’d drag these ones out.”
“I’ve already had Riley out here telling me I should be inside. I give it five before Eli does the same to you.”
Robbie muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a string of curse words along with Eli’s name. He held out his hand to Solo Cal and received the same chuff of attention that Jack had. Jack’s horses loved Robbie, the quiet man with the strange mix of Aussie and American in his accent. The day Jack’d taken him on had been a good one and now that Robbie had Eli, his staying was permanent. In fact, he had a stake in the D’s horse training and breeding program. Jack couldn’t wish for a better right-hand man.
As Jack could have predicted, another cowboy soon appeared at their side.
“Jesus Christ,” Liam cursed and joined them in the stable. Without words, Robbie gave him a beer, and Liam downed half of the bottle in long swallows. Only then did he talk. “Tell me again where Marcus gets all his damn energy?”
Jack shrugged. “Same place as Riley and Eli, it seems.”
“Cowboys shouldn’t be indoors,” Liam pointed out. “Ain’t natural.”
“It’s not natural,” Robbie corrected.
“That’s what I said,” Liam agreed.
Jack glanced over at the latest addition to the D. Liam was still looking a bit on the thin side, and he had perpetual worry written into his expression. Didn’t matter that he had a boyfriend and that he and Marcus were close. He hadn’t truly found his peace yet and still held the anxiety from the attack in the barn heavy on his shoulders.
It didn’t help that the mail between Christmas and New Year’s had held a letter with a court appearance date. Twenty-sixth of January was the day Liam would be facing his attacker. Didn’t matter that Yuri Fensin had admitted his part in the attack, this was wider than that. Liam had passed enough evidence to have Hank Castille in the dock as well for the abuse Liam had suffered at the man’s hand when he was younger. A lot hinged on Liam’s testimony and that of a couple other witnesses, all boys as young as Liam or younger.
So yeah, the weight of it was on Liam, and he looked tired. He was still working long days, putting in his hours, making a home with Marcus in the apartment over the barn. Of the three of them standing there, he was the one who didn’t need to be in a place where people danced and expected a body to be smiling all the time. He needed something else.
“Liam,” Marcus said from the door. Jack sighed inwardly. His quiet place was getting busier than the party. “You okay?”
Liam turned to face Marcus, and Jack couldn’t help but see the shine of emotion in Liam’s eyes or the serious expression on Marcus’s face.
“Thinking Liam and you should have your own New Year’s,” Robbie suggested.
Marcus nodded and held out a hand that Liam took. “Is that okay, Jack?”
Jack frowned. What did it have to do with him? Never mind Marcus was looking for his permission and Liam really needed the support. “Get off before Riley catches you,” he joked. Liam and Marcus left quickly. Now there was only the two of them left—and Jack’s five minutes were up.
“Keep my fence warm,” he muttered. After knocking shoulders with Robbie, he went indoors and into the chaos that was a family celebration. He’d done worse. Once he’d spent fourteen hours with a pregnant mare in distress. He could do this.
Riley wasn’t exactly watching for Jack. Not really. It just happened that whenever Jack walked into a room, Riley was aware of exactly when it happened. Somehow he always looked over at the moment Jack was looking for him. Time stopped for a second, One Direction faded into the background, as did Hayley’s laughter with her cousins and Eli and Eden twirling in some mad parody of a tango; everything faded.
Every single damn time Riley looked at Jack, his heart hitched and emotion choked him.
Mine. I love him and he’s mine, and he’s the other half of me, and everything. Yeah, it didn’t make much sense, this overwhelming surge of ownership, of affection and need, but it was all it took for Riley to cross over and steal a heated kiss right there in front of the entire family. When he pulled back, Jack was smirking that infuriating laconic cowboy smile and his blue eyes shone with emotion. Dressed from head to toe in black, pants, matching shirt shot through with silver, and that Texas belt buckle, he was edible and all Riley’s.
“You missed me?” Jack teased.
“No,” Riley said. “Just warming up for midnight. Let’s get beer.”
A party tent off the side of the kitchen extended the house for this get-together with God knows how many family and friends milling around. Riley knew his mom and dad were in there somewhere, clapping along to Hayley’s dancing, which in itself was a miracle. Sandra Hayes was the last person Riley ever imagined would clap along to anything. But where her granddaughter was concerned, all the Southern genteel charm was put to bed and instead out came the mad-eyed grandma who loved her grandchildren. She’d never have the natural warmth that Donna exuded, but she was trying hard and she had a special connection to Hayley that Riley loved to watch.
The two men picked up beer, or rather, Jack did; Riley still had a cold fear about what would happen if they both got drunk. Although Jack didn’t ordinarily get drunk and neither did Riley, he wanted one of them to be entirely sober in case the twins needed them, or Max or Hayley. He opened a can of Sprite, and the icy-cold bubbles felt good on his tongue. He finished it off as he joined in with a heated debate about whether Brad was hotter than Angelina. Jack wandered off again, but this time it was just to stand with his brother and sister-in-law and their kids.
Logan was growing up, and he was looking an awful lot like his Uncle Jack. With the requisite floppy hair over one eye, he was a good-looking kid, and Riley couldn’t fail to notice Hayley looking over at Logan every so often. She still had that crush on her cousin, but Logan was three years older and headed for college in a year or so. Riley didn’t like to admit it, but he hoped to hell Hayley got over it. Not because he didn’t like Logan, Logan was a good kid, but Riley just wasn’t ready for Hayley to be dating anyone, let alone her kind-of-cousin.
“You look awfully serious, big brother.” Eden smiled up at him, and he pulled her into his side. Sean wasn’t there that night, but Eden didn’t seem too fazed by that. The couple had moved to a better place slowly but surely, and although Riley still had a few small reservations over Sean, he could see his sister was happy. For that Sean got a million brownie points.
“Just counting my blessings,” Riley answered. She cuddled in close and wrapped her arms around his waist, and Riley didn’t want to let her go. He had to eventually, especially when she wriggled, which was the only way she could get out of one of her brother’s bear hugs. She looked well, happy, her little black dress and strappy heels both covered in soft glitter. Riley glanced down at himself and the smattering of glitter he now had on his shirt.
“Your fault,” she said, and with a grin, she left.
He didn’t have time to think about how he was going to remove the glitter when Hayley ran to him and clung to him, asking him to go with her. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but he could see the emotion in his daughter’s eyes. She was close to crying, and as soon as he followed her into the good room, those tears began to fall. Riley sat on the sofa and pulled her into his arms. She was such an itty-bitty thing, and she needed a hug. She held him so tight and she was sobbing, her slim form shaking in his hold. Riley’s heart split in two.
“What happened, sweetie?” he asked when her crying had settled to a few hitched breaths.
“It’s Logan,” she began.
Riley’s chest tightened. Hayley’s big crush was obvious to everyone. Had Logan done something? Had he hurt Hayley? He was a good kid, but that didn’t mean Riley wouldn’t flatten him if he’d upset her. Jack would just have to understand; after all, this was their daughter and daughter trumped nephew. The daddy side of him wanted to call Logan out, the sensible adult side of him was trying to be patient.
“What happened?”
“He’s… he’s… g-got a girlfriend.” Hayley managed to get the words out before sobbing into Riley’s shirt, and Riley held her as his little girl’s heart broke into a million pieces. He stroked her long blonde hair and back. He felt powerless, but he knew this was only the first of so much that Hayley would be experiencing, and it wasn’t like a skinned knee or strep, he was helpless here.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said gently as he stroked her back, marveling at the softness of her hair and her scent and the very wonder of holding his teenage daughter in his arms. She still loved them at the moment; she hadn’t reached that point where a father’s love would be replaced by the angst of teenage years or the love of another male.
“I’m so stupid,” she said. “He’s at a school with girls, and I’m stuck at mine.”
Hayley being at a school with just girls was a bone of contention between Hayley and her dads. She loved it there, she was safe, she had friends, and Riley had gone to an all-boys school for a short while and it hadn’t done him any harm. But she wanted a boyfriend, and she’d set her sights on Logan.
“He’s older than you,” Riley began quietly. He wasn’t entirely sure how that was going to go. She’d either snap at it by saying Logan wasn’t too old, or she’d understand where he was coming from.
“I know,” she said so softly that Riley could barely hear her. “But when I’m older, when I’m bigger and sexy and have boobs, then he’ll be sorry.”
Riley nearly choked on a combination of a laugh and groan. He almost felt sorry for Logan. Hayley reminded him of Eden in so many ways, so utterly convinced of her journey through life, so focused. But even though he tried to be the hands-on dad, listening to what his daughter said, he still couldn’t get his head around talking about Hayley and her boobs.
“Hey, guys,” Jack said. He’d clearly been sent in for more beer if the empties in the box he was holding was anything to go by. The spare beer was piled in crates in the corner, most of it left over from Robbie and Eli’s housewarming debacle. He set the box down and came to sit next to Riley. Hayley shuffled a little so she could place a hand on Jack’s arm. “What’s up?” he asked carefully.
“Logan has a girlfriend,” she said. At least now she had stopped crying.
“Aww, baby, I’m sorry,” Jack said. He knew she had a crush on his nephew, but Riley guessed his husband didn’t imagine it went as deep as this. Neither of them were experts on girls, not really. They just listened to their hearts and tried for the best. She sniffed one last time, then pushed herself up and away from Riley. She cried very prettily, another thing she got from Lexie and Eden, clearly. Her brown eyes were wide and her lashes wet and spiky, and she didn’t have any of that red-faced blotchiness Riley suffered with whenever he got emotional.
With enough drama to fulfill all of next week’s quota, she suddenly inhaled sharply and flailed off of Riley’s lap clutching at her face.
“I need to find Eden to fix my makeup. Love you, Dad. Love you, Pappa.”
Then the whirlwind that was Hayley left the room. Riley looked at Jack, and Jack returned the look.
“Hayley is wearing makeup?” Jack asked.
“Just some lip gloss and blusher,” Riley answered, “just for tonight. She asked me if it was okay. I tried to make it look like I was cool with it.”
Jack grinned. “I love that you did that.”
Riley couldn’t help sounding defensive. “Eden asked me if it was okay. It can’t hurt, right?”
Jack leaned into Riley and chuckled. “You are so easy.”
Riley smacked him, then pressed a kiss to the same place. “Up and at ’em, cowboy. We have socializing to do.”
“I’m not moving.” Jack settled back on the sofa, and Riley straddled him.
He leaned in and whispered, “You, me, barn, my mouth on you, my cock in you, lube. Now get your ass up.”
“Jack, where’s the be— Jesus, guys… get a room.” Josh stood at the door, arms over his chest. “We have a beer emergency out there.”
Jack ignored his brother and stared into Riley’s eyes. “I’m holding you to that, Riley.”
Riley smirked, then rolled up and off Jack. Whistling, he sauntered past Josh, deliberately patting Josh on the chest. Josh dramatically rubbed at the place Riley touched him.
“Eww, gay cooties. Jack, get your man off me.”
Riley left the brothers laughing. Trouble was, whispering all that in Jack’s ear had him imagining doing those things right the fuck now.
He’d basically screwed himself over.
Way to go, Riley. Idiot.
Jack was happy. He had a soft beer buzz going, and he was with his horses. The only thing that could make things better was if Riley was with him, but he wasn’t going to pull Riley out of the party just to keep Jack company. On the other hand, he wasn’t moving inside any time soon. He had enough finger food to last him a few days wrapped in a napkin, and he didn’t need to go back in unless there was some kind of natural disaster. Parties and Jack Campbell-Hayes did not mix; even New Year’s was something he avoided. Not that he was introverted, it was just the whole entire family was here—every single one of them—and they all wanted to talk to him about one thing or another. When Max had decided it was too chaotic and disappeared with Carol into his sensory room, Jack had wanted to go as well.
“You can’t hide the whole night,” Riley said from behind him. Jack turned to face his husband, leaning back against the stable door and waiting for the lecture. Riley was happy as a pig in shit right in the middle of it all: juggling babies, catering, socializing, and hell, everything that Jack was avoiding right about now. “People asked where you were,” Riley added.
Riley sure looked good tonight, his blond hair just this side of bed-head spiky, his long legs in black pants, the dark green shirt so perfect against his warm skin tones, and his hazel eyes sparkling with enthusiasm for life. Sexy. Very sexy, all toned and slim and hard and hot. Jack cleared the thoughts of kissing the life out of Riley from his head. He’d need all his faculties to deal with Riley when he knew damn well Riley wanted him to go back inside and host the party.
Anyway, he was suspicious that anyone really worried where he’d gone. “Who asked?”
Riley stepped right up into his space, close enough so that Jack could inhale the scent of his man. The combination of familiar citrus was underscored by deeper notes of mulled spices from the kitchen and some punch concoction Eden had made.
“Actually, no one asked,” Riley admitted. “Josh mentioned that he was impressed you’d lasted an hour.”
Jack huffed a laugh. He was surprised his brother hadn’t come out and hidden right next to him. Seemed that enjoying socializing skipped the male Campbell line entirely.
“So,” Jack began slowly. “What are you doing out here?”
Riley placed his hands on Jack’s hips, then slid his fingers through belt loops to tug Jack away from the door and flush up to him.
“I was asking myself,” he explained, “just where would my husband be when it’s only ten at night and he was looking for peace. I tried everywhere.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Jack’s lips, then smiled down at him, that few inches in height he had just enough to force Jack to lean his head back a little. “Actually that’s a lie. I looked in the twins’ room, checked in on Max, then came here.”
“Is Max okay?”
“Carol is keeping an eye on him. He doesn’t get why all these people are here and it’s all a bit much for him, but he’s okay.”
“And the twins? Did Connor still look restless?”
“Connor was fast asleep.”
“And what about Lexie—”
“Lexie was sleeping too, so I came out here and I found you.”
Jack twisted his fingers together behind Riley’s head and brushed his erection against Riley’s. It didn’t seem like they were in each other’s company more than ten seconds and Jack was already turned on. Thank God Riley appeared to have the same problem.
“What we gonna do?” Jack asked. He had plenty of ideas, the best of which involved rope and the barn and a whole lot of lube.
Riley slanted his head and kissed Jack thoroughly, never taking his hands from Jack’s belt and never moving. When they separated for air, Riley was smirking. Jack knew exactly what his husband was going to say. He wanted him back inside in that hell called the New Year’s Eve party.
“No,” Jack protested immediately.
“Two hours, Jack, just two hours. Go in, be all kinds of sociable, and as soon as the clock strikes twelve, you can come back out.”
“Riley—”
Riley silenced Jack with a finger pressed to his lips. He leaned close and whispered, “Two hours is all, Jack, you can manage that, and if you’re a good boy…” Jack couldn’t hold back the laugh at that point as Riley waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“What do you plan on doing as my reward?”
Riley leaned in for one last kiss, then turned smartly on his heel.
“For you to find out,” he threw over his shoulder. “You have five.”
Jack turned back to pet Solo Cal, who butted him and whuffed on his hand.
“God save me from being sociable,” Robbie muttered as he joined Jack at the stable as soon as Riley disappeared. “If I have to dance once more…” His tone threatened payback, and Jack imagined Eli was still hogging the small dance area that everyone had made in the marquee off the kitchen, little more than a few tables pushed to one side. Eli and Riley, along with Marcus, Eden, and Hayley, had been dancing like they were on uppers.
“You bring beer?” Jack asked.
Robbie handed over a cold one and gestured to the three more under his arm. “Thought I’d drag these ones out.”
“I’ve already had Riley out here telling me I should be inside. I give it five before Eli does the same to you.”
Robbie muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a string of curse words along with Eli’s name. He held out his hand to Solo Cal and received the same chuff of attention that Jack had. Jack’s horses loved Robbie, the quiet man with the strange mix of Aussie and American in his accent. The day Jack’d taken him on had been a good one and now that Robbie had Eli, his staying was permanent. In fact, he had a stake in the D’s horse training and breeding program. Jack couldn’t wish for a better right-hand man.
As Jack could have predicted, another cowboy soon appeared at their side.
“Jesus Christ,” Liam cursed and joined them in the stable. Without words, Robbie gave him a beer, and Liam downed half of the bottle in long swallows. Only then did he talk. “Tell me again where Marcus gets all his damn energy?”
Jack shrugged. “Same place as Riley and Eli, it seems.”
“Cowboys shouldn’t be indoors,” Liam pointed out. “Ain’t natural.”
“It’s not natural,” Robbie corrected.
“That’s what I said,” Liam agreed.
Jack glanced over at the latest addition to the D. Liam was still looking a bit on the thin side, and he had perpetual worry written into his expression. Didn’t matter that he had a boyfriend and that he and Marcus were close. He hadn’t truly found his peace yet and still held the anxiety from the attack in the barn heavy on his shoulders.
It didn’t help that the mail between Christmas and New Year’s had held a letter with a court appearance date. Twenty-sixth of January was the day Liam would be facing his attacker. Didn’t matter that Yuri Fensin had admitted his part in the attack, this was wider than that. Liam had passed enough evidence to have Hank Castille in the dock as well for the abuse Liam had suffered at the man’s hand when he was younger. A lot hinged on Liam’s testimony and that of a couple other witnesses, all boys as young as Liam or younger.
So yeah, the weight of it was on Liam, and he looked tired. He was still working long days, putting in his hours, making a home with Marcus in the apartment over the barn. Of the three of them standing there, he was the one who didn’t need to be in a place where people danced and expected a body to be smiling all the time. He needed something else.
“Liam,” Marcus said from the door. Jack sighed inwardly. His quiet place was getting busier than the party. “You okay?”
Liam turned to face Marcus, and Jack couldn’t help but see the shine of emotion in Liam’s eyes or the serious expression on Marcus’s face.
“Thinking Liam and you should have your own New Year’s,” Robbie suggested.
Marcus nodded and held out a hand that Liam took. “Is that okay, Jack?”
Jack frowned. What did it have to do with him? Never mind Marcus was looking for his permission and Liam really needed the support. “Get off before Riley catches you,” he joked. Liam and Marcus left quickly. Now there was only the two of them left—and Jack’s five minutes were up.
“Keep my fence warm,” he muttered. After knocking shoulders with Robbie, he went indoors and into the chaos that was a family celebration. He’d done worse. Once he’d spent fourteen hours with a pregnant mare in distress. He could do this.
* * * * *
Riley wasn’t exactly watching for Jack. Not really. It just happened that whenever Jack walked into a room, Riley was aware of exactly when it happened. Somehow he always looked over at the moment Jack was looking for him. Time stopped for a second, One Direction faded into the background, as did Hayley’s laughter with her cousins and Eli and Eden twirling in some mad parody of a tango; everything faded.
Every single damn time Riley looked at Jack, his heart hitched and emotion choked him.
Mine. I love him and he’s mine, and he’s the other half of me, and everything. Yeah, it didn’t make much sense, this overwhelming surge of ownership, of affection and need, but it was all it took for Riley to cross over and steal a heated kiss right there in front of the entire family. When he pulled back, Jack was smirking that infuriating laconic cowboy smile and his blue eyes shone with emotion. Dressed from head to toe in black, pants, matching shirt shot through with silver, and that Texas belt buckle, he was edible and all Riley’s.
“You missed me?” Jack teased.
“No,” Riley said. “Just warming up for midnight. Let’s get beer.”
A party tent off the side of the kitchen extended the house for this get-together with God knows how many family and friends milling around. Riley knew his mom and dad were in there somewhere, clapping along to Hayley’s dancing, which in itself was a miracle. Sandra Hayes was the last person Riley ever imagined would clap along to anything. But where her granddaughter was concerned, all the Southern genteel charm was put to bed and instead out came the mad-eyed grandma who loved her grandchildren. She’d never have the natural warmth that Donna exuded, but she was trying hard and she had a special connection to Hayley that Riley loved to watch.
The two men picked up beer, or rather, Jack did; Riley still had a cold fear about what would happen if they both got drunk. Although Jack didn’t ordinarily get drunk and neither did Riley, he wanted one of them to be entirely sober in case the twins needed them, or Max or Hayley. He opened a can of Sprite, and the icy-cold bubbles felt good on his tongue. He finished it off as he joined in with a heated debate about whether Brad was hotter than Angelina. Jack wandered off again, but this time it was just to stand with his brother and sister-in-law and their kids.
Logan was growing up, and he was looking an awful lot like his Uncle Jack. With the requisite floppy hair over one eye, he was a good-looking kid, and Riley couldn’t fail to notice Hayley looking over at Logan every so often. She still had that crush on her cousin, but Logan was three years older and headed for college in a year or so. Riley didn’t like to admit it, but he hoped to hell Hayley got over it. Not because he didn’t like Logan, Logan was a good kid, but Riley just wasn’t ready for Hayley to be dating anyone, let alone her kind-of-cousin.
“You look awfully serious, big brother.” Eden smiled up at him, and he pulled her into his side. Sean wasn’t there that night, but Eden didn’t seem too fazed by that. The couple had moved to a better place slowly but surely, and although Riley still had a few small reservations over Sean, he could see his sister was happy. For that Sean got a million brownie points.
“Just counting my blessings,” Riley answered. She cuddled in close and wrapped her arms around his waist, and Riley didn’t want to let her go. He had to eventually, especially when she wriggled, which was the only way she could get out of one of her brother’s bear hugs. She looked well, happy, her little black dress and strappy heels both covered in soft glitter. Riley glanced down at himself and the smattering of glitter he now had on his shirt.
“Your fault,” she said, and with a grin, she left.
He didn’t have time to think about how he was going to remove the glitter when Hayley ran to him and clung to him, asking him to go with her. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but he could see the emotion in his daughter’s eyes. She was close to crying, and as soon as he followed her into the good room, those tears began to fall. Riley sat on the sofa and pulled her into his arms. She was such an itty-bitty thing, and she needed a hug. She held him so tight and she was sobbing, her slim form shaking in his hold. Riley’s heart split in two.
“What happened, sweetie?” he asked when her crying had settled to a few hitched breaths.
“It’s Logan,” she began.
Riley’s chest tightened. Hayley’s big crush was obvious to everyone. Had Logan done something? Had he hurt Hayley? He was a good kid, but that didn’t mean Riley wouldn’t flatten him if he’d upset her. Jack would just have to understand; after all, this was their daughter and daughter trumped nephew. The daddy side of him wanted to call Logan out, the sensible adult side of him was trying to be patient.
“What happened?”
“He’s… he’s… g-got a girlfriend.” Hayley managed to get the words out before sobbing into Riley’s shirt, and Riley held her as his little girl’s heart broke into a million pieces. He stroked her long blonde hair and back. He felt powerless, but he knew this was only the first of so much that Hayley would be experiencing, and it wasn’t like a skinned knee or strep, he was helpless here.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said gently as he stroked her back, marveling at the softness of her hair and her scent and the very wonder of holding his teenage daughter in his arms. She still loved them at the moment; she hadn’t reached that point where a father’s love would be replaced by the angst of teenage years or the love of another male.
“I’m so stupid,” she said. “He’s at a school with girls, and I’m stuck at mine.”
Hayley being at a school with just girls was a bone of contention between Hayley and her dads. She loved it there, she was safe, she had friends, and Riley had gone to an all-boys school for a short while and it hadn’t done him any harm. But she wanted a boyfriend, and she’d set her sights on Logan.
“He’s older than you,” Riley began quietly. He wasn’t entirely sure how that was going to go. She’d either snap at it by saying Logan wasn’t too old, or she’d understand where he was coming from.
“I know,” she said so softly that Riley could barely hear her. “But when I’m older, when I’m bigger and sexy and have boobs, then he’ll be sorry.”
Riley nearly choked on a combination of a laugh and groan. He almost felt sorry for Logan. Hayley reminded him of Eden in so many ways, so utterly convinced of her journey through life, so focused. But even though he tried to be the hands-on dad, listening to what his daughter said, he still couldn’t get his head around talking about Hayley and her boobs.
“Hey, guys,” Jack said. He’d clearly been sent in for more beer if the empties in the box he was holding was anything to go by. The spare beer was piled in crates in the corner, most of it left over from Robbie and Eli’s housewarming debacle. He set the box down and came to sit next to Riley. Hayley shuffled a little so she could place a hand on Jack’s arm. “What’s up?” he asked carefully.
“Logan has a girlfriend,” she said. At least now she had stopped crying.
“Aww, baby, I’m sorry,” Jack said. He knew she had a crush on his nephew, but Riley guessed his husband didn’t imagine it went as deep as this. Neither of them were experts on girls, not really. They just listened to their hearts and tried for the best. She sniffed one last time, then pushed herself up and away from Riley. She cried very prettily, another thing she got from Lexie and Eden, clearly. Her brown eyes were wide and her lashes wet and spiky, and she didn’t have any of that red-faced blotchiness Riley suffered with whenever he got emotional.
With enough drama to fulfill all of next week’s quota, she suddenly inhaled sharply and flailed off of Riley’s lap clutching at her face.
“I need to find Eden to fix my makeup. Love you, Dad. Love you, Pappa.”
Then the whirlwind that was Hayley left the room. Riley looked at Jack, and Jack returned the look.
“Hayley is wearing makeup?” Jack asked.
“Just some lip gloss and blusher,” Riley answered, “just for tonight. She asked me if it was okay. I tried to make it look like I was cool with it.”
Jack grinned. “I love that you did that.”
Riley couldn’t help sounding defensive. “Eden asked me if it was okay. It can’t hurt, right?”
Jack leaned into Riley and chuckled. “You are so easy.”
Riley smacked him, then pressed a kiss to the same place. “Up and at ’em, cowboy. We have socializing to do.”
“I’m not moving.” Jack settled back on the sofa, and Riley straddled him.
He leaned in and whispered, “You, me, barn, my mouth on you, my cock in you, lube. Now get your ass up.”
“Jack, where’s the be— Jesus, guys… get a room.” Josh stood at the door, arms over his chest. “We have a beer emergency out there.”
Jack ignored his brother and stared into Riley’s eyes. “I’m holding you to that, Riley.”
Riley smirked, then rolled up and off Jack. Whistling, he sauntered past Josh, deliberately patting Josh on the chest. Josh dramatically rubbed at the place Riley touched him.
“Eww, gay cooties. Jack, get your man off me.”
Riley left the brothers laughing. Trouble was, whispering all that in Jack’s ear had him imagining doing those things right the fuck now.
He’d basically screwed himself over.
Way to go, Riley. Idiot.
Helena Stone can’t remember a life before words and reading. After growing up in a household where no holiday or festivity was complete without at least one new book, it’s hardly surprising she now owns more books than shelf space while her Kindle is about to explode.
The urge to write came as a surprise. The realisation that people might enjoy her words was a shock to say the least. Now that the writing bug has well and truly taken hold, Helena can no longer imagine not sharing the characters in her head and heart with the rest of the world.
Having left the hustle and bustle of Amsterdam for the peace and quiet of the Irish Country side she divides her time between reading, writing, long and often wet walks with the dog, her part-time job in a library, a grown-up daughter and her ever loving and patient husband.
Mary Calmes lives in Lexington, Kentucky, with her husband and two children and loves all the seasons except summer. She graduated from the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California, with a bachelor's degree in English literature. Due to the fact that it is English lit and not English grammar, do not ask her to point out a clause for you, as it will so not happen. She loves writing, becoming immersed in the process, and falling into the work. She can even tell you what her characters smell like. She loves buying books and going to conventions to meet her fans.
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.
When she's not writing you can find her blogging away on Diverse Reader, her review and promotional site. She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.
If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she'd tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you're afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.
Bestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called "the Agatha Christie of gay mystery."
Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Josh is married and they live in Southern California.Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
K. Evan Coles is a mother and tech pirate by day and a writer by night. She is a dreamer who, with a little hard work and a lot of good coffee, coaxes words out of her head and onto paper.
K. lives in the northeast United States, where she complains bitterly about the winters, but truly loves the region and its diverse, tenacious and deceptively compassionate people. You’ll usually find K. nerding out over books, movies and television with friends and family. She’s especially proud to be raising her son as part of a new generation of unabashed geeks.
K.’s books explore LGBTQ+ romance in contemporary settings.
Brigham Vaughn
Brigham Vaughn is on the adventure of a lifetime as a full-time writer. She devours books at an alarming rate and hasn’t let her short arms and long torso stop her from doing yoga. She makes a killer key lime pie, hates green peppers, and loves wine tasting tours. A collector of vintage Nancy Drew books and green glassware, she enjoys poking around in antique shops and refinishing thrift store furniture. An avid photographer, she dreams of traveling the world and she can’t wait to discover everything else life has to offer her.Her books range from short stories to novellas. They explore gay, lesbian, and polyamorous romance in contemporary settings.
To stay up to date on her latest releases, sign up for the Coles & Vaughn Newsletter.
RJ Scott
RJ Scott is a USA TODAY bestselling author of over 140 romance and suspense novels. From bodyguards to hockey stars, princes to millionaires, cowboys to military heroes to every-day heroes, she believes that love is love and every man deserves a happy ending.
Helena Stone
EMAIL: helenastoneauthor@gmail.com
Mary Calmes
BLOG / NEWSLETTER / FB FRIEND
EMAIL: mmcalmes@hotmail.com
Davidson King
EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com
Josh Lanyon
SMASHWORDS / iTUNES / SHELFARI
EMAIL: josh.lanyon@sbcglobal.net
K Evan Coles
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EMAIL: coles.k.evan@gmail.com
Patience by Helena Stone
KOBO / iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY
But for You by Mary Calmes
Raven's Hart by Davidson King
Death of a Pirate King by Josh Lanyon
Calm by K Evan Coles & Brigham Vaughn
Texas Fall by RJ Scott
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