himself, he hurried to the burners and turned them off.
“Got off early. It burned me,” John said, using his abused finger to further incriminate the stove.
Christian headed for the sink. “Yeah, I’m sorry.” He wondered if John was the type to sue. That would be his luck. “I should have warned you it’s pretty touchy.” He gave John a wet towel, which John wrapped around his hand. “Are you all right?”
John nodded, but he still looked perturbed. “I was trying to make coffee. We got a new flavor in at the shop today. Roasted hazelnut with a hint of raspberry. It sounds gross, but it tastes great.”
Christian relaxed. No grudges. Good. “That sounds good. We do have a pot. You don’t need to boil anything.” Christian dug into the back of the cabinet until he found the old standard coffeemaker that had been shoved out of sight upon the espresso machine’s entrance. Cindy had taken that, too. Not that he could begrudge her that since it was hers , but he did think it was unfair that she got it and the dog.
“Well, now I feel stupid.” John slumped into a chair and propped his elbow on the table, looking morose.
“Don’t. You want me to get it?” Christian asked.
“I was going to bring you a cup so you didn’t have to stop writing, and now I’ve gone and interrupted you, and you probably won’t be able to get your concentration back and—”
“My concentration will be fine.” John's rambling was endearing. It made Christian feel fond of him.
John raised his head from his hand and ventured a smile. “Seriously, Christian, go back upstairs. I’ll stop whining in a second and bring you a cup.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” John’s eyes looked wet, so Christian guessed he was putting on a brave front. The stove had burned Christian a few times too, and it hurt like hell.
“All right. Two sugars, no milk.”
“I know.” This time, there was a spark behind the smile. It made Christian smile right back.
“Thanks.” Turning to the door, Christian went back upstairs, his mind full of new thoughts. Maybe Christina could make breakfast for Loring but mess it up somehow. Burn herself on the cast iron stove and call upon Loring for help. He would tenderly wrap her wrist and then….
Loring’s fingers, rough-hewn from years hefting a sword and drawing back a bow, scratched across the fine skin of her inner wrists, sending a message to her ready loins that there was promise here, and she parted herself unconsciously, offering herself to him even though he could not see through the folds of her skirts that she was his for the taking.
He finished wrapping the gauze around her wrist. She could not restrain herself from breathing, heavy with desire, as he raised her petite hand to his unexpectedly soft lips and kissed her fingers. “Good as new, milady.”
C HRISTIAN had advertised for a roommate after Cindy moved out because it was a big house and he had a mortgage. Plus, it made noises, and he didn’t like being alone. But the ad didn’t say, “Famous Author of Lord John Loring Series Seeks Roommate.” It said, “Wanted: Roommate to share 3 BR ocean-side home with owner. Quiet types appreciated.”
He got more responses than he’d expected, but none seemed right. And then John came along, looking exactly like Christian’s imagined hero, every six-foot two-inch dashing bit of him. When he came close enough to shake hands, though, Christian saw that his dark hair was dyed. Judging from his light freckles, he was a natural strawberry blond. His nails were painted in black polish, which had started to chip. A bit of a Goth punk, Christian guessed. Not completely like Loring, then. But his handshake was firm and his smile— holy shit —Christian could melt right into that. They exchanged first names, and Christian showed him the available bedroom, which was on the first floor with an adjoining bathroom. John checked the taps, asked if he could redecorate, and upon receiving
“Got off early. It burned me,” John said, using his abused finger to further incriminate the stove.
Christian headed for the sink. “Yeah, I’m sorry.” He wondered if John was the type to sue. That would be his luck. “I should have warned you it’s pretty touchy.” He gave John a wet towel, which John wrapped around his hand. “Are you all right?”
John nodded, but he still looked perturbed. “I was trying to make coffee. We got a new flavor in at the shop today. Roasted hazelnut with a hint of raspberry. It sounds gross, but it tastes great.”
Christian relaxed. No grudges. Good. “That sounds good. We do have a pot. You don’t need to boil anything.” Christian dug into the back of the cabinet until he found the old standard coffeemaker that had been shoved out of sight upon the espresso machine’s entrance. Cindy had taken that, too. Not that he could begrudge her that since it was hers , but he did think it was unfair that she got it and the dog.
“Well, now I feel stupid.” John slumped into a chair and propped his elbow on the table, looking morose.
“Don’t. You want me to get it?” Christian asked.
“I was going to bring you a cup so you didn’t have to stop writing, and now I’ve gone and interrupted you, and you probably won’t be able to get your concentration back and—”
“My concentration will be fine.” John's rambling was endearing. It made Christian feel fond of him.
John raised his head from his hand and ventured a smile. “Seriously, Christian, go back upstairs. I’ll stop whining in a second and bring you a cup.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” John’s eyes looked wet, so Christian guessed he was putting on a brave front. The stove had burned Christian a few times too, and it hurt like hell.
“All right. Two sugars, no milk.”
“I know.” This time, there was a spark behind the smile. It made Christian smile right back.
“Thanks.” Turning to the door, Christian went back upstairs, his mind full of new thoughts. Maybe Christina could make breakfast for Loring but mess it up somehow. Burn herself on the cast iron stove and call upon Loring for help. He would tenderly wrap her wrist and then….
Loring’s fingers, rough-hewn from years hefting a sword and drawing back a bow, scratched across the fine skin of her inner wrists, sending a message to her ready loins that there was promise here, and she parted herself unconsciously, offering herself to him even though he could not see through the folds of her skirts that she was his for the taking.
He finished wrapping the gauze around her wrist. She could not restrain herself from breathing, heavy with desire, as he raised her petite hand to his unexpectedly soft lips and kissed her fingers. “Good as new, milady.”
C HRISTIAN had advertised for a roommate after Cindy moved out because it was a big house and he had a mortgage. Plus, it made noises, and he didn’t like being alone. But the ad didn’t say, “Famous Author of Lord John Loring Series Seeks Roommate.” It said, “Wanted: Roommate to share 3 BR ocean-side home with owner. Quiet types appreciated.”
He got more responses than he’d expected, but none seemed right. And then John came along, looking exactly like Christian’s imagined hero, every six-foot two-inch dashing bit of him. When he came close enough to shake hands, though, Christian saw that his dark hair was dyed. Judging from his light freckles, he was a natural strawberry blond. His nails were painted in black polish, which had started to chip. A bit of a Goth punk, Christian guessed. Not completely like Loring, then. But his handshake was firm and his smile— holy shit —Christian could melt right into that. They exchanged first names, and Christian showed him the available bedroom, which was on the first floor with an adjoining bathroom. John checked the taps, asked if he could redecorate, and upon receiving
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