SNOW ANGEL
Sharon Maria Bidwell
®
www.loose-id.com
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
* * * * *
This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable (Homoerotic sexual encounters, mild bondage, and forced seduction.).
Snow Angel
Sharon Maria Bidwell
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Loose Id LLC
1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924
Carson City NV 89701-1215
www.loose-id.com
Copyright © December 2006 by Sharon Maria Bidwell
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.
ISBN 978-1-59632-371-1
Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader
Printed in the United States of America
Editor: Lorri-Lyne Brown
Cover Artist: Croco Designs
Dedication
To the love of my life, always.
To Kathryn, for telling me about Helleborus niger and therefore providing the flower idea.
To Ally for being my ‘inspiration’ for this one, and to all the writers at Loose Id who kindly answered my questions, which enabled me to polish my story.
Three years ago ...
It was difficult to judge which emerged from Lenny’s pub first, though, all things considered, if he’d been stark naked, the chances were Dean’s erection would have led the way. His body followed naturally enough along with his groin and so did his grin. Nine was early for him to leave the pub these days, but he had a date. Fresh out of college, Dean looked forward to a few weeks grace, time to kill before starting his job working in his father’s garage. Many thought he’d deliberately chosen a college just far enough away that he had to find a house to share, rather than stay at home. That hadn’t been the only contributing factor, but he was honest enough with himself to accept it had been nice to be a young man free from the nest. No doubt, they presumed it had just been an excuse to live with four other guys so he could get drunk and pick up girls on the weekend. While his decision to return home to work in his father’s business surprised just about everyone else, he had always known exactly where he was heading and felt content with it. He was only taking these six weeks because his father insisted.
“Have fun this summer,” his father had said. “One last summer all to yourself. You’ve enjoyed them every year of your life up until now. Stay a kid for just a few more weeks. Don’t worry,” his father added. “I’ll make sure you put in extra time to make up for it.”
That was no threat ‑‑ more like a warning and an explanation. Dean knew very well that he would have to work extra time until he found his feet and fully understood the running of the business. Choosing to tinker around with the cars as soon as his father pronounced him old enough, he had to confess he’d never taken much notice when it came to running the business side of things. Although his dad tried to get him to direct his energies somewhere else, both of them knew his father wasn’t that downhearted. Deep down, he wanted Dean to take over the business one day. He just didn’t want his son to do it if his heart wasn’t in it, but he needn’t have worried. The only thing Dean hated about the garage was the paperwork. He grinned ruefully. Surely, by the time his father reached retirement age, he would finally have the hang of it. Of course, his dad hoped to drop down to part time before then, maybe even take early retirement. Yet, every time he talked about taking Dean’s mother abroad for long stretches before they grew too old to enjoy it, Dean couldn’t help but see the considering look that came into his father’s eyes. He couldn’t blame him. They both knew he lacked incentive when it came to the office side of the company. Some people exclaimed how miraculous it was that he ever went to college, not realising how insulting that sounded. He’d taken the requisite mechanical qualifications, of course, but when he said he also studied creative writing their faces turned blank.
He hadn’t done so bad with his education as everyone presumed. He had taken both a course he needed, and an additional course he wanted, with his family’s full support. Aside from the cars, the only interest he held was writing. He had even sold a few short stories and things looked promising for his first novel, but the type of stories he wrote weren’t exactly mainstream and the chances were, it would always remain a sideline. Still, Dean refused to call it a hobby. If you wrote for yourself or friends, it was a hobby. If you wrote with the intention of seeking publication, then it was work. As for his choice of main career, the truth was, he grew up around cars and his father’s business was no ordinary garage. No. They were of the vintage variety.
He thought of the collection of cars currently sitting in the garage. His father liked the Aston Martin ‑‑ probably some penile link to James Bond. Dean liked the Jaguar. The XK150 currently in the workshop was a beautiful soft blue colour, just like his eyes, and the mere thought of it made him practically shiver with pleasure. He would give anything to own it, but, though it wasn’t too pricey, he had a mortgage and besides, the owner wouldn’t part with it. The joke was, even if he was prepared to fork out the money, he hardly ever got a chance to drive as he walked to work. Still, running his hands over that car could almost give him as hard an erection as the thought of Stephanie. It wasn’t serious between them, just good sex. He meant Stephanie, of course, not the car. He laughed softly, bearing in mind that if anyone heard him, they would have thought he was nuts or someone untrustworthy. As to his current fling, that was no one else’s business. Stephanie had started to get what his mother would call a little kinky. As far as Dean was concerned, there was nothing wrong with a little kink between friends. She was the perfectly good reason why he walked out of Lenny’s pub sporting a hard-on that already had a lady’s name attached to it.
Speaking of a lady, Dean frowned slightly, narrowing his gaze. It wasn’t fully dark, but the nights were drawing in and in the gloom ahead ... Yes, he would recognise that hair anywhere.
Dean pursed his lips. If there was one thing he regretted about going away to college, it was that, due to lack of opportunity, nothing had ever happened between he and April Reid. Of course, in many ways, they’d both been too young then and it felt a little weird, seeing as they as good as grew up together. April and her family moved into the neighbourhood when she was just seven years old. Dean was four and so was April’s brother, Jay. By the time Dean was six and April was nine, he’d struggled with a well-developed crush. To this day, his mother would tease him as to how he would follow that Reid girl around like a puppy. He could only remember this vaguely, of course, not in the way his mother described it. What he could remember was that at the age of twelve April began to grow her hair and he fell in love with her all over again. The long, luscious, deep chestnut brown waves encompassed hints of auburn and even red mahogany in it. When he went off to college, it reached halfway down her back a
nd she suffered increasingly spiteful glares from the other girls, as well as winks and some not very respectful suggestions and propositions from the boys. Even back then, Dean possessed a larger build than many of the boys. He never kidded himself that part of the reason April let him hang around was because when he told other boys to show her respect, they listened.
Well, they weren’t school kids any longer and he hadn’t seen her in a long time. She walked at a leisurely pace down the street, probably heading towards home, her hips as narrow in her jeans as they had always been. As he approached her back, he cast his gaze down and then up. Her hair wasn’t quite as long ‑‑ she’d cut it to lie in a soft drape around her shoulders ‑‑ but it retained the same weight, and although he couldn’t tell in the poor light, he experienced little doubt it would be the same rich colour. Growing up, he dreaded the day she might go grey or start to colour it just for fun. That colour simply didn’t exist in a bottle, yet hardly seemed to have a right to exist in nature. He’d never had a chance to run his hands through it, and the heat of desire, egged on by his natural mischievousness, slid into his belly. His grin widened as he realised he was about to give into the urge and, not only that, he was going to cop a feel and steal a kiss into the bargain.
He intended to give her a slight warning, though. He didn’t want to frighten her out of her wits, so he swallowed to clear his throat, and, as he came up to her left shoulder, he reached out with his right hand and glided his fingers into the hair at the back of her head. He brought her to a halt at the same time as he growled out, “Say hello to an old friend.”
Giving neither of them time to think, and her no time to react, he closed his eyes as he tilted back her head by entangling his fingers in all that glorious hair and pulling slightly. He heard a sharp intake of breath and then silenced it with his lips. He didn’t probe with his tongue ‑‑ he erred on the side of caution and decided not to be that intrusive ‑‑ but just took pleasure in the soft press of her lips and the satisfaction that her hair really was as wonderful to touch as he always imagined. He raised his left hand to cup her breast, not to grab ruthlessly, but just to press gently. His hand slid up a hard, flat surface under the t-shirt she wore. Blinking in surprise, Dean opened his eyes. A second later and he broke off the kiss, though his mouth lingered a precious breath away, and his hands froze on the body in his arms in shock.
The person in his arms swallowed and looked up into his eyes. “Hello Dean,” April’s brother, Jay, said.
Chapter One
“When are they picking up the Cooper?” George Chapman asked. He stood at the door, struggling into his coat, looking back at his son.
“Before four.”
“Don’t forget.”
“Yes, yes, yes. I’m about to print off the invoice now.” Sometimes they only accepted payment upon collection, but the owner was a regular customer. He would get an invoice and a request for payment within fourteen days.
“You ‘round for dinner tonight?”
“Hmm? No.”
“Okay. I’ll tell your mother you’ll try to make Sunday lunch.”
Dean glanced up. There was a question in there somewhere. He cast his mind back trying to remember when he last went to his parents’ house for lunch. No doubt, a visit was long overdue. “Okay.” He slumped down into the office chair as his father left the room. He glanced at the clock. It read two in the afternoon. He and his father usually did Saturday mornings on rota and closed in the afternoon, although they generally kept the workshop open for anyone who wished to put in overtime if it was available. This month there was plenty of extra work for some reason. Just one of those natural occurrences and good for business, but he was glad things were starting to ease up and get back to normal. All he needed to do now was print off the invoice and he could leave.
He only just started to tap in the figures into the form, when the screen went blank. Cursing, Dean stared down at the keyboard. What the bloody hell had he pressed?
He checked the connections, turned the power off for the monitor and then back on again, and tried to reboot. That all seemed fine, but when he searched for the document, the account had vanished. Blinking in barely suppressed panic, Dean gaped at the screen. He would have to get the details from the back up, and if he loused that up ... This was all he needed. Casting his gaze down towards the telephone, he grimaced. Jay would give him hell for calling but he could think of no reasonable alternative.
* * * * *
“What the bloody hell have you done to this?” Jay eerily echoed what Dean wondered himself. “I swear you do this on purpose.”
Dean winced. Actually, sometimes he did, but not this time. He might mess around where his laptop was concerned ‑‑ and therefore Jay ‑‑ but he wouldn't dare mess with the office computer. When he caused an error on the laptop, he always made sure he backed up all his writing first. Sending it from ‘My Documents’ to a pen-drive was one small skill he had mastered. He wouldn’t have tried to lose a customer’s file just so he could call Jay out to fix it. Of course, Jay had no way to know that he played such a silly game, but his words, so oddly close to the truth, still made Dean squirm.
Jay shook his head, his gaze fixed on the screen so Dean couldn’t see the expression in those soft brown eyes. “Get me a coffee then leave me in peace.”
Dean fetched the beverage and then did as he asked for all of forty minutes. Then he came back into the office to check how things were going. “I couldn’t find it,” Jay said before Dean opened his mouth. “You’re lucky your dad’s so good about backing things up. I’m just restoring the entire database and then I’ll just put this morning’s figures back.”
“Can you do it without Dad having to know?” He hated sounding about five years old, but parents and children were an enigma to each other. Children remained children no matter their age and your parents were always your parents. That was the way of the world.
He heard Jay sigh and it held a tone of complaint. Dean watched his friend as he parted his lips and tightened his jaw before managing to say a decisive, “Yes.”
“I didn’t do anything, you know,” Dean said in personal defence. “I didn’t touch anything. Or, if I did, I didn’t mean to. It all just froze up.”
“You never mean to,” Jay muttered, and Dean blinked, standing up straighter, slightly taken aback. He got the distinct impression they were talking about something else. Obviously, Jay was never going to let him forget. It wasn’t as if he meant to kiss him, and that was three years ago. They were young adults and, surely, they had moved on since then? Moreover, how was Dean supposed to know Jay had grown his hair and that it would make him look so much like his sister from the back? His hair might grow easily enough, but he could have done with a few more inches in height. Jay was around 5’8” or 5’9”. April was 5’7” in her bare feet. It was an easy mistake to make. In addition, how was he to know Jay had come out of the closet while he’d been away? Three years ago, Dean not only kissed a male friend, he kissed the brother of the girl he had always fancied and, of course, Jay told April, and April told her girlfriends. Before you knew it, everyone in his age group heard of his mistake. If anything, he was the one who should have felt humiliated, not Jay.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Dean said tightly. Jay didn’t even glance up.
* * * * *
Jay sat and stabbed his fingers at the keyboard harder than was necessary. One letter repeated several times and he went for the delete button. He rolled his shoulders, blinked his eyes, and rubbed a hand across his face. He had better things to do on a Saturday afternoon, didn’t he? Well, maybe he didn’t, but that wasn’t the point. Dean was the point.
He was here because of Dean Chapman. Dean with his height and his muscles and those baby-blue eyes, topped off with unruly light brown hair, so pale in places it almost edged into blond during summer, and all that without the smile. He mustn’t forget the smile. The smile made things impossible. Dean’s teeth were so white, Jay wou
ld have thought he bleached them, if the trait didn’t run in the family. All he needed to do was flash that grin and girls came running and men ... Well, some men would have come running, but Dean was so obviously masculine and such a womaniser that they just pouted from a distance. Straight men just found themselves shaking his hand and agreeing with him. Was he really the only one who found Dean’s smile arrogant? Take today. Even though Jay was here sorting out this mess for him, he hadn’t given one word of thanks. No. He made excuses.
“It’s not my fault. I didn’t do it. I didn’t mean to,” Jay said, softly, in a whiney voice, and hit yet another key too hard. If he didn’t calm down, he would break the bloody keyboard. Jay was no expert with computers; he was self-taught, but he seemed to have a knack for them. He was seriously considering studying for some kind of qualification in I.T. He just needed the opportunity. During the day, he worked in a library. That didn’t do much for his overall image, but he wasn’t out to impress anybody. He liked books better than he liked computers, but computers would earn him more money. He would have to look into home study. Not everyone had the opportunity to go to college.
Speaking of which, what had Dean gone to study? Well, he’d passed the relevant exams to become a fully qualified mechanic, but then he’d messed about with some writing course. You could hardly choose two subjects that were more different. Not that he thought it foolish, but he hated people who studied for things and then never used them. As far as he knew, Dean hadn’t written a thing, not unless it was for his personal amusement, anyway. He probably used that laptop of his to scan the internet for porn.
Jay chewed on his lower lip, trying to concentrate on what he was doing. The programme began to download from the disk back to the machine and he sat, waiting for it to finish. His mind wandered and, for some reason, his thoughts returned to Dean. What must he have been like at college? It changed him, that was for sure. At least, Jay couldn’t remember him being so cocky before he left. He’d always been sure of himself, but seemed softer somehow, more approachable. You could still laugh and joke with him, but it all seemed so shallow. Then he would make an intelligent comment and it made you look twice, wondering if this same man had started the inane conversation five minutes ago.
Snow Angel Page 1