Bonds of Denial
Bonds of Denial
By Lynda Aicher
Book five of Wicked Play
It’s been twenty years since Rockford Fielding’s father punished him for kissing another boy. Now a grown man with a military career behind him, Rock continues to deny his true desires, even while working security at The Den, the most decadent sex club in town. But after a year of watching gorgeous Carter Montgomery come and go on the arms of other men, Rock can no longer resist the cravings he’s denied for so long.
Carter has just four months left on his contract with an escort agency, and he doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or afraid. Being an escort is all he knows. Adding to his confusion is the way his latest client, the sexy but stoic Rock, makes him feel things he hasn’t wanted in years.
One charmingly awkward date turns into two and soon the men are meeting off the clock. But with Rock in the closet and Carter unsure how to pursue a real relationship, how can they build a future both in and out of the bedroom?
89,000 words
Dear Reader,
My vow to you is to not mention the holiday that starts with a
V
in this letter for the February releases. If you’re like me, you’re probably on holiday overload after all of the winter festivities, and you wish you could just blank out all of those advertisements for diamonds and chocolates and fancy dinners. Of course, if someone wanted to buy
us
any of that, that would be okay…
Instead, let me tell you about the sometimes-romantic and sometimes-not lineup of books we have for you this month! Fans of Alison Packard’s
The Winning Season
will be glad to know that JT and Angie’s story releases this month. Look for sparks to fly in
Catching Heat
. Author Christi Barth finishes up her Aisle Bound series with
A Matchless Romance
. You won’t want to miss this playful story about a sexy gamer who just needs a beautiful Chicago matchmaker to help him see how hot he really is.
Also in the contemporary romance category is
Party Girl
by Tamara Morgan, following up her well-reviewed romance
The Derby Girl
. When a good-time party girl meets a backwoods hermit, the only thing bigger than their differences is their attraction. Fan favorite Inez Kelley joins the contemporary romance offerings this month with smoking-hot lumberman Jonah Alcott, who wants to do more than fight with gorgeous mountain activist Zury Castellano in
The Place I Belong
.
Lynda Aicher brings her trademark sizzle to a new erotic romance story in her Wicked Play series. In her first male/male romance,
Bonds of Denial
, security nerd Rockford Fielding finally finds a man worth coming out of the closet for, but Carter Montgomery has to move past his own insecurities before they can claim a future they both thought was impossible.
Opium addict and Victorian bounty hunter Cherry St. Croix is back again in Karina Cooper’s
Tempered
. Dragged to a neglected estate and forced to dry out, Cherry tries on the role of helpless Gothic heroine—and tumbles headlong into danger when she takes to meddling in her family’s alchemical history instead.
Returning to Carina Press with a new series is Eleri Stone with the first book in her new paranormal romance series. In
Reaper’s Touch
, Jake and Abby work together to find a cure for the infection that turns men into flesh-eating monsters. We’re also welcoming back Jody Wallace with her newest paranormal romance,
Witch Interrupted
. Wolf shifters heal from tattoos as if they were never inked, so why is the same sexy wolf back in Katie’s tattoo parlor for more? And last but not least in the paranormal romance category, we’re also pleased to bring back Victoria Davies and her newest novella
Demon by My Side
. When a tempting demon prince crashes into her life, a demon hunter struggles to figure out who she can trust and one wrong move will cost her not only her heart but the safety of the human world as well.
Concluding her wonderful epic fantasy series, Shawna Thomas wraps up with
Journey of the Wanderer
in which to save Anatar once and for all, Ilythra must risk everything she loves.
But with every ending there’s a new beginning, and we’re happy to welcome male/male romance author A.M. Arthur to the Carina Press team. A reformed troublemaker meets his match in an inexperienced bookworm when what was supposed to be a casual relationship starts to look a lot like love in
No Such Thing
.
And we’re happy to introduce debut author Holly West. Holly delivers a fascinating, well-plotted historical mystery, the first in a new series. In
Mistress of Fortune
, Isabel Wilde, a mistress to King Charles II who secretly makes her living as a fortune-teller, is threatened when one of her customers is murdered after revealing a conspiracy to kill the king and the diary of her illicit activities as a soothsayer goes missing, a page of which turns up in the dead man’s pocket.
Coming in March: look for the newest installment in Marie Force’s Fatal series!
Here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Editorial Director, Carina Press
This one is for all of my readers, family and friends who have followed me on this journey. Thank you. That’s a pretty small statement for the feelings behind it. I hope you all get that.
Damn it. He didn’t want to fuck tonight.
But he had to.
Carter Montgomery shifted his car into Park and took a moment to let go of the resentment as he waited for the valet to open his door. Anger was pointless when there was nothing to be done about it. He rolled his head, pulled his shoulders back and exhaled. The stretch eased the tightness that threatened to morph into a major tension headache. He definitely didn’t need that tonight.
A waft of frigid wind gusted into the warm interior with the opening of the car door. “Evening, sir,” the lanky valet said, voice clipped and efficient, cheeks tinged pink from the cold.
Carter gave a warm smile as he stepped out and handed over the keys. He let the last of his frustration slip away with the action. “Thank you.”
He tucked his scarf into his coat, smoothing it down against his suit jacket beneath. The covered area offered protection from the flurry of snowflakes that had been falling since late afternoon, and the heat lamps warded off the icy air that was known to freeze nose hairs in a second. Minneapolis could be brutal in January for those who weren’t used to it. Having lived in the land of ten thousand lakes for the last twelve years, it didn’t bother him. Complaining about the weather was a useless waste of energy, much like being angry over his job.
The hotel was on the high-end of the luxury scale, which was what he’d come to expect. This particular hotel was a favorite of one of his regulars. Large enough for a person to remain anonymous and classy enough to be discreet, even if the staff suspected something. Proof that money could buy privacy.
He kept his hands deep in the pockets of his wool trench coat, his chin up as he made his way through the sleek lobby to the bank of elevators. An inconspicuous check in the line of mirrors along the wall confirmed he looked good, as did the appreciative glances from a cluster of women standing to the side.
The short wait for the elevator gave him time to send a quick check-in text to the agency. He scrolled through the text messages, confirmed the information he’d already memorized, silenced the ringer and slipped it into his inside suit pocket as the elevator doors slid open.
It’d been over three years since he’d walked blind into an engagement, but it was far from his first. That didn’t dispel the small knot of tension that sat low in his stomach. His client was an unknown, which meant his evening was too. He’d gotten comfortable with his select list of regulars. A list he’d worked seven years to cultivate and nurture. He knew exactly what to expect with each one.
Tonight was a clean slate that could go anywhere. He had to admit there was an element of excitement in that aspect.
He expelled a long breath, adjusted his coat collar and used the rest of the short ride to settle into the right mental space. He could usually classify a client within moments of meeting, based on appearance, visible nerves, room setup and the first words spoken. It was his job to adjust accordingly.
Most people didn’t get the art and challenge of what he did. He didn’t rise to the top of his field by providing a one-size-fits-all service. The true work was in being whatever each client wanted him to be. Shy, confident, submissive, dominant, talkative, quiet—that was him. Anyone could fuck. He was a fantasy come true.
And in order to be that, he needed to be at the top of his game. He’d deal with his
irritation with the agency later.
The fact that this client had specifically requested Carter and hadn’t flinched at his rate suggested he was referred by someone. But who? None of his regulars had said a word to him and the agency hadn’t supplied the information, if they knew it.
The pricey hotel indicated the client had both money and influence, but it didn’t say squat about personality, appearance or desires.
The elevator doors swished open and he stepped into the ammonia-scented hallway. He unbuttoned his coat, popped a breath mint, checked the room numbers and followed the industrial brown-print carpeting to his destination.
* * *
The goddamn neck on Rockford’s shirt was too fucking tight. It felt like a noose, pulling snug against his windpipe, blocking his air and suffocating him in a slow, miserable death. Maybe it was a sign, a warning that this was a horrible idea.
But that’d been obvious since the moment he’d picked up the phone and booked the night.
Rockford Fielding tugged on the collar and stretched his neck to relieve the sensation, but it didn’t help. Logically, he knew it was fine. He hadn’t spent nine hundred dollars on a custom-fitted suit and shirt to have it be too small. The problem was it’d been six years since he’d had to wear anything formal, and then it was only his dress greens.
Yeah, he could tell himself that.
He spun around, scrubbed a hand over the prickly bristles of his freshly buzzed hair, then froze as he caught the action. His nostrils flared, chest expanding with the harsh inhalation. This meeting was fucking nuts.
He dropped his hand and stalked to the large windows that lined the far end of the room. Without thought he fell into the modified military rest position—the one that’d been trained into him since he could stand. The clutch of his right hand around his left wrist behind his back was in many ways soothing. This he knew, and his body responded accordingly. Shoulders flexed back, chin lifted, abs contracted, weight balanced on spread feet and last, his attention focused.
The shallow light of the two desk lamps cast enough glow to display his reflection in the black depth of the window, but he didn’t concentrate on that. There was nothing there he wanted to see.
Especially not the reminder of why this night was so wrong.
White flakes of snow fell in swirling puffs, pushed around by the wind. There was a chance his appointment would cancel. The roads weren’t really bad by Minnesota standards, but it could be a legitimate excuse. A part of him actually hoped the man wouldn’t show. Then he could walk away and pretend the night never happened.
And nothing had happened—yet. Nothing had to happen either. It was just a dinner.
He’d had many meals with other men in his thirty-four years of life. There was nothing wrong with two men eating together. But he’d never had dinner alone with a paid escort.
He swallowed through the constriction that turned his throat desert dry. It wasn’t the dinner. It was the intent behind the meeting that had him fumbling.
No one would know. Ever. That was the whole point.
This was safer than hooking up with a stranger in a back alley behind a bar. The thought had him zeroing in on the puckered line that marred his face in an arc from the corner of his brow to his jawline. As it was indistinct in the window reflection, he could almost pretend it
didn’t exist. However the reminder couldn’t be wiped away so easily.
Sweat dampened the back of his shirt, but he didn’t break position. The heater kicked on. The low rumble was followed by a rush of warm air across his neck, cheek and almost-bald head. A small shiver chased down his spine, but he absorbed it without moving. He counted the beats of his heart that thumped too hard, and took long, slow breaths.
Still his mind wandered. Back to the image that had caught his attention the first time it crossed one of his many computer screens. He’d seen thousands of people through the cameras that monitored almost every corner of The Den. Witnessed almost as many acts of dominance, submission, sadomasochism and sex between every imaginable pairing of partners, from solo to groups.
But none of it had held his interest until Carter Montgomery had walked through the club’s doors.
The instant attraction was unexplainable, as was the burn that had built over months of watching the man through the distant lens offered by technology. Once a month for over a year, Carter had visited The Den. Always a guest of the same member. Always dressed in classy yet comfortable clothing. No G-strings, leather, leashes or nudity for him.
Always in tune to the man he was with. Attentive. Laughing. Touching.
But there were those moments when he thought no one was watching. Those seconds when the facade fell and the stark loneliness invaded his crystal-blue eyes. It was always gone in a blink, his smooth exterior flashing back to the front before his companion noticed.
Rock saw it though. He understood it. Maybe for different reasons and harbored from vastly different sources, but the emptiness was the same.
Carter wasn’t the first gay man to enter the club—far from it. Nor were the two men the first same-sex couple to be open and demonstrative within the safety that membership to the exclusive sex club provided. After more than six years of working security at The Den, there was no definitive reason Rock could pinpoint as to why Carter was the first man to hold his attention, but Carter did.
It was a curse he’d tried to ignore. An inconvenience he wouldn’t acknowledge. A desire he’d shunned until he’d finally caved.
He hadn’t defined if it was a positive or negative that Carter turned out to be a friend of Tyler’s from when he’d worked at the same escort agency. But this last piece of information had pushed him to make this appointment.
He knew everything about Carter that could be found electronically. Rock’s computer hacking skill had made retrieving the data easy. The personal tie via Tyler had somehow validated the idea and dispelled the many reasons against this meeting.
Carter was a gay male escort. The perfect solution to Rock’s problem. A match made not in heaven but in economics and practicality.
If he could go through with it.
The sharp rap at the door shot through the room to spear him through the back. The flinch was uncustomary, as was the acceleration of his heart rate. He closed his eyes, inhaled and turned around. He didn’t, however, move toward the door.
Time ticked by in silent clips of last-minute indecision. Opening the door would be a conscious decision. Not a random act excused by alcohol and disguised under darkness. It was a choice…to have dinner.
Dinner.
The knock sounded again. Three quick raps that were efficient but not impatient.
He tugged on the lapels of his suit jacket, cocked his head to either side in a last-attempt to release the tension, then strode toward the door.
He’d been many things in his life, including a chicken—there was no contesting that. But dinner he could do. Anything after that he would tackle when the time came.
