Oleander House: Bay City Paranormal Investigations, Book 1 by Ally Blue

Somewhere not far off, an owl hooted. The faint scent of honeysuckle floated in on the humid breeze.
    It wasn’t long before the rest of the group wandered in one by one to join them. Conversation flowed easily, smoothed by the bottle of pinot noir Bo brought with him. Even Cecile let her haughty attitude drop enough to join in, laughing along with the rest of them. It was nice, friendly and relaxed. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so peaceful.
    As evening deepened into night, Sam found himself drawn more and more to Bo. They ended up sitting close together on the cozy two-person sofa, talking animatedly. Sam liked Bo’s sharp, slightly twisted sense of humor, the way he used his whole body to tell a story, his intense focus when he listened to Sam. He liked everything about the man. In a way, it was nice to know he was capable of feeling something deeper than purely physical attraction; he’d wondered sometimes, during his brief, emotionless affairs. On the other hand, feeling anything beyond friendship for a married man could be dangerous.
    It was the frequent looks Bo gave him, a look Sam had seen in more than one bar and seedy motel, that seduced him into ignoring the peril to them both and letting it happen.
    By eleven thirty, everyone else had gone to bed. Amy’s fierce frown when she and Andre left hadn’t made any more of an impression than the warning in her voice when she said good night, both registering in Sam’s consciousness for only a moment before blending into the background. Sam and Bo sat knee to knee on the sofa, taking turns telling stories of strange things they’d experienced.
    “So there I was,” Sam said, swilling the last of the wine straight from the bottle, “running through the graveyard at two in the morning, screaming bloody murder. The cops were not amused. Neither were my parents when they had to come to the station to get me.”
    “I bet.” Bo laughed. “I don’t blame you, though. Was it really your grandfather’s ghost you saw?”
    “Who knows? I’d convinced myself it was, anyhow. The old jackass scared the crap out of me when he was alive, and being a ghost didn’t improve his disposition any.” Sam set the empty wine bottle on the table and leaned back, stretching. “I could’ve sworn I heard him yelling at me, just like he used to when I was little. And I know I felt him hit me.”
    “What about your friends? Did they experience any of what you did?”
“Nope.”
“Maybe they were just too far away.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it was all in my mind, huh?”
Bo shrugged, his braid bunching against the couch cushions. “You were twelve. Imagination’s definitely a factor at that age. But hell, he hit you. You had bruises, for God’s sake. Your imagination can’t give you bruises.”
Sam thought of the livid purple marks blossoming before his eyes on the pale skin of the first boy he’d kissed, and didn’t say anything.
Bo’s hand on his knee shocked the painful image out of Sam’s mind. “Sam? What’re you thinking about?”
“Nothing.” The word came out strained and clipped. It sounded rude, but Sam couldn’t help it. The heat of Bo’s palm on his skin stole his breath and scrambled his thoughts.
“Doesn’t look like nothing.” Bo’s voice was soft and strangely husky. His hand slid up a little, fingers brushing the hem of Sam’s shorts. “You seem upset. I wish you’d tell me what it is that upset you.”
Sam swallowed hard. He knew he had to stop whatever was happening before he lost control of his rising desire. In spite of Bo’s surprising actions, he didn’t think the man would thank him for taking it beyond this enticing but ultimately ambiguous touch.
“I’m not upset. Just… I’m just…” Just unbelievably turned on, he thought as Bo’s hand gently squeezed. “Shit…”
Bo didn’t say anything. His hand inched up Sam’s thigh. Sam could hear his own ragged breathing. He turned to look at Bo and their gazes