The Bohemian and the Banker

by Bonnie Dee

  Nigel stopped worrying and overthinking and relaxed into Jay’s care. He could trust his lover not to hurt him beyond what he could bear. And, as it turned out, Nigel could bear quite a bit of pain and like it.

  Jay draped over his back and whispered in his ear, telling him the penetration would be best this way for the first time. His thick erection pressed into Nigel’s softened entrance, a little at first and then more and more until it seemed Nigel would be split in two by that great knob. But now his body accommodated the girth, welcomed it as it filled him so completely and touched someplace deep within him. Oh, this was good, stretching and burning a bit, but very, very good.

  Nigel groaned and clutched at the pillow beneath his head. He lifted his rear, begging for more, and whimpered in pleasure when Jay gave it to him. Hard and piercing yet gentle at the same time. How did the man do it?

  “All right?” Jay whispered near his ear.

  “Mm-hm.” Nigel nodded, too lost in sensation to think about forming words. But then he thought of one. “More.”

  Jay chuckled and pulled out, leaving Nigel’s body grasping for what was lost. But soon enough that amazing, thick cock pushed in again, thrusting and claiming Nigel. Once again the explorer had planted his flag in virgin territory.

  The rhythm built between them, a push-and-pull dance that grew faster as if silent music built to a frenzied pitch. By the end, flesh slapped together and both men grunted with each ramming thrust.

  Nigel had only expected to give Jay pleasure by surrendering to him in this way. He hadn’t counted on the growing ecstasy he himself would feel. It swelled and mounted and filled him until he trembled on the brink. When Jay cried out in climax, it was the last little push Nigel needed to spur him over the edge too. Together, they thrashed on the squeaky bed and groaned from the deep pleasure of their joining.

  Afterward, they lay jumbled together, breathing heavily, their bodies fused by sweat and seed. So close. Breathing in unison now as the last tremors died away. Nigel didn’t want Jay to move off him, to pull away. He would lie in this awkward position the rest of the night if it would prolong the moment.

  But eventually, they must part. Jay’s heavy weight on his back lifted as he rolled to one side. He tossed an arm above his head. His sweat-slicked chest rose and fell as he smiled at the skylight above them. “Now that was better than any French cuisine. Although I must admit my stomach is rumbling.” He dropped a hand to rub that flat belly above his spent cock.

  “I can cook,” Nigel volunteered. “Roger has taught me how to make pasta puttanesca. I fear I truly am turning into a bohemian.”

  “I can help you chop things,” Jay said, but neither made any move toward rising from the bed.

  After a bit, Nigel said, “I don’t mind it, you know.”

  “Mind what?”

  “All of it, including life in France. I thought I would hate it here, but it’s turned out to be quite a surprise, as so many things have in my life. I actually enjoy the cuisine and gladly trade beef Wellington for baguettes and whore’s pasta.”

  Jay smiled and reached out to stroke Nigel’s cheek with fingertips as light as feathers. “I’m glad. I have been worried about you, you know, afraid you’d become too homesick and want to return to England. And I would have had to go with you and live in a flat and sing at bad nightclubs because I couldn’t be apart from you again no matter what.”

  Nigel returned the smile. “Rest assured, I’m quite happy here, quite adjusted and content in our home. One day I may even be able to say and mean vive la France!”

  Jay threw back his head and laughed, that full-bodied chuckle that made it impossible for Nigel not to laugh too. Like two madmen, they chortled together in sheer joy. Who needed coca wine when love was so much more intoxicating?

  When Nigel had at last sobered a bit, he grasped Jay’s hand and moved it from his cheek to rest against his heart. “Well, one thing I can wholeheartedly say right now is viva l’amor. I love you, Jean Michel.”

  “And I love you, mon banquier.”

  About the Authors

  To learn more about Bonnie Dee go to www.bonniedee.com. Send an email to Bonnie Dee at bondav40@yahoo.com. Join her Yahoo! group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/bonniedee. Her Facebook address is www.facebook.com/people/Bonnie-Dee/1352577313 or you can follow her on Twitter: www.twitter.com/Bonnie_Dee.

  Summer Devon is the alter ego of author Kate Rothwell. To learn more about Kate/Summer, go to www.katerothwell.com or www.summerdevon.com.

  She has a blog: www.katerothwell.com and is on Facebook too: www.facebook.com/S.DevonAuthor. Yes, and Twitter as well: www.twitter.com/KateRothwell.

  Look for these titles by Summer Devon and Bonnie Dee

  Now Available:

  Fugitive Heart

  The Psychic and the Sleuth

  The Gentleman’s Keeper

  The Gentleman’s Madness

  Mending Him

  Look for these titles by Bonnie Dee

  Now Available:

  Finding Home

  Evolving Man

  Opposites Attract

  Blackberry Pie

  Heat Wave: print anthology

  Perfecting Amanda

  The Countess Takes a Lover

  The Countess Lends a Hand

  The Final Act

  The Valentine Effect

  Strangers in the Night: print anthology

  Empath

  Gifted: print anthology

  Butterfly Unpinned

  The Thief and the Desert Flower

  Star Flyer

  Fairytale Fantasies

  Cinderella Unmasked

  Demon Lover

  Awakening Beauty

  Sex and the Single Princess

  Magical Ménages

  Shifters’ Captive

  Vampires’ Consort

  Look for these titles by Summer Devon

  Now Available:

  Learning Charity

  Revealing Skills

  Taken Unaware

  The Knight’s Challenge

  Unnatural Calamities

  Taming the Bander

  Sibling Rivals

  As his world collapses, love opens his heart.

  Mending Him

  © 2014 Bonnie Dee and Summer Devon

  Robbie Grayson has always felt like a bit of an outsider in the Chester family, though he’s related by blood. An orphan taken in at a young age, he is further set apart by a limp inflicted by a childhood illness.

  Nevertheless, he’s content enough with his quiet country life—until a mercurial wastrel named Charles Worthington explodes into it. And Robbie is assigned to play nursemaid to an invalid with an attitude.

  Injured in a carriage accident, Charles arrives at the Chester estate drunk as a lord and with empty pockets. Despair consumes him as his broken body slowly heals, but the kindness of quiet, thoughtful Robbie saves him from drowning in self-pity.

  Over chess matches and conversation, these polar opposites challenge each other to break out of old patterns, until desire burns through the thin veneer of pure friendship. Yet their passion could destroy the family bonds they value so highly. Especially when someone catches wind of their relationship—and threatens blackmail.

  Warning: This book contains hot man-on-man lovin’ between not-quite kissin’ cousins.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Mending Him:

  County Durham, England, 1884

  Robbie limped quickly toward the carriage. For a moment, he took in the redheaded man’s features—the high-bridged hatchet of a nose that made an emphatic statement, a pair of brown eyes which sparkled in the sunlight, a wide mouth bracketed by deep grooves. He looked like a man who made it his business to smile and laugh often, and just looking at him made Robbie start to smile too
.

  Worthington gave another, stronger pull at the crutches tucked behind the seat, and that proved too much.

  Robbie reached up as if he’d be able to stop the inevitable fall. He didn’t of course.

  “Oh bugger this,” Worthington said and slowly toppled over the armrest and fell on top of Robbie.

  Robbie landed hard on the gravel, the weight of the long-limbed man crushing him down. He heard something in his shoulder click and was instantly filled with pain.

  Worthington yelped. “Damnation! I’ve killed you. Are you hurt?”

  Robbie wiggled and shouted, ready to bite the idiot if he didn’t get that weight off his shoulder, but the man on top of him didn’t stand up. Oh, that’s right, Robbie finally recalled. He couldn’t.

  Worthington dragged his great weight off by crawling, then settled with a rattle and crunch on the gravel next to Robbie.

  “’S your shoulder, boy. I hurt your shoulder,” Worthington said, sounding as if he was about to burst into tears. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “No of course you didn’t,” gasped Robbie. He closed his eyes and wondered if he might use an awful word to express his own vile pain.

  “Here, now, wait a moment. Wait now! I have it! I do. You, my own Forrester.” The drunk man’s shouts seemed to pierce Robbie’s already aching head. “You hold his body. Just there. Hold him tight. And I’ll just give a bit of a pull. Not a yank, no indeed.”

  “What the devil do you think you are doing?” Uncle Phillip came forward and entered the fray.

  “His shoulder. Poor mite’s got it dislocated. Located. I did that, sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to, I assure you. Lost my balance. Mr. Forrester, my man. Yes. Hold him still. That’s the way.”

  Forrester seemed to be taking orders from the man who reeked of brandy, for large arms in gray homespun suddenly wrapped around Robbie’s body.

  “That’s it,” the drunken fool cheered. “That’s the way.” He grabbed Robbie’s arm and, ignoring both Robbie’s cry of pain and Uncle Phillip’s shouts, pulled up and out and…

  Click. The agony ceased.

  Robbie could breathe again. Forrester let go of him a bit too soon, and he landed on his arse, but the pain had ended.

  Worthington, also on his bottom on the gravel, beamed at him. “All better, my boy? Here, now, you’re not a boy, though, are you? You are a man. With a relocated shoulder. Indeed.” He sounded absolutely delighted. “But don’t use that arm too much, all right? Alllll right. Maybe even a sling. Yes. That’s the very ticket. Get my friend Mr. Forrester to get you a sling.”

  Robbie took his time standing up. He grabbed hold of the carriage with his good arm to haul himself along.

  Uncle Phillip suddenly appeared to help, but by then, Robbie had regained his feet and had his cane again.

  Worthington smiled up at them both, a glorious white-toothed broad grin. He waved at Phillip. “So you must be my cousin Phillip! It has been a great many years. And this is your boy, young Bertie, or was it Samuel? Not yours, I think, for isn’t he too old? But never mind. Never mind. I say, I didn’t mean to injure your sons the moment I arrived.”

  “Cousin Charles, you are the worse for drink,” Phillip said coolly.

  “Why do you think they call it the worse?” Worthington turned to Robbie and asked conversationally, almost sounding sober. “I’d say it was the better. Except for you, poor Bertie. I landed on you because, yes, I am drunk.” His grin reappeared, then vanished. “But it isn’t merely that I imbibed too freely. I also am used to bracing myself just so with my feet. I raced in curricles and braced with my feet. You know? And I can’t. No indeed, I cannot. And so I fell. Boom. On top of you, poor, poor Bertie.”

  “I am Robert.”

  “Don’t like to be called Bertie, then?”

  Forrester had gotten the behemoth of a chair out of the carriage.

  “Ah, my miserable steed awaits,” Charles said. “Lend me a hand, Bertie?”

  “I am Robbie Grayson, Mrs. Chester’s nephew.” He wondered why it was so important that this singing drunken man know who he was. He reached down to help haul up Charles.

  “No, oh no! We forgot your arm.” He rolled his eyes, which were brown and large and remarkably clear. “Forget my own name next. You never mind. Forgive me. Cousin Phillip and my beloved Forrester, I shall have to beg for your help. Haul me onto the cursed chair, please. I might manage with those sticks, my crutches, but another time when the world is less spinning and dipping.”

  “Drunk,” Uncle Phillip muttered.

  “We can all agree that is my condition,” Charles said happily. “And I should apologize for appearing in such a state, but you see, I can’t walk.” As he settled into the chair, he hiccupped gently. “I drink to forget,” he said and then gave a hoot of laughter. “And then when I forget too much, I fall right over, boom, on poor unsuspecting boys. I mean men. Not boys, men, who are simply coming to my aid. Such a punishment for such chivalry, Bertie.”

  “I am Rob—”

  “Oh yes. I recall, and furthermore, I shall never again forget that you are Robbie, like our own dear Rabbie Burns. Robbie. I know you’re Robbie. Robbie, Robbie…” He sang out the name over and over. And then he started reciting a strange version of Burns’s poetry in that thick, drunk, magnificent voice. “A wee sleekit timorous Robbie mouse.”

  Robbie, arm aching and head a little thick, fully aware that his Uncle Phillip was in a foul temper, still found himself smiling at the strange new guest.

  “Perhaps that’s enough of a poetry recitation for now, Mr. Worthington. I’ll show him to his room, Uncle Phillip.” Robbie glanced at the big-eyed footman, Stewart, who was helping Forrester unload the luggage from the cart. Oh, they’d be talking below-stairs about this grand entrance for months to come.

  “Very well. And I’ll make certain your aunt isn’t too overcome.” Phillip glowered at his drunken cousin. “This will not do at all, Charles, if you intend to stay here. I have opened my home to you and am glad to do so, but such outrageous behavior is unacceptable.”

  “Yes, sir.” The chastened reply was punctuated by a loud hiccup that somewhat detracted from any sense of earnestness.

  Robbie ducked his head to hide his face while he struggled to fend off inappropriate laughter. He couldn’t push the chair one-handed, so Stewart took on that task, hard work over the lawn. Two footmen and Forrester had to haul the invalid up the several stairs into the house.

  Robbie led the way to the library where Worthington was to be installed for the duration of his recovery. “I’m sure you’ll find this much more comfortable than any of the bedrooms on the second floor. It can get a bit cold and drafty upstairs.” He spoke to cover the sudden silence of the sodden Charles, who, it appeared, might have passed out. At any rate, his chin rested on his chest and his hands were slack in his lap.

  “Thank you, Stewart,” Robbie said. “Will you be needing additional aid in dressing or getting in and out of bed, Mr. Worthington? I’m sure Stewart could help with anything you might need.”

  “Happy to, sir,” the footman piped up, probably hoping this might be a stepping stone to acting as a gentleman’s gentleman someday.

  Worthington lifted his head and squinted. “No. I’m able to get in and out of the chair and hobble around a bit by myself—when I’m not in my cups. Dashed foolish way to arrive on my cousin’s doorstep, cap in hand and squiffed.”

  Robbie lowered himself so his gaze was level with Worthington’s. “You mustn’t feel that way, you know, as if you had come begging. Uncle Phillip and Aunt Lenore are happy to have you. Truly. We all are. For as long as you should need or want to stay. You’ll find this is a comfortable home with a loving family. Your family, after all. So don’t hesitate to ask for anything you need.”

  There. He’d done his part, hopefully made poor drunken Charles feel a little more we
lcome. He felt odd making the speech he knew wasn’t really his place to give, but the man needed some sort of reassurance.

  Robbie awkwardly squatted in a cantilevered stance, fighting to keep his balance. His gaze locked with Worthington’s, and the man’s eyes appeared rather less bleary and unfocused. He frowned as he stared back at Robbie with eyes as brown as a polished teak desk. So dark and intent that Robbie dropped his gaze lest the other man see his sudden flare of attraction.

  The cruelest duel may not spill a drop of blood…but it could break their hearts.

  Enlightened

  © 2014 Joanna Chambers

  Enlightenment, Book 3

  Five months ago, David Lauriston was badly hurt helping his friend Elizabeth escape her violent husband. Since then, David has been living with his lover, Lord Murdo Balfour, while he recuperates.

  Despite the pain of his injuries, David’s time with Murdo has been the happiest of his life. The only things that trouble him are Murdo’s occasional bouts of preoccupation, and the fact that one day soon, David will have to return to his legal practice in Edinburgh.

  That day comes too soon when David’s friend and mentor takes to his deathbed, and David finds himself agreeing to take on a private mission in London. Murdo is at his side in the journey, but a shocking revelation by Murdo’s ruthless father leaves David questioning everything they’ve shared.

  As tensions mount and the stakes grow higher, David and Murdo are forced to ask themselves how far they’re prepared to go—and how much they’re prepared to give up—to stay together. And whether there’s any chance of lasting happiness for men like them.

  Warning: Men in love, men with secrets, and men armed with dueling pistols.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Enlightened:

  Murdo wouldn’t be happy about today’s events. He’d brought David to Laverock House to recuperate and was continually lecturing him about taking things easier. It was Murdo who’d arranged for the physician to come every few weeks to check how David’s leg was healing, and who’d instructed the kitchen to make up regular batches of David’s mother’s liniment recipe. Murdo who’d presented David with a new ebony cane with a silver derby handle to take on his walks.