Nothing but Smoke (Fire and Rain) (25 page)

The refusal shafted Kelly, and all the self-consciousness alcohol had kept at bay returned in a tidal wave. “You drive me crazy,” he said to Walter’s chest, because he couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Sweetheart, you’re drunk. Like, really drunk. If I let you do what you’re doing, you’ll hate me tomorrow, and I’m not going there.”

Some distant, wine-slogged part of Kelly acknowledged Walter was right, but that didn’t mean Kelly liked hearing it. “You think I’m a stupid dumb kid.” He just wanted Walter to kiss him, to push him onto the couch and…do stuff.

Walter drew Kelly in close and kissed his hair. “I don’t think you’re stupid. Or dumb. Or a kid.”

Could he stop being so reasonable and nice for a second? Kelly sank against his shoulder defeated. “I’m so confused.”

“I know, baby.”

Walter was stroking Kelly’s back, and his butt, and it felt so fucking good. “I want you to fuck me,” he whispered.

Though Walter stilled, he didn’t let Kelly go. “I want to fuck you too, baby,” he said at last. “But we can’t.”

He lost his heart once. Is it too damaged for love to find it again?

Against Reason

© 2014 Scarlet Blackwell

In the five years since the love of his life abandoned him at the altar, Jake Morgan hasn’t left his house. The locals in this small, English town have dubbed him “Mr. Havisham”, but he’s too preoccupied wrestling his demons to care about Dickensian comparisons.

Forced to admit he’s losing the battle to keep up his large estate alone, he reluctantly places an advert for help. The striking young man who answers his call shakes him to the core.

When Darius answers the ad for the position at the mysterious mansion, the bitter, lonely master of the house tugs at his heartstrings. Setting aside his own run of bad luck, Darius batters at Jake’s emotional walls with kindness and determination that defy all attempts to drive him away.

Just as tendrils of new love begin to intertwine, though, a terrible voice from the past intrudes. And threatens to drive Jake back into the shadows where Darius can never reach him.

Warning: “Great expectations” of steamy man-on-man action, mouldering wedding cake, and heartwarming romance.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Against Reason:

Rain ran down the window pane. The trees on the sweeping driveway were bowed under the weight of the wind. The knock at the door came again. Jake Morgan pressed his hand to the glass and craned his head down. He had already buzzed the main gates open. He knew who his visitor was. A tall man stood sheltering under the porch, shoulders hunched against the cold, smart in a black wool jacket, hands thrust in the pockets. He was young and dark-haired, but Jake couldn’t see his face. He stepped back from the window and sighed, closing his eyes. Was he going to ignore the stranger? What was the point in advertising for staff if he didn’t open the door when they came for the interview?

It wasn’t easy making even this little concession to the outside world, though, after so long. He dug his nails into his palms, fists clenched. He could do this. He could.

He turned, exited the room and took the stairs with measured steps. Pausing at the front door, he smoothed his hair back and tugged his sweater over his narrow hips. He could see the stranger’s silhouette through the frosted glass. It gave him palpitations.

He slid the bolts back at the top and bottom. He turned the key in the lock once, then locked it again. Turned it again, locked it again. Shit, not the counting, not now. What would the guy think? Once more he opened and locked the door before he mustered all his courage and self-control and stopped at three. Trying to slow his breathing, he unlocked the door a final time and swung it open.

The wind nearly buffeted him back. The stranger lifted his face eagerly in relief. Their eyes locked, and that troublesome heart of Jake’s, battered and broken and way beyond salvation, gave a curious little leap as he gazed upon the man’s face. His stomach lurched too. Warmth spread down toward his groin. He stepped back, blushing, confused as to what had just happened.

The man took it as an invite. He stepped inside and pushed the door shut, his gaze never leaving Jake’s. His eyes were a curious pale gold, fringed with lush lashes, mesmerising and intense. He dripped water onto the marble floor of the hallway as they stood weighing each other up in silence, eyes locked.

The stranger cleared his throat. He was a man of around thirty-five, the same height as Jake—six two—with a lean, worked-out body. He was lightly tanned, closely shaved and fine featured. Everything in proportion—nose, chin, mouth. Everything perfectly symmetrical, the classification for a beautiful person. He was beautiful, all right. There was no doubt about that. Jake felt like a wilting wallflower just looking upon him.

“I’m here for the interview,” the man said. He held out his hand. “Darius Harrison.”

Jake looked at it. All the touch he’d known in five years had been handshakes. To men who’d done work on his house or his garden or delivered items of furniture. He was reluctant even to commit to that. And now this man, offering his hand with its short, neat nails and long, slim fingers, seemed like he was offering something way more intimate than Jake could handle. The touch of his skin. Jake could barely breathe. He couldn’t do it, and yet he wanted it. He wanted it so much.

Hesitantly, he extended his hand, barely covering the short distance between them. Darius Harrison grasped it. His skin was cold and wet with rain, and despite this, it heated Jake’s blood to inferno proportions. He snatched his hand back and turned away, muttering, “You’re cold. Come through.”

He led Darius down the hall to the living room. A log fire blazed, the curtains firmly shut against the gloomy afternoon, lamps lit. He gestured to the stranger to take a seat near the fire under the circle of the brightest lamp—all the better to admire his beautiful face—and sat on the couch opposite him.

Darius unfastened his coat. He sat down and crossed one leg over the other, and Jake glanced at his shoes. He would deny he had OCD to anyone who asked, but he couldn’t explain away the little rituals he had. Shoes were important to him. They could make or break this interview. Darius Harrison wore shiny black leather brogues. They glistened with water and looked brand-new. They were sturdy and well fitted. He teamed them with black socks, his smart black pants exactly the right length.

Jake sat back, satisfied. Nice shoes, beautiful face and an impressive body. There was no way he could let this man work for him. None at all. His shoulders slumped in resignation and he searched for a polite way to dismiss the candidate with haste. What had he been thinking of, inviting complete strangers into his home after so long? More to the point, why was the only applicant an attractive man instead of a homely, nonthreatening woman who would mother him and make him apple pie?

He sighed and realised it had come out loud. Darius lifted a quizzical eyebrow. Jake coughed, straightened up in his chair. “Thank you for coming out on such a lousy day,” he said.

Darius inclined his head. He kept those golden eyes fixed on Jake, and Jake’s bones started to melt, his body overcome with languor. He crossed one ankle over the opposite knee, hiding his groin for fear he would soon get an erection.

“You know what the job entails?” he asked.

“Not really,” Darius replied. “Your advert was a little vague.”

“General…” Jake hesitated, appalled that he had been about to say
dogsbody
. It was hardly what he thought someone working for him would be. He merely wanted someone to take the monotony of cleaning and cooking from him and leave him with more time to…stew. “Handyman,” he finished. “Cooking, cleaning, odd jobs.”

Darius nodded.

“How are you at plumbing and electrics?”

“Not bad. My dad taught me a lot.”

This wasn’t what Jake wanted to hear. He had hoped Darius would say he couldn’t cook or that he didn’t know how to do anything as basic as changing a plug. He had expected it to be easy enough to dismiss him. Darius didn’t look like a domestic god, but if you believed him, then he was. Curse him.

“It would be five days a week,” he said. “Nine till five or eight till four. Something like that. Possibly more flexible if I want to eat late. Maybe evenings and weekends.” He hoped the weekends would be a deal breaker. Someone as blessed as Darius had to be out most Saturday nights chasing women.

“Sure,” Darius said. He looked relaxed, but those unsettling eyes were still searching Jake’s as though looking for the mysteries of his soul. The only mystery he would find would be a shattered man, unable to connect anymore with society.

“Do you have a driving license?”

“Yes.”

“I might ask you to pick up shopping. On occasion you might drive me. Those occasions will be rare. I don’t…” Jake stopped. He had no need to explain himself to this man, and Darius had no right to know, and yet Jake felt like he should say something. He bit his lip, ran a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture. “Are you from around here?”

“Yes.”

“Then you might have heard people talk about me in town.” Jake bowed his head, cheeks heating, feeling shame. People called him Mr. Havisham, a corruption of the character in
Great Expectations
. The woman who had been stood up on her wedding day and had left her house untouched since, haunting it still wearing her dress, endlessly broken. Jake had changed out of his wedding suit after a week, but it still hung in his closet five years later.

Nothing but Smoke

Daisy Harris

Sometimes good boys do bad things.

Fire and Rain, Book 3

Michael Larson considers himself one of the good guys. He recycles, eats mostly vegan, and volunteers. But one night, while on a jog through a Seattle park, he encounters a sexy man on a motorcycle he wants to be bad with.

Firefighter Nicky O’Brian barely has time to even think about a sex life. Between his job and caring for his critically ill mother, his only pleasures involve a few racy videos and occasional nighttime forays to find men willing to help him forget his troubles.

It was supposed to be a one-time, anonymous hookup—until fate intervenes and their mutual attraction blossoms into a furtive affair. Michael doesn’t date closeted guys, but for the haunted, lonely Nicky he makes an exception.

When Nicky’s mother takes a turn for the worse, Michael is forced to make a choice between idealism and compassion. And as Nicky’s needs spiral out of control, Michael realizes that a new set of ideals could be exactly what
he
needs to keep love in his life—for good.

Warning: Contains sex in the trees, sex in parked cars, and sex in other uncomfortable places. Tissues are required, because the ending will make you cry—and maybe make you want to call your Mom.

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

Cincinnati OH 45249

Nothing but Smoke

Copyright © 2014 by Daisy Harris

ISBN: 978-1-61922-172-7

Edited by Sasha Knight

Cover by Kanaxa

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: June 2014

www.samhainpublishing.com