| Author: | Alex Jace | ISBN: | 9781311849694 |
| Publisher: | Alex Jace | Publication: | January 4, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords | Language: | English |
| Author: | Alex Jace |
| ISBN: | 9781311849694 |
| Publisher: | Alex Jace |
| Publication: | January 4, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords |
| Language: | English |
Late one winter night, Rich is stunned when his one-time teenage crush Parker knocks on the door of his isolated farmhouse in the middle of a blizzard. Parker is bruised, hypothermic, and refusing to explain why he needs refuge after five years of silence.
Rich offers him shelter from the storm. His little farmhouse is an island of warmth in a stark coastal wilderness hammered by the winter weather. But with Rich’s feelings for Parker fiercer than ever, and Parker already hurt, Rich is going to have to protect Parker - from Rich himself.
5000-word MM erotic romance. First in a series.
Excerpt:
In the morning, Rich padded down the stairs, yawning and rubbing his eyes, only to stop dead on the bottom stair.
The pale light of winter filtered hazy through the iced-over panes of the little window in the kitchen. Dust motes danced above the flagstones. Parker glowed in the gentle light that haloed him, picking out the gold of his hair, the dark blue of his eyes. Parker had clearly not realised Rich was there, and he looked so irresistible in this unguarded moment that it hit Rich in the stomach until Rich could barely take a breath.
Parker was making bread on the kitchen island, his fair head bent over his work, kneading the dough with his strong hands. He was covered in flour to the elbows; there were streaks of it on his temples, as though he had run his fingers through his ruffled gold hair.
Rich indulged himself in an idle fantasy. He would slip into the warm space at Parker’s side and Parker would kiss him good morning. Rich would like those clever hands all over him, flour and all. Parker would pin him against the counter, big and strong, shutting out the light… Rich’s stomach tightened and he had to stop himself there.
Rich must have made a sound on the bottom step, because Parker’s eyes snapped up to his. It seemed to take a moment for Parker to realise that it was only Rich, but then Parker relaxed. “I’m sorry. I meant to ask you if I could cook, but I didn’t want to wake you. I used your flour. And your milk. And your coffee. And your—”
“It’s fine,” Rich interrupted. “Help yourself.”
Parker’s tension eased into a smile, slow and sweet. Rich wondered if that smile would ever stop tugging his heart. “Can I make you breakfast?” There was something hopeful in Parker’s expression.
Late one winter night, Rich is stunned when his one-time teenage crush Parker knocks on the door of his isolated farmhouse in the middle of a blizzard. Parker is bruised, hypothermic, and refusing to explain why he needs refuge after five years of silence.
Rich offers him shelter from the storm. His little farmhouse is an island of warmth in a stark coastal wilderness hammered by the winter weather. But with Rich’s feelings for Parker fiercer than ever, and Parker already hurt, Rich is going to have to protect Parker - from Rich himself.
5000-word MM erotic romance. First in a series.
Excerpt:
In the morning, Rich padded down the stairs, yawning and rubbing his eyes, only to stop dead on the bottom stair.
The pale light of winter filtered hazy through the iced-over panes of the little window in the kitchen. Dust motes danced above the flagstones. Parker glowed in the gentle light that haloed him, picking out the gold of his hair, the dark blue of his eyes. Parker had clearly not realised Rich was there, and he looked so irresistible in this unguarded moment that it hit Rich in the stomach until Rich could barely take a breath.
Parker was making bread on the kitchen island, his fair head bent over his work, kneading the dough with his strong hands. He was covered in flour to the elbows; there were streaks of it on his temples, as though he had run his fingers through his ruffled gold hair.
Rich indulged himself in an idle fantasy. He would slip into the warm space at Parker’s side and Parker would kiss him good morning. Rich would like those clever hands all over him, flour and all. Parker would pin him against the counter, big and strong, shutting out the light… Rich’s stomach tightened and he had to stop himself there.
Rich must have made a sound on the bottom step, because Parker’s eyes snapped up to his. It seemed to take a moment for Parker to realise that it was only Rich, but then Parker relaxed. “I’m sorry. I meant to ask you if I could cook, but I didn’t want to wake you. I used your flour. And your milk. And your coffee. And your—”
“It’s fine,” Rich interrupted. “Help yourself.”
Parker’s tension eased into a smile, slow and sweet. Rich wondered if that smile would ever stop tugging his heart. “Can I make you breakfast?” There was something hopeful in Parker’s expression.
