Keeping House, MM Romance, Giveaway #writestuff #caffeinateme #mmromance

Good morning Friends! *sips coffee* Need something to warm you up this chilly, chilly, January morning? I've got just the thing for you! This week I'm giving away copies of Keeping House to anyone who comments on this post... that's right. EVERYONE who comments wins! If you already have Keeping House, then you may choose any of my other titles, such as A Man of Unusual Talent, Heart of Clay, or Cranberry Pi. Just make sure to include your email in your comment so I can reach you. 

The Fine Print: Contest prizes are awardable in e-format only. Contest ends on January 20th. Winners will be contacted on January 21st. 

Keeping House 

Truth or Dare Book #1

Mischa knows his brothers are up to something. He doesn't realize it will lead him to Donovan Holloway and change his carefree lifestyle forever.

Having grown up in a free-love hippie commune taking care of the parents who should have been taking care of him, Donovan Holloway, advertising executive, newly made vice president of the company where he’s worked for twenty years, has come a long way. He’s worked hard to put himself through school and achieve the American dream. All he’s ever wanted is a normal family life—house in the suburbs, two cars, two kids, a shaggy dog. A family to come home to, to care for, to care for him has been his dream since he was a small boy.

Green-eyed, liberally pierced, black-haired, Mohawk-wearing spoiled youngest son of a Hollywood producer and his actress wife, Mischa Blake has made a terrible mistake. In a fit of childish pique, he’s accepted a dare from his older brothers. The dare? Live on his own, supporting himself completely, for a year without accessing his trust fund. No problem. Except Mischa has never worked a day in his life, hasn’t finished college, and has absolutely no skills to bring to the table.

When he sees Donovan’s ad for a housekeeper/gardener, he has nothing to lose by applying, because really…how hard can it be?

EXCERPT

Keeping House

Prologue

The door slamming behind Mischa Blake drew all his brothers' eyes to him. Satisfied he'd gained everyone's attention, he sauntered slowly into the room, resisting the urge to run his hand over the hair he knew damn well still stood in four-inch spikes down the center of his head to the nape of his neck. The pins holding his once designer jeans together were cold against his skin, the silk T-shirt paired with them too tight. He looked like he'd just been out clubbing, which he had. He should have gone home and changed, had even given the idea some thought, but when one more dance led to another and then another, he'd run out of time. Which was fine, because he rather liked forcing his brothers to acknowledge the real Mischa, not the Michael they wanted to make him. He met each pair of familiar green eyes defiantly, refusing to look away.

"Hey," he ventured, hoping his voice wouldn't squeak. That was all he needed, to sound like a kid again. Then his brothers never would give up control of his trust fund.

"Damn it, Mischa!" Terry, Chief Financial Officer of the family-owned production studio that employed every member of the Blake family—except Mischa—immediately leaned away as Mischa took the seat at the green baize game table right next to him. His nostrils flared and his mouth twisted into a disgusted scowl. "You stink! Where the hell have you been?"

Dan, the creative brother, studio scriptwriter, the brother most like Mischa in personality—though even that was a stretch—leaned in and sniffed appraisingly. "Somewhere that beer and pot are readily had in great quantities judging by the smell." There was no judgment or accusation there, but rather a knowing sort of superiority that made Mischa want to sucker-punch his brother. Dan smoked, he was way too familiar with the scent of good weed for Mischa to believe he was innocent on that front, but Dan apparently felt no compunction about throwing Mischa under the bus.

The bus being Brandon, eldest brother, CEO of the studio, and all around royal pain in Mischa's ass. Brandon frowned in disapproval. "Are you hanging out in those clubs again? Damn—the fucking paparazzi would love to catch you in some club. I can see the headlines now. Blake's Youngest Son—Underage Alcoholic and Drug Addict—Caught in Gay Sex Club Scandal." Brandon had explained it all to a very confused fifteen-year-old Mischa. He could be gay, and his brothers would still love him, his parents would accept him. He just couldn't be gay in public because it was bad publicity for the studio. Which made absolutely no sense to Mischa, then or now.

Either it was okay to be gay or it wasn't. Regardless, he was, and if the sneaking paps wanted to follow him around taking pics of him making out with guys, then how was that any worse than them chasing down Dan's flavor of the week and touting pregnancy rumors about the self-proclaimed playboy of the family?

Mischa scowled in return, clicking the stud in his tongue against his front teeth, just because it annoyed Terry. That annoyance made the pain of the piercing and the six pounds he'd lost because he hadn't been able to eat for a week after getting it done worthwhile. A few weeks of privation and pain for a lifetime of guaranteed one-uppance on Terry? No comparison. "Fuck you all. Are we playing poker or not?"

These Wednesday night poker games between the Blake brothers were a long-standing tradition. He'd waited with all the patience a young boy could muster until at thirteen his much older brothers had finally deemed him old enough to join them. They'd begun the tradition before he was born, and being excluded had made him feel like an outsider for a long time. The first game he'd been permitted to attend, they'd all passed up alcohol and drunk soda. His brothers had patiently taught him the rules, and insisted on betting with chips instead of cash. Thanks to his superior private school education, he was already familiar enough with the game to take them unawares and win a few hands before they caught on that he wasn't a novice. Sometime that year they'd quit going easy on him, but he'd never let up on them.

Never would either. Not unless their attitudes changed. Because around this table, they had to treat him as an equal, not a baby or a nuisance.

With all the other traditions Mischa rebelled against, he couldn't even fathom why he'd rather die than miss this weekly game with his brothers. Unless it was because, here, he was as in control as they were. The rules of the game were the rules of the game, and birth order didn't play any part in them. Not that he'd let them know that, though. He made it a habit of either showing up late or insisting on leaving early—as though they were an added burden he could scarcely make time for in his busy life.

Mischa reached to his back pocket for his wallet and realized almost immediately that he must have left it behind at the party. He wasn't worried about losing his cards; probably Dex or Bella had picked up his wallet when he left it on the bar after paying the tab. If they hadn't, then he'd just get Terry to have new ones sent to him. Instead, he reached for Terry's wallet on the table to his right and rifled through it for cash to buy in.

"What the hell?" Terry demanded. "Are you broke already? I just deposited money in your account yesterday!"

"No. I'm good, for a while anyway. Just forgot my wallet at the party. And you wouldn't have to deposit money in my account all the time if you'd just loosen up the controls there and give me direct access to my accounts." Millions of dollars in trust funds and he had to beg for cash from his brothers before he could make a purchase, at least until he was thirty-five—fifteen long years from now. Terry's Spanish leather wallet yielded a wad of hundred dollar bills that Mischa extracted and tossed on the table in front of him.

Terry grabbed the wallet back and tucked it away in his jacket pocket, muttering dire insults under his breath. "You're paying that back."

Mischa smirked and clicked his piercing loudly. Trust Terry to be dressed for the office in a two thousand dollar suit at their poker game. At least he'd taken off the French silk Charvet tie. "You'll end up owing it to me in a few hours anyway!"

Brandon, Dan, and Terry did the older brother thing. Their eyes met in a circle around the table that excluded Mischa, and he flushed. That thing reminded him of the fact that even though they let him sit at the table and play cards, and take their money, he wasn't a part of them. He was a Blake, but not a blond-haired, green-eyed Blake. Oh, he had their father's green eyes, but they all took after their beautiful mother whose photos still graced the newspapers decades after her death; he resembled his own mother, dark hair, slim build and pale skin that just wouldn't tan, no matter how long he baked in the California sun. That thing they did made him an outsider, an inferior.

"Want to put your money where your mouth is, kid?" That was Brandon, pushing his buttons as only an older sibling could. Mischa hated being called kid, being reminded he was so much younger than his brothers.

"I'm not a kid. I'm an adult, a licensed driver, and a registered voter." He forced the words out, trying not to scream them. He'd made the same protest so many times before but it always fell on deaf ears. It really wasn't fair that his parents had left him in Brandon's care when they'd dashed off to pursue an active retirement in the South of France.

"When you support yourself and don't live off a trust fund, you're an adult. Until then, you're another rich kid with too much money and time on your hands." Brandon dismissed him, as though his entire existence were worthless if he didn't have a job at the family studio.

"Hey! You guys all have trust funds, too! If having one makes me a kid, then you're kids." He fucking knew he wasn't going to win this one, he never did.

"We also have careers with futures. You have nothing but a trust fund." That was Terry, putting in his two cents worth. Fuck that. Terry knew the value of a dollar—probably figured his two cents worth was actually worth two dollars.

"I'm an artist." That was the answer he gave his mother every time she asked, and it always resulted in an indulgent smile. She and his father had taken it into their heads to retire in the French Riviera last year, but they had traveled and been on set so much during his childhood that Brandon had really stood in more of a parental role than his parents had.

"Bullshit." Brandon spoke again. "Artists produce. We haven't seen any paintings, statues, photographs. You just use that as an excuse to get your mom to give you cash when your allowance runs out. She might buy it, but we don't."

There was no arguing with that. He did have a sketchbook, but as it was full of pencil drawings of the guys he'd fucked, or wanted to fuck, it was pretty useless at proving art was his career. Hell, it wasn't even much of a hobby. More of a scrapbook of awesome Friday nights…and Saturday nights…and— Disliking the way this train of thought made him feel more like a leech and less like a misunderstood genius, Mischa glared at Dan who was busily shuffling cards and had been for the past five minutes. "Fucking deal already so these assholes have something to think about besides my life and how they can ruin it."

Dan cleared his throat and swiftly dealt the cards around the table. "You guys up for a little side bet?"

Mischa peeked at his cards, not a bad hand to be dealt, then turned to Dan. His face was impassive, but there was no denying the fact that he was up to something.

Terry chimed in, equally impassive. "Money means nothing to us all, as the kid has pointed out, so how about we play for Truth or Dare?" Brandon was nodding before Terry had even finished speaking. "Yeah, last hand of the night. The winner chooses truth or dare, and the loser has to comply. And if he chickens out of the dare, then he owes everyone a penalty." Brandon was practically drooling over the idea, which made the hair on the back of Mischa's neck prickle.

Huh. He couldn't believe Terry actually came up with that himself. Creativity wasn't his strong suit. Numbers punching, multiplying dollars into hundreds, that was Terry. Devious, almost fun sounding games? Not really. It was a plot. Somehow, they were all in it together, and he was going to come out on the bottom of this someway. He picked absently at the loose threads in the rips of the five hundred dollar black jeans he'd bought, cut, and pinned back together while he considered his options. He had to make some move to salvage the situation, because protesting the game would mean he really was just a kid. The rules had to be established in the beginning, and he had to find a way to slant them in his favor.

"And if the loser follows through, he gets to claim a boon from each of the other players." It was the best he could do, and he knew exactly what boon he'd ask for too, because he was damn sure his brothers were going to manipulate him into losing. No way could his brothers come up with a dare he wouldn't fulfill. He'd do anything. There was no truth he wasn't willing to tell. This could definitely be worked to his advantage either way the chips fell. And if the cards fell in his favor tonight, they'd better look out because he had some pretty good dares he could lay on his superior older brothers. He wasted a few precious seconds imagining Brandon in drag, or forcing Dan to admit he smoked pot in his office with the writing team before getting serious. It was time to play some cards.

Two hours later his chances of being the big winner of the night looked good. Despite losing the last hand, he'd turned Terry's thousand dollars into twelve thousand, and was easily way ahead of his brothers for the night.

Terry shoved his chair back from the table and folded his hands in his lap. "Okay, guys, I'm done. That was the last hand."

Brandon and Dan made agreeing noises and Mischa stiffened in shock. Fuck. He was screwed.

"Wait a minute… You guys usually play a lot later than this. I mean, it's only eleven o'clock!"

"Nope." Brandon shook his head. "You usually leave around this time, and we always quit when you leave."

If that was the last hand, which he'd lost, that meant he'd really lost according to the game they'd proposed earlier.

Dan nodded in agreement. "And I make Brandon out as the winner of that hand, and you as the loser, squirt. So what'll it be, Brandon, Truth or Dare?"

It was so fake. So fucking staged; in hindsight, it was obvious. He'd been set up. The first hand he lost was destined to be the last hand they played no matter how many it took or how few. Mischa struggled to remain impassive, but anger at the injustice of being manipulated was simmering.

Brandon was a terrible actor. He smiled as he spoke lines that had probably been written by Dan expressly for the occasion. "Well, brother, I'm going to have to say Dare. But we should name the penalties before I tell him the dare, don't you think?"

"Oh, yeah," Terry was outwardly smirking now. "You owe one penalty per player, kid. If you welsh on the dare, I get to give you a complete makeover, new clothes, new hair, whole new style."

Surveying his brother's "style"—navy blue Brooks Brothers' suit, crisp white cotton shirt, Italian silk tie, and neatly trimmed blond hair—Mischa shuddered. He turned to Brandon, next brother in the row seated at the round table, and quirked his pierced left brow in what he hoped was a sardonic Spock-like inquiry and not a laughable dumb younger brother affectation.

Brandon smoothly responded with an elevated right brow and cough into his fist. "If you welsh, you take the assistant producer's job I've been holding open for you since you graduated high school. Join the family business and make yourself useful."

Damn. That was even worse. Terry might buy him new clothes, but he couldn't force him to wear them. He held his breath momentarily before turning to Dan. Dan could swing either way. He was the brother who understood Mischa best, but he was also the cleverest, most devious, and creative of the brothers. Sometimes he seemed almost conscience-less. No doubt he was the mastermind behind this whole plot.

Dan smiled broadly, tapping the playing cards against his chin gently as he considered his youngest brother. "If you welsh, brother, you attend the college of my choice for a full four years—or until you attain a degree, whichever comes first."

"That's a bit harsh!" Mischa protested. "In exchange for a single hand of cards, you guys expect to be able to run my life to suit yourselves for an infinite amount of time?"

"Oh, no," Brandon interjected smoothly. "We expect you to honor your debts, brother. Are you saying that you can't meet the dare? You don't even know what it is yet."

Good point. Given the penalties though, Mischa was pretty sure the dare was going to be something he would really hate. Didn't matter though. He'd do it. Even if it meant shaving off his beloved 'hawk, or…he couldn't really think of anything worse than the penalties they'd asked for. "Okay. What's the dare?"

They did it again, the older brother silent communication thing. This time Dan broke the silence.

"We dare you to get a job and support yourself without resorting to your trust fund for a whole year."

Mischa's mouth fell open. "That's all I have to do? Get a job?" He relaxed into his seat. He could do that, didn't everyone?

Terry shook his head. "No. You have to support yourself. No more sending your bills to me to pay. No more monthly deposits into your account. Take care of yourself."

If Terry had deposited his usual allowance into his account yesterday, that meant he had fifty thousand, plus the twelve on the table in front of him to get through the next year. People managed on less than that, right? So could he. "What if I can't find a job? I mean, I'll make every effort to find one, but if I don't get one?"

"Nope. Have to get a job." Brandon was insistent.

"But I have plenty of money to get through a year…even if I don't find a job."

Terry shook his head again. "No. You don't. You don't even have any idea how much your lifestyle costs, do you? The money I put in your account this morning won't last you a month at the rate you normally spend it. If you don't find a job, you'll be living a very different lifestyle next month, with a new hairstyle and a new wardrobe to match."

No freaking way. He'd find a way to beat his brothers at their own game.

Chapter One

The eviction notice fluttered to the floor, and he threw the checkbook after it. He'd known the rent was late. But he'd put it off because if he'd paid that outrageous sum, his account would have been completely empty. At first, he'd thought for sure he'd find a job and get caught up, but this past week he'd had to face the fact that getting a job was harder than he'd assumed it would be. Maybe he'd harbored a secret hope that Terry would break solidarity with his brothers and "accidentally" pay the rent.

Mischa threw himself onto his sofa, and leaned his head back to stare up at the ceiling of his loft. It was a soft, dove gray that he'd always found soothing, like when it rained ferociously fifty miles up the coast and the clouds hadn't quite lost the color of the storm, but you weren't in for any rain yourself.

He leaned forward and reached for his ebony box. He needed the smoke, needed to relax. It had been months, months of fruitless job searching, of watching the money in his accounts dwindle until he couldn't pay the rent, the payment on his Porsche, the credit cards and still put gas in his car and eat.

Jesus, the fucking credit cards had eaten up his allowance. How easy it had been to just swipe and sign and ignore the fact that one day that money had to be paid. He had thought that by the time the bill came due he'd be employed, earning the money he needed.

He'd been wrong. Everywhere he went he'd been laughed at, or treated with condescending disdain. Most of them hadn't known or cared that he was a Blake of Blake Studios. He had no degree, no experience, and no skills. In the job world, he was dirt.

Opening the black box, he extracted his pipe and a bag of fragrant prime bud. His cleaning lady had brought it to him, but since he'd had to tell her he couldn't pay her any more after this, it was probably the last time he'd be getting any of the stuff her son brought in on his monthly trips south of the border.

He'd miss Violetta more than the weed. In the week since her bi-weekly visits had stopped, his loft had gone from haven to chaos. Dust hadn’t covered the gleaming wood yet, but it would, eventually. For now, his mail was piling up and clutter was slowly gathering.

With a sigh, Mischa put the smoke back and picked up his laptop. The only way to get Violetta back was to get a job so he could pay her. He opened his browser and clicked on a link to a jobs website and began scanning for new leads. It was discouraging how many he'd already approached and been turned down for. From Coca-Cola distributor—who knew there was more than one kind of driver's license?—to file clerk—it was all alphabetical, wasn't it?—he was underqualified.

His phone chirped and he dropped the laptop on the glass-topped table to pick it up. That chirp promised distraction, and he desperately needed it. "Grady, what's up?"

"Hey, man. Where've you been?"

Hiding. Because he couldn’t afford the things he'd used to enjoy. "Oh, around. Just, busy. You know."

"We haven't seen you lately. Come on down to the club; the band is sick."

He could hear them, a deep throbbing beat and some howling guitar licks in the background. And, knowing the club they frequented, he'd likely find something besides dancing to take his mind off his troubles for a bit. "Okay, I'm in. I'll be there in twenty."

A little R and R and he'd be refreshed and ready to "job seek" in the morning.

***

Parking outside his favorite club was a bitch. Snagging one of the safety pins in his jeans on the smooth cream leather of his Porsche's upholstery was even worse. So he had a snarl on his face when he handed over the last twenty in his wallet to the bored-looking burly bouncer who guarded the door.

Inside, he was bathed in a cacophony of light and sound and smoke. It was pointless to try to find his friends in the crowd, so Mischa just pushed his way to the dance floor and threw himself into the music, letting himself get lost in sound and heat.

Faces blurred and hands came and went, on his hips, his shoulders, his ass. He danced with men and women alike until, suddenly, a familiar face popped up in front of him, laughing. The newcomer was pale-skinned, with bright blue eyes and artificially dark hair. His features were delicate, high cheek-boned and narrow chinned. If he were interested in acting, he'd have been cast easily as a vampire. "Trick." He smiled in greeting, pleased to see his friend. "Didn't know you guys were here too."

The dark-haired man leaned forward, pressing his lips to Mischa's ear. "Everyone's here."

The words were snatched away into the dull roar of music and people, and Mischa nodded, catching hold of Trick with one hand and wiping a stream of sweat off his brow with the other. "Yeah. Too many of them. Want to sit?"

Someone bumped into him from behind, a pointed chin dug into his shoulder as a warm body nestled close to him, rubbing against him. "We have a table in the back."

Mischa tipped his head back and received a friendly kiss in greeting. "Dex, I should have known where Trick was you weren't far away." The twins did everything together, and their obvious closeness made some people uncomfortable. Mischa didn't mind. They were both fascinatingly beautiful, mysterious and full of secrets. He enjoyed their company, the way they accepted him without question, listened to his dreams and plans without judgment.

They danced for a few minutes, Mischa sandwiched between the two brothers, savoring the closeness and the slow arousal that built between them. When his cock stiffened, and Trick's eyes flickered over his shoulder, he pushed gently, creating distance between them.

"Let's find that table. I could use a drink."

Dex's fingers tightened on his waist, and his lips were warm on Mischa's neck, nibbling their way up to his ear again. "You sure? We could go." He bumped his groin against Mischa's ass, long enough to show his own arousal. "The three of us."

Shaking his head, Mischa looped his arm through Trick's and stepped away. "I'm good. Don't think I haven't noticed how you two operate. I value our friendship more than any one-night stand, even if we are the three hottest things here."

"Let's go. I know Grady called you, but you know he's planning to stick you with the bill, same as always."

Mischa stiffened. Damn. That hadn't even occurred to him. "I haven't seen him."

"Don't look for him. Let's just…" Trick towed him toward the exit, Dex crowding from the rear again.

"Okay." And he obviously hadn't been as subtle about his monetary woes as he'd thought if Dex and Trick had noticed his reluctance to pick up the tabs when they were all out. Pride made him want to argue the point, to insist that this was where he wanted to be, what he wanted to be doing, but pride had learned to keep its mouth shut after his credit card popped the morning after the fateful poker game.

It wasn't his imagination that Dex and Trick seemed more relieved than disappointed either. They fell into a comfortable silence and maneuvered through the crowd to the entrance.

They'd nearly reached the exit when a hand caught his arm and Mischa jerked to a halt. Dex and Trick stopped seconds later, and the three of them stood face-to-face with a sneering Grady Otham, the more striking than handsome, occasional bed partner who'd invited Mischa to the bar.

"Where are you going? You haven't even had a drink with me yet. And we haven't danced!" They might not have had a drink together, but it was clear to anyone with eyes and a functioning nose that Grady had been drinking.

"I'm not feeling up to this after all. Dex and Trick"—Mischa waved at his friends—"and I are going somewhere quieter."

Grady's gaze barely flickered to Dex and Trick. They weirded him out, he always claimed, so he didn't even acknowledge them. "I thought…"

Dex stepped between them, cutting off Mischa's line of sight, and forcing Grady to release his grip. "Some other time. We have plans."

Grady jumped back as though touching Dex would contaminate him, and they were removing forward again, out the door and into the fresh open air. Mischa dragged in cooling lungfuls, but Dex and Trick kept him moving, dragging him past the crowd of hopefuls waiting to be let into the exclusive club, coming to a stop halfway down the block in front of an ice cream parlor that was closed for the night. During the day, Davyd and Saul, the proprietors, sold such delightful concoctions as peanut paradise, s'mores sundaes, and the straight up best, most decadent dark chocolate fudge sauce in the country while flirting with their customers, male, female, gay, straight, and undecided.

Too bad they were closed.

"Mischa? Where'd you park?"

He turned his gaze from the ice cream shop and glanced at Trick, who seemed apprehensive. "Down there, why?"

Instead of answering, Trick pointed, and Mischa followed the elegant gesture. What he saw made his blood run cold. His baby, his beautiful black Porsche, was being desecrated. "Hey!" he shouted, darting down the street as fast as dance weakened legs could carry him. "What the fuck are you doing? That's my car!"

The man straightened, and Mischa saw that he'd hooked a tow chain under the chassis. "This is your car?"

Mischa skidded to a halt, inches in front of the man, who towered over him. "I just said it was, didn't I?"

"I've been commissioned to repossess this car on behalf of the creditor. You're behind on the payments."

"Oh no, no. I’m not! I paid six months in advance because I knew…" He clamped his mouth shut and glanced over his shoulder at Trick and Dex who had followed him. "I paid ahead."

"You'll have to take that up with the bank. I don't do anything but take back the cars."

"But… You can't! I’m going to…" He grabbed for his phone, hitting Terry's number before he could think about it.

"Sorry, kid, I don't make the rules. You can contact your lender and make arrangements." Then the man loped off, swinging up into the cab of his truck and driving off while Mischa's phone bleated in his ear.

"'Lo?" Terry's voice was husky, as though he'd been asleep, or…

"Terry! What the fuck? They just took my Porsche. They can't do that."

"Seriously? Mischa, it's too fucking late for this. Come by the office tomorrow morning and I'll give you the phone number to call the bank."

An ugly, ugly suspicion crossed his mind. "You did this, didn't you? I paid up front for six months, just to make sure the payments were made."

A long-suffering sigh came down the line. Fabric rustled. "It's not my doing, dickhead. But it sounds like it's legitimate to me."

"Legitimate? They stole my car! I made my payments!"

"When you made that payment, Mischa, did you specify it was for six months? Or did you just send it in?"

Mischa started to protest that he didn't see what difference it made when Terry overrode him.

"Because unless you said it was for certain time periods, then they most likely just took it off the principal. Haven't you been getting monthly statements?"

He had. He just hadn't been opening them because he figured they were paid for. "Yeah."

"But?"

"But I didn't open them. I thought it was paid."

"I'll give you the number tomorrow. You can call and straighten it out. Just pay what they ask for and you'll be good."

"I can't," he mumbled, staring at the toes of his boots.

"I'm not going to do it for you, kid."

"I didn't ask you to!" He shut down the phone and kicked at a green leafy thing growing out of a crack in the sidewalk. "Fuck."

"Need a ride back to your loft?"

He almost ran. If he'd sensed any amount of judgment at all in Dex's tone, any sympathy even, he'd have dashed off into the night. Instead, he ducked his head and nodded, then walked between the two of them, off in the opposite direction to a parking garage where a valet brought the keys to Dex's SUV.

He had to find a job. Whether he got his car back or not, he couldn't take the slings and arrows, the tension of wondering when he'd spend that last dollar. When the ordeal began, he was thinking in terms of thousands, as time progressed it was hundreds, and now…

Now Available! Telling the Truth (Truth or Dare #2) #malexmale #truthordare

New Release!

Good morning everyone! *sips coffee* I am excited to announce today that the second edition of Telling the Truth, Truth or Dare #2 is now available at ebook retailers. This is the story of the second youngest Blake, Terry and the the twins, Dex and Trick, Mischa's friends. Pick up your copy today! 

Paying his debt for a losing hand of cards sets Terry Blake free to pursue a fantasy he never dreamed could be reality.

Smashwords    All Romance eBooks     Amazon 
Barnes and Noble

Terry lives his life according to guidelines…study accounting, get an MBA, and work for the family business. And while handling the family and business finances is rewarding, something has been missing.

When a losing hand on poker night forces Terry to answer his brother’s question with Truth, he’s unable to hide behind his pristine reputation and fancy business suit. Terry is honor-bound to divulge secrets he’s been ashamed to admit even to himself in the privacy of his own bedroom.

Dex and Trick have finally found acceptance for their relationship in the homes of their friends. They would never do anything to jeopardize that newfound sense of belonging. Fooling around with Mischa’s prissy, domineering, and oh-so-sexy older brother is too risky.

Terry isn’t going to take their dismissal without a fight. He’s convinced Dex and Trick are meant to be his, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make them realize all the safety and protection they might need can be found in his arms.

Excerpt:

This lovely couple was really getting into their embrace now, and since no one else seemed to notice, Terry felt kind of included, almost as though he were participating in the act instead of witnessing it. He could practically feel the sweep of tongues in his mouth, the touch of two sets of hands tracing his shoulders, his abdomen. Damn, he really wished he had Dan’s bold personality or Mischa’s rebellious streak. He’d be over there in a heartbeat taking his share of kisses.

Down boy, he whispered to his newly overactive libido. Baby steps; we’ll get there eventually. Jumping from mild-mannered straight accountant to gay threesome in seconds made for too drastic a change.

“Terry? Are you all right? Do you need a drink or something?”

Damn. Somehow Mischa had walked up and knelt next to him without him noticing. 

“I’m fine. Fine. It’s a little hot here, that’s all.” Terry spoke, but he didn’t look at Mischa. He knew his voice sounded hoarse, but couldn’t do anything about it. The best he could hope for was that Mischa wouldn’t notice the rather large bulge under his hands. Thinking rapidly, he sought a distraction for his far too-astute younger brother. He whipped his head around to look at the outdoor kitchen. “Think there’s a burger ready yet?”

“I’ll check with Donovan for you.” Humming under his breath, Mischa rose and headed off toward the grill. As he strolled past Dan on his way to the outdoor kitchen, Dan rose and joined him. Terry watched as his two brothers spoke briefly. Dan turned a curious gaze in Terry’s direction, and he studiously ignored it.

Satisfied after a few moments that both of his brothers were thinking of other things, he turned his attention back to what he’d come to think of as his own little porn show. Startled, he found himself staring directly into two pairs of bright blue eyes. The temptation to look away was an old habit that he’d have to work hard to break. He forced his eyes to maintain the connection, smiled hesitantly, and tipped his head in acknowledgment that he’d been busted true to rights, staring at a tender moment that should have been private.

Something in his expression must have met with approval, because both faces broke into wide smiles and the two young men nodded back.

Buy Links: Smashwords    All Romance eBooks     Amazon 

New Release: Telling the Truth (Truth or Dare #2) #malexmale #mustread

New Release!

Good morning everyone! *sips coffee* I am excited to announce today that the second edition of Telling the Truth, Truth or Dare #2 is now available for pre-order at ebook retailers. Release is set for October 7, 2015. This is the story of the second youngest Blake, Terry and the the twins, Dex and Trick, Mischa's friends. 

Paying his debt for a losing hand of cards sets Terry Blake free to pursue a fantasy he never dreamed could be reality.

Smashwords    All Romance eBooks     Amazon 

Terry lives his life according to guidelines…study accounting, get an MBA, and work for the family business. And while handling the family and business finances is rewarding, something has been missing.

When a losing hand on poker night forces Terry to answer his brother’s question with Truth, he’s unable to hide behind his pristine reputation and fancy business suit. Terry is honor-bound to divulge secrets he’s been ashamed to admit even to himself in the privacy of his own bedroom.

Dex and Trick have finally found acceptance for their relationship in the homes of their friends. They would never do anything to jeopardize that newfound sense of belonging. Fooling around with Mischa’s prissy, domineering, and oh-so-sexy older brother is too risky.

Terry isn’t going to take their dismissal without a fight. He’s convinced Dex and Trick are meant to be his, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make them realize all the safety and protection they might need can be found in his arms.

Excerpt:

This lovely couple was really getting into their embrace now, and since no one else seemed to notice, Terry felt kind of included, almost as though he were participating in the act instead of witnessing it. He could practically feel the sweep of tongues in his mouth, the touch of two sets of hands tracing his shoulders, his abdomen. Damn, he really wished he had Dan’s bold personality or Mischa’s rebellious streak. He’d be over there in a heartbeat taking his share of kisses.

Down boy, he whispered to his newly overactive libido. Baby steps; we’ll get there eventually. Jumping from mild-mannered straight accountant to gay threesome in seconds made for too drastic a change.

“Terry? Are you all right? Do you need a drink or something?”

Damn. Somehow Mischa had walked up and knelt next to him without him noticing.

“I’m fine. Fine. It’s a little hot here, that’s all.” Terry spoke, but he didn’t look at Mischa. He knew his voice sounded hoarse, but couldn’t do anything about it. The best he could hope for was that Mischa wouldn’t notice the rather large bulge under his hands. Thinking rapidly, he sought a distraction for his far too-astute younger brother. He whipped his head around to look at the outdoor kitchen. “Think there’s a burger ready yet?”

“I’ll check with Donovan for you.” Humming under his breath, Mischa rose and headed off toward the grill. As he strolled past Dan on his way to the outdoor kitchen, Dan rose and joined him. Terry watched as his two brothers spoke briefly. Dan turned a curious gaze in Terry’s direction, and he studiously ignored it.

Satisfied after a few moments that both of his brothers were thinking of other things, he turned his attention back to what he’d come to think of as his own little porn show. Startled, he found himself staring directly into two pairs of bright blue eyes. The temptation to look away was an old habit that he’d have to work hard to break. He forced his eyes to maintain the connection, smiled hesitantly, and tipped his head in acknowledgment that he’d been busted true to rights, staring at a tender moment that should have been private.

Something in his expression must have met with approval, because both faces broke into wide smiles and the two young men nodded back.

Buy Links: Smashwords    All Romance eBooks     Amazon 

On Tour With Pride Promotions: Keeping House 2nd Edition & Giveaway #mmromance #malexmale #pridepromotions

I am thrilled to announce that I have partnered with Will and Paul at Pride Promotions to conduct a tour and giveaway for the release of the second edition of Keeping House. 

Keeping House is the first book in the Truth or Dare series and was the first story I wrote to be accepted by a publisher. It has been re-edited and revised. The new edition has a beautiful new cover designed by the fabulous Laura Harner.

The tour takes place on September 7^th. Check back here on the blog on the morning of the 7^th for direct links to the participating blogs, where you'll have a chance to enter to win a $5 All Romance eBooks gift card.

BONUS GIVEAWAY: COMMENT ON THAT BLOG POST AND YOU'LL BE ENTERED TO WIN A SECOND GIFT CARD.

Participating Blogs:

Parker Williams   Havan Fellows   Kimi-Chan   Christy Loves 2 Read   Charley Descoteaux   Inked Rainbow Reads   Two Chicks Obsessed With Books and Eye Candy   Scattered Thoughts & Rogue Words   BFD Book Blog   The Jena Wade   Carly’s Book Reviews   Bayou Book Junkie   Vampires, Werewolves, and Fairies, Oh My   Happily Ever Chapter   Wicked Faerie's Tales and Reviews   Wake Up Your Wild Side   The Fuzzy, Fluffy World of Chris T. Kat   Fangirl Moments and My Two Cents   Multitasking Mommas   Divine Magazine   MM Good Book Reviews   Foxylutely Book Reviews   Mikky's World of Books   Molly Lolly   Three Books Over The Rainbow   Dawn’s Reading Nook

BLURB

Mischa knows his brothers are up to something. He doesn't realize it will lead him to Donovan Holloway and change his carefree lifestyle forever.

Having grown up in a free-love hippie commune taking care of the parents who should have been taking care of him, Donovan Holloway, advertising executive, newly made vice president of the company where he’s worked for twenty years, has come a long way. He’s worked hard to put himself through school and achieve the American dream. All he’s ever wanted is a normal family life—house in the suburbs, two cars, two kids, a shaggy dog. A family to come home to, to care for, to care for him has been his dream since he was a small boy.

Green-eyed, liberally pierced, black-haired, Mohawk-wearing spoiled youngest son of a Hollywood producer and his actress wife, Mischa Blake has made a terrible mistake. In a fit of childish pique, he’s accepted a dare from his older brothers. The dare? Live on his own, supporting himself completely, for a year without accessing his trust fund. No problem. Except Mischa has never worked a day in his life, hasn’t finished college, and has absolutely no skills to bring to the table.

When he sees Donovan’s ad for a housekeeper/gardener, he has nothing to lose by applying, because really…how hard can it be?

Reviews

Top2Bottom Reviews 5 Kisses - "Lee Brazil brought Mischa and Donovan, as well as the secondary cast of characters to life on the page. Their strengths, conflicts, and emotions were genuine, and I become entirely involved in the outcome of the story. These characters are each entirely endearing"...Reviewed by Lisa

Night Owl Reviews: 4.5 Stars & A Night Owl Top Pick - "Keeping House by Lee Brazil is a fun, fast-paced and sexy story that kept me up well past my bedtime. I have a huge fondness for the `opposites attract' storyline. Throw in a little humor, likeable characters and some hot sex and I'm as content as my lazy dog, napping in the warm sun." Reviewed by DaisieMae

Long and Short Reviews- 4 Cherries- "Keeping House will capture your interest form beginning to end. The characters are realistic and could be anyone you would no. With such different personalities struggles are a given that add to these characters believability. The author did an excellent job of writing about the wants and hopes people seek at any age. Keeping House is a must read." - Reviewed by Coreopsis

Book links:

AMAZON: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B013YR9844

ARE https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-keepinghouse-1872742-148.html

SW https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/569226

Truth or Dare- For Only 99 cents a books, why not?

Hey guys! 

My publisher has declared this week to be ALL about Lee Brazil. No idea what that means for me, but for you it means that you can get the ENTIRE Truth or dare series for less than $6. 

That's right. 

Justyn has marked all of the Truth or Dare titles down to

 99 cents each! 

Skip on over to the Breathless Press web site and get yours today! 

 (sale good Jan 10, 2014 to Jan 16 2014 only)

New Review: Rainbow Reviews Reviews Donovan's Deal

Rainbow Book Reviews gives  Donovan's deal (Truth or Dare Series, Book 6) a great review.

"....Thank you, Lee, for the reminder that a house husband doesn't sit around eating bonbons all day...."

Read More at 

http://www.rainbowbookreviews.com/book-reviews/donovans-deal-truth-or-dare-6-by-lee-brazil-at-breathless-press

Get your copy of this novella at 

Breathless Press 

for 20% off! 

New Deal! Donovan's Deal

For one week only, you can pick up Donovan's Deal,

 #6 in the Truth or Dare series for 99 cents, 

only at Breathless Press! 

Making a family is harder than keeping house. Donovan's patience is wearing thin, but Mischa needs time to make things right. Will Christmas bring heartache or compromise?

Mischa Blake needs the relaxation of the Blake brothers' weekly poker games now more than ever as he feels the pressure of his responsibilities as a parent, partner, and student multiplying. When one of his siblings proposes reviving their game of Truth or Dare, Mischa revolts. Instead, they all agree to share a truth, and Mischa has to decide how much of his domestic situation to share with his family.

The frantic pace of life is overwhelming, and Mischa has begun to let things slide. With the holidays just around the corner, he figures his current situation is a temporary thing. When he misses one of his son's soccer game that Donovan left work early to attend, time runs out.

Upset by the hurt in their son's eyes, Donovan decides that something must be done. He's worried that he's pushed Mischa into doing things at the wrong time, pushed his dreams on his young lover, just pushed too hard for too much in general.

In a desperate attempt to get Mischa to think about what he wants instead of what Donovan wants, Donovan issues an ultimatum. He sends Mischa away with orders to think about his priorities.

Trick's Treat: A Truth or Dare Short featuring Terry Blake and the Hyatt Twins

Happy Halloween! 

As a special treat for you all, I've written a short addition to the story of Terry Blake and Dex and Trick Hyatt. Here's the trick - it's only free here on the blog. 

Soon, I'll get it up at the sales sites, but for now, here it is. 

Trick's Treat

A Telling the Truth / Truth or Dare Short

Copyright October 2013 Lee Brazil

"You wanted to see me?" Brandon hovered in the doorway of Terry's office, glancing back over his shoulder frequently, as though anxious to be off. Terry Blake couldn’t blame his older brother for that. He rather wanted to be off himself.

"Yes, I need a favor." Brandon frowned and that inner boy, the one who was anxious to please, quailed. Then he remembered that he wasn't that boy any more. He remembered the scene in his kitchen when he'd left for work this morning. Trick sat at the polished oak table, looking pale and tired with dark circles under his pretty blue eyes, the white blond roots of his dyed black hair showing. Dex hadn't even been up yet, but Trick had dragged himself out of bed to make coffee and breakfast for Terry before he left for work.

"Is this something that can't wait until morning? Arden and I are taking the boys to Knott's Scary Farm tonight and I'm running late already."

"No. It can't." His voice was sharp with the pain he'd felt, the failure that haunted him. Trick wasn't happy, he needed a break away from the baby and the house and Dex's mood swings or he'd fall into a depression.

Brandon must have seen something in his face because he sighed and his voice softened. He stepped into the office, the thick grey carpet muffling the sound of his Italian loafers. "What do you need?"

Relief flooded him. "I’m going to take Trick and Dex away for the weekend. Belle is moving into a new duplex and experiencing morning sickness with the twins. So, I need a babysitter. We'll be back Monday." He realized he was responding to Brandon's blank expression when his voice came faster. Heat colored his skin and he braced himself for the refusal he could see Brandon didn't want to make.

"It's not a good idea, Terry. I'd love to help you out, but with three troubled teenagers in the house and it being Halloween, I just can't see it being a good environment for the baby." Brandon crossed the room as he spoke, and ended his speech with a comforting squeeze on Terry's shoulder. The reminder of Brandon and Arden's status as foster parents had Terry nodding. Most of their boys came from troubled homes, dangerous backgrounds and required a lot of attention. "Have you asked Mischa? Or Dan?"

"Dan and Morgan would be horrible baby sitters. Mischa has his hands full with Matt; he doesn't need Michael too." As Brandon made his departure, Terry let his gaze wander to the computer screen, showing a rustic white painted cabin nestled in soft looking white sand. Taking the twins away for a weekend had been a silly dream anyway. He hadn't realized until Brandon refused how much he himself had come to count on that weekend of uninterrupted sleep, how attached he'd become to the vision of the three of them sitting in those rough looking Adirondack chairs watching the sun rise over the Atlantic ocean. It looked so peaceful…so…His hand was on the phone and he'd dialed Donovan's cell number before reason could steal the dream away.

"Holloway." The deep rumble brought him back to reality, and he dragged in a breath.

"Hey, Donovan. I have a favor to ask and I want you to know that it is perfectly all right if you say no." But please say yes, he begged silently.

"I'm not hosting Thanksgiving, Terry. We're already signed on for Christmas and I can see Mischa wigging out as it gets closer."

He laughed involuntarily, tension loosening. Mischa and Donovan were busy, it was true, but they were family. "Nothing like that. Well, you might think it's worse."

"Worse than hosting the lot of you Blakes for two holidays in a row? I’m not sure that's possible."

"God, I think it really will work out. Donovan, Trick and Dex and I need some time away. We're tired, Trick can't sleep through the night, and Dex is putting us all through hell with some mood swings he can't even explain, the baby…"

"Is there something wrong with Michael?"

He hastened to reassure the man when he recognized the concern in his voice. "No. Michael is fine. He's just very time consuming and demanding. I just want one weekend where we can all sleep without midnight feedings and five am diaper changes and …"

"And you want to get laid."

"Is that so wrong?" Shame, embarrassment, relief, he couldn’t even decide what he felt right at that moment, just that it felt good that someone might actually understand how he might love Michael but miss his lovers.

"No, it's not wrong at all. Sure. We'll babysit. I haven't forgotten how you guys were there for us when Matthew came to live with us. He loves Michael and will be thrilled that his cousin is sleeping over. One thing though, can you call Mischa and let him know? I’m heading into a meeting now."

"Absolutely. Anytime you guys want to send Matt over, he's always welcome. Maybe next weekend?" Shut up! He wanted to shout; he was babbling in his gratitude.

"That's all right. Not next weekend, but soon. Mischa and I could use some us time as well."

He'd clicked the link to book the cabin before he hung up with Donovan, and by the time the phone rested in its hook, he was emailing the pilot of the Blake studios private jet to make flight arrangements to the Caribbean.

***

"I already told Dex I'd do it. Seriously, you guys just go on and relax." He'd been so grateful for Mischa's easy agreement that he hadn't realized the importance of what he'd said. Until now.

When he stood head to head with a very angry, very loud Dex who apparently had plans of his own for Halloween night that he'd been hiding from the rest of them.

"Look, Dex, it's not a big deal. Whatever you have planned, we can still do it."

Bewildered, Terry reached out to brush a thick lock of black hair back from Dex's forehead, but Dex slapped his hand away with a sneer. "No! Not from Aruba we can't! And my fucking name is John!"

"John, babe, please. We all need this time away. Trick needs a break from the baby and the stress. I just wanted us to have a nice long weekend without pressure."

"You don't know what he needs! It's my job to take care of him. I know what he needs."

Tumblers fell into place with rapid precision as Terry processed that telling statement. Dex and Trick had had only each other for so long. When Terry had encountered them at Mischa's party, they'd clung together, being everything to one another. Terry had wanted to be a part of that open affection and had fallen easily into love. "I didn't mean to just charge in and take him away from you Dex, and this trip isn't all about Trick, it's about all of us. I need some time with the two of you."

"You want sex." Dex sneered, backing away. "Trick is my responsibility, my brother. I saw how he was feeling, and I made plans to make him feel better. Making him feel good is what I do."

"Pouting around the house sulking and being angry about nothing is supposed to make him feel better?" He knew he shouldn't say it, but the words came out anyway, even when he understood how damaging they could be.

Dex flinched, narrow elegant shoulders hunching forward then straightening, as he absorbed the blow. "He understands me. You wouldn't because you…"

"Enough!" An angry whirlwind in grey yoga pants and a thin black t-shirt pushed between them, black hair whipping in his face as Trick turned from Dex to him and back again.

"Trick…" They spoke at once, each one apparently determined to express the regret they felt over adding to their lover's stress with their petty argument.

"Enough. I am this close," he pinched two narrow fingers together, leaving a scant breath of air between them, "to telling you both to fuck off."

Terry winced as Trick shoved him sharply in the sternum. He stumbled back a little, then grabbed a chair back to right himself. Dex yelped as he received the same treatment.

"Trick!" He protested, meeting Dex's stunned gaze in amazement. "We just want to do something nice for you- you need time away from the baby. Doesn’t a nice weekend at the beach sound lovely?"

"Breakfast on the Riviera, a day in the sun, an early night in bed?" Dex pleaded. Terry nodded at him, approvingly. Apparently they'd both had quite similar ideas, even if different locations.

"Either one, Trick." He smiled coaxingly. "Your choice, the plans are all made just say where you'd rather go and we'll do it."

"Yes!" Dex cajoled. "You choose and then let us pamper you for the whole weekend."

Trick shook his head with a disgusted snort. "What the fuck makes either of you think I'm going to abandon Michael to some babysitter and jet set off to some foreign country?"

He and Dex were left staring at each other while Trick stormed out of the room as swiftly as he'd entered it, muttering indistinguishable, but distinctly menacing sounds under his breath.

Terry sank into the chair he'd been clutching onto and Dex dropped at his feet, resting his head on Terry's thigh. Automatically, he threaded his fingers through the soft hair, taking comfort from the familiar silky strands while he tried to process the scene they'd just participated in.

"What was that all about?" He murmured.

"Us." Dex answered without raising his head. His hands closed on Terry's pants, so tightly he could feel each finger through the fabric. "Our childhood."

"I see." He didn't really, but what else could he say as hot wet tears soaked through his trousers and dampened his leg?

"They were always running off, leaving us with nannies and housekeepers and body guards. Then one time they didn't come back. And then it all went to hell, and all we had was each other."

His fist clenched on the hair and Dex whimpered as it pulled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that." He forced the tension from his fingers and breathed deeply. "We have to address this problem," he ventured when he felt like Dex had calmed down enough to talk.

"Nothing to address, Terry. Trick's right. We can't fly off and abandon Michael. He's ours, and I don't want him to ever have some stranger in a suit telling him that we won't ever come back."

Terry ached for the pain the young twins must have felt when they were confronted by that stranger. "It's not likely that anything will happen. But that's not what I meant. Michael will never be alone, no matter if something happens to one of us or all of us. He's got a whole boatload of Blakes and other relatives that will take care of him if we can't."

Dex hiccupped and finally raised his face. His eyeliner was smudged, his eyes rimmed with red and were faintly swollen. His pale cheeks were tracked by drying tears. "I forgot when we decided to keep you that you were part of a set."

Chuckling, Terry leaned down to place a chaste kiss on Dex's brow. "That's one way of describing my siblings." Seeing that Dex intended to completely avoid the real basis of their argument, he continued. "I am not taking Trick away from you, Dex. I wouldn't want to, and he wouldn’t let me."

"You couldn’t take him away." They both recognized the statement as weak bravado. "I know. I just…I wanted to help him, to take care of you both." He peered up under lowered lashes and Terry's heart twisted anew.

"I love you." The words slipped out, and he was glad, even though they still felt strange and raw in his heart, because Dex's cheeks flushed and the sparkle was back in his eyes. Trick wore his heart on his sleeve, and was vocal and free with his emotions, but Dex protected his own emotions with the same fierce intensity that he protected his brother.

The front doorbell rang and footsteps clattered through the hall way. Trick poked his head in the door to glare at them. He'd changed into a tuxedo and black and white spats, his hair combed in a restrained style. His slender form looked dangerous and tempting. Instead of a shoulder holster and pistol a la James Bond though, he wore a baby carrier with a smiling Michael cooing happily in his feathery owl costume.  Terry restrained himself from jumping up and dragging Trick into their embrace.

"That's Mischa. I’m taking Michael and going trick or treating with him and Matt. Then we're watching Young Frankenstein and Beetlejuice and gorging on apple cider and candy corn. Don't wait up." Hitching his designer diaper bag over one shoulder, Trick headed off down the hall

The front door slammed, and once more Terry found himself staring at Dex, feeling like his world view was slightly skewed, like maybe he had mixed up the brothers for the first time ever. Dex was supposed to be confident and powerful, Trick soft and gentle.

***

Trick had been watching the lights in the house across the street, rather than any of the hilariously un-scary movies that Mischa and Donovan had deemed appropriate viewing for their son. Michael slept in an upstairs room, but the baby monitor had been silent for hours. His eyelids drooped and tiredness dragged at his spirit, but Trick stayed on Mischa's couch, a plush throw wrapped around his feet opposite a giggling Matt.

He should go home. He wasn't having a good time, and he missed Dex and Terry terribly. He just couldn’t make himself get up and cross the road. He didn't want to open the door to their house and feel the tension. His bones ached and his heart throbbed a little as he recalled the angry voices, the violent way he'd shoved both of them.

The credits rolled on the last movie and a yawning Donovan rose from his recliner. "That's it Matt. Time to hit the hay." The tall man quirked an eyebrow at Mischa, and the two of them stared meaningfully at one another for a few minutes. A whole conversation passed between them without a word spoken, and Trick sighed.

He swung his feet onto the floor and folded the cozy hand knitted blanket carefully. "I guess I should go now and let you guys get some sleep."

Donovan herded Matt up the stairs, calling good nights in his clear childish voice all the way. Mischa smiled sympathetically at Trick. "How about a cup of hot cocoa and a smoke break in my office while you tell me why you aren't winging your way to some glamorous vacation spot for the weekend? I heard both Aruba and the French Riviera, and yet, here you are at Chez Holloway watching 80's movies and eating candy corn."

"I like 80's movies." He stalled for time but trailed after Mischa to the kitchen. Mischa filled two cups with hot cocoa from a pot simmering on the stove then gestured to his office, the room off the kitchen where he'd lived when he first moved into Donovan's house.

Trick entered the room and his gaze went automatically to the mahogany box on the table. All their old paraphernalia was there, but Mischa didn't keep smoke anymore. Trick had a metal box in his pocket with a dose from the pharmacy. He'd been given the prescription when all the anti- nausea drugs made him sicker, and it had helped.

He shouldn't smoke now. He wasn't nauseous. He was…"Furious?"

He tested the word, but it didn't quite fit right either.

"What's going on?" Mischa pulled him down on the cozy daybed and cuddled close to him. Trick felt some of the tension leaving him, relaxed into the comfortable touch.

"I was getting ready to come over and I heard them fighting, yelling at each other." He shuddered, that had been a horrible moment. "I think we, Terry, Dex and I are heading for trouble. I wonder if Michael wasn't too much too soon. I can't believe they were fighting with each other, over me. Mischa, I don't want things to end like this."

"Oh honey," Mischa stroked his hair soothingly. "Things aren't ending. People argue, they make up, they argue again."

"Do you and Donovan fight?"

"All the time. Over dumb shit too. Can you believe he won't let me pay off the house with my inheritance?"

Trick shook his head. "It must be some kind of alpha male thing. Terry won't let me pay for anything either."

"Is that what he and Dex were fighting over?"

"They were fighting about where to go on this trip, and then hit on this dumbass idea of making me choose a destination, as though I could choose one of them over the other. Because no matter which choice I made, the one who planned the other trip would be upset."

"They love you, that's all. Donovan said Terry was all about time for the three of you to rest and relax. And I can tell you Dex was the same. Why don't you take advantage of the baby sitting Don and I are providing and take one or both of them up on the weekend away?"

"I couldn’t. If I said I wanted to go to the Riviera, Terry would be hurt, and if I picked Aruba, Dex would be hurt. I can't choose one over the other, I love them both. Besides, it doesn't feel right to leave Michael and go so far away."

Mischa's brow crinkled in a thoughtful frown. Then a brilliant smile lit up his face. "I have it! Here's what you do…"

***

Dex lay awake, ears straining for the sound of the front door opening, absently playing with Terry's fingers where they rested on his belly. The two of them had talked at great length, and it had been awkward, sharing how he felt. They'd made their peace, and now it just remained for them to apologize to Trick for the stupid fight and things could go back to normal.

He stifled the little voice in the back of his head that whispered insidiously that normal hadn't been so awesome. Trick liked things the way they were, their lives were happy and comfortable, and they had friends and a home and a man who said he loved them.

It was beyond stupid that he seemed to be missing something. He would do anything for Trick, and he honestly loved Terry. Why couldn’t he be happy? Maybe it was time to see a counselor, like Trick had when his depression had become all consuming?

He wasn't depressed though. He was just…restless.

Maybe Terry was right. Maybe what he needed was exactly what Trick needed, and exactly what Terry had tried to give them all. Time together, in bed and out to just enjoy each other.

He'd become so absorbed in his thoughts that the slam of the door he'd been listening for came as a surprise. "Trick's back!' He shook Terry lightly, and the man came awake with a start and a splutter.

"Huh?" Green eyes blinked blearily up at him and he felt another pang of guilt lodge in his gut. Terry tried so hard, worked to give them what he thought they needed, a safe secure place. Why was he plagued with so much dissatisfaction?

Footsteps ascended the stairs and then stilled. Dex pictured his twin, the James Bond costume somewhat disheveled from a night of trick or treating and movie watching, standing in that wide open almost room sized hall. The hall was decorated like a lounge, with the four bedroom suites hidden away behind discreet doors. They each had their own suite, and while those rooms were generally used more as hobby and privacy spaces, each held a full bedroom. Could Trick conceivably be angry enough to actually sleep in that cozy little bed with its soft worn antique quilts and feather pillows?

While his instinct was to run out in the wide hall and demand to know what Trick was thinking, where he was planning to sleep, Terry's calming hand, warm and soothing on his arm, held him back, and he was grateful for that.

"Give him space. Let him choose for himself."

He scrunched a little closer to Terry, seeking more of that comforting heat. "What if he doesn't want to sleep with us? We need to be together."

"Just like you need to be able to work out or play the stereo loud in your room when you feel unsettled, Trick needs alone time too. I don't like it any more than you do," Terry's voice softened. "But we have to respect that he is his own person, not just our lover."

The spike of anger he felt was short lived and Dex felt immediately guilty for it. "He's not just my lover. He's my brother and I love him. Even if we aren't going to have…" his voice trailed off. What the hell was he talking about? Since Michael's advent into their lives, the nights when they didn't have sex far outnumbered the ones when they did. "He should at least sleep here." He finished lamely.

Terry frowned and his mouth opened to speak, but the door opened and faint light from the hallway spilled into the room. Trick stood, already dressed in his pajamas, soft flannel sleep pants, because he was always cold, a thin long sleeved t-shirt, and his growing hair pulled back in a pony tail. Dex's heart faltered then sped up. Terry remained calm, his expression bland, but his grip on Dex's arm tightened. At first he thought it was because Terry didn't trust him not to bolt out of the bed to Trick's side, but a glance at his face revealed tension that he was trying to hide.

Forcing himself to speak calmly so as not to let his own emotions influence Trick's, Dex aimed for welcoming. "Hi. Did you guys have fun?"

"I think I would have had fun…," Trick's voice was tired, but he entered the room and crossed to the bed. Dex scooted over, bumping Terry until there was room for Trick next to him. To his disappointment, Trick climbed onto the foot of the bed and sat cross legged, head bowed.

"If you weren't worried about the two of us being jerks back home?" Terry rumbled.

That brought Trick's head up, his blue eyes ablaze. "You aren't jerks. I never said you were. I just…I can't stand the fighting. I wanted you to be done fighting and making up by the time I got home."

"We're done fighting." Dex crawled out of the blankets and down to embrace Trick, who leaned into him. The bed shifted and he felt the warmth of Terry surrounding them both.

"We're sorry, Trick. We don't have to go anywhere if you don't want to."

"We can go lots of places, I just don't want to be so far away if anything happens to Michael. Mischa helped me find a place within an hour's drive of here. It's in the mountains, not at the beach, and it'll be cold and snowy." His face went soft and dreamy. "But we can curl up in front of the fireplace and cuddle under comfy quilts and…"

"Make love then fall asleep and wake up and do it all over again?"

Trick blushed a little at Terry's teasing. "We can start that part now."

Their lips met in an awkward, sloppy three way kiss where noses bumped and chins rubbed together. The soft, emotion driven caresses quickly evaporated, replaced by demanding forays of tongues and clinking of teeth until Terry pulled back, laughing, leaving Dex and Trick, mouths locked, staring into one another's eyes for long moments.

It was Trick who broke the kiss, tilting his head up to the ceiling and drawing in deep, ragged breaths. "I love you, Dex." He murmured when he was capable of speech.

The tension he'd been prey to lately faded away. Trick loved him, Terry loved him. He loved them. It was all good, and if it didn't sparkle like a fairy tale, that was okay too. They could slay giants and throw water on wicked witches together.

Satisfied of his place, Dex gave himself over to the physical needs that were making themselves felt. He tugged the hem of Trick's t-shirt up, revealing lean pale flesh. He lurched sideways, catching himself with a hand on the mattress as Terry surged into action, quickly removing the cotton boxer briefs he slept in.

Trick's arms crossed Dex's as they fumbled undressing each other. After a few stray limbs and Terry's hands were added to the mix, they were reduced to a naked jumble of body parts, smooth and hairy, lean and thickly muscled. Dex luxuriated in the supple smoothness of Trick's body, skimming his hands over lean muscles. He kissed his twin's lips, then when Trick twisted away, whatever skin he could reach, neck, ear, shoulder.

Terry had shifted, looming behind Dex, a comforting sturdy frame to lean against. Terry braced, him, rubbing his erection against Dex's buttocks, caressing his shoulders and thighs with fiery touches. The urge to come became overwhelming, his blood beat hot and loud in his ears.

Their movements became purposeful though, and Dex found himself unexpectedly in the middle of two men, a place usually occupied by Terry or Trick. Oh, he'd had his turn, but he'd rather thought that Terry was with him in intending this time to be all about making up to Trick for their stupid fight. Instead, Terry's thick fingers, somehow coated with slick oil, were rubbing against his hole, and Trick was mouthing his nipples and teasing his cock with soft, barely there touches that would surely drive him insane.

Dex sighed and let his mind go. There wasn't any right way to do this, and if Trick wanted him in the middle, then he'd be in the middle. He relaxed and Terry's fingers slipped inside, causing him to tense. The tissue burned pleasantly and he bit his lip. His fingers clenched on Trick's shoulders as Terry nibbled at his neck, and he moaned, tipping his head to the side to grant better access.

Trick shrugged his hands away and reared up, kissing Terry over his shoulder. Dex strained his eyes to watch the kiss, finding watching nearly as erotic as kissing itself. The little noises they made sounded loud and full of promise, laced around the beating of his heart and the rush of blood in his ears as they were.

"Ready?" Terry whispered, rough and sexy.

"Oh yes," Trick slithered down his body in a move so sleek and elegant it should have been made on a dance floor.

Dex scarcely had time to touch his twin's cheek before he was inundated with the dual sensations of a hot wet mouth pulling at his cock, and the thick probe of Terry thrusting into his ass with a smooth practiced move.

The man had learned a lot about sex in the time they'd been together, applying himself to learning the art of pleasure as determinedly as he had to learning business law, accounting, and the principles of investment. Dex let his eyes close briefly as he simply enjoyed the way his skin became hyper sensitive and his entire body became a sensory organ- prickling and pulsing and magnifying every touch until he felt the fragile skin could not contain it further.

He forced his eyes open and looked down, to meet Trick's crystal blue eyes peering up at him. His twin's cheeks were flushed, his pretty red lips stretched wide around Dex's cock as he sucked it deep then glided back to the tip, swirling his tongue around before leaning forward. Dex bumped the back of his throat, fancied he could feel Trick's heart pounding in a matching pulse there, before he retreated again. "Trick," he choked out between ragged breaths. "Want you to come, too."

And all the while, Terry pounded into him from behind, hard forceful thrusts accompanied by harsh grunts and ragged moans. The contrast of wet heat and steady, firm pressure luring, coaxing his cock to release in front, and the full, dark pleasure of being invaded from the rear built his arousal by leaps and bounds until he was barely clinging to a thread of control, holding on, waiting for his lovers to come with him? Why? Why not just let go?

Then Terry faltered behind him, losing his rhythm, and Trick released his cock. In a rush of movement he was pushed down from behind to find his mouth level with Trick's prick, hard and leaking. Terry's grip on his hips had tightened, and his body froze as he waited. "Suck him. Suck, Trick." Terry grunted, leaning into his backside and stroking one hard hand down the knobs of Dex's spine.

Without thinking, Dex obeyed, pleased by Trick's whimper, adoring the salty sweet taste of his twin's flesh. He knew what Trick liked, just how to touch, he could bring his lover off without thinking at all. Which was a good thing, because as soon as he started bobbing his head, toying with Trick's cock with his tongue like Trick enjoyed, Terry started moving again and there wasn't anything that could have made him capable of rational thought. He was full of sensations, his whole being was just feeling, feeling the bump and pulse and throb of Trick against his tongue, against the back of his throat, feeling the pulse and swell and friction of Terry pumping into him, fast and deep and driving him into a maelstrom of sensation that had only one possible outcome.

Trick's seed spurting in his mouth added a new dimension to the sensory input, and he gulped it down, shivering as his body tightened, all sensation coalescing into one long, vibrant shudder. He jerked, spilling cum on the tangled sheets.

Terry growled behind him, stilling, and then jerking a few times. The sensual rhythms of moments before became awkward in orgasm, slightly painful as they flinched and jerked and twisted, traded spurts and clenching muscles and exhausted chuckles until the three of them collapsed in a heap, wet, sweaty, and satisfied.

Dex ended up lying in cold sticky cum, but he was too exhausted, too happy to care. He'd just lie there for a bit and get his breath back, let his muscles stop tingling and his heart beat return to normal. Then he'd maybe suggest they abandon the master bedroom and hole up in one of the others until they felt like changing the sheets.

"So," Trick's voice was scratchy and when Dex twisted his neck to find his brother smiling at him, his lips were a deep swollen red, his eyes heavy lidded. "I vote, we park the cars in the garage, unplug all the phones, and pretend we went somewhere."

"And actually just stay here in bed for three days?"

"I like it." Terry crawled out of the pile of bodies and stood at the side of the bed. "Let's shower and go back to bed."

He looked so sublimely hopeful that Dex couldn’t help laughing. "Okay. We've officially become the idiots in the family. We've paid for three different vacation homes for the weekend, but we're staying here instead."

Trick cast him a glorious smile. "Last one in the shower has to change the sheets!"

Dex's competitive spirit was instantly aroused. He surged upright, bounced to the floor and took off running, ignoring the laughter that followed him to the bathroom. "Just throw the comforter on the floor," He yelled over his shoulder. "The rest should be fine!"

The End