It’s been months since Wes Dumont laid eyes on Jayce Santana. Since Jayce kissed him and then left town without a word. Wes tried hard to put the tattered pieces of his heart back together, but another failed relationship makes it clear he’s nowhere near over Jayce. Now Jayce is back, once again tilting Wes’ world on its axis and setting his blood boiling. All the anger and resentment doesn’t hide the hunger, but Wes has been burned before and he’s grown wary of Jayce’s intentions.
Jayce has been running, from Wes and himself, denying the future he sees in the depths of Wes’ eyes. His past still haunts him, but he’s back, ready to fight. Ready to claim Wes the way he should have. Only Wes isn’t making things easy. Both men just may go up in flames before Jayce convinces Wes he’s playing for keeps.
Check out the except and leave a comment for a chance to WIN a $5.00 Evernight Gift Certificate!!
Wes hopped out the cab, shoulders hunched as he fished his keys out his pocket. Behind him, the driver sped off, burning rubber. He hurried up the driveway, looking forward to an evening spent in a hot bath since he had the house to himself.
Even though his best friend, Ever, hadn’t officially moved in with her man, Simon, she spent most of her time over at his house. After years of it being only the two of them, Wes actually liked the peace and quiet of his suddenly mundane life.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside, flicking on the light as he kicked the door closed. “Freaking cold.” No matter how long he lived in The Windy City he’d always complain about the brick weather. “Freezing my nips off out there.”
“Is that so?”
Wes stumbled backward, crashing into the closed doorway with a stifled scream. His heart pounded like a thousand drums in his ear as he clasped a hand to his throat. “What the fuck?”
“Hello, Wes.” The tone of those two words matched the mockery in the stormy gray eyes perfectly. Seated in Wes’ favorite chair repositioned to face the front door, swathed in black, Jayce Santana watched him with a smirk on those way-too-memorable lips and a gun on his lap. His hair was longer. The scruffy beard and cut above his left eye was new, but nothing else about that cowardly bastard had changed.
Not even Wes’ body’s reaction to him.
“Get out.” His voice shook, so Wes tried again. Louder. Clearer. With more conviction. “Get the fuck out of my house, now.”
Jayce barked a laugh that didn’t reach anywhere near his eyes. “No.”
“You son of a bitch!” Wes advanced on him with angry steps. “You have no right. None. This is my house and if you don’t leave I’m calling the cops.” Six months. One fleeting taste of heaven and his body still hardened in remembrance.
Jayce leaped out the chair at the mention of the cops, stalking Wes with the gun in his hand. Wes braked, fists clenching and unclenching. He didn’t think Jayce would shoot him, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Hard, gray eyes pinned him in place and Jayce stood inches away.
His musk of heat and the hint of a woodsy cologne reached out and touched Wes in his throbbing groin.
He shifted. Jayce grinned.
“You’re spreading them for the rich boy, huh?”
Wes flinched at the icy accusation. How dare that bastard show up after all this time and accuse him—an icy retort formed on the tip of his tongue, but Wes swallowed it. Jayce wanted that reaction, he wanted anger, but Wes wouldn’t deliver.
He kept his tone even. “I happen to be a single man, Mr. Santana. I can spread them for whomever I want. At any time.”
Fire practically crackled and popped in Jayce’s eyes. Violence swirled in the air around them as Jayce growled. “Does Scotto know you’re a single man? From what I saw tonight he’s not as through with you as you are with him.”
Shock ran through Wes. “You were spying on us? On me?” He gaped up into those cold eyes. “Son of a—”
“You used that one already.” Jayce winked. “Try something else.”
“Why are you here, Jayce?” Wes’ body vibrated with the anger he struggled to contain. “Why the fuck did you come back here?”
“How long have you been fucking Scotto?” Jayce grabbed his arm, barraging him with harsh questions. “How long has he been feeling your skin on his? Hearing those sexy cries you make?”
“Are you serious?” Wes yanked his hand away. “Do you own me?” he shouted. “You have no fucking claims on me. You left—” He broke off at the gathering darkness in Jayce’s gaze. “What Dominic gets and for low long doesn’t concern you.” Turning away, he walked over to the door and opened it. “Please leave.”
“The fuck I will.” Jayce launched himself at Wes, grabbing him by the throat. Wes struggled, clawing at Jayce’s arms as he kicked the door shut and turned them until Jayce was backed into the door.
Jayce yanked him closer, Wes’ back against his chest, and sank his fingers into Wes’ hair to hold him still.
“How long?” Jayce’s scalding breath singed the side of Wes’ neck as he spoke against his skin. “Does Scotto know about you and me? Does he know I’m the one who ruined you for him and all men?”
Bastard was so full of himself. Wes remained quiet and ceased his struggles. He could breathe since Jayce’s hold wasn’t too tight. But his chest heaved and his groin throbbed like a mother. He hated how he responded to the slightest touch from Jayce.
Jayce shifted, pressing his hard cock into Wes jean-covered ass. A whimper swelled in Wes throat and he froze, else he’d be pushing back on that erection.
“You can’t show up six months later and expect to pick up where you left off.” Wes sounded out of breath as he tried to distract himself and Jayce. “Things change, Jayce. Please.”
Jayce dragged his hand down Wes’ chest and cupped his groin.
“Some things change, Wes. And some stay the same.”
l always wanted to have a sexy bio, one to reflect who I am, but after drawing a blank, l could only come up with: I eat cake and I read books…ooh, and I write ‘em too. No one liked it and after massive peer-pressure and pouting, I managed something more…suitable?
A Caribbean transplant, Avril now lives in Brooklyn, N.Y with a tolerant Spousal Equivalent. Together they raise an eccentric daughter who loves reading and school (not so much school anymore). Avril’s earliest memories of reading revolve around discussing plot points of The Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys with an equally book-minded mother
Always in love with the written word, Avril finally decided to do the writing in August of ’09 and never looked back. Spicy love scenes, delicious heroes, and wicked women burn up the pages of Avril’s stories, but there’ll always be a happy ending; Av remains a believer of love in all its forms.
Friend Avril on: http://www.facebook.com/writeravrilashton