New Extended Excerpt: Loving Jacob

Enjoy a sexy new expanded excerpt for Loving Jacob

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Prologue

Malcolm Jenner kept one eye on the silent, dark-haired man standing at the rear of the room as he made his way toward the glass door leading to the riotous explosion of color that was Penny's garden. Jacob didn't look like he was doing very well. Against the smooth blue paint of the walls his face was pale, his violet eyes red-rimmed and damp-looking. Disarrayed dark curls testified to the fact that he'd been running his fingers through them, a habit that Malcolm remembered well from their time together. Malcolm had no intention of allowing Jacob to leave the reception until he'd spoken to him, but the other man did a very creditable job of keeping people between them and avoiding eye contact with Malcolm.

Malcolm eased his way around the room, dodging chatting guests in their wedding finery and caterers in black pants and white shirts alike, moving ever closer to his target. He'd asked his brother Rick, the neurosurgeon, to keep Jacob occupied and unobtrusively lead him to the patio doors. They now stood engaged in conversation. Rick watched Malcolm's approach and attempted to keep Jacob from noticing him.

Malcolm slipped behind the other two and reached out to grasp Rick's hand in a quick shake. "Thanks, Rick, I'll take him from here."

Jacob whirled around, dark curls scattering. He raised his face and Malcolm's heart ached at the pain in his eyes. He extended a slightly shaky tanned hand to brush the hair away from Jacob's forehead, but pulled it back quickly when Jacob flinched.

"Jake, baby, I'm so sorry. I know how hard it must be to be here without Peter. Come outside and talk…" He trailed off as Jacob began shaking his head.

"No. No, I can't be around you right now. I don't want to talk to you, Malcolm." Tears leaked in a tiny silvery stream from Jacob's eyes and his slightly muscled frame appeared to vibrate.

The slender hands that had once stroked his flesh with urgent need rose to push him away, then ran again through the long black hair nearly touching his shoulders. Malcolm wanted to embrace the other man, to absorb all the hurt this day had brought his beloved, and replace it with warmth and security.

"I have to talk to you. There are things you need to know; things we need to discuss." Malcolm's heart broke for many reasons: to see the desolation on Jacob's face and because he knew that deep inside he actually felt a glimmer of happiness that Jacob was unattached again. He knew it had to be difficult for Jacob to be here, surrounded by Peter's family at his sister's wedding. He had a distinctly uncharitable wish that some of the obvious sorrow and anxiety Jacob so clearly felt was on his behalf.

"Not today, Malcolm. I’m here today because Peter would have wanted me to come. He'd have been here himself." Jacob didn't seem like he could handle much more stress on top of the wedding and Malcolm was willing to wait; he had, after all, been waiting for Peter and Jacob to end their relationship for the past five years, hadn't he? He had been highly skeptical that it would even last that long, had been positive that Jacob's relationship with Peter had been a deliberate attempt to hurt Malcolm. He frowned. He hadn't ever wished for Peter's death, though. The car accident that had taken Peter's life a year ago had been traumatic for Jacob and he'd wished fervently that he could've been there to help the other man through the devastation of the loss. Loss was something he had felt fully capable of dealing with.

"I was surprised that you accepted the invitation. Penny and I both were. We appreciate your coming." Malcolm cast a nervous glance over Jacob's shoulder into the garden. Especially since it gave me the chance to be here with you, to establish contact again.

"Of course I came. This is about family. Peter would have wanted me to come. Family was everything to him," Jacob replied, his voice steady. "Penny practically raised him, you know, after their parents died."

Malcolm understood that too. How could he not? For so many years family duty and responsibility had been his guiding force. Every decision he'd made had been considered from their perspective. What would his father, the neurosurgeon, think? What would his mother, the society wife, have to say? How would their society friends and neighbors view his actions? Since he'd married Penny twenty years ago, her brother Peter had been a part of his family. At one time, he'd considered his responsibilities to his family more important than even this man before him today. That time had passed, though it had taken a boot in the ass from an unlikely source for him to see it.

"How about if I come by in the morning with breakfast? Will someone be staying with you? I don't think you should be alone after this." Attending Peter's sister's wedding without his husband of five years had been a surprising action on Jacob's part. He and Penny had fully expected that Jacob would say good riddance to bad rubbish without a backward glance at his deceased spouse's remaining family. Hardly a charitable view, but Jacob had plenty of reasons to dislike him and Penny.

Jacob nodded and gestured toward a fair-haired man in his midthirties. "Peter's cousin, James, is staying at the condo with me. He's taking care of things." The condo he referred to had been Peter's when they first met and Peter had kept it as a vacation rental property after moving to Vermont to teach in the education department at the University of Vermont.

As though sensing he was the topic of conversation, the blond man turned in their direction, and upon seeing Jacob talking to Malcolm, broke off his conversation with the group of people where he stood and headed in their direction.

"All right, early tomorrow morning. I'll bring you breakfast from the Black Forest Deli. I really want to talk to you and clear the air between us." He wanted more than that, but was unwilling to speak of the want and desire that pulsed through him in the blond man's presence. Mentioning the gooey cherry stollen from the deli they had frequented as a couple was a deliberate and, he admitted, slightly underhanded way of bringing their past to the present. In the months that their affair had run hot, he had made a habit of gifting Jacob with the sweet treat on lazy Sunday mornings after long nights of steamy sex.

"Excuse me," the blond interrupted them. "Jacob is needed in the other room."

"Thank you, James." Jacob nodded and took the other man's hand in a white-knuckled grip that didn't escape Malcolm's notice. Good, Jacob had feelings for him still, even if they weren't the warm, fuzzy kind of feelings he'd once denied wanting from Jacob. That white-knuckled grip denoted the strength of the feelings involved. Given half a chance, he'd turn Jacob's hatred into love again. He could battle anything but indifference.

"I'll see you in the morning, Malcolm."

James's blue eyes burned into Malcolm's. He possessively raised Jacob's hand to press it into the crook of his arm. Stepping fractionally closer to the younger man, he smiled disdainfully. "Not too early, Jenner. We need our sleep."

Malcolm followed the other two men with his gaze as they left the room, locking on that spot where the two hands clasped together. Fuck. Had Jacob already moved on from Peter's death? Not again, he vowed. You're coming back to me, where you belong. He wouldn't take a backseat to another man in Jacob's life ever again. Once before, that beautiful man had been his and he would be again. Malcolm had learned a lot in the last five years and most of that learning had been done the hard way.

He'd never felt for another man the same level of attraction he felt for Jacob.  Just being in the same room with the slight dark-haired man sent prickles of awareness rushing through his body and thickened his cock in anticipation. Though he'd tried like hell to deny it, he'd known when he first set eyes on the younger Jacob, newly hired to work in the technology department at his office, that they were meant to be together, and this time he would do anything and everything in his power to guarantee that outcome. He'd made the mistake once before of putting another's needs before his love's; of believing that only he could direct their future. The duty and responsibility that his parents had drummed into him from birth to carry on the family name had been fulfilled. The price it had cost him had been more than he would have willingly paid if he'd been aware of the consequences of honoring his family name above all others.

So yeah, he'd bring up the past any chance he got, remind Jacob as often as possible how good things had been between them from the start.

Chapter One

Five Years Earlier

Malcolm gritted his teeth and reminded himself that an office fling with a man who had to be at least ten years his junior was out of the question. He and Penny had long since relinquished any pretense of monogamy in their marriage and reached an amicable agreement to conduct their affairs discreetly out of respect for their son and their friendship. Fucking purple-eyed twinks in the elevator at work? Not discreet.

He kept his gaze focused on the gleaming silver metal of the doors as the elevator made its excruciatingly slow way up to the third floor. His glance flicked to the reflection beside his. The younger man stood casually, shoulders propped against the wall, licking pink lips. His purple gaze in the hazy reflection was focused…fuck…on Malcolm's obvious erection beneath his dark dress pants. Discretion. Discretion. He snarled at his libido. There will be no casual hookups with people from the office, he warned his eager cock. He shifted to the side slightly, hoping to hide the evidence of his arousal from the other man. Damn it. That kid had the sexiest eyes he'd ever seen. He wanted like hell to see them glaze over as he fucked the tight ass hinted at by the khaki pants he wore. He didn't go much for the intimacy of face-to-face encounters, but for the sight of those eyes and that mouth in the throes of orgasm, he'd make an exception. His tendency toward quick casual encounters disguised his preference for male partners and kept word of his homosexuality from getting back to his parents, his partners in the firm, and out to the public.

A law office, like any other place of business, was a microcosm of the world at large. Malcolm knew from being on the receiving end of gossip from his secretary Marge that every action and interaction between employees was fodder for the gossip mill. Being the subject of water cooler gossip lacked appeal and offended his sense of dignity, as did the knowledge that he apparently couldn't control his urges around the tech guy.

He threw in the towel and gave up the fight against his attraction to the young man from the technology department. Malcolm caught that sultry purple gaze on his cock for what must have been the hundredth time. The slight young man brushed against him in an intentional teasing slide while he tried to exit the elevator on the second floor.

Impulsively, Malcolm grabbed Jacob's hand and pulled him back inside the otherwise-empty space. He kept that small, soft hand locked in his own as he allowed the heavy metal doors to slam shut and the elevator to rise to his own floor. There he slapped his palm against the button that prevented the doors from opening. He'd had all the titillation he could stand. Malcolm swept the young man into his embrace. He tilted Jacob's head upward with one hand and dropped his mouth passionately, almost brutally, to kiss the other man. His other hand tangled in the black curls that had taunted his senses over the past weeks. He forced the soft pink lips apart, then swept his tongue inside. Instantly he was absorbed in the heated, slick haven of Jacob's mouth. The honeyed sweetness drew him further in and his tongue eagerly sought the textures and flavors that had been hidden there. Fuck. He could drown in the wet heat he found behind those soft lips. It was addictive. Jacob didn't even try to escape the kiss; in fact, he seemed to be doing his best to encourage it. He brushed his tongue against Malcolm's, sweeping it gently along the roof of his mouth, seeking and finding the sweetest spots. Both men were panting heavily when they separated.

Malcolm pulled back and spoke harshly. "Is that what you're after, little boy? You want a quick fuck in the elevator to start the week off right?"

Jacob gasped and tried to pull away, but Malcolm wouldn't let him. "No! Well, yeah, but that's not all I want." The young man seemed to be a bit dazed and shook his head as though to clear it. His shaking hand rose to push through the tangled black curls that Malcolm could picture so easily coiling around his cock while Jacob knelt on the dull gray carpet sucking him off, as he had every intention would happen very shortly.

"Well, that's all I'm offering. Take it or leave it." Malcolm drew his hand down the length of his cock, which had pulsed to aching life during the elevator trip. Jacob wore light, spicy citrus cologne that seemed to linger in Malcolm's nostrils long after the encounter between them had ended and being in the elevator with the sexy younger man had a predictable effect on his dick.

"Look, I'm very busy. I have a few minutes for you now, but…" He let his arousal-roughened voice trail off, waiting to see if Jacob took the bait. Jacob's purple-hued gaze locked on his hand gliding up and down, pressing against his throbbing cock behind the zipper of the black dress pants he wore. That gaze was an added caress that fired his blood even hotter and he swore softly. "Fuck. You want it. I can see it in your eyes, feel it in you every time you come near me."

Jacob licked his lips, but remained silent. Malcolm flipped open the button of his pants and began lowering the zipper carefully. The metallic clink of the zipper filled the spaces between their labored breaths. He spoke harshly. "I have a meeting with a client in ten minutes. I need to take care of this. You can watch, or you can help; take your pick."

He pushed aside the black cotton of the briefs he wore and drew his thick cock out of his pants, watching that silky pink tongue slick over Jacob's lips again. He wanted to feel that tongue tracing his shaft and flickering over its sensitive crown. Slowly he trailed his hand up from his heavy swollen balls to the precum-slickened head and squeezed gently, his eyes still locked on Jacob's face. The younger man breathed heavily, eyes hot, molten purple liquid. Malcolm stroked himself more quickly, silently urging Jacob to his knees, willing him to take his dick into his mouth.

He groaned in approval when Jacob dropped in seeming obedience to the unspoken command. Malcolm pulled his hand away from his cock and wound his fingers through the wild curls that had teased his senses since he'd first noticed the boy. He used his handful of silky hair to guide the pink mouth where he wanted it, rubbing the soft, moist lips against his tip before pressing, gently seeking entrance.

"You have done this before, right?" He couldn't help asking as the youthful innocence and enthralled look of wonder in the purple eyes gazing up at him gave him pause. A blow job from a novice might not be the best idea. He could wait to feel those sweet lips closing around him if he would have the privilege of teaching this gorgeous man how to suck a man's cock.

Jacob's tongue flicking in a velvety caress, first across his lips, then Malcolm's swollen crown, vanquished any intention of preserving that innocence. "No teeth…" was all he managed to choke out before a blazing hot mouth engulfed his hardness with enthusiasm. Rough swirling strokes of Jacob's tongue along his crown and under the rim convinced him that giving in to his urges made sense. He groaned his pleasure as the silken heat of that agile tongue burned wet trails from the rim of his cock up, over the throbbing head and down again to the base. He jerked, hands pulling and clenching tight in the silky black curls. Malcolm guided Jacob in a rhythm that set his balls to buzzing and a hot warmth spreading out from the base of his spine. The sensations rocketed up through his aching length and he found release in a series of convulsive spurts of cum that Jacob sucked up and swallowed without pause.

Enough experience guided those lips and that tongue to erase any doubts Malcolm may have had about starting something with Jacob. However innocent Jacob may appear, he was clearly old enough and knew enough to satisfy a lover in this way. Malcolm felt absolutely certain that this was just the start of something.

As the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through his body, Malcolm pulled Jacob to his feet and brought him in for another kiss. He fastened his trousers and then set the other man aside before pressing the button to open the doors of the elevator. He strode forward, leaving Jacob gasping for breath as he collapsed back against the wall of the elevator. He looked back over his shoulder and bit back a groan at the sexy sight of those dazed purple eyes, the wildly tousled black curls, and the passionate flush on the delicate cheekbones. So much for discretion.  He'd just have to hope the last ten minutes hadn't caught anyone's attention on the security cameras. Not that anyone in security would gossip about anything seen or heard on the security tapes.  Confidentiality was key in legal work and anyone who discussed the surveillance tapes or shared their contents without being legally obligated to do so would be terminated.

"Meet me here at six." He tossed the directive over his shoulder and hurried past the empty reception desk to pause at the office suite marked with his name on a brass plate. That shiny brass plate signaled his only rebellion to date from parental control. His father, the neurosurgeon, had wanted him to go into medicine and join his practice. In an unprecedented act of rebellion that had earned him a few frosty glares, Malcolm had elected to attend law school. Difficult as his parents had found it to accept, the sight of blood made him physically ill. A career in medicine was not an option. Announcing his desire to practice law had been difficult, but his family had accepted his career choice before he graduated law school. After all, it was an entirely respectable career with prospects for public service and prosperity. He was sure that announcing that he was gay wouldn't have gone over nearly as well. His brother became the neurosurgeon in his place with alacrity. In every other aspect, his life followed the blueprint the Jenners had laid out for their eldest son at birth: excel at school and in sports, attend prestigious universities, get married and have children, and above all, do nothing to embarrass your parents.

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Mrs. Condits gives Lee Brazil's Loving Jacob FOUR & a HALF Sweet Peas -".... Loving Jacob by Lee Brazil completely threw me for a loop and I loved it!..." Mrs. Condit Reads Books

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Exploring the Backlist: Mark's Opening Gambit New, EXTENDED EXCERPT

MARK'S OPENING GAMBIT

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BLURB

  The son of a wealthy business man, Mark Addison is an expert at chess and hiding. Mason Grant labors with his hands in a menial position; he's open about who he is and what he wants in ways that terrify Mark. Their paths shouldn't have crossed, but now that they have...

  They came from different backgrounds, yet each adheres to his own version of family duty and responsibility. One would make any sacrifice for his family's well being. For Mason Grant that means leaving school at sixteen and working hard while living as a man of integrity to set an example for his brothers.

The other would sacrifice anything to keep his family life calm. If that means hiding who he really is from his high society, narrow-minded parents, then that's what Mark Addison will do. He just wants to run his shop, host a few tournaments, play a few games of chess.

When Mason meets fussy, precise chess tournament director Mark, he isn't expecting much more than a few hours of uncomfortable sleep in his car while his brother plays.

One disdainful look from Mark changes that.

EXCERPT

Chapter One

Mason surreptitiously glanced around the neat interior of the Mark's Opening Gambit. The café-slash-chess parlor wasn't his first choice of places to spend a Saturday, but when his brother begged a ride to the tournament, he'd caved immediately, despite the exhaustion and body aches he'd earned the night before. Unloading trucks and stocking shelves at the grocery store wasn't a mentally challenging job, but the night shift paid a dollar an hour more and the extra money came in handy. Times were tough, and a guy without a high school diploma didn't stand a whole lot of a chance of doing something better. It also left his mom free to take the day shift at the hospital where she worked, and he was available during the days to ferry his brothers around to their high school events and activities.

Such as chess tournaments hosted by button-down dress shirt-wearing, hot as hell, snooty men. He might have been a bit more eager to play chauffeur if he'd realized the Mark his brother had spoken of glowingly was such an eyeful. He'd stepped through the shop door behind Johnny to find his gaze locked with a pair of eyes so deep and golden it was like he'd stepped into honey. He couldn't glance away for the longest time, and it took the other man's slow flush to make him realize he was being rude. That first sight of the tournament host had sent a warm awareness through him. He really wished that the sight of Mark Addison—Jesus, even his fucking name was holier than thou—wasn't so appealing. Mark was perfect. Fucking perfect, or perfect for fucking, with his neatly trimmed brown hair, touched with golden highlights, his slim, wiry body, not the product of a gym but of a man who led an active life. His lips enticed Mason, and he wanted to pull the puffy lower one between his teeth and bite down, to suck it into his mouth and devour the man with kisses. He wanted to touch the pale skin and see if it was as soft as it appeared, as cold as it seemed, to stroke away the distance in those eyes and make the other man notice him.

The golden-brown gaze didn't warm in the slightest under his own admiring regard, but scanned his faded Levi's and tight T-shirt with disapproval. Mason half expected to be informed he didn't meet the dress code for the elegant little shop. Instead, Mark Addison looked him over and dismissed him as though he were beneath notice.

Shrugging off the snobbery, Mason slapped his brother on the back. "Go get 'em, kid. Or whatever you guys call it." He hoped to sleep in his car while his brother played and turned to leave immediately.

He met Addison's eyes again, tried for a smile, but the arrogant host stared right through him. "Students participating in the tournament are to be supervised by adults at all times."

The inflectionless voice grated on his nerves as much as the pronouncement. It wasn't like these were two year-olds, for God's sake. It was Chess Club. By virtue of their very geekiness, they were mature, well-behaved teens.

Too bad such a sexy voice and face belonged to such a prick. Unfortunately for Mason, he couldn't focus on Johnny's progress through the tournament. All he seemed able to focus on was that slim figure moving between the tables, the unconscious grace of the small man's movements, the seductive draw of tightening khaki across his backside as he bent to survey a board or pick up something from the floor.

He scowled as Mark glared at him again, turning and facing resolutely out the window into the parking lot. In the reflection the glass provided, he watched Mark excuse himself from Ainslie, the kids' coach, and head in his direction, a determined expression on his face.

Good. The self-righteous prick had noticed him. Mark stopped right next to him, and they stood staring out into the parking lot together.

"Stop staring at me like that."

Mason snorted, turned to look down at the shorter man. "Like what?"

The older man twitched and licked his lips. Mason stifled the groan that wanted to escape. He shifted restlessly.

"You know. Like...that."

"Like I want to throw you over my shoulder and take you out of here and fuck you? Sorry. Can't do that." Fascinated, he noted the flush on Mark's cheekbones deepen, heard the hitch in his breathing, and knew that he'd been right. Chemistry burned between them.

"You..." Mark glanced cautiously around the shop at the kids concentrating so fiercely on their chess games, the proud parents and coaches peering anxiously at their little darlings. Mark stuttered to a stop before starting again. "Not here. We need to talk privately. Meet me behind the shop in ten minutes."

Whoa. He hadn't expected that. Maybe Mark's buttoned-down appearance was deceptive. Mason looked forward to cracking that calm reserve and proving to the man that the clothes they wore didn't define their roles. He nodded in acknowledgment, and Mark wandered away to check on the progress of the tournament. Mason headed straight to the front door, aware all the while of Mark's furtive glances. He exited the shop and headed to his beat-up old Jetta, so at odds with the shiny BMWs and SUVs that surrounded it in the parking lot.

A brief stop at the car to pick up some things he'd need and he strolled casually around the corner of the building, thankful that the chess café was at the end of the strip mall and not in the middle. Behind the shop was a dumpster, and strangely enough, a wrought iron table and two chairs on the cemented area that should have been an unloading bay. Mason noted with interest the ashtray and coasters on the table. A few potted palms provided a bit of shade and some privacy but not enough for anything too intimate. Mark had created a little garden back here. Mason's absorption in the details of the environment convinced him that he'd overestimated Mark's intentions. More private than the store itself, yes, but hardly secluded enough for any real interaction of a physical sort.

He spied Mark peering through the back door of the shop. At the grocery store where Mason worked, the back doors were battered and grimy. Not so at Mark's Opening Gambit. The door to the back room of the shop was a shiny, pure white, fresh scrubbed, or painted or whatever. Not so much as a fingerprint marred its pristine surface, much like not so much as a hair on Mark's head dared stray out of place. It made Mason want to grab a crayon and write on the walls, muss up the environment just like he wanted to muss up those locks of brown hair.  Mark's sweet lips pressed tightly together, and his cheeks flushed, from anger or arousal maybe, as he caught sight of Mason.

Mason found his gaze drawn to those lips, wanting to pry them apart and soothe the tension from them with caresses of his mouth and tongue. He licked his suddenly dry lips in anticipation as Mark approached.

Honey-colored eyes sparkled with emotion as Mark came within touching distance. Mason fought the urge to yank him even closer as Mark halted, gazing up. He felt again the strange drowning sensation as he stared down into those eyes, unable to glance away. Thank God Mark seemed to experience it, too, because whatever angry words he'd been about to spout died on his lips as Mason ran a big, calloused palm along the smooth-shaven curve of Mark's jaw, feeling his indrawn breath as much as he heard it. The softness of Mark's jaw on his own work-roughened skin was thrilling, and Mason bent down, tilting his head to the side before smoothly bringing their lips together. With the merest brush of contact, he paused to allow Mark the chance to refuse the kiss, to pull away, to slap his face, to ream him out for having the gall to touch.

When no protest came, he sighed with relief. His eyelids drift shut, and he pressed his parted lips more firmly on the soft, sweet lips below his own. Carefully, ignoring the throbbing demands of his body, he tasted the plump curves that had held his gaze. Not wanting to startle Mark, Mason ran his tongue lightly over those sensual lips, sliding his hand from the taut line of jaw around to the nape of Mark's neck, burying his fingers in the fine, silky strands of hair there.

Mark's unresisting acquiescence was far from the response he wanted. He guided the man's head to a better angle and slipped his tongue into the waiting cavern. Mark trembled in response. Mason wanted Mark to burn as he did, to feel the same urgent desire to throw caution to the wind and make love here in the open behind the shop. He wouldn't go that far in this public setting, of course, but he wanted to strip away the distance in Mark's eyes and make him a part of the present, force him to respond, to reach for Mason with the same urgency that Mason yearned for him.

He'd nearly given up when Mark shoved him abruptly away, glaring at him with angry golden eyes. Instead of the passion he'd hoped to inspire, the other man appeared scared, panicky even. Mason stepped forward, guilt urging him to offer comfort.

Mark scowled at Mason and pushed backward, dropped into one of the wrought iron chairs, and reached into a pocket to pull out a packet of cigarettes. His gaze darted left and right as though searching for someone. "No. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Guilt at causing Mark's near panic, anger at being pushed aside, and to some degree sheer exhaustion had words spilling from Mason's mouth before he could evaluate them. "Hey, I get it. No means no. Yeah. Like I'd want to kiss a wax doll again anyway."

He spun on his heel and stalked away from the little oasis in back of the strip mall, ignoring Mark's harshly indrawn breath behind him. He shoved a hand into his pocket and curled his fingers tightly around the condom and lube he'd shoved there. Thinking with his dick. Fucking lucky he hadn't gotten knocked on his ass literally instead of figuratively.

Chapter Two

Mark inhaled the smoke of his cigarette, striving to get his heart rate back under control. He glanced cautiously around the back area of the shop. Foolish to be so paranoid, but he really couldn't take the chance that any of his father's other tenants would see and mention the kiss. Shrugging off his unease, he stubbed the cigarette out in the little ashtray and returned to the shop. He closed the door carefully behind him. It was regrettable that Mason Grant had misunderstood his comment. He'd have liked to explain that it wasn't the kiss he objected to. Dear God, what a kiss that had been! No, it was the location of the kiss.

He couldn't do PDAs. He'd meant to flirt a little, maybe exchange phone numbers, but the passion in those brown eyes had rendered him speechless, and before he could do anything, he'd been wrapped up in a kiss that hit all his buttons. He was fortunate he'd managed to break away before they'd ended up engaged in sexual relations right there on the patio behind the store.

Maybe inviting Mason Grant to the back patio had been the wrong thing to do. He stood in the tight confines of the hallway, bracing himself to enter the fray once more. Sally, his mother's bridge partner's youngest daughter, stood serving coffee behind the counter. He couldn't be sure that she would report anything she saw to his mother, but there was always the possibility.

Ainslie, the kids' chess team coach, was a bit safer. He was gay as well, but his family had accepted his preferences. However, Ainslie was his father's partner's son and could easily let something slip in casual conversation that would send Mark's father on a rampage and his mother into a cold silence. Ainslie wandered between the tables studying his players' moves, putting a comforting hand on a shoulder here and there. They'd been friends since birth, but he couldn't ask Ainslie to keep his secrets any more than he could share with Ainslie the bitter traumas of his youth. If you hadn't lived it, it was unimaginable.

The shop was his life, his dream, his most treasured accomplishment. His parents had reluctantly agreed to allow him to open the shop as a sort of consolation prize, for giving up what they termed his "foolish preferences." It might be his intellectual haven, but it wasn't a safe place to be attracted to someone. His parents could and would cancel his lease and shut down his business if he didn't follow their life plan, which included vetting the type of people he dated. Mason Grant was too blue collar, too brash, too male for his parents. Someone male definitely would not make their list of approved partners for their only son.

Through the shop window, he tracked Mason to a faded red Jetta. Strolling casually among the tables, he kept one eye on the handsome, younger man. He was reluctant to let Mason go but couldn't see how he could make arrangements to see him again without behaving suspiciously.

Mason got into the car and leaned his head back, stretching his arms over his head. Mark stifled a groan as he visualized that broad chest bare. Mason slumped forward to rest his head on the steering wheel of the little car, the picture of defeat. He rested that way a moment before sitting upright and fumbling a pair of dark sunglasses on. The seat reclined completely, taking Mason out of Mark's view.

The tournament was entering its final three rounds. Several tiers of participants had been eliminated already, though most stayed to observe the remaining games. Each participant received a gift certificate for a free beverage, which Mark donated. Encouraging kids to learn and play the Game of Kings was his only incentive to host these tournaments. From here on out the winners would receive a variety of prizes from books and equipment to private lessons.

Mark kept a close eye on the kid who'd come in with Mason earlier. Johnny Grant was a player who showed great promise. He hadn't been to a tournament here before, so Mark was sure he was a novice, but he had a great deal of potential. Unfortunately, his raw skills weren't balanced by knowledge, and he didn't seem to plan his moves very far ahead. The kid would probably do very well with a few private lessons.

Mind made up, Mark approached Ainslie for a whispered consultation. Ainslie agreed with him, beaming in approval. Mark hastily shuffled back to the office to print the gift certificate he wanted before the round ended. Four players would be eliminated this round, and each of them would need to receive the same certificate for six private lessons.

As predicted, Johnny was eliminated in the round. As the youth got up from the table, struggling to hide his disappointment, Ainslie approached him and the three other students who'd failed to advance. He gathered the boys at the back of the shop while Mark rearranged the tables and materials for the next round. Sally came from behind the counter to help fold and put away the extra chairs while the boys walked around stretching their legs. Mark tried not to cringe as young hands curiously touched leather bound books and priceless statuary.

The ding of the clock announced that the semifinal round was beginning, and the four players took their seats at the tables. Mark waited just a moment to see that the opening rules were followed and then scurried back to the youths waiting near his door. He presented each one with their certificate of participation and ranking, and the prize he and Ainslie had decided upon. Johnny Grant lit up with excitement when he saw the certificate for free lessons, but then his expression dimmed as he thanked Mark politely.

"What's wrong, Johnny?" Ainslie asked.

"I'm not going to be able to take these lessons." The boy's disappointment was clear. "My brother... He works at night, and driving over here after school, then getting back in time for his shift at the grocery store, it would be hard for him."

Mark forced his face into calm disinterest. "Would it be better if I came to your house?"

The youth perked up again. "Could you?"

"Sure. Let me talk to your brother about it, okay? I'll walk out with you." He shoved his hands in his pockets to hide his own trembling excitement at approaching Mason again. Private lessons in the boy's home would give him the opportunity to get to know Mason better as well.

He walked out to the car with Johnny, explaining that each lesson would last an hour and require homework on Johnny's part. As they approached the car, Mason sat up and rolled down the window but didn't remove the dark glasses. Mark wished he would. He wanted to see those brown eyes again, to see if the pure passion he'd seen before was still there. The remembered lust in Mason's gaze gave him courage that he normally didn't have.

Instead he pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it through the window. "Johnny has won private lessons. He tells me transportation is an issue, so I offered to give the lessons at his home. Please call me at this number to make arrangements."

Mason Grant nodded, cleared his throat, and then spoke in a husky, sleep-worn voice. "We'll call." The window rose before Mark could add anything to the conversation, and he turned back to his shop and the tournament, discouraged. It seemed unlikely from the animated conversation the two brothers held in the car behind him, that he would be getting that phone call.

Looking Over the Backlist: The Librarian: New Extended Excerpt

THE LIBRARIAN

Available at 

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Valentine Michaels has just taken a vow of celibacy. Adrian Grey intends to take full advantage of that vow to re-create his relationship with Val.

Val is at a crossroads in his life. A college dropout, he's gone as far as he can in his career as a cosmetologist, owning his own style salon. He no longer finds satisfaction in it, though he's put years into proving to his bigoted parents that a college degree and the veneer of straightness aren't the only roads to success. They'd turned their backs on him, and he proved he didn't need them to make it.

His love life is no better than his working life. His relationships always start with a bang and fizzle into boredom, or worse, anger.

Adrian has his own agenda for helping Val: he's been in love with Val since they were freshmen. The intervening years of listening to Val's gossip about his lovers and relationships have taught Adrian just what it was he did wrong all those years ago, and he thinks this time around he now knows exactly how to get—and keep—his man.

EXTENDED EXCERPT

Prologue

Adrian sat on his bed, statistics book open in his lap, studying for the test he had in the morning. The subject matter fascinated him, but his attention kept drifting to the clock on the desk across the room. The closer midnight came, the more frequently his gaze returned to the red numbers. Where had Val gone? He'd said, but Adrian had barely listened, absorbed in his book. What if something had happened to him?

His hand drifted toward the cell phone on his night table, and he picked it up. He stared down at the little device, the latest technology available. His parents had bought it and brought it up to him with his clean laundry last Sunday. They'd been so proud of it, Dad explaining all the neat features of the phone, Mom insisting on snapping a few pictures of him with it.

Adrian had stayed in their dorm room since he'd left the library at five. Val hadn't called. He flipped the phone open and checked anyway. Fully charged, as always. No messages, no calls. Except the three from his mother earlier, making sure he'd hung up the shirts she'd ironed for him, reminding him to keep the phone charged, and to eat vegetables with his dinner. He saved the messages. She would like that.

He tried to turn his attention back to his book and the test that loomed, but thoughts of what Val might be doing, and who he might be doing it with, kept intruding. They hadn't made any commitments, but he and Val had shared a bed for the past week, and he'd known he loved Val since October, when he'd kissed his blue-haired roommate for the first time. A spontaneous, awkward, drunk kiss during a dorm Halloween party, neither he nor Val had mentioned it when they sobered up the next day, though Adrian treasured the memory as the most wonderful kiss he'd ever experienced.

That had been a month ago, and in the last few weeks Val had broken up with his boyfriend, and Adrian secretly thrilled to hold his friend and offer support. One thing had led to another, one fumbling kiss to a caress, the caress to sex. From that night on, they had slept here together, exploring and learning each other's bodies, wants, and desires.

But this morning, Val had mumbled something about not waiting up for him. Adrian, too busy rushing to get ready for class and his upcoming exam, paid Val little attention. Now he wished he had. It might have saved him this anxious, sharp pain in his stomach, the heaviness of his heart. Events were scheduled all over campus. He had no chance of finding Val at any of them. Pep rallies, concerts, lectures, study groups. He wouldn't even recognize any of Val's punky friends if he ran into them.

The thump of feet in the hallway stopping outside their door drew his attention. His gaze fastened on the door and he heard the click of Val's key in the lock as the knob turned. The sight of his roommate's flushed cheeks, plump, red, kiss-swollen lips, and crazily mussed blue hair sent his heart plummeting and his stomach churning. He swallowed to keep from throwing up, and forced himself to speak.

"Where have you been?" Adrian cringed at the whiny need in his voice.

Val's head turned in slow, languid fashion and Adrian flinched. Fuck. He tried the word out inside his head, ignoring the heat along his cheekbones. His mother would freak if he ever said it out loud. It fit though. He knew that look. Val had just that look when he came. When Adrian sucked his cock, or stroked him to orgasm, he looked exactly like that: sated, flushed, and happy. But Adrian hadn't put that look there tonight.

Val's eyes lit up when he saw Adrian watching him, and he stumbled forward to collapse in a heap across the neatly folded quilt Adrian's grandma had hand stitched for him as a graduation gift. "I'm in love." He moaned, twisting onto his side gingerly to face Adrian.

Adrian struggled to keep his face interested and not show his devastation. He was in love too. "You went on a date?"

Val nodded, his eyes drifting closed dreamily. "He's so awesome, Adrian. He's on the football team. Blond hair, blue eyes, the broadest shoulders..." Voice trailing dreamily away, Val's own blue-eyed gaze snapped up and locked on Adrian's. "And man, he's got skills. I've never felt like that before."

Adrian nodded, keeping an encouraging look on his face, and he closed the statistics book in his lap. No studying would happen now. He listened, his heart breaking slowly, as Val described his new boyfriend in elaborate detail.

Chapter One

Impatiently, Val flipped his powder-blue locks over his shoulder, tapping the little whisk broom against the counter where his supplies were arranged neatly. "Derek, you left me standing around at Paul's for an hour, a place I totally hate by the way, without even a phone call to say you weren't coming, and then I walk past you playing ball in the park with your friends on the way back here. I'm not overreacting!"

He ran a swift eye over his supplies.  Scissors, combs, spray bottle with water, gel, mousse, Everything seemed in order. While he prepared his workstation, he listened with half an ear to the deep voice on the other end of the phone, trying to explain or rationalize or whatever, but he wasn't into hearing what Derek had to say. The guy was an immature jerk who put his own wants ahead of everything, even if it meant leaving Val standing in a group of young college kids he barely knew, in a bar he usually avoided like the plague. He'd gone to the party in the first place for Derek. Being stood up while doing something so selfless just pissed him off. Just once in a relationship, Val wanted to find a guy who put him first, who loved him more than sports, friends, and all the other temptations the wicked world offered. "Just forget it, Derek. You don't get it. It's not just last night; it's the whole last few months."

More rumbling and babbling in his ear. He ran a dust cloth over the client's chair and then adjusted its height. Prepping his station at the salon was second nature and required little of his attention. Kind of like listening to Derek. Why the fuck do I listen to this shit? Derek had all the emotional understanding of a two-ton truck. Cute as hell, but clueless about what would melt Val's heart. In fact, Derek might accurately be called a little dense altogether. A little consideration, a romantic gesture or two, would go a long way. Hell, an apology instead of an excuse would probably have gotten him a second chance even this morning. Eh. Who are you kidding? Derek is a symptom, not the illness itself. "Fuck off, Derek. It's over. Do me a favor and lose my number, okay?"

Flipping the phone shut, he shoved it into the pocket of his smock and busied himself cleaning up his workspace. A quick spray of glass cleaner to the mirror, a swipe or two with a rag and he was done. Done with Derek, done with men, done with romance and love and sex, and fuck it all. He could be celibate. Masturbation didn't count as sex, did it? He'd need something if he wasn't getting any.

"Hey, Smurfette, your professor is here."

It happened. Just like that. Ted's sarcastic statement, delivered in his superior nasal twang, made Val's vow of celibacy probably the shortest in history. He put down the small whisk broom he'd been using to clean up his already spotless workstation and dusted his hands off on his powder-blue smock. The smock he had chosen deliberately to match his hair this morning because it highlighted his eyes and skin tone, even though he knew wearing it would invite Ted to make Smurf comparisons,. He'd only just made the solemn promise to himself to take a break from men and get his head screwed on straight before venturing back into the dating arena. He'd been celibate for all of five minutes maybe, if you didn't count the previous six days when he could have had sex if he wanted to with Derek, but he hadn't because he didn't. Want to, that is.

He'd almost forgotten about his regular ten fifteen appointment with Adrian Grey. Val shook his head. He knew better than that. That would be a lie and Valentine Michaels knew better than to lie. He did it so very badly. He could never completely forget about Adrian. They'd been friends for nearly ten years, since they were roommates in the dorm freshman year at NCU. Heck, for a few brief days, they'd been something more than friends, even. Though he didn't usually primp like this for his exes.

Adrian Grey, though hot as hell, exemplified everything Val was not looking for in a man. Where Val liked big, muscular men who towered over him, Adrian was only an inch or so taller than he was. Val preferred blonds, but Adrian wore his straight black hair cut long enough to curl under his jawline in front and curved higher in back to meet the university library's requirement that all male employees wear their hair above the collar. The wire-rim glasses he wore on a fine rope around his neck gave him a distracted air of intelligence and emphasized the almost delicate aspect of his refined features. His jawline was smooth and silky, whereas Val preferred the sexy appeal of rough, two-day stubble.

Everything about Adrian said successful, young professional. Adrian was solid, dependable, and reliable. All those -able words that no one had ever applied to Val. There was intelligence in those blue eyes, and humor in the tilt of that rosy mouth, and sexy didn't begin to describe his lean, firmly muscled body.

"He's a librarian, you ass," he snapped at Ted. "And he's not my type." Type or not, Val found himself checking out his hair in the mirror, adjusting the powdery blue strands as he bit then licked his lips. Ah, well, he was a beautician, wasn't he? He had to look good, even for the clients who didn't want something creative in their personal look. Surreptitiously he breathed on his hand, checking his breath, and swiped his lips with a tube of clear gloss he pulled from the pocket of his smock. And, he reasoned triumphantly, he could appreciate beauty where he saw it for the exact same reason! And Adrian was beautiful in his geeky way.

He looked up and met Adrian's eyes in the mirror as the other man strode to the reception desk to receive his share of the crap that Ted dished out without prejudice. Mmm. That blue oxford really brings out the sparkle in Adrian's eyes, doesn't it?

"Come on back, I'm all ready for you." You have no idea how ready, he snickered inside as he spun the chair and waved Adrian to sit.

He always chatted away while trimming Adrian. It wasn't like he needed to concentrate in order to trim Adrian's hair into the same style he'd been wearing for the past six years. He rolled his eyes. Another thing about Adrian that was so not his type: Adrian resisted change. He even used the same fucking cell phone he'd had in college. Val used to try to convince Adrian to try a new cut once in a while, but Adrian liked what he liked and refused all offers to dye, cut or curl his hair into something other than the style he already wore. The chat kept him distracted from the heat of Adrian's body and the enticing scent of his cologne. It prevented his imagination from running away with him. In the past, the conversation had served as a reminder to himself that Adrian was off-limits.

Gesturing slightly with his scissors and comb, he asked, already knowing what the answer would be, "So, are you going to let me cut this in a different style for you today?"

As expected, Adrian simply shook his head and seated himself in the waiting chair.

"So," Adrian said, when Val found himself tongue-tied for the first time in their long history of Friday morning haircuts, "what's new in your life? Or should I say, who's new in your life? Ted just told me you broke up with Derek."

Val flushed. Was that really the impression he'd given of himself? He came off as the kind of guy who couldn't last a week without a lover?

A bit hurt, he snapped, "What? Like I always have to have a boyfriend? There's no one right now. After that dumb shit Derek, I'm taking a break from men for a while."

Adrian jerked in the chair, and Val cursed. "Be still. You could end up with a new hairstyle whether you want one or not, jumping like that!"

"Sorry. Just what exactly do you mean by taking a break from men?" The other man seemed bewildered for some reason.

"I mean," he declared dramatically, tossing his head, "I've taken a vow of celibacy. I'm swearing off men, drama, and love."

Adrian laughed softly. "Oh. That'll last. The next pretty boy with bulging muscles who strolls through that door for a haircut, or offers to buy you a drink at the bar, and you'll be back in the game, heartbreak forgotten."

Val gasped. "Oh, that was uncalled for! I'm not exactly heartbroken, just reevaluating where I stand on some issues. I'm tired of leading such a messy life. I need to figure myself out before I get involved with anyone else."

"I'm sorry." Adrian apologized. "I shouldn't tease you. It's just that I've known you since we were freshmen at the university, and ever since then, for ten years, you've always had a boyfriend—usually some muscle-bound, superhero jock-type."

Sighing, Val stilled his hands and met Adrian's eyes in the mirror. There was sympathy in the blue depths, but more, there lurked something indecipherable that he hadn't seen before. "It's not just Derek, Adrian." He confessed in a low voice. "It's all of it. Everything. The shop bores me. The bars and clubs are filled with younger and younger people every time I go, and I'm like a babysitter, or God forbid, my mother. Have you heard that crap they call music now?" He shook his head and went back to trimming fractions of hair from silky black locks and brushing strays from the blue oxford collar. Finished, he put aside the tools of his trade.

Adrian rose from his chair and scribbled something on a card he pulled from his shirt pocket. "Here's my cell number. Call me anytime if you need someone to listen or want to get together."

Val stared as the other man turned and left the salon, brushing stray hairs from his shirt as he did so. Down, boy. He glared at his cock where it arched up beneath the buttons of his 501s. He's not your type, remember? No amount of lecturing could convince his dick though. Maybe type was one of the things he'd need to reevaluate. He tossed the number in the trash, almost hoping Adrian would see him do it. Like he needed it. He'd had that phone number memorized for ten years. Not that he used it. Who needed a phone call when Adrian arrived every Friday, regular as clockwork? Slowly he wandered to the front of the shop, past Ted in his black, horn-rimmed glasses and bleach-splattered clothing, and on out the door, starting as he realized he was following Adrian.

Chapter Two

Adrian stepped out of the salon into the bright sunshine of a perfect Colorado spring day. In the time since he'd entered the salon, the sky glowed bluer, the grass greener, the clouds more perfectly cottony white than ever. The mingled scents of fresh-cut grass and newly opened blossoms wafted gently to his quivering nostrils. Something he'd kept locked away for years had been let loose, and his mind raced, heart beating frantically to keep pace. He tried to still the wild surges of emotion that rushed through his body, heart and soul. Val was flaky. Whatever he said, he could well be in love before lunchtime.

Adrian trembled with impatient emotion. His hand shook so badly he almost couldn't open the door of his car, the ever-faithful, ever-reliable gray 1993 Acura Integra, christened Myrtle by his high school buddy, Shane. His parents had researched fuel efficiency and reliability before selecting the car as his sixteenth birthday present. In the thirteen years since, he'd kept it pristine and running smoothly. No sense replacing something that functioned so beautifully, was there?

He'd sensed Val's interest in him today, for the first time in years, despite his avowals of abstinence. A vague sensation of heat had radiated from Val and he had absorbed it like a sponge.

He now had a distinct advantage in the waiting game he'd been playing with Val since freshman year. Years' worth of chatty confessions about what Val liked and didn't like in a lover would guide his own courtship. And the other man had just cleared the field for him with his intention to stay out of the dating scene. A Val who wasn't even looking to hook up, didn't have someone waiting on the side, and seemed strangely vulnerable, was a Val that Adrian could work with, not like the flip, sexually confident, blindly selfish Val he'd been friends with all these years.

Adrian started the car and looked into his rearview mirror, hoping for another glimpse of Val through the shop windows of Sherri's Hair. He didn't quite get why Val hadn't changed the name when he'd bought it. In fact, Val hadn't changed anything about the shop when he'd bought it as far as Adrian could tell. It still had the same cracked vinyl chairs and lavender paint that had graced it the first day Adrian had gone in. He knew he'd paused too long when Val appeared in the doorway of the shop, and seemed to be looking after him.

Behind Val he noted the For Lease sign on the building next door. How simple a solution to Val's problem was that? If he was bored with his business, then he could always lease the shop next door and expand. A full-service salon with tanning booths, piercing studio and a permanent makeup artist...Yes. This would make an excellent segue into another meeting with Val. And...he could always offer to help. That would allow them to spend even more time together. He'd painted his fair share of rooms out on the small-town, Colorado ranch his parents owned.

Still in a reverie, he pulled the gray sedan out into the minimal flow of traffic and headed back down the street to the university. His job in the archives of the business library was interesting and had great potential for upward movement. He enjoyed it. It also gave him ample time to do his research, write his articles, and contemplate which Ph.D. program he wanted into. He'd finally decided, narrowing the options down to three, and sent in his applications a few months ago. He looked forward to the challenges furthering his education would bring. The lull in activity, no articles contracted, no application or research to deal with, left him with a down period. For a while, anyway. It also provided him with ample time to contemplate the direction of his seduction.

Pulling into his parking space in the reserved employee lot behind the library, he shut off the engine and grabbed his planner. He printed a neat list on the page dated for today, underneath the notation for his haircut. He snorted when he saw it. Every Monday morning he wrote that appointment in for Friday morning in ink. Not that he needed the reminder to go get his hair cut. It was just the permanence of the ink and the sight of Val's name. It grounded him throughout the week to know that he had that to look forward to.

He relied on that appointment with a ferocity that almost scared him sometimes. He knew exactly how each appointment would go, and they played and replayed in his mind during the days between appointments. Ted would announce his arrival; Val would offer to cut his hair differently. He would refuse. He shook his head, enjoying the sensual slide of silky hair across his cheek. Every Friday he refused and Val hadn't even the slightest idea why. He seemed to forget that he had designed this cut expressly for Adrian when he'd accepted his job in the university library years ago.

Adrian had been excited by the job offer; it was a step in the right direction for a candidate in the Master's of Library Science program, but the university dress code for staff had mandated that his long black hair had to go. Though thrilled with the offer, he'd been reluctant to cut the hair he'd been growing since freshman year. It had been his first Friday morning appointment with Val, before Val owned the shop, even. Val had coaxed him into the chair and chattered away through the cutting process to distract him as the long locks fell to the floor, one by one. Adrian had kept his eyes locked on Val in the mirror, refusing to contemplate the loss of his one claim to rebellion.

He hadn't realized what Val had done until he'd finished and handed him the mirror. His black hair had been left slightly longer around his face and cut to the university's above-the-collar requirement in back. The cut fulfilled the university's demands, but it also acknowledged the deep-seated, seldom-seen need to express himself that led Adrian to grow his hair long in the first place.

Like he'd ever let Val take back that gift! He'd keep the cut until he got to keep the man.

Speaking of which, he needed to plan. He needed to keep Val off balance, keep him interested like he'd been this morning, to show him the Adrian he'd grown into instead of the Adrian he used to be.

And who, he asked himself, do you want Val to see? The lovesick fool who's pined over a man he couldn't have for ten years? No. Not so much that Adrian. Let's keep that one inside for a while longer. He would show Val the Adrian who had listened to his complaints, the one who knew that Val wanted to be romanced, mastered, loved, not just fucked.

The conversations he'd been gritting his teeth through for years gave him all the information he needed to do just that.

He reached for his cell phone to call his mom, but remembered just in time. Couldn't do that anymore. When would he remember that? He picked up the phone, the same one his parents had bought him years ago. Everyone, and by everyone he meant Val and Phil, told him he should replace it with a newer model, one with apps, and Internet access, and a whole lot of other foolishness. He always laughed them off with a "why fix what isn't broken" speech, but while in the past that had been the truth, now this phone had something no newer, more modern phone would ever have.

It had been chosen for him by his parents, and they'd been so excited about it. But beyond that, he flipped the phone open and scrolled through messages before finding the one he wanted. The phone was like a voice from beyond the grave for him. Those messages he'd dutifully saved years ago were his connection to his mom and dad, who'd been gone now for over three years. Three years ago, on their way to see him, bringing him clean laundry and home-cooked meals for his freezer, their vehicle had been run off the road by a car full of drunken college boys on their way home from a football game.

His mother's sweet, loving voice chattered away in his ear. "Tell Val we enjoyed meeting him, and you keep me posted on how things work out with that boy! Dad and I love you. Take care!"

"I will, Mom. I love you too," he whispered into the phone, responding as always as though he were talking to her in the flesh. After carefully hitting resave to extend the life of the message once again, he folded the phone and slipped it into his pocket, patting the pocket to make sure it was secure. He'd need it to call the flower shop, where he would find the perfect single bloom to send to Val. Something exotic and vibrant that was not a rose or a daisy. He remembered Val's snide comments about boyfriends of the past who'd sent flowers.

His mother would be pleased if he and Val managed to get it right this time around. She'd always liked his roommate, and even counseled him to be patient and maintain his friendship with Val after that night years ago. For years, on many a Saturday morning in the old ranch house kitchen, he poured his heartaches and fancies into her ear, telling her the things he wanted to tell Val, absorbing her love and comfort in return.

Now, he had the opportunity he'd been so patiently waiting for, the chance his mother had assured him would one day arrive, and he intended to make the most of it.

REVIEWS 

·         Sensual Reads 4.5 Stars Fantastic heroes, some amazing loving and a happy ending are the answers you can find in The Librarian by Lee Brazil. -Reviewed by Elise

·         Coffee Beans and Love Scenes 4 cups I loved Adrian! There was more to the mild mannered librarian than what met the eye. I thoroughly enjoyed watching all of his multiple layers being uncovered. There was just an abundance of alpha goodness wrapped in a geeky package... The Librarian is a credit to Lee Brazil’s writing talent. ... I encourage you to pick up a copy of The Librarian to judge for yourself. - Reviewed by Pechedete

·         MM Good Book Reviews – 5Hearts "... one of the best seductions ever written.  Adrian has waited ten years for the man he loves to get a clue.  Since that obviously isn’t happening, Adrian takes matters into his own hands.  Poor Val doesn’t know what hit him.  I almost wanted to feel sorry for Val, but he has spent so many years looking for love in all the wrong places.  A sneak attack was definitely in order.  Adrian might be the title character, but this is really the story of Valentino’s seduction.  And the beautiful thing was that most of that seduction was with their clothes on.  The lovin’ is hot and I can’t remember the last time I smiled so much, while reading a book. Highly recommend. Reviewed by Portia

·         Black Raven's Reviews 5 Ravens and a Recommended Read The Librarian is the exact opposite of a m/m romance with a quick pick-up at a bar that is love at first sight. Instead, Lee Brazil offers the story of men who have known one another for many years, and  the time has come for them to either be able to work through issues from the past, or move on, permanently... The themes of unconditional love, consistency and perseverance are beautifully developed in The Librarian. -Reviewed by Lea

·         Two Lips Reviews 5 Kisses -The Librarian by Lee Brazil is a story of friendship, love, and learning to understand yourself. Val has a long journey in this book; he has to go from being a self-centered person, to actually growing up and learning to think of others...You can feel that Adrian was born with an old soul from the first pages of this story.  He knows what he wants out of life, but is wise enough to understand that Val needs to grow and learn too.  This sweet sensual friendship makes their love so much more meaningful. I loved watching these two grow up and learn to be the men they were meant to be. -Reviewed by Tina